Dr Robby Fan Girl @holytrinityofsantos - Tumblr Blog

May 13

─── HARD TO GET

synopsisyou and Trinity decide you've had enough of being the casual booty call, agreeing to play hard to get to prove to your partners you can go without them. easier said then done

warningsmut. oral (f! receiving) fingering, language, pinv, unprotected sex, MDNI. slight praise kink. no use of y/n

authornotethe way in which i need to be driven mad by this man using me is concerning to feminism

main masterlist. other Robby fic

“I don't get it!” said Santos for... well, you had no idea how many times she'd repeated herself but you were considering making it a drinking game. Every time she said she 'didn't understand' you resolved to take a shot. “I thought we were fine, doing great and casual- what- what is casual?”

Whitaker's hand hesitated in the air like they were in class. “Well I think by casual she means-”

“I know what casual means, Fuckle-berry,” said Santos quickly. “But it was casual now it's just weird.”

You nodded along, humming.

She groaned, hands running through her hair in frustration. “I don't get it!”

You took a long gulp of your wine.

“How do you handle it?” Trinity asked, arms wide in question at you.

“Me?”

“Yeah, how do you and Robby do casual?”

“Oh- we... it's- um-” you stumbled over your words, hoping that if you let it up long enough she'd take it back and start on her problems again. She didn't and she stood in front of you and Whitaker, waiting for an explanation.

The whole thing between you and Robby had started about the same time Santos and Garcia started. In an awkward confrontation that was you and Trinity bumping into each other in your shared bathroom, both your hairs messed up and both supporting bruises suspiciously in the shape of lips on your necks.

When you returned to your room you and Robby waited eagerly to see who would flee Santos's room. Neither too shocked to find Garcia.

“It's um?” Trinity asked.

“It's going,” you said into your wine glass, finishing it and pouring in more. The truth was for a while things had been odd, on your end more so.

Casual was a label you thought you could do, that when Robby said to you a week after sleeping together, his sheets over the both of your bodies that he liked keeping it simple. Sex. Release. You thought you could do it.

Almost three months since then and you were regretting it because every time you saw doctors eyes lingering over Robby, every time you heard his 'seven-week rule' and every time you saw happy couples fawning over each other in the ED your stomach twisted.

You didn't realise you wanted that until it was dangled in front of you and snatched away all in the same minute.

Trinity's brows rose. “Oh?”

You looked to where Whitaker was next to you, hoping for sympathy. You only found curious eyes. “It's just different than before.”

“Different how?” asked Dennis.

“Is it still casual?”

You scoffed, mumbling under your breath. “Yeah to him.”

“You want to be more?”

You didn't know if she was accusing but your room-mates expecting eyes on you heated your body in shame and embarrassment. “And you don't with Garcia?"

“Ok, enough!” suddenly Whitaker stood up. “The two of you, we need to sort this out.”

With a vacant seat next to you Trinity plopped herself down and you gave her your wine. You just decided to take the bottle.

“I cannot stand it anymore, okay! The two of you, we're gonna change this,” he said. “Trin- no more pining and waiting for Garcia to call at like one am.”

She was wanting to retort but only folded her arms over her chest as he carried on.

“And you-” he focused on you. “Need to stop crying over Robby. You guys can do better.”

“Yeah in a world where we're not working twelve hour shifts five days a week,” you said. The idea of casual hook ups wasn't anything new to the ED, not even the hospital. It was easy way of escape without the pressure of dating when all their time was spent saving lives or charting about saving lives or studying how to save lives.

On the coffee table in front of you Trinity's phone pinged and she reached for it like it was seconds away from self-destructing.

She tucked her phone into her chest to read the text before slamming it back down.

You caught a glance at the words and the contact. Can't make it tonight, I'll hit you up tomorrow- G

“You're gonna leave them,” he said.

You and Trinity sat up. “What?”

“No!”

There was a flicker of fear in his eyes.

“Okay- I take it back,” he said, surrendering. “Then how about give them a taste of their own medicine.”

“Their medicine?” you asked.

Whitaker gently nudged the empty glasses and cans of beer aside, perching on the edge of the coffee table, appealing to the two of you. “How many times have they cancelled plans, or said you couldn't come over to ask you to come over two hours later?”

You hadn't realised how perceptive he was.

“Now, make it so you guys call the shots. They want to come round, you say no.”

The idea was new to you. You'd always wanted Robby. You spent half your spare time wanting him and the other half having sex with him. You'd never even wanted to say no.

“So then we what, don't have sex?” asked Santos.

“You will,” he said. “You create distance, get them wanting and crying or what-whatever and then they'll realise they've messed up.”

You thought we was giving them too much credit.

Santos chuckled. “Huckleberry, are you telling us to play hard to get?”

He thought about it, eyes moving as if he was calculating it. “Yes!”

That's how plan 'hard to get' started. It was agreed you and Santos, the next time Garcia and Robby asked you to come over you'd say no.

Easier in practise when you work with them.

The next day was a slower day, un-usual in that sense. It meant everyone had more time to linger around each other.

“And so I said to him- officer-” said Myrna, lying on the bed between you and Robby. She'd seizure, hurt her leg and needed it disinfected and cleaned- not for the first time in her life. There was a mix of glass and gravel that needed plucking out and apparently the attending of the ED had nothing better to do that join you in the task. “What would you have done if you caught your third husband eating out another woman?”

“And did he say shoot him?” asked Robby. He was bent over the same leg as you, your heads so close you were either gonna head butt or kiss. Not likely over the state of her leg.

“No, he didn't say anything, he just arrested me!”

Robby hummed, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “Imagine that.”

“You know Myrna sometimes I can't tell if all these stories are true,” you said, taking a small bit of glass and adding it to the pile you'd already created.

“Oh they're all true, honey, I never lie. Unlike Mark that two faced bastard.”

“Which one was Mark?” you asked.

“The fourth husband. Good body and shit everything else!” she said with a wheeze. Abruptly she grabbed your hand. “Are you single?”

Robby glanced up at you, creases of amusement at the corner of his eyes.

You looked away first. “Why, you asking me out?”

“If you're single, stay single!” she said. “Men, all they are are liars! Lying bastards! And babies! I hardly even shot the guy!”

“Am I so bad, Doctor?” asked Robby looking over the frames of his glasses at you.

Was he so bad? No. He was short-tempered sometimes, moody, didn't accept help from anyone. But you knew he could be gentle, you knew his true belly laugh and the smile he gave at mornings when you were still in bed. You just wish you knew if he ever saw himself staying in that bed a little longer, if he ever wanted to make breakfast and take the day together, stealing moments throughout.

“No,” you said, looking back down to her leg that was almost clean. “You're not.”

Myrna was oddly silent but you could see her head moving between the two of you. “Don't go there sweetheart,” she said, a word of warning. “This one might look fun but he's all danger and heartbreak.”

“Me? No,” said Robby with an air of un-care. “I'm a teddy bear.”

Five minutes later you and Robby were instructing Perlah wrapping her leg before throwing off your gloves and leaving her to it.

“How many husbands you think Myrna had?” he asked.

“Oh there's no telling,” you replied, fetching her chart to finish off the notes. At some point someone had put a star next to her name, as if she was VIP.

Robby leant next to you, scanning around the ED. “Any plans tonight?”

“On a Wednesday? Nop.”

“Wanna come over?”

There was an abrupt and loud clear of a throat.

You hadn't realised Whitaker was there but he was watching the two of you, closely. When you met his eyes he gave a small subtle shake of his head.

Robby looked. “You got a cough, Whitaker?”

He cleared his throat, sliding down in his chair. “No.”

The agreement. It was all fine in practise but how were you supposed to say no when you just said you had no plans and you really wanted to have sex with him! It was the glasses, you were sure that was what did it. The way he pulled them on and pulled them off, the focus it gave him and the way they slipped down his nose.

“So, tonight?” he asked again, voice low.

Only a few people knew, like your room-mates and you were sure others had guessed. Robby wanted to keep it private. Or a secret, you'd never asked for clarification.

You caught Whitakers gaze on yours, watchful. He didn't say anything but you wondered if he'd be disappointed. Would you even be disappointed in yourself? “I can't tonight.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Okay.”

He didn't sound annoyed. He didn't sound anything. It was impossible to tell.

“Yeah, we just- there's this thing-”

“Thought you had no plans?” he asked, an almost amused rise in his brows.

Ah. “It's like- not a plan- just a- a room mate thing. You know?”

Robby looked to Whitaker as if to confirm.

He nodded. “Yeah! Every Wednesday. We watch films.”

“Films,” you confirm.

“And talk.”

“We talk.”

Robby nodded. “Sounds thrilling.”

“Robby!” Dana called. “Got a trauma, woman in her thirties. Five minutes.”

“Got it," he said but he was still slumping over the counter. He took his time moving, stretching up till his shirt rode up enough to expose that slither of skin that held so many promises. “Some other time then.” His hand ghosted the small of your back before he disappeared.

You watched him go, realising you wouldn't spend the night buried in his bored but sleepless and restless.

Whitaker replaced Robby at your side. “See? Doesn't that feel good?”

You answered truthfully. “No.”

That night you, Santos and Whitaker sulked on the sofa, face masks over your faces with a bowl of popcorn left on the table and a shitty movie filling the silence.

Your phone lay face up with nothing from Robby and from Trinity's expression you figured she'd had nothing either.

You'd been to the bathroom once, took your phone with you and debated texting him but you never got that far. You only flicked through texts, casual one's at first. Small 'Are you coming over?' or 'You left your shirt at mine.' There were some dotted from him, on times you were both too busy to meet where things got more... riskier. His texts started simple but you could always catch on to his wants, leading his want.

Things like 'Thought about you today,' or 'you looked good today,' but he never just complimented you for the sake of it.

The texts didn't help so you turned your phone off and re-joined the two all the while your head and heart were in bed with Robby.

The next day passed like another dry spell.

It was busy- too make up for the quiet day beforehand. You didn't have time to greet Robby before being thrown into the chaos from a pile up on the highway. All day your bodies shuffled past each other, his hands lingering on your arms when he passed or always standing next to you in trauma.

It felt something like punishment.

Or a test.

By Friday you were crawling out of your skin, still dealing with the ramifications of the last two days. You hadn't even seen that Robby had text you the night before, so exhausted from work you crashed only spotting his name on your phone the morning you woke from the blare of your alarm.

“You're avoiding me,” he said, kneeling at the computer you typed furiously at to get your charting down. It was a casual move he used, usually un-tying and re-tying his shoes. This time, he simply knelt, seemingly done with pretence.

“What? No.”

“I've barely seen you the last few days," he said, wetting his lips. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, no, I've just been super busy,” you said, tapping on the computer.

Robby shuffled next to you. His hand laid next to yours. He didn't take your hand or stop you but his fingers fidgeted like he didn't know what else to do with himself. “Did I do something?”

You looked down at him, spotting the crease between his brows. “No.”

It was the closest you'd got to seeing him vulnerable.

“So tonight?” he asked. “Feel like I'm losing my damn mind.” His finger was light as it traced your hand, slowly drawing circles.

Tasting Robby was like the first sip of alcohol. It always left you wanting me. Sweet. Bitter. Whatever. You were just left wanting and nothing else, which was why you went crawling back every time. Why saying no had never crosse your mind before. Why the smallest touch from his hand was leaving you in shivers.

You squeezed your eyes shut. “I can't tonight-”

Robby smirked, breathing out a puff of air.

“I would,” you said quickly, turning in your chair to face him. “Believe me, I would, it's just... Trinity is going through some stuff and I just- I don't want to leave her alone, you know.”

It was the truth. Trinity was taking Garcia's silence worse than you or Dennis had anticipated. You knew there was more going on, you only wanted to be there to help her.

Robby perked. “You need me to speak to her?”

“No, no, it's just stuff. She'll be okay I just, want to be safe.”

He nodded but his finger fell from your hand. “Okay.”

“Doctor Robinavitch!” his name was called by the familiar dread of Gloria.

He sighed under his breath as he pushed himself up. “Oh so help me, God.”

By Saturday you were sure Robby thought you were lying and sort out to punish you. He was practically glued at your side all day long. He didn't ask to see you, didn't put his lips near you. But he lingered.

“Okay we don't have a lot of time, there's a lot of bleeding,” said Robby in the face of a trauma, looming over you. “We'll do a Hilar flip.”

“A Hilar flip, are you serious?” said Trinity.

“No other choice.”

You gulped, staring down at the bleeding and misplaced lung. “I've never done one of them before.”

“I'll talk you through it, we'll go easy,” he said, coming at your side. “You're gonna rotate the lung one-eighty, very slow. Very gentle.”

Perhaps it shouldn't have been as erotic as it was. The way his chest heaved against your back, his arm stretching along yours to hold your hand and guide it through the blood to his lung. His face was concentrated next to yours but his breath was hot on your cheek and breathless.

“Go slow.... go slow. Easy.... gentle.... just like that, there we go,” he uttered against your ear.

“Blood loss is slowing down.”

“There we go, you got it,” he mumbled as you slotted it back into its place. “Okay-” Robby moved on like your whole body wasn't trembling. You had to carry on trying to save the guys life after it, like you weren't picturing his entire body draped over yours, whispering filthy things in your ears.

“Thought I was watching a porno there,” said Santos as you all fled the room when the guy was stable.

“Jesus-” you caught your breath, throwing off the gloves and running your hands through your hair, trying to get some air to your neck that sweat.

Santos chuckled to herself. “So does Doctor Robby talk you through it?”

“Trin-” you snap.

“Does he praise you? Is that the kind of thing you're into.”

You didn't respond, hiding in the bathroom to throw cold water onto your face and calm the rush of blood but you could hear Santos outside the door. 'This is a teaching hospital!' she teased.

It became a thing you had to do, get away from him. You couldn't be distracted when dealing with patients. It was bad enough working with him when all you could think about was fucking him!

But Robby seemed to insist in helping you.

“Gaping wounds like this, under the skin we use sub-Q to bring it together,” he instructed as started the stitching for a mans wound on his leg. It was just like anything else, hardly a teaching wound when you knew how to do it. As it was under tissue and there was just no other nurse around Robby insisted.

“Five-O under skin, three-O after that,” he said.

“You think you could show me?”

You both knew you didn't need to be shown but Robby still gave you a small smile and sat on the stall, coming close to you till his meaty thigh was against your own. His hands- though gloved as yours were- still grazed yours as he took the instruments to do it.

“Guide it through... it's finer so you want to extra gentle... lotta care...”

You hummed but you couldn't say you were watching it with keen eyes. You weren't watching the way the stitches came together just the way his hands flexed, his fingers moved.

“Start deep... all the way in... bury the knot in... yeah, see how it comes together just like that?”

You nodded with an absent mind.

Robby held the equipment out to you. “Go ahead.”

You hesitated. Maybe you should have paid more attention.

He all but shoved them into your hand. “You're a big girl, you got it.”

Santos's voice played it your head. Were you into this?

With a breath you steadied yourself and went in. As he had before Robby leant over you, his body practically weighing you down.

You took the thread under the skin, pulling together just like he had.

“Bit deeper-” Robby's hands guided your arms. They were as light as a feather at your elbows before slowly sliding down your arms with a firmer hold, leading the threads.

You remembered his tight hold on you when he wanted you in place on the bed, when he was was dragging clothes off your body or wrapping a hand around your neck-

Robby called your name, watching you expectantly. His eyes were softened at the edges but they grew darker, the smallest bit of a smirk at the corner of his lips. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“Right... sorry-” you went as deep as he instructed, knowing his face was concentrated on you and your hands.

“Do you want me to leave?” asked the patient.

If he could leave his leg and leave it would've been great.

“We'll get you out of here in no time,” said Robby.

You'd thought that maybe the stitching at taken so long it was almost time to leave. Maybe you could talk to Whitaker and Santos about this hard to get thing. It was only eleven and you had more than six hours left with situations that constantly brought you and Robby together. Even when it didn't, there he was, whispering words of encouragement.

“You got this... nice and easy.... doing really good there...”

Or the simple phrase that had you hiding in the bathroom for five minutes.

“Good girl.”

When the end of the day came you ran out of there, gasping in air and rushing back back to your place.

“Hey,” you greeted walking through the door.

Trinity was already there, looking like she was ready to leave, jacket thrown over her scrubs she hadn't changed out of even though she finished an hour before you. “Hey.”

“Where's Huckleberry?”

“Oh he's at Amy's tonight.”

You scoffed. “Woah. What a speech about doing better and playing hard to get but as soon as the chance comes to play farm. So, movie tonight? I can order pizza?”

“Actually, I'm just on my way out too,” she said. “Garcia called.”

You slumped. Your entire body slumped. Your heart gave up. “What? I thought we all made a deal?”

“We did, I played hard to get now she wants to see me,” she said.

“I haven't seen Robby in three days!”

“So go to his, get dicked down, girl,” she said, moving past you with a breeze. “I'm sorry, we can talk about how much of a bitch I am when I'm back from having the best sex yet! Later!”

She was out the door before you could chastise her. You shut it after her, falling upon it.

You'd ran from the ED to stay strong, to avoid another interaction with Robby that would have you climbing his bones in an empty room. You'd happily have done it with the teasing he'd subjected you to all day. For your friends and the promise you'd made you remained strong.

You'd never do that again.

Saturday night after the longest shift of your life and you had the place to yourself. It was rare. Either Denis or Trinity were home or you were spending the night at Robby's.

Your phone was heavy in your pocket.

Call him.

But the problem still lied un-answered. You were still at Robby's beck and call, begging for his attention. Begging him to be hard thinking about you so he could fuck you into the mattress to be professional the net day and treat you like you were just another MR.

You didn't want special treatment so to say, didn't want him to give you the easy patients or get you into the traumas more. You just wanted a smile, or a glimpse of .... love.

Maybe your friends were okay with what they had. You weren't.

You turned your phone off for the night and stripped from your scrubs, changing into a large shirt and blasting music Trin hated and Denis claimed to hate (but you'd heard him playing your playlist in the shower). For a crazy night alone you caught up on washing several pairs of scrubs and anything else, cleaned out the freezer leaving you barren of anything to eat. Maybe you'd even iron some normal clothes-

That's at least what you were thinking when there was a knock at the door.

You'd hoped it was Denis or Trin coming back, tails between their legs, keys forgotten.

Robby stood on the other side of the door.

You stood, frozen, shocked to see him there. He was just as still, waiting with raised brows. “Doctor Robby. Is everything okay?”

His backpack was slung over his shoulder, his scrubs only slightly dirtied from the day. But his eyes were alive and his body didn't sag with exhaustion like usual. His eyes darted back behind you. “Can I come in?”

You held open the door, closing it slowly behind you.

Robby had only been to your place once before. He looked the open living space open with interest. Typically your meet ups were at his, on account he lived alone and his bed was much nicer to be down on than yours.

“Er- Whitaker and Santos aren't home, if- if this is a hospital thing.”

“It's not,” he said, lowering his bag at the sofa.

“Oh?”

He turned, leaning against the back of it. “It's a me and you thing.”

“Oh.”

His arms flexed as he folded them over his chest, the green of his top under his scrub bunched at the forearms. His head ducked, trying to get a read on you. “So?”

You rocked on your heels, realising the shortened of the shirt you wore. Not that it wasn't anything he had seen before. “So...”

“What's going on?” he asked. There was still nothing in his voice to give away his true thoughts, only a slight edge of urgency.

“What-what-what do you mean?”

Robby listed off what he saw was wrong like symptoms. “You've been avoiding me, you never answered my texts, you didn't want to see me the other night nor tonight though you have the place to yourself-”

“I didn't realise they were gone,” you said.

“Okay so every other time?” he asked. “If I did something you can tell me. I'm a big guy, I can take it.”

It was a chance to voice up every ill thought you'd had but all you could think about was how big he was. Standing there, jutted on the back of the couch with his scrubs around his arms and thighs.

“You didn't do anything,” you said, though you weren't looking at his eyes more his arms.

They flexed again like he knew what he was doing. His voice dropped, finally to something you could name. “So tell me. what's going on.”

If you threw yourself at him you knew the chances of him taking you to bed were high, but the chances of you regretting it in the morning when he had rolled out of bed, dressed and left you were higher.

“I just-” you blew out a breath, readying yourself for the dismiss. “I don't think I can do this anymore.”

Robby waited like he was listening to the words re-play. His head lowered as he nodded, taking it in. “May I ask why?”

“It's the casual thing,” you rushed out before you could take it back. “I don't think I can do casual. I thought I could, but I-I can't.”

He nodded, chin tucked into his chest and for a moment you thought you really had upset him. But then he straightened up, pushed himself from the sofa and shrugged. His boots thudded heavy as he stepped to you slow. “Okay then.”

Was this the moment when you got the door for him on the way out?

“Okay, so... um.... I guess I'll see you-”

Robby's hands grasped your cheeks and he kissed you quick, hard. His lips tasted as they always did with a hint of mint-freshness. They were rough as always as they worked against yours, opening you up to him as always-

You brushed away, shaking your head. “I um- Robby I can't-”

He took a deep, shuddering breath. He stepped closer to you, the heat of his body waving over you. “We don't have to be casual anymore, I don't want to be casual- not anymore.”

Everyone knew Robby only knew casual. Only selected few ever got past seven weeks. Heck you hadn't counted how long this had been going on for, maybe ten weeks but that could be nothing. You were good sex, that was all.

“Robby-”

“Listen, listen-” he said, arms waving around you before settling on your forearms. “You don't want casual, neither do I. You want me to ask? You want me to ask you to be my girlfriend, I'll ask.”

“Robby you don't date,” you tried to tell him.

He scoffed. “I date. But not anymore, not if I have you.”

Had word of the deal got out? Was Robby just tired after his shift? Delusional?

“Hey, hey-" his hands ran through your hair, cradling your cheeks. “I should've said it earlier, I know but I want this. I want serious.”

His eyes crinkled as he looked at you, the edges of his gaze soft. “You don't just have to say this. You can have anyone else-”

Robby's head ducked into the crook of your neck, brushing your hair back and pressing light kisses to the expanse of your neck. “I don't want anyone else, I want you.”

Your body awakened in shivers that he elicited.

His fingers wound to the front of your body, slowly peeling away the buttons of the shirt till it pooled at your ankles. He didn't move to ravage you, his lips remained light as they kissed down your neck, finding your collarbone and working a mark there.

Your hands wound up his arms, clutching at his shoulders. “Robby-”

“Not this time,” he uttered against your collarbone.

You knew what you called him when it was you and him. “Michael-”

“Good girl.”

You moaned out at the words, the moan you'd held all day revibrating around your flat.

He slowly kicked odd his boots and helped you throw off his scrub top before he kissed you again.

You only got a short glimpse at the body you craved before his tongue, hot and heavy, slid into you mouth, bathing in the warmth. His hands were rough as they studied every inch of your body, fingertips digging into skin.

“I want you, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your lips as you scaled your hands under his shirt and along his stomach till your fingers skimmed under his waistband.

His mouth opened against yours, groaning at this slightest touch. “Oh-”

His arms scooped you up, bringing your body up and flush against him as his arms were strong on your back, kissing you. It was all wet tongue and soft lips as he stumbled back on the edge of your couch.

“Santos will kill me if we have sex on our couch,” you gasped.

Robby rose a brow. “Oh, we're having sex?” he teased.

“I should hope so.”

You kissed you hard again, wetting the both of your mouths in delectable smacks of your lips. The two of you stumbled away to your room and his body caged you in as the two of you fell atop your sheets.

You crawled up the bed as Robby's face fell between your chest. His tongue made wet paths from each breast, taking a nipple in his mouth and his hand groping at the other one till you withered against his body.

“Michael-”

He moaned into your breast and shoved a meaty thigh between your legs. “Grind on me,” he demanded.

Your body did against him as if it only listened to his command.

He mouthed your other breast, groping where his tongue had pressed before. All the while you body moved against his thigh, dragging your pussy against him.

“Yeah.... jus' like that... god.... can feel you.... so good,” he uttered as he jutted his thigh against you.

Your hands went to his shoulders, messaging the skin there until he came back up your body and shoved his tongue down your throat again. Your arm wrapped around his neck, keeping him into you.

All the while you wet down his scrubs.

“You want serious?” he uttered against you, pulling back enough to see you.

You nodded, hair splayed over your pillow.

Robby nodded along, eyes hooded. His hand slid down between your bodies. “I can do serious.”

His finger slid into you, working in and out in slow thrusts. But even the meassured curl of his finger had you holding him, back arching from the bed.

“Mmph-”

“Don't be quiet,” he said, nuzzling his head in you neck, biting the skin there. “Don't do that.”

Another finger curled in and you moaned on. You weren't quiet usually, there was nothing more than Robby liked than being loud. Everything was measured in the ED, out of it, buried inside of you or hot mouths on each other had Robby groaning, moaning and wanting you to do the same.

His fingers thrusted knuckle deep in and out again, the soft moving of skin moving around the room as your breaths covered the sound.

His fingers moved quick as your breaths grew laboured. He sucked the skin of your neck, thrusting and curling as his hips sort some sort of friction.

You withered against him. “I'm gonna- Michael I'm gonna-”

He released your skin with a small bite and laid his mouth open on yours. “Cum,” he uttered.

“Michael-”

His voice turned harder, the hand that wasn't inside of you wrapping around your neck, pushing you into your bed. “Cum.”

With just the right curl Robby had your pussy in the palm of his hand, slick with your release as he worked you through it, rubbing his hand along your clit with jolts of your body.

“God so good,” he said, looking up at you as a thin sheen of sweat glistened on your bodies. “And all mine?”

You nodded, cheeks flushed. You could feel the heat of your body as strong as it was when he walked in.

“All mine, huh?”

“Yes,” you said, breathless.

Robby slowly took out his fingers from you, putting his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean like it was nothing. He fell back on his feet, fingers working on the ties of his scrubs. “That why you were avoiding me?”

“I wasn't-” your words died in your throat as he dropped his scrubs and boxers in one.

You'd seen his cock enough to know it by memory but the size and fullness of him always rendered you speechless.

Robby knew it to. He stood there with a smirk. “You weren't avoiding me?”

Slowly, he sank to his knees.

“No,” you said, mesmerised by the sight of him going down.

Robby's hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them. He tapped your ankles, getting them on the bed as he got closer to your heat, still leaking from the last orgasm. “Promise?”

The words had hardly left your lips before his tongue pressed into you.

Your entire body moved into his but his arms wrapped around your hips, keeping you pressed into the bed. He moved further up, burying himself in you.

“Aw- fuck-” your hands waved for purchase before curling into the sheets.

He licked a stripe up and down before nudging your lips open and finding himself in there. It wasn't the slow drag of fingers but the desperate kisses and licks of a man hungry. He pulled back, spitting against you. “You won't avoid me again, will you baby?”

You shook your head.

Robby's eyes remained on yours until he buried himself in your pussy. You watched his eyes roll into the back of his head as he moaned into you.

His hands kept you spread open every time they quivered but it didn't take long for his hand to wind down to his cock. You prepped yourself up onto your elbows to watch as he pumped his cock agonizingly slow.

“Want your cock, Robby-”

He halted his movements and you but down on your lip.

“What did you just call me?” he asked, slowly moving up your body.

You knew you were supposed to call him Michael but watching the full swing of his cock stand to attention as he made his way over you was far too distracting.

“Hey-v his hand cupped your chin, forcing you to look up. “Michael.”

You nodded. Your hands reached for his cock, straining to wrap around him.

The only notice of the effect you had was the clench of his jaw.

“Michael,” he repeated, voice almost a growl.

“Michael.”

He nodded.

“Condom?” he asked, jutting back on his heels.

Your hand slowly worked his cock, the pre-cum beading at the tip. You shook your head. You were both clean, you were on the pill but tonight you wanted to feel everything, wanted him to even fill you-

Robby bent his head, spitting down on his cock and your hand. For a moment that's all it was, you hand moving on his cock as your other circled your clit. “God... your hand.... missed you...”

When your strokes got heavier, faster Robby's head fell back and he groaned. His cock was pink, heavy in your hand-

Quickly he grabbed your wrist and threw it off before grabbing the hilt of his own cock and slowly pushing into you.

His throat strained as he groaned at the push in and your back arched into him. “Fuck!” he fell atop you, arms braced at either side. “Shit- ah-”

Your arm wrapped around his shoulders, keeping you in.

“God, you make me crazy,” he uttered, searching for your lips.

The two of you collided in a mess of salvia, tongue, lips as he pushed into you, catching your gasps.

Eventually the rock of his hips grew steady. The creak of your old bed echoed the moves of him against you.

“Shit- ah-” he groaned, shaking off the sweat and the tension.

“Michael,” you said, holding him in closer. “I want you to... go hard.”

Hard he could do. Soft he could do. He would do anything you asked.

His tongue darted out, swiping your lips. “You missed me?”

“So much, so much, so much,” you pulled him down till his weight tested yours, cock deep. “On me.”

“Okay, okay,” he mumbled to himself. He put all his weight down, crashing your body into his bed. He wasn't as young as he once was. By no means but if you wanted it, he'd give it.

Pressed into you his cock went far and deep and he couldn't fully withdraw so it was small, maddening movements.

“Oh god,” he uttered.

You moaned, loud, as he wanted and he was breathless, groaning.

The dull thump of your headboard banged on the wall and something on your bedside table fell off.

Robby's arm stretched out, grabbing your hand and stretching your arms to the headboard, trying to steady it. With the stretch of the bodies he reached that spot in you.

“Aw fuck!” You yelled out, louder than anticipated. “Michael I'm gonna- I'm gonna-”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” he grunted with you. His other hand threw to your hip, holding your pelvis flush into you. “Fuck!”

In seconds he let go inside of you and the gush of his cum and the sound of the wet bodies threw you over the edge. His clutch on your hand grew tighter as his body trembled with yours, the spurts of your releases cooling down.

If this was casual Robby wouldn't have lingered, he'd have pulled out, flashed you a smile before using the bathroom.

He moved slower, staying till the both of you were spent. He kissed you, soft and sweet, lips moving around to remember the taste. “I'll move out,” he whispered as he took out his cock.

You stole a glance of both of your release leaking from you and around him before Robby moved aside.

He didn't flee, he didn't go to the bathroom. He pulled the sheets from under your bodies and got the both of you into bed. He laid beside you.

Robby tucked you under his arm, sweat on both your bodies cooling as you laid together. “Feels better when we're serious.” His fingers moved slow on your shoulder, delicate touches like a feather.

If he woke with a new thought, woke with regret you'd deal with it. For the moment you allowed yourself to feel the thump of his heart as the two of you slowly lulled to sleep.

Your alarm was the first thing you picked up in the morning. It's beeping ringing in your ear as you moved to turn the thing off or throw it at the wall-

A weight over your stomach made the effort harder but you got it.

Last night came back to you in the spill of scrubs on the floor and the ache between your legs.

Robby stirred next to you. Last night.

He stayed.

“You on today?” he asked, morning voice rough. You got a look at him, it was a rare sight you got to see him in morning light. His eyes were still shut, his face without the stress the day job gave him. He asked so casual, as if this was a morning routine you'd slipped into years ago.

You hummed, nodding and readying to move-

His arm tightened, drawing you in. “Call in sick.”

You chuckled, but your eyes closed. You promised yourself five more minutes. “My attending might have something to say about that.”

Robby grumbled. “Have a word with him, I'm sure you can be very persuasive.”

Somewhere in you apartment you heard the front door open and close, voices moving around the place.

You hadn't closed the door.

“Hey! We brought coffee and bagels!” called Santos.

“We're sorry for leaving you- we- huh?” you heard Whitaker. “What the?”

The clothes on the floor. The scrub top that would have his doctors badge on it.

You groaned and suddenly Whitaker and Santos were passing the doorway, one smirking, the other shocked.

Robby beside you didn't even stir.

“Good morning, Doctor Robby!” called Santos.

He only lifted a hand in greeting before making sure the covers were over the two of you.

You reached for something heavy, landing on a cushion and aiming at the door. It closed in front of your laughing friends.

Safe to say the deal was off.

holytrinityofsantos

May 11

Pittsburgh fight club

Dr Robby x reader

Summary: a local bar fight packs out triage, and you unfortunately are the one that gets clocked. Luckily your favourite attending is the one to patch you up.

Pre-relationship Robby x reader warm fuzzies

Warnings: mentions of blood and violence

Requests are open for all characters ❤️ please do come say hello if you enjoy

The triage area is a controlled riot. The smell of stale beer, blood, and cheap cologne hangs thick in the air. A line of bruised, bleeding, and belligerent men—and a few women—snakes from the check-in desk toward the glass doors that lead into the main ER.

Frank Langdon stands at the center of it, his usual upbeat demeanor strained as he tries to triage a man with a deep gash over his eyebrow while simultaneously directing a wobbly, intoxicated woman toward a chair. Javadi hovers nearby, looking pale and overwhelmed, clutching a clipboard to her chest like a shield.

"Y/N!" Langdon calls out, relief evident in his voice. He gestures toward the far end of the line where two large men are posturing, their shirts torn and stained with blood. "See if you can get those two separated before they decide to finish what they started in here. Javadi, focus on vitals for the ones who can sit still."

One of the men, a burly guy with a shaved head and a split lip, shoves the other, a lanky man with a black eye.

“Hey, hands to yourself please gentlemen.” You speak with authority, voice sterner than you think it had been in a while.

You position yourself between the two men, gently palming each of their chests to separate them.

“Dr Langdon can see one of you in bay 2,” you say pointing to a free curtained bay, “and you sir please go to bay 9” you point the other man in the opposite direction.

The burly man glares down at you, his breath reeking of whiskey and aggression. "He started it!" he slurs, pointing a thick finger at the lanky man. "Smashed a bottle over my head!"

The lanky man scoffs, wiping blood from his nose. "You called my wife a whore!"

Langdon appears at your shoulder, his presence solid.

“And now you're both in my emergency room, bleeding on my floor," he says, his voice dry.

He looks at the burly man. "You. Bay 2. Now." He points to the lanky man. "You. Bay 9. If either of you moves toward the other, security will escort you out, and you can explain your injuries to the police in a holding cell instead."

The threat, delivered in Langdon's steady tone, works. Both men grumble but shuffle off in opposite directions, shooting venomous looks over their shoulders.

Langdon lets out a long sigh, running a hand through his hair. You snort, the sheer amount of people filtering through astounding you.

“How many can fit in one bar?” You ask incredulously.

"Apparently, the entire population of Pittsburgh," Langdon mutters, already turning to intercept a young woman clutching a bleeding hand wrapped in a bar towel.

He guides the woman toward Javadi, who jumps into action, her movements stiff but precise. Langdon glances back at you, a tired but genuine smile touching his lips. "Thanks for the assist.”

You pass the next twenty minutes quietly with Langdon and Javadi, pausing to help Victoria tie her hair back after a particularly messy nose bleed with your spare tie.

Soon the the flow of people start to dry up and only a few men are left, one particularly surly. Langdon tries to shuffle him into a bay, the man shouting and swearing as he’s shepherded across the floor. You move over to help, opening the curtains to the last free bay.

You don’t see the man’s elbow fly towards you until you feel the crack against your head, pure hot pain above your eye.

“Shit.” You curse, hand flying up to find your brow wet.

The world tilts for a second, a burst of white-hot stars exploding behind your eyes. You stagger back a step, your hand coming away from your forehead slick and warm with blood. The metallic scent of it fills your nose.

"Hey!" Langdon's voice cuts through the ringing in your ears, sharp and furious. He shoves the surly man—now wide-eyed with shock—back against the gurney with a force that rattles the metal frame. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

The man stammers, his bravado gone. "I didn't mean…it was an accident!"

But Langdon isn't listening. He's already turning to you, his hands coming up to gently grasp your shoulders, steadying you. "Y/N, look at me. Can you see clearly? How many fingers am I holding up?" He holds up two fingers, his expression tight with concern.

Across the room, the doors to the main ER slam open. Robby stands there, having heard the commotion, Santos wild eyed behind him at the sense of drama. His eyes lock onto the blood streaming down the side of your face, then dart to the man Langdon has pinned. His face goes utterly, terrifyingly blank.

You can’t see anything out of your right eye, the blood swelling down against your eyelashes making it impossible. Your head is pounding.

“Two I think…” you stammer, using your left eye to lock onto Langdon’s fingers. You don’t notice the rest of the room, the world jittering.

Langdon's hands tighten on your shoulders, his expression shifting from concern to something sharper, clinical.

“Okay, okay, look at me. Follow my finger." He moves his index finger slowly from left to right in front of your good eye, tracking your gaze.

“You've got a hell of a laceration. Probably needs stitches. Can you walk?"

Before you can answer, Robby is there. He doesn't ask questions. He simply steps between you and Langdon, his body a solid, unyielding barrier. His hands come up to cup your face, his thumbs pressing gently against your temples to hold your head still. His touch is firm, clinical, but there's a tremor in his fingers that betrays him.

"Look at me," he commands, his voice low and utterly focused. His eyes scan the wound above your brow, assessing the depth, the flow of blood. "Pupils are reactive. No obvious orbital fracture. Langdon, get me a suture kit, sterile gauze, and lidocaine. Now."

You are too dizzy to make much sense of what is happening. You’d have been having a heart attack realising Robby’s hands were against your face otherwise. You vaguely see Santos in the corner of your eye coming out of the ER, clearing a curtained bay with whip fast speed.

“Bring her over here.” She calls out when she’s done, eyes throwing daggers at the drunk man still trying to apologise next to you.

He attempts to put a hand on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Robby’s head snaps toward the man, his eyes blazing with quiet fury. “Don’t touch her,” he says, the words low and deadly. It’s not a shout, but it carries the force of a command that makes the man flinch and jerk his hand back as if burned.

Without another word, Robby slides one arm behind your back and the other under your knees, lifting you effortlessly against his chest. The movement is swift, decisive, and it sends a fresh wave of dizziness through you as the world tilts. He carries you the short distance to the curtained bay Santos has prepared, his stride long and purposeful. The scent of his woody cologne, mixed with the sharp, clean smell of antiseptic and the coppery tang of your own wound, fills your senses.

He lays you down on the gurney with a surprising gentleness, his hands lingering for a moment to ensure you’re settled before he steps back. Santos is already at your side, snapping on gloves and tearing open a package of sterile gauze.

You feel woozy from the movement and feel tears in your eyes mixing with the blood, but try to tense yourself. You couldn’t cry at work, not even for this.

"Don't," Robby's voice cuts through the haze, softer now, but no less firm. He's standing at the head of the gurney, his hands returning to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away the mingled blood and tears with a touch so gentle it aches. "You just got clocked in the face by a drunk idiot. You're allowed to react."

His eyes hold yours, his gaze intense, grounding. "Santos is going to clean the wound. It's going to sting. Then I'm going to numb it and stitch it. You'll feel pressure, but no pain. Do you understand?" He waits for your nod, his thumbs still stroking your temples in slow, soothing circles—a gesture that feels far more intimate than the clinical environment.

Santos leans in, her usual smirk absent, replaced by focused efficiency. "Alright, cutie pie, deep breath. This is the cold part." She presses the antiseptic-soaked gauze against the cut.

Robby’s hands on your face were intensely warm and left you feeling even fuzzier. The world still spun around you but his presence was extremely comforting.

Santos worked efficiently, her scowl deepening when her usual nickname didn’t bring the smile it normally did to your face. She wondered briefly if she could throw out the asshole who did this.

The antiseptic burns, a sharp, biting cold that makes you suck in a breath through your teeth. Robby's hands tighten slightly, his thumbs pressing more firmly against your temples, a steady counterpoint to the sting.

"Almost done," Santos murmurs, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. She swaps the gauze for a fresh piece, dabbing at the edges of the wound. "It's a clean slice, but it's deep. Gonna need at least four, maybe five stitches. You're gonna have a hell of a shiner, but it'll heal clean."

Robby doesn't look at the wound. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, his gaze unwavering.

“Look at me," he says again, his voice a low, steady anchor. "Just keep looking at me. Don't think about the needle."

He releases one hand from your face to accept the syringe of lidocaine Santos hands him. "Small pinch," he warns, his voice softening further. "Then numbness."

“Will it scar?” You slur out, words making your head feel woozier, “always wanted to look dangerous.” You huff out a half-smile at your own joke, stinging retreating back.

Robby’s expression, which had been all sharp, clinical focus, softens at your words. A faint, almost smile touches his lips, though his eyes remain dark with concern.

“It’ll scar,” he confirms, his voice low. “A small one. Right here.” His thumb, still cradling your cheek, brushes the skin just beside the wound, a feather-light touch. “But you already look dangerous. Trust me.”

He accepts the suture kit from Santos, his movements precise. The needle glints under the harsh lights.

“Keep looking at me,” he murmurs, leaning in closer. His face fills your vision, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that anchors you. “Just me.”

You feel a slight pressure, a tugging sensation, but no pain as he begins the first stitch. His breath is warm against your forehead. He works in silence, his concentration absolute, his gaze flicking between the wound and your eyes. Each stitch is placed with meticulous care.

You reach out and grasp a handful of Robby’s shirt, mind too full of stuffing to do anything except seek comfort.

Robby freezes for a second, the needle hovering above your skin. He looks down at your hand fisted in the soft cotton of his scrub top. His breath catches, a soft, sharp inhale that you feel more than hear.

He doesn't pull away. Instead, he leans in even closer, his body a solid, warm presence beside the gurney. "Almost done," he whispers, his voice rough. He resumes stitching, his movements slower now, more deliberate. You can feel the steady, strong beat of his heart beneath your palm.

Santos returns, her eyes darting to your hands on your attending’s chest. She says nothing, just moves to the other side of the gurney to check your vitals on the monitor, giving the two of you a semblance of privacy behind the half-drawn curtain.

Robby finishes his stitching, careful loops that pull tight in a neat row. He is careful to place the equipment in a sterile tray and removes his gloves with a twang.

One hand moves to smooth your hair away from your wound, whilst the other covers your own against his chest, warmth encasing you and the beat of his heart under your palm.

“You were a brave girl for your stitches.” Robby murmurs, a small teasing smirk pulling at his mouth.

You could tell you were feeling better by the embarrassment that hit you, Robby’s words leaving you fuzzy in a way no concussion could be blamed for.

#the pitt #the pitt x reader #dr robby x reader #dr robby headcanons #dr robby #robby robinavitch #michael robinavitch #robby x you #the pitt headcanons #trinity santos #hurt/comfort #the pitt hurt/comfort #Robby hurt/comfort

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