โข a sometimes marvel enthusiast โข audhd haver โข a proud and chronic user of the oxford comma, pre ai โข in a constant existential crisis โข too many spotify playlists with only 5 songs โข trying to be a dainty girlโข
๐๐. & ๐๐๐. ๐๐๐๐๐
part I part II
๐๐๐๐ญ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ข๐ง๐ ryland grace & fem!reader
๐ฌ๐ฒ๐ง๐จ๐ฉ๐ฌ๐ข๐ฌ you're the medic on the hail mary and come across a photo that must've slipped from your personal supplies which changes the entire dynamic between you and who you thought was your co-worker.
๐ฐ๐จ๐ซ๐ ๐๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐ญ 1.6k
๐๐ซ๐๐๐ญ๐จ๐ซโ๐ฌ ๐ง๐จ๐ญ๐ i CANNOT believe it has taken people this long to jump on the ryan gosling train. as always, i this nawt proof-read whatsoever #lewl. nerdy silly white boy with biceps, i want you.
you thought you had it all figured out.
well...most of it anyway.
you thought that you know who you are, why you're here, etcetera or whatever, but a single photograph you discovered that had slipped into a nook of the ship has single-handedly destroyed all of the progress you've made in terms of remembering yourself.
your breath shakes just as badly as your hands, and you feel a nervous pounding in your chest accompanied by a pattern of drums in your ears.
this photo can't be real.
you repeat your name in your head. you are an astronaut, and one hell of a doctor. you are on this ship to assist in completing a mission with your co-worker, ryland grace, the only other crew member to survive the journey's coma.
co-worker.
so why the hell are you staring at a photo of the two of you kissing.
there's a little more context to it though, which actually makes everything a hundred times worse.
there's an arch decorated with an array of lush white flowers that frames you both on a sunny spring day, grace is dipping you into the kiss, a beaming expression on each of your faces as he does so. he looks happy, so you look happy, and you're also dressed in a traditional white gown while grace is wearing a tailored suit, but not black, becauseโ
"black is boring," ryland uttered, elbow propped up onto your dining table while his chin rested on his fist. you looked up at him from your laptop where you were browsing websites to get him a suit.
"then don't wear black," you giggled. he reached for your left hand to toy with your fingers, eventually brushing a thumb over your engagement ring. "i thought you said you wanted 'traditional'," he teased.
you scoffed, "i did not say that!"
"you did say that."
"ryland."
"honey," he mocked with a smile. you grinned and smacked his hand away, tending back to your laptop.
"obviously if you don't want to do something, you don't have to do it. and i agree with you, black is boring."
ryland sighed dreamily, tilting his face into his palm after settling his elbow up onto the table again. "i love us. we're so compatible," he hummed.
you smiled shook your head a little in amusement, eyes still on your screen. "you're ridiculous."
"yeah, well, you're marrying me. probably makes you the ridiculous one."
ryland then wordlessly took the laptop from you to scroll through the options, then clicked on one of the sites. he scrolled a little more in silence, squinting slightly even though his glasses were right there that he could've put on. ryland clicked on the touchpad once more before turning the screen to you, dead serious.
"i want this one."
you blinked at the screen. he had pulled up one of the site's photos of one of their models showing off a tacky purple suit and an ugly gold tie, all pulled together by a matching purple fedora. your eyes flicked to your groom-to-be.
"now you're really being ridiculous."
"what's wrong with it?"
"you'll look like a pimp."
"nothing wrong with that," he shrugged.
you snatched your laptop back and deleted the tab with another smile and shake of your head. this time, he smiled back.
"i love you," he uttered.
you looked up again, lingering in those three words. he slid his hand towards you, palm facing the ceiling.
"i love you too," you murmured back.
you slid your hand into his, and ryland laced your fingers together, giving you a squeeze.
you thought you would carry on from there, but of course ryland had to open his mouth again; "even if i dress like a pimp?"
"oh my god."
the memory ended in a flash, and you dropped the photograph. looks like grace settled on a brown corduroy suit with a burgundy tie for a pop of colour. your own voice echoes in your head again; 'the brown will look nice in spring.', as does ryland's; 'i do look incredible in brown, don't i?'
you feel like your wedding ring is burning into your skin.
both you and grace knew you were married via your rings of course, you just couldn't remember who to yet, and it never occurred to either of you that it might've been to each other because why would it?
you take a deep breath, closing your eyes, before picking up the photo again to go find the supposed love of your life.
you navigated your way through the ship with a sense of urgency, photograph clutched in hand. when you heard a crash and a clumsy โuh-ohโ coming from the lab, you stopped by the doorway. suddenly the urgency disappeared. maybe this could wait until tomorr-
โwho goes there?โ
graceโs chair creaks when he leans back to get a peek of you hiding behind the doorframe.
when you look at him now, it all comes together.
ever since the two of you woke up from the coma, thereโs been a gravitational pull that brings you two together. in terms of the mission, you operate in perfect unison and create such a steady flow that it makes everything feel oddly domestic. grace flicks a couple of switches there, you repair a part of the control panel here.
every time you both finish a task, itโs tradition to wrap it up with a high-five. however, one time when the two of you got too lost in the work, your fingers ended up intertwined and fell to your sides in a ten second hand-holding session where neither of you flinched.
as soon as the both of you realised, you each recoiled and spent a few beats staring at each other, marvelling at how natural the encounter felt like it was a subconscious effort. all grace could do was clear his throat and walk off, saying something about lunch.
โwell, well, look who decided to come back,โ grace quips as he wipes down a piece of equipment with a cloth. his glasses are practically hanging off of his face as they so usually do.
โyโhad me thinkinโ you were going for a space walk.โ
โgrace.โ
โwithout a helmet.โ
โgrace.โ
โyeah?โ
he finally looks up to see you holding out the photograph.
rylandโs hands freeze before he gently sets down the XRF analyser which looks to be like it was dropped in ramen water.
he rises from his chair, eyes refusing to peel away from the picture as he steps closer. he carefully plucks it from your fingers and slides his glasses onto his face properly to look down at it. white flowers, white dress, and a brown suit, because black is boring.
his head lifts back up to meet your nervous gaze.
โweโre married.โ
it sounds like heโs saying it to himself rather than you.
you nod, trying to see through the blank stare heโs giving. dr. ryland grace, possibly one of the smartest men from earth has had his brain turned to mush by a photograph.
โyouโre myโฆweโre-โ
โmarried, yes, i know,โ you snap.
โoh my god."
he inhales.
"oh my god..."
he blinks.
he pauses.
"oh my god-"
"grace!" you plead.
"you're my wife, and we're-โ
โyes, grace, weโre married. can you please say literally anything else?โ
he takes a deep breath, then suddenly hands you the photo again to start pacing around in a circle with his hands on his hips.
โgraceโฆ?โ
โyeah.โ
โare you okay?โ
he stops, facing away from you and rubs a hand across his face.
โumโฆโ he pivots to you on the spot, โi think so.โ
you remain standing with your feet together, slightly curled in on yourself as you hold the photograph in front of you with two hands.
โdo youโฆremember anything?โ
ryland settles both hands on top of each other on the back of his head, inhaling deeply. โiโm starting to,โ he says with the exhale, โdo you?โ
you nod. โbits and pieces.โ
you drag your feet over to one of the lab tables and sit on the surface, staring down at the photo.
what now?
โi proposed to you at the beach,โ ryland says.
you look up, and in his eyes, you see waves and a bright grey sky. you smile.
โyou did,โ you hum, setting the photo down on the table next to you. โwhen you got on one knee, you were too close to the water and it washed up on you so your pants got soaked.โ
you giggle at the sudden memory. ryland smiles, โi donโt think i remember that partโฆโ
โyes you do, youโre just embarrassed,โ you grin. โand you stayed on one knee to ask the question because you were too proud to admit you made a mistake even though i was laughing at you.โ
youโre in a fit of giggles now, and ryland just chuckles as he approaches you. his eyes land on the two bands around your finger; your engagement ring, and the basic wedding ring that so clearly matches his now that he looks closer.
suddenly, he reaches for your hand, thumb grazing over the humble gemstone on the engagement ring. your favourite gemstone, he suddenly remembers.
he lets the tender moment pass, then carefully drops your hand to place his hands on his hips.
โlooks cheap. you probably deserve better.โ
you give him a look before your eyes drop to the ring on your finger. you twist it a little, observing the gem from different angles.
โnoโฆitโs actually pretty perfect,โ you decide.
ryland watches you over the rims of his glasses, his heart beating quicker when he catches the complete genuineness in your tone. his eyes flick back down to the photo next to you on the table.
โwe're really married, huh?"
you lift your head, gazing at him with a fond curiosity. what else could you learn to remember about this silly man?
โi guess so,โ you hum.
ryland gives a nod and glances down at his own ring.
โokayโฆโ he murmurs.
then, louder; โthen letโs be scientists and figure this out.โ
Chat guess what I have 4 days off in a row so Clark Kent fic is coming to you soon
Its angsty with happy ending workplace rivals-ish, friends to strangers to rivals to friends to lovers to strangers to lovers HAHAHA Clark is kind of a clueless dummy with unknowing male favoritism and gender equality undertones with surprise smut
Chat guess what I have 4 days off in a row so Clark Kent fic is coming to you soon
Its angsty with happy ending workplace rivals-ish, friends to strangers to rivals to friends to lovers to strangers to lovers HAHAHA Clark is kind of a clueless dummy with unknowing male favoritism and gender equality undertones with surprise smut
I'm acting like a Victorian man seeing ankles for the first time. Please don't tease me like this. (And hear my slutty little brain out, Gunn. Yes, even the groin cut.)
cw: +18 only, smut, p in v, choking/breathplay, topping from the bottom? attempted/failed dom!reader so so filthy I just had an urge to get this out sorryyyy
Robby whoโs amused when you tell him you want to be in control one night, knowing he prides himself in doing all the work like a good dom does
Robby whoโs being as good as he can, letting you sit in his lap on the couch, his arms across the back cushions as you tease him with little grinds against his still-covered, hard cock
Robby who decides to tease you back โLook at my sweet girl acting all toughโ โshut up Mikeyโ โyou and I both know you donโt want me to do thatโ
Robby who thrusts his hips up against your cunt, hearing you moan out as his underwear rubs against your clit โbut baby I thought you wanted to be in controlโ
Robby who grunts under his breath when you finally take his cock out of his boxers, whoโs hands have the cushions in a white knuckle grip to not grab you as you tease his tip back and forth over your wet opening
Robby who chuckles when you suddenly sink down on him, and try to hide your whine
Robby whoโs smile falters just a little bit when your smaller hand smooths up his chest to his neck, putting just a little pressure on the sides of his throat
Robby who grins wolfishly as you start riding him, attempting to control the speed โgonna choke me out, sweetheart? you sure you have it in you?โ โtold you to shut up didnโt I?โ
Robby who really does try to not steal any control, but canโt help it when he thrusts a little to much up into you, a broken moan falling from your mouth
Robby who just doesnโt stop talking, no matter how much you tighten your grip on his throat โlook at you trying so hard, babyโ โtrying to be all big and bad and mean hm?โ โcome on sweetheart you can go harder canโt youโ
Robby who nearly growls when you whine on top of him, your thighs burning, your face all pouty and huff out his name โMikeyโฆโ
Robby who always gives his girl what she wants โyou want me to take over baby?โ With a smirk his hands finally leave the back of the couch as soon as you nod โmy sweet lil girl doing too much work isnโt she? Iโll help you out, donโt worryโ
Robby who makes you keep choking him while he fucks your body on his cock, hands tightly gripping your waist โyou did so good baby, but let me do it yeah?โ
Robby whoโs cock has never been harder with your hands around his throat, grunting and groaning as he uses you like a human flesh light
Robby who might be just the tiniest smidge of being gone when he says โyouโre still in charge baby, so tell me what to do. you want me to make you cum? choke me harder and tell me then sweetheartโ
Robby who moans when you do it, making his breathing harder when you said โmake me cum, Michael, cum inside me and then make me cum like a good boyโ
Robby whoโs never cum so hard in his entire life, gasping out a curse as he pulls you as far as he can onto his cock and fills you, your hands releasing his throat to whine your own release out
Robby who rests his forehead on your sternum as he breaths out a โnice try babyโ earning a playful huff and a tug of his hair
*please tell me if I did a good job I need the reassurance*
**Reblogs appreciated and comments welcomed!**
chat I donโt know where this came from but holy shit
The tension in his neck, his jaw! Those thick thighs, bulging biceps! The adrenaline! My battle-focused man handing back 1A! Oh Big Blue, I love when you're rough and rowdy
pairing - michael โrobbyโ robinavitch x reader
word count - 5.8k
summary - you think robby doesnโt like you. robby thinks youโre pretty.
cw - some derogatory language towards women
a/n - classes started again this week and iโm crying. i need more robby after episode 3 the other night. if robby dies, i die, so heโs not leaving cuz i KNOW they canโt let me leave. ffs wear a helmet you beautiful idiot >:( but this was super fun to write hope you like it! i'm thinking of writing a robby POV version too (p.s. can you tell i know nothing about pool?)
---
You kind of thought silly crushes were in the past for you. You were a grown up, with a grown up job, and grown up friends. You werenโt supposed to get butterflies when their hand brushed yours, or get excited just by them saying good morning. It was childish, and you didnโt have time for it.
That was until Michael Robinavitch entered the picture.
It wasnโt entirely the same; instead of the giddiness you felt in high school, you felt frustration whenever those butterflies flew. You were a little annoyed with yourself for letting a girlish adoration get the best of you. Adult relationships were simpler because you knew how to communicate better by that point. You saw someone, you thought they were cute, you asked them out.
Therein laid the issue. See, Robby was your coworker. Youโre boss, kind of. You were a nurse, newly hired after moving to Pittsburgh, you had been working at Allegheny for just about eight months, and you were happy there. There were many reasons you could not ask Robby out. For one, you had just gotten out of a relationship a couple months prior, an almost decade long one, one you moved halfway across the country for, and you were still untangling that web. For another, you were sure HR would not be thrilled about romance between two ER workers.
And most importantly, you were 85% sure that he had absolutely zero interest in you.ย
When you confided in Dana (somewhat drunkenly) about your feelings for Robby, and how unbelievably disinterested he was, she tried to console you, saying โheโs gruff with everybody!โ
You knew he was. That was the problem. He didnโt seem to treat you any differently than Langdon, or Perlah. He liked you, sure. Thought you were a good nurse, admired your drive and skill, but that was the extent. Every once and a while youโd forget yourself, let a flirty line slip, and heโd chuckle, and joke back, but what else was he supposed to do?
You were glad it was Dana whom you confided in, and not one of the residents, or god forbid Princess or Perlah or Jesse, the gossips. Still, whenever she wiggled her eyebrows at you behind Robbyโs back, you had your regrets.
Like now. You had just finished up a trauma, MVA victim with multiple fractures and internal damage. He was talking one minute, crashed the next, and it had taken you and the doctors a while to solve his hemorrhaging.
But in the end he was stabilised and sent up to surgery, which you were all too happy to tell his husband, who hadnโt been in the car with him, but was waiting outside the room for almost an hour on tenterhooks.
When you finished up there, you mozied over to the nurseโs station to get started on your charting while you had a second. You never knew how long a second would last in the pitt. Robby was drinking some coffee by the breakroom, but he made his way over to lean on the counter next to your desk while he sipped. As you logged in you could feel his eyes on you, but you kept your neck straight forward, determined not to meet his gaze. It was those devastating brown eyes that hit you the hardest, and you already felt weak that day.
โNice catch on the DIC,โ he said gruffly.
โThanks,โ you said carefully, smiling but keeping your eyes on the screen. โIt was a pretty straightforward case.โ
โNo, it wasnโt,โ he said. โFor some of the med students in there, that was their first time seeing it. I didnโt think to check his platelets.โ
Your chest swelled with pride, mixed with exasperation and embarrassment.
โYou would have gotten there eventually,โ you teased.
Which was true. Whether they realized it ahead of time or not, the shockingly low level would have stood out when his labs got back. But maybe you should give yourself some credit, you were running on little sleep, hour nine of your shift.
Robby chuckled, warm and raspy. You needed to get away from him.
You clicked out of your account, chart half finished, and stood.
โIโm gonna go check on Mr. Wallace,โ you said breezily.
As you leaned over the formica to grab a tablet, Dana caught your eye with a smirk. You cleared your throat and looked away, glowering slightly. Robby straightened up.ย
โNeed any help?โ
โNope, all good,โ you said, hoping you sounded less stiff than you felt. โJust some simple sutures. And a reminder to not stop taking his propranolol just because his blood pressure gets better.โ
You snuck a quick peak at his face, which was a mistake. His warm eyes crinkled in a small smile, salt and pepper beard tugged upward. And those damn glasses. You swivelled on your heel and stalked off to North 3, clutching the ipad tightly to your chest.
Get it together, you told yourself harshly.
By hour eleven, you were very ready to go home. Your back ached, your bra was itchy, and you were having a little trouble focusing your eyes on the screen. You had just cleared a patientโs discharge paperwork when out of the corner of your eye you saw a cup placed on the table in front of you. Your eyes trailed up to the hand that placed it and saw Robbyโs face. It wasnโt particularly happy or sad, just blank.
โThank you,โ you stuttered. โBut I donโt drink โโ
โItโs tea,โ he cut you off.
You were taken aback. You didnโt realize anyone else was even aware of the tea bags that sat forgotten at the back of a cupboard in the staff room. You were pretty sure you were the only one that ever used them. He probably bullied a poor intern into making it for you. Still, you were a little touched. As you gazed into his eyes, speechless, he spoke again.
โYouโve still got an hour left on your shift and you look exhausted,โ he said. โKeep going strong, we need you. Itโs still a zoo out there.โ
He grabbed a chart and left to see a patient. Your unconscious smile fell back to a frown. Well, there went that. You slapped your cheeks and sipped your tea. It was piping hot, and just how you liked it. Plain with just a bit of honey.
That time, you didnโt see Danaโs knowing glance from across the room.ย
***
You were back again the next day, third back-to-back shift of three, and you were not happy to be out in the rain. At seven in the morning, no less.
To avoid spending your whole day soggy, you commuted in some sweats, planning to change in the bathroom. As you walked in through the front doors, late, tips of your toes and cuffs of your pants soaked, you almost ran head first into Robby. You had been too busy cursing yourself for not owning any rainboots. He steadied you with his large strong hands, and you tried to pretend your daze was due to being jostled around rather than the burning where he was touching you.
โThere you are,โ he said, and he let you go. โWhat happened?โ
His gaze was moving steadily down your body, taking in your lazy pants and toothpaste stained college hoodie, eyebrows slightly raised.ย
You huffed and took a few steps back. Each one squelched with rain, and you grimaced, tugging self consciously at your rain jacket, hoping your baby hairs werenโt frizzing up too much.
โI still havenโt gotten around to getting a new car,โ you sighed. โHad to take the bus.โ
โWhat happened to your car?โ
โTechnically I shared it with Nick,โ you said, avoiding his eyes. โI got the apartment, he got the car.โ
His mouth straightened into a tense line, and, afraid of pitying remarks, you continued on quickly, crossing your arms.
โAny chance you have an extra pair of socks?โ
โUhโ โ he took one more hefty glance at your attire โ โI bet Dana does.โ
With a stiff nod, you started towards her desks. After a few more loud steps, you gave up, toed your sneakers off, picked them up and continued in your damp socks. Your face was burning by the time you reached the nurseโs station, but Dana either didnโt notice or was nice enough not to comment.
โAnyone got any dry socks?โ
Her, Princess, and Donnyโs eyes snapped to your hunched figure, filling almost at once with mirth.
โJesus, kid,โ said Dana, taking off her glasses while Donny snickered. โWhat, you swim here?โ
Your hands moved to your hips. You were starting to create a puddle, which you didnโt want Esme to have to clean up.
โSocks?โ
โYou have got to just suck it up and get a car,โ said Princess, as Dana pulled a fresh pair from her mom-bag of mysteries. โYouโve been broken up for almost three months!โ
โThanks,โ you muttered, snatching the socks. โI appreciate the life advice.โ
The three of them were still laughing as you shuffled off to the bathroom. When you emerged in dry clothes, you once again found Robbyโs path intersecting with yours. This time, you both made sure to stop before you collided.
โDr. Robby,โ you nodded.
โYou lookโฆ dry,โ he said.
โUm, thanks,โ you said, tugging your sleeves.
You automatically fell into work, walking towards the ambulance bay while Robby filled you in on the incoming trauma, tree collapsed on a family's house. Luckily, none of the kids were in range of falling plaster and wood, but the dad had some pretty gnarly looking bruises and a head injury. When you reached the double doors, he stopped you from splitting off with the touch of a hand to your elbow. You whipped back around fast enough to be embarrassing.
โNext time it rains, just call me, and Iโll pick you up,โ he said, grabbing some gloves.
Your heart stuttered.
โOh, thatโs okay,โ you wave off awkwardly. โYou donโt need to drive me.โ
โYou were almost twenty minutes late,โ he said bluntly, and he walked off, leaving you with a furrowed brow and sinking disappointment.
With a sigh, you turned and stomped off to prep Trauma 2.
The dad ended up being fine, a couple broken ribs and a mild concussion. You smiled so hard as you watched the mom and all three children crowd around Robby and give him grateful hugs, you had to excuse yourself. Dana grabbed you quickly, asking you to check up on a Mr. Weil who found himself with multiple staples in his hand.
โIโm not gonna lie, Iโm sort of foisting him off on you,โ she muttered, handing you the tablet with his info. โHeโs given me kind of a hard time so far. Not so happy to be here.โ
โWho is?โ you half-joked. โI got him, Dana, donโt worry about it.โ
โNot so happy to be hereโ was an understatement on Danaโs part. Mr. Weil was a clean shaven, gelled haired, calf-implanted nightmare. Did you know his suit was Armani? It probably cost more than your apartment, but you werenโt about to admit that to him. It was clear he had no intention of settling down.
โIt's about time someone paid attention to me!โ he complained as you prepared lidocaine. โYou know Iโve been waiting out there for four hours?!โ
โYes, sir, you mentioned,โ you said, trying not to show any emotion on your face. โUnfortunately we have limited staff, and we see people based on urgency.โ
He scoffed.
โI have good insurance,โ he said. โI make more than all those patients combined! I could pay your salary, sweetie!โ
You were perhaps a little less gentle than you could have been upon injecting his hand. It didnโt particularly upset you to see him wince.
โOw, watch it!โ he yelled. โAre you sure there arenโt any doctors available?โ
โPositive,โ you gritted out. โHold still.โ
โWell, I want plastic surgery down here to consult,โ he commanded.
It took everything in you not to roll your eyes.
โThat definitely wonโt be necessary, sir,โ you said. โYou wonโt even need stitches.โ
โNo stitches? What are you gonna do, let me bleed out?โ
โYou wonโt bleed out from your hand,โ you said, monotone. โDue to the depth of the wounds, stitching them closed could only trap bacteria under your skin. Trust me, you donโt want that.โ
He sucked his teeth in displeasure.
โI want a doctorโs opinion,โ he said.
โI guarantee you it would be the same as mine,โ you said, prodding the area around the staples. โDo you feel that?โ
โNo,โ he said, whiny like a child. โWonโt leaving it open make it more likely to scar?โ
You grabbed your pliers.
โYou are free to pursue whatever medical care you want on your own time,โ you said. โIt looks like the staples are folded on some of them, so Iโm just gonna cut them in half. Howโd you end up with them anyways?โ
He huffed, watching you cut the middle of the staples.
โMy bitch assistant found out about my girlfriend.โ
โWow,โ you said, glaring at his hand. โShe must have been pissed, these are pretty deep.โ
โYeah, sheโs crazy,โ he chuckled meanly. โYou better believe sheโs getting sued for more than sheโs worth.โ
โI do believe,โ you muttered darkly, beginning to pull the metal bits out of the skin.
It would have been almost calming, if it werenโt for whose hand it was. He hadnโt hesitated a second to tell you he was cheating on his girlfriend, didnโt seem the least bit ashamed. You often wondered if that was what had prompted Nickโs leaving. He never admitted anything, but during the last few weeks, there was hardly a night he didnโt spend working late. Or so he said.
Once all the staples were out you flushed the punctures with saline. He wiggled his fingers.
โThis better not mess with my grip,โ he complained. โI have a 110 mile per hour swing.โ
Yeah right.
โYou play?โ he asked as you applied neosporin. โIโm sure youโve got tons of doctors to take you out, but I promise youโve never seen someone play like me. I could teach you a thing or two.โ
You looked up incredulously and he winked. The nerve of this man.
โI donโt think your girlfriend would like that,โ you said, trying to keep your eyes on the task at hand. โOr your assistant.โ
โThey donโt have to know a thing,โ he said in a low voice, leaning closer. โI promise Iโll make it worth your while.โ
He smelled like heโd bathed in expensive cologne. It stung your eyes, and you leaned back, rolling your chair away from his bed.
โIโm good,โ you said, as politely as you could. Which wasnโt the most polite.
His eyes hardened. You grabbed some Kerlix.
โYou think youโre too good for me?โ he seethed. โYouโre just a nurse. And a shit one, too.โ
His voice was rising steadily, and there were only curtains separating you from other patients and workers. You tried to keep going but he snatched his hand away when you reached for it.
โI bet youโre good a dick sucking, because you sure as hell arenโt good at anything else! Whoโd you blow to get this job?โ
You sighed wearily.
โJust let me finish wrapping up your hand,โ you said.
โNo way am I letting you fucking touch me!โ he yelled, jumping to his feet. โI want a doctor, or Iโm suing! You hear me? Iโll sue everyone in this goddamn second grade hospital, you ugly bitch!โ
โHey!โ
The curtain snapped back and Robby stood there, eyebrows set in a heavy line, breathing a little heavier than usual. He didnโt glance at you as he stepped into the space, his eyes locked on to Mr. Weil. Mr. Weil seemed unsure of what to do, sizing Robby up as he approached. Robby was definitely taller, and the look on his face was dark enough to strike fear into much braver men.
โThis is a hospital,โ said Robby, eerily quiet. โAnd there are other patients getting care here. Do you understand that?โ
When Mr. Weil spoke again, it was in a remarkably lower tone, though still tense.
โI donโt know what you expect me to do when Iโve been waiting four fucking hours for a fucking nurse to poke around my wounds like an idiot! I deserve a doctor!โ
Robby crossed his arms.
โThat nurse is incredibly skilled and seasoned. I have no doubts in her ability to treat your minor wounds.โ
โMinor โ?โ
โAnd if you speak that way again, Iโll have to insist you leave this hospital and seek care elsewhere.โ
Mr. Weil gawped. Clearly his supposedly large bank account had gained him great favor in the past, but not with Robby. Without another word, he grabbed the Kerlix from your hand, ushered you out of your seat, and took your place. You watched as he began bandaging the manโs hand, who sat at once, seemingly out of words. A whole mess of emotions was rushing through you, but frustration was one of them.
โRobby, Iโm fine, I can finish the โโ
โGo take a break,โ he said gruffly. โIโll finish up here. To avoid any further disturbances.โ
You couldnโt tell if he was mad at you. The back of his head wasnโt giving you much. Rather than argue to stay with Mr. Weil, you exited the room somewhat angrily, pulling the curtain shut harshly behind you.ย
โWhat was that all about?โ asked Donnie almost immediately, falling into step alongside you.
โJust some asshole unable to take rejection,โ you murmured, discarding your soiled gloves. โThe usual. Need help with anything?โ
You were setting up an IV for elderly little Mrs. Diaz, probable UTI case, when Robby found you again. He knocked on the glass and gestured for you. You excused yourself and stepped past the door.
โHowโs it going in there?โ he asked.
โGood, got a urine sample sent off for culture,โ you said, crossing your arms. โSmell definitely says infection.โ
โRight,โ he said. โWell, I sent Mr. Weil home.โ
โOh,โ you said awkwardly. โUm, good.โ
Robby nodded.
โHe, uh, he didnโt lay his hands on you, or anything, did he?โ
โNo,โ you said quickly. โNo, just yelling.โ
โGood,โ he said. โThatโs good.โ
There was a moment of silence.
โSo, did you need something?โ
โNo, just wanted to keep you updated,โ he said. โLet me know if you need anything else.โ
And he walked away. You let out a breath. Did he not think you could handle patients on your own? It wasnโt the first time one had yelled at you, the entire team had been yelled at more times than you could count, not to mention the violent interactions. But something felt different, the way he had completely taken over for you. Surely he didnโt blame you for Mr. Weilโs reaction. You didnโt think he even knew the whole story.
No, you decided eventually, he just didnโt want a repeat of that explosive event.ย
By the time your shift was winding down, night shifters appearing and demanding locker space, the rain had stopped and you had seen almost thirty patients. Luckily, none were nearly as terrible as Greasy McGolfer, and you didnโt feel entirely dead as you packed up your stuff. You were the last to leave, or so you thought, until Robby appeared at your elbow while you shoved your still damp sweatshirt into your bag.
โHey,โ he said casually.
โOh, hi,โ you said with a smile. โYou headed home?โ
โActually, I was wondering if you wanted to grab a beer?โ
You paused, veins thrumming as they always did when Robby was near. You were planning on getting takeout and watching Legally Blonde for the millionth time until you passed out, but suddenly you felt wide awake. Sometimes everyone sat and drank in the park after a hard shift. The others must have already been waiting there.
โOkay!โ you said. โLetโs go.โ
You didnโt see Robbyโs wide smile as you zipped up your jacket.
You loved the way the city smelled after a rain storm. Fresh, and clean, and familiar. Robby held out a hand to help you jump over some puddles, which you took, as your shoes still werenโt entirely dry and you werenโt interested in worsening the situation. You let go of his arm quickly, so as not to lean into him too much.
Luckily, the rain had forced Robby to drive to work, rather than take his death bike. You had expressed your displeasure of his motorcycle many times. He had said โIโm not taking advice from a nurse who watches Greyโs Anatomy,โ and you had said โjudge all you want, but if anyone ever comes in with a bomb in their chest, Iโll be ready.โ That was the first time youโd gotten a true, deep belly laugh out of him, and the first time youโd thought crap, heโs gorgeous.
To your surprise, he drove you not to the park, but right past it. You didnโt question him as he drove you downtown, to a little irish pub, a real bar. It wasnโt glamorous, but it was certainly a step up from a cooler of Budlights on a wet bench.
Even more surprising was that you didnโt see anyone from work there. You didnโt mention it, as he steered you to a booth in the back and took your coat. He greeted the bartender like he was an old friend and planted you down in a comfortable, cushy red rounded bench.
โDrink?โ
โPlease,โ you said. โDo they have Sapporo?โ
โHoney, I wouldnโt take you out to a place that didnโt have Sapporo.โ
Your face flushed. You had never heard him call anyone honey before. You hadnโt even realized you were smiling until you reached up to feel your burning cheek. You glanced around. You had never been to the bar before, but you were unsurprised Robby had. It was classic, with shelves of liqueur behind the counter, and a real beer tap, and pool in the corner. You doubted any college students were sneaking in.
Robby announced his return by placing a bottle of beer in front of you. He himself had a beer, what looked like an amber ale in a glass. You took a swig. Even in the dim lighting he looked good. Soft eyes, slightly tired, sleeves rolled up and one elbow leaning against the table.
Since the booth was a semi circle, it was hard to be on one side or the other. You could feel his warmth, even with a few feet in between you.ย
โYou come here often, huh?โ you said, thinking of the bartenderโs greeting.
โOh yeah, have for years,โ he said. โSince I was a med student myself.โ
โWow,โ you said. โHas it changed much?โ
โNot a bit,โ he said fondly. โIโm pretty sure Iโm in one of the pictures on the wall, from when we won the Stanley cup in โ09.โ
You breathed a laugh.
โAnd where were you the other four times?โ
โWorking, of course,โ he said.
You hummed in understanding.
โWell, I hate to break it to you,โ you said, putting on a mock-serious expression. โBut Iโm a Bruins fan.โ
He smiled around the rim of his glass.
โOoh, yeah,โ he sighed. โThat might be a problem. See, the Penguins are objectively a better team.โ
You scoffed.
โThey literally arenโt!โ you said. โLast time I counted, we had more cups than you.โ
โOne more,โ he mumbled, eyes alight with humor.
You laughed, giddily. Looking down, you realized that you had subconsciously angled your body inward to face him, and he was doing the same. The two of you were looking awfully isolated in that back booth. You wished someone else would show up, because you were pretty sure that you were about to say something stupid. Something about his eyes, or his laugh. You needed a buffer.
โHey!โ you said suddenly, grabbing his arm. โYou any good at pool?โ
He scrunched his nose.
โIsh,โ he said. โMost of the time I just lose to Abbot.โ
โWell todayโs your lucky day,โ you said, pulling him to his feet. โIโve never played. Get ready to win by a million.โ
He chuckled as you pulled him over to a free table. You picked up a cue and handed one to him, placing your beer down on a side table. He removed a triangle border from around the balls.ย
โAlright,โ he said. โHow much do you know?โ
โI hit the white ball, and the white ball knocks the other balls into the holes,โ you said.
โMore or less,โ he said. โIโll break, and you just watch what I do.โ
You did watch. You watched his hands grip the cue, and his ass as he leaned down over the table. The actual shot, you just caught a glimpse of it. The balls clacked against each other as they rolled in every direction. He straightened up and grabbed his beer.
โSee?โ he said, stepping back. โI mean, that wasnโt good, but thatโs the basic mechanism. You try.โ
You stepped over to where the white ball was, carefully raising your cue so as to not hit the wrong kind of balls. You leaned over and thought that maybe pool was a horrible idea, as your ass bumped his hip. But when he reached an arm around your shoulders to correct your grip, you thought maybe it was the best idea youโd ever had.
Robby ended up winning, which didnโt surprise you. Not only was it your first time playing, but your attention was decidedly elsewhere during the game. Even so, your ribs hurt from laughing and you were using your pool cue for support. You had never seen the fun side of Robby before, the free side, without Gloria or patient satisfaction scores looming over his head. If you thought his smile looked good under the fluorescent lighting of the ER, it was nothing compared to the easy, relaxed version on the outside.
Somehow, almost two hours had passed by the time you sat back down in your booth. You had forgotten all about the others. You were having a great time, alone with Robby, just barely buzzed, and didnโt really care much about what had happened to the rest of the group. Robby had slid a little further into the seat this time, only inches between your thigh and his, and his arm resting on the edge of the booth above your shoulders.
โThey have pretty good pizza here,โ he said, leaning perhaps a little unnecessarily close. โWant a slice?โ
โMm, oh my god, yes,โ you moaned, snacking on pretzels from the bowl on the table. โIโm starving.โ
He smiled, and laid a warm hand over yours for a second, then parted, with an, โIโll be right back.โ
You watched him go happily. As you finished off the dregs of your beer, a middle-aged, tattooed waitress appeared to take the bottle. She smiled kindly at you as she did, showing off dimples and a nose ring.
โCan I get you a refill, hon?โ
โIโm all set, thanks,โ you smiled back.
โYouโre his nurse, right?โ she said, eyes twinkling.
You blinked owlishly up at her.
โWhat?โ
โWell, heโs told us about you, of course!โ she laughed. โYou are even cuter than I pictured! โBout time he โโ
โThank you, Selene,โ said Robby, interjecting quickly, with two plates of cheese pizza in one hand, the other guiding the waitress away from your table.
She waved cheerfully at you as Robby sat down, and you waved back. He slid your pizza to you and you took it, looking at him skeptically.
โYouโve told them about me?โ you asked.
โSure, I mean,โ he took a bite of pizza. โI talk about work, and people at work.โ
Your lungs constricted. You picked up your slice.
โGood things, I hope?โ
โOnly the best,โ he said cheekily.
You bit into your pizza.
Robby was funny. He cracked jokes at work, but they always came under an air of great stress. You could tell he was relaxed with you because he made you laugh until you cried. And interesting too, smart, and well read. Not a surprise, but even on matters outside of medicine, like politics, and history. He listened to the things you said. You could talk, and he would listen.
The more time you spent with Robby, the more you compared him to your ex, and the more desirable he became. It was when you started picturing more moments alone with Robby that you forced yourself to end the night and asked him to take you home.
You both waved goodbye to the bartender, and Selene, who winked, and the conversation never broke in the car. When he pulled up to your apartment, he opened the door for you and helped you out. You chatted as he walked you to your door.
โIโm one hundred percent serious,โ you said. โI heard it from my own ears! At least half the med students have raging crushes on Abbot. I can hear them gushing in the mornings by the lockers.โ
Robby chuckled.
โSo, heโs like โ the McDreamy?โ
You stopped dead with one foot on the cement step. You were smiling from ear to ear.
โYou watched Greyโs Anatomy?โ
โDonโt get too excited,โ he said. โI only made it through about half a season.โ
You tried and failed to straighten your face.
โI canโt believe you watched it,โ you said, quieter than you meant to. โYou hate medical dramas.โ
His lips pulled into a smile so tender, you didnโt want to ever look away. He was backlit unfortunately by the sconce above your foyer door, but you could see every line of his face perfectly. Maybe because you spent so much time memorizing it over charts and med orders.
Then he kissed you.
At first just a soft peck, but he lingered. His lips were as soft as you imagined them. Softer, even. You leaned your head back, allowing him to deepen it. Your hands slipped up, one in his hair, one on his cheek, while he snaked his around your waist. He pulled you closer until your bodies were borderline flush with each other.
You could feel his pulse thrumming fast against your wrist, and his beard was scratching your palm. Maybe it was this, or the feeling of his breath against your cheek as he sighed, that shocked you back into reality.
You pulled away quick, breathing heavily, hands on his shoulders. When you finally looked into his eyes, his pupils were quite dilated.
โWait,โ you breathed. โWait โ what just happened?โ
He cleared his throat.
โWe kissed,โ he said slowly.
You pulled away completely, out of his arms. He took a step back too, now looking confused. You were struggling to find words. Perhaps sensing this, he spoke first.
โIโm, um, sorry if I moved too fast,โ he said earnestly. โI thought โ I had a really good time on the date, and โโ
โDate?โ you interrupted, still feeling a bit hazy from the kiss. โThat was a date?!โ
Now you were both speechless, staring at each other in confusion, air still charged. Robby shoved his hands in his sweatshirt pockets and took another step back. There was a hint of pain in his eyes.
โYeah,โ he said. โOr, I guess I thought it was. I guess not, though, if you had no idea.โ
He sounded tired. You were struggling to comprehend. Robby had asked you out? Robby? The stoic, stern, obsessed with work Robby? And you missed it?!
โLook, Iโm sorry,โ he said. โI thoughtโฆ I had been flirting for a while, I thought you knew how I felt. I thought I made it obvious.โ
A little squeak escaped you.
โObvious?โ you all but whispered.
You chuckled despite yourself. Robby opened his mouth but you cut him off. All of a sudden, you had too many words.
โPlease explain to me how anything youโve ever done or said was obvious,โ you said, turning and pacing back and forth in front of your door. โHow it was supposed to convey anything other than professional appreciation. Seriously, I would like to know!โ
He looked taken aback.
โI donโt know,โ he said. โIโm sorry, okay? Nothing has to change, weโre still coworkers. I thought I had waited an appropriate amount of time. Thatโs what Jack said.โ
โAn appropriate amount of time for what?โ you said frantically.ย
โAfter your break up!โ he said, hands in the air. โAnd look, thatโs on me, I shouldnโt have listened to Abbot. He hasnโt been on a date in twenty years.โ
You started laughing again, but this time, out of joy. Realization was beginning to dawn on you, warm and fuzzy: Michael Robinavitch asked you out. Michael Robinavitch liked you. Liked you enough to discuss it with Abbot. And he had been trying to show it for weeks.
Before Robby could force out another apology, you flung yourself at him, smashing your lips to his. He caught you somewhat awkwardly, but found his footing. This kiss was different. It was desperate, and messy, and giggly, and heated. A tug on his hair caused him to sigh contentedly. His hands wrapped back around you like theyโd been itching to since you pulled away. They left a trail of buzzing in their wake, an excitement you hadnโt felt in years, revitalizing you instantly.ย
You broke apart but stayed close, forehead to sweaty forehead, sharing air.
โYou are terrible at flirting,โ you said with a giddy smile.
He huffed a laugh.
โIโm much more smooth when Iโm not around you,โ he said. โYou make it kinda hard to focus.โ
Your hands suddenly jumped to your face.
โOh my god,โ you hissed. โOh my god.โ
โWhatโs wrong?โ
โI canโt believe you let me go out on our first date like this!โ you said, smoothing down baby hairs that had surely popped up. โIโm in my scrubs, Iโm exhausted, Iโm not even wearing any makeup โโ
He started laughing, and squeezed your sides. You shrieked, hands going over his.
โYouโre adorable,โ he said fondly. โYouโre always adorable.โ
You sighed, letting your head fall to his chest.
โYou only think that because youโve never seen me dressed up,โ you said. โJust wait.โ
โIโm very excited,โ he said, tucking your head under his chin. โBut Iโm fairly certain my opinion wonโt change.โ
You nuzzled further into his neck. You didnโt want him to leave. And he didnโt have to.
โMichael,โ you said dreamily. โLetโs go upstairs.โ
He pulled back with a grin.
โBoth of us?โ
โDefinitely.โ
You pulled out your keys and unlocked the main door.
โYouโre not working tomorrow, right?โ you asked.
โNo,โ he said, hands never leaving your waist. โBut my car โโ
โI have a parking spot,โ you waved away. โItโll still be there tomorrow. You have more important things to worry about.โ
Summary- Postponing his original sabbatical plans, Robby finds a quaint town at one of the most northern points of the country. He's quickly taken aback by a waitress at the first diner he walks into.
Contains- 18+ SMUT MDNI. p in v sex, oral (f receiving), hangover nausea, alcohol use, porn with lots and lots of plot :) lmk if i missed anything!
A/N- the town in this is heavily inspired by my love for northern michigan aka the best part of the best state. divider from @thecutestgrotto !
A soft sun welcomes the calm morning. It streaks through the windshield of Robby's recently swapped Ford Ranger. Unlike his bike, it's built for the curvy, tree lined roads of the small northern town he's traipsing through.
His lids start to droop, stomach growling from the endless hours of driving. He perks up at a neon sign cutting through the pale blue skies. Soon thereafter, wafts of bacon, coffee, and oil drift through his cracked windows, and his stomach does the steering for him.
He's the only car in this parking lot, and he's surprised to see a little white building with pink trimming. Bright pink letters splash across the white wooden door.
Petal and Bloom- it reads in loopy letters, and stepping through the door is like walking through a time machine. It's pure 50s, a vibrant turquoise coating the walls, peach booths lining the width of the pink and white checkered floor.
He can't help but let a chuckle escape his lips, the giddiness knocked completely out of him at the sight of the waitress that greets him.
You're pretty. Gorgeous, even. The shiny gloss of your lips, the curve of your hips, the blush painting your cheeks- they make his heart skip in a way he thought wasn't possible anymore.
You sidle up to him, the sweetest diner dress adorning your figure. It's pink, with a pretty name looped into the stitching. It hangs off your frame with ease, pulled tight at the waist by your white apron. You bounce on your tennis shoes, a sweet smile on your sweet face.
"Hi! Dining in?" You chirp, and it's so perky he debates getting a coffee.
"Yeah, just me," Robby huffs, nodding his head and averting his gaze.
Looking at you nearly paralyzes him, but looking and talking to you? He feels like he's 14 again, talking to Patricia Connors at her locker the week before homecoming.
He slides into the booth you cheerily lead him to, cheeks heating at the new position. He looks up at you now, the early morning sun coating you in a golden glow. Your eyes sparkle in the light, and he swallows a thick lump in his throat.
"What can I get started for you, sir?" You ask, and guilt pools in his stomach at the name.
"Please, call me Robby," he waves you off, and you nod lightly. Your instant obedience gets his heart racing, and he smooths a hand down the back of his neck. It does nothing to self soothe.
Chill out, you gross old man, he kicks himself, clearing his throat before answering you.
"Can I just start with a coffee?" He rasps, eyes trained on the menu in front of him, only darting them up when you walk away.
The sway in your hips nearly knocks him unconscious, dark dots literally starting to pepper his vision. The clink of a cheap plastic glass snaps him out of his senselessness.
He sees water, accompanied by a mug of coffee and a piece of toast he's surprised was made so fast.
"You looked like you were about to pass out," you say, apprehensively.
He makes the mistake of looking up at you, your small smile rendering him breathless.
"Thanks," he breathes, and it's a pathetic croak in the back of his throat.
You chuckle, flipping your notepad open. You poise a pink pen to the paper, a pensive brow pointing right at him.
"What else can I get you?" You ask, and he rattles off his order- unable to resist the bacon he smelled a mile back.
"Alright, that'll be a while," you quip, snapping it shut in the wake of his confusion. "As you can see, we're packed to the brim. There's no way the kitchen will be able to get this out in under an hour. That okay?"
The empty sound of the diner fills the space between you. You're joking. He knows, somewhere deep in his semi-consciousness that you are, but his exhausted haze clouds his logical reasoning.
"What?" Is all he can manage, and he wants to kick himself.
"Nothing, sir," you chuckle, and miraculously, he doesn't feel embarrassed or ashamed, but endeared, almost. "I'll be back shortly."
He watches you walk away again, and curses under his breath. He runs a flat palm down his face, trying to scrub out the weariness in his eyes. His heart pounds a symphony against his chest, ringing even in his ears.
He has no idea what happened back there, can't remember a single time he dropped the ball while flirting. It came so easily to him in Pittsburgh, when he was at his worst.
Another thing clicks, something his therapist has taught him to identify. When we recover from trauma, our brain puts together puzzle pieces that have been scattered around for too long. Or something like that.
He makes a match now, realizing that his desperation for validation projected on his female counterparts, romantic or not. It's jarring for a moment, but he's gotten better at acknowledging it, deciding what he'll do better in the future, and moving on.
It's methodical, the steps to this procedure. It feels right for his brain, to check things off in a sort of list. It feels less daunting, actually doable for him.
Once again, his thoughts are interrupted by plastic dishware clinking on the table. He perks a little, the steam of his eggs and scent of his bacon enough to restart his nervous system.
He nods his head at you, muttering a small thank you, heart sinking a little at the thought of your interaction being over.
Like you can read his thoughts, you slide into the booth across from him, propping your chin in your hand.
"Is this okay?" You ask, smiling. "You seem like you could use a little bit of company."
You have no idea, he thinks.
"That'd be great, thanks," is what he says. He glances around, looking for any other employee in the building. "This won't get you in trouble, will it?" He asks, voice quieter than it was before.
A chuckle stifles past your lips, and the sound swirls around his head like little blue birdies in a cartoon. He feels like a caricature around you, a dopey, wide eyed Popeye, smitten by Olive Oil.
"No," you respond, and relief washes over him. "My best friend owns this place, she's not even clocked in. Still hungover from last night."
There's a teasing lilt to your voice, and he smiles, thinking about what it must be like to know you. To have known you, well enough to work together and live in the same small town together.
He does laugh at this information, eyes finding his plate. He grabs a piece of bacon, nibbling on it lightly without breaking eye contact.
"So, what brings you to our little corner of the world?" You ask him, with the familiarity of a life lived in the same place.
He shrugs, looking at the window to survey the scene. It's remote, located off the highway on the right and a small side street to the left. The left hand road leads to a slightly bigger downtown, if his strained vision proves correct.
"I'm a doctor," he starts, and it feels foreign falling from his lips. "I wasโฆ" he starts, and all the possible things he could say dance around in his brain. "โฆburnt out," is what he lands on.
That's one way to put it.
Your mouth twists downward, brows furrowing. It's not pity, though, and it's not sympathy, either. Both of those would have immediately triggered something deep and angry within him.
No, what he sees is more like empathy. The glint in your eye, the purse of your lips, the nod of your head tells him that you relate. It's what he's choosing to believe, anyway, as he doesn't have any factual information to back this up. He feels it pretty strongly, though, and he's learning that's not always a bad thing.
"I get what that's like," you sigh, and his ears perk up like a dog.
His heart pounds at the immediate validation, swirling a euphoric rush through his veins.
"Yeah?" He asks, voice lilting and a bit pitchy.
You nod again, pretty gold earrings dangling with the motion.
"I just got fired," you admit, and now it's his turn to frown. "That's why I'm working at my best friend's diner at 28."
There's a civil war brewing inside him, the guilt of hearing your age at battle with the giddiness your vulnerability makes him. It all results in a sore tummy, and he shovels scrambled eggs in his mouth to try and tamper it down.
"Please," he says, once he's swallowed, taken a sip of water and grounded himself. "You have your entire life ahead of you."
There's a brief pause in your rapport, then, the weight of his words hanging heavier than intended. You don't seem to mind, unless, again, his calculations are incorrect. He's been proven to read you pretty well so far, though, so he's hopeful.
The sparkle in your eye helps. The sun is now fully up, hanging high in the sky as mid-morning dawns on the both of you. It shines through the window, landing perfectly on you.
It takes his breath away, and he allows himself a moment to sink into it, to enjoy it. Instead of feeling guilty, racking his brain for all the reasons he wouldn't deserve to even enjoy a nice conversation, he indulges. That's what the sabbatical is for, right?
"And you don't?" You ask.
His face crinkles in a smile, dipping his head down to try and hide the wrinkles around his eyes. Shock paralyzes him when he feels your soft fingers tucking under his jaw and lifting him back up to you.
You're smiling when he meets your gaze, but then you give him a showy pout. It sends a cacophony of butterflies loose in his belly, and he feels like a school boy. He sips on his coffee, the caffeine doing nothing to quell the giddiness erupting within him.
"What's that face for?" He asks, and his soft tone surprises him.
"You're not smiling anymore," you jut your bottom lip out, and it's taking everything to not lean over the table, take them between his own lips, and suck.
"Why do I need to smile?" He asks, and feels ridiculous almost instantly.
You deserve to smile, Michael, you deserve to enjoy things, Dr. Parker would say, and he repeats it in his head like a mantra.
"You have these sweet lines around your eyes when you smile," your hand once again brands his skin, now your open palm cupping his cheek.
He's stunned at your abrasiveness, pathetically intrigued by what you have to offer. His cheek heats under your touch, and he spots the tiny smile creeping on your lips.
"They're nice," you remark, removing your hand from his face.
It's cold instantly without your touch, a shiver unzipping his spine at the loss of contact.
The moment floats between you two, vibrant and sparkly like a crystal ball. He knows exactly what his fortune is. He's looking at it.
"So," you say, effectively popping the magical bubble, "a doctor, huh?"
He nods, apprehensive to the topic. He can't remember the last time he talked about his job with someone who knew nothing about it. He can't remember the last time he's been this removed from Pittsburgh. It'sโฆscary. Nice, but scary.
He powers through anyway, allowing himself the fortune he's so gracelessly stumbled upon.
"Yeah," he gruffs, smoothing his hand over the back of his neck.
He can't yet bring himself to say more, bottom lip sliding between his teeth.
"Can I guess what you do?" You ask, and he quickly nods.
This, somehow, eases him. It allows him the vulnerability of sharing the information, without the pressure of finding the right words, racking his anxious mind for something to mask how horrible it's been the past few years.
You stroke your chin with your forefinger and thumb, brows puzzled in the sweetest way. He fights the urge to kiss away the crease between your brows.
"Emergency medicine," you say, and his blood runs cold.
You perk up at his reaction, knowing immediately you got it right.
"Yay!" You squeal, clapping your hands together. "What a crazy coincidence! I don't know why I even guessed that, you just seem like you've seen some shit."
He chuckles at that, a genuine, cathartic chuckle.
"Ooh, you have no idea," he says, and your smile makes his heart race.
"Where is it? Are you guys typically busy?" You ask, and he almost envies your naivete.
"Uh, 's in Pittsburgh," he says, eyes trained on his lap.
His ears are on fire, heart roaring in his chest but he pushes through, even though his voice is croaky and he feels like he might throw up.
"We're a trauma center, soโฆ" he trails off, gaining the courage to look back up at you. "Yeah, I've seen some shit."
You give him a kind smile, a sweet giggle peeling from your lips, and he positively melts. He can't remember the last time someone looked at him like this, like he was something, anything else than Dr. Robby.
"Well, I'm looking forward to hearing some stories," you propose, tone uneasy.
"Yeah, I'm sure I can make that work," he says, sipping his coffee, nibbling his toast.
"How long are you in town?" You ask, and his heart sinks at the thought of ever leaving this cozy bubble.
"I'm here for three months," he says, and is almost prideful by the way you perk up at this news. "Plenty of time to swap stories."
"I can't wait," you reply, and his stomach cartwheels. "Where are you staying?" You ask, and he raises a brow.
"Why? Y'gonna come murder me?" He asks, resting his back against the cushiony booth.
"Yup, you caught me!" You giggle, playing along. It electrifies him.
He laughs, and can't help but notice how easy this feels. It's exhilarating, addicting, and utterly terrifying.
"No," you roll your eyes once your laughter dies down. "I've lived here my entire life and I probably already know exactly where you're at."
"Well, with your track record of guessing things about me," he starts, pulling out his phone to open up his Airbnb app. "You probably will."
He turns his phone around, and goes still once he sees your face fall. You grab his phone, pinching the screen to zoom in and out, eyes glossing over. His gut twists, and he feels absolutely awful.
Before he can spiral, he decides to take action instead.
"I'm so sorry, did I say something?" He asks, shaky fingers plucking his phone back.
You shake your head, wiping a stray tear from the corner of your eye.
"Gosh no, no not at all," you insist, and it does nothing to sway his guilt. "That's actually uhm-" you swallow, and his heart sinks even deeper. "That's my grandparents' cottage."
"Oh," he blinks, unsure how to take this news.
"They always rent it out over the summer. They're in the Hamptons," you roll your eyes, and he can tell there's more to this story. "My whole family is, actually."
For the first time this entire conversation, you seemโฆsmall. You're avoiding his gaze, fiddling with your apron, pouting your lips.
"And you're here?" He asks, and you just shrug.
"I just moved back from New York, actually," you confess, and he leans forward, giving you his full attention. "I got fired from the marketing firm my grandfather owns."
His mouth twists downward, once again heeding your earlier understanding.
"One of the jackass accountants tried feeling me up," you say, and the confession rocks him. Not only does your brazen confidence scare the shit out of him, he's also overcome with a severe need to beat this preppy New York accountant's ass.
"I reacted maybe a bitโฆharsher than I should have," you continue. "I turned around and just slapped him. I honestly wasn't thinking, it was an instinctive reaction. So, I got fired for disorderly conduct."
"I'm sorryโฆ" Robby trails off, genuinely confused. "They fired you for disorderly conduct? Not the guy putting his hands where he wasn't fucking supposed to in the first place?"
You nod, to his everlasting fury.
"On top of that, my boyfriend dumped me," you mutter. "Said he couldn't be with a 'snitch', like we're in third grade."
Anger flares white hot within him, furrowing his brows and burning his stomach until there's nothing left but ash.
"I had to come home," you say. "My family is not happy with me. I also have some stories."
"Well, I'm really looking forward to hearing them," he says, only able to offer kindness in wake of this news.
"Likewise," you murmur.
The sun shines between you once again, illuminating Robby's now empty plate. Your eyes find it, and he sees you immediately jump back into waitress mode.
"Let me take care of this!" You chirp, swiping his plate away and whisking it to the kitchen.
He feels cold at the loss of you, eyes trained on your frame the entire time. He watches you ring up the order, bringing his check back to the table.
He opens his mouth to speak, but is forcefully interrupted by the door swinging open.
"Oh. My. God. GIRL!" Another young woman bursts through the door, looking a bit worse for wear.
Her hair is mussy, makeup smeared and clothes wrinkled.
"Is my uniform here?" She asks, skittering through the diner.
"Yeah, in the back!" You shout, and she responds with a comical, "THANK GOD!"
"Aaaand that's Cherry, my best friend," you quip, collecting his payment and dispersing the change. "I'll see you tomorrow, Robby?" You ask, and he nods eagerly.
"Go and get some sleep, you'll need it," you tap your notepad on the table to see him out.
He reluctantly finds the door, slinging his bag over his shoulder before looking back at you one last time.
"And a tip?" You add, and he raises his brow. "The guest bed is comfier than the master bed. Trust me."
"Thanks," he chuckles, pushing the door open, back into the real world.
The next few weeks are almost always a mirror of that first morning. Robby coming in at the break of dawn, you two sitting over a coffee together.
He came in that second day, looking much more rested than the day before, raving about the mattress in the guest room.
You'd laughed, giving him a playful 'told you so!' before assuming the exact same booth he'd had the day before.
Cherry's been more than cool, allowing you to sit and talk with him when you're really supposed to be on the clock.
You repay her in gossip, gushing to her about all the ways the hot, mysterious, older doctor has been flirting with you.
At least, you think he's flirting with you. He dances all around it, a teasing twinkle in his eye, a small smirk on his lips. Cherry's convinced he wants you. You're not so sure.
He always makes a point to confirm with you, and Cherry, that your early morning chats are okay. You can tell he feels guilty every time he asks, and in a sick way, it makes your heart swell. It still doesn't stop him from talking with you until the next customer comes in.
He comes in so early, this typically only happens after you've banked a good hour and change of conversation, each one more titillating than the last.
This morning, you'd finished your conversation with an invite. It was bold, unexpected, tumbling from your lips before you could have stopped it.
"Hey!" You chirp, just as he's about to push the door open. "Cherry and I are hosting a little something after closing hours."
"A little something?" He raises his brow, and your stomach somersaults.
Tonight, you and Cherry were debuting Bloom and Petal: After Hours. It's been a passion project of Cherry's, turning the daytime breakfast bar into a lively night scene.
You reference the framed certificate now resting behind the bar, some fancy scribbling displaying your newly acquired liquor license.
Robby's face shifts in understanding, a small smile hiding behind nervous eyes.
"A bar with a bunch of 25 year olds?" He quirks a brow, and your heart sinks.
You've never really addressed the age gap between you two, though it feels glaringly obvious, and even foolish now. Your face burns, and the words that leave your mouth leave you humiliated.
"For me?" You ask, cringing as they fall out of your mouth like rotten teeth.
He doesn't seem to share this sentiment, though, as his brown eyes glimmer in the light, his telltale sign you've gotten to his soft spot. Your heart rate picks up, and you look at him expectantly.
"Maybe," he murmurs, and you'll take it. It's something. "See you," he says, and he's out the door.
"See you," you breathe, into the empty diner.
Bloom and Petal: After Hours is thumping, and you've been on your feet for hours. Sweat drips from your brow as you weave through the crowd of sticky bodies of people you've known since grade school.
You're thankful to have ditched the thick, cartoony outfit for a pink Bloom and Petal t-shirt, paired with denim shorts. You finally escape behind the bar for a brief moment, attending to a few drinks and avoiding the crowd.
Your eyes keep darting towards the door, expecting a familiar face to walk through. Disappointment spreads deep in your stomach like a disease with each ring of the front bell.
"He's still not here?" Cherry yells over the crowd, and you shake a sad head no.
She rolls her eyes, forever on your side.
"Boo! What a dick! I thought he liked you!" She squeals, and her use of past tense, though unintentional, makes your tummy turn.
"I thought he did, too," you mutter, furiously cranking the beer tap.
Foam aggressively overflows the pint, and you crash it down on to the bar a little too harshly. Cherry rears her head back at this, eyes wide, and now it's your turn to roll your eyes.
"I'm so dumb!" You force a smile, your tone terminally delightful. "The stupidest girl in school!"
Cherry chortles at this, and you give her a sardonic smile. Then, you hear it again.
Ding!
Your head whips towards the door, like a pathetic dog waiting for its long gone owner. Cherry sees this too, wincing at the action.
Shame burns deep in your belly, and you turn, pressing your palms flat on the wall, leaning your forehead against them. A long groan strangles your throat, Cherry rubbing a soothing hand down your back.
"Take a minute, babe, it's been a crazy night," she says before darting to the other side of the bar.
You feel ridiculous, of course he wouldn't show up. He's about twice the age of everyone here, he's clearly here running away from something, and most of all, he's not your fucking boyfriend.
That last fact makes you sick, and you dart into the kitchen to get a fresh breath. You barrel your way through the bustling back to get through the door, bursting open like a treasure chest.
The relief of the fresh air folds you in half, hands resting on your knees as you will yourself not to vomit. Nausea spins your head, quelling with each breath of fresh, summer air.
"Woah!" You hear a familiar voice, and your eyes dart up to find the man you've been looking for all night.
He's like an angel in the fading sunset, approaching you gently from the other side of the parking lot.
"Robby!" You breathe, half chuckle half gasp. "Hi!"
He reaches out a tentative hand as if to steady you, approaching slowly, bending slightly at the knee to look you in the eye.
"You okay, sweet girl?" He asks, and the debut of this pet name does nothing to help your desire to hurl.
You nod, anyway, inhaling deep through your nose and out through your mouth.
"Good job," he mutters, and your knees nearly give out on you.
"Yeah," you swallow thickly. "Yeah, I'm good. I think I just need some water."
"Do you have any out here, sweet girl?" He asks.
You stumble, your heart skipping a beat. Again, with that damn nickname.
"N-no, I don't," you mumble, and you can't tell if the haziness is from Robby, or the overstimulation.
"Stay here, I'll be right back," he darts across the parking lot once more, back to his truck.
Your focus stills on his frame, the way it leaned and stretched into the front seat of his car. Your cheeks burn, shame creeping in your belly.
He's not your boyfriend, you remind yourself. Snap out of it.
He comes back, a steel water bottle rattling with ice. You perk up at the sound, a Pavlovian response driven by dehydration.
He holds out the bottle, and you snatch it from his grasp, savoring each slide of the cool liquid down your parched throat.
You let the straw go with a pop!, a groan of relief escaping your lips. Robby shifts on his feet at the noise, and you choose to think nothing of it.
"Is it okay if I walk you in?" He asks, pointing towards the door. "I just wanna make sure you get back okay."
You nod, wordlessly, letting him guide you toward the door, his arm hovering over your waist. You come back to life step by step, the energy of the bar swallowing you back in the second you cross the threshold.
Your lips wrap around the straw again, vision clearing up with each swallow. Robby taps your hip lightly in approval, and you almost stop to squeeze your legs together.
You burst out of the kitchen, immediately thrust back into the hot, sweaty bubble of the night. He rounds the corner of the bar with ease, propping himself on an empty stool.
It really sinks in, then, him being here. Seeing him, his wide, tired eyes, his soft smile, surrounded by purple and blue and pink flashing lights and bustling twenty somethings.
He's here for you. Your heart sings.
"Thank you for coming," you mutter sweetly. "What can I get you, handsome?"
You count this as revenge for his earlier nickname. You're successful, given his deep blush he tries so sweetly to hide.
"Whatever beer you have on tap, babe," he says, and you shudder.
You give him a curt nod, turning on the ball of your foot to fulfill his order. You tap your foot as you anxiously wait for the glass to fill, butterflies swarming your stomach at the thought of turning around to see Robby again.
You're met with a much worse sight, though. One that completely pops the Robby bubble you've inflated for yourself.
Clean cut brown hair, perfectly tailored suit, $200 tie. The same, sorry excuse of a man that left you alone, deserted in New York, after getting fired from your job.
"Brayden, what are you doing here?" You choke.
Beer threatens to spill over the lid of the glass you're shakily holding. Robby anticipates the situation, reaching two hands out to take his drink himself.
You're suddenly thankful, yet self conscious for his help all at the same time. Your eyes dart back to Robby, then back to Brayden. Back and forth, back and forth.
It's not long before Brayden clocks what's going on, the man sitting next to him. He scoffs, readjusting his tie with an arrogance that makes you want to punch him.
"I'm here to talk some sense into you," he responds, and hearing his voice again after all this time is like nails on a chalkboard. "Clearly you need it."
His eyes dart to his left as he says it, and you burn with rage.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" You size him up. Like always, he takes the bait.
"Your family is fucking furious with you, y'know?" He remarks, and you dip your head in shame. "This little stunt you're pulling?" He circles a finger in the air in reference to the space around him. "It's ridiculous. You know it's ridiculous! I mean- look at you! Are you wearing denim?"
You can't believe the words that are coming out of his mouth, wondering how you could've been so blind to this man's true self.
"I wore denim in New York, you fucking ass," it's the only thing you can think of to say, and you feel like a fucking idiot.
"Not at work," he says, and you roll your eyes. "Any job where you can get away with wearing denim is a job you should never be working at. Can you imagine what your family would say if they saw you right now?"
You cross your hands over your chest, a familiar burn stinging the back of your nose as you will yourself not to cry in front of him.
"I'm sorry," a gruff voice interrupts, and your heart stops.
Robby's holding up a hand in Brayden's direction, who rears his head back in surprise.
"Who the hell do you think you are, talking to someone like that?" he asks, tone poisonous.
It takes you by surprise, eyes anxiously darting back to Brayden
"I'm sorry, who are you?" Brayden scoffs, and your heart pounds in your ears, anxiety thrumming through your veins.
"Does it fucking matter?" Robby responds, and your eyes find the floor.
"Don't think I didn't see you two walking in from the back," he drops, and your body goes white hot with fear. "What do you think your family is going to think when I tell them you're letting a man twice your age fight your battles for you?"
You make the mistake of looking up at him, no longer able to hide the tears pricking your eye. He has an all knowing smirk on his face, and you catch Robby shifting in his peripheral.
"That's not how they raised their strong, nuisance of a girl, hm?" He asks, and Robby slams a hand down on the bar.
"Are you fucking serious?"He asks, wild eyes darting toward you.
You panic, giving him crazy, sad eyes.
"I'm sorry," he gruffs, holding a hand up. "I just can't stand to see him talk to you like this," his voice is quiet, as private as it can be with your ex breathing down his neck.
Your stomach rolls, heart pounding when you see Cherry approach from behind. Anxiety is a pinball within you, hitting each point of your nervous system and sparing no expense.
"Oh. Fuck. NO!" You hear her screech, latching her manicured fingers underneath his shirt collar, yanking him up off the stool.
He squeals, and the sound earns a genuine laugh from you.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?" She barks at him, using her large waitress tray as a shield, guiding him out the door with each step she takes.
"Thought I'd come see what you managed to scrounge together," he smirks, walking backward toward the door. "Not bad, classy as ever."
"God, that guy fucking sucks," Robby whispers as Cherry bullies him out the door.
"Tell me about it," you gruff, grabbing a damp towel and wiping down the nearest surface you can find. Anything to distract yourself from the heat of his gaze.
A moment of silence beats between you, his eyes trained on you as you do everything in your power to avoid him. The vulnerability of the moment settles over you like a wet blanket, rubbing you raw and making you ache.
"Robby, I think you should go," you whisper, regret lacing every word.
The look in his eye is that of a kicked puppy, and you once again will yourself not to cry.
"What?" He asks, utter confusion in his tone.
"Thank you for coming," you start, a smile on your lips, bright and fake as ever, "but I think he was right. If my family gets wind of what we've been doing-"
"What have we been doing, exactly?" He cuts you off, and you freeze, not expecting this question.
Because, in all honesty, you really don't know what you've been doing.
You like Robby, that much is for certain. You like spending time with him, talking with him, listening to him, but maybe Brayden was right. He's nearly 30 years your senior, you could never have a relationship with him without stirring the pot with your entire family.
Is it worth it? For someone that will be gone in three months?
"I don't really know, Robby," you throw your hands up. "We'reโฆtwo adults who talk to each other? We're friends?" You let that last question linger, toeing the line on suggesting more than that. You ultimately don't take the bait, and just raise your brow at him instead, begging him to tell you different.
He doesn't, of course, just slides a $10 over the counter, hops off the stool, and leaves.
Your heart sinks, cheeks on fire, and you bury your face in your forearms, laying flat against the bar.
"Ugh!" You groan, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.
What the hell has this man done to you?
You're worse for wear the next morning, a headache splitting your head in two. You bring a hand to your forehead, groaning at the light seeping in through the window.
Folding a pillow over your head, you thrash to the other side, memories of last night coming to you in flashes.
Robby not showing, Robby finding you in the parking lot, Brayden, Robby leaving, the shots Cherry clunk down on the bar after closingโฆ
You're starting to regret that fifth lemon drop as it rumbles your stomach, acid creeping up your throat. You clamp a hand over your mouth, willing the nausea to ebb.
It eventually does, and you feel strong enough to sit up, swing your legs over the side of the bed, and make a sad attempt to stand. Your legs are wobbly to start, but eventually you find your footing, padding into the bathroom.
You freshen up, a mere face wash reviving as you move to the kitchen, desperately clamoring for some coffee and a piece of toast. A buzz on the counter lights up your screen, and you take in a message from Cherry.
Cherry: girlโฆdid robby respond to you yet
Your heart drops, numb fingers swiping rapidly to get to your messages. Robby had given you his number a few days prior, something he tried to keep low key as he scribbled it on his receipt. You remember feeling flushed, like a love sick high school girl who just got asked to the prom.
Now, you just feel sick, actually sick. Opening the messages, an onslaught of drunken nonsense greets you, to your everlasting horror.
RObb
Robb y
H hey
Is your real name robert??? what's up with that
These were just to name a few, and the more you scroll, the worse you feel. Your view is instantly shot back to the very last text you sent- it's just the Spotify link to Go Go Juice by Sabrina Carpenter- and you drop the phone like it's hot as the three, cursed little bubbles pop up.
You scream, literally scream, as the phone clatters onto the counter, making impact with the marble at the same time your toast pops out of the toaster.
You sit in silence with yourself for a minute, then, feeling absolutely ridiculous about the predicament you've gotten yourself in.
Four months ago you were drinking champagne on the fanciest rooftop bars in Brooklyn. You were also more unhappy than you'd ever been.
Meeting Robby has made you feel like yourself for the first time in a very, very long time. And if that's the case, then it can't be that bad, can it?
Your phone buzzes, drawing your attention back to the devilish brick taking up real estate on your counter top.
Robby: My real name is Michael. Last name Robinavitch. Everyone at work calls me Robby. It's easier.
You stare at the words on your screen, tapping your foot anxiously as they settle in. The simplicity of his message is almost laughable, but there's weight to his select words.
He gave you his first and last name, something that feels ridiculously intimate for absolutely no logical reason at all.
As you ponder on how to respond, you come up empty time and time again. Your mind wanders back to that first day, the conversation about his Airbnb.
Before you can consider the possible ethical and moral violations of your actions, you slip your shoes on, grab your keys, and are out the door with your coffee in hand.
You roll up to the familiar, grand cabin with your heart beating a million miles an hour. The adrenaline has finally worn off as you sit in your car, in a deep stare down with the house that you spent most of your childhood in.
You feel so fucking stupid. Why would you even think this was okay? Tears burn your eyes as you scramble for the gear shift, pulling before realizing you hadn't even turned the car back on yet.
Before you can shakily push the button, the door swings open, and you're caught red handed. You freeze, your hands finding a home on the steering wheel, almost in defense in front of you.
He lifts his hand, making a 'come hither' motion with his fingers, and it's embarrassing how immediately you obey.
You swing the door open, stomping across the gravel dirt road to reach the porch. You're breathing hard as you approach him, in his low hanging sweatpants and thin white t-shirt.
And his glasses, oh God, his fucking glasses. It's perfect. He's perfect, you're afraid.
"Your first name is Michael?" You breathe, and he can't help but rear his head back a little.
"Yeah," he huffs, and that, unfortunately, does it for you.
You press your hands on his scruffy cheeks, pressing your lips firmly into his.
He's shocked, at first, going rigid in your arms as you plant one on him.
It doesn't take him long to melt into it, though, gathering his bearings and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulls you closer to him, your tits pressing against his chest, the thin fabric of both your pajamas leaving little to the imagination.
He stumbles backward into the house, closing the door behind you and pressing you up against it. You shiver at his initiative, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing him against you deeper.
He runs his tongue over your lips, and you pout, desperately wanting his own on you again. He awards your impatience with one, two, three sweet kisses. You beam.
Your lips brush together as you smile up at him, eyes sparkling in the early morning light. You see his brows crease, a self-pitying smirk on his lips.
"God, I am so fucked," he rasps, smashing his lips into yours once again.
Your teeth clink at his intensity, and your tongues swirl each others as he palms your sides, going lower until he reaches your ass.
"Is this okay?" He husks, pressing sweet kisses and kitten licks to your ear.
You nod feverishly against him, and he pinches the plush skin of your ass. You squeal, and he gives you a light smack.
"Words, doll," he demands, and you're once again at his beck and call.
"Yes, God, yes, please," you mewl, eyes shining desperately.
"Good girl," he grunts, pressing his forehead against yours.
He hikes up your thin pajama shirt, pressing delicate kisses down your neck. You can't help but throw your head back into the wall, nails scraping the back of his neck.
His palms find your tits, squeezing and rolling your nipples, pinching every now and again. Warmth blooms deep in your lower belly, squeezing your thighs together at his expansive grip.
"Feel good?" He murmurs against your neck, and you nod desperately. "Arms up," he instructs, and you throw them up like a rag doll.
He slides your shirt over your head, marveling at the sight before pulling you to him, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to the guest room.
You cup his cheeks as you move, peppering kisses all along his face. He chuckles, and your heart swells with the sound.
"Stop!" He laughs, "I can't see," he flops you down on the bed, his gaze on you so entirely vulnerable.
"Sucks," you shrug, making yourself comfortable on the memory foam mattress.
He quirks a brow, resting one knee on the bed.
"Oh, so you wanna be bratty about this, huh?" He poses, sliding his knee between your legs.
"It's the only thing I really know how to be," you reply, snippily.
Your breath catches in your throat as he hovers above you, ghosting his lips over your neck.
"Such a fucking tease, Michael," you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck.
He allows himself to be pulled in by you, and you revel in every second of the close contact. His hands fly to your waistband, tugging on the elastic band. He presses a kiss at the exposed skin there, and you draw in a shaky breath.
"Can I taste you?" He murmurs against your skin, eyes closed as he takes you in.
"Yes, please," you reply, and he presses a kiss to your hip bone.
"Oh my God," he groans, peeling your bottoms off to reveal your glistening center. "You're so beautiful, fuck."
Your heart swells at his praise, nails digging into his scalp as he dives in. He laps at your collecting wetness, running his tongue up to your clit.
You jump when he flicks the tip of his tongue, swirling around your clit in a way that has you preening. You arch your back off the bed, grinding your pussy into his face to absorb any of the friction he was so generously giving you.
The scrape of his beard adds a special sting to the overstimulation, the sensitive skin of your thighs rubbing raw within minutes. It's a delicious sting, one that you can't seem to care much about at the moment.
He plays in your wetness, teasingly dipping his tongue into your hole, just a little. You gasp at his cruelty, tugging his hair ever so slightly. He groans against you, bringing a thumb up to rub your clit.
He coos at your soft whimpers, the pit in your stomach burning hot as he looks up at you, eyes big and brown and desperate.
He delves his tongue into you fully, his thumb never slowing its assault. Your release is quite rapid, waves of fire dancing over your skin as you roll your hips into his face.
He lets you use him to ride it out, rubbing his face and beard against your sensitive skin to help you through it. You dissolve into the pressure, ears ringing as you come down from your high.
Robby wastes no time crawling up your body, pressing his lips against yours immediately. You moan against his mouth at the taste, and he dips his tongue into your mouth.
Your hand finds his length, big and hard and still confined in those damn gray sweatpants.
"Why are you still fully clothed?" You ask, and he can't help but laugh.
He rolls his eyes, sitting back on his heels to lift his shirt off. He goes to lean back over you then, but you put a hand up, stopping him from going any further.
You take a moment to relish in the sight before you, the dark hair peppering his torso, the soft curve of his tummy. He's gorgeous, and you tell him so.
He flushes red at the compliment, moving your hand gently as he dips down to kiss you again.
"Can't remember the last time I've been called that," he murmurs against your cheek, pressing a light kiss there as he kicks off his pants.
He wasn't wearing underwear, and you thank whatever deity is above for the way his cock springs free, bouncing against his tummy.
The tip is red, angry, pre cum pooling at the center. You can't help but lean forward, darting your tongue out and collecting the salty liquid.
He grips your jaw and stops you from going further, earning him a cute little pout.
"I know, sweet girl. Next time," he kisses the pout off your face, and those last two words echo in your mind.
Next time, next time, next time.
"If you get your mouth on me right now, I'm going to cum," he explains, lining himself up at your entrance. "And believe it or not, I'm not in my twenties. Can't just bounce back like I used to."
Your cheeks heat at his words, teeth biting down on your lower lip as he teases your entrance with his tip.
"But don't worry," he mutters, thrusting into you, hips flush with your ass in one fell swoop. "I'm gonna fuck you real good, baby."
The air is knocked from your lungs, a gasp strangling out of your throat as he hikes your legs higher around his waist. He pulls out, only to slam back in harder, a whine falling from your pouty lips.
He leans down to kiss you as he starts to move, a repetitive rhythm that has you squealing into his neck.
You dig your fingers into his back, throwing your head back onto the pillow. He mouths at your neck, desperate grunts falling from his ow lips.
"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs against your neck. You shudder. "You have any idea how good this pussy feels?" He asks, sitting up on his knees to pick up his speed.
You wail, his balls slapping your ass with each thrust. He holds both of your legs up by your ankles. now, resting them on one shoulder as he continues to drive into you.
"God, Michael!" You whine, throwing your forearms over your eyes.
He shudders at this, kissing your ankle and asking you to call him that again.
"Feels so good, Michael," you whimper, a sweet smile on your face now that you know the damage you cause him. "Gonna make me cum."
He groans at this, and it's guttural. Your pussy squeezes down on him extra hard, the spring in your stomach beginning to coil. He kisses your ankle again, your shin, running his tongue along every spare inch of skin he can find.
You're dizzy underneath him, the world hazy as you bring your hands up to his belly, pressing and groping all of him you can.
"Fuck," a strangled groan wrestles its way out of his throat. "Your hands feel so fucking good, baby," he insists, thrusts nearly erratic. "You like feelin' me? Like how soft I am for you? Even when I'm fucking you like a slut?"
His words spark inside you, exploding like tiny fireworks. You feel your wetness pooling on the bed below, only growing messier at his words. He coos as he feels you gush around him.
"So perfect for me," he whispers, and you nod, taking a fistful of his tummy in each hand. "Love it when you fucking feel me up."
"I love your body, Michael," you tell him, eyes hazy and glossed over. "You're so gorgeous," you repeat your words from earlier, and he shudders above you.
"Pretty girl," he moans, his thrusts growing sloppy. "Want you to cum for me, make me the luckiest guy in the world, yeah?"
That does it, your Earth no longer spinning on its axis as your second orgasm hits you. It's like a freight train, rough and brutal and perfect. His own is soon to follow, his hips pressing flush against your ass as he empties himself inside you.
"Michael," you whine, teary eyes finding his darkened ones.
They soften at your plea for him, maneuvering your legs into a more comfortable position before pulling out. You whine at the loss of him, and he lightly taps your inner thigh.
"I know, sweet girl," he says, getting up from the bed. "You stay there 'n look pretty, hm?" He runs a large hand over your hair as he settles you into the bed. "I'm gonna get you a towel, m'kay?"
You nod wordlessly as you watch him go, selfishly committing his ass to memory.
You watch him nearly melt when he comes back, his reaction to you justโฆlaying in his bed an immediate ego boost. Your heart swells as he gets his hands on you again, gently patting your core dry.
He then squirts some lotion in his hands, rubbing them gently into your raw inner thighs. You hiss at the sting, and he presses a sweet kiss to your lips, shushing you gently.
Once he's done a thorough clean up, he crawls in next to you, taking you in his arms and pulling you flush against him. You whimper, your lower half still sensitive as it pulses around nothing, the feeling of just being close to him so exciting.
He reaches down to pinch your ass, a light chuckle and a "be good," leaving his lips. He kisses you when you nod, muttering something about the best girl in the world.
Your lids grow heavy, and he jostles you slightly before you can fully give in.
"Hey," he starts, licking his swollen lips. "We're gonna talk about those messages when you wake up again, hm?"
Embarrassment floods you again, and you bury yourself into him. He shushes you sweetly, rubbing his hand along your back and pressing a kiss to your head.
"It's okay, it's okay," he validates, and you snuggle into him. "You're okay. I'm not mad, or weirded out or anything. I like you, and I want to talk about this, just not when you're this sleepy," he murmurs against your skin, and you nod desperately.
He clutches a hand on the back of your head, holding you flush to him as you drift to sleep.
You have no idea what will come when you wake, or what things will look like in three months when Robby goes back to Pittsburgh. But you're already back at your parents' place in your hometown, what do you have to lose?
