All x AFAB!reader cause I'm super self indulgent. Open to change that though if any specific requests.
divider edit @dividers-are-us
The Pitt
Brendon Park “the shark” x Reader
Marine Biologist!Reader Series (Ongoing)
Series description: A collection of short thoughts about Park and Marine Biologist!Reader who knows how to handle and tame a predator. Warnings: Fluff, suggestive language, smut.
Bulking Blurb
Description: You love when Brendon bulks.
Warnings: Smutty but not crazy
Shark Week
Description: Brendon makes you feel better on your period. Warnings: Smut, period sex, blooooood!
Dr Robby x Reader
Procrastinating Hucklerabbot x Reader Oneshot
Description: You have to watch Jack and Robby fuck Dennis until you finish your assignment. Warnings: SMUT. PWP.
Teachers Pets Hucklerabbot x Reader Oneshot (request)
Description: Jack and Robby instruct their favourite students on how to make each other feel good. Warnings: Smut. PWP.
Part 2.
Clinical Skills Med Student!Rabbot x Roommate!Reader blurb
Description: Jack and Robby realise the effect they have on their roommate while practicing their clinical skills. Warnings: Suggestive.
Dr Jack Abbot x Reader
Procrastinating Hucklerabbot x Reader Oneshot
Description: You have to watch Jack and Robby fuck Dennis until you finish your assignment.
Warnings: SMUT. PWP.
Teachers Pets Hucklerabbot x Reader Oneshot (request)
Description: Jack and Robby instruct their favourite students on how to make each other feel good. Warnings: Smut. PWP.
Part 2.
Clinical Skills Med Student!Rabbot x Roommate!Reader blurb
Description: Jack and Robby realise the effect they have on their roommate while practicing their clinical skills. Warnings: Suggestive.
Dennis Whitaker x Reader
Procrastinating Hucklerabbot x Reader Oneshot
Description: You have to watch Jack and Robby fuck Dennis until you finish your assignment. Warnings: SMUT. PWP.
Teachers Pets Hucklerabbot x Reader Oneshot (request)
Description: Jack and Robby instruct their favourite students on how to make each other feel good. Warnings: Smut. PWP.
Part 2.
Bf!Michael Robinavitch x female!reader x Dennis Whitaker
✧ summary: Unaware that you and Robby are in a relationship, Dennis asks you out, embarrassing himself in front of the entire ED. To make up for it, Robby comes up with a plan how Dennis can at least get a glimpse of what it’s like to be with you.
✧ content: 18+ mdni, smut: cucking but Dennis is quite involved I’d say, p in v, oral (only m receiving for some reason, who wrote this??), fingering, Robby is a tiny bit mean to Dennis but he likes it, Robby is lowkey only there for a few comments and to fuck you, focus is more on Dennis, S2 Dennis looks but S1 level of sad pathetic puppyness, m masturbation, handjob, reader listens to Dennis peeing and then jerking off in her bathroom lmao, cum eating (also Dennis's own cum), age gap (unspecified but I imagined reader and Dennis in their 20s, Robby 50s), unequal power dynamics (Robby is obv their attending, reader is a resident, Dennis is a student Dr), pet names (good girl, good boy, angel, baby, sweetheart, Robby calls Dennis kid), Robby is taller than reader, Dennis is v submissive and pathetic, reader is kind of submissive for Robby but more dominant for Dennis
✧ word count: 9.1k… sorry I’m a yapper
✧ notes: my first the Pitt fic and first fic in a while so you're mandated to be nice to me actually!! Robby is lowkey just an accessory rn because I had a hard time with him (who doesn't though), btw the title is not related to the song, that's not the same vibe
gorgeous dividers by @dollywons & @anitalenia !!
Dennis Whitaker might be the sweetest colleague you’ve ever had. And you can say that despite being in a loving relationship with your attending. Robby is a good boyfriend, but sweet isn’t exactly the first word that comes to mind when you’re asked to describe him.
As a resident you’ve taken Dennis under your wing and watched him blossom under your care. You’re the same age — you started early, he started a bit late — but it’s hard to not feel maternal towards him with his puppy eyes and the pathetic look he wears on his face most of the time.
As infatuated as you are with Robby, you’re not an idiot. It’s obvious Dennis has a crush on you.
At first you thought he just had a thing for praise, because he’d practically begin to purr whenever you told him ‘good job’ or ‘well done’, something that didn’t happen much at the start, but he’s been getting better with each shift. But you’ve found that it’s specifically your praise he likes, always going above and beyond to show his knowledge and skill when he’s with you, while he’s a bit more mellow with other residents.
You always knew it was a matter of when, not if, he would ask you out.
You and Robby have always had an agreement to not be affectionate at work. He had a hard enough time as it was when you started to show an interest in him when you were still a student doctor. He’d practically drooled all over you when you came in years ago and he had to listen to weeks of ridicule from Dana that he was fawning over the fresh meat, young enough to be his daughter.
It wasn’t until he realised that your eyes lingered on him too, that you found him whenever you wanted to share a patient’s funny story and looked to him for advice beyond his professional abilities that he realised he wasn’t fucked up for liking someone so much younger than himself – it was reciprocated. Or at least you were fucked up too for liking someone twice your age, and that made you compatible.
It’s bad enough that he’s dating his resident, he doesn’t need people staring at work if you were to be all touchy. Besides, it makes for a fun draining of all the built-up sexual tension whenever you get home after a shift.
The only bad thing about you two being relatively private about your relationship is that newbies don’t know you’re off limits. It’s happened all too often that colleagues have asked you out, mostly temporary interns or substitutes, but it never ceases to be awkward when you have to let them down gently only for Robby to put a rare possessive arm around your waist the next time you see the poor soul who tried to flirt with the chief of the ED’s girlfriend.
Sometimes you wonder how not everyone knows about you two, considering how often you hear people gossiping about you and Robby; it’s never malicious but you see the curious looks whenever you and Robby interact for even two sentences.
You’ve tried to be professional with Dennis, only ever called him Whitaker to his face to preserve some professional, or at least platonic, distance, and made sure to mention Michael, or even Mike when you wanted to lay it on thick, as much as you could.
There have been many instances where you could’ve cleared things up, thrown in a feigned accidental ‘my boyf— I mean Dr Robby’, or mentioned your shared apartment, but it would be a lie to say you didn’t enjoy the attention, that you didn’t enjoy it at least a little bit how your failed suitors squirmed around you and Robby after they found out what they’d done.
You can feel it coming all day, like a storm brewing – how Dennis is even more awkward than usual, always trying to prolong the conversation with you, blushing no matter what you say.
It’s almost the end of the shift when you think you’re out of the woods. Of course it’s then that Dennis finds you.
The normally busy nursing station houses no one but you and you feel him creeping up on you, building up courage. It’s not the actual asking out that you’re dreading, it’s always a compliment, it’s just the rejection and consequent inevitable embarrassment from Dennis.
For now he settles on: “Hey.”
Maybe your instincts were wrong. Maybe he’s just asking how you are.
“Hi. Day’s almost over. A few more patients and we’ve made it—”
He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, more out of anxiety than disrespect: “Would you go out with me sometime? I don’t know, maybe tonight? There’s a nice Thai restaurant down the street, you mentioned you like Thai food. I’m not sure what the policy on dating is but—”
He rambles on and it’s endearing. If you weren’t happily taken you’d have said yes in a heartbeat. For the tiniest glimpse of a second you almost regret that you’re not single. Just almost.
A deep, raspy voice cuts through Dennis’s words from behind you. The arm that sneaks around your waist tells you what’s about to happen.
“You’re not thinkin’ of asking my girl out, Whitaker, are you?”
Dennis’s reaction surprises you. He laughs. It’s just a giggle, one that eases the tension in his chest. You can read his thoughts straight off his face.
Surely, Robby’s joking. It’s just a fatherly gesture, a what-are-your-intentions-with-my-daughter joke. A fake stern have-her-home-by-ten. But Dennis’s smile turns into something more of a grimace when you put your hand on Robby’s chest and softly whisper up at him, “don’t be mean, baby.”
Dennis gasps, then he lets out a quiet, undefinable sound. He points at Robby, looks at you, and seems like he’s about to faint. Instead, he leaves the scene wordlessly, stumbling almost.
“That was rough,” says Dana, appeared out of thin air next to you.
“Aw, I hope he’s not too embarrassed,” you hear Victoria from behind you, and before you can wonder who else just witnessed Dennis’s sweet but misguided effort you see Kiara and McKay fleeing the scene, pretending they saw nothing for his sake.
Langdon and Mateo are quietly chuckling in a corner not far away.
Trinity is already following Dennis, a delighted grin on her face.
You don’t see Dennis for the rest of the shift.
*
A week later you still feel bad for Dennis. He avoids you as much as he can for a student doctor you’re responsible for. There are a million things you could say to him, but you can’t decide what. Watching him squirm and blush whenever you’re around is certainly fun too.
Even Louie and Myrna have both picked up on the tension, with Myrna trying to be Dennis’s rebound, and Louie laughing so hard he almost went into cardiac arrest when he heard what Dennis did.
But at some point you’ll have to talk to Dennis, say something to make him feel better and ease the tension between you. You miss him as a friend.
That’s your plan until Robby brings up an interesting proposal… during sex.
You’re lying on your belly, almost delirious with tiredness from a long shift, but not too tired to have the stress fucked out of your system by your boyfriend. Robby’s on top of you, body weight smashed deliciously against yours, just almost painfully, his hips pushing against your ass.
The fact that you’re not on top especially after today’s shift is bordering on elder abuse anyway, so you’re just happy he’s doing the work. Robby is fucking into your pussy, its loud squelch filling the room. You both needed this.
He stops for a second, “I mean, would you want to fuck Whitaker?”
You take a second to recover from the whiplash his sudden question gives you, shaking your head. Why is your boyfriend talking, or even thinking, about Whitaker right now?
“What? Dennis?”
Robby begins to move again, a few slow, teasing thrusts. “I wouldn’t be mad, baby. Just curious.”
“Curious about what?” You look at him over your shoulder and turn around completely, accommodating Robby between your thighs, “You wanna know if your girlfriend wants to fuck another man? Like, if I didn’t know you?”
You reach up for Robby’s shoulders to pull him closer and he takes the hint, pushing the head of his cock back into your pussy, and you both adjust for a moment as he fills you up.
“Yeah, I guess.”
You think about it, and involuntarily you smile. Dennis is attractive, though in a completely different way from your boyfriend. His kicked puppy look does something for you, and he’s been bulking up a little, been letting the back of his hair grow just a bit longer thanks to Trinity’s insistent badgering that he’d look better like that.
You don’t seem to need words for Robby to know what you want to say.
“I know Whitaker would love to fuck this pussy, this tight, wet pussy, fuck. Bet he wouldn’t last a minute. Feels so good, sweetheart.”
You can’t help but imagine Dennis between your thighs, face screwed up in pleasure as he pushes his pink, throbbing cock inside you, blowing his load immediately, accompanied by a whimper.
Your pussy clenches around Robby as you cum, his thumb rubbing circles into your clit. He follows you over the edge, pulling out to cum on your belly as your hand reaches up to jerk him off.
“Fuck, baby, milking me dry, theeere you go” he huffs, hips pulling forwards with the motion of your hand as white, silky ropes of cum paint your body. You lean up to kiss his cum-smeared tip once you’re done, and Robby rewards you by leaning down to kiss your forehead, your temples, cheeks, and then your lips.
He cleans you off with wet wipes from next to the bed, kissing every part of your body while he's at it..
“Such a good girl for me, always.”
You beam up at him and pull him into your arms. A few minutes later you remember what made you cum so blissfully in the first place, and it’s like in that moment Robby does too. His hand grazes past your spine, down to your ass, giving a firm squeeze.
“I take that as a yes?”
**
You: Hi, if you’re not too tired do you wanna come to mine to watch a movie after work? :)
It’s a few days later and you and Robby have extensively discussed what inviting Dennis into your bed would entail. You imagine it’ll take at least an hour or two to get a reply from Dennis, if he even has the time to look at his phone before his shift ends at all.
He replies before you even lock your phone.
Dennis: Yes!!!
You expected more questions — whether Robby would be there for example — but you’re flattered he’d say yes with so little information. You send him the address and a can’t wait!
You see Dennis before he sees you. You hear a sound at your front door when you walk past it and you tiptoe your way towards the spy hole to see if it’s him.
It is him, a lopsided smile on his face that falls when his hand hovers over the doorbell. He must be reading the Robinavitch where he was expecting your name. You stay over at Robby’s apartment more often than not, and you’ve discussed moving together already, and are just waiting for a better time to do so.
Dennis adjusts his simple white shirt at the hem, and takes a breath so deep you can hear it through the wooden door, then he rings the doorbell. You wait an appropriate few seconds to open it.
He looks even cuter without the fisheye lens distorting him, a tired blush dusting his cheeks and the tip of his nose, light sheen of sweat across his neck from the sticky heat outside.
“Hi, sorry I’m late,” he mumbles, and you check the time. 9:33 PM. He’s here three minutes later than you told him to be, and 9:30 was more a suggestion, not a deadline you expected him to meet with the kind of job you do.
“Don’t worry, you’re not. Come in, glad you could make it. I hope you’re not too exhausted. You want a coffee or something?”
You watch Dennis take in Robby’s apartment as he takes his shoes off; the basics are Robby’s, the decorations, loose items and anything that makes the four walls into an actual home are yours. It also occurs to you that he’s scoping out whether Robby’s home or not, but he looks away when he notices you watching him.
“Actually if you’re offering I wouldn’t say no to that.”
You call out into the apartment, “Babe, can you make us a coffee?”
Better to squash his hopes early. Though you don’t hate the idea of being alone with Dennis, far from it, actually.
You turn back around to a wide-eyed Dennis who quickly tries to get his face back in order. You wish he knew how endearing it is that his every emotion primarily takes place on his face. It means you always know where you stand with him, which, in your case, is always on his good side. You’re not sure anyone’s on his bad one though; he’s too sweet for that.
Dennis trails behind you like an excited puppy as you show him the living room, patting the sofa for him to sit. Your shorts ride up as you sit down, and his eyes are attracted to your thighs immediately.
You’re wearing a cute pyjama set, one that could double as lazy lingerie, nothing sexy but not exactly the most comfortable thing to sleep in. Robby side-eyed you when you slipped into the outfit, mumbling that tonight is only meant for talking, but you thought Dennis still deserved a little treat after such a rough day of work.
He hasn’t said anything about today’s shift yet, but Dana has told you multiple times how Dennis will mope about the entire day whenever you’re not working.
Your socked foot grazes Dennis’s jeans by his knee, and feeling the rough fabric suddenly makes you feel underdressed.
“You want me to put on something over this?” you say without really meaning to. But you are technically his superior at work and don’t want to make him uncomfortable.
His eyes widen at the mere suggestion: “Please don’t— you look really pretty, I mean your clothes are really pretty.”
“She looks good, doesn’t she?” Robby’s voice bursts through yet another embarrassing moment as he delivers two coffees, one in a strawberry-shaped cup, the other one a colourful souvenir from your and Robby’s first shared trip.
You wonder how this must all feel for Dennis – going from not knowing you and Robby are even a thing, to his attending bringing him a late night coffee in a silly cup in his home, and his resident sitting on the sofa next to him showing twice as much skin as your scrubs allow.
From the look in his eyes you gather that he’s excited. He’s just happy to be included, relieved that his failed attempt to ask you out has somehow brought him further than he expected. He never thought you’d say yes anyway, but couldn’t go any longer without at least trying.
To avoid Robby’s question, Dennis takes a large gulp of the fresh, probably scorching coffee, but he toughs it out, emptying half of the strawberry cup.
“Hey, Doctor Robby,” Dennis finally squeaks out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Just Robby is fine, you know that.”
You and Robby share a brief look. If Dennis can’t even talk to Robby without calling him by his title, you doubt he’ll want to join you two in your bedroom anytime soon, but you stick with your plan.
“How was work today?”
Dennis then launches into a monologue of his top and bottom three patients of the day, breaking several HIPAA laws and confessing to multiple errors and faking a diagnosis with Langdon to get rid of an annoying patient who had nothing wrong with him, but for tonight you’re not trying to be his resident and attending, you’re just his friends.
Before you can suggest he’s had enough coffee for the night, he drinks the second half in one big sip, sighing afterwards.
“That was good, I needed that. Thanks. I feel like I smell like coffee now, do you have a mouth wash I can use?”
You giggle at his self-consciousness, “Sure, bathroom’s over there. Just use whatever you need.”
As soon as the bathroom door is locked, Robby gives you a look of feigned annoyance, “You didn’t tell him I was gonna be here.”
You avert your gaze and shrug, “He didn’t ask… and I don’t know if he would’ve come otherwise. He’s fine. He’s a big boy, he can handle it. It’s time he stops being awkward around you. And time you apologise…”
Before Robby can protest against your demand, Dennis comes out, shuffling back to his place next to you on the couch. Pride radiates off him as he walks past Robby who sits on a separate chair.
“So, are you up for a movie?” you ask, getting up to find the remote control. You throw it towards Robby who opens a streaming service, lazily flicking through the options. You’re still standing behind the sofa, leaning against the back of it as Dennis peers up at you, thrilled from being under you like this.
“You must be so stiff, hm? My neck always kills me after a long day of work,” you step behind him, running your hands over his shoulders as he shudders, “can I?”
He nods frantically as your thumbs come up to massage his tense neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps.
Robby pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, smirking over at you two as Dennis’s eyes fall shut. Your boyfriend shoots you a wink and your fingers press deeper into Dennis’s skin. He gives a few quiet sighs of pleasure, volume increasing as you find a tense spot between his shoulder blades.
“That feel good?” you whisper, smile audible in your voice.
“Mhmm..” he sighs, and you push harder, “Oh yeah that’s good. Yeah, yeah, right there.”
Well, you certainly don’t have to wonder what he sounds like during sex anymore.
You stifle a giggle when his head tips back and Dennis looks up at you to confirm whether he really just made those sounds out loud.
“Shh, relax.”
He does as he’s told and closes his eyes again, letting you work out a few kinks in his neck for a few more moments before Robby begins to list a few films, asking for your opinion.
Dennis has trouble focussing on your hands on his body and Robby’s suggestions at the same time, and you love hearing him grumbling whenever Robby lists another title, pulling him from his reverie of having you massage him.
“Let’s watch that one, then,” you decide when Robby tells you he watched this movie when he was younger, “but before we start, we also wanted to talk to you about something. But first Robby wanted to apologise.”
This makes Dennis sit up a bit straighter. Somehow misunderstanding you, he blurts out: “Sorry I asked out your girlfriend.”
“No,” Robby chuckles, “that’s not what she meant. Don’t apologise for that. I wanted to apologise for… what am I apologising for again, baby?”
You roll your eyes. “For being rude to him in front of everyone when he was gonna ask me out.”
Robby waves his hand, “oh yeah, that. Sorry.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I just didn’t know that you two were, like, a thing.”
Robby leans back as he manspreads, “Can’t blame you for shooting your shot. And she did tell me she woulda said yes if I wasn’t in the picture.”
Dennis swings his head around to look at you, “really?”
“Mhmm. You’re a handsome guy… kind, funny, smart… gonna be a good doctor one day.”
You can tell it takes everything in Dennis not to cream his pants at your last words. His eyes sparkle as if he’s just won a nobel prize.
“And we have an idea how to make it up to you,” you continue, “It’s okay if you’re not into it but no harm in asking.”
“O-kay…” Dennis’s eyes switch between yours and Robby’s.
You’re not sure how to phrase your suggestion cutely, so you look at Robby for help.
“Since you like my girl so much, I’ll let you watch me fuck her.”
“If you’re into that,” you add quickly, “We’ve never done it before, but we would with you, if you would like that too.”
Dennis nods so fast you’re worried all the loosening you did to his neck just then is undone again.
“Yeah?” Robby asks him, “You ever done anything like that?”
“No, no, never. But I’d like to.”
His voice is shaky, and you’re already excited to hear how much worse it gets when he’s nearing an orgasm. You lean over the back of the sofa to grab his face, kissing his cheek. He grabs a small pillow to put on his lap, not at all subtly.
“Not tonight though,” you clarify, “you must be all delirious after such a long shift.”
“Tonight is okay, or whenever, just whenever you want to.”
Robby chuckles as you finally round the sofa to join Dennis again, “Sweetheart, I don’t think it’s his shift that made him delirious. Look how excited you’ve gotten him.”
Dennis is now gripping the pillow for dear life, and you turn towards him.
“Robby can be a bit mean but just tell him to stop when it gets too much and he will.”
Dennis smiles sweetly, eyes all big and round, “I can handle it. Not like I’m not used to it from work.”
You look between the two men. “I’m worried you’ll get whiplash from seeing Robby happy for once when we do it… You wanna watch a film now?” you ask, your voice dripping with innocence, as if Dennis could focus on a movie right now.
“Gotta get a better angle,” Robby says as he joins you on the couch so he’s able to look straight at the tv. You scoot closer to Dennis to make room for your boyfriend, and the heat from both their bodies threatens to give you a fever, but one you’d happily welcome.
You’re wedged between them for the entirety of the film during which no one talks but only because no one’s paying attention. Dennis is sitting as perfectly still as he can. Robby is all fidgety and touchy, marking his territory, you guess, a big hand on your knee, travelling further up your thigh, later around your waist and back to your lap again.
In turn, you’re all touchy with Dennis.
First, you rest your head on his shoulder, your outer thigh pressed against his. Then, your fingers wrap around his bicep, squeezing gently. You’ve noticed him working on it, as he’s been slowly filling out the size Small scrubs more. And his arms feel as good as they look.
You’ve spoken about limits and boundaries with Robby and this is well within what he’s comfortable with. You were surprised how far he’d let you go with Dennis, something that made for some fun thoughts during the previous few nights alone in bed but, for now, you’ll just have Dennis watch when the time comes.
Both men all but gasp when you abruptly untangle yourself from them to get up to go pee. You enjoy the thick, sexual tension in the air that you have to wade through when you get back. Robby presses play, and you remember what film you’re even watching. If whatever you’re doing can be called watching.
No longer than ten seconds in, Robby’s big, warm hand circles around your knee before travelling upwards, settling on your inner thigh over your lacy shorts, giving your flesh a squeeze.
You lean your elbow on the back of the sofa. Slowly, your fingers make their way up Dennis’s shoulder, up his neck and into his hair. Your fingers tangle there, massaging the base of his skull, curling some of those longer strands of hair around your fingertip.
“‘S that feel good?” you whisper after a while.
Dennis’ eyes are closed and he smiles, “mhmm”.
Robby’s teasing you, you’re teasing Dennis. To make a perfect triangle you’d need Dennis teasing your boyfriend, but you daren’t dream of that happening. You don’t think either of them has got that in him.
As soon as the credits roll, listing a cast of characters you can’t remember, Dennis gets up “to pee”, his trusty pillow falling to the floor.
You’re not normally like this, but something comes over you as you tiptoe towards the bathroom door after Dennis disappears behind it. Robby shakes his head at what you’re doing, smiling as he clears off the coffee table.
You lean against the bathroom door ever so quietly, pressing your ear to it. And first you really do hear him pee, but it’s sporadic and strained. You’ve heard from Robby how difficult it is to pee with an erection, so you gather that’s what’s going on.
Dennis is done peeing at some point, muttering a small ‘fuck’, then, ‘oh my god’. You hear him spit, then more muffled groans. A wet squelching sound. You get to your knees, attempting to peer through the empty keyhole, but you don’t see enough.
Robby walks past you right then, and you press a finger to your lips, urging him to stay quiet. He walks back to the kitchen but you know you won’t hear the end of this for the rest of the week. Lucky for you, Robby’s teasing turns you on.
After no more than a minute Dennis moans, gasps, and then catches his breath. The sink is turned on and you get up, your knees clicking louder than you’d wish as you hurry back to the living room.
He looks refreshed when he comes up, somehow blushing more than before.
Robby offers to drive Dennis home; it’s late and you know Dennis took the bus here. He’s tucked in the back of the car a few minutes later, sitting in the middle seat.
“You enjoy the movie, kid?” Robby asks into the back mirror. Dennis doesn’t reply.
“Dennis?” You ask.
“Huh? Oh? The movie? I… yeah. The, the… the cinematography was good.”
Robby smiles, “what’d you think, angel?”
You’re struggling to even remember the name of the film. “I liked the acting”, you mumble.
Robby’s grinning smugly, “mhm, sure you did”.
But his smile fades when you ask, “what did you like about it, Robby?”
“The… well, yeah. The same things, really. As you two.”
***
You let Dennis squirm for a week before inviting him back to yours again.
He’s tense in the ED, eyes filled with hope every time you say his name, and it drains from his face just as quickly when you just ask him about a patient instead of asking him to come over.
This time you wait until a day during which none of you are working. It’s a miracle the day comes so soon. But you need Dennis full of energy, not drowsy after working all day.
“Hey, Dennis?”
His eyes grow comically large when he hears you use his first name instead of the usual Whitaker. If only you knew that his name on your lips alone could give him one of the most intense orgasms if he only let it happen.
“Yes,” he stands at attention in front of you.
“Any plans for your day off tomorrow?”
“I, uh, have to run some errands. Get some food and um, toilet paper.”
You giggle as you lean closer, “and in the evening?”
“Oh—yeah. No, I’m free. If that’s what you’re asking.”
“That is what I’m asking. Come to ours at eight?”
“That early?”
“P.M. Dennis.”
“Oh,” he touches his forehead, “of course. Yeah, obviously. I’ll be there. Do I need to bring anything?”
“Just yourself. Don’t be late.”
“I won’t.”
You walk past him, letting your hand graze the waistband of his trousers and his belly contracts under your touch.
****
When the evening comes, Dennis is late. Again. It’s only by one minute so far, and you know the buses have been going crazy lately, but still Robby suggests you start already. He wants that just for the knowledge alone that you started without Dennis, he’s mean like that.
Robby leans down towards your face, but just before your lips can touch the doorbell rings. You pull away but he gently takes hold of your wrist.
“Just one kiss, baby? Then it counts.”
You press a quick but sloppy kiss to his lips and he emerges from the kiss smirking. Robby leans against the wall with one shoulder, arms crossed, as you open the door for Dennis.
“I’m so sorry I’m late. I was meant to be here early but I kept getting hard on the bus and there was this old lady next to me and I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable in case she saw so I had to wait until she got off and she got off two stops from here so I walked back from—”
To shut him up, you kiss Dennis. His words die in his throat and he almost drops the bouquet of flowers he brought with him. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck to pull him in, aware of your tits pushing against his chest. When your hips get closer, it’s clear why he had such a big problem on the bus.
“Don’t worry about it, you’re here now,” you say softly into his ear.
When you pull away Dennis is smiling in a way you’ve never quite seen on him. You’ve seen him happy, excited, as of recently horny, and many times before you’ve seen him sad and pathetic, but now he looks blissful. Like your one kiss gave him a solution to all of life’s problems.
“I, uh, brought you these. They’re not great but I wanted to bring something.” He holds out a pink and red bouquet of flowers, clearly hand-picked. You take it from him, holding it close to your face to smell their scent.
“I love it. Thank you, that’s really sweet of you.”
“Hey, buddy. D’you run here?” Robby asks from behind you, taking in Dennis's heaving form, and you step away to let him and Dennis hug — or however you’d describe the handshake-and-shoulder-pat-thing men do.
“I didn’t wanna be late. Could I maybe have a glass of water?”
“Of course, c’mere, we need you nice and hydrated” you slide his jacket off his shoulders, taking his hand to lead him to the kitchen. You bring the full glass to his mouth, holding it for Dennis in fear of him dropping it from how hard his hands are shaking.
“You still up for this? We can stop at any moment,” you remind him.
“Of course! I just— I think I haven’t been this excited for anything in a while. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” Robby says, “But you remember you’re not gonna fuck her, right?”
“I know. I fully respect your boundaries, both of yours.”
You giggle at his serious words, “relax. It’s just us.”
Just you, you can practically read the sarcastic words in Dennis’s mind. You know his crush on you is intense, and that’s what makes this all more exciting.
“How about you calm down in here a bit and we start already? We actually already did, since you weren’t on time,” Robby says, expression earnest but you all know Dennis won’t agree to it. But Robby is excited too, as little as he’s showing it on his face. The bulge in his trousers tells you enough.
“I don’t need to calm down,” Dennis mumbles, “I’m ready.”
“Good,” you take one of their hands each and walk them to the bedroom. You put on a fresh set of bedding this morning and may or may not have sprayed some of your perfume on it.
You sit Dennis down in the chair near the bed, standing tall in front of him, looking him up and down, at his clearly freshly washed hair, his black t-shirt, relaxed jeans.
Bending towards him, you strip his shirt up over his head, “We won’t be needing this. You too, baby,” you turn around towards Robby who is already getting rid of his clothes.
“Or these…” you nudge Dennis’s knees apart with your leg, sitting down between them. You unbuckle his belt slowly, carefully, the clinking of metal filling the air as you look up at him. Dennis looks close to cumming already, his chest moving up and down, breathing shallow.
“Look, angel, you’re killing him already. Might need a visit to the Pitt on our day off,” Robby teases, and Dennis pouts.
“No, we won’t! I’m fine.”
“We know, baby, it’s cute,” the pet name just slips out, and his eyes clamp shut. Heat radiates off his lap, and you’re sure he won’t last anywhere near the entirety of you and Robby having sex.
“You think you got more than one load in you?” Robby asks, and Dennis nods rapidly. You and Robby share a smile.
“How about you get one out now so you can focus more when we actually start, yeah?” Robby smiles, voice laced with condescension, but Dennis is already too far gone to care about embarrassment.
“Yeahyeah, yeah,” he nods, “that sounds good.”
He lifts his hips for you to pull his jeans down, clamping his hands over his lap immediately. You gently take his wrists and put them on the arm rests. His erection jumps up beneath his boxers, tenting the fabric.
“Much better,” you say. Still on your knees you turn around to face your boyfriend’s crotch. He’s only in boxers too by now, and you kiss down his tummy, fingers slipping past his waistband. Before you can go any further you stop. An unmistakable squelching sounds from behind you, and Dennis’s hand stops moving beneath his boxers when your eyes meet his.
“Oh,” you say all sweetly.
“I’m sorry— I thought you said…”
“I was gonna help but if you’d rather jerk off that’s fine.”
Dennis’s eyes go between yours and Robby’s, your boyfriend laughing at the bewildered look.
“But I thought I couldn’t touch you…”
“I said you can’t fuck her, ‘s just her hand,” Robby huffs.
“Oh,” Dennis says, unable to form any words beyond that.
“So you want me to?” You ask from between his legs.
“Yes please, only if you want to, of course.”
“I want to,” you nod, silently giggling.
You move towards Dennis to kiss him, but stop just a few inches short of his mouth, “Can I kiss you? Didn’t even ask before.”
Dennis gives a laugh; it’s bizzare to him that you’d have to ask him. Sometimes, on bad days, he feels wrong for just existing in your presence. It’s funny that you think there’s a world in which he wouldn’t do whatever you asked.
“Yeah, you can kiss me. Can do anything you want to me.”
You grin against his lips as you lean in to kiss him. Dennis’s hands grab at your head, not uncomfortably but not exactly gently
“Easy there, tiger,” Robby says, and Dennis’s hands loosen as a string of sorrysorrysorry spills from his lips.
“‘S okay,” you mumble, enjoying the way he’s about to swallow you whole.
“God, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. Didn’t think it’d ever happen,” Dennis moans against your neck as he kisses down it, desperate to leave a hickey, but he’s currently too uncoordinated with need to touch you however he can.
“Yeah, you got lucky. Have to give it it to you, you’ve got balls on you to ask her out,” Robby chuckles.
Dennis moans. “Already told you I didn’t know you were together.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Robby doesn’t have to go into detail for Dennis to realise what he’s implying. He’s not exactly hurt, even if it’s not a nice thing to say. He agrees that you’re way out of his league, out of Robby’s too though.
“Ignore him. I think you’re hot,” you whisper against his lips.
“Not cute?” Dennis pulls away from the kiss for a second to swallow down his surprise.
“You’re cute too, very cute.”
“Oh,” Dennis frowns.
“Why do you think that’s such a bad thing?”
Dennis looks down, meeting your eyes for only a split second. “I wanna be hot like Robby,” he pouts.
“Give it another twenty–hmm, thirty years, some untreated depression and a few burnouts and you might have a chance,” you giggle.
“Ha ha,” Robby says. You reach out to smooth your hand over his thigh, whispering, “be there in a second.”
“Take your time with him, angel. God knows he’s enjoying it.”
“I am,” Dennis assures with a series of nods before you kiss him again, his tongue immediately finding yours.
Your hands are planted on his thighs but start to move desperately towards his boxers. You pull the waistband down and wrap a hand around the head of his cock, all wet with precum.
“Much bigger than I imagined,” you tell him.
Dennis isn’t sure whether to be offended or proud, but his body makes the decision for him as his cock bobs on its own, begging for your touch. You leave him like this for a second, standing up to full height to pull your shirt over your head but Robby stops you, a hand on the hem.
“Not yet, baby. You might kill him.”
“Nonono, I’m— I want to see.”
“Let him see, baby. Don’t be mean.”
You smile at Robby who pulls you closer. He slowly drags your t-shirt over the top of your head, pulling your shorts down after. You’re left in a relatively simple but pretty matching set. Robby thought Dennis might die if you wore something more sexy. You thought he just wanted to be the only one to see you in your Sunday best lingerie, but he might have been right.
Dennis genuinely stops breathing for a few seconds, launching into a coughing fit that he only just manages to stop before it gets concerning.
“What did I tell you?” Robby looks up at you, hands smoothing over your body, directing you to stand in front of Dennis.
“Doesn’t my girl look pretty?” Robby asks, a hand on your waist, the other moving around your front and squeezing your tit through your bra.
“You’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. Not just pretty— you’re beautiful. Sometimes I can’t believe you’re real.”
“Trust me, kid, she’s real. Here,” Robby’s hand slides down your front and into your panties, making you gasp. It’s the first time this evening you’re being touched and Robby’s cold fingers on your clit make a shiver run up your spine as you cross one leg over the other.
Robby pushes a rough finger into your pussy, playing in it for a second and adding another finger until a crude wet sound fills the room, and promptly pulls his fingers out.
“Very real,” he says, holding his two fingers up and spreading them, strings of your arousal webbing between them. Robby sucks them off his fingers before Dennis can even think of how you’d taste. Robby gives your ass a loving slap and you get back on your knees between Dennis’s legs, his cock straining out of the top of his boxers.
You place your hand in front of Dennis’s mouth, and he instinctively spits into it.
“Thank you,” you say softly, and watch his cock move to your words right in front of you.
You place a spit slicked palm against the underside of his cock, wrapping your hand around it. You begin to focus on the action of jerking him off when Dennis’s hand circles your wrist.
“Are you— you don’t have to. I won’t last long.”
“I want to. And I know,” you smile. Your hand speeds up around him, grabbing him slightly too tightly to make him squirm some more. You think the time is ripe to show Dennis what it entails when Robby says Dennis just can’t fuck you, and you bend down to suck on his full balls softly.
“Oh my g— holy shit,” Dennis whimpers, cumming immediately. His cum spurts out of him all at once, a large string splattering on his own abs with a wet smack from how much it is. The rest runs down his cock and you wipe some of it with your hand for more lube to jerk him off with.
“Would you look at that,” Robby coos, watching in awe as you milk your student doctor’s throbbing cock. By the end of Dennis’s orgasm his lap and your forearm are a sticky mess, Dennis reduced to a tired blob-like thing as he catches his breath.
“Not gettin’ tired on us already, are you? We’re just gettin’ started,” Robby throws a pack of wet wipes on Dennis’s lap which wakes him up a little.
“I’m not tired! But fuck, that was… that was amazing. I’ve never cum that much before.”
You smile as you kiss Dennis again, a few drops of his cum on your lips, but you deny him your mouth for much longer than it takes him to lick them up. He grabs a wet wipe to clean off your hands and forearm, completely neglecting his own lap which must be much more sticky and uncomfortable. He wipes it off you gently, looking into your eyes with awe every few seconds.
“So what happened to… I mean I was surprised I’m even allowed to kiss you.”
“It’s like Robby said,” you shrug, “you can’t fuck me. It was just my mouth. ‘n I wanted to taste you.”
His eyes light up. “Does that mean I can—”
“No,” Robby bellows before he can hear the whole question, “her pussy’s mine.”
“Alright…” Dennis hangs his head.
He cleans himself off next, and his cock hasn’t even gone soft for a second, still standing tall and in need of attention. While Dennis is still taking care of the mess he made of himself, you finally join Robby on the bed, straddling him to give him a sloppy kiss, pulling on his lower lip with your teeth.
Robby unclasps your bra at your back, sliding the straps down your arms and cupping your tits as you continue to make out.
“Wanna see too,” Dennis whines, and you giggle.
“Real fuckin’ greedy considering you’re a guest in our house,” Robby comments with a huff, but lets you turn around nevertheless. He adjusts your hips so you’re sitting on his cock that settles right between your legs, pushed against your clothed pussy. His hands are still on your tits, playing with your nipples.
Without him even seeing them fully, you’re still sure Dennis’s eyes have little heart shapes in them.
“They’re perfect,” he drools, hands already back on his dick as he presses it down against his abs, not jerking off yet, wanting to prolong this one.
“Robby... do you recall when I told Dennis that he could touch himself?” You ask, head cocked to the side.
He chuckles, "don't think you did, sweetheart."
“Oh! I’m just, I didn’t… I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Can you do me a favour? Sit on your hands.”
He slowly moves them away and places them under his thighs, already looking desperate.
“Good boy. And don’t move them until I tell you to, okay?” you send him a little wink as you giggle, Robby beginning to play with your clit.
Dennis just nods in fear of only being able to moan if he opened his mouth.
“Okay?” you repeat in a tone Dennis has only heard from you at work.
“Yes, I promise. I’ll be good.”
You look down and reach behind yourself to pull Robby’s boxers down, hard cock pushing against your wet panties. Robby pulls your panties to the side and rearranges you to push himself right inside you, and you both moan in pleasure.
In that moment Dennis isn’t just jealous of how Robby gets to be inside of you, but how familiar he is with your body. That he knew you were wet enough already to take him fully, that his cock seems to fit in your pussy like they were made for each other. He squirms on top of his own hands that have begun to sweat from need.
“That’s it, angel, fuck, so good to me,” Robby groans as you begin to move, getting used to the feeling of him deep inside.
You whimper and moan as Robby reaches around you to play with your clit, enjoying as Dennis’s eyes are glued to your pussy that’s split open by the cock of your shared attending.
“Fuck me,” your boyfriend moans, pulsing inside you. Dennis gulps at hearing those familiar words in their literal context, seeing them lived out. It’s getting harder to not touch himself, the urge to move is strong, and he finds himself pushing against the air, aiming for some kind of friction.
You giggle loudly when Robby picks you up by the waist, lying you down on your back to fuck you better. He likes that you’re bare except for your panties, something about Dennis not getting to see you completely naked, if only technically.
“Pussy feels so good,” Robby sinks into you again, grabbing your knees to widen them, pushing them up against the sides of your chest, “so lucky I get to fuck you every night, angel.” You know he means it but you also know he’s trying to make Dennis jealous, as if the poor boy isn’t bursting from it already.
You look over at him to see a big pout, interrupted only by a small smile as his eyes move towards your tits, watching them bounce from Robby’s thrusts. You nod up at your boyfriend who follows your eyes, taking in his pathetic student doctor.
“What now?” He huffs.
“It’s just, I wanna see. Can’t really see from over here..”
Robby gets up, leaving you whining at the sudden emptiness in your pussy, and he drags Dennis up by the arm and parks him on the bed, sitting him against the headboard. You’re mere inches from him now, and the look in your eyes reminds him to sit on his hands. He kicks off his boxers that have slipped halfway down his thighs anyway. You help pull them off past his knees, leaving goosebumps behind where you touch him.
“Better?”
Dennis nods contentedly.
“Wait,” you rest your hand against Robby’s chest before he can slide into you again, and you peer up at Dennis, “you want a taste?”
Dennis straightens up, ready to get between your legs but Robby pushes him back. Instead, he plunges two fingers into your pussy, obscene wet sounds filling the room as he fucks into you a few times. His fingers come out with strings of wetness sliding down. Dennis is already drooling from the sight.
Robby coats Dennis’s lips in it, then puts his fingers in Dennis’s mouth as he sucks them eagerly, eyes first on Robby, then on you when he sees you watching him with a soft smile on your face.
“You like her taste?” Robby muses, the sucking sounds from Dennis’s mouth around his fingers obscenely loud.
“Mmhmmm,” Dennis moans around the two fat fingers being shoved down his throat.
Robby roughly pats Dennis’s cheek, his cock flexing at the action. You don’t miss the moan that leaves Dennis when Robby ruffles his hair before he joins you again.
“You still okay?” you get on all fours, hands next to Dennis’s hips.
“It’s really difficult, not touching myself.”
“Aww, is it?” you pout, and Dennis hopes for a moment that you’ll let him jerk off, “Just a bit longer for me, okay?”
He nods with a tight-lipped smile. The bed dips behind you as Robby gets between your legs, rubbing his tip against your pussy. You moan and lean in to Dennis, who takes it as an invitation for a kiss. You certainly don’t mind, but your forehead almost bangs against his when Robby thrusts into you again for the first time. Somehow it’s still Dennis, cock untouched, who moans loudest.
“Close enough now?” Robby asks, hips meeting yours, the bed shaking as the motion pulls you between him and Dennis.
You place your hands on his thighs to steady yourself, and he moans from the contact. Dennis’s dick repeatedly slaps against his abs with the way the mattress moves from every one of Robby’s thrusts and he looks too delicious to ignore any longer.
“Robby? Baby?” you say over your shoulder and he pulls out, cock resting against your ass cheek.
“C’mere,” he pulls you to sit upright on your knees, hand reaching out to grope your tit while he kisses you, his mouth possessive on you. You reach between your legs to drag your fingers through your slick, bending back down to wrap your wet hand around Dennis.
“Fuck that’s hot, baby. You gonna make Dennis cum? Gonna make him feel good, hm?” Robby babbles as he rests a hand on your back, the other reaching around your waist to slide down to your clit as he keeps fucking you.
“Holy fuck, feels so good,” Dennis squirms, eyes screwed shut, and as pretty as he looks with his cheeks all pink you’re not quite ready for him to finish yet, so you move down to his balls, kneading them with one hand.
You’re starting to feel almost light-headed too. Robby playing with your clit has you squirming, knees getting weak.
“Don’t give up on me now, angel. Gotta make you cum first.”
You nod with a moan, arching your back further as you rest your head on Dennis’s thigh, still playing with his balls, reaching up to wrap your hand around him again, jerking him off mostly at the top.
“There you go, good girl. He’s almost there. You wanna cum?” Robby asks, leaning forward so his soft tummy grazes your lower back as his hips snap against yours, reducing you to a cock-drunk mess.
“Wanna make Dennis cum first,” you mumble, wetting your lips and kissing Dennis’s balls, then up his cock and sucking the tip into your mouth. You wrap your hand around his base, moving your head up and down as your tongue drags over the underside of his cock.
"Oh my god," is all Dennis manages to groan out.
“Fuck, angel, doin’ such a good job. Squeezing around my cock, not gonna last much longer,” Robby moans, and the urgency from his hand on your clit makes you speed up your movements, Dennis’s tip bulging against your cheek, drool running down your chin. He’s still being good and sitting on his hands, squirming on top of them so his cock pushes deeper down your throat as he whines.
“Oh fuck – feels so fucking good.”
“Gonna cum for my girl, Whitaker? Gonna cum down her throat? Show her how you taste, know she wants it so badly.”
Your little muffled uh uh uh around Dennis’s cock only spurs Robby on as he circles your sensitive clit, holding your hips up with his other arm so you don’t collapse while he fucks you.
Dennis lets out a string of words you can’t quite understand as his hips push up and he cums in your mouth. Your mouth moves around his dick until he’s about to cry, utterly drained of cum and energy and you move back to all fours in time for Robby to make you cum.
Your back arches as you push your lips against Dennis’s, and his hands are finally on you, groping your tits as Robby fucks you into oblivion, the bliss from your orgasm starting from your pussy and spreading into your limbs.
“That’s my angel girl, I got you I got you, gonna cum, baby, ‘m so fucking close” Robby moans as you clench around him, pussy milking his cum out of him. You bite into Dennis’s lip as your boyfriend’s warm load floods your pussy, your own orgasm prolonged as Robby relentlessly circles your clit.
His hips push against your ass a few more times until he stops, cock beginning to soften inside you, still throbbing.
“Holy shit,” you huff, collapsing onto your back.
“Fuck, that was, that was so… that was so fucking hot,” Dennis rambles, slumped against the headboard and out of breath. His own cum dribbles down his chin from where you just kissed him.
“Now you know why I call her angel,” Robby says as he lies down on his stomach next to you, arm draped over your waist.
You’re all silent for a few moments, catching your breath. You start to giggle when you look up at Dennis, who is upside down from your angle. The two men smile, then break out into giggles too.
Robby presses a kiss into your hair, moving closer to spoon you.
Dennis looks down at you, a small but content smile on his lips, “you’re so beautiful,” he says.
“Don’t go fallin’ in love with her, Whitaker.”
You roll your eyes and squeeze Dennis’s knee, “that was nice.”
He looks around as if looking for something, then “I think I missed my last bus. D’you think you could call me an Uber? I’ll paypal you when I get paid.”
You giggle and Dennis looks offended for a second.
“Don’t be silly, you’re staying with us tonight,” you wrap your hands around his surprisingly meaty thigh, resting your head on it.
Dennis smiles, unsure whether to pretend that this is a nuisance, when really he’d like to stay in your bed forever.
“Is kissing still allowed now?” He asks shyly, eyebrows drawn together.
You nod, sitting up to meet his lips.
You drag him to the bathroom with you and Robby afterwards. Robby sits you on the counter and cleans you gently, massaging your thighs while his hands run up them.
“C’mere,” you tell Dennis, turning to the side so he can stand next to Robby. You run a cool washcloth over his face, down his glistening chest, a slight pink rash from too much excitement covering it, and gently clean up the residue of his orgasm around his soft, though slightly hardening, cock.
You feed on little snacks after before you fall into bed a giggly mess, Robby spooning you, you spooning Dennis as you brush your hand through his hair.
Out of all the things Dennis expected to happen after he asked you out, this is the thing he expected the least. But he can’t say he’s disappointed.
P.S. thank you sm for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!! If you did I'd be eternally grateful if you could reblog and if you want to be extra nice lmk what you liked!! <3 I spent days writing this and a small rb and comment goes a looong way :)
*SEASON OF THE WOLF: a joel miller x reader story.
The giant wolf that has been killing people around town shares a very striking feature with the quiet man that keeps breaking into your home— They both have the saddest, warmest brown eyes you've ever seen.
click here to join the taglist. / click here for my main masterlist.
warnings: werewolf!joel, age gap (reader is late 20s, joel is mid 40s), reader is afab and goes by she/her, no outbreak, mentions of csa, kind of southern gothic vibes, gore & violence, death of minor characters, stalking (but like in a romantic way), reader is mentally unwell, no y/n, artsy reader, slow burn, reader is depressed and somewhat detached from reality, religious themes, no description of reader other than being curvy/plus sized, some animals die but it happens off page, found family, technically cannibal!joel, mentions of periods & period symptoms, reader is bisexual, monsterfucking, girldad!joel, death of a spouse, sarah lives, suicidal tendencies/suicide attempt, alcohol & weed consumption, eventual smut.
rating: +18.
fox says: hello friends! i've never written any supernatural fics before but the idea of a werewolf character has been stuck on my mind forever and i felt like joel would be the perfect fit for that; as many of you know i went back and forth a lot on whether this should be a joel or clint fic and in the end i thought the characterization fit joel better. this is also a small celebration of a follower milestone i reached a while back but it took me so long to post i already reached a second milestone lol anyway, thank you so much for reading my stuff and following me! as always, please let me know how we feel about it.
Sequel to this post. But can be read as a standalone
Warnings: Group sex, subby Whitaker! Subby reader! Dom Rabbot! and they’re meaannnn.
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“What the fuck do you think you’re doing Whitaker?” Jack’s got Dennis' cheeks smushed between his hand as he scolds him. Robby’s holding Dennis’ hips from thrusting into you, the younger man desperately squirming in his grasp for some kind of contact. “Did we say you could go faster?”
Dennis shakes his head as much as he can, whining muffled apologies through Jack's grip “srryy jack- she jst feels so-” Jacks hand CRACKS across his face.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses.” He isn’t yelling, but his quiet seething is much more frightening. “You two wanted us to teach you how to fuck each other right. And now you’re not fucking listening. What happened hmm?” His patronising tone isn’t helping Dennis’ frantic twitching. The head of his cock pulses where it rests in your entrance, making you whimper softly.
“Did you get all pussy drunk?” Robby condescends “Can’t even think when you get your dick wet?” he laughs cruelly “Can’t even make a pretty girl feel good cause you're too cunt drunk to focus on anything other than cumming. That's pretty pathetic isn’t it Jack.”
It's not a question.
Even though you know that Dennis is exactly where he wants to be, you can’t ignore the way his eyes well with fat tears tugs on your heart strings.
You can’t help but squeak out “He was making me feel good” Your voice is meek and quiet.
Three sets of eyes snap to you “What was that baby?” Robby whispers dangerously. Your words are caught in your throat, failing to move past your lips.
“You wanna speak out of turn then speak.” Jack probes.
“Said he was making me feel good.” Jack raises an eyebrow at you “Sir!” you quickly add “Said he was making me feel good, Sir.”
“You don’t know what you want, baby.” he tuts
“You’re just as bad as him. Get a cock in you and you go so fucking dumb. Can’t tell if he’s doing what he’s supposed to with it.” Robby teases, making you pout. “Aww are we being mean? You want us to be nice and sweet like Dennis?”
“No, she loves it when we’re mean to her brother, look how wet she is.” and he’s right. A trail of wetness slides out of your pussy and along Dennis’s purple cock.
“Now are you going to be a good boy and listen to us? Hmm?” Dennis nods frantically, Jack grips the back of his hair, “Words.”
“Yes sir, gonna be so good. Please let me move.” He blurts it out in a high pitched gasp, cock pulsing inside you at the thought.
“Good. Now fuck her nice and slow.” Dennis cries out in relief when Robby releases his hips, and it takes everything in him not to slam into you the way he wants to. Instead he listens to Jack and Robby like a good boy. Pushing forward slowly and forcefully, you feel the drag of his prominent vein against your walls, making you clench around him.
He falters at that, breath hitchhiking and hips stuttering.
“Jesus christ that didn’t take long” chides Robby with a laugh “So fucking sloppy.”
“Are we gonna have to step in? Make you watch us and take notes?” Jack asks.
“Maybe there’ll be an exam at the end.” Robby sneers.
At that, Dennis starts to fuck into with renewed focus, determined to prove himself to the two older men, rocking into you slowly but with firm and targeted thrusts that have you moaning into the skin of his neck. He brings a hand up to tease your pebbled nipples, the action causing you to arch into his touch, shifting you just enough to create a newer deeper angle for his cock to reach inside of you.
“There we go. Finally get serious when we threaten to take away our girl huh?”
“I can’t believe it. He can be taught.”
“I don't know… he’s not even paying any attention to her sweet little clit”
And then you can't even tell who's talking.
All you can focus on is the hand that Dennis has snaked between your bodies to strum at your swollen bud, sending shockwaves up your spine and clouding your mind with a rush of blood thrumming in your ears.
You’re vaguely aware of snide comments and snickers between Robby and Jack but any meaning is lost on you in this state.
Their comments do nothing but spur Dennis on further, he maintains his pace but spears into you in harsh thrusts that have you scrunching your eyes in pleasure. The sound of your ecstasy bounces off the walls in a chorus of moans, so close to the edge- the older men's watchful gaze only adding to your arousal.
“Please can I cum” Your voice comes out in a needy whine, bordering on hoarse.
“Who you askin sweetheart?” Jack responds with an evil grin spread wide across his face.
Your head is swimming, you can barely process his ask with the pleasure surging through your body.
“Answer him when he speaks to you” a sharp smack from Robby lands on the outside of your thigh, the sting forcing your brain to catch up with the rest of you.
“Both of you. Please. Need to cum he feels so good”
They chuckle. Clearly getting some sick joy out of drawing out their answer and making you squirm, desperately trying to stave off your oncoming orgasm.
“Gotta ask Dennis baby, he’s the one doing all the work right?”
You bite back the displeased groan that threatens to escape your throat, not wanting to restrain yourself a moment longer just to beg Dennis to let you cum. You know he will, but every second teetering on the edge is torture. Delicious, delightful torture but torture all the same.
“Please Dennis. Making me feel so good, your cocks’deep inside me please baby”. Your rambling clearly affects him.
He doesn't let his rhythm falter again, not risking angering his attendings again. But he does suck his lip between his teeth, gnawing on it to hold back from cumming on the spot.
“Can I?” He asks, looking back at the men he so desperately had tried to impress, to take control from, still unable to resist obeying their every instruction. And seeking it out no less.
“Good boy for asking” Robby continues over the cry that worms its way out of Dennis’ throat “What do you think Jack? They learned?”
Jack remains still for a painful moment. Then he nods. “Both of ‘em can.”
You and Dennis need no further permission, erupting into euphoria at his command. Collapsing into each other's arms in a sweaty, blubbering mess. Your post-coital bliss does not last long, rudely interrupted by your older lover's voices.
Jack breaks the silence first “What do you think brother? B minus?”
“I don’t know Jack. I think they might need a few more lessons to get a passing grade.”
A/N: HIIII I'm backkkk. ive been dealing with a ton of personal stuff recently but hopefully will be posting more soon :)
Warnings: Brendon Park bulking!!!! Smutty. I love him.
Masterlist
God you love him like this.
He’s always been big but now he’s capital H Huge.
He’s been bulking for the last two months, developing not only giant muscles but a soft layer of fat above them. You could burrow into his pecs and live there for the rest of your life. His clothes fit him so tightly since he refuses to get new ones. His shirts constantly call to you to rip them off.
He’s always ravenous, eating seconds and thirds of your cooking making you swell with pride at how he moans at the taste, always overly complimentary about how good of a chef you are. His heart is definitely attached to his stomach, and the act of service makes him fall for you all over again every night. You can’t deny you’ve loved feeding him, pushing bigger portions on his plate to see him grow and handing him a protein shake in the morning. It’s nice to see him so… soft. It's domestic. He feels lived in.
You thank god he chose the winter months to do this because the extra meat on his bones has made him your personal radiator. The smattering of hair that had always covered his stomach and chest has grown thicker and darker too. You joke that he’s turning into a bear more everyday, something he tolerates rather than appreciates- except for the days when you pack him those healthy gym bro lunches of salmon and berries complete with a densely caloric baked good of some kind. He’s so warm now. You cling to him at night like a hot water bottle, he has no objection holding you close against his soft chest.
Everything about him was a little softer now. When you had met him he was all hard lines and sharp angles. Now he has rounded and filled out a little more and it drives you wild. He’s still an intimidating figure, maybe more so since his increased size makes him loom over most people, but he looks a little bit more like the sweet caring man that only you used to see.
And god he’s so fucking strong. Can lift you like it's nothing. He’ll casually ask you to sit on his back while he does pushups, or jokingly use you instead of weights for his reps.
And the sex…
He definitely puts that extra strength to use, he can have you anywhere now cause he can just lift you up. But when you are in the bedroom he throws you on the mattress, manhandles you like crazy. He completely covers you, and the weight of his body around your own just intensifies every sensation.
And the extra hair means a more pronounced happy trail. Which means more friction. And you are desperate to suck his dick way more often when you see it peeking out from between his shirt and pants.
He likes to have you on top and basically move you up and down his cock- you hardly have to do any work he’s just trying to get an arm session in.
You’re dreading his upcoming cut in a few months. You also know you’ll love that raw muscular look on him too.
For now though you’ll just keep helping him put on mass you think to yourself as you slide a tray of raspberry brownies into the oven.
A/N: guys i love him bad what am i going to do. Also if you’ve never put raspberries in your brownies get on that what are you doing.
Park "The Shark" x Marine Biologist!Reader pt.5, pt.6 here.
warnings: Shark being a weirdo as per. Smut. MDNI. Oral (f recieving), PinV. Biting!!! Tiniest bit of blood eva. Possible medical malpractice?
Series Masterlist. Main Masterlist.
divider credit @dividers-are-us
A/N: Thanks for all the patience! first time writing smut so bear with me.
“Sweetheart. Let me take you to bed.”
You had sworn you wouldn’t sleep with him. Not on the first real date. But here you were on his lap, the evidence of his arousal obvious beneath you.
Here you were inches away from his mouth, breathless just from kissing his gorgeous face.
Here you were definitely about to sleep with him.
You nod slowly. Intentionally.
“Uh-uh let me hear you say it baby.”
“Brendon” you whine embarrassingly desperate already “take me to bed. Please.”
“So polite.” He leans back in to kiss you with renewed hunger, standing up on the couch, carrying you in his arms with no struggle.
The thick arms you had been fixated on from the moment he entered your view were wrapped around you as he brought you upstairs, never once unlatching from your own hungry mouth, keeping an unhurried stride.
Your arms find themselves wrapped around him, fingers at the nape of his neck as he walks towards the bed, resuming your position straddling his tree trunk thighs as he sits on the mattress's edge.
Your hands move to his face, fingers grasping his strong jaw and tracing the sharp angles of his cheek bones.
His hands stay set on your hips, rocking you into the rigid length pressing into the seam of his pants. You grind down with more pressure and the groan that escaped from his mouth sent a burst of excitement through your body.
You continue the slow, sensual rhythm of your hips, and you knew you would do whatever it took for him to make that sound again.
He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, biting and releasing it with a pull, mouthing along your jaw and neck, pressing wet kisses at your collar bone, sucking marks into your skin.
You could feel the sharp pain of his canines on your pulse as he bit down on the sensitive spot on your neck, soothing it with his tongue.
You move your hands slowly from his neck, down his chest. Fingers toying with the hem of his now untucked dress shirt.
“You want it off sweetheart?”
“Mmhm” you keen, reaching for the buttons.
He stops your hand. “Ask me.”
You could have guessed he would be as demanding in the bedroom as he was in the other aspects of his life.
You had half a mind to push him to the bed and make him beg for you.
You knew you could, this beast of a man was just as wrapped around your finger as you were his- and you knew how to handle beasts after all, maybe a firm hand is just what he needed.
But another night.
Right now you were thrumming with need, practically vibrating with desire. If giving in meant getting what you want faster, well that was just fine by you.
“Please Bren, wanna see you”
He smirked and released your hand.
With every button you undid more of his sculpted body was revealed. Goddamn you were practically salivating.
“Your turn baby. Gonna let me see you?” your dress was pulled over your head before he could finish his sentence- he chuckled at your eagerness. Before taking in the sight of you now in just the set you had worn for him.
His eyes lock to your chest, the lacy bra you had worn for him framing your tits perfectly.
His hands skim up your waist to palm your breasts “So fucking pretty.” Your nipples pebble in the cold of his room, which he noticed immediately, lowering his head to take one into his mouth through the fabric.
You let out a pathetically needy moan at the contact.
“It feels good doesn’t it?” It’s not really a question but you answer anyway.
“Yeah Bren dont stop.”
“Fit so perfectly in my hands baby. Like you were made for me.”
The winding of your hips quickens in pace and pressure as you grind down on to his length.
“Want you so bad Br-“ he flips you on to your back in an instant, holding his body above your own and looking down at you with manic, lust black eyes.
“Gonna make my pretty girl feel good” he kisses his way down your torso, leaving little bites as he reaches lower, lower, lower.
He arrives at your clothed core, his warm breath fanning over you. “Can I take these off?”
“If you don’t start touching me right now I might die.”
His eyebrows raise just barely “yes ma’am.”
He takes the flimsy fabric between his fingertips ripping them apart
“Brendon! Those were nice- OW!”
He cuts you off with a chomp to your inner thigh. Sucking a bruise close to your wetness that would surely last a week. “Desperate measures baby. Couldn’t let my favourite patient die on my watch.”
“You’re buying me new ones”
“I’ll buy you as many as you want”
He dives into you with his tongue licking a broad stripe across your weeping pussy that has you crying out in ecstasy.
He holds your hips close against his face and the view of your legs spread wide apart to accommodate for the breadth of his shoulders makes you squirm.
While he circles your clit you realise the silence. Silence that was so expected with Brendon. But now…was noticeable.
Was sex really what got the man to talk?
Your thoughts are quieted as he lightly scrapes his teeth against your bundle of nerves causing you to jolt up.
“Oh my god Brendon. don’t s-stop. Don’t you dare stop”
He doesn’t respond, maintaining his technique perfectly drawing you closer and closer to the edge.
He licks into you, not pulling away. It's as if he doesn't need to breathe. You draw your hand to the side of his neck where in your hazy, hallucinogenic pleasure you expect to find gills.
You don't find them, but the next press of his nose against you has you drawing bright red scratches in their place.
He is unrelenting in his mission to tip you over, bringing a hand from your thigh to rest on your lower stomach, stopping your squirming and adding a delicious pressure.
Then bringing his free hand to draw a finger into your heat. The thickness of one of his digits breaches your weeping slit in a ‘come hither’ motion, making you cry out and grab his gelled hair.
He adds a second, and then a third as your moans crescendo, scissoring his fingers- stretching you out. All the while maintaining his tongue’s ministrations on your clit.
You cum with a gasping squeal, taking the hand splayed across your stomach and gripping it in your own.
He doesn't relent, rolling his tongue across your over sensitive bud until you’re pushing his head away from your core.
The sight that greets you is downright sinful.
His face is flush and glistens with your slick. “Taste so good sweetheart.”
He continues to suck his marks into the meat of your thighs.
“Please Bren. Need you.”
He crawls up the bed caging your body between it and his own, stopping with his thigh between your splayed legs pressing against your sopping cunt.
He leans down to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue.
You take his lower lip into his mouth, mimicking his earlier nips to yours, but as you go to playfully nibble at him his fingers find your pebbled nipple- pinching in a way that causes you to bite down with more force than you had meant.
He pulls away but not before the identifiable metallic taste of blood floods your mouth.
His nostrils are flaring as he brushes his bleeding lip with the back of his hand to watch it drip.
He smiles revealing stained red against brilliant white. “When’d you get so filthy baby?”
His expression is so feral you can barely recognise him as human before he's diving back down to your mouth, claiming it with his blood soaked tongue. He takes your hands between his giant one, pinning them above your head as he litters your skin with blood smeared welts.
His free hand moves to his belt, finally stripping completely and freeing his thick angry cock.
It’s beautiful.
It's huge.
Thick, long, leaking from its turgid red tip.
“Brendon, I don't know if that's going to fit.”
He pauses his bruising kisses, grip on your wrists softening. “I worked you open pretty good, but nothing you don’t want sweetheart. We can stop here and go finish that bottle.” His words are sweet and for a second the animal disappears from his face and he's the most human you've ever seen him look.
“No. Want you just- slow. Okay?” though you doubt how long you’ll stick to that.
He nods “you say the word and we stop.” and then he's kissing you again, slowly but the hunger remains.
Inching forward he begins to rub his length along your slit, the tip catching on your clit making you moan into his mouth.
When he breaches your entrance, the stretch of his girth makes your breath stutter. He’s so big. You feel as though you’re being ripped apart by pleasure, a mouth watering white hot pain tinges the edges of the ecstasy the feel of his cock dragging along your walls brings.
And the noises he lets out above you only add to your arousal.
When he’s fully sheathed inside you, the sharp bones of his hips meeting your softness, he doesn’t pull back.
He stays, trying to push impossibly deeper, grinding into you causing the coarse patch of trimmed hair at his base to rub against your clit, sparking electricity through your nerves.
“Fuck” he breathes out, breath ragged “you feel so fucking perfect.” It's a beautiful thing to see his composed veneer slip like this.
“So deep. Please move.”
With your permission he begins a slow, firm rhythm of thrusts, the head of his cock pressing against that spongy spot inside making you gasp.
He sees this, doesn't have to ask: There? That feel good? Just starts fucking into you harder, hitting that same spot at the same pace but with a brutal force that has you seeing stars.
“F-f-aster Bren. Please” you mewl, already abandoning the idea that you could ever just have this man slowly. There were clearly no small doses with him.
“Yeah I know you want fucking more. Knew you’d take me so well baby, look so pretty with my cock in you.”
His words excite and surprise you, a far cry from the silent man you know.
You rock your hips to meet his frantically increasing pace “Yeah thats right take what im giving you.”
He grabs your legs, placing them on his shoulders, changing the angle of his movements, somehow reaching even deeper inside you. You let out matching cries of pleasure at this, his even louder when you involuntarily clench around him. You see a determination flood his dark eyes, he’s going to make you do that again.
He takes hold of your leg again, pressing a kiss, and of course a small bite to the skin of your ankle- set on covering your entire body with memories of his presence- before pressing them back, basically folding you in half and pressing his face into the crook of your neck.
It's all consuming. The powerful momentum of his cock inside you, the way his body surrounds you, his warm breath on your skin. Almost too intense.
You feel like you're treading water, gasping for breath in a sea of him.
And then he lifts his head, locking you back in his sights. Zeroing in on you with his familiar cold stare. Something different behind it now.
The image of him above you, combined with the overstimulating intensity of his movements is too much. He swipes his thumb across his still bleeding lip, wiping it off.
He presses his thumb against your lips.
You suck it into your mouth, savouring the mixed taste of his sweat and blood, swirling it across your tongue.
With all it takes is one more deep thrust and you’re drowning.
His pace doesn't falter when you clench around him, he keeps his thumb in your mouth, not letting your head move, keeping your eyes on him.
You can tell he’s not far behind, the veins of his neck bulging, his heaving pants.
“Inside. On the pill.”
“I know.” He grunts between gritted teeth.
The aftershocks of your orgasm continue to make you tighten around him, milking his cock until he spills deep inside of you.
He doesn’t fall on you entirely, just lets himself rest lower, still holding himself up on his forearms. You wish he’d smother you under his weight.
He’s back at your neck, pressing soft kisses to the deep purple marks he’d left there.
You take a moment to catch your breath on the rumpled sheets of Brendon Parks' formerly immaculately made bed before breaking the silence “You’re so much more talkative during sex.”
He doesn’t respond but you can feel the smile.
“Seriously, am I going to have to blow you to find out your favourite colour?” you feel him twitch inside you at that.
“Don’t say that I have to go to work tomorrow”.
Of course. Back to his non-stop schedule. The bubble of post-sex happiness is already beginning to fade. All you want to do is stay exactly where you are, and you have no idea when you’ll see him next. That is if he even does want to see you again.
You’re sure he’s as into you as you are him. But he’s so hard to read.
And he did invite you to his home on the first date and you practically threw yourself at him. What man would say no to that.
And then he's pulling out of you. Leaving you tragically empty. Slinking down the bed. Watching his pearly cum leak out of your poor, abused hole.
Admiring his handiwork.
He swipes a finger through his spend, making you wince. Oversensitive.
“I’m sorry baby lemme clean you up.” He brings the finger to your mouth. Again. You were learning so much about him.
You lick his finger clean before he presses a firm kiss to your lips.
“C’mon” He wraps his arms underneath you, lifting you off the bed as you squeak “Lets actually get you cleaned up”.
He brings you to his en suite bathroom, the giant shower calling your name.
He waits for the water to heat up before sitting you under its stream on the inbuilt bench. With him standing above you, you’re eye level with his flaccid dick.
It’s gorgeous even while soft.
He lathers you in soap, paying special attention to your breasts, eyes intent on watching the suds slide off them in his hands.
He brings a washcloth to your pussy, cleaning himself off of you with a small flash of disappointment in his eyes. You suddenly remember the words you couldn’t process in the heat of the moment.
He said he knew you were on the pill. That made sense, you supposed. He had access to your medical records after all. But had he happened upon that information or gone looking for it?
Was that creepy? Or the hottest thing you had ever imagined? You feel yourself heat up at the thought of him making sure he could cum inside you, thinking about you in that way.
Under the soft bathroom light- so different to the clinical light of a hospital, closer to the murky aquarium tank- you see just how many lovebites litter your body.
“I’m going to have to start calling you shark like everyone else”.
He snorts, “You can call me whatever you like." before reaching for his expensive looking shampoo, rubbing the liquid in his palms before bringing them to his head.
“Wait. Sit here, let me.” You nod to the space next to you.
He hesitates for a second, the water washing away most of the shampoo before he obliges, sitting beside you and passing the bottle.
You squirt some on to your palms, massaging his scalp, cleansing his brown hair of the gel.
He leans into your touch. Eyes closed for a second, but as soon as the danger of getting shampoo in his eyes is gone, they're back on you.
You repeat the intimate gesture with conditioner, revelling in the chance to rake your fingers through his tresses.
He removes your hand from his hair, kissing your wrist. “Thank you sweetheart. You stay here for a bit- Toothbrush and moisturisers all in the cabinet. Gonna change the sheets.”
You’re sad to watch him go but relish watching him wrap a towel around himself, water dripping off his toned body. Taking pride in the many marks you’ve left him with.
He pops his toothbrush in his mouth, beginning to brush as he exits the room.
Does this mean he wants you to spend the night? You know he has to work early, and you do as well. You’ll have to go home at some point to make sure to conceal the hickeys.
You step out of the shower, taking advantage of his fluffy towels, the fresh toothbrush and his fancy moisturiser. You smell like his body wash now.
You step out to a beautiful image.
Freshly made bed. Him in grey sweatpants drying off his hair.
He nods towards a soft, worn shirt. “This should be fine for tonight. I’ll drive you home early.”
That answers your question. All your insecurities dissipate in that instant.
Much to your chagrin you have to temporarily tear your eyes from him to pull the shirt over yourself, wrapping yourself up in its comforting masculine scent.
When you look up though.
“Your hair?!” You exclaim, almost horrified staring at the nearly dry locks.
He doesn't flinch. “What about it?”
“You have curls?!”
“I’m not blind.”
Gone is the sleek, gelled helmet of hair you’ve seen him in previously. Replaced by a dark head of soft looking curls. All you can do is stare in silence, mouth agape.
“What, you don’t like them?” He doesn’t say it with any insecurity.
“No, they’re just... different. to your usual style. I like them a lot actually.” It’s true. They soften all his features, and while you are obviously attracted to the sharp angles and corded muscles of the man you met, this is nice. “Both are nice.”
“I actually hate the gel, it's a bitch to wash out. I only wear it back at work. It makes me feel cleaner.”
“You wore gel at the aquarium, and earlier tonight.”
“Cause I was going to work to catch up on paperwork right after and I came straight from work tonight. What am I supposed to do? Gel it in the bathroom and wash it out before I leave? No one there has ever seen me without it and that’s not about to start now. As far as they’re concerned it just grows that way.” He speaks while crossing the room to where you stand, gripping your waist in a way that emphasises his arm muscles- it seems like everything does that- reminding you that his corners and edges are still there under the curls.
“Do you not have any work friends?” You reach a hand up to run your hands through the slightly damp curly mop.
He moves you into the bed, pulling back the covers “No.”
He turns off the lights before joining you in bed, his warm body finding yours in seconds, enclosing you in his embrace
“Shen? He seems nice”
“Shen gave you the wrong pain medication” his deadpan has a tiredness behind it, you get the sense that he usually keeps a more regimented sleep schedule than tonight.
“He was probably wing-manning you. He gave you an excuse to see me again.”
“I would’ve done that no matter what. He deserves no credit.”
An easy hush covers you both. You feel so peaceful in his protective hold, sleep will come quickly.
“Purple by the way.”
“Hmm?”
“My favourite colour is purple.”
A/N: AHHHH they finally did it. I love them baddddd. anyway yeah this took foreva cause i was in assignment hell but am mostly out of it now. REQUESTS OPEN dont be shy.
Taglist: (comment if you want to be removed/added)
Warnings: Brendon Park bulking!!!! Smutty. I love him.
Masterlist
God you love him like this.
He’s always been big but now he’s capital H Huge.
He’s been bulking for the last two months, developing not only giant muscles but a soft layer of fat above them. You could burrow into his pecs and live there for the rest of your life. His clothes fit him so tightly since he refuses to get new ones. His shirts constantly call to you to rip them off.
He’s always ravenous, eating seconds and thirds of your cooking making you swell with pride at how he moans at the taste, always overly complimentary about how good of a chef you are. His heart is definitely attached to his stomach, and the act of service makes him fall for you all over again every night. You can’t deny you’ve loved feeding him, pushing bigger portions on his plate to see him grow and handing him a protein shake in the morning. It’s nice to see him so… soft. It's domestic. He feels lived in.
You thank god he chose the winter months to do this because the extra meat on his bones has made him your personal radiator. The smattering of hair that had always covered his stomach and chest has grown thicker and darker too. You joke that he’s turning into a bear more everyday, something he tolerates rather than appreciates- except for the days when you pack him those healthy gym bro lunches of salmon and berries complete with a densely caloric baked good of some kind. He’s so warm now. You cling to him at night like a hot water bottle, he has no objection holding you close against his soft chest.
Everything about him was a little softer now. When you had met him he was all hard lines and sharp angles. Now he has rounded and filled out a little more and it drives you wild. He’s still an intimidating figure, maybe more so since his increased size makes him loom over most people, but he looks a little bit more like the sweet caring man that only you used to see.
And god he’s so fucking strong. Can lift you like it's nothing. He’ll casually ask you to sit on his back while he does pushups, or jokingly use you instead of weights for his reps.
And the sex…
He definitely puts that extra strength to use, he can have you anywhere now cause he can just lift you up. But when you are in the bedroom he throws you on the mattress, manhandles you like crazy. He completely covers you, and the weight of his body around your own just intensifies every sensation.
And the extra hair means a more pronounced happy trail. Which means more friction. And you are desperate to suck his dick way more often when you see it peeking out from between his shirt and pants.
He likes to have you on top and basically move you up and down his cock- you hardly have to do any work he’s just trying to get an arm session in.
You’re dreading his upcoming cut in a few months. You also know you’ll love that raw muscular look on him too.
For now though you’ll just keep helping him put on mass you think to yourself as you slide a tray of raspberry brownies into the oven.
A/N: guys i love him bad what am i going to do. Also if you’ve never put raspberries in your brownies get on that what are you doing.
The guy im talking to atm is cutting, so hes loosing his softness and its PISSING me off. I am feral for a strong soft boi! I dont think the guys know women are actually really into the belly with the strength. Like yes, bears are a gay thing, but I want you to LOOK like a bear (the animal). Talking hair, muscle, some fat, and just a general gruffness that makes me feel less bad about being mean as a defense mechanism.
Why do guys even cut? I feel like its simply for other dudes. Like they wanna look cool and good looking to their boys, but theyre loosing the girls tbh. Honestly, call out a 'fit' guy by asking if he cuts to stay hot for his boyfriends. If he laughs, he a friend, if he angry... he an op. He deserves it then. (Again, mean as a defense mechanism)
Anyways, this was amazing, and its making me more feral for the one dude I have on the line. This beautiful, lovely, honestly personally accurate, is going on my feed forever. Thank you goddess (not bc youre female (I dont really care either way) just bc youre amazing, and the male gods are fucking tools. Youre better than that, so goddess.)
You convince yourself that sleeping with Robby was just a one-time relapse, and return to the co-parenting routine you’ve carefully built. But everything unravels when you’re dragged into a family vacation at a resort in Mexico. One full week of trying to survive Robby’s relentless attempts to win you back.
warnings/tags: smut, minors DNI, porn with plot (lots of plot), age gap (but readers age isn’t disclosed), jealous!robby, co-parenting, GirlDad!Robby, this is long as fuck so read it with time, they’re still down bad for each other, unprotected piv, semi-public sex, handjob, blowjob, fingering, creampie
You remembered that day as if it had been yesterday. The cold porcelain of the toilet seat under your thighs. The pregnancy test stick clutched in your trembling fingers while you tried to aim. The uncertainty that made every sound echo louder in your tiny studio apartment, the best place a med student could afford. The steady drip-drip-drip from the leaky faucet. The nervous pacing of Robby’s footsteps just behind the thin wooden door.
“You good in there?” he asked, you could picture him leaning in, pressing his ear against the wood like he could somehow hear your thoughts.
You quickly wiped away the silent tears that had been streaming down your cheeks. “Yeah…” Your voice came out shaky and small. “Yeah. I’m done.”
You wiped, flushed the toilet, and stood up on unsteady legs, pulling your pants back on. Carefully, you set the cup and the pregnancy test on the edge of the sink before washing your hands.
“Can I come in?” Robby asked from the other side. Guilt was already eating him alive. This was his fault. He should have been the one guiding you, teaching you how to become a great doctor. Instead, he had jeopardized everything, your education, your career, your future. Now, because of him, you were taking a pregnancy test in a cramped bathroom, wondering what the hell you were going to do with your life if two pink lines appeared.
You didn’t answer with words. You simply walked to the door, opened it, and stepped aside so he could enter. “It says three to five minutes,” you murmured, nodding toward the test resting on the sink.
“How—” Robby cleared his throat when his voice threatened to crack. “How are you feeling?”
“Scared?” The word came out like a question. Truthfully, you didn’t even know if “scared” was the right word. What was the right word for finding yourself in a situation you’d never wanted, knowing it was your own damn fault? You should have been more careful. You should have said yes the first time he asked about wearing a condom. You should have told him to pull out instead of moaning “fill me up, Robby” every single time like you had lost all sense.
You knew the odds. You knew the risks. But when he was inside you, none of that had mattered. And now destiny was laughing in your face. You had no plan. If you were pregnant… what then? Goodbye to med school. Goodbye to your dream of graduating and matching into emergency medicine. You’d probably have to move back in with your parents and spend your days raising a child instead of becoming a doctor. And goodbye to Robby, because why would a man like him want to stay tied to the med student he’d accidentally gotten pregnant and the baby he never asked for?
Fresh tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, soaking your cheeks instantly. You tried to stay quiet, but the sobs broke free anyway.
“Hey, hey, hey… come here.” Robby closed the distance in one step. The heat of his body wrapped around you like a shield. He slid one strong arm around your waist, anchoring you against his solid frame, and the other hand cradled the back of your head. “It’s perfectly normal to be scared. But you’ve got me. You’re not alone in this.”
“What are we—” Another sob escaped, muffled against his shoulder. “What am I gonna do, Robby? What am I supposed to do?”
“Whatever feels right,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a gentle kiss there. “You’re supposed to do whatever you want to do. You have all the choices.”
“But which one is the right one?” You pressed harder into him, as if you could disappear into his chest. “Which one won’t make you hate me?”
“Jesus— Look at me.” He gently cupped your face with both hands, lifting it from his chest so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His own were red and watery. “Let me say this once, and I need you to hear me. I could never hate you. None of this is your fault. It’s no one’s fault… this just happens, okay? If the test is positive, then… it’s not the end of the world. We’ve got options. We have time to think about it.”
“Then why does it feel like it is the end of the world?” You tried to hide your face again in the broad warmth of his chest, where your tears had already left a dark patch on his shirt. He wouldn’t let you. He kept your face cradled between his palms, one thumb softly stroking your cheek as he wiped away another tear.
“Why does it feel like no matter what I choose, you’ll end up resenting me for it?”
“I won’t,” he assured you again, his voice steady even though you could feel how hard he was trying. “You have to think about what you want. Nothing is more important than that. I’ll be here for whatever you decide.”
“What if I don’t want to keep it?” The words tumbled out. “Wouldn’t you feel like… like I took something away from you? Wouldn’t you think I’m selfish?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose, his warm lips making you shiver. Then your cheek, tasting your tears. Then your lips, reassuringly. “If the test is positive and you choose to terminate 6he pregnancy, I wouldn’t think that makes you selfish. I wouldn’t think you’re a bad person or that you’re stealing something from me. I’d think you’re strong. I’d think you’re being brave. And I’d be right there with you.”
The calmness in his voice steadied you a little. You could tell he was terrified, probably having a panic attack on the inside, but he was pouring every ounce of strength into not showing it. He wanted to be the rock you could lean on, the one who had answer, who knew what to do, who’d be there to support you no matter what.
“Is that what you’d want?” he murmured against your lips. “An abortion?”
“I don’t know,” you whispered, so softly he might not have heard if he weren’t so close. “But… maybe it’s the only right choice. What would I even do with a baby? I’d have to drop out of med school… I’d fall so far behind. Raising a baby… I don’t know when I could even go back.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that, you know?” he said gently. “A lot of women finish their studies while pregnant. They work while being moms too. Think of Dr. Shamsi, she finished her residency while—”
You knew he meant well, but right now the last thing you needed was a pep talk about strong women. “Yeah, well, I’m not Dr. Shamsi, Robby,” you cut in, the words coming out harsher than you intended. “I don’t think I can do it. And I can’t… I can’t put that weight on you. That burden. A child, Robby. I’d feel so guilty knowing I trapped you.”
An incredulous laugh escaped him. He pulled back just enough to really look at you. “Trap me? Jesus fuck… do you even hear yourself? When have I ever made you feel like you’d be trapping me?”
His tone edged toward anger, which only made your own flare up. “You didn’t ask for this! You’d be stuck with a child you never even wanted just because I didn’t want to get rid of it!” You couldn’t meet his eyes anymore and stared at the floor instead.
“A child…” He let out a slow breath. “A child doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.” The words he’d been too afraid to even think until now finally slipped out. “Yeah, it would be difficult. Yeah, it would be a fucking challenge. I’m not gonna lie, I’m scared. But I don’t think a baby would be the worst thing to ever happen. Not by far.”
He’d be lying if he said he had never dreamed of having a child, of becoming a father. In his mid-twenties, he had pictured it so differently. Finding the love of his life, getting married, waiting a year or two before having their first baby, then another one soon after. A proper family. But life had gotten in the way, long hours in the ED, the weight of responsibility, his own fears and insecurities reshaping the entire trajectory of his existence. Time slipped through his fingers, and before he knew it, the dream had been pushed further and further into the distance. Definitely not like this, a baby at forty-nine with the fourth-year med student he’d been sleeping with in a messy situationship for only a few months… that was never part of the plan. And yet, as that pregnancy test sat on the edge of the sink, the possibility grew heavier, more real. Maybe this was how it was meant to happen. Maybe the universe had finally caught up with him. Maybe it was time to stop running, time to stop hiding, and finally commit to something bigger than work. Something that actually mattered. Something that’d change his life and give it a new meaning, a new purpose.
“You’re saying you’d want it?” you asked, surprise flashing in your eyes as you finally looked up at him. “If I were pregnant… you’d want the baby?”
“I’m saying I want you to do what you want. But yeah… if you chose to keep it, then I’d want it too. I’m in, 100%.” Behind the fear in his voice, you heard absolute certainty.
“And how would that even look?” you asked quietly. “How would we do it?”
“If we’re doing it, we do it right. Together.” He took your hands in his, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles. “You could move in with me. Once the baby’s born, we’d arrange our shifts so one of us is always with them. We’d get a sitter to help us so you can still have time to do your residency. You have me. You’ll have me every step of the way.”
“Promise?” you whispered.
“Promise.”
Silence stretched between you, as if the rest of the world had stopped spinning. In that tiny bathroom, it was just the two of you, holding each other’s hands with the promise of facing whatever came next together.
“I think it’s been over five minutes,” Robby said finally, glancing toward the sink. “Want to check?”
You nodded, and Robby released one of your hands, picked up the test, and held it between you without looking at the result yet. “Together?” he asked.
You swallowed. “Together.”
The imposing voice of Dana cut through the fog in your mind. “Earth to you… hello?”
You blinked, startled, and reluctantly dragged your eyes away from the computer screen where you’d been pretending to chart for the last ten minutes. Dana was leaning against the nurses’ station counter with one hip, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Are you even listening to me right now? Because I’ve been talking to myself for five minutes. What’s up with you? You look like you didn’t close an eye last night.”
You forced a small, nervous laugh and quickly looked back down at the computer, hoping the glow of the screen would hide the exhaustion on your face. “Sorry… I slept okay,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant and unbothered. You weren’t fooling anyone, least of all Dana. You could feel her eyes studying you, taking in the faint shadows under your eyes, the slight slump of your shoulders, and the way you kept subtly shifting in your chair. Because no matter how hard you tried to focus on work, your body was still painfully aware of last night. The ghost of Robby’s thrusts still lingered between your thighs, a delicious ache that refused to fade even twelve hours later.
Every time you moved, you were reminded of how hard he had taken you, how thoroughly he had ruined you. Your muscles were sore in the best and most inconvenient way possible. You crossed your legs under the desk, trying to ignore the throb that pulsed through you at the memory. The last thing you needed was Dana figuring out why you were so distracted. Unfortunately, Dana had the observational skills. She narrowed her eyes even further, tilting her head as she continued to stare at you. “Yeah… sure you did.”
Dana drifted his gaze past your shoulder down the corridor. Her expression shifted almost imperceptibly, lifting her brows a fraction and her mouth twitching like she’d tasted something sour. You followed her line of sight to Robby, striding toward trauma two, wearing his navy scrubs and cargo pants. There was a loose, easy roll to his shoulders, a confidence in his steps that screamed satisfaction. The corners of his mouth were curved in a half-smile that was the unmistakable “I got laid and it was fucking amazing” look.
Dana let out a dry huff of laughter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Jesus. I hate when he walks around with that ‘I got laid and it was amazing’ face. It’s obnoxious as hell. Makes the rest of us feel like we’re doing it wrong.”
You kept your face carefully neutral, tapping your fingers against the keyboard, but without writing anything. “Maybe he’s just in a good mood.”
“Oh, please, don’t give me that. You know that face, it’s always the same with that man.” Dana tilted her head, studying him as he paused to talk with Victoria, that satisfied smile lingering a beat too long. She narrowed her eyes, thinking hard for a second, then her head snapped back toward you when realization hit him. “Wait a minute… That face. That exact face is too familiar. It’s not just his regular ‘I got some’ look. That’s the same damn face he used to wear back when you two were sneaking around four years ago. And I haven’t seen it on him once since you two called it quits. Not a single time.”
Heat flooded your cheeks instantly. You felt cornered, exposed, like a deer caught in headlights. Dana ran this place, nothing escaped her eyes. Trying to lie to her was usually pointless, she could smell bullshit from miles away. “I– I really need to finish these charts,” you stammered. “I promised Hannah I’d try to get home early so we could—” The excuse died on your tongue, it sounded pathetic even to your own ears.
She looked at you like she’d already decided you were guilty. “Please tell me you didn’t do it.”
“Didn’t do what?”
She snorted. “You’re a terrible liar. Always have been.”
You exhaled through your nose, dropping your shoulders in defeat. You glanced around the nurse station. It was quiet, no one close enough to overhear, then leaned in just a fraction.“Okay,” you muttered. “It was one time. One weak moment. I’m not doing it again.”
Dana didn’t t look surprised, just disappointed in the resigned way of someone who’s watched this film before and knew how it ended . “You’re so stupid,” she said, almost fondly. “Letting that mess of a man back in again.”
“I know.” You rubbed a hand over your face, wishing you could teleport anywhere but here. “I know. I’m just… so weak when it comes to him. He’s got this way of looking at me, like I’m the only thing in the room that matters, and the way he touches me…” You trailed off. “God, Dana, you don’t know how good it is. How he remembers every single—”
She held up a hand with the palm out. “Stop. Right there. I do not need the details. I’ve worked with that man for the last 20 years of my life, and I still got to work with him for the next eight hours. Spare me the play-by-play.”
“Sorry. It’s just… it felt like coming home, you know? And then this morning reality hit like a truck. And I realized I fucked up last night.”
Dana studied you for a long beat, and her expression softened just a fraction, enough to show the concern underneath.“Honey,” she said quietly, “you’re not weak. You’re human. And that man has always known exactly which buttons to push with you. But you’ve built something solid these last five years. Don’t throw that away because the sex is good.”
You nodded, swallowing hard. “I told him it was a one-time thing. A relapse. I’m not doing it again. I swear.”
Dana arched her eyebrow high. “You swear.”
“Yeah.” You met her eyes even if your stomach twisted. You were embarrassed to let anyone know about your poor life choices, but if you could trust anyone, that was Dana, one of the only people who’d been here since the start of your story with him. “Last night was… it was stupid. It won’t happen again.”
She studied you for a long beat, then she pushed off the counter, stepping closer and dropping her voice to that tone she used when she’s done playing nice.“You'd better not. Go out. Meet someone. Anyone whose last name isn’t Robinavitch. Someone who can actually commit to a relationship.”
You looked down at your hands, still faintly wrinkled from too much hand sanitizer, a nervous habit you’d gotten out of him. “It’s not that easy.”
“It’s not supposed to be easy,” she countered. “But it’s supposed to be possible. Find a guy who doesn’t bolt after a month because he ‘feels trapped’ and ‘needs space.’ Someone who doesn’t look at commitment like it’s an impossible mission. Someone who stays.”
The words sting because they’re true. Robby never lied about it, he’d told you early on he wasn’t built for the long haul, that relationships felt like another thing he’d inevitably fuck up. And when Hannah came along, when the exhaustion and the shifts and the fear piled up, he didn’t fight to keep you together. He just… drifted. Back to separate houses, separate beds, separate lives.
“Hon, you know Robby was not made for a relationship. He’s a great dad, nobody’s arguing that. The man would walk through fire for that little girl. But you? He loves you in the way he knows how: sporadically. And that’s never gonna change. Keep it that way. Keep him in the dad column. Don’t let him back into the partner one.”
You rubbed your temples, the ache from last night’s lack of real sleep settling in behind your eyes. “I know. I do. It’s just… when he’s there, when he’s touching me, talking to me like I’m still his… it’s like the last five years never happened. Like we could pick up where we left off.”
“That’s the trap,” Dana said quietly. “It feels like home because it used to be. But homes can be haunted too.”
In the days that followed, you did everything you could to avoid Robby. At work, you kept your distance, volunteering for procedures on the opposite side of the ED whenever possible and burying yourself in charts or patient updates the moment you felt his presence nearby. Because every single time your eyes met his, even for a brief second, your body betrayed you.
You remembered the crushing weight of him on top of you that night, the way he’d fucked you into the mattress like the world was ending. You remembered how perfectly your bodies still moved together, how easily he could pull those broken sounds from your throat. Years had passed, but the fire between you hadn’t dimmed. If anything, it was burning brighter and hotter than ever, threatening to consume every boundary you had built.
Thankfully, Robby seemed to sense your need for space and didn’t push. He gave you room to breathe at the hospital, only speaking to you when a case genuinely required collaboration. His tone stayed strictly professional, his touches nonexistent. He still called every evening like clockwork to talk to Hannah, but with you he remained carefully polite, never lingering, never teasing, never crossing the lines you had drawn.
You should have been relieved. He was finally respecting your wishes, he was doing exactly what you had asked him to do, and yet… on nights like this, when Hannah was at his place for her half of the week, the silence in your house felt suffocating. The emptiness pressed in from every corner. No little footsteps pattering down the hallway, no giggles echoing from the living room. Just you, alone in the quiet, with nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company. And your mind refused to shut off, It buzzed loudly, relentlessly, replaying every moment of that night in vivid detail, the heat of Robby’s skin, the burn of his beard against your neck, the groan in your ear when he came undone inside you.
You kept hearing his promises afterward: that he was a changed man, that this time he wanted you for real. Not out of duty because he’d gotten you pregnant. Not because he felt trapped by responsibility. But because he truly wanted to be with you, because he loved you. God, you wanted to believe him so badly. There were moments, weak and dangerous moments when you wished you could be reckless enough to fall for every word that came out of his mouth. To let yourself be dumb and hopeful and blind, just like you were five years ago.
Maybe you would have risked it if you were the only one who would get hurt when everything inevitably fell apart. You could survive a broken heart, you’d done it before. But Hannah couldn’t, she was innocent in all of this. She didn’t deserve to watch her parents try and fail again, to feel the instability, the confusion, the heartbreak of seeing her mother and father almost become a family, only for it to crumble. You refused to gamble with your daughter’s emotional safety just because you still craved the man who once broke your heart.
The knock on the door came right on time, just as the late afternoon sun was starting to slant through the living room windows. You were still in your scrubs, hair thrown up in a messy bun, when you opened the door to find Robby standing there with Hannah perched on his hip, her little pink backpack slung over his shoulder, making him look both silly and endearing at the same time, and her head resting sleepily against his chest.
“Hey,” Robby said softly. “We’re here.”
Hannah’s face lit up the second she saw you. “Mommy!” She reached both arms out, already wiggling to get to you. Robby shifted her gently into your arms, brushing his hand against your side in the process. The brief contact sent an unwelcome spark through you that you immediately tried to ignore.
“Hi, baby girl,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her soft brown hair, she smelled like the strawberry shampoo Robby always used on her. “Did you have a good time with Daddy?”
“We had a great time,” Robby answered for her, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He set her little backpack down by the couch and rubbed the back of his neck, looking unusually hesitant.
“Listen… I’ve been thinking about something.”
You raised an eyebrow, bouncing Hannah lightly on your hip as she played with the collar of your top. “That sounds ominous.”
He let out a small laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Not ominous. Just… I’m thinking of taking some days off work. Vacation days.” Your surprise must have shown on your face because Robby quickly continued. “I’ve been thinking about taking her somewhere warm. She’s been talking about the beach nonstop lately. There’s this resort in Mexico I’ve been looking at, very kid-friendly, right on the beach. Thought it might be nice for her to run around in the sand and actually see the ocean.”
Robby had never been one to take vacations. For most of his life, work had consumed him completely. He was drowning in the ED, the never-ending stream of patients, the constant pressure of being the one everyone relied on. There was always something more important, and a quiet voice in the back of his head constantly whispered that everything would crumble if he wasn’t there to hold it all together. He had never felt the pull to travel, no place ever seemed worth leaving the hospital for. Nothing could impress him or hold his attention long enough to make him want to step away. His entire identity had been tied to the job for so long that the idea of doing anything else felt foreign, almost selfish.
That was before Hannah arrived, she changed everything. From the moment she came into his life, Hannah gave him something he had never truly had before, and that was real purpose. She became the reason he woke up every single day determined to be better, to be the kind of father she deserved. The person who had to stay strong and healthy because she depended on him for everything, from teaching her how to tie her shoes, to how to be kind, how to stand up for herself.
But Hannah had given him more than just purpose. She had awakened in him a brand-new desire to actually live. For the first time in years, his world expanded beyondwork. He wanted to do things, he wanted to see things, and more than anything, he wanted to experience them with her. His life no longer felt like it should revolve solely around the ED, he craved as much free time as he could carve out so he could share it with his daughter, watching her discover the world. He refused to miss even a single moment of her childhood while she was still small and everything felt unique to her. Hannah had unknowingly pulled him out of the endless cycle of work and survival.
And that was how the trips began. Beach days where Hannah squealed at the waves and collected seashells in her bucket. Lazy summer afternoons fishing at a lake. Winter weekends at a cabin resort in the mountains, where they built snowmen in the backyard and drank hot chocolate by the fire. Whatever Hannah wanted to do, Robby made it happen.
You nodded slowly, processing the information. You dropped Hannah off carefully on the floor, and she immediately walked to her bedroom, mumbling something about saying hello to her stuffed animals. “Mexico… That sounds really nice for her. When were you thinking?”
“Probably in a couple of weeks, if I can get the time approved. I’d take about a week.” He paused, watching your expression carefully. “Are you okay with that? With me taking her?”
“Yeah,” you said without hesitation. “Of course I’m okay with it. She’ll love it. Just make sure you send me all the flight information and the hotel details once you have them. I want to know exactly where she’ll be and how to reach you.”
“Already planning on it,” he assured you. “I’ll send everything as soon as it’s booked.” A comfortable silence settled for a moment. Then Robby shifted his weight and looked at you again, something vulnerable flickering behind his eyes. “Actually… I wanted to ask you something else.” He rubbed the back of his neck again, a tell you knew too well. “Would you want to come with us?”
You blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”
“I’d pay for everything,” he added quickly. “Your flight, your room. You don’t have to worry about that. You’ve been working insane hours lately with residency. It might be good for you to get away for a few days, too. Relax. Sleep in.”
The offer hung in the air between you, and for one brief second, you let yourself imagine it. You pictured the three of you on a beach in Mexico. Hannah running barefoot through the warm sand, her hair messy from the ocean breeze, laughing with pure joy every time a wave came close enough to tickle her toes. You saw yourself and Robby sitting nearby on lounge chairs, drinking margaritas while the sun kissed your skin. The sound of the waves rolling onto the shore, lulling you into a nap you hadn’t allowed yourself in years.
After surviving on less than six hours a night for so long, the mere idea of lying back on a lounge chair and actually resting felt almost sinful. Vacations had always been a luxury you couldn’t afford. Not with the mountain of student loans, the demands of your residency, and the constant juggle of motherhood. The thought of taking time off just to relax had felt selfish, unrealistic, and completely out of reach. And now Robby was offering it all on a silver platter.
You quickly shoved the beautiful images away before they could take root and make you weak. Because that was the problem with Robby’s offer, it wasn’t just a vacation. It was a week of playing house, of blurred lines, and of watching him be the devoted father he had become, while your stupid heart remembered exactly how good things used to feel when the three of you were almost a real family.
“Robby…” You let out a slow breath. “Thank you. Really. That’s incredibly generous. But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He furrowed his brow slightly. “Why not?”
“Because going on a vacation like that, the three of us, it would be confusing. For her, especially. If we’re sharing space like a family for a whole week, she might start getting ideas about us getting back together. I don’t want to give her false hope. And it’d be confusing for us two, we need to keep our distance after… You know what.”
Robby’s jaw tightened for a moment, but his voice stayed calm. “We can get separate rooms. Hell, we don’t even have to hang out the whole time if you don’t want to. You could do your own thing, be at a different pool, get spa treatments, whatever. I’m not asking you to pretend we’re a couple. I just… I want to do this for you. You deserve a break too.”
You shook your head, even as a small, traitorous part of you ached at how sincere he sounded. “No, Robby. Thank you, but no. It’s sweet of you to offer, but it’s too complicated. We’ve worked really hard to keep things stable and clear for Hannah. Mixing a family vacation into that… it blurs too many lines. I appreciate it, I really do. But I think it’s better if it’s just the two of you.”
He watched you for a long moment, something like disappointment passing across his face, a quiet frustration he tried so hard to hide. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Message received. I’ll just take her, then. But the offer stands if you ever change your mind.”
You gave him a grateful smile, even though your chest felt tight from how much you wanted to say yes, because of how much you wished that maybe in another life, Robby and you could be those parents sunbathing in Mexico with their kid. “I won’t. But thank you.”
He nodded once, lingering for another few seconds like he wanted to say more, but decided that by pushing too hard to get close to you again, he’d only end up pushing you away. “I’ll text you the details as soon as everything’s booked.”
“Sounds good.”
Before heading toward the door, Robby paused. He gave you one last long look, the kind that always managed to slip past every defense you’d carefully built over the years. In that single glance, you were flooded with memories you spent most days trying desperately not to dwell on. Memories from five years ago, back when everything still felt possible. Back when you still believed, with naive, foolish hope, that the two of you could somehow make it work.
And then there were the much more dangerous memories from just two weeks ago, the night where, for a few stolen hours, it felt like the rest of the world had simply stopped existing. His hands on your body like he still owned every inch of it, the way he’d whispered your name against your skin, the overwhelming feeling that you had teleported back in time, back to when it was just the two of you. For those few hours, you had let yourself believe again. You had let yourself imagine that maybe, just maybe, there could still be a “we” in your future.
A couple of days later, you heard the knock of the door echo through the house just as you were finishing packing Hannah’s favorite stuffed capybara into her little backpack. You opened the door to find Robby standing on the porch. Hannah immediately squealed at the sight of him.
“Daddy!” She bolted forward, launching herself into his arms. Robby caught her with ease, laughing as he lifted her high and spun her once before settling her on his hip. “Hey, angel,” he said, pressing a loud kiss to her cheek. “You ready for Daddy’s house?”
You stepped aside to let them both in, arms crossed loosely over your chest as you watched the usual handoff routine unfold. Hannah was buzzing with energy, clutching Robby’s shirt with her little hands. “Daddy, Daddy! Are we really going to the beach soon?” she asked with her eyes wide, full of pure excitement. “With the ocean and the sand?”
Robby grinned, the kind of soft and genuine smile he only ever wore for her. “We sure are, baby girl. I already picked out a really nice hotel. It’s right on the beach. Want me to show you the pictures later when we get home?”
“Yes!” Hannah bounced in his arms, practically vibrating. “Does it have a pool? And ice cream? And can I get a new swimsuit to wear?”
“It has a huge pool, and I’m pretty sure they have all the ice cream you can eat,” Robby answered patiently. He glanced over at you while still holding her. “I booked one of the family suites with a big balcony overlooking the ocean. You’re gonna love it, Han.”
Hannah gasped dramatically, her little mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. “Mommy, did you hear? Daddy got a hotel with a balcony! For the ocean!”
You couldn’t help but smile at her pure joy, even as a knot started forming in your stomach. “I heard, sweetheart. Sounds amazing.”
Robby set Hannah down so she could run to grab her stuffed animal from the couch. The moment she was out of earshot, he lowered his voice slightly. “I meant what I said the other day. The offer’s still open if—”
Before he could finish, Hannah came racing back, clutching her capybara tightly. “Daddy, can Mommy come with us to the beach? Please?”
Robby didn’t miss a beat. He looked straight at his daughter with an innocent expression that you knew was anything but. “You know what, Han? I was actually thinking about inviting Mommy too. What do you think? Would you like Mommy to come on the trip with us?”
Hannah’s entire face lit up like the Fourth of July. She spun toward you so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. “Mommy! You have to come! Please please please! We can build sandcastles together and swim and eat ice cream and watch the sunset and— and everything!”
You shot Robby a deadly look over Hannah’s head, the kind that promised a painful retribution the moment you two were alone. He simply raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He was weaponizing the one person he knew you could never say no to. Hannah. She had always been your biggest weakness, your softest spot, and Robby knew it better than anyone. Those big, warm brown eyes were lethal. One pleading look from her, and your resolve crumbled like sand.
And right now, she was using every ounce of that power, blinking up at you with hope while clutching your hand like her entire happiness depended on your answer. It was unfair, completely unfair. Robby wasn’t just standing by and letting her beg, he was actively encouraging it, using your daughter as the ultimate emotional leverage. He knew you could resist him, he knew you could fight your own feelings, your own desires, your own stupid heart. But Hannah? Saying no to her when she looked at you like that felt almost cruel. And the worst part? He wasn’t even trying to hide how satisfied he was with himself, that tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth said everything. He was enjoying this far too much.
“Hannah, baby…” You crouched down to her level, gently brushing a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Mommy would love to, but I’m super busy with work right now. I have so many shifts and—”
Robby’s voice cut in smoothly from behind her. “Actually, you have a bunch of vacation days saved up. I checked it yesterday.”
You straightened up slowly, narrowing your eyes at him, silently warning him to stop this nonsense before it went too far. “Robby.”
He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Just stating facts. You shouldn’t lie to your daughter, you know?”
Hannah grabbed your hand with both of hers, swinging it dramatically. “Mommy, pleeease? Pretty, pretty please!” You opened your mouth to respond, but Hannah was already in full pleading mode, her big puppy-brown eyes, exactly like Robby’s, staring up at you with devastating effectiveness.
“I really can’t afford it right now, sweetheart,” you tried again. “Plane tickets and hotels are expensive, and Mommy—”
“If Mommy can’t pay,” Robby interrupted you. “Then Daddy will pay. I’ve got it covered. Flights, resort, activities, all of it. You wouldn’t have to worry about a single thing.”
Hannah tugged harder on your hand, bouncing on her toes. “See? Daddy’s paying! So you can come! Please, Mommy? I want all of us together. Pretty pleeeeease.”
You felt cornered, trying to come up with more excuses, but as you reached inside your head, you couldn’t think of any. Robby stood there looking far too pleased with himself, while your daughter continued her relentless assault with those lethal eyes and endless enthusiasm.
“Hannah…” you started, searching desperately for another excuse.
“But Mommy,” she whined, pressing her face against your leg, “I’ll miss you so much if you stay here.”
Robby, the absolute traitor, decided to join forces. “She’s got a point,” he said casually, though his eyes were anything but casual when they met yours. “It wouldn’t be the same without you. And like I said before, I can get us separate rooms. You can do your own thing the whole time if you want. But it would mean a lot to her… and to me.”
The “and to me” was spoken so quietly you almost missed it. You looked between the two of them, your daughter with her hopeful, shining eyes and her father, the man you still stupidly loved, with that steady and patient gaze that had always been able to wear you down. The silence stretched. Hannah’s lower lip started to tremble just slightly, the ultimate weapon in her arsenal.
With a long, defeated sigh, you finally gave in. “…Fine,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “I’ll go too.”
Hannah let out an ear-piercing squeal of pure delight and threw herself at your legs, hugging them tightly. “Yay! Mommy’s coming! We’re all going to the beach together!”
Robby’s smile was slow and satisfied, though he tried to keep it modest. “That’s great,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Really great.”
You pointed a finger at him over Hannah’s head. “You’re going to pay for this later, Robinavitch.”
His only response was a knowing chuckle. “Looking forward to it.”
Hannah continued dancing around the living room in celebration, already chattering about sandcastles, seashells, and swimming with dolphins. You stood there watching her, with your heart full of love for your daughter, loving every second of seeing her so happy, and equal parts dread and excitement about what you’d just agreed to, a family vacation in Mexico with Robby. God help you.
Hours later, the glow of your bedside lamp was the only light in the room. You were already tucked into bed, wearing an old, oversized t-shirt that had seen better days. Your phone suddenly vibrated on the nightstand, making you glance at the screen, letting out a slow breath as soon as you noticed who was calling. A Facetime from Robby.
You hesitated for two rings, it was almost midnight, and you didn’t feel like having any possibly agitating conversation right before your bedtime, but ultimately ended up accepting the call. Robby’s face filled the screen almost immediately, he was in his bedroom too, the light of his lamp illuminating his face. His hair was messy, like he’d been running his hand through it, and his glasses were perched low on his nose, those fucking glasses… No, don’t even go there, you silently muttered to your brain
“Hey,” his voice sounded rougher, the way it always got late at night. A small smile tugged at his lips. “You already in bed?”
“Yeah,” you replied, adjusting the blanket over your lap, as if trying to cover yourself up. “It’s late, Robby.”
He hummed in agreement, slowly dragging his eyes over what he could see of you on the screen. “You look comfortable. Cute shirt.” There was a brief pause before he asked, almost casually, “So… have you started packing swimsuits yet?”
You stared at him for a moment, the irritation you’d been carrying for the past hours finally bubbled up. “Robby… we need to talk.”
Robby lifted his eyebrows slightly, but the lazy smile didn’t leave his face. “Alright. About what?”
“You manipulated me into agreeing to this trip.”
Robby let out a low chuckle. “Manipulated? Damn, you’re using big words tonight.”
“It’s not funny,” you said sharply, though you kept your voice quiet so you wouldn’t wake Hannah. “You used our daughter to convince me, and then you joined in. That was low, even for you.”
He tilted his head, still smiling like this was all some lighthearted game. “Anything else?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Yes. You guilt-tripped me. The whole ‘it would mean a lot to her… and to me’ line? That was manipulation.”
Robby leaned back against his headboard, resting one arm behind his head, giving you an even better view of his bare chest. He looked far too relaxed for someone being accused of emotional manipulation. “Jesus,” he muttered, still chuckling softly. “Oh-ho-ho, I’m so evil, I manipulated the mother of my child into letting me take her on a fully paid week at a luxury beach resort in Mexico.” He raised an eyebrow, mock-serious. “Am I gonna go to prison for that?”
“Robby.”
“Relax,” he said, softening his tone just a fraction, though the amusement was still there. “Hannah’s excited. You saw her. She wants all three of us there. I’m just trying to give her what she wants.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you shot back. “I know your real agenda behind all of this.”
He tilted his head again, looking curious now. “Oh yeah? And what’s my agenda, according to you?”
You sat up a little straighter in bed, clutching the blanket tighter. “You’re using this stupid trip as an excuse to try and get back with me. You think throwing money at a vacation and putting us in the same space for a whole week is going to magically fix everything. It’s not going to work.”
For a moment, Robby just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then that stupid smirk of his spread across his face again. “Have you seen me in swim trunks lately? I look real good. You might have to swallow your words when you see me.”
You let out an exasperated scoff, though you couldn’t stop the flush that crept up your neck. You hated the way he could still make you laugh when you were trying to be pissed. You hated the way your body still reacted to his words. “You’re impossible. Seriously, it’s impossible to have a serious conversation with you sometimes.”
“I’m just saying,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Sun, sand, good drinks, me looking like this… you never know.”
“I’ll go,” you said, cutting him off before he could keep going. “But don’t even think this means anything else. We’ll get separate rooms. We’ll make separate plans. I’m going for Hannah. That’s it. Don’t get any ideas.”
Robby ignored your warning completely. “You look so gorgeous right now,” he murmured. Suddenly, his voice went quieter, more intimate. Robby moved his eyes slowly over your face, down to the collar of your shirt and back up again. “All soft and sleepy in bed like that. Fuck… I wish I were lying there with you.”
Your stomach flipped despite yourself, the way he said it, so sincere and full of a hunger that never ceased but only grew stronger every day, made heat bloom in your belly. You wanted to scream at how easily he could still do that to you. “Robby…” you warned him.
“I’m serious,” he continued. “I miss the way you feel under me. The way you breathe when you’re falling asleep next to me. I miss—”
“Goodbye, Robby.” You didn’t wait for him to finish, you ended the facetime call with a tap of your finger, plunging your screen into darkness. The room felt suddenly too quiet, too empty without his presence there. You dropped your phone onto the mattress beside you and stared up at the ceiling. Your skin felt warm, your mind was already replaying the way he’d looked at you, the tone of his voice when he said he wished he was lying there with you.
You pulled the blanket higher up to your chest, trying to ignore the storm of feelings Robby had just stirred up with nothing but his voice. It didn’t work, the ache was still there, as well as the flutter in your chest. The way your heart tripped over itself whenever he looked at you like that. Five years later, and Michael could still make your stupid heart race like you were that same fourth-year med student who used to sneak into his place late at night after shift. And now you had agreed to spend an entire week with him. A full week in Mexico. Seven days of Robby being Robby, charming, attentive, and far too good at reminding you exactly why you fell for him in the first place.
You had to force yourself to go back to one of the saddest days you could remember. Robby had come home from a brutal twelve-hour shift. You had just collapsed onto the couch after finally getting Hannah down, she’d been fussy all day, teething and crying restlessly. The moment he walked through the door, you could tell it had been a bad one. His eyes were glassy and distant, the lines on his face etched deeper than usual. Lately, every shift seemed to carve something out of him. He moved closer and pressed a quick, almost mechanical kiss to your forehead. No hello. No “how was your day.” Not even the ghost of a smile. Just autopilot, he was running on empty.
He sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, far from you, shoulders slumped. “There’s some pasta in the fridge I made,” you whispered, hoping it would reach him. He didn’t answer, didn’t even nod. He just stared at nothing, too drained to move.
Then Hannah let out a small cry from her crib. Before you could push yourself up, Robby was already on his feet. He scooped her up gently against his shoulder, swaying her in a soothing rhythm. “Are you okay, little angel?” he cooed softly, tender in a way it hadn’t been for you in weeks. “Yes, you’re okay. Yes, you are. Daddy’s here… shhh, go back to sleep.” That was the only moment you saw him smile genuine, and heartbreakingly soft as he held his daughter.
Tears burned in your eyes as you stood and walked closer to him. You had spent so many sleepless nights turning it over in your mind, and you couldn’t keep prolonging the inevitable. “Robby… we need to talk.”
“About us?” he replied, already sensing where this was going.
You nodded, feeling your throat tight. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want to be with me? That… you regret telling me to move in with you and being together?”
Robby sighed heavily, rubbing his temples like the weight of the world was pressing down on them. “It’s just work. You have no idea what it’s like trying to hold the whole fucking department together when everything is crumbling down and—”
“It’s not just that,” you cut him off. “You don’t look at me. You don’t talk to me. I understand your job is hard, that you’re stressed and exhausted, but… shit, Robby, all we do is ignore each other. The only time we actually speak is to argue about something stupid.” The tears slipped free then, there was no holding them back.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought I could do all of this, but I—” Tears welled in his eyes too, spilling over as he tried to hold it together. “I don’t know what to do. I—” A sob cut him off.
“Do you need space?” you asked, dreading the answer. “Is that it? You need us to take some time?”
He looked at you for a long moment, broken and defeated. “Yes.”
Two weeks had passed, and before you realized it, the suitcase lay now open on your bed, half-filled with the folded clothes you had carefully picked for the trip. You stood in front of it, folding another sundress, while Hannah sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by her own small pink suitcase and a pile of toys.
“Hannah, baby, do you have everything?” you asked for what felt like the tenth time. “Swimsuits? Sunscreen? The colouring books Daddy bought you for the plane?”
Hannah nodded enthusiastically, holding up her favorite ruffled swimsuit. “Yes, Mommy! And my water wings and the new sunglasses Daddy got me!” She beamed with uncontainable excitement. “Are we leaving soon? Is Daddy almost here?”
“Any minute now,” you replied, zipping up the main compartment of your suitcase with a sigh. Your stomach had been in knots all morning, this trip still felt like a terrible idea the more you thought about it, but Hannah’s joy made it impossible to back out now.
Right on cue, there was a knock at the front door. Hannah shot up like a rocket and ran toward it, yelling “Daddy!” at the top of her lungs.
You followed more slowly, pulling both suitcases behind you. When you opened the door, Robby stood there in a casual white linen shirt and shorts, looking annoyingly relaxed and handsome in the morning sunlight. His eyes immediately found yours, a small playing on his lips. “Hey,” he said softly. “You two ready?”
“Daddy!” Hannah launched herself at him. Robby scooped her up effortlessly, kissing her cheek as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hi, my little mermaid. You got all your stuff?” He glanced over her head at you. “Need help with the bags?"
“I’ve got them,” you said, a little more curtly than you intended.
The drive to the airport was filled with Hannah’s nonstop chatter from the backseat. She pointed out every car, every cloud, every sign, asking a thousand questions about the plane, the ocean, and whether there would be dolphins. Robby answered every single one with patience, occasionally glancing at you in the passenger seat. You kept your eyes on the road, trying not to think too hard about how domestic this all felt.
At the airport, Robby handled check-in, and when the agent handed over the boarding passes, you caught a glimpse of them and froze. Business class.
You turned to him slowly as they walked toward security. “Seriously, Robby? It’s a four-hour flight. We could’ve flown economy like normal people.”
He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I had miles on my card for an upgrade. Didn’t cost anything extra.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Robby.”
He leaned in slightly, keeping his voice low so Hannah wouldn’t hear. “Forgive me. I just wanted to spoil my family a little.”
“We’re not a family,” you said firmly, glancing ahead at Hannah skipping between you two. Robby didn’t argue, he just gave you a look that said he disagreed but wasn’t going to push.
The flight itself was smoother than you expected. In business class, the seats were wide and comfortable. You both let Hannah had the window seat, ans she spent most of the flight pressed against the glass, watching the clouds and looking at the ocean. Robby sat in the middle, keeping Hannah entertained with the in-flight entertainment and snacks.
You tried to read, but your mind kept wandering, every time Robby’s arm brushed yours, reaching for something, or when he laughed at one of Hannah’s excited comments, memories flooded your mind back, and you had to constantly remind yourself the only reason you were doing this was because Hannah had asked.
You landed in Cancun four hours later. A private transfer waited for you outside arrivals. The driver loaded your bags while Hannah bounced between you and Robby, holding both your hands. The drive to the resort took about forty-five minutes along the coast. You watched the palm trees that lined the road and the turquoise water on one side. Hannah pressed her face to the window the entire time, gasping at every new sight.
When the resort finally came into view, it was even more beautiful than the pictures. A luxurious property with white buildings, infinity pools cascading toward the ocean, and tropical gardens everywhere.
The humid air of Cancun wrapped around you the moment you stepped out of the transfer van. The resort lobby was stunning with high ceilings, white marble floors and massive floral arrangements. Hannah’s hand was firmly in yours, her fingers squeezing with excitement as her eyes darted everywhere at once. “Mommy, look! There’s a fountain! And flowers! And the ocean is right there!”
Robby walked a few steps ahead, carrying Hannah’s pink suitcase in one hand and his own duffel in the other. He looked completely at ease, the fabric of his shirt slightly damp from the humidity and clinging just enough to show the lines of his shoulders. He glanced back at you with a reassuring smile before heading straight to the reception desk. You stayed back with Hannah, letting her point out every detail she noticed.
A few minutes later, Robby returned, twirling a key card between his fingers. “All set. We’re in the beachfront wing. Follow me.”
The walk to the room was beautiful but felt endless. Hannah skipped between you and Robby, holding both your hands and swinging them as she chattered nonstop about building the biggest sandcastle in the world.
Robby finally stopped in front of a beautiful wooden door, he swiped the key card, and the door clicked open. The suite was breathtaking, with floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors that opened onto a wide private balcony overlooking the ocean. The living area had elegant white furniture, and as you stepped further inside, your eyes landed on the bedroom area with two queen-size beds.
You stopped dead in the doorway. “Where’s the other room?” you asked slowly, worried you already knew the answer Robby was about to give you.
Robby set the suitcases down and scratched the back of his head, looking mildly sheepish. “Yeah… so there was a mix-up at the front desk. We only got one room.”
You stared at him with disbelief. “What? Are you serious right now?” The asshole had to be kidding. But then again, this was Robby, and this was exactly the kind of shenanigans he’d put you through. You should have known he wouldn’t keep his promise to let you do your own thing at the resort, to not act like you were a real family on a family holiday. You had been to hopeful to expect he’d at least wait a little longer before showing his real intentions.
Hannah, completely oblivious to the tension, let out a delighted squeal and immediately launched herself onto the nearest bed, jumping up and down with pure joy. “This one’s mine! No, this one! Look how bouncy it is, Mommy! Daddy, come jump with me!”
You barely heard her, your whole attention was locked on Robby. The family suite was gorgeous, in tasteful neutral tones, with fresh flowers on the nightstands, a bottle of champagne and fruit plate waiting on the table with a welcome note, but none of that mattered. What mattered now was that Robby had not only manipulated you to agree to this trip, but he’d also lied to you.
“Michael, do you think I was born yesterday? You totally did this on purpose. I know it.”
He held up both hands in a placating gesture, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “There was a confusion with the booking. I swear. They had us down for a family suite with two queens instead of two separate rooms.”
You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “Go fix it. Right now.”
“I already tried,” he said calmly, stepping closer so Hannah wouldn’t overhear. “They’re completely booked. Peak season, a big wedding happening this week. No other rooms available in the whole resort.”
You let out a frustrated breath, rubbing your temple. “This is not what I agreed to, Robby. Separate rooms. That was the condition. I never would’ve come if—”
“I know,” he interrupted gently. “But it’s just one week. I can take one bed, you and Hannah can take the other. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” you hissed, keeping your voice down as Hannah continued bouncing happily, now unpacking her stuffed capybara and arranging it on the pillows. “This is exactly what I was worried about. You’re pushing boundaries.”
Meanwhile, Hannah had moved on to dragging her suitcase across the room, chattering excitedly. “Mommy, can we go to the beach now? The water is waiting! I want to find seashells and build a castle.”
Robby glanced at her with that fatherly smile that always made your chest ache, then looked back at you. “Look at her. She’s already so happy. One week, that’s all. We’re adults. We can handle sharing space for a few nights without it meaning anything.”
You stared at the two queen beds again. They were large, luxurious, with more pillows than necessary. The balcony doors were open, letting in the warm breeze and the constant, soothing sound of waves. It would have been perfect… if it weren’t for the man standing two feet away looking far too pleased with this “mix-up.”
Hannah suddenly ran over and grabbed your hand, then Robby’s. “Come on! Let’s go to the beach! I’m ready! I have my bucket and everything!”
You looked down at your daughter’s beaming face, then back at Robby. He raised an eyebrow slightly, waiting. You let out a long, defeated sigh. “Fine. But this changes nothing, Robby. Separate beds. No funny business. And the second a room opens up, we’re switching.”
“Whatever you say,” he replied, but the small, satisfied smile on his face told you he wasn’t worried at all.
He set his suitcase near one of the queen beds and nodded toward the bathroom. “I’ll go change first. Won’t be long.”
You nodded silently, still processing everything, but as soon as the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, you turned your attention to Hannah, who was already pulling things out of her pink suitcase with frantic excitement.
“Come here, baby,” you said softly, kneeling on the floor beside her bed. “Let’s get you ready for the beach.”
Hannah stood in front of you, wiggling with impatience as you helped her out of her travel clothes. You carefully slipped her into her favorite ruffled swimsuit, bright pink with little white flowers, adjusting the straps and smoothing the fabric over her tummy. Then came the sunscreen. You squeezed a generous amount into your palm and rubbed it slowly over her arms, shoulders, back, legs, and face, making sure every inch was covred. Hannah giggled when you got to her nose, squirming because of how tickly it was.
“You have to stay safe from the sun, okay?” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’re going to have so much fun, but Mommy doesn’t want you to get burned like a toast.”
“I won’t!” she promised solemnly, then immediately went back to bouncing on her toes. “Can I wear my new sunglasses? And my hat with the flowers?”
The bathroom door opened, and Robby stepped out, for a moment, time seemed to slow. He wore dark swim trunks, paired with a simple white shirt that he hadn’t bothered to put on yet, it was slung over his shoulder. You had seen his bare body no more than a month ago, you’d been under it, but it still felt, somehow, like seeing him again for the first time.
You stared at him longer than you should have. His soft but solid tummy that drove you insane, and that familiar trail of dark hair across his chest that you had always, always loved running your fingers through.
Your eyes traced the lines of his chest, the way the hair curled slightly, the soft give of his stomach. Heat flushed up your neck because God, you still loved every inch of him.
Robby caught you looking and a knowing smile spread across his face. “What?” he asked teasingly. “I got something on my face?”
You blinked hard, tearing your gaze away. “No,” you muttered, grabbing your own beach bag a little too quickly. “I’m… going to change.”
You escaped into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind you. The mirror showed your flushed cheeks, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. This was just a week, you could handle this. Just a week of sleeping in the same room, just a week of seeing his body, just a week of him deliberately trying to break down our walls.
You changed into one of the bikinis you’d packed, a simple black two-piece that tied at the sides and back. You liked how it looked on you, it was flattering, but as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you felt suddenly, acutely aware of how little it covered. Your body had changed since having Hannah, a few stretch marks here and there, breasts that were fuller but not as perky as before. Standing here in just this tiny bikini, knowing Robby was right outside… it felt vulnerable.
You adjusted the ties one more time, took another steadying breath, and stepped out of the bathroom. Hannah immediately squealed. “Mommy, you look so pretty!” She ran over and hugged your legs before darting into the bathroom herself to grab her sunglasses and sun hat. “I’ll be right back!”
You stood in the middle of the suite, adjusting the strap of your beach bag, when Robby stepped in from the balcony. He had been leaning on the railing, looking out at the ocean, but the moment he turned and saw you, he stopped dead. His eyes widened, and he dramatically clutched his chest with one hand, staggering back a step like he was having a heart attack.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, the grin on his face pure mischief. “Warn a guy next time.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile that wanted to break free. “You’re so not funny, Robinavitch.”
You wanted to slap that smug smile right off his face and kiss him senseless at the same time. The two urges warred inside you, because you hated how much his words mattered. How easily he could make you feel like the most beautiful woman who had ever stepped foot on this earth, and how completely you believed him when he said it. He wasn’t just mumbling the words because it felt like something he was supposed to say. No, Robby looked at you like he truly wanted you, like he was dying to get his hands back on your body, to pull you close and remind you exactly how good it used to feel. His gaze lingered, tracing over you in a way that made heat flood your stomach. God, you hated how much you still wanted him to.
He didn’t stop. He kept one hand pressed to his heart, shaking his head slowly as his gaze traveled over you, unashamed, appreciative, and far too warm. “You’re trying to kill me on day one, huh? That bikini… fuck. You look incredible.”
Heat flooded your face again, but you crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly self-conscious. “Stop it. This is exactly what I was worried about.”
Robby took a slow step closer, still smiling, but his voice dropped. “Can’t help it. You’ve always looked good, but seeing you like this…” He let the sentence trail off, his sight lingering on the curve of your waist and the ties at your hips.
Before you could respond, Hannah burst back out of the bathroom wearing her oversized sunglasses and floppy sun hat, striking a dramatic pose. “I’m ready! Let’s go see the ocean!”
The sand was warm under your feet as the three of you made your way down the wooden boardwalk to the private stretch of beach reserved for resort guests. The sea stretched out in front of you, waves lapping against the shore, leaving behind lines of foam. Hannah’s excitement was infectious. She ran ahead a few steps, then back to you and Robby, her little sun hat flopping with every bounce. “The water is so blue! Can we go in right now? Please?”
Robby chuckled, adjusting the beach bag on his shoulder. “Let’s set up first, kiddo. Then we’ll swim.”
You chose three loungers under a large thatched umbrella near the water’s edge. You spread out towels while Robby helped Hannah with her water wings. The resort staff had placed a small cooler with chilled water and fruit beside the chairs, and soft music drifted from speakers along the beach.
Once everything was settled, Robby stood and offered his hand to Hannah. “Ready, little mermaid?”
She grabbed his hand with both of hers and tugged him toward the water. You watched them go, settling back into your lounger with the book you’d brought. The sun felt incredible on your skin, you opened your book, but your eyes kept drifting over the top of the pages. Robby and Hannah waded into the shallow waves. Hannah squealed every time the water touched her legs, clinging to Robby’s hand. He lifted her high when a bigger wave came, spinning her around as she laughed uncontrollably. His swim trunks moved lower on his hips, and it made it impossible for you to focus on your book, every few minutes your gaze wandered back to them.
After nearly an hour, Hannah came running back to you, dripping wet and beaming. “Mommy! Come build sandcastles with me! Daddy said he’ll watch our stuff.”
You set your book aside and took her hand, walking down to the firmer sand near the waterline. The two of you knelt together, digging with plastic shovels and buckets. Hannah chattered nonstop about her castle needing a moat and a tower for the princess. You helped her pat the walls smooth, adding seashells and bits of coral you found along the shore. The sun warmed your back, and for a while, everything felt simple and perfect, just you and your daughter creating something together. But you felt Robby’s eyes on you the entire time, when you glanced up, he was sitting on the lounger, with his elbows on his knees, watching with an unreadable expression.
He didn’t look away when your eyes met, the intensity in his gaze made heat bloom across your skin. Later, when the castle was tall and elaborate, Hannah got a mischievous glint in her eye. “Can we bury Daddy in the sand? Like a mummy?”
Robby, who had joined you, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see how it is. Ganging up on me already?”
You smiled despite yourself. “Sounds fair.”
The three of you worked together, slowly covering Robby as he lay back in the sand. Hannah patted sand over his legs with delight, while you worked on his arms and torso. The heavy sand molded around his body as he lay there patiently, occasionally joking with Hannah about becoming a “sand mummy.” Every time your hands brushed his skin while smoothing the sand, a spark jumped between you. He noticed, and you knew he did.
When you finally stepped back, Robby was almost completely buried, only his head and part of his neck visible. Hannah clapped her hands and danced around him. “He looks like a turtle!”
Robby chuckled, trying to move and finding himself well and truly stuck. “Alright, ladies. Fun’s over. Unbury me.”
You exchanged a look with Hannah, a smile spreading across your face. “You know what, Hannah? Don’t you want to go get some ice cream? I saw a stand right by the pools, and since this is all-inclusive, we can have all the ice cream we want.”
Hannah’s eyes lit up like stars. “Yes! Chocolate and strawberry and rainbow sprinkles!”
Robby snapped his head toward you, as much as he could with what little mobility he had left. “Ice cream sounds great. Why don’t you get me out of here and we go there together?”
You crouched down beside him, close enough that your shadow fell over his face. You leaned in until your faces were only inches apart. “This is for booking one room, Michael.”
His eyes widened with outrage. “You wouldn’t—”
You straightened up before he could finish, taking Hannah’s hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s go find that ice cream. Daddy can wait a few more minutes.”
Hannah giggled conspiratorially and waved at Robby. “Bye, Daddy! We’ll bring you some… maybe!”
As the two of you walked away hand-in-hand toward the resort path, Robby’s voice followed you, half-laughing, half-protesting. “This is unfair punishment! Hannah! Come back!”
You didn’t look back, but you couldn’t stop the satisfied smile on your face. For the first time since arriving, you felt like you might actually survive this week, but only if you kept winning the small battles.
The light of late afternoon had softened into the warm pinks and oranges by the time you and Hannah returned to the suite. The scent of ocean salt that clung to your skin and your hair was a wild mess. You both needed showers badly. You helped Hannah first, rinsing the sand from her hair and body. After drying her with one of the oversized white towels, you slipped her into her favorite purple dress and brushed her hair until it was smooth. Your turn came next, you took your time, letting the warm water wash away the salt, sand, and sunscreen. When you emerged wrapped in a towel, Hannah was sitting on one of the queen beds, flipping through a children’s book the resort had left.
She looked up with a bright smile. “Mommy, I’m so hungry! Can we go eat now?”
“Soon, baby. Let’s wait and see if Daddy gets back so we can all go together.”
You were both dressed and ready when the door to the suite finally opened. Robby stepped inside, still covered head to toe in sand. It clung to his hair, dusted his shoulders and arms, and left visible trails down his legs. His swim trunks looked gritty, and there was sand stuck to the damp skin of his chest and stomach. He looked equal parts ridiculous and defeated. You and Hannah stared for half a second before bursting into laughter.
Hannah pointed, doubling over on the bed. “Daddy! You’re a sand monster for real!”
Robby closed the door behind him with a dramatic sigh, brushing uselessly at his arms. “It’s not funny,” he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “That wasn’t cool at all.”
You tried to stifle your laughter, covering your mouth with one hand. “You deserved that, Michael.”
He shot you a look, narrowing his eyes playfully. “I have sand in places no person should ever have sand. I’m talking places, okay? You left me there all afernoon.”
You raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Really? The whole afternoon?”
He ran a hand through his hair, sending another shower of sand onto the floor. “Maybe a beach guard eventually helped dig me out. That’s not the point. The point is you two left me there.”
Hannah was still giggling uncontrollably. “Sorry, Daddy. I ate all the ice-cream.”
Robby shook his head, trying to look stern but failing miserably. “Traitors, both of you.” He glanced down at himself again and sighed. “I need a shower. Give me ten minutes and we can head to dinner.”
While Robby disappeared into the bathroom, you and Hannah sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the water run. When Robby finally emerged, he looked refreshed, wearing a clean button-down shirt and shorts. “Ready?” he asked, offering Hannah his hand.
The buffet was everything a resort like this promised, long tables overflowing with fresh seafood, grilled meats, salads, tropical fruits, and many dessert stations. Hannah’s eyes were wide as saucers as she piled her plate high with pasta, shrimp, and fruit, while you and Robby chose more balanced meals.
You ate slowly, savoring the flavors while Hannah chattered between bites about everything she’d seen that day, occasionally yawning as the long day caught up with her.
After dinner, the walk back to the suite was peaceful, the pathways were lit with lanterns, and the sound of waves grew louder again as you approached the beach wing. Hannah walked between you and Robby, holding both your hands, her steps slowing with tiredness.
Back in the room, the bedtime routine felt strangely intimate. You helped Hannah brush her teeth while Robby turned down the beds. Hannah chose to sleep with you tonight. You tucked her in on the bed closest to the balcony, reading her a short story while Robby dimmed the lights.
Soon, Hannah’s breathing evened out into sleep, her body curled against your side. You lay there in the semi-darkness while Robby settled into the other bed, the sheets rustling as he got comfortable.
“Well, isn’t this nice?” Robby murmured, soft enough not to disturb Hannah’s peaceful sleep. “The three of us here like this… I had a great time today. Even if I spent three hours buried under sand.”
You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way your treacherous heart agreed with him. It did feel nice, dangerously nice. You’d had so much fun being with him, doing things together like a regular family: building sandcastles, chasing waves, watching Hannah’s delighted squeals. For a few stolen hours, it had felt real. “Tomorrow morning,” you said quietly, despite the ache in your chest, “you’re going to the reception and asking if they have any more rooms available.”
The next morning you woke slowly, Hannah was still curled against your side on the queen bed. Carefully, so as not to wake her, you slipped out of bed. You moved quietly around the room, brushing your teeth, splashing cool water on your face, and running a brush through your hair. You chose a red bikini today, tied the strings and slipped on a light white cover-up. Before leaving, you scribbled a short note and left it on the nightstand: Went for an early walk on the beach to watch the sunrise.
Robby woke later, he spotted the note immediately and read it with a smile. “Mommy went for an early beach walk,” he told Hannah, helping her sit up. “Let’s get ready and surprise her with breakfast on the beach. What do you think?”
Hannah’s face lit up. They took their time, Robby patiently helping her brush her teeth and wash her face. He changed into swim trunks and a loose linen shirt, applied sunscreen to Hannah’s face and arms, and they headed out hand-in-hand, making a quick stop at the breakfast buffet to grab some fresh fruit, croissants, yogurt, and cold water bottles to bring to the beach.
The ocean sparkled brilliantly as he scanned the loungers, looking for you. When he finally spotted you further down the beach, his steps slowed. You were standing near the water’s edge in just the red bikini, the morning light highlighting every curve of your body. You looked relaxed, confident, and breathtakingly beautiful. And you weren’t alone. A tall, ripped guy in his mid-to-late twenties stood close to you, shirtless, his sculpted abs and broad shoulders glistening slightly with sweat or water. He was laughing at something you said, leaning in with confidence, clearly flirting back with you.
He looked like he belonged on a fitness magazine cover, young, with zero signs of the wear that came from decades of work. An ugly twist of jealousy hit Robby in the chest. But it wasn’t just jealousy, it was insecurity hiding right behind it. This guy was younger, fitter. Probably had endless stamina and no emotional baggage. Robby became acutely aware of his own softer stomach, the gray hairs scattered across his chest, and the wrinkles around his eyes from years of exhaustion. He felt every one of his fifty. years in that moment, standing there holding a plate of fruit and his daughter’s hand.
Hannah tugged excitedly on Robby’s hand. “There’s Mommy! Look, Daddy! She’s over there by the water. Can we go say hi? Please?”
Robby forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, angel. Let’s go.”
They started walking across the warm sand. Robby’s focus narrowed entirely on you and the man standing far too close. As they approached, he heard the guy’s easy laugh again. The young man was animated, gesturing toward the horizon with one muscular arm, clearly in the middle of some charming story.
“Good morning” Robby said, trying not to sound bothered but doing a terrible job hiding his annoyance. “I see you found company.”
The guy’s gaze flicked from you to Robby, then back to you with mild confusion. “Is that… your father?”
The word landed like a punch, and Robby let out a short and dry laugh, though his jaw tightened painfully. “Her father,” he mumbled on the low. “Cute. No. I’m her husband, as a matter of fact.” His voice didn’t even hesitate over the blatant lie he’d just said.
You laughed, an uncomfortable and forced sound that made Robby’s chest twist. “He’s not my husband,” you corrected quickly. “He’s just… a guy I know from work.”
Robby turned to you slowly, raising one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “A guy you know from work? Excuse me?” The young guy shifted awkwardly on his feet, clearly sensing the sudden thick tension crackling in the air. “I’m the father of her daughter. Michael Robinavitch, nice to meet you.”
The guy’s eyes darted between the three of you, with a confused look across his face as if he couldn’t quite process the sudden shift. Just a couple of minutes earlier he’d been leaning in close, flashing an easy smile and flirting with acute woman at the beach. Now here you were with a man standing possessively close and a little kid next to him. And as if he couldn’t quite believe that Robby, was somehow the father of that kid. “So… you have a daughter? With her?”
Robby kept his tone light for Hannah’s sake, ruffling her hair gently with one hand, but there was an edge underneath his words. “Yes. I got her pregnant. It was a wonderful experience, actually.”
The words came out with a possessive undertone he didn’t even try to hide. What a fucking little prick, Robby thought. He wishes he could pull a woman like you. Sure, the guy might have abs where Robby had a softer belly. Maybe his forehead was smooth, with no lines etched from the pass of time, and his head might still be free of silver hairs. But Robby had pulled you without any of that polished bullshit, and you had always looked at him like he was the most handsome man to ever exist. A little asshole like him wouldn’t have a clue what to do with a woman like you.
You shot Robby a warning glare, a mix of anger and embarrassment. because now you had to explain your awkard family situation to this stranger. “It’s… complicated,” you told the guy, forcing a polite smile that felt brittle on your face. “Really complicated.”
The young man rubbed the back of his neck, his sculpted shoulders tensing visibly. He was clearly uncomfortable now, the easy flirtation from moments ago evaporating. “Yeah… uhh, I think my friends are calling me. Nice to meet you, though.” He gave you one last lingering, appreciative glance before turning and walking away toward a group of guys further down the beach.
The second he was out of earshot, you rounded on Robby, trying to keep your voice low and controlled so Hannah wouldn’t hear, but still with a furious undertone in it. “What the hell was that? You completely ruined it. He was flirting with me, and you had to march over here acting like some possessive caveman. And “her husband” What the hell was that?”
Robby set the beach bag down on the sand a little harder than necessary. “Oh please,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, the movement highlighting the soft give of his stomach beneath his shirt. “He’s not even your type.”
You stared at him incredulously. “And how exactly would you know what my type is these days, Robby?”
He shrugged, but his eyes were dark with a potent mix of jealousy and insecurity. “Because I know you. That guy? All looks and no substance. Perfect abs and zero idea what real life looks like. You’d be bored in ten minutes.”
The words hung between you. Hannah, sensing the growing tension like children always do, tugged gently on your hand. “Mommy, can we eat breakfast now? I’m hungry.”
You forced a warm smile for her, pushing down the frustration and smoothing her messy brown hair with your fingers. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s sit down and eat. Daddy brought all your favorites.”
The rest of the morning on the beach passed in silence from your side. You didn’t speak one more word to Robby. Every time he tried to make conversation,offering you some mango, commenting on how beautiful the water looked, asking if you wanted more sunscreen, you answered with short nods or turned your attention to Hannah instead. Robby noticed, and after a while, he stood up slowly, brushing sand from his legs.
“I’m gonna take a walk around the resort for a bit. Give you some space.” He looked at Hannah with a soft smile. “You stay with Mommy, okay, angel? I’ll be back soon.”
Hannah nodded, already busy building another small tower on her sandcastle. Robby lingered for a second longer, resting his eyes on you with something regretful in them, before he turned and walked away down the beach path. You watched his back until he disappeared behind the palm trees.
The hours passed slowly, you played with Hannah in the shallow water, built more sandcastles, applied more sunscreen, and read a few chapters of your book while she napped under the umbrella. But your mind kept replaying the scene with the guy, Robby’s jealous interruption, his possessive words, the way he’d looked at you. It stirred up too many old feelings you didn’t want to examine.
Part of you enjoyed the attention he gave you, the way Robby got possessive whenever another guy even stepped too close. It felt good to be wanted like that. To see him look at you like he still wanted you to be his and his only, even after all this time, even after everything that had happened between you. It was dangerous, how much you liked it. Because it stirred up the same old feelings, the ones that made it so hard to remember why you kept pushing him away in the first place.
Robby returned a couple of hours later, carrying two fresh iced drinks. He approached cautiously and sat down on the edge of your lounger, close but not touching you. “I know you’re pissed,” he said. “And you have every right to be. I overstepped. I was an asshole back there. Jealous and… yeah. I’m sorry.”
You stayed silent for a long moment, staring out at the turquoise water. “You were. You ruined a nice, harmless conversation.”
Robby nodded, accepting it. “I did.” He paused, then offered one of the iced drinks. “I walked by the spa earlier. They have really good reviews. I thought of getting you a massage as an apology. You deserve to relax after everything… and after dealing with me being an idiot.”
You looked at him then, searching his face. His expression was sincere, the usual cocky edge softened by genuine regret. Part of you wanted to stay mad. The other part, the tired nd overworked resident and mother, desperately wanted that massage. “…Fine,” you said eventually. “But this doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed.”
“Understood.” He gave you a small smile.
You left Hannah at the resort’s supervised children’s activity center, a beautiful shaded area with crafts, games, and attentive staff. She was thrilled to join the other kids, waving goodbye without a second thought.
The spa building was serene and even more luxurious than the rest of the resort. Robby stepped up to the elegant reception desk first. You watched him leaning slightly on the polished wood counter, and the woman on the desk checking the screen and nodding.
After a couple of seconds, Robby came back to you. “Okay, it’s all settled. I’m gonna head back, maybe hit the pool with the bar. Enjoy your massage. You deserve it.”
Before Robby had any time to head to the door, a masseuse in a white uniform approached you both. She offered a welcoming smile. “Okay, beautiful couple, ready for your couple’s massage? We have the ocean-view room prepared with the full aromatherapy package you selected. It’s one of our most popular experiences.”
You froze right there and then, the word “couple” hitting you like cold water. Your stomach tightened instantly, a rush of irritation flooding through you. “Robby,” you said, turning to him. “What the hell did you do now?”
He looked genuinely surprised, his eyes widening as he raised both hands in a surrender gesture. “I swear I don’t know,” he said quickly, sounding sincere for once. “I just booked a regular massage for you. I didn’t say anything about a couple’s anything. I was very clear, one person, one massage.”
The masseuse glanced between the two of you, still smiling politely, completely unfazed by the sudden tension. “It’s our signature couples experience, side-by-side tables, synchronized massage, and a glass of champagne afterward. Very romantic and relaxing. Perfect for reconnecting.”
Before you could refuse, clarify, or even form a full protest, the staff were already guiding you both forward with efficiency. They led you down a quiet, incense-scented hallway that opened into a treatment room. Two massage tables stood side by side in the center, candles flickering all around the room and towels folded neatly.
Your heart was racing now, a mix of irritation at Robby and anticipation because soon he would be shirtless again, lying only a few feet away while you were both having a “couple experience” when all you needed was to be as far away as possible from the concept of you and Robby being a couple. Your brain was already getting all these confused, dangerous feelings after spending so much time together, the laughter, the casual touches, the way the three of you looked like a real family from the outside. The last thing you needed right now was to keep doing couple activities. Every shared dinner, every walk along the beach, only made the line between co-parents. You were supposed to be keeping your distance.
You turned to him. “This is not what I agreed to, Robby.”
He looked almost sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I really did just ask for one massage. But… we’re here now. Might as well enjoy it?”
The masseuses were already moving, preparing the oils, laying out fresh towels, adjusting the temperature and lighting.
On of them smiled gently. “If you’d both like to remove your clothes to your comfort level and lie face down on the tables, we’ll begin with the back and shoulders. Take your time.”
Robby glanced at you, reading the hesitation in your posture. He gave a reassuring nod. “I’ll go first,” he said quietly, and stepped behind the simple privacy screen they had provided.
You heard the rustle of fabric as he removed his shirt and trunks. You turned around quickly, facing the wall to avoid the sight of his fully naked body, one you knew far too well and that still had the exact same devastating effect on you. Definitely not the kind of reaction you needed when you were supposed to be relaxing. But even with your back to him, the knowledge that he was right there in the same room, completely bare, got your heart beating fast.
When he emerged and lay face down on the right-hand table, he draped the sheet modestly over his lower half. You couldn’t help but notice the familiar lines of his back, his strong shoulders, the soft curve where his waist met his hips. Your turn came next, you stepped behind the screen, your fingers slightly unsteady as you untied the bikini top and stepped out of the bottoms. The cool air kissed your bare skin, you wrapped yourself quickly in one of the large, warmed towels and moved to the left table, lying face down.
You turned your head to the side, away from Robby, trying to steady your breathing. The masseuses worked in sync. Pouring warm oil first, spreading it with their fingers, starting at your shoulders and working downward in long strokes. The pressure was perfect — deep enough to melt the knots from endless shifts, gentle enough to feel indulgent. Beside you, Robby let out a low sound of relief as his own masseuse began. The sound sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine, you knew that voice too well, one you’d heard far too many times.
One of the masseuses, an older woman, spoke softly as she worked on your upper back. “You two make a lovely couple. Have you been together a long time?”
Robby answered before you could explain how you weren’t a couple, you two had ended here after a complicated series of events. “Five years.”
You opened your eyes, staring at the white sheet beneath you. “We’re not really together,” you corrected quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
Robby let out a soft chuckle from the next table. “It’s more like an on-and-off thing.”
You turned your head slightly toward him, the irritation mixing with the pleasure of the massage, an experience that was supposed to be relaxing, but now was irritating due to Robby’s presence. “It’s mostly off than on, really.”
The younger masseuse working on Robby smiled as she kneaded his shoulders. “Ah, but you are here together now. That counts for something, no?”
The older woman on your side pressed deeper into a knot between your shoulder blades, drawing a quiet sigh from you. “You make a good couple,” she said warmly. “I have seen many couples working here, but not many where the man looks at the woman the way he looks at you. It’s very special.”
You let out a small, skeptical laugh, the sound muffled against the face cradle. “I find that hard to believe.”
Robby’s voice came from beside you. “I look at her like she’s the second most precious thing in this entire world.”
The masseuses both made soft. The younger one asked curiously, “Why second?”
Robby didn’t hesitate. “Becuse the first one is the daughter she gave me five years ago.”
A soft chorus of “Awww” filled the room. You could practically feel the women melting at his words. The older masseuse patted your shoulder gently. “That is beautiful. A man who knows what he has.”
You felt heat rise in your cheeks, a confusing mix of embarrassment, irritation, and something warmer that his words always managed to make you feel. “He’s a flatterer,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice light. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s very good at saying the right things.”
Robby chuckled again. “Only when it’s true.”
The synchronized rhythm of the massage created an oddly intimate atmosphere. When your masseuse dug into a tight knot between your shoulder blades, Robby’s masseuse did the same at the exact same moment. The sensation of feeling your own body release tension while hearing his quiet groans of pleasure made the room feel smaller, more charged. Time stretched. You found yourself relaxing despite everything, the ocean view, the scent of the oils, the pressure, until the masseuse gently asked you to turn over. You hesitated for a second before complying, keeping the sheet carefully draped over your chest as you rolled onto your back. Robby turned at the same moment, and for a brief second, your eyes met across the small space between the tables. His gaze was dark, but you looked away quickly, focusing on the ceiling and the glow of the candles.
The front massage was somehow even more intimate, oil poured across your collarbones, your arms, your legs. The masseuse’s hands worked slowly up your thighs, careful and professional, but the proximity of Robby, who was lying there with his eyes sometimes closed, sometimes open and watching the ceiling, made every touch feel amplified.
The older masseuse spoke again softly as she massaged your temples. “It is good to see a family taking time together. These moments are precious.”
You stayed silent this time, and Robby’s quiet reply came a moment later. “They are. It took me a while to realize there’s nothing more important than my family.”
When the massage ended, the masseuses quietly stepped out, leaving you and Robby alone in the treatment room. Robes had been provided, and two elegant flutes of champagne with fresh strawberries and raspberries waited on a small table between the two massage tables. You sat up slowly, wrapping the white robe tightly around yourself. Robby did the same on his table, the robe hanging open just enough to show his chest.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sounds were the distant waves. Robby reached for the champagne glasses and handed one to you. He clinked his glass gently against yours.
“To surviving the rest of this trip,” he said softly, a smile playing on his lips.
Robby leaned back against the edge of his table, watching you. The robe slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing more of his chest. “No matter how much you try to pretend you hate spending time with me… I know you secretly enjoy it. We get along. We have fun together. You know there’s this… connection between us.”
You stared into your glass, watching the bubbles rise. You took a sip before answering. “You’re wrong. The only reason we keep spending time together is because you pull this shit all the time. This wasn’t what I agreed to. I asked for separate rooms, no couple activities. You keep lying to me and manipulating everything because you have this fantasy that I’ll magically get back with you just because you paid for some expensive vacation.”
Robby set his glass down slowly. He didn’t look defensive. Instead, his expression was open, almost vulnerable. “I didn’t get a couple’s massage. I swear. I asked for one massage for you.”
You raised an eyebrow, the champagne making your cheeks feel warmer. “What about the hotel room mix-up?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe… I didn’t correct the receptionist when he gave me only one room.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
Robby looked at you then. “I’m in love,” he said simply. “Crazy in love with you. And every single day, every second I spend with you it just gets bigger and bigger. I can’t help it.”
The confession hung between you. You wanted to push back, to stay angry, but the massage had stripped away too many defenses. You knew you could pack your suitcase right now. You knew you could call a taxi, get to the airport, and buy the fastest ticket back home. But part of you didn’t. Part of you longed to stay and see what the next thing Robby would do, how far he’d go to win you back, how much he was willing to risk this time, and whether he truly meant it. The worst part of it all was how little you actually wanted to run away from him.
“You can’t deny the massage was nice,” Robby added quietly.
You took another slow sip of champagne. The truth slipped out before you could stop it. “It felt good,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “Really good.”
The next day you woke to Hannah’s excited bouncing on the bed and Robby’s chuckle from the other side of the room. After a leisurely breakfast on the balcony while watching the ocean, the three of you headed to the resort’s massive water park, full of slides, lazy rivers, and splash zones. Hannah’s eyes were wide with wonder as she ran from one attraction to the next.
You spent hours in the shallow kids’ area first, where sprays of water misted over mushroom fountains. Hannah laughed uncontrollably as she darted through the sprays. Robby lifted her onto his shoulders so she could reach higher sprays, both of them soaked and beaming.
Later, you moved to the lazy river, the three of you floated together on a large raft, the current carrying you under bridges and past waterfalls. Hannah sat between you and Robby, chattering nonstop about the “big slides” she wanted to try next. Robby’s arm rested casually behind you on the raft, occasionally brushing his fingers over your shoulder.
You braved a few bigger slides with Hannah while Robby waited at the bottom with open arms to catch her. He went down the steeper ones with her, their laughter echoing as they shot out into the splash pool. You watched from the side, smiling despite yourself at how good he was with her, patient and playful.
By late afternoon, you were all tired, but still decided to head to the open-air resort theater for the karaoke night. The tables were arranged in an arc around a central stage. You sat at a table near the front with Hannah comfortably settled on your lap. She wore her favorite sundress, her hair still slightly damp from the evening shower. In her small hands, she held a colorful fruity mocktail with a paper umbrella and a slice of pineapple on the rim. She watched performer after performer take the stage, clapping enthusiastically for every single one, whether they were hilariously off-key or surprisingly talented.
Robby sat right beside you, he had switched to margaritas after dinner and was now on his third or fourth. His cheeks were flushed a warm pink, and his smile came easier, the alcohol had softened the edges that usually existed between you, but you kept your guard firmly in place, hyper-aware of the weight of his arm behind you and the occasional brush of his fingers against your shoulder
The host, a charismatic man stepped up to the microphone scanning the crowd. “Alright, folks, next up we have Michael Robinavitch! Michael, the stage is all yours.”
Your stomach dropped instantly. You froze, asking yourself if you’d heard right, because karaoke was something Robby would never, ever, do. But then again, this wasn’t normal Robby, this was Robby after four margaritas that inhibited any level of self-awareness he had. “Robby… where are you going? What are you doing?”
He stood up with a bright, slightly tipsy smile that lit up his whole face. He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Hannah’s head, then straightened. “You’ll see,” he said.
He walked toward the stage with confidence, the stage lights catching on the slight sway in his step from the margaritas. The crowd quieted with anticipation as he took the microphone. For a moment, he just stood there, looking out over the audience, until his eyes found yours across the tables. A heart-stopping smile spread across his face.
“Good evening, everyone,” he began. “My name is Michael Robinavitch.” He scanned the audience again until his gaze locked directly on you. “This song goes out to the love of my life.” He pointed straight at you, and heads turned. Dozens of eyes shifted your way all at once. Heat flooded your face in an instant, a deep and mortifying warmth that burned from your chest all the way to your ears.
You wanted the sand beneath the theater to open up and swallow you whole. You sank lower in your seat, wishing you could disappear. Robby didn’t stop. “No, not only the love of my life. She’s the woman of my life. She’s the mother of my child. Look at them, aren’t they the most beautiful ladies in the world?”
The crowd let out a collective and heartfelt “Awww.” Some people clapped, a few whistled. Hannah waved happily at her dad from your lap, completely thrilled and oblivious to your embarrassment. “Daddy’s singing for us, Mommy!” she whispered excitedly, bouncing a little.
The opening notes of Aerosmith’s I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing began playing, and Robby’s voice came through the speakers, rough around the edges from the margaritas, but surprisingly in tune despite being a terrible singer. He sang directly to you, keeping his eyes locked on yours the entire time, as if no one else existed.
“I could stay awake just to hear you breathing
Watch you smile while you are sleeping
While you’re far away and dreaming…”
Embarrassment burned through every inch of you. Your cheeks were on fire, and you covered your face with one hand, peeking through your fingers.
“I could spend my life in this sweet surrender
I could stay lost in this moment forever
Where a moment spent with you is a moment I treasure…”
Hannah bounced happily on your lap, clapping along. “Daddy sounds so good! He’s singing for you, Mommy!”
Robby poured everything into the chorus, his voice rising with emotion, and cracking slightly on the high notes but full of feeling.
“Don't wanna close my eyes
I don't wanna to fall asleep
'Cause I'd miss you baby
And I don't wanna miss a thing…”
He pointed at you and Hannah again during the song, his gaze never wavering. The crowd was completely swept up, some singing along, others watching the three of you with fond, smiling faces. You felt painfully exposed, seen in a way that terrified you, and yet terrifyingly wanted and loved in front of all these strangers.
When the final notes faded, the audience erupted in loud applause and cheers. He gave a small, humble bow, grinning widely. He didn’t step off the stage immediately, instead, he raised the microphone again. “Thank you,” he said, smiling at the crowd. “I just want to say one more thing before I go. I was an idiot. I did some things I regret. I let fear and work, and my own stubbornness get in the way of the best things in my life.” He looked straight at you. “But this woman right here… and our beautiful daughter… they are the best thing that ever happened to me. All I want is another chance to fix it. To do it right this time.”
The crowd reacted instantly, followed by scattered cheers and shouts of encouragement. Someone near the back yelled, “Give the man another chance!” More voices joined in, “Yeah, go for it!” until it became a playful chant rippling across the theater.
Robby finally stepped off the stage, making his way back to your table amid the lingering applause. Hannah launched herself into his arms the moment he sat down. “Daddy! You sang so good for Mommy!”
You stared at him, your heart still racing from the public love declaration and the serenade. You leaned in close so only he could hear. “You’re an idiot, Robby.”
He turned to you, so close that the scent of tequila and his cologne wrapped around you again. “Yeah. But I’m your idiot.”
You wanted to push him away, to stay angry about the public spectacle and the way he kept blurring every boundary. But with Hannah happily chattering between you two about how “Daddy is the best singer ever,” and the crowd still occasionally glancing your way with fond smiles, it was impossible to ignore the pull.
“Every single word was true.” He brushed your shoulder gently. “I lost so many years, so much time, so many memories I let go because of how I felt, and now the thought of missing one single moment with you kills me. I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not.”
You had to blink back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. For the first time, you believed every single word that left his lips, no doubting, no second-guessing, no walls left to hide behind. After days of fighting him, of pushing back against every word and lingering touch, all you wanted was to pull him close, to bury your face in his chest and tell him you wanted the same thing. That every second you’d wasted fighting him was a second the two of you could have been together, laughing, touching. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” you swallowed. “When you’re not four margaritas in.”
The next morning, you woke before Hannah. You glanced at Robby in the other queen bed. He was still asleep, lying on his back with one arm draped over his stomach, the sheet low on his hips. You moved quietly and sat on the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. For a long moment you just watched him, the morning light highlighting the white hair on his jaw and the lines around his eyes.
Then Robby stirred, fluttering his eyes open slowly, focusing on you with sleepy confusion that quickly shifted into something softer, almost disbelieving. “Am I dreaming?” he murmured as he blinked a few times, pushing himself up on one elbow. “Why are you in bed with me?”
You stayed seated on the edge with your hands in your lap. “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”
He rubbed his face with one hand, still half-asleep. “We went to the water park? Hannah loved the slides…”
“Not that, idiot,” you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Later. The karaoke.”
Robby froze. His eyes widened as the memories clearly flooded back. He let out a long groan and dropped back onto the pillow, covering his face with both hands. “Oh yeah… Jesus. I can’t believe I did that.”
“I bet you’re regretting it now.”
He lowered his hands slowly. “I might be deeply embarrassed. But I don’t regret it. I wanted to do something romantic for you. Something that showed you how I feel.”
You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your tone light even as your pulse quickened. “Yeah? Nothing more romantic than singing off-key Aerosmith in front of a hundred strangers.”
Robby chuckled and pushed himself up to sit against the headboard. “Come on, it wasn’t that off-key.” His eyes met yours. “I meant every single word I said. About not wanting to miss another second without you. About you and Hannah being the best things that ever happened to me. About wanting another chance.”
You held his gaze for a long moment, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest, breaking down your defences more and more each day. “I heard you loud and clear, Robby.”
Hannah stirred slightly in the other bed but didn’t wake. You stood up slowly, smoothing your sleep shirt. “I’m gonna head to the pools for a bit before she wakes up.”
Robby sat up straighter. “You can’t.”
You turned back to him, raising your eyebrow. “Why not?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish again. “Yesterday I… booked us dancing lessons on the beach. Salsa. For this morning.”
You stared at him. “And why the hell did you do that? Why didn’t you ask me first? I don’t wanna go.”
He let out a helpless laugh. “I don’t know. I was drunk and thought dancing salsa with you on the beach sounded like a great idea at the time.”
You crossed your arms. “Well, I’m not going.”
“Please go with me,” he said wofter now, almost pleading. He looked at you with those warm brown eyes that had always been able to weaken your resolve. “I’ll behave. I promise. Otherwise I’m gonna have to dance with the teacher, and that would be even more embarrassing than last night.”
You stood there in the quiet morning light, part of you still wanted to say no, to keep the boundaries firm, to protect the distance you’d fought so hard to maintain. But you knew if it wasn’t this, then he’d simply come up with another way of putting the two of you together in another situation. Being with him for these days had softened you more than you cared to admit, it had all worn down your defenses. And after every honest word he’d laid bare last night, combined with the way he was looking at you now with that sheepish, boyish smile and those earnest eyes that always saw straight through you, it made it very hard to keep saying no.
After dropping Hannah off at the resort’s supervised kids’ activities center, where she immediately ran off with a group of children to do crafts and play games, you and Robby walked the shaded pathways toward the beach.
The beach dancing area was set up in a beautiful, semi-private cove framed by gently curving palm trees and large rocks. The instructor, a local man, welcomed you both with open arms. “Perfect timing!. Come, come, partners, face each other. We start with the basic steps.”
Robby was a terrible dancer. He tried, God, he tried so hard, but his movements were initially stiff and awkward, his hips resisting the rhythm. He settled his hands on your bare waist with visible hesitation at first, but that hesitation quickly melted into something much hungrier.
The first time the instructor called for a basic side step and Robby pulled you in, he pressed his palm firmly against the small of your back, splaying his fingers wide as if he needed to feel as much of you as possible.
The heat of his touch burned straight through your skin, sending a spark racing up your spine. “Like this?” Robby asked the instructor as he attempted the next step.
His thigh accidentally slid between your legs for balance during a turn, pressing close for a second longer than necessary. You felt the warmth of him, the subtle shift of his hips, and heat pooled in your belly.
The instructor laughed good-naturedly. “Looser hips, my friend! Feel the music. Let it move you.”
Robby tried again, pulling you closer on the next basic. He brushed his chest against yours with every step, the thin fabric of his shirt and your bikini top did nothing to hide the heat of his body.
“This is harder than it looks,” he muttered close to your ear, his breath warm against your neck. He slid his hand a little lower on your back, digging his fingers in with hunger. “But I like having an excuse to hold you like this.”
You swallowed hard, trying to focus on the beat. “You’re terrible at this.”
He grinned as he dipped you slightly on the instructor’s cue. “But I’m trying. For you.”
His body was pressed flush against yours, his hips rolling in what was supposed to be a salsa step but felt far more intimate. The subtle grind, the way his thigh stayed between yours for balance, the hungry way in which he dropped his to your mouth and lower, to the swell of your breasts, made your skin tingle everywhere he touched.
Your pulse thundered in your ears, almost drowning out the music. Every turn, every close hold, every time his hands guided your hips, the tension built higher. He traced possessive circles on your lower back with his fingers. When the music slowed for a moment to practice a more sensual move, he looked down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, like he wanted to devour every inch of you right there on the sand in front of everyone.
You couldn’t take it anymore. You’d tried to fight every single advance he’d made since you both arrived. You’d tried to ignore the way he looked, more tan from the sun, those charming freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, his soft body on full display in nothing but swim trunks. You’d tried to pretend you weren’t affected by the flood of memories rushing back every time he got close, or by the fantasies of what life could look like if you finally let him in. And you were bone-tired of pretending you didn’t want the same thing. Exhausted from denying yourself what your body craved so much, his hands, his mouth, the weight of him pressing you down, the way only he could make you fel.
Mid-step, you grabbed Robby’s hand tightly and started walking, pulling him firmly away from the group and down the beach. The ocean breeze tried cooling the flush on your skin but did nothing to calm the fire in your belly.
Robby stumbled slightly to keep up, surprised but not resisting. “Where are we going?”
You didn’t slow down, already scanning the shoreline ahead. “We’re going to have sex.”
He let out a startled and deep laugh that sent another shiver racing through you. A second later the laugh faded into pure disbelief. “Wait… are you serious?”
You kept walking, your breath coming faster as the arousal intensified with every second that went by without feeling Robby’s touch. “Yes, Michael.”
Robby’s grip on your hand tightened. “Let’s go back to the room then. No risk of anyone seeing—”
“It’s too far,” you cut him off, your voice breathy with need. “And they’re probably cleaning it right now.”
He let out an incredulous laugh, half-aroused, half-amused. “So what? We’re doing it in the wild?”
You glanced back at him, the corner of your mouth twitching despite the heat flooding your body. “Michael, it’s the beach, not the wilderness.”
“Excuse me,” he said, still laughing softly but with clear hunger in his eyes, “But I really like this resort. I don’t want to get banned for life from this chain.”
You stopped for a second, turning to look at him fully. Your voice dropped to a more direct and impatient tone. “You wanna fuck or not?”
His expression shifted instantly, completely undone. “Yes please.”
“Good, then stop complaining.” You kept walking until you found a good spot: a small, semi-secluded cove partially shielded by large rocks and leaning palm trees. The sand here was softer, shaded in patches by the foliage, with a clear but private view of the ocean. You pulled him behind the largest rock formation and Robby followed without hesitation, his hands already sliding to your waist the moment you stopped. The hunger in his touch matched the fire burning in your veins. He pressed you back against the smooth, sun-warmed rock, his body crowding yours, mouth hovering just inches from yours, breath ragged. The tension that had been building since the massage, since the karaoke, since the entire trip finally snapped.
The moment you pulled Robby behind the large, sun-warmed rock, the rest of the world fell away, all that existed was the heat between you, the desperate need that had been simmering since the very beginning of this trip.
You surged forward and kissed him. Robby met you instantly, a hungry sound rumbling in his chest as his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth was hot and demanding, and his fingers dug into your hips with desperation. He kissed you like a man who had been starving ever since the last night you shared together, sweeping his tongue into your mouth, claiming, while he slid one up your back to tangle in your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted it.
He broke the kiss just enough to breathe against your lips. “I’ve been dreaming about this. Every single night since we got here. I didn’t think it would actually happen.”
You smiled against his mouth, sliding your hands up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palms. “All your stupid tricks finally worked.”
He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours as he roamed his hands restlessly over your body, down your sides, cupping your ass, pulling you harder against the growing hardness in his swim trunks. “All I did was to try and prove you how much I love you,” he murmured. “I want to be with you. Not just fuck you again. I want everything. You, Hannah, us as a family. That’s all it’s ever been about.”
Your hand slid down between you, palming the hard and thick outline of his cock through the fabric. He hissed sharply, jerking his hips forward into your touch. “It was torture,” he rasped, against your ear, “seeing you in that bikini every single day and not being able to touch you. Not being able to do this.”
You squeezed him gently, stroking the length of him through his trunks. “Maybe I wanted to touch your body too.”
He let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan as you rubbed your thumb over the fat head. “I know. I could see the way you watched me. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”
You couldn’t wait any longer. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of Robby’s swim trunks and pushed them down just enough to free him. His cock sprang out, the thick vein along the underside pulsed visibly as you wrapped your hand around the base, your fingers barely able to close fully around his girth. You stroked him slowly from base to tip, savoring the way he throbbed powerfully in your grip. “It’s your fault for having this fucking body,” you whispered. “It’s just my type.”
Robby let his head fall back against the rock with a moan, bucking his hips into your fist. “I was right,” he managed to say. “That guy the other day at the beach… he wasn’t your type, was he?”
You swept your thumb over the head on every upstroke, spreading the leaking precum and making him even wetter. Robby groaned deeply, jerking forward into your fist as you twisted your wrist just the way he liked, squeezing a little tighter on the way back down. “Please. That guy lacked everything I love in you.”
“Fuck… your hand feels so good,” he rasped. “Been dying to feel you touch me again.” He cursed under his breath, gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.
You sank slowly to your knees in the sand, until Robby’s cock stood right in front of you, flushed a deep, needy red at the head and already leaking a steady bead of precum. You looked up at him through your lashes, taking in the sight of him towering above you.
As you wrapped one hand around the thick base, the heat of him pulsed strongly against your palm, the weight and girth of him making your mouth water. You started slow, torturously slow. Leaning in, you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the leaking tip, tasting the salty, slightly bitter bead of precum that had gathered there. Robby’s hips jerked forward involuntarily as a whimper escaped from his chest. You kissed it again, slower this time, letting your lips linger as you savored the skin stretched tight over the swollen head.
Then you dragged your tongue in a wet circle around it, tracing every ridge and vein, feeling the way he twitched and throbbed against your tongue with every pass. “Fuck… baby,” he groaned, already wrecked and sounding hoarse. One of his hands came down to gently grab your hair, trembling slightly as his fingers carded through the strands. “Come on… please… Take a little more, baby.”
You smiled against the slick head, barely parting your lips to take just the tip into the wet heat of your mouth. You sucked gently, swirling your tongue lazily around him, giving him only the lightest, teasing pressure. Robby’s moan was loud and needy, his thighs were trembling as he fought the powerful urge to thrust deeper into your mouth.
You pulled back just enough to speak, brushing your lips still against the glistening tip, a thin string of saliva connecting you. “You’ve been thinking about this the whole trip, haven’t you?”
Robby closed his eyes for a second and nodded, almost like he was in pain. Then you took him deeper, sucking more of his length into your mouth. You hollowed our cheeks as you worked him with deliberate bobs of your head, savoring every inch. The taste of him, the salty skin that was so uniquely Robby, made you moan around his cock. The vibration drew another loud, desperate whimper from deep in his throat.
You remembered every little trick he used to love from years ago, the way he liked the flat of your tongue pressing firmly along the sensitive underside, followed immediately by soothing suction, the way you hollowed your cheeks on the upstroke to create that perfect tight pressure. You did them all, eagerly and hungrily, losing yourself in the heavy weight of him on your tongue and the broken, needy sounds he couldn’t hold back no matter how hard he tried.
You slid your free hand between his spread legs, cupping and gently rolling his heavy balls, massaging them with careful pressure. Robby’s head fell back against the rock with a guttural groan that was almost too loud for the public setting. His hips stuttered forward, chasing the wet heat of your mouth as he fought for control.
“God… your mouth,” he panted, forcing his eyes to stay open. He couldn’t stop watching you, the way your lips stretched obscenely around his cock, the spit glistening on your chin and dripping down his shaft, the lust-drunk look in your eyes as you took him deeper with every bob of your head. “I can’t… fuck. You look so fucking good like this, on your knees for me.”
You moaned again around him, and took him as deep as you could, until your nose was brushing the dark, untrimmed hair at his base, holding him there for a long moment while your throat worked around him. You continued playing with his balls, gently tugging and rolling them, feeling them draw up tight as his pleasure built.
Robby’s whimpers turned into full, unrestrained moans. He tightened his fingers almost painfully in your hair as he began rocking his hips shallowly, fucking your mouth with tiny movements. Spit dripped down your chin, coating your hand as you stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach, twisting your wrist on every upstroke just the way he liked.
You pulled off just enough to gasp for air, strings of thick spit connecting your swollen lips to his throbbing cock. “You gotta be quiet,” you whispered, “if you don’t want to attract an audience.”
Robby let out a shaky laugh that quickly dissolved into another deep moan as you licked a long stripe up the entire underside of his cock, tongue pressing firmly against the thick vein there.
“I can’t… I can’t be quiet when I’m finally feeling your mouth again. Fuck, I’ve missed this so much. Missed you so fucking much.”
You took him back in without warning, sucking harder and faster now. Robby’s moans grew louder, more needy, his body trembling as he fought the edge, his thighs shaking beside your head. “Baby… I’m close,” he warned, stuttering his hips forward. “So fucking close—”
You kept going, eager to push him over the edge, dying to feel his thick load flooding your mouth, but Robby suddenly pulled you off with a desperate groan. He hauled you up to your feet with strength. His cock, slick and throbbing and coated in your spit, pressed against your stomach. “Not yet,” he rasped. “Not like this. I want more. I want all of you.”
With a growl, he spun you around, pressing your front firmly against the rock. Your cheek rested against the stone as he yanked the ties of your bikini bottoms loose with impatient fingers until the fabric slid down your legs and pooled at your ankles. You kicked it aside impatiently, leaving yourself completely bare from the waist down.
One of Robby’s large hands slid up your body from behind, slipping under the fabric of your bikini top. His palm was hot as it cupped your breast fully, squeezing the soft flesh with blatant hunger. He found your already hard nipple and rolled it slowly between thumb and forefinger, pinching just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure shooting straight down to your dripping core. You gasped, arching your back and pressing your breast harder into his hand, craving more of that delicious sting.
At the same time, he dipped his other hand between your legs from behind, dragging two thick fingers teasingly through your soaked folds, parting them and spreading your slick arousal everywhere. The wetness coated his fingers as he explored you, rubbing up and down your slit before finally finding your puffy clit. He circled it with the pad of his middle finger, pressing it just right, making your thighs tremble and your knees threaten to buckle against the rock.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” his voice was rough with lust. “This pussy is dripping for me already. You’ve been aching for my cock, huh?”
You moaned loudly and pushed back against his hand desperately. “Robby… I can’t wait anymore,” you gasped. “I need you inside me. Now. Please.”
He pressed a wet kiss to the back of your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth possessively. “Fuck, yes,” he groaned.
You felt the blunt head of his cock nudge against your entrance, sliding through your slick folds once, twice, teasing you both. Then, with one powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you.
The stretch was like something you never felt before, overwhelming and full, exactly what you’d been craving for days. Robby filled you completely, his cock dragged against every spot inside as he bottomed out with a satisfied groan.
He stayed there for a long moment, buried to the hilt, both of you breathing hard together, his chest pressed flush against your back, one hand still massaging and kneading your breast, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.
Then he started moving, he was slow at first, giving you deep and rolling thrusts that let you feel every single inch of him. Robby snapped his hips forward deliberately, driving his cock so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach. The wet sound of skin meeting skin mixed beautifully with the waves and your shared, breathy moans.
Robby’s grip on your hip tightened as he gradually picked up the pace, fucking you harder, deeper. “God, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned right against your ear. One of his hands left your breast, sliding down your body until it reached your ass. He grabbed a full, greedy handful of the rounded flesh, squeezing hard enough to leave marks as he spread you open wider for him, pulling your cheeks apart so he could watch every inch of his cock as it disappeared inside your greedy pussy. Your arousal coated his shaft, strings of wetness connecting you every time he pulled back, only to slam in deeper. “So tight… so wet for me. Been thinking about this pussy every single day on this trip. You’re creaming all over me, baby. Can you feel how deep I am?”
You moaned loudly, pushing back to meet every powerful thrust. The rock was warm against your front, your breasts kept rubbing against it with every movement. He leaned over you more, changing the angle so he could fuck you even deeper, snapping his hips forward with raw purpose now. “You’re mine,” he growled against your ear. “This pussy is mine. You’re mine. Say it.”
You could only moan in response at first, lost in the overwhelming pleasure. “Y-yours.”
He grabbed your hips with both hands, digging his fingers in hard as he pulled you back onto his cock with every thrust. “Fuck, Robby… harder,” you gasped, still pushing back against him. “Don’t stop.”
“Never,” he growled, slamming into you deeper. “Not gonna stop until you’re coming all over my cock.”
You moaned louder, unable to hold back. Robby’s hand left your hip and slid up your body, pressing two fingers firmly against your lips. “Suck on them,” he growled hotly against your skin. “Before someone hears how well I’m fucking you. Be a good girl for me.”
You parted your lips obediently, taking his fingers deep into your mouth. You sucked on them eagerly, swirling your tongue around the digits just like you had around his cock earlier. Robby groaned deeply at the feeling of your muffled moans against his fingers, his hips slamming into you harder.
With his other hand, Robby found your swollen, aching clit. He pressed his digit firmly against the bundle of nerves, rubbing tight circles with exactly the pressure he knew drove you wild. He alternated between teasing strokes and faster, more insistent ones, never letting the rhythm become predictable. The dual sensation was devastating, not only his cock stretching and pounding into you from behind, but now his fingers working your clit relentlessly.
“That’s it,” he rasped as he fucked you even deeper. “Suck my fingers while I ruin this pussy. You’re so fucking wet for me. Been thinking of it since the dance lesson, haven’t you? I could feel how soaked you were the whole time I was touching you.”
You moaned around his fingers, the sound vibrating against them as you sucked harder. Your legs shook uncontrollably. “Come for me,” he rubbed your clit faster and harder. “I want to feel you squeezing my cock when you cum. Let me feel how much you need this. How much you’ve been aching for me.”
The tension snapped, your orgasm crashing over you hard and suddenly. You cried out around his fingers, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his thick cock, fluttering and squeezing him tightly as waves of overwhelming pleasure rolled through your entire body.
Robby’s thrusts grew erratic as he chased his own release. “Fuck… you feel so good when you cum. So tight. I’m so close, baby.” He kept fucking you through your orgasm, drawing it out with deep strokes, his fingers still rubbing your oversensitive clit in gentler circles. His voice was completely wrecked when he spoke again. “Can I finish inside? Please… I need to fill you up. I need to cum inside you.”
You pulled off his fingers just enough to gasp out. “Yes. Cum inside me. Fill me up, Robby. I want it so much.”
That was all he needed. Robby buried himself as deep as possible with a broken moan as he came. You felt every pulse as he emptied himself inside you, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts. He kept thrusting through it, as if he wanted to push every single drop of his fat load as far inside you as possible. His body trembled against yours as he pressed his forehead to the back of your neck, breathing raggedly against your sweat-slicked skin.
Robby wrapped his arms around you from behind, holding you close as he softened inside you, placing lazy kisses along your shoulder and the back of your neck. His cum slowly leaked down your thigh in sticky trails, mixing with your own wetness.
Eventually, you shifted, feeling the pleasant ache between your legs and the reality of where you were. You reached down, picked up your discarded bikini bottoms from the sand, and slowly tied them back on with slightly shaky fingers. Robby stayed close, resting his hands on your hips, stroking circles with his thumbs as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.
“We should go pick up Hannah,” you said softly, still sounding a little hoarse.
Robby didn’t move right away, he turned you gently to face him, cupping your face with his hands. “Wait,” he murmured. “What does this mean? Just admit it and stop fooling yourself. Tell me you want this as much as I do. That you want to be with me too. That you never minded sharing a room, or getting a couple’s massage, or taking dancing lessons. Tell me you actually like spending time together like this.”
You looked up at him, the vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache, and after an intense orgasm like the one he’d just given you, you couldn’t even fool yourself. You took a slow breath. “Yes… I do,” you admitted. “I like being with you, Robby. I like the sex. I like how you make me laugh. I like talking to you. I like… all of it.” His eyes lit up with hope, but you continued before he could speak. “But what happens with me? What happens with Hannah if you change your mind? If the charm wears off once we’re back home, dealing with real life.”
Robby’s expression turned serious, almost pained. He cupped your face more firmly, brushing your cheeks. “I wouldn’t go through all of this if I weren’t a hundred percent sure of what I feel and what I want. Hannah is the most important thing in my life. I’d die before hurting her. Or you. I’m not going anywhere this time. I promise.”
You searched his eyes, tears pricking at the corners of yours. “How can I believe you?”
He smiled softly, a little sheepish. “I sang in front of a crowd for you. That has to count for something.”
You laughed despite yourself. “This whole trip has been so nice… but real life isn’t a beach resort with massages and dancing lessons.”
Robby pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I want you when you’re tired from work. Sweaty, your hair a mess, exhausted. I want the long nights when we’re both too drained to speak, and the fights when we’re frustrated and still choose each other every single day. I want all of it.” He kissed you softly, then pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “Please… I’ve missed so much already, don’t let me miss another thing.”
You smiled, tears slipping freely down your cheeks. You leaned in and kissed him again, slow and deep, full of everything you’d been holding back. When you pulled away, he searched your face with hopeful eyes. “Is that a yes?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
You smiled wider. “It’s a maybe.”
He kissed you again, deeper this time. “Say yes.”
You laughed softly against his lips. “Maybe.”
Another kiss, sweeter. “Yes?”
You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Yes.”
Your reblog doesn’t just support me as a writer, it also helps this reach the people who read the first part, so please consider taking 0.00001 second to click that button, it’s free!!💜
A/N: I feel like, the way it happens in a lot of media, second parts are never quite as good as the first one. But people wanted a second part, and I wanted to write one too, so here’s what I came up with. I hope it wasn’t too long or boring. I’m so thankful for all the love and support the first part got. It genuinely makes me so happy to see that people enjoyed it🥹
There’s honestly so much I could write about these two, but it already felt long as it is. I don’t think I’ll write a third part, to be honest.
Love them and love you. Usually I hate reading fics where a kid is involved cause I don’t personally see kids in my future but here it just makes the dynamics so juicccccyyyy and she’s so cute
Are you in the mood to write kinda cheeky cliche tropes? Because I don’t think I’ve seen anyone really do “there’s only one bed” with Andrew and I think it would EAT, especially if you have to crash somewhere shady for the night because of a job gone wrong 🤓
like a prayer
(andrew 'pope' cody x reader)
A long-time friend of the Cody Family, Deran finally talks you into helping them out with a job. Except Craig screws his end up, leaving you and Pope to hide out in the sleaziest motel you've ever seen. Oh, and they only have one bed left.
warnings: 18+, mdni! heavy making out, some groping, fingering, sleazy guys w/c: 3.6k
main masterlist // pope masterlist
You’re going to kill Craig Cody. Preferably with your bare hands.
It was supposed to be simple. Easy. Quick cash so that you can pay your rent this month. And then Craig couldn't keep to the pre-agreed plans.
Your job had been distraction, much to Pope's chagrin. The security guard at the store was a notorious flirt, and Deran knew that you could turn it on like a faucet. You were the perfect girl for the job. Trustworthy, quick on her feet, and pretty enough to keep a man distracted for the thirteen minutes it took for the guys to rob the jewellery store.
"No way," Pope had said, arms crossed over his chest. "It's too dangerous. Besides, he'll have seen her face. Could ID her."
"We give her a wig and big glasses, he won't know."
"A wig," You had repeated, unimpressed. "I'm not sure that would fool anyone."
"It would fool Craig," Deran points out.
You'd gone round in circles for the next hour, before you'd finally sighed and agreed. Pope had shot you a look, but didn't say anything. How could he? He's not your boyfriend.
He has no more of a claim to you than his brothers.
You'd played your part flawlessly. He had been eating out of the palm of your hand when Craig decided to go for a necklace that was alarmed, setting off a blare that could be heard a hundred metres away.
It had sent everyone into a total panic, with the guys beelining for the car immediately. All of them except Pope.
You were still out front, and if he didn't do something, you were about to get arrested for their crime.
He couldn't have that.
While Craig, Baz and Deran speed off to relative safety, barely thinking about the two they're leaving behind, Pope is knocking out the guard who's hand is wrapped around your wrist, and pulling you off into the darkness.
"W-What happened?" You breathe, glancing back as you both run.
"Craig fucked up. Tried to grab the biggest jewel in the place."
"Where are the others?"
Pope doesn't want to tell you that they left you for dead, but there's no real way to sugarcoat it. "They ran. Got in the car and went."
You twist so that you can lace your hand through Pope's, and he tries not to think about how soft your skin is, the way it feels against his.
He doesn't have time for that.
His only priority is to get you to safety.
And currently, the only place he can think of within walking distance is somewhere he really doesn't want you to see.
Craig has known some sketchy people over the years, but Dennis O'Malley may be the worst of them all. Owner of The Palamino Motel, Pope's not sure it even deserves the title of Motel.
It's a well-known site for prostitutes to get work, and for businessmen to cheat on their wives.
And it's your only hope for shelter tonight.
*****
The Palomino Motel is a piece of shit. Well and truly. It’s something you probably could have guessed from the area Pope is leading you through, but there’s something almost grotesque about seeing it in person.
Tucked into the California desert, no one stumbles upon this place by accident.
It’s not the kind of motel you’d stop off at mid-journey, because you don’t feel like driving any further. Instead, you imagine most people would perhaps turn off the highway, pull into the parking lot, before making the wise decision to keep driving. It’s not worth an extra few hours of sleep.
You’d be better taking your chances on the road, in the barren wasteland that runs between San Diego and Arizona.
No. The Palomino Motel is for mistakes. For secrets, treachery, hiding.
It’s exactly what you both need tonight.
Once a pale orange, bordering on sunset, the outside is cracked and faded - considerably closer to bile than any horizon you’ve ever seen before.
There’s a sign, adorned with all of the activities that must have been offered once upon a time.
POOL (for registered guests only) - through the lobby and to the back of the building.
BAR - to the right of the lobby.
WOODLAND TRAIL - up to the left of the building, past the gardens.
CINEMA - coming soon! Opens June 1984.
Maybe there was a time when the paint wasn’t peeling, and place wasn’t draped in a perpetual air of sweat and grime. A time where couples would stop en-route to their honeymoons, and spend the night before continuing on to the rest of their lives. Where teenagers would come after their proms, just to be out from under their parent’s thumbs.
Now, you imagine the clientele mostly consists of drug dealers and prostitutes. People who wouldn’t be missed, if for some reason the place were to go up in flames, claiming everything and everyone inside. You suppose you fit into that category now. Technically.
"This is your great plan for hiding out?" You arch an eyebrow at Pope, and he shrugs.
"If I had a better idea, we wouldn't be here. But the security camera caught the car leaving - we didn't have time to disable the cameras and delete the footage. That means that the police might start knocking on their door tonight. I don't want you anywhere near that. Just stay close to me."
You're still holding his hand from earlier, but you find yourself leaning further into his touch. There are a few people milling around outside - they all stare at you both as you pass. Pope glares at a few, while you keep your eyes fixed on the way his fingers link with yours.
Inside is no better than outside. Crushed velvet lines every surface, and there's a man in the corner who looks like he may be dead, with the way he's slumped against the wall, jaw slack.
Pope pulls you tighter against him, and heads for the desk. "Dennis," He greets.
The man behind the counter jerks awake, the smell of alcohol evident even from here. He’s sprawled behind the counter in a cracked leather chair, one boot kicked up onto the desk, a cigarette burning dangerously close to his fingers. Greasy hair clings to his forehead, the kind that hasn’t seen shampoo in months, maybe years. His eyes land on Pope first - quick calculation, a flicker of recognition maybe - but then they slide to you, and they stay there.
"Pope Cody," He replies, gaze fixed on you as a crooked grin spreads across his face. "Long time, no see."
Pope doesn’t return the smile. His grip on your hand tightens, almost imperceptibly. “Need a room.”
Dennis leans forward, elbows on the counter, like he’s suddenly interested. Not in Pope. In you. Always you.
“Well now,” He says, voice dipping lower, “that depends.”
Your stomach turns. The lobby smells like stale smoke and something sour underneath it - like the carpet has been absorbing bodily fluids for decades.
A busted lamp in the corner flickers erratically, casting shadows that make the place feel even smaller, more suffocating. Somewhere behind you, the slumped man lets out a faint, wet cough. So he’s not dead. Not yet.
Dennis’s gaze doesn’t move off your face. “We’re pretty full tonight.”
Pope’s jaw ticks. “Cut the shit.”
Dennis chuckles, slow and knowing. “I said pretty full. Got one room left.” His eyes slide down you again, shameless. “But hey… we’re flexible here. Could always make arrangements.”
You feel Pope stiffen beside you, while Dennis leers, yellowed teeth glinting under the overhead lights. “Room might be too small for two... but I'm sure I could find a place for her in my bed-”
“She's staying with me.” Pope's voice invites no conversation, glare settled on him.
Dennis grins wider, like he enjoys this. Like this is the highlight of his night. “C’mon, man. Don’t be like that. I’m just offering hospitality.” His eyes flick back to you, lingering. “What do you think, sweetheart? Might be more fun than hiding out in some dump of a room with him.”
Your skin crawls.
Pope readjusts his stance, positioning himself in front of you. He doesn't block you from Dennis' view, but it sends a message.
You're Pope's girl.
"Last chance."
You know that voice. It's the voice reserved only for the worst of the worst. Enemies of the Cody Family, and people he wants to scare the shit out of.
He used it on your ex-boyfriend once. Right before he kicked the crap out of him.
There’s a beat. Tense. Heavy.
Then Dennis snorts, leaning back again like he’s bored of the game. He reaches under the counter and tosses a key onto the desk. It skids to a stop between them.
“Room Twelve,” he says. “Try not to break anything. Or do. Adds character.”
Pope snatches the key without another word, already turning you away from the counter. But you can still feel Dennis’s eyes on your back as you leave. Pope ushers you in front of him.
*****
The room is exactly as you thought it would be, given the rest of the motel. It’s a relic of the seventies, and you’re pretty sure that copious amounts of porn have been shot in here.
“Well, beggars can’t be choosers,” You mumble softly. This is a damn sight better than the alternative.
Pope glances at you, as he locks the door, and props a chair up against it. "I'm sorry about this. We should've never gotten you involved."
"Andrew. I chose to be here."
You take a second to really examine the room, while Pope checks every crevice. You're not sure what he's looking for. Cameras? Bugs? You don't ask.
The bed sags in the middle, the floral bedspread faded to something almost grey with age. There’s a burn mark near the edge of the mattress - cigarette, probably - and another on the nightstand beside it. The lamp casts a dim, yellowed glow that does nothing to hide the stains on the walls.
A boxy TV sits bolted to a dresser across the room, its screen faintly buzzing even though it’s off. The curtains are drawn, but they don’t quite meet in the middle, leaving a thin slit of neon light bleeding in from the motel sign outside. It pulses red across the carpet, over the bed, over you.
For a moment, neither of you move.
Then Pope exhales, dragging a hand down his face. "I'm going to fucking kill them for leaving you."
"It's okay," You manage a shrug, as you sit tentatively on the edge of the bed.
"No it's not-"
"You came back for me."
He just stares at you, obviously unsure of what to say. Finally, the intensity of his gaze gets to be too much, and you look away, and start counting the stains by the window.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
You look back at him. “What?”
He pulls his hand out slowly, something glinting between his fingers. Gold catches the weak light, a delicate chain with a small pendant hanging from it - simple, but not cheap. Not from a place like that.
You blink. “Andrew…”
“I grabbed it,” He says, almost too quickly. “Back there. Before everything went to hell.” His gaze drops briefly to the necklace, then back to you. “It looked like something you'd like."
You step closer, drawn in despite yourself. “You stole this?”
A faint shrug, one corner of his mouth lifting. “Borrowed. Indefinitely.”
You let out a soft breath, something between disbelief and a laugh. “It's beautiful...”
“I saw it and-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “Just - turn around.”
You turn your back to him, heart picking up just slightly as you feel him step closer. The room feels smaller now, the air thicker.
His fingers brush the back of your neck - light, careful. Warmer than you expect.
You still.
The chain settles against your skin, cool at first, then warming quickly as he fastens it. His hands linger for a second longer than necessary, just resting there, like he’s grounding himself.
Or maybe like he doesn’t want to pull away.
When he finally does, it’s slow.
You turn back to face him, fingertips coming up to touch the pendant. It’s simple. Elegant. Completely out of place here. Probably the most expensive thing you've ever owned.
Your eyes are shining when you look back at him. "I love it."
He shrugs again, but there’s something more vulnerable in it this time. “Figured you should have something good come out of tonight.”
For a moment, the motel room fades - the stains, the noise, the fact that Dennis is the creepiest guy you've ever met. It’s just the two of you, standing too close in a place that doesn’t deserve to be the setting for whatever is going on between you both.
“Thank you,” You say, before letting out a small yawn. You don’t realise how exhausted you are until the adrenaline finally starts to drain out of your system.
"You should sleep."
You let out a small, humourless huff. “Yeah, on that?” You gesture vaguely at the bedspread, like it might bite.
“It’s better than nothing.”
“Barely. Besides, you need to sleep too."
“I don’t really sleep much.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
He shrugs, like it’s not worth arguing. “It’s easier if I stay up. Keep watch.”
Your gaze flicks to the door, to the flimsy lock and the chair braced underneath it. “You really think someone’s coming through that?”
You study him for a second. The tension in his shoulders hasn’t left, not even here. Not even with the door shut. Mentally, he's still in the job. Poised to attack at any given moment.
“You can’t just… not sleep,” you say. “That’s like... not biologically possible.”
“Watch me.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to it. “Fine. Then I’m not sleeping either.”
“That’s not happening.”
“Why not?”
"Because you need it."
"Well, it's not like I can really sleep in this anyway," You gesture down to the cocktail dress you'd bought specifically for the job. It hugs your curves in all the right places, and had done exactly what it needed to.
"You can sleep in my shirt, if you want." His voice is a little quieter, as if he's embarrassed by the offer.
"Will you get some sleep if I agree?"
"I'll try."
It's all he's willing to give you, but you'll take it. You're so tired right now, you think you may be slightly delirious.
That feeling only amplifies when Pope takes his shirt off.
You don’t mean to stare.
You really don’t.
But your eyes betray you, flicking over him before you can stop them - broad shoulders, the easy strength in his arms, the way each muscle ripples when he moves. He’s not trying to show off, not even aware of it, which somehow makes it worse.
Or better.
You look away a second too late.
He doesn’t say anything, but there’s the faintest shift in his posture. Oh god, he noticed the staring. And now he's pretending that he didn't.
“Here,” He says softly, holding the shirt out to you.
You take it, fingers brushing his for just a second. It’s warm.
“Thanks,” You murmur.
He nods once and turns away, giving you what privacy he can in a room this small. You slip out of your dress, pulling his shirt over your head. It's comforting, in a way that you choose not to unpack too much.
When you settle back onto the bed, he’s already kicked off his shoes and stepped out of the rest of his clothes, down to his boxers. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it - just practical, like everything else about him.
The mattress dips as you sit, and you glance up at him. He’s hovering again, near the door, like he hasn’t quite decided what to do with himself. “You’re not seriously staying over there all night,” You say.
“I’ll take the chair.”
You stare at him. “Andrew.”
“What?”
“The bed?”
“It’s small.”
“So?”
He hesitates, jaw tightening slightly. “I don’t want to-”
“Overstep?” You finish for him.
He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. You sigh, shifting back against the thin pillow. “You won’t. Just - stop being weird and come here.”
The bed creaks under his weight as he sits on the edge first, like he’s testing it, then slowly lies back. He keeps a noticeable distance between you, hands resting stiffly over his stomach, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.
You turn slightly onto your side, watching him for a moment.
He doesn’t look at you.
Doesn’t move.
Just lies there, tense, like he’s afraid even breathing too loudly might cross a line.
The silence doesn’t last long.
Not because anything changes between you - if anything, Pope somehow manages to get more rigid beside you - but the walls in this place are paper thin.
At first it’s just a faint thud.
Then another.
Then the unmistakable creak of a bedframe hitting a wall in a slow, uneven rhythm.
You blink.
Pope exhales sharply through his nose, like he already knows exactly what that is and is choosing, very deliberately, to ignore it.
The rhythm picks up.
A muffled voice follows - then another - and suddenly there’s no mistaking it.
You press your lips together, trying to hold in a laugh.
Pope shifts beside you, dragging a hand over his face. “Don’t,” He mutters, already hearing the way your breath hitches.
“I didn’t say anything,” You whisper.
Another loud creak from the other side of the wall proves your point for you.
That does it.
You laugh, the noises coming in short gasps.
Pope groans softly, dropping his arm over his eyes like if he blocks out the world, it might go away. “I’m going to burn this place down.”
It’s not even that it’s funny, really.
It’s just… everything. This is your tipping point.
You raise an eyebrow. “You think it sounds real?”
"What?" His voice is gruff, while the moans from next door only grow louder.
You tilt your head, listening for a second as the noise continues. “I mean… come on. That’s so fake.”
He lets out a short breath, almost a laugh despite himself. “You’re critiquing them now?”
“I’m just saying,” You shrug lightly, “if you’re gonna be that loud, at least make it sound like you're enjoying yourself.”
"Do you consider yourself to be an expert?"
"I do, actually."
"Okay, what's your expert opinion, then?"
“I think,” You say, “we could do better.”
He chokes on a breath, turning his head fully toward you now. “What?”
"Don't you?"
It's potentially the worst possible place to make a move on the man you've been in love with for years. But something about the necklace hanging round your neck, his shirt on your body, is filling you with a confidence you don't normally have.
You shuffle over, closing the distance between you both, and reach out to cup Pope's cheek, tilting his head towards you. "Thank you for looking out for me," You mumble, serious now.
"It's nothing-"
"It's not."
Hesitantly, you lean forward, giving him ample time to back away. He doesn't move an inch, and your nose brushes against his. "Relax, Andy."
His lips are warm.
At first, it's chaste, barely ghosting his mouth. You pull back just a little. "This okay-"
He surges forward, kissing you deeply. This one is far more intentional, movements precise. A need to forget everything. Just for the night.
His tongue traces the seam of your mouth, and you follow his lead, whimpering slightly into his touch. Heat pools low in your stomach, and you can feel it growing in Pope, his boxers tenting against your thigh.
A sigh escapes, hand tangling in his hair as you push against each other. From quiet to frantic, the air is super-charged. You pant into his mouth, fingers tracing the ridges of his abs. "A-Andrew-"
Never a huge talker, Pope responds in moans right into your ear, meant only for you. You wish the couple next door felt the same. He repositions over you, crooking a thigh between your own. Instinctively, your hips roll down, sending your head spinning as you try and chase the friction.
Pope hands immediately move to your hips, pulling you down against him.
"Ah- fuck-"
His hand slips under the hem of his shirt, finger dragging through your folds. "God, baby-"
"P-Please, Andrew-"
It’s only when one final moan crashes over you both from next door, that you freeze. You’re not even sure it could be described as a moan. Maybe more shriek.
With the sudden stimulation gone, you and Pope are left nose to nose while next door reach their second peak of the night. "Oh my god," You giggle, while Pope drops his head to rest in the crook of your neck, sighing heavily.
"We're not doing this here."
It's your turn to be surprised. Sure, the background noise is a little disconcerting, but Pope's body against you feels really fucking good. "You want to stop?"
Maybe you've misread the situation.
Pope shakes his head immediately. "I want to fuck you until you can't walk, but not here. We're going to go to sleep, and then when we get home tomorrow, I'm going to make you cum so hard that it'll put them to shame. Okay?"
You're somehow even more turned on than you were when you thought you were about to sleep together. "Y-Yeah, okay."
summary: when you go against medical advice after a nasty fall down the stairs, dr. park takes matters into his own hands.
content warnings/description: 18+ MDNI, AFAB reader, forced proximity (but it’s just park making himself at home with reader because he wants to), mildly dubious consent, light stalking, light exhibitionism, mean!park who is a softie underneath it all (kind of), divorced!park, unprotected (PIV) sex, oral sex, anal fingering (fem!receiving) (like, one sentence of it), park can carry/lift reader, wrist and clavicle fractures, medical inaccuracies
author’s note: the ending is rushed, and i apologize. i just wanted to be done with this! also, i didn’t feel like writing a long, drawn-out smut scene, so i hope what i did instead (multiple, shorter scenes) is okay. i hope you enjoy!
It was stupid. Something that was preventable and would not have landed you in the E.R. or required surgery if you had just used your brain.
But you didn’t use your brain, and in the rush to get to work, after the elevator in your apartment went out of service one morning a week ago, you rushed down several flights of stairs.
You had almost made it out of the building without so much as a scratch until the last flight, when you tripped on your new pair of heels and flew over tens of steps until you reached the bottom floor with a thud. And that wasn’t the worst of it. No, you had instinctively reached your arm out to grab the railing a little too late and landed on your dominant arm, the force of the impact snapping your wrist, radiating up to your clavicle, and snapping it as well into several pieces.
Or so the E.R. physicians explained as they stabilized you as best they could, referred you to surgery, and sent you home with a splint and a sling.
A week now since your fall, the orthopedic surgeon operating on you recounts to his students the events that led you to his table as well as the injuries you sustained. You’ve been given a nerve blocker for the pain, and you don’t feel your wrist and clavicle shattered into the small pieces I’ll be putting back together. Understand? Nod your heads if you understand, Dr. Park barks to them, drawing you from your thoughts.
He is not the nicest person. You got a sense of that during your pre-op consultation with him two days ago, but, to be honest, all you care about is getting through this surgery.
You do feel sorry for his students, though.
Once Dr. Park finishes his lecture, he addresses you, telling you, we’re about to start. Take some deep breaths.
Glancing at the diagnostic display by your side, the x-rays of your wrist and clavicle in full view, you breathe in and out through your nose. With a flourish of Dr. Park’s hand, you’re told to count down from ten and are put to sleep by the anesthesiologist. As you count down, the last thing you see is the intense cut of Dr. Park’s eyes and his harsh brows, the bulk of him taking up space in what feels like a cramped operating room, a nurse handing him a clamp—
and then it’s lights out.
He goes over post-op care with you once you wake up, lying in the bed of one of the patient recovery rooms, which you find odd, as this is not something you would expect the booked and busy surgeon to do.
You’ll need to keep your wrist in the cast for two weeks and your arm in the sling for six weeks. After two weeks, we’ll switch the cast into a brace. There’ll be a follow-up around the four-week mark to check your progress. Remember that someone will have to drive you home tonight. Take the medication prescribed to you if you find the pain to be too severe.
“You have someone, right?”
“Huh? Someone…?” The lingering effects of the anesthesia are affecting your concentration. You were so focused on trying to pay attention that you weren’t paying attention.
His eyes narrow. Dr. Park is the embodiment of impatience, but you suppose surgeons have better things to do than repeat themselves, and, from the looks of the dark circles under his eyes, a feature you admittedly find attractive and intimidating, he’s running on fumes.
“Do you have someone to take you home. No one came in with you.”
“Sorry, I—” You shake your head. “—my neighbor... he’ll be picking me up this evening.”
Dr. Park raises a furrowed brow. “Your neighbor. The one that found you on the ground?”
“My friends... well, they all had plans tonight, but he was available.”
“What about a boyfriend. Roommates.”
“I’m single. And I live alone.”
The room goes deathly quiet, and all you can hear is the beeping of monitors, the rolling of carts from the hallway outside, and your own breaths. Dr. Park watches you for a second, and you shift in the bed, uncomfortable being the subject of his scrutiny. But the silence doesn’t stretch for long. He speaks again, and it’s as if no time has passed.
“As long as someone takes you home. We’ll set you up for discharge—” He checks his watch. Your eyes travel from his wrist up his arm to his bicep, huge, as wide as your head, “—around seven p.m. A nurse will see you out.”
“Okay. Thank you, Dr. Park.”
He stands up from the comically small stool by the side of your bed and stares his nose down at you.
All he says before leaving the room, shouldering past a fresh-faced and green observing intern, is, “don’t run down the stairs again.”
Curbside in a wheelchair, you wait for the neighbor who called for and rode in the ambulance with you last week to pick you up.
You’ve bothered him enough; you nearly gave him a heart attack when he found you splayed out, crying on the ground and clutching your forked wrist, but despite it all, he was more than happy to do you this favor.
But... he’s late.
The nurse, overworked and past the time for her to clock out for the end of her shift, grinds her teeth and taps her foot against the pavement as she waits with you.
“I’m so sorry for holding you up. I can just wait here alone,” you say, glancing up at her over your shoulder. “He should be here soon.”
“I can’t leave until you’re picked up.”
“I won’t say anything if you don’t.”
She thinks on it for a second, chewing on her lower lip. Sighing, she says, “alright. Just sit tight. I’ll see if I can find another nurse to wait with you. If he gets here before then, then problem solved.”
You nod. “I will.”
Five, ten, fifteen minutes pass, and your neighbor’s nowhere to be seen. He hasn’t answered your texts. Another nurse hasn’t come by, either.
You’re about to give up hope and just call yourself an Uber home when—
what are you still doing here?
You turn your head to find Dr. Park approaching you. Though you know the logical explanation is that his shift is over and he’s leaving, you can’t help but ask, “Dr. Park? What—what are you doing here?”
“I asked you first,” he throws back.
“I’m, uh, waiting for my ride home. Josh, my neighbor… he’s late.”
“Late, huh.” He stands still, giving you the once-over, before pulling his keys out of his scrub pocket, telling you to “just wait here,” and walking off into the lot.
You were already waiting, so nothing new there. But, suddenly, you hear the rev of an engine and watch as a big, shiny truck pulls out of its parking spot, one of the ones designated for employees, and circles the entrance before coming to a stop in front of you.
The passenger-side window rolls down, and from across the seat you can hear his voice.
“Get in.”
Oh.
This… hm.
You have no doubt that this is against the rules. But, at the same time, you would like to get home. And not have to spend a fortune on an Uber, or if worse comes to worst, figure out what buses you need to take to get you home.
“Do you need help, or can you get in yourself like a big girl?” he asks, impatience clipping his tone, after you take too long staring at his shadowed figure.
He rolls the window back up, blocking himself from your sight.
You stand from the wheelchair, a little loopy still, but manage to close the distance to open the passenger door with your free hand and settle in your seat. You struggle with your seatbelt, and he pulls off before you hear it click.
The ride home is uncomfortable.
You told him your address immediately after getting in, but after that it has been complete silence between you two. Words don’t come easy.
From the moment you met during your pre-op consultation, you’ve been on a cliff’s edge with him. He has a somewhat stifling energy. You would roll down the window to cut some of the tension, give yourself air to breathe, but you’re sure that would earn you one of the glares you’ve become familiar with.
After a series of oppressive red lights, he speaks up when you reach the front entrance of your apartment building.
“Give me your phone.”
You’re a little shocked by the suddenness of his demand. “Uh... why?”
“I’m giving you my personal number. Patients tend to have questions during their recovery. Better to ask me instead of strangers on the internet.”
That’s actually quite... thoughtful of him.
“Oh, that makes sense.” You dig your phone from your purse, unlock it, and hand it to him. “Do you do this with all your patients?”
Drive them home after their surgery, give them your personal number, make them feel as if they’re the snow in a snow globe, shaken up and studied.
“You’re not special, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Your mouth parts in offense, and you see the corner of his mouth lift as if he were about to laugh. It is odd that him saying that makes you feel... not so good, like it matters what he thinks of you.
“Do you think you are?” he asks.
“What?”
“Is it the anesthesia, or are you always this scatterbrained? Do you think you’re special,” he repeats.
Holding back your scowl proves impossible. And you thought he was being nice in offering you his number. You answer carefully, lips drawn in a straight line, “no, I know I’m just another patient. If anything, I’m being a burden. Thank you for driving me home. I do appreciate it.”
He grunts in response as he creates his contact in your phone. The electronic device barely fits in his hands, and you can’t help but wonder what they would look like on your body. It frustrates you that the thought crosses your mind.
He’s not worthy of a crumb of your attention. He’s strict and borderline cruel. Like a cutthroat surgeon would be. And you’re his patient. You don’t want to think about what he might be like with someone he hates. Or loves enough to be more of himself in front of, if he is capable of such a thing.
When he’s finished, he casually tosses your phone back into your lap and then dismissively says, “we’re done here. See you soon.”
You hop out of the car and turn around to say goodbye, with a lightness and a kindness he does not deserve.
“Well, hopefully not too soon, right?”
He watches you for a moment, his eyes searching your face and down your body to the strap of the sling on your shoulder and the cast on your arm and lower. To your croc-and-sock-covered feet and back up to your eyes. All in a blink. So fast you might have imagined it. Then he reaches over to close the passenger door himself, throws out a quick “if you do as you’re told, we won’t have a problem,” and peels off, nearly running over your feet and landing you another visit to the E.R.
He’s a strange one, Dr. Park.
As you make your way up to your floor—the elevator was restored to working order soon after your accident—you scroll through your contacts list and do a double take.
Did he not make one for himself?
But, upon further inspection, you realize his name, Brendon Park, with a shark emoji right next to it, one you know for certain doesn’t belong to anyone you know, is in your phone.
Brendon Park.
Not Dr. Park.
Your surgery was performed Friday afternoon, so you take the weekend to recover, hoping against hope that you will feel well enough to at least get yourself to work on Monday. You stay home and don’t push yourself. Saturday night, you order takeout instead of dining on microwave meals.
When you make your way downstairs to pick up your food, you feel eyes on you through the lobby glass, as if someone were outside in wait to watch you and specifically you. But you don’t see anything but shadows and chalk the feeling up to nerves. Having been home all day watching true crime doesn’t help your paranoia.
It’s the same thing Sunday night. You treat yourself to a second night of takeout, and again, you feel eyes on you as you pick up your food. But you ignore them.
Before you head to bed, you make sure the door to your unit is locked, though. Checking once, twice, three times. Just in case.
Your boss, as was expected when you had told him about your accident over the phone last week, was not happy that you missed work without the required notice for time off.
In the morning, you get ready and drive one-handed to the office, which, granted, goes against the medical advice that Park gave you. But it’s a close drive, and all you do is ride a desk.
It isn’t worth your job or getting on your boss’ bad side if you can manage fine. The brain fog from the anesthesia has worn off by now, and your days are mostly filled with phone calls and meetings, so your injuries aren’t detrimental to your productivity. The work you do serves as a nice distraction for the persisting itch of the cast padding rubbing against your dry skin.
You’re pushing yourself, though. The pain creeps up, sharp and sinister, closer to the end of the day. You swallow down some of the painkillers prescribed to you to alleviate it. The post-op pain is dreadful compared to the pre-op pain, which had already lessened after a week of waiting at home.
Once the workday is done, you step out of the office to head to the parking lot, your purse slung over your shoulder and your car keys in your free hand.
You don’t expect to see his truck pulled up right by the side of the building.
Park steps out and stalks toward you, a deep frown on his face. The sun sets earlier in the day, and his figure casts a long shadow to the side of him.
“What the hell are—” you start.
“—What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”
You have the urge to throw his words from the other night back in his face, but you’re, frankly, too flustered to.
“This—this is where I work.”
“You aren’t supposed to be working. You’re supposed to be resting,” he grits out.
“How did you know I was here?” you exclaim, throwing your hand up.
A few of your colleagues step out of the building behind you, and you temper your frustrations to avoid a scandal. Maybe there is a reasonable explanation for this, but you’re coming up blank.
He grabs you by your free arm and leads you to his truck, opening the passenger door, and essentially manhandles you in, buckling you in to your seat—only because of the cast and the sling and because he’s impatient, because otherwise it’d be too kind of him to do so.
If it weren’t for the fact that he’s a surgeon, your surgeon, the one that had his hands inside you and fixed your clavicle and wrist, you would be kicking and screaming right now.
“I’m taking you home,” he says once he slides into his seat and starts up the car. “Couldn’t sit still for two fuckin’ weeks?”
“Are you going to answer my question?” you ask, voice pitched high and incredulous. “I think you should answer my question, doctor.”
You regret the sass immediately. He pierces you with a glower, and you shrink in the soft leather of the passenger seat. It molds to your shape, as if you’re the last person to have sat here.
As he peels off in the direction of your apartment, he answers, “I check up on all my patients. Part of the job. Would’ve been here earlier if I didn’t have surgeries I couldn’t get out of.”
You don’t think it is a part of the job. Not to this extent. And it doesn’t explain how he knows where and when you work or that you returned to the office in the first place.
You rack your brain trying to recall if you had mentioned anything of the sort during your pre- and post-op meetings with him, but it’s either still fuzzy from the anesthesia or there is nothing to recall. It’s possible you could have said something while under, but you doubt it would have been something as coherent as the details of your employment.
And speaking of employment—
“So, are you not supposed to be at the hospital right now?”
“I cleared the rest of my afternoon. I didn’t think you’d go AMA. I bet you’re in pain, huh.”
“No,” you murmur, turning your body to face the window. “I’m fine.”
He scoffs, glancing at you quickly before returning his eyes to the road.
“You were crying your eyes out when you were brought into the E.D. I bet you were crying at your desk today too. Boss should’ve sent you home in your condition. Would’ve saved me the trouble.”
“I fell down the stairs and shattered bone. Who wouldn’t cry?”
Your face feels hot. You don’t like his patronizing tone, though you’re just as amazed you made it through the workday without feeling sorry for yourself and shedding a tear or two.
You don’t get it. What any of this means. But you’re afraid to hear the answer, so you’re almost glad he keeps his mouth shut on that front.
All you dare ask is, “what about my car?”
“I’ll pick it up later.”
The rest of the ride is silent.
This time, Park does not simply drop you off at the entrance to your apartment building.
He parks his truck in guest parking, follows you into the building, and with a searing paw on your hip, you ride the elevator up to your floor, and he walks in behind you through the front door.
It isn’t until you’re standing in the middle of your living room when you ask, “stalking isn’t something in the job description, is it? Because that’s what this feels like. You stalked me, and now—and now you’re in my apartment.”
You’re aware you didn’t put up much of a fight, but what were you supposed to do against the wall that is Brendon Park?
He crosses his arms over his chest, a loose strand of hair broken free from the cast of gel coating his scalp, casting a shadow over his eyes.
“You disobeyed my rules. I’m here to babysit you.”
He seems to think that is enough of an explanation and takes the opportunity to look around your apartment. From the look on his face, he is disgusted.
You do what you can to spruce it up with an assortment of plants, thrifted vintage decor, fairy lights, but ultimately, you’re not living in the best Pittsburgh has to offer.
The walls are stained with cigarette smoke from the previous tenant and are peeling. The heater is on its last leg and makes a clanking sound every other second. Your restroom and bedroom down the hall are a claustrophobe’s worst nightmare, the latter barely fitting your bed, dresser, and desk.
Park trudges into the open kitchen and looks inside your fridge and through your cabinets, scowling.
“This place is a shithole. How do you live like this?”
You ignore his comment and instead ask, “what do you mean by ‘babysit’?”
You watch, jaw going slack, as he opens your freezer and proceeds to peel back the plastic seal, tossing out all your instant meals in the nearby trash can.
“I need to make sure you don’t undo all my hard work. Better get used to me hanging around these next two weeks, Trip.”
“You’re not welcome here. And don’t call me Trip.” Raising your palm in surrender, you say, “I’ll stay home for the next two weeks as advised, alright? Please, just... get out.”
“I’ll make sure of it, because I’m sticking around; that’s final.”
Your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.
“But... why? Are you not—do you not have a family or… or a wife to go back home to? A pet or something? What about work?”
“I’m divorced,” he grunts. “I’m still clocking in for my shifts, but I’ll be coming home to you. Spending my days off here. Really, I’m doing you a kindness.”
The fact that he’s a divorced man doesn’t come as a surprise to you. Not that what you feel about it matters.
“This is absolutely absurd.”
“You should’ve listened to orders.”
He’s an immovable object. He won’t listen to reason. He is also literally immovable, and three of you couldn’t move one of him out of here.
You chew on your lower lip and hang your head, defeated, but it won’t lead to a different outcome. You don’t see him changing his mind.
Apparently done taking inventory of your kitchen, he walks back into the living room, closing in on you, and gestures for you to give me your keys. I’ll pick up your car.
You mindlessly toss them to him—the confusion of how he knows what your car looks like distant in your head—while working out the logistics of this. The how and why of it all still nags at you, but before you can ask him, yet again, for proper answers, he says, “I’ll be back,” and walks out the door.
By the time you hear his footsteps outside the door, it’s been a little over an hour. You’re not sure how he got there, if he’d called a rideshare or something, but the office is a ten-minute drive from your apartment. You suppose with rush hour traffic and having to go back and forth, it would take him longer to get back. You instinctively locked the door after he’d left, and you can hear him jangling your set of keys, figuring out which one is the one to your unit.
You haven’t done much except text your boss and overthink on the couch, picking at a loose thread on the sweats you changed into. You thought you might order takeout again since Park tossed your instant meals, but, being the kind person you are, you thought to wait for him to return to see if he wanted anything.
It’s ridiculous of you to have done so because he’s your surgeon and is forcefully squatting at your place because you can’t “follow orders,” and yet, you are willing to consider what he wants for dinner.
You heard about him and his reputation from some of the nurses during your short stay at PTMC. Park the Shark. He’s a good doctor despite his character flaws, someone you avoid if you can, or you risk getting bit.
As unconventional as this situation is, though, he’s not here to put you in any harm. Quite the opposite, in fact, if he’s to be believed.
As he walks through the door, you notice that he’s in different clothes; is holding multiple bags of groceries—the paper handles twisted up between his fingers; has his backpack slung over his shoulder; a drawstring bag slung over the other; as well as a duffel bag halfway zipped and spilling out with what seem to be his personal effects.
It is then that you realize why he had taken so long to get back. He must’ve made a stop for groceries and his place to get his things.
He leaves his stuff littered on the floor by your feet and starts to put away the groceries.
“I parked your car right out front where you’ll see it. Not that you’ll be goin’ anywhere.”
“Thank you for that, I guess,” you mumble, standing from the couch and joining him in the kitchen. “I see you got… groceries.”
“For dinner. All you got are frozen food and snacks. How are you alive?”
Through the crinkle of the paper bags he sets down on the countertop and rifles through, you can hear the judgment in his voice.
“I’m not much of a cook,” you say, slightly embarrassed, shifting on your feet. “And I thought I would just order something.”
“You’re eating what I make you.”
“It’d better be good then,” you throw back, rolling your eyes.
You’re not sure what to do. Hover or give him space? Is it worth trying to make conversation? Ostensibly, he’s your roommate for the next two weeks. A board-certified roommate that will make sure you don’t fuck up the screws holding your distal radius and clavicle together.
“Do you want me to leave you to it?” you ask, hesitant.
He doesn’t look at you when he responds, instead focusing on the slabs of meat he’s seasoning with your condiments.
Garlic and onion powder. Black pepper and salt.
He opens your fridge and pulls out a stick of butter to melt into a bowl and then washes his hands in the sink. Scrubbing down his wrist and beneath his nails, like he’s prepping for surgery.
“It’s your place. Do what you want,” he says, voice flat and uninterested. “I’ll call you when it’s time to eat. In the meantime, rest. Keep your arm elevated.”
“I know. I’ve been doing that for the past three days. Since you discharged me?”
He says nothing, his attention focused on his hands. His fingernails are clipped and neat, fingers thick, knuckles littered with patches of light hairs, working deftly to coat the meat in the seasonings.
For someone who is adamantly encroaching on your space, he seems to not want you to be here. You don’t want to subject yourself to his prickliness, so you hide in your bedroom and scroll on your phone until dinner is ready.
This is so weird. So, so weird.
When dinner is served, you take a seat at the dining table, where he is already seated beside you. Awkwardly staring at your plate, fork in hand, you’re unable to draw up conversation.
At least, this is awkward for you. You think Park prefers not speaking after spending so much time with colleagues and patients. You wonder if he performed your surgery in absolute silence. There hadn’t been any music on before you were put to sleep, but if there had been, you could take a good guess for some sort of heavy metal or rock.
When you first noticed your dinner plate, you were a bit taken aback. He had cut your steak up into pieces for you, mindful of your physical limitations.
“Do you need help,” he asks when you don’t make a move to eat.
“No, I think I can manage a fork just fine, thank you,” you answer, stabbing at a piece and taking a bite.
“Can you?”
With the sling and short arm cast on your dominant side, you’ve been forced to rely on your non-dominant hand, and Park can apparently pick up on the slight lack of finesse you have with it because he thinks you’re eating wrong, if that’s even possible.
“You’re as helpless as a baby.”
He takes your fork from you, guiding a piece of steak that he mixes with a helping of mashed potatoes to your mouth.
But you object because you’re well capable of feeding yourself. Smashing your lips together and turning your head away from the fork only irritates him more, however. With his other hand, he grips your chin with his thumb and forefinger, curling them inward to secure you in place.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he grunts. “I’m not against shoving this down your throat if I have to.”
So, you give in. It’s humiliating to be fed like this, but he’s doing this because he’s a good doctor, you think, to make sense of his behavior in your head, and eating well is important for your recovery.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” you ask between shoveled mouthfuls. You’re not sure if the crease in his brow is because of your noisy chewing or what, but you don’t care. It’s his fault for feeding you like he’s being chased.
“Not now.”
With only a few bites of it remaining, it is safe to say that the meal is delicious. A lot better than what you had expected. Judging by his bulky and muscular form, you knew he must eat well to maintain it, but you didn’t think he’d be a decent cook.
After he washes and puts away the dishes, you ask from your seat at the dining table, “you’re not actually staying the night, right?”
Though unlikely, you ask on the off chance that he’s had a change of heart. You don’t know him. Not well enough to allow him to stay here overnight, and it would weigh on your conscious if you didn’t at least try to make him reconsider.
“If you insist on monitoring me, maybe you could just visit me once a day. Or I could check in with you over text. While you were out, I texted my boss. After seeing how I was today, he agreed that it’d be best I follow medical advice. I’ll be sitting at home for the next two weeks, not fucking up your hard work.”
He watches you, wiping his hands on your dish towel, and then throws it on the counter. “I’m sleeping on the couch.” He walks past you to the living room to pick up his drawstring bag, slinging it over his shoulder, and heads to the door.
You’re shocked into a short silence after being dismissed so rudely. After a beat, you ask, “where are you going?”
“The gym.”
From his pocket he pulls out and shakes your keys, taunting you with them. You forgot he still had them. If it came down to it, though, you think he’d probably pick the lock on the front door.
“In case you lock me out again.”
The door slams shut behind him, and, though he just left for the second time tonight, the reality is dawning on you that he is here to stay.
You’re in the restroom about to take a shower when you hear your front door open and close. Not but a moment later, Park barges in, and you whip around to face him, holding your towel tighter against yourself, your cast wrapped up in plastic.
He worked up a sweat at the gym. His muscle tee is drenched, and he is shiny with that post-workout glow. Your eyes drift over the corded muscle of his arms, the veins in his forearms leading to the ones on the back of his hands, a prominent blueish-green against his pale skin.
“I need to shower.”
“Well,” you make a little high-pitched noise in the back of your throat, annoyed, “so do I. Your gym doesn’t have one you could’ve used?”
He can afford the luxury of a gym that has a sauna and a shower integrated all in one, let alone just a plain shower. Why he would come back and want to use yours is beyond you.
He looks you up and down, spending a particularly long time staring at your feet, toes polished with a light pink.
“Cute,” he says, teasing.
You chew on your lower lip and shrink in on yourself, hating the attention he gives you in such a vulnerable state.
He meets your eyes again and crowds in on you, your back digging into the towel rack behind you.
“Makes more sense if we take one together. I can help scrub you down,” he offers nonchalantly.
You have the feeling this isn’t as much of an offer as it is a demand. The audacity and confidence with which he says the most out-of-this-world things is quite astounding.
All you can squeak out is “what?”
“You heard me. I really hate repeating myself. Stop making me do it.”
He steps forward and wrenches your towel away from you, hanging it on the rack.
You screech, “Dr. Park!” covering what you can with your hand, but it’s a pointless thing.
“Brendon,” he growls out. “That’s the name I put in your phone, isn’t it? I couldn’t give less of a fuck about you naked.”
He says that, and yet, you can see his eyes not-so-discreetly raking over your bare breasts and cunt, his tongue moving beneath his lips and scraping over his teeth as if he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you.
You aren’t overreacting as much as reacting to the behavior of a hungry predator.
He reaches past you to start the water, opening the shower curtain, and guides you in with a hand on your lower back. You squeal when the water hits your skin.
“Cold! It’s fucking cold!”
He huffs a laugh, undressing himself and joining you, amused by your suffering, apparently.
“Means we’ll get out faster.”
While you two are under the spray, you don’t dare look at him. Your back is facing him, and your eyes are screwed shut. At least he has the sense to keep some distance between you two so you don’t feel him pressing up on you.
You learned his first name a few nights ago. Today he’s divorced.
You’re curious as to how recent it was. Though there’s the obvious lack of a ring, you made out the faintest tan line that hasn’t faded away just yet on his ring finger as he was cleaning up in the kitchen earlier.
And now, as doctor and patient, you’re showering together, medical ethics be damned. You haven’t even considered the fact that he’s around two decades older than you.
At least you think he is.
“How old are you?” you ask suddenly.
“Why.”
“I just—I just want to know. You know my age. Where I live. Where I work. My medical history. What I look like naked. It’s only fair you tell me a bit about yourself.”
“Forty-one.”
So, he’s not quite two decades older than you—you suppose the stress of his job makes him look a bit older than he is—but the point stands.
He’s old enough to be a young father of yours.
You worry his wanting to shower together is coming from a place of ill intent, but if he does have such intentions, he makes no sign of it. All he does is as he said he would, which is help you.
He scrubs with your washcloth, with a harsh and heavy hand, down your back and places that would take twice as long to scrub if you did it on your own. But as helpful as he may be, you can’t get over how flustered you feel that this is happening to begin with.
“Thank you,” you murmur once you’re both squeaky clean, apprehensively turning around. You make a conscious effort to keep your eyes on his and not anywhere else on his body.
His expression is neutral as he reaches over your shoulder and shuts off the water, your nipples pressing into his chest. You hold back something that is a strange mix between a moan and a noise of discomfort. He opens the curtain and reaches for your towel from the rack, carefully wrapping it under your arms and around you. He doesn’t shy away from looking at your bare body, but you keep your eyes on his.
“Showering has been time-consuming, to say the least.”
“Need help gettin’ dressed too?” he asks, oh-so casually.
Your mind’s image of him, on his knees, helping you step into your underwear, makes a heat creep up your cheeks.
“No, no, I’ve got it. Thanks.”
He hums in acknowledgement, stepping out, wrapping the other towel on the rack around his waist, and leaves you in the restroom.
You try not to imagine him from the waist down, naked, getting dressed in your living room.
You sleep in your bed a hallway away while he sleeps on your couch. This entire day has already felt like a dream.
The first few days of your cohabitation go by shockingly smoothly.
Not without some initial bumps, of course. Namely, being awoken by Brendon blending his morning protein shakes and then being poked and prodded at when he bursts into your room to check up on your wrist and clavicle if you had rolled to your side in your sleep or if your sling had fallen off overnight.
You don’t have the irrational fear anymore, though maybe you should, that he’s going to murder you in your sleep. That is to say, you’re finding you somewhat enjoy his company. Whether that’s due to being cooped up with little to do or you’re lonelier than you thought, you don’t know.
You don’t know much about Brendon, either, still, but at the very least you’ve learned about his habits living with him and a few things here and there from what scraps he gives you when he comes back from work and tells you about his day. For the most part, though, he’s quiet. He reserves his energy to speak for when he’s checking up on you in the mornings and before bed or when you can’t stand the silence during dinner and blurt out something that he cares enough to respond to.
You managed a chuckle out of him last night when you had told him how unreasonably hot you found all the staff at PTMC to be. When he’d asked who you found the hottest, you, of course, answered that he was. If only to not be fed like a bird, like he’d threatened.
Correct, he’d said.
Every evening since he’s been here, he’s gone to the gym, and by the time he gets back, you’re in bed, ready to fall asleep. Sometimes you’re not, though, and while he prepares and eats his dinner, you watch television.
Over the past two nights he has brought it to the couch to eat and begrudgingly watched your show with you.
But tonight, the fifth night of his stay, he lets it be known his distaste for your choices.
“This is your idea of entertainment. A dating show,” he asks. “Where everyone is cheating on their partners with other people?”
“I get what you’re saying, but it’s not really cheating. I mean, these couples are already in dire straits if they’re signing up to be there. It’s entertainment. Don’t take it too seriously.”
“It’s ridiculous, is what it is.”
“What do you consider entertainment, then, Shark? Nature documentaries, maybe? World’s Deadliest. You’re a blood and gore kind of guy, aren’t you. You obviously like bones.”
He sets his plate down on the coffee table with a clatter, and you know you should’ve just kept your mouth shut.
He drags you down the couch by your ankles, his big hands wrapped like shackles around them, and rearranges you so that your head is resting in his lap. It happens so quickly and with ease and without jostling your slung arm that you’re not only out of breath afterward but also worryingly turned on.
It isn’t the first time he’s shown off his strength in the past few days. He doesn’t lose his breath lugging your big and heavy vacuum across your carpet while vacuuming, for one. For two, you’ve slowly started to come out of hiding while he cooks dinner, and instead of watching from the dining table, he lifts you onto the countertop so you can watch him work his magic right there in the kitchen.
Watch closely; you might learn somethin’, he’d said, your calves banging against the lower cabinets as you kicked your feet.
You’re not complaining, per se; he’s not flaunting just to flaunt, but you don’t think you should enjoy it—him—this much, given the circumstances, and yet you do.
He retrieves the remote trapped between the cushions and flips through the channels, landing on a nature documentary.
As luck would have it, the segment is covering great white sharks.
“Are we seriously watching this?” you ask, head turning to the side to watch the TV instead of his face.
“You brought it up. And better this than that reality TV crap.”
Your heart skips a beat when he starts to pet your head, digging his fingers in slightly to massage your scalp. It feels... nice. Relaxing. Not something you thought you could feel around him—relaxed. A few more minutes and you’re about to fall asleep, but you open your lidded eyes and watch the screen when he says, “look. It’s us.”
Another segment. A lion encounters an injured gazelle. They’re opportunistic feeders, so he’ll eat her.
You’re not sure if he’s suggesting you’re his next meal or if he sees you as a frail thing to nurture back to health. It’s clear he’s the lion in this scenario.
Either way, it’s a fitting comparison, you think.
It’s not like you want to be stuck with him day after day in this domestic thing you two have going on, sorting laundry together on his day off, you putting it into separate piles, and him folding once it’s out of the dryer.
(Why’d you and your wife get divorced?
Why’re you asking?
I’m just curious.
We weren’t in love anymore. Simple as that.
...Do you think you’ll ever get remarried?
...Not yet. It’d be too soon.)
It’s been hard to make plans with your friends, and Brendon has made it clear that any outing comes with the risk of injuring yourself and setting your recovery back. But maybe you’re partly to blame for your isolation. You’ve been relying on him too much. He does the heavy lifting of the chores and pays for your food and answers the questions you have about your injury. There’s no need for you to go out or do much of anything when he’s here to do the hard stuff for you.
You’ve been a bit of a vampire during this time, but it is kind of nice to be such a sloth while you’re at it.
Brendon continues to hop in the shower with you with the excuse that it is time and resource efficient. He likes to shower in the mornings before his shift and again after his gym sessions, and he’d rather you take it with him in the mornings so he can get helping you out of the way. It is an odd routine to share with someone you have only known for a short time, but you have yet to see anything below his waist—though your resolve not to is fracturing quite pathetically—and he isn’t making passes at you under the guise of cleaning you up. He’s just scrubbing where you can’t and making sure you don’t trip in the shower, Trip.
You’ve convinced him to change the ice-cold temperature to lukewarm, at least.
During the day you graze and laze like an animal, but a week into this arrangement with him, a childhood friend of yours has some free time and makes plans with you for lunch.
It has been a week of sitting at home with Brendon, and you use the opportunity to slip away as a distraction from rubbing the itchy skin under your cast raw. Just under a week and you can switch into your brace and slowly start using your sling less and less, but even this past one has felt like ages.
Today’s a warm winter day, and you and your friend sit outside a little cafe walking distance from your apartment, eating lunch. You make idle conversation, catch up on life, and discuss high school drama that you’re beyond over by now but find entertaining to rehash every once in a while.
As you take a sip of your lemonade, the fine hairs on your nape rise, and you feel a presence coming up from behind you. Then he pulls up a chair and sits at the table.
Your friend is surprised but not necessarily annoyed by his intrusion. If anything, and by anything you mean the batting of her lashes and the giggly offer of her name, which Brendon ignores, his eyes locked on yours, you think she’s attracted to him.
“You’re here,” you say, polite but in a shrill tone. Your eyes widen, and you hope he can understand what you’re thinking.
You shouldn’t be here.
He doesn’t say anything to you and instead turns to your friend. “I’m taking her home. I’ll pay for lunch.”
“Oh, are you two...?” Her question goes unasked. She gives you a quick glance, pushing her chair back to stand, a crease between her brows. “Well, alright, then.”
“You don’t have to—”
She shakes her head and peeks at the time on her phone. “—It’s fine. I have an appointment I need to get to soon, anyway. Let’s meet up again once you’re healed up, yeah?”
She packs her phone into her purse and walks down the sidewalk, turning the corner and disappearing from view.
You face Brendon with a scowl. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m going to call the hospital and get you fired for harassing your patient.”
Which, to be fair, you should have done just that a week ago.
“You’re being dramatic.” He pauses, stealing a fry from your tray, then answers, “I turned on location sharing when I put in my phone number. That’s how I knew you went to work that Monday and how I know you’re here today. I don’t have a lot of time to spare, so let’s get going.”
You blink.
Location sharing?
And then check your phone to confirm that what he says is the truth.
Which it is.
Had he planned to crash at your place from the start? He couldn’t have, because he had only come to you when you went to work that Monday. But now you’re remembering the eyes you felt on you in the lobby over the weekend and—
you don’t know.
If you had just stayed put like he’d ordered, would he have left you alone?
“Wow. I don’t... I don’t even know what to say.”
“Are you gonna throw a temper tantrum? I deal with enough of those with my other patients.”
As much as you should throw one and run in the opposite direction, he has been helpful thus far. You could go as far as to say that you’re thankful he’s been around. He wants to keep you on the road to recovery, however stubborn and unyielding he is about it, and, beyond this week, he has no intention of sticking around any longer.
He pays for lunch, and you both walk back to your place.
He holds you with a firm grip on the wrist and walks in front of you, possessive, dragging you along like his prized possession, his injured gazelle.
After a week of sleeping on your couch, Brendon has well and truly ruined it. He’s just so bulky and heavy that the cushions have completely deflated under his weight.
That night, a few hours after you get walked home and when Brendon returns from his shift, you offer reluctantly to share your bed with him.
“You’re sure.”
“Yes.”
When it happens, you let it.
Because you’ve been living so close to one another.
You’ve showered together. Shared meals together. He’s fed you with his bare hands and helped you floss the remains from your teeth after he had said waiting to use the restroom so you could finish your lengthy nighttime routine was stupid, deciding rather to use it at once.
Once, he took a piss as you gargled mouthwash, and he grunted, you can look if you want.
You didn’t, but you did want to.
You wake up with a chill.
The heat is out, broken like the elevator was two weeks ago, and though Brendon is next to you, the furnace that he is, you’re cold.
Your bed is a queen, but considering how large he is, you knew that in offering to share it with him, you would be stuck to each other like glue.
He grumbles, and you realize he’s awake. Or at least partially awake.
He doesn’t say anything, though. Just turns on his side and hooks an arm over your waist and pulls you in closer, warming you up, the heat of his palm seeping through your night slip.
It seems he’s too hot. In a second, you’re jostled as his shirt gets discarded, thrown over the edge of the bed.
You are still cold.
“You’re shivering,” he mumbles.
“Because it’s freezing in here.”
He hums. “I know a way I can warm you up.”
“How?”
“You always ask such stupid questions,” he puffs against the side of your neck. You shiver. “Isn’t this what you wanted to happen?”
You gasp when he lifts the hem of your slip and the pads of his fingers tease the fabric of your underwear.
“Brendon,” you warn, though it is a weak attempt.
Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth, your limbs limp. With your free hand you encircle his wrist to stop him, so thick you can barely touch middle finger to thumb.
“Shut up. Lemme do this.”
His words are slurred. He is on the brink of falling back asleep.
He rubs your clit through your underwear slowly, just teasing, before pulling your underwear to the side.
“Brendon—”
He shushes you, throwing the closer of your legs over his waist, exposing your cunt to the room, his fingers dimpling the skin of your thigh. Then, with the same hand, he frees himself from his boxers and guides his cock to your hole, sinking in to the root.
You pant into your shoulder, breath wet and hot.
The position is awkward: on your back, one of your legs spread over his waist, the other over the opposite side of the bed, half seated in his lap, impaled on a fat cock.
“Jesus,” he grunts. “Just slid in. Are you always this wet?”
“S-sometimes.”
“Yeah? With the right person, maybe?”
Your traitorous cunt clenches down on him as if answering, with you, in the affirmative.
“Keep doing that, Trip, and see what happens.”
“I can’t—I can’t help it, you’re—”
“My cock feel too good for you?”
He rubs your clit, and your pussy flutters around his rigid cock.
“Stop, wait—Brendon.”
You can feel his cock twitching inside you with every pulse of your cunt.
If he doesn’t stop touching you like that, you’ll—
Your cunt spasms with the pressure he applies persistently to your clit, and you come with a pathetic whine.
“That’s it. Jus’ like that.”
Your cunt clenches down on his length, and, in turn, his cock jerks inside of you.
When he comes, his release is thick and sticky and so much that it seeps around his cock and down between your legs.
This is okay, you think distantly, tiredness and the sticky heat of your orgasm pulling you toward the edge of sleep. He’s your doctor. He knows you’re on birth control.
“Should be warm enough now.”
He pulls out, and you fall asleep with a cunt full of fresh come.
You don’t speak about it in the morning. But when you two shower, you know things have already irrevocably changed.
Facing the showerhead, you turn around to face him instead and look down at it. At the cock that was inside you just several hours ago.
There’s no point in not doing it at this point. And you’re curious.
Your suspicions are confirmed when you see that he is both big and thick.
You felt it, after all.
The hair on his pubic bone is trimmed and neat, darker at the base of his shaft. His cock jerks against his thigh from your rapt attention to it.
He grunts out, voice husky with remnants of sleep, “touch me.”
Your face heats, and you hesitate for a moment but ultimately wrap your fingers around his hardening shaft. Even at half hardness, it’s so heavy that when you let it go, it droops and sticks to his inner thigh.
You clench your thighs, remembering that it was stuffed to the hilt inside your cunt.
You slowly pump him to full mast, and he groans, squeezing one of your soapy, slippery breasts in one hand and the nape of your neck in the other, pulling you closer to him so he can lean down and suck bruises into the side of it. You almost get down on your knees but think better of it. Not in the shower and without your other hand to stabilize you to the wall.
He gently pushes you by your hips to the wall of the shower, plastering you to it. He steps close, grips himself, and presses inside you, water droplets dripping from his hair onto your chest, his come from last night still inside you, lubricating his way.
You fall apart when his pelvis grinds against your clit with every thrust of his hips.
Too easily, you note to yourself.
He’s not even touching you. His hands are on the shower wall by your sides, his mouth panting by your ear, interrupted by the occasional groan or curse of fuck, baby, sound so pretty when you come.
He comes inside you, scrubs himself and your shaking body down, and then leaves you alone in the shower to watch his seed drip out of you and stick to the shower drain.
In a few minutes he returns, fully dressed, shuts off the water, and towels you dry.
“Wear this.”
He pulls one of his cotton t-shirts, left hanging on the towel rack, over your head and your arms through the holes, careful to avoid bumping your slung arm.
“No underwear. We clear?”
The rest of week two passes by in a haze. When he’s not at work, he takes you all over the apartment.
You wake to him heavy and hard behind you, lifting your leg over his waist as he drives home, barely awake though he’s been up for hours watching you sleep.
So good, you’re so good, he slurs. All mine. Mine, mine, mine.
You can barely understand what he’s saying over the sound of skin on skin, your brain mush from sleep. Brendon, he… he doesn’t know what he’s saying. It’s just dirty talk.
This is just… temporary. To pass the time.
Isn’t it?
Regardless, being fucked awake on his cock isn’t a bad way to start the morning. Moreover, when he presses his fingers to your clit and strokes your swollen bud until you pulse around him with a broken chant of his name.
While making you both dinner, he couldn’t help himself. You were seated on the counter, watching him prepare the veggies and red meat for dinner, the outline of your cunt visible through the short shorts that had ridden up your thighs.
At some point, they were torn away, and you were pasted to the fridge.
The backs of your thighs are slung over his forearms, and the whole fridge shakes with every one of his thrusts, knocking down boxes of cereal. Cocoa Puffs and Frosted Flakes, along with his healthy alternative, Raisin Bran. You can barely stabilize yourself, your free hand gripping the fridge handle, the other with its fist clenched within your cast.
He can bear your weight, though, so, despite the fridge threatening to topple over at any moment, all you have to worry about is taking his cock like a good fuckin’ girl.
On the couch, your back laid against the armrest, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he eats you out, someone knocks on the door.
Maybe—maybe I should—ngh—get that.
You make to move, but Brendon harshly squeezes your hips, locking you in place. Your eyes widen when they meet his, deadly and pointed, his upper body sprawled over the couch and his lower half, what with how massive he is, on the floor, his mouth shiny with your slick.
Don’t you fuckin’ dare.
But the knocking persists, so with a slap to your slick cunt telling you to stay put, he unwillingly separates from you with a growl and prowls to the door, roughly opening it without so much as a thought as to who it might be.
In your lust-drunk, on the verge of orgasm daze, you gather enough willpower to peek at the doorway. Brendon’s body is blocking the entrance, but you can tell from the visitor’s voice that it’s your neighbor.
He’s a bit older than you but younger than Brendon. Kind.
You thought he had a crush on you as recently as when he had offered to drive you home from your surgery, but when he didn’t show up or bother following up with an excuse as to why he hadn’t, you dismissed that thought.
He asks for you.
“Hi... is—is she here? I wanted to check up on her. See how she was doing.”
“You were supposed to pick her up, weren’t you, Josh?” Brendon asks, ice in his tone.
“Uh, who are you?”
“Her friend,” Brendon answers. “She’s fine. I’ve been taking good care of her.”
Brendon moves to the side, and Josh, confusion etching his features, takes a look inside to see you, half naked on the couch, scrambling to get decent, your shorts hanging off one ankle.
Brendon then slams the door in his shocked face, huffing a laugh.
Fuckin’ Josh.
“Have you ever taken a cock in here, Trip?”
His hand disappears from wrapped around your neck and reappears near your rump, his fingers brushing over your puckered hole when he leans over you on his other elbow and fists a handful of your ass in his palm, spreading your cheek.
Your cunt flutters around his cock. Your fingers clench the sheets. Your body is sore.
The itch under your cast is unrelenting, but the pain and the pleasure help to quiet the urge to scratch.
For as long as Brendon kept you from the outside to keep you from stalling your recovery, he sure likes to push your body to its limits.
“N-no,” you whimper as he continues to thrust into you, your legs wrapped around his waist, toes curling.
He brings his thumb up to his mouth and sucks, covering it in his saliva, before pulling out of you with a wet slap of his cock against his thigh and sinking it slowly inside your hole.
You mewl at the foreign but not unwelcome feeling.
“We’ll work up to it.”
The night before you’re free of your cast, the end of week two, what should be the end of this... arrangement, he fucks your throat and cunt sore on the carpeted floor before hauling your used and come-leaking, sweat-slick body to bed.
In the face of all the emotions overwhelming you, you ask something stupid before either of you has the chance to fall asleep.
“What happens tomorrow?”
“We wake up, fuck, I make us breakfast, and then we head to PTMC to get your cast switched out for a brace.”
You sit with that for a moment.
“And... after?”
“Don’t worry about it. Go to sleep.”
Then, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your neck, he whispers when he thinks you have dozed off, “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
The next morning, in his office at PTMC, he double-checks and ensures that the cast did its job over the past two weeks and that the new brace is well-fitted to your wrist.
Your wrist is recovering as it should, and so is your clavicle, though you will need to wear the brace and continue with the sling for another four weeks.
Now seated across from each other at his desk, he confirms, “you don’t need the cast anymore, and the brace is good to go.”
You don’t need me anymore, is what you think he’s really saying.
It makes you more sad than you’d like to admit that this is over. You’ll go back to work on Monday and come home to an apartment without Brendon.
Your shoulders droop, and you sink a little further into the plush leather of the chair. “So, our... living situation. We—it’s done, right?”
His brows furrow. His jaw ticks. He looks almost angry. “Is that what I said?”
“No, but—”
“—Don’t make assumptions. I called you an Uber home. Pack a bag and wait for me to get back. We’re staying at my place tonight.”
“Your place,” you parrot, confused.
“Can’t stand that shithole apartment of yours anymore.”
You shake your head. “You... you want to keep seeing me?”
“What do you think,” he asks, cocking his head at you.
“I think... you planned this from the very start.”
He huffs a laugh. “Things just happened, Trip. ’s not like this was some elaborate scheme to steal your heart.”
You scoff but don’t deny that he may have taken a small piece of it, at least.
“Maybe. But you certainly took advantage of my situation.”
“You complaining?”
“Nope.” Grinning, you add, “I really am special, aren’t I?”
The solitary great white shark, too, can feel lonely, you suppose.
Ahhh thanks for the tag @sinistralidocious I’m a huge movie nerd so this was harddddd
ALSO. I don’t have that many mutuals that I interact with frequently on here so no pressure to repost but if I’m tagging u it means I think ur cool so feel free to reach out!
Warnings: Brendon Park bulking!!!! Smutty. I love him.
Masterlist
God you love him like this.
He’s always been big but now he’s capital H Huge.
He’s been bulking for the last two months, developing not only giant muscles but a soft layer of fat above them. You could burrow into his pecs and live there for the rest of your life. His clothes fit him so tightly since he refuses to get new ones. His shirts constantly call to you to rip them off.
He’s always ravenous, eating seconds and thirds of your cooking making you swell with pride at how he moans at the taste, always overly complimentary about how good of a chef you are. His heart is definitely attached to his stomach, and the act of service makes him fall for you all over again every night. You can’t deny you’ve loved feeding him, pushing bigger portions on his plate to see him grow and handing him a protein shake in the morning. It’s nice to see him so… soft. It's domestic. He feels lived in.
You thank god he chose the winter months to do this because the extra meat on his bones has made him your personal radiator. The smattering of hair that had always covered his stomach and chest has grown thicker and darker too. You joke that he’s turning into a bear more everyday, something he tolerates rather than appreciates- except for the days when you pack him those healthy gym bro lunches of salmon and berries complete with a densely caloric baked good of some kind. He’s so warm now. You cling to him at night like a hot water bottle, he has no objection holding you close against his soft chest.
Everything about him was a little softer now. When you had met him he was all hard lines and sharp angles. Now he has rounded and filled out a little more and it drives you wild. He’s still an intimidating figure, maybe more so since his increased size makes him loom over most people, but he looks a little bit more like the sweet caring man that only you used to see.
And god he’s so fucking strong. Can lift you like it's nothing. He’ll casually ask you to sit on his back while he does pushups, or jokingly use you instead of weights for his reps.
And the sex…
He definitely puts that extra strength to use, he can have you anywhere now cause he can just lift you up. But when you are in the bedroom he throws you on the mattress, manhandles you like crazy. He completely covers you, and the weight of his body around your own just intensifies every sensation.
And the extra hair means a more pronounced happy trail. Which means more friction. And you are desperate to suck his dick way more often when you see it peeking out from between his shirt and pants.
He likes to have you on top and basically move you up and down his cock- you hardly have to do any work he’s just trying to get an arm session in.
You’re dreading his upcoming cut in a few months. You also know you’ll love that raw muscular look on him too.
For now though you’ll just keep helping him put on mass you think to yourself as you slide a tray of raspberry brownies into the oven.
A/N: guys i love him bad what am i going to do. Also if you’ve never put raspberries in your brownies get on that what are you doing.
Warnings: Brendon Park bulking!!!! Smutty. I love him.
Masterlist
God you love him like this.
He’s always been big but now he’s capital H Huge.
He’s been bulking for the last two months, developing not only giant muscles but a soft layer of fat above them. You could burrow into his pecs and live there for the rest of your life. His clothes fit him so tightly since he refuses to get new ones. His shirts constantly call to you to rip them off.
He’s always ravenous, eating seconds and thirds of your cooking making you swell with pride at how he moans at the taste, always overly complimentary about how good of a chef you are. His heart is definitely attached to his stomach, and the act of service makes him fall for you all over again every night. You can’t deny you’ve loved feeding him, pushing bigger portions on his plate to see him grow and handing him a protein shake in the morning. It’s nice to see him so… soft. It's domestic. He feels lived in.
You thank god he chose the winter months to do this because the extra meat on his bones has made him your personal radiator. The smattering of hair that had always covered his stomach and chest has grown thicker and darker too. You joke that he’s turning into a bear more everyday, something he tolerates rather than appreciates- except for the days when you pack him those healthy gym bro lunches of salmon and berries complete with a densely caloric baked good of some kind. He’s so warm now. You cling to him at night like a hot water bottle, he has no objection holding you close against his soft chest.
Everything about him was a little softer now. When you had met him he was all hard lines and sharp angles. Now he has rounded and filled out a little more and it drives you wild. He’s still an intimidating figure, maybe more so since his increased size makes him loom over most people, but he looks a little bit more like the sweet caring man that only you used to see.
And god he’s so fucking strong. Can lift you like it's nothing. He’ll casually ask you to sit on his back while he does pushups, or jokingly use you instead of weights for his reps.
And the sex…
He definitely puts that extra strength to use, he can have you anywhere now cause he can just lift you up. But when you are in the bedroom he throws you on the mattress, manhandles you like crazy. He completely covers you, and the weight of his body around your own just intensifies every sensation.
And the extra hair means a more pronounced happy trail. Which means more friction. And you are desperate to suck his dick way more often when you see it peeking out from between his shirt and pants.
He likes to have you on top and basically move you up and down his cock- you hardly have to do any work he’s just trying to get an arm session in.
You’re dreading his upcoming cut in a few months. You also know you’ll love that raw muscular look on him too.
For now though you’ll just keep helping him put on mass you think to yourself as you slide a tray of raspberry brownies into the oven.
A/N: guys i love him bad what am i going to do. Also if you’ve never put raspberries in your brownies get on that what are you doing.
