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@lucy1138
Okay, so according to this post, @staff says they're listening to us, so...
Sound off, Tumblr! How do you feel about the latest update to the reblog and notes?
Hate it. 👎
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No nuance. Go ahead and reblog the crap out of this.
Through the Glass
Michael Robinavitch x f!reader
Synopsis: After amputating a patient’s crushed hand in a last effort to save his life, you head down to the ER to deliver the news — and end up assaulted by the patient’s grieving wife. As one of the best plastic surgeons on the East Coast, you know exactly what a poorly closed facial laceration can do. So with blood on your scrubs and half the department watching through the glass, you take matters into your own hands and suture your own cheek.
Word count: 2.2k
Warnings: Mentions of assault, Workplace Violence, Mentions of blood/injury, Medical inaccuracies, medical setting, kissing
The surgery had already wrung you dry before you ever stepped foot in the emergency department.
Six hours in the OR trying to save a crushed dominant hand that never stood a chance. You and ortho had worked in quiet, relentless tandem — revascularized what you could, grafted what was salvageable, rewired nerves that looked like frayed electrical cords.
You’d watched the tissue fight.
And then you’d watched it lose.
When perfusion didn’t return — when the fingers turned from a pale pink to that unmistakable, lifeless grey — you made the call. Pride doesn’t get to kill patients.
Life over limb.
You amputated cleanly. Preserved as much length as possible. Set him up for a prosthetic that might still let him work someday, even if it’s not the same way he used to.
You went downstairs still in your surgical scrubs to tell his wife the good news: he was alive.
You expected grief, maybe some anger.
What you did not expect was for her to swing.
The flash of her diamond ring was the only warning. A glint of light before it connected with your cheekbone and dragged downward. Your head snapped to the side with the force of it. There was a brief, suspended second where you simply registered the fact that someone had just put their hands on you.
Then came the heat.
Blood slid warm and immediate down the curve of your face, gathered at your jaw, dripped onto navy fabric.
“He’s a carpenter!” she screamed.
All you could taste is iron.
You stepped away, not shouting or swinging back. You pressed your palm to your cheek and felt the depth of the cut — it was clean and straight.
At least it wasn’t jagged, you thought to yourself.
You opened the triage room door. “Security.” You say as calmly as you could.
Across the ED, Robby looked up.
The first thing he sees is the blood. Not the patient, not security rushing past him, not the chaos swelling around him.
All he saw was you standing in the middle of his ER with your hand pressed to your face, crimson slipping steadily between your fingers.
He moves immediately, running towards you.
“What the hell happened?”
“She didn’t like that her husband is alive without a hand,” you reply calmly.
His eyes flick toward the triage room where security has now stepped in. Then his gaze flicked back to you, to the blood trailing down your wrist.
“She did this to you?"
You nod softly, a muscle in his jaw shifts.
“This happened in my ER?”
You exhale through your nose. “She was upset.”
“She assaulted you.” He steps closer then, hand coming to your waist without hesitation this time, guiding you toward an empty exam room. His grip is firm — grounding in a way.
The door closes behind you, muffling the loud noise of the pitt.
He gently pulls your hand away from your cheek, trying to assess the extent of your injury. The cut is deep, a clean line from the diamond edge. His expression changes — anger settling into something colder.
“That’s going to scar if it’s not closed right,” he says quietly.
“I’m aware.”
He reaches for the suture cart automatically. “Sit. I’ll close it.”
“Grab a 6-0 Prolene,” you instruct, moving to sit on the exam table. “Small needle driver, fine forceps, and lidocaine.”
He pauses just a fraction before doing exactly as you say. When he sets the sterile kit down on the tray in front of you, you reach and grab for the needle driver.
“Absolutely not,” he says, trying to grab the metal from your grasp. “You’re not suturing your own face.”
You glance up at him, furrowing your eyebrows. “There’s no way your jagged ER stitches are coming anywhere near my face.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Jagged?”
“I’ve seen your sutures. They look like Frankenstein did them with his eyes closed.”
“They heal.”
“Yeah, and leave behind huge, ugly scars.”
He crosses his arms. “Let me do it.”
“I’m not risking you ruining perfection,” you say, gesturing vaguely to your face with the hand not holding metal.
There’s a long pause. His eyes flick between yours and the cut on your cheek, jaw tight, waiting to see if you’ll use your common sense.
You don’t.
You reach for the syringe of lidocaine.
“You are unbelievable.” He huffs.
“I know.”
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “At least let me numb it.”
You hesitate.
“Let me do that,” his voice softens. “Please.”
That’s different.
You sigh, handing him the syringe. “Fine. But if you over-infiltrate and distort the tissue planes you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
A small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “I know how to inject lidocaine.”
His hand holds your jaw, his grip soft as he slides the needle in along the wound edge. The sting blooms, then fades into pressure. You watch him while he works. He’s focused and controlled, but there’s tension in his shoulders that wasn’t there earlier.
“You’re shaking,” you murmur.
“I was worried about you.” He finishes the injection and withdraws the needle, setting it aside with care.
You pick up the needle driver again as he reaches for the handheld mirror, holding it up.
“Higher,” you instruct.
He adjusts immediately.
You bring the needle through your skin with precise, measured pressure. With the lidocaine taking effect, there’s only tugging — no sharp bite. You align the dermal edges perfectly before pulling the suture through, tension even and exact.
Robby watches like he’s memorizing the motion.
From the nurses’ station, the exam room window turns into a silent film.
Trinity notices first.
She’s halfway through charting when she glances up — and freezes.
“…Is she suturing her own face?”
Whitaker rolls his chair back, squinting through the glass. “No way.”
Inside, you stand steady, one hand holding forceps, the other guiding the needle with slow, deliberate precision. Blood stains the collar of your scrub top. Robby stands inches away, holding the mirror exactly where you positioned it, his entire body angled toward you like a shield.
Whitaker exhales. “Oh. She is.”
Joy drifts closer. “Who is that?”
“Dr. ,” Trinity says your name quietly. “Lead plastics attending upstairs.”
Whitaker nods once. “She’s the best on the east coast.”
Inside the room, you pull the suture through and adjust the tension, smoothing the wound edges together like you’re closing silk.
Ogilvie steps up beside them and goes silent.
For a second.
Then, softer than before — almost to himself — “Jesus.”
Joy glances at him. “What?”
He doesn’t look away from the window. His voice lowers.
“Look at her hands.”
There’s nothing frantic about you. No hesitation. Just controlled pressure, clean placement, the kind of muscle memory that comes from years of practice.
“She’s bleeding,” Joy says.
“And she doesn’t even flinch,” Ogilvie replies.
Inside, Robby adjusts the mirror slightly before you ask. You murmur something — they can’t hear it — and his jaw tightens in response.
Ogilvie swallows.
“That’s…” He exhales slowly. “That’s insanely attractive.”
Joy makes a face. “You’re unbelievable.”
“No,” he says, quieter now. “I’m serious. The control? She’s doing a subcuticular running stitch — on her own face — like it’s nothing.” He exhales slowly. “That’s hot.”
Whitaker shifts awkwardly. “You should not be saying that.”
Joy folds her arms. “You’re disgusting.”
Ogilvie finally looks at her. “Don’t act like you’re not thinking the same thing.”
She hesitates — barely. “Yeah, but I’m not going to say it out loud,” she mutters.
He huffs under his breath, faintly victorious.
Whitaker clears his throat. “We should probably not be watching this.”
No one moves.
Ogilvie tilts his head slightly, “I’m going to go talk to her.”
That gets all three of them to look at him.
Trinity blinks. “No you are not.”
“Why not?”
“You really don’t know?” she asks.
“Know what?”
Trinity gestures toward the room with her chin. “Robby’s her husband.”
Silence.
Ogilvie looks back through the glass. Robby’s thumb is brushing across your uninjured cheek, saying something none of them could hear that causes you to slightly smile.
“…Oh,” Ogilvie says.
Whitaker nods. “Yeah.”
Ogilvie watches for another beat — the way Robby leans in close, the way you don’t move away. Then he sighs.
“Well,” he mutters. “Never mind.”
And through the glass, you bury another knot beneath the surface and trim it cleanly.
“I can’t believe someone laid their hands on you," Robby says quietly.
You don’t look up. “It happened, I’m okay. There’s no need to dwell on it.”
His jaw tightens.
“This happened in my ER,” he repeats, slightly stunned.
You pass the needle again. “And I’m fine.”
You finish the final pass, tie off the knot, and lean back slightly to inspect your work. It was perfect, if you do say so yourself.
You lower your hands and Robby lowers the mirror slowly. And for a moment, neither of you say anything.
Then he steps closer — not as department chief. Not as attending. But as your husband.
“You scared me,” he says quietly. “You were bleeding.”
“I’ve bled before.”
He exhales softly, shaking his head just once. He then looks at you — really looks. There was faint swelling at your cheekbone, a smear of dried blood near your collar, and the flawless closure you just completed.
“You are infuriatingly good at what you do,” he says.
You smile slightly. “I know.”
“But I wish you’d let me take care of you.”
“You just did.”
“I held a mirror.”
“And numbed me,” you remind him.
He steps closer, hands settling lightly at your hips.
“I could've done it perfectly,” he says quietly.
You lean in just enough that your mouths are a breath apart.
“Maybe,” you murmur. “But let’s not risk it.”
His mouth curves. “You’re insufferable.”
“But you love me anyway."
He glances down at your lips, then back up.
“If we weren’t in the middle of my ER,” he says softly, voice dropping, “I’d show you just how much I love you.”
“Why wait?” you whisper, your pulse stuttering.
That does it.
Robby closes the distance first.
The kiss isn’t tentative. It isn’t soft. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw and you fist the front of his scrub top, pulling him closer. He kisses you like he’s grounding himself, like he needs to feel you solid and here.
And then— his thumb shifts.
Right over the fresh sutures.
You hiss, jerking back slightly. “Ouch, Michael.”
His face drops instantly. “Oh — God. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t—”
“It’s fine,” you say, though you’re still wincing.
“I grabbed your stitches. I just—” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m an idiot.”
“It’s okay,” you fight a smile. “You can make it up to me when we get home.”
His eyes darken immediately. “Oh really?”
“Mhm.”
He tries to kiss you again, but you swerve, making him let out a small groan. You straighten your scrub top, satisfied with both your work and his current state, then make your way to the door. He follows you out, hot on your tail.
You barely make it seven steps into the hallway before Yolanda rounds the corner.
She stops dead when she sees your face.
“Damn,” she breathes. “You look kind of badass.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Robby mutters behind you.
Yolanda grins at you. “Did you do that yourself?”
“Of course she did,” Robby answers before you can.
You shoot him a look. “I’m right here, I can answer for myself.”
Yolanda leans in slightly, inspecting your sutures. “Clean — very clean. I’d expect nothing less coming from you.”
“Flattery won’t get you everywhere Yolo,” you reply.
“Oh, I know,” she says lightly, her eyes flick toward the nurses’ station behind you. “But tell that to the med students. They can’t take their eyes off you.”
Robby goes still behind you. “What?”
Yolanda looks delighted. “Santos told me little Ogilvie was at the nurses’ station practically drooling over your wife.”
You raise an eyebrow.
Robby’s voice lowers. “He was what?”
Yolanda shrugs, amused. “Something about you doing stitches being attractive.”
Before Robby can respond, both yours and Yolanda's pagers go off.
You glance down, “Oh — my OR is prepped for my cleft lip repair.”
Yolanda checks hers. “They need an extra set of hands in OR three.”
You look at Robby who’s standing, frozen in time.
You lean in, brushing your fingers briefly against his chest. “Behave.”
“I always behave.”
“Let’s not lie.”
Yolanda laughs. “I’ll take your wife upstairs. Try not to kill your med students while she’s gone.”
Robby’s gaze flicks toward the nurses’ station instinctively.
You squeeze his hand once. “I’ll see you after our shift.”
“You better,” he murmurs.
You and Yolanda head toward the elevators together, already slipping into conversation, your laughter echoing faintly down the corridor.
Robby watches until the elevator doors close.
Then he turns.
And across the ER, Ogilvie is very obviously looking at him.
Their eyes lock and Ogilvie freezes. He immediately looks away, pretending to check a chart that he definitely was not reading.
Robby doesn’t say anything. He just holds his gaze a second longer than necessary before turning back toward the trauma bay. But there’s the faintest curve of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
Because whatever the interns and med students think through a pane of glass doesn’t matter. Because at the end of every shift, after every long surgery and every chaotic day in his ER, you were the one he went home to.
a/n: low key didn't edit this. Also, if anyone has any prompts/ideas they want to read, let me know
THE CABIN IN THE WOODS 2012, dir. Drew Goddard
Catch My Breath
The first kiss.
Set in Christmas Eve 2022, after the events of Call of Duty Modern Warfare II.
Pairing : Simon “Ghost” Riley x Charlotte “Jade” Le Jardin (OC), Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Eleanor "Ladybug" Graham (OC) Characters : Simon "Ghost" Riley, Charlotte "Jade" Le Jardin (OC), Captain John Price, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick Eleanor "Ladybug" Graham (OC), Alejandro Vargas Word Count : ~ 9600 Warning : Fluff with a slight bit of angst, a touch of hurt/comfort, and good ol’ cursings.
Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Dont forget to come to cpt prices house today.’
You : ‘Of course not. I’m still at the orphanage for christmas gifts exchange. As soon as I'm done I'll be there :)’
Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Good’
Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Gaz is making some bangin biscuits and scones’
Jade smiled at her phone as she chatted with Soap. Her mouth already watering from imagining the taste of Gaz’s cooking on her tongue. According to Soap’s and Ladybug’s testimony, his chocolate biscuits were second to none.
You : ‘Wouldn't miss it even if I die.’
Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘Alright. See ya.’
She bit her lip. There's one more question she wanted to ask though. She contemplated asking Soap this or not.
Her thumbs moved across the screen slowly.
You : ‘Is Ghost coming?’
When Soap had invited her to the dinner five days prior, all Jade could think about was whether or not Ghost would be joining. Their one week together in Las Almas made her feel… something. Something really, really good. Something she hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity. He earned a friend in Alejandro, Rudy, Soap, and Ghost, especially, whom she’d thought of as a real piece of work back in Verdansk. Oh, how foolish she was.
He was the best part about Las Almas.
Dammit. What was she thinking?!
By the end of Chicago, after they eliminated Hassan, Ghost and Jade had traded phone numbers. Jade had his numbers and named it “💀💢 Beanpole 💀💢”, after the nickname she gave to him before they knew each other’s name. They haven’t texted at all. Ghost wasn’t the kind to text first, that much was clear to everyone who knew him. And neither was Jade. In fact, she didn’t know what to text him first. A “hi”? A…
What else?
What do people text each other when they’re trying to get to know each other? She had no goddamn clue. Well, she knew what to text when she wanted to get intel from an unassuming target, but she didn’t want intel from Ghost.
She just wanted to know if he was okay, if he was fine, if the gash on his shoulder was healing well. Because of course, in her 29 years of life, a serious romance wasn’t a luxury that she could afford in her line of work in MI6. She took that lesson from her parents who literally had to ‘die’ first in order to even start. The point is, none of them texted first. They’re just another series of numbers in their contact list.
An animation of dots showed up, indicating that Soap was typing.
He’d typed for a few seconds before the animation stopped for a moment, and then started typing again. He must be changing his response.
Bulky McT 🧼 : ‘If there's food he should be there.’
Oh? ‘... should be there’. That meant Ghost was not with Soap at the moment, and he didn’t know whether or not Ghost would be coming along. A week in Las Almas was enough for Jade to know that Ghost had grown closer to Soap as a friend-brother figure. The fact that Soap might not know his whereabouts was not a surprise, though. He’s the Ghost after all.
But she couldn’t help but think, where was he?
What did Soap type?
“Chacha! Can you help me a bit here? We're about to start the event!”
Jade looked up from her phone, her ginger hair falling on her shoulders as she tucked her phone back in her pocket, swiftly walking over to one of her co-workers, Esther, an elderly soft-looking lady who volunteered for the orphanage - her former orphanage. This place held a lot of bittersweet memories, and it made her who she was.
Her legs brought her to one of the high ladders leaning onto one of the walls of the dining hall. She took many mistletoes from the decoration boxes and swiftly climbed the ladder, hanging the vegetation one by one with ease.
“Do we need this many mistletoes?” Jade asked while her hands worked. “At this point we’re gonna kiss someone by accident.”
“Of course not, what are you talkin’ about?!” Esther’s loud laugh almost broke Jade’s ears. “It’s Christmas, Chacha. The church had an overflow of mistletoes from the donations. If there's a day where we can add as many mistletoes as we can, it’s now. Let's call the kids over.”
“Alright. Let's start this shall we?”
—
The sound of Jade’s boots rang throughout the pavement as she hurried over to Price’s house. She travelled by public transportation from Surrey as she didn't have a car with her (plus she’s not much for driving safely - fake driving licence and… all that). She looked down at her watch to see 7 PM as the cold night finally settled. Each of her breaths turned to clouds in the air, shivering as she didn't have her outer jacket with her right now. She’s never one to be unprepared, but after one of the kids got too excited about getting a Lego toy and spilt a whole glass of apple juice onto her jacket, Jade had to fight through the cold with her trusty turtleneck and only one layer of thin knitted jacket as an outer, clutching the soaked coat close to her chest.
Finally, after what felt like an hour of walking, Jade reached the front of Price's house, immediately knocking on the wooden door three times. She looked up at the massive three-story building made out of bricks, that had a good space in the front yard. The building looked old like a family heirloom, but she could tell that it was pretty much taken care of. There’s a pair of trees that had shed all their leaves for the winter and had a decent amount of vegetation on either side of the doors.
Jade looked back at the front yard. There were three cars parked in front, and she assumed that one of them belonged to Price, the other two should belong to either Gaz’s, Soap’s, or Ghost’s.
The wooden door opened. She expected Price as the owner of the house to welcome her, instead, it was Eleanor, Gaz’s very own Ladybug who immediately screeched on top of her head. “JAAAADEEE!!! You’ve finally arrived!” The medic bursted out of the door hugging her figure so tight Jade might’ve folded. A beautiful burgundy sweater around a tan shirt wrapped her figure perfectly, and of course, with her wavy dirty blonde hair tied on the back with the ribbon Gaz gave her, worn out as it could be.
“Hey Lady! I miss you so much!!” The ginger greeted warmly all the while trying her best to stay balanced on her feet or else she’d fall five steps down to the ground on her back. As Lady pulled away, she gave room for Jade to step inside the warm house, taking a glance at Jade’s look.
“Whoa. You only wear two layers? You’re shivering!”
“Yeah. Apple juice all over my jacket, but don’t mind it.” She chuckled as she took off her jacket and coat to hang them on a standing coat hanger on the side of the door, “Have the others arrived?”
“You’re the last one. I came early with Kyle to bake the cookies and help Price with the food. Soap came second bringing sacks of snacks and drinks, and Ghost had just arrived before you, about 45 minutes ago.”
That caught Jade’s attention, her heart beat a little faster just at the mention of his name. “Just? Isn’t the Captain’s invitation at 5 PM?”
“Yeah. It looked like he was coming back from somewhere though.”
Somewhere?
Lady’s eyes half blinked, looking at her teasingly. “...Am I sensing something here?”
“What? No. No. It's just that he’s um… usually an on-time kind of man.” Jade tried her best to act indifferent, looking away from her to observe the doorway decorations.
“Oh really? I see, I see.” Ladybug nodded, “Because I might have heard some stuff from Kyle~”
Jade’s eyes opened wide at the statement, her mind already racing at the thought of what Gaz had said to his girlfriend. “What did he sa–”
“There’s me trusty Ginger!”
A voice which she could identify from a mile away as Soap’s, called to her. Donning the green military-issued sweater above his uniform, which he rolled to the elbow, he walked in both women’s directions with a chocolate biscuit in hand.
“Well hello there, Ocean Eyes.” Jade softly hugged Soap’s ever-bulky body while he patted her back several times. “How's your arm? Healing well?” She remembered how Soap got shot by Graves in Las Almas and how both of them, along with Ghost, had to survive the Shadow’s manhunt in the city. Even in Chicago he had to force through it.
“You’re one to talk. How's your side?” Soap pointed at her left side while munching through his biscuit.
“You got hit?! Where?!” Ladybug, who’d been in Urzikstan to help Farah and Alex for nearly a year after Barkov’s demise, hadn't been updated much about Las Almas. Looked like Gaz left that tiny little detail.
“She did get hit.”
“No! No no. I didn't get hit per se. We were… breaking into the Las Almas prison to free Alejandro and the Vaqueros - a little bullet missed my hip, but it did leave a teeny tiny graze.” Jade made a little gesture with her thumb and index fingers.
“It wasn't.” Soap retorted, which made Ladybug look even more concerned. “You almost fell from the prison walls during our escape and LT had to catch you and carry yo–”
“ANYWAY.” Jade tried to dismiss the conversation away from Ladybug’s growing unease. “It was quite literally us four against a thousand. So we had our own hits. It was a month ago, right? I literally walked my way here! See? Now. Where's the man of the house?”
“Thought you want to camp in that doorway.” Price's gravelly voice called from the living room, his head peaking out from one of the walls. “Come in and close that damned door will ya? The forecast said it’s going to rain snow unless you muppets want to shovel the snow.”
With Jade closing the door, they all walked together towards the interior of the house, where the warmth from the fireplace radiated throughout the room cozily. And holy shit. The word ‘family heirloom’ could perfectly describe the house. Some of the furniture looked like it was carved specifically for the house, soft carpets covered some parts of the wooden floor, and portraits of whom she assumed as the former Prices hung on the walls. The exterior of the house didn’t do the property justice at all. Soap had said that this was the Captain’s own house which he’d left mostly abandoned since he resided in Herefordshire. She wouldn’t lie, if Price turned out to be a secret old money she wouldn’t be surprised.
Jade’s eyes found Gaz at the kitchen island wearing the same exact outfit as Soap and Price, but with an apron around his waist while he pulled out another batch of chocolate cookies from the oven. Gaz noticed her presence when Ladybug approached him and pointed her way. “Oh, Jade! Come here and eat the salmon. You’re not allergic to fish aren’t you?” This sight of Gaz was pretty surprising for her. He seemed more cheerful and open around Ladybug, contrasting to his serious demeanour in the field. It was refreshing, to say the least.
Jade put down her bag on one of the sofas where Price sat on the edge of it, shuffling a deck of cards in his hands skilfully. “Nope, no allergies. Have all of you eaten yet? Sorry I’m late.”
“We have, and apparently my Ladybug over here is a vacuum cleaner of food.” Gaz was replied with an elbow to the rib by his partner.
Taking her own plate of baked salmon, Jade watched from just enough distance as Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ladybug played a game of poker on the desk. The atmosphere was tense from the rivalry but hearty at the same time, their laughs filled the room as Price caught Soap hiding a card on his sleeves, which resulted in a 50 push-up penalty for the Scot. Apart from the chaos, Jade couldn’t help but find herself trying to find that one particular big man.
The memories of sharing sleepless nights together on the rooftops of Fuerzas Especiales base rushed down her mind. Those moments made up the few moments of peace that they could muster up from the chaos of Las Almas. Just the both of them, the night sky, two cups of tea, and the lights from the city of souls. All those times they spent together completely with his mask on. Only when he decided to take off his mask in front of the 141 and Vaqueros did she ever see his face.
She’s good with faces. That’s an absolute requirement for her job. That image of his face was ingrained in her brain. How the black paints surrounded his surprisingly soft eyes, how the sun reflected his whiskey brown eyes and light eyelashes, the scars on his cheeks from wearing the mask, and his strong jaw.
Jade only wished she could enjoy the actual sight of it once more.
The former MI6 turned her head a number of times, making up blueprints of Price’s residency inside her mind. This house didn’t have a rooftop, and from the looks of it, all the bedrooms are located on the upper floors. Ghost likes looking out at the scenery, so he might’ve gone upstairs, broke into one of the many bedrooms and looked out on of the balconies as he sipped on a cup of tea. Considering how Ghost was, he’d break into his captain’s house without anyone knowing about it just fine.
All the while the others were playing, Jade finished her plate of grilled salmon and found her way towards the kitchen sink to wash the dishes. She came the latest, the least she could do was helping cleaning the kitchen area. That task came to a halt when her phone vibrated. She was confused at first, but when her eyes read ‘Col. Vargas 🤠’ on the screen, Jade immediately accepted the video call.
“Hola, Coronel! Como estas?”
“Hola, Compa! Muy bien, muy bien.” Alejandro's gravelly voice greeted her excitedly as his video showed on Jade’s screen. She could tell that the sun was still up in Mexico judging by the light on his face. He looks like he’s standing just outside his family’s house. Quite rare to see the colonel in other attire than his military ones, but as Jade saw his blue shirt tucked inside his blue jeans, she couldn’t help the snicker that came out of her mouth. She remembered that Alejandro had revealed to her privately that he had two beautiful daughters who lived in Mexico City with their maternal grandparents. “I’m in Mexico City with my family to celebrate Christmas. We’re about to head to church for the Christmas Eve sermon.” Alejandro continued in Spanish, but something caught his eye. “Wait, Jade. Where are you? Is that Soap?”
Jade lifted the phone above her head to help him see the place clearly, “Yes, that’s Soap, Captain Price, Gaz, and that’s Eleanor, Gaz’s girlfriend.” She said in his language. Her fingers pointed at each soldier as they slammed their cards on the table, chaos ensuing in the middle of them. “This is Captain Price's house in London. He invited us all for dinner, and now that it’s done, they’re playing poker, aggressively.”
Now it’s Alejandro’s turn to laugh. “I’m assuming they’re on their second bottle of whatever alcohol they’re consuming.”
“Yep. Looks like Captain Price is richer than he lets on. He has 4 bottles of wine from the 1800s! Can you believe it?!”
Jade and Alejandro continued their video call, sitting in her former position on the sofa. Despite Soap’s slight dislike that they were conversing in Spanish as he couldn’t understand what they were talking about, Jade kept on going. Jade learned that Rudy stayed in Las Almas to rebuild and restore the city after the Shadows wreaked havoc, encouraging Alejandro to leave the city and unite with his family.
“So. Onto the most important topic…” Alejandro’s voice sounded deeper and his eyebrows lifted. Jade had learned after a thrilling week working together that those were a sign that he was onto something cheeky. “Where’s the Ghost?”
Again, Jade’s heart beat faster at the mention of his name, and her stomach grew warmer. Damn it. “Um, I don’t know where he is. He is here somewhere in Price’s house, but… I haven’t seen him yet.”
“He’s there? Have you tried the rooftops?”
“This house doesn’t have a rooftop. It does have a lot of rooms with balconies, though. But I didn’t see any open window from the outside.” Her head started to look side to side, “ I don’t know if this house has a back or side entrance, he might be somewh– Alejandro!!” Jade stopped when she realized that Alejandro was laughing his belly off.
“You’re looking for him too, don’t you?” The colonel guffawed. “Aaah, You should’ve seen your face when you were explaining where he is to me.”
“That’s–”
“Look. I wished you luck with him back in Las Almas. It’s only natural that I asked for ‘updates’!”
“Keep fighting the good fight, hermano.” “To the bitter end, my brother.” Soap handshook the Mexican colonel and sergeant as they were about to leave Las Almas. He then turned around and tapped Ghost’s shoulders twice, heading towards the rear end of the aircraft to unite with Price and Gaz. The lieutenant though, stood still on the tarmac a few steps behind Jade. “Good luck amigos y amiga.” Jade hugged Rudy warmly, tapping her back a few times before holding out her hand to handshake Alejandro. Instead of a handshake, Jade saw a wide grin on Alejandro’s face and opened his arms wide, indicating that he was waiting for a hug as well. “Come here, Hermana!” Jade chuckled, expecting that a handshake wouldn’t be enough for the Mexican. She obliged by stepping forward and warped her arms around Alejandro’s figure. What Jade didn’t see though, was how Ghost’s body tensed slightly behind her. Alejandro sneakily observed the man’s movement, looking visibly uncomfortable. No matter how skilled Ghost was at appearing as still as he could, Alejandro could see that this skill of his just disappeared when he was in Jade’s presence. Before Alejandro let go, he lowered his voice and spoke to Jade’s ear. “Que te vaya bien con el fantasma.” ‘Good luck with the Ghost.’ Jade blushed profusely when she translated that sentence in her mind, stepping away from the hug to punch his shoulder lightly “ey!!” She looked over to his side, finding that Rodolfo was also grinning ear to ear. “I mean it, Jade.” Alejandro spoke in Spanish, tilting his head as a sign that he was serious. Jade’s head nodded in surrender a few times. As much as they wanted to converse more, her job wasn’t over yet. Her legs started to walk backwards, “Gracias, Alejandro, Rudy. Cuidate.” Alejandro observed as she turned around, finding Ghost’s waiting figure right in front of her. She then tapped his chest plate once, jogging her way towards Price, Gaz, and Soap on the aircraft. That sight made the colonel scoff, glancing at Rudy, who looked as amused as he was. Just as Ghost was about to turn around as well to join his teammates, Alejandro called to his name. “Ghost!” The lieutenant turned around. “No te pierdas carnal!” “A huevo!”
“The both of you have forced me and Rudy to watch a telenovela the entire time! Please tell me that you’ve at least done something together after Chicago.”
“We traded numbers…” She said nervously.
“And then? Did he text first?”
Jade grimaced, expecting that Alejandro wouldn’t react well to her next response. “We… haven’t texted at all.”
“NO MAMEEESSS!!” Ale facepalmed on the video call like he just watched the Mexican national football team fail to score a goal in a World Cup match. “Ghost… I swear… you need to do better.”
Jade stood up and walked over to the kitchen aisle yet again and put her phone on a leaning position on the wall, hoping that Alejandro’s shout of despair didn’t reach the other soldiers. “Well– what if he doesn’t want to continue this… whatever’s going on between us?” she grabbed a white mug and a cocoa mix, putting in 3 spoons of the choco powder inside. “You’ve seen how he is. I don’t want to hope too much.” Jade confessed to the colonel, pouring hot water on the mug and stirring the contents with a spoon until the sweet aroma hit her nose.
“Oh you don’t know that yet, right?” Ale replied, “Do you want to have a relationship with him?”
A relationship with Ghost?
That sounded crazy to say, but if she's being honest with herself, yes. Yes, she did.
“Yeah…” She started to walk towards the hallway on the side of the kitchen with the warm mug. The walkway looked narrow and led to the rear side of the house. She guessed that if this conversation was prolonged, they were going to need a place where Soap wasn’t shouting his lungs off. Her green eyes looked to the end of the room, where a wooden door similar to the front door was present in front of her. A back door perhaps?
“Okay. Now one of you needs to start. Ghost clearly isn’t starting because he’s a stupid, bad man. But maybe you can convince him that you’re worth his time.”
Worth his time? “How?”
“Start by finding him.”
The former MI6 walked towards the back door and glanced over the glass parts where the outer side of the house was visible. Just then, she registered a man with a large frame, sitting on the stairs of the back porch. He wore the same attire as the rest of the SAS members - their military uniform covered with a military-issued sweater, and layered further with a familiar black jacket that she’d seen before in Chicago. The man had a mask over his head, but she could see that it was currently lifted up as he took a sip of what she assumed was bourbon.
That’s definitely Ghost.
“Jade? What happened?” Alejandro asked curiously as she stopped speaking earlier.
“I found him.” She muttered.
Alejandro’s lips curved, slowly forming a smile.
“The floor is yours, Jade.”
—
*5 hours earlier*
Johnny : 'LT. You’re coming, right?'
Ghost looked down at his phone, staring at the message that Johnny had sent him, not planning to text anything back.
He hated Christmas. No, he didn’t hate decors, the bright lights, the red, green, and white that coloured the streets and buildings around him. No, he’s not petty like that. He’s indifferent to it.
What he hated was how the month of December always reminded him of the darkest part of his life.
He lowered his phone and tucked it inside his pocket, going back to the sight of his family’s gravestones right in front of him. His mother, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew.
Ghost remembered the blood; the foul stench hitting his nose as he stood frozen, witnessing the lifeless bodies of his family – all surrounded by the colourful lights of red, green, and blue from the Christmas tree that they were decorating. If only he realized sooner that his enemies wouldn’t settle with torturing him. If only he wasn’t so naive and thought that his battles were done as soon as he was home. How wrong he was.
How fucking wrong he was.
Ghost’s tears had dried out a long time ago. Every Christmas Eve he always visited their graves. He’d cry for the first three years, but now he’d settle with staring at the stones, not a word coming out of his mouth. Just him, alone with that memory.
His phone vibrated again. Johnny’s still messaging him about the dinner at Price’s house. Ghost closed his eyes in annoyance and sighed, taking his phone and turning it on to find a few messages.
Johnny : ‘Captain said not to disturb you during Christmas week’
Johnny : ‘Idk what you’re doing now’
Johnny : ‘but I hope you’re enjoying yourself’
Ghost moved his thumb on the keyboard screen, wanting to text Johnny that he was not coming and to stop messaging him.
Johnny : ‘Also’
Johnny : ‘Jade’s coming’
His thumb paused right above the send key.
Fuck.
Why did his heart beat faster suddenly? What was this warmth in his stomach? His memories of his family’s death disappeared, and suddenly all the moments with Jade came down rushing through his mind.
The moment when they met – where they shot at each other in Verdansk, leaving a permanent mark on his left ear – The sleepless nights in Las Almas, the meaningless conversations, their moments in battle together. How beautiful she was when she kept her calm during pressing and stressful situations, the grace in her movements…
Fuck.
Fucking hell.
Ghost had read Price’s invitation two weeks before in their group chat. He already made up his mind from the beginning that he wasn’t coming. He never really enjoyed parties or any form of gathering at all. That’s how he’d been living for three decades of his life. Why did that one mention of her name from Johnny instantly change his resolve just like that?
He didn’t reply to Johnny at all, only leaving the two blue check marks indicating that he’d read Johnny’s messages.
And that… was how Ghost ended up sitting on Price’s back porch. The crescent moon was high in the sky. Little bits of snow started to fall down alongside the windy weather. For the first time of the day, he had his skull-painted balaclava up to his nose in order to take a sip from his glass of bourbon.
When he had arrived at Price’s front yard with his sedan, Ghost saw the amused surprise in Price, Gaz, and Lady’s faces, but he also took a glimpse of Johnny’s smirk on his lips. The sergeant now knew the way to his heart, and it infuriated him. God damn him.
The sun was already long gone by that time, and he could see that the others were already in the midst of eating their dinner.
He’d sneakily taken a glance around Price’s luxurious house.
No Jade yet.
Ghost had conversed for a while with Price, took his own plate of baked salmon, poured himself a glass of bourbon, and excused himself to the back door. For an hour and a half, he sat right there, slowly sipping on his alcohol. Just as he thought that she wasn’t coming and that Johnny had lied to him, the wooden door behind his back opened.
He turned around and found the woman herself.
Jade.
Her ginger hair was braided like usual, but stopped on the back of her head, letting the long hair run freely down her back and shoulders. The deep red turtleneck which usually looked out of place in warm weather such as Las Almas currently fitted perfectly on her figure. A green pair of wide pants hung from her hip, letting the fabric run freely downwards instead of wrapping around her legs like the jeans he’s used to seeing her wearing during their mission together.
Ghost caught her green eyes, reflected by the moonlight, and he could easily tell that she wore some sort of makeup. What the name was he couldn’t bother to remember, but she looked… beautiful.
His heart was already beating pretty fast from the alcohol, but now it’s going even faster, and don’t even start about the butterflies that were flying rampant inside his stomach right now.
She only stared at him, her breaths turning to cloud along with the vapour from the cocoa mug she was holding. For a few seconds, they stayed like that, until Jade finally started.
“Why aren't you inside? It's cold.”
Can you miss someone’s voice? Apparently you can, judging by the unexplainable sense of relief that washed over him after he heard her voice. The last time he heard her voice was back in Chicago, a month ago. He then turned around again, facing Price's plain backyard to try hiding any signs from his exposed mouth that she might read. The former MI6 had this scary skill to read every body language of any person. Sure, he had a mask up to his nose, but he wouldn’t take any chances.
“I don't like parties.” He replied.
“It's cold.”
“Better than whatever's going inside. And I have my friend right here to keep me warm.” He slightly lifted the bourbon glass, shaking it slightly to make the content swirl.
Jade hummed. She observed his glass and noticed the alcohol. For all their nights in Las Almas, Ghost always drank tea, never alcohol. Of course, they were in active duty, so drinking liquor could cost them so much, but he'd said himself that he pretty rarely drinks, since Ghost had confessed that he liked being in control of what he did. She wondered why he was drinking, but she let it go. Instead, Jade stepped two stairs down, and sat beside Ghost’s left, drinking her own cup of hot chocolate.
“Why are you here?” Now it's Ghost’s turn to start.
She wondered how to answer that. If she's being honest, the answer would be ‘to be with you’, but she deleted that response in her mind.
“I… don't really like parties.”
“…You don't look the type.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What’s ‘my’ type?”
Ghost took another sip from the glass, “Likes being around people. Gets your energy from a communal space.”
The former MI6 scoffed. “Fooled you right there. Maybe it’s just me, but being around people automatically sets me in observation mode. Don’t get me wrong, I like people. It’s just tiring.”
“Hm.”
Another few seconds of silence, before she continued. “What about you? Why are you here?”
“Gets noisy inside, especially if Johnny's starting to lose his grip on reality.” Ghost immediately answered, almost like he expected Jade to ask him that. “He’s a screamer.”
“Hey how's your graze wound? It's healing well right?
Jade suddenly asked, which surprised Ghost. He glanced at Jade, finding the woman herself looking straight into his brown eyes. He should admit, her face so close to his caught him off-guard, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding, creating a cloud in the air. Ghost then took a sip from his glass again before answering. “Yeah. I changed the dressing every once in a while. It's just a scab now. “ To be honest, he kind of forgot about the wound on his right shoulder. It was disgustingly painful during their time in Las Almas and Chicago considering how he must carry the chestplate and his gears on that shoulder. The memory of Jade tending to that wound of his at the safehouse came rushing down his brain.
“Okay, that's a relief then. Just make sure you don't scratch it or it'll open again.”
“I know the drill, Midget, I’m not a kid. This isn't my first rodeo. What about you?”
“Wh-what about me?”
“Your hip.”
The former MI6 sucked both of her lips between her teeth. “It’s fine.”
“Fine how?”
Jade now looked at Ghost’s brown eyes, intensely gazing at her own. He wasn’t taking ‘It’s fine’ as an answer. He was always an intense person. She suddenly remembered the feeling of being safe in his hands when he carried her towards the van, arms under her shoulder and knees when she couldn’t bear the pain in her hip any longer.
How Ghost had slept the whole night, in a sitting position on a chair beside her bed in the safehouse with his mask on, staying right by her side.
“Oi. Midget. I’m asking you.”
That snapped her out of her thoughts. “Huh? Yeah! It’s a bit itchy at times, but I can manage. It’s healing well.”
That answer seemed to finally satisfy him. “Hm.”
Jade went back to her hot chocolate, but Ghost didn’t leave her. He could see her shivering a little bit in the cold. The tip of her nose and ears had turned rosy.
“You cold?”
“Hm? No! No, not at all. Why?"
“You're shivering. And where's your jacket? A single layer of sweater won't help with this fucking weather.”
“Well– About that. I was at the orphanage for Christmas gift trading earlier before coming here. One of the kids got… too excited and spilt apple juice all over my jacket, so I had to take it off.” She admitted.
“What, you're gonna freeze yourself to death here? It's 1 degree out.”
“I don't want to be insiiiide.” Jade whined, almost childish. A sight Ghost would never admit he found cute.
“Your survival instincts are out of the damn window. I thought you were a seasoned MI6 black agent.” Somehow he found more ways to ridicule her.
The ginger scowled, pouting her lips before standing up “…Whatever, I'm going inside”
“Fuckin’ hell– stay. Stay here. Sit back down.” Ghost’s swift hand grabbed her forearm a bit too harshly, prompting her to balance her hand as a drop of her hot chocolate spilt out to the white snow below.
“Why? You want me to freeze to death?” Regardless, she sat back down, closer to his body now.
“You're the only company I've got that isn't annoying. So stay here.” Ghost unexpectedly moved his arms to take off his black jacket, revealing his green sweater underneath, and much to Jade’s surprise, his arms loomed over her and rested the dark clothing around her shoulders. Her bewilderment failed to hide itself when his hand patted her shoulder a couple of times to set it in place. “There. Better?”
Wow. It’s… warm. And most importantly, It’s his warmth.
One of her hands left the warm mug, softly tracing her fingers along the hem of the jacket to tuck it closer to her chest. “...Better.”
Shit. Ghost didn’t know the sight of Jade beneath his jacket would create more butterflies to fly like bees inside his stomach. In an attempt to suppress it, he sighed, leaning back and closed his eyes to take a deep breath.
…before he opened his eyes, finding a mistletoe hanging right above them, placed neatly. And purposefully. It’s like a damned grenade trap. “…Fuckin’ hell…”
“STOP SWEARING!!” Jade exclaimed, annoyed at his shortage of vocabulary. “You've said those words twice in the same mi– What are you looking at…?” Jade looked at Ghost, who was leaning back while his head hung backwards on his neck.
She looked up as well, finding the mistletoe that made him swear. “…oh, blimey.” There was not a single Christmas decoration on the back side of the house but this one. Price was a person who had a high attention to detail, but Christmas decoration was not one of them. Heck, he barely decorated the house at all. That thing was hung far too strategically.
Both Ghost and Jade were thinking of the same thing.
Soap.
Ghost sighed, “Just ignore it.”
“But it's bad luck though.” Jade thoughtlessly said.
“You don't really believe that, do you.”
“Well I don't! It's hanging vegetation. Still, I'm saying it could be true.” Her hands gestured at the mistletoe above her.
“What, you want a kiss?”
The woman gasped, almost offendedly. “HUH? KISS YOU??”
“Who else is underneath this fucking mistletoe?”
She joked, trying desperately to hide her panic at the thought of kissing him. “A ghost.”
“Fucking funny. Also what's with you? It's just one kiss.”
Jade stopped speaking. Her eyes widened as she pursed her lips. “Um…. I just don't…”
Confusion fell down Ghost’s half-masked expression, quickly reading her reaction, until he got to the conclusion. “...Don't fucking tell me you haven't had your first kiss yet.”
When he saw how Jade couldn’t respond anymore, Ghost pinched his forehead.“Bloody hell... Then why did you say you want it?!”
“I NEVER SAID I WANT IT??? I just said that the bad luck thingy could be true!”
“Well fuck us for five hundred years then!”
“DAMMIT– OKAY!! KISS ME!”
Those words perplexed him, not realizing that he was practically glaring at her that his eyes might come out of its socket. The ever-present black paint around his eyes didn’t help to ease the tension either. Jade herself didn’t know which thunder slapped her that she said those words. She wasn’t the kind of person to just spout things without thinking of the consequences first.
Ghost observed Jade’s face, trying to read her expression, to see whether or not she was joking or serious. Because in the deepest part of his heart, he’d hoped that she was joking. But even deeper, he hoped that she wasn’t. “…you don't mean that.”
Jade wondered if her mouth had disconnected from her brain. What she was saying came out literally the opposite of what her instincts were. “You heard me. You can kiss me. Just a peck though.” What was she thinking? This was NOT what she wanted to say. Or was it? “How many women have you kissed?” Aaand now she’s prying onto his past? Great job, Jade.
He used to be young, that’s for sure. Despite his father and brother mocking him and his mother for it, he used to go to school and met a few women during his learning days. Only two of them, though, and that was all before he got into military. He didn’t know what commitment was back in the day, and his ‘girlfriends’ didn’t know that either. “...a few.”
“Were they experienced?”
“Probably so.”
Okay, so he had some experience. That somehow made her feel easy. “Well… I have zero experience on the act. So… be gentle, okay?”
“…Fine.“ Ghost breathed as he put down his almost-empty glass on the stone staircase behind him, finding Jade doing the same.
The coldness of the wind prickled her skin, making her realize that this was not a dream. He’s about to kiss her, and it’s from a mistletoe. Out of nowhere, she remembered the overflow of mistletoe that the orphanage received earlier. Could that be a sign? Either way, she snapped back to her current state, where Ghost was visibly looking at her lips, and that sight made her heart drum twice the speed. At this point, she might explode. “Okay. So… what do I do? Do I tilt my head a little, or do I open my lips just a little bit? Should I lean in to kiss you too? Or like–”
“Just. Stay. Still.” Ghost shut her up before she could blabber more.
“Okay okay okay”.
Jade watched Ghost secure his mask up to his nose, revealing his mouth. When she glanced at his lips, Jade could see a tinge of red on his cheek, but she could dismiss that as a reaction to the cold or from the alcohol he was drinking. When he leaned in slowly, Jade could see him so close, the closest he's ever been to her. His eyelashes were longer than she's ever realised, fluttering against his skin, the little healed scars on his face–
Jade sucked her lips into her teeth, "WAIT WAIT WAIT." Making the man flinch and pull away in confusion.
"What?! Do you wanna do this or not?!" Ghost exclaimed.
"I do, I do! It's my first time! Just–”
“I said all you need to do is stay. Still.”
“I've never done this before, literally! I'm 29 and I've never kissed someone!”
Ghost fell silent as Jade hid her face on her palm.
“…I have never fallen for anyone before.” She confessed. “I wanted my first kiss to be with the one and only, and now… “ Her hands wildly gestured to the mistletoe above them, “someone happened to put a mistletoe right above us.”
Jade was a lot of things. A formidable fighter, a dependable ally, a brave operator who’d jump from a cliff with you, a spawn of the devil herself when she does her thing. However, at that moment, Ghost didn’t see any of those at all. All she saw was a vulnerable woman, curled up in a ball because she couldn’t fathom the concept of a single kiss.
After a few moments of him letting her collect her thoughts, Ghost muttered, “…Jade, if you're not ready, then we can just pretend that it doesn't exist. You don't have to.”
“You know what?” She tapped both of her knees with a considerable force, like she just made up her mind about something. “I gotta start somewhere right? Besides, when I finally kiss my man, I need to work on my kissing game.”
Ghost couldn’t help the scoff out his mouth. And… ‘her man’, huh? That could be a dream. “'Kissing game'?”
“Yes! Gotta…know what it feels like, at least?”
Ghost observed her expressions yet again. The woman in front of her was looking at him like she’s about to surrender her life to his hands. What, was he about to shoot an apple above her head? To him this was just a kiss after all.
Or was it?
Jade wasn’t his girlfriends during his younger days. She’s an extraordinary woman like no other.
“…Okay. Look. We're gonna do this slowly. I will do all the work while you can just stay there. Does that work with you?” Ghost started, looking at Jade in the eyes.
She put on the bravest face she could muster up and proceeded with a nod.
“Say it.” The deep timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine, because of course, it wasn’t enough for him.
“Okay, Ghost.”
“Good. Close your eyes, Jade. Just calm down. Trust me.
As she closed her eyes, she breathed the cold winter air deeply before letting them out. Now that her vision was no more, her other senses had heightened. The sharp cold air stabbing her skin, the smell of hot cocoa on her hands, the faint scent of something that could only come from Ghost's jacket wrapped around her shoulders.
For a good amount of time, she didn't feel anything other than her surroundings. Jade was expecting something on her lips. Anything from the man that was sitting right in front of her, but none came. She was about to open her eyes and call his name, until something touched her chin, lightly lifting her head to face upwards. And just then, Jade finally felt a soft, tender kiss on her forehead. His lips stayed there only for a second before they parted with her skin, yet it felt like she longed for it for more than eternity. No one has ever laid their lips on her skin before. No one.
What she was expecting was something on her lips, not her forehead, so when Jade was about to open her eyelids, again, he stopped her by putting his fingers on her left cheek, tenderly sliding them from her rosy cheek to the back of her ear, taking the stray strands of her red hair with them. The hands that killed, that murdered many so more could live, were gingerly touching her face with an unexpected amount of softness. She didn’t know his hands were capable of doing such delicate movements, and neither did he.
Before she could register what was happening, she felt him getting close again, and for the second time, her expectation betrayed her when Ghost kissed her cheek, just right under her eye. The kiss lasted longer than the one on her forehead, yet Jade couldn’t find any reason to complain. If anything, she wanted his lips to stay on her cheek longer than that. To feel him closer, to feel him more.
Ghost’s fingers moved on backwards from behind her ear, going through the wilds of her undone hair and finding its place on the back of her head. Heart racing, Jade was expecting another kiss that was not in the designated place. However, when his deep, raspy voice softly said to her, “I’m going to kiss you now.”, she found herself giddy with her eyes closed. Part of her wanted to open her eyes and see what was going on right in front of her, but the other part stood strong against it, not wanting to ruin the moment.
So when she felt him closing in, Jade gave all control over to him. She relaxed herself, letting Ghost gently pull her head closer to his, to at last, close the distance between their lips.
It was the softest, slowest kiss possible, filled with unsureness on her part, yet with a sense of certainty and confidence from him, and because of that, Jade let him do his part, leading the kiss to the point that it was enjoyable and… lovely.
The kiss lasted for only a mere 5 seconds at most, but it felt like hours. Ghost reluctantly pulled back and saw that Jade had already opened her green eyes. Her face was painted with shyness and shock, a pleasant one, as she saw that Ghost had removed his mask entirely, his face right in front of hers, his brown hair still a bit dishevelled from removing his balaclava.
Jade was a heavily trained warrior and an exceptionally skilled individual who stayed calm in times of distress and emergency on the battlefield, a force to be reckoned with, and could be an absolute menace when she wanted to be. Now, seeing the same woman like this – dazed, wide-eyed, a blushing mess, and taken aback by a simple kiss – The sight made him smile softly.
If only she'd known how long he'd wanted to do that to her.
Palm still resting on the side of her neck, he asked her, “How was that for a first time?”
Jade looked like a robot losing its ability to function. There were no words in her brain to respond to his question. Scratch that. It looked like she didn’t even register what his question was.
Seeing her so flabbergasted made him let out a deep chuckle. “Midget. I’m talking to you.”
That bastardized nickname snapped her out of her thoughts, making her blink rapidly, seemingly trying to sort her jumbled brain. Jade looked at the man who just claimed her first kiss right in his dark, brown eyes.
He’s still right in front of her, face looking at her delightfully with a sweet smile, not like the usual dark, ready-to-kill gaze. It’s almost like looking at a different person entirely.
“Uh… Umm–” Jade couldn’t form words.
Another chuckle, “You okay?”
"...this is a weird request, but" A pause, "Can you… do that again?"
Never in a thousand lifetimes, he would ever expect that answer from her. "...You want me to kiss you again?"
"Yeah. Can you do that?" She spoke with a low voice. "Please?"
His eyes opened wide at her request. Confused, but amazed at the same time. Did that request mean she liked it? Her expressions said that she did, though. Or did she just want to make sure? Nevertheless, Ghost decided to oblige and leaned in again to kiss her.
Jade closed her eyes again and felt his lips against hers for the second time that night. His kiss was as soft and as tender as the first time. This one, though, she decided to take in the feeling of his rough lips, the way he tilted his head to fit hers, the way his large hand lightly pulled her in and softly kissed her. All the sensations she felt from his actions became ecstasy.
Her hands lifted their way up to find Ghost's cheeks. Jade could swear she heard a small gasp from the man. Fingers gliding along the side of his face, she could feel his stubbles grazing her skin. It was such a surreal sensation, to think that this is the face of the man who got branded as a ghost, a myth, who wears the mask to hide who he is. Right now, she's having her palm on the skin of his face, and he allowed her to.
No one had touched the skin on his face in years. No one ever managed to get their hands on his face save for enemies who sought to kill him and punched his mask before meeting their demise with his knife. The only form of touch he remembered was of his father, who was all but loving.
With the tip of her thumb, Jade traced the scars on his face. Her warm hands instantly built a gentle fire on his skin. The feeling of such a tender touch was almost like meeting a stranger to him. But if it's a stranger, why did he find himself missing it so much? Why did he yearn for it so? Her touch ignited a warmth that he never knew he needed.
At that time, the woman he was kissing felt more like home than anything and anyone ever did. He felt like he could just melt right there and then. Here Ghost thought that he was the one kissing her, but now it was like she was the one casting some sort of magic spell on him.
Soon, their hands moved, Jade’s hands left his cheeks and found his wrist who was holding the back of her head. He almost forgot the feeling of someone’s hand on his own, but before he knew it, he felt her other hand grasping his sweater, right above his heart, crumpling the cloth. As they went on, he couldn’t just stay still anymore. Ghost’s other hand also found its way to her back, lightly pressing on her. He wanted her closer, he needed her close.
Ghost snapped himself out of his thoughts and pulled back, catching Jade off guard.
The both of them looked into each other's eyes as they caught their breaths, not noticing that they'd been kissing for the last minute. Faces extremely red from racing hearts and rushing blood, clouds of cold air escaping their mouth from the cold, for a moment they thought they knew this was just because of a single mistletoe, yet deep down, they knew this was something more.
Not hearing anything from one another, Ghost took his hand back from her neck and waist as Jade parted her hands from him to her lips with her hands.
The man spoke first, "You need more?"
"Yes– I mean– No! That was enough." Words stumbled their way out of her mouth. "Uh… So… that happened. I just had my first kiss."
Ghost couldn't help the smile, "I just stole your first kiss."
"No. You didn't steal it." She denied, "If anything, I'm glad you are my first kiss."
Hearing those words, Ghost could feel his heart racing again, the world suddenly felt warmer.
"I'm sorry you have to kiss me, though. You've always hated me." Jade continued with a laugh.
"Who says I hate you?"
That made her look at him, and what she saw was the most gentle face she'd ever seen him. Again, she didn't know he was capable of that expression. "If I hated you, I wouldn't ask you to stay, wouldn't I?"
That's a true statement. "You're right. So we're past the "stay away from me" phase now?"
"Our first meeting was in Verdansk. Situation was out of control and we were off to a bad start." He explained, "And we just kissed. We're way past that now."
Smiling, Jade pursed her lips before saying, "So… are we still friends?"
"Friends?" He glanced at her.
"Yep."
"Friends then." Confirmed Ghost.
"Who just kissed each other."
"Because someone hung a fucking mistletoe on the back porch." He retorted while gesturing to the decoration above them.
The woman laughed out loud before looking at the man, who was also having a chuckle of his own.
That's the first time she heard him – saw him – this happy. Had he always been this… handsome? She'd only looked at his face once before, which was when he revealed himself to the team in the Los Vaqueros safehouse in Las Almas, and then, never again.
But if this was what Jade could see beneath the mask – his happy face, the crows feet on the corners of his eyes, the corners of his lips turning upwards, and the fact that she just learned that he had shallow dimples when smiling – then she wished the mask could just disappear. Forever.
Because after this… he would put on that mask again.
This might be the last time she saw him without the mask.
When would she see him without it again?
Out of nowhere, some unexplainable force of will inside her made Jade lean in and left a peck on Ghost's cheek.
The SAS lieutenant instantly looked at the woman, flabbergasted.
Jade herself gasped loudly, covering her face in disbelief of her own action. She couldn't see it, but in his eyes, her face was as red as her hair.
Why did she do that? What made her do that?!
They swore it was the most deafening silence in their lives. Both of them stayed like that for a good 10 seconds, seemingly trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened.
"Oh my God… OH MY GOD. I’M SORRY. I’M SORRY!” Jade uttered in absolute panic.
Ghost stayed still in silence, his eyes wide open glaring at hers.
Oh shit. Shit shit shit. He’s mad. HE’S MAD.
“It– It's freezing! I'm going inside!" Jade scrambled to stand up, taking the cocoa mug with her and went to the doorway, before remembering that she still had Ghost's jacket on her shoulder.
"Ja- Lottie! Wait–" He was about to stand up to follow her, but his words got cut by his jacket flying straight to his face. When he removed the clothing, she'd already disappeared into the merry party inside.
Touching the part where Jade kissed him, Ghost slowly stared back at the falling snow in front of the porch. He hadn't worn his jacket yet, and somehow he didn't feel cold at all.
It's so hot.
It's too hot.
He buried his face in his palms, before running them through his brown hair. She didn't have to do that, didn't she? There was a mistletoe, they kissed because of it, and that was it, right?
Then what was that peck for? There wasn't any obligation involved that required her to kiss him again.
Ghost could feel his heart pumping blood faster than it ever did, faster than when he was on the battlefield, faster than when he ran laps every day. Butterflies were rushing deep inside his stomach, flying all around his insides like it just wanted to break out of his body.
He didn't know why, but if the kiss and her touch were a gentle fire that built slowly, that little peck felt like he just got struck by a damn thunder.
Violently.
And yet, he was so happy about that little peck - weirdly more so than the kiss - Too fucking happy.
Ghost grasped the sweater right above his heart before muttering to himself,
"Fuckin’ hell…"
Jade didn't melt his cold heart.
She set it on fire.
—
Price couldn’t believe the situation he was in.
His sergeants, Kyle and Soap, along with Ladybug, leaning on the back door of his house, looking at Ghost and Jade kissing at his back porch. Fucking spectacular.
“See, Gaz?! I told you–”
“SHUT UP Mate they’re gonna hear your loud arse.” Gaz nudged the drunken Scot’s rib to silence him.
Nevertheless, the plan worked. Gaz and Ladybug was the provider of the decorations since Price didn’t have any Christmas Decorations in this house in London. When Soap arrived with a mischievous look on his face and told the couple about “Operation Red Skull”, they were automatically IN on it.
And who would’ve fucking guessed? They made his house a home ground for matchmaking, and they succeeded. They weren’t his best subordinates for nothing after all.
Suddenly, Price heard a loud gasp from the three in front of him. His captain persona suddenly kicked in and stepped forward, shoving both of his sergeants to see the situation clearly.
There they saw Jade and Ghost, looking at each other, with Jade’s face looking like she was absolutely shocked.
“Oh my God… did she just sneak another kiss to him?!” Ladybug exclaimed with a whispering voice.
“FUCK! I didn’t have a clear visual.” Gaz followed.
“I think it was just a peck to his cheek??” Soap added.
“Everyone fall back!” Price commanded, and just like muscle memory, they all scrambled back to the living room, taking their respective deck of poker cards and sat around the messy table to pretend like they were still playing.
Soon after, Jade herself opened the back door with a face that none of them had ever seen before – a combination of shock and embarrassment.
“Jade? You okay?” Lady twisted her body to see Jade.
The former MI6 nodded uncontrollably like a shaking head doll. “Huh? Yeah. Yeah yeah, I’m okay.”
Gaz and Soap were covering their mouths with their deck of cards, unable to hide their smiles. It looked like they were about to break into a massive laughter any second now.
What broke it was Captain Price, who suddenly asked Jade,
“Really? What’s that black spot on your nose, then?”
---
YEEEHHEHEEHEHHHEHE. Sorry for the long wait! Thank you for reading! Hope y'all enjoyed it! (❁´◡`❁)
Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated <3
You’re losing me | Dr. Robby
summary: he doesn’t notice how his behavior in The Pitt is making you fall from his arms, until the consequences of his actions catch up with him.
warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, angst with a happy ending, fluff, Robby doesn’t even realize he’s being a dick until it’s a tad bit too late, fem!reader, resident!reader, Abbot!reader (yes she is Jack’s younger sister), age gap (she’s late 20s/early 30s & Robby early 50s), p in v sex, lots of praise, mentions of blood & trauma (it’s The Pitt soooo), English isn’t my first language<3
word count: 9.8k+
an: hiiii so this is my first fic in this fandom hopefully you guys like this!!! More fics of our gorgeous Dr. Daddy and his bestie our other Dr. Daddy will be coming your way<333
Reblogs & comments are always appreciated!💕✨
You hate the quiet days of ER, as peaceful as it can get through. You crave the adrenaline rush you get from a trauma running through the doors, half bloody and half dead, but today even those cases can’t make your blood pressure as high as the scene in front of you does.
Collins chuckles at something Robby says, snorting and putting her hand up in surrender, patting his biceps before she leaves him alone. And him? He smiles back, his wrinkles around his eye deepening as his eyes follow her.
He is doing exactly what he labeled as ‘unprofessional’ behind closed doors with her, making you mad at him. He told you you must keep your relationship a secret or it would turn into The Pitt’s hottest gossip, and he didn’t want that, and given how most of the nurses and doctors know about his past relationship with Collins, it upsets you beyond belief.
You took this residency program to be with your brother and Robby, and also to get a steady job in the same hospital. Jack helped you tremendously with your transfer, making sure everything was perfect for you to take the morning shifts with your boyfriend, all so you could spend time with him more often.
But now, you are rethinking your decision to the point of no return. It has been months since you started your shifts here, and from the very beginning, Robby treated you like shit. Always hard on you, always criticizing your diagnosis, always on your back with a harsh comment.
You played it off like everyone else did, making sure to nod and say ‘yes, sir’ and move towards the next patient. But every word stung, and when you would tell him at night when you cuddled in his bed, he would brush it off and act like nothing happened.
It was fine at first, or at least you tried to deny what it truly was, but now, seeing him being so lighthearted with everyone in a slow shift while he barks orders at you left and right tears your heart into pieces, and worse, the smiles are always thrown in the direction of every doctor and nurse but you.
You look away as best as you can, trying to find a good case as you lean on Robby’s workstation, tapping your fingers in a rhythm as you scan the trauma board, biting your lip as you hear his footsteps approaching.
“Dr. Abbot,” he says, standing behind you while he looks between you and the board, “What are you looking for?”
“Something to take the edge off,” you don’t mean to sound snappy, but the words come out harsher than intended, and you take a deep breath because with the uncomfortable silence between the two of you, you are sure he has raised an eyebrow at you, waiting to come up with a snarky comment, “I’ll take the biker, Santos is with me.”
“Good,” he nods, pushing his fists into his pockets, but you don’t bother yourself to even glance at him, pushing past him as you drop your stethoscope around your neck, calling for Santos to follow you to the trauma bay.
You do not turn around to see Robby’s reaction; he is probably stunned by the way you ignored him. You have never done that despite how he treats you; it just never settled right inside you to be mean to him, but that was enough to set your mood off for the rest of the shift.
“Alright, what do we have here?” One question, and you get bombarded with answers, and you get your hands on the patient to stabilize him. Santos answers your questions and helps you with everything you might need.
You are light on your feet, keeping everyone in check in the trauma room to make sure the best treatment is given to the poor man who had crashed his bike. Santos listens closely, being snarky and witty about her comebacks, but helps you as best as she can, nonetheless.
“How’s the patient?” You watch as Santos starts to intubate the biker, her hands slightly shaking, ignoring Robby’s presence as he gloves in and moves next to stand next to you, listening to the nurses update him on the patient’s status.
“I’m in!” Santos beams, looking up at you, and you smile back, giving her a quick thumbs up before you turn around, suddenly chest to chest with Robby.
He looks down at you, a silent question hanging in the air between you as he keeps staring back, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. You take a deep breath in response, taking off your gloves roughly, making a loud smacking sound of plastic echo in the trauma room.
“He’s stable and ready to go to the OR,” you fist the gloves in a ball, pulling the white gown off in a hurry, taking a step around Robby to avoid his burning stare, “Santos helped a lot.”
“You called the shots without telling me first.” It’s not a question; it is a statement, and he does not look happy at all. “You are still a resident, you have two more years to go! Why are you being so reckless?”
“The patient was dying, Dr. Robby, I had to do what was necessary—“
“You were unsupervised—“
“She wasn’t,” Collins steps into the room, looks between the two doctors with a small smile, pointing at Santos, who stands awkwardly next to Collins, pouting slightly and rocking on the balls of her feet, “Dr. Santos came to me and told me about this case.”
You gape at her, fighting off a small grateful smile before feeling your heart thumping in your ribcage as if it’s ready to jump out; you are angry at him, furious even, and Robby is just as hot-headed if not more. You can see the dark glare in his eyes as he looks between Collins and you, finally settling them on you.
“Dr. Collins is also a resident, you must consult an Attending. Don’t ever do that again,” he whips out his own gloves, his usual warm brown eyes hold nothing but anger, “You are lucky he is stable.”
“I am not lucky, Dr. Robby.” You take another step closer, feeling his hot breath fanning against your face, “I am a good doctor, hell, even a great doctor. I can do it on my own.”
“Trauma coming through in two minutes! Drowning victim!” Dana’s shout stops Robby from firing back a response to you.
“We’re not done yet,” he points his finger at you, scoffing when you look up, trying your best not to break down in front of everyone. With that, Robby jogs toward the gurney Langdon is pulling into another trauma room, leaving you, Santos, and Collins alone.
“Walk with me, Dr. Abbot?” Collins smiles, muttering to Santos to go find another patient before she waits for you to join her at the door, watching you closely as you slam your gloves and gown into the trash, using the sanitizer machine on the wall before you give her a quick smile.
“Sure.”
You both walk to the nurse station, standing shoulder to shoulder while you look at the trauma board. You are nervous; how can you not be? Collins is Robby’s ex. She is gorgeous, intelligent, and a very talented doctor. But what is making you shake slightly is how she stepped in to save you from your boyfriend’s scolding.
“Thank you…” You mumble quietly, or as quietly as you can in a chaotic ER, giving her a grateful yet awkward smile as well.
“Don’t worry about it,” she sighs, pushing her hands into the pockets of her jacket, shrugging before she continues, “I’ve been in your shoes a few years ago. It’s exhausting.”
“What?” You ask, confused and dumbfounded, your lips parting in surprise when she side eyes you playfully, shaking her head and laughing slowly, “What do you mean? What are you laughing at, Dr. Collins?”
“You guy are not as subtle as you think you are,” she sighs, wrapping her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her side as she looks back at the board, squeezing your shoulder, “I can see how you look at him, I used to do the same, having high hopes that one day he’ll quit being harsh on me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you try to play it off cool, acting as if you have no idea what she is saying, but Collins sees straight through your lie, raising her eyebrows at you with boredom. You sigh, dropping your head on her shoulder, “Fine! Yes, he’s my boyfriend, or at least I thought he was. It is… tiresome to deal with his mean words every day.”
“He’s been riding you for so long,” she sighs too, patting your arm gently, “It’s no excuse, but… he thinks if he pushes you away, he can maintain his professional standards or whatever he calls them. He’s done it before, and he’s doing it again.”
“I know what he is trying to do,” you shake your head, exhaling shakily, “He doesn’t want anyone to find out he’s dating his resident, and Jack Abbot’s younger sister, so he goes on a spiral to be mean to me and put a distance between us.”
“Well, he’s doing a poor job at both,” she snorts, letting go of you to reach for an iPad, going through different cases to choose one for you. “He is an idiot, you just have to learn to live with it if you wanna work here.”
“Sometimes I think he hates me.”
“Hey, no—“
“What are you two up to?” Dana interrupts Heather, leaning on the station behind her as she looks between the two of you, “What has he done this time?”
“He’s being unreasonable to Dr. Abbot.”
“Not unreasonable, but… just how an attending with a ‘Robinavitch’ last name would be,” you try to crack a joke, but Dana winces and gives you a sympathetic look.
“C’mon, I’ve known him more than your experiences combined. He is being a dick to you because he is scared, give him hell for it, alright? Now go play doctors until I knock some sense into your loverboy.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Collins says, pointing at one of the trauma rooms, “South fourteen, Twenty-four years old male with a twisted ankle — probably sprained. Take this, Dr. Abbot, it’ll give you a break until you are well enough to come back.”
“Thank you,” you say, grabbing the iPad from her hands, nodding as you walk towards the patient’s room, head swirling with different thoughts about what those two women just told you.
You are aware of what Robby is doing, or at least you think you do. It makes sense to some extent; he is a professional man, a doctor who runs The Pitt and barely survives every day, and yet, he gives you the worst treatment out of everyone because he doesn’t want to reveal your relationship to the world.
And it breaks your heart to tolerate his mean words and being the punching bag to his sour moods, receiving all the blows just because you are in arm’s reach — what makes it worse is that he does not even realize how bad his words are, and when you confront him at night after his long hot shower, he only shrugs and tells you if Dana found out about you, then everyone can.
Excuse after excuse.
You roll your shoulders back, knocking on the door as you enter the trauma room, finding Princess going through the patient’s file and waiting for you to join them.
“Good morning, I’m Dr. Abbot!” You smile and get to work, sitting on the chair next to the bed as you examine the guy’s ankle, looking for inflammation and bruising as you try to distract him from the pain.
“Well, you’re lucky it’s not broken,” you nod, taking your gloves off before turning toward Princess, “Send him to radiology to get an X-ray, I’m sure it’s only a sprain, but let’s take a look anyway.”
“Dr. Abbot!” Mel barges inside the room, panting slightly as she looks at you with wide eyes, “New patient! Forty-five-year-old female with a head concussion and a broken stick in her upper arm. She fell on the fence while she was trying to clean the windows of her house.”
“Let’s go,” you stand up, dropping the gloves you used on the previous patient into the bin, sanitizing your hands before running towards the gurney, finding Mohan and Robby discussing different procedures, “How is she?”
“Pupils dilated, unresponsive—“ you try to focus on what Samira is saying, you are, but Robby’s gaze moves from the patient to you, watching you closely as you and Mohan start to stabilize the patient, but it is awfully hard to not get distracted with how intense his presence is.
“She’s having a heart attack—“ you rush to lower the back of the bed, flattening the patient before scissoring her dress, baring her chest to Mel to put the pads on, Mohan increasing the voltage to two hundred, waiting for everyone to step back, “Clear!”
The patient does not respond to the shock. Mohan and Robby work together to keep her blood pressure high, but all of a sudden, the lines of the monitor go flat, and the beeping stops.
“Asystolic…” Mel whispers, standing next to you as Mohan takes off the pads, waiting for her Attending’s orders.
“Start compressions!”
You put one knee on the bed, interlocking your fingers before starting to push on the patient’s chest, huffing with each move as everyone waits in the room with bated breath.
“Hold compressions,” Robby tells you, waiting to see if the heart restarts, but when he sees the flat line again, he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face, “Push an epi and resume compressions again.”
You begin to push down on her chest, body, and shoulders, moving with each press, trying to keep your breathing in check while you look at Robby to say something, anything.
But the line falls flat again after you stop, but before you can bend down to restart CPR, Robby’s voice stops you, “She’s dead,” he announces, looking down at his watch before he exhales deeply, “16:38…”
You step down from the bed, throwing your head back with your hands on your hips, shaking your head as you silently mourn the loss of your patient.
“Doctor Abbot, a word?”
Your fingers tighten at your hips, and when you look back at him, you find him already leaving towards the break room, not even waiting for you to follow him. With a scoff, you move behind him, ignoring Mel and Samira’s confused stares.
“What is it—“
“What was that?” He stops as soon as you both are in the break room, pressing his lips into a thin line as he intertwines his fingers behind his neck, letting out a humourless chuckle.
“What was what, Robby? I did what you told me—“ you try to answer as best as possible, but when he turns around, his chocolate eyes overflowing with disbelief.
“Who does a compression like that? They were too weak, not deep enough, and they were not helping! Just a waste of time on a patient we could have saved—“
“Don’t you fucking dare!” You raise your voice, pointing to his chest before fisting your hands and lock your hands next to your body, “They were fine, just as they should have been! Don’t put this loss on me, she had a head concussion and god knows how many wood chips in her bloodstream. We didn’t even get to check that—“
“You are messing up real bad today.”
“This case was supervised by you, Doctor Robinavitch,” you spit the words out, gone the calm girl who would brush his horrible words off, now replaced with a furious woman, “How hypocritical of you to say belittling isn’t a good way of teaching and yet, you are insulting and belittling me, your girlfriend, Robby!”
“This is my workplace, I am your Attending, not your goddamn boyfriend,” he replies, his tone dangerously low, and for the first time, he seems to be taken back by his own outburst, dropping his head as he takes a long breath.
“Fine,” your lips quiver, voice breaking slightly, which makes Robby’s head snap upwards and his eyes widen as he realizes what unbelievable damage he has done, “I’ll leave you to it then.”
“Wait, honey—“
“Don’t.”
With one last glance, you march out of the room toward the nurse’s station, looking for Dana to see if you can clock out earlier. You cannot stay in this place any longer, it is eating you alive and tearing your sanity apart.
“Have you seen Dana?” As soon as you see her walking with Collins, you approach her with teary eyes, nails digging harshly into your palms, “Dana, I need out.”
“What happened to you, kid?” She asks, putting her hands on your shoulders, gently rubbing your arms up and down, “Come on, let’s get you some air.”
Heather only smiles and reaches to pat your back, shaking her head as she watches Dana guide you towards the ambulance bay, turning to glare at Robby, who just stepped out of the break room.
You don’t have the strength to keep your tears from falling as soon as Dana leads you out. You cry softly, wiping the tears as they stream down your cheeks, melting into Dana’s motherly embrace.
“I’m sorry—“
“Shh, you’re okay, kid,” she wraps her arms around you tightly, holding your face to her shoulder as you cry out, “I’m gonna kick his ass, don’t worry.”
You cackle a little, squeezing her before letting go, allowing her to cup your face in her hands, giving you a soft, defeated look before she starts talking.
“You are a great doctor, alright? One of our best residents, don’t let a man fuck it up,” she holds your head straight, forcing you to open your eyes and look at her, “He is a dick, I know that—“
“There’s a but coming and I don’t like it.” You try to move away from her, but she keeps your head locked in place, her gaze turning serious.
“But…” you sigh, rolling your eyes at her, but she only cracks a smile and continues, “He is lost. It’s been so long since he has felt like this. The last time was with Heather, and let me tell you it was just as bad in the hospital.”
“So he treats his girlfriend like shit until she gives up?” Your voice shakes again, finally freeing yourself from her grip, pacing in the ambulance bay, “I hate how he says to remain professional, yet all he does is complain and belittle me for my medical decisions and when I bring it up he says it’s all empty fucking words and he doesn’t mean it!”
“He doesn’t mean any of it, I’m sure—“
“I’m done, Dana,” you sniff, wiping your tears with the back of your hand, looking at her with eyes full of sorrow. “I can’t take it anymore.”
“Look at me,” she raises your head with a finger under your chin, her tone dead serious, “I know it must be exhausting, but do you want to know what it is that makes the thing you have so special and worth the effort?”
“What?”
“He is in love with you,” she smiles, bringing you into her arms again, rocking you back and forth as you smell her hospital-induced scent, “I have never seen him like this.”
“It doesn’t make it okay for him to insult me… he said,” you hiccup on your sob, “He said that when we are here he isn’t my ‘goddamn boyfriend’ and… he said it like the word repulsed him.”
“He’s such an idiot,” she groans, watching in confusion as you reach for your phone, pulling it out before you call someone, “What are you doing?”
“I’m calling Jack.”
“No, ah uh, nope,” she shakes her head, giving you a disapproving look, but she knows how hard Robby’s words must be, and they definitely have taken a toll on you and your relationship. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, kid.”
“Too late for that,” you sigh, tapping your feet on the ground as you wait for your brother to answer, “Jack, answer the fucking phone.”
“Hmm?”
“Good afternoon, sleepyhead,” you scoff, throwing your hand up when he groans at your voice. “Be at least a bit excited to hear my voice, Jack.”
“The day I do that you’ll bury me six feet deep,” Jack says on the other side of the phone, voice raspy from the deep sleep he must have had, “Usually texting me fills the hole in your miserable life, sister, how bad is it this time that you needed to call?”
“I…” you try to say it, you really do, but the words get stuck inside your throat, a slow whine breaks past your lips, alerting your brother on the phone.
“Hey, hey! What’s up?” His usual sarcastic demeanor fades away, his voice shifting into unimaginable concern, “Talk to me, kid. Are you okay?”
“I…” you suck in a sharp breath, clearing your throat as you look at Dana smoking a cigarette next to you, “No, I’m not.”
“Are you physically hurt? Do I need to come? What the fuck’s happened, kiddo?” You can hear him shuffle around, probably putting on his pants to bolt through the door and get himself to the hospital.
“No and yes,” you sit on the edge of the pavement, “I think I wanna move back in with you—“
“What the fuck?” He says with so much love, you nearly melt at the spot, “What happened? Did he do something? Do I need to break his nose?”
“You love him more than you love me, so it doesn’t work like that,” you chuckle, sighing softly as you listen to him grumble and put his prosthetic leg on, “But… yeah, I can’t handle it anymore, I think I’ll move back in with you if you’re okay with it.”
“Of course, kid, whatever you want,” you hear him zip up his jacket, walking towards the door of his apartment to come and get you. “Wanna tell me what happened?”
“He’s so mean to me on our shifts, I can’t bear to be the only person he speaks to like that. It’s affecting my practices and my fucking sanity,” you drop your head between your arms, back hunching uncomfortably, “He acts more lovingly with Collins than he does with me and it upsets me so much.”
“Listen up,” he locks the door and walks to the elevator, “He is an ass for whatever reason he must have, but I know you, and I know him. You don’t deserve to be the one on whom he takes out his frustration, and I know you’ve tried to talk it out with him, but he’s probably too far into his head to listen to the voice of reason. I’m gonna come and get you so we can talk.”
“Okay, call me when you get here, I’m gonna go see a few patients before I clock out, love you.”
“Love you, too, kiddo. Stay away from him.”
“Will do my best,” you say and hang up, shrugging when Dana gives you her significant look, “What now?”
“Nothing, just you’re too sweet and caring. Robby better get his head outta the water and see what he’s taking for granted.”
You chuckle, shoving your phone back into your pocket, stretching your arms before getting ready to get back into the hellhole you chose to spend the rest of your residency in, Dana following you after she puts out her cigarette with the tip of her sneakers.
“Let’s hope it’s not too late for that.”
•••••
You barely manage to handle a few patients for the next half hour without running into Robby, stabling, and helping with the triage from time to time until Jack gets here to pick you up.
“I’m gonna go…” You announce to Dana and Collins, sitting down to finish one last report and head out, “I… I think I might take night shifts from now on.”
“What?”
“C’mon, no, that’s a stretch—“ Heather says, sitting down on the rolling chair and moving it to sit next to you, “We need you here. You’re an amazing doctor, besides every shift needs an Abbot at most.”
“Yeah, well, the whole point of getting into the morning shifts was to learn from and spend time with Robby. Now that went down the fucking drain,” you look at Heather, your tone clipped and exhausted, “He is throwing a year and half relationship away for… whatever reasons. I don’t have to tolerate it anymore.”
“Please, reconsider this,” Dana jumps in, leaning over the station, “Go for now, take tomorrow off, and talk with Jack.”
“Will do— and my job’s done here! I’ll see you when I take the night shifts from you,” You smile, hugging both of them quickly before you go to the lockers, grabbing your belongings before you reply to Jack’s ‘I’m here, knucklehead’ with a quick thanks.
You don’t look behind you as you bolt to the exit of the ED, not hearing Robby’s footsteps following you as you make your way to the park in front of the hospital, seeing Jack’s truck waiting for you.
“Wait—“
You don’t. You can’t. If you stay one more minute here, you will lose your mind. You pick up your pace, ignoring the calls of your name as you walk faster, sighing in relief when Jack steps down from his truck, but as soon as you reach him, Robby grabs your arm, not hard enough to hurt you but enough to ground you.
“Where are you going?” He asks, his eyes wide in anticipation, chest heaving rapidly, as if he is imagining all these, “Your shift isn’t over yet…?”
“I can’t continue working on a shift that my Attending has no respect for me,” you turn around, looking at him dead in the eyes but the tears betray you sooner than you expected, “I have already told Jack I’ll switch to night shifts with him and he said he’ll sign it off for me—“
“I did?” Jack whispers, raising his eyebrow at you as he glances between you and Robby.
“Don’t do this, darling, look at me—“ Robby cups your cheeks in his hands, wiping your tears with his thumb, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know—“
“I need time! You clearly don’t like me enough to be a decent human being to me on our shifts! I chose to stay with you, to learn from you and be with you during the hard days but you are fucking unbelievable!”
“Alright, alright,” Jack interrupts when he sees Robby’s glassy eyes, and it is only a matter of time he will breakdown in front of you — something that has never happened before — so he puts his hand on Robby’s back, “I’ll take her home for now, brother. Both of you need some time away from each other.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then…” Robby replies hopefully, gently stroking your arm as he stares into your eyes, waiting for any sign of forgiveness, but when he sees none, he nods and steps away.
You miss the warmth of his grip immediately, but the ache in your chest is far too great to push everything aside and cave in. You need this time off, you must think and come up with a solution. Perhaps the night shift might help you take your mind off him.
“I’m off tomorrow,” you reply, wiping the tear that falls on your cheek quickly, turning your back to the men who are looking at you attentively, “I just need some space.”
“Okay…”
“Alright,” Jack hugs Robby, patting his back, “I think you fucked up big time, brother. Let me talk to her and see what happens, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Robby nods, head hanging low as he watches you get inside the truck, sighing deeply before he says his goodbye to Jack and leaves, running a hand through his hair while he walks away.
“Talk, kid,” Jack starts the truck, waiting for you to say something, anything, but you only stifle your sobs and look down at your hands, squeezing your eyes shut, “Only the senior Abbot gets to be the traumatized sad one. So… “
“He is… a lot, but I thought I could handle it,” you wipe the tears, resting your elbow on the window’s edge, watching how Jack starts turning the wheel and drives the car out of the parking, “Hell, I was handling it, but I didn’t know he would turn into such a short tempered and spiteful person only towards me. He even…” you choke on your sob before you continue, “He even treats Gloria better than me, can you imagine it? He criticizes every diagnosis I make, every order I give, every single pill I prescribe, but it’s just me, his girlfriend…”
“I’m sorry,” Jack sighs, stopping the car when the light turns red, reaching to hold your hand, his hazel eyes finding your teary ones. He shakes his head slightly, his heart clenching at the sight of you tittering at the edge of a breakdown before he pulls you closer, resting your head on his shoulder, kissing your forehead as the two of you wait for the light to turn green, “He is being a dick to you because he is scared… he did the same thing to Collins but… It’s pretty different this time. I know it, I can see it, he is afraid of losing you more than losing himself.”
“It doesn’t make sense!” You hiccup, tears spilling from your eyes, “Can’t he see that being so-so harsh on me leads to exactly what he fears? He is losing me, Jack, and I hate it. I don’t want him to lose me, but every day I spend in the ER with him, I feel him slipping away from my fingers slowly. I don’t wanna lose him either.”
Jack keeps quiet, kissing the crown of your head once or twice as he starts driving again, letting you tell him everything, opening your heart to him.
“I saw how he was with Heather years ago before I even began to like him,” you say, no longer crying, just voicing your feelings in a numb tone while your heart aches for some sort of relief, “And I thought we were different, I thought he changed, but… maybe there is no hope for us either.”
“He loves you,” Jack replies, “He loved Heather too, but… he is in love this time.”
“How are you so sure?” You ask, straightening your back as you look at his side profile, watching how a small smile takes over his face.
“I know him better than you do, kid.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” you scoff playfully, “My brother knows my boyfriend better than I. Are you sure he’s not cheating on me with you?”
“Please, I’ll never lower my standards to Robby.” he winks at you when you snort, “You bet no one wants him, he’s all yours.”
“Well, I’m not really sure about that anymore,” you shrug, “I don’t think he’s even mine anymore… and mind you, I always wanted my partner to be like you, so take it as an insult with a grain of salt, asshole.”
“You wound me,” Jack chuckles, glancing at your soft, unsure smile, “on the night shift thing… Are you sure you want me to be your Attending? I can be worse than him.”
“I’m used to your horrible attitude, and besides, we don’t have sex, so your chances of hurting me are half as likely.”
“I’m too old to be the victim of your incest jokes,” he reaches for the remote to open the door to the apartment’s parking lot, “And I do have sex, but unlike you, I don’t like shoving it in my sister’s face.”
“I never did that!” You laugh, nudging his side with your elbow when he safely parks the car, “I’m just saying I don’t take your insults as my Attending seriously because we’re blood related and I know what goes through your head.”
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Jack sighs, rubbing a palm over his face, “Not maybe, definitely. He can’t say what goes through his head and… it bottles up inside him until he explodes.”
“Then that’s too bad, cause the only person he harms is me.”
••••••••••
Robby has been searching for you all through the ER for the past week. You know it is not the most mature way to go through this crisis, but it doesn’t hurt to give him a taste of his own medicine.
You start taking the night shifts, meeting with Dana and Collins as night owls take over the floor while you openly avoid Robby at all times, fleeing the scene every time you get so much as a glimpse of his navy blue hoodie in the corner of your eye.
He, too, has been chasing you relentlessly. Making sure to stay a few more hours to just see you and get to tell you a simple hello, but you go out of your way to hide in the bathroom until Ellis comes and collects you, giving you a thumbs up that means Robby’s given up on finding you again.
This is the routine for a good few nights; escaping Robby for the first hours of your shift, having a breakdown in the bathroom, save a bunch of lives and argue with your brother — Attending — until you sneak out of the hospital without Robby seeing you when he comes to take over the floor from your brother.
Jack forces you to take a few days off this week. You have been running through ER every night on caffeine and energy drinks, four hours of sleep, and a broken heart. So, given how much of a great brother Jack is, he tells you to take a few nights off this week.
Home alone, comfy under a blanket with a boring movie playing on the TV, the least you could expect is to hear a knock on your brother’s apartment at such a dark hour — and worse? You recognize the pattern of knocks immediately. Three knocks: one slow and unsure, the second one stronger and confident, the last one shy and anticipating.
You want to disappear, to ignore the knocks and melt through the cushions of the couch. But the very familiar pattern is pulling you in, making your heart race and limbs tingling.
With some courage that is near nonexistent, you push the blanket off, slowly padding towards the door, flexing and relaxing your fingers a few times, a couple deep breaths before you reach for the door knob, twisting it and revealing a very tired and teary-eyed Robby.
Your breath hitches as you take him in; shoulders slumped heavily, eyebags much darker than you remember, his body tense with so much unresolved emotion, and his eyes… his eyes, those pools of chocolate brown that always make your face warm and your heart beat rapidly — they are filled to the brim with shame and guilt. It will only take one push to have those watercolor droplets stream down his cheeks.
“Robby…”
He closes his eyes, taking a deep inhale as if hearing his name fall from your lips is the freshest air he has ever breathed. You can see him visibly relax, your voice soothing his concerns about your well-being.
“Hi,” he leans with his hand on the doorframe, looking down at his shoes as he tries to keep his voice from breaking, “Hi…”
“Hey,” you bite your lip, looking behind him as you try to gather your thoughts, “What are you doing here?”
“I…” he squeezes his eyes shut, his fingers tightening around the wooden frame, dragging his eyes back to yours slowly, letting you use them as a mirror to his soul, “I had to see you.”
“Robby—“
“No, no, let me talk—“ he cuts you off, resting his hands on the bridge of his nose, then sighing and putting them on his hips, “I fucked up, I know that. I-I messed up so bad, I know, I fucking know. You’re a goddamn amazing doctor, my best resident, I loathe myself for how I treated you.”
“You were so mean…” You can feel your own tears stinging your eyes, and it only gets worse when you look up to him, finding him flushed and on the verge of breaking, “Why?”
“Just my mind playing tricks on me. I thought if I pushed you away in the hospital, we could work better together, and then-then the lines blurred and I couldn’t notice how far I distanced myself from you.”
“I was right there, Robby,” you gasp, sucking in a sharp breath as the tears finally burst, “All you had to do was to give us one chance to work together.”
“Don’t cry,” he whispers, hands shaking as he reaches to cup your face, his face wet from seeing your tears, “I can’t handle it, I will break beyond repair if I see you cry, please…”
You put your palms on top of his, leaning forward to gently rest your forehead against his, sobbing in his arms. You are quite surprised when you hear him sniff and cry, just as equally pained and sad — he is crying because you are crying.
“No one deserves your tears,” he leans down and kisses the droplets slowly, his chapped lips making a beautiful contrast with your soft skin. First your cheeks, following the wet path down to your chin before he comes up and pecks your closed eyelids, “Much less me.”
“Don’t say that—“
“I’m so sorry, sweet girl,” you can feel him softly crying as he presses his lips to the top of your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo he so desperately misses, “I can’t function without you on my shifts, I can’t think straight, I can’t… my life is incomplete without you.”
You tilt your head back, forcing him to look at you, but the way you gaze at him only spurs him on to continue, and when those three words fall from his lips, he can no longer control his emotions.
“I love you,” he closes his eyes, silent tears streaming down his cheeks, wetting his beard each passing moment, “I don’t show it a lot, I’ve treated you so poorly, you must be thinking I don’t care about you, but I do, a lot. I love you, and there is nothing nearly as good as you in my life. I hang in there for twelve hours, but when I see you, it feels like my entire life makes sense, like I have a purpose, a reason to come back, a reason to move forward.”
“Oh, Robby…” you cup his cheeks, pulling his face down, brushing your nose against his, “I love you too, so much.”
You close the distance, pressing your lips to his softly, just a taste, perhaps a promise of a better tomorrow. He doesn’t rush you either, he kisses you back with relief, the weight lifting off his shoulders slowly.
He doesn’t deepen the kiss, allowing you to lead him this time, tasting the remaining bittersweet flavor of his nicotine gum. Robby’s hands go to your back, pulling you closer if possible, feeling the heat of your body seeping through the layers of his outfit.
“Robby,” you break the kiss, hovering your lips over his as you speak, “I still need some time. I… I have been getting along with the night shift, and I need some time away.”
“Name it and it’s yours,” he nods, his fingers tightening around your waist, “I’ll do anything you ask, anything.”
“I know, my love,” you pout, stroking his bearded cheek gently, “There are a lot of things we have to work on, but for now… I need to step back.”
“Alright.”
•••••••
Maybe it was a bad decision to listen to your brother and take another night off. You feel useless being home alone without your stethoscope around your neck and those god-awful tight scrubs the hospital gave you.
Now you are sure it was a terrible decision to take the night off, because now you have to explain to a very anxious brother and a much more anxious boyfriend why you and nearly thirty other injured people are being rushed to the PTMC’s ER.
“Abbot?” Shen is in the triage they made of the ambulance bay, rushing towards you with Ellis in toe to help you out of the car, “What the fuck? What happened to you?”
“I was in the same restaurant, fuck, my leg—“ you groan, clinging to the doctors as they sit you on the wheelchair, Shen giving Ellis a look to take you inside, dodging the gurneys and patients left and right until she finds you an empty corner, telling you to wait for someone to come and help you, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.”
“Kid?” Dana gasps, jogging toward you as soon as her eyes fall on your face and stretched leg, “Fucking hell, you okay? What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to have a nice dinner out, unfortunately, it was the same restaurant that collapsed,” you scoff, trying to pull the sundress you are wearing down to cover at least your mid-thigh. “Don’t give me that look, I’m fine! Probably just a hairline fracture on my Fibula and a bunch of bruises on my body.”
“You look like you’ve fist fought a three hundred pound man,” she glares at you, kneeling in front of your wheelchair to take a look at the bruises on your neck and arms, “For whatever’s worth, you look like a piece of candy in this dress.”
“Too bad no one was there to appreciate me,” you crack a smile, hissing when she pushes the sundress’ sleeve further down your shoulder, her fingers stroking the huge purple-ish spot.
“I’m gonna order you a CT, can’t wait to get a doctor here,” she looks at you, noticing the sadness in your eyes, “You look beautiful, don’t worry about him, he’s a moron.”
“I’m more worried about how he’ll lose his shit if he sees me like this—“
“Sister?!”
“Jesus fucking christ,” you groan, tipping your head back as Jack runs towards you, kneeling on the other side of the wheelchair as he takes in your state. You look at Dana, giving her a pleading look, “Help me escape?”
“And miss Robby hovering around you like a mother hen? Hell, nah,” she chuckles, caressing your head before she stands up, “You’re in good hands, kid. Dr. Abbot here knows a thing or two about medicine.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny, Dana,” Jack rolls his eyes playfully before he looks back to you. “How bad is the leg? Did you hit your head? Let’s get you a CT first, then radiology—“
“Nope, I don’t need a head CT, I just need some painkillers and an X-ray. Think I have a tiny hairline fracture in my leg—“
“Can you stand on your feet?” He asks, helping you up with his hands on your waist, watching how you stand up in pain, “Where does it hurt the most?”
“Around my ankle, lateral malleolus,” you hiss again, holding onto Jack’s shoulder as he guides you back on the wheelchair, “Maybe it’s not even a fracture, just a sprain, yeah?”
“Possibly, but you’re not the doctor here.” he fixes you with a stern look as he applies pressure around your ankle, trying to see where it hurts the most. “Let the adults handle this.”
“Then get a responsible adult in here,” you say, laughing when he makes a gurgling noise, pressing on the spot where it hurts the most, making you shrink and pull your feet out of his grasp. “You’re pushing fifty and still act like you’re ten. Grow up.”
“Unfortunately for you your ‘responsible adult’ is Robby who is—“ he turns around, finding Robby stopping midway when he gets a glimpse of you on a wheelchair, “Near freaking the fuck out. Have fun, Miss Abbot.”
“Wait— no! He can’t treat me, he can’t handle it, I swear, Jack, if you take one more step—“
Your words die in your throat as you watch Robby walk your way quickly, his hands shaking and his eyes — his sad fucking puppy eyes that have your heart running miles an hour — scanning your entire body in a hurry.
“What happened?” Robby’s voice shakes as he reaches to hold your cheek in his hands, his touch hesitant and trembling, “What did Jack say? Do-do you need to go up? Are you okay—“
“Robby, I’m fine,” you reply gently, smiling as he keeps on bombarding you with several questions you have already answered, watching as he closes his eyes and shakes his head when he sees the huge bruise on your shoulder, “It’s nothing. I’ll be back to my very energetic ER resident in a few days. I can even help now—“
“No, absolutely not,” he purses his lips, ghosting his knuckles over your bruise before he sighs and looks back to your face, “You gonna go home, take some painkillers, you know which ones help you the most, and rest. What were you doing there anyway? What happened?”
“I wanted to treat myself to a nice dinner, got ready and all,” and you smile shyly when his eyes finally drag on your body, taking in the way the sundress clings to your chest and stomach.
“Fuck,” he huffs out a laugh, “Bad timing, darling. Now I’ll be thinking about this for the rest of the night.”
“Good,” you reach for his hand, stroking his fingers as you explain what happened there. “There was some construction work on the building next to the restaurant. One second, everything was fine, but then something dropped on us, half of the ceiling came down, and we ran out. I fell down while I was trying to get past the exit.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t hit your head,” his tone grows serious, bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles, “But what if you did? You should have told someone you were there, you have to stop being so reckless and—“
“Robby—“
“What if something worse happened to you—“
“Robby—“
“What if you ended up like one of these people, I wouldn’t be able to live—“
“Michael, stop!” The way his first name falls from your lips freezes him immediately, his eyes widen in terror, but when he sees you smiling at him, he melts down instantly, “Look at me, I’m fine! Nothing a splint and Tylenol can’t fix, besides, I have two doctors hovering around me all the time. I’m fine and I will be fine, okay?”
“Okay…” he nods, clinging to your hand as he fights a few unshed tears, “I panicked, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, I’d be worse if you were in my position,” you sigh in annoyance when you see Whitaker coming your way, squeezing Robby’s hand to get his attention, “Go, they need you now. I’ll buy the splint on the way home, I just need to find my bag.”
“I have it!” Dana comes with Jack on toe, “Checked for keys, phone, credit cards, a bunch of lipsticks, and your necklace. All in there and good to go.”
“Thank you, seriously!” You say, resting your arm around Robby’s shoulder as he helps you up by one hand on your ribs and the other on your waist, “Don’t worry about me, I can get home safely, alright?”
“You need a key? I can hand you mine,” Jack says, and raises an eyebrow when you hesitate and bite your lip, looking back at Robby before you shake your head and grab your purse, “What?”
“I think I’ll go back home,” you utter softly, looking into Robby’s eyes as his pupils blow in surprise, “If it’s okay with you?”
“You wanna come back?” He asks, his voice no louder than a whisper, his grip tightening on you as he waits for an answer.
“Yeah…”
“Okay then,” Jack interrupts, “Sorry to be the bearer of the bad news, but we've got patients and you need to rest. So go back to your place and sleep.”
“Do you…” Robby clears his throat, “Do you have the keys? Or should I grab mine—“
“No, I have mine,” you smile, leaning up as best as you can on one foot to kiss his cheek, “I’ll see you back home.”
“Yeah, sure,” you say your goodbyes to others as well, giving Dana and Jack a halfway hug, limping over to the back door of the floor before you call for an Uber and drive back home.
•••••••
You take the advice and rest. You don’t know what time it is when you hear the quiet jiggling of the keys and the front door being pushed open, but the familiar sound of footsteps is enough to calm your racing mind.
“Hey,” you say, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you sit up on the bed, watching how Robby relaxes immediately when he spots you.
He takes off his hoodie and scrubs, sitting on the edge of the bed topless as he takes off his socks slowly, sighing contently when you scoot closer, rubbing a hand over his warm back, kissing his broad shoulder.
“How are you?” He asks, turning around so he can take a better look at your face, “Anything hurt?”
“No,” you reply, gently running your fingers on his neck, caressing his collarbone, “I’m okay. How are you?”
“Honestly?” He scoffs, looking down at your exposed thighs, under one of his worn-out t-shirts you have on, “Exhausted, but… I’m very happy you are back.”
“I’m happy to be back too,” you lean down to kiss his shoulder again, “Go take a shower and come back to me. It’ll help you relax.”
He nods and leans down to peck your lips, sighing in relief when he rests his forehead on yours. Robby nods again and, with a deep breath, he forces himself to stand up and let your hand fall from his skin.
He comes back ten minutes later, hair towel dried and another one hanging dangerously low on his hip bones. He lets out another tired sigh, smiling when he finds you sitting up against the headboard.
“I missed having you here.”
“I missed being here,” you point to the empty space next to you, extending your hand so he knows what to do, watching as he slowly crawls on the bed, carefully resting his head on the soft podge of your stomach, circling his arms around your waist.
“You’re okay, Michael.” You thread your fingers through his soft hair, gently rubbing his scalp as he hums and buries his face further into your belly, “I got you, my love.”
“I thought I was losing you,” he tears up, biting his tongue in order to stop himself from crying, but it is in vain because the second you lean down to press a kiss on his head, he is breaking, “I did, for a few days… and it was the worst time of my life. I wasn’t alive, I… I just existed. I breathed, but I felt numb. I couldn’t believe that I let my insecurities get this far, that I had to let go of you.”
“But I’m here now,” you wrap your other arm around his shoulder, holding him close as he cries silently, his shoulders shaking, but not a sound coming from him, “I’m here to work on these things. I never left to begin with, I… I should have knocked some sense into you when you told me my CPR pose was bad.”
“That was a low blow, I’m sorry,” he holds on to you tightly, one of his large palms starting to caress your hips to your knees, letting his fingers follow the path of your thigh, “You’re a magnificent doctor, and I’m sorry that you had to endure months of suffering because of me. Fuck, I should have been the one to stop others not to be the one to give you a hard time.”
“It’s over now, Robby.” You watch him sit up slowly, his much larger body cornering yours to the headboard without even trying to, “We gonna figure this out. I’ll stay on night shifts until we sort out everything, but for now, I just want my boyfriend.”
He nods, closing the gap between your face until he reaches your lips, pressing a soft, experimental kiss before you grab the back of his neck to deepen it. Robby keeps himself up by one hand on the headboard and the other on your hip, moving his lips with yours in sync.
“I don’t wanna hurt you more—“
“Shh,” you nibble on his bottom lip, gently lowering your back on the mattress before you pull him on top of you, your free hand playing with the edge of the towel around his hips, “You will definitely hurt me if you deny my request.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I need you, Robby.” You frown when he doesn’t immediately get rid of the towel, and his eyes lock in on your face. Suddenly, a wave of sadness hits you: “You don’t want to… have sex?”
“No! I do, I really do!” He chuckles, lowering himself on top of you after he pushes the covers off your body, grabbing your hand gently before he brings it to the very evident bulge under the towel, “See what you do to me? I need you too, so so badly, but I will hate myself if I make you uncomfortable more than you probably are.”
“Stop overthinking and fuck me already!”
“Yes, ma’am,” he leans down again, kissing you passionately while you untuck the towel and drop it on the floor, making him hiss in pleasure as you wrap your arms around his aching lenghth, “Fuck, I missed this.”
“Me too,” you reply breathlessly, letting him pull off your — his — shirt and pushing your panties to the side, “If you don’t do anything, I won’t let you sleep on this bed for another week.”
“Bossy,” he kisses you quickly before he grabs your thigh in his hand, mindful of your other foot being in a splint while he makes home between your legs, his heavy cock resting on your hip as he tries to adjust your positions, “Jack’s wearing off on you.”
“Don’t talk about my brother when you are about to fuck me,” you wrap both of your arms around his shoulder and your good leg around his waist, “Unless you two have something for each other that I don’t know about.”
“Have some faith in me, I have a good taste in Abbots, and he is not the one,” you both laugh, and he nudges your nose with his, his warm brown eyes filled with pent-up lust and longing, “I love you.”
“I love you too, so much.”
He pulls you in for another kiss, guiding the tip of his cock to your soaked entrance, easing himself into you slowly, careful of your bruises.
Both of you moan into each other’s mouths, clinging to the other with every fiber of your being as Robby stretches you out, pushing his cock until he has nothing to give. His dick’s snuggled tightly between your velvet walls, your cunt gripping him like a vice and never wanting to go.
He gasps when you clench around him, resting his forehead on yours as both of you begin to pant, your chests heaving with each breath.
“You feel so good, Robby,” you whimper, nails digging into his broad shoulders as he pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, making your breath hitch as his cock reaches deep inside you.
“You look so fucking beautiful,” his lips fall open as he picks up his pace, burying his face into the crook of your neck, “The most perfect human ever.”
“Oh, fuck—“ you throw your head back, tangling your fingers in Robby’s soft short hair, tugging at it as he slams himself inside you with a newfound desire — his movements tactical enough not to hurt you but just the right amount of roughness to make your leg shake around his hip, “I’m not gonna last long!”
“Me neither, darling,” he groans, the sound of squelching filling the room, nearly tripping over the edge when he sees you reaching between your bodies to rub on your clit, “Fuck, baby…”
“I’m gonna come—“ you release a loud moan, spilling around his girth as you reach your peak, your heel digging into his butt as you writhe beneath him.
“There you go, sweet girl,” he beams at you, watching as your face twists in pleasure; lips swollen with all the kissing, eyes shut and lashes kissing your cheeks, “I’m so close…”
“Inside,” you open your eyes, cupping his cheek in your hand while caressing his face, “Come inside me, Michael.”
“Fuck, fuck—“ he groans, thrusting hard and fast into you a few more times before he begins to tremble, biting down on the skin of your neck as he comes, his cock twitching inside you, filling you up to the brim.
He comes for an embarrassingly — in his opinion — long time, just holding you close and panting into your skin while he shoots thick ropes of his cum inside your cunt.
You pull him down until he rests the majority of his weight on you. You have to force him, though, because he thinks it would hurt your bruises and put you in pain, but his weight grounds you.
The proximity makes his head spin in warmth, but you can feel how worried he is, so you don’t keep him caged on top of you, allowing him to pull away until he can get a better look at your body.
“Please be careful next time,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss the large bruise on your collarbone, then the one on your arm, then lower on the side of your stomach, “Or better, I keep you locked up so I know you’re safe.”
“You can’t even get me locked up in a surgery, good luck with doing it for the rest of my life,” you chuckle, thanking him when he helps you sit up.
“I think I need another shower,” he says, standing up, naked as the day he was born, before he turns to you, extending his hand for you to take, “Care to join me?”
“You’re far too horny for your age, Dr. Robby,” you tease him, but take him on his offer nevertheless, resting your weight on his arm as he slowly helps you limp to the bathroom.
“I’m not old,” he scowls, and you laugh at his little frown, smoothing a finger between his brows, “but no, I don’t wanna have sex, I just wanna hold you, sweet girl.”
“Nothing is stopping you, my love.”
Fan gathering yesterday 2025-10-25 at Times Square NY for the BILLBOAAAARDS
Save Ben Solo!!!
Video shared with permission of avatarsarny of TikTok
49
Pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Reader
Wordcount: 2.0k
Synopsis: Robby doesn't like you, or maybe he does. You don't know.
Notes: I'm rusty, so very rough around the edges, but enjoy :)
A forty-nine minute STEMI.
If you were less professional you'd be jumping up and down on the spot.
You wait until the patient is wheeled through to the cath lab to look to Abbot, who's already looking back at you with an amused glint in his eyes.
"I cannot seriously believe we just did that." You're grinning so wide it almost hurts.
"That was some solid work." Abbot bumps your shoulder with his fist. "You're my star pupil tonight, kid."
"I'm your only pupil every night." You point out.
You snap off your gloves with tired hands, the comedown of adrenaline making everything a bit shaky.
"That doesn't lessen the competition," He explains, guiding you out of the trauma bay with a hand on the back of your neck. It makes you feel like a puppy being scruffed. "I am weighing you against the memory of every resident I've ever trained."
"And how am I doing so far?"
"You're in the tentative top three."
You turn in his grip, eyes a bit wide with shock. "Seriously?"
"Don't let it go to your head," He scolds. "But I'm very impressed."
"Giving out one of your renowned motivational speeches, Abbot?"
You can't help the way your muscle involuntarily jump at the sudden appearance of Robby, and you pray to god Abbot didn't notice, but by the way his hand momentarily tensed before sliding off your neck, he did.
You're lucky enough at this point to say you don't know Dr. Robinavitch very well. It's not for an initial lack of trying on your part, but the constant mildly unimpressed tone he seems to only take with you had been enough to get you to back down.
You try not to shrink under his gaze when it lands on you.
"Good to see you, brother," Abbot greets Robby with a clap to the shoulder. "Just congratulating my intern on the forty-nine minute STEMI she just ran almost solo."
You're close to preening at how proudly Abbot refers to you as his intern before Robby quickly sours your mood.
"Huh."
Huh.
Huh?
What kind of a reaction to a forty-nine minute STEMI is 'Huh'?
You'd hoped he'd at least be slightly impressed. I mean, you just ran a forty-nine minute STEMI as a first year resident, that's impressive enough to earn you more than just a wordless acknowledgment.
But at the same time, why do you care so much if he acknowledges you? it's not like you often work with the man, or interact with him in any capacity more than a simple sentence or two a couple times a week.
You're not that much of a people pleaser that you can't function under the notion that you might not be his favourite coworker, but some insecure part of your brain twitches every time he glances over you.
You're not going to stick around and let him ruin your high.
"I'm going to head home," You blurt out, brushing past the two of them in the calmest manner you can manage. "See you tonight, Abbot."
"See you, kid."
You almost take your locker door of of it's hinges with how fast you yank your backpack from it's cubby, but you don't wait to asses for damage before slinging it over your shoulder, and attempting to make your escape through the back hallway.
No one is ever here unless they're moving a gurney to the elevator, so you can easily make it out the door without Abbot questioning you about whatever that was back there, or seeing Robby again—
"Hey."
You stop in your tracks, taking a deep breath before turning on your heel.
Robby is standing behind you, a completely blank expression on his face, his posture tense.
"Do you need something?" You ask, internally cringing at how meek you sound.
He doesn't answer, but if his feature are anything to go by he looks almost upset with you.
Maybe this is the moment things boil over for him. You're expecting him to yell at you, or maybe even apologize for being so cold these past few months, but he does nothing.
"No," He says, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. "See you at shift change."
"O-okay," You nod, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "Goodbye, Dr. Robinavitch."
"Bye."
You can't breathe until the weight of Robby's gaze is gone.
It doesn't register to you until it finally happens that you've never been punched in the face before.
This is one of those sensations you would've remembered; tears immediately springing from your eyes, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth, and the overwhelming feeling that your entire nose is now inside of your skull.
It's less than a minute after the patients fist makes contact with your face that someone is wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you out of the trauma bay and into somewhere safer.
Two rough hands cradle your face and you expect to see Abbot, but when you blink your eyes open you're surprised to be met with an incredibly concerned looking Robby.
"You still with me?" He asks.
You nod, and even that's painful.
"There is not a doubt in my mind that you have a concussion, and a fractured or broken… something, but I'm going to look you over properly, okay?"
"It's fine," You murmur, shaking your head despite the fact that it's still held in his hands. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," He argues, strengthening his grip as if to stabilize your neck. "You're bleeding a lot."
"People bleed," You argue back, feeling oddly belligerent beneath all the pain. "We see it every day, it's nothing."
"You're a terrible patient."
"And you're kind of a dick."
He laughs, and you're not sure if it's from genuine mirth, or just the surprise that those words actually left your mouth.
"We're going to get you cleaned up," He explain, brushing a few rogue strand of hair from your face. You've never seen him look, or act, this fondly towards you before. "Then we're going to order a head CT, and call the police."
"I'd really rather we didn't"
"And I'd rather the asshole who just punched you in the face not walk away scot free."
"You don't care," You groan. "You're just being nice because I might have a brain bleed, or something."
"Why wouldn't I care?" He asks, amusement barely concealed in his tone.
"Because all you could say was 'Huh.'" You attempt to glare at him through the tears still pooling in your eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"I pulled off a very impressive STEMI with Abbot, almost entirely on my own, and you just said Huh."
"What're you—"
"She still alive out here?"
Abbot, somehow the saving grace for both of you in this situation, peeks his head out from the trauma room, a deep frown plastered between his brows.
"She's alright," Robby speaks for you, his hands not leaving your face for one second. "I'm going to order a CT, and give the police a call."
"Dana's already on it," He nods. "Think she's got a concussion?"
"She's in a bad mood, and making very little sense," The look Robby shoots you is full of unsaid things and unanswered questions. "So probably."
"Hey," You chirp. "I told you I'm fine."
"You don't look fine, kid," You're not used to seeing so much sympathy directed at you at from Abbot. "Let Robby take care of you."
He is the last person you want taking care of you right now, but your heart skips a beat all the same.
"Fine."
You don't have a proper conversation with Robby until a few weeks later.
You're packed into a bar like sardines, mingling with both night and day shift staff as they celebrate the end of another successful holiday weekend.
It's a surprisingly nice feeling, getting to experience some of your coworkers in casual clothes, away from the stress of the job.
You're dressed in a backless t-shirt and comfortable jeans, nothing special, but enough to catch the eye of a few of your colleagues. Except one.
Robby is seated at the bar, a serene expression on his face as he watches the people he's responsible for on a daily bases finally get a chance to relax. He seems pleased, content even.
You weave through the crowd, taking a steadying breath before sliding into the bar stool next to his, offering him a shy smile.
"Can I buy you a drink?"
Things had been different since your injury. He wasn't cold as much as he was purposefully giving you space.
"You don't need to do that," He says.
"Consider it repayment for having to take care of me," You offer. "I was unnecessarily difficult."
"Okay," He relents. "But just one."
You smile at him and flag down the bartender, watching as he pours Robby what looks to be another glass of whiskey.
"I didn't have to take care of you," He says, eyes focused on the amber liquid in his cup. "I wanted to."
You're lucky you swallowed your drink before you could choke on it.
"That's…" You struggle to find the words to say. "kind of surprising, coming from you."
"Why?" He asks, shifting in his seat to look at you properly.
"I was just assumed you didn't like me much." You admit.
"Because I didn't say anything about the STEMI?"
You feel your cheeks heat at the mention of your tiny, pain induced outburst.
"And your overall demeanor is just very cold, at least when you're talking to me."
"I do like you," He admits, taking a long sip of his drink. "I like you a lot more than I should."
"No you don't," You try to laugh through the way your heart is fluttering.
"I do," He insists. "It's almost frustrating how much time I spend just wanting to watch you work."
You can't recall a single time in which you've ever noticed Robby watching you work, much less acknowledging you.
"You ignore me all the time," You argue.
"I ignore you because I should not be indulging my feelings for my much younger resident," He whispers the last part, his eyes locked on yours as he drains the last drop of liquor from his cup. "Goodnight, kid. Thanks for the drink."
He gets up from his seat, slipping his sweater back over his shoulders before dissapearing into the crowd.
You're sure you're in shock, complete and utter shock. Michael Robinavitch has feeling for you. He hasn't been ignoring you because he thinks you're incompetent, or because of some mysterious grudge, he's ignoring you because he's trying to be a man of principles, a good attending who doesn't date his residents.
"Oh my god,"
You practically jump out of your chair, scrambling through the crowd with as many excuse me's and I'm sorry's you can manage. You're sure that at one point you hear Abbot call out to you, but you're too focused on finding Robby to check.
You're out of breath by the time you push through the door, but that's the least of your worries when you spot Robby still outside.
"You didn't seriously just say that, and then walk away,"
He turns around, surprise evident on his face.
"What did you want me to do?" He asks, defeat written all over his painfully handsome features.
"Give me a chance to say something, at least." You sigh.
"What do you want to say?"
You take a deep breath. Here goes nothing.
"I think you're an incredible doctor, and even more than that, I think you're unbelievably attractive." You try not to take pleaure in the way his face morphs into confusion. "I couldn't figure out why the idea of you not liking me bugged me so much, and it wasn't until you spent a majority of your shift taking care of me that I realized I was a bit heartbroken about the fact that this talented, handsome doctor would probably never have feelings for me."
God, you sound so juvinile, but you don't know what other way to put it.
Robby's mouth opens right as a cab pulls up to the curb, it's driver looking at him expectantly. He looks back and forth between the two of you, his mouth opening and closing as if he can't find the right words.
"Can you say something, please?" You ask, feeling a bit too foolish for comfort.
He reaches behind his back to pop open the door, swinging it open and looking at you with an expression you've never seen on him before.
Want.
"Get in."
☤ Your attending needs to remain neutral...
Michael Robinovitch had never felt like this before.
Jealousy wasn’t something he did. Not as a kid when others got brand-new sneakers while he was stuck with hand-me-downs. Not in med school when the rich kids bragged about having their student loans 'taken care of'. Not when other residents got praise for half the effort.
Michael Robinovitch was steady. Rational. Neutral.
So where the hell was that now?
Because every time he looked at you, neutrality was the last thing on his mind.
From day one, you’d had everyone wrapped around your finger. The perfect resident. The one who smiled at everyone, remembered birthdays, and brought coffee for the night shift during the change. You said please and thank you like a toddler who only knew those words
And everyone ate it up.
During shift change, he couldn’t walk five feet without hearing about you.
“Oh, she’s such a sweetheart.”
“She ran my labs for me, didn’t even ask.”
“So thoughtful.”
He wanted to rip the whiteboard off the wall.
You were a nurse favorite, the unofficial golden child of The Pitt. They called you in for every tricky case, every patient with a family too fragile to handle bad news. Meanwhile, when he was a resident, nurses barely looked at him unless something was on fire.
But it was fine, because Micheal Robinovitch remains neutral.
Even when you smiled at him like he wrote the fucking Hippocratic Oath. Even when you nudged his side with that easy, absentminded touch that didn’t mean anything to you but short-circuited his entire prefrontal cortex.
Even when you leaned over the counter and he caught a faint hit of whatever perfume you wore—something soft, clean, way too good for this sterile hellhole.
Neutral.
“Brother, how’s your resident?” Jack asked, sliding a clipboard toward him during a shift change.
Robby raised a brow. “I got a lot of ’em. Which one?”
“Lil’ Miss Sunshine over there.”
Robby bit back a groan as his eyes followed Jack’s nod—and, yeah, there you were. Bright-eyed. Laughing with one of the nurses. Holding a box of donuts like some goddamn saint.
Of course.
You handed one off to a tech, said something that made her laugh so hard she had to lean against the counter, and Robby just stood there, watching the whole thing like an idiot.
Jack’s grin was pure shit-stirring. “She brought those for the whole floor, y’know. Heard she came in early to do it.”
“Yeah. I can see that,” Robby muttered, flipping through the chart just to have something to look at that wasn’t you.
“Sweet kid,” Jack went on. “Good hands, too. One of the cleanest sutures I’ve seen in months. You must be doin’ something right.”
“She’s fine.”
Jack hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Fine, huh? That official?"
He didn’t answer.
When Jack finally walked off, Robby risked another look.
You were at the nurses’ station, balancing a donut box on your hip, gesturing wildly about something with your free hand. You laughed again—that same easy, genuine sound.
And when you caught him looking, your smile only widened.
“Dr. Robinovitch,” you called, voice light. “You want one before they’re gone?”
He didn’t move at first. Just stared. The nurses looked between the two
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Don’t eat on rounds.”
“So… that’s a no?”
He turned back to his chart. “That’s a no.”
“Suit yourself,” you said—and there it was. That little lilt in your tone that made it sound like you’d already won.
Neutral, Robinovitch.
Remain fucking neutral.
But how could he, when you were so goddamn sweet. Sweet like an over-sugared coffee. Sweet like those donuts he pretended not to want. Sweet like the way you said good morning like it was an invitation instead of a courtesy.
He hated sweet things. Always had. They stuck to your teeth, made a mess, and stayed longer than they should.
That's why he loved the rooftop so much. It wasn't sweet. The city spread below, glowing and silent, a mess of blinking lights and bitterness.
He could still see it when he closed his eyes—the foxes, the ECMO machine, Doc. Adams, his own voice cracking. No matter how many therapy sessions he sat through, how many times he told himself it happens, it’s part of the job, it didn’t stop playing on a loop.
You did everything you could.
Sure. Tell that to the body bag.
“Dr. Robinovitch?”
The voice pulled him out of it—soft, uncertain.
He looked over his shoulder. You stood there, framed by the cold night air, a cardigan pulled tight around your scrubs. Hair loose now, wind tugging at the strands that had fallen from your ponytail. Eyes wide, velvet-soft under the security light.
Neutral.
Stay neutral.
“I’m sorry,” you added quickly. “I didn’t realize you were out here. I can go if you—”
“No, no, you can stay.”
The words came out too fast, and he immediately regretted them. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, grimacing.
You hesitated, then stepped closer, careful, like you were approaching a stray dog that might bolt. The wind carried the faintest trace of that same perfume, and he swore under his breath.
You joined him at the railing, standing a respectful distance away, both of you looking out over the city. For a minute, neither of you said anything.
“Rough shift?” you said finally.
He shrugged. “There’s no other kind.”
You laughed at that—the sound bright and sudden in the cold air. Low at first, then spilling over, cutting through the hum of the vents and the faint city noise below.
“I get why you come out here,”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” You looked out over the view. “Makes you feel bigger. Like maybe you can control it all for a second, when your job’s mostly about realizing you can’t.”
He turned that over in his head.
“I like that interpretation,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He hesitated, then added, almost to himself, “You’re not wrong, though. Sometimes I come up here just to pretend I’m a normal person having a normal crisis instead of a dramatic one."
You smirked. “That supposed to be funny?”
He met your eyes, dead serious. “Funniest thing I’ve said all week.”
It was so flat, so hopelessly unfunny, that you just broke. You started laughing—full-body laughter that echoed off the concrete. It surprised you, how hard it hit.
And it surprised him more.
Because there it was again—the sound that made the tightness in his chest ease just a little.
He tried to keep his face neutral, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Glad my suffering’s comedic material for you.”
You were still laughing, tears threatening. “It’s—it’s not what you said, it’s how you said it. Like a robot.”
“Good,” he said. “My lifelong dream.”
You laughed even harder, and he couldn’t look away. The city light flickered across your face, and something inside him moved toward the sound.
So, in the pale wash of moonlight, he decided to chase it.
He started small. Accepted your donuts one morning.
Kept the little sticky notes you left on clipboards—You’ve got this, Dr. R!—tucked beneath the paperwork instead of throwing them out.
Sat with you in the stairwell at lunch, the two of you sharing silence and vending machine coffee.
Every time you laughed, it tugged on something.
And that was the problem.
It happened on a Tuesday, right before noon rounds. You were at the nurses’ station again, this time smiling at one of the new residents—a tall kid with too much confidence and a jawline that looked inhuman. He was leaning in a little too close, grinning like he’d just discovered sunlight, and you were smiling back.
Robby watched from across the hall, chart in hand, expression flat.
Dana clocked it immediately. Of course she did.
“What’s got your panties in a twist?” she asked, breezing past him with a folder tucked under her arm.
He didn’t look at her. “Don’t use that expression.”
“You’re glaring holes through the new guy.”
“I’m not glaring.”
“Right,” she said, stopping beside him to follow his gaze. “Totally normal way to stare at two people having a friendly conversation”
Robby exhaled, jaw flexing. “He’s wasting time. That chart should’ve been updated twenty minutes ago.”
Dana smirked. “So this is about time management.”
“Exactly.”
“Not about her laughing at his joke.”
“Wasn’t even that funny,” he muttered.
“Uh-huh.” She patted his shoulder, far too amused. “You’re adorable.”
He shot her a look, but she was already walking off, snorting under her breath.
He turned back just in time to see the new resident hand you something—his pen, maybe, or a note—and watch you tuck it into your pocket with that same easy smile.
The muscles in Robby’s jaw tightened again. He flipped his chart closed a little too hard.
Fuck neutral.
A few seconds later, he found himself cutting down the hall toward you before he could stop it.
“Robby,” you greeted, that same sunshine tone.
“Need you on the Henderson case,” he said briskly. “Now, if you’re done socializing.”
Your smile wavered, just a little. “Just giving the new resident some orientation pointers.”
“Yeah, well, orientation’s over. Let’s move.”
The kid blinked, a little stunned. “Uh—nice to meet you, Dr. Robinovitch.”
Robby didn’t answer. He was already halfway down the hall.
You caught up to him a moment later, your footsteps quick. “You know, you could try being nice sometimes.”
“I’m plenty nice,” he said flatly.
“To who? The vending machine?”
He stopped, turned to face you. “You done?”
Your brows pulled together. “Done with what?”
He scowled, voice low but sharp. “Getting distracted when you know you shouldn’t be. You’re here to work. If you can’t do that—maybe this isn’t the place for you.”
You blinked, stunned. The words hit harder than he meant them to. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Then he saw it—the light flicker out of your eyes. The warmth gone in an instant.
You swallowed. “Yes, Dr. Robinovitch. I’m sorry.”
The title landed like a slap. Formal. Cold.
He felt it twist in his chest, an ache that wasn’t supposed to exist. He wanted to take it back—to soften it somehow—but the door to the patient’s room was already swinging open, and there was no space left for apologies.
You avoided him for the rest of the day.
Not obviously, but enough that he noticed.
You passed him charts without looking up.
You laughed at someone else’s joke in the break room. And every time you did, he felt it like static under his skin—loud, grating.
By the end of the shift, the hospital had thinned out. The buzz of machines, the distant roll of thunder were the only things that remained.
It was pouring when he stepped outside. He opened his umbrella, adjusted the strap of his bag, and that’s when he saw you standing under the awning. Arms folded, staring at the rain. No umbrella. No ride.
Robby hesitated. He could’ve walked away. Should’ve. But his feet didn’t listen.
“You waiting for it to stop?” he asked.
“Don’t have much choice, do I?”
He lifted the umbrella slightly, an unspoken offer.
You hesitated, eyes flicking between him and the rain. “I’m fine. It’s not far.”
“You’ll be soaked before you hit the corner.”
You stared for a beat longer before sighing and stepping closer. He adjusted the umbrella to cover both of you, and the space between you went tight—shoulders brushing, the smell of rain and disinfectant still clinging to his scrubs.
Neither of you spoke at first. Just the rhythm of rain hitting the umbrella, the distant hum of streetlights, the steady tap of your shoes against wet pavement.
Halfway down the block, he spoke, low and rough. “I shouldn’t’ve said that.”
You looked up, surprised by the weight in his voice. “Said what?”
He exhaled, sharp, through his nose. “That you don’t belong here.”
You stayed quiet, giving him space. And somehow, that small silence was permission.
“You’re good at what you do. Better than most. I know that.” His jaw flexed, tight, like every word was a battle. “Sometimes I—” He paused, mouth opening and closing, trying to find something that didn’t sound possessive. “—I misread things. That’s on me.”
You smiled softly, a little shy, a little warm, and that was all it took. Your forgiveness, unspoken and simple.
When you reached your building, you paused. Just for a second. You looked up at him, umbrella dripping, hair plastered to your forehead. “We’re here,” you said quietly.
He inhaled, long and deep, trying to steady himself. In his mind, alarms were blaring. Ask her. Ask her. Anything. Just don’t fuck this up.
A date? Dinner? A snack? Hell, a walk anywhere that didn’t smell like The Pitt. Just you and him.
He opened his mouth to speak, to risk the words that felt like they’d tear his chest open.
And then your lips were on his.
Sweet. Soft. Like bells. Like laughter. Like everything wrapped into one impossible moment.
His body went rigid for a heartbeat, brain scrambling to make sense of it—you—before instinct took over. He found you again, kissed back, rougher this time, as if he could steady himself against everything he’d tried to ignore.
When you finally pulled back, breath brushing his lips, you whispered, “Robby…”
He swallowed, his throat tight. “…Yeah?”
“Don’t stop.”
Re-watching The Pitt cause its a comfort show and I love everything about it.
Masterlist
you’re a cowboy like me
dr. robby x f!forensic psychologist!reader masterlist you can read this fic on ao3 here content: 18+ mdni, discussions of homicide (reader is evaluating a minor who is currently in the pitt he is being transferred to psych after being charged with the murder of another classmate), discussions of toxic masculinity, use of homophobic f slur by minor oc (once), discussions of addiction (alcohol), on the page panic attacks, minor violence (not on page, just aftermath), sexually explicit content, age gap, swearing, alcohol, smoking, vomiting, some angst with a happy ending, biker!robby my beloved words: 15.5K synopsis: reader meets robby while evaluating a client in preparation for his upcoming murder trial. soon enough, robby finds himself wanting to evaluate you instead. a/n: when two avoidant motherfuckers link up to maximize their joint slay!! i took some inspo from the netflix show adolescence so if ur reading and ur like “hey this reminds me of—" yes 🙂↕️ exactly 🙂↕️ also i made a playlist for Them and posted about it which i will link here if anyone is interested. as a disclaimer i DO have a psychology background, but not in this specialty so please take everything with a grain of salt, i am sure it is largely inaccurate. hope you like, i had a lot of fun with this one. as always please come yap with me about it later. <3 syd
The smell of antiseptic and the copper tang of blood was nauseating as you stood by the nurses station, hands clasped on the tabletop. Your hair was tucked neatly behind your ears. Piercings sat undecorated on your earlobes, shirt buttoned nearly to your chin. Your hospital guest pass stuck just at your breastbone.
It was a Tuesday in Pittsburgh and it was raining. Wet orange and brown leaves stuck to most surfaces, slimy with rot. The air was heavy with the smell of decay that came with late October. You thought, then, of the dead girl and whether she liked the fall or preferred the bright heat of summer.
Unhelpful. Your brain chastised, and you shook off thoughts of her. You weren't here for her, you were here for the boy.
"Can I help you?" A woman with short blond hair, secured neatly in a clip at the nape of her neck looked at you with vague annoyance. She had an iPad in her hands and glasses slid low on the bridge of her nose.
You cleared your throat, "Yes, I'm looking for a Liam Anderson? He was supposed to be admitted to psych for an eval, but I'm told he's still down here waiting for a bed."
The woman eyed you skeptically and looked down at her iPad, "You a relative?"
"Uh, no, I'm with the state. I'm here on behalf of the public defender's office."
She looked back up at you, "I don't think it's really necessary for the kid to be seeing a lawyer right now, do you?"
"I'm not a lawyer, I'm a psychologist." You slid your ID across the counter and watched as she picked it up, "His lawyers asked me to come."
She slid your ID back to you, "Again, feels unnecessary at this stage. Come back when he's been admitted to psych."
She began to walk away, but you followed after pocketing your ID, "It's really, really crucial that I get as much time with him as possible while they're preparing for trial. And before the psychologists upstairs really dig their teeth into him."
"Kid, I gotta tell ya, I really don't have time to argue with you. We don't do visitors for patients down here unless they're family. Now, please, I have work to do—"
"Dana," A tall, bearded man with deep creases by his eyes and darker circles underneath, stopped directly in front of the two of you. He held a small coffee cup in his hand and a stethoscope was draped around his neck, and his gaze traveled to you, "Who's this?"
"The latest pain in my ass," Dana grumbled next to you, but you didn't falter. You were used to being unwanted when trying to gain access to a client, "You deal with her, she's from the state, trying to visit a patient."
The man in front of you frowned at that, but before he could ask clarifying questions, Dana disappeared and you reached a hand out to him to introduce yourself.
His hand was warm and rough as it wrapped around yours, "Nice to meet you," He said, sounding anything but, and he began walking, "Look, I'd love to figure out why you're here and why you're harassing my nurses, but frankly I don't have the time so I'd appreciate it if you could just locate the nearest exit—"
"I'm just trying to do my job the same way the rest of you are. If you could just direct me to my client, I'll do my evaluation very quietly and it'll be like I was never here."
He stopped walking again and turned to face you, sighing, "What is it you're here to do?"
You handed him your ID, "I'm with the public defender's office, I'm here to see Liam Anderson."
He looked from your ID up to your face, then back down again before handing the piece of plastic back to you, "The kid that killed his girlfriend?"
You bit back a sigh, "He is being charged with the murder of a fellow student, yes."
He nodded, "You don't think he did it."
You shook your head, "I'm not a cop, that's not my job."
"Then what is your job?"
"I'm a forensic psychologist. My role is to spend as much time with the client as possible and determine if, in my professional opinion, he seems capable of committing such a crime."
He tilted his head slightly, "You work for the public defender's office, you said?" You nodded, "So what happens if you think he did it?"
This time, you did sigh, "Again, I'm not in the business of evaluating guilt—"
"Right, but what happens if you feel he is capable?"
You shrugged, "The defense just won't call on me to testify. They'll probably find another psychologist who disagrees with me. It's just an opinion, it's not really evidence. But juries find it compelling, nonetheless."
He scratched the back of his head, "You really shouldn't be here, it's family only down here—"
"You won't even know I'm here, I swear."
He seemed to weigh his options before sighing heavily, "I assume giving you what you want will be the easiest way for me to get back to work?"
You smiled, "Undoubtedly."
He narrowed his eyes at you, watching you closely in a way that was beginning to give you hives and made you feel like you had something in your teeth, "What if I told you he's been really polite and just like any other twelve year old that rolls through here?"
You cocked your head to the side, "Has he interacted with any women while he's been here?"
He hesitated and pulled back, as if surprised by the question, "Uh, no, actually. I don't think so."
You shrugged, "Then I'd say it's mostly irrelevant, but I'll keep it in mind."
He started walking again and gestured for you to follow, "I really don't think he did it."
You were growing annoyed at his fixation on the duality of the situation, "Don't know how many times I have to say it—"
"I know, but you have to have an opinion, right?" He stopped outside a room labeled "Behavioral Health 2". You could see Liam through the window, sitting at a table, doodling on a notebook in front of him.
You watched him carefully, tried to make out his scribblings on the page, but his arm covered most of it from your view, "It would be difficult to do my job well if I was always wondering about the truth," You turned back to him, "It'd be irresponsible for me to have an opinion. Besides, this is the first time I'm meeting him."
You remembered that he said he was really busy before, but now seemed more interested in you, still eyeing you curiously, "Have you ever gave an opinion that you regretted? Later found out the person was guilty?"
You blinked at him, "Are you asking this in a judgmental way or are you genuinely curious?"
"Curious. Must take a toll on you, no?"
You shrugged, "I don't spend day in and day out with a client. I base my opinions on the few hours I get every so often when they're prepared to see me. There will inevitably be clients who are very good at putting on a show. I can usually spot them, but I'm not perfect, I have biases like everyone else."
He raised his eyebrows, "You've really rationalized all this. Detached yourself from it."
You gave him a tight smile, "I don't deal in feelings, I deal in behavior."
Finally tearing his eyes from you, he nodded to the security guard who stepped to the side so he could open the door, "If you need anything, ask for Dr. Robby."
You exhaled in relief and ducked under his arm as he held open the door for you, "Thank you."
When the door fell shut behind you, the din of the emergency room quieted significantly and you felt yourself straighten.
"Hi Liam," You said gently, "Your lawyers asked me to come talk to you today. Would it be alright if I sat down?"
You gestured to the seat next to him and after a moment, he nodded.
"I brought you orange soda," You fished the bottle you had gotten from the vending machine upstairs out of your bag, "Your mom said it's your favorite."
He stared at it for a few beats before reaching for it, "Thanks," He whispered, his voice rough from what you assumed was nonuse. Or, perhaps overuse, if he had done a lot of screaming and crying. But Dr. Robby's evaluation suggested otherwise.
You looked over his drawing as he drank the soda. It was some doodles of what looked like classmates playing baseball. Some sketches of the nurses and doctors, even the security guard outside the door. Nothing out of the ordinary for a twelve year old. They were all quite good.
"Do you know any card games, Liam?" You said, before digging into your bag for your deck.
***
Robby peaked over to BH2 every so often, growing more perplexed every time he did. The two of you were laughing and playing and sharing snacks. For hours. He doubted you were discussing anything of substance.
So when you finally came out of the room, he was right behind you. As you turned to walk away, you walked right into his chest.
"Christ—!" You swore.
His hands steadied you, but he otherwise acted unphased, "So what's the verdict, huh? He's a normal kid after all? Didn't kill the girl?"
You scoffed and walked around him, "Once again, I'm not here to determine guilt."
"You don't think he could do it, though, right? Otherwise, what the hell have you been doing with him all day?"
You opened your notepad and began jotting things down while standing at the hub, a crease between your eyebrows as you did. Robby idly wondered what you'd do if he smoothed it out with his thumb.
The truth was, he found you fascinating. All hard edges until you got alone with the kid and then you suddenly softened. Now he started wondering which was the act?
"I have no idea, Dr. Robby. I am building rapport, surely you've heard of it?" You looked up at him with a snarky smirk on your face, "I'm just trying to get him to trust me right now so he'll remove whatever mask he's wearing."
"That seems… awfully manipulative."
You sighed tiredly. It wasn't the first time you'd been accused of being manipulative and it wouldn't be the last. But it felt awfully hypocritical coming from a doctor, "Really? You're telling me you've never been a little manipulative with a patient to gain their trust?"
Robby scoffed and shook his head, "This is hardly the same thing." He jerked his thumb towards BH2, "That's a scared kid you're taking advantage of."
"I'm trying to help him. If anything he tells me hurts his case, no one else will ever hear it. Except his lawyers." You flipped your notebook closed, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have another appointment to get to. I'll see you tomorrow."
He watched you walk off, a bit dazed, and when you were nearly out the door it hit him that you said you'd see him tomorrow.
You'd be back for the boy. He looked back over at BH2, noticed the boy was smiling a little to himself now as he doodled in his notebook.
He really shouldn't have let you sit with him today and now you'd be back again tomorrow to break the rules again. He sighed heavily and headed back into the fray, deciding that that was a problem for future Robby.
***
Like clockwork, there you were again at the hub the next day. Your outfit a variation of the previous day, another button up, another pair of slacks, another pair of loafers. Neat and tidy. Not a hair out of place.
You were the psychologist, but Robby got to thinking that the way you dressed probably said a lot about you. You cared a lot about how people viewed you and clearly you wanted them to view you as controlled, careful. He watched you bite your lip as you were jotting down some notes and thought you were probably a bit of a perfectionist, perhaps a touch anal.
Even so, he'd be remiss if he didn't acknowledge that he found you absurdly pretty. He loved the way you bit the pen cap between your teeth and the furrow of your brow when you were concentrating. He still longed to smooth it out with his thumb.
But all of that was irrelevant, because you couldn't be here again today.
He walked up to you and leaned against the counter, "You can't see him today."
You didn't look up from your notes, "This again?"
He leaned on his forearms, knowingly testing the limits of how close you'd let him get before you moved away. But still, you either didn't register his proximity or it didn't bother you. "What're you writing anyway? You haven't seen him yet today."
"I can't take notes while I'm seeing clients, makes them nervous and it makes them start assuming what I think is important. They'll start tailoring their answers accordingly. So I have to try and remember everything important and write it down afterwards. I just came from another client."
He hummed, "So, guilty or not guilty?" You looked up at him with disdain and he chuckled, "I'm just joking. But seriously, I can't let you see him again. You shouldn't have seen him yesterday, you have to wait until he gets admitted upstairs."
You chewed the inside of your cheek, "How is he today?"
He sighed heavily, "He's antsy. He's been stuck in that room for days. He's been pacing and banging his head against the wall, not enough to injure, but…" He shrugged, "He's a kid stuck in that little room, no privacy. He's probably scared."
You angled your head around Robby so you could get a good look at BH2 and Liam was standing at the window. When he saw you, he smiled shyly and waved and you smiled back, "If you let me see him, it might help." You said, "I brought him snacks. Besides," You turned back to Robby, "He's seen me now, he'll probably throw a real tantrum if I leave without speaking to him."
Robby slowly shook his head, a smirk on his face, "You're a real piece of work."
You smiled back at him and he found himself a bit proud of the fact that he had made you smile.
"So you'll let me see him?"
His eyes searched your face as he pondered. It had gone fine yesterday. And you were right that he'd probably throw a fit now if you left. He sighed, "You can stay for one hour. One. That's it."
Your smile widened until he saw teeth, and fuck, he found it unbearably charming.
"Thank you, Dr. Robby." You said cheerfully and closed your notebook, hoisting your bag over your shoulder and headed to BH2.
"Thought you said you weren't letting her in again?" Dana said at his side, both her and Robby watching as you walked into Liam's room.
"I wasn't," Robby said and scrubbed at his face, "But he saw her and got excited. I figured it would be worse for him if he didn't see her."
Dana looked up at Robby and then over to BH2 again, where you were handing Liam a candy bar and a bag of chips, "This is the kid they're saying murdered a twelve year old girl. You know that, right?"
Robby shook his head, and gestured to you and Liam, "Look at him. You really think he did that?"
Dana shrugged, "They must have some pretty compelling evidence if they arrested a kid."
"Cops fuck up all the time."
"Yeah," Dana said and looked back down at her iPad, "Not with white kids."
She walked off before Robby could reply. His eyes trailed back to BH2. Liam had grown at bit more somber since he last looked, eating a chip slowly and intently watching you as you spoke. He still thought maybe the cops had got it wrong, but what if Dana was right, what if they hadn't? And he had allowed you to lock yourself alone in a room with a killer?
In the end, he shook it off. You were fine yesterday and you'd be fine today. But he did check up on you more frequently than he had the day before. Just in case.
***
While Liam settled in to eating his chips, you looked over his doodles. More of his classmates, more of baseball. You pointed to them, "Are these your friends?"
He nodded while he chewed, but didn't elaborate, "You must miss them." You pushed, but he only shrugged.
"The doctors said you seemed a bit lonely earlier. That you were pacing around and banging your head on the walls."
He paused to look at you for a moment, then he looked back at his bag of chips, "They think I'm crazy," He said softly.
"What makes you think that?"
He shrugged again, "They locked me up in here. Won't let me talk to anybody."
"They let you talk to me."
"That's different."
"How so?"
He was silent for a while, avoided eye contact, then, "Can we play cards again?"
You kept your facial expression neutral, "If we have time later. I'd like to talk about your friends for a bit."
He sighed, as if this was an inconvenience to him, "There's nothing to say."
"Surely, there's something you could say about them. Their names, for starters—"
"I'm not gonna give you their names."
You tilted your head to the side, "Why not?" He stared stubbornly ahead, a scowl on his face, "Liam," You said gently, "I'm not gonna get them in any trouble. I work for your lawyers, I'm not the police."
You waited and waited, but he was still silent. "What did you guys do together?"
"I don't know," He said finally, "Hung out. Played video games. Walked around the neighborhood."
"Are your friends all boys or were there girls who hung around as well?"
He gave you a funny look, "No, just boys."
"Why'd you look at me like that? Like I said something strange?"
"Well, I'm not a fag." He said fiercely.
You paused a moment. "You think hanging out with girls would make you homosexual?"
He huffed, "Not, like—Like as friends. Boys don't hang out with girls as friends unless they're gay. Which I'm not."
You nodded slowly, "So what sort of circumstances would hanging out with a girl not be considered 'gay'?"
His cheeks grew red and he looked down at his hands, "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I wanna play cards."
"Okay," You said, "Once you answer that last question we can play a round of cards."
He threw himself back in his seat and sighed, "I don't know, like, going on a date with a girl."
"So, romantically, then is okay?"
He shrugged, "Yeah, I guess."
"So if the girl was your girlfriend she'd be okay to hang out with your friends?"
He frowned, "If I had a girlfriend, why would she hang out with my friends? She's not gonna fuck them."
It could mean nothing, you told yourself. There were plenty of young boys who had been influenced by podcasters and Youtubers that sold an alt right, toxic view of masculinity. The idea that all women were good for was fucking and as they got older, hosuework. It didn't make him homicidal. It didn't necessarily make him violent at all, just probably misguided.
But it was clear he wasn't going to tolerate this line of questioning for much longer. It was too soon to push him too hard.
"Let's play some cards." You said eventually, and fished the deck out of your bag.
***
You were waiting for the bus at the front of the hospital, still diligently scribbling notes from the session into your notebook.
"Hey," Robby strolled up to you, a helmet in one hand and his backup over his other shoulder, "You left before I could ask you how it went."
You shrugged, "Fine."
"That's it? Fine?"
"I really shouldn't be telling you anything," You said, "Anything he tells me in there is confidential."
He scoffed, "He's my patient."
You closed your notebook and looked up at him, forcing a smile, "It went fine."
He watched you for a moment longer before breaking your gaze and running a hand over his beard, "I can't let you back in there with him if you come back and I don't care if he screams about it. So, do us all a favor and don't come back."
You hummed, "Okay, I'll take that into consideration."
He laughed, "There's nothing to consider. I won't let you back in there with him. It's dangerous and puts the whole hospital at risk. You'll only waste everyone's time if you come back."
You sighed, "Okay. I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Robby."
He huffed a laugh through his nose. Unfortunately, it didn't bother him as much as it should that he'd be seeing you again.
"You'll be waiting forever for the bus, why don't you let me give you a ride home?"
You eyed his helmet skeptically, "An ER doctor that rides a motorcycle?" You looked up at him, "You'd think you'd know better."
He smirked, "You should see the number of us who smoke."
You gave a short laugh, "Appreciate the offer, but I'll wait for the bus. I don't like the noise."
"I have an extra helmet, it'll cover your ears and muffle most of the sound."
You narrowed your eyes at him as you considered. Was he flirting with you or was he really just trying to be nice? You always had a hard time telling the difference.
Finally, you sighed, "Alright, fine."
And so that was how you ended up on the back of Dr. Robby's bike, dopey looking helmet snug on your head. You punched your address into his phone, which he then clipped to his handle bars so he could see the GPS.
"You alright?" He asked after getting on the bike in front of you.
"Yeah."
He turned to look at you, "You look scared."
You swallowed. No point in lying. "I am a little, yeah."
He took your wrists and wrapped your arms snug around his waist, "It'll be fine," he said, "Just hold on."
It had been a long time since you had touched anybody and the warmth of his body against your skin almost alarmed you.
"You ready?" He shouted over the roar of the engine.
"Yeah," You shouted back.
Immediately, you nearly fell backwards as he pulled out onto the street and sped up. You had been trying to keep some semblance of distance between your bodies, but you quickly found you were unable to keep your grip unless you plastered yourself to his back. So that's what you did, arms tight around his middle and chin resting on his shoulder.
The streets passed in a blur and you were struck by the intimacy of this whole thing. It hit you hard when, stopped at a red light, you went to lean back to give him space and instead he had placed his hands over yours where they rested on his stomach, ran his thumb gently over your skin, keeping you pressed to him. It shocked you to find that you wished you could take your helmet off so you could press your ear to his back and listen to the steady thrum of his heart.
You had been annoyed with him just hours ago, but you were so goddamn touch starved a single motorcycle ride had you wondering what you wouldn't do to keep holding him like this.
But you didn't live very far from the hospital and it was all over too soon. Parked outside the home you were renting, he didn't stop you this time when you pulled your hands away from him.
As you got off the bike, he wrapped a hand around your wrist to steady you, which was lucky because once on solid ground, you lost your balance.
"Thank you," You said, pulling the helmet off your head and handing it back to him. From the smirk on his face, you thought your hair likely looked a little insane. You tried to comb it down with your fingers.
"You're welcome," He ran a hand through his hair and rested it on the back of his head, "Tomorrow, though, we're back to being rivals if you show up in my ER again."
His tone was light and playful and you smiled. Strange. You couldn't remember the last time someone had pulled a smile from you so easily. You had always been hard won and harder to keep.
"Yes, sworn enemies. Noted." You said and started backing away towards your house, "See you tomorrow." You said, and mock saluted him before turning away.
***
Robby was trying desperately to keep his temper in check while Gloria walked behind him, periodically taking bites from his protein bar as he took stock of the ER, his residents, his med students. Gloria and her constant buzzing in his ear was not helping matters.
"Robinavitch," She said exasperated, "Please tell me you did not leave a young woman, unsupervised, in a room with a murderer."
"What happened to innocent until proven guilty?"
She huffed behind him, "Sure, but we still treat those charged with violent crimes with caution. Especially in this hospital. If anything happened to her, do you know the lawsuits—"
"He's a kid, Gloria. And besides, Ahmad was right outside the whole time."
"We were instructed by the police not to leave anyone alone with him in there."
Robby sighed and turned around to face her, "You know, Gloria, none of this would be happening if there was a bed upstairs for him in psych. Instead he's been waiting down here for days with staff that are ill equipped to handle his needs—"
"I didn't come down here to talk about boarding, I came down here to tell you that if she comes back here today, you need to have security escort her out. Am I understood?"
Robby waved her off as he saw Dana trying to get his attention, "Yeah," He called out behind him, "Got it."
And he thought he did. He had every intention of telling you you'd have to leave if you showed up. And show up you did, but he didn't find you at the hub this time. He found you already in BH2.
Well played, he thought mildly to himself as he walked over to the room and knocked on the door.
You looked up and when your eyes met his, he thought he saw you fight a smile.
"Hi." You said as you stepped outside the room.
He shook his head, "You gotta go."
You nodded, "I'm almost done, I just need another, like, thirty minutes."
He scoffed, "How long have you been here?"
You shrugged, "I don't know, almost two hours I think."
He scrubbed his face with his hands and then laced them behind his neck, "You have to go, now."
You tilted your head, "Come on, Dr. Robby. You don't mean that."
"I really, really do—"
"Robby—Incoming MVA, ETA six minutes." Dana shouted as she walked by.
Robby started backing away, "—And I don't have time to argue with you, so please, please just get out of here. I don't wanna tell you again."
And then he was gone. You stared after him for a moment or two, debating whether or not you should listen. But you were finally really getting somewhere with Liam and if you left prematurely it would derail all the progress you'd made.
So you walked back inside BH2 and shut the door behind you.
"What was that about?" Liam asked as you sat back down.
"Oh, nothing of consequence," You folded your hands in front of you on the table, "So, where were we? I think we had made our way back to talking about your friends and your girlfriend."
"Don't have a girlfriend."
"Chloe wasn't your girlfriend?"
At the mere mention of her he balked, "No." He said finally.
"Was she your friend, then?"
"I told you, no. I'm not friends with girls."
You pressed your lips together, "Well, I guess I'm just confused because from what I understand she was with you and your friends the night she died."
"Who told you that?" He asked, voice raised.
"Is it not true?"
He pulled at his hair in frustration and looked away from you, "It's true."
"So you're not friends and she's not your girlfriend, but somehow she ended up at the arcade with you and your friends."
"We just ran into her, that's all. Her and her friend Julia. Julia's dad came to pick up Julia and Chloe was gonna walk home. So we offered to walk her."
"That was nice of you."
He shrugged, "Her house is like a block from mine."
"So you walked her all the way home that night?" He nodded, "Did you talk at all? On the walk to her house?"
He frowned, "What?"
"I'm just wondering if there was any conversation."
"I—No. No."
"So you three boys walk Chloe home—"
"It wasn't the three of us."
You frowned, "What do you mean?"
"My friends, their houses were in the opposite direction. It was just me and Chloe."
You hoped the shock wasn't evident on your face. The official interview from both the police and his lawyers said that all three of them walked Chloe home, and the last they saw her, she was alive. You weren't allowed more information than that. You knew there was some sort of physical evidence they had on Liam, but knowing too much impacted your objectivity. So you didn't know the specifics. But Liam admitting that it was just him and Chloe on that walk… That was something he hadn't said before, you were sure of it.
You cleared your throat, "Okay, so just you and Chloe. And you walked in silence the whole time?"
He shrugged, "I don't know. We talked about school and stuff, I think." He scratched his head impatiently, "I don't really remember."
You nodded, "So you get to her house, what happens next? You keep walking and she goes inside?"
"No, I walked her to the door." He cleared his throat and you watched as a flush crept up his neck, "And then, we um, and then we—we kissed."
You raised your eyebrows, "You kissed Chloe when you dropped her off?"
He shrugged and smirked, and you got the impression that he was trying to show off. That maybe he was trying to impress you. And a knife of ice cold dread wedged itself in your stomach, began to spread through your veins.
"She kissed me," He said confidently, "Even put her hand on—on my dick."
You swallowed and looked down at your hands, "I'm sorry, Liam."
He frowned, "Why're you sorry?"
"Well, because Chloe's dead. It must be hard knowing that you shared such an intimate experience with someone who's no longer here."
He paled considerably, "Why the fuck would you say it like that?"
"Like what?"
"That—like—she's—"
"Dead?"
"Shut up!" He shouted suddenly.
"I worry you're not grasping the permanence of the situation—"
"I know what it means to be fucking dead."
"Then why are you so angry with me?"
He shook his head in frustration, "Fucking cunt," he said under his breath.
You opted to ignore his swearing, "What happened after she kissed you?"
He shrugged, looking down at the table now, avoiding your eyes, "I went home."
You inhaled deeply, "Liam, are you being honest with me?"
"Yes."
"Okay," you sighed, "Because I just find it strange that someone who, by your own account, was not your friend, not your girlfriend, not someone you really even talked to very much at all would initiate kissing you the first time you're alone together."
"Oh, you find it strange because you think I'm ugly, is that it?" His voice was raised again, "You find it hard to believe that a girl would want me?"
You shook your head, "I've spoken with your teachers, some of your classmates, I've spoken with Julia. All of them say the same thing, that Chloe didn't like you very much. In fact, in some cases, actively avoided you."
"Well what the fuck do they know, huh?" He stood up so abruptly, he knocked his chair over and began pacing the small room.
"Liam, I need you to sit down—"
"They weren't fucking there that night!"
"—Sit down. Now."
"Nobody was fucking there! Just because you think you're too pretty, too good for me doesn't mean she thinks that! You think you know everything— Well you don't fucking know anything!"
He was very close to you now, leaning over the table and screaming in your face while you remained seated, face impassive.
"Liam," you said quietly, "Please sit down."
He was breathing hard and after a moment pulled his face away from yours and turned his body away from you. You allowed him a few moments to calm himself before he righted his char and sat down again.
Your stomach was roiling with nausea now and you thought you might be sick. He was lying about the kiss, you were sure. But you thought there was likely a bit of truth there, based on his outburst. You wondered if he had walked her to her door and tried to kiss her then gotten angry when she rejected him.
You saw flashes in your mind of the crime scene photos. The friendship bracelets she wore on each arm nearly up to her elbows. The butterfly clips she used to decorate her hair.
If you couldn't get it together, you were going to vomit. You swallowed the saliva that had pooled in your mouth and looked back at Liam.
"This is our last session."
"What—?"
"—I've really enjoyed our time together, getting to know you—"
"No—Is this because—Because I shouted? I didn't mean to—I'm sorry!"
"No, we always had a limited amount of time together, Liam, you knew this when we started—"
"But it's only been three days!" His eyes were wet and frantic when you looked at him, much like a panicked dog.
And despite it, despite what you knew your evaluation would say, what you knew he likely had done, you felt a little sorry for him.
Here was a twelve year old boy whose whole life was ruined, now, because of a split second fit of rage. You remembered how his mother had described him to you. Sweet and precocious most of the time, but quick to anger. Rage that could bring down a whole house. But up until this point, had never harmed anyone.
And you wondered if that rage hadn't been so normalized, hadn't been packaged as just the average prepubescent mood swings of a boy, if someone would have gotten him help sooner. If it would've made a difference, if he would've ended up here anyway, in this room with you.
If Chloe would still be here, bracelets jangling up her arms as she walked to class with Julia.
"I'm sorry," you said softly. You felt your own emotional resolve fraying as you did.
Liam was screaming incomprehensibly at this point. The security guard came inside, added his own shouting to the ruckus. Liam was throwing things; the snacks you gave him, the soda, his notepad, anything he could get his hands on. You thought you heard Robby shouting something as well.
You ducked out of the room, walking fast towards the ambulance bay. You barely registered that Robby was following after you, your name falling from his lips as you stumbled outside.
***
Robby was very irritated as he followed after you. You had very nearly gotten assaulted after he had asked you to leave. You were both exceptionally lucky the situation hadn't escalated further.
As he followed you out to the ambulance bay, he intended to shout at you about how irresponsible you had been and how you better not ever step foot in his ER ever again. However, once he stepped outside, he saw you vomiting in the bushes nearby and he immediately softened.
"You okay?" He asked, soft and gentle behind you as you pulled back, wiping your arm across your mouth as tears streamed down your cheeks. He thought it must have been the most out of control he'd ever seen you.
And you laughed softly at his question, shaking your head and lowering yourself to the ground.
Robby lowered himself to the ground as well, crouching in front of you. You stilled when he took your face in his hands, scanning for injury, "Did he hurt you?"
You shook your head again, gently pushed his hands from your face, "No, he didn't touch me."
"What happened?"
Your hands trembled as you rubbed them over your face, impatiently pushing the tears from your skin. Robby waited as you seemed to gather the words, stopped himself from taking your hands in his to stop the tremors.
"I'm not usually this… effected when I make an evaluation," you sniffled, "but he's just a kid and… And I thought maybe they had gotten it wrong. I wanted them to be wrong about him and I let myself get too wrapped up in it and then when he—" You recalled the smugness in his voice when he lied to you about Chloe and a fresh wave of nausea overtook you. You closed your eyes, took a slow, deep breath, "It's not helpful, but sometimes I imagine if I had met some of my clients before… If it would have made a difference?"
Your tears were beginning to choke you and you swallowed them down, "It sucks being the person called in after the horrific tragedy has already occurred because all I can do is try to create a narrative for what I think went wrong. And what good does that do anyone? That little girl is still dead. He's still gonna be locked up at least until he's eighteen. And what sort of irreparable damage will that do to his psyche?"
Robby cleared his throat, "I see patients all the time," he said slowly, "who die under my care and some of the time, I have to let them go with the knowledge if they had just gotten to me fifteen minutes or a half hour sooner, I would've been able to save them." He shrugged when you looked at him with bloodshot eyes, "It doesn't make the work you're doing irrelevant. We can still learn from your evaluations what to do better next time so things like this don't happen again."
You tilted your head to the side as you looked at him, "Why're you being so nice to me? I snuck in here without your permission and then stayed after you told me to leave."
He smirked and shrugged his shoulders, "Guess I have a soft spot for women who break the rules."
You managed a small smile and said, voice hoarse with tears, "Thank you, Dr. Robby."
"Just Robby," he said softly, then, after a moment, "please."
Your face softened, relaxed just marginally and he felt a bit of relief. He hadn't realized how worried he'd been, seeing you fall apart like this, until that moment.
"Thank you, Robby."
He felt his heart constrict in his chest at the sound of his name on your lips and thought he was probably done for. And you were going to leave today, probably never to come back. But that was fine. It was probably for the best.
So he just nodded and rose to standing, reached a hand down to you to help you up as well. Then he watched you walk through the parking lot, briefcase held tight to your chest like a shield as you went to stand at the bus stop, eyes still wet and furrow still between your brow.
***
You haunted Robby's thoughts for the rest of his shift. He kept replaying in his head the way you had said his name, like a prayer of salvation. He needed to get you out of his head.
So when the shift was over, he headed to a bar for a beer or four to drown out thoughts of you. But when he walked inside, he stopped cold over threshold.
You sat at the bar, laptop in front of you as you typed furiously, a pen held between your teeth as you looked down at your open notebook to the side of the laptop every few moments.
Robby couldn't decide as he stood there if this was luck or a disaster waiting to happen. Romantic relationships for him usually fell in the latter category.
He didn't believe in fate, but if ever there were a time to, he supposed this might be it. So eventually, he forced his feet to take him to the seat next to you. You didn't look up or even seem to notice him until he was pulling out the chair.
And when you did, eyes coming up to meet his, your face lit up. "Robby," You said, and you sounded happy to see him.
"I swear I'm not following you." He said as he sat down, "You bring your work to the bar?" He asked, nodding at your laptop.
You nodded, "Sometimes. If it's a hard case and I'm writing up the evaluation alone in my house I can…" you swallowed, "well, I can go to a dark place. So it's better if I'm around people."
"What're you drinking?" He nodded to your glass that was now just melting ice, "I'll buy the next round."
"Oh, I don't drink," you said, and flagged down the bartender, "It's just a Coke."
You turned to the bartender before Robby could say anything, "Vinny, could you get Robby a drink and add him to my tab?"
Vinny nodded and smirked at you, "Your tab, huh?" he said, voice teasing, "Should I add another Coke to your tab as well?"
You returned his grin, "Yes, please, and don't forget the cherries."
The bartender shook his head and then turned to Robby, "What can I get you, pal?"
Robby was now looking between you and the bartender, feeling a pained sort of jealousy that he felt ashamed of feeling. "Uh," He managed finally, "Just a Stella Artois is fine if you have it?"
Vinny nodded, "You got it."
Robby turned back to you, "So you don't drink tonight or you don't drink ever?"
"Ever." You said, eyes traveling over the screen of your laptop.
"You don't find it difficult to be sober in a bar?"
You shook your head, "I've never drank so I don't have the temptation."
Vinny slid a glass of Coke to you with a comical number of Maraschino cherries sitting on top of the ice and then slid Robby's beer to him. Robby nodded his thanks and looked at you in amusement as you popped a cherry onto your tongue.
"You've never drank?" You shook your head, still with a cherry in your mouth. "Not even a sip?"
You swallowed your cherry, "Alcoholics run in my family. Both my parents were alcoholics and it ruined their lives. I didn't really need any other convincing after that, but when I started getting older and my friends all started to experiment, my aunt sat me down. She very… gently explained to me that while many of my friends could drink and would likely never have a problem, my genetics make it so that one drink for me is the equivalent of willingly swallowing a bomb that I have no way of knowing how to defuse," you shrugged, "And maybe the timer won't ever run out, but my family history makes it more likely that it runs out as soon as I take that first sip." You took the straw of your Coke between your lips, "So I don't drink."
You had said the whole thing nonchalantly, but he tilted his head to look directly in your eyes, "I'm sorry about your parents."
You shrugged, "It's okay. My aunts, Vinny's moms, took me in when my parents couldn't take care of me anymore. I would've been way more messed up if it weren't for them."
Robby raised his eyebrows, "Vinny is your… cousin?"
"Oh, yeah. Sorry, I should've mentioned. He owns this bar, it's why I come here to hang out. He gives me all the Cokes I want for free."
He felt a bit ashamed at the relief that pulsed through him at this revelation. "I was raised by extended family as well, my grandmother. You're right I think, in a strange sense, that we were lucky. I don't know what my life would've looked like if she hadn't been around."
You gave him a sad smile, "I'm sorry about your parents," you said, parroting him earlier.
He nodded and took a sip from his beer, "Thank you."
"I hope I didn't make too much of a mess for you earlier. I can be… impulsive sometimes. I'm told."
Robby chuckled, "You're told?"
You shrugged, "I think I'm impulsive a reasonable amount of the time. Others disagree, as I'm sure you would about today."
You had made quite the mess for him. Gloria had come straight downstairs to rip into him as soon as she had heard and it had taken him a good ten minutes to calm her down and assure her there had been no injuries and that you wouldn't be filing a complaint.
However, Liam's behavior had finally gotten him moved straight up to psych, so in the end Robby thought you had inadvertently done him a favor.
So he shook his head, "I can also be persuaded to make rash decisions on behalf of my patients. So I don't really blame you. But if you had gotten hurt, we'd probably be having a very different conversation."
You hummed, "You probably wouldn't have been so happy to be running into me tonight then, huh?"
He smirked and shook his head, "I think I'd be hard pressed to find any situation where I wouldn't be happy to run into you."
You laughed nervously and looked down at your drink, "The feeling is mutual."
Even off the clock, you were still attempting to be put together and fight any kernel of chaos. He recalled the way you had tried to comb down your hair after getting off his bike the other day and he had silently wished you wouldn't. He thought the only time you had ever thrown caution to the wind was probably within your work. Like he had seen you today, falling apart.
He wanted to see you lose control again, but because of him. He remembered how hesitant you had been to wrap your arms tightly around him on his bike and he instead wanted you to be clawing at him to get closer. He yearned to have you say his name again, but desperate and wrecked, begging for release only he could give.
"Any chance you want to get out of here?" He asked softly.
Your eyes snapped to his, then to his hand, wrapped around his beer bottle, "With you?" You asked, eyes still on his hand. He didn't miss the way you bit your lip when he lightly tapped his fingers against the bottle.
"With me," he confirmed and your eyes locked on his again.
He wasn't sure what sort of internal debate you were having, but you were silent a few moments as you looked him over. You glanced at your laptop where your evaluation sat, unfinished, and then sighed, "Okay, but it has to be my place."
Ah, a way for you to maintain control. Fine. He'd allow it, for now. Besides, it would give him the chance to get to know you better and get to know the sides of you you didn't allow anyone else to see.
"Deal," he said and stood, pulled out his wallet while you packed up your things. He knew you said to put him on your "tab" but since your cousin owned the bar, he had a suspicion that just meant he was drinking for free. And even though it was just one beer, he didn't like that. So he placed a ten dollar bill on the table and walked you out of the bar.
***
You felt borderline insane as you walked him to your door. It wasn't that you hadn't had a one night stand before, you had had plenty. But you had sworn them off more than a year ago after the last guy you brought home took a piss in your kitchen sink. Said he couldn't find the bathroom in the dark. Never mind the fact that you intentionally left a nightlight on in your bathroom for this very purpose and that he would've had to walk by it to get to your kitchen sink.
Regardless, you had decided you didn't want strangers in your house anymore and you certainly would not willingly enter a stranger's house. So your sex life had taken a very dramatic pause ever since. And maybe that was why you hadn't needed much convincing to bring Robby home. He certainly didn't seem like the type of man who would piss in your sink.
But also, something about him had you wondering if the second he touched you, you would combust on the spot.
Or maybe it wasn't him at all. Maybe you really were just that desperate to be touched by anyone at all.
When you opened your front door, you smiled immediately at the sound of your Russian Blue making herself known and reenacting her usual routine of meowing at you in distress until you scooped her up.
Which you did, and she nuzzled into your chest, "We have a guest, Zelda, so you have to be on your best behavior." Her purrs rumbled through you as you scratched behind her ears.
"You have a cat." Robby said, and reached to pet her as well, fingers brushing yours.
"Is that a problem?"
He shook his head, "No," he smiled as he scratched under her chin and was rewarded with her purrs, "Zelda, like, Zelda Fitzgerald?"
You chuckled, "No, Zelda like the video game. The Legend of Zelda."
His eyes went back up to yours and he smirked, "You play video games?"
You shrugged and bent down to let Zelda go. Now that she had yelled at you for leaving and you had apologized with scratches, she would disappear probably until Robby left. She never much cared for the men you brought home.
"Helps me decompress. I've played them since I was a kid, but less often now. I don't always have the time." You turned to look at him and found him watching you, a fond look on his face, "What?"
"Nothing," he said again, still that slight smile on his face, "It's just that I walked into your house moments ago and I feel like I've already learned more about you in the last minute than I have in the last three days."
You nearly physically flinched at that, but turned away to hide your facial expression from him. This wasn't exactly what you had brought him here for, to get to know you. You just wanted to get laid by a seemingly normal, handsome doctor.
"Do you want something to drink?" You asked as you headed towards the kitchen, "I don't have any alcohol but I have some seltzer or soda?"
"Sure," he said, "I'll have a seltzer."
As you rummaged through your fridge you heard him call from the next room, "Is it okay if I play something on your record player?"
Despite your earlier thoughts, that you didn't want him to know you, you were endeared that he seemed to be losing himself in your things, in your house.
"Go ahead," you called back and grabbed two cans of seltzer.
By the time you got to the living room, he was playing All the Ways by the Secret Sisters. You were pretty sure it was the same record you had left in the player the last time you used it.
"You know this song?" You asked, as you handed him a seltzer.
He shook his head and popped open the can, "No, I was just curious what you were last listening to. I like it, though," he said as the verse progressed.
You sipped your seltzer and feeling his eyes on you, turned to look at him, "What?"
"Dance with me?"
You laughed, "You don't strike me as the dancing type."
He shook his head, "All this song calls for is swaying, which I can manage." He put his seltzer down on your coffee table and held out his hand to you.
You rolled your eyes, but decided to humor him, placing a hand in his and the other on his shoulder. You hoped he couldn't hear the way your breathing quickened with his hand to your back and your chest pressed to his.
And it was nice, being held and swayed while the record spun. This was quickly becoming something other than what you imagined a one night stand to be. Perhaps a bit more romantic than you were explicitly comfortable with. Usually, by this point your pants were already off, but you thought maybe it was a symptom of his generation that he was taking his time.
As the song swelled and ebbed, you felt him press his face into your hair, then to the skin just below your ear. And suddenly you were tilting your head to fully expose your neck to him, like a dog rolling over onto its back in submission. He moved his mouth slowly and sensually along your neck, hands squeezing your hips gently as if to anchor you to him in case you were to pull away. He needn't worry about that, though, because you were on another plane of existence entirely, drowning yourself in the feel of his lips and tongue and teeth against your skin, the drag of his beard along your throat.
Until you couldn't take it anymore and you were pulling his face up to meet yours so you could kiss him properly. He kissed slowly and purposefully, like there was no rush, like he didn't want to waste a single second. When he slid his tongue against yours, he moaned into your mouth, and the sound sent a thrill through you. So much so, that you began kissing him harder, faster—
But he only brought his hands up to your cheeks, held your face firmly as he reasserted the pace, until it was devastatingly slow again. You whined, which was very unlike you, and you felt Robby smile against your mouth, "It's okay, baby," he said softly, "there'll be time for hard and fast later. Just humor me for a while."
Oh. Oh, you really liked the way he said that, the way he'd called you baby. Another thing you weren't used to, being directed, being told what was going to happen. It was usually you calling the shots and another man's poor attempt at dirty talking you. You once pressed a hand over a man's mouth to quiet him enough to allow you to come as you rode him into oblivion.
But Robby's voice was both rough and smooth, soothing. You thought he could probably murmur the most vulgar words in your ear and you'd still want him, badly.
You let him direct you, let him set the pace, let him slowly, agonizingly undress you until you were in just bra and underwear. And he pulled back slightly to look you over, eyes darkening with lust, "Take me to your bed?" he asked softly.
You took him by the hand and led him to your bedroom, licked your lips when he pushed you back onto the bed and began to undress.
When he was in just his boxers he crawled over you and you ran your hands eagerly over every inch of his skin you could. He leaned down to kiss your neck again, one of his hands trailing down your chest, your belly, until he was rubbing you over your underwear. Your hips lifted up and into his palm and he covered your mouth with his own when you moaned.
"You're soaked," he whispered, smug, "I've barely touched you."
You took his lip gently between your teeth and then released him, "I've been thinking about you while I touched myself the last few days," you whispered before you could think better of it, "I think it's sort of a weird Pavlovian response now."
The groan he made sounded pained as he slipped his hand fully into your underwear. "You were thinking about me, huh? When you were getting yourself off?"
You nodded, unable to form words as his fingers slid up and down your folds, denying you the friction you really needed.
"And what was I doing in your head, hm?" You sighed when his finger circled your puffy clit, "Was it this?"
"Something like that, yeah." Your back arched when he slipped a finger inside you, so much thicker and longer than your own, he reached the deep spot inside you that had your toes curling effortlessly.
You sighed into his mouth as he curled his finger up just slightly, slowly thrusting in and out. His pace was so languid you began moving your own hips, trying to encourage him to quicken, but he placed his free hand on your stomach, "So impatient," he tutted, "is it always a race with you to come?"
Yes. It was, in fact. You were always trying to come as fast as possible so whoever you were with wouldn't lose interest. Even with Robby, you worried he might get you close to the precipice and then decide he couldn't wait anymore, that he needed to come first.
And then, what the fuck would be the point of all this? You took this man into your home, let him meet your cat, let him into your bed, and what? No orgasm in return?
But you couldn't say any of this, worried you'd come across as a greedy bitch and also it was difficult to form coherent sentences once he added a second finger.
So instead, your stupid, dumb, pleasure addled brain decided to just beg, "Please."
He pulled his face back marginally so you got a full view of him, perched above you. His eyes were black pits of desire, but beneath that, there was something else. A gentleness, a fondness, a tenderness. Directed at you.
You didn't think anyone had ever looked at you with such adoration. He didn't even really know you. The intimacy of his gaze embarrassed you and so you closed your eyes so you wouldn't have to see it.
Eyes closed, you felt him kiss up your jaw to your ear, fingers still moving at a snail's pace.
"You sound so pretty when you beg," he crooned, his hot breath on the shell of your ear, "wanna hear you do it again."
You hated the way your body responded to his voice, a fire low in your belly stoked by his words, and still you could only whimper in response, tears collecting at the corners of your eyes. You couldn't recall a time a man had ever had you like this, that you had allowed a man to have you like this, so vulnerable and desperate for him.
"You can do it," he cooed, all condescension as he pulled his fingers out of you. Before you had a chance to complain about that he slapped your pussy lightly and it sent shockwaves through your clit, "Beg me to come."
You groaned, pushed your face up and into his neck, "Please, Robby."
He covered your mouth with his own again, kissed you hard, teeth dragging over your lower lip, "Good girl," he murmured and kissed you again, his praise sending chills up your arms.
He kissed his way down your body until he was between your legs and he pressed his mouth to the damp spots on the fabric of your underwear. He kissed you thoroughly through the fabric, his moan vibrating off you. He was such a fucking tease but you absolutely would not beg him again.
"Robby," you said again, but this time in warning.
He laughed, "Alright, alright," he pulled the waistband of your underwear down, allowed you to lift your hips so he could pull them off you, "message received."
When he lowered his mouth to you, his tongue expertly working you, a stray, fleeting thought passed to the front of your mind that maybe this was why people got married. Maybe if you found someone who could make you feel this good, that made you think this must be why people believed in heaven, in God. Maybe that was enough reason to tie yourself to someone forever.
The thought was there and gone like a passing shower, almost as if your brain was too afraid to acknowledge why you would be experiencing that specific sentiment. And then Robby focused his mouth on your clit and slipped his fingers back inside you and there was no room to think anything at all.
Your walls tightened around his fingers as his tongue flicked against your clit until your climax ripped through you. Your body writhed against his mouth as you rode out the waves until they crested and receded.
You were breathing hard, eyelids fluttering open, when you felt him pull his fingers out of you. He sucked your juices from his fingers and even after finishing, your stomach tightened in response.
It shocked you how easily everything he did turned you on. Your eyes trailed down his chest, catalogued his Star of David necklace, his freckles, the smattering of chest hair, down to his belly, the hair that grew there and disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers, you filed it all away.
His erection was obvious in his boxers as his mouth came back up to meet yours, "you doing okay, sweetheart?" he murmured into your mouth.
You felt yourself melt. With every passing moment you started to wonder if this man was ruining you for sex with anyone else ever again. You managed a nod and kissed him back. Part of you wondered if he had realized just how undone you were by him. Still, you wanted more. And this, like so much of this sexual experience, was foreign to you. You were used to going through the motions to make another man come. Most of the time, you resigned yourself to being a pillow princess, not really an active participant, more of a let's get this over with attitude.
But with Robby, you yearned to touch him, feel him, wanted to be filled to the brim with him. When you reached into his boxers to stroke his cock with your hand, it was his turn to moan. As he did, he reached for your face. He gently pressed fingers that were just inside of you to your lips, "Open."
His word was firm, meant to be a command, and yet there was a question in his eyes. You met his eyes, gave the smallest of nods as you opened your mouth. You took his fingers into your mouth, sucked on them obscenely while you pumped him with your hand. Each time you brought your fist up to his head, you noted the precum there and sucked on his fingers a little harder.
"Jesus Christ," he panted as he watched you, his hips involuntarily rutting into your hand.
When he pulled his fingers from your mouth, you rose up to meet his lips, needing to kiss him, to taste his tongue and feel the roughness of his beard against you. You needed more of him, sucked on his tongue as if it were oxygen after resurfacing from the ocean. He made needy noises, grinding down on your soaked pussy still with the fabric of his boxers between you.
You pulled on them impatiently, no longer able to disguise your neediness, not caring if you seemed desperate anymore. He met your desperation, quickly pulled them down and off, "Do you have a condom?" He asked, breathless.
You did, but for a moment you considered asking him to fuck you raw. You felt crazed, reckless in a way you had never been before. You couldn't fathom the idea of creating another barrier between you. But you blinked, reminded yourself you didn't really know him. You had an IUD, it wasn't pregnancy you were worried about. You knew you were clean, but who could say that he was? He was a doctor, so you'd hope he wouldn't lie about that sort of thing, but again, you didn't know him.
You cursed the rational side of your brain and reached for your nightstand. You hastily ripped open the condom wrapper, hushed his laughing at your impatience with a kiss and worked the condom onto him.
He cradled the back of your neck as he kissed you, guided you back onto the pillow, and then you felt him poking, first at your leg, then he nudged your entrance and inhaled sharply.
You locked eyes with him as he slowly pushed himself inside you, the two of you sighing collectively as he filled you to the brim. You whined at the stretch, immediately wanting him to move, "Please," you begged again, wiggling your hips in a useless attempt to create friction.
He gave you a lopsided grin, pressed his face into your sweaty neck, "It's not a race, sweetheart." He chided again, took your earlobe between his teeth as he finally started to move his hips. He moved slow, but his thrusts were so deep and strong, he pushed you up until your head hit the bedpost.
It didn't hurt, and you barely noticed it for the stars you were seeing every time he pushed into you, but after a moment you registered that your head was hitting his hand instead. He had placed his hand between your head and the bedpost, kissed your forehead as he rutted into you, "sorry, sweetheart," he murmured.
Oh, it was dizzying the way you felt delusional with lust one second and the next wondering if this is what it felt like to be in love. You had thought you'd been in love before, but it had never felt like this, all consuming. You had only known him a few days but you wondered how anyone he slept with didn't fall in love with him. Maybe they did. Maybe he was just that legendary a lay.
It was close to being over, you could tell. He was moving faster, he'd buried his face in your shoulder, bit down to muffle his moans. When he came, you stroked his head, didn't mind the way his sweat mingled with yours, damp skin sticking to you.
And with his orgasm, your head began to clear of the lust laden fog. Breathless, his mouth searched for yours, sucked your bottom lip between his own. Suddenly, you felt terrified of your own want. There was an ache so deep inside you, reserved just for him, that you felt tears burn the backs of your eyes as he kissed you.
Gently, you pushed him off of you, murmured something about going to take a shower, and ran out of the room.
You turned on the shower with a shaky hand, felt the onset of a panic attack impending in your chest. You sat on the floor of the tub, let the warm spray of the water regulate your breathing.
This was supposed to be a one night stand. You were supposed to fuck him and forget him, like you always did. And like what always happened, you would get out of this shower, walk back to your bedroom, and he would be gone. You always used the shower after sex to provide your guests with a good excuse to leave. That way there were no awkward goodbyes and you could go to sleep having cleaned them off you.
It didn't matter that, actually, if you weren't so tired you thought you'd probably like to fuck him again. Maybe this time, you'd count each freckle underneath his eyes and watch the fucked out expression on his face while you rode him.
You scrubbed at your face, stood up and turned off the shower. There wouldn't be a next time, you reminded yourself. One and done, that was your rule. You liked your life the way it was, clean and neat, just you and Zelda. Relationships were messy. Love was messy. Unnecessary.
You wrapped a towel around your body and headed back to the bedroom. Walking through the open door, you started when you saw him, still sprawled out on the bed. He had put his boxers back on and a pair of readers was perched on his nose as he read the book in his hand, Psychological Evaluations for the Courts: A Handbook for Mental Health Professionals and Lawyers.
This was all surprising enough, but what really threw you for a loop, was Zelda curled up on his bare shoulder, her face smushed into his as he used a free hand to scratch under her chin. Zelda always stayed away from your guests.
"Hey, can I borrow this?" He asked, nodding towards the book.
You blinked, "You're still here," you said softly.
"Oh," he pushed his glasses up onto his head, "did you want me to go?"
You opened and closed your mouth, "N-no. I just, um," at that moment, Zelda meowed and jumped off the bed to your feet, "Usually, it's just that while I'm in the shower usually my… guests… leave."
He smirked at you, "I don't have to stay—"
"I want you to stay," you blurted, "but I should tell you that I get nightmares. Sometimes."
"Yeah, okay. Me too." He shrugged and looked back at the book, "Seriously, can I borrow this?"
You smirked and dropped your towel, grabbed a clean t-shirt to throw on. You felt his eyes rove over your body until you pulled the t-shirt over your head, "You want to borrow one of my reference books?"
You crawled back onto the bed, tried to ignore the gnawing thought in your head that you shouldn't be doing this. This broke the rules. You should've sent him home.
He shrugged, "It's interesting."
Zelda hopped back on the bed and settled on top of the place where your body connected to Robby's. And Robby looked down at her and smiled, scratched the spot under her chin again. Fuck. If he could win Zelda over, a feat only ever achieved by you, it was over for you.
"Yeah, sure," you said, "you can borrow it. But that means you have to see me again."
He hummed and lightly stroked his knuckles across your cheekbone, "Was already planning on that."
***
You follow them home, watch Liam walk her to the door. There's a chill to the night air that comes at summer's end when the greens and blues of the season begin to dull.
You can hear the friendship bracelets bounce against one another as they walk. There's a moment, when they stand on the stoop, where Liam leans his head towards Chloe— and she steps back.
They're speaking, but you can't hear them. Liam's hands are balled into fists at his side and you feel that ice cold dread again. You want to go to him, pull him away from her, but your feet seem glued to the ground.
There's nothing you can do but watch as Chloe turns away from Liam and to her door and Liam picks up the aluminum baseball bat abandoned by the stairs—
You resurfaced from the dream as if clawing yourself from your own grave having forgotten how to breathe, cheeks wet and chest heaving.
"What—what's wrong?"
Robby's voice was rough with sleep as he fumbled for the lamp on the bedside table. You couldn't pull enough air into your lungs to speak, but even if you could you weren't sure what you'd say. You had forgotten you had fallen asleep with him, limbs entangled.
If you had the wherewithal to care, you'd probably be embarrassed about the fact that he kept seeing you like this, falling apart. Something no one else had ever had the privilege of seeing. You kept having to remind yourself you had only known him for three days. That eventually he would leave, would grow tired of you, of this. Likely sooner rather than later. The infatuation would fade and so would he.
But when the lamp switched on and his eyes landed on you, heaving for air, you saw nothing but soft concern, "C'mere," he said and opened his arms to you.
You hesitated for only a moment before you collapsed against his chest, pressed your ear to his skin so you could hear the steady beat of his heart.
He held you silently while your breathing leveled and your sobs reduced to hiccups.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" He asked finally, mouth pressed to your hair.
You shook your head and watched the moon from your window, "Can we take a ride on your bike?"
"Now?" He asked, surprise heavy in his voice, "It's 3AM."
You took a shaky breath, "Need some air."
He seemed to ponder this silently for a moment before sighing, "Yeah, okay. If that'll make you feel better."
The two of you got up from bed and dressed quickly and quietly. The silence of the nighttime and the cool crisp air immediately had you feeling more like yourself.
Robby grabbed his extra helmet and before he went to place it on your head, hovered above it, "Is it gonna make you claustrophobic?"
It was sweet that he even thought it, that it would trigger your panic attack again having to put something over your face. But that wasn't the sort of anxiety you had. In fact, being in enclosed spaces (like his arms), was comforting. So you shook your head.
He put the helmet on your head like you were a child, made sure it was buckled properly, and then he was climbing onto the bike, putting his own helmet on.
You pushed the windshield on your helmet up so you could feel the wind against your face as he drove through Pittsburgh. Your arms were clasped firmly around his waist and just like the first time, whenever he stopped he stroked his hand gently atop yours.
It took you a while, but you recognized when he was driving out of the city where he was taking you.
His headlights lit the road into West End Overlook Park, the lights from the city lit up the skyline even at this hour. Robby parked and turned off the engine, held your hand as you dismounted.
After taking off your helmets, you walked to the railing so you could see the city fully. Robby twined his arms around your waist from behind and rested his head on top of yours, "You feel any better?"
"Yeah," You grabbed at his arms and pulled them tighter around you, "Thank you. Sorry I woke you."
"Nothing to be sorry for, I don't sleep well anyway."
You closed your eyes while he kissed down your cheek to your jawbone, reveled in the feel of him wrapped around you like this. And you ignored the voice in the back of your head that reminded you it couldn't last.
***
The next weeks and months passed in a blur. On all of your spare days and nights you were either at Robby's or he was at yours.
You expected for the infatuation the wear off, for the high of the sex to fade, but the sex only got better as you learned each other's preferences and you still had a dopey smile on your face whenever you opened the door to see him on the other side.
He spent hours sitting in the chair by your window reading with Zelda in his lap while she watched the birds fly by the window. Robby became so enamored by her, he bought her a harness and leash, said he wanted to train her to go outside so the two of you could take her on hikes.
But still, there remained a wall between you. You both occasionally had nightmares and though you were both willing to provide physical comfort, neither of you ever raised the topics of your demons. Not explicitly. Robby had asked you that first time, but that had seemed to be only because he felt like that's what was expected of him. And the second you said you didn't want to talk about it, he took it as permission to never bring it up again.
At first, you thought this was a win. You had no desire to be more vulnerable with him than you already were. The sex was good, the company was nice, why complicate things unnecessarily?
But then things started to take a turn when he'd come over miserable and wrecked from work and refuse to talk about it.
After one particularly lousy day, he'd snapped at you when you asked him one too many times if he was okay.
"I've told you at least three separate times now that I'm fine, so could you please fucking drop it?"
You swallowed, tried to ignore his tone, "Well it's just that what you're saying doesn't match your whole attitude so I'm trying to give you a chance to tell me what the problem is—"
"Why? So you can fucking psychoanalyze me? I'm not one of your clients."
You bristled at that, "You know I'm not a therapist."
He huffed out a breath through his nose, "Right. Could've fooled me."
You nodded slowly to yourself, tried not to let the hurt show on your face as you headed to the entryway, "You know, I just remembered I have this evaluation I really should be working on so—"
"Hey, come on," You heard him sigh, his steps following after you, "I'm sorry, don't go."
You were grabbing your coat from the hooks by his door, but he snatched it out of your hand and rehung it before stepping in front of you and walking you backwards until your back hit the wall, "I'm sorry, I don't know why—" He cut himself off and sighed, took your face in his hands and started kissing your cheeks, your jaw, down your neck, "I'm sorry," he repeated against your skin.
And you hated yourself because your eyelids fluttered closed at his touch, like they always did. You allowed him to make you forget, or alternatively, make you remember why you kept coming back. He picked you up, hoisted your legs around his waist as he still pressed your back firmly to the wall. With every stroke of his tongue against yours, you couldn't remember why you ever wanted to leave in the first place.
It became a pattern with you both. One of you pissed off or hurting and refusing to tell the other why, the other deciding they were sick of the bullshit and wanted to leave, until the clothes started to come off.
But even then, you couldn't keep the emotions and the sex separate. They began to bleed into one another, frustration coming out in rough and hard sex, devastation occasionally leading to crying after orgasms, and steadily it became more and more of a mess.
You both began to withdraw, and though you felt yourself doing the same thing to him, you felt heartbroken and devastated when you invited him over and he said he was too busy. Then you were angry at him, but more angry with yourself for allowing yourself to do the very thing you swore you wouldn't; fall in love. Because there was no fucking denying it now.
Not when he ghosted you and you felt like you couldn't breathe. When you woke up from a nightmare and he wasn't there, so you had to picture his arms around you instead to calm yourself down. Only to then start crying and wish you could call him, just to hear his voice. It was excruciating. You would have tried anything to get rid of the feeling. If you believed in the Devil, you may have attempted to summon him to strike up a deal.
The day he left your reference book in your mailbox without ringing the doorbell, no note, no text, you decided you hated him. But it wasn't the truth. It was just survival. There was nowhere else to put all the love you had for him, the ache in your chest when you heard a motorcycle go by. You always checked to see if it was him, but it never was.
It was over, you thought. The first and last time you had fallen in love. You wouldn't be this stupid ever again.
***
Robby was miserable. Had been since he stopped answering your texts. The day he left your book in your mailbox, he had intended to ring the doorbell, to see your face one last time. But he couldn't do it. He thought he didn't deserve to. And you didn't want him and his baggage anyway. He had been hurting you consistently for weeks. He felt it. He knew you felt it too by the way you had started pulling away.
Before, work had been miserable, but at least he had you for a while to go home to. But now, it was just work and home alone. He tortured himself with the thought of you. Jerked off in the shower thinking about your tits in his mouth and the way you used to beg for him. If before he had been occasionally moody at work, he was now insufferable, snapping at everyone.
When there was a Code Tan called after Jack had just arrived for shift change, he thought nothing of it.
"You go home, brother," Jack said, lightly tapping him on the chest as he passed, "I got this."
And so, he had begun to pack up his things, had his backpack over his shoulder and his helmet in his hand when he turned for the exit—
Only to see you walk in from chairs, eyes red rimmed and a cold compress pressed to your cheek. You looked tired and frankly more resigned than he could ever recall seeing you.
He didn't give himself time to think when he dropped his backpack and helmet at the hub and walked towards you.
"What're you doing here?" He asked sharply and on instinct, brought his hands up to check your injury, but you reeled away from him. He frowned at that. He knew he had hurt you in the days and weeks leading up to when he disappeared, but he had thought when he Houdini'd out of your life he was doing you a favor. And it had been at least a month since then so he thought you'd be fine. You were always fine. But there was an inferno in your eyes now.
"I'm the code tan," you said, "a client got in a good punch while I was upstairs."
He clenched his jaw, "They don't have security with you in there?"
"I asked them to wait outside," you said, "it helps with rapport to let them think that I trust them. Backfired on me this time, though."
He decided not to reprimand you on that, "Let me take a look—"
You pulled back again, "I don't want you, I want a different doctor."
Before Robby even had time to properly register the venom in your voice, Jack joined you, "Hey, is this our code tan? Thought I told you to beat it, Robinavitch."
"I can handle this one—"
"No, I'd prefer it if Dr.—" You looked towards Jack, waiting for him to give his name.
"Abbot."
"—Dr. Abbot. I want Dr. Abbot to look me over."
Robby's chest tightened, "Sweetheart—"
"Don't call me that."
Jack looked between the two of you in mild confusion, "Okay…" He said, stretching out the word, "why don't you follow me? Robby, go home."
"Jack—"
"It's what the patient wants!" He called over his shoulder as he ushered you away from Robby.
Jack took you to an open bed, had you sit down, and you saw that you had a clear line of sight to the hub. Robby was now sitting at a workspace, eyes zeroed in on you.
"Would you mind closing the curtains?" You asked.
Jack turned his head back toward the hub, saw Robby and sighed before drawing the curtains around the two of you. Then he raised two gloved hands, "May I take a look?"
You nodded, pulled the compress from your face. Jack didn't betray any opinion. Whether or not he thought the injury was bad, his face remained neutral.
"How'd you get this?"
"I was punched by a psych patient upstairs."
His eyes darted from the injury to your eyes, then back again, "You're the psychologist Robby was seeing?"
Now it was your turn to eye him, "I didn't think he told anyone. It wasn't… It wasn't anything, really."
"Well," Jack shined a light in your eyes, watched your pupils react, "Whatever it was, it fucked him up. More fucked up than he was to begin with."
It went against everything you had presumed in the last few weeks, that Robby was mourning you. He could've texted, he could've called, he could've showed up at your door in the middle of the night and you likely would have forgiven him.
"Yeah, well. He's not the only one it fucked up."
He sighed, "It might help if you talk to him."
You snorted, "Right, yeah. Is that your recommended treatment plan?"
He shook his head and took off his gloves, "No. I want you to get a CT just to make sure nothing's broken, which I don't think anything is. Then when you go home I want you to ice it for about ten to twenty minutes at a time for the first 24-48 hours. Swelling should go down after that. You'll probably have some bruising for the next two or three weeks."
"Thank you."
He looked you over again as he stood, "He's been fucked up since it ended, but when it was going on, I'd never seen him that happy. If you were even a third as happy as he was… I think you should talk to him."
And then he was gone and you were grateful that he kept the curtain closed around you so Robby couldn't see it when you started crying.
***
The CT came back clean and you gathered your things to head home, but as soon as you walked back into central, there was Robby. Waiting for you.
He matched your stride, walked with you towards the exit, "Let me take you home."
"No thank you."
"I don't understand why you're so upset with me, could you just talk to me—"
It was so ridiculous, you barked out a laugh, "Now you wanna talk? After you ignored my messages and dropped off my book without even ringing the fucking doorbell? Too much of a fucking coward to face me?"
You had walked outside now and he grabbed your wrist, spun you to face him, "I thought it was what you wanted. I didn't ring the doorbell because I knew if I saw you I'd beg you to let me back in again and I didn't think that was fair to you."
You were so frustrated, so appalled by the idea that after reaching out to him with no response that you didn't want to hear from him, that you couldn't form words. You pulled your wrist from him, placed your hands on his chest, and shoved.
"Hey—Stop—" You shoved him again, "Stop that—" This time, when you went to shove him again, he grabbed your wrists and backed you against the wall of the hospital, "Enough."
This close to him, looking into those warm brown eyes again, your anger began to slip replaced by the seemingly unending devastation you had been trying to dampen since he disappeared, "I hate you," you said, chin wobbling, "You made me fall in love with you and then you left."
You watched his face transform with your admission, both soften and sadden, "You never told me you loved me."
You laughed, a tear escaping to carve a path down your cheek, "And would it have made a difference?"
"Maybe!" He said fiercely, "Maybe if you ever let me in fully it would have been different, not this half in half out bullshit."
"Oh, okay, so it's all my fault then."
He shook his head and released your wrists, looked down at the ground, "I didn't say that."
"What about you, huh? Every time I asked you to tell me what you were feeling you'd bite my fucking head off."
He looked back up at you, "You didn't really want to know, I was following your lead. You never fucking shared anything with me unless you were fully breaking down and even then it was like you were so careful about what you did tell me. I didn't think you wanted anything deeper so I kept it to myself."
You bit your lip, let the silence fall between the two of you and leaned your back against the wall. After a moment you dug into your pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, "Do you have a light?" You asked, voice rough and flat from the shouting and crying.
You watched him out of the corner of your eye dig a lighter from his pocket. You put a cigarette between your lips and leaned into him, tried not to notice the warmth of his hand as he cupped a hand around the light to keep the breeze from blowing it out. After you leaned back and took a couple of drags, you passed the cigarette to him, which he accepted.
"Did you love me?" You asked, staring off into the distance, not capable of looking at him in case he gave you the devastating answer. You felt him watch you for a moment before he looked forward again.
"I still love you," he said softly, passing the cigarette back to you.
You tried to calm the rapid beating of your heart, took a long drag from the cigarette, "Zelda misses you. She makes me sit in that chair by the window you used to sit in and watch the birds with her, but I don't think she enjoys my company as much as yours."
He chuckled, "I miss her too."
You inhaled a shaky breath, "I don't know how to do this. How to be in a relationship and be… emotionally available. But I think I want to try. With you."
When you looked over at him he had a small smile on his face, "I would really like that."
You put out your cigarette and finally let him touch you. His hands coming up to cradle your face, he carefully avoided your injury. And then his lips were on yours and you thought your knees might buckle with the relief.
"I'm sorry I left, for snapping at you, for not ringing the doorbell, all of it," he said frantically in your mouth, "I was stupid, I was scared, and I didn't think you felt the same."
"I forgive you," you murmured, "And I'm sorry too. For all of it."
He pulled away from you slightly, gently ran his knuckles across your cheek, "We'll figure it out."
You nodded, nudged your nose against his, "Do you think you could take me home now?"
He smiled against you, "Absolutely."
He led you by the hand to his bike, kissed your forehead before pulling the helmet over your head and buckling it beneath your chin.
It likely would never be easy between the two of you. There would inevitably be more fighting, more silence. But you thought it might be okay now, knowing that the love was there. Knowing that neither of you would leave like that again. You were hopeful and you were done denying yourself what you wanted. You thought Robby might be done with it too.
You held onto him tightly as he rode through the streets of Pittsburgh, towards the sunset, towards home.
TITLE: rainy day
PAIRING: michael "robby" robinavitch x female reader
RATING: explicit | WORD COUNT:
SUMMARY:
when a thunderstorm cuts your plans short, you and robby make the most of his day off together at home.
TAGS/WARNINGS:
no use of y/n, established relationship, domestic fluff
explicit sexual content (18+ - minors do not interact): oral (f receiving), fingering, hair pulling, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, multiple positions, creampie.
let me know if any are missing!
LINKS:
main blog | masterlists | AO3
The bed is empty when you wake up. It usually is, given Robby’s schedule, but you know he has the day off. You sit up, stretch your arms above your head, and leave the comfort of your mattress in search of the man.
You find him in the kitchen, standing at your stove with a spatula in his hand. He looks up when he hears you, smiling in the way that creases the corners of his eyes.
“She lives,” he jokes, sliding the spatula beneath a pancake and flipping it expertly. “I thought you’d sleep longer.”
“Probably would have if you were still in bed,” you respond pointedly. He raises an eyebrow at you and gestures to the pan.
“I made breakfast.” He points to the fridge. “Even got some of that juice you like.”
“You went to the store? How long have you been up?”
“Since five.”
“Jesus,” you laugh. “You’re insane.”
He doesn’t argue, just laughs and shakes his head.
“What did you want to do today?” He asks.
“Coffee, used bookstore, farmer’s market,” you reply. “In that order.”
“Yes m’am.” He flips the finished pancake onto a stack of similar ones. “But first, eat some of these.”
You gladly accept the plate and get the fancy maple syrup from the fridge, along with the juice he picked up for you and the last of your strawberries. You slide everything across the island towards the barstools on the other side and grab some plates and forks before taking a seat.
Robby sets the dirty dishes in the sink and joins you in the seat next to yours, using his foot to drag your stool closer and kissing your cheek when you’re within reach. A warmth settles in your belly.
Mornings like this one are rare with Robby’s schedule. He works a lot — more than he should, really, but that’s an argument for another day — so when you get the chance to see him for more than a brief kiss goodbye as he heads out the door, you both try to savor it.
Because rest looks good on him. The circles under his eyes fade, if only slightly, and the tension in his shoulders eases. He smiles at you when he catches you staring.
“See something you like?” He asks.
“Always,” you respond easily, relishing the way his cheeks grow pink and the flush spreads down his neck, disappearing beneath his t-shirt. “Thanks for breakfast.”
He hums, leaning in to kiss you. It’s slow, soft — syrupy, like your pancakes. Your fork clatters against the plate as you drop it in favor of wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close.
His big hand settles on your waist, squeezing, feeling the shape of you, before sneaking beneath the hem of your shirt in search of skin. A little moan escapes you at the warmth and he swallows it, licking into your mouth as he does.
Robby pulls away first to say, “You better go get dressed if you want to leave the house today.”
“Leaving is overrated,” you reply, stealing another kiss that’s more of a shared smile against each other’s mouths.
“I’m happy to keep you in bed all day,” he murmurs, “but I know how you get when you don’t get your fancy coffee on the weekends.”
“Fine,” you acquiesce, giving his lips one last peck. “Rain check?”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
Coffee in hand, you wander the aisles of your favorite used bookstore. You’ve already got two in the reusable bag slung over your shoulder.
When you cross paths with Robby, he pulls you in for a kiss that turns into a heated make out session against a shelf in a little corner of the shop, tucked away from other shoppers. He pulls back when he hears footsteps approaching and reaches above your head for a book, opening it and pretending to read as another customer passes by the aisle. They don’t spare you a glance, thankfully — otherwise they would see the way your lips are still spit slick and swollen, your chest heaving as you catch your breath, or the way Robby looks down at you, gaze dark and expression smug as he reaches down to adjust himself in his jeans.
The weather starts to shift while you’re at the farmer’s market. Dark clouds rolling in, wind picking up speed, the scent of the earth growing thick in the air. Vendors start packing up, finishing transactions with furtive glances at the sky.
“Let’s head back,” Robby suggests. You agree, taking his hand and following him through the crowd.
You’re nearly home when the sky opens up and the rain pours down, soaking you to the bone. Water drips from your clothes and onto the floor of the elevator, little puddles forming at your feet.
Back in your apartment, the two of you kick off your shoes by the door. Robby sets your bag in the kitchen and follows you to your bedroom, shutting the door. You turn on one of the lamps on your nightstand, bathing the room in warm, gentle light.
Outside, rain batters the windows in a tempo that matches your pulse as Robby’s hands find the bottom of your shirt, lifting the soaked fabric up over your head and dropping it to the floor. He reaches behind your back, unhooking your bra with one skilled flick of his fingers and a smug tilt to his lips.
“How about that rain check?” He asks, his voice a deep rumble like the thunder that grows louder as the storm rages on.
His hand is on your lower back, pulling you against his body. You tilt your face toward his and he takes the invitation, kissing you, hot and hungry.
He reaches for your jeans, popping the button and dragging the zipper down. The warmth of his mouth and his hands against your damp skin as he drags the denim down your thighs makes you shiver. Before standing up, he pulls your underwear off as well, adding them to the growing pile of clothing and leaving you bare.
“On the bed,” he rumbles. You follow his command, lying back against the pillows and watching him remove his clothes.
He joins you on the mattress, caging you beneath him with his broad frame, his lower body cradled between your thighs. His cock is hard and heavy against your mound, trapped between your bodies.
Robby drops his head to kiss your neck, leaving a searing trail that begins beneath your ear, moving down until he’s taking a nipple into his mouth. Your eyelids flutter at the sensation, the harsh pull of his mouth and gentle flick of his tongue over the hard bud.
“Fuck,” you breathe, arching into him. Your fingers tangle in his hair. “Feels so good, Robby.”
You can feel his smile against your skin. He releases you with a slick pop, giving the opposite breast the same attention until you’re whining beneath him. He shifts lower, peppering kisses down your stomach, stopping just shy of where you crave his mouth most.
He gets comfortable, urging your legs over his shoulders, wrapping his arms around your thighs before leaning in and dragging his tongue through your slit and circling it over your clit in slow, lazy circles. Your hips buck at the sensation but he presses a hand to your lower belly, fingers splayed against your skin and broad palm holding you down against the mattress.
Robby doesn’t care about finesse when he’s got those pretty noises you make filling his head. He’s messy with it, sloppy, spit and slick coating his chin and his nose bumping your clit when he drives his tongue inside of you, desperate for more. Your fingers are in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him moan against your pussy, the vibration only serving to send you spiraling even fast towards your release.
Two thick fingers slip inside of you with little resistance, making you gasp. He drives them into you in time with swirls of his tongue, rough in a way that has your eyes rolling and your head dropping back against the pillow.
“Robby, fuck—I—“
You come undone before you can even finish getting the words out, squeezing your thighs together against the wave of sensation that crashes over you. He eases you through it, gentle laps of his tongue instead of maddening circles, slowing the push and drag of his fingers until you’re fluttering around him.
He sits up, beard shiny and lips swollen. He lies in his spot on the bed, turned to his side to face you, reaching for you and dragging you closer, until you’re chest to chest and he can reach down to hike your leg over his hip.
You reach between your bodies and wrap your fingers around his cock. His breath stutters, a quiet fuck, yes spilling from his lips. He’s slick with pre-cum, your fist moving over him easily.
When he flexes his hips, the flushed tip of him drags against your cunt and you both gasp. You angle his cock so that the next thrust drives him into your body, one steady slide into your tight heat that has you seeing stars.
Robby’s hand is on your ass, grip tight enough to ache as he rocks your body against his. The position is intimate, all shared breath and sweaty limbs and your nails dragging across his shoulders, leaving little red lines like a brand.
But it’s not enough. He wants to be buried so deep you feel him for days, so he pulls out even though you whine about it and turns you on your stomach, dragging your hips into the air to meet his and sinking back into you with a groan.
“Fuck,” he growls through clenched teeth. He spreads your cheeks, watches his cock disappear inside of you, watches the way you clench desperately around him when he pulls out.
It drives him a little insane, the way your back arches on instinct and your ass bounces against him with each thrust. He won’t last long like this but he won’t have to, not with the way you’re moaning his name and fisting the sheets.
He brings his fingers to your clit, drawing tight circles over the sensitive bud and waits for that telltale little pulse of your cunt around his cock that means you’re close to finishing and then pinches your clit, a little rough, making you completely shatter, your moan muffled in the pillow and your body shaking with the force of it.
He follows soon after with three sloppy thrusts before burying deep, holding your hips in a tight grip as he fills you with his spend. You collapse against the mattress, exhausted and sore in the best kind of way.
Robby disappears into the bathroom and emerges with a wet washcloth that he uses to clean up between your legs while you lie there in the aftermath of your orgasm, spent and sated. When he’s done, he adds the cloth to the pile of wet clothes and crawls back into bed with you, tugging the duvet up over your naked bodies.
“I guess that’s one way to spend a rainy day,” you comment, playing with the chain around his neck.
“Day’s not over,” Robby says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk. “Rain hasn’t let up either.”
You laugh, warm and bright, and he can feel it through his chest. Closing his eyes, he commits the sound to memory, tucking it away for when he needs a little sunshine on his rainy days.
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this fic, please consider reblogging or leaving a comment 💕
Anyways
Hands Around a Cold Glass - Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader
Summary: You develop a bit of an obsession with Robby’s hands. You think you do a good job at hiding it, until he mentions something one night.
Warnings: hand worship, lowkey size kink, fem reader (she/her pronouns used and female anatomy), age gap (reader is 29-30, robby is 50), attending/resident relationship, smut 18+ only, choking incorrect medical procedures
WC: 5.5k
Note: Helloooo look at that gif, what do you meannnn he's that big? I'm literally weak in the knees, feral, barking for this man. Yes, this is self indulgent and I love his hands. Enjoy!
You knew the exact moment your obsession began.
It was nearing six in the evening on a Tuesday when the ambulance bay doors slammed open, paramedics rushing in a patient on a stretcher. He was a man in his late forties, pale and clammy, and clutching his lower abdomen.
You were already gloving up as you stepped beside the gurney, heart thudding in time with the monitor’s shrill beeping. “Blunt abdominal trauma, stable en route, but BP’s been dropping since we pulled in. Pulse 128, BP 82 over 46. No obvious external bleeding,” the paramedic rattled off at a rapid-fire pace.
The patient was wheeled into Trauma 1. Robby stepped up across from you on the patient’s other side, Langdon not far behind him.
“Langdon, call surgery and get two units of O-neg,” he barked, his deep voice focused and sharp–controlled in a sea of chaos as he took command. Perlah stood at the head of the bed, bagging the patient.
Robby called your name, brown eyes piercing and steady beneath his furrowed brow. “Grab the ultrasound. FAST exam. I want a belly scan now.”
You nodded, eager to follow his instructions. As an intern, you were almost desperate to impress your attending. The portable ultrasound was already humming in your hand, and you applied gel to the patient’s abdomen, eyes flickering between the screen and the rising panic in the room. You felt a bead of sweat roll down your temple, and heat grew on the back of your neck, but your hands were steady as you went for the epigastric view first.
“You’re too lateral,” Robby said.
You went to adjust, but his hand reached over yours. Large, warm, and sure. His fingers wrapped around your smaller ones, steadying the grip on the probe. His hand completely engulfed yours, guiding the ultrasound probe medially. You inhaled sharply.
You both looked up and your eyes locked with his warm, brown ones.
A moment. Brief. Long enough for a seed to plant in the back of your mind, but not long enough for anything real.
The contact of your hands was brief and professional, sterile gloves enveloping both your hands, but something shifted in the air.
“There,” Robby said, finally pulling his hand back. His voice was quieter now, yet still commanded everyone in the room. “You see that?”
You blinked hard, dragging your gaze back to the ultrasound screen. “Fluid in Morrison’s pouch,” you observed.
“Ruptured spleen?” Langdon asked.
“Probably,” Robby said, already turning away. He spoke to Langdon. “Page surgery again. Tell them we’re not waiting.”
You swallowed as Langdon raced towards the phone again. You were still holding the probe, but your hand felt heavy. His touch lingered over your skin like static after a storm.
You had worked with Robby as your attending for nearly a year. You had seen him shout, laugh sarcastically, and rub the back of his neck at least 5 times a shift. But that moment in that trauma room… He was always professional and closed off, and–while acknowledging he was handsome–you never had a moment of more with him. A moment of closeness that went beyond just being physically close to each other. You had never seen that look on his face and it made your mind spiral. Chaos continued to swirl around you, but the silence between you was the loudest thing you heard that day.
Later that evening, after the patient was wheeled into the OR and you finally finished your shift, you caught Robby watching you. He was speaking to Dr. Abbot, but his eyes were staunchly fixed on you. You swallowed hard, nerves swelling low in your belly, and brushed past him, eyes still locked on his. He didn’t say anything. Just gave you a small nod as you left.
Things shifted after that day. He was still kind, helpful, and professional. Except there were moments where you swore he was purposely teasing you. Moments he would flex his hands in your line of sight, moments he would unnecessarily grab your hands and move them for you, all in the name of education, moments where you would catch him staring at you with something heavy in his gaze.
And you. You changed, too. You could not stop thinking of that moment. Of his hands. The size, the strength, the man they belonged to.
You were obsessed.
Over the almost four years working as his resident, you had the opportunity to admire his hands very frequently. You practically had them memorized. His long fingers, how thick they were. How large they looked when he ran them down his face. You recalled their warmth, even through layers of sterile gloves. It was your daily indulgence in The Pitt–admiring your sexy attending’s enormous hands and imagining just how good his thick fingers must feel stuffed deep in your pussy.
You knew that if you were ever presented with the opportunity, he would fucking ruin you. You knew your fingers could never compare. No matter how much you tried, you could never make yourself feel full enough.
He walked towards you and Dana at the nurses' station that morning in July, and you felt heat creeping up the back of your neck and onto your cheeks. Flashes of the night before flickered in your mind. Touching yourself to the thought of him was a more common occurrence than you dared to admit, but despite the feelings of guilt for objectifying a man twenty years your senior, you could not stop doing it. The need was constant—an itch you couldn’t scratch.
“Hey there,” Dana said, smiling over at him.
“Morning,” he said, looking up at the screen to see what patients and cases were looking like.
“You joining us tonight for Mateo’s thing?”
He glanced over at her with an eyebrow raised. “It’s a work night.”
You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped. “Ok, grandpa.”
You felt his gaze on the back of your head. You glanced back, meeting his playful glare and smirked.
He huffed out a laugh and shook his head at you.
“You know what?” He looked back at Dana, who was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll be there.”
His gaze met yours again in playful defiance.
“Great!” Dana said, grabbing her clipboard and starting to walk away. She flashed you a knowing smile. “It’ll be a good time.”
It was Mateo’s birthday, and the nurses were throwing a small get-together at the bar across the street after your shift was over.
Robby’s heavy, persistent gaze remained on yours, and you could feel your skin heating up as your heartbeat increased. You cleared your throat, trying to shake the nervous feeling in your chest, and looked back at the screen.
“I’ll take the kid with the broken leg,” you said, taking the first case that showed up, needing space from him to collect yourself. You felt static in the air, something shifting. Maybe it was the way he was looking at you–with a little less restraint than he normally did. Maybe it was all in your head. Wishful thinking. You weren’t sure and you thought it best to remove yourself from the situation and focus on your work.
“You'll be there tonight, right?” his deep voice was quiet, keeping the two of you in a bubble and sending shivers down your back.
“Yeah, I’m going.”
He smiled, a small one, and finally, finally, looked down and broke eye contact with you. He glanced back up at you, eyes shining just a bit brighter.
“Good.”
Good? What did that mean?
As he brushed past you to walk away, his hand–heavy, and steady, and large–touched your shoulder, sending your mind into a frenzy. He leaned closer to you, his clean scent filling your senses, and his hot breath brushing the shell of your ear when he whispered.
“I look forward to seeing you there.”
It was one of your favorite bars in the area, and you found yourself hanging out there with your friends, even if you weren’t coming off a shift. It was laid back–the lighting was low and warm, a golden hue cast over worn leather seats and polished wood tables. Classic rock and soothing acoustic songs played low through the speakers–just loud enough to enjoy, yet it still encouraged conversation.
The group had split–Mateo, Santos, McKay, and Jesse were playing pool at the back of the bar. Dana, Princess, Perlah, and Collins were huddled in a booth, probably gossiping about the fact that the head of oncology was caught cheating on his wife again. You split from them, taking a seat at the bar, and the seat beside you filled immediately after. You smirked softly, knowing he was trailing behind you.
You turned your face towards him and smiled. The light cast beautiful golden shadows across the rugged plains of his face, and you found your breath catching in your throat.
“Come here often?”
You chuckled.
“Smooth, Robby.”
He laughed, a real laugh, and you cursed at how charming he was.
The bartender made his way around and you both ordered your drinks.
“I’m glad you made it tonight,” you said. “You deserve to let loose sometimes. I really thought you’d flake on us.”
“I thought about it, but I figured I have nothing better to do," he said. His gaze held yours for a moment. "I'm glad I made it, too."
“Hm,” you said, taking a sip of the tequila sunrise placed in front of you. “Is that the only reason?”
You were playing with fire, you knew that. You knew that any relationship between the two of you was inappropriate. But fuck, you did not care. The pull you felt towards the man in front of you was magnetic and beyond your control. He was like a sun, pulling you into his unrelenting orbit.
His gaze turned heavy, pinning your eyes to his.
“Careful,” he growled, low and deep.
You swallowed the lump forming in your throat and glanced down. His hands wrapped around his chilled glass of whisky. The glass looked small in his massive hands and you inhaled sharply, your attention zeroed in on the slight movement of his fingers. He raised the glass to his mouth, and your eyes followed the motion.
You dared a glance at his face and found him already staring at you.
“You still with me, honey?” he asked, raising his eyebrows in that condescending way you found way too hot.
A shiver ran down your spine, and you knew your voice shook when you answered, but hoped he hadn’t noticed. “Yes, of course.”
He smirked.
“You seem a little distracted. You were staring very intently at my hands.”
Fuck. Of course he noticed.
He continued, the smirk plastered on his handsome face. “It seems to be a recurring problem for you.”
Your breathing deepened and anxiety fluttered low in your belly. Shit. He had probably noticed your little obsession since the first moment it happened. You tried to think of an excuse, anything to say, embarrassment starting to dim your courage. “Um…I wasn’t–”
“Don’t lie.”
You stared at him. His deep, warm, brown eyes searing into you, intense and unrelenting. Holy shit, he was so handsome. And he was…encouraging this? You felt a flicker of doubt, but the drink you were sporting was your third and your inhibitions were lowered just enough.
Fuck it.
“Careful,” you teased, collecting yourself and taking a sip of your drink. “Don’t want to cross any lines, do we?”
You were sure your gaze was just as heavy as his and the smirk you couldn’t hold back made him smile.
“Honey,” he said, and your heart fluttered at the nickname. “I think we both know those lines were crossed a long time ago.”
He reached his hand across the table and laid it on top of yours. Engulfing yours completely. His index finger moved back and forth, gently rubbing his calloused skin against yours. You swallowed tightly. You have no idea what brought this on, what you did to finally have him practically confessing and abandoning his stoic professionalism. But you were not going to let it slip past you.
You leaned your body closer to him, smugness filling your chest when he took a stuttered breath. His scent filled your mind and heat pooled low in your belly.
“In that case…” you said, leaning even closer to whisper into his ear. “I think you have the sexiest hands I’ve ever seen and I think about them fucking me every single day.”
You leaned back, feeling positively giddy at the red blush spreading up from his neck to his ears, and all over his face.
“Fuck, honey,” he said, rubbing his hands over his face. “You can’t say that to an old man. I think I’m having a heart attack.”
“Don’t worry, baby,” you feigned concern. “I’m a doctor.”
He laughed and moved his hand back to yours.
“Come home with me?”
You couldn’t help yourself. “It’s a work night.”
His stare became hard as he glared at you, exasperated.
“You always this much of a tease?”
You shrugged, not taking your eyes off of him.
“Come home with me.” It wasn’t a question that time.
His apartment was exactly as you imagined it. It was clean, with books and medical journals littering most surfaces and barely any decorations on the walls. He closed the door behind you, and you turned to face him. Your hands shook at your sides and your heart beat hard and quick in your chest.
He stepped closer to you and you looked up to meet his gaze.
“Are you sure about this?’ he asked, voice strained. You could hear the barely held restraint in his voice, how much he was struggling to hold back from you.
You took the final step closer to him and placed your hands on his chest.
“I’m sure, Robby,” you said, and his hands gripped your waist, pulling your body against his. You felt his breath fan across your face, his nose rubbing against yours, before his lips found yours and, holy shit, he was kissing you. His lips were surprisingly soft, his beard hairs rubbing against your soft skin deliciously. It was slow, almost like he was giving you the time to back away if you wanted to.
Your hands moved to wrap around his neck, bringing his taller frame closer to you and his arms wrapped around your back, bringing you even tighter against him. You could feel everything against you–the quiet strength in his broad chest, the softness of his stomach, the heat radiating off of him. Your every thought was consumed with just him. He was overwhelming you and it made you crave him even more. You moaned low and arched your back, pressing your chest closer to his.
He grew more sure at your response, arms tightening around you and his tongue met the seam of your lips. You happily obliged, parting your lips and relishing at the taste of him as his tongue met yours.
You broke away for air, taking deep inhales as he continued to press open-mouthed kisses to your jaw that sent flutters to your core.
“Mmm, Robby,” you sighed and he grunted.
“Fuck, I’ve thought about this so much,” he groaned, lips meeting yours again.
You smiled into the kiss. “Think about me often, huh?”
He bit your bottom lip in warning and you let out a giggle. He broke away from you, shaking his head and huffing out a laugh.
“More than I should, honey.” Your chest filled with warmth at how easily he admitted it to you. His intense gaze broke away from yours and his massive shoulders hunched. “Does that scare you?”
You shook your head, one hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“No,” you said, and a rush of doubt flooded you. Maybe it scared him. Was he regretting this? Maybe he had drunk more than you initially thought? Or maybe this meant more to you than it did to him.
“Robby, this isn’t just a one-night stand, right? Is this real for you?” you asked with trepidation and slight insecurity, your voice softer than you had intended.
Both of his hands cupped your face and he stared at you, steady and serious.
“Is that what you really think?” his voice was deepened, smooth and warming you down to your core. His thumb trailed across your cheek and he looked at your face almost reverently. “Honey, this is real for me. I wasn’t kidding when I said I think about you all the time. At home, at work. Getting to see you, talk to you, hear you laugh is the best part of my day. I remember every smile, every touch…”
He laughed again, affection clear as day in his eyes and smile. “I still remember that day I touched your hand for the first time,” he smirked knowingly and the memory playing in your head was viscerally real. You groaned in embarrassment.
“I knew you noticed. You’ve been teasing me on purpose for years now, haven’t you?”
A laugh was all you got in response and you couldn’t help but join in.
“I guess I wasn’t subtle, was I?” you asked, feeling bashful.
He shook his head with a chuckle and kissed your cheek.
“No need to be embarrassed. I think about that moment a lot, too.”
You smiled and pulled his head down for another quick kiss. You were quickly growing addicted to the feel and taste of his lips on yours.
“What changed? What made you make a move?”
“At first, it was just a work crush. But, eventually, it just turned into more. I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. I tried not to. It’s…unprofessional. But you’re in your last year of residency, you’ll be an attending soon…I can’t stop myself no matter how hard I try, you’re so magnetic, so beautiful. You drive me insane. I never stop thinking about you.”
He laid all his cards out on the table for you. This man was not holding back. You decided to be completely honest with him.
“I never stop thinking about you, either. I think about you when I should be working, when I need someone to vent to or share something good or funny with. I think about you at home…at night…” Your voice lowered to a whisper. “I touch myself to the thought of you.”
“Fucking hell.” His eyes darkened and you could have sworn you heard a small growl, and his mouth crashed back down on yours. His grip moved back to your waist, his hold so tight you hoped there would be bruises blooming on your skin to remind you of this moment for days to come.
His hands ran down your hips and behind your thighs, pulling you up to wrap your legs around his waist. He walked further into the apartment, lips trailing your cheek and jaw, and he found his way into his bedroom. He lowered you back down to your feet, and his hands began roaming under your scrub top. He raised the fabric and lifted it over your head.
His eyes flickered to your lace-covered chest, and his cheeks reddened. His lips trailed down your neck and collarbones, sending shocks of pleasure down your spine.
“Robby,” you mumbled, grabbing fistfuls of his top and pulling at the fabric. He broke away and pulled it over his head, leaving his upper body bare to you. Dark hair spread across his chest. He was all broad shoulders and strong chest. The hair trailed down, down along the soft curve of his stomach and lower still, below his scrub pants.
Your eyes met his again and the blush spreading down his neck made you feel giddy. You smiled at him reassuringly and placed a gentle kiss over his heart. He smiled back at you, the creases by his eyes and his smile lines deepening. He had never looked so beautiful.
His lips found yours again and he passionately kissed you, tongue licking and teeth biting your lower lip. His roaming hands found their way to your waistband and pushed your pants down. You stepped out of them, taking a moment to kick off your sneakers, and stood in front of him in nothing but your lacy bra and thong.
He stared at you, brown eyes darkened to almost black, and he bit his bottom lip.
“Honey, you’re so stunning. So perfect.”
You felt the heat encompass your entire body, feeling desired and beautiful and powerful by the way you had this grown man staring at you. His hands roamed your back and waist, lips kissing and licking at any skin he could find. He bit down on your nipple over your bra and you hissed at the slight sting.
You reached behind you, unclasping the band and you let it fall off your shoulders, exposing your breasts to him. His mouth immediately latched on, suckling and biting at your sensitive breasts. You could not stop the loud moan you let you and he groaned, putting his leg between yours and pushing your hips down to grind on his thigh. The sudden stimulation on your clit made you gasp out loud and grasp at his hair, pulling him tighter against your chest. His hands made
Just one touch, and this man was driving you crazy. Absolutely wild. You wanted him to fuck you into oblivion. You wanted his cock in your mouth…in your pussy. You were aching for him, slickness soaking your underwear. You wanted him so bad.
“Robby,” you moaned out, pushing slightly away from him and sinking down to your knees before him. “Robby, please let me suck you off.”
He stared at you, mouth agape for a moment before his cockiness returned.
“Aw, honey. You think I’m going to give you my cock that easily? You’ll have to work for it.” His large hand cupped the side of your face, dwarfing you and his thumb rubbed over your lip. Your lips came apart and his thumb made its way into your mouth, thick and heavy on your tongue. Holy shit. His fucking hands. You slowly suctioned your cheeks in, sucking on his finger.
Your hands came up to grasp his wrist, moving his hand away from your face. You released his thumb, licking a wet stripe on his palm.
“I fucking love your hands. They’re so big, Robby,” you babbled, drool starting to escape down the corners of your mouth as you continued to press your tongue against his calloused skin.
“Fuck, look at my pretty little slut. So desperate for me that she’s sucking off my hand. I bet you’re so fucking wet right now.”
You were soaked. You pressed your thighs together, trying to relieve some of the pressure building. Your body felt hot all over, and you knew that you must have looked absolutely wrecked.
Robby pushed his pointer and middle finger into your mouth. “Suck them, baby.”
Happily.
You looked up at him, staring intently as you started to suck on his fingers like they were his cock. They were so long and thick that they may as well have been. His fingertips hit your soft palate when you increased your speed and you adjusted your angle, taking them as deep down your throat as you could. Tears sprang to your eyes as you fought your gag reflex, and you struggled to breathe through your nose.
“Oh ho ho, honey, you’re doing so good,” he said, eyes unable to tear away from the erotic sight.
You finally pulled his hand away, gasping for air as your hands went to pull his scrub pants off. He quickly kicked them off, followed by the boxer briefs he had on. Your eyes stared straight ahead at his cock. It was hard and massive, just as you had expected, and your pussy clenched around nothing as you imagined it deep inside you. It was magnificent, easily eight or nine inches, cut, and thick all around.
“Holy shit, Robby,” you mumbled, wrapping your hand around his base, and he hissed.
You licked from his base to his tip and he groaned loudly. He leaned down, grabbing your arms, and pulled you up to your feet. He backed you up against the bad, crowding and overwhelming your personal space and you whined in protest, desperate for the taste of him.
“Fuck, baby, I would love nothing more than that pretty mouth wrapped around me, but I need to fucking taste you so bad.”
You laid back on his bed and he hovered on top of you, kissing your mouth again and moving lower, to your neck, your tits, and down your stomach until he could pull your panties off. He lifted your legs, spreading them across his broad frame and you almost whimpered at the stretch.
He pressed kisses on your inner thigh, hands coming up to play with your nipples.
“Baby, you’re so wet,” he mumbled against the soft skin of your leg. “You’re fucking dripping.”
You were practically incoherent, thoughts fleeting, and you were consumed by him.
“Yes, only for you,” you murmured, and you felt his lips stretch into a smile before he harshly bit down on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
“Robby!” you screamed out, surprised at the sudden pain. He began sucking on the skin harshly, and you moaned, knowing he was going to leave dark marks on your skin. His teasing was dragging on too long and you desperately gripped his hair, trying to pull him to where you craved him the most.
“Honey, you’re so desperate,” he said, a condescending tone lining his lips, but he obliged, licking a harsh strip from your hole to your clit. Your back arched and you moaned wantonly, desire and pleasure nearing a crescendo in your lower belly.
His mouth latched onto your clit, alternating between licking it with quick movements and sucking it harshly into his mouth. Your skin exploded in goosebumps, every nerve being lit on fire.
“Oh fuck, Michael.”
His movements became more frantic when you said his name and you felt his finger tease your entrance before pushing in. His mouth left your clit, but his finger finally filled your pussy, and your eyes rolled back in your skull.
“It’s Michael now, is it?”
All you could respond with was a deep moan and he laughed, continuing to pump into you.
“What was it you said? You think about my hands fucking you every day?”
“Yes, yes!” He chuckled again, taking his finger out, and then quickly stuffing you with two.
The fit was tight and the brief, painful stretch made your toes curl. The increasing squelching noises were lewd, but you could not find it within yourself to feel embarrassed. All of your fantasies about Michael Robinavitch were coming true and you were going to enjoy every second of it.
“This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it, honey? Look at this pretty pussy taking my fingers so well. Is this what you thought of when you touched yourself? Hmm?”
“Yes, Michael, oh my god,” you groaned, the pressure building fast and you knew you were so close as he continued to work you open.
“I bet your tiny little fingers did nothing for you.”
His speed increased, pushing into you faster and he lowered his head, his tongue flicking against your engorged clit. Pure fire spread through your veins as the pleasure exploded. You closed your eyes tight, body tensing, and you came harder than you ever had in your life.
“Holy fuck, honey, you fucking squirted. That was so sexy, baby, what a good girl.”
He continued to finger you as you came, placing small licks on your pussy. You relaxed into the sheets, panting breaths and heartbeat slowing after your orgasm. You were in shock.. You had only been able to make yourself squirt with your vibrator–he was the first man to get you to that peak, and you knew that he had ruined you for all other men.
He licked back up your body, mouth and hands exploring the softness of your skin.
He caressed the side of your face and you stared back at him, taking in his soft eyes, sharp nose, the lines on his face.
“You ok, honey?”
You smiled at him and nodded.
“Yes, better than ok,” you leaned up and kissed him. “Robby, please fuck me.”
“Oh, don’t worry, baby, I’ll fuck you so good, I’ll ruin you for anyone else. You’re fucking mine.” He kissed you once more and rose up to his knees. He pulled your legs over his shoulders and he lined his hard, throbbing cock with your entrance.
“I’m clean. You’re clean, right?” you asked through the fog in your brain. It was almost laughable how hardwired the medical training was in your brain.
“Yes, honey, don’t worry. What about–”
You cut him off, knowing what he was about to ask. “IUD.”
“Fuck, yes,” he groaned and slipped his cock slowly into you. You hissed at the stretch, his dick so fucking thick and hard. It felt like he was splitting you in half and you relished in the painful pleasure. He finally bottomed out, and your breath caught in your throat at just how full he stuffed you, his head pushed tight against your cervix.
He slowly pulled out and entered you again, and you moaned. You always thought having sex with someone so large would be painful and unpleasant, but you were so wrong. It felt like he was made for you. Every inch of his cock pressed against your spongy walls. You felt every vein, every movement.
“Honey, you’re so tight.” His voice was strained, holding back from pounding into you.
“Michael,” you groaned. Your heels pushed against his hips, pushing him as far into you as you could. “Please, please fuck me.”
He needed no further encouragement, gripping onto your thighs and rocking into your heat. His movements, controlled and restrained, quickly turned frantic.
“My god, fuck…yes, yes, baby,” he grunted as your walls clenched around his length. He was so vocal, his deep voice clouding your mind and making you even more wet. His body towered over yours, the red flush and sweaty sheen on his skin made you gasp. He hit your cervix with every pump, and his relentless pace made your shudder in absolute bliss.
His pace stuttered and you knew he was getting close.
His hand found his way up your body, softly wrapping around the base of your neck.
“This ok?” he managed to groan out.
“Yes. More, please.” He obliged, his hand, now wrapped around your entire neck, tightened around your carotid, and you gripped the sheets in pleasure. The effects were immediate, the lack of oxygen going to your brain and the pleasure in your pussy making you slightly delirious.
His other hand rubbed lightly on your clit, and you were on the precipice. Robby let go of the pressure on your neck, the sudden, intense rush of blood making your control disappear as you came gushing around his cock, walls clenching tightly around him. You writhed beneath him and he groaned loudly as he came inside of you. His cock pulsated against your walls as rope after rope of cum poured into you. He trembled, lowering himself to lay over you as he started to come down from his high.
His panting breaths brushed against the shell of your ear and you wrapped your arms around his back, caressing the skin. You pressed a small kiss to his shoulder and he came back up. He smiled at you, sleepiness lining the planes of his face.
He pressed a kiss against your lips and slowly pulled out. You both groaned at the loss.
“You alright, honey?”
You nodded, eyelids heavy as you sank further into his bed. He rose from the bed and you groaned at the loss of him, making him smile. He walked to the bathroom, and you bit your lip, eyeing his bare body appreciatively. You heard the sink run, and he came back in a few moments later, a wet rag in his hand.
He began to clean you up and you blushed, the intimacy of the moment making you timid. He pressed a soft kiss on your knee as he rose from the bed.
“Come use the restroom,” he said and held out his hand for you.
“Robby,” you whined. “I’m tired.”
“You’ll thank me when you don’t get a UTI,” he said and lifted you from the bed.
You both freshened up quickly, tiredness lingering in every motion until you both finally collapsed on the bed. He pulled you tight against him and kissed your forehead as you snuggled into his warmth.
“We’re going to be so fucking tired tomorrow,” he mumbled, already half asleep.
“Speak for yourself, old man,” you slurred back. A sharp pinch on your ass made you squeal and he laughed. You pushed him playfully and he grabbed you, his large, strong, sexy hands pulling you back against him and wrapping his arms around you.
Men with big ass hands are my weakness.
Please this was
🌹perfect🌹
pet names
Summary: You and Donnie have been friends since you started at the Pitt, and you both like to drop funny pet names into conversation with each other. Robby overhears, and he seems less than pleased, though you're not entirely sure why.
Tags: f!nurse!reader, jealous!robby, bestie!donnie, pre-relationship, silly pet names
---
You’ve always been affectionate with your friends. Even with your coworkers, at previous positions. Hugs, nicknames, holding hands, whatever it takes to get through the day.
And you bonded with Donnie as soon as you started at the Pitt. He reminds you of your older brother’s friends, how they’d always look out for you, protect you, tease you.
You’ve shared enough beers in the park after shifts to really bond with him, and he was the first one to notice how you tended to drop pet names into conversation with people you know. Donnie, being Donnie, took that to the extreme, finding the weirdest things to call you that are still at least mostly work-appropriate. It’s become something of a game for both of you, and you hardly notice the endearments, such as they are.
On hard days, he’s always the first to come up and give you a hug, and he always picks up an extra soda for you at the vending machine. You grab him an extra candy bar when you splurge a little, and it’s nice, having a work best friend. As much as you’ve heard Princess and Perlah whispering about it, you and Donnie have both acknowledged that your relationship is nothing but platonic.
More than that, when he has a date, you’re right there with advice and tone checks before he sends a text that might blow everything up before it starts. When you have one, he does a quick check with his buddies to make sure the guy is on the up-and-up. It’s easy, and it feels like having family close by, even when you don’t.
“Hey, honey,” Donnie says, rapping his knuckles on the counter. You’re at the Hub, helping Dana update the board, and he spotted you as soon as he left South Twenty. “I need a favor.”
You sit back in your chair, resting your chin on one hand. “What can I do for you, my love?”
You see Robby’s head tilt in the corner of your vision. He’s been working on a patient chart for a few minutes, and you don’t know why he’d be listening, but he seems very interested now.
“Can you check in on Central Twelve in like, five? I need to go take a leak, but they need meds in a minute.”
“Of course. Need anything else?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. That’s it.”
“I got you, boo,” you say, grinning at him. He taps the counter one more time and spins on his heel to hurry to the bathroom.
Robby’s eyes are boring straight through you now, and you turn to face him, smile faltering a little at the look on his face.
“Did you need something, Dr. Robby?”
He frowns, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “No.” The word stretches out between you. “You and Donahue?” His eyes dart in the direction Donnie went, then back to you.
You nearly laugh at the lingering confusion on his handsome face, but you manage to hold it in. “Just besties.”
The lines on his face don’t ease, even though he nods. “Right.”
“Is that okay with you?” you say, watching his expression carefully. You’ve always had a little bit of a crush on Dr. Robby. He’s older, smart, forceful when he needs to be, and he’s always been kind to you. And those eyes. Those big, sad, brown eyes. You’re certainly not used to having him so focused on you, but you can’t say you’re complaining.
He blinks at you, and you’re fascinated to watch the blush rise in his cheeks. “Oh, uh, sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know. I need to go see a patient.”
You can feel him watching you as you head for Central Twelve, but you do your best to shake it off. The patient is a sweet old man who needs blood pressure medication to address the lightheadedness he came in with. He thanks you profusely, and Donnie walks up as you’re leaving the room, so you hit him with a fist bump on the way by.
“Thanks, sweet cheeks.” He smirks and you keep walking, heading to the next patient who needs assistance.
It’s not a terribly stressful shift, all things considered, but you like the beer ritual in the park, so you head that way once you’re done handing off your last patient. Donnie’s already there, handing you a cold beer with a nod. You sit across from him, listening to the chatter around you while you sip on the beer.
You often don’t engage much when you come to the park, but it’s nice to be around these people to decompress a little before you head home. You’re surprised when someone sits beside you, and when you look up, it’s Dr. Robby.
He pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie before catching a can from Mateo. He takes a long drink and sighs, running a hand through his hair.
“You okay, Dr. Robby?” you ask, nudging him with your knee.
His eyes shift over to meet yours, crinkling a little at the corners when he smiles. “Can I ask you something?”
You shrug. He’s never needed permission before. “Sure. What’s up?”
“You always call me Dr. Robby.” He says it slowly, thoughtfully, like it’s been bothering him all day. You wonder if it has.
“That’s not a question,” you say, nudging him again.
He chuckles a little, under his breath. “No, it isn’t.” Clearing his throat, he turns to face you a little more directly. “Why don’t you use nicknames with me?”
“Isn’t Dr. Robby already a nickname?”
“Yeah, but that’s what everyone calls me.”
You blink at him, trying to understand what he’s asking you. “Sure. I’m just trying to be professional.”
“But not with Donahue?”
The lightbulb goes off. “You want me to call you sweetie? Cupcake? Honey bun?”
It’s dark, but the flush you saw earlier creeps back into his cheeks and he looks down at the beer in his hands, twisting it in his strong fingers. “No, not exactly.”
“Listen, Donnie’s like my brother. We look out for each other, we give each other shit, we use stupid nicknames.”
Robby lets out a low breath, catching your eye again. “Got it.”
“You’re not my boss, but you’re the boss, you know?”
He nods, letting out a low breath through his nose. “I know. Believe me, I know.” He drains his beer and stands to go.
You’re not sure what that means, but when he looks back at you, you catch a gleam of something in his dark eyes.
“Ready to go home, cake pop?” Donnie says, tossing an empty can at you to get your attention.
You roll your eyes at him. “Sure am, lovebug.”
Robby shakes his head and holds up a hand as he leaves for home. You watch him go with a little more attention than is strictly necessary. He puts in his AirPods and walks confidently into the dark.
Maybe tomorrow you’ll figure out what’s going on with him. And why he’s so bothered about the nicknames.
Probably not, but you’ve got his attention now, and that’s something.
---
A/N: This one came to me in a fever dream while I was very sick last weekend, so not sure if it's anything, but I hope you enjoyed it!
take a break pt. 2 — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Months after Bali, you're finally back in the US, staying with your sister in Pittsburgh. You just have no idea who lives there, too. take a break pt. 1
warnings: cursing, inaccuracies of how the ER works, angst, misunderstanding trope, reader has a sister named Jenna—who gets mildly hurt, not proofread, mentions of miscarriage (not the reader), minors go away, 5.2K words masterlist I am overwhelmed with joy at how the first part of this got so much love, thank you all, I'm so glad you liked it ❤️
"You’re telling me," your sister says, blinking like she’s trying to process it while trying not to get angry, "you spent an entire week with a complete stranger??"
You sigh. Of course she’s going to lose her mind.
"Jenna—"
"What were you thinking???" She’s pacing now.
You roll your eyes. "Look, I know how it sounds, okay? But it wasn’t like that."
She stops, arms crossed, and gives you a pointed look.
"I’m serious. What happened in Bali… it was different. I’ve never met anyone like him."
Jenna takes a deep breath a few times and sits beside you. The sharp voice softens. "I just don’t want you to get hurt again."
"Too late," you murmur with a bitter smile.
She sighs and pulls you into a hug. "Of course it is."
For a moment, neither of you say anything. Your phone sits on the table, still open from showing her a photo of you and Robby, sun-kissed and smiling. Jenna squints at it.
"Well," she says, "he is stupid handsome. Those sad-boy eyes? Come on."
You let out a laugh, some of the tension slipping from your shoulders.
"And he’s a doctor?" she adds, scoffing. "Girl."
You roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you. She’s trying.
After months of traveling, your lease ended, so you're staying at her place in Pittsburgh for now, just until you find a new apartment. Your sister's been your rock since you were kids. If anyone bullied you, or if you needed any help with friends, math, you name it, and she'll be there for you. She's the most reliable big sister you could ever have, so you don't blame her for trying to protect you.
She's also trying to balance being the protective sister, and the fun one. It doesn't always work.
"So what’s stopping you from looking him up?" Jenna asks suddenly.
You hesitate.
"He’s one Google search away," she nudges. "Don’t even lie."
You suck in a breath. "I know. I just… what if I find out he’s moved on? What if it really was just a vacation fling for him? And what if he lives in New York or something? I mean, we didn't reveal our hometowns for a reason. We could've easily shared our phone numbers, but we didn't."
Jenna frowns. "Okay, first of all? If everything you told me is true—and judging by those photos and the way you talk about him—it wasn’t just a fling. And second, so what if he’s in New York? That’s like a 90-minute flight. You work remotely. Things could actually work out."
You don’t say anything right away. You just look down at your hands and bite your cheek, the way you do when you’re unsure. Jenna bumps your shoulder gently.
She adds, "Look, I’m not saying go camp outside his hospital with huge cards, Love Actually style. But you should at least give yourself the chance to find out. What if he’s been thinking the same thing all this time?"
You barely say anything before Jenna snatches your phone off the coffee table.
"Wait—Jenna, no!"
She's already typing.
"Just a little digging," she says, her fingers working fast on your phone.
You lunge for the phone, but she twists away, standing up. "Give it back!"
"Nope, you had your chance and you blew it. Plus, you know you won't actually do this. I'm doing you a favor."
"Jenna, I’m serious—"
"Aha!" She exclaims, stopping in her tracks. "Michael Robinavitch, MD. Trauma Attending at—"
Your eyes are wide as you stare at Jenna. Her face shifts. Something unreadable—then disbelief. She scoffs and meets your eyes. "You're not gonna believe me."
Robby sighs as he slides through the ER doors once again. Like yesterday, like the day before, like how it will be for the rest of his life, probably. Dana's already at the nurse's station, looking at the board, phone in hand.
"You know, every day you walk in here, and you look even more like shit." Dana frowns. "I thought you just had a vacation, you’re supposed to look refreshed, not like you got dumped in the ocean and left for dead."
Robby huffs. "Well, good morning to you, too, Dana."
And then something in Dana clicks. "Oh my God. You got dumped in Bali."
He lets out a dry laugh. "I didn't get dumped in Bali. I just…"
"Wait, did you dump someone in Bali?"
"Can we not do this here?"
"I mean… I just expected you to come back tanned and smug, not pining like some sad indie drama lead." Dana lets out a little laugh at her own joke.
Robby exhales slowly, a tight smile on his lips. "It was a vacation. Nothing more."
Oh but it was so so much more. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you. Let’s just get that out of the way. Your laugh, your perfume, the way you fell asleep on his chest like you were meant to be there. He swears he still smells you sometimes, and it’s driving him insane. He’s off his game at work, can’t sleep at home, can’t eat without thinking of the dinners you shared by candlelight and crashing waves. So yeah—he looks like shit. Forgive the middle-aged man for wearing his heartbreak on his face.
"What's her full name?"
Robby pauses. "What?"
Jack shrugs like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "I know you keep checking the board for any new incoming traumas to see if it could be her." Jack continues, "You feel guilty for it, but you're still doing it. So tell me her name—I’ll keep an eye out on nights."
Jack knows it's a way to ease Robby, even just for a little bit.
Robby presses his palms to his eyes, just for a second. Long enough to see your face behind his lids, then mutters your name. He doesn’t want to see you on a stretcher. God, no. He doesn’t want to see you bleeding, unconscious, coding. He hopes you never have a reason to come through those ER injured, ever.
But the truth is, the ER is where estranged people meet. And though he hates himself for it, a small part of him still hopes one day you’ll walk through that door again—alive, healthy, maybe even smiling.
"Okay." Jack nods, then smirks. "How about a picture?"
"Jack." Robby warns.
"Backing down, backing down," Jack raises his hands in surrender, "Just testing the waters."
"She must've been something, huh?" He adds, "You haven't stopped thinking about her, and it's been months. You might be really screwed, brother."
Robby doesn't say anything. He knows.
[flashback]
You're both soaked.
It started with a walk along the beach. Then a splash. Then a challenge. Now you're standing in the shallows, dripping wet, and Robby is grinning like an idiot because he 'won'.
"You cheated! You said you wouldn’t grab me!"
He shrugs. "I said I wouldn’t splash you. Technically, dragging you into the water doesn’t count."
"You’re impossible."
"You're slow."
You gasp and lunge toward him, but he takes off running down the beach like a damn teenager. You chase after him, heart pounding, laughing so hard it burns. Eventually, he slows just enough for you to catch him, and you both tumble into the sand.
"I should’ve let the jellyfish have you," You pant.
"I think you'd miss me too much."
You roll your eyes. "You’re so full of yourself."
His voice drops just enough to make your pulse skip. "Am I wrong?"
Then he leans in and kisses you, slow and smiling, like he knows he’s already won. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his.
"You're the worst."
"Then you've got terrible taste."
[present day]
You linger outside the sliding glass doors for longer than you’d like to admit.
You'd gotten the same rosé you both shared in Bali, with a nice bow wrapped around the neck, and a letter you'd hand-written. It's very cliché, but it felt necessary. And now you feel stupid.
Fuck it.
Part of you is excited to see him, see his reaction, would he run to you? Hold you in his arms? Kiss you right there in front of everyone?
You're smiling nervously now as you walk past the doors. The emergency room at PTMC is busier than you expected, the front desk doesn’t pay you much attention, which is good, they're probably thinking you're visiting with what you have in hand. You’re not sure what you would’ve said anyway.
You ask quietly where to find him. They point you toward the consult rooms, and you murmur a quick thank-you, the gift bag tucked at your side.
You spot him almost immediately through the narrow strip of glass in the door to Consult Room A.
Your heart stops.
Robby is inside. He’s really here. Still tall, still impossibly handsome, and especially in his scrubs, exhaustion clinging to the curve of his shoulders. You almost burst through the door—when you realize he's not alone.
Another doctor is sitting on the exam bed, bent slightly forward, elbows on her knees, one hand cradling her stomach. Her eyes are red. Robby kneels beside her, not quite touching her at first—then gently, cautiously, he places his hand on her knee. She covers it with her own.
He says something you can’t hear. She nods. And then, quietly, she leans forward and presses her forehead to his, smiling, tears in her eyes.
You freeze.
All the warmth in your limbs rushes away. You feel like someone's just completely taken your lungs away and you can't breathe.
You recognize her—Dr. Collins. You’ve seen her on the PTMC staff page, probably one of the first names you found when you searched for Robby.
You take a step back, slowly, like you might disturb the moment if you're not careful. Then another.
It seems like Robby has moved on.
You're not sure what to do. You feel fucking stupid. Of course, he has moved on. It was just a fling, nothing more. Tears blur your vision as you take short breaths, the rosé now clutched tightly to your chest, and you hurrily walk back down the hall. You don't want him to see you. Not now. Maybe not ever.
Collins exhales shakily, then squeezes his hand one last time before standing.
"I'll be fine." she says, voice hoarse but steady.
"You sure?"
She gives him a small smile. "Yeah. Go save someone who’s actually dying."
He watches her walk out, her back straight even though her world just cracked in half. They’ve been through a lot, he and Collins. It was never romantic—not really—but there were late nights and shared griefs. A handful of near-misses. People who endure together sometimes blur lines. But whatever they were, that part’s long behind them.
A nurse knocks gently on the doorframe. "Dr. Robby?"
"Yeah?"
"There was someone here asking for you," she says, "I told her you'd be out in a minute but I think she left. She didn't leave a name, she had a gift bag with her though."
Robby blinks. "Okay, thanks."
People drop off things sometimes. A patient’s family, a resident trying to get on his good side, a pharmaceutical rep hoping to buy his time. He doesn’t think too hard about it. He heads back out into the chaos of the ER, unaware of the gift that nearly reached him—or the woman who had.
[flashback]
"So what happens after you leave?"
Robby doesn't answer right away. He drags a finger through the sand. "Get on a plane, go home, back to work."
"You know that's not what I mean."
He sighs. "I know."
You wait and Robby finally meets your eyes. "I don't want to ruin this."
"This." You repeat. "This… fantasy? Or us?"
His jaw shifts slightly, he’s trying to choose his words carefully. "I mean the part where I don’t have to think about how complicated this would get if we tried to keep it going."
You nod, lips tight. "Right." Complicated.
"I'm not saying I don't want this. Us." He says quickly, "I just... I don’t know how."
You know he's right. It just hurts to hear it. "Yeah… me neither."
You glance up, and there’s a long, quiet look between you. "So, let’s not make promises we can’t keep?"
Robby nods, but his hand finds yours in the sand. And he doesn't let go.
[present day]
You've been sitting in your parked car for ten minutes after leaving the entrance.
Your hands still tremble a little.
You’d come here with hope burning in your chest, you ignored all of the doubts because you wanted to believe what you had with Robby was real. Because maybe despite not sharing phone numbers, there was something there. You hoped he also regretted not continuing what you had. But seeing Robby with her, the way he touched her, the softness in his expression… it had knocked the wind out of you.
Still, you can’t bring yourself to throw the gift away—or bring it home. Or the letter. So you decide to rewrite the letter. As a goodbye. You slip it inside the gift bag and get out of the car.
This time, you don’t go to the front entrance. You spot a woman smoking near the ambulance bay, leaning against the wall like she’s on break.
You approach her quietly.
"Hi. Sorry to bother you—do you work in the ER?"
She squints through the smoke, "Yeah, why?"
"I, uh, could you give this to Dr. Robby? I…have an errand to run, so, I can't give it to him myself." You offer her the gift bag.
She eyes the gift bag warily. "You trying to sell him something?"
"No, no, nothing like that. I just want to thank him. For everything he's done for me." You hesitate. "You can tell him it's from Ove."
She hesitates, then shrugs, taking the gift bag. "Yeah, sure."
You just offer a small, grateful smile. "Thanks."
Robby's sitting on his desk, busy charting, when Dana drops a gift bag in front of him.
"And this is…?"
"Rosé delivery, apparently." Dana chuckles. "Someone wanted to thank you, so she told me to give you this. Said it's from 'Ove'."
His heart stops. He snatches the bag like it might vanish, scanning the pink-gold bottle, the smooth ribbon, the familiar handwriting he could recognize anywhere.
You were here.
He bolts.
"Wait—" Dana calls behind him, "There's—!"
But Robby’s already sprinting down the hallway, dodging a gurney, ignoring the startled nurse who calls his name.
He jogs a little down the street, scanning every face. A couple arguing near the bus stop. A woman in scrubs checking her phone. But not you. His breath fogs in the cold air, and something in his chest twists painfully.
He missed you.
"Fuck." He keeps repeating, "FUCK!"
"Robby!"
He turns at Dana’s voice.
She’s outside now, waving something in her hand. "She left a letter."
Hi Robby, I'm sorry I didn't give you this letter and gift myself. I know it probably seems cowardly to leave a letter like this instead of talking to you face to face, but honestly… I don’t think I could’ve done that without crying. Or jumping into your arms. Or kissing you… Or all of it. There’s so much I wanted to say, but maybe this will have to be enough. I’m happy you’ve found someone who makes you happy. I really am. I hope she’s good to you. I hope she sees what I see in you—your terrible jokes, your gentleness, the way you care too much and try to hide it. I hope she knows how lucky she is. Take care of yourself, doc. And thank you for all the memories. You deserve someone who makes coming home feel like peace. – Ove
Robby reads the letter once. Then again.
He’s standing in the hallway outside the break room, half-shielded by the open door, fingers curling around the page like it might explain itself differently on the third read.
You were here. At the hospital. He missed you.
His eyes skim the line again—the one about how you couldn’t face him without crying, or kissing him. Jumping into his arms. His heart clenches. It’s so you. Honest. Brave and terrified at once.
Then he hits the sentence that makes him stop cold.
I’m happy that you’ve found someone who can make you happy.
His brow furrows. Found someone?
He glances up like the hallway might have an answer. What are you talking about? There’s no one. There hasn’t been anyone. Not really. Just that moment with Collins—but even that... that wasn’t what you think.
His chest tightens. You thought he was with someone. That he moved on.
You thought he was happy.
He leans back against the wall, one hand dragging down his face. A deep exhale pushes from his lungs, but it doesn’t take the ache with it.
"Ove," he says aloud, the name barely a breath.
He lets out a quiet laugh, one that almost breaks halfway through. Of course you'd sign it like that.
Now you're leaving him rosé and a goodbye that read like a love letter sealed in regret.
His chest tightens. There's a stinging behind his eyes he doesn't want to name.
Dana watches him from the nurses’ station, saying nothing. She doesn’t need to. Robby just shakes his head, pressing his lips together.
"She was here," he says again, like he still doesn’t believe it.
"Yeah," Dana replies softly, looking at him sympathetically. "She was."
The letter is still in his hand. He folds it carefully, like it's something sacred. Then he tucks it into his jacket pocket and takes a breath.
He should have been faster.
He should have found you.
But now… now all he can do is stand here, holding the words you couldn't say out loud.
A few days after that, you're back to apartment hunting. Somewhere outside of Pittsburgh. You haven't told your sister, but you have a feeling she knows. She's been quiet in that careful way, watching you drift through nights of old movies and whiskey. Not rosé—never rosé. That would taste too much like him.
You're on the couch, laptop warming your thighs, when you suddenly hear a scream from the kitchen.
"Jenna!" You scramble.
Jenna had bought one of those aesthetic looking pots made of glass, and of course it shattered. Another sound—glass crunching, followed by a strangled yelp. You race in to find her on the floor, clutching her arm, shards of her new glass pot glittering across the tile. She must’ve slipped. Her forearm is red, swelling fast.
"I'm okay—" She groans and winces, "Okay, OW OW OW—No, I'm not okay."
You turn off the stove, moving quickly to help her up, careful not to step on the glass. "Let's get you to the hospital. I'll get a cab."
She’s quiet in the ride over, cradling her arm, the towel now damp from melted ice.
"I'm so stupid." She hisses. "It's not even that bad, it just hurts."
"You're not stupid," You say, "But it looks pretty bad. The glass shattered everywhere. You're lucky it didn't cut you anywhere else."
She lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan, then presses her head back against the seat.
"Are you sure you want to come?" She asks after a beat, always worrying about you first. "We're going to that ER. After everything that happened…"
You glance out the window, swallowing down the familiar ache that tightens in your chest at just the mention of it.
"Jenna." You cut her off gently. "None of that matters right now. You’re hurt. We’re going."
She bites her cheek, clearly reading more in your silence than you want her to. But she just nods. "Okay."
It's not that late yet, and the ER is still as busy as ever. Due to the level of Jenna's injury, you get in fast. You push through the double doors with Jenna leaning on your side, her towel-wrapped arm clutched to her chest. You follow the nurse down the familiar hall, heart tightening with every step, and help Jenna settle into a curtained bay. She gives you a strained smile, trying to act tough, but she looks worried.
"I'll go get a doctor for you, it'll be quick." the nurse says.
You sit on the edge of the plastic chair, elbows on your knees, trying not to breathe too deep.
Then the curtain rustles. "Okay, let's see who we have here."
You look up and freeze—just for a second—until you realize it’s not Robby. You exhale quietly, chest unclenching. "You're Jenna?" the doctor asks, flipping through the chart.
Your sister nods.
The doctor nods back, "I'm Dr. Abbot, and this is…" He motions to you.
"My sister," Jenna says, giving your name.
That’s when you see it—Dr. Abbot's face changes. He repeats your full name under his breath, eyes narrowing like he’s connecting dots in real time.
Something clicks in his head. Then, without another word, he steps back. "I'll be right back." He’s gone before either of you can ask anything.
"What the fuck was that?"
"Robby!"
Jack whisper-screams down the hall, catching Robby just as he’s about to exit through the staff doors. Robby slows, eyebrows raised in surprise as Jack jogs up to him.
"Jack, I really just—"
"She's here."
Robby stops mid-step.
"She was," he corrects slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "a few days ago. I couldn't catch her—"
"No, Robby." Jack cuts in, breathless. "She's here now. With her sister. Bay 5."
Robby's eyes go wide. "…A-are you sure? Wait, is she okay??"
"Well I mean you wouldn't show me a picture of her so—"
"Jack—"
"Right." Jack says, "She’s fine, she’s accompanying her sister. Just stay in the consult room. I'll bring her over, tell her she can wait there."
Robby feels like his world is spinning again. He doesn't want to get his hopes up. He still has your letter tucked in his jacket pocket.
He nods nervously. "Okay."
You’re still staring at the curtain, blinking like maybe it’ll open again and explain whatever just happened. But it stays closed. Jenna glances at you, then at her arm, and mutters, "Well, that was weird."
"Yeah." You frown.
You’re still thinking about the way the doctor said your name like he recognized it—like it meant something. Before you can say anything else, the curtain swishes again. Dr. Abbot reappears, breathless, like he’s jogged half the ER to get back. "Um, do you mind waiting in the consult room? There's… not a lot of space here, so…"
It's an odd request, but Jenna says she's okay, so you reluctantly go with the nurse who'll show you where the consult room is.
As soon as you’re gone, Jenna raises an eyebrow at Dr. Abbot. He’s still standing there, watching the curtain fall closed behind you like it just told him a secret.
"…Do you know something?" She asks. Vague, suggesting.
Dr. Abbot turns slowly and squints at her. "I don't know. Do you know something?"
Jenna tilts her head. "I might."
He tilts his head back at her. "Then I might too."
The nurse doesn’t say much. Just a polite smile and a gentle hand on your back as she guides you down the hallway.
You pass a few curtain bays, a trauma room, and then she stops at a door with Consult Room B printed in small white letters.
"Just wait in here," she says gently.
"Wait for—"
"—OK." But the door closes before you can finish the question. You blink. Turn. And that’s when you see him.
Robby.
He’s standing at the far end of the room, one hand braced on the counter like he might be holding himself up. He's still in his scrubs, navy jacket with his sleeves rolled up, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost.
You freeze. He sees you.
For a second, neither of you speak. Neither of you even breathe.
Robby braves himself to step closer to you.
"Robby," you finally say, voice barely more than a whisper. You swallow, shifting your weight, arms folded like a shield. "I didn't know—the nurse just told me to—"
You break eye contact and step back as he steps closer. You can't look in his eyes, because you know you'll break. You're already fighting the tears that are about to fall.
He watches you for a moment, trying to find his voice. "You okay?"
You nod. "Jenna—my sister—she burned her arm. Slipped on glass. I just… went into autopilot."
He steps closer again, slower this time. "Is she alright?"
"Yeah. She’ll be fine." You bite your lip, still not looking at him.
"You left me a bottle of rosé," he says, gently, still stepping closer. "And a name."
You try to smile. "I thought you’d figure it out."
"I did," he says, now only inches away from you, "and then I read the letter."
Your breath hitches, just slightly. There’s a pause as you nod, your hands tighten over your elbows, fingers pressing into your sleeves. "Right."
"Are you ever going to look at me?"
You try to hide the sob escaping you and back away a little, but Robby reaches out, placing both hands gently to cup your face, brushing away your tears. You finally meet his eyes, and the sight wrecks you.
Why is he crying?
He steps closer, trapping you within his frame, and leans in. His lips press gently to yours, careful—as if asking permission, checking if you still want this, if you still want him. Your hands clutch his scrubs, holding on like a lifeline.
You pull away first. "This is wrong." You whisper.
Robby’s brows knit together in confusion until he sees the guilt in your eyes. You think he's with Collins.
"You…" You sniff, "You're happy, Robby. You—You can't ruin it."
"Look at me," His voice is firm, "Do I look happy to you?"
"I—"
"I'm not with Collins."
You look at him. "What?"
"The woman you saw with me a few days go," Robby says carefully, "she had a miscarriage. I was just… trying to be there for her."
You stare at him, breath caught. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. Then, quietly, "Oh."
You look down, heart thudding, face hot with shame. You want to disappear into the floor, you feel even more stupid now.
He asks, a little broken. "You really thought I'd move on that fast?"
You shake your head, blinking fast. "I didn't know what to think. I thought maybe it wasn’t as real for you as it was for me."
"And what? Were you just going to leave?" He frowns. "You weren't even gonna let me say goodbye. Not even one last look at you."
You shake your head, eyes glossy. "I thought it would be easier on you," you whisper. "Like Bali."
Robby's expression shatters. "That was not easy on me."
"You left before I woke up."
"I thought you wanted me to." His voice catches. "You were quiet that whole last day. I figured you didn’t want me to make it harder."
"Because I didn't want to say goodbye!" You cry out, "I didn't want it to end. But I got scared, because what if you don't like the version of me outside of Bali? Because Bali was good, so good, and back here—" you sob, "—back here I'm not as confident. I'm nobody. I'm a mess."
Robby's heart breaks a little. He sees you, truly sees you, and realizes the irony: that’s exactly how he feels.
"You think I don’t get that? You think Bali wasn’t the first time in years I felt like myself again?" He swallows hard. "I was afraid, too. Afraid I’d already messed it up. Afraid if I said goodbye, it would feel real. Final."
You close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek.
"You’re not nobody," he says, softer now. "You're the person who saw me when I was at my lowest. Who laughed so hard on that motorbike I thought I'd crash us into a rice field. Who made me believe I could want more than just work and sleep and going through the motions. Whose letter I still keep in my pocket. You're the person who lent me your book."
You chuckle at that, still sniffing.
He cups your cheek again, thumb brushing away the tears you’ve stopped trying to hide.
"And you don’t have to be confident all the time," he murmurs. "You don’t have to be the Bali version of you. I want you. All versions of you."
You try not to cry again, nodding your head. "…I want you, too."
He exhales—like he’s been holding his breath for days—and his forehead presses to yours, gentle and grounding. "I'm no picnic, either. I overthink everything. I push people away when I should let them in. I’ve spent most of my life trying to act like nothing gets to me."
"But you do." His thumb brushes under your eye. "You got to me."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"The worst." He smiles a little.
"Then you've got horrible taste."
He chuckles. "I believe what I said was 'terrible' not 'horrible'."
You share a laugh and there's a long, quiet pause. You’re both holding your breath, holding each other like the other person could disappear, like this might be a dream.
"Robby…" you murmur.
"Yeah?"
"Do you want to make promises this time?" You ask, hopeful once again. "Ones we'll try our best to keep?"
He smiles. "Yeah. I do."
He leans in again, brushing his lips over yours. Your fingers tangle in the navy fabric of his hoodie, like you're scared he’ll vanish. But he doesn’t. He just holds you tighter, steadier. And it’s everything you’ve been aching for. No longer a memory of Bali. No longer a what-if. Just you and him.
You take Robby’s hand gently and guide him towards where Jenna is to introduce them. You thought she'd be asleep, but you hear chatter from behind the curtain. When you swing it open—you see her and Jack, gossiping like two teenagers, her wounds wrapped up long ago.
"Oh hey~ We were just talking about you two," Jenna smirks, "So, Dr. Abbot, how long did you say Dr. Robby here has been broody?"
"Well, I think since birth, really, but he became worse after leaving Bali."
You roll your eyes and glance at Robby, who's blushing like a tomato now. You try to soothe him, while Jack and Jenna share a subtle fist bump, quietly whispering to each other.
"We did that."
"Hell yeah we did."
--
hope you guys like it! side note, lowkey loving Jack and Jenna's interaction and thank you to all of you in the taglist for being so excited for this 🥰 ily, and im so sorry if i missed anyone, it is really not on purpose. I hope you enjoyed!
taglist: @biggestsimponhere @thesnugglingduck @qardasngan @lol-im-done @daisydark @onlyrealjoy @sabrinaselina55 @borbalalikesdocs @livingavilaloca @evans-dejong @thinemineours @marvelousmissmaggie @maiamore @hagarsays @evermoresivy @capj-1437 @beebeechaos @obfuscateyummy @omgbrianab @honestlystop @jazzimac1967 @msdariaknight @cozyfanficnook @wowitsafemale @princessjayll @heyysolsister @mcuwhore7 @1mverstappen @aryacoulson @the-one-with-the-grey-color @ravenouswild @littlezee80 @gardeniarose13 @bitchy-bi-trash @breemary05-blog @arrowswithwifi
take a break — michael "robby" robinavitch x fem!reader Robby is finally on vacation in Bali. He can't quite turn off the part of him that stays alert, but then he meets someone who somehow silences all the noise.
warnings: angst. smut 18+, minors go away. this feels very romantic to me. i loved writing this. i never intended to include smut in this actually, i find it challenging, but it felt like a great addition to the story. pls be nice :") [p in v sex, no protection—don't do this kids, oral!fem receiving, fingering, swearing] not proofread. 4.4K words -- i think this is also the longest fic I've written so far masterlist
It just finished raining, and the air feels sticky with heat and flowers. Robby's on his third day of vacation in Bali, and he's yet to do anything on this island they call paradise. No tours, no yoga by the beach, not even a swim.
It's beautiful here—almost painfully—but he keeps checking his phone like someone might page him. Old habits. No one’s paging him. Time zones are a buffer, and besides, he’s on the other side of the world. What could he possibly do?
He’s halfway through drinking from his coconut, perched on a wooden lounge chair by the beach, when he hears a voice beside him, amused and warm.
"You look like you’re trying to solve a math problem with your drink."
He looks up. You’re barefoot, sun-kissed, wearing loose cotton pants and a tank top, your hair a little wild from the humidity.
Robby blinks. "Is it that obvious?"
You motion to the seemingly permanent frown on his face.
Robby's seen you around the resort before. Always by yourself, with two books in one hand and a drink in the other. He thought about saying something multiple times, but always chickened out. Something about you felt... unapproachable. Not in an intimidating way, more in a you’re living fully and I’m not sure how to do that so I don't want to possibly ruin it for you way.
Now you both sit in silence, while Robby continues to check his phone again and sighs. That's when you hand him your book. "Here."
He blinks down at the cover. A Man Called Ove.
"One of my favorites. You should read it." You say, "Better than constantly checking your phone and regretting it a second later."
Robby snorts. You have a point.
"You lend books to strangers a lot?"
"If they look like they've been through some rough shit, yes."
That startles a laugh out of him—genuine, low, a little rusty. "I’m Michael. Robinavitch. You can call me Robby."
You offer your name in return, then nod toward the book. "Give it a chance. Let me know what you think."
"What makes you think I'll give your book back?"
You smile, stepping toward the path back to the resort. "I've seen you around the resort. And if you don't, I'll hunt you down."
You're feeling particularly exhausted today. One, because you just went out surfing for the entire day yesterday, but also because today, you were supposed to be walking down the aisle with the most beautiful dress, about to marry the love of your life. Instead, you're in a hotel room halfway across the world, alone, and feeling like shit.
Well, you suppose the day wasn't half bad. You finally managed to talk to the broody, quietly handsome guy who looks like he’s seen too much and somehow still comes off calm and steady. A smile tugs at your lips. He’s more charming than you expected.
Bali was not a place you thought you'd visit alone. You always imagined you'd be here with your ex-fiancé, drinking and watching the sunset. So you decide it's time to take care of yourself, wear that sundress you've been saving for a special occasion, and head to the resort's bar.
You sit down at your table, putting your book down and picking up the menu, when someone clears his throat, standing next to you.
Robby.
"This seat taken?"
You try to hide your smile. "Be my guest."
He smiles and sits across from you, putting his your book down on the table. He looks good—too good. He’s traded his usual loose t-shirt for a navy polo that clings in the right places, and linen pants that make his long legs look impossibly relaxed.
"You clean up nice." You say.
"You look beautiful." Robby counters, "Can I ask what's the occasion?"
You chuckle nervously, not ready to share the sad part of your life yet. Thankfully, you're saved by the waiter coming to take your order.
"Do you drink Rosé?" Robby asks after ordering your meals. And you nod, surprised. "Great, let's open a bottle of dry Rosé." He says to the waiter.
You raise your brows once the waiter leaves. "Didn't take you for a wine guy—let alone a Rosé? You're full of surprises, Michael."
"You sound like my mother when you call me like that." He groans.
"'Michael'?"
"Yes, and she also mocks my drink choices."
You laugh. "So what's the story?"
"A friend gifted me a dry Rosé one time as a joke. I didn’t want to waste it, so I drank it. Turns out, I liked it more than I wanted to admit. But keep that between us."
You hum, "Ah, yes, can't have you ruin your naturally broody aura."
"Me? Broody?" He snorts like it's ridiculous. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"You absolutely are."
With the food almost immediately devoured, you're left with wine and each other's company. The ocean hums in the distance, with the breeze prickling your skin. Robby’s gone quiet, admiring the view, the half-full glass of rosé resting loosely in his fingers.
"So, how do you like the book so far?"
He exhales, tipping his head back. "I wasn’t ready to love it. But it... got to me."
You grin. "Ove grows on you, doesn’t he?"
"Yeah," Robby murmurs. "Grumpy bastard made me feel things I wasn’t in the mood to feel."
You laugh. "That's the point. He's angry at life, but still shows up for people. Even when he doesn’t want to."
Robby nods, quiet for a second. "I think I know what that feels like."
You glance at him, surprised by the honesty. His jaw is tense, but his eyes are soft. You wonder if you should ask—but something tells you this moment is already fragile, and curiosity might crack it too soon.
Instead, you wait.
"I'm an ER doc." Robby swirls the wine in his glass absentmindedly. "Lots of chaos. Long hours. Lots of traumas, deaths… I used to think I was built for this line of work. The pressure, the adrenaline... the fixing things. And sometimes I still do. But lately…"
You don’t speak. You let him go on, because he needs to.
He takes a deep breath. "Lately I’ve been wondering if it's all catching up with me. Like—I walk around carrying everyone else's worst days, and I don’t even notice the weight until I sit still." He continues. "I’ve seen kids come in with gunshots. Mothers who collapse from exhaustion. People screaming for someone to save them, and you just have to keep moving like it doesn’t get to you. Like you’re above it. But you’re not. Not really."
Robby then takes a sharp breath. "Sorry. I'm not usually this..."
You offer him a small smile. "Broody?"
That earns a faint smile, but it doesn’t erase the weariness from his expression.
You figured it's only fair you share your story, too.
You put your wine glass down, your finger tracing the rim. "I was supposed to get married today."
That catches him off guard. His eyes widen, gently. "Oh. Today? As in—today today?"
"Yeah," You laugh under your breath, "Booked the venue and everything. Until 6 months ago, I found out he was cheating on me with one of my bridesmaids. Classic."
"Prick," Robby mutters.
"Right? So I pulled the plug on the wedding, and I've been traveling the world ever since. Running away, I guess. I was so caught up in the relationship that I think I lost part of myself." You sigh. "So now, I'm re-finding myself. Yay."
Robby chuckles. "And how's it going so far?"
You smile, "Let's just say I'm glad I'm not spending today alone."
He mirrors your smile, lifting his glass to cheer. "Me too."
"Walk with me?" you ask, gesturing toward the beach after you've finished your wine.
Robby doesn’t hesitate. "Lead the way."
You both kick off your shoes by the beach entrance and walk slowly along the shore, the water brushing your feet gently. You can feel the wine in your system now. The salty air hits your skin and lets your hair flow freely. Robby has never seen anyone more beautiful. He's glad it's dark out now, or you would've seen him blush.
You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you. Half-lidded, faintly flushed from the wine and maybe something more.
"I don’t usually let myself relax like this." He murmurs.
"And yet here you are, walking barefoot on a beach with a stranger, wine-drunk and poetic." You laugh lightly.
"Stranger?" He repeats, stepping in front of you gently, making you stop.
"No?"
"Feels like I've known you longer." He smiles lazily.
Your heart kicks up a notch, not sure what to say, so you just smile, turning to look towards the sea. The breeze has picked up, cooler now that the sun has long dipped below the horizon. You cross your arms, trying not to shiver, but the goosebumps along your arms give you away.
Without a word, Robby steps behind you. You feel his warmth before you feel the touch—his hands gently brushing your arms, then slowly wrapping around your waist. His chest is solid and steady against your back, and you let yourself lean into it, just a little.
He’s quiet, but you can hear the soft rhythm of his breathing, feel it where your shoulders meet his. The sea hums in the distance, but all you can think about is how your heart is racing—and how you can feel his breath on your skin.
"You're unlike anyone I've ever met." He says.
You chuckle and glance up at him, suddenly meeting his eyes. "That's the Rosé talking."
"Maybe," he says, almost to himself. "Or maybe I just really want to kiss you."
Your breath catches. That weightless feeling flutters in your chest, and the world seems to narrow to just the space between your mouths. He waits for your permission—doesn’t lean in right away, doesn’t push. Just watches you, his fingers still resting lightly on your waist.
So you give in. You lean up and close the space between you. It's slow, exploring new ground, like you're testing the heat between you. Robby’s lips are soft, warm, and his beard grazes your skin in the most deliciously distracting way. His hand slips around your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss, and you find your fingers brushing the edge of his jaw.
The kiss lingers on your lips even after it ends, like you don't want it to be over. Robby pulls back just enough to look at you, still hazy, still drunk on the moment. His hand is still snug at your waist, like he’s afraid to let go too quickly.
"I don’t want to overstep," he whispers, "But if I asked you to come back with me… would that be okay?"
You hesitate for a second, because something about this feels different than just a vacation fling, but you can't talk about it yet. You don't want to.
"I was hoping you’d ask," you murmur against his lips.
That earns you a smile and another short make-out session that leaves you breathless.
"Are we leaving or what?" You ask in between kisses.
He chuckles, "So impatient."
He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, and you walk together barefoot, tipsy, and a little giddy from everything that’s happened tonight. The resort glows softly in the distance, lanterns swaying with the wind.
Once inside his room, you walk in slowly as if it doesn't look exactly like yours. The mood shifts. Robby closes the door behind you, and for a second, neither of you says anything. You just look at each other in the dim light, the tension from earlier about to snap.
Robby takes the first step closer to you, dragging his finger to lift your chin so he can kiss you again. And again. And again. And you sigh into his arms, hands on his broad chest.
"You can stop me any time."
"I won't."
He kisses you again, deeper this time. His hands slip around your waist, then your back, and up to where the straps of your dress rest. You can feel your heart flip when he hooks it on his finger, slowly peeling it off your shoulder, as if giving you time to push him away, but teasing at the same time.
You let the strap fall down your arm, and the other one soon follows. Robby’s gaze follows the motion like he’s watching something sacred, like he's not sure if he's allowed to want this but can't help himself anyway.
His fingers trail over your now-bare shoulder, and you shiver, goosebumps forming on your skin.
You take his hand and slowly make your way towards the bed, sitting down and placing your hands on his waist. You tug at his shirt, hinting you want it off, and he obliges, the shirt gone in one swift motion.
"You’re beautiful," He groans as he leans down to lie on top of you. "God."
You memorize the feel of him: warm skin, a strong chest under your palms, the steady rhythm of his breath stuttering slightly when your hands roam lower to reach his belt. He lets you undo it. Lets you unbutton his pants and pull them down as he peppers kisses throughout your body.
You let out a soft moan when his hand trails up your naked torso, hesitantly, ever so gently caressing your breast, teasing your nipple with his finger, while his mouth makes its way down to latch onto the other.
"Fuck, Robby." Your hand goes up to tug on his hair, earning you a lustful groan, while your other hand grabs onto his arm as an anchor.
Your head is spinning, and something is itching. You buck your hips up to meet his, and now his hand is pinning your waist down.
"You really need to work on your patience." He teases and stops kissing you.
"Can you really blame me?" You daringly take one of his hands, resting it on the slick heat between your thighs.
"Fuck." Robby closes his eyes, pressing his thumb to where he can feel your clitoris is, the sensitive bud poking out and pushing against your panties.
You throw your head back, hips bucking against his hand.
Robby slowly slips the little piece of clothing off, and you watch as his fingers smooth over your slit. He keeps his eyes on you as he lowers himself. You swallow as you anticipate what he's about to do.
"So fucking wet." He murmurs, leaving kitten licks on your clit.
You can only moan while he has his way with you. His hands are holding your thighs open for him, and you try your best to keep eye contact, but it's only making you falter faster. His eyes are dark, lustful, hungry, and you feel like you could cum just from watching him.
He gently sucks on your swollen bud, and you lose your mind when he inserts one finger. Then two. Your slick makes it easy for his fingers to move around and find your sensitive spot, he found it almost immediately, he can tell by the way your eyes roll back and how you clench around him every time.
"Robby—" You sigh with pleasure—a warning, bucking your hips again, and this time he lets you, feeling you're close to the edge. His fingers move expertly in and out of you, curling just at the right spot. Your breaths become erratic, following the pace of Robby's fingers. "Come, sweetheart." He says, almost as a command, and your body arches moments after, breath catching in your throat as waves of pleasure crash through you.
Robby doesn't immediately stop. He pumps his fingers a few more times until you're trembling away, and with a proud smirk, he pulls his fingers out, licks them to taste you—making sure you're watching—before hovering on top of you to kiss you.
You can taste yourself in his mouth, and you whimper, feeling him pressing against your cunt. You're still sensitive, but it feels like you're desperately hungry for more. More of Robby.
Robby tries to pace himself, he doesn't want to rush. He wants to cherish this, drag this out, because he doesn't want this to end. He wants to keep feeling your plush lips against his, your soft touches, your hands in his hair, your body pressed firmly against his.
"Robby," you whisper, your voice barely more than air, "I want you. Please."
And he loses all of his resolve.
Robby bites his lip as he sees your disheveled state. Lips swollen, hair a mess, hooded and hungry eyes, how can he say no to you?
He takes his boxers off, freeing his cock and letting it spring back up to his stomach. You gasp at the sight. He's gonna kill you. First with his gentleness, second with his cock, because you don't think you can handle that.
"Fuck off." You unintentionally comment.
Robby lets out a laugh. "Relax."
"Are you kidding?"
He just shakes his head and hovers over you again, but this time you push him over so he's sitting and you're on top, your sopping wet cunt sitting on his aching cock.
"Sweetheart, you're killing me." He closes his eyes and groans as you drag your hips along his length.
You decide neither of you would last any more teasing, so you take him in your hands, covered in your wetness and his precum, and push him against your folds. Your walls squeeze him as he bottoms out inside you, and you have to hold still for a while.
Robby's hands grip your waist and you're sure it'll leave marks in the morning, but you don't really care. You lift your hips slowly, leaving just the tip before slamming yourself back down, eliciting a moan from both of you.
You're set on a pace, slow, steady, allowing you to have control, but it's not enough. You groan and bury your face in Robby's neck. "Robby…"
"Hm?" He teases, like he knows what you're about to ask for.
"Please," You whisper. "I need…"
He pulls you from hiding your face, a confident smirk on his. But he decides to be merciful this time. Chuckling, he moves so you're now flat on your back again, legs tucked up and pressed onto your sides.
"Tell me if you want to stop, okay?"
You manage to let out a giggle. "Robby, don't worry—" your words are immediately cut off when he reinserts himself, the position makes it feel completely different from before. "—Holy fuck."
Robby starts slow, letting you fully adjust before feeling you clench around him, and he picks up the speed. You feel like the air is knocked out of your lungs, only able to take short breaths as Robby brutally drives into you, making you feel all of him.
You can't even moan anymore, your mouth just hangs open as you put your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss you can't properly do. Strings of fuck—Robby—so deep—fuck—you feel so good are the only things you can muster as you feel your high approaching again.
You couldn't even warn him when your orgasm hits you. Your nails just dig into his shoulder as your eyes roll back, back arching as far as it could go, and walls spasming around him. He grunts, nibbling on your neck as his hips stutter, not expecting you to get so tight.
"Fuck." He moans as he spills inside you, staying still for a minute to catch his breath and make sure you're okay.
You're still panting and twitching under him, eyes still closed, but your hands draw small circles on the back of his head.
"'M gonna pull out now." He warns and you hum, moaning again when he does.
He stands up to get a towel to clean you up, "Don't go anywhere." He jokes.
You chuckle. "Don't think I can."
The room is quiet now, only the sound of the AC and the steady rhythm of your breaths can be heard. You're both tangled in the sheets, your leg draped over his, skin still warm from everything that just passed between you. Robby lies on his side, one arm wrapped around your waist, fingertips gently grazing your back in slow, absent-minded strokes. You’re tucked into his chest, your head resting in the curve of his shoulder, your fingers drawing lazy circles on his chest.
Eventually, he presses a kiss to your hair, his lips lingering there.
"You're kind of amazing," He mutters.
"Kind of?" You raise a brow.
He huffs a quiet laugh, "I’m trying not to let it go to your head."
You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him. His hair is tousled, his eyes soft, still heavy-lidded. "Too late."
He smiles and presses another kiss to your lips.
"Do you always kiss like that on vacation?" You tease.
He chuckles, "Only when I meet someone who gives me their favorite book."
"Pretty exclusive club."
"You're the only member."
You nuzzle closer into him, smiling into his chest. "I'm not gonna lie," You start, "This all feels a little surreal. I never thought I'd meet someone like you. You make all of this feel… right."
"I feel the same way." He admits, "I want to pause everything and just stay in our little bubble."
The silence stretches comfortably for a moment. And then, you get a gut-wrenching realization. "Oh. Right. You said you're only here for a week."
He nods, voice tighter, his hand still tracing along your side. "Yeah."
"So we’ve got, what… four more?"
"Mm-hm." He pulls you close to him, perhaps it's a way so you can't see his sullen expression. "Four more days in the bubble."
And it's hardly enough time.
The next few days blur in sunlight and ocean breeze, you take Robby on winding motorbike rides, wild ATV tours through the jungle, surfing lessons where you both wipe out laughing, and quiet moments snorkeling with whale sharks. You try to make as many memories as you can, all the while masking the dread of his departure. And at night, it’s always the same—his touch like a promise, your body moving with his in the dark, like you're both pretending the end isn't coming.
You both made the silent decision not to say where you’re from. Maybe if you find out he lives just hours away, it’ll make this too real. Too painful. Better to keep things suspended in this bubble, this almost-fairytale. Better to let it end on a hopeful note, instead of a practical-hurtful one.
You’ve told yourself this is just a fling. That some people come into your life for a reason, and maybe Robby was never meant to stay. Maybe he’s just a beautiful lesson in loving deeply and letting go.
You try not to cry in front of him. You want to make the goodbye easier than it feels, to shield him and yourself from the ache that's already blooming in your chest. You try to seem light, even when it’s breaking you.
It’s not easy for Robby, either. If he could, he’d offer you his world—just to wake up beside you every morning and fall asleep with you tucked against his chest. But it wouldn’t be fair. He could never ask you to upend your life for him, no matter how much he wants to.
And maybe that’s the hardest part, he wants to do this right. He wants to believe this is more than just a vacation high. But what if his reality—grueling shifts, emotional exhaustion, his work-life imbalance—ends up driving you away? There’s so much he wants to say, but maybe silence is the merciful choice.
It's the night before he leaves, and you can't say goodbye. But it’s there, hanging unspoken in the humid air between kisses, in the way you cling to each other just a little tighter. You talk quietly about nothing at all, and everything at once—movies you haven’t seen, food you miss, a joke about whale sharks that makes you both laugh a little too hard at 1AM.
At one point, while tracing lazy circles on his chest, he asks, "Should I go before you wake up?"
You don’t answer right away, but then nod. Robby can see your lips quivering slightly.
He pulls you closer to him, but neither of you falls asleep quickly. You make love again, slower this time, as if trying to memorize each other’s skin. As if trying to stretch the hours. You fall asleep tangled together, heartbeats in sync.
By the time the soft blue of dawn creeps up, Robby’s already awake. He moves quietly, getting dressed in the soft light, careful not to wake you. Before he leaves, he pauses by your bedside. You’re still curled under the covers, looking peaceful and beautiful.
He looks at you like he’s trying to remember everything.
Then he pulls something from his bag—a folded piece of paper—and tucks it gently into the book you gave him. His fingers linger on the cover for a beat too long.
He leaves without a sound.
You wake hours later to an empty room, your chest already aching before your mind catches up. You sit up slowly, the sheets cold beside you. You scan everything in your room, maybe Robby had left something behind that you could keep as a memento.
Then you see the book. You open it to find the note inside:
"You changed something in me. Thank you for letting me be yours, even just for a moment."
And that’s when you finally let yourself cry.
------
part two for a reunion is out!
𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒
jack abbot
☆ these walls have eyes | @asxgard
rumors always start somewhere - and the one about you and a certain attending started somewhere between a whispered confession and myrna overhearing you.
☆ no man's land | @butyoudidthis4what
there's a shooting where you work. jack is at the ed when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.
☆ edge of the dark | @thepencilnerd
what starts as quiet pining after too many long shifts becomes something heavier, messier, softer - until the only place it makes sense is in the dark.
☆ this city doesn't forget | @abbotjack
you weren't supposed to see him again. not like this. not in this dress, not in this city, not with his last name still catching in your throat. but pittsburgh remembers what you tried to bury.
☆ you, me, and the empty space between us | @mercvry-glow
jack abbot talks the reader off of the ledge.
☆ just a walk-in | @abbotsanatomy
jack's worst nightmare is you ending up in his er.
☆ bar fight | @tedmustache
a rough night leads the reader to the er, and jack's only priority is making sure she's okay.
☆ coffee swap | @tedmustache
it starts with coffee. then it becomes something more.
☆ safe and sound | @science-hoes
a stormy night in pittsburgh causes jack abbot to fall into a ptsd-induced psychosis episode, and the reader does everything in her power to bring them back.
☆ you say that like you care | @frombookstoretobookstore
after reader takes a punch to the face, abbot's emotions flare as he realizes he might care a little too much.
☆ overactive empathy | @lol-im-done
will a traumatic event force jack and the reader to confront their true feelings for each other or pull them apart forever?
☆ first thing | @stellamarielu
lazy mornings with jack are few and far between, but they always exceed your expectations.
☆ who you let in | @eddiesfaerie
jack has a soft spot. he didn't expect you to be the one to find it.
☆ you shouldn't be (down here with me) | @youvebeenlivingfictional
when you're almost shot at work, your body snaps into autopilot as your mind goes into overdrive. jack has always recognized parts of himself in you - he knows a mind teetering on the edge when he sees one.
☆ love me hard love me soft | @mercvry-glow
jack abbot isn't a soft man, but he'll learn for you.
☆ stop making this hurt | @mercvry-glow
you knew jack didn't want to go to pitt fest, instead suggesting you take a few of your girl friends on your day off. little does he know that decision leads to you experiencing the worst day of your life without him.
☆ valkyries and betting pools | @nocapesdahling
one of the most popular and secret betting pools is focused on what's going on with you and dr. abbot. meanwhile, you just want to figure out if the man you've had a crush on for months likes you back.
☆ someone new | @quickestgold
after witnessing the fallout from jack's failed marriage, dana and robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. but when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of jack's feelings, their perspectives shift.
☆ don't make me someone you can't have | @abbotjack
the fallout didn't start the day of pitt fest - it started when you told jack abbot how you felt and he told you he didn't want you.
☆ say it first | @quickestgold
jack has grown used to the emptiness in his heart, a quiet companion that has kept him safe for too long. but when you finally speak your truth, he realizes the hardest battles aren't fought on the field or in the chaos of the er, but in the silence between two hearts longing for each other.
michael 'robby' robinavitch
☆ companionship | @asxgard
he’s not sure how he got here, perhaps it’s the aching loneliness or the overwhelming stress. you’re there because it seems like easy money and you have a pushy friend. all in all, it’s a good deal — he gets the companionship he’s after, no strings, and you get your utility bills paid on time. it’s pretty simple, easy, until your arrangement bleeds into something a bit more…complicated.
☆ lead the way | @traumaone
after over a year of pining over robby, reader gets into a relationship to try and get over him, and gets cheated on. robby comes to the rescue.
☆ booked for one | @abbotjack
a black tie charity gala in chicago. one bed. months of tension. and a storm that forces both of you to stop pretending.
☆ glasses be damned | @thepencilnerd
lazy sunday mornings. you in his shirt. him wearing - glasses? what could be better?
☆ drunk confessions | @thepencilnerd
you're out drinking with your colleagues. robby's not there - until he is.
☆ sticky-notes and leftovers | @thepencilnerd
a glimpse into your daily notions with robby after moving in.
☆ sweet nothings | @thebestandworstdayofjune
you own a bakery down the street from ptmh, and dr. robby is one of your favorite customers.
☆ peace | @xximperioxx
the reader comforts robby after a hard shift (she talks him off the ledge).
☆ work crush | @xximperioxx
the reader has a crush on robby. spoiler alert: it's reciprocated.
☆ doctor's orders | @tedmustache
when one rough day pushes things to a breaking point, unspoken feelings come dangerously close to the surface.
☆ the right moment is you | @cherriready
robby didn't mean to propose today. not during a long shift, not without a plan, and definitely not in front of the er. but when he saw her, he saw the rest of his life. no speeches. no perfect moment. just her. always her.
☆ stitched together | @hauntedhowlett-writes
after accidentally cutting your hand, you seek out your neighbor for help. a favor becomes a friendship and a friendship becomes something more.
An Itch You Can't Scratch (one-shot)
Synopsis: After taking a bad fall, Y/N gets rushed to the ED of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital only to come face to face with a man she had a one-night stand with, and who ghosted her that same morning without a word - Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. As if her bad day couldn't get any worse than it was...
Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!Reader (age-gap relationship (Reader is 26, Robby is implied 46-48))
Genre: angst, fluff, SMUT
Warnings: descriptions of wounds (open breaks), puke, swearing, etc., SMUT
Word count: 13,319 (yeah, this sort of started out like a cute little chaotic story and became... this. I might make more parts to these two, people like it enough, because I already have some ideas, and ideas for other stories too also, let's please pretend like Robby didn't have the worst shift of his life and everyone is happy and alive :) )
Please don't copy my work or repost it onto other platforms. all of the characters belong to HBO Max.
Catch Pt 2 here :)
In all honesty, Y/N thought Sara was overreacting. There was no need to be hauled to the ER on a Monday morning, at seven AM. So, what if she’d slipped in the shower? So, what if she’d hit her head against the towel rack? So, what if she’d sprained her ankle? Y/N could just pop a couple of Tylenol and be on her merry way, but no.
When Sara had heard the thud and the subsequent crash of shampoo and conditioner bottles, she’d rushed inside the bathroom only to find Y/N sprawled out in all her naked glory. She cursed the stupid bathroom latch their landlord refused to change.
After Sara had had her fill of laughter, she helped Y/N stand, get somewhat dressed (a loose cotton shirt and some shorts), and helped her hobble down the stairs of their apartment, her leg in a make-shift splint of dishtowels and left-over wood paneling from an IKEA dresser.
A groan of protest escaped her as Sara parked in the hospital parking lot and rushed to the passenger door, opening it for Y/N and helping her get out.
“You are worse than my mother,” she huffed as she leaned her weight onto her good leg. “I am completely fine.”
Sara sighed, and Y/N rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming. “My love,” she said. “My other half. The Yin to my Yang, the milk to my matcha. My partner in crime for whom I would kill and/or dispose of a body. I can quite literally see the fucking bone sticking out of your lower leg.”
“It’s a sprain,” Y/N gritted through clenched teeth.
“It’s an open fucking break and the fact that you refused to have an ambulance called, boggles my fucking mind, yet here we are.”
To that, Y/N had nothing to say, but still, she thought Sara was being way too overdramatic. And honestly, if she kept mentioning the real situation of her sprain, making her remember the sound of the snap, how it had been the worst sound she’d ever heard, and Y/N had spent more than twenty years listening to her brother singing in the shower, before she moved to Pittsburg for her job, she would put Sara in a hospital bed herself. And then they could be the ED besties.
But the worst was the pain that came when Sara reminded Y/N of why she had to go to the hospital.
It had been a miracle no neighbor had called the cops or the EMTs themselves, though it didn’t necessarily comfort Y/N either. If she could scream bloody murder like that and nobody batted an eye, it didn’t say anything good about the complex they lived in.
One look down had confirmed Y/N’s worst fears – she had, in fact, broken her leg. Not only that, it was an open break where part of her bone was sticking right out of the meat of her calf. For the first few moments, she’d been in such a shock, that the only thought running through her head was – I look like a poor man’s version of a Disney turkey leg. Then she’d started screaming. And that had made her puke.
Right then and there, still lying half out of the shower, half on the floor, she’d emptied her stomach. There hadn’t been much in it, just the cup of water she’d drank when she’d awoken, but still. At least Y/N had been in the bathroom when it had happened. Tiles were easier to clean up than carpet, and she already felt bad enough Sara would have to wash the floor.
But now, as some form of punishment, no doubt, Sara was helping Y/N hobble towards the emergency department of Pittsburg Trauma Medical Hospital, when a sad-looking man noticed them and rushed inside, grabbing a wheelchair, and getting by Y/N’s side in a matter of a second.
“Here, sit down.” The man, Dennis Whitaker he introduced himself, took hold of her other bicep and moved the wheelchair behind her.
“I’m fine,” she groaned. “I’m not an invalid. I can make it inside on my own. Besides, that wheelchair could be used for someone that actually needs it.”
“You actually need it.” Sara levelled a gaze at her. “And I will make you a fucking invalid because I will clock you so hard in the head, you will have a concussion, if you don’t have one from the fall.”
For a tense second, Y/N stood (or wobbled) her ground, Y/E/C eyes locked onto Sara’s hazel ones which were slowly narrowing with each passing moment until she cursed and said, “Alright fine.” Together Whitaker and Sara lowered the injured woman into the wheelchair. “God, I hate your mom-stares.”
“It’s the only way to get you to do anything in terms of taking care of yourself.”
“It’s not!” Y/N protested. “I’ll have you know, I made myself an omelet yesterday for breakfast. Veggies and all.”
“Yeah, after I berated you that a stale Coke from three days ago, isn’t actual breakfast.” Sara walked side by side as Whitaker pushed the wheelchair into the madhouse that was the emergency department.
It was fascinating to observe the situation as an outsider – nurses and doctors were like level-headed owls, their heads swiveling this way and that way, as they assessed the patients and their statuses, while the residents and patients themselves, not all, but quite a bunch, were like headless chickens, rushing around and trying to prioritize afflictions or become a priority to the doctors.
Codes were called left and right, people moved from one side to the other, snapping on gloves and donning protective gear, and in the center of it all, was the command post – the nurse’s station which Whitaker had wheeled her to.
“Dana, is there a room available?” he addressed a slim, blonde woman, probably the one in charge.
“Room six is available, what’s the, oh,” she stopped mid-sentence as she noticed Y/N and the bone sticking out of her leg.
“I don’t mind waiting,” she gave her a sheepish smile. “There’s probably loads of people before me. Besides, it’s just a sprain.”
“Well, that’s probably one of the worst sprains I’ve ever seen,” Dana deadpanned as she motioned with her head towards someone behind them.
Y/N shrugged. “Well, I am just special like that.”
“Yeah, maybe in the head,” Sara grumbled as she gave the charge nurse all the necessary info for the moment. “Speaking of which – she also hit her head when she went down with her… sprain.”
Dana’s lips quirked up as she hummed and tapped something on her iPad, weaving around the table, leaving Whitaker to follow her like a lost puppy as they moved to the room Y/N was now assigned to. “We’ll schedule you a CT ASAP.”
Y/N turned her head to look at her best friend. “Given how this little trip was your idea, you’re paying off my medical debt.”
“Just let these nice doctors and nurses take care of you.” Sara pinched the bridge of her nose. “Because quite honestly, I’m not too into the idea of searching for a new roommate. Do you know how many creeps I’d have to go through? And what if the one normal one I find has a fatal flaw?”
“Such as?”
“I dunno. What if they hate musicals?”
“Oh, the tragedy.” Y/N pressed a hand against her chest as they wheeled her inside the room.
There was another presence there, a young doctor, probably late twenties or early thirties. A cute little dimple on his chin, dark hair, and blue eyes. Reminded her a bit of the guy from Air Bud, if she squinted a bit.
“My name’s Dr. Langdon,” he introduced himself, giving Y/N a reassuring smile. “And this is Dennis Whitaker, our fourth-year medical student. Would it be alright, if he and another one of our residents observed the situation today? This is a teaching hospital, but it is well within your rights to refuse.”
She shook her head. “Observe away. Not much I can hide.”
“Alright, thank you.” He ventured out for a quick second only to come back with a young woman who introduced herself as Dr. Mel King, a second-year resident. “Okay,” Dr. Langdon said. “Let’s get you onto the bed and see what we’re working with.”
The three medical professionals surrounded her and helped Y/N move from the wheelchair on the paper-covered bed, without jostling her leg too much, but it was enough.
So far, she’d been able to take her mind off the pain by distracting herself – she bickered with Sara, recited the script of The Hunger Games movie in her head while fantasising about a blond Josh Hutcherson, because Peeta was just elite like that. She’d even gone so far as to go over the division table, but now, as more attention was being placed on the broken leg, it started to hurt more and more. It was like Y/N mind-over-mattered an itching spot left by a mosquito by chanting “It’s not itchy” over and over in her head, but the second she stopped, the itching came back in full force.
“So,” Dr. Dimple, she nicknamed him in her head, started. “What happened?”
Y/N sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Can I just give you the not-humiliating version and say I’m a klutz?”
He gave her a charming smile as a nurse prepped an IV line. “Unfortunately, we need to know beyond “clumsy”. The environment where this accident happened is important.”
"It could introduce pathogens into the wound," Mel, as Dr. King had requested to be called, said.
Y/N chewed on her bottom lip before muttering, “I slipped in the shower and sprained my leg. And then got assaulted by some shampoo and conditioner bottles… and then I threw up.”
“And don’t forget the head!” Sara said from the door where she still stood, observing the work happening.
Y/N threw her a knowing smirk. “Never do. And I haven’t had any complaints yet.”
“The throwing up could indicate a concussion,” Whitaker said. “Dana’s already scheduled a CT. And in terms of the leg, you actually have an open fra-,”
Y/N took hold of Whitaker’s bicep like he’d done so for her when he’d helped wheel her inside the emergency department. “Please listen to me when I say this – unless you want me to hurl all over you, and trust me, I can aim, the only thing I have, is a sprain. Got it?”
He gulped and nodded, stepping away from Y/N like a man who’d gotten sprayed by too many fluids in one day and didn’t want to be anywhere near the danger zone. “Loud and clear Miss Sprained-Ankle-Woman.”
“Good.” The nausea that’d started creeping up her belly subsided. “Because I can deal with you people having to do things, but if I have to actually listen to any of it, or think about it, I will be sick.”
“We can give you some anti-nausea medication for that,” Dr. Dimple soothed. “But first, we’ll get you a CT, and then we’ll have a surgery room prepped for you because you need to get this reset as quickly as possible. You will probably have some metal plates and screws to hold the uh… sprain together, and then a cast for about six to eight weeks.”
“Great,” Y/N grumbled. “This is just fucking great. This is exactly how I wanted to spend my vacation, before, oh… oh, absolutely not.” Y/N’s eyes widened to a comically large size as she looked past her room and into the waiting area. “Sara, you need to get me out of here right the fuck now.”
“Hey, woah, what is going on?” Dr. Langdon rushed to where Y/N was trying to get the IV line out. “Please don't do that, you'll only hurt yourself more.”
“Y/N, what’s going on?” Sara’s brows were pulled tight in a frown, as she tried to help Dr. King get the oxygen monitor back onto her finger. “You need surgery, for fuck’s sake.”
“It’s him,” she hissed, not taking her gaze away from where it’d locked on. “And I don’t want to spend a second anywhere near the dick.”
“Who?” Sara swiveled her head to look beyond the glass separating them from the chaos beyond. “Who’s the dick?”
“Him.”
And then four pairs of eyes locked onto the man standing and talking with the charge nurse at The Hub, Y/N was glaring at.
“Do – do you two know each other?” Dr. Dimple asked. “Do you feel unsafe with him around?”
“Yeah, you could say we know one another,” she scowled and crossed her arms as Mel managed to finally reattach the oxygen monitor, all of their attention onto her. “That’s the dude I hooked up with two weeks ago, and completely ghosted me that same morning.”
Every single head snapped to look back at Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, who’d also finally noticed Y/N was at his workplace, as a patient no less. His eyebrows were right up to his hairline, brown eyes wide with disbelief and mouth agape as she glowered at the older man.
It was quite a surreal moment – all of these capable doctors and residents and nurses, stunned by the information so bad, that they almost seemed to forget Y/N was there. She wondered what was going through their heads, as this seemed like it wasn’t a regular occurrence. Which stung even more – if Michael had been a fuckboy, she could take it, but it didn’t seem so. So, what was wrong with Y/N that had made him run away after the night they’d spent together?
When they’d met at the bar, he had told her he was an emergency department attending. The big boss of his little duckling residents, dutifully running the hospital department with the help of the nurses.
Why, when Sara had finally managed to get Y/N inside the car, it hadn’t occurred to her, he would work in this particular hospital. Just why?
Y/N couldn’t say. Maybe she’d hoped he worked the night shifts. Maybe she’d hoped, he worked somewhere else, or even out of town, but, of course, for whatever sins she’d committed, karma couldn’t do her a solid one.
Sara gasped, rushing by her side as Y/N watched Michael flounder and try and decide what to do – whether to interfere and face the music or run away from the hospital. He apparently chose the latter as he twisted on his heel and high-tailed it to the other end of the department, leaving a cackling Dana behind.
“That’s him?” Sara strained her neck. “That’s the hot doctor?”
Y/N scoffed. “The one and only. Couldn’t even leave a fucking note or something. Like I can take a hint a one-night-stand is a one-night-stand, alright? But don’t just fucking bolt out of the door like your ass is on fire before the other party wakes up. Fucking dickhead.”
“Well, maybe it wasn’t as fun of a night for him, as you thought, and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Sara raised a brow.
“Oh, trust me,” Y/N smirked. “It was a very fun night for him. I would know. I was there, and you can’t fake the kind of shaking. Four hours will do that to a guy,” she winked and touched the tips of her pointer finger and thumb in an A-Okay sign.
“Yeah,” it was Dr. Dimple smiling at her, the grin on his face almost wolfish in nature. “Yeah, you are absolutely my new favorite person in the world.”
However, whatever he wanted to say or ask, was cut short when Dana returned to inform that her CT slot was coming up, and so Y/N was wheeled away, not daring to look at Michael as they passed one another in the hallway.
As the results came back for a minor concussion, the anesthesiologist informed, that they recommended a spinal for the surgery, while the team prepper, but Y/N shot it down immediately.
“Absolutely not. Look, I know it’s not safe to go to sleep after a concussion, but I will not be listening to the sounds of some bone-carpenter crunching on my leg. Put me under,” she gave him her most pathetic look. “Please.”
The specialist still tried to argue, but he couldn’t do it much longer, as Y/N needed surgery as soon as possible, so after five minutes of strongly recommending the spinal, he relented and in half an hour, Y/N had managed to get hers – she was out like a light, without a sound in her ears.
It was the best sleep she’d ever had in her life. Like floating on a cloud, surrounded by doves and angels singing her lullabies. She never wanted to wake up, but something was rousing her out of the blissful state.
A large warm hand around her palm, thumb rubbing the top of it, was soothing her senses. It was like hot chocolate after being out in the sow. Or sitting by a fireplace with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.
“Good afternoon, Miss Sprained-Ankle,” a low, rumbly voice greeted Y/N as she floated back into consciousness. Her eyes locked onto two gentle, brown ones, and despite the medication, she knew she wasn’t hallucinating him.
Michael’s face was beard-covered like it had been when they’d met. He still had the same worry lines on his forehead and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Y/N had said she liked those the best.
“It shows you’ve smiled and laughed despite everything else,” she’d informed him over the rim of her Pornstar Martini.
She couldn’t truly imagine just how draining his line of work was, both physically and mentally, but the laugh lines she could see hiding under the beard, harmonizing with those around his eyes, was a feature Y/N had noticed first.
“So,” she slurred her tongue a swollen mass of sandpaper in her mouth, and Michael noticed that, holding a cup of water against her lips until she’d had her fill. “Do I have to keep breaking bones to wake up with you next to me?”
“I hope not.” With gentleness Y/N knew he possessed, yet didn’t expect, he brushed away a droplet that’d slipped past her mouth, and onto her cheek. “I hope this is the only time I ever have to see you in such a state.”
“Can’t promise that,” she shook her head. “I do have a reputation to uphold.”
“Yeah?” amusement was evident on his weary face. “And what kind of reputation is that?”
“When I was in first grade, on the first day of school, I broke my arm. And then like a few months later, I smashed my face against a radiator and split my lip open. Still have a scar,” she pointed right below her right nostril where a sliver of lighter skin was. “And then, but that was like third grade or something, I smashed my head against a metal railing and split my head open. I could even push my fingers inside and scrape my -,”
“Okay, I understand,” Michael interrupted her and pulled the hand that was tapping against the hairline on her forehead. “You are an ED connoisseur, but please, don’t make this a habit.”
“Damn, straight I am.” Y/N gave a confident nod, but before Michael could ask anything else, she said, “You know what I don’t get? Like why did my leg bone hurt while sticking out of my body, but my teeth that are sticking out right now, don’t?” She clacked them for emphasis. “They’re outside bones.”
A soft smile bloomed on Michael’s face as he brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. She could feel someone had put her hair in a protective style and had to wonder if it had been the man beside her. But that wouldn’t make any sense. Why would he care like that for her?
“For one,” he muttered. “You broke your fibula – the smaller bone in your lower leg, and in doing so, hurt the surrounding things like muscles and skin. That is one reason why you felt such pain. And two – if you broke a tooth, it would hurt too. Your cavities hurt, don’t they?”
“Mmm,” a self-satisfied smile bloomed on Y/N’s face. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a cavity.”
“That’s good. Dentists aren’t cheap.” As a response she just clacked her teeth again, making Michael laugh. “How are you feeling? Any pain? Nausea?”
“Nope, I am A-Okay. Honestly, that was like the best sleep of my life. Well…” Y/N pouted, taking her gaze away from Michael’s. “That night when I fell asleep with you is also up in the Top 5, but then I woke up and… you know… you weren’t there.”
She was obviously delirious from the medication being pumped through her veins, but much like when Y/N was drunk, she was a throw-up-remember-everything kind of a girl, instead of a black-out-drunk. Besides, it wasn’t like she could run anywhere. Quite literally.
Michael sighed, dragging a hand down his face, visibly cringing at her words. “About that… I – yeah, I think the only thing I can say is I’m sorry. For, you know, ghosting, as you youngsters say.”
“ ‘S alright.” Y/N shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, as if the second she’d seen him, she hadn’t been ready to bolt. “I’m over it.”
“No, no it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have done that. Because that night was… great. It was amazing, actually. And everything leading up to the uh, you… you know, the...” he cleared his throat, and a smirk pulled up on Y/N’s lips.
“The sex? Come on, you can say it in your big old man age. It’s just three letters.”
“Jesus Christ.” Michael rubbed his neck as a slight pink shade crawled up his neck, which made Y/N let out a chuckle at how uncomfortable he looked talking about this. Maybe it was time to let this go, for his sake and her own sanity.
“Look, if it makes you feel any better,” Y/N shifted to the edge of the mattress and patted the side of her bed, so he could sit down. After asking if she was sure, he did take the offered space. “I – I’ve been treating you a bit unfairly with this. I think my ego was a bit crushed after waking up and not having you there, but, umm… you’re off the hook. Besides, I think I’m in your debt with all of this. Your team is amazing.”
“They’re pretty great, aren’t they?” he mumbled, one of his hands having moved to toy with the wristband the hospital had assigned to Y/N. “But still, how I reacted then, and even earlier in the morning… it wasn’t right. I mean, I’m pushing fifty for fuck’s sake. That’s not what someone my age does.”
“So what?” she raised a brow. “The issue is you think you’re a cradle-robber? Because you’re no more that than I am a grave robber. I’m twenty-six, Michael,” she turned her palm up hoping he’d accept it and slide his hand in hers. After a moment of hesitancy, he did, and Y/N squeezed it in reassurance. “I mean, if you think you’re doing something bad, by having slept with someone two decades younger than you, I’ll have you know, according to regency times, as a woman who’ll be turning twenty-seven this year, I’m pretty much a decrepit old spinster.”
Michael let out a soft laugh as his fingers trailed the lines on Y/N’s palm. “You have your whole life ahead of you. Me? I’m your probably dad’s age.”
“And looking hotter than ever, if you ask me.”
“Yeah? You think so?” He asked as Y/N hummed in affirmation. “Well then, for a decrepit old spinster, you are beautiful. And acting with much more grace than I deserved or deserve.”
Something in the way he said those last few words made her heart squeeze. “Michael… of course you deserve grace.”
“You’re being far too good to me… you’re far too good for me…”
Y/N’s brows furrowed at that. Slowly, she attempted to rise in a sitting position, but she didn’t get far before Michael had his arms around her waist, like they’d been two weeks ago, pushing a pillow to stabilize the small of her back. Once he was sure she was comfortable, he opened an apple juice box and handed it to her.
“To get your sugar up.”
But she just stared at him, only reaching for the little carton after he’d resumed his previous sitting position. “Is that what this is about?” she asked. “Some insecurity you think I deserve better than you? Because I can decide those things for myself. I am an adult. With a fully-developed frontal lobe, mind you.”
He took in a deep breath, held it for a second, then released it, and Y/N watched that whatever kind of decision he’d come to, had released a certain tension that’d been accumulating in his body. “Kind of, I guess. But mostly…” he swallowed, then nodded to himself, eyes trained on her wristband. “Mostly I got scared.”
“Of what?” Y/N tilted her head. “I mean, I know my morning breath probably isn’t that attractive, and the smeared makeup made me look like a coked-out raccoon, but -,”
“No,” Michael shook his head, chuckling. His cheeks were reddish at her words, but as he lifted his eyes to hers, there was a grateful look to them. Like he was thankful she wasn’t making fun of him even in his ripe old age. “You,” he stumbled over his words a bit, “when I saw you there, sleeping by my side like you belonged… I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful than that. And that’s when I thought to myself – if I worked up the courage, could there be more mornings like that? Could I make you breakfast and coffee one day? Maybe I’d get the privilege of falling asleep next to you as we watch movies at night. And that scared me.”
“The possible future?”
“Wanting that possible future, because that feeling, the one that started to grow right here,” he tapped the center of his chest. “I couldn’t think straight. So, I had to go.”
“I mean,” Y/N swallowed hard. “That is a lot to imagine after only a few hours together.”
“Does that… creep you out? ‘Cause it’s totally understandable if it does. I mean Jesus, I’m old… and you’re so young.”
“No, it doesn’t.” And she meant it when she said it. “I find it actually quite endearing, but you can stop being so hung-up on the age difference. If you think there might be some daddy issues on my side, I can assure you – there’s none. I quite like my dad, and I definitely don’t see you as such a figure. Not after the things you did to me. ‘Cause, quite honestly, sex with you was probably the best dicking-down I’ve had in a year.”
If Michael had been drinking anything, Y/N was sure he would have choked with how he sputtered at her words. “Well, uh, yeah, I uh… I’m glad you… enjoyed it.”
“I did. And I know you enjoyed it too,” her smile was nothing short of wicked.
“Yeah, and apparently now the rest of the residents and nurses and doctors know it too?” Michael raised his brows at her.
It took Y/N a while to realize he was talking about when she’d gotten admitted and spilt the beans on their night together, implying their copious amount of copulation. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, but I’d like to think your reputation has now gone sky-high between the female nurses and doctors. Maybe the guys and theys as well. But I do apologize for talking about your private life while at your work. In my defense, until that very moment, I didn’t know you worked here. And well, I was pissed.”
“You and your mouth will get you in trouble one day,” Michael pointed at her.
“Yeah? Would you like to put something in it, to shut me up? Last time, you really liked it when I -,”
“Okay, trouble, that’s enough.” Even though his words had a finality to them, humor glowed on his features. He seemed relaxed. Content even, as he took the now empty apple juice box Y/N had been sipping on this whole time.
“You on a break?” She started scooting down the bed once more, and Michael instantly helped her get situated.
“Want to get rid of me so quickly?”
“No. It’s just you’re spending an awfully long time with me. Don’t you have other patients to check in on? I don’t want you to waste your time if you need to get to someone else. Or maybe grab a bite to eat? I’m fairly sure doctors don’t know how to have a good work-life balance, despite continuously recommending it to us, mere mortals.”
“Time with you isn’t a waste.”
Oh.
Oh, how badly did Y/N want to rip off the little wires connecting her to the heart monitor, because had Michael not turned the sound off, she was sure the whole hospital would be hearing it go nuts at his words, the squiggling beat of it a treat for only Michael this time, because when he noticed it, a smirk bloomed on his mouth. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to, not when he murmured, twining their fingers together, “I want to kiss you so bad.”
“I definitely won’t be opposed to that.” Y/N’s answer might have come way too quickly, but she was beyond feeling embarrassed about wanting him. “You have permission to kiss away. For as long as possible. All day, every day, whenever you want to.”
“Well, thank you for that,” Michael chuckled, cupping her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. “But… not right now. Let me take you out on a proper date. Let me do this right.”
“Oh my God, seriously?” Y/N whined throwing her head back. “You’re gonna make me wait? Especially after that whole speech and whatnot? You are a cruel, cruel man Dr. Michael Robinavitch.”
Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he leaned to hover over Y/N, a golden necklace slipping from the inside of his shirt and dangling before her. She wanted to pull it between her teeth like she’d done so during their one night together. It took every dwindling ounce of willpower not to.
“Maybe, I just want you aching. And yearning. You were the one who said men don’t yearn enough nowadays. But I have. For you, for two whole god-damned weeks. Now it’s your turn.”
It was pathetic how Y/N wanted to cry and whimper. “But I didn’t even do anything! You were the one that ran out! Why am I being punished for your actions?”
“Do you – do you not want to go on a date with me?”
“I do, but I’d rather you rail me as soon as possible.”
“Well, for one,” Michael tried to continue on as if Y/N’s words hadn’t made heat creep up his face, but he could only do so much. He was a human, after all. “You’re not allowed any strenuous activities until you’ve got a clean bill of health. And two, all teasing aside, I want to do this properly. I want to do right by you this time.”
“Why would you?” she exasperated. “I wasn’t complaining when you didn’t do it right by me, and I’m certainly not going to if you suddenly decide to stop being chivalrous. Maybe even right here. We could recreate some scene from Grey’s Anatomy?” Y/N wiggled her brows at him, eliciting a deep rumble of a chuckle.
“Grey’s is just a malpractice lawsuit after a malpractice lawsuit, and I, unlike the characters there, don’t want my medical license to be revoked. Until you get discharged, I’m one of your doctors.”
“My hot doctor, you mean.”
The sigh that left Michael was not weary or a worn-out kind of noise. Rather it was a resigned I-guess-this-is-my-life-now kind of a sigh, especially combined with the endearing look on his face, it made Y/N feel warm all over.
Slowly, as they talked a bit more, her eyes began to droop, exhaustion from the morning, from the surgery and the subsequent consequences settling in once more. “Will you stay?” she asked as Michael brushed a knuckle along her jaw. “Just until I fall asleep?”
“Of course,” Michael took her hand in his, sitting down by her side again, as he pressed a kiss to her wrist. “And I… I wish I could promise I’ll be here when you wake up, but I, -”
“I know,” Y/N interrupted him with a soft and understating smile. “By that point, you’ll probably be off saving lives. It’s why I’m not asking you to.”
“I’ll try though.” He promised.
“Okay.”
And with her hand still in Michael’s, Y/N drifted off once again without even realizing it was pitch-black outside, and Michael hadn’t been wearing his shift scrubs. He should have long been home resting, and yet, he hadn’t been able to leave her. Not like he did before.
By the time she awoke early the next morning, Y/N was clearheaded, and yet all her thoughts mulled over the conversation she’d had with Michael the previous night. Would he go back on his word? Had he only talked with her like that because she was high on pain meds, and maybe thought she wouldn’t remember their discussions?
She knew he hadn’t promised to be there when she awoke, so Y/N didn’t hold it against him, but she couldn’t deny the sting. But that was immediately soothed by the hoodie that’d been laid over the back of a chair.
His hoodie.
A promise he would at least have a reason to come back and check in on her. It was Dana, the charge nurse, peeking her head inside that pulled Y/N back into the present. “How are we feeling today? Ready to be discharged? Dr. Langdon will be with you shortly for a follow-up.”
The woman in the hospital bed groaned. “Can’t I just stay here? Like you people – you are normal. Sara will be a mother hen on crack. I am willing to brave hospital food, as long as I don’t have to go home to all that fussing. She’s probably already bullied our landlord into installing a lift or something.”
“She cares for you,” it was Dr. Langdon piping in, as he entered her room, pulling on a pair of gloves and nodding to Dana in thanks. “You’re pretty lucky to have a friend like her.”
“Yeah, I know,” Y/N sighed as Dr. Langdon looked over her leg, asked some questions about pain levels and talked her through the post-op care. “But in my defense, she has a tendency to overreact.”
“I’d say you have a tendency to underreact, but that’s just my professional opinion.”
She rolled her eyes as Dr. Langdon finished his assessment and handed off her chart to Dana, so they could start the discharge process. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.”
“In any case, I do think the whole ED is in debt to Sara.”
To that she raised a brow.
“Well, had she not made you come in, I don’t know if Dr. Robby would have had a chance of seeing you again. Because, if I have to be honest, we’ve all been scratching our heads the past couple of weeks trying to figure out why he’s been in such a mood. Now we know why.”
“You two shit-talking me?” Michael’s soft tone interrupted the conversation, as he crossed his arms and leaned against the entryway. “How are you feeling?”
She tried and failed to hide the heat creeping up her veins. Even if Y/N had succeeded, that damned monitor, the sound no doubt having been turned back on by Michael before he left, to make sure if anything went awry at night, someone was there for her, betrayed her anyway. God, she wanted to punch the smile off both the men's faces.
“Fine.” She turned her head to look at the wall, as a nurse stepped in and removed the IV catheter and wrapped her hand in gauze. “Not looking forward to the itching that will appear, in what? Three days?”
“No scratching,” Dr. Dimple pointed at her with a pen. “You could injure yourself and cause a serious infection. No rulers, no knitting needles, no crochet needles, no twigs or branches, no nothing.”
“But what about -,”
“No nothing,” he emphasized. “Or I will have to recommend Dr. Robby make a house call on you. Though that isn’t much of a threat for you two, is it?”
“Okay, Frank? Scram. Now. There’re patients that need checking on. I can take care of Y/N.”
“Yeah, I bet you can,” Dr. Langdon let out a laugh but was out of the room before either she or Michael could say anything.
The only thing Y/N was happy about, was that the comment had made not only her flustered, but Michael as well, as he shifted on his feet and rubbed the back of his neck in a nervous tick. In the end, he gave her a smile that said “Sorry about him” and padded over to where he’d left his hoodie.
And that only made her even more flustered, because seeing a man like him, so level-headed and sure, get visibly nervous over her, did things to Y/N. Which made her want to do things to Michael, but then Dana returned, two crutches in hand, Whitaker wheeling a wheelchair once more, and all passion slipped away.
“Right, thanks.” She eyed the crutches like they were cow-eating pythons. “I fucking hate my life.”
Low, warm laughter filtered through the room as Dana helped Y/N get redressed and situated her in the wheelchair, crutches placed over her knees as she was rolled to the nurse’s station.
“I uh, took the liberty of calling Sara for you,” Michael said as he leaned against the table. When Y/N raised a brow in question, he elaborated, “She’s in your emergency contacts. Should be here in fifteen or so.”
“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
“I know,” he smiled. “But I wanted to.”
And there it was again, that warmth that blossomed in her chest, only this time she let it spread, let it wrap around her heart and wash away that bitterness, that’d been there since the morning Y/N had woken up cold and alone.
It hadn’t been just the sex, though that night Michael had given her some of the most earth-shattering orgasms she’d ever had (thankfully, Sara had been away with her girlfriend, so she didn’t have to suffer through the teasing).
It was the conversations leading up to it, the sense of ease Y/N felt around Michael. He was witty and sarcastic, his humor dry, but not at the expense of others while being engaging and thought-provoking at the same time. What had sealed the deal for her though was when he actually engaged in the debate, she presented him – if he had to kiss a fish-spider hybrid, what would he choose – fish head, spider body or fish body, spider head?
He’d made her laugh so hard she cried, and when Y/N had deemed it was time to call an Uber and go home, she’d taken the risk and asked if he wanted to come to her place. And after a few moments where she wanted the earth to open and swallow her whole, he’d nodded.
Together they waited for the cab, standing side by side, yet not touching. He’d opened the car door for her, before slipping in himself.
The tension could be cut with a knife, and afterwards, Y/N had given the driver five stars for enduring it, while the whole way, one of Michael’s palms had slowly moved to rest against her thigh, and she’d had to clench them together because if she didn’t, there would be a noticeable wet spot underneath.
After an agonizing half an hour's drive, they finally got to her place. Michael held the door open for her, and insisted on paying for the Uber, no matter how much Y/N protested.
Every step towards the apartment she was renting on the fourth floor of the complex, was agony. As she fumbled for her keys, Michael’s fingers were slowly skimming the side of her dress where the zipper rested.
Y/N’s whole body was a live-wire, and she wondered how in the world had the lock not melted from the heat, as it slid in place and she unlocked the door, the motion now forever having a sexual connotation, for in that moment Michael was the key that would unlock her desires.
Together, they stepped beyond the threshold, and yet still, he never once removed his touch from her body. From that damned little black number. She’d only worn it because she’d been set up on a blind date. They were supposed to meet up at the bar for a drink before going to a play, but as it turns out, even guys who like theatre can ghost.
When Y/N realized the situation, she wanted to go home, as her date was the one who had the tickets, pull this thing off and drink the already opened bottle of wine that was in the fridge, but she could have at least one good cocktail before that.
That’s when Dr. Robby, or as he’d asked her to call him by his first name, Michael, slid into the seat next to her. They didn’t talk for the first five minutes, not until she’d been scrolling through Instagram and some post had caught her eye. Something about green tea enemas and glowing skin, and the man beside had released a heavy-duty sigh, accompanied by “fucking Dr. Google.”
It’s when slowly but surely, they’d struck up a conversation, which had now resulted in Y/N having Michael towering over her, his beard scratching against the crook of her neck where he’d placed his chin.
When his hands wove and settled against her stomach, any sort of resolve she’d had, snapped. Instantly, she turned, weaving her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth to hers in a bruising kind of kiss. The kind that left you breathless and dizzy and wanting more.
She felt an insatiable thrill rush down her spine as Michael responded with just as much vigor, the pads of his fingers digging deep into her hips and pulling her to be flush against his chest, so much so, that Y/N could feel his own desire growing in his groin.
“I’ve never hated clothes more than I do right now,” she giggled as Michael grappled with the door handle and pushed it close without disconnecting from one another.
“Then let’s get them off, shall we?”
The way he dragged the side zipper open, was almost reverent, worshipping even. Like he wanted to prolong the build-up between them, and Y/N couldn’t lie – she was loving it, even if she was losing her mind. So many times, when she’d had hook-ups, guys tended to just get her naked as fast as possible, which was fine. She was down for it, but there was something indescribable about how Michael reveled in feeling her slowly start to tremble, in how he kissed up and down her neck, while his fingers took their sweet time. It drove her insane with want, in an amount she’d never felt before.
His pointer finger dragged its way up Y/N’s bicep, making goosebumps erupt all over before he slowly slid a strap down. Then the other, until the dress was pooling around her waist, and still, where usually she’d be helping the guy shimmy herself out of the dress, Michael didn’t rush. He simply allowed his hands to explore her body, skimming along her ribs and up to the black lacy number she’d worn, then right back down.
“You counting if I have all my ribs in place, Dr. Robby?” Y/N let out a shaky breath, trying to alleviate the gathered tension, for she was just about to combust, but all she got was a soft smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her neck where her pulse was visibly thrumming.
“I don’t have much time in my day to stop and admire art. So please, indulge me. And art, which I’m allowed to touch, should be revered even more so.”
Her eyes may or may not have rolled to the back of her head at his words, and he hadn’t even gotten his head between her legs yet. Yeah, Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch, the attending of a trauma centre, would be the death of her.
Name of the deceased - Y/N Y/L/N. Date of death - 4th of April, 2025. Cause of death – self-combustion. Reason for self-combustion – a sexy as fuck doctor.
Quite honestly, if that was how she was going to go, so be it.
Finally, though, after what felt like ages, her dress was shed, leaving her only in her underwear and strappy high-heels she’d worn.
“If there is one thing I hate, it’s not having a photographic memory,” Michael grumbled as his hands skimmed along the waistband of her panties. “But trust me when I say this, I will be picturing this moment for decades to come.”
“You are more than welcome to have a look at what’s hiding underneath,” Y/N said. Or that is what she would have said, had she not simply whimpered in response. Not very sexy of her, but the feeling of his chest rumbling with a laugh, totally made up for it.
She gathered enough of her bearings to step out of the fabric around her feet and move them along to her room. Never did his eyes leave her, never did his gaze waver or wander as they faced one another, her queen-sized bed behind her.
“You are awfully overdressed,” Y/N mumbled, allowing herself the luxury of running her palms along the still-covered planed of his chest. His breathing was steady, but to feel the erratic thumping of his heart excited her beyond measure. It meant all that composure was just an act, and she was thrilled she’d be the one to crack it.
She was just about to move her fingers to the buttons of his shirt when Michael slid down to his knees. If his hands hadn’t been resting against her thighs, she was sure she would’ve buckled and crashed. And Michael, damn the man to hell and back, knew it, if only by the smirk that stretched his face as he unlaced the strappy heels she had on and helped her stand on her feet.
Y/N covered her face and groaned, throwing her head back. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Torturing me?”
“Torturing you?” A kiss against her navel. “The only person being tortured tonight has been me. At the bar. In the car. Even now, you’re driving me crazy. So, if this is torture, simply consider it payback.”
With the gentlest of touches, only a doctor could manage, Michael skimmed over Y/N’s stretchmarks, scars and blemishes – pieces of herself she didn’t particularly like, but the way he touched her… it was like he was mapping out the carve-marks of a Michelangelo statue. She was Venus and those – the history of her life.
By the time he got back up to her mouth, she was a trembling mess, her nails digging into the muscles of his back, as finally, to her relief, he allowed her to rid him of the shirt.
Much like he’d done to her, Y/N allowed herself the pleasure of exploring his body, mapping out the ridges and slopes of his chest and abdomen, before moving around to his back, and once they made their way to the small of it, she dug her nails against the skin there. The groan she was rewarded with, was sweeter than the cocktail he’d bought her.
“Is it okay, if I touch you here?” Michael’s fingers slipped along the tops of her breasts before they moved to her back where they toyed with the clasp of the garment.
“More than,” Y/N’s words were a breathless whisper by that point, and her inhale stuttered in her chest as she deftly snapped it open.
It was clear he had experience, and not just because he was two decades her senior, but probably also because he’d done so in the trauma center, he worked at. For a brief, stupid second, she wondered how he could still find such acts pleasurable when he’d no doubt had to have done it during horrendous emergencies, yet all that was wiped away when Michael lowered his head and his teeth grazed a nipple.
Her sharp gasp echoed around them, and Y/N weaved her fingers through his hair, pushing his face closer, as he lavished at her chest. The next day, she was sure, there would be bruises and love bites blooming like flowers across her chest and sternum, not to mention the delicious beard burn.
Y/N moaned as he pulled the peak into his mouth, but when an uninhibited thought entered, it made her throw it back in a deep groan.
“That feel good?”
“So fucking good, but also, so yeah, I,” she stammered trying to get her brain to cooperate and create a coherent sentence. “Okay, so I just imagined you in glasses, and this got like ten times hotter.”
“Glasses?” Michael chuckled, pulling slightly back and looking up at her. “That’s what does it for you?”
“Correction – you in glasses. Though you right now are so doing it for me too. But that image just… yeah… kinda glad you don’t have any on. I’d probably be a pile of ash by this point.”
“Now that would be a shame, wouldn’t it?” He said, slowly moving to her other breast, but not neglecting the one he’d already loved on, by cupping it in his large palm. “I mean, I’m just getting started.”
Yeah, Y/N was dead and done for.
As he continued licking at her chest, the hand that’d been fondling one of them, slid down her front and tentatively brushed against her clothed core. It was a single knuckle right against where her clit was, but it was enough for her to jolt in his grasp. Michael just steadied her and held tighter around her waist.
Once he deemed Y/N’s breasts worshipped enough, he trailed back up between them and covered her mouth with his, yet the knuckle, that damned fucking knuckle, still slid against her pussy. He could no doubt feel how wet she was, the material, though there wasn’t much of it anyway, soaked through so bad, her thighs were already sticky.
“Michael please,” Y/N was now openly begging. She was way beyond feeling embarrassed for such a move when in the span of half an hour, he’d reduced her to liquid fire. No one had ever made her feel this wanted. This needed. And she desperately wanted and needed him too.
“Tell me what you want,” he murmured, as he pushed his thumbs beyond the waistband of her panties and started to lower them down. The cool air hit her exposed core, and Y/N released a breathless moan. “You gotta tell me what you want and don’t want. I’m not gonna go any further until you do.”
“I want you to touch me.”
“I am touching you.”
She could feel him smirk as his hands took hold of the globes of her ass and squeezed.
“No, I want you to touch me there,” Y/N whined and tried to chase his mouth with hers, but Michael pulled back, shaking his head.
“Gotta be more specific than that, sweetheart.”
She debated on pulling away completely, on not giving him what he wanted either, but she was pathetic for this man. So, instead, she took one of his hands and guided it from where it rested against her ass, towards the front, sighing in relief as he let her do so. With her fingers guiding his, they slid to rest between her legs as Michael slowly, ever so exploratory, found her clit. She pressed her hand harder against his, so he could match the pressure on her core, and when he did so, overwhelming pleasure flooded her veins.
“There,” Y/N breathed. “I want you to touch me there. And then,” she moved his hand deeper, by the wrist, until she could feel the pads of his fingers nudging against her entrance. “I want you to put three of your fingers inside me, while you suck on my clit, until I’m a crying mess.”
As Y/N lifted her head back to look at him, there was absolutely no sign of the warm brown irises that’d looked at her so gently at the bar. Sure, it was dark in the apartment, yet even in bright daylight, she’d bet all her student loans, only two black abysses would be staring back at her, especially with how fast his chest was rising and falling.
“And then?”
God, had his voice dropped even lower? How did he manage to make it so gravelly, yet smooth as the darkest, most succulent chocolate?
“And then…” Her fingers trembled as she moved her hands to the front of his pants, undoing the buckle and flipping open the button, lowering the zipper as she went. All the while, Michael applied steady pressure on her clit, circling the bundle of nerves just enough to drive her towards the edge, but not enough for release to come. “And uhm, then…” She pushed his pants down as far as they would go, letting them bunch around his knees.
It took barely a moment for him to step out of them completely, kicking them to some forgotten corner of her room, leaving him in only his boxers. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the shoes and socks, but Y/N wasn’t about to go and hunt for them. Not with how he still circled her clit with those experienced appendages.
“Yes?” He raised a brow and pressed harder against her clit, making her pull in a sharp breath.
“And then,” Y/N trailed a teasing finger along the band of his boxers, for once delighting in how his abdomen muscles went taut, and his obviously hard dick twitched inside the confines. “And then I want you to fuck me. However, you want to. As long as by the end of it, neither of us know up from down and left from right.”
When she cupped him over the clothes he still had left on, it seemed like it snapped something in Michael, some taut, already fragile wire, that’d begun fraying ever since she’d invited him back to her place. Because this time when he kissed Y/N, it was a hungry kiss. A man starved being served the most lavish meal of all.
She was on the mattress in a matter of seconds, body covered by his towering frame. They molded perfectly together, Y/N thought. When she rolled her hips up to get at least some form of friction, he responded in kind, clearly searching to satiate his own desire.
Michael’s hands slid from her shoulders down the length of her arms before intertwining their fingers and bringing them up and over Y/N’s head, not once disconnecting from the kiss.
“You keep them there,” he instructed, breathing the words into her mouth. “And when I’m done with my appetizer, we’ll move on to the first of the main courses.”
“Appetizer?” Y/N squeaked out. A good hook-up in her books was at least two orgasms, usually only having one. But calling eating her out an appetizer, and then having a numbered list of courses, was something else completely.
Michael’s only response was that same damned smirk she’d learned could only mean torture, as he made his way between her legs, and without wasting another second, diving in between them.
The first lick of his tongue was a broad, all-encompassing one. And Y/N could only hope her neighbors had some good noise-cancelling headphones at the ready.
His forearms had settled against her hips and palms splayed themselves over her stomach to push her down against the bed, as she tried to chase his mouth.
And what a mouth it was.
Who knew the soft-spoken trauma doctor she’d met on a random Friday night at a bar while waiting for a date that never came, would be the creation of the Devil himself?
But when he pushed two thick fingers inside, shortly followed by a third, just like Y/N had asked, all thoughts flew out of the window. The way he curled them in an attempt at finding that spot that made her gasp and choke on air, the way he scissored them, stretching her, preparing her for the first course he had in mind, was diabolical.
Her first orgasm came unexpectedly. She could feel it like a wave – pushing and pulling – but she hadn’t expected the moment it crested and shattered against the rocks, swift and sharp, coming without a warning, all due to the teasing that’d happened before, no doubt.
Michael rode it out with Y/N, until her hips stopped grinding against his mouth, and he could gently remove his fingers from her pussy.
He placed a soft kiss against the inside of her thigh, the skin raw and tender from his beard, that now glistened with her juices.
“ ‘M sorry,” Y/N mumbled, an arm thrown over her eyes as she came down from her high and tears streamed down to her temples, just like she’d requested.
“Whatever for?”
“Didn’t warn you I was coming.”
As the aftershocks receded, and she removed her arm, she found Michael looking up at her completely puzzled. “And why would I need a warning? I could tell, you know.” He rose to hover over her. “The way you were clenching. Fucking proud of it too.”
“No, I mean,” she huffed, trailing a hand down his chest. “Sometimes guys don’t want to… you know… have that in their mouth. They’d rather finish a girl off with their fingers and not have to… taste it.”
Now that was one way to kill a mood, but Y/N had already opened her big mouth and the words were out.
“And why wouldn’t I want to taste it, hmm?” Michael tilted his head at her, as his hands drifted up and down her sides, over her breasts and clavicles, to skim along her neck and finally settle on the pillow beside her head. “Why wouldn’t I want that, when it’s the end goal? You got your tears,” he kissed the corners of her eyes where the salt still lingered. “And I got my wine.”
Her gaze drifted to the beard, the one she would be feeling for days to come, as she went about her life. The one that was glistening with the remnants of her orgasm even in the dark, and Y/N wondered, what it would be like to sit atop it. To have him pull her down by the waist as she claimed his mouth for her throne. They were such salacious thoughts, for a moment, embarrassment flushed through her, but come on! After such an eating out, Y/N was allowed to fantasize.
“And by the end of this, if you let me,” Michael mumbled, a golden chain dangling in between them. Quickly she snatched it between her teeth and pulled, making him come closer. “I’d like to do so at least once more.”
“You are absolutely welcome to it. Morning, noon and night.”
But at that moment, Y/N had no intentions of allowing him to go for another round, as when he leaned down for a kiss, she lifted a leg over his hip and twisted, throwing Michael off his balance and onto his back, with her now on top.
“But right now… you had your starter.” She gave him a wicked grin. “And I’ve yet to still have mine.”
“Fuck me,” was all he managed to groan out as he threaded a hand through his hair, head pressed tight against her silk-covered pillows while Y/N rid him of his boxers.
His length sprang free, thick and aching. It slapped against his abdomen and her hand curled around it immediately to give him some sort of relief, precum dripping from the tip. Or maybe, she intended to do quite the opposite.
He’d taken his sweet fucking time riling her up. She could take hers. But it was the way he let out the smallest of “please”, the way his eyes locked onto hers, practically begging to put him out of his misery, that did her in. She’d tease him come morning. For now, she was way too aroused herself to deprive her body of his any longer.
Y/N gathered a bit of saliva in her mouth and let it drip down onto his length, before dragging her tongue along the vein at the base of it, her lips wrapping around the tip as she made her way up and giving it a gentle, yet firm, suck.
Michael’s hips jolted, and a hand grasped onto her head. He didn’t push it down or pull her hair in any way, more so it seemed he needed something solid to hold onto as she pulled his length into her mouth, until it hit the back of her throat, making both of them choke.
“You don’t need to do that,” Michael started, ready to pull Y/N away if it became too much for her, but she stayed there, relaxing her muscles bit by bit, until he was so deep down her throat, her nose brushed against the hairs of his pelvis.
“Fucking. Hell.” Those were the only two words he managed to express before Y/N trailed her mouth up and started to really suck him off. After that, it was just grunts and groans, his hand tightening and then unclenching in her hair, but never pressing, never pushing her to take more than she wanted to. Michael was completely immersed with her pace, and ready to take whatever she gave him.
That sort of power could make anyone lightheaded, and when Y/N started to feel him twitch in her mouth, she pulled completely off.
Instantly, his eyes snapped open, head rising to look at how she climbed his body and settled her knees around his hips, pressing her core down against his length. She was just about ready to let it slide inside when Michael’s hands closed around her waist and stopped her.
“Condom,” he breathed out, chest rising and falling rapidly, probably the only word he could manage, which was great, because at least one of them still had some thinking skills left.
“Shit. Fuck. Right, yeah.”
Leaning over to her nightstand, Y/N half-fell over the bed to open the lowest drawer. In between her panties and vibrator, was a little foil packet which she fished out. She was glad of Michael’s unwavering hold, because the way she was precariously dangling over the edge, could end badly and with a stupidly gotten concussion.
When she was back to straddling him, opening the packet and rolling the condom on his length, their eyes met.
Michael rubbed his thumb in a circle on her hip. “We can always stop if you don’t want to go any further.”
“I’m not a quitter,” Y/N scoffed, yet it didn’t elicit the smile she was aiming for, as he rose into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around her, hers resting onto his shoulders.
“And this isn’t some race or competition. You can revoke consent anytime you want. And so can I.”
“I know that,” Y/N nodded, her gaze softening at his words. He could easily create a power imbalance between them. With double the decades of age and experience on her, Michael could be pushing at her limits, trying to twist things into teaching her how to properly please a guy and so on, yet throughout all of it, his focus had been zeroed in on her wants and needs. She shifted a bit in her lap at the thought that she hadn’t checked in with him. “Do you want to stop?”
“No.” His voice was soft but sure, and then, after a moment of him searching her eyes, the smile she’d hoped for, formed on his face. “But uh, and that is obviously if you are alright with it, I wouldn’t be opposed to adding your… friend… to our activities sometime later.”
“My friend?” Y/N tilted her head in confusion. “Oh…” A furious heat exploded through her body, and not because of the fact Michael’s cock was slowly rubbing against her clit, the head nudging just right for pleasure to zing through her.
He’d obviously noticed her vibrator, though the bright purple shade would be hard to miss. “You’re not turned off by it?”
“Why would I be? You’re a woman who has needs. And if that’s how you take care of them, it’s completely fine. I mean, as long as you’re being hygienic and safe about it. Besides,” Michael breathed against her neck, as his hand slid between their bodies and he grasped himself, lining the tip up with Y/N’s entrance. “Real men see them as tools to use to their advantage, not competition. And well, not to stroke my own ego,” he smirked, “but I don’t think I have any competition here.”
Y/N wanted to call him out for that statement, but he wasn’t lying. Not with the way his length stretched her out as he pushed inside. The fingering beforehand was incomparable to the feel of Michael sliding inside at a slow and agonizing pace, but one she desperately needed and welcomed.
He was thick and veiny, all ridges and girth, and so, so perfect for her.
It took a minute for him to be fully sheathed, and a minute more for Y/N to adjust, her forehead pressed against his, while he rubbed his hands up and down her back while she settled.
This wasn’t fucking. This was sex. This was intimate, and it was something she hadn’t known she’d wanted from a partner. Usually, it was fast and hard, leaving both her and the guy she was with, panting against the sheets. Satisfied in the sense that both (hopefully) had had orgasms, but something was always missing. Now, Y/N knew it was this – time.
Time spent exploring one another, time spent learning and teaching, and time spent simply enjoying each other’s bodies.
“You good?” Michael muttered, shifting ever so slightly and making the tip catch a spot inside of her, Y/N had only reached with her purple “friend”.
“Yeah,” she nodded. “You?”
“Yeah.” Michael kissed her. Whether as an affirmation of his words or simply because he could, she didn’t know. But neither did she care. He was the best kisser she’d had the opportunity to enjoy, so she’d take it.
While they kissed, Michael started moving. At first, it was slow rolls of hips, figuring out what movements made both of their breaths hitch and hearts pound, but it wasn’t long before Michael was on his back, knees bent as Y/N bounced up and down, his thumb pressed against her clit the whole time.
Her second orgasm of the night was a more controlled approach. She could feel the coil tightening in her abdomen, and when Michael started lifting his hips up to meet hers, Y/N listed forward, balancing herself against his chest.
“You gonna come?” he breathed against her ear as she pressed her chest against his, Michael’s hands wrapping along the small of her back and holding onto it, so he could fuck up into her pussy. “I can feel you clenching around me. Fuck, you feel good.”
“Michael,” Y/N moaned his name. Not Dr. Robby or Robby how he’d explained the people in his life called him, but the name he’d asked her to call him. His real name.
One snap, two, three. That was all it took for heat to explode. The only grounding thing in the world was his scent – some form of cheap cologne, antiseptic and sweat, but she knew she still had a long way before she came down, with how he was drilling up inside of her, chasing his own release.
It elicited another, albeit smaller orgasm, but the most pleasure she got was when she realized he’d come with her as his palms grabbed onto her ass and pulled her sharply down, her name a sweet grunt on his lips against her ear.
Yeah. Y/N needed to go out with more doctors. At least they knew where to find the clit and not neglect it once they had.
He brought a hand up to her face and pulled her by the cheek to meet his mouth, a satisfied sigh leaving her as he did so.
“That was the best one yet,” Y/N mumbled against his lips.
“And the night’s still young.”
They went three more rounds after that (because she only had three more condoms, and she’d rather use them on one man who knew how to make her come three more times, than three men, who would have trouble getting one out of her).
Michael was also a man of his word, as he had her vibrator join in on the fun. Y/N had her ass up in the air while he railed her from behind, an arm wrapped around her middle, pressing the toy to her clit, the vibrations sending pleasure unlike any other through her.
His front was flush to her back, beard having left delicious burns down her spine, as he’d kissed her there, before eating her out once more in between the rounds and pushing his again-hard cock inside.
That was the final orgasm she could manage, and it seemed Michael knew it. It was the kind that not only made her legs, but her whole body shake, leaving Y/N a trembling mess against the sheets, while he soothed her through the aftershocks.
“You with me, sweetheart?” he mumbled against her temple as he gathered her in his arms and laid them side by side.
“Jus’ give me a momen’,” Y/N slurred while Michael brushed a finger from her cheek to her jaw and back. “I think I’m a medical fucking miracle with how you just fucked my brains out, and yet, I can still function. Barely though.”
Michael’s chuckle reverberated through her body, as after she’d recovered slightly, he gathered her up and moved them to where she instructed the bathroom was, to make sure she peed and didn’t get a UTI. If these had been normal circumstances, she would have never let a guy see her peeing, but quite honestly, Y/N wasn’t sure she’d be able to get back from the toilet seat on her own.
“You’re more than welcome to have a shower if you want. Of course, only if you’re down with smelling like peaches or passion fruit.” Y/N nudged her chin towards the shower gels lining the floor, one hers, the other Sara’s.
“I wouldn’t be opposed to, but only if you join me.”
She hissed, biting her lip. “I don’t have any condoms left. Besides, from what I’ve heard and read, shower sex can be quite precarious. I’m surprised that you as a trauma doctor would risk such a thing.”
“I’m not asking to have sex,” Michale laughed and helped her stand on her still wobbly legs after she flushed. “I’m asking for you to shower with me. Nothing more, nothing less.”
And that’s what they actually did. They simply had a shower. Michael washed her back and she washed his, along with his hair. When she did so, the blissful look on his face, the way he allowed himself to melt against her touch, sent a new kind of thrill through her. But it also made her wonder – when was the last time he allowed someone to take care of him?
By the time they got out from under the water, it was close to four in the morning, so they dried themselves down and went to bed. Y/N’s down duvet was a warm and fluffy cloud around them. Sure, she could have asked him to leave, but why would she, when he seemed so content to be there? Whether anything came from it once they awoke, didn’t matter. If he didn’t want to leave at that moment, Y/N would be the last person to push him to.
She drifted off almost instantly, warm and safe in Michael’s hold, but when the real morning came and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, body sore and satiated, she was met with a cold spot next to her.
There was no fucking sign on Michael, and judging by how she’d been tucked in, he’d left a while back.
Her dress and underwear had been neatly laid out on the chair in her room, heels tucked beneath it. As she ventured into the apartment, there were absolutely no signs of him, except for a cup of tea on the kitchenette. She knew it’d been made for her – it was filled to the brim, but much like the sheets, it was also already cold.
Sourness settled in her mouth as she poured the liquid down the drain. Not even a single fucking note. It was like they’d never even met.
Y/N hadn’t expected him to leave his phone number, God forbid, his address, what with how he’d laughed when she’d told him she was twenty-six, and he’d responded that he could be her father with that age gap. She knew she was some kind of spur-of-the-moment mistake he’d made. A weakness in his judgement, but fucking hell, she at least deserved an “it was great meeting you, wish you all the best,” note. Especially because he knew the only reason she’d gone to the bar was because she’d been ghosted by a date.
And now – now Michael was also a ghost, an unscratchable, unreachable itch under her skin she couldn’t get to.
That was the real reason Y/N’d felt so bitter for the past two weeks. If he’d been a bad lay, or maybe she’d been the bad party, she would understand the one-and-done-dump, but something about falling asleep while being wrapped up in one another, and then just leaving without so much as a goodbye, was crueler than if he’d left while she was still coming down from her release.
Now though, as she watched him while they waited at the nurse’s station, she noted how his fingers twitched by his side. She wondered whether he wanted to touch her as badly as she wanted to touch him, but then horrible reality kicked in – there wouldn’t be any sort of touching for a while.
She was stuck with her leg in a cast, and a scheduled check-up with Dr. Langdon in a week to take it off and remove the stitches, before it would get swaddled again for a month or more.
Y/N cursed the day she’d met Dr. Michael Robinavitch, for he’d released a monster of carnal urges, she didn’t even really know resided in her. And he was the only one who knew how to properly tame it because even in his scrubs and hoodie, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and all sorts of bodily fluids she didn’t want to think about, all she wanted to do was grab him by the neck and get him to some supply closet to have her way with him like they were actually in Grey’s Anatomy.
“Michael, I,” Y/N started but got cut off by Sara waltzing into the emergency department.
“How’s my pirate doing?” She threw her arms around her shoulders and squeezed. “They assign you a parrot yet?”
“I don’t have a fucking peg-leg.” Y/N rolled her eyes as she signed a final form. With that, Sara took the wheelchair handles, gave Dana a salute and wheeled her out of the hospital, making Y/N crane her neck back and shout a final thank you to the nurse.
She was just about to ask Sara to slow down as she needed to talk to Michael, when she felt his presence moving with them, silent, steady and strong, his hands taking hold of the crutches as the automatic doors opened.
He followed them out and once they got to Sara’s car, helped Y/N settle in the front seat.
“You good?” He tucked a strand behind her ear.
“Yeah.” She gave him a genuine smile, and her heart pounded in her chest as his eyes trailed to trace her lips. “I am. Thank you. For taking care of me in there.”
“Honestly, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the only time I’d like to see you back here is for your check-ups.”
Y/N nodded, suppressing a smile. “Duly noted. No shower karaoke for me.”
“I’m serious. You have an appointment with Frank in a week, but other than that, please take care of yourself, alright?”
“You don’t have to worry about that.” She nudged her head towards Sara who was wrangling the crutches inside the boot of the car. “Mother hen is on the job.”
“Good.” Michael nodded and before Y/N could properly prepare herself, he’d leaned down, cupping her jaw in his hands and kissed her.
Her brain short-circuited at that, but when his tongue probed against the seal of her lips, she had to start wondering if she’d actually died when she’d hit her head in the shower. It didn’t take more than that though for her to open up, for her arms to brush against his scrubs and weave into the salt-and-pepper hair.
By the time Michael pulled back, both their lips were kiss-swollen.
“Let me take you out on a date.”
Y/N let out a breathless laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “What happened to the doctor-patient thing?”
Michael only smirked. “You’ve been discharged. You’re no longer a patient of mine.”
“Okay, but even so – what would we do? My leg’s in a cast, and I can barely hobble around with the crutches.”
“I can carry you. I don’t mind.”
“And throw out your back, old man?”
“Hey, I’m not that old!” Michael protested, and when he noted the smile on her mouth, he pressed his against it once more.
“How about this,” Y/N proposed, “when you’re done with your shift, you could come over to my place, and -,”
“Our place,” Sara butted in, sliding into the driver’s seat. “So, whatever you have in mind – no hanky-panky with me next door.”
If Y/N rolled her eyes any harder they would get stuck in the back of her head, but she returned her attention to the awaiting attendant. “And we order some take-out. We watch a movie and then just… go to sleep?”
“It might be very late by the time I’m off.”
When she raised her hand and cupped his rugged cheek, it took him no time at all to lean into her touch. “I can wait.” She pecked his lips. “I’m in no rush.” She could only hope he understood the double meaning behind what she meant with it.
Later that night as Y/N sat by the TV, the glow of the screen illuminating her face, she fell asleep with her head against Michael’s chest.
And when she awoke, her sheets were warm with the remnants of his body, even if he wasn't there anymore.
She was alone, yes, but atop the pillow rested a note:
Shift started at 8. Sorry, I can’t be there to wake up with you. I’ll be home by 9.
It was almost impossible to wipe the smile off her face for the rest of the day.
Even as the itching under the cast started.
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Tags: are open :) if you wish to be tagged in further fics, please drop a comment under the fic or message me or leave me an ask :)
A/N: I have arisen
if you wish to know how this man makes me feel, please listen to Slutty by The Scarlet Opera.
I am FERAL.
P.S. I hope you enjoyed it :) feedback/constructive criticism is always appreciated :)
