he lost his leg in a rodeo accident. even though he misses the thrill of it all, it was the wake up call. he needed to turn his life around and have a more positive impact on his community.
jack’s a small town boy. he branched out and tried city life. it was too fast. not being able to hear the still of night bothered him. he was relatively famous. he was no jb mauney. had the beast not destroyed his limb and body, he could’ve been though.
the accident was what inspired him to begin working as a vet. jack works on farm animals a dozen. practically doctor doolittle. animals are easier than people. cattle don’t fawn over him. he’s just a man when he’s working. no need to perform, flash a smile, and put on a cowboy hat that’s been long retired.
to fill his time, and clog his calendar, he opened up a small animal clinic. though modest in size, the clinic has a revolving door of patients. some with four legs , and occasionally, some with two. jack’s never been one to turn his nose up at those in need. so, sometimes, billing sheets get lost. big whoop. what even is medical fraud in the eyes of jack abbott? such a vague and useless term!
when he’s not working off the burning grief of his leg, he hangs around the local bar. the tap is shit. ice’s got freezer burn. food’s cold. but there’s something about being around people when they have no filter. sadness, anger, joy. it makes him feel better about the blur of feelings swirling inside his heart. though he’s not always alone, he can’t shake the thick feeling of loneliness from his bones.
there’s no one who can quite understand his desolation. jack’s alright now, but that’s after losing everything, to then reconstruct his life once more. despite the sorrow that clings to him, he holds onto the blessing of everyday.
synopsis: Your boyfriend is really really pent up after a fight and needs a little stress relief. Would you help him out? :(
cw: blurb, nsfw (dirty talk, manhandling, unprotected p in v, creampie, prone position, asphyxiation by pope’s fat ass, he has you in a chokehold, but do not actually choke), s4 beefed up pope, smurf mentioned ONCE
You sunk into the soft cushion of the sunbed, one of many splayed across the backyard at the Cody's. Yet, you were not in fact sunbathing, but quietly admiring the naked back of your stupidly handsome boyfriend. Slightly tanned skin, peppered with irregular freckles, glistering under California's scorching sun – the toned muscles of Pope’s body shifted under his skin as he worked hard in the garden.
You chewed onto your lower lip, getting all worked up just from the sight of him.
Since Pope had taken another “side gig”, he had gained some healthy weight and muscle mass. Despite still being rough on the edges, having some unfinished business with Smurf, you found Pope even more pleasant to cling to. With your presence nearby, he instantly turns softer, gentler, more aware of his physical strength.
Your Andrew.
And you’d be more than happy to massage his tensed shoulders after a long, stressful day then place a warm meal before him. Sitting in Pope’s lap as he ate, listening to the nature documentaries playing in the background.
Pope had returned home after another fight covered in red scratches and bruises. The scent of his sweat still lingering in the air as he stepped into your shared bedroom. No cologne, but simply the smell of his deodorant and musk.
Normally, you would tend to his injuries first, kiss his bloody knuckles clean, before hopping together in the shower. But something about your boyfriend felt different. Eyes darkening, looking at you like a piece of cake. Only then did you notice the bulging tent in Pope’s sweats.
Oh.
Before you could even register what was happening, he was all over you. Muscular chest crushing your breasts, lips hungrily chasing yours, tongue invading mouth, his body firmly guiding yours toward the messy bed. Sometime along the way, your clothes were discarded and forgotten onto the floor.
Pope gently nudged you forward and you crawled onto the mattress. A pair of his strong hands grabbed onto your hips firmly and pulled you underneath him. You barely managed to squeal in surprise as he was already pushing the swollen head of his cock between your legs, precum dribbling onto the back of your thighs.
— Aw, fuck! — You mewled, chewing on your lower lip as Pope sank into your tight pussy in one, excruciatingly long thrust.
Shit, he always made you feel that funny tingling in your lower stomach, feet curling as he just slid his fat lenght in. No matter how many times you two had sex before, every time was deliciously driving you delirious.
He was already panting, right next to your temple – his warm breath tickling your cheek. One, thick arm wrapped around your neck, holding you close, where he needed you. His tummy fit like a puzzle into the small curve of your lower back as Pope began to thrust into you. Toned thighs on both sides of your legs, the swell of his cock sliding through your gummy walls, rubbing all the right places.
— Andy~ — You whined softly. Hips tilting and arching slightly changing the angle just how you liked it. — My Andy.
You loved everything about your boyfriend – especially when every roll of his hips was igniting a flame deep within you, that was slowly blinding your vision with stars.
One of Pope’s many secrets would be that he deeply cherished his girlfriend’s affection and endless praises for how strong and manly he was. It would drive Pope even more crazy, that he had such a pretty thing like you all for himself.
As the pleasure grew and grew, his skin sticking to your spine, you allowed yourself to slowly drift into that sweet oblivion, cheeks sinking into the meat of his arm that has been wrapped just under your chin. Soft moans echoed through the room, the veiny underside of his cock dragging along your throbbing walls.
— ‘m sorry, baby. Needed you badly. — Pope murmured, breath hitching, as you clenched onto the sensitive head of his cock.
You knew he preferred taking his sweet time and the fun of prolonged, overstimulating foreplay, making sure you’re wet and aroused enough to take him without discomfort he had a big dick.
But to be honest? You began to like it, when he carelessly just pushed his cock inside of you, releasing all of the pent up energy he had through the day. You were more than happy to help your boyfriend with all the stress his family has caused.
And if this was a remedey? Fuck, you'll need another dose.
— Did you win?
— O-Of course I did. – His thrusts became sloppy, the rhythm long abandoned. Pope nuzzled the side of your head, most of his body weight resting on top of you. He rubbed against you, hoping that your scent, your perfumes, will stick to him. So he can feel your presence throughout the next day.
— 'm proud, Andy~
You said on an exhale, most air escaping from your lungs as his heavy mass, grinded you into the mattress below.
— Fuck, I– I’m gonna–
— ‘s okay, Andy. You can come inside.
His sweet, precious angel.
There were days when Pope still couldn’t believe that you were real, that he was so blessed to have such a good girlfriend. That he deserved someone like you – taking care of him in every way. Even now, as you lay splayed out beneath him, asking him to fill you up.
It didn't take much more for Pope and after a couple more, frantic rolls of his hips, he reached his peak. His whole body tensed, mouth parted and he moaned. His warm seed flooded your pussy as you peppered his elbow that was tucked under your chin with kisses.
— Love you so much, baby. — Pope tilted his head as he kissed the skin between your eyebrow and an upper eyelid.
mr. and mrs. abbot - assassin!pope x assassin!reader
word count: 5.2k
warnings: dead dove: do not eat, femme fatale!reader, extremely dubious consent (bc would either of you consented if you had known the other was also an assassin? oop-), “jack abbot” doesn't exist bc he's actually pope's fake identity!, he calls you “honey” and you call him “sir”, gun violence, murder, blood and gore, established relationship, deception, mutual pining, angst (with a happy ending!), domestic fluff, praise kink, mild brat taming, dom/sub dynamics, unprotected sex, breeding kink, squirting, spit kink, edging, fingerfucking, bondage, gun play (but tamer than usual lol!), choking, pope makes a lot of bad jokes (he's silly and in love!), it's actually lowkey mushy cutesy bc I just am in that kind of mood lately!
summary: you are an assassin but your husband thinks you're just a corporate executive. your husband is an assassin but you think he's just a doctor.
so what happens when you find out your husband's real identity and he finds out yours because your companies want you to kill each other?
a/n: i came up with this after seeing mr. and mrs. smith while browsing tv and i just had to write it!
hope it's a sick(ly sweet) read ♡
“Mrs. Abbot?” The pharmacist waves their hand in front of your face. “Are you feeling alright?”
You're staring down at your phone right now. At the bounty your company just set out on your burner.
For a man named Andrew Cody.
Better known by his call sign “Pope”.
Who looks exactly like your husband Jack…
“Hmm?” You glance up from your phone, remembering for a moment where you are. “Oh, right. Sorry, just got a business text. A little distracted.”
A clever excuse, like always, given your formal attire and the fact that you do actually work for a Fortune 500 company. You look like any corporate executive would if they were in line for a prescription at a pharmacy. Definitely not like an assassin for hire staring at a kill order…
“Do you need me to explain the medication to you before I sign off on it?” They show you the bottle of sleeping pills you always take on the nights Jack isn't home.
Because it's always hard for you to sleep when he's not there next to you…
“No, I'm alright.” You tell them and they nod, handing you the medication once they've signed off on it.
You take it out of the paper bag when you get to your car and stuff the pill bottle into your glove box.
You can't possibly take those now.
Not when you have no idea who your husband is…
So, you call your handler. “Who is this guy?”
“Competition.” The robotic voice on the other end answers.
“Last known?”
“Oceanside, CA.”
You and Jack are a long way from there. On the complete opposite coast…
“Time frame?”
“ASAP.” So, that's why it was sent to you…
You have the highest record of kills done in the shortest amount of time. Always so efficient. You knew it would bite you in the ass one day…
“I'm retired, though.”
“You're the only one capable of doing this within the desired time frame.”
“Why?” You know they're not going to answer but you ask anyway, clarifying, “what's the rush?”
“We have intel he is planning to kill one of our own.”
You wonder who it can be.
Because you would've never guessed that it would be you.
Pope stares down, much like you had earlier, in disbelief at the photo on his screen.
That's you, his wife, on his burner beneath the bounty just sent to him.
But that isn't the name you gave him.
Call sign “Pearl”.
Because you excel under pressure.
A top assassin. Clean kills. Perfect record.
Just like Pope…
“Jack?” Robby tries to glance over Pope's shoulder but he shoves his phone in his locker and shuts it before Robby can see anything. “Alright, keep your secrets.”
“My wife just sent something I shouldn't open at work.” Pope lies through his teeth but Robby always believes it.
Since Pope talks about you all the time at work. He loves you, after all.
He loves being a doctor, too.
He hates being an assassin. He had quit when the two of you got married.
So, why is he getting sent a bounty now?
“She's a high priority target.” Pope's handler tells him when he calls after his night shift. Call sign “Smurf”. “We need her dealt with, so we need our best.”
“Why the urgency?” Pope wants to know.
Smurf replies, “we have intel she's after one of our own.”
He wonders who it could be.
Because he'll never guess that you, his pretty wife waiting for him at home, are supposed to be going after him.
You've been sitting at the dining table, nursing a glass of wine, since you got home from the pharmacy.
You haven't eaten.
You couldn't sleep.
You can't even stomach the wine that's sitting untouched on the table.
You keep thinking about your husband Jack.
But you know that's not his real name.
Andrew is his real name. Though, everyone in the world of hitmen calls him Pope.
The ever elusive Pope. An elite assassin who has been out of commission for years now.
Around the same time the two of you got married…the same time you retired too…
You blink back more tears because you're trying to convince yourself that the foolish thoughts in your head can't possibly be true.
That maybe he quit killing people because he's actually in love with you.
Like you're in love with him.
Fuck. You know that can't be true.
Pope is known to be heartless. Ruthless. A born killer. The best of the best at torturing his targets for information.
Nothing like the man you married, Jack Abbot.
Decorated veteran. Emergency medicine doctor. Caring, kind, loving husband of yours…
How much of that was real?
And how much of it was a cover?
Does he know…who you are?
There's no way. And if he did, what's the goal of playing the long game?
If he wanted you dead, why would he go through all the extra hoops of taking you out on dates? Marrying you? Making love to you?
Because he loves you. Your mind tries to feed you delusions.
You are delusional…because you can't find it in you to kill him.
Even though you have to, before it gets reassigned and someone else does.
And they won't be so merciful…
“Honey?” You hear your husband's voice call out to you.
Is it really morning already?
“What's wrong?” Pope sees the untouched wine glass and your puffy eyes.
So, you make something up quickly. “The pharmacy didn't have any pills left in stock to fill my prescription. Couldn't sleep without them.”
Couldn't sleep without him. You hate that you love sleeping next to Jack—Pope.
His name is Pope. Jack doesn't exist.
The man you love was just a cover…
For what? You might never find out.
“Come on, let's go to bed. I'll go get your pills for you after a nap.” He puts his hand out for you to take.
And you take it without hesitation. Force of habit.
Pope doesn't notice anything off about you, which is good. He is used to you not sleeping well without your pills. You get bad nightmares if you sleep unmedicated.
That's why you like sleeping next to him. You never get nightmares for some reason. Probably because his warmth comforts you.
The thought of feeling his skin cold because you had to kill him makes you want to throw up…
You actually do throw up, right into the toilet in the bathroom. Pope gently holds back your hair, helping you with a light shoulder rub.
“Are you alright, honey?” Now Pope is worried.
Because the two of you were trying for a baby. And if you're pregnant right now…with his child…how is he possibly supposed to kill you?
“No, I'm not alright.” You wipe the tears that are dripping down your face uncontrollably. “I'm scared.”
“About what?” He kneels down next to you. “Talk to me.”
You look him in the eyes, in those beautiful hazel eyes you fell in love with, and you want to tell him the truth.
That you're supposed to kill him.
Before he kills you.
But instead, you tell him, “that you won't want to kiss me now, after I just threw up.”
The concern on Pope's face washes away, replaced by a chuckle. “I'd kiss you no matter what.”
“Yeah?” You look at his lips. “Are you sure?”
He leans in to prove it, kissing you. And you kiss him back.
You do more than just that. You pull him against you, wanting his body flush with yours.
“Let's get ready for bed first.” He smiles at your eagerness. “Then I'll help you fall asleep like always.”
Your skin heats up from his words and he nuzzles your nose while holding back an amused chuckle, liking how flustered you look.
It's hard for him to believe his adorable wife is an assassin. One of the best in the business too.
And yet here you are, your hand holding onto his so nervously as he walks the two of you to bed after you both washed up and brushed your teeth.
Who is the real you?
The one who is looking up at him all bashful the moment he climbs on top of you in bed?
Or the stone cold killer Pearl that he has heard echoes about slashing her way through target after target without a shred of fear?
Does it matter right now when you pull him down to kiss you, lacing your fingers in his soft curls and grinding your hips up against his?
“Someone's being impatient.” Pope nips at your bottom lip, drawing out a whimper from your lips.
“Please, sir.” You beg of him because you need to feel your husband's body against yours right now. “Please touch me.”
“How do you want me to touch you?” His hands slide under your shirt, lifting it up over your chest so he can see your lovely breasts.
“Make me cum, sir.” You want to remember this feeling, in case you never get to experience it again.
“Lift your arms up.” Pope instructs and you listen, letting him tug your shirt up over your head.
But he doesn't pull it off. He instead ties your wrists to the headboard, securing them in place there.
“What's your safe word, honey?”
“Your name.”
“That's right. Do you remember why?” He asks as he kisses down the length of your body starting from the arms he just bound.
You swallow back gulps of air before his lips hover over yours and you breathe, “because I only get to call you “sir” in bed.”
“Good girl.” He leans down, sealing his lips around yours, trapping the moan that wants to escape when you feel his hand slipping between your legs. “Do you still want me to make you cum?”
“Yes, sir.” You tug at your restraints when you feel his fingers graze your clit. So lightly, so purposefully weak to get you wriggling for more. “Please.”
“My wife is so needy tonight. I love it.” He really does love you so much.
That's why in bed, he doesn't want you calling out some fake name he made up. When you call Pope “sir”, he knows you're talking to him and not the fictional persona of Jack Abbot he created to be free from the world of assassination.
It's hard for him to think that you've been hiding the same secret as he has been all this time.
Is that why you told him you like being called “honey”? So you could enjoy his attention without the constant reminder of your fake identity?
What would you do if he called out your real name right now?
You're restrained. You wouldn't be able to do anything to him. Though, if you are Pearl, then he's sure you could get out of the loose knot he made with your shirt.
Why does that thought make his cock twitch? The sight of you showing him how skilled you truly are at your work. You have to be skilled to hide this well.
It would be betraying your trust, though, to use this vulnerable moment of yours for more than just sex and pleasure.
You trust Pope, maybe not fully but definitely in bed. You've given this part to him. He knows that well.
You wouldn't show this side of you to just anyone, the side so desperate to cum on his fingers that your hips are grinding against his hand now that he's stripped you completely naked.
Would you be this eager if you knew that he's supposed to kill you?
Maybe you wouldn't care.
You just want to cum.
His spoiled wife, who he takes great care of.
“Beg for it, honey.” He pins you down to the bed by your lower belly, stopping you from squirming so much.
“Please make me cum, sir.” You plead with him and nearly cum when he spits so harshly on your clit.
“Be specific.” Pope wants to see what you ask for today.
“Please make me cum on your fingers, sir.” You feel so empty inside.
Your heart aches and you want to have him inside of you any way you can.
“Are you going to be a good girl and cum hard for me?” He asks as he slips a finger inside of you for just a second before popping it back out, pulling a whine from your lips.
“Yes, sir.” You definitely will.
“Let's see it.” Pope dips two fingers inside of you then and curls them, grinding them right up against that spot that has your body trembling all over. He keeps thrusting them right there, reveling in how tight you're squeezing his fingers as he fucks you with them.
He knows you're about to cum because you're looking at him with those pleading eyes of yours. You don't want him to stop.
He always stops though. Because he likes seeing you on the edge of an orgasm, panting, reeling from getting so close before his fingers slow completely.
“Please, sir.” You don't know how much more you can beg for him to make you cum.
Pope likes torturing you. It's what he's good at. Always has been and he takes a lot of pleasure from it. From seeing you so helpless and in need of his assistance.
“Tell me you love me.” He doesn't know why that's what he asks in this moment. Usually he asks you to tell him something filthy, to leak out a dark desire of yours he'd be happy to fulfill.
But right now, all he wants to hear is your beautiful voice telling him, “I love you.”
“I love you too, honey.” He says, then drives his fingers back inside of you without warning.
You cum instantly, the sheer force of his sudden movements causing you to squirt uncontrollably. You're gasping for air and crying out because he won't slow down. He just keeps fucking you with his fingers until you're squirting like a fountain for him, drenching the sheets with your orgasms.
“Oh god, sir, I can't—” You dig your nails into the fabric of the shirt binding your wrists when Pope leans down to seal his lips on your aching clit. “Wait, stop, I'm going to cum again if you—”
You cum so hard that your eyes roll back and you can't seem to pull enough air into your lungs with every heavy breath. Pope slides his fingers out of you, licking them clean while he stares down at the sight of you so thoroughly dazed.
He strips off his clothes then, and that's when you ask him, “will you please untie me, sir?”
And he's tempted to tell you to do it yourself.
You can, of course, but in this scene, you've relinquished control to him. You've let him restrain you, so you aren't going to undo them yourself unless you absolutely have to.
Should he give you a reason to?
Should he wrap his hands around your neck and squeeze just to see if you're afraid of him enough to show your true self?
His body moves before he can think his actions through.
Pope sinks his cock into you, filling you up completely before his hands wrap around your neck. Your eyes widen when you feel him tighten his grip around your neck.
Tighter than he's ever choked you before.
Pounding into you with his cock rougher than he ever has before too.
“Say my name.” He keeps squeezing more and more, ramming his cock into you harder and harder, trying to scare you. “Do it.”
The wires are crossed in your head. You don't know what to think or what to do.
So much pleasure is flooding your system but there's a backnote of genuine fear.
That maybe Pope is trying to kill you.
Would he?
Should you let him?
If you did, then you wouldn't have to kill him.
Then your last memory could be him fucking you like this.
That's not a bad way to go.
Especially not when you're cumming your brains out on his cock, feeling so lightheaded from the lack of air, your mind spinning from cumming so much over and over again.
“Say it!” He shouts at you, shaking you by your neck. “Make me stop. Don't let me…”
You lock eyes with him and it's only when you see the tears building in corners of his eyes that you have to put a stop to this.
Not for your sake, but for his.
So, you slip out of the fabric tied around your wrists with ease then you reach up, cupping Pope's face before meeting his shocked gaze with your eyes as you call out his name, “Andrew.”
He blinks at you, the grip around your neck stilling completely, no longer actively squeezing. Tears drip down his face and you can feel them hitting your own face. Though, maybe some of those are your tears.
“You were going to let me kill you.” He lets go of your neck entirely, holding himself up at either side of your head now. “Why?”
“Because they want me to kill you.” You don't need to explain much else. “And I can't do that to you. I love you, Andrew. Even if you don't—”
“I love you too.” He says, followed by your real name.
And despite all the orgasms you've had, nothing could compare to the pleasure of hearing your real name come out of his lips after being told that he loves you.
“I wouldn't have killed you.” He swears to you. “I would've let you kill me if you had to.”
“Till death do us part.” You pull him in for a kiss then, like you're making that vow again.
Only this time, as your real self.
“Death will have to wait.” His words are so warm on your lips that your heart skips a beat. “Because I finally get to hear my wife call out my name while I'm fucking her. I'm not dying today.”
You chuckle, smacking him on the chest, “Andrew!”
He smiles back at you, nuzzling your nose so affectionately before kissing you.
You meet his hips halfway as he starts to roll them against yours, fucking you nice and slow. Making love to you, like always.
Making you laugh like always. “Are you really Pearl?”
“Are we seriously talking about this while you're fucking me?” You gasp when he buries his cock as deep as he can and then lays all of his weight on you, trapping you beneath him. “Andrew!”
“Fuck, you sound so good screaming my name.” He gives you a kiss on the cheek and you glare at him when he pulls away. “Answer the question.”
“Yes.” You answer then yelp when he thrusts his cock inside of you all of a sudden.
“Yes what?” He smirks at how annoyed you look.
So there is a side of you he hasn't gotten to enjoy fully yet. The little brat hidden beneath the usual submissive.
“We are not doing this!” You shove at him so he pins your arms down with his hands. “Stop it!”
“You're good at pretending, honey.” Because if the stories are true, you definitely can get out of his grip right now.
Pope wants to see it. See you in action.
You huff through gritted teeth. “I am not doing this with you, Pope.”
Oh, now you've pissed him off.
Pope slips out of you completely and before you can stop him, he opens the secret compartment he built into his bedside table and pulls out his revolver.
Then, he shoots you.
You narrowly avoid it, your reflexes kicking in immediately so you can dodge it, rolling off the bed and to your feet in an instant.
He laughs so hard that you want to punch his teeth out. “So you are as good as they say.”
“Fuck you, you just shot at me, you motherfucker!” You press your hand against the nearby wall, activating the biometric lock that opens up the hidden compartment you made and pull out your glock.
Then, you shoot him.
And Pope narrowly avoids it, before firing another shot at you that you dodge with ease so you fire back at him quickly.
Clipping his arm.
You suddenly feel a weight sink in your stomach at the sight of the thin line of blood that darts across his bicep. But that uneasy feeling washes away when you hear Pope chuckle so happily.
“Nice shot, honey!” He tells you before he fires another round and you almost get clipped in the ear. “Hey, stand still. I need to even the score.”
“What are we doing right now?!” This has to be the strangest foreplay ever!
“Having fun. And getting some practice in.” He says before shooting at you again, this time by your feet, hoping to nick your ankle but you're too slippery. “Looks like my wife doesn't need the exercise though. Good reflexes.”
“I will shoot your fucking cock off if you don't stop whatever the hell this is!” You shout at him before he aims another bullet at you. “Andrew!”
“You wouldn't dare shoot my cock. You'd miss it if it was gone.” He smiles so mischievously at you that you are actually tempted to shoot him there.
“I don't miss your leg.” You say then instantly regret it because you feel like that might've been too harsh, given the prosthetic he has.
Until Pope starts laughing again and goes, “that's why you won't take out the one hanging between my legs, right?”
“Oh my god!” You groan at the horrid joke. “Who the fuck did I marry? Have you always been this irritating!”
“Pretty much.” He nods with a shrug.
So you shoot his gun out of his hand.
Pope is actually startled by that, his revolver dropping to the ground.
Right before you pin him down to the ground in his distraction.
You point the gun to his head then tell him, “I always knew I'd be better than you.”
“Oh yeah?” Pope suddenly grabs you and pushes you down onto your back, then shoves his cock into you in a single smooth stroke. “I always knew you had it bad for my cock.”
“I will fucking shoot you!” You point your gun at him as he rolls his hips, grinding the tip of his cock deep where you like it. “Stop it!”
“You'll have to shoot me if you want me to stop fucking you.” He digs his fingers into your hips for leverage before he starts pounding his cock into you at a pace that has your back arching and your orgasm building too quickly. “That's it honey, cum for me.”
“Andrew, you can't—” You literally have a gun trained on him and he's fucking you right now?!
“I can't what? Fuck my wife? Watch me.” He slips his hand between your legs and rubs your clit while he finds the right angle to drill his cock into you until you're cumming all over him.
You toss your gun aside, not wanting to accidentally shoot him, as your orgasm shoots through you in intense waves of pleasure that has you pulling him in for needy kisses. He smiles so beautifully against your lips as he kisses you back.
“Tell me you want my cum, honey.” He massages your lower belly with his palm while his fingers play with your clit and his cock pounds you into the ground. “Tell me you want to have my baby.”
And it's like you snap right back into that submissive space in your head because you nod and tell him, “please, I want to have your baby. I want your cum, sir.”
“Good girl.” He gives you the sweetest kiss on the forehead before saying your name and telling you, “I love you so much.”
“I love you too, Andrew.” You pull him back for a kiss, pleasure surging through you as you cum again.
That's enough for Pope to cum, when he feels you tightening up from your orgasm, milking his cock dry. You lay your forehead against his, breathing heavy as he fills you with so much of his release.
“What do you usually say after you've gotten my cum deep inside of you?” Pope nudges your nose, waiting for your response.
“Thank you, sir.” You tell him, grinning when he grins back at you. “You are so lucky I love you.”
“I am lucky, because you definitely would've been able to kill me before I could kill you.” Pope can tell your reflexes are much better than his.
“We should get that cleaned up.” You point to the slight cut from the bullet.
“I'll be fine.” He waves off your concern, since it's not even bleeding anymore. “In case you forgot, I am actually a doctor.”
“How does an assassin have time for medical school?” You raise an eyebrow at that.
For you, it was easy to forge an impressive resume to land you an incredibly easy corporate executive job where all you do is answer emails all day.
Pope actually went to medical school and served in the military.
All under his fake identity, Jack Abbot.
“How do you think I paid for medical school?” He laughs at his own joke and then laughs some more when he sees you glaring at him. “You are so cute, honey.”
Before you can say something back in retaliation, Pope kisses you with so much affection that you melt in his arms.
The two of you lay there on the ground, kissing until he's soft. Then, you both take a nice shower together, which really ends up with you riding him in his shower chair until the two of you cum again together, and then get redressed for bed after swapping out the sheets.
“There's bullet holes in our walls.” You gesture at all the work that will need to be redone. “How are we supposed to explain that to a contractor?”
“We have lots of fun in the bedroom?” Pope chuckles when he sees how annoyed you are with his antics. “What? It's true—”
The doorbell rings, cutting him off mid-sentence.
Pope rolls over to his bedside table, grabbing his security tablet so he can check who's at the door.
It's the police…
“A neighbor probably called when they heard the gunshots.” You hold back a groan. “What are we going to say?”
“Misfire?” Pope says with a shrug. “I'll just say my silly wife wanted me to show her how to shoot and you accidentally pulled the trigger.”
“I can accidentally shoot off your balls. Don't test me.” You shove at him. “You go answer them. I'm staying here where it's cozy.”
Pope hands you the security tablet and then gets up to go to the door. He tells the officers the explanation but they want to step inside to look around, which Pope allows.
Though, his eyes drift to the two cops that walk into the house once their backs are turned to him. He doesn't recognize either of them from the local police force and since he does SWAT work every now and then, he should have at least seen them once or twice.
They wouldn't send newbies out to check on gunfire.
And those guns they have holstered aren't police-issued…
Fuck. Pope can't tell if they've figured out that he knows yet.
So, he slowly walks over to the bookshelf by the living room television, where he has a gun.
But before he can fire a shot, a bullet flies through the air.
And one of the cops drops dead.
Then, Pope shoots the other one down before that one has a chance to react to you killing their partner.
He walks over to meet you as you both stare down at the dead bodies. Then, you each take a body to check for a burner.
“How'd you know they weren't real cops?” Pope finds the burner phone on his dead cop’s body, seeing the bounty for you and him on the screen with your current house address listed for last known.
You pull out your dead cop's burner along with some keys then say, “no cop car outside. But a very nice getaway vehicle.”
“Want to take a ride, honey?” Pope puts his hand out for you to give him the keys. “You got a go bag?”
“Of course I have a fucking go bag.” You want to beat him up for even asking. You know he's just messing with you, though. “I have one made for the two of us too.”
“Really?” Pope finds that oddly sweet.
“In case my life ever caught up to yours.” You wanted to make sure that wherever you had to hide, he could come with.
“What are our new identities then?”
You go to unseal one of the floorboards in the living room and pull out the go bags. They're filled with untraceable cash and other necessities like weapons and new identities.
You pull out Pope's new driver's license and hand it to him. He looks at it and goes, “seriously? You couldn't pick a better name than “Titus”?”
“Shut up.” You roll your eyes at him, throwing the heavier go bag at him. “Go pack the car, Mr. Danforth.”
“Maybe I should have you call me “mister” instead of “sir” from now on, Mrs. Danforth.” He says with a smirk on his face, swinging the bag over his shoulder with ease before putting his hand out for you to take. “Ready to run away together?”
You let out a light chuckle then nod. “Yes, sir.”
“So we're keeping the “sir”. I'll allow it.” Pope leans over, giving you a loving kiss on the temple.
The two of you start packing the car but then you remember the pills so you quickly go and grab them from your car. Pope furrows his brows at you.
“You got them already? Why didn't you take them last night?”
“You know why.” You shove them in your go bag.
“Tell me.” He makes you stop your fussing.
“Andrew, we have people after us, who wants us dead. Can we talk about this in the car?” He really has such poor timing sometimes!
“I promise I wouldn't have killed you. Even if they tried to make me, I wouldn't. I love you, truly.” He says your name too, just to confirm it, giving you the reassurance you didn't know you needed to hear. “Come here.”
Pope pulls you into his arms, giving you a warm hug that you gladly accept.
“Till death do us part.” He tells you before lifting your chin up to look at him. “And I promise you won't need those pills for a while. I'll make sure you sleep real good from now on.”
You glare at him, knowing what he's insinuating and when he laughs, you giggle with him before leaning in for a kiss.
“Now let's go make sure the world knows not to fuck with Mr. and Mrs. Danforth.” Pope says against your lips before giving you another loving kiss.
You're certain they won't once they realize the two of you are a pair.
Because why would any assassin risk going head to head with you and Pope?
It'll surely be a death sentence for them, and a lot of fun for you two.
a/n: aw, this one turned out so much more fun than I originally planned! I will say that I hope this version of pope sort of makes sense as like a blend between him and jack, since technically he is jack too! I thought it would be fun to explore the idea that pope created the persona of jack abbot as a cover and then grew to love being jack! and now he's titus hehe ~
I decided to keep this one short and sweet. I was originally going to write the whole backstory of how they met, etc, but sometimes I like leaving things up to the imagination, I find that more fun and it allows for a little more wiggle room for any future installments!
summary: you sleep with jack for the first time and discover what it means to be loved gently
cw: smut (mdni, 18+), gentle sex, oral (f rec), referenced p in v, reader uses sex as a coping mechanism and has low self-esteem, light intoxication
wc: 3k
a/n: listen, I do not think that rough sex is necessarily a bad thing, but it can be. I don’t feel like expanding on this
now playing: Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby – Cigarettes After Sex
Jack can’t take his eyes off you. Not when you look the way you do right now: skin glowing, eyes sparkling, and a truly sincere smile on your face.
The wine bottle shared between the two of you stands at your feet as his hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer. He tastes the grapes on your tongue when his own slips between your parted lips, mapping out the inside of your mouth slowly. His palm wanders from your side to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him.
You only pull away when you start to get lightheaded—too little oxygen, too much love.
Love.
Neither one of you has said it yet. It’s much too early for that four-letter word, but the idea of it hangs over you as he kisses your cheek instead of your mouth to let you catch your breath.
Jack tilts his head to meet your gaze and smiles softly. His eyes drift over your face like he’s memorizing every inch. He’s close enough that he could count each individual lash if he wanted to.
When he lifts his hands to cup your face between his palms, you melt into his touch.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.
Your skin heats under his hands, blood rushing to your face. The timid smile on your face tugs at Jack’s heartstrings.
“So beautiful,” he repeats tenderly.
He means it.
You misinterpret it.
When you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him again, there’s more heat to it—the kind that leads to places you haven’t been to with him yet.
He keeps you steady, your face still held by him.
His lips fit against yours like two puzzle pieces.
The weight of him leads you towards the couch naturally. He doesn’t guide or force but simply leans in until you sink onto the cushions, him braced above you.
Your hand drifts down from his chest to his stomach. Through his shirt, you still feel the way his muscles flex under your touch.
He breaks the kiss to look at you, an almost dopey curve to his mouth.
“You’re ticklin’ me,” he mumbles.
“That’s on purpose,” you reply.
He grins, then catches your hands in his own.
“Is that so?” he whispers. “Anything else you want to confess?”
You let a few seconds pass, just for dramatic effect, before you nod.
“Yeah,” you mumble, “I’m also trying to take your shirt off right now.”
Jack chuckles softly.
“You don’t say,” he teases. “Any reason for that?”
You roll your eyes fondly.
“Take a guess.”
A gentle laugh spills from him, originating deep from his chest. You feel the vibration travel through him until it reaches your hand, too.
“I think I can help out with that.”
He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, then over his head. Your eyes are glued to every inch of sun-kissed skin that’s slowly exposed. For a moment, you hesitate before you reach out to rest your hand on his chest, feeling the heat radiating from him.
When you’ve had your fill of touching him—though you’re not sure you’ll ever get enough of him—you take off your own shirt. You had planned in advance and worn a black lace bralette, but you hadn’t told Jack, so you could trick him into thinking that you’re always this put together.
The matching panties waited for him under the skirt, which you were eager for him to pull off of you.
Jack can’t look away—and doesn’t want to. You’re surprised that for once, it doesn’t feel like you’re being ogled.
No, Jack admires.
His fingers drift over your breasts up to your neck, then rest on your face.
“Like I said,” he whispers. “Beautiful.”
Instead of answering, you lean in to kiss him again. As your lips press against his, you reach for his belt buckle and open it. Jack hums into your mouth, a small roll of his hips encouraging you.
He helps you take off his jeans. Jack talked to you about not wearing his prosthetic at home around you a few days ago, but right now, he still has it on. He seems a little nervous as his pants fall away, and you get a full glance at it for the first time.
You don’t mind at all.
The next barrier that falls is your skirt. Jack undoes the zipper at the side carefully, then slides the fabric down your legs. He makes a sound you can’t quite categorize when he sees the thin lace panties you picked out for tonight.
“Fuck,” he whispers, “How are you this perfect?”
Again, you forgo an answer with another kiss.
Jack notices. He cups your face, then pulls away a little just to look at you. His brows knit together slightly.
“Hey,” he mumbles.
You haven’t been together that long yet, but he knows you well enough to see that you don’t feel like talking about this right now.
Still, for a moment, he chews on his bottom lip in contemplation before he asks, “Wouldn’t you rather take this to the bedroom?”
You shrug softly.
“I don’t mind the couch. Whatever you want.”
The divot between his brows deepens.
“But I’m asking you what you want,” he counters. “If… if we’re doing this right now, I want you to be comfortable.”
“I am comfortable,” you reply.
He nods reluctantly.
“Alright,” he mumbles.
The next kiss feels a little different—not in a bad way, just more careful. Jack waits, lets you chase him instead of taking the lead. So you do.
You reach behind you to unfasten the clasps of your bra. As the lace falls away, Jack watches with amazement. He almost manages to throw in another compliment for you, but you don’t give him the chance.
You stand up from the couch and hook your fingers into your panties, then slowly slip them off.
Jack’s breath hitches. He leans into the back of the couch to watch as you step out of the fabric that fell to your ankles. This time, he truly stares.
When you step closer, he pulls you in by your hips until you’re seated on his lap. Your bare cunt brushes over the bulge in his boxers, causing both of you to moan.
You roll against him once, then twice, then kiss him again. The heat between the two of you is unbearable. You don’t understand why he hasn’t taken off his underpants yet and wonder if he maybe just needs a little bit more encouragement, so you grind down against him again.
Jack hisses at the contact, his fingers tightening on your sides.
“Fuck, baby,” he mutters. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”
“Then let me help you,” you chuckle and reach for the waistband of his boxers.
He lifts his hips to help you slip them off—and you swallow hard when you see what you’re working with. The grey happy trail you’ve been eyeing since his shirt came off leads down to his thick cock. The size of the bulge makes more sense now. He’s veiny and flushed a dark red, almost a little purple at the tip.
“Jesus,” you whisper.
Jack chuckles, maybe even a little self-consciously so.
“Yeah, it’s um… it’s been a while for me,” he admits.
Your mouth falls open—you hadn’t expected that. A man with his looks, a doctor at that, too?
“Really?” you ask. “I mean… that’s okay. I don’t mind. Just… tell me what you like.”
He shrugs softly.
“I like you.”
His answer is so sappy that it makes you grin.
“Shut up. No, really, tell me what you like.”
Jack looks at you and pulls you closer again.
“I’m serious,” he mumbles. “I just want you, however you want. Why? What kinda stuff do the kids like these days?”
Your face warms a little.
“I don’t know,” you mumble. A total lie.
“We can try some stuff, you know?”
“Like what?” he asks. “You want me to tie you up?”
He chuckles like the idea is absurd to him.
“Would you want to tie me up?” you counter.
Jack’s brows furrow again.
“I don’t think that’s my thing,” he says quietly.
You nod slowly.
“What about…”
Saying it out loud feels, for lack of a better word, cringe, so you take his hand and place it on the base of your throat.
Jack doesn’t pull away immediately, but his fingers don’t wrap around your neck either. He looks up at you, his jaw set tightly.
Then he shakes his head and cups your face instead.
“I don’t think so,” he says softly. “How about… we just take things slow and figure it out as we go?”
When you nod, Jack kisses you, and it tastes like relief.
He surprises you when he switches positions with you—you’d have thought he would want you to stay on top.
Jack braces his weight on his forearms as he hovers above you, his face just inches away from you. Then he lowers his head, but his lips don’t meet yours—they trail down over your chest. His tongue swirls around your nipple, making you gasp as the sensation tingles through you.
He cups your other breast, squeezing and kneading the flesh gently, then places a kiss on the valley between your breasts before he descends further.
To your ribs… then your navel… then your hipbone.
Your breath stills completely when his fingers come to rest on your thighs. He doesn’t push them open yet.
“May I?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
He parts your legs gently, his eyes still focused on you until he lowers his head and—
Your world tilts a little.
When his tongue drags through your drenched slit, and Jack moans out loud, you arch towards him. He holds your hips in place, fingers digging into the flesh—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make you feel him.
“Fuck,” he gasps, “You taste so fucking good, baby.”
He flattens his tongue against your clit, licking upwards until you see stars.
“Jack-“ you moan, trying… you don’t know what you’re trying to say. Your fingers find purchase in his hair, tugging slightly at the grey curls.
He sucks your clit into his mouth, causing you to cry out in pleasure.
He laps at your cunt like a starved dog, and you can’t believe that “it’s been a while” for him, not when he’s eating you out like that.
“I—oh God,” you sigh dreamily.
Your legs quiver, your hips twitch—your entire body is shaking with pleasure.
“That’s it, baby,” Jack murmurs, his words muffled. “Fuck—please, just let me make you feel good.”
The sounds of your arousal mixing with his saliva are unholy—a wet overflow of moisture between your thighs. Jack seems to be right where he wants to be. He moans into your flesh, his hips bucking and pressing into the couch below like he is trying to alleviate the ache, the buildup of his own need.
When you come apart, he guides you through it, not stopping until your brain is overflowing with oxytocin and your thighs won’t stop shaking.
Both of you are panting when he comes up.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smiles devilishly.
“God… we’re so doing this again,” he declares softly.
You’re at a loss for words. You haven’t come like that ever. All you can do is nod and reach for him.
Jack plants his arms on either side of your head and kisses you deeply. You taste yourself on his tongue, the sweet, tangy flavor erupting in your mouth.
His leaking cock presses against your tummy as his lips graze yours.
You reach between you and stroke him, making him groan into your mouth.
“Jesus,” he mutters when he pulls away to look at you. “You—”
He thrusts into your hand instinctively, and you realize just how pent up he is.
“Your turn,” you whisper.
Jack tsks softly, half amused, half… something else.
He cups your face and kisses your jaw tenderly.
“Believe me, that was my turn,” he says lowly. “But if you want to keep going, I’m sure as hell not saying no.”
--
The bliss afterwards is indescribable. But it’s also foreign.
You still sense every press of his hands on your body without feeling tender, every brush of his lips without a single mark on your skin, and every thrust of his hips without that residual feeling of having been used.
Jack was nothing but gentle.
And god, it was incredible.
The sheets underneath you are crumpled and slightly damp with sweat and sex, but you don’t mind. Not when Jack’s arm is wrapped around you, your back pressing against his chest. He kisses the side of your neck where your pulse still flutters with excitement.
“You were incredible,” he whispers.
It must be so obvious that his words fluster you because he smirks when you hide your face in the sheets.
“Barely even did anything,” you mumble.
Jack makes a sound you can’t quite discern.
“Right,” he chuckles. “Except that thing where you got really tight when you were about to come again or—”
You whip around and press your hand over his mouth, your eyes wide and embarrassed.
“Jack,” you complain, half-serious, half-playful.
He kisses your palm and smiles.
“Hey, I’m just teasin’,” he retorts. “But I really meant it. It was really great for me.”
“Yeah, for me, too,” you mumble.
You’re not used to any kind of pillow talk, so the words feel thick, like they don’t quite want to leave your mouth.
Jack doesn’t seem to mind. He just pulls you closer against his chest and rests his chin on the top of your head.
As the minutes pass, he tells you to go pee and promises more cuddles later on.
In the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. The haphazardly buttoned-up shirt you’re wearing belongs to Jack and falls to your mid-thigh. Your hair is a mess from how often he ran his hands through it. A few hickeys begin to gain color and paint your neck a soft purple.
You can’t help but smile.
“Hey, sweetheart?” Jack calls out. “Your phone keeps vibrating. I think someone really wants to talk to you!”
“Yeah, just a sec,” you reply.
When you return to his bedroom, Jack is sitting up, his brows drawn together slightly. Your phone is in his hand, the screen facing up.
“Sorry,” he says as he passes it to you. “I didn’t mean to spy on you or anything, just wanted to bring it to you.”
You take your phone and glance at the messages—and feel your face heat up.
“Oh.” Your laugh comes out stiff as you quickly shut off your phone. “Sorry, um—they’re joking, of course. Like, uh…”
Jack looks at you quietly, watching as you fumble nervously with the edge of your phone case. There was a light flush to his cheeks now, too.
“No, no, don’t worry, I shouldn’t have read it anyway, I just looked at it ‘cause it kept… vibrating,” he explains.
The awkward silence that follows feels detrimental.
You wonder if you should explain more, or if maybe stammering another apology would make it worse, but then Jack breaks the quiet first.
“Not to sound my age, but… I assume cracking means… uh… hooking up?”
You press your lips together uncomfortably.
“Yeah,” you mumble. “Like, um… yes.”
He nods once. Then he tilts his head to catch your eyes.
“It’s not the… nicest word, is it?” he asks.
“It’s just, like, a TikTok thing,” you answer.
“Hm,” is all he replies.
Then he takes your hand and guides you back onto the mattress. You meet his gaze hesitantly. The lines around his eyes are a little deeper, just like the furrow between his brows. He doesn’t seem angry, just serious.
“I… I kind of would prefer it if you didn’t think of what we just did as… “cracking”. It’s not the word I would use,” he says slowly.
“It’s just a word,” you mutter.
“Not to me,” he argues softly. “It’s… words have meanings. And cracking sounds like… like I’m doing something to you, not with you. I don’t mean to be… all old man and, like, police your language. But… I don’t want you to think of sex with me that way. Or… with anyone else for that matter, even though, ideally, I would like this to be a long-term thing.”
His hazel eyes don’t leave your face for even a single moment, and it’s almost overwhelming—if it weren’t for the sincerity in them.
“I’m sorry—" you begin, but Jack shushes you.
“No, sweetheart, I don’t- I don’t want you to apologize. I just want you to be comfortable with me. I wanna make sure you… you feel respected by me,” he explains.
“I do,” you reply quickly. “Really. Like, no one else has ever… been this kind to me.”
Jack’s face falls.
“Oh, no, I mean, like… you’re a gentleman,” you elaborate.
He shakes his head softly.
“No, baby, I’m… this is… this is the bare minimum. Christ.”
Jack’s hands find yours, and he leans in to kiss your forehead. Then he wraps his arms around you.
“At the risk of sounding like your father, I think you kids need to put down your phones and go out in the real world.”
❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆
synopsis Robby is known to speak before he thinks sometimes, but when the cost of his words is losing you, he’s rather die (6.6k words)
warningheavy angst, language, hospital stuff, mention of drowning, near death experience, robby is constipated emotionally as always, jack to the rescue, kinda yearning Jack if you squint, inaccurate medical practices I am noooo doctor!
authornotethannk you so much for the request!!! and thank you for your kind words! I had so much fun writing, I think angst is probably my favourite to write over anything especially when Robby is the one yearning. I hope you liked! (Gif credits @emziess :)
Pitt masterlist Last robby fic!
As a resident in the Emergency Department there was a lot you knew.
You knew that preeclampsia effected about eight percent of all pregnant women worldwide. You knew how to intubate and had in fact done so many in your time at PTMC that you were sure you could do it with your eyes closed. You knew that in the bottom draw of Dana's select spot at the nurses station was a pack of nicotine gum hardly used because Dana thought they were a bunch of bull; in spite of the literal doctors orders.
You knew there was a leaky faucet in the women's bathrooms that drove everyone insane when they went in there to steal a moment's peace. You knew the computer in central fourteen was the faultiest one which was why you avoided charting in there all together.
So you knew there must have been a reason why Noelle from insurance was biding her time with your new boyfriend. There must have been a reason why he was grinning big at her like he hadn't with you for days.
“Hey!” said Samira falling at your side at the counter.
You were still too distracted by the two to even tear your gaze away and look at her. “Hey.”
Samira followed your eyeline. “You're staring, you know that?”
You nodded.
Robby rubbed at the side of his face as his cheeks flushed, Noelle shifted her weight onto her other heeled foot- apparently getting herself comfortable.
“Who is that, again?” asked Doctor Mohan.
“Noelle. She's from insurance.”
Samira nodded. “Noelle from insurance. Annnd do we like Noelle, from insurance?”
At that you realised just how transparent your glares might have been.
“Oh, you know,” you mumbled, finally looking back down to your tablet that had grown dark in the absence of movement. “It's our job to like everyone.”
Santos passed by you then, dropping herself down into your favourite chair in exhaustion. “Not everyone.”
“So we're all having a great day, I see,” you commented, sarcastically. However the sardonic tone of your voice was over-saturated with a loud laugh.
Your head practically snapped up to see Noelle laughing at something Robby had said. Even his face was scrunched up at his joke. You watched as Noelle's hand darted to his bicep, playfully hitting him in a way that could only be recognised as flirting.
You watched as Robby looked down to her hand on him and then he looked up, finding you and finding your watchful gaze. Only then did the pink in his cheeks subside and the wrinkles of amusement die.
“Didn't they have a thing before you and him got together?” asked Santos.
You sighed. “Yes, they did, thank you, Trinity.”
“Hey, just trying to be helpful.”
“Save it for the patients,” you said.
Robby took one step in your direction but you'd already dismissed yourself from Santos and Mohan, walking the ward like it was a battle field.
But you could hear your boyfriends heavy boots close behind you.
“Don't do that,” he said, calling after you.
“Do what? See a patient?”
“It's not what you think,” he said.
“Of course it's not,” you said, trying your best to be indifferent.
You knew about Noelle and Robby's history, just as you knew about his and Heathers, and his and the pathologist from upstairs, and the one from ortho. You knew and you understood, heck you'd even been around to joke about with Landon. Robby's famous seven-week itch.
Rumour had it before he finally got to hold your hand and kiss you whenever he liked he'd been trying to nail you down for years, but you weren't sure how much you believed.
It had been nine months, maybe closer to ten since you and Robby had officially started seeing each other. It was the real boyfriend-girlfriend deal where you could call each other at any moments of the day, could get take out together and discuss the boring things together.
Yet, you did none of that.
Robby and you didn't talk.
You fucked- but only each other. You worked on cases together- strictly professional. On the days where you were desperate there was an on-call room Robby could book out and steal time away with you.
But you didn't remember the last time you'd laughed like that with him.
“It's not,” said Robby again.
“Of course it's not.”
Robby sighed, falling closer behind you. “Well, it doesn't really sound like you believe me.”
“I believe you,” you said. “Do I believe Noelle...”
“Oh, c'mon,” Robby chuckled, like the very idea of them was ridiculous. Like the two of you didn't begin where they ended. “You seriously gonna be hung up on that?”
“Don't,” you warn, shaking your head.
You reached for an exam room door, where a sixteen year old boy was complaining of migraines but Robby grabbed your wrist and stirred you away.
“You wanna argue, not here,” he said.
“I don't want to argue.”
Robby led you out to the ambulance bay. Any nurses stealing a couple minutes of peace quickly diverted back in and even ambulances seemed to divert away. He let go of you, standing away and folding his arms over his chest, defensive. “So come on, tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“You're mad because I was talking to Noelle- about a case, might I add,” he said. There was nothing soft in his tone, nothing that calmed your nerves on edge. He said it all like it was a joke that he already knew the punchline to.
You rubbed at your temple. “You can talk to Noelle about cases, of course you can-”
“- Oh, thank you, glad I have your permission,” he chuckled.
“Can you just not be a dick about this, for once!” you snapped.
Robby's brows rose to his head, almost shocked at your snap at him. He held out his hands. “Okay, I'm not being a dick.”
“You are, and it's like sometimes you don't even realise.”
His hands were worn with the mornings patients and you could see the stress he tried to hide away as he wiped up and down his face.
You took a deep breath. “Robby, if you don't want this to work out all you have to do is say.” You said it, un-sure if you even meant it. Un-sure that you could ever go back to who you were before meeting Robby, let alone sharing in his life. In the small moments grabbing take out together and eating it on his sofa. In the mornings where you both naturally woke up early enough to just admire each other before you had to get to work.
Robby chuckled dryly, hands on his hips. “Oh my god, all of this because I spoke to another woman?”
“Because you laughed with her like you haven't with me for weeks!” you argued.
For once, Robby was silent.
You told yourself after the seven week mark that it would be any day now, that he'd tell you you were better off friends; colleagues. Every day and week it didn't come, every month he got more comfortable in your bed you figured you'd easily get rid of him in your life as easily as you welcomed him.
Now you stood across from him in the early morning light of the ambulance bay knowing if he left you now you'd never get back on your feet again.
“I see the way Noelle looks at you, how the others from upstairs do to,” you begin.
Robby shook his head, something earnest in his gaze. “They're not- they don't-”
“- I know, I know,” you said, cutting him off with a grimace of a smile. “ ”I know you don't love them, Robby. I'm just not sure you love me either.”
As un-cultured as you were with your own relationships you weren't sure when the right time to say I love you was. You knew Santos had said it to Garcia drunk one night and woke up with regret pinning her to the bed. You knew Dana and Benji had said it to each other a week in. You knew you loved Robby before you even kissed him.
Robby looked down to his boots, shaking his head. “That's not fair.”
Your heart pinched. “I know I love you, Robby. But I can't watch all these woman over you and-and wonder.”
“Your insecurities are not my fault!” Robby snapped.
You knew he didn't mean it, or hoped he didn't. You knew in the very small arguments you'd had that he spoke without thinking and came grovelling back.
Maybe it was worse this time because you knew it was the truth. You knew these women- his ex something's- didn't get to see Robby in the early mornings and be the last thing he spoke to at night. You knew Robby wasn't inviting them into his self, but he wasn't pushing them away either.
They'd all been quick, snaps of bands on wrists. You were supposed to be something more.
Maybe you weren't.
Biting on the inside of your cheek, you felt the familiar burning in your chest, rising up to your neck.
“Okay.” You held yourself tight, heading past him and to the doors that were already welcoming you back.
Robby was hot on your heels, quicker even as he pushed himself ahead of you. “No, no, no- hey- wait, no I-I didn't mean that.” His eyes were wide, hands held out in front of you, not quite clasped together, pointing to the sky but pleading none the less.
“We shouldn't talk about this now, Robby-”
“- I- we... honey, please.”
He stood in between you and the doors. Beyond him you saw the chaos of the room, the charts being passed, the labs being reported. The world still turned.
Robby's hands fell to your shoulders, rubbing up and down your arms. “Let me- jus' let me-let me-”
“Hey! You two!”
Robby didn't jump apart from you, he squeezed your arms tighter as the two of you looked back to Dana who rushed out, wisps of grey hair falling around her. “What is it?”
“There's been a crash down the docks, all hands on deck!”
You thought you knew chaos, having seen all sorts of terror and oddities in the Pitt but the scenes at the dock were nothing like it. A complication with a boat, an explosion- small enough- rattled ferries and had them crashing into one another like terrible scene of dominoes.
Heck, you weren't even sure if the docks were safe to be standing on.
There were fire trucks and ambulances that didn't just respond to PTMC but Presby too. Police were corning off the area, talking to any witnesses but everyone blurred in one as you weaved in and out of them.
You'd been sent as an emergency respondent thanks to how level-headed and sturdy you were in the Pittfest. You still remembered how Robby nominated you as well as Whitaker to go with some from surgery, his eyes dark on you, a trusting nod passed before you were handed a jacket and pushed into an ambulance.
You'd already pulled a sheet over three bodies, one of them too small for your liking.
“Any for me?” asked a first emergency responder, you think his name was Spencer, catching it in the rig you caught a ride in. “We can take two.”
“Yeah!” you yelled and led him away. “This guy, approximately in his thirties, head lack to the right, needs to go to surgery immediately. This woman, late twenties, lost consciousness, possible pelvic bleed but she's stabilised, need's a ultrasound.”
“Got it!”
You'd gone through almost all the gloves you had in your pockets. There was blood seeping into your scrub uniform at your knees. You'd forgone your coat to a little girl who took an ambulance back with her mother, trembling from the cold.
A steady, firm hand settled between your shoulder blades.
“How you holding on, Slugger?”
Your heart soared in relief when you recognised Jack's voice, felt his steady hand and saw his easy smile in the middle of all the pain.
“Jack, thank god. Are you here with your team?” you asked, eying the uniform he was in.
“Yeah, we came to secure the area, doing everything I can to help,” he said, the two of you nudging your way through the people, stepping over the rubble and pools of water or blood. “How you holding up?”
“Lost three,” you told him.
Jack looked down at you, the weight of his gaze always heavy. “And how many you saved, huh? Focus on that number.”
The wind picked up, sending a chill over your bones.
“Hey, where's your jacket?” asked Jack, a frown taking over his features.
You chuckled. “Probably half way to Presby by now, think we've handed off all the traumas PTMC can take.”
Jack tutted and shook his head aside. “I reckon they've got one more in them.”
You didn't know how you and Jack had got so close, somewhere along the lines of hand-offs and covering night shifts you just always gravitated toward each other, working well and saving lives. Every daring procedure you'd taken was with him over your shoulder only for him to go and boast about you to Robby later.
Jack led you to Robby, for that you always had to be thankful.
“Hey! I've got a guy seizing over here!”
With your case in hand the two of you rushed off.
The man seemed middle-aged with no obvious wound to him as you and Jack took either side. The man was at the edge of the docks, the crashing of the waves fighting against you as you worked to stablilse him.
Jack steadied him. “Check if there's any medication on him! It might be a disorder!”
You checked, coming up empty pocketed. You fumbled in your bag and tried your pockets before finding the vial and clean needle. “Pushing diazepam!”
With five cc's in his seizing slowed to dull twitches.
“We need a back board and neck brace,” said Jack, looking around to try and flag down anyone.
Nobody was catching your eyes. This close to the water you were out of the way of most of the chaos.
“Go!” you told Jack. “I'll stay with him, make sure he doesn't sieze again.”
Jack's brows pinched together for a second. “You sure?”
You nodded. Your hands remained on your patient, feeling his tremors and already timing his pulse with your watch. “I've got it, go!”
In hind sight you should have thought about the implications. You'd been grabbed and yelled at and spat at in the ED by less sever patients but once you'd been attacked by a man who just woke up from a seizure, dazed and confused and naming you his enemy.
Robby had never been so close to murder.
It took weeks for the bruises to go down, for your hand to heal properly from the fall and you were on bed rest for a week.
You knew what it meant to be alone with a patient, but sometimes you supposed it couldn't be helped.
The diazepam should have helped- you've seen it help- but soon enough the man started twitching, slow at first, before it started to fit and his whole body moved.
He was a strong man. You weren't.
“It's okay, sir- sir!” you threw your weight against him to hold him still, wonder what you can do to stop him biting down on his tongue with the little equipment you had.
The man was mumbling to himself, thrashing violently.
“C'mon Jack, c'mon-”
It only took a wide sweep of the mans arm to send you hurtling back and crashing into the icy water.
The sky was darkening by the time Robby counted off his thirtieth patient of the day. Twenty-five of them had been from the incident at the docks. Only one he couldn't save, two sent up to the OR.
He counted the patients, counted the hours that ticked by, counted every ambulance that came by not carrying you. He'd expected you back by now, expected to have a little piece of mind with seeing you back in his eyeline.
Robby's heart was being squeezed progressively as the day went on, ever since he'd snapped and said words he never even meant.
Every second, passing from patient to patient and tearing off gloves to replace them with clean ones he checked his phone for any update from you.
Nothing.
You must have been busy down there.
But just three ambulances ago Whitaker returned saying he lost sight of you practically immediately.
So where the hell were you?
“Hey, Dana-” he called, rounding on the nurses station.
She looked as dishevelled as he felt, wisps of hair, dark circles under her eyes.
“Can you get a hold of transport, ask where the hell is my resident.”
“I just got off the phone with them, Robby-” she reached over and placed a hand on his, the one that had been tapping relentlessly. “She's on her way in now.”
Before Robby could even wonder why Dana had to hold his hand to tell him, why her eyes were glassed over and her voice trembled to tell him the doors bust open.
“Robby!” Jack yelled out.
He turned, catching sight of his old friend, the greying hair damp and sticking to his skin. He was half dressed in SWAT gear, his jacket discarded and bits of tinfoil falling from his shoulders. Jack was set over a gurney, hammering down on a chest and going in for CPR the old fashioned way.
“What happened? You fall in-”
Robby got to the other side of the gurney and breath caught in his chest.
“She's been down thirty- thirty-five minutes, I dunno, man,” said Jack as he continued hammering down on your chest.
It was you. Blue in the face and eyes closed, droplets of water at your lashes. Your hair was turning to ice fanned out underneath you. He'd been running his hand through your hair just that morning, had he not. There was a blanket, maybe two, thrown over you but your body only reacted to the thumping Jack delivered on your chest, pinching your nose to breath down your open mouth.
This morning you'd been warm, so warm, with a leg thrown over his hips in attempts to keep him in your bed. And he'd been close, so close to burying himself in your warmth.
He didn't even have to touch you to know you were cold.
“I found her- in the water- pulled her out-” gasped Jack as he continued compressions.
“What do you mean in the water?” asked Robby, surprising himself by how calm he sounded.
“She- she fell, or-or something, I dunno man-”
“You don't know?” he snapped. “Why isn't she bagged?”
“We ran out,” said the paramedic pushing you in.
“You ran out?!”
“Robby- Robby!” Dana's hands were on his chest, keeping him at bay before Robby even knew what he was going to do.
Robby shook her off. “What's open?”
“Trauma two just got cleaned up-”
He grabbed the gurney and pushed you into the room. The weight of Jack on top of you trying to save your life squeaking the wheels against the floor not long wiped from blood. Robby was aware of other voices, of people wondering if that was Jack and was it... no... it couldn't have been.
The doors closed behind a team of people all teaming in, stuttering when they saw you.
“Hook her up!” ordered Robby, ignoring any protocol of gowns and gloves. If he was going to get you back he was going to feel the beat of your heart under his palms. “Jack, move!”
Jack slowly climbed down and Robby jumped up next, quickly taking over compressions.
He remembered kissing down your chest, hiding himself there on mornings he wanted to steal away five minutes, pulling the covers up past the two of you. How he was breaking ribs to keep you alive. “Somebody get a bag on her, now!”
“She's- she's been down a long time,” said Jack, catching his breath.
Robby thumped down on your chest, kidding himself with the dull flutter of your eyelashes, knowing it was only through the force of his hammering down on you. “She's alive.”
“Jesus, Jack, you're as cold as ice,” said Dana from somewhere behind Robby.
“I'm fine,” he dismissed. “Robby, you shouldn't be working on her, brother.”
Others in the room stopped, hearing that.
It was protocol family waited outside, that if family or friends ever came in demanding help the same DNA did not attend. They were too emotionally clouded. To invested to think straight. The last time Robby found himself in this situation: blood pumping in his ears, chest tight was trying to save Jake's girlfriends life.
He'd failed.
The only person to pull him back from that was you.
There'd be nobody if you didn't pull through. He'd be left in that pedes room, never to leave.
“Robby!” Jack tried again.
“Shut up and get me some warm saline!”
“Oh, no,” said Jack, walking around till he was on the other side of your gurney. “No, I'm not going anywhere.”
Robby was still pressing his hands down on your chest when Jack reached over, past the bag they'd finally clamped over on you, and stroked back your hair.
“We're gonna get you through this,” he uttered in an oddly tender moment.
“We need to get a central line in her,” said Matteo.
Jack looked at Robby. “Brother.”
“No.”
“You have to move, we need to get a line in her.”
Robby knew that. He knew so much as a doctor, as chief attending. But he couldn't stop, he physically couldn't bring himself to.
“Robby, man, you gotta let go.”
“I can't... I can't... I can't...” he said. The only thing keeping him sane was the one, two, three, four count in his head, was the cold feeling of your flesh under his hands. “Push three milligrams of epi.”
Jack huffed in frustration, probably the only thing keeping him warm. He marched around your bed to his side. “Robby, so help me god I will drag you out of here if you don't let her go!”
“I can't!” he yelled.
It was selfish but Robby had some how convinced himself he could be selfish with you. He could hold on tighter in the mornings and let you go for the rest of the day. He could watch patients get close to you because he knew it was him who got to kiss you. He could hold back the worst parts of himself to keep you, no matter how much it tore him apart to push you away on the days he wanted to be closest.
No, Robby could never let you go.
If you ever tried to leave him, he'd hold on tighter.
Robby dropped his voice low. “I can't.”
Jack took in a slow breath, a gentle hand on Robby's bicep. “Okay. Okay. You don't have to let her go... but to save her you have to move aside.”
A monitor somewhere in the room beeped.
Slowly, Robby moved from your chest.
The people swarmed you. Someone cut into you, getting a central line in on your other side.
Robby stayed where he was, a hand holding yours tightly as if he could squeeze his own life into yours. He cried- maybe loudly- at the feel of how cold you were.
“What's her temp?” asked Jack.
“Eighty.”
Robby looked up to the monitor reading your vitals. “That's- that's too low.”
“We're getting her warmed up.”
“Get the warm saline.”
“We are.”
Robby leaned over you once the line was placed, brushing back your hair and trying desperately to ignore how cold you were. “You're not dead, you're not,” he said, low for you. Your vitals may have been saying different. “You're not dead.”
“Doctor Robby-”
“Please,” he begged with trembling lips. “Please, don't do this to me.”
A monitor sung low and dry. The classic song of a flatline.
His head jerked up.
Jack caught his stupor and pushed him from you, sending him into Dana's ready hold. “She's going into V-fib!”
Dana held Robby. Physically she wasn't strong enough to hold him back but Robby wasn't strong enough to fight against her. “Robby... Robby, c'mon, let's wait outside.”
He was shaking his head.
“Panels, charge to three hundred!” called out Jack.
Dana had just managed to push him out the doors as he shouted clear!
Through the glass Robby watched your body jerk but not respond.
“Please, please, please,” he uttered. His back hit the nurses station, his knees giving out as he slowly slid and sank to the floor.
“Okay, okay,” muttered Dana, falling with him and holding him there.
The Pitt seemed to stand still at the sight of their boss, white faced and hands trembling, brushing back his hair. Noise travelled quick, that it was you in the bed, ribs breaking from compressions, chest hurting from the shock.
Robby's hands clasped in front of him, his star of David chain clenched in his hands. “Please.... she can't do this to me, please.”
Dana tugged on his body, bringing him in closer. With her sharp gaze she pushed everyone else that dared try and get closer away. “C'mon, Robby, she's strong, you know that. And stubborn like hell, huh?”
Robby nodded along with her words, un-sure if he could believe it.
“Charge again, three hundred, let's go!” called Jack, rubbing the panels before everyone backed up. “Clear!”
There was a small beep, a pick up in the line.
“There! Resume compressions!”
“Doctor Robby!” Santos ran up, her gown like a cape around her. She slowed to a stop in front of the two slumped. “Dana. Dana, is it- is it true, is it?”
Robby looked up, tear stained cheeks red.
“Yeah, kid,” said Dana, sadly.
Santo's jaw trembled before she shook her head in resolute, saying one simple word. No. Then she stormed into the room.
Robby knew you favoured Santos and somewhere along the way Robby had come to look for her when an interesting case came in. He came to favour the way you smiled at Santos when she did things right and Robby searched for any smile he could get from you.
So, he pushed himself up on shaky legs and followed her in- back into the chaos that was your room. The blankets had slipped from your body in the shocks and he desperately tried to hold himself back from fixing them.
“Doctor Abbot-” said a nurse or a intern or someone in the room. “It's been thirty minutes.”
“Hold compressions.”
Robby knew it was to check your pulse but he winced when they paused, when your body didn't respond.
“Still asystole, resume compressions.” Jack caught Robby's gaze.
He'd seen that look on Jack's face. Had seen the hopelessness and the devastation at losing a patient not only in his face but in his own reflection. “Don't-”
Jack lowered his head. “Robby.”
“No, Jack, her temp is not up! She's cold,” he said, walking back around the room. He rolled his shoulders back, pulling on gloves. If nobody else was going to save you he would. “She is not dead! She's not- She's not dead till she's warm and dead! Push another round of epi!”
Matteo jumped at the chance.
Jack stood by Robby's side. “Just... prepare yourself, okay? She's been down a long time. She might not come back from this.”
Robby glanced back at him. “She will.”
“And even if she did-”
Robby cut him off. “She will.”
They couldn't send you up to the OR- there was nothing surgical to do. They couldn't send you to the ICU- you weren't stable. They could work on you for hours, in the pitts of hell.
Robby didn't stop Jesse from compressions but he leant over you, leaning his lips into your forehead. “You'll come back, you have to come back.”
“What's her temp?”
“We're up to eighty-eight.”
“When was our last epi?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“Push again.”
At some point Santos pushed her through the crowd, taking compressions from Jesse who she deemed weak-armed.
“Doctor Santos-” said Jack, the only one seeing this for what it was. A disaster. One more emotional person in the room wasn't going to help. If you woke you might just choke on tears from them all.
“I can do it,” she argued, nodding to the night attending. “I can do it.”
Santos was as stubborn as you. If anyone might have been able to beat her heart into beating, it would be her.
Robby leant over you. Robby could feel your skin cold against his lips and he pet back any bit of you he could reach, trying to warm you. He caught Jack's tired gaze, his lifeless stare like he was already grieving you. “I never told her I love her, Jack.”
“Get an APG,” said Santos.
Jack clasped his shoulder. “Tell her now.”
Robby looked back down to you, past the bag pushing your breath, through Santos keeping your heart beat. He kissed your forehead. “I-” he chocked on the words. He couldn't remember a time where he'd said it and meant it like he does now.
He knew Jack was giving him a way out. He knew Jack was giving him the chance to live with no regrets.
But Robby would regret not dying with you if you didn't make it.
There was a silence throughout the room, not even the beating of a monitor keeping him sane.
Robby's hot tears hit your cheeks.
“Temp?”
“Up to neinty.”
“Halt compressions.”
Santos paused.
Nothing.
Then a shrill beeping.
If Robby thought it was life he was going to be souly mistaken.
“She's in V-fib again!”
Robby backed away, tucking his head down to his chest as he watched Jack get the panels, rub the gel on.
“Charge to three hundred- clear!”
Your body jolted again, blankets slipping down your bare body and Robby suddenly wanted to cover you, wanted to pull every tube keeping you alive out and just hold you. Warm or cold. He just wanted to hold you.
“Again, charge. Clear!”
There was a silence. Maybe you were so angry at him you were proving a point by dying. You were a good swimmer. Why didn't you swim?
Everyone in the room paused, seeming to wait for someone to call it.
Jack looked at Robby.
“No,” he said, pushing past everyone.
“Robby-” interjected Jack.
He snatched the panels from Jack. “Charge again, three hundred-”
“-Robby-”
“I said charge again!”
The room was heavy as Jesse moved to do so, charging them up.
“Clear!”
Your body jerked again, violent. Your face remained peaceful, Santos remained off to the side, waiting for orders, waiting to know. Everyone else was looking to each other, silently deciding who would be the one to drag Robby away from your body.
“Wait- there!”
In the middle of them all there sat a pick up in your heart.
The room jumped into discussion about how to carry on, about how to keep the momentum going while Robby pressed his stethoscope into his ears and the other down on you. He listened, catching the beat of your heart.
“She's warm, she's warm and she's alive,” said Jack with a smile.
You were dreaming. It was a sweet sort of thing.
It was a warm body blanketing you and hands holding you. It was lips you knew pressing along you and drawing out pleasure. There were three tiny words spoken into flesh.
It was Robby, his head laid upon your chest in your bed and mumbling the words, tracing every letter over your ribs. When you reached for his hair, when you tried to say the words again you coughed up water instead. You clawed at your throat. You chocked in panic-
Then there was a beeping bringing you out of sweet dreams.
“Hey, hey. Honey? Honey, can you look at me?” a warm hand was running over your head, pushing back your hair. “Open your eyes.”
You tried to. They felt heavy. Sleep heavy.
But someone was coaxing you through it, holding your hand and brushing back your hair.
“Yeah, there we go... there we go, hey.”
The lights were bright, almost painfully so as they blared in your eyes. It took you a couple blinks to get them right but when you did there was a dark shadow looming over you, blocking out the lights.
There was the ragged pull of a beard and the slope of a well known nose.
You breathed in and smelt burnt coffee and hand sanitiser. “Robby?”
He smiled, crows feet at his eyes. “Hey, honey.”
You pushed up your arm, finding it oddly weak like it had been weighted down. You found an IV down in your arm. The white lights... the white walls and the IV all made slow sense.
“Wh-what?”
“Easy, easy.” Robby grabbed at your arms, holding you. He helped you sit up, reaching over and plumping your pillow and holding you there.
Only when you heard the monitor calming down and felt the pain lessen did Robby let you go, perching close on the bed next to you and grabbing your hand again.
“What happened?” you asked, finding your throat parched.
Robby sighed, pulling your hand into your lap. “There was an accident at the docks. You went with the responders to help. Your patient had a seizure and...”
You remembered the dock, the wind cold and the yells. You remembered Jack was there and the patient, he was seizing. “What happened to him?” you asked.
Robby stared at you, a small shake in his head as his brows pinched together.
“The seizing, the patient.”
There was a small look of disbelief, a soft smile creasing his chapped lips.
“What?”
His smile turned sharp with affection as he looked down. Your hand, engulfed in his, was pressed to his lips. He stayed like that as the scenes played in his head and the smile slowly started to fall. “You were brought in, your body temp was eighty. Jack was- was doing compressions. We- we had to shock you, so much, you don't- ” Robby sighed out a shaky breath. “You don't know what it was like.”
The dock, the bodies, Jack. The bite of cold water like a thousand daggers piercing into your skin. You had gasped for breath, limbs flailing.
It had felt like dying.
“Oh.”
You rubbed at your chest, pain blooming.
“You might be a bit burnt, from the shocks. And we were- we did compressions for a while so you broke a rib,” he said, chocking down a cry.
You squeezed his hand. “We?”
He nodded, chin tucked into his chest. His lips were pursed.
You'd seen Robby cry before, in shades of red face and clenched palms and always trying to hide it away. But you'd never seen him try to hide away as much as he was now. Your hand escaped his hold, caressing down his cheek.
“Robby.... hey....”
His lips puckered to your palm, pressing a kiss there. His palm was large as he held your hand up to his cheek.
“Hey,” you cooed.
Robby glanced up at you. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”
“It's okay.”
“No, no it's not, it's not okay,” Robby took a shaky breath and scooted closer. His arm came over you, bracing himself on the bed. “You almost died.”
You searched his eyes but only found pain and defeat. He looked tired. Really tired. “But I didn't.”
“That's not the point,” he said. He brushed back strands of your hair, kept petting it down in a way you guessed comforted him more. “Jack was doing compressions for almost an hour. Your temp was down the whole time. We shocked you four times. Four.”
Robby's voice broke.
“You almost died and the last thing we did was argue.”
You didn't know what to say to that. The words I'm sorry were already rising and like he sensed it, Robby gave a small shake of his head. “Yeah... probably wasn't the best timing.”
“We're never arguing again, you understand?”
You smirked, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You could feel the race of his pulse. “Give us a week.”
“No,” said Robby. “Never.”
Something sour tasted it your mouth.
“Because we- are we, broken up?”
“No. No. We are not,” he said sternly.
You let out a breath. “Good. Good. I'd have hated to wake up from near death to that.”
“I should have listened to you,” he uttered. “Noelle is nothing, everyone else is nothing, nobody means anything to me, only you. Only ever you. And I am never letting you go again, ever.” He kissed your hand again.
You smiled at him. “What if I need to pee?”
“You can hold my hand.”
“And on mornings where I have really bad morning breath?” you teased.
“That doesn't happen, you know that,” Robby smiled.
Without any arguments left you gave up, sinking into your sheets with a shiver.
Robby frowned. “Are you cold?” he was up at once, pulling at the covers over you and the blankets. He was all but tucking you in as you laid there, taking it.
“Robby.”
“Yeah?” he hummed.
You tugged at his arm, pulling him down.
“What are you- what are you doing?” he chuckled, lightly.
“I'm cold, you're a human furnace, hold me.”
Robby was on the verge of complaining even as you pulled him down on the bed. He grunted at the squeak of the bed, was careful of the monitors assessing you. He squeezed in, pulling the rail back up as you curled up to the side to give him space. “These beds are not made for two.”
“You'll have to get onto the attending about that,” you teased, resting your head on his shoulder.
“Yeah, first thing tomorrow.”
“Meh, I can persuade him, if you like.”
Robby smirked. “He'll do whatever you say.”
His arm slung over your shoulder and rested there, holding your body into him till your head was on his chest and you could feel the beat of his heart. It was just like you dream. Of comfort and warmth.
Robby said your name in a whisper.
You looked up at him to see his eyes screwed shut before releasing them.
“I...”
You watched the move of his lips. “Robby, you don't have to-”
“No, I want to,” he said. Robby's hand was careful as he cupped your face.
“You don't have to say it just because of what happened.”
“I'm not, believe me, I'm not,” he said. “I love you.”
It was the words you wanted to hear, the words you needed to know, the very thing to finish off your dream.
“Robby-” you interjected.
“I love you,” he smiled, grinning wide at you. “I've said it now, I don't think you'll get me to shut up.” There was fake remorse in his voice, a feigned sort of sorry.
“I can think of a few ways.”
Robby's lips were warm and giving as you puckered your up to his, kissing him slow. If you lost your breath kissing him it'd be a hell of a way to go.
Robby smiled against your lips. “That might work.”
His body half rolled onto yours, the bed creaking in protest. Only when your monitor warned of you losing breath did he pull away and check the machine.
“Get some rest, Robby, you look like you need it,” you said, kissing his cheek slow.
There was fight of protest in him that quickly gave up.
Robby looked up at you, wide eyed. “Can I stay?”
You nodded.
“I love you.”
The words he'd given you, the words he'd never forget to say. The words he'd spoken and would never take back.
rafe’s not a very respectful ex. in his defence, seeing you in that little dress triggered him. it had been a while since he’d seen you, let alone those pretty thighs, and he didn’t know how to contain himself. he had bought you that dress, after all.
rafe’s eyebrows furrow from the pool table when he sees you finding another boy at the party. so you’re wearing a dress that rafe bought you while hugging your newest boy toy. it’s almost sad, he thinks, so certain it mean you must still want him.
so, arrogantly, he walks over. “shiiit, y/n, looking good,” he smiles, his hand on your shoulder from beside you so you look over — he always taught you to keep eye contact when he spoke.
you whisper something to your date, a little explanation as to who the hell this was. rafe snaps his fingers in your face when he sees the side conversation and obvious annoyed expression on your face. “hey, hey, what’s going on, huh?”
“rafe, please stop,” you sigh.
“nah nah nah, if you, uh, if you wanna say something about me to your pathetic guy, say it to my face,” he insists, bending his knees a bit to get to your level. “say it to my fuckin face,”
he starts slapping his defined cheekbone with his hand, condescendingly reiterating his former request. “stop it,” you insist. he leans his face in closer.
“and what if i don’t?” he asks, and when you don’t provide an answer, instead just rolling your eyes, he continues. “i just wanna know what you said, baby, don’t be stubborn,”
“i said you were my stupid ex and i apologized to my date for your immaturity,” you say honestly. he stands to his full height once more
“immature?” he repeats, scoffing at the blow to his ego. “yeah, does this guy run his own business? does this guy pay for his own house in figure eight, or do his parents still take care of him? does he even know what fuckin’ aftercare is? cause i sure do, baby, you know that—“
“rafe, stop!” you raise your voice, even though this is the third time you’ve told him to stop and he hasn’t yet.
he scoffs. “no, you stop. call me immature again, dare you,” his face moves over as if he wants you to whisper in his ear.
“you are,” you repeat.
“uuhhh huh,” he nods, as if in thought. “look, i moved houses, i don’t live in tannyhill anymore. here’s my card, has my number. call me and ill send you the address tonight, i’m going home and i’m gonna insist i see you there later,”
“rafe!—“ you start, glancing at your date.
“no, don’t start. don’t say shit. see you there,” he leaves, and in return leaves you standing beside your date, watching him go.
you hate yourself for dialling his number the minute your date is out of sight. you’re in the dress he bought you, for gods sake — you’re never getting rid of him.
DESCRIPTION: After getting dragged to a party to get over your stupid ex, you meet Stan Rosado. It goes well... until said ex suddenly shows up.
WORD COUNT: 3k
WARNINGS: College!AU. Drinking. Partying. Meet cute! First kiss. Slight fake dating. Super cute fluff.
NOTES: Idk if anyone will read this, but PLEASE GANG. LOCK IN ON THE FACULTY. HE'S SO GOOD IN THAT MOVIE.
READ ON AO3! - MASTERLIST
It was her junior year of college, and Y/n did not want to go to this party. But after rotting in her room for the past month, her best friend, Esme, basically forced her to. As they walked down the street, she lingered a bit behind from the rest of their group. It’s not that she wanted to dim their sparkle or make the night all about her… But she was really struggling to try to plaster that smile.
It’d been a month since Shayne dumped her. A whole month! That should be more than enough time for her to be functional again… But the fact that it was her first time properly going out since sat heavily in her stomach. Pregaming to Fiona Apple also probably did not help her mood. Esme had to change the CD player from Sleep to Dream to some sort of R&B artist before she drank and wallowed too much.
Walking toward the apartments just off campus, she crossed her arms over herself. In a little red tank top and matching skirt, she was defenseless against the night chill. Her kitten heels clicked against the sidewalk. Esme noticed her absence and turned around. She reached her hand out.
“Don’t be sad. You look so incredibly hot.” Esme reassured.
She chuckled, “I need a cig.”
“No. Stop it. You’re sobering up from the pre-game, and we need to get you a drink. Not a cancer stick.”
She raised her brows, intrigued, “I’ll bite…”
Once in the apartment building, the girls walked down the hallway and spotted the open door at the end of the hall. With TLC blasting from it and purplish light flooding out, it was definitely the party. Their pace picked up, excited at No Scrubs playing.
She slowly walked in and was immediately somewhat grateful. It wasn’t like some other parties she had been to, where they were packed in like sardines. But it was still decently busy. The space wasn’t huge, but it worked for the amount of people. The main living room was turned into an impromptu dance floor where multiple girls danced and couples grinded. For the most part, though, people stood on the sidelines, drinking and talking. On the couch and bean bags, stoners sat smoking joints, making the place reek of weed.
When the song changed to Family Affair by Mary J. Blige, a small sense of dread filled her. Esme gasped sharply.
“IT’S MY SONG.” She shrieked.
Okay. She couldn’t help but smile for her friend, who was barely even tipsy, but still so excited. Esme grabbed her hand and tugged her along to the living room area. Esme immediately started flipping her hair and shaking her body to the beat. Y/n, meanwhile, was still a little shy. She nodded to the beat. If she had another drink in her and it wasn’t her first night out as a single woman, she’d be dancing with little to no care. Which is why Esme exclaimed-
“Oh, my god. I KNOW you can dance better than that.”
She shook her head with a shy smile before starting to move more. Pointing her hands up to the sky, she let her hips move side to side. She closed her eyes and let her hands roam up and down her body. The familiar beat felt comforting.
Esme sang along directly to her. “WE JUST WANT YA’LL TO HAVE A GOOD TIME. NO MORE DRAMA IN YOUR LIFE.”
She put her hands up in surrender, “Message received.”
“Good! Because that hot guy is staring at you.”
“What-” Her brows furrowed and followed Esme’s eyeline.
Turning around, she could see a tall figure leaning against the front of the kitchen counter. In a navy Tommy Hilfiger polo and jeans, he crossed his arms. The short sleeves were tight around his biceps, which bulged when he did so. He was cute, with a round face that tapered to a point and dark, curly hair that was difficult to discern in the party lighting.
And he was staring right at her.
Once they made eye contact, he looked away with a shy smile before taking a casual sip from his solo cup.
“Oh.” She said, turning back to Esme, “Yeah… Yeah, he’s really cute.”
Esme’s eyes widened, and her lips pursed in expectation.
“Go on. Go play.”
“Oh shut up. I’m not ready.”
Esme groaned, “Ugh. Come on, girl. It’s been a month of nothing but ice cream and Fiona Apple, and 10 Things I Hate About You. I’m saying this as your friend. BUCK. THE FUCK. UP.” She looked over again, “Oh, look, he’s making his way to the kitchen. And you know who needs drinks? You. And me!”
She turned to see the guy rounding the counter and going into the kitchen. The light of the kitchen was a normal yellow tint, so she could now make out that his hair was a dark ginger. And that he looked even more handsome in the light.
Esme’s head tilted with a shiteating grin,
“Be a dear?”
She ran her hands down her face, “FINE. Fine. I’m doing this just for you.”
As she walked away, Esme called out,
“Fuck him for me too?”
She flipped her off as she strutted over. Okay. Okay. This is fine. Totally normal. It’d been a while since she’d been a fish in the ocean. Usually, she could hide behind the comforting shield of ‘Sorry, I have a boyfriend.’ But tonight… she didn’t have that excuse. And maybe she shouldn’t try to avoid it.
Walking into the kitchen, she looked up at the guy and realized just how tall he was up close. He was busy lining the neck of his beer bottle against the counter. In an instant, he slammed the heel of his palm against the top, and the cap peeled off with a loud thud and clink. Under the music, she heard a little grunt from him that made her breath hitch.
“Hi.” She blurted out suddenly. God. She was immediately regretting this. This was already a bad start.
He noticed her, and his face lit up.
“Hi.” His voice was a little raspy. Cute.
Then she just stood there like a complete idiot. Her jaw dropped to say something, but nothing came out. Was she supposed to say something? What? ‘Come here often?’ No. No. That didn’t make any sense.
But before she could say something stupid, he spoke up again.
“I liked your dancing.” He said, walking up to her and speaking loud enough to be heard over the music.
“Thanks.”
He put his hand to his chest. “I’m Stan.”
“Y/n.”
She was failing this social interaction miserably. She should say something. Invite him to dance. Ask him how his night was going. But the wording died on her tongue at every mere thought. And she could tell he was trying to decipher her, a little confused on her starting a conversation just to speak in one-word answers.
Suddenly, he leaned down so his mouth was closer to her ear. Even though she knew it was just so she could hear him, she couldn’t help her reaction. The way her breath caught, heart pounding.
“Want a drink, sweetheart?”
The hair on the back of her neck stood up straight, and she could’ve sworn a flurry of goosebumps sent up her arms. She quickly nodded.
Stan stood up straight again. “What can I get ya? They’ve got…”
He nodded for her to follow him. They walked over to the corner of the countertops, where a display of half-empty liquor bottles sat.
“Vodka. Some sodas for mixers. Tequila.” He thumbed through the bottle tops and let out a chuckle, “Whiskey… I’m sure you don’t want that. And some beers. Coors. Heineken-”
“Can you just- pass me the vodka?” She stammered nervously.
“Yes, ma’am.”
With a smirk, he pulled out a bottle of Smirnoff and handed it over. She held it by the neck and walked in front of him to scan the soda options. He leaned his back against the counter next to her, taking a sip of his own drink.
Instinct took over as she bit the bottle lid between her teeth and poured a hefty amount of vodka into her cup. God, it had been a while since she’d gone out to party. Shayne never liked her going out. Meanwhile, Stan just raised his brows as she spat the cap out and opened the Coke liter with a hiss.
“You’re wanting a fun time tonight, huh?” Stan asked, watching her finish pouring her Vodka Coke, heavy on the vodka.
She took a sip. Yup. It was just as strong as she used to make them. She nodded.
“It’s my first time out in a long time.”
He grinned, “That’s awesome. We should celebrate.”
He tilted his beer bottle toward her, and she clinked her plastic solo cup against his with a giggle. She took another sip of her drink and took a deep breath. On her heavy exhale, she tried to let all the nervousness go away. C’mon, girl. It’s not that hard to speak to a guy. A very cute guy. But still.
“I think it’s my turn to contribute to the conversation.” She looked nervously down at her shoes before looking back up at him. “What’s your major, Stan?”
“Biology.”
Her head tilted. That wasn’t what she expected. A guy this hot and partying would normally be a business major. Especially since he was built like a jock.
“Now what made you wanna do that? Study… organisms and science.”
He chuckled and shook his head. His smile was crooked in the sweetest possible way. It was clear he was shy about it by the way he looked away every time he smiled.
“It’s a long story.” He nodded at her, “What’s your major?”
“English. I like to write.”
The conversation was so commonplace, yet he hung onto every word she said. His eyes were fully devoted to her.
“What do you write?”
“Fiction? Been working on a lot of science fiction.”
He practically choked on his drink.
Her brows furrowed, “What? What’s so funny?”
“Shit. Nothin’. Nothin. I just- I have experience that could help you.”
She was curious now. How on earth could he have experience with sci-fi? Then she realized… duh! He was a science major! That’s why… No other reason.
“Yeah! You could fact-check my work.”
Just then, she happened to look over at the group of guys who walked in. And her heart fell into her stomach. Her face completely sobered as it felt like an elephant sat on her chest. This couldn’t be happening. This literally couldn’t be happening.
Lo and behold, in the group of guys stood Shayne. He looked worse than she had last seen him. His hair was nearly buzzed, and he looked somehow more smug. More like a douchebag. Seeing him in a backwards cap and tee, she felt like an idiot for dating him in the past.
Stan noticed her freeze, and his expression grew more concerned. He tensed up when she inhaled a shaky breath.
“You okay? What’s up?”
But she barely registered it. She was too focused on Shayne walking in and noticing her. He looked just as surprised. She tried to send a telepathic message to him- GO AWAY. PRETEND YOU NEVER SAW ME. Clearly, it didn’t go through since he started to weave through people to try to get to her.
“Oh god-” She started to hyperventilate.
Shayne was getting closer and closer. The music suddenly felt too loud, and the room felt swelteringly hot. Stan looked between her and him, worry struck across his face.
“Hey, what’s going o-”
But he didn’t finish his sentence because she suddenly grabbed Stan’s cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. He let out a muffled yelp, beer splashing onto the tile. But after a moment to process, he closed his eyes and started to kiss back.
With her eyes shut tightly, she focused on the sensation of his lips against hers. He tasted like beer with the faintest hint of spearmint gum. His lips were surprisingly soft. The music faded out of her consciousness, leaving just the panting sounds of their breaths.
He quickly put the beer down on the counter and wrapped his arms around her, letting his wrists cross each other on her lower back. She crept her hand up the back of his hair and scratched at his curls. He let out a small moan at that before smashing his lips back onto hers.
After a moment that felt like eternity (not that she was complaining), she pulled back. He kept his forehead against hers.
“What was that about?” He asked, laughing slightly in disbelief.
She peered over, trying to tell if Shayne had left. And after she determined he had gone away, she stepped back.
“I’m so sorry.” She panted.
His brows furrowed, a little confused, but a sense of genuineness appeared behind his hazel eyes. He put his hand on her shoulder as her head whipped around. She was completely on edge.
“Hey. Hey. Want some fresh air?”
She nodded, and he began to lead her out; his hand strayed to her lower back. He nodded, talking more to himself than her.
“Yeah. Yeah, some air’ll do you some good.”
They walked out of the party and down the stairs to the outside of the lobby. She stepped forward toward the sidewalk. The rush of fresh air was a complete relief. A cold breeze slapped her face, and she felt much better almost immediately. She took a few big breaths before turning back to find Stan standing by the entrance, just watching her. The street lamps and entry lights lit them in the dark.
He put his hands in his pockets. “Can I ask what was up with that guy? Do I need to beat his ass?”
She laughed at that and slowly blinked. She wished she were a lot drunker for this conversation.
“I wish. But it’s not that bad.”
He carefully made his way over. She slumped down to sit on the curb and patted the asphalt next to her in defeat. Pursing his lips, he shrugged and sat down. She held her knees to her chest and looked down at the rough street below.
Guilt gnawed at her. Yes, she had wanted to kiss him, of course. But she had also… kinda used him.
“Remember when I said it’s my first night out in a long time?”
He nodded, but let her continue.
“That was my ex-boyfriend.”
“Oh…” He murmured. He looked down at his sneakers and swallowed before getting the courage to ask, “When did you guys break up?”
Her shoulders hiked up anxiously, “A little over a month ago?”
“That’s… That’s not too bad.” He tried to reassure, “How long were you together?”
Her eyes started to tear up. More out of embarrassment rather than actual breakup pain.
“It’s so stupid. It wasn’t even that long. Six months? He’s just a complete douchebag…”
“Yeah. I gathered that from the backwards hat.” He joked so sincerely.
She laughed again and was able to keep the tears at bay.
“He cheated on me. Which is funny because he never wanted me to go out and party because he was so scared that I’d cheat on him.”
He put his arms on his knees. “So I definitely should go beat his ass.”
“Nah. I had it coming. I was totally naive.”
“Don’t say that. You didn’t deserve that.”
There was silence between them. The music above was muffled but could be heard from the floors below. She wouldn’t be surprised if the party got busted. Crickets chirped as the street lamps buzzed, creating a nighttime symphony.
She finally got herself to say,
“So… I’m really sorry for kissing you like that. I-I mean, I should’ve at least asked you.”
He shrugged.
“I would’ve said yes.”
She looked over to find that he had been looking at her the whole time. Admiring her. Even when she wasn’t exactly being fun and smiley and the life of the party. She actually felt like a bunch of broken pieces. A complete mess. But he looked at her like she was completely worth the time.
He leaned back on his hands. “Hey. It’s not so bad. I got to kiss a pretty girl. Save her from her douchebag ex. Even if it didn’t mean anything to her, the karma outweighs it, I think-”
“Wait, wait, wait-” She found herself speaking before thinking, “It wasn’t nothing. I-”
She swallowed. Her tongue involuntarily clicked against the roof of her mouth as she tried to think this through. Until she suddenly shot up. Looking down at him, she threw her hand out.
“I want to start over.”
His eyes sparkled under the street lamps as he looked up at her. His mouth dropped slightly in surprise before it slowly melted into a smile. He took her hand and shook it as he stood up.
She took a nervous breath.
“Hi. I’m Y/n. I was dragged to this party by my friend because I got dumped a month ago and haven’t gone out in nearly a year.”
He squeezed her hand.
“Hi, Y/n. I’m Stan, a complete doofus who feels real lucky talking to a girl like you.”
Their nervous smiles sparked a few giggles as they stopped shaking hands. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, adrenaline pumping. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.
“Well… Stan… You’re really cute. Would it be crazy to say that I want to kiss you? For the first time ever and totally not the second?”
He strutted up as if he had been waiting the whole time. His calloused hands landed on the divot of her waist and hips.
“Stole the words from my mouth.” He murmured before leaning down to press his lips against hers.
This time, she completely relaxed into it. Her arms wrapped around his neck. When he pulled her against him, she let her body completely fold. Her back arched as he splayed his hand against her upper back. She let out a little noise, and it seemed to spur him on more.
In between kisses, he managed to get out, “Date? Tomorrow? Is that too fast?”
She chuckled and nodded.
“I’d love to.” And she shook her head, “No. It’s not too fast. I’m more than ready.”
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