Texting Jack once the alcohol really starts to hit during bottomless brunch. Can’t decide if it’s better if you’re in Pittsburgh or on vacation in NYC somewhere??
Not at all based on what I’m currently doing in NYC.
Part two to the omegaverse Rabbot w Carter as their son (you’re gonna need to read the first one before this)
Before Jack knows what’s happening, Carter bends over and throws up on his own shoes. Instinctually, Jack leans forward and massages his own shaking hand along his back. “Are you okay?”
Carter nods, but he’s trembling too violently for Jack to believe him. “I need to call my mom.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up first,” Jack says. He ignores his aching knees and lands on the concrete to take Carter's shoes off for him, then leaves them on the curb. Jack places his hands on Carter’s shoulders and guides him to the bathroom.
"Thank you," Carter mumbles. "I could've done that."
Jack shakes his head. "I wanted to." Would've been nice to do it when Carter was five, but he'll take what he can get.
Carter rinses his mouth out in the sink and stares at Jack through the mirror. "When were— You and my mom, what..."
"Uh..." Jack scratches the back of his head. He laughs even though nothing about this is funny. "We met our last year of pre-med, courted for most of med school, and right before we graduated, he ended things."
Carter gives a small, shaky nod. "That adds up." He curls over the sink. "Oh, my God," he sounds like he might throw up again. Jack's hands retake their place on his pup's back. His pup.
"It's okay," Jack says. "Everything is going to be okay."
Wild, red-rimmed eyes meet his own. "I am going to kill my mom."
"I'd prefer if you didn't."
"You should want to kill him," Carter stresses. "I've told him about you. And I know for a fact he's looked on the hospital website; he's seen your photo. Fuck." He whips out his phone, but before he can make the call, Jack grabs his wrist.
"Not here," he says. "We should be somewhere more private."
Carter releases a heavy sigh but agrees. "My roommate isn't working today."
Heart pounding in his chest, Jack offers, "You could... come to my place."
They end up standing awkwardly in the entrance of Jack's home. He's now realizing how unwelcoming his house is; no photos on the walls, minimal decor, at least it's clean.
"This is neat," Carter says. He's being excruciatingly polite because Jack is sure the signed helmet his buddies gave him when he was discharged is of no interest to him. Still, telling Carter a bit about his military time fills the silence for a while, so he takes it.
To his surprise, Carter is genuinely enthralled. "That's awesome," he says. "I'm hoping to join Doctors Without Borders one day; maybe you can give me some tips on combat medicine before I go."
Absolutely not. Jack just got his pup; no way in hell is he sending him to get his own leg blown off. It must show on his face because Carter rolls his eyes.
"You're taking that as well as Mom did."
“Maybe wait until after your residency before thinking about that.”
Another eye roll. “Sure.” He sighs. “I’m calling him.”
“You should eat first,” Jack says. “It’s been a long day; you don’t want to have this conversation angry.” After decades of praying he’d run into Robby, now Jack feels sick at the thought of talking to him.
“Fine,” Carter says. “But I’m still going to be angry.”
Watching Carter eat the dinner he made gives Jack a foolish swell of satisfaction. He cleans his plate and thanks Jack softly; it takes a lot of strength to suppress the urge to kiss the top of his head or reach out for Carter at all. He’s so wonderful. Jack’s perfect pup.
Of course he’s perfect, Jack thinks; he’s Robby’s.
Jack is broken out of his daze when Carter’s phone begins ringing loudly. Before he can say that this isn’t a conversation to be had on speaker, the beautiful rasp that’s haunted Jack’s memories for nearly three decades sings through the house.
“Hi, baby. How was work?”
Jack’s mouth waters at the sound. He doesn’t know if he’s going to be sick, cry, or attempt to jump through the phone.
“Big day, Mom. Very big day.”
“Yeah? How so?”
“Well, first, guess who I’m sitting with.” He holds the phone out to Jack, who gapes like an idiot.
“Uh…” his breath stutters. “Hi— uh, hi, Robby. How have you been?”
Jack isn’t certain what an appropriate conversation starter is when speaking over the phone to an ex who gave him a pup he didn’t know about until an hour ago, but he grimaces at his faux-casual tone.
A long silence stretches between them.
“John,” Robby says, finally. “Take me off speaker. Now.”
Their pup huffs, but does as he’s told. Jack twiddles his thumbs and pretends not to listen to the half of the conversation he’s privy to. Instead, he focuses on the low, unintelligible hum of Robby’s voice.
After a few minutes, Carter holds the phone out. “He wants to talk to you.”
Jack takes it with quivering fingers. “Hello?”
There’s a shallow curse through the phone, then, “Hi, Jack. Long time, no see.”
Hearing Robby’s voice, hearing the man he’s always dreamed of as his mate, say his name again brings tears to Jack’s eyes. “It’s really you.”
“That it is,” Robby sighs. “I’m sorry this is how we’re meeting again.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Jack says immediately.
“Sorry is the least I should be,” Robby mutters. He takes a deep breath. “So… what do you think of our pup?”
Jack can’t help but laugh. He wipes his cheeks roughly as the tears trickle down. “He’s perfect. Robby, he’s the best thing in the whole world; you should see him at work.” From the corner of his eye, Jack sees Carter’s posture straighten. “You did so good.”
“He just looks like me,” Robby says. “His personality is all you.”
“No. Everything I loved about you is in there.”
A sharp sob breaks through the phone, and Jack wishes so badly he could reach through the screen and hold Robby like no time has passed at all.
“I’m so sorry, Jack,” he cries. “I thought I made the right choice at the time; I really did.”
“What did I do?” Jack asks between tears. Poor Carter is pretending to be interested in the spice rack to avoid his newly found father’s sobbing. “What made you think I wouldn’t want him?”
“Nothing,” Robby sniffs. “I knew you would. I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left. I found out two weeks after, and it—“ He chokes on his own breath. “It felt too late to come home by then,” he croaks.
The tears burn Jack’s face. “It wasn’t.” He glances at his pup, who has moved on to inspecting his cereal options. “It’s still not.”
“Jack—“
“Could we meet in person?” Jack’s leg bounces anxiously. “I’ll pay for your ticket and a hotel if you’d be willing to.”
“I can afford it myself,” Robby says.
“No, I know.” Jack’s cheeks burn. “I, well, I just—“
“You never let me pay for anything,” Robby teases. “My alpha: the perfect provider.”
Jack’s heart stops when Robby calls him his alpha. He doesn’t care that it’s a joke; since the moment he saw him in the dining hall all those years ago, Jack has been nothing but Robby’s. “Please let me.”
There’s another beat of silence, filled by Jack’s heartbeat thrumming in his ears, then Robby says, “Thank you, but I’ll pay for it.”
Jack deflates. Maybe Robby has mated in the years since Carter’s graduation, or he’s being courted now, and his current alpha will snap at Jack to back off. “Okay.”
“I’ll book a flight and text John the details.” He sighs again. “I really am sorry, Jack.”
“Don’t be,” Jack says again. “I’m handing you back to Carter, uh, John.”
John says his goodbyes and shifts from foot to foot, picking at the hem of his scrubs. “So, should we play catch or something?”
Jack smiles, raw and exhausted. “We can do whatever you want.”
He shuffles on his feet a little longer, then shyly extends his arms toward Jack. Despite his old, tired knees, Jack launches himself up and wraps his pup tight against his chest. He fits perfectly.
Jack slams to a halt the second he sees him. It’s not possible. He’s snapped. He’s hallucinating. No matter what he thinks he’s seeing, there’s no way in hell a twenty-something Michael Robinavitch is standing in front of him.
The pup is damn near identical to the mate Jack never had. His alpha wants to grab him and drag him away, get on his knees and apologize for giving up on them so easily. He shouldn’t have let Robby end their courtship without a fight, but he was so heartbroken his brain wouldn’t work and his perfect omega was out the door before Jack could even begin to wonder what he’d done wrong.
“Dr. Abbot,” the department head says. Jack hadn’t even noticed her, all his attention was wrapped in the ghost standing in front of him. “This is Dr. Carter. He’s one of our MS4s.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jack rasps. He shakes the ghost’s hand, they’re softer than Robby’s ever were, but that warm smile is exactly like he remembers.
“Nice to meet you too,” Carter says. “You know, it’s funny, my—“ The doors of the ambulance bay spring open and shouting overwhelms whatever he says.
“I’m sorry?” Jack needs to sit down, but there’s never a chance here.
Carter waves him off. “Not important.” He heads off to the trauma and Jack follows foolishly behind.
Every time Carter is on Jack’s shift he spends the whole time staring at him, wondering if he actually is his Mikey’s pup. He must be, the odds of someone else having a pup that looks exactly like him down to the crinkle by his eyes when he smiles are slim to none. Jack imagines what Robby would look like now. Stunningly beautiful, he’s certain. Those lines Jack loved would be permanently etched on his face, and he bets his thin waist has fattened sweetly with age. Jack would give anything to have seen him pregnant.
When they were courting, Jack would curl behind Robby and rub his palm over his stomach, picturing how it would feel when it expanded to grow their pup. Now, he lays in bed alone between shifts and tries not to vomit at the thought of some other alpha getting that instead.
He does the math on Carter’s age and pinches the bridge of his nose to stop himself from crying. How soon after their courtship did Robby get pupped? Was there some other alpha waiting for him while Jack thought they were planning a life together? Or worse, had already taken Robby while he was still Jack’s?
Pathetic as it is, he can’t stop the tears. Fifty years old, spending his day off sobbing in bed over an omega that had forgotten about him when their lives were still intertwined.
As gruesome as it is to see Carter happily bouncing around the ED, Jack won’t deny that he appreciates the small distraction from his pity party. He often eavesdrops on Carter’s chatting in the hopes of hearing something definitive about his mother.
One day, he overhears Carter mention that his first name is John, which is salt in the wound, but it gives Jack enough to google him like a creep without risking his coworkers finding him digging into their student’s private life.
John Carter is an unfortunately popular name, but after an hour of searching, Jack finds an Instagram account under jcartera. Carter doesn’t post very much, but there is one photo that takes Jack’s breath away.
Michael Robinavitch, twenty-five years older than the last time Jack saw him, hugging his pup tightly as they celebrate Carter’s graduation. He’s even more gorgeous than Jack imagined. His eyes shine proudly, and his smile is just as hypnotic as Jack remembered.
He clicks the photo for a closer look, and takes it in like oxygen. His eyes dart to Robby’s neck; he can’t see a bite. What idiot wouldn’t mate Robby?
Jack scrolls to the next photo and it’s as if a knife is driven into his heart. Robby looks almost exactly how Jack remembers him, the only difference is the bit of weight remaining around his jawline, and baby Carter snug against his chest.
A heavy weight slams into Jack. He wishes so badly he could’ve been the alpha that gave Robby that smile; that they could’ve had a pup and treasured them together.
Or even Carter. He’s such a wonderful young man, Jack would’ve been happy to claim him regardless of who his actual father was. He was always so weak for Robby; Jack would’ve raised any pup of his if for nothing else than to keep his dream omega in his life.
Jack goes back to the graduation photo. There’s an account tagged on Robby’s shoulder, m.robby; Jack gnaws his bottom lip and considers if this is a bridge to far, but figures he’s already past inappropriate.
Robby’s account is even emptier than Carter’s. He’s posted the same graduation picture, and a photo of a sunset with no caption. Jack sighs and goes back to Carter’s account. He stares at the two photos and imagines a whole different life.
He sees that life every time Carter’s name is mentioned for the next month. The first break he gets from the taunting fantasy comes after hours of working on the victims of a six car pile up.
Jack is taking his first real breath since the trauma was called in, sitting alone on a bench outside the ambulance bay, when Carter comes out, cheeks red and hair sticking to his forehead.
“Oh, hi, Dr. Abbot,” he smiles. Jack wonders if Carter got his ability to bounce back from his father because Robby had a nasty habit of taking every lost patient to heart.
“Hey, Carter. How you holding up?”
“Been better.” He takes the spot next to Jack. “I’m really glad that girl pulled through. She had me scared.”
“You and me both.”
Carter hums. “Maybe it’s an Abbot thing.”
Jack’s eyebrows furrow.
“I’m making a joke,” Carter laughs. “Because we have the same last name.”
All the air evaporates from Jack’s lungs. “What?”
“Just, because we were thinking the same thing and both our last names are Abbot.” Carter shrugs. “It’s stupid. There’s a reason I’m a doctor and not a comedian.”
Jack blinks, hard and heavy. “I thought your last name was Carter.”
He shakes his head. “No, Carter’s my middle name. I went by it in school, and when I continued for this rotation to avoid confusion after I found out there was already a Dr. Abbot.” He frowns. Good God, he is the absolute spit of Robby. “I thought you knew.”
“No,” Jack says, breathless.
“I told you on my first day.”
Jack’s head is spinning. “I’d definitely remember that if you did.”
Carter, Abbot, John Carter Abbot, looks at him strangely before brightening. “Oh, yeah! The trauma came in and I forgot. Huh. Doesn’t matter, I guess.”
It does matter. It matters more than anything in the world. “Your name is John Abbot,” Jack says stupidly.
“Yeah?”
“My name is John Abbot.”
Carter’s frown returns. “But… I swear I’ve heard the other attendings call you Jack?”
“That— yeah. That’s the name I’ve gone by since childhood,” he laughs shallowly. He could wake up in a padded cell at any moment. “I’m named after my uncle, so I got called Jack to avoid confusion.”
“Oh.” Carter stares at his feet. “I’m named after my dad…”
Jack grabs the back of the bench to avoid giving himself a concussion when he inevitably passes out.
Carter at him with wide, somewhat frightened, eyes. “Do you… um, did you know a Michael Robinavitch?”
“Yes,” Jack whispers. His grip on the bench tightens.
All the color in Carter’s face drains. “How well?”
“Extremely.”
A far away glaze covers Carter’s eyes, he looks as dizzy as Jack feels. “Jesus Christ.”
You meet Jack before Robby does: he takes you home from a bar and fucks you clear into the next level of heaven, but you're not looking for anything serious right now so you kiss him goodbye and wish him the best
You're both so damn surprised to see each other almost a year later when Robby wants to introduce his partner and his kid.
You slide into the habit of fucking when Robby's on shift, and Jack thinks it's wrong because he's engaged to your father and you're terrified of blowing up your father's first good relationship in a decade and you really really do love your father.
But you can't just stop. Hell, Jack finds you in your long gown on the day of the wedding and eats you out on his knees in a back room during the reception
when Robby catches you-- he was always going to-- you're both expecting him to say something, or immediately ask for a divorce, or turn and run
But:
He leans against the door frame to watch. "Go on," he says, and you don't know what to do so you just... do it, awkward as it is at first. But Robby knows his husband, can give you pointers for how to touch him, and he you get back into the rhythm as he compliments Jack on his technique. You fall back into the rythym easy enough and you surprise yourself when you come.
Robby asks to finish Jack off, and you nod but when you try to go he tells you to stay. You sit add watch from the edge of the bed as he takes Jack into his mouth and moans as he tastes you
(Robby is immediately scheming to get you in a less round about way)
Oh fuck me. Hurt/comfort because I feel like it’s necessary. Also with Robby finally getting a taste of his girl, because it’s what we all deserve. Jack is one lucky son of a bitch that’s for sure
“M’sorry, daddy.” You sniffle, climbing onto Robby’s lap and burying your face into his neck. You feel so bad, so guilty as a sob wracks your body. Robby holds you close, large hands running up and down your sides slowly. “I’m a horrible daughter! I’m just the worst!”
“That’s not true, baby.” He coos, swiping your tears away with his thumbs as a fresh wail leaves you. You love your dad more than anything, you would do anything for him. Sleeping with his very new husband multiple times is enough to shun you forever, yet for some reason Robby doesn’t seem to be angry at all. “You’re a sweet girl. Just so young, don’t know what’s good for you.”
“Michael-“ Jack cuts himself off, face twisting in discomfort, clearing his throat weakly as he fiddles with his wedding ring. “I don’t-“
“It’s fine.” Robby grumbles, for what feels like the millionth time. He doesn’t mind your constant apologies, but Jack’s are starting to agitate him. “I get it. I’ve got a real beautiful girl, don’t I?”
“Yes.” Jack breathes, watching as his husbands hands slide from your sides to cup your ass, licking his lips as you snuggle deeper into his touch. “A very beautiful girl.”
Robby doesn’t speak, just stares at Jack as his starts to squeeze and grope the fat of your ass lightly. Relishing in the whiny whimpers you let out as you roll your hips against him, always so eager. Jack can’t help himself as he grins crookedly, “Jealous that I got her first?”
“She’s my daughter.” Robby sneers, tugging you closer to him and letting out a low exhale when you give kitten licks to his neck. You squeal when Jack grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs. “Fine. Maybe I’m a little jealous.”
“I’m sorry, dad!” You sniffle again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and nosing at his beard. “Please don’t be mad at daddy, it’s not his fault!”
It very much is, Jack has initiated every single time he had the chance to. All three of you know this, but you still feel the need to defend him. To appease them both. Robby inhales sharply, pressing a kiss to Jack’s palm before giving you one on your cheek as well. “I’m not mad, don’t think I could ever stay mad at the two of you.”
Jack leans in for a kiss, Robby reciprocates with a shuddering whine. Jack kisses you next, sloppy and wet just because he likes the way your lips redden. Then he’s grabbing you both by the back of the necks, forcing you to kiss your father as he practically purrs, “That’s it… that’s what I like to see…”
summary: after another long shift of pretending you both don’t feel the way you do, robby takes you back to his place for some much needed comfort behind closed doors
tags: established and secret relationship, age gap, fluff, smut with plot and feelings, dry humping, p in v, unprotected sex, gentle sex, brief mention of the time it takes for robby to get it up but it’s nbd (he’s 50..ish, like c’mon), slight cumplay, pet names, praise, rainy autumn coziness — 18+ ONLY! MDNI
note: guys….. it’s so bad for me. i miss this old man so much. and need him even worse. and i hate summer so ofc i couldn’t help but write about him in the season i long for in this unbearable heat and humidity 🍂 cross-posted on ao3 ✶
Exhausted doesn’t even begin to cover the way you feel after a long shift. Bleary eyes, blinking heavy and slow as you try to focus on the screen to finish up your charting before you finally get to go home.
The sun set hours ago; not like you get the pleasure of seeing, or even enjoying, many sunsets these days with how busy it’s been in the ED. With breaks being such a rare occurrence, you’re even more grateful for another day coming to an end.
You inhale a deep breath, rubbing a hand over your eyes and down your face as you exhale, trying to will them, and your brain, to work despite their stubborn uncooperativeness.
“You did good today.”
That voice, low and all too familiar, reaches your ears and it’s restorative, perking you up just enough that you turn your head towards it, unable to resist the draw of the resonance. His hand settles steady on your shoulder, warm and reassuring with a soft squeeze and a smile to match.
Robby’s ready to leave himself, with that backpack slung over his shoulder and his nearly empty travel mug in hand, wearing that brown jacket you’ve grown entirely too attached to. It’s the one he’s set atop your shoulders when you were cold while he walked you home, and the one you buried your face in when he gave you a hug after your first difficult shift. The smell of that same cologne he’s worn for decades still clings to the inner lining.
He looks worn out too but he carries it better than you do, in your eyes at least. The greys in his beard are more prominent in this light along with the crinkles by his eyes, and his gaze is a bit softer. From feeling just as weary as you, maybe. But maybe it’s just because he’s looking at you.
You shake your head, a slight movement of disagreement as you gaze back towards the monitor, clicking the mouse with your chin in your palm.
“Doesn’t feel like enough,” you murmur, a bit of dejection hanging on each word.
“Never does.”
He gives one last squeeze to your shoulder, letting his thumb rub a soothing but fleeting pattern, before he inevitably takes his hand away and you’re left with the lingering warmth that fades all too quickly. Of course even tired and during shift change he’s aware of all the eyes, not wanting to risk anyone picking up on his softened demeanor with you.
And you understand. It still makes something ache in your chest just that little bit, but enough to ignore and hide away from him, anyway.
There’s a few moments of silence between you, though it’s filled with the hum of nurses and doctors, machines beeping and the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead, that they’ve all blended together after hours of hearing it in the back of your mind. Until he leans in just that little bit closer, feeling his eyes still observing you as they often do, with his hip against the desk. His hand adjusts the strap on his shoulder so it doesn’t slip when he bends over just low and indiscernibly enough to be discreet about his next words.
“You wanna come over tonight?” He asks it quietly so that nobody not paying attention would hear it, a secret just for the two of you like things have always been.
It’s not actually a question though, and you know it isn’t. Sure, he frames it as such, but you know better. You two have been doing this for too long and you recognize that tone in his voice, making it seem like he’s giving you the choice when, really, he’s telling you: ‘Come home with me. You need it. Don’t fight me on it.’
It’s like your entire body breathes out a solaced and resounding ‘yes’, your belly doing that annoying little fluttery thing it does when you think about getting to sleep beside him.
You wish you had the backbone to at least try and resist, to put up some sort of front as if you’re contemplating long and hard about it just to make him feel an ounce of what he makes you feel.
But you don’t have the energy for that. Not tonight. Not ever, really.
“Two minutes?” You ask in a murmur, tilting back your head to gaze up at him, your heart feeling like it’s being pulled towards him when your eyes meet his.
He glances down at his watch, the worn band of it slightly frayed at the end as he hums.
“Thirty seconds and coffee’s on me tomorrow.”
You exhale a breath through your nose, fighting back a grin before you turn your attention right back to the screen.
By the time you’re done and signed off, you’re sure you have time to spare. But Robby gives you a little half smile and a tut, his hand dropping back to his side.
As if he would actually let you buy your own coffee, though.
You walk side by side towards the exit, his arm brushing against yours not-so-subtly, although you’d be the last person to complain about such an indulgent comfort. And the silence between you isn’t unpleasant, it rarely ever is. It’s a mutual understanding, having gone through the same twelve hours and knowing neither one of you can stand the small talk even on a good day.
By the time you get to his parked motorcycle you’ve already grown tired of being on your feet again, having gotten a small respite while sat at the computer but, walking the short distance lets the soreness really settle in. It’s bone deep, eliciting a slight pout of discomfort with every formidable step you take.
You want so badly to just lean into him and close your eyes, put your weight on him to feel lighter somehow. And, fortunately, it’s within reach when he swings his leg over the seat and hands you his helmet without even thinking twice, like it’s second-nature.
The first time you got on his bike you’d side-eyed him about his lack of protection, but he insisted he’d get another one and in the meantime it’d be on your head instead of his. “Precious cargo,” he’d said, with a smile that was both charming and vexing.
He has yet to actually get another one, though.
But you’re too tired to lecture him about it tonight, knowing he’d just brush it off like he usually does with a shrug and a not-so-convincing assurance. So you just get on the seat behind him with a drawn out exhale, scooting closer to him while sliding the helmet onto your head.
Instant relief fills your body when you finally get off your feet and press your chest against the broad expanse of his back, the consoling warmth of him permeating through your clothes.
Finally.
The engine roars to life, rumbling under you as your hands find their home against his abdomen, your fingers clutching onto his jacket securely before he starts driving you both to his place.
The wind this time of year bites at the peeks of your exposed skin as it whips around you, causing you to shiver just enough for him to take notice when you cling to him.
It’s starting to get colder, with leaves of yellow and orange hues fluttering through the night air from the trees they’ve fallen, littering the pavement and sidewalks he drives past. They fly up and around from the speed you’re moving, a dance that puts even more ease into your body as you admire the scenery.
Pittsburgh is beautiful this time of year, you’ve always thought so, even at night. And despite the chill in the air you can’t help but smile to yourself, just a little, at getting to see the leaves change even if you only get glimpses when the street lights shine just right.
When he gets to a red light Robby sits up a little straighter and pulls off his coat, shrugging it off of his shoulders and handing it to you without even so much as sparing a glance towards you. You’ve got a sweater of your own, and a soft protest at the tip of your tongue. But he already knows it’s coming.
“Don’t need your teeth chattering against my back,” he teases, but there’s also a tenderness there that nearly does all the work of warming you up that his jacket would. But you pull it on anyway, not bothering to hold back a smile this time as it brings relief almost instantly.
“Thank you,” you say, soft and as sweet as can be, letting you get a glimpse of Robby’s own little grin as he keeps his eyes forward.
He then gives your thigh a soothing rub, both a silent praise and consoling gesture that you’re not immune to no matter how hard you’ve tried to be otherwise. You’ve given up feigning it by now, your faint trembling quelled and now waining. And you can’t help but lean into it, nudging your leg just a fraction forward against his palm for the few seconds it lasts before the light turns green again.
The heat from his body is what keeps you grounded, able to endure it for the remainder of the ride, snuggling up that much closer to him as if you’re trying to become one with him somehow.
The autumn air is crisp and clean, and incredibly restorative after having the aroma of hand sanitizer and blood in your nostrils for hours on end. You breathe in deeply, letting yourself revel in it with the sounds of the city fading away.
That is, until you feel a single droplet of cold water land upon your knee, and then a few more on your shoulders and arms, until it quickly devolves into a downpour that falls in sheets around you. It has the potential to soak through your clothes entirely if not for how quickly he pulls up to his condo, parking the bike and cutting the engine as quickly as he can for your sake.
It’s icy and you’re shivering, but you can’t help the giggles of newfound adrenaline that come up from your chest when he takes your hand in his and you both rush to get inside, pulling off the helmet while hastily ascending the steps, the rain dampening your hair.
Your laughter dies down as you get the front door shut, dripping lightly onto his doormat as you use your hands to wipe the moisture from your skin. The entry way illuminates in a warm incandescent glow when Robby turns on the lamp and drops his keys onto the side table, both of you catching your breath.
“Ah, m’sorry honey,” he sighs as his hands find your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks and forehead, unable to stifle a soft chuckle himself at the state of you. There’s so much affection in it that it nearly makes your knees weak. As if he had to apologize for something so incidental, and call you ‘honey’ while doing it. Hearing the ease in which it leaves his mouth never fails to make your whole body come alive.
There’s a caring regard in his gaze as he catches the tremble in your limbs before you can assure him you’re alright.
“C’mon, let’s get you in somethin’ warm.”
You’re no stranger to borrowing Robby’s clothes, but that doesn’t mean you’ve gotten used to it just yet. Every time you get to put on one of his shirts or hoodies it fills you with a depth of repose, feeling connected to him in some way when you get to smell the faint scent of his laundry detergent and that lingering cologne that’s laced through every single thread of each garment, stubbornly still there through every wash.
You don’t even have to say it for him to know your feelings. He sees it on your face when your fingertips fiddle with the bottom hem of the pullover sweatshirt he’s lent you, the insignia of his alma mater across your chest. A little bashful, gently biting at the inside of your lip while you stand there before him in his bedroom.
It’s cozy and clean, an air of sophistication about the simple but refined decor that’s just so him. When you first stayed the night it was hard to not feel a little out of place, much nicer than your own apartment, but also you were uncertain of just how far this would actually go with him, and what work would be like after. But now it’s like a second home. Even if some of that nervous energy that was coursing through your veins then is still present, even now.
The rain continues falling outside, the white noise of it filling the quiet as he takes in the sight of you for a moment. He exhales a breath through his nose as his shoulders relax in that way they always do when it’s just the two of you like this. It’s like he can finally bask in the stillness, not concerned about the two of you getting caught and he’s able to just breathe.
“Are you hungry?” he asks as he finally averts his gaze, like it’s taking him effort to do so, while he takes off his watch and sets it on the right side night stand - the side he sleeps on when you’re spending the night.
“Don’t have much,” he never does, “but can whip somethin’ up… or order something.”
The offer is thoughtful. He’s thoughtful. But in all honesty, the only thing you crave is being near him while the distant rumble of thunder echoes across the city and through the window panes, and the rain cascades down onto the streets below, and you’re wrapped up in his clothes, his sheets- in him, completely.
When he looks at you again he can tell what your answer is without you even verbalizing it. It’s in how you hold yourself: slightly swaying in your stance, how you breathe slower with every inhale and exhale in your chest, how your half-lidded gaze holds both fatigue and contentment. He’s never had to question if you want to be here with him or not, and you don’t know just how thankful he is for that.
“Alright, well, ‘still got your toothbrush in the bathroom,” he says with a faint smirk as he turns down the bed, pulling the fluffy duvet aside.
He doesn’t try to admonish you for not taking him up on his offer, or try to get you to open up about your day. You love that about him- that he knows when to push it, and when to just be there. You two are the same in that way.
And maybe somewhere deep down in this moment you realize you love so much more about him than that—a list so long it would sound ridiculous to lay it all out without even giving him some sort of warning. You decide to push it all aside for the time being, giving him a small but grateful smile before heading to brush your teeth.
You swear to yourself that the conversation will happen eventually.
If you ever get the nerve, that is.
By the time you’re done he’s got most of the lights shut off, the front door locked, and the bed ready for you. It almost feels like it’s calling to you, the softness beckoning you, promising you safety and relief from the frigid air hitting your bare legs. Just a few more minutes and the heater will fully warm up the room but you don’t waste time waiting for that as you climb into the bed right beside him like you’re meant to be there.
At first he’s gazing down at his phone, probably checking his email or your schedule for the next week, knowing him, with the light illuminating his face and the faint reflection showing in the lenses of his reading glasses. You only get a moment to admire the sight before he locks it and sets it off to the bedside when the mattress dips under your weight, because why would he pay attention to anything else but you right now?
He takes off his glasses too with a satisfied exhale, seeing you look so comfy in his sweatshirt, in his bed. It’s a muscle relaxant like no other.
“You okay?” It’s not meant to be a question that delves deeper than the surface- just him checking in on you, making sure you’re comfortable and ready to put this arduous day behind you. With him. He asks it with his arm slightly outstretched to make room for you, inviting you to cuddle up to him.
It’s nice, what you both have; to be able to fall into each other, lean on one another when the rest of the world feels too loud and too much.
What started as fooling around just to take the edge off has turned into something else entirely. Domestic, and calm. Serious, maybe. But neither of you are ready to actually put a label on this, wanting to just exist in it for a little longer as what it is.
A few flashes of lightning illuminate the walls for only a few brief seconds as you hum quietly and nod. You normally would find your place at his side to snuggle up to him and close your eyes, eventually falling asleep in his embrace. But tonight, as fatigued as you are, you also need his attention that you’ve grown pretty reliant on.
You never blamed him for the busy days. When he can’t make time to check in on you, or steal a few moments with his lips against your neck pressed against the bathroom wall before you inevitably have to go right back to work so you don’t raise suspicion. Sometimes he’s all over the ED, and the only time you even get to talk to him is over a patient.
So when you straddle his lap, moving your hands slowly up his bare skin, exhaling a soft little breath at the feel of his chest hair under your palms? Robby just falls into it with familiar ease and lets his large hands rub listlessly along your thighs, those knowing eyes peering into yours.
“Hate to see you take that off,” he croons, his voice low and gravelly with a faint upturn of his lips. Despite his illusory reluctance he has no issue with you needing him, something more. His hands move up under the sweatshirt concealing your body from his gaze to caress your sides, pulling you as close as he can get you to finally press a kiss to your mouth.
You both sigh into it, your muscles going lax at the immediate alleviation you feel. It’s the one thing that you’d needed all day, gone without and nearly gone through withdrawals over after only getting a few glimpses of him throughout the day, only a few spoken words. But Robby’s the same way. Ever since you started this thing he’s slowly become dependent on your time together, needing it just as badly, if not more.
In the beginning when he started to think too much about it he considered ending it. He’d be lost in his thoughts, rubbing a hand over the back of his head and neck, telling himself you deserve someone better, someone your own age. But then it was like you were conscious of his state of mind somehow, and you appeared in his line of sight… and all that rationale completely melted away.
There’s no way he can let you go now. And maybe he’s selfish for it, but he can’t bring himself to actually care when he’s got his hands on you.
His hands span up your back, laying flat and mindlessly caressing any bit of you he can just to be able to feel you while your hands move up the nape of his neck. You part your lips with no hesitance to let him slip his tongue inside, eliciting a muffled little moan from your throat when the muscle glides against yours.
The way he kisses you isn’t like anybody else has kissed you. He’s got decades of experience, sure, but he’s spent so much time with you like this and he’s adept, having caught on and observed what gets you all pliant and eager that by now its as easy as breathing.
It should frustrate you how effortlessly he can read you sometimes, and it does in other contexts, but when it’s just the two of you like this it’s cathartic to know you can put that kind of trust in him. To let every bit of stress or worry go to the back of your mind until you lose sight of it all, and let the only thing that matters come into focus: Robby.
His lips only part from yours when he’s pushing up the soft fabric and pulling it off your body, letting it fall to the side to really feel you in the way he wants. His large hands move up your chest, only skimming over your breasts briefly before taking your face in them to guide you back into more languid kisses. It’s almost lazy, no rush, just wanting to taste you and get you completely out of your head and in the moment with him.
And it doesn’t take any time at all. It never does.
“S’this what you need?” he rasps against your mouth, messily trailing his lips down your jaw, towards your neck, his beard grazing deliciously against your skin and making your fingers tighten their grip. His moan in response against your neck goes right through you, down between your legs, the ever growing ache made even more elevated with such little effort.
“Robby…” You gasp his name melodically, your head falling back and your eyes closing, arching into him as he kisses the newly exposed skin of your throat. Your hips grind down against his, not bothering to be coy even though you couldn’t really control it if you tried.
“M’right here, honey,” he assures you, but he’s also teasing you a little, feeling the faint upturn of his lips against you when he gives your skin another kiss with a light sweep of his tongue. The tone of his voice makes you squirm, breathing out a ragged exhale as you tilt your head right back down upon his. You need to lean on him when his hands guide your hips in a more coordinated way, aiding you into firmer grinds.
“Don’t gotta think at all… I’ll do it for you.”
You breathe out a stunted whimper, the sound from your mouth morphing into a dulcet moan when he spreads your legs a little more so you can really feel his bulge through your panties. Slowly growing in firmness, and warm, sending a shiver down to your clit that’s only gotten more sensitive from the escalating stimulation.
Another resonant boom of thunder bellows, reverberating through the windows and the walls, letting you feel it faintly through your bones when it travels through the bed frame.
“Oh, my girl deserves to be taken care of, isn’t that right?” he continues, murmuring the words low in between kisses. His breaths are more controlled than yours as he keeps up the slow assistance, rocking you against his clothed dick with precision you just wouldn’t be capable of without his help right now. You’re too needy for it, unable to be patient on your own. He knows that.
Your heart nearly soars when he calls you his girl, too. It’s the one of the closest things you’ve gotten to some semblance of confirmation that this isn’t something entirely casual. Although you hardly even need it when he calls you such sweet names.
The only time he ever actually uses your full name is at work. But in the walls of his condo? You’re always his girl.
“Did so good today… Doin’ so good for me now…” his tongue swipes over your skin again, “Always so good.”
The praise elicits a gasping whimper from your parted lips to the edge of his ear, clinging to him all the more. Your clit throbs against him, blood thrumming and rushing through your veins and filling your cheeks. Your abdomen grazes his, so soft and yielding against yours with every rut of your hips that it’s nearly your undoing. The friction is both relieving and torturous—just enough to keep you on edge, but nowhere near enough to get you over it.
But that’s because Robby isn’t trying to get you to come, not yet at least. He wants to draw it out a little longer, make you feel that pleasure for as long as he can, really and truly believing you deserve it after the day you’ve had. His goal is to relax you, get you to release all that lingering tension that still clings stubbornly to your muscles. And going slow means it’ll give him plenty of time to get hard for you, to get you nice and ready for him by the time he’s ready for you.
He lets his teeth graze against your neck before trailing his mouth lower, his lips lovingly pressing to your collarbone, your shoulder. His breath fanning over your skin gets you to arch just that little bit more with your fingers gliding through the short tresses of his hair.
It feels too good to think straight, so lost in every single sensation as you writhe helplessly in his lap. Your soft moans fill the air between you, gasping for the oxygen your lungs just can’t seem to get enough of as his hands get a firmer hold on your waist. Back and forth, over and over, letting him feel the growing dampness in your panties seep through the cotton of his sweatpants.
“Easy… s’okay, you got it, honey.” The encouraging lilt to his voice only further aids you, fully enraptured as you start to move your hips in the rhythm he’s set for you.
Even at work you’re a great student, one of his favorites and one of the brightest. You’ve always taken direction well, and of course it made its way into your relationship with him, along with in the bedroom. All it takes is some light coaxing and you listen.
Your hips move with your newfound clarity, undulating with his hands still guiding you, keeping you present and fully in this moment with him. His head dips lower until his mouth finds your chest, his tongue laving over your nipple before taking it between his lips. The gentle suction makes your eyes flutter closed and your head falls to rest against his, with your brows furrowed and your own lips parted in a silent whine.
The position makes it all feel even more intimate. The closeness of being in his lap and in each other’s arms as he steers you closer and closer to that pinnacle verges on overwhelming.
Your feelings for him have only grown and intensified in the months you’ve spent with him. He was once just your mentor, your attending. Now he’s the man you let yourself lean on when the days are hard to bear alone, letting yourself find stability in his hands, and comfort in his voice.
There’s no one single word that really encapsulates what he is to you- what you are to each other. All you know is it’s fervent, and impassioned, and you wouldn’t know what to do if you ever lost this.
The rainfall and wind grow more turbulent just outside, inundating the panes of glass, pelting down on the city. It very nearly mirrors the ever mounting pleasure inside you.
Your movements grow more needy, chasing that euphoria that builds inside you with every single grind. He picks up on it, so attentive, and cradles your body to switch the position and lay you back on the bed to do the rest of the work himself.
You let out a quiet whimper but you’re grateful for it as soon as he grinds his hips down against yours more thoroughly, the firm friction getting your thighs to part to give him more access. Your head gently lolls back against the pillows, but you still keep your eyes on him now above you.
“That’s it… Keep lookin’ at me, just like that.” The sigh he lets out is one of satisfied pride, getting to watch how you open up for him from this angle and have full control over the pace.
He gets even more determined, his eyes taking in every inch of you with palms splayed over your hips, going down your thighs, using his fingers to pull your panties taut to get a better view of just how soaked through they are. It’s obscene. Saliva pools under his tongue, his adam’s apple bobbing from swallowing down his own moans from coming up from his throat.
“Oh, I know you’re close now,” he rasps with the faintest scrunch of his brows, his jaw clenched for a brief moment with the effort it’s taking him to not just rip that measly piece of fabric from your body right here and now.
“C’mon… C’mon, honey, let it all go for me. You deserve it.” His pace quickens just that little bit more, growing more insistent and emphatic, urging you with every roll of his hips and unyielding squeeze of your waist.
With Robby leaning his forehead gently against yours, breathing with you with words of slightly strained praise, the band snaps inside you and it hits you in a wave that washes right through you, down to your toes. Your hips rut just so, helplessly from faint aftershocks. He curses under his breath at the wet heat he feels through his sweatpants, every nerve alight.
Your whole body warms at the elation that tingles down your spine, blissed out with soft moans as he kisses up your chest and your throat with such affectionate praise falling from his lips.
You’re laid back with limbs that feel weightless, your insides thrumming from the intensity of something so intimate and carnal as you just let your eyes stay unfocused for a few seconds without any attempt to help them. All while Robby breathes heavily against your skin, so turned on and hard just from getting to witness such a sight right before his very eyes.
He tugs down his sweatpants and boxer briefs restlessly, his gaze never leaving your pliable body as he gets right back between your spread thighs like he’s sliding home. He manages to still be careful with you while sliding your damp panties off too, despite his own prevalent desire.
He uses his fingers to gingerly prod at your puffy folds, gliding delicately, mindful of your sensitivity. But he still elicits a broken whine from you that he soothes with soft assurances, “shh, shh, it’s alright, so pretty f’me,” while he pumps his cock with the lubricant of you, groaning a pathetic sound that you feel in your entire body.
He takes a second to get his bearings, his eyes squeezed shut with a rough exhale, acclimating before his attention’s right back on you.
“You still with me?” He doesn’t bother attempting to suppress his affinity with you when he ducks his head to try and meet your dazed eyes, his eyebrows slightly raised in fondness. Not that he ever really could hide it very well, even around others.
God, his forehead creases and crows feet in this light nearly do you in, a reminder of his maturity over your own. You exhale a breath that doesn’t bring very much relief when your eyes focus and meet his gaze, a small smile of your own that he shares.
“Always.” The single word comes out quiet, just for him, giving him an uninhibited nod while your hands find their way back to him. You reach for the nape of his neck to pull him closer, feeling the way his forehead falls against yours, yielding to you- to control.
He closes his eyes once more, just for a moment, like he’s trying to take it all in. Then his hips move forward in one slow movement, the thick tip of his cock sliding through your slick arousal. You inhale a quick, sudden breath at the sensation but he’s receptive to you, and his nose brushes against yours to soothe you before he finally presses inside.
He kisses you to muffle the moan that comes right up from your throat, so wanton and overwrought with sensitivity. But you melt right into it as your fingers grip his hair, tugging just a modicum as if it’s somehow going to aid in a reprieve. The action earns you a low sound of approval from Robby though, before his tongue glides past your lips and into your obliging mouth.
The first time you two had sex it was all hands and mouths; months of pent up desire with no outlet satisfying enough for either of you that when you finally got your hands on each other… you left marks.
It was hot and torrid, having given him scratches down his back while he gave you hickeys and soreness. The next morning he’d felt apologetic about it, massaging and kissing your thighs with eyes that held a humility despite you finding it gratifying after the fact.
Eventually he grew more comfortable with letting out his stress on you, not needing to be so gentle when he found that you actually rather enjoyed it. Needing an outlet after a double shift, dealing with the fucked up healthcare system and patients he couldn’t save- it all piled on his shoulders more and more. Relieving even just a fraction of the weight he always carries, while also being railed through the mattress, was something you’d do happily.
But, tonight’s not that.
Tonight isn’t him fucking you with stress and frustration that needs to be quelled. He’s fucking you with unhurried intention, with deep strokes that reach depths in you no one else has come close to, eliciting noises out of you that you weren’t even aware you could make before him. It’s way beyond having sex, but the name feels premature to let yourself even think.
When he finally pulls his mouth back you complain with a whimper, lifting your head in an adorable yet feeble attempt to follow him for more. He hums at that, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. His hand presses your hip to the mattress to keep you where he wants you, and try as you might to rut up and meet his thrusts, he keeps you pinned with a gentle insistence.
“That feel good? Hmm?” He murmurs against your cheek, leaving messy kisses as he trails his mouth back down toward your neck, withholding what you yearn for.
“Fuck, it— y-yes…” You gasp it, teetering off into another debauched moan when your hands move down to his shoulders, his back. You feel the muscles contract, gripping tight with your jaw slack, long past the point of keeping your sounds of pleasure subdued.
“Always so good,” you whine, breathy and soft, your fingertips pressing into his skin just that little bit more.
“Yeah, I know… God I know, honey.” He rasps out the words before he licks at your neck, feeling that faint beat of your pulse under your flesh.
“Lose my mind every time I’m inside you… Feel so perfect takin’ me.” His groan is guttural and low, barely finishing the words before he hooks your thigh up and around his hip to reach an even deeper angle.
You swear you see stars.
“Missed you so fuckin’ much today,” he grunts between kisses, breathing ragged when your walls flutter around him so sweetly, another resounding rumble of thunder joining in the sounds of you.
“Barely even saw you- your pretty face… Hated it.” His pace stays constant despite himself, still taking his time and making you feel every inch of his cock dragging against your walls. He pulls out just until his thick tip is barely inside, just to hear the needy complaint from your lips and bear witness to the sight of your entrance pulsing around him, before thrusting in completely once more. Over and over. Committed and unwavering.
“Bet she missed me too, huh?”
The rush that moves through you nearly takes your breath away. Referring to your pussy as ‘she’ twists something tight inside you. Your walls clench down on his cock with a sound so high strung that his hand grips your hip stiffly, on the verge of bruising for only a moment until his hand loosens with his own groan of ecstasy.
All you can do is give a little nod, and more pitiful whimpers, before burying your face in his shoulder while heat permeates your cheeks, progressing down your chest. You wrap your other leg around him, one hand in his hair while the other holds onto his back like your life depends on it.
You think about begging. It’s too much, yet not enough, and all you want is more. Not even just for him to go faster, or deeper, or harder, or to put you through the mattress until you’re crying. It’s so much more than that. So much more intense.
You want all of him. Every single part.
Every heedless, headstrong word he’s said out of frustration that he’s taken right back when he’s had time to regain his composure. Every gentle caress of your face when it’s just the two of you in the break room, risking it for just one single moment to console and comfort you. Every look of pride when you help a patient, getting them stable with his hand squeezing your shoulder in silent veneration. Every slow morning with his sleepy grumbles and his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in closer. Every scoff when you make a joke that he pretends isn’t funny, only to poorly hide his smile over the rim of his coffee mug. Every lecture he’s given you when he knows you’re better than your hard days, seeing so much potential in you that you didn’t quite yet see in yourself.
Every second of every day of every month you’ve spent in that hospital; learning from him, growing into your own… falling for him.
“Please…” The word slips out of your mouth like you’re saying it both to him and to yourself, your thoughts. It all washes over you at once, overwhelming and all consuming, barely able to handle the emotions of the realization hitting you so completely.
That’s the thing with keeping it all pushed down, is that it all comes rushing to the surface eventually.
“What d’you need, honey? Talk t’me.” The gentleness in his voice makes it all worse, or better. He brings his thumb down between you and gives your puffy clit the attention it so desperately needs and you mewl, nearly wailing in desperation at having to spell it out when he should just feel it and know.
And maybe he does. Maybe he has, for a lot longer than you’ve even realized.
Your lips drag against his collarbone, messy and uncoordinated, letting him fuck you like you’re his and he’s yours. Because you are, and he is.
“More… Oh, f-fuck— more, just…” Your voice comes out desperate and wanting against his skin, the pleasure coiling inside you with a heat you can’t possibly bear for much longer. It’s coming on so rapidly, so sudden.
But it isn’t sudden, not when you really let yourself think about it. The feeling’s always been there; at the back of your mind, suppressed for the sake of your job, uncertain of how Robby feels in return and too scared of losing this to ever question it.
But deep down… you’ve always known how you felt about him. It just took you a bit of time to catch up to it, to have it break down that wall you spent so much effort in putting up. And it’s enough to bring annoying tears to your eyes that you can’t seem to just will away anymore.
“Harder… please, harder…”
“Oh, I’ve got you, baby,” he promises, exhaling like he was just waiting for you to utter the words, before kissing your neck like it’s a sacred act in and of itself.
“I’ve always got you.”
You don’t last much longer, not when all the sensations and your emotions are heightened with want, need, desire, lust, love.
It hits you so hard you feel it all through you. Your body’s humming a song of his name, warm and euphoric as your walls tighten around him in drawn out pulses. Your gasping whines and cries fall upon his shoulder, eyes clenched tightly, nails digging into his skin like part of you is afraid this might all just be some dream.
It coaxes him to come just as hard, spilling inside you with deeper thrusts, breathing harshly against your throat. His own low whimpers get hastily stifled against your mouth, kissing you so firm and messy it makes a few tears finally fall.
Your hearing’s slightly muffled, ears ringing for only a few moments until his head finally drops to your chest in a huff. Both of you are so worn out you just lay there with each other, silent save for your panting and the white noise of the downpour that’s still ever present.
Your fingers run mindlessly through his hair, needing the repetition of the movement to bring you back to yourself, self soothing as you sniffle and keep your eyes on the ceiling. Focused on the softness while he breathes against your skin, nuzzling his face into your chest before pressing his lips to each of your breasts, then your sternum, slowly migrating up to your neck, then your jaw.
His thumbs brush away the trails of tears that fell down your temples, so delicate under your eyes as he looks at you with such tender regard.
“Ah, honey… You alright?” There’s a quiet reverence in how he asks it, not necessarily overly concerned but aware that it obviously affected you this time. You don’t normally get emotional like this.
Your heart feels constricted by the question, in turn giving him a small nod before leaning into his touch and letting your lips graze his palm, his wrist. You exhale, breathing through your nose and closing your eyes as you attempt to wade through the thoughts in your mind. There’s so many it’s like they’re all up to your knees like water, making it difficult to really answer.
But is it time to have that conversation? To broach the subject of what you’re both doing, prying into his psyche to see what Robby himself is thinking and feeling, attempting to put a label on this? When, in reality, things are good between you two. Stable. Comfortable. You’re basically dating without calling it that, anyway. Do you have to ask?
He’s sweet to you, and patient. You know deep down he wouldn’t have an adverse reaction, but the fear of it all imploding still sits right at the forefront of your mind regardless.
Before you, Robby wasn’t a relationship guy, not really. A few here and there but when you met him he didn’t really do commitment, six to eight weeks was usually the cutoff. But you’ve been sleeping with him for much longer than that.
And in that time it took only one month to get him to keep your toothbrush in his bathroom, and two to keep the coffee you like stocked in his kitchen, and three to have a drawer in his dresser just for you so you don’t have to go back to your place to change before a shift.
He’s thoughtful and caring, silently doing all these things for you, to make it all easier. If he really only saw this as temporary, would he go through all that effort?
You can’t bring yourself to say any of it aloud, not just yet. You will, though. Eventually.
When the moment feels right, when you’re both fully clothed and haven’t shared a hard day, when you’re both rested and the morning light streams in through his kitchen window, when he’s sitting across from you drinking his coffee on the rare occurrence you two share a day off, when he looks at you with that domesticity that fills your heart as you take a bite of your breakfast—that’s when you’ll tell him.
You’ll lay it all out for him, not feeling even an ounce of uncertainty, wearing that pullover sweatshirt of his and a tranquil smile. And the tops of his ears will flush a faint pink, the corners of his lips will upturn only slightly before he tells you to move in with him like it’s the most casual thing in the world- the natural next step he’s wanted to ask of you for weeks, having already obtained a key for you.
It’ll all work out, and you’ll look back on these moments of reservation with a fond roll of your eyes, wondering how long you’d been clueless to his considerable affection for you.
But until then…
Your voice is quiet against his skin, with your tired eyes looking up into his once more, a contentment in your soul as you smile, blissful and sweet.
"that time of the month" "monthly visitor" "feminine hygiene products" GRRAH!!! SHUT UP SHUT UP!!! PERIOD!! MENSTRUATION!!!! TAMPONS!!! PADS!! MENOPAUSE!!!!!!!!!!!
thinking about sitting on jack abbot’s thigh, lazily rolling your hips and leaning into his chest, just enough for stimulation but not enough to actually get anywhere.
jack’s wearing his dumb cargo pants, his work phone shoved in the pocket you’re currently sitting on. you learn rather quickly that jack (the old man he is) has his phone set to vibrate. you also learn that someone is very intent on getting a hold of him.
jack realizes his phone is trapped under you, undulating and grinding into the new sensation. grins when he discovers, yes, you are wanton enough to treat his vibrating phone like a pseudo sex toy, grinding harder every time a call or text comes through.
“i should probably get that.” he murmurs, not actually making any effort to dislodge you from his thigh. you just double down, arms around his neck, pussy directly on his dumb cargo pants that you hate so much, clit catching on the rough fabric and the corner of his phone, chasing the periodic vibrations.
“gonna let me get that baby?” he teases, grabbing your hips to lift you up. you retaliate by sinking your teeth into his shoulder, fighting his grip to get your wet cunt back on his thigh.
“oh, she’s feral today,” he comments, smacking your ass once in response to the bite - jack knows it’s gonna leave a mark.
you don’t even react, focused on wiggling your way back down onto his thigh and phone, which is still vibrating through his pants. you were so close, and jack is being so mean, making you hover over the embarrassingly large wet spot you left behind.
“you’re gonna water log my phone,” jack notes, following your eyes to the wet patch. “gonna have to stick it in rice after this. how am i gonna explain to IT that my work phone is broken? tell them it’s because i have a very demanding little girl at home with the world’s wettest cunt? and that she sat on my phone like a little slut, using the vibrations to get off?” jack paused, grinning at the long whine you made, embarrassed and turned on by the idea, hips still wiggling. “is that what i’m gonna have to tell them?”
you don’t respond, mainly because you’re not sure if you can form words at this point, and finally win the war against his grip to drop back down to his thigh, cunt once again pressed hard onto the cargo pocket. you immediately start humping, only further proving jack’s point. you don’t care - you’re so close.
jack leans forward, stubble brushing your ear as he growls, “maybe i should make you tell them. call them and apologize for ruining my phone with your wet, selfish cunt. what do you think about that?”
you come - embarrassingly hard, hips stuttering against him as you continue to soak his pants, vaguely aware that jack is cooing and encouraging you as you do so.
“atta girl, so easy for me. coming just from a few calls and texts from robby,” jack rubs your back, letting you collapse into his shoulder, bright with embarrassment and exhaustion.
after a couple of minutes, jack works his hand into his pocket, slowly removing his phone, making a point to wipe the sheen off on his shirt before checking it.
“hm. lucky girl. robby said they got a hold of shen,”jack tips your chin up so you look at him, stupid smirk on his face, “he apologizes for all the calls.”
Robby who's crying during sex, begging you to make a baby with him. "Please, sweetheart, please. I've spent so long—" His hips stutter and he hisses a sharp breath. "Without a mother until you. There's other things I want and you're the only one—the only one who can give them to me. Fucking please."
His tears are dripping onto your breasts & clavicle. His eyes are bloodshot. His lip is trembling. His chin is wobbling. He's clutching helplessly at the pillow your head rests upon, pleading with his eyes for you to say yes.
Finally, you curl your fingers in his unkempt beard and pull his lips back down to your own. Taking that as a form of silent agreement, he reaches between his legs and peels the condom off before sinking back inside of you.
When The Dead Come Calling: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader
AN: Very loosely inspired by Beyond the Black by Hilary Mantel.
Summary: Those ghosts that haunt Robby? They aren't just figurative.
The ghost will not stop screaming.
It’s really starting to piss Robby off as he stands in Trauma One, listening to it screech obscenities into his ear.
You didn’t try hard enough.
You could have saved me.
Why the fuck did you stop.
He doesn’t turn his head to look at it, he doesn’t even acknowledge it. He just stands there with his hands clasped in front of him as he observes the moment of not-so-silence with the other members of his team who tried to save twenty-year-old Samantha Robbins who fell off an overpass because she was trying to film the latest trend of doing dumbshit on Tiktok.
The sobbing starts, her hand reaching out, fingers raking over his hoodie, sinking through his flesh. It sends a chill coursing through his nervous system, like the haemoglobin in his blood has turned into ice and is now pumping through his veins. He clenches his jaw as pleas emit from her mangled features.
Shock me again.
Please, I don’t want to die.
But it’s too late. Her soul is standing right beside him, watching their moment of quiet respect. If he could, he’d thrust her back into her body, give her another round but that’s not how it works.
Christ this is it, isn’t it…
I’ll never get married, never get to have kids, I haven’t even found my signature scent yet…
“That sounds like unfinished business to me.” Myrna pipes up from beside him, her wrist still handcuffed to the wheelchair she died in.
Ironically… it’s not PTMC’s wheelchair. It’s one from another hospital, where the staff didn’t give enough of a shit about the woman in the gold coat to realise she was dead for twelve hours.
Apparently, she’s meant to be his new spirit guide, since the other one retired because he was ‘too old for this shit.’
I’m too old for this shit, he’d felt like saying. Too tired, too worn down, too exhausted from three years of this bullshit.
Myrna angles the wheelchair towards the new ghost, gripping her sleeve to pull her aside because she doesn’t want to deal with the ulna that’s clearly bursting out of her flesh from the fall.
Despite his griping Myrna is actually pretty good at this. She’s taken it upon herself to wrangle any ghost that gives Robby too much shit, laying down the law and giving them the downlow on their new set of circumstances. However, when she’s bored… she’s a bonified menace especially now that no one else can see her.
Usually, souls transition almost immediately when someone passes away but sometimes, they get stuck because there’s something left unsaid or unfinished. Most times it’s saying goodbye to a loved one, that’s easy to take care of but others…
It’s dumb fucking shit like Samantha’s unfinished business, which is why he ends up spending an hour in The Perfume Bar after his shift asking the woman behind the desk to spray the air with every scent known to man from Guilty by Gucci to Chance by Chanel.
“Sir.” The assistant says, squirting J’Adore by Dior into the air. “I really hope this isn’t some kind of fetish, and you’re just wasting my time getting your jollies off-”
“I fucking wish.” Robby responds, his eyes rolling towards the Samantha who is trying to rearrange her long dark hair over her caved in skull so you won’t notice the brains that are seeping out. Myrna lingers beside her, her phone in hand as she keeps a list of all the scents they’ve tried because every fucking perfume name sounds exactly the same to him. “Any luck?”
“I like that one.” Samantha tells him pointing at the bottle that’s shaped like high heel shoe. “Good Girl by Carolina Herrera.”
“So, the first one we tried.” He sighs, tilting his head towards the assistant who’s looking at him like he’s batshit crazy. He doesn’t blame her, he’d think he was crazy too, asking her to spray all sorts of perfume and talking to thin air. “I don’t suppose you could just spritz a little in that direction.”
The assistant looks like she’ll do anything to make him go away so she picks up the bottle, spraying it in the space alongside him. A white light starts to form around Samantha, framing the outline of her ghost as she looks up at him, her skin starting to knit back together, her bones rearranging themselves to where they’re meant to be. “Am I…”
He nods his head and she smiles, fading out into nothing,
“Are you going to buy it?” The assistant asks, shaking the perfume bottle from side to side. “Or are you just going to make me stand here all night spraying it?”
“I’ll come back another time.” He tells her, pushing away from the counter and heading towards the door.
He hears her mutter “weird fucking asshole” as he steps out onto the street.
You don’t know the half of it, he thinks, sniffing his coat.
He smells like a whore’s boudoir or so Myrna tells him as she wheels herself alongside him. The sky is darkening now, the colors from the sunset bleeding into darkness as the streetlamps flitter on. He feels Myrna’s tug on his hoodie, slowing his step as he tips his head down to meet her gaze. “I’m gonna head off, go find some mischief to get into at Club LaLa, you gonna be ok tonight?”
She’s talking about the panic attacks he gets, the nightmares about people with half their faces missing, following him around. “Got my new sleep meds. I’ll be fine.” He waves her off.
“Maybe you should try something else.” She jerks her chin to the only store that’s still open on this block.
Light emits from a neon purple circular sign in the window, a moon and stars in the centre. ‘Psychic and Tarot Open’ written underneath. His eyes rise to the wooden plaque overhead. By day it masquerades as curios & antiquities store and by night, he guesses it’s this.
“You may get some answers in there.” Myrna prompts.
“Not sure what else I need to know.” Robby tells her, his palm scrubbing across his beard. It needs a trim, but he simply hasn’t had the energy with all the comings and goings lately. “I had a motorcycle accident while I was on sabbatical and now I see dead people.”
Robby starts to walk away as she disappears, heading towards his bike. He pauses as he picks up his helmet, glancing back at the sign.
Talking to someone like him… it might be interesting, might be nice to compare war stories if they’re the real deal.
But that’s the issue isn’t it, finding out if the ‘psychic’ in that shop is in fact the real deal.
He sighs as he sets down his helmet.
He guesses there’s only one way to find out.
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oh my goddess I love this 👀👀👀👀👀👀🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 and of course myrna died at another hospital but decides to spend the afterlife the same way as she was alive - by annoying robby 😂😂😂😂😂🙌🙌🙌
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