I’m going to be clear: the Malvinas are Argentine.
This isn’t an empty slogan or something that belongs to one political side. It is a historical reality, rooted in the country’s formation and sustained over time.
Argentina inherited the islands from Spain under the principle of uti possidetis iuris, and in its early years as a state it exercised effective sovereignty by appointing authorities, establishing settlements, and administering the territory. The British occupation in 1833 was not legitimate or consensual. It involved the expulsion of Argentine authorities and population already living there.
Since then, the claim has never stopped. It has been a consistent state policy across governments and generations. Reducing the Malvinas issue to a right wing cause is not only simplistic, it is historically wrong. This is a broad, popular claim that cuts across political traditions and includes Indigenous communities who used the islands long before the modern conflict.
There is also something that often gets ignored or deliberately overlooked. The material interests behind the occupation.
The islands are not just symbolic. They are a strategic point in the South Atlantic. Their control allows the United Kingdom to project military power, oversee maritime routes and control resources that belong to Argentina.
Right now, that occupation enables the United Kingdom to grant fishing licenses in waters that are part of the Argentine sea, affecting native species and ecosystems. It also allows for the exploration and exploitation of hydrocarbons on the continental shelf. This is not just about land. It is about economic, energy and food sovereignty.
There is another key dimension. Antarctica.
Control over the South Atlantic is tied to influence in Antarctica. The British presence in the islands strengthens its position in relation to that continent, while for Argentina, sovereignty over the islands is tied to projecting its claim over its Antarctic sector.
Argentina has maintained a presence in Antarctica since before the Antarctic Treaty. This is part of a long historical continuity.
The "argument" about the self determination of the current islanders does not stand on its own. The population was established by the occupying power after expelling the previous one. In colonial contexts, that principle has limits.
This is not about denying current identities. It is about understanding how those identities were formed.
If that is ignored, then any occupation becomes acceptable as long as enough time passes.
Malvinas is not just memory. It is sovereignty, resources and geopolitics.
But, Why am I writing all of this? Because I have been reading takes that expose a deep hypocrisy.
Takes from English speaking users who call themselves leftist and anti imperialist, some even with a Palestinian flag in their bio, yet defend British occupation of the Malvinas.
That is not a small contradiction. It is a double standard.
I do not want that kind of presence in my space. I am not interested in people who claim moral authority while applying their principles selectively. Harsh toward peripheral countries, soft toward the powers they belong to.
If you think the Malvinas are British, this is not your space.
If you think Argentina is the imperialist actor in this context, this is not your space.
If you criticize countries like mine with standards you would never apply to your own, this is not your space.
If you are willing to listen, to question those inconsistencies and to step outside that comfortable worldview, then yes.
These times just show how ignorant first world leftists will be, no matter what. English and Americans genuinely believe every small nation has to be under rule of a state, wether it is their own or another, as they say, the colonial mindset will never leave the coloniser.
You don't like argentinian football players? Fair enough.
It seems that you don't like it when an anti-colonialist discourse comes from a Latin American country?
And if you're the one who is falling for this propaganda and claim to be woke, investigate more. LOOK at the actual people who are angry today, and you are aligning with them??
You choose to believe stupid propaganda running wild saying that Argentina is "bad" so anything that happens to them it's ok (what a childish way to think if that's how you perceive the world) so they want to treat us like ignorant "sudacas" when we want to tell OUR history right.
Some first world citizens believe they're so woke they want Argentina kicked out for a sign that reclaims stolen land and the fact that Thatcher killed thousands of argentinian young men to further her political career.
"Las malvinas son argentinas" is not an insult as english want to believe (that says more about them). It is how we remember our young soldiers who were sent to war with no military experience whatsoever (by the dictatorship government of the 70s) y son argentinas.
if you think that Argentina is racist, you are ignorant.
If you think that Argentina is cheating and stealing the 2022 World Cup, you are ignorant.
If you think that Argentina is Latino America Israel, you are worse than ignorant.
If you think that Javier Milei represents the Argentine people, you are ignorant.
If you think you know more about Argentina history than Argentinos themselves, you’re stupid.
If you hate Argentina for “wokes” reasons and supported Egypt, England and soon Spain, you are not woke, you are an ignorant hater.
It is more honest and woke simply to say that you feel more comfortable supporting another team that is not Argentina because it is x player, I like the national team, etc. Instead of lying about Argentina and its population.
If you have fallen into the hate propaganda of Argentina, you are a xenophobic.
And if you think that for two stupid twitters all Argentinos (approximately 46 million.) consider ourselves Europeans or directly non-Latinos, you are worse than stupid and ignorant.
If you really want to know what Argentina is, you can ask an true Argentino or visit Argentina instead of getting carried away by Twitter speculations.
If football isn't political, why prohibit ppl from bringing flags with the malvinas in them? The island is and will always be under our jurisdiction, in our ocean, in our continent.
If you're so "woke" and want argentina to lose beacause you think it's a racist country, why do you side with england and spain? They colonized our country and many others in our continent in the past, trying to erase native people from history repeatedly
If you think argentina is misogynistic and homophobic, why do you side with egypt? Where being part of the lgbtq comunity is ilegal and misogyny is pushed culturally as the norm, while us argentinians have and defend our rights to practice and express our gender identity and sexuality freely with the same opportunities as anyone else
If you think argentina isn't a part of latin america, why would you rather side with europe? They won't provide you free healthcare and education, we are the ones receiving you into our country with open arms, with the same rights our people have. We were the ones to fight with and for other south american countries, helping them regain their independence
If football isn't political, why is it only used as a tool to spread propaganda and further isolate us while our land is being occupied by a genocidal country? Oh, i know the answer to that one
Heeey! Can you do a JJ x Reader where the Reader is actually a kook who ran away and is living on the Pogue side
They find out they’re expecting, and JJ goe into absolute overdrive mode like he’s stealing baby supplies from the Island Club and trying to build a nursery in an old shipwreck
It’s chaotic and stressful but secretly really sweet because he’s so determined to be a better dad than Luke ma shayla
✦ THE SHORELINE CRADLE
“Reader and JJ are expecting, and JJ is determined to do everything to be nothing like his dad.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
𓍢ִ໋🌹͙֒ JJ Maybank x Reader ┊ fluff/comfort┊ 0.7k words
The rain hit the tin roof of the Chateau in a steady, drum-like rhythm, but inside, the only sound was JJ pacing back and forth across the creaking floorboards.
When you had first left Figure Eight behind, choosing a cramped room on the Cut over the cold perfection of your parents' estate, you thought you knew what chaos felt like. But nothing in your life had prepared you for the look on JJ Maybank’s face the moment you showed him the positive test.
It hadn't been anger or panic. It had been an immediate, intense focus that shifted his entire universe in a fraction of a second.
"Okay," JJ muttered to himself for the fifth time that morning, running a hand through his messy hair as he shuffled through a pile of stolen items on the porch. "Okay, we need a plan. A master plan."
"JJ," you said softly, leaning against the doorframe, watching him attempt to organize three boxes of high-end organic baby wipes, a pink velvet blanket, and a brass coat rack he had somehow dragged from the Island Club's storage room. "You can't just take stuff from the club. If my dad sees you—"
"Your dad isn't finding out about anything," JJ interrupted, turning around with wide, resolute eyes. He grabbed your shoulders, gentle as always, though his hands were trembling slightly. "I'm handling it. I swear to you, I've got this. You aren't going back to Figure Eight, and this kid isn't going to lack a single thing."
You looked down at the pile. "Where did you even get a brass coat rack?"
"It looked expensive!" JJ insisted defensively, before his shoulders dropped a fraction. "Look, the Chateau is too loud. John B is always around, Pope's going to hyperventilate about safety codes, and Big John's ghost is probably hanging around somewhere. We need our own place."
Before you could ask what he meant, he grabbed your hand and led you down to the marsh.
Tucked away in the creek, half-buried in the mud and overgrown with vines, sat the rusted hull of an abandoned wooden fishing boat. It had been sitting there since Hurricane Agatha, forgotten by everyone on the island—except JJ.
Inside the sheltered deck, he had already begun working. Swept clean of salt and leaves, the small cabin was lined with mismatched lanterns, stacks of stolen plush towels from the country club, and a makeshift crib he had clearly spent all night hammering together out of salvaged driftwood. It was uneven, slightly crooked, but built with every ounce of care he possessed.
You stood in the entrance, speechlessly taking in the sight of it.
"I know it's not a house in Figure Eight," JJ said quietly from behind you, his voice losing its frantic edge, suddenly sounding raw and vulnerable. He stared at the floorboards, pulling nervously at the hem of his shirt. "I know it's just an old boat. But... I'm going to make it safe. I'll sand down every single edge so there are no splinters. I'll get a real mattress. I'll do whatever it takes."
He swallowed hard, looking up at you with eyes full of a fierce, terrifying determination.
"My dad... Luke never cared if the roof was leaking. He never cared if I had food, or if I was terrified," JJ whispered, his voice cracking on his father's name. "I am not going to be him. I'm going to be better. I'm going to give this kid everything I never had, even if I have to build it with my own hands."
The tight weight in your chest finally dissolved. You stepped across the cabin floor, stepping over a box of snatched baby booties, and wrapped your arms tightly around his neck.
JJ froze for a second before his arms locked around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You could feel the heavy, uneven rise and fall of his chest as the sheer panic of the last twenty-four hours began to melt into relief.
"You're already better than him, JJ," you murmured into his shoulder, holding him tight against the quiet hum of the marsh. "You don't have to steal the whole island to prove it."
He let out a short, watery laugh against your skin, his hands tightening around you protectively.
"Maybe not the whole island," he mumbled softly. "But definitely a better crib."
Summary: She's Erling Haaland's sister's bestfriend since they were 16, Erling and her just couldn't stay in the same room without teasing each other. She thinks he's annoying, he says she's a bummer. In which point does that stop being a childish banter and becomes love?
Requested? Yes.
Contents: Friendly banter, a tiny bit of angst (missing home).
WC: 1460
Notes: Hello there! I'm back! And I swear I'm not gonna take that long to finish all the chapters.
At the age of sixteen, Y/N went to Norway as an exchange student, and it completely transformed her life. Within a week of arriving in the new country, she had already made a friend.
Gabrielle Braut Haaland was the best friend anyone could ever ask for. She was incredibly caring, and every time Y/N felt homesick, Gabrielle would find a way to sneak out with her parents' car just to spend some time with her.
FLASHBACK
The girl was crying in her room at her host home. She missed home. Her chest ached whenever she thought about her hometown, the few friends she had left behind, her parents, and the rest of her family.
For some reason, Gabrielle, who had known her for just over a month, felt that something was wrong. The blonde girl called her foreign friend, expecting to hear her usual cheerful voice, but instead found a girl completely consumed by tears.
"Y/N? Are you okay?" Gabrielle Haaland asked worriedly.
There was no point in denying it. She couldn't have denied it even if she wanted to—she was sobbing into the phone.
"I miss home," she murmured between sobs.
"Wait for me on your porch in five minutes." Gabrielle didn't even wait for her friend's confirmation. She simply hung up and grabbed a coat.
The street outside was almost deserted at that hour. Snow was falling heavily that time of year, keeping people indoors, warming themselves by their fireplaces.
Even though she wasn't legally allowed to drive yet, Gabrielle had already taken driving lessons with her father and older brother. If anyone caught her behind the wheel that late at night, two years younger than the legal driving age, she knew she'd be in serious trouble—but she didn't care. She carefully grabbed the keys and left.
The drive to Y/N's host home was quick. She was extremely careful on the road to avoid getting caught, and when she arrived, her friend was already sitting on the snow-covered porch steps.
Gabrielle rolled down the passenger-side window and motioned for her friend to get in, which she did immediately.
"You're staying at my house tonight."
She left no room for discussion.
"Do your parents know?" Her voice was quiet. She was curled up slightly in the passenger seat; the cold was overwhelming for someone who had grown up in a warm country.
"Of course they do," she lied. "Who do you think let me take the car?"
END OF FLASHBACK
Even now, at twenty-seven—almost twenty-eight—the two of them were still inseparable... in their own way.
Y/N was now an English teacher and an enthusiastic theater actress in her home country. The complete opposite of Gabrielle, who worked as a nursing assistant and was a former member of the Norwegian Armed Forces.
Y/N stepped off the plane with another yawn, her eyes burning from exhaustion. She hated the fact that she could never sleep in an airplane seat the way everyone else seemed able to during such long flights.
She looked around. Her long hair was tied up in a messy bun that she refused to fix out of sheer laziness. Her oversized Beatles T-shirt was already worn from years of use, and her gray sweatpants were the most comfortable pair she owned. She pulled the zipper of her hoodie all the way up. The plane had been a little chilly, but Norway's cold was something entirely different from what she was used to.
She yawned again, stretching as she walked toward baggage claim to collect her suitcases from the carousel, music blasting through her headphones.
“All your life you've never seen
Woman taken by the wind
Would you stay if she promised you heaven?
Will you ever win? Will you ever win?
(Rhiannon)
(Rhiannon)
(Rhiannon)
(Rhiannon)”
She looked around as she walked through the doors with the sea of people arriving in the city, searching for Gabrielle from behind her sunglasses.
Her eyebrow arched the moment her eyes met Gabrielle's little brother's. When someone is almost two meters tall, can they still be called "little"?
"**Stjerne!*" (Star) Gabrielle Haaland practically threw herself at her best friend.
"**Måne!*"(moon) Y/N hugged her back.
Her backpack slipped off her shoulder and ended up dangling from her forearms, while her headphones rested around her neck, the hug being far too tight to keep them in place.
Erling watched them from above, a small smile spreading across his face as he saw how happy they were.
Little by little, the memories of living with the Haalands came flooding back.
She finally remembered just how irritating she had always found the younger Haaland, and how he seemed to take genuine pleasure in getting on her nerves. The smallest thing was enough to make them start bickering, and Gabrielle always seemed to find the whole situation amusing.
"Why do you have to block out the sun every time you stand in front of me?" She crossed her arms with a slight pout.
"You came all the way to Norway just to complain about my height?!" Erling laughed, unable to believe what he was hearing.
"Well, it's not my fault you look like a telephone pole. And you're blocking my view of my friend."
That earned a snort of laughter from Gabrielle, followed by a quiet, "Oh my God."
"Has anyone ever told you you're a complainer?" the blond asked as he loaded her suitcases into the trunk, next to Jude Bellingham's luggage. Jude had been waiting inside the car the entire time.
"And has anyone ever told you that you look like a giraffe wearing a wig and running on steroids? You might want to get that checked."
She rolled her eyes.
Jude and Gabrielle burst into laughter. They could hardly wait to see what those next few weeks would bring while their friends were visiting Norway.
The Haalands' house was the picture of a typical Norwegian home. The fireplace was lit, instantly making Y/N feel like a teenager again.
With every step she took inside the house, memories struck her like lightning.
"You finally came to visit us!"
The matriarch's voice came from the kitchen the moment the front door opened.
Gry, Erling and Gabrielle's mother, had always made her feel at home. Even back when Gabrielle would sneak out to pick her up during one of her breakdowns, Gry treated her like one of her own daughters. She would make tea—or her famous hot chocolate—hug her, and reassure her that everything would be okay.
Even years after Y/N had returned to her home country, she had never lost touch with the older woman.
"Mamma!"
She dropped her suitcases in the living room and ran into the kitchen to hug Gry.
"I've missed you so much!"
"I was starting to think you'd forgotten all about us..." the woman teased dramatically before smiling.
She cupped the girl's face in her hands. Without a doubt, she still saw the sixteen-year-old girl standing before her again, smiling after a nightmare or after school, when the girls would come home starving.
"I could never forget my second family."
She smiled shyly.
"Besides, I still make that hot chocolate you taught me at least once a week."
The three of them stayed in the kitchen chatting for a while longer while Erling led Jude upstairs to the bedroom where his friend would be staying during the visit.
They climbed the stairs talking about everything that had happened over the past few weeks.
"So..." Jude began, leaning against the bedroom doorway.
"What?" Erling asked as he set one of Jude's suitcases on the bed.
"You and Shorty..." The Englishman's grin was downright mischievous.
"What about her?"
"You two argue a lot, don't you?"
He sat down on the bed beside his suitcase, crossing his arms as he looked at his friend.
"She's annoying. Always has been."
Erling shrugged.
"She complains about everything. You'll see."
Downstairs in the kitchen, the three women were reminiscing about the past.
"Did you notice they haven't changed one bit?" Gabrielle asked her mother as she stole a grape from the fruit bowl.
"They barely saw each other and were already bickering."
Her mother let out an amused snort, looking from her daughter to Y/N.
"Really?"
"You know how much he enjoys getting on my nerves..."
Y/N shrugged and stuck her tongue out at her best friend.
"Sure, that's what it is." Gabrielle rolled her eyes.
"You two sound like an old married couple arguing."
"We do not!"
Y/N and Erling spoke at exactly the same time.
It couldn't have happened at a worse moment, since the two men had just come downstairs.
Y/N wanted nothing more than to scream into a pillow in frustration.
Request: pls can we get Haaland walking reader home after they went to a game together (not his) and he's like going over all her questions about how football works? its okay if not lots of love!
Note: Thank you so much for your request, I hope you enjoy :)
✦ ───────────── ✦
I gently swung our intertwined hands as we wandered through the quiet streets of Bryne.
Erling had brought us to see his old club play in his hometown.
The excitement from the match had long faded, leaving behind empty sidewalks and the occasional burst of laughter drifting from a nearby pub. The streetlights cast a warm glow across the winding path and the Norwegian air nipped at my cheeks.
I’d never been to his hometown before, and somehow that made tonight feel even more special.
“Okay, I’ve got a question,” I said, peeking up at him.
I had spent the majority of the game cheering and clapping whenever everyone else did but in reality, I could hardly keep up.
By the final whistle, my head was swimming with questions.
Erling chuckled as he looked down at me, his thumb absentmindedly tracing slow circles over my knuckles.
He cocked a brow. “Only one?”
I grinned, “More like fifty.”
“Thought so.”
I wracked my brain before finally settling on one question.
“How do you know when to make a run?”
“I watch the defender.”
I furrowed my brow trying to remember which players those had been.
“The defender?”
"The ones trying to stop me from getting to the goal."
He stopped walking and turned toward me, his fingers tightening gently around mine.
“I watch his body,” he explained. “One wrong step usually tells me where he’s going.”
“And then?”
“If he looks one way…” Erling tugged my hand, guiding me around his body until our shoulders brushed. “…I go the other.”
I laughed as he suddenly pulled me back against his chest, clearly far too pleased with his demonstration.
“What other questions do you have, love?”
He pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head before starting down the street again.
I barely needed to think about the next question that came to mind.
“What does offside mean?”
Erling let out a quiet groan.
"That's the one you picked?"
I shrugged, "You said I could ask."
He shook his head with a small smile. "I'm already regretting it."
"That's a bit harder for people to understand."
He stopped once more, his eyes scanning the street around us before landing on an old wooden fence.
He led me towards it and positioned me to stand in front of the fence.
"Imagine that's the goal," he said tipping his head toward the fence. "And you're the last defender."
I crossed my arms as the breeze picked up around us.
"Why am I the defender?"
His mouth twitched.
"Because I'm the striker."
I rolled my eyes playfully, "Convenient."
He chuckled at my response and moved behind my shoulder, closer to the imaginary goal.
"If I run past the last defender before my teammate plays the ball to me, I'm offside."
I turned to look at him, "So when are you allowed to go past me?"
"Once the ball has been played."
He stepped away, pretending an invisible teammate had just passed the ball before jogging beyond me and toward the fence.
"I have to time the run right so I'm still level with you when my teammate kicks it. Then I can go."
I thought back to the match we had just seen trying to recall any real time examples.
"That happens very fast."
"Exactly."
Seeing his face light up while describing all of this to me in detail made me smile.
For the first time, I wasn't just beginning to understand football.
I was beginning to understand the boy who had loved it his whole life.
"Do you plan your celebrations?" I asked as he intertwined our fingers once more.
He chuckled, shrugging his broad shoulders as we walked further down the path.
"Sometimes."
He glanced down at me.
"Depends who's watching."
I bit my lip trying to hide my smile, "What if I were?"
He gently squeezed my hand, "Then I'd make sure you saw it."
I smiled to myself.
I was falling a little deeper in love with the man from Bryne.
₊˚⊹ᰔ: Poly headcanons because I miss them together on my screen ♡
A/N: Combination of fluff and nsfw, I couldn't just do one 🤓
- Needy Jude! who can't help but get a little jealous when Erling picks you up. Erling is a big guy so he has no issue lifting Jude up as well, carrying his two loves in his arms to the bedroom.
- Naughty Erling! who gets really turned on watching you and Jude kiss. You're perched in Jude's lap, both your tongues recklessly colliding while you helplessly grind down onto him, it's a sigh for sore eyes to Erling, he's sitting in a chair in view of the bed, rubbing himself through his boxers as he watches.
- Jude & Erling! like to tease you. You're wet and desperate for them to touch you but they're too busy minding themselves to help you. grinning against each others lips at every whine you make.
-Jude always gets up and makes breakfast. He quietly slips out of bed, kissing your and Erling's foreheads before prepared a love filled breakfast, Erling pulls your body into his, humming in contempt but his brows furrow when he reaches past you and Jude isn't there. He opens his eyes to see you snuggled into his chest,
-He smells the sweet batter of pancakes and greasy bacon and smiles to himself, instead of moving and waking you he'll lay back down and go back to sleep until Jude calls for your presence
- When a disagreement breaks out between You and Jude, Haaland is always left to pick of the pieces. He'll talk to both of you separately first then drag the both of you into the same room and won't allow you to leave until you've made up.
- They love eating you out at the same time. You hold both of their heads as you come again for the 3rd time. You're drooling and dazed and that's exactly how they like you. "Can you handle another one, love?" Jude asks, a telling grin spreads across his face, while Erling plants apologetic kisses on your inner thigh, He feels bad for how hard he gets from that dazed look on your face.
- Menace Erling! who was eliminated before Jude, to give him a little motivation for his next game, He'll send Jude a video of you bent over while he takes you from behind, your broken moans filling the audio before the camera flips to show him smirking knowingly before the video ends. "Good luck in your game ;) we miss you 🏆💯"
- They secretly love how "embarrassingly" supportive you are. The nails the color of their representative colors, the loud obnoxious cheering, and leaping into their arms sobbing uncontrollably from how proud you are when they win. You are their biggest fan.
- When you ask Erling for something and he says no, you walk over to Jude, jutting out your bottom lip with your classic puppy dog eyes. "Did you ask Erling?" he already knows what that look means. You want something. "Yeah" "And what did he say?" you're reluctant to answer but he'll find out anyways. "....No" He can't help but laugh, of course he'll cave and give you anything you ask for, he can't say no. He can deal with the nagging from Erling later.
- You and Jude started dating first, It wasn't until you saw the way Jude looked at Erling when he'd play against him.That something may be blossoming between them. He stirred something inside you as well, You've never been non-monogamous before, neither has Jude but that viking has intrigued you. Seemingly your boyfriend too.
- Freaky Jude! who gets off on the view of Him fucking into Erling while he eats you out. His muffled moans and your gasp of pleasure and need for Erling to suck you harder pleases him. He always puts his two loves pleasure before his own, His kiss Erling's shoulders whispering what to do to make you really scream.
➤ summary: after saving you from your past, Rafe makes sure to keep things slow with you (read part 1 here)
➤ w/c: 1.8k
➤ warnings: fluffy fluff, soft!Rafe, mentions of past bad living conditions and struggles, kissing
➤a/n: to all of the people who wanted the second part of "for free" 💘
masterlist taglist
Life was a crazy thing that could take any turn at the most unexpected moment, and after surviving every day, peacefulness and safety overwhelmed you from the moment you fully experienced it for the first time.
After everything that happened, after your brother's betrayal and the day that was at the same time one of the worst and best in your life, everything felt just light.
You lived in a small apartment in a building not far away from the beach. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but still, it was the best thing you ever lived in. The place was perfect and far away from the sketchy part of the Cut, where it was dangerous to even go outside after the sunset. Inside everything was finally yours. Safe. Stable.
For that exact reason you couldn’t bring yourself to feel bad for leaving your brother and for cutting all ties with him. After all the tears you’ve cried, after all the times you gave him your all, after the way he almost sold you, there was no excuse for him to crawl back into your life. You didn’t care about the stuff that he occupied himself with now, but the last thing you heard was that he got himself into even more trouble and fucked with someone far, far more dangerous than Rafe could ever be.
Now you woke up without a fear of the following day. You walked around your apartment without a thought about accidentally stepping onto some broken glass or being met with random drug addicts in your living room. Your new job at one of Figure Eight’s cafés was even better. It paid three times what the Cut diner ever did, not to mention the tips you could get from the generous locals who probably pitied a girl like you.
Rafe was the one responsible for all of this, and whether it was the consequence of guilt he still felt or if he just genuinely for whatever reason decided to be your prince in shining armor, you couldn’t thank him enough. He kept showing up, kept checking up on you with simple messages or visits to your workplace where he would lure you in for a small talk—any excuse to be around. You felt uncomfortable at first, like maybe you were a burden, which he couldn’t wait to ditch when the feeling like he fully compensated for his actions would hit.
The truth was that for Rafe it became something normal. The guilt was still here, sure, but the need to make your life just a bit easier, to make sure that you were okay, was the main thing. Never before in his life had he ever felt this way towards someone, especially not this fast, but out of nowhere your well-being and the smile on your face became some kind of fix. And even his sisters noticed the change.
He texted you whenever you came to his mind, which arguably was a lot. He came to your job, where one of his father’s good friends was the owner, and he just liked to look at how you worked. You moved with such grace around the room and the outside terrace, smiling so naturally and brightly it tugged at something in him. You occasionally looked at him too, a bit shy from the attention you surely noticed, before going back to work. Rafe didn’t know you before the accident, but he still could tell how much healthier and prettier you looked when nobody was sucking the life out of you.
You both knew that something was there. An attraction grew slowly but steadily, even if at first you tried to ignore it. Rafe looked at you softly and admired you openly whenever he was around and genuinely tried to be someone you could trust. While you sneaked glances, cheeks warm, checking him out because he was attractive in that famous Kook glory. Maybe he was out of your league, maybe he wouldn’t ever go for someone like you—you didn’t know, but it still didn’t stop you from secretly feeling butterflies whenever he came back again and again.
Later that evening you were on the deck behind your place. The ocean was calm, the soft breeze kept your skin cool after the sunny day, and you cherished the moment of peace. Rafe showed up when the sun started to set, as if knowing where you would be. You felt his presence before he even announced yourself, and you turned around to be met with his eyes already locked on you.
Rafe stood at the edge of the deck, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his shorts, the fading sunset casting warm golden light across his face. He looked… softer in this light. Less like the volatile Kook prince who once stormed into your old house and more like someone who had been quietly rewriting himself these past few months.
“Hey.” He said, voice low and warm, carrying easily over the gentle crash of waves. “Hope I’m not crashing your peace.”
You smiled—small, genuine, and easier now than it used to be. “You never are.”
He walked over to you silently, looking down at the ground with a faint smile he tried to hold back after your words. You made him go crazy so easily.
Rafe stopped at a respectable distance from you, leaning against the railing and following your gaze down the beach. His elbows rested near yours—not enough to touch, but enough to make your heart flutter from the closeness. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The breeze played with your hair. The sky bled into deep oranges and purples. Inside your chest, something tender and weirdly excited had taken up permanent residence whenever he was near.
Your apartment, your work, your peace—it all quickly became a blur and a routine you got used to very quickly. You were living. And Rafe… Rafe was the unexpected thread holding so much of it together.
At first you were cautious of him, sure. Even if your paths hadn’t crossed before, you knew the reputation he had. You firsthand saw what he was capable of when he reached that certain point. You understood why people felt intimidated or scared by him. But at the same time, you saw another person showing up through the cracks—the one that cared deeply and sincerely, the one who showed up when it mattered, the one who could be the best version of himself if he wanted to. So falling for him was only natural.
Rafe glanced sideways at you, catching you watching him, when you didn’t even notice doing so as you were too lost in your head. A faint flush crept up his neck.
“You’re staring again.” He murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“So are you.” You shot back softly.
He didn’t deny it. Instead, his gaze lingered on your face—tracing the healthy glow in your cheeks, the way the ocean breeze made your hair dance, and how rested and relaxed your eyes seemed. “You look good.” He said quietly. “Really good. Happier.”
You shrugged. “Because I am. I feel safe and happy. Thanks to you, Rafe, and I don’t know how to repay you for it all.” You added the last part almost shyly, feeling way too exposed under his gaze.
He shook his head almost immediately, his expression turning serious. “You don’t owe me anything. Not a single thing.” His voice dropped lower, rougher around the edges. “If anything, I still owe you. For that night. For how I acted. I think about it more than I want to admit.”
You pursed your lips, slowly and a bit hesitantly reaching out to touch his forearm. His skin was warm from the sun, muscles tense beneath your fingers before slowly relaxing under your touch. “You stopped. That’s what I remember most.”
He hated to admit how many times he replayed that time he kissed you. It wasn’t something he was proud of, but now, when the feelings for you crept slowly, he remembered how your skin felt against his, how soft your lips were. He wished he would get a chance to feel it again, but do it the proper way—soft and gentle, with your heart beating with a feeling of warmth and not fear.
Rafe’s eyes darkened with that familiar mix of guilt and longing, but the longing was winning tonight. You could see it in the way his gaze dropped to your mouth for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes, asking without words.
The air between you thickened, charged with months of quiet tension, shy glances across the café terrace, late-night texts, and the careful way he always gave you space. Your heart hammered steadily—not from fear this time, but from something sweeter. Butterflies. Want. The slow, delicious realization that you were falling for the man who had once terrified you and was now becoming your safest place.
Rafe lifted his hand slowly, making sure that you had every chance to tell him to fuck off, to step back if it wasn’t something you wanted. When you didn’t pull away and your eyes were locked on his, you felt the warm palm against your cheek. He cupped your face with gentleness you didn’t know he had, and it was enough to make your breath catch. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, reverent and slow, like he was memorizing the feeling.
“I keep thinking about doing this right.” He whispered, voice husky. “The way you deserve.”
You answered by leaning in.
At first your lips just softly pressed against his. Nothing too frantic or desperate. Just a warm feeling of him against you, because Rafe was still scared to move too fast. A quiet sigh escaped you, and Rafe responded with a low sound in his throat, tilting his head to fit your mouths together more perfectly. The kiss deepened gradually, still soft, still full of care. His lips moved against yours with patience, tasting faintly of the mint gum he always carried.
Rafe’s right hand was cradling your face, thumb brushing softly along your jaw. Another one rested lightly on your waist, fingers splayed, neither demanding nor gripping. He moved you two so that his back was pressed against the railing, you standing in front of him to give you all the space you could possibly need.
You felt completely safe. Wanted.
Your hands just barely had an opportunity to slide around his neck, to maybe pull him closer when you got too lost in the feeling of him when Rafe pulled away. You frowned instinctively at the loss, but the sight of him with eyes half-lidded and with that boyish smile made you smile back instinctively.
“Been wanting to do that the right way for so long,” he murmured, voice rough with feeling. He pressed another delicate kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your forehead, lingering there like he couldn’t bear to pull away completely.
You smiled against his skin, fingers still curled into his shirt. “It was perfect.”
The ocean continued its steady rhythm behind you. The sky had deepened into twilight, stars beginning to prick through the darkening blue. Rafe wrapped his arms around you loosely, holding you close but never confining.
And for the first time in years, you felt completely at peace.
➤ summary: when your brother can't pay back to Rafe, he offers you as a deposit for the delay
➤ w/c: 2.6k
➤ warnings: angst with a hint of comfort, morally gray Rafe, class division, non-consentual kiss (nothing else happens after you ask him to stop), power imbalance, toxic family environment, substance abuse, crying and panicking
➤a/n: I don't know what this is because I came up with it in the middle of writing another fic. probably the darkest I can go because I truly can't depict Rafe as the bad guy
masterlist taglist
The house smelled of cheap alcohol, weed, and sweat, and it clung to everything no matter how much you tried to get rid of it. Your personal hell. You were forced into a place like this after your parents were gone, having only your older brother as the remainder of your family, and since then, every single day just seemed to get worse.
His addictions were ruining your life. At first he was just hanging around the wrong people, getting into trouble, then he started drinking, then whatever drugs were available came into the game, and he slowly but steadily started dragging you down with him. You always kept your distance from it all, ignoring everything, having your little safe space in your room where you locked yourself up whenever his sketchy buddies paid a visit—you were fed up with comments, nasty looks, and promises to keep you entertained.
You worked two shifts at a diner on the Cut where the only customers were other Pogues who left you tips in crumbled dollar notes, and still, your brother managed to take it all. He asked you to lend him some money “until his own payment goes through," but then started digging through your stuff to find the money you tried to hide, and now you were left with just some specks you managed to keep safe in your box of tampons under the sink.
You hated him with bone-deep fury, mostly for the fact that he was supposed to be someone you could rely on, but instead he was burning every bridge you tried to build. He knew the danger he always put you in. He just didn’t care.
On nights like this, when your living room was full of his friends and the music was blasting, you put your chair under the doorknob, sat at the far end of your bed, and put your earphones in. They were loud, sometimes you heard the unsuccessful attempts to open your room, which always made your heart sink, always made you think back to the kitchen knife you had in your nightstand. You just had to wait it out until they would pass out unconscious or leave to another place to get high.
Though this time the situation was different. Not even an hour in the shouting came through, pulling you away from your thoughts. The voice, different yet not fully unfamiliar, was cutting through the haze, and you had to put your ear against the door to know what was going on. Rafe Cameron was at your house.
The famous Kook you didn’t know personally but sure as hell heard of from the countless times your brother was bitching about him. Apparently they had some kind of business, or at least something with money involved, and your brother owed Rafe. Thousands, if not tens of thousands, of dollars—something he could never fucking pay back. He was that stupid to get himself into debt, knowing damn well that he would never be able to pay it off.
“Where the fuck is my money, you moron?" Rafe’s voice was sharp and steady, and you could physically feel how much power he had over pathetic people like your brother—scums who could not keep a single dollar for dear life.
“The money’s comin’, Rafe… I have some shit planned, I promise.” Your brother slurred. He was already drunk or high, you couldn’t quite tell.
“You fucking promise, huh?” Rafe roared. The sound of something like glass shattering on the floor after he probably hit it out of anger. You felt how quickly your heart was beating, anxiety suddenly rising as the situation was getting more tense. You knew what to expect from your brother’s friends—drunk arguments and some fights that quickly died down when they needed to take another hit of the drug. But Rafe? He seemed much, much serious, like a man who controlled every situation, like someone who could handle business and make your life hell at the same time.
Against your better judgement, you open your door slowly, peeking outside and then cautiously walking down the hall and stopping at the main room entrance, hoping not to be noticed. “You were feeding me these promises for fucking months, and I’m sick of you making a fool out of me. I need money. Now.”
You saw Rafe Cameron properly for the first time, and he was looking like a sore thumb in your beat-up living room—expensive clothes, a gold chain, and a family ring blinking against his skin, keys to the car that cost more than your house dangling from the hook on his jeans. He was dangerously handsome and authoritative in all his fury, looking down at your brother and his friends like they were nothing more than trash sprawled on the worn-out couch. Which was true.
His eyes snapped to you as if feeling another presence in the room, and the way he scrunched his face made your stomach drop. Shame for being associated with these people tasted bitter on your tongue.
“Well, fuck me. Another one of your low-life pussies, I see. Jesus Christ, you really live like this? No self-respect at all?” The words felt like a slap to you because you weren’t like them. You didn’t want to be and did everything to avoid this madness like a plague. You would never fall so low as to see drugs and questionable choices as the only life entertainment. But you were frozen on your spot, unable to say nothing back to defend what was left of your dignity, just stupidly looking between Rafe, your brother, and his friends, who were awfully quiet this whole time.
“That’s my sis, man.” Your brother slurred, bringing a dark bottle back to his lips to take a chug of the drink, then letting it swing loosely from his fingers. Rafe’s lips curled again, and he ran a hand over his buzzed head.
“Whatever.”
The argument dragged on, Rafe’s voice was getting louder, and he was visibly more upset and annoyed with every passing minute. He paced around the room, the restless energy radiating off of him. While you were standing like a shadow—mouth shut, hands wrapped around yourself like a shield. Just waiting, and you didn’t even know what exactly.
“I don’t give a fuck, you hear me?” Rafe tipped down another empty bottle, shattering against the chipped wood on the floor. “I’m taking everything. Your beat-up car, your boat, this shithole. I’m gonna strip you bare and leave you with fucking nothing for ever playing in my face.”
He fumed. You could see the veins on his neck, eyes dark from anger which simmered like a volcano ready to erupt. Your gaze drifted between them, nervous, and you could see the moment an idea came to your brother's head. It was like a light bulb lit above his head. His eyes cleared up for a millisecond as he looked at you with a crooked, totally sick smile. Your stomach dropped.
“Take her.” He jerked his chin at you. “As payment. Deposit for the delay, yeah? She’s… she’s good. Clean enough. You want her? Take her for the night. Do whatever the fuck you want, she likes it. That buys me time, right?”
The room went dead silent except for the blood that pumped in your ears. Your mouth opened to say something, but the amount of betrayal and disgust you felt in that moment was unbearable. He offered you just like that. Like a piece of meat. Without even a hint of hesitation in his eyes.
Rafe’s eyes widened in surprise, then confusion hit, and he went speechless for a long moment. He stared at you, chest heaving. Anger rolled off him in waves—you could see it in the way his fists clenched, the vein standing out on his neck, and the pure, unfiltered fury in his eyes. For a second, he looked like he might swing on your brother anyway. Then something darker flickered across his face, like he was at his breaking point. A heated, impulsive snap that was fueled by the unused energy his whole body was wired with.
“Yeah?” Rafe’s voice was low, dangerous. “You want to fucking offer her up like that? That’s how things are done here on the Cut, huh? Fine. Fuck it. I’ll get at least this from your fuckass.” He moved like a storm across the room. So fast that the one thing you could do was take a cautious, confused step back. He grabbed your arm, grip firm but not yet bruising. “You heard him. Let’s go.”
“Take her to the back room, man. She won’t fight much.”
Your mind was blank. Completely bare of all thoughts, while the man in front of you dragged you like a doll back down the hall, forcing you inside of your own room—your one and only safe space—and clicking the squeaky door shut. Rafe spun you around, pushing you back against the wall.
In that moment you realized how much bigger and stronger he was.
He crowded you, fully cutting off all of the chances for an escape—his body was pressing you back, his thighs pressed in between your legs to pin you down. His manly-smelling cologne was a complete difference to what you were used to, and your chest heaved up and down violently from how overwhelmed you felt.
You were trapped. Completely. His frame blocked out the rest of the world, and the reality hit you like ice water, that he could do whatever he wanted right now. No one in the living room would stop him. No one would care, because your brother had handed you over like a bargaining chip.
Rafe’s hand grabbed your face almost roughly, even if he didn’t intend to hurt you. He tilted your chin up, stormy eyes looking at you but so blinded by the rage that he didn’t actually register it at all. His other hand gripped your hip with the same possessiveness and roughness before he kissed you, still riding the wave of rage
It wasn’t slow or soft or respectful. It was angry and rough, the kind of kiss that demanded you take it and reply with the same passion and emotions. Rafe pressed closer, harder, his hand already sliding lower even if, at the back of his mind, he loathed it wholeheartedly.
He didn’t even fucking want that. He wanted his money, he wanted to get Ward off his ass and get rid of the piece of shit currently rotting in your living room. And maybe he took you just out of spite, not even being aroused or in the mood to continue.
Still, he expected compliance. He expected you to give in, to play along, the way he supposed you used to do for everybody. Maybe that was really the way you were navigating your life.
But you didn’t. A broken sob tore out of your throat when your mind finally caught up. Tears came next. Fat drops slid down your face non-stop, wetting his fingers on your face and mixing with the spit on your lips. You started pushing at Rafe’s chest with the little power that your trembling hands had, clawing at his shirt, twisting in his hold desperately like an animal who got stuck in a trap.
Your frantic actions had little to no success in physically moving him, but it was enough for Rafe to lean back away from you. The moment you could breathe, your face turned to the side, your voice small and desperate, as you begged.
“No—please—stop!” The words came out hysterical, choked by tears that spilled hot and fast down your cheeks. Your whole body shook uncontrollably. “Don’t— I’m not— please, Rafe, don’t—”
He froze. The hand on your chin loosened, and he was finally able to see you. Your eyes were red and wide, terrified because of him, because of the situation. Your lips trembled and your chest heaved with panicked breaths. For the first time since he’d stormed into the house, the blind fury in his expression cracked.
Rafe stepped back fully. You slid down the wall, now too weak and completely defeated, hugging your knees as the sobs kept coming out.
“Fuck…” The word left him in a harsh exhale. He looked around your room for the first time: a neatly made bed with clean sheets, a small shelf of thrift-store books, your uniform on the chair, a couple of plants on the windowsill, and the little string of fairy lights you’d hung years ago to make the space feel less like a cage. It was poor, yes—cheap as hell—but clean. Warm. Then the scent hit him. Not alcohol, or weed, or whatever the fuck people were smoking in the living room, but something sweet and calming. A desperate attempt at safety in the middle of hell. A stark, painful contrast to the disaster zone in the living room.
Rafe’s hands ran over his buzzed head as he looked down at you with a mix of guilt, disgust with himself, and still-simmering anger.
“Jesus, what the fuck am I doing?” He muttered, crouching in front of you. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for this. It’s fucked up. I shouldn’t have."
“He’s lying." You hiccuped, wiping at your face. “I’m working. I’m trying to save money. I’m not… this, and I hate him so damn much.” Your head tipped back with a soft thud against the wall. “He keeps dragging me down. He just—he steals everything, all the money that I earn. He brings them here, and I lock the door because I’m scared of what they might do.” Your face twisted. Rafe's nostrils flared at your words, at how much more fucked up the situation has become.
“I’m not gonna hurt you. I should’ve punched him the moment he opened his damn mouth, fuck.” Rafe groaned, running a hand over his face. He was fucking tired, and now seeing an unprotected vulnerable girl crying in front of him because her brother was ready to sell her added a splash of guilt and sympathy to his fatigue.
You finally managed to look at him, your eyes red-rimmed and still scared, but now clearly a bit more calm, as if his words gave you reassurance that he was not going to use you to his advantage. Up close and with a bit less drive, Rafe didn’t look as scary, a hint of softness just barely seeped through the cracks, and you felt like he allowed it just to give you some comfort.
“I still need my money, you understand that, right?” His voice was soft. You nodded. “I will take everything from him, I will make him pay every penny even if he has to sell his own ass. I guarantee that.” Rafe thought over his words, hands loosely hanging in between his legs, while he observed your reaction. “But if you promise me that you’ll cut all ties with him, I will help you. New place. Some work that doesn’t suck and pays well.”
He reached out slowly, not to grab, but to brush a tear from your cheek with surprising gentleness. His hand lingered for a second before dropping.
“Why?”
“You don’t look like you deserve it. You shouldn’t pay for his fuck-ups. I’m not a saint either, but I’ll help if I can.” The room felt smaller, heavier. Your sobs quieted into shaky breaths. Rafe stayed crouched there, watching you, the storm in his eyes slowly settling. “What do you say? You want out of this life?”
The music still thumped dully from the living room as a reminder. Your brother’s laughter filtered through the walls like he was careless about what could’ve been happening with you now.
You nodded slowly, tears still falling, voice barely a whisper.
synopsisyou just wanted to be helpful, robby's helpful girl, you didn't realise that helping out might've exposed robby in an un-expected sort of way... (2.1k words)
warningssmutish, mention of sex, mention of big dick (it's robby, duh) condom, language
authornotei just absolutely was obsessed with this ask, i loved it so much. it's a big short, just a little thing, lowkey i think it's ass but it was fun. (gif credits to @timothyolyphant)
Pitt masterlist. Last Robby fic!
“I need a condom,”
It wasn't the typical greeting you were used to, really, it wasn't a usual sentence you heard in the ED. Especially not from Samira, flushed in the cheeks with her hair scraped back into a bun.
She'd rushed to you and Santos as you stood outside exam room three, discussing a patient when she joined the two of you, making the statement a little louder than she probably intended. Samira looked around the space behind her and besides you.
Trinity smirked, eyeing Samira up and down. “Okay, Mohan.”
“No, no, not for me, my patient,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Please, I wish it was for me.”
“Why do you need a condom for a patient?” you asked, amused almost. “Is he hot?”
“What? No? My patient, he's HIV but apparently very, very active and he doesn't have condoms. He says he-he prefers it without and I've explained everything to him but there's no condoms in the draw where we keep them!” explained Samira.
“We have a condom draw?” asked Trinity, taking only that as the necessary information from Mohan's ramble.
You handed her the chart. “You sleep with women.”
“What? So I'm not allowed in the condom draw?”
“It's for sex ed teachings, people who are young and having sex,” you shrugged. “Stuff like that. Come on, I can help you out.”
The nurses desk was practically vacant. Around you everyone busied themselves with greeting the nigh shift and getting them out, taking away patients like the changing of the guard. It was almost too early to be dealing with tough patients who wouldn't protect themselves.
You led the way around the counter, Mohan and Santos (who took an invitation for herself) followed you over to the desk as you reached down for Robby's bag, propping it up.
It was no surprise to them that you were reaching for his bag, reaching for his stuff like it was yours. What was Robby's was yours. The real surprise had been when Mel found the two of you eight months ago making out in the storage room, shrieking and dropping a bag of blood that then splashed all over you.
And obviously at the scream everyone ran over and found the two of you rather compromised and covered in blood. You still weren't really done living that down.
You fished around in Robby's bag, the owner somewhere not there to see as you brought out an opened box of condoms. “Here,” you said handing her a thick strip as Santos laughed.
Samira took them wearily, a small dusting of pink on her cheeks. “Won't you... miss these?”
“No,” you said, rocking on your heels, suddenly feeling the familiar creeping heat of embarrassment. “We have... more.”
Santos smirked. “Keeping Robby in shape, huh?”
Samira shuddered. “I really don't want to think about my boss like that, but thank you!” you said, waving the strip like it was a flag and rushing off before her patient could walk off. She was a good doctor, dedicated you knew and you were just happy to help her reach her potential.
Distracted by watching her leave you failed to notice Trinity sneak over to Robby's bag, peeking inside like a nosy cat.
“Hey!” you lectured, pulling the zipper shut on her hand.
“What? Just wanted to know what else you got in there? Does he keep a pair of panties? Vibrator if it gets quiet,” she teased.
You blushed, shaking your head and looking down to the bag. “You have no shame, that's your boss you're talking about.”
She made a pfft noise. “You're the one screwing him.”
Yes, you were. Proudly and happily.
Javadi slid up next to you, practically shoving you a tablet and asking for your advice. You were somewhere deep in your residency, one of the first they were introduced to on their hell of a first day. Not as scary as Robby, easier to talk to than Langdon. It was typical for the Pittlings and Mohan to come to you when they needed advice. You liked it really, as much as Santos teased you and as much as Mohan and Javadi doubted themselves.
“Hey Crash,” said Trinity, all but giddy with the new knowledge she had about Doctor Robby's contents in his bag. “You wanna know what's in this bag of secrets.”
“No,” you chastised.
Javadi's eyes lightened up. “Is that Doctor Robby's bag?”
“It doesn't matter,” you said, pushing it back down to your feet.
“Hey,” Samira joined the group of you again, handing you back the strip of condoms. “He said he can't take these.” The rest of the doctors and nurses hustled around the Pitt, un-knowing of the personal dilemmas being aired out.
You lifted your shoulders. “You needed condoms, those are condoms.”
“Yes but they're not the right size,” said Mohan. “He says they wouldn't fit, they're too big.”
Oh.
Perhaps at some point you'd been shocked at the size of Robby. Before you'd only had your imagination and hints of him beneath his scrubs. The times when he'd brush past you in the teasing beginning of your relationship and you'd feel something prod at you. The first time he'd dragged you to his bedroom, lips seething in heat and teeth nipping in want to only lay you out on his bed and drag his pants and underwear down to show all of him- then you'd been shocked. Mouth watering so.
Over the months the shock transformed to desire, reaching hands and an eager mouth that you stopped thinking about the size.
You didn't think anything of it when you handed Mohan a strip of five extra-large condoms.
Standing at the nurses station it may as well have been a deserted island and you stared down at the condoms like it was your first offering of food.
“Uh-”
Javadi snatched the condoms from Samira first, staring down at them with mouth agape. “Oh my god.”
“Javadi-”
“Holy shit!”
You looked back and Santos had pulled out Robby's bag again, pulling out the box and staring at the size stamped on the front. “Santos!”
“No wonder you walk in limping.”
“I do not- I do not walk in limping!”
“Well, there was that one time-” said Mohan.
“No, there wasn't!” you argued. “I'd bruised my ankle.”
Mohan chuckled to herself. “Sure.”
Trinity smirked. “Bruised something.”
Javadi was still staring at the strip of condoms in wonder. “How do they even get this big?”
You snatched them away from her the way you might have if a child found them. Quickly you stuffed them in the box, threw them back in Robby's bag and kept it behind your back.
“Wait, why do you have a box of condoms for work?” asked Javadi.
“Oh please,” said Santos with a groan. “They're always at it in work. Better safe than sorry.”
“We are not always at it at work,” you defended.
“The storage closet?” asked Mohan, apparently abandoning the venture of finding fitting condoms for her patient.
You held up a finger. “That was one time.”
“The toilets,” added Santos, sadly remembering the time you and Robby had hid yourselves in the bathroom for a break. A break that was only supposed to be comforting touched turned hot and reaching quickly.
“That one time in the exam room where we thought we were examining a broken hip for a Mrs Driscoll-” began Javadi.
“Okay! Okay, I get it!” you interrupted.
“I think it's nice,” Trinity quipped her lip, arms crossing over her chest. “Get some dick when you can right.” She patted your shoulder like a proud sister as she left the group of you, laughing quietly to herself.
Victoria and Samira followed suit, leaving you with the ramifications of your own embarrassment. So what your boyfriend was largely endowed, wasn't it a compliment? Weren't you the luckiest girl in the world to have Robby with soft and tender touches turned to almost hateful thrusts with how hard he loved you.
You made sure Robby's bag was tightly closed before sliding it back under the desk.
The day brought the same usual storm the ED always brought. Enough to distract you from the mornings events and the package sitting inside of Robby's bag. You were left with only a creeping heat crawling up your neck, the last dregs of your doctors eyes on you and their giddy smiles.
You'd only managed to make it to the staff lounge for a coffee by mid day, taking the mug that was yours, marked with an inside joke and given one secret Santa round.
“Hey.” Robby slipped into the room, leaning his back against the sink and standing next to you.
“Hey yourself.”
For a moment there was a silence where you poured coffee for the both of you, handing him his mug.
Robby's fingers grazed yours, the simplest touch sending shivers through your skin. “Can I ask you something?”
You hummed, head tucked away. He wouldn't have heard about the mornings teasing's, would he?
“Santos has been... off today,” he said.
He would.
You gulped, a feign of concern falling to you. “She has?”
“Keeps looking at me and smirking. She's doing this thing with her hands where she-” he demonstrated, spreading his hands to different distances, some small, some bigger. His hands wavered around the imaginary object between his hands.
You were left groaning.
Robby's head tilted toward you. “Do you know anything?”
In attempts of hiding away the story your head ducked and shook side to side.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” you said.
Robby's fingers were slightly calloused but no less humble as he pinched your chin, realigning his gaze with yours. His brows rose, gaze pouring into yours. He didn't even have to ask you again.
You sighed. “This morning Mohan had a patient with HIV and she wanted to give him condoms but there was none where they usually are so I gave her some of ours. But they weren't exactly... the right size.”
There was a small furrow of confusion in his face as he waited for you to elaborate.
You turned your body into his, lowering your voice. “Not everybody can fit into an extra large, Robby.”
The furrow gave and a small grin split his cheeks as he glanced down to your shoes, a pink blooming under his beard and to his cheeks. It was different from your own embarrassment. He was more pleased with himself.
Robby straightened, hands wavering. “So how does... this connect to-”
“Santos was there this morning when Samira asked.”
He chuckled, tongue poking out into his cheek as he shook his head in amusement.
“It's not funny,” you said, nudging him.
He rocked on his feet. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.”
Your coffee was turning lukewarm in hand, the bitter taste suddenly too sweet as you made to walk away from him and stew in your own humiliation.
Robby's fingers wrapped around your wrist and tugged, using you to pull himself in closer. “Oh, I'm sorry,” he teased, voice dropping into the low drag in his condescending way. The sort of voice he used to coax you down into bed with his darkening eyes and lustful approach. “Is my dick too big? Do I fuck you too good?” His hands grabbed at your hips, bringing you into him, tongue darting out to your neck.
Your body wriggled in his hold, trying to escape as his arms grew strong around you. “Stop!” You laughed.
“Make me.” He nipped at your neck, licking over the sting he caused.
The door was pushed open and Langdon stumbled in the doorway, catching sight of the two of you tangled in arms and laughter.
“Are you two doing it in the lounge now?” he asked.
You guessed you just should've been thankful Langdon wasn't there that morning, otherwise there would have been competitions between him and Santos on who could make the best jokes out of your misery.
Slowly, Robby moved away from you, pulling himself up straight and pulling at his hoodie before leading the way out the room.
McKay was wheeling a patient away to x-ray, Samira was giving aftercare instructions to an elderly couple and Mel was somewhere lurking in a corner talking to Dana.
Santos, however, was still being the most productive, sitting across from Javadi and still trying to make sense of some invisible size between her hands.
You watched, un-able to stop as Robby walked behind Santos and spread her hands apart just a little, enough to leave more than enough inches between her hands.
Robby walked away, satisfied.
taglist (if you want to be added or took off just say the word!): @oldbaddies, @mafercita101,@tiddieshakeshownu, @mismwaa, @annabethpotter221b
