warning: this multi-fandom blog contains & potentially promotes mature content. If you are under the age of EIGHTEEN please do not interact. If you are easily triggered I may not be the writer for you as some of my work will include dark subject matter. Don’t be fooled by the soft aesthetic, we get crazy here.
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STATS
daydreaming about franklin clinton...
streaming lost on you by lp...
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Bellamy’s fingers were laced in between yours, his grip tight as you two weaved through the trees in the sullen dusk. His pace picked up and his knuckles whitened around your hand and his gun he held in the other. “Bellamy, it’s okay. We’re safe.”
“We’ll never be safe, y/n.” Bellamy grumbled, continuing on as you tripped over branches and bramble on the ground. “Try to keep up.” His tone was harsh, you couldn’t understand why he was suddenly so upset.
“Slow down!” You halted suddenly, yanking Bellamy back and looking him in the eyes. The sun had just set, you were far from camp, and Bellamy finally gave your hand a break. “I’m eager to get back, too, but you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” You gently panted, getting some of your breath back when you stopped. Bellamy rolled his eyes and holstered his gun.
“What’s wrong is I’m out here with someone I care about and I’m trying to keep them alive.” Bellamy snapped, sweat running down his forehead. “I want you back at camp so I don’t have to worry about you. Y/N, if anything happened to you, I couldn’t forgive myself. So give me your hand and let me get you back where you're safe and protected.” He held his hand back out and you huffed, accepting it and his misplaced anger. All he wanted was to keep you alive, but you wanted to keep everyone alive. Regardless, he pulled you closer and hugged you, his other hand cradled your head and you listened the his heartbeat—quick and heavy.
“Down here we need to protect everyone. Not just me.” You muttered into his shoulder.
not sure if you write for pope but can i request ANYTHING for him 😭😭 i just love that man
overprotection
pairing: andrew pope cody x bartender!female!reader
summary: in which andrew feels overly overprotective over deran’s new bartender.
words: 1,971
a/n: it was so fun to write!!! I missed it, even if it feels awkward to write in english lol request more of this man please!!!
People judge by appearances.
Always. All the time.
Imagine their surprise when a sweet creature like you lets out a single 'fuck' in a very frustrating situation caused by a man’s behavior (man's, of course). People didn’t expect such a girly person to have so much vulgarity in her.
You didn’t disappoint them. You know that your appearance sometimes gives you many benefits. You just learned how to use what your momma gave you.
“With a pretty face like that, you should work somewhere else. Maybe in a clothing store,” you heard from your potential future employer. You dug your nails into your thigh, covered by simple black sweatpants with pink bows on the sides, holding back a snarky comment. “But I wouldn’t stand the other girl’s company, so—”
“She had amazing tits,” a guy sitting nearby interrupted, at which your potential boss rolled his eyes and turned back to you.
“So,” he continued, “you’ve got the job. We’ll see how you do. Tomorrow at 7?”
“I’ll be there before 7,” you said with a smile, shaking his hand and letting him walk you to the exit.
“Are you sure you can handle this?” Deran asked, leaning against the bar and watching closely as you polished the glass.
“Come on. I can handle it,” you smiled at him. “If anything happens, Craig will help me.”
“If he’s able to,” he grumbled, glancing out of the corner of his eye at his brother sitting in the corner of the bar.
“Then I’ll call J. It’ll be fine. It’s just a few drunk guys.”
“Relax, D. The cutie’s in good hands,” Charlie, one of the regulars, put his arm around him, setting four empty beer bottles on the bar and nodding at you. Keeping a smile on your face, you pulled out the full bottles and quickly opened them.
“Don’t worry,” Deran nodded at your words, still a bit uncertain, but soon left the bar.
The peace lasted exactly two hours.
Before that, it was fine. Guys were nice enough to you, asking for another beer or a snack once in a while. You like that job. Gave you the opportunity to talk to people for real, even if it was in a shitty place like this.
A group of young man's, barely old enough to drink, stepped into the bar an hour ago and were sitting on your ass from that time on. "Bring us a beer" (no, not that beer silly! don't you have a man here who knows his alcohol?), "bring us another snack" (do I look like I care that you don't have pizza? just order it, duh) and (the worst by now) "Lady, we spilled some on the floor, come and clean it!" (and if one hand 'accidentally' touched your ass while all of this, you were just getting in their way!
You came back behind the bar, taking in polishing glasses to try and relax a little. You craved smoke so bad.
"You okay?" A new voice from the stools startled you, causing the glass to shatter on the floor.
"Shit," you said quickly, kneeling down to try and pick glass pieces with your bare hands.
"Careful," said the man, gently moving your hands back from it, before you could hurt yourself. "I got it," he added, already reaching for a broom. You nodded, straightening up and finally getting a look at him.
Oh.
"Andrew," you said quietly, a small blush coming onto your cheeks when you realised you just said this name out loud, for no reason.
Andrew, as in Deran's brother.
"He's a little crazy. And got a staring problem, " your boss said one night, when you first met Pope.
"Just pretend he's not here," Craig added, shrugging his arms.
"You okay?" he asked again, after getting rid of the shattered glass. You nodded,
"Yeah, absolutely," you lied smoothly.
He looked at you for a few seconds, not in a creepy way, but as if he was waiting for a slip up on your lie. Your lips parted slightly to add something else, but your name being called made you look in the direction of the caller.
Andrew's stare followed your eyes settling towards the loud table in the corner, where one of the boys whistled at you.
“There she is,” one of them grinned. “Thought you quit on us, babes."
Your jaw tightened for a quick second, too fast to notice. But Pope noticed, he always did.
“You work alone tonight?” he asked quietly.
“Nah. Craig’s around.” You tried sounding casual. “Somewhere.”
“Another round!” One of the guys slammed his empty glass against the table.
You inhaled slowly through your nose before forcing on another sweet smile. “Coming.”
Andrew moved before you did.
He stepped around the bar stool, his broad shoulders successfully blocking your path.
“I’ll take it,” he said.
You blinked. “Take what?”
“That table.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Andrew, I’m bartending, not being held hostage.”
“They touched you.”
Your smile faded instantly. Of course he noticed, he always seemed to when it came to you.
You looked away first. “Occupational hazard.”
“You shouldn’t deal with it.”
The way he said it made something warm curl low in your stomach. Like he genuinely could not understand why you’d let someone treat you like that.
For a moment, you felt like a teenage girl with a crush again. Just for a moment, before it turned into something else.
You could handle yourself. You were a big girl, you didn't need anyone to protect you. Years ago, left alone on the streets you learned how to cope. You didn't need help then, and you surely didn't need it now.
You cleared your throat. “It’s fine. Really.”
Andrew stared at you another second before finally stepping aside, but he didn’t sit back down. He stayed near the end of the bar while you grabbed beers from the cooler.
The second you approached the table again, the guys started up.
“Damn, pretty girl finally came back.”
“You got a number or what?”
“You always wear pants this tight to work? You're asking for it.”
You set the bottles down harder than necessary. “Anything else?”
“Yeah,” one of them smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Smile more.”
You made sure to give them your best 'good girl smile', before turning around to go back to your safe zone, and then it happened.
A sudden slap against your ass, hard enough to make you wince. Your entire body went stiff.
The table burst into laughter like it was the funniest thing in the world, like your discomfort was part of the entertainment they paid for with cheap beer and sticky dollar bills.
You turned around slowly. The guy who did it leaned back in his chair with a grin too smug for his own good. “What? It was an accident, sweets.”
Something ugly twisted in your stomach.
Humiliation. Anger. That old familiar feeling of being cornered.
You opened your mouth, but Andrew got there first.
“Get up," The entire table went silent.
“Relax, man. We’re just messing around.”
“Get up,” Andrew repeated.
“Jesus Christ, it was one slap. Don’t act like—”
Pope moved, before you could register what was happening. One second he was standing beside you, and the next, he had the guy shoved hard enough against the table to rattle the framed beer signs hanging beside him.
“Andrew!” you gasped.
The boy cursed loudly, trying to shove him back, but Andrew barely moved. One large hand pressed against the guy’s chest while the other curled tight around the collar of his shirt, forcing him back hard enough to make the table shake beneath him.
“You don’t touch a lady like that,” Andrew said quietly.
“Okay, okay—fuck, man—”
“You don’t talk to her like that. You don’t look at her like that.”
You stood there frightened, hands hovering useless in the air as you looked around in panic, hoping for someone to stop the situation from escalating. Your pulse thundered in your ears.
People always talked about Andrew like he was unpredictable, unstable, wrong in the head.
But standing there now, you realized something else.
Andrew wasn’t angry because he wanted an excuse to hurt someone.
He was angry because someone hurt you.
“Andrew,” Your voice came out softer this time. His shoulders loosened a fraction at the sound. You stepped closer carefully, reaching for his shoulder before thinking better of it halfway through. “It’s okay,”
He looked down at you, observing you just like earlier. Waiting for you to change your mind.
“Please,” you added.
For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t let go.
Then finally, slowly, Andrew stepped back.
The guy stumbled away instantly, grabbing his friends in a panic.
“We’re leaving, man, fuck this place—”
The group practically tripped over themselves rushing toward the exit, chairs scraping loudly against the floor as they shoved each other out first.
One of them shot Andrew a glare over his shoulder. “Fucking psycho.”
Andrew took one step forward.
The guy nearly ran into the door trying to get out faster.
The second it slammed shut behind them, silence settled over the bar.
"Alright, guys, I think it's time to go home," Craig announced, looking to the other guys in the bar. In a few minutes, they all left, leaving you three all alone. "Go home, sweets. I'll close," He added, rubbing your shoulder and nodding at his brother.
''I'll drive you home," Andrew said. You didn't protest, just took your jacket and a bag, letting him guide you out of the bar and inside of his truck.
"You okay?" he asked again, turning the engine on.
The gentleness in his voice after all that violence made your stomach twist.
"Yeah," you said.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
You realized then that he hated that answer.
Not because he thought you were lying to manipulate him.
Because he genuinely didn’t think you should have to pretend you were okay when you weren’t.
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
“I’m fine,” you tried again, softer this time.
"He touched you,"
“I said I’m okay.”
“You’re shaking.”
You looked down automatically. Annoyingly enough, your hands actually were trembling.
Andrew stared at your hands for a long moment before reaching across the center console slowly enough not to startle you. His fingers wrapped gently around yours, all warm and steady, a contrast to your cold and shaky one.
“You almost killed that guy.”
“He hurt you,” Simple as that to him.
“I could’ve handled it,” you muttered.
“I know.”
Your eyes lifted to him immediately.
He meant it.
“You always pretend stuff doesn’t bother you?” he asked softly.
A humorless laugh escaped you. “Kinda have to.”
“No.”
“That thing you said earlier,” you murmured. “About me not having to deal with guys like that.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“But girls do. All the time.”
Something dark flickered across his face. “I know.”
“And you can’t threaten every asshole who walks into the bar.”
Andrew thought about it seriously for a second.
“Could try.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
The corner of his mouth twitched upward instantly at the sound.
“Oh my God,” you stared at him. “Was that a joke?”
He shrugged slightly.
You caught the almost-smile anyway.
“You can just drop me off here,” you said, pointing toward your apartment building.
Andrew frowned immediately. “No.”
“It’s literally right there.”
“I’m walking you to the door.”
You blinked at him. “Andrew.”
“Let me. Please," he said, finding a free parking slot and turning his engine off.
You wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes made you stop.
"Okay," you replied quietly.
You let him open the car door for you and let him walk you to the door.
Summary: When Dr. Robby returns from his extended sabbatical, he discovers that the girlfriend he thought would be waiting for him has a baby bump – and absolutely hates him for leaving.
Tags/Notes: established relationship, groveling and forgiveness, acts of service, nurse!reader, pregnant!reader, getting back together, ft. trinity as a menace and dennis as a cutie
Content: pregnancy, pregnant sex (fingering), shaving scene
A/N: im not good at math <3 sorry i haven't posted in three weeks lmao
Word Count: 14.3k
The sabbatical was supposed to be three months, but somewhere around Bar Harbor Robby decided he needed more time. For what he wasn’t sure. But he knew he needed to stay far, far away from the Pitt for a little longer. With his position at the hospital safe, he stayed in New England through the end of the summer.
On his first day back, he’d been gone as long as the two of you were together. Six months. Six months without text messages or phone calls or, hell, postcards. Six months of feeling like Robby was a ghost in your life, something you had and lost that lingers around every corner. Six months of rebuilding your life after he disappeared from it.
You found out about Robby’s sabbatical the same way everyone else did, during one of his evening speeches exactly two weeks before he was scheduled to leave. Two weeks’ notice for a relationship you’d honestly believed was headed toward an engagement ring in a few months. He didn’t think to ask you, didn’t think to check in, didn’t even bother to tell you in the privacy of the home you’d basically moved into. Your life fell into brutal clarity in that moment: Robby was a huge part of your life, but you were a footnote in his.
He sent you a text five nights ago: Back in town. When can I see you?
You didn’t answer.
You don’t plan to.
The morning of September first, Jack hands off shift change seamlessly, like Robby had never left, and Robby finds his footing on the ED floor with a newness, a fluidity, a casual lightness on his shoulders that strikes everyone as foreign. A version of Robby with no tension in his shoulders and no sarcasm biting at his tongue might as well be a new doctor.
Once he has the ED machine churning on pace, Robby leans his elbows on the nurse’s station and scans the shift board. “And where’s my favorite nurse this morning? Night shift?”
Dana barely spares him a glance as she processes the last of a stack of paperwork. She’d always disapproved of Robby pursuing you, so she’s not exactly sympathetic when she tells him, “She transferred months ago. I’m sure the notice is in your email inbox if you ever get around to clearing that out.”
His mind spins at the idea of the Pitt without you – your steady hands, your shy smiles, your forgiving wit. “Transferred? Where? Why?”
“Not my business,” Dana replies with a shrug. She pushes a chart into his chest and says, “They need you in exam six.”
As Robby takes the chart and looks over it with blank eyes that don’t see a word, Princess stands up on her toes so she can meet Robby’s eyes. With a knowing but curious gaze, she tells him quietly, “She’s working at the hospital’s satellite methadone clinic up the street now. Rumor is that she had an ugly breakup with someone at the hospital and wanted to get some distance.”
Robby sucks in a sharp breath. Holds it. Lets it out slow. His eyes focus to actually look at the chart and he mutters out, “Thanks for the info.”
She adds, “Smart money’s on Frank, by the way, since they were always so close.”
Robby grits his teeth. “They weren’t that close.”
“Whatever you say, cap.”
The biggest thing Robby notices in his shift once he’s working closely with his doctors again is a change in the batch of residents he helped onboard last year. They’ve gained confidence during his absence, which he’d expected, but there’s something else. To put it briefly, there’s a lot of scowling and it’s definitely in his direction. Even Whitaker, who used to glance up for his praise like a puppy, is now averting his eyes and keeping his sentences short, professional, unsmiling. The newest batch of students and interns is all polite deference and eager introductions, but the ones he’d come to know and care for and consider friends are acting like he stinks of BO and betrayal.
In the locker room preparing for his lunch break, he approaches Dana, trying to be casual about his tone, and asks, “What’s wrong with the kids, by the way? I have a sign that says ‘ignore me’ on my back or something I didn’t notice?”
She snickers, “Maybe they’re just mad that daddy went to the gas station for milk and didn’t come back for six months.” She gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and adds, “Give them some time; it’ll take a minute for people to find their rhythm around you again.”
He nods slowly and swallows, hoping that’s all this is. “Right, sure.”
The truth doesn’t even occur to him: You had been their favorite person around the hospital, his abandonment had made you leave, and they aren’t quite ready to forgive him for that.
—
It’s almost your lunch break when a whole flood of people arrives at once. You’re behind the check-in desk today and you can’t help groaning to yourself. You have to pee, your stomach has been growling non-stop for an hour, and you’re desperate to put your feet up.
You’re on autopilot as you check in patients, collect consent forms, and support doctors however you can without getting up from the desk. You’d started modified work duty this month and it’s driving you nuts not being able to do the hands-on clinical work you love. With your eyes on your monitor, the next patient enters your peripheral vision and you tell him, “I’ll be with you in just one moment.”
“No worries, gorgeous.”
Your focus snaps.
Anger rises up like bile in your throat. Part of you wants to cry, part wants to run, part wants to scream. Ultimately, with so many wars raging inside of your body, your expression goes flat as you meet Robby’s eyes. “You pick up an opioid habit while you were screwing your way up and down the eastern seaboard?”
Robby almost laughs. Almost. He hadn’t expected you to act so hostile – in his mind, you’re still the woman he loves, waiting patiently for his return home – and it pinches like frostbite. Voice soft and respectful, he offers, “I just wanted to stop by and see you.”
You set your jaw and cut back, “Well I didn’t want to see you, but I forgot that my opinion doesn’t affect your decisions.”
He sighs. “You’re still mad at me.”
You turn back to your computer and finish up the file you need to before lunch. “‘Still’ implies that eventually I’ll stop, which won’t be happening.”
“C’mon sweetheart, you can’t-”
“Don’t.” Your eyes flick up as you shake your head. “Just- just don’t.” After closing out your computer and sighing heavily, you tell him bluntly, “You’re officially eating into my lunch, so I’m gonna ask you to leave or I can get security. I’m happy either way.”
Robby presses, “Let me at least buy you lunch.”
You extend your hand and reply without emotion, “Sure, give me $20 and I’ll happily spend it.”
Robby grits his teeth and digs his heels in. “Please.”
Anxiety sparks in your chest as you realize he really isn’t going to leave without talking to you alone first. You’re going to have to stand up from behind the safety of the tall desk and half wall right in front of him. The moment was inevitable, but you’d hoped to at least be in control of it.
“Fine. Buy me lunch.” You’re almost laughing as you mutter, “Let’s see how this goes. Might as well do it in public.”
Then you get to your feet. You stretch your arms above your head, back tight from sitting all morning, and your navy scrub top rides up slightly.
Robby’s next words are breathless and desperate. “You’re pregnant.”
“Glad your eyes still work after six months of wind burn without your goddamn helmet.”
He swallows hard, barely hearing the malice in your voice now. “How- how far along?”
“Take a fucking guess, Doctor,” you huff, shouldering your bag and walking around the nurse’s station. He moves to follow you, but you point at the ‘only employees past this door’ sign and give him a mock pout. “Wait outside if you care so much.”
Robby debates for a second and says weakly, “It’s my lunch, too; I need to get back to the hospital.”
You give him a look that reeks of ‘that’s what I thought’ and say, “Then get back to the hospital. I’m immune to being left behind now.”
It’s not your hatred that hurts. It’s your apathy.
He sends you texts. You don’t reply.
He leaves you voicemails. You don’t listen.
After a few more days of silence, he’s got his head in his hands at the bar while Jack nurses a beer, pitying his sorry ass. He’s been silent for two straight beers, clearly gathering the courage to tell him the good news. It takes Jack reminding him that this is his only night off for Robby to choke out, “She’s pregnant. Very pregnant. Seven months, probably.”
“Ah.” Jack studies his best friend’s face for a long time before settling on a simple, succinct, thorough, “Fuck.”
Robby sucks in a long breath and lets it out slow. “Yeah. Fuck.”
“And she doesn’t want anything to do with you now.” It’s not a question. It’s the truth of the matter. Jack shakes his head and then gives Robby one of those pointed looks only a brother could get away with. “I don’t blame her.”
Robby balks, “You said I should go on the trip.”
“But I’m not your girlfriend.”
“And thank god for that.”
“You didn’t talk to her about leaving?”
“I didn’t realize I needed her permission.”
“You didn’t. But you should’ve wanted it.” Jack puts on that sage old friend voice and goes on, “You told me before you left that she’s the one. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“A lot. That’s why I had to go,” Robby replies, grappling with too much of himself. “Look, leaving was the right thing to do. I know that now more than ever. I figured a lot of shit out and I feel a hell of a lot better – about myself, my future, my life. But now? Now there’s going to be a baby. My baby. Our baby.” Robby gently thumps his forehead on the bartop and groans, “The whole time I was gone, I thought she’d be waiting for me when I came home. Every step of the way, I figured- I figured she’d still want me.”
“Delusions of grandeur,” Jack opines almost absently. Then he yanks Robby to sitting upright by the back of his hoodie. “She’s so far out of your league you’d have to get drafted first just to be her water boy. Why the hell would you think that?”
“Because she always waited for me,” Robby mutters, sounding so absolutely pathetic Jack debates recording it for blackmail down the road. “She- she was always there. She always stayed.”
“And you repaid her by leaving.”
Robby’s voice drops to an ashamed whisper. “I didn’t realize she loved me enough to care that I left.”
“But she did.”
“She did.” Robby stares straight ahead, through Jack and through the walls and through the world until his eyes settle back on his relationship with you – the one good part of his life that had spiraled squarely out of his control. “She was shining a light in my face, but I was too busy covering my own eyes to see her. Too deep in my own self-doubt and self-hatred to recognize what was right in front of me.”
“Alright, Socrates, pack it in.” Jack claps a hand on Robby’s back and summarizes, “You fucked it up and you need to fix it.”
“I fucked it up and I need to fix it,” Robby confirms. “But how do I even begin to say sorry for something like that?”
“She doesn’t want you to say sorry,” Jack replies. It’s effortless for him, this kind of thing. Robby is supremely jealous of how simple Jack makes it all sound. “She doesn’t want Robby the rich attractive attending anymore.”
“Flatterer.”
“Shut up. I’m saying she’s spent the last six months thinking you were gone. While you’re god knows where, she’s figuring out how to be a single mom on a nurse’s salary. So I know she doesn’t want what you used to be for her.”
Jack pauses for long enough that Robby has to sigh and prod, “You’re really gonna make me prompt you? Tell me what you think she wants.”
“She wants a dad for her kid. A real dad, not a sperm donor. She doesn’t want a boyfriend. She wants a husband. And a husband doesn’t have to run away to figure his shit out. Show up for the baby and you’re showing up for her.” Jack finishes off his beer, slaps down a handful of cash, and tells him, “Let’s get a cab. I think you need to cry yourself to sleep to figure out your next move.”
At nine a few nights later, after his shift, Robby knocks on the door of the new address he definitely didn’t steal from your personnel file. It’s a small townhouse in an okay part of town, better than your previous shoebox, but it’s still nothing compared to his spacious home further out of the city. The place he always imagined raising his family in. The place where you’d taken up half his closet, half his bathroom counterspace, half his life. Half his heart, undeniably.
When Trinity Santos answers the door, Robby nearly falls on his ass. With a green face mask cracking on her skin and her eyes burning with anger, he’s never seen her looking so full of wrath. Which is saying something. “What are you doing here, Dr. Robby?”
His brows furrow as he explains, “I was trying to see my girlfriend, but I guess I got the wrong address somehow.”
Santos scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “You girlfriend? Pretty sure you forfeited that title when you ditched her like she didn’t mean anything to you.”
“Woah, Jesus,” Robby chuckles, holding his hands up. “Is that the general consensus? Guess that explains all the hostility today.”
“Not hostile, just professional.”
“You were definitely hostile.”
Trinity glares. “File a complaint.”
She moves to shut the door, but he catches it with one large hand. “Is she here?”
Trinity continues to use her body to block him from entering. She knows he’d never do anything crazy like push her, but she wants to make her allegiance perfectly clear. “Yup.”
“She lives with you and Whitaker now?”
“Yup. Saving money until the last minute.”
“God.” Robby runs his hand over the back of his head. “Can I- Can I just come in and see her?”
Holding bitter eye contact, Trinity calls over her shoulder, “Do you want to see Robby?”
Your voice is immediate. There’s more hurt in it than he’d heard this morning, and something about that makes him feel hopeful. Like there might still be something for him to hold onto. “He’s here?”
“At the door.”
Robby listens as a chair squeaks across the floor and your footsteps recede toward a staircase. Away from him. Fainter now, you call, “Get rid of him.”
Trinity nods and turns back to her boss. “You heard the woman. Go home.”
“Fuck, fine. It’s getting late anyway; she should sleep.” With a rough sigh, he reaches into his inner jacket pocket and hands her an envelope. “Can you give this to her at least?”
Santos snatches it from his hand and demands, “What is it?”
“It’s ten thousand dollars.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Robby.”
Without saying anything else, she slams the door in his face. Shaking her head, Trinity ascends the steps to the second floor, where all the bedrooms are, and knocks on your door. You answer with puffy, tear-swollen eyes. Right away, Trinity wraps you up in a hug and sighs, “He’s the worst. I’ll kill him at work tomorrow.”
You laugh, sniffle, and shake your head. “No need. I was going to have to deal with this eventually, right?”
“Yeah, but it should be your choice on your terms, not him showing up unannounced.” You nod and pull back from the hug, swiping your cheeks one more time. Trinity holds up the envelope and says, “Robby wants me to give this to you. I can rip it up or hold onto it or-”
“I’ll take it.” You smile softly at her and add, “Thanks, Trin. You shouldn’t have to deal with my drama.”
“You deal with my gay soap opera with Yo,” she points out with a conspiratorial grin.
Your reply is interrupted by the sound of Dennis emerging from his bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s been on the late-night shift the past couple weeks, slowly becoming nocturnal. “What’s going on?”
Trinity answers with malice lacing her tone, “Robby showed up.”
Dennis shakes his head. “Bastard.”
“You don’t have to say that,” you reply with a laugh. “I know you want to go back to being his personal assistant as soon as possible.”
“Trinity would kill me,” he mutters.
She punches him on the arm. “And I’d be right! We don’t defend shitty men who-”
“Robby’s not a shitty man; you know that,” he interrupts her. “He handled leaving in a shitty way; that doesn’t make him a shitty person.”
“You’re too forgiving, Nebraska.”
“And you’re not forgiving enough.”
You sigh sharply, “And I need to go to sleep.”
“At least open up the letter for us,” Trinity insists. “My nosiness is absolutely screaming for the intel. I won’t be able to sleep without it.”
Ripping open the envelope, you sigh, “I’m sure it’s just some stupid saccharine guilt bomb designed to make me-” Your voice falls to the ground and melts through the floorboards. There’s a folded-up note wrapped around something much more interesting. You hold it up to Trinity and Dennis and breathlessly announce, “It’s a check for ten thousand dollars.”
“Oh my god, I thought he was being a dick,” Trinity replies, her voice equally low and surprised, almost reverent – not for Robby but for the sheer amount of money. “Why the hell would he…?”
With shaking hands, you read the corresponding handwritten note to your roommates.
I don’t know whether or not when you’ll let me back into your life.
That’s up to you. I accept it. I respect that it’s your choice.
But I’m not going to be a deadbeat dad. You know I can’t do that. You know about my father. I’m never going to become him. I hope you believe that.
So this isn’t a bribe to take me back. I promise it isn’t. It’s not an apology. I’m still working on that.
It’s for our kid. For you as the mother of my child, not just the a woman I want need miss love care about. Nursery stuff, vitamins, doctor’s appointments, your favorite hot chocolate from Vino’s, anything you need until they’re born. I’m not going to let you want for anything. If money is all you’ll accept from me, then take every penny I have. Please.
I promise I won’t abandon the baby. I promise I will do whatever you need from me and more.
And I promise I love you. Both of you.
I hope you’ll Please, let me prove it.
Love,
Sincerely,
Yours,
M.
All three of you hold your breath in the space that follows Robby’s painstakingly scrawled words.
Then Dennis takes a long breath and urges, “See? He’s good. He cares. He wants to take care of you and the baby. You could do a hell of a lot worse.”
Trinity shakes her head and swallows hard. “She could do a hell of a lot better, too. He still left.”
Dennis argues, “He didn’t know she was pregnant.”
You whisper, “Do I really want a man who would only stay because of a baby?”
Knowing far too much for his own good, Dennis touches your shoulder and presses, “Do you really want any man besides him?”
You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to breathe. “I need sleep. I’ll…Fuck. I’ll let you guys know whenever I figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.”
Trinity brushes your cheek with her thumb. “Love you, sunshine. Goodnight.”
You wish her goodnight and Dennis a good shift before retreating into your bedroom. You change into your pajamas, ignoring the tee of Robby’s that still lives in your drawer, and curl up with your thoughts. In bed on your side, you rest your hand on your bump and wish the little life inside could tell you the right thing to do.
In his home across town, all Robby knows is that he’s never felt so much relief watching $10,000 leave his account.
In the morning, on your way out, the door thumps against something heavy on the stoop. A large plastic tote with a brown bag from your favorite cafe on top of it. You call over your shoulder for Trinity and she hauls the heavy box inside while you focus on the little bag of treats with a note card stapled to it. Inside the bag is your usual order that Robby always brought into the hospital for you in the mornings, the coffee replaced by a ginger tea but the bear claw looking as delectable as ever.
I figured you might want your things back from my place. I’m sorry for being gone longer than you expected for not giving you a key in the first place for unintentionally stealing your stuff for coming by last night. I don’t want to make anything worse. M.
Trinity reads the note over your shoulder and announces, “He’s groveling.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should let him grovel.”
Biting the sweet fluffy pastry, you consider, “I don’t want to be cruel. I’m not going to keep his own baby from him.”
“Of course not. But that’s not what we’re talking about. Do you want him? Not just as your co-parent or sperm donor or whatever. A husband. A real man. Do you want to be Mrs. Robby someday soon?”
“Of course I do,” you sigh, “but I just…I don’t trust him anymore. How could I?”
“I’m just saying,” she reasons with a shrug, “if his baseline grovel is 10k, I for one would love to see where he goes from there. Maybe you’ll end up with a private plane or something.”
“Robby’s got money, but he doesn’t have that kind of money.”
“As far as we know,” she replies with a snicker. “Look, at the end of the day, you have to decide if you can trust him, so I say you tell him exactly what you need and see if he can hack it. Be blunt with him about your expectations. He can worship the ground you walk on from here on out or he can spend the rest of his life signing child support checks and seeing his kid every other weekend.”
You laugh and polish off the bear claw. “You’re a menace, Trinity Santos.”
“My specialty.” She pours herself a coffee and collects her bag. “Now do you want a ride or are you grabbing the bus?”
“It’s a beautiful morning; I don’t mind the bus.”
“Maybe Robby will get you a car.”
“Yeah,” you snort, “maybe.”
Right as your lunch break starts that afternoon, a delivery driver shows up by the staff entrance with an order bearing your name. After one of the other nurses calls you back, you take the heavy bag of absolutely heavenly-smelling Thai food and ask the driver, “Is this from Michael Robinavitch?”
“Yeah, he said you’d be expecting it.” He checks the order on his phone and reads, “The delivery instructions said ‘tell her I know for a fact she doesn’t eat enough protein to be growing a whole new person.’ Congratulations; he sounds like a nice dad.”
You shake your head and sigh. “Yeah, he can be.”
And it goes on like that for the next five days before you decide what to do. Robby always orders you lunch. None of the following meals come with messages, though, just something carefully chosen for your tastes and needs. He even remembers the way you order things – extra lime on your pad thai, salsa verde instead of pico on your tacos, and any bonus dessert he can throw in – to the point where you wonder if people at the Pitt are helping him out, campaigning for the two of you to get back together.
Robby checks his phone way too many times that entire first week that he’s back. He keeps waiting for you to text, call, email, hell he’ll even take a DM at this point. But you don’t. It’s agony. If nothing else, Trinity’s dagger-glare has dulled into more of a butter-knife-glare by Friday afternoon.
Then.
After he clocks out and heads to the parking lot, there you are. Leaning on his fucking motorcycle. You’re a vision in the waning afternoon, sunlight catching your hair and brightening your eyes. You speak first: “Can we talk?”
“Yes,” Robby answers too fast. “Of course we can. Do you…want to go somewhere else?”
“No. I don’t.” You swallow hard and then nod to a nearby bench, sitting down before he does the same. With one hand on your belly, you train your eyes forward and tell him, “You said in your note that you want to prove you love me. But I know you love me. That’s not the problem.”
Robby has to resist the urge to take your hands in his, to tilt your face toward him, to do anything that would ground your bodies together. “Tell me.”
Confirming his every fear, you whisper, “I don’t trust you enough to raise a child with you.”
Throat thick and limbs heavy, he rasps, “You don’t want me to be involved with my own kid?”
“Of course I want you to be in her life; that’s not- that’s not what I meant. But I don’t know if I can trust you to be her dad – her mom’s partner – and not just her biological father.”
The world tilts slightly.
Robby’s breath catches in his throat.
Tears sting his eyes and he blinks them back. His voice trembles alongside his hands as he confirms, “It’s a girl?
You can’t help the way that softens you. You can see the universe he’s building behind his eyes: Robby holding a pink-blanket bundle, Robby learning to braid hair, Robby being fiercely protective and achingly tender.
You want to share that life with him so badly that it hurts. To sit by his side at dance recitals and tell bedtime stories together and be real.
“Yeah,” you settle for saying, intimately quiet, just for the two of you, “she’s a girl.”
“Wow. Holy shit. A girl. A little girl. Have you-” He clears his throat and swats a tear from his cheek. “Have you picked a name yet?”
You shake your head and admit, “I have some favorites, but it wouldn’t feel right to choose by myself. Without you, I mean. She’s not just mine.” Robby lets the next few tears fall onto his scrub pants and you can’t bear to watch. So you dig around in your purse and hand over the few ultrasound pictures you’d set aside, always hoping you’d be able to give them to him. One from each of your check-ups, a timeline from blob to baby. “Here. Yours to keep.”
Robby stares down at pure gold in his hands. He looks over each photo like a precious ancient text, smiling with those lovely wrinkles of his. After looking at the most recent one for a long time, he murmurs lovingly, “She’s got your nose.”
You touch your pointer finger to the picture and reply, “And your huge feet.”
His eyes stay locked on the scan for another full minute; he’s too choked up to add anything else. Once he’s finally starting to recover from growing a new chamber of his heart so quickly, he tucks the photos into his backpack, slides onto the sidewalk in front of you like he’s about to propose, and gazes up at your face. “I’ll do anything to be yours again.”
Biting your lower lip, you nod. Slow. Thinking. “I can’t just pick up where we left off.”
“I don’t expect you to. I don’t want that.” He sits back onto the bench next to you, this time tilting his whole body towards yours. Creating space he begs you to fill. “I know we can’t exactly start over, but I- I want to be new together. I want to fix what I broke.”
“Okay,” you whisper back, trying hard not to cry. Hormones and hope make a brutal cocktail. You sniffle hard and suggest, “Trinity told me you have the weekend off. Breakfast tomorrow? Well, brunch; the baby likes to sleep in.”
“Absolutely. Anywhere you want, any time.”
Your eyes narrow. “That fancy place you took me after the first time I slept over?”
“I’ll pick you up at ten.”
You wince as the baby launches a foot into your ribcage. “Sold.”
With those dumb beautiful wide cow eyes of his, Robby asks, “Are you okay?”
“Your daughter’s beating the shit out of me,” you groan. When he laughs, though, you soften even more. Tentative, you offer, “Do you want to feel?”
Robby’s voice is ragged and desperate like you’ve never heard it. It’s heavy with love and with need and with hope. One word holds every dream he’s ever had. “Please.”
You take his hand and guide it to the spot where the baby is currently dancing a samba, watching his tender, reverent expression every moment.
“Holy shit.” Robby laughs and grins at you while the baby nudges him over and over like she’s saying hi. “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.”
You roll your eyes and try not to smile. “Please; you’ve felt a million babies kick.”
“But this is-” He shakes his head and chuckles again at another flutter. “This is different. Is she always this active?”
“In the evening, yeah. Like she can tell I’m done with work and it’s playtime.” You put your hand over his, nothing more than an instinct, and rub your thumb over his skin. “She’s gonna terrorize us.”
‘Us’ settles, warm and cozy, in the hearth of Robby’s chest. He leans down and kisses your bump gently. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You’re halfway through the insanely decadent strawberries-and-cream crepes you ordered when you actually get up the confidence to break the charged silence between you and Robby. He’d overly complimented your cozy but stylish enough ribbed knit dress and you’d noted his freshly trimmed beard making him look too handsome for you to think clearly. Then a healthy dose of small talk while you waited for food. Now silence.
After licking a bit of vanilla cream from the corner of your mouth, you rush out, “I want you to audition to be my husband.”
One side of Robby’s lip ticks up into a cute, amused smirk. “Shall I prepare a monologue or a musical number? Will there be a dance portion?”
You hum teasingly, “There’ll be whatever I want; that’s the whole point.”
“This has Trinity Santos written all over it.”
You shrug and relent, “She may have had a hand in the concept.”
His fork wavers in the air. “Should I fear for my life?”
“No more than you usually do around her,” you giggle, just a bit, and Robby feels part of himself taking flight at the proof of any lightness left between the two of you. Then you go on seriously (so seriously it wraps back around to adorable for him), “For the next two weeks, I’m going to tell you what I need from you and you’re going to do it as soon as you can. Every time. I want to be the most needy, most demanding, most pregnant person in the entire world. If you can survive that, you can apologize. Give me a real, thoughtful apology and I’ll accept.”
Right away, Robby nods and confirms, “Consider it done.”
You raise a challenging eyebrow. “That easy?”
He puffs up his chest a bit. “I’m an emergency room doctor; I think I can handle a few midnight craving runs.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m 100% confident.”
“Great. Love that.” You sip your drink, gaze at him over the rim, and then tell him with the most vindictive smile you can manage, “The first thing I want you to do is sell the motorcycle.”
That night, Robby’s phone rings with a call from you for the first time in six months. It wakes him from a dead sleep, but he’s been craving your custom ringtone so much that he still manages to answer within less than a second. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he slurs out, “Hi, mama.”
“Hey, Michael.” He can clearly picture you sitting cross-legged on your bed with a menacing smile as you ask, “Can you bring me a tub of that cake batter ice cream I like? The one with the blue frosting swirl and rainbow sprinkles and the actual chunks of pound cake.”
Robby puts you on speaker so he can sit up, stretch his arms, and hit the lights. As he tugs on whatever clothes he runs into, he clarifies, “You mean the one they sell at that kitschy 24-hour diner roadside attraction thing off the highway out in Bridgeville?”
“That would be the one.” Sounding downright wistful, you tell him, “I’ve been craving it my whole pregnancy, but I felt bad asking Trinity to do nearly an hour of driving to scratch the itch.”
Robby frowns as he fumbles through tying his shoes. “You still don’t have a car?”
“I’m living with Dennis and Trinity to save money so I can get one by the time the baby needs to go to daycare,” you tell him softly, trying not to let it sound like an invitation. You swallow hard and repeat firmly, “Ice cream. One hour.”
He smiles to himself as he picks up his car keys. “See you soon.”
Before Robby opens the door to the garage, his phone pings with a text. It’s Whitaker, for some reason.
Good luck on your first mission. Her feet are killing her extra today, by the way.
With a grateful little smile, Robby grabs a tube of the cocoa butter lotion you’d put him onto back when you were together and tucks it conspiratorially in his pocket.
Noted. Thanks for the tip.
Dennis shoots off two more texts before Robby gets to driving.
I’m rooting for you.
If you could also grab me some of those real rootbeers in the dark bottles they sell there that would be great.
Robby rolls his eyes and starts the car. It takes almost exactly one hour to make his way to the neighboring town, stand in line at the Cracker-Barrel-esque diner shop, and head over to your place. It’s quiet this time of night in your neighborhood, so quiet that he doesn’t even have to knock. You answer the door in a crop top that sits on top of your bump and gray sweatpants that hang low beneath it, rolled up around your ankles. You’re visibly exhausted and need a shower and you’ve never been more beautiful.
Then you glance over his shoulder at the car still idling by the curb and your mouth falls open in shock.
“Michael David Robinavitch,” you say breathlessly, hopping down onto the stoop to get a better look, “is that a minivan?”
“Brand new Chrysler Pacifica,” he confirms, following you over and slapping his hand on the hood like it’s a sports car. “Most safety and security features in its class. Ain’t she a beaut?”
With a shy smile, you confirm, “You got rid of the motorcycle?”
Robby shrugs modestly. “Not very practical when you have kids.”
“Kids. Plural.”
He cuts you a look that’s all cocky and loving. “Yeah. Plural.” Then, before you can stop buffering and come up with a response, he slides open the side door of the van and removes his spoils. Hoisting heavy reusable bags, Robby announces, “Two gallons of ice cream as ordered. Hopefully that’ll last you until after my next shift.”
You squeal and grab one of the bags from him, practically skipping back into the house. You leave the front door open and Robby hesitantly takes it as an invitation to join you inside, lingering in the doorway as you beeline to the kitchen, scoop yourself a hearty bowl, and put the rest away in the freezer. You pause, turn to Robby, and check, “You want some?”
Robby carefully steps the rest of the way into the living room and closes the door behind him. “I think all that sugar and fat would give me a heart attack even faster than the stress.”
You sigh and flop down on the couch, lifting your feet onto the coffee table and settling the bowl on your stomach. “Try telling that to your daughter; all she wants is sugar and fat.”
“Thus why I keep sending you balanced meals to eat.”
“Thank you for that, by the way,” you lilt gently, smiling around the spoon as you indulge in the ice cream. You close your eyes and throw your head back, moaning, “Fuck, this is so good. Are you sure you don’t want any?”
“I’m happier watching you eat it,” he chuckles as he memorizes your pleased expression. It’s the first time he’s seen you so content and not on the verge of yelling at him since he’s been back. “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”
“Yeah, actually,” you tell him as you try to get comfortable, adjusting pillows around your limbs, “I want to hear about your trip.”
Robby’s brows go up; he genuinely hadn’t expected you to want to talk to him at all. “Really?”
“Yup.” You pat the couch next to you. “Princess kept calling it your midlife crisis fuck-a-thon, so I want to hear about all your exploits.”
Robby tilts his head to the side and says plainly, quietly, urgently, “I didn’t have sex with anyone while I was gone.”
You try to ignore the way that knowledge makes you breathless, focusing on creating perfectly balanced bites of ice cream. “You didn’t?”
“Of course not.” He shrugs, joins you on the couch, and says sheepishly, “I thought I had my girl waiting for me when I got back.”
“Girls don’t wait for men who don’t even text while they’re gone,” you murmur back, sounding more pathetic than you’d wanted.
“I know. I was really screwed up before I left because of everything with the shooting and with Langdon and I- I didn’t see anything clearly. Couldn’t.” Without making anything of it, Robby shifts your bare feet into his lap and starts to rub the arch of one with his thumbs, deep and perfect. He gives you a cheeky look and adds, “But someone I’m trying to impress told me that I had to earn the opportunity to apologize, so I won’t get into all that yet.”
You give him a pointed look. “Any particular reason you’re rubbing my feet?”
He shrugs innocently and reasons, “You’re pregnant; I’m sure they’re killing you all the time.”
“It’s just interesting timing,” you muse, “considering I was complaining about needing a foot massage to Whitaker right before he left for his shift and you just so happened to bring him that weird Pennsylvania root beer he’s been wanting.”
“A man has to have some secrets,” he murmurs. Then he removes all pretense and rucks up the legs of your sweats, takes the lotion from his pocket, and really gets down to business. While he works tension from your feet and ankles and calves, Robby tells you honestly, “All I really did on my trip was think.”
You tease, “Sounds horrible.”
“It was, a lot of the time.” Robby takes the empty bowl from your hands and sets it on the coffee table, promising to wash it before he leaves, and insists you just relax under the expert working of his hands. “I didn’t go because I needed a vacation. I needed to…reset. I watched a lot of sunsets in beautiful places, wrote in my journal twice a day, tried to get eight full hours of sleep every night.”
Your mouth falls open. “You wrote in a journal?”
“Still do,” he replies, sounding a little impressed with himself. “It helps me think. Helps me view my thoughts more rationally – see how stupid they can get, how untrue – when I can read them on the page instead of just repeating them over and over in my mind.”
“That’s really good,” you sigh, head on the cushion and eyes closed. He’s not sure if you’re talking about the journaling or the foot massage or both. Frankly, he doesn’t care. Just getting to hear your sounds of simple pleasure is enough. Interlocking your hands over your bump, you sleepily prod, “Tell me about all the beautiful sunsets, then.”
Robby knows you’re about two minutes from falling asleep, but he happily obliges regardless. He talks about the rolling Appalachians that separate Pittsburgh from the East Coast, the light over the Atlantic early in the morning, the busy cities and empty back roads alike. He talks about the old man he sat with for three hours in a coffee shop listening to him glow about his late wife. He talks about the beach where he saw a family playing and finally felt at peace about Heather’s miscarriage years ago. He talks about the synagogue in New York City where he went just to feel connected to some peace but a rabbi sought him out from the sea of faces and said the Tefilat Haderech over him. He recites the lines he remembers.
…lead us in peace and direct our steps in peace, and guide us in peace, and support us in peace, and cause us to reach our destination in life, joy, and peace…grant me grace, kindness, and mercy…bestow upon us abundant kindness…
After a while, he hears you softly snoring, but he doesn’t stop. Instead he touches your exposed belly, gently working the lotion over your stretch marks, and soothes, “Someday I’ll take you all the beautiful places I’ve seen. You’re going to have the most perfect life I can give you. You and your mom and me.”
Coming in quietly after her shift, Trinity walks into the living room, takes in the scene in front of her, and grins unabashedly. Big bad attending Dr. Robby waiting on you hand and foot just like she told you he should. Grabbing a late snack, she chuckles and praises, “Now this is what I like to see, Rob.”
Robby whispers back, “Be quiet. She’s out like a light.”
“You were just talking to her.”
He corrects, “I was talking to the baby. Mom might be asleep, but my little girl is up and kicking in there listening to my stories.”
She gives him a slap on the back as she walks by. “You’ll bore her to sleep soon enough, gramps.”
Robby’s eating leftovers in bed the next time you call on him. He pauses the TV and picks up the call. “Michael Robinavitch personal assistant service, how may I help you?”
You groan, “I want to shave my legs and I can’t reach anymore.”
He chuckles quietly and hastens to eat the last few bites of his dinner. “Sounds like something I can handle. Do I need to pick up anything to enhance your experience? Chocolate?”
Your voice perks up just a little. “Twix. Several.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And a blue raspberry slushee if you get the Twix at a 7/11.”
“I think I can manage that.”
Half an hour later, you’re in the bath sipping on a Big Gulp and wearing a bikini – much to Robby’s eye-rolling amusement, you insisted he had to earn even non-sexual nudity – while Robby lathers up your legs with your fancy moisturizing gel. You don’t miss the way he takes the time to massage the knots from your calves with those deliciously large hands. God, you missed his hands.
“You’ve got a real jungle going down here,” Robby tuts as he starts in above your ankles, working his way over your skin methodically and thoroughly, his glasses sitting low on his nose as if he’s prepping a surgical field. If this is a measure of how much he cares for you, then he’s not going to miss a single hair. “Gonna need a weed wacker for those shins.”
You glare at him. “I will send that razor straight through your hand, Michael.”
“I’m just saying you could’ve asked me a week ago.”
“I didn’t have any reason to shave my legs a week ago.”
“But you do now?” He raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Hot date?”
“With the OBGYN, yup. She’s a real hunk.”
He gives you a very pointed look at that. “Do you want me to trim your bush?”
“Michael!”
“I know you prefer to keep the topiary neat and the ground below smooth.”
“I will not hesitate to splash you.”
Robby just laughs. As he rinses off the razor and touches up some areas – he even shaves your big toes without saying a word, the gentleman – he sighs and lets his voice go low and honest. “That was a sincere offer. I’m not trying to get off on your personal maintenance, I promise. You always told me you felt uncomfortable when things got a little unruly.”
Sounding far too flirty for Robby’s sanity, you reply, “And you always told me you like unruly.”
“But it’s your body,” he replies. Earnest. Insistent. “I’m not going to push it, but it’s on the table if you change your mind. I want to do anything that will make being pregnant more comfortable for you. I know being up in the stirrups every few weeks can’t exactly be fun.”
After a moment, you whisper, barely loud enough to be heard above the gentle movement of the bath water. “You’re making it really hard to stay mad at you.”
His eyes drift up to yours. You both hold the eye contact for so long that, for some reason, tears sting at your waterline. His golden brown irises are too familiar, too warm, too full of love you’re afraid to accept and afraid to lose. Finally he says, “I want you to be mad at me until you don’t need to be anymore.”
You scoff, “You want me to be mad at you?”
He swallows hard and amends, “I want you to feel everything you need to feel. I can take it.”
And you want to kiss him.
You hate him – and you want to kiss him. So you sigh and say, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Untying the sides of your bikini bottoms, you confirm, “Let’s trim the bush.”
He makes a show of patting his pockets before announcing, “Crap, I think I left my pruning shears at home.”
You smile and roll your eyes, grateful for his levity and the effortless way he makes you feel safe in his presence. You slip the rest of the way out of the bikini, wring it out, and hand him the sopping fabric. He hangs it over the sink and returns to his place by your side.
As he cleans off the razor again, Robby assures you, “Tell me if you want me to stop. It’s okay if you change your mind any time. You know as well as I do that the OBGYN won’t care what your vulva looks like.”
You snicker, “I know. Get to it, doc.”
Robby chuckles, sinks his hands into the water, and guides your legs apart just enough to give him access. When his fingertips graze your labia, he hisses in a needy breath at the familiar feel of your soft lips. Then he curses softly, shaking his head with a laugh. “Sorry, sorry. Reflexive reaction. Nothing short of professionalism from here on out.”
You laugh, “It’s okay. Glad to know someone still finds me remotely attractive even though I feel like a beached whale.”
“You’ve never been more attractive,” he says quietly. Quickly. But he doesn’t let it hang. He gives a sharp soldier’s nod and gets to work, using his precise doctor’s fingertips to guide his motions. “You know, the last time I did this, it was because a woman had superglue in her pubes. Gluing her shut.”
You wince. “Jesus fuck. How does something like that even happen?”
He shrugs. “Freak sex accident, I’m assuming. That’s half the job.” Then he furrows his brow and drags his fingers up your innermost thigh, cleaning up the edges. “Alright, no more jokes, I’ve gotta focus when I’m relying on touch.”
You roll your eyes. “Yes, sir.”
You close your eyes and lean your head back on the bath pillow Robby ordered to be delivered to your place a few nights ago. In the low light with a backdrop of soothing water sounds, you relax easily; Michael’s touch could never be unfamiliar to you. He uses the fingers of one hand to guide the other, methodically following his own touch along your labia, down near your entrance, up towards your clit. You try to control your breathing as his confident motions start to work some neglected parts of your brain. When he gently pushes against your mons to make the skin straighter and easier to shave, the heel of his hand rests against your clit and you can barely think. He’s not doing it on purpose – that much is clear from how he’s got his tongue slightly out in focus, attuned only to what he’s doing – but it’s working you up nonetheless.
Your shaky voice breaks through the silence. “Michael?”
Totally concentrated on the task at hand, he slows his hands and offers, “Hm?”
Like a guilty child, you admit, “You’re turning me on.”
Right away, he withdraws his hands from under the water and moves away from the tub. “Shit, I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t trying to do any-”
“No, it’s- it’s okay,” you assure quickly. “I just haven’t been able to, um, do anything about, ah, that particular sort of thing for the last two-ish months. I’m a little…pent up. I didn’t want to, like, start moaning or something on accident.”
Robby hesitates. There’s a war in his eyes. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, trying not to think about anything at all. His cheeks turn red the way you always teased him for and he opens his mouth to talk. Closes it again. Repeats that a few times.
Ultimately, he doesn’t say a thing, just waits for you to lead.
You love him for not offering, for not cracking a joke, for not deflecting. He just creates space for you, leaning against your counter and keeping his eyes on your face. The man in front of you is the same Robby you’ve adored for years and claimed as yours for months, but he’s different, too. There’s a calm to him you haven’t seen before. When Robby used to touch you, it was hot and claiming and craving and yearning. You felt his desperation in every kiss. This man is waiting. Deferent.
For the first time, you’re in charge. You get to decide.
So you decide.
Gently, certain but sheepish, you ask, “Would you mind, um, helping me out with that?”
His voice is strangled and his face is contorted into something akin to agony. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t want to change anything with where we’re at right now,” you clarify, speaking slow, like you’re worried about a nervous cat darting, “but I could really use some relief on that front. If that- if that wouldn’t be too weird.”
“Weird?” Robby laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “No, it wouldn’t be weird.”
“What would it be, then?”
He takes in a shaky breath and replies, “It wouldn’t have to be something.” Sitting down by the tub again, he says, “I said I’d do anything to make you comfortable. Anything.” He lets his hand once again drift below the water, looking at you like it’s a challenge. “I’m not a chicken about fingering a girl when she needs some help.” As his thumb ghosts over your clit, you gasp and stifle the ensuing moan with the back of your hand. Suppressing a self-satisfied smirk, Robby reminds you, “Just tell me if you want me to stop. This isn’t about me.”
You nod eagerly and tilt your hips forward to give him better access. Robby shakes his head a bit; you were always so greedy for him to touch you and it doesn’t seem like that’s changed. Robby uses the pad of his thumb to work your clit, keeping firm contact as he rubs it in small circles, not too fast but not teasing, either. Your need is obvious in the fast rising and falling of your chest, the twitching in your thighs, the way you bite your lower lip and pinch your eyes shut. He treats this like what it is: Relief.
When he can tell you’re wanting more – letting out those soft and desperate little moans he always replays when he jerks off – he dips his other hand between your legs and feels between your lips. You’re wet and begging and he’s not going to deny you for even a second. With the water not letting anything get particularly lubricated, Robby keeps his fingers seated inside of you, curling them instead of thrusting. Your pretty lips fall open in a pleased ‘o’ and Robby’s borderline dizzy from how good it feels to get you off again. He’s not sure if it’s the pregnancy or the desperation but you feel downright swollen with lust, hot and plush and like he could spend the rest of his life keeping you knocked up and-
Woah, asshole.
Calm down.
He takes a deep breath of his own, matching one of yours, and focuses back on you and not on his achingly hard cock straining for freedom from his sweats. As he massages your g-spot way too effortlessly, the palm of his other hand pulls the hood of your clit back slightly, just enough to light your nerves on fire from the intensity of his touch. Heat rises in your cheeks, your chest, your thighs. Robby knows how to work a long, hard orgasm out of you. He never rushes. He matches the curls of his fingers with his thumb on your clit and doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t race. He lets you feel every singular sparking second until you’re tightening up around him, your toes curling, your thighs clamping around his hand, your back arching as much as it’ll allow.
All Robby gives himself permission to say as you cum around his fingers is a soft, loving, “There you go. That’s it.”
When your pussy finally starts to release him, only faint fluttery aftershocks remaining, Robby pulls out of you, resists the urge to lick his fingers, and wipes his hands dry. He shuts his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath before he can bear to look at you. The sweat on your brow, the blown darkness of your pupils, the slight swell from biting your lower lip. You’re too beautiful for him to cope with. Robby gazes at you only as long as he can handle before averting his eyes.
To distract himself from the goddess bathing below him, Robby absently strokes your oversized towel hanging on the nearby rack and offers, “Ready to get out? I’ll help you up.”
Still breathless, you stare up at Robby in surprise. He didn’t kiss you, didn’t ask for any pleasure in exchange, only gave you what you needed, what you asked for. Pure, unadulterated respect. For your body, your boundaries, your desires. That’s so much sexier than the desperate love the two of you used to make between agonized sheets. “That would be good. Thank you.”
Robby pulls the stopper on the tub and extends his strong hands for you. Your eyes lock together as you stand with a groan. As he wraps you up in the towel, he holds your shoulders a moment and says urgently, earnestly, “Anything. Any time.”
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
In the morning, Robby’s securing his sleeves with his nicest cufflinks when you call him exactly when he’d expected. He may have snooped on your calendar – it was hanging on your wall as he helped you into bed, sue him – and saw that your OGBYN appointment this morning is, in fact, your third trimester anatomy scan at 9:00am. He knew as soon as he saw it that you were going to ask him to come at the last minute, so he’d asked Jack to stay a few hours late and he’d do the same at night.
He picks up the phone, trying not to sound to pleased with himself. “What can I do for you, oh glorious mother of my child?”
“Laying it on thick already,” you tease. He can hear you talking around your toothbrush and the image makes him smile as he smooths out his charcoal gray blazer and applies a few dabs of cologne. “Would you mind coming to my ultrasound with me today? Trinity was supposed to drive me but I guess she can’t now.”
Robby grins from ear to ear when he catches you in the blatant lie. Trinity’s working a double, which of course Robby would know as her supervisor. You were never planning on asking anyone else. Tucking that knowledge away in a secret place in his heart, Robby nudges, “Do you need a ride or am I invited in?”
“It’s your baby, dumbass,” you reply, the words half-formed now as you floss. After you rinse and spit again, you tell him more seriously, “I want you there.”
“You do?”
There’s a beat of silence where he’s worried he’s pushed too far. But then you say, “Yeah, I do. I wish you could’ve been there for the first few.”
With a deep breath, he replies, “Me too. I’d give anything to go back and-” He takes another deep breath and shakes his head at himself. “I’ll be there to pick you up in a few, okay?”
“See you soon, Michael.”
“Lo- See you, sweetheart.”
When you see Robby leaning against that goddamn minivan, you nearly jump his bones. He’s wearing slim-cut jeans that make his thighs look like tree trunks, his white button-down is undone just enough to show off some chest hair, and he’s got on a fucking blazer. A blazer. The bastard. When did he start putting mousse in his hair to make it so…tousled? Touchable. You can just imagine grabbing it while you ride him into oblivion.
Robby can’t suppress the very similar thoughts he’s having at seeing your outfit. You’re wearing a tea-length floral skirt with a slouchy, oversized sweater half-tucked into it. You look so comfy. Something about how soft and domestic you look as you approach him with your lace-hemmed socks and your oversized travel mug of tea is driving him crazy. He sees his whole life walking toward him with a sleepy smile on her lips.
Trying not to gawk too hard, you eye him up and down and say, “Michael, you look-” sexy as all fuck “-very handsome.”
He puffs up his chest. “Gotta look good; it’s my first time seeing my baby girl. I need to make a solid first impression.”
You roll your eyes, grinning as Robby pulls open the front door. “She can’t see you through my organs, babe.”
You don’t notice the word slipping out, so Robby doesn’t call attention to it. He just makes sure you’re buckled in and then sits on your other side with a glow in his gut. Then he reaches into his messenger bag in the backseat and hands over a king-sized Twix before starting the car and heading toward the hospital.
As you greedily open the wrapper, you hum, “What happened to Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein?”
“Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein knows you’re having your favorite burger with bacon and an egg on it from your favorite dive for lunch, on me,” he replies, glancing at you knowingly over the tops of his too-sexy sunglasses. “Throw in a side of sweet potato fries and I’m pretty sure science says that balances out a chocolate bar or two.”
You give a mock-salute with the half-eaten Twix. “Whatever you say, doctor.”
When Robby parks in his reserved spot near the ED, you both seem to realize the same thing at the same time. Robby stiffens up in his seat and offers, “I’m sorry; I wasn’t thinking. I can, ah, drop you off at the main entrance and meet you inside?”
You turn to him with one of those soft, shy smiles that made his heart stammer every time he looked your way when you started in the Pitt. “It’s okay. Really. I mean, you’re gonna be on paternity leave in at most ten weeks, so it’s not exactly a secret, right?”
“Fair point,” he concedes. “You know they’re gonna make it a whole thing, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“There might even be cake by the time we’re done.”
“God forbid.”
“Alright, fuck it.” Robby kills the engine and then walks around to your side of the van, helping you get your footing. “Let’s announce our lovechild to the world.”
“They probably already know; Trinity isn’t the most tight-lipped person,” you reason as he guides you with a large hand on the small of your back. It feels too protective and grounding for you to even pretend to protest.
“Jack didn’t know until I told him.”
“Because he’s such a notorious gossip.”
Robby can’t even respond because, as soon as you’re through the staff entrance, Dana’s staring straight forward at the two of you. Without moving her eyes from your stomach, she beelines your direction and gasps. After wrapping you up in a a warm hug, she looks you over and, disbelieving, mutters, “Holy hell, you are extremely pregnant.”
“Not extremely,” you balk as if it’s a ridiculous idea, “30 weeks.”
Dana seems to notice Robby’s presence and she narrows her eyes suspiciously, running the numbers in her head. “Thirty weeks, eh? Is that a new Robinavitch she’s growing?”
You absolutely beam when Robby blushes like a middle schooler. He confirms, “Yeah, that would be my little girl.”
“A girl!” Dana hugs both of you again and then looks at you seriously. “This one treating you like you deserve? Groveling profusely?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Good. As he should.”
Robby cuts in gently, “We’ve got an appointment upstairs, so we need to try to get through the floor to the elevator without too many interruptions.”
“Yeah, good fuckin’ luck with that,” Dana laughs as she gestures to the buzzing crowd gathering around the nurse’s station to get a look at you and Robby. “Have fun, lovebirds.”
Your cheeks are burning hot, so you poke Robby in the side and murmur, “Can you do one of your magical Dr. Robby speeches to make them go away? I don’t do well with public interrogations.”
“Your wish is my command,” he assures you quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. In the nerves of the moment, you want to turn and nuzzle your face into the comfort of his broad chest.
Then Robby claps loud a few times until the handful of free doctors and nurses gather up, including a deeply amused Jack, Trinity, and Whitaker. He announces in his Big Serious Attending voice, “Alright guys, a handful of things to stop-slash-start the rumor mill. One: Yes, I’m wearing a blazer; pictures are $45 a pop. Two: Yes, your former APRN is heavily pregnant. Three: Yes, it is my baby. Four: I’m in a period of repentance to regain her favor after being an ass for the last six months, but we’re figuring it out. Finally: The buy-in for the due date betting pool starts at $25; I’m not skimping out on my firstborn. Any follow-up questions can be directed to the admirable godmother Dr. Trinity Santos. Got it?”
Whitaker gives a charming little whoop and starts off the clapping, joined quickly by everyone else. As Robby accepts a handful of congratulations, Jack pulls you into a strong hug and looks you in the eyes, serious and stern as ever. There’s an undeniable warmth in the twitch of his lips, though, as he tells you, “He’s got you, kid. I know he does. He loves you to death and he knows he fucked up.”
You squeeze his bicep gently. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot.”
“No problem.” Then he points at your bump and adds, “That’s Uncle Jackie to you, miss.”
You blink back hormonal tears as you laugh. “Uncle Jackie, huh?”
He grins and boasts, “I was born to be an irresponsible but lovable bad influence uncle. That girl is gonna have the biggest and most annoying family of doctors and nurses.”
The baby gives you a swift kick in the bladder like she heard him say it. You place your hand over the ginger spot and smile. “Yeah, she will. We’re lucky.”
And suddenly so much love washes through your body you’re not sure you can hold it all. When you watch Robby absolutely glowing talking about becoming a dad, you know this is right. He’s the right man for you. For her. You’re swept up into the collection of hugs and congratulations, too, but you can’t stop watching Robby’s smile lines. The way he checks in with you every time he laughs. The way he’s looking at you not like a girlfriend or a baby mama but like the sun of his solar system.
Robby tucks you under his arm easily and calls, “Alright, alright, we have an ultrasound to get to, people, let’s back off the pregnant lady. You all have lives to save and baby shower gifts to buy.”
You giggle under your breath as he leads you to the elevator. “Baby shower gifts. Please.”
“What? You don’t want a shower?”
“I just don’t know who would put it together; I don’t really have the time.”
Robby scoffs, “As if either of us could physically stop the nurses from throwing one now that the cat’s out of the bag.”
“Good point,” you concede, trying to suppress the smile that won’t stop threatening your cheeks.
Maybe it’s just luck or maybe it’s the presence of one of the hospital’s more important doctors standing behind you, but you’re in the exam room with Robby holding your hand within a few minutes of checking in. The OB attending, Dr. Montgomery, arrives shortly after your vitals are taken.
She’s borderline glaring after she greets you and extends a hand to Robby. “Dr. Robinavitch, good to see you back at the hospital after so long away.”
“Good to be back,” he replies carefully, shaking her hand. “I’m guessing you’ve been given a harsh but fair view of me the past few months.”
“That would be an accurate assessment, doctor.”
Robby does that thing where he kind of hunches his broad shoulder to seem smaller and more approachable. It’s what he does when he’s hiding from Gloria or talking to a little old lady with chlamydia. He insists, “Call me Michael, please.”
“We’ll see.”
You snicker, “Addie, I promise he’s putting the work in.”
“Fine. Claws away while we say hi to baby girl.” Dr. Montgomery preps the ultrasound station as you get your clothes tucked out of the way. As she applies the warmed gel and manuevers the wand, she tells you, mostly addressing Robby since he wasn’t there for the other appointments, “She was a little small at our last scan, so I’m gonna take a few extra measurements to track her progress.”
Robby nods slowly and stares at the back of the ultrasound monitor like he can see through it and gather information. “Has there been anything else on the scans I need to know about?”
You gaze up at him while Dr. Montgomery takes her notes. “Nope, she’s been a total champ. I’m the problem between the two of us.”
Robby strokes your hair with his other hand; you can tell it’s more to soothe himself than you, so you let him. “What does that mean?”
You lean into his touch unconsciously and reply, “I’m just anemic; I passed out early on. That’s how I found out I was pregnant in the first place.”
Guilt skewers Robby like an ice pick. “You’re taking iron now?”
You roll your eyes. “And eating spinach and letting handsome baby daddies buy me burgers.”
Robby’s ensuing smile is cute and proud. Dr. Montgomery looks up from the ultrasound and happily announces, “Baby girl’s growth has gotten much better since your last vosot. She’s no longer small for her gestational age and is now firmly average. Good work, mom. Have you been adding more protein and healthy fats to your diet like I suggested?”
When Robby opens his mouth to speak, you narrow your eyes at him an say, “Michael Robinavitch I will strangle you right now with my bare hands if you say ‘I told you so.’”
He chuckles and gives your hand a squeeze. “I would never. I’m just glad to hear our girl’s healthy – and not a bowling ball. I was 11 pounds.”
You cringe at the thought. “Lucky she takes after me on that front.”
So softly it sounds more like a prayer, Robby asks, “Can we see her now?”
Flipping the monitor around with a smile, Dr. Montgomery replies, “Yeah, of course. There’s her side profile; she’s perfectly posed for us. I’ll turn on the doppler, too.”
Robby leans forward and looks at the screen. Something cracks open in his chest as the baby’s heartbeat fills the room, whooshing fast and steady. He lets out a tiny, barely audible whimper. Your eyes fly up to his and you see the tears flooding down his pink cheeks as he gazes at his daughter wriggling around on the monitor.
You squeeze his hand and he gasps a tiny bit like he just remembered you’re there. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“She’s perfect,” he breathes softly. Then he presses his lips to the top of your head and takes a trembling breath. Even his softest whisper trembles. “How could I ever leave you? I can’t believe I let myself miss this. You’re so fucking perfect. So strong. I love you so much.”
Tears thicken your throat as you lean up to press your forehead to his, sniffling out, “Mikey.”
He starts to cry in earnest, then, and you reach up to hold him. Your arms tangle together and your tears stain each other’s shoulders and there’s nothing but future in the places where your bodies touch.
Things get easier between you and Robby after that. You find yourself asking him for more and more trivial things just to see him and hear his voice. Your phone calls turn from a few sentences to a few minutes to an hour or more if you catch each other at a good time. He takes you shopping for baby clothes and even pretends to have an opinion about different fabrics when you ask. He stocks up on diapers, helps with your labor go bag, and does absolutely everything in his power to take the mental load off your shoulders.
From that new closeness, a quiet tension emerges. As you reach week 32 of your pregnancy, the shared knowledge of your needing to move hangs over you both, unspoken but omnipresent. Robby hasn’t pushed the issue yet, but you know it’s going to reach a tipping point.
That day comes during the worst rainstorm of the year one gloomy day in October. It’s your day off, so you’re treating yourself to a shopping spree when the rain starts. The forecast had only been for a light drizzle, so you were comfortable leaving the apartment in something cozy with an umbrella and rain boots. But the light drizzle turned torrential while you were inside a baby boutique on the other side of town.
Meanwhile, the heavy, dark, oppressive thunderstorm has the ED swamped. All the attendings are on staff to handle the onslaught of car accidents, falls, and asthma attacks. As he’s supervising Mohan’s work on an elderly woman’s obliterated tibia, his phone vibrates in his pocket.
While closing another line of sutures, Samira asks over her shoulder, “Is that mama?”
Robby slips his phone out just long enough to check. “Shit, yes, it is. She wouldn’t call me during weather like this if it wasn’t important. Do you mind if I-”
Mohan chuckles, “I think Mrs. Frost and I have this handled. Go save your woman from her aching feet or lack of chocolate bars.”
Robby gives the patient an apologetic smile and excuses himself. He ducks around the nearest quiet-ish corner where the hospital’s chaos lowers to a dull roar and manages to pick up right before it goes to voicemail. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?”
He can hear you crying on the other side, the sound barely coming through the rain. “Can you come pick me up?”
Robby half-jogs toward the locker room, already stripping off his trauma gown and dodging questions from his fellow doctors as he goes. “Where are you?”
“A bus stop in East Liberty,” you sniffle out. “The buses are all delayed because of the weather and I tried to get ahold of Trinity but she didn’t pick up and I’m soaking wet and freezing and I can’t-”
“Breathe for me, honey. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Robby can hear the shivering and the tears and the panic in your voice and his gut clenches up in pain. He spares a glance outside and sees that the rain is still a deluge, the clouds dark and murky above and the ground shiny and slick with oil leeching out below. Lightning strikes and thunder claps. “Which bus stop?”
As you tell him, he dumps his trauma gown, rummages through his things, and grabs his keys and his gym bag, which at least has a towel and some dry clothes. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay? Is there somewhere warm and dry you can wait for me?”
“I- I don’t know. I’m all frazzled,” you admit. He can feel your reluctance to tell him, but you can’t stop it from spilling out through the crackling rain. “There was this guy who wouldn’t leave me alone, asking all these gross questions about my boyfriend or whatever and I just ran to the closest public spot I could find.”
Anger flares in Robby’s chest. He scribbles out a note and hands it to Dana as he passes the nurse’s station, barely pausing to see her reaction – just long enough to see her annoyed but supportive nod – before he shoves out of the door into the rain. “Are you alone now? Are you safe?”
“I’m okay, just- just kinda scared and tired and- and-”
“Breathe, baby, breathe. I’m getting in the car right now.”
A few beats pass with nothing but the rain in Robby’s ears. Then your meek, nervous voice: “Would you stay on the phone with me?”
“Of course.” He guns the engine and peels out of the parking lot, careful but quick. “I’m right here with you. Just keep talking and the time’ll pass. Tell me about what you were doing. Shopping for something fun?”
“Yeah, I was.” You sniffle again and try to smile. “I bought this, um, this handmade baby wrap carrier thing. It’s really soft and, like, this quilted fabric that I think would be really comfy for her.”
“You gonna teach me how to baby wear like all the hip dads are doing?”
“Definitely.” You actually let out a small laugh as you tell him, “The whole ‘big man carrying baby’ thing is very sexy. I’m sure it’ll help you pick up chicks at the grocery store.”
Robby snorts. “You know perfectly well there are only two chicks I’m interested in picking up the rest of my life.
“Rest of your life, huh?”
“If they’ll have me.” He makes a turn and spots you huddling beneath a leaky bus stop shelter. “Alright, I’m only a minute away now, but I might be late because I have to stop and offer the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen a ride, okay? She’s soaking wet and very pregnant and dressed inappropriately for the weather.” Robby pulls up to the curb and pushes your door open as he hangs up the phone. “Hey, stranger, can I give you a lift?”
You slide into the car next to him, your eyes puffy from crying and your hair disastrous from the rain. As you buckle in, you pout and observe, “You turned on the seat warmers for me.”
“I also brought you a threadbare towel and a hoodie; I’m a real gentleman,” he replies as he opens up his gym bag in the backseat and hands them off.
Gratefully toweling off your hair and tucking yourself under the hoodie, you smile and nudge him. “Yeah, actually, you are.”
Robby gives your knee a quick squeeze and pulls the car into traffic, heading back toward the highway. You gradually begin to feel like a person instead of a pregnant popsicle.
Teeth still chattering a bit, you manage to get out, “I’m sorry for interrupting you at work; I’m sure things are swamped there.”
Despite the fact that his phone’s been ringing non-stop since he left, Robby replies earnestly, “Nothing’s more important to me than your safety.” He swallows hard and apologizes for himself, “I’m sorry for calling you baby on the phone; I wasn’t thinking. I heard you upset and I just went on autopilot.”
You tell him softly, “It’s okay, Michael.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, it really is,” you murmur back. “You missed the exit, by the way.”
Robby shakes his head. “I’m taking you back to my place; you need a warm bath and a hot meal and to sleep for twelve hours uninterrupted in a king size bed.”
You avert your eyes and admit, “That sounds really nice, Mikey.”
“I like hearing you call me that again,” he says gently. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by ordering me some orange chicken while I take a bubble bath.”
Robby chuckles, “Yes, ma’am.”
As soon as Robby has you inside, he’s helping you strip your exhausted, pruny body and drawing you a silky bath. As he collects some of his old comfy clothes for you to wear from his closet, you call out from the tub, “Would you actually make that matzo ball soup that you made when you gave me mono?”
“I did not give you mono,” he laughs, “but I will absolutely make you some nourishing comfort food.”
He can hear the teasing eye roll in your voice as you call back, “You had mono. You made out with me. I then had mono. Who the hell do you think I got it from?”
“Alright, whatever.” Robby sets down the clothes on the counter and points at you seriously. “Don’t you dare try to get out of that tub without my help, missy. I’ll be back once I’ve got the soup boiling.”
You smile at him fondly and bat your eyelashes. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t play dirty with me.”
“I would never.” You sink deeper into the bubbles and sigh contentedly, “I’m more than happy to stay in here and turn myself into a little matzo ball.”
He leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Good girl.”
“Now who’s playing dirty?”
“I would never.”
Robby slips out of the bathroom and you just…relax. While Robby takes care of you. While he waits on you.
God.
God.
Between the bubbles and the bergamot bath oil, the tension and nerves leave. The sound of the storm outside becomes white noise. From downstairs, the smell of rich schmaltzy chicken broth wafts into your nose and you feel settled. Held. By the time Robby returns to the bathroom, you know, deep down in your bones, that you’ve forgiven him.
Robby helps you out of the tub and wraps you up in a fluffy robe he must’ve been warming in the dryer for you. Then he grabs a tube of lotion, sits down on the bed, and gestures for you to join him. While he tends to your feet and legs, he pleads with you, “Move in here, sweetheart, please. I can’t- I can’t function not knowing if you’re okay. Not knowing where the baby’s going to be sleeping and not knowing if I can be there for her and for you and-”
“Michael.” It’s a whisper, a tender one at that. “I don’t want to feel like I’m trying to fit into your life.”
“I don’t want to make you feel that way; I swear.” He kisses your hand a few times and then takes a deep breath. “I’d like to apologize now. If you’d let me.”
You nod slowly and try to ignore the tears that rise to your waterline. “I’m ready. Go ahead.”
“Thank you.” After a deep breath, Robby starts, “Look, I’m not going to apologize for leaving. I needed to leave. I needed to-” He gestures wide and begging as he searches for the right words. “I needed to grow up. I know I’m a little old for that, but I think it’s the closest thing to true. I’m sorry I told you instead of talking it through. I’m sorry I went radio silent. But honestly?”
Suddenly he reaches out and cups your cheek in his large hand. His palm is warm and so familiar that you can hardly breathe. With his thumb stroking your skin, he finishes, “What I’m the most sorry for is that I didn’t ask you to come with me. Every sunset, every motel mattress, every wide open highway would’ve been so much better if I shared them with you.”
He presses his forehead to yours and murmurs, “I swear I’ll spend every single one with you from now on. I’ll be there for every birthday, every Chrismukkah, every fucking thing you want me at. Nothing has ever or will ever matter to me more than being your husband. The father of our children. So tell me what you want. Tell me every single thing you want for you and for me and for the baby and you’ll have it. Because I love you more than my stupid bike and more than my career and more than everything I’ve ever had. You are everything now.”
The air sparks like the lightning outside. For a full minute, it’s you and it’s Robby and it’s the storm.
Then you lean forward. You hold Robby’s face with both hands and search his golden brown eyes. His heart pounds in his ears. His lungs are tight and screaming.
And you kiss him.
It’s slow, so gentle, and he’s holding his breath. Then reality seems to settle softly on his shoulders and he smiles against your lips, slides his hands onto your waist, thumbs affectionate on your bump, and kisses you back. When you pull away only slightly, you inform him, “I want a house with a yard. One that I get a say in. Further from the city. I want a safe, sensible family car for myself. No black interior. Light brown. I want a big fat diamond ring. Four carats minimum. I want sex at least three times a week. Six orgasms for me as a baseline. And I want a husband who works at most 50 hours.”
Robby gazes at you with watery eyes. “Okay.”
You smack him on the chest and laugh, “‘Okay’? I was trying to be unreasonable, Michael!”
“Well I’m being serious. Let’s move to the suburbs and have a huge wedding and fuck whenever you want. I’ve got savings to get us through as long as we need. I’ll start my own practice, slow down, buy a grill, join the PTA, the whole nine yards.”
You roll your eyes and scoff, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not,” he assures seriously. “If you’re taking me back and making me a dad, you can be a hell of a lot more unreasonable than asking me to put my family first.”
“Fine.” You cross your arms over your chest and try not to grin. “I want a puppy.”
Robby grips his heart like you’ve stabbed him. “If you really want one – when the baby’s old enough that I won’t have a panic attack having a dog around her.”
“Deal.” You rest your forearms on his shoulders, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “I want you to mow the lawn shirtless on Saturday mornings.”
He melts under your touch and smiles. “Okay.”
You lean in closer, a smile of your own breaking out. “And I want my own craft room in the house.”
Glancing down at your lips, he promises once again, “Okay.”
“I want a hot tub.”
“Okay.”
“And a soaking tub.”
“Okay.”
“Manicures every other week. A tropical vacation every summer. Two more babies in the next ten years.”
“Okay, okay-” he kisses you again, soft and warm and unhurried “-very okay.”
Your hand slides down his chest and toys with the hem of his tee. You watch his stomach twitch and his chest gasp upwards as you purr, “And I want you to fuck me. Right now.”
Robby’s lips return to yours. Urgent now. He pulls you into his lap and drags kisses up your neck, tasting your clean skin and your pulse beneath him. His breath is hot and his every touch – slipping the robe from your shoulders, lazing his fingers along your arms, kissing the shell of your ear – is an act of worship. At last, he murmurs against your lips, “Okay.”
synopsis Out of all the Pittlings you are Robby’s favourite and the others love to tease you about it, but what happens when they're right?
happy robby (A warning cause its so strange) fem reader SMUT MDNI, older guy, younger reader (not really stated the ages but its there) make out, language, oral (f! receiving), fingering, dom robby, penetration. you know I had to do it to them, Pitt fics on the way
Santos was practically giddy, standing at your side, Whitaker on the other as the three of you watched Dr Robinavitch- Dr Robby- talk with Dana at the other side of the room. “Off you go, peach.”
“Best out of three?” you proposed.
“No- go!” Trinity pushed at your back as you hung your head.
“It's not like he can fire you just from this,” said Whitaker. “Can he?”
Suddenly your pulse kicked up. Would he fire you? He was totally within his rights. This was the third time this week.
Santos rolled her eyes, leaning over to glare at Huckleberry. “Don't be a douche, of course he's not gonna fire her. She won't even get a warning. She'll get off lightly, she always does.”
“Hey!” you complained.
“It's true!”
You frowned. You didn't think so. When you made mistakes- which you did- they were met with the same firm reprimand, the same as anyone else. Except maybe Dr Robby moves on a little quicker with your mistakes than he does others.... but it was nothing to dwell on.
“Why am I even doing this?” you straightened up, looking to Whitaker. “You were on Merna duty!”
He paled (even more so then he already was) and stood as tall as he could, stuttering an excuse. “I-you- I turned my back for a second! How was I supposed to know she could get herself out of cuffs?”
“Well you should've known!”
“Yeah!” agreed Santos, really with any excuse to argue against him.
“Please don't make me tell him,” he begged, his wide eyes pulling at heart strings you really wished you didn't have.
“Yeah, we all know you're his favourite,” said Trinity.
It was a phrase that had been thrown around a fair amount. Either in a admiration about how much better he treated you then others or in disbelief of the biased he showed as the chief attending. At first it confused you but when they kept pushing you to be the one to tell Dr Robby things and taking the brunt for everyone's mistakes it started to annoy you.
“You know what- that's it!” you pushed yourself off the counter, allowing Santos and Whitaker to huddle together. “I'll tell him. I'll tell him I lost Merna and you will see that he doesn't treat me any different to how he treats the two of you!”
Santos scoffed. “Pssht. Yeah right.”
“Yeah, and then- and then-” you tried to think quick. What was in it for you? You get told off by your attending? It wasn't very appealing. You may as well get something out of it. “Then you owe me twenty dollars, each!”
Whitaker didn't seem to like those chances.
“Deal!” said Santos. “But when he doesn't fault you those forty dollars are coming our way.”
“Fine!”
Santos looked beyond your shoulder, brows raised. “No time like the present.”
You followed her gaze.
Dana had walked away from Robby, spotting the three of you. Her eyes narrowed, her fingers pointing out as if she knew you lot were up to something. Or she smelled a bet and wanted in on a chance to win some money. But with Dana back behind her post it left Robby free, head bowed over a chart.
You sucked in a deep breath, thinking of how you could put it. Break it slow. Tell him all at once. Say it with care or like it was nothing.
“Doctor Robby?”
He spared a quick glance, a soft up turn to his lips that tilted into his cheeks. “There she is! I was just coming to find you.”
Oh shit. He must have seen the vacant wheelchair that was practically always reserved for Merna.
“You were?”
“Yeah. Got a seventeen year old boy, screwdriver in the right knee, lodged between the soft tissues of the anterior, you want in?”
“Er yeah,” you couldn't even think of the trauma case, not till you had your wallet stuffed with forty dollars, your shower was leaking and would soon be out of it. You'd like to get it fixed so you could stop getting to the hospital early just to shower. “Can I talk to you first?”
Robby tilted his glasses down in a way that heated your body like it was a summers day in the ED. “This sounds serious?”
“No. Well- yes. Um... I don't know how to say this-”
“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” he asked, straightening.
“Yes, I'm fine. Um... we lost Merna!” you said, quickly. It was just ripping off a band aid.
Robby deflated down onto the bed that lingered in the corridor. It was there to catch him. “Oh god.”
You wondered why he seemed more upset then angry, before you realised your poor choice of words for a hospital. “Oh no! Sorry! She's alive! I think, sorry, poor choice of words. I meant she's lost. She- well, I turned my back for a second and she was gone. Got out off her restraints like some damn Houdini. But... yeah, um, I don't- I don't know where she is.”
Robby exhaled. “Oh, geez, you got me.” His face was red but his grin large like you had just shared a joke.
You dared to look back at Santos who made a cash grabbing move. You turned back to Robby. “I really didn't mean to, I'm so sorry, you must be angry.”
“Nah,” he shrugged. “You know Merna: she stays around till she gets bored, she makes her great escape and always winds her way back here. Ten bucks says she'll be back by the end of our shift.”
All you needed was a popped vein, a strain in the arm, to have him stand over you red in the face and not with humour.
“Oh no,” you chuckled, hiding the disappointment. “I'm not a betting person.”
He hummed, pushing himself up. He nudged you as he passed but his arm stayed close, lingering. “C'mon, we'll go see that kid.”
As he led you past Santos and Whitaker they waited for an answer.
You sighed. “The money's in my bag.”
“Daddy's favourite,” Santos coughed.
Dr Robby hesitated in his step. “You say something, Doctor Santos?”
“Nothing!” you said quickly, marching ahead. “Nothing, she said nothing!”
For the rest of the day Robby fluttered around your orbit. He kept you on the seventeen year old case, checking in every now and then by popping in his head and standing at the back, arms- large- folded over his chest.
If a trauma came in he called you over first. When he asked a question to the room (mumbling the 'this is a teaching hospital') his eyes found yours first then anyone else. You knew the answers half the time but kept eyes out on Santos who's mouth was frozen in the curl of a smirk.
All the while you thought about the charting you had to do and the shower you now couldn't get repaired.
“How's daddy's favourite Pittling?” Santos snuck up behind you as you charted.
“Please stop calling me that.”
“Why?”
“It's incredibly un-professional.”
“So's the way you oggle Doctor Robby.”
You mouth fell agape. “I do not oggle-” your voice carried across the ED and she spotted Perlah and Princess ready to lap up at any noise of gossip. You whispered. “I do not oggle Doctor Robby.”
“It's fine if you do,” she shrugged. “Sometimes I struggle to take my eyes off of Garcia.”
“Ew.”
“It's not ew,” said Santos.
It wasn't ew. You were happy for your friend even if you thought she deserved someone who could give her their whole heart. But you didn't want to think about Robby in the light Trinity thought of Garcia.
If you let the flood of want and admiration you felt for Robby into your head it might never leave. You were here to be a doctor, not to create a love with a man so emotionally unavailable you'd been warned off so many times.
“It's a tough job, it's natural to build that kind of connection.”
“Oh, are we still talking about this?” you huffed.
“It could be useful, this,” she said.
You finished up your chart, glancing at her as you turned off the computer. “What?”
“Having you as daddy's favourite.”
At that same moment Javadi joined the conversation, all wide eyed and eager to hear. “Why are we referring to Doctor Robby as daddy?”
Your head fell into your hands. “This isn't happening... this isn't happening...”
“Because she's daddy's favourite, poor peach just doesn't know how to handle that responsibility,” said Santos, seemingly finished with her own charts and heading off.
You held a finger up to Javadi before she could even start and finally she vanished too.
You were left at the computer, taking in a deep breath and taking the minute to assess the room. Patients waiting, doctors moving but there was no Robby. You thought, maybe it'd give you a chance to breath, to asses the situation. Did he really treat you differently? Was it so bad if he did? He was known to snap, be grumpy, if he wasn't like that with you maybe it wasn't such a bad thing?
But then... why didn't he snap and get grumpy at you?
“What are we looking for?”
“Jesus-”
Robby straightened up behind you, chuckling low at your startle.
You took a deep breath. “I was just um- er assessing.”
“Assessing?”
“Yeah?”
“Looking for someone?”
“What? No?”
“Has our screwdriver guy been discharged, we could really use the bed?” he asked.
Ah. You were behind. Not the first time. He'd told you several times not to fall into Dr Mohan's boots in taking your time with patients. This he could get mad at. “Not just yet, no, I can get right on that.”
There was no shake of his head, no tug at his hair or fingers through his beard. His hand only curled into a fist and he nodded.
“That would be great, find me if you need me.”
“Yes, Doctor Robinavitch.”
He'd started to walk away, moving onto the next case but he halted.
His hands had never gripped his stethoscope with such strength.
The last time you'd called him that was your first day and after that he was strictly Robby.
“What was that?” he asked.
“What was what?” you said as if you didn't know.
He peered at you and then pointed to himself. “Doctor Robby.”
“Yes?”
“Not Robinavitch.”
“Oh sorry- I was just.... trying something new.”
Robby slowly back tracked. “Don't.”
“You've got it bad,” laughed Dana with her low chuckle birthed by years of smoking in spite of warnings, mostly from him.
Robby was at her counter, standing in her castle looking over her empire. Outside the sun would set soon and the night shift would come to cross them off and he would go home to a quiet apartment, eat whatever food he could scrouge up (he'd at least try and throw one veg in there) go to sleep and do it all again tomorrow.
For now, as patients swapped out in beds, the ED was the only place he wanted to be.
“Got what?” he asked, tearing his eyes away from trauma two.
Dana joined his side, staring at him like he was a patient under examination. “Her.”
Robby didn't even have to follow the jerk of her head knowing she was looking through the glass he just was, at you, comforting the teen as you stitched him up.
He knew he shouldn't, knew it was borderline getting out of hand, as if it hadn't already. He knew there was probably a dozen HR rules against the rush of blood in his veins when he looked at you. He knew he was being the smallest bit biased when an interesting case came in and he wanted to give it to you first.
He'd been trying to quit it for months and it was like Dana's smoking. One of the only good things he has left in his life.
“Look at you, you're like a dog!” she chuckled.
“I am not.”
“I get it, she's good.”
He shook his head but his shoulders sagged under the relief of being seen. “She's a good doctor.”
“Pretty too.”
Robby grabbed the ipad of the side. Pretty, intelligent, gutsy. “I hadn't noticed.”
“Sure, and I'm mother Theresa!”
Robby planned to do a sweep of the rooms, check in with his residents, make sure triage was all handled. It didn't hurt that he was gonna check in on your first. He poked in his head. “How're the sutures coming along, Doctor?”
“Great,” you said without flinching at his voice unlike earlier. “Just finishing up now. Then it'll be crutches to minimise weight and we'll see you in three days to check the stitching.”
The boy smiled, his father standing over him just as grateful. As patients go, they'd been a pretty good pair. “Thank you.”
“She's the best,” said Robby with a proud smile. He caught your glance as you put the tools back and pulled off your gloves. There was amusement in your glance.
“One of the best,” you corrected.
“That's what I said?” Robby knew what he said, he wouldn't take it back.
You passed under his arm as he held the door open for you, shaking your head.
Like a dog- as Dana would put it- he followed.
“You took lunch?” he asked.
“Er no, haven't really found the time.”
Robby thought of chastising but knew if he was gonna do that he'd have to chastise half the other doctors and nurses. “Here-” he always carried a protein bar in his pocket, in case of emergency. This was that time.
You stared at it for a long moment. “Oh no, that's yours, I'm okay, really.”
“Take it, c'mon, can't have you passing out on me,” he practically shoved it into your hand and held it there. The only thing between palms touching was a bar. “I've had mine, you need it more than I do, you've been rushed off your feet all day.”
Your lips parted with an argument ready he was sure but instead you swallowed. “Thanks, Doctor Robby.”
Robinavitch. He remembered you calling him it earlier and he'd never been so worried he'd done something wrong since being in medical school.
“Yea, seems like you need it with the teasing Doctor Santos has been giving you also.”
You blushed.
Robby wasn't blind, far from it when it came to you. He recognised practically everything. He knew you and Santos were friends, starting residency together and all but he worried the teasing was too much. He saw the mumbling, the shakes of your head and the frowning, mainly of yours and the triumph of Santos.
“I know the two of you are friends, but if this teasing is ever too much,” he started, hoping you'd clarify.
“It's not, I promise, and-and it doesn't effect our workload.”
“I never said it did, I just wanted to check it was okay with you.”
You stuttered again, blushing. “It's just... harmless.”
“Harmless?”
“Girl stuff.”
“Girl stuff?”
He wondered what girl stuff usually entailed? He doubted working in a ED would give such trouble to menstruation cycles, surely as doctors that wouldn't be cause for teasing. Maybe it was an inside thing, or maybe, it was the other thing.
The boy thing.
“It is nothing to worry about, at all,” you assured him again, still holding the bar in your hands.
“Well if it ever is,” said Robby, his hands on your shoulders. His fingers started messaging the tension points before he could even get himself to stop. “You know where to find me.”
“That I do, Doctor Robby.”
You went home that night, tired, body heavy as it always was after a shift. You threw you scrubs in the wash, finished whatever takeaway was left in the fridge and then tried the shower.
It spurted cold water once and gave up on you.
So you resolved to doing the thing she didn't want to do.
The next day, getting in early to use the showers at work, taking time in the hot steam to let it wash away all the thoughts.
It didn't. If anything it caused them.
You wondered if Robby had ever had to use the showers then you thought about Robby naked in the steam, large hands lathering up and-
You slapped the temp to cold to wash away the sinful thoughts.
He was your boss!
You completely blamed Santos for calling him 'daddy.'
“Ah, I see-” called a familiar voice as you walked into work hour and a bit earlier than you were supposed to. “Wanted a piece of the night action.”
You smiled, throwing up your damp hair as you approached Dr Abbott. “You got me.”
“What're you doing here so early, kid?” he asked, kindly.
You were assured several times over that the night shift was crazy, whacky even but when you spoke to Jack you didn't see that. All you saw was his calming presence, his at ease voice and gentle touches. He was Robby's best friend- if he had one- and yet on the other side of the spectrum to him. Maybe that was why they worked best together. “My shower's bust at my place and the money I was going to use to fix it got taken in a bet. Thought I'd catch the early bird and just shower here.”
“A bet, huh? A bet I want to know about.”
“Probably not.”
Jack hummed. He always stared at you like that, quizzical and wondering. If he stared at you any longer you were sure you'd be spilling your guts.
“How's it been tonight?”
“Busy!” Doctor Chen called as he passed, sipping from his straw of ice coffee.
“Is that the same cup every time or does he replenish?” you ask Jack.
“Honestly, I'm not quite sure,” he said and pushed himself up from his chair. “C'mon, we may as well start the hand over.”
By the time Robby made his way through at seven in the morning the waiting room was already full, every seat taken and every corner filled with a person.
“Hey Doc!” Louie greeted as Robby made his way through. “How you doin today?”
“Oh, you know me, Louie. Always moving!”
He laughed, his full belly laugh. “Ain't that it, Doc.”
“You had your labs? What you in for today?” he asked, wondering how long he could delay entering the pitt.
“Just my gut, maybe it's finally giving up on me,” he said with the same bout of amusement he took just about everything else. “Your girl already got my tests done.”
He frowned, his coffee cup half way up his lips. His girl? Perhaps the reason the phrase was so alarming was because he knew who Louie was talking about at once. He bid Louie a simple 'see you later' and walked through the place, passing nods to everyone he passed.
He heard your laugh before he saw you, the melody guiding his way like he was Orpheus dying for the music. His grandmother had loved that story.
You were leant against the counter, laughing and smiling with Jack... that bastard.
Your creased eyes from smiling caught his. “Hey!”
Jack turned and sure enough, he was smirking. “There he is!”
“You're early,” he said to you.
Had you got in early to see Jack? He didn't know the two of you even knew each other well, only that Jack loved nothing more than to bring you up after a couple beers.
“Her showers bust,” said Jack like that explained everything. “Plus she wanted to see her favourite attending before her shift.”
You rolled your eyes with affection.
“Here I am,” said Robby.
He'd never been so angered so quick in the morning. What was Jack playing at? Well- he knew exactly what he was playing at. This was called jealousy and he felt it every time you and Langdon worked on a case together easily fitting around each other, or every time you and Whittaker had un-explained chemistry in a trauma.
Did he now have to worry about Jack?
“That you are,” you said, handing him an ipad with notes from the night and his body released its pent up breath. “Jack had kindly given me the run down from last night, I can work you through it?”
“That would be great.”
Robby moved around, putting his bag down under the counter, pulling off his fleece and counting how many stupid granola bars he had for the day while you went off somewhere.
Jack wondered over, hands clasped behind his back innocently. “My tool box's is in the van, I can leave it for you if you want.”
“And why would I want that?” Robby asked, rolling up his sleeves.
Jack nodded back to you. “Her shower's broke man. You know how to work a wrench, right?”
It was alarming how quick Robby understood what he was putting down.
Jack patted his back as he went by him. “Let me know if you guys need to come in late tomorrow, yeah?”
The morning rush is the only thing that stopped Robby from getting that far with you. After the morning rush and Dana's arrival the day continued busy on a random Wednesday in spring. There was a car crash involving an elderly family and a young man DUI. There was cops coming in and shouting and everything fun about working in the ED.
It wasn't until Robby stepped out in the afternoon to catch some breath he spotted you doing the same thing.
You spotted him first. “Hey, again.”
He nodded a greeting. “So, your showers out?”
You groaned at the mention. “Yeah, it's been hanging on for a while now. I just can't really afford to get it fixed right now.”
How wrong would it be to offer his help? Not wrong at all right? He was just extending a hand? Helping a friend...
“Showering in the hospital isn't like against some HR is it?” you panicked.
“No but it'd probably mean you get an extra hour of sleep instead of coming in here early every morning,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “If you want, I can take a look at it.”
The words felt so light from his mouth but he realised how badly he wanted you to say yes.
“Oh, I couldn't ask that of you-”
“You haven't,” he said, rocking back and forth on his heels. “I'm offering. Thirty minutes after work, tops.”
You looked around as if looking for a way to say no. “I- I don't have the money to pay you.”
He chuckled. “I'm not asking to be paid. Unless you have beer and it'll make you feel better?”
You smiled to yourself before looking up at him through your lashes. He was afraid if you had said no he'd have insisted. “It would and yes. Thanks, Robby.”
He nodded once to hide the rise of heat that always came with you. “Now, get back to work.”
You didn't realise that when Robby said after work, he meant after work. He didn't insist on going home first or change his mind that he couldn't do it. He grabbed his bag at the end of the day- and yours- and the two of you walked out together.
“Have fun with daddy,” Santos mumbled on your way out and your face lit up in heat.
You were just thankful Robby hadn't heard.
On the walk to yours, maybe fifteen minutes out if the people on the streets weren't annoying, you talked casually about things you already knew. The patients of the day, or Robby asking how long you'd been in Pittsburgh. You dared pry into his personal life about his grandparents and he answered though with short responses, responses none the less.
On the walk up to your apartment you thought about everything that you hadn't cleaned up. Scrubs were in the washing basket, maybe plates and cups from the morning. Hell even knew the last time you dusted the place.
You lingered at the door.
“What you hiding in there? A dead body?” he joked.
“It's probably just a bit messy, I don't really have time to clean.”
He didn't care, he said as much that his place was probably in the same state. Still, you pushed the door open slow and turned on the lights. You tried to picture it through his eyes and really it didn't seem to bad. Actually- aside from dirty dishes and clothes, un-touched.
“Nice place,” he said, lowering your bags on the floor and slowly peeling off his fleece.
“Thanks. Uh- the shower's just through here.”
It was an ensuite, only a one room apartment but you hadn't exactly thought that you'd have to take Dr Robby through your room to get there.
The door pushed open to a wardrobe overflowing considering you typically only wore scrubs. Your bed wasn't made, just your covers thrown over the sheets and-
“Ah-” you threw a cushion over the red panties that laid there, clean.
Robby held his hands up but there was the tilt of lips that betrayed his words. “I saw nothing.”
You led him to the bathroom, making sure there was nothing else a slip.
You watched as if you were watching him do an operation that you would be tested on as he tried the shower, recoiling at the cold spurt of water.
In the doorway you were frozen as Robby directed around your bathroom like it was his own. He didn't still at the things littered around, at the scrubs you hadn't picked up from the floor. It was a different kind of mesmerising. Here- in your place- you could watch the flex of his arms and the way he flattened himself on your floor to look at the pipes had you thinking things you really shouldn't have thought.
“Want me to grab you a beer?” It was about the only thing you knew you had in the fridge.
Robby grunted as he messed around with what went on under there. “That's be nice.”
In the kitchen you pulled out two beers but pressed the cold against your head.
You'd never been so flustered by him. Not in the ED, not when he defended anyone that needed it against erratic patients, not when he stretched out and his shirt rose up, exposing a dangerous part of him. But no, here, in your place that was when you decided you wanted him.
Needed him.
You blamed Santos completely.
“Okay-” only five minutes later he was making his way into your living room/ kitchen. “You need a new part, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do till then.”
You deflated, taking the beer away from your forehead. “Shit.”
“But I know a guy,” he said, taking one of the cans you offered.
You rose your brows. “You know a guy?”
“I can get the part for cheap, next to nothing by this weekend, I can install it then.”
“I can't ask you to do that-”
“Again, you're not asking,” he reminded you. The crack open of his beer sounded between the two of you and he took a gulp, gaze levelled on you.
This was the start of a bad prono, you knew.
“I don't want this to sound, like, dirty? But there must be something I can do.” You regretted the words as soon as you said them. He probably didn't seem anything wrong with it, so you'd exposed your gutter mind before he'd even suspected.
“There is something,” he said. Robby led his way through your apartment like you were back in the ED under his commanding presence.
You followed until you were standing next to your couch. “Yeah?”
“You could enlighten me on why Santos keeps calling me daddy to you?”
You swear, the world stopped spinning.
“Fuck- you heard that?”
He chuckled, sipping his beer with a cock-sure expression. “A couple times, yeah.”
Your own beer dropped onto the couch- un-opened. “My god- I am so sorry Doctor Robby, it's just a joke. She, well all of them- the interns- they like to think you have favourites between all of us. And cause you're like, the daddy of the Pitt. And-and it's just a joke that I'm your favourite and you know they-they see you as the 'daddy' of the Pitt, so to speak. It's-it's totally unprofessional and I can get her to stop. In fact, I will! That is-” he wasn't saying anything, were you rambling? “That is what I will do for you.”
He nodded slow and leant down to put his beer on your coffee table even slower. When he rose up you swore he was taller than before. Closer, too. “Would that be so bad?” he asked.
“What?”
“If I did have a favourite? If it is you?”
Perhaps this was the start of a great porno...
“Isn't that unprofessional?” you uttered as his head leant down. His breath was warm, the slightest trail of beer in his breath, calmed by a mint he'd took earlier.
“Haven't we crossed that boundary?”
“Have we?”
When his lips met yours it was softer than you'd dreamt of. It wasn't rough with the scratch of his beard, it was light like a warm summers breeze waking you from a sleep. It lingered like the sun on you but burnt just as much.
His hands that you'd always admired were large as they crept up, cupping your cheeks, taking most of your face and his thumbs danced under your jaw eliciting shivers down your spine and across.
It could've lasted seconds, it could've lasted minutes but he pulled away too soon, sucking in a breath.
He nodded as if to himself. “I think we have now-”
You grabbed his scrubs and brought him down, showing the desperation in the smash of lips. You were firm on his lips and he grew firm everywhere else. Your hands planted on his shoulders as you pushed yourself into him, one of his arms strong around you and curling you into him.
There was desperation in his lips then, emergency like this could never last. Like if you were to pull away you'd never be together again. So when he needed breath he parted hardly before kissing you again... and again... and again.
Your hands found themselves in his hair, messing up what he had as his hands sprawled around your back, fingers dragging up and down, dipping into skin and pulling and pushing.
You tilted back enough to catch some breath, your eyes closed in bliss and scared you'll find regret in his if you looked. “Are we- are we crossing a line?”
Robby chuckled low in his throat. “God, I hope so.”
Your laugh rattled around the apartment that was empty besides the cars outside and Robby's laboured breath.
“Hey, hey, look at me.” His hand cupped your cheek again, thumb running over your cheekbone till you opened his eyes. Gone was the temptation, replaced by the sort of serious look he gave to patients. “Is this okay with you?”
Boundaries? Crossed already. Want had hardly been sedated.
“Yes,” you uttered in the space left between you. Your hands fell down to his scrubs. “Is this... okay with you?”
To answer he leant down, slow, giving enough time for you to pull back or think again. You'd thought about this enough to know you needed it. His lips were soft again but his hands were quick in working under your scrub top and the one underneath.
When his hands met flush he groaned into your mouth, lips trailing down to your neck. He was bowed over you and your hands fought at his back, pulling up his own shirt till you could feel the rough of his back.
“I promise I-” you gasped as he nipped at the skin. “My shower really is broken.”
He muffled some sort of understanding as his hands gripped your hips, pushing down the pants just enough to tease the both of you.
“And I really did lose the money in a bet with Santos-”
“I'm sure,” he uttered, turning the both of you around. He didn't sound like he was listening but as you watched him slowly sink down onto your coach you knew why.
His eyes trailed down your body till they were eye level where your core hid.
“This still okay?” he asked, eyes stuck on where you pulsed for him.
You nodded. It was sinful watching him on your coach, hands cupping your thighs as he stared at your pussy like he was already filling it. “I don't think this'll ever stop being okay.”
“Good. Take your top off.”
It stole your breath away, the demand in his voice only heard at work now used to un-dress you. But it worked. Your hands were as steady as always as you brought off your scrubs and top.
You were efficient- you were sure that's something your colleagues would say about you- that's why you reached for your pants at once.
Robby's hands wrapped around your wrists, stopping you. He pushed them back, not harsh but with enough intent for you to know that was his job.
His fingers were rough as they dragged around the elastic and yanked.
There was another cocky smile as he tugged them all the way to your ankles. It was one of the biggest smiles you'd seen of his.
You were so distracted by it you didn't notice his finger sweeping into you until you felt the rush of pleasure and jolted in his hold.
“Doctor Robby-” it had slipped out, it was just natural.
His finger curled into your folds and lips kissed upon your nerves.
You gasped and arched closer into him.
His knees were spread, you were standing between his thighs as he had you pulled into him, finger slowly working you. It had slipped in easy enough but you didn't have much time to be embarrassed before he took your wetness and spread it over your lips. “You are my favourite,” he admitted low. He was focused as he curled two more fingers into you. His lips pressed on your stomach briefly.
“Ah-” you gasped, a hand cupping the back of his head, stroking over his hair. The other held his shoulder, bunching the scrubs.
“Lean into me- like that-”
You had no control over your body as it did. You were open for him, wanting for him.
Robby leaned closer and his tongue darted out, licking up the mess that was coming out of you and over your clit. He worked his fingers and tongue until you were gasping, trying to be quiet because you knew how thin the walls of your apartment were. Robby didn't.
He moved his fingers slow but hard in and out, drawing out your wetness.
You were close, so close when he took out his fingers and grabbed your ass, pushing you into his face as he buried himself there. For a moment all you felt was the tickle of his beard before the wet of his tongue took away any other feeling.
“Ah... hmm.... Doctor Robby-”
His hands pulled at the flesh of your ass as he leaned back, tilting his head up to reach further into your core.
You were almost climbing on the couch to be closer to him.
Your stomach coiled like a snake to strike-
Robby pulled back, out of breath before you reached your climax. You whined- you didn't know yourself to ever want enough to whine. "Lean back, lean back-" he said, voice hoarse as he stood up.
In your own apartment you didn't know where to lean back to until you understood.
He helped you lie back on the coffee table as he knelt in front of you and went back to your heat.
This was desperate. This was the all encompassing need that had been driving you crazy for months but it was in him.
By the move of his tongue and the grip he had on you, he'd wanted you to. Wants you.
“Robby! Doct-doctor Robby I'm gonna cum.”
“Mmh.” He nodded, his nose driving up and down your pussy as he kept your legs open.
He gripped your hips tight and groaned when you finished on his lips- on your coffee table!.
This was the sort of bliss you read about. Your chest was heaving, catching your breath as sweat stuck bits of your hair to your forehead.
By the time you composed yourself to push yourself up onto your elbows and look at him you saw him in his own bliss. His eyes were fluttering close, mouth agape and his hand was down his pants. You could see the tip of his cock.
Hard.
Large.
You surged up, surprising him as you wrapped your arms around him and kissed him, pushing your tongue into his mouth as he pulled you into his lap. Your wetness pooled at his cock, staining his scrubs.
“Awh- fuck-” he cursed between the moves of your mouth. He stretched out his legs, pushing back your coffee table with a screech.
You were grinding down on his lap maybe to eager, maybe to hard as his chest heaved and he lost his breath in you.
Your hands went under his scrubs and pulled off his shirt eagerly, pens in the pocket of his shirt scattering.
“Wait-” he gasped as you kissed him and kissed him, hands running down the softness of his stomach and dragging down the hairs that trailed.
“Please-”
“Honey-”
You pulled back enough to see his face. He wasn't as sweaty as you were but his face was hard as he stared at you, brushing your hair off your neck and for a moment he just ... stared. “What? Is it-is it too much?”
He smiled. “No, no it's not too much. You want to take care of me?”
You nodded.
“Okay.”
He helped you up to your feet, helped you stand out of your pants and kissed you. It was gentle and promising of a night full of this, of nights and days and a future.
His hands steadied you, keeping you against him as he pushed you back to your room.
You fell back, watching him as he un-did the ties of his pants and pushed them down.
Oh.
You were left, mouth watering on the edge of your bed as his cock sprung out, thicker than you'd have thought. Harder then you imagined. “Doctor Robby-”
His hand reached out to your neck as he bent over you. “You have to stop calling me that-” his kissed you, tongue working against yours in the warmth of your mouth. The both of you shuffled up the bed until you could feel the weight of his cock against your thigh.
“Wait-wait- I wanna-” you reached to brush his cock.
“Later-” he kissed you quick again.
You grumbled against his lips. “I-I don't have condoms. I'm on the pill, I'm clean-”
He nodded. “So responsible.”
Robby leaned back on his knees enough to see you. There was a thin sheen of restraint on his skin and as he pumped himself once- twice you marvelled at his body. The planes of it, the hairs. He was older than you by enough. His body wasn't rock solid but fuck was he the best thing you'd ever seen. “Tap out any time.”
You nodded, looking up at him as he looked at you. “I want it. I want you,.” you gulped. “In case I hadn't made that very clear..”
He rose a brow. “Well-.” slowly he descended toward you, an arm bracing himself on the side of your head. “Apparently I hadn't made it very clear that you-.”
Between one word and the next he pushed the head of his cock into you.
Your back arched and he groaned, head falling into your neck.
“-are my favourite thing in the world.”
You moaned out as he pushed inches of himself into you.
“Ah fuck- ah fuck- you just- just-” he mumbled to himself, body clenched.
“Robby please!” you begged, nails scratching at his shoulders.
“Jus gimme a sec.” His eyes darted down to his cock was slowly sinking into you. He controlled himself as he gave it inch by inch, the veins in his arms prominent as he controlled himself. “Fuck- oh I need you- I need you-”
With a smooth push he fell all the way into you, groaning out and taking your hand, entwining your fingers next to your head. He kissed you, stealing your breath and moans as he slowly worked in and out of you.
“I won't last long,” he warned you.
“I don't- I don't want you to.”
“Okay- okay- fuck-”
The composed man you worked with vanished as curses spilled from his lips as he went between kissing you and sucking at your collarbones to watching where he slid in and out of you.
He groaned where you moaned and as your body trembled he pushed himself up, the sound of skin slapping skin bouncing around your bed room walls.
“I'm gonna-”
“Wait!” he barked.
“Robby!”
“Jus-” he tested his body weight on you, moving at a brutal pace till his necklace was close enough for you to grab. You hooked a finger around the chain, bringing him in and locking your legs around him. “Ah fuck- fuck!” he moaned against you as he released inside and you let go, arching up into him.
His arm circled around you, holding you in.
The two of you stilled wrapped in each other, catching breath.
He ran his hand over your hair, pushing it back as his cock softened and he slipped it out.
“Shit-” he fell back on your bed, pulling the covers over the two of you. “Okay?”
“Yeah,” you said, catching your breath. “Yeah, okay.”
Robby nodded, opening his mouth to say something when he felt an itch at his back and moved around. His hand came out, revealing the bundle of red panties.
You grabbed them, throwing them behind him and out of sight as he chuckled. You fell back on your bed, hiding your face in your hands and knowing there was little point in hiding from him.
Robby still chuckled as he turned on his side to watch you, his chest still moving as he caught his breath.
You mirrored him, tucking a hand under your head. “You know I don't think I've ever seen you smile so much.”
“Don't tell anybody they'll all expect special treatment.” His hand reached your thigh, circling it gently. “That was okay?” Under the smiling and the want that subsided a little you could read the mask of insecurity.
You were at a loss for words by how good it was.
You leant over and kissed him slow, feeling his lips with every note of your brain and trace of your lips.
You pulled away when you remembered why he was here in the first place. “I still don't have a shower.”
Robby glanced over his shoulder like he'd also forgot it was there. “We'll just have to shower at mine then.”
tricky words I always see misspelled in fics: a guide
Viscous/vicious – Viscous is generally used to describe the consistency of blood or other thick liquids. Vicious is used to describe something or someone who is violent.
Piqued/Peaked/Peeked – To pique someone’s interest is to catch or tease their attention. When something peaks, it reaches its total height or intensity. To peek (at) something is to look briefly, or glance.
Discrete/Discreet – this is a tough one. Discrete means to be separate, or distinct, i.e., two discrete theories. Conversely, when someone is discreet, they are being secretive or cautious to avoid attention.
Segue/Segway – one is a transition between things, the other is a thing you can ride at the park and definitely fall off of.
Conscious/Conscience/Conscientious – to be conscious is to be awake, i.e., not unconscious, or to be aware of something. Your conscience is the little voice in your head telling you not to eat the entire pint of ice cream. Finally, to be conscientious is to be good, to do things thoroughly, to be ruled by an inner moral code.
Hope this helped! Please add more if you think of them!
Counsel/Council - counsel is advice, the advice giver, or the verb form of giving said advice. Council is the group of people who come together to discuss and/or make decisions.
Desert/Desert/Dessert - desert is a barren landscape where little precipitation occurs. desert - abandon (a person, cause, or organization) in a way considered disloyal or treacherous. dessert - a usually sweet course or dish (as of pastry or ice cream) usually served at the end of a meal.
OH MY TIME IS HERE! I HAVE MADE A POST I KEEP FOR THIS EXACTLY
Taunt/Taut - Taunt is a jeer or provocation, taut means to be pulled tight, or not slack
Weary/Wary - weary means tired and wary means cautious
Rogue/Rouge - rogue is a person who has unaffiliated themselves from what they were before (is the general understanding); a person or thing that behaves in an aberrant, faulty, or unpredictable way - rouge is red
Wonton/Wanton - a wonton is a dumpling, wanton is (of a cruel or violent action) deliberate and unprovoked and/or sexually unrestrained
Haphazard/Halfhazard - haphazard means to have a lack of plan, order, or direction - the other isn’t a word
Corporal/Corporeal - corporal is a lack of plan, order, or direction and corporeal is to have a physical existence: to be tangible: of a person’s body
Peck/Pec - the first is a kiss (peck) and the second is the shortened version of pectoral (pec)
Virile/Viral - to be virile is to have strength, energy, and a strong sex drive (typically said about men) and then this last year (2020) has personally taught us, is how viral a plague can really be, so of the nature of, caused by, or relating to a virus or viruses
Vulnerable/Venerable - vulnerable means being susceptible to physical or emotional attack or harm, and if a person is venerable they’re accorded a great deal of respect, especially because of age, wisdom, or character (or if you’re religious, holy)
Dyed is something that is colored, and died is deceased
I wrote a whole list of these years ago, but the same misspellings persist, unfortunately.
Advice/Advise - in American English advice is a noun, you can give it to people, and advise is a verb, the act of giving advice
Ball/Bawl - people ball their fists when they are angry and ready to fight; people bawl when they cry loudly like a baby
Bear/Bare - to bear is to carry something physical or figurative like “to bear arms” or “to bear good news;” bare is when something is hairless, naked, or exposed as in the expression “baring your soul”
Hanger/Hangar - clothes go on a hanger in a closet or on a rack; airplanes go in a hangar to keep them safe
Definite/Defiant - when something is a sure thing it is definite; when someone acts out against authority they are defiant
Pour/Pore - you pour drinks or pour out your feelings, but your pores are the tiny holes in your skin that keep it healthy
Palate/Palette/Pallet - palate is the surface of your tongue that allows you to taste (e.g. palatable means “is enjoyable to eat”); a palette is a set of color options for paint or makeup; a pallet is a wooden platform heavy shipments are placed on so forklifts can move them around, or a pallet is a mattress stuffed with straw
One more example that I don’t see misspelled, but do see misused:
Soiled - primarily used to describe clothing or fabric that has been made very dirty with something gross and wet (feces, mud, vomit, food, etc.). It is not just a synonym for “wet,” it is very specific. If your female character has “soiled panties,” she is not sexy she just pooped her pants.
Sodden - a close synonym to “soaked,” except it normally has a negative meaning whereas soaked is neutral. You use sodden for objects that have been made soggy or ruined by too much liquid. It is not often used for buildings, cars, or other normally solid objects. Unless the building is made of straw or the car has a fabric interior and was flooded, neither will be described as sodden.
This is partly why I stress that people READ more books if they want to be taken seriously as published authors. You make a lot more mistakes if you don’t know what your language should look like in print!
bully!Soap who never insults your looks, you were his pretty little cry baby. he craved seeing you whimper and whine, he loved the thrill of you fighting back with tears on your cheeks
he however hates seeing those pretty eyes pained. when the two of you were 10 years old is when he made the grave mistake of mocking your teeth for the first time, he was experimenting at the time and he q u i c k l y learned that is not what he wants, not at all, after watching tears of genuine hurt pool at the corner of your eyes, not meeting his eye as you cover your mouth with your hand and fleeing
you didn’t smile for weeks and everyone avoided the boy, who stared at you, willing you to l o o k at him
the first time he ever heard a boy a grade higher than the two of you utter the word “fat” in your direction, he blacked out, only coming back when two teachers were hauling him off the boy, knuckles busted and dripping blood, and the boys face was a proper mess
when they were dragging Johnny towards the office, he caught sight of you, staring at him, hands clutching his book bag and cheeks glistening in the afternoon sun, eyes wide and curious
boxer!character who’s only ever used his fists to solve problems x ring girl!reader who hates violence; he searches for you every time he knocks someone out, eyes trailing after your shadow. you couldn’t watch the match, not because you hate the brutality of it all, but because you couldn’t stand to see him get punched. he’s disappointed because he wins all these matches with the hopes of receiving some type of praise from you 🤭 when you admit why you always leave asap, he starts finishing fights within minutes, if not seconds. when interviewed on what’s with the sudden speedy fights, he flat out states, “my girl doesn’t like to watch, and i don’t like being away from her.” when you watch the footage, you can’t help but wonder, is this his way of asking you out?!
