you can call me: al (like the paul simon song), she/her, 30ish 🩷💜💙
top three fandoms: the pitt, x-files, er
my masterlist can be found here!
requests: always open, but I can't promise a fast turnaround time 🤣
taglist: can be found here!
currently writing for: the pitt! i'm open to trying most characters/ships except for hucklerobby/hucklerabbot (it's just not my thing but i'm not here to yuck your yum, babe!)
also happy to: beta read, bounce around headcanons, collab on a fic, chit chat about our feelings for fictional characters
note: this blog is lgbtqia+ friendly and any behaviour in opposition of that has no place here.
it’s been nearly six months since they’ve talked. well, more accurately, since jake screamed at him. something about “we’re not friends, and you’re not my father.”
all of robby’s texts to “check in” have gone unanswered, and while janey has told him to be patient, that jake will “come around,” all of the messages, marked read but unreplied to, have broken his heart.
so he’s stopped expecting to hear from jake. starts, instead, to put it in the back of his mind. shelve it. compartmentalize it. this way, robby doesn’t start thinking about how everything in his life–especially every primary relationship–involves loss.
because that’s a spiral into an emotional low that he doesn’t have the time for.
so when jake’s name appears on the home screen, robby has to take a second. look at it, first, to make sure it’s real. then take a deep breath, because there’s a chance that he’s not going to like what it says.
but surprisingly, that’s not it at all.
it’s a photo of a bouquet - a really stunning one, packed full of lilies, janey’s favorite flower.
jake: remember when you used to take me to get valentine’s day gifts for mom?
robby’s hands are shaky as he replies.
robby: Of course I do.
jake: and you would always buy me sour patch kids. was that a bribe?
robby: Well…yeah. You try getting a teenage boy to be sentimental without a bribe and let me know how it goes.
jake: you taught me her favorite flowers and her favorite candy and everything. and how important it was to do the little things.
jake: i guess what i’m trying to say is thank you
jake: and i’m sorry
jake: and i miss hanging out with you
robby: Me too, kid. Basketball tomorrow? We can get lunch after.
It’s one thing to step into spaces that existed before her and will, therefore, exist after her, too. If need be, Samira can rewrite the story at the end: a pilgrim, just passing through.
It’s another thing entirely, with real significance and stakes, to build something new with someone. She’s rarely ever had the impulse, was never really one to pass time daydreaming about what her wedding dress might look like, or her car, or her house. Her classmates always seemed to have skin in the game when they played M.A.S.H. in between bells or at the lunch table, but not Samira.
There’s something about Jack, though. With him, she’s able to picture so clearly what their home—their future—might look like. With him it’s easy, textured technicolor.
It was an ordinary Saturday. They had spaghetti for dinner—store-bought spaghetti with jarred sauce and the last of the parmesan out of the plastic shaker, Robby’s idea. It was quick and it was easy and there was plenty for both of them, and as Robby collected the dishes and rinsed them at the sink, Jack ruminated on how fucking delightful it was to be with someone who just wanted to eat spaghetti alongside him. Sure, now and then, he liked to clean up and go out, have some fancy-ass dinner where the server would grate fresh parmesan right on his plate. But anyone could go to some fancy-ass restaurant on any night of the week; you barely needed to know a person to get your parmesan grated these days. Slurping up spaghetti without worrying the other person thought less of you for the splatter and the sound effects—you had to put in work to get that.
“Dessert?” Robby asked, closing up the dishwasher, slotting the roll of paper towels back in its holder.
“Nah,” said Jack. He rubbed his stomach appreciatively. “Maybe later.”
“Sure.” And Robby opened up the cupboard where they kept god knows what—the blender and the waffle maker they bought on a whim, but Jack couldn’t have named anything else shoved back there—and pulled out a manila envelope. “I got you something.”
“For what?”
Robby shrugged. “For no reason. Just thought you might like it.”
Jack looked at the envelope as Robby placed it in front of him. “This?”
“Yeah.” Robby walked away, leaned back against the sink and folded his arms. “You should open it.”
Jack eyed it for a moment more, then eyed Robby.
“It’s not a gag. It will not burst into flames when you . . .”
“Jesus, I hadn’t even considered . . .”
“Just open it,” Robby said.
Something in his tone of voice made Jack do as he said, and he pulled out a thick stack of papers. There was a post-it note on top that said “FOR JACK” in Robby’s handwriting. The man had even drawn a heart underneath.
“What is this?” Jack asked, turning the stack the right way around and trying to parse what was in front of him.
“It’s uh . . .” Robby shifted a little. “You know. All the paperwork to have you named my next of kin. Medical decision-making. Life insurance. Will.”
For one, long, electrifying moment, Jack forgot how to breathe. “What?” he sputtered when his brain came back online. He looked down at the papers, fanned them out on tabletop. There were so many of them. “Mike. You can’t just . . .” He heard his own voice crack and pressed his lips together and tried to marshal the hundred feelings battering his ribs.
“Yeah, I can,” said Robby softly, and Jack pushed back his chair, stood up, crossed the kitchen and slammed into him, wrapped his arms around him and held him so tightly that Robby made a little ‘oof’.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Robinavitch.” Jack pressed his face into Robby’s neck, held on and held on and held on until Robby held him back, one of his hands cradling the back of Jack’s head.
“So you like it?” Robby asked.
Jack pulled back, dashed a hand across his face. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.” He shook his head. “Now I gotta do this right back and . . .”
“I got a guy,” Robby murmured.
“Yeah?” Jack smiled at him, pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Well, I got a guy, six foot one inches, a fucking romantic, would you believe what he did?”
synopsis: a continuation of christmas concussion and new year's reunion — you and robby choose to stay in for valentine's day and have a quiet night in, free from hazards and visits to the pitt. what could possibly go wrong?
author’s note: starting writing this right after the darling @pocket-of-possibilities that commented this idea on the last installment, so thank you for that!! not sure if it's really in character but i had fun!! pls enjoy, and happy valentine's day, cuties <3
wordcount: 3,216
Michael Robinavitch x Reader
Valentine’s Day is supposed to be quiet.
That’s what you and Robby had agreed on this year, deciding to stay in – no dinner reservations, no crowds, no expectations beyond spending the night together in an ordinary way that’s begun to feel like a privilege.
There’s a light dusting of snow falling softly outside the windows, the city blurred and muted by the winter weather as Robby gets home from his shift.
He kicks his shoes off in the hall, wincing and rolling his shoulders to try and get rid of the crick in his neck, when he notices the warm, savoury smell in the air, and music faintly carrying through the apartment.
“Sweetheart,” he calls as he enters the living room, his voice rough from a long shift of barking out orders. “Why does it smell like I’m being seduced?”
You poke your head out of the kitchen, a smear of something red across your cheek, and smile almost smugly. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Robby’s whole posture softens at the sight, the tension in his shoulders easing and his mouth curling into a tired, affectionate smile. “You cooked for me?” He asks, unable to believe how he got so lucky.
“You just worked a double,” you reply. “I’m not a monster.”
He crosses the apartment in a few long strides and kisses you, skin still cold from the frosty air and tasting like coffee. His hands are warm and grounding on your back, but before you can melt too far into the kiss, you plant your hands on his chest and push him back.
“Don’t distract me, or your dinner will be charcoal.” You scold, shooing him toward the couch with the wooden spoon in your hand. “Go. Sit. You’re off duty, relax for a bit. Dinner should be ready in maybe twenty.”
He holds his hands up in surrender, dropping his bag onto the couch and shedding his hoodie, before he comes to stand in the doorway of the kitchen, eyes tracking you as you move around, humming along to the music.
“What’s the menu?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest.
“Pasta,” you say, glancing at him over your shoulder. “From scratch. Which was either very romantic of me, or an all around terrible idea.”
He squints, glancing at the various pans and cutting boards strewn across the counters. “Do I need to worry?”
“No.” You answer quickly, shaking your head, and then, “...Maybe. I don’t know. We’ll see how the sauce turns out.”
He laughs, leaning against the doorframe, watching you work. “You know I would’ve been perfectly happy with takeout.”
“I know,” you say, softer. “But I wanted to do this.”
Something in your tone makes him go quiet, a warmth building in his chest as he studies the care you’re putting into it, the way you keep glancing over like you’re checking he’s still there.
“You know, you don’t have to do all this to seduce me,” he says gently, wry smile on his lips. “I’m already dating you.”
“I’m not,” you insist, slicing through a clove of garlic and throwing a small smirk over your shoulder. “I just like you.”
He smiles at that. “Good. I like you too.”
You roll your eyes. “Don’t get sentimental on me, Robinavitch.”
“Okay,” he comes up behind you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Then I’ll just say you look really hot wielding a knife.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks. “Michael–”
“Very capable. Slightly terrifying.” He continues to hum into your ear, arms wrapped around your waist.
“Okay, this is definitely distracting.” You laugh, shaking your head as you turn back to the cutting board. “Seriously, go sit, I’ll come join you soon.”
He huffs a sigh of disappointment but does as he’s told, disappearing back into the living room with only minimal grumbling.
You get back to it, ignore the flush in your cheeks and the butterflies in your stomach, focusing on the food. The knife glides through the garlic, in a rhythmic, comforting motion, and you relax into it.
And then the knife catches.
It doesn’t skitter off the cutting board or impale your hand, it just skids sideways instead of down, a slight misdirection, your grip just off enough for steel to meet skin. You drop the knife with a clatter, your hand suddenly really warm, and grimace.
Pain blooms a half-second later.
“Ah–!” Your voice catches high in your throat, coming out strangled as you see red suddenly start to well up along the cut, your stomach churning at the sight. You snatch a tea towel to wrap around your hand, and within seconds Robby’s head is appearing through the kitchen doorway.
“What happened?” His eyes are dark, sharp and assessing, scanning the kitchen before they land on your wincing expression and the towel you have wrapped around your wrist.
You can physically see the moment he shifts into Dr. Robby, eyes narrowed as he swiftly moves to your side and gently takes the towel from your hands, sliding his glasses from the top of his head onto the bridge of his nose.
You’re already shaking your head, a dismissal of the situation poised at the tip of your tongue, but then he starts unraveling the cloth and your breath catches.
Oh. That’s a lot of blood.
“Shit, sweetheart,” Robby grimaces, throat bobbing as he swallows. “Did the knife slip?”
You nod, wincing as the fabric brushes against the cut. “Fuck, I feel so stupid–”
“Hey, no, don’t do that.” He admonishes gently, catching your eyes over the rim of his glasses.
You can already feel tears welling in your eyes at both the situation and his kindness toward you. “That’s– That’s a lot of blood.” You manage to vocalize, peeking at it from the corner of your eye.
“I know,” Robby murmurs, already applying firm pressure with a clean dish towel, his movements automatic but careful. “Don’t look. Just look at me.”
You try, but your traitorous eyes get the best of you and flick back to your hand anyway, and your knees go a little weak.
“Hey,” he says, sharper now, sliding an arm around your waist and steadying you against him. “Sit. Sit down before you fall.”
You let him guide you to the chair, heart hammering, the kitchen suddenly too bright, too loud, the sizzle of the pan still going, oil popping cheerfully like there’s nothing wrong.
“I was just trying to be romantic,” you mutter faintly, swallowing hard as another wave of nausea rolls through you. “And now I’m bleeding out all over the kitchen.”
A corner of his mouth twitches despite himself. “You’re not bleeding out,”
He glances at the clock on the microwave, jaw tightening, and despite the small smile he puts on when he catches your eyes, you can tell he’s pretty worried by the little crease formed between his eyebrows.
“Can you move your fingers for me?” He prompts gently, watching your hand carefully. “Just a little. Don’t force it.”
Your heart rises into your throat, but you still try. Your thumb curls in obediently, index finger too, but when you get to your middle finger, it hesitates – like the signal got lost halfway between your brain and your hand.
You frown, anxiety swelling. “I– Wait. That’s weird.”
Robby goes still beside you, the hand holding your forearm tensing for a moment. “Try again.” He says quietly.
You do, with the same result – the finger barely moves, tugging uncomfortably before stopping. Your eyes widen, looking up to him, just in time to see his expression sharpen, face going tight, and you know immediately that it’s not good.
“Okay,” his voice comes out steadily, calm but decisive. “That’s important.”
Your throat tightens. “Important how?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he adjusts his grip, elevates your hand slightly, checks the depth of the wound without fully uncovering it, just enough to confirm what he’s already suspected.
“This isn’t something I can fix here,” he says finally, voice low, meeting your eyes with a thin smile. “The cut’s deep, and I’m worried you might have nicked a flexor tendon.”
The word tendon sends ice sliding down your spine, but before you can get too worried, Robby huffs out a humourless laugh. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…”
You go still. “Oh, God, we have to go to the ER?”
He nods, and you groan, heat rushing to your face in embarrassment.
“I can’t–” You swallow, face tilting down to stare at your lap. “I can’t go back to the ER. Robby, it’s Valentine’s Day, you just got out of there, I’m already so embarrassed, I–”
“Hey.” He ducks his head to catch your eye, scooting his chair closer to you, his knee pressing lightly against yours. “Listen to me.”
You do – you always do.
“I don’t care what day it is,” he says, eyes narrowed, voice low and rumbly. “And I don’t care that I just left – what I care about is that you’re hurt.”
Tears spill over despite your best efforts. “I didn’t want to ruin tonight.”
His expression softens completely at that, thumb brushing gently over the knuckles on your good hand.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” He says, then glances down. The towel is fully saturated now, blood seeping through onto his fingers. He notices, and his jaw tightens again.
“Okay,” he adds, already reaching for his keys in his back pocket. “We’re going in. I want imaging, proper exploration, and someone who can repair this correctly.”
You wince. “You sound very doctor right now.”
“I am very doctor right now,” he says, helping you to your feet, arm firm around your back, before adding, softer, “And very boyfriend, and both of those want you safe.”
It’s a very fast drive to the ER (after you double- and triple-checked that all the burners were turned off and the food was off the heat), with Robby most definitely pushing the speed limit, and you’re back outside your least favourite building before you know it.
As soon as the sliding doors part, and the familiar ER smell hits you – antiseptic, coffee, something metallic underneath that you don’t want to think about. Robby’s hand is firm at your lower back as he guides you inside, already rattling off details to the triage nurse before she’s even finished asking what he’s doing back so soon.
“Knife injury to the left wrist, deep laceration, uncontrolled bleeding at home, lightheadedness. No LOC. No anticoagulants.”
The nurse takes one look at the towel and waves you through, offering you a comforting smile. “Central Eight is open.” She calls after you, and Robby nods gratefully, steering you through the chaos.
“I swear we made you leave already.” A voice calls out from behind you.
You can feel Robby relax in visible relief, turning you both to face the source of the voice. You know from photos that it’s Jack, or Dr. Abbot, you guess you should call him here, who has his arms folded over his broad chest and his eyes narrowed at the two of you.
“Brother, I am so glad to see you right now.” Robby greets, patting Jack on the shoulder, and Jack nods, eyes still fixed on you.
“So. You’re Handle With Care.” He hums thoughtfully.
You frown for a moment, confused at the arrangement of words, before it finally dawns on you, and you glance up at Robby, who’s grimacing lightly, before looking back at Jack. “Oh my– No. No. Is that my nickname?”
Jack raises his eyebrows, glancing between the two of you, before he gestures at one of the curtained off sections with his head and starts walking that way. “Come on, let’s get that looked at. It looks pretty gnarly – what happened?”
“I was cooking, and it just– Slipped.” You explain, still a little indignant over the nickname.
Jack nods, slipping on gloves as Robby helps you sit down on the bed and pulls the curtain closed behind you. “And it started bleeding immediately?”
“Yes.” You nod, swallowing thickly as you’re reminded of the injury.
“Steady flow or spurting?”
You hesitate, and Robby steps forward. “It was steady, soaked through direct pressure within minutes–”
Jack fixes him with a look, and Robby stops mid-sentence, holding his hands up in silent apology, and Jack returns his attention to you like nothing happened. “Any numbness when it happened?”
“No.”
“Any difficulty moving your fingers?”
Robby shifts next to you again. “There was slight delay in flexion of the third digit initially, but–”
Jack’s eyes shutter closed for a split second. “Robby, man, you’re killing me.”
You glance between them, equal parts mortified and oddly touched. “He’s just worried.” You offer quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips.
“I know,” Jack says, meeting your eyes conspiratorially. “He’s worse when he knows the patient, but he should trust that I know what I’m doing, and don’t need him to be the attending right now.”
“I am right here.” Robby grumbles.
Jack finally looks back at him fully. “Exactly.”
There’s history in that look – shared shifts, shared disasters, shared losses, and you’re somewhat grateful that this whole mishap finally allowed you to see it in person.
“Alright. Let’s see the damage.” Jack steps closer, catching your eye to check in with you as he reaches for the towel, and when you nod, he begins unwrapping it. You avert your eyes immediately, stomach rolling.
“Okay,” his voice is calm and steady. “That’s a deep palmar laceration. Looks dramatic because hands are vascular – lots of little arteries. But it’s clean. Superficial palmar is intact.” He throws that last bit at Robby, who exhales in relief.
Jack gently rotates your wrist. “Can you wiggle your fingers for me?”
You do, and they move, a little stiff, a little painful, but you’re relieved to see them obeying your brain.
“Make a fist.”
You try, narrowing your eyes as it pulls at the skin, but everything curls how it should.
“Good,” Jack nods. “Flexor tendons are intact. No motor deficit.”
He presses lightly at your fingertips, checks sensation, watches the color return to your nails.
“Nerves are fine. Circulation’s fine. You probably nicked a small radial branch, which was why it bled like it was auditioning for Carrie.”
You huff weakly, nodding gratefully.
Robby steps closer again. “Are you sure there’s no deeper involvement?”
Jack sighs and nods toward the door. “Okay, brother, maybe you should go be a gentleman and grab our patient here a coffee, what do you say?”
“You sure?” Robby meets your eyes, and you huff softly, nodding.
“I’d love a coffee.” You smile at him.
“Go.” Jack urges.
Robby hesitates, torn, then looks at you.
“I’m okay, really.” You say softly, and he squeezes your shoulder once before leaving reluctantly.
The curtain swishes shut behind him, and Jack turns back to face you, eyebrow raised. “You don’t really want a coffee.”
“No,” you admit, relieved. “But thank you.”
Jack snorts softly. “Figured.” He gets back to work, moving efficiently now, voice even as he explains it all to you. “I’m going to numb it, clean it out thoroughly, and put in a few stitches. Nothing complicated.”
The anesthetic burns briefly, and you grit your teeth through it, but after that, everything dulls to pressure and tugging.
Jack works with quiet competence, irrigating the wound to reduce infection risk, checking one last time for debris, then placing several neat sutures to close it.
It’s all much quicker than you expected, and just as Jack finishes tying off the last stitch, Robby reappears, coffee in hand, scanning your face first before your wrist.
“Everything’s fine,” Jack says before he can even ask. “Eight sutures. Tendons intact. No nerve damage.”
Robby nods, relief flooding his face.
Jack wraps your wrist in gauze and a light compression bandage. “Keep it clean and dry for twenty-four hours. No heavy use. Stitches out in ten to fourteen days. If it gets redder, more painful, starts draining – you come right back.”
You nod, though you can still feel your pulse in your fingertips, your throat tight with worry.
“It’s not severe,” he adds, meeting your eyes reassuringly. “It just looked scary.”
That, more than anything, makes your shoulders drop. “Thank you.” You say quietly.
Jack shrugs, pulling his gloves off and tossing them in the trash. “Try to avoid any power tools until at least March.”
Robby lets out a strained laugh, patting Jack on the arm as he goes by.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, lovebirds.” Jack says dryly as he leaves the room, and just like that, it’s over.
Much later, you find yourself curled up on the couch, takeout cartons spread across the coffee table, a cheesy romcom playing low on the TV in the background, your wrist wrapped and throbbing dully.
You’re tucked into Robby’s chest, wrist held gently in your lap, your boyfriend’s hand rubbing gentle circles on your back as you let the rising and falling motion of his chest soothe you.
As the movie ends, he plants a kiss on the top of your head and strains up, reaching behind the arm of the couch, and you twist to try and see what he’s doing.
His hand reappears with a small gift bag hanging from his finger, and you frown.
“Michael, we said no gifts–”
“It’s not– Just open it, will you?” He pushes it toward you, and you sit up, readjusting so the bag sits in your lap, peering inside.
You look down, brows tugged together in confusion, before you reach in and pull it out. The mug in your hands is white, simple, and when you turn it around, has the words PLEASE STOP INJURING YOURSELF printed in bold black letters.
You stare at it, and then groan loudly, burying your face in your good hand. “Oh my god,” you mumble. “You already had this.”
There’s a low rumble in his chest as he laughs, eyes squeezed shut, overcome by the absurdity of the situation. “Yeah.”
“You were already going to give me this tonight?” You restate, peeking through your fingers at him, and he nods again, the creases around his eyes even deeper than usual as his entire face crinkles in amusement.
“Yep.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. “This is mortifying.”
“Don’t be mortified.” He leans in, kissing your temple and shaking his head. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
You groan, turning and letting him kiss you on your forehead this time. “I can’t believe this.”
“I mean, if you wanted the mug that badly,” he murmurs against your skin. “You could’ve just asked.”
You lean back and swat at him gently. “Shut up.” Though you’re smiling now, running your thumb over the text on the mug, overcome with fondness at the idea that he’d remembered a stupid joke from before you’d started dating.
“Hey,” Robby nudges you, and when you meet his eyes, he’s full of sincerity now. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
You press the mug to your chest, still mortified yet beaming now. “Happy Valentine’s.”
He grins, pulls you closer, and envelops you in a kiss – careful of your wrist – and you melt into it, making a solemn vow in your mind to wrap yourself in bubble wrap and not dare even leave your bedroom when St. Patrick’s Day rolls around.
the buddy system - a m.robinavitch x f! kindergarden teacher au
< masterlist next chapter >
a/n : y'all .. you guys have no idea how long it took to write this due to life stuff. but good news ! i am very close to graduating uni since i passed my last exam AND the first chapter of this v wholesome (and slightly angsty, yes) AU is finally done after AGES !! i want to thank @sportsnightnut for the lovely collage and neverending support, alongside all of my mutuals who believed in me and this au
warnings : this chapter has tooth-rotting fluff, a brief mention of (possible) abuse and a very cute michael robinavitch.
word count : 5.2k
divider : @tsumiinum
please don't feed this work into ai or post/repost it without credit; likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated
CH.1 : ROBBY MEETS SUNSHINE'S CLASS
Michael Robinavitch wasn't expecting to be woken up by a phone call at 10 in the morning on his day off.
It was fine, he gathered, as long as it wasn't work-related. He knew they were short-staffed and overworked, but today was the day where he put his foot down: he would not be going back to PTMC, not now that Dr. Ellis and Dr. Shen were attendings and, especially, not now that he had found you, carving a hole to carry you in his heart and soul.
Which is why, in hindsight, he should have checked the caller ID before locking his phone.
He groaned, turning his back to the window bathing him in morning light, hands pressing a second cushion on his head, trying every last resort measure to salvage the remnants of the sleep that were now birds, flying out the window to perch on a tree, singing the song of the morning.
The phone rung again, louder and more insistent.
He turned starfish-style on the bed, huffing. He picked up his phone with one hand, blindly, trying not to knock anything down from the mahogany nightstand, his tired voice echoing in the otherwise empty room.
"M'hello ?"
"Hi baby, I'm so sorry, did I wake you up ?"
He stood up, fixing his bedhead with one hand and putting his phone between his ear and shoulder.
"Hi sunshine," he stopped to yawn, "yeah, but it's okay. 'S everything alright ?"
"Yeah, yeah everything's okay, I just …" you stopped for a heartbeat, worried sigh making his brow furrow. "… I forgot to bring the bag full of coloring books and pencils for the kids to school."
He hummed. "Where did you forget it? Here or at yours ?"
"At your place. Remember that big bag I had with me last night ?"
He yawned again, passing a hand on his face before blinking. He stood up, joints creaking too loudly for his comfort, put a pair of slippers on and shuffled towards the living room, looking around trying to jog his own memory about where he had last seen it.
As he looked around, he beamed when he saw the big, red bag with rainbow pins all over it, a "IF LOST RETURN TO : Ms. Sunshine, class 3-B" tag in the center of it laid neatly on the kitchen counter top, all of the animal-themed coloring books and the dozens of crayon boxes still intact, the memories of you unceremoniously dumping it on the table last night - and him laying it there to make sure you wouldn't lose it - creeping up over his sleepy fog.
"… Babe ? Baby, is everything okay?"
He chuckled, voice still thick with sleep. "Yeah sunshine, sorry I was just looking for the bag."
"Did you see it ?" you asked, the worried tone in your voice making his frown burrow.
"Staring right at it."
You grumbled lowly, the expletives that were running through your head being held back by what it felt like the flimsiest glass wall.
"Babe," you sighed, "I shouldn't even be asking this, but -"
"It's not a problem, sunshine. I'll bring it over."
A moment of pause from your end.
"… Really ?"
He beamed, smile so bright you could see it from the other end if you focused. "Yeah, really. I'll just, uh, throw some clothes on, clean up, have some coffee and will pop right in, is that okay with you ?"
"That's perfect, Mikey, thank you."
"No problem, Miss Sunshine. Love you."
"Love you too, bye," you hung up, blowing a kiss to the phone screen.
Michael smiled at the phone screen, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he stared at the picture of you smiling that warm, late may date he had taken you after a month of getting together, a moment woven so deeply into his brain it was the safe place he went to whenever he needed a break from the chaos in the ER. He kissed your face on the screen, a murmured "love you, sweetheart" followed suit, walking to the bathroom to start his morning routine.
He hadn't really thought much about love in the days after PittFest. Between his failed relationship with Heather and the trench that now divided him and Jake (with Janey trying, unsuccessfully, to act as a bridge between them), he thought it was not in the cards anymore, and in a way, he didn't even mind that.
He simply thought that, like many things in his life, being lonely was his destiny.
That all changed after Dana invited him to her Halloween-themed dinner party at her home. He was reluctant, at first, unsure how well he'd do in a crowd of strangers he wasn't used to at work, home or any other place he frequented often. He had dressed up simply, a pair of his scrubs spattered with fake blood and some vague, Frankenstein-inspired makeup Jack had helped him with at the last minute. He was just about to leave, say bye to Dana and her girls and just go home to wallow in self-pity and nurse a shot or two of Kentucky Bourbon.
Then Dana introduced you to him.
And the axis of his orbit shifted.
You came to the party dressed as Joan of Arc, "you know the Jules Bastien-Lepage painting, where she's in the garden ?"
He shook his head laughing. "I know of it, haven't had time to go to the MET to see it."
You laughed, extending your hand and smiling your thousand-watt smile. "Maybe we could go together one time," you offered as you introduced yourself.
He smiled back, cheeks dusting with pink as he shook your hand. "Would love to, sunshine."
By mid-November of that year, you were going strong and steady. You came by his place almost every day during the week, toothbrushes and clothes and other miscellaneous items stored carefully in his house, whether it be your black and white umbrella in a corner of his living room, clothes and underwear in a drawer or your electric toothbrush standing proudly next to his on the sink, the almost two years with you have turned his home into a safe haven.
He sighed, looking at himself in the mirror before he had to leave: Light blue cashmere sweater, his green cargo pants and his usual sneakers, his bag on his shoulder, your heavy bag in his hand, the car keys with a keychain you had bought for him on your last class trip and another one on his house keys, a stethoscope with his and your initials engraved within the small pendant, and his green jacket.
Once he made sure he had everything, he walked out the door, locked it and made his way to the car, putting on some music and igniting the engine.
As he drove towards the school, the usual smooth sailing of his drive being interrupted by crests of flowing traffic, he had wondered how your classroom would look like now that the school year had started. He had helped you with everything he could during the summer, from stocking school supplies to decorations and name tags for the children's cubicles where they would put their things, from blankets to toys and backpacks, occasionally providing emotional support as well.
"I'm getting a bigger class this year", you had told him on a breezy summer night, your head against his naked chest as he gently played with a small strand of your hair, windows open to let the air in and to soothe the sweat running down both your bodies. "Not by that much, just five more kids and two more who will arrive before the winter holidays," you continued.
He looked down at you, the love in his eyes shining brighter than his worries. He kissed your hair, speaking in the low, rumbling tone he had while basking in the afterglow.
"You okay with it ? You don't sound particularly worried."
You sighed, slumping more against him. "I don't think so ? I mean," you stopped, interrupted by a yawn, "My class is usually very well-behaved, I don't see why it would be an issue, I just …" you stopped, eyes cast downwards as you thought on how to best convey your worries to him.
He put his index and middle fingers on your chin, lifting it gently and putting a kiss on your forehead.
You smiled, leaning your forehead against his lips and taking a few deep breaths, holding your breath for four seconds and exhaling for as long as you could, gently coached by his deep voice, praise cascading from his lips after you calmed down.
You took another deep breath, continuing where you left off.
"I'm afraid that the parents won't like me."
Michael's laugh rumbled joyfully throughout the room. He kissed your forehead again, laughing while you tried to swat him in the chest with a straight face.
"Stop, it's true !" you chided, chuckling.
"They'll love you. You're good with kids, sunshine. You got this."
You smiled, looking up at him as you rested your chin on his sternum.
"I love you, Mikey, thank you."
He smiled, gently flicking your forehead.
"I love you too."
He smiled at the memory, cheeks dusting over with a light shade of pink as he kept driving to the school, the traffic now calming down and the streets almost blissfully empty. He turned at a streetlight, turn signal on as he steered the wheel to the left, the campus park now coming into view as he found the parking lot, turning the engine off and stepping out of the car, both bags in his hands as he made his way to the front office, knocking on the door.
The secretary, a woman in her late 50s - early 60s with blonde, puffy hair, a pair of black glasses and a simple, yet stylish blue blazer, white button-up and black pants with red flats looked up as he knocked, a wide smile on her face as she opened the door.
"Hello, are you here to pick up a kid ?"
Michael shook his head, laughing quietly. "No, no. My name is Dr. Michael Robinavitch, and I'm here to -"
"Is that Miss Sunshine's bag ?" a small and squeaky voice asked, slowly walking towards him. Robby looked down and saw a small boy, not older than 5, with curly hair and the biggest pair of brown eyes he had ever seen.
Michael smiled, crouching down at the boy. "Are you one of her students ?"
The boy hid, now flustered, behind the secretary's leg, nodding as he tilted his head to look at the older man. "Yeah. She always has that bag," the boy continued quietly.
Michael's heart just about melted. He crouched down, joints creaking as he tried to maintain a safe distance just so the boy wouldn't get spooked.
Silence reigned supreme for a few seconds, the boy getting shyer as time went on.
Then, after what felt like a lifetime, he heard it.
"I'm Sayid."
A statement squeaked as if spoken by a little mouse.
Michael's heart burst from the cuteness.
He waved to Sayid, his eyes shining brighter once the child reciprocated the gesture.
"It's nice to meet you Sayid. You can call me Mr. Robby."
As he stood up, he glanced at the name tag on the secretary's name tag before smiling at her. "Is it okay if I bring up the bag to Miss Sunshine, Mrs. Saunders ? She forgot it at my place and asked me to come get it."
Mrs. Saunders laughed, patting Michael amicably on the shoulder. "Of course, of course. You'll just have to sign in as a visitor and you can head to the classroom. Do you have an ID or your hospital badge with you ?"
He nodded, opening up his bag, searching the pockets as he tried to locate his brown leather wallet, patting the pockets of his jacket as well. "Sorry, i just - ah, AH ! Here it is," he smiled triumphantly, holding up the wallet and shaking it in the air, trying to make Sayid smile at the very least, frowning imperceptibly when the kid didn't even move his mouth upwards. He took out his ID, handing it to the secretary, walking towards her and speaking in a quiet voice.
"Is Sayid okay? He looks pale and sweaty. Is it a fever ?"
Mrs. Saunders nodded, replying in the same tone he had used as she gave back his ID after checking it thoroughly. "Yeah, a pretty high one according to his teacher, your -"
"Girlfriend," he replied, giving the secretary a small smile. "She's just my girlfriend."
"Only for now, I hope" she concluded, a big grin on her face as she gave him the sticky visitor's badge.
The laugh and slight nod he gave her were answer enough. He put the badge on his sweater, turning around and listening to her directions towards his sunshine's classroom when he felt a little hand grabbing on his cargo pants, tugging twice to demand attention.
He looked down, seeing Sayid looking up at him with wide eyes shining with fever and hope.
"Mr. Wobby ?"
"Yes, Sayid?" he replied, waiting for a few seconds as the flustered child looked around the office, fiddling with his fingers as he gathered his thoughts.
"Do you, uhm, would you -" he interrupted himself, looking up to Michael's right side making eye contact with Mrs. Saunders. "Can I take Mr. Wobby to Miss Sunshine's class ?"
Mrs Saunders laughed, nodding. "Let's go walk Mr. Robby to your class."
Sayid smiled, his tiny frame now vibrating slightly with excitement, tight curls bouncing up and down as he lifted himself on his tippy toes, his red shoes with black laces creasing at the top. He held out a hand towards Michael, the sleeves of his Spiderman sweater dwarfing it, the limb shaking lightly. "Come on, Mr. Wobby," he said, his wavering voice filled with urgency, "We - we gotta go ! They're coming back from recess !"; he then turned to Mrs. Saunders, big brown eyes looking up at her. "You too !"
Michael thought he was going to die of cuteness, 'and if her entire class is like that,' he started talking to himself as he grasped the child's hand into his, 'I do not know if I am going to survive this next half an hour.' He looked down at Sayid with a smile, half listening to what he was rambling and looking around at the school all around him, full of drawings and colorful decorations made by the kids, some pictures of school plays and kids in Halloween costumes and dressed in cultural clothes, smiling faces littering the hallways, only interrupted by splashes of color in the shapes of hearts, rainbows and sun rays.
His looking around the hallway was interrupted by his almost - crash into the door of room 3-B, the familiar "KNOCK THREE TIMES AND MISS SUNSHINE ARRIVES" cardboard sign greeting him, the glitter pink and yellow letters making stars appear in his eyes.
"What ? Kids like magic spells" you tried to explain, laughing, hands full of glitter trails as you looked at Robby, currently making your "Raise your hands if you have a question" sign in red markers.
"Why three times, though," he asked, laughing louder once you started doing jazz hands around yourself to demonstrate a sense of magic, "why not 'Knock Thrice ?".
He laughed harder when you threw a pillow at him.
"What the fuck rhymes with thrice, Mikey ?"
"- Wobby, MR. WOBBY !"
He was brought back to the present by a tiny hand tugging at his sweater's sleeve.
He blinked, smiling down at Sayid. "Yes, Sayid ?"
"Can I knock on the door ? Please, Mr. Wobby, I really want to !"
Michael smiled, shaking his head back and forth. "Go right ahead, little man."
Sayid knocked three times, bouncing up and down and smiling in excitement. "Miss Sunshine ?"
"Come on in, Sayid !"
The moment your sweet voice hit Michael Robinavitch's senses, his day had immediately brightened. He waited as you opened the door, red and white polka dot nails making way for the spacious classroom, filled with memories of your shopping trips together, from blankets to cardboard and trips to the arts and crafts store, arguing and laughing about which kind of pens and markers would make the best for the kiddos and for yourself. He looked at the period table on your wall, right next to the long whiteboard, a pretty "Today's Subject : Ancient Rome" scrawled in your neat cursive, round letters both clear and aesthetically pleasing.
All of the late nights spent turning the classroom in a colorful yet efficient learning environment had really paid off, and the smile on Robby's face now felt stapled in.
"I see you brought a guest, Sayid !" you smiled, as you knelt down in front of your student, lavender dress gently flowing down to the floor.
"Yeah ! Yeah, I brought Mr. Wobby !" the five year old exclaimed proudly.
You looked up at Michael, smiling at the love of your life with a smile that could rival the sun, sauntering over to hug him, thanking him quietly as you slipped the bag from his shoulder onto yours, kissing him on the cheek, making the entire class of children giggle.
As you were about to introduce him to your class, turning around with your hand tightly clasped in his, an announcement broke through the loudspeaker, making everyone look up.
"MRS. SAUNDERS PLEASE BRING SAYID MANSOUR TO THE FRONT OFFICE, HIS FATHER HAS ARRIVED TO PICK HIM UP."
The child pouted, his small hands opening and closing towards you as he started to cry.
"I don't wanna leave, Miss Sunshine !"
"Aw, Sayid," you said, patting the child gently on the head. "I know that, but you're not well, okay ? I'll still be here when you get better, I promise."
You nodded while holding out your pinky, waiting for the small child to wrap his around it.
"I pinky swear."
As soon as the child wrapped his pinky around yours he smiled, waving bye to his classmates as Mrs. Saunders escorted him out, running eagerly to his dad who was waiting for him.
As soon as he left, the class started chattering loudly.
You turned around, clapping your hands twice and cleared your throat, making sure all the kiddos had their eyes on you. "Take me out to the ball game," you called.
"Take me out to the crowd", the class responded, finally quieting down.
"Okay class," you smiled, stepping towards the center of the room and gesturing towards Robby, "This is Mr. Robby, everybody say 'Hi, Mr. Robby !'," waiting until the class droned the same sentence and then quieted down again.
"Good, do you want to introduce yourself to Mr. Robby ?"
They all nodded, some smiling and some less interested, some wiggling in their seats ready to get up.
"Okay now, everybody form a single line, buddy up, and you can introduce yourself to Mr. Robby, quietly and in order" you yelled louder as chairs started scraping the ground, every single child in the class taking the hands of their buddy, the single file neatly formed in front of Michael, who was currently turning purple from the blush in his cheeks.
"Okay class, you can start" you said, stepping next to your boyfriend, sliding a hand around his waist.
The first duo to introduced themselves were a blonde, green-eyed girl with a green sweater with a white long-sleeved shirt underneath, gray jeans and pink shoes and a bright smiled next to her is a dark-skinned girl, her black hair in box braids adorned with colorful beads and hair ties with little plastic balls the same color as the hair tie, brown eyes shining and wearing a matching outfit to her friend, a big smile on both their faces.
"They are Dionne Jones and Cher Carmichael," you smiled.
"Hello Mr. Wobby, it's nice to meet you!" they exclaimed at the same time, giggling as Michael waved back at them, the 'hi, Dionne and Cher' whispered to them making them saunter back to their desks giggling.
"Their parents are big fans of 'Clueless'," you whispered, "if you couldn't tell."
"Are their parents also best friends ?" he asked, a slight laugh in his tone.
"Like the twins from The Shining," you replied, making him laugh and turning back towards the kids.
The next couple of children in line were a boy and a girl. The boy had short, black hair with big blue eyes and slightly taller than the others, who was wearing a simple black and yellow t-shirt with black knee-length shorts and sneakers with dinosaurs on it. The girl, on the other hand, had long ginger hair kept in French braids, a white long-sleeved dress with light pink, frilly socks in Mary Jane shoes with a cat's face on them, her green eyes striking along with the freckles dotting the entirety of her face.
"William Anderson and Jane Matthews," you introduced with a coaxing look towards William.
The kid simply waved, looking down at his shoes while his companion waved enthusiastically.
"Hi Mr. Wobby !" she yelled in a squeaky voice.
"Hi Mr. Wobby" he said quietly, a slight accent to his voice.
"Hi Jane, hi William. Are you British, William ?" Michael asked, genuinely curious.
William shook his head. "I'm from Ireland."
Michael smiled his sunshine grin, kneeling even though his joints protested and held up his hand, speaking in a gentle tone. "Want a high five ?"
The small boy nodded, jumping up slightly to make sure to reach his hand, the slapping sound sharp. The child immediately brightened, hugging Robby's leg and thanking him louder, walking back to his seat with his female classmate with a pep in his step.
You smiled at him, shaking your head and clicking your tongue against your palate.
Alex and Martin Morrison, two identical twins, introduced themselves next. They were very energetic, both dressed in the t-shirts for the local tee-ball team where they both played at, Alex in a red shirt and Martin in a yellow one, both wearing black jeans, white socks and …
"Why the mismatched shoes ?" asked Robby, curious as he saw that the twins had one blue and one purple shoe on different feet.
They both looked at Robby mischievously.
"Don't tell Mom," Alex started, his brown eyes shining, "but we decided to switch one shoe each."
"But why ?" Michael asked, bewildered.
In response, all the twins did was shaking their shoulder length brown hair, smiling and giggling behind their hands as they went back to their seats.
Michael looked at you for an answer, actually flabbergasted.
You simply shrugged, lips trembling as you tried to contain your laughter.
The two girls that introduced right after were a conundrum in Michael's eyes, who looked at them like they were a puzzle. Both were very quiet, with long chestnut hair, both dressed in slightly similar fashion: the taller girl, Ethel Bradley (as you told him), had a purple long-sleeved shirt underneath, a gray tank top on top of it and a simple pair of black skinny jeans, red sneakers the only bright color in the outfit stark; Janie Cooper (who instead told him her name herself) had a white, long-sleeved shirt on, a short-sleeved band tee on tucked in a shin-length checkered skirt, black sneakers scuffing on the floor as she tried to get Ethel to come forward.
"Come on, it's okay, he doesn't look mean does he ?"
Ethel looked up from her bangs, looking Robby up and down until she shook her head, letting her friend lead her over with a smile, both waving at him quietly as Janie simply walked Ethel away to her seat.
Michael looked back up, a worried look headed your direction.
"Abuse ?" he asked quietly, turning you both around so the children couldn't hear.
You shook your head. "I don't know," you whispered back, "but I am trying to find out."
"Keep me posted, okay ?"
You nodded before turning back around, Michael following your lead with a frown marring his face. You patted his back, trying to calm him down, kissing him between the eyebrows, the gesture garnering a few "Ewww"s and sparse giggles as you both laughed as well, a dusting of pink now also on your cheeks.
Eden Ramos-Martinez and Aaliyah Holt were next, another pair of neighbors turned friends in this class, both of them having had lived together since their families moved from Texas to Pittsburgh, a fortunate stroke of luck making two small families into a very big one. Aaliyah, Robby had noted, had extremely blonde, almost white hair with purple-ish eyes, the pupils moving quickly inside the iris, her features accentuated by her lighter skin and the red glasses perched on her nose. Eden was wearing a light brown hoodie with a Puerto-Rican flag embroidered on it, his washed, flared jeans making him stumble slightly on his yellow Converse. Upon closer inspection, Robby noted mentally, he was wearing a sunflower lanyard.
"Hi Mr. Wobby, it's nice to meet you" she spoke, waving in Robby's general direction, a big grin appearing on her face as she saw the adult waving back at her.
Eden, on the other hand, simply waved.
Both went back to their seats quietly, the smile on Robby's face never once going away.
Barbara and Caitlyn walked up next, their walk as sharp as their personalities. Caitlyn, with her long blonde hair and ruffled yellow dress with lemons embroidered on, her tights underneath the dress white with strawberries on them and some light blue ballet flats quickly ran up to Robby's leg, barrelling towards it at the speed of light and hugging it.
"Hi Mr. Wobby, I'm Caitlyn Devereaux !"
"Hi Caitlyn," he replied while laughing, "It's nice to meet you."
A loud clearing of the throat. "Excuse me ?"
Michael immediately looked down, and on Caitlyn's right he saw another kid, a small girl with shoulder-length brown hair with blonde tips, a mushroom hat and yellow overalls with a blue shirt underneath, with shark-patterned socks, purple boots and a pair of very large, rectangle-shaped blue glasses.
She extended a tiny hand. "I'm Barbara Wright."
Robby shook her hand, face stunned in disbelief. "Nice to meet you Barbara."
"Can you pick me up, please ?"
Robby nodded, carefully picking the five year-old up into his arms, making sure to support her body firmly and gently.
"Well, I'm glad you wanted to - hey !" he started laughing.
"Barbara, honey," you reprimanded gently, "What did i tell you about sticking your finger in someone's ears ?"
The little child pouted. "But it's fun !"
"Barbara, honey -" "Hey, hey sunshine, it's okay" Michael interrupted you, giving you a kiss on the forehead in reassurance. "It's okay, they're kids ! Let them be playful, I'm unharmed."
You sighed, nodding.
Barbara beamed. "You can put me down now, Mr. Wobby."
Michael didn't hesitate to do as he was told, putting the child down gently, a "as you wish" following suit, shaking his head with mirth as the two girls walked back to their seats.
Lois and Andrew were next. Lois, a girl with wavy jet black hair wearing a grey long-sleeved shirt tucked underneath a flowy white linen skirt that went down to her ankles, grey socks and white shoes completing the look, gave him a wide grin and waved. Andrew, a red-haired kid with a simple striped t-shirt and a pair of beige pants, just nodded his head towards him and left, a flabbergasted Lois staring at him.
"That was Andrew Price, and this is Lois Kwon."
"Kwon," he hummed. "Do you know a young woman named Joy Kwon ?"
Lois smiled again, and Robby wondered if he might lose his vision if these kids kept beaming up at him.
"Yeah ! She's my big sister! She's sooo smart."
"She really is," Robby replied, "she works where I do, she's pretty cool."
"Really, Mr. Wobby ?"
"Yeah, really, kiddo," he replied quietly.
"So cool !" she replied, walking back to her seat next to Andrew, going back to chatting.
Samuel Thomson and James Greene introduced themselves next, both dressed in a hockey jersey and a pair of cargo pants, Samuel's curly hair in a ponytail and James' in a small bun.
"Do you play hockey, Mr. Wobby ?" they asked in unison, their hopeful brown and golden eyes looking up at him.
Michael shook his head, shrugging. "Sorry kiddos, hockey's not for me."
"Aww, bummer" complained Samuel.
"But hockey's such a good sport !" said James, trying to get Robby to change his mind.
"It's just not for me, sorry kids."
Both boys sighed. "Let's just go," said James disillusioned, taking Samuel's hand and dragging him to their desks, with Sam looking up at Robby and waving, a small smile on his face as him and his friend moved to sit back down.
Harvey James and Robin Crawford were next. Both boys simply waved, but with the way they were dressed Robby didn't need for them to talk to understand their personalities. Harvey James was dressed in very colorful clothes, with a black turtleneck underneath a neon blue-red and purple sweater, the faded jeans fitting him perfectly with a pair of black combat boots, his brown hair cut into a perfectly messy mullet. Robin, on the other hand, was dressed in a midnight blue and black outfit, alternating the two colors between hoodie, shirt, pants and socks, with the shoes being a very simple gray pair of worn Adidas, eyes hidden behind his raven hair.
Only one kid was now left. Michael, looking at the kid, felt for a millisecond as if he was staring at a photograph of himself when he was his age: short brown hair which turned slightly upwards at the front, big brown eyes and a long nose, he wore a gray hoodie with a plain blue t-shirt and black cargo pants with grey socks and brown shoes.
You walked up to the child with a big smile, holding his hand as you walked with him towards your boyfriend, kneeling between them with a big smile.
"Michael Carter," you said as you pointed to the child, "meet Michael Robinavitch."
Robby's eyes sparkled with happiness.
"Hi Mr. Wobby," the child spoke shyly.
"Well hello there, Little Mikey !" Robby spoke just as softly.
The child giggled. "Hi, Big Mikey !" he replied, running towards the older man for a hug, which Robby quickly reciprocated before letting the kid go back to his seat.
You smiled, standing up and dusting off the ends of your dress. "Okay everyone, now we can get to coloring but first, can I hear a big thank you for Mr. Robby ?" you asked, smile brighter than the sun and moon combined as you heard the kids repeating your words. You then turned around, giving Michael a big hug before he left.
"Bye Mikey, thank you for the bag and, well, handling the kids well" you said, laughing.
"Bye sunshine," he smiled, kissing your cheek, "and it was no problem, truly."
He then turned towards the door, turning his head back to the classroom as he stepped back into the halls. "Bye kiddos, see you again soon !"
As he walked back towards the exist, he felt heart warming as a chorus of "Bye Mr. Wobby", "Please come back soon" and, "Come back Mr. Wobby !" followed him out, the soft closing of your classroom door the only movement that stopped the noise. He walked back to his car, saying goodbye to Mrs. Saunders from her office window before he turned the ignition on and started the car, driving back to your shared home.
If he sent you a text reading "can I see them again soon ?", well, he would never admit it to anyone.
P.S.: all the children's names are references, let's see who gets them all !
After the initial failed attempts of losing your virginity to Robby, he enlists Jack for backup to get you out of your head and into their sheets.
WC: ~4,310
Poly!Rabbot x Demisexual!Fem!Reader
WARNINGS: Smut, Oral (M & F) Receiving, first time, virginity lost, Poly!Relationship, age gap (Unspecified but present (Reader is of age)), cum eating, PIV, Smut ( but intimate), unprotected sex, cream pie, Blindfold, Blindfolded sex, Mentions of sex toys + masturbation, they talk her through it 💛
Original Anon request ask/response: here
You didn’t know how to feel.
I mean, there’s no guide to tell you what you’re supposed to do/feel when your partner and his husband invite you over for a threesome, is there? Especially when you have zero to no experience. I mean, technically, it wasn’t explicitly an invite for a threesome. You were spending the weekend with the couple because your time off overlapped, and they said they’d like to spend it with you, no pressure. Fucking Robby, with his stupid, dumb doe eyes and his empathy and his respect for your boundaries and needs. And fucking Jack with his steadiness and reassuring nature. You wanted to fall into an abyss and never come out. Jack hadn’t even picked you up yet, and you could feel your heart palpitating.
God, you were so fucked.
You never intended to be a virgin at your age. I mean, does anyone, outside of religion or other cultural norms? You couldn’t help that the idea of a one-night stand or, honestly, hook-up culture in general gave you the ick. You were no prude; you had sexual desires and fantasies, but only situationally. You had to know/have a strong connection with people for sex to ever make it onto the table, let alone act on your desires. No, instead, you avoided romance altogether and spent your youth focused on your schooling and career. While you were damn proud of yourself and what you accomplished as a nurse practitioner, there was a never-ceasing nagging thought in the back of your mind of how you’d never experience love like others do so easily. That envy kept you up at night, wishing you could just be ‘normal’. Not that losing your virginity while having a threesome with your partner and his husband would be normal, but it’d at least take away the societal pressure and the title of ‘virgin’ that’s been hanging over your head since forever.
Your head snapped up as Jack’s truck pulled up in front of you. You were surprised to see that both Robby and he had made the fifteen-minute trip to your place. Robby met you with a smile as he hopped out of the truck and pecked your lips before taking your bag from you. He shepherded you into the front section of Jack’s extended cab. You could feel your face heat as you realized you’d be taking the middle seat, the gearshift between your legs.
Fuck, why did you have to be wearing a dress?
“Hey,” Jack greeted with a grin,
“Hey,” you replied with a small smile, nerves still teasing your stomach.
“So, how were your first couple of days off?” Robby asked, piling in after you before Jack pulled away from the curb.
“Good, I’m actually caught up on book club for once.” You answered.
“Is that the one you’re in with other nurses?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, everyone works in the Pitt, so there’s no pressure to finish the book fully because of how chaotic our schedules are like, but Dana always knows when I don’t finish it,” you laughed.
“Does she call you out for it?” Robby asked,
“Worse, she just smirks at me over her wine glass, like she knows everything.” You say with an exaggerated sigh, “I mean to be fair, she does, but still,”
“What book were you reading this month?”
“One Last Stop, it is a queer romance book that Princess picked out.” You answered,
“Is it normally romance?” Robby asked, his left arm comfortably resting on the seat behind you.
“Not necessarily, it just depends on whose turn it is to choose. Jesse picked out a sci-fi thriller last month.” You responded.
“Are you accepting new members?” Jack asked,
“Oof, sorry, no doctors allowed,” You answered with a teasing grin, “While it’s about the book, we mainly meet to veg out or vent.”
“Couldn’t make an exception for us?” Robby asked, right in your ear, causing an unconscious shiver to shoot through your spine.
God, you hated how unconsciously in tune your body was to him. You couldn’t already be wet, could you?
“Afraid not,” you laughed, attempting to cover up your reaction, “The only doctor I could see us making an exception for is Mel. She looked like a kicked puppy when we told her it was just a nurse thing.”
You settled into a comfortable silence as you got outa and settled into their townhouse, your bag parked at the bottom of their steps. Casual conversation flowed freely as you helped make dinner and relaxed on the couch afterwards. Everything had gone smoothly until you were three hours in, curled up between them, watching a movie. That was until a sex scene started to play. You could feel the heat of embarrassment crawl up your neck as you played with your hands, attention solely on your lap as the moans got louder and louder, until nothing.
Your head shot up seeing the scene had been paused; Jack and Robby looking down at you.
Fuck, this was happening,
“You alright, sweetheart?” Robby asked, squeezing your shoulder.
“Y-yeah,” you nodded,
“We can watch something else,” Jack offered,
“No, it’s fine, really,” you replied, face on fire.
“You sure?” Jack asked,
“Yeah, it’s not the movie itself, it’s just…” You trailed off,
“Sex in general?” Jack asked, finally addressing the elephant in the room.
“Yeah,” you nodded shyly, “I’m just, um”
“Turned on?” Jack said, not one to beat around the bush,
“Mhm,” you hummed, looking back down at your hands.
“We’ve talked about it a bit already, but are you sure you want this, sweetheart?” Robby asked.
“Yes. I’m physically 1000% there, fuck, I get so fucking wet thinking about you both, even when I should really be focusing on anything else. I just get caught up and have to try so fucking hard to school my thoughts and focus up again.” You confessed.
“Are you wet right now?” Robby asked,
“Mhm,” you hum with a nod,
“What do you think the problem is?” Jack asked,
“I guess, well, I just get in my head and lock up.” You sighed, looking up between them, “Like I want it so badly, emotionally and physically, but the second my brain gets there, I choke.”
“Do you masturbate?” Jack asked,
“Yeah,” you nod, feeling heat crawling up your neck.
“Is it mainly clitoral? Or do you penetrate with your fingers or any toys?” He followed up.
“Both?” you replied shyly, “If I’m intentionally masturbating, I have a thin, penetrating vibrator that looks like a long bullet vibrator. It’s like the width of a large tampon. If I’m masturbating after a hard shift, I will just use my fingers after I get out of the shower to relax.”
“And you can orgasm that way?” Jack followed up,
“Yeah,” you nodded,
“Do you watch porn?” Jack asked again. His clinical tone took away your anxiety; it was just simple yes-or-no questions. Your emotions were only a small factor; he was working to ease your brain from jumping the gun like always.
“No, but I um, do listen to audio erotica,” you swallowed,
“Why do you like it?” he questioned.
“It’s just more intimate,” you answered after a moment, “I’ve always felt a disconnect with traditional porn.”
“Do you like that it tells you what to do?” He asked in a reassuring tone.
“Yeah, it’s just nice not to have to think about anything.” You confessed, “It um, feels nice to be bossed around.”
“You like it when Mikey bosses you around at work,” Jack asked, smirk plastered on his face like he already knew the answer.
“Yeah,” you nodded, taking a breath, heat flooding your face as Jack gets more personal and steps away from the clinical talk.
“Do you get wet when he’s mean?”
“Mhm,” you hum, biting your lip as you break eye contact.
“Do you like when I’m mean?” he asked, catching your jaw, forcing you to maintain eye contact.
“Yes,” you confessed.
“Alright, I got a plan then,” Jack said, smiling at you,
“Give us a minute,” he said, looking over your head at Robby. He helped you up before pausing, “What’s her safe word?”
“Code, and the traffic light system,” Robby replied.
“Got it,” he nodded, fingers interlaced with yours as he guided you to their bedroom.
“What’s the plan?” you asked, looking up at Jack. He hummed as he came back from their walk-in closet. You let out a sigh of relief as you saw he was just holding a blindfold, knowing that that was where they kept their sex toys.
“Well, based on what you and Mikey have told me, you tense up and get ahead of yourself when he starts to move past kissing. The farthest you got was going down to your underwear, right?” he asked,
“Yeah,” you answered bashfully.
“So, I was thinking we give your mind a break and take your vision out of the equation. Instead of watching and tensing up when you get into unfamiliar territory, I’ll be there the whole time guiding you. Does that sound okay?”
“Yeah,” you nodded, “That makes sense,”
“If at any point you feel uncomfortable. Tell. Us. Your only job tonight is communicating whether you’re alright or not.” He said, looking down at you sternly.
“Got it,” you nodded,
“Good,” he rewarded you with a peck before shifting behind you,
“Is this too tight?” he asked, securing your blind fold.
“No,” you answered.
“Can you see at all?” he clarified,
“No,” you answered again.
“Good,” he affirmed, his gruff voice causing you to unintentionally squeeze your thighs together, “You can come in, Mikey.”
You hear a familiar gait pass you. You assume he takes a seat as the bed creeks. Jack gently turns and walks you slowly over in front of Robby.
“Alright, good. We’re gonna skip ahead if you’re comfortable. I want you to slowly strip for him. You can be a big girl and do that right, baby?” Jack husked.
“Yeah,” you answered, nerves still present. Jack acted as your anchor, your back flush with his front.
“Good, now I want you to strip down to your panties,” Jack ordered,
“Kay,” you replied, your arms tentatively crossed before grabbing the hem of your dress and slowly shifting it over and off, leaving you in your panties and bra.
“Keep going,” Jack encouraged. Robby remained silent, only giving away his positions from the small creaks of their mattress. You hesitantly reached for the center of your bra’s front clasp. A shiver ripped through you as Jack helped you out of it and threw it to the floor to join your dress.
“Fuck, she's beautiful, isn’t she, Mikey?” Jack asked,
“Fuck,” you heard Robby groan, “So stunning,” he agreed.
“Can I touch you, sweetheart?” Jack rasped,
“Yeah,” you nodded, before you choked on an inhale as Jack cupped your breasts, teasing your nipples. “Jack,” you moaned as his callused fingers tugged and rolled your nipples.
“Fuck, she’s so sensitive, Mikey,” Jack said, addressing him like you weren’t stationed between them. You whined as one of Jack’s arms looped around you, pulling you back for support as his other skirted down your front, hovering above your core. Your breath caught in your throat at the feeling of Jack’s member against your back.
“Can I take these off?” he asked,
“Please,” you whine, rubbing your thighs together. A moan cut through you as he cupped your core.
“Fuck,” Jack groaned,
“How’s she feel?” Robby asked, voice tight.
“Wetter than you could believe.” Jack answered, “Fuck, sweetheart, we’ve barely started. You always get this wet? How many panties have you ruined? Fuck, I bet you could leak through your scrub bottoms. Everyone would know then, huh? How wet a needy little slut like you gets over a little man handling.”
“Jack,” you couldn’t help but whine, face hot, thighs gripping his hand tight.
“Baby, if you want me to help, I’m gonna need my hand back.” He teased. You took a breath before parting your thigh to let him out, only to find yourself whining at the cool air hitting your now exposed core; ruined underwear fallen to your feet.
“Alright, fuck if it were anyone but Michael, you wouldn’t even need lube.” Jack groaned, “We’re gonna get in bed, okay?”
“Kay,” you nodded, blindly following behind Jack. You could hear them both shuffling around as you stayed still, kneeling on the bed.
“Okay, I’m against the headboard, you’re gonna sit in front of me,” Jack said, guiding you over to him. Once seated, he looped his arm around you and pulled you back so you were flush against his front. You anxiously swallowed when your back hit his warm, bare chest. You could feel the absence of his prosthetic as his legs rested outside of your own. The only thing separating you was the cotton of his boxer briefs.
“Still good?” Jack asked,
“Yeah,” you blindly nodded.
“Good, now Mikey’s gonna kiss you, and then he’ll start working down your body. Then he’s gonna eat you out, is that still okay?” Jack asked,
“Can’t-can’t he just fuck me?” you asked, nerves rising.
“He could, but I think you’re gonna like this a lot better. We don’t want it to hurt anymore than it has to.” Jack answered, “Do you need to stop?”
“No, um, it’s just,” you took a breath, “It’s just hard to gauge if you guys are into it with the blindfold on.”
“Sweetheart, I can assure you that we are very much into it,” Robby reassured, “I’ve wanted to have you cumming on my tongue for months.”
“I want to see how pretty you look when you cum,” Jack said. You gasp as you feel him grinding lightly up against your back.
“Okay,” you nodded, “we can keep going,”
“God, you’re such a good fucking girl for communicating,” Jack husked, nipping at your neck. You couldn’t help but whine as he focused in on that spot, sucking and nipping at your throat. A gasp escaped you as you felt a second pair of lips on the other side of your neck. Robby’s beard tickled you as he worked down your throat, skirting down to your chest.
“Fuck,” you gasped as he sucked your nipple into his hot mouth, while his hands teased the other; his massive hands making you feel small. Your head lulled back onto Jack’s shoulder as you whined from every suck, twist, and pull of your nipples.
“Do you like that, sweetheart?” Jack asked, finally pulling back from your throat, “Do you like him playing with your chest?”
“Mhm,” you hummed, trying to rub your thighs together, only to be stopped by Robby’s body kneeling between them.
“Baby, you gotta talk when I ask you a question, or we won’t know what you like,” Jack said,
“I lik-fuck,” you whined as Robby’s teeth scraped against your nipple, “I like it, mhm, please,” you begged,
“What do you want, love?” Jack asked, as Robby started to trail kisses down to your mound, beard scuffing against your stomach.
“I wanna cum, please,” you panted.
“Alright, baby,” Jack allowed, “you’re gonna feel some pressure on your outer lips as Mikey opens you up,”
“Fuck,” Robby groans, hot breath fanning over your exposed core, “She’s so pretty, Jack,”
“Yeah?” Jack asked,
“Mhm,” Robby hummed, “She’s got the prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen,”
“Michael,” you whined, pussy pulsing,
“Sorry, honey,” he laughed, pressing a kiss to your clit,
“Fuck,” you gasped,
“Like that, sweetheart?” Jack teased, “Like Mikey playing with over 10,000 of your never endings?”
“Mhm,” you moaned as Robby took a tentative lick against your clit, “Fuck, please,”
“What do you want, baby?” Jack asked. Robby’s facial hair tickling you as he honed in on your clit.
“Wanna, fuck-” You gasped as he started to trace over your opening, mouth still attached to your clit, “Wanna cu-PLEASE,”
“You heard her, babe,” Jack said, letting out a warm laugh, his mouth going back to your throat as Robby dragged a finger up and down your slit before thrusting a finger into your heat.
“Fuck, please, mhm,” you moaned, enveloped in pleasure. Earning a harsh suck from Robby as he slipped in another finger and curled them against your front wall.
“Fuck,” you gasped, as his fingers found a rhythm, too far gone to be embarrassed about the squelching as he fingered you to the base of his digits and back.
“Jack,” you shuddered as he began to play with your nipples, mouth still attached to your neck. Your inhibitions slipped away, a stroke of heat burst in your core, sending you over the edge.
“Fuck,” you moaned, spasming around his fingers, thighs shaking as you cum. Robby worked you through it as Jack whispered praises in your ear.
“Fuck, just like that.” Jack groaned, “Such a good, fucking girl.”
You could only pant as you came down from your high, Jack’s hand rubbing gentle circles into your hip as Robby eased his fingers out.
“Can,” you took a breath, “Can I take the blindfold off?”
“Of course,” Jack said, sliding it off with one gentle tug,
You blinked as your eyes adjusted to the light, Robby’s face hovering above you.
“There’s my girl,” he smiled down at you. You returned a shy smile, heat rushing to your core at the sight of his wet beard.
“Do you want to keep going or call it for today?” Jack asked,
“I wanna keep going,” you decided, “Wanna feel you cum in me.”
“Fuck,” Robby cursed, as you looked up at him through your lashes. His own face reddening.
“Do you want me to leave, or-”
“Please stay,” you interrupted, “I was kinda thinking I could give you head while he fucks me so I have something else to focus on.”
“Fuck,’ Jack groaned, “Okay, how do you want us, sweetheart?”
“I was thinking he could take me from behind, while I suck you off?” you half-asked, half-told.
“So, you want to be on your stomach, while giving me head, and Mikey will fuck you from behind?” Jack clarified.
“Yeah,” you nodded.
“Alright, you heard her,” Jack said, smirking up at Robby. He flipped you over on your stomach as soon as Robby slipped off the bed, catching your jaw as you went to look back at Robby.
“I think it’d be best to wait and see him afterwards, I don’t want you stressing over it,” Jack said, stroking your cheek.
“’kay,” you nodded, pushing yourself up onto your forearms to give Jack enough room to shed his underwear. You unconsciously bit your lip as his cock came into view. As a medical professional, it was far from your first time seeing a penis, but the sight of it still made your breath catch in your throat. You could feel saliva pooling in your mouth at the idea of sucking him off.
“Still with us, kid?” he asked, cupping your chin and tilting it up to force eye contact.
“Yeah,” you replied with a gulp,
“Alright, if at any point you want to stop, but can’t talk, I want you to pinch my thigh hard, okay?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. He smiled down at you before swiping something off his nightstand and tossing it over you to Robby. You then heard Robby, uncap it, and squirt out what sounded like a lot of lube.
You involuntarily whine as the slick head of his cock taps your entrance.
“Ready?” he asked,
“Yes,” you replied evenly, a whine immediately keened in your throat as he breached your entrance. His fingers found your clit and rubbed it to ease the burn of his stretch. Despite his snail’s pace, it still felt like you were being split in two.
“Fuck,” you moaned, tears kissing the corners of your eyes at the new sensation of pain and pleasure. The tap of Jack’s leaking cock on your lips pulled you out of your head.
“Still with us, sweetheart?” Jack asked,
“Yeah, fuck”, you moaned as Robby thrust into you deeper than any finger could.
“I know Mikey’s a lot, but you’re doing so well,” Jack praised,
“Can I-Fuck” you asked, losing your thought as Robby pressed flush against you, his head kissing your cervix.
“Fuck,” Robby gasped, grip tightening.
“She tight, sweetheart?” Jack asked teasingly,
“Like a fucking vice,” Robby groaned, “Still doing alright, baby?”
“Yeah,” you moaned, involuntarily flexing, “I’ve never, fuck, never been so full,”
“Fuck, please don’t do that, honey,” Robby gasped, his grip on your hips turned bruising as he rested his forehead against your back, draped over you as he panted.
“Gonna cum so soon, handsome?” Jack teased,
“Shut up.” Robby groans, “Fuck.”
“Do you want to move?” you asked,
“Fuck, I’m alright, sweetheart, your body’s gotta get used to me first.” He answered, fingers never leaving your clit.
“Jack,” you said, pulling his attention back to you, “Can I,” you asked, nodding at his cock,
“Gonna have to properly ask,” he teased
“Can I suck you off?” you asked after taking a breath,
“Go ahead,” Jack answered, smiling down at you. A moan immediately ripped from his chest as you gently held his cock, and kitten licked from just below the head of his cock, up and over his slit, before sucking the head into your mouth. You minded your teeth as you took more of him into your mouth, eyes fluttering shut as the saliva pooling in your mouth streaked down his cock. You kept your grip light as your fist circled around what you couldn’t fit into your mouth. You tightened your grip until you heard Jack’s breath stutter, before you began to jerk him off. You twisted your wrist while giving him a hard suck every time you bobbed up around his head.
“Holy, Fuck,” Jack moaned, head tilting back. His hand wove through your hair, not to control you, no, Jack was holding on for dear life. Panicked, you pulled off, hand still wrapped around his base.
“Was that okay?” you asked, nervously.
“Okay? Fuck, baby,” he panted, stopping to take a deep breath, “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?”
“Um, I-um, I did a deep dive on giving head for beginners. I know I wouldn’t be able to deep throat either of you, but I still want you to enjoy it.” You admitted bashfully,
“Was it okay?” you asked again.
“Yeah, fuck, yes, angel, it was more than okay. Fuck, haven’t felt like I was gonna cum that fast in ages,” Jack confessed, cupping your cheek to wipe off the excess drool on your face.
“So, can I?” you asked, nodding at his hard-on, “I’ve never tasted cum before, and I want you both in me now,”
“Yes, but I’m not coming down your throat today,” he said sternly, “When I get close, I’ll pull you off and finish on my stomach, okay?”
“Okay,” you said with a bit of a pout,
“Baby, it’s your first time. I’m not gonna force it down your throat if you don’t like it, you could throw up. We can build up to that, alright?” Jack said, stroking your cheek,
“Okay,” you nodded, “Mikey?”
“Yeah?” he asked, taking a deep breath, as he lifted his head off your back.
“Can you start to move? It only stings a little now,” you asked,
“You, sure, sweetheart?” he asked,
“Please, if it hurts, I’ll pinch Jack. Promise.” You replied,
“Alright,” Robby agreed, as he started to slowly ease out of you, before thrusting back in a bit at a time.
“Fuck,” you whined, pulsing around him,
“Still good, honey?” he asked,
“Don’t stop, please, Mikey,” you border on begging, “So full, fuck”
“Fuck,” he moaned in agreement, gradually picking up speed. You started to feel spacy as you sucked Jack’s cock back into your mouth. Your eyes fluttered shut as his fingers once again found their place threaded through your hair. You started up again, only lasting a few bobs before a moan ripped through your chest as Robby’s short strokes turned into deep pulls.
“Fuck, baby, I’m close,” Jack cursed. You doubled down, your bobs quickening and grip on his cock tightening. Suddenly, you were ripped off of his cock, as he cum splattered across his lower stomach up to his pecs.
“Fuck, please,” you begged Robby, “Please cum, I wanna feel you.”
A moan punched out of his chest at your earnest tone. His hips stuttered before he slammed himself back into you to the hilt. You whined as his warmth filled you. Robby fucked you through it before stilling, arm looped around your lower stomach to catch you from falling flat on the mattress when your arms gave out.
“Fuck,” you moaned, as he started to slowly ease out of you, cum leaking down your plush thighs.
“Still with us, baby?” Jack asked, wiping a bit of his cum off your face with his thumb before you greedily sucked it into your mouth.
“Mhm,” you hummed around it, whining at the loss as he helped you fall on your back between them. Robby was still panting to your left as you were busy catching your own breath. Jack smiled down at you both as he wiped his spent off with his discarded shirt. He nudged your shoulder when your eyes fluttered shut,
“Not yet, baby, gotta get you cleaned up before you sleep,”
You reluctantly pushed yourself up on your forearms as the thin layer of sweat coating your body began to cool and feel uncomfortable.
Your eyes widened as you took in Robby's flaccid penis,
"That was in me?" you asked, dumbfounded.
"Mhm," Jack hummed with a laugh, Robby groaned still recovering, "That's why we're taking an epson salt bath. You okay to move?"
“Yeah,” you nodded. Soon, you found yourself once again reclined against Jack in a steaming bath, warming your bones as they took gentle care of cleaning you up. You practically melted between them as they held you close under a set of freshly cleaned sheets. Happy to lose your long-lived title.
A/N:
Thank you so much for reading :3
Sorry for the gap in updates, I had writer's block. I'm gonna attempt to update on Mondays until school inevitably becomes too much. Hope you all had a lovely weekend and great start to your week ^_^
You’re halfway through wiping down the kitchen counter when you hear it—the tiny, unmistakable gasp from the living room. Then comes the inhale. The pause.
And then—
“AHHHHH!”
You laugh before you can stop yourself. “Daddy’s home,” you call, already knowing.
Your nine-month-old daughter shrieks again, high and delighted, the sound echoing down the hall as if she might explode with joy if she keeps it contained. She abandons the toy in front of her without a second thought, plants her hands on the floor, and starts crawling as fast as her little body will carry her.
“Go, go, go,” you murmur fondly as you follow her, watching her determination with a soft ache in your chest.
The keys jingle. The lock turns again.
Another shriek—somehow louder than the first.
“Okay, okay,” Robby laughs from the other side of the door, his voice already bright, already warm. “I’m coming, peanut.”
The door opens just enough for his boot to peek through, and your daughter loses her mind.
She slaps her hands against the floor, rocking forward and back, shrieking and babbling in a language that only excitement could invent. By the time Robby pushes the door fully open, she’s at it, palms smacking the wood like she’s knocking from the inside.
“Hey!” he says, breathless and grinning, crouching immediately. “Hey, hey—hi, hi, hi!”
He barely gets the door closed before she lunges forward, crawling straight into his legs, grabbing at his pant leg with both hands like she might drag him down if she tries hard enough.
“Someone missed me,” he murmurs, already peeling off his jacket.
You lean against the doorway, arms crossed, heart swelling so full it almost hurts.
Robby doesn’t even look up at you yet. He toes off his shoes in record time, drops his keys on the side table without caring where they land, and the second his hands are free, he scoops her up.
She squeals—an entirely new pitch unlocked—and throws herself against his chest like she’s been waiting all day just for this moment.
“There you are,” he whispers, pressing his face into her hair. “There’s my girl.”
Her hands immediately fist into his shirt, fingers clutching fabric like it’s proof he’s real. She babbles wildly, forehead knocking into his collarbone as she wriggles with happiness, legs kicking against his hips.
Robby laughs softly, the sound vibrating through her. “Whoa, careful, careful—yeah, yeah, I know. I missed you too.”
He sways instinctively, rocking her side to side, one big hand rubbing slow circles on her back. She presses her cheek against his chest and sighs, the shrieking melting into content little hums.
Only then does he finally look up at you.
His smile softens instantly.
“Hey,” he says quietly, like the word is just for you.
“Hey yourself,” you reply, unable to stop smiling. “She’s been waiting for you.”
“Clearly.” He kisses the top of your daughter’s head, then looks back at you, eyes warm and tired and so full of love it makes your throat tighten. “How was your day?”
You shrug lightly. “Better now.”
Your daughter chooses that moment to pull back, pat Robby’s face with one chubby hand, and babble directly at him, like she has a very important story to tell.
“Oh?” he asks seriously. “Is that so?”
She squeals again, delighted that she has his full attention.
“No way,” he continues, nodding solemnly. “You’re telling me she didn’t nap as long as she was supposed to?”
You snort. “She’s exaggerating.”
He grins at you. “I don’t know. She seems pretty convincing.”
He shifts her higher on his hip and carries her into the living room, dropping onto the couch with a quiet groan. She immediately settles, curling into him, one tiny hand still clutching his shirt like she might lose him if she lets go.
Robby rests his cheek against her head and closes his eyes for just a second.
“This,” he murmurs, barely audible, “is the best part of my day.”
You cross the room and sit beside him, leaning into his shoulder. He wraps his free arm around you without thinking, pulling you close.
Your daughter yawns, then nuzzles deeper into his chest, utterly content.
Robby smiles, eyes shining as he looks down at the two of you.
~1.5k words. michael “robby” robinavitch x fem!reader. AFAB reader. 18+ MDNI. sexual content. dom/sub dynamics. robby being a pervert.
a/n: sorry this took forever to respond to. i’m slowly getting back into writing, and hopefully i’ll get to all the other prompts that are in my inbox soon!
“you want me to what?” you ask incredulously as you two stand in your bedroom, seconds from tearing into each other after a long shift.
you’re both out of your scrubs, down to your intimates, and robby decides now is a good time to bring up something he’s been wanting to try.
robby chuckles, running over his knuckles with the palm of his other hand. “i want you to handcuff me to the bed.”
shaking your head, you insist, “but why?”
“does there have to be a reason why?” robby’s eyes soften, and he smiles lightly as if he’s trying to convince you to agree to this with just his good looks alone. “just thought it’d be something fun and new to experiment with.”
you level a glare at him, crossing your arms over your chest. robby takes the opportunity to openly stare at your tits that have pushed up and are practically spilling out of your bra. “i dunno… can you really handle me being the one in charge? i won’t let you get off easy. i might not even let you come at all,” you tease, voice sultry and sweet.
“who says you’ll be the one in charge?” robby teases back, eyes glinting. “if i asked, i’m willing to bet you’d undo the cuffs and let me have my way with you. that’s just how good of a girl you are.”
you wrinkle your nose and make a small noise of disapproval. maybe it’s time to turn the tables on him. make him work for what he is always able to pull out of you so easily. “we’ll see about that.”
robby smirks, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to him so he can whisper in your ear. “give me your worst, baby.”
“where did you even get these?” you ask quizzically, turning over the two sets of metal handcuffs in your hands as you straddle the hips of robby’s supine body. he grunts and squeezes the tops of your thighs when you move a little too much, unconsciously grinding down on his hardening cock. “and when?”
“would you stop asking questions?” robby takes one of the handcuffs from your hands and clasps it onto a single wrist, reaching over and attaching it to a bedpost with his free hand. “help me with the other one, sweetheart.”
you worry your lower lip into your mouth, moving from your position to help him with the other handcuff. once he’s secured to the bed, you sit yourself back down, your cunt and his cock separated by nothing but the thin layers of the both of your underwear. “these are metal cuffs, robby. they’re going to hurt if you pull on them. why didn’t—”
he raises a brow at you, daring you to continue. right, no more questions. you proceed, self-correcting, “you should’ve gotten the fuzzy ones.”
robby shrugs, a smile teasing at his lips. “i’m okay with it hurting a little. i’m a big boy. i can handle it.”
you roll your eyes and shake your head. sitting up and hovering above robby’s hips, you unclasp your bra and start peeling off your underwear, maneuvering your legs to free it from under your knees and finally shucking both garments over the edge of the bed.
robby groans, testing the strength of the handcuffs by instinctively reaching—and obviously failing to reach—for your soaked underwear. “fuck, i would’ve loved a sniff of that. your scent’s always stronger after a shift.”
you scoff in annoyance and in mild humiliation but feel yourself getting hot, molten liquid dribbling out of you onto robby’s briefs. “shut up, you pervert.” robby’s cock jumps at that, straining to point completely up and toward the ceiling while trapped underneath the offending material and your body weight. “oh, did someone like that?” you tease in a singsong voice.
this reversal of roles is turning out to be a lot more fun than you had initially thought it would be. you slip into dominance like a second skin, and robby seems nervous about it. he’s starting to sweat along his hairline and collarbone, flushed and moist, slick skin contrasting nicely with the gold of his magen david necklace.
you haven’t even done anything yet.
“i did,” robby says with a strangled rasp. “i’ll never be ashamed of how fuckin’ crazy you make me, sweetheart.”
you let his words run over you like water off a duck’s back, keeping a straight face, but on the inside you’re already debating on sinking down on him and riding him until the both of you come.
“stop… just—” you cover robby’s mouth with a palm and shiver when you feel his warm breath hit your skin. “stop talking or this will be cut very fucking short because i was not prepared to do this today, and i am extremely horny.”
you meet eyes, and robby nods, kissing the palm of your hand in apparent agreement. you move your palm away, but he continues, smug as all hell, “you got to keep it together, baby, because ‘m not going to be able to keep my mouth shut. my words are all i got, remember?” he emphasizes with a pull of his wrists.
robby’s right. he’s either going to tease you or beg for you. but you think you have a—at least temporary—solution to this problem.
you scoot up robby’s body until you are hovering over his face. “you’re going to eat me out and make me come. can you handle that, robby?”
you stare down at him while he stares up at your wet slit, mouth agape like a fish out of water. he tugs on the cuffs, hissing when the metal bites into his skin. “yeah,” he nods vigorously, “yeah, i can handle that, sweetheart. fuck, could you—could you pull my cock out first, though? i’m so fuckin’ hard it hurts.”
you think on it for a second, but not in a serious fashion. “hm, no. but i’ll consider it if you make me come on your tongue.”
robby grunts. “it’s not a matter of if, but how fast.”
you don’t bother with a snarky response; instead, you slowly seat yourself on robby’s face, clit perched on his strong nose and winking hole and dripping folds in reach of his pink tongue.
robby eats you out as if his life depends on it. and maybe it does. you’re not necessarily holding back from putting the full force of your weight on him, but if he’s uncomfortable, he makes no sign of it. in fact, with all the groaning and jerks of his hands and pelvis to reach for you and for some form of relief, you think he rather enjoys this.
you pull on the bit of thinning hair at the top of his head and grind down on his face, making sure to catch your clit against his nose. his lips and tongue work in conjunction to split the swollen, fleshy halves of your cunt apart, gathering the wetness from your hole on the lower half of his face. his beard scratches your delicate skin just so and makes you moan. your face heats and your toes curl as you get close, and when you hear robby grumbling a smothered version of “your pussy tastes so fuckin’ good,” you come.
after the rough shift you had, this sudden, white-hot euphoria blurs the edges of your vision and makes you feel as though you’re floating on cloud nine. you collapse to the side of robby, still cognizant enough to lift your weight off him and allow him a full lungful of air again.
you cuddle up to him, high off the rush of endorphins washing over you from head to toe, completely forgetting about robby’s neglected erection. you’re reminded of it when you hear the clinking of his cuffs and robby shifting on the bed, blinking an eye open and seeing his biceps bulge and his calves straining as he starts thrashing.
“okay, sweetheart. i made you come. you did so good for me, but now i’m going to need you to take these cuffs off. need to be inside you. i’ll handle the rest, okay?” he rattles off, breathless and with a hint of panic in his voice.
you start to come down, buzz still lighting fires across your skin, and nuzzle your face into robby’s armpit, inhaling deeply. this can’t be weirder than him liking the smell of your ripened underwear, right?
“baby,” robby pleads, “did you hear me? fuck. it really fuckin’ hurts. don’t make me waste the load i should be putting inside of you.”
you giggle. “are you saying you’re going to come in your underpants?”
he groans, and you giggle even more. “this is no laughing matter.”
you sit up, stretching an arm across his front, and grip his cock through his underwear, stroking the thick length and pulling a gutted moan from him, then rest your head on his chest and give the warm skin a light kiss. “you’re right, robby. it’s not. because you’ll only come when i say, okay? you can watch as i ride you, though.”
robby laughs, a little manic, and thrusts into the air as your hand leaves his cock. “ohoho, you’re going to pay for this later. you better hope i don’t break these bedposts.”
you look up at him through your lashes, a smirk playing on your lips. “if you do, you’ll just buy us another bed, won’t you?”
“what are you doing this weekend” i am going to fantasy land. i am hiding under the covers in bed. i am making things up. i am contemplating events that didnt happen. i am talking to fake people. i am listening to my tunes. i am envisioning scenarios
a/n: i hope everyone is having a good start to 2026 and enjoying season two! no spoilers in this fic, btw.
if you're catching up, here's chapter one and here's chapter two
still 18+ mdni spicy spicy although we're only leading up to the spiciest part here.
recommend listening and lyrics below: "now i'm in it" by haim
special thanks to @rubytuesday2468 who helped me figure out why i didn't like my first iteration of this chapter and gave me a great suggestion for improving it :) also tagging the muse for this idea: @spookypeachpitt13 and: @thatfanficstuff @drjohncarters @witchingcove @happyendingsarentreal @inkdippedquills @imfinnabeinthepitt-2025 @fertilise-me @sky-guardian-lion @madprincessinabox @imnoonejustapiramide @parsleyhound @sharkgurl1 @karlawithakapitalk @rr-after-dark @angelamariaxo @ambiwhats @lifeofapittgirl @kabloswrld @butyoudidthis4what @manndo @odettecigno @cakeandcloth @nerdgirljen
iii.
something in the way that I felt when I woke up
told me that i shouldn't give in, give up hope
told me that i shouldn't fight what I felt
told me i should not let go
let’s recap for just a second.
less than thirty-six hours ago, you were sexting with michael fucking robinavitch. with robby. with your attending.
the man you’re not supposed to want, much less want to fuck.
the man you’re not supposed to have any kind of feelings for other than professional admiration and respect.
and he told you, with photographic evidence to back it up, that you do things to him.
at least the feeling is mutual?
but now, you have to walk into the pitt and pretend like you didn’t see what you saw in that photo.
pretend like robby doesn’t know what you look like half naked. (because yes, you did send him a photo in return and yes, he did say some very nice things.)
pretend you don’t want to jump into his arms and wrap your legs around his waist and -
if you don’t get in the shower within the next thirty seconds, you’re going to be late.
you’re violently scrubbing shampoo into your hair as if that’s somehow going to cleanse your brain of dirty thoughts at 5:30 in the morning when a realization takes shape.
you don’t actually want to fight how you’re feeling.
you’re willing to admit exactly how much you want this. want him.
but is he?
________________
it’s not just the four shots of espresso from the hospital lobby coffee cart making you jittery today; it’s also the fact that your shift has been so incredibly normal it’s unnerving.
the morning gathering at the hub. rounds. picking up new patients from the board. running your treatment plans by your chief resident. jumping in to help on incoming traumas.
and throughout it all, robby has been…robby. just absolutely, one-hundred-percent infallible michael “i didn’t tell you the other night that you do things to me” robinavitch.
he’s cool as a goddamn cucumber, and that bothers you.
not that you’re expecting robby to…you know…announce it to everyone. but he’s not even a little bashful around you. he’s completely professional and completely undisturbed by the fact that the two of you know way more about each other than you did forty eight hours ago.
but it’s not until sometime in the late afternoon that you acknowledge just how much his indifference is affecting you.
you had time to eat, but you didn’t. just stayed right there at central, charting and trying to avoid friendly conversation with santos and whitaker. you don’t have the energy to push past the pit in your stomach that says, as usual, that you’re way more into this than he is and why did you let yourself get your hopes up that it could be something and -
your phone vibrates in your pocket.
it’s a notification from the ring camera that someone has just dropped off a package at your door. you can’t see what it is because it’s too far out of the frame. mentally shrugging to yourself, you think it must be some random shit you ordered from amazon.
and not long after, your shift ends the same way it began: unnervingly normal.
you help with hand-offs, grab your backpack from your locker, trade a fist bump with shen on the way out, say goodnight to dana, walk to the parking garage with samira, get in your car, decide which playlist you need to scream/cry to on the way home, put the car in drive.
________________
standing on your front step, you see something sitting outside the door; the mystery package you’d already forgotten about as soon as the next trauma came rushing in.
in front of your feet is the most beautiful bouquet of sunflowers, pink and yellow roses, bright orange gerbera daisies, and a cluster of lilies still waiting to bloom.
it’s not your birthday yet. you didn’t recently pass an exam or graduate from something.
so where the fuck did these come from?
you throw your backpack almost violently into the entryway as soon as you can get the key turned in the lock. the flowers were delivered in a beautiful glass vase, and you didn’t want to risk carrying it with just one hand.
kicking the front door closed behind you, you carefully place the vase on the kitchen counter. the flowers are so beautiful and bright and colorful and summery and somehow they remind you of…well, you.
thankfully, there’s a card taped to the vase. the paper is softened from errant droplets of water, but your name on the front of the envelope is still legible. and that handwriting is really fucking familiar -
I wanted you to know this means something to me.
If it means something to you, please call me.
Always,
M
m. michael. the first time he’s ever used his actual name with you.
everything you’d convinced yourself of on the drive home–that you were overemotional and it definitely didn’t mean anything and he had probably already forgotten about it and was on to someone or something else and you were gonna have to transfer to a different hospital because you couldn’t feel like this every day for the rest of your residency and how could you let yourself be so stupid and fall for a man and specifically the man who is your boss– flies out of the fucking window.
robby sounds breathless when he picks up the phone, but not in an “i just ran up every single flight of stairs to the roof” kind of way.
it’s full of hope and affection, in an “i’ve been waiting for you to call and i didn’t know exactly when you were getting home so i’ve been sitting next to the phone, heart in my throat wondering if it was going to ring” kind of way.
you’re pretty sure that all you want now and for the rest of time is for him to say your name in exactly that voice every time he answers your call.
“hi,” you say back, and you know you’ve managed to reciprocate that hope and affection into one tiny syllable because you swear you can hear him smiling over the phone.
“i don’t want us to start over because i, uh…” robby clears his throat. “i don’t want to disregard…”
when he pauses again, you want to rescue him from his clear struggle to form a complete sentence, but it’s so fucking adorable you decide to let it play out.
“we did things a little out of order and, um…if it’s not too pressionable of me, i would like to take you out on an actual date,” robby finally manages. “i got us into fig & ash. tomorrow night. if you want to go.”
you decide it’s a good time to come to his aid. “i want that very much, michael.”
he finds himself almost immediately soothed. “okay. good. then…it’s a date.”
you’ve barely made sure that the call has actually ended before you start texting dana.
you: do you know what robby’s favorite color is?
dana: weird question, but I’ll allow it. he seems to like green these days.
________________
the restaurant is beautiful. modern decor balanced with warm lighting and greenery, tables with mixed colors and types of wood and an expansive seasonal menu. it also happens to be within walking distance from the hospital, which makes it an easy choice for a first date.
this is the first time you’ve ever seen robby in “regular” clothing, sans cargo pants and boots. he’s wearing straight-cut dark jeans that hug his ass, a t-shirt that’s more fitted than you realize (yet), a lightweight jacket, and low-profile leather loafers. he looks incredible, and you are extremely aware of every woman in the restaurant who gives him a second glance, because you would be doing the exact same thing if you weren’t here together.
you’re wearing the summer edition of your first-date outfit, a sleeveless black dress with simple jewelry and sandals. it’s more revealing than anything robby has ever seen on you (except for that photo you sent him the other night, obviously) and he finds himself sitting on the same side of the table with you, touching as much of your exposed skin as is politely and respectfully possible.
neither of you is one-hundred-percent certain that this is going to work. it’s not often that sexting with a coworker shifts into a full-fledged romantic date under soft lighting. but the transition feels oddly seamless, maybe because sexting helps you overcome that first-date shyness pretty quickly.
or maybe it’s because he’s talking to you in a low voice, the kind that’s only meant for you to hear, and he’s touching your arm or he’s got his hand on your thigh or he’s playing with the loose curls in your hair and you’re pretty certain you would do absolutely anything michael robinavitch asks of you, in this moment or in any other.
when the waitress arrives to offer the dessert menu, robby smiles and tells her that you’ll need a moment to look over it. he turns to you, but instead of selecting a dessert, you ask how far away he lives from here, and he reveals that it’s within walking distance.
it sounds like dessert can wait.
and so when the waitress returns, you smile sweetly and opt for the check instead.
you’re cutting through the park on the way to his house when your pager goes off. both you and robby groan immediately.
it’s abbot, sending you an SOS. when he answers the phone, he tells you that he had to send ellis home sick and he desperately needs another resident at least for a few hours and he knows you live close and he’s sorry and-
you look to robby, and he nods as a sign of affirmation that you can, and should, say yes.
“dr. abbot? i’ll be there in ten minutes.”
he breathes a sigh of relief. “thanks, kid. come find me or lena when you get here.”
you press the small red button to end the call and look back to robby. “i am so sorry.”
he chuckles. “no need to be sorry. we can pick this up later.”
you know that’s true and you know that he means it, but you’re still a little disappointed.
before you can express any of this out loud, robby is pulling you in to kiss you, his fingertips resting at the nape of your neck.
it’s sweet but firm; there’s a need and a longing he manages to convey in about four seconds of touching your lips with his.
it's going to be a long night, because there's no way you're not going to spend the next several hours or maybe perhaps the rest of your life thinking about that kiss.
________________
the evening rush dissipates around 10pm. abbot is confident they can catch up on admits before midnight hits, so he sets you free with sincere gratitude and a promise to cover for you anytime you need it.
you head to your locker, happy you didn’t have to stay until sunrise, and finally get the chance to look at your phone.
dr. robby: Let me know if Abbot lets you go early, otherwise I’ll be ready to pick you up at 7:30.
dr. robby: Also, please bring the dress.
dr. robby: Because I desperately need the pleasure of taking it off of you.
a/n: i hope everyone is having a good start to 2026 and enjoying season two! no spoilers in this fic, btw.
if you're catching up, here's chapter one and here's chapter two
still 18+ mdni spicy spicy although we're only leading up to the spiciest part here.
recommend listening and lyrics below: "now i'm in it" by haim
special thanks to @rubytuesday2468 who helped me figure out why i didn't like my first iteration of this chapter and gave me a great suggestion for improving it :) also tagging the muse for this idea: @spookypeachpitt13 and: @thatfanficstuff @drjohncarters @witchingcove @happyendingsarentreal @inkdippedquills @imfinnabeinthepitt-2025 @fertilise-me @sky-guardian-lion @madprincessinabox @imnoonejustapiramide @parsleyhound @sharkgurl1 @karlawithakapitalk @rr-after-dark @angelamariaxo @ambiwhats @lifeofapittgirl @kabloswrld @butyoudidthis4what @manndo @odettecigno @cakeandcloth @nerdgirljen
iii.
something in the way that I felt when I woke up
told me that i shouldn't give in, give up hope
told me that i shouldn't fight what I felt
told me i should not let go
let’s recap for just a second.
less than thirty-six hours ago, you were sexting with michael fucking robinavitch. with robby. with your attending.
the man you’re not supposed to want, much less want to fuck.
the man you’re not supposed to have any kind of feelings for other than professional admiration and respect.
and he told you, with photographic evidence to back it up, that you do things to him.
at least the feeling is mutual?
but now, you have to walk into the pitt and pretend like you didn’t see what you saw in that photo.
pretend like robby doesn’t know what you look like half naked. (because yes, you did send him a photo in return and yes, he did say some very nice things.)
pretend you don’t want to jump into his arms and wrap your legs around his waist and -
if you don’t get in the shower within the next thirty seconds, you’re going to be late.
you’re violently scrubbing shampoo into your hair as if that’s somehow going to cleanse your brain of dirty thoughts at 5:30 in the morning when a realization takes shape.
you don’t actually want to fight how you’re feeling.
you’re willing to admit exactly how much you want this. want him.
but is he?
________________
it’s not just the four shots of espresso from the hospital lobby coffee cart making you jittery today; it’s also the fact that your shift has been so incredibly normal it’s unnerving.
the morning gathering at the hub. rounds. picking up new patients from the board. running your treatment plans by your chief resident. jumping in to help on incoming traumas.
and throughout it all, robby has been…robby. just absolutely, one-hundred-percent infallible michael “i didn’t tell you the other night that you do things to me” robinavitch.
he’s cool as a goddamn cucumber, and that bothers you.
not that you’re expecting robby to…you know…announce it to everyone. but he’s not even a little bashful around you. he’s completely professional and completely undisturbed by the fact that the two of you know way more about each other than you did forty eight hours ago.
but it’s not until sometime in the late afternoon that you acknowledge just how much his indifference is affecting you.
you had time to eat, but you didn’t. just stayed right there at central, charting and trying to avoid friendly conversation with santos and whitaker. you don’t have the energy to push past the pit in your stomach that says, as usual, that you’re way more into this than he is and why did you let yourself get your hopes up that it could be something and -
your phone vibrates in your pocket.
it’s a notification from the ring camera that someone has just dropped off a package at your door. you can’t see what it is because it’s too far out of the frame. mentally shrugging to yourself, you think it must be some random shit you ordered from amazon.
and not long after, your shift ends the same way it began: unnervingly normal.
you help with hand-offs, grab your backpack from your locker, trade a fist bump with shen on the way out, say goodnight to dana, walk to the parking garage with samira, get in your car, decide which playlist you need to scream/cry to on the way home, put the car in drive.
________________
standing on your front step, you see something sitting outside the door; the mystery package you’d already forgotten about as soon as the next trauma came rushing in.
in front of your feet is the most beautiful bouquet of sunflowers, pink and yellow roses, bright orange gerbera daisies, and a cluster of lilies still waiting to bloom.
it’s not your birthday yet. you didn’t recently pass an exam or graduate from something.
so where the fuck did these come from?
you throw your backpack almost violently into the entryway as soon as you can get the key turned in the lock. the flowers were delivered in a beautiful glass vase, and you didn’t want to risk carrying it with just one hand.
kicking the front door closed behind you, you carefully place the vase on the kitchen counter. the flowers are so beautiful and bright and colorful and summery and somehow they remind you of…well, you.
thankfully, there’s a card taped to the vase. the paper is softened from errant droplets of water, but your name on the front of the envelope is still legible. and that handwriting is really fucking familiar -
I wanted you to know this means something to me.
If it means something to you, please call me.
Always,
M
m. michael. the first time he’s ever used his actual name with you.
everything you’d convinced yourself of on the drive home–that you were overemotional and it definitely didn’t mean anything and he had probably already forgotten about it and was on to someone or something else and you were gonna have to transfer to a different hospital because you couldn’t feel like this every day for the rest of your residency and how could you let yourself be so stupid and fall for a man and specifically the man who is your boss– flies out of the fucking window.
robby sounds breathless when he picks up the phone, but not in an “i just ran up every single flight of stairs to the roof” kind of way.
it’s full of hope and affection, in an “i’ve been waiting for you to call and i didn’t know exactly when you were getting home so i’ve been sitting next to the phone, heart in my throat wondering if it was going to ring” kind of way.
you’re pretty sure that all you want now and for the rest of time is for him to say your name in exactly that voice every time he answers your call.
“hi,” you say back, and you know you’ve managed to reciprocate that hope and affection into one tiny syllable because you swear you can hear him smiling over the phone.
“i don’t want us to start over because i, uh…” robby clears his throat. “i don’t want to disregard…”
when he pauses again, you want to rescue him from his clear struggle to form a complete sentence, but it’s so fucking adorable you decide to let it play out.
“we did things a little out of order and, um…if it’s not too pressionable of me, i would like to take you out on an actual date,” robby finally manages. “i got us into fig & ash. tomorrow night. if you want to go.”
you decide it’s a good time to come to his aid. “i want that very much, michael.”
he finds himself almost immediately soothed. “okay. good. then…it’s a date.”
you’ve barely made sure that the call has actually ended before you start texting dana.
you: do you know what robby’s favorite color is?
dana: weird question, but I’ll allow it. he seems to like green these days.
________________
the restaurant is beautiful. modern decor balanced with warm lighting and greenery, tables with mixed colors and types of wood and an expansive seasonal menu. it also happens to be within walking distance from the hospital, which makes it an easy choice for a first date.
this is the first time you’ve ever seen robby in “regular” clothing, sans cargo pants and boots. he’s wearing straight-cut dark jeans that hug his ass, a t-shirt that’s more fitted than you realize (yet), a lightweight jacket, and low-profile leather loafers. he looks incredible, and you are extremely aware of every woman in the restaurant who gives him a second glance, because you would be doing the exact same thing if you weren’t here together.
you’re wearing the summer edition of your first-date outfit, a sleeveless black dress with simple jewelry and sandals. it’s more revealing than anything robby has ever seen on you (except for that photo you sent him the other night, obviously) and he finds himself sitting on the same side of the table with you, touching as much of your exposed skin as is politely and respectfully possible.
neither of you is one-hundred-percent certain that this is going to work. it’s not often that sexting with a coworker shifts into a full-fledged romantic date under soft lighting. but the transition feels oddly seamless, maybe because sexting helps you overcome that first-date shyness pretty quickly.
or maybe it’s because he’s talking to you in a low voice, the kind that’s only meant for you to hear, and he’s touching your arm or he’s got his hand on your thigh or he’s playing with the loose curls in your hair and you’re pretty certain you would do absolutely anything michael robinavitch asks of you, in this moment or in any other.
when the waitress arrives to offer the dessert menu, robby smiles and tells her that you’ll need a moment to look over it. he turns to you, but instead of selecting a dessert, you ask how far away he lives from here, and he reveals that it’s within walking distance.
it sounds like dessert can wait.
and so when the waitress returns, you smile sweetly and opt for the check instead.
you’re cutting through the park on the way to his house when your pager goes off. both you and robby groan immediately.
it’s abbot, sending you an SOS. when he answers the phone, he tells you that he had to send ellis home sick and he desperately needs another resident at least for a few hours and he knows you live close and he’s sorry and-
you look to robby, and he nods as a sign of affirmation that you can, and should, say yes.
“dr. abbot? i’ll be there in ten minutes.”
he breathes a sigh of relief. “thanks, kid. come find me or lena when you get here.”
you press the small red button to end the call and look back to robby. “i am so sorry.”
he chuckles. “no need to be sorry. we can pick this up later.”
you know that’s true and you know that he means it, but you’re still a little disappointed.
before you can express any of this out loud, robby is pulling you in to kiss you, his fingertips resting at the nape of your neck.
it’s sweet but firm; there’s a need and a longing he manages to convey in about four seconds of touching your lips with his.
it's going to be a long night, because there's no way you're not going to spend the next several hours or maybe perhaps the rest of your life thinking about that kiss.
________________
the evening rush dissipates around 10pm. abbot is confident they can catch up on admits before midnight hits, so he sets you free with sincere gratitude and a promise to cover for you anytime you need it.
you head to your locker, happy you didn’t have to stay until sunrise, and finally get the chance to look at your phone.
dr. robby: Let me know if Abbot lets you go early, otherwise I’ll be ready to pick you up at 7:30.
dr. robby: Also, please bring the dress.
dr. robby: Because I desperately need the pleasure of taking it off of you.
