summary: robby tells you he wants to keep things casual after you catch him flirting with noelle. he's less enthusiastic when he finds out you've been seeing his best friend. (5k)
characters: michael robinavitch / fem!reader, jack abbot / fem!reader, trinity santos, dennis whitaker, mel king
contents: established relationship, friends with benefits, jealousy, mutual pining, angst, possessive!robby, allusions to smut
FIC #5 / 20 FOR 20
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
You and Robby were not together. Not officially, and definitely not publicly. You were hardly together privately, if you were being real honest with yourself — aside from a few stolen nights after particularly draining shifts, where he’d show up at your place with takeout and exhaustion sitting heavy in his eyes and promises of distracting you from the hard day; where he’d then wake up before sunrise and leave before you had the chance to miss him.
Casual. That was the point. Because he was an attending, and you were his resident, and Robby had already made the mistake of blurring those lines once before. “It gets messy, sweetheart,” he murmured against your bare shoulder one night, voice heavy with sex and sleep alike. “And when it ends, it… It really fuckin’ ends, you know?”
You didn’t know what he meant by that, actually. You figured he was saying that dating within the hierarchy tends to crash and burn in some way or another, but you didn’t press him on the issue then. Though now you think that maybe you should’ve.
You should’ve told him to give this a name back then — whatever this thing was between you — because at least then you’d have a name for the feeling searing in your chest just now, as you’re forced to watch Robby flirt with Noelle on the other side of the workstation.
You’re examining the chart glowing from the iPad in your hands, trying hard to ignore the ache in your lower back and the fact that you haven’t eaten since six that morning, when the sound of Robby’s sudden laughter graces your ears — finding you despite the buzzing chatter of the crowded E.R.
You glance up automatically and find him leaning against the counter, with the sleeves of his undershirt pushed up to his elbows and his stethoscope looped lazily around his neck, towering several inches over Noelle.
“You’re getting less grumpy in your old age, Robinavitch,” the older woman quips beneath a quiet smile and the faint flush coating her caramel-colored cheeks. She arches a manicured brow in his direction, dark eyes glimmering beneath long lashes. “Something been improving your mood lately? Or some-one?”
Your palms go clammy around the tablet in your hand. You never wanted anyone to find out that you were dating your attending, but god, your heart stops beating just to hear your name fall from his lips.
Robby laughs instead, a sharp exhale from his nose.
“You always think you know everything,” he says with a shake of his head, though you can still hear the smile in his voice when he tells her, “I’m not sure your new boyfriend up in ortho would like you asking about my love life, Hastings…”
“Oh, I stopped seeing him ages ago,” Noelle scoffs. “He kept calling himself an alpha male unironically, and I— couldn’t take it anymore.”
Robby physically recoils. “Jeez… And here I thought your taste in men improved after me.”
Their laughter entwines and lingers in the air for several lingering moments. It’s more familiar than flirtatious, but your stomach twists with a sick feeling anyway. Because Noelle was, to put it simply, everything you weren’t. She was effortlessly gorgeous and carried all that confidence in her matching pant suits and pulled-back curls. She was much closer to Robby’s age, too, and their lengthy history is one you know you couldn’t compete with if you tried.
You feel a little like a child as you watch them talk in hushed voices. You flare with all the embarrassment of one, too, when Robby’s eyes lock suddenly with yours.
You turn away a beat too late, just in time to catch the look that flashes suddenly across his weathered features — as if he’d somehow been caught. You pretend not to notice, or otherwise care, when he dismisses himself from Noelle and closes the distance between you. He towers over you the same way he had with her, smelling like a mixture of his cologne and your bed sheets.
“Hey…” he says, all casual, stuffing his hands into his scrub pockets and nodding to the tablet in your hands. “You get that CBC back on Central Eight?”
“Yep,” you deadpan, still without looking at him.
He flinches slightly when you shove the chart suddenly at his chest with a less-than-gentle hand. His brows lower in confusion when you turn on your heel and walk away a second later, with considerably more ire than you had that morning. (‘Cause you’d been complaining about some mild insomnia for a while now, so Robby fucked you to sleep the night before. He figured you’d be in a better mood today accordingly. But alas.)
“So I take it you’re not helping with this endoscopy?” he calls after you, pulling his glasses from his shirt pocket for a better view of the screen in his hand.
“Nope,” you call back, already halfway down the hall — not as his resident, but as a woman halfway scorned.
Whitaker’s eyes dart back and forth like he’s watching a tennis match — between you, Robby, and the bloodied head wound he’s watching you stitch up with practiced hands. There’s a heavy tension he can feel simmering in the air, snatching all the remaining oxygen out of the room. Even from where he stands behind you, peering over Trinity’s shoulder, he feels hardly shielded from the building stress.
“Call ortho for a consult for me, will ya?” Robby asks you, or rather politely commands, without looking away from the chart in his hands.
You, similarly, don’t glance up from your sutures as you tell him, “You have a pair of free hands, don’t you, Dr. Robby?”
The man’s eyes dart to you in an instant, peering at you over the top of the glasses sitting low on his broad nose. His dark brown gaze glimmers with a mixture of amusement and shock as a faint smile flickers beneath his beard.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ll do it!” Whitaker blurts, half-strangled by the tension, as he rushes for the red phone across the room. It’s quite telling, the younger boy finds, that he’d rather suffer a call with Park the Shark than watch this lover’s quarrel unfold.
Robby squints as he takes a slow step towards you. His eyes flit from your deadpan face, to your gloved hands, to the balding head of the unconscious patient you stitch up.
“Have you eaten today?” he wonders aloud.
“Are you gonna ask if I need a nap next to?” you scoff. “I’m not a child.”
“Well, you’re kinda acting like one,” Robby says within a breathless chuckle. “So do you wanna maybe dial the attitude back a notch?”
“Sorry, Dr. Robby,” you say flatly, tying off the final stitch with sharp, methodical movements. “I’ll remember to stroke your ego next time— Maybe then you won’t accuse me of being a bitch.”
“I wasn’t—”
A laugh sputters suddenly from Santos’ mouth before she can help it. She hides it behind her fist when Robby glares at her and pretends to cough instead.
The tension between the two of you doesn’t snap until around the tenth hour of the shift, when you’re hiding from the chaos of the E.D. with the excuse of fetching more supplies from the walk-in closet. Robby enters like a dark cloud, mixing with your own storm, and threatening to create a most fatal concoction when he corners you against the shelf. (You hadn’t stopped moving for about four straight hours, to be fair — this was his only real chance of getting you alone.)
“What the hell is your problem today?” the older man says in lieu of a greeting.
You huff and roll your eyes, shoving at a pack of saline flushes a little harder than necessary when they threaten to fall from the shelf and on top of you. Robby watches with narrowed eyes and a pair of weathered hands splayed on his hip.
“Did I do something to you? ‘Cause you’ve been acting crazy all day—”
You slam the cabinet door shut with a resounding clang, so hard it refuses to latch,before spinning on your heels to face the man behind you. The glare you give him almost makes him flinch before he swallows down the instinct to.
“Crazy?” you echo through a tense jaw. “You flirt with Noelle all day, right in front of me, and now you’re calling me crazy?”
Robby blinks owlishly back at you for several long moments.
You almost think you see a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth beneath his mustache, before a chuckle sputters suddenly from his lips. You flinch at the intensity of his laughter, and at the distant mania glimmering in his dark eyes.
“Oh, my god—”
“Don’t laugh!” you exclaim, face burning under the weight of your embarrassment.
“—That’s what this is about?”
“Yes! It is. Because I thought I was enough for you.”
His weathered features soften with a heavy sigh, though traces of his amusement still remain — equal parts fond and exhausted.
“Oh, c’mon… You know this wasn’t supposed to be anything serious,” Robby croons gently, taking slow steps towards you. “That was the agreement, right? Casual. So we could avoid all… This.”
You peer up at the man from beneath your lashes when he plants himself in front of you. You try not to melt when you catch a whiff of his dizzying cologne. “This?” you echo.
“Yeah… You know, all the… jealousy and the— arguments,” he huffs with a lazy shrug and crosses his pale arms over his chest. “I’ve been through this before, kid. Trust me. This is… This is what’s best.”
Your chest sears with a mixture of red-hot anger and ice-cold jealousy. Your jaw tightens at how detached he sounds, how rational, as if he were discussing policies instead of real actual feelings. (If he was even capable of those). You want him to feel this, too — this awful, wretched jealousy clawing at your ribs from the inside out.
You fold your arms tightly across your chest, forcing your voice into a deadpan as hurt simmers somewhere beneath the words. “So I can see whoever I want?” you ask him.
Robby’s expression flickers slightly, almost imperceptibly. His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, but his dark gaze never once wavers from yours.
“Of course, you can,” he tells you, though his taut voice threatens to betray him. “We’re casual. That was the deal.”
“Okay,” you nod once and turn away from him again, giving him very little to play off of as he tries and fails to call your bluff.
Robby’s forced to stare at the back of you while you pull a large pack of lap pads from the shelf. His brows knit in confusion when you spin back around to face him, mostly back to normal again, with a ghost of a polite smile dancing the edges of your mouth.
“Run these to Trauma 1 for me, will ya? Dr. Al-Hashimi needs ‘em for a trauma patient coming in.”
You press the package to Robby’s chest before he can answer and walk past him for the exit before he can blink.
Three days after the fact, you’re sitting in a crowded bar a block away from the PTMC, drowning your post-shift sorrows in half-priced beers.
In those three days, you haven’t seen Robby once outside of work. There were no more stolen kisses in empty elevators, no more lingering touches in stairwells, no more “come over” texts sent in the dead of night. And Robby thought it was strange, because the two of you weren’t even fighting anymore — not technically, anyway — and yet you were more distant now than ever.
“Question,” the man murmured casually from the other side of the desk while you finished up your charting at the monitor. “Is it me you’re avoiding or just my apartment?”
“What?” you scoffed, still typing. “I’ve just been— busy, Robby.”
“Hm…” he sighed, less than convinced.
You didn’t spare him a second glance — not then and not when you took Santos’ offer of happy hour and Friday night karaoke. The girl herself returns now to the cracked pleather booth in the corner of the dingy bar, where you sit with Mel and Whitaker, after butchering another Alanis Morrissette song.
Her chest heaves with panted breaths under her black tank top, pale skin sticky with a thin layer of alcohol-induced sweat.
“Okay, what’s with the long faces over here?” Trinity jokes as she steals a room-temperature fry off your plate, talking through the mouthful. “I know you and Robby are fighting or whatever, but I just gave the performance of a lifetime up there.”
You slurp nosily at the remnants of your fruity drink and nearly choke on it at the accusation. “What?” you cough with the thin straw still in your mouth. “We aren’t— fighting. What are you talking about?”
“Oh, please,” Trinity scoffs and reaches for her beer. “You’re both been acting like a couple of… divorced parents at soccer practice.”
“Okay, I don’t even know what that means—”
“Playing nice in front of everyone as not to evoke suspicion, which inevitably turns the obvious tension between you from angry to sexually charged,” Mel rambles matter-of-factly. Her blonde hair sways around her jaw as she nods, left slightly crimped from her undone braid.
Your eyes flit to Whitaker then, who nods much more solemnly in agreement.
Your face burns red-hot in response. “Well— we’re not even, like, together or anything, so…”
“Mhm…” Santos hums with a knowing look that makes you shift uncomfortably in the booth. She takes another quick swig from the amber bottle in her hand before her gaze zeroes in on an unfortunate Whitaker. “C’mon, Huckleberry. You’re up.”
His light eyes widen, glassy with exhaustion and alcohol alike. “I’m… Up?”
“Yeah. You’re doing karaoke with me. Let’s go,” Trinity says as she slides once more off the weathered vinyl. She frowns when she rises and finds the boy still sitting in place. “Let’s go, I said! We gotta get back in line before the spots fill up—”
Whitaker scrambles to follow the girl towards the stage despite his better judgment. You use that as an excuse to get another drink, tugging the skirt of your dress further down your thighs as you go. You weave through the crowd of strangers and coworkers alike until you reach the sticky wooden counter.
You lean your elbows against it and flash the bartender a kinda smile. “Can I get another aperol spritz, please?”
“Put that on my tab,” a familiar voice says from beside you.
Your head whips to find Jack sitting there, one chair down and nursing a sweaty amber bottle of cheap beer in his pale hand. He looks more relaxed now than you think you’ve ever seen him — camo pants baggy around his legs, black t-shirt untucked from the belt, warm around the edges from the alcohol.
You feel very suddenly overdressed in your form-fitting velveteen number and cross your arms over your chest to hide beneath the loose cardigan you wear over top of it. “Oh, you don’t have to do that—”
“I insist,” the older man smiles. “You deserve it after that canthotomy you did today. You were a real trooper.”
The bartender slides a cocktail glass across the wooden surface over to you. The orange liquid threatens to slosh over the thin rim. You give him a polite grin in return. “Thank you,” you tell the man, then grow considerably shier when you turn back to the attending sitting a stool down from you. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot.”
“Jack,” the older man corrects before bringing the lip of his bottle back up to his mouth.
“Jack,” you echo softly.
The man shifts on the hard stool, keeping his prosthetic limb stretched slightly ahead of him beneath the bar. A not quite silence settles between you then, filled by the buzzing bar all around you. Your eyes cut to the stage on the far side of the room, where Santos belts the lyrics to “You Oughta Know” and Whitaker stumbles over himself to get the foreign words out.
“I think Shen is looking for a karaoke partner,” you quip, nodding your head towards the doctor standing by the stage and flipping through the binder of song choices there.
The dim overhead lighting turns Jack’s silver curls a softer golden shade when he turns his head to follow your gaze. He grimaces instantly at the thought. “Yeah, absolutely not.”
“Why?” you laugh softly, with the thin straw dancing against your mouth. “You scared?”
“Yes,” the man answers without a second thought. “And I’ve been shot at before— Today, even— And somehow karaoke still feels more terrifying.”
Your eyes squint in his direction, glittering with something foreign. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t ya think?”
“Eh. Maybe a little.”
You scoff and slide into the bar stool beside him. “You don’t strike me as someone who embarrasses easily, Dr. Abbot.”
“That’s because you only know me at work,” he quips halfway into his beer, before licking the amber sheen from his mouth. “Where I am equal parts competent and mysterious.”
“Mysterious?” you repeat skeptically.
“Mm,” Jack nods with narrowed eyes and a faint smile twitching the corner of his lip. “Very tortured, you know? Very brooding.”
“Ah, yes…” you sigh with alcohol glittering on your lips like gloss. “The very brooding, tortured doctor who makes dinosaur noises to win over scared children in pedes.”
Jack pauses mid-sip, pale eyes narrowing. “Well, this is new…” he hums.
Your stomach flips at the way he’s looking at you. Heat crawls instantly up your neck. You feel very suddenly suffocated by the heavy cardigan on your shoulders. “…What is?”
“I don’t know,” he answers with a lazy shrug, though his heavy eyes dart once down your form and up again. You don’t realize, until then, that this is his first time seeing you in anything other than your dark black scrubs. “You… Flirting with me.”
You exhale a breathy laugh, if only to dispel the anxiety clawing at your chest. “Flirting? Is that what this is?”
“Hey— You’re the one who called me mysterious.”
“Actually, I was clarifying if you thought you were mysterious.”
“Still counts.”
“Does it?” you squint.
Jack smirks behind the lip of the beer bottle against his mouth. His adam’s apple bobs with a short sip before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You know… For a while there, I thought you hated me… Considering you never talked to me unless you had to.”
“You work nights, Jack— I don’t talk to you because I see you for, maybe, twenty minutes out of my day,” you scoff, and don’t realize you’ve called him by his first name until his eyes glimmer with amusement. You turn away with a shake of your head as your face burns, bringing the straw back up to your mouth. “Though, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t consider it…”
“Oh, really?” Jack hums with raised brows. “What’s the verdict now, then, huh?”
You let your gaze drag over him deliberately as you ponder the question, biting at the straw between your teeth. You scan over his toned biceps, his lean stomach caged beneath his form-fitting tee, and his spread thighs that make your head spin, before meeting his eyes once more.
“Now,” you hum sweetly, “I think I’m starting to understand the appeal…”
Jack stares at you for a long moment before he lets out a low, disbelieving laugh. The lamplight shines in his greying curls as he shakes his head. “Yeah? And how does Robby feel about that?”
Your eyes harden in an instant.
Jack raises a free hand in surrender. “Hey, I’m just sayin’— He looks like he wants to put his fist through a wall any time another attending talks to you for more than thirty seconds.”
Your chest tightens unexpectedly. You swallow hard to fight the strangling feeling — of Robby, and of his laughter in the supply closet — as you shrug a lazy shoulder in response. You don’t bother to lift your cardigan when it slips softly down your arm.
“It’s casual,” you tell him.
Jack studies you for a long moment. The corner of his mouth curls into a slow half-smile, and you feel your heart stuttering behind your ribcage.
“Casual, huh?” he hums and brings his bottle back up to his mouth. “Interesting…”
Morning arrives slowly through the veiled curtains of the quiet bedroom, where pale golden light cuts softly over hardwood floors and rumpled sheets. You rouse gradually, cocooned beneath strangely heavy blankets that smell differently from your own back home — like unfamiliar detergent, cedarwood, and musky cologne.
For a blissful wink of a moment, you don’t remember where you are. Not until you stretch your tired limbs and brush a scruffy leg with your foot, anyway.
Your breath catches. Your heavy eyes snap open. Your body prickles with heat as flashes from the night before return to you at once — of the walk home from the bar, of Jack’s laugh against your throat, of his stubble scraping your skin, of the teasing murmur in his velvety voice as he told you to cum for him.
Your thighs clench together at the memory, while a lingering ache pulses pleasantly low in the pit of your stomach.
You lift your head from the pillow and inhale sharply through your nose as your eyes scan the foreign bedroom, which you had been too busy to do the night before.
There’s an expensive-looking record player in one corner, sat beside a crate of well-loved vinyls. There’s a bookshelf lining the far wall — cluttered with medical textbooks, old paperbacks, and framed photos from his military days. His camo bag, etched with his name, slouches by the entrance, and over the foot of the bed, you can see his prosthetic limb lying beside your shoes.
Other than that, it’s strikingly empty, with very little decoration on the wall or bedside tables. It makes sense, you figure, for a man who is working far more than he isn’t.
Your head turns in the opposite direction to find Jack sleeping soundly just beside you. The gentle rays of morning light brush over the canvas of his bare back, turning his freckles there a deeper shade of golden brown. He’s got one arm shoved beneath the pillow he folds into his cheek and the other lying loose across the mattress — from where your waist must’ve been before you slithered out from underneath it.
Your chest pinches at the sight of him. With pride, maybe, at having conquered him. And with a pang of white-hot guilt that twists when your mind inevitably drifts to Robby.
You slide out of bed, careful not to let the mattress give too much beneath your weight. You grimace when the fabric of your t-shirt twists uncomfortably around your form, only to find that you’re wearing Jack’s shirt, which had seemingly been given to you at some point last night. It falls over your thighs when you stand, bare feet padding as you gather your discarded clothes.
You bend down to drag your underwear back up your thighs and wince when your head throbs from last night’s cheap cocktails. With your dress and knit cardigan balled in your arm, you toe your shoes back on. Your breath hitches when the mattress shifts with a soft creak.
Jack squints when he raises his wild head. His mouth twitches when he finds you at the foot of the mattress. “Y’know…” he rasps, voice rough with sleep. “I’m at least grateful you’re not robbing me before sneaking out. That’s very courteous of you.”
“I’m not sneaking,” you scoff. “I just… didn’t want to wake you.”
The man inhales sharply as he twists onto his back, charcoal sheets tangling around his waist. You force yourself to look away from his lean stomach and the red claw marks you left on his scruffy chest when he stretches his toned arms above his head.
“That’s sweet,” he says with a wince. “But unfortunately, I wake up if somebody breathes wrong in the next room.”
You exhale a soft laugh.
Jack’s eyes soften around the edges at the sound of it. “You workin’ today?”
“Yep, in about…” Your eyes flit to the alarm clock on his nightstand. “Half an hour.”
“Brutal,” he scoffs.
“You’re fault.”
“Don’t say that like you didn’t have a good time,” he teases with narrowed eyes, then softens slightly when you turn away. You fumble with the stubborn back of your shoe, and his chest twists at your silence. “Do you… Do you regret it?”
“No,” you answer instantly.
“Good,” he hums, relaxing visibly once more into the sheets. “Me neither.”
Your stomach blooms with warmth. You shift awkwardly on your feet before him, even still. “So, uh… What— What now?”
“Well, feel free to use my shower, if you want—”
“I’m serious, Jack,” you insist gently, then add, more sheepishly. “But I will be using your shower, actually, thank you…”
Jack inhales deeply, considering. “Well,” he starts carefully, “I like you. Obviously.”
Your pulse rushes like a teenage girl.
“But,” he continues, as relief and disappointment tangle in your chest all at once. “I also know that neither of us is in the right spot for a relationship right now…”
“So… Casual?” you offer lightly, mouth lifted in a tired smile.
“Casual,” Jack agrees with a firm nod and glassy eyes.
You wear the night before all over, despite your desperate attempts to hide it.
Robby notices it the moment he sees you — how relaxed you are, how happy you seem to be. Whatever had been plaguing you before is now long gone, and that alone should be enough to comfort him. But still, he can’t shake the feeling that someone had gotten rid of all the aching for you — fucked it out of you the way only he could.
“You’re in a good mood today,” he observes while signing off on the chart you’d given him.
“Am I?” you hum.
“Yeah,” he nods, clicking his pen with his thumb. He glances at you over the top of his glasses before averting his gaze once more. “What’d you get up to last night, huh?”
“Nothing,” you shrug. “Other than watching Santos butcher Alanis Morrissette’s discography at karaoke… Maybe I just slept well.”
“You usually only do that at my place.”
Your brows furrow when he passes the clipboard back to you. “I’m sorry— Are you accusing me of something, Dr. Robby?”
His mouth opens to respond — to tell you that he can smell the foreign body wash on your skin, far muskier than the delicate sweet-vanilla he’s used to. But the automatic doors across the station swish open and shut before he can.
Jack enters with his camo pack slung over his shoulder and brings a cool evening breeze in with him. Robby can’t help but notice how your eyes find each other’s almost instantly, clicking like magnets and lingering together like there’s a secret that only the two of you know about. His stomach swirls with jealousy.
“Look alive, degenerates,” Jack announces in lieu of a greeting, then quiets slightly when he reaches your side. “What’d I miss?”
“I was just briefing Robby on last night at karaoke,” you answer with a polite smile. “And how I will never be able to listen to Alanis Morissette after Santos’ crimes last night—”
“Fuuuck you,” Trinity drags out from the desk beside you, still sluggish from the long day and the hangover that won’t seem to leave her.
“Don’t drag me into this,” Jack quips. “I took an oath as a physician to do no harm.”
You exhale a quiet laugh. The man’s eyes soften around the edges, as though pleased at having earned the sound, before walking off towards the locker room. He leaves a trail of musky cedarwood as he goes, and Robby’s heart drops when he finally places the scent — the one he’s been smelling on you all day.
The realization hit him like a truck.
His expression darkens instantly when he turns back to you.
“Supply closet,” he mutters lowly as he walks past you. “Now.”
Your stomach drops at his tone. He takes all the remaining breath from your lungs with him as he goes. Your chest stings accordingly — with a surge of pride at his jealousy, and with a pang of distant regret at his hurt. You follow behind him down the long hallway to the supply closet like a scolded child. He barely waits for the door to click shut behind him before rounding on you.
“You slept with him?” he shouts, eyes wide and wild.
You cross your arms tight over your chest, with your head tilted inquisitively to your shoulder. “Aren’t you the one who said I could see whoever I want?”
“Yeah, I meant random assholes at the bar,” he snaps. “Not my best fucking friend!”
An incredulous laugh sputters from your lips. “Oh, so now we have rules? What happened to just being casual, huh? If you can flirt with your coworkers, why can’t I?”
Robby’s dark eyes narrow as he takes a slow step towards you. You catch a faint upward flicker of his mouth as he asks, “So that’s why you did it, huh? You just wanted to piss me off?”
Your anger spikes instantly. You feel it prickling red-hot beneath your scrubs. Because he’s an arrogant asshole, maybe, or maybe because a distant part of you knows that he’s right.
“No, actually,” you tell him anyway. “Because not everything’s about you, Robby. I did it because Jack wanted me. Because he didn’t treat me like I was just another one of his dirty secrets—”
“Yeah, alright,” Robby scoffs a breathy laugh and turns away, running a pale hand through his chopped brown hair.
“Because being with him made me feel good—”
“I said alright!”
“Aw, what’s wrong, Robby?” you coo, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Does it bother you that somebody else wanted me?”
Robby exhales another one of his stupid laughs.
Your chest swells with a burning feeling that makes you feel like crying. “Why is it so hard to admit that you care about me?”
“I care about you! Of course, I fucking care about you!” he exclaims, red in the face. “Because I’ve spent months trying not to screw this up.”
“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes. “Says the man who practically shoved me into someone else’s bed.”
“Oh, don’t do that,” Robby squints.
“Do what?”
“Act like this is what I wanted—”
The words die in his throat when the silver knob to the closet door clicks suddenly behind him. The hinges open with a quiet squeak a second later. Your heads whip in sync to find Santos in the threshold, rubbing at her tired eyes as she steps into the room. She doesn’t realize the two of you are in there until the door shuts behind her again.
Her wide eyes dart back and forth between the two of you for a moment. “…Why does it feel like I just walked into a hostage situation?” she quips in a monotone.
“Now you know how I felt last night,” you joke back weakly.
She flips you off and walks further inside. Neither of you says a word as she retrieves a case of saline flushes and four-by-fours from the shelves. The plastic crinkles loudly in the silence.
“Please. Feel free to continue,” Santos deadpans as she leaves. “I definitely won’t be listening with my ear pressed against the door.”
The entrance shuts behind her with a dull click that sounds much louder in the quiet. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as Robby pinches his nose between his thumb and forefinger. When he lifts his head against, his eyes zero in on you.
“We’ll finish this when we get home,” he tells you, firmly.
“Can’t tonight,” you shrug, lying through your teeth. “I have plans.”
“Yeah, not anymore, you don’t.”
Your stomach does a back flip at his words, at his very sudden act of dominance that makes you feel like melting into a puddle at his feet. And judging by the newfound glint in Robby’s dark eyes, he notices it, too.
Balancing your final year as a resident while raising a five-year-old is hard enough. Co-parenting with your ex Michael Robinavitch? That’s a whole different challenge.
warning/tags: smut, minors DNI, porn with plot (lots of plot), age gap (but reader’s age isn’t disclosed) jealous!robby, co-parenting, Robby is sooo girl dad coded, attempt of slowburn, they're down bad for the other, inadequate medical terms, longing, unprotected piv, pussy eating, fingering, handjob, creampie, multiple orgasms
“Robby,” you repeated for the millionth time, staring at the way his focused eyes stayed glued to the computer screen. “Robby, are you even listening to what I’m saying?” Your words went in one ear and straight out the other. His attention was completely locked on the patient charts, as if the world had temporarily ceased to exist.
You let out a quiet sigh, then reached over the nurse station counter, fished a latex glove out of the open cardboard box, and with a quick movement, snapped it right against his back.
“Ouch!” Robby exclaimed, finally jerking his gaze away from the screen. He rubbed the spot where the glove had stung him, looking equal parts surprised and betrayed. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because I’ve been trying to talk to you!” You fought to keep your voice from snapping, though the frustration was definitely leaking through. “Did you call the bouncy castle people already?”
He nodded, leaning back in his chair with a groan. “Yeah, already did. They’re charging me two hundred extra for switching from the unicorn castle to the capybara one with less than a week’s notice, by the way.” He tried to sound annoyed, but it didn’t quite land. Michael loved his daughter far too much for that. If he had to build a goddamn capybara bouncy castle with his own two hands so she could have whatever she wanted in the entire world, he would do it without hesitation. Instead of irritation, his expression softened into something almost endearing, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was fighting back a smile at her latest demand.
“And you’re paying for it without complaining because you’re a great father,” you said matter-of-factly, unable to hide the fond smile tugging at your own lips. “Remember, the party’s at three. You still good for setup?”
Robby exhaled through his nose, the sound almost a laugh but not quite. "They're delivering the capybara monstrosity at one-thirty. Said they'd set it up in the backyard." He rubbed a hand over his jaw as if he was remembering what other arrangements he’d made. "Also confirmed the balloon guy with a helium tank, should be there by two."
You nodded, feeling the relief you always felt whenever Robby managed to take care of everything. Co-parenting with Robby has always been like this, efficient, practical, and competent. No missed pickups, no forgotten appointments. He'd never once let your daughter down, even when work tried to swallow him whole.
"And the cake?" you asked because you can't help it, even though you knew the answer.
He gave you a side-eye, the one that said do you even have to ask? "Chocolate with vanilla buttercream, extra sprinkles. Pickup at two-fifteen, I'll swing by after my shift ends, already talked to Shen and he’ll cover for me.”
Five years ago, you were a fourth-year med student rotating in this very department, terrified of screwing up in front of the mighty Dr. Robinavitch. Then Dr. Robinavitch slowly became Dr. Robby to you… and eventually he was just Michael when you were moaning his name under the weight of his body in his bed.
What you and Robby once had was simple, and you both liked it that way. It was the comfort of each other’s company after a brutal shift when neither of you wanted to be alone. No strings, no labels, no complications of being a real couple. No whispered rumors in the hospital about Robby seeing a med student outside of work. No pressure on Robby’s well-known inability to commit to anything more than passionate sex at night and coffee in the morning.
But simple things didn’t always stay simple, especially not when two adults knew exactly how risky it was to keep skipping protection, and neither of you ever felt much enthusiasm about pulling out. “Fuck, this is the last time, Michael,” you’d said more than once, breathless and frustrated. “Why are you nagging me?” he’d reply with a half-smirk, still catching his breath. “I had every intention of pulling out before you wrapped your legs around me like that.”
And that’s exactly how, six months after the first night you slept in Robby’s bed, you found yourself staring at the most terrifying sight you’d ever witnessed in your life: two pink lines on a plastic stick.
The conversation that followed was painfully awkward. You told Robby you were pregnant, and Robby, being who he was, decided it was time to put on his big boy pants and play his cards right. Life had handed him something he never thought he’d get, a baby, a real chance at a family. So he did what any traditional man would do in his position: he settled with you.
You’d moved into his house, and Robby and you had settled into a routine, not as two people who casually slept together on lonely nights, but as partners, and soon-to-be parents.
Robby took you to every single appointment. He insisted on every test to ensure his child’s safety, blended you the best prenatal smoothies, disgusting carrot-and-spinach concoctions that made you gag but that he swore were just what you needed, and even pushed hard for you to take early maternity leave. But of course, you refused, determined to finish your last year of med school before the baby arrived.
The day your daughter was born was the happiest day of Robby’s life. Even now, it still brought him to tears whenever he thought about it, the moment his entire life changed forever, the day he met his greatest love, his reason to keep going, to keep living, to try harder every single day.
But even as Robby put in his best effort to be a boyfriend, it didn’t take long for the fantasy to crumble. It wasn’t all sunrays and paradise, and after endless long shifts in the ED, endless diapers, and all-night cries that never seemed to stop, you were both running on fumes. It became painfully clear, day after day, that the only reason Robby had decided to settle down with you was because he’d gotten you pregnant.
You could see how unhappy he was. He barely spoke a word to you when he got home from work. He’d just sit on the couch with distant, lost eyes staring at the wall like he was the most miserable person alive. The only times he laughed or smiled were in the presence of his daughter. You couldn’t help but feel crushing guilt for trapping him in a relationship he never truly wanted. Robby had longed for a family and for company, but once he had it, he didn’t know what to do with it.
That’s why, after five months of fights and desperate trying, you decided it was time to do the most noble thing you could: let him go. Set him free instead of keeping him trapped beside you in a pretend marriage he’d only started because he was too considerate to let you raise his daughter alone.
Hannah Robinavitch had never once envied her friends whose parents were still married. She never got sad or asked why the three of you couldn’t just be a normal family. Because she already knew you were one, a little different from the others, maybe, but still a family nonetheless. And having separate parents actually had its perks. It meant two houses, twice as many birthday presents, and two different vacation destinations every single year.
Sunlight slanted through the tall maple trees lining the backyard fence, painting patterns across the grass. Your yard was huge, the short green grass always perfectly maintained, and the swimming pool sparkled with crystal-clear water that seemed to catch every ray of light. It was the kind of house you could never have afforded on a resident’s salary in a million years. But Robby had made sure you and Hannah had it anyway the moment the two of you decided to part ways and break up. He’d never blinked at the money when it came to his daughter. If giving her (and you) the nicest possible place to live during your half of the week with her, in a safe, beautiful neighborhood full of every comfort meant making his baby girl happy, then he would do it without hesitation.
Because fuck, Robby was such a good father. The kind who puts his little girl first and everything else second. He finally had a real reason to take days off work and actually go on vacations. He finally had something to look forward to, a future worth living for: taking care of his daughter, watching her grow up, teaching her things, just being needed by this helpless little angel who still demanded he check under the bed for monsters every single night.
You’d read once that when it came to having children, women should look for a man who would make a good father, not necessarily a good husband. Because love could run out. People broke up. They got divorced. But a child was a lifelong commitment. And you’d won the lottery with Michael, even if sometimes you still wished he could have been as good a partner as he was a father.
The enormous capybara-themed bouncy castle Hannah insisted on dominated the grass as screams of delight and the rhythmic thump-thump of small feet echoed from inside it. All her kindergarten friends chased each other in circles as their parents clustered near the patio tables, drinking iced tea and making polite small talk about preschool and summer camps.
You were on snack duty, refilling the chip bowls, and right on cue, the side gate swung open. Robby stepped through, wearing dark jeans and a button-down shirt rolled to the elbows, the sleeves catching on the muscles of his forearms, revealing Hannah’s name tattooed on his wrist.
He was carrying a large gift box wrapped in shiny silver paper with a bright red ribbon tied around it. The second Hannah’d spotted him, the entire backyard might as well have disappeared.
“Daddy!” She launched herself down the slide so fast the inflatable nearly tipped. She was sprinting with her bare feet on the grass before she even landed properly.
Robby dropped to one knee just in time to catch her as she collided into his chest like a missile. He laughed and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her clean off the ground for a second, even though she was getting too big for it. She squealed and buried her face in his neck.
“You came! You came!”
“Wouldn’t miss it, babygirl.” He set her down but kept one hand on her shoulder. “Happy birthday.”
She was s already eyeing the box. “Is that for me?”
“Depends.” He raised an eyebrow. “You been good?”
“Super duper good! Ask Mommy! I only ate two cupcakes and I shared my shovel in the sandbox with the other kids!”
You caught his eye over her head, and Robby gave you the tiniest smirk, yeah, he knew “two cupcakes” was probably an undercount.
“Guess it’s yours then.” Robby set the box on the grass, and Hannah attacked the paper. A brand-new bike glints in the sunlight, purple with whitewall tires, training wheels already attached, and even a little bell shaped like a flower.
Hannah froze for half a second, then let out a shriek that made half the parents jump. “A BIKE! Daddy, a BIKE!”
She flung herself at him again, hugging him so hard he had to brace himself. He laughed again, softer this time, and rubbed a hand over her back. “Figured it was time for you to have some riding lessons.”
“I can ride it now? Right now?”
He glanced at you for a quick check-in, the way he always does when big decisions happen, and you nod once.
“Yeah, angel,” you said, walking over. “But helmet stays on, and daddy’ll hold your seat until you’re steady.”
Hannah was already trying to climb on, so Robby steadied the bike with one hand, using the other to guide her foot to the pedal. She wobbled the second her weight hit the seat, but she was grinning so wide it looked almost painful.
Robby shot you another look and then crouched beside Hannah again. “Ready?”
She nodded furiously, and Robby started walking her forward, keeping one hand on the seat, the other hovering near her shoulder to steady her in case she fell. She pedaled hard, poking her tongue out in concentration. The bike lurched, straightened, and lurched again. Robby kept pace easily as you watched from the patio steps. The man who once told you, half-asleep after a fifteen-hour shift, that he wasn’t sure he knew how to be anyone’s dad, was now the same man who walked backward in front of a wobbling five-year-old, talking her through every turn.
“Push harder with your right foot… there you go. Look where you want to go, not at the ground. Yeah, just like that.”
Hannah laughed when the bike finally held a straight line for more than three seconds, and Robby let go of the seat, just for a heartbeat, and then grabbed it again when she tipped.
“I did it! I almost did it!”
“You’re doing it,” he corrected her, encouraging like he’d read in so many parenting books. “Keep going.”
They made a loop around the bouncy castle. Parents pulled out phones to snap pictures of her, and someone even started clapping, making Hannah beam like she was crossing a finish line. You felt eyes on you, Robby’s, briefly. He didn’t say anything, but the look told enough: we made this kid. Look at her.
After another lap, he slowed her to a stop near the bouncy castle. She was flushed and sweaty, but utterly triumphant. “Can we take the training wheels off?” she asked immediately.
Robby exhaled a laugh. “Tomorrow, maybe. Today we celebrate the fact you didn’t eat pavement.”
He ruffled her hair, then stood, brushing grass off his jeans. Robby walked over to you, watching Hannah show off her new ride to anyone who’ll listen.
“You good?” He asked you. “You’ve been running this circus solo all afternoon.”
“I’m fine. Exhausted, but fine.” You paused, then added softly, “She’s having the best day. Because you’re here.”
He looked at you then, and something about his eyes reminded you of the way he used to look at you when you were falling asleep on his couch with a newborn between you. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
Hannah zoomed past again, ringing the little flower bell. “Five,” he muttered, almost to himself. “How the hell did that happen?”
You didn’t have an answer, you just stood there beside him, your shoulder almost brushing his, watching your daughter ride circles around the backyard.
Two hours later, you were cutting slices out of the chocolate cake while Robby stood right next to you, handing them out to the sugar-desperate kids swarming the table.
You passed another slice to Robby. He took it from your hands, brushing his fingers against yours for a brief second.
“You know, I didn’t see Vet Guy over here,” he said, pulling on a dramatically disappointed face. “Bummer. I was really hoping to finally meet the guy.” You decided to ignore the sarcastic, obviously ill-intended comment. Robby, never one to let silence win, kept going. “I suppose he was busy. Did he have a labradoodle to give a haircut?” He let out a loud, self-satisfied chuckle that rumbled into a deep “Ha!”
“That’s a pet esthetician, you know?” You mumbled, aggressively slicing the knife through the cake. “Vets don’t do haircuts.”
“Oh, you’re right,” he mock-apologized, not even pretending to drop the subject, not when he had weeks’ worth of jokes lined up. “Then I guess he had some high-risk procedure. Open-heart surgery on a hamster, maybe?”
“You’re hilarious, Michael,” you said with your biggest deadpan face. “How long did it take you to come up with that one?”
“Oh, I have plenty more where that came from,” he replied, grinning. “Do you even call him Doctor? I mean, vets aren’t even real doctors.”
“Of course they are!” you shot back with sudden, exaggerated respect for the veterinary profession, purely to piss him off.
Vet guy was nice. You’d met him at the hospital after he came in with a nasty dog bite on his leg. You’d tended to the wound while he respectfully flirted with you, not too hard, not desperate or aggressive, but just enough to make you feel seen. He asked genuine questions about you, shared funny stories from his own job, and somehow managed to pull real smiles out of you even after a brutal shift.
When he asked for your number, intending to take you to what he swore was the best Thai restaurant in Pittsburgh, you’d hesitated. You didn’t need more distractions from residency and motherhood. But Dana had insisted you accept. She said you needed to spend time with adults outside the hospital, to do something just for yourself, and to let yourself be treated nicely for one night. Secretly, you knew she was cracking up at the way Robby’s jealousy flared every time Vet guy flirted with you, the way he clenched his jaw, cleared his throat, and rolled his eyes like a petulant child.
You’d gone out with him a couple of times. It was fun. He was a gentleman, smart, funny, handsome, the type of man most women would be thrilled to stumble upon. But then your stupid, stupid brain did that awful thing it always did whenever you started seeing someone new: it compared him to Robby. Robby would’ve ordered that. Robby would’ve said that. Robby would’ve done that. As if your brain had never gotten the memo that you and Robby had broken up. That it hadn’t worked. That you were supposed to be looking for a guy who wasn’t like him at all.
“Oh, please. WE are doctors. They’re frauds.” Robby scoffed. “What’s that guy’s biggest life achievement? Getting vomited on by a dog?”
“You’ve clearly thought a lot about a guy I’ve only gone out with like two times,” you offered him your fakest smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were the one dating him, not me.”
Robby’s expression, which up until that moment had been mocking and sleazy, changed completely. His smile flattened into a thin, straight line, and his eyes turned serious. “Funny,” he mumbled as he handed another slice of cake to a waiting kid.
“And to answer your question, no, I wasn’t gonna bring some random guy I had dinner with a couple of times to my daughter’s birthday. You know me better than that.”
He didn’t say anything else. Robby knew you were right, you weren’t the type of person who introduced someone new into Hannah’s life unless it was truly serious. But behind all the mockery and cheap jokes, there was something dangerously close to jealousy. The thought of you deciding another man was better than him, more worthy of your time and interest, the idea of Hannah ever having a stepdad, of him no longer being the only male figure in both your lives… it infuriated him.
Was he an asshole for wanting to keep you all to himself when he had no right to demand to be the only man in your life? Maybe. Was he stupid to pretend that a gorgeous, smart, and amazing woman like you would stay single forever, living on the memory of what you two once were, waiting for him to finally grow a pair of balls and give you what you deserved? The same thing he’d had every chance to give you years ago, but had been too scared to reach for, letting it slip away Definitely.
As the party came to an end, kids hugged, and parents collected backpacks and stray shoes, mumbling thank yous to you and Robby.
You stood by the gate, waving and promising playdates. Robby was on Hannah duty now, helping her say goodbye to each friend, crouching so he was eye-level, reminding her to say “thank you for coming.”
Most of the crowd thinned out quickly, a few stragglers lingered, one of them was Ethan, father of Mia, one of Hanna’s closest friends from the four-year-old room. Divorced last year, or so the gossip went. Nice enough guy. Tall, with an easy smile. He was hanging back near the patio table, helping stack chairs while his daughter ran one last lap around the bouncy castle.
You walked over to grab the last of the empty cups. “Great party,” he said, straightening up. “Hanna’s in heaven. That bike was a killer gift.”
“Thanks. Robby picked it out.” You smiled, tossing cups into the trash bag. “She’s been begging for one since she saw the big kids riding at the park.”
Ethan nodded, lingering his eyes on your face for a second. “Smart move.” He paused, then added, softer, “You pulled this off like a pro. Solo hosting a kindergarten party? Respect.”
You laughed lightly. “Not entirely solo. Robby’s been here all afternoon.”
“Yeah, I saw.” His tone was casual, but there was a flicker of curiosity there, maybe appraisal. “You two seem… good. Co-parenting goals and all that.”
“We manage,” you said neutrally.
He stepped a little closer, dropping his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Listen, if you ever want a break from… all of this. I just… figured it might be nice to talk to someone who gets the single-parent thing.” He smiled warmly. “Mia talks about Hannah nonstop. Be good for them to have more playdates. And for us to… catch up. Maybe you could give me some tips for this whole co-parenting lifestyle.”
It wasn’t subtle at all. The way he held eye contact a beat too long, the slight lean, the casual brush of his hand against yours when he handed you a stray napkin. You felt heat creepong up your neck. It wasn’t interest, exactly, just the awkward awareness of being seen that way.
You opened your mouth to deflect politely. But before you could, behind you, a voice cut in.
“Ethan, right?” Robby was there suddenly, casual as anything, holding Hannah’s new helmet in one hand. “Mia’s dad.”
Ethan straightened, his smile faltering only a fraction like he’d been caught red-handed. “Yeah. Hey, man. Good to see you.”
Robby nodded once. “You too.” He flicked his gaze to you, then back to Ethan. “We’re starting to clean up over here. You need help finding her shoes? Think they’re by the slide.”
Ethan blinked, then laughed it off. “Nah, we’re good. Just saying goodbye.” He looked at you again. “Think about what I said, okay? No rush.” He waved, called for Mia, and headed toward the gate.
You exhaled slowly, but Robby didn’t move. He was quiet for a long minute, then: “Sooo. Ethan.”
You snorted as you started gathering stray plates from the patio table. “Yeah?”
Robby followed, picking up cups without being asked. “Seemed chatty.”
“He’s friendly.”
“Very friendly.” Robby stacked the cups. “Animated, even.”
You glanced at him. His face was neutral, almost too neutral, a sign of how secretly annoyed he was. “Robby.”
“What?” Innocent. It sounded too innocent.
“You’re being nosy. First with vet guy, and now again.”
“I’m making conversation.” He set the stack down. “Guy was all secretive talking in your ear. What’d he want?”
You laughed despite yourself. “None of your business.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“Not bad. Just… standard divorced-dad. He wanted to organize some playdates. The usual.”
Robby nodded slowly, like he was filing that away. “Huh.”
You waited, but he didn't elaborate. Instead, he picked up a stray balloon string, winding it around his fingers. “Guy’s got some nerve. Hitting on you in the middle of our kid’s birthday party.”
Our kid. He didn’t say it possessively, just as a fact. You turned to face him fully. “Jealous, Robinavitch?”
He met your eyes without flinching. “Curious,” he corrected. “Big difference.”
“Sure.”
He didn’t deny it. “Anyway,” he said, his voice back to normal without the edge of jealousy in it. “I’ll help deflate that monstrosity in the yard before it blows away. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”
After Robby had helped the bouncy castle guys, he hauled the last of the folding chairs back to the garage and carried out three trash bags without being asked. He stepped back into the kitchen through the sliding door. “Hannah's out cold,” he said, keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake her. “Tried to get her to brush her teeth, but she rolled over and kept sleeping.”
You laughed under your breath. “She’ll be up at six tomorrow demanding to ride the bike again.”
“Good luck trying to talk her out of it.” You felt the weight of his gaze as he pushed off the counter. “Anyway, I should head out. Early shift tomorrow.”
You turned the faucet off, drying your hands on a dish towel. “Thanks for everything today. Seriously. She had a great time thanks to you.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Thanks to both of us. We’re a good team.”
You walked him toward the front door. At the door, he stopped, with one hand on the knob as he turned back to you. For a second, he just looked, not at your face, but at all of you.
His eyes started at your bare shoulders where the thin straps of your sundress sat, tracing the line of your collarbone, then they dropped deliberately down the front of the dress. You felt suddenly aware of every inch it covered, and of every inch it didn’t. Robby lingered his gaze on your waist, the flare of your hips, and the hem brushing just above your knees. Then lower, to your legs, and back up again, slower this time, until he met your eyes.
There was heat in the way he looked at you, nothing subtle about the way his eyes roamed your body. It was the look of a man who was remembering exactly what you feel like under his hands, what you tasted like, what sounds you used to make when he was inside you. The kind of look that said he wanted to back you against the nearest wall, hike that dress up around your waist, and fuck you until the only thing either of you could hear was your own breathing and the wet sound of skin against skin.
He didn’t say anything, there was no need for words. Your mouth went dry as the heat coiled in your lower belly, the same way it had many nights before. Five years since you stopped sleeping together. Five years of boundaries, separate beds, separate lives. And still one look was enough to make your body remember.
He exhaled through his nose, almost an incredulous laugh, “Happy birthday to her,” he said quietly, nodding toward the living room. “We made something good.”
“Yeah,” you managed to say, your voice coming out softer than you meant it to. “We did.”
The weeks slid by in the same rhythm you’d grown accustomed to: long shifts at the hospital, trying to be a present mom whenever you weren’t buried in charts, and the handoffs with Robby at your house.
It was a Saturday afternoon, the day of Hannah’s ballet recital. You arrived a little early because she had been buzzing about it for weeks, her first real performance after long months of practice. Plus, you appreciated every rare opportunity life gave you to wear something that wasn’t scrubs. You’d gotten your hair done, put on soft makeup, slipped into a nice dress and high heels, and for once you felt like a whole different person. Someone confident. Someone who could take on the world.
You loved Hannah. You loved being a mom. But sometimes you missed the person you used to be before all of this. You missed being seen as more than just “Mom.” You missed conversations with adults that didn’t revolve around kindergarten, tantrums, or pediatric appointments. You were still young, and even though you’d always been mature for your age, you’d had to grow up fast the moment you became a mother. You had never imagined yourself with a child before you even became a doctor. You certainly hadn’t pictured managing residency at the same time you were raising a tiny human being.
But even if life hadn’t turned out the way you’d once planned, you didn’t regret any of the decisions that had brought you here in this auditorium, about to watch your daughter’s ballet recital.
You spotted Robby near the front row, saving seats for the two of you. When he saw you, he stood, waving you over with a half-smile. “Hey,” he said as you slid into the seat beside him. “She’s backstage, losing her mind. Kept asking if both of us were coming.”
You laughed softly, settling your purse on the floor. “Wouldn’t miss it. Was she nervous?”
“Not one bit. She made me practice clapping in the car.” He glanced at you, his eyes lingering a second longer than necessary. “You look nice.”
You couldn’t avoid feeling the heat creeping up your neck, but you brushed it off. “Thanks. You cleaned up nice, too.”
Before he could reply, the lights dimmed, and the ballet instructor, a woman in her sixties, welcomed everyone, and then the curtain slowly parted.
There she was. Hannah stood front and center in her pink leotard and tutu, her hair,the same brown shade as Robby’s, pulled into a slightly lopsided bun secured with a sparkly clip. She immediately scanned the audience, spotted the two of you sitting side by side, and her whole face lit up like sunrise. Forgetting every rule about staying still, she waved at you both with both hands.
The routine was equal parts adorable and chaotic, little arms waving with enthusiasm, a few spins that turned into giggles, and tiny dancers bumping into one another. But when it came time for her part in the middle, Hannah nailed it, twirling with maximum concentration, poking out her tongue slightly the way it always did when she was trying her hardest.
You were grinning so hard your cheeks ached as you recorded the whole thing on your phone, careful not to miss a single moment. Beside you, Robby was doing the same, leaning forward in his seat like he was afraid to miss even one second of his little girl shining under the stage lights.
When it ended, the room erupted in applause. You and Robby were on your feet first, clapping loud enough to drown out half the parents. Hannah beamed, blowing kisses at the audience, then bolting offstage the second she was allowed.
Backstage, Hannah launched herself at you both at once, her arms around your legs and Robby’s in a group hug.
“Did you see me twirl, Mommy? Daddy, did you see?”
“We saw everything,” Robby said, scooping her up in his arms. “You were the best one up there, angel. Hands down.”
“You were perfect,” you whispered, leaning to place a big and loud kiss into her hair. “So proud of you, baby.”
Hannah tugged at your hand. “Can we get ice cream? To celebrate?”
Robby raised an eyebrow at you as if awaiting to see what your answer would be, and silently hoping it’d be a yes.
You smiled. “Ice cream sounds perfect.”
He set Hannah down on the floor, then crouched so she could climb onto his back. She wrapped her little arms and legs around him tightly, her favorite perch. With a soft grunt and an easy smile, Robby straightened up, carrying her like she weighed nothing.
The three of you headed for the exit together. You walked beside Robby, close enough that your shoulder brushed against his every few steps, but neither of you pulled away. There was something about the way the three of you looked, almost like a picture-perfect family to anyone glancing from the outside. It made your mind loosen the reins on old fantasies: how different life would have been if the three of you had managed to make it work. If being together had been a choice made out of love instead of obligation, the only option he felt he had at the time.
God, how much you still wished things had worked with Robby. What wouldn’t you give to see him truly happy to be with you, instead of miserable the way he looked every time the two of you came home from a long shift.
The ice cream shop had a neon sign flickering “OPEN” in red letters, sticky vinyl booths, and the widest variety of ice cream flavors you’d ever seen. Hannah insisted on extra sprinkles and chocolate sauce on her cone. She was perched between you and Robby on the bench seat, swinging her legs and recounting her ballet routine for the third time.
“I did the spin and everyone clapped SO loud! Did you hear it, Daddy?”
“Loudest ovation in the room,” Robby said, wiping a streak of chocolate from her cheek with his thumb. “You owned that stage, babygirl.”
You watched them as you ate your strawberry ice cream cone drizzled with hot fudge. It was uncanny how much Hannah looked like Robby, like he had been cloned into a tiny, feminine version of himself. The same soft brown hair, the same big, puppy-brown eyes that were easily the warmest you’d ever seen in your life. Eyes you could never say no to, because one single look from them melted your heart every time.
She was already slowing down, the adrenaline from the recital and the sugar rush from the ice cream finally catching up with her. Her head rested heavily against Robby’s shoulder as she munched the last bites of her ice-cream, her little eyelids starting to flutter.
The walk home was only ten minutes, but Hannah's steps turned sluggish halfway there. Robby scooped her up without a word, and she curled against his shoulder as she’d always belonged there, tucking her head under his chin as she fisted her little hand on his shirt.
At your front door, Hannah was completely out, her rosy cheek smooshed against Robby’s collarbone, with her mouth slightly open. You unlocked the door quietly and stepped inside.
Robby carried her upstairs like she weighed nothing. You followed, watching the careful way he lowered her to the bed, tugged off her ballet slippers and pink tutu, and pulled the covers up.
Downstairs again, you were suddenly aware of how quiet the house was without her chatter filling it. He stopped a few feet away. “She’s wiped..”
“Yeah.” You smiled. “She had a big day today.”
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you… in that dress. You’re punishing me. You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Robby.”
He didn’t back off. Just looked at you in the same way he did the night of the birthday party. Tracing his eyes over the neckline of the dress, the way it hugs your waist, the bare skin of your breasts.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you said, but your voice came out quieter than you intended. As if part of you didn’t really want him to stop. You longed for the validation, for knowing you were still the woman who drove him insane, the one who made him feel things no one else could, his soft spot, his weakness.
And for Robby, you still were. Until this day, you were the only one who could bring out the most vulnerable side of him. It wasn’t just the physical part, though God, your body drove him insane. He could still feel the ghost of your skin against his every night when he closed his eyes. It wasn’t the sex either, though in fifty-four years of life he’d never found anyone who felt quite like you did, anyone who made him feel so many things, who woke up the most primitive, most virile part of him.
It was simply you. Your strength when you carried a pregnancy and still worked your ass off for your career. Your quick mind and the way you could deliver a witty comeback that put him in his place when he deserved it. Your competence, something he found extremely attractive, both at work and as a mom. And watching you raise his daughter with a patience and love only you could give, loving her so fiercely with every bone in your body… it made him feel things he’d never felt before.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to eat me alive.”
He huffed a half-laugh as he stepped closer. “Can’t blame a guy for looking.”
You swallowed, using all the self-restraint you had in your body to stop yourself from jumping into his arms. “Every time we’re close like this, I have to remind myself why this is a bad idea.”
He tilted his head. He knew you too well, he could see how much you were trying to be strong and how much you wanted it too. “And why’s that, exactly?”
“Because we tried. We crashed. We hurt each other. We’ve got a kid now, it’s not just us we gotta think of, but her. And we’ve got a good thing going on, we’re good at this.” You gestured between you. “At being her parents. At not screwing it up. Adding… whatever this is… risks that.”
He’s quiet for a beat. Then: “Don’t think. Just do what you want.”
You stared at him. “Is that your new motto? ‘Don’t think, just do it?’”
He took another half-step, close enough you could smell the mint from his ice-cream on his breath. “One night,” he said. “Doesn’t have to mean more. Doesn’t have to change anything tomorrow. We used to be so good together. You remember that? Because I do, I remember it every single night.”
Your pulse hammered in your throat, a rhythm that matched the sudden heat blooming in your belly. You remembered it too, every vivid and overwhelming detail.
The kind of chemistry you and Robby had in bed had been like nothing you’d ever experienced before. The way your bodies responded to each other was like they were made for it, instinctive, almost frightening in its intensity. Every single touch felt magnetic and electrifying, sending sparks racing across your skin even from the lightest brush of his fingers. The way he knew exactly how to unravel you, and how you could do the same to him. You had both cried out in pleasure every single time, sounds that echoed in the dark of his bedroom, your bodies slick and trembling, chasing that peak until the world narrowed down to nothing but the two of you.
It was the kind of fire you only find once in a lifetime. But you couldn’t do it.
You couldn’t risk setting that fire loose again and burning down the delicate, carefully manufactured system you had built together. For Hannah’s sake, you needed to keep Robby exactly where he was: your co-parent, your reliable partner in raising your daughter, not your lover anymore. One wrong move, one night of giving in to the pull that still crackled between you, and everything could crumble, the peaceful handoffs, the shared birthdays, the stability Hannah thrived on. You refused to gamble with her sense of security just because your body still remembered how perfectly he once fit against you, how his voice sounded when he fell apart because of you.
“Of course you’re horny. You just want a quick fuck. I should’ve known.”
His expression flickered, showing a little of something that looked like hurt in his eyes. “Come on. It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?”
“Okay, fine. Maybe I do want sex,” Robby admitted, “but come on, don’t pretend you don’t want it too. You remember how much fun we used to have.”
He found your waist, pulling you gently against him. You gasped softly as he slid his palms lower, cupping your ass through the fabric, possessive squeezes that send sparks straight through you. He massaged your flesh deliberately, pressing his thumbs in just the right spots, drawing you closer until you were flush against his chest.
“God, I want you,” he murmured against your ear. “So fucking much. Always have. Always will, probably.”
He dug his fingers a little harder into the curve of your ass, kneading the soft flesh with confidence. You were so close that you could already feel the hard outline of his cock pressing insistently against your lower stomach. He was hard for you, just from being this close, just from a few lingering touches. It took every ounce of willpower you had not to give in, not to reach down and palm him over his pants until he groaned into your mouth the way he used to.
“Keep your hands where I can see them, Robinavitch,” you warned, trying to sound threatening. It came out breathy and weak instead. You couldn’t fool anyone, least of all him. You wanted this, maybe even more than he did.
“You don’t want my hands where you can see them,” he replied with that stupid, cocky tone he always slipped into when he knew he had you right where he wanted you. “You want them in places you can’t see. You haven’t forgotten how good I am with them, have you? Nah… some things these hands did to you are impossible to forget.”
You bit your lip hard to stop yourself from smiling. Cocky motherfucker.
Finally, with the last scrap of self-control you could muster, you pushed him away. “You had your fun. Time for you to leave.”
“I was barely starting to have fun,” he said with a wicked smile as he took a step back, rubbing one hand over his face. “You, cruel, cruel woman.”
“You’ll live,” you muttered. “Go chase some nurses. They love you. Well… the ones who don’t actually work with you do.”
“You hurt me,” he exclaimed dramatically, pressing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “I don’t have any nurse to chase. And even if I did, nobody could compare to us. You know that.”
“You broke things off with the last one?” you asked in mock surprise, playing dumb. “What was her name? Nora? N… Natalie?”
You knew Robby had had his fair share of affairs throughout the years, nothing too serious, nothing that ever deserved a real conversation, and definitely nothing meaningful enough to introduce to Hannah. Still, it stung. You couldn’t exactly throw it in his face, you’d gone out with people too. But you wished the asshole would keep his flings away from the hospital, away from the place where you had to watch him flash those stupid little smiles and do his little shoe-lace trick for whatever nurse had caught his eye this month. The same way he’d once done it for you.
“I won’t answer to those accusations against me,” he said, shaking his head with a low chuckle. Robby stepped closer again and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Have a good night. I’ll see myself out.”
You couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips as you watched him walk toward the door and finally leave the house. Five years later, and your body still caught fire whenever his hands were on you. Five years later, and you still loved your silly arguments and the way he could make you laugh even when you were pretending to be mad at him. Five years later… and you were still deeply enamored with Michael Robinavitch.
The clock on your nightstand glowed 2:17 a.m. when the first cry cut through the dark.
It wasn’t not the usual sleepy whimper or the “I had a bad dream” whine. It was a sharp sound, followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of vomit hitting the floor.
You were out of bed before your brain fully registered it, rushing down the hall. Hannah’s room light was already on, and she was sitting up in bed, with the bedsheets twisted around her legs, her face shiny with sweat, and her eyes glassy because of the tears. There was a small puddle of bile on the rug beside her, and another streak down the front of her pajama top.
“Mommy—”
“I’m here, baby.” You dropped to your knees beside the bed, lifting your hand to her forehead. She was burning, her skin hot enough to make your palm sting. “Oh, sweetheart.”
She leaned heavily into you, her body trembling as another wave hit her. This time it was dry heaves because there was nothing left in her stomach to bring up. You lunged for the small trash can under her desk just in time, holding it steady beneath her chin while your other hand gathered her soft brown hair back from her face. With gentleness, you rubbed slow, soothing circles on her back, murmuring the same comforting nonsense you always did in moments like this.
Your voice stayed calm and steady for her sake, but inside, your mind had flipped into full doctor mode, racing through the mental checklist at lightning speed. Fever. Persistent vomiting. She had been fine at bedtime, tired from her long ballet practice, a little sniffly maybe, but nothing that had raised any red flags.
“Mommy… tummy aches,” Hannah mumbled weakly.
Your heart clenched so hard it hurt. You scooped her up immediately, blanket and all, and carried her to the bathroom. You ran a washcloth under cold water, wrung it out, and pressed it gently to the back of her neck, hoping the chill would bring some relief. Then you offered her a small sip of water from the cup on the sink. She took it obediently, but almost instantly spat it back out, coughing and whimpering.
Reaching out for the thermometer from the medicine cabinet, you grabbed it and slipped it under her tongue, holding her close while you waited for the beep. 103.8. You managed to get a dose of Tylenol into her, but she could barely keep it down, her whole body shuddered as she fought the nausea, and her teeth chattered from the fever chills as she curled into you even tighter, shaking hard.
Helpless, that’s how you felt, completely helpless. And as a mother, feeling helpless was the worst torture imaginable. You were a doctor, and yet here in your own house, with your own child, there was only so much you could do. The cold washcloths weren’t bringing her temperature down fast enough. The medicine wasn’t staying in her long enough to work. Nothing seemed to help.
You couldn’t stand seeing your baby like this: so pale, so tired, her usual bright energy drained away, her little body trembling in your arms.. In this moment, more than anything, you wished Robby were here. Robby would know exactly what to do. He always did. He’d take one look at her, assess the situation and figure out what was wrong with Hannah right away. He’d fix it the same way he fixed dozens of people every single day in the pitt.
You sat on the edge of the tub with her in your lap, rocking her slowly, trying to keep her calm while you dialed Robby.
He picked up on the second ring. His voice was rough with sleep, but instantly alert when he realized you wouldn’t be calling this late at night if there wasn’t something really urgent going on. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Hannah’s sick. Fever’s 103.8, she’s been vomiting for the last twenty minutes. Won’t keep anything down. She’s shaking.”
There was the rustle of sheets and the immediate creak of a bedframe on Robby’s end. He was already moving, even half-asleep. You could practically see him sitting up in the dark.
“Okay,” his voice came through the phone. “Did you give her Tylenol?”
“Yes.”
“Motrin too? You should alternate if the fever’s that high.”
“I only have children’s Tylenol here,” you answered. “Motrin’s at your place.”
There was a brief pause, then a quiet “Okay… okay. Alright.” You heard him exhale slowly, the sound of fabric shifting as he moved. “Cool clothes? Cold washcloth on her neck or forehead?”
“I’m trying the cloth right now, but I’m not seeing any changes. The fever won’t come down at all.”
“Are you hydrating her? Give her small sips of water, tiny amounts so she doesn’t throw it right back up.”
“I am,” you said, glancing at the half-empty cup on the bathroom counter. “She’s spitting most of it back up. She can’t keep anything down.”
Another pause stretched between you. Even for a man who could keep ice-cold composure during the most chaotic live-or-die codes in the ED, something in Robby’s voice betrayed how uneasy he really was. You heard the rustle of clothes being pulled on quickly, then the unmistakable jingle of keys.
“So, fever’s still not budging?” he asked.
“Not yet. She’s miserable, Robby. Keeps saying her tummy hurts, and the dry heaves are getting worse. She’s shaking so hard her teeth are chattering.”
You heard loud, hurried footsteps crossing his floorboards, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing with a firm sound.
“Take her to the ER. Now.” There was no hesitation left in his words. “I’ll meet you there.”
Your stomach dropped. “You think it’s that bad?”
“I think 103.8 in a five-year-old who can’t keep meds or fluids down is worth getting checked. Could be viral, could be something else. Better be safe.”
You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “Okay. I’ll get her dressed. We’re leaving in five.”
“I’m already in the car. Text me when you’re on the road.”
He hung up, and you moved fast, changing Hannah into fresh pajamas, wiping her face, and wrapping her in the softest blanket she owned. She was listless now, her soft head lolling against your shoulder as small whimpers left her lips every time the nausea rolled through her again. You grabbed her insurance card, your wallet, a spare change of clothes for her, and the little stuffed unicorn she’d been sleeping with every night.
You placed Hannah in her car seat, with her blanket tucked around her. You buckled her in carefully, kissing her hot forehead. “We’re going to see the doctors, okay? Daddy’s meeting us there. You’re gonna feel better soon.”
She just nodded with her eyes half-closed. The drive to the hospital was only fifteen minutes at this hour through the dark and empty streets. You kept one hand on the wheel, and the other reaching back to hold hers. She was quiet except for the occasional gags into the bowl you’d wedged beside her seat.
You pulled into the ambulance bay lot, killed the engine and unbuckled Hannah. She was burning up, her usually light body now felt heavy and limp because of the fever. You wrapped the blanket tighter around her and lifted her carefully into your arms as you hurried toward the sliding glass doors.
They whooshed open, and Lena, the night-shift charge nurse, looked up from the desk. Her face immediately softened with concern the moment she recognized you.
“Hey… oh, honey.” Her voice dropped gently. “Is that Hannah?”
“Fever hit 103.8 at home,” you rattled off, shifting your daughter’s weight higher on your hip, trying to keep your voice steady, as if you were presenting a case, not describing your daughter’s symptoms. “Persistent vomiting, abdominal pain. I gave her Tylenol twenty minutes ago, but no improvement at all.”
Lena nodded briskly, already waving you over. “Bay six. We’ll get vitals right away.”
“Who’s on tonight?” you asked, walking fast down the familiar hallway. “Shen?”
“Dr. Abbot. I’ll send him your way as soon as he’s free.”
“Oh, thank God,” you exhaled, the relief hitting you so hard it made your shoulders sag for a moment. If there was anyone in this entire hospital you’d trust with Hannah besides Robby, it was Jack, Hannah’s godfather. You still remembered the day Robby had asked him to be his daughter’s godfather. The way Jack’s eyes had filled with tears, the two men pulling each other into a tight hug like brothers, like two men who were the only ones who truly understood the weight of this life, the long shifts, the losses, and the rare moments of hope like that one. Abbot had promised right then that he’d always have her back, no matter what.
You were halfway down the hall when Robby rounded the corner. The second his eyes landed on Hannah in your arms, his entire expression shifted to fatherly fear.
“Hey, angel,” he said softly, stepping close. He brushed a gentle hand over her back. “Mom said you’re not feeling good, huh?”
Hannah managed a weak, cracked little “Daddy…” before turning her face back into your neck, hiding from the bright lights and the unfamiliar sounds.
Robby flicked his gaze up to yours, doing that assessing scan he always did, checking not just Hannah, but how you were holding up. “You okay?”
“Fine,” you whispered, though your voice trembled as the tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Just… scared. I hate seeing her like this. She’s never been this sick.”
He nodded once. “I’ve got her.”
You handed her over without hesitation. Hannah clung to him immediately, wrapping her small arms around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder like he was her safe place. Robby carried her the rest of the way into the bay. He laid her down gently on the hospital bed, keeping one hand resting protectively on her stomach while the other smoothed damp strands of hair off her forehead with tenderness.
One of the night-shift nurses stepped in right away and rechecked her temperature. “It’s up to 104.1 now.” Her oxygen saturation was still holding steady, but she was clearly dehydrated, her lips cracked and dry, her eyes a little sunken, her usually rosy cheeks pale.
A couple of seconds later, Abbot strode into the bay, sweeping his eyes over the scene: little Hannah lying on the bed, Robby standing guard on one side, you on the other.
“Hey,” Abbot said, pulling Robby into a quick, one-armed brotherly hug, clapping his back once, and giving you a nod. “Heard our girl was here. Sorry, I was tied up with a gunshot wound, perforated lung. It’s chaos tonight.”
“She’s been throwing up everything, couldn’t even keep the Tylenol down,” Robby reported, giving the facts the way two attendings would, except this time his voice carried an edge of helplessness he rarely showed. He wasn’t the doctor tonight. He was the father. “Fever’s up to 104.1. We should get an IV going, more Tylenol, Zofr—”
“I’ve got this,” Abbot interrupted gently but firmly, keeping his tone calm and reassuring as he stepped closer to the bed. He looked down at Hannah with the softest smile, dropping his voice into that sweet, playful tone he saved only for kids. “Hey, Hannah Banana… we’re gonna get you feeling brand new before you even realize, okay?” He offered her a warm smile and the gentlest pinch on her cheek.
“Uncle Jack…” she mumbled, her voice cracking pitifully as another wave of nausea rolled through her.
The nurse started the IV in her tiny hand. Hannah cried out at the poke, a heartbreaking whimper that twisted something deep in your chest. Robby was right there, holding her other hand tightly, talking her through it in that calm voice he used with every scared kid who came through these doors. “Just a little pinch, angel. You’re being so brave. Almost done… that’s my good girl. Daddy’s right here.”
You stood on the opposite side of the bed, holding her foot gently in both hands and rubbing soothing circles over her ankle with your thumb, as if your touch alone could somehow absorb her pain and make it yours instead.
“We’ll keep her under observation for a while, wait for the fever to come down,” Abbot told you both. “I’ll come back in fifteen to check on her again, but she’s in the best hands tonight with the two of you right here.”
“Thank you, Jack,” you said quietly with gratitude. He gave your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze before stepping back.
“Thanks, brother,” Robby added right after you, his hand never leaving Hannah’s hair.
Robby didn’t leave her side for even a second. He didn’t glance at his phone, didn’t step out to grab coffee, didn’t let himself get distracted by anything else. He stayed right there, anchored to the bed, resting one large hand gently on Hannah’s forehead, occasionally stroking her damp hair back from her skin. Every few minutes he’d lean in and murmur soft, ridiculous nonsense to her sleeping body, telling her she was tougher than any superhero, that the doctors here were the absolute best because they all knew her dad, and that meant she was getting the royal treatment, the best care in the house. You watched him from the corner of your eye. Even after everything, this was still who he was when it mattered most: steady, devoted, completely focused on the tiny human you’d made together.
The hours dragged, and eventually, after the second round of meds, Hannah’s fever finally started trending down. It had dropped to 100.7, and for the first time all night, some color began creeping back into her pale cheeks as her chest rose and fell more peacefully under the blanket.
You and Robby were slumped in the two chairs pulled up beside her bed. Robby broke the silence first. “I know what you’re thinking. You did everything right.”
You let out a shaky breath, staring at Hannah’s sleeping face. “Maybe I should’ve brought her sooner. She would’ve gotten better faster.”
He shook his head slowly. “You waited until it was warranted. You’re a doctor. You know the signs.” He reached over without hesitation, covering your hand with his on the shared armrest. His palm was warm and grounding in a way that made your throat tighten. “It’s just viral. She’s gonna be okay.”
Without thinking, you turned your hand over beneath his and laced your fingers through his, holding on tightly. For a moment, you didn’t care what it meant, or what anyone walking past the bay might think if they glanced in and saw the two of you like this, exes, co-parents, sitting together holding hands. The exhaustion of the night had stripped everything down, and right now, all that mattered was that Hannah was improving and Robby was here.
“Thanks for coming,” you whispered, even though you knew the words weren’t really necessary. Robby would drop everything and be anywhere either of you needed him, that had never been in question.
“Always.” He brushed his thumb slowly over your knuckles, a gentle motion. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
By the 6 a.m. check, Hannah’s fever had already dropped to 99.8. The IV fluids had done their job, and she hadn’t vomited anymore, even managed a few sips of apple juice without it coming right back up.
She shifted under the blanket, blinking up at you both. “Mommy? Daddy?”
“Hey, sweetheart,” you whispered, leaning forward to brush her hair back. “How’s your tummy?”
“Better,” she mumbled. “Did uncle Jack cure me?”
“He did.” You smiled, feeling a wave of relief flood through you. “You’re doing great now.”
Robby reached over, stroking his thumb over her cheek. “Morning, angel. You scared us.”
She managed a tiny smile, then winced. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He kissed her temple, lingering there for an extra second. “Just glad you’re feeling better.”
Jack came back a moment later for a quick exam and a review of vitals and labs, thankfully nothing alarming. Viral gastroenteritis, most likely, with a febrile response.
“Thanks for curing me, Uncle Jack,” Hannah said softly with that radiant smile that could melt absolutely anyone in seconds. “You’re the best doctor ever.”
Abbot grinned widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at her. “Well, thank you, Hannah Banana. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”
Robby cleared his throat dramatically from the other side of the bay, crossing his arms. “Second best,” he corrected, raising an eyebrow at his daughter.
“Second best,” Hannah agreed immediately, turning that same sweet, dimpled smile toward Robby now, like she was bestowing him with the highest honor.
“Don’t worry, Hannah,” Jack said, leaning in conspiratorially and lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret. “I won’t tell your dad that you actually think I’m the better doctor.” He glanced sideways at his best friend with a mischievous glint. “A man with a fragile ego like him couldn’t take it.”
Robby let out a low, genuine chuckle, shaking his head. “Is she clear to go back home?” he asked, his tone shifting into something more serious, though the corner of his mouth still twitched. “See? I’m asking for your professional opinion and everything.”
Jack nodded, glancing once more at the monitor readings before looking back at both of you. “I’d say she can go home. Fever’s trending nicely downward, and she’s keeping fluids down now. Just keep checking her temperature regularly to make sure it stays down. If she starts vomiting again or the fever spikes back up, bring her straight back, but you two already know that better than most.”
Robby stood, stretching his back with a low groan. “I should head out,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Shift starts in thirty. Gotta change, grab coffee, pretend I’m human.”
You looked up at him, still holding Hannah’s hand. “You’re going in?”
He shrugged, like it was obvious. “Someone’s gotta run this place. You—” He nodded toward Hannah, then you. “—should take the day. Go home with her. Get some sleep, keep an eye on her. She’s fine now, but she’s still wiped. And you’ve been up all night.”
You opened your mouth to argue, out of pure habit, mostly. The words were already forming on your tongue, something about not wanting to burden the team, about pulling your weight like everyone else. But they died the instant your eyes landed on Hannah.
She was curled up small on her side in the hospital bed, the blanket tucked around her shoulders. You couldn’t stay away from her, not today. The thought of leaving her for twelve long hours, of being stuck in the ED while she was at home, possibly starting to feel worse again without you to notice the fever creeping back up made your stomach drop. You wouldn’t be able to focus. You wouldn’t feel at ease for even a second. Every patient you saw would be overshadowed by the constant fear that Hannah might need you and you wouldn’t be there to catch it, to bring her right back in.
And honestly… part of you simply wanted the day off. You wanted to take her home, wrap her up in her favorite blanket, and spend the whole day curled together on the couch. Just the two of you. A Disney marathon playing in the background while she rested her head on your chest and you stroked her hair.
So instead of arguing, you closed your mouth and let the silence settle. The decision had already been made the moment you looked at her.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Okay.”
Robby nodded, satisfied. He leaned down to kiss Hannah’s forehead again. “I’ll come by after shift to see how you’re doing.” He straightened and hesitated for half a second, then reached out and squeezed your shoulder, brushing the side of your neck, just once, before he pulled back. “Text me updates. I’ll turn off silent mode.”
“Will do.”
He lingered for another beat, like he didn’t quite want to leave the room, then turned toward the door. “See you later, angel,” he called softly to Hannah, who was already drifting again.
“Bye, Daddy,” she mumbled, half-asleep.
He gave you one last look, longer than necessary, before slipping out into the hallway. You exhaled slowly, while Robby and Jack handled the last few details with the nurse, you gathered Hannah’s things.
Home sounded like the best idea you’d had in hours. If there was one thing you truly hated about this life, it was how little time work left you to be the kind of mom you desperately wished you could be. Residency had already demanded so much, and motherhood had taken the rest. Every free moment you managed to carve out, you longed to spend it with Hannah. You didn’t want her to grow up one day and feel like you had missed it, like you weren’t there for the special moments. You didn’t want her to remember a childhood where her mom was always rushing, always tired, always halfway out the door.
By the time you pulled into your driveway, Hannah was already dozing in her car seat again. You carried her inside and laid her gently on the couch. The house felt wonderfully quiet after the night chaos of the ED. You changed into new pajamas, made her a nest of pillows and her favorite fuzzy blanket, then crawled in beside her, pulling her body against your chest. She stirred just enough to wrap one arm around your waist and mumble, “Mommy, will you stay today?”
“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Today is just us.”
The rest of the day unfolded slowly. You started with her favorite movie, Encanto, because she never got tired of singing along to every song, no matter if she was just recovering. Hannah curled up with her head in your lap, as you gently played with her hair while she hummed to the songs.
When the movie ended, you made a simple lunch together, something easy on her stomach, a bowl of oatmeal with bananas and strawberries. She only ate half, but she kept it down, earning praises from you. After lunch, you moved on to Moana. She sat cross-legged on the couch, wrapped in her blanket like a burrito, occasionally lifting her head to point at the screen and say, “Look, Mommy, the ocean! Can we go to the beach too?” You laughed softly and pulled her closer, letting her rest her cheek against your shoulder.
Robby’s shift ended late, as usual, and by the time he signed out, he was bone-tired, but the pull to check on Hannah overrode everything else. He texted you: Just got off. Coming by to check on her. You home?
Your reply wasquick: Yeah. She’s asleep. Door’s unlocked.
He let himself in quietly, finding you on the couch where you were curled up with a blanket. “Hey,” you whispered. “She crashed about an hour ago. Fever stayed down all day, no more vomiting.”
Robby exhaled, shrugging out of his jacket and walking over. “Good. That’s good.”
You nodded toward the hallway. “You want to peek in on her?”
He did, already heading to Hannah’s room. She was sprawled on her stomach, with one arm flung out and her stuffed bunny tucked under her chin. Her breathing was deep and even, Robby stood in the doorway for a long minute, just watching her chest rise and fall.
When he came back to the living room, you’d poured two glasses of water and set them on the coffee table. He sank onto the couch beside you, close enough that your knees almost touched, far enough to keep the boundary.
“She looks so much better,” he said quietly. “Color’s back.”
“Yeah.” You tucked your legs under you, pulling the blanket tighter to your body. “I was terrified last night. Thought… I don’t know. Worst-case scenarios kept running through my head.”
He nodded. “Me too. When you called, my heart stopped for a second.”
You took a breath, then another. “You’re a great dad, Robby. You know that, right?”
He glanced at you, surprised by the sudden moment of honesty. “Trying to be.”
“No. You are.” You met his eyes so he could see how much you meant every word that left your lips. “I always knew you would be. Even back when… everything was a mess. When we were still figuring out how to be parents instead of just two people who accidentally made a kid. I saw it in the way you held her the first time. You stepped up. Every single time.”
He looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb over a callus on his palm, like he didn’t know how to take the compliment.
“We might not have planned her. But Hannah got the best possible dad out of the deal.”
Robby swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement of his throat. His voice came out rough when he finally spoke. “I’ll always be grateful to you for that. For giving me her. For making me a dad when I didn’t even know I could be one. When I didn’t even know if I wanted to be alive.” He exhaled, sounding almost like a laugh without humor. “I look at her sometimes and think… how the hell did I get this lucky? She’s smart, she’s kind, she’s fearless. And half of that’s you. But the other half… I get to be part of it. Every day. Because of you.”
The air between you thickened, it was full of years of shared history, good, bad, messy, beautiful. “I still love you for that,” he said quietly. “Not like… not trying to cross lines. Just… I’ll always have love for you. Because you gave me the best thing in my life. And you trusted me with her. That means more than I could ever express.”
“I know. I feel the same way.” You rolled your head to the side, trying to loosen the knot that’d been building since last night. The motion made your neck crack loudly, and it pulled a wince out of you.
Robby lifted his brow. “You okay?”
“Just the couch napping. My neck’s killing me.”
He didn’t hesitate, standing up right away. “Come here.”
You did hesitate for half a heartbeat, long enough to consider the offer. You were too tired to argue, and you knew how good Robby’s hands were, so you stood up from the couch, then turned so your back was to him. He stepped in behind you, close enough that you felt the warmth of him before his hands even touched you.
He settled his fingers on your shoulders first, pressing his thumbs into the muscles along the tops of your traps, working in slow circles. You couldn’t help dropping your head forward on a soft exhale, closing your eyes as the pressure hit exactly where you needed it.
“God,” you murmured. “You’re still really good at that.”
He huffsed a quiet laugh against your hair. “Muscle memory.”
Robby moved his hands, working down the column of your neck, tracing the tense line on either side of your spine, then out across your shoulders again. You melt into it without meaning to, dropping your shoulders and slowing your breath as the ache unwound thread by thread.
For a minute, it was just that: his hands on your shoulders. Then he slid his palms lower, intentionally, until they settled at your waist. He pulled you back gently, just enough that he had your back pressed against his chest.
He brushed his lips along the side of your neck, teasingly soft at first. Then, firmer in a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below your ear.
Your pulse jumped immediately at the contact of his lips against your skin. “Robby.”
He didn’t stop. Another kiss, lower this time, along the curve where neck meets shoulder. He tightened his hands on your waist, slipping his thumbs under the hem of your top, grazing your bare skin.
“This is a bad idea,” you whispered but it came out unsteady.
Robby moved his mouth over your skin. “Then why does it feel so good?”
You didn’t have an answer, you couldn’t think of one that made sense. He kept going, trailing kisses along the side of your throat, sliding one hand up your side, splaying his fingers across your ribs, the other staying firm at your hip, holding you against him.
You tipped your head back against his shoulder in instinct, and he took the invitation, kissing the exposed line of your throat. Robby drifted his hand higher, brushing the underside of your breast through the fabric. Your hands came up in response, half to stop him, half to hold on, and they landed on his forearms, gripping them.
He murmured against your skin. “Tell me to stop.”
You didn’t stop it. Not one single part of you wanted to. Maybe if you weren’t so bone-deep tired, physically drained from years of resisting him, of constantly convincing yourself that you didn’t want this, that you weren’t aching for this every time he got too close, you might have found the strength to push him away again. To remind yourself of all the careful boundaries you’d built for Hannah’s sake. To remember why this was dangerous.
But right now, none of that mattered. Right now you needed Robby. You needed his warmth, you needed his touch, those large, capable hands that knew every inch of your body better than anyone else ever had, or ever would. You needed the intoxicating pleasure only he could ever give you, the rumble of his voice in your ear, and the way he could make you forget every careful reason you’d built to keep him at arm’s length.
The resistance you’d been carrying for years suddenly felt too heavy to hold anymore. In this quiet moment all you wanted was to let go. To stop fighting the pull that had never really gone away. To let Robby remind you, just for tonight, how good it felt to be wanted like this.
Under your shirt, one of Robby’s hands cupped the swell of your breast through the fabric of your bra. He traced slow circles over the peak, teasing the nipple into a tight point, making you arch without meaning to, and he rewarded you with a soft bite at the curve of your shoulder.
“Fuck,” you whispered, the curse slipping out before you could stop it.
Robby exhaled a rough laugh against your throat. “There she is.” He sounded proud of getting this reaction out of you, of remembering your body even if it’d been years since the last time he’d touched you.
He palmed your other breast now, both hands working in tandem to knead your flesh, brushing his fingers back and forth until the friction through your bra was almost too much. Your nipples ached, already feeling oversensitive, and every pass of his fingers sent heat straight between your legs. You could feel him behind you, his thick cock rigid, pressing against the small of your back through his jeans. The size of him, the heat of him, the way he rocked forward just enough to let you feel every inch, made your thighs clench.
You should stop this. You knew you should. But your hands were already reaching back, curling into the fabric of his shirt at his hips, holding him closer instead of pushing him away.
He growled with approval, leaving one of your breasts to slide his hand down the front of your body. He was slow, giving you every second to say no.
“When was the last time someone fucked you the way you deserve?” he murmured against your neck, slightly tightening his fingers once he reached your thigh, dangerously close to the waistband of your shorts.
You stayed silent, like part of you didn’t want to admit the truth. Robby didn’t pull back, he kissed your neck again. “Tell me, baby. When was the last time you were properly fucked? Deep and hard like I used to… Until you couldn’t think straight?”
You swallowed once, then answered honestly, barely above a whisper. “I haven’t slept with anyone since the last time we were together. About four years ago.”
Robby stilled completely. He lifted his mouth from your neck like he was waiting for the punchline. “You’re joking.”
You shook your head. “I’m not.”
He stared at you for a moment, processing the new information. Then he let out a slow, disbelieving breath. “What about those guys you’ve dated? The vet? That other guy a year ago, what was he? An engineer? What about him?”
“Two dates, maybe three at most with any of them,” you said quietly. “Never went further. Never slept with any of them. Being a mom and a resident… there’s no time. Between Hannah’s schedule, shifts, studying, and trying to keep everything together, sex just wasn’t a priority.”
Robby tightened his jaw, and a fix of emotions flashed through his face, surprise, heat, and a fierce kind of possessiveness. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You can’t just tell me you haven’t been fucked in four years and expect me to act like it’s nothing.”
Before you could respond, he dipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, then under the elastic of your panties. “Four years. Four fucking years without anyone touching you the way you need. Without anyone filling this perfect pussy. I’m gonna leave you so fucking wet and satisfied when I’m done with you tonight. You’re gonna be ruined for anyone else after this.”
There was no hesitation now. He parted your pussy with two fingers, finding you already slick with arousal, your lips swollen, and he dragged his digits up through your folds in one long stroke, making your knees nearly buckle.
“Jesus,” he whispered against your ear, already sounding wrecked. “So fucking wet for me.”
Robby circled your clit, it was light at first, his touch feather-soft, just enough to make your hips jerk. Then it turned firmer, pressing down in tight circles the way he always knew you liked. The exact pressure, the exact rhythm. Muscle memory for him too, apparently.
You tipped your head back against Robby’s broad shoulder, fluttering your eyes shut so you could focus entirely on the intense pleasure flooding through your body. A shaky breath escaped your lips as his fingers worked you open with precision.
He kept his other hand on your breast, tugging your bra down roughly so he could give your nipples the attention they craved. He rolled the sensitive peaks between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and tugging in perfect time with the slick strokes between your legs. The dual sensation was devastating in the best way, making your pussy clench and flutter around nothing.
He slid one thick finger inside you, stretching you carefully, opening you up with a patience that drove you insane. When you pushed your hips back greedily, silently begging for more, he added a second finger, sinking them deeper. You were so tight, clenching hard around the intrusion, and Robby let out a guttural groan against your ear, like the feel of you was almost painful for him too.
“Still so fucking perfect,” he rasped with want. “Fuck… the way you grip me. Like you never want to let go.”
He curled his fingers deliberately, hooking them forward until he found that spongy spot inside you that made your vision flash white for a second. A broken moan tore from your throat as he started stroking your g-spot with every thrust. The sound was loud enough that you both froze for half a heartbeat, listening for any noise from upstairs. The house stayed quiet. Hannah was still fast asleep. Robby didn’t waste another second, he resumed his movements, going deeper now, fucking you steadily with his fingers while his thumb kept the pressure on your clit.
Robby alternated the pace just to torment you, slow and deep, then faster and harder, then dragging it back to that torturous slow rhythm again. Teasing you right up to the edge without ever letting you fall over it.
You rocked back against his hand, chasing the pleasure, chasing him. Every curl of his fingers and every swipe of his thumb made your clit throb and your walls flutter around him. You were soaking his hand, the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your dripping pussy filling the quiet room.
Your breathing turned ragged. Small and desperate sounds slipping out despite your best efforts, whimpers, half-moans, his name once or twice when he hit the spot just right.
He kissed your neck again, sucking lightly and then soothing with his tongue. Robby couldn’t stop his hips from rocking against your ass in shallow thrusts, matching the rhythm of his fingers, allowing you to feel how hard he was, painfully so.
Your thighs started to tremble. The coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter. You were close, so close, and he knew it, still remembered how your body shook, how your pussy pulsed and clenched when you were about to let go.
“Come on,” he murmured against your ear. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.” He pressed his thumb harder on your clit, and crooked his fingers again, stroking that spot in quick pulses. “Let me feel you cum. Please, baby, I want it so bad.”
It hit you like a wave. As you orgasmed around his fingers, your back arched, throwing your head back against his shoulder, opening your mouth on a silent cry that turned into a choked moan when the pleasure finally broke. You came hard, shuddering and clenching around his fingers. He had to tighten his arm around your waist to keep you upright when wave after wave of pleasure hit you, until your legs felt like liquid.
Robby’s arms stayed locked around you for a long moment after you came down. Slowly, he turned you in his arms until you were facing him. Your legs felt unsteady, so he steadied you with his hands on your waist.
When he lifted the hand that was inside you, the one still slick and shining with you, he brought it to his mouth without breaking eye contact with you.
Robby licked his fingers slowly, first one, then the other, dragging his tongue flat and thorough, tasting every bit of you.
“Fuck,” he murmured, humming as if the taste of your slickness pleasured him. “Still taste the same. Sweet. So goddamn good.”
Heat flooded your face, your chest, everywhere. You couldn’tlook away, the sight of him, with his lips wet and his eyes locked on yours, while he savored you like that, made your core clench again. It felt so aching and empty without him inside you, and you desperately needed to be filled again, to feel the stretch of his cock impaled inside you, to have his weight over you while he made you feel owned.
The words slipped out before you could think them through. “Fuck me, Robby.”
His mouth curved almost predatory. The words he’d longed to hear for so long. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He leaned in until his forehead rested against yours, allowing you to feel his hot breath on your lips. “Ask nicely.”
You narrowed your eyes with defiance even through the haze of want. “Go to hell.”
He laughed, the same laugh he used to give you in stolen moments years ago, when you’d push back just to watch him unravel. “Still stubborn,” he said, almost fond. “Good to know some things don’t change.”
Robby didn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, his hands were under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, nd your arms around his neck, as he carried you up the stairs. His mouth found your neck again on the way, kissing and nipping while he navigated the familiar hallway in the dark.
He pushed open the door to your bedroom with his shoulder, kicking it shut behind him, and turning the lock with a click. Robby set you down on the edge of the bed but didn’t step back. He stood between your spread thighs, looking down at you with an expression that made your stomach flip.
“Fuck… I feel like I’m dreaming,” he cupped your face, stroking his thumb over your cheeks. “You, here, letting me touch you again after all this time. After everything.”
Then he was on you, Robby climbed onto the bed, his knees bracketing your hips, and pressing you back into the mattress with his weight. He crashed his mouth down on yours in a desperate kiss while he ran his hands over your body.
He groaned like a man starved, staring at your chest. “These tits… God, I missed them.” His mouth descended immediately, devouring you with almost frantic need. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue roughly around the peak before he sucked it hard, hollowing your cheeks. He kneaded the other breast, digging his fingers in, flicking and pinching the neglected nipple until you arched off the bed with a loud moan. He switched sides, licking and biting, sucking marks into the flesh like he wanted to claim every inch. His stubble was scraping deliciously against your skin, making you whimper and thread your fingers through his brown hair, holding him to you.
He was almost desperate in the way he worshiped your body, groaning against your skin, grinding his hips down against your thigh so you could feel how painfully hard he was. “So fucking perfect,” he mumbled between sucks and bites. “These tits were made for my mouth. Look at how pretty they look. I love sucking on them… fuck, baby.”
You were panting, pushing your chest further into his face as pleasure shot straight to your cunt. Robby spent long minutes there, alternating between teasing licks and rough hungry suction, until your nipples were swollen, sensitive, and glistening with his spit.
Then he started moving lower. His mouth trailed wet kisses down your sternum, over your stomach, pausing to nip at the soft curve just below your navel. He settled between your spread thighs, pushing your shorts the rest of the way down to bunch around your ankles. For a moment, he just stared at the damp spot on your panties with eyes full of lust.
“Look at you,” he rasped, his hot breath right against your dripping pussy. “You’re making such a big mess for me. You ruined your panties… so fucking soaked.”
He leaned in and mouthed at your pussy over the thin fabric, pressing kisses along your slit, dragging his tongue slowly from your entrance up to your clit through the soaked cotton. He sucked gently on your clit through the material, making your hips jerk. Then he pulled back just enough to blow cool air over the damp spot before diving in again, licking broad stripes, nipping at your folds, mouthing at you like he was trying to taste every drop of your arousal through the barrier.
You moaned louder, with your thighs trembling around his head and your hands fisting the sheets as he teased you mercilessly. Robby hooked his arms under your thighs, holding you open while he continued the torturous worship of his mouth. Every time you tried to grind harder against his mouth, he pulls back slightly, keeping you right on the edge, whimpering and desperate.
“Robby… please…” you gasped, but he only groaned against your pussy and keept teasing, determined to drive you insane before he finally gave you what you both needed.
He looked up at you from between your thighs, gleaming with satisfaction. Robby hooked two fingers into the thin cotton at your hip and ripped. The sound of fabric tearing filled the quiet room. You only had a second for the cool air to hit your bare, dripping pussy, because right away Robby’s mouth was on you, aggressive and devastatingly skilled.
He devoured you like a man who’d been starving for years. There’s no gentle buildup or teasing licks. He buried his face between your thighs with a hunger that bordered on feral. He drags his tongue broadly, giving you flat strokes from your entrance all the way up to your swollen clit, lapping up every drop of your arousal like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
He groaned deeply into your pussy, the sound was filthy. “Fuck, baby… you taste even better than I remembered,” he said against your folds before diving back in.
He ate you out with aggression, swallowing your clit into the heat of his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves before releasing it with a filthy pop. The sudden loss of suction made you whimper, only for him to immediately flick the tip of his tongue rapidly against your clit as his stubble scraped against your inner thighs with every movement of his head.
Robby alternated between deep licks that plunged his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in slow strokes that had you dripping down his chin, and tight suction on your clit that made you curl your toes hard.
Every time you tried to muffle your moans, he only doubled down, sucking harder, licking deeper, devouring you like he’d been dreaming about this exact taste for years. He gripped your ass, spreading you wider for his mouth, holding you firmly in place so you couldn’t escape the assault of his tongue.
“Oh my God… Robby—” Your voice cracked as he flicked his tongue rapidly over your clit. “Fuck, right there, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”
He ate it like he loved it. Like he needed it. His hands weren’t idle either. One arm banded across your lower stomach, holding you down when your hips started bucking too wildly. The other hand reached up to palm and squeeze your bare breasts, making you moan louder.
You pushed up onto your elbows, desperate to watch him. The sight was both obscene and intoxicating, Robby’s head buried between your thighs, his shoulders flexing as he worked, eyes closed in pure bliss while his mouth devoured your cunt. His jaw was moving with every lick and every suck, his lips and chin already shiny with your wetness. When he glanced up and caught you watching, his eyes darkened even more.
He pulled back just enough to spit directly onto your swollen pussy, a thick glob of saliva landing right on your clit. The warm sensation made you gasp, asd he watched it drip down your folds for half a second before he drove back in, spreading the spit with his tongue, mixing it with your own slick until everything was messy and glistening.
“God, look at this pretty pussy,” the words came out muffled against you. “So fucking wet for me. Been waiting four years to taste you again.”
He continued his relentless assault on your clit, and you couldn’t look away. The sight of this strong man, completely lost between your legs, eating your pussy like it was his favorite meal, was almost too much.
“You’re so fucking good at this… shit, your mouth—” A broken moan escaped you when he sucked hard on your clit again. “I’m gonna… I can’t! Robby, I’m close already…”
Your second orgasm built fast, and it crushed over you without mercy, making you bow your back off the bed, tearing a broken cry from your throat as the pleasure peaked. Robby didn’t let up for a second, he sucked your nub harder, drawing the orgasm out until it felt endless.
Your vision whited out, tears spilling down your cheeks as the pleasure rolled through you while he kept licking you through it greedily.
You sobbed his name, “Robby… fuck—oh god,” as your body shook uncontrollably, clamping his thighs around his head when the intensity bordered on too much.
He finally eased off only when your cries turned into overwhelmed whimpers, your body limp and trembling on the bed. But even then, he didn’t pull away completely. Robby continued placing soft kisses to your folds, licking up every drop of your release like he couldn’t bear to waste any of it. His hands soothed your thighs, rubbing circles while you came down.
Robby lifted his head, letting you admire his lips and chin glistening with your cum between your spread thighs. “Four years… and you still taste like heaven.”
When he finally started kissing his way up your body, his mouth was soft, reaching your mouth and kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He pulled back, hovering his face above yours. “You okay, baby?” he asked with an edge of worry in his tone, cupping your cheek with one hand, brushing away a tear. “Talk to me. Was that too much?”
You managed a shaky nod, still catching your breath. “I’m… fine. Just… holy shit, Robby.”
He chuckled softly, pleased with himself after seeing the effect his mouth had on you. “You’ve got the most perfect pussy in the world, you know that? So fucking pretty when you cum. And look at the mess you made…” He glanced down between your bodies at the soaked sheets, a proud and filthy smirk tugging at his mouth. “You still soak everything when I eat you out. God, I love how wet you get for me.”
Your voice came out breathy, needy, honest in a way you haven’t been with him in years.You were finally embracing what you truly wanted. “I need you, Robby. All of you. Please.”
Something possessive flashed in his eyes. He didn’t make you ask twice this time, just sat back on his heels and stripped in a rush, yanking his shirt over his head, then shoving his pants and boxers down his thighs in one impatient motion. His cock sprang free, looking every bit as thick as you remembered it, with the head already flushed in a dark red, leaking precum.
He was rock-hard, with the veins standing out along the shaft, curving slightly upward the way you loved, because it hit your g-spot so easily. He knelt between your spread thighs, pressing his into the mattress, and looked down at you with hunger. “Stroke it a little,” he asked you. “Let me feel your hand on me first.”
You sat up just enough to reach him, wrapping your fingers around his impressive length. He felt hot in your palm as you gave him a firm stroke from the base to the tip, swirling your thumb over the leaking head to spread the precum. Your touch made Robby groan deeply, twitching his hips forward into your touch.
“Fuck… It’s so big,” you whispered, locking your eyes on the way your hand looked around him. “I need it so much, Robby. I’ve missed this cock. Missed how full you make me.”
He watched your hand move, his breathing growing increasingly ragged with every stroke. “Slow, baby. Just like that. Real slow.” His voice was strained, like he was already fighting not to cum from your touch alone. “Shit, I’m close already. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this… your hand feels too fucking good.”
You kept stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist on the upstroke, squeezing just the way he’d always liked. Robby's head fell back for a moment, a moan rumbling in his chest, before he looked down again, watching your tits move with each stroke, watching your slick pussy still glistening from his mouth, waiting for him.
He reached down and gently took your wrist, stilling your hand. Then he shifted forward, gripping the base of his cock and rubbing the thick head up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your wetness. The pressure against your clit made you whimper.
Robby leaned over you, bracing one hand beside your head, the other still holding his cock against your entrance. He locked his eyes onto yours. “Should we.. uh… grab a condom?”
You didn’t even hesitate, spreading your legs wider for him, sliding your hands up his arms to grip his shoulders. “I’m on the pill,” you whispered. “Go raw. I want to feel all of you.”
A deep groan escaped him as he notches the head of his cock right against your entrance, pressing just enough to tease the stretch without pushing inside yet. He cupped your face with his free hand, brushing your lower lip while he held himself right there, waiting for the moment he finally sank into you after four long years.
When he finally pushed forward, you felt the blunt pressure increasing, letting you feel every inch as he sank into you. You both moaned at the same time, he was thicker than you remembered in the haze of memory, and the stretch was intense, bordering on overwhelming after so long without anyone inside you. Your walls parted around him, fluttering and clenching as he slid deeper, inch by slow inch, until his hips were flush against yours and he was buried to the hilt inside you.
The fullness was perfect, almost too much, pressing against that deep spot that made you curl your toes instantly. “Fuck… baby,” Robby groaned, dropping his forehead to yours for a second. “You feel… Jesus Christ. So tight. So fucking wet and warm. I missed this pussy so much.”
He stayed still for a heartbeat, letting you adjust, both of you just breathing each other in after four long years. Then he started to move. The first thrust was slow and deep, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with a wet sound. The second was a little harder. By the third, he’d found a steady rhythm, long and powerful strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. The drag and stretch were incredible, every time he bottomed out, the head of his cock kissed that deep place that made sparks explode behind your eyes.
“Oh my God… Robby,” you moaned, already trembling, and he’d just started. “You’re so fucking deep.”
It felt amazing for both of you. For you, it was like waking up after years of numbness, every nerve lighting up, pleasure flooding your body in waves with every thrust. For Robby, the groan that left him is guttural, almost pained with how good it felt to finally be inside the only place that’d ever made sense in his life.
His hips snapped forward harder, the slap of skin on skin filling the bedroom as he fucked you with measured strokes. You were trying so hard to stay quiet, bringing your hand to your mouth to bite down on the side of it, muffling the moans that kept trying to spill out. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, then fluttered them open again. Robby was watching you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, flicking his gaze between your face, your lips parted, eyes glassy with pleasure, to your tits bouncing with every thrust, and down to where your pussy was stretched wide around his cock.
He watched himself disappear inside you, the shiny wetness coating his shaft every time he pulled back, your folds clinging to him greedily. “Fuck, look at that. Your pretty pussy taking me so well after all this time. Stretched so tight around my cock… making such a mess on me.”
You bit harder into your hand as a particularly deep thrust made you whimper loudly. Robby’s rhythm started to pick up, snapping his hips with more force, the perfect angle to hit your spot inside you over and over, making you clench around his length.
“Shit… right there,” you whimpered. “That spot… fuck! I can feel every inch. God, I’m so full.”
“Stop squeezing like that,” he groaned, almost pleading, tightening his grip on your hips. “You’re gonna make me cum already if you keep clenching around me like that. This pussy is too perfect… so fucking good. Feels like heaven. I’ve dreamed about this for years… being buried inside you again.”
He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy kiss, swallowing your muffled moans, before he suddenly gripped the backs of your thighs and lifted your legs, hooking them over his broad shoulders. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and the next thrust punched the air out of your lungs as he bottomed out completely, pressed his hips tightly against your ass, grinding his cock against that deepest spot.
“Oh my god—Robby!” You gasped against your hand, rolling your eyes back. “Like that! Like that… Please don’t stop.”
He fucked you harder now, making the bed creak softly beneath you. “So perfect,” he panted between thrusts. “You feel so fucking perfect. This body… these tits… this tight little pussy squeezing me. I missed you so much. Missed fucking you like this.”
He slid a hand between your bodies, finding your swollen clit with his thumb and rubbing firm circles in time with his thrusts. The added stimulation was pushing you toward the edge fast.
“Cum for me, baby,” he growled. “I want to feel you cum around my cock. Let me feel it.”
When the pleasure started cresting, your words turned into fragmented, needy whimpers.
The combination of his deep strokes, the pressure on your clit, and the overwhelming fullness after four years was too much. Your third orgasm of the night crashed over you even harder than the other two. Your back arched violently off the bed, a broken cry tearing from your throat despite your teeth sinking into your hand. Your pussy clamped down around him like a vice, pulsing and fluttering rhythmically as waves of intense pleasure ripped through you.
Robby groaned loudly, his hips stuttering as he felt his own impeding orgasm approaching. “That’s it—fuck, yes—milk me, baby. I’m cumming—”
He thrusted deep one last time, burying himself as far as he could go, and finally allowed himself to cum. You felt the thick pulses of his seed as he filled you up, rope after rope of cum flooding deep inside you, so much that you could feel it spilling out around his cock where you were stretched around him. Robby kept grinding his hips against you through his orgasm, drawing it out, making sure every drop stayed inside you as long as possible.
He stayed buried deep while you both came down, breathing hard, your bodies slick with sweat. Your legs were still over his shoulders, your pussy still gently fluttering around his softening cock.
“Four years,” he whispered hoarsely against your lips. “And you’re still mine.”
An incredulous chuckle rumbled out of his chest, utterly satisfied. His brown eyes were in disbelief, like he genuinely couldn’t believe he just got to be inside you again after all this time. The lines around his eyes crinkled deeply as he smiled. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured, sounding a little husky fro the exertion. “I can’t believe I just got to be inside you again. That was… fuck. That was the best fuck of my life. Better than I remembered. Better than anything.”
He stayed there a moment longer, savoring the connection, before he finally pulled out of you. You both groaned at the loss, a thick of his cum leaking out of you onto the already-soaked sheets. Robby rolled off you and onto his back beside you, reaching out with one arm to pull you against his side
He turned his head to look at you, brushing damp strands of hair off your forehead with gentle fingers. “How was that for you, baby?” he asked softly. “Tell me. Was it okay? Did I hurt you at all?”
You huffed a small, tired laugh against his collarbone. “You already know the answer.”
He hummed, but didn’t let it drop. “Say it anyway.”
“Robby.” You tilt your head back just enough to meet his eyes. “Stop fishing for compliments. You already know exactly how good it felt. It was amazing. More than amazing. I don’t even have words for it. I came so hard I— God, I needed that.”
He smiled again with a satisfied grin, and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Good. That’s all I wanted, to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”
As the afterglow started to fade, and reality started to creep back in… the sleeping five-year-old down the hall, the careful co-parenting boundaries you’ve both worked so hard to maintain. You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at him.
“You should get going now. It’s late. Hannah will be up early, and I don’t want her to wake up and find you here. It might make things weird or confusing for her.”
Robby let out a genuine laugh, rolling onto his side to face you fully. “Oh, so that’s how it is? You use me to break your four-year celibacy, three orgasms, mind you, and now you’re kicking me out?” His eyes sparkled with humor, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Cold, woman . Real cold. I give you the best, and only, dick you’ve had in years, and this is the thanks I get? Straight to the door?”
You couldn’t help but laugh with him, swatting lightly at his chest. “I’m serious. You know how she is. If she comes in here looking for me in the morning and sees you in my bed, she’ll have a million questions. Or she’ll think we’re back together and get her hopes up. We can’t do that to her.”
He propped himself up on one elbow, too, mirroring your position, still grinning that cocky grin that made him look ten years younger. “Three orgasms,” he repeate, holding up three fingers like he was making a point. “I ate that pussy until you were crying and shaking, then fucked you so deep you saw stars, and now I’m being evicted? Harsh, really harsh. I feel so used right now.”
“Robby,” you said, trying to sound stern but failing as another laugh bubbled up. “Come on. You know I’m right.”
He sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the pillow but keeping one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer so your bare breasts pressed against his chest. “I don’t want to go. Not yet. I want to stay here and cuddle you. Just hold you for a while. I promise I’ll leave early tomorrow morning, before Hannah wakes up. I’ll set an alarm, sneak out. She’ll never know I was here. Please, baby. Let me stay. I missed this. Missed holding you after.”
You hesitated, chewing your lip. The warmth of his body against yours, the beat of his heart under your palm, the way he kept tracing circles with his fingers on your lower back… it all feels dangerously good.
He sensed your wavering and leaned in, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, then to your lips. “You’re perfect,” he murmured between kisses. “So fucking perfect. The way you took me tonight, the way you came for me… You made me feel whole again. Nothing in my life has ever compared to this. You and Hannah… you two are the best things that ever happened to me. Being inside you again, hearing you moan my name… it reminded me how much I still need you. How much I’ve always needed you.”
He tightened his arm around you, pulling you fully against his chest so you were tucked into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. Robby slid one of his legs between yours, tangling you together under the messy sheets. He kept kissing you, your forehead, your closed eyelids, the tip of your nose, then back to your mouth in lingering presses.
“I mean it,” he whispered against your hair. “You made me the happiest man alive when you gave me Hannah, but nights like this… being with you like this… it completes something in me. I feel alive. Whole. Like the missing piece finally clicked back into place. No one else has ever made me feel this way. No one else ever could.”
You melted into him despite yourself, and the night passed in fragments of deep sleep, the kind you haven’t had in years. Robby’s arm stayed across your waist the whole time, with his fingers splayed over your stomach like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His chest rose and fell against your back in an even rhythm, and the snoring… God, the stupid snoring you’d missed so much.
You woke slowly, first to the weight of him, then to the ache between your legs, the reminder of last night still dried on your inner thighs. You felt him stir behind you as consciousness returned. You could practically hear the smile before you even turned your head.
When you did roll over, he was already looking at you with his eyes half-lidded, sleepy, and crinkled at the corners. And yeah, there it was, that stupid and contented grin spreading across his face like he’d just won the lottery.
“Stop smiling,” you muttered. “You’re creeping me out.”
He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, didn’t even try to dial it back. If anything, it got wider. “Can’t help it,” he said. “Woke up next to the most gorgeous woman in the world. Kinda hard not to smile about that.”
Heat climbed up your neck despite yourself. You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off. “Flattery at six a.m. is a cheap move, Robinavitch.”
“Fuck,” he breathed, roaming his eyes over your face like he was seeing it for the first time. “Look at you.”
He dropped his gaze appreciatively, taking in the messy hair spilling across the pillow, the sheet tangled around your bare hips, the faint marks his mouth left on your collarbone last night. He reached out, tracing one with his thumb, gently.
“Don’t even think about it, Michael,” you warned him. You’d had your fun last night. It had been amazing, even better than you remembered sex with Robby ever being. But it had been one time. One stupid lapse of judgment, one moment of weakness that couldn’t repeat itself again. You couldn’t let it. Not when the delicate balance you’d fought so hard to maintain for Hannah was so stable. You refused to risk your daughter’s sense of security just because your body still craved the man who used to know every inch of you better than anyone else.
Robby snapped his eyes back to yours, looking equal parts hungry and amused. “You know how I get when you call me Michael.”
“Last night was a relapse. I was tired, and… Emotional. Not happening again today. Not happening again ever, as a matter of fact.”
“Yeah?” He laughed before he shifted, rolling you onto your back in one smooth motion. His body came down over yours, caging you under his weight. Robby braced his forearms on either side of your head, his knees bracketing your hips. “You sure about that?”
You pushed at his shoulder. “Robby… get off.”
He stirred above you, lifting his head. For a moment, he didn’t move, but you kept pushing, gentle but insistent, until he finally rolled off you with a sigh and propped himself up on one elbow.
“All of this… It was a mistake,” you sat up and pulling the sheet up over your bare chest, suddenly too aware of your nakedness.
Robby reached for you instinctively, but you shifted away, scooting back against the headboard. “Why?” he asked. “It felt fucking amazing for both of us. You know it did. We’re good at this, we’ve always been good at this.”
You shook your head, the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way your bodies still fit together like they remembered every single time before… it made your resolve weaken. “You know why not. I can’t just think about ourselves anymore. We have to think about Hannah. We can’t hurt her. We already crashed once, and I’m not putting her through big changes, through the uncertainty, the chance that everything falls apart all over again.” You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “I know you, Michael. In a month you’re going to regret this. You’re going to need space, and your head won’t be in the right place for commitment. I won’t do that to her. I won’t do that to any of us.”
Robby sat up fully now, the playful morning haze completely gone from his face. “It’s different this time. The first time… everything was happening all at once. You know how fucked up I was… After Covid, after… everything that happened. Having to take care of the whole ED… I was drowning. I couldn’t be what you needed. But I’m not that man anymore. You know I’ve changed. You’ve seen how much being a father changed me.” He leaned forward slightly. “I want you. I want this. I want the family. I want the commitment.”
You swallowed hard, and for one dangerous moment, you let yourself imagine it, waking up like this every morning with his warmth beside you, the three of you as a real family, lazy weekends and shared dinners and Hannah running between you both. The picture was so beautiful it hurt, but reality settled back in fast.
“You should go,” you whispered, looking away toward the window so he wouldn’t see the tears gathering in your eyes. “We shouldn’t keep talking about this anymore.”
Robby exhaled, running a hand through his messy, sleep-tousled hair. “It’s not fair.”
You let out a bitter little laugh. “A lot in life isn’t fair, Robby. You know that better than anyone else.”
He watched you for a long moment. The silence stretched between you until he finally swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. You stayed under the sheet, trying not to watch the familiar way his muscles moved as he gathered his clothes from the floor and got dressed.
When he reached the bedroom door, he paused, turning back to you with that half-smirk that you knew meant trouble. “You can try, but I know you can’t stay away from all of this for too long. I’m a real catch.”
You couldn’t help the tired laugh that escaped you. “Goodbye, Michael.”
He gave you one last long look full of affection before he slipped out of the room and down the stairs. The sheets still smelled like him, your skin still remembered his hands, nd you were left alone with the echo of everything you wanted but couldn’t let yourself have.
PART TWO HERE
A/N: Oh my god, I finally wrote something!!!😭 I’d had this idea sitting in my brain for so long, and the other day I finally felt the urge to start it. After about a week, and using all the free time I have between work and college, I actually managed to finish it. Finally something with a bit of plot, lol.
I really hope you enjoyed this idea! I’d love to write a second part, but with my schedule… that could be anywhere from two weeks to a year from now. It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, so it’d be really nice to hear your thoughts, if you liked it, your favorite parts, anything really🫶🏻
synopsisyou and Trinity decide you've had enough of being the casual booty call, agreeing to play hard to get to prove to your partners you can go without them. easier said then done
warningsmut. oral (f! receiving) fingering, language, pinv, unprotected sex, MDNI. slight praise kink. no use of y/n
authornotethe way in which i need to be driven mad by this man using me is concerning to feminism
main masterlist. other Robby fic
“I don't get it!” said Santos for... well, you had no idea how many times she'd repeated herself but you were considering making it a drinking game. Every time she said she 'didn't understand' you resolved to take a shot. “I thought we were fine, doing great and casual- what- what is casual?”
Whitaker's hand hesitated in the air like they were in class. “Well I think by casual she means-”
“I know what casual means, Fuckle-berry,” said Santos quickly. “But it was casual now it's just weird.”
You nodded along, humming.
She groaned, hands running through her hair in frustration. “I don't get it!”
You took a long gulp of your wine.
“How do you handle it?” Trinity asked, arms wide in question at you.
“Me?”
“Yeah, how do you and Robby do casual?”
“Oh- we... it's- um-” you stumbled over your words, hoping that if you let it up long enough she'd take it back and start on her problems again. She didn't and she stood in front of you and Whitaker, waiting for an explanation.
The whole thing between you and Robby had started about the same time Santos and Garcia started. In an awkward confrontation that was you and Trinity bumping into each other in your shared bathroom, both your hairs messed up and both supporting bruises suspiciously in the shape of lips on your necks.
When you returned to your room you and Robby waited eagerly to see who would flee Santos's room. Neither too shocked to find Garcia.
“It's um?” Trinity asked.
“It's going,” you said into your wine glass, finishing it and pouring in more. The truth was for a while things had been odd, on your end more so.
Casual was a label you thought you could do, that when Robby said to you a week after sleeping together, his sheets over the both of your bodies that he liked keeping it simple. Sex. Release. You thought you could do it.
Almost three months since then and you were regretting it because every time you saw doctors eyes lingering over Robby, every time you heard his 'seven-week rule' and every time you saw happy couples fawning over each other in the ED your stomach twisted.
You didn't realise you wanted that until it was dangled in front of you and snatched away all in the same minute.
Trinity's brows rose. “Oh?”
You looked to where Whitaker was next to you, hoping for sympathy. You only found curious eyes. “It's just different than before.”
“Different how?” asked Dennis.
“Is it still casual?”
You scoffed, mumbling under your breath. “Yeah to him.”
“You want to be more?”
You didn't know if she was accusing but your room-mates expecting eyes on you heated your body in shame and embarrassment. “And you don't with Garcia?"
“Ok, enough!” suddenly Whitaker stood up. “The two of you, we need to sort this out.”
With a vacant seat next to you Trinity plopped herself down and you gave her your wine. You just decided to take the bottle.
“I cannot stand it anymore, okay! The two of you, we're gonna change this,” he said. “Trin- no more pining and waiting for Garcia to call at like one am.”
She was wanting to retort but only folded her arms over her chest as he carried on.
“And you-” he focused on you. “Need to stop crying over Robby. You guys can do better.”
“Yeah in a world where we're not working twelve hour shifts five days a week,” you said. The idea of casual hook ups wasn't anything new to the ED, not even the hospital. It was easy way of escape without the pressure of dating when all their time was spent saving lives or charting about saving lives or studying how to save lives.
On the coffee table in front of you Trinity's phone pinged and she reached for it like it was seconds away from self-destructing.
She tucked her phone into her chest to read the text before slamming it back down.
You caught a glance at the words and the contact. Can't make it tonight, I'll hit you up tomorrow- G
“You're gonna leave them,” he said.
You and Trinity sat up. “What?”
“No!”
There was a flicker of fear in his eyes.
“Okay- I take it back,” he said, surrendering. “Then how about give them a taste of their own medicine.”
“Their medicine?” you asked.
Whitaker gently nudged the empty glasses and cans of beer aside, perching on the edge of the coffee table, appealing to the two of you. “How many times have they cancelled plans, or said you couldn't come over to ask you to come over two hours later?”
You hadn't realised how perceptive he was.
“Now, make it so you guys call the shots. They want to come round, you say no.”
The idea was new to you. You'd always wanted Robby. You spent half your spare time wanting him and the other half having sex with him. You'd never even wanted to say no.
“So then we what, don't have sex?” asked Santos.
“You will,” he said. “You create distance, get them wanting and crying or what-whatever and then they'll realise they've messed up.”
You thought we was giving them too much credit.
Santos chuckled. “Huckleberry, are you telling us to play hard to get?”
He thought about it, eyes moving as if he was calculating it. “Yes!”
That's how plan 'hard to get' started. It was agreed you and Santos, the next time Garcia and Robby asked you to come over you'd say no.
Easier in practise when you work with them.
The next day was a slower day, un-usual in that sense. It meant everyone had more time to linger around each other.
“And so I said to him- officer-” said Myrna, lying on the bed between you and Robby. She'd seizure, hurt her leg and needed it disinfected and cleaned- not for the first time in her life. There was a mix of glass and gravel that needed plucking out and apparently the attending of the ED had nothing better to do that join you in the task. “What would you have done if you caught your third husband eating out another woman?”
“And did he say shoot him?” asked Robby. He was bent over the same leg as you, your heads so close you were either gonna head butt or kiss. Not likely over the state of her leg.
“No, he didn't say anything, he just arrested me!”
Robby hummed, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “Imagine that.”
“You know Myrna sometimes I can't tell if all these stories are true,” you said, taking a small bit of glass and adding it to the pile you'd already created.
“Oh they're all true, honey, I never lie. Unlike Mark that two faced bastard.”
“Which one was Mark?” you asked.
“The fourth husband. Good body and shit everything else!” she said with a wheeze. Abruptly she grabbed your hand. “Are you single?”
Robby glanced up at you, creases of amusement at the corner of his eyes.
You looked away first. “Why, you asking me out?”
“If you're single, stay single!” she said. “Men, all they are are liars! Lying bastards! And babies! I hardly even shot the guy!”
“Am I so bad, Doctor?” asked Robby looking over the frames of his glasses at you.
Was he so bad? No. He was short-tempered sometimes, moody, didn't accept help from anyone. But you knew he could be gentle, you knew his true belly laugh and the smile he gave at mornings when you were still in bed. You just wish you knew if he ever saw himself staying in that bed a little longer, if he ever wanted to make breakfast and take the day together, stealing moments throughout.
“No,” you said, looking back down to her leg that was almost clean. “You're not.”
Myrna was oddly silent but you could see her head moving between the two of you. “Don't go there sweetheart,” she said, a word of warning. “This one might look fun but he's all danger and heartbreak.”
“Me? No,” said Robby with an air of un-care. “I'm a teddy bear.”
Five minutes later you and Robby were instructing Perlah wrapping her leg before throwing off your gloves and leaving her to it.
“How many husbands you think Myrna had?” he asked.
“Oh there's no telling,” you replied, fetching her chart to finish off the notes. At some point someone had put a star next to her name, as if she was VIP.
Robby leant next to you, scanning around the ED. “Any plans tonight?”
“On a Wednesday? Nop.”
“Wanna come over?”
There was an abrupt and loud clear of a throat.
You hadn't realised Whitaker was there but he was watching the two of you, closely. When you met his eyes he gave a small subtle shake of his head.
Robby looked. “You got a cough, Whitaker?”
He cleared his throat, sliding down in his chair. “No.”
The agreement. It was all fine in practise but how were you supposed to say no when you just said you had no plans and you really wanted to have sex with him! It was the glasses, you were sure that was what did it. The way he pulled them on and pulled them off, the focus it gave him and the way they slipped down his nose.
“So, tonight?” he asked again, voice low.
Only a few people knew, like your room-mates and you were sure others had guessed. Robby wanted to keep it private. Or a secret, you'd never asked for clarification.
You caught Whitakers gaze on yours, watchful. He didn't say anything but you wondered if he'd be disappointed. Would you even be disappointed in yourself? “I can't tonight.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Okay.”
He didn't sound annoyed. He didn't sound anything. It was impossible to tell.
“Yeah, we just- there's this thing-”
“Thought you had no plans?” he asked, an almost amused rise in his brows.
Ah. “It's like- not a plan- just a- a room mate thing. You know?”
Robby looked to Whitaker as if to confirm.
He nodded. “Yeah! Every Wednesday. We watch films.”
“Films,” you confirm.
“And talk.”
“We talk.”
Robby nodded. “Sounds thrilling.”
“Robby!” Dana called. “Got a trauma, woman in her thirties. Five minutes.”
“Got it," he said but he was still slumping over the counter. He took his time moving, stretching up till his shirt rode up enough to expose that slither of skin that held so many promises. “Some other time then.” His hand ghosted the small of your back before he disappeared.
You watched him go, realising you wouldn't spend the night buried in his bored but sleepless and restless.
Whitaker replaced Robby at your side. “See? Doesn't that feel good?”
You answered truthfully. “No.”
That night you, Santos and Whitaker sulked on the sofa, face masks over your faces with a bowl of popcorn left on the table and a shitty movie filling the silence.
Your phone lay face up with nothing from Robby and from Trinity's expression you figured she'd had nothing either.
You'd been to the bathroom once, took your phone with you and debated texting him but you never got that far. You only flicked through texts, casual one's at first. Small 'Are you coming over?' or 'You left your shirt at mine.' There were some dotted from him, on times you were both too busy to meet where things got more... riskier. His texts started simple but you could always catch on to his wants, leading his want.
Things like 'Thought about you today,' or 'you looked good today,' but he never just complimented you for the sake of it.
The texts didn't help so you turned your phone off and re-joined the two all the while your head and heart were in bed with Robby.
The next day passed like another dry spell.
It was busy- too make up for the quiet day beforehand. You didn't have time to greet Robby before being thrown into the chaos from a pile up on the highway. All day your bodies shuffled past each other, his hands lingering on your arms when he passed or always standing next to you in trauma.
It felt something like punishment.
Or a test.
By Friday you were crawling out of your skin, still dealing with the ramifications of the last two days. You hadn't even seen that Robby had text you the night before, so exhausted from work you crashed only spotting his name on your phone the morning you woke from the blare of your alarm.
“You're avoiding me,” he said, kneeling at the computer you typed furiously at to get your charting down. It was a casual move he used, usually un-tying and re-tying his shoes. This time, he simply knelt, seemingly done with pretence.
“What? No.”
“I've barely seen you the last few days," he said, wetting his lips. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, no, I've just been super busy,” you said, tapping on the computer.
Robby shuffled next to you. His hand laid next to yours. He didn't take your hand or stop you but his fingers fidgeted like he didn't know what else to do with himself. “Did I do something?”
You looked down at him, spotting the crease between his brows. “No.”
It was the closest you'd got to seeing him vulnerable.
“So tonight?” he asked. “Feel like I'm losing my damn mind.” His finger was light as it traced your hand, slowly drawing circles.
Tasting Robby was like the first sip of alcohol. It always left you wanting me. Sweet. Bitter. Whatever. You were just left wanting and nothing else, which was why you went crawling back every time. Why saying no had never crosse your mind before. Why the smallest touch from his hand was leaving you in shivers.
You squeezed your eyes shut. “I can't tonight-”
Robby smirked, breathing out a puff of air.
“I would,” you said quickly, turning in your chair to face him. “Believe me, I would, it's just... Trinity is going through some stuff and I just- I don't want to leave her alone, you know.”
It was the truth. Trinity was taking Garcia's silence worse than you or Dennis had anticipated. You knew there was more going on, you only wanted to be there to help her.
Robby perked. “You need me to speak to her?”
“No, no, it's just stuff. She'll be okay I just, want to be safe.”
He nodded but his finger fell from your hand. “Okay.”
“Doctor Robinavitch!” his name was called by the familiar dread of Gloria.
He sighed under his breath as he pushed himself up. “Oh so help me, God.”
By Saturday you were sure Robby thought you were lying and sort out to punish you. He was practically glued at your side all day long. He didn't ask to see you, didn't put his lips near you. But he lingered.
“Okay we don't have a lot of time, there's a lot of bleeding,” said Robby in the face of a trauma, looming over you. “We'll do a Hilar flip.”
“A Hilar flip, are you serious?” said Trinity.
“No other choice.”
You gulped, staring down at the bleeding and misplaced lung. “I've never done one of them before.”
“I'll talk you through it, we'll go easy,” he said, coming at your side. “You're gonna rotate the lung one-eighty, very slow. Very gentle.”
Perhaps it shouldn't have been as erotic as it was. The way his chest heaved against your back, his arm stretching along yours to hold your hand and guide it through the blood to his lung. His face was concentrated next to yours but his breath was hot on your cheek and breathless.
“Go slow.... go slow. Easy.... gentle.... just like that, there we go,” he uttered against your ear.
“Blood loss is slowing down.”
“There we go, you got it,” he mumbled as you slotted it back into its place. “Okay-” Robby moved on like your whole body wasn't trembling. You had to carry on trying to save the guys life after it, like you weren't picturing his entire body draped over yours, whispering filthy things in your ears.
“Thought I was watching a porno there,” said Santos as you all fled the room when the guy was stable.
“Jesus-” you caught your breath, throwing off the gloves and running your hands through your hair, trying to get some air to your neck that sweat.
Santos chuckled to herself. “So does Doctor Robby talk you through it?”
“Trin-” you snap.
“Does he praise you? Is that the kind of thing you're into.”
You didn't respond, hiding in the bathroom to throw cold water onto your face and calm the rush of blood but you could hear Santos outside the door. 'This is a teaching hospital!' she teased.
It became a thing you had to do, get away from him. You couldn't be distracted when dealing with patients. It was bad enough working with him when all you could think about was fucking him!
But Robby seemed to insist in helping you.
“Gaping wounds like this, under the skin we use sub-Q to bring it together,” he instructed as started the stitching for a mans wound on his leg. It was just like anything else, hardly a teaching wound when you knew how to do it. As it was under tissue and there was just no other nurse around Robby insisted.
“Five-O under skin, three-O after that,” he said.
“You think you could show me?”
You both knew you didn't need to be shown but Robby still gave you a small smile and sat on the stall, coming close to you till his meaty thigh was against your own. His hands- though gloved as yours were- still grazed yours as he took the instruments to do it.
“Guide it through... it's finer so you want to extra gentle... lotta care...”
You hummed but you couldn't say you were watching it with keen eyes. You weren't watching the way the stitches came together just the way his hands flexed, his fingers moved.
“Start deep... all the way in... bury the knot in... yeah, see how it comes together just like that?”
You nodded with an absent mind.
Robby held the equipment out to you. “Go ahead.”
You hesitated. Maybe you should have paid more attention.
He all but shoved them into your hand. “You're a big girl, you got it.”
Santos's voice played it your head. Were you into this?
With a breath you steadied yourself and went in. As he had before Robby leant over you, his body practically weighing you down.
You took the thread under the skin, pulling together just like he had.
“Bit deeper-” Robby's hands guided your arms. They were as light as a feather at your elbows before slowly sliding down your arms with a firmer hold, leading the threads.
You remembered his tight hold on you when he wanted you in place on the bed, when he was was dragging clothes off your body or wrapping a hand around your neck-
Robby called your name, watching you expectantly. His eyes were softened at the edges but they grew darker, the smallest bit of a smirk at the corner of his lips. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
“Right... sorry-” you went as deep as he instructed, knowing his face was concentrated on you and your hands.
“Do you want me to leave?” asked the patient.
If he could leave his leg and leave it would've been great.
“We'll get you out of here in no time,” said Robby.
You'd thought that maybe the stitching at taken so long it was almost time to leave. Maybe you could talk to Whitaker and Santos about this hard to get thing. It was only eleven and you had more than six hours left with situations that constantly brought you and Robby together. Even when it didn't, there he was, whispering words of encouragement.
“You got this... nice and easy.... doing really good there...”
Or the simple phrase that had you hiding in the bathroom for five minutes.
“Good girl.”
When the end of the day came you ran out of there, gasping in air and rushing back back to your place.
“Hey,” you greeted walking through the door.
Trinity was already there, looking like she was ready to leave, jacket thrown over her scrubs she hadn't changed out of even though she finished an hour before you. “Hey.”
“Where's Huckleberry?”
“Oh he's at Amy's tonight.”
You scoffed. “Woah. What a speech about doing better and playing hard to get but as soon as the chance comes to play farm. So, movie tonight? I can order pizza?”
“Actually, I'm just on my way out too,” she said. “Garcia called.”
You slumped. Your entire body slumped. Your heart gave up. “What? I thought we all made a deal?”
“We did, I played hard to get now she wants to see me,” she said.
“I haven't seen Robby in three days!”
“So go to his, get dicked down, girl,” she said, moving past you with a breeze. “I'm sorry, we can talk about how much of a bitch I am when I'm back from having the best sex yet! Later!”
She was out the door before you could chastise her. You shut it after her, falling upon it.
You'd ran from the ED to stay strong, to avoid another interaction with Robby that would have you climbing his bones in an empty room. You'd happily have done it with the teasing he'd subjected you to all day. For your friends and the promise you'd made you remained strong.
You'd never do that again.
Saturday night after the longest shift of your life and you had the place to yourself. It was rare. Either Denis or Trinity were home or you were spending the night at Robby's.
Your phone was heavy in your pocket.
Call him.
But the problem still lied un-answered. You were still at Robby's beck and call, begging for his attention. Begging him to be hard thinking about you so he could fuck you into the mattress to be professional the net day and treat you like you were just another MR.
You didn't want special treatment so to say, didn't want him to give you the easy patients or get you into the traumas more. You just wanted a smile, or a glimpse of .... love.
Maybe your friends were okay with what they had. You weren't.
You turned your phone off for the night and stripped from your scrubs, changing into a large shirt and blasting music Trin hated and Denis claimed to hate (but you'd heard him playing your playlist in the shower). For a crazy night alone you caught up on washing several pairs of scrubs and anything else, cleaned out the freezer leaving you barren of anything to eat. Maybe you'd even iron some normal clothes-
That's at least what you were thinking when there was a knock at the door.
You'd hoped it was Denis or Trin coming back, tails between their legs, keys forgotten.
Robby stood on the other side of the door.
You stood, frozen, shocked to see him there. He was just as still, waiting with raised brows. “Doctor Robby. Is everything okay?”
His backpack was slung over his shoulder, his scrubs only slightly dirtied from the day. But his eyes were alive and his body didn't sag with exhaustion like usual. His eyes darted back behind you. “Can I come in?”
You held open the door, closing it slowly behind you.
Robby had only been to your place once before. He looked the open living space open with interest. Typically your meet ups were at his, on account he lived alone and his bed was much nicer to be down on than yours.
“Er- Whitaker and Santos aren't home, if- if this is a hospital thing.”
“It's not,” he said, lowering his bag at the sofa.
“Oh?”
He turned, leaning against the back of it. “It's a me and you thing.”
“Oh.”
His arms flexed as he folded them over his chest, the green of his top under his scrub bunched at the forearms. His head ducked, trying to get a read on you. “So?”
You rocked on your heels, realising the shortened of the shirt you wore. Not that it wasn't anything he had seen before. “So...”
“What's going on?” he asked. There was still nothing in his voice to give away his true thoughts, only a slight edge of urgency.
“What-what-what do you mean?”
Robby listed off what he saw was wrong like symptoms. “You've been avoiding me, you never answered my texts, you didn't want to see me the other night nor tonight though you have the place to yourself-”
“I didn't realise they were gone,” you said.
“Okay so every other time?” he asked. “If I did something you can tell me. I'm a big guy, I can take it.”
It was a chance to voice up every ill thought you'd had but all you could think about was how big he was. Standing there, jutted on the back of the couch with his scrubs around his arms and thighs.
“You didn't do anything,” you said, though you weren't looking at his eyes more his arms.
They flexed again like he knew what he was doing. His voice dropped, finally to something you could name. “So tell me. what's going on.”
If you threw yourself at him you knew the chances of him taking you to bed were high, but the chances of you regretting it in the morning when he had rolled out of bed, dressed and left you were higher.
“I just-” you blew out a breath, readying yourself for the dismiss. “I don't think I can do this anymore.”
Robby waited like he was listening to the words re-play. His head lowered as he nodded, taking it in. “May I ask why?”
“It's the casual thing,” you rushed out before you could take it back. “I don't think I can do casual. I thought I could, but I-I can't.”
He nodded, chin tucked into his chest and for a moment you thought you really had upset him. But then he straightened up, pushed himself from the sofa and shrugged. His boots thudded heavy as he stepped to you slow. “Okay then.”
Was this the moment when you got the door for him on the way out?
“Okay, so... um.... I guess I'll see you-”
Robby's hands grasped your cheeks and he kissed you quick, hard. His lips tasted as they always did with a hint of mint-freshness. They were rough as always as they worked against yours, opening you up to him as always-
You brushed away, shaking your head. “I um- Robby I can't-”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. He stepped closer to you, the heat of his body waving over you. “We don't have to be casual anymore, I don't want to be casual- not anymore.”
Everyone knew Robby only knew casual. Only selected few ever got past seven weeks. Heck you hadn't counted how long this had been going on for, maybe ten weeks but that could be nothing. You were good sex, that was all.
“Robby-”
“Listen, listen-” he said, arms waving around you before settling on your forearms. “You don't want casual, neither do I. You want me to ask? You want me to ask you to be my girlfriend, I'll ask.”
“Robby you don't date,” you tried to tell him.
He scoffed. “I date. But not anymore, not if I have you.”
Had word of the deal got out? Was Robby just tired after his shift? Delusional?
“Hey, hey-" his hands ran through your hair, cradling your cheeks. “I should've said it earlier, I know but I want this. I want serious.”
His eyes crinkled as he looked at you, the edges of his gaze soft. “You don't just have to say this. You can have anyone else-”
Robby's head ducked into the crook of your neck, brushing your hair back and pressing light kisses to the expanse of your neck. “I don't want anyone else, I want you.”
Your body awakened in shivers that he elicited.
His fingers wound to the front of your body, slowly peeling away the buttons of the shirt till it pooled at your ankles. He didn't move to ravage you, his lips remained light as they kissed down your neck, finding your collarbone and working a mark there.
Your hands wound up his arms, clutching at his shoulders. “Robby-”
“Not this time,” he uttered against your collarbone.
You knew what you called him when it was you and him. “Michael-”
“Good girl.”
You moaned out at the words, the moan you'd held all day revibrating around your flat.
He slowly kicked odd his boots and helped you throw off his scrub top before he kissed you again.
You only got a short glimpse at the body you craved before his tongue, hot and heavy, slid into you mouth, bathing in the warmth. His hands were rough as they studied every inch of your body, fingertips digging into skin.
“I want you, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your lips as you scaled your hands under his shirt and along his stomach till your fingers skimmed under his waistband.
His mouth opened against yours, groaning at this slightest touch. “Oh-”
His arms scooped you up, bringing your body up and flush against him as his arms were strong on your back, kissing you. It was all wet tongue and soft lips as he stumbled back on the edge of your couch.
“Santos will kill me if we have sex on our couch,” you gasped.
Robby rose a brow. “Oh, we're having sex?” he teased.
“I should hope so.”
You kissed you hard again, wetting the both of your mouths in delectable smacks of your lips. The two of you stumbled away to your room and his body caged you in as the two of you fell atop your sheets.
You crawled up the bed as Robby's face fell between your chest. His tongue made wet paths from each breast, taking a nipple in his mouth and his hand groping at the other one till you withered against his body.
“Michael-”
He moaned into your breast and shoved a meaty thigh between your legs. “Grind on me,” he demanded.
Your body did against him as if it only listened to his command.
He mouthed your other breast, groping where his tongue had pressed before. All the while you body moved against his thigh, dragging your pussy against him.
“Yeah.... jus' like that... god.... can feel you.... so good,” he uttered as he jutted his thigh against you.
Your hands went to his shoulders, messaging the skin there until he came back up your body and shoved his tongue down your throat again. Your arm wrapped around his neck, keeping him into you.
All the while you wet down his scrubs.
“You want serious?” he uttered against you, pulling back enough to see you.
You nodded, hair splayed over your pillow.
Robby nodded along, eyes hooded. His hand slid down between your bodies. “I can do serious.”
His finger slid into you, working in and out in slow thrusts. But even the meassured curl of his finger had you holding him, back arching from the bed.
“Mmph-”
“Don't be quiet,” he said, nuzzling his head in you neck, biting the skin there. “Don't do that.”
Another finger curled in and you moaned on. You weren't quiet usually, there was nothing more than Robby liked than being loud. Everything was measured in the ED, out of it, buried inside of you or hot mouths on each other had Robby groaning, moaning and wanting you to do the same.
His fingers thrusted knuckle deep in and out again, the soft moving of skin moving around the room as your breaths covered the sound.
His fingers moved quick as your breaths grew laboured. He sucked the skin of your neck, thrusting and curling as his hips sort some sort of friction.
You withered against him. “I'm gonna- Michael I'm gonna-”
He released your skin with a small bite and laid his mouth open on yours. “Cum,” he uttered.
“Michael-”
His voice turned harder, the hand that wasn't inside of you wrapping around your neck, pushing you into your bed. “Cum.”
With just the right curl Robby had your pussy in the palm of his hand, slick with your release as he worked you through it, rubbing his hand along your clit with jolts of your body.
“God so good,” he said, looking up at you as a thin sheen of sweat glistened on your bodies. “And all mine?”
You nodded, cheeks flushed. You could feel the heat of your body as strong as it was when he walked in.
“All mine, huh?”
“Yes,” you said, breathless.
Robby slowly took out his fingers from you, putting his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean like it was nothing. He fell back on his feet, fingers working on the ties of his scrubs. “That why you were avoiding me?”
“I wasn't-” your words died in your throat as he dropped his scrubs and boxers in one.
You'd seen his cock enough to know it by memory but the size and fullness of him always rendered you speechless.
Robby knew it to. He stood there with a smirk. “You weren't avoiding me?”
Slowly, he sank to his knees.
“No,” you said, mesmerised by the sight of him going down.
Robby's hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them. He tapped your ankles, getting them on the bed as he got closer to your heat, still leaking from the last orgasm. “Promise?”
The words had hardly left your lips before his tongue pressed into you.
Your entire body moved into his but his arms wrapped around your hips, keeping you pressed into the bed. He moved further up, burying himself in you.
“Aw- fuck-” your hands waved for purchase before curling into the sheets.
He licked a stripe up and down before nudging your lips open and finding himself in there. It wasn't the slow drag of fingers but the desperate kisses and licks of a man hungry. He pulled back, spitting against you. “You won't avoid me again, will you baby?”
You shook your head.
Robby's eyes remained on yours until he buried himself in your pussy. You watched his eyes roll into the back of his head as he moaned into you.
His hands kept you spread open every time they quivered but it didn't take long for his hand to wind down to his cock. You prepped yourself up onto your elbows to watch as he pumped his cock agonizingly slow.
“Want your cock, Robby-”
He halted his movements and you but down on your lip.
“What did you just call me?” he asked, slowly moving up your body.
You knew you were supposed to call him Michael but watching the full swing of his cock stand to attention as he made his way over you was far too distracting.
“Hey-v his hand cupped your chin, forcing you to look up. “Michael.”
You nodded. Your hands reached for his cock, straining to wrap around him.
The only notice of the effect you had was the clench of his jaw.
“Michael,” he repeated, voice almost a growl.
“Michael.”
He nodded.
“Condom?” he asked, jutting back on his heels.
Your hand slowly worked his cock, the pre-cum beading at the tip. You shook your head. You were both clean, you were on the pill but tonight you wanted to feel everything, wanted him to even fill you-
Robby bent his head, spitting down on his cock and your hand. For a moment that's all it was, you hand moving on his cock as your other circled your clit. “God... your hand.... missed you...”
When your strokes got heavier, faster Robby's head fell back and he groaned. His cock was pink, heavy in your hand-
Quickly he grabbed your wrist and threw it off before grabbing the hilt of his own cock and slowly pushing into you.
His throat strained as he groaned at the push in and your back arched into him. “Fuck!” he fell atop you, arms braced at either side. “Shit- ah-”
Your arm wrapped around his shoulders, keeping you in.
“God, you make me crazy,” he uttered, searching for your lips.
The two of you collided in a mess of salvia, tongue, lips as he pushed into you, catching your gasps.
Eventually the rock of his hips grew steady. The creak of your old bed echoed the moves of him against you.
“Shit- ah-” he groaned, shaking off the sweat and the tension.
“Michael,” you said, holding him in closer. “I want you to... go hard.”
Hard he could do. Soft he could do. He would do anything you asked.
His tongue darted out, swiping your lips. “You missed me?”
“So much, so much, so much,” you pulled him down till his weight tested yours, cock deep. “On me.”
“Okay, okay,” he mumbled to himself. He put all his weight down, crashing your body into his bed. He wasn't as young as he once was. By no means but if you wanted it, he'd give it.
Pressed into you his cock went far and deep and he couldn't fully withdraw so it was small, maddening movements.
“Oh god,” he uttered.
You moaned, loud, as he wanted and he was breathless, groaning.
The dull thump of your headboard banged on the wall and something on your bedside table fell off.
Robby's arm stretched out, grabbing your hand and stretching your arms to the headboard, trying to steady it. With the stretch of the bodies he reached that spot in you.
“Aw fuck!” You yelled out, louder than anticipated. “Michael I'm gonna- I'm gonna-”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” he grunted with you. His other hand threw to your hip, holding your pelvis flush into you. “Fuck!”
In seconds he let go inside of you and the gush of his cum and the sound of the wet bodies threw you over the edge. His clutch on your hand grew tighter as his body trembled with yours, the spurts of your releases cooling down.
If this was casual Robby wouldn't have lingered, he'd have pulled out, flashed you a smile before using the bathroom.
He moved slower, staying till the both of you were spent. He kissed you, soft and sweet, lips moving around to remember the taste. “I'll move out,” he whispered as he took out his cock.
You stole a glance of both of your release leaking from you and around him before Robby moved aside.
He didn't flee, he didn't go to the bathroom. He pulled the sheets from under your bodies and got the both of you into bed. He laid beside you.
Robby tucked you under his arm, sweat on both your bodies cooling as you laid together. “Feels better when we're serious.” His fingers moved slow on your shoulder, delicate touches like a feather.
If he woke with a new thought, woke with regret you'd deal with it. For the moment you allowed yourself to feel the thump of his heart as the two of you slowly lulled to sleep.
Your alarm was the first thing you picked up in the morning. It's beeping ringing in your ear as you moved to turn the thing off or throw it at the wall-
A weight over your stomach made the effort harder but you got it.
Last night came back to you in the spill of scrubs on the floor and the ache between your legs.
Robby stirred next to you. Last night.
He stayed.
“You on today?” he asked, morning voice rough. You got a look at him, it was a rare sight you got to see him in morning light. His eyes were still shut, his face without the stress the day job gave him. He asked so casual, as if this was a morning routine you'd slipped into years ago.
You hummed, nodding and readying to move-
His arm tightened, drawing you in. “Call in sick.”
You chuckled, but your eyes closed. You promised yourself five more minutes. “My attending might have something to say about that.”
Robby grumbled. “Have a word with him, I'm sure you can be very persuasive.”
Somewhere in you apartment you heard the front door open and close, voices moving around the place.
You hadn't closed the door.
“Hey! We brought coffee and bagels!” called Santos.
“We're sorry for leaving you- we- huh?” you heard Whitaker. “What the?”
The clothes on the floor. The scrub top that would have his doctors badge on it.
You groaned and suddenly Whitaker and Santos were passing the doorway, one smirking, the other shocked.
Robby beside you didn't even stir.
“Good morning, Doctor Robby!” called Santos.
He only lifted a hand in greeting before making sure the covers were over the two of you.
You reached for something heavy, landing on a cushion and aiming at the door. It closed in front of your laughing friends.
゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ I’D DO WHATEVER I COULD DO | 𝓜 ❝ robby ❞ robinavitch
part 2 ╰┈➤ lynnie's coffee shop ╰┈➤ request guidelines
SUMMARY ⋮ ⌗ ┆Your father calls you mid-shift to make you feel how he always does: Like he couldn’t care less about his only daughter. You try to push through and keep your head up, be the lovergirl everyone knows you as, but you can’t help but crumble, because all you want is to be enough for your father. Special to him.
Who’d show you just how special you really are but the day shift attending?
PAIRING ⋮ ⌗ ┆grumpy!michael robinavitch x sunshine!reader
CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ ⌗ ┆18+ SMUT AHEAD. MDNI. age gap (r! is in her 20’s, robby’s in his 40’s), r! is heavily implied to have anxiety. panic attacks. hurt comfort. r! is sort of a social worker but also a doctor. medical inaccuracies. other pitt characters featured. #alsomadeupcharactersfortheplot. small description of patient fall and sustained head injury. brief mention of blood. r’s father’s a deadbeat. briefly established backstory ⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ dom!robby. sub!reader. afab!reader. quick escalation. big dick robby. . .unprotected piv sex. tummy bulge. praise. cunnilingus (r!receiving). fingering (r!receiving). major daddy kink. two uses of little girl. slight fauxcest? (if you want to read it that way). pussydrunk!robby. use of pet names (kiddo, kid, sweetheart, babygirl, and honey are all used). palming. brief handjob. kissing. creampie. slight breeding kink.
WORD COUNT ⋮ ⌗ ┆ 6.7k
LYNNIE'S TEA ⋮ ⌗ ┆☕︎ started this on a plane ride and did not expect it to go as far as it did. . .everybody thank my own paternal issues for this one. . .i’m also not 100% i like this buuut hopefully someone else does ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა
ּ֯ . ❥ ּ֯ ┆꒰ I'D RUN AWAY .ᐟ ꒱
AND HIDE WITH YOU.
“I NEED EXTRA HANDS in Trauma 2,” boomed the unmistakable sound of Dana’s voice across the ER. “Where the fuck’s our lovergirl?”
That was usually your cue, but you didn’t catch it at first. If you had, you’d’ve probably bolted the other way, extending your already too long break that’d went from a five minute call to a fifteen minute panic attack. One more stressor and you’d be down for fucking the count.
“Right here,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, approaching the center desk. Too late to back out now. “What’s the case?”
“Six-year-old fell from her treehouse. Robby’s already in there,” said Dana. She gave you a quick once over, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Y’okay, hun?”
You blinked back tears at the genuineness of her tone. “Yeah. Fine. I’m on the case,” you said with a nod and a tight smile. Not too obvious, nor too shallow.
This was your poker face. This, you had to be good at. Because with even half the things you went through on the daily, it’d be foolish not to have mastered it.
You felt like an idiot for letting your father make you feel this way. For giving him so much leverage over your outlook on life. The people around you thought you loved wholeheartedly because you’d learned it from someone else, but the reality was far more complicated than that.
You loved the way you did not because of someone you knew, but someone you wanted to. Someone who loved like the word had no limits, like the way you did.
Your father was incapable of such treatment. When you left Boston for Pittsburgh years prior, he barely bat an eye. Just wished you well and asked you come back for the holidays, but never complained when you didn’t. Never cared that you didn’t. The man hardly cared about you, period.
And so he calls sometimes. Tries to be a father. Tells you he’s thinking of you, but it always feels like you’re a check on a to-do list. An afterthought. Like talking to you is an obligation, a thing he does because he has to, not because he wants to.
He’d called you in the breakroom the minute you got the door closed. You’d forgotten about the juice you were about to indulge in before answering the phone, wondering what he wanted. The man had promptly asked for help with the bills, and you being the angel you were, unable to ignore someone in need, no matter how salty, sent it without complaints. He hadn’t even told you he loved you when he hung up. Just told you this is what your responsibility was as a daughter now. He’d taken care of you, nurtured you after your mother had left. So you should be thanking him.
Man, you thought. Your old man had a twisted sense of family.
That call had you questioning your own validity. What had you done to deserve the loneliness you’d accumulated? To have a father who used you like an ATM? Friends who knew you but didn’t see you? It felt like the world was on your shoulders, too heavy for one person to carry, especially for someone so young.
The last place you wanted to be carrying all these feelings was the PTMC. But life didn’t stop just because you were having a go at it. So neither could you.
You all but sprinted to Trauma 2, not ready to get back to work, but at least able. Eleven in the morning was early for a fall out of a treehouse, and you’d hate to be the little girl who’d taken the damage, so you made quick work of your feet, willing them ahead until you arrived.
At the bedside were Doctors Santos and Garcia, as well as Langdon, Javadi, and your attending, Doctor Robby. Behind Santos and Garcia were the parents of the children who were in inconsolable tears, being comforted to no avail by Doctor Javadi.
“Still no consciousness,” said Santos with her lip between her teeth, her hands working quickly at the bleeding gash across the little girl’s forehead.
“How high’s this fucking treehouse?” said Garcia, ever the blunt one. You shook your head.
“Garcia,” you chided, because that was often your role. Keeping the flow of empathy in a room at any given time alive. Especially when that room contained people in dire need of it.
“Am I happy to see you,” said Robby. He excused himself from the bedside while the other doctors worked, handing you a chart. “Talk to the family before you jump on. Girl’s named Hailey, mom and dad are Janet and Carl Atkins. You know the drill, yeah?”
“Yes. Yes, of course, Robby,” you said with a nod. You tapped your fingers against the cardboard of the chart as you read its contents, like that’d somehow snap you back into doctor mode.
It’s the thought that counts, right?
“You’re an angel,” Robby said.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Atkins,” you said when you approached the parents, introducing yourself. “Why don’t we take a step outside?”
“We’re not leaving our daughter,” said Mrs. Atkins, who was still in tears.
“I understand your pain, Mrs. Atkins, but these doctors are doing everything to care for your little girl. Soon, that’ll mean lots of blood and sights you won’t want to remember of her. I promise you can come back in as soon as they’re finished.”
Mrs. Atkins, Janet, looked at her husband with teary eyes. He nodded and turned to you. You took that as your cue to lead them out of the room. Robby nodded as you made your exit with the parents.
“What happened this morning?” you asked gently, keeping any accusation out of your voice. You knew from experience that families of patients never responded well to that.
“H- Hailey wanted to play outside. It was beautiful out. We went into our backyard after breakfast, a- and Carl and I were having a bit of coffee after helping her into her treehouse. She’s a smart girl, so I thought—“ Janet stopped her sentence short to heave a sob. Carl rubbed her back.
“You thought you could trust her, like all parents do,” you finished. “She’s six. Still small, but she’s learning about the world in her own way, and you want to let her. There isn’t anything wrong with that. Then, what?”
“We didn’t even see her get out. Usually she stays inside and calls for one of us when she’s ready to come down. But this time, I guess she thought she could do it on her own,” Carl said. “She’d just hit the ground when we ran over. And we called 911.”
“I see. It’s to my understanding that Hailey’s very lucky,” you said after taking a good look at the chart. “No noticeable fractures, minimal chance of long-term brain damage. The worst she should walk away with is a concussion and a sprained ankle, but apart from that and her visible wounds, she should be back to health in no time,” you said.
“Then why is she not waking up?” said Janet.
“Her age and nature of the impact are likely to blame for her unconsciousness. Falling hard on your back is generally more dangerous, especially for teenagers and children. That doesn’t mean her injuries are severe,” you said calmly. “Hailey’s your only child?”
Janet nodded. “She’s the best little girl in the world. She was everything we prayed for.”
“Your love for her is palpable. You’re first time parents who are navigating the ups and downs of what it takes to raise a child. Mistakes don’t negate your progress. There’s no benefit in being hard on yourselves,” you said. “This wasn’t your fault. Children are naturally curious and occasionally unpredictable. That doesn’t mean you’re to blame for what happened today. The most you can do now is be there for Hailey. That’s all you can do.”
Janet sniffled, moved by your words. That was just the effect you had on people.
Most people, anyway.
It was your job at the PTMC to provide comfort to families in time of need, as well as finding balance in being a good doctor all the same. But it occurred to you more often than not that you had yet to acquire that same balance in your personal life.
As per usual, that wasn’t the matter at hand right now.
The other woman took your hand in hers and squeezed. You squeezed back.
“Thank you. You’re a great doctor,” she said.
You smiled. “No, thank you. Now, why don’t you two take a seat over here? I’ll come back out with any updates on Hailey.”
After the parents sat on a bench outside Trauma 2, you braced yourself and went back in. Robby eyed you as you returned.
“Worked your magic out there, kiddo?”
You gave that same fabricated smile you’d offered Dina not too long prior and nodded, grabbing a pair of sterile gloves. “Sure did.”
He didn’t have to know that was just more of your magic.
After half an hour or so, Garcia finally threw her hands up, exhaling a sigh of relief. “My services are no longer required.”
You’d been helping keep Hailey stabilized beside Robby, while Santos had been next to Garcia. Javadi and Langdon had since left to handle another case. You checked the monitor to view the girl’s heart rate and blood pressure and nodded your agreement.
“All set. Thanks for your help,” you said.
“Sure thing. Call if you need the jazz hands again,” Garcia said before heading off.
“Good work, you two. Couple hours and she should be waking up,” said Robby.
“Great. I’ll give the parents the good news,” you said.
You discarded your gloves and put some hand sanitizer on before turning to face the parents who were still seated outside Trauma 2. They both stood up with urgency, looking frantic at your return.
“How is she?” said Janet.
You smiled. “Little Hailey’s going to pull through. She’s still unconscious, but we’ve completely stabilized her and she should incur no lasting brain damage from this incident. She’ll wake in a few hours.”
Janet threw her arms around you, and you responded with a little “Oh!” before reciprocating the hug.
“Thank you so much,” Janet said.
“Can we see her?” said Carl.
“Of course. Right this way.”
You led the way back into the room, where Robby was still standing opposite Santos. The latter backed away to allow the parents room to see their child.
“Thank you, Dr. Robby,” said Carl.
“You’re very welcome,” said Robby.
The two of them sat at their daughter’s bedside. Carl instantly grabbed Hailey’s hand, squeezing gently.
“We’re so sorry, honey,” Janet whispered in a quiet sob.
“Daddy loves you so much, Hailey,” Carl sniffled beside his wife. “We’ll never let anything like this happen again. I promise.”
I promise.
At the little declaration, you felt your throat tighten with a weird feeling. It felt like plain sadness at first, salt on the wound after your interaction with your own father. But it was more than that. Deeper.
It felt like fucking jealousy.
Tears filled your eyes and threatened to spill at the scene as Carl whispered all the ways he loved his daughter. The promises to take care of her. The dedication to doing better. All things you wish your father could do for you.
It was too much.
“Um, if you’ll excuse me,” you said with your fake smile, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was now that it was paired with teary eyes and a broken voice. You practically sprinted out of there subsequently, and didn’t stop until you reached the breakroom.
You slammed the door closed behind you and went for the sink. Everybody was busy with their own cases—it was just one of those kinds of days—so there was no one around to see you break down for a second time that shift. While it didn’t necessarily feel good to be alone, you weren’t sure you wanted anyone to see you like this.
Splashing water on your face was futile for your nerves. The sobs you heaved that came from the innermost parts of you were so much more than tears. It felt like all the things your father had said to you since he created you, the words or lack thereof that you’d tried and now failed to suppress, were bubbling to the goddamn surface.
You were in the middle of pressing your thumb to your palm, a trick for anxiety you’d heard from Dr. Collins, when the sound of the break room door opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You took a large breath and didn’t immediately turn around, because you couldn’t give yourself away, couldn’t be vulnerable. Not on a day like this. Maybe not fucking ever.
You thought so, anyway, until the sound of Robby softly saying your name made your resolve crack in two.
“Y- Yeah?” you said without facing him.
“You alright? You kind of ran out of there,” he said. You could hear him coming closer.
“Oh, yeah, j- just needed a glass of water. Dehydrated,” you lied.
“Hydration is important,” he humored you. Yet his tone of voice gave way to the fact that you were a terrible liar. “But I’m not convinced that’s what this is.”
Fuck.
Tears spilled from your eyes. You still didn’t turn around, but when you felt your throat constricting again, your breath picking up speed, you realized it didn’t matter if Robby could see you or not. Your body language was going to betray you.
“I just need a m- minute,” you said, and that did him in. Your body started to shake with a familiar force, one nobody knew you dealt with on a daily basis.
A panic attack.
“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” Robby said as your legs started to fail you. He didn’t say anything about the mascara that was probably coming down your cheeks, or the blatant redness in your eyes when you finally turned around. Instead, he sat you down in one of the chairs in the breakroom, rubbing your back. “Head between your legs.”
You did as told. This tactic did sometimes work for you. But it wasn’t enough to stop your heaving sobs or uncontrollable breathing.
“Come on, s’okay, in through your nose, out through your mouth,” Robby said. “It’s not forever. S’all temporary, s’all temporary. Come on, kiddo, breathe with me.”
Robby’s words felt like honey. But even the sweetest of candies can’t overpower the taste of salt.
It wasn’t Robby’s fault. Robby didn’t know. He didn’t know much about your life beyond the city you’d come from or who you are now. No one did.
But that was just the thing. Even without truly, truly knowing you, Robby still wanted to help. That was more than your own father could ever say.
“It’s going to be okay,” Robby said finally. “Breathe with me.”
Every word had your nervous system slowly regulating again, and you tried to listen to the sound of his voice. After a few minutes of crying and shaky breaths, the world started to come back into focus.
“That’s a girl, just breathe. Breathe with me,” Robby hummed. “Let me get you some water.”
You felt the aftermath of your panic attack starting to hit the moment Robby returned with a glass of water. You drank it down in one quick gulp as your breath finally slowed back to normal pace.
“I’m. . .sorry you had to see that, I—“
“Don’t apologize. It happens to the best of us,” Robby said. You’d never seen the older man look so concerned. His eyebrows were wrinkled with worry, and there was a frown pasted on his lips.
After a beat, Robby spoke up again. “Did you. . .wanna talk about it?”
You shrugged, looking away. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid if it’s making you cry.”
You shook your head and let out a bitter laugh. You’d tell anyone else the same thing, but you felt stupid for feeling the way you did about a man you’d known for a long time would never change. The stupid thing was holding out hope that he would.
“My dad called me. Just before I hopped on that case,” you said shakily. “He didn’t even ask how I was or what I was doing. He. . .he needed money f- for his bills. So I just sent it without thinking twice. He didn’t even tell me he loved me or anything before he hung up. Just told me this was my responsibility now. So that little girl. . .her father caring so much,” you sniffled. “Just felt like salt to the wound.”
You looked away from Robby completely now, turning your head to the side. “It’s dumb, right? I’m in my mid twenties and I’m still getting hurt by the man when he’s always been this way. Anyone else would have given up by now, but not me.”
“Now, that’s not entirely true,” Robby said sharply. “You need your father today as much as you did when you were born. Your age doesn’t have anything to do with it, kid. And if he can’t show up like he’s supposed to, that’s on him.”
Robby tilted your face to meet his and caught your eyes. “He has no idea what he’s missing.”
You sniffled at the sweet reassurance, leaning your cheek into his palm.
“You’re sure you’re fit to stay?” Robby asked, stroking your cheek.
You almost thought you’d misheard him. There was a loudly spoken rule about all hands on deck at this hospital. Confusedly, you returned, “It’s been crazy in here today. Don’t you guys need me?”
Robby shrugged. “We have the staff, for once. If you’re not 100%, we’ll be okay if you need to leave. Seems like you need to relax, and this place is definitely not helping with that.”
You giggled at that. “Yeah, probably not,” you agreed. Your smile then faded. “But it’s alright. I took the bus here and with midday traffic, who knows how long I’ll be waiting, anyway,” you sniffled.
“That’s true. And you can stay if you want,” Robby said as he stood up. “Or I can bring you home.”
You looked up at him confusedly. “Bring me home? But, Robby, you—“
“—Jack wanted to come in early,” Robby said. “S’no problem.”
The offer made your heart ache. “You’re sure?”
Robby gave you a small smile. “Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”
That’s what wound you in the passenger seat of Robby’s truck the second Jack walked into the ER. He opened the door for you and buckled you in before getting into the driver’s side, putting the keys into the ignition.
“I’m sorry I’m making you do this,” you said with a small voice, leaning your head against the window. Even after his reassurance, you still felt guilty for pulling him away from work. “You have a job to do.”
“You’re not making me do anything. And Jack’s a good doctor. He’s got it under control,” Robby said. “How far are you?”
“I’m a little far. It’s about a half hour commute,” you replied. “You really don’t have to bring me, Robby.”
“How about we go to my place instead? It’s closer. You’ll want to decompress sooner rather than later, I imagine.”
You nod. “Okay,” you replied. Robby did the same and began to drive.
Your hands were still restless from the aftermath of your attacks. You leaned your head back against the leather seat, closing your eyes while shaky breaths left your lips. Robby didn’t say anything until he heard you hiccup another sob. He’d stopped at a red light and turned to look at you.
“Sweetheart? You okay?”
You cringed at the whimper that left your lips. “I don’t know.”
“Hey,” Robby said. He reached over and looped his fingers through yours, squeezing your hand to reassure you. “Don’t think about him. It’s not doing you any good. Put the window down, kiddo. That’ll help.”
You did as told, putting the window down ever so slightly. You used Robby’s hand like a lifeline while he drove, and not once did he let go.
Leaving the Pitt made you realize instantly how drastically it was affecting you. You had your anxiety under control most days, but it was easy for anybody to snap in a place like that. Now that you were here, you didn’t feel so frenzied. How Robby could run the show on a daily basis like he did, you had no idea.
The drive was mostly silent, save for the wind from your window and the low hum of the radio. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, not with Robby’s hand in your lap and intertwined with your own, grounding you throughout the trip.
He pulled up to a family home about fifteen minutes later. It was a beautiful place with flowers out front and two stories. Robby opened your door for you as you got out, and smiled when you immediately slotted your hand through his again.
“Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you inside,” Robby said.
You followed behind him and watched him unlock the door, letting you inside before following. You took the place in, shockingly neat for your sarcastic attending, while he slipped his shoes off at the door.
“You can shower upstairs if you want. I can give you some clothes to change into,” Robby said. “Are you hungry?”
“I don’t think I’m ready to eat yet. But thank you, Robby. A shower would be nice,” you said.
“Okay, sweetheart. Come on, you can have your pick of my closet.”
You followed Robby upstairs, taking in the various picture frames that lined the walls of the staircase. Most were with Jack or your other coworkers in group pictures. You were even in some of these.
Robby opened the door to his large room, his bed messy with strewn pillows and scattered books on the nightstand. There were some clothes on the floor and Robby grimaced as he retrieved them.
“Sorry about the mess. Don’t ever have company,” Robby said. “You can look through my dresser.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you said as you approached it. You went through his drawers and picked out an old band tee and baggy sweatpants. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll get you a towel.”
After Robby did so, you took the shower you’d been in desperate need of, hoping the cold water would cleanse your nerves. They still felt incredibly frayed even after leaving work, and part of you was still in panic mode.
Most of it was just plain sadness.
When you came out of the bathroom, Robby was sitting on the edge of the bed, which was now neatly made. He perked up when he saw you, standing up and pulling the covers back. “You didn’t like the sweatpants?”
You shook your head. The tee was long enough to cover the bareness underneath it, and your body temperature wasn’t regulated enough for pants yet. “No. I’m hot,” you said, folding the pants neatly back into the dresser.
“I see,” Robby said. “Feeling better?”
You shrugged, approaching the bed and settling in. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” you said meekly.
“I don’t. But I want to,” Robby said. He tucked you in and turned the TV in the room on, handing you the remote. “I’ve got a few streaming platforms. Watch whatever you’d like. Let me know when you’re ready to eat.”
With that, Robby turned to leave the room, evidently wanting to give you your space, but before he could, you sat back up in bed. “Robby?”
Robby turned to look at you with a foot out of the door. “Yeah, kiddo?”
“Stay? Please, don’t. . .don’t go.”
Robby looked slightly startled by the request, but his expression shifted back into a smile just as quickly. He closed the door and joined you in bed, laying down over the covers. “Whatever you need.”
You turned the TV on and pretended to be interested in the channels, but even entertainment couldn’t do its part in distracting you. You flipped a random movie on before turning to Robby, laying on your side.
Robby rubbed your forehead, then stroked your hair with such care that you thought you might cry all over again. Maybe you would. “Comfortable, kiddo?” he asked.
You nuzzled into his touch, scooting closer. “Mhm. Thank you, Robby.”
“You’re welcome,” Robby said. “You let me know if you need anything, yeah?”
That simple comment worked you right up again, tears brimming in your eyes. All this sweetness from your somewhat gruff attending, the one who’d tucked you in after taking you home and giving you his clothes, no less, had you wondering how hard it really was for your father to do the same.
“Oh, honey,” Robby said as you broke down all over again. “Come here, baby.”
You followed the instruction of Robby patting his lap, sitting up and settling into it. You buried your face into his neck while he held you, cradling you like you were a baby. The gesture made you sob harder as he soothed you, rubbing your back tenderly while he shushed away your tears.
“Your father doesn’t deserve you. You’re too sweet to feel so neglected by him,” Robby said.
“Wh- What’s wrong with me? I just want him to care and somehow I feel like an asshole, because all I do is beg for the man to love me.”
“That doesn’t make you an asshole. It’s normal to want your father. Even more normal when he’s mostly absent.”
“I just want to be enough.”
“You are enough. More than enough,” Robby reassured you.
You pulled back to look at Robby, tears swimming in your eyes. “You’d. . .you’d take care of me, right?” you said without thinking. “If I was your daughter? You wouldn’t let me go?”
Robby smoothed his thumb over your cheek. “No, baby. I wouldn't ever let you go.”
You moved impossibly closer to Robby at the reassurance, now sitting up with your thighs on either side of his legs. He had a hand on your waist, the other coming up to cradle your cheek as he watched you stare.
“What is it, kiddo?” he said softly.
“I. . .I want. . .” you whimpered, bottom lip between your teeth. You of all people knew how unprofessional this position alone was, with your attending, no less, but you were craving more. Comfort. Touch. Love. All things Robby was willing to give you. All things your father never had.
Before you could overthink it, and before your brain could even process what you were doing, for that matter, you leaned slightly forward in Robby’s lap so that your lips ghosted over his. You pressed your hands to his chest in a silent plea, hitting him with those sweet eyes he’d known and admired since you joined PTMC.
But it was different now.
“Please?” you whispered.
“Sweetheart,” Robby huffed. He held his hand on the small of your back and left it there, making no effort to pull you closer or push you away. “We shouldn’t. Hell, I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t even be holding you like this.”
“I know, Robby, but. . .please, I won’t say anything. No one will ever know, I just. . .” you trailed off.
Too late to back out now.
“Make me forget. Forget him, forget everything,” you said. Your fingers dug into his shirt, another wordless beg for more. “Please.”
Robby stared at you for a few long seconds, the silence louder than the sobs you’d heaved earlier in the breakroom. Your head was spinning from said tears, and it occurred to you that you should go home, lay in bed, pretend this never happened—
Until Robby cupped your cheek with a gentleness you’d hardly known he possessed, and pulled you in for a kiss.
The kiss was electric despite its initial slowness. He was soft with you like he was afraid to break you, as if you needed to be handled with fragility. Except when aggression is all you know, it’s natural to exert—which is why you push your tongue past his lips and wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.
Robby understands instantly and settles a hand on your hip, the other finding its way to your neck. He holds but doesn’t squeeze, again, like you’re too soft to be handled in such a fashion, and works his lips against yours ravenously. You can already feel the hardness of his cock below you and it has you embarrassingly soaked.
“That what you needed, baby?” Robby said with a small smile, cupping your face as he said it. You shook your head, to which he replied, “Oh, no? Then, what?”
You let your hand drift downwards before you could think twice about it, rubbing the aching bulge in his pants with shaking fingers.
“Fuck, honey,” Robby groaned. “Big girl words.”
“I. . .I want your cock, Robby,” you whined.
“That right?”
“M- Mhm, please,” you managed through a few more rubs. Then, the cherry on top to completely seal the deal—
“Please, Daddy.”
He’d said to use your words, right?
“Shit,” was all Robby said. His pupils were completely blown at the name, but the disgust you half expected to see when you looked at him wasn’t there. No, when you looked at him, he held a different expression entirely.
And it looked a lot like lust.
“Y’want me to be your daddy, huh? Guess you really meant you wanted to forget,” Robby hummed like it was a normal Tuesday, and you hadn’t just asked your attending of all the people to play the part. Luckily, for you, Robby was happy to oblige—evidently so, as he yanked you closer by the waist, pressing a quick kiss to your mouth.
“S’okay, sweetheart. I can be his replacement.”
With that, Robby flipped you onto your back and pinned you underneath him with his body, using a hand to prop himself up. You continued to rub at the bulge in his scrubs, only now, you’d begun to tug them down, already ready for more.
Robby followed your lead and released his hardened cock from his jeans, the tip aching and bright. You tried not to think too hard about how the hell that’d fit inside you as you started to stroke him carefully.
“Let me take care of you, Daddy,” you said. “After everything you did today.”
“You’re such a sweet girl, honey,” Robby said through a grunt. “But I’m afraid that’s your Daddy’s job, now, isn’t it?”
The sentiment made your cheeks flare, and you simply nodded.
“Good girl,” Robby cooed. He slowly tucked his dick back into his pants. Confusion filled your face until he started to lift your shirt—his shirt—up so that your skin was exposed to him. He smirked at the sight of you without panties on.
“Someone was ready,” he teased. He tucked his dick back into his pants and pressed featherlight pecks to your belly, then started his descent down your body, starting with your inner thighs. He kissed and sucked at the skin there which had you squirming instantaneously, watching your every move to gauge how you were feeling.
“This okay?” he asked. You nodded.
Robby did the same and continued his ministrations. When he finally locked eyes with your pussy, a little sigh left his lips at the sight of your wetness. “Fuck, honey. You’re soaked.”
“Couldn’t h- help it, Robby. Need you.”
“Ah-ah, that’s not my name,” Robby chided with a sharp bite to your inner thigh. “You wanna try again?”
“I need you, Daddy,” you corrected.
“Much better, sweetheart,” Robby said. With that, he finally licked his first stripe up your pussy, groaning at the taste of you. He started slowly to watch your reactions, tonguing your puffy clit in steady circles while his fingers joined the ministrations, entering your aching hole.
Robby alternated between licking your clit and diving between your folds, but whether that was more for you or him was unclear. He was completely drunk on your pussy, and paired with the sound of your pleasured noises, he was eating you up like a man starved.
“Fuck, babygirl, your pussy’s perfect. You’re perfect,” Robby grunted, driving his fingers inside you. You arched back with a particularly loud moan, the new nickname making you dizzy.
“F- Feels so g- good, Daddy,” you moaned. Robby smirked.
“Yeah? S’your Daddy making you feel good, kiddo?” he grunted between your folds, though it felt like he was talking more to your pussy then to you. “You deserve it, honey. My girl deserves to feel so good.”
He lifted your legs above his shoulders so he could dive deeper into your cunt, and you gasped at the change in position, his face almost completely blocked by your own body.
“D- Daddy, can you even breathe like that?” you asked worriedly.
Robby chuckled against your cunt, the sound vibrating between your legs. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Just focus on feeling good.”
With that, he started to eat you out again, only this time, it felt completely different. This time, with his hands wrapped around your thighs and your knees hooked over his shoulders, there was no limit to what Robby could do to you. His tongue entered your hole this time while his big nose rubbed against your clit, and you were convinced you were seeing stars.
“Fuck, D- Daddy, m’gonna—!” you moaned loudly, bucking your hips into the heat of his mouth. You were grinding against his face shamelessly now. Thankfully for you, Robby didn’t seem to mind.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go, Daddy’s got you,” Robby cooed before flicking his tongue against your clit, and not letting up until you were practically exploding against his face, coming with a loud cry.
Robby eased you through your orgasm with small licks against your sensitive clit. When the feeling became overstimulating, he switched gears and pressed kisses to your inner thighs, peppering them in a gentle path up your abdomen soon afterwards. He continued until he was hovering you again, and you took the opportunity to press your lips against his.
You tasted yourself on his mouth and felt your wetness from his beard, both facts working you up even so soon after your last orgasm. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he immediately caught on.
“Needy little girl. So eager to cum again, huh?” Robby said, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You nodded, to which Robby chided, “None of that, babygirl. You tell Daddy what you want.”
“Want you inside me, Daddy. Want your cock,” you managed through shaky breaths, bucking your hips against his for emphasis. “Please.”
“You sound so sweet when you use your words, honey,” Robby cooed. For the second time, he freed himself, only this time he was visibly more hard. The tip of his cock was an angry red and dribbling bouts of pre-cum, and, fuck, did he look so much fuller than before. You gasped as he ran his head between your folds.
“You’re sure you want this, sweetheart? Absolutely positive?”
“Yes, Daddy, m’sure. I want you so bad. Please.”
Robby didn’t need another word before he was thrusting inside you completely, filling you to the brim.
You’d thought he was big before, but this stretch was completely different. There was a visible bulge where your bodies were conjoined which became more prominent with every little thrust into your pussy. Robby watched, utterly transfixed, at the sight of his large cock causing such an imprint on your skin.
“Y’okay?” Robby grunted. He had one hand on your belly and the other next to your head.
“M- Mhm. You’re so big,” you huffed.
Robby chuckled. “Hope that’s a good thing, sweetheart.”
“I- It is, I—oh!” you were cut off by the feeling of Robby’s hips snapping against yours, trying to find his pace. His stamina isn’t exactly what it used to be, but he’ll be damned if he leaves this room without making you feel good.
“Too much, kiddo?”
“N- No, not at all.”
“Good,” Robby said. He kept a steady albeit rough pace, reaching the deepest parts of you. It wasn’t your first time having sex, but it was with a man who was set on really taking care of you and not chasing his own pleasure. The thought made it feel all the more better.
You pulled Robby in for a kiss he answered gladly. As your tongues pushed against each other, his hips rocked even harder, driving his thick cock into your spongy walls. He was starting to hit the part of you that made you see stars, and you weren’t doing a good job of hiding it.
“That’s it, babygirl. That feel good?” Robby grunted against your lips.
“M- Mhm, y- you’re s- so good, Robby. Feel so good,” you said.
Robby chuckled and decided to let the use of his name slide, deciding you were probably too fucked-out to even remember your own right now. “You feel good, too, sweetheart. You’re so pretty like this,” he praised.
It was only a few minutes before Robby’s steady pace was replaced with a stronger one, as much faster as it was rougher. At the blown look of your pupils, he figured as much that this was what you wanted, what you needed, and he was right.
His cock was driving so far into you that it felt like he was in your throat. Every push had your back arching off the bed, unable to make any noise beyond a few broken whimpers and moans.
“That’s it, sweet girl. I got you, I got you,” Robby said gently, a stark contrast to the way his dick was bullying into your pussy.
“You—fuck—you promise, Daddy?”
“I promise, honey. M’never letting you go, alright? Never,” Robby assured. Despite the pace, his words had your heart lurching, and you almost got emotional all over again.
“Robby,” you gasped. “I’m g- getting there again. Close.”
“S’okay, kiddo. Your Daddy wants you to feel good,” he groaned. He wasn’t so much looking for his pleasure as he was trying to give you yours. “What do you need?”
Easy.
“Just don’t stop,” you said.
And Robby didn’t. He pressed kisses down your neck and sucked hickeys into your skin while he fucked you hard and fast, setting an absolutely lethal pace. The same pressure from earlier when you’d cum in his mouth was starting to return, and you were seconds away from your second orgasm.
“Cum with me, Daddy, please, please, I wanna feel you,” you begged, framing his cheeks with your hands. Robby had his on either side of your head while he smirked down at you.
“Yeah, you want my cum, baby? Want me filling your pretty pussy with my load?”
You nodded quickly, pulling him in for another kiss. “Yes, please. S’all I want.”
“That’s what you’ll get,” Robby said.
He didn’t stop until you were right on the edge, and when you were, he kissed you through it, rocking his hips into your pelvis and driving his dick hard into your cunt while your second orgasm crashed over you. You clenched hard around his cock as he spilled into you, securing your legs even tighter around his waist so that every drop stayed inside.
Robby got the message and gave a few last thrusts that stirred his cum deep inside you. When he pulled out, small ropes of white dribbled out of your hole and stained the bed, while the rest of it remained nestled within you.
“Who knew my little girl could be so dirty?” Robby teased, kissing your cheek.
You giggled. “It takes two, you know.”
“Fair enough,” Robby chuckled. “I’m going to get a towel, honey. Get you cleaned up.”
As he made his move to leave, however, you tugged his arm. Robby was at the edge of the bed. “Robby, w- wait.”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Did you. . .mean it? When you said you’d. . .never let me go?” you asked. “That you’d be his replacement?”
Robby smiled at you and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, nodding. “Yeah, sweetheart. I meant every word.”
Synopsis: Robby falls in love with a young nurse and fights it every step of the way. But when you know, you know.
Warnings: eventual smut, smut, 18+, MDNI, angst, fighting, slow burn, co-workers to enemies, enemies to friends, friends to lovers, blood, gore, medical inaccuracies, pittfest, panic attacks, mentions of suicide, mentions of drug OD, mentions of abuse, violence against medical staff.
🦋 - fluff
🌧️ - angst
🔥 - smut
Pre season one:
one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | thirteen | fourteen | fifteen | sixteen
Season one:
7 am | 8 am | 9 am | 10 am | 11 am | 12 pm | 1 pm | 2 pm | 3 pm | 4 pm | 5 pm | 6 pm | 7 pm | 8 pm | 9 pm
Blurbs:
During the ten months between season one and two (can be read as a standalone)
Summary- Postponing his original sabbatical plans, Robby finds a quaint town at one of the most northern points of the country. He's quickly taken aback by a waitress at the first diner he walks into.
Contains- 18+ SMUT MDNI. p in v sex, oral (f receiving), hangover nausea, alcohol use, porn with lots and lots of plot :) lmk if i missed anything!
A/N- the town in this is heavily inspired by my love for northern michigan aka the best part of the best state. divider from @thecutestgrotto !
A soft sun welcomes the calm morning. It streaks through the windshield of Robby's recently swapped Ford Ranger. Unlike his bike, it's built for the curvy, tree lined roads of the small northern town he's traipsing through.
His lids start to droop, stomach growling from the endless hours of driving. He perks up at a neon sign cutting through the pale blue skies. Soon thereafter, wafts of bacon, coffee, and oil drift through his cracked windows, and his stomach does the steering for him.
He's the only car in this parking lot, and he's surprised to see a little white building with pink trimming. Bright pink letters splash across the white wooden door.
Petal and Bloom- it reads in loopy letters, and stepping through the door is like walking through a time machine. It's pure 50s, a vibrant turquoise coating the walls, peach booths lining the width of the pink and white checkered floor.
He can't help but let a chuckle escape his lips, the giddiness knocked completely out of him at the sight of the waitress that greets him.
You're pretty. Gorgeous, even. The shiny gloss of your lips, the curve of your hips, the blush painting your cheeks- they make his heart skip in a way he thought wasn't possible anymore.
You sidle up to him, the sweetest diner dress adorning your figure. It's pink, with a pretty name looped into the stitching. It hangs off your frame with ease, pulled tight at the waist by your white apron. You bounce on your tennis shoes, a sweet smile on your sweet face.
"Hi! Dining in?" You chirp, and it's so perky he debates getting a coffee.
"Yeah, just me," Robby huffs, nodding his head and averting his gaze.
Looking at you nearly paralyzes him, but looking and talking to you? He feels like he's 14 again, talking to Patricia Connors at her locker the week before homecoming.
He slides into the booth you cheerily lead him to, cheeks heating at the new position. He looks up at you now, the early morning sun coating you in a golden glow. Your eyes sparkle in the light, and he swallows a thick lump in his throat.
"What can I get started for you, sir?" You ask, and guilt pools in his stomach at the name.
"Please, call me Robby," he waves you off, and you nod lightly. Your instant obedience gets his heart racing, and he smooths a hand down the back of his neck. It does nothing to self soothe.
Chill out, you gross old man, he kicks himself, clearing his throat before answering you.
"Can I just start with a coffee?" He rasps, eyes trained on the menu in front of him, only darting them up when you walk away.
The sway in your hips nearly knocks him unconscious, dark dots literally starting to pepper his vision. The clink of a cheap plastic glass snaps him out of his senselessness.
He sees water, accompanied by a mug of coffee and a piece of toast he's surprised was made so fast.
"You looked like you were about to pass out," you say, apprehensively.
He makes the mistake of looking up at you, your small smile rendering him breathless.
"Thanks," he breathes, and it's a pathetic croak in the back of his throat.
You chuckle, flipping your notepad open. You poise a pink pen to the paper, a pensive brow pointing right at him.
"What else can I get you?" You ask, and he rattles off his order- unable to resist the bacon he smelled a mile back.
"Alright, that'll be a while," you quip, snapping it shut in the wake of his confusion. "As you can see, we're packed to the brim. There's no way the kitchen will be able to get this out in under an hour. That okay?"
The empty sound of the diner fills the space between you. You're joking. He knows, somewhere deep in his semi-consciousness that you are, but his exhausted haze clouds his logical reasoning.
"What?" Is all he can manage, and he wants to kick himself.
"Nothing, sir," you chuckle, and miraculously, he doesn't feel embarrassed or ashamed, but endeared, almost. "I'll be back shortly."
He watches you walk away again, and curses under his breath. He runs a flat palm down his face, trying to scrub out the weariness in his eyes. His heart pounds a symphony against his chest, ringing even in his ears.
He has no idea what happened back there, can't remember a single time he dropped the ball while flirting. It came so easily to him in Pittsburgh, when he was at his worst.
Another thing clicks, something his therapist has taught him to identify. When we recover from trauma, our brain puts together puzzle pieces that have been scattered around for too long. Or something like that.
He makes a match now, realizing that his desperation for validation projected on his female counterparts, romantic or not. It's jarring for a moment, but he's gotten better at acknowledging it, deciding what he'll do better in the future, and moving on.
It's methodical, the steps to this procedure. It feels right for his brain, to check things off in a sort of list. It feels less daunting, actually doable for him.
Once again, his thoughts are interrupted by plastic dishware clinking on the table. He perks a little, the steam of his eggs and scent of his bacon enough to restart his nervous system.
He nods his head at you, muttering a small thank you, heart sinking a little at the thought of your interaction being over.
Like you can read his thoughts, you slide into the booth across from him, propping your chin in your hand.
"Is this okay?" You ask, smiling. "You seem like you could use a little bit of company."
You have no idea, he thinks.
"That'd be great, thanks," is what he says. He glances around, looking for any other employee in the building. "This won't get you in trouble, will it?" He asks, voice quieter than it was before.
A chuckle stifles past your lips, and the sound swirls around his head like little blue birdies in a cartoon. He feels like a caricature around you, a dopey, wide eyed Popeye, smitten by Olive Oil.
"No," you respond, and relief washes over him. "My best friend owns this place, she's not even clocked in. Still hungover from last night."
There's a teasing lilt to your voice, and he smiles, thinking about what it must be like to know you. To have known you, well enough to work together and live in the same small town together.
He does laugh at this information, eyes finding his plate. He grabs a piece of bacon, nibbling on it lightly without breaking eye contact.
"So, what brings you to our little corner of the world?" You ask him, with the familiarity of a life lived in the same place.
He shrugs, looking at the window to survey the scene. It's remote, located off the highway on the right and a small side street to the left. The left hand road leads to a slightly bigger downtown, if his strained vision proves correct.
"I'm a doctor," he starts, and it feels foreign falling from his lips. "I was…" he starts, and all the possible things he could say dance around in his brain. "…burnt out," is what he lands on.
That's one way to put it.
Your mouth twists downward, brows furrowing. It's not pity, though, and it's not sympathy, either. Both of those would have immediately triggered something deep and angry within him.
No, what he sees is more like empathy. The glint in your eye, the purse of your lips, the nod of your head tells him that you relate. It's what he's choosing to believe, anyway, as he doesn't have any factual information to back this up. He feels it pretty strongly, though, and he's learning that's not always a bad thing.
"I get what that's like," you sigh, and his ears perk up like a dog.
His heart pounds at the immediate validation, swirling a euphoric rush through his veins.
"Yeah?" He asks, voice lilting and a bit pitchy.
You nod again, pretty gold earrings dangling with the motion.
"I just got fired," you admit, and now it's his turn to frown. "That's why I'm working at my best friend's diner at 28."
There's a civil war brewing inside him, the guilt of hearing your age at battle with the giddiness your vulnerability makes him. It all results in a sore tummy, and he shovels scrambled eggs in his mouth to try and tamper it down.
"Please," he says, once he's swallowed, taken a sip of water and grounded himself. "You have your entire life ahead of you."
There's a brief pause in your rapport, then, the weight of his words hanging heavier than intended. You don't seem to mind, unless, again, his calculations are incorrect. He's been proven to read you pretty well so far, though, so he's hopeful.
The sparkle in your eye helps. The sun is now fully up, hanging high in the sky as mid-morning dawns on the both of you. It shines through the window, landing perfectly on you.
It takes his breath away, and he allows himself a moment to sink into it, to enjoy it. Instead of feeling guilty, racking his brain for all the reasons he wouldn't deserve to even enjoy a nice conversation, he indulges. That's what the sabbatical is for, right?
"And you don't?" You ask.
His face crinkles in a smile, dipping his head down to try and hide the wrinkles around his eyes. Shock paralyzes him when he feels your soft fingers tucking under his jaw and lifting him back up to you.
You're smiling when he meets your gaze, but then you give him a showy pout. It sends a cacophony of butterflies loose in his belly, and he feels like a school boy. He sips on his coffee, the caffeine doing nothing to quell the giddiness erupting within him.
"What's that face for?" He asks, and his soft tone surprises him.
"You're not smiling anymore," you jut your bottom lip out, and it's taking everything to not lean over the table, take them between his own lips, and suck.
"Why do I need to smile?" He asks, and feels ridiculous almost instantly.
You deserve to smile, Michael, you deserve to enjoy things, Dr. Parker would say, and he repeats it in his head like a mantra.
"You have these sweet lines around your eyes when you smile," your hand once again brands his skin, now your open palm cupping his cheek.
He's stunned at your abrasiveness, pathetically intrigued by what you have to offer. His cheek heats under your touch, and he spots the tiny smile creeping on your lips.
"They're nice," you remark, removing your hand from his face.
It's cold instantly without your touch, a shiver unzipping his spine at the loss of contact.
The moment floats between you two, vibrant and sparkly like a crystal ball. He knows exactly what his fortune is. He's looking at it.
"So," you say, effectively popping the magical bubble, "a doctor, huh?"
He nods, apprehensive to the topic. He can't remember the last time he talked about his job with someone who knew nothing about it. He can't remember the last time he's been this removed from Pittsburgh. It's…scary. Nice, but scary.
He powers through anyway, allowing himself the fortune he's so gracelessly stumbled upon.
"Yeah," he gruffs, smoothing his hand over the back of his neck.
He can't yet bring himself to say more, bottom lip sliding between his teeth.
"Can I guess what you do?" You ask, and he quickly nods.
This, somehow, eases him. It allows him the vulnerability of sharing the information, without the pressure of finding the right words, racking his anxious mind for something to mask how horrible it's been the past few years.
You stroke your chin with your forefinger and thumb, brows puzzled in the sweetest way. He fights the urge to kiss away the crease between your brows.
"Emergency medicine," you say, and his blood runs cold.
You perk up at his reaction, knowing immediately you got it right.
"Yay!" You squeal, clapping your hands together. "What a crazy coincidence! I don't know why I even guessed that, you just seem like you've seen some shit."
He chuckles at that, a genuine, cathartic chuckle.
"Ooh, you have no idea," he says, and your smile makes his heart race.
"Where is it? Are you guys typically busy?" You ask, and he almost envies your naivete.
"Uh, 's in Pittsburgh," he says, eyes trained on his lap.
His ears are on fire, heart roaring in his chest but he pushes through, even though his voice is croaky and he feels like he might throw up.
"We're a trauma center, so…" he trails off, gaining the courage to look back up at you. "Yeah, I've seen some shit."
You give him a kind smile, a sweet giggle peeling from your lips, and he positively melts. He can't remember the last time someone looked at him like this, like he was something, anything else than Dr. Robby.
"Well, I'm looking forward to hearing some stories," you propose, tone uneasy.
"Yeah, I'm sure I can make that work," he says, sipping his coffee, nibbling his toast.
"How long are you in town?" You ask, and his heart sinks at the thought of ever leaving this cozy bubble.
"I'm here for three months," he says, and is almost prideful by the way you perk up at this news. "Plenty of time to swap stories."
"I can't wait," you reply, and his stomach cartwheels. "Where are you staying?" You ask, and he raises a brow.
"Why? Y'gonna come murder me?" He asks, resting his back against the cushiony booth.
"Yup, you caught me!" You giggle, playing along. It electrifies him.
He laughs, and can't help but notice how easy this feels. It's exhilarating, addicting, and utterly terrifying.
"No," you roll your eyes once your laughter dies down. "I've lived here my entire life and I probably already know exactly where you're at."
"Well, with your track record of guessing things about me," he starts, pulling out his phone to open up his Airbnb app. "You probably will."
He turns his phone around, and goes still once he sees your face fall. You grab his phone, pinching the screen to zoom in and out, eyes glossing over. His gut twists, and he feels absolutely awful.
Before he can spiral, he decides to take action instead.
"I'm so sorry, did I say something?" He asks, shaky fingers plucking his phone back.
You shake your head, wiping a stray tear from the corner of your eye.
"Gosh no, no not at all," you insist, and it does nothing to sway his guilt. "That's actually uhm-" you swallow, and his heart sinks even deeper. "That's my grandparents' cottage."
"Oh," he blinks, unsure how to take this news.
"They always rent it out over the summer. They're in the Hamptons," you roll your eyes, and he can tell there's more to this story. "My whole family is, actually."
For the first time this entire conversation, you seem…small. You're avoiding his gaze, fiddling with your apron, pouting your lips.
"And you're here?" He asks, and you just shrug.
"I just moved back from New York, actually," you confess, and he leans forward, giving you his full attention. "I got fired from the marketing firm my grandfather owns."
His mouth twists downward, once again heeding your earlier understanding.
"One of the jackass accountants tried feeling me up," you say, and the confession rocks him. Not only does your brazen confidence scare the shit out of him, he's also overcome with a severe need to beat this preppy New York accountant's ass.
"I reacted maybe a bit…harsher than I should have," you continue. "I turned around and just slapped him. I honestly wasn't thinking, it was an instinctive reaction. So, I got fired for disorderly conduct."
"I'm sorry…" Robby trails off, genuinely confused. "They fired you for disorderly conduct? Not the guy putting his hands where he wasn't fucking supposed to in the first place?"
You nod, to his everlasting fury.
"On top of that, my boyfriend dumped me," you mutter. "Said he couldn't be with a 'snitch', like we're in third grade."
Anger flares white hot within him, furrowing his brows and burning his stomach until there's nothing left but ash.
"I had to come home," you say. "My family is not happy with me. I also have some stories."
"Well, I'm really looking forward to hearing them," he says, only able to offer kindness in wake of this news.
"Likewise," you murmur.
The sun shines between you once again, illuminating Robby's now empty plate. Your eyes find it, and he sees you immediately jump back into waitress mode.
"Let me take care of this!" You chirp, swiping his plate away and whisking it to the kitchen.
He feels cold at the loss of you, eyes trained on your frame the entire time. He watches you ring up the order, bringing his check back to the table.
He opens his mouth to speak, but is forcefully interrupted by the door swinging open.
"Oh. My. God. GIRL!" Another young woman bursts through the door, looking a bit worse for wear.
Her hair is mussy, makeup smeared and clothes wrinkled.
"Is my uniform here?" She asks, skittering through the diner.
"Yeah, in the back!" You shout, and she responds with a comical, "THANK GOD!"
"Aaaand that's Cherry, my best friend," you quip, collecting his payment and dispersing the change. "I'll see you tomorrow, Robby?" You ask, and he nods eagerly.
"Go and get some sleep, you'll need it," you tap your notepad on the table to see him out.
He reluctantly finds the door, slinging his bag over his shoulder before looking back at you one last time.
"And a tip?" You add, and he raises his brow. "The guest bed is comfier than the master bed. Trust me."
"Thanks," he chuckles, pushing the door open, back into the real world.
The next few weeks are almost always a mirror of that first morning. Robby coming in at the break of dawn, you two sitting over a coffee together.
He came in that second day, looking much more rested than the day before, raving about the mattress in the guest room.
You'd laughed, giving him a playful 'told you so!' before assuming the exact same booth he'd had the day before.
Cherry's been more than cool, allowing you to sit and talk with him when you're really supposed to be on the clock.
You repay her in gossip, gushing to her about all the ways the hot, mysterious, older doctor has been flirting with you.
At least, you think he's flirting with you. He dances all around it, a teasing twinkle in his eye, a small smirk on his lips. Cherry's convinced he wants you. You're not so sure.
He always makes a point to confirm with you, and Cherry, that your early morning chats are okay. You can tell he feels guilty every time he asks, and in a sick way, it makes your heart swell. It still doesn't stop him from talking with you until the next customer comes in.
He comes in so early, this typically only happens after you've banked a good hour and change of conversation, each one more titillating than the last.
This morning, you'd finished your conversation with an invite. It was bold, unexpected, tumbling from your lips before you could have stopped it.
"Hey!" You chirp, just as he's about to push the door open. "Cherry and I are hosting a little something after closing hours."
"A little something?" He raises his brow, and your stomach somersaults.
Tonight, you and Cherry were debuting Bloom and Petal: After Hours. It's been a passion project of Cherry's, turning the daytime breakfast bar into a lively night scene.
You reference the framed certificate now resting behind the bar, some fancy scribbling displaying your newly acquired liquor license.
Robby's face shifts in understanding, a small smile hiding behind nervous eyes.
"A bar with a bunch of 25 year olds?" He quirks a brow, and your heart sinks.
You've never really addressed the age gap between you two, though it feels glaringly obvious, and even foolish now. Your face burns, and the words that leave your mouth leave you humiliated.
"For me?" You ask, cringing as they fall out of your mouth like rotten teeth.
He doesn't seem to share this sentiment, though, as his brown eyes glimmer in the light, his telltale sign you've gotten to his soft spot. Your heart rate picks up, and you look at him expectantly.
"Maybe," he murmurs, and you'll take it. It's something. "See you," he says, and he's out the door.
"See you," you breathe, into the empty diner.
Bloom and Petal: After Hours is thumping, and you've been on your feet for hours. Sweat drips from your brow as you weave through the crowd of sticky bodies of people you've known since grade school.
You're thankful to have ditched the thick, cartoony outfit for a pink Bloom and Petal t-shirt, paired with denim shorts. You finally escape behind the bar for a brief moment, attending to a few drinks and avoiding the crowd.
Your eyes keep darting towards the door, expecting a familiar face to walk through. Disappointment spreads deep in your stomach like a disease with each ring of the front bell.
"He's still not here?" Cherry yells over the crowd, and you shake a sad head no.
She rolls her eyes, forever on your side.
"Boo! What a dick! I thought he liked you!" She squeals, and her use of past tense, though unintentional, makes your tummy turn.
"I thought he did, too," you mutter, furiously cranking the beer tap.
Foam aggressively overflows the pint, and you crash it down on to the bar a little too harshly. Cherry rears her head back at this, eyes wide, and now it's your turn to roll your eyes.
"I'm so dumb!" You force a smile, your tone terminally delightful. "The stupidest girl in school!"
Cherry chortles at this, and you give her a sardonic smile. Then, you hear it again.
Ding!
Your head whips towards the door, like a pathetic dog waiting for its long gone owner. Cherry sees this too, wincing at the action.
Shame burns deep in your belly, and you turn, pressing your palms flat on the wall, leaning your forehead against them. A long groan strangles your throat, Cherry rubbing a soothing hand down your back.
"Take a minute, babe, it's been a crazy night," she says before darting to the other side of the bar.
You feel ridiculous, of course he wouldn't show up. He's about twice the age of everyone here, he's clearly here running away from something, and most of all, he's not your fucking boyfriend.
That last fact makes you sick, and you dart into the kitchen to get a fresh breath. You barrel your way through the bustling back to get through the door, bursting open like a treasure chest.
The relief of the fresh air folds you in half, hands resting on your knees as you will yourself not to vomit. Nausea spins your head, quelling with each breath of fresh, summer air.
"Woah!" You hear a familiar voice, and your eyes dart up to find the man you've been looking for all night.
He's like an angel in the fading sunset, approaching you gently from the other side of the parking lot.
"Robby!" You breathe, half chuckle half gasp. "Hi!"
He reaches out a tentative hand as if to steady you, approaching slowly, bending slightly at the knee to look you in the eye.
"You okay, sweet girl?" He asks, and the debut of this pet name does nothing to help your desire to hurl.
You nod, anyway, inhaling deep through your nose and out through your mouth.
"Good job," he mutters, and your knees nearly give out on you.
"Yeah," you swallow thickly. "Yeah, I'm good. I think I just need some water."
"Do you have any out here, sweet girl?" He asks.
You stumble, your heart skipping a beat. Again, with that damn nickname.
"N-no, I don't," you mumble, and you can't tell if the haziness is from Robby, or the overstimulation.
"Stay here, I'll be right back," he darts across the parking lot once more, back to his truck.
Your focus stills on his frame, the way it leaned and stretched into the front seat of his car. Your cheeks burn, shame creeping in your belly.
He's not your boyfriend, you remind yourself. Snap out of it.
He comes back, a steel water bottle rattling with ice. You perk up at the sound, a Pavlovian response driven by dehydration.
He holds out the bottle, and you snatch it from his grasp, savoring each slide of the cool liquid down your parched throat.
You let the straw go with a pop!, a groan of relief escaping your lips. Robby shifts on his feet at the noise, and you choose to think nothing of it.
"Is it okay if I walk you in?" He asks, pointing towards the door. "I just wanna make sure you get back okay."
You nod, wordlessly, letting him guide you toward the door, his arm hovering over your waist. You come back to life step by step, the energy of the bar swallowing you back in the second you cross the threshold.
Your lips wrap around the straw again, vision clearing up with each swallow. Robby taps your hip lightly in approval, and you almost stop to squeeze your legs together.
You burst out of the kitchen, immediately thrust back into the hot, sweaty bubble of the night. He rounds the corner of the bar with ease, propping himself on an empty stool.
It really sinks in, then, him being here. Seeing him, his wide, tired eyes, his soft smile, surrounded by purple and blue and pink flashing lights and bustling twenty somethings.
He's here for you. Your heart sings.
"Thank you for coming," you mutter sweetly. "What can I get you, handsome?"
You count this as revenge for his earlier nickname. You're successful, given his deep blush he tries so sweetly to hide.
"Whatever beer you have on tap, babe," he says, and you shudder.
You give him a curt nod, turning on the ball of your foot to fulfill his order. You tap your foot as you anxiously wait for the glass to fill, butterflies swarming your stomach at the thought of turning around to see Robby again.
You're met with a much worse sight, though. One that completely pops the Robby bubble you've inflated for yourself.
Clean cut brown hair, perfectly tailored suit, $200 tie. The same, sorry excuse of a man that left you alone, deserted in New York, after getting fired from your job.
"Brayden, what are you doing here?" You choke.
Beer threatens to spill over the lid of the glass you're shakily holding. Robby anticipates the situation, reaching two hands out to take his drink himself.
You're suddenly thankful, yet self conscious for his help all at the same time. Your eyes dart back to Robby, then back to Brayden. Back and forth, back and forth.
It's not long before Brayden clocks what's going on, the man sitting next to him. He scoffs, readjusting his tie with an arrogance that makes you want to punch him.
"I'm here to talk some sense into you," he responds, and hearing his voice again after all this time is like nails on a chalkboard. "Clearly you need it."
His eyes dart to his left as he says it, and you burn with rage.
"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" You size him up. Like always, he takes the bait.
"Your family is fucking furious with you, y'know?" He remarks, and you dip your head in shame. "This little stunt you're pulling?" He circles a finger in the air in reference to the space around him. "It's ridiculous. You know it's ridiculous! I mean- look at you! Are you wearing denim?"
You can't believe the words that are coming out of his mouth, wondering how you could've been so blind to this man's true self.
"I wore denim in New York, you fucking ass," it's the only thing you can think of to say, and you feel like a fucking idiot.
"Not at work," he says, and you roll your eyes. "Any job where you can get away with wearing denim is a job you should never be working at. Can you imagine what your family would say if they saw you right now?"
You cross your hands over your chest, a familiar burn stinging the back of your nose as you will yourself not to cry in front of him.
"I'm sorry," a gruff voice interrupts, and your heart stops.
Robby's holding up a hand in Brayden's direction, who rears his head back in surprise.
"Who the hell do you think you are, talking to someone like that?" he asks, tone poisonous.
It takes you by surprise, eyes anxiously darting back to Brayden
"I'm sorry, who are you?" Brayden scoffs, and your heart pounds in your ears, anxiety thrumming through your veins.
"Does it fucking matter?" Robby responds, and your eyes find the floor.
"Don't think I didn't see you two walking in from the back," he drops, and your body goes white hot with fear. "What do you think your family is going to think when I tell them you're letting a man twice your age fight your battles for you?"
You make the mistake of looking up at him, no longer able to hide the tears pricking your eye. He has an all knowing smirk on his face, and you catch Robby shifting in his peripheral.
"That's not how they raised their strong, nuisance of a girl, hm?" He asks, and Robby slams a hand down on the bar.
"Are you fucking serious?"He asks, wild eyes darting toward you.
You panic, giving him crazy, sad eyes.
"I'm sorry," he gruffs, holding a hand up. "I just can't stand to see him talk to you like this," his voice is quiet, as private as it can be with your ex breathing down his neck.
Your stomach rolls, heart pounding when you see Cherry approach from behind. Anxiety is a pinball within you, hitting each point of your nervous system and sparing no expense.
"Oh. Fuck. NO!" You hear her screech, latching her manicured fingers underneath his shirt collar, yanking him up off the stool.
He squeals, and the sound earns a genuine laugh from you.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing here?" She barks at him, using her large waitress tray as a shield, guiding him out the door with each step she takes.
"Thought I'd come see what you managed to scrounge together," he smirks, walking backward toward the door. "Not bad, classy as ever."
"God, that guy fucking sucks," Robby whispers as Cherry bullies him out the door.
"Tell me about it," you gruff, grabbing a damp towel and wiping down the nearest surface you can find. Anything to distract yourself from the heat of his gaze.
A moment of silence beats between you, his eyes trained on you as you do everything in your power to avoid him. The vulnerability of the moment settles over you like a wet blanket, rubbing you raw and making you ache.
"Robby, I think you should go," you whisper, regret lacing every word.
The look in his eye is that of a kicked puppy, and you once again will yourself not to cry.
"What?" He asks, utter confusion in his tone.
"Thank you for coming," you start, a smile on your lips, bright and fake as ever, "but I think he was right. If my family gets wind of what we've been doing-"
"What have we been doing, exactly?" He cuts you off, and you freeze, not expecting this question.
Because, in all honesty, you really don't know what you've been doing.
You like Robby, that much is for certain. You like spending time with him, talking with him, listening to him, but maybe Brayden was right. He's nearly 30 years your senior, you could never have a relationship with him without stirring the pot with your entire family.
Is it worth it? For someone that will be gone in three months?
"I don't really know, Robby," you throw your hands up. "We're…two adults who talk to each other? We're friends?" You let that last question linger, toeing the line on suggesting more than that. You ultimately don't take the bait, and just raise your brow at him instead, begging him to tell you different.
He doesn't, of course, just slides a $10 over the counter, hops off the stool, and leaves.
Your heart sinks, cheeks on fire, and you bury your face in your forearms, laying flat against the bar.
"Ugh!" You groan, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.
What the hell has this man done to you?
You're worse for wear the next morning, a headache splitting your head in two. You bring a hand to your forehead, groaning at the light seeping in through the window.
Folding a pillow over your head, you thrash to the other side, memories of last night coming to you in flashes.
Robby not showing, Robby finding you in the parking lot, Brayden, Robby leaving, the shots Cherry clunk down on the bar after closing…
You're starting to regret that fifth lemon drop as it rumbles your stomach, acid creeping up your throat. You clamp a hand over your mouth, willing the nausea to ebb.
It eventually does, and you feel strong enough to sit up, swing your legs over the side of the bed, and make a sad attempt to stand. Your legs are wobbly to start, but eventually you find your footing, padding into the bathroom.
You freshen up, a mere face wash reviving as you move to the kitchen, desperately clamoring for some coffee and a piece of toast. A buzz on the counter lights up your screen, and you take in a message from Cherry.
Cherry: girl…did robby respond to you yet
Your heart drops, numb fingers swiping rapidly to get to your messages. Robby had given you his number a few days prior, something he tried to keep low key as he scribbled it on his receipt. You remember feeling flushed, like a love sick high school girl who just got asked to the prom.
Now, you just feel sick, actually sick. Opening the messages, an onslaught of drunken nonsense greets you, to your everlasting horror.
RObb
Robb y
H hey
Is your real name robert??? what's up with that
These were just to name a few, and the more you scroll, the worse you feel. Your view is instantly shot back to the very last text you sent- it's just the Spotify link to Go Go Juice by Sabrina Carpenter- and you drop the phone like it's hot as the three, cursed little bubbles pop up.
You scream, literally scream, as the phone clatters onto the counter, making impact with the marble at the same time your toast pops out of the toaster.
You sit in silence with yourself for a minute, then, feeling absolutely ridiculous about the predicament you've gotten yourself in.
Four months ago you were drinking champagne on the fanciest rooftop bars in Brooklyn. You were also more unhappy than you'd ever been.
Meeting Robby has made you feel like yourself for the first time in a very, very long time. And if that's the case, then it can't be that bad, can it?
Your phone buzzes, drawing your attention back to the devilish brick taking up real estate on your counter top.
Robby: My real name is Michael. Last name Robinavitch. Everyone at work calls me Robby. It's easier.
You stare at the words on your screen, tapping your foot anxiously as they settle in. The simplicity of his message is almost laughable, but there's weight to his select words.
He gave you his first and last name, something that feels ridiculously intimate for absolutely no logical reason at all.
As you ponder on how to respond, you come up empty time and time again. Your mind wanders back to that first day, the conversation about his Airbnb.
Before you can consider the possible ethical and moral violations of your actions, you slip your shoes on, grab your keys, and are out the door with your coffee in hand.
You roll up to the familiar, grand cabin with your heart beating a million miles an hour. The adrenaline has finally worn off as you sit in your car, in a deep stare down with the house that you spent most of your childhood in.
You feel so fucking stupid. Why would you even think this was okay? Tears burn your eyes as you scramble for the gear shift, pulling before realizing you hadn't even turned the car back on yet.
Before you can shakily push the button, the door swings open, and you're caught red handed. You freeze, your hands finding a home on the steering wheel, almost in defense in front of you.
He lifts his hand, making a 'come hither' motion with his fingers, and it's embarrassing how immediately you obey.
You swing the door open, stomping across the gravel dirt road to reach the porch. You're breathing hard as you approach him, in his low hanging sweatpants and thin white t-shirt.
And his glasses, oh God, his fucking glasses. It's perfect. He's perfect, you're afraid.
"Your first name is Michael?" You breathe, and he can't help but rear his head back a little.
"Yeah," he huffs, and that, unfortunately, does it for you.
You press your hands on his scruffy cheeks, pressing your lips firmly into his.
He's shocked, at first, going rigid in your arms as you plant one on him.
It doesn't take him long to melt into it, though, gathering his bearings and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulls you closer to him, your tits pressing against his chest, the thin fabric of both your pajamas leaving little to the imagination.
He stumbles backward into the house, closing the door behind you and pressing you up against it. You shiver at his initiative, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing him against you deeper.
He runs his tongue over your lips, and you pout, desperately wanting his own on you again. He awards your impatience with one, two, three sweet kisses. You beam.
Your lips brush together as you smile up at him, eyes sparkling in the early morning light. You see his brows crease, a self-pitying smirk on his lips.
"God, I am so fucked," he rasps, smashing his lips into yours once again.
Your teeth clink at his intensity, and your tongues swirl each others as he palms your sides, going lower until he reaches your ass.
"Is this okay?" He husks, pressing sweet kisses and kitten licks to your ear.
You nod feverishly against him, and he pinches the plush skin of your ass. You squeal, and he gives you a light smack.
"Words, doll," he demands, and you're once again at his beck and call.
"Yes, God, yes, please," you mewl, eyes shining desperately.
"Good girl," he grunts, pressing his forehead against yours.
He hikes up your thin pajama shirt, pressing delicate kisses down your neck. You can't help but throw your head back into the wall, nails scraping the back of his neck.
His palms find your tits, squeezing and rolling your nipples, pinching every now and again. Warmth blooms deep in your lower belly, squeezing your thighs together at his expansive grip.
"Feel good?" He murmurs against your neck, and you nod desperately. "Arms up," he instructs, and you throw them up like a rag doll.
He slides your shirt over your head, marveling at the sight before pulling you to him, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to the guest room.
You cup his cheeks as you move, peppering kisses all along his face. He chuckles, and your heart swells with the sound.
"Stop!" He laughs, "I can't see," he flops you down on the bed, his gaze on you so entirely vulnerable.
"Sucks," you shrug, making yourself comfortable on the memory foam mattress.
He quirks a brow, resting one knee on the bed.
"Oh, so you wanna be bratty about this, huh?" He poses, sliding his knee between your legs.
"It's the only thing I really know how to be," you reply, snippily.
Your breath catches in your throat as he hovers above you, ghosting his lips over your neck.
"Such a fucking tease, Michael," you breathe, wrapping your arms around his neck.
He allows himself to be pulled in by you, and you revel in every second of the close contact. His hands fly to your waistband, tugging on the elastic band. He presses a kiss at the exposed skin there, and you draw in a shaky breath.
"Can I taste you?" He murmurs against your skin, eyes closed as he takes you in.
"Yes, please," you reply, and he presses a kiss to your hip bone.
"Oh my God," he groans, peeling your bottoms off to reveal your glistening center. "You're so beautiful, fuck."
Your heart swells at his praise, nails digging into his scalp as he dives in. He laps at your collecting wetness, running his tongue up to your clit.
You jump when he flicks the tip of his tongue, swirling around your clit in a way that has you preening. You arch your back off the bed, grinding your pussy into his face to absorb any of the friction he was so generously giving you.
The scrape of his beard adds a special sting to the overstimulation, the sensitive skin of your thighs rubbing raw within minutes. It's a delicious sting, one that you can't seem to care much about at the moment.
He plays in your wetness, teasingly dipping his tongue into your hole, just a little. You gasp at his cruelty, tugging his hair ever so slightly. He groans against you, bringing a thumb up to rub your clit.
He coos at your soft whimpers, the pit in your stomach burning hot as he looks up at you, eyes big and brown and desperate.
He delves his tongue into you fully, his thumb never slowing its assault. Your release is quite rapid, waves of fire dancing over your skin as you roll your hips into his face.
He lets you use him to ride it out, rubbing his face and beard against your sensitive skin to help you through it. You dissolve into the pressure, ears ringing as you come down from your high.
Robby wastes no time crawling up your body, pressing his lips against yours immediately. You moan against his mouth at the taste, and he dips his tongue into your mouth.
Your hand finds his length, big and hard and still confined in those damn gray sweatpants.
"Why are you still fully clothed?" You ask, and he can't help but laugh.
He rolls his eyes, sitting back on his heels to lift his shirt off. He goes to lean back over you then, but you put a hand up, stopping him from going any further.
You take a moment to relish in the sight before you, the dark hair peppering his torso, the soft curve of his tummy. He's gorgeous, and you tell him so.
He flushes red at the compliment, moving your hand gently as he dips down to kiss you again.
"Can't remember the last time I've been called that," he murmurs against your cheek, pressing a light kiss there as he kicks off his pants.
He wasn't wearing underwear, and you thank whatever deity is above for the way his cock springs free, bouncing against his tummy.
The tip is red, angry, pre cum pooling at the center. You can't help but lean forward, darting your tongue out and collecting the salty liquid.
He grips your jaw and stops you from going further, earning him a cute little pout.
"I know, sweet girl. Next time," he kisses the pout off your face, and those last two words echo in your mind.
Next time, next time, next time.
"If you get your mouth on me right now, I'm going to cum," he explains, lining himself up at your entrance. "And believe it or not, I'm not in my twenties. Can't just bounce back like I used to."
Your cheeks heat at his words, teeth biting down on your lower lip as he teases your entrance with his tip.
"But don't worry," he mutters, thrusting into you, hips flush with your ass in one fell swoop. "I'm gonna fuck you real good, baby."
The air is knocked from your lungs, a gasp strangling out of your throat as he hikes your legs higher around his waist. He pulls out, only to slam back in harder, a whine falling from your pouty lips.
He leans down to kiss you as he starts to move, a repetitive rhythm that has you squealing into his neck.
You dig your fingers into his back, throwing your head back onto the pillow. He mouths at your neck, desperate grunts falling from his ow lips.
"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs against your neck. You shudder. "You have any idea how good this pussy feels?" He asks, sitting up on his knees to pick up his speed.
You wail, his balls slapping your ass with each thrust. He holds both of your legs up by your ankles. now, resting them on one shoulder as he continues to drive into you.
"God, Michael!" You whine, throwing your forearms over your eyes.
He shudders at this, kissing your ankle and asking you to call him that again.
"Feels so good, Michael," you whimper, a sweet smile on your face now that you know the damage you cause him. "Gonna make me cum."
He groans at this, and it's guttural. Your pussy squeezes down on him extra hard, the spring in your stomach beginning to coil. He kisses your ankle again, your shin, running his tongue along every spare inch of skin he can find.
You're dizzy underneath him, the world hazy as you bring your hands up to his belly, pressing and groping all of him you can.
"Fuck," a strangled groan wrestles its way out of his throat. "Your hands feel so fucking good, baby," he insists, thrusts nearly erratic. "You like feelin' me? Like how soft I am for you? Even when I'm fucking you like a slut?"
His words spark inside you, exploding like tiny fireworks. You feel your wetness pooling on the bed below, only growing messier at his words. He coos as he feels you gush around him.
"So perfect for me," he whispers, and you nod, taking a fistful of his tummy in each hand. "Love it when you fucking feel me up."
"I love your body, Michael," you tell him, eyes hazy and glossed over. "You're so gorgeous," you repeat your words from earlier, and he shudders above you.
"Pretty girl," he moans, his thrusts growing sloppy. "Want you to cum for me, make me the luckiest guy in the world, yeah?"
That does it, your Earth no longer spinning on its axis as your second orgasm hits you. It's like a freight train, rough and brutal and perfect. His own is soon to follow, his hips pressing flush against your ass as he empties himself inside you.
"Michael," you whine, teary eyes finding his darkened ones.
They soften at your plea for him, maneuvering your legs into a more comfortable position before pulling out. You whine at the loss of him, and he lightly taps your inner thigh.
"I know, sweet girl," he says, getting up from the bed. "You stay there 'n look pretty, hm?" He runs a large hand over your hair as he settles you into the bed. "I'm gonna get you a towel, m'kay?"
You nod wordlessly as you watch him go, selfishly committing his ass to memory.
You watch him nearly melt when he comes back, his reaction to you just…laying in his bed an immediate ego boost. Your heart swells as he gets his hands on you again, gently patting your core dry.
He then squirts some lotion in his hands, rubbing them gently into your raw inner thighs. You hiss at the sting, and he presses a sweet kiss to your lips, shushing you gently.
Once he's done a thorough clean up, he crawls in next to you, taking you in his arms and pulling you flush against him. You whimper, your lower half still sensitive as it pulses around nothing, the feeling of just being close to him so exciting.
He reaches down to pinch your ass, a light chuckle and a "be good," leaving his lips. He kisses you when you nod, muttering something about the best girl in the world.
Your lids grow heavy, and he jostles you slightly before you can fully give in.
"Hey," he starts, licking his swollen lips. "We're gonna talk about those messages when you wake up again, hm?"
Embarrassment floods you again, and you bury yourself into him. He shushes you sweetly, rubbing his hand along your back and pressing a kiss to your head.
"It's okay, it's okay," he validates, and you snuggle into him. "You're okay. I'm not mad, or weirded out or anything. I like you, and I want to talk about this, just not when you're this sleepy," he murmurs against your skin, and you nod desperately.
He clutches a hand on the back of your head, holding you flush to him as you drift to sleep.
You have no idea what will come when you wake, or what things will look like in three months when Robby goes back to Pittsburgh. But you're already back at your parents' place in your hometown, what do you have to lose?
pairing — michael robinavitch x fem! doctor! reader
summary — you’ve always had a problem integrating yourself into situations, not quite understanding how other people do it so easily. you spend a lot of time in your own head, and can confirm it’s not always a lovely place to be. it’s one of robby’s favourite places to be, if you’d just let him make space.
word count — 8.6k words
warnings — reader is very lonely, brief brief mentions of panic attacks, ermployee/boss relationship, age gap (robby’s early 50s reader’s late 20s), mentions of child loss (not reader or robby, she has a 7 year old patient who doesn’t make it), probably cringe and melodramatic but who cares
note — sorry for falling off the face of the earth whoops!! started working on this + an abbot fic + a carter fic (yay) and got tunnel vision i hope it’s long enough that it makes up for my absence <3333
The human body is mostly even.
It comes with a lot of pairs; eyes, lungs, hands, they’re all paired all the way down to the chromosomes. Bilateral symmetry develops in the womb, most human beings are reflections of each side, separated vertically. A line right down the spine - not perfect mirrors, but close enough to the naked eye.
It shows in the way you examine newcomers. Two pupils needing checking, breath sounds are equal, two hands able to grip the same. But you don’t treat pairs. One patient at a time - well, two every hour as Robby loves to remind you. One heart, tachy but normal. One consciousness, words slurring under the morphine. One person who arrives whole and will leave uneven.
The body wants to be divisible by two. You’ve wondered why that is. Why one heart failing feels louder than two lungs breathing.
Or, in the case of the fourteen year old girl you have sitting in North-5, one lung breathing and one lung hypoventilating. You’re looking at her x-rays now, knowing you’re going to have to get her into surgery and bracing yourself to tell her parents.
“They’re lungs.”
Robby is standing behind you, squinting down at you under the flickering hospital lights. He’s not wearing his glasses, so you almost want to hit him back with a quip about how does he know they’re lungs, old man. Your mouth is dry and you sit there for too long that it wouldn’t be witty if you did say it.
“You okay, kid?” He presses when you don’t respond.
You know you’re being strange, can’t help it when you feel like this (though exactly what this is, is up for debate. Amongst yourself), and you have to scramble to say something. “Yeah, hi. Sorry. Lungs.” Your voice sounds strange. Too soft. Inauthentic.
“One’s got a pneumo?” He asks.
You nod, practically shoving the pictures into his hand. “Yeah, I’m getting her up to the OR now.” He examines the lungs for a moment, long enough that you think something must be wrong. Confidence in your diagnoses is something you struggle with - you assume (there’s still that voice in the back of your head that tells you confidence isn’t the problem, instead it’s the diagnoses that need working on). Every time Robby or Abbot or even Shen, who doesn’t really feel like your boss, checks over your work your pulse starts rushing like they’re going to decide you’re actually such a bad doctor that there’s no point in you even completing your residency so you might as well go home now.
“Good, yeah, she needs it.” Robby nods affirmingly, passing you back the images. His eyes linger on you for a second longer than they should. You’re the one who has to break eye contact, not liking the way that his eyes seem to bare straight into you.
You don’t like it when Robby looks at you, not like that anyway. Not in like, a HR violation way, just like he’s examining you in a way you aren’t ready to be seen in.
“We’re going to round for handoffs soon.” He speaks up again, softly. “You’re off the rest of the week aren’t you?” Robby’s voice goes high at the end of his sentence and he shoves his hands in his pockets.
You really do like Robby, there’s a reason you turned down the night shift residency offer you got from Gloria. It had been a tempting offer too.
It’s a rare moment of quiet in the ER, and you’re hoping silently to yourself it stays that way. Not daring to actually utter the hope, not wanting to jinx it. You’re not necessarily superstitious, but you’re not going to utter the Q-word so close to the end of your shift.
“Yeah, three whole days off.” You try and say it casually, but the words don’t sound right coming out of your voice. You have a lot of different voices, a lot of pitches and tones. You genuinely have no clue which one is your natural state.
Robby sounds even when he talks, a sound you could pick out with your eyes closed. “That’s good. You deserve it, you’ve been running on fumes.” There’s a tenderness that catches you off guard. Robby’s not a mean boss, he’s exceptionally kind. But he’s also not comforting if he doesn’t think you need it, not the type to throw out pleasantries for pleasantries sake. “Any good plans?”
It’s not something you’ve thought about, it feels kind of pathetic to admit. Like, having plans is actually something you haven’t considered. You work long hours, about sixty most weeks, so it makes sense that on your few precious days off you like to spend it resting and recuperating. Catching up on your laundry or your sleep, or even a TV show that everyone is talking about. Those things are just as important as going out and seeing friends.
If they’re easier and more accessible, then that’s just an added bonus.
“Uh,” you have never felt more unnatural than in this moment. You’re certain Robby can tell you’re not being entirely truthful, as if he has some sort of innate sense for when people are doing things for the first time. It’s the teacher in him. “Yeah, maybe. I’m not a hundred percent sure what I’m doing yet.”
You feel so transparent it’s as if he’s looking directly through you. Perhaps he is - already looking for ways out of the conversation, ways to speak to someone more interesting. Someone who isn’t pretending to maybe have plans.
Someone who regularly had plans wouldn’t be embarrassed to admit they don’t have plans. It could be cool, casual: “No, not this weekend. I have a date with my couch and some take out.” Instead, you’d given what feels like the only wrong answer to a question about yourself.
“I hope you have a good time,” Robby nods at you.
The ER is cold, especially at night, especially in December. You’d discarded your jacket when you had entered, worried about being sweaty so early in your shift. Going to get it feels silly now, like you’d made the wrong choices.
Most of your coworkers make something of their scrubs. Javadi has a collection of pastel hoodies she rotates between, jewellery more often than not sitting under the neckline of her top. Santos has tattoos and wears graphic tees under her scrubs rather than just the standard block colours. Mel doesn’t even usually wear scrubs, instead opting for one of her own shirts without the added layer.
Your scrubs are standard, your undershirt is black, your winter coat is thrifted and warm but a neutral navy. You’d liked it when you bought it, but you feel silly whenever you wear it.
You slip it on at the end of your shift, grabbing your backpack. You can hear Santos and Mateo chatting amicably about how a music artist they both listen to is coming to the city the week after next and how they both have tickets and are thinking of coordinating.
You shut your locker, keenly aware of the other people in the room and even more astute to the fact that none of them are looking at you.
You slip out the doors, not bothering to untangle your earbuds until you’re down the street.
I’m not cold, I’m not cold. The woman singing has a lovely voice. It hits you like thorns down your ears, scratchy and uneven in a way that is only beautiful. The burn masks the sting of your eyes. Take my hand, take ahold.
—
You take the train to and from work. The station is close enough to your house that the dishes in your kitchen cabinet rattle when a particularly zealous one goes past. You were told when you moved in that eventually you wouldn’t even notice the noise - it would become apart of you and you would absorb it and be able to go about your day.
You wake in the late hours of the night from the tremors, convinced you’re going to die.
You’re not entirely sure what time the train stops running. You never check the time in the moment.
The apartment you’ve lived in your entire residency has been good to you. You had applied for a lot of places, starting out in Allegheny west and eventually settling for Bethel Park. It’s nice and small, not too much to clean after a long week. You’re on the third floor so laundry is a bit of challenge lugging your basket to the basement but you also get a fire escape which is nice enough that you like being so high up.
Days off have become a sort of anomaly in your life. You never quite know what to do with them. Your coworkers always have plans, both together and separately, you’ve noticed. Santos and Whitaker live together, the nurses all seem close, even Robby and Abbot talk about going to the Pirates games together.
You walked a lot when you first moved in. Pittsburgh has been your home for the last eight years - from student housing in Oakland during med school, then into your current place - but it hadn’t always been.
There are lots of pretty places close to your apartment. Even more the further you walk, corner stores and community gardens. Sometimes you leave your phone at home and just wander, taking note of each and every street. Every facade, every storefront, every alley. It all stayed in your head. You could recreate the city in your sleep. Well, the city within an hour’s walk of your apartment.
The deli on Library road is open when you finish work. Sometimes you get off the Blue early and go sit in the stark white of the fluoros. The floor is linoleum, speckled with colours too small to identify but you know they’re there.
You sit cross legged by the window at one of the two tables in the shop. It shakes under your elbow every time you shift, and the guy behind the counter, nametagged as Jeffrey, eyeballs you strangely every time it makes a noise.
Your sandwich is misshapen in your hands. Red and white paper wrap up the second half, ready for you to stash it in the work fridge behind one of Langdon’s Redbulls. It’s printed real small on the bottom of the laminated menu they’ve taped to the table - $4.99 for a sandwich with a random assortment of ingredients on it. You’ve always been indecisive, this had felt like a nice way to make a choice without making a choice.
They pick something different every time, condiments, vegetables, protein, even fruit sometimes. Once they’d given you one that included both mangoes and ranch. That hadn’t been your favourite.
The one you have now is nice, though. Mozzarella, turkey, chips for some crunch, some other stuff you haven’t really cared to identify, all on pumpernickel. You’re not working tomorrow; you might eat both halves now.
There’s an empty chair on the other side of your table that you’ve dumped your bag on. It’s meant for two people, and sometimes when it’s a bit busier than just you and Jeff you feel bad for taking it. You’ve got nowhere else to be though, and you’d like to sit and eat after twelve hours of not getting to do either.
You don’t usually come on your off days, but you’d felt like you were going crazy holed up in your apartment all day. You’d done your laundry, washed all your matching scrubs and the few other clothes you wore. Tidied, caught up on your Instagram feed, and when you’d gotten to the bottom of the Hulu menu without anything jumping out at you you’d shoved on your shoes without another thought.
It’s late, Friday night, and people are coming home from the clubs. You’re not particularly close to any, but the people who go there don’t seem to mind. Small gaggles stumble in every once in a while, giggle over the menu, and order an egg and cheese that they’ll probably barf up before they get home.
God, you sound bitter.
You gather your things when you finish the first half, can sense a group of drunk guys weighing up the effort of coming inside from where they hang out across the street. One of them is smoking a cigarette, and the other three seem to be caught up in a heated discussion.
It’s not snowing. You toss up taking the bus the rest of the way back. You’d walked here.
You hear your last name, ‘doctor’ preceding it, and whirl around. On a very rare occasion you’ll get recognised on the street - people don’t tend to forget the person who saved their life, or their daughter’s or brother’s or cousin’s life.
You’ve never seen Robby outside of work, not wearing the standard Pitt black scrubs. He looks nice in a collared plaid button down with a thick fleece over it and the top few buttons undone. You’ve never seen him wear jeans before. In your head Dr Robinavitch doesn’t exist in the same world where jeans also exist.
You don’t know what to say to him. You end up saying nothing. Robby doesn’t even bat an eye at your silence - used to your oddness, the way it seeps into every interaction.
“Thought that was you.” He’s smiling, wide and crooked like he does on the rare occasion he has a reason to. “What’re you doing out here so late by yourself? It’s almost midnight.”
“Dinner,” you say lamely, holding up your wrapped up sandwich.
He looks at the checkered lump in your hand then back at your face. He looks different in the dark, the planes of his face look more severe in the light of the hospital. Maybe that’s why you like the harshness of the deli, so bright it brings you right back to work.
“You always eat so late?” He asks. You feel silly with your coat hitting your chin, your work shoes, and your sandwich in your hand. You look like a doctor - a med student. Robby looks like a man.
The sensory feeling of the paper in your hand is suddenly too underwhelming and you can’t stop yourself from digging your nails in - needing a desperate anchor of your hand. You’ll regret that later when you go to eat it and it’s smushed, but later doesn’t matter more than the underwhelm in your palm.
“I work in the ER,” you point out. His hands are in his jacket pockets but one of them is clutching an opaque white plastic bag with something heavy weighing it down. Robby laughs, crinkling the handle of the bag in his hand in his pocket. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you work today?”
He nods like he’d already forgotten about it. Like it did not matter to him in a moment he was not actively experiencing it.
“Abbot’s sick- not bad, just all stuffed up.” He gestures vaguely with the hand not holding the bag at his nose/mouth area. “Only thing that ever makes him feel better is soup from PJ’s.” He nods down the street from the direction he’d just come where a neon sign is just being turned off.
“What a diva.”
Robby laughs again. “Yeah, he’d never admit it. Rather suffer in silence.”
It feels like the wrong thing to have said. You don’t know Dr Abbot well enough to make jabs at him, especially not to Robby.
You want to be out of this situation, it all crushes you at once. You’re in the dark, fifty minutes from your apartment, talking to somebody whom you intrinsically do not understand. You are a hollow body, your skin is translucent and you can see every organelle and every shift of the movement of your organs. You can see all the hallways and gears and caves in your anatomy. Every link in every chain that tugs on each and every thought that spins through your head. How your life started from birth to now and a timeline for why every facet of your personality and your soul has ended up the way that it is.
Robby is solid, and in front of you, and you will never understand him.
You’ve broken your nose trying to walk through him - he will remember this about you for as long as the two of you know each other. That you put your words where they do not belong, and that you think Jack Abbot is a diva.
Robby opens his mouth to say something.
“I should head home,” you jab your thumb somewhere behind you. You live in the direction Robby is standing. You’ll loop around the block to avoid passing him. “I’ll see you at work, Robby. Hope Abbot feels better.”
When you circle the street, Robby’s gone. The walk home is long, the walk up the stairs to the third floor is longer. You arrive home a little before one in the morning. You don’t bother with the lights, coming to sit on the floor in the kitchen. The clock blinks on the oven with each passing minute.
It lights your skin up red, and if you look close, you can see the flow of your blood.
You unwrap your sandwich.
—
Shen’s on the next time you work. He greets you casually, a “good morning” around a drink from his water bottle and barely gives you a second glance. Your shift passes without incident - the other doctors treat you normally, when you speak they listen. Javadi initiates small talk with you and you do your best to return the sentiment.
At one point Santos reads a 9 as a 6 aloud to you and gives you a look. “Whoops,” she snickers, looking at you like the two of you share some sort of secret.
You like Santos. The two of you are about the same age, you’re only a few years older than her, the same number of years further into your residency. The two of you talk sometimes between patients, but that’s bound to happen when the two of you spend so much time in an enclosed space.
She has a way of making everything feel like an inside joke. You know she struggled a little when she first started, hitting the wall with the other doctors when she first started her residency. You wouldn’t know that now, seeing the way she interacts with the rest of the people here. Her and Whitaker are so close they’re practically in a sitcom, Shen’s taken a special liking to her, and you’ve even seen her and Mel giggling by the lockers after shifts.
The two of you barely speak about anything that isn’t work. Which is fine, she’s your coworker, you guys don’t have to be speaking about your personal lives. But she has this soft little spark about her like she’s created a world to be in and it’s the most important place to be.
“That thing you did with the guy in Central 13?” She sidles up to you towards the end of your shift, hanging behind the monitor you’re using to finish up the chart for that very patient. She lets out a heavy breath. “Wow.”
You’d inserted a double lumen tube during an intubation. Nothing super fancy, but you know that Santos probably hasn’t done a whole lot of intubations in general. Shen had raised his eyebrows at your suggestion but hadn’t stopped you, and when you’d finished he’d grabbed your shoulder and squeezed, muttering a “sick, good job,” and then heading out.
You look up, genuinely startled. “Thanks.”
“I’d never even heard of the thing you did,” she doesn’t let up. “I wouldn’t have thought to do it. That was really cool.” Her voice drops and she looks down at your hands. You’ve gotten compliments before, but all from people above you in the food chain, Langdon, Abbot, people who are kind of obligated as your educators to give you praise. Santos is a PGY-1, so unless she’s sucking up you’re not sure why she’s being so nice. You’re not high enough up that sucking up would be worth anything.
You have fifteen minutes of your shift, no incoming ambulances, nothing urgent in chairs, all your patients are stable.
You feel sick - not the type of sick that would get you sent home, or even to the staff lounge. It’s normal at this point. You genuinely don’t remember a time you haven’t felt like this.
“You’re only an intern,” you say, trying to be empathetic without sounding condescending. “You’ll get there.”
She nods, low and slow. She’s already got her jacket on, thick and leather and dark brown. Santos watches you finish up your chart and you try to shake the feeling of being observed.
“I’m, uh, I think I might head down to the Hills,” she leans her elbow on your table. “There’s this bar on Liberty street. They do live music sometimes, they have a killer plate of nachos, some cool cocktails.”
You log out of the system and stand from your chair. You’re about to round and want to head to your locker first. “That sounds great.”
Santos smiles at you, shoving her hands in her pockets. She bounces when she walks and she follows you on your way to your locker. “Yeah, I found it right when I started here. I’ve been trying to get Samira to go with me but I don’t think she likes me much.”
You open your locker. Coat on, backpack on, shut locker, look back at her. You really like Dr Mohan; she’s kinder than most of the other doctors, and the two of you started on the exact same day so you’ve always felt like a special kinship with her.
“She does,” you tell her honestly. You think she does. You don’t know Samira very well - if she disliked Trinity she probably wouldn’t be telling you about it. “She just prefers to keep to herself I think.”
Santos nods, rocking on her heels and biting her top lip. “Yeah, maybe. I don’t know, I think there’s only so many times you can ask someone to hang out and have them say no before you gotta accept they’re just not into it.”
She’s not wrong. It’s very much something you have to play by ear, you’ve learned. Some people are busy, some people don’t know how to say no without worrying about sounding impolite.
People are gathering for rounds, you can see at the end of the hallway. It’s the only thing standing in front of you and a huge nap. Santos is digging in her locker for something.
“I hope you have a good time,” you tell her earnestly. “Nachos sound great, I might have to get some on my way home.” You feel nauseous. The idea of eating anything, let alone a bunch of cheese and meat, makes your stomach turn. You just want to be home. You miss your couch.
Santos doesn’t say anything as you walk out towards rounds. When she reenters the room, she doesn’t join you, she comes to stand shoulder to shoulder with Mel.
—
The little girl in Trauma-2 is going to die.
Today was meant to be a day off. Robby’d called you a little after five, apologising for waking you and asking if you could come in to cover. You’d said yes, sitting out on your fire escape and painting your nails. They’re clear - it stops you from biting them.
It had been a fairly quiet morning. Most people won’t spend their Saturday in the ER waiting room unless they really have to so you have slightly less of the patient type that maybe didn’t have to come into the ER at all.
Then the ambulance had dropped her off a little over a half hour ago, and you’ve been fairly convinced that she’s not going to make it since you’d seen her.
You were the primary doctor on the case only because you were the only one around at the time. Now, Robby and Collins are there, and they’ve taken over. Robby practically shoved you out of the room and told you to take a break.
You’re sweaty. You’ve ducked into the bathroom to swap your long sleeves for a t-shirt under your scrub top and taken a well earned cry into the mirror.
Robby’s standing outside Trauma-2 like he’s on guard. The girl’s parents are out in chairs, and you really don’t want to have to be the person to tell them. You know Robby will do it if you ask, but you don’t want to have to ask. Don’t want to have not yet asked, don’t want to ask, don’t want to have asked.
The time will pass anyway. You just wish you didn’t have to get pushed along with it.
“Ah-ah,” Robby snaps as sharp as he can without any real bite. You’re hovering in the doorway to the room, watching as Collins works on her. “You’re not going back in there.”
You failed to save her. You are the reason that two parents have lost their only daughter. He’s not mad - can’t be mad that you did your best to save someone who couldn’t be saved. But sending you in there when you’d already done no good would be a waste of time. A change in tactic, a change in doctor, is probably necessary.
“Well where can I go?” you snap back, much harsher than he’d been. You want him to tell you, don’t want the mistake to be yours. Working in the ER and being mostly self guided you feel a lot of aimlessness. The pulling behind your navel that dulls to a low throb most of the time, signalling when you’re making a bad choice. Making Robby tell you what to do means that feeling goes away, just for a little.
Robby gets this look about him sometimes, when he’s tired and trying to brush someone off without them asking him what’s wrong. “You can get some air.” He raises his eyebrows, tone light and sarcastic. He lifts an arm to point out through the dark tunnel of night streaming through the open ambulance bay.
Your feet move on autopilot, taking you out into the cold. Your arms hurt from the change of temperature, but you made the choice to take your long-sleeves off, so you don’t complain about it even internally.
Robby follows behind you just close enough for you to hear him. “Are you okay?” He puts the emphasis in strange places in his sentences sometimes. In the middle instead of one of the edges.
You nod. “Yeah, Robby, I’m fine.”
It’s quiet in the way outside only is right when you step out into it. The noise from the ER bleeds into your veins and when the ambulance bay doors shut behind you it takes getting used to the difference. It almost feels like submerging yourself, for a brief second the world shifts, and then it goes back on kilter.
Robby looks at you for a long time. You still do not understand him, he’s impossible to get a read on. He could be waiting for you to say something.
“I’m parking you,” he says finally.
Your mouth drops open. “P-parking me?”
“Doctor’s orders.” Robby nods with finality. “Stay here. I’ll come and get you.”
You want to shout something back at Robby as he goes inside - angry with him and grateful for him both at once. How dare he not think you’re up to doing your job? You’re not, but you don’t want him thinking that.
You watch an ambulance pull up, both the paramedics ignoring you as they haul a gurney in through the doors. They know enough about the job that it’s clear you’re not waiting for them.
It was her birthday in three days. You’d seen it on her chart right when she first came in, the little girl who would be taking her final breaths inside the room you’d have to continue working in. Her life would end in that room. How many had? How many had died where you were standing?
Surely, with how long humans had been inhabiting the earth, someone had died on this spot. People had stood here and spoken. Perhaps a bed had been placed here, centuries before the hospital was even conceived of. A couple had laid in the grass, hand in hand, watching as the untouched space stretched on.
In a hundred years, would someone stand on this exact spot again and cry as you were trying not to?
She was seven years, eleven months and twenty-seven days old. You don’t even remember what you were doing that long ago. The thought dredges you up, lifts you like the moment right before the fall, when you’re anticipating. Awaiting another birthday.
The human body comes in a lot of pairs, a lot of symmetry, a lot of even numbers. And then suddenly it can be zero. Reduced to nothing but the meaning someone else gives it. A period, a full stop.
You take a shuddering breath in. It’s a morbid way to think of your own life, but you wonder sometimes what will continue to happen when you finally take your last breath. The last breath is usually out. An even way to close. Nothing remaining, no leftovers.
Robby’s hand finds your shoulder. “Hey, kid.”
You don’t know how long you’ve been out here.
“I’m ready to go back in,” you say, because you feel like you’re meant to be. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been ready to go in.
Robby just shakes his head gravely. “It’s 7:03, you are officially relieved from duty.”
Relieved. It’s such a strange word. You feel like you’re bordering on pretentious. You wonder who the first person to ever say the phrase was, and how it got picked up enough that it’s commonplace now. If they had to explain themselves, or if the other person knew what they meant by it.
Relieved implies a weight lifted from you. A lightness. Perhaps you left it in Trauma-2.
Robby follows you as you grab your stuff from your locker. You’re acting on autopilot. Tonight you will not get food on the way home. You will take the train, you will walk home, you will shower and change and climb into bed and you will wake up the next morning with your alarm. You do not have the capacity to make any more choices for yourself.
When you step back out through the ER doors, you can see Princess, Jesse, Whitaker and Santos sitting on the benches. You’ve never been to their after work wind-downs, but you’ve heard enough people usually go that it’s fair to assume there will be one after whatever shift you’re finishing.
Robby is still behind you. “Hey,” he says. His backpack is slung over one shoulder. He’s wearing a thicker jacket than you’ve ever seen on him. It suits him. “Come on.”
You follow him. “Where are we going?”
“Dinner,” he says simply. “You haven’t eaten this afternoon, and I know how tempting it is to just want to go to sleep. You need food.” He walks like he expects you to follow behind him; you do without complaint. The sureness required to make an assumption about a coworkers needs and to be correct, you don’t think you could ever muster it.
You walk for almost fifteen minutes, which is less than you usually walk, but by the end your cheeks are red and you’re trying to quiet your breathing. Robby walks faster than you, with a difference bounce, smoother and softer. You’re slower but it’s stilted. Unbalanced - sometimes your left knee behaves funny. He walks like where he’s going is the most important place to be, and you’d believe it.
He stops in front of a place you’ve never seen before. A diner, real and busy, not an out of the way spot only he knows about from his wanderings. A staple; there are families here.
“Hey,” you say as you reach the door. Interrupting the flow, trying to pause. A period, a moment, or whatever you’d been thinking less than half an hour earlier. Your feelings never make sense when you’re not actively experiencing them. It’s why you could never get into journaling. “You know you don’t have to-”
Robby doesn’t even let you get the words out. “I want to.”
Want is harder to argue with than obligation. It shuts you up in a way you’re not fond of.
The lights are golden, warm in a way your eyes have to adjust to after the bright whites of the hospital, and there’s a handwritten sign taped to the inside of the window advertising that you can get four pierogies for a dollar.
Robby leads you inside without another word. It smells like coffee and oil, and it’s louder than you’d expected. You’re not a huge fan of noise, but working in a hospital you’ve gotten used to it. You realise with a start that it has been so long since you’ve heard volume that stemmed from love. Parents chastising their kids for giggling too loud. a group of high schoolers that look like they’ve just come off stage from a school play - taking up two booths and beaming like they’ve just headlined the Tony’s, couples on dates.
“You come here a lot?” You ask as Robby sits down at a booth in the corner.
He nods. “The food’s good, and they don’t look at you weird if you order something and can’t eat it.”
The vinyl squeaks with every shift of your legs, but it’s loud enough in here that it doesn’t make you feel self-conscious. Noise born from love, it wraps you in it.
“Get whatever you want,” Robby says like it’s a no-brainer. You know instinctively that he’s not offering to pay for your dinner - though he probably would if he thought you’d want that. You don’t. Him paying obligates you to order, eat and enjoy something. He’s telling you to ignore the conscious thought, all the brain stems, all the lines shooting off in a mind map - focus on the core idea. The want. It gets clouded by the mind sometimes.
“Soup is not a food,” he says helpfully. “Not right now at least.”
“I know that,” you say, defensively. You don’t want soup, and you know he’s suggesting you eat something solid, but it slips out before you can question why. The soup they have on the menu seems semi-clear, more like broth. Incorporeal, translucent. The essence of a food. Robby’s steering you away from it like he knows how you feel about things that are concrete. Your ego hasn’t quite recovered from trying to barrel through him with your assumptions the last time the two of you were alone together.
“I’m sorry,” you say it because you are, not because you think you should be. The two feel indistinguishable sometimes. You should be sorry, so you are. You’re not sure where the line comes but it’s somewhere between you and Robby. “I’m not good at this.”
“Eating?” Robby asks.
“Being a person after work.” Or before work, or during work. But admitting that means drawing attention to it, and you’d rather him think you’re oblivious. “I’m… sensitive.”
Robby doesn’t say any of the usual things; you’re not sensitive, it’s fine, don’t worry about it. You really like him for it.
He leans forward, elbows on the table. He’s not looking at you like he’s your attending. He looks completely different in warm lighting; different in the way the noise is coated with affection. It suits him. “I like that about you. It’s not a character flaw, you know that right?”
You snort before you can stop yourself. “Yeah, okay, put it on my performance review.”
“I will,” he says dryly. When Robby laughs the sound feels like it’s had holes poked in it, gravelly and messy, the punctures letting something soulful out with the sound. “Second guesses her authority figures.”
You huff. “Wow.”
“I’m dedicated to accuracy,” he says seriously.
The waitress understands you both immediately; the scrubs, how you’re kind of leaning on the table. Robby slaps down a ten and orders twenty pierogies and a cup of coffee. You flounder under her gaze, having not even looked at the menu, and Robby smiles at you in a way that feels conspiratorial and not polite.
“Can I get like, half of what he got?” You ask. “Is that a thing?”
She nods kindly and takes the menus from your table, ducking back into the kitchen.
With everything between you out of the way, Robby leans forward more. “One time, after a rough shift, I took apart my kitchen cabinets just so I could feel myself putting them back together. To prove I could.”
You mirror his posture. “This feels infinitely healthier.”
“Low bar, but I’ll take it.” You clasp your hands together to keep from picking at your nails.
Robby gets you talking without you realising. First about work, then about not work. You’d read something, probably way back in college, about how some sculptors, instead of taking a block and adding their intricacies to it to make their art, they’d instead sculpt away from the finished product until all they had was art left. That’s how talking to Robby feels as you get your dinner. You talk about everything until all that is left is the little girl in Trauma-2.
“You did everything right,” he says, right when you need it. “No one could have saved her.”
“Doesn’t matter,” you shake your head. “I still didn’t.”
Robby looks at you very seriously. When he speaks, it is firm. Solid. “It mattered. It mattered that when she closed her eyes she wasn’t alone in that room. It mattered that her parents knew someone was fighting for her, that someone cared about someone that was theirs. The outcome isn’t the only metric that counts.”
You feel heat behind your eyes. “You really believe that?”
Robby nods, serious and stern, leaning forward to take your hand. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t believe it.”
The food arrives, sitting between you two like something to share instead of something to separate you both.
Loneliness eats at you on your worst days. You thought you knew how it felt to be real and truly lonely, and then you moved to Pittsburgh. You’re not homesick, per se, more sick for a life you feel belongs to you. You miss being tied to places, no one here holds memories with you in them.
At home, you can walk down Main street and practically provide director’s commentary: There’s the cafe I lost my scarf in when I was a kid, there’s the movie theatre I saw that in, there’s the restaurant that didn’t hire me in high school. You miss being somewhere where you are as much a part of the place as the culture is a part of you.
In Pittsburgh, you cease to exist the moment you leave a place.
“I’m really glad that I got to steal you from Abbot,” Robby says through a mouthful of decaf. “I know you got offered a night shift spot, and I have to admit I was a little worried for a bit. I thought you would take it up.”
That had been a long time ago, back when you were just starting your second year of residency. It was a really tempting offer. You’d declined it because, at the end of the day, you really love the people you work with, even if they exist in the bubble of the ER.
“I thought about it,” you admit, ripping apart a pierogi in your hand. “But, to be honest, I’ve been feeling kind of… isolated?” You muse over your word choice. “Sometimes I feel so small in this city, and I figured being asleep when most of the people who live here are awake would just take me out of it that much more.”
Robby chews slowly, using it to formulate a thought. “You leave a very strong first impression.”
You blink. If you were eating you probably would have choked. “Excuse me?”
“Abbot’s always talking about you whenever you work a night,” he says, like it’s something worth holding on to, not to keep but rather to let you follow him as he keeps going. He looks so tired, always older after a shift than before one. It looks good on him, he wears age handsomely, and you wonder - not for the first time - how he fares. It feels inappropriate to think of your boss that way, especially just because he’s being so nice to you. “You were the first one that really got through to Santos, you two are clearly close” Are you? That makes you sad, that you’ve missed a closeness that you haven’t understood. It feels like something you will never get back. You have missed it. You will miss it.
She hit a bit of a wall when she started, you’d been able to see that. You wonder, for the first time, how many times she had broken her nose trying to walk through you.
“And I…” he flushes, scratching the hair at the back of his neck. “I worry about you.” It lands, heavy and warm.
He worries about you. That should make you feel worried - what have you been doing to worry him? Instead, it strikes you right in the heart. Worry, as gnawing of an emotion as it is, requires space to hold it in.
Space you take up in his chest when you are not in the room.
“You don’t have to,” you say. “I’m a hard person to be around a lot of the time.”
Robby, to his credit, does not correct you. This whole conversation he has spent not saying the things you are ‘meant’ to say to someone confiding in you, and each time he has said exactly what has sparked something in your chest cavity.
“You’re worth the effort, though.”
You laugh, startled and a little breathless. “You make it sound like I’m like, a piece of IKEA furniture or something.”
“A kitchen cabinet,” Robby jokes.
Robby relaxes against the vinyl, and pushes one of the containers of pierogies towards you. It sits heavy inside you as you eat, and you feel like maybe it’s filling something inside you that you didn’t realise you didn’t have. Closer to whole than you have felt in a while - almost like you’ve forgotten. Further away from zero.
He talks more than you do, and you believe it’s a kindness. He tells you a story of a med student he had years ago who insisted on calling him Dr Robinavitch - you never realised you didn’t know Robby’s first name until that very moment, and you can tell he also realised that. “One time he had a patient throw up on him and he threw up in response.”
You’re deadpan. “Probably picked the wrong career path, I won’t lie.”
He laughs over his coffee. There’s a pile of napkins between the two of you, helping with the oil of your hands as you eat with them, not even noticing it through the conversation.
“I mean, I’ve been there,” you say, wiping your hands for the fifteenth time.
You’ve been there for almost an hour, unworried. The sign above the counter says they’re open past midnight, so you don’t have to worry about them closing while you’re sitting here. Robby’s been looking at you with soft eyes and pink cheeks for the better part of thirty minutes.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “Worst thing about you is your terrible self-esteem, you’re great, shut up.”
You laugh. “Bedside manner is dead,” you say, pushing your plate away from yourself, full and happy. “And we killed him.”
“Why is bedside manner a man?” Robby asks. “That feels unlikely.”
You leave a little after nine. Robby walks to the train with you and then gets on without saying anything. You have no idea where Robby lives, but you know he walks to work. The two of you share a bench, thigh to thigh. Neither one of you mention where you are at any point, how close your respective places are, where you both need to go.
You probably do the less walking than any night in recent memory. The city has shaped itself around your solitude, your routines, almost crushing in the way it attempts to fold itself around you.
When you stand on the T, he stands with you. He’s so close, he smells like something warm and heavy, and he seems to be drinking you in. He laughs at almost everything you say, even when you don’t mean for it to be funny.
The conversation stays steady, it doesn’t lull like you’re always terrified of. They’re not your strong suit, speaking with people. It comes with a feeling of sparity, it’s easy to feel like you are the remaining essence. The human body is naturally paired, but your human experience is roughly singular.
Robby walks with you like he wants to share the same space.
You think a lot about numbers. Odd being defined almost lazily, as though no one could bother to think of a better descriptor, not being divisible by two. You wonder, in your quietest nights, if you were to be split open, would you be divisible by two? You feel often like a remainder, not to be dramatic. But everyone else seems to gravitate naturally to other people, snapping together like magnets.
It’s something you’d always struggled with. You’re not sure what people clock about you that solidifies it. You don’t just feel uneven, you feel odd. It’s something that festered behind your ribs when you were a child and as you grew, so too did it. The version of the word lodged in your bones. Like there is a correct way to be a person, everyone else learned it - learned it enough to know which rules to follow and which to break. It takes a deep and intimate knowledge of how something works in order to go against the norms and have it still work, and it feels like everyone you’ve ever met is able to do that.
And people notice. They’re not cruel, that’s almost worse. They’re not trying to judge, but pattern recognition dictates that it is human nature to notice when something is off.
Robby’s arm brushes yours and he makes no effort to move away. Two feet on the pavement, two people walking together. Your footsteps are half a beat after his.
You wonder how long until he sees the error. A small part of you hopes he has already - that this is him noticing.
Robby says something—you don’t catch all of it—and you answer a second too late, your words stepping on the edge of his sentence. He doesn’t seem to mind. He never seems to mind. That almost makes it worse, how easily he accommodates you, like you are something fragile or precious instead of incorrect.
“This is me,” you say as you reach your apartment building. You have no idea how Robby is getting home.
He sighs morosely. “Are you sure?”
You look up at your window, pretending to think. “Pretty sure.” He squeezes the top of your arm and in moving his hand down, almost touches your fingers. “I don’t think I’ve ever had someone walk me home before. It’s not something I usually do.”
“It doesn’t have to be a thing, if you don’t want?” His tone lightens at the end, and you’re high enough on the night air that you are determined to interpret it in good faith. Him prioritising your comfort. You become acutely aware of the space between you — not empty, exactly, but loaded. Charged. Like something left on overnight.
You shake your head. “No, I liked it. I just…” you’re going to end the night being vulnerable. Robby has done nothing to indicate he does not like you. You will not be the kind of pathetic person who argues with someone when they show they like them. “Is it selfish to say I want to matter to someone?”
Robby steps impossibly closer to you. “Not selfish at all. In fact, bare minimum.” His gaze drops to where his breath is fogging the air between the two of you. It’s freezing. You don’t feel so silly in your thrifted winter coat. “I would go as far to say you already do.”
Robby looks different under the glow of your street light - different than at work, different than at the diner. You think you might start to understand him. He is still direct in front of you, solid and unmoving. But he shifts in the light: kitchen cabinets with their doors taken off.
There are so many things you could say to him. Thank you. I’m sorry. Please don’t forget me when the sun comes up and it’s loud again and I am still quiet.
You think of all the times you have spent standing in this very spot, feeling temporary in your own life.
Robby falters. You realise with a start it’s not the first time you’ve seen him do that. If anyone had asked three hours ago you probably would have answered as honestly as possible that you’d never seen it. How many times had it happened and you hadn’t seen it?
“Can I-” he stumbles over his words. Reconsiders. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
You feel rooted to place. The honesty of his voice hurts. “Are you asking permission or if I have the audacity?”
He laughs and you feel it against your face. “The first one.”
Robby smiles, warm and unmistakably fond. When he kisses you it’s soft and coursing with something you can’t name. He tastes like decaf coffee that you didn’t realise was shitty now you’re still tasting it almost two hours later. You can feel his beard against your face and the scratch is electrifying. You’re just two people. His hands settle into your waist, palms against your scrub top under your coat. It’s just the two of you and the quiet hum of the city you live in.
“You should get some sleep,” he mumbles against your mouth. He lets you kiss him for another few minutes, seeming like he’s indulging himself more than letting you have what you want. It’s dizzying, the idea of being wanted, and by someone like Robby.
The kind of guy you think might’ve liked you even if you didn’t like him back.
You’re working tomorrow. You’re pretty sure he is too. You hope, as well, that Santos is and that she’s in a good mood. The seed of an idea plants itself within you hopefully, and you decide tomorrow will be the shift you ask if she maybe wants to get drinks after work. The thought of her saying no terrifies you, but the thought of her saying yes terrifies you a little less than you’d first thought.
“I’ll see you soon,” he pulls back, flushed and seemingly just as enthralled as you. Soon. Continuously. “Text me when you get up there, need to make sure you’re awake enough to lock your door.” He doesn’t walk away until you’re up and locked away in your apartment.
The oven clock blinks at you as you turn the overhead lamp on. You shoot him a door’s locked text that he heart-reacts to.
The train rushes past. It rattles the handles of your drawers and the doors of your cabinets.
a/n: okay this has been stuck in my head since i first wrote it and i needed to get all of this out of my system. need that old man dick right the fuck NEOW.
warnings: SMUT!!! robby is a big fat slut! a true whore! (BARK BARK GRRRR BARK), med student!reader, f!reader, age gap, reader is jealous of robby’s promiscuous ways, lots of teasing, p in v, unprotected sex, fat cock!robby, pervy!robby
“so do you fuck every med student without a condom?” you ask, words slipping out quicker than you'd expect. a moan punctuates your question when the tip of his cock hits you in that spongy spot he loves to exploit. your hands yank the hair at the back of his head in response.
he can't help but snicker, shaking his head, lip caught between his teeth. “only when they ask politely,” he murmurs into your jaw. “just like you, sweetheart.”
robby’s head tilts up slowly, attention piqued. there’s that look in his eyes again—teetering on the fine line between indulging your banter and actually starting to read you. your stomach suddenly drops, like you’ve stepped a little too close to the edge of something.
“what, you keeping a spreadsheet or something?” he murmurs against your lips.
you scoff, trying for casualness and missing by a mile. “just curious”
“curious?” he repeats, clearly enjoying himself. his hands run up your figure, moving to cup the sides of your breasts, his thumbs rolling around your hard nipples.
you whimper quietly, your fingers tighten at the back of his head again without thinking. it makes him breathe out through his nose, amused as smugly as he ever could be.
“thought med students were supposed to ask better questions than that. come on, i know that GPA i saw in your file wasn’t completely shit.”
“oh please,” you shoot back, “talk about workplace sexual harassment. you flirt with half of the fucking staff.”
“that’s not true.”
“you’re a walking HR nightmare.”
robby chuckles, hips beginning to steady their rhythm. dragging his length out teasingly slow before thrusting back sharply.
god the bastard he is.
then his voice drops, softer. “and for the record,” he murmurs, brushing his lips near your ear like he’s about to share a secret, “the rumors about me are wildly exaggerated.”
your eyebrow lifts, taken back by the bold statement. sure, princess is a gossip box but questioning her reliability? oh robby, you're treading into some dangerous territory.
“oh yeah?”
“oh yeah.”
you hum, entirely sceptical of his supposed honesty. “pretty sure half the hospital would disagree on that.”
robby chuckles under his breath. “half the hospital loves a good story,” he says. “doesn’t mean they’re accurate.”
“right,” you mutter, unamusement tainting your tone. “so just to clarify: you’re not a womanizer like everyone says you are?”
he pulls back just enough to look at you properly. deeply immersed in your not-so-subtle jealousy about his past. “is that what you think?”
you hesitate, thinking back on how you got into this predicament in the first place. the flirting since you started your ER rotation was enough of a blaring red flag from the start. your silence answers his question.
robby huffs a quiet laugh, head falling and lips kissing your collarbone. “sweetheart,” he murmurs, “if i were half the menace people make me out to be, you wouldn’t be worrying about my reputation right now..”
it’s true. why do you care so much? who do you think you are to believe you can end his running streak? rumour or not.
you narrow your eyes at him, trying to sidetrack from his read. “please,” you scoff. “menace? sleeping with med students at your ripe age is a little pervy, don’t you think?”
robby’s eyebrows lift and slowly but surely, the grin makes a reappearance.
you shrug, hands running down his biceps, turning your head to the side and trying to look as unaffected as you can be. “just calling it like i see it.”
he studies you for a brief moment, the mouth on you he thinks to himself. “funny,” he murmurs. “you didn’t seem very concerned about my age earlier.”
he tilts his head slightly, guiding your head back to his direction. his mouth connects with yours, even as much as you fight yourself from kissing him back. you can feel the crooked smile against you.
he moves to lift to his knees, hands gripping your hips and dragging your lower half up with him. his cock dives unbearably deep at this angle, and your eyes roll to the back of your head. the gasp punching out any last bits of air from your lungs. your eyes quickly begin to sting and you shut them before he can see.
“if anything sweetheart, you seemed pretty enthusiastic about it.”
you groan, throwing your arm across your face. this fucker you whine inside your head. his hips begin a measured rhythm, and you bite down on the meat of your forearm.
“you know what your problem is?” he says after a moment, voice all low and gravelly, breathing a little heavy now.
“oh my god,” you whine, “please enlighten me.”
“you think you’re subtle.”
you open your mouth to protest but robby continues. “you stare. you laugh at jokes that aren’t that funny. you volunteer for every case i’m on.”
heat floods your face. “that is not true. you call for me.”
“so yesterday?” he adds casually, “when you almost walked into a crash cart because you were watching me instead of where you were going. that’s my fault?”
you groan, the audacity of this man truly baffles you. "who leaves one there anyways?”
robby laughs again, his thrusts oddly syncing to the heartbeat thundering in your ears.
“and you! you notice. you notice every single fucking little thing. so wh-what’s with that huh?” you shoot back quickly, rambling as the pressure in your lower abdomen deliciously grows.
that makes him pause, just long enough.
your smile turns slow and triumphant. “that’s funny. you know, for someone who claims he’s not getting in the pants of half the hospital. why do you seem to pay so much attention?”
robby exhales a sigh, shaking his head like you’ve become a problem he didn’t plan for.
“you really wanna go down this road?” he questions, fingers curling tighter around the meat in your hips.
you lift your chin stubbornly. “why not?”
his eyes drag over your face, still so amused. gaze drifting down your collarbone and the valley of your breasts his mouth waters at the sight of.
“because,” robby says slowly, “you’re making a very passionate argument about my reputation while currently proving it works.”
your breath hitches. “you are so full of yourself.”
robby chuckles. “but am i wrong?”
“yes, mm-entirely.” you whimper out, toes curling at his aim.
“mm.” he replies, satisfied in the way your walls clench around him. your glare only makes him grin wider. “you know what i think?” he adds after a moment.
“i think, you heard all those stories about the big bad attending corrupting the med students…and you got curious.”
ding ding! winner winner, chicken dinner!
“i did not.”
robby bites his lip, the smirk plastered on his face just utterly obnoxious. he ignores any of your attempts of denial.
“i didn’t!”
“princess,” he murmurs, “you can call me pervy all you want.” your pulse jumps. “but you’re still here.”
your face burns. “t-that doesn’t mean—”
“doesn’t it?”
you scoff, “please.”
robby’s gaze drifts over your face again. “you want me to stop?”
you blink. “what?”
he shrugs, perfectly calm. letting his arms settle your ass back down on the bed, cock slipping just a few inches out. “i mean, you seem pretty concerned about my track record. so if this is suddenly a moral issue for you…”
he gestures vaguely between you. hands moving towards the back of your thighs and folding them into you. “i can stop.”
his hips ram in, balls slapping against your cheeks and your brain immediately short-circuits.
your moan is embarrassingly high and your peak is impeccably close. “absolutely not” you quickly plea.
