have you read any good aang x reader fics lately and if so, any recs kween? 🥹🥹
Helloo!! I apologize for not answering this immediately. I had to take my time and look back at the Aang fics I have read 😭
Which is surprisingly not a lot, I was so sure I had read so many!!
But here is my list:
Taking Space by @tteokdoroki. The best smut writer imo, and if you're a yuji lover like me, then you'll really like this blog too!
Tomorrow's Promise by @luvqi. I read it recently, and it's SO SO good! We love a yearning Aang.
Eyes of the girl I won't forget by @bia-nana. SOOO good! I was shitting tears by the end of it :(
The Avatar's Girl by @ruya4four. Their blog is a FEAST for anyone who's a huge fan of both Avatars (ATLA and James Cameron). This Aang fic is definitely my favorite, it's so cute and sexyyy.
Anything by @singse. But go read THIS ONE, and THIS TOO, ANDDDDD THIS, . There are so so SO many, you'll be so satisfied!
Same with @gyalcapone. Their recent work, though not TECHNICALLY an ang fic, I think it counts, which is Night Moves. I am obsessed with this fantasy AHh. You'll find more on their blog!
These are all I have.
Please recommend any more Aang fics you know!
You can also use this opportunity to share your own Aang fics because I would love to read them! 🤍
Part One (7.4k) ⚠︎ ☆
Summary: Pope Cody doesn’t handle his pregnant wife being taken hostage very well.
Part Two (3.1k) ♡ ❀
Summary: After ‘taking care’ of your kidnappers, Pope takes care of you before bed.
Guard Dog (Complete)
Series Summary: When you move in down the street from the Cody family, you definitely aren't expecting romance. But Andrew gradually becomes a fixture in your life, for better or for worse.
Chapter One (3.6k)
Chapter Summary: The Codys are always interested in someone new moving to their street, so Smurf assigns her oldest son to look into you.
Chapter Two (2.7k)
Chapter Summary: Pope keeps finding excuses to spend time with you, leading his family to a difficult realization: He likes you.
Chapter Three (2.8k) ⚠︎
Chapter Summary: Pope shows up at your library volunteering shift to ask you to a family dinner, only to find a man bothering you. Shockingly, he doesn't take that very well.
Chapter Four (1.8k)
Chapter Summary: After making repairs around your house, Pope's left a mysterious bag in your closet. It's the family's first test to see if you have what it takes to stick around.
Chapter Five (4.9k) ⚠︎ ☆
Chapter Summary: You go to the Cody house for a family dinner (i.e. an interrogation) to see if you're good for Pope.
Chapter Six (4.2k) ♡
Chapter Summary: You wake up the morning after your dinner with the Codys to find that Andrew slept on your porch to keep you safe.
Chapter Seven (5.7k) ❀
Chapter Summary: As you fall in love with Andrew, you gradually become more and more a part of the Cody family.
Chapter Eight (2.2k) ♡ ❀
Chapter Summary: You take Andrew up on his honesty policy, leading to a middle-of-the-night offer.
Chapter Nine (4.4k) ♡ ❀
Chapter Summary: How Andrew behaves & how your life changes as he moves in with you and decides you're his for good.
Chapter Ten (1.3k) ❀
Chapter Summary: You realize that Andrew Cody is your forever.
Slice of Life (Ongoing)
Series Summary: Vignettes of your life with your husband, Andrew Cody, after leaving Oceanside for good as you both heal, grow, and raise your family in the Northeast, far away from the Codys.
Prologue: A Cody Boy (5.4k)
Chapter Summary: After Smurf's gender reveal party for your second baby, you and Andrew make a big decision for the future of your family.
Chapter One: Leaving Oceanside (2.5k) ❀
Chapter Summary: Your small family travels across the country toward your new home and you feel the beginnings of hope blooming.
Chapter Two: Weirdo (3.6k) ❀
Chapter Summary: You begin to settle in Pennsylvania and the family unexpectedly gets a new member.
Chapter Three: Goldilocks (2.9k) ♡
Chapter Summary: Your son arrives a few weeks early, which means you and Andrew have no idea what to call him.
Timoclea (Ongoing) ⚠︎
Series Summary: After a brutal gang rape, your lifelong best friend Andrew Cody helps you get vengeance by tracking down and killing the perpetrators.
Chapter One: Already Dead (2.3k)
Chapter Summary: In the middle of the night, you show up on Pope's doorstep covered in bites and bruises.
Chapter Two: Pretty Little Omega (2.8k)
Chapter Summary: Pope helps you heal and prepare to take on your attackers.
Chapter Three: First Kill (5.0k)
Chapter Summary: You and Pope begin the process of hunting down your attackers, starting with the easiest to find. In the aftermath, you discover that Pope is being over-medicated by his mother, essentially stripping him of his alpha nature.
Chapter Four: Famished (5.4k) ☆
Chapter Summary: Pope feels the effects of stopping Smurf's anti-ferality medication; the two of you hunt down attacker #2.
Chapter Five: Maybe Someday (2.7k)
Chapter Summary: A meal with J and Mia, a confrontation with Baz.
Chapter Six: Anything But That (3.3k)
Chapter Summary: After Andrew saves you from an unexpected attack from one of your assailants, you go into heat with him by your side.
Chapter Seven: Yours (2.8k) ☆
Chapter Summary: You go feral when Pope is ambushed, which makes you realize the truth of your feelings for him.
Chapter Eight: If You Want (4.2k) ❀ ♡
Chapter Summary: Your relationship with Andrew officially shifts from lifelong friendship to lifelong mates, with Andrew courting you the way you deserve.
Puppy-Dog Eyes (Ongoing)
Series Summary: Taking Lena under your wing leads to you developing a relationship with her Uncle Pope. You might be just the thing they've needed to feel like a real family.
Chapter One: Cops Really Suck (3.2k)
Chapter Summary: When you catch a preteen trying to shoplift from the makeup boutique where you work, you step in to stop her from getting in serious trouble. You decide to talk to her uncle, Pope, about it so she learns the lesson an easier way.
One Shots
Take What You're Given (3.7k) ♡ ⚠︎ ☆
Summary: Pope comes to you in the middle of the night with needs and news. Kinktober 2025: Sex Work
How to Treat a Girl (2.7k) ❀
Summary: When he finds out you’re pregnant one afternoon, your husband Andrew doesn’t react the way he’s ‘supposed to’ – not that he ever does. But he never lets you doubt his love for long.
Like a Moth. Or a Plant. Or Something. (12.7k) ❀ ♡ ☆
Summary: After noticing you on your daily jog outside of his skatepark, Andrew just has to intervene to save you...maybe more than once. Once your lives have maybe-too-literally crashed together, you both feel the undeniable lightness of a new relationship.
Blurbs & Ficlets
boy dad/girl dad (400)
asking him to slap you (400) ♡
daddy chores (700) ❀ ☆
fake dating first kiss (700)
don't touch her (900)
alpha!pope/omega!reader (1.0k) ♡
asking him to be your first (1.1k) ❀
slutty dancing, jealous pope (1.1k)
forced proximity bodyguard au (1.4k)
giving him his first blowjob (1.5k) ♡ ☆
uniform kink (2.1k) ♡ ☆
summary: the three times you decided to flirt with pope cody and the one time you decided to take it one step further.
content/warnings: in my mind this takes place like during s4 but there's nothing really specific about it, pope calls himself andrew in his mind, canon typical violence/drinking/drugs, all the cody boys are here but mostly craig, reader is drinking alcohol and has hair/wears dresses/heels/perfume, sub!pope, fingering, a good ol handy, a little dirty talk, unprotected piv, creampie, really just an unseen amount of fluff from me tbh NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY!
wc: 10.2k (oops)
notes: omg my popey.... i love him so much. i got carried away with the plot (kinda a first tbh) but i wanna take care of him so bad. i need to bite his arms. only slightly proofread so proceed at your own risk
credit: gif taken from this set by @wesandresons :)
—
The first time Andrew met you, it was in his bedroom.
Throughout Andrew’s life, many people have come and gone through the doors of Smurf’s house. It would take another lifetime just to count them all.
The parties started when he was young and never ended. The faces blurred together for Andrew now, not that he could really bring himself to care all that much in the first place. Just like Craig’s girlfriends or Smurf’s boyfriends, nobody was ever really a permanent fixture in Andrew’s life. Not if they weren’t family.
He knows that everyone thinks that he’s different. That he’s weird. He notices their looks when he lingers around the pool, in the kitchen, when he’s just sitting on the couch. His own brothers even, a lot of the time. Everyone eyes him like a ticking time bomb, just waiting for him to go off.
Andrew doesn’t really mind, though. Or, if he did, he'd become numb to the feeling a long time ago. In fact, he’s probably become numb to a lot of feelings. But Andrew doesn’t know any other way to be. He’s just Pope and he has been for a very long time.
This party in the Cody household wasn’t different from any other. Booze, drugs, and a big mess Andrew would definitely have to clean up later. The music is loud, bass turned up too high, and Craig is attempting to jump off the roof into the pool again. Amidst the cheers, Andrew thinks about the rest of his brothers and wonders for a moment where exactly it went so differently for him, or if he was just simply born that way.
His brothers seem okay with being in the spotlight. Even his nephew seemed to fare better than him, assimilating perfectly into every situation that arose, especially when people were involved. Andrew was never like that.
J must have gotten it from Julia.
Andrew was never a people person. He was always out of place, like the Cody that just didn’t quite belong, all jagged edges. The parties always send him into the corners of his mind that he didn’t really like venturing into.
The pounding of the bass is getting to him.
He pulls open the door to his bedroom hoping for a moment of silence, when he’s greeted with a pair of bare feet hanging off the edge of his bed. The figure doesn’t stir when he enters, so he creeps in further and shuts the door quietly. He turns his head, scanning now that he has a better view of who exactly is in his room.
You’re laid on his bed, eyes shut, hugging your phone to your chest like a stuffed animal. You’ve clearly come to escape the crowds of the party, same as him. Andrew can’t help as his eyes drag up your legs all the way up to where your short dress shows just a little too much of your thighs. He notices your heels as well, placed nice and neat beside the bed.
“Who are you?” It comes out a bit more gruff than Andrew anticipated and your eyes finally flutter open. It takes you a minute to notice him but when you do you’re shooting up to your feet, spine rigid. It’s cute, he thinks, the way you panic. You startle like a small puppy.
“Oh my god,” you squeak, clearly embarrassed. Your hands fall to adjust the hem of your short dress, much to Andrew’s disappointment. He gives you a once over; it’s half assessing what exactly you’re doing in his room and half just taking you and your skimpy outfit. “I’m so sorry. Is this your room?”
Andrew gives a small nod and you wring your hands nervously. You’re taking him in now, a Cody brother here in front of you, live and in the flesh.
“So which one are you?” you ask, head cocked. Now that you know this is his room, he notices you assessing him in a different light. People always do —it didn’t bother Andrew much anymore but with you he feels a twinge of shame in his stomach. “Deran? Or, um…”
Andrew knows that you’re searching for his name. His nickname. It had to be since there was a short list of people who called him by his real name. Pope Cody is known by everyone in Oceanside. Andrew Cody, on the other hand, is not.
“Andrew.” he supplies, voice softer than before. Now you’ve been added to that very exclusive list. You repeat his name back to him, voice a little warm, no doubt from one of the many drinks that the Cody’s provided. Then you introduce yourself and Andrew attempts to burn your name into his memory.
“Okay, Andrew. Are you hiding too?” Now that he hasn’t kicked you out, you take a seat on the edge of his bed. He notices the compression of where your body laid just a few minutes before on his neatly made and pressed sheets but doesn’t say anything. He likes the sound of your voice too much to interrupt you. “Or just making sure nobody is defiling your room.”
“I’m not hiding,” he replies, crossing his arm over his chest. The strap of your dress falls and Andrew tries not to get distracted. “This is my house. I’m free to go where I please.”
“Fair enough. I’m hiding,” you shrug. A beat of silence passes and you pat the spot next to you, inviting him to sit on his own bed. Andrew is curious enough to oblige, sitting on the other end of the bed, putting distance between you. He doesn’t miss how your shoulders drop slightly in disappointment. “My friend is here with Craig and they’ve conveniently disappeared... I don’t even want to know what they’re doing.”
“I have a few guesses.” Another one of Craig’s girlfriends. The giggle of a girl coming from Craig’s room that Andrew had heard when he was walking by suddenly made a lot more sense.
He wills himself not to flinch when you scoot closer to him, closing the distance he deliberately put between the two of you. Andrew was interested, too interested, and that worried him.
Pope Cody wasn’t allowed to want.
“Is it okay if I stay here with you?” you ask, and Andrew’s heart flips. He clears his throat, hoping that you don’t see the blush that’s creeping it’s way up his neck. “I’m just not really sure how long it’s going to take and I would much rather be in here.”
With you, hangs unspoken in the air.
“Sure.” Andrew likes the way you smile when he answers, a small flash of teeth. You scoot even closer and tuck your bare feet under you. You’re so close now that your knee is nudging his thigh. He can smell your perfume from here and it’s heavenly compared to the sweat and chlorine laced air outside. “I don’t really want to be out there either.”
“So, Andrew,” His name sounds like honey when it’s falling from your lips and he wonders how often he can make you say it. The feeling that settles in his chest when you say it is too addicting for him to live without it now. “Not really a party person?”
“No. But my brothers are.” He gestures vaguely to the door, the music pounding on the other side of the wall and then his hands retreat back to his lap. He can feel your eyes on him, but not in the usual way he always tends to notice. You scan him with a kind of curiosity that he hasn’t felt in a long time.
“I’m not really a party person either,” you agree, glancing at the door he had just gestured towards. You look a little sad, even. It makes Andrew’s fingers twitch.“My friend said she needed some moral support coming to meet this guy. So I came, and then she ditched me like an hour ago.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a shitty friend.” Andrew says plainly and he’s caught off guard when you let out a laugh.
“Yeah, I guess,” You shrug, shoulders still shaking with remnants of laughter. Andrew has turned his head fully now to look at you but he doesn’t really understand why you’re laughing. “But maybe it’s like fate, or something.”
“Fate?” Andrew echoes, even more confused than before. You lock eyes with him and he has to resist the urge to break it, enthralled enough by your gaze to ignore the awkward feeling settling in his chest.
“Yeah. Like maybe it’s fate that she left? Because then I wouldn’t have hidden in a cute guy’s room and got to talk to him.” He can tell that your mind is elsewhere, but his eyes are still on you. There’s a dreamy look painted on your face and he’s so distracted he almost misses the fact that you called him cute. Almost.
He opens his mouth to respond but your phone beats him to it, the shrill sound of your ringer filling the empty room. You look at him sheepishly and turn your head to answer as if that would give you the privacy you were looking for. It doesn’t work because as soon as you hit accept, he can hear what he assumes is your friend’s voice on the other side of the line.
You get up and he watches you nod along to the conversation. You’re not doing a lot of talking, but your friend definitely is; he can tell by the murmur of her drunken chatter and the sound of the music pulsing on the other side of the line. You’re kind enough to let her continue on for a bit longer before you let her know that you’re coming, don’t move!
Then you’ve turned back to Andrew, tapping your phone on your palm as you try to find the right words to say. You look genuinely apologetic —for what, Andrew doesn’t know. The silence stretches long, and Andrew is the first one to break it.
“You don’t have to stay,” he says plainly. You don’t really owe him anything, although the look on your face makes him feel otherwise. You take a step closer, poised like you want to take a seat next to him again. Andrew wants you to, but he won’t admit that part out loud.
“I know. I want to-” you start, but your phone starts buzzing like it’s possessed, cutting you off. A quick glance is all it gets; you’re quickly scanning the messages before returning your attention to him. Your phone doesn’t stop vibrating. “It’s hard to leave when you’re looking at me like a lost puppy.”
Andrew chooses to ignore that comment, instead turning to grab your shoes from the side of the bed next to him. He offers your heels to you, arms outstretched, closing the distance between you just like you had before. You give him a small smile as you take them from him, fingers brushing his just a beat too long. The way it sets his nerves alight is also something that he chooses to ignore.
“Thank you,” you say, slipping your strappy heels back on. Andrew looks everywhere but you as you bend down to tie them up, feeling the blush creeping up once again. Once you’re straightened up he gives you a small smile in return, watching as you pull your phone back out again. “Sorry for messing up your bed. I’ll make it up to you next time.”
You say it so definitively, like you somehow know there will be a next time. Before he can reply, you’re giving him a shy wave goodbye, sliding out the door. The music leaks in for a moment when you open it, blending in with the cheers of partygoers outside. When you close it he’s back to the silence of his room, alone. He had come in there looking for a moment to himself but now that you’re gone, he can’t help but want the opposite.
Andrew really hopes that there will be.
—
The next time Andrew met you, it was in Deran’s bar.
He could count on one hand the amount of times he actually sat at Deran’s bar for any other reason besides work. It was rare that he ever got to enjoy a beer, much less have a moment of free time. But between Deran’s insistence and Craig’s staggering frame, Andrew agreed to stay for one drink.
He’s on the dregs of his beer when he notices Craig straighten up in his seat and saunter over to the front door of the bar. Andrew’s head turns and suddenly he’s glad he came, perking up the same way his brother had just moments ago. A girl comes out to greet Craig, looking like his usual type, and he slings an arm over her shoulders, steering her towards the bar with a sly smile.
Then you walk in and Andrew almost falls off his stool in surprise. You’re dressed differently than when he first met you, softer and more casual. Both of you look like you’ve just come from the beach, donned in shorts and tanks, hair curled from the salt water in the air. It makes his heart skip a beat.
You walk in far more hesitantly than your friend, like you’re not too sure if you belong or where to put yourself. Andrew can empathize with the feeling. He watches as you scan the bar; maybe for your friend, or maybe for another place to hide. You lock eyes with him once you finally notice his presence at the bar and you begin to make your way over. Andrew isn’t sure if he should break eye contact but he can’t help it, eyes darting away before they make their way back to yours.
“Fancy meeting you here,” You take the seat next to him, flashing him a grin. Andrew mumbles something under his breath, but you’re not deterred. In fact, you scoot your stool closer to his. You’re laying it on real thick, but he has to admit that he kind of likes it. “You come here often?”
“You know Pope?” The moment is interrupted by Deran, who sets down a full glass of beer in front of you. He’s got a bemused look on his face, eyes darting between you and his brother. Andrew tries his best not to frown, especially at the use of his nickname when you only know him by Andrew. From the expression on your face, he can tell that he’s failing. Your eyes flicker with some kind of recognition, like you were suddenly recalling the name that you had forgotten the last time you met.
“Yeah, I do,” you nod, not even acknowledging the fact that his own brother had just called him by a completely different name. You gesture to his empty glass, the one that he had set aside to fully focus on you when you approached. “And I think I owe him a drink.”
“You do?” It slips out of both Deran and Andrew’s mouths, disbelief on both their faces. It comes out a bit rougher for Andrew, while Deran inquires like you just told him that unicorns were real. You handle both questions with grace.
“Well, I said I’d make it up to you next time,” You smile, pulling the glass that Deran set down closer to you. His brother leans in closer, clearly interested in what exactly was going on between the two of you. Andrew tries to shoot his brother a glare before you look back at him but he doesn’t have enough time. “So, are you going to have a drink with me, or what?”
“Yeah.” Andrew says, perhaps a bit too eagerly as Deran snickers under his breath. He slides him a beer as well, a knowing look painted all over his features. Andrew takes it with a scowl, but his expression softens when he looks back at you. You bring the beer to your lips with a smile and Andrew can’t help but smile back.
Two and a half beers later, Andrew’s face is a lot warmer and you are a lot closer. You’re so close that he can feel your shoes scuffing the edge of his newly polished boots, but he can’t bring himself to care. He likes when you giggle at his jokes; the way that your eyes shine. Andrew can feel his brothers’ eyes on the two of you; he even catches his nephew looking his way a few times.
But for the first time in a while, Andrew doesn’t really want to shrink away. He’s tuned out the background noise, even your friend’s obnoxious drunk laughter at Craig’s pretty mediocre jokes. Because, in reality, Andrew is not the type of guy that a lot of girls like. And Pope especially, is not. But here with you, he lets himself believe that maybe just this once, he’s allowed to have something just for him.
“I like your smile,” You break the silence the two of you were sharing once the conversation you were having earlier came to an end. Andrew hadn’t even realized that he was smiling. He had really just been using the silence to soak in your presence; you still smell the same as you did when you met the first time. Wearing the same perfume that you left on his sheets and pillows just a few weeks ago. He didn’t want to admit how many times he shoved his face into them, chasing your scent before it faded. “It’s cute. I like your teeth.”
There it was again. That word. Cute. It’s not a word anyone used to describe Andrew, probably not since childhood. Or possibly maybe never. He almost wants to swing his head around to see if the rest of his family had heard.
“You really think I’m cute?” He can’t help but ask. It might be the beers or the way you look at him or the fact that he can feel your body heat, but his brain is a bit fuzzy. You look over at him, eyes a bit glazed over from the alcohol. Now he can feel you examining him again, looking him up and down.
“I guess cute isn’t really the word for a guy like you.” His heart sinks at that, wondering what you really think about him now that you know Pope and not just Andrew. He knows the stories that circle around Oceanside about him and he’s not sure if he’s ready to hear the ones that you’ve heard.
“A guy like me?” Andrew echoes, trying his best not to sound so sad. His mood perks up when he feels the heat of your gaze taking him in, seemingly a bit unguarded, presumably from all the alcohol.
“Yeah. You’re all built and…” You look around, trying to place a word to describe him. Then you lay a hand on his arm and Andrew stiffens for a moment but he softens quickly, leaning into your touch. You look pleased that he allowed you to do that, smiling like you’re ready to take a bite of him right then and there. “I don’t know. Strong. Thick. Handsome.”
Andrew is sure that he’s red all the way up to the tips of his ears. He’s also pretty sure that he saw Craig choke on his drink at your comment a few stools down from you, but he decides that’s a later problem.
“Thanks,” he says gruffly and it’s really the only word that he can get out of his mouth, embarrassingly. You shoot him a smile, and it’s all sweet and a little too enticing. Andrew wouldn’t be surprised if he was leaning into you, ass halfway off his stool.
“Sorry, I’m being a bit forward, aren’t I?” you say, swirling whatever was left of your beer. He tries to shrug nonchalantly but it doesn’t really work. “I just get flirty when I’m tipsy.”
“So you don’t think us meeting again is fate?” He’s teasing, half smile tugging on the edge of lips. You giggle and Andrew basks in the sound. He can’t remember the last time someone made him feel like this. The last time he wanted to be so close to someone.
“I never said that,” You’re hiding a cheeky grin behind your glass and Andrew desperately wishes that he could see it. “You do believe in fate then?”
Andrew has to think about it for a moment. He’s not sure, really. Lots of fucked up shit has happened in his life and it would be cruel world if that was the fate that the universe had in store for him. Then again, he’s done some terrible things as well, so maybe it was what he deserved.
“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. Andrew stares into his drink and reflects on all of the things he’s done, the crimes he committed. Julia. Cath. They swirl around in his mind, weighing on his conscience. Then he looks at you and they all seem to float away. “Maybe.”
“Well, let me know when you decide.” He thinks that you can probably sense his hesitancy or the spiral that it sends him down when he thinks about it too hard, so you pump the breaks. He almost can’t stand the way you’re looking at him, eyes wide open and curious. Andrew is unsure of which version of him that you’re seeing or what exactly is going through your head. He doesn’t have the courage to ask.
“Okay.” he says, a bit too distracted by the pieces of hair that have fallen in front of your face as you turned to take another sip, shielding his view. His hand flexes as he resists the urge to push them away.
Then, like you could read his mind, you tuck them behind your ear and shoot him another look. You open your mouth to say something, but you’re interrupted by Craig, who is steering your friend in your direction. Andrew’s hand flexes again as this time he suppresses the urge to hit Craig for cutting in.
“She just puked in the plant over there, and I’m pretty fucked up, so…” Craig isn’t subtle in what he’s asking and Andrew notices the worry flicker across your face as you take in your friend, who can barely stand up on her own without his brother gripping her shoulders. You mutter under your breath and he thinks he hears you basically cursing out Craig.
“Okay, just… take her outside. I’ll be out in two minutes.” you say, and Craig stumbles off, your friend in tow. Then you turn to Andrew, an apologetic look on your face that’s becoming all too familiar to him now.
“Is she going to be okay?” His gaze wanders to the door swinging shut behind the pair. You wring your hands nervously, standing up from the stool. Gathering your things a little frantically, you shrug. Andrew deflates a bit as he watches.
“Yeah, I think so. She’ll probably just puke into her purse on the way home or something,” Once you’ve gathered everything in your arms you give a deep sigh, turning your full attention towards him. He notes that you seem a little deflated too, but he’s not sure if it’s because you’re leaving him or because your friend and Craig seem to be deeply irresponsible individuals. “I’m sorry. Again.”
“It’s okay.” Your lips curl with a small smile, still tinged with a bit of anxiety. It’s cute when you lift your free hand up in a small wave, the same way you did last time, and then you’re gone. Your perfume is still lingering in the air when Andrew turns back around and it’s his turn to smile. It melts when he sees Deran standing behind the bar, a smug look on his face.
“You got it bad, man.”
—
After that, Andrew sees you a lot more often.
Your friend and Craig seemed to have made things very exclusive, because now she’s basically living at Smurf’s house. Which means that, since you’re her best friend, she invites you over quite frequently.
You two haven’t been able to have a moment alone since that night at the bar, much to Andrew’s disappointment. The brothers have been busy planning a job, which meant that he was in and out pretty often. His mind was elsewhere though, distracted by the way you brushed arms in the hallway on his way out or when your eye contact lingered longer than usual.
So, maybe that was why the job went a little awry.
They got what they needed to, but not without a fight. The boys trail into the backyard one after the other, everyone bruised and cut up. It always annoyed Andrew when his brothers were impulsive; he was the one that was always suffering the consequences.
He quickly notes that you’re laid out next to the pool in your swimsuit, your body shimmering with sweat under the sweltering sun. Andrew watches a bead of sweat drip from your neck to the valley between your breasts. Time slows as he watches, licking his lips. He barely has time to drag his gaze away before Deran is wheeling on Craig.
“Why are you always pulling this crap?” Deran almost has a finger in his face, gesturing angrily. Craig just rolls his eyes in response, pushing past him and giving him a glare. Andrew can see the tension tight in their shoulders as they both seethe.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude.” Craig shoots back, making his way back to the house. Tension has been high between the two lately, just like always, trapped in a toxic cycle.
It seems to snap for Deran, especially after the job, and he jumps on Craig’s back, knocking him over. The commotion is loud, Craig hitting the ground with a loud thud. Deran throws the first punch and Craig’s skull cracks hard against the pavement. Craig is quick to recover though, probably due to his size, and it’s a full blown fist fight in seconds.
The two exchange blows for a minute before Andrew and J rush forward to pull the two of them apart. They don’t put up much of a fight and the two of them stalk off in different directions; Craig into the house and Deran out of the yard. J shakes his head and follows after Craig, hands shoved into his pockets.
A quick glance proves that the pool chair you were on just moments ago is left empty, your drink still sitting on the ground next to it. He assumes that you snuck out once his brother hit the floor, probably wise enough to know how the situation was going to unfold. He can see your figure in the window padding around the kitchen, blurred from the distance.
Andrew closes the sliding door behind him when he enters the kitchen and he finds you there, skimpy bikini and all. You’re rummaging through the fridge and he takes the opportunity to take in the view before you shut the door.
You’re holding the carton of orange juice when you turn, finally taking in Andrew’s state. The cut on his eyebrow, the bruise beginning to bloom on his cheek and his torn up knuckles. You make your way towards him, your brow furrowed in concern.
“Are you okay?” He hides his hand instinctively when you ask, which you definitely notice. You rub the back of your neck with your free hand, a bit sheepish. “I heard, uh, your brothers fighting.”
“Oh.” Andrew frowns as embarrassment clouds his thoughts. Will this deter you from coming back? He really hopes not. He’s silent as his eyes follow you as you grab yourself a glass and begin pouring.
“Yeah, oh.” You shoot a glance in the direction of J and Craig’s rooms, eyebrows raised. “So, back to my question. Is everything okay?”
Andrew contemplates his answer for a second, not sure how much detail to go into. You eye him in the same way that you always do and he is suddenly keenly aware that this is the first moment alone you’ve had together in ages. Pushing that thought aside, he settles on two words: “It’s complicated.”
“Right,” you scoff, making your way around the kitchen island. Andrew can’t help but watch you move, all bare shimmering skin and he shifts a little as all his blood flows downwards. He sucks in a sharp breath as you settle in beside him, resting your arm on the counter. Your sweat and tanning oil smears all over the stone island but he’s too focused on how close you are to be bothered by it. “That’s why you guys all look like shit. Did you guys get in a fight or did you guys do that to each other?”
“Like I said, it’s complicated,” he repeats and you set your glass down, a serious look on your face.
“Andrew, I know who you guys are,” you say and now he’s shifting uncomfortably instead, the sentence shattering any sort of lust filled haze he was just on the precipice of falling into. “I can keep a secret, don’t worry. I just… want you to be careful, okay? That’s all.”
“I’m always careful,” he replies and you huff in disbelief, but it also seems like you can’t help but smile. It’s a nice sight and it even makes him brave enough to take a step closer to you, finally being the first to lessen the gap between you two.
The proximity and the way you look up at him has the haze settling in once more. Andrew wants to reach out and toy with the strings of your bikini bottoms but he thinks better of it. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he almost has to physically shake his head to rid himself of the thought.
“I’m sure you are,” You scan him up and down, examining his cuts and bruises. Though, Andrew swears that he can feel your gaze linger on his arms and his chest. It makes a shiver run down his spine. “But if this is you careful, I’d hate to see when it gets messy.”
“I don’t do messy,” he emphasises, his mind wandering back to the oily smudge you’ve left on the counter. You give a familiar giggle and your hand comes to rest on his arm, and he immediately forgets all about it again. This is the first time you’ve broken the touch barrier between the two of you on purpose and Andrew’s stomach flips at the thought. The heat of your hand is searing through his shirt and he’s glad you can’t feel the goosebumps that are rising under your palm.
“I know, Andrew. I’ve watched you clean,” you joke. Andrew loves hearing you say his name, his lips parting as you do so. He tries to pull his mind away from all the different things he would do to you to keep hearing it slip from your lips.
“Where’s your friend?” he asks, desperate to change the topic to anything but him and his family’s line of work. You let out a sigh, making your way back to the fridge. The door swings open and you start rummaging through the freezer like you lived at the house. Really, at this point, you kind of do.
“I’m not sure,” you say, voice a bit muffled from behind the freezer door. “Her and Craig are probably doing lines off each other’s chests or something.”
You pull out a bag of frozen vegetables, shutting the door behind you and approaching Andrew once more. You hold it out to him and he cocks his head in confusion. Rolling your eyes, you grab his bad hand and place the bag on top of his knuckles, still bloody. The cold dulls the stinging that Andrew had learned to ignore too early on in life.
“Why do you hang out with her?” He all but blurts out, but he can't help it. There was plenty of time for Andrew to watch you two interact when you were over, and you seemed more like a tired mother than a best friend. Plus, Andrew figured that if he could keep you distracted with conversation, you wouldn’t let go of his hand just yet.
“She’s been my best friend since, well, forever…” Pressing the bag into his knuckles further, your hand grips his gently and he can’t help but look at you while you fiddle with the frozen bag. “And if I don’t take care of her, who will?”
“I know the feeling.” Andrew says sincerely. He can’t remember a time in his life when he wasn’t a protector, an enforcer, a guard dog. You look up at him now, eyes soft. He feels his gaze soften in return, lips parting.
“I can see that,” you hum like you’re contemplating his words. “Is there someone taking care of you?” The question catches him off guard and he almost jerks his hand back reflexively.
“I don't need anyone to take care of me.” It's a statement that doesn't fully ring true; he thinks about the people who have tried and what he’s lost. It's better off this way, perhaps. But he also thinks you probably wouldn't like that answer.
“Everyone needs someone, Andrew.” Coming from anyone else, he thinks he would refuse. But from you, he feels a bit more inclined to agree. You sound sincere, he feels. Or he just likes you too much to think about disagreeing.
Maybe he does need someone, but no one was ever up for the job. At least no one that knew him —all of him.
A door slams in the distance and you flinch at the loud noise. Not a moment later your friend is rushing past the pair of you, clad in a similar bikini to yours. She’s crying though, mascara streaking as she pushes her way into the backyard. Andrew watches as your head turns to follow her, eyebrows pinching in concern. She sits down on one of the lounge chairs outside, shoulders shaking as she cries silently. You look back at Andrew with a frown and just like always, he knows you have to go.
Maybe his fate is that the universe just wants to cockblock him forever?
“She and Craig probably got into another fight,” you sigh, chewing your lip. You take his uninjured hand and place it on top of the bag, looking up at him. Your face is stern as you speak, like he’s a dog that got caught chewing on the couch legs. “Keep it iced, okay? I’ll talk to you soon.”
You pat his hand gently, soft smile on your lips. You always say that. Soon. Like you know that you're going to cross paths again. That he’s a permanent fixture in your life.
He watches you walk away, eyes on your swaying hips in your cheeky swimsuit bottoms. He’s still staring when you sit down next to your friend, rubbing her back comfortingly.
Andrew stands alone in the kitchen, half hard, frozen bag of vegetables still pressed to his torn knuckles. The worst part is, he’s not even sure what exactly had made him hard; the sight of your body in your tiny swimsuit and the feeling of your hand in his or watching you take care of your friend so tenderly.
Yeah, Deran was right. He is so fucked.
—
If Andrew thought that he couldn't get you off his mind before that afternoon, now you were all he thought about.
When he was making lunch, when he was cleaning his guns, when he was fisting his cock in the shower, trying to keep quiet. All he could think about was you. Your perfume, your smile, your body. Your touch. He wanted to feel it all over his body, soft skin against the raised bumps of all his scars.
So the fact that you weren’t around as often anymore made things more difficult for him. Your friend and Craig seemed to be on the rocks, which means she was around less and less. Which means that you were barely around.
You said you’d talk to him soon and then promptly stopped being invited around, and the thought of how exactly he would get to see you again had him pacing. He didn’t want to scare you off, so he had to pivot towards more conventional methods. Which meant waiting around until Craig had finally got bored enough to start texting your friend back again.
Weeks passed and he rarely saw you, just in flashes; by the pool, walking through the front door, lounging on the couch. He barely had the chance to look in your direction lately, much less have any type of conversation with you. The distance made him hungry, desperate enough to try to flip the odds in his favour.
“What about a party?” He suggests to his family one afternoon, all of the Cody’s crowded in the living room. All three of them turn their heads, looking at him like he’s grown an extra limb. The room is silent as they all try to process the words that came out of his mouth. “What?”
“Pope wants to throw a party.” Deran states, like saying the words out loud may help him truly understand them. “Why?”
“Don’t worry about it,” He crosses his arms over his chest, aware that he’s become a bit too defensive just a beat too late. All pairs of eyes are still on him and he shifts on his feet uncomfortable. “Just do it.”
“You won’t hear me complaining, man.” Craig says on his way out, clapping a hand on Andrew’s shoulder before he goes. The remaining Cody’s watch him go, and then eyes are back on him. He doesn’t want to answer any other questions, so he turns on his heels before they can ask any and follows his brother out.
So that’s how he ended up here.
This party was the same as the rest. Andrew wasn’t around for most of it; he had some loose ends to tie up for his family and he always elected to be out of the house whenever there was something going on, especially now that he had the choice. When he returns, he sees the same damage as always; trash in the pool, people passed out on the lawn, empty solo cups and wet footprints littered across the hardwood floors.
And Andrew does what he always does. Starts cleaning up. He wasn't really sure what his plan was, if he's being honest. He knew you always liked to linger once the parties were done, to make sure your friend was okay. Andrew was hoping that you were a creature of habit with this idea. Seems like right now, it's just delegated him to the role of janitor with no reward.
He starts out by the pool; toeing the stragglers to wake up and get off his property, sifting the garbage out of the pool and throwing the random discarded bikini tops into the trash bag right after it. It’s already the late hours of the morning when he finishes up outside. The neighbourhood is silent besides the sound of the chlorine water softly lapping at the tiles of the pool. Then he makes his way inside and starts tossing out everything in the kitchen, trying not to think about exactly what was occurring when he was gone to make this sort of mess.
“Do you need some help?” A small voice asks and he whirls around on instinct. He turns to face you and he almost wants to drop the black trash bag he’s holding out of shock. Andrew gives you a once over and you look so similar to the first night that he met you that it makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. A short dress and barefoot, except this time your heels are nowhere to be seen. You seem a bit groggy, dark make up smudged around your eyes. He oscillates between dwelling on how beautiful you are and wanting to get on his knees to see exactly what you got on under your dress.
“It’s late.” Is what he says instead, continuing his job of cleaning up. There’s a thousand unsaid things with those two words and it seems like you somehow know him well enough to answer all of them.
“Craig said I could crash on the couch,” you say, beginning to collect some of the empty cans off the kitchen counter. Andrew tries to level a look at you, to let him do it, but you give him a look straight back and continue. “And I want to help you. Doesn't seem like anyone else is.”
He accepts that and you two clean in silence for a few moments, working alongside each other. His eyes can’t help but follow you as you flounce around the kitchen, picking things up and tossing them into the bag into his hand. And then you speak. “So, why am I the only one helping you?”
He furrows his brows, pausing for a second as your words catch him off guard. Andrew glances over at you once more and you’re looking at him expectantly. He can’t help but feel compelled to answer, although your big fluttery eyes may play a small part in that. Trying to ignore the blood rushing downwards, he answers. “What do you mean?”
“Um, I mean there’s like, at least two or three other people who live in this house,” He can basically hear your frown as you speak, unceremoniously throwing another piece of trash into the bag. “Why am I the only one helping you clean up? The mess of a party that they threw?”
Andrew has never really thought about it before. He supposes this has always been his role, cleaning up after his family. Solving their problems. Making the bad things go away. Doing the messy work.
“I don’t need any help,” he says simply, voice gruff. He tries to ignore the heat of your disappointed eyes on him as he turns around, but he can still hear your loud sigh. You notice that he’s trying to avoid your gaze, so you catch his forearm in your hand. His muscles twitch under your touch, warmth seeping through your skin. Andrew slowly drags his gaze up from your hand on his arm to your face and he can’t help but soften. “I got it.”
“I just meant that you’re always taking care of everyone else, Andrew,” you explain, hand still on his arm. Your voice is soft in the way that he likes; a tone that seems to be reserved just for him. “Cleaning up after everyone. Making sure they don’t kill each other. Craig’s told me that you’ve bailed him out plenty of times.”
Andrew frowns. He doesn’t like the idea of his brothers talking about him when he’s not around, especially to you. He scowls at the thought, tying off the full garbage bag and placing it aside. He tries to pull away to grab another bag and continue, but your grip tightens on his arm.
“I’m serious. Just leave it for them to deal with for once,” You pull him back towards you, but he feels conflicted. He doubts anyone would actually do it if he left it for them to do —he’s seen the state the house gets into when he’s gone. Andrew hesitates for a moment, but all thoughts fade from his mind when your hand slips from his forearm into his palm, fingers twining with his. All he can do is stare while his brain tries to catch up to what’s happening. “Come on.”
You pull him along and it doesn’t take much effort to have him following. Continuing to stare, he’s got half a mind to hope that his mouth isn’t hanging open. He realizes where you’ve taken him in Smurf’s just a beat too slow as he enters the room.
His room.
He turns to face you slowly and the expression on your face is unreadable as you shut the door behind you. It reminds me of the first time that he saw you all that time ago. The room is silent for a moment as you two take each other in. Andrew hopes that you can’t hear the shaky breath that he lets out from across the room.
“Sit,” you command, gesturing to the bed. Andrew doesn’t waste any time obeying, sitting on the edge of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. His hands rest on his thighs, clenching and unclenching anxiously. You approach him slowly, closing the distance until he’s face level with your torso. The position has him blushing —he’s sure his face must be red. He tilts his head up to look at you and you take one step closer. His legs part naturally to accommodate you, bracketing your figure.
“Will you let me take care of you, Andrew?” you ask, hand sliding into his hair. He struggles to not let out a groan, blood rushing straight to his dick. He’s so distracted by the feeling of your nails scratching along his scalp as he leans into your touch that he barely even registers the question.
“Okay.” It comes out quiet and breathy, but it feels loud in the silent room. He watches the ends of your lips curl up into a smile, his eyes fluttering. You take the hands that were settled on his thighs and place them on your hips. Taking the opportunity to appreciate your body, his hands run over your curves slowly as he sucks in a sharp breath. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he does so, too enraptured to take his eyes off you. It makes him twitch in his jeans when you lean a little closer, breath fanning over his face.
A few moments pass as you let him feel your body; he’s practically drooling at the feeling. Once you’ve decided he’s had his fill you climb into his lap, straddling him. He’s sure you can feel how much he wants you, the heat of your clothed pussy on his jeans making him all the more hard.
You barely give him a second to breathe before you’re catching your lips in his, your mouth parting instantly. The kiss is slow and sensual and it has him letting out a broken whimper into your mouth. That seems to spur you on, fingers gripping the front of his shirt to kiss him even deeper.
Andrew doesn’t even know how many times he imagined doing this with you. At this point he’s lost count, but this was beyond anything that his mind could ever put together. The smell of your perfume envelopes him and your body is so warm under your thin dress that it sets his nerves alight.
He can’t help just taking a bit more, big hands gripping your hips and grinding you against him. The small moan you let out as he does so has his hips bucking. Hands still roaming, he instinctively slips his tongue into the kiss. The fact that you continue to rock your hips against his once he lets go of your waist makes him dizzy. The kiss is wet and desperate and all Andrew wants is to get closer, greedy hands grabbing.
Then he feels your fingers drift to the hem of his shirt and he lifts his arms, allowing you to pull it off. The sensation of your nails dragging across his chest sends a shiver down his spine. His hands had settled on your thighs, gripping so tight that he’s sure he’s leaving marks. He feels bad, but then he decides that he’ll kiss them as an apology later, if you’ll let him.
You stop grinding and scoot backwards a little, moving further down his lap. He opens his mouth to ask why, but then your hands are at his belt buckle and the words die in his throat. You’re quick to undo his jeans, wasting no time in pulling him out and taking him into your hands. Your hands are much softer than his rough and calloused ones, warm against the hot flesh of his length. His head tips back as you begin to stroke him slowly, eyes to the ceiling as he lets out another shaky breath.
He had always imagined what your touch would feel like wrapped around him like this, letting himself imagine it was you touching him instead of himself when he was alone. The way you twist your wrist languidly, like you know exactly just how to get him going, has his mind going blank.
“Do you like that?” You mutter, tucking your face into his neck now that he’s made the space. The way you kiss slowly up the sensitive skin of his neck makes his mind fuzzy. He can’t seem to get the words out, so he gives a slow nod instead. “Good.”
The praise makes his hips stutter, fucking into your fist. You let out a small laugh, presumably at how desperate he is for you. A low moan escapes his mouth as you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, swiping away the precome leaking from the tip. Your touch disappears for a moment and he tips his head back forwards to you, looking at you through hooded lids. He watches as you spit into your palm and resume your actions, his jaw dropping open ever so slightly. Andrew feels drunk, the slick shlick of you stroking him filling the room.
He thinks you can tell that he’s getting close. He knows that his hips won’t stop rising to meet your touch: a dead giveaway. It’s almost embarrassing how fast you get him there, cock leaking in desperation as he whines. Your hand slips away and he groans out loud at the loss of sensation. His mind is still fuzzy and he almost misses your fingers wrapping around his wrist, guiding his hand across your body and under your dress. Looking down at where your hands meet, his breathing almost stops when you dip his fingertips past the waistband of your lacy panties.
“Don’t you want to feel how wet I am for you, Andrew?” you breathe into his ear. The words affect him deeply and he lets out a strangled noise, but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed with you on top of him like this.
“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse. He sounds absolutely wrecked as he swipes a finger along your wetness, sickly slow, brows furrowing as he watches your lips part at his touch. You’re dripping for him; he can feel the wet patch you’ve left on your panties against his knuckles as he slides a finger into you. It’s your turn to moan, and he swears at the sound, “Fuck.”
He pumps his finger in and out slowly, basking in the feeling of you sucking him right in. You surge forward and capture his lips in yours, kissing him breathlessly. You let out a whimper into his mouth as he slips another finger alongside the first. His breath catches in his throat as he feels you flutter around his digits, velvet walls pulling him in even deeper.
Andrew loves having you like this, your dress bunched around your hips, giving him a full view of your pussy covered in lace as you grind your clit into the palm of his hand. It’s all too much for him; he drops his head to your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your perfume. He thinks of all the times he’s touched himself to the scent of you; whether that be from the sheets from the first time he met you or the way that it lingered in his room after a conversation with you, long after you’ve gone.
His pace quickens and he can feel your legs shaking against his while your hips buck, practically riding his hand. You’re mewling now, coming apart on his fingers the same way you do in his dreams. He feels you clamp down around him and he can tell you’re going to cum seconds before you tell him. He can barely hear it, words lost in your soft whimpers. A rush of wetness is slick against his palm as you let out a moan so loud that Andrew remembers there are other people in the house.
Eyes never leaving yours, he pulls his fingers out from your panties and brings them to his mouth. The way you taste has his eyes almost rolling back into his head, licking up the cum that had dripped down his fingers. He wants to get his head between your legs real fucking bad and eat you until the sun comes back up or until you’re begging him to stop. His cock aches with the desperate need to fuck you, eyes trailing down to your chest as you pull off your dress and toss it aside. He decides to save it until later. Maybe round two?
He’s appreciated your body countless times as you tanned by the pool, but the view of you on top of him, being able to touch you the way he wants, has his blood running hot in his veins. He could die under you right now and he’d die a happy man.
You push him down onto the bed with a soft push and his back lands against his freshly pressed sheets. Lifting your hips, you pull his jeans and boxers down, leaving them to pool at his ankles where his feet are still planting firmly on the floor. He kicks them off and moves further up the bed, loving how you giggle as he jostles you.
Your tongue swipes across your lips and you settle yourself into position, the lace of your panties scratching intoxicatingly against his cock. Mesmerized, he watches as you hook your fingers into your panties and pull them aside, not even bothering to remove them before lowering himself down onto his length.
The two of you let out a needy noise as you sink down, taking him to the hilt. You look absolutely beautiful, the sight of you absolutely fucked out for him making his cock impossibly harder. His hands fly to your hips as you begin to grind again, much like you were earlier.
He lets out a sharp inhale through his nose, eyes hungry. You’ve spread your cum across the short hairs at the base of his dick, whining as you chase your high. You get tired of the grinding and lift your hips, bending forward and resting your forehead against his. His eyes are on yours as you slam your hips back down, eyes fluttering shut.
The pace you set is brutal, hips pistoning as you ride him. The force of it has the frame of his bed swaying, headboard making impact with the wall every time you drop your hips. That combined with the volume of both the noises you two make as you ride him is more than enough to hear through the wall or the door.
“So good, baby. Feels so fucking good,” he coos, lost in the way you fuck him. The wet slap of skin on skin is absolutely sinful, echoing in the room and mingling with the heavy breaths you let out. He’s got one hand on your ass and the other on your breast, overwhelmed with the need to memorize every part of your body. “Been fucking dreaming about your pussy.”
“Oh my god, Andrew,” you whine, hips moving fast. He can feel you clenching around him, trapping him in your cunt like a vice. He can barely keep his eyes open, lids low from the pleasure. You’re squeezing him so fucking tight that he swears his vision is going white. You straighten up and place a hand on his broad chest, using it as leverage to hit a whole new angle.
Andrew feels himself brush against your walls and it has his jaw dropping open as his entire body shaking at the feeling. He’s close but you’re closer, nails digging into his flesh and your moans grow more high pitched, picking up the pace. You don’t stop moving your hips when you cum around him, barely able to keep yourself upright. The feeling of you tightening around him and the sight he catches of your cum glistening around the base of his dick has him moments away from falling over the edge.
“M’gonna cum,” he slurs, hands around your waist to hold you in place as he fucks up into you now. Still sensitive from your second orgasm you squeal, falling even farther forward into his chest. Soft grunts are punched from his chest every time his hips meet yours, taking what he needs from you.
“I want it so bad,” you babble mindlessly, voice dripping with pleasure. He’s never heard you like this before, but now he can’t imagine ever living without it. His thrusts are messy now, determined to hear you beg some more. “Please, I need it.”
“Yeah?” He barely even notices himself speak, too busy fucking into your pussy to think of anything else. He’s so close that his arms are shaking, thick muscles twitching in anticipation. He almost wants to cry, overwhelmed by the way he’s buried so deep inside you. “You want me to pump you full of my cum, baby?”
“Please,” you whine, voice cracking with need. The sound of it has Andrew’s hips faltering as he does exactly that, swearing sharply as he does so. His entire body jerks from the feeling, so wracked in pleasure that he can’t control it. You let out a moan alongside his as he fucks him cum back into you, nice and slow. Once the overstimulation gets to him his hips come to a stop, sweat beading on his forehead.
You fall limp on top of him, the deep rise and fall of your chest matching his. He wraps his two big arms around you instinctively, pulling you closer against him. Andrew basks in the quiet, punctuated by nothing other than your quiet breathing, closing his eyes.
“You okay?” Your voice is muffled against his chest, warm breath fanning over his skin. He’s got a hand running absentmindedly up and down the bare skin of your back, still sticky with sweat. “That wasn’t too much?”
“No,” he rumbles, voice soft. His fingers are still skimming as allows himself to take in the moment for just a beat longer. Then he’s got you under him, flat on your back. He loves the way you look up at him, legs still wrapped around his waist. He noses his way into your neck, noticing that his scent is intermingling with yours the more time you spend with him. His hands begin to roam once more and he can feel his blood rush downwards when you look at him with your big curious eyes. “Not enough.”
If Andrew had any say in it, you two were in for a long night.
—
In the morning, Andrew is the first to wake up. He always had trouble getting to sleep, sometimes staring at his ceiling for hours in the night, but the warmth you brought to his bed had pulled him under within minutes.
He turned his head to face you, eyes flicking over your face as the amber light of the sun painted your face. You were clad in one of his shirts, the plain black looking much better on you than it ever did on him. Andrew shifts slowly so as to not wake you and slides out of bed.
The walk to the kitchen is quiet, like it usually is in the morning considering the fact that the rest of his family regularly kept late hours, so he was surprised to find Craig, already seated at the bar, tucking into a bowl of cereal. He looks up and sees who it is, his face twisting into something much more smug as he takes another bite.
Andrew is quick to pull a face back, not interested in hashing out his night with Craig, who clearly wants to hear all the details. Instead, he starts to clear the mess that his brother had left out while he assembled his breakfast. Craig waits a beat, like he expects him to change his mind, but Andrew stays silent.
“Pope, man-” he starts, but a door creaks shut in down the hall that distracts him, leaving the unfinished sentence in the air. Then you turn the corner, still only in his shirt, and Andrew realizes that it wasn’t the noise that caught Craig’s attention. Your hair is still mussed and you’re rubbing the sleep out of your eyes when you approach him. You wrap your arms around his wide torso and his arm settles at your waist. Natural as if you’ve done it a million times before. Andrew allows himself to smile at the feeling, not even caring that his brother is watching with a shit eating grin on his face.
Summery: Y/N is unsure what to do when her childhood crush turns into the hottest man she had ever seen and also him confessing his own love to her and also… him being the hottest man she had ever seen… what is she supposed to do?
Genre: romcom, childhood crush, a teeny tiny bit of angst, Slow burn, Smut (again, minors don’t interact or in fact read)
Warnings: Element play (hot and cold), Dirty talk, Eating out, no protection, slight masturbating
Words: 5,7 k
A.N.: I haven’t actually watched the new movie, I’ve just seen clips so if something is really inaccurate… sorri. ATLA is actually my favorite show of all time, I watch it annually and I already watched it this year haha. As someone who had a crush on Aang when I was a kid because I have always been into the good guys… seeing his adult self… I… I wrote the filthiest smut I ever have (also my second one ever) so do with that as you will. This is also a little love letter to ATLA and I hope they figure something out about the movie haha also if you want me to write something specific about team avatar, requests are always open! Bye bye!
Masterlist
!Please do not share, copy or steal my work! @memmuliamia
Aang was running away from Y/N, running as fast as the wind actually since he was an air bender and by the way, the avatar. He was looking back at her, laughing at the top of his lungs with his eyes closed and that big mouth of his.
“Katara said we are supposed to be back before sunset! Aang come on!”
Aang stopped and sucked in massive amounts of his surrounding air just to scream as loud as humanly possible: “THE FIRST TO GET THERE WINS!” And with that he was immediately passing her basically flying in the other direction. When he passed Y/N it was like time had slowed down and he just smiled widely at her.
Him gone by miles already she suddenly woke up from her trance. “That is not fair!”
After what felt like an eternity, she had finally reached the tent with Aang sitting outside holding out a bowl of soup up to her. “Here!” He exclaimed happily and she just sat down beside him. The sun had already set and the two sat there in silence just eating until… she smacked his head and he yelped.
“You cheated! You know I can’t run as fast as you, as a matter of fact, NO ONE CAN!” She said smacking him again and he just pouted. “M sorry… I- I- I didn’t want to make Katara wait.” Y/N just rolled her eyes, Katara this, Katara that. She was Y/N’s best friend, beautiful, smart, and oh! A powerful waterbender besides all… beside her, Y/N sometimes felt… really weak, also because she knew Aang, the guy Y/N had a crush on liked Katara so… she was just slightly jealous… slightly.
As soon as her eyes looked sadder and her head kinda dropped, Aang was worried. “Y/N? Are you alright? Listen, I am sorry about earlier… how about we fly out on Appa later huh? You always love that!” He exclaimed happily to cheer her up. She just shook her head suddenly not in the mood anymore.
Y/N put the bowl aside and got up but before she walked away he held her wrist looking up at her. “I am sorry if I hurt you Y/N… Please don’t hate me or anything.” Oh… but how could she hate him, the moment she first saw him she was already lost. She forced a smile onto her face and shook her head. “Aang it’s fine… you should ask Katara for a round with Appa… she put so much effort into cooking for us… she’ll like that…” Her wrist slid out of his grip and she walked away with a low head and maybe a small tear in the corner of her eye.
Aang felt horrible, he was about to run after her when Sokka stepped out of the tent throwing an arm around Aang. “What’s up my blue arrowed friend, did you finally tell her?” Sokka asked acting all nonchalant when he was burning with curiosity. Aang just stood there watching after Y/N and so did Sokka.
Aang sighed. “No… I couldn’t I was too scared… I don’t think your advise worked.” Sokka looked down at Aang. “What? She wasn’t impressed by your air sprinty thing?” Aang shook his head. “Not even a bit… I think she was actually annoyed… I might have also said that I did it for Katara to not let her wait… instead of that I did it trying to impress Y/N…” Another smack but this time from Sokka. “You have a lot to learn my naive little friend.”
12 years later… present day
“Y/N come on! The firework is about to start soon! I don’t want to miss it!” Aang called out. It was Firelord Zuko’s 12th year anniversary as firelord and all his best friends were with him. The entire fire nation threw a big festival for him and the amazing fireworks were about to start. Y/N stumbled down the stairs holding up her long dress before she slipped and landed in Aang’s arms.
His cheeks immediately start to go pinkish and his eyes widened as his strong arms were holding her securely. It really didn’t help Y/N that her childhood crush had become extremely tall and extremely hot over the years at all. Aang had a pretty face, big eyes, an incredible physique and he was the most powerful bender in the world.
That her hands had landed on his muscular chest did not help either. They felt so tight and firm that she almost squeezed but she held herself back. They looked at each others eyes and suddenly the fireworks exploded behind them but neither of them were paying any attention to it anymore.
“Y/N I love you…” Aang blurred out and both of them immediately froze… he said what? She pulled herself away from him, very confused. “What?” Aang cursed at himself in his head, he was gonna tell her tonight but not like this, not just randomly when they were alone missing the grand fireworks.
He was gonna say it under the beautiful lights of the thousand small fires in the air with laughter and joy around them but right now they were far away from the fairground with no one around, it almost felt cold.
“Um… I said… I love you…” way to go big powerful avatar, bridge of the spirit world and master of all four elements… he thought while Y/N actually started laughing. She started laughing so much that she was holding her stomach from the pain. Aang just nervously laughed with her…
“I know I should have told you soone-” “That was a good one Aang! I can’t stop laughing, my tummy hurts!” Aang just looked confused while Y/N calmed down wiping away some tears that had formed at her eye.
“Okay, now come on.” Y/N said smiling passing Aang but he gripped her wrist and she looked up into his… kind of serious face?
“Aang?” “Is that what you think? That I am joking?” He said with a very serious voice which actually threw her off a bit. She chuckled nervously, “well… yeah? You like Katara no?” Y/N was sure that Aang has had a crush on her best friend since they were kids actually. Over the years she had just become more and more amazing… only problem was she was with Jet now which probably hurt Aang a lot… maybe Y/N was a placeholder or something?
“Katara? You think I like Katara? Why would you think that?” He asked confused, his serious voice gone replaced by utter confusion. He was still holding her wrist in a weird way, the air was kinda awkward around them. “Don’t you?” Y/N asked now confused as well.
“Of course not! She has a boyfriend! And besides, I never liked Katara that way, she is more like… like a sister to me. Y/N…” Aang sighed. “I always just loved you, I always have… since we were kids… it’s always been just you. I love the way you smile and how excited you get when we are all together because I know how much you love your friends. I love how you are interested in my past and my people. I admire you for always giving your best even though you think you aren’t good enough because you can’t bend an element.” Aang said softly stepping closer with all the fireworks exploding behind him.
“Just to add to that, you are good enough. You are the strongest person I know and I believe you weren’t born as a bender because if you were we wouldn’t need an Avatar on the side.” Y/N laughed softly through tears now, he looked so sincere and full of love…
“I love you Y/N, everything about you. All that is you. I want you to be mine… I want you to be my forever baby.” Y/N laughed loudly at that and he blushed. “Shush… I am trying to be… confident here…” he said smiling softly. She held his hands suddenly and looked more serious than before.
“Aang… from the moment I saw you… I wanted to be yours.” Aang thought he saw Roku for a second because he thought he died hearing her say that. “Wha… what?”
“You know my childhood wasn’t easy but… when I met you, I suddenly had a friend, I suddenly had a family. You were always so cheerful and happy that you gave me hope. No matter how hard something was, you could always do it, no matter how scared you were! No matter how difficult you thought it was gonna be, to help others you always did what was necessary. I mean heck you defeated Ozai when you were like 12!”
Aang was very thankful that it was night and that the fireworks were behind him because his face was steaming red and his tears were running down his cheeks. Y/N cupped his cheek and she smiled softly, crying as well.
“I shouldn’t say this but… I am so thankful you ran away that day because if you hadn’t… I would never have met you, I would never have found my soulmate and… the love of my life. Aang if you want me… I… I love you too.”
Aang just pulled her into the tightest hug he had ever given someone, he thought being in love was beautiful because you were happy being with your special someone but right in this moment he realized it was so much more than that…
After what felt like forever, the fireworks had already ceased and they looked at each other in the night.
“And you are incredibly handsome of course.” Y/N said laughing to ease the tension and Aang laughed as well wiping away his tears. “I think… admitting my feelings to you was actually harder than saving the world…” “Probably because the powerful Avatar had to do it without any help.” She said teasingly.
“Actually… I asked Zuko if he could have the fireworks extended to this specific time and I also asked Sokka beforehand to help me decide what to say… Katara also picked me a better outfit because the other one was apparently bad and Toph picked some perfume for me…”
“Wow. I am surprised you didn’t go into the spirit world and asked around how to woo a woman or told Appa that we were gonna have a romantic flight date.” Y/N said jokingly. “Actually…” Aang started but stopped himself.
Y/N chuckled and just wrapped her hands around Aang’s neck. “Don’t you want to ask me?” Aang nervously put his hands on her back not sure if he was allowed to. “Um… ask you what? OH!” Y/N nodded expectantly. “Is it okay that I am touching your back? You know I am just a bit worried because I don’t want to make you uncomfortable but when we hug you seem to be okay with it and you mean me asking you to be my girlfriend actually…” he said realizing mid mumbling.
“Why would I ask, you are already head over heels with me?” He said a bit confident, thanking Sokka for that because all of a sudden Y/N was blushing like crazy. It worked! Sokka, you are a genius! He thought.
“Y/N?”
“Yes…?"
“Do you want to be mine? Please…”
“Yes!”
She exclaimed hugging him tightly while he lifted her and spun her around. They were both laughing happily burring their faces in each others necks until he let her down and actually… kissed her. Her eyes closed immediately and her body just sunk more into his as her lips moved slowly against his.
… A few moments somewhere not too far away from the romantic kiss
“Are they kissing yet or not?” Toph asked leaning against the stonewall she had put there. Like every group of great friends, Toph, Katara, Zuko and Sokka were cowering behind the stone looking at the couple further ahead, just to make sure it works out of course… and not because they were all completely nosy.
“No not yet… I actually think they are crying… I don’t think this is gonna work. What did you tell him!” Katara whispered angrily at Sokka. Sokka rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Nothing, just that girls like confident guys and if he is cocky she is probably gonna like it. I didn’t tell him to cry though, did you tell him some weird nonsense about him needing to be sentimental and honest about his feelings?” Sokka whispered back to Katara.
“You are gonna ruin it for them!” Katara exclaimed. “No you are gonna ruin it!” Sokka said annoyed. “Shut up! Look, they are hugging!” Zuko said and all eyes and feet were on Aang and Y/N. “Oh man, they took so long the firework is already over, Aang what the hell is it with you.” Zuko mumbled. When Y/N and Aand actually kissed Katara let out a yelp and Sokka immediately covered her mouth. “What? What! Are they kissing now??” Toph asked excitedly and Katara just mumbled mhm behind Sokka’s hand, too shocked to push him off.
Zuko then lifted his hands and with one swift motion the streetlamps around the two were lit and small fireworks exploded around them. Zuko held out his hand for a high five and Sokka gave it. “Oh yes, we are soooo romantic.”
“You wanted him to wear warrior armor from the water tribe!” Katara said unimpressed and Toph added: “And Zuko thought burnt wood perfume would make Aang smell more desirable.” And with that Zuko and Sokka were very quiet very fast.
A few months later…
“Maybe I am just not sexy enough? Maybe it’s a marriage thing… I am not sure if I am ready for marriage yet…” Y/N mumbled into her arms as she rested them on the table. Toph sat opposite of her, bored, playing with a piece of metal, bending it into different shapes. Katara was looking through the undergarments she thought would look best on Y/N.
“Don’t worry, you are not doing anything wrong. It’s just not in his little airhead you know, he is just so happy that you guys hold hands and peck and stuff, guys like Aang are simple beings.” Toph said smiling trying to cheer Y/N up. “Yeah, maybe he doesn’t even think about these kind of things.” Katara agreed.
“Does Jet think about these kind of things?” Y/N asked smirking and Toph laughed. Katara just went bright red and threw some of the garments at Y/N. “Here! Those!” Katara exclaimed embarrassed and sat down on a chair with a straight back and her bottom lip extended.
“Thanks. Oh come on! Give us something… have you guys…?” Y/N asked and Toph leaned in closer as well. Katara just got bright red and looked away. “Well… yes.” Immediately Katara was bombarded by questions and requests for advise.
“Hey, do you use your blood bending when you guys do it?” Toph asked and well… to say the least… there was a bit of a fight between them.
At the same time in Sokka’s house
“And that’s the moment you rip her clothes off.” Sokka explained with parchment and some ink. Aang just looked unsure and Zuko sipped his tea with his face being all one color now.
“Why would I rip her clothes though? They are very pretty and kind of hard to make… it would probably take a couple of days to get them repaired.” Aang argued looking at the little drawings Sokka has made.
“Trust me. Chicks love that stuff.” Sokka said confidently.
“I don’t know Sokka…” Aang said unsure and then pointed at a particular part of a drawing. “And what is that?”
Sokka got excited. “I have no way of telling but I thought some element play could turn her on you know? Like some ice or fire like warming up her body but only some parts… actually, Zuko? Do the girls like that?”
Zuko spit out his tea before he was about to punch Sokka in the face but Aang looked so curious with his big gray eyes that Zuko just mumbled: “they do…”
Eeeeven later
Y/N’s heart was beating so incredibly fast that her chest almost exploded while she was making dinner. Toph and Katara had already left and left her with a lot of advise, headache and fantasies…
Y/N imagined Aang undressing… his big strong biceps just flexing as he pulled his pants down… him being completely bare in front of her, slowly kissing down her needing body moaning his name… and him just going lower with his big eyes looking up at her… kissing her thighs and closer to where she needed him… Y/N… he moaned… Y/N… Y/N…
“Y/N!” Aang exclaimed pulling the pot of stew away from the fire. Y/N snapped out of her head and saw Aang putting out the fire in the kitchen. “Are you alright? You were kind of zoned out, did you hurt yourself?” He asked worried checking on her.
She was glowing red from head to toe… “when… when did you come home…?” He tilted his head confused. “Huh? I just walked in and it smelled burnt so… I came in here, did you not hear me?” Y/N just shook her head embarrassed because her lusty thoughts had almost burnt down their house.
“What were you thinking about? You looked kind of out of it.” Aang said jokingly, softly sitting her down as he continued to cook.
“Um… Katara.” Y/N blurred out. “Katara? She alright?” Aang asked a bit worried because Y/N had been so deep in her thoughts.
“Oh yeah she is fine… it’s just… um… she said some things about Jet you know… girls stuff haha…” Y/N said nervously.
“Girls stuff? Was it something bad? I hope you don’t talk too bad about me when I am gone.” Aang said chuckling.
Dinner was very tense with Aang going through the stuff Sokka... and Zuko had told him and with Y/N just basically being turned on by Aang eating with a spoon. The way his tongue would lick some of the stew off the wood or the way his arms flexed every time he did something just because he worked out so much…
“I want your juice.” Aang said.
“WHAT?!” Y/N screamed and Aang looked surprised… “Um… your grape juice? Can I have a sip… I already finished mine.” He said scratching his head chuckling and Y/N just nodded hating her brain for going that way.
While Aang was washing the dishes, Y/N was in the bathroom undressing to her more revealing undergarments. Usually she would just wear something close to a linen dress but today it was more like a linen bikini… she looked into the mirror and took a few big breathes before going out, back into the kitchen.
“You know what’s funny? I never really heat up my tea with fire bending even though Iroh showed it to me once. Sometimes I kind of forget I can even fire be-”
Y/N stood in the kitchen door with her bikini like sleepwear looking at him. He had dropped the wooden bowl he was currently cleaning into the sink, his mouth had dropped to the floor and his eyes were everywhere. But then he quickly turned around chuckling. “Oh sorry… I didn’t mean to stare… Are you um… ready for bed then? I will just change as well, give me a minute.” He said avoiding her eyes when he passed her and this time she gripped his wrist, very tightly.
“Do you not want to do it? Is that it?” Y/N asked a bit angrily and frustrated. Aang looked down into her eyes, very surprised.
“I always kiss you and touch you and like… give you hints but you never… act on them! I am trying to dress sexy… and kiss you lovingly. I even once pressed my ass against you while you were cooking and you just apologized and laughed! So what the actual hell is your problem!”
Aang’s eyes almost fell out of his sockets… his brain was working so hard you could see the smoke coming out of his ears. “You… you do that stuff on purpose? To… for what?”
“To have sex with you!”
…
…
…
Silence…
“You… want do… have sex with me?” Aang asked slowly with his wrist still in her hand.
She groaned almost exhausted. “NO! WHAT INCREDIBLY WEIRD GIRLFRIEND WOULD WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH HER BOYFRIEND! OF COURSE I DO YOU IDIOT! THE QUESTION IS WHY DO YOU NOT!” She yelled at him letting him go.
“I do! I mean…”
“You mean you have never thought about it? Because the thought is too ridiculous right?”
“Y/N please let me explain…” Aang said raising his arms in defense trying to be the calm monk he was.
“Oh yeah you want to explain? Explain this to me, when we lay in bed and I start to kiss your neck all of a sudden you always excuse yourself and leave? Or when we go to the beach you never look at me! Or when I sat on you-”
“BECAUSE I AM SCARED I CAN’T CONTROL MYSELF!” He yelled and immediately apologized.
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to scream at you…” he sighed, “it’s just… I often think about… us… that way. About us kissing and about us… you know… and I always feel so ashamed because I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be thinking about making you sweat, about making you moan, about making you scream… I feel so ashamed of even imagining you like that because you don’t deserve to be objectified like that. You deserve to be treated like my love… like… someone I want to protect and cherish and not someone I want to…” he sighed again, “when we go to the beach I don’t look much at you because... I… sometimes my… clothes just… get… tight.” He said his face burning up, not able to look at her.
“I get so embarrassed because that is not… how I should react seeing my beautiful girlfriend… It’s not always really! I don’t get hard just because I see some of your skin! It’s just sometimes… not even worth mentioning…” more sighing, “when we lay in bed and you kiss me… I… do… get… hard… and I don’t want you to think I am some pervert or something so I always just… go into the bathroom…”
“What do you do in the bathroom?” She asked and his head snapped to her.
“What?” She walked up to him and ran her finger over his arm. “I asked… what do you do in the bathroom after I kiss you in bed?”
Aang gulped looking down at her finger which was tracing his shoulder, his brain kind of stopped working, he was running on stock brain energy. “Well… I um… I…”
“Aang, have you ever thought about the fact that I sometimes want you to think of me like that? That I want you to get hard? That I want you to make me sweat and moan and scream? That I am not some porcelain doll? That I wear this intentionally to turn you on?”
Aang looked at her wide eyed. “You do?” Sokka’s voice in his brain echoed: told you.
Y/N nodded slowly taking Aang’s shirt off revealing his abs and chest, his tense biceps and his low v line. “I do. I want you to show me what the great avatar can do to a woman like me.” Y/N said not really sure where that confidence was coming from. Probably from him looking at her like she was some sex goddess.
“Y/N… I need you to be very honest with me here right now… do you actually want me to… do this?”
Y/N smiled and nodded, "yes.”
With one swift motion, faster than lightning, Y/N was pressed against the table in the kitchen with Aang’s wet lips against her. He lifted her leg and wrapped it around his waist so he could grind his still clothed middle against hers. Her body tried to keep up, wrapping her arms around his neck kissing him back with her tongue, grinding against him as well. Her eyebrows furrowed while she moaned into his mouth, sometimes Aang lost control in a fight… maybe is was like this with sex as well?
“Do you like this?” Aang asked kissing her neck while holding her waist and his other arm holding himself up against the table. Y/N just nodded with closed eyes, her breathing was incredibly fast now holding on to him. “Yes yes… please keep going.”
He lifted his head from her neck and looked down at her, he was breathing equally fast looking into her eyes. “Can I see you? Can I…” but he didn’t need to finish. “Yes… whatever you want… I am yours.” He smiled and pecked her lips before he ripped her top piece open, revealing her boobs.
She instinctively hid herself but he shook his head. “Don’t… please…”
She let her arms fall and he laid her down against the table. He kissed her neck hovering over her, kissing down her collarbone and further looking up at her face to see if she liked it. He then squeezed her tits and massaged them with his big hands. Y/N moaned gripping the edges of the table, throwing her head back.
He kissed her boobs softly until he reached her left nipple and licked it, she just moaned even louder with her legs squirming under his touch. “Aang…” she moaned and he continued sucking her nipple and biting it softly. Then he moved to the other one doing the same thing, one of his hands was stimulating the other boob while his other hands ran up her leg.
Aang blew softly against her wet nipples and she moaned again, she was a complete mess under him. “Don’t do that… they are sensitive.” She said her voice completely different now with all that pleasure.
“Sorry. Airbender.” He said smugly like that was explaining anything.
Then all of a sudden he lifted her bridal style and she looked up surprised at him. “What are you doing?” She asked breathy.
“What? You expect me to have you scream my name on that hard wooden table. One hard thing is enough.” He carried her into their bedroom and laid her softly down onto the bed.
Aang went down on his knees and kissed her down her stomach and belly button and… “further?” He asked her softly and she just nodded looking down at him. He slowly pulled her bottom piece off, revealing her glistening pussy to him, he swallowed heavily and his cock, if even possible, got ten times harder.
He leaned down and kissed her lips softly and her entire body jerked up. “Wow so responsive…” he mumbled as he kissed her clit and started sucking on it. Y/N kept moaning his name while trying not to grind her hips too much against him. She was gripping the sheets like her life depended on it, suddenly she felt like her pussy got very hot, almost burning.
She looked down but there were just Aang’s beautiful eyes, she looked a bit confused but then he pulled away from her, just enough so she could see his red glowing tongue. “Are you heating up your tongue?!”
Aang nodded proudly. “Mhm, doesn’t it feel amazing?” And he was right, it did. He kept eating her out with his hot tongue while two cold fingers suddenly entered her. Y/N moaned smiling, understanding now exactly what he was doing. He kept sucking and licking her wet pussy while his long fingers moved in and out of her.
In the middle of it he would suddenly change the temperatures, his fingers going burning hot inside of her and his tongue feeling like an ice cube.
“Oh Aang, I think I am close… You… I am… I… please don’t stop!” She moaned and he moved faster as her back arched against the sheets, he intertwined the fingers of his free hand with hers while she came moaning and whining. “Yes… yes… Aang ah yes… feels so good…”
He helped her ride out her orgasm… just like Sokka had told him to.
When she was slowly calming down from her high he kissed her up the same way he had kissed down her. He smiled down at her as he was hovering above her, she smiled back and pulled him down for a kiss, tasting herself on his lips and tongue. Her head was so dizzy but in the best way possible.
“You taste good.” Aang said with a smirk and Y/N slapped his arms softly. He chuckled and kissed her neck biting her earlobe, “and you smell good too.” His still clothed hips started rubbing against her, “and you feel good… your body… it’s so warm and soft… you are so… hot… so incredibly hot… I…”
Even though Y/N just came, she felt herself getting wet again, Aang had never spoken like this before and it was the biggest turn on.
“I want to do so many things to you…” he whined while grinding himself on her wet pussy.
“What? What do you want to do to me?” Y/N asked desperately looking into his eyes.
“I want to bend you over, I want to make you beg and cry. I want to grip your hair and put my hands around your neck…” He suddenly widened his eyes.
“Oh I am so sorry that was really harsh wasn’t it? I mean I only want to do these things if YOU want me to do them to you, you know… anyways you should rest… I’ll get a towel and clean you up…”
“Aang?”
“Y… yes?”
“Don’t you want to finish as well?” She asked running her hand down his abs, his breath hitched and his abs tightened.
“It’s fine… I can… do it myself…”
“Yeah? Then go ahead."
His eyes widened. “Sorry?”
“Show me, I want to see how you do it.”
He looked at her not knowing if she meant it but she did… and he wanted to. He wanted to show her himself. Aang stood up and loosened his pants revealing himself. Y/N looked down at him and almost drooled because… what the fuck.
Aang lifted his hand and cupped his dick with it, he started moving it up and down softly moaning. This right in front of her was the hottest thing Y/N had ever seen her entire life. This Adonis of a man just touching himself in front of her and he was all hers.
She spread her legs a bit. “Aang… wouldn’t you rather put it here?”
“Yes please…” he breathed out and walked up to her to kiss her deeply and guide himself insider her. Once his tip was wrapped by her warm walls both of them moaned. They held each other and touched each other everywhere, kissing and biting. Licking and grinding. The room filled with moans as he filled her more and more.
Aang’s back and arm muscles flexed which almost made her cum on its own. He moved deeper into her while he kissed her full of love.
“You feel so good Y/N,” he whimpered helplessly. He had never felt this kind of pleasure before and he was almost crying, that’s how good it felt. “You are so warm, so wet, I want to keep going and going…” he mumbled as he thrust into her completely drunk on her.
“Aang faster…” she moaned holding onto his back, scratching it so hard that it would probably leave some marks the next day. He pounded more and more into her until he finally came, spilling all his cum into her. Aang rode out his orgasm while rubbing her clit to make her cum again as well.
After that he fell into her arms and cuddled against her still inside of her. They just laid there for some time breathing and thinking. He was hugging her like she was his favorite pillow and she ran her finger in circles along his back.
“I don’t have a single word to describe what just happened…” Y/N said and Aang laughed softly kissing her chest lovingly. “Me neither… maybe heaven. I think I just went to heaven.”
He looked up at her and kissed her lips softly. “I wish I could let you feel my soul because the way I feel about you really can’t be put into words… I love you Y/N… I love you so much it scares me.”
Y/N kissed him as well and ran her hand over his head smiling. “Me too… And do you understand how scary it is when the AVATAR has that much power over you?”
Both of them chuckled. “I would do anything you want from me before you even think about it yourself, I am utterly devoted to you Y/N.”
They both continued cuddling softly touching each other.
“Hey, did you know that your eyes and tattoos glow when you cum?”
Summary: It’s your birthday, but The Pitt doesn’t slow down for that. Between subway accidents, drownings, shootings, and the quiet heartbreak of patients who come back again and again, you do your best to keep your hands steady and your head clear. Somewhere in the blur of alarms and blood, you realize you’re holding onto something you shouldn’t—feelings for your quietly grieving chief attending. At The Pitt, you don’t just learn how to save lives.
You learn how hard it is to ignore your own heart.
Pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x FilipinaNurseFem!Reader
Warnings: 18+ Unrequited Love, Second-Chance, Friends-to-Lovers ANGST, Slow Burn Romance, She falls first, but He falls harder, Yearning, Delayed Hurt to Comfort, Depression, PTSD, Flashbacks, Medical Inaccuracies, Suicidal Ideation, Anxiety, Age-Gap (Robby is in his 50s, what did you think?), Insecurities, Longing, PittFest, Blood, Needles, Death of a patient, Reader has a nickname (Ducky), Gossip, Passive Aggressiveness, Sassy!Robby, Sad!Robby, Dark Humor, Jokes about unaliving (it's unserious, I swear), Medicated!Reader, Hospitals, EMTs, Lots of medical jargon, Miscommunication, Flirting, Slight Jealousy,
Main Song: The Knocker by Tiny Habits
Note: Gif in the moodboard by @/wesandresons. Each chapter is one episode of The Pitt, so the chapters are hella long. Thank you!
SEASON ONE:
Chapter 1: Everything's Circling Around Us
Chapter 2: Maybe He Doesn't Care For Sentiment, Or He Doesn't Care For You
Chapter 3: My Persistence Left Me Empty-Handed
Chapter 4: I Should've Learned By Now, You Would Say The Words Out Loud Just To Break Me In Half
Chapter 5: When You Drown Once, It's Scary To Swim Again
Chapter 6: You Turned Me Into Something, And I Allowed You
Chapter 7: Why'd You Have To Leave Me Here Still Hoping?
Chapter 8: I Know It'll Take Time, Some Time To Get Over You
Summary: When Dr. Robby returns from his extended sabbatical, he discovers that the girlfriend he thought would be waiting for him has a baby bump – and absolutely hates him for leaving.
Tags/Notes: established relationship, groveling and forgiveness, acts of service, nurse!reader, pregnant!reader, getting back together, ft. trinity as a menace and dennis as a cutie
Content: pregnancy, pregnant sex (fingering), shaving scene
A/N: im not good at math <3 sorry i haven't posted in three weeks lmao
Word Count: 14.3k
The sabbatical was supposed to be three months, but somewhere around Bar Harbor Robby decided he needed more time. For what he wasn’t sure. But he knew he needed to stay far, far away from the Pitt for a little longer. With his position at the hospital safe, he stayed in New England through the end of the summer.
On his first day back, he’d been gone as long as the two of you were together. Six months. Six months without text messages or phone calls or, hell, postcards. Six months of feeling like Robby was a ghost in your life, something you had and lost that lingers around every corner. Six months of rebuilding your life after he disappeared from it.
You found out about Robby’s sabbatical the same way everyone else did, during one of his evening speeches exactly two weeks before he was scheduled to leave. Two weeks’ notice for a relationship you’d honestly believed was headed toward an engagement ring in a few months. He didn’t think to ask you, didn’t think to check in, didn’t even bother to tell you in the privacy of the home you’d basically moved into. Your life fell into brutal clarity in that moment: Robby was a huge part of your life, but you were a footnote in his.
He sent you a text five nights ago: Back in town. When can I see you?
You didn’t answer.
You don’t plan to.
The morning of September first, Jack hands off shift change seamlessly, like Robby had never left, and Robby finds his footing on the ED floor with a newness, a fluidity, a casual lightness on his shoulders that strikes everyone as foreign. A version of Robby with no tension in his shoulders and no sarcasm biting at his tongue might as well be a new doctor.
Once he has the ED machine churning on pace, Robby leans his elbows on the nurse’s station and scans the shift board. “And where’s my favorite nurse this morning? Night shift?”
Dana barely spares him a glance as she processes the last of a stack of paperwork. She’d always disapproved of Robby pursuing you, so she’s not exactly sympathetic when she tells him, “She transferred months ago. I’m sure the notice is in your email inbox if you ever get around to clearing that out.”
His mind spins at the idea of the Pitt without you – your steady hands, your shy smiles, your forgiving wit. “Transferred? Where? Why?”
“Not my business,” Dana replies with a shrug. She pushes a chart into his chest and says, “They need you in exam six.”
As Robby takes the chart and looks over it with blank eyes that don’t see a word, Princess stands up on her toes so she can meet Robby’s eyes. With a knowing but curious gaze, she tells him quietly, “She’s working at the hospital’s satellite methadone clinic up the street now. Rumor is that she had an ugly breakup with someone at the hospital and wanted to get some distance.”
Robby sucks in a sharp breath. Holds it. Lets it out slow. His eyes focus to actually look at the chart and he mutters out, “Thanks for the info.”
She adds, “Smart money’s on Frank, by the way, since they were always so close.”
Robby grits his teeth. “They weren’t that close.”
“Whatever you say, cap.”
The biggest thing Robby notices in his shift once he’s working closely with his doctors again is a change in the batch of residents he helped onboard last year. They’ve gained confidence during his absence, which he’d expected, but there’s something else. To put it briefly, there’s a lot of scowling and it’s definitely in his direction. Even Whitaker, who used to glance up for his praise like a puppy, is now averting his eyes and keeping his sentences short, professional, unsmiling. The newest batch of students and interns is all polite deference and eager introductions, but the ones he’d come to know and care for and consider friends are acting like he stinks of BO and betrayal.
In the locker room preparing for his lunch break, he approaches Dana, trying to be casual about his tone, and asks, “What’s wrong with the kids, by the way? I have a sign that says ‘ignore me’ on my back or something I didn’t notice?”
She snickers, “Maybe they’re just mad that daddy went to the gas station for milk and didn’t come back for six months.” She gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and adds, “Give them some time; it’ll take a minute for people to find their rhythm around you again.”
He nods slowly and swallows, hoping that’s all this is. “Right, sure.”
The truth doesn’t even occur to him: You had been their favorite person around the hospital, his abandonment had made you leave, and they aren’t quite ready to forgive him for that.
—
It’s almost your lunch break when a whole flood of people arrives at once. You’re behind the check-in desk today and you can’t help groaning to yourself. You have to pee, your stomach has been growling non-stop for an hour, and you’re desperate to put your feet up.
You’re on autopilot as you check in patients, collect consent forms, and support doctors however you can without getting up from the desk. You’d started modified work duty this month and it’s driving you nuts not being able to do the hands-on clinical work you love. With your eyes on your monitor, the next patient enters your peripheral vision and you tell him, “I’ll be with you in just one moment.”
“No worries, gorgeous.”
Your focus snaps.
Anger rises up like bile in your throat. Part of you wants to cry, part wants to run, part wants to scream. Ultimately, with so many wars raging inside of your body, your expression goes flat as you meet Robby’s eyes. “You pick up an opioid habit while you were screwing your way up and down the eastern seaboard?”
Robby almost laughs. Almost. He hadn’t expected you to act so hostile – in his mind, you’re still the woman he loves, waiting patiently for his return home – and it pinches like frostbite. Voice soft and respectful, he offers, “I just wanted to stop by and see you.”
You set your jaw and cut back, “Well I didn’t want to see you, but I forgot that my opinion doesn’t affect your decisions.”
He sighs. “You’re still mad at me.”
You turn back to your computer and finish up the file you need to before lunch. “‘Still’ implies that eventually I’ll stop, which won’t be happening.”
“C’mon sweetheart, you can’t-”
“Don’t.” Your eyes flick up as you shake your head. “Just- just don’t.” After closing out your computer and sighing heavily, you tell him bluntly, “You’re officially eating into my lunch, so I’m gonna ask you to leave or I can get security. I’m happy either way.”
Robby presses, “Let me at least buy you lunch.”
You extend your hand and reply without emotion, “Sure, give me $20 and I’ll happily spend it.”
Robby grits his teeth and digs his heels in. “Please.”
Anxiety sparks in your chest as you realize he really isn’t going to leave without talking to you alone first. You’re going to have to stand up from behind the safety of the tall desk and half wall right in front of him. The moment was inevitable, but you’d hoped to at least be in control of it.
“Fine. Buy me lunch.” You’re almost laughing as you mutter, “Let’s see how this goes. Might as well do it in public.”
Then you get to your feet. You stretch your arms above your head, back tight from sitting all morning, and your navy scrub top rides up slightly.
Robby’s next words are breathless and desperate. “You’re pregnant.”
“Glad your eyes still work after six months of wind burn without your goddamn helmet.”
He swallows hard, barely hearing the malice in your voice now. “How- how far along?”
“Take a fucking guess, Doctor,” you huff, shouldering your bag and walking around the nurse’s station. He moves to follow you, but you point at the ‘only employees past this door’ sign and give him a mock pout. “Wait outside if you care so much.”
Robby debates for a second and says weakly, “It’s my lunch, too; I need to get back to the hospital.”
You give him a look that reeks of ‘that’s what I thought’ and say, “Then get back to the hospital. I’m immune to being left behind now.”
It’s not your hatred that hurts. It’s your apathy.
He sends you texts. You don’t reply.
He leaves you voicemails. You don’t listen.
After a few more days of silence, he’s got his head in his hands at the bar while Jack nurses a beer, pitying his sorry ass. He’s been silent for two straight beers, clearly gathering the courage to tell him the good news. It takes Jack reminding him that this is his only night off for Robby to choke out, “She’s pregnant. Very pregnant. Seven months, probably.”
“Ah.” Jack studies his best friend’s face for a long time before settling on a simple, succinct, thorough, “Fuck.”
Robby sucks in a long breath and lets it out slow. “Yeah. Fuck.”
“And she doesn’t want anything to do with you now.” It’s not a question. It’s the truth of the matter. Jack shakes his head and then gives Robby one of those pointed looks only a brother could get away with. “I don’t blame her.”
Robby balks, “You said I should go on the trip.”
“But I’m not your girlfriend.”
“And thank god for that.”
“You didn’t talk to her about leaving?”
“I didn’t realize I needed her permission.”
“You didn’t. But you should’ve wanted it.” Jack puts on that sage old friend voice and goes on, “You told me before you left that she’s the one. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“A lot. That’s why I had to go,” Robby replies, grappling with too much of himself. “Look, leaving was the right thing to do. I know that now more than ever. I figured a lot of shit out and I feel a hell of a lot better – about myself, my future, my life. But now? Now there’s going to be a baby. My baby. Our baby.” Robby gently thumps his forehead on the bartop and groans, “The whole time I was gone, I thought she’d be waiting for me when I came home. Every step of the way, I figured- I figured she’d still want me.”
“Delusions of grandeur,” Jack opines almost absently. Then he yanks Robby to sitting upright by the back of his hoodie. “She’s so far out of your league you’d have to get drafted first just to be her water boy. Why the hell would you think that?”
“Because she always waited for me,” Robby mutters, sounding so absolutely pathetic Jack debates recording it for blackmail down the road. “She- she was always there. She always stayed.”
“And you repaid her by leaving.”
Robby’s voice drops to an ashamed whisper. “I didn’t realize she loved me enough to care that I left.”
“But she did.”
“She did.” Robby stares straight ahead, through Jack and through the walls and through the world until his eyes settle back on his relationship with you – the one good part of his life that had spiraled squarely out of his control. “She was shining a light in my face, but I was too busy covering my own eyes to see her. Too deep in my own self-doubt and self-hatred to recognize what was right in front of me.”
“Alright, Socrates, pack it in.” Jack claps a hand on Robby’s back and summarizes, “You fucked it up and you need to fix it.”
“I fucked it up and I need to fix it,” Robby confirms. “But how do I even begin to say sorry for something like that?”
“She doesn’t want you to say sorry,” Jack replies. It’s effortless for him, this kind of thing. Robby is supremely jealous of how simple Jack makes it all sound. “She doesn’t want Robby the rich attractive attending anymore.”
“Flatterer.”
“Shut up. I’m saying she’s spent the last six months thinking you were gone. While you’re god knows where, she’s figuring out how to be a single mom on a nurse’s salary. So I know she doesn’t want what you used to be for her.”
Jack pauses for long enough that Robby has to sigh and prod, “You’re really gonna make me prompt you? Tell me what you think she wants.”
“She wants a dad for her kid. A real dad, not a sperm donor. She doesn’t want a boyfriend. She wants a husband. And a husband doesn’t have to run away to figure his shit out. Show up for the baby and you’re showing up for her.” Jack finishes off his beer, slaps down a handful of cash, and tells him, “Let’s get a cab. I think you need to cry yourself to sleep to figure out your next move.”
At nine a few nights later, after his shift, Robby knocks on the door of the new address he definitely didn’t steal from your personnel file. It’s a small townhouse in an okay part of town, better than your previous shoebox, but it’s still nothing compared to his spacious home further out of the city. The place he always imagined raising his family in. The place where you’d taken up half his closet, half his bathroom counterspace, half his life. Half his heart, undeniably.
When Trinity Santos answers the door, Robby nearly falls on his ass. With a green face mask cracking on her skin and her eyes burning with anger, he’s never seen her looking so full of wrath. Which is saying something. “What are you doing here, Dr. Robby?”
His brows furrow as he explains, “I was trying to see my girlfriend, but I guess I got the wrong address somehow.”
Santos scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “You girlfriend? Pretty sure you forfeited that title when you ditched her like she didn’t mean anything to you.”
“Woah, Jesus,” Robby chuckles, holding his hands up. “Is that the general consensus? Guess that explains all the hostility today.”
“Not hostile, just professional.”
“You were definitely hostile.”
Trinity glares. “File a complaint.”
She moves to shut the door, but he catches it with one large hand. “Is she here?”
Trinity continues to use her body to block him from entering. She knows he’d never do anything crazy like push her, but she wants to make her allegiance perfectly clear. “Yup.”
“She lives with you and Whitaker now?”
“Yup. Saving money until the last minute.”
“God.” Robby runs his hand over the back of his head. “Can I- Can I just come in and see her?”
Holding bitter eye contact, Trinity calls over her shoulder, “Do you want to see Robby?”
Your voice is immediate. There’s more hurt in it than he’d heard this morning, and something about that makes him feel hopeful. Like there might still be something for him to hold onto. “He’s here?”
“At the door.”
Robby listens as a chair squeaks across the floor and your footsteps recede toward a staircase. Away from him. Fainter now, you call, “Get rid of him.”
Trinity nods and turns back to her boss. “You heard the woman. Go home.”
“Fuck, fine. It’s getting late anyway; she should sleep.” With a rough sigh, he reaches into his inner jacket pocket and hands her an envelope. “Can you give this to her at least?”
Santos snatches it from his hand and demands, “What is it?”
“It’s ten thousand dollars.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Robby.”
Without saying anything else, she slams the door in his face. Shaking her head, Trinity ascends the steps to the second floor, where all the bedrooms are, and knocks on your door. You answer with puffy, tear-swollen eyes. Right away, Trinity wraps you up in a hug and sighs, “He’s the worst. I’ll kill him at work tomorrow.”
You laugh, sniffle, and shake your head. “No need. I was going to have to deal with this eventually, right?”
“Yeah, but it should be your choice on your terms, not him showing up unannounced.” You nod and pull back from the hug, swiping your cheeks one more time. Trinity holds up the envelope and says, “Robby wants me to give this to you. I can rip it up or hold onto it or-”
“I’ll take it.” You smile softly at her and add, “Thanks, Trin. You shouldn’t have to deal with my baby daddy drama.”
“You deal with my gay soap opera with Yo,” she points out with a conspiratorial grin.
Your reply is interrupted by the sound of Dennis emerging from his bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s been on the late-night shift the past couple weeks, slowly becoming nocturnal. “What’s going on?”
Trinity answers with malice lacing her tone, “Robby showed up.”
Dennis shakes his head. “Bastard.”
“You don’t have to say that,” you reply with a laugh. “I know you want to go back to being his personal assistant as soon as possible.”
“Trinity would kill me,” he mutters.
She punches him on the arm. “And I’d be right! We don’t defend shitty men who-”
“Robby’s not a shitty man; you know that,” he interrupts her. “He handled leaving in a shitty way; that doesn’t make him a shitty person.”
“You’re too forgiving, Nebraska.”
“And you’re not forgiving enough.”
You sigh sharply, “And I need to go to sleep.”
“At least open up the letter for us,” Trinity insists. “My nosiness is absolutely screaming for the intel. I won’t be able to sleep without it.”
Ripping open the envelope, you sigh, “I’m sure it’s just some stupid saccharine guilt bomb designed to make me-” Your voice falls to the ground and melts through the floorboards. There’s a folded-up note wrapped around something much more interesting. You hold it up to Trinity and Dennis and breathlessly announce, “It’s a check for ten thousand dollars.”
“Oh my god, I thought he was being a dick,” Trinity replies, her voice equally low and surprised, almost reverent – not for Robby but for the sheer amount of money. “Why the hell would he…?”
With shaking hands, you read the corresponding handwritten note to your roommates.
I don’t know whether or not when you’ll let me back into your life.
That’s up to you. I accept it. I respect that it’s your choice.
But I’m not going to be a deadbeat dad. You know I can’t do that. You know about my father. I’m never going to become him. I hope you believe that.
So this isn’t a bribe to take me back. I promise it isn’t. It’s not an apology. I’m still working on that.
It’s for our kid. For you as the mother of my child, not just the a woman I want need miss love care about. Nursery stuff, vitamins, doctor’s appointments, your favorite hot chocolate from Vino’s, anything you need until they’re born. I’m not going to let you want for anything. If money is all you’ll accept from me, then take every penny I have. Please.
I promise I won’t abandon the baby. I promise I will do whatever you need from me and more.
And I promise I love you. Both of you.
I hope you’ll Please, let me prove it.
Love,
Sincerely,
Yours,
M.
All three of you hold your breath in the space that follows Robby’s painstakingly scrawled words.
Then Dennis takes a long breath and urges, “See? He’s good. He cares. He wants to take care of you and the baby. You could do a hell of a lot worse.”
Trinity shakes her head and swallows hard. “She could do a hell of a lot better, too. He still left.”
Dennis argues, “He didn’t know she was pregnant.”
You whisper, “Do I really want a man who would only stay because of a baby?”
Knowing far too much for his own good, Dennis touches your shoulder and presses, “Do you really want any man besides him?”
You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to breathe. “I need sleep. I’ll…Fuck. I’ll let you guys know whenever I figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.”
Trinity brushes your cheek with her thumb. “Love you, sunshine. Goodnight.”
You wish her goodnight and Dennis a good shift before retreating into your bedroom. You change into your pajamas, ignoring the tee of Robby’s that still lives in your drawer, and curl up with your thoughts. In bed on your side, you rest your hand on your bump and wish the little life inside could tell you the right thing to do.
In his home across town, all Robby knows is that he’s never felt so much relief watching $10,000 leave his account.
In the morning, on your way out, the door thumps against something heavy on the stoop. A large plastic tote with a brown bag from your favorite cafe on top of it. You call over your shoulder for Trinity and she hauls the heavy box inside while you focus on the little bag of treats with a note card stapled to it. Inside the bag is your usual order that Robby always brought into the hospital for you in the mornings, the coffee replaced by a ginger tea but the bear claw looking as delectable as ever.
I figured you might want your things back from my place. I’m sorry for being gone longer than you expected for not giving you a key in the first place for unintentionally stealing your stuff for coming by last night. I don’t want to make anything worse. M.
Trinity reads the note over your shoulder and announces, “He’s groveling.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should let him grovel.”
Biting the sweet fluffy pastry, you consider, “I don’t want to be cruel. I’m not going to keep his own baby from him.”
“Of course not. But that’s not what we’re talking about. Do you want him? Not just as your baby daddy. A husband. A real man. Do you want to be Mrs. Robby someday soon?”
“Of course I do,” you sigh, “but I just…I don’t trust him anymore. How could I?”
“I’m just saying,” she reasons with a shrug, “if his baseline grovel is 10k, I for one would love to see where he goes from there. Maybe you’ll end up with a private plane or something.”
“Robby’s got money, but he doesn’t have that kind of money.”
“As far as we know,” she replies with a snicker. “Look, at the end of the day, you have to decide if you can trust him, so I say you tell him exactly what you need and see if he can hack it. Be blunt with him about your expectations. He can worship the ground you walk on from here on out or he can spend the rest of his life signing child support checks and seeing his kid every other weekend.”
You laugh and polish off the bear claw. “You’re a menace, Trinity Santos.”
“My specialty.” She pours herself a coffee and collects her bag. “Now do you want a ride or are you grabbing the bus?”
“It’s a beautiful morning; I don’t mind the bus.”
“Maybe Robby will get you a car.”
“Yeah,” you snort, “maybe.”
Right as your lunch break starts that afternoon, a delivery driver shows up by the staff entrance with an order bearing your name. After one of the other nurses calls you back, you take the heavy bag of absolutely heavenly-smelling Thai food and ask the driver, “Is this from Michael Robinavitch?”
“Yeah, he said you’d be expecting it.” He checks the order on his phone and reads, “The delivery instructions said ‘tell her I know for a fact she doesn’t eat enough protein to be growing a whole new person.’ Congratulations; he sounds like a nice dad.”
You shake your head and sigh. “Yeah, he can be.”
And it goes on like that for the next five days before you decide what to do. Robby always orders you lunch. None of the following meals come with messages, though, just something carefully chosen for your tastes and needs. He even remembers the way you order things – extra lime on your pad thai, salsa verde instead of pico on your tacos, and any bonus dessert he can throw in – to the point where you wonder if people at the Pitt are helping him out, campaigning for the two of you to get back together.
Robby checks his phone way too many times that entire first week that he’s back. He keeps waiting for you to text, call, email, hell he’ll even take a DM at this point. But you don’t. It’s agony. If nothing else, Trinity’s dagger-glare has dulled into more of a butter-knife-glare by Friday afternoon.
Then.
After he clocks out and heads to the parking lot, there you are. Leaning on his fucking motorcycle. You’re a vision in the waning afternoon, sunlight catching your hair and brightening your eyes. You speak first: “Can we talk?”
“Yes,” Robby answers too fast. “Of course we can. Do you…want to go somewhere else?”
“No. I don’t.” You swallow hard and then nod to a nearby bench, sitting down before he does the same. With one hand on your belly, you train your eyes forward and tell him, “You said in your note that you want to prove you love me. But I know you love me. That’s not the problem.”
Robby has to resist the urge to take your hands in his, to tilt your face toward him, to do anything that would ground your bodies together. “Tell me.”
Confirming his every fear, you whisper, “I don’t trust you enough to raise a child with you.”
Throat thick and limbs heavy, he rasps, “You don’t want me to be involved with my own kid?”
“Of course I want you to be in her life; that’s not- that’s not what I meant. But I don’t know if I can trust you to be her dad – her mom’s partner – and not just her biological father.”
The world tilts slightly.
Robby’s breath catches in his throat.
Tears sting his eyes and he blinks them back. His voice trembles alongside his hands as he confirms, “It’s a girl?
You can’t help the way that softens you. You can see the universe he’s building behind his eyes: Robby holding a pink-blanket bundle, Robby learning to braid hair, Robby being fiercely protective and achingly tender.
You want to share that life with him so badly that it hurts. To sit by his side at dance recitals and tell bedtime stories together and be real.
“Yeah,” you settle for saying, intimately quiet, just for the two of you, “she’s a girl.”
“Wow. Holy shit. A girl. A little girl. Have you-” He clears his throat and swats a tear from his cheek. “Have you picked a name yet?”
You shake your head and admit, “I have some favorites, but it wouldn’t feel right to choose by myself. Without you, I mean. She’s not just mine.” Robby lets the next few tears fall onto his scrub pants and you can’t bear to watch. So you dig around in your purse and hand over the few ultrasound pictures you’d set aside, always hoping you’d be able to give them to him. One from each of your check-ups, a timeline from blob to baby. “Here. Yours to keep.”
Robby stares down at pure gold in his hands. He looks over each photo like a precious ancient text, smiling with those lovely wrinkles of his. After looking at the most recent one for a long time, he murmurs lovingly, “She’s got your nose.”
You touch your pointer finger to the picture and reply, “And your huge feet.”
His eyes stay locked on the scan for another full minute; he’s too choked up to add anything else. Once he’s finally starting to recover from growing a new chamber of his heart so quickly, he tucks the photos into his backpack, slides onto the sidewalk in front of you like he’s about to propose, and gazes up at your face. “I’ll do anything to be yours again.”
Biting your lower lip, you nod. Slow. Thinking. “I can’t just pick up where we left off.”
“I don’t expect you to. I don’t want that.” He sits back onto the bench next to you, this time tilting his whole body towards yours. Creating space he begs you to fill. “I know we can’t exactly start over, but I- I want to be new together. I want to fix what I broke.”
“Okay,” you whisper back, trying hard not to cry. Hormones and hope make a brutal cocktail. You sniffle hard and suggest, “Trinity told me you have the weekend off. Breakfast tomorrow? Well, brunch; the baby likes to sleep in.”
“Absolutely. Anywhere you want, any time.”
Your eyes narrow. “That fancy place you took me after the first time I slept over?”
“I’ll pick you up at ten.”
You wince as the baby launches a foot into your ribcage. “Sold.”
With those dumb beautiful wide cow eyes of his, Robby asks, “Are you okay?”
“Your daughter’s beating the shit out of me,” you groan. When he laughs, though, you soften even more. Tentative, you offer, “Do you want to feel?”
Robby’s voice is ragged and desperate like you’ve never heard it. It’s heavy with love and with need and with hope. One word holds every dream he’s ever had. “Please.”
You take his hand and guide it to the spot where the baby is currently dancing a samba, watching his tender, reverent expression every moment.
“Holy shit.” Robby laughs and grins at you while the baby nudges him over and over like she’s saying hi. “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.”
You roll your eyes and try not to smile. “Please; you’ve felt a million babies kick.”
“But this is-” He shakes his head and chuckles again at another flutter. “This is different. Is she always this active?”
“In the evening, yeah. Like she can tell I’m done with work and it’s playtime.” You put your hand over his, nothing more than an instinct, and rub your thumb over his skin. “She’s gonna terrorize us.”
‘Us’ settles, warm and cozy, in the hearth of Robby’s chest. He leans down and kisses your bump gently. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You’re halfway through the insanely decadent strawberries-and-cream crepes you ordered when you actually get up the confidence to break the charged silence between you and Robby. He’d overly complimented your cozy but stylish enough ribbed knit dress and you’d noted his freshly trimmed beard making him look too handsome for you to think clearly. Then a healthy dose of small talk while you waited for food. Now silence.
After licking a bit of vanilla cream from the corner of your mouth, you rush out, “I want you to audition to be my husband.”
One side of Robby’s lip ticks up into a cute, amused smirk. “Shall I prepare a monologue or a musical number? Will there be a dance portion?”
You hum teasingly, “There’ll be whatever I want; that’s the whole point.”
“This has Trinity Santos written all over it.”
You shrug and relent, “She may have had a hand in the concept.”
His fork wavers in the air. “Should I fear for my life?”
“No more than you usually do around her,” you giggle, just a bit, and Robby feels part of himself taking flight at the proof of any lightness left between the two of you. Then you go on seriously (so seriously it wraps back around to adorable for him), “For the next two weeks, I’m going to tell you what I need from you and you’re going to do it as soon as you can. Every time. I want to be the most needy, most demanding, most pregnant person in the entire world. If you can survive that, you can apologize. Give me a real, thoughtful apology and I’ll accept.”
Right away, Robby nods and confirms, “Consider it done.”
You raise a challenging eyebrow. “That easy?”
He puffs up his chest a bit. “I’m an emergency room doctor; I think I can handle a few midnight craving runs.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m 100% confident.”
“Great. Love that.” You sip your drink, gaze at him over the rim, and then tell him with the most vindictive smile you can manage, “The first thing I want you to do is sell the motorcycle.”
That night, Robby’s phone rings with a call from you for the first time in six months. It wakes him from a dead sleep, but he’s been craving your custom ringtone so much that he still manages to answer within less than a second. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he slurs out, “Hi, mama.”
“Hey, Michael.” He can clearly picture you sitting cross-legged on your bed with a menacing smile as you ask, “Can you bring me a tub of that cake batter ice cream I like? The one with the blue frosting swirl and rainbow sprinkles and the actual chunks of pound cake.”
Robby puts you on speaker so he can sit up, stretch his arms, and hit the lights. As he tugs on whatever clothes he runs into, he clarifies, “You mean the one they sell at that kitschy 24-hour diner roadside attraction thing off the highway out in Bridgeville?”
“That would be the one.” Sounding downright wistful, you tell him, “I’ve been craving it my whole pregnancy, but I felt bad asking Trinity to do nearly an hour of driving to scratch the itch.”
Robby frowns as he fumbles through tying his shoes. “You still don’t have a car?”
“I’m living with Dennis and Trinity to save money so I can get one by the time the baby needs to go to daycare,” you tell him softly, trying not to let it sound like an invitation. You swallow hard and repeat firmly, “Ice cream. One hour.”
He smiles to himself as he picks up his car keys. “See you soon.”
Before Robby opens the door to the garage, his phone pings with a text. It’s Whitaker, for some reason.
Good luck on your first mission. Her feet are killing her extra today, by the way.
With a grateful little smile, Robby grabs a tube of the cocoa butter lotion you’d put him onto back when you were together and tucks it conspiratorially in his pocket.
Noted. Thanks for the tip.
Dennis shoots off two more texts before Robby gets to driving.
I’m rooting for you.
If you could also grab me some of those real rootbeers in the dark bottles they sell there that would be great.
Robby rolls his eyes and starts the car. It takes almost exactly one hour to make his way to the neighboring town, stand in line at the Cracker-Barrel-esque diner shop, and head over to your place. It’s quiet this time of night in your neighborhood, so quiet that he doesn’t even have to knock. You answer the door in a crop top that sits on top of your bump and gray sweatpants that hang low beneath it, rolled up around your ankles. You’re visibly exhausted and need a shower and you’ve never been more beautiful.
Then you glance over his shoulder at the car still idling by the curb and your mouth falls open in shock.
“Michael David Robinavitch,” you say breathlessly, hopping down onto the stoop to get a better look, “is that a minivan?”
“Brand new Chrysler Pacifica,” he confirms, following you over and slapping his hand on the hood like it’s a sports car. “Most safety and security features in its class. Ain’t she a beaut?”
With a shy smile, you confirm, “You got rid of the motorcycle?”
Robby shrugs modestly. “Not very practical when you have kids.”
“Kids. Plural.”
He cuts you a look that’s all cocky and loving. “Yeah. Plural.” Then, before you can stop buffering and come up with a response, he slides open the side door of the van and removes his spoils. Hoisting heavy reusable bags, Robby announces, “Two gallons of ice cream as ordered. Hopefully that’ll last you until after my next shift.”
You squeal and grab one of the bags from him, practically skipping back into the house. You leave the front door open and Robby hesitantly takes it as an invitation to join you inside, lingering in the doorway as you beeline to the kitchen, scoop yourself a hearty bowl, and put the rest away in the freezer. You pause, turn to Robby, and check, “You want some?”
Robby carefully steps the rest of the way into the living room and closes the door behind him. “I think all that sugar and fat would give me a heart attack even faster than the stress.”
You sigh and flop down on the couch, lifting your feet onto the coffee table and settling the bowl on your stomach. “Try telling that to your daughter; all she wants is sugar and fat.”
“Thus why I keep sending you balanced meals to eat.”
“Thank you for that, by the way,” you lilt gently, smiling around the spoon as you indulge in the ice cream. You close your eyes and throw your head back, moaning, “Fuck, this is so good. Are you sure you don’t want any?”
“I’m happier watching you eat it,” he chuckles as he memorizes your pleased expression. It’s the first time he’s seen you so content and not on the verge of yelling at him since he’s been back. “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”
“Yeah, actually,” you tell him as you try to get comfortable, adjusting pillows around your limbs, “I want to hear about your trip.”
Robby’s brows go up; he genuinely hadn’t expected you to want to talk to him at all. “Really?”
“Yup.” You pat the couch next to you. “Princess kept calling it your midlife crisis fuck-a-thon, so I want to hear about all your exploits.”
Robby tilts his head to the side and says plainly, quietly, urgently, “I didn’t have sex with anyone while I was gone.”
You try to ignore the way that knowledge makes you breathless, focusing on creating perfectly balanced bites of ice cream. “You didn’t?”
“Of course not.” He shrugs, joins you on the couch, and says sheepishly, “I thought I had my girl waiting for me when I got back.”
“Girls don’t wait for men who don’t even text while they’re gone,” you murmur back, sounding more pathetic than you’d wanted.
“I know. I was really screwed up before I left because of everything with the shooting and with Langdon and I- I didn’t see anything clearly. Couldn’t.” Without making anything of it, Robby shifts your bare feet into his lap and starts to rub the arch of one with his thumbs, deep and perfect. He gives you a cheeky look and adds, “But someone I’m trying to impress told me that I had to earn the opportunity to apologize, so I won’t get into all that yet.”
You give him a pointed look. “Any particular reason you’re rubbing my feet?”
He shrugs innocently and reasons, “You’re pregnant; I’m sure they’re killing you all the time.”
“It’s just interesting timing,” you muse, “considering I was complaining about needing a foot massage to Whitaker right before he left for his shift and you just so happened to bring him that weird Pennsylvania root beer he’s been wanting.”
“A man has to have some secrets,” he murmurs. Then he removes all pretense and rucks up the legs of your sweats, takes the lotion from his pocket, and really gets down to business. While he works tension from your feet and ankles and calves, Robby tells you honestly, “All I really did on my trip was think.”
You tease, “Sounds horrible.”
“It was, a lot of the time.” Robby takes the empty bowl from your hands and sets it on the coffee table, promising to wash it before he leaves, and insists you just relax under the expert working of his hands. “I didn’t go because I needed a vacation. I needed to…reset. I watched a lot of sunsets in beautiful places, wrote in my journal twice a day, tried to get eight full hours of sleep every night.”
Your mouth falls open. “You wrote in a journal?”
“Still do,” he replies, sounding a little impressed with himself. “It helps me think. Helps me view my thoughts more rationally – see how stupid they can get, how untrue – when I can read them on the page instead of just repeating them over and over in my mind.”
“That’s really good,” you sigh, head on the cushion and eyes closed. He’s not sure if you’re talking about the journaling or the foot massage or both. Frankly, he doesn’t care. Just getting to hear your sounds of simple pleasure is enough. Interlocking your hands over your bump, you sleepily prod, “Tell me about all the beautiful sunsets, then.”
Robby knows you’re about two minutes from falling asleep, but he happily obliges regardless. He talks about the rolling Appalachians that separate Pittsburgh from the East Coast, the light over the Atlantic early in the morning, the busy cities and empty back roads alike. He talks about the old man he sat with for three hours in a coffee shop listening to him glow about his late wife. He talks about the beach where he saw a family playing and finally felt at peace about Heather’s miscarriage years ago. He talks about the synagogue in New York City where he went just to feel connected to some peace but a rabbi sought him out from the sea of faces and said the Tefilat Haderech over him. He recites the lines he remembers.
…lead us in peace and direct our steps in peace, and guide us in peace, and support us in peace, and cause us to reach our destination in life, joy, and peace…grant me grace, kindness, and mercy…bestow upon us abundant kindness…
After a while, he hears you softly snoring, but he doesn’t stop. Instead he touches your exposed belly, gently working the lotion over your stretch marks, and soothes, “Someday I’ll take you all the beautiful places I’ve seen. You’re going to have the most perfect life I can give you. You and your mom and me.”
Coming in quietly after her shift, Trinity walks into the living room, takes in the scene in front of her, and grins unabashedly. Big bad attending Dr. Robby waiting on you hand and foot just like she told you he should. Grabbing a late snack, she chuckles and praises, “Now this is what I like to see, Rob.”
Robby whispers back, “Be quiet. She’s out like a light.”
“You were just talking to her.”
He corrects, “I was talking to the baby. Mom might be asleep, but my little girl is up and kicking in there listening to my stories.”
She gives him a slap on the back as she walks by. “You’ll bore her to sleep soon enough, gramps.”
Robby’s eating leftovers in bed the next time you call on him. He pauses the TV and picks up the call. “Michael Robinavitch personal assistant service, how may I help you?”
You groan, “I want to shave my legs and I can’t reach anymore.”
He chuckles quietly and hastens to eat the last few bites of his dinner. “Sounds like something I can handle. Do I need to pick up anything to enhance your experience? Chocolate?”
Your voice perks up just a little. “Twix. Several.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And a blue raspberry slushee if you get the Twix at a 7/11.”
“I think I can manage that.”
Half an hour later, you’re in the bath sipping on a Big Gulp and wearing a bikini – much to Robby’s eye-rolling amusement, you insisted he had to earn even non-sexual nudity – while Robby lathers up your legs with your fancy moisturizing gel. You don’t miss the way he takes the time to massage the knots from your calves with those deliciously large hands. God, you missed his hands.
“You’ve got a real jungle going down here,” Robby tuts as he starts in above your ankles, working his way over your skin methodically and thoroughly, his glasses sitting low on his nose as if he’s prepping a surgical field. If this is a measure of how much he cares for you, then he’s not going to miss a single hair. “Gonna need a weed wacker for those shins.”
You glare at him. “I will send that razor straight through your hand, Michael.”
“I’m just saying you could’ve asked me a week ago.”
“I didn’t have any reason to shave my legs a week ago.”
“But you do now?” He raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Hot date?”
“With the OBGYN, yup. She’s a real hunk.”
He gives you a very pointed look at that. “Do you want me to trim your bush?”
“Michael!”
“I know you prefer to keep the topiary neat and the ground below smooth.”
“I will not hesitate to splash you.”
Robby just laughs. As he rinses off the razor and touches up some areas – he even shaves your big toes without saying a word, the gentleman – he sighs and lets his voice go low and honest. “That was a sincere offer. I’m not trying to get off on your personal maintenance, I promise. You always told me you felt uncomfortable when things got a little unruly.”
Sounding far too flirty for Robby’s sanity, you reply, “And you always told me you like unruly.”
“But it’s your body,” he replies. Earnest. Insistent. “I’m not going to push it, but it’s on the table if you change your mind. I want to do anything that will make being pregnant more comfortable for you. I know being up in the stirrups every few weeks can’t exactly be fun.”
After a moment, you whisper, barely loud enough to be heard above the gentle movement of the bath water. “You’re making it really hard to stay mad at you.”
His eyes drift up to yours. You both hold the eye contact for so long that, for some reason, tears sting at your waterline. His golden brown irises are too familiar, too warm, too full of love you’re afraid to accept and afraid to lose. Finally he says, “I want you to be mad at me until you don’t need to be anymore.”
You scoff, “You want me to be mad at you?”
He swallows hard and amends, “I want you to feel everything you need to feel. I can take it.”
And you want to kiss him.
You hate him – and you want to kiss him. So you sigh and say, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Untying the sides of your bikini bottoms, you confirm, “Let’s trim the bush.”
He makes a show of patting his pockets before announcing, “Crap, I think I left my pruning shears at home.”
You smile and roll your eyes, grateful for his levity and the effortless way he makes you feel safe in his presence. You slip the rest of the way out of the bikini, wring it out, and hand him the sopping fabric. He hangs it over the sink and returns to his place by your side.
As he cleans off the razor again, Robby assures you, “Tell me if you want me to stop. It’s okay if you change your mind any time. You know as well as I do that the OBGYN won’t care what your vulva looks like.”
You snicker, “I know. Get to it, doc.”
Robby chuckles, sinks his hands into the water, and guides your legs apart just enough to give him access. When his fingertips graze your labia, he hisses in a needy breath at the familiar feel of your soft lips. Then he curses softly, shaking his head with a laugh. “Sorry, sorry. Reflexive reaction. Nothing short of professionalism from here on out.”
You laugh, “It’s okay. Glad to know someone still finds me remotely attractive even though I feel like a beached whale.”
“You’ve never been more attractive,” he says quietly. Quickly. But he doesn’t let it hang. He gives a sharp soldier’s nod and gets to work, using his precise doctor’s fingertips to guide his motions. “You know, the last time I did this, it was because a woman had superglue in her pubes. Gluing her shut.”
You wince. “Jesus fuck. How does something like that even happen?”
He shrugs. “Freak sex accident, I’m assuming. That’s half the job.” Then he furrows his brow and drags his fingers up your innermost thigh, cleaning up the edges. “Alright, no more jokes, I’ve gotta focus when I’m relying on touch.”
You roll your eyes. “Yes, sir.”
You close your eyes and lean your head back on the bath pillow Robby ordered to be delivered to your place a few nights ago. In the low light with a backdrop of soothing water sounds, you relax easily; Michael’s touch could never be unfamiliar to you. He uses the fingers of one hand to guide the other, methodically following his own touch along your labia, down near your entrance, up towards your clit. You try to control your breathing as his confident motions start to work some neglected parts of your brain. When he gently pushes against your mons to make the skin straighter and easier to shave, the heel of his hand rests against your clit and you can barely think. He’s not doing it on purpose – that much is clear from how he’s got his tongue slightly out in focus, attuned only to what he’s doing – but it’s working you up nonetheless.
Your shaky voice breaks through the silence. “Michael?”
Totally concentrated on the task at hand, he slows his hands and offers, “Hm?”
Like a guilty child, you admit, “You’re turning me on.”
Right away, he withdraws his hands from under the water and moves away from the tub. “Shit, I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t trying to do any-”
“No, it’s- it’s okay,” you assure quickly. “I just haven’t been able to, um, do anything about, ah, that particular sort of thing for the last two-ish months. I’m a little…pent up. I didn’t want to, like, start moaning or something on accident.”
Robby hesitates. There’s a war in his eyes. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, trying not to think about anything at all. His cheeks turn red the way you always teased him for and he opens his mouth to talk. Closes it again. Repeats that a few times.
Ultimately, he doesn’t say a thing, just waits for you to lead.
You love him for not offering, for not cracking a joke, for not deflecting. He just creates space for you, leaning against your counter and keeping his eyes on your face. The man in front of you is the same Robby you’ve adored for years and claimed as yours for months, but he’s different, too. There’s a calm to him you haven’t seen before. When Robby used to touch you, it was hot and claiming and craving and yearning. You felt his desperation in every kiss. This man is waiting. Deferent.
For the first time, you’re in charge. You get to decide.
So you decide.
Gently, certain but sheepish, you ask, “Would you mind, um, helping me out with that?”
His voice is strangled and his face is contorted into something akin to agony. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t want to change anything with where we’re at right now,” you clarify, speaking slow, like you’re worried about a nervous cat darting, “but I could really use some relief on that front. If that- if that wouldn’t be too weird.”
“Weird?” Robby laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “No, it wouldn’t be weird.”
“What would it be, then?”
He takes in a shaky breath and replies, “It wouldn’t have to be something.” Sitting down by the tub again, he says, “I said I’d do anything to make you comfortable. Anything.” He lets his hand once again drift below the water, looking at you like it’s a challenge. “I’m not a chicken about fingering a girl when she needs some help.” As his thumb ghosts over your clit, you gasp and stifle the ensuing moan with the back of your hand. Suppressing a self-satisfied smirk, Robby reminds you, “Just tell me if you want me to stop. This isn’t about me.”
You nod eagerly and tilt your hips forward to give him better access. Robby shakes his head a bit; you were always so greedy for him to touch you and it doesn’t seem like that’s changed. Robby uses the pad of his thumb to work your clit, keeping firm contact as he rubs it in small circles, not too fast but not teasing, either. Your need is obvious in the fast rising and falling of your chest, the twitching in your thighs, the way you bite your lower lip and pinch your eyes shut. He treats this like what it is: Relief.
When he can tell you’re wanting more – letting out those soft and desperate little moans he always replays when he jerks off – he dips his other hand between your legs and feels between your lips. You’re wet and begging and he’s not going to deny you for even a second. With the water not letting anything get particularly lubricated, Robby keeps his fingers seated inside of you, curling them instead of thrusting. Your pretty lips fall open in a pleased ‘o’ and Robby’s borderline dizzy from how good it feels to get you off again. He’s not sure if it’s the pregnancy or the desperation but you feel downright swollen with lust, hot and plush and like he could spend the rest of his life keeping you knocked up and-
Woah, asshole.
Calm down.
He takes a deep breath of his own, matching one of yours, and focuses back on you and not on his achingly hard cock straining for freedom from his sweats. As he massages your g-spot way too effortlessly, the palm of his other hand pulls the hood of your clit back slightly, just enough to light your nerves on fire from the intensity of his touch. Heat rises in your cheeks, your chest, your thighs. Robby knows how to work a long, hard orgasm out of you. He never rushes. He matches the curls of his fingers with his thumb on your clit and doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t race. He lets you feel every singular sparking second until you’re tightening up around him, your toes curling, your thighs clamping around his hand, your back arching as much as it’ll allow.
All Robby gives himself permission to say as you cum around his fingers is a soft, loving, “There you go. That’s it.”
When your pussy finally starts to release him, only faint fluttery aftershocks remaining, Robby pulls out of you, resists the urge to lick his fingers, and wipes his hands dry. He shuts his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath before he can bear to look at you. The sweat on your brow, the blown darkness of your pupils, the slight swell from biting your lower lip. You’re too beautiful for him to cope with. Robby gazes at you only as long as he can handle before averting his eyes.
To distract himself from the goddess bathing below him, Robby absently strokes your oversized towel hanging on the nearby rack and offers, “Ready to get out? I’ll help you up.”
Still breathless, you stare up at Robby in surprise. He didn’t kiss you, didn’t ask for any pleasure in exchange, only gave you what you needed, what you asked for. Pure, unadulterated respect. For your body, your boundaries, your desires. That’s so much sexier than the desperate love the two of you used to make between agonized sheets. “That would be good. Thank you.”
Robby pulls the stopper on the tub and extends his strong hands for you. Your eyes lock together as you stand with a groan. As he wraps you up in the towel, he holds your shoulders a moment and says urgently, earnestly, “Anything. Any time.”
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
In the morning, Robby’s securing his sleeves with his nicest cufflinks when you call him exactly when he’d expected. He may have snooped on your calendar – it was hanging on your wall as he helped you into bed, sue him – and saw that your OGBYN appointment this morning is, in fact, your third trimester anatomy scan at 9:00am. He knew as soon as he saw it that you were going to ask him to come at the last minute, so he’d asked Jack to stay a few hours late and he’d do the same at night.
He picks up the phone, trying not to sound to pleased with himself. “What can I do for you, oh glorious mother of my child?”
“Laying it on thick already,” you tease. He can hear you talking around your toothbrush and the image makes him smile as he smooths out his charcoal gray blazer and applies a few dabs of cologne. “Would you mind coming to my ultrasound with me today? Trinity was supposed to drive me but I guess she can’t now.”
Robby grins from ear to ear when he catches you in the blatant lie. Trinity’s working a double, which of course Robby would know as her supervisor. You were never planning on asking anyone else. Tucking that knowledge away in a secret place in his heart, Robby nudges, “Do you need a ride or am I invited in?”
“It’s your baby, dumbass,” you reply, the words half-formed now as you floss. After you rinse and spit again, you tell him more seriously, “I want you there.”
“You do?”
There’s a beat of silence where he’s worried he’s pushed too far. But then you say, “Yeah, I do. I wish you could’ve been there for the first few.”
With a deep breath, he replies, “Me too. I’d give anything to go back and-” He takes another deep breath and shakes his head at himself. “I’ll be there to pick you up in a few, okay?”
“See you soon, Michael.”
“Lo- See you, sweetheart.”
When you see Robby leaning against that goddamn minivan, you nearly jump his bones. He’s wearing slim-cut jeans that make his thighs look like tree trunks, his white button-down is undone just enough to show off some chest hair, and he’s got on a fucking blazer. A blazer. The bastard. When did he start putting mousse in his hair to make it so…tousled? Touchable. You can just imagine grabbing it while you ride him into oblivion.
Robby can’t suppress the very similar thoughts he’s having at seeing your outfit. You’re wearing a tea-length floral skirt with a slouchy, oversized sweater half-tucked into it. You look so comfy. Something about how soft and domestic you look as you approach him with your lace-hemmed socks and your oversized travel mug of tea is driving him crazy. He sees his whole life walking toward him with a sleepy smile on her lips.
Trying not to gawk too hard, you eye him up and down and say, “Michael, you look-” sexy as all fuck “-very handsome.”
He puffs up his chest. “Gotta look good; it’s my first time seeing my baby girl. I need to make a solid first impression.”
You roll your eyes, grinning as Robby pulls open the front door. “She can’t see you through my organs, babe.”
You don’t notice the word slipping out, so Robby doesn’t call attention to it. He just makes sure you’re buckled in and then sits on your other side with a glow in his gut. Then he reaches into his messenger bag in the backseat and hands over a king-sized Twix before starting the car and heading toward the hospital.
As you greedily open the wrapper, you hum, “What happened to Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein?”
“Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein knows you’re having your favorite burger with bacon and an egg on it from your favorite dive for lunch, on me,” he replies, glancing at you knowingly over the tops of his too-sexy sunglasses. “Throw in a side of sweet potato fries and I’m pretty sure science says that balances out a chocolate bar or two.”
You give a mock-salute with the half-eaten Twix. “Whatever you say, doctor.”
When Robby parks in his reserved spot near the ED, you both seem to realize the same thing at the same time. Robby stiffens up in his seat and offers, “I’m sorry; I wasn’t thinking. I can, ah, drop you off at the main entrance and meet you inside?”
You turn to him with one of those soft, shy smiles that made his heart stammer every time he looked your way when you started in the Pitt. “It’s okay. Really. I mean, you’re gonna be on paternity leave in at most ten weeks, so it’s not exactly a secret, right?”
“Fair point,” he concedes. “You know they’re gonna make it a whole thing, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“There might even be cake by the time we’re done.”
“God forbid.”
“Alright, fuck it.” Robby kills the engine and then walks around to your side of the van, helping you get your footing. “Let’s announce our lovechild to the world.”
“They probably already know; Trinity isn’t the most tight-lipped person,” you reason as he guides you with a large hand on the small of your back. It feels too protective and grounding for you to even pretend to protest.
“Jack didn’t know until I told him.”
“Because he’s such a notorious gossip.”
Robby can’t even respond because, as soon as you’re through the staff entrance, Dana’s staring straight forward at the two of you. Without moving her eyes from your stomach, she beelines your direction and gasps. After wrapping you up in a a warm hug, she looks you over and, disbelieving, mutters, “Holy hell, you are extremely pregnant.”
“Not extremely,” you balk as if it’s a ridiculous idea, “30 weeks.”
Dana seems to notice Robby’s presence and she narrows her eyes suspiciously, running the numbers in her head. “Thirty weeks, eh? Is that a new Robinavitch she’s growing?”
You absolutely beam when Robby blushes like a middle schooler. He confirms, “Yeah, that would be my little girl.”
“A girl!” Dana hugs both of you again and then looks at you seriously. “This one treating you like you deserve? Groveling profusely?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Good. As he should.”
Robby cuts in gently, “We’ve got an appointment upstairs, so we need to try to get through the floor to the elevator without too many interruptions.”
“Yeah, good fuckin’ luck with that,” Dana laughs as she gestures to the buzzing crowd gathering around the nurse’s station to get a look at you and Robby. “Have fun, lovebirds.”
Your cheeks are burning hot, so you poke Robby in the side and murmur, “Can you do one of your magical Dr. Robby speeches to make them go away? I don’t do well with public interrogations.”
“Your wish is my command,” he assures you quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. In the nerves of the moment, you want to turn and nuzzle your face into the comfort of his broad chest.
Then Robby claps loud a few times until the handful of free doctors and nurses gather up, including a deeply amused Jack, Trinity, and Whitaker. He announces in his Big Serious Attending voice, “Alright guys, a handful of things to stop-slash-start the rumor mill. One: Yes, I’m wearing a blazer; pictures are $45 a pop. Two: Yes, your former APRN is heavily pregnant. Three: Yes, it is my baby. Four: I’m in a period of repentance to regain her favor after being an ass for the last six months, but we’re figuring it out. Finally: The buy-in for the due date betting pool starts at $25; I’m not skimping out on my firstborn. Any follow-up questions can be directed to the admirable godmother Dr. Trinity Santos. Got it?”
Whitaker gives a charming little whoop and starts off the clapping, joined quickly by everyone else. As Robby accepts a handful of congratulations, Jack pulls you into a strong hug and looks you in the eyes, serious and stern as ever. There’s an undeniable warmth in the twitch of his lips, though, as he tells you, “He’s got you, kid. I know he does. He loves you to death and he knows he fucked up.”
You squeeze his bicep gently. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot.”
“No problem.” Then he points at your bump and adds, “That’s Uncle Jackie to you, miss.”
You blink back hormonal tears as you laugh. “Uncle Jackie, huh?”
He grins and boasts, “I was born to be an irresponsible but lovable bad influence uncle. That girl is gonna have the biggest and most annoying family of doctors and nurses.”
The baby gives you a swift kick in the bladder like she heard him say it. You place your hand over the ginger spot and smile. “Yeah, she will. We’re lucky.”
And suddenly so much love washes through your body you’re not sure you can hold it all. When you watch Robby absolutely glowing talking about becoming a dad, you know this is right. He’s the right man for you. For her. You’re swept up into the collection of hugs and congratulations, too, but you can’t stop watching Robby’s smile lines. The way he checks in with you every time he laughs. The way he’s looking at you not like a girlfriend or a baby mama but like the sun of his solar system.
Robby tucks you under his arm easily and calls, “Alright, alright, we have an ultrasound to get to, people, let’s back off the pregnant lady. You all have lives to save and baby shower gifts to buy.”
You giggle under your breath as he leads you to the elevator. “Baby shower gifts. Please.”
“What? You don’t want a shower?”
“I just don’t know who would put it together; I don’t really have the time.”
Robby scoffs, “As if either of us could physically stop the nurses from throwing one now that the cat’s out of the bag.”
“Good point,” you concede, trying to suppress the smile that won’t stop threatening your cheeks.
Maybe it’s just luck or maybe it’s the presence of one of the hospital’s more important doctors standing behind you, but you’re in the exam room with Robby holding your hand within a few minutes of checking in. The OB attending, Dr. Montgomery, arrives shortly after your vitals are taken.
She’s borderline glaring after she greets you and extends a hand to Robby. “Dr. Robinavitch, good to see you back at the hospital after so long away.”
“Good to be back,” he replies carefully, shaking her hand. “I’m guessing you’ve been given a harsh but fair view of me the past few months.”
“That would be an accurate assessment, doctor.”
Robby does that thing where he kind of hunches his broad shoulder to seem smaller and more approachable. It’s what he does when he’s hiding from Gloria or talking to a little old lady with chlamydia. He insists, “Call me Michael, please.”
“We’ll see.”
You snicker, “Addie, I promise he’s putting the work in.”
“Fine. Claws away while we say hi to baby girl.” Dr. Montgomery preps the ultrasound station as you get your clothes tucked out of the way. As she applies the warmed gel and manuevers the wand, she tells you, mostly addressing Robby since he wasn’t there for the other appointments, “She was a little small at our last scan, so I’m gonna take a few extra measurements to track her progress.”
Robby nods slowly and stares at the back of the ultrasound monitor like he can see through it and gather information. “Has there been anything else on the scans I need to know about?”
You gaze up at him while Dr. Montgomery takes her notes. “Nope, she’s been a total champ. I’m the problem between the two of us.”
Robby strokes your hair with his other hand; you can tell it’s more to soothe himself than you, so you let him. “What does that mean?”
You lean into his touch unconsciously and reply, “I’m just anemic; I passed out early on. That’s how I found out I was pregnant in the first place.”
Guilt skewers Robby like an ice pick. “You’re taking iron now?”
You roll your eyes. “And eating spinach and letting handsome baby daddies buy me burgers.”
Robby’s ensuing smile is cute and proud. Dr. Montgomery looks up from the ultrasound and happily announces, “Baby girl’s growth has gotten much better since your last vosot. She’s no longer small for her gestational age and is now firmly average. Good work, mom. Have you been adding more protein and healthy fats to your diet like I suggested?”
When Robby opens his mouth to speak, you narrow your eyes at him an say, “Michael Robinavitch I will strangle you right now with my bare hands if you say ‘I told you so.’”
He chuckles and gives your hand a squeeze. “I would never. I’m just glad to hear our girl’s healthy – and not a bowling ball. I was 11 pounds.”
You cringe at the thought. “Lucky she takes after me on that front.”
So softly it sounds more like a prayer, Robby asks, “Can we see her now?”
Flipping the monitor around with a smile, Dr. Montgomery replies, “Yeah, of course. There’s her side profile; she’s perfectly posed for us. I’ll turn on the doppler, too.”
Robby leans forward and looks at the screen. Something cracks open in his chest as the baby’s heartbeat fills the room, whooshing fast and steady. He lets out a tiny, barely audible whimper. Your eyes fly up to his and you see the tears flooding down his pink cheeks as he gazes at his daughter wriggling around on the monitor.
You squeeze his hand and he gasps a tiny bit like he just remembered you’re there. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“She’s perfect,” he breathes softly. Then he presses his lips to the top of your head and takes a trembling breath. Even his softest whisper trembles. “How could I ever leave you? I can’t believe I let myself miss this. You’re so fucking perfect. So strong. I love you so much.”
Tears thicken your throat as you lean up to press your forehead to his, sniffling out, “Mikey.”
He starts to cry in earnest, then, and you reach up to hold him. Your arms tangle together and your tears stain each other’s shoulders and there’s nothing but future in the places where your bodies touch.
Things get easier between you and Robby after that. You find yourself asking him for more and more trivial things just to see him and hear his voice. Your phone calls turn from a few sentences to a few minutes to an hour or more if you catch each other at a good time. He takes you shopping for baby clothes and even pretends to have an opinion about different fabrics when you ask. He stocks up on diapers, helps with your labor go bag, and does absolutely everything in his power to take the mental load off your shoulders.
From that new closeness, a quiet tension emerges. As you reach week 32 of your pregnancy, the shared knowledge of your needing to move hangs over you both, unspoken but omnipresent. Robby hasn’t pushed the issue yet, but you know it’s going to reach a tipping point.
That day comes during the worst rainstorm of the year one gloomy day in October. It’s your day off, so you’re treating yourself to a shopping spree when the rain starts. The forecast had only been for a light drizzle, so you were comfortable leaving the apartment in something cozy with an umbrella and rain boots. But the light drizzle turned torrential while you were inside a baby boutique on the other side of town.
Meanwhile, the heavy, dark, oppressive thunderstorm has the ED swamped. All the attendings are on staff to handle the onslaught of car accidents, falls, and asthma attacks. As he’s supervising Mohan’s work on an elderly woman’s obliterated tibia, his phone vibrates in his pocket.
While closing another line of sutures, Samira asks over her shoulder, “Is that mama?”
Robby slips his phone out just long enough to check. “Shit, yes, it is. She wouldn’t call me during weather like this if it wasn’t important. Do you mind if I-”
Mohan chuckles, “I think Mrs. Frost and I have this handled. Go save your woman from her aching feet or lack of chocolate bars.”
Robby gives the patient an apologetic smile and excuses himself. He ducks around the nearest quiet-ish corner where the hospital’s chaos lowers to a dull roar and manages to pick up right before it goes to voicemail. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?”
He can hear you crying on the other side, the sound barely coming through the rain. “Can you come pick me up?”
Robby half-jogs toward the locker room, already stripping off his trauma gown and dodging questions from his fellow doctors as he goes. “Where are you?”
“A bus stop in East Liberty,” you sniffle out. “The buses are all delayed because of the weather and I tried to get ahold of Trinity but she didn’t pick up and I’m soaking wet and freezing and I can’t-”
“Breathe for me, honey. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Robby can hear the shivering and the tears and the panic in your voice and his gut clenches up in pain. He spares a glance outside and sees that the rain is still a deluge, the clouds dark and murky above and the ground shiny and slick with oil leeching out below. Lightning strikes and thunder claps. “Which bus stop?”
As you tell him, he dumps his trauma gown, rummages through his things, and grabs his keys and his gym bag, which at least has a towel and some dry clothes. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay? Is there somewhere warm and dry you can wait for me?”
“I- I don’t know. I’m all frazzled,” you admit. He can feel your reluctance to tell him, but you can’t stop it from spilling out through the crackling rain. “There was this guy who wouldn’t leave me alone, asking all these gross questions about my ‘baby daddy’ or whatever and I just ran to the closest public spot I could find.”
Anger flares in Robby’s chest. He scribbles out a note and hands it to Dana as he passes the nurse’s station, barely pausing to see her reaction – just long enough to see her annoyed but supportive nod – before he shoves out of the door into the rain. “Are you alone now? Are you safe?”
“I’m okay, just- just kinda scared and tired and- and-”
“Breathe, baby, breathe. I’m getting in the car right now.”
A few beats pass with nothing but the rain in Robby’s ears. Then your meek, nervous voice: “Would you stay on the phone with me?”
“Of course.” He guns the engine and peels out of the parking lot, careful but quick. “I’m right here with you. Just keep talking and the time’ll pass. Tell me about what you were doing. Shopping for something fun?”
“Yeah, I was.” You sniffle again and try to smile. “I bought this, um, this handmade baby wrap carrier thing. It’s really soft and, like, this quilted fabric that I think would be really comfy for her.”
“You gonna teach me how to baby wear like all the hip dads are doing?”
“Definitely.” You actually let out a small laugh as you tell him, “The whole ‘big man carrying baby’ thing is very sexy. I’m sure it’ll help you pick up chicks at the grocery store.”
Robby snorts. “You know perfectly well there are only two chicks I’m interested in picking up the rest of my life.
“Rest of your life, huh?”
“If they’ll have me.” He makes a turn and spots you huddling beneath a leaky bus stop shelter. “Alright, I’m only a minute away now, but I might be late because I have to stop and offer the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen a ride, okay? She’s soaking wet and very pregnant and dressed inappropriately for the weather.” Robby pulls up to the curb and pushes your door open as he hangs up the phone. “Hey, stranger, can I give you a lift?”
You slide into the car next to him, your eyes puffy from crying and your hair disastrous from the rain. As you buckle in, you pout and observe, “You turned on the seat warmers for me.”
“I also brought you a threadbare towel and a hoodie; I’m a real gentleman,” he replies as he opens up his gym bag in the backseat and hands them off.
Gratefully toweling off your hair and tucking yourself under the hoodie, you smile and nudge him. “Yeah, actually, you are.”
Robby gives your knee a quick squeeze and pulls the car into traffic, heading back toward the highway. You gradually begin to feel like a person instead of a pregnant popsicle.
Teeth still chattering a bit, you manage to get out, “I’m sorry for interrupting you at work; I’m sure things are swamped there.”
Despite the fact that his phone’s been ringing non-stop since he left, Robby replies earnestly, “Nothing’s more important to me than your safety.” He swallows hard and apologizes for himself, “I’m sorry for calling you baby on the phone; I wasn’t thinking. I heard you upset and I just went on autopilot.”
You tell him softly, “It’s okay, Michael.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, it really is,” you murmur back. “You missed the exit, by the way.”
Robby shakes his head. “I’m taking you back to my place; you need a warm bath and a hot meal and to sleep for twelve hours uninterrupted in a king size bed.”
You avert your eyes and admit, “That sounds really nice, Mikey.”
“I like hearing you call me that again,” he says gently. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by ordering me some orange chicken while I take a bubble bath.”
Robby chuckles, “Yes, ma’am.”
As soon as Robby has you inside, he’s helping you strip your exhausted, pruny body and drawing you a silky bath. As he collects some of his old comfy clothes for you to wear from his closet, you call out from the tub, “Would you actually make that matzo ball soup that you made when you gave me mono?”
“I did not give you mono,” he laughs, “but I will absolutely make you some nourishing comfort food.”
He can hear the teasing eye roll in your voice as you call back, “You had mono. You made out with me. I then had mono. Who the hell do you think I got it from?”
“Alright, whatever.” Robby sets down the clothes on the counter and points at you seriously. “Don’t you dare try to get out of that tub without my help, missy. I’ll be back once I’ve got the soup boiling.”
You smile at him fondly and bat your eyelashes. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t play dirty with me.”
“I would never.” You sink deeper into the bubbles and sigh contentedly, “I’m more than happy to stay in here and turn myself into a little matzo ball.”
He leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Good girl.”
“Now who’s playing dirty?”
“I would never.”
Robby slips out of the bathroom and you just…relax. While Robby takes care of you. While he waits on you.
God.
God.
Between the bubbles and the bergamot bath oil, the tension and nerves leave. The sound of the storm outside becomes white noise. From downstairs, the smell of rich schmaltzy chicken broth wafts into your nose and you feel settled. Held. By the time Robby returns to the bathroom, you know, deep down in your bones, that you’ve forgiven him.
Robby helps you out of the tub and wraps you up in a fluffy robe he must’ve been warming in the dryer for you. Then he grabs a tube of lotion, sits down on the bed, and gestures for you to join him. While he tends to your feet and legs, he pleads with you, “Move in here, sweetheart, please. I can’t- I can’t function not knowing if you’re okay. Not knowing where the baby’s going to be sleeping and not knowing if I can be there for her and for you and-”
“Michael.” It’s a whisper, a tender one at that. “I don’t want to feel like I’m trying to fit into your life.”
“I don’t want to make you feel that way; I swear.” He kisses your hand a few times and then takes a deep breath. “I’d like to apologize now. If you’d let me.”
You nod slowly and try to ignore the tears that rise to your waterline. “I’m ready. Go ahead.”
“Thank you.” After a deep breath, Robby starts, “Look, I’m not going to apologize for leaving. I needed to leave. I needed to-” He gestures wide and begging as he searches for the right words. “I needed to grow up. I know I’m a little old for that, but I think it’s the closest thing to true. I’m sorry I told you instead of talking it through. I’m sorry I went radio silent. But honestly?”
Suddenly he reaches out and cups your cheek in his large hand. His palm is warm and so familiar that you can hardly breathe. With his thumb stroking your skin, he finishes, “What I’m the most sorry for is that I didn’t ask you to come with me. Every sunset, every motel mattress, every wide open highway would’ve been so much better if I shared them with you.”
He presses his forehead to yours and murmurs, “I swear I’ll spend every single one with you from now on. I’ll be there for every birthday, every Chrismukkah, every fucking thing you want me at. Nothing has ever or will ever matter to me more than being your husband. The father of our children. So tell me what you want. Tell me every single thing you want for you and for me and for the baby and you’ll have it. Because I love you more than my stupid bike and more than my career and more than everything I’ve ever had. You are everything now.”
The air sparks like the lightning outside. For a full minute, it’s you and it’s Robby and it’s the storm.
Then you lean forward. You hold Robby’s face with both hands and search his golden brown eyes. His heart pounds in his ears. His lungs are tight and screaming.
And you kiss him.
It’s slow, so gentle, and he’s holding his breath. Then reality seems to settle softly on his shoulders and he smiles against your lips, slides his hands onto your waist, thumbs affectionate on your bump, and kisses you back. When you pull away only slightly, you inform him, “I want a house with a yard. One that I get a say in. Further from the city. I want a safe, sensible family car for myself. No black interior. Light brown. I want a big fat diamond ring. Four carats minimum. I want sex at least three times a week. Six orgasms for me as a baseline. And I want a husband who works at most 50 hours.”
Robby gazes at you with watery eyes. “Okay.”
You smack him on the chest and laugh, “‘Okay’? I was trying to be unreasonable, Michael!”
“Well I’m being serious. Let’s move to the suburbs and have a huge wedding and fuck whenever you want. I’ve got savings to get us through as long as we need. I’ll start my own practice, slow down, buy a grill, join the PTA, the whole nine yards.”
You roll your eyes and scoff, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not,” he assures seriously. “If you’re taking me back and making me a dad, you can be a hell of a lot more unreasonable than asking me to put my family first.”
“Fine.” You cross your arms over your chest and try not to grin. “I want a puppy.”
Robby grips his heart like you’ve stabbed him. “If you really want one – when the baby’s old enough that I won’t have a panic attack having a dog around her.”
“Deal.” You rest your forearms on his shoulders, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “I want you to mow the lawn shirtless on Saturday mornings.”
He melts under your touch and smiles. “Okay.”
You lean in closer, a smile of your own breaking out. “And I want my own craft room in the house.”
Glancing down at your lips, he promises once again, “Okay.”
“I want a hot tub.”
“Okay.”
“And a soaking tub.”
“Okay.”
“Manicures every other week. A tropical vacation every summer. Two more babies in the next ten years.”
“Okay, okay-” he kisses you again, soft and warm and unhurried “-very okay.”
Your hand slides down his chest and toys with the hem of his tee. You watch his stomach twitch and his chest gasp upwards as you purr, “And I want you to fuck me. Right now.”
Robby’s lips return to yours. Urgent now. He pulls you into his lap and drags kisses up your neck, tasting your clean skin and your pulse beneath him. His breath is hot and his every touch – slipping the robe from your shoulders, lazing his fingers along your arms, kissing the shell of your ear – is an act of worship. At last, he murmurs against your lips, “Okay.”
I'm trying out posting this without a taglist to see how it performs! So if you see it, please engage so I can get a sense of whether or not I need to keep my taglists going!
Summary- Michael overhears you complaining about your love life. All he wants is to help.
Contains- 18+ SMUT MDNI, fingering (f receiving) oral (f receiving), age gap relationship, attending x nurse relationship, hooking up at work greys anatomy style, public(ish?) sex (foreplay on da rooooof), crazy sexual tension, Robby with a 'sir' kink let's gooo
A/N- so it turns out i have need to fuck that old man disease and it’s incurable | divider from @uzmacchiato | very briefly proofread as always <3
The fluorescent hum of the ER lights beat down on linoleum tile. Your head pounds, hour seven of twelve of your shift settling in with its typical symptoms- headaches, exhaustion, feet pain. The harsh glide of something canned slides its way over to you, and you look up to see Santos, offering one of the Alanis you keep stored in the staff fridge.
"Drink up, you still got a long shift ahead," she remarks, eyebrows quirking.
Relief washes over you, your eyes falling closed in gratitude as you crack the can open. The tangy, fizzy liquid slides down your throat, the caffeine flooding your veins, electrifying you from the inside out.
"Thank you," you mutter, rubbing your eyes. "I was up late, another horrible date," you admit this shamefully, your coworker knowing full well how long you've struggled with dating.
"Oh shit," you hear another voice approach from your left, Javadi resting her elbows on the desk you and Santos occupy.
"Yeah," you grumble, downing another sip like it's a shot. You wish it was. "Just another asshole wanting to get in my pants, only for him to care just about himself when I so stupidly let him."
You roll your eyes at yourself, your need for validation, any sort of affection taking over and picking these clowns against your better judgement.
"Classic," Javadi says, her own eyes rolling back, knowing all too well what you've been going through.
You've been able to bond with the newer staff in the past year over this, the trials and tribulations of your love lives. Whitaker joins in too sometimes, albeit against his will.
"You could always follow my lead," Santos suggests sarcastically. "Y'know, hook up with someone you work with in secret."
You stifle a chuckle, tipping your can back to your lips. You shake your head incredulously. "I can't believe those are my only options," you groan, your forehead falling to your hands.
"I just feel like there's nobody for me, you know?" You ponder aloud. "Like, if this is all that's out there, then I don't even know if it's even worth it? Ugh, that sounds so stupid and melodramatic," you massage your temples with your fingers, embarrassed by your out-flux of emotion.
"No, it's not," Javadi says in comfort. "I feel the same way sometimes. It's exhausting. These men- sorry, boys- have no idea what they're doing. All they care about is getting their dick wet."
You nod in agreement, another sardonic laugh escaping your lips. "Seriously," you mutter. "I don't even know why I keep trying. I have my vibrator, I might as well just use that for the rest of my life. At least those actually get me to finish."
Your heart stops, regretting your words immediately as you watch Santos' eyes widen, her posture stiff, a telltale sign that one of your superiors is behind you. You can only pray it's someone understanding, like Mohan or McKay.
Of course, you're not so lucky. You turn to find an achingly familiar navy hoodie, paired strong, veiny arms sticking out of the pockets.
Your face burns, your heart beating against your chest as you try to process that your boss, the senior attending partially responsible for your employment, just heard you talk about vibrators and orgasms.
"Sir," you breathe, unsure of what else to say.
His gaze flits to the ground the second yours finds him, and you swear you can make out just a bit of red on the apples of his cheeks.
He clears his throat, a hand coming up to the back of his neck before saying, "I can only assume this is not work related."
The look on his face is pointed, an awkward tension filling the space between you, the girls, and your boss. You shake your head, a pathetic, "sorrysir" spilling out of your mouth.
You watch him adjust on his feet, once again avoiding your gaze. He runs his finger in a circle, referencing the busy ER in which you stand.
"Get back to it," he huffs out, and the three of you scatter like he'd just dropped a bomb.
You flee with Javadi, your arm linking through hers as you keep your heads down, stifling giggles like school children.
"Oh. My. God," you breathe, embarrassment flooding through you like a tsunami.
You part ways when you make it to a turn in the hallway, splitting up to check on your respective patients, eager to run away from whatever just happened.
Hour eight comes and goes, as busy as ever. The only difference, though, is in the way Robby is treating you. Each bark of an order, every harsh correction like tiny needles pricking at the back of your neck.
It starts in triage, where you pop out to spot any incoming traffic. It feels nice, the fresh summer air wafting through the ambulence bay, a welcome contrast to the stuffiness of the ER.
You jump when the door opens behind you, Robby rubbing hand sanitizer into his skin. You avert your gaze, anywhere but the manipulation of his large hands. Santos' words from earlier ring in your head, 'just date someone you work with in secret.'
It feels ridiculous, thoughts of your senior attending ping ponging around your head. You feel dizzy at the consuming thoughts, unwilling to believe that this is where your disastrous dating life has led you- fantasizing about your senior attending while he's standing a foot away from you.
His closeness brings you back to life, the sharp exhale he exudes making you flinch. His eyes widen at your reaction, brows raising like he's waiting on you.
"Well? Did you hear me?" He asks, crossing his veiny forearms over his chest.
You will yourself to look away, your heart picking up speed at the flex of his muscles.
"I'm sorry, what was it?" You ask, your voice flighty and airy.
You fiddle with your hands, desperate to outrun this Molotov cocktail of embarrassment and desire. He's going to kill you by the end of this shift, you're convinced.
"I said," he starts, pointedly, "that you're staying with me for the rest of the day. Word on the street is that Pittsburgh Memorial is at max capacity. Something to do with a pile up on the service drive. So, you're on my team until you clock out," he grumbles into your ear.
His proximity stuns you, the deep growl of his voice crawling down your spine, settling low in your belly. A certain realization dawns on you, then, a chilling reality that settles deep in your bones.
Is this because of what he overheard earlier? Does he feel the need to keep an eye on you, so you don't go off embarrassing the team with your loud mouth? The possibility straightens your posture, tightens your jaw.
"Okay," you mumble, unable to meet his gaze. "We're on the first patient that comes through?"
You work up the courage to actually look at him, your gaze dragging along the scruff of his beard, the tint of gray weaknening your knees. An unsettling frustration rests at the base of your throat, threatening to burst through, to demand he says what's on his mind.
He just nods, though, his eyes trained on the entrance of the bay. Your breath comes out in short puffs, a fuzziness taking over as Robby's forearm grazes yours. The tickle of the hair on his body unzips a chill down your spine, so overpowering you have to close your eyes, to shake yourself out of this feeling.
He sees. You know he does. His gaze is peripheral, catching the way you react to him out of the corner of his eye. Though it's just a glance, it's enough to set your veins on fire, the want to reach out and touch him electrifying.
Silence blankets you, thick and suffocating. You rock on the balls of your feet, he wrings his hands together. You glance over at him again, unable to really keep your eyes off him for long. He doesn't look back, but his cheeks turn pink. You face foward once more, your lips curling into a smile.
The wail of an ambulance slices through the tension wafting through the bay, a wave of relief briefly washing over. You immediately snap into action, assessing the patient rolling in on the stretcher.
Robby is relentless in his questioning, and the world starts to spin around you as you flit from patient to attending, from asking to answering. Regardless of the familiar chaos, your stomach manages to flip at Robby's approval- the validation he gives at each right answer.
It's addictive, the way his brown eyes find yours, the subtle nod of his head. Time stops when he looks at you, you're convinced.
Once the patient is assessed and stabilized, you manage to document the patient's history and current symptoms without interruption.
You turn from the computer, looking over to see Robby, completely engaged with the patient. It's an older woman, a few years more so than Robby, who is putting on the ultimate display of charm. She's eating it up, as they all do.
You can't help but smile at the show, your heart speeding up in your chest. His ability to connect with those that are hurting, in pain, never ceases to amaze you. In moments like these, you remember why it is you decided to stay in emergency medicine. The teaching. The teacher, to be more specific.
A crash from the other side of the hallway pulls your attention away, and you whip your head around to see Langdon's hands full. He maneuvers around a stressed family, trying to care for his patient as best as he possibly can.
Without thinking, you take off to the other side of the room, putting on your best smile as you approach a teary mom, stressed father, and shy little girl.
"Hello!" You chirp, as cheerful as is appropriate when a family is watching their son be assessed in the ER. "I'm going to ask you give Dr. Langdon some space so he can work at the best of his ability. Please follow me and I can show you to our family room."
You start toward the exit, Langdon offering you a nod in thanks as you lead the family away from him. You catch Robby's gaze as you lead the family away, his teeth gritting at your disobedience. His eyes don't leave yours as you walk through the hospital, his cheeks glowing red like the human embodiment of anger.
You lead them through to the family room, your smile never leaving your face.
"Can I get you guys anything? Water, coffee, a snack?" You ask in the doorway. The gaunt father shakes his head, unable to look away from the tiled floors. You know this feeling, seen it many times in this room alone.
You turn to leave, when the mom speaks up, a tiny "uhm" leaving her lips. You stop on your heel, turning to her, your smile still there.
"Would you be willing to take Leah here for a snack?" She asks, referring to her daughter.
Your eyes find the little girl, a bunny stuffie clutched to her chest, a nervous thumb between her lips. Your heart softens at the sight, so you nod gently, offering your hand.
She only takes it when her mom gives her the okay, and she waddles to you dubiously. You take her hand in yours, offering her a soft greeting.
"Hello! It's so nice to meet you, Leah. Want to come see what snacks we have?" You ask, and can't help but giggle at her eager nod. "Okay, let's go, honeybun."
You lead her back into the ER, wavering through the chaos to get to the kitchen. You see Robby again on your way there, his eyes flitting to your new friend as you pass. His jaw does that tick again, though the rest of his face softens at the sight.
Annoyance flashes through his big brown eyes, frustration taking over his features. Your heart starts beating again, a rapid pitter pat against your ribcage. You keep your eyes forward, picking up your pace just slightly, as if you're escaping the flame of his gaze.
You shut the door once you're in the kitchen, and you stand on your tip toes to grab the kids' snacks that are stored in the top shelf. You lay out an array of goodies, from fruit snacks to Goldfish to Teddy Grahams.
Her eyes widen at the selection, the first smile you've seen from her curling her lips. You smile back, and she points at the fruit snacks.
"Good pick," you nod, opening the packet for her. "Here you go!"
She accepts the snack gratefully, munching on the gummy snack as she rests her head on the table. Poor thing, you think. Who knows how long she's been up.
The silence is cut by a tap on the glass window. You startle, causing Leah to sit up abruptly. You see that it's Dana, relaxing just slightly. You walk over to the door and pop your head out.
"Hey, what's up?" You ask.
"I'm takin' over with sweet girl over here. Get back to the boss man, he's not happy with ya," she tells you, and your heart sinks.
"Oh, okay," you open the door wider to let her in. "Hey, Leah," you start, and she looks up, her eyes widening at the new guest. "This is my friend Dana. She's going to be staying with you, okay? She's really nice. You guys will have fun with each other." You smile, turning to exit the kitchen.
"Mmph!" You muffle against cotton as you collide against a broad, rigid chest. "Jesus, Robby," you breathe out, taking a step to the side. Anything to escape the woody smell of his cologne.
He scoffs, the incredulous smile on his face flipping your stomach like a pancake. "Yeah, Jesus," he repeats, annoyance lacing his tone. "Find me in Exam Room 2 in five," he orders before stalking off.
You watch him walk, studying his frame as he saunters through the ER, using his broad shoulders to maneuver the crowd. It's pathetic, the way even his walk causes sweat to prick at your brow, your face heating with nerves. Curiosity pokes at your gut, Exam Room 2? It's a bizarre request from a senior attending, and you can only imagine how much trouble you've gotten yourself in.
You make your way to the exam rooms, your heart pounding louder with every step. You wring your hands together, the sweat accumulating there creating a slippery resistance. You let out a sigh as you reach the second room of the exam hallway, a green light indicating it's free usage.
You turn the knob, cracking it slightly to find Robby, hands on his head, facing the back wall. The door creaks as you push it open, and you clear your throat lightly to announce your presence. You press yourself against the door when it shuts, nerves so palpable you're surprised Robby can't feel it, can't taste it.
"Dr. Robby," you start, voice shaky, knowing he's about to hand you your ass. "I'm sorry I disobeyed your instruction-"
"Damn right you did," he cuts you off, arms crossed over his heaving chest. "You had a direct order to stay with me, so why did I find you with Langdon?" He stalks closer to you, just a step or two, though it feels like more.
"I-I just-" you fumble over your words, that damn cologne wafting through your nose again. "I saw a family, I thought I could help." It's a weak answer, but at least it's honest.
He nods, lips pursing together in thought.
"Guess I can't stay too mad about that," he admits, though his tone is clipped. He runs his palms over his forehead, his glasses pinched between his thumb and pointer finger as he rubs at his eyes.
You're not sure what to say next, treading carefully in the small, tense room. His silence eats at you, each second passing in agony. You watch your boss take deep, heavy breaths, committing the rise and fall of his chest to memory.
God, you wish you could rewind to a time where you weren't completely enthralled with Michael Robinavitch. Not being locked in a confine space with him would be helpful, too.
You shove your hands in your pockets, about to turn and leave when he stops you.
"Wait," he orders. You do as he says.
"I-about what I heard earlier…" he starts, and the breath is stolen from your lungs.
Your jaw drops, white hot embarrassment boiling deep in your stomach. This is what this is all about? Your cheeks burn, and you cover your face with your hands to escape his upending glare. You wish the ground would swallow you whole.
"Dr. Robby, I am so, so sorry about that," you stress, your eyes turning glassy. "It was entirely unprofessional, any patient could have heard me, and we shouldn't have been talking about that on the clock. I sincerely apologize, Sir-"
He cuts off your rambling with a sharp inhale, squeezing his eyes shut, almost as if your words pain him. He holds a hand up, glasses still in his grip. You take a moment, study the way his long, thick digits wrap around the metal.
"You can't- you can't call me that," he breathes out, a sarcastic laugh escaping his lips.
Your brows knit together in confusion, your mouth partially opened, unsure how to respond.
"I'm sorry?" You say, dumbly. It's all you can manage, shock at this new side of your boss taking over.
"You can't call me Sir. Not anymore," he avoids eye contact with you, the vein in his neck bulging.
"I'm sorry, did I do something to offend you, Dr. Robby? I promise I had no intention-"
"No-dammit," he cuts you off again, sweat starting to form at his brow. "Of course you didn't. You're one of my best nurses," he gruffs, almost annoyed at that.
"Thank you?" You respond, and he chuckles. It's a real one this time, a glint in his eye as he takes you in. Your own lips turn up in a smile.
"I just- I know it was a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear. It's just-" he plows five fingers through his hair as he struggles for the words. "All I've been able to think about since then is how I want to- you don't-you deserve so much better than that."
The last few words come out a whisper, and the world stops on its axis. Your mouth fully drops open, shock electrocuting your veins. The past few hours play back as a montage in your brain, his hesitation in the ambulance bay, the need to have you near him, his anger that you went to help Langdon.
Then, another realization dawns on you. A knowing laugh escapes your throat, and you palm your mouth closed. His brow quirks at you, red tinting his cheeks.
"Is that why I can't call you 'Sir'?" You ask, flirtation lacing your tone. "Because you want to help me out so badly?"
He pulls the collar of his sweatshirt away from his neck, fanning himself some as he once again avoids your gaze.
"Fuck!" He exclaims, ten fingers now raking their way through his mussed hair. "I can't- this is ridiculous, you're my nurse. This is entirely inappropriate-"
He rushes to the door, if only you weren't in the way. You stop him, a gentle hand on his forearm. The proximity is lethal, now. He's so close, you can hear his small pants, the tapping of his foot against linoleum.
"I mean, it would be inappropriate, yes," you start, allowing your fingers to graze his skin lightly. He shudders, and your smile is sinful. "If only I wasn't thinking about you all day, too."
His eyes snap to yours at the admission, and you can't help but flit your gaze to his lips. They're slightly chapped, the nippy fall air starting to mark its territory on his skin. They're plump all the same, though, and you wish you could brand the way he licks them onto your skin.
"Robinavitch!" Dana shouts, and you two flinch against each other.
The reality of this situation dawns on both of you, panic now taking place of the tension rumbling between you. Robby presses his fingers to his temples, eyes falling shut for a brief moment.
He pushes you toward the corner of the room, where you'd be hidden once the door opens.
"Stay here," he whispers, and the shoulder where he grips you may as well be on fire. "Give it five minutes. Then go. We can't-I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…" he murmurs under his breath as he swings the door open, his quick gait finding Dana at the end of the hallway.
Silence settles over you like a winter's chill. You roll your shoulders, attempting to shake out any remnants of Michael Robinavitch. You take your hair out of its clip, mussing it lightly to try to at least appear like you've been working.
You take a deep breath in, pushing it out before swinging the door open yourself, finding Robby once again delighting a patient in his special way. Your stomach churns with desire at the sight. Now that you know he wants you, too, all bets are off.
The rest of your shift is a blur, darkness soon settling over PTMC like a blanket. Your tasks feel menial, painfully routine when Robby looks at you the way he is. He's living in the back of your mind until hour twelve blissfully arrives.
It all replays in your head as you walk to the lockers, the glimmer in his eye when he looks at you, the way his knees buckle when you continuously call him 'Sir'. You swing the door open, nodding to the night shift nurses while you collect your things.
You're halfway through the vestibule, the parking lot in near distance, the sweet freedom of home calling your name. Something calls louder, though, and your head swings to the noise.
It's the door to the roof, shutting abruptly. You hear heavy footsteps clunking up the staircase, and you know all too well who it is. You stand there, the angel and devil on your shoulder debating whether or not to follow him.
You think back to the moment you guys had in the exam room, his breathlessness when you called him sir, his knees buckling when you grazed his arm with your fingers. Hell, the man blushed. More than once. You follow him.
You take a moment to appreciate the view once you're up there. The colorful leaves paint a beautiful autumnal skyline. You huff out a breath, a small puff wafting through the crisp air.
You set your bag down, slinking your arms through your pink sweatshirt. It's cold up here. Sobering. You can tell why Robby likes it up here.
"Hey," you start, and he jumps.
It makes you giggle, the pressure of being on the clock no longer pushing down on the two of you.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters, rubbing his forehead with his palm. "How'd you find me up here, huh?" He asks, a playful glint in his eye.
"Just a hunch," you smile sinfully, eyes trained on the October sky in front of you. "It's beautiful up here," you remark, as if the tension isn't suffocating.
"Yeah," he remarks, his eyes burning a hole through your cheek. "Yeah, it is."
You have a feeling he's not talking about the view.
"Robby-" you start, but it's not long before his lips are on yours.
The kiss takes your breath away, the firm press of his soft lips is a delicious contrast, enough to make you dizzy. You grip his biceps, your fingers squeezing the tough muscle there. He grunts against your lips and you ease up a little, rubbing soothing circles in apology.
"Do you know," he mutters between kisses, his hands finding your skin under your sweatshirt and scrubs, "how much," he kisses down your cheek, your neck, "I want you?" He pulls away at this question, his eyes finding yours, bewildered at his confession. He presses a kiss to your nose before pulling you closer to him again.
Your head buries into his chest, his hands relentless, exploring every square inch of your body he can reach, his lips following suit. It's you that kisses him this time, gripping his jaw and pulling him to you with a whine.
"You taste so fucking good," he groans, tongue peeking out, testing the waters.
The slide of his tongue against yours is delectable, butterflies flooding your stomach in record speed. You grip the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing him even closer to you. Your knees buckle, falling further into him as he wraps more of himself around you.
He sighs into the kiss as he hoists you around his waist, pulling you out of sight behind a wall lining the roof. Your back hits the hard cement, and Robby's hand resting on the area beside your head. His forehead presses into yours, his breathing coming out quick and shallow. Yours matches his, and you can't help but rake your nails up his stomach to his chest, reveling in the way he shivers at the contact.
"I want you so fucking bad," he grumbles, rocking his hips into yours against the wall.
"You have me," you mutter, "I'm yours."
He groans at that, a loud, pained sound that rumbles somewhere deep in your stomach. He shakes his head, then, and your heart drops.
"Not here," he pants, pressing his body further into you. You moan at the contact, his hips jerking in response. "Fuck."
He kisses you once more, then again, and again. "After what I heard today…" he trails off, pressing kisses all over your face, "about how you're only satisfied with your vibrator…" more kisses, "it made me crazy. Can't believe these idiots your age don't know what to do with a woman like you."
Heat rushes through your veins at his words, desire burning at dangerous temperatures. His kisses grow more frantic as you feel him plumping up through his pants. Your knees buckle around him, and you thrust your own hips up to meet his.
"Robby, please. I need you to at least touch me," you whisper, not above begging for this man.
Your heart clutches when he shakes his head no, though his brows are knit together in pleasure, his lips parted in a perfect 'o'. He's on the brink of snapping, you can tell. You think you know exactly what'll get him, too.
"Sir, please. I need it," you plead, widening your eyes and jutting out your bottom lip.
A groan rips out of Robby's throat, his frantic hands pushing your scrubs down just below your ass. His fingers find your folds in record time, slowly sliding up and down, collecting your wetness. You bite your lip at the contact, your eyes never leaving his.
His brows jump at your pained expression, fingers stopping for a brief moment. "This okay?" He ensures, and you nod, whining and desperate for him to move again.
"Nuh-uh," he swats your thigh and you yelp. "Is this okay? Yes or no," he demands, and you fall even limper in his arms.
"Yes, it's okay Robby," you breathe out, your hands gripping his wrist, guiding him back to you. He smiles sardonically as he finds your clit, his index finger rubbing slightly.
"Oh God," you moan, arching your back off the wall. "Faster, please faster ohmygod," you whimper out, keening when his speed picks up.
"Yeah?" He asks, a faux pity lacing his tone. "This where you use your vibrator?"
You moan in response, and he chuckles.
"Yeaahh," he draws out, a teasing gasp leaving his lips at the jerk of your hips. "You press it on this pretty clit? Make yourself cum after some asshole can't do it for you?"
You nod shamelessly, hands reaching for his biceps once again. "Please Robby, make me cum, please Sir."
A finger enters you at that, pushing a squeal out of you. He breathes another chuckle, moving his middle finger in and out slowly, trying to find a rhythm. It's hard, given your lack of space, and you wiggle your hips to try and give him a better angle.
He huffs out a breath, muttering "fuck it," before dropping to his knees, pulling your scrubs down to your ankles. You squeal at the sudden movement, his arms scooping under your legs and ass, holding you upright as his tongue finds your clit.
Heat boils in your stomach as he swirls circles into your clit. His spit and your arousal create a tantalizing friction against your most sensitive spot. You bury your hands in his hair, gripping and tugging, the vibrations of his groan against your pussy like a reward.
"So fucking delicious, holy shit," he mutters against your skin, his middle finger able to slide in easier now at this angle. He sucks your clit into his mouth, letting it go with a wet pop.
"God, Robby. Feels so good, never been this good," you whine, scraping your nails through his scalp. He shudders at this.
"Yeah? These fucking boys don't deserve you. I don't even fucking deserve you, shit-" he palms at his pants, pressing a kiss to your clit as he adds his ring finger. "Least I can do is make you cum."
Your eyes squeeze shut as white hot pressure builds in your stomach, almost too much to take. Your legs flail involuntarily, and he shushes you with sweet kisses to your clit.
"Shh, shh," he soothes, lessening his assault on your pussy. "You're okay, you can let go, I love the taste of you. So fucking delicious, can't wait to taste you."
You snap, intense waves of pleasure relentless as you writhe in his grasp, a high pitched moan wrestling its way out of your throat.
"Oh God Sir, I'm coming," you exclaim, his own groan vibrates against you, pushing you farther off the edge.
Your vision is spotty as you come down, taking advantage of the cool night air you breathe in. It takes a moment for you to set yourself back down on the ground, shaky legs beneath you like a baby deer.
Tension settles over you two once more as you take each other in. He's gorgeous- hair mussed, lips puffy, nose shining from your wetness. You can't help but smile, prompting his own in return. You take a small step forward, eyeing the obvious bulge in his pants. You raise your brows once, twice.
"Well," you start, reaching for him, "can I return the favor?"
"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but no," Robby says, and it stops you dead in your tracks.
Tears spring to your eyes, and he's quick to the damage control.
"No, no, no, it's not like that," he reassures, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders.
"I just-" he shakes his head, eyes finding his feet, then flitting back to you, "if I get my dick out in any way tonight, I'm going to end up fucking you."
You throw your hands up, unsure what the problem is there. He chuckles again.
"We're not fucking until I can treat you to a proper date. I'm not going to be one of those assholes that's just trying to get their dick wet. Can I take you out?" He asks, and it's almost bashful.
Butterflies erupt in your stomach again, your cheeks heating at his loving gaze. You nod your head, lips pursed together.
"Yeah," you mutter, "yeah. That sounds nice."
He leans in to kiss you gently on the lips. You pull him back for one more, which turns into two, three, four.
"Can I pick you up Friday? Are you working then?" He asks, and you shake your head no. He smiles, pressing another kiss to your lips.
He slips a piece of paper out of his pocket and places it in your hands, wrapping your fist closed around it.
"Text me your address. I'll be there at 7. Don't be late," he punctuates this with a kiss on the cheek before walking off.
You breathe out a sigh of disbelief, your heart racing as you unfold the number of Michael Robinavitch in your palm. This is, by far, the most unexpected outcome of your boss overhearing your conversation about vibrators. You can't complain
I started watching The Pitt a few days ago and instantly crushed on Dr Robby and Dr Abbot, so I’ll simply have to write for them, sorry not sorry. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx
Summary: Reader has been in love with Robby for years, but when one of their new residents pushes her aside to gain his attention, (y/n) is ready to snap, no longer willing to play this game with him if he's that oblivious.
Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (f), idiots in love, jealousy, ER chaos, small fight, kind of make-up sex
Pairing: Dr Michael Robinavitch x fem!resident!reader (3k words)
God, she hated it, hated feeling that biting jealousy she had no right to feel. They were all watching him with those big eyes, trying to impress their attending, while (y/n) tried to ignore the annoyance flushing through her. It was unfair, almost cruel of her to be that annoyed with their new residents and students for looking at him like that when she had been just like them years ago.
“(Y/n), room three!” Dana’s urgent voice ripped her out of her thoughts. She had to blink a few times before letting go of a deep breath. She jogged towards the room Robby and some of the newbies entered, following his every command. Mel called out the information they had on the patient, abdomen covered in blood as the seconds kept rushing by.
“Massive transfusion protocol,” Robby ordered immediately. “Santos, airway. (Y/n), FAST exam, we need eyes on that wound.”
She didn’t even get the chance to move as one of the new residents, whose name she hadn’t learned yet, pushed her aside, colliding with (y/n)’s side. The girl slipped into the space next to Robby like she belonged there, nudging (y/n) half a step back. “I can get the FAST,” the resident said. “I did three last night.”
Robby didn’t even look up. He was too focused on the patient to notice the rising tension between the two women. He mumbled something (y/n) didn’t hear, allowing the resident to move as (y/n) stood there for half a second longer than she should have, frozen to the spot by her jealousy. (Y/n) forced herself to swallow, to adjust and focus on something else her hands could do. But then she watched Robby’s eyes flicker down to meet the girl’s, saying something to her (y/n) had to ignore before she could spiral.
The girl moved again, following a command Robby had called into the room, brushing past (y/n) a second time, even harder than before. And Robby still didn’t notice, too oblivious to the way the girl looked at him, how she pushed (y/n) away to try and be as close to the attending as possible. Every time she anticipated his orders before he even finished speaking them. Every time she looked at him for approval, which he gave to her more than she deserved, at least according to (y/n).
“Good catch,” he told the resident when she called out a dropping pressure. The words hit harder than they should have, simply because (y/n) had spent years trying to earn that praise from the man who still looked at her as if she was someone who had joined the ER only a little while ago.
The pressure crashed before (y/n) could overthink the small details currently driving her mad. But the universe wasn’t on her side that day. The girl moved at the same time, managing to be a tad bit closer to get into position before (y/n) could. She bit down on her tongue, gaze flickering between Robby and the girl again before wordlessly turning on her heel, already slipping off her gloves, desperate to leave before she could spiral some more.
…
There was something special about watching the sunset from the roof, knees pressed to her chest while (y/n) tried to breathe her emotions away. She hated how easily the situation had annoyed her, hated how much she was still craving Robby’s compliments and attention after working with him for years. He had always been hard on her, fair enough to leave it uncommented, and yet he barely praised her the way he did with their new residents.
She was too deep in thought to hear the door being pushed open, to pick up on the steps carrying him closer, only daring to look up as he sat down next to her, eyes set on the orange horizon. For a few moments, neither of them said anything, relishing in the silence lingering between them, a silence he broke with a heavy sigh.
“What’s going on with you today?” (Y/n) struggled to look at him, struggled to rip her eyes away from the spectacle on the horizon to look at the man whose eyes she’d always search out in a crowd. Even though the sky seemed to communicate with her in its own language, a warning she foolishly ignored, she kept sitting next to Robby, not daring to run from the conversation just yet.
“Nothing, just one of those days.” Robby’s hand found hers. He squeezed it to finally guide her tired eyes to meet his. Concern swam in his eyes, accompanied by something she couldn’t pinpoint just yet. Her tongue kissed her teeth as she slowly pulled her hand away, having to protect herself before he could drown her fully in his closeness. “I’ll go back down in a minute, don’t worry.”
“Is it about that new attending?” She almost choked on her inhale of cold air, wide eyes struggling to stay focused.
“I don’t know what you mean.” One of his hands ran through his hair, followed by a deep exhale.
“Dana said something went wrong back there. I don’t know what happened, I was too distracted, but if something is wrong, you have to tell me.” Anger began to simmer inside of her. His words were like a match thrown to a flame, ready to set the whole world ablaze.
“Because you’re my attending, or is this your way of trying to be friendly with me for once?” Her words had a bite to them, making his eyebrows raise in surprise. With a huff leaving her, (y/n) rose to her feet, needing to chase the distance between them before she’d do something stupid.
“I need to know that you’re good to work down there. I can’t have you mess up because of some childish anger you can’t explain to me.” The words made her freeze, back turned to Robby. A second faded by, then another, eyes filled with angry tears she couldn’t blink away.
“You’re an asshole, Robinavitch.” She began to walk again, hurriedly wiping away her tears, but she didn’t get far, forced to turn back to Robby, whose hand had found her shoulder. With her teeth buried in her lower lip, (y/n) forced herself to keep breathing, to try and get a grip.
“Talk to me, (y/n), please.” Her eyes fluttered close, her heart kept racing, her lungs were aching. It felt as if she lost control over her body, over the words now rolling off her tongue as if she had been overthinking them for weeks.
“You let them push me around, you ignore my concerns, you let some new residents overrule me as if I’m just an intern you’ll never see again in a few weeks. And then you search me out to make sure I’m okay?” The words had a sharp bite to them, making Robby frown while (y/n) kept rambling. “I am so sick and tired of that fucking hot and cold game with you. You’re in your fifties, goddamnit, start acting like it.”
“Oh, that’s rich coming from you.” His voice had that same sharp bite to it like hers did, making the hairs on her neck stand up as if her body sensed some danger she couldn’t see just yet.
“What?” The word dripped with some kind of challenge she couldn’t put into words, wondering how far he’d take it with her right there on the roof. But before Robby could answer, they were paged, ripping them out of their bubble to refocus on their work.
“This conversation isn’t over,” Robby mumbled the words as he brushed past her, making her body tingle from the small contact.
…
(Y/n) had managed to disappear after her shift without running into him again, grateful for the cold air wrapping itself around her to guide her home. Her mind was still focused on their talk, on the sharp words they had exchanged before being pulled back into the chaos of the Pitt.
She had been grateful for the quietness lingering inside her apartment, allowing (y/n) to sort through her thoughts. A quietness that got interrupted by the soft knocks on her door, forcing her out of her bed and towards the entrance of her apartment. Their eyes instantly met as she opened the door, making her insides churn at the sight of him and those godforsaken eyes she’d dream of every now and then.
“It’s late, Robby.” He was standing close, one hand pressed to the frame of her door, the other balled into a loose fist.
“Can I come in?” For a moment, neither of them moved, eyes holding contact until she finally stepped aside. He had been inside her apartment a few times before, for small get-togethers with the team, celebrations she didn’t like to think back to because it had felt too normal to have him around, making it feel as if he was destined to share her personal space.
“I need to know what happened there today.” She had to avert her gaze, letting go of a humourless laugh while crossing her arms in front of her chest. A war was brewing between them, but it was on her to figure out the best strategy, promising herself she wouldn’t go down without a fight.
“You know exactly what happened, I told you on the roof. Or did you not listen to me, as always?” Robby’s jaw muscles ticked in anger. He mimicked her posture, arms crossed, biceps bulging beneath his jacket. He took a step closer, towering over her with their height difference, but she didn’t back down, not yet, when their hearts were racing in anger and their bodies were shaking with annoyance.
“What is going on with you? You’re acting like a jealous child.” She stopped breathing just for a second, a second too long, which made Robby tilt his head slightly to the left. His eyes kept watching her, intently taking in her features before letting go of a rough laugh. “So that’s what all of this is about, huh? Jealousy?”
“I’m not jealous.” It was a pathetic try to escape the situation. (Y/n) wanted to turn from him, set on chasing a safe distance, but Robby’s hands darted out to settle on her waist, feeling the soft fabric of her longer sleep shirt. Her heart pounded against her ribs, almost breaking through the bones to free her from the intense sensation she was now fighting against.
“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” The nickname made her breath hitch, unable to reply while his thumbs began to move against the fabric. Heat flushed through her; it crawled up her spine like a snake slithering towards Eden, so close to paradise, and yet the last threshold hadn’t been crossed just yet.
“It’s late, you should leave.” Robby didn’t move. He didn’t pull his hands away, didn’t stop looking down at her. She was trembling, hoping she’d be able to hold herself back before doing something she wouldn’t be able to undo.
“Is that what you want?” It was nothing but a whisper, but it was loud and clear to her. She shook her head before noticing what she was doing there, only noticing what her head had done as a rough chuckle left Robby. He looked at her for a few more seconds before he dipped his head down, lips ghosting hers.
“I thought you knew how I feel about you, but maybe I have to show you how much I want you and not them.” The distance between them was crossed, letting their lips meet while both instantly gave in to the new sensation. Her arms found their way around his neck to pull him in some more, not daring to break apart just yet.
Without breaking the kiss, Robby moved her backwards, leading the way to her bedroom. Her thoughts were silenced, no longer racing and overthinking, but quiet as if the kiss had managed to reboot her system, allowing (y/n) to fully focus on him. The second they stepped into her dimly lit bedroom, Robby began to kiss his way down her throat, beard scratching her skin to draw a few soft moans out of her, “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.”
“Just you, please.” He hummed against her skin before pushing her down onto her mattress, watching her crawl back to settle against her pillows. Robby moved slowly as if they had all time this very life could offer, not daring to stop looking at her before he settled between her thighs, big hands tugging on her ankles to pull her legs further apart.
“Gotta show you how much you mean to me.” His voice had an almost condescending touch to it as if it was funny to him that she hadn’t understood how much he truly had needed her for all these past years. Robby kissed his way up her thighs, softly nibbling on sensitive spots before he pressed a kiss to her panties.
A whimper broke out of her the second he began circling her pulsing bundle of nerves through the fabric, eyes fluttering close to let herself fall fully, hoping he’d be there to catch her eventually. Robby took his time, his fingers moved slowly, while his lips kept kissing the skin close to her heat, undoubtedly set on torturing (y/n).
Only as he pulled the fabric aside to taste her for the first time did she feel herself relaxing some more, giving in as he ate her out like a starved man invited to a feast. His name left her like a prayer, reverberating through the bedroom to make it feel like their sacred place.
She struggled to hold on, struggled to focus while the world around her began to spin. His mouth felt warm, working with just the right pressure to push her further into the arms of her pleasure. (Y/n) didn’t even have the mental strength to feel embarrassed over how quickly she was running towards the edge, ready to let go with his name bleeding from her mouth.
“You look so pretty when I take care of you, such a perfect sight.” His low rumbles made her moan again, and yet she was torn from the sensation without a warning, opening her eyes with a whine. Robby had pulled away, a grin settled on his lips as he pulled his shirt over his head, hands already working on his trousers. “I want to watch you fall apart around me, that alright?”
“Fuck yes, please, Robby.” He rose from the bed to step out of his clothes, eyes not leaving her heavily breathing frame once.
“Call me Michael when it’s just us.” No reply left her, no verbal one at least. Greedy fingers tried to reach for him, desperate to pull him back in to feel him buried deep inside of her. “Condom?”
She struggled to reach for the bedside drawer, body turned away from him, only to feel Michael pressed against her back moments later while his longer arm managed to reach for the box, ripping a condom open to roll it down his cock. He pressed her back down, hovered over (y/n) while brushing his tip through her folds, “Are you sure?”
“Fuck me, Michael.” It’s all he needed to hear, unable to stop a deep groan from leaving him as he pushed into her, walls clenching around his cock. Both clung to one another, high on the sensation of him sinking deeper into her, allowing her to adjust for a moment. No words could describe the intensity of the moment, two bodies finally tied together after searching for one another for years. A surreal situation (y/n)’s mind struggled to accept.
He fucked her slow, deep, set on leaving marks while exploring every inch of the body he never wanted to let go of again. She belonged to him, right there beneath him, offering her body to him as if he was the only one she trusted enough to guide her.
“You feel like heaven, sweetheart.” The words were rasped out, echoing through the night while their bodies kept meeting. Robby began to build his speed slowly, hips meeting hers with every ferocious thrust as if he was set on wordlessly promising to her that this was much more than a fuck both had been aching for. It was a promise, a wordless gesture, a bond made for eternity if they both would chase after it.
She moved a hand between their bodies, rubbing her clit to push herself further into the sensation, set on cumming with his name rolling off her tongue. Robby could only watch her fall apart beneath him, fingernails clawing at his shoulder while he fucked her through her orgasm, letting the intensity settle on her gorgeous features.
He came moments later with a moan, hips stilling as he let go. Both their bodies were pressed together, chasing their breaths while their hearts kept racing. Neither of them spoke, there was no need for words, at least not while settling into their newfound peace. (Y/n)’s hands brushed through his hair, keeping him close with her legs still wrapped around him, not daring to let go just yet.
“I hope you know that I meant it when I said you don’t have to be jealous of anyone, I’m yours if you’ll have me.” The words were mumbled against her neck, lips kissing the spot where her shoulders met her neck. She hummed, eyes still closed, fingers still moving.
“Good, because I won’t let you go again, Doctor Robinavitch.”
divider source || crossposted on ao3
pairing: frank langdon x chronically ill! reader
warnings: fluff, angst, mild hurt/comfort, post-rehab frank langdon, chronic illness, migraines, ehlers danlos syndrome, medical innacuracies, self-indulgent, hints to smut, valentines day, ambulance ride, mri & ct scans, thunderclap headache, divorced! frank (they did not get a dog), afab reader, reader is referred to as 'female' as a medical term, gender neutral!reader, gn pronouns, no use of y/n, possible ooc!frank langdon, use of 'babe' and 'sweetheart', this started as a self-indulgent thing but then I just kept going (thank you Youtube University and mayoclinic.org for research)
word count: 3,714
summary: The reader experiences a thunderclap headache. One call to 911 and a short ambulance ride later, Frank sees his whole world lying on a gurney before him. There's nothing he can do about it.
a/n: I apologize in advance for any medical inaccuracies. While I personally do have migraines, I don’t have EDS (as far as I'm aware) and I’ve never had a CT or MRI. I spent so much time researching for this fic so I THINK everything is as good as I can get it. This is also the first time I’ve fully written something in years so sorry in advance if Frank is a little out of character or things just don’t read well. Hope you enjoy nonetheless 💜
Frank hated working holidays. Yeah, every emergency medicine doctor could say the same thing, he knows that. But how was he supposed to focus on his shift when it was Valentines Day and you were waiting for him to get home for the night-in you’d both planned? Especially when you’d teased him all morning about the surprise you had planned.
He’s already two Red Bulls deep by the time one o’clock rolls around. The shift wasn’t anything worse than the usual holiday-weekend nonsense- at least that’s what he’d been telling himself.
“Plans with the special someone tonight?” Dana bumps her hip into his as he reads through the patient board at the central hub.
The eye roll she gives him is on instinct but he can’t stop the smile that tugs at his lips. “They said they had a ‘surprise’ for me when I got home.”
“Oh-ho, somebody’s in for a treat.” She can’t help but laugh while tucking her glasses into her scrub pocket. “Probably got a cute new set for ‘ya, just for tonight.”
“Don’t get him too excited,” Donnie calls over his shoulder from the other side of the desk. “He’ll forget there’s still 6 hours left in the shift.”
Frank lets out a playful groan, letting his head lull back. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”
“Okay, Romeo,” Dana chuckles. “South 15 is ready for ya.”
“Can’t get Whitaker to stitch them up?”
The blonde simply smiles. “He’s on his third scrub change of the day already, cut the kid a little slack.”
Begrudgingly he takes the tablet from her hands. “Yes, mom.”
Dana is mid-conversation with Robby when the phone at central rings. Her gaze hardens as she listens to dispatch before thanking them for the heads-up and hanging up the call. “Rig incoming, thunderclap headache with possible signs of stroke.”
He just nods and takes a deep breath. “Get Trauma 2 ready.”
The doors of the ambulance open, the late afternoon sun sitting just above the horizon and shining directly into your eyes. Instinctively you squint, moaning in pain as your head throbs.
“29 year old female, thunderclap headache with neck pain and stiffness. BP 135/86 but stable. Responds to auditory and visual input. Gave one unit of morphine in the field.”
You lie on the gurney, audibly groaning but not moving. Even a centimeter of movement made your brain feel like it was on fire. You can make out the sounds around you- voices talking urgently, wheels against pavement, the idling of an engine. But it all feels.. far away. Almost like you’ve stepped out of your skin. The ringing in your ears is like steady background noise, overpowering the voices around you just enough that you can only catch a few words here and there.
You recognize Robby as soon as he’s wheeling your gurney into the Emergency Department. You’d met briefly- you had stopped by to pick up Frank after work one night and Robby was outside talking with Dana as you pulled into a parking spot. He seemed nice, but you immediately picked up on the way his jaw tightened a bit when you mentioned your boyfriend’s name.
But his expression was different this time. Eyes firm, calculating, voice stern. A true captain guiding his crew.
Before you even realize it you’re being pushed into a trauma room. The bright lights make you hiss, eyes fluttering as you try to fight off the wave of nausea from the extra stimuli. The sounds get louder. More voices. Machines beeping. Numbers being exchanged. Words that are clearly medical but mean nothing to you are spoken overhead.
Nothing makes sense, but you know where you are. You specifically told them to take you to PTMC.
Suddenly they’re counting to three and your body is jolted when they transfer you to a bed. You cry out in pain, nearly screaming as you feel electricity shoot through your spine and into the back of your brain. The dizziness is back. Nausea sitting low in your stomach but thankfully not bubbling up anymore.
The lights hurt. The sounds hurt. Forming words hurts. Your brain feels like a bowling ball, forcing your head against the thin mattress below you. Even if you wanted to lift your head the muscles in your neck and shoulders feel like they’ve been superglued in place.
Someone to your right is asking questions. A blonde woman with glasses- the only thing you can pick up through your blurry peripheral. Robby says it again, louder. You only hear “history” and “migraines”.
“Fr..” you try to say, the words feeling like sand slipping through your fingers. “Fra.. F..” You keep trying, knowing what you want to say but not being able to form it on your lips.
Robby takes a deep inhale and calls to someone else in the room. “Get Langdon in here.”
“What’s going on in there?” Frank nods to Trauma 2 as he takes a sip from his bottle of water.
“Thunderclap headache,” Dana says, only sparing a glance from the screen of her tablet. “29 year old female, hope it’s not a stroke.”
He stands a little straighter automatically. Immediately a bad feeling curls in his stomach. His bottle is abandoned on the counter next to Dana before he crosses the room. He’s barely close enough to see through the huddle of bodies before Perlah is opening the door.
Their eyes meet for a mere second.
“Get in here.” She calls out to him, not leaving room for questions.
His feet move before his brain catches up. The room is controlled chaos- but not the typical kind that comes in for traumas. No bleeding, no open wounds, no struggling to breathe or pulse only faintly thumping.
It’s you. On a hospital bed. Hooked up to monitors and lying there in obvious confused agony. His eyes flick to the screen denoting your stats and he feels his throat tighten at your elevated blood pressure.
“Langdon!” Robby’s voice brings him back to life. “I need a history.”
“Uh-yeah, yeah, um,” he stumbles, blue eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he tries to figure out his thoughts. “They, uh, have a history of migraines- range from mild to severe. On propranolol and sumatriptan.”
“High blood pressure?”
“No,” Frank shakes his head, arms folded over his chest to hold himself together. “Propanolol as a migraine preventative.”
You can hear his voice, but you can’t see him. “F.. Fran-“ you try again, brain working overtime to connect the syllables.
“I’m here,” he calls to you, heart breaking at the way you look so confused and broken. “Don’t try to move.”
Even if you wanted to, your body physically won’t let you.
Scissors have cut off the hoodie around your body. Your favorite one that you’ve stolen from Frank- an old, cracked screenprint of the Penguins’ logo filling the front of the fabric.
You tense instinctively when a cold stethoscope is slipped under your tank top. Someone instructs you to take deep breaths.
“Normal breath sounds on both sides.” The monitor’s steady beeping shows your elevated heart rate and Frank’s jaw tightens. A light is flashed at your pupils and your hands clench at the blanket beneath you while you cry out. The light makes your brain feel like it’s being tased “Pupils reactive, photophobia present.”
Frank’s brain is running a marathon. He wants to jump into the action, push past Robby and hold you. But he knows it’s not that simple. The attending clearly is still holding that fucking grudge, and he knows that the momentary relief of being next to you isn’t worth more disciplinary action and months more of triage hell.
They give you fluids. They give you fentanyl for the pain. Perlah draws blood for the usual tests. Him and Mel keep talking about your medical history. He feels like his heart is in his throat as everyone starts spitting out differentials.
“We’re gonna need a CT.”
They need to rule out so many things, and God he is praying it’s not a stroke or hemorrhage or anything terrible. But he also knows he can’t let himself get his hopes up.
He clings onto the bed as they wheel you out of the room.
“Fr..” you start to say as those blue eyes look down at you. “F.. Frank.. ie?” The syllables are rough, but the pain is lessening with each moment. Talking isn’t as exhausting as before, and the sound of your voice in your head doesn’t sting.
“I’m here,” he nods, trying to put on a brave face. He can see the deep-set confusion and fear in your gaze. “You’re gonna need a CT to see what’s going on in your brain.”
“F..Frank?” To manage to say in almost a full breath. “‘M scared.”
“I know, sweetheart. It-“ he stops himself before the words keep going. If he shouldn’t give himself false hope, he can’t imagine trying to give it to you. “I’m here. You’re in good hands.”
The CT scan feels like your brain is vibrating. The buzzing creeps into your body and you feel that same distant feeling from when you were being brought into the ED. The pain isn’t as bad as before, but the familiar throbbing in your skull is still present.
You’re now quietly lying in a room with the lights dimmed when the door opens. Frank slips in, shutting the door behind him before pulling the chair close to the side of your bed.
“Hi,” you murmur, body shifting slightly to look at him. The bed below you was propped up slightly, your body between a lying down and sitting up position. There was a pillow behind your head and two blankets- Dana made sure you were warm enough after having to tug on a gown. If someone came in they might not even realize you were sobbing from pain and fear just thirty minutes ago.
“Hey,” he breathes, his hands reaching over to gently take your left one.
“I tried texting you.. while I waited for the ambulance,” you admit shyly, gaze averting his. “My.. hands were shaking too much.”
“It’s okay,” he immediately assures. Frank’s thumb rubs back and forth across your knuckles, the motion meant to soothe him just as much as you. “I’m just glad you got to a hospital.”
You suck in a breath, the noise shaky. “It was.. the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life, all shrunk to a minute.”
He nods, eyes looking at your hands. “Clear signs of thunderclap.”
Bottom lip between your teeth, the skin raw. “For the record, this was not the surprise I was planning.”
He cracks a tiny smile- barely more than the corner of his lips turning up. “I figured as much.”
“WebMD said I was dying.”
“WebMD says that no matter what you look up. LangdonMD says you are still very much alive.”
You can’t help but smile.
“Sorry about the hoodie,” you say a little sheepishly. “I wouldn’t have put it on if I knew-“
“Sweetheart,” Frank says just a bit louder, his fingers giving your hand a small squeeze. “It’s just a hoodie, I’ll get over it. All I care about is you being okay.”
You simply nod at his words, not trusting your voice.
There’s a brief moment of silence before there’s a knock on the door. Dana slips into the dark room. “Hi hun,” she smiles sympathetically, a soft hand placed on Frank’s shoulder while looking at you. “Was really hoping I’d get to meet you outside of this shitshow.”
Frank had always said that Dana was the only one able to keep the day shift crew smiling on bad days, and you could clearly see why. You already felt comfort just from her presence and can’t help but huff a small laugh at her lighthearted words. “Guess I just wanted to really see you in your element.”
Her smile widens even more, a twinkle in her eye. “I see why Langdon snatched you up. Grumpy pants needs to laugh more.”
She slips on a pair of gloves and starts to take your vitals again. BP was still elevated but was consistent with the last few listed recordings. “I feel bad sometimes. Poor Frankie’s gotta play doctor with me even when he’s home with my migraine issues.”
“Sweetheart-“ Frank says almost on instinct. He doesn’t know if it’s a warning or to brush off your worry.
Dana’s brow quirks up. “Frankie?”
He practically deflates. “Oh no.” You hear him curse under his breath.
“I guess she’s gonna use that nickname for evil?”
“Absolutely,” the two of them say almost in unison, and you laugh.
Once Dana finishes with your vitals she excuses herself out of the room. Frank, knowing that something wasn’t quite right due to his medical knowledge, gives your forehead a soft kiss before following her out the door.
“There’s something you’re not telling me.”
She sighs, not looking up from the tablet in her hands. “There’s a lot of things I’m not telling a lot of people.”
Frank sucks in a deep breath and runs his hands down his face. “You know what I mean,” he subtly gestures towards your room.
“Sweetheart,” Dana finally turns to look up at him, expression neutral. “I just don’t want you getting your hopes up.”
“There’s no family history of stroke or high blood pressure or-“
“That you know of. And we both know that doesn’t mean it can’t happen.” The older woman reaches out to rest her hands on his shoulders. Even the touch is comforting, despite the chaos and stress of The Pitt around them. “Hope for the best, but please expect the worst.”
His shoulders slump, her words setting in. He knows she’s right, regardless of whether or not he wants to admit it. “Yeah, I know. I’ll.. do my best.”
Robby makes himself scarce around you and Langdon. He knows it’s scary for both of you, and the last thing he wants to do is let his lingering anger and frustration with Frank take over and make him say something he’ll regret.
He makes sure Mohan and King are on your case, and gives his input when needed. Tells Dana that Langdon can take the rest of his shift off if he wants to stay by your side. You tell Frank that keeping himself preoccupied with patients will be good for him. If you need anything, your room is in the charge nurse's line of sight.
The CT results are good- no hemorrhage, no clots. A good sign that this isn’t a stroke or a much more serious issue.
When Mel and Samira come in to go over the results with you and Frank, you make a dumb off-handed comment about having a headache the past few days. With chronic migraines and EDS, you’ve almost grown accustomed to the pain and have started being able to keep going with at least one part of your body yelling at you.
But apparently, to three medical professionals, that isn’t normal.
Frank eggs you on, practically begging you to explain more in-depth. Location, how long it lasts, does it get worse when you move.
“Hurts more when I stand up and is better when I’m laying down,” you say casually, almost shrugging it off. “Just figured it was my hormonal cycle.”
Mel’s eyes widen just a millimeter, but Frank clearly detects it in the way they share a look.
“MRI with gadolinium,” the blonde says, tearing her eyes away from Frank as Samira moves to the computer.
“Why?”
“Sweetheart,” Frank speaks up, his right hand cupping your cheek. “You.. are more than likely leaking spinal fluid.”
His words feel like he punched you. “W-what? Spinal fluid? How?”
“Your connective tissue disorder,” he searches your eyes as he explains, making sure you understand. “It weakened the membrane around your spine enough that it caused a leak. The MRI will show where it is so they can patch it.”
Of course. Of course this was because your stupid body wasn’t built correctly and is actively fighting against you. Because the migraines themselves weren’t enough.
Samira, sensing that this was about to get emotional, politely lets you know that someone will be by soon to bring you up for the MRI before her and Mel leave the room.
The moment they leave the tears that were brimming your eyes fall. Your body still hurts, and Frank wants so badly to tug you into his arms, but he doesn’t want to risk making you feel worse. But when you look over at him, so small and fragile and scared shitless? He can’t take it. Wordlessly he pulls down the railing on the side of the bed and squeezes in next to you on the tiny mattress. Right arm wraps behind your back, barely pressing against you, while his left hand cups your cheek. “This isn’t your fault, sweetheart.”
“Sure feels like it,” you mumble between tears.
“I swear on my life this is not your fault. You have no control over chronic illnesses. There isn’t anyone to blame for you having EDS.” Frank helps you turn your body towards him so he can look into your eyes. “I love you. I love everything about you, regardless of how many good days you get between the bad ones.”
You hold his gaze but can’t get any words to form. Your chest feels tight from all the love you have for him.
“You saw the good in me when I was at my lowest and everyone else abandoned me. And I plan on staying here, doing the exact same thing for you.”
Despite the dull ache in your body you lean into him, wordlessly connecting your lips.
A mix of lips and tears, the salt melting into your mouths as he moves against you. Your hands grab fistfuls of his scrub top- holding on for dear life. He’s solid against you. Sturdy. Your shoulder to lean on when you just can’t do it alone anymore.
Just as you did for him- freshly divorced, almost done with rehab, lost in the world. Your presence a guiding light back to existence as he crawled out of rock bottom.
His hand cradles your jaw like you’re made of glass. The most precious thing in existence, right here in his arms.
You rest your forehead against his when you part. You’re breathing a little heavier now, cheeks stained with streaks from your tears. Hair messy, hospital gown wrinkled against your body, eyes red and slightly puffy. God, you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“I love you too, Frankie,” you whisper.
The contrast for the MRI doesn’t hurt, it just.. feels wrong. Like ice water running through your veins, making your body tingle. There’s a metallic taste on your tongue.
All of it is normal, Frank reassured you.
This wasn’t even close to the first MRI you’ve had, but that doesn’t mean you’re necessarily used to them by now. They weren’t comfortable. They were loud. The air smelled like sterile antiseptic cleaner and nitrile gloves.
Frank urges you to eat when you’re wheeled back into your room in the ED. Something from the cafeteria- a mere step above the sandwiches on the boarder’s cart.
He hovers while you pick at your food but you don’t comment on it. You know he’s just as stressed about all of this as you are- probably moreso. Based on the way he can’t sit still you know he’s still coming down from the adrenaline high of seeing you in the trauma room.
“Honey,” you gently call to him. His gaze snaps up to you, like he’s waiting on a command. “I’m okay.”
You watch him take a breath. And another. “I know,” he nods. “I’m just.. antsy, I guess.”
“I’m sure they need help out there. We’ve gotta wait for the MRI results anyway.”
He wants to argue, wants to stay right here with you, but he knows you’re right. Even if Robby told radiology that they needed these results rushed, it would still take at least an hour or two. Dana, Mohan and King were all checking in on you regularly. There was no reason for him to sit here twiddling his thumbs while you two waited.
With a resigned sigh he nods. “Alright,” he breathes. “Fine. But only to make you happy.”
You chuckle softly, gaze softening up at him.
He pushes the bedside tray closer to you as he stands. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”
“Whatever you say, Dr. Langdon.”
He rolls his eyes at your teasing.
When the results come back Frank slips into your room once again. CSF leak in the bottom of the cervical spine. Explains the neck stiffness, the pain in the back of the head that pulsed when you moved. Frank knows you hate the idea of surgery. Your EDS has made it so any time you’ve had a procedure done the healing time was significantly longer than most patients. Thankfully, your case wasn’t as bad as it could have been and a blood patch should do the trick with lots of bed rest and fluids.
Dr. Mohan orders the treatment and steps out of the room, giving the two of you privacy again.
“Thank you,” you mumble once the room settles into silence. “For everything.”
“You never have to thank me.”
“I know.” A deep inhale fills the silence, tongue jutting out to lick your chapped lips. “I know it’s your job to take care of people when they’re sick. I just..”
You trail off, looking down at your hands.
Frank calls your name, voice soft and gentle. “I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”
Your body relaxes a little more. Eyes flutter closed as he leans in to press a kiss to your temple. “You took care of me when I was at my lowest, babe. Now let me take care of you.”
The morphine has helped enough that you can move your head a bit. It’s a stiff nod, but he catches it regardless. “Okay,” you swallow. “Okay.”
He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his expression softening. “Love you, sweetheart.”
Your lips curl up into a tiny, barely-there smile. “Love you more, Frankie.”
a/n: Being someone from Pittsburgh I am absolutely IN LOVE with this show and Frank Langdon. I've started a few other things for these two so who knows maybe more coming soon?? Maybe??
8k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: some will they won’t they flavor; reader is assaulted by a patient’s husband (light description of it, but not as it’s happening); reader gets a bad bruise and has stitches; guilt; anger; fear; crying; self-blame; self-hate; quick thought of self-harm; no use of y/n or related.
Summary: An assault causes you and Jack to finally discuss your feelings for each other.
AN: This is one of my favorite tropes/plots so I was excited to finally get to write something for it! That said, I don't really love this for some reason, but I don't think I'm going to love anything right now, so I'm just going to roll with it lol. It is fairly wordy up front because I cannot set a scene with any level of brevity, but I promise there is dialogue and interaction at the end. Hopefully fluffy and flirty and sweet dialogue and interaction! Based on this ask and this ask from the 1k celebration (I promise I'm working my way through them and haven't forgotten.). I hope it's okay enough and that you're able to enjoy, and thank you for all of your support! ♥️
Jack feels it the second he walks in for his shift.
Something is off. It's the glances at him out of the corners of his coworker's eyes and the looks they then exchange with each other or their hushed whispers.
Most people wouldn't notice. But for Jack it's that pesky PTSD hyper-awareness that never quite dies all the way regardless of how much therapy one has and how healed one feels.
It's strange. He has no idea what it's about. He took a few extra days off which is somewhat unusual for him, yeah, but it doesn't feel like it should be weird enough for this. Whatever. He doesn't really pay it much attention and maybe he is just reading into things. At this point he's too excited to get to the lockers and see you to really care about anything else.
You're not there when he turns the corner but that doesn't mean much to him because he almost always beats you. He just walks over to the wall opposite the lockers and presses his back against it, closes his eyes and waits for the familiar fall of your footsteps as you arrive. It seems to take longer today. You must be running late.
He doesn't let himself think anything of it, not yet anyway. But when it gets to be just a few minutes before your shift and Jack has to leave to go start handoff and there's still no you, he doesn't fight the slightest twist of his stomach.
The twist resolves quickly when he walks to the hub and sees the back of you in a room with a patient and Santos. That makes sense. You must've gotten here early and gotten pulled into something. You're one of the best nurses they have across shifts so of course someone would grab you if they could. He'll track you down after handoff once you're finished there. Jack figures you'll be looking for him too.
Jack figures wrong.
You deliberately got here and involved with something early, earlier than Jack normally arrives because you need a reason to not be by the lockers or at handoff. You're going to need lots of reasons to avoid him tonight. Because you don't want to see him.
Well, it's more you don't want him to see you.
You have no idea why you're avoiding him and hiding from him and not telling him what happened, no idea why you think this is the best strategy, but you are and you have. It feels wrong, makes your stomach hurt a little, lying by omission to Jack. Because he's… Jack.
The two of you haven't known each other that long all things considered, you've only been at the Pitt for about eight months now, are equally as new to the city, but you and Jack act like you've known each other forever. You both feel like you've known each other forever, clicking so immediately in a way that you're both pretty sure can only be fated.
Jack had a bit of a chip on his shoulder with you when you first started. There had been a couple really bad hires in a row, those people who interview amazingly and then perform terribly. You came in hot on the heels after an incident that nearly killed a patient and so Jack couldn't help but be protective of his patients and his people and his ED.
But you quickly won him over with your ability to stay calm in the face of the worst of the worst and with your competence and ability to adapt and anticipate and observe carefully to learn, not just in general but to learn him. You'd only worked together a couple of shifts when you started having the next instrument he was going to ask for in his hand before he could ask for it and prepping things the specific way he liked and moving with him perfectly, knowing exactly where he was going to next so he didn't have to ask you to move.
In the end, it only took six shifts together before you became Jack's go to nurse for anything and everything.
Your schedules almost always align, they've always been like that. At first it was coincidence and then it became Jack asking Robby to make sure they always do. And of course the more you’ve worked together the more comfortable you’ve grown professionally and personally.
The flirting started early on, the moment you were both comfortable enough with each other that a comment fell off Jack's tongue much to his horror until he realized you were okay with it, until you flirted back in response. Jack is generally a little more flirty than you but that's just because you're slightly shier and a touch more reserved in a sense.
But there's more to you and Jack than just the flirting. You’ve become each other's person, you open up to each other about everything, tell each other everything, because it just feels right. Because talking is easy and judgment free. You're each other's safe spaces before you consciously realize it.
As to why you're not together yet… So many reasons and yet none at all.
Or at least none that justify depriving yourselves of each other romantically.
It's more on Jack than you if he's honest with himself, both of you know it. He knows he's holding back, that he's scared because you're special to him and he doesn't want to somehow ruin the two of you by asking you for more even though you're so clearly interested in more.
You’ve been here long enough now and you and Jack have gotten close and flirty enough that rumors that you're secretly together have just started to fly. But they don't last long.
After what happened, everyone is now certain you're not together. Because you would've called Jack.
You would've called Jack when that patient's husband attacked you if the two of you were together, were partners, boyfriend and girlfriend. Despite how brave of a face you put on and how much you insisted you were fine it was obvious to everyone just how shaken you were at the time. So they all know you would've called Jack or had one of them call Jack in a heartbeat if you were a couple.
They all also know that you haven't told Jack what happened. That Jack doesn't know what happened. Jack took those extra days off so he hasn't worked the past three nights with you and Robby and Dana have been off the last two days so they haven't seen you to be able to tell him.
They know because if Jack knew he'd have come. It wouldn't have mattered where he was, at his place, at his cabin hours away in the woods, somewhere a plane ride away or how many hours or days after the assault it was.
He would've come. He would've dropped anything and everything and shown up for you.
And certainly he would've made you take at least some time off. You've taken none. You didn't even go home the night it happened once you were cleared. You all but begged Shen to let you stay because you didn't want to be at home alone thinking about it. At home alone wishing Jack were with you.
Because everyone knows Jack doesn't know, the most talked about subject on day and night shifts is how Jack is going to react when he finds out, when he shows up at work and sees you. Everyone knows not to tell him even without you asking and saying anything, they know that you need to be the one to tell him. So nobody says anything.
The second he leaves the hub after handoff he's walking the floor looking for you. He's missed you. He hasn't been away from you for this long in a while now. He's craving you, if he's honest with himself. Your attention and your eyes on him and your touch and the sound of your voice. The sound of your voice saying his name. Jack.
It's not that he doesn't let anyone else call him by his first name, he doesn't really care that much. It's that other than Robby, Dana, and Lena, nobody else calls him Jack, only you. It started as Dr. Abbot, and then Abbot, and then a mix of Dr. Abbot, Abbot with the occasional Jack, and then Jack with the occasional Abbot, and at this point it's pretty much always Jack.
He isn't able to find you before getting pulled in with a patient which bums him out but he's sure he'll find you after, that you'll track him down as soon as you're free. Except the night passes and he doesn't find you and you don't track him down.
At first he tells himself it's just a busy night and this happens sometimes but, for the Pitt, the night is verging on quiet, and this has never happened before, not like this. Jack can't remember the last time he ran a trauma without you while you were working absent some obvious reason for your absence. He's not sure it's happened since you started, and tonight he's run several, hasn't had you in a single trauma with him.
The thought starts to trickle into Jack's consciousness that you're avoiding him. That you don't want to see him. Because the Pitt simply isn't busy enough for you guys to have not seen each other unless one of you was trying to avoid the other. And Jack isn't trying to avoid you.
He knows he took time off and he's heard from others tonight that the last three nights were pretty rough, but you knew he was taking the time off and that you'd be working without him so you can't seriously be mad about that, about him taking time off. You had fucking encouraged him to, telling him he needed and deserved a break.
Jack can’t think of any other reason you’d be avoiding him. Did he do something the last time you were together? Say something wrong? He can’t think of anything, can’t think of anything that made you feel off with him. You’d walked out with him and he’d walked you to your place on the way to his like normal your last shift together. You guys had texted some while he was off. Maybe not as much as normal after your one day off after your last shift together, but you went back to work so he chalked it up to you being tired from work. It has to be the flow of patients working perfectly against you.
But then Jack sees you in the hall a couple of times, always your uninjured side profile, thankfully. He calls for you sometimes, when he can, and you'll look at him from the corner of your eye, he'll see you look at him, and then watch you quickly walk away as he's smiling at you without giving him anything in return, not the hint of a smile or a wave or any kind of acknowledgment. And so the unavoidable reality he’s already known crashes down around Jack the fourth time it happens.
You are avoiding him.
Why? What did he do?
Your avoidance crushes Jack. He's been missing you like crazy and fucking yearning for you in the most ridiculous way that makes him feel like a teenager with a crush. And after four days away from him you're just… done? He tries to think of what he did, of anything he could've done that would upset you so much you’d do this.
Then he remembers the looks everyone was giving him when he walked in. Remembers everybody knows how bad he's down for you. Their looks were of pity, weren't they? You're with someone else. You must have been seeing someone and taken the next step to a relationship and announced it somehow. Maybe you walked in with them while he was gone so people would ask questions and you could answer, tell everyone.
That would mean he lost you before he even had you. Lost you because he was too afraid to ask you for more, to ask you out. Lost you because he was so worried about ruining things between you that he inadvertently pushed you away.
Jack watches you with slightly glassy eyes from across the hall as you're in working with a patient and her husband that Jack examined earlier. Even though your back is to him Jack can tell that you're getting along with both the patient and her husband because they're both smiling and laughing. You turn back from grabbing something off the counter at the same time as the husband stands from his chair and Jack watches you flinch and take a step backward.
Jack has seen a lot of reactions from you by now, has seen you with upset patients and family members yelling at you and coming close to getting in your face, but Jack has never, never, seen you flinch. And that bothers him. A lot. Because the husband wasn't even upset or angry, he was just standing up. Before Jack can start to really think about that and what it could mean he's notified of a trauma pulling in and has to jump into that mode and turn the personal side of his brain off.
They have the patient in the room and transferred when Jack looks up and sees you in the corner at the computer scribing, only your uninjured profile visible to him. "Hey!" he calls to you, follows with your name while looking down and starting his assessment of the patient. "Nice to finally see you tonight, you gonna come up here and help or what?"
He glances up at you and you don't move. You don't turn your head to look at him. "Scribing," you call back to him blankly, little to no emotion in your tone. You've never spoken to him with that tone.
Jack knows something is fucking going on because you never fucking scribe. It's just not where you're the most valuable and you don't like doing it and you have other people, other people in the fucking room, who are better at it, at least one of whom prefers it. Jack looks at you like you're insane for a second but then is right back to work because he has to be.
He doesn't know it but you're still on limited duty and being in the trauma room kind of breaks your heart right now because you're so close to the action you love and yet so far away. Your eye isn't that swollen anymore, certainly not enough to impede your vision, but you still follow protocol, stick to scribing here in the trauma room and the most basic cases out on the floor.
It's a trauma though, and so your focus is on the patient and what's happening in the room and not on hiding yourself and your face from Jack. So when your name gets called followed by a question from another nurse across the room you don't think twice about turning your head to glance at them as you answer.
Jack looks up just in time to catch your eyes for half a second and then a glimpse of your face, isn't able to see much with how quickly you turn back around but he knows he saw bruising and he thinks maybe stitches. You got hurt. When he wasn't here to help. His eyes remain on you as he thinks about it. With what he just saw coupled with your avoidance of him and the way you flinched, Jack realizes you weren't just hurt. You were hit.
"Dr. Abbot," Ellis's voice cuts through all of the emotions bubbling up in Jack. He knows he has to get back to work, that this patient in front of him is higher in triage than you are for him right now as much as he hates it, hates that he can't just abandon what he's doing to get to you.
Jack forces himself to focus back on the patient but the anger rises in him, the panic and worry and guilt, all driven by the additional boost of adrenaline nastier traumas like this cause. You got hit and he wasn't fucking there for you. He needs to know more about it, and now.
When did it happen? Did it happen here at the Pitt? God what if you went out on a date and the guy you were with did this to you? Are you seriously injured? Did you get yourself checked out? Did whoever examined you take proper care of you? What exactly even happened? Why the fuck are you here and not at home resting? Why wouldn't you just tell him? Why didn't you call him when it happened or at least right after?
Jack is looking up and peeling his gloves off to get over to you the second he can but when he looks up you're already gone. A quick scan of the trauma room confirms you've left so Jack nearly bursts out of the doors, head on a swivel as he looks over the floor trying to find you. He doesn't see you so he walks the floor, asks everyone he comes in contact with if they've seen you.
When it becomes obvious you're not in the Pitt Jack checks all the places you've mentioned before. That one supply closet, the half empty floor, the creepy basement. But you're nowhere. Jack refuses to believe that you would just walk out and leave in the middle of your shift though, so he keeps looking.
And then it hits him. The roof. He'd thought of it initially of course because that's where he goes, but he didn't think you'd go there because you told him once while on the roof that you hate heights. By the time that came out you'd come up to the roof looking for him and to help him and comfort him at least five times. He asked why you came if you were afraid and you shrugged simply, told him that you knew he needed someone and that you'll always be that someone for him until he tells you to stop.
You know that the last place Jack would think to look for you would be the roof and Jack knows that's exactly why he's going to find you up there.
And sure enough, Jack walks onto the roof and around the side a little and finds you. He doesn't say anything as he approaches you, but between the door and his footsteps he knows you hear him. You're standing so that one of the lights illuminates the side of your profile visible to him, but the shadow of the building further hides the injured side of your face.
Jack stops walking ten or so feet away from you, the two of you perpendicular to each other. A silence settles over you and it's not awkward or tense, just charged. Charged with a million emotions and things you both want to say but aren't sure you can.
"Hi." You break the silence first hoping maybe you'll be able to divert the conversation.
There's a beat before he responds and you can feel Jack studying your profile still. "Hi." He takes in a breath to say more but you speak first.
"How was your time off? Did you do anything fun?" You tilt your head just slightly, not enough for him to see anything but enough for you to be able to see him more out of the corner of your eye.
Jack huffs. He's not mad at you and you know that, but you're already down and tired and not feeling well mentally and in pain so your brain overrides what you know and interprets his huff as irritation at you and it just makes you shut down more.
"Really?" he asks. "We're really going to do this instead of talk about whatever the fuck happened?" You don't say anything in response, moving your head back to how it was and staring out at the glittering horizon. He sighs softly when you don't answer. You already know the answer to the question you asked. You’d still been texting while he was off. "It was good. It was nice being off and just getting to chill at home and do only things that I wanted to do."
"Good," you murmur.
"Sweetheart." God, you both love and hate when he calls you that, hate because it's teasing and you wish it was really a pet name being used by your boyfriend. He uses your name professionally and generally around the hospital but when it's just your Pitt coworkers and especially when it's just the two of you he calls you Sweetheart. Something about it and where you're at mentally right now just makes your heart hurt. Tears rush to your eyes and that fucking hurts too, physically.
Jack takes another few steps to close more of the distance between you and can see your accumulating tears as he studies your profile. "Sweetheart," he repeats. "Show me that bruise please."
"It's fine Jack, honestly." Your attempt to make your voice convincing is half-hearted at best, your tears obvious in it.
"I'm going to see it eventually," he points out gently. "You're not going to be able to avoid me until it heals."
He's got you there. You both know it. You don't know why you're even so reluctant to show him. It's Jack. Jack's the one you show just about everything to without even realizing it, he just pulls it out of you, you're so comfortable around him and trust him so implicitly.
You take in and breath out a long breath through your mouth and then turn so that you're facing Jack and step out of the half shadow you're standing in and into the light so that it's brightly illuminating the side of your face you've been keeping from him.
"Oh." The word is barely formed as it leaves Jack's mouth with all of the air in his lungs like he's been punched in the stomach, had all the wind knocked out of him. It's much worse than he thought, than he got a glimpse of downstairs.
You have two sets of stitches, one along your cheekbone all the way up to just below the outside corner of your eye, the other set starting just above your ear and traveling up your scalp just in front of your hairline. A deep purple bruise surrounds your eye and covers your cheek, continues up along the path of the stitches that travel up your scalp. And the sclera of your bruised eye is almost completely red with a subconjunctival hemorrhage.
Jack's heart breaks at the sight, at the thought of you being hurt and getting these injuries and the amount of pain you would've been in. But that anger he felt in the trauma room comes roaring back to life, his jaw setting and teeth grinding together. He needs to know who did this. He needs to know who hurt you, who hurt his girl.
So does the guilt. He needs to hurt himself for not being there, wherever and whenever this happened. For not protecting you.
"See?" You shrug. "It's really not that bad."
"What the fuck?" Jack looks at you incredulously. "What the fuck do you mean it's really not that bad?"
"It's some stitches and a tiny fracture, Jack. The CT and x-rays all looked fine other than a small zygomatic fracture, they gave me a dose of prophylactic antibiotics. I'm fine. I'm okay. It's really nothing." You give him the best smile you can manage but it's still only really with half your face and more of a grimace.
"Yeah, then why were you trying to hide it?" he says through an incredulous laugh, shaking his head at you a little. "What the fuck happened? Who did this to you? Was this at work? When? Why the fuck did they do it? What the fuck?" He laughs helplessly to himself and repeats it another couple of times in a loud whisper because his mind can't figure out any other way to process it. "What the fuck? What the fuck?"
You dodge his first question because you simply don't have an answer. "Three nights ago, Monday night, and I don't know, it happened fast. Patient’s husband didn't like what I had to say or whatever, I don't know. I'm a nurse. They love to hate us and blame us for everything. I turned around to grab something off the counter and when I turned back around a fist was coming at my face, hit my cheek more than my nose, so it's not broken. I kind of spun as I fell and hit my head on the counter. That's how I got the scalp laceration. He was wearing a ring that cut my cheek when he hit me. That's all. It could've been worse."
When he hit me.
The words ring through Jack's mind over and over. When he hit you. When he fucking hit you.
Objectively, you're correct in a sense, and Jack knows it, especially now that he knows what happened. It could've been much worse, in any number of ways and for any number of reasons. But that doesn't matter, it's beside the point now. The point is this guy fucking hit you.
This guy fucking hit you and he wasn't there.
He wasn't there to prevent it, he wasn't there to stop it, he wasn't there to treat you, he wasn't there to take care of you, physically or emotionally. He wasn't fucking there. That was the first night you worked without him. If he hadn't taken extra time off he would've been there. But he did and so he wasn't.
All Jack can see is red, it tinges every thought he has, every move his body subtly makes. He needs to know who and he needs to go find them. Nobody gets to hit you.
All Jack can see is red and it bleeds into his words and his voice and his tone. "How much time did you take off? Why the fuck are you back already? You need to not be here."
You're already understandably in a particularly low spot following the attack and you've been missing and wanting Jack so much it hurts and now his words, the anger in voice, the way his usual softness with you has disappeared just makes you feel rejected and like he's mad at you. And you can't deal with that on top of everything else mentally right now. You just can't.
"I didn't take any off. Once I was technically discharged I finished my shift on light and modified duty of course because the swelling near my eye made it harder to see. I've been here for my shifts every day since then, still on light and modified duty like I am today. I didn't need or want time off." You swallow hard, pray you can keep the tears that have returned out of your voice. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that it happened, but Dr. Abbot I really don't want to do this right now. There's an incident report and more description in there and photos and statements and whatever in it. So if there's nothing else I'd like to just go back to work."
Jack's face furrows in confusion and he shakes his head just slightly as he looks at you. "What?" he breathes. Dr. Abbot? He hasn't been Dr. Abbot to you outside of patient interactions in a long fucking time now.
What is that about? Why are you apologizing to him and telling him about an incident report? Why do you think he gives a fuck about anything other than you and how you are? He comes back to Dr. Abbot. What is that? And why don't you want to talk to him about this? It's him and you, you guys talk about everything and this is a huge fucking thing.
His eyes flit around your face, taking in your injuries again and then catching your gaze and it clicks.
"No!" He rushes the word out. "No, I'm not, I," he stumbles over his words, "I'm, I'm not mad at you. I'm not mad at you at all. I'm mad at everyone but you, I'm mad at the world, I'm mad at my-fucking-self. But I am not mad at you, Sweetheart and I am so sorry for making you think I was. I don't give a fuck about an incident report or anything like that."
Jack pauses to take a couple of breaths, chest rising and falling noticeably more than normal, his entire demeanor shifting back to how it usually is with you if not a little softer. "I… I, this is you. Somebody hit you." The last word catches in his throat and he swallows thickly. "Somebody hit my girl," he whispers. "And I need to know what happened at the time and after because I care about you and I need to know how to help you."
You blink at him. "Oh."
Deep down you're pretty sure you knew that but still. “It’s not your fault Jack and I don’t want you to be mad at yourself.”
Jack ignores your statement because he doesn’t believe it, takes a couple steps toward you, closing most, but not all, of the distance left between you. "Why didn't you call?" There's a certain ache in his voice that you recognize too well. "I would've come. I would've been here so fucking fast."
"Why would I have called Jack?" It comes out quickly and you ask it simply. He knows you're not being mean or trying to make him feel bad or anything like that. And he knows it's a fair question, a fair point. He can't argue. "We're not… I didn't know…We've never discussed…" You take a breath and try to pull it together. You're being way too dramatic about all of this and you can't be. You can't let yourself get worked up and properly cry. It's unfair to Jack and it's painful.
"I went to call you." You whisper your admission. "I wanted to, but… Why?" You shrug at him, looking so distraught it makes it hard for Jack to breathe and he has to battle the urge to pull you close and never let you go. "I can take care of myself and at the end of the day… It's not on you… We’re not together. And it's not your job to take care of me."
"Yes it is." Jack's words are almost instant, said so quickly following yours that it's obvious it's not something he had to think about, that there's no question for him that taking care of you is something he needs to do, something he wants to do. "Yes it is."
You and Jack just look at each other for fifteen seconds or so, the only sound between you that of the city below filtering up. And then Jack moves, closes the last of the distance between you so that you're right in front of each other. His eyes say more in that moment than they've ever said to you before, a whole declaration of how he feels about you in a single look.
Jack pulls his eyes from yours so that he can appraise your face, appraise your injuries, appraise what happened to you.
Appraise what he failed to protect you from.
He looks so upset it breaks your heart, his eyes getting glassier every second. He looks devastated, like he'll never quite forgive himself for not being there. You want to throw your arms around him and kiss him and then hold him until he feels better, has forgiven himself. But instead you stand in front of him and let do what he needs to do, let him take whatever it is he needs to take from this.
Jack brings one hand up slowly and starts moving it toward your face, relief flooding his veins when you don't flinch like you did with that patient's husband. He brings his index finger forward and runs his fingertip over your bruised skin, his touch impossibly light and causing you no pain as it moves over your skin, avoiding your stitches. Microexpressions you've learned to read so well flash across his face as his finger moves, guilt and anger and upset and sadness and a consuming sorrow gracing features that are too handsome for his own good and that you've grown to adore, that you've damn near memorized.
His eyes return to yours and a few breaths pass before Jack leans down and in. You flutter your eyes closed, not sure of what his plan is here, not sure if he's about to kiss you or if he's just trying to look at your stitches better or what. You let out the softest gasp when you feel Jack's lips at your jaw below your injured cheek, not because it hurts but because it's unexpected.
He presses his lips against your skin just slightly so as not to cause you pain, moves them up to kiss just above your eyebrow with the same delicacy and then to the bridge of your nose. Something in your heart aches beautifully at the realization that he's kissing as close to your injuries as he possibly can without hurting you.
You can feel his breath ghost over your lips but before you can even start to tilt your head to lean into the kiss he’s gone. You slowly open your eyes, trying to figure out what to say, Jack standing up straight again and watching you. "Jack," you breathe, lost in his gaze again in a second.
"I want you to call me," he whispers, low and gravelly and raw, like he's been choking on these words for far too long. Because he has been.
"I want you. And not just because of this. I've wanted you. We've been dancing around it, I've been making us dance around it and have been holding how I truly feel about you back and not acting on it because it scares me. It scares me how much you mean to me. How much you matter to me. How much I need you." Jack's eyes start to turn a bit glassy as they search yours while he talks. "But what scares me more is the idea of you not calling. Of me not being your first and immediate call."
You both know that calling has stopped being literal for the most part, that this is about being together, being a couple. "Because I wouldn't be able to stand watching you call someone else. And more than that because what if, god forbid, something happens again but next time it's worse? What if it's worse and you don't call me? If nobody calls me? If I'm not called in time?" Jack shakes his head a little, a hint of terror in his eyes at the thought for a moment before he finds the soft reassurance he needs in yours. "I want you to call me. I need you to call me."
"I want you." The last word pulls down, is weighted with the strength of his feelings for you. "I need you." This time the last word pulls up, is breathy and light and calm, a reflection of the way you make him feel. "All of you, all the time, always."
"You've always had me, Jack." You try to swallow back the tears you feel forming again. "I want you and I need you and… I want to be yours."
"You are. You always have been," he nods, a smile ghosting his lips and showing all his feelings for you even with the guilt and anger at himself that his features still hold. "Stay still for me again, yeah? And tell me if it hurts."
You nod and then hold your head still for him as Jack leans back down and in toward you. One hand finds the uninjured side of your face and cups it gently, his thumb just under your cheekbone. His other hand stays on the opposite side, wrapping gently around your neck, his thumb below and slightly to the side of your ear, other fingers pressed just firmly enough against the back of your neck to help keep you steady.
He tilts his head far more than he normally would and leans in so slowly, keeps his eyes open even as you let yours close so that he can see where he is in relation to you and try to keep from bumping your face or squishing your nose hard. Not that you would care if he did because then his lips are on yours in a kiss, so soft and sweet you think it could fix anything.
Jack closes his eyes and kisses you again, and again, lingering and tender, each kiss continuing to feel like it could make anything better. Like Jack could make anything better.
Because he could. Just like you could make anything better for him.
Kissing jack makes you feel safe and protected, two things you've struggled to feel since the attack. And when he pulls back just enough to smile at you and brush this thumb over over the corner of your jaw and under your ear it makes you crack, the emotions you've been doing your best to avoid pouring out because you're safe now and Jack will protect you and being with him, truly being with him, is all you've wanted and you're exhausted and hurting and just want to be able to be not okay for five minutes. And with Jack you know that you can not be okay a whole lot longer than that. You can not be okay for as long as you need.
Jack sees it. Sees you. "Alright, Sweetheart, come here," he murmurs, gently and carefully pulling you into him, letting you get your head settled comfortably against his chest as you start to sob into him. You wrap your arms around him and cling to the back of his scrub top as Jack wraps his arms around you, holding you tight and kissing the top of your head and whispering little reassurances.
You just cry into him for a moment before the words start slipping out. "I wished you were there," you admit through a sob, "I wished you were there and I, it was so scary Jack and I just wanted you there." Your face and head pound with every sob, burning pain consuming what feels like half your face as you continue to cry.
Jack hates it, hates that he can't hold you properly, can't cup the side of your face and hold your head to him, hates that he knows you're not curling into him and crying into him the way you want to because of your face, because of what that man did to you. He hates hearing you cry. He hates knowing you're in pain. And he hates that he wasn't there.
"I knew you'd protect me," you force out through a ragged breath. "And I wanted to call, I knew you'd come, I knew you'd show up for me."
"Always," Jack murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. "I'll always protect you. And I'm so sorry I wasn't there."
"Don't." You shake your head against him a little. "Don't apologize. It's not your fault."
"I know. But I still am and I'm sorry this happened to you, that you're going through this." A warm hand runs up and down your back and it starts to center you.
You let yourself take it and lean into Jack a little further as you continue to cry, let him take a little more of your body weight and envelop you and your senses, his smell that you've come to love, the heat of his body and the sound of his heart beating beneath your ear. If the two of you were laying down you'd fall asleep quickly like this, exhausted from the last few days and the crying and the pain and missing Jack.
"Hey," Jack says softly once you've been quiet for a minute or two, tears slowing. "Look at me." You pull your head away from him just enough and Jack cups the uninjured side of your face again, other arm still wrapped around you. "I know how strong you are. I know you can take care of yourself. You have. You always have, but…"
Jack trails off, eyes searching yours for a moment and then softening into an expression pleading with you to believe him while also telling you there’s no room for argument. "I'm taking care of you now," he whispers.
"I'm taking care of you now, as your partner and lover and best friend." He brushes his thumb over your uninjured cheekbone softly. "And I know I said that taking care of you is my job, but I need you to know that taking care of you is never truly a job or a chore or a burden or something that I feel like I have to do, and it never will be, whether it’s because of injury or illness or your mind. Taking care of you… It's just a part of me. A part of me that I'm lucky to have, that I'm lucky you give me."
"Jack," you breathe, his words helping to heal some forgotten piece of your heart that you feel warm and deep in your chest. You don't look uncomfortable, and you're not. You look like you want him and need him like he needs you, the slightest uncertainty that tells him what he just said is going to be a hard thing for you to believe and accept. But Jack's fine with that. He won't give up. He'll remind you every day if that's what you need. "I feel the same. You know that right? About all of it and about you." Your eyes soften into an expression that tells him you feel about him how he feels about you, that you'd do anything for him, want to help him and care for him and will never view it as a chore or any of the other ways he described it.
Jack smiles softly at you. "I know." And he does. He truly does, even if he, like you, doesn't understand it.
"Good," you murmur, leaning your head into his hand slightly and giving him a small, lopsided smile.
Jack's smile grows and he starts to lean in again, trusting that you'll know what to do and be still for him. "No, wait, stop!" You pull away from him before he can kiss you and Jack immediately steps back and takes his hands off you. "Well no, not like that, not all the way. I just want to clean myself up before you kiss me." You gesture at your runny nose, a byproduct of your crying. With your fracture you're not allowed to blow your nose and you really shouldn't be breathing in through it hard. Plus it just fucking hurts. "You can still touch me," you murmur, "if you want."
"If I want to?" Jack raises a brow at you. "Of course I want to. It's all I want. It’s all I’ve wanted for months." His hands come to rest on your hips, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. "Do we need to go get you some tissues or you wanna use my shirt?" A hint of a smirk pulls up on his lips.
You half roll your eyes at him. "Oh no, I have a bunch. I need them constantly. You never realize how much you inhale hard or blow your nose until you can't." You shake your head as you start to dab at your nose carefully, folding and refolding the tissue until you need another one. "I fucking hate this," you mutter. "It's never ending dabbing and it's gross. You're not going to want me after this."
"Oh as fucking if," Jack laughs, rolling his eyes at you. But he's glad to see you feeling a little better and coming back to yourself, being a little flirty. "You think a runny nose and some mucus is going to scare me away?"
"I mean it could," you shrug with a little teasing smile to tell him you're fucking around as you continue to dab and try to get your nose to stop running. "Fucking god, it just never fucking stops. This is the worst fucking part I swear."
"This is the worst fucking part?" Jack looks at you, a combination of amused and incredulous.
"Yes!" you huff playfully. "Do you know how hard it is to be in bed crying on and off because you're in pain and scared and sad and missing your person and wishing he was there, and, and, and…" you grow flustered realizing the admission you just made, like it's somehow going to be a surprise after everything already said tonight, after getting together. "And just, you know, how hard it is to be crying and not able to blow your nose?"
He hates that you were upset in your bed alone and crying on and off, but your admission about missing him and wishing he was there in your bed with you warms Jack, sends a bolt of pleasure up his spine on instinct because you want him in your bed with you.
"I've had a couple of nose injuries before," he nods. "But I probably wasn't doing as much crying, no." His soft smile pulls into a much larger smirk. "You missed me? Wished I was in your bed with you?"
Neither of you have forgotten what happened to you, what you haven't talked about enough yet, what you need to. But now is not the time or place to get into that conversation and you both know it. And this, this lighthearted flirting and being together, it's healing in its own way.
"Yeah, I wanted you in bed with me, wanted you to hold me and to be able to rest the non-injured side of my face on your shoulder or chest and relax and just feel safe again." You pause for a moment and look at him with slightly creased eyes so that Jack knows just how much you mean it, mean that he makes you feel safe. After a few seconds you let as much of a smirk pull onto your face as possible. "Among other reasons I've thought about extensively before, too."
"Well the good news is that me being in bed with you can be arranged very easily." His hands squeeze your hips as you stuff all your tissues back into your pocket, having gotten your face and nose as good as it's going to get. You both know sex of any kind is going to be off the table for at least a week or so while you get through the worst of the pain. But that doesn't stop you from flirting about it. "And I can't wait to hear more about these other reasons you've thought about extensively," Jack murmurs lowly, voice dripping in lust he doesn't even try to cover.
You step a little closer to him and wrap your arms around his neck, run your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck the way you've always wanted to. "What makes you so sure I'll tell you and not just keep my fantasies to myself?" you murmur back in an equally heady tone.
Jack laughs softly, a short, quiet rumble from the back of his chest as he smiles at you. "I think I'll be able to get you talking, Baby."
Something about him calling you Baby as opposed to Sweetheart sends a bolt of pleasure up your spine now. A breathy, "Yeah?" is all you can get out.
"Mhm," he hums. "Am I allowed to kiss you again now?"
"You're allowed to kiss me forever Jack," you whisper.
A small but adoring and loving smile pulls onto Jack's face as he looks down at you. "That sounds perfect."
I need him desperately 🫠🫠🫠. I hope it was fluffy and comforting at the end and overall okay and enjoyable! I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments, they mean so much to me! And thank you so much for taking the time to read! ♥️
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Summary: You’re constantly working between Molly’s and the firehouse, telling yourself you don’t need more—just something to feel alive again. Then Robby walks in: older, worn in a way you recognize, and easy to talk to. One drink turns reckless, and suddenly it’s not just a spark—it’s a mistake you don’t regret yet.
Tags: Strangers to Fuck Buddies to Lovers, Age Difference, Porn With Plot, Bathroom Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Riding, Biting, Marking, Semi-Public Sex, Power Dynamics, Catching Feeling During Sex
Divider by firefly-graphics
The afternoon sun streams through the windows of Firehouse 51's common room as you finish organizing the supply closet. It's become your Thursday routine to swing by, help out where you can, and maybe grab lunch with whoever's around.
The firehouse has been your second home for the past three years, ever since Stella dragged you to a fundraiser and you met Chief Boden. He'd taken one look at you—saw something in your eyes that day, you think—and decided you were part of his extended family. No questions asked. Just that quiet, steady presence that made you feel like you belonged somewhere.
"You know we have people who get paid to do that, right?"
You turn to find Boden standing in the doorway, arms crossed but smiling. He's in his uniform whites. The man runs this house like a well-oiled machine, and he never misses a detail.
"Yeah, but Capp always forgets to write down half of what we need to order," you say, gesturing to the neatly labeled shelves. "I found three expired first aid kits shoved in the back. You're welcome."
He chuckles, stepping into the small space. "Fair enough." Then his expression shifts, becoming more serious. "You doing okay? You've been around here a lot lately."
You shrug, trying to play it off. "I like helping out. Keeps me busy."
"Busy isn't the same as happy." Boden leans against the doorframe, and you know he's not going to let this go. "When's the last time you did something for yourself? Went out, had fun, met someone?"
You laugh, but it sounds hollow even to your own ears. "Chief, are you seriously trying to play matchmaker right now?"
"I'm saying you're young, you're smart, and you spend all your free time either at Molly’s or here at the firehouse." His voice is gentle but firm.
"I'm fine," you say quietly. "Really."
"Uh-huh." He doesn't look convinced. "Well, if you're so fine, then you won't mind when Stella drags you out tonight."
As if summoned, Stella appears. Her face lights up when she sees you both. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere."
"I was just telling our friend here that she needs to get out more," Boden says, pushing off the doorframe. "I'll leave you to it." He squeezes your shoulder as he passes. "Take care of yourself. That's an order."
"He's right, you know," Stella says, plopping down on the bench beside the closet. "You've been in a funk lately."
"I have not—"
"You reorganized my locker and yours last week. Without asking. That's like, stage-five funk behavior." She bumps your shoulder with hers. "Come to Molly's tonight. Have a drink and talk to some humans. Live a little." You know she's not going to take no for an answer.
"I'm working at Molly's tonight," you remind her.
"Even better! You'll be there anyway. And who knows?" She waggles her eyebrows. "Maybe you'll meet someone interesting. Thursday nights have been bringing in a different crowd lately."
You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. "You're relentless."
"That's why you love me." She stands, pulling you up with her. "Come on, help me meal prep for the house. Novak is trying to convince everyone that we should use DoorDash, and I'm not having it."
As you follow her down to the kitchen, you feel some of that restlessness ease. But later, as you're chopping vegetables while Stella tells you about a call from earlier, you catch yourself wondering if maybe they're right. Maybe you have been going through the motions. Maybe it's time to let yourself want something more than just the comfortable routine you've built.
"Okay," you say suddenly, interrupting Stella's story about Mouch getting stuck in a doggy door. "I'll come to Molly's tonight. Really come, not just work."
Stella's grin is triumphant. "Yes! Okay, this is happening. Wear something cute. Not your usual 'I'm just here to work' outfit."
"I'm not making any promises."
"You're the worst," she laughs, but she's already pulling out her phone, probably texting the group chat about her victory.
You go back to chopping, but there's a flutter of something in your chest. Anticipation, maybe. Or hope. Either way, it feels like the first real thing you've felt in a while.
By the time you leave the firehouse that evening, the sun is setting over Chicago, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Boden catches you on your way out, giving you that look that says he knows Stella got to you.
"Have fun tonight," he says. "But not too much fun. I don't want to have to bail you out."
"Chief, I'm a responsible adult."
"That's what worries me. Responsible adults are overdue for a little irresponsibility." He smiles. "Go on. Get out of here."
You head home to change, Stella's words echoing in your head. Wear something cute. You stand in front of your closet longer than you'd like to admit, finally settling on something that feels like you but slightly elevated. When you look in the mirror, you barely recognize the person staring back—there's something different in your eyes. Something that looks almost like excitement.
Your phone buzzes with a text from Stella: "You better not bail on me."
You won't. For the first time in a long time, you actually want to see what the night might bring.
The neon glow of Molly's sign flickers against the darkened Chicago street as you wipe down the bar for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. It's a Thursday, which means the usual crowd—firefighters and cops from the nearby stations, regulars who've been coming here for years, and the occasional tourist who stumbled in looking for an authentic neighborhood bar. You've worked behind this counter for two years now, ever since Stella pulled some strings and got you the job. Best decision you ever made.
"Yo, you good back there?" Stella's voice calls from across the bar, where she's taking an order from a group of firefighters. Her hair is pulled back messily.
"All good," you call back, giving her a thumbs up. The bar is moderately busy, nothing you can't handle. Herrmann appears from the back, carrying a case of beer. He's been running this place longer than you've been working here, and he's got that gruff, no-nonsense demeanor that somehow makes everyone feel taken care of. He sets the beer down behind the counter with a grunt and gives you a once-over.
"You doing okay, kid?" he asks, his tone gruff but genuinely concerned. "You've been wiping that same spot for five minutes."
"Just ready for something interesting to happen," you admit, arranging glasses on the shelf. Herrmann nods knowingly before heading back to restock the coolers, muttering something about inventory under his breath.
It's around 10 PM when he walks in.
You don't notice him at first—you're lost in thought while mixing a cosmopolitan for a woman at the bar. But then someone sits down at the far end, right in front of where you're standing, and you look up.
He's not what you expected. He's older—significantly older—with brown hair speckled with gray, the kind of natural gray that comes with age and experience. He's wearing dark-framed glasses that somehow make him look both smart and approachable, paired with well-fitted jeans and a Carhartt tan coat. His eyes behind those glasses are warm but intense, the kind that seem to look right through you.
You walk over, trying to appear professional even though your pulse has picked up significantly.
"What can I get you?" you ask, keeping your voice steady and professional. This is your job. You've done this hundreds of times.
"Whiskey, neat. Top shelf," he says, his voice deep and measured. He smiles slightly, and there's something almost predatory about it—but in a way that makes heat bloom across your skin. "What's your name?"
You tell him, and he repeats it back like he's testing how it sounds.
"I'm Robby," he says, extending a hand across the counter. You shake it, and his grip is warm, firm, and confident. He doesn't let go for a moment longer than necessary, but it's definitely longer than a casual bartender-patron greeting would warrant.
You pour his whiskey with careful precision, setting it down in front of him. He lifts the glass, his eyes never leaving yours, and takes a slow sip.
"Perfect," he says. "Just what I needed."
You're not entirely sure he's talking about the drink.
Over the next hour, you keep finding excuses to come back to his end of the bar. You refill his drink even though he hasn't asked. You engage in conversation when the bar is slow enough to justify it.
He's fascinating. He tells you he's a doctor from Pittsburgh—an ER attending at a trauma hospital—and the way he talks about it, you can tell it's not just a job but a calling. There's a weariness in his eyes when he mentions it, though, something that speaks to long hours and difficult decisions.
"I'm on sabbatical," he explains, swirling the whiskey in his glass. He pauses, taking another sip. "I needed to get away from it. From the hospital, from Pittsburgh, from all of it."
"So you're traveling?" you ask, leaning against the bar, genuinely interested.
"For about three weeks now," he confirms. "Started in Pittsburgh, made my way through the rest of PA, Ohio, and Indiana. Chicago's my fourth stop. I've got no real plan—just driving, stopping wherever feels right. " There's something almost vulnerable in the admission. "I needed to remember what it feels like to not be responsible for someone's life every second of the day."
You can see the exhaustion beneath his confidence, the weight he's been carrying. "That sounds incredibly intense. How are you holding up?"
He meets your eyes, and there's a flicker of appreciation there—like he's not used to people asking. "Better now," he says, and the way he says it makes it clear he's not just talking about the sabbatical. "This helps. Good whiskey, good conversation, and a beautiful bartender who actually listens." He smiles, and it's warmer now, less guarded. "I've been to a lot of bars on this trip, but this one's different."
"Different how?" you ask, your pulse quickening.
"The company," he says simply, his eyes never leaving yours. "Definitely the company."
Every time he laughs at something you say, it feels like a small victory. Stella appears at your elbow, and you can feel her eyes moving between you and Robby with laser precision.
"Who's that?" she whispers.
"Customer," you say, trying to sound disinterested and failing spectacularly.
"A customer you keep staring at?" Stella grins. "Should I be worried?"
"Stella, stop," you hiss, but you're already smiling. That's the thing about having best friends who work at the same place—they notice everything.
Violet walks through the door just then, still in her paramedic uniform, clearly coming straight from her shift at 51. She spots you and Stella immediately and makes a beeline for the bar. You can tell from the knowing smirk on her face that Stella definitely texted her.
"So this is the guy?" Violet says without preamble, sliding onto a barstool and not-so-subtly glancing down the bar toward Robby. The two of them huddle with you so Violet can order a drink, but really just so they can both interrogate you.
"He's hot," Violet says matter-of-factly.
"He's a customer," you repeat, but even you can hear how unconvincing you sound.
"A customer who's been staring at you for the last twenty minutes," Stella points out. "Go talk to him. Actually, wait—" She grabs your hand before you can move. "Be careful. He looks like he knows exactly what he's doing."
"Stella, what does that even mean?"
Stella gives you a meaningful look, and Violet nods in agreement. "It means he looks like he has experience, and a lot of it," Violet says quietly. "I'm not saying don't; I'm just saying... you know... be smart."
You roll your eyes at them both, but you're smiling as you head back toward Robby's end of the bar.
"Everything okay?" he asks, noticing your approach.
"My friends think you're interesting," you say, deciding to go for honesty.
His eyes light up with amusement. "And what do you think?"
Your heart is hammering. "I think you're interesting too."
He sets down his empty glass, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. The bar noise continues around you—someone's telling a loud story about a call, and the jukebox is playing some classic rock—but it all fades into background noise.
"This place is crowded," he finally says. "And I'm interested in having a conversation that's more... private. Is that something you might consider?"
Your breath catches. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"
"That depends on what you're thinking," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear it. "But yes. I'm interested in you. And I suspect you're interested in me. The bathroom is private. We have time."
You glance around the bar. Stella is deliberately not looking at you, but you can see the tension in her shoulders. Violet is actually pretending to reorganize bottles, which means she's definitely watching.
"I need to tell them I'm taking a break," you say.
"Smart girl," he murmurs, and something about the way he says it, with approval and a hint of something darker, makes your decision for you.
You catch Stella's eye and jerk your head toward the back. She follows you to the storage area, Violet right behind her.
"Okay, what's happening?" Stella demands.
"I'm going to... I need about fifteen minutes," you say carefully.
Stella's eyes widen. "Here? Now?"
"The bathroom is private," you point out. "And he's—"
"Really hot," Violet finishes. "Yeah, we've established that. You want to do this?"
The truth is, you do. The attraction is overwhelming, and there's something about his confidence, his obvious experience, and the way he looks at you like he knows exactly what he wants—it's intoxicating.
"I'm going to do this," you confirm. "Cover for me?"
Stella shakes her head, but she's smiling. Violet crosses her arms, looking skeptical but amused. "Fine," Stella says. "But if he's a serial killer, I'm telling you I told you so."
"He's a doctor," you defend.
"That doesn't mean he's not a serial killer," Violet points out, but she pulls up a stool. "Go. Stella and I will keep an eye on the bar. And your phone is in your pocket, so—"
"I'm not calling for help during sex," you say flatly.
"That's the spirit," Stella says, patting your shoulder.
Somebody That I Used To Know - frank langdon x reader (The Pitt)
Currently updating...
He has another chance, and he's not going to lose her again.
In which (reader) is Dr. Langdon’s ex-girlfriend. After graduating from her master's program, a year after their relationship ended, she visits Pittsburgh to search for apartments, considering moving back home. Not long into her trip, she is injured in an incident downtown and rushed to the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, barely hanging on to her life.
request: i was thinking of something where Jack keeps putting off having sex with younger!reader because he never told her about his leg and is afraid she'll find it unattractive. She ends up feeling like he doesnt want her and that's when he finally tells the truth and they make love for the first time
pairing: jack abbot x reader
summary: you and jack have been dating for a few months now, but every time you try to initiate intimacy he becomes distant; and you can’t help but feel like he’s hiding something from you
content: MDNI 18+ !!! established relationship, age gap (reader is mid to late 20s), kinda insecure jack, mention of prosthetic leg, disability mention, kinda hurt/comfort if u squint, praising jack and making him feel special, dry humping, praise, creampie
authors note: this request is literally so cute thank u for sending a request !! i can’t decide if i like how this turned out but hopefully u like it 🫶
───────── ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ─────────
You and Jack have only been dating a few months now but even in that short amount of time, you’ve learned just how open and straightforward he is. Any question you have he answers automatically, no matter the subject. At first he was nervous to talk about certain things with you; ‘worried about scaring you off’ were his words. But, after much reassurance from you that you don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon, he practically became an open book with you. The closer you got to intimacy, though, the more you questioned how open he was.
Whenever you and Jack would get close to going to the next base, he would hold back and stop before anything really started. You wanted to bring it up, talk it through and get down to the bottom of it. But, in comparison to how forward he was with everything else in the relationship you figured that this might be too serious to talk about just yet. So, you let it go, but this didn’t stop your mind from wandering.
Is there something wrong with me?
Am I trying to move too fast?
Is he not attracted to me?
You tried to think more logically whenever you had thoughts like this, but it was hard to maintain that logic whenever Jack acted so distant about the subject. Whether it be moving away from you from the couch or stopping and changing the subject altogether, he would always find a way to stop the moment in its tracks. And this night was no different.
You were at his place tonight. Jack had the day off tomorrow and asked for you to stay the night at his. When you had arrived, your bag packed and slung over your shoulder, Jack let you in and you were met with dinner made, your favorite movie, and blankets adorned on the couch. You set your bag down and couldn’t wipe the grin off your face when you turned and saw Jack still standing by the doorway looking bashful.
“What’s the occasion?” You asked as you stepped over to him, your hands reaching for his. You tangle your fingers with his as he answers.
“There has to be an occasion?” He answered your question with one of his own.
He leaned down and kissed you softly, pulling away to speak again.
“Just wanted to do something special for my girl. That’s the occasion.”
Your heart fluttered at his words. Jack was so casually perfect. He made being with you seem effortless and as if grand gestures like this were the bare minimum; because they are to him. Like putting together things like this were expected, and giving you the world was second nature to him. Doing and caring for you was as easy as breathing for Jack, and he proved this nearly every day.
You giggled and feel giddy as you wrap your arms around his neck and hug him tightly, his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist. He plants a kiss on your cheek before taking your hand and leading you to the kitchen where your favorite meal waited for you, already plated. When you asked how long this took he responded ‘not long’, which was a definite lie. Jack had spent hours trying to perfect it and prayed to whoever would listen that you didn’t notice his previous, burnt attempts that still sat in his trash can.
After dinner you both sat on the couch, throw blanket draped around your shoulders and your legs settled across Jacks lap as you rested your head on his shoulder. You were maybe halfway through the movie at this point but you couldn’t focus at all. Jacks hand was placed on your bare skin, absentmindedly running a finger up and down the length of your thigh. You were sure he could feel the goosebumps that had raised on your leg. Without moving your head, you glance up and look at Jack through your lashes. Your heart was already full from Jacks planned dinner and movie date, but his hand on you and sheer closeness to you had you feeling dizzy. You were so obsessed with him, so it wasn’t hard for him to make you weak. Every touch, every minute spent together, every ounce of eye contact involving Jack made your breath hitch.
“Y’know it’s not polite to stare, young lady.”
You jump slightly at Jacks sudden statement, not realizing he knew you were looking at him. You fully move your head now to be looking up at him, him turning his to face you.
“Can’t help it. You’re so handsome, it’s distracting me. So, really, if you think about it it’s your fault i’m staring.” You say as a lopsided grin starts blossoming on your face.
He cracks a small grin, hand now raising and lightly gripping the upper part of your thigh.
“Oh, really now?” He questions.
You can feel your cheeks turning pink at his challenging tone.
“Yeah, maybe if you weren’t such a silver fox I wouldn’t be looking so hard, old man.” Your hand moves from his bicep to cup his face that’s inching closer to yours.
He laughs at you before catching your lips in a kiss, his hand now moving to your waist. His lips move to your cheek, whispering the words ‘silver fox’ in amusement before trailing to your neck. You sigh at the feeling of his lips on your skin, the hand that was on his cheek moving up towards his gray curls. You could feel anxiety blooming in your chest. This is where Jack usually stopped, hesitating or pushing you away at the first sign of things heating up between you two. Nervous for your next move, but too eager to hold yourself back, you adjust your position. Before Jack can help it, you’re perched on his lap with your lips locked on his. To your surprise Jack doesn’t move you off or stop you. You relish in the moment as you move your lips against his, catching his bottom lip in between your teeth. He groans into your mouth, grip tightening on your hips as your hands move from his hair to his chest. You feel yourself getting excited as your hands slowly move down his chest to his waist. This was the furthest you’ve gotten with Jack. Usually by now Jack was grabbing your hands and stopping you, deflating your ego and confidence every time he pulled back. You thought tonight was finally tonight when you finally reach the button and zipper of his pants, but then ur world comes crashing down again as Jack pulls away from your lips.
“Sweetheart-“
You feel his hands move to grab yours; stopping you before you even started.
You feel yourself deflate. Jacks mouth is moving but you’re so in your head you can’t focus on his words; probably saying one of his usual excuses. You move yourself off of him on your own, taking your hands out of his as you do. You sit silently beside him; tense and teary eyed when you finally hear him talk again.
“Hey, maybe we should-“
“Is there something wrong with me?” You cut him off.
“What?”
You can’t help but start sniffling as you try to hold back tears. Jack notices and reaches for you.
“Baby, hey, cmon what’s-“
“Jack, it’s every time.” You cut him off, finally looking at him. He looks at you with his brows knit together. When you see that he’s not going to speak, you continue.
“Every time, Jack. Every time I try to initiate something more than hand holding with you, you push me away. Is it something I did?”
You stand up as you word vomit, not caring if you make sense anymore.
“Is it me? Do you just not see me in that way? I never wanna push you to do something you don’t want to do, and I don’t wanna seem like some spoiled young brat just trying to jump your bones. If you wanna take things slow I get that and I’m more than willing to go at whatever pace you want, but you won’t even talk to me about it. All you do is push me away or just ignore it altogether. You’re so open with me about everything, Jack, and I love that. I just don’t understand why you can’t be open with me about this, too.”
You’re standing near your bag on the floor now, looking at Jack expectantly, and hoping that he finally opens up to you.
Jack opens his mouth, but closes it again and stares at the floor. You let out a tired sigh.
“I think it would be best if I went back home, give you some space. I’ll-“
“Wait, don’t go, please.” Jack interrupts, standing now.
He makes his way to you, standing just a few steps away; nervous to be too close and scare you off.
“I do want you. There’s nothing wrong with you and you didn’t do anything wrong. There’s nothing you could do to make me not want you. It’s just,” He pauses, “I’m scared that you’re not gonna like what you see.”
It’s your turn to look confused now as you furrow your brows together.
“Jack, I can promise you that i’m gonna like what I see because I already do.”
He lets out a sigh, becoming frustrated that he’s having difficulties with communicating something so important to him.
“It’s not my body I’m scared you won’t like. It’s-“ He stops, struggling to find the right way to say what’s in his head. Finally he gives up trying to sugarcoat it.
“It’s this fucking thing.” He says as he motions down to his foot.
You look down to where he pointed.
“Your shoe? Jack what does your shoe have to do-“
Your words stop when he scoffs out a laugh, still finding humor in the moment.
He grabs the material of his pants and bunches it up slightly, revealing his prosthetic. He doesn’t dare look at you, scared to see the expression on your face as he shows you what’s been holding him back.
“I lost it back when I was in the service. There’s nothing wrong with you, it’s me. I’m missing parts. I should’ve told you sooner, before we even started this relationship. Should’ve given you a proper chance to turn heel. I’m sorry and I understand if you wanna leave I-“
“That’s it?”
Jack looks up at you now as your question cuts through his rambling. To his surprise you don’t look disgusted or horrified. You’re looking at him with disbelief, your gaze not even focused on his leg. You walk over and close the gap between the two of you.
“You really think i’m gonna leave you because of this? That you need to ‘warn’ me about something that’s a part of you?” You reach up and cup his face as you speak.
“Baby, it’s gonna take a lot more than that to keep me from wanting to be with you. I like everything about you, Jack, and that hasn’t changed.”
He lets out a sigh of relief; you visibly see the weight come off his shoulders as he leans his forehead against yours. You let out a mixture of a sigh and laugh as your arms warp around his neck. Jack places a kiss on your cheek, then another, and another before he starts trailing his lips down to your neck. You giggle as his stubble tickles your skin.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish, old man.” You playfully warn as you feel his hands on your hips now.
“Don’t worry, kid, I have no problem finishing. Just trying to make up for lost time.”
You hum as he gently leads you towards the couch where you previously were. He sits and lets his eyes rake down your body. You squirm under his gaze, the sudden attention making you shy. Jack reaches up to grab the hem of your bottoms and tug them down your legs, leaving you in just your tee shirt and underwear.
“C’mere.” he whispers as he guides you to straddle his waist again.
You get in the position you were previously in a few moments ago, but this time with no anxiety. You place your hands on his shoulders, bracing yourself as Jack lets his fingers trace the trim of your panties. You shudder when you feel his finger drag towards your center that’s already embarrassingly damp.
“Fuck, baby, you already wet for me? Barely even touched you yet.” He says as he slips his hand fully into your underwear, the sudden contact making you gasp and ball his shirt in your fists.
He slowly swirls a finger around your clit, watching your face as you try to stifle a moan. Your hips buck and you can feel how hard he already is. Without thinking you start grinding against the tent rising in his pants, desperately chasing the friction you crave while Jack continues to massage your bundle of nerves.
“That’s my girl, just like that, baby.” You can hear the smile in his voice.
You can’t help but whine as you feel your arms get weak, almost shaking as you try to keep yourself propped up on Jacks chest. He’s continuously egging you on; encouraging you to keep using him to chase your own release. You think about how selfish you must seem but those thoughts are quickly dismissed when you feel a tight coil forming. You can still hear Jacks voice, almost like a prayer as he rambles about how pretty you are on top of him. You start moving your hips more erratically and Jack quickly catches on as his fingers gain speed.
“C’mon, sweetheart, let go for me. Want you to make a mess on my hand. Can you do that for me, baby?”
You pathetically nod your head yes in response and hear a mumbled ‘good girl’ from beneath you. Jacks words and movements push you over the edge and you collapse against his chest as you ride out your high on his digits. When Jack feels your breathing calm, he pulls his hand away and up towards his mouth. You watch through hooded lids as he sucks your juices from his fingers, making you moan just at the sight of it.
When you finally stop seeing stars, you sit up and reach for Jacks button and zipper. You hear Jack laugh.
“Someone’s eager.”
You don’t look at him as you respond, still focused on freeing his still hard length.
“You have no idea.”
He moves like he wants to stand up, speaking as he does.
“Let me take you to the room, baby, I’ll-“
“Jack, please.”
You’re finally looking at him and if he were standing, he’d be weak in the knees. You looked so desperate for him. Eyebrows meeting in the middle with a tired pout adorning your face. Who was he to deny his girl of what she wants? Especially when you say it so nicely.
He helps you scoot back far enough on his thighs for him to free himself from his pants and boxers. You were practically drooling at the sight of him. Jack takes your chin in his fingers and pulls you towards him, kissing you as you lift slightly to line him up with your entrance. You moan into his mouth as he pushes into you, relishing in the pleasure and pain of him stretching you out. You slowly make your way down his length until he’s fully sheathed inside of you. Jack doesn’t dare make the first move, not wanting to move before you’ve adjusted and possibly hurt you. You rock your hips forward and groan against his mouth at the feeling. Jack takes this as a sign to start moving and he wraps his arms around you fully, enclosing you in his hold. Your hands move from his shoulders to his hair as he pulls you close. Jack wastes no time when he begins thrusting upwards and into you. You remove your lips from his and bury your face into his neck, moaning as he pulls his length out almost fully before slamming back into you.
His pace is slow and steady as your fingers tangle in his gray curls and before you can catch yourself, you’re speaking.
“Please, Jack,” You can barely speak between moans, but finally vocalize your request, “faster.”
Jack groans when you beg him to quicken his pace, and he gladly obliges. He starts drilling into you brutally, and you can feel tears forming in your eyes. You pull on his hair as Jacks grunts and moans fill your ears and you wish you could ingrain the sound into your mind. Between your own moans and slapping of skin you hear Jack rambling under his breath.
“S’good for me, sweetheart. Fuck, you feel so good. All for me, so good just for me.”
You whisper into his ear in between ragged breaths.
“Feels so good, Jack. Only you makin’ me feel this good.”
You feel his thrusts getting sloppy, knowing he’s close to his own release. You tighten the grip on his hair and his head instinctively falls back to rest on the couch. You place messy kisses and bites along his exposed skin and feel his hold tighten on you. When he finally reaches his high he holds you in place against his chest, filling you up as his hips stutter to a stop.
He holds you in place even after he’s come down from his high, resting his forehead on your shoulder as you both catch your breath. Your attention is moved to him when you feel his hand reach up and smooth out your hair.
“M’sorry, for not talking to you sooner.” He says, barely above a whisper.
You move your head to pepper small kisses across his cheek before placing one on his lips and pulling back.
“You don’t have to apologize, Jack.” You say before placing another quick kiss to his lips.
“Besides,” you continue, “I think you did a pretty good job of making up for it.”
not good at these lol but one night stand w/ robby, turning into an accidental pregnancy. who only knows him by robby — resulting in 0 results on google. works at a nearby hospital but gets transferred to ptmc night crew. and not crossing paths with robby till 9 months/ or as she goes into labor (need to give this man a baby 🙂↕️)
When you'd arrived for your shift and been told that Doctor Abbot was off sick, and instead Doctor Robinavitch was covering, you hadn't given it a second thought. You've only been at PTMC for a few weeks - it makes sense that there are attendings you haven't met yet.
What you don't expect, is for Doctor Robinavitch to be Robby.
You walk into the lounge to put your yogurt in the fridge, before freezing mid-step when you see him. "Robby," You breathe.
His eyes snap to yours as he turns. Then they travel just a little lower, to the bump that strains against your scrubs. The bump that you wouldn't have at all, were it not for him.
He appears to be rendered speechless, the ER moving around you both as you stand in silence. "I-I didn't think I'd ever see you again."
"Yeah, me neither," You murmur. "I didn't realise that Robby meant Robinavitch. I thought it was like... Robert."
"Is that...?" He trails off, but you know what he's referring to. The elephant in the room. Or, womb. If you're being specific.
You nod, lip between your teeth. "I tried to find you."
He swallows, and you can see him doing the math. You slept together in March, which puts you at almost nine months pregnant. "When are they due?"
You wince slightly as you tell him. "Two weeks tomorrow."
"Shit, honey. You shouldn't still be working, much less on nights." He's leaning against the cabinet now, unable to pull his eyes away from your stomach. Where his son or daughter is, ready to meet the world any day now.
"Well, I was kind of assuming I was destined for the single mother life, since I couldn't find you - and I need the money-"
He shakes his head. There's still so much to talk about. But he knows for certain he's not about to let the mother of his child work herself to death at nine months pregnant. "I don't want you to worry about money. I-it's not an object, I can pay for whatever you need-"
"Robby-"
"Sweetheart. I'm not asking you to marry me. But I'm not about to be some absent father to this baby. No way. We can work out the details later, but I'm not having you working night-shifts like this. Let me take you home."
You realise immediately that he's not going to take no for an answer. But after doing this entire pregnancy by yourself, a part of you is a little relieved to not have to make all the decisions by yourself anymore. "Okay."
Summary: Two coworkers who’ve been keeping things “just physical” start to realize it’s not that simple. When a med student shows interest in you, Robby’s jealousy slips out at work, and the tension between you two finally boils over after their shift.
Tags: Friends with Benefits, Jealousy, Robby's Possessive Streak Shows, Semi-Public Sex, Biting, Marking, Hurt/Comfort, Hair Pulling, Cunnilingus, Safe Sex, Bar Bathroom Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Rough Sex, Mutual Pining, They're Idiots, Toxic-ish Relationship
dividers by saradika-graphics & viviansturns
You finish suturing the last laceration on your patient. Your fingers move with practiced precision, muscle memory taking over while your mind drifts.
"Nice work, Doctor." The voice pulls you back. You glance up to find Jeremy, the new fourth-year med student on his ED rotation, standing closer than necessary. His smile is warm, interested. "Your technique is really impressive. I was hoping maybe you could show me some of your approach to more complex lacerations? Maybe over coffee sometime?"
You're about to respond when you feel it—that prickle of awareness that means Robby's nearby. You don't have to look to know he's standing at the nurses' station, probably pretending to review charts while his jaw does that thing it does when he's pissed.
"Sure, Jeremy. We can go over it during your next shift," you say, keeping your tone professional, friendly but not too friendly.
Jeremy's hand lands on your arm, just above your elbow. Light. Casual. Completely appropriate. "That would be amazing. You're really great at teaching. Not everyone takes the time, you know?"
You do know. You remember your own rotations, the attendings who treated students like inconveniences rather than future colleagues. You smile at Jeremy because he's a good kid, eager to learn, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with being encouraging.
But you also feel the weight of Robby's stare like a physical thing.
"McKay needs you in Trauma 2," Robby's voice cuts across the space, sharp and clipped. You turn to find him standing with his arms crossed, his expression carefully neutral in that way that means he's anything but. "Now."
Jeremy's hand drops from your arm. "I'll catch you later," he says, that easy smile still in place.
You nod and head toward Trauma 2, very aware of Robby's presence as he falls into step beside you. His shoulder nearly brushes yours—closer than colleagues usually walk, but not close enough to be obvious.
"McKay doesn't need me, does she?" you ask quietly.
"She does now." His voice is low, meant only for you. "I'll make sure of it."
You want to call him on his bullshit, but you're in the middle of the ED with nurses and residents and patients everywhere. So you bite your tongue and push through the trauma bay doors.
Cassie looks up from her patient, surprise flickering across her face. "Oh, hey. I didn't page you."
"Robby said you needed help," you reply, shooting him a look.
She glances between you both, and you can see the moment she decides not to ask questions. "Well, since you're here, want to help me with this chest tube?"
You scrub in, grateful for the distraction. The work is what matters—the medicine, the patients, the lives you save. Not whatever complicated mess you and Robby have created between you.
Except it is complicated. It's been three months since that first night when you both stayed late finishing day/night trade off, and he'd asked if you wanted to grab a drink. One drink became three, and three drinks became his hands in your hair in the parking lot, became frantic kisses and fumbling with keys at his apartment, became the best sex of your life on his couch because you couldn't even make it to the bedroom.
"Just physical," you'd both agreed the next morning. "No strings. No feelings. Just blowing off steam."
For the first month, it really was that simple. You'd text him after a bad shift—or he'd text you—and one of you would show up at the other's door. You never stayed the night. You never talked about anything real. The sex was intense and necessary and uncomplicated.
Then the patterns started. Small things. He began bringing you coffee during overnight shifts—your order exactly right, down to the extra shot of espresso. You started keeping a spare toothbrush at his place, and he never commented on it. After particularly brutal traumas, you'd find each other without even needing to text first, like you could sense when the other one needed the release.
Two months in, he started staying after. Not the whole night—just an hour or two, lying in your bed or on his couch, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your skin while you both stared at the ceiling in silence. You told yourself it was still just physical. That the comfort of another body nearby didn't mean anything.
But then last week, you'd shown up at his apartment after a pediatric code you couldn't save, and instead of pulling you toward the bedroom, he'd just held you. Wrapped his arms around you in the doorway and let you break apart against his chest. He didn't try to fix it or fuck it away. He just held you until you could breathe again, then made you tea and sat with you on the couch until dawn.
You didn't have sex that night. You fell asleep against his shoulder, and when you woke up, he'd covered you with a blanket and was still there, watching you with an expression you couldn't read.
That's when you knew the arrangement had shifted into something you couldn't control. Something that felt dangerously close to real.
And now Jeremy is smiling at you and Robby's acting like a jealous boyfriend, and you can't pretend anymore that this is just about blowing off steam.
The motorcycle accident is the worst—a twenty-three-year-old with internal bleeding. You're already reaching for the chest tube kit before Robby even asks for it, and he's got the ultrasound ready the second you need to confirm placement.
"Pressure's dropping," you say, watching the monitor.
"Two units O-neg, push one of epi," he finishes, already drawing up the syringe. His hands are steady, his voice calm. "On my count for the tube. Three, two—"
You insert it on one, because you know his rhythm, know he always goes early. The patient's oxygen saturation climbs. You exchange a look—brief, satisfied. This is what you're good at. This is where you make sense.
"Nice work," he says quietly, and there's something in his eyes that has nothing to do with the save.
Then Jeremy pokes his head in. "Need any help in here?"
"We're good," Robby says, too quickly, too sharp.
The rest of the shift, that tension builds. In the way Robby's eyes track you across the ED whenever Jeremy's nearby. In the way he snaps at Jesse for something minor—so unlike his usual demeanor that Jesse actually looks hurt.
Garcia notices too. "What's up with Rabbitbitch today?" she asks during a rare quiet moment. "He's been a bear all shift."
You shrug, aiming for casual. "Tough cases, maybe."
"Maybe." But Yolanda's look says she's not convinced.
By the time your shift ends, you're exhausted—physically, emotionally, all of it. You change out of your scrubs in the locker room, pulling on jeans and a soft sweater, and you're just grabbing your jacket when Jeremy appears.
"Hey! I was hoping I'd catch you." He's changed too, looking younger in normal clothes. "A few of us are grabbing food at that Thai place on Forbes. Want to come?"
It's innocent. Completely innocent. Just colleagues getting food after a shift.
But you see Robby over Jeremy's shoulder, coming out of the men's locker room, and the look on his face is anything but innocent.
"Thanks, but I'm pretty beat," you say. "Rain check?"
Jeremy's smile doesn't falter. "Sure, absolutely. See you next shift."
He leaves, and you're left standing there with Robby, the locker room emptying around you until it's just the two of you.
"You should have gone," Robby says finally. His voice is carefully neutral again, but there's an edge to it.
"I didn't want to."
"Right." He moves past you toward the exit, and you should let him go. You should go home, take a hot shower, fall into bed alone. You should let whatever this is burn itself out.
Instead, you follow him.
"What's your problem today?" you ask, catching up to him in the hallway.
"No problem." He doesn't slow down.
"Bullshit. You've been acting weird all shift."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
You grab his arm, forcing him to stop. The hallway is empty, but you lower your voice anyway. "The thing with Cassie. Snapping at Jesse. You've been watching me like—"
"Like what?" He turns to face you fully now, and there's something dangerous in his eyes.
"Like you're jealous."
The word hangs between you. You've said it out loud now, named the thing you've both been dancing around.
Robby's jaw tightens. "That's not—we're not—"
"I know what we're not," you cut him off. "You've made that very clear. No strings, remember? No feelings. Just sex."
"That's what you wanted too."
"I know." And you did want that. You do want that. Except somewhere along the way, it stopped being enough. Somewhere between the late-night calls and the way he brings you coffee exactly how you like it and the way he touches you like you're something precious even when he's fucking you hard enough to leave bruises—somewhere in all of that, the lines got blurred.
But you're not about to admit that. Not when he's looking at you like this, like he wants to argue and kiss you in equal measure.
"Jeremy's just a med student," you say. "He's friendly. That's all."
"He wants to fuck you."
The bluntness of it makes you blink. "So what if he does? We're not together, Robby. You don't get to—"
"I know." He steps closer. "I know I don't get to. That's the problem."
Your heart is pounding now. "What are you saying?"
But he's already pulling back, that neutral mask sliding into place. "Nothing. Forget it. I'm just tired."
"Robby—"
"I'll see you next shift." He turns and walks away, and this time you let him go.
You end up at Molly's because where else are you going to go? It's the bar where half the hospital staff drinks, a nice place with fairy lights hanging over head and a jukebox that only plays songs from the '80s. But the whiskey is cheap, and the bartender doesn't ask questions, and right now that's exactly what you need.
You're two drinks in when Santos slides onto the stool next to you. "Rough shift?"
"Something like that."
Trinity orders a beer, and for a few minutes, you both just sit there in companionable silence. She's good at that—knowing when to talk and when to just be present.
"Saw Robby tear into Jesse today," she says eventually. "Not like him."
You take another sip of whiskey. "Everyone has bad days."
"True." Santos studies you with those sharp eyes that miss nothing. "You two okay?"
"We're fine."
"Right." The way she says it makes it clear she knows there's more to the story, but she doesn't push. "Well, if you need to talk..."
"I'm good. Thanks, though."
Santos nods and takes her beer to a table where Whittaker, Princess, and Garcia are playing darts. You're grateful for the quietness, for the chance to sit with your thoughts and your whiskey and try to figure out what the hell you're doing.
The thing is, you knew this would happen eventually. You knew that "no strings" was a lie people tell themselves, that sex without feelings only works until it doesn't. You've seen it play out a dozen times with friends, with colleagues. You thought you'd be different. You thought you could keep it simple.
But nothing about Robby is simple.
He's brilliant and infuriating. He pushes you to be better, challenges you, and trusts you with his most critical patients. He's saved your ass more times than you can count, and you've saved his right back. You know how he takes his coffee and what cases keep him up at night and the exact sound he makes when he comes.
You know him. And he knows you. And that's the problem.
You're signaling the bartender for another drink when you feel it again—that awareness that prickles down your spine. You don't have to turn around to know Robby just walked in.
He spots you immediately. Of course he does. You watch in the mirror behind the bar as he hesitates, as he clearly debates whether to leave or stay. Then his jaw sets in that stubborn way you know too well, and he walks over.
"Didn't expect to see you here," he says, sliding onto the stool Santos vacated.
"Liar. You knew exactly where I'd be."
The corner of his mouth twitches. Almost a smile. "Yeah. I did."
The bartender comes over, and Robby orders his usual—bourbon, neat. You sit in tense silence until the drink arrives, until he's taken a sip and set the glass down carefully.
"I'm sorry," he says finally. "About today. I was out of line."
"Yeah, you were."
"It won't happen again."
You turn to look at him fully. "Won't it?"
His fingers tighten around his glass. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to tell me the truth. I want you to tell me why you've been acting like this."
"I already told you—"
"Bullshit." You keep your voice low, but there's heat in it now. "You've been weird for weeks, Robby. Ever since Jeremy started his rotation. And don't tell me it's nothing, because I know you. I know when something's bothering you."
"You don't know everything."
"Then tell me."
He drains half his bourbon in one swallow. "You really want to do this here?"
"I want to do this somewhere. Because this—" you gesture between you both, "—whatever this is, it's not working anymore."
Something flashes in his eyes. Anger, maybe. Or fear. "So what, you want to end it?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying we need to talk about what's actually happening here instead of pretending it's still just casual sex."
"It is just casual sex." But his voice lacks conviction.
"Is it? Because the way you looked at Jeremy today, the way you've been looking at me—that's not casual, Robby. That's not 'no strings.'"
He sets his glass down hard enough that the bartender glances over. "You want me to apologize for giving a shit? Fine. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I can't just turn it off like you apparently can."
"Turn what off?"
"This." He gestures sharply between you. "Us. Whatever the fuck this is."
Your heart is racing now. "I never said I could turn it off."
"No? Because you seem pretty comfortable with Jeremy's hands all over you."
"He touched my arm, Robby. Once. And even if he did more than that, even if I wanted him to—which I don't—you don't get to be jealous. That's not part of our arrangement."
"Fuck the arrangement." His voice is rough, raw. "You think I don't know that? You think I don't know I have no right to feel this way?"
"Then why do you?"
The question hangs between you. Around you, the bar continues its usual rhythm—laughter from the dart game, the clink of glasses, someone feeding quarters into the jukebox. But in your little bubble, there's only silence and tension and the weight of everything you've both been avoiding.
"Because I'm an idiot," Robby says finally. "Because I thought I could do this—thought I could have you like this and it would be enough. But it's not. It's not enough, and I hate that, and I hate that I'm the one breaking the rules we both agreed to."
Your breath catches. "Robby—"
"Forget it." He stands abruptly, throwing cash on the bar. "This was a mistake. I should go."
"Don't." You grab his wrist. "Don't run away from this."
"I'm not running. I'm giving you an out. You wanted casual, and I can't do casual anymore. So we end it, and we go back to being co-workers, and we both move on."
"And if I don't want to end it?"
His eyes search yours, "Then what do you want?"
It's the question you've been avoiding asking yourself. What do you want? The safe answer is to agree with him, to end this before it gets messier. To protect yourself, protect your working relationship, protect your heart.
But you're so tired of safe.
"I want you to stop pretending you don't care," you say. "I want you to stop acting like this is just about sex when we both know it stopped being just about sex weeks ago."
"And then what? We date? We try to make this into something real while working together, while the whole hospital watches and gossips? You know how that ends."
"No, I don't. Neither do you."
"I've seen it end badly enough times."
"So we don't try? We just walk away because it might be hard?"
He yanks his wrist from your grip, and this time there's real anger in the movement. "You don't get it. You think this is about being scared of hard? I can't fucking think straight when you're around. I can't do my job when I'm watching him put his hands on you."
"He touched my arm, Robby. Once."
"And you smiled at him like—" He cuts himself off, jaw clenching so hard you can see the muscle jump. "Fuck this. I'm not doing this with you."
"Not doing what? Actually talking about what's happening between us?"
"There's nothing happening between us. That was the whole fucking point." But he's not leaving. He's standing there, hands curled into fists, looking at you like he wants to either strangle you or kiss you.
Maybe both.
"You're such a liar," you say, and you can hear the anger creeping into your own voice now. "You've been acting like a jealous asshole all day, and now you want to pretend it doesn't mean anything?"
"What do you want me to say?" He steps closer, and there's nothing tender about it. "That I wanted to put my fist through his face when he touched you? That I've been thinking about fucking you in front of him just to make it clear who you belong to?"
"I don't belong to anyone."
"No?" His smile is sharp, cruel. "Then why are you still standing here? Why aren't you going home with him?"
"Fuck you, Robby."
"That's what I thought." He turns to leave again, and this time you don't just grab his wrist—you shove him. Hard.
He barely moves, but he turns back to you with something dangerous in his eyes. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't call you on your bullshit? Don't point out that you're the one who can't handle this?"
"You have no idea what I can handle."
"Then show me." You're in his space now, close enough to feel the heat coming off him. "Stop running away and show me."
For a moment, you think he might actually leave. Then his hand is in your hair, gripping hard enough to make you gasp, and he's kissing you like he wants to hurt you with it. It's all teeth and anger, nothing soft about it.
You kiss him back just as hard, biting his lip until you taste copper. He makes a sound that's half growl, half groan, and then he's walking you backward toward the hallway.
"Bathroom," he says against your mouth. "Now."
You don't argue. You let him push you through the bar, past the curious stares, into the dimly lit hallway. The moment you're out of sight, he has you against the wall, his body pinning yours, one hand still fisted in your hair.
"This what you want?" His voice is rough, angry. "Want me to lose control? Want me to show you exactly how not-fucking-casual this is?"
"Yes." You grab his shirt, pulling him closer even as you glare at him. "Stop talking and do it."
His laugh is dark. "Careful what you wish for."
Then his mouth is on your neck, and there's nothing gentle about it. He bites down hard enough to leave marks, sucks bruises into your skin like he's trying to brand you. His free hand grips your hip, fingers digging in with bruising force.
"Everyone's going to see these," he says against your throat. "Going to know someone fucked you up."
"Good." You rake your nails down his back through his shirt. "Maybe then you'll stop acting like you don't give a shit."
"I give too much of a shit. That's the fucking problem." He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes are wild. "I can't stop thinking about you. Can't stop wanting you. And I hate it. I hate that you have this much power over me."
The door opens and he pushes you inside, slamming it behind you and flipping the lock. Before you can say anything else, he has you pressed against the door, his hands already working at your jeans with rough, impatient movements.
"This doesn't fix anything," he says, popping the button with more force than necessary. "This doesn't make us okay."
"I know."
"We're still fucked after this."
"I know." You're working at his belt now, just as rough, just as desperate. "I don't care."
He shoves your jeans and underwear down your thighs in one rough motion, not bothering to be careful. His hand slides between your legs, and he makes a sound of dark satisfaction when he finds you already wet.
"You're soaked," he says, his voice breaking on the words. "Even now. Even when we're tearing each other apart."
Then he drops to his knees, and the sight of him looking up at you from the filthy bathroom floor is devastating.
"I need—" His voice cracks. "I need to taste you. Need to remember this."
Before you can respond, his mouth is on you, and it's desperate rather than cruel. He knows exactly what you like, exactly how much pressure, exactly where to focus his attention. Your hands fly to his hair, gripping hard, and the pleasure builds fast—too fast.
"Robby—" Your legs are shaking, your whole body trembling as the orgasm crashes over you with devastating force. You're dimly aware of crying out, of your fingers tightening in his hair.
He pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looks up at you. There's something raw and broken in his expression.
"Look at you," he says, standing slowly. His hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing away a tear. "Completely wrecked. And we haven't even fucked yet." He leans in, inhaling deeply against your neck. "God, I'm never going to forget this. The way you smell when you come. I think about it during handoffs, during breaks. Drive myself crazy with it."
"You're cruel," you whisper.
"Yeah." He leans in close, his lips brushing your ear. "And you're still here. Still want me inside you even after I made you cry. What does that say about you?"
You don't have an answer. Can't form words when your body is still trembling with aftershocks.
Suddenly gaining a backbone and not wanting him to be calling all of the shots. You gain some confidence back. And instead of walking away like any normal right-minded person would, you instead grab his shirt and pull him closer, forcing him to look at you. "I want to see your face when you fuck me," you say, and there's steel in your voice now. "I want you to look at me and remember who's letting you do this."
Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or satisfaction. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You start working at his belt, your hands steadier now despite everything. "And I want to make sure everyone knows what we did. So they can see the marks I leave on you."
"Possessive," he says, but his breathing has quickened.
"You started it." You shove his pants down, then reach for the condom wrapper he's already pulled from his pocket. "Now shut up and fuck me."
You tear it open, rolling it onto him with deliberate slowness, watching his jaw clench with impatience. Then you hop up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he pins you against the door.
"Last chance to tell me to stop," he says, and there's something almost desperate in his voice now.
"Don't stop. Don't you dare fucking stop."
He pushes in hard, one brutal thrust that makes you cry out. There's no tenderness, no careful working up to it. Just him filling you completely, stretching you, claiming you in the most primal way possible.
"Fuck," he breathes, and you can see every emotion flickering across his face—anger, need, something that might be pain.
"That's right," you say, leaning in to bite down hard on his neck. "Feel that? That's going to bruise. Everyone's going to see it."
He groans, his hips snapping forward with punishing force. "You're insane."
"And you love it." You bite him again, lower this time, right where his collar won't cover it. You can taste salt and feel his pulse racing under your teeth.
"Jesus Christ." His hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back so he can look at you. "You're going to be the death of me. I'm too old for this shit—fucking you in a bar bathroom like I'm twenty-five again."
"Good." You dig your nails into his shoulders, dragging them down his back hard enough to leave scratches. "Maybe then you'll stop pretending you don't care."
"I never said I didn't care." He slams into you harder, the angle deep and devastating. "I said we should end this. That I should know better than to corrupt someone your age."
"Corrupt me?" You bite his collarbone, his shoulder, anywhere you can reach. "You think you're corrupting me? I'm the one marking you up like I own you."
"Yeah, you are." His voice drops lower, rougher. "And I'm sick enough to love it. To want everyone to see what you do to me. To know that someone half my age has me this fucked up." He thrusts harder. "I should walk away. Should let you find someone appropriate. But I can't stop thinking about you—about this—about how you feel, how you sound when you come."
"Then stop fucking me in bar bathrooms." You bite his lower lip hard enough to make him hiss. "Stop looking at me like you want to murder anyone who touches me. Stop—"
He cuts you off with a brutal kiss, all teeth and anger and desperation. When he pulls back, you immediately lean in to bite his lower lip hard enough to make him hiss.
"Fuck, you're vicious."
Your nails rake down his back again, and you feel him shudder. "You like that I fight back. That I'm not some sweet little thing who'll just take whatever you give."
"Yeah, I do." His hand slides between you, finding your oversensitive clit, and you gasp. "I like that you're as fucked up as I am. That you want this just as much."
"Maybe I do." You bite his neck again, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. "Maybe I want Jeremy to see what I did to you."
"Thought you didn't care about him."
"I don't." Another bite, this time on his jaw. "But you do. You care that he looks at me. That he makes me laugh. That he might touch me the way you do."
"Shut up." But his rhythm is faltering, his breathing ragged.
"Make me." You dig your nails in deeper, feeling him thrust harder in response. "Or admit that you're jealous. That you want me to be yours even though we're not supposed to be anything."
"You want me to admit it?" He angles his hips differently, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Fine. I'm jealous. I'm fucking jealous of every person who gets to touch you, talk to you, make you smile. Happy now?"
"No." You bite down on his shoulder hard enough to make him groan. "Because you're still going to walk away after this."
"What do you want from me?" His fingers press harder against your clit, and you can feel your orgasm building again despite the oversensitivity. "You want me to tell you I'm losing my fucking mind? That I can't do this anymore—can't pretend it's just physical when I want to murder anyone who looks at you?"
Your breath catches. "Robby—"
"I can't let you go." His voice breaks on the words, raw and desperate. "I've tried. I can't."
You clench around him deliberately, watching his eyes go dark. "Then stop trying."
His fingers work faster, his thrusts becoming erratic, and when your orgasm hits it's with his name on your lips and your teeth in his skin. You feel him follow seconds later, his grip on you bruising, his face buried in your neck.
For a long moment, there's nothing but harsh breathing and the muffled sound of the bar beyond the door. Then Robby pulls out, and the loss of contact feels like abandonment.
You both clean up in tense silence. He disposes of the condom while you pull your jeans back up with shaking hands. When you finally turn to face him, his expression is carefully blank.
"So," you say, and you hate how uncertain your voice sounds. "What now?"
He's already tucking his shirt back in, but when he looks at you, there's something decisive in his eyes. "Now you're coming home with me."
It's not a question. Not even close.
"Excuse me?" You cross your arms, even though your legs are still shaky. "You don't get to just—"
"I'm not leaving you here." He steps closer, crowding you against the sink. "Not after that."
"Maybe I want another drink."
"Bullshit." His hand comes up to your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. "You want to go back out there and pretend this didn't happen? Fine. But you're doing it from my place, not here where every resident in the hospital can watch you."
"Possessive much?" But your pulse is racing, and you know he can feel it under his thumb.
"You literally just marked me up like I'm your property," he says, and there's dark amusement in his voice now. "Don't act surprised that I'm returning the favor."
"That's different."
"How?"
"Because—" You falter, because you don't actually have a good answer. "Because you're being an asshole about it."
"And you weren't?" He leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "You bit me hard enough to draw blood. Told me you wanted everyone to see what you did to me. That's not exactly subtle."
"You started it," you say, but it sounds weak even to your own ears.
"Yeah, I did." He pulls back just enough to look at you. "And I'm finishing it. Get your coat. We're leaving."
"What if I say no?"
"Then I'll wait." His thumb traces your lower lip. "I'll go back out there, sit at that bar, and watch you try to have a normal conversation with your friends while you're still shaking from what we just did. Watch you squirm every time you move and feel how sore you are. All while you're thinking about me."
"You're unbelievable."
"And you're coming home with me." It's not a question this time either. "Because we both know you're not done with me yet. And I'm sure as hell not done with you."
You should tell him to go to hell. Should walk out of this bathroom, go back to your friends just to prove a point.
But Robby's looking at you like he'll burn the whole bar down if anyone else touches you tonight, and something in you responds to that with a heat that should probably concern you.
"Fine," you say, and you make sure it sounds like a concession rather than the surrender it actually is. "But I'm not staying over."
"We'll see." He unlocks the door, then pauses.
You should be angry. Should tell him he doesn't own you, doesn't get to dictate where you go or who you talk to.
Instead, you grab your coat from the hook by the door. "You're paying for the Uber."
"Done." His hand finds the small of your back, possessive and warm. "Anything else?"
"Yeah." You look up at him, making sure he sees the challenge in your eyes. "This doesn't mean anything. We're still ending this."
"Sure we are." But his smile is sharp, knowing. "Keep telling yourself that."
He guides you out of the bathroom, his hand never leaving your back. You catch a glimpse of the bar—McKay talking to Santos, Pincess laughing at something Whittaker said. Robby steers you toward the side exit before anyone can notice.
The Pittsburgh night hits you like a slap, cold and sharp. You pull your coat tighter while Robby pulls out his phone to call a car.
"Five minutes," he says, pocketing it.
You stand there in tense silence, breath fogging in the air between you. The adrenaline from the bathroom is fading, leaving behind something rawer. More uncertain.
The Uber pulls up—a silver Camry with a tired-looking driver who doesn't even glance at you. Robby opens the door, waiting.
You could still walk away. Go back inside, finish your drink, let this be what it was—angry bathroom sex that doesn't mean anything.
But you slide into the car, and Robby follows, his thigh pressing against yours in the cramped backseat, and then you're moving, the bar disappearing behind you.
The silence stretches. You stare out the window at the passing streetlights, hyperaware of every point where your body touches his.
"I meant what I said in there." Robby's voice is quiet, almost lost under the hum of the engine. "I can't do casual anymore."
Your heart stutters. You keep your eyes on the window. "Robby—"
"I need to know what you want." He shifts to face you, and you can feel his gaze on the side of your face. "Not what you think you should want. Not what's safe or smart or whatever bullshit excuse you're going to give me. What do you actually want?"
"That's not fair."
"None of this is fair." His hand finds yours in the dark, fingers threading through yours with devastating gentleness. "But I'm done pretending I don't care. Done acting like this is just stress relief or whatever the fuck we've been calling it."
You finally turn to look at him. In the dim light from passing cars, his face is open in a way you've never seen—no walls, no defenses. Just Robby, looking at you like you're the only thing that matters.
"You're going to break my heart," you whisper.
"Maybe." His thumb traces circles on the back of your hand. "Or maybe we'll break each other's. But I'd rather have that than keep doing this—pretending I don't want to wake up next to you. Pretending I don't think about you every second we're not together."
Your throat tightens. "We work together. If this goes bad—"
"It might." He doesn't look away. "But it's already bad. We're already a disaster. At least this way we're honest about it."
The car turns onto his street. You're running out of time to decide.
"I don't know how to do this," you admit, and your voice cracks on the words. "I don't know how to be with someone like this—someone who makes me feel like I'm losing my mind."
"Then we'll figure it out together." He squeezes your hand. "But I need to hear you say it. What do you want?"
The car pulls up to his building. The driver's already reaching for his phone, pointedly ignoring you both.
You look at Robby—at this man who's seen you at your worst and somehow still wants you. Who knows exactly how fucked up you both are and isn't running.
"I want you," you say, and it comes out steadier than you expected. "Not just tonight. Not just when we're angry or scared or trying to forget. I want to try this for real, even though it terrifies me."
Something in his expression breaks open—relief and joy and fear all tangled together. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You lean in, pressing your forehead to his. "But if you ever pull that jealous bullshit with Jeremy again, I'm going to kill you."
He laughs, soft and surprised. "Fair enough."
"And we're telling people. No more sneaking around like we're ashamed of this."
His thumb brushes across your cheekbone, and his eyes are so soft it makes your chest ache. "I want that. I want everyone to know you're mine."
"You're so fucking dramatic."
"You love it." But his smile falters slightly, and he catches your hand against his face, holding it there. "I do mean it, though. All of it. I know I'm a mess, and I know I'll probably fuck this up in a hundred different ways, but—"
"Robby." You press your thumb against his lips, silencing him. "I'm a mess too. We'll fuck it up together."
The driver clears his throat. "You folks getting out, or...?"
You both scramble out of the car, and Robby tips him extra—probably out of guilt for making him witness that. Then you're standing on the sidewalk, the night air cold against your flushed skin, and suddenly everything feels different. Real in a way it never has before.
Robby's still holding your hand. He hasn't let go since the bar.
"So," he says, and there's something almost nervous in his expression now—vulnerable in a way you've never seen him. "Come upstairs? We could just... talk. Or not talk. Whatever you need."
It's such a departure from every other time—from the urgency and the desperation and the unspoken agreement that you'd both leave before morning. This is him offering you space to stay. To be present. To build something that lasts beyond a single night.
"Hey," he says, and his free hand comes up to cup your jaw. "Thank you. For giving this a chance. For giving us a chance."
"Yeah," you say softly. "I'd like that."
His smile is brilliant and relieved, and he tugs you toward the entrance. But before you reach the door, he stops, turning back to face you fully.
Your throat tightens. "Don't make me regret it."
"I'll try my best not to." He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead—gentle and reverent, nothing like the frantic desperation in the bathroom. "I promise I'll try."
And somehow, you believe him.
Because this is messy and complicated and probably a terrible idea and you're both disasters and this could blow up spectacularly. But his hand is warm in yours, and when you look at him, he's looking back like you're something precious. Something worth fighting for.
Summary: After a brutal, grinding shift, Robby comes apart in the quiet safety of your apartment. You refuse to let him disappear into self-loathing.
Tags: Hurt/Comfort?, Burnout, Low Self-Esteem, Sex as Comfort, Mutual Trust, Crying During Sex, Soft Dom/Comfort Dom!Reader, Sub!Robby, Anal Fingering, Praise Kink, After Care, Gentle Edging, Slow Build, Self Praise Kink
wc: 4k
dividers by uzmascchiato & viviansturns
Robby leaned against the nurses' station, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms as he stared at the patient chart in front of him. Thirteen hours into his shift, and the day had been a special kind of hell—not the dramatic, adrenaline-fueled chaos that at least kept him moving, but the slow, grinding kind where every small thing went wrong.
"Robinavitch, you look like death warmed over," Garcia said, appearing beside him with two cups of coffee. She set one cup in front of Robby. "Drink. Doctor's orders."
Robby managed a weak smile, wrapping his hands around the cup. "Thanks. Just... long day."
"Long day?" She raised an eyebrow. "You've been here since five AM. It's past seven PM. That's not a long day, that's almost a double shift, and you weren't even scheduled for one." Yolanda pulled up a stool, settling in with the ease of someone who knew Robby well enough to see through his bullshit. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
Robby shook his head, taking a sip of the coffee. It was terrible, as always, but at least it was hot. "Nothing. Just covering for Jack. He had that family thing."
"Right, and you couldn't say no because you never say no," She said, her tone gentle but pointed. She stood, clapping Robby on the shoulder. "Go home. That's not a suggestion."
"I still have two hours—"
"I'll cover them. Go home, Robby. Get some sleep. And maybe talk to someone about this, yeah? You've got people who care about you."
Robby wanted to argue, but the exhaustion was a physical weight pressing down on him. He nodded, gathering his things from his locker with mechanical movements. The drive home was a blur, his mind replaying the day on loop.
By the time he pushed open the door to your apartment, using the key you'd given him months ago, he felt hollowed out. Empty.
You were on the couch when you heard the door open, your phone still in your hand from Dana's text twenty minutes earlier: Heads up—Robby's on his way to you. Rough shift. He's in his head badly tonight. Thought you should know.
You'd been expecting him, but the sight of him still made your chest tighten. He looked wrecked—scrubs wrinkled, hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes that spoke of more than just one long shift. This was cumulative, weeks of him pushing himself too hard, and tonight something had finally cracked.
"Hey," you said softly, setting your phone aside and standing. "Rough day?"
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You could say that." He dropped his bag by the door, running a hand through his hair. "I almost killed someone today. Well, not really, but close enough. I'm just... I'm so fucking tired."
You crossed to him, taking in the defeated slump of his shoulders, the way he wouldn't quite meet your eyes. "Come here," you said, reaching for him.
He came, but stiffly, like he didn't quite believe he deserved the comfort. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling the tension in every line of his body. "You want to talk about it?"
"Not really," he mumbled into your shoulder. "I just want to forget today happened. Forget I'm such a fucking disaster."
There it was—that self-loathing edge that always crept in when he was like this. You pulled back, studying his face. "Shower first. Then we'll talk."
He nodded, disappearing into the bathroom. You heard the water start, and you took the opportunity to text Dana back: Got him. Thanks for the heads up.
Her response came quickly: Good. He needs you tonight. Don't let him spiral.
You had no intention of letting that happen.
When Robby emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, he looked more human. His hair was damp, and he'd changed into the clothes he kept at your place—soft sweatpants and a t-shirt. But the exhaustion was still there, etched into every line of his face, and that look in his eyes—raw and needy and so fucking vulnerable it made your heart ache.
"Better?" you asked.
"A little." He sat on the edge of the bed, and you noticed the way his hands gripped the sheets, like he needed something to hold onto. "I'm sorry. You shouldn't have to deal with me like this."
"Stop," you said, moving to stand in front of him. "I want to deal with you like this. That's what this is, Robby. You don't have to carry everything alone."
He looked up at you, and you saw the moment he started to crumble—the careful walls he kept up beginning to fracture. "I don't know how to not carry it," he admitted, voice rough. "I don't know how to just... let go."
"Then let me help you," you said softly, reaching out to cup his face. "Let me take care of you tonight. Will you do that for me?"
He hesitated, then nodded, and you saw the surrender in his eyes—the desperate need for someone else to take control, just for a little while.
You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, then his temple, then the corner of his mouth. He made a small sound, something between a sigh and a whimper, and you felt him start to relax into your touch. "That's it," you murmured against his skin. "Just feel. Don't think."
Your lips found his properly then, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of toothpaste and something uniquely him. His hands came up to your waist, tentative at first, then gripping tighter as you deepened the kiss. You took your time, exploring his mouth, swallowing the soft sounds he made, feeling the way his body responded despite his exhaustion.
When you pulled back, his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, and his breathing had quickened. "I need you," he whispered, and there was something almost broken in his voice. "Please."
"I know," you said, running your thumb across his bottom lip. "And I'm going to give you what you need. But first, you're going to do something for me."
He blinked, confused. "What?"
"You're going to tell me three things you did well today," you said, your tone firm but warm. "Real things, Robby. Not deflections."
His face fell immediately. "I can't—I didn't—"
"Yes, you can," you interrupted, your hands moving to the hem of his shirt. "And you will. Because I'm not touching you the way you want until you do." You pulled his shirt up slowly, revealing the expanse of his chest, his soft stomach, the way his breath hitched as the fabric dragged across his skin. "Come on. One thing."
"I... I saved Mrs. Patterson," he said reluctantly, his voice barely above a whisper. "The aortic dissection."
"Good," you praised, pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it aside. Your hands splayed across his bare chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart. "That's one. What else?"
He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. "That's it. That's all I've got."
"Wrong," you said, pushing him back gently until he was lying on the bed, propped up on his elbows. You climbed over him, straddling his hips, and felt the growing hardness beneath you. "You showed up today, even though you were exhausted. You covered for Jack. You double-checked your work instead of being arrogant. Those are all good things, Robby."
"Those are just... basic," he protested weakly, but his hips shifted beneath you, seeking friction.
"They're not basic. They're you being a good doctor and a good person," you said, rolling your hips deliberately, watching his eyes flutter. "Say it. Say 'I'm a good doctor.'"
"I'm—fuck—I'm a good doctor," he gasped out, his hands coming up to grip your thighs.
"And?" you prompted, grinding down harder.
"I'm a good person," he added, voice strained, and you could see the disbelief in his eyes even as he said it.
"We'll work on that," you murmured, leaning down to kiss him again, deeper this time, more demanding. Your hands roamed his chest, finding his nipples and rolling them between your fingers until he arched up with a moan. "But for now, you're going to let me make you feel good. And every time you say something shitty about yourself, I'm going to stop. Understand?"
He nodded frantically, already lost in the sensation, and you smiled against his mouth. This was going to be a long night—in the best possible way.
You took your time undressing him completely, peeling off his sweatpants and boxers with deliberate slowness, watching the way his cock sprang free, already hard and leaking. "Look at you," you said, wrapping a hand around him and giving a slow stroke that made him gasp. "So responsive. So beautiful like this."
"I'm not—" he started, but you squeezed harder, cutting him off.
"What did I say?" you reminded him, your tone sharp. "No shitty self-talk, or I stop."
"Okay, okay," he panted, hips bucking into your hand. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just feel," you instructed, releasing him and reaching for your own clothes. You stripped slowly, letting him watch, seeing the hunger in his eyes as more of your skin was revealed. When you were finally naked, you settled between his legs, pushing his thighs apart. "Now, where were we?"
The dim light of your apartment casts soft shadows across the room, the faint hum of the city outside barely audible through the cracked window. Robby's dark hair is tousled against the pillow, eyes heavy with exhaustion and something else—something raw and needy that he's too stubborn to admit most of the time. But right now, spread out beneath you, he can't hide it.
You've seen this look before, the way he carries the weight of every mistake, every loss, on his shoulders, tearing himself down with every self-deprecating jab. In the three years you've known him—since you met at that disastrous hospital fundraiser where he spilled wine on your shirt and apologized for ten minutes straight—you've learned to read these moments. The nights when the self-loathing gets too heavy, when he needs someone to pull him out of his own head. Tonight, though, you're not letting him wallow. Tonight, you're taking control, and the anticipation of it sends a warm flutter through your chest.
"Robby," you say, your voice low but firm, trailing your fingers down his chest, watching goosebumps rise in their wake. "Look at me. You've been running yourself ragged, haven't you? Thinking you're not good enough, as usual." There's a slight edge to your tone, a teasing condescension that makes his cheeks flush.
He opens his mouth to protest, and this time you let him. "I'm fine," he mutters, that familiar bitter edge creeping in. "Just tired. You don't need to—I mean, I'm not worth all this trouble. You should be sleeping, not dealing with my shit."
"Stop," you cut him off, your hand wrapping around his cock again, giving a firm stroke that makes his words dissolve into a moan. "No. Not tonight. Tonight, you're gonna listen to me."
You lean down, pressing kisses along his collarbone, feeling his pulse race beneath your lips. His hands come up to touch you, and you allow it for now, enjoying the way he maps your body like he's memorizing it. "I'm serious," he tries again, voice weaker now, breaking on a gasp as you bite down gently on his shoulder. "I'm a mess. You shouldn't have to—"
You pull back, catching his chin and forcing him to meet your gaze, feeling the slight tremor in his jaw under your fingers. "You're gonna let me take care of you, and you're gonna say nice things about yourself for once. Got it?" Your words are laced with a smirk, a challenge, and he nods hesitantly, already looking like he's half-lost in whatever you've got planned.
"But I don't—" he starts, and you silence him with a kiss, deep and consuming, swallowing his protests. When you pull back, his lips are swollen, his eyes glazed.
"Yes, you do," you say firmly. "You deserve this, Robby. You deserve to feel good. Say it."
He shakes his head, a stubborn set to his jaw even as his body betrays him, hips shifting restlessly. "I can't. It's not true."
"It is true," you counter, your hand sliding down to cup his balls, rolling them gently and watching his eyes roll back. "And you're going to say it, or I'm going to edge you all night until you believe it."
"Fuck," he breathes, and you can see the war in his expression—the desperate need for release battling with his inability to accept anything good about himself. "That's not fair."
"Life's not fair," you say with a grin, releasing him completely and sitting back on your heels. "But I am. So say it, and I'll make you feel so good, baby. I promise."
He stares at you, chest heaving, cock hard and flushed against his stomach. "I... I deserve this," he finally whispers, so quiet you almost miss it.
"Louder," you demand, reaching for the lube on the nightstand.
"I deserve this," he repeats, stronger this time, and you reward him with a smile.
"Good boy," you purr, coating your fingers generously. "Now let's see if we can get you to believe it."
You ease him back fully onto the bed, his body tense but pliant under your touch as you settle between his legs. The weight of him beneath you, solid and real, sends a thrill of want through you—not just physical, but the deeper satisfaction of knowing you can give him this. "Relax, Robby," you murmur, your tone softening just a touch as you circle his entrance with a slick finger, teasing the tight ring of muscle. "You deserve this. You're always so hard on yourself, but I see how hard you try. How much you care."
He lets out a shaky breath, his hands fisting in the sheets. "I don't try hard enough. I should have seen that dissection immediately. I should have—"
"Should have, should have," you interrupt, pushing one finger inside slowly, feeling the heat and tightness of him. "You know what you should have done? Exactly what you did. You caught it. You saved her. That's what matters." You curl your finger, finding that spot that makes him gasp, his back arching off the bed. "Now tell me something else you did well today. And don't you dare say nothing."
His head tips back against the pillow, and you can't help but watch his face—those sharp features contorted with a mix of discomfort and budding pleasure. Your own pulse quickens, arousal pooling low in your belly at the sight of him starting to unravel. "I... I helped a scared kid," he admits, voice rough. "Broken arm. He was terrified, and I... I made him laugh. Made it easier."
"That's it," you praise, working your finger deeper, establishing a slow rhythm. "See? You're good at this. You're good at caring for people. Say it."
"I'm good at caring for people," he repeats, and you can hear the uncertainty in his voice, but it's a start.
"Again," you instruct, adding a second finger, stretching him open with slow, deliberate movements. The sheets rustle beneath him as his hips start to move, seeking more.
"I'm good at caring for people," he says, stronger this time, and you reward him by curling your fingers just right, hitting his prostate and making him cry out.
"Fuck, yes, you are," you murmur, your free hand wrapping around his cock, stroking in time with your fingers. "You're so good, Robby. So fucking good at what you do. And you're going to remember that."
"I—I don't know," he stammers, eyes squeezed shut, overwhelmed by the dual sensations. "I'm not... I'm not good at this."
"Tsk," you click your tongue, your tone mock-disapproving as you thrust your fingers a little harder, making him gasp. You release his cock, leaving him aching and empty. "Wrong answer. You're brilliant, Robby. You save lives every damn day. Say it."
He shakes his head, a desperate little sound escaping him as you scissor your fingers, opening him up further, your thumb brushing against the sensitive skin just outside. "That's just... that's just my job. Anyone could—"
"No," you interrupt firmly, curling your fingers to make him cry out, then stilling completely. "Not anyone. You. Say it, or I stop right now."
His eyes fly open, wild and desperate. "No, please, don't stop. I need—"
"Then say it," you demand, your voice hard but your eyes soft, letting him see that you're doing this because you care, because you need him to see himself the way you see him.
"I'm brilliant," he chokes out, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "I save lives. I'm... fuck, I'm good at my job."
"Good boy," you purr, and the praise makes his eyes flutter, a flush spreading down his neck. The dim light catches the sheen of sweat on his skin, and you lean down to kiss his chest, your lips brushing over his racing heartbeat as you add a third finger, pushing deeper, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot over and over. "So good for me. So perfect."
You work him like this for long minutes, building him up, watching the pleasure wash over his face, the way his body responds to every touch, every word. Your own arousal is a steady throb between your legs, but this isn't about you right now. This is about him, about breaking through those walls he's built around himself.
"Please," he gasps, his voice trembling now, tears streaming down his flushed cheeks as the pleasure builds, overwhelming him. "Please, I can't... I need—"
"Not yet," you interrupt, your voice firm but still laced with that teasing edge, even as your own breathing grows heavier. "You're not coming until I say so, understand? Look at you, falling apart on my fingers like this. So fucking pretty when you're desperate."
You slow your movements, bringing him back from the edge, and he whimpers, a broken sound that goes straight to your core. "Why are you doing this to me?" he asks, voice wrecked.
"Because you need it," you say simply, pressing a kiss to his hip bone. "Because you need to learn that you're worth this. That you're worth everything." You speed up again, your fingers relentless, slick and precise, watching as his body arches off the bed, every muscle taut, his cock leaking precum onto his stomach. "Now tell me why you're worth it. Tell me what makes you special."
"I don't—I can't—" he sobs, shaking his head frantically.
"Yes, you can," you insist, your free hand coming up to wipe away his tears. "Come on, baby. Give me something. Anything."
He's quiet for a long moment, just the sound of his ragged breathing and the wet slide of your fingers filling the room. Then, so quietly you almost miss it: "I care. I care too much, and it hurts, but I can't stop. I can't stop caring about my patients, about doing right by them."
Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his voice. "That's right," you murmur, your tone softening. "You care. And that's not a weakness, Robby. That's what makes you an incredible doctor. That's what makes you incredible, period."
"I don't feel incredible," he admits, voice breaking. "I feel like I'm drowning."
"I know," you say gently, slowing your movements to something softer, more comforting. "But you're not drowning. I've got you. I'm right here, and I'm not letting you go under."
You shift then, pulling your fingers out slowly and repositioning yourself. "Turn over for me," you instruct, helping him roll onto his stomach. He goes willingly, pliant and trusting, and you take a moment to admire the long line of his back, the curve of his ass. "So beautiful," you murmur, running your hands down his spine, feeling him shiver.
You grab a pillow, tucking it under his hips to angle him just right, then settle between his legs again. "Comfortable?" you ask, and he nods into the sheets. "Good. Because we're not done yet."
You slick your fingers again, pressing back inside him, and from this angle you can go deeper, can watch the way his body opens for you. He moans into the pillow, muffled and desperate, and you use your free hand to stroke down his flank, soothing and arousing in equal measure.
"You know what I see when I look at you?" you ask, working him open again, building that pleasure back up. "I see someone who gives everything he has, every single day. Someone who cares so deeply it scares him. Someone who's brilliant and kind and so fucking stubborn he won't admit when he needs help."
"That's not—" he starts, but you cut him off with a particularly hard thrust that has him gasping.
"It is," you insist. "And tonight, you're going to accept help. You're going to let me take care of you, and you're going to stop fighting yourself for five fucking minutes."
"I don't know how," he admits, voice small and lost.
"Then I'll show you," you promise, leaning down to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. "Just trust me. Can you do that?"
"Yes," he breathes, and you feel him relax, finally, truly letting go.
You work him thoroughly, patiently, adding a fourth finger and stretching him wider, preparing him for what comes next. His moans are constant now, a litany of pleasure and need, and you can feel your own arousal reaching a fever pitch. But you hold back, focused entirely on him, on giving him what he needs.
"How do you feel?" you ask, your fingers moving in a steady rhythm.
"Full," he gasps. "So full. So good. Please, please let me come."
"Soon," you promise, checking in with him. "Are you okay? Is this too much?"
"No," he says quickly, desperately. "No, it's perfect. You're perfect. I just need—"
"I know what you need," you assure him, pulling your fingers out and reaching for more lube. You slick up your hand, then wrap it around his cock, stroking firmly. "But first, I need you to tell me one more thing. Tell me why you matter. Not as a doctor. As a person. Why does Michael Robinavitch matter?"
He's silent, and you can feel him struggling with the question, the way his body tenses. "I don't... I don't know if I do," he finally whispers, and the honesty of it breaks your heart.
"You do," you say fiercely, stroking him faster, your other hand reaching around to play with his balls. "You matter to your patients. You matter to Jack. You matter to Dana. You matter to me. You matter so fucking much, Robby, and I need you to see that."
"I'm trying," he sobs, hips bucking into your hand. "I'm trying to see it, I swear."
"I know you are," you soothe, feeling him getting close, his body trembling. "And that's enough. That's all I need. Just keep trying, okay? Keep fighting for yourself the way you fight for everyone else."
"Okay," he gasps, and you can hear the surrender in his voice, the acceptance. "Okay, I will. I promise."
"Good," you murmur, and then you're pushing your fingers back inside him, four of them, stretching him wide as you stroke his cock with your other hand. "Now come for me, Robby. Let it all go."
The sheets bunch beneath him as his hips buck up, seeking more friction, more pressure, more everything. Tears spill over now, streaking down his flushed cheeks as he writhes under you. "Please," he begs, voice raw, cracking with need. "Please, let me come. I can't take it anymore. I'm… I'm good, okay? I'm worth it. I'm—fuck, I'm enough. Just let me—"
Hearing him say those words, even through the haze of desperation, sends a thrill through you—pride and arousal and something tender all tangled together. "That's right," you murmur, your tone softening as you lean down, kissing away a tear from his cheek. "You are enough. So fucking good, Robby. Come for me now. Let it all out."
With a final, deep thrust of your fingers, pressing hard against his prostate while your other hand twists over the head of his cock, he shatters. A choked cry tears from his throat, his body convulsing as he comes hard, thick ropes of cum spilling onto the pillow beneath him, his cock pulsing with each wave of release. You keep your fingers inside him, working him through it, drawing out every shudder until he's whimpering, oversensitive and spent.
Slowly, carefully, you pull your fingers out and reach for the towel on the nightstand, wiping your hands clean. He's still trembling, face-down in the sheets, and you gently roll him onto his side, gathering him close. His chest heaves, skin glistening with sweat and tears, and you pull him into your arms as he catches his breath. The city hum outside seems softer now, or maybe it's just that the room feels more intimate, more quiet.
"You did so well, Robby," you whisper, your voice gentle now, all traces of condescension gone as you stroke his hair. "I'm so proud of you. Not just for this, but for everything. Remember that."
He turns his face into your shoulder, still trembling slightly, and for a long moment he's quiet. Then, in a voice so small you almost miss it: "Do you really mean that? That I'm… enough?"
Your heart clenches. You tighten your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Every word. You're more than enough, Robby. You're incredible, even when you can't see it."
He lets out a shaky exhale, and you feel the dampness of fresh tears against your skin. "I don't know why you put up with me," he mumbles. "I'm such a fucking disaster."
"Because you're my disaster," you say softly, running your fingers through his hair. "And because someone needs to remind you that you're not as terrible as you think you are. How do you feel right now? Really?"
He's quiet for a moment, considering. "Lighter," he finally admits, his voice hoarse but honest. "Like maybe… maybe I can breathe again. Thank you. I… I really needed that."
"I know you did," you murmur, holding him as the tension slowly drains from his body. "Stay here. I'm going to get something to clean you up."
You slip out of bed, padding to the bathroom and returning with a warm, damp washcloth. He's still curled on his side, looking small and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache. You sit beside him, gently cleaning the cum from his stomach and thighs, then the pillow, your touches soft and careful.
"You don't have to—" he starts, but you shush him.
"I want to," you say simply. "Let me take care of you."
When he's clean, you toss the washcloth aside and pull the sheets back, helping him slide under them. You grab a glass of water from the nightstand, holding it to his lips. "Drink," you instruct, and he does, draining half the glass before pulling back.
"Thank you," he whispers again, and you set the glass aside, climbing into bed beside him and pulling him close. He comes willingly, tucking his head under your chin, his arm wrapping around your waist.
For a while, you just hold him, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his back, feeling his breathing gradually even out. The soft glow of the city lights filters through the window, casting everything in shades of blue and gold.
He shifts, pressing closer, and you hold him tighter, letting the quiet settle over you both. The sheets are tangled around your legs, the room warm and close, and you can feel him starting to drift, his breathing deepening.
You hold him as he falls asleep, his body finally relaxed, the lines of stress smoothed from his face. And as you lie there in the dim light, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, you know he's finally starting to believe in himself, even if just a little. It's enough for tonight. It's a start.
Tomorrow, you'll help him face the world again. Tomorrow, you'll remind him of his worth, of his strength. But for now, you just hold him and let him rest.
CW: Nothing much really. Probably some medical inaccuracy. Some slight angst but mainly some great family time fluff.
Summary: Your son gets hurt at the park so you have to bring your family over to PTMC to see their dad.
WC: 1193
(I do NOT give anyone consent to use/publish my work. Any copying or translating of my writing is considered plagiarism. If you come across my work on any other site or app, please let me know and report them as well)
You had looked away for one second, if you could even call it that. One moment you were watching your two year old son, Thomas, run around the park while balancing your six month old baby girl, Ellie, on your hip and the next, your son was on the floor wailing while clutching his arm. You cursed quietly under your breath as you rushed over to scoop him up. Still being a toddler, he was definitely too short to reach the monkey bars and so of course the one time your turned your head away to sneeze was the moment he decided to jump up and try to swing; which ended with him landing awkwardly on his wrist.
You quickly made do of packing away your things and situating your kids on the double stroller, thankful that you were only two blocks away from PTMC. Your son was still crying in his seat as you tried to soothe him while jogging over to the hospital. As you neared, your son started crying louder which made your daughter start fussing as well, almost as if they could tell that their daddy was near and needed to let him know where they were.
Entering through the ambulance bay, you were greeted by the controlled chaos of the ED. Nurses and doctors alike were running around getting patients settled and from the corner of your eye you could see a group of them huddled around the trauma bay; your husband must be there as well. Luckily in the centre of it all was Dana. Taking charge and directing people where they needed to go, Dana was the calm in the storm and was also the one to first make eye contact with you.
“What happened” she huffed as she ran over to you and the kids.
You parked the stroller in the hall and scooped up your son who was still crying his eyes out. “Fall at the park. I don’t think he broke it but he might’ve sprained his wrist” you replied. Now that you were in the comfort of the ED, surrounded by your people, the stress of the situation was starting to get to you. Tears lined your eyes as you comforted your son and tried to lightly rock the stroller in order to calm your daughter as well.
Dana’s eyes softened. She quickly gathered you in her arms as she called over her shoulder that she was taking you over to North 5 to get checked. On the way there you ran into Whitaker and Javadi who Dana assigned to your care. Once in the room, you tried to get your son onto the bed but he wouldn’t let go of you.
“Go on” Dana said, “I’ll take our little princess here to go find daddy and see where he is” she cooed as she scooped up your daughter who was now sniffling in her arms, confused by everything that was going on.
You snuggled your son closer as Whitaker came over to take a look at his arm. “Hey little man, do you mind if I take a look at your arm?” Your son whimpered quietly but nodded his head. As Whitaker checked out his wrist, Javadi went through the usual questions with you; how did he fall, did he lose consciousness, etc.
Outside, the chaos of the ED was starting to settle down. Robby and Jack, along with other residents and med students were finally able to get control of the trauma that came in moments before you did. Taking off his gloves and gown, Robby couldn’t help but rolls his shoulders back, the weight of the day starting to settle on him and he still had over two hours left of his shift. He was glad that Jack came in early, they had been short staffed all week and it was nice getting to see his best friend for more than a few minutes during hand offs.
As the two men made their way over to the hub, Robby was too preoccupied with the chart in front of him to notice Dana quickly walking over with his daughter in her arms.
“Hey you, what are you doing here?” Jack asked as he reached over to take the little girl from Dana. It was only then that Robby looked up and he felt as though everything came to a stop. His mind raced through every bad situation that could possibly explain why his daughter was here, red-eyed, and without you. Dana could immediately see the panic and worry on his face so she jumped quickly to inform him of the situation before he spiralled.
“They’re okay,” she explained, “They were at the park and Thomas had a fall, sprained his wrist I think. They’re over in North 5 getting looked at.”
Robby felt his whole body deflate, he let out the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He thanked Dana and gathering baby Ellie from Jack who also decided to tag along. As they made their way into the room, Robby could hear his little boy crying. As soon as he stepped inside your son’s eyes snapped over to him and cried out for his daddy. Robby was at the bedside immediately, cooing at your son and brushing the hair on his head.
“Hey buddy” Robby whispered, “What happened?”
“I fall” your son cried, “ouchie” he whimpered as he held his arm out for Robby to see.
The both of you continued to fuss over your kids as Jack took over for Whitaker and Javadi, wanting to also comfort and be there for his nephew. Jack confirmed the sprain and explained that a brace would be needed in order to let it heal properly. As he left to grab the materials, you and Robby were finally left alone with your kids. After all the fuss, your daughter finally settled into Robby’s arms, slowly but surely falling asleep. Your son was just the same. Now that the pain medication was working and he was cuddled into your arms, he’s slowly starting to drift off too.
Robby reached over and held your hand, “and how are you doing sweetheart?” He continued to caress your hands allowing you to finally gather your thoughts and calm down a bit.
“I was scared” you admitted, “Even though I knew he wasn’t seriously injured it still hurt just seeing him so upset.”
Robby nodded along agreeing with you, “Yea, I get that. I can’t even begin to explain how worried I was when I saw Ellie here with Dana. I was worried that something had happened to you and Thomas and that’s why you weren’t with her” he sighed. “But you’re all okay now and that’s all that matters” he states. Robby stands up, slowly rocking your baby girl back and forth.
“Once he gets the brace on, I’m taking you all home and taking the day off tomorrow too,” Robby states, smiling down at you and your son while caressing your daughter’s head.
You smiled back at him, happily agreeing to his plan and looking forward to spending quality time with your family.
~~~~~~~~~
Author’s Note: I just wanted to come on here and say a huge thank you to everyone who showed some love to my small blurb, “What Then?” about Robby and resident reader. I have so many ideas for them, trust, the angst and hurt is coming I just need to plan out where I want to go with them. In the meantime, I’m always a sucker for Robby with kids, especially with what season 2 is feeding us (Robby and that baby is actually killing me). So I’ll try to post some more of these one shots as I get the series going. Please let me know if you have any ideas or requests for either Robby or Jack!!❤️
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