hi i saw u do nikki freeman requests?? i will take ANYTHING, something cute, maybe smut ANYTHING
⸝⸝ silky . . . nikki freeman
content && warnings. post-wish nikki x fem!reader, profanity, suggestive content, alludes to smut—teeters on the VERY edge of smut, dry humping, 4.2k words.
courrier. i always tell myself to keep fics below 4k words but then i get carried away and somehow surpass that limit by just the smallest bit. but im giving my best work so...... maybe passing that limit isnt too bad!! also, i hope everyone likes this, it is inspired by a scene in jennifer's body! listening to madison beer's yes baby and make you mine while reading this is highly recommended 🩵
it's midnight when you finally decide to close up shop and head to bed.
and by "close up shop," you really mean fold the blanket in the living room, rinse out the empty popcorn bowl you were eating out of, and shut off the movie you were only half-watching as you scrolled on your phone trying to figure out what you should do tomorrow other than sit and watch boring movies.
you've been doing that a lot lately. well, ever since your friends kind of started... disappearing from your life and basically ghosting you.
even nikki, who you thought was your best friend.
it's not really a thought on your mind anymore, though. the only thing that kept you up really late at night like this was the fact that baron, your co-worker, somehow managed to get her wrapped around his finger in a matter of days during his attempt to ask her out.
you don't think he even asked her, it just happened. which makes the entire situation ten times crazier!
nikki always told you what she thought of him, and you can't think of a time where she talked about him as anything more than a sibling-like figure. she called him "her annoying little brother" one time.
to your face.
feet away from baron, who was probably whipped out of his mind and too focused on the fact that her uniform was sliding off one shoulder and her skin was exposed.
he's the reason dress code was enforced for the employee's at cassell's. no surprise there, but seriously? he can't even keep it in his pants at the sight of a sliver of a girl's shoulder?
a real weirdo, that guy is.
you're still trying to find the small part of your heart that feels even the slightest bit happy for him and how everything turned out.
but you've yet to find it.
so you'll settle for sucky movies and overly salted popcorn in the dark comfort of your living in the dead of night.
as you toss the television remote onto the couch cushions, you sigh and drag your feet down the hall. you tell yourself that you'll fix up the appearance of your living room in the morning, even if you know you won't.
it's the thought that counts, you think, as your socked feet slide against the hardwood floors and make their way up the partially carpeted stairs.
it's a little too dark to be walking upstairs right now, but unfortunately for you, your bedroom is up there, and you weren't exactly hoping to sleep on the couch tonight and wake up with a kink in your neck at the uncomfortable position.
furthermore, your couch is as hard as a rock.
that's not to say you hate it, but getting a good night's rest on it would be physically impossible.
you'd much rather sleep on a semi-firm mattress and lay your head on fluffy pillows, snuggled beneath soft blankets and even softer stuffed animals.
there's only a select few you throw on your bed from time to time, and those are the nights you get the best sleep, so you've decided on making it a routine to grab those few plushies and settle them in their spots on your bed every night before you go to bed in hopes of sleeping well.
odd, yes. but as you make your way up the last few stairs of the staircase, you find yourself looking forward to the fluffiness they provide.
making your way down the hall, your fingertips graze the wall. the subtle bumps in the texture are soothing in a way you can't describe, and although you'd be called crazy for thinking that, it's late at night and you're loopy. so that thought has justified itself.
thump.
you don't flinch at first, simply glancing over your shoulder at the staircase you just came from.
nothing. all that's there is a decently sized painting on the wall and and railing that splits the sudden drop and the hallway.
it's just an animal outside, you think to yourself, humming quietly without even realizing it. like the words were trying to come out but never really made it past your throat.
without another thought about it, you continue your journey down the rest of the hall and into your room.
just as you left it, the window's cracked to let the breeze inside, gentle and smooth. your sheets are perfectly made, pillows pressed to the headboard in perfect order, stuffed animals placed carefully in front of them as if they were really waiting for you to come to bed and finally fulfill their jobs at making you comfortable.
slowly, you make your way over, padding through the room before moving your blanket and lazily crawling onto the mattress.
as you throw the blanket back over your body, you feel something brush your leg.
you don't think much of it.
it's probably your sheets, anyway.
so you snuggle beneath the softness of your blanket and make yourself comfortable, the hem of the fabric tucked beneath your chin and two weighted stuffed animals placed over your stomach.
you inhale.
exhale.
and just as you're about to drift off, you feel something brush your arm this time.
instead of ignoring it this time, you roll over on your side and try getting comfortable in the new position. you were moving too much, you tell yourself, now you have to move and try to get comfortable again.
it almost annoys you how much you were waiting for this moment, only for it to be ruined by your own stupid rushed movements and attempts to drift off quickly.
just go to sleep already.
the words almost sound like you're saying them out loud.
like they came out of your mouth just now.
but they didn't.
you would feel it if they were coming out of your mouth because the annoyance would only become more clear and agitate you to the point where you wouldn't even want to sleep anymore. that sounds a little stupid, but you know for a fact that those words reached your ears and they weren't just in your head.
or maybe you're just dreaming.
hell, you're probably already asleep now!
you squeeze your eyes shut tighter to confirm it, then open them, and quickly realize you are, in fact, still wide awake.
"go to sleep."
okay, you're for sure you heard that.
you're so confident that you heard it that you shoot up out of bed and jump off the mattress, flashing out from under the covers and scrambling to your feet.
in your rush, you almost slip due to your socks and fall on your face, stumbling a little as you try catching your breath. the sudden noise forced you into a state of shock for a moment, and the irregularities in your breathing is probably the result of that. but, in your defense, what the fuck was that noise and who whispered in your ear to go to sleep just now!
before you can scream or grab an item to defend yourself, someone—or something? you don't know—pops out from the other side of your bed, shooting straight up like a vampire waking in its coffin.
it elicits a gasp from between your lips.
then you realize.
it's nikki freeman.
like, baron's girlfriend, nikki.
okay ew, that still sounds weird, and frankly disgusting to even think about.
it's nikki.
like, your best friend, nikki.
but, as you're looking at her, eyes widened and mouth fully open to let out ragged breaths, she looks... battered. she's not dirty, not bloody, not even smudged with dirt or mud, just... cut up. bruised, like she got into a fight with someone.
maybe baron.
maybe herself, now that you think about it, because baron wouldn't hurt a fly.
he tried saving the mouse you once found in the storage room back when you first started working together.
nikki has a record of going down self-destructive paths, though, but to say you aren't surprised would be insanely far from the truth. because you are surprised. seriously, really, actually surprised.
the large gash in the middle of her forehead is the one thing that draws your eyes in first, gaze gravitating toward the large opening. the blood there has dried, and it looks like she's cleaned herself up pretty well, but it still makes your heart ache at the thought of her having had to endure... whatever she did to herself.
your eyes are still blown wide, and they only go wider when you see the bruises on her arms and hands.
whatever happened to her was not good.
but you're still in shock.
which is what triggers your initial reaction, voice a sudden scream in the night.
"nikki, get the fuck out!"
yeah.
you dropped the f bomb, and you immediately feel bad the moment the words leave your mouth.
not because you don't curse, but because you've never cursed at nikki. not directly, not to her face, never at her or in an intent to hurt her.
tonight's different.
somehow.
before she can reply, your eyes widen even further, a look of horror and regret mixed into your facial expression. a low gasp escapes your lips, falling out in one short breath as you take one step away from the bedside. nikki's still sat on the side of the bed that's usually empty, lounging comfortably like her showing up in the middle of the night is completely, totally normal.
in response, the older girl snickers. "dude, enough with the screaming, seriously," she shrugs.
"you're so sensitive, seems like it's multiplied over the past week."
"well–yeah!" you bark back, bewildered. "because you've been so... so frickin' weird and creepy lately!"
nikki just smiles.
you're in utter disbelief, a million different emotions pulsing through your veins so fast and rough it almost feels like you might have a heart attack on the spot.
because she has no right to just show up in your bedroom in the middle of the night and expect you to be a-okay about it and let her spend the night. what kind of crazy person lets a literal criminal stay in their house after they've been caught breaking and entering?
frowning, you realize that maybe she isn't a criminal. the longer you stand here, the more you realize.
your eyes drift around the room, from a bloodied up nikki to the open window letting in a cool breeze, and then your nerves start to ease in just the slightest bit. okay, maybe she didn't break anything, but she still entered illegally, so you still have the right to be mad!
she scared you too, so there's another thing you have the right to be angry about.
as you try to catch your breath, you finally let your shoulders drop alongside your arm that you hadn't even realized you'd been holding up in the direction of your door.
"that was rude, you know," nikki murmurs, pouting.
your eyes flick back up to her.
she's already staring back at you, pretty brown eyes dark and gleaming with something dangerous in the dim light your bedside lamp provides.
"i don't like being called names."
"weird and creepy aren't names, nikki."
she just huffs.
"...well i don't like being called weird or creepy either, yn, you should know that better than anyone," she retorts, voice a pinch louder.
you exhale slowly.
nikki's right.
ever since the kids in grade school bullied her and ran around calling her names like freaky nikki, she's never liked the type of teasing that involves name-calling. or, in your case, describing her as words that are negative in any way, even if you're only telling the god-honest truth.
a pang of guilt hits you in the gut right then and there, and you can't help but take one step closer to the bed. one step closer to her and the wrecked state she's in.
"i'm... i'm sorry," you trail off. "i didn't know what else to say, i was startled."
another giggle slips past her lips.
you flinch immediately, eyes widening again at the sudden noise.
nikki can't help but laugh a little louder. she hushes herself soon after, scooting out from under the covers and crawling towards the edge of your side of the bed.
despite the blood painted across her face, she still looks beautiful. you've always found her just that little bit more attractive than any other girl you've ever dated, or met in general. her kindness and understanding is what draws you in so much, because no matter the mistakes you make or the things you don't quite understand, she's always patient and lenient with you.
so you shouldn't repay her with fear and disgust, you should be repaying her with that same gentle kindness and even softer reassurance.
it'd just a help little bit more if you knew what exactly happened to her, and then maybe you'd be able to empathize better.
nikki smiles again. "i'm not gonna bite you."
you stay frozen.
because nothing is making much sense to you in this situation.
so instead of freaking out again like you did earlier, you let nikki come closer. slowly, she makes her way over the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, hands in her lap as she stares up at you with those same doe-like eyes you've grown used to seeing.
her gaze seems different now, mixed with something akin to hunger. it's a little frightening, if you're being honest, but there's never been a moment where you haven't been even at least a little intimidated by the woman.
once she finds her spot in front of you, she sits still for a moment or two.
brown eyes drag along your body.
and it almost feels like she's touching you with her hands, dull nails scratching down the fabric of your pajamas.
the mere thought of that sends a cool shiver down your spine, the outside breeze coming in not helping the goosebumps that rise on your skin at all.
nikki moves again, quicker this time.
her hands leave her lap, and she rises onto her knees to be at eye-level with you despite the obvious difference in the height at which you're both standing. only then do you realize what she's wearing—well, nothing really. she's half-naked, in all truth, wearing nothing but her undergarments and a band t-shirt that should be sitting in your closet.
vivid memories of nikki wearing your clothes at sleepovers flash in your mind, scenes flashing by like a movie montage.
except in the past, she's always worn shorts or... something that covers her lower half more than just her underwear.
a soft warmth settled deep in your chest, rising to your cheeks before you could even attempt to hide. it gave you away immediately, the pink tint on your cheeks unmistakably deeming you flustered.
the warmth only heats up as nikki's hands find your face, cupping your jaw. her thumbs smooth over your cheeks, the soft pads relaxing your muscles for only a minute before your heart begins to race again. she's never been this close before, never dared touching your face in such an... intimate manner. you just hope she doesn't go any further.
not because you don't want her to, but because she has a boyfriend and you are not a homewrecker. even if you don't particularly like the guy she's dating.
"nikki..." you mumble, eyes traveling to the shirt hanging around her frame.
she hums in response, not tearing her gaze away from your lips. her tongue subtly peeks out to sweep over her own, her thumbs making one last pass over your cheeks before they glide down and around to the back of your neck, toying with the baby hairs at your nape.
the action triggers a sigh to fall from between your lips, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before you reluctantly open them back up to look at her.
your train of thought almost passes.
and then you remember. "...is that my current joys t-shirt?" you question, voice a mere whisper.
nikki doesn't answer this time, too interested in running her fingers through your hair. her breathing is even now, same as yours, but she's not really listening to you anymore. you can tell when she finds something worth her attention or not, and right now, your words are the least of her concerns.
your breath hitches the moment she collects your hair and holds it in a ponytail, face inching a bit closer to be able to rest it over one of your shoulders without loosing even the smallest strand of hair.
she notices without struggle, smirking knowingly at your reaction as she continues to brush through your hair with careful fingers. she slowly detangles the knots in the ends of your hair, gentle so as not to hurt you because that's the last thing she's ever wanted to do with you in mind. she's too obsessed with you to do anything of the sort, which is what led her all the way to your house.
baron's apartment is across the city. her obsession with you is what led her here, in your bedroom, in your bed with her hands all over you and her scent slowly creeping into all of your senses.
he's still sleeping soundly in his bed—or that's what it'd seem like to someone just passing by. if they looked close enough, however, they'd notice his unmoving body. but the door is locked, nikki made sure of that before she left and came here. she also made sure the house was as clean as could be before cleaning herself up and crawling under the familiar weight of your blankets.
the only thing she forgot to clean up was the blood on her face.
oops.
nikki's eyes finally find themselves locked on something other than your lips, settling for your eyes instead. but before you're able to maintain the eye contact for even a second, she's back to staring at your lips.
the faintest hint of a smirk is still present on her own lips as she leans closer, fingers still twirling in the ends of your hair but continuing their ministrations slowly.
your eyes widen in the slightest, breath catching in your throat and heart skipping a beat as you watch her get closer and closer. your hands stay glued to your sides, unsure of where to place them and completely confused as to why nikki's even initiating this in the first place. she very clearly has a boyfriend, so what in the hell is happening?!
in the back of your mind, the reminder is still very much there, even as her lips find yours for the first time.
the first touch of her lips against yours is soft, almost unsure, like she's testing the waters to see if this is really okay with you.
and when you don't pull away, her hands snake away from your hair and cup your jaw again, thumbs finding your lips this time as she scoots even closer to you.
your breath is shallow as the pads of her thumbs slide across your lower lip, the softness of your lips making her huff a quiet laugh. it's enough to make you tense again, but when she leans in for another kiss—this one softer and more sure—you kiss her back, eyes fluttering shut before you even realize you're reciprocating anything.
she pulls away again, breath slower now, before leaning back into you again, sucking your lower lip between her own as her thumbs rub the flushed skin of your neck.
and then suddenly all of her self-restraint is thrown out of the window, her mouth finding yours for the fourth time that night. she kisses you with a certain fervor you didn't know anyone was capable of having, lips plump and unfamiliar against yours but so, so addicting.
her tongue slides into your mouth without struggle, and your own brushes against hers as your mouths continue moving against each other. your hands shake at your sides, tense and still unsure whether or not you're okay to hold her waist.
after a moment or two, she presses her mouth roughly against yours before slowly pulling herself away.
it takes a second or two for you to process the entire thing, eyes slowly drifting open as you just... stare at the girl now laid across your mattress.
she's beautiful.
you just can't tell whether this is the right thing to be doing with her right now.
not when she's so... beat up.
but then her foot brushes your knee, and you realize she's okay with this. so, with the new reassurance, you let yourself crawl onto the bed and over her body. her eyes are already shut, waiting—expecting your lips on hers and expecting them soon.
so you give her what she's been waiting for.
even if you are still a little freaked out from everything that's happened.
leaning over her body, you kiss her slowly. the second your lips touch hers, it's like something is set off in her mind–her hands find your waist, holding you against her as she kisses you back with the same amount of passion you're finally willing to give her.
she smiles into the kiss, lost in the taste of your lips against hers. without thinking, her leg comes up to wrap around your lower waist, ankle pressing into the lower half of your back to keep you pinned against her. the sweetness of your saliva mixing with hers makes the both of you dizzy, and nikki can't help but moan quietly against your lips.
you're left with the same response, a small mewl escaping your throat and falling right into her mouth. your own hands find her torso, thumbs brushing the underside of her bra over your shirt, scrunching it up in the messy process of... whatever it is you're doing.
"finally loosening up," she whispers between kisses, breathy and hardly reaching your ears as your hips start moving against hers.
it's instinctual.
or maybe it's just something you've been wanting to do for god knows how long, and sure maybe it is rooted from the crush you had on her back before baron suddenly started dating her and you had to push those feelings down. but now you don't have to. because she's kissing you and she's moving against you and she's making noises that are absolute music to your ears.
a low moan gets swallowed by nikki as you lean in closer, her fingers finally sneaking beneath the hem of your shirt and dancing across the bare skin of your back.
her touch sends a shiver down your spine, the breeze outside suddenly not doing anything to get rid of the heat that's consuming your entire body right now.
your hips find a steady rhythm against hers, grinding down whenever she grinds up, and your breath becomes shallow with each thrust of your hips. her nails, albeit dull, dig into your skin, scratching lightly down your lower back as she bucks against you, lips still glued to yours despite her breathlessness.
huffing, you murmur, "is this too much?"
"no. no, it's not," nikki doesn't miss a beat. "just keep kissing me, yn."
you don't argue.
but before you can find her lips again and press your swollen ones against them, she opens her mouth to speak again.
"i'm not with bear anymore, just so you know," she murmurs quietly, still breathless. "he... it's a long story, i'll tell you later. i just wanted to make sure you knew that before we did anything else."
you nod slowly.
a weight is immediately lifted off your chest upon her explanation.
but then her words register. she wanted to tell you she was single before you did anything else. warmth blooms on your face again, and this time it's even more obvious than it was before. you can't even pretend to be mad or scared anymore, not with everything she's telling you and everything she's done to you in the past five minutes.
it's all moving so fast and you don't really want it to stop any time soon.
"...i mean," you trail off, trying to find the correct words to use. "do you—do you want to do anything else?"
nikki goes silent for a moment.
and in that moment, all that fills the room is your mixed labored breaths and the sound of the wind breezing through trees outside.
before you can backtrack, she nods.
"yeah."
your face only gets 10x warmer.
"i want you," she admits. "i've wanted you for the longest time, yn."
the confession cracks something open in your chest, and you almost jump off of her and start screaming in excitement. because she shares the feelings you've always had for her and she's telling you right now.
instead of embarrassing yourself, though, you lean back into her, kissing her swollen lips. this kiss is softer, filled with something meaningful that neither of you can put your finger on, but you both know it's something akin to love of some sorts.
"i want you too," you confess.
so you kiss her again.
and again.
and a few more times for good measure.
and despite the bloody state she's in, you continue to love on her.
because, in the moment, that's all you know how to do.
“Holy shit, M-Mikey!” you screeched into the pillow, your moans muffled against the soft cushion. Robby's large hand snaked from your hip to the back of your head, gathering your hair at the root into his fist, and gripped it harshly. You whimpered out in surprise when he yanked at your scalp to lift your head off the pillow. His thrusts did not falter as you moaned out into the bedroom, the wanton sound echoing throughout his apartment.
“Mikey-” you gasped as he tugged harder on your hair until your arched back was pressed against his coarse, hairy chest. He wrapped his arm around your waist and moved his hand from your hair toward your neck. Grabbing it gently to hold rather than to squeeze. The possessive gesture makes you even wetter, and the squelching sounds between you get louder.
“The whole point of bringing you to my place," he grunted with his lips against your ear, "is so that you can be. Fucking. Loud." His thrusts were timed perfectly with his words.
“O-okay, I’m sor- Ow! Ow, fuck!!” You blubbered at a particular thrust that felt uncomfortably deep.
"Oh, Shit. Baby, are you okay?" Robby asked urgently before immediately pulling out, holding you more gently against his chest. Both the palms of his hands are now resting against your ribs, gripping you as delicately as possible to keep you from falling onto the mattress.
You panted heavily with your eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath, waiting for the dull ache inside you to go away. Robby was getting desperate; your silence and lack of confirmation that you were okay were eating at him.
He gently grabbed your cheeks and forced you to turn your head back to face him behind your shoulder, needing eye contact to read you properly.
"Talk to me," Robby pleaded with a soothing tone, while his chocolate brown eyes bore into you. Anxious for an answer while trying not to stress you out, "Where does it hurt?"
"My-my-" you mewled softly as you made an effort to answer him properly. His encouraging nod helped you find the words you were looking for. "M-my cervix."
Robby tsked softly before leaning in to place a gentle kiss on your full cheek.
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," He murmured, his salt and pepper beard scratching your skin as his lips brushed tenderly against your soft and sweaty skin. The gesture made your eyes flutter closed to enjoy the intimacy of the moment, making you feel closer to him than when he was inside you.
"Do you want to stop?" He cooed against your cheek, the immediate shake of your head to his suggestion made him chuckle softly.
"No, just s-slow down. Please?" Robby nodded before placing one more kiss on your cheek.
“Alright. I need to check your pretty pussy first, okay?” He cooed, not making a single move to position you until he got your consent.
You nodded gently, and he moved his grip down to your waist as he lowered you down carefully onto your stomach and flipped you over with ease. His strength always surprised you, given that his only workout consisted of being constantly on the go at the Pitt. Robby grabbed your knees and pushed them up until they were inches from your shoulders, pressing against your breasts.
“Hold it,” He ordered, his role as an attending physician bleeding into his dominance in the bedroom. Your brain began to go all fuzzy and slow to process his command. Robby sensed your hesitance and glanced up at you with an arched brow, making you quickly obey and place your hands behind your knee to hold your legs back for him.
“Good girl,” He growled lowly as he kept his gaze on your soaked folds.
As he continued his inspection, your cheeks began to flush in this position. It always made you feel a little shy despite the numerous occasions he’s fucked you in a mating press. Except now you were exposing yourself to him instead of being covered by his tall and burly build.
A startled gasp escaped your lips as you felt the pad of his thumb circle your bundle of nerves. It quickly snapped you out of your anxious thoughts. You noticed his eyes were trained on your folds with his brows furrowed in concentration.
“What-what are you do-” Robby interrupted you before you could finish your sentence.
“Need to lube you up before I check you properly,” He continued to stimulate your engorged clit with slow and controlled circles, not stopping until you were weeping. Despite this technically being a clinical check-in, you didn't even try to hold back the desperate mewling coming out of your parted lips. Robby was borderline teasing you, and it was driving you insane.
It wasn't until he glanced down and saw the wet spot forming under your ass from your arousal dripping down your folds and onto his sheets. He finally decided that you were wet enough, and he scooted closer on his knees before carefully working one thick finger into your folds. It was a tight fit, but he didn't stop until he circled the tip of his finger around for your cervical opening.
Robby grunted softly once he located your opening, feeling the small dent.
“How does that feel?” His cock twitched against his thigh at the soft feeling of your opening, a sign that you were ovulating.
“A-a little weird,” you strangled breathlessly as you clenched around his finger, feeling more turned on than before.
“Bad weird?” He inquired, trying his hardest not to pull his finger out and go back to fucking you until you were filled up.
“No-no, l-like awkward weird not painful w-weird,” you panted heavily as your thighs began to shake in your grip.
Robby nodded before pulling his finger out, watching your slit clench around nothing and your clit twitching for contact. He placed his palm on one of your knees and spread you further open, allowing you to release your hold one of the backs of your knees.
You watched as he fisted his cock at the base and pressed the tip of his circumcised shaft against your clit. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, your thighs shaking in his grip.
"You ready pretty girl?" Robby growled, his voice hoarse from the frantic need to be inside you again.
"Yes."
A broken moan escaped your parted lips as he pushed his length all the way in in one thrust.
"Fuck-" Robby groaned through clenched teeth.
"I'm not gonna last," He panted heavily, "touch your pretty little clit for me."
You nodded quickly before reaching down to circle your clit with your fingertips, watching him groan at the sight and the way your slit flutters around his cock. He quickened his pace with a groan while he kept his fist at the base of his cock. Despite the lustful monster in him taking over, he was not going to make the same mistake of almost bruising your cervix again.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Cum for me, baby, please. Fuck, I'm so fucking close," Robby practically begged before leaning in to latch his lips around your nipple and suck on the soft nub until it hardened against his tongue.
"Daddy! Fuck me!" You whined as you came around his cock, your cum leaking onto his sheets, and adding to the puddle below your ass.
"That's it, baby," He groaned against your nipple before burying his face between your breasts.
"Where do you want it? Tell me now."
"Inside. Inside me, please," you pleaded as you wrapped your legs around his hips and hooked your feet to keep him inside.
"FUCK." Robby growled against your chest as he buried as much of himself as he could. His cock pulsated inside you as he kept moving his hips in shallow thrusts to fuck his cum further into you.
You gasped as he collapsed his full weight on top of you, his face buried into your chest, and he panted heavily. He reached forward to wrap one of his arms around you, making you arch your back to allow him to snake his arm under and hold you.
A comfortable silence settled in the room; the only sounds were you both finally catching your breath, mingled with the busy streets at midnight in Pittsburgh.
“You know we’ll have to tell your old man.”
With wide eyes, you turned your head to catch his gaze. You stared in wonder at his sudden determination while he returned his gaze in awe and a playful smirk.
“Do you know what you’re saying?” You watched as he leaned in to suckle on your sweet spot, the place on your neck just above your collarbone. The feeling caused you to slide your hand up his shoulder and run your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck.
"Mikey," You whispered his name so lowly he almost didn't hear you.
“Mm?” Robby hummed without breaking contact from his lips on your neck, the sensation of his teeth biting down a little too hard made you clench around his softened length.
“He’s gonna look at you differently. As a friend and an employee-”
“I know,” Robby interrupted as he pulled away slightly to cup your face and leaned in to peck a kiss on your lips before murmuring, “I don’t care. I just want you in my life. Even with all the noise and bullshit. I've fucked enough cum into you and shared too much of myself to let you go.”
It was obvious now that this was more than sex. He didn't get his high off the secrecy and shame of fucking his supervisor’s daughter under the radar. Robby was getting his high from just being with you, touching, and connecting with every part of you that you were willing to give him. He couldn't get enough of it, and now he wanted the whole world to know.
“Maybe over dinner next Friday night?”
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this fic was deadass a year in the making, it was supposed to be small but it turned into this. enjoy and pls be gentle (⸝⸝๑﹏๑⸝⸝)
Summary: With your daughter learning to speak, you start to call Robby 'daddy.'
Tags/Notes: established relationship, mom!reader/dad!robby, daddy kink obv, breastfeeding kink, fingering, oral (f), unprotected piv, impregnation, robby is so pathetically in love
Content: discussion of pregnancy and such
A/N: From the “Yours” universe but can be read separately with the context that Robby and reader have a one-year-old daughter.
IB this ask:
i cannot stop thinking abt “yours”!robby who needs to catch his breath every time mama!reader calls him daddy! like she doesn’t say it to tease him or anything, she’s just so used to talking to their first babygirl that she just says it thoughtlessly, not even minding how robby reacts to it BUT THEN one time, baby’s with aunt dana for the day or something and he finally snaps!! and hes ready to give mama baby #2
Word Count: 5.2k
It’s already a problem the very first time you say it.
Robby’s having one of those awful, slogging days in emergency medicine where nothing’s going his way. It’s heavy and exhausting and frustrating all at once. By the time he’s heading to lunch, he just wants to sit in his car and scream.
Then he sees you.
At the nurse’s station where you‘ve returned to work, his perfect chubby eleven-month-old on your hip and a grin on your lips as you talk to Dana.
And he melts.
Everything falls away as he closes the distance keeping him from his family. Not even caring that he’s interrupting your conversation, Robby engulfs you and the baby into his huge arms, breathing in your shower-fresh hair and finally feeling his body relax.
When he manages to let you go, you stand up on your toes, kiss him warmly, and smile when Ella reaches up automatically for his attention. As he adds a kiss to your cheek, you greet him, “Hi, daddy.”
Robby’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he shifts Ella into his arms. He buffers for a few seconds before asking, “What did you just say?”
You shrug innocently and explain, “One of the girls in our mommy-and-me group says we should be calling each other ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ now that she’s learning words so that she doesn’t start calling us by our first names.”
“Is that so?” He kisses Ella’s round cheeks until she giggles and then tickles her belly until she reaches maximum squirmy laughing. Only then does his mind start to calm down. Nestling his nose in her wispy dark hair, he asks, “Are you and mommy having a good day, princess?”
She babbles into his chest and you translate, “So far so good. She did great having some of that fancy baby food we’ve been wanting to try and did her first nap like a champ. Now we’re raring to go for daycare.” You open up your purse then and remove a stack of folded cards for him to look at. “On the way here, we got her first birthday invites from the printer; they’re exactly how I wanted.”
Robby takes a card in one hand and opens it up like he’s reading Ella a baby book, expression warming at the brightly themed invitations for her “Chapter One” birthday party in a few weeks, full of Dr. Seuss style illustrations and whimsical colors. He hands it back to you and grins. “Do we get to hand these out now? Everyone’s been begging me for their invitation to the hottest party in town.”
“You can start giving them out as soon as you’ve dropped this one at daycare,” you confirm with a beaming smile, brushing Ella’s round cheek with your thumb. You plant a kiss on her forehead and murmur, “I’ll see you later, sprout. Love you.”
She gives you one of those smiles that makes it feel impossible to say goodbye for the afternoon. You’ve been doing half shifts since your maternity leave ended, bringing her in during Robby’s lunch break for daycare at the hospital’s complimentary staff center. Thank god for that job perk; you’re not sure you’d make it without being able to peek in on Ella whenever you miss her too much. You’d feel clingy and pathetic about it if Robby weren’t twice as bad, lingering near the daycare every time he has a second to breathe.
Today, though, he uses one of those brief breaks for something different. The moment he sees you shouldering your bag and stepping away for your first break in the private pumping room, he slips in behind you and closes the door. Leaning against the wall, he watches you turn back to him with already rolling eyes. He gives you a sweet smile. “Hi there, mama.”
Unloading your pumping accessories onto the side table next to the cozy recliner Gloria ordered for you, you cut him a suspicious glance. “Something you need, Mikey? Could I interest you in a mini cooler, an extra bra, some sanitizing wipes?”
“All I’m interested in is my girl,” he murmurs, closing the distance between you right away and tugging you into a searing, claiming kiss. His fingers slide beneath the waistband of your scrubs just so he can hold the bare skin of your waist. He presses his forehead to yours and sighs, “Needed my hands on you.”
You giggle as his touch warms you to the core. “Why are you so worked up?”
Robby looks you up and down seriously. “You called me daddy this morning.”
You give him the nastiest eyeing he’s ever experienced, so amused that it borders on sadistic. “If I recall correctly, all I told you was that we shouldn’t let our baby call us by our names. I swear hearing my toddler say ‘Robby’ would be the end for me.”
He puts a hand on either side of your head against the wall, doing that thing where you’re caged against his chest, looking into his rich coffee eyes, breaths coming fast because you want him to make good on what his body’s promising. Gazing firmly at your lips, he points out, “You didn’t say ‘dad,’ though. You said daddy.”
“I assume our one-year-old is probably going to call you that,” you laugh as his hands traverse lower, holding you against the wall now, “unless you have a different idea.”
“I always thought of myself as more of a ‘papa,’” he says nonchalantly. Like he’s not being disgusting. And hot. Always both. “I much prefer the sound of you saying that one particular moniker,” he purrs, pulling you into a deeper kiss. He drags needy lips up your neck and murmurs against your ear, “Say it again for me, sweetheart.”
Robby grabs your ass, digging his fingers into your flesh just enough to make your knees weak. Desperately trying not to get horny at work, you roll your eyes, turn the kiss into a peck, and say, “You’re a pervert.”
“And you’re so insanely sexy back in your scrubs,” he groan as he lifts you up slightly by the curve of your ass so that you lose balance a bit and have to lean in fully to him. “I swear these things hug you like nobody else.”
You huff, trying to suppress a giggle, “Because someone keeps picking up a smaller size for me at the scrub exchange even though my boobs are constantly swollen.”
“I’ll have to say thank you to them,” he chuckles as his hands slide beneath the front of your top now, palms brushing the elastic of your nursing bra. Running his thumbs over the place where your nipples beg against the thick fabric, he murmurs, “You need to pump?”
You roll your eyes. “No, I just like to hang out in here by myself on my breaks.”
“Beats listening to the ducklings whine about their love lives over lukewarm leftovers.” You move toward the recliner where you usually set up shop, but Robby stops you with a strong hand on your waist. He gives you those ridiculous puppy dog eyes of his and muses, “You know, the daycare has an extensive supply of your breastmilk and we’ve got a whole freezer full at home.”
Knowing exactly what he’s asking for, you raise an eyebrow at his reddening cheek and challenge, “And that’s a bad thing? I was under the impression that breastmilk was something of a necessity for Ella.”
“Ella’s weaning,” he replies, maneuvering you into the recliner and kneeling in front of you. He pushes your knees apart and waits to see if you’re going to stop him. You definitely aren’t. The privacy of the pumping room as the only breastfeeding person on the floor had become, admittedly, a little bit of a problem for your and Robby’s ‘we should try to fuck less at work’ rule/attempt. Not feeling each other up between patients had never been a strong suit of yours. With his fingers looped in your waistband at your hips, Robby looks up at you and pouts. “The baby has plenty and daddy’s thirsty.”
“Michael, ew!” You throw your head back and laugh even as you lift your hips slightly so he can tug your scrubs down and away from your body. “You could not have possibly said something less sexy than that.”
“You doubt my abilities,” he tuts. Then he pulls on the hem of your top, clearly a request, and you resist the urge to make fun of him as you strip it off. You expect him to get right down to business, muttering something about only having a few minutes the way he usually does, but he doesn’t. Robby sits back for a second and just takes in the glory of your frumpy nude bra and your practical cotton underwear. To Robby, there’s absolutely nothing hotter. Gazing at your postpartum stretch marks just beginning to turn silver, your widened hips, your swollen boobs, he sighs lovingly, “You’re fucking perfect.”
“You’re delusional, but I love you anyway.”
Robby narrows his eyes at you and tilts his head to the side. Even as he gives you that admonishing stare, he slides his hand down the front of your underwear and finds your clit with his thumb, gently nudging the hood upward to expose your sensitivity. As you gasp from the light contact, he presses, “Are you saying my fiancée is anything less than fucking perfect? I could take you to court for slander over a lie like that.” When you just purse your lips in response, any joke or argument fizzling away as your pussy starts to flutter in want for him, he smirks. “That’s what I thought. Now just be good and take those pretty tits out for me.”
God, when did you get so pathetically weak for him? Just over a year ago he had to kiss your feet just to get your attention and now you’re here misusing hospital facilities so that he can get on his old man knees and use his only break to get you off and- Yeah, he’s still whipped, actually. So at least it’s mutual. As you slide your bra off, he does the same to your panties.
And, the moment you’re naked, laid bare for him when he’s still clothed, he’s done screwing around.
Robby spits onto your pussy and then watches his own fingers sliding over your slit, rapt as his saliva mixes with your glistening wetness. He curses under his breath when you squirm slightly in response, widening your legs further to give him better access. You rasp out, “Did you lock the door behind you?”
He meets your eyes. “Who’s going to interrupt you when you’re pumping?”
“Maybe someone looking for the chief attending they watched follow me in?”
He clicks his tongue, relenting, and tells you firmly, “I locked the door. Now relax and let me enjoy myself down here.”
“Let you enjoy yourself? Is that what’s-”
Your words strangle off into a moan as he plunges his middle finger inside of you, curling it back toward himself. Your eyes close and your head goes back against the headrest and nothing else matters anymore. Robby slips in his second finger and praises softly, “There you go. Good girl. Just let me play with my pussy for a minute.”
You can’t even tease him for saying it because he’s just too stupidly hot. It is his pussy, plain and simple. So, with nothing but mischief and need in your tone, you murmur, “Yes, daddy.”
“Oh, fucking hell,” he grunts, rocking upward on his knees so that he can kiss over the top of your chest, nibbling the base of your neck and dragging his tongue down your sternum. Pumping his fingers firmly but slowly inside of you, Robby uses his thumb to focus attention on your clit. With his breath ghosting one of your tingling nipples, he says, “You’re too powerful, you know that?”
“No idea.” Your back arches into his touch and the pressure building behind your nipples builds and aches. The distance between his mouth and your tits is so, so close and way too far. You whine unabashedly, knowing he’s not strong enough to deny you, “Mikey, please. It’s gonna start hurting and leaking.”
“Can’t have you hurting,” he soothes. You can feel how much he means it, deeper than the sexy teasing. He’s protective of you, more and more every day, and his lust is only an extension of that. His eyes flick up to yours one more time, reminding you, “Remember you have to be quiet; we aren’t at home.”
You bite your lower lip and assure him, “I won’t get you in trouble, Dr. Robinavitch.”
“That’s my girl. Enough trouble all on her own.”
Before you can come up with any kind of reply, he latches onto your left breast. Because he’s made this something of a habit – you’ve been incredibly lucky with milk production, to the point of annoyance at times – Robby knows exactly what to do. His lips and tongue and suction are just right and suddenly you’re being flooded with sweet oxytocin that mingles with the pleasure between your legs. Delight prickles up your spine and you gasp, stifling the sharp sound with the back of one hand while the other flies into Robby’s hair. Pleased, he groans around your nipple and swallows the constant stream of your gentle, mild breastmilk until the flow slows enough to switch to the other side. He even takes the care to quickly grab one of your breast pads to catch any overflow from the breast he’s leaving behind.
God, he’s sexy.
Your body can’t help responding to Robby’s intoxicating mix of tenderness and gluttony that blur together into one entity. He’s building you and consuming you at the same time. And he definitely doesn’t miss the way your moans turn high-pitched and needy as your pussy gets wetter around his fingers. He stays the course. Steady. Much as he craves you cumming on his hand, he wants to make sure you’re thoroughly comfortable first, your breasts tended to with a meticulous desire he didn’t know existed until the first time he tasted you like this. Before you gave birth, he fucked you voraciously, so ravenous to have you that the world stopped existing until he came.
Then, once you were ready to be intimate again after being cleared, Robby felt a seismic shift inside of himself. Sex became an act of devotion. Gratitude. He thanked your body for its abundance and its giving with every touch. You’re not just his girl anymore; you’re the person who gave him the world. The woman who raised him from the dead. He needs to have you, to make you comfortable, to keep you safe. To taste you is to be blessed by you.
And, fuck, is it a blessing when he feels your cunt clenching slowly around his fingers.
You’re gripping his hair so he stays on your breast and your toes curl, legs locking him to you, and you’re blossoming. Your hips buck upwards and he stills you with his free hand, firm, demanding, insisting that you take as much pleasure as he can give you. He only releases you when you’re physically squirming and biting your lip hard to stop the moans from the overstimulating sparks filling you.
Robby eases you back to earth with a few final licks on each side of your chest, slowly pulling his fingers out as your body relaxes. He closes his eyes and savors the taste of you as he cleans off his fingers with his tongue. You take a minute to catch your breath, just gazing down at Robby as he looks at you with so much love it tightens your chest.
After he helps you get dressed again, Robby takes a swig of water and grins. “Thanks, baby, now I can skip the vending machine.”
You smack him on the chest and duck your head to hide your warming face against his shoulder. “I hate you.”
He catches your hand and kisses it. “I love you.”
Of course, it only becomes more of a problem from there. Eight out of ten times, Ella’s in your arms or his and your voice is sappy and ‘daddy’ is just something that slips from your tongue as easily as ‘mommy’ does his. He can keep his mind out of the gutter when it’s ‘Want daddy to read you a bedtime story?’ and ‘Show daddy your finger painting.’
But those other times?
Those other times are driving Michael Robinavitch clinically insane.
In the week leading up to Ella’s first birthday party, there are several particularly damning instances.
Robby takes the night shift when Ella’s particularly fussy after you’ve had a rough day, letting you sleep and staying in the nursery with her as long as he has to (and then some more because he just can’t bear to leave when she’s asleep on his bare chest, heartbeats synching up and breaths slowing). When she’s finally settled, Robby slides back into bed next to you. He tries not to rouse you at all, but you feel his weight and warmth, your subconscious recognizing him. When you flip over, your tee rides up around your stomach. Your hips are beautiful beyond belief. He can feel the heat and dampness growing between your legs as you throw your thigh over him and nestle close to his chest, happily murmuring, “Mmm. Thank you, daddy.”
He’s fucking you back to sleep in a matter of minutes, spooning you with needy hips and coaxing out gentle, half-awake whines that drive him crazy. The whole time, he groans quietly under your ear about how much he loves you, how good you feel, how he’s always going to be here for you. He only gets up long enough to throw away the condom before passing out into bliss with you.
The next night, Robby’s in his study, glasses on the tip of his nose, huffing through paperwork while you do Ella’s bedtime routine. Once she’s sleepy and warm from her bath, you knock gently on the study’s glass panel door and push it open. “Wanna join us for story time?”
Absently, he replies, “I’m sorry; I need a minute to finish these notes.”
You bat your lashes playfully and pout, propping Ella, who’s too sleepy to care, adorably on your hip. “Pleeeeease, daddy?”
Ella yawns as Robby’s eyes snap up at the word. He tilts his head to the side and examines you carefully. The mischief in your eyes. The swing of your hips as you balance his baby on your plush body. Ella is such a perfect blend of you both – Robby’s dark waves and inquisitive eyes, your nose and cheeks – and he absolutely melts seeing her falling asleep against your chest. Whenever you’re like this, in one of your comfortable pajama sets with your makeup long gone, he’s punched in the gut by the fact that he missed the first two-thirds of your pregnancy with Ella. He wants to be there with you when you first take the test, when you first hear the heartbeat, when you first notice your bump. When you pair that with the word ‘daddy,’ the potent reminder of how you made him a father and vice versa, it launches him to his feet.
He can’t miss another moment.
Ella’s knocked out not even halfway through “Oh, The Places You’ll Go!” so Robby drags you into the bedroom and starts kissing you feverishly. He’s got you pressed against the wall with his hands between your legs in no time. You’re dizzy from his lust and cumming a second time before he’s even taken his clothes off, his beard scratching your neck and cheek as he praises you. You’re such a good mom, angel. You saved me. Thank you for our family. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Robby finally loses all composure at Ella’s party.
You’ve spent the morning ordering him around – foreplay in its own right – and now the living room, kitchen, and dining room are decked out in all of the homemade decorations you’ve been working on for weeks. It’s like walking into a children’s book with inviting colors and textures on every surface. Cupcakes frosted with the colors of Ella’s favorite story, candy red-and-white striped hats you’d custom-ordered, cotton candy on striped sticks for truffula trees. It’s so whimsical that even your most serious coworkers gently gasp and smile as they take everything in.
Ella’s whisked off into a sea of cooing and kisses, so you and Robby are on full hosting duty. With his friends and family gathered around to celebrate your daughter’s first birthday, you seem determined to give him a heart attack.
Called across the room: “Can you grab us a cupcake, daddy?”
With a sweet smile: “Daddy, you wanna open the next present?”
A freshly manicured hand on his bicep as you breeze by: “Love you, daddy.”
It’s positively unrelenting. He’s trying to stay focused on hosting the party, but the fact of the matter is that you’re wearing a flouncy little dress that swishes just right and you’re positively glowing as everyone dotes on his daughter and every single time you glance back at him it’s with a total, unending love that he’s worked so damn hard to be worthy of. It’s so distracting that, with Ella on hip, he spills half a pitcher of Yink Pink Ink Drink down the front of your dress when you say ‘daddy’ a little too flirtatiously as he turns the corner out of the kitchen to top off glasses.
The neon pink juice saturates your chest and you’re already laughing at the slack-jawed look of horror on his face. As you flick beads off your hands, rivulets running down onto the floor, you scoff, “Michael Robinavitch, they let you practice emergency medicine and you can’t even walk a pitcher from one room to another?”
Ella tries to squirm away from the disaster and Robby calls, “Dana, would you mind-”
She stands up, puts out both her hands, and grins. “Gimme that baby.”
Ella squeals with delight as Dana takes her and starts making silly faces. At the same time, Trinity heads over and starts to clean up the mess, ushering you away with something firm about how she’s not going to have you cleaning up at your own party.
So you and Robby, with matching pink stains, escape up the steps and steal away into your en suite bathroom. Grumbling under your breath, you shimmy out of your dress and turn on the tap to work on the stain. Before you can get to work, though, Robby snatches it out of your hand and turns off the water, closing the distance between you in a few steps. He’s already shed his own shirt and your eyes rake hungrily over his bare torso. Some of his chest hair had gone silver since Ella was born, matching his beard, and it makes you ravenous.
Faux exasperated, you protest, “Robby, I need to rinse that.”
He tosses the dress into the bathtub, tugs you into his arms, and practically growls, “I’ll do it in a minute.”
You suppress a smirk, seeing the lust building in his expression, and push once more, “I need to grab a change of-”
“No you don’t,” he interrupts as he turns you around by the hip. Palming your ass, so much of it exposed by the delicate lacy thong you must’ve put on just to ruin him, he amends softly, “Not yet.” He kisses the top of your shoulder and plants more up toward your neck. You can’t help the way you sigh, releasing tension, when his hands roam over your stomach and up to your damp bra. “I need you, baby. You make me crazy.”
You roll your hips backwards and he tugs them flush with his so you can feel his hardening cock against your ass. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, you tease, “Need me, huh?”
“So fucking bad,” he confirms, voice rough and gravelly. His hands go to the sides of your panties and he begs, “Can I have you? Please?”
After nibbling your lower lip for a second, you can both tell you’ve already given into the idea. You were hoping to save the big reveal of your intentions for after the party, but he looks so damn good with his chest hair and thick thighs on full display. Turning around so you can wrap your arms around the back of his neck, you check nervously, “You think nobody’s gonna notice us being gone?”
“They’re all cute baby drunk,” he replies pointedly. As you agree with a nod, he cages you against the counter and kisses you hard, hands gripping your waist, the need obvious in every touch. You reach for his boxer briefs and tug them down urgently; he chuckles and kicks them off before doing the same to you. Then he turns you around and kisses you toward the bedroom, guiding you onto the bed and gazing down at you and your beautiful body. The body that gave him his daughter. The body that gives him life. When he has you laid bare beneath him, he whispers reverently, “There’s my girl. So fucking pretty.”
Then, knowing the clock is ticking, Robby drops onto the covers in front of you and laps at your clit. He still makes a point of not rushing you, but he sets an urgent pace that makes it perfectly clear your pleasure is his singular focus. The moment he tastes you, he’s rutting his cock down against the bed, pathetic like a humping teenager because he gets to have you, please you, be yours.
When he slightly nudges up the hood of your clit to make you even more sensitive, you dig your fingers into his scalp and groan, “Fuck, daddy, just like that.”
Robby’s next moan into your cunt is rumbling and low and so drunk it almost surprises you. Almost. The sound borders on pathetic. He’s never wanted anything more than your orgasm on his lips. You’re powerless to deny him that simple pleasure, especially when his tongue rolls insistently over the exact place you need exactly how you need it. He doesn’t let up through your orgasm, arms looped around your hips, tasting starlight from your core until he’s high on it.
When you’re blissed out and breathy, he crawls up above you on the bed, presses his forehead to yours, and groans, “You’re driving me absolutely nuts lately, you know that? Daddy this, daddy that. Please, daddy. Yes, daddy. Thank you, daddy. Fuck, daddy, just like that.” He buries his face in your neck and breathes hard. Then he reaches into the top drawer of the bedside table and fishes out a condom. Before opening it, he gives you another peck and muses, “How am I supposed to stop wanting to fuck you when you’re making me think about you having my babies every five minutes?”
After a second of letting him agonize, you wind your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, turn him to center to face you, and reply, “You’re not supposed to stop.”
His eyes go straight to your lips. His heart rate spikes as he considers the implication. Not wanting to trip face-first into wishful thinking, he clarifies, “What are you saying, sweetheart?”
“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” You spread your legs wider, exposing the shiny fresh desire between them, and give him a heady, wanting gaze. He sucks in a sharp breath when you yank him forward, his bare cock nearly touching your pussy, the condom still dangling from his fingers. You run your hand down the center of his chest, scratching his hair just right, and purr, “Wanna make a baby, daddy?”
With a grin splitting his lips, he cups your face in his hand. “Are you serious?”
“Completely,” you giggle back, thrilled to finally admit it after ruminating on the idea for a few months, debating if you were ready physically and mentally to be pregnant again. Now, all you can imagine is how great it’ll be to share all of the early milestones with Robby by your side and Ella old enough to understand some of the moments. “I know it’ll be a lot with the whole ‘two under two’ thing, but-”
“I’m convinced,” he interrupts with an enthusiastic, infectious laugh. “This last year with Ella has been the best gift. I can’t even imagine how good doubling that will be.” He lines up his cock with your entrance and holds your hip steady as you try to squirm for more. “Tell me one more time.”
“C’mon, Robby,” you plead, reaching up to grip his bicep, “knock me up.”
As he slides into you bare for the first time since Ella was born, he shudders and sighs contentedly. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”
You pull him into a kiss and whimper in response, his thick cock stretching you just how you fantasize about all the time, his lips forever marrying yours, his eyes shut tight in ecstasy. The way Robby’s mouth falls open in that tiny shattered ‘O’ when he feels your walls holding him close will never fail to give you an ego high. He looks almost innocent as he fucks you, like he’s praying at a service, his whole body trembling slightly as he tries to hold back. You’re luxurious for him, silky as a sunbeam, and he wants to bury himself inside of you for the rest of time.
Feeling the way his hips stutter and beg, you press your lips to the curve of his ear, breath hot and loving, his beard scratching your cheek deliciously, and urge him, “You don’t have to force yourself to last, Michael. Cum inside of me. I need it as bad as you do.”
Robby locks his hips to yours with short, deep thrusts as he grunts, “Fuck, angel.”
The feeling of his warmth coating you is cozy and safe and intimate. The two of you curled up by the hearth of a shared fire. He stays slotted inside of you for a long time, savoring the way your body holds onto his, and kisses your cheeks and collar and neck as many times as he can.
A knock on the door yanks you both into reality. Jack’s voice, of course. “There’s still a party out here, you freaks. C’mon, we want to cut the damn cake.”
Robby laughs and calls back, “Be right there, Uncle Jackie.”
synopsisyou and Trinity decide you've had enough of being the casual booty call, agreeing to play hard to get to prove to your partners you can go without them. easier said then done
warningsmut. oral (f! receiving) fingering, language, pinv, unprotected sex, MDNI. slight praise kink. no use of y/n
authornotethe way in which i need to be driven mad by this man using me is concerning to feminism
main masterlist. other Robby fic
“I don't get it!” said Santos for... well, you had no idea how many times she'd repeated herself but you were considering making it a drinking game. Every time she said she 'didn't understand' you resolved to take a shot. “I thought we were fine, doing great and casual- what- what is casual?”
Whitaker's hand hesitated in the air like they were in class. “Well I think by casual she means-”
“I know what casual means, Fuckle-berry,” said Santos quickly. “But it was casual now it's just weird.”
You nodded along, humming.
She groaned, hands running through her hair in frustration. “I don't get it!”
You took a long gulp of your wine.
“How do you handle it?” Trinity asked, arms wide in question at you.
“Me?”
“Yeah, how do you and Robby do casual?”
“Oh- we... it's- um-” you stumbled over your words, hoping that if you let it up long enough she'd take it back and start on her problems again. She didn't and she stood in front of you and Whitaker, waiting for an explanation.
The whole thing between you and Robby had started about the same time Santos and Garcia started. In an awkward confrontation that was you and Trinity bumping into each other in your shared bathroom, both your hairs messed up and both supporting bruises suspiciously in the shape of lips on your necks.
When you returned to your room you and Robby waited eagerly to see who would flee Santos's room. Neither too shocked to find Garcia.
“It's um?” Trinity asked.
“It's going,” you said into your wine glass, finishing it and pouring in more. The truth was for a while things had been odd, on your end more so.
Casual was a label you thought you could do, that when Robby said to you a week after sleeping together, his sheets over the both of your bodies that he liked keeping it simple. Sex. Release. You thought you could do it.
Almost three months since then and you were regretting it because every time you saw doctors eyes lingering over Robby, every time you heard his 'seven-week rule' and every time you saw happy couples fawning over each other in the ED your stomach twisted.
You didn't realise you wanted that until it was dangled in front of you and snatched away all in the same minute.
Trinity's brows rose. “Oh?”
You looked to where Whitaker was next to you, hoping for sympathy. You only found curious eyes. “It's just different than before.”
“Different how?” asked Dennis.
“Is it still casual?”
You scoffed, mumbling under your breath. “Yeah to him.”
“You want to be more?”
You didn't know if she was accusing but your room-mates expecting eyes on you heated your body in shame and embarrassment. “And you don't with Garcia?"
“Ok, enough!” suddenly Whitaker stood up. “The two of you, we need to sort this out.”
With a vacant seat next to you Trinity plopped herself down and you gave her your wine. You just decided to take the bottle.
“I cannot stand it anymore, okay! The two of you, we're gonna change this,” he said. “Trin- no more pining and waiting for Garcia to call at like one am.”
She was wanting to retort but only folded her arms over her chest as he carried on.
“And you-” he focused on you. “Need to stop crying over Robby. You guys can do better.”
“Yeah in a world where we're not working twelve hour shifts five days a week,” you said. The idea of casual hook ups wasn't anything new to the ED, not even the hospital. It was easy way of escape without the pressure of dating when all their time was spent saving lives or charting about saving lives or studying how to save lives.
On the coffee table in front of you Trinity's phone pinged and she reached for it like it was seconds away from self-destructing.
She tucked her phone into her chest to read the text before slamming it back down.
You caught a glance at the words and the contact. Can't make it tonight, I'll hit you up tomorrow- G
“You're gonna leave them,” he said.
You and Trinity sat up. “What?”
“No!”
There was a flicker of fear in his eyes.
“Okay- I take it back,” he said, surrendering. “Then how about give them a taste of their own medicine.”
“Their medicine?” you asked.
Whitaker gently nudged the empty glasses and cans of beer aside, perching on the edge of the coffee table, appealing to the two of you. “How many times have they cancelled plans, or said you couldn't come over to ask you to come over two hours later?”
You hadn't realised how perceptive he was.
“Now, make it so you guys call the shots. They want to come round, you say no.”
The idea was new to you. You'd always wanted Robby. You spent half your spare time wanting him and the other half having sex with him. You'd never even wanted to say no.
“So then we what, don't have sex?” asked Santos.
“You will,” he said. “You create distance, get them wanting and crying or what-whatever and then they'll realise they've messed up.”
You thought we was giving them too much credit.
Santos chuckled. “Huckleberry, are you telling us to play hard to get?”
He thought about it, eyes moving as if he was calculating it. “Yes!”
That's how plan 'hard to get' started. It was agreed you and Santos, the next time Garcia and Robby asked you to come over you'd say no.
Easier in practise when you work with them.
The next day was a slower day, un-usual in that sense. It meant everyone had more time to linger around each other.
“And so I said to him- officer-” said Myrna, lying on the bed between you and Robby. She'd seizure, hurt her leg and needed it disinfected and cleaned- not for the first time in her life. There was a mix of glass and gravel that needed plucking out and apparently the attending of the ED had nothing better to do that join you in the task. “What would you have done if you caught your third husband eating out another woman?”
“And did he say shoot him?” asked Robby. He was bent over the same leg as you, your heads so close you were either gonna head butt or kiss. Not likely over the state of her leg.
“No, he didn't say anything, he just arrested me!”
Robby hummed, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “Imagine that.”
“You know Myrna sometimes I can't tell if all these stories are true,” you said, taking a small bit of glass and adding it to the pile you'd already created.
“Oh they're all true, honey, I never lie. Unlike Mark that two faced bastard.”
“Which one was Mark?” you asked.
“The fourth husband. Good body and shit everything else!” she said with a wheeze. Abruptly she grabbed your hand. “Are you single?”
Robby glanced up at you, creases of amusement at the corner of his eyes.
You looked away first. “Why, you asking me out?”
“If you're single, stay single!” she said. “Men, all they are are liars! Lying bastards! And babies! I hardly even shot the guy!”
“Am I so bad, Doctor?” asked Robby looking over the frames of his glasses at you.
Was he so bad? No. He was short-tempered sometimes, moody, didn't accept help from anyone. But you knew he could be gentle, you knew his true belly laugh and the smile he gave at mornings when you were still in bed. You just wish you knew if he ever saw himself staying in that bed a little longer, if he ever wanted to make breakfast and take the day together, stealing moments throughout.
“No,” you said, looking back down to her leg that was almost clean. “You're not.”
Myrna was oddly silent but you could see her head moving between the two of you. “Don't go there sweetheart,” she said, a word of warning. “This one might look fun but he's all danger and heartbreak.”
“Me? No,” said Robby with an air of un-care. “I'm a teddy bear.”
Five minutes later you and Robby were instructing Perlah wrapping her leg before throwing off your gloves and leaving her to it.
“How many husbands you think Myrna had?” he asked.
“Oh there's no telling,” you replied, fetching her chart to finish off the notes. At some point someone had put a star next to her name, as if she was VIP.
Robby leant next to you, scanning around the ED. “Any plans tonight?”
“On a Wednesday? Nop.”
“Wanna come over?”
There was an abrupt and loud clear of a throat.
You hadn't realised Whitaker was there but he was watching the two of you, closely. When you met his eyes he gave a small subtle shake of his head.
Robby looked. “You got a cough, Whitaker?”
He cleared his throat, sliding down in his chair. “No.”
The agreement. It was all fine in practise but how were you supposed to say no when you just said you had no plans and you really wanted to have sex with him! It was the glasses, you were sure that was what did it. The way he pulled them on and pulled them off, the focus it gave him and the way they slipped down his nose.
“So, tonight?” he asked again, voice low.
Only a few people knew, like your room-mates and you were sure others had guessed. Robby wanted to keep it private. Or a secret, you'd never asked for clarification.
You caught Whitakers gaze on yours, watchful. He didn't say anything but you wondered if he'd be disappointed. Would you even be disappointed in yourself? “I can't tonight.”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Okay.”
He didn't sound annoyed. He didn't sound anything. It was impossible to tell.
“Yeah, we just- there's this thing-”
“Thought you had no plans?” he asked, an almost amused rise in his brows.
Ah. “It's like- not a plan- just a- a room mate thing. You know?”
Robby looked to Whitaker as if to confirm.
He nodded. “Yeah! Every Wednesday. We watch films.”
“Films,” you confirm.
“And talk.”
“We talk.”
Robby nodded. “Sounds thrilling.”
“Robby!” Dana called. “Got a trauma, woman in her thirties. Five minutes.”
“Got it," he said but he was still slumping over the counter. He took his time moving, stretching up till his shirt rode up enough to expose that slither of skin that held so many promises. “Some other time then.” His hand ghosted the small of your back before he disappeared.
You watched him go, realising you wouldn't spend the night buried in his bored but sleepless and restless.
Whitaker replaced Robby at your side. “See? Doesn't that feel good?”
You answered truthfully. “No.”
That night you, Santos and Whitaker sulked on the sofa, face masks over your faces with a bowl of popcorn left on the table and a shitty movie filling the silence.
Your phone lay face up with nothing from Robby and from Trinity's expression you figured she'd had nothing either.
You'd been to the bathroom once, took your phone with you and debated texting him but you never got that far. You only flicked through texts, casual one's at first. Small 'Are you coming over?' or 'You left your shirt at mine.' There were some dotted from him, on times you were both too busy to meet where things got more... riskier. His texts started simple but you could always catch on to his wants, leading his want.
Things like 'Thought about you today,' or 'you looked good today,' but he never just complimented you for the sake of it.
The texts didn't help so you turned your phone off and re-joined the two all the while your head and heart were in bed with Robby.
The next day passed like another dry spell.
It was busy- too make up for the quiet day beforehand. You didn't have time to greet Robby before being thrown into the chaos from a pile up on the highway. All day your bodies shuffled past each other, his hands lingering on your arms when he passed or always standing next to you in trauma.
It felt something like punishment.
Or a test.
By Friday you were crawling out of your skin, still dealing with the ramifications of the last two days. You hadn't even seen that Robby had text you the night before, so exhausted from work you crashed only spotting his name on your phone the morning you woke from the blare of your alarm.
“You're avoiding me,” he said, kneeling at the computer you typed furiously at to get your charting down. It was a casual move he used, usually un-tying and re-tying his shoes. This time, he simply knelt, seemingly done with pretence.
“What? No.”
“I've barely seen you the last few days," he said, wetting his lips. “Is there something wrong?”
“No, no, I've just been super busy,” you said, tapping on the computer.
Robby shuffled next to you. His hand laid next to yours. He didn't take your hand or stop you but his fingers fidgeted like he didn't know what else to do with himself. “Did I do something?”
You looked down at him, spotting the crease between his brows. “No.”
It was the closest you'd got to seeing him vulnerable.
“So tonight?” he asked. “Feel like I'm losing my damn mind.” His finger was light as it traced your hand, slowly drawing circles.
Tasting Robby was like the first sip of alcohol. It always left you wanting me. Sweet. Bitter. Whatever. You were just left wanting and nothing else, which was why you went crawling back every time. Why saying no had never crosse your mind before. Why the smallest touch from his hand was leaving you in shivers.
You squeezed your eyes shut. “I can't tonight-”
Robby smirked, breathing out a puff of air.
“I would,” you said quickly, turning in your chair to face him. “Believe me, I would, it's just... Trinity is going through some stuff and I just- I don't want to leave her alone, you know.”
It was the truth. Trinity was taking Garcia's silence worse than you or Dennis had anticipated. You knew there was more going on, you only wanted to be there to help her.
Robby perked. “You need me to speak to her?”
“No, no, it's just stuff. She'll be okay I just, want to be safe.”
He nodded but his finger fell from your hand. “Okay.”
“Doctor Robinavitch!” his name was called by the familiar dread of Gloria.
He sighed under his breath as he pushed himself up. “Oh so help me, God.”
By Saturday you were sure Robby thought you were lying and sort out to punish you. He was practically glued at your side all day long. He didn't ask to see you, didn't put his lips near you. But he lingered.
“Okay we don't have a lot of time, there's a lot of bleeding,” said Robby in the face of a trauma, looming over you. “We'll do a Hilar flip.”
“A Hilar flip, are you serious?” said Trinity.
“No other choice.”
You gulped, staring down at the bleeding and misplaced lung. “I've never done one of them before.”
“I'll talk you through it, we'll go easy,” he said, coming at your side. “You're gonna rotate the lung one-eighty, very slow. Very gentle.”
Perhaps it shouldn't have been as erotic as it was. The way his chest heaved against your back, his arm stretching along yours to hold your hand and guide it through the blood to his lung. His face was concentrated next to yours but his breath was hot on your cheek and breathless.
“Go slow.... go slow. Easy.... gentle.... just like that, there we go,” he uttered against your ear.
“Blood loss is slowing down.”
“There we go, you got it,” he mumbled as you slotted it back into its place. “Okay-” Robby moved on like your whole body wasn't trembling. You had to carry on trying to save the guys life after it, like you weren't picturing his entire body draped over yours, whispering filthy things in your ears.
“Thought I was watching a porno there,” said Santos as you all fled the room when the guy was stable.
“Jesus-” you caught your breath, throwing off the gloves and running your hands through your hair, trying to get some air to your neck that sweat.
Santos chuckled to herself. “So does Doctor Robby talk you through it?”
“Trin-” you snap.
“Does he praise you? Is that the kind of thing you're into.”
You didn't respond, hiding in the bathroom to throw cold water onto your face and calm the rush of blood but you could hear Santos outside the door. 'This is a teaching hospital!' she teased.
It became a thing you had to do, get away from him. You couldn't be distracted when dealing with patients. It was bad enough working with him when all you could think about was fucking him!
But Robby seemed to insist in helping you.
“Gaping wounds like this, under the skin we use sub-Q to bring it together,” he instructed as started the stitching for a mans wound on his leg. It was just like anything else, hardly a teaching wound when you knew how to do it. As it was under tissue and there was just no other nurse around Robby insisted.
“Five-O under skin, three-O after that,” he said.
“You think you could show me?”
You both knew you didn't need to be shown but Robby still gave you a small smile and sat on the stall, coming close to you till his meaty thigh was against your own. His hands- though gloved as yours were- still grazed yours as he took the instruments to do it.
“Guide it through... it's finer so you want to extra gentle... lotta care...”
You hummed but you couldn't say you were watching it with keen eyes. You weren't watching the way the stitches came together just the way his hands flexed, his fingers moved.
“Start deep... all the way in... bury the knot in... yeah, see how it comes together just like that?”
You nodded with an absent mind.
Robby held the equipment out to you. “Go ahead.”
You hesitated. Maybe you should have paid more attention.
He all but shoved them into your hand. “You're a big girl, you got it.”
Santos's voice played it your head. Were you into this?
With a breath you steadied yourself and went in. As he had before Robby leant over you, his body practically weighing you down.
You took the thread under the skin, pulling together just like he had.
“Bit deeper-” Robby's hands guided your arms. They were as light as a feather at your elbows before slowly sliding down your arms with a firmer hold, leading the threads.
You remembered his tight hold on you when he wanted you in place on the bed, when he was was dragging clothes off your body or wrapping a hand around your neck-
Robby called your name, watching you expectantly. His eyes were softened at the edges but they grew darker, the smallest bit of a smirk at the corner of his lips. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.
“Right... sorry-” you went as deep as he instructed, knowing his face was concentrated on you and your hands.
“Do you want me to leave?” asked the patient.
If he could leave his leg and leave it would've been great.
“We'll get you out of here in no time,” said Robby.
You'd thought that maybe the stitching at taken so long it was almost time to leave. Maybe you could talk to Whitaker and Santos about this hard to get thing. It was only eleven and you had more than six hours left with situations that constantly brought you and Robby together. Even when it didn't, there he was, whispering words of encouragement.
“You got this... nice and easy.... doing really good there...”
Or the simple phrase that had you hiding in the bathroom for five minutes.
“Good girl.”
When the end of the day came you ran out of there, gasping in air and rushing back back to your place.
“Hey,” you greeted walking through the door.
Trinity was already there, looking like she was ready to leave, jacket thrown over her scrubs she hadn't changed out of even though she finished an hour before you. “Hey.”
“Where's Huckleberry?”
“Oh he's at Amy's tonight.”
You scoffed. “Woah. What a speech about doing better and playing hard to get but as soon as the chance comes to play farm. So, movie tonight? I can order pizza?”
“Actually, I'm just on my way out too,” she said. “Garcia called.”
You slumped. Your entire body slumped. Your heart gave up. “What? I thought we all made a deal?”
“We did, I played hard to get now she wants to see me,” she said.
“I haven't seen Robby in three days!”
“So go to his, get dicked down, girl,” she said, moving past you with a breeze. “I'm sorry, we can talk about how much of a bitch I am when I'm back from having the best sex yet! Later!”
She was out the door before you could chastise her. You shut it after her, falling upon it.
You'd ran from the ED to stay strong, to avoid another interaction with Robby that would have you climbing his bones in an empty room. You'd happily have done it with the teasing he'd subjected you to all day. For your friends and the promise you'd made you remained strong.
You'd never do that again.
Saturday night after the longest shift of your life and you had the place to yourself. It was rare. Either Denis or Trinity were home or you were spending the night at Robby's.
Your phone was heavy in your pocket.
Call him.
But the problem still lied un-answered. You were still at Robby's beck and call, begging for his attention. Begging him to be hard thinking about you so he could fuck you into the mattress to be professional the net day and treat you like you were just another MR.
You didn't want special treatment so to say, didn't want him to give you the easy patients or get you into the traumas more. You just wanted a smile, or a glimpse of .... love.
Maybe your friends were okay with what they had. You weren't.
You turned your phone off for the night and stripped from your scrubs, changing into a large shirt and blasting music Trin hated and Denis claimed to hate (but you'd heard him playing your playlist in the shower). For a crazy night alone you caught up on washing several pairs of scrubs and anything else, cleaned out the freezer leaving you barren of anything to eat. Maybe you'd even iron some normal clothes-
That's at least what you were thinking when there was a knock at the door.
You'd hoped it was Denis or Trin coming back, tails between their legs, keys forgotten.
Robby stood on the other side of the door.
You stood, frozen, shocked to see him there. He was just as still, waiting with raised brows. “Doctor Robby. Is everything okay?”
His backpack was slung over his shoulder, his scrubs only slightly dirtied from the day. But his eyes were alive and his body didn't sag with exhaustion like usual. His eyes darted back behind you. “Can I come in?”
You held open the door, closing it slowly behind you.
Robby had only been to your place once before. He looked the open living space open with interest. Typically your meet ups were at his, on account he lived alone and his bed was much nicer to be down on than yours.
“Er- Whitaker and Santos aren't home, if- if this is a hospital thing.”
“It's not,” he said, lowering his bag at the sofa.
“Oh?”
He turned, leaning against the back of it. “It's a me and you thing.”
“Oh.”
His arms flexed as he folded them over his chest, the green of his top under his scrub bunched at the forearms. His head ducked, trying to get a read on you. “So?”
You rocked on your heels, realising the shortened of the shirt you wore. Not that it wasn't anything he had seen before. “So...”
“What's going on?” he asked. There was still nothing in his voice to give away his true thoughts, only a slight edge of urgency.
“What-what-what do you mean?”
Robby listed off what he saw was wrong like symptoms. “You've been avoiding me, you never answered my texts, you didn't want to see me the other night nor tonight though you have the place to yourself-”
“I didn't realise they were gone,” you said.
“Okay so every other time?” he asked. “If I did something you can tell me. I'm a big guy, I can take it.”
It was a chance to voice up every ill thought you'd had but all you could think about was how big he was. Standing there, jutted on the back of the couch with his scrubs around his arms and thighs.
“You didn't do anything,” you said, though you weren't looking at his eyes more his arms.
They flexed again like he knew what he was doing. His voice dropped, finally to something you could name. “So tell me. what's going on.”
If you threw yourself at him you knew the chances of him taking you to bed were high, but the chances of you regretting it in the morning when he had rolled out of bed, dressed and left you were higher.
“I just-” you blew out a breath, readying yourself for the dismiss. “I don't think I can do this anymore.”
Robby waited like he was listening to the words re-play. His head lowered as he nodded, taking it in. “May I ask why?”
“It's the casual thing,” you rushed out before you could take it back. “I don't think I can do casual. I thought I could, but I-I can't.”
He nodded, chin tucked into his chest and for a moment you thought you really had upset him. But then he straightened up, pushed himself from the sofa and shrugged. His boots thudded heavy as he stepped to you slow. “Okay then.”
Was this the moment when you got the door for him on the way out?
“Okay, so... um.... I guess I'll see you-”
Robby's hands grasped your cheeks and he kissed you quick, hard. His lips tasted as they always did with a hint of mint-freshness. They were rough as always as they worked against yours, opening you up to him as always-
You brushed away, shaking your head. “I um- Robby I can't-”
He took a deep, shuddering breath. He stepped closer to you, the heat of his body waving over you. “We don't have to be casual anymore, I don't want to be casual- not anymore.”
Everyone knew Robby only knew casual. Only selected few ever got past seven weeks. Heck you hadn't counted how long this had been going on for, maybe ten weeks but that could be nothing. You were good sex, that was all.
“Robby-”
“Listen, listen-” he said, arms waving around you before settling on your forearms. “You don't want casual, neither do I. You want me to ask? You want me to ask you to be my girlfriend, I'll ask.”
“Robby you don't date,” you tried to tell him.
He scoffed. “I date. But not anymore, not if I have you.”
Had word of the deal got out? Was Robby just tired after his shift? Delusional?
“Hey, hey-" his hands ran through your hair, cradling your cheeks. “I should've said it earlier, I know but I want this. I want serious.”
His eyes crinkled as he looked at you, the edges of his gaze soft. “You don't just have to say this. You can have anyone else-”
Robby's head ducked into the crook of your neck, brushing your hair back and pressing light kisses to the expanse of your neck. “I don't want anyone else, I want you.”
Your body awakened in shivers that he elicited.
His fingers wound to the front of your body, slowly peeling away the buttons of the shirt till it pooled at your ankles. He didn't move to ravage you, his lips remained light as they kissed down your neck, finding your collarbone and working a mark there.
Your hands wound up his arms, clutching at his shoulders. “Robby-”
“Not this time,” he uttered against your collarbone.
You knew what you called him when it was you and him. “Michael-”
“Good girl.”
You moaned out at the words, the moan you'd held all day revibrating around your flat.
He slowly kicked odd his boots and helped you throw off his scrub top before he kissed you again.
You only got a short glimpse at the body you craved before his tongue, hot and heavy, slid into you mouth, bathing in the warmth. His hands were rough as they studied every inch of your body, fingertips digging into skin.
“I want you, sweet girl,” he mumbled against your lips as you scaled your hands under his shirt and along his stomach till your fingers skimmed under his waistband.
His mouth opened against yours, groaning at this slightest touch. “Oh-”
His arms scooped you up, bringing your body up and flush against him as his arms were strong on your back, kissing you. It was all wet tongue and soft lips as he stumbled back on the edge of your couch.
“Santos will kill me if we have sex on our couch,” you gasped.
Robby rose a brow. “Oh, we're having sex?” he teased.
“I should hope so.”
You kissed you hard again, wetting the both of your mouths in delectable smacks of your lips. The two of you stumbled away to your room and his body caged you in as the two of you fell atop your sheets.
You crawled up the bed as Robby's face fell between your chest. His tongue made wet paths from each breast, taking a nipple in his mouth and his hand groping at the other one till you withered against his body.
“Michael-”
He moaned into your breast and shoved a meaty thigh between your legs. “Grind on me,” he demanded.
Your body did against him as if it only listened to his command.
He mouthed your other breast, groping where his tongue had pressed before. All the while you body moved against his thigh, dragging your pussy against him.
“Yeah.... jus' like that... god.... can feel you.... so good,” he uttered as he jutted his thigh against you.
Your hands went to his shoulders, messaging the skin there until he came back up your body and shoved his tongue down your throat again. Your arm wrapped around his neck, keeping him into you.
All the while you wet down his scrubs.
“You want serious?” he uttered against you, pulling back enough to see you.
You nodded, hair splayed over your pillow.
Robby nodded along, eyes hooded. His hand slid down between your bodies. “I can do serious.”
His finger slid into you, working in and out in slow thrusts. But even the meassured curl of his finger had you holding him, back arching from the bed.
“Mmph-”
“Don't be quiet,” he said, nuzzling his head in you neck, biting the skin there. “Don't do that.”
Another finger curled in and you moaned on. You weren't quiet usually, there was nothing more than Robby liked than being loud. Everything was measured in the ED, out of it, buried inside of you or hot mouths on each other had Robby groaning, moaning and wanting you to do the same.
His fingers thrusted knuckle deep in and out again, the soft moving of skin moving around the room as your breaths covered the sound.
His fingers moved quick as your breaths grew laboured. He sucked the skin of your neck, thrusting and curling as his hips sort some sort of friction.
You withered against him. “I'm gonna- Michael I'm gonna-”
He released your skin with a small bite and laid his mouth open on yours. “Cum,” he uttered.
“Michael-”
His voice turned harder, the hand that wasn't inside of you wrapping around your neck, pushing you into your bed. “Cum.”
With just the right curl Robby had your pussy in the palm of his hand, slick with your release as he worked you through it, rubbing his hand along your clit with jolts of your body.
“God so good,” he said, looking up at you as a thin sheen of sweat glistened on your bodies. “And all mine?”
You nodded, cheeks flushed. You could feel the heat of your body as strong as it was when he walked in.
“All mine, huh?”
“Yes,” you said, breathless.
Robby slowly took out his fingers from you, putting his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean like it was nothing. He fell back on his feet, fingers working on the ties of his scrubs. “That why you were avoiding me?”
“I wasn't-” your words died in your throat as he dropped his scrubs and boxers in one.
You'd seen his cock enough to know it by memory but the size and fullness of him always rendered you speechless.
Robby knew it to. He stood there with a smirk. “You weren't avoiding me?”
Slowly, he sank to his knees.
“No,” you said, mesmerised by the sight of him going down.
Robby's hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them. He tapped your ankles, getting them on the bed as he got closer to your heat, still leaking from the last orgasm. “Promise?”
The words had hardly left your lips before his tongue pressed into you.
Your entire body moved into his but his arms wrapped around your hips, keeping you pressed into the bed. He moved further up, burying himself in you.
“Aw- fuck-” your hands waved for purchase before curling into the sheets.
He licked a stripe up and down before nudging your lips open and finding himself in there. It wasn't the slow drag of fingers but the desperate kisses and licks of a man hungry. He pulled back, spitting against you. “You won't avoid me again, will you baby?”
You shook your head.
Robby's eyes remained on yours until he buried himself in your pussy. You watched his eyes roll into the back of his head as he moaned into you.
His hands kept you spread open every time they quivered but it didn't take long for his hand to wind down to his cock. You prepped yourself up onto your elbows to watch as he pumped his cock agonizingly slow.
“Want your cock, Robby-”
He halted his movements and you but down on your lip.
“What did you just call me?” he asked, slowly moving up your body.
You knew you were supposed to call him Michael but watching the full swing of his cock stand to attention as he made his way over you was far too distracting.
“Hey-v his hand cupped your chin, forcing you to look up. “Michael.”
You nodded. Your hands reached for his cock, straining to wrap around him.
The only notice of the effect you had was the clench of his jaw.
“Michael,” he repeated, voice almost a growl.
“Michael.”
He nodded.
“Condom?” he asked, jutting back on his heels.
Your hand slowly worked his cock, the pre-cum beading at the tip. You shook your head. You were both clean, you were on the pill but tonight you wanted to feel everything, wanted him to even fill you-
Robby bent his head, spitting down on his cock and your hand. For a moment that's all it was, you hand moving on his cock as your other circled your clit. “God... your hand.... missed you...”
When your strokes got heavier, faster Robby's head fell back and he groaned. His cock was pink, heavy in your hand-
Quickly he grabbed your wrist and threw it off before grabbing the hilt of his own cock and slowly pushing into you.
His throat strained as he groaned at the push in and your back arched into him. “Fuck!” he fell atop you, arms braced at either side. “Shit- ah-”
Your arm wrapped around his shoulders, keeping you in.
“God, you make me crazy,” he uttered, searching for your lips.
The two of you collided in a mess of salvia, tongue, lips as he pushed into you, catching your gasps.
Eventually the rock of his hips grew steady. The creak of your old bed echoed the moves of him against you.
“Shit- ah-” he groaned, shaking off the sweat and the tension.
“Michael,” you said, holding him in closer. “I want you to... go hard.”
Hard he could do. Soft he could do. He would do anything you asked.
His tongue darted out, swiping your lips. “You missed me?”
“So much, so much, so much,” you pulled him down till his weight tested yours, cock deep. “On me.”
“Okay, okay,” he mumbled to himself. He put all his weight down, crashing your body into his bed. He wasn't as young as he once was. By no means but if you wanted it, he'd give it.
Pressed into you his cock went far and deep and he couldn't fully withdraw so it was small, maddening movements.
“Oh god,” he uttered.
You moaned, loud, as he wanted and he was breathless, groaning.
The dull thump of your headboard banged on the wall and something on your bedside table fell off.
Robby's arm stretched out, grabbing your hand and stretching your arms to the headboard, trying to steady it. With the stretch of the bodies he reached that spot in you.
“Aw fuck!” You yelled out, louder than anticipated. “Michael I'm gonna- I'm gonna-”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck-” he grunted with you. His other hand threw to your hip, holding your pelvis flush into you. “Fuck!”
In seconds he let go inside of you and the gush of his cum and the sound of the wet bodies threw you over the edge. His clutch on your hand grew tighter as his body trembled with yours, the spurts of your releases cooling down.
If this was casual Robby wouldn't have lingered, he'd have pulled out, flashed you a smile before using the bathroom.
He moved slower, staying till the both of you were spent. He kissed you, soft and sweet, lips moving around to remember the taste. “I'll move out,” he whispered as he took out his cock.
You stole a glance of both of your release leaking from you and around him before Robby moved aside.
He didn't flee, he didn't go to the bathroom. He pulled the sheets from under your bodies and got the both of you into bed. He laid beside you.
Robby tucked you under his arm, sweat on both your bodies cooling as you laid together. “Feels better when we're serious.” His fingers moved slow on your shoulder, delicate touches like a feather.
If he woke with a new thought, woke with regret you'd deal with it. For the moment you allowed yourself to feel the thump of his heart as the two of you slowly lulled to sleep.
Your alarm was the first thing you picked up in the morning. It's beeping ringing in your ear as you moved to turn the thing off or throw it at the wall-
A weight over your stomach made the effort harder but you got it.
Last night came back to you in the spill of scrubs on the floor and the ache between your legs.
Robby stirred next to you. Last night.
He stayed.
“You on today?” he asked, morning voice rough. You got a look at him, it was a rare sight you got to see him in morning light. His eyes were still shut, his face without the stress the day job gave him. He asked so casual, as if this was a morning routine you'd slipped into years ago.
You hummed, nodding and readying to move-
His arm tightened, drawing you in. “Call in sick.”
You chuckled, but your eyes closed. You promised yourself five more minutes. “My attending might have something to say about that.”
Robby grumbled. “Have a word with him, I'm sure you can be very persuasive.”
Somewhere in you apartment you heard the front door open and close, voices moving around the place.
You hadn't closed the door.
“Hey! We brought coffee and bagels!” called Santos.
“We're sorry for leaving you- we- huh?” you heard Whitaker. “What the?”
The clothes on the floor. The scrub top that would have his doctors badge on it.
You groaned and suddenly Whitaker and Santos were passing the doorway, one smirking, the other shocked.
Robby beside you didn't even stir.
“Good morning, Doctor Robby!” called Santos.
He only lifted a hand in greeting before making sure the covers were over the two of you.
You reached for something heavy, landing on a cushion and aiming at the door. It closed in front of your laughing friends.
summary: you have a sex dream about your attending that leaves you hot, flustered, late for work, and completely off your game. then things go from bad to worse when gossip spreads and the entire emergency department finds out—including dr. robby.
notes: i honestly haven't been this excited or motivated to write in forever, and i just really hope it doesn't suck. this one feels a little different, kind of like... it just flowed? my writing feels less mechanical, i think? i don't know, i feel like i've been stuck in a rut and even though this isn't perfect, it feels like i finally enjoy writing again. i put so much love into this and tried so hard to get the characters right, i just really hope you guys enjoy! please, please let me know what you think!
warnings: more sitcom than drama (just let them have a good day, i beg you), swearing, italics, reader can drive, medical descriptions, blood, medical procedure descriptions (it's not super graphic though), most definitely incorrect medical information (my friend is a doctor, i am not), implied age gap but never specified, very likely incorrect tagalog (i'm sorry in advance), reader doesn't know tagalog, implied smut but nothing explicit, reader gets injured (and stitches), and making out (on shift, lol, nothing graphic but still, mdni please).
word count: 12763
You wake all at once.
Not slowly, not gently, but with one sharp inhale like you’ve surfaced from deep water.
For a second you don’t know where you are. Your room is too warm, the air too heavy, every inch of your skin flushed and slick with sweat. Heat clings to you, your heart pounding wildly in your ears, sheets twisted tight around your legs, and for one disorienting moment you swear you can still feel him—warm hands, breath close, the dizzying pull of something forbidden and overwhelming.
The echo of his voice follows you up from sleep, low and wrecked and impossibly real.
Dr. Robby.
Your stomach flips.
“Fuck,” you mumble into your pillow, already mortified, already knowing your brain has crossed a line it absolutely shouldn’t have this time.
Because it didn’t feel like a dream. It still doesn’t. Fragments flash behind your eyelids—the way he touched you, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, the teasing burn of stubble where he shouldn’t have been close enough to touch.
You roll onto your back and drag both hands over your face, groaning quietly as awareness settles in piece by piece. Your pulse refuses to slow, every nerve still humming like your body missed the memo that none of it actually happened.
You stare at the ceiling.
“…You have got to be kidding me.”
This wasn’t random. Not by a long shot.
It was him. Your attending. The stubborn, overworked, infuriatingly competent man who makes unresolved emotional baggage look hot. The man you have to see in barely two hours.
A small, helpless sound escapes you as you roll onto your side again, squeezing your eyes shut.
This is a problem.
A very real, very immediate, absolutely unprofessional problem.
And yet, you still don’t move. You lie there too long, cheeks burning despite the fact that no one else can see what you’re replaying in your mind. Warmth lingers beneath your skin, pooling low in your belly as you let yourself remember every phantom touch. Every whispered word. The look in his eyes as he’d settled between your legs and—
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
You bolt upright, your hand flying out to find your phone.
You’re still hot, still flushed and sticky. Still half-dreaming about Robby and his goddamn hands—but now? Now you’re late. Horribly late. Because that alarm isn’t your wake-up alarm—it’s your backup alarm. The one that goes off when it’s time for you to leave for work.
“Fuck!”
You throw the covers back and rush into the bathroom. You strip quickly out of your damp sleep shirt, tossing everything on the floor before stepping into the shower without even waiting for the water to warm. Which is exactly what you need, you remind yourself as you hiss beneath the cold spray.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing in front of the mirror in your black scrubs, trying to fix your hair and will the colour to drain from your cheeks. But it’s stubborn. Bright. Hot to the touch and utterly telling.
“Jesus Christ,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second too long.
A second you don’t have.
With a deep breath, you turn, grab your bag, and sling it over your shoulder, wondering whether running to the hospital might actually be quicker than your usual commute at this time. Traffic is never great—you never truly know which route will get you there fastest—but now you’re about to hit peak hour.
You spend the entire drive trying to think about literally anything other than the dream—patient charts, upcoming shifts, whether your stethoscope is in your bag or your locker—but your thoughts keep slipping sideways, traitorous and vivid.
So vivid.
Stop thinking about his hands.
Stop thinking about his voice.
Stop—
You groan softly and turn the radio up louder.
It doesn’t help.
By the time you pull into the hospital parking lot, you’re almost twenty minutes late. You slam your car door shut, hike your bag higher on your shoulder, and practically run toward the ER doors.
“Woah,” Donnie says, quickly stepping out of your way. “Someone’s in a hurry.”
You don’t reply. You just keep going until you hit central, then slow to a hurried walk—head down, eyes fixed on your feet, praying everyone is already too busy to notice you.
“You’re late,” Dana says.
You stop mid-step, more out of habit than intention.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I—”
“Shit, hon, you okay?” She steps around the desk, peering over her glasses. “You look like you’re burnin’ up.”
You step back before she can press a hand to your forehead.
“I’m fine, I swear.” You keep backing up. “Just my—my car’s A/C isn’t working and I’m a little warm. That’s all.”
You know she doesn’t believe you. This is Dana you’re talking to, not some brand-new, bright-eyed RN. Dana can see through any and all bullshit, and by the look on her face, she isn’t buying this at all.
“I’m fine,” you say again, forcing a smile before turning sharply on your heel.
Only to turn right into something solid.
Warm. Tall. Unmoving.
“Shit, I—”
You look up.
And your entire nervous system shuts down.
Dr. Robby.
“Sorry,” you blurt instantly, stepping back so fast you nearly trip over your own feet. “I didn’t see—I mean, I was looking, just not—”
His hand is still wrapped around your elbow, grounding you in place, and for one terrible second all you can think about is how close he is. How close he’d felt last night. How real it feels right now.
His eyebrows lift slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “You alright?”
“Yes,” you say too quickly. “Fine. Totally fine.”
You are not fine.
Your face feels nuclear, and you’re suddenly aware of everything at once—his height, his proximity, the way his sleeves are pushed up, the fact that he’s looking directly at you like he’s trying to figure something out.
His head tilts slightly.
“You’re late,” he says, not unkindly.
“I know.”
Neither of you move for a moment.
You can feel your pulse in your throat. Your chest. Lower.
“I—I’m gonna—”
You don’t even finish before you turn away, hurrying down the hall toward the lockers. Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire—and every thought in your head is so wildly inappropriate for where you are right now you feel like you might throw up.
“Damn.” Santos appears beside you, her eyes flicking between your face and the tablet in her hands. “Either you’re febrile or you just did something really embarrassing.” She tucks the tablet under her arm. “What gives?”
You shoot her a flat look as you key in the code to your locker. “Nothing gives. I’m fine.”
She snorts. “Sure. That tone is really selling it.”
You take a deep breath and turn toward your locker, shoving your bag inside before unzipping your jacket and shrugging off. You stuff that in too—then sling your stethoscope around your neck, shut the door, and turn back to your fellow R2.
She looks concerned now, brows drawn as her eyes track over your face and neck.
“You’re seriously flushed,” she says. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.” You turn and start walking back toward central. “Just running late, okay? Now can I start my shift before—” You stop yourself, his name catching somewhere in your chest. “Before I have an attending down my throat for slacking off?”
God. You could have chosen better words.
“Okay, whatever,” Santos mutters, holding her tablet out again. “Sorry for caring.”
She gives you a sarcastic little eye roll before veering off around the other side of the nurse’s station and ducking into one of the active patient rooms. You watch after her for a second before a voice across the room steals your attention.
He’s on the other side of central, nodding along while Mohan and Whitaker brief him on a patient—and looking entirely too hot for seven-thirty on a Monday morning beneath harsh fluorescent lights.
“Stop it,” you whisper to yourself, pausing at the nurse’s station to collect a tablet.
“Stop what?”
You startle, head snapping toward the man suddenly beside you.
“Jesus Christ, Dr. Abbot,” you sigh. “Are you trying to get me admitted for a heart attack?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You already look halfway there.”
You roll your eyes. “Okay, I get it. I’m red and I’m sweaty—can everyone please stop commenting on it now?”
He chuckles. “Sorry. Didn’t realise you’d already been bullied about it.”
You sigh again and turn your attention to the board, tipping your head back to read it.
“Why are you still here, anyway?” you ask.
“Wanted to see my favourite resident,” he says. “You sure you don’t want to come back to nights?”
You huff a laugh through your nose. “I love you, Abbot, but nights aren’t for me.” You glance across the nurse’s station, where Dana and Robby are now discussing the latest incoming trauma. “I just miss Dana too much.”
Abbot snorts. “Dana?”
You look back at him. “Yes. Dana.”
Amusement flickers across his face. “You sure?”
“Yes,” you say, too quickly. “I mean, who—what else would—”
“Doctors,” Javadi interrupts, stepping in front of you both. “Sorry to interrupt, but could I get a second opinion on a patient in South Twenty-One, please?”
Abbot nods, glancing at you. “I’ll go. You settle in.” The corner of his mouth lifts a little higher. “Maybe check in with your attending.”
Then he turns and walks away with Javadi at his side.
You stare after him—eyes wide, pulse racing, wondering what the fuck he meant by all that.
You’ve always suspected Abbot might be a mind reader, but that? That was something else. Too knowing. Too dangerous. And now you need to figure out what the hell he thinks he knows.
“Doctor,” Perlah calls from behind the desk. “Could you check on Central Twelve? She’s still complaining of pain after morphine and Zofran.”
You turn to her, shaking your head as if that might knock your thoughts back into place. “Uh—yeah. Of course. Central Twelve, heading there now.”
She gives you a curious look, brows drawn, but you turn away before she can ask any more questions.
On your way to C12, you pull up the patient’s chart—seen by Whitaker about half an hour ago—and double-check the morphine and Zofran doses she received. You pause just outside the room, drawing a deep breath and reminding yourself that you are at work. You don’t have time to be flustered. You don’t have time to worry about what Jack Abbot may or may not know. And you definitely don’t have time to obsess over the imaginary rasp of Robby’s beard against your thigh that you can somehow still feel.
When you push the door open and step inside, you’re the picture of professionalism. You offer the patient a polite smile, introduce yourself, and start the routine checks that feel more like second nature than work.
After the exam and a brief conversation, you order two more milligrams of morphine, review the labs Whitaker sent, and make a note to check back in fifteen minutes. Then, still intent on avoiding your attending, you bury your nose in your tablet and move on to the next patient waiting in South Sixteen.
Pressure-like chest pain. Diaphoretic, no shortness of breath. Initial ECG normal. Labs pending.
“Alright, Mr. Mullens,” you say, squirting a pump of sanitiser into your palm. “We’re going to get some scans done so we can get a better idea of what’s going on. If the pain gets worse before then, let us know.”
The man nods. “Thank you, Doc.”
You smile, stepping out into the hallway. “I’ll be back soon to check in.”
As soon as you turn around, you look for Robby, making sure you’re not about to run into him again. Literally.
You spot him all the way across central, walking with Santos toward the North hallway. Good. You’re safe. And if all goes well, maybe you’ll manage to avoid him for the entire day. Maybe you won’t have to come face to face with the face you can still see buried between your legs.
Fuck.
Your pulse kicks, heart beating too fast as you remember the way his eyes had watched you in your dream. It’s almost too much. Even the phantom memory of it is making you breathless.
God. If it ever actually happened, you might pass out.
“Why would you even think of that?” you mutter to yourself, stopping at the nurse’s station.
When you finally look up, Perlah and Princess are watching you closely, speculation sparkling in their eyes.
“Sobrang pula ng mukha niya,” Perlah murmurs.
Princess nods. “Hindi lagnat ’yan.”
Perlah lowers her voice even more. “Sa tingin mo ba may kinalaman ito sa crush niya?”
They both laugh quietly, turning away from you as if it isn’t you they’re gossiping about.
“Malinaw,” Princess says.
You give them both a tight smile before glancing up at the board, searching for something suitably distracting and far away from nosy nurses and unfairly attractive attendings.
You’re just about to head back toward the South hallway when a gurney crashes through the ambulance bay doors.
“Trauma Two!” Dana calls. “Robby!”
Abbot is already moving, meeting the paramedics halfway and guiding the gurney toward T2.
He points at you as he walks. “With me.”
“Shit,” you mutter, dropping your tablet on the desk and jogging over.
“Thirty-two-year-old male, MVC, restrained driver,” the paramedic says. “Front-end collision, airbags deployed. No LOC. Increasing shortness of breath during transport. Breath sounds decreased left side.”
“Let’s get him on monitor,” Abbot says, moving to stand opposite you at the head of the bed. “On my count.”
Robby steps in at your side, like he always does—close enough that you feel him before you see him.
His arm brushes yours.
Your stomach flips.
Focus.
“One. Two. Three,” Abbot counts.
You transfer the patient from gurney to trauma bed, and Santos starts cutting away clothes.
“Two large-bore IVs,” Abbot tells Jesse. “Trauma labs. Portable chest X-ray.” Then he looks at you, brows raised. “Breath sounds?”
“Oh—uh—” You fumble with your stethoscope, pressing it to each side of the patient’s chest. “Diminished on the left.”
You reach for the patient’s neck, fingers steady despite the noise around you.
“Trachea midline.”
Abbot nods, then turns to Santos. “Let’s get ultrasound.”
“BP holding?” Robby asks.
The sound of his voice sends goosebumps racing along your arms—and you shiver before you can stop yourself.
“Pressure’s 118 over 76,” Jesse replies. “Stable.”
Robby glances at you, brows drawn. “You okay?”
You nod quickly, without looking up. “Never better.”
“Absent lung sliding on the left,” Santos announces.
“Likely pneumothorax,” Abbot says, looking at Robby.
“Sats dropping,” Jesse calls. “Eighty-nine.”
Robby nods once. “Okay. We’re putting in a chest tube.”
“Chest tube tray. Twenty-eight French. Left side,” Abbot orders.
You try to move out of the way, but Robby’s hand catches your elbow—and you can’t help but look up. His dark eyes meet yours with an intensity you’ve never noticed before, and suddenly your lungs forget how to work.
“You’re up,” he says. “I’ll walk you through it.”
You know there’s no time to argue. You know you can’t. Shouldn’t. This is your job. And it’s not like you could say no to this man even if you wanted to.
You swallow. “Okay.”
Robby nods, then looks at Jesse. “Alright, let’s get some lido. Sutures ready. Hook up suction.”
You turn back to the patient, watching Abbot position the left arm above his head while Jesse preps the area—chlorhexidine swab, sterile drape. The rustle of sterile gowns and the snap of gloves fill the room as you pull on your own and push a pair of protective glasses up your nose. Then you grab the lidocaine from the tray and lean over the patient’s left side, steadying your hand as you guide the needle in.
The room is quieter now—save for the steady beeping of the monitors—chaos narrowing into focus as everyone watches you sink the needle into the patient’s skin.
“A little deeper,” Robby murmurs.
Your breath catches, but your hands stay steady.
You can feel him just behind you, leaning close, his warmth bleeding through your scrubs and setting your whole body on fire.
“Now find the rib,” he instructs. “Stay above it.”
You discard the needle onto the tray and start feeling ribs, counting down until you find the space.
“Scalpel,” you say, refusing to take your eyes off the spot your fingers found.
Jesse places the scalpel in your hand, and without hesitation, you cut a three-centimetre incision.
“Good,” Robby murmurs.
Your pulse thrums beneath your skin.
“Clamp,” you say, your voice almost breaking.
Jesse takes the scalpel from your hand, replacing it with a curved clamp.
You insert the clamp, pushing past muscle layers, and begin to spread. It feels forceful. Too much. Invasive, even though you know this is exactly what you’re supposed to do.
Robby steps closer. “Commit to it.”
His hand covers yours to adjust the angle, add pressure—until you feel the pop. And it takes every ounce of your self-control not to react. Not to whimper at the very normal, very professional way your attending is guiding you right now.
“Now sweep,” he says, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.
You insert your finger into the space, confirming entry into the pleural cavity and checking for adhesions—then nod. You don’t dare turn your head as you hold your hand out for the tube. He’s too close, too warm. You can smell the faint scent of soap on his skin even over the antiseptic and metallic tang in the air.
“Inserting tube,” you say, more to yourself than anyone else.
You start guiding the tube in—slow and controlled—feeling every millimetre of movement.
Until it stops.
Too much resistance.
“Up,” Robby says, his hand covering yours again. “Aim higher.”
He adjusts your wrist slightly, guiding the pressure.
You swallow hard and nod, hoping no one else can hear your uneven breathing—but knowing Robby definitely can.
He helps you apply more pressure, firmer now, angle corrected, and the tube starts moving again.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl. Keep going.”
Your brain short-circuits.
Heat floods your face. Your chest. Lower.
His voice echoes from your dream. Breathless. Panting. Words whispered against your skin.
Fuck. Now is not the time.
You tighten your grip on the tube and push.
Then—
A rush of air.
“Air return,” Abbot says, a hint of pride in his tone. “Now secure it.”
Robby steps back, and you hear the snap of his gloves coming off.
“O2 sats climbing,” he announces.
“Cool,” Santos says, grinning at Abbot’s side. “I’m doing the next one.”
You barely look up. You can’t. Your whole face feels like it’s on fire. You've never blushed this hard before. You’ve never been this hot in your life. And you’ve definitely never been this horny in the goddamn trauma bay.
“You good to finish up?” Robby asks Abbot.
Abbot nods.
From the corner of your eye, you see Robby step toward the door, glancing over his shoulder with a small, impressed smile.
“Nice work, Doctor.”
You don’t reply. You just nod, lips twitching with a soft smile as you keep your eyes on the patient.
As soon as you finish suturing and securing the tube, you step back, tearing off your gown and gloves as if that’ll somehow give you a reprieve from the heat beneath your skin. Jesse takes your place beside the patient, nodding along to Abbot’s orders while he and Kim start cleaning up.
You shove your gown, gloves, and glasses into the biohazard bin and head for the door without looking back—which is exactly why you don’t notice Santos trailing you.
“That was so cool,” she says, startling you.
“Jesus,” you mutter. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
She frowns. “Sneak? I was right behind you. It’s not my fault you’re all weird and jumpy today.”
“I’m not—” You glance across central to make sure Robby isn’t somewhere in your path to the ambulance bay. “I’m not weird and jumpy.”
Santos scoffs. “Right. And I’m not behind on my charting.”
You don’t bother arguing with her. You just keep walking—and she follows. All the way through the ER and out to the ambulance bay, where you stop just before the curb and draw a deep breath. It isn’t nearly as refreshing as you’d hoped, but a break from the fluorescents is always welcome.
“Okay,” she says, folding her arms. “What is with you today? You’re never this off. I’ve seen you perform procedures you’d only read about without a single assist from the attending. And I know you’ve done a chest tube before.”
You don’t answer. You don’t even look at her. You just tip your head back and stare at the roof of the ambulance bay, wondering whether it might collapse and save you from this conversation.
“And on that note,” she goes on, “Dr. Robby knows you’ve done a chest tube before, so why the hell was he being so patient? I swear he’s got a soft spot for you. Javadi pointed it out a few weeks ago and I honestly don’t know how I missed it. I mean—has he ever yelled at you?”
You finally look at her, brows drawn. “I—uh—no, I don’t think so.”
“Exactly,” she says, stepping closer. “And please tell me I heard wrong, but did he say good girl to you back there?”
As soon as she says it, your cheeks burn with renewed intensity. You can feel your heart in your throat, beating out of rhythm and way too fast for someone who is definitely not in a life-or-death situation.
And Santos notices—because of course she does.
Her eyes go wide. “Oh my God. This totally has something to do with Dr. Robby.”
“Shut up,” you mutter. “It’s not—”
You stop yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and pinching the bridge of your nose.
Santos isn’t going to let this go. You know her. She’s too inquisitive, too nosy, and there’s not nearly enough chaos today to distract her.
“Okay, fine,” you sigh, looking up, face burning. “I had a sex dream about him and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”
She stares at you for a second.
“A sex dream?”
You nod miserably.
Her mouth twitches—then she snorts.
Not a polite laugh. A full, startled snort she tries—and fails—to muffle behind her hand.
“Oh my God,” she says. “I knew you had a thing for him, but a sex dream?”
“Would you stop saying it?” you hiss, glancing nervously around the empty ambulance bay.
She laughs a little harder. “Was he good?”
“Oh my God,” you mutter, dropping your head into your hands. “I regret everything.”
“Hey,” she says, still laughing as she drops a hand on your shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure he’d go there if you asked.”
Your head snaps up. “If I asked?”
She shrugs. “Why not shoot your shot?”
“Because he’s my boss!”
“He’s your attending,” she says. “Technically, Dr. Underwood is your boss. Dr. Robby just supervises you.”
You shut your eyes again and draw a deep breath, trying to steady your pulse.
“Okay,” you say, squaring your shoulders. “I’m done with this conversation. I’m going back to work, and you’re not telling anyone what I just told you. Okay?”
She mimes zipping her lips. “I’m a vault, I swear.”
You nod. “Good.”
Then you turn and start walking back inside, trying not to conspicuously check for Robby on your way to the nurse’s station. Santos is still at your heels, still wearing an amused grin as if your humiliation is her exact brand of humour.
“One more question,” she says, stopping beside you as you grab another tablet from the rack.
You sigh. “What?”
She leans in. “Did he say ‘good girl’ in the dream too?”
Your pulse jumps.
“Goodbye, Dr. Santos,” you say, turning quickly on your heel.
“I’m taking that as a yes,” she calls after you.
You ignore her, turning toward S16 to check on your chest pain patient.
“Hey, Mr. Mullens,” you say as you push back the curtain. “How are you feeling?”
The older man sits up a little. “I’m okay.”
“Good.” You pull up his chart on your tablet. “The pain hasn’t gotten any worse?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“That’s good to hear,” you say, quickly flicking through his lab results. “Your first labs look reassuring, but we’ll repeat them in a couple of hours just to be safe.”
You glance up, and he nods.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
You smile softly. “If the pain gets worse, or if you start having trouble breathing, press the call button.”
“Will do.”
You offer him one last nod before tucking your tablet under your arm and squirting a pump of sanitiser into your palm as you exit the room.
The second you step into the hall, you take a deep breath, finally feeling like your lungs remember how to work. Like your pulse might finally be settling into something resembling a normal rhythm. Like maybe—just maybe—you can survive the day if you stay distracted with work long enough not to think about last night.
About his voice—low and rough in your ear, whispering something you can’t quite remember.
Except the way it made your spine arch.
Or the moment he’d braced his hands on either side of you, his head dipping just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath before he—
“Doctor.”
You jerk slightly, heat rushing straight back into your face as the memory evaporates.
“Sorry—what?”
Whitaker, now standing in front of you, clears his throat. “Nothing. I just—you looked a little out of it.”
You shake your head and turn toward central. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m a little off today.”
He nods, falling into step beside you. “Santos mentioned.”
Your head snaps toward him. “Santos mentioned what?”
“Just that you were out of it today,” he says quietly, staring at the floor.
You stare at him. “And?”
He shrugs, but it’s stiff. “And nothing.”
You stop at the nurse’s station and drop your tablet on the desk.
“I swear to God, Whitaker, if she told you—”
“She didn’t tell me anything,” he says, clearly panicked now. “I—I’ve got to go check on a patient.”
Then he’s gone, hurrying off toward the South hallway.
Fuck.
You told Santos barely ten minutes ago and she’s already told Whitaker?
So much for being a vault.
“What’d I tell you about swearin’ on God, little lady?” Dana asks, peering over her glasses from the other side of the desk.
You sigh, resting both forearms on the counter. “Sorry. Rough morning.”
“Tell me about it,” she says, glancing down at her tablet. “Sprained ankle in North Four wants an MRI and a wheelchair escort to the parking lot. Psych hold in B2 tried to climb out the bathroom window. Ogilvie ordered the wrong labs and blamed the computer. And someone—” she pauses, squinting toward where McKay is assessing a patient, “—keeps leaving half-empty coffee cups everywhere like we’re running a café instead of an emergency department.”
You huff a quiet laugh.
“And we’re only on hour two,” she adds, looking back up at you.
“Lucky us,” you mutter.
She sets her tablet down and slides her glasses off, folding them into the breast pocket of her scrubs.
“What’s with you, hm?” She leans in. “First you’re late, then you run out of trauma like you’re about to pass out. That’s not like you, kid.”
You shrug. “Just a little off today.”
She watches you for a second, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. She’s not stupid. She knows there’s more to it than that—but Dana isn’t the type to push.
She hums quietly.
“Alright,” she says. “I’ll pretend I believe that.”
You give her a small, appreciative smile as you push off the counter. “Love you, Dana.”
She just shakes her head, the corner of her mouth lifting as she glances back down at her tablet. “Yeah? Then check on North Four for me and see if you can get ‘em discharged.”
You nod. “North Four, on it.”
You start to turn away, then stop yourself and swivel back toward her.
“Hey—uh—is Abbot still here?” you ask.
“No, he left right after the MVC trauma,” she replies without looking up.
“Oh.”
“Why? You need him?” she asks. “I’m sure whatever you need, Dr. Robby can—”
“No,” you say quickly. “Nope. I’m good. Totally fine. Don’t need anything at all.”
You hug your tablet to your chest and start turning away again.
“Everything’s fine!”
You don’t dare look back. You just keep walking toward the North hall, completely missing the sceptical look Dana sends after you—and the confused look on Robby’s face as he glances between the two of you.
On your way to N4, you pull your phone out of your pocket and tap on Dr. Abbot’s contact, typing quickly.
So much for saying goodbye to your favourite resident.
Then you hit send and tuck your phone back into your pocket.
You’re not actually offended. Not really. This is the ER. People barely have time to finish a sentence, let alone say goodbye.
You’re just… nervous.
Nervous because Abbot thinks he knows something—and you need to figure out what that is before he decides to say something to Robby and make this whole situation infinitely worse.
You stop outside N4 and take a deep breath—your hundredth deep breath of the morning. You can do this. This is the easy part. The patients. The work. The familiarity of what you do every day. You just need to focus on this for the next twelve hours and definitely not the way you can still feel the weight of his hand on your hip, steady and certain, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he—
“Nope,” you tell yourself out loud. “Absolutely not. Focus.”
You shake your head as you step into the room and slide the curtain back, greeting the patient with your practiced mask of cool, calm, and collected. You manage to convince them they don’t need an MRI, since their ankle is only sprained, but you do get Ahmad to escort them out in a wheelchair—and now you owe him ten bucks and a bagel tomorrow morning.
Then you move on to the next patient. And the next.
The next few hours pass by in a blur of minor catastrophes. A migraine that melts away with the standard cocktail of Toradol, Reglan, and Benadryl. A Lego piece extracted from a three-year-old’s nose while Whitaker distracts the squirming patient. Three stitches in the eyebrow of a man who swears he doesn’t drink before 10AM—even though you can smell the alcohol on his breath. An overworked woman with chest pain that turns out to be a panic attack. A teenager with a swollen knee and a devastated look on his face when you suggest he might be benched for the rest of the season.
And at half past noon, you step into C9. Mid-thirties, right lower quadrant abdominal pain, nausea, mild fever—what you can already guess is appendicitis.
“Hi, Ms. Park, how are you feeling?” you ask, squirting a pump of sanitiser into your palm.
She winces. “Not so good.”
“It says here you’re having abdominal pain, nausea, and a bit of a fever,” you say. “When did that start?”
She nods. “Early this morning. Four, maybe.”
You set your tablet on the cart, grab a pair of gloves, and drag a stool beside the bed. “Mind if I take a look at your abdomen so I can get a better idea of what’s going on?”
She nods and tips her head back against the pillow, hands falling either side as you start palpating her lower abdomen. It doesn’t take more than a few presses for her to hiss and lift a hand, trying to push you away.
“Sorry,” she says, voice strained. “It hurts a lot.”
“That’s okay.” You scoot back and rise from the stool, peeling off your gloves. “I’m going to order a CT scan to take a better look, and we’ll give you something for the pain and something for the nausea in the meantime.”
You step around the bed and grab your tablet off the cart.
“A nurse will come in shortly to start fluids too,” you add. “You’re probably a little dehydrated if you haven’t been able to eat or drink much this morning.”
She looks at you with wide eyes. “I don’t know if I want a CT. Isn’t that a lot of radiation?”
“It’s a relatively small amount,” you reply evenly, “and it’s the best way for us to see what’s going on inside your abdomen. I can assure you, it’s very safe.”
“I try to avoid unnecessary radiation,” Ms. Park argues, shifting uncomfortably. “Is there another option?”
“Ultrasound can sometimes help, but it’s not always reliable in adults,” you say. “A CT scan will give us the clearest answer.”
She hesitates, eyes dropping to her lap. “Well—could I please speak to the doctor in charge?”
You open your mouth to reply when someone steps in beside you. Tall. Solid. Close enough to make your pulse skip and your stomach take a nosedive.
“You are,” Robby says, arms folded. “She’s the physician managing your care right now, so we’ll follow her recommendation.”
You step to the side, nearly tripping over nothing, clutching your tablet to your chest.
“Uh—Dr. Robby, this is Ms. Park,” you say quickly. “Thirty-five, right lower quadrant pain since early this morning. Nausea, no vomiting, low-grade fever at triage. Tenderness at McBurney’s point. I’ve ordered labs and a CT abdomen to rule out appendicitis.”
Robby nods once. “That sounds appropriate.”
Ms. Park sighs.
“Alright,” she says, a little more pleasantly now. “If that’s what you recommend.”
She doesn’t even look at you as she says it—her eyes stay fixed on Robby, softening in a way that makes you briefly consider poking her appendix again.
Not that you can blame her.
Your gaze flicks to Robby, wondering if he’s noticed the sudden change in demeanour—or the way she’s practically making heart eyes at him.
But he isn’t looking at Ms. Park.
He’s looking at you.
You clear your throat, quickly glancing back down at your tablet. “Uh—that’s good. Great. I’ll finish the orders now, and a nurse will be by shortly with some pain relief.”
Ms. Park gives you a brief nod before turning back to Robby with a smile that makes you want to roll your eyes. Robby just nods, squirts a pump of sanitiser into his hand, then steps out of the room—and you try not to follow too closely.
You slide the curtain shut before turning into the hall, half expecting Robby to be gone—but he isn’t. He’s still standing there, holding his tablet in one hand while the other scrubs at his jaw in that mildly anxious way it always does.
“Nice work in there,” he says without looking up.
Heat floods your face.
“Thanks,” you say with a tight smile. “And thanks for backing me up.”
He glances at you over the top of his glasses.
“You had it handled.”
You clutch your tablet to your chest. “Well—uh—thanks anyway.”
Then, before you completely lose the ability to function, you turn on your heel and start down the hall—but not fast enough to miss Dana’s voice.
“Careful, Robinavitch,” she says dryly. “You’re hovering.”
“I supervise,” Robby mutters.
Dana hums.
“Uh-huh. I’ll pretend I believe that.”
Hovering?
You tighten your grip on your tablet as you hurry down the South hall, pretending you know where you’re headed.
Robby wasn’t hovering. He was just doing his job. Right?
He hovers around every resident and med student.
It’s not like he was—
You shake your head.
No—Dana’s just teasing. It’s her thing. It’s practically her love language.
You stop short when you reach the end of the hall. Elevator ahead. Restrooms to your right.
Nowhere else to go.
“You okay, Doctor?” McKay asks, stepping out of the ladies’ room.
You blink. “Uh—yeah, I just—”
You’re not sure what excuse to use now—standing in the middle of the hall, staring at the elevator, white-knuckling your tablet like you’re one bad patient away from a psychotic break.
“You look like you’re buffering,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Why don’t you take a break?”
You shake your head. “I don’t need a break.”
Her brows lift as she gently places a hand on each of your shoulders, turning you back the other way. “Alright. Well, why don’t you go sit down and catch up on your charting?”
She starts guiding you slowly back up the hall.
“Charting,” you echo, a faint frown forming between your brows. “Yeah. That’s a good idea, actually. I haven’t done much all day.”
She nods. “See? I’m full of good ideas. And you are seriously concerning me today.”
You give her a look. “I’m fine. Everyone is just being—”
“Caring?” she offers.
You roll your eyes. “Overbearing.”
She shakes her head, laughing quietly as she steers you toward the nurse’s station.
“Here,” she says, pulling out a chair in front of a vacant computer. “Sit.”
“Yes, ma’am,” you mutter, dropping down at the desk.
She steps behind you, pushes the chair in, then leans over your shoulder.
“Good girl,” she murmurs.
Your entire spine locks.
“What was that?”
McKay straightens, already grinning.
“Charting,” she says lightly, tapping the monitor. “Try it.”
“But—you just—”
She laughs under her breath, already backing away.
“Finish your notes, doctor. You don’t want to have to stay late.”
Then she’s gone, shaking her head again as she disappears back toward triage.
You sit there for a few seconds longer than you should, staring after her while your brain desperately tries to reboot.
“Fucking Santos,” you mutter, finally turning back to the computer.
“You called,” Santos says, appearing on the other side of the desk.
Your eyes snap up. “You.”
Her brows lift. “Me?”
“Yes,” you snap. “You’ve been telling people.”
She tries—and fails—to suppress a smile.
“Not technically.” She leans forward, resting both forearms on the counter. “I only told Huckleberry, but McKay overheard. Can you blame me, though? It’s the most interesting thing to happen around here today.”
“Yes,” you hiss. “I can blame you. And I will blame you if—”
You stop, your eyes flicking past her to where Robby has just stepped out of C8, chart in hand and head bowed. Santos frowns for a second before following your gaze over her shoulder.
She snorts. “Oh my God. You can’t even function.”
“Who can’t function?” Whitaker asks, stepping up beside Santos.
You drop your head into your hands and sigh. “Great. They’re multiplying.”
Santos leans closer. “Hey, what’s the song that plays in your head whenever he walks past? Is it, like, SexyBack, or more… Like a Prayer?”
Whitaker snorts softly, his cheeks turning pink.
You glare at Santos. “Neither.”
“You’re right.” She nods thoughtfully. “I can practically hear the Careless Whisper sax playing in your mind right now.”
Your eyes go wide as you snatch a pen off the desk and lob it straight at her—but she dodges it easily.
“Wow,” she says, still laughing. “I’m on fire today.”
“Is that so, Dr. Santos?”
You recognise the voice before you even see him—because of course you do. You dream about that voice.
“That would mean you’ve caught up on all your charting and discharged your patient in North One?” Robby asks as he steps up beside Santos.
Her grin drops. “Uh—yeah. Actually, I was just on my way to North One.”
Her eyes slide back to you as she pushes away from the desk, lips pressed tight to keep herself from laughing.
“Dr. Whitaker,” Robby says. “Are you hovering?”
Hovering?
Whitaker glances up. “Oh—uh—no. I was just finishing some orders.”
“Good. You can finish them on your way to discharging South Twenty.”
Whitaker nods, barely even glancing at you as he grabs his tablet off the desk and turns toward the South hall.
Then Robby looks at you, holding up the pen you threw at Santos.
Your pulse stutters.
“Think you lost this,” he says, leaning forward to drop it on the desk.
“I threw it,” you blurt.
He hesitates, the corner of his mouth twitching before he turns away.
“I know.”
You watch him go until he turns a corner and disappears—then you look down at the pen.
“Fuck,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I need today to end.”
You slide the pen aside and force your attention back to the computer—to the cursor blinking patiently beside the single word you’d managed to write since sitting down.
Right.
Charting.
You manage exactly four more words before you’re interrupted again—something about your abdominal pain patient in Central Nine.
With a sigh, you push away from the desk, grab your tablet, and head for C9.
After confirming Ms. Park does indeed need an appendectomy and contacting Garcia for a surgical consult, Dana stops you in the hall to ask if Mr. Mullens can be discharged from South Sixteen. Then Javadi grabs you to present a calf laceration that you end up supervising while she sutures it, and after that Whitaker calls you in for a second opinion on a dizziness patient in North Five.
The hours start to blur together. You bounce from one room to another, just barely finishing your notes in between patients and med students and reviewing labs. By the time you finally make it back to the desk again, you’ve almost—almost—forgotten about why your heart is still beating a little too fast.
“Back to charting?” Princess asks.
You nod. “The never-ending task.”
She gives you the same quiet, speculative smile she gave you this morning.
“You seem off today,” she says.
“I’m fine,” you mutter. “Just tired.”
“And red,” she adds before turning away.
You frown, pressing a hand to your ridiculously hot cheek as you turn back toward the computer. If this keeps up, you’re more likely to end the shift as a patient than a doctor.
With a small sigh, you scoot your chair closer to the desk and pull the chart back up. Your eyes flick to the corner of the screen, to the little clock telling you that you only have a few hours left. A few hours to finish your charting, discharge a couple more patients, and keep avoiding Dr. Robby. Then you’re free. Then you’ve got at least eight solid hours to sort yourself out before you’re back here tomorrow.
Just as you position your fingers over the keyboard to start typing, your phone vibrates in your pocket—and your pulse jumps.
Abbot.
You quickly pull it out, swipe up, and open the notification.
Sorry. Too busy mourning the loss of my status as your favourite attending.
Your stomach drops.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
You stare at the text for an unreasonable length of time—heart pounding, face burning, thoughts racing. Abbot definitely thinks he knows something. Something he shouldn’t know. Something he’s probably very wrong about. Something you need to figure out and shut down immediately.
Before he decides to say something to Robby about whatever it is he thinks he knows.
“Hey,” Dana says, stopping on the other side of the desk. “Thought you were working?”
You clear your throat. “Uh—yeah. Sorry. Got distracted.”
Her brows lift. “Distracted, huh? That’s exactly what we want in emergency medicine.”
Then she shakes her head and walks away.
You tuck your phone into your pocket and turn your attention back to the chart in front of you. The chart of exactly five words—the first of many unfinished charts standing in your way of going home on time.
And today is not a day you want to stay back.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard again, eyes flicking over the few words already written. It takes a minute—probably longer than it should—but eventually you remember how to do your job and start typing.
The ER fades into background noise—monitors beeping, nurses chatting, the rumble of beds rolling past—and for the first time all day, you feel focused. Steady. Until—
“Robby,” Dana calls, “can you come over here for a sec?”
Your fingers slow over the keys—and against your better judgment, you glance up.
“Mrs. Alvarez,” Robby says fondly. “What brings you here?”
Your brows draw together as you study the older woman sitting on the bed. She looks familiar, and Alvarez rings a bell, but you can’t quite place it.
“Perlah,” you say, without fully looking away from the woman. “Who’s Mrs. Alvarez?”
“She used to work here,” Perlah replies. “She was the night shift charge nurse before Lena. Partially retired a couple years ago, but she’s covered a shift or two since then.”
You tilt your head. “Oh.”
“She probably asked for Robby,” Princess chimes in. “She always had a soft spot for him.”
Perlah tries to muffle her laughter. “Katulad ng ibang kakilala natin.”
Princess laughs behind you, but the sound barely registers. You’re too captivated by the scene unfolding in front of you. The very normal, very professional interaction that is hardly out of place in an ER—yet for some reason, it feels like you’re watching an adult film made specifically for you.
Mrs. Alvarez’s bed is parked up against the wall—a sight that would normally remind you to look for patients to discharge, but right now that’s the furthest thing from your mind.
Robby has pulled a stool up beside her, leaning in while she talks, forearms resting loosely on the bed rail. He nods along as she explains what’s wrong, his expression soft, his posture relaxed. There’s absolutely nothing obscene about it—but your pulse is still racing.
There’s just something about the way he listens—really listens—that makes it difficult to look anywhere else. That makes it difficult not to envy Mrs. Alvarez right now.
“Let’s take a listen,” he says after a moment, voice low and steady.
Your stomach does a strange little flip.
It’s such a normal sentence. Completely harmless. Totally professional. You’ve probably said the same thing yourself at least three times today. But hearing it in that voice—calm, warm, just rough enough at the edges to carry across the department—does something deeply unhelpful to your concentration.
He slips the stethoscope from around his neck, the tubing sliding through his fingers with the kind of easy familiarity that only comes from years of doing the same motion over and over again. The movement is quick, practiced, almost absentminded.
Still, your eyes follow it.
They follow the way he leans forward, one hand bracing lightly against the mattress while the other presses the diaphragm of the stethoscope gently against Mrs. Alvarez’s chest.
“Deep breath for me.”
Your pulse stutters.
Because suddenly—unhelpfully, vividly—you remember exactly how those hands felt in the dream.
The same steady fingers. The same calm voice, dropped just a little lower when he leaned close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath near your ear.
His hand had been wrapped around your wrist—firm but careful—guiding your hand above your head and pinning it against the pillow.
“Hold still,” he murmured.
The memory is sharp enough that for a second you can almost feel it again. The weight of his body pressing into the space between your knees, the quiet authority in his voice when he spoke, the way his fingers tightened against your skin just enough to keep you right where he wanted you.
Your hands had curled into the bed sheets as his lips traced the line of your jaw, his voice dropping again—softer now, almost thoughtful.
“Look at me.”
Your breath had caught in your throat when you did.
Because he was watching you the same way he watches patients—calm, focused, completely absorbed—except the attention felt different in the dream. Slower. Heavier. Like he was studying every reaction you gave him and deciding exactly how much more you could handle.
Your pulse had started racing the second his gaze dropped to your mouth.
It wasn’t subtle.
Just a brief shift of his eyes—thoughtful, almost curious—but the heat that followed it made your stomach tighten.
His thumb found its way back to your jaw, tracing slowly along the curve of it as if he were considering something. Following the line of your chin as he tipped your head back just slightly beneath his hand.
You hadn’t realised you’d stopped breathing until his fingers stilled.
“Breathe,” he said quietly.
The word brushed over your lips.
You remember the way your chest rose when you obeyed him—slow, unsteady—and the way his gaze followed the movement before drifting back to your mouth again.
God.
The corner of his mouth had lifted slightly then, like he’d noticed exactly what he was doing to you.
Like he wasn’t in any hurry to stop.
His hand slid from your jaw to the side of your throat, fingers warm against your skin, thumb resting just beneath your chin as if he were holding you there—not tightly, just enough that you stayed exactly where he wanted you.
And the entire time he watched you with that same quiet concentration.
Like this was just another thing he was very, very good at.
“Hey,” Santos says, appearing beside the desk. “Your abdominal pain in C9 just went upstairs.”
You blink at her. “Already?”
She shrugs. “Garcia signed off.”
You nod once, shifting awkwardly in your chair as you turn back toward the computer, trying very hard to ignore the heat pooling low in your belly.
“You good?” Santos asks, as if you haven’t been asked that enough today.
You clear your throat, eyes flicking briefly back to Robby and Mrs. Alvarez. “Yeah. Fine.”
She follows your gaze, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“Wow,” she says. “You’re down bad.”
You glare at her. “I’m charting.”
“You’re drooling.”
You quickly lift a hand to your mouth, swiping at the corner.
Santos grins. “Well, it depends who you’re asking, because if you ask—”
“Santos,” you warn.
She laughs. “Come on. It’s just a joke.”
“Isang biro?” Princess says, smiling. “Walang nakakatawa sa paraan ng pagtitig niya kay Robby.”
Your stomach drops.
You might not understand Tagalog, but you sure as hell know what that last word was.
“Santos,” you say, slowly rising from your chair. “How many people have you told?”
She presses her lips together sheepishly. “Again, technically? Just Huckleberry.”
“And—and I haven’t told anyone,” Whitaker adds quickly.
“Ano ang pinag-uusapan nila?” Perlah says behind you.
Princess shrugs. “May alam lang na sikreto si Santos.”
Your eyes widen. “Santos, I swear—”
“Relax,” she says. “They’re not talking about the dream. They were talking about your staring.”
Princess steps forward. “A dream? What dream?”
You bury your face in your hands. “Oh my God.”
“Wait,” Perlah says. “Did she have a dream about—”
Santos smirks. “Yep.”
“Oh,” Princess gasps. “That’s why she’s been so weird today.”
Perlah snorts.
Princess mutters something else in Tagalog that makes them all laugh again.
“Oh my God, Santos!” you say again, louder this time. “I’m just trying to get through the day without my attending finding out I had a sex dream about him and you’re telling the entire emergency department?”
Silence.
Perlah is staring at you.
Princess is staring at you.
Whitaker looks like someone has just pulled the fire alarm inside his head.
And Santos—
Santos is very carefully not looking at you anymore.
“What?” you snap. “No more jokes?”
No one answers.
Instead, Princess’s eyes flick slowly past your shoulder.
Whitaker clears his throat.
Santos presses her lips together, the corners twitching like she’s fighting for her life not to laugh.
“What?” you repeat, glancing over your shoulder.
And there he is.
Your attending—standing just a few feet from the nurse’s station, tablet still in one hand, glasses sliding slightly down his nose as he looks at you over the top of them.
Your stomach drops so violently it feels like all your organs have fallen out of your body.
He clears his throat.
Once.
“Alright,” he says evenly. “Back to work.”
That’s all it takes.
Perlah and Princess busy themselves on the other side of the nurse’s station.
Whitaker rushes off toward triage.
Santos lingers just long enough to give you a look that promises she will never let this go before she slips away too.
And then it’s just you.
And him.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just adjusts the tablet in his hand, pulls his glasses off, folds them into the pocket of his scrubs, and turns away.
And as he steps away, you could almost swear you see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Almost as if he’s fighting a smile.
But that would be ridiculous, right?
It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to remember how to move.
How to function.
You can feel Perlah and Princess watching you. Waiting for you to do something other than stare at the spot your attending had been standing when you announced your sex dream about him to the entire department.
God.
This has to be some kind of HR violation.
Robby is probably on his way to find Dana right now so she can tell you to go upstairs and talk to someone about misconduct. If you’re not fired, you’ll be transferred.
Or worse—night shift.
You gasp and fumble for your phone, pulling it out of your pocket.
Abbot's message thread is already open when you swipe up and start typing.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Then you hit send and tuck your phone away again.
It’s a ridiculous thought, but maybe if you can talk to Abbot and explain that this was all just one giant misunderstanding, maybe he can convince Robby not to hate you for it. Maybe he can convince Robby to let you finish your residency at PTMC without it being painfully awkward for both of you.
Because as funny as this is to Santos and the nurses, you’re not so sure Robby will see it that way.
Not when you’ve let it affect your work.
Not when you just embarrassed him—and yourself—in front of the entire emergency department.
You draw in a slow breath and grab your tablet off the desk.
All you can do now is your job.
All you can do for the next hour is avoid Robby and pray Abbot will hear you out when he comes back on shift.
You turn deliberately toward the North hallway and pull up the lab results for Whitaker’s dizziness patient, keeping your eyes fixed on your tablet as you walk.
The department hums around you like it always does—monitors beeping, beds rolling past, nurses calling out vitals—but you can still feel eyes on you. Whether it’s the nurses or the med students, or even a patient who overheard your outburst, you know you’re being watched.
Whispered about, probably.
But if you don’t look up, it doesn’t count. Right?
By the time you circle back to central, Mrs. Alvarez has already been discharged, which you take as a small mercy. Then you duck into South Fifteen to check on a teenager with a sprained ankle who is mostly interested in whether he can still play soccer this weekend. After that it’s a quick review of labs for a chest pain patient in Central Ten—normal troponins, thank God—and a brief stop at the nurse’s station to sign off on discharge instructions Dana has already printed.
None of it requires you to look up very much.
Which is ideal.
You spend the next half hour moving steadily from room to room—listening to a set of lungs for a persistent cough in North Three, answering a worried daughter’s questions about her father’s blood pressure in South Twenty-Two, and checking a set of repeat vitals on a dehydration case Princess flagged earlier. Every task is perfectly ordinary. Completely routine.
And through all of it, you make a very conscious effort not to look for your attending.
Not that you’re avoiding him.
Obviously.
You’re just… busy.
You still see him, though—across the hall, talking to patients, nodding along while med students present. He doesn’t look up. Never looks at you. Just keeps walking, keeps working, keeps nodding.
Like nothing happened.
And somehow, that’s worse.
You’re on your way back from dropping discharge paperwork at the front desk—walking a little slower than you should as you wonder how long until the end of your shift—when McKay calls out from triage.
“Hey, you busy?”
You stop mid-step. “Always. What’s up?”
“Can you grab me a suture kit?” she asks. “I’m out in here.”
“Of course. What size?”
“Four-oh nylon. Whatever's closest.”
You nod. “On it.”
“And maybe send a med student to grab more from supply,” she calls as you walk away.
You don’t reply. You just duck into Trauma One—thankfully empty—grab a kit, then call out to Ogilvie on your way back, telling him to go get more suture kits for triage as soon as he’s free. You don’t even wait for him to answer, but you do hear him turn to a nurse and ask where supply is.
You wedge your tablet under one arm as you head back toward the triage bay. With the kit held against your chest, you start peeling back the sterile packaging—since you know McKay’s already halfway through cleaning whatever it is she needs to suture up.
You’re just being helpful.
But the plastic seam is stubborn, and just as you turn into the bay the wrapper gives with a jerked tear—and the scalpel slides free.
You shift to catch it, but the blade grazes the inside of your upper arm before you can pull away.
“Oh—shit.”
It’s not dramatic. Just a sharp sting at first, and for a second you assume it’s nothing more than a scratch.
Until the warmth starts to trickle down your arm and drip from your elbow.
“Damn,” you sigh, watching a small droplet of blood hit the floor.
McKay glances up, eyes going wide. “What the hell happened?”
She quickly takes everything out of your hands, and you lift your arm to inspect the damage.
“Scalpel slipped.”
McKay winces. “That’s going to need stitches.”
Ignoring the confused patient still sitting in the triage chair, she grabs a wad of gauze off the cart and presses it against your arm.
“Hold this,” she says. “I’ll go get someone to take over here, then we can—”
“It’s alright,” a familiar voice says from somewhere behind you. “I’ll deal with this.”
Your stomach drops.
“Oh.” McKay glances over your shoulder, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Thanks, Dr. Robby.”
Fuck.
You turn slowly, one hand still clamped over the gauze on your arm.
He’s already so close—barely half a step away—and you have to tip your head back to look up at him.
“Let me see,” he says, voice low.
You hold your arm out obediently.
His fingers brush yours as he peels back the gauze, and your pulse jumps.
“Alright.” He nods once, something indistinguishable flickering across his face. “That needs stitches.”
Before you can respond, his hand closes lightly around your wrist, guiding your arm back toward your side as he turns you with him.
“Come with me.”
The touch is brief, professional—but when his hand shifts to the small of your back to steer you out of triage, the warmth of it makes your heart stutter out of rhythm.
“Dana,” he calls, walking quickly through central. “What’s open?”
Dana looks up from the desk just as the two of you pass. Her gaze flicks from the gauze on your arm to Robby’s hand still resting lightly at your back, and something sharp and knowing slides into her expression immediately.
“Central Eleven just got cleaned,” she says.
Robby nods once. “Thanks.”
Dana’s brows lift just a fraction as she watches the two of you step into the room, like she’s just connected several very interesting dots.
You move automatically toward the bed, trying not to feel disappointed when Robby’s hand leaves your back. He shuts the doors on both sides of the room, then slides the curtain closed—and every move makes your heart rate climb higher.
“Lay back,” he says.
Your whole body flushes with heat as you adjust yourself on the exam bed, trying desperately not to think about the other circumstances in which he might give you that instruction.
He rolls the stool beside the bed and reaches for your arm, turning it out gently.
His fingers are warm as he removes the gauze.
You try not to think too hard about his fingers.
“It’s a clean cut, at least,” he says after a second.
You nod. “Sharp blade.”
Like he didn’t already know that.
He releases your arm long enough to pull on a pair of gloves and gather what he needs from the tray beside the bed. You watch him move around the room with that same quiet efficiency that has been ruining your concentration all day—steady hands, calm voice, not a hint of hurry even though the department outside the door is probably chaos.
“Come a little closer,” he says, almost absentmindedly—as if he doesn’t know what saying something like that is going to do to you.
You shift against the mattress while he lifts your arm again, angling it under the exam light.
He’s so close now you can hardly breathe. You can feel his breath against your cheek, his warmth bleeding through the thin fabric of your scrubs, every touch careful as he starts cleaning the cut.
The antiseptic stings enough to make you tense.
“Easy,” he murmurs, steadying your arm. “It’s not that bad.”
“I’m aware,” you say quickly. “I do actually work here.”
“Yes,” he says mildly. “I’m aware of that too.”
You risk a glance at him then—and immediately regret it.
He’s standing now, leaning close enough that you could count every fleck of grey in his beard. Close enough to notice the way his glasses have slid slightly down his nose while he concentrates on the wound. His fingers move with careful precision as he prepares the needle driver, completely focused.
Completely calm.
Completely unaware that your brain is still stuck somewhere between the nurse’s station and a very inappropriate dream.
“Hold still,” he murmurs.
Your stomach flips—and when you squeeze your eyes shut, that exact moment from your dream flashes through your mind again.
The lidocaine burns for a second when he injects it, and you suck in a breath before you can stop yourself.
“Breathe,” he says automatically.
God.
If he could stop with the direct quotes from your dream, maybe you would actually be able to breathe.
You clear your throat, staring stubbornly at the wall now while he begins the first stitch.
“Try to relax,” he adds quietly.
You let out a short, incredulous laugh. “I’m trying.”
His hands pause for the briefest moment.
Then he glances up at you over the rim of his glasses.
“You of all people should know better than to open a suture kit while walking.”
You let out a small, embarrassed breath and shift slightly on the bed while he works, trying not to react every time the needle passes neatly through the edge of the cut.
“Sorry,” you mutter. “It’s been a weird day.”
“Mhm.”
The sound is absentminded, the same one he makes when a patient is explaining symptoms he already understands. His attention stays on your arm while he ties the knot and reaches for the next stitch, movements calm and precise, like this is the most ordinary thing in the world.
“You seemed a little distracted earlier,” he adds after a moment.
Your stomach tightens.
“Busy department.”
He hums again as he adjusts your arm slightly.
“Not exactly what I meant.”
You stare at the ceiling again, your pulse racing dangerously fast.
“It’s not unusual, you know,” he says after a moment, his voice calm and thoughtful as he works. “There’s actually quite a lot of research on it. In high-stress environments people’s subconscious tends to latch onto someone they admire rather than… straightforward attraction. It’s a way of organizing all that pressure—long hours, constant adrenaline, the need to trust the people around you.”
He pauses briefly to adjust the stitch.
You feel like you’re about to throw up.
“Hospitals are particularly good at creating that kind of dynamic,” he goes on. “Everyone’s exhausted, everyone’s relying on each other, and if there happens to be someone who seems steady in the middle of all that—someone people look to when things go wrong—it’s very easy for admiration to blur into something else.”
Another small pause, the thread tightening neatly under his fingers.
“It’s rarely intentional,” he adds, quieter now. “Most of the time the person experiencing it doesn’t even realise what their brain is doing.”
You finally look at him. His face is barely inches from yours, close enough that you can see the faint crease between his brows while he concentrates on the last stitch, all of his attention focused on closing the cut.
“Wait,” you say slowly. “So… I—I’m not fired?”
His hands still for the briefest moment before he glances at you, genuine confusion flickering across his face.
“Fired?”
You swallow. “For… you know. The thing I said. Out there. To the entire department.”
He huffs a small laugh—barely a breath.
“Why would you be fired?” he says mildly. “Embarrassing yourself in front of the nurses isn’t exactly grounds for termination.”
Your face burns.
He sets the needle driver down and reaches for the scissors, his tone settling back into that same calm, matter-of-fact rhythm.
“You shouldn’t have let it distract you from your work, though,” he continues. “That’s the only part I was concerned about. But one off day doesn’t suddenly erase an otherwise solid record.”
You stare at him.
“Concerned?”
“Mhm.”
He snips the suture, then reaches to adjust your arm slightly under the light, examining his work.
“First you were late,” he says, almost absently. “You were flustered during the chest tube. You’ve been avoiding traumas all day—” His eyes meet yours briefly. “And your attending. You’ve barely caught up on your charting, and you’ve unintentionally encouraged the nurses’ gossiping.”
Your stomach drops.
“Not to mention,” he adds, just a little drier now, “the pen you threw at Dr. Santos for—what? Teasing you, I presume.”
Your brain short-circuits.
Because suddenly, Dana’s voice echoes through your mind.
Careful, Robinavitch. You’re hovering.
Hovering?
Like the way he’d stood so close while you placed that chest tube. The way his hand had settled at your back when he guided you out of triage.
Why was he even there to begin with?
Santos’ voice cuts through your mind next.
I swear he’s got a soft spot for you.
I’m pretty sure he’d go there if you asked.
And suddenly the entire day looks… different.
Not like an attending keeping an eye on his resident.
Like a man trying very hard not to make it obvious he was paying attention to you.
Robby smooths the edge of the dressing over the sutured cut, pressing it down carefully as he glances back up at you.
“Keep that dry for the next—”
And that’s the moment your brain finally catches up.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, your hand shoots out and grabs the front of his scrubs, fingers bunching the fabric at his chest as you pull him the few inches closer.
Then you kiss him.
It’s not graceful.
It’s barely even planned.
Just a quick, impulsive press of your mouth against his—warm and startled and over almost as soon as it begins.
For half a second, he doesn’t move at all.
“Oh—fuck. I—”
You drop his shirt like it’s suddenly on fire and lean back on the bed, horrified.
“I’m so sorry,” you blurt. “I don’t know why I just—”
The apology dies halfway through, because Robby hasn’t stepped away.
He hasn’t leapt back, shocked or offended. He’s just… there.
Where he was when you grabbed him—close enough that you can still feel his warmth, with one hand resting lightly near your arm where he’d been finishing the dressing. For a second he simply watches you, studying your face with the same quiet concentration he uses when he’s working through a diagnosis, like he’s trying to decide whether the last thirty seconds actually happened.
Your pulse is hammering.
“I shouldn’t have—” you try again.
His hand lifts.
The movement is slow, deliberate, and before you can finish your sentence his thumb and forefinger settle lightly around your chin, tilting your face upward just enough that you have to look at him.
Your breath catches.
He hesitates for the briefest moment, his gaze moving across your face as if he’s still weighing the decision.
Then he leans in.
The first contact is firmer than you expect—his mouth warm and solid against yours, the faint scrape of his beard against your skin as he adjusts the angle. His glasses are still on, the frame nudging the bridge of your nose when he shifts closer. His nose bumps yours before he tilts his head, finding a better position.
For a second it’s almost restrained.
Then it isn’t.
His grip on your chin tightens a fraction as he deepens the kiss, tipping your head back against the pillow while he leans over you. The change is sudden enough that your hands catch the front of his scrubs again without thinking. The fabric bunches in your fingers as he moves closer, the pressure of his mouth shifting—slower now but more certain, like he’s stopped pretending he’s about to pull away.
The beard you’d been trying not to notice all day brushes your cheek again when he moves, softer than you expected, and when his teeth graze your lower lip for half a second the sound that escapes you is embarrassingly honest.
He exhales quietly through his nose against your skin.
Not stopping.
If anything, the opposite.
His free hand comes down beside your shoulder on the mattress to brace himself as he leans over you, the movement tilting your head back further while his mouth finds yours again—deeper this time, the rhythm of it suddenly practiced enough to make your stomach flip.
Like this is something he hasn’t done in a while.
But definitely knows how to do.
And the entire time his thumb stays lightly under your chin, holding you exactly where he wants you while he kisses you like he’s still trying to decide whether this is a mistake—and losing that argument by the second.
You barely notice when he shifts closer again, the movement subtle but unmistakable, his hand tightening slightly against the mattress beside you as if he’s about to lean in further, about to let himself forget the door, the department, the fact that this is an exam room in the middle of a shift—
The curtain whips open.
“Been looking for you, Robinavitch—”
Abbot stops dead.
For half a second no one moves.
You’re still on the bed, Robby bent over you, your hands fisted in the front of his scrubs while his hand is still braced beside your shoulder.
Abbot’s gaze flicks from your grip on Robby’s shirt, to Robby’s face, to the dressing he’d just placed on your arm.
His eyebrows climb slowly toward his hairline.
“Well,” he says after a beat. “I wish I could say I'm surprised, but…”
Robby straightens immediately.
Not panicked. Not flustered.
Just very, very still for a second before he adjusts his glasses and steps back from the bed like he’d simply been finishing a routine procedure.
“Jack,” he says evenly.
Abbot folds his arms, the corner of his mouth already curling upward.
“Michael.”
The silence stretches just long enough for the humiliation to fully settle in.
Abbot glances at you again, then back at Robby.
“Should I come back later,” he asks mildly, “or are you two… just about done here?”
The heat that floods your face is instantaneous, and you slide off the bed so fast you nearly fall.
“Don’t get it wet for twenty-four hours, stitches out in a week unless there’s redness, swelling, drainage, fever—I know the drill,” you ramble, slowly backing toward the door.
Robby has already turned back to the tray, calmly disposing of the suture needle like none of this is remotely unusual. Only the faint redness creeping up the back of his neck gives him away.
Abbot doesn’t move. He just stands there, arms folded, with a look of deep theatrical satisfaction on his face.
“This,” he says pleasantly, “is exactly what I meant, by the way.”
Your stomach drops.
“What?”
His brows lift.
“Your text.”
Your eyes widen.
Abbot tilts his head, studying you for a moment before glancing toward Robby again.
“I mean, honestly,” he adds. “I leave you two alone for what—ten hours?”
“What day shift does is none of your business, Dr. Abbot,” you mutter, trying to slip past him.
Abbot’s mouth twitches.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he says. “It seems very much like my business now.”
You snort, the sound escaping before you can stop it.
“Don’t be jealous,” you say, glancing over your shoulder as you step out the door. “He’s still your boyfriend.”
Behind him, Robby drops the gauze into the bin and gives a quiet shake of his head, laughing softly despite himself.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.
Abbot’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Your girl, huh?”
Robby scrubs a hand over his beard and turns away.
“Shut up.”
You’re not sure you were supposed to hear that last bit—but it makes your heart race anyway.
The second you step into the hallway, the emergency department crashes back in around you—monitors beeping, nurses calling for labs, a stretcher rattling past that you have to dodge. Almost like the last fifteen minutes never happened at all.
“Hey, Doc,” Princess calls from the nurse’s station. “North Five, dizziness patient’s daughter is looking for a doctor, but Whitaker’s stuck in chairs.”
“And Javadi needs you in South Seventeen,” Perlah adds. “Something about a rash.”
“Oh—and imaging’s back on your sprained ankle kid,” Santos says. “He’s asking when he can get out of here.”
You nod. “Uh—right. Okay, yeah. I’ll just—”
“Hey,” Dana cuts in, appearing beside you. “You okay? How’s the arm?”
You blink down at the fresh dressing like you’d almost forgotten about it.
“Oh. Yeah. It’s fine.”
She studies it for a second before her gaze drifts up to your face—and her brow lifts.
“Uh-huh,” she says slowly.
You frown. “What?”
“Nothing,” she says lightly, starting to walk away. “Just thought that looked like beard burn.”
She gives a small shrug, then glances back over the top of her glasses.
“But I know my doctors are far too professional for that.”
Your entire face goes hot.
You open your mouth—then close it again, because there is absolutely nothing you can say to that without making it worse.
Santos leans across the desk at the nurse’s station, squinting at your face.
Synopsis: A very depressed and single Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch stumbles across a sugar daddy website while browsing the internet. While ignoring friends and loved ones' concerns on his well-being, Robby decides to unburden himself from his loneliness by caving and finding a sugar baby for...companionship. As it tends to happen when lines are blurred, things complicate as the arrangement becomes less transactional and much more intimate than Robby could have anticipated.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Prologue...posted.ᐟ.ᐟ
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Show me how (you care)...posted.ᐟ.ᐟ
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Tell me how (you loved before)...posted.ᐟ.ᐟ
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Interlude...posted.ᐟ.ᐟ
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Show me how (you smile)...posted.ᐟ.ᐟ
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Tell me why (your hands are cold)...posted.ᐟ.ᐟ
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･I'm turning around (and having visions of you)...posted.ᐟ.ᐟ
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･The friend I'm dreaming of is far away (but I'm here)...posted.ᐟ.ᐟ
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔* Show me how (you're proud)...posted.ᐟ.ᐟ
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔* Tell me how (you reach the moon)...coming soon.ᐟ.ᐟ
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔* My thoughts err away tonight...coming soon.ᐟ.ᐟ
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔* My heart fell to love again...coming soon.ᐟ.ᐟ
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔* The friend I'm dreaming of is far away (and doesn't feel my love)...coming soon.ᐟ.ᐟ
You convince yourself that sleeping with Robby was just a one-time relapse, and return to the co-parenting routine you’ve carefully built. But everything unravels when you’re dragged into a family vacation at a resort in Mexico. One full week of trying to survive Robby’s relentless attempts to win you back.
warnings/tags: smut, minors DNI, porn with plot (lots of plot), age gap (but readers age isn’t disclosed), jealous!robby, co-parenting, GirlDad!Robby, this is long as fuck so read it with time, they’re still down bad for each other, unprotected piv, semi-public sex, handjob, blowjob, fingering, creampie
You remembered that day as if it had been yesterday. The cold porcelain of the toilet seat under your thighs. The pregnancy test stick clutched in your trembling fingers while you tried to aim. The uncertainty that made every sound echo louder in your tiny studio apartment, the best place a med student could afford. The steady drip-drip-drip from the leaky faucet. The nervous pacing of Robby’s footsteps just behind the thin wooden door.
“You good in there?” he asked, you could picture him leaning in, pressing his ear against the wood like he could somehow hear your thoughts.
You quickly wiped away the silent tears that had been streaming down your cheeks. “Yeah…” Your voice came out shaky and small. “Yeah. I’m done.”
You wiped, flushed the toilet, and stood up on unsteady legs, pulling your pants back on. Carefully, you set the cup and the pregnancy test on the edge of the sink before washing your hands.
“Can I come in?” Robby asked from the other side. Guilt was already eating him alive. This was his fault. He should have been the one guiding you, teaching you how to become a great doctor. Instead, he had jeopardized everything, your education, your career, your future. Now, because of him, you were taking a pregnancy test in a cramped bathroom, wondering what the hell you were going to do with your life if two pink lines appeared.
You didn’t answer with words. You simply walked to the door, opened it, and stepped aside so he could enter. “It says three to five minutes,” you murmured, nodding toward the test resting on the sink.
“How—” Robby cleared his throat when his voice threatened to crack. “How are you feeling?”
“Scared?” The word came out like a question. Truthfully, you didn’t even know if “scared” was the right word. What was the right word for finding yourself in a situation you’d never wanted, knowing it was your own damn fault? You should have been more careful. You should have said yes the first time he asked about wearing a condom. You should have told him to pull out instead of moaning “fill me up, Robby” every single time like you had lost all sense.
You knew the odds. You knew the risks. But when he was inside you, none of that had mattered. And now destiny was laughing in your face. You had no plan. If you were pregnant… what then? Goodbye to med school. Goodbye to your dream of graduating and matching into emergency medicine. You’d probably have to move back in with your parents and spend your days raising a child instead of becoming a doctor. And goodbye to Robby, because why would a man like him want to stay tied to the med student he’d accidentally gotten pregnant and the baby he never asked for?
Fresh tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, soaking your cheeks instantly. You tried to stay quiet, but the sobs broke free anyway.
“Hey, hey, hey… come here.” Robby closed the distance in one step. The heat of his body wrapped around you like a shield. He slid one strong arm around your waist, anchoring you against his solid frame, and the other hand cradled the back of your head. “It’s perfectly normal to be scared. But you’ve got me. You’re not alone in this.”
“What are we—” Another sob escaped, muffled against his shoulder. “What am I gonna do, Robby? What am I supposed to do?”
“Whatever feels right,” he whispered against your hair, pressing a gentle kiss there. “You’re supposed to do whatever you want to do. You have all the choices.”
“But which one is the right one?” You pressed harder into him, as if you could disappear into his chest. “Which one won’t make you hate me?”
“Jesus— Look at me.” He gently cupped your face with both hands, lifting it from his chest so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. His own were red and watery. “Let me say this once, and I need you to hear me. I could never hate you. None of this is your fault. It’s no one’s fault… this just happens, okay? If the test is positive, then… it’s not the end of the world. We’ve got options. We have time to think about it.”
“Then why does it feel like it is the end of the world?” You tried to hide your face again in the broad warmth of his chest, where your tears had already left a dark patch on his shirt. He wouldn’t let you. He kept your face cradled between his palms, one thumb softly stroking your cheek as he wiped away another tear.
“Why does it feel like no matter what I choose, you’ll end up resenting me for it?”
“I won’t,” he assured you again, his voice steady even though you could feel how hard he was trying. “You have to think about what you want. Nothing is more important than that. I’ll be here for whatever you decide.”
“What if I don’t want to keep it?” The words tumbled out. “Wouldn’t you feel like… like I took something away from you? Wouldn’t you think I’m selfish?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think.” He leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose, his warm lips making you shiver. Then your cheek, tasting your tears. Then your lips, reassuringly. “If the test is positive and you choose to terminate 6he pregnancy, I wouldn’t think that makes you selfish. I wouldn’t think you’re a bad person or that you’re stealing something from me. I’d think you’re strong. I’d think you’re being brave. And I’d be right there with you.”
The calmness in his voice steadied you a little. You could tell he was terrified, probably having a panic attack on the inside, but he was pouring every ounce of strength into not showing it. He wanted to be the rock you could lean on, the one who had answer, who knew what to do, who’d be there to support you no matter what.
“Is that what you’d want?” he murmured against your lips. “An abortion?”
“I don’t know,” you whispered, so softly he might not have heard if he weren’t so close. “But… maybe it’s the only right choice. What would I even do with a baby? I’d have to drop out of med school… I’d fall so far behind. Raising a baby… I don’t know when I could even go back.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that, you know?” he said gently. “A lot of women finish their studies while pregnant. They work while being moms too. Think of Dr. Shamsi, she finished her residency while—”
You knew he meant well, but right now the last thing you needed was a pep talk about strong women. “Yeah, well, I’m not Dr. Shamsi, Robby,” you cut in, the words coming out harsher than you intended. “I don’t think I can do it. And I can’t… I can’t put that weight on you. That burden. A child, Robby. I’d feel so guilty knowing I trapped you.”
An incredulous laugh escaped him. He pulled back just enough to really look at you. “Trap me? Jesus fuck… do you even hear yourself? When have I ever made you feel like you’d be trapping me?”
His tone edged toward anger, which only made your own flare up. “You didn’t ask for this! You’d be stuck with a child you never even wanted just because I didn’t want to get rid of it!” You couldn’t meet his eyes anymore and stared at the floor instead.
“A child…” He let out a slow breath. “A child doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.” The words he’d been too afraid to even think until now finally slipped out. “Yeah, it would be difficult. Yeah, it would be a fucking challenge. I’m not gonna lie, I’m scared. But I don’t think a baby would be the worst thing to ever happen. Not by far.”
He’d be lying if he said he had never dreamed of having a child, of becoming a father. In his mid-twenties, he had pictured it so differently. Finding the love of his life, getting married, waiting a year or two before having their first baby, then another one soon after. A proper family. But life had gotten in the way, long hours in the ED, the weight of responsibility, his own fears and insecurities reshaping the entire trajectory of his existence. Time slipped through his fingers, and before he knew it, the dream had been pushed further and further into the distance. Definitely not like this, a baby at forty-nine with the fourth-year med student he’d been sleeping with in a messy situationship for only a few months… that was never part of the plan. And yet, as that pregnancy test sat on the edge of the sink, the possibility grew heavier, more real. Maybe this was how it was meant to happen. Maybe the universe had finally caught up with him. Maybe it was time to stop running, time to stop hiding, and finally commit to something bigger than work. Something that actually mattered. Something that’d change his life and give it a new meaning, a new purpose.
“You’re saying you’d want it?” you asked, surprise flashing in your eyes as you finally looked up at him. “If I were pregnant… you’d want the baby?”
“I’m saying I want you to do what you want. But yeah… if you chose to keep it, then I’d want it too. I’m in, 100%.” Behind the fear in his voice, you heard absolute certainty.
“And how would that even look?” you asked quietly. “How would we do it?”
“If we’re doing it, we do it right. Together.” He took your hands in his, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles. “You could move in with me. Once the baby’s born, we’d arrange our shifts so one of us is always with them. We’d get a sitter to help us so you can still have time to do your residency. You have me. You’ll have me every step of the way.”
“Promise?” you whispered.
“Promise.”
Silence stretched between you, as if the rest of the world had stopped spinning. In that tiny bathroom, it was just the two of you, holding each other’s hands with the promise of facing whatever came next together.
“I think it’s been over five minutes,” Robby said finally, glancing toward the sink. “Want to check?”
You nodded, and Robby released one of your hands, picked up the test, and held it between you without looking at the result yet. “Together?” he asked.
You swallowed. “Together.”
The imposing voice of Dana cut through the fog in your mind. “Earth to you… hello?”
You blinked, startled, and reluctantly dragged your eyes away from the computer screen where you’d been pretending to chart for the last ten minutes. Dana was leaning against the nurses’ station counter with one hip, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Are you even listening to me right now? Because I’ve been talking to myself for five minutes. What’s up with you? You look like you didn’t close an eye last night.”
You forced a small, nervous laugh and quickly looked back down at the computer, hoping the glow of the screen would hide the exhaustion on your face. “Sorry… I slept okay,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant and unbothered. You weren’t fooling anyone, least of all Dana. You could feel her eyes studying you, taking in the faint shadows under your eyes, the slight slump of your shoulders, and the way you kept subtly shifting in your chair. Because no matter how hard you tried to focus on work, your body was still painfully aware of last night. The ghost of Robby’s thrusts still lingered between your thighs, a delicious ache that refused to fade even twelve hours later.
Every time you moved, you were reminded of how hard he had taken you, how thoroughly he had ruined you. Your muscles were sore in the best and most inconvenient way possible. You crossed your legs under the desk, trying to ignore the throb that pulsed through you at the memory. The last thing you needed was Dana figuring out why you were so distracted. Unfortunately, Dana had the observational skills. She narrowed her eyes even further, tilting her head as she continued to stare at you. “Yeah… sure you did.”
Dana drifted his gaze past your shoulder down the corridor. Her expression shifted almost imperceptibly, lifting her brows a fraction and her mouth twitching like she’d tasted something sour. You followed her line of sight to Robby, striding toward trauma two, wearing his navy scrubs and cargo pants. There was a loose, easy roll to his shoulders, a confidence in his steps that screamed satisfaction. The corners of his mouth were curved in a half-smile that was the unmistakable “I got laid and it was fucking amazing” look.
Dana let out a dry huff of laughter, crossing her arms over her chest. “Jesus. I hate when he walks around with that ‘I got laid and it was amazing’ face. It’s obnoxious as hell. Makes the rest of us feel like we’re doing it wrong.”
You kept your face carefully neutral, tapping your fingers against the keyboard, but without writing anything. “Maybe he’s just in a good mood.”
“Oh, please, don’t give me that. You know that face, it’s always the same with that man.” Dana tilted her head, studying him as he paused to talk with Victoria, that satisfied smile lingering a beat too long. She narrowed her eyes, thinking hard for a second, then her head snapped back toward you when realization hit him. “Wait a minute… That face. That exact face is too familiar. It’s not just his regular ‘I got some’ look. That’s the same damn face he used to wear back when you two were sneaking around four years ago. And I haven’t seen it on him once since you two called it quits. Not a single time.”
Heat flooded your cheeks instantly. You felt cornered, exposed, like a deer caught in headlights. Dana ran this place, nothing escaped her eyes. Trying to lie to her was usually pointless, she could smell bullshit from miles away. “I– I really need to finish these charts,” you stammered. “I promised Hannah I’d try to get home early so we could—” The excuse died on your tongue, it sounded pathetic even to your own ears.
She looked at you like she’d already decided you were guilty. “Please tell me you didn’t do it.”
“Didn’t do what?”
She snorted. “You’re a terrible liar. Always have been.”
You exhaled through your nose, dropping your shoulders in defeat. You glanced around the nurse station. It was quiet, no one close enough to overhear, then leaned in just a fraction.“Okay,” you muttered. “It was one time. One weak moment. I’m not doing it again.”
Dana didn’t t look surprised, just disappointed in the resigned way of someone who’s watched this film before and knew how it ended . “You’re so stupid,” she said, almost fondly. “Letting that mess of a man back in again.”
“I know.” You rubbed a hand over your face, wishing you could teleport anywhere but here. “I know. I’m just… so weak when it comes to him. He’s got this way of looking at me, like I’m the only thing in the room that matters, and the way he touches me…” You trailed off. “God, Dana, you don’t know how good it is. How he remembers every single—”
She held up a hand with the palm out. “Stop. Right there. I do not need the details. I’ve worked with that man for the last 20 years of my life, and I still got to work with him for the next eight hours. Spare me the play-by-play.”
“Sorry. It’s just… it felt like coming home, you know? And then this morning reality hit like a truck. And I realized I fucked up last night.”
Dana studied you for a long beat, and her expression softened just a fraction, enough to show the concern underneath.“Honey,” she said quietly, “you’re not weak. You’re human. And that man has always known exactly which buttons to push with you. But you’ve built something solid these last five years. Don’t throw that away because the sex is good.”
You nodded, swallowing hard. “I told him it was a one-time thing. A relapse. I’m not doing it again. I swear.”
Dana arched her eyebrow high. “You swear.”
“Yeah.” You met her eyes even if your stomach twisted. You were embarrassed to let anyone know about your poor life choices, but if you could trust anyone, that was Dana, one of the only people who’d been here since the start of your story with him. “Last night was… it was stupid. It won’t happen again.”
She studied you for a long beat, then she pushed off the counter, stepping closer and dropping her voice to that tone she used when she’s done playing nice.“You'd better not. Go out. Meet someone. Anyone whose last name isn’t Robinavitch. Someone who can actually commit to a relationship.”
You looked down at your hands, still faintly wrinkled from too much hand sanitizer, a nervous habit you’d gotten out of him. “It’s not that easy.”
“It’s not supposed to be easy,” she countered. “But it’s supposed to be possible. Find a guy who doesn’t bolt after a month because he ‘feels trapped’ and ‘needs space.’ Someone who doesn’t look at commitment like it’s an impossible mission. Someone who stays.”
The words sting because they’re true. Robby never lied about it, he’d told you early on he wasn’t built for the long haul, that relationships felt like another thing he’d inevitably fuck up. And when Hannah came along, when the exhaustion and the shifts and the fear piled up, he didn’t fight to keep you together. He just… drifted. Back to separate houses, separate beds, separate lives.
“Hon, you know Robby was not made for a relationship. He’s a great dad, nobody’s arguing that. The man would walk through fire for that little girl. But you? He loves you in the way he knows how: sporadically. And that’s never gonna change. Keep it that way. Keep him in the dad column. Don’t let him back into the partner one.”
You rubbed your temples, the ache from last night’s lack of real sleep settling in behind your eyes. “I know. I do. It’s just… when he’s there, when he’s touching me, talking to me like I’m still his… it’s like the last five years never happened. Like we could pick up where we left off.”
“That’s the trap,” Dana said quietly. “It feels like home because it used to be. But homes can be haunted too.”
In the days that followed, you did everything you could to avoid Robby. At work, you kept your distance, volunteering for procedures on the opposite side of the ED whenever possible and burying yourself in charts or patient updates the moment you felt his presence nearby. Because every single time your eyes met his, even for a brief second, your body betrayed you.
You remembered the crushing weight of him on top of you that night, the way he’d fucked you into the mattress like the world was ending. You remembered how perfectly your bodies still moved together, how easily he could pull those broken sounds from your throat. Years had passed, but the fire between you hadn’t dimmed. If anything, it was burning brighter and hotter than ever, threatening to consume every boundary you had built.
Thankfully, Robby seemed to sense your need for space and didn’t push. He gave you room to breathe at the hospital, only speaking to you when a case genuinely required collaboration. His tone stayed strictly professional, his touches nonexistent. He still called every evening like clockwork to talk to Hannah, but with you he remained carefully polite, never lingering, never teasing, never crossing the lines you had drawn.
You should have been relieved. He was finally respecting your wishes, he was doing exactly what you had asked him to do, and yet… on nights like this, when Hannah was at his place for her half of the week, the silence in your house felt suffocating. The emptiness pressed in from every corner. No little footsteps pattering down the hallway, no giggles echoing from the living room. Just you, alone in the quiet, with nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company. And your mind refused to shut off, It buzzed loudly, relentlessly, replaying every moment of that night in vivid detail, the heat of Robby’s skin, the burn of his beard against your neck, the groan in your ear when he came undone inside you.
You kept hearing his promises afterward: that he was a changed man, that this time he wanted you for real. Not out of duty because he’d gotten you pregnant. Not because he felt trapped by responsibility. But because he truly wanted to be with you, because he loved you. God, you wanted to believe him so badly. There were moments, weak and dangerous moments when you wished you could be reckless enough to fall for every word that came out of his mouth. To let yourself be dumb and hopeful and blind, just like you were five years ago.
Maybe you would have risked it if you were the only one who would get hurt when everything inevitably fell apart. You could survive a broken heart, you’d done it before. But Hannah couldn’t, she was innocent in all of this. She didn’t deserve to watch her parents try and fail again, to feel the instability, the confusion, the heartbreak of seeing her mother and father almost become a family, only for it to crumble. You refused to gamble with your daughter’s emotional safety just because you still craved the man who once broke your heart.
The knock on the door came right on time, just as the late afternoon sun was starting to slant through the living room windows. You were still in your scrubs, hair thrown up in a messy bun, when you opened the door to find Robby standing there with Hannah perched on his hip, her little pink backpack slung over his shoulder, making him look both silly and endearing at the same time, and her head resting sleepily against his chest.
“Hey,” Robby said softly. “We’re here.”
Hannah’s face lit up the second she saw you. “Mommy!” She reached both arms out, already wiggling to get to you. Robby shifted her gently into your arms, brushing his hand against your side in the process. The brief contact sent an unwelcome spark through you that you immediately tried to ignore.
“Hi, baby girl,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her soft brown hair, she smelled like the strawberry shampoo Robby always used on her. “Did you have a good time with Daddy?”
“We had a great time,” Robby answered for her, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He set her little backpack down by the couch and rubbed the back of his neck, looking unusually hesitant.
“Listen… I’ve been thinking about something.”
You raised an eyebrow, bouncing Hannah lightly on your hip as she played with the collar of your top. “That sounds ominous.”
He let out a small laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Not ominous. Just… I’m thinking of taking some days off work. Vacation days.” Your surprise must have shown on your face because Robby quickly continued. “I’ve been thinking about taking her somewhere warm. She’s been talking about the beach nonstop lately. There’s this resort in Mexico I’ve been looking at, very kid-friendly, right on the beach. Thought it might be nice for her to run around in the sand and actually see the ocean.”
Robby had never been one to take vacations. For most of his life, work had consumed him completely. He was drowning in the ED, the never-ending stream of patients, the constant pressure of being the one everyone relied on. There was always something more important, and a quiet voice in the back of his head constantly whispered that everything would crumble if he wasn’t there to hold it all together. He had never felt the pull to travel, no place ever seemed worth leaving the hospital for. Nothing could impress him or hold his attention long enough to make him want to step away. His entire identity had been tied to the job for so long that the idea of doing anything else felt foreign, almost selfish.
That was before Hannah arrived, she changed everything. From the moment she came into his life, Hannah gave him something he had never truly had before, and that was real purpose. She became the reason he woke up every single day determined to be better, to be the kind of father she deserved. The person who had to stay strong and healthy because she depended on him for everything, from teaching her how to tie her shoes, to how to be kind, how to stand up for herself.
But Hannah had given him more than just purpose. She had awakened in him a brand-new desire to actually live. For the first time in years, his world expanded beyondwork. He wanted to do things, he wanted to see things, and more than anything, he wanted to experience them with her. His life no longer felt like it should revolve solely around the ED, he craved as much free time as he could carve out so he could share it with his daughter, watching her discover the world. He refused to miss even a single moment of her childhood while she was still small and everything felt unique to her. Hannah had unknowingly pulled him out of the endless cycle of work and survival.
And that was how the trips began. Beach days where Hannah squealed at the waves and collected seashells in her bucket. Lazy summer afternoons fishing at a lake. Winter weekends at a cabin resort in the mountains, where they built snowmen in the backyard and drank hot chocolate by the fire. Whatever Hannah wanted to do, Robby made it happen.
You nodded slowly, processing the information. You dropped Hannah off carefully on the floor, and she immediately walked to her bedroom, mumbling something about saying hello to her stuffed animals. “Mexico… That sounds really nice for her. When were you thinking?”
“Probably in a couple of weeks, if I can get the time approved. I’d take about a week.” He paused, watching your expression carefully. “Are you okay with that? With me taking her?”
“Yeah,” you said without hesitation. “Of course I’m okay with it. She’ll love it. Just make sure you send me all the flight information and the hotel details once you have them. I want to know exactly where she’ll be and how to reach you.”
“Already planning on it,” he assured you. “I’ll send everything as soon as it’s booked.” A comfortable silence settled for a moment. Then Robby shifted his weight and looked at you again, something vulnerable flickering behind his eyes. “Actually… I wanted to ask you something else.” He rubbed the back of his neck again, a tell you knew too well. “Would you want to come with us?”
You blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”
“I’d pay for everything,” he added quickly. “Your flight, your room. You don’t have to worry about that. You’ve been working insane hours lately with residency. It might be good for you to get away for a few days, too. Relax. Sleep in.”
The offer hung in the air between you, and for one brief second, you let yourself imagine it. You pictured the three of you on a beach in Mexico. Hannah running barefoot through the warm sand, her hair messy from the ocean breeze, laughing with pure joy every time a wave came close enough to tickle her toes. You saw yourself and Robby sitting nearby on lounge chairs, drinking margaritas while the sun kissed your skin. The sound of the waves rolling onto the shore, lulling you into a nap you hadn’t allowed yourself in years.
After surviving on less than six hours a night for so long, the mere idea of lying back on a lounge chair and actually resting felt almost sinful. Vacations had always been a luxury you couldn’t afford. Not with the mountain of student loans, the demands of your residency, and the constant juggle of motherhood. The thought of taking time off just to relax had felt selfish, unrealistic, and completely out of reach. And now Robby was offering it all on a silver platter.
You quickly shoved the beautiful images away before they could take root and make you weak. Because that was the problem with Robby’s offer, it wasn’t just a vacation. It was a week of playing house, of blurred lines, and of watching him be the devoted father he had become, while your stupid heart remembered exactly how good things used to feel when the three of you were almost a real family.
“Robby…” You let out a slow breath. “Thank you. Really. That’s incredibly generous. But I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He furrowed his brow slightly. “Why not?”
“Because going on a vacation like that, the three of us, it would be confusing. For her, especially. If we’re sharing space like a family for a whole week, she might start getting ideas about us getting back together. I don’t want to give her false hope. And it’d be confusing for us two, we need to keep our distance after… You know what.”
Robby’s jaw tightened for a moment, but his voice stayed calm. “We can get separate rooms. Hell, we don’t even have to hang out the whole time if you don’t want to. You could do your own thing, be at a different pool, get spa treatments, whatever. I’m not asking you to pretend we’re a couple. I just… I want to do this for you. You deserve a break too.”
You shook your head, even as a small, traitorous part of you ached at how sincere he sounded. “No, Robby. Thank you, but no. It’s sweet of you to offer, but it’s too complicated. We’ve worked really hard to keep things stable and clear for Hannah. Mixing a family vacation into that… it blurs too many lines. I appreciate it, I really do. But I think it’s better if it’s just the two of you.”
He watched you for a long moment, something like disappointment passing across his face, a quiet frustration he tried so hard to hide. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Message received. I’ll just take her, then. But the offer stands if you ever change your mind.”
You gave him a grateful smile, even though your chest felt tight from how much you wanted to say yes, because of how much you wished that maybe in another life, Robby and you could be those parents sunbathing in Mexico with their kid. “I won’t. But thank you.”
He nodded once, lingering for another few seconds like he wanted to say more, but decided that by pushing too hard to get close to you again, he’d only end up pushing you away. “I’ll text you the details as soon as everything’s booked.”
“Sounds good.”
Before heading toward the door, Robby paused. He gave you one last long look, the kind that always managed to slip past every defense you’d carefully built over the years. In that single glance, you were flooded with memories you spent most days trying desperately not to dwell on. Memories from five years ago, back when everything still felt possible. Back when you still believed, with naive, foolish hope, that the two of you could somehow make it work.
And then there were the much more dangerous memories from just two weeks ago, the night where, for a few stolen hours, it felt like the rest of the world had simply stopped existing. His hands on your body like he still owned every inch of it, the way he’d whispered your name against your skin, the overwhelming feeling that you had teleported back in time, back to when it was just the two of you. For those few hours, you had let yourself believe again. You had let yourself imagine that maybe, just maybe, there could still be a “we” in your future.
A couple of days later, you heard the knock of the door echo through the house just as you were finishing packing Hannah’s favorite stuffed capybara into her little backpack. You opened the door to find Robby standing on the porch. Hannah immediately squealed at the sight of him.
“Daddy!” She bolted forward, launching herself into his arms. Robby caught her with ease, laughing as he lifted her high and spun her once before settling her on his hip. “Hey, angel,” he said, pressing a loud kiss to her cheek. “You ready for Daddy’s house?”
You stepped aside to let them both in, arms crossed loosely over your chest as you watched the usual handoff routine unfold. Hannah was buzzing with energy, clutching Robby’s shirt with her little hands. “Daddy, Daddy! Are we really going to the beach soon?” she asked with her eyes wide, full of pure excitement. “With the ocean and the sand?”
Robby grinned, the kind of soft and genuine smile he only ever wore for her. “We sure are, baby girl. I already picked out a really nice hotel. It’s right on the beach. Want me to show you the pictures later when we get home?”
“Yes!” Hannah bounced in his arms, practically vibrating. “Does it have a pool? And ice cream? And can I get a new swimsuit to wear?”
“It has a huge pool, and I’m pretty sure they have all the ice cream you can eat,” Robby answered patiently. He glanced over at you while still holding her. “I booked one of the family suites with a big balcony overlooking the ocean. You’re gonna love it, Han.”
Hannah gasped dramatically, her little mouth forming a perfect ‘O’. “Mommy, did you hear? Daddy got a hotel with a balcony! For the ocean!”
You couldn’t help but smile at her pure joy, even as a knot started forming in your stomach. “I heard, sweetheart. Sounds amazing.”
Robby set Hannah down so she could run to grab her stuffed animal from the couch. The moment she was out of earshot, he lowered his voice slightly. “I meant what I said the other day. The offer’s still open if—”
Before he could finish, Hannah came racing back, clutching her capybara tightly. “Daddy, can Mommy come with us to the beach? Please?”
Robby didn’t miss a beat. He looked straight at his daughter with an innocent expression that you knew was anything but. “You know what, Han? I was actually thinking about inviting Mommy too. What do you think? Would you like Mommy to come on the trip with us?”
Hannah’s entire face lit up like the Fourth of July. She spun toward you so fast she nearly tripped over her own feet. “Mommy! You have to come! Please please please! We can build sandcastles together and swim and eat ice cream and watch the sunset and— and everything!”
You shot Robby a deadly look over Hannah’s head, the kind that promised a painful retribution the moment you two were alone. He simply raised his eyebrows in mock innocence. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing. He was weaponizing the one person he knew you could never say no to. Hannah. She had always been your biggest weakness, your softest spot, and Robby knew it better than anyone. Those big, warm brown eyes were lethal. One pleading look from her, and your resolve crumbled like sand.
And right now, she was using every ounce of that power, blinking up at you with hope while clutching your hand like her entire happiness depended on your answer. It was unfair, completely unfair. Robby wasn’t just standing by and letting her beg, he was actively encouraging it, using your daughter as the ultimate emotional leverage. He knew you could resist him, he knew you could fight your own feelings, your own desires, your own stupid heart. But Hannah? Saying no to her when she looked at you like that felt almost cruel. And the worst part? He wasn’t even trying to hide how satisfied he was with himself, that tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth said everything. He was enjoying this far too much.
“Hannah, baby…” You crouched down to her level, gently brushing a strand of brown hair behind her ear. “Mommy would love to, but I’m super busy with work right now. I have so many shifts and—”
Robby’s voice cut in smoothly from behind her. “Actually, you have a bunch of vacation days saved up. I checked it yesterday.”
You straightened up slowly, narrowing your eyes at him, silently warning him to stop this nonsense before it went too far. “Robby.”
He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Just stating facts. You shouldn’t lie to your daughter, you know?”
Hannah grabbed your hand with both of hers, swinging it dramatically. “Mommy, pleeease? Pretty, pretty please!” You opened your mouth to respond, but Hannah was already in full pleading mode, her big puppy-brown eyes, exactly like Robby’s, staring up at you with devastating effectiveness.
“I really can’t afford it right now, sweetheart,” you tried again. “Plane tickets and hotels are expensive, and Mommy—”
“If Mommy can’t pay,” Robby interrupted you. “Then Daddy will pay. I’ve got it covered. Flights, resort, activities, all of it. You wouldn’t have to worry about a single thing.”
Hannah tugged harder on your hand, bouncing on her toes. “See? Daddy’s paying! So you can come! Please, Mommy? I want all of us together. Pretty pleeeeease.”
You felt cornered, trying to come up with more excuses, but as you reached inside your head, you couldn’t think of any. Robby stood there looking far too pleased with himself, while your daughter continued her relentless assault with those lethal eyes and endless enthusiasm.
“Hannah…” you started, searching desperately for another excuse.
“But Mommy,” she whined, pressing her face against your leg, “I’ll miss you so much if you stay here.”
Robby, the absolute traitor, decided to join forces. “She’s got a point,” he said casually, though his eyes were anything but casual when they met yours. “It wouldn’t be the same without you. And like I said before, I can get us separate rooms. You can do your own thing the whole time if you want. But it would mean a lot to her… and to me.”
The “and to me” was spoken so quietly you almost missed it. You looked between the two of them, your daughter with her hopeful, shining eyes and her father, the man you still stupidly loved, with that steady and patient gaze that had always been able to wear you down. The silence stretched. Hannah’s lower lip started to tremble just slightly, the ultimate weapon in her arsenal.
With a long, defeated sigh, you finally gave in. “…Fine,” you muttered, rubbing your temple. “I’ll go too.”
Hannah let out an ear-piercing squeal of pure delight and threw herself at your legs, hugging them tightly. “Yay! Mommy’s coming! We’re all going to the beach together!”
Robby’s smile was slow and satisfied, though he tried to keep it modest. “That’s great,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Really great.”
You pointed a finger at him over Hannah’s head. “You’re going to pay for this later, Robinavitch.”
His only response was a knowing chuckle. “Looking forward to it.”
Hannah continued dancing around the living room in celebration, already chattering about sandcastles, seashells, and swimming with dolphins. You stood there watching her, with your heart full of love for your daughter, loving every second of seeing her so happy, and equal parts dread and excitement about what you’d just agreed to, a family vacation in Mexico with Robby. God help you.
Hours later, the glow of your bedside lamp was the only light in the room. You were already tucked into bed, wearing an old, oversized t-shirt that had seen better days. Your phone suddenly vibrated on the nightstand, making you glance at the screen, letting out a slow breath as soon as you noticed who was calling. A Facetime from Robby.
You hesitated for two rings, it was almost midnight, and you didn’t feel like having any possibly agitating conversation right before your bedtime, but ultimately ended up accepting the call. Robby’s face filled the screen almost immediately, he was in his bedroom too, the light of his lamp illuminating his face. His hair was messy, like he’d been running his hand through it, and his glasses were perched low on his nose, those fucking glasses… No, don’t even go there, you silently muttered to your brain
“Hey,” his voice sounded rougher, the way it always got late at night. A small smile tugged at his lips. “You already in bed?”
“Yeah,” you replied, adjusting the blanket over your lap, as if trying to cover yourself up. “It’s late, Robby.”
He hummed in agreement, slowly dragging his eyes over what he could see of you on the screen. “You look comfortable. Cute shirt.” There was a brief pause before he asked, almost casually, “So… have you started packing swimsuits yet?”
You stared at him for a moment, the irritation you’d been carrying for the past hours finally bubbled up. “Robby… we need to talk.”
Robby lifted his eyebrows slightly, but the lazy smile didn’t leave his face. “Alright. About what?”
“You manipulated me into agreeing to this trip.”
Robby let out a low chuckle. “Manipulated? Damn, you’re using big words tonight.”
“It’s not funny,” you said sharply, though you kept your voice quiet so you wouldn’t wake Hannah. “You used our daughter to convince me, and then you joined in. That was low, even for you.”
He tilted his head, still smiling like this was all some lighthearted game. “Anything else?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Yes. You guilt-tripped me. The whole ‘it would mean a lot to her… and to me’ line? That was manipulation.”
Robby leaned back against his headboard, resting one arm behind his head, giving you an even better view of his bare chest. He looked far too relaxed for someone being accused of emotional manipulation. “Jesus,” he muttered, still chuckling softly. “Oh-ho-ho, I’m so evil, I manipulated the mother of my child into letting me take her on a fully paid week at a luxury beach resort in Mexico.” He raised an eyebrow, mock-serious. “Am I gonna go to prison for that?”
“Robby.”
“Relax,” he said, softening his tone just a fraction, though the amusement was still there. “Hannah’s excited. You saw her. She wants all three of us there. I’m just trying to give her what she wants.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you shot back. “I know your real agenda behind all of this.”
He tilted his head again, looking curious now. “Oh yeah? And what’s my agenda, according to you?”
You sat up a little straighter in bed, clutching the blanket tighter. “You’re using this stupid trip as an excuse to try and get back with me. You think throwing money at a vacation and putting us in the same space for a whole week is going to magically fix everything. It’s not going to work.”
For a moment, Robby just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then that stupid smirk of his spread across his face again. “Have you seen me in swim trunks lately? I look real good. You might have to swallow your words when you see me.”
You let out an exasperated scoff, though you couldn’t stop the flush that crept up your neck. You hated the way he could still make you laugh when you were trying to be pissed. You hated the way your body still reacted to his words. “You’re impossible. Seriously, it’s impossible to have a serious conversation with you sometimes.”
“I’m just saying,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Sun, sand, good drinks, me looking like this… you never know.”
“I’ll go,” you said, cutting him off before he could keep going. “But don’t even think this means anything else. We’ll get separate rooms. We’ll make separate plans. I’m going for Hannah. That’s it. Don’t get any ideas.”
Robby ignored your warning completely. “You look so gorgeous right now,” he murmured. Suddenly, his voice went quieter, more intimate. Robby moved his eyes slowly over your face, down to the collar of your shirt and back up again. “All soft and sleepy in bed like that. Fuck… I wish I were lying there with you.”
Your stomach flipped despite yourself, the way he said it, so sincere and full of a hunger that never ceased but only grew stronger every day, made heat bloom in your belly. You wanted to scream at how easily he could still do that to you. “Robby…” you warned him.
“I’m serious,” he continued. “I miss the way you feel under me. The way you breathe when you’re falling asleep next to me. I miss—”
“Goodbye, Robby.” You didn’t wait for him to finish, you ended the facetime call with a tap of your finger, plunging your screen into darkness. The room felt suddenly too quiet, too empty without his presence there. You dropped your phone onto the mattress beside you and stared up at the ceiling. Your skin felt warm, your mind was already replaying the way he’d looked at you, the tone of his voice when he said he wished he was lying there with you.
You pulled the blanket higher up to your chest, trying to ignore the storm of feelings Robby had just stirred up with nothing but his voice. It didn’t work, the ache was still there, as well as the flutter in your chest. The way your heart tripped over itself whenever he looked at you like that. Five years later, and Michael could still make your stupid heart race like you were that same fourth-year med student who used to sneak into his place late at night after shift. And now you had agreed to spend an entire week with him. A full week in Mexico. Seven days of Robby being Robby, charming, attentive, and far too good at reminding you exactly why you fell for him in the first place.
You had to force yourself to go back to one of the saddest days you could remember. Robby had come home from a brutal twelve-hour shift. You had just collapsed onto the couch after finally getting Hannah down, she’d been fussy all day, teething and crying restlessly. The moment he walked through the door, you could tell it had been a bad one. His eyes were glassy and distant, the lines on his face etched deeper than usual. Lately, every shift seemed to carve something out of him. He moved closer and pressed a quick, almost mechanical kiss to your forehead. No hello. No “how was your day.” Not even the ghost of a smile. Just autopilot, he was running on empty.
He sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, far from you, shoulders slumped. “There’s some pasta in the fridge I made,” you whispered, hoping it would reach him. He didn’t answer, didn’t even nod. He just stared at nothing, too drained to move.
Then Hannah let out a small cry from her crib. Before you could push yourself up, Robby was already on his feet. He scooped her up gently against his shoulder, swaying her in a soothing rhythm. “Are you okay, little angel?” he cooed softly, tender in a way it hadn’t been for you in weeks. “Yes, you’re okay. Yes, you are. Daddy’s here… shhh, go back to sleep.” That was the only moment you saw him smile genuine, and heartbreakingly soft as he held his daughter.
Tears burned in your eyes as you stood and walked closer to him. You had spent so many sleepless nights turning it over in your mind, and you couldn’t keep prolonging the inevitable. “Robby… we need to talk.”
“About us?” he replied, already sensing where this was going.
You nodded, feeling your throat tight. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t want to be with me? That… you regret telling me to move in with you and being together?”
Robby sighed heavily, rubbing his temples like the weight of the world was pressing down on them. “It’s just work. You have no idea what it’s like trying to hold the whole fucking department together when everything is crumbling down and—”
“It’s not just that,” you cut him off. “You don’t look at me. You don’t talk to me. I understand your job is hard, that you’re stressed and exhausted, but… shit, Robby, all we do is ignore each other. The only time we actually speak is to argue about something stupid.” The tears slipped free then, there was no holding them back.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I thought I could do all of this, but I—” Tears welled in his eyes too, spilling over as he tried to hold it together. “I don’t know what to do. I—” A sob cut him off.
“Do you need space?” you asked, dreading the answer. “Is that it? You need us to take some time?”
He looked at you for a long moment, broken and defeated. “Yes.”
Two weeks had passed, and before you realized it, the suitcase lay now open on your bed, half-filled with the folded clothes you had carefully picked for the trip. You stood in front of it, folding another sundress, while Hannah sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by her own small pink suitcase and a pile of toys.
“Hannah, baby, do you have everything?” you asked for what felt like the tenth time. “Swimsuits? Sunscreen? The colouring books Daddy bought you for the plane?”
Hannah nodded enthusiastically, holding up her favorite ruffled swimsuit. “Yes, Mommy! And my water wings and the new sunglasses Daddy got me!” She beamed with uncontainable excitement. “Are we leaving soon? Is Daddy almost here?”
“Any minute now,” you replied, zipping up the main compartment of your suitcase with a sigh. Your stomach had been in knots all morning, this trip still felt like a terrible idea the more you thought about it, but Hannah’s joy made it impossible to back out now.
Right on cue, there was a knock at the front door. Hannah shot up like a rocket and ran toward it, yelling “Daddy!” at the top of her lungs.
You followed more slowly, pulling both suitcases behind you. When you opened the door, Robby stood there in a casual white linen shirt and shorts, looking annoyingly relaxed and handsome in the morning sunlight. His eyes immediately found yours, a small playing on his lips. “Hey,” he said softly. “You two ready?”
“Daddy!” Hannah launched herself at him. Robby scooped her up effortlessly, kissing her cheek as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hi, my little mermaid. You got all your stuff?” He glanced over her head at you. “Need help with the bags?"
“I’ve got them,” you said, a little more curtly than you intended.
The drive to the airport was filled with Hannah’s nonstop chatter from the backseat. She pointed out every car, every cloud, every sign, asking a thousand questions about the plane, the ocean, and whether there would be dolphins. Robby answered every single one with patience, occasionally glancing at you in the passenger seat. You kept your eyes on the road, trying not to think too hard about how domestic this all felt.
At the airport, Robby handled check-in, and when the agent handed over the boarding passes, you caught a glimpse of them and froze. Business class.
You turned to him slowly as they walked toward security. “Seriously, Robby? It’s a four-hour flight. We could’ve flown economy like normal people.”
He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “I had miles on my card for an upgrade. Didn’t cost anything extra.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Robby.”
He leaned in slightly, keeping his voice low so Hannah wouldn’t hear. “Forgive me. I just wanted to spoil my family a little.”
“We’re not a family,” you said firmly, glancing ahead at Hannah skipping between you two. Robby didn’t argue, he just gave you a look that said he disagreed but wasn’t going to push.
The flight itself was smoother than you expected. In business class, the seats were wide and comfortable. You both let Hannah had the window seat, ans she spent most of the flight pressed against the glass, watching the clouds and looking at the ocean. Robby sat in the middle, keeping Hannah entertained with the in-flight entertainment and snacks.
You tried to read, but your mind kept wandering, every time Robby’s arm brushed yours, reaching for something, or when he laughed at one of Hannah’s excited comments, memories flooded your mind back, and you had to constantly remind yourself the only reason you were doing this was because Hannah had asked.
You landed in Cancun four hours later. A private transfer waited for you outside arrivals. The driver loaded your bags while Hannah bounced between you and Robby, holding both your hands. The drive to the resort took about forty-five minutes along the coast. You watched the palm trees that lined the road and the turquoise water on one side. Hannah pressed her face to the window the entire time, gasping at every new sight.
When the resort finally came into view, it was even more beautiful than the pictures. A luxurious property with white buildings, infinity pools cascading toward the ocean, and tropical gardens everywhere.
The humid air of Cancun wrapped around you the moment you stepped out of the transfer van. The resort lobby was stunning with high ceilings, white marble floors and massive floral arrangements. Hannah’s hand was firmly in yours, her fingers squeezing with excitement as her eyes darted everywhere at once. “Mommy, look! There’s a fountain! And flowers! And the ocean is right there!”
Robby walked a few steps ahead, carrying Hannah’s pink suitcase in one hand and his own duffel in the other. He looked completely at ease, the fabric of his shirt slightly damp from the humidity and clinging just enough to show the lines of his shoulders. He glanced back at you with a reassuring smile before heading straight to the reception desk. You stayed back with Hannah, letting her point out every detail she noticed.
A few minutes later, Robby returned, twirling a key card between his fingers. “All set. We’re in the beachfront wing. Follow me.”
The walk to the room was beautiful but felt endless. Hannah skipped between you and Robby, holding both your hands and swinging them as she chattered nonstop about building the biggest sandcastle in the world.
Robby finally stopped in front of a beautiful wooden door, he swiped the key card, and the door clicked open. The suite was breathtaking, with floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors that opened onto a wide private balcony overlooking the ocean. The living area had elegant white furniture, and as you stepped further inside, your eyes landed on the bedroom area with two queen-size beds.
You stopped dead in the doorway. “Where’s the other room?” you asked slowly, worried you already knew the answer Robby was about to give you.
Robby set the suitcases down and scratched the back of his head, looking mildly sheepish. “Yeah… so there was a mix-up at the front desk. We only got one room.”
You stared at him with disbelief. “What? Are you serious right now?” The asshole had to be kidding. But then again, this was Robby, and this was exactly the kind of shenanigans he’d put you through. You should have known he wouldn’t keep his promise to let you do your own thing at the resort, to not act like you were a real family on a family holiday. You had been to hopeful to expect he’d at least wait a little longer before showing his real intentions.
Hannah, completely oblivious to the tension, let out a delighted squeal and immediately launched herself onto the nearest bed, jumping up and down with pure joy. “This one’s mine! No, this one! Look how bouncy it is, Mommy! Daddy, come jump with me!”
You barely heard her, your whole attention was locked on Robby. The family suite was gorgeous, in tasteful neutral tones, with fresh flowers on the nightstands, a bottle of champagne and fruit plate waiting on the table with a welcome note, but none of that mattered. What mattered now was that Robby had not only manipulated you to agree to this trip, but he’d also lied to you.
“Michael, do you think I was born yesterday? You totally did this on purpose. I know it.”
He held up both hands in a placating gesture, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “There was a confusion with the booking. I swear. They had us down for a family suite with two queens instead of two separate rooms.”
You crossed your arms, glaring at him. “Go fix it. Right now.”
“I already tried,” he said calmly, stepping closer so Hannah wouldn’t overhear. “They’re completely booked. Peak season, a big wedding happening this week. No other rooms available in the whole resort.”
You let out a frustrated breath, rubbing your temple. “This is not what I agreed to, Robby. Separate rooms. That was the condition. I never would’ve come if—”
“I know,” he interrupted gently. “But it’s just one week. I can take one bed, you and Hannah can take the other. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” you hissed, keeping your voice down as Hannah continued bouncing happily, now unpacking her stuffed capybara and arranging it on the pillows. “This is exactly what I was worried about. You’re pushing boundaries.”
Meanwhile, Hannah had moved on to dragging her suitcase across the room, chattering excitedly. “Mommy, can we go to the beach now? The water is waiting! I want to find seashells and build a castle.”
Robby glanced at her with that fatherly smile that always made your chest ache, then looked back at you. “Look at her. She’s already so happy. One week, that’s all. We’re adults. We can handle sharing space for a few nights without it meaning anything.”
You stared at the two queen beds again. They were large, luxurious, with more pillows than necessary. The balcony doors were open, letting in the warm breeze and the constant, soothing sound of waves. It would have been perfect… if it weren’t for the man standing two feet away looking far too pleased with this “mix-up.”
Hannah suddenly ran over and grabbed your hand, then Robby’s. “Come on! Let’s go to the beach! I’m ready! I have my bucket and everything!”
You looked down at your daughter’s beaming face, then back at Robby. He raised an eyebrow slightly, waiting. You let out a long, defeated sigh. “Fine. But this changes nothing, Robby. Separate beds. No funny business. And the second a room opens up, we’re switching.”
“Whatever you say,” he replied, but the small, satisfied smile on his face told you he wasn’t worried at all.
He set his suitcase near one of the queen beds and nodded toward the bathroom. “I’ll go change first. Won’t be long.”
You nodded silently, still processing everything, but as soon as the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, you turned your attention to Hannah, who was already pulling things out of her pink suitcase with frantic excitement.
“Come here, baby,” you said softly, kneeling on the floor beside her bed. “Let’s get you ready for the beach.”
Hannah stood in front of you, wiggling with impatience as you helped her out of her travel clothes. You carefully slipped her into her favorite ruffled swimsuit, bright pink with little white flowers, adjusting the straps and smoothing the fabric over her tummy. Then came the sunscreen. You squeezed a generous amount into your palm and rubbed it slowly over her arms, shoulders, back, legs, and face, making sure every inch was covred. Hannah giggled when you got to her nose, squirming because of how tickly it was.
“You have to stay safe from the sun, okay?” you murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’re going to have so much fun, but Mommy doesn’t want you to get burned like a toast.”
“I won’t!” she promised solemnly, then immediately went back to bouncing on her toes. “Can I wear my new sunglasses? And my hat with the flowers?”
The bathroom door opened, and Robby stepped out, for a moment, time seemed to slow. He wore dark swim trunks, paired with a simple white shirt that he hadn’t bothered to put on yet, it was slung over his shoulder. You had seen his bare body no more than a month ago, you’d been under it, but it still felt, somehow, like seeing him again for the first time.
You stared at him longer than you should have. His soft but solid tummy that drove you insane, and that familiar trail of dark hair across his chest that you had always, always loved running your fingers through.
Your eyes traced the lines of his chest, the way the hair curled slightly, the soft give of his stomach. Heat flushed up your neck because God, you still loved every inch of him.
Robby caught you looking and a knowing smile spread across his face. “What?” he asked teasingly. “I got something on my face?”
You blinked hard, tearing your gaze away. “No,” you muttered, grabbing your own beach bag a little too quickly. “I’m… going to change.”
You escaped into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind you. The mirror showed your flushed cheeks, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. This was just a week, you could handle this. Just a week of sleeping in the same room, just a week of seeing his body, just a week of him deliberately trying to break down our walls.
You changed into one of the bikinis you’d packed, a simple black two-piece that tied at the sides and back. You liked how it looked on you, it was flattering, but as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you felt suddenly, acutely aware of how little it covered. Your body had changed since having Hannah, a few stretch marks here and there, breasts that were fuller but not as perky as before. Standing here in just this tiny bikini, knowing Robby was right outside… it felt vulnerable.
You adjusted the ties one more time, took another steadying breath, and stepped out of the bathroom. Hannah immediately squealed. “Mommy, you look so pretty!” She ran over and hugged your legs before darting into the bathroom herself to grab her sunglasses and sun hat. “I’ll be right back!”
You stood in the middle of the suite, adjusting the strap of your beach bag, when Robby stepped in from the balcony. He had been leaning on the railing, looking out at the ocean, but the moment he turned and saw you, he stopped dead. His eyes widened, and he dramatically clutched his chest with one hand, staggering back a step like he was having a heart attack.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, the grin on his face pure mischief. “Warn a guy next time.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile that wanted to break free. “You’re so not funny, Robinavitch.”
You wanted to slap that smug smile right off his face and kiss him senseless at the same time. The two urges warred inside you, because you hated how much his words mattered. How easily he could make you feel like the most beautiful woman who had ever stepped foot on this earth, and how completely you believed him when he said it. He wasn’t just mumbling the words because it felt like something he was supposed to say. No, Robby looked at you like he truly wanted you, like he was dying to get his hands back on your body, to pull you close and remind you exactly how good it used to feel. His gaze lingered, tracing over you in a way that made heat flood your stomach. God, you hated how much you still wanted him to.
He didn’t stop. He kept one hand pressed to his heart, shaking his head slowly as his gaze traveled over you, unashamed, appreciative, and far too warm. “You’re trying to kill me on day one, huh? That bikini… fuck. You look incredible.”
Heat flooded your face again, but you crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly self-conscious. “Stop it. This is exactly what I was worried about.”
Robby took a slow step closer, still smiling, but his voice dropped. “Can’t help it. You’ve always looked good, but seeing you like this…” He let the sentence trail off, his sight lingering on the curve of your waist and the ties at your hips.
Before you could respond, Hannah burst back out of the bathroom wearing her oversized sunglasses and floppy sun hat, striking a dramatic pose. “I’m ready! Let’s go see the ocean!”
The sand was warm under your feet as the three of you made your way down the wooden boardwalk to the private stretch of beach reserved for resort guests. The sea stretched out in front of you, waves lapping against the shore, leaving behind lines of foam. Hannah’s excitement was infectious. She ran ahead a few steps, then back to you and Robby, her little sun hat flopping with every bounce. “The water is so blue! Can we go in right now? Please?”
Robby chuckled, adjusting the beach bag on his shoulder. “Let’s set up first, kiddo. Then we’ll swim.”
You chose three loungers under a large thatched umbrella near the water’s edge. You spread out towels while Robby helped Hannah with her water wings. The resort staff had placed a small cooler with chilled water and fruit beside the chairs, and soft music drifted from speakers along the beach.
Once everything was settled, Robby stood and offered his hand to Hannah. “Ready, little mermaid?”
She grabbed his hand with both of hers and tugged him toward the water. You watched them go, settling back into your lounger with the book you’d brought. The sun felt incredible on your skin, you opened your book, but your eyes kept drifting over the top of the pages. Robby and Hannah waded into the shallow waves. Hannah squealed every time the water touched her legs, clinging to Robby’s hand. He lifted her high when a bigger wave came, spinning her around as she laughed uncontrollably. His swim trunks moved lower on his hips, and it made it impossible for you to focus on your book, every few minutes your gaze wandered back to them.
After nearly an hour, Hannah came running back to you, dripping wet and beaming. “Mommy! Come build sandcastles with me! Daddy said he’ll watch our stuff.”
You set your book aside and took her hand, walking down to the firmer sand near the waterline. The two of you knelt together, digging with plastic shovels and buckets. Hannah chattered nonstop about her castle needing a moat and a tower for the princess. You helped her pat the walls smooth, adding seashells and bits of coral you found along the shore. The sun warmed your back, and for a while, everything felt simple and perfect, just you and your daughter creating something together. But you felt Robby’s eyes on you the entire time, when you glanced up, he was sitting on the lounger, with his elbows on his knees, watching with an unreadable expression.
He didn’t look away when your eyes met, the intensity in his gaze made heat bloom across your skin. Later, when the castle was tall and elaborate, Hannah got a mischievous glint in her eye. “Can we bury Daddy in the sand? Like a mummy?”
Robby, who had joined you, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I see how it is. Ganging up on me already?”
You smiled despite yourself. “Sounds fair.”
The three of you worked together, slowly covering Robby as he lay back in the sand. Hannah patted sand over his legs with delight, while you worked on his arms and torso. The heavy sand molded around his body as he lay there patiently, occasionally joking with Hannah about becoming a “sand mummy.” Every time your hands brushed his skin while smoothing the sand, a spark jumped between you. He noticed, and you knew he did.
When you finally stepped back, Robby was almost completely buried, only his head and part of his neck visible. Hannah clapped her hands and danced around him. “He looks like a turtle!”
Robby chuckled, trying to move and finding himself well and truly stuck. “Alright, ladies. Fun’s over. Unbury me.”
You exchanged a look with Hannah, a smile spreading across your face. “You know what, Hannah? Don’t you want to go get some ice cream? I saw a stand right by the pools, and since this is all-inclusive, we can have all the ice cream we want.”
Hannah’s eyes lit up like stars. “Yes! Chocolate and strawberry and rainbow sprinkles!”
Robby snapped his head toward you, as much as he could with what little mobility he had left. “Ice cream sounds great. Why don’t you get me out of here and we go there together?”
You crouched down beside him, close enough that your shadow fell over his face. You leaned in until your faces were only inches apart. “This is for booking one room, Michael.”
His eyes widened with outrage. “You wouldn’t—”
You straightened up before he could finish, taking Hannah’s hand. “Come on, baby. Let’s go find that ice cream. Daddy can wait a few more minutes.”
Hannah giggled conspiratorially and waved at Robby. “Bye, Daddy! We’ll bring you some… maybe!”
As the two of you walked away hand-in-hand toward the resort path, Robby’s voice followed you, half-laughing, half-protesting. “This is unfair punishment! Hannah! Come back!”
You didn’t look back, but you couldn’t stop the satisfied smile on your face. For the first time since arriving, you felt like you might actually survive this week, but only if you kept winning the small battles.
The light of late afternoon had softened into the warm pinks and oranges by the time you and Hannah returned to the suite. The scent of ocean salt that clung to your skin and your hair was a wild mess. You both needed showers badly. You helped Hannah first, rinsing the sand from her hair and body. After drying her with one of the oversized white towels, you slipped her into her favorite purple dress and brushed her hair until it was smooth. Your turn came next, you took your time, letting the warm water wash away the salt, sand, and sunscreen. When you emerged wrapped in a towel, Hannah was sitting on one of the queen beds, flipping through a children’s book the resort had left.
She looked up with a bright smile. “Mommy, I’m so hungry! Can we go eat now?”
“Soon, baby. Let’s wait and see if Daddy gets back so we can all go together.”
You were both dressed and ready when the door to the suite finally opened. Robby stepped inside, still covered head to toe in sand. It clung to his hair, dusted his shoulders and arms, and left visible trails down his legs. His swim trunks looked gritty, and there was sand stuck to the damp skin of his chest and stomach. He looked equal parts ridiculous and defeated. You and Hannah stared for half a second before bursting into laughter.
Hannah pointed, doubling over on the bed. “Daddy! You’re a sand monster for real!”
Robby closed the door behind him with a dramatic sigh, brushing uselessly at his arms. “It’s not funny,” he grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. “That wasn’t cool at all.”
You tried to stifle your laughter, covering your mouth with one hand. “You deserved that, Michael.”
He shot you a look, narrowing his eyes playfully. “I have sand in places no person should ever have sand. I’m talking places, okay? You left me there all afernoon.”
You raised an eyebrow, still smiling. “Really? The whole afternoon?”
He ran a hand through his hair, sending another shower of sand onto the floor. “Maybe a beach guard eventually helped dig me out. That’s not the point. The point is you two left me there.”
Hannah was still giggling uncontrollably. “Sorry, Daddy. I ate all the ice-cream.”
Robby shook his head, trying to look stern but failing miserably. “Traitors, both of you.” He glanced down at himself again and sighed. “I need a shower. Give me ten minutes and we can head to dinner.”
While Robby disappeared into the bathroom, you and Hannah sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the water run. When Robby finally emerged, he looked refreshed, wearing a clean button-down shirt and shorts. “Ready?” he asked, offering Hannah his hand.
The buffet was everything a resort like this promised, long tables overflowing with fresh seafood, grilled meats, salads, tropical fruits, and many dessert stations. Hannah’s eyes were wide as saucers as she piled her plate high with pasta, shrimp, and fruit, while you and Robby chose more balanced meals.
You ate slowly, savoring the flavors while Hannah chattered between bites about everything she’d seen that day, occasionally yawning as the long day caught up with her.
After dinner, the walk back to the suite was peaceful, the pathways were lit with lanterns, and the sound of waves grew louder again as you approached the beach wing. Hannah walked between you and Robby, holding both your hands, her steps slowing with tiredness.
Back in the room, the bedtime routine felt strangely intimate. You helped Hannah brush her teeth while Robby turned down the beds. Hannah chose to sleep with you tonight. You tucked her in on the bed closest to the balcony, reading her a short story while Robby dimmed the lights.
Soon, Hannah’s breathing evened out into sleep, her body curled against your side. You lay there in the semi-darkness while Robby settled into the other bed, the sheets rustling as he got comfortable.
“Well, isn’t this nice?” Robby murmured, soft enough not to disturb Hannah’s peaceful sleep. “The three of us here like this… I had a great time today. Even if I spent three hours buried under sand.”
You closed your eyes, trying to ignore the way your treacherous heart agreed with him. It did feel nice, dangerously nice. You’d had so much fun being with him, doing things together like a regular family: building sandcastles, chasing waves, watching Hannah’s delighted squeals. For a few stolen hours, it had felt real. “Tomorrow morning,” you said quietly, despite the ache in your chest, “you’re going to the reception and asking if they have any more rooms available.”
The next morning you woke slowly, Hannah was still curled against your side on the queen bed. Carefully, so as not to wake her, you slipped out of bed. You moved quietly around the room, brushing your teeth, splashing cool water on your face, and running a brush through your hair. You chose a red bikini today, tied the strings and slipped on a light white cover-up. Before leaving, you scribbled a short note and left it on the nightstand: Went for an early walk on the beach to watch the sunrise.
Robby woke later, he spotted the note immediately and read it with a smile. “Mommy went for an early beach walk,” he told Hannah, helping her sit up. “Let’s get ready and surprise her with breakfast on the beach. What do you think?”
Hannah’s face lit up. They took their time, Robby patiently helping her brush her teeth and wash her face. He changed into swim trunks and a loose linen shirt, applied sunscreen to Hannah’s face and arms, and they headed out hand-in-hand, making a quick stop at the breakfast buffet to grab some fresh fruit, croissants, yogurt, and cold water bottles to bring to the beach.
The ocean sparkled brilliantly as he scanned the loungers, looking for you. When he finally spotted you further down the beach, his steps slowed. You were standing near the water’s edge in just the red bikini, the morning light highlighting every curve of your body. You looked relaxed, confident, and breathtakingly beautiful. And you weren’t alone. A tall, ripped guy in his mid-to-late twenties stood close to you, shirtless, his sculpted abs and broad shoulders glistening slightly with sweat or water. He was laughing at something you said, leaning in with confidence, clearly flirting back with you.
He looked like he belonged on a fitness magazine cover, young, with zero signs of the wear that came from decades of work. An ugly twist of jealousy hit Robby in the chest. But it wasn’t just jealousy, it was insecurity hiding right behind it. This guy was younger, fitter. Probably had endless stamina and no emotional baggage. Robby became acutely aware of his own softer stomach, the gray hairs scattered across his chest, and the wrinkles around his eyes from years of exhaustion. He felt every one of his fifty. years in that moment, standing there holding a plate of fruit and his daughter’s hand.
Hannah tugged excitedly on Robby’s hand. “There’s Mommy! Look, Daddy! She’s over there by the water. Can we go say hi? Please?”
Robby forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, angel. Let’s go.”
They started walking across the warm sand. Robby’s focus narrowed entirely on you and the man standing far too close. As they approached, he heard the guy’s easy laugh again. The young man was animated, gesturing toward the horizon with one muscular arm, clearly in the middle of some charming story.
“Good morning” Robby said, trying not to sound bothered but doing a terrible job hiding his annoyance. “I see you found company.”
The guy’s gaze flicked from you to Robby, then back to you with mild confusion. “Is that… your father?”
The word landed like a punch, and Robby let out a short and dry laugh, though his jaw tightened painfully. “Her father,” he mumbled on the low. “Cute. No. I’m her husband, as a matter of fact.” His voice didn’t even hesitate over the blatant lie he’d just said.
You laughed, an uncomfortable and forced sound that made Robby’s chest twist. “He’s not my husband,” you corrected quickly. “He’s just… a guy I know from work.”
Robby turned to you slowly, raising one eyebrow raised in disbelief. “A guy you know from work? Excuse me?” The young guy shifted awkwardly on his feet, clearly sensing the sudden thick tension crackling in the air. “I’m the father of her daughter. Michael Robinavitch, nice to meet you.”
The guy’s eyes darted between the three of you, with a confused look across his face as if he couldn’t quite process the sudden shift. Just a couple of minutes earlier he’d been leaning in close, flashing an easy smile and flirting with acute woman at the beach. Now here you were with a man standing possessively close and a little kid next to him. And as if he couldn’t quite believe that Robby, was somehow the father of that kid. “So… you have a daughter? With her?”
Robby kept his tone light for Hannah’s sake, ruffling her hair gently with one hand, but there was an edge underneath his words. “Yes. I got her pregnant. It was a wonderful experience, actually.”
The words came out with a possessive undertone he didn’t even try to hide. What a fucking little prick, Robby thought. He wishes he could pull a woman like you. Sure, the guy might have abs where Robby had a softer belly. Maybe his forehead was smooth, with no lines etched from the pass of time, and his head might still be free of silver hairs. But Robby had pulled you without any of that polished bullshit, and you had always looked at him like he was the most handsome man to ever exist. A little asshole like him wouldn’t have a clue what to do with a woman like you.
You shot Robby a warning glare, a mix of anger and embarrassment. because now you had to explain your awkard family situation to this stranger. “It’s… complicated,” you told the guy, forcing a polite smile that felt brittle on your face. “Really complicated.”
The young man rubbed the back of his neck, his sculpted shoulders tensing visibly. He was clearly uncomfortable now, the easy flirtation from moments ago evaporating. “Yeah… uhh, I think my friends are calling me. Nice to meet you, though.” He gave you one last lingering, appreciative glance before turning and walking away toward a group of guys further down the beach.
The second he was out of earshot, you rounded on Robby, trying to keep your voice low and controlled so Hannah wouldn’t hear, but still with a furious undertone in it. “What the hell was that? You completely ruined it. He was flirting with me, and you had to march over here acting like some possessive caveman. And “her husband” What the hell was that?”
Robby set the beach bag down on the sand a little harder than necessary. “Oh please,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, the movement highlighting the soft give of his stomach beneath his shirt. “He’s not even your type.”
You stared at him incredulously. “And how exactly would you know what my type is these days, Robby?”
He shrugged, but his eyes were dark with a potent mix of jealousy and insecurity. “Because I know you. That guy? All looks and no substance. Perfect abs and zero idea what real life looks like. You’d be bored in ten minutes.”
The words hung between you. Hannah, sensing the growing tension like children always do, tugged gently on your hand. “Mommy, can we eat breakfast now? I’m hungry.”
You forced a warm smile for her, pushing down the frustration and smoothing her messy brown hair with your fingers. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s sit down and eat. Daddy brought all your favorites.”
The rest of the morning on the beach passed in silence from your side. You didn’t speak one more word to Robby. Every time he tried to make conversation,offering you some mango, commenting on how beautiful the water looked, asking if you wanted more sunscreen, you answered with short nods or turned your attention to Hannah instead. Robby noticed, and after a while, he stood up slowly, brushing sand from his legs.
“I’m gonna take a walk around the resort for a bit. Give you some space.” He looked at Hannah with a soft smile. “You stay with Mommy, okay, angel? I’ll be back soon.”
Hannah nodded, already busy building another small tower on her sandcastle. Robby lingered for a second longer, resting his eyes on you with something regretful in them, before he turned and walked away down the beach path. You watched his back until he disappeared behind the palm trees.
The hours passed slowly, you played with Hannah in the shallow water, built more sandcastles, applied more sunscreen, and read a few chapters of your book while she napped under the umbrella. But your mind kept replaying the scene with the guy, Robby’s jealous interruption, his possessive words, the way he’d looked at you. It stirred up too many old feelings you didn’t want to examine.
Part of you enjoyed the attention he gave you, the way Robby got possessive whenever another guy even stepped too close. It felt good to be wanted like that. To see him look at you like he still wanted you to be his and his only, even after all this time, even after everything that had happened between you. It was dangerous, how much you liked it. Because it stirred up the same old feelings, the ones that made it so hard to remember why you kept pushing him away in the first place.
Robby returned a couple of hours later, carrying two fresh iced drinks. He approached cautiously and sat down on the edge of your lounger, close but not touching you. “I know you’re pissed,” he said. “And you have every right to be. I overstepped. I was an asshole back there. Jealous and… yeah. I’m sorry.”
You stayed silent for a long moment, staring out at the turquoise water. “You were. You ruined a nice, harmless conversation.”
Robby nodded, accepting it. “I did.” He paused, then offered one of the iced drinks. “I walked by the spa earlier. They have really good reviews. I thought of getting you a massage as an apology. You deserve to relax after everything… and after dealing with me being an idiot.”
You looked at him then, searching his face. His expression was sincere, the usual cocky edge softened by genuine regret. Part of you wanted to stay mad. The other part, the tired nd overworked resident and mother, desperately wanted that massage. “…Fine,” you said eventually. “But this doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed.”
“Understood.” He gave you a small smile.
You left Hannah at the resort’s supervised children’s activity center, a beautiful shaded area with crafts, games, and attentive staff. She was thrilled to join the other kids, waving goodbye without a second thought.
The spa building was serene and even more luxurious than the rest of the resort. Robby stepped up to the elegant reception desk first. You watched him leaning slightly on the polished wood counter, and the woman on the desk checking the screen and nodding.
After a couple of seconds, Robby came back to you. “Okay, it’s all settled. I’m gonna head back, maybe hit the pool with the bar. Enjoy your massage. You deserve it.”
Before Robby had any time to head to the door, a masseuse in a white uniform approached you both. She offered a welcoming smile. “Okay, beautiful couple, ready for your couple’s massage? We have the ocean-view room prepared with the full aromatherapy package you selected. It’s one of our most popular experiences.”
You froze right there and then, the word “couple” hitting you like cold water. Your stomach tightened instantly, a rush of irritation flooding through you. “Robby,” you said, turning to him. “What the hell did you do now?”
He looked genuinely surprised, his eyes widening as he raised both hands in a surrender gesture. “I swear I don’t know,” he said quickly, sounding sincere for once. “I just booked a regular massage for you. I didn’t say anything about a couple’s anything. I was very clear, one person, one massage.”
The masseuse glanced between the two of you, still smiling politely, completely unfazed by the sudden tension. “It’s our signature couples experience, side-by-side tables, synchronized massage, and a glass of champagne afterward. Very romantic and relaxing. Perfect for reconnecting.”
Before you could refuse, clarify, or even form a full protest, the staff were already guiding you both forward with efficiency. They led you down a quiet, incense-scented hallway that opened into a treatment room. Two massage tables stood side by side in the center, candles flickering all around the room and towels folded neatly.
Your heart was racing now, a mix of irritation at Robby and anticipation because soon he would be shirtless again, lying only a few feet away while you were both having a “couple experience” when all you needed was to be as far away as possible from the concept of you and Robby being a couple. Your brain was already getting all these confused, dangerous feelings after spending so much time together, the laughter, the casual touches, the way the three of you looked like a real family from the outside. The last thing you needed right now was to keep doing couple activities. Every shared dinner, every walk along the beach, only made the line between co-parents. You were supposed to be keeping your distance.
You turned to him. “This is not what I agreed to, Robby.”
He looked almost sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. “I really did just ask for one massage. But… we’re here now. Might as well enjoy it?”
The masseuses were already moving, preparing the oils, laying out fresh towels, adjusting the temperature and lighting.
On of them smiled gently. “If you’d both like to remove your clothes to your comfort level and lie face down on the tables, we’ll begin with the back and shoulders. Take your time.”
Robby glanced at you, reading the hesitation in your posture. He gave a reassuring nod. “I’ll go first,” he said quietly, and stepped behind the simple privacy screen they had provided.
You heard the rustle of fabric as he removed his shirt and trunks. You turned around quickly, facing the wall to avoid the sight of his fully naked body, one you knew far too well and that still had the exact same devastating effect on you. Definitely not the kind of reaction you needed when you were supposed to be relaxing. But even with your back to him, the knowledge that he was right there in the same room, completely bare, got your heart beating fast.
When he emerged and lay face down on the right-hand table, he draped the sheet modestly over his lower half. You couldn’t help but notice the familiar lines of his back, his strong shoulders, the soft curve where his waist met his hips. Your turn came next, you stepped behind the screen, your fingers slightly unsteady as you untied the bikini top and stepped out of the bottoms. The cool air kissed your bare skin, you wrapped yourself quickly in one of the large, warmed towels and moved to the left table, lying face down.
You turned your head to the side, away from Robby, trying to steady your breathing. The masseuses worked in sync. Pouring warm oil first, spreading it with their fingers, starting at your shoulders and working downward in long strokes. The pressure was perfect — deep enough to melt the knots from endless shifts, gentle enough to feel indulgent. Beside you, Robby let out a low sound of relief as his own masseuse began. The sound sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine, you knew that voice too well, one you’d heard far too many times.
One of the masseuses, an older woman, spoke softly as she worked on your upper back. “You two make a lovely couple. Have you been together a long time?”
Robby answered before you could explain how you weren’t a couple, you two had ended here after a complicated series of events. “Five years.”
You opened your eyes, staring at the white sheet beneath you. “We’re not really together,” you corrected quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
Robby let out a soft chuckle from the next table. “It’s more like an on-and-off thing.”
You turned your head slightly toward him, the irritation mixing with the pleasure of the massage, an experience that was supposed to be relaxing, but now was irritating due to Robby’s presence. “It’s mostly off than on, really.”
The younger masseuse working on Robby smiled as she kneaded his shoulders. “Ah, but you are here together now. That counts for something, no?”
The older woman on your side pressed deeper into a knot between your shoulder blades, drawing a quiet sigh from you. “You make a good couple,” she said warmly. “I have seen many couples working here, but not many where the man looks at the woman the way he looks at you. It’s very special.”
You let out a small, skeptical laugh, the sound muffled against the face cradle. “I find that hard to believe.”
Robby’s voice came from beside you. “I look at her like she’s the second most precious thing in this entire world.”
The masseuses both made soft. The younger one asked curiously, “Why second?”
Robby didn’t hesitate. “Becuse the first one is the daughter she gave me five years ago.”
A soft chorus of “Awww” filled the room. You could practically feel the women melting at his words. The older masseuse patted your shoulder gently. “That is beautiful. A man who knows what he has.”
You felt heat rise in your cheeks, a confusing mix of embarrassment, irritation, and something warmer that his words always managed to make you feel. “He’s a flatterer,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice light. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s very good at saying the right things.”
Robby chuckled again. “Only when it’s true.”
The synchronized rhythm of the massage created an oddly intimate atmosphere. When your masseuse dug into a tight knot between your shoulder blades, Robby’s masseuse did the same at the exact same moment. The sensation of feeling your own body release tension while hearing his quiet groans of pleasure made the room feel smaller, more charged. Time stretched. You found yourself relaxing despite everything, the ocean view, the scent of the oils, the pressure, until the masseuse gently asked you to turn over. You hesitated for a second before complying, keeping the sheet carefully draped over your chest as you rolled onto your back. Robby turned at the same moment, and for a brief second, your eyes met across the small space between the tables. His gaze was dark, but you looked away quickly, focusing on the ceiling and the glow of the candles.
The front massage was somehow even more intimate, oil poured across your collarbones, your arms, your legs. The masseuse’s hands worked slowly up your thighs, careful and professional, but the proximity of Robby, who was lying there with his eyes sometimes closed, sometimes open and watching the ceiling, made every touch feel amplified.
The older masseuse spoke again softly as she massaged your temples. “It is good to see a family taking time together. These moments are precious.”
You stayed silent this time, and Robby’s quiet reply came a moment later. “They are. It took me a while to realize there’s nothing more important than my family.”
When the massage ended, the masseuses quietly stepped out, leaving you and Robby alone in the treatment room. Robes had been provided, and two elegant flutes of champagne with fresh strawberries and raspberries waited on a small table between the two massage tables. You sat up slowly, wrapping the white robe tightly around yourself. Robby did the same on his table, the robe hanging open just enough to show his chest.
For a moment, neither of you spoke, the only sounds were the distant waves. Robby reached for the champagne glasses and handed one to you. He clinked his glass gently against yours.
“To surviving the rest of this trip,” he said softly, a smile playing on his lips.
Robby leaned back against the edge of his table, watching you. The robe slipped slightly off one shoulder, revealing more of his chest. “No matter how much you try to pretend you hate spending time with me… I know you secretly enjoy it. We get along. We have fun together. You know there’s this… connection between us.”
You stared into your glass, watching the bubbles rise. You took a sip before answering. “You’re wrong. The only reason we keep spending time together is because you pull this shit all the time. This wasn’t what I agreed to. I asked for separate rooms, no couple activities. You keep lying to me and manipulating everything because you have this fantasy that I’ll magically get back with you just because you paid for some expensive vacation.”
Robby set his glass down slowly. He didn’t look defensive. Instead, his expression was open, almost vulnerable. “I didn’t get a couple’s massage. I swear. I asked for one massage for you.”
You raised an eyebrow, the champagne making your cheeks feel warmer. “What about the hotel room mix-up?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile tugging at his mouth. “Maybe… I didn’t correct the receptionist when he gave me only one room.”
You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
Robby looked at you then. “I’m in love,” he said simply. “Crazy in love with you. And every single day, every second I spend with you it just gets bigger and bigger. I can’t help it.”
The confession hung between you. You wanted to push back, to stay angry, but the massage had stripped away too many defenses. You knew you could pack your suitcase right now. You knew you could call a taxi, get to the airport, and buy the fastest ticket back home. But part of you didn’t. Part of you longed to stay and see what the next thing Robby would do, how far he’d go to win you back, how much he was willing to risk this time, and whether he truly meant it. The worst part of it all was how little you actually wanted to run away from him.
“You can’t deny the massage was nice,” Robby added quietly.
You took another slow sip of champagne. The truth slipped out before you could stop it. “It felt good,” you admitted, barely above a whisper. “Really good.”
The next day you woke to Hannah’s excited bouncing on the bed and Robby’s chuckle from the other side of the room. After a leisurely breakfast on the balcony while watching the ocean, the three of you headed to the resort’s massive water park, full of slides, lazy rivers, and splash zones. Hannah’s eyes were wide with wonder as she ran from one attraction to the next.
You spent hours in the shallow kids’ area first, where sprays of water misted over mushroom fountains. Hannah laughed uncontrollably as she darted through the sprays. Robby lifted her onto his shoulders so she could reach higher sprays, both of them soaked and beaming.
Later, you moved to the lazy river, the three of you floated together on a large raft, the current carrying you under bridges and past waterfalls. Hannah sat between you and Robby, chattering nonstop about the “big slides” she wanted to try next. Robby’s arm rested casually behind you on the raft, occasionally brushing his fingers over your shoulder.
You braved a few bigger slides with Hannah while Robby waited at the bottom with open arms to catch her. He went down the steeper ones with her, their laughter echoing as they shot out into the splash pool. You watched from the side, smiling despite yourself at how good he was with her, patient and playful.
By late afternoon, you were all tired, but still decided to head to the open-air resort theater for the karaoke night. The tables were arranged in an arc around a central stage. You sat at a table near the front with Hannah comfortably settled on your lap. She wore her favorite sundress, her hair still slightly damp from the evening shower. In her small hands, she held a colorful fruity mocktail with a paper umbrella and a slice of pineapple on the rim. She watched performer after performer take the stage, clapping enthusiastically for every single one, whether they were hilariously off-key or surprisingly talented.
Robby sat right beside you, he had switched to margaritas after dinner and was now on his third or fourth. His cheeks were flushed a warm pink, and his smile came easier, the alcohol had softened the edges that usually existed between you, but you kept your guard firmly in place, hyper-aware of the weight of his arm behind you and the occasional brush of his fingers against your shoulder
The host, a charismatic man stepped up to the microphone scanning the crowd. “Alright, folks, next up we have Michael Robinavitch! Michael, the stage is all yours.”
Your stomach dropped instantly. You froze, asking yourself if you’d heard right, because karaoke was something Robby would never, ever, do. But then again, this wasn’t normal Robby, this was Robby after four margaritas that inhibited any level of self-awareness he had. “Robby… where are you going? What are you doing?”
He stood up with a bright, slightly tipsy smile that lit up his whole face. He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of Hannah’s head, then straightened. “You’ll see,” he said.
He walked toward the stage with confidence, the stage lights catching on the slight sway in his step from the margaritas. The crowd quieted with anticipation as he took the microphone. For a moment, he just stood there, looking out over the audience, until his eyes found yours across the tables. A heart-stopping smile spread across his face.
“Good evening, everyone,” he began. “My name is Michael Robinavitch.” He scanned the audience again until his gaze locked directly on you. “This song goes out to the love of my life.” He pointed straight at you, and heads turned. Dozens of eyes shifted your way all at once. Heat flooded your face in an instant, a deep and mortifying warmth that burned from your chest all the way to your ears.
You wanted the sand beneath the theater to open up and swallow you whole. You sank lower in your seat, wishing you could disappear. Robby didn’t stop. “No, not only the love of my life. She’s the woman of my life. She’s the mother of my child. Look at them, aren’t they the most beautiful ladies in the world?”
The crowd let out a collective and heartfelt “Awww.” Some people clapped, a few whistled. Hannah waved happily at her dad from your lap, completely thrilled and oblivious to your embarrassment. “Daddy’s singing for us, Mommy!” she whispered excitedly, bouncing a little.
The opening notes of Aerosmith’s I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing began playing, and Robby’s voice came through the speakers, rough around the edges from the margaritas, but surprisingly in tune despite being a terrible singer. He sang directly to you, keeping his eyes locked on yours the entire time, as if no one else existed.
“I could stay awake just to hear you breathing
Watch you smile while you are sleeping
While you’re far away and dreaming…”
Embarrassment burned through every inch of you. Your cheeks were on fire, and you covered your face with one hand, peeking through your fingers.
“I could spend my life in this sweet surrender
I could stay lost in this moment forever
Where a moment spent with you is a moment I treasure…”
Hannah bounced happily on your lap, clapping along. “Daddy sounds so good! He’s singing for you, Mommy!”
Robby poured everything into the chorus, his voice rising with emotion, and cracking slightly on the high notes but full of feeling.
“Don't wanna close my eyes
I don't wanna to fall asleep
'Cause I'd miss you baby
And I don't wanna miss a thing…”
He pointed at you and Hannah again during the song, his gaze never wavering. The crowd was completely swept up, some singing along, others watching the three of you with fond, smiling faces. You felt painfully exposed, seen in a way that terrified you, and yet terrifyingly wanted and loved in front of all these strangers.
When the final notes faded, the audience erupted in loud applause and cheers. He gave a small, humble bow, grinning widely. He didn’t step off the stage immediately, instead, he raised the microphone again. “Thank you,” he said, smiling at the crowd. “I just want to say one more thing before I go. I was an idiot. I did some things I regret. I let fear and work, and my own stubbornness get in the way of the best things in my life.” He looked straight at you. “But this woman right here… and our beautiful daughter… they are the best thing that ever happened to me. All I want is another chance to fix it. To do it right this time.”
The crowd reacted instantly, followed by scattered cheers and shouts of encouragement. Someone near the back yelled, “Give the man another chance!” More voices joined in, “Yeah, go for it!” until it became a playful chant rippling across the theater.
Robby finally stepped off the stage, making his way back to your table amid the lingering applause. Hannah launched herself into his arms the moment he sat down. “Daddy! You sang so good for Mommy!”
You stared at him, your heart still racing from the public love declaration and the serenade. You leaned in close so only he could hear. “You’re an idiot, Robby.”
He turned to you, so close that the scent of tequila and his cologne wrapped around you again. “Yeah. But I’m your idiot.”
You wanted to push him away, to stay angry about the public spectacle and the way he kept blurring every boundary. But with Hannah happily chattering between you two about how “Daddy is the best singer ever,” and the crowd still occasionally glancing your way with fond smiles, it was impossible to ignore the pull.
“Every single word was true.” He brushed your shoulder gently. “I lost so many years, so much time, so many memories I let go because of how I felt, and now the thought of missing one single moment with you kills me. I don’t want to be anywhere you’re not.”
You had to blink back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. For the first time, you believed every single word that left his lips, no doubting, no second-guessing, no walls left to hide behind. After days of fighting him, of pushing back against every word and lingering touch, all you wanted was to pull him close, to bury your face in his chest and tell him you wanted the same thing. That every second you’d wasted fighting him was a second the two of you could have been together, laughing, touching. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow,” you swallowed. “When you’re not four margaritas in.”
The next morning, you woke before Hannah. You glanced at Robby in the other queen bed. He was still asleep, lying on his back with one arm draped over his stomach, the sheet low on his hips. You moved quietly and sat on the edge of his bed, the mattress dipping slightly under your weight. For a long moment you just watched him, the morning light highlighting the white hair on his jaw and the lines around his eyes.
Then Robby stirred, fluttering his eyes open slowly, focusing on you with sleepy confusion that quickly shifted into something softer, almost disbelieving. “Am I dreaming?” he murmured as he blinked a few times, pushing himself up on one elbow. “Why are you in bed with me?”
You stayed seated on the edge with your hands in your lap. “Do you remember what happened yesterday?”
He rubbed his face with one hand, still half-asleep. “We went to the water park? Hannah loved the slides…”
“Not that, idiot,” you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Later. The karaoke.”
Robby froze. His eyes widened as the memories clearly flooded back. He let out a long groan and dropped back onto the pillow, covering his face with both hands. “Oh yeah… Jesus. I can’t believe I did that.”
“I bet you’re regretting it now.”
He lowered his hands slowly. “I might be deeply embarrassed. But I don’t regret it. I wanted to do something romantic for you. Something that showed you how I feel.”
You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your tone light even as your pulse quickened. “Yeah? Nothing more romantic than singing off-key Aerosmith in front of a hundred strangers.”
Robby chuckled and pushed himself up to sit against the headboard. “Come on, it wasn’t that off-key.” His eyes met yours. “I meant every single word I said. About not wanting to miss another second without you. About you and Hannah being the best things that ever happened to me. About wanting another chance.”
You held his gaze for a long moment, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest, breaking down your defences more and more each day. “I heard you loud and clear, Robby.”
Hannah stirred slightly in the other bed but didn’t wake. You stood up slowly, smoothing your sleep shirt. “I’m gonna head to the pools for a bit before she wakes up.”
Robby sat up straighter. “You can’t.”
You turned back to him, raising your eyebrow. “Why not?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish again. “Yesterday I… booked us dancing lessons on the beach. Salsa. For this morning.”
You stared at him. “And why the hell did you do that? Why didn’t you ask me first? I don’t wanna go.”
He let out a helpless laugh. “I don’t know. I was drunk and thought dancing salsa with you on the beach sounded like a great idea at the time.”
You crossed your arms. “Well, I’m not going.”
“Please go with me,” he said wofter now, almost pleading. He looked at you with those warm brown eyes that had always been able to weaken your resolve. “I’ll behave. I promise. Otherwise I’m gonna have to dance with the teacher, and that would be even more embarrassing than last night.”
You stood there in the quiet morning light, part of you still wanted to say no, to keep the boundaries firm, to protect the distance you’d fought so hard to maintain. But you knew if it wasn’t this, then he’d simply come up with another way of putting the two of you together in another situation. Being with him for these days had softened you more than you cared to admit, it had all worn down your defenses. And after every honest word he’d laid bare last night, combined with the way he was looking at you now with that sheepish, boyish smile and those earnest eyes that always saw straight through you, it made it very hard to keep saying no.
After dropping Hannah off at the resort’s supervised kids’ activities center, where she immediately ran off with a group of children to do crafts and play games, you and Robby walked the shaded pathways toward the beach.
The beach dancing area was set up in a beautiful, semi-private cove framed by gently curving palm trees and large rocks. The instructor, a local man, welcomed you both with open arms. “Perfect timing!. Come, come, partners, face each other. We start with the basic steps.”
Robby was a terrible dancer. He tried, God, he tried so hard, but his movements were initially stiff and awkward, his hips resisting the rhythm. He settled his hands on your bare waist with visible hesitation at first, but that hesitation quickly melted into something much hungrier.
The first time the instructor called for a basic side step and Robby pulled you in, he pressed his palm firmly against the small of your back, splaying his fingers wide as if he needed to feel as much of you as possible.
The heat of his touch burned straight through your skin, sending a spark racing up your spine. “Like this?” Robby asked the instructor as he attempted the next step.
His thigh accidentally slid between your legs for balance during a turn, pressing close for a second longer than necessary. You felt the warmth of him, the subtle shift of his hips, and heat pooled in your belly.
The instructor laughed good-naturedly. “Looser hips, my friend! Feel the music. Let it move you.”
Robby tried again, pulling you closer on the next basic. He brushed his chest against yours with every step, the thin fabric of his shirt and your bikini top did nothing to hide the heat of his body.
“This is harder than it looks,” he muttered close to your ear, his breath warm against your neck. He slid his hand a little lower on your back, digging his fingers in with hunger. “But I like having an excuse to hold you like this.”
You swallowed hard, trying to focus on the beat. “You’re terrible at this.”
He grinned as he dipped you slightly on the instructor’s cue. “But I’m trying. For you.”
His body was pressed flush against yours, his hips rolling in what was supposed to be a salsa step but felt far more intimate. The subtle grind, the way his thigh stayed between yours for balance, the hungry way in which he dropped his to your mouth and lower, to the swell of your breasts, made your skin tingle everywhere he touched.
Your pulse thundered in your ears, almost drowning out the music. Every turn, every close hold, every time his hands guided your hips, the tension built higher. He traced possessive circles on your lower back with his fingers. When the music slowed for a moment to practice a more sensual move, he looked down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, like he wanted to devour every inch of you right there on the sand in front of everyone.
You couldn’t take it anymore. You’d tried to fight every single advance he’d made since you both arrived. You’d tried to ignore the way he looked, more tan from the sun, those charming freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks, his soft body on full display in nothing but swim trunks. You’d tried to pretend you weren’t affected by the flood of memories rushing back every time he got close, or by the fantasies of what life could look like if you finally let him in. And you were bone-tired of pretending you didn’t want the same thing. Exhausted from denying yourself what your body craved so much, his hands, his mouth, the weight of him pressing you down, the way only he could make you fel.
Mid-step, you grabbed Robby’s hand tightly and started walking, pulling him firmly away from the group and down the beach. The ocean breeze tried cooling the flush on your skin but did nothing to calm the fire in your belly.
Robby stumbled slightly to keep up, surprised but not resisting. “Where are we going?”
You didn’t slow down, already scanning the shoreline ahead. “We’re going to have sex.”
He let out a startled and deep laugh that sent another shiver racing through you. A second later the laugh faded into pure disbelief. “Wait… are you serious?”
You kept walking, your breath coming faster as the arousal intensified with every second that went by without feeling Robby’s touch. “Yes, Michael.”
Robby’s grip on your hand tightened. “Let’s go back to the room then. No risk of anyone seeing—”
“It’s too far,” you cut him off, your voice breathy with need. “And they’re probably cleaning it right now.”
He let out an incredulous laugh, half-aroused, half-amused. “So what? We’re doing it in the wild?”
You glanced back at him, the corner of your mouth twitching despite the heat flooding your body. “Michael, it’s the beach, not the wilderness.”
“Excuse me,” he said, still laughing softly but with clear hunger in his eyes, “But I really like this resort. I don’t want to get banned for life from this chain.”
You stopped for a second, turning to look at him fully. Your voice dropped to a more direct and impatient tone. “You wanna fuck or not?”
His expression shifted instantly, completely undone. “Yes please.”
“Good, then stop complaining.” You kept walking until you found a good spot: a small, semi-secluded cove partially shielded by large rocks and leaning palm trees. The sand here was softer, shaded in patches by the foliage, with a clear but private view of the ocean. You pulled him behind the largest rock formation and Robby followed without hesitation, his hands already sliding to your waist the moment you stopped. The hunger in his touch matched the fire burning in your veins. He pressed you back against the smooth, sun-warmed rock, his body crowding yours, mouth hovering just inches from yours, breath ragged. The tension that had been building since the massage, since the karaoke, since the entire trip finally snapped.
The moment you pulled Robby behind the large, sun-warmed rock, the rest of the world fell away, all that existed was the heat between you, the desperate need that had been simmering since the very beginning of this trip.
You surged forward and kissed him. Robby met you instantly, a hungry sound rumbling in his chest as his hands grabbed your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth was hot and demanding, and his fingers dug into your hips with desperation. He kissed you like a man who had been starving ever since the last night you shared together, sweeping his tongue into your mouth, claiming, while he slid one up your back to tangle in your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted it.
He broke the kiss just enough to breathe against your lips. “I’ve been dreaming about this. Every single night since we got here. I didn’t think it would actually happen.”
You smiled against his mouth, sliding your hands up his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart under your palms. “All your stupid tricks finally worked.”
He groaned, pressing his forehead to yours as he roamed his hands restlessly over your body, down your sides, cupping your ass, pulling you harder against the growing hardness in his swim trunks. “All I did was to try and prove you how much I love you,” he murmured. “I want to be with you. Not just fuck you again. I want everything. You, Hannah, us as a family. That’s all it’s ever been about.”
Your hand slid down between you, palming the hard and thick outline of his cock through the fabric. He hissed sharply, jerking his hips forward into your touch. “It was torture,” he rasped, against your ear, “seeing you in that bikini every single day and not being able to touch you. Not being able to do this.”
You squeezed him gently, stroking the length of him through his trunks. “Maybe I wanted to touch your body too.”
He let out a shaky laugh that turned into a groan as you rubbed your thumb over the fat head. “I know. I could see the way you watched me. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”
You couldn’t wait any longer. You hooked your fingers into the waistband of Robby’s swim trunks and pushed them down just enough to free him. His cock sprang out, the thick vein along the underside pulsed visibly as you wrapped your hand around the base, your fingers barely able to close fully around his girth. You stroked him slowly from base to tip, savoring the way he throbbed powerfully in your grip. “It’s your fault for having this fucking body,” you whispered. “It’s just my type.”
Robby let his head fall back against the rock with a moan, bucking his hips into your fist. “I was right,” he managed to say. “That guy the other day at the beach… he wasn’t your type, was he?”
You swept your thumb over the head on every upstroke, spreading the leaking precum and making him even wetter. Robby groaned deeply, jerking forward into your fist as you twisted your wrist just the way he liked, squeezing a little tighter on the way back down. “Please. That guy lacked everything I love in you.”
“Fuck… your hand feels so good,” he rasped. “Been dying to feel you touch me again.” He cursed under his breath, gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.
You sank slowly to your knees in the sand, until Robby’s cock stood right in front of you, flushed a deep, needy red at the head and already leaking a steady bead of precum. You looked up at him through your lashes, taking in the sight of him towering above you.
As you wrapped one hand around the thick base, the heat of him pulsed strongly against your palm, the weight and girth of him making your mouth water. You started slow, torturously slow. Leaning in, you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the leaking tip, tasting the salty, slightly bitter bead of precum that had gathered there. Robby’s hips jerked forward involuntarily as a whimper escaped from his chest. You kissed it again, slower this time, letting your lips linger as you savored the skin stretched tight over the swollen head.
Then you dragged your tongue in a wet circle around it, tracing every ridge and vein, feeling the way he twitched and throbbed against your tongue with every pass. “Fuck… baby,” he groaned, already wrecked and sounding hoarse. One of his hands came down to gently grab your hair, trembling slightly as his fingers carded through the strands. “Come on… please… Take a little more, baby.”
You smiled against the slick head, barely parting your lips to take just the tip into the wet heat of your mouth. You sucked gently, swirling your tongue lazily around him, giving him only the lightest, teasing pressure. Robby’s moan was loud and needy, his thighs were trembling as he fought the powerful urge to thrust deeper into your mouth.
You pulled back just enough to speak, brushing your lips still against the glistening tip, a thin string of saliva connecting you. “You’ve been thinking about this the whole trip, haven’t you?”
Robby closed his eyes for a second and nodded, almost like he was in pain. Then you took him deeper, sucking more of his length into your mouth. You hollowed our cheeks as you worked him with deliberate bobs of your head, savoring every inch. The taste of him, the salty skin that was so uniquely Robby, made you moan around his cock. The vibration drew another loud, desperate whimper from deep in his throat.
You remembered every little trick he used to love from years ago, the way he liked the flat of your tongue pressing firmly along the sensitive underside, followed immediately by soothing suction, the way you hollowed your cheeks on the upstroke to create that perfect tight pressure. You did them all, eagerly and hungrily, losing yourself in the heavy weight of him on your tongue and the broken, needy sounds he couldn’t hold back no matter how hard he tried.
You slid your free hand between his spread legs, cupping and gently rolling his heavy balls, massaging them with careful pressure. Robby’s head fell back against the rock with a guttural groan that was almost too loud for the public setting. His hips stuttered forward, chasing the wet heat of your mouth as he fought for control.
“God… your mouth,” he panted, forcing his eyes to stay open. He couldn’t stop watching you, the way your lips stretched obscenely around his cock, the spit glistening on your chin and dripping down his shaft, the lust-drunk look in your eyes as you took him deeper with every bob of your head. “I can’t… fuck. You look so fucking good like this, on your knees for me.”
You moaned again around him, and took him as deep as you could, until your nose was brushing the dark, untrimmed hair at his base, holding him there for a long moment while your throat worked around him. You continued playing with his balls, gently tugging and rolling them, feeling them draw up tight as his pleasure built.
Robby’s whimpers turned into full, unrestrained moans. He tightened his fingers almost painfully in your hair as he began rocking his hips shallowly, fucking your mouth with tiny movements. Spit dripped down your chin, coating your hand as you stroked what your mouth couldn’t reach, twisting your wrist on every upstroke just the way he liked.
You pulled off just enough to gasp for air, strings of thick spit connecting your swollen lips to his throbbing cock. “You gotta be quiet,” you whispered, “if you don’t want to attract an audience.”
Robby let out a shaky laugh that quickly dissolved into another deep moan as you licked a long stripe up the entire underside of his cock, tongue pressing firmly against the thick vein there.
“I can’t… I can’t be quiet when I’m finally feeling your mouth again. Fuck, I’ve missed this so much. Missed you so fucking much.”
You took him back in without warning, sucking harder and faster now. Robby’s moans grew louder, more needy, his body trembling as he fought the edge, his thighs shaking beside your head. “Baby… I’m close,” he warned, stuttering his hips forward. “So fucking close—”
You kept going, eager to push him over the edge, dying to feel his thick load flooding your mouth, but Robby suddenly pulled you off with a desperate groan. He hauled you up to your feet with strength. His cock, slick and throbbing and coated in your spit, pressed against your stomach. “Not yet,” he rasped. “Not like this. I want more. I want all of you.”
With a growl, he spun you around, pressing your front firmly against the rock. Your cheek rested against the stone as he yanked the ties of your bikini bottoms loose with impatient fingers until the fabric slid down your legs and pooled at your ankles. You kicked it aside impatiently, leaving yourself completely bare from the waist down.
One of Robby’s large hands slid up your body from behind, slipping under the fabric of your bikini top. His palm was hot as it cupped your breast fully, squeezing the soft flesh with blatant hunger. He found your already hard nipple and rolled it slowly between thumb and forefinger, pinching just hard enough to send sparks of pleasure shooting straight down to your dripping core. You gasped, arching your back and pressing your breast harder into his hand, craving more of that delicious sting.
At the same time, he dipped his other hand between your legs from behind, dragging two thick fingers teasingly through your soaked folds, parting them and spreading your slick arousal everywhere. The wetness coated his fingers as he explored you, rubbing up and down your slit before finally finding your puffy clit. He circled it with the pad of his middle finger, pressing it just right, making your thighs tremble and your knees threaten to buckle against the rock.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” his voice was rough with lust. “This pussy is dripping for me already. You’ve been aching for my cock, huh?”
You moaned loudly and pushed back against his hand desperately. “Robby… I can’t wait anymore,” you gasped. “I need you inside me. Now. Please.”
He pressed a wet kiss to the back of your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth possessively. “Fuck, yes,” he groaned.
You felt the blunt head of his cock nudge against your entrance, sliding through your slick folds once, twice, teasing you both. Then, with one powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you.
The stretch was like something you never felt before, overwhelming and full, exactly what you’d been craving for days. Robby filled you completely, his cock dragged against every spot inside as he bottomed out with a satisfied groan.
He stayed there for a long moment, buried to the hilt, both of you breathing hard together, his chest pressed flush against your back, one hand still massaging and kneading your breast, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.
Then he started moving, he was slow at first, giving you deep and rolling thrusts that let you feel every single inch of him. Robby snapped his hips forward deliberately, driving his cock so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach. The wet sound of skin meeting skin mixed beautifully with the waves and your shared, breathy moans.
Robby’s grip on your hip tightened as he gradually picked up the pace, fucking you harder, deeper. “God, you feel so fucking good,” he groaned right against your ear. One of his hands left your breast, sliding down your body until it reached your ass. He grabbed a full, greedy handful of the rounded flesh, squeezing hard enough to leave marks as he spread you open wider for him, pulling your cheeks apart so he could watch every inch of his cock as it disappeared inside your greedy pussy. Your arousal coated his shaft, strings of wetness connecting you every time he pulled back, only to slam in deeper. “So tight… so wet for me. Been thinking about this pussy every single day on this trip. You’re creaming all over me, baby. Can you feel how deep I am?”
You moaned loudly, pushing back to meet every powerful thrust. The rock was warm against your front, your breasts kept rubbing against it with every movement. He leaned over you more, changing the angle so he could fuck you even deeper, snapping his hips forward with raw purpose now. “You’re mine,” he growled against your ear. “This pussy is mine. You’re mine. Say it.”
You could only moan in response at first, lost in the overwhelming pleasure. “Y-yours.”
He grabbed your hips with both hands, digging his fingers in hard as he pulled you back onto his cock with every thrust. “Fuck, Robby… harder,” you gasped, still pushing back against him. “Don’t stop.”
“Never,” he growled, slamming into you deeper. “Not gonna stop until you’re coming all over my cock.”
You moaned louder, unable to hold back. Robby’s hand left your hip and slid up your body, pressing two fingers firmly against your lips. “Suck on them,” he growled hotly against your skin. “Before someone hears how well I’m fucking you. Be a good girl for me.”
You parted your lips obediently, taking his fingers deep into your mouth. You sucked on them eagerly, swirling your tongue around the digits just like you had around his cock earlier. Robby groaned deeply at the feeling of your muffled moans against his fingers, his hips slamming into you harder.
With his other hand, Robby found your swollen, aching clit. He pressed his digit firmly against the bundle of nerves, rubbing tight circles with exactly the pressure he knew drove you wild. He alternated between teasing strokes and faster, more insistent ones, never letting the rhythm become predictable. The dual sensation was devastating, not only his cock stretching and pounding into you from behind, but now his fingers working your clit relentlessly.
“That’s it,” he rasped as he fucked you even deeper. “Suck my fingers while I ruin this pussy. You’re so fucking wet for me. Been thinking of it since the dance lesson, haven’t you? I could feel how soaked you were the whole time I was touching you.”
You moaned around his fingers, the sound vibrating against them as you sucked harder. Your legs shook uncontrollably. “Come for me,” he rubbed your clit faster and harder. “I want to feel you squeezing my cock when you cum. Let me feel how much you need this. How much you’ve been aching for me.”
The tension snapped, your orgasm crashing over you hard and suddenly. You cried out around his fingers, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his thick cock, fluttering and squeezing him tightly as waves of overwhelming pleasure rolled through your entire body.
Robby’s thrusts grew erratic as he chased his own release. “Fuck… you feel so good when you cum. So tight. I’m so close, baby.” He kept fucking you through your orgasm, drawing it out with deep strokes, his fingers still rubbing your oversensitive clit in gentler circles. His voice was completely wrecked when he spoke again. “Can I finish inside? Please… I need to fill you up. I need to cum inside you.”
You pulled off his fingers just enough to gasp out. “Yes. Cum inside me. Fill me up, Robby. I want it so much.”
That was all he needed. Robby buried himself as deep as possible with a broken moan as he came. You felt every pulse as he emptied himself inside you, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts. He kept thrusting through it, as if he wanted to push every single drop of his fat load as far inside you as possible. His body trembled against yours as he pressed his forehead to the back of your neck, breathing raggedly against your sweat-slicked skin.
Robby wrapped his arms around you from behind, holding you close as he softened inside you, placing lazy kisses along your shoulder and the back of your neck. His cum slowly leaked down your thigh in sticky trails, mixing with your own wetness.
Eventually, you shifted, feeling the pleasant ache between your legs and the reality of where you were. You reached down, picked up your discarded bikini bottoms from the sand, and slowly tied them back on with slightly shaky fingers. Robby stayed close, resting his hands on your hips, stroking circles with his thumbs as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.
“We should go pick up Hannah,” you said softly, still sounding a little hoarse.
Robby didn’t move right away, he turned you gently to face him, cupping your face with his hands. “Wait,” he murmured. “What does this mean? Just admit it and stop fooling yourself. Tell me you want this as much as I do. That you want to be with me too. That you never minded sharing a room, or getting a couple’s massage, or taking dancing lessons. Tell me you actually like spending time together like this.”
You looked up at him, the vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache, and after an intense orgasm like the one he’d just given you, you couldn’t even fool yourself. You took a slow breath. “Yes… I do,” you admitted. “I like being with you, Robby. I like the sex. I like how you make me laugh. I like talking to you. I like… all of it.” His eyes lit up with hope, but you continued before he could speak. “But what happens with me? What happens with Hannah if you change your mind? If the charm wears off once we’re back home, dealing with real life.”
Robby’s expression turned serious, almost pained. He cupped your face more firmly, brushing your cheeks. “I wouldn’t go through all of this if I weren’t a hundred percent sure of what I feel and what I want. Hannah is the most important thing in my life. I’d die before hurting her. Or you. I’m not going anywhere this time. I promise.”
You searched his eyes, tears pricking at the corners of yours. “How can I believe you?”
He smiled softly, a little sheepish. “I sang in front of a crowd for you. That has to count for something.”
You laughed despite yourself. “This whole trip has been so nice… but real life isn’t a beach resort with massages and dancing lessons.”
Robby pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I want you when you’re tired from work. Sweaty, your hair a mess, exhausted. I want the long nights when we’re both too drained to speak, and the fights when we’re frustrated and still choose each other every single day. I want all of it.” He kissed you softly, then pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “Please… I’ve missed so much already, don’t let me miss another thing.”
You smiled, tears slipping freely down your cheeks. You leaned in and kissed him again, slow and deep, full of everything you’d been holding back. When you pulled away, he searched your face with hopeful eyes. “Is that a yes?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
You smiled wider. “It’s a maybe.”
He kissed you again, deeper this time. “Say yes.”
You laughed softly against his lips. “Maybe.”
Another kiss, sweeter. “Yes?”
You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Yes.”
Your reblog doesn’t just support me as a writer, it also helps this reach the people who read the first part, so please consider taking 0.00001 second to click that button, it’s free!!💜
A/N: I feel like, the way it happens in a lot of media, second parts are never quite as good as the first one. But people wanted a second part, and I wanted to write one too, so here’s what I came up with. I hope it wasn’t too long or boring. I’m so thankful for all the love and support the first part got. It genuinely makes me so happy to see that people enjoyed it🥹
There’s honestly so much I could write about these two, but it already felt long as it is. I don’t think I’ll write a third part, to be honest.
Pairing: Michael Robinavitch x fem!grad student!reader
Summary: You were not Robby’s biggest fan and finding out the saddest man in your bar fucks was absolutely not going to change your opinion of him. Absolutely not.
Rating: Explicit (E)
Word Count: 17k
Series: GradSdtudent!Reader
Tags/Warnings: angst, depression, implication of suicidal ideation, description of injury, praise kink, mediocrely written smut, some lite humor, the tone is actually not that depressing I pinky swear, pathetic bar patron to remarkable lover trope (we all know that common trope).
Author's Note: As per the poll, I come to deliver grad student/bar tender dealing with pathetic Robby. Please comment with your thoughts and feelings, I yearn for the reactions. I’m not the most proud of the smut, but I’m trying to get better at writing it. Idk hope it’s enjoyable enough.
Pls note this has not really been proofread. And I'm incapable of writing something short. soz.
-- -- --
You winced as one of your least favorite regulars walked in. It probably wasn’t a fair group to put the poor man in, especially when ugly-ass-Hawaiian-shirt-guy called your coworker a cunt and then threw up on the floor of the bathroom, missing the toilet by a solid meter. There was also the guy who insisted that he was such a successful lover, no one could stomach to call him back in case they became addicted.
But Dr. Robinavitch—Robby as he insisted he be called—was a maudlin drunk. By the end of the night you were always a little worried to let him go home alone in case he did something he couldn’t take back. He tipped well, though, so that was something. He had been coming in more sporadically since July. One night, when he was more tipsy than drunk, he implied something had occurred and he began seeking help.
Tonight he looked more alert. Sometimes, when he came in, he wore the world on his shoulders. At least tonight you were greeted with a semi-convincing smile.
“Dr. Robby,” you greeted. You’d stopped asking how his day was months ago.
“How has your shift been?” He asked you.
“Not bad, only have another hours or so before I clock out,” you replied.
The bar was slow tonight. Despite how abysmal the tips were, you preferred it slow. It allowed you to read, or grade, or write while patrons largely entertained themselves. Aimless small talk wasn’t your forte, though you’d certainly improved over the course of this job. Thankfully, the dive bar seemed to attract the kinds of people who wanted to be left alone with their thoughts.
“Busy week?” He asked.
“No more than others. Want your usual?” You asked deflecting his question about your life outside these walls.
A few weeks ago, the last night Robby had truly been wasted (so much so, you cut him off) he’d caught you in a moment of weakness and you’d told him about your PhD work. Despite his normally depressive drunk state, he perked up and began asking you question after question. It seemed to raise his spirits, so you acquiesced assuming he’d forget by the next morning.
His brain was a steel trap, as evidenced by the fact he’d ask about your PhD, either explicitly or in a roundabout way the following half dozen times he came in. He rarely got shit-faced anymore. Most times, he tended to stay on the right side of tipsy. It certainly seemed like he was trying to have a better relationship with alcohol.
In fact, a couple visits previous, you and a coworker watched amazed as he flirted with and then subsequently took home a woman sitting next to him at the bar. It had been live texted in the bartender groups chat to a mixture of awe, surprise, and happiness. Dr. Robby was something of a local legend in his sad but overall non-troublesome behavior. He just liked to talk when drunk and you really didn’t like to talk to drunk people.
Bartending paid well, and needs must.
“Just a rum and coke,” he said settling in on his usual bar stool. It sat off to the side and gave the occupant an easy view of the bar, patio, and front door.
“Got it,” you replied ringing him up. “Tab?”
“Not tonight,” Robby said.
You hoped your surprise didn’t show on your face, but you knew you had a terrible poker face. Looks like the group chat would be getting new information on the bizarre man. Most of your coworkers liked Robby a lot, he was colloquially known as Sad Paddington Bear. Tipping well and not being a menace made him a perfect patron. You were just a little pickier than most, with your days being spent on campus with academics and undergrads—by the time you came to this job your threshold for unique characters had been reached.
Sometimes you felt bad for how unfriendly and uncurious you could be with patrons. Many of your regulars were fun to chat with. They had fascinating lives and stories. You suspected Robby would be one if he got out of his drink. But no one normal goes to get a PhD—including yourself—so you just did not have it in you for Robby’s particular brand of quirky.
“You look surprised,” Robby commented as he handed over his card.
“I don’t look like anything,” you attempted to lie.
Robby snorted, “Every thought you have is written on your face. It’s why I know you don’t like me.”
“I like you fine,” you replied sliding over the card and receipt. “You tip well, who wouldn’t like that?”
“So that’s why it always looks like you sucked on a lemon when I walked in?” He inquires signing the check.
“Maybe I just enjoy snacking on lemons,” you said moving behind the bar and beginning to mix his drink. You made a mental note to work on your ability to control your face. It really was a problem.
“I think that would be more peculiar than not liking me,” Robby told you, sliding the check back over.
He was one of three people currently sitting at the bar, so after you handed him his drink, you glanced at his receipt.
“Is tipping 100% trying to get me to like you more?”
“Yes,” he replied simply, taking a small sip. “Knew you didn’t like me.”
“I don’t like many people, Dr. Robinavitch. I fear you’re not unique. I’m very much the problem here.”
“And yet, for some reason I doubt that. You seem perfectly pleasant to me.”
You couldn’t help the disbelieving snort that his comment elicited. “Might want to get your eyes checked, if that’s what you’re seeing.”
“I see just fine. It’s reading that I need the glasses for,” he stated.
It was unnerving, being stared at by Robby. His eyes were a deep brown and they seemed to have the uncanny ability to stare through you. It made the hair on your neck stand on end. Being watched was fine by you. Lecturing in front of massive classrooms meant public speaking, being perceived, and observed phased you very little. Robby was not observing you. He seemed to be studying you, and that was more than a little uncomfortable.
“Whatever you say,” you replied a little uncomfortable.
“I’ll get you to like me,” he said, an almost charming smile graced his face. It still seemed a little sad.
“Or maybe you need to be okay with the fact you’re not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m certainly not.”
“I think you underestimate yourself.”
“I think you overestimate yourself. I can’t believe you got that smoking hot woman to go home with you.”
“Paying attention to me, then?” He asked. Clearly, it was an attempt to sound suave, but it missed the mark and sounded cheesy.
“The group chat with all the bartenders was very proud of you.”
“And what about you?”
“I wondered if you were too old to get hard on your own and if you popped a sildenafil on your way out.”
“Ouch,” Robby responded but he didn’t sound particularly hurt.
Another patron walked in and you happily took the opportunity to leave the disconsolate aura Robby seemed to emanate around him. All too fast, the patron paid and you got them their drink. Your book was back by Robby. When you glanced at him, he had plucked it from behind the bar and was reading it.
“Have a sudden craving to learn about reform politics in the American southwest?” You asked.
“It’s a well written book,” Robby commented.
“It is, one of the better books I’ve read this semester.”
“I like your notes in the margin; lots of interesting thoughts and connections.”
“Uh-huh.” You gently took the book from his hands and was about to walk away when he asked with a forced causal tone,
“Do you still have that office on the third floor of the social science building?”
You paused. “Why do you know what floor my office is on?”
“You mentioned once your window looks over the duck pond and the statue of the naked guy with the sword,” he said. “Third floor lines up with that.”
You blinked. “I mentioned that months ago.”
He shrugged. “I remember things.”
You didn’t respond. You weren’t sure how to. Most patrons forgot your name by their second drink. Robby remembered throwaway comments at 1AM while half-drunk. It was certainly a little odd, but no one else in your life seemed to pay that much attention to what you said.
“So do you like it better there than your old one?” he asked.
You stared. “My…old one?”
“The one you hated because the fluorescent light buzzed and flickered. You said it gave you headaches.”
You let out a slow breath. “Why do you remember that?”
He took a sip as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You were annoyed. You get more animated when you’re annoyed. It was interesting.”
“That’s not creepy at all,” you said flatly.
He looked mildly alarmed. “Was that creepy?”
“Yes.”
He grimaced. “Okay. Sorry. I just…listen.”
“To everything.”
“Well, yeah.” He hesitated. “You’re…” He trailed off.
“I what?” you asked cautiously.
“You’re the only person who talks to me like I’m not about to break or some shit, like I’m not some sad old man. You don’t like me enough to coddle me.”
You almost said you do think he’s sad, but stopped yourself. Something about the way he stared down at his drink made you uncomfortable. Apparently your stare and subsequent silence elicited a change in tactics.
“So,” he said, brightening with forced cheerfulness. “Conference are coming up, right? You said you hate them. Are you going to that one in—Chicago? MPSA?”
You frowned. “How do you even know when MPSA is?”
“You were complaining about airfare once.”
“That was in February.”
“It was a compelling rant.”
You gave him a look. “Robby. I don’t even tell my friends this stuff.”
He blinked. “We could be friends?”
“Don’t make this weird.”
He deflated slightly but nodded. “Okay. Sorry.” He was quiet for a beat. Then, softer: “I just, like talking to you. Makes it easier to not get drunk.”
You froze, not sure what to do with that.
He immediately panicked at your silence. “You don’t have to! I’m not trying to pry, I swear. Just, I like knowing how your brain works.”
“You say that like it’s a normal thing to say.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
He considered that. “Oh.”
You shook your head. “Robby, I’m not that interesting.”
He huffed a quiet laugh, almost offended. “You’re the most interesting part of my day.”
He realized what he’d said the moment it left his mouth. His eyes widened just slightly, like he wanted to catch the words and shove them back in.
You stared at him.
He took a quick, embarrassed sip of his drink. “That sounded less pathetic in my head.”
“I really doubt that,” you said.
He groaned quietly into his glass. “I’m going to die alone.”
“That feels dramatic.”
“Statistically accurate,” he muttered back.
Despite yourself, you snorted. “There’s no statistically valid way you could even determine that. It would be based on superficial evidence and the endogeneity would render the model completely pointless.”
He looked up, “What is endogeneity?”
“I am not giving you a stats lecture. Aren’t you a doctor. Shouldn’t you know stats?”
“No. I do calculations for drugs and chemical reactions to drugs. I don’t deal with probabilities. At least not like you do.”
“So how do you read case studies or evaluate the veracity of research?”
“Evaluate the veracity of research?”
“Yes, Dr. Robinavitch. If you don’t understand stats then how do you know if the research paper you’re reading is bullshit?”
“Well, it got published didn’t it?”
You felt your eye twitch. “I’ve never been more concerned for the medical profession than I am at this moment. This is why you guys stole “Doctor” from us, because you wanted to appear more like experts.”
“I think we had the title first.”
“I think you should check your facts. Academics were called doctor during the Middle Ages. Medical professionals started using it when they also spent time grave robbing.”
“You’re very passionate about this,” he commented.
“Yeah well,” you took a breath. “Respect is important.”
“So should I call you doctor?”
“I’d have to defend my dissertation first.”
“What’s your dissertation about?”
“Do you want another drink?” You asked ignoring his question.
“Nope,” he replied. “What’s your dissertation about?”
Letting out a harsh breath you said, “Local interest groups and how to encourage people to get involved in local politics.”
“Sounds fascinating,” he said.
“It does not,” you laughed.
“You can’t tell me what I do or don’t find interesting,” he shot back.
“You would be the first non-political scientist to find anything I do interesting.”
“Their loss.”
You stared at him and he held steady under your gaze. Normally, he’d cringe away. According to your students, you had a severe look that would render anyone hesitant and nervous. But Robby idly sipped his drink and kept looking back at you.
“You’re so weird,” you settled with saying.
“You’re not the first to say and I doubt you’ll be the last.”
With narrowed eyes, you turned and began cleaning up your station. You really just wanted to go home.
-- -- --
You were off this week, trying to meet a couple of important deadlines. It meant most evenings were spent on campus in your cramped but homey cubicle staring at numbers you could barely differentiate anymore. In high school you would have given anything to not do math, now you coded complex statistical models and calculated matrix algebra and derivatives. High school you would be devestated.
But current you, the one who was currently sitting in a too-cold-office space with a sweatshirt and a blanket, was fascinating by the results of your field experiment. It’s why you didn’t notice a group text erupting on your phone.
Priya: Sad Paddington Bear came in and asked about our favorite grumpy PhD student.
Rachel: he looked so sad when we told him she was off this week. apparently our girl has an admirer.
Priya: HOLY SHIT!!! He’s flirting with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. Again!!!! He’s failing miserably and she seems charmed by it.
Oliver: I can’t believe I’m not there for this. Tell me everything!!!!!!!!
Rachel: she’s probably in her forties if I had to guess. he asked her name and if he could buy “the most beautiful woman in the bar” a drink. it was painfully cheesy
Oliver: did it work?????
Rachel: they’re talking rn!!!!!!!!!!!
Priya: I still can’t believe he has game.
Tanner: Hello all, this group chat is meant for work conversation only.
Priya: Fuck off, Tanner.
Rachel: fuck off tanner
Oliver: you’re a kill joy, tan
Rachel: THEYRE LEAVING TOGETHER. I REPEAT. THEY ARE LEAVING TOGETHER. SPB FUCKS!!!!!
Tanner: I am amazed Sad Paddington Bear has it in him. Guess he cannot count on impressing our grumpy coworker.
You: Fuck off Tanner, you dickhead.
Tanner: Case and point
Oliver: really changed your tune about the group chat there now that we are discussing how Paddington Bear fucks.
Tanner: It is work relevant.
You grumbled at your phone and tossed it in your backpack so it wouldn’t taunt you. So what if you were once again faced with the reality that Robby had game? You didn’t like Robby. He was sad and weird and paid way too much attention to you. Though, the attention he paid didn’t feel creepy so much as intense. He remembered things about you that most of your closest friends couldn’t recall. Not that you blamed them, you just lived in a niche world.
Robby fucking was in no way relevant to the edits you were making to your research nor did it help ease the exhaustion settling on your shoulders. You hadn’t been fucked well basically since you started the PhD program four years ago. It was an itch no one had been good enough to scratch. You briefly wondered if Robby was good in bed; probably not, you decided.
-- -- --
Robby was already at the bar when you clocked in. You were covering for Priya who went home sick, so it was only a couple hours until last call. Robby stared blearily at his empty cup; he didn’t even notice you walk in. Glancing at his tab you saw he had far out ordered his new normal. He was sitting four double gin and tonics deep; a large number for someone whose tab was only opened a little over an hour ago.
“You’re here,” he said syrupily. Robby never slurred, but he did manage to sound sleepy and sickly sweet at times.
“What happened to a healthier relationship with alcohol?” You asked sliding a glass of water with a straw in front of him and taking the mostly empty G&T away.
“I was drinking that,” he grumbled.
“I’ll take if off your tab,” you replied gesturing to the water.
He leaned down and took a drink from the straw. For some reason straws always got the drunk people to drink water. You likened it to a baby with a pacifier. Robby looked particularly sad tonight. You hoped he wasn’t going to talk your ear off. You weren’t sure how to square the man who took home, by all accounts, absolute bombshells, when he was now wasted on G&Ts in front of you.
“You’re my favorite,” he said. He took another drink.
“I’m literally the meanest person here,” you responded. “You have got to fix your self esteem.”
“Esteem is fine,” he replied.
You snorted. “People with healthy self esteem’s don’t gravitate towards people that are mean to them. I thought you said you were seeing someone professionally.”
“Stopped,” he mumbled.
“Healthy.”
“I’m fine,” he replied, his grin was goofy but his eyes were sad.
“Uh-huh,” you knew you sounded unconvinced.
“Do you know what my favorite thing about you is?” Robby asked apropos of nothing.
“No, and I don’t really care,” you sighed, as you began washing cups. You wished he didn’t insist on sitting by the good water spout so you could dishes in peace.
“You don’t lie to protect anyone’s feelings.”
That wasn’t exclusively true. You were far more tactful with your students than adult men at a bar you worked at to make your car payment hurt less.
“Not anyone here, that’s true,” you said.
“I lie all the time,” he announced. “I’m good at it to.”
“What do you lie about?” You asked disbelievingly. Immediately you wished you hadn’t said anything.
“That I’m fine,” he sighed. “I’m not fine. As demonstrated by the fact I’m shit faced on a Tuesday at…” he looked at his watched for longer than a sober man would need, “nine-twenty-seven pm.”
“No offense, Robby. If that’s what you’re lying about, you’re a shit liar.”
“No one else seems to have picked up on it,” he grumbled.
“Don’t you have friends or family?”
“Parents died when I was little. Raised my Bubbe, grandmother. Was the only person to sit shiva for her when she died.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” you replied. “It must have been lonely to grieve like that for her.”
“You know what sitting shiva means?”
“I have met a Jewish person, before yes. I do live in Pittsburgh, you know,” you replied.
“You’re full of surprises,” Robby declared.
“I certainly am not,” you scoffed. Robby just shrugged and went silent. Eventually he said,
“All of her family had already passed and then it was just me. Sitting in the empty house watching distant family members and friends I barely knew putter around while I sat and stared. Seven days of nothing.”
“What about your friends?”
He just shrugged.
“Surely in your many years on this earth you’ve picked up a friend or two.”
“Sure, but I’m great at pushing them away. After Adamson died, after I all but killed him, there was no one willing to put up with me.”
“Adamson?”
“Mentor.” Robby said. “Incredible man. Changed the way I looked at the world. Showed me how to be a good doctor and good man. I think I’ve lost both since he passed.”
“How did he die?” You asked, quietly.
“COVID. I made the choice to take him off the ventilator because someone younger needed it. She died, too. Some fucking doctor I am,” Robby said acidicly. It was a tone of voice that surprised you.
“What a goddamn bitch of a situation,” you told him. “I’m sorry you were put in that position.”
“Maybe if I had been a better doctor…” Robby trailed off.
“What? You could have bare knuckle boxed death and won?” You asked, leaning a hip against the bar in front of him. “Way I see it, instead of death taking them easily, it had to fight you tooth and nail for it.”
“Still won.”
“Always will in the end,” you replied shrugging.
“Then maybe there isnt a point.”
“To being a doctor?” You asked.
“That, or keeping going. What’s the point if we all die?”
“Christ.”
“Sorry.”
“You apologize too much.”
“You sound like Jack.”
“Friend?”
“We used to be close,” Robby mumbled.
This was certainly more desolate that you really had the energy for.
“Dude,” you said before you could stop yourself. It was really none of your business. “You seem to be moderately intelligent, so you should know that you can stop pushing away your friends. I’m sure it’s not easy but it’s not a fact of life. Take some agency instead of letting things just happen to you.”
If anything he curled in deeper to himself and you immediately felt a wave of guilt and worry wash over you. When Robby got like this you always had half a mind to call in a welfare check on him when he got home. Maybe you shouldn’t be kicking a man while he’s down.
“See,” he said, a thick emotion in his voice. “No coddling from you.”
“Give me your phone,” you said.
He handed it over without question.
“Give me the password and someone to call for you.”
Robby gave you his four digit code. And said, “Jack, I guess. Don’t think he’s working tonight.”
You scrolled through his contacts (most of which had the Dr. prefix attached to them) and hit call. Almost immediately the phone picked up.
“You good, brother? You don’t normally call this late,” a deep male voice said.
“Uh, yeah. Not Robby. I’m a bartender at Solomon’s on tenth. Robby’s…” you weren’t sure how to say it, “not good? I managed to get him to give me your name. You able to come grab him?”
“Is he okay? Physically?” The man, Jack, asked. You could hear rustling on the other end and a metallic click before hurried footsteps.
“Yes, physically he’s fine. I’m not thrilled with the idea of him going home alone,” you replied. Turning away from Robby so he could see your mouth or hear you—though by the distant look in his eyes you doubted he was listening. “He’s talking a lot about Adamson and death. He is pretty wasted.”
“Fuck,” Jack hissed. “I know it’s not your job, but can you try and keep him there and mostly alive? I’m like twenty minutes away.”
“I can do that. I’ll try and sober him up some.”
“Thank you. Thank you,” Jack said.
You hung up and disappeared in the back where you knew the staff kept a shitty water kettle for the coffee part of Irish coffees. You quickly grabbed some fries from the kitchen and brewed a cup of coffee. When you came back, Robby was slumped against the bar.
“Rise and shine, sad boy. You need to eat and drink this,” you said placing the food and coffee in front of him. The water was almost empty so you refilled that as well.
“I’m good.”
“Eat the fries and drink the fucking coffee,” you snapped. “I’m trying to help you.”
“You don’t like me,” he shot back.
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t have to like you to want you to be okay,” you replied flicking his forehead lightly.
“Asshole,” he grumbled sitting up and taking a sip of coffee. He coughed at the bitter taste.
“Sorry we don’t have anything good.”
“Probably for the best.”
You continued working while keeping an eye on Robby. He drank the coffee and ate the fries, slowly he was looking a little better when the door opened and a sturdy man in a US Army sweatshirt limped in. He had close cropped grey and silver hair. His facial expression was frantic and worried, but relaxed when he spied Robby stooped at the bar picking at the last couple fries.
“You look like shit,” you heard the man say.
“Normally that’s her line,” Robby said loosely. He lazily pointed at you. There wasn’t a legitimate reason you could avoid the pair, so you walked over.
“You’re the one that called?” Jack asked.
“Yes,” you replied introducing yourself.
“Oh, you’re that bartender,” Jack realized.
“Which one?” You inquired.
“He likes you.”
“He shouldn’t. I’m mean.”
“He’s fucked up that way,” Jack said. “Thank you, for taking care of him.”
“Just doing my job,” you said.
Jack snorted. “It’s not. Can I pay out his tab?”
“Don’t worry about it, the system will close it out,” you replied. “Just get him home safe.”
“Will do and thank you again,” Jack said pulling Robby to his feet. The pair ambled out into the chilly winter air and you couldn’t help but feel the lack of Robby’s presence haunting the edge of your bar.
-- -- --
It had been over two months since you’ve seen Robby. Most of you didn’t think about him. Regulars disappeared all the time. Regulars who seemed one bad day away from throwing themselves in the river also disappeared but you were hopeful his water logged body wouldn’t be found based on Jack’s presence. You had a sneaking suspicion that Robby’s view of his friendship was muddied by his lack of self esteem. If Jack wasn’t a friend you weren’t sure what else he could be.
Campus was close to the major hospital in the area. It was a good thing too, since the thin sheet of ice that coated all the sidewalks had sent many an undergrad to the clinic with a twisted ankle. You were hesitantly walking down a set of concrete steps after your lecture when an undergrad rushed by you and knocked you over.
You felt your feet fly out from under you and the hard crack of icy concrete on your elbow and you slid down the stairs. There was a distance “Sorry!” as the undergrad ran off.
“Fuck,” you managed trying to sit up. Your vision swam and you felt something warm and stick on the side of your face.
“Holy shit,” a voice said. You recognized her as one of the students from your class. “Professor? Are you okay?”
“Sure,” you said, trying to sit up again.
“Okay, maybe don’t do that. Your head is bleeding a lot. Ryan! Ryan, call 911. I think she needs an ambulance.”
“I’m fine,” you grumbled.
You started to take stock of your body now that the initial shock of the fall had worn off. Your leg was curled awkwardly under your body and with a heave, you managed to get it in front of you. Your legs felt fine, though there was a rip in your favorite pair of pants and blood seeping out of a gash in your leg. Trying to move your left arm sent nauseating pain through your body, so you kept it firmly tucked against you. With your non injured hand you tried to feel for whatever wound was on your head.
“Okay, definitely don’t do that,” your student said. “You’re covered in dirty ice, you’ll give yourself an infection. Ryan went to grab someone from the department too.”
As if on cue, you heard the slamming of footsteps behind you and the familiar voice of the graduate program director going, “Oh fuck. Are you all right?”
You were lying flat on your back in the icy concrete. In what world were you all right?
“The ambulance is here,” another voice said. The cloudy afternoon was beginning to get dimmer. Fuck, your head hurt. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to close your eyes for a minute.
The next time you came to, it felt like the world was moving. There were bright lights, loud voices and an incessant squeaking that made you want to cover your ears. Slowly, the rest of your body came back into focus and you heard a familiar voice say,
“Any LOC?”
A female voice behind you answered, “She’s been in and out since we picked her up. Oriented at first but lost consciousness before we got there.”
“Fuck off, I’m fine,” you hissed, very much not fine.
“I’ll take grumpy and incorrect over unconscious,” the voice said. “Okay, roll her to the bed and we’ll transfer on three. One…two..three.”
For a moment you felt yourself lift and then land on a less comfortable bed. The surface was harder, covered with that weird hospital paper, and colder than the gurney. Your eyes were still closed, but the lights above you were so bright you could feel them—white heat buzzing against your eyelids like someone pressing flashbulbs to your face.
Then came the hands.
One on your wrist. Another pushing up your sleeve. Cold pads sticking to your chest, your sweater no longer covering your tank top. Fingers checking your jaw. Gloves brushing your ribs. Something tight wrapped around your arm. Something else snapping against your ankle.
Too much.
Too many.
Your skin crawled under every point of contact. You tried to jerk away, but your body wouldn’t cooperate.
“This is worse than falling,” you said, and even you could hear the pitch of panic creeping into your voice. “Seriously—stop—just—”
“Mel, keep her talking and calm,” a voice said somewhere near your head. You knew that voice. You just couldn’t get your brain to land on the name.
“Hi there,” a woman said gently from your right. “I’m Mel. You’re okay, you’re at the hospital.”
Hospital. Right. You knew that. But it didn’t help. The beeping. The fluorescent hum. The rustle of paper gowns and gloves. Every sound was too loud. Every light was too sharp. Every hand on you felt like sandpaper over raw nerves.
“I want people to stop touching me,” you groaned, trying to pull your arm in, but someone grabbed your wrist before you got far. The movement sent agony lancing up your arm and you gasped, vision flashing white. “Fucking—ow—stop, stop—”
“Okay, arm fracture, careful,” Mel warned the nurse.
But the hands didn’t stop. They shifted instead—someone pressing down on your shoulder, another holding your chin steady as a light was shined in your eyes. You recoiled instinctively.
You hated this.
Too many people, too close, pinning you to a table like you were something to be restrained and examined. Every nerve ending screamed. Every second of it made your heart slam against your ribs, desperate for space, for air, for control.
“Hey,” Mel said softly, noticing the way your breathing hitched. “You’re safe. I know it feels like a lot. We’re just getting your vitals and making sure you’re stable.”
“This is not stable,” you snapped. You could hear yourself starting to spiral but couldn’t stop. “This is the opposite of stable. Get your fucking hands off—”
You heard your name.
Your eyes dragged to the sound.
Robby.
Standing at the foot of the bed, chart in hand, eyes on you. He looked, your sluggish brain struggled for the right word, not bad. He wore dark scrubs, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Everyone seemed to be responding to him. You closed your eyes as the room began to spin.
“Look at me,” he said.
You did. Even as your chest heaved and your hands balled into fists.
“No one is going to hurt you,” he said, voice even. Almost detached. “They’re doing their jobs. Let them get what they need, and I’ll make them back off.”
You wanted to argue. You wanted to tell him he didn’t get to manage you. You wanted to shove every hand away and rip off every wire and bolt out of the room. The panic sat high in your throat like you were going to choke on it.
The lights were too bright. The voices were too loud. The touches were too much.
“Fuck,” you whispered, and hated how small it sounded.
“We’ve got you,” he said. “Just breathe.”
You inhaled shakily.
Hand rested on your ankle. The room was still chaos. The light still pierced through your eyelids. Everything was too much, but if you focused on the warm hand that settled on your bare ankle it was almost bearable. Gritting your teeth, you tried to block out everything else except his touch. When you were more coherent, you would find the irony of relying on Robby amusing.
“Mel, give me next steps,” he said, hand still in place.
The doctor stood on your right, her tone soft and low—surprisingly rich, like honey poured into warm tea. “Head lac needs irrigation and staples. Bleeding’s controlled. Pupils equal, reactive, but she’s photosensitive. GCS is fourteen—dropped once en route but came back up. Left arm—obvious deformity, likely distal radius or ulna fracture, maybe both. Possible sprain or hairline fracture in the lateral malleolus on the left ankle—she’s guarding it.”
“She guarding everything,” one of the nurses muttered, adjusting the leads stuck to your chest.
“No shit,” you snapped. “Maybe stop poking me like I’m a Thanksgiving turkey.”
Mel hummed, sounding amused rather than offended. “Conversational. Good sign.”
“She’s always like this,” Robby said, almost under his breath.
You glared at him. “I am not.”
His mouth barely twitched. “CT ordered?”
“Waiting on transport,” Mel said. “Do you want C-spine? She denied neck pain, full range of motion at the scene.”
Robby glanced at you again, his eyes scanning your posture. You realized he was checking the subtle ways you moved—or didn’t. “No collar yet. If her pain spikes or she reports new symptoms, we’ll immobilize. For now, keep her semi-upright so she doesn’t pass out.”
“I can hear you, you know,” you muttered. “I’m not a mannequin.”
“Unfortunately,” Robby murmured, dry.
Before you could tell him to fuck off, Mel leaned closer, casting just a little shadow over your face—mercifully blocking the light. Her voice was gentle but matter-of-fact, her cadence a little off in a way that made you think she thought carefully about each word before she spoke. “We’re going to clean your head wound. It might hurt. We’ll be as quick and gentle as we can. Okay?”
Mel was easily becoming your favorite person in the room. She clearly outlined her actions and didn’t attempt to sugarcoat or mollify.
You exhaled slowly. “Fine. Just…please don’t surprise me.”
“I will do my best,” she said seriously, and you believed her.
An alcohol pad touched the edge of the gash at your temple and you jerked instinctively. Pain flared hot, crawling behind your eye.
“Shit—fuck—” you hissed.
“Almost done,” Mel promised, calm as ever.
Hands were still on your arms, wrists, shoulders—but the one on your ankle grounded you. You focused hard on that one, because if you let yourself feel all the others, you were going to come out swinging.
Robby’s thumb moved—just slightly. The smallest shift of pressure. The subtlest reminder to keep you in your body and not desperately trying to escape.
“Transport ready?” he asked without looking away from you.
“Any minute,” someone said from the doorway.
Mel finished cleaning. “She’s going to hate the staples.”
“She hates everything,” Robby said.
“I wouldn’t hate it if you let me sleep again,” you mumbled.
“No sleeping,” he warned automatically.
“You’re the worst doctor I’ve ever met.”
“Get in line,” he said. His tone was flat, but something deep in it—something only someone who had listened to him talk for hours in dim bar lighting—sounded faintly relieved.
You sucked in another breath, trying to brace yourself for whatever fresh hell came next.
And then you heard the gurney being unlocked again.
The CT was better than the trauma room. It was dark. The nurse gave you earplugs and a warm blanket. You were still dizzy and in a lot of pain, but even without Robby’s hand, you felt like panicky.
The nurse took off all your jewelry and removed everything from your pockets. She started an IV in your arm that you barely felt. She rarely spoke unless informing you what was coming next. Despite the loud humming of the machine, you preferred this to everything else.
Eventually the machine began, you moved back and forth through the machine. With your eyes closed and earplugs in, it was easy to let your body calm down.
By the time the test was done and you were wheeled back into the ER proper, you were given an actual room and no longer in the trauma bay. Mel let you keep the earplugs. A new nurse, or maybe a previous one you snapped at, helped you change into a hospital gown and graciously let you keep you underwear on. Small victories.
Mel came back with Robby and slowly stitched your head wound while Robby looked at your leg.
“What happened?” He asked softly. You were calmer, more coherent now.
“Someone knocked me over on some stairs. Gravity did the rest,” you said. “Sorry that I was such a bitch before.”
“You’re fine,” Robby said at the same time Mel replied with,
“You were a bit mean, but it is completely understandable given the circumstances.”
“Dr. King,” Robby sighed. He was about to say something but your giggles stopped him.
“Dr. King?” You asked.
“Call me, Mel.”
“Mel, I think you’re my favorite doctor. Please apologize to all the healthcare workers I was mean to, for me. I know they were just trying to help.”
“I’ll pass it along,” Mel said kindly. “I’m going to put in an order for pain meds and follow up with Ortho. Want me to finish her leg, Dr. Robby?”
“I got it, Mel. Check on South 15 for me,” he directed.
“Got it,” she replied leaving.
“I can dim the lights and use a head lamp if that would be easier?” He asked quietly. “It’s going to take me a bit to stitch this.”
“That would be helpful. My head is throbbing,” you replied.
Robby nodded and clicked off the lights before he washed his hands and gloved up. He slid on a dorky looking headlamp with magnifying glasses on it. You wanted to make a joke but a wave of nausea slammed into you at the sight of the open wound on your leg.
“I need you to stay still,” Robby said softly.
“Sorry, sorry. I looked too closely at my leg. I think I’m going to puke,” you gagged.
He slid over to the cabinet and pulled out a barf bag. You clutched it against your mouth breathing deeply with your eyes clenched closed. Eventually the nausea passed and you thankfully didn’t throw up in front of Robby.
“Do you need anything?”
“You’re being too nice to me, considering I called you a bad doctor,” you replied instead of answering.
“Water? Juice?” He asked ignoring you. Normally that was your move.
“Water, but I’d prefer the leg to be stitched first. If I open my eyes and see it, I might pass out again.”
“So you’re able to explain nuances of statistics and political socialization, but blood gets you?” Robby asked. You felt the pressure of the needle and pull of the thread, but nothing hurt.
“Not blood, blood is fine. The giant open wound on my thigh gets me. I shouldn’t be able to see my own muscles,” you said gagging again at the thought.
“I’ve never seen you break your composure. Even earlier when you were having a hard time,” Robby replied almost sounding amused. “It’s nice to know you’re human, too.”
“When have I ever appeared not human?”
Robby snorted. “I really don’t think you know how people perceive you.”
“Takes one to know one,” you shot back.
Robby let out a humorless chuckle. “Suppose you’re right.”
“Are you…okay?” You asked.
“Getting there,” he said.
He was silent for a minute and you thought that was the end of his statement. It was more than what you thought you’d get. Instead, Robby took a breath and continued,
“That night, Jack, he took me to a treatment facility. I was there for a week and I’ve been doing therapy and group twice a week ever since.”
“Good for you.”
“Apparently a lot go healthcare providers got fucked by COVID,” Robby said conversationally.
“If I got fucked by COVID, I can only imagine you did,” you said humorlessly.
“I owe some of it to you,” he said after a bout of silence.
“What in the world could I have done? I’m just your mean bartender.”
Robby chuckled. “True, but having a stranger you want to like you, call you pathetic and tell you to get your life together…well, I guess it was the kick I needed.”
“So does that mean you admit you have friends now?”
“Yes,” Robby sighed. You smiled.
“Good. I’m glad you’re no longer sad and morose haunting the end of my bar.”
“Instead you’re terrorizing my ER,” he commented. Your eyes were still closed but you could hear the smile in his voice.
“Your ER?”
“I’m the chief attending,” he replied.
“No shit,” you said. “Why would you care if I liked you when you’re impressive and shit.”
“Impressive and shit?”
“Answer the question.”
He sighed. “I think I’ll pass on that one. Anyways, about done with your last stitch.”
You didn’t push, but there was something odd in his voice. “Can I get those pain meds now?”
“Sure thing,” he said warmly. “Your leg is covered if you want to open your eyes.”
You did and there was a low light in the room, but the bright fluorescents were off. Robby smoothed the gauze over your thigh and you felt his warmth even through the latex gloves. He smiled at you as he departed. Shortly thereafter, a nurse came in with pain meds and sleep over took you.
The next time you saw Robby you were still a little high on pain meds which is what you’ll blame for asking,
“Do you still pick up women now that you’re not a drunk?”
“Christ,” he said. He had just entered the room to check on your wound. “Warm a guy before giving him the inquisition.”
“I’m just curious if you’re still a slut now.”
“I wasn’t a slut then,” he protested.
“See I thought it didn’t happen much because it never happened on my shift. But I compared notes. You picked up a lot of women.”
“It was a normal amount,” he defended.
“Sure,” you drawled.
“I might have been a little slutty,” he acknowledged.
“You have hidden depths. I think we misjudged you when naming you Sad Paddington Bear.”
“Sad Paddington Bear?”
“It’s what the bartenders call you. Although maybe we should have called you a sad gigolo.”
“You’re very nosy on pain meds,” he said.
“I really am. Haven’t been on them before. Lot nicer than feeling all the cuts and scraps on my body.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Stiff, sore, probably embarrassed when my heads back on normal.”
“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Robby replied with a hand lightly resting on your knee. He seemed to realize what he was doing and removed his hand.
“When can I leave?” You asked. “I want to be in my own bed.”
“You’ll need another neuro test before I feel comfortable letting you go,” he said. “Do you have someone to stay with you? Friend? Family? …Partner?”
“I’ll call a friend. Family is in a different state. And no partner. Who knows, maybe I’m a slut too,” you said.
You watched his lips quirk up. “You don’t like people enough to be a slut.”
You snorted. “That is so accurate. Having someone sweaty uselessly humping me is so boring.”
“Uselessly?”
Once again, you’d like to thank the pain meds for your loose lips. “Let’s just say, it’s been a real lack of skill in my bedroom from other humans. My vibrator? Astounding. She does great work.”
Robby cleared his throat as color washed over his cheeks. “Right, well—“
“If you’re a slut, it stands to reason that you probably wouldn’t be useless,” you thought out loud.
“Okay, looks like we should dial back the pain meds,” Robby said.
“So you are useless?”
“I’m not having this conversation with you,” he stated.
“Absolute babes went home with you apparently more than once. That must mean something,” you mumbled.
“You’re killing me,” Robby groaned.
“Where do you pick up women now that you don’t drink.”
“It’s really none of your business,” he tried to say. You continued talking,
“Coffee shop? I feel like you’d have a coffee shop you go to now.”
He did have a coffee shop he went to now and he didn’t like that you were able to puzzle that out so quickly while on pain meds.
“Look, I think we’re off track here,” Robby tried again.
“You’re hot, you know that?”
Robby cleared his throat and rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I think I’ll send Mel in.”
“I’m just going to keep talking like this. Because for the first time in my life I cannot figure out how to shut up,” you stated. Distantly, you knew you’d be horrified by this later. But it wasn’t later. And the words kept coming.
Robby sighed and sat down next to you. “I’m not going to answer your questions.”
“That’s fine. Your prerogative.”
“So it seems we’re at an impass,” he stated.
“Apparently,” you said. “Although, I do have something to confess.”
“Is it going to make me uncomfortable as your current healthcare provider?” Robby asked tiredly. You snorted.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“All right, go ahead.”
“I don’t like you as a drunk, but as a doctor dealing with me on pain meds, I find you surprisingly charming. Long suffering, for sure, but charming too.”
“That is the meanest compliment I’ve received,” Robby half laughed, disbelievingly.
“It wasn’t meant to be mean!” You protested. “God these meds are fucking with me.”
Robby patted your hand and said, “Once the meds wear off and we check your brain again, I’ll discharge you. I…I am going to write down my number and if you feel comfortable, I just want you to let me know you’re okay.”
“Is this how you picked up the women?” You asked conspiratorially.
“No,” he said. Then almost to himself, added, “This is such a strange version of you.”
“Oh I know. I’m going to be mortified tomorrow.”
Robby snorted. “I’m putting my number in your discharge paperwork, okay?”
“Whatever you say, Dr. Robby. I think I might sleep again.”
“Probably a good call for both of us.”
-- -- --
It was two days post-discharge when the memory of your pain‐medicated encounter with Robby came swimming back.
“Oh fuck,” you groaned.
You were sitting on your couch with your leg propped on pillows and your arm in a sling, still in ratty pajamas you hadn’t changed out of since getting home. A dull ache radiated from every bruise and stitch, and the concussion made the world feel slightly tilted. But none of that compared to the slow, creeping horror pooling in your gut as you remembered exactly what you’d said to him.
Are you still a slut?
My vibrator does great work.
You're attractive, you know that?
You dragged your one good hand down your face and wished you could legally induce a coma. For your entire life, you had always been a little socially awkward. Most of the time your sense of humor never quite lined up with everyone else, your grasp of small talk was a battle fought for in awkward silences. Years of forcing yourself to get better at talking finally made you comfortable, but now you wanted to melt into your couch never to see another person again.
“Who was that?” you whispered to no one.
Part of you, the delusional part, hoped maybe you’d hallucinated the whole thing. Maybe it hadn’t been real. Then you glanced at your coffee table. The discharge folder sat there. Hesitantly, you opened the folder and tucked under the business card for the hospital was a Post-It with a phone number and one line written in neat block letters:
PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOU’RE OKAY. —R
“Nope, it was real,” you muttered. “Kill me.”
You tossed the folder back on the table and stared at it like you were afraid it would explode. There were two choices now: one, fake your death or two, be an adult and text the confident and normal version of Robby who had put up with your drug addled word vomit. Option one was very tempting.
You spent the rest of the day alternately sleeping and cringing. Every time you drifted off, your brain generously replayed another snippet of the conversation in 4K quality. It was easy to remember his hand on yours, the way he so effortlessly kept you calm and from panicking. You even recalled his panicked look when you asked him if he was still a slut. Groaning you wondered if you could smother yourself with a pillow. But he had been so kind; his kindness was the only reason you hadn’t absolutely lost your shit.
(Realistically, you knew Mel would have been able to calm you down, but still.)
You stared at your phone.
“You should text him,” a traitorous part of you whispered.
“Absolutely not,” the rest of you replied.
You sat with that for ten minutes.
Then twenty.
Then an hour.
You almost threw a pillow across the room. “Goddammit.”
You grabbed your phone.
Fine.
You’d text him.
One simple, neutral message.
Something mature, like: thanks again for your help.
Something that did not reference slut discourse or vibrators or the fact that you maybe, possibly, kind of liked him.
You typed:
hey. i lived, thanks for the stitches i guess
You stared at it.
You deleted “i guess.”
You added:
and sorry if i was weird. pain meds are evil.
You hovered over “send” for a solid sixty seconds.
Then, daring to breathe, you hit send.
Three seconds later, anxiety punched you in the throat. You threw your phone on the chair next to you hoping you wouldn’t hear it if it buzzed with his response. Painfully, you stood and limped over to your tiny kitchen. Making tea with one hand took double the time it did with two, it meant you were busy for double the time it would have normally distracted you for. Perhaps, you could still unsend the message. You checked the clock. Five minutes had passed. Maybe he wouldn’t respond. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he’d changed his number. Maybe—
You heard your phone buzz. Fuck. For a moment you stared at the chair, and slowly limped over to it, grabbing the offending device and terrified to see the response.
Finally, you grabbed it.
Robby (unknown number):
Hello. I’m glad you are safe. How is your pain level today?
You glared. Of course he was more normal than you were in this situation. That really annoyed you. He was meant to be the one who was awkward and cringey. You eased back onto the couch with your tea and wrote out:
headachy and sore. the stitches itch, too.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Robby: Are you having any new symptoms?
• Worsening headache
• Dizziness
• Nausea
• Vision changes
• Difficulty focusing more than before
You rolled your eyes.
You: you text like a web-md checklist
Robby: That is perhaps the rudest thing you could say to a doctor. I just want to make sure you’re okay.
You: yeah, im fine. thank you for your concern Robby.
stitches are driving me crazy tho
There was a longer pause this time. Then:
Robby: I’m glad you’re better. Have you eaten today?
You: none of your business (yes, a friend brought me soup).
Robby: Sounds like you have good friends. I’m glad you’ve eaten. A good diet and sleep are your best healing assets right now.
You: best healing assets?
Robby: Was that inappropriate?
You: no you just sounded like a dork
Robby: Seems to be something I frequently deal with around you.
You: are you blaming me for your inability to talk to women?
Robby: I can talk to women just fine. Something you have already established.
You: touche. so it’s just me?
Robby: I think it is.
You: do you still think i don’t like you? is that why you’re so weird?
Robby: Partially
You: and the other part?
Robby: I’ll plead the fifth, that. Your stitches should be ready to come out in a week or so. If you don’t want to go to the doctor, I can take them out for you.
If you want, that is.
No pressure.
You: technically pleading the fifth is only something you can only do when dealing with the government, but i’ll allow it since you were very kind to me when i was an absolute nightmare on pain meds.
and that would be very appreciated. ill buy you a coffee as a thanks. and i won’t be mean
Robby: You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.
You: was that a joke?
Robby: Yes, evidently not a good one.
You: i am impressed, nonetheless.
Robby: Please keep me updated on how you’re feeling.
You: i make no promises. im terrible at texting
Robby: I’ve noticed. There has not been a single capitalization this whole time. You’re getting a PhD.
You: if you think about it, getting a phd is really the dumbest thing you could do, so i would argue it’s in character.
Robby: We’ll agree to disagree there.
Texting with Robby was strange. It was strange to communicate with someone you once dreaded seeing. It was very weird for him to offer to take out your stitches for you, saving you a trip to the campus clinic or urgent care; neither option seemed attractive to you.
The next week and a half passed like molasses. Each time you thought your body had improved enough to do an extra chore, or your brain had healed enough to open your laptop, your body aggressively reminded you that rest was still required. Thankfully, a few days into your boredom inducing bed rest, the TV became a viable option again assuming you kept the brightness down and the volume at a tolerable level.
Every so often you would text Robby an update or he would ask for one. You found yourself looking forward to the messages. Not drunk and seeking mental health help, he actually was funny and the maudlin angst had been replaced with the occasional dark joke. One time he sent you the middle finger emoji and you were unironically proud of him.
It wasn’t until the fifth day on bed rest did the occasional text turn into something more.
You: what do i do if the stitches are red and kinda making me nauseous?
Robby: Nauseous because you have a weak stomach or because you think it’s an additional symptom?
You: unclear, kinda been sick all day but i’ve also had a bitch of a headache too
Robby: I’m going to video call. I want to see the wound.
You phone rang a moment after you liked the message. Robby’s face appeared and it looked like he was at home. It was instinctually to search his background looking for any hint of his history that he hadn’t already poured out to your at the bar. He seemed to be sitting on a couch or chair, and behind him was a wall full of vinyl records. There was soft lamp light and the faint hum of music in the background.
“Sorry to bother you so late,” you told him wincing.
“I could have ignored your message,” he replied simply. You wondered if there was ever a world where he would ignore someone who needed him.
“I’ll owe you a whole meal when this is over,” you told him.
“You’re way too poor for me to take you up on that,” he replied, making you snort.
“That is unfortunately correct. Still, I’ll figure out a way to repay you,” you told him.
A faint blush appeared on his cheeks and you couldn’t figure out why he seemed flushed by your words. (Later, upon reflection you would hear the double entendre, but frankly, that was his problem not yours.) Clearing his throat, he said,
“Aim the camera at your wound, please.”
“Okay, I can’t really look at it, so you’ll have to tell me if my camera work is off,” you said.
You moved your phone so it reflected at your lap and the ratty cotton shorts you’d been living in. They barely covered any of your leg, which was useful when you had to change the dressing on your wound. Before it started turning red and weeping, it wasn’t that bad. Now, just looking at it made you sick.
“Can you turn on your phone flash light or make it brighter?” Robby asked.
“Sure thing,” You said, turning on your phone’s flashlight.
“Is it warm?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it throb?”
“No,” you replied.
“Are you running a fever?”
“How the fuck would I know?” you asked.
“Do you not have a thermometer?” he asked. For the first time, you heard a hint of exasperation in his voice. It made you smile.
“Maybe? My mom sent me a care package when I got the flu a few months ago. Let me see,” you told him, turning the phone back to your face.
You eased off the couch and limped to your kitchen where you shoved the box your mom had sent. Propping up your phone against the kitchen backsplash, you rummaged through the box and to your surprise, found a thermometer. It was the basic kind you put under your tongue.
“Gotta love a woman who can’t express her love with words and instead sends a care package to her adult daughter in her thirties,” you said, popping the cap off the thermometer and sticking it under your tongue.
You hadn’t glanced at your phone since aiming it at your leg in fear you’d see something that would make your stomach churn even more than it already was. Now, propped up, you could see that Robby slid on his reading glasses and to your shock and horror, he looked hot. So attractive in fact, you almost let the thermometer slip out of your mouth.
His rugged, slightly scraggly beard was reminiscent of how you’d seen him at the bar, but this time it was due to him rubbing his hand through the hair as he waited for you to measure your fever. Something about the addition of the glasses brought into focus how his narrow face was actually quite enticing. You briefly wondered what his beard would feel like between your legs.
“Christ,” you said without realizing that he could obviously hear and see you.
“Are you okay? You seemed freaked out,” Robby replied. “Is your temperature high?”
Thankfully, the thermometer beeped loudly, giving you a chance to pull it out of your mouth and look at it. “99.6.”
“Not too bad. You sure you’re good?”
“I am a bit freaked about the leg,” you said. It wasn’t a lie, but certainly wasn’t the whole truth. You briefly the revisited the idea of smothering yourself. What happened when you hit your head that made you think Robby was attractive?
“It certainly looks inflamed. I would do a good clean and put some antibiotic cream on it.”
“And what if cleaning it makes me gag?”
“Then I guess we’ll have to amputate,” he said.
You stared at him. “I’m annoyed that I found that funny.”
“And yet, you didn’t laugh.”
“Well, the annoyance won out in the end.”
Robby snorted. “Do you need me to come over and help clean it?”
“I can’t ask you to do that. Plus, I don’t think I’ve annoyed my friends enough about this yet. Why bother the very nice doctor when I could bug my friends?”
“So I’ve graduated from Sad Paddington Bear to very nice doctor?”
“Congratulations. It does not come with a pay increase. But what can you do? The economy is in shambles.”
He snorted and shook his head. “I want you to send me an update on your leg tomorrow, please. If it gets worse you’ll need to go to urgent care.”
“Ugh, anything but that,” you complained. “It’s terrible there.”
“And yet so much better than sepsis,” he replied.
“I dunno, juries out,” you grumbled limping back to the couch.
“How is your head?”
“Hurts and I can barely do anything. I can watch TV if I don’t look directly at the screen, so that’s something. Mainly listening to audiobooks of shit I’ve already read.”
You settled back onto your couch and buried yourself back under the covers you had created your nest from. The view of your camera caught the warmth of your couch and some of the quirky decor including the art print of a woman leading a man on a leash with “This Ain’t My First Rodeo” painted above it. Angling the camera away from the slightly inappropriate art work, you felt better with the section of wall that was now showing. It was a corner of your diploma and photo from a christmas party with your friends. Much more appropriate.
“What have you been listening to?”
“A lot of comedy and re-listening to my favorite book series. My entertainment is purely escapism since I spend most of my day reading, writing, or doing math about politics,” you told him.
“You’ll have to send me suggestions. Nothing I’ve read recently has kept much of my attention,” he replied.
You then delved into details of your favorite book series. The conversation spiraled from books to television to the records Robby had on current rotation. More than that, he asked questions about your PhD, hesitantly, and you answered. It didn’t feel like a weird overreach anymore. Robby really was intelligent and normal when not drunk or tipsy. You almost felt proud of him. By the time the phone call ended, you felt calmer about your leg and less worked up over the boredom.
You chose not to think about it too much.
-- -- --
When the stitches were due to come out, you almost didn’t text Robby. It felt like an imposition. Over the past day or so you felt tremendously better. Your head was no longer one overstimulation away from a migraine, you could feel your brain fog lifting, and movement didn’t hurt much. Everything was still a little sensitive, but the real annoyance was how bored and pent up you were. Still, the relief from getting the stitches removed almost didn’t beat the feeling of taking advantage of Robby.
Robby: Can I come by after my shift ends to take out your stitches? I want to look at everything and make sure it’s healing well.
You: you don’t have to
but yes please
if i think about having thread in my body too long it kinda freaks me out
Robby: Please send me your address. I’ll be by around 7:30 or 8:00pm.
You: you text like an octogenarian. here’s my address.
Robby: Octogenarians don’t text.
You: tell that to my grandma. she’s a whiz with those me-mojis or whatever the fuck they are.
Robby: That is not a real thing. I think you’re messing with me.
You: i am not. but regardless. see you tonight. and thank you again!
Robby: It really is not a problem. I want to do this.
You tried not to let that go to your head. It was weird someone liking you the way Robby did. Most people, even romantic prospects tended to tolerate your rough personality and busy schedule. Your friends were a niche group of individuals far more focused on their careers.
This was new. This wasn’t bad.
At 7:45 you heard a knock at your door. Slowly, only due to your leg—not anything else at all, you made your way to the door. You had slightly tidied up throughout the day. Being couch bound had made your living room a bit of a war zone. Now you had your laundry going and you’d even managed to load your dishwasher.
Opening the door to Robby was strange. You had seen him in exactly two places and now he was walking into your apartment. He even walked like a new person now. He didn’t slouch or slump or plod. He still had abysmal posture, but there was a surety that had replaced the downtrodden-ness of his person.
He wore dark cargo pants, a black scrub top with a navy blue long sleeved shirt underneath. Said shirt was pushed up to just below his elbows and your eyes focused on his forearms before finally stepping back and letting him into your space.
“Can I get you something to drink?” You asked.
“I don’t drink anymore,” he said.
“Congrats. I don’t drink at all. I have about five flavors of sparkling water and generic sprite,” you replied, shutting and locking the door. “I also make a mean hot chocolate.”
“I’m good for now,” he said. “Where do you want to do this?”
“Shouldn’t that be your call?”
“I just need to wash my hands,” he replied, shrugging. His hands were in his pockets.
“Then let’s do the living room. I’m still a little sore,” you told him. “Kitchen is right there. I even have out my Christmas hand soap.”
You pointed at the kitchen in the very open concept front part of your apartment. There was a small hallway just to the right of your front door that held a small hallway where your bathroom, washing closet, and bedroom door opened.
Your living room was a surprisingly decent size for your rent. It was big enough for a couch, bookshelves and your desk. Your kitchen was narrow, and looked even more so with Robby’s broad frame standing in front of your sink. He thoroughly washed his hands and dried them on a paper towel.
Sitting on the edge of your couch, you watch as he pulled over his backpack and grabbed a smattering of tools. There were scissors, hemostats, and various cleaning wipes and creams.
“Can I sit here?” Robby asked pointing to your coffee table. It was one of the few expensive things you owned.
“Yeah, she’s study enough,” you replied.
Robby sat down. Your shorts were plenty short and you found yourself curious how he was going to do this. He seemed confident and self assured. Dr. Robby was a man who wasn’t cowed by his snarky and too-mean bar tender.
“I’m going to slightly readjust you and put your leg on my lap, is that okay?” Robby asked sliding on his ready glass.
“Yes,” you said breathlessly. He glanced up at your tone and lightly put a hand on your knee.
“Don’t panic. This will be over quickly.”
Interesting, he read the slightly shocked and a tiny bit horny reaction you had to worried. You couldn’t help but be a little grateful. Not trusting your voice, you just nodded at him. He gingerly lifted your socked foot and put it in his lap. The fabric of his pants was scratchy against your skin, but you could fill the heat of his legs burning through.
“This has healed well,” Robby replied. He’d donned gloves at some point after putting your leg in his lap and was manually inspecting the wound. You stared up at the ceiling mostly to keep from seeing the stitches but an added benefit was not seeing Robby.
“Oh yeah, this looks great. You should be fine after we get the stitches out,” he said. You just hummed not trusting your voice.
The sensation of removing the stitches far outweighed any pleasantness from having Robby’s hands on your skin. You tried to focus on way his hand gripped your thigh or the way you could feel his stomach against your foot. Instead when you felt a thread pull through you shuddered and tried not to gag.
“Do you need a break?”
“No, I need you to finish this as quick as possible,” you said.
“Yes ma’am.”
He continued his ministrations and you desperately tried to focus on the subtle smell of his cologne. Or the growing yearning in your stomach for him to push you down on the couch and fuck you within an inch of your life.
That had been a startling realization but one that felt like it was always meant to happen. Another thread pulled through your skin and you heard yourself whine sharply. Not even horniess was getting your through this.
After the last thread was pulled from your leg, resulting in a twitch at the awful feeling, Robby took off his gloves and began putting his tools back in the backpack. Your leg was still in his lap.
“I was going to order dinner, if you want to stay,” you heard yourself say. “I can even watch a full episode of TV now.”
Robby snorted. And then said, “I would love to stay. Mainly to make sure you don’t look at your leg and pass out.”
“I think I’ll be fine,” you laughed.
"You didn't look down once that whole time," he said.
"And therefore, didn't pass out."
You managed to open your phone and scroll through the different food options. Your stomach was in shambles from the feeling of getting stitches removed, so picked the deli down the street. Handing the phone to Robby you had him pick his meal.
When he handed the phone back, he had already ordered and paid with his card details. You scowled at him.
"This was meant to pay you back for your kindness."
"It would feel unethical. I know how much grad students makes."
He had since moved to the opposite corner of the couch. From your propped up position, he looked a little tired, but more than that he looked amused. He was laughing at you. It ranckled you. But it also made you a little happy: sad, drunk Robby would never have laughed at you.
While waiting for the food, you both chatted about his work, your students, how taking time off has put you seriously behind and your unread emails are closer to 1,000 than not. Once the food arrive, you both tucked in.
Eventually, Robby asked,
“What’s the hardest thing about the whole PhD thing?”
It felt like a natural question from the previous conversation, so you didn't think twice about answering it.
“Having to not take criticism personally. Anything I finish, make progress on, or whatever gets critiqued and criticized and studied until it feels absolutely useless. But that’s just how it works—it’s how we make sure our research is the most accurate and representative of the world,” you said shrugging. “What about being a doctor? What’s the hardest thing about that.”
“Oh that’s easy, not being able to save everyone,” Robby told you.
“Yeah, I can imagine that would be difficult to contend with.”
“So does no one tell you “good job” or encourages you?”
“Not in so many words. One time I had a bit of a breakdown and planned on dropping out. My advisor said that would “be a waste” so it’s not like people are needlessly mean.”
“You make so much more sense now,” Robby said shaking his head.
“The fuck does that mean?” You said lightly kicking his thigh with your good foot. He grabbed your ankle and stretched it out over his lap. The movement made you tense but, frankly, you wanted this to continue so you forced yourself to relax.
“You’re one of the most tightly wound people I’ve ever met,” Robby laughed.
“I think that’s the pot calling the kettle black,” you grumbled. Hesitantly, you stretched out your bad leg and crossed it over your good one still rest on Robby’s thighs.
“Perhaps that’s why I know,” he said. His hand rested on your ankle and you tried not to stare at the way his hand dwarfed your not-small ankle.
“And what would the good doctor recommend for that? I hate to break it to you, but it’s not like I can call up my parents and ask them to say they’re proud of me and I’m doing a good job.”
“Someone should,” he said quietly. His thumb began to circle the bone of your ankle.
“I think I’ll be fine,” you laughed.
Robby was silent for a moment before saying, “I think you’re very impressive. I think you work very hard. And I’m really honored to know you.”
For an awful minute, you thought you were going to cry. “Knock it off.”
“Make me.”
“If you don’t I’ll make you talk about something even more uncomfortable,” you threatened.
“You can’t make me do anything.”
“Maybe not, but I’ll try.”
“I’ll take the chance,” he laughed. Robby hand drug up and down your leg. You knew it wasn’t smooth—your injury having made sure you missed your monthly waxing appointment—but he didn’t seem to care. Frankly, you refused to let yourself care, even if it danced in the back of your head.
“Brave considering you think I’m mean.”
“You’re not mean,” Robby said, looking over at you.
“Not what you used to think,” you commented.
“True, but I know you better now. You’re just blunt. It’s nice when you get used to it.”
You snorted. “You absolute liar.”
His hand landed on your knee and reached down to flick it. He caught your wrist before you could smack him. Eyes boring into yours, Robby said,
“I’m serious. I think you’re amazing.”
“You do huh?” You asked.
“Clearly.”
“Then why haven’t you done anything about it? I’m not good at schooling my features. You must know how I’m feeling.”
In an instant, Robby’s expression shuttered. “You did pick something uncomfortable.”
“So either this is a personal thing or I am way worse at reading you than I thought. I’m not wildly inclined to believe the latter since my feet are in your lap and I got a special house call for something I could have gone to the clinic for.”
Robby sighed and looked away from you. “It’s a personal thing.”
“Do I get let in on what the personal thing is?”
“I don’t want you to try and talk me out of it. Because you’ll win,” he murmured.
“If it’s not dumb, I won’t. I’m not a starry eyed romantic, Robby. Sometimes people that are attracted to one another shouldn’t do anything. Just because I want you to fuck me into my mattress and maybe also go on a date, doesn’t mean I’m going to do something bad for me or my goals. No offense, you’re not more important than finishing my PhD,” you told him.
He smiled ruefully. “I just am not good enough for you.”
“Oh, that is dumb,” you replied.
“Or maybe you just don’t know how impressive you are,” he challenged.
“Maybe,” you acquiesced. “But maybe not being “good enough” for someone is an archaic measure of comparability and I get to decide what is and is not good for me. Now, if you don’t feel ready for a relationship after everything, that’s different. But if you’re just worried about being…depressed or mentally ill, join the club then.”
“There’s also the age gap,” he added.
“I’m an academic. I’ve seen far less ethical relationships than a decade and some change. Not to mention you weren't my dissertation advisor,” you told him.
“For my peace of mind I'm going to ignore that last bit. And try closer to two decades,” he said.
“I’m an old man at heart,” you said back. “Doesn’t change the fact I want you to fuck me into the mattress.”
“I really don’t want you talk me into this,” Robby said quietly.
“Then you need to either tell me you don’t want this, which I’ll respect or you need to get out of your own way. I’m in favor of the latter.”
“Can I ask something first?”
“Always.”
“What changed for you? You really didn’t like me.”
“Valid question,” you said. He still had a grip on your wrist. Gently you pulled out of his grasp and wrapped your hand around his. “I am so picky about people. I always have been. But even more than that, no one normal does a PhD and I deal with those freaks all day. By the time I got to the bar, I was over dealing with everyone, not just you. Frankly, drunk you was a lot. But no one is their best self when they’re drunk. Sober you? He’s still awkward, a little earnest but very charming. Funny and confident too.”
“You are very different than when you’re at the bar,” he said.
“I’ll lay my cards on the table, Robby. I like you. I think you’re very attractive and getting to know you has been fun and I hate getting to know new people. If you’re amenable, I would really love for you to fuck me into my mattress tonight.”
“You’re still injured.”
“That’s not a no.”
“It isn’t a yes.”
“There’s one more episode of Bake Off before I’m caught up. I’m going to lay back down and if by the end of the episode you’re still undecided or the answer is no, I’ll respect that. But don’t take yourself out of the game just because you’re nervous that you’re not good enough of whatever.”
“Okay, yeah,” Robby replied softly.
You released his hand and he placed it back on your legs. Pressing play, you settled back to a prone position on the couch. The distracting pressure of his hands on your legs meant that most of the episode passed without you taking in too much of what was happening.
Periodically, you glanced over at Robby. He seemed deep in thought. His brow was furrowed and while he faced the TV, he seemed to stare at nothing. Sometimes his fingers would trace a pattern on your calves and then go still. At one point, you saw him stare at you from the corner of your eye, in a reminiscent way to how he used to watch you while he was wasted. Instead of feeling annoyed, you settled more deeply into the couch and held out your hand for him without looking. He took it.
The episode ended and you couldn’t help but feel nervous. No one liked being rejected and you hoped that Robby got out of his own way. You wanted him. You knew he wanted you too. It was torture to not crawl into his lap and kiss him within an inch of his life.
“Before you tell me,” you said. “I just want you to know that regardless of your decision, I am proud of the work you’ve put into yourself. And I’m not fibbing when I say you’re incredibly attractive.”
“You are a lot nicer than your give yourself credit for,” he said.
“I’m not.”
“Then what was that?”
“Honesty, dick head.”
He snorted. “My head still isn’t fully on straight.”
“Neither is mine.”
“Sometimes I have really bad days.”
“Okay.”
“Sometimes I can be mean, too.”
“Join the club.”
“But I would be lying if I said I didn’t want this,” he breathed.
“Help me sit up,” you said grabbing at his arm. He helped you move into a sitting position, your arm and leg still a little sore. When you were next to him, you kept your legs draped over his and wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes with conditions,” he told you.
“Ugh,” you groaned leaning your forehead on his shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re still healing. I’m not going to fuck you into the mattress tonight.”
“But Robby,” you whined. “I just know you’re so good at sex.”
A surprise laugh erupted from him. “Thank you. I’m still not going to fuck you into the mattress. I will however, if you want, if you feel comfortable and up for it, I am more than willing to make sure any humping isn’t…I think the word you used was, useless.”
“Yeah?”
“I knew you would talk me out of it,” he sighed.
“Wanna see my bedroom?” You asked grinning.
“You look very proud of yourself,” he grumbled, pulling you into his lap.
“I’m not joking when I say it’s been years since I’ve had good sex. I just have a good feeling about this.”
“Because you saw me being a slut?”
“Nope, because you’re a doctor and I heard you went home with the same person more than once. That doesn’t happen unless you fuck.”
“You’re so strange,” he laughed, dipping his head closer to yours.
“Good. I don’t want you under the impression I’m normal.”
“Never a risk, trust me,” he laughed.
His nose bumped your cheek as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your mouth. The press of his lips was electric. You grinned and twisted your head to press your lips against his. It was exactly how you hoped it would be. His lips were soft against yours, but each movement decisive. His hands, so warm and large, held you on your waist and the inside of your thigh.
“You’re so soft,” he mumbled against your lips.
“I’m pleasantly surprised by the beard,” you replied.
“I oil it,” he replied placing kisses down your neck.
“Hot,” you replied, sounding strangled as his sucked gently on your pulse point. You felt goosebumps erupt along your back.
He laughed and his hand that rested on your thigh squeezed. You wished he’d move it up, maybe press against your already throbbing core. Instead he massaged your leg and continued his ministrations against your neck.
“Christ,” you hissed when he nipped at your skin. “Already so good.”
“You’re so responsive for me,” he said. “I’ll bet you make beautiful noises.”
“You’re more talkative than I guessed,” you replied.
He pulled back and you huffed, already missing the contact. “I meant what I said earlier.”
“You’ve said a lot tonight,” you told him, pulling his face back to yours.
“That you’re smart and impressive. That you’re a good researcher,” he said before wrapping a hand around your neck and kissing you harshly. “Since no one else seems willing to tell you, I will. You’re incredible.”
“Don’t you dare,” you whispered.
“Too bad,” he replied.
“Can we move this to my bedroom?” You asked, hoping to distract him.
“Please.”
He helped you stand and took a quick look at your leg. His thumb was gentle as he caressed the red, puckered line on your thigh. Placing a gentle kiss on it made a well of emotion rise to your throat. His hands gripped your waist and he stared up at you from the couch.
“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered.
Caressing his face you said, “You’re going to give me an ego.”
“Someone has to,” he said placing a kiss on your T-shirt covered stomach.
“You’re going to kill me,” he groaned, pulling him up.
“How’s your arm?” He asked, following you through your short hallway.
“A little stiff, but mostly healed.”
“Please promise me that you’ll say something if you’re uncomfortable,” he asked quietly.
“Pinky swear,” you said stopping in front of your bedroom holding out your pinky to him. He laughed, shaking his head, and wrapped his pinky around yours.
Thankfully, your bedroom was mostly clean. There was some laundry waiting to be folded. It was small enough that it was only a couple steps until Robby was prodding you to sit on the bed.
“Can I undress you?” He asked.
“I’m not exactly wearing much,” you said smiling.
“I know, trust me,” he grumbled, grabbing your leg and rubbing his hand up the skin.
“Will you take your shirt off?” You asked still grinning up at him.
“Anything you want,” he said.
Leaning back on the bed, resting on your elbows, you watched as he flushed. He was large in your tiny bedroom. He reached behind him and in one fell swoop, pulled off his scrub shirt and undershirt.
“That was hot,” you said eyeing him.
“Yeah?” He asked, standing in between your legs.
You couldn’t help but run your hands up his torso. Dark hair dusted his chest and down his stomach. It led down to the waistband of his pants. Even his body hair was soft. Without a shadow of a doubt, you knew he oiled this as well. Something about the intentionality of that action made you clench.
Lightly raking your nails down his stomach, you watched as his muscles twitches. His shoulders, just out of reach, were broader than you expected. With ease, you unbuttoned the cargo pants and slid them over his waist.
“I seem to recall trying to undress you,” he said, stepping out of his pants and socks all at once.
“I got distracted,” you saying eyeing his boxer briefs. He was only half hard and already straining against the fabric.
“Maybe I want to be distracted,” he replied tugging at your shirt. You lifted your arms for him, so your T-shirt could be pulled up over your head. You hadn’t worn a bra since being couch bound, so he had an immediate eyeful of your tits. “You’re stunning.”
“Yeah? Prove it?,” you goaded.
He huffed a laugh and pushed you back on the bed lightly, before pulling off your shorts and underwear. He kneeled down on your floor and kissed the inside of your thigh.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Already so wet.”
“Wetter than I’ve been in a long time,” you told him. He groaned and closed his eyes.
“I want to touch you,” he breathed.
“Please,” you begged. “I want you to touch me so bad.”
In a move that would live in your brain for the rest of your life, Robby stuck two of his fingers in his mouth to wet them before he ran them up and down your slit. The first finger that slid inside you felt foreign. It had been a long time since anyone had pressed into you. When Robby added his second finger you couldn’t help but gasp out a moan.
“You open up so pretty for me,” Robby breathed. “You’re so good.”
His words did something to you. You knew he was doing it on purpose.
“Shame no one else is willing to get on their knees and worship you like you deserve,” he continued softly. He pressed soft kisses up and down your thigh. “Such a beautiful pussy should be kissed and praised.”
The sound you made when Robby began sucking on your clit in earnest was more of a squeal than anything else. It felt like every nerve was focused on the feeling in between your thighs. His fingers worked in and out of your slowly and with a firm pressure that you felt deep in your stomach. His tongue and mouth were far more impressive than you could have imagined.
“Oh my god, you’re so good at this. What the fuck,” you whined, burying your fingers in his hair. You wanted him pull him closer and grind on his face, but his grip on your hips kept you still.
At some point he added a third finger which made you release a choked laugh. With your good leg, you threw it over his shoulder, allowing his fingers to move deeper and hit your g-spot more effectively. The sensation of him between your thighs was overwhelming and you felt your legs trembling just slightly.
You braved a look between your legs and saw him staring up at him. Even without seeing his face, you knew he was grinning at you. Apparently, Robby was a smug bastard in bed. A particularly strong suck had you arching off the bed calling Robby’s name.
“Stop, stop,” you breathed lightly pushing him away. “I can’t cum twice and I want to come on your cock.”
Robby pulled away from your pussy and was drenched with your fluid. He looked proud of himself when he said,
“You really do make the best noises.”
“You really are good at eating a girl out,” you said breathing heavily. “When I am healed I’m going to suck your brain out of your dick.”
Laughing, Robby stood (his knees let out a massive crack that had you giggling), and laid down next to you in the bed. His hand trailed up your stomach before cupping your tit in his hand. Even if you weren’t particularly sensitive on your tits, having his hands on you was a mesmerizing feeling.
You hummed at his touch and pulled him over into a kiss. Your hand ran up and down his side until your fingers slid under his boxer briefs. Unsurprisingly, he was hot and heavy in your hand. He wasn’t quite as big as you feared, but you were glad he slid that third finger inside you.
“You’re so hard,” you said in between kisses.
“We have to talk over this before we start,” he replied pulling back and removing your hand from his underwear.
“Ugh,” you groaned. “You and your consent and safe sex.”
“Would you rather me force you down and fuck you?” He asked unimpressed.
“Maybe not tonight but we should table that idea for later,” you replied rolling on your side to look at him. His ears were bright red at the thought.
“I think you might kill me.”
“Pity, this is a lot of fun.”
He laughed pulled you on top of him. You laid half on him, your head pillowed on his chest. Even though you desperately wanted to know what he felt like shoving his cock in you, cuddling with him was certainly very enjoyable in itself.
“How are you feeling?”
“Arm is a little sore. Leg doesn’t hurt. Emotionally, doing great. You?”
“My knees will feel that tomorrow, but I’m also good. Feeling quite amazing, in fact.”
“I’m glad you said yes,” you told him pressing a kiss on his chest.
“I think we both know that I can’t say no to you.” He sighed. Then said, “I’m clean, I get tested regularly. Haven’t had sex since my last test. Happy to show you.”
“I trust you. I haven’t had sex in well over a year with anything other than my vibrator and was good during my last wellness exam.”
“I can’t wait to see you use this vibrator,” he said. “Watching you fall apart is so beautiful. I want to turn your brain off.”
You snorted. “Good luck with that.”
“You don’t think I can?”
“If anyone could, it would be you. I just don’t think my brain ever turns off. Rather annoying.”
Robby’s hand traced light trails up and down your back making you shiver.
“Guess we’ll see.”
“If you take that as a challenge it won’t be sexy,” you complained. “I don’t care about my brain turning off. I care about this, us, feeling you finally fuck me.”
“Finally, huh?”
“Yeah, I’ve got an IUD, there’s condoms in my side table, there’s nothing stopping us,” you complained poking him.
“You’re injured. There’s a lot stopping us.”
“If you bail on me now because you’re worried about hurting me, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Trust me,” he said. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. One taste of you was addicting enough.”
“As much as I want to see you, if I’m on my stomach on the bed, there’s not much of a chance to hurt myself,” you said.
“I like that,” he said.
“I want you on top of me, though,” you grumbled. “And then when my leg and arm are healed I’m going to ride you like a bronco, I swear to Christ.”
“Whenever I imagined this, I have to be honest, this is exactly how I thought you would be,” Robby laughed as he kissed the top of your head. “So stubborn and smart. The best ideas.”
“Robby,” you warned.
He noticed you never truly told him to stop, and you were not someone who shied away from voicing your opinion on something. He slid out from under you and opened the drawer of your side table. There was a nail file, some tissues, a rather sleek looking vibrator, and a small box of condoms. They were barely within their expiration window. He wondered who you bought them for.
Once he slid the condom on, it took a minute for the two of you to find a position that was comfortable. The two of you propped your hips up on some pillows and you reveled in the feeling of Robby’s body hovering over your own.
The first slide of cock against your folds made you whine. When he finally pushed in, you gasped and clenched at your sheets. He was big and from this position, he was firmly pressed on your g-spot. The feeling of him fully sheathed in you made you released tension you had no idea you held in your body.
Hovering over you, caging you with his body, made your nerves dance and tingle. It was not a surprise to you that you liked a man that could push you around, but the feeling of Robby pressing his weight down—even partially—confirmed what you suspected: you couldn’t move even if you wanted to.
“You feel so good around me,” Robby groaned in your ear. “You’re so good for me.”
“Just like that,” you moaned as his slowly pistoned his hips.
“Yeah? Take it. take what I’m giving you, sweetheart. I want you to know how amazing I think you are.”
Each thrust from Robby sent delicious tingles through your body. He braced his forearms by your head and you felt his chest press down on your back. The pressure of him made you groan into the bed. His mouth was by your ear. You could hear each breath, moan, and gasp he let out.
“Don’t muffle those pretty sounds. I want you to fall apart. Let go for me. Be my good girl,” he murmured.
Tomorrow you could be embarrassed by the way your body reacted to Robby calling you good girl, right now you couldn’t hide the tremor it sent through you. Your pussy clenched around him tightly.
“Good girl does it for you?” He asked. You could hear his smile.
“Fuck off,” you grumbled. He slowed in you until he was just lightly grinding against you, making you whine.
“As much as I love your attitude, that isn’t nice. Don’t you want to be good for me? Tell me how you feel. Tell me how I make you feel.”
And suddenly you realized why Robby was so successful with women he slept with. His whispered commands against your ear sent you to another stratosphere. You were confident this man could make you erupt with the power of his words alone.
“You feel so good, Robby,” you panted, trying to grind back onto him but in this position you had no leverage. “You’re so big and I want to feel it forever. Your pressed against me so well and it’s making me crazy. I don’t want this to end.”
“I’m so proud of you for using your words, sweetheart. Do you want me to keep going?”
“Yes, please,” you whined.
His hips began to move again and you released a punched out groan at the renewed friction.
“Feel it,” he commanded. “Feel me inside you.”
“So good,” you mumbled.
“Not as good as you are. You're perfect. Made for me. Made for me to slide into. Made for me to ravish and worship. Every sound you make. Every twitch and tremor. I’m memorizing it. Archiving it. I want to watch you give into the pleasure.”
“Ah, your dirty talk is insane,” you told him as he began to thrust into you more earnestly.
“You bring it out of me sweetheart. You make me crazy. So pretty, so young, so smart. And you’re letting me fuck you. I want you to feel as lucky as I do.”
For a few minutes there was nothing but the sounds of his hips slamming against yours and his quiet pants against your ear. You wrapped you hands around his wrists that were pressed above your shoulders. It was an awkward position, but you needed to hold onto him. Each thrust of his hips and press of his body made soft groans erupt from your mouth. You found yourself wanting to be more vocal for him.
“You’re so perfect under me,” he grunted. “You fit me so well. Such a good girl for me.”
“Fuck,” you hissed. Your body clenched so tightly even Robby’s pace faltered
“Are you getting close, sweetheart?” He almost cooed.
“Yes, please keep going just like that,” you mumbled against the pillow.
“Ah-ah, I want to hear you,” he said, redoubling his efforts.
“Please, Robby,” you said louder. “Keep going. I want to cum on your cock.”
“Do you need me to touch your clit?” He asked.
You nodded. “Yes please.”
You were sure how he managed to hold himself up and also snake a hand under you to rub two thinking fingers along your clit. Frankly, it was none of your business, because the sharp increase in pleasure make your hips buck. Being caught between Robby’s pistoning hips and deft fingers was getting you closer far faster than you expected.
“Jesus Christ, I’m getting close.”
“Yeah? C’mon, then, be a good girl. Cum on my cock for me. I want to feel you clench around me. I want to feel you lose control because of me.”
“Robby,” you whined.
“Don’t you want to be a good girl for me?” He asked. You could hear the breathlessness in his own voice as his hips became a little more frantic.
“Yes,” you moaned.
“Say it.”
“I want to be a good girl for you,” you cried. In this moment you would have done anything he asked you.
It was only a few strokes of his cock and fingers before you felt your body tighten and sparks fly. It was a slow build up at first, it almost crested gently. But once the orgasm hit, your muscles locked up and each continuing rub of his fingers and movement of his hips overwhelmed your body until you were shaking underneath him.
“Such a good girl,” he growled in your ear as he managed to hold back his own orgasm. “Squeezing me so tight. Can’t wait to cum in this pussy.”
It was another two thrust before Robby buried his face in your neck with a long groan, as he lazily fucked you through his own orgasm. Goosebumps erupted down your back as his beard almost tickled you. For a minute, he was sheathed deep inside of you, blanketing your body with his own.
It felt luxurious.
(It felt safe)
You wouldn't have admit that last part out loud, but there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that Robby’s arms would be a safe place to fall. For more than a few minutes, you soaked in the presence of another person against you, appreciating the feeling of his body heat, the scratch of his hair, the puff of his breathing. It was so human and so monumental.
When he went to move, you whined and halfheartedly managed to pull him back down against you, resulting in his deep chuckle. Some of his weight on his knees, he wrapped his arms around your middle and began to place featherlight kisses along your shoulder making you shiver against him.
“You feel so good,” he mumbled against your skin.
“Same,” you sighed, fully blissed out. “I just want to stay like this for a minute.”
“As long as you want, sweetheart,” he said, continuing his kisses. It almost tickles and you can’t help the shudder that travels from your neck through your hips.
“Sweetheart, huh?” You asked. “I think that’s an oxymoron.”
“You’re not very nice to yourself.”
“I’m just well aware of how I come across.”
“I really don’t think you are,” he said frankly. He placed his lips against your ear and whispered, “You don’t seem to know how every time you walk into a room, you absolutely own the place. Or how everyone turns and listens when you talk. You’re competent and commanding, and more than that you're kind.”
You couldn’t help but snort. “Am not.”
“Don’t know what planet you’re living on, but you go out of your way to make sure bar patrons get home safe, you cover shifts when it’s inconvenient, and you called Jack even when you didn’t have to. I owe you a lot for that.”
“You would have been fine,” you protested weakly. “I’m just being a good community member.”
“I don’t know if I would have been. And sweetheart, being a good community member is being kind,” Robby said.
“I just don’t believe you,” you finally said.
“Then I’ll keep saying it until you do. Just like I’ll keep telling you how brilliant you are and how amazing you are. And maybe one day, I’ll hear you say it back.”
“Doubt it.”
“I believe it enough for the both of us,” he said kissing your cheek.
He slowly peeled himself away from you, and almost immediately you missed the weight and warmth. You heard him dispose of the condom and wander into your bathroom. At some point you needed to move, but frankly, you were still boneless after a good fuck and even better orgasm. Feeling the bed dip at Robby’s arrival, you felt him gently run a washcloth between your legs. It was intimate and caring in a way you were unfamiliar with. Vulnerable in a way that made your throat feel scratchy.
“Let me help you readjust,” Robby said, after finishing. You heard the washcloth tossed into your laundry basket.
You let Robby ease you off the mound of pillow propping up your hips. The bad leg was a little stiff, but not painful as you rolled over on your side. It’s the first time you caught a glimpse of Robby. His skin was still flushed and his glasses were perched precariously on his nose. There was a crooked smile on his face as he leaned over and kissed you.
It was his eyes that caught your attention the most. They always held emotion. You had noticed the pain and heartbreak all those nights at the bar. Now, however, slowly laying down next to you, his eyes were soft, creased with a happiness that seemed to be foreign on his face.
“I’m glad you let me talk you into this,” you admitted.
He shifted so you were wrapped in his arms, chest to chest, nose to nose. The blankets were still kicked to the end of the bed, but neither of you felt cold. Brushing you nose with his, he said,
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm. This was very nice. Memorable. I can confirm that you do fuck. And you fuck well,” you announced.
Robby chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.
“Was that all this was? A fuck?” His voice was vulnerable.
You knew the question was coming, which is why you didn’t stutter over your answer,
“Depends, on if you plan to keep your promise of reminding me how great I am all the time.”
“I think it’s something I could make time for,” he said grinning.
-- -- --
More of an author's note: I can't remember if I saw the sad paddington bear thing on tumblr or not. If I accidentally stole this from someone let me know and I'll tag and credt. I just couldn't find anything when I looked.
no cause this stirred something within me and I had to cook. full credit to @imnolongerasullengirl for the inspo
Pairing: Dr. Robby x f!reader (ft. Jack Abbot x f!reader)
Word count: 8.5k
CW: explicit sexual content, nsfw, 18+, mdni
Tags/warnings: mean!reader, inaccurate medical/hospital processes, social worker!reader, Noelle Hastings mentioned (lil canon divergence duh), explicit age gap (reader is 25, Robby's in his 50s), flirting, inappropriate workplace relationship, dry humping (reader is "asleep" and uses Robby to get off), fingering, hand job, masturbation, phone sex, oral (m receiving), hurt/comfort, pathetic!robby you will always be my everything
Summary: You've had enough of Robby running through women with his bullshit "seven week itch", so after he breaks Noelle's heart, you decide to mess with him to give him a taste of his own medicine
a/n: unhinged!reader you will always be famous to me!!
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.
You've had enough by the third day in a row Noelle calls you on her way out of work to complain about Robby.
In all fairness, it's your own fault for having allowed her to go out with him instead of nipping it in the bud the second you noticed her eyebrows shoot up and her mouth turn upwards into a flirty smirk.
Ugh if you could go back in time, you would've slapped the ever living shit out of both of them, her for falling for it and him...for literally just existing.
Luckily for you, you got put on night shift rotation soon after they started...hanging out. Cause, even at his old ass age of fifty plus years, chief attending Michael Robinavitch "doesn't date”.
"We're just keeping it casual". Ah yes, famous last words for an anxiously attached, perfect princess that is Noelle Hastings.
It doesn't matter how smart someone is, no one prepares you for how stupid “getting dicked down good”, her words, not yours, will make you. You honestly wish you could scrub the memory of her coming down to the ED almost every single second of the day with the most obnoxious excuses just so that she could talk to him.
It made you gag involuntarily every time, earning you a sharp slap on the arm from her and a curious side glance from Dana. After a few days of torture, your boss needed to switch you out to nights, their resident recluse social worker that tended to take the shifts having to take a sudden leave of absence and since your other coworker had just become a dad, it was literally down to you.
The joys of being single and unattached.
So you'd made the switch, getting to escape the horror that was seeing them interact in person, but still getting an hour long debrief every night while you got ready to clock in.
You're certain this is how they're going to torture you when you inevitably end up in hell and this is just a preview.
"And then he texted that he needed space, that this just isn't working for him anymore! Can you believe him?"
Yes, yes you can.
You sigh into the phone, not really knowing what to say to comfort her since...you both knew of his reputation before she jumped into bed with him.
So you settle on—"I'm sorry, babe. He's an idiot who clearly doesn't know what he's throwing away."
The words sound foreign to you when you say them. They're rehearsed, recycled from all the other times you've had to give her the same reassurance over and over again.
Truth be told, Noelle is also a part of the problem, so focused on being the one to break his pattern that she also fell victim to her own self-destructive nature.
"I just—I feel like I'm crazy, you know? Like what the fuck is wrong with me? I'm forty-two for fuck's sake! I should not be feeling this—this—ugh!"
That pulls a little giggle out of you. It's always funny to you when, no matter her age and maturity, she ends up in situations that make her feel just as silly and confused as your twenty-five year old ass.
"Hey!" you check her. "You did nothing wrong...aside from sleeping with him when you knew he was emotionally unavailable—" she whines, forcing another laugh from you. "He's the problem. He should just make peace with dying alone and not bother anyone else for the rest of his miserable life."
You hear her let out a laugh that unmistakably crumbles into a sob. Fuck, you feel so bad. You wish you could comfort her, wish you could be a good friend to her, but the truth is...you honestly don't know how.
So you joke.
"And hey, maybe some hot piece of ass will cross his path and give him a taste of his own medicine, he's bound to run into someone with an even worse avoidant attachment than him."
You chuckle nervously.
The line goes uncharacteristically quiet.
Ominous.
You tap your phone screen to make sure you haven't lost her.
The call's timer continues on.
And then—
"Why don't you do it?"
After a five minute long string of apologies and desperately trying to let you know that she didn't mean for it to come across as questioning your character—which ouch, to say the least—Noelle finally let you get a word in.
"Yeah why not."
You would've given anything to see the shock on her face in person but the thick silence that followed your admission would have to do for now.
In all honesty, you've been looking for another project to keep you entertained through the rigorousness and emotional weight that came from working as a social worker. All your empathy went to making sure your patients got the best care and support possible, so being given a reason to do something just a little mean?
Worth the possible humiliation, and even then, you could just go back to working nights and escape having to deal with him ever again.
Yeah you definitely needed to work on your avoidance…but that could wait.
Convincing your boss to let you switch to days wasn’t hard. You’d asked one of your coworkers who owed you a favor to switch with you, claim he needed to do something, you honestly couldn’t care, for seven weeks and that they needed to change around their hours.
It works flawlessly.
So after one more night shift and two days to get your body back on track for days, you were making your way into the ED for your 8 am call time for the first time in years.
And immediately…you desperately miss the night shift.
You’ve had to work closely with some of the day shift doctors and nurses throughout your tenure, but it was always just one or two per shift, drenched in the pace and culture of the night shift—a little weird but also very chill—so now having to deal with all of them…it was a shock to the system to say the least.
Santo’s anger, Whitaker’s “nice guy” persona, McKay’s righteousness, Ogilvie’s…everything; it’s a lot to take in constantly. You cherish getting to work with the more level headed ones and constantly have to bite your tongue when Robby reprimands them.
Michael Robinavitch is…the universe’s response to you, all ego and fragile masculinity.
You can see the appeal, rugged around the edges, like a home renovation project you know will ultimately cost you your entire life’s savings but maybe, just maybe, you’ll find original hardwood floors underneath the disgusting plastic panelling the last landlord installed.
Jokes on everyone because you’re investing in this house to tear it all down.
You spend the first week observing, calculating, making friends and getting as much gossip as you can from the loves of your life, Perlah and Princess. If either of them know about your reputation, neither lets it be known, eager to actually talk shop with someone from nights who can fill in the gaps to the gossip that has gone incomplete for the past year.
So you do, you trade information for loyalty, something that Dana clocks right away.
She tries to shoo you away constantly, begging you not to distract her staff, but that doesn’t stop you from joining their group chat, bringing them coffee, joining them for bottomless margaritas after their shift.
The doctors aren’t any different either, loose tongues spewing little comments about Robby’s deteriorating behavior ever since Pitt Fest almost a year ago.
For a second you feel bad, all of his outbursts clearly stemming from the trauma of the event…and after you learn that his mentor passed away that same day, well the whole picture makes much more sense.
How Noelle ever thought that she could fix him is beyond you.
There’s nothing to fix, only a shell of a man that literally doesn’t know where he’s going anymore or even if he wants to keep going in any direction.
You do wonder if you might start pushing him too far, what his reaction could be if what you do actually pushes him over the edge. You try to inquire about support systems and even therapy…but he’s literally raw dogging his illness.
All you really can do is tell Jack to be ready if anything happens.
Which you’re sure won’t.
Robby’s too narcissistic for it.
God’s gift to medicine and all that.
He’s a lonely bachelor. Afraid of the silence. Overwhelmed by the noise. Just a ball of stress and anxiety and everything that makes your chest tighten and your breathing hitch in the worst way possible.
But fuck it.
Just because you can excuse away his behavior doesn’t mean you should just let it slide.
The bigger issue now is…how to get him to become interested in you?
You honestly don’t know how you can compete with Noelle.
She’s the total package—beautiful, successful, age appropriate—there’s no way you can—
“I’ve never seen you before.”
Of course…all men are exactly the same.
You don’t even deign him with a glance his way, simply continue filling out the chart in your hands.
“That’s good,” you joke. “I’d be worried if you had, there’s thousands of people working in the hospital, it would be creepy if you knew every single person.”
You hear him smirk, shifting closer to you until your arms touch.
Oh this is going to be absurdly easy.
“I’m Dr. Robinavitch,” he awkwardly extends his hand towards you. “But everyone just calls me Robby.”
That’s when you turn to look at him, a shy yet genuine smile tugging at your lips. You shake his hand, making sure to linger just enough as you tell him your name in return.
You can see his brain working overtime to commit it to memory.
You finally let go of his hand when Dana calls out to him, incoming trauma, two minutes out, multi-car pileup.
Oh boy, that’s gonna be a shit show.
You feel him wince, taking off his hoodie in preparation for the marathon he’s about to run. You can’t help but ogle, the way his scrub top lifts ever so slightly, exposing his soft belly underneath.
You breathing hitches ever so slightly, but he catches it, catches you. Hook.
He grins, his beautiful crows feet framing his tired eyes. Line.
Your cheeks heat up. You advert your gaze, shame bubbling ever so slightly.
“Good luck,” you tell him, running away before the ED devolves into even more chaos.
He’s too slow, watching you go as the world around him disappears for just a second, realization dawning on him that he didn’t get your number.
Sinker.
He doesn’t ask anyone for your number.
You know because no one has come up to you to ask if you’re okay with the chief of the emergency department having direct access to you.
So you just wait.
You know you’ll run into him again eventually, but every time you go down to the ED after the car crash leaves you empty. You don’t run into him even once. You barely even catch glimpses of him walking the floor and catching up with his residents.
If he’s straight up avoiding you, there’s simply no way to know.
So you’re left to manufacture your own luck, unfortunately.
You know about their park beer tradition.
So you linger. Gross.
Day shift ends at seven. There’s charting and handovers and…whatever old men do when they don’t have a reason to go home so they stick around for way longer than they have to.
It’s about nine when you notice the day shift start to thin out so you take your chance, pretending to be engrossed in your phone as you loiter around the public entrance to the ED. It’s five minutes later when Donnie, Perlah, Santos, Samira and Whitaker step out, two six packs in hand.
“Hey, transplant!” Donnie greets you, the nickname causing you to roll your eyes playfully. In another life, you could’ve been great friends. “Wanna join us?”
He lifts up a pack so that you’ll catch his drift.
You pretend to think about it for two seconds until they catch your drift, devolving into a gaggle of laughter and pent up energy.
You follow them across the street to the park, settling next to Perlah as you try to ask her about her day in Tagalog, gotta keep up with them somehow.
Small talk is lively and you can literally feel the energy shift as they unload the horrible things that happened to them.
You listen, intently and surprisingly engaged, as Donnie and Santos reenact the scene for you.
It’s like your body knows he’s behind you before anyone gives you a heads up.
“Want one, cap?” Donnie asks him but you’re certain he declines because all he says is your name, practically begging you to turn to look at him.
You do, pretending to be a doe caught in headlights, your favorite move honestly.
“Ready to go?”
Your brows scrunch in confusion briefly before you catch the meaning in his words.
Oh wow. You did not think he was going to be so forward.
Okay, this makes it even easier for you.
“Yeah!”
You detach yourself from Perlah and Samira, saying goodbye to everyone and chugging the last of your now warm beer before adding it to the tower you’ve constructed. When it doesn’t topple over, you all erupt into a chorus of cheers.
You bow dramatically, cheeks hot, heart beating out of your chest.
“I’ll catch you guys later,” you wave goodbye, grabbing your tote and walking away from the group towards your apartment, not even bothering to wait for Robby to catch up, because you just know he’s following.
He settles into a comfortable pace beside you two blocks later, after a long internal battle with himself to follow through or back out. He still can, you know for a fact he won’t do anything to you in this state, even if you’re perfectly fine only having had one beer.
His arm bumps against yours, his towering frame inadvertently making you drool a little.
“I didn’t know I had an escort tonight,” you chuckle, the double meaning of your words clearly making him choke on a breath.
You giggle, enjoying his lack of game. It’s all a ploy, you know that much. Pretend to be shy and like he doesn’t know what he’s doing—it’s definitely disarming.
“What can I say,” he huffs. “Would you like me to make up a lie about crime rising in the city or how a lady as lovely as yourself should definitely not be walking alone at night?”
Your cheeks burn. Jesus fuck, he’s good.
“Well, considering I usually take the bus and decided to walk only because a grown ass man such as yourself doesn’t drive a car—”
He lets out a gasp in mock offense. “Hey, it would be irresponsible for me to drive after working for more than twelve hours.”
It’s a line, definitely. Yet it works.
You stop abruptly, giving him the reaction he craves.
He turns to you then, a little concerned, definitely still strung up from all that pent up energy that won’t leave him, ready to get right back into crisis mode—
“That’s…so hot.”
His features soften as your words process.
He shoots you a shy smile in return. “Don’t know about that—”
“What, you don’t think empathy is sexy?”
He looks down at his shoes then, finding them incredibly interesting all of a sudden.
“I don’t think I’m…it doesn’t matter. Point is,” he looks back up at you, like a lost puppy that’s begging you to get him off the street. “I prefer to walk.”
You don’t hesitate, stepping up to him, getting all up in his personal space, arms wrapping around his torso, standing on your tip toes so that you can be as close to his mouth as possible.
“Well, I don’t have to think,” you whisper over his lips. “I just know.”
You watch him close his eyes, mouth hanging open just slightly, body just barely leaning forward into you.
He wants you to do it.
You smirk, your lips right there—
He almost falls flat on his face as you swiftly detach yourself from him.
“I’m starving, Dr. Robby,” you whine.
It takes him a second to regain his composure. You’re certain he’s thanking every single deity that it’s just the two of you right now because he definitely looks pathetic.
“Wanna get some food?” He clears his throat, the pink on his ears a clear sign that he’s just not okay.
You nod, biting back a grin, threading his hand in yours and pulling him towards the 24-hour diner up ahead.
You spend the rest of the week doing the awkward dance around your feelings.
You’re certain he’s made up his mind about you, waiting for you to take the leap and put him out of his misery for good.
But you don’t.
You keep him on his toes, questioning whether your touches are simply friendly or not, desperate for you to help him find some relief from the lust that has started to build up inside of him.
It’s a Saturday when you finally put your plan into motion.
You’re over at his, a pizza and a pint of ice cream shared while watching a movie. Such a domestic night. If you didn’t know any better, it’d look like the two of you were in a relationship.
You’ve “fallen asleep” as the credits roll, body falling onto his in the process. You can feel his heart speed up as you cuddle into him, head resting snugly over his chest as your leg drapes over his crotch.
He’s already hard under the blanket, it’s why he draped it over his legs in the first place, but you managed to burrow yourself under it quickly, reveling in how he tensed painfully as you did so, your warmth on his body overwhelming.
You’ll give it to Robby, his restraint has been astounding. He hasn’t even tried to kiss you yet, luckily for you. You wait until his heart returns to normal, until he lulls himself into a false sense of security, until he doesn’t try to move you or wake you up.
He’s enjoying this just as much as you are.
It’s when he settles, arms wrapped around you softly, enjoying your closeness, that you strike.
You move your hips, a sleepy jerk at first.
It’s exhilarating.
His heart picks up again, arms lifting off your body for deniability, but you don’t wake up. Instead, you adjust, further onto him, practically straddling him now.
Your crotch rubs over his, the thin fabric of his boxers that he’s lent you so that you can sleep more comfortably doing nothing to stop him from feeling just how warm you are down there.
He stifles a groan, his dick practically screaming at him for some relief. He’s decked himself out in sweatpants and a long sleeve, practically covering up every inch of skin in an attempt to not come across as a creep.
And what have you done?
The exact opposite, wearing his shirt, his underwear, and nothing else.
He should feel elated that you’re so comfortable around him, but right now, with your folds practically rubbing against him, he’s reminded of just how depraved he is.
You hum softly, satisfyingly as your clit rubs against his length.
There’s no way this is actually happening, that you know what you’re doing, right?
When you don’t wake yourself up, Robby settles down a little, allowing himself the simple indulgence of feeling you, of being used for your pleasure.
Your mouth hangs open just against his neck. He can feel the little pants, the neediness—
He just wants to help, he needs to.
So he shakes you awake.
“Honey,” the word rumbles against your ear. “Need you to stop doing that.”
You “blink awake”, catching yourself in the act, mortification flooding your face instantly.
“Oh my god I am so sorry,” you go to leap off him but his hands instantly stop you, pressing you roughly against him.
You moan, hands coming up to bunch in the fabric of his shirt.
“Robby—” you pant, real shame bubbling in your gut, a spark of excitement rushing through your body.
He shushes you gently, slowly moving you over his dick, the pressure just right.
“Fuck.” You actually want to cum now. A nice side effect from all of your scheming.
He manages a chuckle, eyes locked on you, desperate to watch you come undone over him, against him, because of him.
“That’s it,” he groans. “Use me, baby, such a good girl.”
So you put on a good show for him.
Your mouth hangs open in a perpetual oh, your hips begin to roll in tandem with his own, your hands caress his shoulders, making their way around his neck to rake your fingernails on the nape, scratching right where you’ve seen him do to himself many times before.
He shivers then, his legs shaking, core tightening as he spasms beneath you. Dampness seeps through his sweatpants, his arms snaking around your back to pull you in, press you tightly against his chest as his head falls into the crook of your neck.
He moans through his orgasm, hissing only when his dick has gone soft and you’re still putting pressure on it, your own release evading you.
“Oh baby,” he coos condescendingly and you desperately have to lock up your heart as to not fall for it. “Let me help you.”
One of his hands snakes underneath the waistband of the boxers you’re wearing, his pointer and middle finger pinching at your clit. You yelp, body jerking away from his hand but you’re so close to him that there’s nowhere to run.
So you settle on him harder, causing him just as much pain as he’s causing you.
He chuckles against your skin, moving on from pinching to rolling the pads of his fingers gently now, your own pleasure slowly building back up from there.
“Robby,” you huff into his ear, gooey and needy. “Please…please, oh god please may I cum—”
He doesn’t respond with words, instead he just picks up the pace, swishing his touch from side to side until you’re a heaving, panting mess, your core clenching around nothing and exploding in unbelievable pleasure.
Your orgasm washes over you swiftly, your own release mixing with his own, getting the two of you even more messy and worked up than before.
You slump against him, breathing heavily as you try to match your breathing with his own. He’s actually lovely, drawing gentle circles over your thighs, holding you against his warmth until you’re ready.
Eventually, you peel yourself back, a dopey smile on your face
“Hi,” Robby blushes.
“Hey,” you roll your eyes, causing him to laugh in response at your brattiness.
“Alright, whatever,” he can’t stop laughing, a sound so foreign to him that it breaks his heart a little. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
You nod, making no attempt to get off him, desperate to hold onto him like glue. And to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to care, letting himself get swept away in the fantasy of intimacy.
So obviously, you have to avoid him now at all costs.
Every time you’re called down to the ED, you make sure to sneak away before he can even notice you. If you’re working on one of his cases, you’re professional and to the point, never meeting his eyes knowing a knowing smirk awaits you.
By the fourth day of you ignoring him at the hospital and dismissing his texts, you know he’s desperate. It’s why, when a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you sharply into a supply closet, the little gasp that escapes you is more thrill than surprise.
Strong hands roam your body greedily as you barely hear the door shut, the lock latching afterwards.
He doesn’t even try to kiss your lips, instead, he focuses on leaving a sloppy, desperate trail down your neck as he towers over you.
“Robby,” you whine, voice shaky already. “What’re you—fuck, what’re you doing?”
He grins against your collarbone. “What’s it look like?”
You shiver, a breath getting caught in your chest as you try to stand your ground.
“We’re at work.”
“So?”
It’s your own fault really.
You could push him away, could set down strong boundaries and tell him to fuck off…
But you don’t.
You get swept up in the desperation, in his neediness, in just how special he’s made you with his attention.
His hand snakes beneath your skirt before you can even think of how to respond, your very cheeky choice of not wearing any shorts underneath a blessing in disguise as his fingers swiftly pull your panties to the side to run along your folds.
You whimper, legs turning to jelly as he positions his own in between them to hold you up.
“Oh baby, you’re so wet,” he groans against your ear, teeth nipping at your earlobe. “Did you miss me too?”
You nod, biting down on your lip to stop the moans from escaping.
“Gonna cum all over my fingers?” He accentuates by sliding his middle finger into you, your walls clenching around it sinfully. “Of course you are, so good for me.”
Tears begin to swell in your eyes as his pointer finger joins in, his movements leisurely and mean. He barely curls them, barely gives you any relief that isn’t for his own enjoyment.
“Robby…you’re being…you’re being mean,” you whine. “Please—”
That gets a belly laugh from him in return, cruel now.
“Oh baby, you thought I was just gonna give you what you wanted? After you ignored me for four days?”
“I wasn’t—I got busy.”
You’re panting now, voice barely recognizable as he continues to torture you.
He shakes his head. “No, you’re not that good a liar, baby,” he curls and you clench. “I’ve seen you around, seen how you run off when you see me—so now I’m gonna take my time.”
The tears fall, your makeup running down your cheeks along with them. He preens at the sight, mouth kissing over your cheekbone lightly to taste the salty streaks.
He groans at the taste, slamming you back against the wall a little harder, his fingers picking up the pace, lodging themselves inside of you and wriggling them against your g-spot relentlessly.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck Robby shit—” you bite down on his bicep to muffle your moans. He hisses, the pain only spurring him on apparently.
Jesus fucking Christ, maybe you have finally found a worthy opponent.
You’re coming undone in seconds, his harshness only turning you on quicker, causing your orgasm to spring up on you suddenly. You’re shaking so hard you’re certain the shelves are vibrating around you.
He chuckles darkly, taking advantage of your blissed out state to wrap his lips just below your ear, right on your pulse point, sucking a purple mark onto your skin.
Once he’s satisfied and you’ve stopped shaking, he finally pulls back, watching you though lust clouded eyes as you continue to pant. You stare up at him, shaking your head incredulously.
It isn’t until he steps forward, his crotch pressing against your lower abdomen that you snap back to the present.
Robby’s big, unsurprising giving his…everything. The first time you felt it you had to pretend like you hadn’t noticed, all so that your heart wouldn’t give out. But now…now you want to drop to your knees and take him right into your mouth, alleviate—
His phone rings, invading your little pocket of deviancy.
He hisses loudly, annoyance exploding through every nerve in his body. You giggle, teasingly raking your nails along his exposed skin. He shivers under you but picks up the phone.
Emergency, obviously, it comes with the territory.
Even though it’s five minutes out, they’re scrambling, looking for him. He huffs in distress, nodding along to whatever Dana’s saying. Meanwhile, you distract yourself by peppering his jaw and neck with kisses, torturing him at his own game.
He hangs up the phone, making sure to settle you back down on your own two feet gently before he kisses your temple and walks to the door.
You’re supposed to let him go, keep your mysterious persona alive, you know that and yet—
Your hand reaches out for him, stopping him before he can leave.
He turns to you, brows scrunched in both confusion and hope?
“Five minutes out?”
He catches your drift instantly, his cock twitching in his scrubs painfully.
You step forward, staring up at him through your lashes, taking in how his shoulders drop, how his face relaxes, how his eyes close and his mouth hangs open just slightly as your nails flutter just above his bellybutton, pulling at his scrub top and his undershirt.
Pulling the fabric from where they’re tucked into his pants, you make a point to trace his belly, humming satisfactorily as he shivers beneath your touch. He doesn’t move, doesn’t dare touch you, doesn’t even dare breathe or make a single sound.
Your left hand reaches underneath the elastic, swiftly pulling the fabric out before it wraps around the base of his length. He’s thick and hot and perfectly heavy in your palm, the hair around him only adding to his attractiveness.
Fuck, you have got to pull yourself together. This is definitely getting away from you, soon this won’t just be about playing with your food and your heart aches at the thought.
He hisses at the contact, eyes shooting open to land on yours, and the second they do, you make a show of spitting on your right hand swiftly replace your other with it.
The slick makes it so easy to stroke him, putting just the right amount of pressure against his hardness as you slowly pull his boxers and pants off to his mid thighs so that you can work more comfortably.
The cold hospital air hits his throbbing tip and he twitches against your palm, precum leaking from him and combining with your spit. You run your hand over his head, pulling a sinful hiss from him as he finally pounces, strong hands grabbing a hold of your plush hips to steady himself.
You pick up the pace in response, Robby’s legs tensing beautifully as his breathing picks up, little pants and huffs escaping his lips in tandem with your movements.
“Baby—need to—fuck—”
He doesn’t get to beg as you feel him close, right on the precipice. And because you love the cleaning staff and wish them no harm ever, you drop to your knees in an instant, mouth opening and taking his tip against your tongue as he spills, hot and heavy, against the back of your throat.
He looks almost angelic as he cums. Groans filling the tiny room freely, hands tangling in your hair, not pushing or pulling, just there. Grounding, as if he can’t believe this is actually real and not some sick fantasy.
With one whole minute to spare, he finally catches his breath, his cock limping against your tongue as you run the muscle over his slit. To clean him up, obviously, not to watch him whine pathetically as the overstimulation makes him tense up.
That’s when he pulls, a sharp tug of your hair so that you stop. You beam up at him, placing a final kiss to his tip before you oblige and get back up to your feet.
He has no words for you, only answering with an unbelieving shake of the head as he massages your scalp while you tuck him back into his underwear and secure his pants with a neat little bow.
That’s when he kisses you.
Fuck.
You’re certain if his eyes were open he’d see your own bug out of your skull.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You don’t kiss him back, you can’t, you won’t, you—
Luckily he doesn’t linger, it’s just a soft peck, one that doesn’t evolve, doesn’t become greedy. It’s just…grateful. You fucking hate it.
He pulls back just as soon as it started, an uncharacteristically dopey smile on his face.
You roll your eyes. “Wipe that off or they’ll know something’s up.”
“Well, down now thanks to you.”
Your eyes widen in shock at his words, his carefree attitude something you’ve never seen from him before.
He chuckles at your reaction, unlocking the door and peeking his head out to check for witnesses before he steps out.
He winks back at you, a silent gesture to let you know the ball is in your court.
The second he’s gone you curl in on yourself.
Fuck.
It takes you a while to figure out how to proceed.
You’re past the halfway mark by now, just three more weeks and he’ll be getting ready to toss you to the curb. At least that’s what you’ve been told from multiple sources.
It turns out Robby’s got a trail of broken hearts longer than his…the point is, you know you have to keep him interested, throw him a bone every now and then, so you do.
You let him get comfortable again in your little after work routine, go out to dinner with him, let him cop a feel under the table, let him revel in the little marks he’s left on your neck and chest like badges of honor.
But he starts to get a little too comfortable, too regulated with your routine. So you shake things up every now and then. You feel so awful when you can’t see him, some shifts ending way earlier than his now that you’ve got him hooked on you.
Which is why you compromise—
You: [sent a photo]
You know he’s losing his mind when he calls you in response exactly two minutes later.
“You know, I didn’t think so earlier, but you are definitely trying to kill me.”
You chuckle, a little seductive, definitely dismissive. “Is it working?”
He doesn’t answer with words, just a low, guttural groan that has you shifting under the covers.
“Doctor Robinavitch, are you touching yourself while on the phone with one of your employees?”
You just know his entire face and neck are beet red now.
He moans in response. “Aren’t you?”
You giggle. “Would you like me to?”
“I would like for you to come over…” he pants, an opening.
You sigh, reaching over to your bedside drawer and pulling out your vibrator, turning it on so that he can hear the humming on the other side of the line as your answer to that question.
He whines, a little dramatic for your liking but you’ll take it. After the shit he pulled in the storage closet, you’re definitely not going over anytime soon.
You insert the toy, body instantly erupting in goosebumps as you moan into your phone.
“See, I don’t understand why we even need men anymore,” you huff, airy and laced with pleasure. “Your dicks don’t even vibrate.”
He chuckles on the other end, amused by your…everything.
He’d never admit it, but he’s definitely never met anyone quite like you before, all spunk and no filter. It’s driving him crazy.
“Call me old fashioned all you want, but you’d forget all about your little toy if you had me inside of you.”
Fuck, you clench at his confidence, a moan escaping without your consent.
“See? Even the thought of my cock has you coming undone, baby.”
Cocky motherfucker.
“I bet I can make you cum without even touching you.”
He laughs then, unburdened for the first time in…
“You’re doing it right now.”
“No,” you whimper. “No stimulation…from either of us.”
“Now who’s cocky.”
The laugh that escapes you twists into a string of moans as your slick pushes the vibrator further into you, the bent tip notching perfectly against your g-spot.
“Robby I hate to cut this short but—”
“I got you, baby,” he groans, his own hand picking up the pace to catch up with you, the slick, desperate sounds only adding to your undoing.
“Fuck, please, Robby I need to cum.”
“Not yet.”
“Please, I don’t think I can hold it—”
“You can and you will.”
You wail, legs thrashing against your mattress as you clench your abdomen painfully. You focus on his pants, his moans, his peak, waiting impatiently as his breathing falters—
“Cum with me baby.”
It’s all the encouragement you need to let go, your release squirting out of you, pushing the toy out as it continues to vibrate. He hears it, the wetness of it all, and can’t help but beam as white, hot spurts land on his uncovered stomach.
“Fuck, Robby…” you mumble, taking your time as you come down from your high. Meanwhile, he’s still cumming, something that hasn’t happened to him since college.
He doesn’t know what pushes him to do it, but after his dick has finally stopped twitching from his release and finally settles back comfortably against his leg, he grabs his phone off the bed and—
Robby: [sent a photo]
You blink at the sudden ding from your phone, a streak of tears falling down your cheeks as you open the attachment.
Your breathing hitches, saliva pooling in your mouth suddenly.
“Robby,” you whine.
He huffs back a laugh. “Show me your mess, baby.”
A fire burns inside of you, desperate to fight back against all these horrible feelings that have spawned inside of you. With shaky hands, you turn the call into a FaceTime, pointing the camera down to the puddle between your legs.
“Fuck!”
You giggle in response, giving him a few more seconds before you hang up entirely, slumping back on the mattress with a dramatic huff.
After that night on the phone, you know it’s driving him crazy that he can’t have you all the time, that you haven’t made yourself accessible to him. It’s also not like he’s asked, he just figured you’d…be like every desperate woman he’s successfully gotten into his bed and actively want to jump his bones at every second too.
So he’s become determined to get you to crumble for him.
You’re in a work call that has definitely gone far too long, peacefully enjoying your lunch as it drones on and on when there’s a light knock at your office door.
You’re muted, have been since the start so you don’t think twice about it when you mumble a half-hearted come in.
And that he fucking does.
He looks like a man possessed, chest heaving, hands shaking—
You’ve never seen him like this before, never heard of anyone describe an incident with him where he’s so…wound up.
It knocks you off your center, whatever resentment you’ve been holding over him evaporates at the sight of his puffy, red eyes.
You leap out of your seat without thinking.
“What do you need?” What the actual fuck?
You shake the thought away as he speaks.
“On your knees.”
You drop down instantly, wasting no time as you pull his cock free from the confines of his scrubs and boxers. He’s vibrating, his shaky energy only making you jumpy in return.
But he doesn’t care. He can’t care.
You take him into your mouth without any further command, quickly surrendering yourself to the adrenaline he needs to take care of, hollowing out your cheeks as his hands grab your hair into a loose ponytail and his hips start rocking into you.
He can feel your breath on his pubic bone as you concentrate on breathing through your nose, eyes already becoming glossy as he just…takes.
And you let him.
He could honestly cry, and he almost does, your round eyes turning to stare up at him with what can only be described as silent understanding shaking him to his core so much that his own eyes become watery.
But he doesn’t let them fall, no, he focuses on the pleasure, on the release that he’s chasing.
His movements are sloppy, not deep or thought out. He just wants to cum, wants for the tightness in his chest to lighten, wants for the ringing in his ears to—
And then you swipe your tongue over his tip as he pulls out, the pressure against his slit sending a spark through his body that cuts through the noise.
He whimpers, pulling you back onto him, as far as he can go, before he spills into your mouth. He shakes uncontrollably, ass clenching as he finally allows for the band to snap, for the tower to crumble, for the truth to settle in his gut.
He’s…grateful, completelyreverent and devoted.
His grip loosens from your hair and you take the opportunity to push yourself off his length, finally taking in big, all encompassing breaths as he comes down from his own high. You watch him then, like a little fawn, confused and curious, like something has unlocked in your heart and you’re unsure how to fix it.
And then he pulls you up, suddenly aware that he’s tucked himself into his pants, before he tugs you with him back to your desk. He sits down at your chair, grabbing you like you weigh nothing and cradling you against his chest.
He does’t say anything.
You don’t dare utter a single word.
He just runs his hands all over your body, soothing and thankful and…
Your eyes close then, your body melting into his own, the call long forgotten, probably ended as the room settles into a comfortable silence.
“Thank you baby,” he kisses your temple. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Your eyes snap open. Your heart races, an anxious bird slamming against its cage.
This is bad. You definitely bit off more than you could chew, and from what you just experienced, you can chew on a lot.
You stare up at him, at the blissful expression over his tired face, at the serenity that wafts off him like gentle waves crashing against the sand.
A new type of anger settles in your stomach. It is time to ruin his peace.
Robby’s never been this happy in his entire life.
He’s aware of his reputation, aware of just how much he’s messed up when it comes to his heart. It’s not like he’s magically a better person because of you now, that would be absurd. But he is enjoying himself. There’s no expectation, no restriction, nothing like the thrill of the chase, of mutual understanding and compassion, of finally having found his match.
And he’s never had to work this hard to earn it before.
But he can feel it, he’s getting closer, gaining ground, the turtle always winning in the end, right?
After that day in your office, Robby has become a man with unquenchable thirst.
He needs to have you, completely, devour you whole, a meditative meal where he gets to take his time and worship every inch of your body.
You’ve texted to tell him you unfortunately have plans tonight. A shame since he doesn’t have to work tomorrow and he was hoping he’d get to spend it with you, finally.
His thoughts have been stuck on you for the past few weeks, the prefect memories to lock onto as he finishes up his charts while he waits for Shen to arrive for handoff.
He’s startled when someone knocks on the desk in front of him, his brain snapping back into the unfortunate reality that doesn’t involve you spread out beneath him as he fucks into you repeatedly.
“I thought you weren’t working tonight—”
“Relax brother,” Jack calms his anxieties quickly. “I’m not here for that.”
Robby looks at him distrustingly. “Okay?”
Jack nods, mouth opening as if to say something while his face contorts into something Robby doesn’t quite understand. He’s…apologetic? Why would Jack be—?
“Hi,” your voice suddenly warms the entire ED as you skip towards them.
Robby can’t help it, his cheeks blushing a deep crimson, his mouth curling into a bashful smile. What the fuck have you reduced him to?
He opens his mouth to greet you, your entire existence a spotlight directed towards him, fading away the darkness completely.
But then you…walk right past him.
Towards Jack.
Towards his open arms.
What the fuck is going on?
Panic and confusion flood his body, fill his lungs up with water, actually stop his heart for one absurdly long, drawn out second, because he watches you get on your tip toes and kiss Jack Abbot on his absurdly smug lips, and Robby’s certain this is some kind of divine punishment—
“Hey sweetheart,” Jack mumbles lovingly against your mouth. “You ready to go?”
You nod, brushing your nose with his, nauseatingly adorable.
Robby’s certain he’s going to pass out, the entire room spinning.
What the fuck is going on? You’re…you’re with Jack when you’re supposed to be with Robby? Okay, maybe he never defined the relationship with you but that doesn’t mean—No! Who the fuck do you think you are? Are you cheating on Jack with him? Oh no, is he the other man? Did he just ruin his friendship—
“Goodnight, brother,” Jack can barely meet his gaze when he speaks. Oh fuck Robby’s life is ruined.
He’s certain he looks pale as all hell, guilt written all over his wrinkles, cold sweat definitely staining his clothes and dripping down his brow.
It’s then that you turn to look at him for the first time.
You look…perfectly fine. Smiling like you’ve just won the lottery. A deviant satisfaction sparkling in your eyes. Wait—
“Good night, doctor Robby!” You whisper, saccharine and sickly sweet. “It was fun getting to work with you, please give Noelle my best if you see her.”
And with one final, diabolical smile, it all just crashes against Robby, the angle of the mountain finally pushing the rock all the way back down, knocking him off his feet, exhausted and shocked, unable to do anything more than fall on one of the chairs and stare off into the distance.
You little—
“Fuck!” He hisses, loudly, enough for the entire ED to stop and stare at him for longer than he’d like to admit.
But what he doesn’t notice, what neither of them do, is the way your face drops as you walk out, guilt spreading through your chest for the first time at the sight of his sullen expression.
You turn back to look at him, at how he’s just this sad little man, bruised and broken. Your heart aches, something deep inside of you twisting and turning uncomfortably. You can’t…no, you definitely don’t…fuck.
You swallow the lump in the back of your throat thickly.
He’s learned his lesson, definitely…but at what cost…to you?
Bonus scene (happens after you accept to destroy Robby for Noelle):
It's a little after nine when you finally get called down to the ED for your first consult. It's someone you know, a case you've been assigned to for a while so it's easy and comfortable.
You chat up the patient and his mother, make sure to explain the process of care as diligently as you can with Shen, all in all, a swift and easy case.
And yet, before you slink back upstairs to your little office, you linger.
Ugh, you hate it, it's gross honestly, your stomach twisting in both annoyance and indignation at how much of a hypocrite you've become.
But then you see him, coming out of a patient's room, his gaze already on yours as he cleans his hands with disinfectant and crosses the room to greet you.
"You're a sight for sore eyes," Jack teases, the motherfucker able to read you with an ease that sends a shiver down your spine.
"I need to ask for a favor," you murmur, suddenly feeling a little childish about what you're about to say.
His eyebrow quirks in giddy expectation, easing whatever apprehension you've been feeling. Right, it's Jack for fuck's sake. If anyone's gonna understand your borderline sociopathic tendencies, it's him.
"I'm gonna do something silly, and I need you to promise me that you won't hate me for it."
He straightens his posture, hands clasped behind his back, looking down at you like he's trying to hold himself back from pouncing.
He has no right to be this fucking sexy.
"This about Robby and Noelle?"
You grin devilishly. God, he just gets you.
You manage a nod, biting down on your bottom lip to stop your smile from growing even bigger.
He sighs in response, not judgmental or disappointed, more so...absolutely fucking terrified for his friend.
"Please be gentle with him."
You scoff in mock offense. "He lost the privilege when he broke up with her via text."
"What?" His sharpness snaps the attention of the entire ED towards you. You shake your head for them, calming whatever outburst you think is being directed at you. It's only when the normal shuffle returns to the room that Jack continues. "Oh boy...yeah, can't help him there."
You shrug, leaning just a tiny bit forward. "I'll make it up to you when I'm done, I promise."
He smirks brightly, desperately fighting the urge to lean down and capture your lips with his.
"You better, pretty girl," he groans, low and deep. "And don't you even think about putting out for him.”
Your eyes widen. Oh.
"Can I..." you stumble then, cheeks burning hot, throat suddenly dry. "I'm gonna have to—just hand stuff, I promise."
Jack chuckles loudly. Jesus fucking Christ, this is definitely not where Jack expected his night to go but this is easily the best thing that could’ve ever happened to him. Watching you get so flustered, requesting such a…ridiculous thing from him—
He’s desperately fighting the raging erection threatening to tent his scrubs.
"No sex, no kissing," Jack states, eerily stern and possessive, basically drenching your panties with his tone because two can play at that game. "Hand stuff is fine, and just because I'm feeling generous, I'll let him get a taste of you and be haunted by your perfect mouth. Deal?"
He holds out his hand, pinky up for you to thread your own with his.
You're practically panting. "Fuck I love you."
He smiles dizzyingly in return, his heart close to popping from all the blood pumping through it.
"I love you too, crazy."
You interlock your finger with his, a matching mischievous look shared, powerful enough for everyone to act dumb at your obvious insanity, the night shift already used to the both of you being this intense all the time.
He steps back first, body buzzing with excitement. "Go, have fun ruining my best friend's life," he chuckles. "But I'm taking you home with me tomorrow morning."
You beam. “Yes, sir.”
a/n: if this gets a part two, it will devolve into Rabbot insanity just so you know. it’s honestly giving brat4brat and jack having to come in to dom the hell out of both of them
maybe something about sid accidentally finishing inside younger reader and then freaking out??
nsfw content below, some breeding stuff
The first time it happens, it’s an accident, an indulgence that slips past Sidney’s ironclad control because the moment feels too good, too raw to break. You’re beneath him, your knees hooked over his forearms as he folds you in half, thrusts hitting deep enough to drag whimpers out of your throat. The room smells like sweat and sex and the faint vanilla lotion you slathered on after your shower. Your nails score his shoulder blades, urging him deeper, and something cracks in him—decades of discipline fraying under the way you look up at him, pupils blown, mouth slack, pleading quietly, “Please don’t stop, daddy, please—”
He doesn’t. He chases it blindly, hips snapping with a force that rattles the headboard against the wall. You clamp down around him, tight as a fist, and he feels his resolve go molten. He’s supposed to pull out. He always pulls out. Condoms, pills, barriers, precautions stacked like sandbags against disaster, knows your cycles, keeps track more carefully than you do because he has to—because he’s the adult, the one with everything to lose. He whispers it every time, “Tell me when you’re close, baby… I’ve got to—” and you nod, promise, because you’re sweet and eager and want to be good for him.
But tonight you’re gone, pleasure-drunk, giggling breathlessly as you cup his face in your little hands and breathe, “Feels so good, Sidney, I love you,” and he breaks. He slams home, holds there, buries his face in your neck, and empties himself inside you with a guttural groan that vibrates through your whole body. It’s hot, flooding, spreading through you like molten honey, and you choke on a gasp, thighs trembling. He stays deep, grinding as if he can get further, his muscles locking, spine arched, every vein in his neck standing out. He hasn’t come inside anyone raw since before you were legal. The feeling is dizzying—silken walls milking him, no latex dulling the wet heat. He feels your pulse against him, feels your cunt flutter as you follow him over the edge, clinging and gasping his name.
Now his breath shudders. His pulse roars. He feels the reality of it in the way his cock throbs inside your tight channel, in the warm flood still pulsing out of him. He’s still inside you, softening slowly, and he knows he should pull out, knows he should reach for a towel, for anything, but he’s transfixed.
“Oh my god,” he mutters, voice ragged, forehead dropping to yours. “Baby, what did I just— fuck— what did we just do?”
You stare up at him, pupils blown wide, lips parted in that blissed-out smile he’s obsessed with. You’re flushed, skin glowing, hair wild across the pillow. You blink, hazy, a dreamy giggle bubbling up. “You came,” you say, stating the obvious like it’s the funniest thing in the world, your voice a breathy lilt. “Inside me. It was so warm.”
Your words punch the air from his lungs. He braces his hands on either side of your head, trying to steady himself. “Yeah. I did. I—” The panic shivers through him cold and sharp, cutting through the fading pleasure. You’re young and so damn fertile he’s seen you get flushed and needy just from ovulation. He shouldn’t have let himself slip. He’s the careful one.
He pulls out slowly, groaning as your walls cling to him, and both of you hiss at the wet stretch. The moment the tip leaves you, his cum spills out in a milky rush, pooling between your thighs, and that’s when he loses his composure. He can’t look away. The sight of his release dripping from your pink slit captivates him in a way that’s part terror, part savage hunger.
“Jesus,” he breathes, eyes locked on the slow roll of white sliding down to your ass. “Look at that.”
You lift your head, peering down your body, then flop back onto the pillow with a little squeal, covering your face with your hands. “It feels so weird,” you giggle, voice tinged with fascination. “Like… like it’s still throbbing?”
“That’s me,” he says hoarsely, fingers trembling as he spreads your folds to watch more of his cum seep out in thick, pearly strands. “That’s all me. God, baby.” He runs his thumb gently over your slick entrance, smearing his release across your swollen lips. You gasp, hips twitching, and he feels another pulse of lust kick despite the dread coiling in his gut.
He reaches for a towel, hesitates. He can’t bring himself to wipe it away yet. Instead he cups your pussy with his palm, pressing lightly to feel the warmth, the way you flutter against his hand. “We need to get Plan B,” he says, voice steady even though his mind is racing. “Right now. I don’t care that it’s midnight.”
You peek at him through your fingers, eyes glassy and soft. “Do we have to?”
“Yes.” The word is a command, firm, but tinged with something else—fear, protectiveness, self-reproach. “You know how easily— baby, your hormones are everywhere. I shouldn’t have—” He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his beard. “I got caught up. You make me crazy.”
You lower your hands, tracing the line of his jaw with gentle fingertips. “I liked it,” you whisper, the honesty in your voice gutting him. “Liked feeling you inside me like that. All warm. Felt like you were everywhere.”
His nostrils flare. The temptation to push back in, to plug you up with his cock and keep his cum inside you, surges hard enough to make him sway. Instead he breathes through it, reminding himself who he has to be for you. “Don’t tempt me,” he mutters, but his thumb is already rubbing slow circles around your clit, spreading his spend over your skin like he can’t help himself.
You moan, soft and floaty, your hips rolling. “Sidney…”
“Yeah, baby?” He can’t stop staring at your drenched slit, at the obscene glisten. He dips a finger inside, shallow, scooping up a mixture of you and him, and you whimper, lashes fluttering. He pulls his finger out and watches another line of cum follow, dripping onto the sheets, and he almost loses his mind. “You feel that?”
Your giggle turns into a sigh. “You’re obsessed.”
“With keeping you safe,” he says automatically, snapping back to his senses, though it comes out rougher than intended. He drags the sticky finger up to your mouth, strokes your lower lip. “Open.”
You obey, still dazed, and he slides his finger between your lips. You suck lazily, tasting the mix of both of you, and his cock twitches, half-hard again already.
He shakes himself, forces focus. “Stay right there. Don’t move. I’m gonna clean you up, then we’re hitting the pharmacy.”
You pout, the motion adorable and infuriating. “Can’t we stay like this for a minute? It feels… kinda nice.”
“Of course it does,” he growls, grabbing his phone from the nightstand to check the time. “That’s how nature tricks you. Your body’s like, ‘oh wow, this feels good, let’s make a baby.’ Yeah, no. Not tonight.”
You collapse into giggles, delirious. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Damn right I am.” He tosses the phone aside, leans down to kiss you, slow and deep, the taste of you and him still on your tongue. “I just creampied the most perfect girl on planet Earth. I’ve earned the right to be dramatic.”
You hum into the kiss. “You called it a creampie.” You sound delighted. “You’re so filthy.”
“I’m being clinical,” he lies, and slides off the bed, reluctantly stepping away from the enticing sight of your thighs slick with his cum. He grabs a clean towel, tosses it over his shoulder, then pauses to admire you one more time—sprawled on the sheets, hair fanned out, belly flushed, the open, trusting smile still lingering at the corners of your mouth.
He sits beside you again, raising your hips gently to slide a pillow under your lower back to stop gravity from doing too much damage while he wipes you. He knows it’s counterproductive, but part of him can’t stand the idea of his cum dripping onto the sheets instead of staying with you.
“Hold this,” he says, pressing the towel between your thighs, firm enough to catch the mess but gentle enough that you sigh instead of flinch.
You obey, pressing the towel tight, biting your lip, still dreamy. He strokes your hair back from your face, eyes soft despite the nerves jittering through him. “We’re gonna get dressed,” he says quietly. “We’ll get Plan B. Then I’ll tuck you back in, Okay?”
You nod, that same sparkling trust lighting your features. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
He kisses your forehead, then stands, gathering discarded clothes. He catches sight of the ruined condom still in the wrapper on the nightstand and swears under his breath. Lesson learned. Never again, he vows. No matter how sweet you moan, no matter how tight you clamp around him, no matter how badly his instincts scream to fill you up and watch it spill out. He’ll protect you, even from himself.
Still, as you sit up, towel slipping, another ribbon of cum sliding down your inner thigh, he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a second, battling the dark, possessive part of him that thrills at the sight. You look down, giggle, and swipe it with your fingers, bringing them to your mouth without thinking. He groans, half horrified, half aroused.
“We’re leaving,” he says, grabbing his keys. “Right now.”
You hop off the bed, still lost in the moment, still giggling, wrapping his oversized sweatshirt around your bare body. “I love you,” you sing, leaning up to kiss his cheek.
He swallows the panic, the hunger, the awe. “I love you too,” he whispers, guiding you toward the door, still half in shock at what he’s done even as he knows he’d do it again if you begged the right way.
Chappell Roan, who left her talent agency when she found out the Ceo was in the Epstein Files, is getting more hate than people in the actual Epstein files. Pedophiles are currently presidents and starting wars, wife beaters are getting awards and selling out stadiums, but a lesbian who is not the nicest most cheerful person 24/7 is the actual devil and getting banned from performing. I think she should be meaner. Let her be the nastiest bitch in the world. Maybe more women will wake up from the fucking trance this world has put us through and realise being "not nice" is not the biggest crime in the world.
a/n: i am SO beyond excited to introduce you to nova and add sid to the roster 🤭 this fic was so fun to write and is only the start of their story! i’m also just going with a completely made up game schedule and the olympics don’t exist because i didn’t want to deal with tracking and making things accurate to the season and try and fit the story around that. i hope you guys enjoy and let me know what your thoughts are! 🥹
tw: smoking, vaping, age gap, fingering (f receiving), protected p in v sex, licking, dirty talk, brief thigh riding, masturbating (m), superstitions around the relationship,
word count: 13.9k
summary: sidney crosby prides himself on being laser focused on hockey. a chance meeting with nova kincaid upends all of his careful planning
It all starts at the Penguins’ annual Night of Assists Gala, carnival themed this year and held at the arena. It’s earlier than usual too, mid-November as opposed to January or February, and that switch up has Sidney Crosby a little bit cranky.
The Gala being so early in the year throws off his internal clock and Sid’s finding it difficult to socialize with the attendees.
“Smile,” Geno deadpans at him, shoving a beer into Sid’s hand. “You look like prisoner.”
“It’s too early in the year,” Sid complains, taking a single sip of beer. He’ll nurse the one bottle all night and that’ll be enough for him. “I’m used to this happening post-Christmas. It’s throwing me off.”
Geno nods like he understands and Sid picks at the corner of the bottle’s label with his thumbnail, letting himself get drawn into a conversation with a group of fans that have excitedly approached him and Geno. He’s polite and graceful and takes selfies, but his mind is wandering a little and so is his gaze. His eyes skip over the decorations and the booths, landing on the line of people waiting at the tarot card booth.
Sid thinks it’s silly, tarot cards. They’re like psychics, telling you some vague shit so you’ll think they actually can read the future. He knows he’s superstitious, has a reputation for being over the top with his rituals, but there are some things even Sidney Crosby doesn’t believe in.
He and Geno peel away from the fans and wander around to mingle, picking up Tanger at some point on their loop around the arena floor. They’re debating the merits of a sauna over an ice bath when a loud, unfamiliar voice calls out, “Evgeni Malkin, come here.”
Sid looks around and Geno’s pointing at himself, asking, “me?” to the apparent voice of God.
“You keep staring,” the voice says and Sid follows it back to the tarot card reader. So, not God then.
Not God, no, but instead, a very pretty young woman. Sid’s eyes lock on her, taking in the mass of dark curls that seem to explode out of her head like a cloud and the green eyes that are staring at Geno sharply. Her lips tilt in a purple stained smirk and she crooks a finger at the trio, flashing a black painted fingernail and giving Sid a glimpse of multiple rings on her fingers.
He can’t stop staring at her.
“Not staring,” Geno retorts, stepping forward. Sid and Tanger follow him almost robotically. “Curious why so many people want to see silly cards.”
She smiles at Geno, all teeth and fake sweetness, and Sid has to roll his lips together to suppress his own smile. She looks like someone, but he can’t pin it down.
“Silly cards, huh?” She says wryly and now, up close and in better earshot, Sid can appreciate that her voice is raspy and hoarse, like a smoker’s or someone just getting over a cold. “Take a seat and we’ll see how silly.”
Geno raises an eyebrow and looks back and Sid and Tanger, a silent question in the cock of his head. Tanger laughs and tips his chin at the table, saying, “go ahead, Geno. Let’s see what the future holds for you.”
Sid agrees with a silent shrug. He’s too focused on the woman, studying how her green eyes bounce between the three men, the smudged black eyeliner on her lids giving her a mysterious look. She looks at Sid and catches him staring at her, but instead of calling him out, she winks at him and instantly, the front of his slacks are tight.
“Okay,” Geno takes a seat, setting his glass - vodka over ice, he’d switched from the beer at some point - on the table. “What do cards say?”
“Well,” she taps on the deck with two fingers, “you have to pull them and I’ll read them.”
She lifts her hand from the deck and gestures for Geno to pull. He does, forehead creasing with concentration. Sid leans forward and watches the cards get laid out on the table. Three cards, two of them upside down, all with gorgeously drawn illustrations.
The images don’t mean anything to him, but there’s no Death card and based on Sid’s pop culture knowledge of tarot cards, that seems like a good sign.
There’s a strange, hushed silence while the three men wait for the interpretation of the cards and Sid nearly jumps out of his skin when that raspy voice finally speaks.
“You’re having personal problems,” she says, matter of fact. Sid cuts his gaze to Geno, who’s frowning. “Things will not get better unless you work at them.”
A flare of vindication shoots down Sid’s spine. See? Just vague enough. Anyone could be having personal problems.
She taps the second card, drawing all of their attention. “You’re having a lot of inner turmoil and it’s impacting all aspects of your life. There are some things that you have to let go of, but it will take a little longer before you realize what they are,” she says, a sympathetic smile on her face.
The last card.
She narrows her eyes and twists her lips. Sid, despite himself, is curious. Geno lifts an eyebrow and says, “what? Is no Death card, so can’t be bad, yes?”
“Well,” she says slowly, “there is a physical transformation in the cards. Something that will linger for a while.”
“Injury?” Geno asks, wideyed. He doesn’t wait for a response before he makes a spitting noise at the floor - to ward off the Devil, Sid’s learned over the years of being Geno’s teammate - and does the sign of the cross, going to his right shoulder and then left in the Russian Orthodox tradition.
She holds up her hands, palms out and bracelets jangling on her wrists.
“It’s not necessarily an injury,” she says slowly. “It could be, but physical transformation doesn’t have to mean an injury.”
“Is stupid,” Geno grumbles, getting up and shaking his head. “People wait on line for silly predictions? Ah, not for me.”
He rolls his eyes at Sid and walks away. It’s a little rude, in Sid’s opinion, but that’s Geno. Tanger shrugs and apologizes for Geno, heading off after their teammate and leaving Sid alone with a woman whose name, he realizes, he doesn’t even know.
Awkwardly, he sticks his hand out and introduces himself, “Sidney Crosby. Sorry about Geno.”
“I know,” she shakes his hand. “And don’t worry about it, some people really don’t like the readings they get. That was nothing.”
It doesn’t escape his notice that she doesn’t offer up her name, but Sid doesn’t take it personally. He can’t, not when he was being a creep in his head about how pretty she is. He’ll never see her again anyway and his focus is on the Penguins’ season and pulling it out of the gutter.
“Do you want to pull cards?” She cocks her head, tapping painted nails on the edge of the deck. Sid watches, mesmerized, as she shuffles them expertly, her fingers moving fast around the thick cards.
Without really thinking about it, Sid nods, and her smile grows wide - showing off a slightly crooked incisor and a faint dimple in her cheek. She gestures for Sid to sit and he does, obeying quickly and for reasons he doesn’t want to examine too closely. After seeing Geno pull the cards, he knows what he has to do and pulls his own when she finishes shuffling. He pulls one extra by accident, four instead of three, but she doesn’t correct him or put the straggler back in the deck.
The images are gorgeously drawn, even Sid can appreciate that, but he doesn’t know what they mean at all.
The caligraphied labels at the bottom of the cards tell Sid he’s looking at Strength, The Hierophant, the King of Cups, and The Fool. Nothing that looks too scary or unnerving. He studies the images and is so engrossed in them, startles when the card reader’s raspy voice says, “this isn’t a terrible reading, Sid.”
“Don’t love the idea of being a fool,” he comments wryly, still leaning over the table to study the images.
“Mmm,” she hums, laughing a little. “The Fool’s not a bad thing, not really. In this case,” she taps the card with two fingers, “upright like this, it signifies new beginnings. Innocence.”
“New beginnings?” He repeats, looking up into intense green eyes. There’s a ring of light brown around the edges of her irises.
“Interesting,” she continues, like he hadn’t spoken at all, “considering the Hierophant is tradition and conformity. The cards are at odds in a way.”
Sid frowns and reminds himself that this is all guesswork and vagueness, cards at odds are just this woman’s way over covering all her bases on a prediction.
“And this one, Strength is reversed so it’s the -“
“Opposite,” Sid interrupts, earning himself a cocked head and pursed lip frown. He swallows his laugh and the sudden, not unwelcome urge to kiss the pout away.
“In a sense,” she huffs. “You’re going to feel a sense of weakness and self-doubt, likely in your personal life. I get the sense that you’re someone who’s usually very confident and self-assured so this may be -“
The speaker system crackles to life, interrupting her and announcing the start of the player auction. Sid gives her an apologetic smile and pushes away from the table, ignoring the pit that’s forming in his stomach.
“I’ve gotta go,” he hikes his thumb over his shoulder unnecessarily. “Thanks for the reading.”
There’s still one more card on the table, unread, but Sid disappears into the crowd, trying to shake off the unease sitting heavy in his stomach.
——
He slips out early, using the player exit from the arena so he can Irish Goodbye and not have to make his excuses. Sid’ll hear about it tomorrow at practice, Geno and Tanger chirping him in front of the new coach as if Sid worries about things like that anymore.
Another Cup, that’s his only goal. That and proving he can play at an elite level despite his recent thirty-eighth birthday.
Sid runs a hand through his hair, pomade making his fingers tacky, and heads for his car, jumping when a voice startles him.
“Captain doesn’t have to stay for the whole party?” There’s an extra rasp in her voice now, wry humor lacing her tone.
“Perks,” Sid says with a slight smile, “of the captaincy. I can leave when I want.”
Her cloud of black curls are wrangled back in a ponytail now, shorter, wispy pieces haloing her face. Her eyeliner is more smudged, settling into the smile lines at the corners of her eyes.
“Nice,” she comments, bringing a cigarette Sid hadn’t seen to her lips and inhaling. He winces, twitching his face into a more neutral expression to hide his distaste for the habit and the embarrassing fact that he’s incredibly turned on by the sight.
She catches Sid’s gaze and pulls the cigarette from her lips with a cough of smoke, holding it out to him. “Sorry,” she says in a slightly strangled voice, still coughing lightly, “did you want -?”
“No,” Sid chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t -“
“I have a vape too? If you’re new school,” she withdraws a bright orange piece of plastic from a hidden pocket and holds that up too. “It’s orange sherbert flavor. You don’t look like the kind of guy that vapes though.”
“Calling me old?” Sid asks, putting on the stern expression he uses on the rookies at practice. His cheek twitches though, fighting a smile.
She smiles at him, tucking the vape back in her pocket and tossing the cigarette to the floor, pressing her shoe against the smoldering end. “I would never,” she teases, bright eyes dancing. “I know how sensitive men are about their age. But if the silver hair fits…”
Normally a poke at his greys would make Sid spiral a bit about the passing of time, but she’s looking at him with barely disguised attraction and suddenly, Sid doesn’t really mind the greys all that much.
“Guess I shouldn’t dye them then, huh?” Sid replies, with uncharacteristic lightness. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, before blurting, “you never told me your name. Back inside. When I introduced myself. Do they not teach manners in school anymore?”
She can’t be that much younger than him and Sid cringes when it comes out more chastising and less flirtatious, like he meant it.
To his surprise, she grins even wider, showing off the crooked incisor again and a faint gap between her bottom two front teeth.
“Nova Kincaid,” she announces, sticking her hand out for Sid to shake. Her fingers are soft when they wrap around his, her palm dwarfed by his. A spark of electricity hums up his arm. “Nice to meet you, Sid.”
“Nova,” he repeats, the syllables familiar in his mouth. “Pretty name. Y’know, I’m from Nova Scotia.”
“I know,” she still has her fingers wrapped around his. “I’m born and bred Pittsburgh, you’re not that much of a mystery to me.”
Sid chews on the inside of his cheek and makes a split second decision to just fucking go for it. “I think there are probably a few things that you don’t know about me,” he says, feeling corny as hell. Old too, with Nova’s bright green eyes giving him an assessing look.
“Probably,” Nova laughs, finally withdrawing her hand from Sid’s. “It was very nice to meet you, but I’ve got an early morning tomorrow so…”
She trails off and Sid’s pretty sure he’s blown it, whatever it was. Until she cocks her head at him and fumbles in her purse for a minute, withdrawing a rectangle of something that Sid only catches a flash of before she’s tucking it into the breast pocket of his tux. She pats it once, fingers lingering for a second before she waves those same fingers at him.
“See you around, Sid,” she giggles, gone in a jangle of jewelry and the fading cloud of cigarette smoke. Sid’s dumbfounded, rooted in place, his jaw working as he watches her leave.
It takes a second for his brain to come back online, but when it does, he reaches for his pocket, withdrawing the familiar King of Cups tarot card Sid had pulled in his reading earlier. The card Nova hadn’t had the chance to explain.
The card with her phone number scrawled across the back.
Sid grins to himself and tucks the card back into his breast pocket.
——
He doesn’t use the number.
The calendar flips by, November fading into December, bringing with it mass chaos for the Penguins. Geno is hurt in a game a week after the charity event, a shoulder sprain that will keep him out for weeks. Sid feels a piece of his grip on sanity slip.
Then half the team is knocked down with a stomach flu - blame passed around from the rookies going out one too many times a week to the kids of the players bringing home germs from school. Whatever the reason, it leaves them with a depleted lineup up of dehydrated and exhausted players that can’t seem to string together enough wins to put them in playoff contention.
Summer hockey feels like it’s slipping away, and fast.
Sid’s scoring and assisting in every game, but it’s still not enough. For the first time in his career he doesn’t feel like he can carry the team on his skill alone. Without Geno, with half the players barely able to breathe after a shift, he feels like he’s trying to dig out of a sinkhole.
It’s not impossible, they’re only 5 points back of the second Wild Card spot, but the closer they get to the Christmas break, the worse Sid feels.
They lose the two games before Christmas and then win the two immediately after, leading into the welcome one-two punch of having New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day off. A quirk of the schedule this year.
The team’s having a NYE party, planned and hosted by Emmeli Rakell and Catherine Letang and all Sid has to do is show up. But even that feels like too much effort when his initial gut instinct is to beg off and rewatch game footage to see what they’ve been doing right and what they’ve been doing wrong.
At the end of the day, he’s the captain and he has a responsibility to join the team and enjoy the festivities as much as he can. Even if it’s just to make sure Geno doesn’t rile the rookies up again.
The party’s at a semi-fancy restaurant, rented out for privacy, and Sid genuinely thinks he’s losing his mind. He keeps catching glimpses of dark curly hair, keeps hearing a raspy voice and laughter that’s tickling at the back of his brain.
He doesn’t see her though, whenever he whips his head around mid-conversation. Not until it’s just before 11, his teammates and their significant others in varying states of drunkenness.
Sid’s club soda nearly slips out of his hand when he finally spots her leaning against the bar and chatting with the bartender, tapping at a clipboard on the bar top. He allows himself a second to glance over her body, long legs even longer in a pair of tailored black slacks and chunky black heels, before he nearly teleports across the room.
“Hey,” he says, a little too loudly even though the music playing drowns most conversation out.
Nova jumps, her knee clattering against the front of the bar, hand coming up to rest on her chest. She looks over, blinking wide eyes at him, her expression settling once she recognizes him. Her eyes narrow slightly, lips curling up into a smirky sort of smile as she replies, “oh, hi, Sid. Enjoying the party?”
“I - yeah, so what are you doing here?” He blurts out, immediately regretting it right up until Nova lets out a bright giggle.
“Making sure your party goes off without a hitch,” she grins, tapping her fingertips on the bar. “My aunt and uncle own the place, I moonlight as an event planner for them.”
Sid cocks his head, studying her, trying to reconcile tarot card reader and event planner in his head. The sleek outfit she’s wearing tonight, compared to the floaty dress and jewelry the night of the gala. Sid must be staring for too long because Nova laughs again and adds, “the tarot stuff is a hobby. I really do work as an event planner, the company I work for helped with the Penguins’ gala and I just kick in some stuff on the side for my aunt and uncle. I met Emmeli there and we got chatting. She asked me for some assistance on planning this.”
“That…” Sid nods, “makes sense. Sorry, I just…”
He coughs, clearing his throat, feeling strangely unmoored for a man who prides himself on discipline and being predictable in his reactions.
Nova bites down on her lower lip, smothering a smile. She opens her mouth to say something, but her phone vibrates on the bar top, saving Sid. With her look down at the lit up screen, Sid takes a moment to gather himself, focusing on a birthmark just below Nova’s ear. When she looks back up at him, he feels normal again and confident that he won’t say anything stupid.
“Sorry,” she actually sounds apologetic, her eyebrows drawn together over her nose, “I have to check on a pyrotechnics situation.”
“Pyrotechnics?” Sid repeats, looking past Nova at the wall of windows that overlooks the Allegheny. “Are we -“
“Shooting off fireworks at midnight?” Nova finishes his question. “You bet your ass we are. Well, if I can troubleshoot anyway.”
Sid wants to offer up his help, but blowing off a hand in a firework related injury isn’t how he wants his career to end. Geno would never let him live it down.
His fingers slip a little on the condensation gathering on his glass and he adjusts his grip, struggling with the indecision while he tries to think of what to say. How can he stay in her presence?
Nova saves him, with a sly smile and a twinkle in her eyes. “Ignore me if I’m out of bounds, but I don’t think I am. Find me at midnight, okay? No pressure, but…just… I think it would be fun.”
She slips off into the crowd before Sid can reply and he just shakes his head at nothing. The audacity of this woman. He’s definitely not finding her at midnight, he doesn’t have the capacity for an entanglement right now. Neither Sid nor the Penguins as a whole can afford him being distracted right now. He’s the captain and he has to lock in. Playoffs aren’t off the table, but they will be if Sid allows himself the indulgence of a midnight kiss with Nova Kincaid.
———
Nova’s distracted, texting with the guy that’s responsible for setting off the fireworks in a few minutes, when the unfamiliar pair of hands - huge, warm, a little rough - cup her cheeks and turn her head.
She barely has a second to process Sid’s face - determined, with something slightly manic in his eyes - before his lips are on hers. They’re softer than she thought they’d be, plush in a way that feels obscene on a man.
And he knows how to kiss, Nova registers this faintly, with a buzz in the back of her head. Sid’s hands cradle her face, tilting her head to the side so he can deepen the kiss, his tongue darting briefly out to tease her lower lip. He presses forward, his body sold and hot against hers, until Nova’s back hits the wall.
Nova loses herself in him, in the caress of his thumb on her cheekbone, the scent of his cologne, the hungry groan swallowed up by her mouth when she parts her lips and licks into his mouth. Sid nips at her lower lip when he pulls back, tugging her lip out before releasing it.
In the background, nearly drowned out by their ragged breathing, are the fireworks set off without a hitch.
“It wasn’t midnight,” Nova breathes, watching Sid’s pupils dilate. His lips are swollen and wet from the kiss and she can feel the stinging start of beard burn on her chin and cheek.
“I couldn’t resist,” Sid says, his voice strangled like the admission is painful. Nova’s pretty sure he doesn’t realize that his thigh is between hers, thick muscle spreading her legs apart. She sucks in a breath, resisting the urge to grind down on his thigh. “Fuck me, I couldn’t resist. Nova -“
She lunges in again, arms draped over Sid’s broad shoulders, and kisses the words from his mouth. Sid makes a noise that Nova wants to hear him make again and crushes her harder against the wall, keeping her caged in with his body, his thigh lifting higher until it’s pressed against the heat of her clothed cunt.
“Shit,” he mutters into her mouth, Nova grinding down on the hard, tensed muscle of his thigh. “Fuck, I can’t -“
“You can,” Nova mumbles, breathless. “We can, please.” Her fingers bury in the short hair at the nape of his neck, the prickle of his fresh cut making a shiver run down her spine. Now that they’ve started, Nova doesn’t think she can stop.
Sid groans, drops his forehead to her shoulder and turns his head to lick at the side of her neck, his cock throbbing when Nova giggles. “Not here,” he manages, breath warm on her skin. “Somewhere -“
“Private,” she finishes for him, subconsciously rolling her hips over his thigh. Her clit is chafing against the fabric of her panties and arousal pools between her legs. “Follow me.”
With a final, searing kiss, Sid finally steps back and allows Nova to grab his hand and pull him down a hallway. His free hand finds her hip, gliding up over her side and untucking the silky blouse tucked into her slacks. His fingertips dip under the hem, brushing against the warm skin of her waist.
She wiggles as she walks, squirming when he tickles her gently, pushing her forward and through the doorway at the end of the hall. Sid’s surrounded by the scent of vanilla and smoke and if he’s not careful, it’ll consume him.
Sid kicks the door shut behind him and Nova reaches back to lock it, giving him a wide grin.
“Private enough for you, Mr. Crosby?” Her tone is light and teasing and Sid can only manage to smile back briefly before he’s pushing her up against the door, kissing her again. Nova gasps into his mouth, feeling the press of his cock against her thigh and her lips curl into a grin that Sid kisses away. His hands are on her ass, groping and kneading and pulling her closer.
“Fuck me,” he mutters, nearly inaudible, and Nova plans on following through.
The ambient sounds of the party trickle through the door - cheap wood, since Nova’s aunt and uncle had spent more money on renovating the restaurant than the back of the house office - and she knows that there’s a limited time frame before Sid leaves. Nova’s hands find the button and zipper on her pants and she pushes them down, mouth marking a hot trail of kisses on Sid’s stubbled jaw while he groans and shifts his hips.
“Chair, now,” Nova rasps, pushing at Sid’s chest. He stumbles back, fingers trailing over Nova’s hips, a wild look in his eyes.
“Gonna ride my cock like a good girl?” He asks, licking his lower lip. His voice shoots straight to Nova’s core and she presses her thighs together to try and get some friction on her clit. Fuck.
She nods and Sid’s grin turns wicked. With a tip of his chin, as if to say ‘whatever the lady wants’, he takes a few more steps back until his legs hit the chair and he sinks down into the faux-leather. Legs spread wide and Nova can see the bulge of his cock behind the fly of his pants. His thighs strain at the black fabric and Sid rubs his palms over the tops of them, fabric pulled taut.
“Shit,” Nova huffs a disbelieving laugh, pushing her pants and underwear down over her ass. This is insane, so beyond out of character, but she’s not stopping now. Kicking off her heels, she discards her pants to the floor, Sid’s eyes hot on her as she exposes her cunt to the cool air. Her thighs are damp and her clit throbs with the attention.
“Jesus Christ, Nova,” Sid growls, leaning forward in the chair, elbows on his knees. “You’re so fucking wet. That all for me?”
She nods and Sid reaches for her, big hands enveloping her hips, pulling her to him so she can straddle his lap. Nova sighs, her hips and thighs already starting to tingle from the spread of Sid’s thighs. She wedges her knees on either side of his hips and leans back to sit on his thighs, giving him access to her bare, soaked cunt.
“Touch me, Sid,” she rasps, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it between her legs. He watches his fingers dip in her wet folds, chuckling when his middle finger finds her entrance and dips in shallowly. Nova whines at the contact and clenches, dragging his finger in a little deeper. Slick drips steadily over his fingers, glinting in the low light every time he pulls his hand back.
Nova ghosts her palm over the bulge in his pants, enjoying the hiss Sid bites out and the way he plunges two fingers into her, his thumb hovering over her clit.
“What a fucking perfect little pussy,” Sid says, almost absently, his eyes bouncing from Nova’s face to her cunt, watching as her eyelids flutter with his movements. “Dripping all over my hand, making a mess of my pants. Oh, honey, you gonna give me an orgasm just from my fingers? Sensitive little thing, huh?”
“Yeah,” Nova breathes, hiccuping a gasp when Sid presses his thumb to her clit. “Oh - oh god,” she whines, wriggling on his lap. Her hips chase his fingers and Sid presses them deeper, curling the digits slightly and enjoying the way his palm gets soaked with her arousal. His cock throbs behind his zipper, a steel rod against the unforgiving metal.
With shaky fingers, Nova manages to find the button on his slacks. Her lip is caught between her teeth as she focuses, breathing harshly while his fingers fuck into her, undoing the button and zipper. Sid exhales roughly with the release of pressure against his cock and leans in to nip at Nova’s jaw.
“Take it out, honey,” he coos, bordering on condescending. “Take it out and see what you’re dealing with.”
Nova groans happily, reaching into Sid’s pants and wrapping her fingers around his cock. It jumps in her hand, thick and hot, and Sid’s hips twitch as he bites out a curse. He curls his fingers in her cunt, exhaling a chuckle when he finds her g-spot and she wails.
“Sid - oh- god,” her fingers tighten on his cock and he hisses, losing his rhythm. “Wanna - wanna come on your cock. Not fingers.”
“Okay,” Sid grins, leaning up to kiss the side of her jaw. “I can make that happen, since you asked so nicely.”
He gives her a brief reprieve, just letting his fingers fill her without moving, so Nova can push his pants open and tug at the fabric of his briefs to expose his cock. Sid winces when the cool air hits his skin, knowing his cock is flushed and angry without having to look at it. The throbbing alone tells him he’s closer than he’d like.
Nova makes a little noise in the back of her throat and Sid’s eyes fly up to her face, taking in the wide eyed expression of delight and the way her lips are curling back in a smile. It takes all of his willpower to not be a dick and ask if she likes what she sees.
Clearly she does, her fingers delicately stroking his thick length and her cunt absolutely dripping with arousal.
“This is going to be fun,” she giggles, breathless. She exposes more of him, the dark curls at the base of his cock hiding some of the length. Precome leaks steadily from the broad tip and Nova’s breath hitches in her chest when she realizes Sid’s cock is so heavy it’s not able to hold itself up. He’s longer and thicker than any cock she’s ever seen and Nova can already feel the way he’ll stretch her out.
“Condom?” He rasps, distracted by Nova’s fingers exploring his cock. As badly as he’d like to fuck her raw, Sid’s not that far gone.
Nova nods and Sid whines when her fingers are gone suddenly, her body weight shifted so she’s actively kneeling now, her chest in Sid’s face. He grins and uses his free hand to push her shirt up and expose her stomach, rubbing his cheek against her skin until it’s red and irritated.
“Ow,” she whines, pushing at his head with one hand and reaching onto the top of a nearby shelf with her other. “Stop that,” she grumbles and Sid licks at her skin in apology, making Nova squeak a laugh.
“You taste like vanilla,” Sid huffs a laugh against her skin.
Nova drops back down to sit on Sid’s thighs, a condom clutched in her fingers, the gold foil wrapper glinting in the low light of the office. She makes quick work of tearing it open, her fingers fumbling only slightly, “it’s body lotion.”
“Could fucking eat you up,” Sid mutters, more to himself than to Nova, burying his face in the crook of her neck and kissing where her pulse beats rapidly under her skin. He curses, Nova’s fingers back on his cock to slide the condom over his length.
“Maybe I’ll let you,” she teases, giving his cock a firm squeeze before grazing her nails over his balls. “For now, I really just want you to fuck me.”
Sid nods like a bobblehead, pulling his fingers from Nova’s cunt with a wet squelch and gripping her hips to help her line up over his cock. He kisses the column of her throat and grunts when she lowers, the tip of him already stretching her cunt.
“Ohhh,” Nova groans lowly, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck - Sid,” she props her forearms on his shoulders, using them for leverage. Her cunt squeezes and Sid responds with a tighter grip on her hips. “Fuck - tight, should’ve -“
“No, no,” he clicks his tongue, lowering her another inch or so, holding his breath until his chest grows tight. “Stretch that perfect pussy on my cock, not my fingers.”
Nova keens his name, digging her nails into the fabric of his shirt and suit jacket - fuck, she forgot that he’s still completely clothed - and sinks down on his cock, the stretch bordering on too much. His hips ache and her clit throbs, pleasure building low in her stomach and Sid’s not even completely inside her yet.
“Taking me so good,” Sid mumbles, kissing Nova’s jaw and lips, guiding her down with pressure on her waist. “Look at that, fuck, you feel so good on my cock, honey.”
The noise from the party seems to get louder outside the door, crashing and music, and Nova jolts even though she knows the door is locked. Sid’s cock jumps inside of her and without warning, she sinks down fully, her ass meeting his thighs again and she nearly screams from the stretch.
“Shit,” Sid chokes out a gasp, dropping his head back against the faux-leather. His hips buck up and Nova bites down hard on her lower lip to muffle the wail that threatens to escape. “Fuck, gotta be quiet. Can’t - don’t wanna get caught. Can you be quiet, Nova?”
“No,” she admits with a hoarse chuckle and a twinkle in her eye. “I’m a screamer.”
Sid just stares at her, breathing a quiet ‘fuck me’ that makes Nova rotate her hips, the thick fullness of his cock making her see stars. Shaking his head, Sid lifts one hand to her mouth, the hand that had been buried in her cunt before his cock, and taps at her mouth, “open up.”
Nova opens her mouth obediently and wraps her lips around his fingers, sucking gently. Sid’s cock twitches and Nova lifts just a bit to sink back down.
“Suck on those,” Sid orders, guiding her hips with his other hand, setting a rhythm that’ll keep him from coming too quickly. “Bite down if you’re going to scream, I don’t want anyone hearing.”
If she’d been in her right mind, Nova might have been insulted. But she’s not, head pleasantly fuzzy, body full of liquid heat. Her hips move and she rides Sid’s cock, the chair squeaking under their movement. Each drag of his cock against her walls makes her body tighten, coil of pleasure pulled tight in her lower stomach.
Sid watches her cunt suck him in, the way her arousal drenches his pubic hair and his lap. “Making such a fucking mess with this cunt, honey,” he strokes her jaw with his thumb. “Can’t believe this is all for me.”
Nova nods and sucks at his fingers, muffled noises slipping out while she works Sid’s cock. His fingers dig into her ass cheek, guiding her movements and Nova hopes he leaves a bruise.
It doesn’t take much longer, edged as she was from his fingers, but the orgasm still takes Nova by surprise. Sid’s hand keeps her in place on his cock, her hips grinding in a circle until his cock hits her g-spot perfectly, making her vision blur and her mouth fall open in a shout. Sid’s palm muffles the noise, saliva smearing on her cheeks and chin.
Her cunt spasms around Sid’s cock, almost distracting her from the way it thickens and twitches before his hips are bucking up into hers, come filling the condom. Sid grunts her name and sweat beads at his hairline, rolling down his temple.
Nova’s body is slack, her thighs trembling and Sid’s hand on her hip and his cock twitching and spilling into the condom the only thing keeping her grounded to the moment. A heavy breath rattles her chest and she blinks stupidly at him, impulsively lunging in and kissing him, biting at his lower lip and moaning into his mouth.
“Jesus Christ,” Sid groans into her skin when she pulls back, cupping the back of her head and bringing Nova back in for another searing kiss. “Been a minute since I came that hard.”
His cock is still wedged inside her, softening but still thick and Nova wiggles her hips, drawing a hiss from Sid’s kiss-swollen lips. Her clit catches on the thatch of hair at his base and she whimpers from the friction, pushing away slightly. Sweat sticks her shirt to her back and there’s a wet mess between her legs and on Sid’s thighs, a mix of her own orgasm and the come leaking out of the condom as Sid’s cock softens.
“Been a minute since I made such a mess of a man’s lap,” Nova returns sheepishly, carefully extricating herself from Sid’s lap. Her legs are numb and she stumbles, Sid’s hands shooting out to catch her at the elbows. Once he’s comfortable that she won’t fall, he gives her a wicked grin and pulls the condom off, knotting it neatly and tossing it in the garbage can next to the desk.
“If I wasn’t afraid we’re going to be interrupted any minute,” Sid says slowly, tucking himself back in his briefs and getting his fly done again. Nova cocks her head at him, picking up her panties off the floor and stepping into them. “I’d have you clean me up with that pretty mouth of yours.”
She giggles and steps into her pants, uncomfortably wet and sore. Her legs feel like they’re bowed, hips screaming for an Epsom salt bath.
“I could be tempted,” she licks her lower lip, watching as her phone lights up from where she tossed it onto the floor. “I wonder what it would feel like to have that tank of yours stretching my mouth.”
With the front of his pants soaked, Sid feels a little insane, the smell of sex and vanilla body lotion a suffocating blanket in the room.
“Next time,” he promises, leaning in to swipe his thumb over Nova’s lip and tilt her chin up so he can give her a kiss that she melts into.
When he pulls back again, Nova hooks her fingers into the gold chain around his neck, keeping him in place for a few seconds longer. She studies his face, eyes lingering on his lips, and nods.
“Next time,” she repeats, releasing him and stepping back to lean against a file cabinet. “I’ll let you head out first. I should, um, air out the room anyway.”
Sid nods, buttoning his suit jacket and hoping it’s dark enough in the restaurant to hide the mess on his slacks.
——-
The guilt sinks in before Sid’s even halfway home and he knows he’s going to make himself a liar. There’s not going to be a next time, there can’t be a next time with Nova.
He can’t think about her when his focus is supposed to be hockey.
They lose the next two games after the quick New Year’s break and that only furthers Sid’s resolve to put Nova out of his mind, no matter how good it felt to have her on his lap, her cunt hot and tight around his cock.
What’s really worrying Sid is his inability to get the team motivated. He feels like he’s saying all the right things, trying to spark something, anything. But Geno’s out injured still and every speech he makes feels like he’s missing a step. He’s never felt this strangely out of sync with himself or his team and it’s making him crazy.
He’s back to his usual routines pre- and post-game. There won’t be any deviating again.
Except.
It’s February and everything’s decked out in red and pink for Valentine’s Day and Sid’s body remembers the feeling of Nova’s, his cock half hard every time he catches a glimpse of dark curls on the street.
He finds her Instagram profile, clicks follow without a second thought, his burner account just another of her random followers. She won’t even notice him.
Because Nova has a surprisingly large follower count. Tens of thousands of people want to see what she does with her day, enough that Sid doesn’t feel bad about his voyeurism. If he slips and likes a photo, it’ll just be another notification hidden among thousands. Not that his like is even tied to his own name. It’s giving Sid too much confidence, the ability to be anonymous and see what Nova’s up to without having to admit to himself why he cares.
So he scrolls. He sees pictures of her vacations and brunches with friends, Pirates’ games and slightly further back, in a post from October, the picture that makes Sid choke on his spit.
He’d know that shade of yellow anywhere, the blurry outlines of the arena are as familiar to him as his own home.
Nova’s hair is a dark cloud around her head, her mouth open in a laugh. The jersey she’s wearing hits mid-thigh and black boots come up over her knees, showing off a few inches of skin that Sid knows feels as smooth as silk. His cock is half hard in his sweats, already aching.
The way she’s positioned, Sid can only see a 7 on her sleeve and he scrolls through the carousel of images, holding his breath, until he finds one where he can see that she’s wearing Geno’s jersey. The 71 glaring back up at him from the screen. A spike of hot jealousy bubbles in his stomach and he swallows roughly. He wants her in his jersey, needs his name to be blazoned across her shoulders.
“Fuck,” Sid grumbles, his eyes finally catching on the caption declaring it her 27th birthday and his stomach drops. Just this past October, four short months ago, she’d turned 27. Making her a full eleven years younger than him.
And here’s Sid, hand under his sweats to grip his hardening cock so he can jerk off to her picture. He feels like a dirty old man, but not bad enough to stop. Not when the fabric of his sweats is already a little damp from the steady leak of precome, his balls sore and achy and full. His fingers wrap around his length, choking it in a tight grip, his eyes locked on the few inches of thigh showing in Nova’s picture.
His hand moves, dragging precome down his shaft, swirling the palm of his hand over the tip. His sweats tent over his erection and the fabric makes his movements jerky and stuttered. But it doesn’t matter, Sid wants a quick and fast release, his other hand scrolling through Nova’s profile. He finds pictures from the summer, bikinis and tanned skin and squinty smiles. Her tongue is out in one picture, a candid where she’s licking salt off the rim of a glass and Sid’s cock jumps, a quick spurt of come flooding his fingers.
All he can imagine is that same tongue licking at his cock.
His cock aches, impossibly hard, and Sid’s hand is losing its rhythm as he works himself over. He’s sloppy, sweat beading at his hairline, tendons in his forearm flexing. And there’s more and more of Nova - she posted so many fucking pictures over the summer - and without warning, Sid’s thighs tense and he’s pushed over the edge, coming harder and longer than he has in a long time.
Come soaks his briefs, his sweats, his hand and thighs. He’s a goddamn mess and still, his cock twitches with interest when he scrolls to the next picture and is confronted with Nova’s face, bare of makeup and with her hair a dark halo around her head. The picture shows the slight gap in her teeth and looks like something Sid could have taken, sitting next to her. It makes his stomach do a funny twist.
Annoyed at himself, Sid tosses his phone to the mattress and climbs out of bed with a groan, sticky and uncomfortable. He’s washing all of this down the drain and he’s never going to jack off to Nova’s picture again.
He’s done.
——-
Sid scores two and the Penguins win their next game.
——
Unknown: How do you feel about glass seats at hockey games?
Even without the delightfully on the nose 878 area code, Nova would’ve known her mystery texter is Sidney Crosby because he lets her know in a rapid succession of three more texts.
Unknown: This is Sid, by the way. Crosby.
Unknown: I should’ve said that earlier. Sorry.
Unknown: Sorry again for all the texts.
He texts like an old man, Nova giggles to herself, with the full sentences and punctuation. It’s endearing instead of off-putting, the way her family members text with ellipses and random spaces.
Her thumbs hover over the keyboard, ready to respond, even though she’s not sure what the point is. Clearly Sid’s got something going on since he hasn’t reached out at all in nearly a month. Of course she’s heard the rumours about him, his inability to commit, his in-season superstitions. But some silly part of her brain had thought that maybe she would be different.
Nova: I’m a fan, always love to smack the glass when the refs are being stupid. Why? Do you have a connect? 🤭
#87: I can make it happen. Glass seats. A suite. whatever you want.
#87: Next home game? Tell me when you’re free.
Something nags at the back of Nova’s brain, Sid’s urgency to have her a game is so strange. Especially considering the lack of communication. There’s a connection, but she can’t quite figure out why. She’d be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t curious or that she didn’t want to see Sid again. The two guys she’d gone out with in the last two weeks had been charisma vacuums. Boring as hell and the goodnight kisses were mediocre at best.
An orgasm from Sid would be very welcome right about now.
Nova: Okay, yeah. Next home game, make it happen Mr. Crosby 😇
#87: I’ll send the tickets. Maybe I’ll see you after the game?
#87: If you want.
#87: No pressure.
If only he knew how bad Nova wants to be sitting on his cock again. She’s not going to give him that satisfaction though. Not with the way he’s been acting. Let him sweat a little.
Nova: If you play your cards right….
#87: Trust me, I’m motivated.
#87: See you soon, Nova.
——-
Nova’s seats are directly on the glass, first row of PPG Paints Arena, and she’s wearing a freshly delivered Crosby jersey, so new it still smells like the heat press used to iron on his name and number to the back.
She’d texted Sid the second it arrived: Jersey is nice, but not necessary. I have a Pens jersey.
His response had stopped her in her tracks, making her heart twist: I know, I saw it. I want you wearing mine.
And then a few seconds later: Please, Nova. Wear my name on your back.
Who was she to say no to that request?
And if she thought about sending Sid a video of her wearing the jersey and her fingers between her legs, who can blame her? She hadn’t, in the end, not wanting to be responsible for distracting him.
“The fact,” Maggie, her best friend, says as they scoot into their seats, “that you’ve been up to something with Sidney Crosby and haven’t told me is absolutely a break of best friend code. Just so you know.”
Nova shushes her. “Say his name a little louder, huh? It’s that I’m up to something. It’s just…” she shrugs, settling into her seat. “It’s just…”
“Something,” Maggie grins, wicked and triumphant. “You’re literally wearing a brand fucking new Crosby jersey. And,” she gestures to the ice, mere inches from their faces, “I know microinfluencing does not pay for glass seats, Nova.”
Maggie pauses and her grin goes sly, “unless you started selling feet pics?”
“No!” Nova yelps, startled laughter bursting from her chest. She pushes at Maggie’s arm, shaking her head. “Shut up. It’s not … I’m not selling feet pics. Sid’s just…honestly, I have no idea what he’s doing. But I’m saying yes for the plot, you know?”
Maggie and Nova boo absently when the refs skate onto the ice - they’d missed warmups - and then Maggie says off-handedly, watching the Kraken take the ice and then the Pens, “saying yes for the plot would only be fun if you actually slept with him. I mean, you could totally bag Sidney Crosby. He doesn’t seem like the type to be all stereotypical hockey player and go for a blonde.”
Nova presses her lips together, not wanting to spill the beans of her New Year’s Eve encounter with Sid. She hasn’t told anyone about that.
But Maggie notices her sudden silence and her eyes go wide, her jaw dropping open before she shrieks, “oh my god!! You bitch, you slept with him and didn’t tell me? What the fuck? How was it? Is he big?”
“Shut up!” Nova hisses, glancing around, clapping her hand over Maggie’s mouth. “Shut up, oh my god. Stop, I’m not - ew! You licked me!”
She yanks her hand away from Maggie’s mouth and wipes it on her jeans.
“I cannot believe that you kept this a secret from me, Nova Kincaid! This is like,” Maggie throws her hands up in the air, “the ultimate betrayal! I told you when I had that threesome.”
“I didn’t ask about those details,” Nova defends herself. “It was just the once, I swear. I don’t know, Mag. He’s -“ There’s really no way to describe Sidney Crosby that will make sense to an outside party. “He’s Sid.”
“That is so unbelievably unhelpful,” Maggie pouts. But she reads Nova’s hesitancy and drops the topic. “I want details eventually. But I won’t ruin the game for you.”
“Thanks,” Nova mumbles dryly, her gaze catching on Sid as he lines up for the Anthem. His stance doesn’t waiver and he doesn’t look at her, but Nova gets the feeling that he knows she’s there.
Later, when a security guard stops next to her seat with just under two minutes left to play in the game - Pittsburgh up 2-1 thanks to a Sid goal - Nova’s not exactly surprise when he says, “Ms. Kincaid? Mr. Crosby’s asked if we could escort you to the family lounge after the game. He’d like to meet you there.”
She also doesn’t feel bad agreeing and leaving Maggie in the capable hands of the man she’s been yapping with on her other side for past forty-five minutes. Say yes for the plot, right?
The game ends with a win and excitement bubbles in Nova’s veins. She’s never seen Sid after a win and she wonders what he’s like.
Turns out, he’s extremely smiley, white teeth flashing and eyes crinkling up at the corners. He looks too good in his post-game suit, gold chain glinting in the gap left by his open collar. Her mouth goes dry at the sight of him.
“Nova!” He says her name like she’s visiting royalty, sweeps her into a hug that steals her breath and gives her a good feel of his body against hers. Sweat and deodorant invade her senses and Sid kisses her cheek, the rasp of his beard sending a shiver down her spine.
“Sid!” She copies his tone, laughing a little. “Great game and again, thanks for the seats and the jersey. You really didn’t have to do that.”
He shakes his head, a droplet of sweat or water from his shower rolling down his temple. Nova wants to lick it away and she clenches her thighs together.
“I really did,” he says, lips curled up in a smirk that tells Nova he caught her movement. “We’re another two points closer to a Wild Card spot. I needed you here, wearing my name.”
Something in his words gives Nova pause, her head cocked to the side, even as her stomach flutters with butterflies. His tone is earnest, sincere, but it’s the mention of the playoffs that catches her off guard a bit.
“Did -“ she pauses, gathering her thoughts. Hard to do, with Sid’s big hand encircling her wrist, his thumb stroking over her pulse point. It skitters when he steps closer to her. “Am I here for a specific reason, Sid?”
His expression shifts, a little sheepish, a little guilty, and Nova bites at the inside of her cheek, waiting.
“Well,” he starts, “yeah. I wanted you here. I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t.”
“But there’s something else too,” Nova presses, aware that there are still a few people trickling in and out of the room.
Sid shifts his weight from foot to foot and grimaces, “can we do this somewhere else? Privately?”
He so clearly does not want to have this conversation and Nova feels a twinge of guilt for ruining what was a good day, for squandering this second (third?) chance with Sid. She nods and lets him drag her from the room, his pace quick and clipped as he guides her through the arena, quiet until they’re spit out in the underground garage.
The cavernous space is only partially empty, their footsteps echoing until Sid stops her next to a Range Rover, presumably his. He rubs at the back of his neck and Nova waits.
“I wanted - ever since we met,” Sid sounds like he’s struggling to get the words out, the syllables appearing in his mouth seconds before they hit the air, “it’s been upside down. I can’t - can’t stop thinking and - about you. I can’t stop thinking about you, Nova, and it’s making me crazy. I needed to see if - with you in the arena, physically, it’s lucky. It’s lucky when you’re not here, but when you’re here - it’s extra. You’re good luck for me.”
It’s definitely not what Nova’s expecting to hear and the intensity in Sid’s gaze is making her feel warm all over. She knows - the entire country knows - that Sid’s borderline insane about his game, his superstitions. But the fact that she’s now one of those superstitions?
It just makes her more curious about Sid and what he’s going to do about it.
Something else he said catches her attention.
She raises her eyebrows at him and lets a slow smile unfold on her face. She leans into him, rocking forward on the balls of her feet, asking quietly, “what does that mean, Sid? I’m lucky when I’m not here? You just think about me and you play well?”
Sid’s cheeks go red and his pupils dilate, black obscuring brown.
“What do you think about, Sid?” Nova grins, having fun.
“Gonna make me say it, honey?” His voice is low, rough, and shoots right through Nova’s core. Her clit throbs and her panties are wet.
“Yeah,” Nova nods, Sid’s hands on her hips. “I want to hear you say it.”
He chuckles and leans in to kiss her temple, lips lingering on her skin. His words are muffled, but Nova hears him loud and clear, “my girl wants to hear that I choke my cock thinking about her perfect cunt.” He pulls back and catches Nova’s gaze. “You want to hear that I’ve come from scrolling your Instagram, all those pictures of you in bikinis and floaty little dresses?”
Nova nods again, tongue too big for her mouth. Sid’s thumbs press into her hipbones and his fingers tighten their grip. At some point, her fingers found the hem of his suit jacket, crumpling the fabric.
“How about -“ she rasps, a few pieces clicking into place, “the picture from my birthday?”
“Oh yeah,” Sid’s eyes darken and he drags Nova closer, her hips flush against his. The hot press of his cock like a brand against her core. She whimpers and his cock twitches at the sound. “Saw that one. Gonna need a new one, honey. Just for me though, think you can make that happen?”
“You’ve been coming to old pictures of me?” Nova breathes the rhetorical question, lifting up on her toes to ghost her mouth over Sid’s. She can feel his answering smile, the slope of his shoulders clearly relieved that she’s not running off. “I can make pictures and video happen,” she continues, her words captured by his lips. “But how about the real thing first?”
She closes the tiny gap between them, letting Sid lick into her mouth, one of his hands coming up to cradle her cheek. The other moves behind her, pulling open the passenger side door and then Nova’s being maneuvered into the front seat, Sid’s teeth catching her bottom lip when he pulls away.
“Tell me no and I’ll stop,” he promises, hand on the car door frame.
Nova shakes her head, grinning with all her teeth, “it would be a shame if no one saw the new thong I’m wearing. It’s lace.”
Sid groans and palms his cock with his free hand, Nova’s delighted cackle muffled when he shuts the door on her to run around to the driver’s seat.
——
The next few weeks are like a fever dream. The Pens keep winning, chasing that final Wild Card spot. Nova’s front row at all the home games, Maggie next to her because Sid insisted that she change nothing from that first game. Maggie’s not complaining as long as Nova keeps spilling the tea.
Nova’s almost spoiled for orgasms, her cunt sore and achy when Sid’s done with her. It’s a little overwhelming, if she’s honest, having so much of Sid’s intense attention on her. Not to mention the pressure she feels during the games. She’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop and for them to lose.
Eventually they do, but it’s a short string of road games, so Sid’s superstitious calculus doesn’t involve her.
She does everything right and then suddenly it’s April 17th and the regular season is over and the Penguins are on the outside looking in. There won’t be a dance for them this year and Nova’s unreasonably bummed about it. She’d been a peripheral hockey fan for her whole life, her mood not dictated by the score - hell, half the time she didn’t even know if the Pens were playing on a given day if she hadn’t talked to her dad or brothers. But now, she just has a gaping sadness for Sid.
Nova would tell him that if she could get ahold of him.
Her texts and calls are going unanswered and the horrible little voice in the back of her head is telling her she’s been ghosted.
“Un-fucking-believable,” she mutters to herself, scrolling Twitter and catching the Penguins tweet about exit interviews. There’s Sid’s face in the tiny thumbnail, grey hairs glinting in the light, frown curving his lips. “So, he’s alive.”
“Egg his car,” Maggie comments idly, hanging off Nova’s couch. She’s drunk. Nova is too, but her anger at Sid is blunting some of the alcohol’s effects.
“Eggs are too expensive for that,” Nova huffs, tossing her phone into the couch cushions. She pulls a throw pillow onto her lap and lets her head loll back against the couch. “D’you think he blames me?”
Maggie lifts her head slightly and squints at Nova. Her whole face scrunches up in a frown, “for what?”
“For the bad games,” Nova stumbles over the words. “Missing the playoffs.”
“If he does, he’s an ass,” Maggie slurs the word and drops back down onto the couch, curling up in a little bal. “Tell him he’s an ass, how dare he ghost you! He’s just some dumb man, who cares!”
But that’s the problem. He’s not just some man. He’s Sidney Crosby and Nova’s afraid that she opened herself up a little too much, letting feelings into a situation where Sid clearly didn’t. She’s not naïve enough to think they’d actually been dating, but maybe she was stupid enough to think she meant more to Sid than some good luck charm.
Before she can think too much about it, Nova finds her phone in the couch cushions and calls Sid again - the second time today - scowling when she gets his voicemail message. Instead of hanging up, she rambles after the beep.
“Sid? It’s Nova, I don’t know if you remember, but I had your dick in my mouth five days ago and now you’re not answering any of my texts. Really classy, Sid. Glad I could use up all my good luck on you,” she snaps, jabbing at the end call button and once again, tossing her phone away. It lands on the arm chair across from her, bounces, and disappears down the crack between cushions.
She flops back onto the couch with a rough exhale and pulls the throw pillow over her face to scream into it. Her feet kick a little and once her temper tantrum fades, Nova’s left with the pillow over her face and a determination to forget about Sid as best as she can.
In furtherance of that decision, she rolls off the couch and pads into her kitchen for another Surfside and her vape. Sucking in orange creamsicle air, she tries to loosen her shoulders from around her ears. Her spine pops and she hisses out a relived sigh, before folding herself back into a pretzel on the couch, the hood of the sweatshirt stolen from Sid pulled over her eyes and the sleeves drawn down over her hands. Getting rid of the sweatshirt would probably also help her mental state, but it’s worn and comfortable and selfishly, she wants to keep it.
Let him text her back and ask for it.
——-
Sid presses the end call button on his phone screen and curses under his breath. His fingers tap an absent pattern on the tabletop and Geno glares at him.
“Stop with noise, is irritating,” he huffs. “Who is not answering?”
“I - ah, no one,” Sid mutters, glaring at the phone.
Geno scoffs in disbelief, rolls his eyes, and bites into a piece of beef jerky. Sid winces at it, grossed out by the smell and the general idea of beef jerky. He ignores Geno’s offer of the bag and both men are silent for a moment. Sid tries not to look at his phone, guilt gnawing at his insides.
He shouldn’t have waited this long, shouldn’t have ignored Nova’s texts and calls in the aftermath of the season ending. But his head wasn’t on right, anger at the team and himself and, to a lesser extent, Nova herself, churning in his stomach. It’s not like he wanted to be angry at her, logically Sid knows missing the playoffs has nothing to do with Nova’s presence or lack thereof in his life and everything to do with the Penguins’ play and the surging of the other Eastern teams. But it’s still hard to shake that mean voice in his head that blames her. Blames himself for the distraction.
“Is it girl?” Geno asks, drawing Sid out of his head. “The one with cards, in November. The one you sneak off with at New Year?”
Sid’s jaw drops and Geno’s grin goes sly.
“You think you are sneaky?” Geno asks dryly. “Team has bet going. I say you fuck it up, did you?”
“I didn’t fuck - everyone’s talking? There’s a bet?” Sid voice cracks embarrassingly on the last word. He hates that he’s the topic of locker room conversation. Hates that he didn’t keep his shit as locked down as he thought.
Geno nods, pulling a bottle of vodka from his freeze. He tips his chin at the bottle in question and Sid shakes his head no. He already feels bad enough, no need to add a hangover to the equation.
“Everyone sees her in front row,” Geno shrugs. “You were…less tight. Tanger says you seem lighter maybe? And you never stop with phone, always texting.” He snorts a laugh. “Even rookies say it.”
“Fuck me,” Sid groans and drops his head to the countertop. Between missing the playoffs, the voicemail Nova had left him, and now this? He’s going to jump into the fucking Allegheny with rocks in his pocket. Usually in the off-season Sid has a path to follow, back home for training, reviewing tape, improving his game. But for the first time in what feels like his entire career, he doesn’t think he wants to leave Pittsburgh right away.
Not before he talks to Nova. He owes her that at least.
“Magical card girl wanted to,” Geno supplies helpfully. “But you fuck it up.”
In a moment of weakness, Sid admits miserably, “yeah, I fucked it up. I’m not used to - she got caught up in-“ he waves his hand in the air, making a vague gesture to encompass everything.
And he got scared.
That’s what he won’t admit to Geno. That he got scared of how much he was looking forward to seeing her smiles and hearing her laughter, the way she curled up tiny against his chest and pressed her cold toes against his shins. That he started looking forward to seeing what vape cartridge she was using, what she would smell like in addition to her vanilla body lotion.
He’s 38 goddamn years old and he’s fucking terrified that Nova was carving out a space for herself in his bones and he could actually start to picture her right there at his side.
“I gotta -“ his chest feels tight.
Geno flicks his gaze to his watch and back up to Sid. “You are going to her now? Is midnight,” he says. “She will be asleep.”
Sid knows Nova’s a night owl so there’s a good chance she’ll still be awake if he gets to her place within the next hour and a half. He pushes away from the counter and grabs up his jacket and keys, calling over his shoulder, “I have to at least talk to her. She doesn’t deserve - I shouldn’t have ignored her.”
His feet get caught in the laces of his sneakers and he stumbles, catching himself on the wall. Without bothering to fix it, he crunches the back of his shoes under his heels and hobbles out the door, unbalanced.
“Just apologize,” Geno shouts after him. “If that does not work, show her your wallet.”
Yeah, Sid thinks, that definitely won’t work.
——
“How’d you get up here?” Nova asks, flat, when she pulls open her front door to Sid’s face.
“George waved me up,” he admits without embarrassment and Nova scowls, making a mental note to tell her doorman that Sid Crosby is persona non grata around this building, no matter how charming and how many signed pucks he promises.
She starts to close the door, “consider this me waving you back down.”
Sid’s hand shoots out hockey fast to grab the edge of the door and keep it from closing. He pleads with Nova, “give me five minutes. I know I don’t deserve it, but just - just let me say something before you write me off.”
“I - five minutes,” Nova allows reluctantly, stepping back into her apartment and letting Sid inside. Maggie’s long gone, picked up by her boyfriend to sober up before she meets his parents tomorrow, but the remnants of their day drinking are all around the apartment. Empty Surfside cans and a pizza box are on the coffee table, melted ice cubes and squeezed lime wedges on the counter. Nova feels like a slob as she looks around, trying to take in the mess through Sid’s eyes. He’s meticulous, his place so clean and organized. Here he is, in her den of sadness, but he doesn’t say a word about the mess.
She catches him do a double take when he sees her sweatshirt - previously his - and crosses her arms over her chest, crumpling the Penguins logo under her forearms.
“Nova,” Sid sighs her name and it sounds so warm and familiar she almost rushes to be folded into his arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, honey.”
She jolts at the term of endearment and Sid catches it, wincing.
“Sid, just,” Nova sighs tiredly, alcohol still blunting her emotions, the cigarette she’d smoked out her bedroom window making her veins buzz with the nicotine hit, “please just make your excuses and leave. I really don’t want to hear it.”
It’s going to make her stupid, having him here. He looks rumpled and tired and it’s only been a few days since the season ended so she knows he’s still hurting. But she knows how good it feels with his mouth on her skin, his fingers digging into her thighs to haul her closer, and he’s still looking at her like he wants to devour her.
“I fucked up,” he says in a rush, like if he doesn’t get the words out fast, he’ll never get them out at all. “I dragged you into my - into my life and then I fucked it up. I got scared, Nova. You’re young,” Nova rolls her eyes at him. “you’re smart and beautiful and I put too much pressure on you in my head. I wanted to win and having you in my life was helping until it wasn’t and I thought -“
“You thought I was the problem,” Nova interrupts him dispassionately. “Sid, I know how your brain works. I know that I was lucky until I wasn’t, but I never thought you’d cut me out completely.”
She hesitates and then adds, when it seems like Sid’s not going to respond, “that really fucking hurt.”
His entire body sags, just droops like a puppet with its strings cut, and Sid rubs a hand over his face. His palm rasps over his beard and Nova tries not to focus on how big his hand looks.
“That’s the last thing,” Sid says emphatically, “that I wanted to do. This whole time, back from November, before anything happened. I stayed away because I thought you’d distract me and you did, but I never wanted to hurt you.”
His words hit sharp and precise, lodging in her sternum, confirming that she was a distraction to him and implying that he blames her. She tugs her hands deeper into the sleeves of her sweatshirt and curls her shoulders forward, wanting to be small in the face of this conversation.
Sid makes a frustrated noise and runs his hands through his hair. “I’m not - I’m not saying any of this right,” he mutters. He digs in his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, muttering something about Geno that Nova doesn’t understand. She does recognize the battered piece of cardstock Sid pulls out of the leather wallet, bent at the edges and creased along the middle, it’s her King of Cups tarot card.
“I’ve been carrying this around since November,”
Sid holds the card up and Nova can see her Sharpie’d number on the back. “That reading, it scared the shit out of me, knocked me off my axis because everything started to come true. Geno got injured, he’s getting divor-,” Sid bites back the word since it’s not his business to air. “Anyway, I was already feeling the pressure of the season at that point. Usually I thrive under that pressure, but this year? With your readings, it just felt worse and worse.”
“Sid,” Nova cuts him off with a joyless laugh, holding her hands up, “tarot readings aren’t like, they’re not prophecies! They’re not me reading the future and telling you something is one-hundred percent, without fail going to happen! It’s - they’re like - it’s to open you up to possibilities and opportunities and- and-“
She can feel her frustration growing, manifesting in tears welling up and emotion clogging her throat.
“It’s supposed to get you to reflect and make you think!” Nova snaps, tugging the thick rope of her braid over her shoulder and twists her fingers into the end of it.
“It definitely did that,” Sid replies wryly. He wipes his palm on the side of his jeans. “I’m not usually so unsteady in a season, Nova. I pride myself on being a leader and being unflappable. But ever since I met you, I’ve been off kilter.”
She doesn’t know what to say to that, so she doesn’t say anything. Nothing Sid’s said makes her feel better and she’s waiting for his punchline.
“The last few days without you? They’ve been the worst. I thought I would feel better, thought it was just a temporary thing,” Sid winces even as the words leave his mouth, clearly aware of how they make him sound. “But it’s not. Nova, honey, standing here with you is the first time in a week that I’ve felt halfway sane.”
“I still don’t know what that means, Sid,” Nova shakes her head. “I can’t be - I’m not here to be like an emotional regulator for you. I can’t be praised when things are right and then blamed when things go wrong. It’s not fair.”
Sid takes a step closer and Nova lets him, wiping at the tears that are gathering in her lower lash line.
“I know,” he says softly, reaching carefully for her hand. She doesn’t extend it for Sid to take, but doesn’t stop him from wrapping his fingers around hers. “It’s been a while since a relationship was important to me, I’ve been laser focused on hockey for so long. I don’t know how to balance it, how to be a good partner.”
Nova surprises herself by laughing a little. She hums, “responding to my texts is a good start.”
“I can do that,” Sid says eagerly. “I’ll keep you separate from hockey, as much as I can.”
“I mean,” Nova glances down at Sid’s hands, dwarfing hers, “I like how intense you get about hockey. I love watching you play. I don’t want to be in a box all on my own either.”
“We can work on it,” Sid promises. “I can work on it.”
He looks so earnest, so serious, and Nova melts. She was always going to melt for Sid whenever he got back to her. For all her talk, Nova loves a gesture.
“Okay,” she nods, shrugging one shoulder and trying for nonchalant even as a smile tugs at her lips. “Okay, here’s your official second chance, Sid. Don’t ask me for a third.”
“I won’t need it,” Sid vows, his expression as serious as Nova’s ever seen him. “Can I kiss you now? I’ve fucking missed you.”
“I think I’d be insulted if you didn’t,” Nova squeaks a laugh, Sid pulling her flush against his chest and slotting his lips over hers. They’re warm and plush and she bites gently at his lower lip, groaning into the kiss. His hands slide under the hem of her sweatshirt, bunching it up until his hands find her bare breasts.
“Fuck,” Sid groans against Nova’s jaw, thumbs brushing over her pebbled nipples. “S’it too late for me to take you to bed?”
Nova’s hands roam over Sid’s ass, round and perfect in his jeans, and she bites at his earlobe, rolling her hips into his. “I think a good orgasm would give us a really good night’s sleep after all this emotional talking,” she whispers in his ear.
It’s all the agreement Sid needs, the next thing she knows, Nova’s being lifted into the air, her legs locking around Sid’s waist and his hands supporting her ass. He sucks a mark into her collarbone as he carries her to her bedroom and Nova grinds down on the thick ridge of his cock.
“As many fucking orgasms as you want, honey,” Sid promises. “Whatever you want, I’m giving you.”
——
The next morning, Nova wakes slowly, achy in all the best ways. Sid’s thick thigh is between hers, solid where it’s pressed against her cunt. She hums happily and arches a little, stretching her back.
Sid’s arm is banded over her stomach, holding her in place against his chest like she’s a teddy bear, his other arm tucked under her neck so his fingers can barely graze her breast. He’s radiating so much heat, especially from the press of his cock against her ass, and Nova doesn’t want to leave this spot.
“You awake?” Sid’s voice, sleep roughened, vibrates through her body. He buries his face in her hair and purposefully gropes at her breast, lazily tweaking her nipple between his fingers.
Nova hums again and laces her fingers with Sid’s where they’re resting on her stomach. He chuckles and kisses behind her ear, blowing a little raspberry. When she giggles, Sid flexes his thigh against her cunt and drags his hand lower to play with her clit, taking Nova’s hand with him. She’s wet and ready and Sid quietly brings her to the edge, whispering filth in her ear while she comes on his fingers and thigh.
“Oh,” she’s limp against him, a little sweaty. “That’s a nice wake up.”
“Good,” Sid replies, hands still on her, rolling Nova onto her back and hovering over her body. He kisses her sweetly. “I’m going to the gym, get a workout in. Want to join me?”
Nova blinks at him, still a little dazed from the orgasm, and the bursts into laughter. She reaches up to pat his cheek, enjoying the furrowed eyebrow look of confusion on Sid’s face. She shakes her head, “absolutely not! I have no interest in joining the Sidney Crosby Workout Experience.”
Sid can head the capital letter emphasis Nova uses and rolls his eyes, forearms propped next to her head. He drops his hips a little to press his cock against her core and Nova’s hips twitch in response, seeking friction.
“I’m obviously not going to make you do my circuit,” he grumbles, dipping his head and pressing a kiss against the hinge of her jaw. “You can just come and hang out, do some cardio. Geno might join.”
Nova angles her head so Sid has better access to her neck, his beard and teeth scraping her skin. Her legs lift to lock around his waist, heels digging into his ass and the head of his cock bumping against her clit. She flexes her thighs and shifts to get his cock notched at her entrance. Sid hisses and grunts when he feels how wet she still is and can’t help but pump his hips forward. It’s not enough to get him inside her, but it still feels good. He won’t go bare, not yet, but Sid definitely thinks he could come just like this.
“I like this cardio,” Nova pouts, scraping her nails against the back of his neck and feeling the goosebumps rise on his skin. “But if you want an excuse to see me in bike shorts and a sports bra, I guess I can come and count out your reps.”
“Yeah,” Sid groans out, rutting his cock against her cunt, savoring Nova’s panting breaths. “I want to see that, but first,” he drops his forehead to Nova’s collarbone, hips still working, “gotta come. Gotta get rid of this.”
Pleasure pulls tight in Nova’s stomach as Sid works himself against her, never pushing inside even though she whines for him, shifting under his body to get even an accidental slip.
“You want me to find a condom, honey?” Sid grunts. “I’d have to get off you, leave you here all alone.”
Nova snakes a hand between their bodies and ghosts her fingers over her clit, over Sid’s cock, scraping her nails against his balls lightly. He groans and precome leaks steadily all over their skin.
“Don’t get up,” she hiccups, “stay, just stay.”
“Not going anywhere,” Sid finds Nova’s lips for a kiss, sucking at her tongue. They’re a mess of limbs and sweat, the mess made even worse when Sid finally comes with a shout, his cock jerking against Nova’s stomach, come spurting everywhere in thick ropes without a condom or Nova’s cunt to contain it.
Sid drops his weight on Nova and she grumbles about it, sticky and gross and trapped under his bulk.
“Maybe I should’ve grabbed the condom,” Sid laughs into Nova’s neck, rolling slightly to the side so she’s not squished. He grimaces at the tacky slide of his come on their stomachs and pushes Nova’s hair out of his face. She kisses his wrist as it passes her mouth.
“This just gives you an excuse to clean me up in the shower,” she teases, light and happy.
“All part of your evil plan?” Sid retorts, propping his head up on his elbow. He lets his fingers trace the curve of Nova’s waist, really letting it sink in what a turn of events the last ten or so hours have been. This time yesterday he’d been spiraling out and now, if he wants, he can lean in and get his mouth on Nova and she’ll welcome that.
She gives him a positively wicked smile, face all curled up like the Grinch, her face flushed and eyes bright.
Putting on a dreamy voice, she lets her eyes flutter shut and intones, “it is as the cards foretold, Sidney will make a mess of Nova with his come and then clean her in the shower, bestowing one more orgasm on her before he goes to his workout. And then he’ll bring her back coffee and breakfast from Constellation because she’s got an alcohol hangover and an emotional hangover.”
Sid laughs loudly, tickling her sides to get Nova squirming and laughing her raspy laugh. “Oh is that what the cards said?” He teases. “I thought they didn’t tell the future?”
Gasping for air, Nova tries her best to get away from Sid and his fingers, defending herself with a shriek, “the cards love me! They tell me the future because I can handle it! Stop, oh my god - no - Sid, I’m going to pee myself - ahhh stop!”
He tapers off and now they both really need showers and the sheets really need to be stripped and washed, but Sid doesn’t want to worry about that right now, not when he’s finally feeling like he can have it all.
Nova rolls herself onto his chest, chin digging into her pec. She smiles softly at him, looking crazy with her hair half out of its braid and sticking out in all directions. He tugs at a curl and she wrinkles her nose, prompting him to do it again before winding the black strands around his fingers.
“I’m glad you came over last night,” Nova whispers, kissing his sternum. She plays with the chain around his neck, twisting her fingers in it until the tips go pale with a lack of blood flow. Her eyes are soft but he can feel them analyzing his face.
“From now on,” Sid runs his thumb over her cheekbone, “anytime you call, I’m coming.”
He hears the innuendo immediately and groans as Nova’s eyes sparkle with mischief.
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