[whichwayisthebeach-seabass]

Survival Instincts

Summary: Titus makes sure all of your needs are taken care of, just not the one that matters most to you. When you finally get your way, he ensures you know just who’s in charge

Warnings: 18+ smut - this gets rowdy i’m so sorry I don’t want to spoil anything

Word count: 11k

Titus Danforth does not have erectile dysfunction.

He considers himself an amorous lover, giving, selfless. He just has… niche interests. What he’s trying to say, is that he liked you enough to not try to scare you off during your first shared instances of intimacy.

So he finds himself rightfully taken aback when, over breakfast, you ask him if he struggles with erectile dysfunction.

Truth be told, it spoils his appetite.

When he asks you where on earth you got that idea, you frowned, tight-lipped. Like you were pondering what to say without hurting his feelings. As if you could hurt his feelings.

“It’s just that…”

“C’mon bunny. You can’t hurt my feelings.”

“We’ve been dating four months, and we haven’t had sex.” He watches you cringe inwardly on yourself, as though willing your body to disappear.

The statement surprises him, because as far as he was concerned, the two of you had been having sex. Objectively great sex. For months.

“We had sex last night,” Titus counters. He watches you process his words. A crease between your neatly manicured brows, pouty full lips, world-wary eyes flitting around in confusion.

“Titus…”

“Baby…” he echoes your tone back at you.

“Last night, I masturbated, and you watched from a chair in the corner of the room occasionally providing commentary. That’s not sex.”

“Then what, pray tell, was it?”

“Touching myself with the ghost of a Victorian stranger in the room?” He laughs, but it’s abrupt and not at all at your words.

“You want to have sex, sweetheart?” He finally asks.

“Please, Titus,” you beg.

He nods, digging the tips of his fingers into your thigh hard enough to bruise.

“Alright, we can have sex.”

“Right now?” You ask, perking up at the prospect of finally getting his cock inside you.

“Tonight, baby. Have some decorum,” he chuckles crudely. You’re too wrapped up in your own excitement to catch the way his eyes have darkened about three shades closer to black.

You thought that illuminated beneath the warm, dim glow of the lamp set on the table beside him, that Titus Danforth was beautiful. Dangerously so.

The shadows dancing across his sharp features created the illusion of an edge, of a darkness simmering just below the surface of his piercing hazel eyes. They were trained viciously on you, commanding only the utmost devotion, a claiming of the soul.

The thought might have been frightening to you a couple of months ago, that one man could demand so much from you with just a gaze. But that was then, and this was now.

Titus’s claim over you was an unspoken thing, a creature with no mouth, but fatal claws. It snuck up on you swiftly in the middle of the night; like soldiers emerging from the trojan horse with nothing save for bloodlust and a primal urge to conquer.

It was lavish gifts with no price tags, the expectation that dates were paid for (he spent a long time training this out of you), that the apartment you lived in was paid for. Christ, he even got you to quit your job, feigned deep offence that you thought for even a second that he couldn’t very easily take care of you.

And there’s the rub.

Because now, your very existence was tied to the strings of his generosity, and his wallet.

You didn’t have much time to think this over though, because he was gesturing vaguely for you to begin, the other hand cradling his cheek as though a bored spectator awaiting their evening’s entertainment.

You leaned the curve of your spine against the plush headboard, the thick support hopefully hiding the tremble currently terrorising your limbs. You weren’t nervous, exactly. It was more trepidation, anticipation.

You’d spent countless nights with your legs spread for Titus, getting yourself off while he watched. It felt almost like prostitution, like you were a camgirl cumming for tips - but there was no camera, just him watching, waiting, assessing you like prey. You couldn’t even know for certain if this was pleasurable for him, didn’t know if his cock throbbed beneath the confines of his pants while you whined his name and begged for him to fuck you just once, please.

Untying the knot of your dress at the base of your neck, you glance at Titus, hoping your expression reads as sultry and ravishing, rather than other unmitigated waters - something like constipated or gassy, annoyed.

When your tits drop, no longer bound by the dress, Titus’s line of sight drops from your eyes to your chest, the ghost of a smile breaking through the corner of his mouth. “Gorgeous,” he comments.

Feeling emboldened by his reaction, you gather spit from underneath your tongue and hold up a hand to your mouth, then stare intently at him as drool the saliva onto the tips of your fingers.

He leans forward a smidge, barely millimetres. If you hadn’t been watching him as closely as you were, you would have missed it.

You lower the spit soaked hand to your chest, and lave it over one nipple, pinching the softened bud till it peaked between your fingers. Once you feel the thread of pleasure connecting your nipple to your cunt pull taut like a guitar string, you drag your fingers to your other breast, repeat the process all over again.

“S’it feel good?” Titus asks, voice hoarse. The evidence of your affect on him causes pride to spread outward from your chest all the way to the tips of your toes. It’s all inexplicable warmth and soft summer smiles, melted ice cream dripping between your toes on the boardwalk.

You nod, rutting your hips against the bed softly while you play with your tits.

“Can’t hear you, bunny. S’it feel good?” Titus asks again.

“It’d feel better if you were the one touching me,” you retort, pleasure making you brave. Titus thought it was cute that you got like this, no holds barred and mouthy while your fingers stroked your flesh, cunt leaking with your slick. You’d soon know better, he would see to that.

“Oh yeah, s’that right, baby?” He coos, leaning almost all the way forward now, elbows resting on his knees.

“Y-yeah,” you stuttered weakly, head feeling a little more soupy than you’d care to admit.

“We’ll see if you deserve it, huh? Get that pretty dress off, bunny. I wanna see your pussy.” Titus leans back, having restored order over the situation.

The bratty behaviour was only a decoy, really, a way for you to deflect how close you are to submitting fully to him. He wonders what would happen if you ever stopped being a mouthy little thing. If you were sweet and pliant in his hold from the get go, rather than pushing back to allow yourself the breathing space. Would he enjoy it even more? Would you?

He watches you shuck your dress off hastily, throwing it with impressive force across the room and watching as it lands atop the lamp. His lamp. When his eyes redirect to your face, the small smirk that curves at the corner of your mouth is distinctly proud, triumphant, and he finds his answer. No, he thinks he enjoys this side of you too much to want it to go away.

“No panties… someone was expecting to get lucky tonight, weren’t they?”

In lieu of replying, you trace a confident finger lewdly through the petals of your labia, gathering the cream that’s accumulated from your hole and dragging it up to wet your clit. You exhale softly at the sensation, your hips jerking in tandem.

“I’m still hoping to get lucky,” you sigh wistfully, tipping your head back against the headboard.

“Oh yeah? Your old man not taking good enough care of you?” Titus mocks, you whine back in protest.

“Take such good care of me,” you whimper, pushing in a finger.

“So what’s the problem?” Titus asks, fighting the urge to stick his hand in his pants and fist his cock.

“Want you to take care of me like this too,” you whine, curling your finger inside your cunt like you’ve got something to prove.

Titus doesn’t reply. He doesn’t need to, already knows he’s given up on this little game and is simply waiting for you to crack; waiting for you to offer up something more of yourself, maybe, so he can take more than he has to give.

“Add another finger,” he instructs, breath ragged.

You do as he says wordlessly, moaning unabashedly at the stretch. It’s still not enough.

“Want you, want you, hnnng,” you repeat the phrase like a mantra, like a prayer. You repeat the two words over and over like salvation.

At the sound of a belt buckle, your eyes flutter open in alert. You look over at Titus, and almost cry in relief, because you had heard correctly. He’s got his belt and pants undone, briefs pulled down just enough to reveal his cock.

You mewl at the sight, mouth watering and hips writhing against nothing. “Please.”

Titus looks at you smugly, taps the thick length against his palm. The sound echoes filthily in the room, only spurring you on. “Please what, baby?”

“Fuck me, please fuck me, daddy,” you cry, too far gone to care, too far gone to realise the power you’ve just handed Titus on a silver platter.

He exhales hard, like the air’s been forced from his lungs.

“Say it again.”

“Wha—?” You ask dumbly.

“Y’want me to fuck you, say it again,” Titus says with impressive restraint. Though he lets you think he’s in charge, he knows that’s not the truth - that he’d follow you to the ends of the earth, would get on bended knee to claim you as his forever, or just as surely disappear from your life if that was what you wanted. Apropos of how he really feels.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you beg wantonly.

One second he’s sitting in the corner of the room, fisting his cock languidly, the next he’s standing at the edge of the bed, inches from finally giving you what you want.

“Daddy’s gonna give you whatever you want, bunny. But you gotta cum first, okay?” You nod eagerly, thrusting your fingers inside you with renewed fervour.

Titus has a firm hand clasped around your ankle, holding you open so he can watch, but he quickly becomes restless. He’s just so enamoured by you, this sweet little thing in his bed, doing everything you tell him to simply because he said so, and because you want to please him. It’s a heady feeling, having this much sway over a person.

It’s what he tells himself anyway, that he’s doing this for you, not for him, when he climbs onto the bed, urges your legs apart by his broad shoulders until he’s face to… face… with your pussy. Face to… lips. No.

His breathing picks up pace at the sight of your sopping cunt, because it’s finally in front of him, not metres away from his isle of self-imposed exile. He swats your hand away and you grumble at the loss of your fingers inside you. “Wanna see her, stop being a brat.”

He coos at the way your hole flutters around nothing, your cheeks flush with searing heat at the attention he’s finally giving you.

“She’s almost as pretty as you are, huh princess?” He asks softly, his tone almost fuzzy in its enamoured fondness. The way one reserves for speaking exclusively to babies or small animals.

“You think so?” You ask. He shushes you.

“I was talking to her, not you, bunny,” he says exasperatedly, as though you should have known he was talking to your reproductive organ, and not you.

He cajoles you by placing your legs on his shoulders. “Let’s go, bunny, wanna watch you cum.”

You roll your eyes. “You talking to me or her?”

Titus smirks. “You jealous?”

“No.” The smirk grows even more.

“Baby, you don’t need to be jealous of your pussy. M’just a fan of how you have another set of lips that don’t talk back.”

You huff angrily. He pouts mockingly. When you make no move to continue touching yourself, he sighs. You look away, trying to settle your gaze on anything that isn’t him.

He pointedly exhales his hot breath straight on your cunt and you wail, two hands falling to the greying curls on his head.

“Touch yourself.”

You nod now, and press the pads of your fingers to your clit, rubbing circles around the sensitive nub. You exhale shakily, but the sensation isn’t enough anymore, not when Titus is so close now, not with his hot breath fanning over your swollen folds.

“You promised,” you whine.

“I did, didn’t I? Am I being mean, baby?” Titus asks.

You nod at him, eyes teary and red-rimmed.

He hums as if in thought, and then hooks his pinky finger into your hole.

You bite down on your lip hard enough to draw blood, having the older man’s touch finally inside you is dizzying. “I’m— I’m gonna—“ you stutter.

“Gonna cum just from having my pinky inside you? That’s so pathetic, bunny,” Titus tuts in faux disappointment.

“Why’d you do that?” You ask, panting laboured breaths like you’re not embarrassingly close to cumming. He was right, it is pathetic that you’re free-falling over having his thick pinky hooked lazily into your pussy like a tepid, false promise he probably doesn’t intend to keep.

“M’pinky promising, honey,” Titus huffs a laugh.

“So annoying,” you grumble, fingers picking up pace on your ruddy clit.

Titus keeps his pinky inside you as you fuck yourself, adding one of your fingers to the mix while you assault your poor clit.

You’re shaking terribly, your hips rutting against his finger and yours. He knows you’re close, can feel it in the clench of your walls and the way you’ve stopped talking.

“Gonna— m’gonna—“ you whine.

Ever the team player, Titus spits onto your cunt, and you tumble over the edge, headlong into a blinding orgasm. Your nerves are shot, suspended somewhere between heaven and hell as your brain short circuits, whiting out your vision while your back arches off the bed as though possessed.

He watches you rapt, riding out the waves of aftershocks that wrack your body with tortuous pleasure, your pussy pushes out his finger and he mourns the loss, the warmth, the closeness.

“Holy shit,” you finally say, after what feels like an eternity.

“You’re magnetic,” Titus adds uselessly. You huff at him, he makes it up to you by flattening his tongue and licking your cunt from hole to clit. The touch punches the air from your lungs.

He cleans you up with his tongue attentively, almost clinically, and then pats your thigh like he’s wishing you a job well done.

He pulls you into his arms, kisses the top of your head. “Did so good, bunny.”

You yawn. “When are you gonna fuck me?”

“Not tonight, sweetheart. You’re exhausted.”

“But you promised,” another yawn leaves you. You can’t believe your body is betraying you at a time like this, choosing his side over yours, no less.

“And I intend to keep that promise, but you need to rest.”

You fall asleep almost immediately, failing miserably at the old adage about never going to bed angry.

When you wake, it’s to steady threads of sunlight streaming through Titus’s blackout curtains. You wince at the brightness of it all, eyelids flitting restlessly at the onslaught from peaceful dark.

You peer down at the weight covering your entire midsection, bury a hand in the soft curls on the offender’s head, teasing soft shapes along the scalp. Titus grunts sleepily, hikes a leg over yours so that he’s fully cradling you now - head nuzzled into your chest, arm possessively slung over your waist, and now the leg. It made you feel cared for, claimed and cherished, like a well loved teddy bear, or some other play thing.

You dig your nails into his scalp, tugging his hair at the root. He hisses, hips rutting against your thigh in surprise.

“G’morning, sleepyhead,” you coo softly.

He groans dejectedly. “No.”

“No?” You repeat.

He nips the soft tissue of your breast, your breath hitches at the sharp sting. “No.”

You pull his head from where he’s nestled - now contentedly sucking love bites all over your chest - until he’s face to face with you. “You’re behaving like a child, y’know that?”

The left corner of his mouth curves deliciously at your taunt, and despite yourself, you smile. You’d always thought he was devastatingly handsome when he was at his most mischievous. “S’not what you were saying last night, if I recall correctly,” he lilts.

You hum as though trying to recollect the events from the night before. “Wasn’t it? I’m having a hard time remembering.”

Titus huffs, flips the two of you over so you’re on your back, holds your hands above your head with only one of his.

“Ah… it’s starting to come back to me now…” you sigh wistfully.

“Maybe this will jog your memory. Oh please, daddy, fuck me with your huge cock, daddy,” he pitches his voice about three octaves above yours mockingly.

“I did not say that, Titus,” you retort.

“Oh, you didn’t? I must be imagining things,” Titus shakes his head faux-solemnly, hand still gripping your wrists.

“It’s common in men of your age group to become forgetful,” you supply unhelpfully.

Titus pinches your nipple hard enough to draw a sharp yelp from you. “Funny.”

You course-correct the conversation with all the finesse of a baby deer. “Now might be a bad time to point this out, but you promised to fuck me last night, and this morning I’m still markedly un-fucked.”

Titus loosens his grip from your wrists, trails his fingers down the expanse of your arm until he finds purchase around your throat. Your eyes dilate in response.

“Isn’t this fun for you, sweetheart? The thrill of the chase, the suspense building higher till it feels like the bough will burst, the constant rush of just falling short; of not being able to jump off the deep end just yet?” His eyes explore yours for any sign of understanding.

You whimper under the intense scrutiny of his gaze. His fingers close tighten around your throat, restricting your air supply. Your eyes roll back in response, but you offer up no verbal confirmation. He scoffs lightly. “It’s not, is it?”

You shake your head, eyes wide. “No, it is, I just—“

Titus cuts you off abruptly by climbing off the bed and walking out. The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you in the suffocating silence of words unspoken.

He doesn’t return. You wait five minutes, and then ten. Ten turns to twenty, and by then half an hour comes and goes in a flash.

Your tear ducts are waterlogged when you finally reach for your phone, opening your friends group chat and calling an emergency brunch.

“He what?”

You laugh miserably into your glass.

“I don’t know where he went, or what he’s doing. I didn’t even see him when I left this morning,” you explain, champagne sloshing around in your glass as your hand moves animatedly.

“And this is all because he still won’t fuck you, right?” Your friend asks, tone dripping with commiseration.

“Yes,” you whine, not caring how pathetic you sound.

“Has he said why he won’t? I feel like he’s just old and can’t get it up. He’s trying to distract you with these mind games and making you feel like the pervert so you don’t leave his geriatric ass.”

“No, it’s not that, his dick was rock hard last night. You should’ve been there, it was insane,” you muse wistfully.

“I want no part in your sick sex life, but I appreciate the offer,” they huff out a laugh, you giggle wetly.

“So what do I do? I don’t know how much longer I can hold out,” you whinge.

“Play his game, but play it better. Give him no other option but to fuck you till you can’t remember the past four months without him rocking your shit,” your friend explains like the answer was elementary, like you should’ve seen it glaringly with neon lights and flashing arrows.

“What would I do without you?” You cradle your cheek with your hand adoringly.

“Grow your hymen back, I guess.” The four of you drunkenly cackle, drawing the attention of other patrons.

You’re in the uber home when you notice the onslaught of notifications from Titus.

7 missed calls, multiple texts. You exhale what feels like relief off the tip of your tongue.

Baby, where’d you go?

Where are you?

Baby?

Stop ignoring me.

I went looking for you and you’re nowhere on the property…

What the fuck

Sweetheart?

Call me when you get this.

The last text’s time-stamped from about 3 minutes ago. You tap on his contact to call, when the phone starts ringing again, you answer and bring the phone to your ear.

“Hiiiii, Ti,” you slur, giggling down your end of the call.

“Bunny, I’ve been— wait, are you drunk?” Titus asks, tone laced with concern.

“Mhm, y’made me so sad this morning. Had brunch with m’friends, they say hi by the way.”

He blanches a little at your confession. “Baby, where are you? I’m coming to get you.”

“M’already coming home, in the uber,” you reply drily.

“You ubered? Sweetheart, we have drivers for that,” Titus reprimands you gently.

“Didn’t want your drivers, or your money, can do it myself,” you huff, exasperated.

“Get home to me safely, okay?” Titus pleads, feeling like he’s losing an uphill battle with you.

“Uh-huh.” You hang up abruptly, leaving your boyfriend beside himself.

Titus is standing at the front door when you stumble from the uber, watching the ungraceful entrance unfold like a train-wreck.

In spite of your drunkenness, and the sharp way you’d spoken to him on the phone, he still feels a prang of… something, unfurl in his chest at the sight of you; because you came home, because he missed you and he’s sorry for the way he acted. He just needs to tell you that, so everything can get back on track.

You glare miserably at him as you traipse up the stairs, taking two steps per stair, not trusting that you won’t fall on your face if you otherwise took them normally - maybe some part of you also didn’t trust that Titus would catch you if you did happen to fall.

As though sensing your inner turmoil, Titus leaves his post from the doorway and moves fast to steady you, a firm hand wrapping around your elbow. “You doing okay, my love?” He asks, brows furrowed at the state of you.

“M’fine, why’d you come to help me?” You grumble, feeling the wobble in your gait not dissimilarly to sea legs.

“Always wanna help you, sweetheart. What are you talking about?”

He leads you inside now, his arm around your waist, hand gripping the flesh of your hip like it’s grounding him to the present moment.

“So you wanna help me but you don’t wanna fuck me? Figures,” you argue, voice slurred and messy.

Titus huffs a soft laugh.

“Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart,” he offers.

“Yeah I bet you’d like that, you freak,” you bite.

He’s lifted you off your feet and into his arms before you even notice, let alone have time to argue.

He murmurs into your ear, “the only one in a rush to get the other into bed is you, bunny. Watch your tone, yeah?”

Your cheeks flush even pinker, your eyes well with unshed tears. “M’Sorry, daddy. I’ll be good, promise.”

Titus brushes the stray hairs off your face. “Course you are, bunny. I’m going to see to that myself.”

You sputter and sob wetly into his shoulder until you fall asleep in his arms. He tuts adoringly, finally places you into his bed.

He turns to leave, to allow you the rest you clearly need, but he’s stopped by you pawing at his wrist. “Stay, please. Please stay with me.”

He folds instantly. You crawl into his lap on the bed, and fall asleep chest to chest, his steady heart rate slowing your own, your thighs caging him in so he’s trapped.

When you wake again, the sun is starting to set behind the clouds, yellows and oranges and pinks giving way to blues and purples and all-encompassing black.

Titus must have moved while you were asleep, because he’s no longer trapped underneath your body. The lamp flickers on, illuminating the shadows of the man you were just thinking of.

“G’morning, sleepyhead,” he lilts.

“Mmm,” you hum, your throat parched and dry.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Thirsty,” you reply. Titus hums in response.

“I’ve got something for you to drink.” You perk up instantly, moving from lying to sitting attentively.

“Thought you might like the sound of that,” he notes smugly.

“C’mere, bunny. Hop to daddy.”

You crawl off the bed in a rush to make your way to Titus. Once you’re standing on two feet, he stops you.

“Nuh-uh, crawl,” he commands.

You crouch to the floor, feeling disconnected from shame, the emotion flickering somewhere in a box you’ve hidden deep within the recesses of your mind, and crawl to your boyfriend on all fours.

“That’s it, such a good bunny, huh?” He praises.

You cross the floor in seconds, and kneel expectantly before him.

He pets your head earnestly.

“Y’know, I got so horny while you were sleeping,” he starts, the corner of his mouth curving in delight as your eyes glaze over.

“But I couldn’t wake you, y’know? You looked so peaceful. So, I had to take care of myself.” You whimper, devastated, at what he’s just told you.

“Rolled you off me, shoved my hand in my pants, and fisted my cock until I came all over my briefs. And it was so fucking messy, bunny, y’should’ve seen it. Know what I did?” You shook your head, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Had to take my pants and messy briefs off, clean off my cock, and then put my pants back on. But I thought to myself, why waste a perfectly good load, when my girl’s gonna be so thirsty when she wakes up?” You look at him, waiting.

He pulls the sodden underwear from his pocket, the material soaked through with his cum, and looks at you.

“Open your mouth, bunny.” You follow his orders, and are rewarded with the taste of jizz on your tongue. You moan wholeheartedly.

You lap at the ropes of cum on his underwear with your tongue, savouring the undeniable taste of him. He watches you, eyes glinting with something like delight while you take to being gagged with his soiled underwear like a fucking champ, like you were made for it. It’s sickening what it does to him.

“Come here, bunny. Hump my fuckin’ boot while you gag on my underwear like a good little girl.”

You murmur something that gets lost in translation as it leaves your mouth and enters his eardrums, but it doesn’t really matter because you’re already sliding forward until your tummy hits the lace of his boot.

“That feel okay, bun?” He asks, you hum back at him, wriggling your butt around his boot as you attempt to find the right angle.

He lifts his foot, nestling the boot right between your folds and against your clit. You choke out a whimper beneath the gag. “That’s it right there, huh baby? Just needed your daddy to fix it for you,” he says, the tone swaddling you in warmth.

You rock your hips against his boot, once, twice, then you pause - the friction isn’t right. Titus watches this all unfold and removes his foot from under you.

You argue uselessly at the loss of contact. Titus shushes you. “I’m making it better, gimme a second.”

He spits on the boot with rather little fanfare, your jaw slackens at the drool pooling on the pristine leather. “Go on, get to it.”

You perch yourself back on his boot, and he lifts his foot again, eager enough to not want to waste any more time. The added lubricant on the boot is filthy, has your soaked through panties sliding over the boot as you rock your hips back and forth.

You exhale through your nose as your clit catches on a row of laces, but you’re undeterred, you pick up your pace, focusing on the throb of your clit against Titus’s spit slick boot and the depths of his eyes as he drinks in his fill of you.

“M’gonna—“ you manage to enunciate through the gag. The musky, salty flavour of his cum invades all your senses, trickling down till all you know is his taste and the feel of his boot, ungiving and unmoving to your writhing flesh.

Above you, Titus hisses. You look up from where you’d fixated on his kneecap and the thick bulk of muscle just above it. He’s pulled his cock from his pants at some point, you can’t be sure when, but he’s not letting himself fuck into his fist just yet. His eyes watch you, waiting, imploring you to do something, while he circles his leaky tip with the pad of his thumb and forefinger.

You moan wantonly at the sight of him, so undone and affected by you, so different from his usual masquerade at put-togetherness. He nods at you fervently, like he’s begging you to give in.

You lift your hand to his thigh hesitantly, he jolts at the contact but quickly settles. You trace your fingers slowly up the expanse of his thick thigh, pausing occasionally to gauge his reaction, waiting for him to stop you. But it never comes.

He’s slack-jawed, can only offer dumb, eager nods. If you thought you were unmoored by this whole encounter, you knew that Titus was ten times more affected.

When your fingers finally graze his shaft, he crashes back to reality all at once, slaps your hand away. Outraged, you spit out the gag.

“Wha—“ you start, but are interrupted by Titus surging forward so he’s encroaching on your space. He cups your chin harshly, squashes your cheeks together.

“Did I say you could spit your gag out? Or stop humping my boot?” He asks.

“No, but—“

“No, I asked you a question,” he cuts you off again.

“No, you didn’t,” you answer.

“That’s right. So what gave you the impression that you could do it then?”

Your eyes divert from his piercing stare. “You slapped my hand away, was just trying to make you feel good,” you murmur.

“I never said you could touch,” Titus rebuffs.

“You nodded!”

Titus laughs meanly. “Nodding is not verbal consent, bunny. You should know that.”

Your head drops, you don’t want him to see how crestfallen you probably look right now.

Titus pinches your chin again, lifts your head so you can look at him again.

“This must be so hard for you, baby,” he coos.

You roll your eyes dejectedly. “You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

You look away from him again, not meeting his eyes. He places his thumb at your bottom lip, tugs at the flesh softly until you suck the digit into your mouth. “Attagirl.”

“Bet you wish it was my cock, huh?” He asks smugly, though the way you’re suckling his thumb, hollowing your cheeks as you lave your tongue over the pad of it, has him also wishing it was his cock.

He pulls you off of his thumb by tugging your head back with a firm hand. You look up at him, eyes glassy, fully supplicant at his feet.

“Alright, fuck it,” he announces.

“Open up for me,” he adds. You drop your jaw obediently and mewl when he finally slaps his tip on your tongue, the weight of it making you dizzy.

“Look at you, cock drunk and it’s not even fucking inside you yet.” He pushes his tip past your lips and groans.

You push your head down, trying to get more of him in your mouth, but he holds you at the scruff of your neck, clicks his teeth at you.

“Eager, are we?”

You groan frustratedly, suckling on his tip.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought,” he replies to your babbling. You pull back just enough to speak.

“Fuck my throat or I’m leaving.”

You dare him to fight you on it. To exert control over you. He simply balks.

“Oh,” is all he can manage before he’s pushing his cock into your mouth, not stopping till it hit the back of your throat. You gag at the fullness.

Titus ignores you pushing and hitting his thigh. You want him to fuck your throat, that’s what he’s going to do.

He sets a brutal pace, thrusting his long girthy cock in and out of your mouth. Tears flow freely down your cheeks, you rut helplessly against his boot, chasing your own release while he builds his in your throat.

“Shit, this is what you wanted, right? Wanted your big, mean daddy to fuck your throat?”

You babble around his cock, soaking his boot with your slick while pleasure glitters up and down your spine, curling your toes. The persistent shlick of his cock as he fucks the walls of your throat echoes around the room, hammers its way between your ears till it makes a home in the darkest corner of your brain, the sound so filthy it only brings you closer to orgasm.

You hollow out your cheeks in an effort not to gag, catching Titus off guard. His clenched fingers tug tighter on the root of your skull and he honest to god whimpers.

“Can’t just do that to me, baby. Fuck, I almost came,” he exhales.

You hollow your cheeks again, flick your tongue against the underside of his shaft. He pitches forward with a garbled yell, bent over you while his thrusts turn short and fast. “Gonna cum.”

He’s leaned over far enough that he can grab your ass from this angle, you shout in surprise when he gifts you with a swift smack.

“C’mon, bunny. Hump my fuckin’ boot, know you can do better that.” He cups the soft plush of your ass in his hand and moves, sets the pace for you to rock your cunt against him.

It’s so much.

He’s evil enough that the rock of your hips matches the thrust of his, taking and giving at twin tempos. You’re brainless in his clutches, a mewling, whining play thing for him to fuck as he wishes, while also letting you use him as a vessel for your own pleasure. It’s all you ever wanted.

Your orgasm surges through you at the realisation, breaks you open and throws you off the cliff violently. You cry out, throat seizing tightly enough that it triggers Titus’s own orgasm, he blabbers praise and whines into your hair as he buries his load in your throat, tacky spend trickling over your tongue like silk.

You tremble in his arms, the aftershocks coursing through your veins and searing your nerves till nothing remained.

Titus drops to his knees, grunting softly as his old bones betray him. He gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

“You’re wonderful, bunny. D’you know that? So perfect and wonderful.” His eyes are glassy as he sings your praise, tone shaky - you attribute it to him still reeling from his orgasm, he knows the truth. A four letter word starting with L knocking him in the teeth.

“Thank you for doing that with me,” you murmur softly, purposely meeting his gaze. Something in him cracks, and he struggles to hold back the sentence he’s dying to say. Three words. Eight letters.

But it’s too soon, so he merely says course, baby, anytime.

“Christ, made a fuckin’ mess of my boot, honey,” he lilts.

You tilt your head at him, assessing, but he can gather where your head is at based on the way your eyes glint with mischief. “Sorry, daddy, I’ll clean it up.”

His cock twitches in interest as you slide off his boot and arch forward, ass pitched in the air while you drop your head to his boot, tongue flattening to lick your juices off the leather.

He’s fucking winded, to tell you the truth.

You find new ways to surprise him every day.

After you lick the boot clean, you right yourself on your knees, grin up at him sweetly, your slick coating your cheeks.

He leans forward and kisses you messily, hands cradling the side of your head and your hip. You sigh dreamily into his mouth as he licks the cream from your cheeks, fucks it back into your mouth with his tongue.

When he pulls back, a string of saliva connects the two of you and you giggle at it.

“You’re so sweet, baby. Guess I just needed to fuck it back into you, huh?”

His eyes glint playfully at you, you respond by licking the tip of his nose and leaving him on the floor. “Good luck getting back up, old man! Those knees aren’t what they used to be.”

He feels like maybe you’re joking, like any second you’ll come back into the room and help him up. Not that he needs it, he’s more than capable of getting himself off the floor, it just takes him a second. But then he hears the shower turn on, and the shower door open and shut. By the time you start humming, he can imagine you washing your hair, a smug smile perched on your soft lips.

Guess I deserve that. He peels himself off the floor with as much dignity as he can handle, and saunters over the bathroom, leaving behind items of clothing as he goes. He’ll pick it up later, or you will, or the maid will. He’s not really fussed about it.

You squeal as he enters the shower behind you, whinging at him to give you some privacy. From outside the door, the sound is soon muffled, fizzled out, as though covered beneath a hand, and then evolves into shameless cries of pleasure.

The shower leaves you covered in more bodily fluids than you entered with, and you resolve that maybe a second shower will solve the problem. With Titus in the picture, and four months of edging now bursting forth from captivity between you two, that was not an option.

He’s got a lot to catch up on.

“Y’know, I was thinking…” You punctuate your sentence by tracing the rim of your wine glass with the tip of your forefinger.

“This can’t be good,” Titus quips.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” you bemoan him, he smiles at you in jest.

“No, but I know you, and you thinking has almost always been to my detriment.” Titus takes down a bite of steak in premature triumph, savouring the win before the game’s even begun its fourth quarter. Idiot.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said about the hunt, the chase, and whatnot before you stormed out of the house…” You tepidly throw out the hook, feigning humility, you wait for Titus to take the bait.

“Oh yeah?” He asks hesitantly, careful not to give too much away.

“Mhm.”

“What about it?” He questions further. Got him.

“Well, I figured we could make a little game out of it, just the two of us,” you muse, sugar sweet and innocent enough for him to want to sink his claws into you.

“What are the rules?” His silverware lays abandoned on his dinner plate, his hands white-knuckling the edge of the table. He feels like a dog who’s heard all its favourite words, can only hope he’s hiding it well enough that you don’t scent his excitement.

The small tug of your mouth tells him all he needs to know.

“If I catch you, you have to fuck me,” you explain. Titus perks up in a way you can’t help but be endeared by. His posture straightens, his pupils have dilated, he’s futilely battening down the hatches on the world’s strongest grin. His excitement rolls off of him in waves, it’s fucking contagious.

“Yeah?” He asks, voice straining.

“Yeah, baby.”

He’s at your side in a second, perched against the table. He pushes your dinner plate away, the action reeks of attention-seeking, an insistent and needy look at me, I’m the real main course, please, m’right here.

You’re smug as you take him in, eyeing him up and down hungrily. He’s suddenly bashful at the attention, is fighting the good fight to keep it under control.

“You know, I’m typically the hunter, not the hunted,” Titus notes.

“Yeah, well, I’m in charge this time, champ,” you quip lightly, clapping his bicep firmly.

He tilts his head at you, eyes narrowing to the claiming grip you have on his bicep. “Okay.”

“Okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, but don’t call me champ,” he scoffs.

“I’ll call you whatever I want, sweetness.”

You press your lips to his disarmingly. He’s immediately pliant under your touch, gooey and soft-limbed as you lick into his mouth, digging your fingers hard enough to bruise into the bulk of his bicep and his lower back, just shy of the top of his ass.

He cups your jaw and whimpers into the searing kiss, you freeze. He’s panicking as you huff a laugh into the shared space between your mouths.

“Did you just whimper?” You ask, lips touching his with every syllable uttered.

You pull back when he doesn’t answer, he lets out a frustrated whine as you do, cheeks flushed pink.

“S’okay if you did, I just don’t know if I’ve heard you make that sound before,” you assure him.

He nods quickly. “Sorry.”

You kiss him chastely. “Don’t be, baby. Did such a good job letting me take care of you.”

He buries his head in the crook of your neck so you can’t see him flustered. Ever one to read a room, you acquiesce, allow him a brief respite, play with his curls attentively. He murmurs something into your shoulder.

“What was that?”

He groans, tilts his head so his mouth’s not plastered to your throat. “I said, this is so embarrassing.”

“What is?”

“This. Don’t know why m’being so needy, m’sorry, bunny.” You squeeze his thigh reassuringly.

“You just need someone to take care of you for a bit, honey. Lemme take care of you, okay?” You don’t mean to tell him what he needs, you just know - intimately - what he’s experiencing, and you’re more than capable of doing that for him. You want to help.

You wait for him to meet your gaze, he stalls, having suddenly become very comfortable breathing in the sweet scent of your skin, content even - not at all hiding from you.

You tap his thigh and he retreats, rights himself on the table. He peers down at you, assessing. Finding no judgment, only adoration, he nods.

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

“Would tonight be too soon?” Titus takes longer than necessary to answer your question, it honestly borders on taking the piss. He scratches his chin ponderingly, furrows his brow in concentration.

When you scoff and unfold your legs as though about to stand, Titus utters a conclusive No.

“I’ll meet you outside in 15, no weapons,” you point an accusing finger at him, he raises his hands in mock innocence, albeit glassy-eyed and a little knock-kneed.

He watches as you leave the dining room, hips swaying exaggeratedly solely for his entertainment. “15 minutes!” You call, before slamming the door shut behind you.

Titus isn’t exactly sure what he was expecting when you proposed a hunt. No weapons, obviously, maybe nothing at all? Can-do attitudes and a team spirit?

He knows for certain that he wasn’t expecting the full kit and caboodle, a table laid out with all the paraphernalia you’d anticipated either of you would need - and you in hunting gear, looking particularly pleased with yourself.

“Am I going to die tonight?” Titus asks, his voice tinged in disbelief.

“What would be my weapon of choice be exactly - the flashlight, the condoms, lube?” You fold your arms.

“Oh, I don’t know, the rope maybe?” Titus retorts.

Okay, maybe you had forgotten about the rope.

“Think I’ll get my own docuseries on Netflix?” You ask, brows raising teasingly.

“I’m pretty sure the lawyers would have it buried before it left pre-production.”

You pout, “you’re no fun.”

Titus looks over the table again, you watch him in earnest. “Swiss army knives? Kinky,” he lilts.

“For the rope,” you supply. He looks at you, a curt brow raised, jaw slack.

“You don’t say!” He quips snarkily. You roll your eyes.

He turns back around, showing you his taut back muscles. As the line of his spine straightens, a bloodhound having caught a scent, you sigh, wondering what he’s stumbled across now.

He unceremoniously flings the box of condoms to the furthest corner of the room, you laugh. “Won’t be needing those.”

“Is that right?” You ask.

“What can I say, m’feeling plucky tonight.”

“You mean lucky?”

“Said what I said,” he tells you, leaving no room for doubt.

“I’m calling time.” Titus backs away from the table, hands raised.

You turn and exit the room, he follows after you like a stray puppy. You lean against the pillar outside, watching as he arrives immediately after you, hands behind his back. “What’d you grab, honey?”

He’s sheepish as he empties out his pockets, showing off his armada of approximately fucking zilch, nada, absolutely nothing.

“Gave you all that time and you grabbed nothing?” You tut softly.

“You’re very distracting,” he bemoans.

“I guess the experience is more authentic this way,” you sigh wistfully, reaching for something at your back.

Titus stands at full alert, eyes wide as he tries to make of what you’ve got hiding back there. He freezes when you reveal a handgun.

“Now… sweetheart…” He starts, feeling very much like he’s negotiating with a terrorist. His hands raised calmly in a defensive stance, attempting to fawn.

“Stand down, Danforth. This is just to… I don’t fucking know, commence the hunt? Is that what y’all call it?” You fuss with the barrel, clicking the safety off.

He sighs in relief, wipes away the beading sweat at his hairline. “This is very immersive.”

“Ten.” You start counting down, but avoid eye contact with Titus, looking instead toward your boot laces.

“Nine.”

“Eight.” Titus internally maps out the grounds, trying to pinpoint a hiding spot.

“Seven.” He can’t fucking think with you counting down the seconds like this is life or death. He’s never been on this end of the stick before. It’s fucking bullshit, he thinks.

“Baby—“ he interjects, like maybe if he plays his cards right, he can take you inside and pretend none of this ever happened if he can flick his tongue just right.

“Too late, six,” you reply monotonously.

“Five.”

Fuck. Titus leans forward, sprint ready.

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

You raise the gun in the air and shoot.

“What happened to fucking one?” Titus yells.

“You have seven minutes! That’s it!” You yell after him, watching gleefully as he disappears into the darkness.

Seven minutes fly by.

You barely had time to check your phone after running the checks on your buggy before the alarm was going off. All things considered, you felt like you were handling this a little too well. It’s not like hunting your rich boyfriend through his family compound for sex reasons was a certifiable skill, one you can put on your résumé and send in for job applications.

Maybe Titus was rubbing off on you after all. Well… yes, but in more ways than one.

You kickstart the engine, and veer off the golf course in the direction of the woods.

Titus’s legs carried him all the way through to the furthest corner of the woods. If he knew you as well as he thought he did, then there’s no way in hell you’d come looking for him here. It was easy money.

He doesn’t even bother finding a hiding place, because he’s so sure you wouldn’t come looking for him here.

It’s not that he doesn’t wanna fuck, there’s literally nothing else he wants to do, despite past behaviour maybe indicating otherwise. He’s just got a mean competitive streak - doesn’t like losing, not even if it’s you, not even if it’s for sex. He refuses to go down like that.

He lays down on the collapsed trunk of a tree, waiting for day to break. He’s not cocky enough to think he might steal a couple of winks of sleep while he waits.

A light shines through the thicket of trees, you on your buggy, he presumes, but you go straight past him. His heart rate picks up at you being so close. Sucker, he thinks to himself.

Ahead, you pull the buggy off to the side and kill the engine, prepared to make the rest of the trip on foot. You’d spotted a fallen tree as you drove past, back toward the property line. It’s exactly the kind of bullshit hiding spot Titus would be drawn to, thinking you wouldn’t go looking for him there.

You retrace the journey from memory in the complete dark, not being able to use your torch now, lest you reveal yourself to Titus.

You bank right a few hundred feet from the tree, giving yourself the opportunity to sneak up on him from behind. At the sound of obnoxious whistling, you stop. “This motherfucker,” you mutter quietly.

Deciding that he’s close enough to be within earshot, you rid yourself of your boots, you’re not going to sneak up on him if he had heard you clomping around minutes ago and had the wherewithal to run.

You’re not a big fan of your socked feet being exposed to the forest floor, but you’re made of tougher stuff than Titus apparently gives you credit for, so you persevere.

At this point, you aren’t even sure you’re walking in the right direction, when the tree comes into view. Titus is lying on top of the fucking thing, eyes closed with his fingers tapping his belly, still humming some stupid show-tune you’re sure you’ll remember once he’s underneath you.

Knowing you’ll regret this later, you drop to all fours, and crawl the rest of the way to the tree trunk. While the extra limbs might give you away volume wise, you don’t want to be within his line of sight if he were to open his eyes.

He’s literally right in front of you now, and somehow still hasn’t heard you. You stand silently, not allowing yourself a reprieve to stare down at him like you want to.

You raise your dirty hand, silently beg that he’ll forgive you for doing this, and clamp your hand down on his mouth.

His eyes shoot open, darting around until they land on his gagged mouth, and then on you, peering down at him with a soft smile on your face. The one you typically reserve for him on much kinder occasions.

“I win,” you tell him, smile transforming into something cockier.

He nips the flesh of your palm with his teeth. Your smile doesn’t falter, you simply slide your hand from his mouth until it’s wrapped firmly around his neck, careful fingers placing pressure on the sides of this throat.

His eyes dilate in response, breaths coming in heavy pants. “Come claim your prize then,” he quips gruffly.

You hum noncommittally. “Right here?”

“You got anywhere else in mind?” Titus asks, breathless.

You look around as though you have countless options, not just tree number one, number seven, and number 83. “Over there,” you point to a thick oak about ten metres away.

“Kinda far, no?” You tap his thigh.

“I think you’ll make it.” He hops off the tree just in time for you to make a run for it.

He darts behind you, picking up speed to come at you from the side. Just before you reach the tree, he grapples you and forces your back against it. The collision knocks the wind from your lungs.

You bite your lip at him. “Been waiting to do that all night, handsome?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he groans, leaning forward to nip and suck at the column of your throat.

You curl deceptively light fingers into his hair, digging into the roots and tugging his head back forcefully. He whines, desperate.

“None of that, you’re like a little puppy,” you reprimand.

“Feel like one,” he notes uselessly. You huff a soft laugh.

“Yeah?” You ask, laughter lilting your voice. He nods quickly, eyes staring into yours, pleading.

You turn in his grasp, pressing the line of your ass right against his rigid cock. “So fuck me like it then.”

He’s unbuckling his belt and shucking his pants down when he drops a shaky “don’t have to tell me twice.”

You follow suit, listening to him pant into the base of your skull while he gets himself hard enough to fuck you. “Need a hand?” You offer.

“No,” he throws back defiantly.

You turn around in his hold anyway, batter your eyelashes at him demurely. “No?”

Titus’s cock swells in his fist at the sight of you. “Can do it myself,” he falters, avoiding direct eye contact.

You pinch his chin, force him to look at you. He bites his lip pitifully, perpetually fuzzy from the way you’ve so casually taken to dominating him. Your duality’s fucking intoxicating.

“Titus,” you scold him. He mewls at the tone.

“I know you’re very capable, okay? That’s not what this is. Now be a good boy and let me take care of you.” He almost passes out as you drool a line of spit onto the tip of his fat, swollen cock, flicking your wrist as you spread the mix of your spit and his pre over his tip and shaft - trying to lube him up enough to fuck you, you silently curse him for not having the foresight to take the lube with him.

“Feels… fucking good,” Titus grunts, helplessly thrusting into your hand.

“You wanna fuck me in doggy, puppy? Or missionary?” Your eyes glint mischievously. Titus couldn’t help but notice the way the light of your eyes caught on moonlight, illuminating like you were some lunar goddess sent solely for him.

“Both.”

“And m’not a puppy.” You giggle softly.

“Oh yeah? Then why do you act like one?”

“Do not,” Titus bites. You pinch his cheek with a placating aww, the action is pure malicious intent dressed up as doting affection. It sends shivers down his spine, makes precum dribble heavily from his tip.

“Okay, tough guy,” you reply.

You turn around again, lining your hole up with his cock, and tilt your hips back, filling yourself until he’s at the hilt. You exhale, winded.

“Holy shit.”

You keep him inside you for a minute, unmoving. He thinks you’re being cruel, you’re just trying to get accustomed to being so fucking full.

“Need— need you to—“ Titus stammers.

You shush him. “Just need a second, baby.”

“Oh.” Though you can’t see him, you know he’s smiling, super fucking pleased that you’re so affected by his size.

Not to be one-upped, you clench the walls of your cunt around his cock. He shouts in surprise, thrusts even further into you somehow. You whimper pathetically, not un-noticing of the bulge in your tummy.

“It’s so deep, honey. Can feel you in my fuckin’ guts,” you tell him as you reach for his hand and place it gently against the bulge of his cock inside your belly.

He pushes down on the bulge and gives an aborted thrust, you fall forward, barely avoiding smacking your head against the tree trunk.

Instead, you meet flesh, a soft palm, one you’d spent hours familiarising yourself with. You know, my grandma always used to say soft hands meant you’d never done a hard days work in your life, you told him, tracing shapes into the peachy, unblemished skin. He’d wrenched his hand from yours, faux-pissed but definitely mildly offended. I work, he’d told you, disbelieving. You were grateful for the soft landing now.

“Careful, bunny, can’t have you unconscious now,” he chides.

You scoff. “Okay, m’ready.”

Needing no further warning, he pulls out till only his tip’s inside you, and thrusts forward, spearing you on the first couple inches his cock. “Ju—just like that, baby,” you coo, the short and sharp thrusts hitting the ache between your thighs just right.

He groans, presses in another couple inches. He’s barely halfway, but you’re already keeling over at the length. He knows you can take more, you took him balls deep a couple minutes ago to prove a point - played your cards too fucking early.

“Take it, bunny, know you’re good for it,” he hisses.

“Y’don’t know shit. Take what I fucking give you like a good puppy, huh?” You clench your cunt around him to punctuate your sentence, cutting off his smart mouth like punishment.

He whimpers. “Thank you.”

You reach back and grip his hip. “Lemme set the pace.”

He nods emphatically. “Okay, just— please, move.”

You huff and lower yourself against the tree, creating a better angle and arching your back further. You must elongate your spine further because the movement draws out breathless pants from Titus. “S’perfect right there.”

You steady your hand on the trunk, keep your other hand locked on Titus’s hip, and fuck yourself on his cock. His hands find purchase on the dips at your spine, digs his fingers into the soft flesh. “Feels so good, baby, like you were made for me,” he praises.

You preen under his praise, your hole flutters around his cock in response, swallowing as much of his length as she can. “Y’like when I bounce this ass on you, baby? You gonna cum for me?”

Titus chokes on a moan, his body seemingly content to betray him in more ways than one because his hips jerk against the rhythmic pace you’ve set fucking back on him. “Thought so,” you note cockily.

“You tellin’ me this doesn’t feel as good for you, as it does for me?” Titus asks, barely concealing his hurt.

Your thrusts stop. He groans dejectedly, waits for anything, something. You slip forward, feigning nonchalance as his dick falls from your hole. ET phone home.

You turn to face Titus. “Lift me up?”

He picks you up with ease, rests your back gently against the tree as though he hadn’t tackled you into it moments ago. You trace the shape of his face gently - his hairline down to the apple of his cheeks, his jaw, his lips, up to his hairline again and down the bridge of his nose.

“What was that for?” He asks gruffly.

“Just admiring how pretty you are,” you tell him.

He scoffs. “M’not pretty.”

“Handsome, then. Beautiful,” you concur.

“You don’t need to grease me up, sweetheart, I’m already fucking you.”

You hum. “Seems to me like you’re arguing with me while your dick goes soft, actually.”

Titus’s gaze drops to his dick, fully erect. “I am not— oh, you were fucking with me,” he says flatly.

You take his dick in your hand again. “Want you to cum inside me, honey. Think you can manage?”

His eyes light up. “Really?”

“Really. Limited time offer, subject to change,” you stifle a laugh.

“M’ignoring that, for Christ’ sake,” he murmurs, fists his dick a couple times to ensure he’s still hard enough to fuck, and then pushes in and in and in.

“Feels like a home run everytime, huh?” He asks, more to himself than you.

“I’ve never watched an NFL game before,” you reply shakily; his cock nestled snugly between the walls of your cunt like he belongs there is admittedly throwing you, gives you a myriad of ideas - dangerous ones.

“I’m ignoring that because I feel like it’s going to kill my boner.” His grip on you lifts you higher, spreads your legs a little further. His hips shift in tandem with yours, allowing him a deeper angle.

He rocks his hips forward and you wail, head dropping into his shoulder. “That’s the finisher, yeah?”

He kisses the top of your head, spears his hips into yours in long, languid thrusts. “Need— faster,” you tell him, words muffled by his skin’s hold on your lips.

“I can do faster for you,” Titus nods, holding you tighter against the tree as he thunders his hips, hammering his cock into your pussy.

“Fuck!” You cry. He huffs a satisfied laugh, keeps his brutal pace.

You throw your head back, feeling your core simmering, tipping near to the point of boiling over. “Gonna— fuck— gonna make me cum, baby. Doing so good f’me,” you pant, words pouring out into the night like stardust.

Titus kisses you desperately, tongues clashing and teeth licking against each other hard enough to ache. He slides a hand from around your waist to your pudgy, swollen clit and gives the poor thing some attention. You cry out in relief, overstimulation maybe, he can’t tell which, only that the noises you gift him spur him on even more.

Your legs tremble uncontrollably in his grasp now, the clit rubbing has your nerves working overtime to bring you release. “Shit, need you to cum with me, Titus. Are you close? Need me to do anything for you, baby?”

He whines, his thrusts hiccup at your question. “Can you— can you tell me you love me?” He asks pathetically.

You falter. He catches your expression, and his face falls.

“Even if you don’t mean it, s’okay. It doesn’t matter, forget I said anything.” His eyes are glassy, even more pretty when lit by the moon, though he won’t look you in the eye.

His hand drops from your clit, goes to rest back on your waist to set you down, feeling like the moment is clearly dead.

You wrap your smaller hand around his wrist, bring it to your mouth. He watches, confused, as you suck his fingers between your teeth, licking your slick off the pads of his fingers individually, then suckling and kissing and laving your tongue over them in a way that feels like devotion. Maybe you just like the taste of your cum, Titus can’t really say right now - doesn’t feel very sure of anything.

You guide his hand back to your clit, moving his stiff fingers against the engorged nub until he unfreezes enough to do it himself. Your hand returns to his face, cups his cheek.

“Titus Danforth, I love you terribly. I love you in a way that feels non-conducive to breathing, to eating, to sleeping. I watch you while you sleep and think that I couldn’t feel close enough to you unless I burrowed my way into your skin and lived out the rest of my days there. Do you understand me? I love you, and I’m sorry if I haven’t shown you that every day that we spend together.”

Fat globs of tears streak down your poor boyfriend’s cheeks, he hiccups these awful sobs before he buries his face into your lips, smushing his against yours gracelessly, like he’s trying to transfuse himself to you. His thrusts are messy as he fucks into you. “Can you say it again?” He asks against your lips.

“I love you,” you repeat, your cheeks wet with his tears.

He groans loudly. Your eyes widen in surprise as you feel him fill your cunt, burying his load inside you. “Ti—“

“No.”

He thrusts faster and harder into you, his fingers pinch your clit like he’s on a mission. “Waitwaitwaitwait.”

“No, cum on my cock like you fuckin’ love me,” Titus commands, and you do.

Searing pleasure burns from your core, explodes in your spine like fireworks. His touch is merciless, coaxing you through your orgasm while you jerk and convulse in his arms.

You drop against the tree trunk, spent.

“Holy shit,” you say in unison.

You both giggle, content to stay in this bubble forever, pressing chaste kisses as a reminder, a promise to keep forever, a declaration of… well, love.

“Do you wanna go to a diner?” Titus asks, breaking the calm silence.

“You’re sooo old. You sweet on me or somethin, Danforth? Gonna buy me a milkshake?” You quip, a smirk curling at the corner of your mouth.

“Would you prefer I act like guys your age? Oh, I came, I’m going to sleep now, can you see yourself out?” At his oafy impression of almost of all your exes, you snort.

“Are those my two options? Diner dash with grandpa or avoidant 20-something year old?” You ask brashly.

He squeezes the plush of your ass possessively. “You don’t get any options, bunny. You’re fuckin’ mine forever.” You smile, dazed.

“I’m suddenly craving waffles.”

“Sounds good, we can just swipe your pussy for the syrup,” Titus lilts. You groan, disgusted, and push him away from you so you can pull your pants back up.

“I hate you.”

“Noooo you love me, you said it yourself.”

“I miss when you had erectile dysfunction, all this sex’s got you on some bullshit.”

Titus whips around. “I never had erectile dysfunction!” You bite your lip to keep from laughing.

[harrystylesyogurt]

his suit matching with his eyes UGH THATS MY BABYGIRLL!!!!😭😭😭

[ruledbysaturns]

lord forgive me for sexualizing an old man ((AGAIN))

[minidodds]

[goldiwrites]

read your mind

pairing: jack abbot x resident!reader

summary: jack had made it clear from the start—he was only available for casual, no strings attached stress relief. the way he acts after finding out you went on a date says something else entirely. (9.5k wc)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, porn with some plot, angst, coworkers with benefits, jealous!jack, yearning!jack, unspecified age gap, attending/resident power dynamics, jack is an ass (he gets slapped so it's chill), pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart), detailed explicit smut, mean!jack (reader likes it), dom!jack, brat/brat tamer vibes, dirty talk, dacryphilia, unprotected pnv, car sex, cowgirl, doggy, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, face sitting, chokehold, spanking (all my jack ass man believers stand up), breast & nipple play, pussy slapping, squirting, little blue pill mention, apologies & confessions, happy ending, fem!reader, reader is dana's niece, no physical description/mention of being blood related, dana haunts the narrative, no use of y/n, dual pov (i think), ending kinda rushed but fuck it we ball, briefly proofread so no doubt incorrect grammar lols

authors note: woof woof, bark bark. this is 70% filth, 20% angst, 10% fluff. i have no excuses honestly. no seriously this was only meant to be 5k. majority written at 3am in sleep deprived insanity. some of the smut warnings are just mentions, not explicit details. this is kinda toxic, if that's not your thing keep scrolling :-)

song inspo: read your mind - sabrina carpenter

masterlist

You say that you need to be alone But night and day, want me at your beck and call You say you know that you might be crossin' a line Wastin' all our time To think that we could be casual You're not my friend and, baby, you never were Why the fuss if you say you just wanna be mine?

6:55am

Abbot: Meet me at my truck in 15.

No hi, hello, how are you. If you were to scroll through your text thread with Dr. Jack Abbot, you would see that the faux pleasantries stopped three months ago. The two of you started sleeping together four months ago; it took four weeks for Jack to discern that he didn't need to use basic human greetings to get you in his truck, in his bed. That's not to say you were easy—god, no—it was just that you two had a mutual understanding for what this was.

Sex. That was all it was. Pure primal, fuck like you're going to die otherwise, sex.

It started after the night of the PittFest mass casualty. You had come in early along with your fellow night shifters to work through what was one of your most gruelling shifts to date. The Pitt only lost six patients, but the weight of that day was going to stay etched into your bones for the rest of your life.

Dr. Abbot came back to the ED around two am, checking in on how Shen was handling things—at least, that's what he used as a guise. The truth was that he had struggled to close his eyes once he got home, tossing and turning with the police scanner on, endless memories of dust and gunshots plaguing his mind.

He stayed until shift change, the act of caring for others quietening the buried memories that were crawling to the surface. He stayed to keep an eye on his staff—noticing how people were a little more quiet, how they were exchanging soft, hesitant smiles with one another instead of their usual jokes. At least, that's what he noticed about you.

You couldn't remember what exactly was said to transition from you two walking towards your cars to you sinking onto his cock in the backseat of his truck. In your memory overridden by lust, you could vaguely hear him saying something vulnerable; a response you weren't expecting after your exhausted tongue let slip how you were struggling with the events of the day.

Mutual words about feeling on edge, needing some kind of release, were whispered into the hazy dawn glow—the fusing saffron skies and coral clouds painting you both in a different light.

Mosaics of amber and olive flaked with gold stared up at you, catching every morsel of pleasure that scrunched your eyebrows and relaxed your mouth. Strong, sure hands moulded the flesh on your hips, keeping you completely at his mercy as he pounded up into you. One of your hands met the condensation slicked window, the wet glass providing no support as his every thrust bruised your cervix.

Your nails dug crescents into his sun-speckled canvas, a crescendo of moans and gasps drowning out the wet mess gushing from your core. Hands you admired while wrist deep in chest cavities clutched your ass, one rearing back to land harsh slaps to the heated and aching skin—setting the fire coursing through your veins ablaze.

Your head flung back with a guttural cry of his name, the warmth of his release coating your walls plunging you into a sea of ecstasy. A groan of your name pushed through the ringing in your ears, the thick chest pressed against yours rapidly rising and falling with pants.

The sex thick air in the truck turned suffocating in the tense aftermath—both your minds spiralling about how bad of a mistake this was. Jack's stomach curdled from his blatant abuse of power, your hands trembled in fear of fucking for special treatment accusations—terrified of tarnishing your reputation.

Jack was the first to break the silence. "This was a one time thing."

You nodded, avoiding his eyes as you straightened your scrub top, pulling your pants up while his seed continued to leak out of you. "Agreed."

Despite his unforgiving mind reminding him how badly he screwed up, Jack fell into a dreamless sleep—the ghosts that permanently resided in the back of his mind staying locked in their rooms, letting him rest alone for once.

He struggled to make eye contact with Dana when he arrived for his next shift—the feeling of betraying one of his dearest friends gripping his chest. The logical side of him reasoned that you weren't her daughter—you were an adult capable of making her own questionable decisions, and letting him manhandle you in the back of his truck was just one of them. Unfortunately, that logical side couldn't silence the guilt that invaded him when he saw her wrap an arm around your shoulder and kiss your temple.

However, that guilt vanished hours later—replaced with a sick sort of admiration, one wrapped in barbed wires of lust. He always knew you were competent—hell, out of all his residents, he would trust you the most with his life in your hands. He always knew you were beautiful—it was a fact he accepted with ease the second you set foot in the Pitt.

But now, he knew how your pussy felt squeezing his cock—knew how your hips moved the closer you got to your release, how you crumbled into a whimpering mess as you reached your precipice. Your competency mixed with this new knowledge created a dangerous concoction, one that infiltrated his bloodstream and made him drunk on the thought of you.

You tried to not let it affect your work—willed your nerves to steady with a scalpel in hand, trying to ignore the empty ache you felt since you left his truck. The ache you tried to soothe on your own but failed every time. Because Jack Abbot had fucked you better than all of your exes combined, and it pissed you off. You refused to be a cliché—the young resident who followed the older, handsome, charming attending around, basking in whatever affection and praise he discarded without a care.

You were better than that. Stronger. Evans women didn't risk their careers for silver foxes who hid behind wry quips and flirty smiles.

Apparently, you weren't as strong as you thought.

One week later, you found yourself back in his truck—your knees pressed into the worn carpet, drool dripping down your chin and neck, the air filled with the sounds of his grunts and your gagging.

He instructed you to slip a hand into your pants, to swipe your fingers through your folds and show him how wet you were from sucking an old man's cock.

"Fucking soaked," he groaned out, the slick on your hand shimmering like liquid gold as the sunrise filtered through the tinted windows. "Knew you'd like being on your knees," a calloused finger tapped your cheek, urging your glistening eyes to meet his, "always so eager to please."

The finger slid down to your jaw, tracing a line until his hand cupped the back of your neck. His grip was tight and strong, keeping your head exactly where he wanted it. His other hand encircled your wrist, yanking your hand coated in your arousal to his mouth. Eyes black with hunger penetrated yours, daring you to look away and disobey his silent command. His tongue slipped out, licking a strip up your fingers. Your responding whine was muffled by his cock thrusting down your throat, resulting in a sinful vibration that had his spine tingling.

In this moment, he wasn't your attending and you weren't his resident, weren't one of his closest friends' nieces. You were two willing adults—a man and woman troubled by their own demons, seeking release and relief.

His hand gripping your neck kept you still as he started to fuck your mouth in earnest, each hit of his tip to the back of your throat earning him a gag. Jack watched as tears breached your waterline, slipping down your cheeks to mix in with the slobbery mess glazing your neck. His eyes drifted down, taking in the sight of your wrinkled black scrubs—committing it to memory, to fuck his fist to later. The shift of your hips didn't go unnoticed, the way you were trying to grind against nothing drawing a mocking laugh from his chest.

"You that desperate, huh? Drooling all over my cock got you so worked up you're tryna fuck nothing."

You nodded your head with another muffled whine, lust overpowering your innate urge to bite back. He eased your head back, leaving his leaking tip resting on your tongue, letting you fill your lungs with oxygen before he continued his efforts to ruin you.

"Touch yourself, pretty girl."

You happily obliged, trying to pull your hand from his grasp.

"Uh-uh," he tutted, tightening his grip—just shy of leaving bruises. "This one's mine. You got another one, don't you?"

Your hand clutching his thigh for support let go in an instant, eager to please Jack and in turn please yourself.

You were so sensitive, your panties already soaked, your clit puffy from arousal and neglect. The first touch had you mewling around him, your hips humping your hand with fervour. Jack chuckled above you, gleaming eyes enraptured by your desperation.

"Fuck your fingers like you wanna fuck my cock." He ordered, heat gathering at the base of his spine when you obeyed immediately. He brought your hand back to his mouth, eagerly licking and sucking your slick off it, all while keeping his eyes locked on your hooded, hazy ones. "Taste so fucking good," he moaned, his hips picking up speed.

He came down your throat minutes later, watching your eyes roll back as you swallowed all of him down. Your own orgasm rushed up behind you, tightening every muscle in your body as you clamped down on your fingers with a moan.

Jack manoeuvred you onto the seat next to him, brows furrowed as his post orgasm clarity soured his gut again.

He kept his eyes locked on where he was twisting his ring around his finger. "That wasn't—I didn't mean to," he cleared his throat. "I didn't intend on being so harsh—mean."

You could feel the stress radiating from him, his words softly spoken and genuine.

"It's okay," you murmured, biting your lip. "I…I liked it." And because you wanted to ease his worries and silently give him permission—"I've begged for worse."

He lifted his head, shocked eyes meeting yours with a disbelieving chuckle and shake of his head.

"This is gonna keep happening, isn't it?"

You answered by pulling your scrubs and panties down your legs, pouting at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

"Need you to help me clean up my mess, Doctor Abbot."

You collapsed into the drivers seat of your car with two orgasms and a mutual agreement under your belt.

Strictly physical, no strings attached. No kissing, no cuddling, definitely no staying the night. Nothing untoward within the Pitt's walls—these two hookups in the parking lot staying as the only ones.

Never speak a word of this to anyone else.

Three nights—technically mornings—a week you found yourself pulling into Jack's driveway, parking your barely road-legal car behind his truck. His black, navy, and white minimalist interior didn't surprise you one bit, neither did the barren walls. The first few times, he led you into the kitchen with the offer of a drink, exchanging idle chatter about the weird cases that came through the Pitt's doors hours before.

The first time your skin touched his soft sheets, he had you on your back with large, calloused hands pushing your legs towards your chest as he devoured your pussy like a man starved. He made your vision dance with stars, made your ears ring from two earth shattering orgasms before he removed his face—his mouth and chin soaked with your release, a cocky smirk deepening the lines carved around his eyes. Your skin was still tender from his stubble when he sunk in deep, reaching spots you didn't even know existed—pulling sounds from your chest you didn't know you could make.

As you floated from his front door to your car, you knew that Jack Abbot had ruined you for any other man. No one had read your body that quickly before, no one else had found the switch to turn off your brain and give in to primal desire.

And you didn't even know what the simple touch of his lips against yours felt like.

By the sixth night you had learnt absolutely nothing new about him. Well, nothing that was outside of bodies and pleasure.

You learnt he was an ass man, needing to land slaps to your cheeks no matter what position you were in. You learnt he liked to talk—liked to mock every pathetic sound he wrung out of you. You learnt that he had a bottle of blue pills in his bedside drawer, learnt that he was unashamed to swallow one down in front of you and fuck you with his tongue and fingers until it took effect.

You knew exactly what Jack liked in bed. Outside of that? Absolutely nothing.

His favourite colour? Fuck knows. How he cared for his leg after a long shift and long night of screwing you senseless? That was between him and his physiotherapist, you guessed.

And he knew nothing about you. Or, at least, he didn't try to get to know you.

You stopped thinking of this arrangement as friends with benefits—friends felt too generous of a word. Coworkers with benefits sounded the closest to the truth. You worked together, spent at least twelve hours a day in the same building, exchanged the occasional witty remark under fluorescent lights. There were no lingering looks, no secret touches, no dropped voices and subtle smirks. And you were fine with it being that way.

Until you weren't.

By month two it had become impossible to ignore the pang that ricocheted behind your ribcage every time you drove away. The pang that grew to an ache every time you went to Dana and Benji's for dinner.

You adored their relationship, admired it. Your parents' messy divorce had left you skeptical of love, had you doubting if it was worth pursuing if it only ended in misery and spite. But your aunt and uncle softened that cynical side of you, reminding you that yes, love could be messy, but it could also be beautiful and fun. It could be coming home to your best friend everyday, hugging each other even after an argument because going to sleep angry never solved anything.

You tried to find what they had in your exes, putting more effort into relationships that drained you by the end. You heard too many times to count that your lives weren't compatible, that they couldn't give their all to someone who was happy to run out the door when the hospital called.

They didn't understand you—didn't understand what it meant to make a difference, to hold someone's life in the palm of your hands and safely return them to their loved ones. They only focused on the days when you couldn't save someone, when the grief held you captive and motionless. They didn't want to continue holding your hand on those hard days.

And so somewhere along the way you stopped trying—convincing yourself that you were fine with casual, that it was the most suitable relationship for your lifestyle. But every time you saw Dana and Benji, you knew that wasn't true.

They reminded you that you wanted, and deserved, more.

Jack had never slept better. Even with that little voice in the back of his head telling him that he had crossed a line—that he was risking not only your career but his friendship with Dana. He managed to silence that voice three times a week; the sounds of the pleasure he was unleashing on you drowning out everything else.

He truly believed he could keep things separate—that the beautiful woman he had in his bed wasn't the same beautiful woman he trusted and found himself proud of every shift. He could totally keep them separate.

So what if his eyes followed your ass when you walked away from the Hub, admiring how the black scrubs clung like a second skin, knowing how they looked discarded on his bedroom floor. Knowing how the globes of your ass felt clutched in his hands, the sound of his palms slapping them reverberating off his walls.

So what if he found himself craving your taste a minimum of three times every shift, the mere thought of your sweet nectar drenching his face leading to inopportune boners.

No one had to know that whenever he saw you biting back at arrogant surgeons that his eyes were glued to your lips, remembering how good they looked—how good they felt—wrapped around his cock. The no kissing clause had been his suggestion—a subconscious part of him knowing that if he felt your lips against his, he wouldn't be able to let go.

The simple act of kissing felt infinitely more intimate than everything else you did. It was a tender act, saved for the person who walked out his door in the morning only to return in the evening. Saved for the person that had left one cold, winter morning and never returned in the frigid evening.

Jack ignored the warmth that spread throughout him in your company, convincing himself it was just lust, just sexual desire. He convinced himself he didn't need to know anything new about you—he already knew what type of student you were, the doctor he had watched you flourish into from the sidelines.

He knew where to touch you, that mouthing at the spot below your ear made you putty in his hands. He knew what positions had you trembling, had your eyes rolling back as you squirted on his dick, on his face. He knew his favourite view was a tie between you above him, suffocating him as you ground your pussy on his mouth, nose, chin, and him behind you, holding you up with a bicep wrapped around your neck in a chokehold, ordering you to keep your eyes on the mirror across from his bed as he stretched your tight pussy with his thick cock over and over again.

He knew that your car was a piece of shit, knew he was worried every time he heard it sputtering out of his driveway—worried enough to demand you stop driving it, to let him drive you to and from work until you could get it fixed, or better yet, buy a new one from this century. (You compromised by getting the bus instead, saying that you two arriving and leaving together would look suspicious.)

And unfortunately, due to his close friendship with Dana, he knew other things about you. What your childhood nickname was, that you once found an abandoned kitten and tried to hide it from your parents—the kitten that was now an old cat, spending it's days curled up on the couch in Dana's sunroom. He knew your parents had an ugly divorce, one they threw you in the middle of—forcing you to choose a side, which subsequently left you in the care of Dana and Benji for a few years.

He knew more about you than he ever wanted to.

"Strip."

Oh, you fucked up.

The drive to Jack's had been dead silent, his anger rolling off of him in waves—sitting in between you two like a physical being. It had your muscles tensing, and more shamefully, had a fire brewing in your core. Because you liked when he got mad—when he barely spoke a word to you, choosing to get his frustrations out by relentlessly drilling you into his mattress. You liked when he got mean—because at least then you knew he was feeling something towards you other than indifference.

You did as you were told, stripping out of your black scrubs, leaving you in your mismatched bra and panties. From his spot leaning against the wall, Jack could already see the damp patch spreading on your underwear. He let out a humourless chuckle, a thrill running through him seeing how desperate you were already.

"Take your bra off. Lie on the bed."

Again, you followed his instructions with no complaint, no backtalk. Which was the complete opposite to how you had been three hours before—questioning his treatment plan in front of everyone in Trauma One, implying that his orders would cause the patient unnecessary problems later on.

You had a good argument, but he was not going to let your attitude go unchecked. He was not going to let you think the way you spoke to him was something you could do again.

He pushed off the wall, ignoring the pain in his leg—he would deal with it later, once you were in an uber on your way home. He sat down next to you on the bed, trailing light fingers from your ankle up your leg, avoiding the area you wanted him the most. He revelled in the sight of your breasts heaving up and down—you were so responsive, nothing more than his teasing touches starting to unravel you. His fingers continued their journey up your body, skimming over your trembling stomach and resting in the valley between your breasts.

The light touches distracted you enough that you weren't expecting his other hand coming up, slapping your tit before pinching the pebbled nipple. Hard.

"Ah—Jack!" You shrieked, your back arching away—or towards, you weren't sure—from the pain. Whimpers slipped from you as his touch eased up, his head dropping to place soft kisses around the tender skin. The fingers between your breasts trailed to the neglected nipple, tweaking it gently.

He pulled back, smirking when you whined at the loss of his touch. "Anything you want to say before we get started?" He drawled, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

You pouted, pretending to think. "Your curls looked really good today."

A rough hand dropped to your thigh, spreading them apart and pinching the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. "Flattery will get you nowhere, not in this room."

"So there are other rooms where it will get me somewhere?"

"You need to learn when to keep your mouth shut." He didn't give you time to talk back, raising his hand and landing a harsh slap to your clothed pussy. Your hips shot off the bed with a gasp, chasing the friction—needy for it. He openly laughed at you, his free hand pushing your thigh down as he delivered another slap.

He moved back to sit on the edge of the bed, patting his thigh with a warning look. He watched with sick pleasure as you crawled towards him on all fours, grabbing your upper arm once you were close enough and pulling you over his lap with force. You let out a yelp, muffled by the sheets as you failed to catch yourself on your arms.

His hands gripped your ass cheeks, squeezing and kneading them. "Love this ass, sweetheart. Distracts me a bit too much at work, though. Somethin' else you need to be punished for."

You huffed, pushing up on your arms. "How is that my fau—" you cut off with a gasp, a hard slap to your left cheek stealing your breath and jolting you forward. The heat travelled the short distance to your core, adding fuel to the flames already blazing. Your panties were embarrassingly soaked from his rough treatment, sticking to your skin and his scrub pants.

"What did I say about keeping your mouth shut, huh?" His hand rubbed over the tender spot, tsking.

"Technically," you started, voice light and breathy, "you didn't tell me to shut my mouth."

You were rewarded with three slaps in quick succession, pulling a loud moan from you. You ground your hips the best you could, trying to get the right angle for your aching clit to rub against the growing bulge under you.

"Fucking brat," Jack spat, faux malice lacing his tone. "Running your mouth in my ED, and now you're trying to get off without my permission?" He pulled the ruined cloth between your legs to the side, a light finger ghosting along the slick covering your folds. He groaned, pulling his finger back to suck it clean. "You're dripping—not much of a punishment if you're enjoying yourself, is it?"

Any response you had is stolen from your mouth, whines falling out instead as he plunged two thick fingers into you. He didn't start slow—he never did when he was like this—pistoning them in and out at a force that was bordering on inhuman, making sinful wet sounds fill his room. His other hand forced your head into the sheets, muffling your whimpers—the sheets growing damp underneath you from your drool.

He hit your sweet spot with every thrust, your clit rubbing against his leg from the force. You could feel your high rapidly approaching, the spankings leaving your nerve ends feeling raw and exposed. Jack could feel it—how your walls were fluttering and clenching around his fingers, your muffled whines and moans turning high-pitched. He inserted a third finger, stopping the thrusting and leaving them still—the pads of them rubbing oh so slowly against the textured spot.

He knew it felt like torture to you, how slow he was going—keeping you right on the edge, suspended in the air, looking down at the waves of pleasure he was denying you. Your hips moved back and forth, trying to fuck yourself on his fingers. His hand left your head, delivering another harsh slap to your aching ass—making you sob from the unbearable mix of pain and pleasure swirling in your core. "Who said you're allowed to do that, sweetheart?" He asked, mockingly sweet.

"Please," you whimpered, turning your head to look at him with glazed eyes. "Please, Jack."

"Begging isn't gonna do you any favours tonight, pretty girl."

He pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. "Up you get," he said, helping you move until you were straddling him—your naked thighs bracketing his clothed ones. One large hand was clutching your ass, keeping your hips from meeting his—prolonging your search for sweet relief. His other hand came up to your mouth, a wet finger tapping your bottom lip. "Clean up your mess," he muttered, hooded eyes focused on your lips parting for him.

You licked the tip of his finger teasingly, moaning at the taste of yourself on his skin. Something low rumbled in his chest, and he pushed all three fingers into your mouth—watching intently as you licked and sucked your slick off of them. Your dazed eyes met his and it struck him—not for the first time—how beautiful you were, how you allowed him to see you like this. It made that annoying thing in his chest happen—the thing that felt like his heart was aching in longing, yearning.

He thrust his fingers in deeper, making you gag around them—watching in sick delight as tears slipped down your cheeks. Your hips started to rock in his hold, seeking friction that you weren't going to find. His cock was painfully hard and tenting his scrubs, making it impossible to ignore—especially not when you looked so fucking ruined.

He removed his fingers from your mouth, a string of saliva keeping them connected to your lips. He felt the overwhelming urge to kiss you—again, not for the first time—and knew that the only way to stop himself from doing so was to fuck you from behind—a position he had been favouring lately, for this very reason.

He unceremoniously shifted you onto the bed next to him—a small, surprised squeak escaping you. His lips twitched at the cute sound, and he briefly forgot what he was doing, what he was mad about. Your hand sneaking onto his lap to squeeze his cock reminded him.

Jack abruptly stood up, placing himself between your open thighs. He gripped your chin, tilting it up so you couldn't look anywhere except his eyes—his desire painting them black, amber flames surrounding the dilated pupils. "You're just making this harder for yourself, sweetheart. You sure there's nothing you wanna say?"

Your eyes dropped down to the tent inches from your face, your fingers twitching with the need to start palming him. "You sure you're not the one making it harder for yourself?" You met his eyes again, watching them narrow menacingly as your innocent smile morphed into a cheeky smirk.

His hand moved from your chin, gripping your cheeks hard and squishing them 'til your lips puckered. "Still haven't learnt your lesson." He pushed your head back, encouraging you to lie back.

He grabbed the sides of your soiled underwear and yanked them down your legs, leaving you completely bare while he was still fully dressed. His hands found your waist, flipping you onto your stomach with ease and pulling you back so your legs were hanging off the bed with your ass in the air.

Your cheeks received one more slap each—Jack really was obsessed with your ass—before you felt his tip prodding at your entrance, slipping down to nudge your clit. You whined at the teasing, pushing your ass back against him. A large hand splayed between your shoulder blades, pressing you into the mattress with force.

"Stay. Still." He ordered through gritted teeth.

Then he plunged in, sinking to the hilt in one thrust. A choked moan lodged in your throat, his size still a shock no matter how many times he stretched you open. He gave you no time to adjust, setting a harsh rhythm, making your hands scramble around on the sheets looking for support.

"So big," you gasped out.

A deep laugh rumbled from him. "So big," he mocked you. "You say that every time."

Skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with his grunts and your mewling. You could feel the fabric of his scrubs on the back of your thighs—the fact he was fucking you while fully clothed sending a shiver down your spine.

Jack picked up on the signs of your impending orgasm straight away, feeling his own tightening his balls. "Hold it," he demanded, slipping a hand under your hips and easily finding your clit. You sobbed into the sheets as he rubbed tight circles, your body locking up in effort to keep your release at bay.

"S'not fair," you whined, high and wrecked. The fire in your core was raging, threatening to set you aflame—Jack's orders be damned.

"Y'know what's not fair?" Jack grunted. "When pretty residents walk around like they own the place." His hand moved from your back, his palm resting on the sheets next to your head. He dropped forward, dragging his lips up your spine, biting down on the curve where your shoulder met your neck. Your eyes rolled back, the pain adding to the dizzying pleasure that was making your whole body ache from holding back. "S'not fair," he mocked you again, "when you make me walk around hard. All. Fucking. Shift." He punctuated the last words with hard thrusts, the force knocking breaths out of you.

"Come in me, Jack, please." You whined, delirious and in need of whatever he'll give you. "Need it s'bad, I'll be good f'you—promise!"

He groaned at your begging, pulling out at the last second to deny you what you were so prettily asking for. Even if he wanted nothing more than to fill you to the brim, this was part of your punishment. He spilled over your ass and lower back, painting your skin in white streaks.

You sobbed at the loss of him, at his hand leaving your burning clit and giving you no relief. He leaned back over you, his mouth hovering right next to your ear. "Aw, you wanna come, sweetheart?" You nodded fervently, tears soaking the sheets below you. He gripped your chin tight, turning your face until your lips were inches from his—your breaths mingling together. "Be a good girl and apologise."

"But I didn't do anything wrong." You whimpered out.

He tutted. "Try again."

His hand returned to your clit, fingers rubbing agonisingly slow figure eights—the fire blooming at full force beneath his touch. He watched the sweat beading at your hairline, the tremors running through your body making his bed shake; you were so determined to not give in, and it only made him inevitably breaking you that much sweeter.

He moved his head, nuzzling into the side of your neck—breathing in your intoxicating scent before he started nipping and sucking at the spot below your ear. And just as he predicted, that was your breaking point. Your body shook harder underneath him, a debauched moan slipping from you lips.

"M'sorry, Jack! I'm so sorry—won't do it again." You whimpered, hips rolling back and forth, trying to hump his hand. "Please—it hurts so bad!"

Satisfied that you finally said you were sorry, he moved off of you—flopping onto his back next to you and not wasting a second to grasp your waist and pull you on top of him. He positioned you so you were hovering over his face, giving you a moment to get your bearings before yanking you down and absolutely devouring you.

Your hands were quick to thread into his curls, tugging hard as you rode his face. Three fingers thrust into you again, this time curling and hitting your g-spot perfectly. The most sinful sounds he'd ever heard fell from your mouth, a sharp cry jolting out of you when his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked hard. You were so close already, the teasing and edging for what felt like hours leaving a painful knot that was ready to unravel violently.

"Jack—oh, fuck!" You shook above him, your body glistening with sweat as you climbed higher. He groaned, marvelling at the sight of you—yeah, he was never going to forget this. It sent vibrations through your pussy and your vision started to blur at the edges. "I'm gonna come—please let me come!"

He doubled his efforts, silently telling you to let go. You threw your head back with a scream, an all-consuming orgasm tearing through your core—ripping every single one of your nerves apart, a new galaxy bursting behind your eyes. You squirted all over Jack's face, his eyes never once leaving your heaving body as he eagerly drank every drop you offered him. He continued fucking his fingers into you, mouthing at your clit as you came down. You tried to lift your hips off his face but he refused, not letting up until overstimulated sobs left you and you begged him to stop.

He sat you on his chest, rubbing his hands along your thighs and hips. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

You returned home feeling both light and heavy—your head light from the brief sub space Jack put you in, your heart heavy because you couldn't do this anymore.

You couldn't do casual, you deserved more. And you knew Jack could never offer you what you truly needed, not when he was so adamant on being alone—which, honestly, was bullshit. He was never alone—choosing to either strap his SWAT vest on or pick up an extra shift in the ED, calling you up when he wanted company sex, refusing to sit in the silence by himself.

You didn't re-download the dating apps right away, content with accepting the fact that you were ready to start looking again. You continued your routine with Jack, albeit with a little less enthusiasm than usual. If he picked up on it, he didn't say anything—it wasn't like you two talked much anyways.

A few weeks later, you were at the Northside Farmers Market with your mom, browsing the stalls before you had to leave for your night shift. It was something the two of you tried to do every other week when your schedules lined up—an old tradition you had as a kid, every Friday going to the market to buy fresh, local ingredients for your family dinner the following Sunday. It stopped when your parents' tumultuous arguments in front of the vendors, the public, tainted something you once held so dear. Now that you were an adult, you were determined to replace those memories with good ones again.

You were at the baker's stall, exchanging idle chit-chat with Billie—the vendor—when a tall man approached the stall. Billie's face lit up at the sight of him, the older woman rounding the counter to pull him into a hug.

"Ollie," she said, pulling back and swatting his arm lightly. "I should be mad at you, y'know. You work how many blocks away, and you're only visiting your Ma now?"

You turned to the man in surprise, watching his cheeks flush red. He was older than you—most likely in his forties, if you were to guess from the few grey hairs streaking his dark beard. He was ruggedly handsome but tamed—his clothes looking like he would fit in on a farm, but the stitching on his jacket told you he would've paid at least a couple hundred for it.

Before he could respond, Billie looked between the both of you—the smile of a cunning mother overtaking her face. She placed a hand on his bicep, turning to you. "This is my son Oliver, he works at Westbridge as an anesthesiologist. If I remember correctly, you work at a hospital, don't you?" Oliver turned to you fully then, kind green eyes looking you up and down in pleasant surprise.

You smiled bashfully. "Yes, you remember correctly. I'm a third year resident at PTMC, specialising in Emergency Medicine." Oliver held out a hand and you shook it, offering him your name.

Billie returned to the other side of her stall, helping out with another customer. You and Oliver stepped to the side, falling into easy conversation about your jobs. Time passed quickly, and before you knew it your warning alarm to leave for your shift was going off. Oliver politely asked if he could get your number—saying that it's been really nice talking to you, and that he would love to get to know you more over a coffee or dinner sometime. You happily gave it to him with the smallest flutter in your chest—something in the shape of hope.

You found your mom at the books & records stall, gushing to her about the handsome man you just met.

"People hardly meet organically anymore!" She exclaimed, looping her arm through yours, the two of you practically squealing as you left the market.

Not even an hour later, you were standing at the Hub, talking to Lena about the parents in North Three with a degree in medicine from Google University, when your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out to see a text from an unknown number.

7:15pm

[phone]: It was really great meeting you today, I would love to take you out for dinner one night soon if you're interested [phone]: I completely understand if our schedules don't match up, no pressure at all :) [phone]: This is Oliver, by the way. If that wasn't obvious already haha

"I know that look," Lena singsonged, pointing an accusatory finger at your face. You looked up from your phone to see a sly smirk on her face. "Who's the guy?"

You looked away, biting your lip to suppress the smile you didn't realise had bloomed across your face. "It's no one, really. We only met, like, an hour ago."

"Ah, young love," the older nurse swooned. "Let me know how it goes, hon." Then she was throwing you a wink and calling after Vivi who was rushing past.

Luckily, you and Oliver figured out you both had the following Friday off and made plans to go to a family-owned Italian restaurant—not too intimate, not too casual. You kept the date to yourself—not even telling your mom—in fear of jinxing it. The two of you exchanged a handful of texts before your date, each one making you feel more giddy about your upcoming date.

You went to Jack's once in the week before your date with Oliver—cutting your usual three nights a week down to one, claiming that you were feeling too unwell the other nights. Which technically wasn't a lie, the guilt was starting to make you feel uneasy. You reminded yourself that you had no reason to feel guilty—you and Jack weren't dating, weren't exclusive, and you hadn't even been on a date with Oliver yet. But even with your reasoning, there was something clenching your chest and curdling your gut. You reminded yourself that you and Jack were just coworkers who used each other for stress relief; you didn't tell Shen about your date, so why would you tell Abbot?

The guilt stayed with you as you got ready for the date—feeling like you were trying to cover a cold secret with someone else's warmth. Your thoughts were briefly distracted when your phone pinged with a text.

7:03pm

Abbot: Come over to mine tonight. 9pm.

You: Sorry, can't tonight. I have plans.

Abbot: 👍

You scoffed at his response, your previous guilt evaporating in an instant. This was what you needed—the reminder that you deserved more than what Jack could give you.

You walked into the restaurant just before seven thirty, feeling like you had something to prove—to yourself or to someone else, you weren't sure.

The date went well—great, even. Oliver was charming, but also humble—mentioning his less than glamorous upbringing, how he got into med school on a scholarship, that the first thing he did with his first big paycheck was pay off part of his parent's mortgage.

You bonded over the struggle that was med school, the failing healthcare system, the weirdest cases you've worked on. Dinner continued into dessert, then another bottle of wine, but there was still a tension in the back of your head. It had you turning your head when he leaned in to kiss you, his lips brushing your cheek instead of your lips. It had you comparing the hand on your bare shoulder to another hand, one that wore a dark ring and knew exactly how to touch you.

You parted ways with tentative plans for a second date; the next time your nights off aligned wasn't for another two weeks, and you both didn't want to put too much pressure on a set date just yet.

You visited your mom the next day for lunch, filling her in on all the details about your date. She was ecstatic for you, claiming that she always knew the market was going to pay you back somehow.

Monday rolled around quickly, and you walked into your shift ten minutes early like you always did—allowing yourself a few minutes to catch up with your aunt before she went home. Dana was at the Hub as usual, complaining to Robby about the nurse shortage and the pressure it was putting on her people.

She looked over as you approached the counter, her face morphing into a smirk that you knew meant she had been talking to your mom.

"Hey, doll. How was your weekend?" She emphasised the question with a small wink. "Your mom told me you had a handsome date on Friday."

You rolled your eyes at her fondly. "I should've known she'd tell you as soon as I left on Saturday."

Dana rounded the counter and slung an arm around your shoulder. "It wasn't straight away, she waited until we had dinner that night." You laughed with a small shake of your head. "Don't leave me hanging, how was it?"

Robby was still stood behind the counter with his arms crossed, partially paying attention to you and your aunt. His face was pulled into a puzzled expression as he observed Jack standing not far behind you—clearly eavesdropping on your conversation with Dana, a small frown furrowing his brows and setting his mouth in a straight line. It wasn't really eavesdropping since you were both talking at a normal volume, any of your colleagues passing by would've heard your conversation.

What Robby found odd was that Jack had stopped walking on his way to the lockers to listen, one hand frozen on his bag strap and the other curled into a tight fist at his side. His cheek twitched in the way that meant something was bothering him, and Robby came to the chilling realisation that Jack was jealous. Over you—Dana's niece.

You started recounting the date to Dana, a giddy smile stretching your lips. It felt good to be openly wanted by someone, to not be a secret kept in the dark—to be something other than a stress relief booty call.

Robby watched in unease as Jack continued to stand as still as a statue, the vein in his forehead starting to bulge as a dark red crept up his neck.

Robby grabbed a tablet and casually rounded the Hub's counter, trying not to draw your attention. He started towards the North rooms, grabbing Jack's bicep in an iron grip and forcing him through the North Bay doors.

Once safely out of your earshot, he turned to his friend with a scolding glare.

"What the fuck did you do?"

Jack was pretty damn proud of himself. He managed to get to the end of his shift without blowing up at you once. It was due to Robby's threat ringing in his ears for the most part—having your best friend threaten to castrate you with a dead serious face tends to lower your anger to a simmer.

Jack hadn't uttered a word to Robby, the guilt and jealously written all over his face told him enough. Robby kindly reminded him that he was the least of Jack's worries—if Dana found out he so much as touched a hair on your head, losing his dick would be sweet relief compared to what she'd do.

So, Jack treated you as normal—ignoring the stabbing in his chest, the beast in his gut demanding to be let out.

There were less than ten minutes left of his shift when he caught sight of you talking to Lena at the north nurse's station.

Keep walking, he told himself. His feet didn't seem to get the memo.

"I meant to ask," Lena said, leaning her arms on the counter. "Any update on Market Guy?"

Robby had dragged Jack away before he heard the full recount of your date to Dana, which he had been both grateful for and disappointed by. He needed to know like he needed air to breathe—which was a terrifying realisation to him.

"We went out for dinner on Friday," you replied, biting your lip to hold back yet another smile. "It was really nice. He was a total gentleman, very charming, pretty down to earth." Lena nodded along, hanging off of every word. "We're planning a second date for when our schedules next align."

That was it for Jack. His vision clouded with a red fog, the beast in his gut rearing its head and breaking out. He stormed over to the two of you, gripping your upper arm.

"We need to talk," he bit out, ignoring the shocked look Lena gave him.

He didn't wait for your response, pulling you towards the only empty Central room. Once the door was closed, you struggled in his hold, trying to rip your arm free.

"Let go of me, Dr. Abbot." You demanded as calmly as you could, your heart beat quickening at the storm rolling over his face. He let go but stepped closer, crowding your personal space.

"That's why you couldn't see me on Friday? Because you had a date?" He seethed through clenched teeth.

You stepped back, anger starting to grip your chest. "I'm sorry—what?"

He followed you, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Did you sleep with him?"

"How the fuck is that any of your business?"

Unbeknownst to the both of you, the day shift had started filtering in—Robby and Dana finding their command posts at the Hub. Dana was the first to notice the two of you in Central Seven, her eyebrows drawing together at the furious look on your face.

"Hey," she said to Robby, getting his attention. She nodded towards where you and Jack looked like you were having a heated discussion. "You know what's going on with them?"

Robby followed her eyeline, tensing as he saw what he prayed wouldn't happen within the walls of his ED. He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head. "Uh, no, not a clue."

Dana eyed him suspiciously. "Well, do you mind telling them we have patients who could use that room?"

"I'd rather not go in there."

Dana slowly turned to him, levelling him with a glare. "Michael Robinavitch, what aren't you telling me?"

Back in the room, your hands were starting to shake from anger, and Jack's head was throbbing from holding back the full wrath of his jealousy.

"I have the right to know if you're screwing other people."

You let out a humourless laugh. "Are you kidding me right now? You don't have the right to know shit!"

Jack's cheek twitched. "Yes I do. You said no to me to see some other guy."

"Oh, what—so I'm meant to come running at your beck and call?"

His jaw flexed and he opened his mouth, but your anger and disbelief at the situation had taken over.

"This has just been one big waste of time! I don't want casual anymore—not with you, not with anyone."

Jack opened his mouth before he could think better of it. "I didn't hear you complaining when you opened your legs for me."

A crack echoed throughout the room, the sound of your palm slapping Jack's cheek filling the tension riddled air. "You're a fucking asshole, Jack Abbot."

You shoulder checked him as you rushed out the door, refusing to let him see the tears streaming down your cheeks. You hurried past the Hub, not noticing Dana and Robby watching you with shock painting their faces. Your hand was tingling from the impact, your vision blurring as you made your way out the ambulance bay doors.

Dana didn't stop to think, storming into Central Seven where Jack was staring at the ground—his hand rubbing his tender cheek.

"What the fuck did you do to my baby?" She demanded, her voice dangerously low.

Shit.

The cold morning air made the tears staining your cheeks sting slightly, the sensation grounding and stopping you from completely falling apart. You never cried over a man—it was a rule you made for yourself when you were young, after seeing how your dad would make your mom fall apart at least once a week. They weren't worth your tears.

You wanted to charge back into the ED and slap Jack again for making you cry.

You stayed sitting on the ground with your back against the brick wall until your tears dried, until your breaths evened out and didn't hurt on their way out your lungs. You tensed when you heard uneven steps approach you—there was only one person whose steps sounded like that.

Your head shot up as he sat down opposite you, glaring daggers at him. He raised his hands placatingly.

"Please don't hit me, I'm here to apologise." When you didn't make a move to leave or attack him, he slowly lowered his hands. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean what I said—to imply that you were easy."

"Then why did you say it?" Fuck, you hated how small your voice sounded.

He let out a long breath, looking up at the sky. "Because I was mad—upset." He looked back at you, his eyes softer than you'd ever seen them. "I didn't know that's how you felt…you never said anything to me."

"How could I when you barely speak to me? You just fuck me and then push me into an uber. Really makes a girl feel special," you shook your head, wrapping your arms around your chest—starting to feel exposed. "I can't read your mind, Jack. You can't tell me you want casual one day and the next get mad because I went on a date."

He had the decency to look ashamed, wincing and squeezing his eyes shut. "That's fair. I don't really have any excuses, no good ones at least."

You sighed, your head feeling heavy and starting to throb. "I don't need excuses; I just want to know why. Why you act like you don't know me, why you won't—" your voice dropped, wobbling slightly. "Why you won't kiss or hug me. I mean," you let out a bitter chuckle, "do you even know what aftercare is?"

He started to twist his ring around his finger, his mouth moving side to side as he struggled to find the right words to say. "Kissing and hugging felt too intimate—felt like things I couldn't take back." He looked up at you again, his eyes glassy. "I didn't want to admit to myself that I had—have—feelings for you, and the thought of kissing you…I mean I've thought about it a lot—to the point it's been driving me insane." He rubbed a hand along his jaw, a huffed laugh leaving him. "I was worried that by kissing you I wouldn't be able to let go, and that terrified me. It meant you could become another photo I keep in my nightstand."

You knew what he was talking about—you had opened it while looking for tissues, finding a collection of photographs in the drawer. You tried not to snoop, but you were fairly certain one of them was his wife and a couple others were his old army buddies.

"I get that, I do. The universe has handed you more than enough grief and hardship for one lifetime." You stood up, closing the distance between you and sitting next to him. "But that isn't solely your decision to make, Jack. You've been hurting us both by keeping your feelings to yourself." You brought your knees up, hugging them to your chest and resting your cheek on them. "And, honestly? A girl needs kisses and cuddles after coming four times in one night; a sub drop can be pretty brutal."

Jack's guilt multiplied tenfold. "Shit. Fuck, I'm sorry—I didn't even think about that." He shifted slightly, turning to look at you fully. "I would like to try again, if you'll let me. No casual bullshit, no pretending like I don't think about you all the time. Lots of kissing and cuddling—and orgasms, so many orgasms."

It was then that you noticed the ice pack in Jack's hands, resting over his groin. You couldn't stop the snort that slipped out. "I see you had a chat with Dana."

"Don't know if I would call it a chat. She's got a harder kick than I was expecting."

You hummed. "Just be glad you didn't get to experience her right hook—she gave my dad a black eye when she found out he was cheating on my mom. And she won't hesitate to give you one if you hurt me again."

His eyes were shining, hope swirling around the honey gold and sunlit green. "Does that mean you'll give me another chance?"

"Yes," you replied, letting the small smile break through. "But no sex until I think you deserve it."

Jack nodded, his own megawatt smile putting the sun to shame. "You're in charge here, sweetheart." He leaned in slowly, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "Can I kiss you, at least?"

You barely managed a nod before his mouth descended on yours, his lips achingly tender. He moved slowly, basking in the warmth he had been denying himself of for so long. A cold hand came up to cup your cheek and you jerked away in surprise, making him laugh and apologise before diving back in, settling the hand on your back to pull you in closer.

"I was right," he mumbled against your lips. "There's no way I'm letting go now."

a/n: i'm running away now byeeee

[kaletastrophes]

“I’ve probably said it too many times now but I don’t think you should throw a drowning man a baby. It doesn’t seem like a good logical thing to do for either [Robby or Baby Jane Doe]. I think Robby went home and wished that he had the capacity to be someone who could have taken that baby home for a little while. And that was probably one of the things that nagged at him along that trip, ‘if you wish you were better then why wouldn’t you come back and try?’”

-Noah Wyle on Robby and baby Jane doe

[liltrinkets]

jack abbot talks to your cunt as if it’s sentient. coos a “hi pretty girl” towards her when he spreads your legs, compliments her for tasting so good, for being so wet. spanks her when she’s being naughty. if you try to chime in, he just shoves his fingers, or your panties, or a gag in your mouth. he’s not interested in what you have to say. he’s talking to his favorite girl.

[splattergutz]

young rabbot but it’s robby suffering from severe ptsd from working at charity during hurricane katrina while dragging an angry & suicidal jack through recovery after his leg amputation. robby seeing no point in living while desperately trying to keep jack alive. robby having flashbacks of trying to save the unsaveable while jack is haunted by that war torn look in robby’s eyes that he’s seen in far too many of his dead friends.

[splattergutz]

robby is soo fucking funny in s2 the way he outright lies to everyone about wearing a helmet even though he deadass walks in not holding a helmet & when jack is like hey robby so it seems like you’ve announced to the entire ED that you’re killing yourself want to explain that & robby just says well who knows what the future has in store for any of us LIKE😭😭genuinely playing in these people’s faces no remorse

[viagoh]

mr. h is a collector of funky neckties and garfield posters btw

[superhoeva]

there’s something about jack abbot’s face being the first you’ve ever ridden that really gets him going.

jeez, you were so reluctant in the beginning—kept trying to hold your weight up on your own, despite him rasping from between your thighs for you to “ease on down,” with his palms at your thighs and squeezing because it really is okay.

you’re worried about suffocating him and pressing on this head too tight and and and–

huh. funny enough, all those concerns seem to melt away the second jack nudges you close enough to finally taste.

he can feel you relax and sag with each wide lap and wet suckle, little gasps hiccuping out of you like you’re trying not to cry. based on the way you have to grip the headboard when he drags his jaw a certain direction, you're more than enjoying the stubble he's been growing out.

broad strokes and tiny flicks. flat circles and sloppy kisses. dips inside your hole and loud slurps.

jack pulls out all the stops to keep you grinding across his face, not that you end up needing much help. your hips willed away whatever concerns you held to get you riding him how he'd wanted. how you deserved, with no shame, while he makes out with the places he's been thinking about since he last tasted it.

"see? i told you," the doctor pants between pointed traces around your nub with mixed globs of spit and slick. "not so bad, huh?"

you respond with a focused roll of your hips and reach to drag a couple fingers through his curls. jack doesn't see you peek down or furrow your brows at the pace you're managing to keep.

jack could cry when he feels you pull away fully for the first time since you sat down, all wet-faced and frowny as he looks to where you're leaning to the side.

"what's wrong? you good?"

bobbing your head with a nod, you huff. "yeah. it's just-my legs."

"what, baby? they sore?"

another nod, pouted, from you has him licking his lips. trying not to smile.

"s'okay. come back up here for me. don’t worry about movin’, i got it."

just like the sweet thing you are, you come right back to him. nice and warm within the knead he presses into your ass, you sink onto the heat of his mouth, promptly having to gasp.

these licks are slower. precise. somehow sloppier than before, when you compress your thighs so tight that it changes jack perception of sound, he grunts in victory.

found ya.

jack holds you steady, happy to do the work himself. dare he even call it that?

‘work.’

it’s more like a gift, you and your taste. plus those glorious noises you’ve been better about letting free ever since you and he had that talk about letting loose. not to mention how you’re really gushing, now, and you even haven’t come yet.

soon.

real soon, then again, if you’ll allow. gotta make this first time special.

[alexisneverokay]

who antisemitic and media illiterate pitt "fans" think is pulling the strings and making everyone suffer:

who is ACTUALLY pulling the strings, making everybody miserable, and is the only antagonist in the pitt:

[dearjuliett]

need to feel his nose against my [redacted] and then i wanna rub it in my [censured] so i can [inaudible] on his [sound of glass chattering] and then i will [ships horn]

[ceriseangels]

MICHAEL ROBINAVITCH is a boob guy, and has to make it everyone's problem.

CONTAINS: 3.6k words, SMUT 18+ MDNI, subby!daddy!robby, boob guy!robby, heavyyy use of daddy, reader cries from pleasure, squirting, fingering, insane dirty talk, not proofread! based on this post <3

MASTERLIST | INBOX | LATEST WORK

It starts with the clack of your pretty kitten heels along Robby's hardwood floor. The sound is Pavlovian to him at this point, you can tell by the way his neck is already craning towards the hallway, from which you exit in a brand new dress.

A soft, buttery yellow cinches your waist, flows around your hips. You flex your hands at your sides, a sort of presentation for your lover— clad in plaid pajama pants, a loose university tee hanging off his broad shoulders, round glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"What do you think?" You chirp, giving him a little spin.

By the time you've completed your 360, his head is hanging back, Adam's apple bobbing as he squeezes his eyes shut.

"You look perfect, honey," he coos, and your belly warms.

"Thank you, handsome," you reply, sauntering over to the couch.

Perching yourself on his knee, you get comfortable as a big hand reaches out to steady your back. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in to rest your forehead against his.

He puckers his lips, and you place a finger over them.

"Not now, lip gloss," you whisper, and he groans.

"Baby, y're killing me," he croons, ghosting his lips over your face.

Scrunching your nose, you giggle as you try to dodge him, only for the sake of your meticulous makeup.

"Mikeyyyy," you whine, wiggling around on his lap. "Spent too much time on this face, no kisses!"

Your heart breaks as his face falls, a small pout jutting his lips. You mirror him, glossy lips teasing him as you squeeze his bicep with your manicured fingers.

"Love you so much, Mikey," you purr, tracing a nail up his skin. Goosebumps erupt across his skin at your touch, and your heart flutters with love, and a small sense of pride. "So patient," you praise, and his eyes flutter shut.

"Love you, my sweet girl," he whispers, burying his face in your neck.

His lips ghost over your skin, a shiver unzipping your spine. The tip of his nose follows, dragging up the length of your neck, then back down again.

"Can I kiss you here?" He asks, placing a tentative kiss to your collarbone. "Don't got any shit on down here, do you?" He asks, dotting kisses along your chest.

Closing your eyes, you arch your back into him, emphasizing his favorite parts of you. Your plush tits rustle against the silk fabric of your dress, nipples peeking through the fabric.

Robby catches this, and it seems to snap him out of whatever reprieve your perfume put him in. The room turns cold, but not dreadful. In fact, a jolt of excitement races up your spine, the darkness in his eyes all too inviting.

"You're going out without a bra on?" He growls, sinking his teeth into the curve of your breast.

All he's afforded are the parts that peek out of the low cut fabric, the plush upper cut of your tit nearly hypnotizing him.

"Yeah," you answer, scraping your nails along the back of his neck. "That okay, Daddy?"

"Fuuucckk," he rasps against your skin, nipping and sucking along your neck. "Can't fuckin' say that to me when we don't have the time for me to rip you apart."

His hand slides up your thighs with his words, resting at the apex of them, just to tease you. Butterflies erupt in your tummy at his touch, the sweet, sadistic twinkle in his eye.

"I look pretty?" You goad, knowing the answer.

He tells you this, his head craning to the side before he confirms your question anyway.

"So pretty, honey," he presses another kiss, now to your shoulder. "My pretty girl, yeah?"

"Yeah, Daddy," you whine, your earlier teasing completely removed from your tone now.

He chuckles, a mean, low rumble in the pit of his chest. You wiggle on his lap, whining and squeezing him closer to you.

"You're really gonna go out like this, baby?" He asks, playing with the flimsy strap of your dress. "Gonna really go show your tits to everyone? Thought those were just for your daddy."

He's pouting, eyes shining as he rests his cheek against your chest. He looks up at you through his lashes, and your heart positively pounds against your ribcage.

"Love you, Mikey," you coo, stroking his cheek. "They're always for you, y'know that, honey."

He pouts, closing his eyes and pressing his lips against your skin.

"But you're leaving," he whines, and your breath is knocked from your chest.

This is a new side of Robby, his whining, his thrashing underneath your thighs. His hard length is prominent, too, rubbing against your dress, desperate and heady.

"Yeah, I am," you mutter, sticky sweet and dripping with syrupy love. "But you're gonna be okay, hm?"

He nods against you, wrapping his arms around your waist, squeezing you tight.

"Gotta wait so long to cum, baby, fuck," he complains. "So mean to me."

"I know," you pout, pinching his sweet cheek. "I'm so mean…so unfortunate that you have a hot girl half your age on your lap sticking her tits in your face."

He barks a laugh at this, your joke breaking him out of his seemingly-subby daze. You can't help but join in, a wide smile cracking your lips, heart immensely full with the love you hold for the man worshiping you.

"Don't be long," he mutters, releasing you from his grip. "I'll be thinking about you the whole time."

You look down at him, your skin warming above his intense gaze.

"Same here," you quip, heart shining with his affection. "I love you, Mikey."

"I love you too," he calls back on your way out.

"Keep the Viagra nearby!" You chirp on your way out, chuckling to yourself at his heady groan.

- A few hours later, you stumble back across the threshold, the little bit of tipsiness wearing off with each step. Robby's still in the same spot you left him in, though this time he's got his phone to his ear, pouty lips and glossy eyes.

"Oh thank God," he groans, rolling his eyes and hanging up the phone, tossing it on the other side of the couch.

"Hi, baby," he smiles up at you, hands crawling over your hips. "Missed you so much, Jack was about to kill me."

You giggle, cupping his face in your palms.

"Were you on the phone with him this whole time?" You ask, brows shooting into your forehead.

"I made it about ten minutes before I called him, but basically, yeah," he mutters, cheeks tinting pink as he settles into your tummy.

"Love you, Mikey," you whisper, pressing a kiss to his head. "Missed you."

"Missed you so much," he whimpers, pressing a kiss into the silky fabric of your dress. "So pretty, missed this body, honey."

"I was only gone for a couple hours, big boy," you tease, knowing full well you missed him just as much.

You sink to your knees, in between his legs, now at eye level with him. You take a moment, reveling in his desperate face. Wide, brown eyes, pouting lips, tired brows.

"Still missed you," he rasps, leaning forward to bury his face in your neck. "Missed your pretty tits, honey."

He cups you through your dress, his callous hands rasping through the thin fabric.

"Just walked around letting anyone see you like this? So fuckin' unfair, baby," he groans, pressing sloppy kisses to your skin. Your eyes flutter shut atop your cheeks, a deep breath racking your chest.

"Bunch of guys your age…" He rambles, slinking your dress strap off your shoulder. "Probably looking at my girl's tits…" He mutters, the other strap coming free. "Wishing they could get their mouth on you…"

"Michael-" You whine, and he tuts his tongue.

"Am I wrong?" He cuts you off. "Am I wrong? Look me in the eyes and tell me guys weren't staring at you."

You twist your lips, knowing you can't, and he sees it in your eyes. He smirks, an evil, sardonic expression that takes over his entire face.

"Y'wanna know how I know that, baby?" He asks, pushing the dress down your torso, standing you up to bury his face in your tummy again.

"How, Mikey?" You relent, shaky and watery.

"Because," he peppers kisses across your tummy, massaging your tits. "I see how guys look at you when we go out. I see the men who look at you on my arm, who wish they could take you from me."

You shudder, butterflies erupting in your tummy at his words, his rough palms dragging along your nipples.

"Imagining it when I'm not there?" He laughs at the sheer thought. "It's enough to make me sick, baby. You're just so pretty, can't fucking help it."

He looks up at you then, eyes shining with a desperation you don't think you've ever seen before. It breaks your resolve, that look, crashing your lips to his.

You melt into each other, frantic hands sliding your dress the rest of the way off, leaving you in nothing but a lacy white thong.

Robby pulls away, registering what lies before him, before letting out a long, tortured groan. He buries his face in your tummy once more, pressing kisses along the waistband of your panties.

"You're so fucking pretty, baby, oh my God," he moans, hooking his finger beneath the waistband, letting it snap against your skin.

You jump, a small whimper falling from your lips. This satisfies Robby, who places his two, large hands on the globes of your ass, pulling you onto his lap.

You slot into his body like a puzzle piece, eager to get him undressed, inside you. You lick your lips as you look down on him, his hands gathering at your breasts once again.

Pressing your foreheads together, your heart flutters at the proximity. He's so close, his woodsy cologne and smoky aftershave flooding your senses — a devastating combination that leaves you weak in the knees, and wet between your thighs.

He shoves his hands there, next, delving into your wetness with a selfish greed that sends your eyes rolling into your skull. Expert fingers find your clit, swirling over your nerves with fervor.

"Ah!" You whine, clutching his neck in your arms, wrapping yourself up in him. "Mikey, that's so good."

It's whispered against his neck, sends shivers down his spine. You smile against his skin at the way he reacts to you, pressing sweet kisses along his thick shoulder.

"Love you honey," he confesses. It's breathy, his eyes fluttering shut with his words.

"Take my panties off," you beg against his neck, kissing and kissing and kissing him. "Please, wanna feel all of you."

"Got you, baby, I got you," he assures, slipping the fabric down your legs. "Don't ever gotta beg with me, understand?"

You nod against him, and he lands a harsh crack on your ass. You lurch further into him, a whine ripping from your throat.

"Words, princess," he demands. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Daddy," you whine, wiggling your hips further into his touch. "I'm sorry, feels so good."

The newfound freedom Robby finds with your panties off is exhilarating, his fingers maneuvering your folds any way he likes.

"Good job," he coos, sweet and loving. "So good for me, always so good. Love you so much, hm?"

You nod against his neck, murmuring a sweet, "Love you too, Mikey, love you so much."

"Yeah?" He whines, his still-clothed length throbbing against your thigh. "You do? You love me so much?"

You nod, desperate and eager.

"So much, angel, you're my guy, love you so much," you croak, watery from the pleasure.

"God, fuck!" He nearly shouts, squeezing his eyes shut as he turns his head, pressing a kiss to the first piece of you he can find. "I'm your guy, baby? I'm your fuckin' guy?"

"Yes- oh!" You gasp, the tip of his middle finger pressing into your entrance. "Yes! Yes! The only one for me, my only guy, I love you."

"That's what I like to hear, baby," he croons, pressing sweet kisses along your shoulders, your back. "You're my girl, you know that? My best girl, I love you so much honey. So fucking lucky to have you, you have no idea."

Tears prick at the back of your lids, a culmination of the pleasure and love Robby brings you. It's overwhelming, and yet you can't get enough.

"Please, I need more, Mikey, please give me more," you whine, sinking your hips further onto his hand.

"Yeah? Want another finger, honey?" He asks, slipping in his ring finger before you can give him an answer.

"Oh my God!" You wail, squeezing your eyes shut as the tears finally fall. "Thank you, Daddy, thank you, thank you-oh!"

You jolt, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot with just the right amount of pressure.

"I love being your girl, Daddy," you whine against him. "You were right, y'know? Guys were looking. Some even approached me-ooh!"

Robby's fingers speed up, electricity running through your veins.

"Are you fuckin' serious, baby?" He growls, cracking hand down on your ass.

You sniffle, whining at the pleasure that courses through you.

"Yeah," you say, sweet and innocent. You rest your cheek on his shoulder, enough to look up at him, and for him to look back at you.

He melts when he sees your watery eyes, the mascara streaks down your cheeks. He presses some kisses there, tongue darting out to trace the dark tracks along your face.

"Yeah," you sigh. "There were a lot of them, maybe six different guys tried to buy me a drink."

He growls under his breath, thumb finding your clit to get you even closer to the edge. He ruts his hips up into your ass, his length hard and bulbous, throbbing against your warm skin.

"All I could think about was you, Daddy," you finish, the coil in your belly pulling tight. "Told them all no, told them my old man was waiting at home for me."

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back.

"Fuck!" He shouts, fingers moving now at lightning speed. "You already have me fucking close, baby, holy shit."

You breathe out a laugh, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

"Love you Daddy, can I cum?" You ask, just to push his buttons a little more.

He presses his thumb into your clit a little more, unzipping a shiver down your spine as you creep closer to the edge.

"What did I say about fuckin' askin' me questions?" He growls against your temple. "Hm? You gonna cum? Please, honey. Want to taste you, you gonna let your old man taste this pretty pussy?"

"Oh fuck, oh Jesus, fuck yes, there, just like that, yes!" You wail, squeezing your eyes shut, a fresh wave of tears rolling down your face as you give in to the ache, the release.

The world stops on its axis as you explode into the pleasure. A blinding ache rolls through you, guttural whines racking through you as you wiggle your hips against Robby's fingers.

"That's it, thaaat's it, good girl, good girl," he coos, pressing endless kisses against your temple as the waves shock your body.

"Oh, fuck, oh my God," you whimper, the last few trails of fire running through you.

Slumping against him, you let him chuckle, lift you and bring you to your bedroom. Locking your legs around his waist, you cling to him and let him maneuver you.

He plops you on the bed, ripping his shirt over his head as you prop yourself up on your forearms. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, a sardonic smile forming.

"Get your pants off, old guy," you tease, his brows shooting into his forehead.

"Ohhhohoho," he chuckles, sliding them down his hips. "First the Viagra, now this?"

He kneels on the bed, the sheer size of him imposing, dizzying. You nod, teeth sinking into your lip.

"Bad fuckin' girl," he rasps, stroking his cock once, twice, three times before lining himself up with your entrance. "But you like being my bad girl, don't you?"

You nod, resting your cheek on your palm, looking up at him with your sweetest eyes.

"Love it, love you, Daddy," you breathe, puckering your lips for him. "Love being with you like this."

That last part is a whisper, a soft confession of your affection, your devotion.

"God," he breathes, shaky and raspy. "Love you so much, God, you're fuckin' perfect. Do you know how perfect you are?"

You shake your head, cheeks heating, still not used to his ever-present love for you, your body.

"That's so fucked up," a sardonic chuckle escapes his chest. "Maybe I'm not lovin' on you enough. 'S that it?"

He pushes his head in, your jaw going slack, a gasp echoing from your throat. Your eyes flutter shut, head falling back into the pillow.

"Hey, look at me," he demands, a sweet little tap against your cheek breaking you out of you reprieve. "Look up at Daddy, look at me and answer my fuckin' question."

"No, God! Daddy it's enough, you're enough, Daddy, love you so much," you wail, wiggling your hips in a sad attempt to swallow more of him.

"Ooh, we're desperate tonight," he coos in awe. "I love you, baby. but y're lyin' to me. Clearly I'm not doing enough, or else you'd realize how sexy you are."

You're so distracted by his words, that you barely even register that he's bottomed out inside you, brain fuzzy.

"Daddyyyyy," you draw out, lips pouting. He kisses it away, starting to rock his hips.

"I know, I know, honey," he coos, tilting his head to the side. "Such a good girl, my fuckin' good girl."

You nod, digging your fingers into his shoulders as he finds his rhythm. Jaw going slack, your eyes flutter shut as his thick length works you out.

"God, you should fuckin' see this, baby," he grunts, eyes trained on his cock slipping in and out, in and out. "Pussy swallows me up so perfectly, so proud of you, love you so much."

You whimper, clutching his plush hips, pressing him further into you. This new angle sends his tip right into your g-spot, punching out a sharp whine from your lips.

"Ooh, there's your spot, good job, honey, way to take what you want," he rambles, dipping his tongue into your collarbone.

He picks up his speed, not changing his angle so he pounds into you over and over and over again. You're dazed, light headed and drowning in the pleasure, even dizzier when he stimulates your clit.

The pressure is unrelenting, intense as you thrash underneath him, kicking your legs out while your tummy flips.

"You got it," he encourages, knowing your body better than you do. "You can do it, please let go for me, baby."

You whine, brows furrowed sweetly. He coos, kissing you all over your face.

"Daddy, it-I feel like I'm gonna pee," you look up at him with wild eyes, the pressure in your lower belly almost too much.

"That's okay," he coos, kissing your nose. "Tell me if you want to stop, but even if you do pee, I don't care. As long as it feels good, get Daddy as wet as you need."

You squeeze your eyes shut, relenting into the pleasure that continues building inside you.

"I know you're close, you can do it. I love you so much, can you show me how much you love me? Can you cum on Daddy's cock?" He asks, voice sticky sweet.

The release is intense, more so than normal. Squeezing your eyes shut, you groan, desperate and guttural. You relax into the mattress as a warm, gushy splash echoes between you and Robby.

"Holy shit! Oh fuck, ohhh fuck! Good fucking girl, I'm gonna cum, yes! Fuck!" Robby grunts, hips stuttering into your own as his cock throbs inside you.

"Yes! Yes, Daddy! Oh God, Daddy, it's so much, feels so good," the tears are back again, rolling down your cheeks as you wail, thrash around him.

The pressure of your release is unrelenting, all consuming as it wracks through you. Luckily, Robby's there, kissing you and cooing at you and shushing you.

"Fuck yes, pussy's so sweet, baby, squirted all over me, good fuckin' job," he grunts, hips stuttering as he comes down from his own high.

It takes a moment for his words to sink in to your brain, and when it does, your eyes shoot open.

"I squirted?" You ask, only earning you a laugh from the man above you.

"Yeah, y'did baby, so proud of you," he leans down to kiss you, and you melt into him.

An intense relaxation falls over you, your eyes unable to open, even after he pulls his lips away.

"Love you, Daddy," you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck, keeping him close. "Love making you proud."

"Yeah, you do, everyday, you're my good fuckin' girl," he praises, running his hands up and down your thighs, up to your ass.

He slips his length out, and you whine at the new wave of vulnerability that hits your pussy, the cool air making you shiver.

"Oh, honey," he frowns, sardonic and condescending. "Oh my sweet girl, I'm gonna get you cleaned up in a little bit, here, just gotta watch this for sec, good God."

You whine, thrash around the bed as his spend leaks out of you, his animalistic gaze refusing to let up.

"I love you, Mikey," you whine, and he smiles.

"Love you too, baby," he slots over you once again, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. "Wanna go shower? Maybe I can lick you clean while we're in there."

You're out of bed in record speed, tugging his wrist towards the bathroom. You're in for a long night.

[winteryn]

ON DATING A GEN X MAN michael robinavitch x girlfriend!reader [24k]

— ⟢ SUMMARY: a collection of moments between old man!robby and mid-20s girlfriend!reader. — ⟢ WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI; she/her pronouns for reader; age gap; original characters (reader’s friends); reader is mentioned to wear a bikini, a dress & lingerie; size difference (robby is mentioned to be broad + taller than reader); brief mention of high school bullying; kinda spoilers for mean girls?; mention of drinking wine (they’re a little tipsy in the sex scene); hints at robby being in therapy; domestic fluff; lots of pet names (old man is used affectionately, of course); protective!robby; whipped!robby; robby’s belly appreciation (& some belly humping); smut (with a brief moment of angst & insecurity right in the middle, sorry); nipple play & sucking as a self-soothing behavior; mention of squirting; brief mention of using viagra; oral (f); fingering; brief ass slapping; pussy pronouns; doggy style; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); creampie.

A/N: this is entirely self-indulgent and was definitely supposed to be wayyy shorter and lighter, but then I just kept adding things and this came out. sorry if some paragraphs are too long but the 1000 block limit is a pain in the ass. the moments are not in chronological order! hope you’ll enjoy!

OLD MAN!ROBBY AND HIS WILD HIGH SCHOOL DAYS

Dinner is usually one of the few moments of the day when neither of you touches your phones. It’s an unspoken habit that settled early into your relationship: no television humming in the background, no scrolling through emails, or social media. Just the two of you sitting across from each other, talking about your day over whatever you had managed to throw together right after your study session, given that Robby is more often than not needed at the hospital well beyond the end of his shift.

Which is why now he looks back and forth from his plate to you with mild curiosity, because you keep glancing down at your screen between bites, your brows pinched together as message after message clog the group chat you have with your friends from university.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He speaks after swallowing a piece of chicken and some peas.

You hum distractedly.

“Everything okay?” 

You finally look up with wide eyes, as though you’d forgotten he was even there, then immediately lock your phone and abandon it on the table with a tired sigh. “Maybe.”

One of his eyebrows lifts. “Wanna tell me about it?”

You prop your chin in your hand. “There’s this local politician who’s supposed to give a speech at an economics conference tomorrow, and half the university wants him gone before he even sets foot there.” You wave your fork around. “For obvious reasons, of course.”

Robby smiles faintly. “That bad, huh?”

You stab at a tomato with an affirmative hum. “So now nobody knows if classes are actually happening because there are rumors there is going to be a big protest outside the main building, and our group chat has been exploding for the last hour. Some professors are saying lessons will go ahead, but most of my classmates are convinced campus is going to be inaccessible, so my friends are trying to figure out whether we’re joining the protest or just waiting to see what happens.”

Instead of answering, Robby lets out a quiet snort into his glass, causing your narrowed eyes to land on him.

“What?”

He shakes his head, still smiling. “Nothing, sweetheart.”

“Michael.” You purse your lips in what resembles a pout.

“It’s just... you kids haven’t changed much.”

You grin. “Oh? Enlighten me then, old man.”

He points his fork at you, “Careful,” but then shakes his head, amused at your palms raised in mock surrendering, before leaning back in his chair.

“When I was in high school, we’d organize sit-ins whenever we wanted to protest for something, which… was pretty fucking often.” A tired laugh escapes his chest.

“Sit-ins?”

“Oh, baby.” His smiles softens. “We didn’t just skip class. We’d occupy the school.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “You what?”

“We’d stay inside the building. Overnight, sometimes.”

“Michael.” 

“I’m serious.” He chuckles at your shocked expression.

You stare at him in silence, waiting for him to tell you he was just kidding, but that never comes. “How?”

“I honestly can’t tell you. Somehow somebody always knew how to get the doors open after everyone had gone home.” He shrugs innocently, betrayed by the smirk tugging at his lips. “Don’t ask me who.”

“You definitely know who.” You squint your eyes at him.

His head bobs side to side vaguely. “Eh, I might.” Your lips press into a thin line in a poor attempt to hide your grin.

“It turned into a whole production at some point.” Robby adds, now with both elbows leaning onto the table. “There was always a guitar, food…” His eyes stare emptily at his glass before an amused grin brightens his face. “Someone managed to drag a television into the school once.”

“A television?”

“I still don’t know where it came from.” 

You shake your head in disbelief, not really convinced.

“And then there was David, our student representative.” Robby rubs his beard, already smiling.

“What did David do?”

“Every single protest he’d climb onto the roof with a megaphone.”

You blink. “I’m sorry, the roof?”

“Like a fucking mountain goat.” He nods.

“Why?”

“To make speeches.” He shrugs as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh, okay, that’s—”

“And mock teachers.”

You nearly choke on your water. “Excuse me?”

“Oh yes, he’d spend ages doing impressions. The principal, the vice principal…” He shakes his head lightly, the corners of his eyes wrinkling. “Our chemistry teacher had this incredibly dramatic way of calling attendance, and David copied him so perfectly even Mr. Greene was in tears.”

“So the teachers just…”

“They were standing below yelling at him to come down.”

“Hm.” You tilt your head slightly, observing him with a smirk. “And where were you in the middle of this chaos, Mr. Robinavitch?”

He scoffs. “On the roof with him, of course.”

“I genuinely can’t picture this.” His eyebrows quirk up in confusion. “You want to tell me that you, the incredibly respected, grumpy emergency physician of the PTMC,” you point your finger at him, almost accusingly. “Spent your high school years sleeping on classroom floors and encouraging rooftop performances?”

“Well, I never said I encouraged them.” He shrugs defensively.

“Oh, you absolutely did.”

“I was there as… emotional support.” You nod sarcastically. “And I clapped.”

“You clapped.” You repeat skeptically.

“Hey,” he points his index finger at you. “There’s nothing bad in being politically engaged.”

You laugh so hard your stomach hurts. “No, baby, you were just a menace.”

His expression is so earnest it only makes you cackle harder. “If being a menace means being an active citizen then yes, your Honor.” He dramatically opens his arms. “I’m guilty.”

“Oh, shut up.” You affectionately throw your bunched napkin at him, but it only ends up falling sadly on the table between your glasses before it can even reach his chest. “You and your buddies just wanted an excuse to skip classes.”

“What a time.” He nods at some point, staring absently at the window behind you with his arms crossed, lost in the reminiscence of the good ol’ times. “But David made some very compelling arguments when he wasn’t busy leading chants.”

That’s when you decide to reach across the table and wiggle your fingers for his hand, still grinning. “I love hearing you talk about your teenage years, especially if it involves stories of how you used to be a little troublemaker.”

“Hey now, little lady, I was a good boy.” He corrects you, his fingers immediately intertwining with yours.

“You occupied schools.” Robby presses his lips together, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile.

“For democracy.”

That finally earns him a snort, your eyes following him as he gets up and gathers the empty plates before you can stand, brushing away your automatic attempt to help with a gentle, “I’ve got it, baby.”

As he walks back to retrieve the rest, though, Robby pauses long enough near your chair to press a lingering kiss on your head.

“I’m glad you care enough to show up for the things you believe in.” His thumb brushes your temple before cupping your face. “The world needs people who stay engaged now more than ever. Just…” His smile softens at the edges, and it transforms his whole expression, gentle and patient as ever. “Promise me you’ll keep your eyes open, okay? Crowds change very quickly, and protests can sometimes turn violent. I’d like to see my sweet girl at the hospital only when I forget to bring lunch. Okay?”

You promptly wrap your hands around his wrists, leaving a peck on the soft skin. “Promise.”

“Good.” He kisses your forehead, before taking the glasses with him. “And text me if plans change.”

“I always do.” You roll your eyes playfully, getting up as well so you can put the leftovers in the fridge.

He smiles to himself as he opens the water to rinse the dishes. 

“You’ve trained me well.” You add jokingly.

From the sink, you hear his quiet laugh.

“I’d argue it’s the other way around, angel.”

OLD MAN!ROBBY WHO STILL CARRIES CASH AROUND

It takes you a surprisingly long time to realize that Robby never lets you pay when you’re together. The first few dates, you assume he’s just trying to be a gentleman and make a good impression. By the fifth time, you’re reaching for your wallet before the check even lands on the table, but his hand never fails to find your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’ve got it, sweetheart.”

“Michael,” You reprimand him jokingly, even if you feel a little uncomfortable sting at the foreign feeling that comes with being spoiled without an ulterior motive. “You got it last time.”

“And?” He raises his eyebrow at you.

“It’s my turn.”

Robby simply smile, but not mockingly, like a man his age would normally do in front of young stubbornness. “We’re not keeping score.”

At first, you fight him on it every single time. You insist on splitting the bill, you try to beat him to the register—one time you even excuse yourself to the restroom just so you can secretly pay before he has the chance. It never works. No matter how determined you are, he always manages to get there first, smiling to himself as though he’d expected nothing less from you. Whether it’s coffee before your lectures, movie tickets or groceries, his wallet is already out before the cashier even tells you the total.

The only exception he ever makes is when he’s not there, if you’re grabbing lunch with your friends after class, or stopping by a coffee shop to study. But every single time, he makes sure to remind you that his card is saved on your phone, casually telling you to use it if you need anything. The first time it happens you recoil like he’s grown a second head. Robby earns more than enough to be comfortable, you know that, but the thought of spending his money without him even being there opens a hollow pit behind your ribs.

You never do and Robby notices it immediately. See, he is always infuriatingly perceptive when it comes to you, and after months of watching you hesitate every time the subject comes up, he finally sits you down one evening and, with all the patience only reserved for you, explains something you’d never thought about before. For most of his adult life, there simply wasn’t anyone to take care of. He worked impossible hours, built a career he was proud of, paid his mortgage, put money aside every month because that’s what responsible adults do, and then… that was it. There wasn’t a wife to give flowers to after a rough week, nor children asking for new shoes or ridiculous birthday presents. His paychecks came in, his bills went out, and whatever was left quietly accumulated in a savings account because there wasn’t much else to do with it. Loving you changes that in ways you don’t think he even realized it would, because now there is a beautiful girl texting him that she’d done well on an exam and wants pizza for dinner to celebrate; a girlfriend whose face lights up over something as simple as him buying her favorite pastries on the way home after a night shift.

Insisting on paying for your meals, replacing the headphones you’d complained about for months without saying a word beforehand, making sure you never have to check your bank account before ordering dessert—none of it is about proving a point or making you feel indebted to him. It’s simply the way Robby loves. He belongs to a generation that tends to show love through practical things, and your heart doesn’t waste a second to remind you that every time he moves to walk on the side of the pavement closest to traffic, or when he checks whether you’ve got enough gas before handing your car keys back. Somehow he also notices dumb, insignificant things before you do, such as your shampoo running low. Because that’s what it all is about: looking after you, which comes as instinctive as breathing for him.

Taking care of people has been the center of his entire life for decades. Before you, that was put to good use almost exclusively for his patients. Now, for the first time, he has someone waiting for him at home, someone he gets to fuss over in ways he’d quietly wished for without ever having the courage to admit it to himself.

“Sweetheart, you’re missing the point.” He reaches for your hands where they’re nervously fidgeting in your lap, threading his fingers through yours. “I know you can take care of yourself. Believe me, that’s never been in question. But looking after you makes me happy. It’s just—that’s what loving somebody is, isn’t it? Sometimes it’s making you soup when you’re sick, and listening to you vent after a rough day at university. Sometimes it’s making sure you can walk into a bookstore without worrying whether you should save money for something else instead of that book you really wanted. Let me give you that, please.”

It doesn’t mean that guilt doesn’t claw at your chest every time you use his card; or that you don’t shift your weight uncomfortably from foot to foot whenever you offer to pay and he gently shakes his head with that amused lift of his lips. But if making sure you are looked after is one of the many ways Robby says he loves you, then learning to accept it is one of the ways you say it back.

The first time you actually catch a glimpse of how naturally that instinct lives inside him happens on one of Robby’s rare days off. Rare, at least, until you came along. Since then, he’s become surprisingly good at protecting his peace, because for the first time in a very long while, there’s a life waiting for him outside of the ED.

He picks you up outside campus just after your last lecture, smiling the moment he spots you walking through the gates with your heavy backpack slipping off one shoulder.

“Hey, pretty girl.” You barely have time to close the car door before he’s leaning across the center console to steal a kiss. “I thought we’d stop for groceries on the way home,” Robby continues, brushing his thumb over your cheek before pulling away. “I’m cooking tonight.”

By the time you reach the checkout, he has started packing the bags with quick efficiency, making it look so easy: heavy things on the bottom, bread at the top, eggs tucked safely into a corner. Nothing like the erratic, messy way you pack your own stuff while still having people behind you huffing impatiently.

You reach for your phone the moment the cashier announces the total, but before you can even unlock it, a pair of warm hands settles on your hips.

“I’ve got it, honey.” 

The touch is gentle, barely enough to guide you half a step to the side, but you go without thinking, never failing to feel a little dizzy whenever his big hands find their way on your body. Robby reaches then for his pocket and… pulls out a folded stack of dollar notes.

The cashier doesn’t bat an eyelid as he counts them with practiced ease before accepting the change, slipping the few coins back into a small pouch. You watch the entire exchange astonished, then as he hoists the two grocery bags into one hand with a quiet groan, the other reaching for your back while glancing over at you with that easy smile you’ve fallen hopelessly in love with on your second date.

“Ready to go?”

You can only nod.

The walk to the car is unusually quiet. He is too busy rearranging the bags in the trunk to notice, but once he lowers the hatch with a solid thunk, you are throwing yourself at him as he turns, arms around his neck and lips crashing into his. The force of it makes him laugh in surprise, yet his own arms instinctively circle your waist, keeping you securely anchored to him.

The kiss is warm and eager, with too much fervor and tongue for a supermarket parking lot, but Robby doesn’t mind one bit as he melts into you without a second thought, barely able to contain a grin against your lips. When you finally pull back, beautiful and breathless, Robby touches your forehead with his.

“I’m definitely not complaining here,” he murmurs, his smile stupidly big. “But what prompted the sudden makeout session?”

“You still pay with cash.”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, definitely not expecting that answer.

“Yes?” His voice is hesitant.

“That’s fucking hot.”

For a beat, he just blinks, before laughing so hard he has to duck his head against your shoulder.

A happy sigh escapes him, almost relieved. “I’ve spent weeks looking for good wrinkle smoothing creams to make myself look more attractive,” he shakes his head at his own ridiculousness. “But turns out all I needed was a couple of bucks in my pocket.”

You roll your eyes at him, shifting back on your heels so you don’t put all your weight on his poor back. 

“And the little coin pouch, let’s not forget about that.”

A dramatic groan tears out of his throat, head thrown back and all. “You noticed the coin pouch?”

You nod, humming. “Very… vintage.” Your lips press once again to his before you make your way to the passenger side with Robby promptly at your heels. “And you don’t need all those products on your skin to be attractive, Mikey.” You turn at last, pleased to have his body pressed so close to yours you can comfortably kiss his cheek. “You know I love your handsome face, especially the wrinkles and white hair.”

“Damn right I do.” His brown eyes briefly fall on your mouth, before his chin tips down enough for his nose to brush your ear. “Think that was pretty fucking clear after the mess you made all over it last weekend.” He whispers, your neck going hot as your core throbs at the mere memory of that night.

You go to bite his shoulder, but Robby is faster, already tickling your sides. You squeal, trying your best to twist away from him, but your body is trapped between his strong frame and the car, his arm hooked firmly around your waist. 

“Michael!”

“This is what bad girls get when they don’t respect their elders, sweetheart.” He is laughing with you.

“Oh, fuck off Mic—no no no, not the waist!” Still shrieking and with tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, you eventually give up trying to escape and settle for poking at the middle of his chest instead, sagging completely against him the moment his fingers finally give you a break. His palms drift softly up and down your back, soothing the last of your giggle as he smirks down at you.

“Can’t believe I’ve just been tickled by a man who still carries cash around.” You mumble, still out of breath.

His brows shoot up mockingly. “Don’t sound so staggered, baby. Someone told me it’s fucking hot.”

With your cheeks flaming hot, you decide to shift your focus on the front of his jacket instead, smoothing the fabric you wrinkled while trying to escape his tickling attack. 

Robby observes you for a moment with mirth dancing in his eyes. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“I’m just a little confused.” You shrug. “I mean, you have used cards before.”

“Yeah,” Robby’s thumb lazily stroke your waist. “But what if the reader suddenly goes down?”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Baby, when has that ever happened realistically?”

His hands pause just long enough to think about it, the crease between his brows deepening in thought. “During medical school.”

You stare at him for a long second. “Michael, that was in the nineties...”

He gives one small shrug, completely unmoved by the objection, and instead reaches to cup your face. “It’s still a perfectly reasonable concern.”

Your shoulders shake with a chuckle, kissing him once, quickly, right on the mouth.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I like knowing I’ve got backup.” He corrects in a flash, automatically chasing your lips for another kiss.

“Hm, adorable.” 

Robby sighs with all the long-suffering dignity he can muster. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Absolutely not, handsome.”

OLD MAN!ROBBY AND THE WEATHER

Once Robby turns the engine off, he leans forward enough to glance through the windshield at Lake Erie shimmering beneath the unforgiving sun, only to let out a sigh deep enough to make you peek at him from the passenger seat.

“It’s thirty degrees.”

You unbuckle your seatbelt. “It’s July, Mike.”

“Thanks for the reminder, sweetheart.” He answers flatly, opening his car door and almost recoiling at the wave of scorching heat touching his skin.

“So?”

“So this isn’t normal.”

You chuckle as you get out of the car as well, having already heard the spiel he’s going to throw himself into.

“When I was a kid summers weren’t trying to kill you.” He gestures vaguely toward the sky, reaching into the trunk for the beach umbrella.

“You’re sounding very middle-aged.” Your comment is punctuated by a grin as you appear at his side.

“I know you often forget it with the way I fold you in half every night, but I am fifty-three, sweetheart.” You roll your eyes at his salacious wink, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as he lifts the cooler with one hand, the folded umbrella hooked beneath his arm before the two of you make your way across the sand.

“Back then,” he continues. “The evenings cooled down so you could open the windows and actually breathe.”

“Mhm.”

“You had to bring a jacket at night.”

“Yeah?”

“The sky was blue.”

You finally look up at him. “It still is.”

“It used to be a clear blue sky.” He shakes his head. “Now it looks like dirty dishwater most of the time.”

You dissolve into laughter, letting the man grumble until you finally find a nice, not really crowded spot to spread your towels out. Robby is still muttering something about climate change and how people used to survive without air conditioning when you crouch beside him while he wrestles with the big beach umbrella he personally bought a few weeks ago after you had expressed your wish to go to the beach.

“Need help?”

He glances up immediately. “No, baby.”

“You sure?” Your eyebrow lifts skeptically. “You look like you’re losing.”

“I’ve got it.” He mumbles, but you lean in anyway. Before your fingers can even reach the fabric, Robby gently nudges your wrist away. “Go cool off.”

“What?”

He nods toward the lake. “You’re going to melt standing here with me. Go for a swim while I finish setting this bastard up.” His brows furrow at the pole.

“What about you?” Your shoulders sag worryingly.

“Eh, I’ll survive.”

“You’ve spent the last twenty minutes complaining that your sweat has sweat.” You retort with your arms crossed in front of your chest.

“I’ll just keep complaining later.” He shrugs easily.

Worry still lingers somewhere in the back of your mind; the heat is unbearable, and the last thing you want is for him to spend another twenty minutes standing in the blazing sun wrestling with this thing. Still, you know that once Robby decides he’s made up his mind, arguing only makes him dig his heels in deeper. He has never been particularly good at admitting when he’s pushing himself too far, so with one last skeptical look in his direction, you reach to remove your sundress. But before you can even touch the light fabric, Robby catches your wrist, finally looking up at you.

“Don’t go too far.”

“I won’t.” You lean down with a sigh, brushing a quick kiss on his cheek. “And you don’t stay too long here, I can help you set it up later.”

He shakes his head and simply turns back to the stubborn slipcover with the same concentration he puts into inserting chest tubes as you turn and make your way toward the shoreline.

When you come back, with water still dripping lazily from your features, Robby is in the middle of removing his polo.

“... at least you didn’t walk outside feeling like you’d opened a fucking oven—” His little angry soliloquy dies on his tongue the moment he turns around.

You slowly come to a stop in front of him, the corners of your mouth curling upward just barely as you notice his eyes falling directly on your bikini.

“What?”

His eyes flick up to yours for the shortest of seconds before betraying him completely by wandering back down again. “Nothing.”

You fold your arms, definitely pleased with his reaction, and that only accentuates the gentle curve of your breasts, the shape of your nipples hard to ignore because of the sudden change in temperature. His eyes solemnly follow the movement, before noticing the tiny droplet sliding down your shoulder and disappearing in your cleavage.

“Weren’t you busy giving your annual lecture about how summers were better in the twentieth century?”

Your teasing voice is what gets him back to reality. He smiles to himself, finally looking you in the eye. “Yeah, and then my girlfriend got out of the water looking like a goddess.”

You shake your head but still giggle at his cheesiness, and Robby reaches for you before you have a chance to step away, his hands settling around your hips with familiar ease once he takes a seat on his own beach towel.

“C’mere.”

You let him pull you between his knees, the movement bringing you close enough that he can tip his head back and press an adoring kiss on your hipbone, just above the hem of your bikini.

Your fingers leisurely comb his hair. “What are you doing?” You murmur.

“Worshipping the goddess.” He mutters back without actually moving his mouth away from your damp skin.

Heat creeps up all the way to your neck, a quiet titter escaping your lips as your fingertips idly massage his scalp. Lazy, reverent kisses are peppered across your lower abdomen, his salt-and-pepper beard tickling your skin with every small brush of his lips until a pleasant shiver works its way up your spine. There is something so effortlessly adoring about the gesture that you stop pretending you want him to quit.

One of his hands eventually slips into your beach bag just beside the towel, emerging with the bottle of sunscreen he had personally packed up yesterday night, and gives it a little shake.

He pats the space between his legs without a single word, but you tilt your head at him. “I’m still wet, it’ll slide off.” 

His hands stills at once, realizing you are right. “Alright, just five more minutes then.”

“Deal.”

You decide to sit beside him on your own towel, staying tucked comfortably against his side while the sun takes care of the last traces of water on your body. Robby has slipped on his own sunglasses, one arm lazily hooked behind you while the bottle of sunscreen sits forgotten beside his thigh. Every now and then he brushes the back of his hand over your arm, checking if your skin is still too damp.

A few yards away, an inflatable flamingo bobs happily across the shoreline after escaping from somebody’s beach setup for what has to be the third time that afternoon.

“There he goes again.” 

You perk up, eyes immediately finding the same poor man who is jogging after it. Again. “Did you see him too before?”

Robby hums, his sunglasses having slipped halfway down his nose as he follows the wave carrying the flamingo further away. The man makes one final heroic dive, but misses by inches. You both suck in a sympathetic breath.

“He waited too long.” your boyfriend murmurs, still watching the unfolding disaster. “Once it turned sideways he should’ve just cut it off.”

You tilt your face toward him, mirthful. “Listen to yourself.”

His chin tips enough for him to look at you over the rim of his sunglasses. “What?”

“You sound like—I don’t know, one of those dads who always have an opinion about what strangers are doing.”

A smile tugs lazily at one corner of his mouth. “I’m just sayin’,” he gestures vaguely toward the water. “The flamingo doesn’t know where it’s going, it only follows the wind, so just go where it’s going to end up.”

You stare at him for a second before chuckling at his serious analysis. “Have you genuinely been thinking about this?”

“Long enough to become invested.”

Right on cue, a little girl—probably not older than eight—runs straight past the poor man and into the water and scoops the flamingo without breaking stride. She marches back toward her family like she’s just completed a military operation, leaving the man to contemplate the horizon with both hands on his hips.

Robby clicks his tongue.

“Ouch.” You murmur, leaning further into his shoulder to hide your face and laugh freely against his skin.

“See? She anticipated.” Robby watches the defeated father make his way back to his towel, shaking his head to himself. “He’s never living that down.”

“I mean, of course.” You grin. “If I’d been his wife, I’d have brought it up at every family gathering for the next twenty years.”

He nudges your knee lightly with his own. “You’re so cruel, baby.”

“Excuse me?” Your eyebrows shoot up in mock offense. “I’m funny—no, matter of fact, I’m the funniest person you know! I’m always making you laugh.”

“Mh.” His mouth twitches. “The line’s thinner than you think.”

You scoff jokingly, ready to move your towel away for good measure, but your shoulders deflate instantly as Robby’s arm travels between your knees, his fingers finding your thigh to absently trace slow circles. His gaze wanders from the water to the families scattered along the shoreline. He has a habit of settling into silence like this, never making it feel awkward, and as much as you love talking, you’ve grown to cherish these little peaceful moments in which you simply get to exist together.

Leaning more comfortably against his side, you bask in the breeze rolling in off the water that pleasantly caresses your warm skin. Around you, the beach hums with the lazy rhythm of the early afternoon. A couple not really distant to you has a portable speaker playing the local news just loud enough to drift across the sand, a group of children is digging an elaborate moat around a sandcastle that’s almost certainly going to lose the battle against the tide, and every few minutes a seagull swoops low enough to make somebody yelp for their sandwich. 

“Why don’t you go take a swim, Mike? You’ve been under the sun for too long.” You mumble with your temple pressed to his arm.

“After sunscreen.” His lips press a peck on your forehead and you wrap your arms around his, dragging it closer to your chest before closing your eyes in contentment.

That’s when a little boy races past your towels with an ice cream twice the size of his hand. Two seconds later, you open your eyes just in time to watch it slip from the cone and land upside down in the sand.

You and Robby wince at the same time.

“He looks devastated, oh my God, Michael.” You coo sadly his name as if your boyfriend could do something about it, the kid now walking to his mother with a big, trembling pout.

“I’d be crushed too, sweetheart.”

Your eyes look up at him. “Really? Doctor Robby would cry over a vanilla cone?”

“Angel,” he doesn’t even hesitate. “At the beach? On a day like this?” He turns towards the boy, sitting on his towel with his little arms folded to his chest while his father tries to comfort him. “I’d probably have a moment too.”

You chuckle under your breath. “You’re so adorable, honey.”

“Occupational hazard.”  

“Mhh, don’t think emergency medicine is what did that to you.”

He only answers with a smile, lightly running the back of his fingers over your leg. “There we go,” he announces quietly, more to himself than to you. “Finally dry enough.” You also glance down at your body before rubbing your other leg with your fingertips, but he’s already reaching for the sunscreen, giving it another little shake.

“C’mere, sweetheart.”

You promptly shift between his legs, removing the strings from around your neck so Robby can take care of your whole back without obstructions. His hand settles briefly at your waist to steady you as you adjust, smiling privately to himself.

“Good girl.” He murmurs while squirting a generous amount of lotion into his palm, warming it between both hands.

A shiver runs down your back at his low voice directly in your ear, his touch warm and soft as he spreads the sunscreen across your shoulders with slow, careful movements. He’s impossibly thorough; you’ve already accepted that there is no point pretending you’ll be done in less than two minutes. He always treats your body with something bordering on reverent respect, never taking for granted that he gets to care for it. His broad hands pause at every freckle, never wandering too impatiently but instead pausing like they are learning you all over again with every little stroke.

Robby makes sure he doesn’t even miss the tops of your shoulders and the little spot just beneath the strap digging into your spine that you somehow always manage to forget.

“Turn your head a little.” His thumb lingers on your shoulder blade enough to smooth away the last white streak. His fingertips spread the sunscreen right on your nape, and a moment later, you feel his lips brush the sensitive patch of skin just behind your ear. It tickles enough to make you squirm.

“Michael!” You gasp in surprise, trying to duck away.

“What? I’m multitasking.” You don’t need to turn around to know his lips are probably stretched into a smug grin.

“Alright, time to lie down.”

You stretch out on your towel with an exaggerated sigh, adjusting your bikini so you don’t accidentally flash anyone while Robby reaches for your ankle first and draws your leg comfortably across his thigh.

“You know I could have done this myself?” You throw him a smirk, propping yourself up on one elbow as you put your sunglasses on with your other hand.

“Oh, I know.” He doesn’t even look up, his hands sliding carefully from your calf to your right knee. “That’s why you almost got sunburned last August when you came here with your friends.”

“That happened only once.” You roll your eyes. “I’m still in my twenties.”

“And?” He lifts an eyebrow as he regards you with barely concealed amusement, gently lifting your foot.

“And my skin can handle a little sun.” You shrug dismissively.

Robby snorts quietly, moving on the other side for your left leg. “You know ultraviolet radiation has never stopped to ask anyone how old they are?”

Your shoulders shake at his unexpected answer. “Mh, so no ID check first?”

“I’m afraid not.” He chuckles. “I’ll bring it up at the next meeting.”

“The annual convention of sunlight?”

“Exactly.” You grin to yourself, watching him finish with your other leg in silence before he gives your butt an affectionate squeeze.

“There,” Robby says with pride written all over his face. “Protected.”

After an hour spent intertwined in the water just like those corny couples you used to roll your eyes at from behind your sunglasses, the complaints have mysteriously stopped. Robby is now stretched out beneath the shade, his Moscot Billik sunglasses perched on his nose and one arm folded beneath his head.

See, he has spent so many years believing that standing still was a luxury he hadn’t earned. Every free day carried the uncomfortable feeling that there was somewhere else he should be, someone else who needed him more, another problem he could solve. Rest always came with cruel whispers that somebody else was still carrying the same weight while he sat at home with nothing to do.

And look at him now, spending entire afternoon stretched out beneath a beach umbrella with salt still drying on his skin, one hand absently wandering over your waist and his eyelids growing heavy to the rhythmic sound of the waves meeting the foreshore. The corners of his mouth are softened into that drowsy little smile he only ever wears when he’s truly at peace, and in that moment, you can’t help wondering whether he’d forgotten how beautiful ordinary days could be until they slipped through his fingers.

Or perhaps he’d simply forgotten that he, too, was allowed to stop running for a while.

You turn your head to properly face him.

“You seem pretty relaxed.”

“I am.” He mumbles sleepily.

“Thought this weather was inhumane.”

“Still is.”

“But I don’t hear you complaining anymore.”

“I’m conserving energy to do it later.”

You burst into an involuntary giggle, causing his mouth to automatically twist up at the sweet sound.

“I’ll admit,” he starts after a moment, giving your hip a light squeeze. “It’s become marginally more tolerable.”

“Oh?” Your eyebrows shoot up curiously. “What changed?”

This time Robby does turn his head toward you, lowering his sunglasses just enough to meet your eyes.

“I remembered I get to spend a whole day looking at my beautiful girl in a skimpy bikini.” 

Heat blooms in your cheeks at his shameless smugness.

“Cheesy.” You mumble without a single trace of annoyance in your voice. “So now the weather’s okay?” You try again.

“Fuck, no.” He scoffs. “The world is still burning.” His fingers lightly tap the skin of your hip, before he leans over to kiss your nose. “But the company is excellent.”

OLD MAN!ROBBY WHO ACCIDENTALLY ADOPTS YOUR FRIENDS

Robby has learned to recognize the signs of your exhaustion during exam season from nothing more than the way your texts become shorter as the afternoon wears on, and how you eventually stop replying altogether because you’ve become so absorbed in your notes that the rest of the world ceases to exist.

That evening is no different. The campus library is overflowing with students trying to survive finals week. Every table is occupied, every outlet claimed by somebody’s laptop charger, and every available surface is buried beneath color-coded notes and enough empty coffee cups to suggest that nobody in that building has slept in days.

Your own table isn’t much better, with Emma’s highlighting the same paragraph for what has to be the fifth time while muttering under her breath. Chloe has abandoned any attempt at good posture, practically folded over her laptop with her cheek squished against her palm and her bloodshot red eyes fighting to stay open. Even Maya, who usually keeps the rest of you on track, has been staring blankly at the same page of her textbook as if the information will magically appear in her brain. 

Your phone vibrates beside your notebook just as you are trying to decipher the chicken scratch your past self wrote, along with a series of abbreviations that seemed like an excellent idea at the time but now are only wasting precious minutes.

The smile that appears on your face is tired but relieved nonetheless.

Have you eaten today? ❤️

You unlock your phone beneath the table.

Kind of

Robby’s reply comes almost instantly.

Kind of isn’t an answer

I had a sandwich

At lunch

A few seconds pass before another message appears.

What are you doing for dinner?

You glance around the table. Emma has started rubbing at her temples, and Chloe is muttering about searching for a restaurant on her phone.

We’ll probably order takeout and eat in the hallway, we still have a lot to revise and idk how late we’ll be here

The three dots appear and disappear for a couple of times.

I’ll come get you.

You frown at the screen.

??

All of you

A quiet laugh escapes you before you can stop it, causing Maya to briefly glance up.

Michael there are four of us

My suv has five seats 👍

You bite your lip, definitely tempted.

We’d be invading your house

This time, the screen lights up with an incoming call and a selfie of you two kissing that you took when you went on a short trip to New York last month.

Emma immediately looks up from her notes and sees your screen. “Oh,” she whispers.

“Not a word.” You point your finger at her as you slip out of your chair. She mimes zipping her lips but you are too far away to notice the knowing grin she exchanges with the others.

Once you are standing in the hallway just outside the library entrance, you answer.

“Hey.”

“Hi, baby.” The warmth in his voice makes your shoulders relax instantly.

In the background, you hear the dull thud of a knife against a chopping board and the faint clatter of pans.

“Are you cooking?”

“I was about to.”

You almost sigh forlornly at the sole thought of a warm homemade meal cooked by your boyfriend. “What are you making?” 

“Haven’t decided yet. I was waiting to hear what my girl felt like eating.”

It’s pathetic how your heart gives a ridiculous little squeeze. “Michael…”

“Hm?”

“I told you, we’ll just order something here.”

“You need something with actual nutritional value, not some greasy pizza from a hole-in-the-wall with questionable hygiene.”

You gasp. “Pizza has carbs, protein, dairy, and vegetables if you order them—don’t you dare slander one of mankind’s greatest culinary achievements.” Your expression quickly softens into something far too teasing. “And weren’t you the one eating takeout every night until last year?”

You are meet with silence. It lasts only a couple of seconds, but it’s enough for your stomach to tighten. The smile slowly fades from your face as a dozen of possibilities rush through your mind. You just reminded him of one of the worst periods of his life. God, why are you like this? Why do you always blurt out the first thing that comes to mind? Why can’t you think before you speak for once? Why—

“Well,” Robby sighs theatrically. “I am a doctor. Clearly I’m the gold standard when it comes to taking care of myself.” 

The dry sarcasm catches you so off guard that a loud laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, but you are hastily clapping a hand over your mouth the moment a student stepping out of the library throws you an outraged look.

“I’ll come get you.” Robby exclaims out of the blue.

You lean against the wall, lowering your voice. “We’re going to be at it for hours.”

“That’s fine.” You can imagine him shrugging nonchalantly. “It’s not like I sleep in the living room.”

“But we’re going to be loud.”

“And? I have a dining room because people are supposed to sit in it, and it has a door that can be closed. Just like our bedroom. Which is at the very end of the first floor.” He reminds you gently.

Our bedroom.

There has never been a conversation where the room had stopped belonging only to him, no milestone, or dramatic declaration. One day you left a spare sweater in his closet and suddenly you had a drawer completely yours, the bathroom cabinet on the right filled with your skincare products, and your favorite mug permanently stored in his kitchen.

“I spent twelve hours at the hospital, I promise your friends aren’t louder than a trauma bay.”

“That’s exactly why we can’t come, you need to rest.” You frown, worried.

“But I am resting, baby—”

“No Michael, you are planning to cook for four stressed college students.”

“I’m planning to cook for my girlfriend,” he corrects gently. “And her friends, who are welcomed to tag along.”

Your eyelids flutter shut tiredly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.” His voice softens into a murmur. “But I want to.”

Robby lets the silence settle comfortably before clearing his throat, clearly concerned. “I don’t like the thought of you sitting in that library until midnight eating cold takeout and calling it dinner.”

“‘S not the first time.” You mumble, shyly looking at your shoes.

“I know. What’s that thing you say? It’s a canon event for every student?” He smiles at your little chuckle. “But I’m here and I have a big house and water boiling for pasta. I’d rather know you’ve had a proper meal and somewhere quiet where you can just focus on studying instead of worrying about possible creeps or thieves if you doze off at some point.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around the device.

“The campus is almost forty minutes away from your house.” You counter weakly.

“Okay? I’ll drive everyone home afterwards.”

“Michael!” It comes out as a protest.

“I mean it, I don’t mind.” You hear a cupboard door open and close. “And if they’re too tired, there’s a guest room.” You blink. “And an air mattress in the basement.” He adds with such effortless certainty that it’s obvious he doesn’t see what the fuss is about.

You sigh, rubbing your sore eyes.

“What is it, my love?” 

You chuckle quietly, shaking your head even though he can’t see you.

“You’re impossible, Doctor Robinavitch.”

“I’ve been called worse.” He hums. “So… are you going to let me feed you?” 

You look back through the glass door into the library. Maya is trying to stretch the stiffness out of her shoulders, while Chloe has given up entirely and is now using her textbook as a pillow. Emma is still fighting through, but the circles under her eyes are terrifyingly dark and deep.

“Let me ask the girls first.”

“I’ll leave in ten minutes.”

Your eyes squint at the certainty in his tone. “You already assumed I’d say yes?”

“I know my girl.” The clinking sound of his keys resound in the background. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

“Drive safely, Mike.”

When you walk back inside, three expectant faces are already waiting for you.

“Was that Doctor Dreamboat?” Emma’s eyebrows wiggle up and down, making you roll your eyes at her.

“Maybe.” You sit down, slipping your phone into your hoodie pocket and trying very hard to look unaffected.

“What?” You ask once you notice all three staring at you with different degrees of amusement.

Chloe lets out a snort from across the table. “Oh please, don’t even try that. You’ve been smiling like an idiot since you got up to answer his call.”

“Are those little pink hearts I see in her eyes?” Maya teases, leaning forward on her elbows.

Your neck burns slightly at their silly teases.

“Did he call to wish you goodnight?” Emma inquires, folding her arms on the table. 

You frown in confusion. “It’s not even nine.”

“Yeah, but nursing homes have curfews.” A tired sigh escapes your nostrils at her not-so-quiet laugh as Maya lightly smacks her arm followed by a whispered stop it.

“Actually,” you sit a little bit straighter. “He called because he wanted to invite us over.”

The three of them sober up in an instant, blinking at you almost in unison.

“Us?” Chloe points at herself.

You nod, extremely pleased by their surprised reaction. “He said he’s making dinner, so we should all go to his place instead of ordering takeout here. Apparently he’d rather know we’ve eaten something warm and healthy before spending another five hours staring at textbooks.”

Emma slowly closes her laptop.

“I’m sorry,” she breaks the stunned silence. “Your sugar daddy wants to cook dinner for the four of us because we’re desperate college students?”

You roll your eyes at the nickname she has been using for him since you told them he is way older than you. “Yes,” you smile. “He even offered us his dining room to study.” You look her dead in the eye. “And don’t call him that in front of him.”

You scrunch your nose. You don’t even know if he is aware of what it means.

Maya slams her book shut. “I’m getting my backpack.”

Robby’s SUV is pulled up to the curb outside the library, hazards blinking lazily while he stands beside the open trunk, and one hand tucked into the pocket of his jacket. The moment he spots you walking down the steps, his face softens into a smile.

“There she is.”

You can’t help grinning back at him, your feet quickening on their own accord as you cross the last few feet between you. Four days of being practically locked away buried in textbooks suddenly feel a lot longer when Robby is waiting at the other end. As soon as you are within reach, he leans down to kiss you hello, one hand finding your waist while the other cradles your cheek with that familiar gentleness you’ve missed an embarrassing amount.

“Hi, pretty girl.”

“How are you?” You ask immediately, already massaging his shoulders.

“I’m good.” The subtle sigh doesn’t escape you but now it’s not the time nor the place to pry. “You look tired.” His eyebrows furrow as his thumb mindlessly strokes the apple of your cheek.

“Try exhausted.” Robby’s wrinkle between his brows deepens at your weak chuckle.

“Mh, I figured.” His fingers linger on you for a second too long to feel like mere habit, before reluctantly letting you go. His attention finally turns to the three girls standing a respectful distance behind you.

“So,” he starts with an easy smile, extending his hand toward the closest one. “You must be Emma.”

She blinks, clearly not expecting him to know her name, before quickly scurrying to shake his hand. “I am.”

“Chloe?” He points at your blonde friend.

“Exactly!” She replies with a pleased smile.

“And Maya.” 

She nods. “Nice to meet you, Doctor Robinavitch.”

That makes him wave a hand dismissively with a loud chuckle as he reaches for your backpack to put in the trunk.

“The pleasure is all mine, ladies, but Robby is just fine.” He asks for her backpack next and her eyes go comically wide.

“Oh no, I can’t let you—”

“You’ve been carrying these around campus since this morning.” He lifts it into the car as though it weighs nothing. “Humor an old man.”

The girls exchange an amused look at that.

“You don’t look old.” Chloe says ultimately.

Another deep laugh escapes him. “I appreciate that.”

“Don’t look that old.” You cough jokingly, squealing in delight when a pair of strong arms wraps around your waist from behind.

“I cooked you dinner, sweetheart.” He looks down at you with his eyes squinted, the same way they do when he forgets his glasses.

“And?” You rise your eyebrows at him innocently.

“And this is the thanks I get?” 

A grin brightens your face, and unable to resist, you steal a quick kiss before he opens the passenger door for you with a shake of his head.

By the time everyone has settled into the car, the awkwardness you’d half dreaded has disappeared almost completely.

“So,” he pulls away from the curb. “Which exam has everybody so miserable?”

“Biostatistics.” Chloe groans from the back seat, her head tipping back to the headrest. 

Robby winces sympathetically. 

“Biostatistics.” He repeats gravely, the single word carrying enough shared suffering to make all four of you smile. “I haven’t had to think about statistics in…” He huffs, head bobbing left to right as he does the math in his head. “Good Lord.”

A quiet laugh rumbles in his chest. “About thirty years.”

Emma’s head dramatically falls forward. “Please don’t say that.”

He glances at her in the rear-view mirror, still grinning. “Why not?”

“Because it makes the rest of us feel like we should still be in elementary school.”

That earns another laugh from him.

“Which doesn’t sound that bad right now.” Maya adds, exhaustion bleeding out of her words as she looks out of the window with half-lidded eyes.

“I’m afraid I can’t control the calendar.” He shrugs apologetically.

“No,” Chloe teases with a small smirk. “But you can stop reminding us how long you’ve been an adult.”

Robby hums under his breath. “I wish someone had stopped reminding me.”

“Really?” Emma blurts out. “You seem pretty comfortable with it.”

“Oh, I am now.”

“You say that,” you add, reaching over to straighten the collar of his jacket where the seatbelt has folded it awkwardly. “But every morning you make at least one comment about your back.”

“My back has earned the right to complain.”

“And your knees.” You keep going on unhelpfully. 

“They’re particular vocal before coffee.” He sighs, entertaining the girls. “But I’ve made peace with the fact that I own orthopedic pillows and have opinions about lawn fertilizer.”

“Lawn fertilizer?” Chloe asks confused.

“I have a lawn.” Robby shrugs easily. 

“That’s…” She shakes her head, amusement permanently carved onto her lips. “One of the most adult sentences I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s fair.” He nods. “I’ve reached an age where I’m no longer interested in pretending I don’t get excited when the hardware store puts mulch on sale.”

The back seat dissolves into another round of laughter and you look at Robby with a grateful smile, fully melting into the passenger seat.

The light turns red just as Maya is in the middle of venting about her microbiology professor, who somehow managed to cram the last six chapters into a single lecture. Robby slows the car to a stop, nodding along every now and then as his hand reaches across the center console and settles over yours where it’s resting on your thigh. His thumb brushes lazily across your knuckles, a gesture so instinctive that neither of you think about the three girls in the back seat observing with poorly concealed enthusiasm. You simply turn your hand over and let your fingers curl between his.

“... and then she had the nerve to say that they won’t be on the exam, but we all know she’s going to put at least four questions about those chapters.”

Robby lets out an amused huff. “They always say that.”

“See?” She exclaims, turning toward the other two girls. “I told you, you have to be a special kind of asshole to teach at university.”

The light turns green, and Robby gives your hand one last squeeze before moving it back to the gearshift.

The sudden silence behind you lasts exactly five more seconds.

“So…” Emma clears her throat.

You glance over your shoulder at the strange quiet that follows, finding your friends already staring at the two of you with a smirk.

“What?”

Chloe slowly lifts a finger, pointing first at you, then at Robby.

“Mama y papa.”

Your face falls. “Chloe.”

Maya has already buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking so hard with laughter that she is struggling to catch her breath.

“It’s a TikTok audio.” Emma explains, maybe taking pity on you.

“I know that audio.” You squint your eyes at her, the tips of your ears tingling with hot embarrassment.

“C’mon.” She drags the word out, gesturing helplessly between the two of you. “Look at you,” she points at Robby’s hand. “You straighten his collar every five minutes like you’ve been married for twenty years.”

“Oh my God.” You mumble mortified, sinking further into the car seat. Beside you, Robby is still trying to catch up. 

“... Is this because of the hand?” He glances down at your joined fingers as though only realizing he had reached for you again in the first place.

“Yes!” Your friends exclaim in perfect unison.

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his lips. “Oh.” 

Then, lifting your hand for good measure, he brushes a sweet kiss across your knuckles before settling it back on your tight, his palm lingering there for a second longer.

“Well,” he squeezes your knee. “She is my girl.”

The back seat absolutely loses it.

“See?” Emma throws her head back against the headrest with the loudest groan possible. “He keeps saying shit like that!”

You hide your burning face against Robby’s shoulder as he comes to a stop at another traffic light, utterly incapable of looking any of your friends in the eye. Beneath you, you can feel the quiet rumble of his laughter, still thoroughly confused. Even so, his lips press a gentle kiss right over your eyebrow, letting his cheek come to rest against the top of your head, extremely pleased to have you so close.

“I feel like I’m missing something.” He mumbles as your friends keep talking animatedly.

“You are.”

“Hm.” He smiles to himself, briefly glancing at the girls in the mirror. “Whatever it is, I hope you’re still hungry.”

OLD MAN!ROBBY AND GEN Z SLANG

It’s a slow Friday evening, and you’re standing on a chair because Robby refuses to buy a step stool any time soon, not when he can effortlessly reach the highest places in his beautiful home. He is currently wiping down the kitchen counter, yet he can’t help glancing over his shoulder every few seconds to make sure you aren’t about to fall.

“I can feel your eyes on my ass.” You eventually speak, stretching to shove the last new serving bowl you bought that afternoon together onto the top shelf.

“Just making sure you don’t break your neck.”

“I’m used to climb onto chairs.” 

“And gravity has never once cared.”

You huff a laugh and nudge the cabinet shut, rolling your eyes at the little sigh of relief echoing behind you when you finally climb down, before carrying the empty cardboard box towards the recycling bin.

“Now that I think about it, it would be a very embarrassing obituary.”

Robby reaches past you to take it from your hands without even asking, flattening it with practiced ease before dropping it into the bin.

“And an unnecessary one, too.” He dusts his hands together. “You know, one of these days you’re going to let me put things on the high shelves without complaining.”

“And rob you of the joy of watching me climb on furniture?” He simply shakes his head with a small smile as he goes back to rinse the rag. You take that chance to wander by his side, now watching him start sorting through the spice rack.

“So,” he starts as you steal a grape from the bowl he’d washed earlier. “How was your day?”

You shrug. “Pretty normal. Emma called before I showered, though.”

“Oh?”

“You remember Sophia?”

He pauses for a moment, frowning as he tries to put the name to a face. “From high school?” Robby eventually asks, turning to look at you for confirmation as he slowly puts on his readers. “Chloe’s childhood best friend who humiliated her at prom?”

“Yep.” 

He hums, eyes fixed on the little house-shaped jars. “What happened?”

You lean against the counter with your hip, pursing your lips. “Well… apparently her fiancé’s been cheating on her for months with her cousin, Mia.”

Robby’s eyebrows jump up in surprise, before shooting you a careful glance. “Oh, that’s…” He doesn’t dare finishing the sentence, waiting for what you have to say next.

“I know.” You lift a hand before he can continue. “I know, that’s horrible.”

“I feel like there’s a but…” He squints playfully.

“I’m just going to say that karma finally clocked in.” You throw your palms up, shrugging innocently as you turn back around and start fidgeting with a jar of paprika.

Robby blinks. “I’m sorry?”

You glance back at him. “What?”

“What does that mean?”

You frown, genuinely confused. “What?”

“The karma and the clock—”

You scrunch your nose at him, bewildered. “You don’t know what’s karma?”

“No, I—” He huffs out a laugh bordering on exasperation. “Yes, sweetheart, I know what karma is. I just don’t understand what you said.”

“Karma clocked in.” You repeat deadpan.

“Yeah, that.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen suddenly. “Oh, that’s like… you know,” you wave a hand vaguely. “When karma finally hits someone.”

He considers that for a second. “So… why didn’t you just say that?”

“Because that’s not how people say it.”

“People as in your generation?” He asks with an amused twist of his lips.

You squint your eyes at him but Robby simply lets out a thoughtful hum, going back to his task.

“I swear every month your generation collectively decides the English language needs updating.”

“Hey, it keeps things interesting!” You quickly retort defensively. “And every generation has its cringey slang, so why don’t you take a chill pill, dude?” You deepen your voice into an exaggerated imitation of someone who is supposed to be twice your age.

And now you suddenly feel like your dad when he is convinced he just said something incredibly cool.

At that, Robby completely abandons his little jars to sneak a strong arm around your waist, his free hand immediately going for your sides as you squirm and laugh in his hold.

“Did you just call me ‘dude’, little lady?” 

“Michael! Stop for fuck’s sake!” You throw your head back against his shoulder, your eyes prickling with unshed tears.

“Hmm, I don’t think I will.” He smiles down at you as you keep laughing hysterically.

“Sorry, sorry—baby! You are baby!” You manage to wheeze out, and thankfully Robby seems to be satisfied with it as he hums and eventually his fingers still altogether.

“Fuck.” You sniffle, still chuckling at the phantom feeling of his hand moving quickly and nimbly on your skin. “Damn me and the day I told you I was ticklish.”

“I would’ve found out eventually.” He shrugs, pressing a kiss on your forehead before focusing back on the spices.

Your fingers wipe the few small tears that spilled on your cheeks. “I’ll make you a glossary, by the way.”

He nods with all the seriousness he can muster. “I think I might actually need one.”

Your lips part as if you want to add something else, but your eyes suddenly fall on the oregano he’s just placed. “Oh my God this is so cute, I love this shade of purple.”

Robby sends you a fond smile.

“Anyway,” you slip the jar back into its place after tracing the little details on the house-shaped container with a careful finger. “Back to Sophia, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, but she was awful, Michael. She walked around like the world owed her something while looking like the Temu version of Regina George. But meaner.” You suddenly turn towards him, frowning. “Am I a bad person?”

Robby leaves the rosemary alone to look at you, eyes wide and mouth parted.

“She was a what?” He exclaims, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion before quickly adding, “God, no baby, no. Of course you’re not a bad person. After everything you’ve told me about her, I don’t think I’d lose much sleep over her getting a taste of her own medicine if I were you.” Robby shakes his head disappointed. “I still can’t believe what she did to Chloe on your first school trip.”

His arms are back around your hips, guiding you into the warmth of his chest. “You’re so good, sweetheart. But that doesn’t mean you have to feel for someone who spent years making your life miserable.” He gives a small shrug. “Sooner or later our choices catch up with us, and something bad happening to her doesn’t erase what she did to you or to Chloe.”

“Why are you always right?” Your finger wander absently beneath the collar of his half-zip sweater, playing lazily with the dark hair scattered across his chest. The movement earns you a contented hum, your arms winding around his neck and drawing him down into a slow kiss that’s more tongue than lips for a quiet evening that was supposed to be dedicated to re-organizing the kitchen.

He smiles into it. “Not always.” You only answer by letting your mouth drift to the side of his jaw, your lips brushing the warm flesh of his neck before leaving a playful little bite just below his ear.

Robby’s head falls back with a soft moan. “Baby?”

“Hm?” You mumble against his skin, busy filling his jaw with little pecks.

His hand slides up your back, rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. “Who’s Regina George?”

The way your body instantly goes rigid against his has Robby’s heart fall to his feet. Did he say something wrong?

You emerge from his neck looking scarily serious. “What did you just say?”

“I—I asked who Regina George is.”

“Michael.”

“... Yes?”

“You know…” You try again, nodding in encouragement. “Regina George.”

He frowns apologetically. “Was she a friend of Sophia?”

“From Mean Girls.” Your voice overlaps his, horrified.

There’s a beat of awkward silence as he desperately searches his memory for something, anything. But he can only give you a small, almost tentative shake of his head.

“I… don’t think I know what that is.”

You stare at him as though he’s just admitted he’s never loved you. “What do you mean? You’ve never seen Mean Girls?”

He shrugs, genuinely baffled by your reaction. 

“Oh my God, you’re serious.” Your lips part in surprise. “How?”

Robby lets out a quiet laugh at the sheer terror in your voice. “You know I don’t really keep up with new stuff.”

Your gasp is so loud it almost hurts your throat. “It came out in 2004!”

He sputters. “I was thirty-one, sweetheart.”

“So?”

“I was working.” He eases back until his back meets the counter, bringing you with him. “I spent most of that year in scrubs. If I wasn’t at the hospital, I was asleep. If I wasn’t asleep, I was trying to remember whether I’d already eaten that day.”

Your mouth opens and closes, not really knowing how to answer to that when you know very well he was probably too exhausted to make his own bed, let alone keep up with pop culture. Still, he never even heard of it.

“So ‘on Wednesday we wear pink’ doesn’t ring any bell?”

A slow shake of his head.

“‘Get in, loser, we’re going shopping’?”

“Nope.”

“‘She doesn’t even go here’?” You try one last, desperate time.

“I’m afraid not.” He chuckles quietly at your mounting disbelief.

Your hand comes dramatically to your chest. “Michael,” you start gravely. “I don’t know if this relationship can survive.”

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling, but instead of arguing, he decides to take on a far more effective approach by leaning down and pressing his lips to your cheek first.

“I can’t believe you’ve been living among society without seeing Mean Girls.” You shake your head, truly disappointed. “How the hell have you never even heard about it? You spend all day surrounded by people in their twenties—doesn’t Javadi have a TikTok account?”

“Hm,” his lips linger there for another moment before slowly making their way to your jaw. “I think I’ve managed surprisingly well until now.” His words are nothing short of a low murmur on your skin.

You scoff, undeterred. “You’ve been culturally deprived.”

“Baby, I had sixty-hour work weeks at best.” His mouth travels down to your collarbone. “I was a little busy.”

Despite your best efforts to maintain your scandalized facade, your resolve starts slipping embarrassingly fast. The wrinkle between your brows is stubbornly persisting, yet it becomes considerably harder when his smile brushes against the swell of your breast, pulling a soft gasp out of you.

“So,” he murmurs as he finally comes up to look at you, his mouth twisted into a smirk now that he has you all pliant in his hold. “Am I about to be educated?”

Your eyes widen imperceptibly. “You’ll actually watch it?”

“If it matters this much to my girl…” His thumb strokes the curve of your waist. “I’d say it’s worth finding out who this Regina George is.”

Robby has one arm around your shoulders, his hand resting against your upper arm while the other reaches into the bowl of popcorn balanced on his thigh every now and then. He has never looked more relaxed, with you stretched on his modular sofa and tucked against his side beneath the throw blanket, your cheeks pressed to his chest and one arm looped lazily around his waist.

The movie has barely been on for ten minutes but you have already glanced at Robby a total of six times. It’s not your fault you are curious, your eyes drifting automatically to him whenever an iconic scene comes up, waiting to catch his reaction as you wonder whether he’ll laugh at the same joke you did the first time you watched it.

The seventh time your gaze lingers a little too long, and Robby doesn’t bother hiding his amusement.

“Sweetheart.” He starts without taking his eyes off the screen.

“Hm?”

“If you keep looking at me with those pretty eyes of yours I’m going to kiss you and then I’m definitely going to miss the movie.”

“Just making sure you pay attention.” You cuddle closer, giving the side of his sweater a little squeeze.

“Oh I am, as a matter of fact I’m tryin’ to figure out why everybody is so terrified of that blonde girl.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Give it a few minutes.”

Robby barely moves for the next few minutes, settling a little deeper into the cushions and drawing you with him until your head slips more comfortably beneath his chin. His thumb resumes its lazy circles against your arm while he watches the movie with surprising concentration. He’s really invested, not just politely watching because it’s one of your favorite movies, or half-listening while thinking about tomorrow’s shift.

“So this one is Gretchen.” He suddenly points at the television.

“Mhm.”

“And the blonde one is Karen.”

“Correct.”

“And they’re all friends with Regina, right?”

“Uhh…” You consider the question with a grimace.

“They’re supposed to be friends.” Robby instantly corrects himself, smiling down at you over the rim of his glasses. “A friendship of convenience.”

“Yeah.” You exclaim, nodding along. “Let’s go with that.”

Five quiet minutes pass before his voice interrupts.

“Who’s Aaron again?”

“Michael!” You whine, sagging dramatically against his chest. “We just saw him.”

“Sorry, baby. I was looking at the teacher, can’t remember what’s her name.” He looks genuinely bothered by it, with the same deep furrow of his brows he gets whenever he recognizes a face in the grocery store but can’t quite figure it out from where, only to suddenly remember in the middle of a shift, because of course that was one of his patients!

“I swear I’ve seen her before.”

Rather than teasing him, you sigh with exaggerated resignation and pause the movie to retrieve your phone from the coffee table and look up the cast list, before handing it over. Robby adjusts his glasses a fraction lower on his nose, scrolling slowly as his lips unconsciously setting in concentration, and now you really want to kiss him and feel his body between your thighs, because why the hell does he look so hot with his old man mannerism?

His quiet ‘aha!’ makes his chest rumble under your cheek.

“30 Rock.”

Your head snaps up, your features scrunched in confusion. “You had time to watch a sitcom and not Mean Girls?”

“I’d watch the reruns at three in the morning when I couldn’t sleep.” He shrugs easily but his answer has you faltering. Because you know exactly what those nights looked like; an exhausted Robby, sitting alone in a dark apartment with the television on low, trying to make sense of everything he’d carried home from the hospital before another shift starts a few hours later.

Without really thinking about it, your hand finds its way back to the warmth of his stomach beneath the blanket while you draw one knee onto his lap, curling close until you are practically wrapped around him.

His gaze falls on you when you crane your neck to kiss his jaw. “What was that for, honey?” You shake your head with a small smile, this time leaning up to kiss his lips.

“Just keeping up with my daily kiss quota.”

Robby studies you for another second, as if he knows there’s something you are not saying out loud, but his arm just tightens around your shoulder, leading you back to nestle against him.

It’s when Regina kisses her ex-boyfriend in front of Cady at Chris’ Halloween party that Robby lets out a deep exhale through his nose.

“She’s exhausting.”

“That’s putting it nicely, but her character is still iconic.” You shrug, reaching for another handful of popcorn.

“I don’t understand why they just keep following everything she says.” 

“You don’t have to understand, you just have have to accept her.”

“I’m having a difficult time accepting Regina, sweetheart.” He looks down at you with a fond smile.

“You don’t have to accept her morally.” You correct this time.

“That’s for sure.”

“She was happier before.” The comment is so quiet you’re not even sure Robby meant to say it out loud.

“Who?”

“The brunette.” He gestures vaguely with his chin.

“Cady.” 

“Yeah.” His gaze never leaves the screen. “She’s obviously trying awfully hard to become somebody else. Give it enough time and she’s gonna turn into the very thing she hates about Regina.”

“You sure you’ve never seen this before?” You recoil a little, enough to blink up at him.

The right corner of his mouth lifts. “I work in an emergency department. I can usually figure people out faster than that.”

And when Gretchen starts crying in the bathroom, you’ve completely given up trying to predict his reactions.

“Oh.” He murmurs.

You glance up, and notice his brows have drawn together.

“She looks terrified.”

“You’re worried about Gretchen?” For the first time that night you temporarily leave the safety of his arms to properly look at him.

“Shouldn’t I be?” His beautiful brown eyes widen innocently and you feel the urgent need to hug him to your chest. The wrinkle between his brows appears almost immediately as his arms now lie uselessly beside him, his eyes looking at you before glancing back at the empty space beside him with betrayal written all over his face.

“I don’t know anyone who’s ever watched this movie and come away saying, ‘you know who I really felt for? Gretchen Wieners.’”

Robby frowns at you. “Really?” He looks genuinely surprised at your nod. “I thought that was where they were heading with her.”

“Hm.” You tuck yourself back beneath his arm, his chest unconsciously deflating at the feeling of your body pressed right back against his. “Well, she is insecure and she knows she’ll never be as popular as Regina yet still stays friends with her because being miserable but part of the Plastics still feels safer than being a nobody.” You pause abruptly, frowning at your own words.

“Damn. Now every time she comes on screen I’m going to feel bad for her instead of finding her annoying. Thank you, Doctor Robby.” You add sarcastically.

He sighs contentedly. “I suppose old habits die hard.”

Once the credits begin to roll, Robby is still sitting back with his thumb stroking your waist beneath the blanket.

“So?” You tip your head back.

He stays quiet for another few seconds, thoughtful enough that you wonder if he’s forgotten you even asked.

Eventually he looks down at you.

“I think they all seemed awfully lonely.” Your eyebrows quirk up. “And they’re horrible to each other.”

“But they’re also sixteen in the movie, right?” He adds gently, not as an excuse but as an observation. “I don’t think many people are particularly kind to themselves and others at that age.”

Your lips stretch into a small smile. “You really watched a completely different movie than I did.”

Robby simply reaches over, cupping your cheek with his free hand as the arm draped over your shoulders pulls you impossibly closer.

“Just couldn’t stop noticing the harsh reality.”

You lean into his palm, basking in the feeling of his thumb caressing your skin. “But…”

“But?” He encourages.

“Would you watch it again?” You give your eyelashes an extra little flutter.

A full smile slowly spread across his face. “With you?” You nod shyly, teeth catching your bottom lip. “I’d watch just about anything with you, sweetheart.”

You groan dramatically, dropping your forehead against his chest.

“That’s such an old man answer, so disgustingly sweet.”

His chuckle vibrates warmly beneath you as he kisses the top of your head, lingering there. “In my defense, I’ve reached a point in my life where I don’t mind being disgustingly sweet. Not when I adore my girlfriend.”

Three days later, Robby stops right behind you in the breakfast aisle as you reach for your favorite brand of cereal. 

“I’ve been thinking…”

You look up from the two flavors you are inspecting. “Hm?”

“Is butter a carb?” 

You stare at him as the words reach your ears, before you finally understand the meaning behind them. “Oh my God.” You almost choke on your own saliva.

“I’ve been waiting all week to use that one.” 

OLD MAN!ROBBY AND ROMANCE

Dating Robby means discovering that romance, to him, isn’t reserved for special occasions. Before him, you’d almost convinced yourself that love was supposed to look like grand gesture on anniversaries and Valentine’s day only, but polite indifference sprinkled with the usual old arguments the rest of the time, because that’s what many people around you seemed to settle for.

He reaches for every door before you do, and if you’re walking together through campus after he picks you up from class, he makes sure to fall into step beside you with one hand resting lightly against the small of your back whenever the pavement gets crowded, quietly steering you around people without interrupting the conversation you’re having. And when you thank him for it, Robby only smiles and looks faintly confused, as though holding a door for the woman he loves is hardly something worth acknowledging.

It also isn’t unusual for you to wake up and sometimes find a bunch of wildflowers wrapped in brown paper from the florist close to your favorite coffee shop, because he’d walked past it while buying breakfast for the two of you after a rare night shift, seen them in the window, and found himself wondering how they’d look like sitting in the little ceramic vase on your windowsill.

What surprises you the most, though, is how often music becomes part of ordinary evenings. Robby always has something playing in the background, whether it’s one of his old jazz records while he cooks, Bruce Springsteen humming softly through the speakers as he folds laundry on a free Sunday evening, or Pearl Jam drifting through the garage.

Somewhere along the way, his music becomes yours. You learn the songs he always reaches for after difficult shifts, while he starts asking what you’re listening to on the way back from campus. Sometimes you steal one of his records, other times he hums one of Rihanna’s songs under his breath as he walks down the trauma bay, only to act oblivious once the youngest residents stop him with wide eyes, because there is no way Doctor Robby listens to Umbrella in his free time.

And then, for your first Valentine’s Day, you finally decide to do something about it.

He unwraps his gift with ridiculous care, peeling the tape back instead of tearing the paper. At first, his smile holds a hint of confusion. He turns the jewel case over in his hands once, twice, marginally acknowledging the handwritten track list on the back before looking up at you.

“You made me a CD?”

You suddenly feel a wave of self-consciousness burning through you. 

“I know it’s old-fashioned.” Your tense shoulders rise a little, but Robby’s smile widens.

“Old-fashioned?” He teases.

“A little.” You shrug and he lets out a soft, amused huff as his thumb runs slowly over the handwritten title on the front in blocky letters, before tracing the little hearts and cute colorful stickers you have attached all over the plastic case.

Then he finally flips it over, eagerly reaching for the glasses he keeps in one of his many pockets, and starts reading the list of songs. His expression changes completely. The first few titles are his favorites, the ones playing when the two of you are driving together, windows down and one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel as the other touches your thigh. A couple of old rock songs he’d introduced you to during the first months of your relationship follow right after; that Duran Duran song that reminds him of his chaotic summers; the Tears For Fears’ song that he never actually listened to fully because he had bought their records at a sketchy market stall that definitely sold counterfeit goods, but teenage Robby wanted it so badly that he couldn’t care less.

The playlist gradually changes then, just like his life did. Artists you play while you get ready, songs that make you tear up for times you could only recall with a kind of warmth that never fails to make your chest hurt. 

He smiles to himself, because he remembers every single moment attached to them. 

“You made this?” He asks quietly, reaching the last track only for his eyes to go back to the beginning and bask in each title all over again.

You hide your shyness with a sheepish chuckle. “I used to burn CDs all the time, but not nearly as romantically. Mostly for long car rides with my parents, and then for my first car. It was an old model and it didn’t have Bluetooth.”

“I was wondering how you managed to make one.”

“I still have an external disc buried somewhere in a drawer.” You shrug vaguely, as if it’s not a big deal.

“You know,” Robby goes back to study the case. “The last time somebody made me a mixtape, it was in college.”

“Really?”

He slowly nods his head at the memory. “It was a cassette. My roommate decided I needed better taste in music.”

“Did you?” Your eyebrows lift playfully.

“Absolutely not.” You start laughing at his ridiculous answer and he soon joins you.

“We spent weeks waiting for songs to come on the radio. We’d be sitting in the apartment and all of a sudden he’d yell and then we’d hope the DJ wouldn’t talk over it.”

“And if he did?” You lean in, curious.

“You sighed dramatically and waited for that song to come on again.” He grins at your surprised expression. “Unfortunately Youtube still wasn’t a thing, angel.” His back sinks comfortably against the couch with a sigh. “Would have spared me days of waiting to catch that fucking Vanilla Ice’s song.” He grumps at last, to which you snigger, imagining a younger version of your boyfriend forced to listen over and over again to the same pop sensations his younger self despised with such a passion.

Robby’s eyes fall back again on the track list with a private smile, prompting you to look down at it as well as you cuddle into his side.

“I kept changing the order.” You mumble into his shoulder.

His eyes find you over the rim of his readers, glinting with a sparkle of glee. “You know I would’ve loved it even if the songs were completely random.”

You duck your head with a coy smile, your fingers worrying instantly at the sleeve of your sweater.

“I couldn’t just throw the songs together.” Your eyes stay on the case. “The first song is Stayin’ Alive for... well, obvious reasons. You told me your grandpa literally ruined the cassette with how much he listened to it, so it just felt right to start there. Then it sort of… follows you.”

Your voice shakes a little at the edges with all the doubts that have been haunting you since the moment you decided to go through with this idea. Will he like it? Are you overstepping? Will he laugh at it? Is this enough? Should you just buy him a perfume?

“There are the songs you’ve loved forever, the ones that have carved your teenage years, and the summer with your friends, your first apartment, your residency in New Orleans… and I kept thinking how strange it is that I know all those memories without having lived any of them.” You shake your head lightly. “But I guess they started feeling familiar to me too.”

Still unable to properly look at him, your cheeks burn under his undivided attention. “And then, little by little, the playlist changed. There are the songs we’ve claimed together.” You point out with a low, almost shy giggle at the thought of something meant just for the two of you. “The ones that we always end up singing when we’re stuck in traffic, the ones you pretend not to like until I catch you humming them while brushing your teeth—even if you always joke about me manipulating you into liking them.”

Your smile gradually morphs into a straight line as your teeth anxiously play with your bottom lip. “I don’t even know when that happened, I just realized one day that I couldn’t hear these songs anymore without thinking of you. And…” A slow huff escapes your nose, half frustrated with yourself because you can’t seem to find the right words. “I don’t know, I just wanted to give you something that… sounded like us.”

The room falls quiet with you, leaving Robby to sit there with his fingers curled loosely around the plastic case and his heart beating to the rhythm of a love he still can’t quite believe it’s finally his.

His gaze is settled on your face, or at least what he can see, because you are still looking at your knees as if admiring the most interesting thing in the world. 

Eventually, “You’re awfully quiet,” you murmur, trying to laugh it off. “‘M starting to think I’ve completely missed the mark.”

Your name comes out of his mouth barely above a whisper.

Another pause follows and this time you allow yourself to watch him from the corner of your eye. His throat bobs with an audible gulp, the faint smile on his lips trembling ever so slightly at the seams before his eyes flutter close, as if to collect himself. 

When the CD is placed safely on the coffee table in front of you, treated with the same utmost care he reserves for his old vinyl records, Robby makes sure to nudge it father away from the wrapping paper, just so it won’t slide off the edge.

His hands then find you. Warm fingers thread through yours, giving your palms a gentle squeeze before he tugs lightly.

“C’mere.” 

There isn’t a single universe in which you wouldn’t.

The cushion dips beneath your weight as you move closer, one of his arms slipping around your waist while the other comes up on your shoulder blades to guide you on his lap. Your bodies slot perfectly against each other as you tuck yourself beneath his chin, breathing in the clean scent of his laundry detergent mixed with the familiarity of something inherently his. 

His hand slides slowly up your neck, finally coming to a rest at the back of your head, his lips leaving a kiss right at the top.

“You have no idea—” Robby finally breaks the charged silence. His voice is rougher, and he has to clear his throat with a self-conscious chuckle. “You have no idea what you’ve just given me.”

It feels like his hand has directly sunk into your chest and squeezed your lungs, but it’s only when you hear a sniffle by your temple that you finally look up. The sight of his gentle eyes shining with unshed tears prompts you to instinctively reach for the hand resting on the back of your head, your fingers lacing together as you bring them to your mouth. The gesture makes him huff out an embarrassed laugh.

Robby studies your joined hands now resting on his belly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles with a tenderness that borders on reverence, before finally meeting your gaze.

“I love it.” The hand on your waist guides you back to him, his lips moving against your forehead. “I love you.”

It’s impossible to keep your mouth at bay as it stretches into a big, pleased smile that leaves your cheeks hurting. 

“Love you too, Mike.” A delight little wiggle rakes through you while your body presses more insistently against his. “But you haven’t even listened to it yet.” Your words slur together under his gentle attention, unable to quite contain the warmth blooming behind your ribs.

“Don’t need to, I already know it.”

You eventually tip your head back just enough to look at his handsome face. “You should at least make sure I didn’t accidentally burn over forty minutes of static.”

That earns you a quiet chuckle, the sound vibrating deeply beneath your chin. “It would still be the most precious gift I’ve ever gotten.” 

Coyly grinning, you smooth the front of his sweater where your hand had unconsciously gathered the fabric.

“Now you have something for your car player.” Robby cups your cheek with the urgent need to see you, his thumb accustomed to caressing the skin under your eye. “So when you’re driving home after one of those draining shifts,” your voice lowers with quiet respect. “You won’t have to listen to the radio playing all that ‘shitty noise’.” You directly quote him with a smile.

His eyes roll playfully at that, by now resigned at your endless teasing about something he had unconsciously mumbled under his breath one day, exasperated at the umpteenth song with repetitive lyrics and massive use of auto-tune.

Maybe he is really turning into a boomer, he had to give that to Santos.

“And maybe the drive home won’t feel quite so long.”

The tenderness of his lips meeting yours makes your breath hitch, the fingers on his chest curling into the heavy fabric that covers it.

“I spent a long time driving home to an empty house.” His forehead comes to rest gently against yours. “Some nights I’d just leave the radio off. Now I find myself sitting at traffic lights hoping they stay red a little longer just to hear you talk about your day.”

Your throat tightens.

“Michael.” A watery laughs escapes you.

His smile turns bashful. “And you’ve somehow managed to put all of that into something I get to keep.”

Robby leans in before you can answer, kissing you the way he always does: slowly enough to make you feel like you’re the only person worthy of his time. His palm never leaves your face, guiding you unhurriedly as his tongue slips between your parted lips, his other hand tightening ever so slightly around your waist, as if affection alone never quite feels enough without the physical reassurance of you being really there, with him.

When the kiss finally breaks, your chest is heaving and your eyes are stinging.

“I don’t think you’ve ever going to understand how loved you make me feel.”

OLD MAN!ROBBY AND PICTURES

You have over two thousands pictures in your camera roll, and it actually makes perfect sense: your phone is a scrapbook of every coffee that looked particularly pretty, every sunset over Pittsburgh, of blurry photos of your friends and screenshots of messages you’ll never look at again but feel the need to keep because “who knows”. And then there are lectures slides that you couldn’t be bothered to copy down, recipes, receipts, outfits you considered cute but never actually bought. 

Your gallery is a timeline of your life, even of those moments that could appear apparently insignificant.

Robby’s phone is… well, a phone.

He uses it to call you on his way home from work when you can’t come over, answer texts from the hospital and from Jack, and check the weather before leaving the house. Occasionally, he’d search for the answer to a crossword clue that’s been bothering him for days. If you have him take a picture of something, he’ll happily put on his readers and use his index finger to take a few shots. But the moment you’ve sent it to yourself, he’s just as happy to delete it from his own gallery because, as far as he’s concerned, you’ve got the picture now.

Which is why he only has ten photos.

Ten.

Four of them are of you.

The first is from one of the very first afternoons you spent at his house. You’re sitting cross-legged on the living room rug wearing one of his old university sweatshirts, completely absorbed in a round of Cribbage after he ate you out on his couch until you made a mess on the cushions. You had never felt so mortified in your whole life, but Robby made sure you couldn’t have the time to wallow in self-pity as he grabbed your thighs with a broken groan and buried his face back in your cunt, making sure to leave a big beard burn that would remind you of how good he made you feel that day every time your legs met. And he came in his pants like a fucking teenager, your embarrassment dissolving the moment he looked up at you with his face covered in your slick and slowly licked his lips with a satisfied hum, before announcing you both needed to change now.

Your eyebrows are drawn together in concentration in the picture, one sock bunched at your ankle and your expression still a little dazed.

The second is from the beach, taken on a random Thursday just before going away. You’d thrown your oversized linen shirt over your bikini and walked back to the lake to take one last look at the sunset, the water caressing your skin just past your knees. It’s definitely not one of those aesthetically pleasing pictures one’d find on Pinterest, but the fact that Robby even thought about freezing that moment in time forever makes the photo priceless.

The third catches you asleep in the passenger seat after he’d picked you up from campus. Your backpack is at your feet, your headphone still around your neck as you’re curled toward his side of the car, exhausted after a day full of lectures. You remember waking up a few minutes after he parked in his driveway, your apologies promptly shut down by his lips covering your face in loving kisses. You never realized Robby had quietly entertained himself by reaching for his phone while waiting for you to wake up, because to him you had looked so peaceful that he wanted to be able to look at it whenever something took a bad turn at the hospital. A reminder of what was waiting for him at home.

The fourth is almost completely blurred. You’re laughing too hard for the camera to focus while trying to steal a handful of fries from his plate instead of eating your own. Most people would’ve deleted it immediately, but Robby kept it because, every time he sees it, he can still hear your laugh.

The fifth picture is the one he uses as both his wallpaper and lock screen; it exists solely because Robby looks down at his phone one day, and frowns thoughtfully at it, hit with the sudden realization that he can change his wallpaper to a picture of you now. The request alone is enough to leave you flustered—he announced it so bluntly, no beating around the bush, just him wanting to have you there every time he reaches for his phone. The fact that you don’t actually have a single picture together somehow makes it even worse, your heart already halfway melted before you’ve even opened the camera. It takes you an embarrassingly long time to convince him that, if he insists on replacing the default wallpaper with a picture of you, then you might as well be in it together.

However, what should have taken less than a minute somehow turns into nearly half an hour, because Robby keeps blinking at the wrong moments, or looking at the camera with that oddly solemn expression people his age seem to reserve for the lens. Every time you insist he needs to relax, he grows even more serious, which only makes you laugh harder. Soon you’re both laughing too much to hold the phone steady, the gallery slowly filling with blurry attempts and cropped foreheads.

Your favorite is the one where you turn at the last second to kiss his cheek, his smile unmistakably soft but real. Robby dismisses it almost immediately though, because half of your face disappears against his. He wants to see you.

The one you eventually settle on happens entirely by accident, neither of you paying attention anymore—not when his fingers are playfully poking your sides to make you squeak, and your lips end up on his after every shot. It’s imperfect in every possible way: you’re tucked against his side on the couch, still laughing over something you’d probably forget the next day. Robby isn’t even looking at the camera, his brown eyes completely focused on you as his mouth is twisted into that familiar smile that belongs to the walls of your home. You both happen to glance back at the phone only when your thumb taps the shutter.

The light is uneven, and your shirts are all wrinkly, as if you just had a play fight that both of you refused to lose. Robby doesn’t consider taking another. And now, every time his phone lights up, it’s the memory of spending his afternoon accomplishing absolutely nothing, except laughing with the woman he loves until his cheeks hurt, that makes him smile.

The remaining pictures are four different version of the group photo McKay insisted on taking after spending the whole shift explicitly hinting at a free round of drinks offered by Whitaker for his birthday. She probably refused to accept no for an answer, already holding her phone up while Dana stood beside her with her arms folded, informing Robby that after years of avoiding every staff picture, he was absolutely staying put for this one. His smile in the picture has the unmistakable look of a man who chosen to surrender with dignity.

And then there’s a screenshot. Of a comment section of Facebook.

You eventually discover he has absolutely no idea why it’s there. Apparently, your boyfriend has the masochist habit of checking the comments under medical articles, already knowing a bunch of people following Dr. Google’s advice are going to ruin his day with their presumptuous confidence about topics they don’t even know how to pronounce.

He probably pressed the wrong buttons and accidentally took a screenshot, only to completely forget about its existence. That somehow makes it even more endearing.

But at the end of the day, what really gets to you is not how few pictures he has, but how carefully chosen they seem without him even realizing it. Robby simply doesn’t think to take his phone out very often, he’s always been the sort of person who experiences things while they’re happening. Most moments pass exactly as they should, lived once and stored somewhere in memory.

The ones he photographs are different. He already knows he’s going to miss them one day, and somewhere along the way, you’d quietly become the centre of those moments. Knowing that means infinitely more than owning two thousands pictures of you.

OLD MAN!ROBBY WHOSE BACK IS ALWAYS HURTING

Although Robby’s back has you immediately check on him whenever he bends down to pick something up, waiting to see whether he’ll straighten back up or pause with both hands planted on his hips, it never stops him from doing the heavy lifting. Boxes, suitcases, cases of bottled water... Even the ridiculously heavy bookshelf you bought because it was too cute. It becomes a running joke between you: he carries, you worry, he tells you he’s fine, you remind him that he will groan about his joints getting out of bed in the morning.

But most of the time, his pain comes from an entirely different reason than simply helping you out.

To celebrate the end of your exams, you find a little Italian restaurant tucked away downtown, share a bottle of wine over a delicious dinner, and wander aimlessly through the neighborhood afterwards with your fingers intertwined, stopping every few minutes because you love watching people’s life unfolding from their windows. Sometimes you throw an instinctive comment about their decor, and Mikey, that lamp would look amazing in our living room that leaves Robby smiling helplessly at the fact that you have come to consider his house your home, his stomach somersaulting at the prospect of decorating a place you own together.

By the time you get back to his, you’re both pleasantly buzzed from the wine, still laughing over the elderly couple celebrating forty years of marriage who sent you dessert.

“They thought we were father and daughter.” He shakes his head trying not to smile, the waiter’s red cheeks still ingrained in his mind as he approached you with a sheepish smile, knowing very well from the kisses you had shared throughout dinner and the way you looked at each other that you were far from being related.

“Ohh c’mon,” you rub your eye, careless of the mascara you had applied mere hours before. “They were so kind, and what was I supposed to do? Give the tiramisu back?”

Robby shakes his head, fumbling with his keys when you slip your arms around his waist from behind, your cheek squished against his back.

“I was thinking—”

His lips lift faintly. “Dangerous.”

You promptly pinch his side. “I’m serious.” Your arms tighten briefly around him. “I like this.”

He glances down. “My shirt.”

“Uh-uh.”

“My belt?”

You giggle. “You, silly.”

At that he turns around in your arms, smiling with quiet curiosity. “What about me?”

You stare up at him with dreamy, unguarded eyes, glinting under the moonlight with a mischievous sparkle accentuated by the little amount of liquid courage you had sipped almost an hour ago.

“I like that you’re big.”

“Big?”

“Mhm.” You sigh. “Tall, broad…” Your palms caress their way down to his stomach, passing by his shoulders and chest first, ultimately giving the soft pudge a gentle pat. “And I like this.” The words are punctuated by a breathy moan that you don’t even notice, but Robby feels it in his bones as if your lips were pressed right by his ear. “Drives me fucking crazy every time, Mikey.”

The next silent seconds are enough for his ego to slowly swell, prompting him to bend, slip one arm behind your knees and the other around your back, before hoisting you clean off the floor like a sack of potatoes.

“Michael!” Your eyes widen in shock.

“Need to keep it down, angel. People are sleeping at this hour.” He’s already chuckling at your little squeal, carefully pushing the door open.

“You’ve had wine!”

“Hm, so have you.” 

“I’m not the one lifting another human being!”

Robby completely ignores your words as he adjusts you more comfortably over his shoulder before climbing the stairs with infuriatingly steady steps.

“Oh my God, Mike, your poor back.” It sounds close to a whine, your body now slack in his strong hold. 

“My back is fine, sweetheart.”

“What do you mean fine? It has medical records!” Robby starts laughing so hard he has to stop halfway up the way, the fingers around the back of your thighs tightening instinctively while the other hand grips the banister until he is calm enough to proceed.

You feel him shake under you, pulling another little shriek to erupt from your throat as your hands tighten on the back of his shirt. “See!”

“Sweetheart, when did I ever let you fall?”

“Eh, you’re almost sixty.”

“Oh.” His mirth ceases at once, voice lowering into what should be a threatening baritone, but the raucous tilt only has your thighs squeezing together at the feeling of your panties getting wetter after this cute display of strength from your boyfriend. “That was a grave mistake, angel.”

“You sound like an old wooden staircase in the morning.” Your giggle turns into a gasp as his palm comes into contact with the bare skin of your thigh.

“I’ve made a terrible mistake dating someone this disrespectful.”

“No.” The word is dragged out, whiny and pouty. “Just telling the truth.”

Robby sputters. “How’s that even remotely the truth, huh baby? I’m barely in my fifties.”

“‘S the same thing.” You slur out eventually, now feeling a little bit dizzy from the upside down position.

“It’s not, little lady.” He smacks your asscheek this time, his lips stretching into a smug grin as you wiggle cutely on his shoulder, your breath hitching just right.

A deep, dramatic exhale escapes your nostrils. “Alright, but I’m serious Mike, put me down before you end up with a herniated disc trying to impress me.” You’re back at giggling too hard for the warning to sound particularly convincing, your hands already rubbing slow circles over the broad expanse of his back as if you could somehow prevent the inevitable.

Robby allows himself to bask in the feeling of your soft palms on him for a moment longer, before resuming his ascent to the first floor. “I’m just carrying my girlfriend, not moving a piano.”

You’re both laughing too hard to continue the argument, and by the time he reaches the bedroom, Robby sets you carefully over the sheets, quickly climbing between your thighs to hover above you, his hands cupping your cheeks.

“There.” His lips plant themselves on your forehead. “Happy?”

Your eyes appreciatively rake along his torso, your arms finally setting around his neck to bring him closer. “Definitely.” The tips of your noses playfully brush against each other, but before you can even think about tearing his shirt open, Robby goes rigid over you, his expression twisting into a tiny grimace. You gasp dramatically.

“I knew it!” You reach up to smooth the hair that’s fallen onto his forehead, trying very hard to look serious despite the endeared smile pulling at your lips. “Aw, my poor baby. C’mere.”

Robby gladly takes your hand and helps you guide him down until he’s lying on his back without arguing—mostly because the moment he stretches out across the mattress, you climb on top of him, his hands finding their rightfully place on your hips.

The smile you give him is so sweet it makes his heart ache, but before he can start singing praises about how pretty and sweet you are, it sharpens into a mischievous grin.

Confident and stunning and better than he ever dared to dream, you reach for the zip on the side of your dress, slowly pulling it down as your eyes stay firmly fixed on his. The moment it reaches the end, you are taking the hem and pulling the snug fabric off of you, abandoning it somewhere on the ground. His hands are already on your chest, greedily pawing at the swell of your breasts still covered by the cute lingerie you chose tonight, knowing very well the effect it’d have on his poor heart.

“Can you take care of these, baby?” Your fingers play with the hem of your panties, before letting it snap back against your skin. With a grunt, Robby is channeling all his strength into his arms, reducing your underwear to a sad little piece of ruined fabric.

It would be easier for him to just rip the bra off as well—that way he’d be able to finally get your nipples in his mouth. But you beat him to it, slowly unhooking the offending piece of lingerie and letting it fall on the floor with a wink.

Looking down at his flustered face, you lean in for another kiss that leaves him completely breathless and yearning for more. His hands sneak down from your waist to your hips, pushing them forward. You gasp at the sudden stimulation against your core as your palms make their way up to his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“Off.” You whine against his mouth, and who is Robby to deny you? He lets out an amused huff as he hastily removes the fabric, leaving it to lie sadly under him, too distracted by the feeling of your hands feeling up his arms.

His heavy, shaky breath pulls a giggle out of you.

“Wanna make you feel good, angel. Please.”

If his face wasn’t already full with your tits, he would have probably taken you right there. Most of the time it’s him who leads, making you come until you are shaking and whimpering from overstimulation, his pants still untouched but his erection painful and straining against the tight fabric of his boxers. Yet he’s not satisfied until he has you pliant and wet for him, coaxing orgasm after orgasm with his sweet encouragements that from another man would have probably sounded extremely condescending. With Robby, it’s too easy to lose yourself in him, knowing that he will always be there with open arms, ready to catch you.

Your kisses travel under his ear, allowing you to bask in the little gasps falling freely from his lips as his cock twitches behind you.

“Yeah?” His needy moan is muffled by your hungry lips. With his fingers digging into the skin of your hips, Robby tentatively thrusts up, huffing in protest when your hand firmly grabs his jaw.

“Control yourself, Doctor.”

“Please, sweetheart. Jus’ use me.” Robby’s breath hitches when your palms finally press on his pecs, your hips adjusting just slightly with you finally straightening up, looking down at him like a goddess with her loyal devotee, so lovely with your pretty grin and your sparkling eyes and—

Your wet folds land directly on the generous swell of his belly.

When you fooled around for the first time, Robby insisted his body was that of a man who had stopped taking care of himself. It took a lot of kisses and whispered reassurances for him to finally reach for the hem of his shirt, his movements devoid of that sharp confidence you had come to associate with him, as though bracing for disgust. When the fabric disappeared over his head, leaving him sitting in front of you with his gaze fixed on the mattress, you had taken your time to admire him. His chest and arms spoke of the strength that came from decades of pushing gurneys through crowded hallways, and his stomach rounded gently beneath his ribs. It was the kind of body shaped by years of skipped meals followed by hurried, processed ones grabbed between shifts, and exhaustion winning over gym memberships. His shoulders are still broad enough to make you feel impossibly secure when he hugs you, even if time had softened his muscles. But none of it ever struck you as something that needed apologizing for. If anything, that night you made sure to show him just how much it turned you on. Robby had never once hesitated again.

“Shit.” His breath matches the fast pace of your chest, heaving as you smile blissfully at him with your eyelids fluttering close as soon as your hips start rocking back and forth on his tummy. His cock aches at the sight, his jaw clenching at the cute sounds falling from your parted lips while he idly pinches and flicks your nipples.

“Michael.” You gasp, your clit throbbing once you pick up the pace.

“There we go. Keep moving for me... Just like that. So fucking perfect with your little clit rubbing all over me. Let me see how wet you are, sweet girl.” Two of his fingers are reaching down, gently parting your folds and moaning at the mess he finds there. His thumb briefly strokes your nub, the sensation of his finger gliding so easily over it pulling a pathetic whimper out of you.

“Fuck, I knew it. Good girl.”

A low grunt escapes his chest as your nails inevitably end up sinking into his skin, shivering at the sole thought that his body will bear your claim under his scrubs. Despite the light sting, his eyes blown out with lust never stray away from you, taking in the gorgeous sight of the same beautiful breasts he’d cover in kisses and drool when nightmares turn too realistic now bouncing rhythmically with the sensuous movement of your hips. Your lips part around lewd, breathy moans as your head falls back at each brush of your swollen nub against his flesh, your cunt warm at your orgasm approaching, fast.

“That’s it, lovely. C’mon, jus’ a little more.” Your hips cutely twitch at his coos.

“Feels so good, Mike…” And with a particular electrifying graze of his thumbs over your abused nipples, you whimper, making a mess on his belly. Your body falls against his, your hips stuttering through your intense orgasm as you hug Robby close, gasping into his neck.

“Fuck—fucking hell.” He growls at the wet trail you left on the dark, coarse hair covering his torso once you recover enough to straighten up, further spreading your legs to inspect your mess. His face is red, a bit sweaty, his flushed chest heaving as if he is the one who just came.

Robby stares up at you with something akin to reverence, his heart beating far too fast than usual. “I love you so much, thank you, thank you, my love.” He blurts out with his fingers still kneading your chest.

Your smile is tired but sated, your forehead glistening after working yourself up but Robby thinks you have never looked more radiant.

The moment you lazily crawl toward the other side of the bed, his body suddenly feels cold. You lie on your back and spread your legs for him.

“I love you too, baby.” You turn your face enough to look at him in the eye. “But now I need to feel you inside.”

A giggle claws out of your throat at they way Robby’s eyes light up in excitement, enjoying the sight of the ever grumpy and firm attending clumsily following your beckoning finger. His throat bobs visibly when his gaze meets your adorable little grin, your hands gently leading his strong body by his wrists until he positions himself between your thighs. His cheeks blush violently under the scrutiny of your lustful eyes, your tongue delicately peeking out as they languidly trace down his dark happy trail, until they reach the big bulge still hidden by his black pants. His cock must be hard and aching by now, the sole thought of his flushed tip shining with precum making you salivate.

Pressing your foreheads together, Robby kisses the tip of your nose, traveling down to your lips until his smile stretches too wide to kiss your properly. You shiver at his soft hands moving down to your thighs, his eyes finally meeting your glistening pussy. “So needy for me, my angel. Are you thinking about my cock? Look at her, all pretty and swollen for me.”

Robby lazily moves his mouth along the wet insides of your thighs, pulling a sigh out of you when he sucks on the sensitive skin. Finally, he takes a lick at your folds, always so careful. The taste of your slick makes him groan lowly into his chest, the vibrations a pleasant stimulation against your core as Robby eats you out like a delicacy. The sight of your hole eagerly waiting for him has the thought of filling you up with his cum and watching it drip out immediately resurfacing, a glint of possessiveness stirring hot in his belly.

His lips take your clit between them, sucking at a steady speed before letting his tongue playfully flick it until he has you whimpering loudly for him. Your hand shoots down, grasping his short hair and pulling as the other travels up to your tit, squeezing and kneading the soft skin under his hungry gaze.

“Feeling good, baby, hm?” He looks at you expectantly with his cheek resting on your thigh, waiting eagerly for your praise, his fingers leisurely caressing your hood.

“So good. Keep going, please, Mikey.” You sigh, and Robby is only a man. He quickly goes back to lavish your clit with his mouth. His eyelids slowly flutter close at the taste, a small, satisfied hum vibrating in his chest.

“Yes, yes!” A sharp gasp shamelessly echoes in the bedroom as his tongue slowly thrusts inside, his face grinding against your pussy just to further coat himself in your essence. 

At some point, you’re so lost in your own pleasure that you don’t notice how two of his fingers replace the appendage inside you. Robby knows by now how much your body can take, how beautifully you open up to his large size.

There’s no use fighting the desperate sounds threatening to come out as his fingers fuck into you at an even pace, taking care to curl them just right to hit that spot that always makes your eyes roll back. All you can do is squirm helplessly on the wrinkly sheets, one hand gripping the pillow under your head the moment he starts to nurse on your clit again.

“Fuck—yes baby, yes!” Robby increases the pace with each thrust, his dark gaze intensely locked on your fucked out expression.

“Oh my God, oh my God—another.” You whine. “Add another, Mike!” He immediately obeys, as eager as you.

“Love watching your pretty pussy cry for me.” He mumbles, his breath heavy and his fingers thrusting steadily. “C’mon, come for me, baby girl. Make your old man proud.”

You squeeze so hard around him it almost borders on painful, and with your back beautifully arching up, your thighs start shaking as your climax finally hits you. Robby tries to fuck you through it, hoping to make you come once again before giving you a break, but your grip on his digits is too tight.

As much as you both wished for it to last longer, you are soon turning into jelly against the mattress, already sensitive from your first peak. Your cunt is still weakly pulsating as Robby plays with it some more, observing the wet mess with parted lips.

“Michael,” he instantly looks up at the sweet sound of his name. You lazily extend your arm towards him. “C’mere.”  

Robby quickly crawls back up wearing your arousal all over his beard like a badge of honor, swallowing back down a moan as you palm his erection through his pants, the muscles of his belly tensing in a poor attempt to not come all over your hand.

“Mike, your cock, please.”

“Stop talking or I’ll come right now.” His voice is rough, his hands rougher as he gropes your ass. Your fingers slowly unbutton his pants, allowing your other hand to slide inside and leisurely stroke his firm length. His hips twitch forward without his permission, the light stimulation enough for his forehead to fall pathetically against your shoulder.

“Wanna make you proud,” his breath is heavy and warm against your bare skin. “Take every inch of you inside my little pussy and come just like that, with your thick cock buried deep inside me.” His eyes shut close, a shiver running down his back at your dirty whispers. “And then feel your cum leak out of me all night long.”

The groan tearing out from his chest is painful. “Fucking hell, wanna give me a heart attack, princess, hm?”

Your hold around his cock falters just slight as you laugh at his words, and finally Robby feels like his body can work again, his fingers reaching down to lower his pants and boxers in a quick, messy pull. He refuses to withdraw from you, making you giggle at his eagerness as you watched your boyfriend clumsily kicks his legs around, enough to discard his bottoms somewhere on the bed.

“You’re so silly, Mike.” Your smile has his head spinning, and just like that he’s on you again, his hold on your thighs possessive. Robby’s lips twist up as well, the words on his tongue dissolving into a low moan at the sweet fingers wrapping back around his length. You bite your bottom lip at the sight of his perfect cock resting thick and hard in your palm, the tip flushed just like you had imagined, and the veins you’ve grown fond to tease with your tongue disappearing into the unkempt, dark hair Robby keeps at the base.

Gaping, you are already guiding him to your folds, your eyes rolling back at the electrifying feeling of the head dragging against your soaked folds, but Robby stops you shakily before you can take him inside.

“Wait!” His fingers squeeze your waist once. “Let me…” His light tug is enough for you to help him flip you around.

“This okay, princess? Need you like this tonight, please.”

“Of course, baby.” You smile back at him, spreading your knees enough for Robby to gasp at your cunt still so ready for him. His trembling fingers are back again on your hips, lifting them just right and allowing him to comfortably line the tip with your entrance.

As much as he loves having you pressed against his front, your eyes locked together and his mouth attached to your nipples as you cry out with every graze of his pubic hair against your clit, sometimes there is a particularly primal need that claws at his chest with a kind of ferocity that leaves Robby drooling at the mere idea of taking you from behind, the flesh of your ass jiggling and slapping against his hips while his hands guide you back on his cock over and over again.

“Fuck me.” He growls out, hastily rubbing a hand down his face as if the act alone could make him regain even a crumb of control over himself. The stretch is overwhelming, his teeth gritting against each other in a way that will probably hurt his gums tomorrow, but he needs to control himself, needs to keep his thrusts slow, or else he will hurt you.

But you are so tight, so warm, so wet, your mouth falling open for all your little squeals and whimpers to fill the bedroom...

He is not going to last.

You giggle through your heavy gasps when his breath stutters loudly, clenching around him before he slaps your asscheek as a warning. 

“Fuck, you’re so big.” You sigh with a devious grin. 

“Biggest you’ve ever taken, hm?” He pants with a little sheepish smile, already knowing the answer. 

“Mm-hmm.” You nod with no hesitation, resting on your elbows as you let your head tip forward. 

He doesn’t waste anymore time after all the suffering you put him through, and starts properly pumping his hips, immediately finding a rhythm that works for the both of you. 

“Oh Mike, you’re doing so good, baby.” You moan at the feeling of his palm seizing your breast from behind and squeezing the soft flesh with a groan of his own. 

He whimpers at the praise, his hips eagerly jerking forward for a brief moment. 

“Closer, honey. Need you closer.” You blindly reach back with one hand, grabbing the fingers around your hips to pull forward until he is fully lying on your back.

“Shit—s’ so fucking tight.” He slurs out. “Nice and deep, just like how you like it, right sweetheart?”

“Yes, yes. Feeling so full, Michael. Love it, love you.” What comes out of his mouth next is a mix of messy moans and muffled curses against your neck.

“C’mon, baby.” You cry out softly. “Fill me up.” 

“But—”

“Mike please! Use me, baby. Make me yours.”

“Fuck!” He growls out at last. “Fine!”

The pace Robby sets is brutal. Between his sharp thrusts and the way he yanks your hips to meet his, your boyfriend chases his high with complete abandon as the sloppy sounds of his cock pounding your wet cunt competes with the shameless thundering of the headboard hitting the wall.

“You’re gonna make me come so hard, baby girl. Fuck, fuck,” his chest rises and falls faster. “You’re taking it so good, so good my baby—oh shit—” His balls draw tight, and with a loud grunt, Robby spills inside you, still thrusting hard into your pussy. Once his cum starts spurting steadily inside, you sigh in delight, mumbling soft praises that have him moaning for more. 

His face falls onto your neck, body melting against yours as he rides out the last bits of his orgasm, shaking and mouthing at your skin while you try your best to rub his leg in comfort. Robby doesn’t know exactly how much time passes, but when his mind clears, he is still catching his breath, subtly grinding into you with a slow circle of his hips, even if oversensitivity makes his breath hitch pathetically.

“Sorry—I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He mumbles between heavy exhales. “I don’t know what came over me.” 

It upsets you every time he apologizes for coming before you, as if it’s not something you take huge flattery for. You’re always encouraging him to take what he needs, genuinely loving when he uses you to make himself feel good. But your boyfriend is such a caring, loving gentleman and refuses to accept it, even when his focus has narrowed completely to the wet heat between your legs.

“Hm don’t worry, Mikey. I still need you though, you know?” You mewl, interrupting him as his lips part probably with another apologize ready on his tongue.

His cock weakly twitches inside of you at your cunt clenching on purpose, before a strangled groan abruptly rumbles in his chest.

“Shit.”

You eyes widen at the strain coloring his voice. “Oh my God, Michael! Are you okay?” You quickly try to rise on your shaky arms, but he is still lying on your back.

“Sorry, sorry—’s just a cramp.” He mumbles reluctantly, eyes squeezing shut at the sharp sting at the back of his left thigh.

“Can you move?” 

“Yes but—wait.” His arms are suddenly tightening around your waist, keeping you still. “It’s fine, I can still go.” You hear him swallow thickly. “Let me just—”

“Michael, no.” You whisper sadly, frowning at the possibility of him further hurting himself.

“I said it’s fine.” His answer comes sharper than he means it to. 

The next protest dies in his throat, though, as you feel him shake his head against your shoulder. The sting flares again, enough to make him suck in a breath through his teeth. His grip around your waist loosens for a second before tightening all over again, like he’s trying to anchor himself to reality.

“Sorry, ‘m so sorry, sweetheart, I—” He suddenly bursts out laughing, the sound almost unnatural. There is no trace of humor in it, just a sharp taste of cold, bitter realization. “Fucking hell.”

It makes your stomach churn unpleasantly.

“Michael.” You call his name, now completely sobered up.

Robby’s answer doesn’t come as fast as usual. His fingers flex against your stomach before settling again.

“A cramp,” he clicks his tongue, forehead falling on your shoulder dejectedly. “A fucking cramp.”

“Baby, please—”

“No.” Another sardonic chuckle escapes him as he shakes his head. Slowly, you place a careful hand over the one on your belly.

“It can happen to anyone.” You whisper.

“I used—used to be...” His voice is far too distant for your liking. “I’m getting leg cramps while fucking my girlfriend.”

The animosity woven through the statement is like a punch to your guts. You can practically feel the poison spreading through his mind, turning one stupid, harmless moment into a monster that is gradually undoing months of therapy and late nights spent worshipping him.

His body goes still behind you, all you can hear now is his heavy breathing.

“It’s one thing after another lately.”

“Michael—”

“My knee hurts when it rains. My shoulder keeps locking up. I make noise every time I stand up like a fucking eighty-year-old with arthrosis.”

“Baby...” Your throat is closing on itself as you barely have any voice to whisper.

“I know what you’re gonna say.” He murmurs. “You’re gonna tell me it’s normal and that everybody gets old eventually and none of this matters because you love me.”

“Because it is true, I do love you.” You sniffle.

“What happens in ten years?”

You frown. “What?”

“What happens in ten years?” Robby repeats quietly. “Or twenty. What happens when all this gets worse?”

“I—”

“What happens when I can’t keep up with you anymore?” His words trip over each other, mumbled into your skin. “What happens when my knees get worse? Or my back gives out? Or I need help to stand up from the goddamn bed?”

“I can’t even get through one morning without something hurting.”

The quiet certainty in his voice hurts more than if he just shouted at you.

“You should be with someone younger,” he continues agitated. “Someone who can properly take care of you.” His hold tightens again in spite of the words coming out of his mouth, his own body fighting against his mind as if speaking them out loud could make the nightmare come true. “Not some… worn-down old man who can’t trust his own damn body anymore.”

Your eyes sting. “Stop.”

“One day I’m gonna be more work than I’m worth.”

The words land in your chest heavy enough that for a second you genuinely feel like you can’t breath. You spent months watching him get better—certainly, the healing process is never linear, and there are still days where Robby feels that gnawing guilt weighting like a brick on his chest, but he is still trying. And that of course reflected on your relationship as well: he stopped apologizing every time his shoulder protested after a long shift, he started laughing whenever you hid his reading glasses because he had once complained he couldn’t find them while they were sitting on top of his head. He accepted that needing you by his side didn’t make him any less of the man you’d fallen in love with.

You let yourself believe that the little voice in the back of his mind constantly measuring his worth by everything he could still do had finally started losing power over him.

And now, all of a sudden, it’s speaking again... louder than you’ve ever heard it in months.

When your arms resolutely push yourself up, his body tenses behind you.

“No.” The word comes out with pure panic latched on it, and your heart breaks all over again.

“I’m just—”

“Wait, wait.” He chokes out. “Don’t leave me.”

“I'm not leaving you, Michael.”

His body shudders.

He thinks you’re pulling away because you’ve had enough of hearing it. Because he’s ruining the moment.

Because he’s becoming too much.

“Oh, honey.” You try to shift again but his hold on your waist borders on painful. “I just want to see you, please? Please, my love, let me see you?”

For a long moment, Robby doesn’t know what to say but you can feel your words actually sinking into him as his body stiffens once again before gradually growing less rigid.

“Oh.” He mumbles.

You carefully untangle his arms from your body, enough to move into an upright position, and finally turning around to face him, still on your knees in front of him. When your eyes land on his face, your chest caves in, because the embarrassment in his voice was bad enough, but the fear in his beautiful eyes is way worse. Robby genuinely looks like some part of him expected to see disappointment on your face.

Instead, you reach for him, cupping his jaw with your shaky hands.

His gaze drops automatically.

“Hey.” You softly call out. “Can you look at me, please?”

“They barely work.” He mutters.

You blink, taken aback. “What?”

“My eyes.”

Your shoulders sag. “Michael.”

His expression crumples. “I just want to take care of you.”

The confession comes out so roughly it sounds ripped directly from his heart.

He shakes his head, frustration creeping into his voice and eyes glistening with unshed years. “I want to be able to do things for you, but sometimes I can barely carry groceries when they’re too heavy without pulling a muscle. I want to know—no, I need to know that if something happens, I’ve got you.”

His gaze finally meets yours. “But lately it feels like you’re the one taking care of me.”

You slide closer until your knees are brushing his, your arms slipping around his neck before he can retreat any further into himself. His shoulders, which were locked so tightly it looked painful, sag beneath your hands as his forehead instantly finds the hollow space of your neck, his body knowing where safety is even when his mind is too clouded by fear to remember.

Neither of you says anything for what feels like a long time, the bedroom finally falling into a charged silence now that your sad pleas and his cruel words have stopped. Robby’s breathing is still uneven, warm against your skin, his lips pressed into a thin line and his hands spread across your back, holding on just a little too tightly, because letting go might allow every ugly thought he’s been swallowing to spill out like an uncontrollable river during a storm.

A few minutes ago your skin was being kissed by his laugh, your limbs intertwined in a way that neither of you could remember when one body ended and the other began. Now, Robby feels impossibly far away and for the first time, you genuinely find yourself not knowing how to guide him back to you.

“I’m sorry.” The words are barely more than a breath against you.

“No.”

“I’m always ruining ever—”

“Michael, please.” The loud desperation in your voice stops him at once.

You decide then to lean back just enough to cradle his face back in your palms before he can fully retract into his mind. Although he tries to resist at first, gaze fixed stubbornly somewhere on your collarbone, your thumbs softly stroke over the roughness of his beard, until, eventually, he lets you coax his chin up.

The sight of his damp lashes and his flushed cheeks steals the air from your lungs, but the image of the brown eyes you love so much now red around the edges and shining with pain feels like a knife twisting in your chest.

There is something so heartbreakingly ashamed in the way Robby looks at you that has your own vision blur instantly.

A tear slips before you can stop it. “Hearing you talk about yourself like—” Your voice wavers, forcing you to swallow around the knot lodged in your throat. “Like you’re some broken object ready to be thrown in the trash. Like you’re waiting for me to wake up one morning and decide you’re not worth loving anymore… Michael, why—”

Robby feels like the world just crumbled beneath his feet. His eyebrows draw together first, almost imperceptibly, before his mouth parts on a quiet breath. The shame is still there, but it gives way to something worse the moment he realizes you’re crying. Because of him.

His eyes dart frantically over your face, trying to work out when the first tear escaped him, when he missed it, how he let this happen. “I didn’t mean—”

Another tear follows the first, prompting one of your hands to forcefully brush at your own cheek in a poor attempt to collect yourself.

“But why would you say that?” Your voice barely above a broken whisper, filled with genuine confusion. “Why are you so cruel to yourself?”

Robby’s eyes shut close in something close to resignation. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” You sniffle tiredly but Robby stubbornly shakes his head. “You’re scared.”

His lips press together into a thin line, the miserable sob clawing at his throat still bouncing off the walls of his bedroom. 

“Yes.” He clears his throat, refusing to meet your gaze. “I’m scared that one day you’ll look at me and see what I see. You’ll realize…” His voice catches again. “Realize you could’ve—you could’ve someone who doesn’t come with all this baggage.”

This is the same man who makes you feel safe with a simple kiss on your forehead. The same man who hugged you tight to his chest and let you cry yourself to sleep after you bombed one of the most important exams, before waking you up with breakfast in bed and spending the rest of the weekend rotting in bed with you as long as you promised to get up on Monday and remember everything you’d worked hard for, because it won’t be a failed exam to define who you are and what you are capable of.

“But I don’t want someone else.” His eyes close. “I don’t want someone younger or—or who can carry every fucking grocery bag in the house without help. Why is it so fucking important, I don’t care!” You cry out.

Your thumbs stroke away the tears that have finally slipped free and disappeared into his beard.

“I want you, Michael.” Your own voice breaks completely. “I keep choosing you, every single day, and then you just sit here and tell me I’d be better off with someone else—”

The look of guilt on his face makes you choke on the next sob. 

“Sweetheart.” He reaches for you on instinct, both hands finding your face but his hold falters the faintest bit, almost hesitating, his thumbs hovering just shy of your cheeks as though he isn’t sure he’s allowed to touch you anymore.

The panic that had been directed inward a moment ago shifts entirely. “Please, don’t cry, please baby, it breaks my heart. I didn’t—” His voice cracks. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I know.” You sob out.

“God, I’m so sorry, baby girl.” His breathing stutters, and as much as you hate seeing him like this, your shoulders slump with relief when his arms finally wrap around your waist, carefully pulling you into his chest.

One trembling hand eventually comes up to wipe away the salty droplets with the pads of his fingers. “I’m sorry.” His own cheek softly rests on your head, but before he can pull his hand away, you catch his wrist, tugging it towards your lips. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t want you to apologize, I just—it hurt me, Mike. You’re hurting the man I love.” His eyes squeeze shut in regret. “I won’t let you do that.”

Robby lets out a shaky breath, now crying for a completely different reason.

“You’ve spent months teaching me to be kinder to myself.” A watery smile flickers across his face as your forehead comes to rest against his. “But now it’s your turn.”

The silence is not as frightening now. It’s just... tired.

Robby has you tucked against him, one palm moving slowly up and down your back without really thinking about it—a gesture that he doesn’t even know if it’s necessary to soothe you or himself. His heartbeat thankfully goes back to normal as you feel the tension gradually leaving his body beneath your hands. Every now and then his lips press small kisses into your hairline, as though he still can’t quite believe that you’re here, that you stayed.

Your own tears have also stopped, finally, leaving your eyes red and sore. The skin of his chest right where your face is buried is still damp.

“I know you’re right.” Robby’s quiet murmur gently breaks the stillness. “I know you are.”

A deep exhale escapes his parted lips, and when you pull back to look at him, the first thing you notice is his clear eyes. He looks more alert now.

Shaking his head once, Robby gives you a small, sheepish smile. “It’s just... sometimes that voice—it gets too loud.”

Your fingers gently comes up to smooth the hair back from his damp forehead, your eyes carefully tracing his features.

“Then you tell me.” He nods instantly. “Please. Let me help you carry it.”

“I’ll tell you, sweetheart.” Your nose brushes against his. “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you.” He whispers.

“Promise?” You ask feebly.

“Promise.” Robby nods resolutely once more, cupping your cheeks to kiss you properly before resting his forehead against yours, sighing.

“God.” Your teeth sink into your bottom lip trying to hide a grin, your chest feeling so much lighter now that your boyfriend is smiling again.

“What?”

Robby looks at you with that crooked, self-conscious smile of his. “Just... ‘M so pathetic—crying all over my girlfriend at my age.”

Your eyebrow lifts up. “You know,” you start, arms wrapping around his neck to get him closer. “For someone who just promised to be kinder to himself, you’re not off to a great start.”

Robby closes his eyes, his head tipping back as he groans tiredly.

“That took, what? Fifteen seconds?” You keep teasing, brushing the pads of your fingers beneath his eye to catch the last tear still clinging to his lashes. You tilt your head. “No, maybe twenty.”

Robby lets out a long, theatrical huff, dropping his forehead on your collarbone. “I was doing so well during those thirty seconds.”

The sheer sincerity in the complaint catches you completely off guard, a laugh slipping out before you can stop it. Not even a second later Robby is joining you with a low chuckle of his own, the sound warm and quiet between the two of you.

It feels like finally coming up the water for air.

You play with the short hair on his nape, his eyes so full of fondness as he observes you.

“C’mere, angel.” He murmurs ultimately, even though there’s barely any space left between you. His hands squeeze your waist once, rubbing slow circles into your sides.

“Michael,” you smirk, drawing out his name with a playful tilt in your voice. “I’m already in your lap.”

“You know what I mean.” He whispers, his fingers softly squeezing your asscheek. “Humor me.”

Robby doesn’t have to repeat it twice, because you are eagerly leaning in the last inch. He meets you halfway, one hand sliding up to cradle your jaw while the one around your waist keeps you firmly against him. The kiss you share is slow but intense, the soppy sounds of your tongue meeting renewing the flames of arousal in both of you. Robby groans quietly against your mouth when his cock gives a weak twitch under you, something he’s not really used to after coming once—not when he often needs a little medical help to fill his girl up.

It’s when he tucks his head under your chin that you feel your insides warming up, his lips slowly tracing your collarbones, only to reach your sternum and latch onto your nipple, his tongue lazily circling the turgid peak before the familiar feel of his suckling has your head fall back in bliss. Your squeaks only grow louder when his two of his fingers find your mouth, pressing on your tongue until they are nice and wet and ready to tease the neglected nub, their movements matching his tongue’s as a fresh wave of precum makes a mess on your thigh.

“Not so bad for an old man who already came once, huh?” You coo, thumbs gently stroking his bearded skin where your hands cradle his jaw. His heavy breath fans over your tits, his hazy eyes fluttering close at the feel of your bare pussy teasingly brushing his sensitive tip.

“Let me make you feel good, baby. Let me show you how much I need you.”

“Y—yeah, yes yes, please, sweet girl.”

And if this is the consequence of throwing his pretty girlfriend over his shoulder to impress her, Robby decides it’s probably worth hearing his back complain about it the morning after.

— ⟢ END NOTES: thank you so much for reading 🤍 my masterlist → winteryn's masterlist

🏷️ general robby taglist: @obsessed-oops @bikinibottomspeach @verss88 @macbaetwo @dugiioh @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @eliza7up @kittymeowmeow17 @mimi-ro @mmb77 @lrosenblut26 @madprincessinabox @rozabelikovasstuff @ditatails @byefon @isasdreams @nicobidd @vicky066 @lilactamara @robbyslittlelamb @desperatecatgiirl @barcelonaaababe @lattechre

[whichwayisthebeach-seabass]

so close to my next follower milestone i might post hole or something if it actually happens

[whichwayisthebeach-seabass]

ok well thank u but I’m not showing hole so

[segamascott]