˚Axlee/ Ally/ Lee she/her ˖𓍢ִ໋❀ diagnosed with chronic daddy issues ˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ a quarter old. latina mami 𑣲⋆ west coast baddie † cradle catholic 🍒 Q by Dolce & Gabbana 🍒 soft auburn 𖤓 california sober ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ michael robinavitch pro blog݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆ links!-> currently rabbotxdaugther!javadi (platonic), The Pitt SMAU recs .ᐟ mdni, this blog interacts with taboo subjects, proship blog ⭑.ᐟ I use the block button liberally ꨄ︎ Anti ICE & MAGA, Pro-Palestine (do not use this to think you can be anti-semetic on my blog) sometimes I write
synopsis: you met deran and craig at a party when you were twenty. flash forward three years, their eldest brother you've never met, pope, is now out of prison. the big shocker? he's hot as fuck. he also happens to be the guy you were anonymous pen pals with while he was in prison
warnings: it will vary for each chapter ! age gap (pope is late 30s, reader is 23), there will prob be some lewd convos but no smut, cursing, mentions of drinking/smoking, won't follow the plot of the show
chapter one
chapter two
chapter three
chapter four
idk how many chapters i plan on posting, nor do i know when i'll post them, so come along w me during this journey ! lmk if u would like to be tagged !!
thank u to the anon who gave me a bunch of ideas i combined a couple of them to make this, so thank u sm again !
these r not an accurate depiction of how i imagine the reader !! these r purely for aesthetic purposes and what aesthetic i imagined her to have while writing
tagging @p1ttlings @sleepingbeautiiies @cicadasexfest (lowkey was trying to tag latina baddies, hashtag I gave up... if ur Latina/o/x n we share interests plz lets be mutuals)
currently listening to: My Baby (Got Nothing At All) By Japanese Breakfast. (liked songs on shuffle)
currently watching: House of the Dragon (team black), Rebelde (always restart it cuz I stop around 130th episode cuz I get busy and then forget what happens) , H2O: Just add water idk rewatched) , Teach You a Lesson, and The Coffee Prince (2nd watch).
current obsessions: Shawn Hatosy characters, Robby, Fitzwilliam Darcy, Memo Ochoa, Daemon Targaryen, Maekar Targaryen, Baelor Targaryen. through it all as always though since February 2025 The Pitt.
currently reading: A Wolf Amongst Lions by Kallypso on AO3 (re-read), Jurassic Park; The Lost World by Michael Crichton.
currently working on: Jack shit, I kid I kid, FDEIB SMAU.
currently wearing: White collared button long sleeve, light green vest, dark denim jeans, and brown docs.
last google search: "can la fitness initiation fee be waived" trying to get that $80 monthly membership so I can have unlimited pilates but the invitation fee is $200 and im dragging my feet about paying for it.
Pre med Rabbot arguing about something in their dorm. Jack takes a playful, but irritated swipe at Robby and they end up wrestling.
Robby puts up a good fight, but Jack did a ton of sports in high school and still keeps up with regular workouts, so it’s not long before Jack has Robby pinned on his stomach under him.
And… well… all that rolling around… getting his blood pumping…
He’s hard. Jack’s hard, and his dick is pressed right between Robby’s ass cheeks. When he realizes, he freezes. His brain finally catches up with reality, but before he can apologize and move away, Robby rolls his hips backwards.
A low moan rumbles through Jack. Cautiously, he pushes forward. It feels so good. The scrape of his boxers and Robby’s pajama pants provides a soft friction, but the materials are thin enough that he can still feel the heat of Robby through their clothes.
Robby pushes back again; Jack pushes forward.
This slow back and forth goes on for a few minutes before Jack snaps. He places a firm hand on the floor next to Robby’s head, and the other tight on his hip, keeping Robby’s hips tilted up just right for Jack to hump against like a wild animal.
Robby lies there and takes it. Biting his lip to muffle his needy whines and looking back at Jack with glazed-over eyes and beautiful pink cheeks smashed into the floor.
It doesn’t take long for Jack to cum, leaving what should be a humiliatingly large stain in his underwear, but he doesn’t care. He leans back on his knees, trying to catch his breath and bring his consciousness back inside his body.
In that time, Robby rolls over onto his back, exposing the large tent that’s formed in his pants. He moves to wiggle out from under Jack, presumably to take care of his own obvious problem, but Jack pins him down again with a heavy hand on his shoulder.
Robby looks up at him with those gorgeous brown eyes. Jack’s own trace the desperate bob of Robby’s Adam’s Apple before darting back down to his covered hard-on.
Jack places a flat palm on Robby’s clothed dick. A small, pitiful sound breaks through Robby.
“Do it,” Jack demands.
Robby’s breath stutters, a little confused, but he catches on quickly. He plants his feet for leverage and bucks his hips, rubbing his hard dick against Jack’s unmoving, flat hand.
With each thrust, Robby loses more and more of his composure. Soon his face blooms into a radiant red, and the hold on his lip slips, releasing wanton moans into the air.
Jack is too recently spent to go again, but that doesn’t stop his dick from twitching in interest.
Robby orgasms so prettily. His moans echo through the room, and his blush has descended past the collar of his shirt. Jack resists the temptation to lift the hem and check how far down it goes.
“We good?” Jack asks. His palm is still hot from all Robby’s rubbing.
“Yeah.” Robby swallows. “We’re good.”
After that, they enter a silent agreement to get each other off. It starts slow, with little brushes here and there that turn into more humping and the occasional hand.
But they also have unspoken rules. No purposeful skin-to-skin, no getting naked, and no kissing.
They get close sometimes. Fingers brushing under lifted shift hems and heavy panting into each other’s mouths, but they never cross the line.
That is, until Jack gets home from class, pent up beyond belief.
It’s been a long week, and all Jack could think about during that dull-ass lecture was Robby’s pretty blissed-out face. And then when he walks into their dorm, there he is in nothing but his underwear, waiting for his leftovers to finish in the microwave.
Jack snaps. Before he can think, he’s shoving his jeans down to his knees, and Robby is bent over the counter, letting himself be humped in the middle of their kitchen with Jack’s hands enveloping his thin waist. Jack figures it’s not really breaking the rules, more bending, since he wouldn’t be touching Robby’s bare torso if he was properly dressed.
“I didn’t know you wore panties,” Jack huffs.
“I— I don’t.” Robby's arguing is undercut by his soft whimpers and the fact that Jack can see the tiny briefs cupping his ass. His cheeks bounce under the material with each of Jack’s thrusts.
Jack’s grip on Robby’s waist tightens, and is pace increases. It’s not long before a familiar wet puddle forms in his boxers.
The microwave is beeping somewhere far away, but Jack doesn’t give a shit. He’s too focused on placing Robby against the fridge. Jack cups his hands under Robby’s thighs and helps him grind against his stomach.
The briefs give Jack a nice outline of Robby’s dick. It’s nothing special. Jack could probably cover the whole thing with one fist; he imagines it leaving a trail over Robby’s thin stomach while Jack fucks him until he cries.
Robby’s little whines turn to moans, and for the first time, Jack is able to see that pretty pink blush crawl all the way down to his nipples. Fuck. Jack’s mouth waters; he wants to bite them so bad, but he can’t. That would definitely be against the rules.
Although… the way Robby is looking at him is already pushing it. Jack knows Robby wants to kiss him. If he did, Jack would shove his tongue so far down his throat that he’d be able to feel all of Robby’s pretty noises. But he doesn’t, and Jack isn’t about to be the one to knock down that barrier.
Robby cums in his little panties with his head tilted back, and goddamn it takes every bit of strength in Jack not to latch onto his neck.
Delicately, he places Robby’s shaking feet back on the ground.
“Thanks,” Jack says.
It takes Robby a moment to comprehend what Jack said. “Oh, yeah,” he says eventually. “Thank you too…”
Robby looks so dizzy. Jack wants to wrap him in his arms and hold him until his balance returns; he wants to bury them both beneath a blanket and pretend nothing else exists.
He pats Robby’s shoulder; good game, and walks away.
Victoria Javadi realizes that family really doesn't end in blood. {found family, married Rabbot, daughter Victoria Javadi}
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Part 1 TEXT
Part 2 TEXT
Part 3 TEXT
Part 4 DRABBLE
Part 5 DRABBLE-TEXT
Interlude 1 INSTAGRAM
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Part 9 TEXT-INSTAGRAM-PHONE
Part 10 TEXT-INSTAGRAM
hello lovelies, I am planning on coming back to this soon! I have two post ready unfortunately I do need to start on the next actual post.
I really wanted to have a part out earlier for Victorias birthday but could not complete :( thanks to all those still waiting and sorry for lagging it, cannot even say I've been MIA when I've been lurking on here lol
synopsisrobby's going away and he's very worried about his two singular house plants and mail, so he's asked you to house sit. he gave you keys and the lay out of the neighbours, he maybe just forgot to mention one tiny detail. the cameras in almost every room
warnings, perv robby! watching through camera's SMUT MDNI, masturbation (f! and m!) language, dom robby, dirty talk, robby watched reader masturbate through cameras and gets off to her. please do not read if pervy behaviour makes you uncomfortable.
authornote this is super super pervy but listen, it's been in my head for ages. and this gif does things to me!!!!! please don't read if pervy behaviour makes you uncomfortable and remember this is all made up and fictinioal things about fictional characters. That being said, dr robby i am free on thursday, thursday i am free if you want to hook up on thursday, the day im free
pitt masterlist. another robby fic! PART TWO
Perhaps Robby should've mentioned the camera's he had installed around his house, perhaps it just slipped his mind.
They were security measures, really they were. He'd had a break in a few years back when he had a serious lack of things to steal. Since then he'd collected a few things that he wanted to keep a hold of so he installed some security cameras and had it linked to his phone.
Robby wasn't one for strangers in the house, or co-workers or anything of the sort so he'd almost forgotten they were there.
Until of course he asked you to house sit and suddenly he was painfully aware of every corner he'd installed them in.
It was Trinity Santos's fault, really.
As all things typically were.
Or maybe it was Robby's for taking an interest. He'd asked her about her home stuff, noticing some things he wanted to iron out before he went away for three months.
“Whitakers kind of weird, but you know, she helps iron it out,” said Santos, gesturing behind Robby.
You stood with Mohan, laughing at something she said, neck tilting back, cheeks red. That sort of laugh. Even by noise and without looking, Robby would have known it was you.
He'd memorised the way a room shifted when you entered it, or the soft patter of your steps, the gentle feel of your presence at his side. He hadn't even tried not to. You'd come in, straight out of medical school and Robby was hooked like a fish.
But you were younger than him, ambitious, hopeful in making a change in the world.
Robby kept it professional.
Most of the time.
“That's when she's home, anyway.”
Robby looked back to her. “What's that?”
“Oh she's been seeing this guy for a few months or something,” said Santos off-handily. “He was the brother of a patient that came in with Sepsis, had to lose a portion of his leg. The guy really liked her.”
“The patient?”
“No the patient's brother. She's been seeing him, but...” she trailed off with a sigh, fingers going down harder on the keys of the computer.
Robby edged closer. “But?”
Was something wrong? He had no idea you were seeing someone which made all his advances you hadn't bat away scandalous.
Santos glanced at you. “I dunno, he's a bit older than us and just seems... controlling I guess?”
His jaw ticked. “Controlling?”
“Maybe it's just me, I'm seeing things that aren't there,” she said, dismissing it. But Santos was a keen doctor, or would be. She looked too close and sadly usually got the nail on first go. If she thought something was going on with you then there was something.
“I'll have a word,” said Robby, straightening up and drumming his knuckles on the counter.
“Hey, your call.”
He turned, leaning his back on the counter and stared at you, rather openly.
Dana had moved to your side, ipad at the hip where it usually was glued. She was directing you to a patient and, as usual, you took it with a smile and darted off.
He watched the way you walked, eyes following you and trying to find a tell in the way you moved if there was someone. Did you walk with a limp from how good this guy friend of yours fucked you? Were you trying to hide any part of you?
After the patient Robby found you. He couldn't make himself productive if he tried, not with the nagging feeling that he had to talk to you eating at his vocal chords.
You were in the lounge, stirring away at the coffee you'd just poured. “Hey,” you greeted as the door closed behind him.
It was just you and him. And a dummy to practise CPR on.
He jerked his head up in response as he let the door close behind him.
“Want some coffee?” you offered as he slid into a seat at the table.
“Always.”
You poured him a cup, black, as you knew he liked and slid it over to him.
“Hey, sit down a minute,” said Robby, stretching himself out, legs wide, resting back. Giving to all the world a sense of at ease he did not feel.
Though hesitant, you did. “Okay.”
“You're an empathetic soul,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“I'm not finished.”
“Oh.”
“You're a good doctor,” he continued. “You want to be there for your patients?”
“Don't you.”
“Shhh.”
You blushed. “Sorry.”
Robby didn't mind. A secret part of him loved ordered you around, different than he did the others. He didn't bark orders so much, but told you what to do. He got a kick seeing you carry out those orders so well and got a belt in the stomach when you rewarded him with a smile and thanks.
“So this relationship that you're having with this guy,” he said, looking to you. He realised he hadn't even got the name from Trinity.
You took your turn to speak but you lowered your head down. “Shawn?”
“Yeah, Shawn.”
“Santos talk to you?”
He shrugged. “Well she's worried, I'm worried.”
You sipped your coffee. “There's nothing to worry about. We've just been a couple of dates, you know. His brothers really struggling to come to terms with his new life after losing his leg and he takes it out on Shawn sometimes, and...”
“Does he take it out on you?” asked Robby.
“No, no!” you said at once. “It's nothing like that. He just... I dunno, I'm not that interested anymore but it's like kicking a puppy when he's down, you know.”
“So he's not telling you what to do?” he judged.
You looked up at him, an amused smirk to your lips. “There's only one who can tell me what to do and that's you, boss.”
The words shouldn't have effected him as much as they did. Heat crept into his body, invading his senses. He glanced down and pulled at his scrub pants just to make sure the rush of want that coursed through him didn't manifest in his cock.
Robby didn't know what he was thinking, asking you to house sit. It was going to go to Abbott originally, then he thought Langdon if it weren't for all the shit going on there. Maybe even Whitaker but he was sat in front of you and the words were out before he realised.
“Hey, you want to house sit for me while I'm gone?” he asked.
You straightened up. “What?”
“You'd be doing me a favour. Nobody else is up for it-” lies, he hadn't even asked anyone else. “- save you a bit on rent. Have a place to yourself for a change.”
“Really?”
“No smoking, no parties, no babies, no pets, no boyfriends.”
“I don't- I don't have a boyfriend.”
Good, he thought. “Then the place is yours.... or I can ask around.”
“I'd- yeah- that'd be great,” you said with a smile. “As long as you're sure? I mean I don't smoke and I don't really have time to just have friends around.”
“Santos can come visit if she likes,” suggested Robby. He liked you but he wasn't trying to isolate you. “So long as she doesn't bring Garcia.”
“Deal,” you said.
“Great,” he said.
The two of you sat in the quiet of the lounge a moment longer, the outside world waiting.
Robby pushed himself up, brushing your hand on the table as he did. “I'll find you before you I go, give you the keys and security code.”
“Thanks. Great.”
When he left he realised he'd be travelling for three months, leaving you in an apartment that was him. It was his dream and hell all in one.
The thought of you in Robby's apartment had him contemplating cancelling his trip all together, but that would give you no reason to stay and he did really need a break. Not even seeing you everyday could dampen what the Pitt did to you after a time.
He found you at the end of the day at the lockers, already supporting his bag over his shoulder.
“You ready?” he asked. He could almost imagine this was his life. The two of you working around each other, stealing glances with promises of what time alone would hold. Coming to fetch you at the end of the day, rubbing his hands at the tired spots on your shoulders and coaxing you into his arms.
“Yeah.”
Robby was stealing time, stealing distractions from everything. “I'll give you a ride down.”
“Are you sure?” you asked, fetching your bag from the locker. “Don't you want to get on the road?”
“The road will still be there, besides it's not far, I just wanna show you,” he said, taking your bag from your hand with an almost unconscious mind as he led the way out.
When you were both down the ambulance bay, standing in front of his bike he got busy securing your bags to the back of it.
“Oh,” you uttered.
“What's up?”
“I've never ridden on one before.”
Robby hid himself in his bike a moment longer, banishing the dirty thoughts. He was past a fifty year old man, he didn't need to be hanging on every one of your dirty words like he was sixteen discovering sex for the first time. “I'll do all the work. You just have to sit there and hold on tight.”
“But you only have one helmet?”
“You wear it.”
You frowned. “But isn't that kind of un-safe?”
Yes, it was. But Robby wasn't trying to get himself killed like everyone thought. He just wanted a break. He wanted you in his apartment, knowing you respected him enough to not break the rules and bring a boyfriend you did or didn't have.
“I'm about to be wearing a helmet for thirty six hours. C'mere.” Robby took his helmet and gently propped it on your head. He tightened the straps under your chin and gently brushed back any hair that was peaking out.
You watched him but Robby was concentrating on where his hands your chin.
It was still a little big on you and still had his heart soaring.
“There we go, hop on.”
Robby had a motorbike because it was a hobby. He knew what others thought about middle aged men and motorbikes. He'd never done it to impress before... until now.
He revved the bike at the chances he got and relished in the feel of your arms around his waist. When he took corners or passed by a car your arms squeezed and it went straight down to the place it shouldn't.
At stop signs or lights he checked in with you, getting a glimpse of your wide grin when he did.
By the time he'd pulled up in front of his apartment building, your body was practically buzzing against his and you stood up on shaky legs.
“How does it feel to have your motorcycle virginity taken?” he asked, helping you up and your helmet off.
You shook out your hair, laughing. “I feel like a changed woman.”
Robby chuckled.
He gave you the security code at the door and led you to his place. The building, practically full of old people (he told you as much) was practically dead when he got home from work, only the faint buzzing of TV's through doors could be heard.
He told you there's a good thai place on the corner, some take out menus he had. He told you he didn't have much food in as he was going away so he'd been chucking it out.
When he opened the door to his place he tried picturing it through your eyes. Was it too sparse? Were the walls to plain? Was it clear a sad, old man lived here?
But you didn't say anything other than 'nice place.'
He showed you the kitchen, the living room, all neat and tidy and empty when he looked at it again. He gave you codes that you'd need, a spare set of keys on the table. He showed you the wi-fi.
“This is the spare room,” he said, nudging open a door. “Bathrooms down the hall. It's not so nice in here, I don't have many people around. Usually just Abbott but he doesn't sleep.”
It was al grey walls, heck the bed wasn't even made up. Just sheets piled up, all greys and whites and probably scratchy because he only cared enough to get the cheapest set.
“My room's down here,” he said, leading you down the hall. His room was lived in. Green sheets rumpled and his jacket hanging of the chair at his desk with books and some old framed pictures of his grandparents. “There's an ensuite but the choice is yours.”
He wasn't gonna force you into sleeping in his bedroom. But he was going to hope you did.
“Thanks, Robby, I promise the place will still be standing by the time you get back,” you said, now walking him out his place like you lived there.
“I'll hold you to that.”
Robby fished out his wallet and left some cash on the table. He'd taken some out to help him on his travels but he couldn't leave you with no food.
“Oh, Robby, you don't have to-”
“I am,” he said. “Get some food in, order some take out, I don't want a dollar left on my counter by the time I get back.”
You were resigned to argue but you always did what Robby said. “You got it, boss.”
The first time Robby checked the camera's was when he remembered he had them. And it wasn't his fault.
If anything it was yours.
He'd already made his home at his first stop, trying his best to think good things and not text Dana to see how it was all going. He was pushing himself to find the beauty of the mountains and the lakes.
That was when his phone alerted him. An odd notification he didn't have the words for.
He checked in while on a walk and was met by the sight of his apartment.
Fuck, the cameras!
He really had forgotten all about them.
Through the cameras he saw the kitchen and you frantically waving a tea towel up high at the smoke alarm.
At first Robby was worried but then the alarm stopped and he focused enough to see you. It had only been a week and he hadn't gone a day without thinking of you but this was different.
This was you, in his kitchen, wearing only a baggy shirt and panties.
Any other time the shirt would have been too long to see anything but you were jumping around, waving away the smoke and even through the camera Robby could see the panties.
His body went rigid.
He turned channel on the camera. It was wrong to watch but so far... he hadn't, right? He hadn't watched. He'd seen you in a 'delicate' state and switched.
The living room was pretty much the same. An extra med text book on the side and his blanket scrunched up.
Then, just to check, he went into the other room. The spare room. The same as he left it with the bedding piled up.
So that meant.
“Jesus,” he mumbled to himself, feeling the tightness of his pants as they pulled over his crotch.
Your overnight bad and suitcase was in his room, pressed up against the wall. His green sheets were a mess and there was a pile of discarded scrubs on the floor.
You were sleeping in his bed.
Robby didn't mean to- really, his finger slipped- but he checked in on the kitchen again. You were back to bustling around, taking whatever you'd burnt out the oven and moving around quickly, trying to salvage what you could of your food.
You bent over to the oven and though the island blocked most of it he got a grainy and all too far away shot of your backside.
He turned his phone off and hid his face in his hands.
He wished he could say that was the only time.
It wasn't.
At first he told himself it was just to check in. Knowing when your shift ended he'd log into his phone, checking the app connected to his cameras and making sure you got in safe. Of course there was never an issue. Sometimes you were home later, so exhausted you fell asleep on the sofa.
It was like falling asleep on call to someone, except, he fell asleep with the sight of you sleeping soundly. It calmed him, in a way. He told himself it was nice to see his place so looked after, lived in. He didn't question if that was the real reason why.
Robby was almost tempted to text at times, asking if you were sleeping well, asking if the place hadn't burnt down, or when he saw you do something he just wanted you to know he was there.
But wouldn't it be creepy?
You'd shared texts, sent him pictures of envelopes that you deemed looked important. Sometimes he text random things like 'sometimes the wi-fi plays up, let me know if it does,' or 'hope the neighbours aren't being too loud' (which was stupid considering half of them were deaf)
You were so polite and quick in your responses.
Robby never knew how to keep the conversation flowing. Not over text. Not when all he wanted to say was how pretty you looked in the mornings, rolling out of his bed and stretching like you'd had the best sleep.
Somewhere in his head he knew it wasn't right but maybe he'd been so de-censored to everything that nothing felt like crossing the line.
There weren't camera's in the bathroom, obviously but it didn't matter.
You changed in his room.
When Robby could spot you were about to change he forced the phone down. He didn't log out the app but he at least stepped away to give you some privacy. Privacy you didn't know he was invading.
This was wrong, so wrong.
Only once he caught a glimpse or your skin and curves of your body. Your back was to the camera but he saw the towel drop, saw the flex of your body as you pulled on scrubs for the day.
Robby had dragged his hand down his face and ignored the desperate ache in his cock. The want had made its home in his pants and hardly ever left him.
He remembered Jack telling him to call if it ever got dark but this, Robby was sure, wasn't the sort of darkness he was talking about.
In two weeks on his trip Robby had spent more time watching you then anything else.
It was a random Tuesday when he got another notification- having turned them on for any goings on alerted in his apartment.
He was out in a diner he found on the side of the road, dragging himself out of the hut and his up building un-healthy habits. His phone buzzed next to him and he logged into the cameras as if logging into emails.
You and Santos were in his place. You held open the door for her, leading here in. “Home sweet home.”
Robby tried to imagine it again, if that really was your home. If he was.
Coming home together at the end of the day, Robby could use you for all his pleasures and frustrations. He could have you on his island counter, on his sofa, on the rug, in his room and the spare room. He could spread you out and love you right, have you wake up sleepy in the mornings. He could turn up to work late with you on his arm and everyone would share a sly smirk, knowing just why they were late.
He watched, and imagined while he was thousands of miles away.
Robby watched as you showed Trinity around, marvelling as you laid out his apartment and everything you knew.
“He left me some cash if you want to order a pizza,” you said.
“God, he's so whipped,” Santos chuckled.
“Stop it.”
He figured what 'whipped' meant and you were trying to defend him when there was really no point. He was whipped. He was wrapped around your finger and you didn't even know.
“Is this his room?”
Robby didn't know if he liked Santos in his room but he liked that you showed it to her, liked that you moved around it like you'd always slept there.
“The spare room is colder and his room has the ensuite.”
Santos sat on the edge of his bed. “I can't believe you're sleeping in our bosses bed.”
You groaned, falling next to her. “Don't, I feel so bad. I'll get the sheets washed and everything before he's back.”
No. He didn't want the sheets washed. He wanted to be able to smell you on him when he returned, sleeping in your ghost.
You guys chatted some more and Robby finished his dinner, ordering himself a scotch as he kept his phone low, hoping it looked like he was just checking in on some reality show to anyone that looked hard enough.
“You know, bedside draws can tell a lot about a person,” he heard Santos say.
When he checked back on his phone you were scrabbling on the bed after her as Santos opened the top draw of his bedside table.
Robby wasn't ashamed. Sure, maybe he was angry that Santos thought she had the right to look through his things but then you were at her side, not encouraging the behaviour but not slamming them shut either.
Had you not snooped before? If he was in your shoes it would be the first thing he did. You were so good, so polite.
He didn't want you to be.
There was a couple medical articles he knew shoved in there, the sort he always said he'd get around to and never did. There was an old pack of contact lenses he never used and a broken pair of glasses too.
“Someone's been getting lu-cky,” said Santos in a teasing voice as she pulled out a scatter of lose condoms.
“Trin, c'mon, this is private.”
Santos gasped as she looked at them. “Large, large, large, extra large.”
You finally chuckled and Robby peered closer. There was a faint dusting of pink at your cheeks.
Robby was big, as a young man he liked to brag but as he got older he didn't feel there was that much to brag about. Did you like to think of him big? Did you like the idea that he was large?
Fuck the very idea of you rolling a condom onto him had his abused cock aching again under the table of the grotty diner.
He imagined you sliding the condom on before looming over him, holding him steady as you teased your entrance that would be so wet for him. Your hand would wrap around the base, maybe teasing his balls as you slowly sank down-
He downed the last of his scotch, readying himself to make a quick escape to his cabin.
Robby knew this was wrong to watch but so far he hadn't touched himself to the sights of you, he thought that was something he had to give himself credit for because he was so, so, so desperate.
And he was being so good not touching himself to the thought of you.
“Robby is freak-y,” said Santos, next finding his lube and the little pills he kept when he needed a hand.
“How the hell are you going to look him in the eyes after this?” you asked Santos.
“How are you? You're the one who's been sleeping next to this.”
Robby placed a couple bills on the table bidding night to those working before slipping through the door.
It was then that you started to strip out your scrubs in his room with Trinity still rummaging through his stuff. Clearly you had no problem with changing in front of her, you were housemates after all.
It was at that moment, just as he watched you pull your top off that his phone decided to die.
He pressed down on the black screen of his phone furiously. “Fuck.”
By the time Robby got back to his place and got his phone on charge Trinity had left you alone in his place and all the lights were off in his house.
You were readying yourself for bed.
As if this was a shared routine Robby did the same. He left his phone charging as he changed out of his clothes, leaving himself in his boxers. He ran cold water down his face, let the droplets roll down his neck and chest to cool the heat that lived in him.
By the time he got back to bed, leaving the curtains open for the sun to wake him early, you were in bed too.
Robby tried to read, really he did. He'd brought a book with him that had been sitting on his shelf abandoned for months. He'd managed a total fifty pages before he looked back at you.
You slept in the over sized night shirt, flicking through your phone.
Robby wasn't sure when it started but at some point your knees pulled up, taking his covers with you and your hand disappeared under his covers.
He sat up, alert.
This was where lines were drawn. Where he went from curious to damned old man.
But he was damned a long time ago.
You watched your phone closely, your hand undoubtably moving under his covers between your thighs.
“Oh,” Robby muttered to himself.
You, in his sheets, getting yourself off.
He could just about hear the pornographic moans coming from your phone when he turned the volume up. His sheets twisted and moved as you enjoyed yourself, slowly.
“Oh my god.” His hand crept his his boxers.
He just needed a small release. Just a squeeze, just a little bit of relief.
If you were doing so in his bed surely he was allowed to in return.
His cock answered his squeeze, swelling in his hand.
Robby imagined himself there, sitting on the edge of your bed and asking you to 'show me how you like it.' Your fingers would work inside of yourself, slow. You'd drag out your wetness to your bundle of nerves.
Were you relishing it in his sheets? Did they smell of him and was that helping you?
Robby had no choice- really no choice- as he freed himself from his boxers. He was leaking profusely. Wrapping his fingers around himself, he watched your next move.
You moaned through the camera. It came out crackled.
Robby's eyes were glued onto you.
Your eyes were fluttering shut, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as your back arched, body moving in waves as you tried to focus on your phone.
What porn were you watching? Was it hard? Was it soft? Was it an older man? Did you want a younger?
Were you dreaming of that fucking Shawn?
You kicked the sheets back and Robby could see where your fingers disappeared in your panties.
Robby licked his lips and spat into the palm of his hand. There was no denying it, he was hard watching you get off, in his bed, in his room. He worked his palm up and down slowly, wanting to last as long as you did.
“Moan,” he uttered to himself. “Moan baby.”
If he were there he'd push you into his sheets, make you turn your head and smell him there. You wouldn't have to work for anything. He'd have his fingers filling you up, have you wither on his tongue before he even thought about his cock.
Would he come back with his sheets smelling of you?
God, he hoped so. He hoped you never washed the sheets.
A noise slipped from you and Robby stilled, squeezing his cock again.
He sunk into the sofa. “Again.”
You ditched your phone at the side of you, some porn video playing as your other hand wound under you shirt.
You quickly discarded in and Robby got a eyeful of your chest.
“Oh my god,” Robby worked himself up and down.
He'd imagined your body before but never like this, laid out for him.
What he would do to smother himself in your breasts.
“So beautiful,” he said, sweeping his thumb over the head of himself. “Fuck.” He worked himself faster as you pushed yourself into your own hand.
“Please,” he heard you utter.
“Yeah, baby, yeah.”
Your mouth was agape in silent moans.
Robby wondered if anyone let you moan allowed, if living with Santos and Whitaker you had to be quiet.
You were alone, he wanted to tell you. He wanted you to be as loud as possible.
“C'mon... c'mon...” he mumbled working himself harder.
You gasped, legs moving around under his sheets and twisting them up. You were trembling, making a mess of the place he slept with no shame. The hand that wasn't working yourself into pleasure grasped in his sheets.
“Robby...”
He stilled, his hand flying away from his cock and eyes widening.
Did the camera work both ways? Could you hear him? Did you know he was there?
A thousand panic thoughts ran through his mind before he realised none of that was right.
You were just moaning out his name while touching yourself.
“Robby,” you gasped, body withering. “Fuck, Robby.”
He smirked to himself. “Oh, baby girl, moaning for me.”
You moaned, head thrown back onto his cushion.
“Say it again,” he begged, pumping himself as fast as he saw the imprint of your own hand move. “Say it.”
You kicked off the sheets as your legs moved, unable to stay still in fits of pleasure. “Oh my god.”
“Yeah, yeah you like that.” He didn't know what you liked but he'd try and give you anything.
“Miss you Robby, miss you so much.”
Robby groaned low he might've growled. What a fool he was for waiting so long, for running away. He'd left you in such a state. “Jesus, baby, this is torture.”
He stroked himself hard, squeezing till his tip was read and leaking over his hand.
“Robby please.” He watched one of your hands come up and wrap around your neck.
Robby smirked. “Dirty girl.”
Your legs began to shake and you couldn't even gasp out his name.
“Robby... Robby... please.”
He groaned and moaned with you, turning up the volume blindly as he heard your high pitched moan
He didn't know which one of you finished first. He burst all over his hand, his release spilling over in white ropes over his hand. He groaned out your name, jerking himself till he got every last drop and couldn't move his hand anymore.
When he looked back at the camera you were still,, only the rise and fall of your chest letting him into your climax. You turned off your phone, lying there.
With the hand that had your fingers inside you he watched as you ran your hands over his sheets, as if you wanted to mark your spot in his bed.
“Yeah, it's all yours baby girl.”
The next day, Robby was filling up his tank and coming home to you.
♡ synopsis: when you break into a strange man's trailer looking for food to steal, you find much more inside when he comes home sooner than expected and offers for you to stay.
♡ content: age-gap
Tumbling head-first through a mildew covered window you only just managed to pry open with a rusted prybar but a moment ago—pretty stupid to leave such a tool lyin' around outside, as if the owner is just begging for the place to get broken into with it—you land on peeling, linoleum with a soft oomf. Pushing yourself into a sitting position, you slowly survey your surroundings.
All you find, though, is nothin' more than a predictable single-wide interior: a worn recliner, broken-down sofa, drooping Christmas lights strung across the top of the wall, and an overflowing bookcase are amongst your finds.
Standing, you pluck a yellowed novel with softened edges from a middle shelf and trace your fingertips across the striking, abstract cover: a purple backdrop, with a boy's gaunt face positioned in the middle, drawn in what looks to be charcoal, half hidden away behind brown stalks that stretch toward the top of the book.
Can't much tell what the title is, though.
Only words you manage to make out are "The" and "It" before losing interest entirely. Tucking it back away, you consider the rear of the house before spotting a modestly-sized kitchen at the front. Eyeing a box of Pop-Tarts on the counter, you reach it in record time and rip the cardboard top off before prying out a foil packet and tearing it open with your teeth to get at the frosted pastries inside.
Only after you've gone through four of them do you bother wrenching open the rest of the cabinets and cupboards in search of other treats to take with you on your journey to God knows where after this. Makes no never mind to you whether the man who lives here'll miss 'em or not.
Small glass jars and condiments clink together when you open the fridge door next. You greet a container of pickled eggs with a raised brow before moving on. Swiping a can of peaches from the top shelf, you set it on the kitchen table with the rest of your gathered provisions.
The low rumble of an engine suddenly grows nearer then, causing you to still like a deer in headlights. Reverberations swell, and you consider the still open window with wide eyes and a pounding heart.
When he kills the engine, you bolt toward the back of the house.
Searching every room in a frenzied panic for a place to hide, you opt for the closet in the bedroom with a lack of other options at your disposal. Shoving a pair of wooden folding doors open, you grit your teeth and curse—fighting desperately to get them shut again. Kicking a scuffed boot out of the way, they finally slide closed, submerging you in muffled silence. Daylight streams through the thin wooden slats in front of you, drawing lines across your neck and breasts and knees.
You hope it doesn't soon turn to rope instead, should he find you here. Not many men 'round these mountains got a gentle disposition... Like your daddy.
Why didn't you hide the damn food?
Hinges creak open, followed by the front door being slammed shut, and silence descends once more.
You count the seconds and the seconds between the seconds while holding your breath in anticipation of what comes next. Would've, could've, should've thrown yourself back out the window.
You just wasn't thinkin' straight, not expectin' him to be back anytime soon. He'd only just left when you bothered comin' in.
"Come on out now," commands a deep, steady timbre, underscored by a southern drawl.
He's down the hall; doesn't know where you are yet. But you imagine there ain't many places to hide in a house as small as this one. Not from what you saw, anyway.
Footsteps grow closer, and your breath hitches in your throat.
He's in the doorway now.
"Outta the closet 'fore I start firin'," he warns. "Nice and slow. With your hands raised."
Reluctantly obeying the orders set before you, you slowly slide the doors open again, then emerge with palms held in front of your chest. Stepping over the boot from earlier, you stare at the tall, bearded man who's holding a revolver aimed at your belly. Would be a terrible waste, considerin' that the toaster treats are still digestin'.
Lowering the weapon with a sigh, he pops the lever back into place and tucks the gun away into the waistband of his jeans. "Christ," he sighs. Running a hand down his weathered face, the strange man crosses his arms atop a round belly. "You're just a kid."
You glower. "I'm older'n that."
Snorting amusedly, he shakes his head. "Younger than I am, so that makes you one in my eyes." Jerking his head toward the hall, he eyes you curiously. "You take anything else? Or just what I found in the kitchen?"
Raising your chin, you meet him with defiance. "Just the snacks. Pop-Tarts are coming with me."
He barks a laugh. "The ones you bothered not eatin', sure." Lips quirking into a grin, he tilts his head. "You still hungry?"
Clink, clink, clink.
Scrape, scrape, scrape.
"Slow down," Leonard—that's his name, you've now learned—insists with a large, steady hand rested on your shoulder. "Or you'll choke, if not make yourself sick."
You tug the dish territorially toward you.
"If you're still hungry after, I'll make you another plate. Just... Give it a chance to settle first."
Stabbing another slice of country ham with your fork, you pop it in your mouth and chew. But slowly this time.
Seems to please him when you do, so you take a sip of juice and nibble on a buttered roll next.
Might just be the best meal you've ever had, you think.
He chuckles. "Should mind our table manners, starvin' or not."
"I ain't got none," you grumble over a mouthful of food.
Wooden chair creaking when he leans back, he slides the pad of his thumb down a glass bottle of beer slick with condensation. "Don't have any."
Cheeks bulging with food, your brows draw together. "What?"
"Don't have any table manners," he enunciates. "Proper way of speakin'."
You shrug, uninterested in a grammar lesson right now. Or ever.
"Elbows," he continues with a nod. Leonard slides his own off the table until just his forearms remain positioned on either side of his porcelain plate in way of example.
"Why's it matter?" you question after swallowing.
He lifts a shoulder. "Just does. Not here necessarily, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't learn. Also impolite to talk with your mouth full."
"It's not now," you counter.
"But it was." Grabbing his fork with one hand and a serrated knife with the other, you watch as he slices into a salty slice of ham. "Things to keep in mind if you're plannin' on stayin' here for awhile."
You perk up at that. Crossing your ankles, you study his features—waiting for his eyes to crease at the edges, or for his mouth to turn upwards into a mocking smile, indicating that it's all one big joke. Such a reaction never comes, however. "I... I can stay? Here?"
"'Less you got some place else to be. But from the sight of you, I take it that's not the case?" He slides a bite of ham off his fork and chews.
So he thinks he knows everything, apparently. Actin' like he can read you like you're one of his lengthy novels when you've only just met. "It could be."
He studies you with a quizzical brow. "You just do B 'n' Es for fun, then? Never heard of a grocery store?"
You roll your eyes, then peel fluffy buttermilk bread apart. "This way's cheaper."
Leonard huffs a laugh. "Given you don't get caught." He takes a pull from his beer. "Where've you been stayin'?"
You bob your head from side to side. "Here and there."
He leans forward. "Meanin'?" he presses.
You stuff half a roll in your mouth. "Nowhere."
Thought as much, he thinks, but doesn't say. He keeps diggin' long and hard enough, and he'll get the answers he desires. You seem pretty harmless—just looking for a bit of food, and maybe even some clean clothes—but one can never be too sure.
Not here in Marshall.
"You like readin'?" he inquires with folded arms.
You shift in your seat. "Don't have much time for it."
"Should make time," he groans while standing. Padding over to shelves brimming with stories you'll surely never read, Leonard peruses the selection put before him with hands planted on his narrow hips.
"What's your favorite genre?" he calls over his shoulder. "Romance? Mystery? Non-fiction, maybe?"
Quietly sipping your drink, you silently will him to drop the subject. "I dunno," you mutter. "Didn't have many books growin' up."
Not sure you had any, truthfully. Your folks were more concerned with spendin' what little money they had on keepin' beer in the fridge and meth in a bulb for smokin'.
"Well," he begins before turning on his heel with a book in hand. "This is one of my favorites. Faulkner can be a bit..." He sucks his teeth.
Leonard sets the book on the table and nervously rubs at his brow with his thumbnail. "Can both be easy to read and not, dependin' on the person, I s'pose. Used a style for this one called stream of consciousness. Peculiar when you first start it, but once you've got the hang of what he was tryin' to convey—" he shrugs. "I flew through it my first time."
Man sure does like his ten dollar words, you muse. Makes him sound full of himself. But also worldly and intelligent, in a confident, lived-in sort of way.
You wish your daddy had been more like him growin' up. Or even just your mama. Carin'. Instead, they was—
He taps a finger on the title. "Can you tell me what that says?"
By his tone, you would think he was requesting something simple—like for you to pass the salt, or tell him what time it is. Not somethin' you're incapable of doin'.
You've lost your appetite all of a sudden.
"I—I will later," you whisper ashamedly.
"Like for you to now," says Leonard.
Balling your hands into fists beneath the table where they rest in your lap, you study printed letters through eyes blurred from welling tears. "As I... L—" A, but not a hard A. Its sound should be similar to the A from the first word. "L-ay..." You huff in frustration after a beat of silence.
"You're illiterate," he murmurs with just a hint of mild disbelief.
Jerking your head back, you scowl up at him—your face immediately heating in burning mortification. "I'm not stupid!" you shout acidically.
"Didn't say you were," he assures with a gentle hand cupping the back of your head. "Just a word, like any other. That's its definition is all: if you can't read or write, you're illiterate. It's nothin' bad, darlin'. Promise."
Sitting again, he slides a calloused palm between your shoulder blades. "I could teach you. It's what I used to do. I mean, not English. History. But—"
You cock your head to the side and narrow your eyes. "What do you do now?"
Leonard's pursed lips morph into a lopsided smile. "Everything I shouldn't."
You can't help but return the funny look on his face. "Me too."
Picking up your forgotten utensils, he cuts up the remaining meat on your plate. "Least we got somethin' in common, then."
The morning after my idiot4idiot pre med Rabbot post
—
“I’m straight?” Robby chuckles. He runs a hand over Jack’s bare chest, looking a bit hypnotized. “But like I said, you might’ve convinced me.”
“But…” Jack looks down stupidly at Robby’s hand. “I’m straight.”
“Hm?” Robby isn’t paying attention. He’s too busy tracing the lines between Jack’s freckles with his nails.
“I’m not gay,” Jack says, louder. As if Robby isn’t practically on top of him.
Robby frowns. His hand falls limp to the mattress; Jack misses the warmth immediately. “Jesus Christ,” he half-laughs. “Was I that bad?”
“No, it was good. I mean, I don’t have anything— What do you mean you’re straight?”
“I mean, before last night, I’ve never kissed a guy before, never mind the rest of it.”
“But you’re gay.”
The line between Robby’s eyebrows grows tighter. “No, I’m not. Why would you think that?”
“Look at you!”
“Look at me?” Robby’s mouth hangs open. “For a guy that won’t shut up about how much he likes gay people, that’s not a very modern thought.”
“Well, you look gayer than I do!” Maybe not right now, when they’re tangled together, completely nude, in Jack’s bed. “You got that earring!”
“This isn’t the gay ear! I checked when I got it!”
"Looks fucking gay," Jack mutters.
Robby's mouth twists. He rotates himself to settle in Jack's lap, looming over him. Jack's palms find Robby's thighs instinctually, kneading the muscles in his grip.
"You are the one who kept going on and on about how great gay people are and how you wished people treated them better.'"
"To make you feel more comfortable."
"You flirt with me constantly."
"I'm not flirting! I'm just charming. And you kissed me."
"To put you out of your misery because it was very obvious you wanted to kiss me."
Jack sputters. "Yeah, but— You don't have the full context."
"You tried to suck my dick last night. That's gay as fuck."
"I— Tried?" Jack's head knocks against the wall as he pushes back, offended.
Robby lifts his chin proudly. "I've had better."
Jack can't believe what he's hearing. He thought he picked up on the nuances of cocksucking pretty quickly for a straight guy. "I'd like to see you do better."
Robby's eyebrows hit his hairline. He wiggles out of Jack's grip and positions himself between his legs.
"You're already getting hard. That's so gay," Robby laughs.
"It is not. It's ha—“ Jack gasps. Robby's hot, wet mouth engulfs the head of his dick. He wraps his hand around the length and teases his tongue over the slit. "It's natural," Jack sighs.
Robby looks so goddamn beautiful. He's always pretty, but with his pink lips and hollow cheeks wrapped around Jack, he's otherworldly.
“Fuck.” Jack tangles his fingers in Robby’s thick hair and tugs. He’s rewarded with a moan that sends delicious vibrations through him. Robby looks up, his big brown eyes are watery but determined. “Shit, shit. Robby, I’m gonna—“
Robby sinks further down, but gags half way. He barely makes it off Jack’s dick before Jack releases. It lands all over Robby’s pretty face and drips from his chin.
“Jesus.”
“You came so quick,” Robby rasps. He wipes the cum from his face and licks his fingers clean.
“Yeah,” Jack pants. “Because you’re way gayer than me and can actually suck dick.”
Robby hums in disagreement. “I think it’s because you’re a total homo that gets off the second a guy touches you.”
“Says you.” Jack grabs Robby’s ass and pulls him forward, his leaking dick smears across Jack’s abs. “You’re rock hard from having a dick in your mouth.”
“That’s just morning wood,” Robby says. His eyes start to roll back as Jack massages his ass.
“Uh, huh,” Jack grins. He pulls Robby’s cheeks apart and relishes in the gasp he gets in response. He slides is middle finger over Robby’s hole and plays with the outside, admiring how Robby shakes under the touch. “Not how I’d expect someone new to this to react.”
“Well, I…” Robby pushes back against Jack’s hand.
Jack grins. “Well, you what?”
Robby shrugs. His blush is radiant in the morning light. “Some girls are into it.”
“Oh, I see.” Jack forces his dry finger inside. Robby’s mouth drops open, his thighs tremble as he bucks against Jack. “You like getting fucked for the ladies. Do they watch?”
“No. They— Jesus, Jack.” Robby locks his hands in Jack’s hair and plants his elbows on his shoulders for leverage as he humps desperately against Jack’s stomach. Jack circles his wrist, working Robby’s raw hole with his finger.
Robby releases the most beautiful symphony of whimpers as he cums across Jack’s skin. The puddle he leaves behind makes Jack’s mouth water, he’s tempted to swipe his fingers through it and lick them clean like Robby did.
“Hey, Robby?” He breathes.
“Yeah?” Robby’s eyes are glassy, and his head rolls on his neck like it’s too heavy to keep lifted.
“How gay would it be to take another guy out to dinner?”
Robby chuffs. “Pretty gay, but… I’m personally getting gayer by the minute it seems.”
“Good.” Jack captures Robby’s lips in his own. He’s not sure he’s ever enjoyed kissing as much as he does with Robby. “Me too.”
♡ synopsis: leonard reads to you before bed. once you've each turned in for the night, you contemplate your relationship.
♡ content: fauxcest (kinda), angst, age-gap
Slowly rocking the two of you with a socked foot, Leonard thumbs to the next page of a worn, yellowed novel—the paper making a quiet fwip sound when he does. "I could just remember how my father used to say that the reason for living was to get ready to stay dead a long time," he quotes with a deep, rumbling drawl from a novel you're only half listening to his rendition of.
Your feet tucked under you from where you're currently perched upon his lap, you nuzzle against the broad slope of his shoulder and yawn. "So he doesn't think there's any point to it?" you question sleepily. "Livin'?"
He hums, then presses a kiss to your brow—his beard scratching lightly against your soft skin. "S'pose so."
You plant a hand against his chest. "Maybe I'm bad at it," you mumble.
Without him looking after and providing for you—in unseemly ways or otherwise—you'd still be haunting the local woods at night trying to find a safe place to rest your head every evening. Or tempting ne'er-do-wells at various watering holes in towns, hoping they might spare you a shred of kindness and buy you something to fill your aching tummy because they found you pretty enough to spare the time. But those men always wanted something in return for it... 'Til him.
"Still young and learnin'," he replies with affectionate reassurance. "Could live a thousand years and still not know all there is to."
"Had to teach me to read and write." School system never could be bothered to care anymore for you than your drunk daddy or addict mama did. So you ran and searched until you found—much to your surprise—someone who did. "Never bothered you?"
"If it did," he sighs. "Then I wouldn't have offered to see it through. Wouldn't have held onto every page you wrote the alphabet on for safe-keepin'." He shuts the book. "Treasures to me now, just like you."
There's a pleasant ache between your legs where Leonard made love to you not even an hour ago. It's your favorite part of being here: warming his bed.
That, and eating TV dinners and playing with the dogs outside.
Sometimes you worry you're too young for him, even though you feel very old sometimes. Maybe it's just exhaustion from the weight of the world.
Pawing gently at the generous swell of his gut, you appreciate the weight of him; how sturdy he is. It always grounds you. You'd been something akin to a mangy mut when you first arrived. Or... Rather when you broke in looking for food to steal when he wasn't home. Skin had been stuck tight to your ribs with no healthy cushioning to speak of. Now, you think you've filled out quite nicely.
Gazing at Leo while carefully tracing the softened lines of his face with deft fingertips as he sleeps, you blink wispy lashes. On occasion, you think of him as more father than lover. You've always wanted one, 'cause the one God gave you wasn't worth a lick and he seems suitable enough for the position.
You'd tried calling him as much once.
It'd not ended well.
Saw you cast back out into the cold with him shouting angrily that he already had a daughter and wasn't looking for another. That he wasn't your old man and had no interest in filling the role, so you best get lost.
When he found you three days later, you'd been in town... Digging in a dumpster for scraps like some feral creature.
A bottomless well of guilt had gotten the better of Leonard when he saw the sorry sight of you, so he packed you away in his Plymouth and took you back with a bunch of apologies to accompany.
It took a long time after that for him to re-earn your trust. For you to even speak to him again or let him touch you.
Long time.
Even now, you sometimes think about leaving. Nothing ever lasts, including this. You know it.
Day'll come when he's had his fill of looking after a girl with hardly any sense in her head and decide that he wants to try the family thing again, you figure.
You want to tell him that you can be his daughter if he wants. You wouldn't mind. Not at all. But you also learned long ago as a girl that it's best to keep your mouth shut about business men don't seem to have much interest in talkin' about. Besides, given how handy he is with a gun, you don't mean to go tickin' him off and givin' him cause to use it.
You don't truly think he ever would, however. He's gentler than that, even if people around say otherwise.
All those books he keeps, and not one tells you anymore about him than what he means for you to know.
Tugging the thin sheet that covers you a touch higher and over your naked shoulder, you loose all the breath in your lungs before inhaling again.
You know enough about his life before and how he was a teacher, though. That a jaded student was responsible for his downfall when he planted some pot in his car after some failed test or other. Lost his job for it, followed by his family soon thereafter, Leonard had explained one night after a few glasses of Tennessee whiskey had mingled with his bloodstream.
He says he's not your father, yes, but when he pours you a bowl of cereal in the morning or gives you a warm bath when you're too tired to care about being clean, you wonder if he doesn't feel otherwise in his heart.
Leaning your head forward, you press your lips to his, but real careful like, so you don't wake him. "I love you, daddy," you whisper. Burrowing into his chest, your eyes flutter closed in search of sleep.
The musky scent of his cologne invades your senses and sooths your mind. Pine needles littering a forest floor, from which the aroma of burnt woodsmoke emanates from, fills you.
When you think you can hear the rustle of leaves in the wind, the voice of God reaches out to touch you. "So do I," calls the Heavens, and you know that you are home.
sweet girl who slept with craig once and waddles out of his room at smurf's wearing a random t-shirt she found in a clean clothes bin (popes) and a random pair of boxers (also popes).
stumbles out all wide-eyed into the living room where all of the boys are meeting and softly asks craig "do you wanna get breakfast with me?" :)
craig is so tempted to say yes, something he has absolutely never wanted to do before. but he's annoying and has an image to keep up, so he denies you. biting your lip all shy, a small mumble of "oh okay" as you ring your hands together. You sneak a quick peek at craig's handsome, unsettling older brother and give a tiny, embarrassed smile as you shuffle a bit, your scrunched socks (also popes) falling down a bit.
pope doesn't even know what possesses him when he stands.
"i'll-i'll go with you." outstretched hand and awkward tight lipped smile as he nods and walks toward you, jingling his truck keys in his pocket; not looking back.
