itsmeatballworld-library

[itsmeatballworld-library]

OH. MY. GOD.

ask for joaquín ideas and you shall recieve ma'am 😌 SO HERE YOU GO giving torres nasty head under his desk as he he's working on a debrief with sam on the phone, that at one point his eyes roll back

fall apart

a/n: this put me in a chokehold so tight i am pretty sure it’s why i am having issues breathing. the way this man had me acting up at ALL TIMES. and well i had vodka in my veins when i started writing this and had absolutely no issues being horny on main. so enjoy what is probably an unedited mess. but i was thinking fast at the time and somehow managed to finish it.

summary: distractions were best kept under wraps. even as joaquin blindly allowed you to toy with him at the worst possible moment. OR giving joaquin nasty head during his phone call with sam.

word count: 1.1k+

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, oral (m receiving), honestly fully porn without plot anywhere to be found, giving messy head, cussing, spit, cumplay, cumeating, face fucking, choking, slight exhibitionism, fluff, they're nasty people.

He’s supposed to be glued to the screen in front of him, eyes peeled and bloodshot as he searched for what Sam requested. He’s got a job to do. One that called for acts of heroism and skills beyond what he was capable of at this very moment. A task that should have felt like a breeze. Quick, easy, over and done with before the phone beeped relentlessly. Sam’s name popping up on the flashing screen.

But his head remained stuck in the clouds, mind coated in that thick gray fog—tipped back into his chair as he grasped at the handles. He needed to answer the fucking phone. Pick it up, clear his throat. Sound put together and professional.

He could barely see straight, entirely sure that if he opened his eyelids entirely he’d go cross-eyed. The feel of your wet hot mouth pulled him into the snare of your web. Tantalizing and dark—thick with the enticing heat that curled along the base of his spine. Wrenching his stomach into a fluttering hold. Speeding the steady beat of his heart until he began to tremble, thighs shaking where they were placed on either side of your head.

“Nena-”

Another suck had his back arching up, hand scrambling to curl along the back of your neck. The phone buzzed again, sliding with force along a clean wooden desk. All it would take was one press of his finger and Sam’s voice would fill the room.

“He’s calling-”

Your hand curled tight around the base of his spit soaked cock, precum dribbling down the sides as you came up for air. “So answer.”

“I can’t fucking answer,” he balked.

“Why not?” Swollen lips twisted up into a smile—one he’d seen before. One he knew like the back of his hand. “I thought you were capable of anything,” you purred.

“But it’s…” It would be so easy. Such a quick task to get done. Tell him the information, debrief what he’s learned through hours of research. He curled a hand around your chin, thumb pulling at your slick bottom lip. And the words slipped out before they registered in his mind. “Do it quietly.”

You lit up at his demand, head ducking down to swallow him down with a moan—the head of his cock brushing the very back of your throat. The mistake had been made and with a choked grunt, he picked up the phone.

“Got anything?”

Joaquin swallowed thickly, palming your head as he pulled up what files were labeled the most important with a shaky hand. “Uh….yes.” You swallowed around his length, throat working tight, spit dripping onto your hand that still held him in place; his mind went white.

“Joaquin. You good?”

No. He wasn’t.

He was so far down your throat he could see the bulge, the sticky wet sounds of your tongue slipping beneath his pulsing vein had him jolting his hips with a pained groan. Concern etched into Sam’s voice with questions he couldn’t answer, words that held no meaning in the depths of a mind gone dumb. You choked on him, spluttering for air as a sheen of spit smeared along your chin and cheeks.

“S-Shit-”

“What happened?” Sam called into the speaker, a rustle of him turning the car echoing into the spacious office.

Joaquin shuddered, hand clambering to cup your throat and keep you at bay—the dark glimmer in your eyes nearly sent him over the edge. He coughed, situated himself in the chair with adrenaline thundering beneath his buzzing skin. Eventually you’d fight him on this. Pull his twitching cock back into your mouth with a greedy moan—desperate for his taste to slide down your throat. And he’d let you. Without question.

He was only a man in the end; wrapped tight around your finger that cleaned the mess along your cheek.

“Nothing,” he cleared his throat. “Got a cramp. I managed to decode what documents you managed to find at the scene. Shipment logs and whatnot.”

You huffed, thighs clenching at the sound of technical words rambled from a mouth you burned to kiss. “Baby-”

His hand clamped over your mouth, sealing your jaw shut with an audible click. “They’re meeting five minutes outside The Wharf. Looks like the trade is happenin’ over international waters.”

“They’re hoping not to get caught. Alright. Send me the time and exact location. And call whatever law enforcement is closest. They’ll want in on this too.”

“Already on it,” Joaquin rushed out, releasing what hold he had left as the line went dead. “Sorry nena-”

A loud sigh filled his ears beneath the thundering echo of his racing heart. Dreamlike in its breathy tones, as if you couldn’t wait to finally taste him again. The tang of it a delicacy on the back of your tongue. His groan was loud, emanating off each wall and window, when your mouth sucked him back in. Hand pumping fast with the slide of your spit.

“Fuck,” he gasped, eyes rolling back.

The sounds were obscene. A squelching echo of your tongue and mouth bobbing along his painfully hard cock. He could feel it rush along his spine, pulling tight enough to splinter with pain right down to his toes. Ruining him with ease seemed to come naturally—your body entirely in tune with his. You read him with ease as he trembled in the chair, blunt nails digging into the back of your neck as he fucked into your awaiting mouth.

“G-Gonna- Fucking I’m gonna cum.”

You hummed, swallowing around him once, twice, until your fingers curled around his pulsing balls and he was extinguished in the flames. He spurted down your throat with a raw shout, hips shoving up and into your face. Any other time he’d carefully keep his distance, make sure you could breathe properly.

But he could barely keep track of his own name. Let alone where he was.

A garbled string of words spilled past his lips when you slowly came up for air, tongue licking gently at what still dripped down across your knuckles. He wanted to kiss you. Taste himself from the heat of your mouth. He wanted to lick into your cunt with a veracity he’d never known before your name became his favorite prayer.

He just couldn’t fucking move.

“Again?” you breathed, climbing into his lap with a soft grin.

“Shit,” he rasped, thumb pushing the pearly drips of his cum along your tongue. “I think you killed me.”

Light fractured along the edge of your iris and Joaquin felt the word love burn itself into his ribs. “You can kill me later,” you breathed, looping your arms around his limp form.

“I like those odds.”

[itsmeatballworld-library]

Saw that you reblogged these sentences and said you would take them for Joel and I just had to slide in here. Wanted to give you a few options of things I saw were interesting from both parts of the list. Hopefully one of the sentences inspires you and feel free to ignore if they don’t lol. Thank you for considering at all!

You deserve better than what you’ve got. - Or - You’re lucky you got away with a scratch.

How do you make the pain go away? - Or - Can you look at me, please?

alone and forsaken

a/n: forgive me for the late late late response to this old request. i kept it cause i knew the joel inspo would eventually hit me again one day and well the time has come. one episode into s2 and i'm already back in the pit for this man. i chose two out of the four you sent and i think it's become quite a beautiful angsty story. this is with a joel that takes place pre season one but not by much. i hope you enjoy darling!

summary: trapped in a house barely held together at the seams you and joel find yourselves thinking about the past, the future, and what led to this point in time.

word count: 1.3k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, angst yet again because i can't be stopped, grief + ptsd, conversations about death, love confessions, philosophical talks about humanity, hope.

The world was silent.

Nature's song once existed in a bountiful harmony—filling the once warm spring air with echoes of a winter come and gone. You could remember the days where flowers bloomed without a care in the world and animals began to wander out of their safe environments. Deer were a common sighting in your hometown; more than humanity could possibly think up.

Now everything resembled a bleak afterthought. Barren of humans, empty of what once thrived in places as small as this.

You supposed it was only time that nature grew weary of the toxic tendencies of humanity. Where she offered life, they handed over decay. An endless cycle of take that wound up eating itself on the final page.

Humanity was the illness spread upon this earth. A threat to the existence of peace. Nature merely found a cure.

"This is all I could find," he mumbled, handing you an open can of cold beans.

You grimaced, but knew that finding anything better might leave the both of you searching for hours more. If that happened then starvation would be the only real winner in this all out war. And you weren't about to go down swinging against something that lethal. So you took the can with a tight lipped smile, shoveling a mouthful into you in the hopes it might turn into something tastier.

"How long until we're out of here," you muttered around the food.

Joel grinned—eyes dull and darkened by fatigue. "Day or two. Till the storm lets up some."

Rain pounded against the brittle roof of this old fucking house. You were almost certain it would give in eventually—collapse right over your bodies. Maybe it should have. Maybe you and Joel would be better off if the house were the one to decide your fates—nature of course playing her part.

At least that way you wouldn't have to worry about turning into one of them.

Even in the safety of this one story home you could hear the screech of something inhuman; the cure to nature's ailment named humanity. They were agitated by the storm. Angry they couldn't find people as easy as before, and they made themselves known.

You began to wonder if you would ever get used to their existence. That one day might pass where you finally came to a place of acceptance. Yet the thought alone was harder to swallow than the shitty food you currently fought to keep down.

More often than not you found yourself wondering if they felt pain the way you or Joel did—your mind playing tricks of guilt and empathy for creatures too far gone from the touch of humanity. Did they understand the concept of loneliness? Trapped within their own minds as the fungus wreaked havoc on their bodies. Or were they soulless? Lifeless.

There were days you pondered the same about yourself—too afraid to breach that locked door in your mind. The one that held whispers of darkness far greater than you could handle. Nightmares you did your best to put out, raging against a cracked and broken amount of hope.

"Do you ever think about what they feel?" The leak in the center of the house splattered muddy water along your hand. A cold chill traveled up nerves you believed were already shot years prior.

Joel's answer was unromantic—monotone. "They're dead."

"But are they really?"

He cleared his throat, setting the can down on the floor beside his gun. "If they aren't. They probably wish they were."

"To be locked in your own body and not have the ability to control it." Your teeth dug into your lip, biting down hard enough to split the skin. "I'd never wish that on anyone."

“I think we’re past wishin’ for things.”

He had a point. As much as you didn’t like what it meant, you understood the callous sentiment born from years of anger. This was the way of things now. A reality perfumed with the scent of rotting flesh and marred by vines of cordyceps that ravaged whatever breathed and spoke. Humanity was buried in a shallow grave. Cities leveled, homes left behind like old photographs someone might one day happen upon.

In the months of traveling with Joel you came to understand what exactly the world lost. You used to be a cynic, entirely submersed in the belief that humans were the first step in destruction—a generation that held nothing but contempt for all that came before. Until the world’s slate was wiped clean. And love, empathy, hope disappeared from the very map of a world you could no longer recognize.

“My friend used to host a barbecue every summer,” you said, watching the rain through the shattered window.

“That right?”

Nodding, you forced yourself to swallow another mouthful of beans. “They couldn’t cook for shit. Barely even liked their apartment being used for parties, but they were the only one that managed to get their own place.” You could practically smell the charred burgers, cold beers and haphazardly made margaritas melting in the east coast heat. “We were at the very last one of the year when the outbreak happened.”

Joel’s spine went rigid, silence swallowing even the pattering echo of rainfall. The chaos and horror isn’t what you remembered the most of that night. No, you pushed those memories down years ago—fearful that they might succeed in driving you mad. You recalled the laughter. The soft strum of a friend’s guitar and rasp of his voice as he sang beneath whatever stars you could catch glimpses of. You could picture their bodies lounging on chairs, lips twisted into smiles that burned you from the inside.

They were happy before it happened. Lost in the bliss of a found family.

“You deserve better than what you’ve got,” he muttered, discarding his can to the side.

His words jarred you, stomach twisting as he mourned your life despite never knowing your friends. But that was the thing about Joel Miller. He had a family too. He once had friends, a life he’d return to in an instant if given the chance. Neither of you would choose the other if you met any other way; too immersed in what you had to wonder what could have been.

But you wanted him in this life. You gave up surviving alone before he came into your life—intent on greeting death with open arms and hearing that laughter one final time.

“Joel.” Nudging him with your foot you finally caught a glimpse at those brown bloodshot eyes you’d grown to admire. They were glossed over with the exhaustion of going days without sleep, each of you fighting to find a space you could rest for some time. Yet their beauty never failed to leave you breathless. “You are exactly what I deserve in this life. You saved me.”

“You saved yourself darlin’.”

“No I didn’t.” He sighed, watching the rain splatter along mud coated wood floors. “I just got lucky at the right fuckin’ time.”

“Can you look at me, please?”

Reluctantly he found your gaze, fingers curled into a fist atop his thigh. “We don’t get much happiness in this world. Probably won’t ever get it again. But I’m happy I found you Joel. Out of all the ways life could have gone in this hell, finding you has been the best outcome.”

“We might not even make it to Boston,” he muttered despite the way his lips quirked. “What then?”

“Then I’d say it’s a pretty good way to go. Dying with someone I love.”

Disbelief colored his face, hand flat and loose against denim that had seen better days. “Yeah.” He exhaled long and slow—satisfaction spilling into the air. Neither of you wanted to be the first to say it, words meant for final moments and days where humanity lingered in the air, but you couldn’t take it back now. “A hell of a way to die.”

You smiled, settling against the wall. “A good way to die.”

[itsmeatballworld-library]

*Updated* Mobile Masterlist

Suicide Squad

includes The Joker, Killer Croc, Digger Harkness ‘Captain Boomerang’, and Chato Santana ‘El Diablo’

Top Gun: Maverick

includes Bradley ‘Rooster" Bradshaw

Teen Wolf

includes Scott McCall, Isaac Lahey, Stiles Stillinski

Dune

includes Paul Atreides

The Batman

includes Bruce Wayne

Chicago One

includes Jay Halstead, Will Halstead

Venom

includes Eddie Brock

Chicago Med

includes Will Halstead

Peaky Blinders

includes Thomas Shelby

Harry Styles

includes the fic No Control

Animal Kingdom

includes J Cody and Craig Cody

Hawaii 5-0

includes Steve McGarrett and Danny Williams

The Vampire Diaries

includes Damon Salvatore, Stefan Salvatore, and Klaus

True Blood

includes Eric Northman, Jason Stackhouse, and Alcide Hervaux

Sons of Anarchy

includes Jax Teller, Chibs Telford, Juice Ortiz, Opie Winston, Herman Kozik, and Tig Trager

Mayans

includes Ez Reyes, Angel Reyes, Miguel Galindo

Euphoria

includes Fezco and Nate Jacobs

Criminal Minds

includes Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan

Outerbanks

Includes John B, Rafe Cameron

Shameless

includes Carl, Lip, and Ian Gallagher

Hemlock Grove

includes Roman Godfrey

The Outsiders

includes all the boys

The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

includes Nick Scratch

13 Reasons Why

includes Justin Foley and Montgomery de la Cruz but only Monty from Season One.

Dirty Dancing

includes Johnny Castle

Star Wars

includes Kylo Ren

Twilight

includes Carlisle & Esme Cullen, and Paul Lahote

Supernatural

includes John, Dean, and Sam Winchester

Stranger Things

includes Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington, and Jonathan Byers

Sherlock

includes Sherlock Holmes

Game of Thrones

includes Jon Snow, Jaime Lannister, Tommen Baratheon, Tyrion Lannister, Robb Stark, Theon Greyjoy, Grenn, Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane, Oberyn Martell, Bran Stark

The Walking Dead

includes Shane Walsh, Daryl Dixon, Carol Peletier, and Carl Grimes

AHS: Apocalypse

includes Michael Langdon

Knives Out

includes Ransom Drysdale

Reign

includes Francis

The Night Shift

includes TC Callahan

9-1-1

includes Evan ‘Buck’ Buckley

Marvel

includes Tony Stark, Loki, Thor, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Wade Wilson, Steve Rodgers, and Peter Parker

Grey’s Anatomy

includes Alex Karev, Owen Hunt, Mark Sloan, Jackson Avery, Andrew DeLuca, and Derek Shepherd

Riverdale

includes Archie Andrews, Sweet Pea, Jughead Jones, and Fp Jones

Vikings

includes everyone probably

Salem

includes John Alden

Celebrities

Jared Leto

[itsmeatballworld-library]

Mrs. R Part Five

Previous Part | Masterlist

Notes: Not beta-read. Last part for real this time, y'all. Thanks for your patience!

Warnings: Fluff; smut: oral sex, unsafe sex; excessive use of the word 'fuck'

Summary: Choosing the hardware for the coat hooks in the front hall…Fighting over what color to paint the kitchen…Spending hours deciding which light fixtures to install in the hall, the bathroom, the living room…

A thousand little thoughts went into making this your home. Are you really about to leave it? 

“Hey, uh, miss? Where are these going?” 

If you had a nickel for every time you’d been asked that question, you would be able to buy yourself a damn mansion. You scrub a weary hand over your eyes, sliding it down over your cheek as the annoyance builds. How much money would it cost you to tell them that you changed your mind, to just find an empty spot on the floor and open the damn boxes, you’ll sort this all out later—

“Everything lined up by the door goes on the truck today. If you need an extra hint, look for the boxes with the word ‘storage’ written on the top.” 

The easy authority in Robby’s voice shouldn’t make you relax as quickly as it does, and you can’t stop the amused huff that puffs out of your mouth.

You turn to see the movers starting to take the boxes lined up by the door, giving Robby nervous nods. 

You turn back to the cabinet, reaching for the next mug and wrapping it in newspaper before tucking it into the box with the others. You glance back when you hear Robby coming into the kitchen. 

“Perfect timing. I was an inch away from tearing my hair out,” You grumble. He chuckles, and you hear the light rustle of him removing his backpack before he joins you at the counter. 

“They’ll get it done. You got a lot left to do?” 

“Uh,” You sigh, turning to look around the kitchen, “These and the cups, and then—I did the utensils already, got the plates packed away. I’ve still got some books in the living room, some stuff in the bedroom—Oh, and the basement’s done, completely done, except for two cans of paint that—I don’t even know how old they are, I’m not sure if they’re still good—?”

“Okay,” Robby soothes, sliding his hands over your shoulders. “I’m a little sorry I asked.” He offers you a soft smile as you sigh, scrubbing your hand over your face again. 

“I’m very tired and you’re being mean to me,” You pout. 

“Sorry, sweetheart,” He murmurs, crowding closer. “Tell me what you want me to do.” 

“...Bring the paint cans up and put ‘em on the curb. Write 'free' on top, make them someone else's problem.” 

“Mhm.” 

“And then pack the books up. I’ll take care of the rest of the kitchen and the bedroom.” 

“Okay.” 

“One other thing, first.”

“Anything.”

“Gimme a kiss.” 

Robby’s smile widens as he lifts his hands from your shoulders to gently cup your face, drawing you in for a tender kiss. You sigh, chest flooding with relief as you sag against him, and curling your arms around his middle. Neither of you push to deepen it, instead relishing in one another’s touch: the warmth of one another’s arms, the steady, kind pressure of your kiss. 

“Are these boxes goin’, too?” 

The call from one of the movers makes you wince, and you just manage to fight back a groan. Robby leans back, tipping his chin up and pressing a kiss to your forehead before drawing away with a murmur of, “I’ve got it.” 

--  

“How are we doing back here?” 

You don’t answer until Robby’s just beside you, then wave into the drawer that you’re staring at.

“You think I can get away with just leaving all this shit in here and taping it up?” 

Robby hums, reaching in and poking through the contents—cough drops, a couple of pens, a bottle of lube, a few stray condoms. 

“I think that’d be alright.”

“Done,” You sigh, shoving the drawer shut before flopping onto the bed, your legs hanging off of the side. “The guys still here?”

“Nope, just left. Said they’ll be here bright and early at eight.”

“Perfect.”

Robby lays beside you with a sigh. You let your head loll to get a good look at him. You take in his closed eyes, his slightly pursed lips.

“...Can I be honest?” He asks. You frown, rolling onto your side and propping your head up on your hand to get a better look at him.

“‘Course.”

“I didn’t think you’d really do it.” 

You consider that as you lay back again peer back up at the ceiling, chewing the inside of your cheek. 

“Honestly…I kinda didn’t think I would, either.” The two of you sit in that for a moment before you press, “Are you still mad at me?” 

“Mad at you?” 

“For deciding to move.” 

It’s Robby’s turn to roll over. You feel the bed shift as he moves, hear him sigh. 

“Not mad,” He insists. “I wasn’t before, either, I was, um…I think I was afraid.” 

Your brow furrows, and you frown as you meet his eye. “Really?” 

“So much has changed between us in the last couple of years. This was just one more thing—one more big thing. But I understand it now,” He smiles softly, “And I’m proud of you.” 

Heat rushes up your neck and sweeps across your face at his insistence, and you push yourself up with both hands. An uncomfortable, huffed, “Okay,” Leaves you as you start to stand, but Robby catches hold of you before you can get too far. 

“Hey,” His arm curls around your middle, “I mean it.” 

The urge to remove yourself from his sincere approval wells, but you stay there, resting your hand atop his as you settle back against the mattress. Robby gives a soft, approving hum, his thumb sweeping across the band of skin exposed by your top. 

“Look at us,” He teases, “Using what we learned in therapy.”

“Yeah?” 

“I’m communicating how I feel and you’re not completely running away from me.” 

You snort, raising a hand to toy with the tie on his hoodie. “I wasn’t running from you before.” 

“No, but you also couldn’t take a compliment.” 

You snort a laugh, nodding, grudgingly muttering, “That’s true.” You relax further as Robby scoots closer, nuzzling against your shoulder. “You staying? One more night in the old place?” 

“I didn’t pack my PJs.”

“Good.” 

-- 

Choosing the hardware for the coat hooks in the front hall…Fighting over what color to paint the kitchen…Spending hours deciding which light fixtures to install in the hall, the bathroom, the living room…

A thousand little thoughts went into making this your home. Are you really about to leave it? 

You comb your fingers through Robby’s hair, nails gently massaging his scalp. You glance down as he shifts beside you, his face pressing more tightly into the curve of your neck. It’s a moment before he draws in a deep breath, his fingers tightening in the fabric of your sleep shirt. 

“...You awake?” He mumbles. 

“Mhm.”

“Long?” 

“I don’t know. A while.” You turn your head, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Did I wake you up?” 

“No.” He tips his chin up, kissing the curve of your  jaw. “Time is it?” 

“Mm—” You reach out, grabbing your phone from the bedside table and eyeing the time before dropping it again. “Five after five. You workin’ today?” 

“Mhm.” It’s a warm, lazy hum. Robby’s hand skims along your side, teasing under your sleep shirt as he brushes another kiss to your jaw. You tip your head to the side, catching his lips in a sweet kiss, and smiling as his tongue teases into your mouth. It’s only another two passes before Robby is rolling over you, the sheets sliding away, exposing you to the cool air of the room. You hum as Robby’s lips trail lower, tipping your head back into the pillow as his fingers inch higher and higher up your sides, shifting your shirt up to just under your chin. 

You suck in a stunned, sleepy breath as his lips brush across the top of one breast, his thumb sweeping across the other pebbling nipple. You groan softly, hips tipping up toward the heat of his body as you feel Robby’s hardening cock against your thigh. You draw your knees up to cradle him, sliding your hands over his arms as he inches further down, beard tickling the sensitive skin of your belly. His fingers curl around the band of your underwear, warm eyes turned up toward you as he waits. You bite your lip, stomach swirling with nerves and anticipation as you nod, tipping your hips up for him. 

The underwear has hardly hit the floor before Robby’s shoulders are spreading your thighs wide, his hands tucked beneath them as he laps broadly across your pussy. You whimper, hands fisting in his hair as your head presses back into the pillows. 

“Robby—Mikey, baby, fuck,” You mewl, grinding up against his questing tongue, skin tingling from the brush of his beard. He groans against you, moving his head from side to side before he leans up, lapping over your clit with sharp, flicking strokes. 

You can’t help the whimpers that drop from your lips. It’s almost embarrassing, the sound you make as he spears in one finger, then another. Your cunt throbs around them as he curls and strokes, pumping them harder as the familiar coiling sensation in your stomach winds tighter and tighter. 

You whine as he draws back with a final sucking kiss, reaching out as he kneels up on the bed. You reach out, palming his cock through his underwear as he leans across you, fishing into the bedside drawer. 

“Let me—” You plead, pushing yourself up, and pout Michael shakes his head. 

“Next time.” 

Next time, he says, like the two of you weren’t at each other’s throats just a few weeks ago—next time like you hadn’t considered moving fucking states to try and move on. 

Robby drops a condom on the bed beside you before his hand curls around your jaw, tipping your head up. 

“I need to be inside you.” He dips his head closer, and your eyelids flutter as his slick lips glide against yours. “Can I do that? Gonna let me cum inside you, sweetheart?” 

You nod almost dumbly, tongue flicking out to tease at the taste of yourself on his lips. You reach out, taking the condom from where he dropped it and flinging it out of view. Robby glances after it, surprise washing his features. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Uh-huh—”

“But I thought you got off of the pill.”

“I did.”

Robby’s brows jump up, his eyes sliding closed as you reach down, slipping your hands into his underwear and grasping his cock. He groans as you stroke him, forehead resting against yours. 

“Are you—fuck,” His breath hitches as you thumb the head of his cock, “Are you out of your fucking mind?” 

“A little.” You tip your head, lapping between his lips. “I wanna feel you, Michael. Fucking all of you.” 

He reels back, you fear that you’ve gone too far. But Robby is shoving off his underwear, pushing them away before he’s settling back over you. Your heart pounds in your throat as you lean back on your elbows, shivering as Robby draws the tip of his cock along your slick folds. Your hips twitch as he teases over your clit before leading it lower. The head just catches against your opening before he goes still. You glance up at him and find him watching you closely, almost nervously. You reach out, cupping his cheek. 

“What is it?” 

“You’re sure?” 

You push yourself up fully, smoothing your thumb across the apple of his cheek. 

“I want you to fuck me like this, Michael.” You lean up as the flush already crowding his cheeks begins to spread down to his neck, his bare chest. “I want you to cum in me. I want to be slick with you while I boss around those fucking moving men.” 

Michael’s groan blends with an almost pained chuckle as he crowds a little closer. 

“Do you wanna fuck me like this, Michael?” You push. 

“Yes.”

“Yeah? Wanna fill me up?”

“Yes, fuck, fuck—”

Your jaw drops as Robby's hips shove forward, easing in. You whimper as your pussy throbs around him, clenching around his length as you lean back against the bed. Robby follows you down, curling over you, his hands bracing on either side of your head. 

"Jesus christ, you're so wet," He swears, breath hot against your lips. 

"Move—”

"Not yet."

"Mikey—”

"Just—mm, god," He leans in, pressing his forehead against your jaw. "Need a minute." 

Your lips curl into a devious smile as you slide your hands up and over his shoulders. 

"Yeah?" You coo. "Why's that?"

"Don't." 

"Do I feel good?"

"You feel so fucking good." His hips grind forward, and you whimper, sliding your hand up into his hair as he begins to fuck you with steady strokes. "You are so fucking good." 

You turn your head, catching his lips in a kiss.  He breaks it with a gentle nip to your lip, tugging it before drawing back, pinning your hips to the bed as his thrusts pick up in pace. You slip a hand between your bodies, swiping over your swollen clit as you struggle to press up against him, to meet his thrusts. 

The otherwise quiet morning fills with your joint groans, moans, sighs, murmurs of praise, of need. For a few stunning moments, it feels like it used to—desperate, and loving, and steady. 

You lean up, straining for another kiss, and Robby bows over you, lips sliding messily against yours. You whimper, toying with your clit more roughly as you grow closer and closer to orgasm. 

“Robby,” You warn, raising your other hand to wind in his hair, “I’m—fuck, just like that—” 

“Yeah,” He goads between panting breaths, “That’s it. Take my cock, sweetie.”

“Just like that—Right there, rightthererightthere—Fuck!” 

-- 

“We gotta get up.” 

Robby doesn’t answer at first, and you worry that he’s fallen back asleep. But he nuzzles against your collarbone, letting out a soft grunt of dismay. 

“You’re gonna be late,” You warn, “And the moving guys don’t need to see either of us like this.” 

Robby chuckles, picking his head up and resting his chin on his shoulder. 

“I bet a couple of them want to.” 

“I think you’re projecting.”

“Oh no. I’ve seen guys size you up like that before.” 

“Blegh.” 

He chuckles, leaning up and giving you a soft kiss. 

“I'll come by after work, help you unpack.” 

“Only if you want to. I’m not gonna get it all done today,” You reassure, smoothing your fingers through his hair. “Just—See how your shift goes before you go making any promises.” 

Robby props himself up over you, holding your gaze steadily. 

“I am coming by tonight. I’m going to bring takeout, and I’m going to make sure none of your light bulbs need changing.” 

"Don't want me to wind up in the ER again?"

"I love seeing you, but I don't love seeing you at work."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry ;

@kittenlittle24 ; @ilariyalavorowrites ; @morgy3456 ; @emily-b ; @txtdreamss

@caramelised-onions ;

[itsmeatballworld-library]

yeah. yup. mmhm. yes. Tommy Miller the man you are !!

thank you for writing this girly omg 😔💖

IT WILL COME BACK

a/n: this man won the poll and in all honesty, i couldn't stop myself from writing for tommy miller. have you seen him? he's fine as fuck. which resulted in this. in my head i will just make this a small collection of drabbles compiled on a masterlist. so after this i'll reblog prompts you can request more from that tie into this fic. since i have my joel series going i won't make this a full series (yet). either way i hope you enjoy.

summary: mornings in the kitchen with him made life worthwhile.

word count: 4.1k+

pairing: pre-outbreak tommy miller x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, cussing, oral (f receiving), floor sex, p in v sex (not really though), spitting, tommy miller being a little shit, fluff, romance.

Sunlight attempted to break through your curtains; the sheer white blocking anything but the warmth. You felt it creep along the bed, encasing you in a bundle of blankets that trapped the sun’s glow. Shifting to your side, you expected to feel him there. Feel the broad expanse of his chest as you reached out with still closed eyes.

You found nothing but the cold sheets instead.

The first thing that ran through your mind as your eyes fluttered open, was that he must have woken up early enough to head out to work. It would explain why you never heard him leave. While he may share your bed at night, this wasn’t his home. Not entirely.

The drawer you emptied for him only held a flannel or two—mainly for you to use—but nothing essential remained. At night his touch, his body, was yours but once morning came, they were nothing but a lingering memory that stuck to the edges of your mind. If it weren’t for his scent that still remained on the blankets—you would have thought you imagined him.

With a sigh, you sat up. The sheets pooled at your waist, exposing your bare chest. It’s not like you needed him here in the morning, but waking up alone always felt hollow without him. Tommy turned your house into a space you actually found solace in, but the serenity never truly lasted. So, you were left with no other choice but to swallow the pain like it was medicine.

When in fact it was poisoning you slowly; Tommy simply remained your antidote.

Searching through the drawer, you pulled out one of his flannels. More than happy to be wrapped up in his scent.

Eventually, the time would come when you would have to go about your day, and the memory of last night would shift into becoming just that. A memory. But for now you basked in the afterglow that still stuck to your skin.

The urge to tell Tommy what you were feeling would have normally come out sooner or later. But this feeling, this aching loneliness that ate away at the inside of your body, was something you kept to yourself. If he knew how him leaving each morning affected you, he would let the guilt fester in his heart. Because that was his weakness at the end of the day. It wasn’t you, but the feeling that his actions caused you to hurt.

You found that it was better to keep him in the dark, than to burden him with something that would ultimately change the trajectory of your relationship. It was easier this way. Or at least that was a belief you continued to tell yourself. You loved him, this he knew, and he loved you all the same. But the future was a topic that terrified you enough to keep it hidden until things could one day be different.

The scent of coffee filled the bedroom. You figured the timer on the machine must have gone off, starting the brew. That became your alarm most days, the aroma of a good cup of coffee usually pulled you out of bed faster than an alarm.

Tightening the flannel around your bare body, you made your way downstairs, instantly regretting forgetting your slippers as your feet connected with the cold hardwood floors. You wouldn’t be down here long, ready to grab a cup of coffee and crawl back into the safety of your blankets. Yet the sound of a crooning southern voice playing softly in the background and someone humming along, stopped you in the doorway of the kitchen.

Tommy stood at the stove, attempting to flip what you assume was an omelet at one point. Even though you couldn’t see his face, you knew his expression. The furrow of his eyebrows as he concentrated, his lips pursed in frustration when things didn’t exactly go his way.

“Good morning,” you said, drawing his attention away from the catastrophe on the stove.

He turned, his chest and stomach on display. You felt heat creep up your face at the sight of the dark hickeys that trailed down into his jeans. Last night was still a slight blur, but you could vividly recall leaving those—marking him as yours. A wild need to possess him took you over as he was sprawled out beneath your body. Other times you would feel the slight tinge of embarrassment creep into your mind, but you knew he loved it.

“You’re up,” he responded, his eyes dragging down the expanse of your bare legs. His flannel only covered so much—leaving you open and free for him to admire. “I was making you breakfast.” His tongue swept along his bottom lip. You wondered if you left a slight bruise from where you had sucked it into your mouth.

“Smells good.”

He smiled, turning back to flip off the burner. “Smells like burnt shit, but thanks for lying.”

Moving around the table, you slid your hands up his back, lips pressing to his shoulder and suddenly…the ache disappeared. Retreating to the far reaches of your mind, giving you the peace you needed. Sighing against his skin, you felt him shiver beneath your touch. You know his reaction by heart now. Could practically see the way his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, the pleasure of your touch grounding him.

Tommy would forever be a man with a mission. Never once able to sit still long enough to not fly away, but you were the gravity holding him down. You were the reason he hadn’t left this town yet. Though he left every morning, there still remained the guarantee that no matter what, he’d return once the sun went down. Falling into your bed with whispered promises he would eventually break, and a love that was sweeter than honey.

“I thought you had work this morning,” you said, wrapping your arms around his waist, his hands shifting to rest over yours.

“Called Joel while you were asleep. Told him I’d be coming late.”

You hummed, hand dragging slowly down his stomach. “I bet he wasn’t happy about that.”

The soft huff of laughter he let out made your heart beat just a bit quicker. But it was the soft groan that rumbled in his chest as your hand dipped into his jeans, that had a fresh wave of slick pooling out of you. He was already hard, his cock heavy in your hand as you slowly palmed him. The realization made you throb, the heady dizziness of lust rushing over you. Wrapping your hand around his length, you felt him twitch, dragging another grunt from him.

If you had the time, you’d drop to your knees for him there in the kitchen. Make him see stars the way he did to you last night. But Joel was an impatient man when it came to Tommy. You knew he only had barely an hour tops and you wanted him inside you before the time ran out.

He turned quickly, forcing you to let go of him. The small sound of protest you let out, cut off by his lips, his hand wrapping gently around your throat to keep you there, tongue delving into your mouth with ease. Tommy knew what made you melt into his body, knew how to drag out all manner of sounds from you, and you gave in willingly. You were his to mold. His to have.

“Baby,” he breathed, his fingers digging into your ass, dragging you closer. “I can feel you soakin’ my jeans.”

A wet moan was pressed to his jaw. Your hips rolled over his denim clad thigh that was slotted between your legs. You knew you were leaving a wet spot on the fabric—that he’d have to wear these jeans to work probably—but you couldn’t care. Not when you felt the fabric catch on your clit, sending a shock through your body.

“Want you,” you gasped, nails digging into his chest. “I need you inside me.”

He moaned, hips grinding against yours. You felt him pull down his flannel, cupping your breast in his palm, thumb running over your peaked nipple, before he dipped down and took it into his mouth. Gasping, your head fell back, hips rolling over his leg even faster as the pleasure continued to mount in your body. Heat spilling into every part of you, burning you from the inside out.

“Tommy.”

He groaned as you pulled at his curls, dragging his lips back to yours. If there was a place you’d want to spend forever with, it was here with him. Wrapped up in your small safe haven of just each other. No one else existed when you were with Tommy. He consumed you, yet you gave into it without question. There was no one else for you and he knew it.

Dragging the piece of fabric off your body, his calloused palms ran along your skin, sending a shiver through your body at his light touch. You whimpered, barely able to open your eyes due to the dizziness clouding your mind. He smiled at your reaction, eyes dark with lust and yet somehow within the brown, you saw the light he had within. The light you ached for.

There he was, pouring it into you with each kiss pressed to your skin. He promised you forever without saying it and you wanted so badly for him to keep it this time.

“Take me upstairs baby,” you breathed into his mouth, hand feeling his stomach clench as you pressed your palm to his hot skin.

He shook his head. “Can’t do that ma’am.”

“What?” Pulling back, you felt him smile against your throat, his teeth sinking into your skin a moment later. “W-why?” you rasped, fingers curling around his hair in an effort to grasp onto something stable.

“Want to eat you,” he mumbled against you, teeth closing around your earlobe and tugging. “And I eat my meals in the kitchen.”

If it were any other time and his fingers weren’t inching towards your aching clit, you would have laughed. Told him he was an idiot in the most loving voice you could muster—your emotions bubbling over with a single look from him. But before you could get the word out, his fingers circled your clit, causing you to sag into his hold. You buried your head into his neck, your cry muffled against his skin as he built the rapidly growing pressure in your stomach.

“You gonna come for me honey?” You nodded, hips rolling over his thigh faster in an attempt to get there, to feel the hot bliss wash over your skin. “I know you want to.”

“Tommy,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulder. “Please.”

He groaned, fingers digging down to spread you, your slick practically dripping down his hand. “You sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg. Alright honey, I got you.”

You keened when he pressed you down harder on his thigh, guiding you through the small stunted thrusts. Vaguely you were aware of how much time was passing, but the worry that he’d leave soon was washed from your mind the second he pinched your clit between his fingers. You sobbed into his neck, eyes rolling back as the dam finally broke, your body going taut—pleasure flooding you. It practically spilled out of you, overwhelming every part of your being, and Tommy kept going.

He pushed and pulled your hips, dragging you along his thigh and smearing your cum along the fabric until they were good and ruined. The pleasure continued to build, burning so hot inside you that you could barely see straight. If you weren’t careful you wouldn’t be able to find a way back to yourself, but maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe he wanted to ruin you so perfectly, you’d never be the same after him.

Although who were you kidding. There’d never be anything after Tommy.

“Oh god oh god,” you chanted, your withering moan being swallowed by his lips colliding with yours.

Spit trailed down your chin as he pulled away. The two of you combined; you expected him to wipe it away. Only he smeared it across your cheek, his dark eyes following his thumb as it dragged along your skin.

“On the floor,” he said, his voice gruff and thick with lust.

Even if you wanted to, you wouldn’t have been able to deny him. Your mind had settled into that sweet spot of numbness that allowed him to maneuver your body in any way he pleased. Without realizing it, you found yourself spread on the kitchen floor, his flannel now parted to reveal the expanse of your naked body. A sight that Tommy was indulging himself in.

“So damn beautiful,” he murmured, his hand trailing up your waist, fingers stroking the side of your breast. “And all fuckin’ mine.”

Your body jolted, a shaky breath leaving you as he dropped down your body. Lips kissing and teeth biting along your hips—the dichotomy of pleasure and pain turning the molten burn into a raging fire. If there’s one thing you could expect with Tommy it was this. The softness that came with his touch.

He made you fall in love with his laughs, his jokes, but he owned you with his lips—his hands that spread you open, revealing you to his eyes.

“Baby,” you sighed as he pulled your legs up and over his shoulders, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“Yeah honey?”

The small word brought a smile to your lips. “Love you.”

You watched his eyes light up, his lips parting into a smile so big you felt it in your chest. There it was. The reason Tommy could call your heart his. You met him unexpectedly and before you knew it…he had you with that smile alone. He was the one you could call home, the one you saw yourself spending forever with. If only you knew that Tommy felt the exact same way—that the small little box tucked away in his jacket pocket was burning a hole right through his heart at this very moment.

“I love you so damn much,” he said, placing a kiss on your inner thigh.

The clock that hung on the kitchen wall taunted you, telling you that eventually your time with him would be up. That he’d get up, go to work, and leave nothing but the pleasurable ache between your thighs and sore bites up and down your skin. You wanted to capture this moment in your hands, to hold it close when he left. But all you could do was remain in it—savor his touch, his lingering love that burned you slowly, sensually.

The first lick of his tongue through your pussy sent a jolt up your body. You gasped, hips canting up slightly to meet his mouth as he moaned into you. Tommy was insatiable when it came to you, this became clear early on in your relationship. What you didn’t know was how enamored he was with your taste. How he craved you constantly. You learned quickly that if you didn’t cut him off, Tommy would spend hours between your thighs.

His lips attached to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and causing your head to fall back against the floor with a soft thud. Sparks littered up your spine, a broken sob of his name echoing off the kitchen walls. You were thankful the floor was so cold, because you were currently overheated, your body desperate for some balance to the madness.

“F-fuck,” you gasped, eyes falling shut, hand digging into his unruly curls. “You’re so good. I’m–fuck Tommy.” Your words broke off into a whine, his tongue pressing against your entrance.

He lost himself, the taste of you becoming an addiction he couldn’t get rid of, but at the end of the day…he wouldn’t want to. His nails scraped along your thighs as he moaned into your pussy, his hips grinding into the floor to appease the need he felt growing. Licking into you, he watched your mouth drop open in a silent sob, your legs shaking with each flick of his tongue along your clit. You wouldn’t last long, he knew this. 

Except he was adamant to remain here with you, unwilling to leave until he felt you gush into his mouth.

Lifting his head, he heard your broken whines of protest echo in the air. The small beg to have him keep going caused his cock to throb painfully in his jeans. You were beautiful like this. Incoherent with pleasure and body covered with a sheen of sweat that made you glow in the early morning sunlight. He grinned, licking at his bottom lip, resembling a starved man desperate for another taste of his meal.

“I know, I know,” he murmured, shifting up swiftly to press his lips against yours. Sharing your taste as he licked deeply into your mouth. “My pretty baby.”

“I want you inside me,” you begged, hips bucking up to grind against his. “Please Tommy, need you to fill me—” He cut you off with a sharp gasp, his fingers sliding through your spit slicked pussy.

“‘M not done honey.”

The beg was on the tip of your tongue, another plea to hopefully convince him of what you both wanted. Him spitting into your pussy lewdly cut you off. Your eyes rolled back, his tongue spreading his spit up to your clit, fingers prodding at your entrance. The plea died in your throat—an incoherent cry of his name overtaking as his fingers curled into you, finding the spot along your walls without trying.

Tommy knew your body well enough to notice the signs. The way your legs trembled, how your walls clamped down around his fingers. You were right on the edge and he wanted to see you fly off. Moaning against your pussy one more time, he scraped his teeth gently along your clit, fingers rubbing against your g-spot in quick movements. The pleasure once again built, mind growing hazy with it as he continued to push you until you were right there.

Glancing down, you caught sight of him thrusting his hips against the floor, desperate to get himself there and that did it. You snapped, brokenly sobbing his name as your hips grinded against his mouth. He let you use him, doing his best to continue stimulating you, the wet sound of his fingers thrusting into your pussy now echoing through the room.

Pleasure filled you, burning its way through your body until you could do nothing but silently scream. You tried to catch your breath, but it was stuck—lodged in your chest—forcing you to take in gasps of air. All the way through, Tommy continued to lick and suck at your clit, grunting with each thrust of his hips. He was aching for you, nearly on the edge but unable to fully finish.

“Taste so fuckin’ good honey,” he mumbled drunkenly into your pussy, his eyes shut and mind in a state of delirium. “Shit—” The button of jeans knocked against the floor, his forehead falling to rest on your hip.

“Tommy,” you breathed, fingers curling around his arm and trying to tug him up your body. But not before he kissed above your clit, licking one last time into you.

His hand slapped against the floor above your head, tongue pushing your cum into your mouth and sending a shiver through your body. Even as your shaky hands dipped into his jeans, pulling him out, he still asked to keep tasting you. That’s how things worked in his mind. Seeing you cum was worth more to him than getting off himself.

“Want you to cum,” you mumbled into his mouth, tilting your hips up and notching his cock at your entrance.

“Fuck honey.” He gasped, as you started to fuck yourself on the very tip of his cock, his hand moving down to keep himself steady. “You want me to fill you up?”

You nodded, whining his name against his cheek. “Need it baby.”

Pumping himself in quick strokes, he felt his balls draw up—the tightening in his abdomen nearly causing him to double over. It wouldn’t take him long at all; his release already having built as he ate you out. The feeling of your hand moving to cup his balls did him in. With a hoarse shout he felt something break inside of himself, your walls clamping down around his cock as he finally pushed himself into your pussy.

You sighed at the warm feeling of his cum spurting along your walls, filling you until it dripped down and smeared along your thighs. But nothing compared to the sight of Tommy lost in his own bliss. His mouth dropped open, eyebrows pulling tight as a flush of red took over his face and chest. It would take him a while to come back to you, his mind buzzing from having cum so hard.

With a contented sigh, he pressed the rest of his weight on you. “I’m definitely not making it now,” he mumbled, smiling against your chest.

“I don’t need Joel banging on my front door,” you replied, shoving lightly at his shoulder.

He laughed, teeth sinking into the top of your breast, his cock twitching inside of you. “I’ll call him and tell him…”

“Hey sorry I can’t come in today. Got too busy fucking my girlfriend on the kitchen floor.”

“Perfect.”

“Tommy!”

His head raised, smile pulling so wide you could see the slight crinkle in the corner of his eyes. “I’ll say it in a nicer way.”

“You’ll tell him nothing at all.” You cupped his cheek, lips sliding against his softly. “You will get up, wash your jeans, get another cup of coffee, and get out of here before we incur the wrath of the other Miller.”

He sighed into your mouth. “I don’t want to go.”

Your heart twisted in your chest, the reminder of time once again filling you with a dread you could never escape. Neither of you wanted to part, too wrapped up in what could be. But eventually you would have to open your eyes and see what this was. Just two people who loved each other too much to give this their all. A pattern that would never stop.

“I don’t want you to go,” you admitted, finally letting that painful ache be seen by him.

“Then I won’t—”

“You have to.”

Tommy’s eyes searched yours, trying to find something in him he could fight for. Something that would assure him of that single question still residing on the tip of his tongue. He wanted forever with you. Wanted a house together, a dog or cat, the life that he watched his parents once have. He wanted you.

Before he could stop himself, his mouth was moving.

“I want to marry you.”

Your eyes went wide, heart beating rapidly in your chest. “What?”

“You heard me.”

Silence passed between you for a brief moment, the shock now being replaced with a sinking feeling. He wouldn’t be saying this if it were a different scenario. In fact you were certain that he wouldn’t even go near this topic on any other day.

“This is just the heat of the moment talking, Tommy,” you said, in an attempt to save yourself from the pain.

His eyes narrowed. “No it’s not.”

“You’re still inside me! You shouldn’t be saying this unless you’re sure that—” His hips grinding into yours cut you off as you gasped.

“You want me down on one knee I’ll do that honey. Want me to give you romance and dinner and everything in between? I’ll do it. But you’ve got to know I’m more serious now than I have ever been.”

“Tomm—”

“Before you can continue your argument—which I’ll let ya—let me go get the ring.”

Your jaw snapped shut, breath catching in your chest at the sight of his grin. “You…you have a ring?”

“Yes honey. I do.”

“Y–You’re serious?”

He nodded, his thumb brushing the top of your cheek. “I want forever with you. If you’ll have me.”

If you listened hard enough, you would have been able to hear your heart burst. The ache now vanished the longer you looked him in the eyes to see the truth. It was there you found it. Small hints of a future that you yearned for was now being offered to you and this time the promise he made would stick. Laughing, you pulled him down for a kiss, your legs hiking over his hips to keep him there with you.

“I’ll take that as a yes?” he asked, parting from you long enough to simply give you another chaste kiss.

This time it was your turn to nod, tears already streaming down your face. “Yes Tommy. I’ll have you. Forever.”

[itsmeatballworld-library]

Gravity Part One

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Notes: Welcome back to another accidental two-parter. Not beta-read.

Rating: M

Length: 5.6K

Warnings: Yearning (a frickin lot); slow burn; coworkers to friends to lovers; angst; fluff; canon-typical medical chat; fluff; POV switches a couple of times; Reader is roommates with Ellis; Jack 'Prolonged Eye Contact' Abbot

Summary: Abbot didn’t make you uncomfortable, per se. But the nerves that had welled around him during your first few weeks at the Pitt had never really gone away. If you were hard-pressed to examine and classify your feelings, you would (grudgingly) sort them into the mild to moderately romantic category. You blamed him for that entirely.

It wasn't fair, of course. He was handsome, knowledgeable, charming when he wanted to be. He was an amazing physician, an excellent teacher. And it wasn't his fault you had a bit of competency kink. Abbot had never made you feel anything but valued—and nervous.

Besides, it was embarrassing to admit that you had a crush on a man that you’d hardly looked in the eye for the last few years. 

It started when she was an intern. 

Jack was fully aware of his tendency toward strong eye contact. It helped him make sure he was fully getting a point across when he was guiding residents in the ER—so long as their focus wasn't meant to be elsewhere. 

He managed to meet her eye fully exactly twice—and maybe it was odd, but Jack could remember both times clear as day. 

The first one was her first day at the Pitt, when she’d shook his hand, introduced herself with a nervous tremor in her voice. Her palm had been a little sweaty, and cold, but her eyes had held his. 

The second had been a week or so later, the first time she’d lost a patient. He’d clapped her on the shoulder, reassured her that there was nothing more she could’ve done. He’d tacked on, “Don’t let it happen again,” and he’d been kidding—but she had balked, ducked her head, apologized, and hurried away. 

She had rarely met his eye since then.

At first, he’d figured that she was shy, and that she’d grow out of it. Then, he’d thought that maybe she was more reserved at work—some people simply kept their personal and professional lives separate.

But those notions had been disproven time and time and time again: when she palled around with her fellow residents; when she watched and communicated with Walsh attentively; when the senior resident that was clearly hitting on her leaned just a little too close for Jack’s liking in the staff room. 

She hadn’t backed down from a single one, hardly batted a damn eyelash.

But any time she spotted Jack, her eyes would lower or dart away—to the floor, to her hands, to a chart, to the sandwich cart, to a counter.

Now, Jack was not a man to take these things personally, but after all these years, it stuck in his craw. He didn’t think about it most days, had learned to take it in stride, found ways to work with it. It had never caused a hold up during a procedure, or in the event of an emergency. She was always active in communicating with him, she just…Never looked at him. 

“You’re going to burn a hole through her head.” 

Jack hadn’t realized he was staring until Lena said so. He glanced toward the nurse, eyed her knowing smile, and redirected his focus to the computer in front of him. 

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

Lena snorted, turning back to the desk as someone approached to ask her a question. 

Jack only half-listened, unable to help his eyes drifting toward her again. She was hunched over her own computer, and seemed to be fighting back a smile at something Shen was saying. Another comment or two from Shen, and then her chin was tipping up, a bright smile on her lips as she held Shen’s eye.

Jack huffed a soft laugh through his nose at the sound of Shen’s cackling laugh, and it was like watching ripples in a pond—her head tipped, her brow furrowed, and her eyes darted in Jack’s direction. The smile flattened when she caught him looking, her focus lowering to her keyboard as she hurriedly straightened. She seemed to point to the charge board, mutter something, and turned on her heel, striding away with purpose.

Jack couldn’t help a swell of petty disappointment. What the hell was that? There was no way she’d heard him laugh. It was like she’d sensed a disturbance in the force. Jack shook his head, trying to refocus on the chart. 

Did she panic because he had been smiling? Had he been staring at her as long as Lena implied? Did he look like some dirty old man? 

Jack pushed off of the desk, eyeing the charge board with purpose. Whatever it was that made her skitter away like that—well. He’d forget it by tomorrow. 

--  

“Hey. You headed in?” 

You glanced back, doing a double-take at the site of Ellis standing in the kitchen doorway. 

“Uh—Yeah, just packin’ a few snacks. You need anything?” 

“I got something to ask you.” 

“Sure, what’s up?” You turned to face her, folding your arms expectantly. In the entire time you and Ellis had been roommates, you’d never seen her look concerned like this—and she usually didn’t bother trying to be delicate when broaching a difficult subject. 

“Parker, what is it?” You pressed.

“Is something going on between you and Abbot?”

Your brow furrowed, mouth falling open as if to answer—but what the hell kind of question was that?

“Excuse me?” 

“You and Abbot, what’s going on?” 

“There’s nothing going on.” 

“You sure?” 

“I think I’d know if something was happening between us, El. Where the hell did this come from, anyway?” 

“Shen said the two of you were weird yesterday, that Abbot looked at you and you bolted. And—” She shrugged, “You kinda always seem like that. Did something happen?” 

“Nothing happened yesterday! I realized I needed to go check on a patient, I’d just gotten their results back.” 

“And all the other times?” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Ellis gave you a long look before she relented, holding her hands up in surrender with a mutter of, “Alright.”

“Great.”

“If you insist—”

“I do insist.” 

“But you know what they say about people who protest too much.”

“Cap it, Hamlet. You on tonight?” 

“Yep,” Ellis nodded. 

“See you in there.” 

“If you wanna wait, I’ll drive you.” 

“Nah, it’s okay,” You shifted your bag onto your shoulder. “The walk is good for me.”

“We’re gonna be on our feet for the next twelve hours.” 

“I like a warm-up,” You insisted. “See you in there.” 

Slow and steady, that was how you left the apartment—even steps, a measured pocket-pat-down at the door to make sure you had your phone, keys, wallet, ID badge…And then you were out the door.

Out the door, and down the stairs, and cursing under your breath as you stepped out onto the street. Where the hell did Ellis get off, asking something like that? Implying that something could be going on between you and Abbot? You hardly spoke to the guy. Hell—you felt like you barely said more than two words to the man that didn’t have anything to do with work. The implication that the two of you had something going on was categorically insane—and it twisted your gut up in a knot. 

The closer you got to the Pitt, the worse the feeling got, until it was bordering on nausea. You stopped a block away, drawing in a deep breath and puffing it out between your lips, trying to shake yourself of the feeling. Damnit, why’d you let Ellis get in your head that way? 

You drew in another steadying breath as you started forward again, trying to shake the nerves out of your hands. This shift was going to be fine—as seamless as the ones before it.  

-- 

“You doin’ okay?” 

It was a fair question asked by the last person you wanted to hear it from. The shift had been hell. Patient after patient seemed to have some hitch. You were slower to respond when Abbot asked you questions, prompted you. It was only made worse by the feeling of Ellis and Shen watching every goddamn interaction. 

Now, the test results were back for the patient you were least looking forward to seeing. The patient herself was sweet, but you were getting nowhere with her overbearing husband answering nearly every question for her. 

You pushed yourself to straighten up. 

“Fine,” You insisted flatly. “Thanks.” You straightened fully, hesitating as you heard him take a step away. “Actually—” 

It was out of your mouth before you could stop it. You saw Abbot go still in your periphery, and your hands flexed around the iPad in your hands. 

“I’m having trouble getting answers from a patient—a woman with a head injury. She said she slipped and whacked it, but based on where the cut is...I don't think it's possible. And her husband’s an overbearing ass. I’ve got a bad feeling about him.”

“Abusive?” 

“I think so. Could you run interference?” 

“Sure. You have one of those pens, one of the—” 

“I always keep a couple in my pocket.” 

--

She steeled herself before she went into the examination bay. Jack had seen her do it time and time again when she could. He wondered how it steadied her, savored the way that she closed her eyes for a split-second, drew in a deep breath, and then slapped a smile on before pulling the curtain back.

"How are we doing in here?"

Her chipper tone did nothing to reveal the concern that she'd shared with him moments ago. Abbot followed close behind, taking in the young woman laying in a hospital gown on the bed, and the man standing just beside her at the head. Abbot took another step toward the bed, then stopped as the woman seemed seemed to shrink back, attempting to make herself smaller.

"She's fine." The man's voice was gruff in his insistence, his hand curled into a fist just by his wife's head. Abbot's eyes skated across the bruises and scrapes to the knuckles there, his own hands wringing behind his back as he took another step closer.

Jack saw her glance back toward him before she gestured, "Dr. Abbot, this is Nick and Amanda Alpers. Mr. and Mrs. Alpers, this is Dr. Abbot. He's the ER's foremost expert on head injuries." An easy fib, and it seemed to be a necessary one.

"Aren't you all trained on the same shit?" Nick grumbled. Abbot took a couple of steps closer, taking in the slight matting of hair on the wife's head, the dark clotting of blood.

"We all have our own experiences that inform how we practice," Abbot passed easily, taking one more step. "Mrs. Alpers, would it be alright if I examined the—"

"It's just a scrape, really!" The insistence was hurried, and left the poor woman in a squeak. Abbot forced a small smile, giving a conceding nod.

"May I examine the scrape?" He conceded.

Amanda's eyes seemed to dart to Nick for permission, and only after a hefty sigh did Nick wave Abbot closer.

He couldn't help but note the way his fellow doctor rounded the bed, caught on the slight flurry of her questions as he gloved up.

"Are you feeling any pressure?" He asked, gently parting the hair to get a better look at the bloody, raised bump on her head.

"N-no. No more than usual—I mean! No more than anyone ever usually feels," Amanda hurried to answer. Abbot's eyes lifted to the doctor on the opposite side of the bed just in time to see her fingers tightening around her iPad.

"Any sensitivity to light, sound...?" Abbot went on, drawing his penlight out of his pocket and shining it from one eye to the next.

"Nn-nn."

"Hm."

"If that's all, can we go?" Nick groused. "Already been a waste of a night."

Abbot straightened, sizing Nick up. He waited for his fellow physician to say something, but—Nothing. He looked at her, certain she was eyeing the chart, but realized immediately that it was a mistake. Her eyes were right on his, widening pointedly as they darted to the creep beside her. Abbot cleared his throat, doing his best to focus on the patient—though he knew he'd be tucking that look away for himself.

"Nick, can I have a word?" He asked, gesturing toward the nurse's station.

"What for?"

Abbot pushed a short breath out through his nose as he rounded the bed, taking even steps so as not to raise the brute's hackles.

"There are some things that I'd like to discuss with you. Things that, you know," He nodded, "Women shouldn't hear."

Watching understanding wash over Nick's face made his stomach turn. It was a wonder the man had brought his wife to the ER at all if that was the attitude he held.

"We won't go far?" Nick pressed, though he was already moving.

"No, no," Jack insisted, following him out, "Just a few feet." He gave her one last look, and a quick nod before tugging the observation curtain closed behind them.

--

The knot that had formed in your stomach only tightened, but it wasn’t for your own nerves or panic anymore. You didn't like letting her go, hated seeing her leave with him. Abbot came to a stop beside you, and for a moment, the two of you just watched Nick steer Amanda out of the ER.

"What'd you say to him?" You asked.

"Distracted him with football."

"I didn't know you watched."

“Sometimes. She take the pen?” He asked. 

“...Yeah.” 

“It’s a start.”

“Might be too little, too late.” 

“She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”

“You think so?” 

“Sure.”

“...I gave her my number, too.” 

You saw Abbot’s head turn toward you, and you froze, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” It should’ve been more of a scold, but you could’ve sworn his tone was tinged with admiration. 

“I know.”

“What were you thinking?” 

“I wasn’t.” You turned away from Abbot. “Thanks again for distracting him.” 

“...No problem. Will you tell me if she calls?” 

“Yeah,” You nodded, turning to look at the board. “Hope she does—and soon.” 

“Was that all that was bothering you?” 

“What?” 

“You seemed a little off earlier. Just making sure everything’s okay.” 

Well, Abbot always was the observant type. It was one of the things that made him such a good doctor. You shouldn’t have been offended by his question, but in that moment, his concern was as unwelcome as Ellis probing had been just a few hours before. 

“Just one of those days—nights,” You corrected, “You know.” 

“Take a couple minutes, get some air.” 

“I’m alright.” And before you could stop yourself, you gave him a grateful smile before turning away. In truth, you weren't entirely sure where you were headed to—you’re more distracted by the fact that you’d met the guy’s eye more in the last twenty minutes than you probably had in the last two years. 

-- 

“Here.” 

“Thanks,” You took your beer as Ellis set it down and settled into the seat across from you. “John on his way?” 

“Yeah,” She nodded, “And uh…Don’t kill me, but he’s bringing someone.” 

You frowned, shaking your head as you waited for her to explain. Ellis didn’t elaborate, merely tipped her brows up. It only took a second for you to put the pieces together, and you groaned, sliding down in your chair as nerves flooded your stomach. 

“Parker—” 

“It’s just a coincidence!” She took in your unimpressed glare, corrected, “Mostly a coincidence. We always ask, he almost never says yes. It’s as hard to talk him into coming out as it is to talk you into it. Besides, it’ll help!” 

“There’s nothing here that needs helping.” 

“It’s slowing things down—”

“When has it ever slowed anything down?”

“Last few shifts, he’s waited for you to look at him when you answer and nothing. It’s making shit weird. We leave that messy personal bull for the day shift.”

“I’m not—This isn’t messy, it’s just—”

“You barely look at the guy. We all notice it.” 

“He’s so big on frickin’ eye contact, like,” You glanced around the bar, “It’s intimidating.” 

“Intimidating?”

“Yeah.”

“Intimidating.” 

“Yes! I barely even like making eye contact with you, but I live with you, so it’s mostly unavoidable.” 

“You love it.”

“Sure. Who wouldn’t want to be adopted by the meanest lesbian in the ER?”

“I thought that was Garcia.”

“No, she’s the meanest lesbian in surgery.” 

Ellis’ smile widened before she perked up, waving at someone behind you before she leaned in just a touch. 

“Just be yourself, be cool.”

“Pick one.”

“You know, I bet he thinks you hate him.” 

“What?” You hissed, “Why would he think that? And—Why would he give a shit, plenty of people hate their boss. Not that I hate him, I don’t, just—”

“Hey!” Shen’s voice cut over your nervous chatter, and you couldn’t stop your knee-jerk reaction of turning to look at him—and spotting Abbot just a couple of steps behind. Shen patted you on the shoulder, settling down beside you as Abbot rounded the table. Your eyes glued to your beer instinctively as he shrugged out of his jacket, sitting down beside Ellis. And you thought you’d just managed to be subtle enough—until both Shen and Ellis kicked you lightly under the table. It took everything in you not to kick back, instead lifting your head to meet Abbot’s eye, plastering a small smile on your lips. 

“Hi.” 

“Hello.” There was a little lean to his lo, a friendly tease that you felt like you hadn’t earned. And there was eye contact—heavy, steady eye contact as he folded his arms on the table. You tried to ignore the traitorous little flip in your stomach as you hurriedly lowered your eyes to the table, picking your beer up and taking a swig to try and drown the flurrying butterflies.  

“We miss anything good?” Shen plied. Ellis shook her head. 

“We were just talking about renewing our lease.” 

“I forgot you two were roommates,” Abbot commented. Ellis must’ve told him, and you couldn’t fathom why he’d remember. 

“What’s the verdict?” Shen asked.

“We’re gonna stick,” You reported as you looked at him. “Rent is going up, but, like, barely…Barely.”

“And the location is too good,” Ellis tacked on. “Half an hour to the Pitt walking, fifteen minutes by car—utilities don’t suck, either.” 

“Decent space,” You added, “And allows dogs—if this one goes through with getting a dog.”

“I’m still in research and development.” 

“Aren’t you allergic?” Shen nudged your arm. 

“Yeah, but not deathly. And if she picks a breed that doesn’t shed much and has a low can f 1 gene—” 

“I want to adopt from a shelter—” 

“So I’ll probably be moving out as soon as that happens,” You teased, “Because god knows she’ll wind up with a mutt.” 

“And sublet?” 

“Sure, John. You can move into my room, I’ll move into your place. Even trade.” 

“I don’t know about that—” 

“Better rent, better location.” 

“You won’t mind being further from the Pitt?”

“Nah,” You shrugged, “I like a long walk.” 

“Sure does,” Ellis rolled her eyes, “I don’t know anyone that spends more time just wandering around on their days off.” 

“Is it a crime to enjoy being outside when the sun is up?” 

“You ever think of switching to day shift?”

Abbot’s question caught you off-guard—it was like you’d fallen into such an easy rhythm with Ellis and Shen that you'd almost managed to forget that he was there. Your fingers tightened around your beer as you forced yourself to meet Abbot’s eye again. 

“Not once.” 

It was the truth, and it made Abbot’s smile widen in a way that felt dangerously vindicating. Unnerving quiet wrapped around your shared gaze, and Ellis clearing her throat was what finally snapped you out of looking at him. 

“So, hey,” Shen jumped in, “Did I tell you guys about my latest acquisition?”

“Jesus fucking christ,” You muttered over Ellis’ low whistle. 

“Another ebay war?” She asked.

“Not a war, an easy buy,” Shen insisted, “You know, for—”

“Yeah, your shank bank, we remember,” You insisted, smile pulling wide as both Abbot and Ellis’ laughter catches from that side of the table. “That weird-ass collection of antique medical equipment—fucking medical history nerd.” 

“I keep them as a display!” 

“Must really get ‘em going on a date night. Nothing hotter to a woman than rusty scalpels,” You batted back, nudging Shen’s shoulder with yours. You didn’t mean to catch Abbot’s eye on your way back to looking at Ellis again. And this look didn’t hold for as long as the one before it—but it was just long enough to reawaken the butterflies, even as Shen insisted,

“This one isn’t even rusty!”

--  

As you turned in for the night, Ellis teased you, insisted, “See, it wasn’t that bad.” 

You didn’t argue, because she wasn't wrong—it wasn’t the worst way to spend an afternoon out. But it was…Different. 

Your aversion to Dr. Abbot’s attention had started your first week at the Pitt, when he’d stuck close during an intubation. He hadn’t been breathing down your neck, but his steady focus had made you so damn nervous. You were used to your attendings being just a little scattered, torn in six different directions. And other matters had vied for Abbot’s attention, sure, but he hadn’t heeded them until the patient was in the clear.

You’d started to avoid his gaze after that, and it had just become second nature. Avoiding eye contact turned into avoiding him during the quiet moments of your shifts, which turned into a patient-treatment-only conversational focus. Abbot consulted on your cases, made recommendations, listened to your rationalizations. 

When he did insist on meeting your eye, you gave him just a long enough look to show that you’d heard him, but never anything more. You’d avoided palling around with him, even though you palled around with your fellow residents, and with other attendings—but you were comfortable with them. 

And Abbot didn’t make you uncomfortable, per se. But the nerves that had welled around him during your first few weeks at the Pitt had never really gone away. If you were hard-pressed to examine and classify your feelings, you would (grudgingly) sort them into the mild to moderately romantic category. You blamed him for that entirely.

It wasn't fair, of course. He was handsome, knowledgeable, charming when he wanted to be. He was an amazing physician, an excellent teacher. And it wasn't his fault you had a bit of competency kink. Abbot had never made you feel anything but valued—and nervous.

Besides, it was embarrassing to admit that you had a crush on a man that you’d hardly looked in the eye for the last few years. 

You could understand how Abbot may’ve thought you didn’t like him—if he really thought that. But he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who needed everyone to like him. It probably helped, sure, but you were positive that your countenance had never caused a slow-down or a hitch in the ER, no matter what Ellis said. You were just focused—and since when was that a bad thing? 

Either way, today had been kinda…okay. You’d made nice with Abbot, made eye contact multiple times without Ellis or Shen kicking you in the shins again. Whatever wound up happening, you’d tried, and they couldn’t take that away from you, right? 

You settled in bed, letting your eyes slip closed, drawing in a deep breath to relax yourself.

For all your initial irritation, Ellis was right—it wasn’t that bad. 

But it didn’t stop Abbot’s warm gaze from lingering behind your eyelids when you closed them, and it couldn’t keep the mirthful roll of his chuckle from playing through your mind as you tried to drift off. 

-- 

You decided to make it a little experiment, approach it as something that you could train yourself out of. Seeing him over drinks had laid the groundwork—and you had managed to look at him twice a few shifts ago, hadn’t you? 

You went into your next shift determined to look Abbot in the eye three times.

You only managed it once when you passed him by the board—a glance and a small wave.

The smile that he returned flustered you so much that you nearly walked into the sandwich cart, and it scared you out of looking at him for the rest of the night. As a matter of fact, it scared you out of it the next shift, and the one after that. 

You talked yourself out of the whole foolish endeavor. You’d managed to work with Abbot perfectly well before, why change things now? Especially when looking at him seemed to awaken something girlish and fluttering inside of you—and you couldn’t afford to be girlish and fluttering at work. 

-- 

She was doing it again. 

Jack had thought they had turned a corner after Shen and Ellis had invited them all out together, but things seemed to be moving in reverse. It had gone beyond sticking in his craw—it was almost nagging at him now, and worse now that he knew what the full force of her focus was like. It was easy to brush off before, but these days Jack was hard-pressed to admit that he felt something in him wilt whenever she avoided his eye. 

She was making a meal of it now, focused stalwartly as she instructed Javadi on setting a bone. He’d seen her head tip in his direction a couple of times, but she’d always given her head a little shake before refocusing. Was the shake for Javadi? For him? 

“...You didn’t hear me, did you,” Ellis asked, forcing him to refocus. He had heard her—and he could feign that his silence had been fueled by contemplation. He turned away from the treatment bay, arms folded across his chest. 

“See if the OR can take Mr. Tosches yet," He instructed. "I don’t want him down here too long. You follow up with the raccoon kid?” 

“That’s my next stop.” 

“Perfect, thanks.” 

“Sure—Hey, are you coming by this weekend?”

That weekend. He’d been dodging giving Ellis an answer for the last couple of weeks. She’d invited him to the last four get-togethers at the apartment, but he’d never made it to one, either because he was working, or because he just wasn’t in the mood to socialize. 

He wasn’t sure he was in the mood now, but…A fleeting smile flashed through his mind. They’d seemed to come easier to her when they were away from the hospital. And his therapist had been nagging him about leaving the house more…

“Yeah,” He nodded. “Yeah, I can make it.” 

Ellis didn’t cover her surprise well, but her, “kay, sweet. I’ll text you the address," Told him that she was just as surprised by his answer as he was.

Abbot nodded, casting another glance toward the treatment bay before turning away fully. It was just an experiment, he told himself. He would see if her smiles for him came easier outside of work, or not at all. 

If it was not at all, he’d let it go, once and for all.

--  

“Is there any coffee?” 

The question made you freeze in front of your cabinet. Your eyes darted through its contents, but you didn’t take in a damn thing. He was in your kitchen. He never came to these things, why the hell did he come to this one?

“Uh—” You turned, looking around your kitchen as though you’d never been there before. “It’s um—Yeah. Right there. It might not be hot, though. I can turn the pot back on.” 

“I’ve got it.” 

“You're on shift tonight?”

“Mhm.”

You nodded, turning back to the cabinet. Hell, what did you open it for? Goddamn, but you came in here looking for something—You huffed, shoving the cabinet door closed as you scrubbed your hand across your forehead. He wasn’t allowed to do this, he wasn’t allowed to make you feel this out of sorts in your own damn kitchen. 

“Everything alright?” 

“You know, I feel like half the time you talk to me, you’re asking if I’m okay.” It was out of your mouth before you could stop it, and embarrassment sprang up the second it did. “I should, um—You need a mug, don’t you,” You muttered, turning to the other cabinet, and glancing back toward the living room when you heard a swell of laughter. Damnit, but Ellis sent you into the kitchen for what? Napkins? Napkins would be in the cabinet.

“Well forgive me for being concerned when one of my best residents seems to spend half of her shifts avoiding me.” 

You whirled around, too stunned to do anything but meet Jack’s eye. The steady contact seemed to catch the both of you off-guard. Your mouth worked wordlessly for a moment as your mind reeled. What the hell could you say to that? Well—what would you say if you were talking to Ellis or Shen? 

“...Just one of your best residents?” 

Abbot’s brows lifted, his lips quirk with a smile, and your stomach filled with that girlish fluttering again. 

“You’re certainly not avoiding me now.”

You press your mouth together, gaze instinctively dropping to the floor. 

“I don’t avoid you at work, either. I’m just—” You turned back to the cabinet, reaching into it for a mug. “I’m focused when I'm at the Pitt.” 

“Seem to be focused right now, too.” 

“Do you want a mug for your coffee or not?” 

“Oh, that old excuse.” 

“Fine, drink it from the pot. That’s Parker’s machine, anyway. She’ll kill you.” 

“She wouldn’t. We’re short-staffed as it is.” 

“Well, that’s true.” You crossed the kitchen, holding the mug out. And, though you knew the answer, you asked, “Do you need milk or sugar?” 

“No.” 

“Alright.” You turned, reaching for the cabinet by the coffee machine. Maybe it was something in there.

“...You don’t really think I avoid you," You plied, unable to stop yourself.

“Certainly avoid looking at me.”

“Focused.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“You’re fine to look at.” 

“Oh?”

“Good—Good to—” No, nothing in that cabinet. Check the next one. At least, you needed to get a few feet away from Abbot before you said anything else stupid. “You’re fine.” 

“Thanks.”

“Sure.” 

“...Look at me.” 

It was so firm that you went still in front of your cabinet again, hands on the knobs, doors half-open as your heart leaps into your throat.

“Excuse me?”

“We’re not at work, you can’t need to be that focused. If I’m so fine to look at, look at me.” 

Your fingers flexed around the knobs, palms growing sweaty. 

“Ellis asked me to grab something for her and you’ve already distracted me enough.”

“Is that so.” 

“You can be very distracting sometimes.” For fucksake. What was it about being alone with this man that had your head so horribly scrambled?

“I suddenly feel like I oughta apologize,” He commented.

“I feel like you’re making fun of me.” 

“A little.” 

You scoffed out a laugh, your nerves only worsening when you heard Jack take a few steps closer, saw him lower his coffee onto the counter beside you. 

“It won’t take long,” He reassured, raising his hand to close one of the cabinet doors. “One quick look.” 

You drew in a deep breath, planting your hand on the counter and turning to face Jack with wide eyes. You were prepared to stare at him pointedly—but you faltered at the look on his face. His eyes were softer than they had any right being. They searched your expression, sweeping over your nose, across your cheeks, to your lips, and up again—as if he was seeing you for the first time. 

“...See?” He murmured. “This isn’t so bad.” 

You struggled to swallow, throat dry; your face was flooding with heat. If this was a cartoon, you were certain that your heart would be beating out of your chest. 

“No,” You finally managed, shaking your head a little, unable to tear your eyes from his, “No, it isn’t.” 

Jack’s smile widened as he leaned against the counter a touch, fingers skimming against yours. And you knew that you ought to look away, go ask Ellis what she sent you into the damn kitchen for in the first place, but you couldn't bring yourself to move.

“You just gonna keep staring at me, Jack?” You murmured. His brows jumped slightly at the use of his first name, lips quirking with a smirk.

“You’re staring, too.”

“Making up for apparently avoiding you.” 

“Very kind of you.”

“Do what I can.” 

Maybe it was better that he was looking at your face, anyway—if he looked down, he might see the goosebumps sweeping up your arm from the gentle sweep of his fingertips against yours. It felt pathetic to get so worked up from such a simple touch. Goddamn, did he look at everyone like this? Did everyone feel like this when he looked at them? There was no way—if it was, nothing would ever get done at the Pitt. 

“Hey, did you find the Triscuits?” 

Ellis bottle snapped you out of the trance-like stare, and you whirled away from Jack like he was trying to set you on fire. The Triscuits, son of a bitch, that was what you were sent to look for. 

“I just—I just saw them,” You fumbled, pulling the cabinet open again. 

“My fault,” Abbot spoke up. “I asked for some coffee.” 

“You’re on tonight?” Ellis frowned, and you were relieved to hear her come deeper into the kitchen. “I thought you were taking the day.” 

“We had two call outs. Matter of fact, I should get going.”

You glanced doggedly back toward Jack, watching him pick his mug up and take a deep swig. You busied yourself with poking through the drawer beneath the cupboard, vaguely catching Abbot saying his goodbyes to Ellis in the background. Jeez, did the Trisuits fucking evaporate? 

You glanced toward the mug as Jack set it down in the sink, and, against your better judgement, met Jack’s eye when he turned to look at you. 

“Thanks for the coffee.” 

“Sure,” You nodded. “Have a good shift.” 

“Good luck finding those, uh…” He glanced toward Ellis. “Triscuits?” 

“Uh-huh,” She nodded. “Thanks for coming, man.” 

“Have a good night.” 

You listened to his retreating footsteps, marked the opening and closing of the door…And tried not to die from complete mortification when Ellis tapped your shoulder, then pointed out the box of Triscuits where it was sitting on the counter. 

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

 ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @artsymaddie

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[itsmeatballworld-library]

That House in Nebraska

Masterlist

Where you told me even if we died tonight, that I'd die yours

Summary: In the time between when he took you to now, something changed. His hands grew gentler. Your fear turned quiet. And somewhere in the stillness, love kindled. || angst & fluff, potentially some eventual smut, Pre-Boston QZ, Stockholm Syndrome, slow burn, raider!joel, captor!joel, a little bit of dark!joel, homestead, kidnapping, dark themes, morally gray comfort, slow burn, mentions of violence and death, referenced abusive family || Inspired by Ethel Cain's A House in Nebraska

Playlist (still in progress)

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

actually not entirely sure how long this will be

[itsmeatballworld-library]

you shouldn't be (down here with me)

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Rating: M (for mature, nonsexual content)

Notes: This popped into my head this morning and wouldn't leave me alone so here you go; not beta read.

Warnings: Reader has suicidal thoughts; reader has a breakdown; Jack Abbot's A+ Coping Skills; Jack Abbot's insistence in eye contact; canon-typical medical chat; bed sharing

Summary: When you're almost shot at work, your body snaps into autopilot as your mind goes into overdrive. Jack has always recognized parts of himself in you—he knows a mind teetering on the edge when he sees one.

I was gonna let him do it

"Another four of dilauded."

I was gonna let him do it

Your movements are automatic. You can feel the nervy glances thrown to you every few seconds. You know they're all waiting for you to crack, to say that you need a minute, to sub in for you so you can rip off your PPE, run to the bathroom, lose it.

I was gonna let him do it

You can't blame them—you had a gun pointed at your head half an hour ago. They don't know that you'd almost been resigned to it in that moment.

I was gonna let him do it

"Call surgery, let them know he's stabilized."

You turn, pick the phone up, dial, pause, relay the message.

I was gonna let him do it

--

"You alright?" Ellis asks as you pull your bloody PPE off, tucking it into the in by the door. You shrug, nod, hold your hand out for the spray of purell from the wall-mounted dispenser as you head for central. You pointedly ignore North Two, where the man is being held as the cops talk to him.

"Doing okay, champ?" It's Shen this time, and his use of 'champ' garners him a sidelong glance and a raised brow. He takes your muted wrath in the spirit with which it's meant, holds both hands up in easement before he skirts around you to finish filling out a chart.

You stop at your computer, leaning over it logging and eyeing the results of a blood test on a case earlier in the shift. You feel someone stop beside you, figure that they'll move on their way, that they're waiting for someone to clear before they move again.

I was gonna let him do it

When the presence lingers, you don't have to look up to see who it is. You know that a simple nod will send him on his way for at least a few minutes, but you don't think you can look at him, not right now.

"Something I can do for you, Dr. Abbot?"

Your smart question is met with silence, and you pull in a deep breath through your nose. You brace yourself before you pull yourself up to your full height, meeting his eye.

You know immediately that it's a mistake.

Jack is looking at you the way he looks at a troubling case—discerning, dissecting; trying to pinpoint where the pain is, what fix he can apply, prescribe.

"You're not sending me home." It's meant as a request, but it comes out as a plea. You know that your firmness missed the mark when his head tips to the side, just a little. His eyes dart to North Two, hold there for a moment.

"Tell me what you need."

"To be here," You insist, "To work." To not think about it

A short nod, just enough to let you know that you're good to get back to your job. You bow back over your computer, expect Jack to leave. But—

"If you change your mind—"

"I won't." You're too tired to be embarrassed by the fact that you answered too fast. And as Abbot turns away, you just catch on his sigh, his mutter of, "No, you won't."

--

When his hand lands on your lower back on your way out of the ER, you figure he's just keeping you moving—maybe to sop you from turning around and making this shift a double, or to help you avoid the couple of news vans and reporters that have pulled up.

You let him steer, even as that steady pressure keeps up for block after block. You don't even realize where you are until Abbot stops, fishes into his pocket for a set of keys. You look up at the unfamiliar door, mind racing as Abbot unlocks it. He turns to you, holds it open, waits.

You should tell him off. What the fuck was he thinking, bringing you back to his place like some stray puppy? Never mind the fact that this man is your boss, that this is wholly inappropriate.

You should go back to your apartment, shower, get into bed. Maybe schedule an emergency appointment with your therapist.

But you also know that you probably shouldn't be alone right now. Your apartment will be too quiet; your head will be too loud. That was half the reason you'd insisted on staying at work. You glance down the block, consider, then slide past him and step inside.

--

You take your time looking around—eyeing the books, the mail, the photos, the knick knacks—the little things that make somewhere home. You turn back to Jack just in time to see hm changing his shoes, putting a high-backed house shoe on where his boot usually covers his prosthetic.

Neither of you speak as you put your bag down and he takes your jacket. He disappears down the hall of the apartment, returns with a stack of fabric. You take it, cataloguing a towel, a washcloth, a pair of sweatpants, a shirt.

"First door on the left. Put your clothes in the hamper in there, I'll wash 'em." He nods toward the hall. "Go on."

--

You expect yourself to break down the second the warm water hits your skin. But as you stand in the steam, the toll on your body takes precedent. Your head is pounding; your feet are throbbing; your back and neck ache.

I was gonna let him do it

You draw in a deep breath, bracing your hands on the wall to ground yourself.

I almost let him do it

Your jaw tightens, stomach churning as you think back.

Gun muzzles were always described as cold, but this one was warm—probably from being tucked against the man's body. You can still feel the weight, the press of it, the slight waver and brush as his hand had shook. You can hear the click of the safety.

Your mind had gone quiet in that moment.

You'd just leaned in, and told the man that he'd only be making your shift better.

It had been enough to shock the both of you.

It had caught him off-guard long enough for you to try and disarm him, to call for security as the the two of you had struggled, sending the gun skittering under the bed as the treatment bay filled with security, fellow residents. Ahmad had the guy in a headlock in seconds; Abbot was between you and them before you could blink. When he'd asked you what had happened, all you'd managed was to point toward the bed, to say, "Gun."

The cops had tried to give admitting shit for it, but you'd waved them off, insisted, "He didn't seem—When he came back, he wasn't like that. I was trying to assess him. I must've moved too fast, he freaked. They couldn't have known, they didn't do anything wrong, so don't—don't."

Shen had tried to talk you into going home; Ellis had bombarded you with questions. Abbot told them to back off. He hadn't asked you if you were alright; he hadn't tried to make you go home, either.

"Where are you going next?" He'd asked. You'd just nodded toward the board, answered, "Hyperkalemia, South Three," and gone on your way.

--

You can smell coffee when you step out of the bathroom. You glance back in, making sure you clothes are safely tucked into the hamper before heading back into the living room. Jack passes you on the way, hands you a tv remote, says, "Mugs are on the counter."

"Thanks."

You get yourself a cup of coffee, tuck yourself into the corner of his couch. You consider the remote for a moment before setting it on the coffee table.

I was gonna let him do it...Wasn't I?

Were you? What the hell would that have done to everyone around you? Were you so far gone that you hadn't thought about how it would effect everyone else in the department? What would the patients have done when they'd heard the pop? You know your fellow doctors would've come running—what if he hadn't stopped with you?

Your lower lip wobbles. Tears prickle at your eyes, and the well of panic and fear and resignation that you'd been waiting for spill over. You sit with the mug of coffee in your hands, letting go to swipe at tears and sniffle every few seconds.

You've calmed by the time Jack comes back out. You know that you look hellish; your burning eyes must be red-rimmed, bloodshot. He sits down on the other end of the couch, nods toward the tv.

"Nothin'?"

"Feel free," You croak. Jack huffs, picking up the remote and turning it on. You listen to the tv as he flips through a few channels. You glance between it and him a couple of times.

"You're not gonna try to get me to get some sleep?" You ask.

"Do you want to sleep?"

"God no."

"Okay," Jack gives a small shrug. "I can never turn it off right after a shift."

"...Huh."

"What?" He frowns, glancing toward you.

"Just uh...Implies that you're ever able to turn it off...At all."

A smile unwittingly pulls at your lips as Jack rolls his eyes, turning back to the tv. You lean back against the couch, scrubbing your hand across your eyes. The sounds of a baseball game make you pick your head up, brow furrowing as you squint at the tv.

"There's a game on a eight in the morning?"

"I recorded it."

Your mouth forms a small 'o' as you nod.

"We can watch something else," Jack adds.

"No. No, this is good."

--

You don't focus much on the game. Now and again, the tears flow, and you let them run quietly until they ebb. You dab them with your borrowed shirt sleeve.

Jack manages to wait until the seventh inning stretch before he asks:

"You talking to anyone?"

"I have a therapist."

"You speak to 'em regularly?"

"Mhm."

"They know about this?"

"About what?"

When he doesn't answer, you glance toward him. You expect open reproach, but Jack watches you with patience—and maybe a little pity. You push a sigh through your nose as you turn back to the tv.

"I talk to her about the day to day stuff, you know, not the...Grippy sock stuff."

"So you don't think about this every day."

"No."

Jack hums; you see him nod in your periphery.

"I had a bad day," You hurry to add, "We all have them."

"Not bad enough to tell someone threatening to shoot you that they're about to make your shift better."

Your head snaps to Jack, stunned—you'd omitted that from your report. But he just tips his head, shakes it again.

"I was one exam room over. I put two and two together when you pointed out the gun."

A lump forms in your throat as you burn with shame and embarrassment.

"I didn't—" It bursts out of you as the tears well again. "I wasn't—No one was supposed to know—"

Jack's across the couch in a second, pulling you into his chest as you sob. His hand curls around the back of your neck, thumb sweeping your nape as you shake against him. You feel his breath against your hair; you think you feel the pressure of a kiss, but it's gone as soon as you register it.

"C'mon." It's a soft urging as you slowly calm.

"Where 'm I going?" Your tongue feels heavy; your voice is thick from your crying.

"To get some sleep."

"I'll sleep here."

"You'll get better rest in a bed."

"I'm not taking your bed, Jack."

"You'll be more comfortable."

"I don't care. They need you in working at the Pitt."

Jack's hand slides around your neck to gently grasp your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"We need you, too." His hold on you stays firm as you try to look away, bu he won't let you. He gives a small nod, searching your eyes. "I need you. Okay?"

You muster a small, short nod, sniffling.

"I'm still not taking your bed."

He sighs, but it doesn't stop the smile growing on his lips.

"Stubborn little so-and-so," He mutters before pushing himself off of the couch, holding a hand out to you. "Come on."

You take it, letting him lead you down the apartment hall again. You take a cursory look around his bedroom as you had his living room a few hours ago. You climb ungracefully into the neatly made bed, snuggling under the covers.

Jack takes a moment longer, drawing the blackout curtains closed, leaving only his bedside lamp to light the room. You roll onto your side, tucking your hands under your head, watching the play of his back muscles beneath his shirt as he leans down, removing his prosthetic and massaging the skin there for a moment.

He glances back and gives a small smile when he spots you watching him.

"All set?"

"Not gonna read me a bedtime story?"

He snorts, reaching out and shutting off the lamp before shuffling under the covers himself.

"Keep it up and you're sleeping on the couch."

You smile into the darkness as he settles down beside you. You can feel him watching you—maybe waiting for you to fall apart again, to offer reassurance.

"...Sorry I cried on you," You mumble.

"I prefer it to having a patient pee on me."

"Oh, well in that case—happy to oblige."

Your eyelids flutter as his hand smooths over your cheek. "Get some sleep."

"Mmkay."

You hold your breath as his hand slides down your cheek, over your shoulder, trailing down your arm. As his fingers skim across yours, you impulsively catch hold of his hand. You're certain he'll give your hand a squeeze before pulling away, but Jack goes still, and you fall asleep with your fingers tangled together.

--

"Hungry?"

You nod, shuffling closer to the table where a pizza box is laid out on his small table.

It had been strange to wake up alone in a bed that wasn't yours, and it had taken a few moments to remember where you were, and how you'd gotten here. Your freshly washed clothing had been neatly folded and waiting for you when you woke up, but you'd stayed in your borrowed clothing.

"You up long?" You ask, sitting at his table.

"Mm," He shrugs. "A bit."

You narrow your eyes slightly, fishing your phone out of your pocket to eye the time.

"How long was I asleep?"

"You got a good five hours."

You grunt, taking a slice leaning back in your seat, muttering, "New weekly record."

"What do you usually do when you can't sleep?"

"I don't know. Read?"

"You need some new hobbies."

"11-8, we've got a report of an assailant with a knife–"

You glance over as Jack hurries to stand, watching him go into the living room and switch something off. Your brows raise as he comes back, amused by the way he studiously avoids your eye and settles back in.

"...Was that a police scanner?" You ask knowingly. His answering grunt is enough, and you stifle a laugh. "So let me get this straight: you hang out listening to the police scanner like you're fricking Batman, but I need some new hobbies?"

"Alright."

"Are you actually fighting crime when you're off shift? It would explain your go-bag."

"I like to be prepared."

"Uh-huh." You smile as Jack shakes his head, picking at a piece of pepperoni on his slice. "Thanks for letting me crash."

"Sure. You needed sleep."

"I mean...I mean crash-crash."

"Just glad you came in."

"You didn't think I would?"

"Wasn't sure." Jack takes a bit, leans back in his seat. You don't have to look to know that he's watching you; to be able to feel him winding up. You figure you're going to get a speech, but—

"Tell me next time you feel like that."

You wince, wind up to argue, but Jack holds a hand up to stop the argument.

"I don't need to know what you're thinking word-for-word. But tell me if it's getting...You know."

"Scary?"

"Does it feel scary?"

You consider it, picking at the crust on the slice. "...Last night did."

"A man put a gun to your head. That would scare anybody."

"...Yeah." You draw in a deep breath. "I'll tell you if you tell me."

"Tell you what?"

"When you're thinking about going to the roof." You think for a moment that you've gone too far; Jack's brows pop up, jaw muscle ticking as he clenches it. You wait for him to tell you that you've overstayed your welcome, o give him back his clothes, take your half-eaten slice and get out.

But instead he leans across the table and holds his hand out. Deal.

You take hold of his hand, pump it once, and you both settle back to finish eating.

--

"You coming in tonight?"

You give him a knowing glance as you pull your jacket on, and he smiles, nodding.

"I figured you would," He adds, "Never hurts to ask."

"I guess."

"You could take the day. Everyone would understand."

"I need to get back in there."

"Exposure therapy."

"Something like that."

You pick your bag up, slinging it over your shoulder. "I know I said it before, but thank you. Seriously. I don't, uh..." You trail off, looking around his entry way. "I don't know what the last few hours would've looked like if I'd gone home."

Jack closes the gap between you, tipping his head to catch your eye, and smiling when you do.

"Anytime."

And from anyone else, you'd think they were just trying to console you, but in that moment, you know that he means it. You nod, reaching out and giving his arm a gentle squeeze and a pat before turning away.

"See you in a couple'a hours."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

 ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; 

@winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[itsmeatballworld-library]

Silly Little Boys: John Shen x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @miraclesabound @cannonindeez @fadeinsol @nommingonfood @yousigned-upforthis

Companion piece to:

Dick Pics - You and John discuss your dating life in the ambulance bay during a rare shift break.

Brunch - John refuses to give up when you miss brunch with him.

John knows he isn’t like the men you’ve been with before.

It’s in the way you respond to him, as if he’s the oxygen you need to breathe. He takes his time, savouring the taste of you on his lips, his palms running over your bare skin, kneading those soft curves. You moan into his mouth at the sensation, arching against him and he rolls his hips against yours pressing you even deeper into the mattress.

Your hands roam down his back, chasing over the tattoos he hides underneath his scrubs before delving underneath his underwear grasping his ass. His thumb hooks on the elastic of those navy blue Calvin Kleins before he guides them down his thighs until there’s nothing separating you.

“You gonna let me taste you first?” He mumbled into your ear, his teeth lightly tugging at the lobe making you exhale.

“Next time.” You murmur as he leaves a trail of heated kisses down the curve of your throat. “Right now I just need…”

“To get fucked.” He summarises, reaching into the top drawer for a condom. “Because the last guy didn’t know what to do with you did he?”

You shake your head, your flushed skin the perfect contrast against his sage green sheets as you watch him roll the condom over his cock, biting your lower lip.

“Oh Cici.” He whispers, his dark eyes ensnaring yours as he guides his dick to just the right place. “You’re not running around with silly little boys anymore, you got yourself a real man now.”

He enters you slowly, filling you with every inch of him. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as you make the prettiest sigh.

“Good?” He checks in, his eyes drinking in the rapture on your features. Your palm comes to cradle his cheek, fingertips ghosting along the five o’clock shadow that’s starting to line his jaw.

“More.” You murmur and he smiles against your mouth as his palms chase down your thighs, hitching them a little higher up his hips. Your head tips back into the pillow, baring your throat and he wants to leave his marks all over it as a reminder to every single asshole out there, of who exactly it is you belong to. He kisses you instead, leaving a heated trail along your jugular before he sinks into you again.

The noise you make it’s beautiful and he chases that filthy symphony all the way to the crescendo, until you’re crying out his name as you combust like a star on his cock.

“You got another in you?” He murmurs, his palm smoothing your hair back from your features and you give him that fierce look of yours as you hook your ankle underneath his ass cheek, drawing him deeper.

“Harder this time.” You request, your nails raking lightly across his back. “I want to feel you for days after this.”

“You’re gonna ruin me aren’t you Cici?” He whispers before he grips the headboard for leverage. “All I’m gonna be thinking about everytime I see you in that uniform is how good you feel on my cock.”

He drives into you then, hard enough to punch the air from your lungs. It gets a little rough after that, the fast snap of his hips, the hard relentless thrusts that have you cursing up a storm as your fingertips leave bruises on his skin because you just can’t help yourself.

The euphoria, it builds and builds like a wildfire in his veins until it sets him ablaze like an inferno, consuming him entirely, eating up his sanity. He burns up in the climax as you hurtle over the edge, his release spilling into the condom as your hands thread through his dark hair, drawing his mouth back to yours, stifling his husky groans.

The sound of his ragged breathing echoes throughout the bedroom, his palms caressing over every inch of your sensitive skin, keeping you grounded in the moment.

“You gonna stay?” He asks you, his thumb tracing over your lower lip. You kiss the delicate pad and he feels something starting to bloom in his chest.

“Do you want me to?” You ask and his mouth claims yours with a tenderness that has you responding to him all over again.

“Yea Cici.” He whispers, his forehead coming to rest upon yours as he looks into your eyes. “I absolutely want you to stay.”

Love John? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[itsmeatballworld-library]

would it be bad to piggyback off the idea of the jack abbot fic where no one knows about his wife, but kinda flip it a bit and make it seem that the new docs thought reader and robby were married (but their just besties), but it turns out, no its actually jack 👀

Loving your fanfics btw!!

ooooo good one!!!!

Wrong Husband

Summary: You’re used to the new interns making assumptions. You and Dr. Robby have always been close—best friends since residency, the kind of dynamic that makes people look twice. So when this new batch starts whispering about the “work-marriage” between the two of you, neither of you bother to correct it. Until Jack walks in.

“I’m just saying,” Santos muttered as you walked down the hall with Dr. Robby, “they have to be married.”

Javadi snorted. “Right? She calls him ‘grandpa’ when he’s grumpy and he lets her steal his fries during lunch. That’s, like, peak married behavior.”

They didn’t know you could hear them. And Robby definitely did.

He leaned down toward you as you reached the nurses’ station, voice low and dry. “You’re stealing my fries again?”

“Don’t worry,” you muttered, not missing a beat, “I’ll leave you two. Maybe you can finally propose to me after all these years.”

The interns turned white.

You both burst out laughing.

You weren’t married. Never had been. But you loved letting the new staff stew in their awkwardness for a while. It was practically a sport now.

“Wait, are you guys—?” Whitaker started.

You smirked. “Guess you’ll never know.”

A couple hours later, you were sitting at the nurses' station finishing a chart, Robby leaned next to you, sipping bad coffee, when the ER doors opened—and in walked Dr. Jack Abbott.

Buttoned-down. Sharp-jawed. Intimidating as hell.

He didn’t even look up at the crowd—just scanned the room until his eyes landed on you.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

You smiled instantly. Stood up, grabbing your coat. “Yep. Give me two seconds.”

Whitaker blinked. “Wait, you… know Dr. Abbott?”

Robby raised his coffee, still leaning casually. “She knows him alright.”

Jack walked over, slipped his hand around your waist like it was second nature—because it was.

The room went silent.

You looked up at him. “Long day?”

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Better now.”

Javadai dropped her pen.

You turned back to the stunned interns with a sweet smile. “You three met Jack, right?”

They just stared.

“Jack,” you added helpfully, “my husband.”

Robby actually choked on his coffee.

“Have fun, kids,” he grinned. “Told you she wasn’t mine. I’m not nearly uptight enough.”

Jack looked him up and down. “You’re not anything enough.”

You tugged his hand gently. “Be nice. They thought I was married to Robby.”

Jack didn’t even blink. “I’ll try not to be insulted.”

As you walked out with Jack’s hand resting possessively on your lower back, the interns stood frozen in place, eyes wide, jaws open.

“…So that’s her husband?”

Robby chuckled behind them. “Yeah. You should see them when they’re arguing about takeout. It’s terrifying.”

[itsmeatballworld-library]

Robby doesn't say that he loves you often. As emotionally constipated the man is, he much prefers showing you, rather than telling you.

The coffee and toast he makes you before leaving for work in the morning. He knows you forget to eat, and would rather sleep before getting ready to go. Softly kisses you on your cheek as you sleep to say goodbye before he leaves you warm and content in bed.

He's very adept at being your human notepad. Remembers the groceries that you're out of at home. Any appointment or plans you have coming up, and he reminds you. Knows every single favourite you've ever mentioned to him, and updates his mental list when they change.

Robby likes to take things off your plate. Chores in the house you planned to do? Robby beats you to them. Forgot an ingredient for dinner? He can run to the store real quick, did you need anything else? If you ever want to cancel plans, Robby is happy to be your excuse and take the brunt of whatever consequences there are.

You know Robby loves you, when you've had the most horrible day, and as he sees you walk into the room, really sees you, he opens his arms. You let his large gentle frame engulf you and take away your every worry. His warm hand rubs your back in firm motions. Robby loves you, and you know and feel it as he cradles you mind, body, and soul.

[itsmeatballworld-library]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 4.5

Summary: A quiet ultrasound appointment brings everything into focus. And for a moment, it almost feels like the three of you might actually be okay.

|| fluff, pregnancy, soft/domestic joel & tommy, mentions of gender/sex || notes: can't believe im celebrating 2k followers :') I wanted to give you guys something short and sweet to say thank you for everything!!!!

Walking into the softly lit exam room at the back of the OBGYN office, you felt like you were floating. 

You were going to find out the sex of your baby today—your baby. Maybe even start talking names. And somehow, impossibly, you had the two most important men in your life at your side.

Once you were seated on the reclined exam chair, the paper crinkling beneath you, a nurse stepped in with a clipboard in hand. She paused in the doorway, blinking between Joel and Tommy like she was trying to work out a puzzle she hadn’t been trained for.

“And… you’re the father?” she asked, eyes landing on Joel.

Tommy cleared his throat, raising his hand slightly. “That’d be me.”

Her gaze flicked between them, then back to Joel. “And you are...?”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Here for support,” he said simply, voice even, stepping back a half pace like he was used to deferring.

You reached your hands out to both of them—instinctively, without thinking—and Tommy stepped in first, his hand sweeping across your shoulders and giving them a reassuring squeeze. Joel hesitated for a heartbeat, then joined by your side, his large, calloused hand slipping into yours.

Warm. Steady. Yours.

The nurse gave a slightly awkward smile and nodded as she dimmed the lights. “Alright. Let’s take a look.”

You lifted your shirt, baring your small but visible bump, and flinched slightly when the cold gel met your skin. Joel’s fingers curled tighter around yours, his jaw ticking just slightly as he watched the nurse work.

Then came the sound—quiet at first, then clear and steady.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

The heartbeat filled the room. You let out a shaky breath, your other hand reaching blindly toward Tommy’s. He took it instantly, his thumb brushing slow strokes across your knuckles.

“Everything is looking really good here,” the nurse said, her voice gentle as she adjusted the wand slightly. Her hand lifted to the screen, pointing to the shifting contrast of black and white, the little form in the middle of it all resting quietly.

“There’s the spine,” she murmured, tracing along a curved shape. “And here—those are the legs… that little flicker right there, that’s the heartbeat.” She paused, smiling as the sound filled the room. “Strong and steady. Just like we want.”

On the screen, the blurry shape of your baby came into view.

Your baby.

You looked at Tommy first, his eyes fixed on the screen, lips parted like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. The awe on his face was soft and open, reverent in a way that made your heart squeeze. But when you turned your head to Joel, expecting him to be wearing that same expression—expecting him to be watching the monitor—what you found instead was his gaze locked on you.

He wasn’t looking at the screen. He wasn’t focused on the gel on your stomach or the heartbeat echoing through the room. He was looking at you like he’d never seen anything more important. And it wasn’t lust. It wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t the hardened edge he so often used to keep the world at arm’s length. It was undeniable, quiet, devastating—pouring out of him in a way that made your chest tighten and your throat go dry. You could feel it before you understood it, feel the way something in him had cracked open and let the truth pour through.

He looked at you like he’d been holding his breath for months and was finally allowed to exhale. Like this, being here, being next to you, hearing the heartbeat of the baby he helped create, was more than he ever thought he’d be allowed to have.

The nurse’s voice cut softly through the silence, her tone gentle.

“Would you like to know the sex?”

You all turned to look at her, and you smiled widely, “Yes,” you breathed. 

There was a beat—quiet and suspended—before she gave a small smile and angled the wand, fingers adjusting a few dials on the machine.

“Well,” she said lightly, eyes flicking to the screen, “Looks to me like you’re going to have a bouncing baby boy,” and she looked at you with a smile.

Your hand flew to your mouth, moisture prickling at the edges of your vision as you continued to stare at the screen. You felt Tommy’s grip tighten on your shoulder, and when you turned to look at him again, he was grinning—eyes shining, lips pressed together like he was trying hard to keep it together.

“A boy,” he echoed, the words catching in his throat. His forehead dropped against yours, and you both laughed—soft, wet, breathless. “That’s our boy.”

Joel’s hand was still holding yours, steady as a heartbeat, but when you looked up at him again, he wasn’t smiling. Not yet. He was staring at the monitor like it was something sacred, like he’d just been told something he’d never expected to be allowed to want. Then he looked down at you.

And then he smiled.

It wasn’t big. It wasn’t flashy. But it was real—soft at the corners, eyes crinkling just barely as his thumb brushed over the back of your hand.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Because it was all there in that look. This is ours. This matters. I’m in this.

I love you.

And you knew, in that exact moment, that no matter how complicated this had started—no matter how much more there was to untangle—this boy, this heartbeat, this moment… it belonged to all three of you.

If walking into the appointment had felt like floating, walking out was something else entirely—like moving through a dream you never wanted to wake up from. You couldn’t stop smiling, the world around you dulled and glowing, your mind lost in the echo of a heartbeat and the shape of a baby boy on a screen.

The three of you moved together in that haze, stepping out into the chilly sunlight of the parking lot. When you paused in front of Tommy’s truck, you looked between them again—two men who had once stood on opposite sides of this impossible situation, and now stood beside you like they belonged there.

Tommy’s face had gone still, his mouth set, brows slightly furrowed. He stared at Joel with something unreadable in his eyes—something tight and raw.

Joel looked back, quieter than usual, like he didn’t quite know what to say now that the moment had passed. So instead of saying anything, he leaned into you, kissing your cheek to say farewell, his scruff brushing your skin. You returned it softly, your lips grazing his jaw, your hand squeezing the warm muscle of his arm.

But when you pulled back, Tommy hadn’t moved.

His gaze was still locked on Joel, his jaw clenched like something inside him was fighting to come out.

And then—without a word—he stepped forward and pulled his brother into a hug.

Joel stiffened for half a second, caught off guard, but then he melted into it, his hand coming up to clasp the back of Tommy’s shoulder, gripping tight.

“Thank you,” Tommy said, voice low and rough, the words barely audible against Joel’s shoulder.

Joel didn’t answer. He just held on tighter. You stood there, silent, your heart thudding softly in your chest, watching two men who rarely spoke the truth when it came to their feelings finally let the silence carry it for them.

When they pulled apart after a few more stretched moments, it wasn’t with any big, sweeping gestures or lingering emotion. They just stepped back, like the hug had done what it needed to do. Joel kept his hands on Tommy’s shoulders for a second longer, gave him one last squeeze, and then let go, clearing his throat like it had caught him off guard. 

His face schooled back to that familiar guarded stillness, but something softer lingered in his eyes as he looked between you both. 

“You guys get home safe,” he said, voice low and rough but steady, as if it was the only thing that made sense to say. Then, a beat later, with a nod that felt heavier than it should’ve: “I’ll see you Sunday for dinner.”

Tommy gave a quiet nod in return, murmured, “Yeah…yeah, see you then,” and just like that, it was over. No drawn-out goodbyes. No emotional unpacking. Just two brothers, both different than they’d been, both still trying, still here. And somewhere in the quiet between them, something had started to mend. Not fixed. Not perfect. But real.

There wasn’t a name for what the three of you were. No label that fit cleanly. It wasn’t a love triangle, it wasn’t polyamory in the traditional sense. It could hardly be called an open relationship. So after many, many conversations—some over coffee in the morning, others over late-night whiskey or wine-stained lips—you came to call it a V. You were the hinge. The axis. The woman in the middle of it all. Two men on either side, tethered to you in different ways. One who had stood by you through everything, who put a ring on your finger and loved you quietly, consistently, through every storm. And one who burned hot like the sun, who may have showed up late but looked at you like gravity itself answered to you.

So you built something. Carefully. A set of boundaries that helped you breathe, that helped them stay.

There would be no sex with Joel in your house. That was a line drawn hard and fast—out of respect, out of necessity, out of knowing how fast lines blurred once it was crossed. Intimacy with Joel happened elsewhere: in his home when Sarah wasn’t there, or, your personal favorite, steamy hookups in the cab of his truck.

Your marriage came first. Not because Joel didn’t matter, but because Tommy had to matter most. He was your emotional home. The legal foundation, yes—but more than that, the heart of this entire thing. Joel was the fire. Tommy was the hearth. And if things felt uneven, if the scales tipped too far toward danger or desire, Tommy was allowed to speak up, to reset the balance.

There would be no more secrets. No more cold silences, no more backdoor hookups, no more shit talking through gritted teeth like any of you didn’t know exactly what was happening. The days of pretending to be fine, of swallowing jealousy or doubt or guilt until it festered—those were over. If someone felt left out, they said so. If something wasn’t working, it got talked about right away. You owed each other that much now. It didn’t mean it was easy. It didn’t mean you always got it right. But it meant no one was left guessing. No more spirals. No more lies dressed up as compromise. Just the hard, necessary work of being honest. Every time.

It wasn’t perfect, and maybe it never would be. But you had love. You had them. And together, you had a son on the way.

And that was everything.

taglist: @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698 @doblasftcisco @devotedlypaleluminary @elsplayground @puduvallee @victoriaholland @legoemma @leenieweenie12 @possiblyafangirl @alitaar @mads198-9 @emmaoc10 @auteurdelabre @the-last-twin-of-krypton @lilasskicker2 @levislegislation @flowercrowns-goodvibes

[itsmeatballworld-library]

Baby

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+

A/N: Yeah so I am just in a Dr Robby mood and I probably will be for a while.

Every now and then, Robby texted you to meet him for coffee while the Pitt was suspiciously calm. Sometimes, he came to your office for a quick kiss and snatched one of the candies from the jar on your desk. But this was a little different.

Meet me in call room 3 in about 10 minutes.

So you finished up the note you were scribing in a patient’s chart and headed downstairs. You entered the on-call room slowly, peeking in to make sure nobody was occupying it. When you found it empty, you stepped in and shut the door behind you. The room had a twin-sized bed, a bedside table with a lamp, and a full-length mirror. You’ve spent many nights in one of these rooms, usually when a blizzard crosses Pennsylvania, rendering it dangerous to travel home. You sat on the edge of the bed, switching the lamp on to bring some warm light into the dark room.

The door creaked open, and Robby carefully slid through before closing it again. “Hey, stranger.” He whispered. He didn’t make his way over to you like you had expected him to.

You smiled and tilted your head. “Hey. Why are we in here?” You asked, not sure of what he had in mind.

Robby stood tall in front of the door, nearly rivaling its height. His gold chain glimmered in the low light of the room as he shifted his weight on his feet. It wasn’t like him to be so quiet or so…timid? His eyes moved from you to the ground.

You furrowed your brow and stood to meet him. “Baby, are you okay?” You asked, reaching your hands to the collar of his worn hoodie.

Robby just nodded, but you could see on his face that the gears in his brain were turning. Like he was actively planning what to say. You rubbed soothing circles on his broad chest, something you did whenever he had a panic attack or trouble speaking. After what seemed like hours, he broke the silence.

“Do you want to have my baby?”

Your hand froze in place on his chest. The wind was knocked out of you. All you could do was stare at your boyfriend in the low glow of the room and blink. You and Robby had been dating for a year and a half. In secret. Nobody within the hospital, especially the administration, knew about it. And he wanted to have a baby? The most public thing a couple could do aside from a big white wedding? Sure, you had come to terms with the fact that you were dating an older man who may be past that point in his life. But even though you wanted it deep down, you never expected him to bring it up. You always assumed it would be a happy accident and-

“I’m not going to ask you again.” Robby’s voice cut through the silence, and you couldn’t quite place the tone.

You took in a breath, realizing you had been holding it this entire time. “You want a baby?” Was all you could whisper.

Robby nodded and scratched the back of his neck, his nervous tick. “I’ve been…thinking about it. For a while now. But I just didn’t know how to say it.” He explained, looking away from your eyes. “We had a patient this morning who was…of my century.” He began, and the edges of your lips curled into a small grin at his storytelling. “He had his wife and two young daughters with him. He kept thanking me over and over because we saved his life. He kept talking about how happy he was to have his daughters, even that late in his life. And…”

You tilted your head so that your eyes met his line of vision. “And?”

He reached up and grasped your hand that still rested on his chest. “And I want that with you. I want to have a family with you, I want to watch our kids go off to college. If I wait any longer, I might not be able to see them go to high school.” He continued. 

You felt tears prick your eyes as he spoke. You squeezed his hand tightly and let out a breathy laugh. “I want that, too.” You whispered.

Robby smiled slowly, and you could see the tears welling up in his eyes. “You do?” He asked.

You grinned and placed your hands on either side of his face. “Yes, Robby. Michael. I really want it.” You assured him, and the tears fell down your cheeks.

Robby grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in close for a kiss. Your hands slid to his peppered hair, pulling him even closer. The kiss was firm and passionate but quickly progressed to one of need. Robby shoved your white coat off your shoulders and tossed it to the bed. You pulled away slightly to laugh at him. 

“Oh, are we doing this now?” You teased.

Robby grinned and unzipped his hoodie, giving it the same fate as your white coat. “Oh, absolutely.” He said before pulling you back in.

He left hot, wet kisses on your mouth that slowly trailed down your neck, dragging his teeth along your soft skin. You felt your skin prickle and shoved your hands under his scrub top, running your fingers across his decently toned abdomen. His hands moved to your ass, and he tapped the back of your thigh, signaling you to jump up. You grabbed his neck and hopped to wrap your legs around his waist. He securely carried you to the bed and laid your body down. He snatched at your scrub bottoms, pulling your panties down with them in one quick motion. While you threw your top off, he removed his.

You pulled him back, relishing the sensation of his burning hot skin on yours. He returned to kissing your lips, your neck, and anything he could get access to while his hand slid down to brush over your core. His fingers barely touched your sopping wet pussy, and he chuckled. “Oh, is all this for me? So I can fuck a baby into you?”

You shuddered at his words and swallowed hard. “Yes.” You managed to say, grasping his shoulders tightly as he teased your entrance.

“Then let’s stretch you out.” He said before shoving one finger into your pussy.

Even that alone made your toes curl and back arch. You shook your head. “No, I want you now.” You pleaded.

Robby shook his head and started playing with your clit with his thumb. “No, love. It takes three before you’re ready. Don’t rush it.” He reminded you.

You squirmed in frustration, wanting more but knowing he was right. He added a second finger, and your walls squeezed around the added diameter. “Robby, please. Please, please let me have you.” You begged.

Robby reached for the drawstrings on his scrub pants and pulled them. “You’re almost there. You’re being such a good girl for me.” He assured.

Your eyes watched his hands pull his pants down and revealed his boxers struggling to suppress his massive cock. You let out a shaky breath as Robby began to tease your slits with the third finger. When it sank in, you squeezed your eyes shut in blissful pain. “Oh, God, Robby. Please.” And you don’t really know what you were begging for this time. Because you knew what was next.

Robby pumped his fingers in and out of your pussy, the squelching sounds filling the otherwise silent room. “I know, I know. You’re almost ready.” He soothed, pressing a kiss against your temple.

The sweat was already beading at your neck. You reached for the outline of his cock in his boxers and wrapped your hand around what you could. Robby let out a hiss as you slowly rubbed the fabric, creating a friction that he was craving. He finally picked you up with his free arm and sat you down in his lap, back to his chest. He shoved his boxers down and spit on his hand, rubbing the saliva on his own cock for extra lubricant.

Your head fell back against his shoulder as he continued to finger you, letting out pitiful sounds of frustration. Robby kissed your shoulder and reached for your face. He adjusted your head to look straight at the wall. In front of you was the full length mirror that came with every on-call room. You were met with the reflection of Robby fingering you open, with his eyes meeting yours in the mirror.

“You’re gonna watch while I fuck this baby in you. You understand?” He growled low in your ear.

You shuddered and nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

You swallowed hard, trying to adjust to his three fingers pumping in and out of you. “Yes sir.” You breathed.

And with your answer, Robby replaced his fingers with his cock. He slowly pushed into you, one hand on your lower stomach as he did. You just knew he could feel himself pushing deeper and deeper until he maxed out. Tears fell from your eyes as he stretched you open. 

“Fuck, baby.” You hissed.

Robby didn’t move, and let you adjust to his length. He brushed the hair out of your eyes and peppered kisses along your cheek and neck. “Shhh…you’re doing so good, love. It’s almost over.” He whispered.

Your hands reached back behind you, grasping the back of his neck. The pain began to slowly neutralize, and your labored breaths were more steady. You gave him a small nod to keep going. Robby grabbed your hips and slowly pulled out, releasing the tension in your pussy, just to slam back in ruthlessly. If you had been at home, you would have screamed bloody murder, but all you could do was bite into your bottom lip. Robby repeated his motions, slowly out, pounding back in, creating a steadily faster rhythm. 

Your eyes fluttered open, and the sight in the mirror was too much. Robby fucking you relentlessly, your breasts bouncing with each thrust, the glint from his gold chain glaring off the reflection. You grabbed his biceps and squeezed tightly. “Robby, I-” You tried to say. “I’m gonna come.” 

Robby let out a breathy laugh, maintaining his bruising pace. “That’s right, love. Come for me.” He whispered.

You felt the white hot burning in your stomach explode across your body, walls pulsating around his cock and lubricating even more. Robby continued to whisper a string of praises as you went limp in his arms. He held you up, continuing to pound into you at the same unrelenting pace, but you could tell that he was beginning to falter. With a few more thrusts, he emptied himself into your pussy, grunting as he did. You could feel each rope of cum burst inside you as he finished, and you felt a new excitement in your chest that you never had before.

When Robby was able to catch his breath, he turned your face to kiss your lips gently. “I hope you have a few more minutes before your next appointment.” He said. “Because we’re gonna sit here until I know you’re pregnant.”

[itsmeatballworld-library]

Got a Second?

Pairing: Dr. Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Notes: Not beta-read. Just a lil Robby drabble that came to me this morning.

Warnings: Just fluff; mentions of blowjobs, mentions of public sex

Summary: The second you get the text, you call. You learned a long time ago that when Robby has a second, it sometimes really is only a second—a minute, tops.

The second you get his text, you call. You learned a long time ago that when Robby asks if you've got a second, it sometimes really is only a second—a minute, tops. He spends his day getting pulled in a hundred different directions. He hardly has time to get a bite to eat or use the bathroom, let alone call.

You push your seat back, raising your phone to your ear and heading for the entrance to your office. You're listening to the gentle brrrrr, brrrrr of the phone, and just as you step outside, you hear the line pick up.

"Hey."

"Hey, baby," You lean against one of the pillars outside, shielding yourself from the wind. "How are you doing over there?"

Robby lets out a tired hum, and you wince.

"Doin' what we can."

"I'm sorry."

"S'alright. How are you doing?"

"In my high-stakes, fast-paced office job? Oh, it's wild over here. We had a forty minute meeting about which color we should be making the border on a powerpoint and whether or not that particular shade of blue aligns with both our brand guidelines and team values."

"Forty minutes?"

"Yeah, we went ten minutes over. And then Zach said 'happy to give you the gift of your time back,' as if he hadn't taken up way more than he's supposed to."

"Jesus. Can they hear you?"

"No, I'm outside."

"You bring your coat with you?"

Your half-second of hesitation makes Robby groan, and you hurry to cover, "I did!"

"Uh-huh."

You smile ruefully, curling your arm around yourself.

"You in the break room?" You ask.

"Yeah."

"You eat anything?"

"Yes."

"Good. You know how snippy you are when you get hangry. You'll need a snickers, stat."

"Is that a medical diagnosis?"

"Uh-huh. Snickers and a blowjob."

"Jesus christ," The laugh is spluttered, and you grin. Not only did you catch him off-guard, but the days when Roby calls you mid-shift feel like the days when he needs you most.

"It's true," You insist. "How about I come with you to work the next time I take a day off. I'll just sit under your desk and wait for you."

"That would be out in the open, you know that."

"Oh, sure. But maybe that would be for the best. At least it would get Myrna to stop calling you a fruitcake."

Robby laughs again, and you grin.

"Robby?"

"Yeah?"

"You really doing okay?"

"…Yeah. I—"

Your brows raise as he goes quiet, and hear someone calling for him on the other end of the phone.

"I gotta go."

You bite your lip, glancing toward the door to your office. "Well, I'll be waiting for you at home with that blowjob."

"And the snickers?"

"Sure. We'll need to get your strength back up for round two."

"I love you, honey."

You grin, practically melting back into the column.

"I love you, too, baby. I'll see you tonight."

"Bye."

"Bye." You murmur it as the line cuts, lowering the phone and eyeing the call time. Two minutes and forty seconds—a new record.

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry ;

@kittenlittle24 ; @ilariyalavorowrites ; @morgy3456

[itsmeatballworld-library]

Mrs. R Part Four

Previous Part | Masterlist

Notes: Not beta-read.

Warnings: Angst and fluff. Flangst. A lotta cursing. Ends happily, I promise!

Summary: Your eyes dart to the time in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.

It's late—but for all of your qualms about whatever the hell you and Robby are or aren't, for better or for worse, in sickness or in a health, for richer or for poorer, you still care about him.

One glimpse. That's all it takes to convince you that you need to get over him, and to finally move beyond the foolish delusion that the two of you are ever going to get back together.

Robby has been saying that it's something that he's been meaning to do, have you over to his new place—that it's not as sad as you're probably imagining, that you'll be impressed.

And he's sort of right. It's not as sad as you were imagining. It's a little sadder.

You're not completely surprised by the nearly-empty fridge, the scatter of mail on the counter. You are heartened by the little touches of your old life together there, the few things that he took from your home that are scattered throughout the kitchen, the living room.

And he should've known that when you went to the bathroom that you were going to snoop.

That's why spotting the women's perfume bottle on the counter is so fucking jarring.

There aren't touches of anyone else, nothing that you looked at and immediately felt that they weren't his but this—?

The bottle shape is familiar, and you're sure the label would be too if you hadn't suddenly lost the ability to read. You stand in his bathroom staring at the bottle. Your hands are frozen over the drawer that you were about to pull open and snoop through. Your heart is pounding in your ears; your throat feels like someone's just crammed a boulder down it. You try to swallow past it, clear your throat a few times, but it won't budge.

You need to get out of there. You can't tell him that you're not feeling well, because he'll insist on running a full living room diagnostic. You're sure your BP is up, that your skin is going hot with upset. You can't imagine the conversation going well—

"And what were you doing when you felt the onset of symptoms?"

"Oh, just realizing that I don't have a snowball's chance in hell of fixing this."

You take a step back, draw in a deep breath, flex your shaking hands. No, this is fine. You can get out of this. You pull your phone out of your pocket, wincing as you hear Robby pass down the hall nearby. You open the ringtone menu on your phone, tapping one and letting it play loudly for a few beats before you pretend to answer a call from your best friend.

"Hello?...Honey, are you okay?...Chlo—Chloe, calm down," You fake your conversation, forcing yourself to pace through your answers. You glance toward the door, biting the inside of your cheek. Is he still nearby? How much of this can he hear? "What?—Oh, god, I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?...Yeah, of course I can come."

You glance up as the bathroom's overhead bulb begins to flicker.

"No no, don't worry about that. Drop a pin, I'll be there as soon as I can."

You shove your phone into your pocket and yank the bathroom door open—nearly smacking right into Robby. He has a hand up as if to knock, and lowers it as you pull up short.

"Everything okay?"

"I—Yes—No," Shit. "Chloe called, she had a whole fiasco—Bad date, and then she got rear-ended. I'm really sorry, but I've gotta go."

Robby nods a touch, stepping back. "You want me to come with you?"

"No! No," You hurry to cover off on your too-quick answer with a smile and a pat on the shoulder. You lean up, pecking his cheek before you skirt around him, hurrying down the hall.

"Thanks for having me over. I um—" You glance back, jerking your thumb over your shoulder. "You should probably fix that bulb."

--

To your credit, you do talk to Chloe that night. It's mostly to warn her that in case she somehow runs into Robby, to let him know that her car is fine. And you know that she has more questions, but maybe it's the weariness in your voice that lets you off of the hook for the night. You know that you'll have to answer for the fact that you were even talking to Robby in the first place, something that you've neglected to mention since the light bulb situation kicked you into a new personal level of hell.

And you're so, so tempted to let yourself stew on this all for one more night, but you decide that you can't just wallow anymore.

For as difficult as this is going to be, it's been a long time coming. You need to make changes.

--

It's not a complete surprise when he turns up at your door. You've been avoiding him for the better part of a month, coming up with excuse after excuse after excuse to not see him, to not answer his phone calls.

What does surprise you is what he says. Not hello, not how are you, just—

"You're selling?"

You puff your cheeks up and push the air out in a long breath. Maybe you should've answered one one of his messages sooner. Then he wouldn't have taken it upon himself to turn up, and to run into the real estate agent hammering in a sign out front.

You cross your arms and lean in the doorway, eyeing the sign, the slight swing of For Sale in the breeze.

"Yeah. You looking to buy? I'm sure I could get you the ex-husband and bulb-fixer discount."

"When did you decide to move?"

"Been meaning to. This is too much house for me. I use, like, a third of the space. Don't even go in the basement, remember?"

"Where are you looking?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're going to stay in Pittsburgh, so—which neighborhoods?"

The fact he says it with such certainty makes irritation flare in your gut. You curl your hand into a fist out of sight, give a short shrug.

"I don't know if I am."

Robby's brow tip up, his chin dropping toward his chest as he takes that in.

"You don't know?" He repeats, a disbelieving laugh falling from his lips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just means I'm still weighing my options."

"Where else would you go?"

"I dunno...Philly, New York, LA—"

"You're serious."

"I'm thinking about it."

Robby's eyes narrow, brow furrowing as he takes you in. You fight to stay still, to hold his gaze, even when every part of you wants to retreat inside, close the door, and lock it until he leaves.

"When were you planning on telling me?" He asks.

"What's that matter? It's not like I need your permission, right?" You don't mean for it to sting, but the way Robby's head jerks back makes you think that you've hit a target you didn't even know was up to be aimed for.

"No," He finally says. "You don't need my permission."

"Great, so I don't know what the fuss is about—"

"I guess I mistakenly thought that friends told each other things—"

"Oh, please," You splutter a bitter laugh. "When's the last time you fucking told me anything important?"

"This again?"

"You can't 'this again' me when you're the one that brought this shit up, Michael."

"There's a difference between that and you moving across the fucking country!"

"I'm not—I'm not absolutely gonna, I'm just thinking about it!"

"If this place sells tomorrow, where are you gonna go?"

"I'll figure it out."

"You can't just fly by the seat of your pants on shit like this."

"Whatever happens, I will work something out."

"Since when do you want out of Pittsburgh?"

"Since when do you give a fuck about what I want?"

"HEY!"

The two of you turn to see your neighbor, Diane, standing on her steps, glaring at the two of you as she waves toward where her kids are playing in the yard.

"Do you mind? Watch the language."

"Please," Robby scoffs," You curse more than the two of us combined."

"Yeah, blow it out your ass, Diane," You snap. She blanches, tightening her robe around her and pointing a warning finger at you.

"Keep that up and I'm calling the fucking cops."

"Now who needs to watch their language," You sneer, glaring at her until she goes back inside. You draw in a deep breath, keeping your focus just over Robby's shoulder.

"...Look," You say quietly, "I've got shit to do, so. You should go."

"Jesus fucking christ," Robby scoffs, turning and heading down the front walk. You force yourself inside, shutting and locking the door before sagging heavily against it, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. Your hand curls into a fist, and you just manage not to slam it against the wood grain. Hitting something won't solve anything. You have to start weeding through your living room for the things that you absolutely don't need—things that you can sell online, or just put out on the curb to get rid of.

Then you can go back to apartment hunting online, browse the internet, and see if you can google your way into figuring out where the hell you're going next. The house needs some work, there's no way it'll sell tomorrow—unless Robby decides he does want to buy.

The thought freezes you in your tracks on the way to the living room. You don't think...You'd asked, teased, but you'd been kidding—

"No. No," You mutter to yourself, shaking your head as you turn into the living room. There's no way he would do that. You have some books to sort through, then name-change paperwork to get rolling on, and then some apartment hunting as you passively watch House Hunters.

--

The call is atypical—has been for a couple of weeks now. Robby hasn't reached out since your blowout on the steps. No quick calls, no voice notes, no💡gracing your chats.

That's why seeing his name flash up on your screen in the middle of your nightly doom scroll catches you so off-guard. Your eyes dart to the time in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. It's late—but for all of your qualms about whatever the hell you and Robby are or aren't, for better or for worse, in sickness or in a health, for richer or for poorer, you still care about him.

You answer, raising the phone to your ear. It's quiet for a moment, and you hedge, "Robby?"

More silence—and then a sniffle.

You're throwing the covers off of yourself and getting out of bed before you can even think about it.

"Hang on, okay?" You yank your drawers open, grabbing the first pair of sweatpants and sweater that you see. "Give me twenty, I'll be right there. Do you wanna stay on with me?"

You tuck the phone between your shoulder and your ear, wiggling out of your pajama pants and tugging the sweatpants on.

"Michael? You've gotta talk to me, honey," You press when the quiet persists. You hear him draw in a deep breath, then push it out slowly.

"Okay," He finally mumbles.

"Okay what? Okay you want to stay on?"

"I'll see you in twenty minutes."

"You don't want me to stay on?"

"No. No. S'okay."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Okay I'll be there soon. I—" Love you. The words are automatic, but they clog in your throat, your fingers flexing around the phone. "I'll be there as soon as possible."

--

You're hardly across the threshold with the door shut and locked behind you before he's leaning into you, pressing his face into your neck and drawing in a tight, shaky breath. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, gently scrubbing your nails over his nape as he shakes.

You don't tell him to let it out, that you're there, that everything's going to be alright, that nothing's gonna hurt him. You learned a long time ago that Robby can dish platitudes, but he doesn't like to take them—and he's already been hurt so damn much. He needs someone to look at the walls that he builds up around himself and identify and patch leaks before the dam breaks. You knew it was work, at least—if one a friend or family member was sick or had passed, he would've told you over the phone.

His hands curl in the fabric of your shirt, anchoring tight; you feel his eyelashes fluttering, spreading warm tears against your skin. You let him stay there, your heart breaking with each soft sob and sniffle.

When he draws back, you let him. He doesn't go far, only lifting one of his hands from you to scrub at his eyes.

"Thought you said twenty minutes," He mumbles.

You frown, brow furrowing. "I did."

"It's only been ten. How many traffic laws did you break?"

"Let me and the speed cameras worry about that."

Robby pushes out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. You reach up, gently swiping away a few of his tears as you cup his cheeks. You let yourself search his weary face—his red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained face, quivering lips.

"What's going on, Mikey?" You press softly. His gaze drops to the floor, and you watch his shoulders tense. It's the first brick of a new wall—once he's all cried out, the dam needs to be rebuilt, maybe at double-time now that you're there. A wave of irritation is pushed down by petty attraction as his hands flex in the fabric your shirt. You expect him to tell you to forget it, that it was a lapse in judgement when he called you, that he's fine. You watch him wet his lips, see him open his mouth, and—

"Can you stay tonight?"

--

It's not an easy night of sleep for you. You have to stop yourself from fidgeting. You constantly find yourself in that hazy space between light sleep and wakefulness. Whenever Robby shifts, when he mumbles in his sleep, when his fingers skim along the strip of skin exposed between your borrowed pajama top and sweatpants, your heart beats double-time.

You're not entirely sure when you manage to drift off, or what exactly it is that wakes you up first—the sunlight creeping through the curtains, or the tender brush of Robby's lips against the underside of your jaw. You hum softly at the sensation, that way his beard prickles against your skin. You press up unthinkingly against his palm where it's anchored against your hip, keeping your body tucked tightly against his.

Your hand lifts sleepily, fingers sliding into his hair as the kisses lazily drift higher and higher. The tantalizing pressure of his teeth closing around your earlobe makes you pull in a soft, sleepy gasp, your thighs squeezing together beneath the sheets to quell the growing ache there. His answering hum sends a pulse of want through you—but it also wakes you up.

You push yourself to sit up, the speed of it knocking Robby's hand aside. You stare down a your lap as you try to sort through the mess of feelings twisting in your belly.

Robby's soft murmur of, "What is it?", the sleep-roughened timbre of his voice, does nothing to quiet your thoughts. You raise your hands, scrubbing at your eyes.

"Are you working today?" You ask.

"'No."

Considering the state he was in last night, that's for the best.

"Okay. Okay, good." You swallow thickly, looking around. You left your sweatshirt in the bathroom, didn't you? When you got changed—

You still as Robby's hand slides across your thighs, his face pressing into your hip. You bite the inside of your cheek, steeling yourself.

"I've gotta go." The words come out firmly, but you don't make a move.

"Can't stay for coffee?"

"No. No, I can't stay for coffee," You insist, forcing yourself from his hold as you slide out of bed, "And I can't keep doing this."

"Can't keep doing what?"

"This!" You wave toward him as he sits up. "This one-leg-in-one-leg-out shit! Things need to change, Robby. It's gonna suck for a little while, but—"

"Is that what this move about?"

"Yes! Not—I mean, partially, yeah. I need to sort out my shit, I have to remember who I am without you and I don't think I can do that here. Not when we're both a phone call away."

You bite your lip as Robby dips his head, scrubbing his palms over the back of his neck.

"Besides," You push on, "You're—You've moved on, so. I think it's about I do, too."

"Moved on?" He laughs derisively. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You fix him with a stern look. "I saw the perfume last time I was here, Michael. Look, it's fine—" Even though it most certainly does not feel fine—"And expected, we're divorced, but—" You falter as Robby yanks open the bedside drawer, drawing out something and tossing it to you. You fumble to catch it, and your stomach churns when you realize it's the same perfume bottle from the bathroom.

"Michael, I said—"

"Look at the bottom."

You frown, tipping the bottom as he says, and going still when you see the familiar, half-torn, half-faded Christmas label. It had been one of your worst Christmases together—Robby had been working overtime, and had been so tired when he'd tried to wrap presents that he'd wound up sticking labels on the wrong side of half of your gifts.

You run your thumb across the adhesive, shaking your head.

"I don't understand."

"It got packed up with my things when I moved. I kept meaning to give it back, but I kept forgetting, and then it got further away, and—" He draws in a deep breath. "And then when I stayed the night, a few weeks ago—and I slept better than I have in months. I tried to convince myself it was the scent of you on the sheets that I needed, tried spraying it on the pillows but it isn't enough." He shakes his head, dark tired eyes flitting to your face. "It's you."

Your heart skips a beat, and your fingers tighten around the bottle as tears prickle at your eyes. You lower yourself to the edge of the bed, pulling in a deep, shaky breath. You hear the rustle of the sheets as Robby shifts, coming closer.

"...You still want me to stay for coffee?" You hedge.

"I want you to stay for a lot more than that."

You tip your head to the side, warily meeting his eye, and finding an almost boyish smile on his face.

"...Robby," You sigh, setting the bottle on the bed. "I mean it, I can't...I can't survive in this emotional purgatory. I'm tired of tying myself up in knots trying to figure out what the hell you're thinking—And it's not so easy as just being more open with communication," You warn as he lowers his head. "We've got...Stuff. We know one another so well but we still get tripped up by this shit."

"I know." Robby reaches out, taking one of your hands between his. "But I also know that when I needed someone last night, the only person I thought to call was you."

"Because you knew I'd answer?"

"Because even if you didn't, I could still listen to your message. I could still hear your voice." His own breaks with the admission. "I need you. And I've missed the hell out of you."

You reach up with your free hand, gently stroking across his cheek.

"I've missed you, too," You murmur, "You grumpy old man."

He splutters a laugh, and you smile, relaxing as Robby raises your hand and presses a gentle kiss to the back of it.

"Whatever you decide, I can't stop you—I won't," Robby clarifies, "But...Cards on the table: I don't want you to leave."

You nod a little. "Cards on the table: I'm not so sure I want to leave either. And—" You reach up, running your fingers over his nape before giving it a gentle tug. "You still need a haircut."

--

"Okay! So I know what I read on the intake form, but I'd like to hear it in your own words from the two of you: What brings you to marriage counseling today?"

You hesitate, eyeing Robby on the other end of the couch. He gestures forward, softly urges, "Please."

"Well, this might be a bit unorthodox. " You shift in your seat, "Robby—Michael," You correct, "And I are divorced. Have been for a while now. But we've been talking a lost more lately, and the lines between our relationship have...Never felt more blurred than they do now."

"Would you say that's an accurate assessment, Michael?" The counselor prods, and he gives a nod.

"Yeah, I'd say that's pretty accurate."

"What would you say has been your biggest stumbling block throughout the relationship?"

"Communication."

The two of you manage it in unison, and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing at the stunned look on the counselor's face.

"I promise we didn't practice that."

"Well," She chuckles, leaning back in her seat. "In some aspects, the two of you are seem to still be in sync. Why don't you tell me a little about how the two of you met?"

--

"I didn't think we'd get homework," You grumble, stepping outside.

"It's all part of the process."

"Yeah, but week one? Harsh." You tuck your hands into your pockets, glancing up the block. "You headed to the Pitt?"

"Yep. Shift starts in half an hour."

"Alright. Be careful, huh?"

"Always am." Robby glances back toward the doorway. "It's gonna be weird, not talking to you until next week."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," You fidget, shifting from foot to foot. "But honestly, if something happens at work and you need to—You know." You lean in a little, fake-whispering, "We could just lie."

He grins, taking a step closer. "Oh, no. We're doing this right."

"Such a stickler."

Before you can argue further, Robby cups your cheeks, drawing you in for a soft kiss. You hum against his lips, raising your hands and grasping his hoodie. You should lean away sooner than you do, but for you a few moments, you can't bring yourself to care that you're standing in the middle of the block in broad daylight, right outside the marriage counselor's office. But hey, maybe it's a good look. The sight of a kissing could could give off a good impression, drum some business up for her. Really, you're doing her a favor.

You lean away, letting your eyes slip closed again as Robby tips his chin up, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Seriously, though," You murmur. "If you really need—"

"I know."

"Okay." You nod, finally letting go and giving his chest a teasing push. "Have a good shift, Dr. Robinavitch."

He takes two steps back down the block, eyes still fixed on you as a warm smile grows on his face.

"I'll see you next week, Mrs. Robinavitch."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry ;

@kittenlittle24 ; @ilariyalavorowrites ; @morgy3456

[itsmeatballworld-library]

Mrs. R Part Three

Part Two

Notes: Not beta-read.

Warnings: This...Got a lot more angsty than I meant it to. Whoops.

Summary: Robby had sent a 💡 text two days ago—his new shorthand to ask if he could come over. You'd declined, cited previous plans, and proposed tonight instead.

So here he is, and there you are with your head full of muddled feelings and unasked questions.

"I don't know what changed, and I don't know how you did it, but he seems better."

You want to tell her that it isn't you—that you haven't seen Robby since you went to the ER, that whatever's changed about him, you had nothing to do with it—but that would be a bold-faced lie.

Though, at moments, you don't think that you have had much to do with the shift in his mood. But over the last few weeks, he's seemed a little lighter. It's been noticeable to you.

And, apparently, it's been noticeable to Dana.

She wouldn't accept the lie, anyway—you can see that in the way she grins at you over her pint of beer, daring you to disagree.

So you just shrug and offer, "Sometimes he just needs someone to talk to—outside of work, you know."

"So he is telling you about work?"

"God no, I don't think he'd ever..." You trail off, mind dipping dangerously into the past. He used to. A long time ago, he'd come home with tired but warm smiles, with a funny story from his shift on the tip of his tongue, chasing the kisses that he showered you with the second he was in the door. But the pandemic, Adamson, the dwindling staff, the slammed ER, the administration, the occasional rat—it's a constant, Sisyphean uphill push for all of them.

You clear your throat, shaking your head. "I mean, sometimes he needs to talk about something that isn't that. I used to think talking about work when he was home would help him process it, but maybe he needs a bubble to shut that part of his mind off. I don't know, it's weird," Your brow furrows. "I feel like I understand him so much more now that we aren't married."

"Speaking of which."

"Mm?"

"What's with the name?"

You take a long sip, biding as much time as you can as heat rushes your face.

"Name?" You do your best to play dumb, but Dana's laugh tells you that she isn't buying it for a damn second.

"Yeah, Mrs. Robinavitch, the name."

You let your eyes scan the bustling bar around you, unable to take the knowing way that Dana watches you.

"You don't have to call me that, you know."

"Oh yeah? What should I call you?"

"Gee, I don't know Dana," You lean into it. "Maybe my first name?"

"Doesn't make you squirm like your last name does. Come on," She chuckles again, "It's been almost a year. What gives?"

You consider, eyeing the chipped wood grain of the table.

"Honestly?"

"Uh-huh."

"Cone of silence?"

"Cross my heart."

"...I can't..." You struggle for the words as your feelings flood into your chest, making each breath feel heavy. Your sweating palms flex, nails pressing into your skin, prickling the still-raised scar on your dominant hand.

"It just feels like giving up on us. On him. And I know that sounds so stupid, we're divorced, but letting go of his name feels like letting go, really letting go of all of it, all of the good stuff, and lately things feel..." You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut against the embarrassment. "It's like the door isn't completely closed. Like he's opening up to me again, and if I change it now, it's like I'll—Jinx it? Or—?" You groan, tipping your head back and scrubbing at your eyes with the heels of your palms. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

Dana doesn't answer, and when you finally get a good look at her again, you just find a warm, soft smile there.

"Oh, sweetie," She shakes her head. "There's nothing wrong with hope."

You bite the inside of your cheek to try and push back the swell of tears that threaten to spill over.

"Goddamnit," You laugh shakily. "How much would I have to pay you to quit the hospital and just run my life full-time?"

"You couldn't afford me."

--

"You're quiet."

It isn't accusatory, you don't think, but it's paired with a speculative little glance across the kitchen able that makes you want to fold into yourself and disappear.

"Just following your example." You manage to make it a tease, and when Robby's lips tip up in a small smile, you feel the relief of knowing that you hit the mark. He huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head and turning back to his food.

You should've sorted this morose shit out before he turned up. You'd known that he was planning on stopping by.

He'd sent a 💡 text two days ago—his new shorthand to ask if he could come over. You'd declined, cited previous plans, and proposed tonight instead.

So here he is, and there you are with your head full of muddled feelings and unasked questions.

You haven't been able to stop thinking about your conversation with Dana. The fact that you let your truth hit the air for the first time since the divorce, to admit not only to yourself but to someone else that you're hopeful that your relationship with Michael could still change—that you're still holding on to the likely misguided belief that one of you or both of you will come back together with the understanding that this whole divorce was one big, stupid, expensive mistake—

"What'd you get up to the other night?"

"Hmm?"

"When I wanted to come by."

You shrug, reach over and pluck a fry up off of his plate. "Just some stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Well clearly nothing that landed me back in the ER."

"That leaves a lot of possibilities."

You pop the fry into your mouth, take your time chewing, and raise your brows when he dips his head a touch, catching and holding your gaze.

"Come on," He plies, "Gimme a hint."

"Why does it matter?"

"Doesn't."

"Why do you care?"

"...I don't."

And you may've bought that—if he hadn't hesitated. Your eyes narrow a touch, a playful smile pulling at your lips.

"Well what do you think I was doing, Dr. Robinavitch?"

"Any number of things, Mrs. Robinavitch."

And you know that he doesn't mean to break it, this light and delicious mood, but goddamn did he pop your balloon. The words make your stomach lurch. You hurriedly push yourself up from the table, avoiding his eye and rounding to the fridge.

"You want another beer?" You ask, and force yourself to keep your eyes on the fridge's contents when he doesn't answer right away.

"Haven't finished my first one," He finally says, and you nod a bit, pulling one out for yourself and cracking it open. You lean against the counter, toying with the pull tab.

"You have a date?"

It feels almost like a trap of a question, and you know that you'd be wise to answer quickly, but his tease is still ringing through your ears.

"You can tell me if you did," He tacks on, "Not like we're—"

"No, I know."

"So—?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Why not? You're single, you're gorgeous—"

"Okay—"

"—More skilled at evading questions than an ex-KGB agent."

"CIA, please."

"It'd be fine if you were. You're free to do whatever you want."

You don't think that he's trying to twist the knife, don't believe that he even realizes he's holding it, but the fact of the matter is what you want is this, right here—in the kitchen with him, but having almost any other conversation.

"Thanks for the permission."

"Just making sure you don't think you need it, considering you still have my name."

He still thinks you're both joking, that's the problem. And maybe you should be joking, but Mrs. Robinavitch. Goddamn, when's the last time he called you that? Must've been your last anniversary—or the one before—?

"Hey." His hands cupping your cheeks takes you aback, and you draw in a deep, stunned breath. When did he get up? "What's going on up there?"

You shake your head, avoiding his eye as you take a deep draw from the beer can. He plucks it out of your hand once you lower it, setting it onto the counter beside you. You curl your arms around yourself, trying to ignore the fact that you're pouting like a petulant child.

"It wasn't a date," You finally offer.

"Okay. It wouldn't matter if it was."

Maybe that's half the problem. You want him it to matter, but to him it just—doesn't. Unless he's bluffing.

Since the two of you started...Whatever the hell this is, you've laid your cards on the table, in some measure. You told Michael that you wouldn't be okay if he wasn't okay. But you're starting to worry that Michael doesn't have any cards to lay on the table. You thought this was high-stakes poker, but it's starting to feel a helluva lot like solitaire.

But if he didn't care, then why change your light bulb? Why kiss you the way he did? He'd fallen asleep on your couch, back in your bed, he remembered where your mugs were—

But maybe you're not the safe space for him—maybe it's your apartment. Maybe you're just its custodian.

You raise a hand to scrub at your rapidly heating face, fighting back pinpricks of tears as you clench your jaw.

"Headache," You insist before he can pry, and it's not entirely lie. This is beginning to make your head spin.

"You should take something."

"I'm alright." You slap on a thin, unconvincing smile and nod back toward the table. "Your food's gonna get cold."

--

"You sure you're okay?"

You don't even grace that one with a response, just smile and insist:

"Let me know when you get home."

You can see him pushing down another prying question as he straightens his hoodie and takes up his backpack. He gives a small nod and leans in, dropping a kiss to your forehead.

"Drink some water, take something before you go to bed. You don't wanna wake up with it."

"Good night of sleep will clear it." As if you'll be able to sleep tonight.

"Maybe." He reaches out, gently chucking under your chin. "Seriously, don't wait for it to get worse."

"I won't! Crying out loud."

He grunts, turns to the door and opens it.

"Oh, and for the record," He adds, smiling widely at you over his shoulder. "Dana said she had a good time."

You manage to keep your smile frozen in place, and nod. You hold it until he's shut the door and you've locked it behind him. You rest your forehead against the cool wood, drawing a deep breath in through your nose and pushing it out between your lips. You draw in another, and as you push it out, the tears come.

If he'd known what you'd been up to the other night why put you through that song and dance? Just to see what you'd say? If you'd lie?

Your face twists as the tears flow faster, sorrow and anger and nerves twining together as you plop down onto your couch and let the sobs come freely.

If there's nothing wrong with hope, then why the hell does it hurt so much?

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry ;

@kittenlittle24 ; @ilariyalavorowrites

[itsmeatballworld-library]

This was so amazing UGHHH im in love with him

Mrs. R Part Two

Part One

Notes: Hi welcome to part two okay love you bye

Not beta-read.

Warnings: Angst; fluff; all that good stuff

Summary: You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close. 

“You got any more lightbulbs in here that need changing?” 

You lean in the doorway of the living room, watching Robby unscrew the old bulb and toss it onto the couch before lifting his hand to screw in the new one. 

“I don’t think so. Unless you wanna go around and change a few preemptively.” 

“Think we’ll just stick with this one for now.” 

You bite your lip, glancing down at your bandaged hand and picking at a stray strand. 

“How was the rest of your shift?” 

“Oh, fine. You know.” 

But you still don’t. You bite your lip, fighting back the argument as you pick at another stray strand. 

“How’s the hand feeling?” 

“Oh, fine. You know.” 

You shoot him a coy smile at his sidelong glance. He shakes his head as he turns his attention back to the light, fitting the fixture back over the bulb. He climbs down from the step ladder, folding it, and leaning it against the bookshelf. 

“Where was that, anyway?” You ask, nodding toward it. 

“In the basement.” 

“Ah. I don’t go down there much.” 

“Yeah, the film of dust gave that away.” 

Your smile widens at the tease, then falters as he turns away, dusting off his hands. 

“Alright. I should head out.”

Your stomach twists as he straightens, heading for the door, and where he left his bag. 

“Oh?” You fight to keep your tone even as you straighten up. “I ordered pizza. Should be here soon if you’re hungry.”

“You’ll have leftovers.”

“Sure! Sure.” You tuck your hands into your back pockets, wandering after him as he reaches for his bag. “I could just um…Wrap it in foil…Stick it in the back of the fridge…Forget it’s there for a few days until I inevitably remember that it’s in there on Friday. Nuke it, gobble down a couple of slices, give myself food poisoning, and then I’ll, uh…” You smile as he turns to face you again. “I’ll see you back in the ER.”

--

“Does it bother you that they still call me that?”

“Call you what?” 

“Mrs. R.”

You catch the slight delay in his movement, the pause in raising his beer to his lips. His eyes stay set on the tv, and you watch the flash and flare of the screen's glow lighten and shade his face. For as long a day as he’s had, it should be easier to read his expression—or maybe you’re more out of practice than you realized.

But you know that he heard it. It’s not as if he can pretend that he didn’t hear Evans or Langdon say it. You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when they’d had though not for lack of trying. 

“Why would it bother me?” He finally asks.


“Because we’re not married anymore.”

“You change your name yet?” 

You turn back to the tv as Robby’s head turns. It’s your turn to fall silent, to take a sip from your beer. 

“It’s a lot of paperwork.” It’s the lamest of excuses. It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the entire truth, either. You hear Robby huff a soft laugh through his nose, and you can’t help the embarrassment that pulses through you. You push the feeling down, leaning forward and setting down your beer.

"You want that last slice?” You glance toward him and find his lips pursed. He wants to say no, but you’re positive he barely had anything to eat that day.

“You wanna split it?” You correct, already taking up a knife to cut it down the middle. 

“If you really want it, you can—”

“Oh, shut up and eat the slice, Robinavitch,” You lean back, holding it out and raising your own slice to your mouth. 

“Half slice.” 

“You’re way too particular for this late in the day. Did you get all hangry on the ducklings?” 

“...Not on the ducklings.” 

Your brows rose at the admission as you tore off a piece of the crust, popping it into your mouth. 

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked after a moment. 

“Nope.” 

Figures. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be wholly disappointed. But he’d come over, he’d changed your lightbulb. He’d stayed. Months of not seeing one another and now this. It felt like two steps forward and one step back…Though, for what it was worth, that was still one step forward. 

--  

You chalk it up to muscle memory. A late-night hazy wake up, an infomercial droning on the tv, and Robby's head in your lap. You manage to nudge him up, shut the television off, and find his hand to lead him to your bedroom. He doesn't gripe or grumble. His movements seem as automatic as he strips down to his underwear and climbs into bed with you, each on your own sides. 

You think, as you sink into the pillows, that you’re almost glad Robby is too tired to gripe or argue that he should be going back to his place. 

And you think, as sleep takes full hold of you, that you feel his hand curl around yours under the sheets. 

-- 

You wake up to the steady thump of Robby’s heart beneath your ear, and the rise and fall of his belly beneath your arm. You don’t open your eyes for a few moments—you don’t dare. You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close. 

For the last few months of your marriage, the two of you hadn’t slept in the same bed, and with the separation and divorce that had followed, your physical connection had ceased to exist.

The closest the two of you had gotten was when he’d bandaged your hand at the ER the day before. 

Of course, that same hand is now throbbing. 

You wince, wiggling the fingers a little and holding back a hiss of discomfort. Damn, you should’ve taken some Tylenol before you went to bed last night. You just hadn’t been thinking about it. You reluctantly push yourself up, sliding out of bed as gently as you can, wary of waking him.

You freeze as he shifts, watching him roll closer to the warmth you left behind and pressing his face into your pillow. You relax as he settles, and turn to your closet, sleepily fishing out your favorite hoodie and tugging it on over the PJs that you hardly remember changing into. 

--  

By the time you hear Robby coming down the hall, you have 500mg of Tylenol in your system, and coffee has nearly finished brewing. You glance back in his direction as he comes into the kitchen. You’re chagrined (but not surprised) to find him fully clothed. 

“Morning,” You greet. His answer is to take two mugs down from the cabinet, setting them by your wrist on the counter. 

“Sleep okay?” You prod. Robby leans against the counter beside you, and you glance up, watching him scrub his hand across his eyes. 

“Yeah,” He finally admits. “Thanks for letting me crash.” 

“Sure,” You shrug. “My fault, anyway. I talked you into staying for pizza.” You pick up the coffee pot, filling both mugs. Robby mutters his thanks as he takes one up, drawing in a sip. You let the silence settle back in, but you can only handle it for so long: “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“About what?” 

“About whatever it is that’s been fucking with your sleep lately.” 

“Do you wanna talk about why you haven’t changed your name yet?”

It catches you off-guard, and you whirl around to face him. 

“I told you, it’s a shitton of paper work—”

“If you’d started when we filed for divorce, it would be done by now.” 

“Well if it bothers you that much, why didn’t you fucking say so last night?” 

“I didn’t say it bothered me, I just find it weird—”

“It isn’t that weird—And how the fuck did we get on to me? We’re supposed to be talking about you.” 

“We don’t have to talk about me.” 

“Yeah, we fucking do. Something is off with you, Michael. You’re not sleeping, you’re snapping at people—I get that you’re under pressure—”

“You don’t get it.” 

“Alright, maybe I don’t know how it feels, but I can see how much it’s fucking messing with you—”

“Forget it—”

“Mikey, c’mon, just talk to me—”

“Let it go!” 

The snap and bark of his voice startles you, and you unthinkingly take a couple of steps back. You become more aware of the way your face is crowding with heat, your heart pounding in your chest. You turn away from him, shoving your hands in your pockets and curling your good hand into a fist. You’re not gonna cry, not when he’s right fucking there. He’s going to leave, anyway. 

You hear him push out a weary sigh, chased by the sound of him putting the coffee mug down. He’s going to put his hoodie on and just fucking go—

“Hey.” His hands curl around your shoulders, and he sighs again as you shrug him off. You step away, turning back to your mug and taking it up. Maybe you can take a big gulp and pretend that your eyes are tearing because the coffee’s so hot. 

You feel the heat of him as he crowds up behind you, his hands landing on the counter and caging you in. You open your mouth to tell him to back off, but fall silent as he gently nuzzles his temple. 

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

“And I know you’re a closed book, so why do I fucking bother.”

Robby inches closer, curling his arms around your middle. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to take this stuff on.”

“I don’t feel like I have to, Michael.” You turn in his arms, meeting his eyes despite the tears lingering in yours. “I’ve only ever asked because I want to, because I’m not okay if you’re not okay.” Your throat grows tight as you admit it, and you blink rapidly as more tears well up. You drop your chin, closing your eyes as you shake your head, fighting to steady yourself. 

Robby lifts a hand to cup your chin, thumb sweeping tenderly over the apple of your cheek as he tips your head up. You sniffle as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours.

“You shouldn’t still worry like this.” 

“I know.” 

Robby tips his head, nose gently nuzzling against yours. You can’t help but chase the touch, a few tears escaping and slipping down your cheeks. You each go still as your lips brush, then stop just a hair’s breadth from one another’s. Robby’s breath puffs warmly across your mouth, and you feel his chin tip up just a touch more. 

“Don’t,” You breathe, then hurry to explain—”Don’t do this if you’re just trying to fix it.”  

For a few harrowing moments, neither of you move; you hardly breathe. And then Robby’s hand lifts to cup your other cheek, thumbs gently disrupting the few tear tracks. He brushes tender kisses to your closed eyelids before his mouth descends tenderly on yours. You shiver, curling your hand in the fabric of his shirt and drawing him closer, until he’s pressing you fully against the counter. Your lips part and your tongue teases gently against his, his beard brushing pleasantly against your skin. 

The kiss breaks slowly, with Robby stealing another two languid pecks before resting his forehead back against yours, his hands smoothing over your shoulders again, fingers rubbing across the familiar fabric. 

"...Couldn't find that last hoodie, huh?" He asks knowingly. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking into a guilty grin.

"Misplaced it."

Robby hums knowingly before he dips his head, giving you another tender kiss.

"How's that hand feeling?"

You grunt, raising it and wiggling your fingers.

"Better now. Hurt like a bitch when I woke up, so I took some Tylenol."

"Good." Another peck before he draws away, and you reluctantly let him go. You expect him to head into the front hall, to grab his backpack. But he goes into the living room, taking up the stepladder. You frown, straightening up.

"Where are you going with that?"

"To check the other bulbs."

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry