savemesteeb

[savemesteeb]

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐞 — 𝐚.𝐜.

summary: you take care of lena, clean up around the house, and always leave dinner for him when he gets home late. and among constant and never-ending change, you are andrew's northern star.

pairing: andrew cody x babysitter!reader

word count: 13.3k

warnings: read carefully! age-gap dynamics, reader is said to have recently graduated college, i basically ignore anything from the show that wouldn't make sense in my perfect little world. smut—arm humping, oral sex, penetration, the tiniest bit of breeding if you squint real hard.

author's note: and here she is. also known as shea wants to write about doing things to pope's arms.

you used to complain if someone called you their nanny. you’re just a babysitter. this would not—could not—be your full time job. it’s just so demanding. you love the kids you take care of but the idea of saying that you’re a nanny makes it a little more real. like you wouldn’t be able to get out of this, despite how hard you’re trying.

you just don’t want to be a babysitter forever. 

but the first time mister cody introduces you as lena’s nanny, you don’t think you mind it all that much. 

babysitters are temporary—girls in high school looking for money to pay for coffee and nail appointments, covering date-nights and overtime at the office.

nannies are permanent—it’s a career. you’re responsible for the kid pretty much twenty-four hours a day. kids with nannies are rich, mom and dad too busy at work to be at home. from the little you deduced, nannies buy groceries and make three meals. they go to doctor’s appointments and organize play-dates with other nannies. 

you do some of those things for lena. her uncle tries to take her and pick her up from school when he can, and when he calls to tell you that he won’t be able to make it every now and then, he sounds so sorry about it, you don’t know what you can do to reassure him that it’s okay. lena’s young, she doesn’t care about stuff like that so deeply. and she likes you, which helps matters a lot.

you had finished the last few classes you needed to graduate a couple months ago. before that, you’d have to tell mister cody no, i’m sorry occasionally, something that you really didn’t like doing. he seemed like he had enough going on without the babysitter cancelling.

and besides, after you had told him that your classes were done, you were supposed to tell him that you would be looking for a real job, something with your degree, that he should start looking for a real nanny for lena. you were supposed to politely, yet firmly allude to how you’d been scrambling with classes, finishing assignments in the car in between picking up his niece and after she’d fallen asleep at night. how you missed an important lecture because the pediatrician’s office was running behind an hour and lena’s grandmother wasn’t available to take her.

instead, the second you had met his eyes (which were terribly green and incredibly sad), you had folded, and told him you’d be available whenever he needed. and you thought maybe that would garner you a smile—and you’d been wrong. he had looked your way for about five seconds, muttered thank you, and walked away. 

and maybe if you could resist those terribly green and incredibly sad eyes, you wouldn’t have wound up as a full-time nanny. life could always be worse—that’s the motto you’ve grown up with. there are so many worse things in oceanside than spending every day in a pretty house by the beach and taking care of a quiet little girl. 

if not anything else, you could start making payments on your student loans, if you wanted. mister cody paid you in cash, and he paid you way too much, probably his way of apologizing for how much you had stepped up in the last couple months. but again, you didn’t really mind anymore. maybe if it was another family, you would care more about finding a real job.

but you like lena. you like her uncle, too, you think, as much as you can like a man who is virtually silent and stares at you like he’s boring into your soul when you’re making dinner. you like him because he’s good with her, you can always tell he’s trying his absolute best, his hardest with her. (it doesn’t help that he’s cute—cute in the way that strays are, like you wish you could fix everything wrong with him and reassure him that he’s doing enough, and tell him to stop staring and just come tell you what he’s thinking instead.) 

the first couple months were the hardest. lena wasn’t eating, wasn’t sleeping. she hated school, hated all the things she had still cared for when her dad was alive. you’d tried bribing her with trips to the beach, the playground, ice cream with extra fudge and sprinkles. all the things that kids liked. but she wasn’t just a normal kid—and it seemed that you and her uncle were the only ones who understood this. 

you didn’t realize you had such a maternal instinct inside of you. maybe it’s because the other kids you’d babysat in your life had been brats, sticky handed toddlers going through the terrible twos and making your life hell while you were trying to pass your classes. lena is the opposite. 

she’s the saddest child you’ve ever met, and you know nothing that you or her uncle do is going to fix it overnight.

but progress comes in stages. the first step had been getting her to want to eat again. you’d sat on the couch next to her, watching a nature documentary that her uncle had probably left playing on the tv.

(he is a whole other can of worms—he doesn’t sleep or eat that much either, and one time you had come in really early to get some work done before getting her to school. he’d been awake, watching something just like this, at five-thirty in the morning. and when you’d asked him when he’d gotten up, he had shrugged, and murmured something that sounded suspiciously close to i don’t sleep. that’s your next mission, because you can only focus on one at a time.)

“you hungry, sweetie?” you didn’t want to be pushy. she wouldn’t like that, would only retreat further into herself. you wanted her to come to you when she was ready to eat. lena shook her head and focused back on the television. “okay. well, if you get hungry later, i’ll eat with you.”

lena says okay in her quiet voice, holding onto a stuffed animal and staring ahead. you wait a couple of hours—there’s always something to do in the house. you clean up, wiping counters and sweeping while she stays on the couch. you check in every now and then to make sure she didn’t fall asleep. 

and then, thirty minutes before her new bedtime, she comes and sits on the chair by the dining table while you’re wiping it down.

“can we get pizza?” she asks, and you nod right away.

“of course we can. what kind do you want?”

another thirty minutes later, the pizza’s there, and you’re both eating slices of pepperoni and spinach. you’ve formulated your plan for the rest of the night—her uncle’s still not home, which means you can crash on the couch or stay awake. you decide to stay awake, since there’s no follow up text from him. if he wasn’t going to come home tonight, you’d expect the standard, concise message; won’t be back tonight. is lena okay? 

and you’re stupid, because you think it’s sweet that he always asks if she’s okay. like you wouldn’t call him the second something went wrong, like he doesn’t believe that you’d trust him with that information before anyone else. but there’s no texts tonight from the contact you’d saved as andrew cody (lena’s uncle). 

lena’s finishing her last slice and you’re cleaning up when you hear it—the rumble of his truck pulling up to the house. then a minute later, footsteps and the front door opening.

“what’s all this?” he asks, and you have to remember to find the words. 

you don’t know why that happens when he comes around—you’re usually great with dads. maybe it’s because he looks tired, more tired than usual, at least. his copper curls are messed up, like he’s been running a hand through his hair all night. lena’s uncle is always stiff, but it seems worse today, somehow.

(another thought seeps in, an uninvited guest in your mind, about how you’d really like to take care of him. he just needs some sleep, a little peace of mind. that’s it. you’re still trying to figure out the best way to give it to him.)

“we got pizza, uncle pope,” lena fills in, setting down the last piece of crust you knew she wouldn’t finish. 

“there should be enough for you,” you add, smiling at him. he doesn’t smile back, but you’re used to that at this point. and you can tell what’s about to come. “lena, can you go brush your teeth and get your pajamas on for me?” 

she nods and climbs off the chair, running into her room. 

“it’s past her bedtime,” he starts, taking a few steps closer to you. “and pizza for dinner-”

you interrupt him, even though you probably shouldn’t. you close up the box, setting it on the island and you go back to wipe the table.

“she’s not eating, mister cody,” you put the paper towel down, getting your bearings in order to face him, make the dreaded, never-ending eye-contact. “when kids don’t eat you have to meet them halfway. i thought this was better than her going to bed without eating at all.” 

he keeps looking at you. you think you should be a little nervous, but you don’t get like that anymore. flustered, sure, but not nervous—lena’s uncle is just kind of a starer, and you’ve gotten used to it by now. 

“i’m sorry. i’ll run it by you next time, i promise. i just wanted her to eat something.” he’s silent for a while, like he’s processing what you said. 

“yeah. okay. thanks.” 

you smile again, a small one. the kitchen’s clean now, or at least as clean as you can get it. you’re sure that when you’re back in the morning, it’ll be spotless, which you can only assume is one of mister cody’s nocturnal activities. you have a routine before leaving—you say goodnight to lena, make sure you didn’t leave anything behind, and tell her uncle you’ll see him in the morning.

he doesn’t normally say anything back, maybe a grunt of acknowledgement. so you’re surprised tonight, when you grab your bag and your keys and hear—

“have a good night.” 

“you too, mister cody.” 

+

it took time, but you’ve gotten her schedule better. she eats dinner with you now, whatever semi-healthy thing you can think of with the stuff in the pantry and the groceries you picked up while she’s at school. her uncle leaves money for that sort of thing—an envelope filled with hundred dollar bills. it’s labeled lena’s babysitter in stiff, neat handwriting and he told you to use it for copays and ice-cream and anything else that lena needs. but it feels wrong to use his money when he already overpays you, so you just use your own. 

you thought he might not have noticed that the envelope isn’t getting any thinner, until one morning when you arrive and see him counting the notes in it with his head down. now you’re the one staring—watching his arm flex and the muscles move as he flips through the bills. he wears the same kind of shirts every day, short sleeve button-ups, and every day, you are subject to watch his forearms while he does whatever he does. it’s a cruel and unusual punishment.

the worst had been when you needed a box down from the cabinet, the one with the muffin tins and cookie cutters. he had appeared behind you and taken it down for you in seconds, carrying it to the kitchen for you. you had been staring then too, uncomfortable and slack-jawed and wondering why his arms had your mouth dry. (you know the answer, it’s just better to live in denial, you think.)

“good morning, mister cody.” you set your bag down on the sofa, heading inside to get started on breakfast. you open the fridge, taking out a carton of eggs and orange juice and avoiding looking right at him. you don’t need to be flustered before seven-thirty am.

“you haven’t been using this money,” he states. you wish you could figure out what his tone means—there’s no inflections, no emotion simmering behind the words. it’s just cut and dry, stating a fact.

“well, i-” you turn back and look up from the stove and your words die on your tongue. he’s standing up, looking right at you, a fist full of cash like he’s going to make you use it one way or another. a single vein running through his arms tenses. your gaze flickers from it to his eyes quickly, looking at you like he wants you to start listening to him.

“i, um, i had enough.”

“you should use it.”

“but you already gave me a lot, so i-”

“i want you to use it.” the way he says it, it’s not a request. 

“right. i-i will. is lena awake?”

“she’s getting ready.”

“great. thank you.” you turn back to the eggs with a flushed face. and even though you’re not facing him anymore, you can tell he’s still staring at you. 

“i might not be back tonight.” you turn around and meet his eyes again. terribly green, incredibly sad. you’re too far now to see the brown, but you know it’s there. “i…i’ve got some work. it’ll be late, if i do.”

“thank you for the heads up. i, uh, i’ll crash on the couch then.” you think he might say something else, but you’re not sure. it’s silent for a moment, while you get the eggs onto a plate and hurry into the hallway to get lena.

she comes out first, carrying her backpack. you follow with her hairbrush for once she’s done eating, getting her already packed lunch out from the fridge to sort into her bag. there’s a whole routine that you had learned when you first started babysitting her, and now it’s just a way of life. filling up her water bottle, checking the calendar on the fridge to make sure there’s nothing you’re missing, pulling her jacket from the closet if it’s cold outside.

you get the bottle out, glancing back at her uncle. he’s leaning in while lena takes a bite of the eggs, probably telling her that he won’t be home, and to have a good day, and all the other things you’re sure he says to her. then they hug, and you feel like you’re intruding.

he picks up his keys, which rest in the small blue bowl by the door where yours sit too. and without thinking, you call out after him.

“have a good day at work.” he doesn’t say anything back, but he looks at you before he leaves. you don’t even know what he does for work.

“ready for school?” lena shakes her head no like always.

+

the days are long, but the weeks are short. you bring lena to school, but they have a half-day, so there’s no point in going home for the day if you need to be back in a couple of hours. so you head back to mister cody’s place, focusing your attention on cleaning the remnants from breakfast. you check the fridge, making note of how much fruit and milk you have left, scribbling onto a piece of paper for later. and for once, you listen to him, taking a single bill out of the envelope and putting it into your wallet. there’s other hundred dollar bills in there too, ones you need to deposit.

it hasn’t been making sense lately. a lot of nannies live with their families because it avoids the wastefulness of paying rent for an apartment you hardly ever visit. you pay internet and electric for a one-bedroom that’s empty the entire day. and now that you’re done with classes, you don’t even need to work on anything late at night or even at lena’s house. you carry around a book with you, and you think you’ve even left a couple on the coffee table, just for the future. 

you don’t know why you still have your apartment. well, you know why—mister cody has never mentioned you moving in. and he probably never will, because he doesn’t want you to. but it just doesn’t make sense the more you think about it. you show up between six and seven and sometimes you don’t go home until ten. sometimes you don’t go home at all.

after making your list, you rack your head of things you can do to occupy lena’s time today. the library has a weekly reading, and there’ll be other kids there. you like to pick things so she can get some company from kids her age, so she’s not only stuck with you and her uncle all the time. 

closer to when school gets out, you get in the car, bringing in your emergency bag with a change of clothes and your toothbrush since you’ll be staying the night. it’s not an entirely uncommon occurrence, which is why the bag, and a couple others like it, is always ready to go. you go to the bank first, depositing everything except the single hundred-dollar bill you took today. then you drive by the park, see if they’re having any of those pet-therapy sessions today. and then finally school to pick up lena.

the rest of the day goes how you planned. you forget how exhausting it is keeping a little kid entertained for hours on end, unsure of exactly what her uncle pope and his brothers do with her sometimes, when you struggle to fill up a couple of extra hours. the grocery store—where you splurge and buy ingredients to make stove-top smores because lena asks and you’ll take your wins where you can get them—then the library, where you take out a couple of books for lena to read at home and smile when she’s talking with some of the other girls there, then the playground for an hour, before home for dinner.

you make spaghetti while she finishes her homework, and review her homework while she changes into pajamas. and then it’s time for the routine she loves so much, just like her uncle, a nature documentary about penguins while you toast the marshmallows on a fork. 

an hour later, lena’s asleep in bed, and you’re scrubbing hardened chocolate off the counter next to the stove. you don’t want more work for her uncle when he’s back, and you’ve learned lena’s a heavy sleeper, so you get to cleaning. it’s not like, as pathetic as the thought is, you have anything better to do. 

and then about two hours after that, it’s eleven-thirty. it’s right around the latest that mister cody has ever come home, so you’re pretty sure he won’t be back tonight. 

the only thing you have to look forward to in your apartment is the shower you take after a long day. you’ll have to make do with the shower inside the room where mister cody sleeps, since lena’s is close to her room and filled with products for an eight year old, and at the very least, you need adult shampoo and soap. 

the room is bare—you would have guessed it’s a guest room if you didn’t know better. you’re not nosy, but you look around, trying to see if there’s anything there that makes the room her uncle’s. you know there’s still another bedroom, the one her parents used to share, since lena sometimes goes in there when she can’t sleep. so this was a guest room, and now it’s mister cody’s, and now you’re lurking in it.

besides for a closet full of clean-pressed button up shirts and organized shoes, you can’t discern anything that makes this room his. there’s not a single thing out of place, from the garden-variety decor that someone else had picked to the artwork to the sheets. the bathroom is more of the same, the entire place having that lemon-cleaner smell to it. 

you turn the water on and strip, trying to avoid thinking about how you’ll be sleeping on the couch after this. and even inside the shower, you stare at the two-in-one shampoo bottle and the old spice body wash—old spice. who would have thought?—like you can’t believe what you’re looking at. you inhale the scent for longer than you need to. wrap yourself in a clean towel that doesn’t belong to you. brush your teeth with his spearmint toothpaste. and then you open your overnight bag, and find nothing but sundresses and bathing suits.

it’s past midnight, and you’ve grabbed the wrong bag. you need to get up in about six and a half hours to get lena ready for school, and you’re not positive you have the correct bag in the back of your car. 

hesitantly, you open one of the dresser drawers. there’s black and white t-shirts folded precisely, tucked in evenly. one drawer up there’s folded socks and boxers. 

you chew on your cheek. he did say that he won’t be home tonight. there’s no way he would know you took anything if you ran a load of laundry as soon as you woke up and folded it after morning drop-off. he might not even be home until the afternoon or evening, for all you know.

your tiredness makes the decision for you. the couch isn’t that comfortable, and you refuse to sleep in the shirt and jean skirt you spent all day in. you take a white shirt and black boxers, and then sneak back in for a pair of black socks because the living room is cold at night. and then you set your alarm, turn on another documentary—this one about hummingbirds, wrap yourself in the throw blanket on the couch, and close your eyes. 

andrew comes home at quarter to three. it would have been a lot sooner—he doesn’t like leaving you alone here at night with lena if he can avoid it—but he doesn’t always have control over it. a bullet had grazed deran and he’d spent two hours cleaning up that mess, and then they had to organize their splits before leaving. he had to make sure to stay for that—he needs the cash to pay you, rent for baz’s place, money to put into lena’s savings account. 

but he hates leaving you alone in the apartment with lena. not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he knows now it’s not safe, not without him there. he likes to get you home early but it’s rarely the case, and then he feels like he should pay you extra since he’s making you drive home alone in the dark.

telling you to stay is a better option. you can sleep in his room—it’s not like he’s going to sleep in there anyways. but he doesn’t say that, doesn’t need the nanny thinking there’s something wrong with him too. so he settles for telling you to stay the night, and letting you decide where you’ll sleep. 

you always pick the couch. and sometimes, he’s not back early enough, sometimes you’re already up making breakfast or gone out for the day with lena by the time he’s back.

 but tonight, you’re asleep on the couch. he sets down the bag with the cash on the couch, hovering over you. the television is still on, stuck on a are you still watching? screen, covering up a photo of some birds. a breath leaves him when he realizes you’re watching what he always watches. you’re knocked out—he can tell since the front door opening didn’t wake you like it sometimes does. you’ve kicked away the blanket you usually use, and he thinks for a second he should just cover you up and let you sleep.

but he doesn’t. he stands over you, staring at your sleeping form. he doesn’t like it—how pretty you are when you sleep. it’s a distraction that he can’t escape, knows that the next time he closes his eyes, he’ll think of you. that the next time he sits on this couch, he’ll be able to smell your skin. you snore softly, chest rising and falling evenly. 

and then he notices it—the plain shirt, black socks with a familiar logo. are those his boxers? and now he definitely can’t look away. he puts the pieces together—your hair is wet, meaning you must have showered and then put on his clothes before coming back out here. if you were going to do all of that, why didn’t you just sleep in his room?

yes, pope decides, he needs you to sleep in his bed. he needs the couch anyways, since he won’t be sleeping, so he might as well bring you inside. 

he lifts you carefully, not wanting to stir you accidentally. his shirt is a little big on you, hanging off your shoulder. you stay sound asleep the entire short walk to his bedroom, not stirring even when he sets you down. you must have been really tired, but that makes sense, given the fact that you’ve been out all day with lena.

he thought about sticking a tracker on your car, but the first time he was taking care of lena, after baz, you had shared your phone’s location with him so he could keep track. you had offered it, voluntarily, saying something about how that’s common with babysitters now, and that you never go anywhere without your phone so he won’t have to worry about you leaving it at home.

you thought reassuring him that he would always have lena’s location in his phone would make him feel better. and maybe it had, but he’d never mentioned it again after that day, never brought up if he actually checked it or not.

(it’s not like you would know if he was using it, it doesn’t work like that. deran had explained it to him.) he did check it, pretty frequently, actually. he checked it after you’d leave when he got home, after lena was asleep. he’d watch your little circle drive home and pull into the parking lot of your apartment complex. it wasn’t as bad of an area as it could be, but it wasn’t that safe either. he liked to check it every now and then too, middle of the night, saturday evenings when he was home with lena and you got to leave early or had the day off.

he assumed, somehow, that you’d be in bars or parties at your college, maybe. but when he looks at your location late at night, you’re always at home. he checks other times too—but he’s just trying to keep you safe. (that’s what he tells himself—that finding another babysitter than lena liked and that he trusted would be a hassle. he needs to keep you safe.)

but it doesn’t seem like you like any of that stuff. he’s never seen you drink the beer in the fridge, though you offer one to him every now and then. you’ve met smurf and deran and craig before, like when you’d go to drop off lena before one of your classes, back before you had finished school.

you were smart—he knew that much. that was the kind of good example he needed around lena, someone who had gone through school and finished. he didn’t know what your degree was in, but it must’ve been something smart, something important. you were always typing on your computer and reading books. whatever it is that you studied, he wants someone in lena’s life that can help her with that stuff, stuff he doesn’t know much about, when it’s time.

you were smart enough to turn down every joint or bump that craig offered. you never accepted a drink from smurf that didn’t come from a can that you opened yourself. and baz used to tell him that you were just a local college kid, that you didn’t have any family nearby or anyone to occupy your time, really. 

it didn’t make sense—pretty girl like you. he would have thought you had a boyfriend, but if you do, you’ve never brought him around. and if he didn’t live with you or live at that coffee shop you liked that was down the street from your apartment, then he didn’t know if you even had one. maybe he shouldn’t spend any time thinking about your hypothetical boyfriend, but that’s just what comes up sometimes when he thinks about you for too long. like right now.

you look peaceful lying in his bed. your eyes flutter quickly like you’re having a dream, and he sits on the bed next to you, watching you sleep. your hair falls across your face, and his finger twitches. he almost moves his hand to brush the hair away, but he decides not to, settling for just watching you for another minute or two. 

the bed creaks slightly when he gets up. no one uses it much, so it’s a little weary. he doesn’t think the noise is anything, but your eyes blink open. the door’s open, light from the living room illuminating a sliver of the space.

he thinks he should get out before you can ask any questions, but he doesn’t, hovering over the bed while you look around. 

“andrew?” and god if it doesn’t sound different coming from your lips. you’re too tired to remember that you usually stick with mister cody, which is so formal it hurts. it sounds real, sincere, not filled with fear or anger or anything else. you haven’t even said anything and he thinks he’s losing his mind. 

it’s just the way you say it. there’s no question attached, no demand, no sacrifice. just you, making sure it’s him. 

“that couch is bad for your back,” he says. 

he knows it is, the couple times he tried to lay down and stare at the ceiling. he’s always sore, muscles screaming and joints aching but he knows how to ignore it. he doesn’t think you should start feeling like that. feels angry at the very idea that you would be sore after spending a night on the couch, taking care of his niece, looking after baz’s house. doing all the things that he’s too busy to do.

you take care of things. you do a good job too—figuring out how to get lena to eat and sleep again. making sure her routine doesn’t go awry just because he’s gone on a job all day. you remember things that he doesn’t even know about—activities with kids after school and how the school has soccer practice starting soon. you think a couple steps ahead when it comes to lena, and sometimes, he doesn’t think you see it as a job. 

like when you make enough breakfast for the three of you. leave dinner on a plate inside the microwave with a note on the counter. when you clean like it’s your house, make sure things stay in the place they’re supposed to, which is so much harder when there’s a kid around. he’s not stupid—it’s why he gives you so much money each week, shoves an envelope into your hand despite your protests. why the first thing he does after he gets his cut is make sure you get yours. 

and as hard as the thought is to swallow, he doesn’t think he could do all of this without you. 

“mmh-” you agree, making a soft noise. he wishes he could engrain it into his brain and replay it whenever he wants. “i thought you don’t sleep?” you ask, and he sees your lips turn up into a smile. he wishes the lights were on.

“i try,” he replies, realizing that he’s still hovering over you. he wonders why you weren’t scared the moment you woke up. “sometimes. i try.” 

“do you wanna try now?” you ask, whispering. and he goes silent—because what is he supposed to say that? 

you reach out in the dark for his hand, and he flinches, taking it back. but you don’t retreat, reaching out again until you’re grasping his fingers. 

“try for a couple hours. i set an alarm,” you say, and the way you say it, it doesn’t sound like a bad idea. you have a way of convincing him, or maybe it’s just late and you’re tired, and your sleepy voice isn’t helping matters. nor does the fact that you don’t seem even remotely concerned that you’re inviting him to come sleep on the bed next to you.

you sit up a little, and he regrets even staying as long as he did. you need your sleep, unlike him. you’re still holding onto his hand, and your skin is warm on his. it couldn’t really be, but it feels like it’s burning his, where your palm rests against his, where your fingers twist with his. 

“hey,” you start, slow and soft. “don’t think about it. just sleep for a little.” 

“yeah,” he says. “okay. a little.”

you move over, and when he lays down—back straight against the mattress, staring up at the ceiling—it’s warm where your body was resting. you’re still holding onto his hand, not letting go. your grip is loose enough that he could free his hand easily, and even if it wasn’t, he could overpower you if he wanted.

but he doesn’t want to. and somewhere between your slow breaths and how you rub his knuckles, running your soft skin against dozens of old scars—because that’s his punching hand—andrew falls asleep.

you can hear it, his breaths getting steady, evening out. your hands stay together in the middle of the bed, between you, and you wonder for a split second how you’re going to deal with this in the morning, how you’ll make sense of this in daylight. the semblance of a professional relationship you had maintained this entire time might turn into dust in a couple hours. and then you breathe in andrew’s comforting scent, clean linen and saltwater, and fall back asleep.

the best thing about this house is the light and the waves. golden rays pour in through the half-way open blinds and you can hear the ocean crashing against the rocks in the distance. it’s the perfect way to wake up, even if it is six-thirty and your alarm is going off in the living room, where your phone must be.

you need to get up. you don’t want lena to wake up from the noise, even though you know she won’t—that girl can sleep through anything. it’s a problem for when she’s older, when she goes to college and there’s no one besides a roommate to make sure she doesn’t miss class. even half-asleep, you smile thinking about it.

and somehow, when you look on the other side of the bed, it hits you that it wasn’t a dream. andrew is asleep next to you, still in whatever clothes he was wearing throughout the day. a short sleeved button up and pants. you’re surprised that he didn’t fall asleep with his shoes on. 

he looks very calm when he sleeps. the lines of tension on his forehead and around his eyes are soft when he’s like this, his hair a mess and cheek smushed against the pillow, against your hand.

he’s still holding your hand. it makes a certain kind of warmth rain all over you, flooding you from inside out. he’s on top of the covers and you’re under the throw blanket, and you don’t remember doing that, which means that he did.

an exhausted, half-asleep andrew cody covered you up before he fell asleep on top of the covers. he fell asleep holding your hand and your chest hurts because he won’t wake up holding it still, since you need to go turn that stupid alarm off. 

he never sleeps, you know this. he’s never been asleep when you show up early, never heading to bed when you leave for the day. this bed is pretty much always made, sheets never rustled and not a pillow out of place because no one sleeps here. you hope you can start changing that.

you don’t want to pull your hand away from him. it’s so simple, so sweet that you can’t bring yourself to do it. that this whole time, andrew just needed someone to sleep beside him. you rest your head back on the pillow, continue staring, creepy as it is. you’ve never been able to study him like this before, have never been close enough. 

the hand holding onto yours is softer than you’d imagined. the veins running through his forearm are thick and tense, even when he’s like this. you think it might be from how tightly he’s holding onto your hand, like even in his sleep he’s worried he might lose you somehow. 

andrew cody has freckles—all across his arms and on his hands too. there’s a splatter of them across his nose and cheeks, places where he must have gotten burnt as a kid, maybe when he was lena’s age. the tips of his ears flush pink while he sleeps, and he snores. all things that make you smile, things that are so personal you feel your face getting warm, like you shouldn’t have access to that information. 

you need to turn that god-damn alarm off, before it wakes him up. you think you’d rather die than disrupt the few hours of peaceful sleep he’s getting right now. so you wriggle your hand, trying to find the best way to get it out of his grip and make sure you don’t wake him in the process. nothing’s working, even in his sleep he’s thrice as strong as you. the generic alarm tone keeps going in the background.

you lean in, pressing a chaste kiss to andrew’s cheek, whispering that you promise to be right back. and for a split second he moves around, and you regain control of your tingling hand.

the bed creaks a little when you get up, but you do it slowly so it’s not too loud. walk to the couch as fast as your bare feet will take you, looking down and realizing you’re still in andrew’s socks.

(his shirt and boxers too, but you’re choosing to ignore that for now. if someone walked in through the front door in this moment, it would look like you and him were something other than a guardian and babysitter. you think you’d actually enjoy trying to see him explain to his brothers why you’re in his clothes head to toe. you might like this more than you think you did.)

you can hear the ocean again once the alarm is turned off. it’s a beautiful thing to wake up too, you think, pulling open the curtains and looking outside on the street. people are on runs, doing yoga on the beach, watching the sunrise with their dogs.

and inside, andrew cody is sound asleep.

the first part of your day is waking up lena. she grumbles and takes five, sometimes ten, minutes to get up after you go in there. in that time, you set out clothes for her and then head back to the kitchen. you have a habit of making sure her backpack has everything—the colorful pens she’s always telling you about and yesterday’s homework. if she forgot something at home, the school would call andrew, and then andrew would call you, and you hate adding more work to his life. so, you make sure it’s all there before she leaves.

then breakfast—eggs and toast if you’re running late, pancakes if you got there early. it’s seeming like a pancake sort of day.

you make the batter and then pull out the bag of chocolate chips and head back to lena’s room. you use the semi-sweet morsels as an incentive to get her up, which works like a charm. while she’s changing and brushing her teeth, you make three pancakes. two for lena, and the first one you peeled that’s never quite as good is for you. 

lena comes to the table to eat her pancakes, and you tell her to stay just a little quieter than usual because her uncle pope is still sleeping.

“really?” she asks, and you feel something inside of you twist in discomfort. as if you had imagined before you met him, maybe he was sleeping, that maybe this was something recent. you smile at lena.

“yeah, sweetie, really.” 

you bring lena to school, come back home, and check on andrew—who is still sleeping. you cover him up with the blanket you’d slept under and then make three more pancakes and some scrambled eggs. there’s no bacon in the house or you would have made that too.

you scribble it on the grocery list and then head back inside the bedroom, carefully perching yourself on the edge of the bed and maybe a little too comfortable, too quick, run your fingers through his messy hair. he sighs against the pillow and it makes you smile immediately. you keep going, fingers not stopping until you see his eyes fluttering open. you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, though you don’t want to stop either. 

“i made breakfast,” you say quietly. andrew looks up at you, and then to your slept-in side of the bed. he moves, sitting up in the bed and you take back your hand tentatively. his hair is soft like you’d imagined.

 he wipes his face with his hands, rubbing at his eyes. and when he looks at you, you feel any prudence that once was inside you melt away. well-rested, sleepy andrew cody, waking up in the bed you shared last night, while you tell him about the pancakes you made for him. you couldn’t have imagined this, for some reason, which makes it feel all the more real. 

“what time is it?” he asks, in a gruff, sleepy voice.

“almost nine, i think.” he looks up at you quickly.

“lena?”

“i brought her to school already. you-you were sleeping. i didn’t want to wake you.” 

“when did you get up?” 

“six-thirty. my alarm. remember?” you do remember telling him about it before you fell asleep, one of the last things you had said in a conversation that feels like it was light-years ago. 

“yeah.” you know better than to expect anything right now. he’s always been quiet, sentences curt and expressions relatively blank. you’ve had a few hours to simmer in it—think about what’ll happen tomorrow and next week and what it means to sleep in the bed next to the man whose niece you babysit. he just woke up a few minutes ago.

“well, there’s pancakes. and eggs. there’s no bacon but i’ll go get some later-”

“did you eat?” you catch his eye. perched on the bed next to him, you can see more than just green. brown too, around his pupils. not nearly as sad as they had seemed yesterday. 

“yeah. i had one.” 

“just one?” you don’t have an answer for that, but unusually confident, you stand up. 

“i’ll have a bite of yours if you come eat with me.”

and though you couldn’t have imagined it last night, you end up leaning against the counter with andrew, splitting bites of chocolate-chip pancakes (yours drenched in syrup, his comparably dry as a bone), and luke-warm scrambled eggs. 

he washes the dishes, and you put them away. it’s incredibly domestic. 

“i’m sorry about your clothes,” you say, sliding a plate back into the cupboard. “um, i’ll wash everything today.” you had to bring it up at some point.

and then andrew turns to look at you. head to toe, he stares, gaze flicking up and down for what seems like eons. you don’t have a guess for why, maybe he’s trying to decide if he’ll accept your apology.

(he’s trying to memorize it, capture it like a picture in his brain, seal it up and hold onto it forever. how you look right now—his white shirt, with nothing underneath, which must be why he can see the outline of your breasts when you turn to put another dish away. his boxers, that you bunched up around your waist, his socks, one rolled up around your ankle and the other halfway up your calf. did you go to the school drop-off in his clothes, too?)

“and i can wash your jacket too, i’m sorry. it was kind of cold and i don’t know where my hoodie is. i-i’m sorry.”

he turns to look at you again. you seem worried, chewing on your cheek, waiting for his answer.

“don’t wash the jacket,” he says, and turns back to the sink. he doesn’t want it to stop smelling like you, but you don’t need to know that.

“yeah. sure. i won’t. sorry again, andrew.” 

his heart thuds in this chest at the realization that you might never go back to calling him mister cody. 

the two of you finish the dishes. he wipes up the counter while you put away lena’s things, and then he grabs his keys and puts on his shoes. you stand there watching, feeling awfully close to something like a wife watching her husband about to leave her for the day. and when you open your mouth, you can’t stop it from coming out.

“do you know when you’ll be back?”

“i’ll be here for dinner. can you pick up lena?” he doesn’t want to leave you, but there’s about ten texts and three missed calls on his phone that he needs to deal with. when he shrugs his jacket on, it does, in fact, smell like you. it might be enough to keep him calm the rest of the day.

“yeah, of course. well.. i’ll go start the laundry.” a vision of you peeling off your—his—clothes plagues his mind momentarily. “i’ll see you later?” you say, smiling hesitantly. 

and without thinking too much about it, andrew comes up close to you, leans in a little awkwardly, and kisses your forehead.

“i’ll see you later.” he leaves you there in his shirt and socks, blinking stupidly at the door. 

+

andrew does come back for dinner. you make an attempt at chicken parm at lena’s request, which really just turns out to be a sort of chicken parm-casserole situation, but lena likes it and the garlic bread tastes good, so you will call it a win for now.

while you’re simmering sauce and frying the cutlets, your mind flicks through everything you know about lena’s uncle. he’d never once been anything but nice to you—nice is one way to put it. polite is another. courteous, appropriate, reserved. 

one night you had been waiting for him so you could leave, and he’d come home with lena’s other uncles. you had introduced yourself and smiled nicely, and when you left and gotten into your car, it hadn’t turned on. you remember debating if you should go back inside or just call triple a and wait, but somehow, andrew had known something was wrong. he had come out a few minutes later, told you that he would drive you home while his brother stayed at home and that he’d be back in a minute. 

he’d dropped you off at home and told you he’d come get you in the morning. and you had slept anxiously that night, wondering what was wrong with your car and how much of a disturbance it would be to andrew to come get you. 

but after the two of you had dropped lena off at school—again, disturbingly domestic—he brought you back to the house. and without any words at all, he worked on your car while you sat and watched. you held a flashlight when he needed it, and he said it shouldn’t happen again when he was done. 

and you guess that’s the kind of man andrew cody is.

true to his word, andrew comes home in time to eat dinner with you and lena. after dinner, since it’s friday, you let her have a brownie and a half, the ones you’d made earlier that day. you have one too and you offer one to andrew, but he shakes his head, and you’re only mildly disappointed.

you haven’t been home, so you’re wearing one of the dresses from the wrong overnight bag you’d brought here. (your disappointment goes away when you notice that he hasn’t stopped staring at your exposed thighs since the minute he walked through the door.)

lena watches a cartoon before bed and you try to clean up the rest of the kitchen, but it’s hard, since andrew’s done most of the leg-work already. he tucks lena in and you gather your belongings—and true to your word, you did laundry and put his clothes back in the exact place you found them. 

(you did steal another pair of socks, but you hardly think he minds now. he kissed you goodbye this morning like he was actually your husband, or something, and every minute you spend in this house washing dishes and scrubbing counters next to him is not helping. he stares at the straps of your dress like he could slip them off your shoulder with his mind, like it’s the only thing he’s thinking about. you don’t mind.) 

“she’s out,” he says, coming back into the living room. you’re sitting on the couch, knees tucked to your chest while you change the channel to one of those documentaries you’ve been so fond of recently. you turn to smile at andrew and he comes and takes a seat next to you. 

“that’s good. i can go soon.” but you make no effort to move, staring at the screen in front of you. this one is about sea-life, shades of blue flooding ahead of you both. 

“you can stay,” andrew says, quiet like always. “if you want.” his voice is deep and gravelly, and the words he says scratch an itch somewhere deep inside of you, and the relief is visible on your body. you sink a little further into the sofa, knees falling next to andrew’s, thighs touching. 

“if that’s okay with you.” you whisper it, as if saying it too loudly might make the entire idea crack open and fall apart.

you two stay like that for a while. you don’t know when, but andrew swings an arm around your shoulder, and you rest your head against his chest, collapsing into his comfortable grip. you can hear his heart beating, can feel every breath he takes. his hand brushes the top of your shoulder every time you breath, and his other hand is clasped with yours. you watch schools of fish and pods of dolphins, and you think that any other night, you could fall asleep like this. 

“andrew?” you ask, still staring straight ahead. you brush your fingers over his knuckles like you had done last night, and you can feel his hand tense under your touch, until it finally relaxes. “do you want to go to bed?” 

“yeah, kid,” he says. “let’s go to bed.” 

and you’ll be damned if the domesticity doesn’t kick you in the stomach, sucker punch you in the chest and knock all the wind out of you. andrew turns the tv off, puts the remote back in the right place. and then he picks you up, and you make a quiet noise of surprise, underestimating him momentarily. you should know better.

one hand wraps around your legs and the other around your back, bridal-style (fitting, you think), and he sets you down on the creaky bed. you worry, how loud it’ll be and how you’ll have to be quiet but then andrew hovers over you, nothing but a tiny lamp brightening up the room, and you lose your train of thought.

“you sure you wanna do this?” he asks, that rough voice again. like you’ve thought about anything else for the last twenty-four hours. you nod quickly, bringing your hands to his chest, and then his arms, fingers tracing the sinewy veins and thrumming muscles up and down on both sides. his eyes shut while you do it, breaths getting heavy and deep. but you keep going—it’s only fair. you’ve only thought about it a million times. 

“does that feel good?” you whisper, and he lets out a quiet, almost painful groan.

“y-yes,” and you smile, fingers moving on their own while you lean in for the kiss you’ve been waiting for. 

andrew’s mouth is hot, and his kisses are like fire. as soon as your lips touch, he pins you all the way down, his body weight on top of yours. he kisses you the same way he had held your hand last night, the same way he held you on the couch, like you’ll slip away if he stops for even a second. your lips start to ache, but you moan quietly into his mouth, letting him swallow them while you still stroke his arms. one day, you’ll crawl into his lap and play with his hands until he’s sick of you, but today, you need to feel him. 

you can’t do much from your position, but you can wrap your legs around his waist, one hand going towards his chest to pull at his shirt. he takes it off in one motion, yanking the fabric at the back until it comes off, messing up his hair while he pulls it. your free hand goes there, running through his hair again. you use it to steady yourself, gaining leverage while he keeps kissing you like there’s nothing else for him to do. like his life depends on it. he thinks it just might.

“an-andrew,” you get out in gasps, moving your mouth away for a second. “i need to breathe,” you pant, but he doesn’t stop, kisses your cheek and your jaw and buries his face in your neck. you feel the skin there between his lips, then his teeth, and you grip hard on his arm while he keeps going. you want him to keep going, you want to see the marks he leaves tomorrow and every other day. you want everyone to look at you and know that he’s the one who left them. and you think your wish is about to come true.

your fingers let go of his arms and he groans against your skin—there’s no words but you know he didn’t want you to stop. instead you guide them to both sides of his face, staring up at him and then bringing him back in for another kiss. you think you’d be perfectly content to do this forever, that you could spend hours, days, weeks in bed kissing andrew cody. that you’d be stupid to ever leave this bed, leave this house, when there’s a man here who kisses you like each touch of your lips is a prayer, like he’s here to worship. 

he’s not hesitant anymore, not wondering if you’re going to pull away and walk out and ask to pretend this never happened. you keep your hands on his face, and then work down to his jaw and neck, clasping your arms around to keep him in place. 

and his mind is empty. he thinks he should know what to do with you, with your labile body flush against his, all the things he’s been thinking about for the last months, if not at least what he was thinking since this morning. you’re still in your little dress, one of the thin straps fallen over your shoulder and dangling on the skin of your upper arm. he pulls away and you whine, another noise he wishes he could capture somehow. it’s a melody, one he wants to keep hearing. 

you wish he hadn’t stopped the kiss, and you expect him to lean right back in after you both catch your breath, but he doesn’t. andrew’s hovering over you, eyes fixated on your shoulder, staring intently at the strap of your dress. 

“andrew?” you whisper, the hand on his neck rubbing the tense skin there, wondering if you could get your kiss back. “is something wrong?”

his lovely eyes flicker up to you, staring while you swallow and wait patiently. maybe you’d been too eager, maybe he was having regrets—after all, you’re the nanny and he’s the dad and maybe you’d been too presumptuous in assuming that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him—

“no. nothing’s wrong.” you sigh a tiny breath of relief, it comes out before you even notice. but andrew is nothing if not perceptive, and he wraps his hand around your back and lays you back on his bed. 

“why did you stop?” you question, flustered and embarrassed as the words come out, sounding like a spoiled child. but you suppose you had been spoiled these last few hours, getting everything you wanted—his hot touch, breathless kisses, the ability to finally see what the veins on his arms feel like under your palm. 

he doesn’t answer your question, just flicks his eyes back to your shoulder. and then he leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the end of your collarbone, tracing more kisses down through the length of your shoulder, stopping when he reaches the skimpy cotton of your dress. you take deep breaths, watching it happen in front of you. he repeats the same with the other side, pulls the strap down like he’s unfolding a gift, kisses your skin like you’re his present. and you think you are.

there’s nothing between you two except your thin dress, and you pull on it eagerly, trying to get it off, when his hands come and stop on top of yours.

“you’ll rip it,” andrew says, fingers going towards the zipper in the back, undoing it slowly.

“i don’t care,” breathless, eager, unable to wait even another minute to get what you want. he pulls the zipper all the down, your dress falling off as your shrug out of it. 

and you want another kiss, you want his touch, you want something, anything—but all you get is andrew staring at your naked body. and you think somehow this is worse than anything else, anticipation burning in your belly painfully. your thighs feel sticky and sore and your underwear is soaked through. and all he’s done is kiss you. 

“you’re perfect,” he says quietly, and you feel your entire face burn hot. you don’t think you’ve ever felt like this before—and you know how andrew is. he doesn’t lie, he doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. 

you tilt your head up, pressing your lips to his for a moment, a soft kiss in contrast to the ones from earlier.

“so are you,” and you kiss him again, smiling against his mouth. he feels it, though he doesn’t smile back. and when he pulls away, he looks down at you, naked and willing in his bed, smiling up at him and telling him he’s perfect, when you don’t even know half the monster he is. “you are,” you repeat, watching andrew’s eyes as he thinks a million thoughts in his head, carries a million burdens on his shoulders. “even if you don’t believe me. i think you’re perfect.” 

you feel cheesy saying it, though you know there isn’t another man in the world who needs to hear it more. you can hear him make a noise of protest, like he doesn’t think you mean it, and incredibly desperate for him to believe you, you sit up.

your hands go to sturdy shoulders while you try to get him to move, until he’s sitting back against the headboard and you can crawl onto his lap. he’s silent, watching you as you do it, exposed body flush against his skin, and yet, you don’t feel scared. you don’t feel embarrassed, or worried. you just want to make him feel good.

you start with a kiss to his jaw. andrew’s body tenses under yours, the slightest bit of contact making him groan and buck up, his hands tight on the soft skin of your waist to keep you both steady. you work your way down to his neck, pressing kisses everywhere in your path. 

“do you want to know what i’ve thought about you?” you ask, though you don’t wait for an answer. you kiss down his chest, stopping at the strong muscles of his chest and the old bruises and scars that cover some of them. “i thought that you’re so good at taking care of your family.” you move down to his abs, more kisses, hearing more noises from andrew that you never would have thought he would make for you. he takes shuddering breaths, not replying to you but grunting from pleasure while you keep going. “i thought that you’re so good to me. that i don’t have to worry since i know i can always come to you.” you think of your car and the money he gives you and how you woke up in bed despite falling asleep on the couch. 

finally you make your way to the waistband of his jeans, undoing the belt with surprisingly steady hands. he reaches down, his hands covering yours for a moment, but you stare up at him with your glassy eyes, not even pulling the entire belt off, just enough to get you what you need—what you want. and then you undo his zipper, tug down his boxers, and take his girthy length into your hand, stroking up and down while still staring up at him. 

“can i take care of you, andrew?” and you don’t realize how it must sound to him, his head thudding back onto the pillow. you press a gentle kiss to his leaking tip, both hands wrapped around his dick and stroking while you wait for your answer. 

“y-yes, yes-” and you don’t wait any longer, taking as much of andrew into your mouth as you can fit. you drive your mouth up and down, your hands twisting around the base, everything wet and warm and sticky from your spit. and you think you would do this forever, that you would do this everyday if you could hear the noises he makes and how his body takes the pleasure you give him. you gag around him, feeling his hand snake into your hair, pulling you off gently. you smile up at him, though you’re sure you look like a mess, hot tears running down your cheeks and lips shiny and wet. 

but you don’t stop—licking up and down until you bring him back into your mouth. you can feel how embarrassingly wet you are right now, can feel yourself leaking onto your thighs and the sheets, wanting friction as badly as you wanted to make andrew feel good right now. and then you hear it—andrew’s moan, louder than any of the other noises and full and from the chest. he bucks up into your mouth and you take it, ready to hear what he sounds like when he finishes, when he pulls you off of him. 

“andrew—” you whine, as though you were the one about to come. he pulls you up, naked bodies pushed against each other, and kisses you until you feel light-headed.

“not until you do,” he murmurs, and you feel dizzy all over again.

“but i’m not done,” still eager to kiss the rest of his body and tell him how good he is, until he starts to believe you. you wrangle out of his loose grip, knowing full well if he wanted to stop, he could have. he could pin you down and do whatever he wanted to you and you wouldn’t be able to fight him, a thought that makes you feel like you’re going to faint. but you resume quickly, starting at his shoulders—stopping to admire all the sunspots spattered there—and starting your journey again, working down his bicep and to his freckled forearm, the ones you stared at whenever the opportunity presented itself, the one you thought about all the time.

andrew doesn’t know about that, and you’re not sure you can bear to tell him. it feels too revealing, despite how you’re naked on top of him, your breasts pressed against him and wet pussy on top of his hard, leaking dick. but sure—that’s what you get nervous about. 

you stop and trace all the veins with your fingers, feeling him pulse underneath you, repeating on both sides. he’s got his head tilted back, soft groans filling the empty space between you as you keep going. if they’re this sensitive for him, you can only imagine what it would feel like for you, especially the one leading down to the middle of his wrist—and then the words slip out before you can realize you had said them out loud.

your face goes hot again. he looks up at you a little confused, and you have to stop yourself from collapsing and burying your face into the pillow next to you.

“andrew?” you ask, shy and embarrassed and yet not stopping yourself at all. 

“you… you like my arms?” he says, and you feel your face heat up.

but so many things have happened already that you couldn’t have even dreamt about twenty-four hours ago, so you think it’s worth a shot. (that’s a lie. you have dreamt about this, so many times that you’ve woken up in your bed covered in a cold sweat, that you’ve burned through a vibrator and ruined pillows imagining what it would be like to rub yourself against his veiny arms. you guess you’re about to find out). 

your fingers trace the length of them again.

“i like everything about you,” you say quietly, understanding just how silly you sound. “but we don’t have to do anything.” you try to cover your tracts, worried you’ve just messed up the incredible time you’ve been having so far littering his body with kisses and feeling butterflies in your cunt from the fact that andrew will be inside of you soon. 

“how would you-” andrew starts, and you watch him carefully as he gets out the next few words. “do it? how?” and it’s just cut and dry way he speaks, though it’s really going to your head (and other places) right now. 

“well, i-”

“show me.” oh. 

you feel yourself pulse and throb in response to his words. even below you, you can still feel how hard andrew is. you try to start positioning yourself, but you must be moving too slowly for him, and you feel his hand on your ass, grabbing you and pushing you up to his chest, face to face. he lays his arm next to you, watching your naked body as you try to balance yourself between it, his free arm on your hip, keeping you steady. 

when you lower yourself, just an inch or two, just until you feel the ridge of his forearm and you can decide what to do after realizing that you are, in fact, doing this, andrew curses under his breath.

“fuck, you’re so wet.” he can feel it. feel you, on his arm, leaking, for him. you take a deep breath, pressing your hands against his chest to keep your balance, moving your hips up and down slowly. and your eyes flutter shut because fuck, if it isn’t better than every fantasy you’ve ever had.

you hadn’t known that your pathetic attempts to recreate this at home would have never lived up to the real thing, and now you realize you’ll never be able to go back to anything else but andrew, that no one else could make you feel this way. months of pent-up desire leave your body as you rock yourself against him, finally getting the stimulation you’ve been craving.

when you open your eyes, just for a second, you see andrew, his eyes glued to where your pussy meets his arm, his breaths heavy and deep, like he wouldn’t look away from the sight before him for anything.

and then you feel the veins rub against your clit, and your eyes roll back into your head. you keep going, trying to muffle your moans and sighs, but you can’t get the image out of your head—andrew staring at you, like he wanted this as much as you’ve wanted it, like he needs to see you cum like this. you start going faster, the friction and the slide from your juices making it easier and the veins rubbing at you just the right way—

he leans in, putting one of your peaked nipples into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it, before letting go and repeating the same with the other one. but it’s really when andrew starts talking that you’re pulled over the edge, his hand hot on your back.

“please,” he says, and you feel yourself falling into it, hanging onto every raspy word, so much better than you could have ever dreamed, “-i-i need you to cum for me. i need to feel you, i need to see it, please-”

and you do. you always listen to andrew, all the white-hot tension wound up in your belly releasing, flooding your entire body with the relief you’ve been wanting all night. your body tightens up, stopping, but he moves you with the huge hand on your hip, makes you rub on him all through it, pulling your body like you’re a toy for him.

your mind is empty while your toes curl and uncurl, thighs aching and sore in this position. andrew ushers you towards him, and you collapse on his chest, heaving and sweaty and tired—and the realization hits you that he hasn’t even been inside of you yet.

he kisses you while he has you trapped in his arms, your eyes shut as you breathe him in, moan into his mouth and let him swallow it. 

“y-your arm,” you get out, realizing you’re not speaking in coherent sentences. “i’m sorry-”

“why?” he asks, and you shut up instantly. “didn’t know you liked them that much.” 

he laughs quietly, a sound you have only heard a few times. you laugh against his chest for a moment, before pulling him in for another kiss. this time, it deepens, and he gets you on your back in front of him before he pulls away. you stare up at him, mind empty and chest heaving, seeing how his eyes stay on your tits, and you reach up, putting your hands on his chest while he hovers over you.

“it might hurt,” he says, and you feel your entire body tighten, your walls clench at his words. there’s nothing but truth behind his statement—it’s not meant to be arrogant or boastful, he’s warning you. it’s going to hurt, you know it is—you could barely fit half of him in your mouth and it took you both hands to be able to comfortably stroke him.

but the way he says it elicits a fire in you, and suddenly you need him now, no matter how much it hurts. 

“i don’t care, andrew, please,” you beg, staring up at him. he still hovers, licking his lips and staring at your how tits bounce while you beg him to fuck you—a thought that he cannot process, even with you splayed out in front of him. he brings his arms out, fingers teasing your sensitive nipples until you’re covering your own mouth to avoid being too loud and you think you’re going to black out. (even in the dim light you can see the shine on his forearm from you, and the memory of it takes over your mind like a twister.) 

“i have to stretch you out first.” the words possess your body like a demon. andrew takes your knees and spreads them apart, and no matter how hard you try to close them, you can’t compete against him. when he slides in one huge finger, your eyes roll back. he slips in so easily, the noise is obscene. the second finger goes in just as quickly, but there’s more resistance. two of his fingers are at least three of yours (if not more, you think, and then you want to faint again). the stretch is delicious, your pulsing walls realizing that this has been what you’ve been craving all along. that no toys or pillows or fingers of your own could ever compare.

when he slips a third finger in, he doesn’t change the pace. just keeps pushing them in and out of you like you’re a toy he’s testing the limits with, seeing how much you can take before you break. there’s no instructions for you besides to sit back and take it—and your toes curl and your head spins at how good he feels. the stretch hurts, but you want it so badly, you hear yourself crying out and saying incoherent things. you think you see andrew smile from where he is, watching your cunt suck his fingers in, his entire hand coated in your juices.

and when he hovers over you, bringing his tip to your entrance and prodding against you for a moment, you think you’re in heaven. he’s so flushed, tips of ears and his cheeks pink, sweat coating his body, just like yours. you can only imagine how hard he is, how you’ll get to feel how hard he is soon enough. his eyes stay at your pussy, pushing in, just barely, but you need more. you bring your hands to his arms, holding onto him while he slides in, and when you feel him push all the way in—so much bigger than you could have imagined, three of his fingers is nothing compared to this, nothing, nothing, nothing—he’s on top of you and kissing you. 

whatever noises you make are tuned out—your ears are ringing and you can’t hear anything besides andrew’s grunts and moans as they come into your mouth. you keep kissing him, pulling on his lower lip and feeling his tongue on yours, but your entire body goes slack when he starts on a brutal pace, pulling all the way out and slamming into you. the bed is creaky, and the only noise besides it is the obscene one—the squelch of your soaking wet cunt taking andrew all the way, the repetitive slap of his skin meeting yours. you feel everything—the pressure of his hands while he holds you incredibly tightly, the fullness in your cunt that makes it feel like you can’t breathe.

and then andrew kisses your lips and makes a noise that makes you leak even more, and you know you’ll be just fine.

“i-i want-” he starts, and you feel him slow down the pace slightly.

“please, andrew,” you beg, and he resumes, fucking into you with an intensity that reminds you how badly he wants you, how long he’s wanted this. it reminds you of every time you caught him staring, every time you smiled at him wondering what he was thinking. and now you think you know—maybe he was thinking about something like this.

“i want another one,” he says into the skin of your neck, feeling him lick the sweat there and kiss the skin. “i want to feel it while i’m inside-” and god if you can’t comply. you want to do every single thing he tells you for the rest of your life, you don’t want to make another decision without andrew cody. 

he changes the position, pulling out of you for a second and making you whine again. (spoiled, you think, he’s spoiled me for anyone else forever.) he holds both of your knees up and spreads them wide and wraps your arms around them, keeping them in place. and then he slides back inside of you in one swift movement, making your eyelids flutter shut. he doesn’t get right on top of you, leaving space between you that makes it impossible to lean in for a kiss, and you keep whining, impossibly and irrationally angry that you can’t kiss him, wondering why he wants you like this, when you feel his fingers circle your clit slowly—then quickly.

your head falls back onto the pillow. andrew can feel you pulsing around him, walls clenching every time he rubs your sensitive clit, and that’s what he wants, that’s what he needs, wants to feel you cum around his dick and squeeze him even tighter than you are right now. wants to see how you look completely fucked out, wants to see if you can give him a third. (he’ll get it, he decides, later. he’ll give you a chance to breathe, get you water after this. all the things he would do to take care of you, just like how you deserve, how a husband would take care of his wife.) 

because at the end of the day, isn’t that what you two basically already are? you couldn’t be a girlfriend, because you have to get comfortable around a girlfriend. 

no, he thinks, watching your fucked-out, flushed body take him like you were made for it. you already know him, know what he likes and doesn’t like, know how to make him feel good like you had been inside of his head already. you have been inside. you’re all he thinks about. that’s a wife, that is something that is forever, what the two of you have. 

he doesn’t realize how hard he’s going, how fast, or how you’ve been squealing with your entire body tensing while he was stuck in his thoughts about you. this time when you finish, it explodes through you, the electric current staring from your core and spreading to every finger and toe. you jolt, legs shaking and head heavy, the after effect rolling through you while andrew keeps fucking you, keeps going even though he should probably stop. you’re incoherent, writhing and crying and feeling completely numb and like your entire body is burning all at once. 

and when you blink open your watery eyes at andrew, smile sweetly and reach out for a kiss, one that he happily gives you, you say it quietly.

“i love you, andrew.” and you feel his thrusts stutter, his body weight almost collapsing on you. you feel andrew cum, feel it filling you up while you listen to his quiet moans and run your hands over his tense muscles, saying sweet things that he can barely understand in this state. 

he rolls over minutes later, not pulling out until you were done kissing him. the room is filled with nothing but your heavy breaths. you need a shower, and you need to sleep.

you curl up on andrew’s chest like you had been on the couch what felt like a lifetime ago. you play with his fingers and he runs his other hand up and down the expanse of your arm. you can hear birds outside—and you know you need to get up soon, but you can’t find any words. 

“you think that was enough?” andrew asks, and you look up at him with a confused expression. he looks at you with so much sincerity you feel like crying. your andrew.

“what do you mean?” you ask quietly, still not sure what he’s even talking about. your head is spinning and your eyes are tired—every part of you is tired.

“we can go again after you get some sleep. it might take more than once.”

“andrew?”

“you don’t have to worry about it. i’ll figure it out. i won’t stop until i put a baby in you.”

♡ thank you for reading

[savemesteeb]

SPINNING OUT [part two]

Here it is! Part two!

Read part one here.

Dr. Jack Abbot x ex!freader

Summary: You left Jack three months ago, convinced he'd given up on your marriage. When you're hit by a drunk driver, you're taken to PTMC, and what was supposed to be an ending gives way to a new beginning.

Word count: ~8k

ALL OF MY WORK IS 18+, MDNI

Warnings: Angst, fluff, car accident, time jumps and flashbacks, therapist reader, widower Jack, dead wife mentioned!, SMUT, nipple worship (lol), death of a child mentioned, vaginal pain mentioned, p in v sex, oral sex, eventual happy ending. Slight age gap (reader is 38, Jack is 49 in present day). If I missed anything, let me know!

taglist (I only tagged you if you have your age in your bio!!! Sorry but I'm a stickler about it, especially when my work contains smut. If you wanna be tagged, add that age in your bio!).

@espressheauxs, @imherefordeanandbones, @ emma8895eb, 

@bitters-n-sweets @absinthe-over-tea, @wowitsafemale, @sophreakingfunny, @abbotjack, @thatcorporategirlie, @grimpowrrs, @telepathay

PART 2 

BEFORE

When you arrive to Jack’s place three evenings after your first date, your entire body is buzzing. 

You’ve texted each other every day. Jack’s called you after all of his shifts, as the sun is cresting over the city skyline and you’re just waking up, loose-limbed and heavy-eyed. It’s been 72 hours since you kissed under the moonlight in front of your home and you itch to be back in his presence. You feel delirious and wild, and you cannot stop thinking about the feeling of his lips on yours, the heat of his body pressed against you. 

You remind yourself there’s no expectation for tonight. You want to sleep with Jack, obviously, but you don’t want to rush him. You don’t even know if he wants that. You feel close to him but the reality is it’s only been three days, so you need to calm the fuck down. 

Now you find yourself standing in Jack’s home, a glass of wine in your hand, taking in this man’s space while he fusses with dinner in the kitchen with a dish towel over his right shoulder. You glance at him as he throws garlic into the pan, lowering the heat as it sizzles in the oil. You thought you’d be nervous when he opened the door, but his crooked grin, his dimples, his entire energy calmed your fluttering heart. 

His condo is simple and clean. There’s not much in the way of personality, but you figure that’s because he practically lives at the hospital. You wander over to the bookshelf in the living room and grin at his collection of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings.  You also see a few photos. Jack with his sisters and nieces and nephews; this makes you grin. There’s one in particular that you like; it’s Jack with a young (maybe nine or ten), curly-haired girl on his shoulders at what appears to be some sort of backyard birthday. It’s precious. There’s one of Jack from when he was in the army with a few military buddies, leaning against a combat vehicle in the desert. He looks skinny and haunted, and you have a hard time looking at it. Jack and Robby, from a fishing trip you remember vaguely hearing about a few years ago, though it’s funny now to think that the “buddy” Robby was heading to the cabin with was, in fact, this Jack Abbot. 

And then there is a framed photo of Jack and his wife on their wedding day. They can’t be more than 25-years-old in the picture. Jack’s hair is auburn, and his freckles stand out even more with his youthful, round, clean-shaven face. They’re smiling at one another and they look so sweet it makes your heart clench. You’re shocked to find your eyes prickle as you gaze at this photo, but you cannot help it. It is so unfair that she isn’t here anymore and that Jack had to go through that. 

You’re so grateful that this man has invited you into his space, that he hasn’t hid any parts of himself from you. 

You turn to said man now and find him watching you from the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed (ridiculously sexy in his plain, blue t-shirt), and he has this little grin on his scruffy face. You feel yourself warm under his gaze and make your way to him, sipping your wine as you do so. 

“You caught me snooping,” you say lightly, and his eyes light up. 

“I explicitly told you to snoop while I finish this,” he says, uncrossing his arms and taking the dish towel from his shoulder. “Find anything interesting?”

You stop just a few feet from him in his kitchen and smile. “I like your pictures and book collection.”

He studies you and you feel like he’s trying to decipher whether or not you’re teasing him. 

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Also, it is hilarious to me that you and Robby go on fishing trips. Very sweet…and geriatric of you both.”

Jack’s eyes light up at the teasing, scoffing in mock-offense. “Hey now. Fishing trips are cool.”

You laugh. “I didn’t say they weren’t!” A beat. “Just a coupla peepaws catching trout. It’s cute.” 

He grins, dimples showing through, and turns to the stove. “Maybe I won’t feed you after all.”

“Now that’s just rude. I’m famished.”

He shrugs, shoots you a mischievous glance over his shoulder, and it’s so fun and sweet that you can only smile like an idiot in return. 

Jack does, in fact, feed you. And Jack Abbot, MD., is an amazing cook. It’s some sort of risotto with creamy mushrooms and lemon chicken and a ton of herbs and you’re so impressed you have to try and school your features into a poker-face lest you come off as desperate as you feel. Dinner is a relaxed affair, at his little table, and as you both eat you chat about your days, and work. By the time both of your plates are clean, your body is buzzing. 

You sip your half-full glass of wine and Jack sips his and you both kinda just stare at each other for a moment. It’s loaded and you wonder how crazy it would be to crawl into his lap right now, to bracket his hips with both of your thighs, grind yourself on him—

Jesus, you need to get a hold of yourself. A string of bad dates and you’re ready to jump the bones of the first man you meet who’s competent, and handsome, and has a great job, and is in therapy, and can cook—

Jack clears his throat. “Wanna watch a movie or something?” he asks, rubbing a hand along his scruff and breaking through your mile-a-minute thoughts. 

You nod. Jack nods back, and your heart pounds.

You pick something mindless — an old 90s thriller, because those comfort you, and you sit on Jack’s couch which is shockingly cozy and comfortable (you make a mental note to ask him where he got it when your mind isn’t on a loop of Jack Jack Jack). 

Jack sits next to you but not right against you, though you can feel his body heat. You both crack jokes about the movie, and about 30 minutes in you feel his arm go across the back of the couch behind you. Your heart thuds and you move a little closer to him, and then a few minutes later you feel his fingers graze your shoulder and you are now, finally, pressed against his side. You can smell his soap and his detergent and it smells clean and divine and Jesus, are you about to sniff him?

You really, really try to keep your breathing even but when his thumb grazes back and forth on your shoulder, you can’t help it. You both haven’t said anything in a while, and you can hear Jack’s breathing, can feel the heat of him. Your breath picks up just a little bit because you might explode from how badly you just want to touch him. 

Your hand finds his thigh. 

Jack’s sharp intake of breath spurs you on and you look up at him through your lashes and he’s already looking down at you, his jaw clenched and tight like he’s—like he’s holding himself back. 

You bite your lip and Jack actually fucking groans and your hand moves just the slightest bit higher on his leg and Jack swallows. 

“Hi,” you breathe. 

“Hi,” he croaks, voice broken and sacred between you. 

“Movie’s not over,” you whisper. 

Jack’s eyes rove over your face. When he looks at you, it’s like he’s taking in every single feature and rather than make you feel exposed, it makes you feel fucking beautiful. 

“I couldn’t care less about the movie,” Jack tells you and that’s all you need. Your chest rises and expands and Jack’s eyes flicker for a moment down to your chest and then quickly back to lock on your gaze. 

His eyes make you feel bold. 

You sit up, throw a leg over his lap and then you’re straddling him, your hands on his shoulders and Jack’s hands find your waist and you’re so close to him and it feels so fucking good. 

“Kiss me,” you tell him. Jack bites his lip and you think I am going to fuck this man tonight. 

“Yes ma’am,” he breathes before a hand finds the back of your head and he dips you down as he surges up and your lips meet. 

It takes approximately two seconds before you’re licking into each other’s mouths, and it’s messy and so much hotter than the peck you shared when you arrived at his place. You can’t help your hips—they grind down into his lap and you can feel how hard he is, you think he must’ve been hard for the last few minutes at least and the thought drives you insane. 

You’re a little shocked there’s no awkwardness here. It’s all so easy and it makes you feel grateful you met this man at this exact point in your life, when you feel fully formed and clear about what you are looking for, what you want. 

One of his hands dips to get a palmful of your ass and you gasp into the kiss because it feels so good, everything about him feels so perfect. 

He pulls back slightly, breathing heavy, lips spit-slick and red. 

“This okay?” he husks, voice serrated and low. He goes to move his hand off your ass but you grab his wrist and keep it there. You lean forward and bite his bottom lip, tugging it gently between your teeth and Jack groans, the sound rumbling out of his chest. He looks wonderfully devastated. 

“Yes,” you breathe, and suddenly both of Jack’s hands are gripping your ass through your jeans and your lips find his again. You break apart for air and he sucks the pulse point below your jaw. Your right hand finds his curls, your left grips his shoulder, and you grind against his hard, clothed cock and you think you might actually come from dry-humping Jack on his couch. You cannot remember the last time you dry-humped anyone, let anyone have been brought to orgasm from such a thing. You feel like a teenager, hormones raging and lighting you up from within. 

“Jack,” you moan, your hips grinding faster. “I—I might—I think I’m gonna—fuck—”

Jack pulls away from where he’s sucking your neck and looks up at you, his eyes bright and dark at the same time, a look of wonder on his face. 

“Shit, really?” He looks down between you, where you’re moving and he lets out a strangled groan. “You think you can come like this? Yeah?” 

“Yes, yes,” you chant, moving faster, the rough fabric of his jeans against your own creating delicious friction. “It’s so good, Jack, you feel so good—”

Your hand grips his curls a little tighter, the couch begins to smack against the wall from the movement, and Jack moans, his eyes locking onto yours. He looks amazed and it makes you feel powerful. 

“Jesus.” His voice practically breaks on the word. “You can’t be real. You were fuckin’ made from my dreams.”

You’re babbling now because the seam of your jeans against your clit and the feel of his hard cock have you so close. 

“I’m there, I’m there, oh my fucking god—Jack—” You know you’re being loud but you can’t help it because all you can do is focus on coming on this man’s lap. “I’m coming—I’m coming—”

“Fuck, just like that, you look so pretty comin’ on me, take what you fuckin’ need.” Jack’s voice spurs you on and then you’re coming so hard you actually fucking squeal. 

Jack leans his head against the back of the couch and watches you break apart and you can actually feel his cock twitch from under you. You come down from the high of your orgasm, practically melting into his lap, your arms looping around his neck. You lean your forehead against his and you’re both panting into each other’s mouths. 

“Christ,” Jack croaks. He looks absolutely debauched. 

You’re so warm, all over, but an insecurity rushes up inside of you as your breathing begins to slowly even out. You move your forehead away from his, look him in the eyes. 

“Is it insane I want you to fuck me and this is only the second time we’ve hung out?”

Jack’s eyes flash for a moment, his jaw clenching, and then he places a tender hand around your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. 

“I’m followin’ your lead here. I don’t need anything, I—” He swallows. “I’m just really glad you’re here.” 

You smile because you can’t help it. “I’m really glad I’m here, too.” You lick your lips. “And I really, really need you to be inside me.” 

“Fuck.” The word is torn from Jack’s lips, followed by a disbelieving laugh. “Hold on to me.”

Your arms around his neck tighten, and his hands move to hold you just under your ass and he—he picks you up from the couch, stands with you—and you cannot believe he is carrying you right now. 

“M’too heavy,” you say shyly, burying your face in his neck. Jack barks out a laugh as he walks you down the hall and shoulders his way through what you assume is his bedroom door. You wish you had the brain power to look around but you can’t because this sexy motherfucker just carried you into his bedroom. 

“No fuckin’ way,” he tells you lowly, and when he reaches his bed he gently sets you onto it. You fall back, breathing heavy as he leans over you, hands planted on either side of your head. Your hands skate up the thick, corded muscles of his arms and you look into his hazel eyes. You smile at him because you simply cannot help it. 

Jack stares at you, seemingly cataloguing everything he sees. 

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you these last few days,” he rasps, a hand coming up to cradle our jaw. You bite your lip and his eyes grow dark as he watches the movement. 

“Me too,” you whisper, and it’s tender between you. He leans down, presses his lips to yours and the kiss goes from sweet to fucking hot in seconds. You bite his bottom lip, pulling on it and Jack moans into your mouth. He pulls back, staring down at you.

“Need you to take your fuckin’ clothes off,” he croaks and you whimper. You nod, sitting up and he kneels on the bed and you both quickly—frantically—undress. Jack reaches behind his head with one hand, pulling off his t-shirt in a swift movement that you internally catalogue as very fucking sexy. You pull your own top over your head, toss it to god-knows-where, and quickly unclasp your bra. Before you can undo your jeans, Jack stills your hand, moving it away from the button. He crowds slowly into you, his eyes flicking up to yours before his lips find the nipple of your left breast. He massages your right one with a large hand and it has you leaning back on your elbows and arching your back so your tit is in his palm and you’re keening. 

“You’re so sexy,” he groans out of the side of his mouth that is still around your nipple and your toes curl, your hands going into his gray curls and holding him to you, fucking latching him onto you—

You might come like this, and the realization has you huffing, “I need us to be naked. Now.”

Jeans are clumsily, messily shed, and then you are in your simple cotton panties and Jack is in his briefs and you look down—

The leg Jack has bent on the edge of the bed is prosthetic. You look up at Jack, who’s watching you closely.

“Uh, another thing I never know how to bring up,” he says and you’re taken aback when you notice he’s blushing. “Lost it overseas during my second tour.”

You feel insane because you are topless and in your underwear and this feels like an important moment. You sit up, cradle his face in your hands. 

“You wanna take it off?” You ask, your thumbs brushing the apples of his cheeks. “Do whatever makes you more comfortable. I want you.”

Jack’s eyes go a little glassy before he kisses you roughly, pushing you back down onto your back. He pulls back enough to mutter, “After,” before he descends on you again. 

The mattress and bedding is cool beneath you as Jack kisses and licks his way down your sternum. He pauses at your breasts, suckling at your nipples for a moment before licking his way down your stomach. He situates himself between your legs.  His hands find the waistband of your underwear and he glances up at you, a question in his eyes. 

“Please,” you answer, and Jack grins crookedly as he peels your underwear down your thighs. He gently drops them over the side of the bed and then Jack is pushing on your knees to open you up to him and your heart is beating so fast you’re pretty sure you can see it beneath your skin. His large hands grip your thighs as he maneuvers your legs over his freckled, broad shoulders and then he breathes you in, his entire face a breath away from your dripping cunt. 

“Fuck, look at you,” he croaks. “Jesus.” His eyes flick up to you. “Can I taste you?”

“Yes, yes—” your words break off when his tongue licks into you and oh, fuck. Fuck. When was the last time you even felt this good? You bizarrely think of the last time you slept with someone — some idiotic man a few months ago, who didn’t even go down on you — and you think this is so good, it’s so good—

“Jack,” you cry, your hands finding his hair and pulling him even closer into your pussy. He moans and you can feel the sound, can feel it down into your very core and you think you want him eating your pussy every single day for the rest of your life. 

He pulls back and licks his lips, looking up at you. “Tell me what you need, I wanna get you there.”

You put a hand to your forehead and your thighs squeeze against his ears, caging him in. 

“This—this, Jack, it’s so good—”

Suddenly Jack’s hands are under your ass and he’s pulling you even closer into his awaiting mouth and you can’t help it — you cry out so loudly you’re worried about Jack’s neighbors, but he doesn’t seem to care because he’s grinding into the mattress as he eats you. His head bobs up and down with how fervently he’s licking your pussy and you feel it but it’s — it’s not enough —

You lean up on your elbows. “Can—can you put a finger in me?”

Jack’s eyes flutter and he pulls back and you almost die when you see how wet his stubble is. He’s drenched in you. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, almost reverently. “I can do that, baby.”

He takes the middle finger of his right hand and gently slides it into you, bites his lip as he watches it go in with little resistance. 

You collapse onto your back again and the glide of his finger in and out of your pussy feels heavenly. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. 

“Yes, yes,” you babble. 

Jack kisses the inside of your thigh as he moves his finger in and out. He looks at you, eyes dark. 

“Need another?”

You nod, your hands gripping into the top cover of Jack’s bed because it’s so good when Jack gently slides in his ring finger. It’s tighter than just one but you feel yourself relaxing into the feeling, feel yourself grow even wetter with a mix of Jack’s spit from his mouth and your juices. 

“I’ve—fuck, yes like that—I’ve had some issues with pain in the past—so you—you need to get me—-fuck, Jack—get me ready—-to take you—”

You know you’re babbling but you need Jack to know this; you’ve had too many awful partners in the past who didn’t take their time, who just rammed their dick into you. That kind of pain doesn’t leave your body easily, and you’ve learned how to enjoy sex but you need to communicate this. 

His fingers keep working you but he pats your knee with his free hand. 

“Hey, look at me.”

Jack’s rasp catches your attention and you open your eyes and you look down at him. Your thighs frame his head, his gray curls are a wreck, he’s got two fingers buried deep in your pussy and you try and take a mental snapshot of the image because it’s…it’s lovely. 

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, and the hand that’s not between your legs holds onto your thigh, his thumb caressing the skin. “All I wanna do is make you feel good, okay? Don’t care if that means we take our time, or what. Yeah?”

You nod, feel your eyes prickle despite yourself. Jack kisses your knee. 

“I’m here with you and you’re so fuckin’ gorgeous. You taste so good and if this is all we do, I’ll be a very fuckin’ happy man. You got that?”

You nod, your entire body trembling. Jack crooks his fingers and you gasp.

“Jack,” you whisper. Jack’s eyes crinkle at the edges, softening, and then his thumb starts strumming your clit in a way that sets you on literal fire and you cry out.

“Want you to come all over my fingers,” Jack grouses, and his tongue licks into you again, as his two fingers hook into you and his thumb hits just right. 

“Oh my god,” you moan. You’re sweating properly now, feel it gather on the back of your neck and your hairline and you start to grind into Jack’s face, riding his hand and his tongue at the same damn time. Your tits jiggle with the movement and you feel worshipped in a way you’ve never felt with another man. 

You break when Jack sucks onto your clit, your second orgasm of the night cresting over you with wave after wave of pleasure. You let out a sound that is downright animalistic, and you feel Jack’s own moan all the way to your toes. 

You’re trembling, a sheen of sweat glistens on your skin, and Jack continues to lick and kiss you through it until you put a gentle hand in his curls and pull him off. He looks pussy drunk between your legs, panting and sweating himself. You stare at him. 

“Holy fucking shit,” you articulate like the linguistic genius that you are. Jack’s eyes brighten, a crooked smile dimpling his cheeks as he keeps eye contact with you as he presses a few more kisses into your thighs. 

“Yeah?” he croaks, lips hot on your skin.

You huff a laugh, light and breathy. You’re tingling. 

“Yeah,” you reply, tugging on Jack’s hair. He makes his way up your body, lying next to you. You face each other, and you hook a leg around his waist, cupping his jaw with your hand. 

“How do you make me feel so good?” You ask him because you’re genuinely curious. “Jesus, Jack.”

Jack’s hand finds your naked waist and he gently drags his fingers up and down the curve of your side. “I wanna make you feel good all the time,” he tells you and you believe him. 

You push on his shoulder, getting him flat on his back and you sit up on your knees. He’s still in his briefs and that absolutely needs to change. Your hands find the waistband and you look at Jack, who’s watching you with his chest rising and falling. 

“Can I?” you ask. He lets out a breath. 

“Fuck yes.”

You peel his briefs off of his—his very muscular thighs—and his cock springs free, red and standing proud, already weeping from the tip. Without thinking you wrap a hand around the base of him, your tongue sliding up the side of his cock to lick the precrum that’s dribbled out.

“Fuck!” Jack punches the word out, harsh and from his chest. You hum around him, wanting to keep going, but he gently puts a hand on the back of your neck, gently urging you off. 

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ last if you do that,” he says, voice cracked and ruined. You lift off with a final lick over his tip. You really want to suck this man dry, but Jack’s breath is so shallow you think you need to go a little easy on him. 

“Next time?” you ask, hopeful, and Jack barks out a surprised laugh, more of a huff of a breath, and nods. 

“Yeah, next time. Right now I need to be inside you.”

You quickly sit up, hovering over him. You put your hands on his chest but hesitate. 

“You don’t have any lube, do you?” 

You know you’re wet but still, penetrative sex for you without lube is not that fun. You curse yourself for not bringing your mini bottle in your purse, but you didn’t want to be presumptuous —

“Of course,” Jack says and nods toward his nightstand. “In there. It’s water-based, if that’s okay.”

You stare down at Jack Abbot and you think where the fuck did you come from?

“I really shouldn’t find the sentence, ‘it’s water based, if that’s okay,’ as sexy as I do, but Jesus, who are you?” You ask, leaning over to his nightstand and taking out the bottle. Jack’s hands land on your waist, tightening and he laughs, his ears reddening. 

“I’m 45-years-old,” he tells you, watching as you squirt some into your hand. He gasps when you spread it onto his cock, groans when you give him a squeeze. “And a doctor. I—I know to have lube—fuck, honey, you gotta stop doing that if you don’t want me to embarrass myself.”

You smirk, ceasing your stroking as you line him up at your entrance. “There’s no way you could embarrass yourself after the way you ate me out.”

Jack actually blushes, which is hilarious seeing as you’re both naked and your bare cunt is against his stomach and your hand is wrapped around his length. 

Jack’s hands squeeze your waist once. “You feel good? Ready for me?”

“Yes,” you tell him, before you begin to sink down on his cock. You both gasp, your breaths coming quickly as you take him inch by inch. The stretch hurts a tiny bit at first but you go slowly.

Jack’s head flies back against his pillow and his jaw clenches. His hands make their way to palm your ass as he bottoms out inside you. 

“Jesus, god,” he groans, and you place your hands on his chest, adjusting to the feel of him. “You’re so fuckin’ tight—fuck.”

“Gonna start slow,” you gasp, beginning to grind your hips and Jack’s eyes flick down to where you’re taking him.

“Do whatever you want, you feel so fuckin’ good—”

Your voice is breathy when you ask, “Yeah?”

Jack’s hands dimple the flesh of your ass, and he bites his lip, his eyes seemingly glued to the sight of his dick sliding in and out of your pussy. Your hips begin to move in earnest now.

“Yeah,” he croaks. 

You begin to fuck each other like you mean it. 

And you do. You mean it so much because you know this thing with Jack is special. You grind on his cock and he anchors his hands to your hips and his bedroom is a cacophony of the bed squeaking, and breathy moans, and grunts and yes, yes like that and oh fuck, fuck you feel like heaven. 

Just as your legs start to cramp up, Jack tells you for the second time this evening to hold on, and he flips you so you’re underneath him. You let out a breath as he holds himself above you. 

“Still good?” he asks. 

“Yes, so good,” you moan. Jack grabs your right leg, hitches it around his waist and begins to fuck you like it’s what he was put on this earth to do. The angle hits so good, the headboard starts to slam against the wall, your tits bounce and you claw at his shoulders and his back. 

“Fuck!” you cry when his thrusts begin to hit that sacred spot inside of you.

Jack’s lips find your shoulder, sucking on the flesh there before moving onto your neck. He turns his head where it rests against your collarbone, breathes breath onto your skin as his hips pound into you. 

“You take me so well, baby,” he groans and your hand goes to the back of his head, fisting his gray curls. “You feel unreal—come on—fuck, look at you—”

“Give it to me, Jack,” you reply, and you wrap your other leg around his waist. Your arms grip his shoulders and one of Jack’s hands slams against the headboard, allowing himself to hover above you as he pounds into you. 

“Fucking give it to me,” you moan, delirious with pleasure as his cock—slick with your wetness and the lube—hits deep inside of you over and over. 

You snake a hand between you to play with your clit and Jack groans, watches your finger, mesmerized. 

“God, that’s so hot,” he says, his voice breaking on the last word. “You’re so sexy.” 

You strum your clit and feel yourself grow close. “M’gonna come,” you babble and Jack grits his teeth. 

“Yeah? Jesus, me too baby, I’m so close.” His voice is broken. When he begins to falter in his rhythm, he rasps, “Tell me where you want it.”  

You lock eyes with him as he fucks you to the near brink of delirium. “Inside.”

“Fuck, fuck—fuck.” The mantra falls from his lips as you strum your clit at the exact right moment and you come with a scream. Jack follows a second later with a moan of his own, his head buried in your neck as you feel him coat the inside of your pussy with his come. You keep your legs wrapped around him, both of you gasping for air. Your skin is sticky and wet and you feel on fire. 

Jack gently raises himself up on his arms, looking down at you, and you both burst into laughter. 

“Jesus,” he mutters, and his face is bright red. 

“Wow,” you say back. 

You breathe into each other’s mouths for a moment, letting the comedown wash over you both.

Your eyes grow a little wide at a realization. 

“I’m on birth control. I—I’m sorry, I guess telling you to come inside of me in the heat of the moment wasn't the most responsible. No STIs either.”

Jack leans down, kisses you tenderly before slipping out of you. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to. I’m—I also recently got tested. Before our date, so—”

You sit up, still short on breath. You grin at him and he stares back at you like he cannot believe you’re here. 

You wipe some sweat off of your brow. “Gonna pee.” Before you slip out of bed, Jack snakes a hand into your hair and pulls you to his mouth. He kisses you soft, and slow, and it feels like honey. 

“You’re amazing,” Jack mutters against your mouth and you melt into him. 

You are thoroughly fucked, both metaphorically and physcially. 

And you truly believe you have never been happier. 

*** 

Jack moves into your place six months later.

After your first night together, you both decide to be exclusive quickly. You become Jack’s girlfriend, and you fit and mold into each other’s lives in a surprisingly seamless way. Robby is thrilled, of course, and despite Jack’s horrific schedule, you make it work. Sometimes (the rare and blissful times), he will get a few days off in a row, so you make the most of that time together; farmer’s market strolls, going to see a movie, trying out a new recipe together, or simply existing next one another on the couch; you, deep in your latest novel, Jack reading an old medical journal from the ‘90s (“because there’s still good stuff in here!”).

You can’t help but feel taken aback at the easiness of it all, but you refuse to let it scare you. You have spent your entire life waiting for the other shoe to drop, and you do not allow yourself to think that way now. 

So when Jack’s lease is up on his condo, you both mutually come to the decision that it makes sense to meld your lives in this way. He’s practically living at your place anyway — much more than a toothbrush on your counter and a single drawer. He is everywhere in your home; his favorite mug sits on your kitchen shelf, his books have made their way onto your bookcase, and his toiletries are permanently in the shower. You even had a bench installed in there, so he could shower without his prosthetic and be comfortable.

It just makes sense. 

That first night that Jack moves in, you find him in the kitchen, unpacking a few of his beloved stainless steel pots and pans. He looks up at you, hair disheveled, in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, and your heart literally stutters in your chest. He grins, cheeks dimpling, and you walk over to him. 

“We’re not rushing this, right?” You ask it before you can think about it too much; it’s an insecurity of yours that you’re trying to bat away. Six months and living together doesn’t feel rushed for you, but you know it’s different for Jack. 

Jack, who had a marriage before you. Who had his person.

And he didn’t just lose that person. She was brutally ripped away from him in this life and it will never, ever be fair. And you just…you want to make sure that you aren’t overstepping. You would never fucking try to replace her and you love hearing about every single part of his life when he offers it to you, but you just…

You know there is baggage there. No matter how great Jack’s therapist is (and he’s fucking fantastic, you looked him up because duh), no matter how well his SSRI works, no matter how much healing he’s done, no matter how easy his smiles come to him, you can see it. Not just because you yourself are a therapist, but any human being with eyes can see it; when his nightmares wake you up at 3am; when he comes back from a harrowing shift and his eyes are dulled and he’s quiet. 

He’s still haunted. Maybe he always will be.

You know Jack (like everyone) has got his shit. 

But you just want to be…sure.

That Jack is choosing this.

This life. With you.

Jack sets the pan on the stove and turns to you, his expression calm and warm. 

“I don’t think so,” he says softly. He cocks his head slightly, beckoning you over to him. You go easily into his arms, yours snaking around his waist. He kisses your forehead, pushes some of your hair back from your face. 

“Do you?” 

You shake your head. “No. I just wanted to…check.”

Jack grins his crooked grin. “I’m grown. And I know what I want.”

You huff a laugh, feeling some of the doubt and worry slip away. “Yeah? What’dya want, Abbot?”

Jack slides his hands to cradle your jaw, brings his lips to just hover above yours. A hot coil springs loose, low in your belly.

An ember catching fire. 

You look up at him just before he says, “You.”

***

The reservation time has come and gone. 

You walk back home in the quiet evening, the sun hanging low in the sky and you’re not mad. You’re just…sad.

You miss Jack and you know it’s not his fault. And you told him you didn’t need a big deal made out of a one year anniversary, that just being home with him would’ve been enough after two straight weeks of him working every single night. 

You miss your boyfriend.

But Jack insisted on a nice dinner and he made the reservation. He switched shifts with Robby so he’d be out by 7pm (ha). He’d told you to be at the place by 7:30, that he couldn’t wait to see you, etc. etc. 

The plan was to meet at the restaurant; he’d shower and change at PTMC and you’d walk home together. 

You knew the night wasn’t going to go according to plan when a text came in at 6:55, but you were still hopeful. 

Jack Abbot: May be 5 late. 

You: no rush. ☺️

Jack Abbot: Love you. 

You: Love you. 

You didn’t expect to hear from Jack again, and at 7:15 you walked the short walk to the restaurant. They sat you down quickly and you decided to order a wine while you waited, looking over the menu. At 7:35, another text came in. 

Jack Abbot: I’m so sorry, held up. Fucking brutal here. 20 mins, tops. 

You valiantly kept your heart from sinking (seriously, you deserved an award), and took a hefty sip of your wine. You took a breath. Not his fault, you reminded yourself. 

You: Want me to order you a drink to be ready when you get here?

You (foolishly) expected him to text you back immediately, but when the 20 minutes came and went without any text from Jack, you started to feel antsy. You could feel the waiter eying you from the corner but you ignored the stare, determined to just Be Chill. 

You finished your wine at 8. You looked at your phone. 

At 8:15, you asked the waiter for the check. 

At 8:30, you left. 

Not his fault, not his fault plays like a mantra over and over in your head. You chose Jack, and his horrible schedule, and his good fucking heart. You are in love with this man because of who he is at his core, which is a man who doesn’t half-ass things. Who sees things through. Who doesn’t let someone bleed out on his watch because he has something as trivial as a dinner date to get to.

It’s just that—

It hurts, sometimes. 

To feel like the thing that he might not follow through with is you. 

Your phone buzzes as you let yourself in the front door. 

Jack Abbot: Leaving in 15. You order yet?

You scoff, toeing off your heels and hanging up your purse on the hook by the door. It is now 8:40pm. You stare at his text for a moment as you walk over to the kitchen, taking out your favorite wine glass and deciding you’re going to have your second drink in your PJs and on the couch. 

You: I’m home now, so don’t rush or anything. 

You see the three dots appear and then disappear quickly. You watch this happen a few times and you feel a ping of guilt; you’re not angry with Jack. You can’t be. You just wish he could be a little more realistic sometimes; if he hadn’t insisted on this dinner in the first place, you wouldn’t find yourself disappointed. 

Jack Abbot: Baby, I’m so fucking sorry. 

You steady your breath.

You: It’s okay! I completely understand. I’ll see you at home. 

The three dots do their disappearing act again but he doesn’t respond. You sigh, have another drink, and settle in.

Jack does not, in fact, leave PTMC 15 minutes after he sent that text. 

In fact, he doesn’t arrive home until after midnight, when you are curled up in bed, in that liminal space between conscious and unconscious. You feel the bed dip beside you, feel a hand graze your forehead. You smell the sharp scent of antiseptic and sweat and your eyes flutter open. 

Jack…

Jack looks awful. 

You blink sleepily at him and notice the dark circles under his eyes. Notice his pale, waxy complexion. The fatigue is deep in his bones and you hate it so much it feels like a physical ache. 

“Hey,” he croaks. 

“Hi,” you say as you sit up. Jack scoots over but he doesn’t break eye contact with you. This man will be at the absolute end of his rope but one thing about him? He’ll always look you square on and he won’t back down. He dips his head until he knows he’s got your gaze locked onto his.

“I’m so sorry.” It spills out of his mouth in the dark and lies on the bed between you. You shake your head, rub a hand down his back. You feel a little of the tension leave his shoulders but he’s still holding himself so tightly. 

“It’s okay.”

He shakes his head. “No, it’s fuckin’ not. I ruined your night, I ruined our anniversary. It ain’t okay.”

You don’t say anything. The silence stretches between you and Jack looks down at his hands, finally breaking some eye contact and taking a shaky breath.

You keep rubbing his back. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

Jack clenches his jaw and after a moment, he speaks. “Ten-year-old girl. Hit on her bike. Dad was too drunk to realize what happened. A neighbor brought her in. She—” his voice breaks and he rubs his eyes. “She um, she had this wild, curly hair. Like my niece.”

Your heart shatters and you scoot closer to Jack. You lie your head on his back, curling around him. He doesn't have to say that she didn’t make it. You see it and feel it in everything about him now. 

You don’t say I’m sorry. 

You say, “It’s so goddamn unfair. Hope that dad rots in fuckin’ hell.” 

Jack looks up at you, his eyes glassy. You lift your head, run a hand through his curls. “Me too.”

You sit there in shared anger about a stranger. The night hums around you, quietly and softly and it’s a sacred, tender moment. 

You’re no longer tired, so you stand up and offer your hand to Jack. He takes it like he’ll follow you anywhere. You lead him to the bathroom and turn the knobs for the shower.  As steam curls around you, you quietly undress Jack and he quietly undresses you. You help him take off the prosthetic, allow him to lean on you as you both get into the shower. 

He sits down with a groan on the bench under the spray and you don’t say anything for awhile. You simply wash each other in this small, warm place where the two of you are the only two people to exist. When you’ve both rinsed the bubbles from your hair, you go to turn off the water but Jack catches your hand. He pulls you over to where he sits on the bench, and he wraps his arms around your middle. 

Your heart aches and you run your hands through his wet curls. Jack presses his lips to your stomach, makes his way gently to your breasts. Your breath hitches when he wraps his lips around your right nipple, sucking the pebbled flesh there. You feel your core throb and you let out a gasp as he sucks on your tit, like it’s soothing him.

He lets the nipple go with a scrape of his teeth and your fingers tighten in his hair. He moves to your other breast, kissing the flesh before sucking on that one too. You feel his hand gently trail to your core. When his fingers slip through your folds, you tug on his head. 

“Jack,” you say, because you just want to make sure he’s okay. 

His mouth is still sucking on your nipple when he croaks the word, “please” like it’s ripped from his very soul. 

You bite your lip and nod and Jack keeps sucking, keeps fucking self-soothing around your nipple (and it’s so hot, he’s so perfect like this) as he slides a finger into your pussy. You cry out, the sound drowned out from the spray of the shower and Jack gently slides a second finger in and fucks you there under the spray of the water. 

You lose your breath as his thumb strums your clit and he groans against your nipple and when you break, the orgasm rising slow and steady until you’re trembling, Jack finally lifts his mouth from your breast. 

You stare down at him and reach for his aching cock but he shakes his head. 

You understand.

Your pleasure is his penance. You allow him this for tonight. 

When you’re both clean and cozy, back under the sheets, Jack draws you into his arms. You face each other and he cups your cheek, thumb stroking back and forth in a way that makes your eyes flutter. You’re drifting off, finally calm and relaxed and sated. 

“Marry me.”

Your eyes fly open and Jack is staring at you, clear as if it’s a new day. You frown, your mouth falling open.

“What?”

Jack’s eyes flit back and forth between both of yours and at one in the morning after standing you up (albeit, not his fault!), he says it again.

“Marry me.”

You freeze and you’re not sure if you’re dreaming. “Jack, you’ve—it’s been a long night—”

Jack turns over, opens the nightstand, and when he comes back to you he’s holding a simple gold ring with a sparkling solitaire diamond. You gape and bolt up.

“What!”

Jack slowly sits up, still holding the ring between you. “Was gonna do it at dinner. Had a whole—a whole fuckin’ speech planned.”

Your hands go to your face and your heart won’t stop beating as fast as a damn hummingbird, and you cannot believe this is happening right now, right in this moment. 

You look up at him and he’s staring at you. You feel your eyes prick. 

“You sure?” You ask him. 

Jack nods, lets out a breath. “Never been more sure about anything.”

You swallow. “It’s not—you don’t think?--we’re not—”

Jack shakes his head. His voice is raspy when he says, “It’s not too fast. I love you. Want you to be my wife.” 

You slowly take your hands away from your cheeks, which are now wet, because you are crying. “Jack.”

Jack lets out a disbelieving little laugh. “Can’t believe I met you. Never…never thought I’d have this again. Can’t believe you’re…mine.” He pauses. “If—if you’ll have me. Forever.”

“Yes.”

Jack lets out a breath that sounds more like a groan. His eyes shine. “Yeah?”

You nod, smiling and crying and it’s one in the morning and Jack is asking you to marry him. 

“Yeah, Abbot. I’ll have you. Forever.”

The smile Jack gives you puts the fuckin’ moon to shame. 

***

NOW

You aren’t awake and they cut your engagement ring and wedding band off of your finger when you went in for surgery. 

Both sit broken in a little plastic bag on a table beside your unconscious form. 

Jack sits in a chair beside you, elbows on his knees, staring at you with bloodshot eyes and praying to a God he long stopped believing in. 

He is trying to process the fact that you still wear your wedding rings, that you had them on when you were hit by that fucking drunk driver who he hopes didn’t make it and is flatlining somewhere in PTMC. He never takes his own wedding band off but he was sure you kept yours in a drawer somewhere and he doesn’t fucking know what to do if you don’t wake up.

You don’t look like yourself and he can’t equate the vibrant woman you are with this body in the bed before him. 

Robby came in earlier, tried to get Jack to leave and take a shower, eat something, drink water instead of coffee. But Jack refused. 

“I’ll watch over her, brother. You need a break.”

Jack had stared at Robby hard. “This is all my fuckin’ fault, man. I—”

Robby had stepped right up to Jack at that moment, putting a large hand on his friend’s shoulder and looking into his eyes, big brown meeting hazel. “You can’t fuckin’ think that way, Jack. It’s not true and it’s not your fault—”

“I let her go, man,” Jack croaks, eyes wet. “I pushed her away because I don’t deserve her, never did, and this—she shouldn’t—I should’ve been with her or, fuck, I don’t know—-”

Jack’s words had broken off and he’d buried his face in his hands. 

“We’re not gonna let her go this time,” Robby said, his voice cracked with pain. “She’s like my fuckin’ sister and I’m not — we’re not letting her go. We protect the hive, remember?”

When Jack didn’t answer, Robby remained silent but there, a hand on his shoulder. A steady, constant weight in this fucking nightmare Jack found himself in.

Jack now sits alone. Robby had needed to close out his cases, promising he’d be up again as soon as he was done. 

Jack doesn’t know what time it is. Can’t even remember the day of the week.

Jack aches and hurts and he deserves this pain and he just wants you to wake up. 

“Please,” he croaks into the quiet room. “Please come back to me, baby. Please.”

The steady beeping in your cold hospital room is the only answer he gets. 

It’s the only one he deserves. 

[savemesteeb]

Mrs. Robinavitch

Michael Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Wife!Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+/MDNI (smut, language) Word count: ~3,300 Tags: reader insert, female reader, no use of y/n, married, established relationship, explicit sexual content, smut, workplace sex, workplace quickie, p in v sex, no beta

Summary: A new resident decides to flirt with you, oblivious to the fact that you're married to his senior attending. Your husband isn't a fan. Or, you and jealous Robby have a little workplace quickie.

Notes: Just a random little dose of silly workplace smut. Reader is a female ob/gyn but no age is established. Meant to take place a few years after S1.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

The emergency department of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center bustles with its typical controlled chaos. It’s a Friday afternoon and you’d be lying if you said your mind isn’t on your weekend plans as you wander into the ER for a pregnancy case.

You smile at familiar faces as you make your way past the nurses’ station, offering a friendly wave at Trinity Santos and Dennis Whitaker before you dip inside Room 6.

“Who is that?” Gavin Meyer asks as he doesn’t bother to conceal his pitiful stare. He’s an R3 transfer in his first week at The Pitt. 

“Oh, that’s R-”

Gavin is too busy gawking after you to notice Trinity pinching Dennis’ arm behind the desk, stopping him from finishing his sentence.

“She’s an OB,” Trinity cuts in. 

“She’s stunning,” Gavin breathes. Dennis’ eyes go wide as Trinity bites back a snort. “Is she single?”

“She’s a little out of your league,” Trinity responds slowly.

“Oh, come on,” Gavin pleads. “The least you can do is introduce me. What if I get an OB case?”

“Introduce yourself,” Trinity answers. “She doesn’t bite… that I know of.” Dennis merely opens and closes his mouth, like a fish in moral despair.

Gavin’s posture straightens as the door to Room 6 reopens, but it’s Dr. Robby who emerges. 

“Everything good here?” he asks as he strides behind the central desk.

“All good,” Trinity answers with a chipper tone. “Just helping Meyers get acclimated to some of the faces around here.”

“Good,” Dr. Robby replies as he glances at Gavin. “Don’t be afraid to introduce yourself to people, get to know them. We’re all here to help.”

Dr. Robby doesn’t realize his words are going to bite him in about 20 seconds, when you emerge from Room 6 and make a beeline to the group at the desk.

“Hey,” you greet Trinity and Dennis. “How’s it going?”

“Hi,” Gavin immediately interjects with an outstretched hand. It catches you off guard, but you recover smoothly and offer him a kind smile. “I’m Dr. Meyer. R3.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say politely. “I’m Dr.-”

“Dr. Robby!” Samira Mohan appears from Trauma Room 1 with impeccable, albeit accidental, timing. “We need you in here! Whitaker, you too!”

“Come on.” Dennis motions for Gavin to follow him, leaving you with Trinity.

“New resident,” you muse as you watch them scurry away. “He’s cute.” Trinity lifts an eyebrow at you and you snort. “Oh please,” you add. “I promise I’m not interested. I’m a married woman, after all.”

You return upstairs to the birthing ward until you inevitably get called back down to the ER. This time, it’s for a newborn who had been discharged the previous day.

Gavin is alone when you pass the nurses’ desk to leave. You offer him a smile and a nod. 

“Hey, I didn’t get your name earlier,” he says quickly, stopping you in your tracks. You blink at him in confusion.

“The others didn’t tell you?” you ask with narrowed eyes. It's not that you assume everyone in the hospital knows you and your husband, but well, they do.

“No.”

“Oh,” you say as the realization settles. Fucking Santos. She’s done this before, but you can’t help but play along. You give Gavin your first name, intentionally omitting the last, and lean against the desk to strike up more conversation with him, at least until Trinity can return and break the bad news to Gavin. “So, what brings you to Pittsburgh?” you ask casually. “I assume you’re a transfer?”

“Transferred from Charlotte,” Gavin responds. “I help take care of my grandmother. Needed to be closer to her.”

“Ah, I see,” you say kindly. “I’m sure she’s glad to have you around. Are the two of you close?”

“We are,” Gavin says. “She’s the reason I got into medicine. She was a nurse.”

You catch his eyes flickering toward your left hand in search of a ring. You don’t wear yours at work – not because you want to appear single, but because you’d die if you lost the precious diamond ring you were gifted three years ago.

“That’s wonderful,” you offer, your eyes catching a glimpse of Dr. Robby, who has emerged from Trauma Room 2. The two of you lock eyes for a fleeting moment before you return your attention to Gavin. “I bet your grandmother’s so proud of you,” you continue.

“She is,” Gavin says happily. You can feel Robby’s gaze burning into the side of your head, but Gloria corners him before he can insert himself into your conversation with Gavin. From your spot by the desk, you watch from the corner of your eye in pure amusement while Robby and Gloria bicker about some administrative nonsense.

Meanwhile, Gavin turns up the charm. He leans closer to you as he speaks, eyes dancing over your features in clear interest.

“So, are you from Pittsburgh?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, Cleveland,” you answer. “But I did my residency here and obviously never left.”

“I take it you like Pittsburgh then?”

You offer a smile and a shrug. “It’s pretty alright,” you answer. “The people here at the hospital are great and the city’s not so bad. Where did you grow up?”

“I grew up in Richmond, Virginia,” Gavin replies. “So I’m pretty new to Pittsburgh.”

Robby’s face is turning red. You can see his agitation swelling as Gloria prattles on. He crosses and uncrosses his arms impatiently, unable to suppress a grunt of annoyance.

“Well, welcome,” you continue, offering Gavin a gentle touch to the forearm. “I’m sure you’ll adjust and grow to love it here.”

“Would be better if I had someone to show me around,” Gavin says. He trails off and waits, eyes studying you for a reaction, begging you to take the bait. You know this game all too well. It’s not the first time a resident has flirted with you, and you secretly hope it won’t be the last. Not because you’re actually trying to flirt, nor are you even seeking attention; you merely enjoy the entertainment in an otherwise predictable environment. And you know others, like Trinity, need the amusement, too.

That’s why you flash Gavin a bright smile and feign surprise at his suggestion. “I’d be happy to show you some cool spots sometime,” you say just loud enough for people around the desk to hear. That includes Robby, Gloria, Perlah and Trinity.

“Really? That’d be great,” Gavin says, his eyes scanning yours for any sort of sign to indicate mutual interest.

You don’t dare look at Robby; you know better. But everyone else nearby is treating this like live theater, and they can see the tightness in his jaw, clenched so hard he might crack his teeth.

“Of course,” you tell Gavin innocently. “In fact, we could make it a group thing.” You try not to laugh as Gavin’s expression immediately falls, but you know you can't lead him on or give him the wrong idea. “A bunch of us here at the hospital have been trying to make plans to go out for months now. This would be as good a reason as any to actually put a plan in motion.”

“Oh,” Gavin says, his lips thinning in disappointment. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“Awesome,” you say merrily. “Sounds like fun.”

“Dr. Meyer,” Robby’s voice cuts in. He’s finally managed to shrug off Gloria, who has turned her attention to a conversation with Dana. “Don’t you have any patients to check on?” Robby asks, his voice gruff.

“Oh, right,” Gavin says, clearly fearful of angering Robby. He sneaks a glance at you and smiles. “Hopefully I'll see you later.”

You wave after him before you finally dare to look Robby in the eyes. He peers at you from behind his glasses, but you can see a storm swarming in his irises.

“Everything alright, Dr. Robinavitch?” you ask innocently, tilting your head to the side as you gaze at him.

“Actually, no,” Robby answers curtly. “It seems people think the ER is a place to meet hot singles, considering all the flirting happening in front of me.”

You snort as you push off from the desk’s edge, preparing to retreat to the elevator. “I don’t see any hot singles,” you laugh as you turn your back. You stride toward the elevator, unaware that Robby has vacated the desk area to reach you in record time.

“Not so fast,” he growls in your ear as you jump in surprise. His fingers curl around your forearm as he redirects you from Elevator 2 toward a vacant bathroom. His eyes sweep over the corridor to ensure no one’s around before he nudges you into the bathroom.

“Real professional, Dr. Robinavitch,” you deadpan, crossing your arms as you peer up at him in annoyance while he turns the lock. You want to appear tough, but you also know you and Robby are probably a comical sight, given the way his tall, broad frame looms over you.

“You want to talk about professionalism?” he rasps with raised eyebrows. “You’re the one flirting with my residents in my ER.”

“I don’t flirt with residents,” you fire back, your lips parting in an amused smile. “They flirt with me.”

“You think this is funny?” Robby steps closer to you but you hold your ground and his gaze with conviction, daring him to act.

“I find it rather hilarious,” you muse. "You're jealous." Robby reaches swiftly, fisting a ball of your hair with his hand as he forces you backward. You realize he isn’t doing so for the power – he’s ensuring your head doesn’t smash against the wall behind you. Leave it to him to look out for your safety, even when he’s trying to assert his dominance.

“That resident is disrespecting me in my own ER,” Robby continues as he presses you against the wall. “And you’re the instigator.”

“Don’t blame me!” you laugh. “I didn’t ask him to develop a crush on me. I only just met the guy today.”

“He doesn’t seem to know who you are.”

“He knows what I do here.”

“But does he know you’re married?” Robby juts his hips forward through the last word for emphasis. You can feel your thigh muscles tense with arousal.

“No idea,” you quip with a shrug. “Our conversation hasn’t gone that far.”

“Seems like someone ought to mention it to him.”

“By all means, be my guest.”

“I will.” Robby continues to eye you and he can’t help but chuckle at your determined expression. “You love this, don’t you?”

“I do,” you admit cheekily. You snake your arms around his torso, your chin resting against his chest as you smile innocently upward at him. Robby presses a kiss to your forehead and returns the smile.

“You’re evil,” he rasps. 

“I’ll make it up to you later,” you coo.

“Later? No, babe. You’ll do it now.”

Your eyes widen as his words catch you off guard. It’s not like Robby to do something so forbidden inside the sanctity of his precious ER. But ever since you got married, he’s relaxed; he’s not so uptight, not as agitated and not nearly as miserable to be around. He’s returned to his former self, much to the relief of everyone who works with him. 

“Right now?” you repeat to ensure you heard him correctly.

“That’s what I said.” Robby leans in to press his lips to their favorite spot against your neck. Your eyes immediately fall shut as you inhale sharply, still surprised by Robby’s behavior. Sure, you’ve flirted and exchanged a suggestive touch every now and again, but you’ve never crossed the boundary of engaging in explicit activities at work. You’ve thought about it plenty of times, but you always assumed Robby was all business and no pleasure when it came to work, and you didn’t bother to challenge that.

Today, however, is clearly different. Because today, he can’t stand the sight of that pompous and obnoxious resident ogling you like the final piece of candy in the dish. Besides, Michael Robinavitch has never been one to back down from a challenge.

He kisses you slowly, to remind you that this is all rooted in love and adoration, despite his annoyance with Gavin’s behavior – and despite his desperation to remind you of your marital vows. Not that you need the reminder – you’d torch the world to ash and embers before you dared to risk your marriage.

“Awfully on edge today, are we?” you teased. 

“Awfully mouthy today, are we?” Robby retorts. You grin at him.

“You already know what this mouth can do.”

“Jesus Christ.”

You can feel his hard cock pressing against your stomach. But you can also feel your time alone running out. Your absence from the ER won’t be noticed – though you really should return to the birthing ward – but Robby’s will. You were one code blue from interruption.

Your hands find the belt of Robby’s cargo pants and you work quickly to free his cock from them. He lets out a low grunt as your hands wrap around him and stroke, though he’s already fully erect. You begin to sink to your knees, but his hand curls around your wrist to stop you.

“Later. You can do that later,” he rasps.

He steers you by the wrist toward the sink, where he stands behind you, his reflection’s gaze meeting yours in the mirror as he pins you against the cool porcelain. His eyes swarm with desire. He tugs your scrub bottoms to the floor and you can feel his fingers inch their way into the waistband of your panties. Before those also find the floor, Robby presses a trail of kisses down the back of your neck, ending at your shoulder. 

When he hooks an arm around you to press two fingers against your clit, he hisses in your ear as he feels how wet you are. You become spineless against him.

“Walking around my ER like that?” he says in your ear as he sinks his fingers inside you. “You’re bad.”

He supports himself with one hand flat against the wall as he uses the other to guide his cock inside you.

“Fuck, Michael,” you whine, but he stops to smirk at your reflection.

“You love this, don’t you?” he murmurs as he watches your teeth drag against your own bottom lip. You whimper in response, your walls clenching around him in a silent plea for more. He obliges you, filling you with his cock until it reaches the hilt. He groans at the tight heat that contrasts the cool bathroom.

He begins to thrust until you’re bent over the sink, fighting to stifle your broken moans. He keeps you upright with one arm, and as you sneak a glance at your own reflection, you realize you look absolutely pitiful – eyes glassy, cheeks flushed and lips parted as the man behind you turns you into a ruined, fucked out mess.

Your white knuckles match the porcelain as you grip the sides of the sink, the pressure inside your core mounting. 

“God, M-Michael,” you manage through a pathetic stutter. He drives his cock upward into your sweet spot until you’re gasping over how good it feels. You’re on the brink of a climax and Robby is watching it all unfold in the mirror. He stares back at you with such intensity, you have to look away.

Your back arches and you push your hips backward as Robby continues to drive into you, murmuring absolute filth in your ear. Your eyes flutter shut as you focus on the mounting release within your walls. When Robby’s stare searches for yours in the mirror, he sinks his fingers into your open mouth, eliciting an unsuspecting gasp.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”

It’s not an ask, and you nod silently in submission, his fingers still in your mouth. Robby groans at the vision before him in the mirror, which looks more like framed art to him; your bottom lip now raw and red from your teeth, your pleading eyes and shaking arms struggling to support you. It’s a portrait Robby’s committing to memory, a masterpiece he'll name Sin Incarnate.

Your legs are ready to give out but Robby’s now got both hands clutching your hips as he fucks you closer to your grand finale. Your whimpers chorus higher, threatening to breach the privacy of the bathroom door to passerby, but you’re too cock-drunk to care.

Robby rolls his hips until his thrusts become erratic, a sign you’ve come to recognize of his approaching climax. His eyes study yours in the mirror until he sees the familiar expression indicating your own orgasm.

“Come on,” he coaches you. “Come for me.”

You hum in response, tightening your cunt around his cock as it pounds against your front wall. 

“Oh, fuck,” you manage as it triggers your release. It starts with a sharp cry and ends with you slumped over the sink, desperate to prolong the final quivers within your walls. Robby thrusts so hard, your feet nearly lift off the floor, your final pulses coaxing his own completion.

He swears loudly as he comes, his hips pinning you against the sink while you watch his head tilt backward in the mirror. He spills inside you, your weak legs struggling to keep you standing while your thighs become slick.

When he’s done, Robby’s frame is no longer tense. He rests his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapping you in an embrace as his primal mood shifts to something much more docile. 

“You okay?” he asks. You nod, still recovering from your post-orgasm haze. Your eyelids are heavy as you peer back at him in the mirror and he smiles fondly at you.

“We should get back to work,” you note. “It’s probably chaos out there without you.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Robby replied before he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Except Meyer.”

“Cut him some slack,” you laugh as you both begin to redress. “He’s harmless.”

“He’s a punk.”

“He didn’t know we’re married.”

“Did you forget to mention your last name when you introduced yourself?”

“I may have… left it out,” you say as you flash Robby a sheepish smile. He checks himself in the mirror and shoots you a look as he moves to the door. 

“I'll make sure he knows exactly who you are.” He steps into the corridor and disappears as the door snaps shut. You make sure you’re presentable again before you emerge about two minutes later.

You mosey toward the central desk to check if there are any more OB cases before you head upstairs. Robby is standing there with Dana and Gavin.

“Hey you,” she says cheerily. “Heard you’ve got a fun weekend planned.”

You open your mouth to reply when someone calls, “Dr. Robinavitch!”

“Yeah?” you and Robby respond in unison as you both turn toward the source of the sound. It’s Trinity, who’s smiling smugly as she emerges from Room 1.

“Wait,” Gavin says, his eyes shifting back and forth between you and Robby until he studies you with a furrowed brow. “Your last name is Robinavitch, too?”

“Mmhmm,” you answer as Dana backs away slowly to avoid a laughing outburst.

“As in… Mrs. Robinavitch?”

“That’s me.”

Gavin’s mouth falls open as he looks between you and Robby in horror. Robby clears his throat and checks his watch.

“Well would you look at that,” Robby says. “It’s 4 o’clock and I’m off early today. I’m taking my wife to the Finger Lakes to celebrate our wedding anniversary.”

He drapes an arm over your shoulders and steers you from the desk, leaving Trinity and Dana in stitches and Gavin in crisis.

[savemesteeb]

sick day ; michael robinavitch x reader

synopsis: robby coming home sick one day from work and reader who just wants to take care of him but this man is so STUBBORN and hates accepting help.

warnings: established relationship, robby is sick & stubborn, immense amounts of fluff and domestic reader & robby

wc: ~1500

note: thank u to everyone who voted in the poll! the people yearn for robby fluff so that is what they will receive 🤲 this was supposed to be just a teeny tiny blurb but i got a little carried away. anyways!!! someone needs to take care of this man pls.

you knew he wasn't well when he got home from work last night but he insists he's fine and just needs to sleep it off but from the amount of tossing and turning you felt last night you don't think he did a whole lot of that.

you take it upon yourself to call the hospital from his phone to tell them he wouldn't be coming in today. you know he probably wouldn't want you to do that but you also know that this man DESPERATELY needs a day off, especially today, but will never take it upon himself to make that happen. you turn off his alarm in hopes that he'll sleep a little more but what you didn't account for was his internal alarm clock, refined through years of waking up at 6am or earlier.

like clockwork his eyes open right when his alarm would normally be blaring. he winces and turns over to see you already staring at him. "my alarm didn't go off," he says, voice raspy from a mix of sleep and sickness. "i know, i turned it off," you reply simply, hand going to his forehead to feel if he's warm. he is. robby squints & rubs his eyes, "you turned it off? why?"

"because you're sick," you say like it's fact (because it is). "i also called the hospital and told them you wouldn't be coming today, so you should try and get some more sleep." your voice is soft, expecting pushback from this stubborn boyfriend of yours. "baby..." he sighs, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes. "i know, i know, i shouldn't have done that, but look at you robby. you're miserable, you're in no condition to take care of anyone else today."

robby is nothing if not headstrong.

"i have to go to work, baby," he sighs and tries to sit up. immediately overcome with muscle aches, he flops back down onto the mattress. "if you can't even get out of bed what makes you think you're going to be able to be on your feet all day, huh?" he doesn't say anything, just sighs, looking back to you, "i can get out of bed, i'm fine just... a little sore."

you raise your eyebrows, not buying any of that for a second, "ok then, stand up." he scoffs, "oh, i can stand up." he says, but doesn't make any effort to. you watch him for a second, then shrug, "then do it." you say again, blank expression on your face.

he takes a deep breath before attempting to get up again, getting a teeny bit further than last time, but eventually collapsing back into bed again. he sighs. "ok. maybe i can't get up." you lean over and kiss his forehead, "i know. go back to sleep, let me take care of you today."

"ok," he breathes, finally accepting defeat, "fine." you smile, pleased that your efforts were coming to fruition. his eyes fall shut again and before you can say anything else, you swear he's already out. you run your hands through his hair once before pressing one more kiss to his abnormally warm forehead.

it isn't until around 11:00am that robby wakes up, the sleep ridding his body of the muscle aches and actually allowing him to get up. you're sitting in the living room, watching the news on low volume when he walks in, hoodie and sweatpants on as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. "god, i needed that." he sighs, making his way over to you on the couch. you smile, having to physically resist the urge to say 'i told you so,' and opt for wordlessly leaning your head onto his shoulder.

"thank you," he says quietly into your hair, after pressing a kiss to the top of your head, "for making me stay home." you smile, "i may not be a doctor, but i know when people need rest. and you my love, need rest." he laughs quietly and drapes his arm over your shoulder, pulling you into him. the faint smell of his cologne on the sweater filling the air around you. "i love you," he says simply, like it's the easiest thing in the world, your smile grows.

"i know, now let me love you."

you place your hand on his cheek and gently pull his face towards yours, pressing your lips together in a soft kiss.

" 'm gonna make you sick," he says when you pull away, but you just shake your head.

"don't care," you kiss him again, this time for a little longer. the high pitched noise of the kettle coming to a boil snaps you both out of it.

"mmm, coffee?" robby hums, only to be met with the shake of your head, "no, i read that it's not good when you're sick, makes you dehydrated because of the caffeine or something." he groans when you stand up, walking over to the kitchen. "that can't be true, coffee makes everything better."

you shrug, "not according to web m.d. it doesn't"

"according to michael robinavitch m.d. it most certainly does." he teases, turning around to watch you move through the kitchen.

you smile. "nice try, but no medical license for you today. i'll be doing the doctoring for now." he raises his eyebrows, amused smirk coming on his face now, "oh really?"

you nod, "yup. and this doctor's prescription is peppermint tea, watching movies, and cuddling with your girlfriend all day." you take a teabag from the box and place it into his usual mug, paint chipped from years of wear and tear.

"hard to argue with that logic," you hear the tiniest bit of rasp in his voice from the germs. "oh and tylenol," you add, looking up from pouring the water, "tylenol would probably help too."

"tylenol would definitely help," he corrects, "do we even have any of that? i thought you finished it last time you were sick."

"we do now, i went out." you reply, walking back over to the couch to hand him the mug now full of steaming hot tea. he accepts the mug from you, mouthing a 'thank you,' before taking a sip. "you went somewhere? god, i must have been out because i did not hear a thing."

you nod, taking a seat on the couch again next to him. "yup. got meds and stuff to make soup."

he raises his eyebrows through a sip, "make soup? no canned stuff?" you shake your head, "only the best for my patients."

the rest of the day is slow. robby ends up napping for a majority of the time. you make him the soup you promised and watch some history documentary netflix recommended.

as the sun falls and the moon comes up, robby's got his head on your lap, your hands are in his hair, the gentlest scratch of your nails lulling him into yet another nap. it's getting late, and you know he's gonna want to go to work tomorrow. if there's anyway that's going to happen he's going to need a good night's sleep.

"i know when i'm the sick one you'd just carry me to bed but... i don't think that's gonna work out well for me if i try." you say, voice quiet as you run your hand along his arm to slowly wake him up.

"just fireman carry me," he teases, "throw me over your shoulder like a bag of potatoes or something."

"if you want to be responsible for all my broken bones, then sure, i'll give it my best shot." you smile down at him before he sits up. rubbing his eyes and mentally preparing to stand up.

"come on, you know you'll be more comfortable in bed." you say, standing up now and pulling gently at his hand.

"yeah, i know," he hums, standing up. once he's fully straight, he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you into him. your head falls to rest on his chest like it's where it belongs. like it's natural.

"thank you," he whispers into your hair. if there were anyone else in the room, they wouldn't even know he said anything. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, before pulling away to look down at you, "for taking care of me."

you smile, "of course."

"seriously, i know i'm an ass about accepting help. i know i'm stubborn as hell but... thank you for not giving up."

you just smile. not sure what to say. there's no world in which you'd give up on taking care of the man you love who neglects himself all too often.

"let's go to bed," you nod towards the bedroom, "sleep is part of my treatment plan too."

he returns your smile, "lead the way, doctor."

as always send me any feedback / thoughts / ideas / requests u have!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

[savemesteeb]

Hi! May I be added to the Robby taglist? Also, I have a request! Robby x DR!girlfriend!reader where he proposes to her in front of the ER after seeing her treating a family(mom, dad, and baby girl) and Robby seeing himself and reader like that in the future.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝙔𝙊𝙐

𝙈𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙚𝙡 ‘𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙗𝙮’ 𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙭 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙!𝙀𝙍𝘿𝙤𝙘𝙩𝙤𝙧!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝑹𝑶𝑩𝑩𝒀’𝑺 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 – 𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙗𝙮 𝙙𝙞���𝙣’𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙙𝙖𝙮. 𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙙𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙛𝙩, 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙖 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙣, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙀𝙍. 𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙬 𝙝𝙚𝙧—𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙩𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙧, 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙣 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙪𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙢, 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙢 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙤𝙨—𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙖𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚. 𝙉𝙤 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙚𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨. 𝙉𝙤 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩. 𝙅𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧. 𝘼𝙡𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧.

𝙒.𝘾. – 2𝙆

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 – 𝙀𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥, 𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙥𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙧 𝙘𝙖𝙧 𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩 (𝙣𝙤𝙣-𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙝𝙞𝙘), 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙛 𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙨𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙨, 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩 𝙚𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙖𝙡, 𝙘𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙣, 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙮 𝙫𝙞𝙗𝙚𝙨.

𝘼/𝙉 – 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙝𝙞𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙩. 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚: 𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙮, 𝙪𝙣𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙚𝙙, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙮. 𝙃𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙞𝙩 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙩𝙝. 💕

𝙍𝙤𝙗𝙗𝙮’𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙜 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 & 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣!

Robby had just stepped out of Trauma Room 4, tugging his gloves off and stuffing them into the trash bin as he walked, rotating his neck to stretch out a kink. His back ached from bending over a teenage cyclist with a bad femur fracture. He’d been in that room for what felt like hours. Just another Tuesday.

He barely registered the callout from a nurse asking about his patient’s admission orders. He answered on autopilot, his hand already reaching for the chart at the nurse’s station.

Then his eyes snagged on movement across the bay.

Behind Curtain 2, through the gap in the fabric, he saw her.

She was crouched down beside a little girl—tiny, maybe two or three years old—perched cross-legged on the gurney in pink leggings and socks that didn’t match. Her cheeks were red from crying, and her curls were a mess, but she was calmer now, cradling a threadbare stuffed puppy in one arm.

The toddler’s eyes were locked on the doctor crouched beside her. On his girlfriend.

Robby paused. Then stopped completely.

She always had that effect on kids.

His girlfriend was speaking to the girl in a low, gentle voice, something that made the little one’s lips twitch, the corners of her mouth curving upward. She pulled a toy stethoscope from her coat pocket—he recognized it. She kept it there just in case they had a pediatric trauma. She’d said once, “Even if it helps for three minutes, it’s worth carrying around.”

“Wanna be the doctor for your puppy?” she asked softly, holding the toy out like it was something sacred.

The little girl blinked at her. Then nodded slowly and reached out.

“Good choice, darling,” she murmured, adjusting the stethoscope gently over the girl’s ears. “Now hold real still. Gotta make sure his heartbeat’s okay.”

The little girl giggled.

Robby felt his throat tighten, unexpected and fast.

He glanced over at the gurney next to them. A man sat there—mid-thirties, tall, broad shoulders, face bloodied but calm, a towel pressed under his nose. Jason, Robby recalled from the chart. He winced every few seconds, shifting as Dr. Jack Abbot, who was like a brother to him, crouched beside him, worked quickly with a suture kit.

“Okay, deep breath for me,” Abbot said, his voice light, easy, like he wasn’t sewing someone’s face back together. “I know you feel like your nose got run over by a truck, but hey—at least it’s still attached.”

Jason huffed a laugh, then groaned immediately after. “Jesus. Feels like it’s three times the size.”

“It’s not, but you’re gonna look like a boxer for a bit.”

A few feet away, Ana—the mother—was lying on the next gurney, sitting upright with an ice pack on her temple. Her eyelids fluttered, blinking through the haze of a mild concussion. Butterfly bandages lined a neat cut above her brow. The laceration had bled a lot, Robby remembered. She’d been more worried about Emmy than her own head.

Emmy. That was the little girl’s name.

Robby looked back at her. She was now pressing the stethoscope against the puppy’s chest, nodding solemnly like she was doing rounds.

“How’s he doing?” His girlfriend asked.

“Beating,” Emmy whispered.

“Well that’s good news.” She smiled radiantly at the little girl.

His girlfriend glanced sideways at Ana, her eyes scanning her vitals—just a flicker of her gaze, quick but thorough. Then she gently tugged the girl’s sleeve. “Wanna sit on my lap while Mommy rests a bit?”

Emmy nodded.

She carefully lifted the girl and sat on the edge of the gurney, holding her with one arm, tapping something into the charting tablet with the other. Emmy leaned into her, thumb in her mouth, head tucked under her chin.

It hit Robby like a brick to the chest.

The way her body curled protectively around the girl. How naturally she shifted into caregiver mode. How easy she made it look—triaging without rushing, soothing without faltering.

This wasn’t just clinical. It wasn’t textbook. It was instinct. She was born for this.

Robby suddenly wasn’t seeing the ER anymore.

He saw her sitting cross-legged on a nursery floor, rocking a baby in her arms. He saw her kissing a scraped knee and making up silly songs while cooking dinner. He saw her teaching someone to tie shoelaces, reading bedtime stories, leaning against a doorframe watching their child sleep.

And he wasn’t on the sidelines in those visions. He was in them. With her. A team.

He exhaled hard, backed away from the station, and made his way toward the exit.

Dana glanced up from the trauma board just as he passed. “Hey, Robby?”

He looked up, startled.

“You good? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” he said, voice rougher than usual. “Just need a minute.”

“Okay…” Dana raised an eyebrow, not buying it, but didn’t push.

Outside, the sunlight hit his eyes and made them water—he blamed that more than the tight feeling in his chest. The air was crisp, the wind carrying the faint scent of city grit and hospital sterilizer.

He walked a few paces into the ambulance bay, then stopped, pulling out his phone with unsteady hands.

Text to Dana:

“Send her out. Please.”

He stared at the screen a second longer before slipping the phone back into his pocket.

No plan. No ring box. Just the velvet pouch he’d been carrying for weeks—out of superstition, or hope, or both. He didn’t even know anymore.

Back inside the ER, the energy had softened. The rush was tapering off, as it often did right before another wave. She stood near the end of Bay 2 now, gently bouncing Emmy on her hip, as she walked around holding her, the little girl drooping with exhaustion. The plastic stethoscope still hung around the toddler’s neck like a badge of honor, the head clutched in one tiny hand. Her thumb had found its way back to her mouth, and her cheek was pressed against the doctor’s shoulder.

Her other hand rested protectively on the child’s back, tracing absent little circles while she watched the family settle.

Ana had drifted to sleep on the stretcher, finally relaxing under Jack’s supervision. Her vitals were stable, the swelling around her forehead manageable. Jason, bandaged and bruised, was upright now, sipping water from a paper cup and talking quietly to one of the nurses. He’d thanked them both more than once, in that raw, grateful tone of someone trying not to fall apart.

The whole bay felt quieter. More grounded. Like the afterglow of a storm.

She adjusted Emmy in her arms and smiled faintly at her. “Wanna go see the fishies in the waiting room?” she murmured.

The girl nodded sleepily, not even lifting her head, just a tiny motion of agreement. Her curls tickled the doctor’s jaw.

That was when Dana Evans appeared at her side.

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Dana said, her voice low but unmistakably smug. She jerked a thumb toward the entrance. “He’s out front.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Robby?”

“Yup.” Dana’s eyes sparkled. “And he looks weirdly emotional for a guy who can do a thoracotomy before breakfast.”

She hesitated, surprised, her brows pulling together. Then, gently, she passed Emmy to a waiting nurse, brushing a kiss to the top of the girl’s head.

“Hold on to that stethoscope for me, okay?” she whispered. Emmy blinked up at her, still clutching it like it was treasure.

And then she turned and walked toward the doors, heart picking up speed.

Robby turned the instant he heard the doors hiss open. His head snapped up like a magnet had been pulled from his chest.

She stepped out into the soft, late-afternoon light, squinting slightly as her eyes adjusted. Her white coat was still on, sleeves rolled up, one cuff stained with a smudge of dried blood. Her badge hung crooked at her hip, and her hair—half pulled back that morning—was escaping, curling messily around her cheeks.

“Hey,” she said, slowing her steps, her brow creased. “Is everything okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. He was just looking at her—really looking—like he’d been waiting for this exact moment without knowing it.

“I saw you,” he said finally, his voice thick.

She tilted her head, confused. “The family’s okay,” she said quickly. “Ana’s resting now, vitals look good. Jason’s alert. Emmy’s—”

“No,” he cut in, soft but firm. “Not like that. I mean I saw you. Really saw you. And it hit me like a damn truck.”

She froze, watching him.

He took a step closer, then another. The air was cool, and she could see the tension in his shoulders as he pulled something small from the pocket of his scrubs.

A velvet pouch.

Her breath caught, but she didn’t move.

“I’ve had this for weeks,” Robby said, lifting it slightly. “I kept thinking I’d wait for the right moment. Something perfect. Something planned. But it turns out the right moment isn’t some big romantic speech or a weekend trip or… or fireworks.”

He swallowed hard.

“The right moment is you. In the middle of a shift, covered in toddler snot, with your hair a mess and your badge on sideways, holding a baby like she was always meant to be in your arms.”

Her eyes were wide now, shimmering with unshed tears.

“I want that,” he said, his voice trembling. “I want that life. The chaos and the quiet. The laughter and the mess. I want the early mornings where we’re both running late, and the nights where we pass out before we finish a movie. I want the living room covered in toys and the fridge with drawings on it and your handwriting on lunchbox notes.”

He took another step. They were inches apart now.

“I want to raise a family with you,” he finished. “I want to build a life. I want you.”

He opened the pouch.

Inside was a simple gold ring. A single sapphire, dark and rich in the light.

The silence hung like a breath between them.

Then she let out a tiny laugh, wet and trembling, covering her mouth with one hand. “Robby,” she whispered.

He lifted the ring slightly. “Will you marry me?”

She stared at him, stunned, tears slipping freely now. Then she nodded, fast and sure, like there was never any other answer.

“Yes,” she choked out. “God, yes.”

He let out a breath that hitched like a laugh and a sob all at once. She was in his arms in a second—he wrapped around her like she was the only thing keeping him steady. She buried her face in his neck, shoulders shaking with relief and joy.

“I look like hell,” she mumbled into his coat.

He laughed, kissing her temple. “You look like my future.”

Back inside, behind the ER glass doors, Dana leaned against wall and peeked through the glass.

She nudged Abbot with her elbow. “Told you.”

Abbot, still checking Jason’s final notes on the chart, didn’t look up. “Took him long enough.”

Dana smirked. “She was carrying the little girl and a charting tablet and still made him fell even harder for her. I mean, if that isn’t wife material…”

Jack snorted. “They’ll be insufferable now.”

Dana grinned. “I cannot wait.”

Outside, in the amber glow of the setting sun, she slipped the ring onto her finger—hands still a little shaky, eyes never leaving his. He leaned down and kissed her like she was the only thing that made sense in the world. And maybe, in that moment, she was.

The doors hissed closed behind them, sealing the hospital away just for now. Ahead of them was a thousand chaotic shifts and quiet Sunday mornings, late-night takeout and sleepy toddler cuddles, shared lives and hard-won peace.

And it all started here.

In scrubs.

In blood.

In love.

@asxgard @18lkpeters @hagarsays @cannonindeez @fadeinsol @blueb33ry-cat @captainoates @ilariyalavorowrites @teenwolfbitches28 @spoiledflor @kmc1989 @nfr-girly @nerdgirljen @obsessed-fan-alert

[savemesteeb]

summary: smurf leaves lena alone at a party. good thing you’re there.

andrew pope cody x reader (eventually)

warnings: animal kingdom spoilers, suggestive language, pope has a big fat crush, reader has a big fat crush, writer has absolutely no idea how old lena is.

you honestly have no idea why you came back here. craig was a teenage fling in your younger years before he got into everything he’s into now. he was the boy who pissed your parents off when you were being an edgy teen, you did manage to stay on good terms and when you ran into him at the beach this morning he told you to stop by at the house for a little party that was happening.

that is why you find yourself at a party hosted by his mother “it will be fun! just like old times”

except you have cleaned up your act since your teenaged years and this definitely wasn’t your crowd anymore.

currently out for summer break from your teaching job you are surrounded by many things that if you somehow were caught with them you would probably lose your teaching license.

you’re thinking about getting out of there as soon as possible when your eyes scan and you spot a very out of place little girl who can’t be older than 8 left alone at this party. you go into child preservation mode as soon as you see her. walking up to the picnic bench you crouch to her eye level.

“is it okay if i sit here?” she looks at you with some of the saddest eyes you have ever seen a child have and just nods at you so you take a seat on the picnic table right beside her. you tell her your name trying to convey that even though you are a stranger you are in no way a threat. “and what’s your name?” now deciding you’ll stick around so that you can give some shitty parent the business when they come back for this poor thing. she sits swinging her legs, her shoes scuffing the ground beneath her. “im lena”

you cant believe someone has left poor lena at a cody party of all places. so you see if there is something you can do to at least get her out of the cloud of weed smoke you are currently sitting in.

“are you hungry? i think there is usually ice cream at the parties here, should we go find it?” you turn to her because if it’s one thing you know about kids is that ice cream works 99 percent of the time. your math proves correct when her eyes light up and she nods excitedly. even the saddest children still love ice cream. you hold out your hand for your to take and she’s practically dragging you into the kitchen. you get her situated at the stool on the island and you open the freezer and dig around a bit. “ah-ha look at this, we found the jackpot” you pull out a container of vanilla and chocolate. she gives you a little timid smile and you just want to grab her and the ice cream and make a run for it.

“hmm i am going to have a scoop of both i think. what about you?” you say as you grab a couple of bowls down from the cupboard. lena nods like that’s a good plan before she’s pointing and saying. “grandma smurf keeps the sprinkles up in that cupboard, could we have those too?”

that about knocks the air out of your lungs when you register what she just said to you, but you keep your composure for her sake. “that sounds perfect”

ice cream with extra sprinkles seems to have gained her trust because after she’s all finished with hers and you’ve washed and dried both bowls lena is turning to you and going. “can i show you my toys in my room” and you are internally jumping for joy that you have somewhere away from the main party to take her. “i would love that, show me the way”

that is how you find yourself sitting in a crouched position at a little round plastic table in lena’s room acting out a tea party as she’s digging through her toy chest looking for something. she pulls out two princess tiaras and hands you one. you happily oblige her and let her lead the way on some play time. you are however a childcare provider first so as your sipping your pretend tea you have to ask. “so lena do you stay here, at grandma smurfs?” she’s busy getting the bears and dolls all situated. “sometimes i stay here. usually i stay at my house with uncle pope. my mommy and daddy are gone” your heart sinks at that. “is uncle pope at this party?” she looks up to you and shakes her head “no he had things to do so he left me with grandma smurf, and then she invited all of these people over, uncle pope said he would be back for me later though” that has you thinking to yourself well that’s good at least she won’t be sleeping here tonight.

you let lena show you all her toys and play any game she wants when the door to her room is suddenly opening. you look up with wide eyes to a man at the door staring down at you with what you think might be an amused expression, or maybe not but you think you saw the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. he’s very intimidating. “hey lena clean up your toys, it’s time to go” you realize how silly you must look as a grown woman in a princess tiara sitting having tea with a teddy bear. so you quickly stand up and whip off the crown.

you wave your hand at the mess. “i can clean up here it’s getting late” the man you are just assuming is lena’s uncle pope just nods with a thanks and is opening the door wider so that lena can get out. before she leaves she gives you a hug and says “thank you for playing with me, this has been the best party” and if that didn’t melt your heart. “thank you for letting me play i had the best time. have a goodnight lena” after that she’s leaving with a wave to you. you wave back and get to cleaning up her bedroom, once that is all finished you slide out of the house and head for your own home.

a couple of days later pope is at smurf’s house for a meeting with the family. once business is wrapped up he has question for his nephew and brothers. “does anyone know the girl who lena was with the other night?” the boys stare at him blankly telling him that they were not paying attention to what lena was up to while this party was happening. so he explains what you look like and your name that he got from lena hoping one of them has an idea. “oh she’s a friend of mine from high school, why are you asking?” craig realizes who pope is looking for.

“lena won’t stop talking about her. i was hoping i could get a hold of her and maybe get her to spend the day with her one of these days if she would be up to it.” craig is pulling out his phone to look for your number. “well i know you probably don’t want my recommendation, but for what it’s worth she grew up to be an elementary school teacher. out of good influences she’s probably up there on the list. if i remember correctly she may have also been a freak in the sheets too, not sure i had a lot of girlfriends in high school”. pope gives him an unimpressed look “dude” because he was already obsessively thinking about the beautiful girl with the adorable blush when she was caught with a plastic crown on, in the sundress with the yellow bikini strings showing off just enough to make his brain go blank. not to mention you were good with lena - that was also a new turn on for him apparently. and now he has just been given the tidbit that you were an apparent freak in the sheets - what was he even supposed to do with that information? “do you have her number or not?” craig sends your contact to his phone. pope thanks him and heads back to baz’s house where lena was with the neighbour for the hour he was gone.

he internally wrestles with himself and your contact information. should he call? should he text? should he just leave you alone all together? is that fair to lena? he thinks if he plays this right he could finally get her a good influence in her life.

he decides on a text that way you can just ignore it if you want to, there should be no pressure to answer. hey sorry to bother you i got your contact info from craig. this is lena’s uncle pope. she can’t stop talking about the fun she had with you the other day. i was hoping i could somehow convince you to spend a day with her? i think it would really make her summer.

he’s thankful that you don’t leave him to overthink the whole thing responding back fairly quickly. hi uncle pope. i would love to spend the day with lena if that is all good with you. i am free basically any day so whenever works for you. something about you calling him uncle pope has him fighting a rare grin from showing on his face. i have some work coming up in a couple of days in santa monica, is that okay? it would probably be a full day. again you don’t make him wait long. sounds like a plan to me just send me the address and time that works for me to come over.

it is the day of the job and you have shown up to a little house on the beach just like you’ve been told. you lightly knock on the door when you are greeted by uncle pope. it was a bit dark at the party so you didn’t get a good look at him last time, but standing at the door letting you in you see how handsome he is. broody stare that you always find attractive, auburn curls, and his arms… wow is all you have to say about those in his button down shirt. “come in, i thought lena would be awake by now but she’s still sleeping. she hasn’t been sleeping well so i just let her when she does” you give a little frown. the more you learn about lena the more you have a deep down desire to make sure nothing bad ever happens to her again. you follow him inside and look around. you don’t really think it’s uncle pope’s style - this place was decorated most likely by lena’s mom and dad but you spot clear clues that a child does live here. toys scattered in the living room, art hanging proudly on the fridge. it makes you smile. “i have to get going to work. is there anything you need before i go? you have my number and craig’s if anything comes up and i don’t answer. you nod at him. “yeah that should be good, nothing i need here. being this close to the beach i think i might take lena there for a bit today if that’s okay? pope nods back “she loves the beach, that would be great.”

he packs up all his things and gets ready to head out the door “have a good day at work uncle pope” you say to him. he turns back with an amused smile on his face. “you know you can just call me pope or even andrew, that’s my real name.” you give him a bit of a cheeky grin “well we never actually formally got introduced to one another so i was just going off the name i had been told” he smiles at how literal you are. “well i have to get going but you have a good day with lena also - i can’t thank you enough she’s so excited.” and with that he heads out for the day.

when lena wakes up you feed her some breakfast with what you can find and get her ready for the beach. you make sure to grab some toys, towels, water, sunscreen to reapply later and pack a quick lunch for you both to eat too. once your all ready to go you look down at lena ready to go with her bucket hat on and say “should we head to the beach?” she nods excitedly.

you honestly are having the best time with her when you think it’s been enough time in the direct sun you start to pack up with a promise of stopping by the ice cream truck on the way home.

once home you think it’s fine just to get her cleaned up and into pajamas - possibly a little early for her but you promise a movie and popcorn after she gets cleaned up and has some dinner that you made - just a simple stir fry from the ingredients you could find in the fridge.

just before you’re about to get the movie started lena turns to you “do you know how to paint nails? i haven’t had mine painted since mommy went away” ugh you were having such a good time without the dull ache of knowing how hard her life must be as smurf’s grandchild. “yes of course i can paint your nails where do you keep your polish?” she runs down the hall to grab some.

pope’s day has been so long at this job that he hasn’t had a chance to even glance at his phone. when he does he’s he sees he has some missed messages from you and panics a bit as he goes to open them but his mind is put at ease when he opens the message thread to find picture updates of your day together. lena in her bathing suit and hat next to a huge sandcastle smiling wider then he thinks he’s ever seen from her, lena all covered in sand eating a sandwich and strawberries, a candid of lena splashing around in a tide pool, another of her on the swings, one of her showing off sparkly purple finger nails, and his personal favorite a selfie of you with lena on your lap showing off your ice cream cones cheek to cheek with big grins on your faces, as if you were both in the middle of saying cheese. that’s the one he wants to make his new home screen but picks the one of lena and the sandcastle and makes the switch from his boring out of the package background.

hey sorry work took a bit longer than expected. looks like you have had a way better day than me. i should be home in a couple of hours, sorry for taking up so much of your day. he finds himself flipping through the photos you sent once more and he can’t help the smile growing on is face wondering if it was possible for a kids and adults to be soulmates. he thinks in this case it might be true. that’s when a banner notification pulls him from his thoughts. please don’t apologize at all. we had a great day. see you when you get here and drive careful! something about you telling him to drive carefully makes his stomach do little flips, because you really just are that caring that you can put that in passing like it is nothing at all to you.

pope enters the house quietly as he knows it’s late and he doesn’t want to disturb lena. he thinks she must have been able to fall asleep after the busy day she had. what he wasn’t expecting was the sight he got when he walked in the door. you have one arm on the arm rest of the couch holding your head up. your other hand has its fingers running soothing motions in lena’s hair as she sleeps with her head in your lap. the tv is off and you have tucked the blanket left on the couch around lena as she slept. “hey” he says in a low whisper as to not startle you or wake lena. “hi andrew” you say equally as quiet. “im sorry, i should have moved her into her room as soon as she started closing her eyes but i didn’t know she would fall asleep that fast”

“don’t worry about it” pope crouches down and goes to pick up lena. she immediately curls into him and rests her head on his shoulder as he brings her into her room. he gets her all tucked in, turns her night light on and slowly closes the door. he heads back into the living room and stops short watching you stand up to fold the blanket and put it back where it belongs. you turn to start to pick up the crayons left on the coffee table when he stops you “hey you don’t need to clean those i got it - it already looks better in here than when i left.” he says assessing the room, all the toys had been picked up and put away for once. you only had to pick up a few more crayons so you don’t listen to him. you put them in the case and neatly place them back on the counter where they belong. you turn to smile at him “if you’re hungry there is some dinner for you in the fridge” he nods “thanks.”

that’s when you go to start collecting your things and putting them into the bag that you brought. “well you had a long day i should get out of your hair, have a good night andrew” you look up at him with a smile. “hey hold on a second” pope is pulling out his wallet from his back pocket looking for some cash to give you. “oh you really don’t need to pay me i had a blast today. i am happy to spend time with lena any time you need.” he’s still holding the money out to you. “andrew i really appreciate it but im not a babysitter think of me as a friend, you don’t pay friends to hang out with you” he huffs a defeated sigh and sticks the money back in his wallet. “fine but next time i get to come along on you and lena’s big fun day” you giggle at that. “i would really like that actually” with that you grab your keys and feel a bit bold so you stand on your tiptoes and kiss andrew on the cheek as you head out the door. “have a good night andrew.” he stands there a bit stunned. “yeah you too. thanks again” he watches you get in your car safe and drive away before he closes the door and blows a breath out of his cheeks. maybe lena and him can share a soulmate? at least he hopes they can.

[savemesteeb]

OMG I WAS THE ANON WHO SENT SMTH ABT ASKING JACK ABBOT TO BE UR BOYFRIEND A BAR AND SITTING IN HIS LAP TO ESCAPE A CREEP (unless tumblr ate my ask bc it hates me), BUT IVE BEEN WATCHING ANIMAL KINGDOM AND IM FROTHING AY THE MOUTH NOW THINKING ABT POPE AND THAT SITUATION GRHAGEHEH

im only on s2 of animal kingdom but i just ADORE how you write pope and i needed to share this with you because whenever i think of pope's characterization i think of you frfr

i actually went so physically insane over this prompt. i was counting down the minutes until school ended so i could write this and it's so small but i hope you like it. it would be perfect for jack but ohmygod for pope. imagine this is how he meets wifey or something. jesus lord

he sits on a stool at deran's bar, right against the counter, because he doesn't have anywhere else to be. anywhere else to go right now. there's bruises littered across his back and a visible scratch on his neck and one on his forehead that's still healing. a wrapped up hand picks up his beer and takes a long sip before setting it down a little harder than he intended.

the place is packed—it always is. some part of andrew, deep inside, is happy for deran. the people here are drunk and chattery and he knows that there's regulars and locals who prefer this place. his brother created something that others love, that people go to willingly.

and andrew hasn't felt anything close to that feeling in forever. he takes another drink of his beer, this time until it's empty, and raises it towards the bartender. he doesn't know where deran is tonight, probably out mixed in the crowd, mingling and talking. craig is probably with him. and like always, andrew is alone.

the bartender brings over another and takes the empty bottle away. it's his third or fourth—though it takes so much to get him drunk, he hasn't even begun to feel the stupid effects of it yet. and all around him, people keep partying, talking, drinking. loud over the music that plays in the background. it's all too loud.

this one will have to be his last. he needs to go home. but the idea of going inside the house, to his bedroom, to the bedroom that was lena's, makes him think the beer might come back up. he'll take the truck to the beach, sit there for a few hours. roll the window down so there's nothing but quiet and ocean waves. nothing can fix how he's been feeling recently, but maybe that can patch it up for a few hours, a temporary band-aid. (what he really needs is something closer to surgery, but he can't think about that right now. band-aid it is.)

he takes a breath, shoulders rising in the black shirt he'd worn today. another sip of his beer. and just when he decides it's time to go be alone—always, he's always alone—he feels a tap on his shoulder. there's a healing bruise, yellow and green, there so he winces briefly before turning to face who it is—craig or deran. he's not sure who else it could be.

and then he sees you. blinking up at him, eyes fluttering quickly. breathing heavy and turning your neck as if someone's following you. you look jittery and nervous, though for once, it's not directed at him. it makes something dark and protective wash over him briefly. you take little shallow breaths, he can tell from how your chest heaves, when he turns and faces you all the way. he doesn't think he's ever seen you before.

"yes?"

"w-what's your name?" you turn again, like you're waiting for someone to show up behind you.

"my name?" he repeats quietly. he can barely hear you over the continual drone of the bar and the shitty music. you nod quickly, taking a step closer to him. you slide between his seat and the seat next to him, standing there, so close that a couple more inches and you'd be touching him, skin to skin.

you don't look drunk. you're not slurring your words or stumbling. your hands are empty, your eyes still scanning the crowd. you're wearing a pretty dress and he stares at the strap of it on your bare shoulder momentarily before meeting your eyes again.

"your name. please, i-"

"it's andrew."

"andrew. andrew, i-" he almost doesn't catch the rest of your sentence. the way you say his name catches him off guard. slow and sweet and you said it twice like you're really making sure it's him. you say it as if you're happy it's him. he doesn't think he's ever heard it said like that before. "-i know this is going to sound crazy, but i really need help, um-"

and some instinct in him rises up quickly, washing over his body like a flood wave. that you need help. that you picked him to ask for it. that you seem jittery and nervous but maybe a flicker calmer than you were a moment ago. and he did that. and the satisfaction from that makes him incredibly glad he didn't leave after his last beer.

"what's wrong?" he interrupts you, but you notice it. how he sits up straighter, how his bruised hand twitches. it doesn't hover over you, yet, but he keeps it ready as though he might have to at any moment. his eyes are hyper-focused on yours. he listens to every word. and somehow, though you just walked up to the first guy you thought wasn't completely drunk, you think you're safe with him.

"this guy-" but you don't get to finish. since andrew locked eyes with you, you hadn't looked around to see if the guy that's been bothering you all night was getting closer. you couldn't find your friends and he'd used that opportunity to get right next to you and not take no for an answer. so you'd split the second he turned around, getting through the crowd as quickly as you could, wondering if maybe the bartender could help. but realizing a lesson your friends had told you a long time ago—the only no a guy like that will listen to is if it comes from another guy—you walked right up to a stranger in a black shirt instead.

"there you are-" the voice booms. you freeze mid-sentence, something andrew does not like at all. your expression changes, worry drapes over your face again, and despite andrew never being good at these things, he knows you're very uncomfortable. "was looking all over for you. where were we?"

you don't turn right away. your eyes stay locked on andrew's, taking one step closer to him.

but andrew doesn't half-ass anything. certainly not this, when you're trembling like a leaf and he can tell his drunk asshole won't stop bothering you. wordlessly, just from your pretty, worried eyes. he moves his hands to your waist—gently, but firmly. he doesn't wander them, just keeps them in place, still sitting down, moving his gaze from your eyes to the guy's.

but you worry, momentarily, that it's not enough. the asshole looks from you to andrew, to andrew's hands. before you can stop to think about it too much, you perch yourself against him, sitting on his lap. you swing your arm around his neck and keep a hand on his bicep to steady yourself. and andrew plays along perfectly, finding it too easy to bring one hand to your knee and keeping the other on your waist and look up at the guy in question.

he doesn't have to say anything. he knows that he recognizes him.

"oh," the guy starts, backing up a step right away. "i thought you were kidding about the boyfriend. you didn't say it was-"

"she wasn't," andrew says, though unbeknownst to you, he means it. "do we have a problem?"

"no, no, pope, no man. sorry about that, i'll-"

"tell her sorry." you turn your gaze from the encounter between the two men to andrew, not sure why he said that.

"i-i'm sorry-" he stumbles out, before walking away quickly. you must have picked the right guy to ask for help—he seems incredibly scared of andrew. briefly you wonder if you should be scared too.

"thank you," you say, looking back at andrew. he's looking at you too, and you don't realize how close your faces are until you can feel his breath against your cheek. he blinks up at you, not looking away. "oh, i'm sorry, i'll move-"

but his hands are firm on you, keeping you in place.

"stay." the way he says it, it doesn't feel like you have much of a choice. but you'd be an idiot to run from a man who just helped save you when you couldn't find your friends or anyone else to do so. his huge arm feels tense and taut under your hand and it's easy to melt into his grip, getting comfortable against him. you almost feel like you can trust him, like you didn't just meet him ten minutes ago.

"can i buy you another beer? to thank you?"

"yeah. sure."

[savemesteeb]

warning: kind of inappropriate work behavior(??), reader wears thongs, robby is down horrendously bad, suggestive, smut, p in v sex, etc etc etc.

summary: after overhearing certain rumor about you, robby just can't get his head back in the game

word count: 3.8k

note: this is based off that one scene in er where some doctor tells carter you can see lucy's thong through her scrubs and the dumbass tries to get a peek

➽──────────────────❥

"one word: thong"

"really?"

"yeah. when the light hits right, you can see it under her scrubs."

those were the last words robby had the ability to register while he stood there finishing up some overdue charts.

he really hadn't meant to eavesdrop. it wasn't exactly a habit of his. in reality, he couldn't have really cared less about the gossip that had a tendency to spread around at the pitt. he just so happened to catch wind of it almost every time. blame his habit of being stationary at the nurse's station.

this time it just so happened that you were the point of interest in such gossip.

and the gossip in question got to him more than he could've predicted.

his mind zeroed in on the conversation as soon as the male PA mentioned your name. but it wasn't until the word thong was put in the same sentence that his mind went completely blank. whatever else was spoken after that went completely over his head. it was only white noise that he heard after that, charts completely forgotten as his hand stilled on the tablet he was working on.

everything else was a blur after that. he wasnt really sure how long he sat there before dana nudged him on her way to her station, giving him a confused tilt of her head in curiosity at his odd behavior.

he shook his head after that, clearing himself of the thought for the time being. he felt like an absolute pervert being affected like this. what was going through his head? why did he even entertain the thought of overhearing a conversation just because you were the subject matter? he had no business caring about your personal life, much less about rumors some other doctors were bringing up about you.

he tried to focus on work after that, to keep his mind away from any thoughts of you. he had to see you in a bit, make eye contact without letting his eyes stray south as soon as you turned around.

it was going to be a long shift.

➽──────────────────❥

dana had been eyeing him ever since.

it was easy for her to put two and two together, chuckling at his adamant effort in avoiding eye contact with you whenever you'd show up in the same room as him.

he kept his eyes low, way too low — on your feet, on your badge attached to your hip, just not on you. it was comical to dana, really. she hadn't seen robby this flustered since, well, ever.

the rumors were true as far as dana knew.

not only could she see the 'under the right lighting' argument, but she had also seen you change in the locker rooms. the thong thing wasn't really a secret among the female members of staff. you weren't particularly shy when changing into your scrubs on the occasional extra shift, those days when you came in wearing your outside clothes and needed to change into the appropriate apparel for work.

still, it was funny that some stupid, jock PA's found it as good gossip material. it was 2025, a girl's choice of underwear wasn't that scandalous anymore.

robby, however, dana knew, was nearing old man status. so, receiving information that his controversially young work crush was donning such an illicit piece of apparel under her clothes had the expected effect on his poor, old, soul.

she could see robby's soul leave his body any time you came around, any time you rounded the counter and your back faced him. he couldn't have been more obvious about it, looking away as if he'd been burned, jumping out of the way when you passed by. he was far too respectful for his own good.

it made dana sad to see sometimes. maybe if he had all those worries about being inappropriate out of his mind, he could've landed on the conclusion that the interest was mutual.

dana was an observant woman, perhaps the most observant out of everyone else in the building. no word made its way through the department without passing through her ears first.

of course she had caught wind of your crush on the emotionally constipated attending.

she hadn't even needed to hear the rumor about it (because of course there had been hushed talks of it). her eyes had landed on you checking robby out countless times. she had registered the flushed cheeks whenever robby threw off his hoodie, she had heard the stutters when he'd praise your work. and most of all, she had noticed your discouraged demeanor when robby began avoiding you all day, your poor eyes reflecting the confusion behind his behavior.

idiots. the both of you.

➽──────────────────❥

"okay, uhm, is the pressure right, or should i-"

"no, you're doing great. just make sure you don't— yeah, that's it. good job."

robby was arguably standing way closer than he needed to be, he knew that.

he was never this attentive to other students of his (maybe whitaker once or twice, but he couldn't help himself; he saw a bit of himself in him). and he knew other attendings took note of his preferential treatment towards you.

however, this time he had a perfectly acceptable reason to stand over you as you stitched up some drunk guy's eyebrow laceration. you hadn't done your plastics rotation yet, mostly keeping your focus on trauma. you were hesitant to mess up this guy's face, robby had noticed it within seconds. he knew how to read you by now, having stuck around you long enough to get your moods in advance.

when you seemed to have the hang of things, he sat back, watching you and santos work on the guy on your own.

he stuck around just in case, knowing the flight risk of inebriated patients, aware that despite santos being there to help you out, he didn't trust leaving you two alone in a room with some guy.

but sitting back was his a terrible mistake. or at least sitting where he did.

because just as he let his back lay on the recline of the chair, he realized that his view was the source of all his problems that day.

he had the perfect angle of your backside, with you bending down slightly to get a good angle on the man's injury, giving robby a front row seat to your ass. and the lighting? well, it was as perfect as the PA had described. it gave robby what he was ashamed to call an amazing view of your ass.

the rumors had been true, by the way.

under the perfect lighting, he could see the line of your thong digging right into the plush of your ass, thin line disappearing between the cheeks.

he swallowed at the sight, eyes doing their best attempt at looking away but failing miserably.

not only could he see the outline of your thong, but he could see the perfect shape of your ass. it was the optimal view of you bent forward, the same view he'd have if he had you over one of the tables in the on-call rooms. he licked his lips at the thought, hand coming to rub at his beard in a distracted manner.

"dr. robby?"

it was santo's voice what broke his trance, forcing him to shake his head of any illicit thoughts before meeting her eyes.

there was a slight smirk on her face, a smug little grin that he'd gotten used to seeing from her any time she was able to one-up the other med students (which was pretty often, if robby was honest). but this time he was on the receiving end, and he didn't like it.

he looked to her left, finding you with a slightly shocked look on your face, eyes looking to santos in amused confusion before finding his again, eyebrows raised and head tilting to the side in a questioning manner.

"y-yeah?"

"you with us, dr. robby?"

santos could be cruel sometimes.

"yes, sorry. i, uhm, just got distracted for a second there." he cleared his throat. "what'd you need?" his eyes were now as far away from your ass as humanly possible.

"just wanted you to check my work." this time it was you, voice sweet as ever. but still, there was a mixture of shock and smugness in your eyes, mirroring that of santos'.

he got up slowly, awkwardly, taking the few steps towards you and leaning over the man sat in front of you, hesitant in his movements as to not get too close. he was still close enough to get a whiff of lavender from your shampoo, but he willed himself not to react.

"yep. that's pretty good. great job, doctors." he clapped his hands to signify the end of his praise, taking a few steps back. "if you'll excuse me, doctors, i'll go check on whitaker and the rest now." he bowed his head down as he had a tendency to do, stepping away from the embarrassing scene in hopes he could will it away from having happened.

as soon as he was out of view, he grimaced at himself, wishing the ground would just swallow him whole.

his steps were fast enough that he missed out on the aftermath of his embarrassment, missed out on your questioning look towards santos and her cackle in return.

"was he checking out my ass?" you'd asked, a little shocked, yet weirdly flattered.

"i don't blame him."

➽──────────────────❥

"oh, fuck. i'm sorry, i didn't know there was anyone in here."

"oh, no. don't worry, i was just-"

"no, yeah, i'll leave. you just-"

"no! you can, uhm, yeah. i'll leave."

the awkward exchange didn't end there. nor did the constant interruptions of one another.

you'd just been in the process of falling asleep, having made yourself comfortable on the bed located inside the on-call room, lights off and blinds drawn already. the interruption had been robby's fault, but you couldn't find yourself being angry at him, instead offering to leave the room to him if he so wished.

you'd already sat up, any sleepiness leaving your body the moment you realized who had just walked into the room.

it just so happened to be the man you'd been thinking about all day.

it was difficult not to think about him. not when you knew he was also thinking about you.

catching him checking you out had felt like a bucket of ice water being dropped on you. there were times in which you'd catch him staring, in which you'd feel like he was giving you preferential treatment, but none of those instances held a candle to the blatantness of what had happened today.

santos had burst out laughing as soon as robby was out of earshot, confirming your doubts as to whether or not his eyes had been zeroed in where you thought they'd been. you flushed, biting your lip and looking down, only to be the next victim of santos' berating when she realized you'd liked it. you'd enjoyed the attention; that specific type of attention from that specific man.

the rest of your day was spent with robby in your mind. he'd become a parasite wedged in there, unable to leave your thoughts. your eyes went to look for him multiple times during the day, always finding him fleeing your gaze, not even trying to be subtle about his avoidance.

this was the first time ever since the incident in which you'd been able to get him to meet your eyes. you wanted to take the chance.

you were already up from the bed before he could attempt to walk out, your hand reaching out to his arm without so much as thinking. you were unsure why you stopped him, but you were glad when he didn't pull away.

"i- i should leave." he uttered, looking at you and then at the ground. he then took a deep breath, eyes squeezing shut before looking up at you once more. "i'm very sorry about today. that was- that was incredibly inappropriate of me. i have a lot of respect for you and-"

"do you want to see?"

his eyes nearly bulged out. the arm that was in your hold clenched, hardening under your touch.

"excuse me?"

you took a step forward, with the same delicacy you'd approach a wild animal.

"do you want to see if the rumors are true?" you looked up at him, mouth slightly agape.

"i- you- you know about that rumor?"

giggling, you let your hand slide down his arm, reaching his hand and grasping his fingers lightly. he was receptive of this, eyeing your intertwined fingers for a second before nudging you with his hand in return.

"yeah, of course i know. dana told me about it. silly rumor, isn't it?"

"oh, i wouldn't- i wouldn't really entertain it." he half chuckled, half scoffed, clearly uncomfortable by how forward you were being. yet he was still in the room holding your hand, eyeing you like he felt guilty for how hungry he was.

"no? you seemed awfully interested earlier."

okay, that was a little mean. but you had him right where you wanted him. all you needed to do was catch him.

he groaned. like, belly-groaned, chuckling humorlessly once more as he dropped your hand to run his hands down his face in mortification. his skin turned a few shades redder, ears now the shade of tomatoes.

"you're really fucking mean, you know that?" he said but didn't mean. he was easy to read in this moment. any man would be.

"i wouldn't call it mean. more like ... decided." you eyed him up and down, making your intentions as blatantly obvious as possible, adding a lip bite just for good measure.

"you haven't answered my question, by the way."

you took a few steps forward, leaving enough distance to give him a chance to reject you in the odd chance he wasn't interested (but you knew the truth by now).

he bit his bottom lip, hesitant in taking a few steps towards you, ultimately close the distance, but doing so in the end.

"i'd love to confirm the rumors." his hand reached for yours, interlacing them once more, "if you'd let me."

now close enough for comfort, your eyes lowered to his lips, chin tilting towards him in a challenging manner. it was time for him to make the next move, to brave that last step towards an hr violation.

and then he did, nose nuzzling your own for a few turns before closing the gap, eyes closed and lips open, taking your lower lip captive for an open-mouthed kiss.

sighing in relief against him, you grasped at his scrubs, pulling him inhumanly close. his hands remained reserved, but yours found every part of him you wanted to touch. they went under his shirt to feel up the creases of his back, to his biceps, grasping at the hard muscle, to his hair, his beard, to his hands, to lead them to your body.

finally, his hands landed on your ass, groaning into your mouth when they squeezed at the flesh, feeling the thin lack of fabric your lone scrubs provided, no underwear in sight. nothing but a tiny string.

"fuuuck, you really wear these to work?" he groaned in between kisses, almost growling when you took that chance to lick into his mouth.

"wanna see up close?"

he groaned again, gruttal, mindless, hands slipping under your scrub top to feel your skin. his flat palm drove itself up and down your back, pulling you closer, tracing at the strap of your bra when it came into contact.

"i wanna see everything." he breathed.

he reached down, fingertips finding the hem of your shirt and helping you throw it off. when he looked down, he found a red bra, a tiny gem at its center and soft lace trimming the cups. his hands reached up, hesitating in touching the lace, face leaning down to trace the freed skin of your chest.

"is it matching?"

hands now digging at his hair, you pulled him up to your eye-line, kissing his lips softly a few times.

"you should see for yourself."

this was all the permission he needed.

your bra was off in seconds, your scrubs being pulled down with zero finesse as you kicked off your shoes. it was a dumb idea to get fully naked for a quickie, but he was so receptive, so into you that you wanted to give him a full view of your body.

and he adored the view. he held no reservations in letting you know about this.

"fucking shit, kid. this what you've been hiding under those scrubs?" he groaned, grabby hands feeling every inch of your body, pulling you as close as possible before digging his tongue right back into your mouth. "gorgeous fucking thing."

you wanted him just as bare, your hands demanding he undress, earning a chuckle from him as he aided you in getting his clothes off.

"shit, robby." you sighed at the view, at the large expanse of skin now bare before you.

he was broader shirtless, his chest a landscape for you to kiss and mark up to your liking. short nails dragged up and down the expanse of tanned skin, leaving light marks across it before your lips joined in on the mix, sucking the odd mark here and there, some high enough they'd likely be seen while he donned his scrubs. the thought made you giddy.

it was only fair, seeing as he had his fun with your body, kissing, licking, sucking, grabbing, pinching at any inch of skin he had within his reach. there was no precision in his touches, all simply driven by sheer lust. the lazy desire in his eyes made your knees buckle, glad his strong arms were wrapped around you, providing you with the much needed support.

one large hand wrapped around your hip, trailing down to the back of your knee and wrapping your leg around his waist and pulling you up against him with little to no effort — his easy demonstration of his strength almost making your eyes roll back. he took a few steps with you half-wrapped around him, pushing you up against the wall and crowding you there with his large frame, mouth open as he captured your lips in his.

his hips began moving along with yours, making you gasp at the weight between his legs. you moaned and sigh, scratching at the skin of his back and shoulders, already way too affected to even think coherently. your mind was completely overtaken by thoughts of robby and how good he'd feel if he actually pushed aside that tiny string and made his way inside you.

it seemed he was just as needy as you, haphazardly lowering his boxers just enough to free his dick, now pushing it off against you with a groan. you were dripping by then, frustrated at your inability to form any actual words to beg for more.

"kid." he called out. "need you, fuck. this okay with you?" his nose nuzzled you, eyes barely open as they zeroed in on your lips, his own lips and his heavy breath circulating against you.

you nodded desperately, attempting to press yourself even closer.

"no, sweetheart. need you to tell me."

"please, robby." you begged, hips grinding against his with an embarrassing neediness.

he grabbed onto his dick, tucking it under your hip and between your legs, drawing it up and down the length of your pussy. your thong had been pushed aside already, leaving the perfect door for him to finally breach you.

"ohhhh, fuckkkk."

his groan was throaty, coming deep from his diaphragm. his lips chased yours quickly after, wanting to muffle himself as much as possible. still, you could feel him grumble and growl against you, the vibrations of his chest felt deep within you at the contact.

"feel so fucking perfect, sweetheart." he groaned. "god, how the hell are you this tight?"

he was way better off than you, at least able to form words. you were so full, so perfectly breached that you could do nothing but whine against him, cry and pant and wail his name, biting onto his shoulder any time his lips would leave your own.

and when he began to move, things got catastrophic for you.

he held no reservations, hammering into you with fervor, with so much desire you felt like you were well on your way to passing out. the strength of his thrusts created a nasty sound of skin slapping, the door hitting the wall with every rock of his hips. you were sure any bystanders would be able to guess what was going on on the other side of the door, but you didn't have enough of your faculties active in order to care.

"r-robby, fuck. so full..."

"yeah? tell me about it, sweetheart."

and you did. you babbled and cried, letting him know of every thought going through your head. some were nasty, some were nonsensical, but he loved every single one, you could tell. he'd either groan or bite your shoulder, praising you for how good and tight and perfect you were for him. he had you losing your mind, had your eyes rolling back and your mouth agape, drool practically seeping down your lips.

one large hand dipped between you, searching for your clit for a few seconds before striking gold, two long fingers circling it messily yet precisely enough to have you hiccupping with pleasure.

"you're gonna come for me, aren't you, baby? hmm?" he basically barked into your ear. "c'mon, do it for me."

it only took you a few moments to finally let go, having to bite the back of your hand in order to not scream out his name. your leg was burning from resting your weight on it, with the other one likely bruised by robby's tight hold, but any pain took a backseat to the blinding pleasure.

much to your dismay, robby pulled out a few moments later, using his free hand to work his dick between the two of you, groaning expletives when he finally let go, staining the window of skin between you; his chest, yours. you were practically drenched in his juices by the end of it.

"shit."

"yeah. shit." he chuckled, finally letting go of your leg and helping you balance yourself. when you began wobbling, he pulled his pants back up and helped you get back to the bed you'd been lying on earlier, sitting you down with a kiss to your hair.

"you good?"

you nodded, hand taking his, kissing the back of it and getting a soft chuckle out of him. he walked over to gather your clothes, handing you a rag from nearby to help you clean up, and proceeding to aid you in dressing up.

"so, did the rumor live up to its hype?" you giggled.

he rolled his eyes, chuckling, "you're going to make me tachycardiac, kid."

[savemesteeb]

giggling kicking my feet

Obsessed with your Dr. Robby writing!!! I need to see your take on obviously jealous Robby where a patient flirts with the reader while she fixes him up and everyone picks up on it the jealousy (and find it hilarious) except the reader who is just like “???”

Tension at The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavich x Surgeon!Reader

Summary: Being a surgeon at The Pitt meant handling chaos with a level head. You were used to high-pressure situations, fast decisions, and—unfortunately—inappropriate comments from trauma patients. What you weren’t used to was Dr. Robby getting tense over it.

The moment they wheeled the trauma patient into the ER, you knew it was going to be a long night.

Gunshot wound, mid-30s, conscious but way too cocky for someone actively bleeding out.

“You’re a pretty one,” the guy grunted as you checked his vitals.

You didn’t react. Didn’t even look at him. Just focused on stabilizing him. “BP’s low. We need to get him to the OR.”

But he wasn’t done.

“I must be dying,” he groaned dramatically. “Because there is no way an angel like you is real.”

From across the room, you heard the sharp snap of gloves.

You felt it before you even saw it—Dr. Robby stiffening beside you, shoulders tensing as he prepped the IV line.

You ignored both of them. Kept working.

But the patient loved an audience.

“Come on, Doc,” he said, shooting you a weak grin. “Let me take you out after this. I mean, after you save my life, obviously.”

“I’m literally about to crack open your chest,” you deadpanned.

“Damn,” he groaned, wincing as you adjusted the pressure on his wound. “I love a woman in control.”

That’s when Robby’s jaw clenched. Tight.

You didn’t see it, but you felt it in the air, the quiet but dangerous shift in his energy.

Still, you stayed focused. “Get the OR prepped,” you ordered.

He looked between you and Robby—who was now standing very still, his hand flexing at his side like he was trying very hard not to react.

And then the patient let out a breathless laugh. “Woah, man. What are you—her boyfriend or something?”

The room froze. Silence. Thick, loaded silence.

You didn’t stop working. Didn’t even blink. But you felt everyone’s eyes shift to Robby.

The patient was smirking, but it was weaker now. Like he had finally clocked the tension in the room.

Robby inhaled slowly, carefully. Then, in the calmest voice you’d ever heard from him, he muttered—“Let’s just focus on keeping you alive, alright?”

His tone was light, controlled, but there was something dangerous underneath. Something that made the patient’s grin drop. Something that made your pulse spike—because you knew Robby. And you knew exactly what that reaction meant.

The second the gurney disappeared through the OR doors, the ER fell into a weird silence. No one was saying anything, but you could feel it—the barely-contained smirks, the stolen glances, the way nobody wanted to be the first to break.

Until, of course, someone did.

“Okay,” Dana finally said, pulling off her gloves with a snap. “So we’re just… not gonna talk about that?”

You exhaled through your nose, giving her a look. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Dana snorted. “Oh, please.”

You sighed. “Dana—”

“No, no, I wanna hear this,” Dr. Collins said. “I mean, not to read into anything, but—”

“But you’re gonna read into it anyway?” you interrupted, raising a brow.

Dana grinned. “Duh.”

You rolled your eyes, reaching for your chart, fully prepared to ignore this conversation forever.

But then—“That patient was so right,” Javadi muttered.

You froze. Robby, who had been standing at the sink washing his hands, froze too.

Javadi hesitated. “I just mean—the energy? It was giving, like… jealous boyfriend.”

Silence. Your stomach flipped.

Because that wasn’t just a casual statement but an open challenge. And before you could deflect—before you could handle this—Robby turned.

Dr. Robby. The cool, collected, always-in-control attending. Except right now he didn’t look collected at all. He looked pissed. Not at you. At himself.

He grabbed a towel, drying his hands too aggressively before muttering, without even looking at you—“Yeah? Well, maybe that’s because I am.”

A collective inhale.

You blinked. “What?”

Robby tossed the towel onto the counter, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “You heard me.”

The room was dead silent.

Then—“Oh, shit,” Dana whispered under her breath, eyes wide.

The interns gawked. Your brain stalled. Because what the hell had just happened? You were used to subtle tension. Used to stolen glances and things left unsaid. But this wasn’t subtle.

This was Robby snapping—publicly, in front of everyone—and you had no idea what to do about it.

[savemesteeb]

Your Side of the Bed

Summary: Robby finds himself in an arrangement of sharing the reader’s bed. Sleeping side by side in the most literal of senses. It was simply a way they could be there for one another, offer comfort on hard days. And yet he found himself wanting more.

Paring: Michael “Robinavitch” x reader

Word Count: 9k

Warnings: NO SMUT I don’t think it’s even joked about here lol so there’s no smut in here! Brief mention of suicide prevention measures in a joke. Reader gets a small cut and is freaked out by medical procedures.

A/N: Really this was born out of me just wanting to write some Robby fluff. I think I’m slowing down on my writing frenzy y’all so please don’t expect my previous schedule of nearly every other day story releases I’m sorry! All in all as always I just wrote what I thought I would want to read so I hope y’all enjoy it and as always let me know what you think!

You hadn’t expected the night to end the way it did when you left your job that evening.

And honestly there was no reason you should’ve, afterall you hardly knew the man.

Sure you’ve met Robby a few times before. Interacted with him enough to know what he did for a living but beyond basic elevator small talk you’ve never really spoken to the man.

So when you spotted him standing outside of his apartment, keys in hand, just staring down at them dejectedly you didn’t really have a plan when you opened your mouth. You just knew you recognized that look on his face, the way his hands shook, the way he stayed rooted in place even as the elevator dinged as you got out, and you wanted to help.

“Hey Robby” His head snapped up at the sound of his name, the way his eyes went wide at your voice telling you he truly hadn’t noticed your approach “just getting back?”

“Yeah” he sighed out the word, telling you more than you thought he really meant to, his gaze going back to his keys, reluctance on his face as his shoulders dropped slightly.

“Have you eaten yet?” The words basically tumbled out of you, the offer though made spontaneously was no less sincere “I’m just getting back too and was going to make something quick if you want to come in” and you could see the hesitance quickly building, the denial on every part of him but his lips “I was thinking pasta and I struggle to make anything less than four servings”

He seemed to pause at the joke, to take a second to reconsider. “It’s late I don’t want to impose”

You shook off the worry easily, moving past the man to your own door faking confidence he would follow “I promise you aren’t, besides I’ve kinda had a shit day so being alone doesn’t sound like a lot of fun right now”

It wasn’t a complete lie to be fair. Your day hadn’t been the best but more than anything you knew this man shouldn’t be alone right now and he wasn’t going to take help unless he could offer some in return.

“I should shower first” The implied acceptance had you smiling as he turned back to his door, you could practically see him hype himself up to go in.

“You can use mine” You offered, forcing a level of nonchalance you didn’t feel into your tone “no pressure obviously the dinner invitation stands either way  but since you’re going to be over anyways” you let the end of your sentence dangle purposefully as you shrugged “plus I don’t mean to brag but the landlord just fixed my plumbing so I have the best water pressure in the building”

Your attempt at a joke had him snorting as he cast one final look at his door before wordlessly turning away from it and heading in your direction, following you back to your place “If that’s true the landlord and I will be having words”

Trying to tamp down the odd mix of anxiety and excitement at having Robby listen to you, you kept your gaze ahead, focusing a bit too hard on getting your key into the lock as he stood behind you patiently “I had to threaten to sue and it still took months so good luck with that one, you’ll need it”

Opening your door you toed off your shoes and put them to the side in your entryway prompting him to do the same while you started turning on lights “Feel free to set your bag anywhere, kitchen tables covered in my work stuff so that may be your best bet” you instructed him as you set your own work bag down at one of the chairs at the table “in the meantime make yourself at home I’ll grab you a towel and some clothes you can use”

You rushed through the process of grabbing an extra pair of clothes you thought would fit him and a towel, knowing the longer you left him alone in your living room the more likely he was to back out entirely. Something that was quickly proved correct as you joined him with the stack back out in the living room, hesitation and awkwardness practically carved into his bones as he stood rigidly in the center of the room.

“These should fit but obviously let me know if you need anything else” you ignored the trepidation on his face as you handed him the stack, Robby blindly grabbing it as he already started to backtrack.

“You really don’t have to-“

“Please I want to” you interrupted him, walking back towards the kitchen forcing him to hold onto the stack as you got out a pot “besides I need someone to get wine drunk with. Can’t do it on my own, I think that’s when they call it alcoholism”

Still he stared at you silently, you could practically see him trying to think of a way to politely extract himself.

“Unless you don’t drink of course in which case I’ve got soda or water or-“

“No no” he chuckled though it sounded slightly strained, patting to top of the stack you had given softly “wine’s good”

“Good I’ll open the bottle then” you smiled warmly at him, gesturing with a nod back towards the hallway behind him “bathroom’s down on the left I’ll be out here if you need anything”

Still he just stared at you for a brief moment, silence stretching with words unsaid, before he finally accepted it and nodded, giving you one last thanks before he made his way to go shower, leaving you to start cooking and distract yourself from the death spiral of regret and anxiety your brain was trying to force you down.

You heard the shower start up just as you put the pot on the stove to boil, you’d honestly planned on doing as little as possible when it came to getting food in you tonight after work but with Robby here you figured you could at least put in a minimal amount of effort. All things considered though boxed pasta and jarred sauce was as far as you were willing to go tonight.

Deciding last minute to add at least a salad to the side you were chopping up vegetables by the time that Robby joined you once again, looking tired but clean and a little lighter at least.

“You weren’t kidding about the water pressure” he noted as he sat on the other side of the bar that separated living room from kitchen, watching you continue to chop.

“I know right” you grinned at him “I don’t know what they did but I’m considering letting all my other unanswered maintenance requests go as a thank you”

He chuckled at that, looking back out at your apartment appraisingly “do you need me to do anything cause I-“

“Sit down doc” you chided him harmlessly “have a glass of wine you look like you’ve had a long shift”

He took the glass you slid his way with a nod, a small huff escaping him as he shook his head “what about you what’s got you coming home this late?”

A part of you wondered if you should commend his effort to try and fix your shifty night in lieu of his own or condemn his clear avoidance of the conversation turning to him. For now you chose to do neither and instead just answer “parent teacher conferences”

He hummed at that, watching you carefully as you threw the salad together and checked on the noodles “they go that badly?”

“They didn’t but that’s kind of the problem” you shrugged as you stirred the boiling water.

He raised a brow at that, no question coming to his lips just a silent ask to continue.

“It’s always the parents of the kids I’m not worried about who show up” you shrugged, leaning your elbows on the counter in front of him as you spoke “The straight A students, or at least the students who are clearly putting in the effort and trying”

“Meaning the students who’s parent’s you want to speak to don’t come” he answered for you in understanding.

“Exactly” you nodded, grabbing out a colander to drain the pasta as you continued “Which I get it parents can be busy or can just not make the conference hours but given all the emails I’ve sent over the course of this semester that have gone unanswered…”

You trailed off with a shrug, dishing up two portions of pasta and salad without a thought and placing one in front of Robby before putting yours in front of the seat next to him.

He nodded in thanks, starting to eat as you did the same, a small silence passing over the two of you that felt infinitely more comfortable than the one shared earlier in the evening, before he broke it “do you know what you’re going to do about it yet?”

You nodded in answer, twirling your fork absentmindedly in your pasta as you thought “Yeah it’ll be another round of emails, maybe some printed notes sent home with kids offering to meet at other times, I’ll see if I can at least get some of them on a phone call or something”

He hummed in thought, studying you for a moment before his eyes cut back down to his plate “you’re a good teacher”

You snorted at that, furrowing your brow at the man beside you in response “what makes you say that”

“You care” he shrugged like it’s obvious “you’re going out of your way to try and set these kids up for success. That’s what a good teacher would do”

“Feels like the bare minimum” you chuckled slightly “it’s my job to make sure they leave my classroom set up for whatever comes ahead”

“The fact that you so clearly believe that proves my point” he smiled back at you “it’d be a lot easier to write it off, to say you tried and give up but you keep pushing, keep advocating for these kids. You’re a good teacher”

And truly you didn’t have anything to say to that, the words dying on your tongue as you looked up at him and saw the complete sincerity in his eyes. Instead you simply offered him a small smile that he mirrored back.

“What about you how was your day” the question was out of your mouth before you could think better of it, the action of asking him in return feeling too natural.

You could see him shut down at the question, could see his walls going up as his gaze cut back to his plate “Fine. It was fine”

And maybe you should’ve left it there but you were already in too deep to feel comfortable with letting it go “you’re a good doctor, you know that right?”

His gaze cut back up to you quickly with a furrowed brow, a shocked huff leaving him at your words “have I treated you before?”

“No” you assured him with a snort “but no matter what you claim I can see that you’re not fine” you watched him tense at your words, would’ve found it almost funny in any other circumstance “I just mean a good doctor wouldn’t have a day get to him like that. You clearly care about your patients. Like actually care not just pretend to care until you can shuffle them along to the next person, that’s what a good doctor would do”

He chuckled slightly at your words, a lopsided small smile tugging at his lips as he looked you over “Feels like the bare minimum””

“You throw my words back at me and my response will be the same as yours” you chided him good naturedly, relishing the sound of his laugh you got in response as he shook his head.

“touché”

You smiled at the concession, taking note of both of your empty plates and looking back out at your living room before making a decision “do you want to watch a movie?”

He raised a brow at you but you watched the corners of his mouth tick up in response making you smile back “Obviously you can tell me if you’re tired and would rather go to bed but I like a movie at the end of the day to wind down” you shrugged in response.

“Only if you let me do the dishes”

You tried desperately not to let it show how much his easy acceptance shocked you “Robby you can come over and do my dishes anytime”

He laughed easily at that as he took both of your plates and made his way over to the sink, collecting the various dishes you’d used to cook from around the kitchen.

“I hope you know this means I will be subjecting you to my objectively terrible taste in movies”

“I think I’ll live” and you tried to ignore exactly how it made you feel to see this man smirking at you from your kitchen as he handwashed your dishes. Instead you choose to make your way over to the couch and start looking at your options.

And that was how you found yourself seated comfortably next the neighbor you’d had maybe five conversations with before, watching a movie much too late into the night. And thus how you found yourself waking up the next morning to the light streaming in through your living room windows and a comfortable chest beneath your cheek, with an admittedly painful twinge in your neck but feeling more well rested than you had in months.

-

You didn’t see Robby for a few days after that. The morning after had been awkward enough you counted it as a blessing.

There’d been a brief moment of serenity, admittedly, right before you fully woke up where all you could notice was how warm you felt, how comfortable, how secure. You remember burying yourself further into the comfort, giving a soft wiggle as you pressed your face further into what you had assumed was your pillow, until you heard a chuckle.

Rather you had felt the chuckle first, could feel it ruminate up Robby’s chest beneath your head before it broke to the surface. You felt what you quickly surmised to be an arm thrown over your shoulder and wrapped around you pull you in tighter, hardly enough to notice but enough to send butterflies through your stomach, before you finally opened your eyes.

Robby had already been staring down at you, his eyes wide in clear surprise but still the corners of his mouth ticked up, you wondered if he noticed. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you as you looked back up at him, neither of you moving for a moment, almost afraid to burst the bubble before you spoke “good morning”

His eyes got almost comically wider as his gaze cut to the nearest clock, a verification of the time seeming to fully solidify exactly what position the two of you were in for him as he quickly retracted his hands, open palms coming up by his head as if to placate you in the situation as a million apologies spilled from his lips.

You had just barely pulled yourself off of him before he was on his feet and grabbing his bag, all but running out of the door before you’d even finished stretching.

So naturally the first time you would see him in days would be when you were drunk off your ass after a night out with friends.

You all but stumbled out of the elevator, heels as always were a terrible choice for a night out but you couldn’t help but love the way your legs looked in them. So focused were you on keeping upright as you exited the elevator that you completely missed Robby standing in front of his door.

Looking up from your feet finally however you noticed the man frozen in place, keys in hand, lips slightly parted as his gaze made a slow climb from your feet up to your face. You couldn’t have stopped the grin from growing on your face if you had tried “Dr. Robinavitch we have got to stop meeting like this”

You speaking seemed to have snapped him out of whatever daze he was in, a startled huff escaping him as his posture relaxed “Well you look like you had a good night”

“I had a great night” you affirmed, taking a wobbly step forward that had him surging forward to brace you by the forearm, a slight chuckle escaping him as he helped you steady yourself.

“And how many drinks did we have tonight?”

“Not enough” you shook your head, griping his hand in yours happily as you took another step “ohhh we should do shots”

He laughed much more freely at that, shaking his head in response “we absolutely should not do shots we should do carbs. When was the last time you ate something?”

“Fuck I love carbs” you hummed letting him lead you back to his place without a thought, leaning up against the wall while he put his keys in the door “French fries, we should do French fries”

“I can manage French fries” he smiled at you, pushing open the door before extending a hand to you, helping you into his place with a hand on your hip.

You leaned into him happily as you more pawed at the buckle on your shoe than actually tried to get it off, this going on for just long enough Robby was getting ready to help you with it when it finally slipped off your ankle and you fled the shoes where they dropped, making your way to his kitchen and going right for his freezer.

“Make yourself at home” Robby teased as he carefully picked up your shoes and set them off to the side alongside his, making his way next to you in the kitchen to start preheating the oven as you dug around in his freezer for the fries.

“yes you got the good ones” you cheered as you unearthed the bag, handing it to him without a thought as you immediately dipping into his fridge “we should do cheese on top”

Smiling in amusement Robby took the fries without a word and got out a baking sheet, dumping a good amount onto it before fielding the block of cheese you tossed his way without even looking to see where he was.

“Now you don’t have salsa but you do have tomatoes and onions and I can make that work” finally you shut the door to the fridge and turned to face him with the required ingredients clutched in your hands.

“Salsa?” he asked with a raised brow, putting the fries in the preheated oven.

“We can’t have loaded fries without salsa” you answered as if it were obvious, eyes skating around his kitchen looking for something “now where do you keep your knives”

“Absolutely not” he chided immediately, making his way across the kitchen over to you and grabbing the produce from your arms.

“No I swear I can do it” you tried to assure him even as you let him push you out of the kitchen.

“Swear all you want but I’m chopping the vegetables”

“You chop the vegetables I’ll chop the fruit?” you asked hopefully, giving him your best charming smile that Robby couldn’t help but mirror.

“Nice try now will you please sit down at let me do it” he shook his head as he led you around the bar to the stool on the other side, hands on your waist to steady you as you stepped up into the chair and plopped yourself down.

“But I could help!” though you thankfully stayed put you still tried to get involved, swinging your legs energetically in the air as you watched Robby start to dice “I could be like that person who hands you the scalpel”

He furrowed his brow at you with a smirk, looking up at you from his slightly bent position as he worked “person who hands me the scalpel?”

“Yeah you know in the tv shows. You go scalpel and hold you hand up like this” you demonstrated the proper movement to him, choosing to ignore his grin as you talked “and someone puts it in your hand without saying anything that could be me”

“You do know I’m not a surgeon right?”

“All I’m hearing is you don’t have a scalpel person and it could be me”

He laughed at that, shaking his head as he gathered up all of your fry toppings “why don’t you sober up first then we’ll talk about your career options”

With a disgruntled huff you rolled your eyes, resting your head in your palm as you watched Robby finish off your loaded fries, dutifully instructing him on how much of each ingredient was required before happily digging into the plate he set in front of you, a myriad of content hums coming from you as you ate making Robby smile.

“You know I like this way better” you pointed out without looking at him, taking the time to pick the perfectly loaded fry.

“Like this better than what?”

“Better than you being weird” if you noticed the way the room went cold around Robby at your words you didn’t let it show, instead snacking happily as you stole a glance at him from the side of your eye.

“I’m weird?”

“You acted weird” you corrected him with a shrug “after we woke up on my couch you basically ran away from me”

A tense silence followed but you watched him unabashedly, waiting patiently for a response Robby wasn’t sure he wanted to give “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable”

“I wasn’t uncomfortable” again the words came out of you so easily, a part of Robby wished he could be drunk for this conversation too “in fact I was really comfortable until you moved”

A huff left him at that, a small smile growing on his face despite his inner turmoil “Really?”

You nodded in response, finishing off the last of your food and wiping off your fingers on a napkin, pushing the plate off to the side and finally turning your full attention to him “I mean the couch wasn’t the best but you make a comfortable pillow”

He couldn’t help but chuckle slightly at that, an anxious hand coming to rub at the back of his neck as he laughed it off “well I’m glad I could be of service”

“I don’t think I realized how bad I had been sleeping lately until that night” you revealed softly, the carbs and the late hour clearly kicking in as you seemed to sober slightly “stress of parent teacher night ya know? But I slept really well that night”

“I know what you mean” the words slipped out of him before he could think any better of it, the way they put a smile on your face making it hard for him to regret them though.

You studied him for a moment, a comfortable silence blanketing the two of you before you broke it softly “you wouldn’t admit it but you were having a bad day. Did I make it better?”

Now it was his turn to examine you, to watch the lazy way you kicked your feet out from the chair, the way your hair fell half hazardly around your face as you tilted your head slightly at him, the soft curve of your lips as you smiled absentmindedly at him “yeah. Yeah you did”

“Good” and now you were beaming at him, spreading a warmth through his chest he wasn’t prepared for “we should do it again sometime”

“Pass out on your couch?”

“I’d prefer the bed but beggers choosers” you shrugged through the idiom with a chuckle “but no I meant be there for one another. It’s nice to have someone there, even if it’s just to exist next to them in silence”

“yeah it is” the admission again left him without much thought, a smile growing on him as he watched you perk up slightly at the response “for now though you need to get to bed and work on sleeping this off, you good to head home now?”

You nodded happily at the question, pushing yourself off the stool with practiced ease as you did so “Just need to grab my purse and I’ll be good”

He frowned at that “what purse?”

“Black tiny bag” you described it to him, looking around his apartment lazily “got my keys in it”

“You didn’t come in with a purse”

“no” you shook off the statement without a thought “I remember packing it before I left, got all my stuff in it”

“No I mean you didn’t come into my place with a purse” he explained slowly, watching as the news seemed to hit you, your shoulders dropping in defeat “You didn’t have it with you when you got off the elevator”

With a heavy sigh you cursed under your breath, the palms of your hands coming up to dig harshly into your eyes as you swore softly, the last of your fun drunkenness abandoning you fully.

With a huff Robby couldn’t help but smile at the move, gesturing back to his room with a nod “Go take a shower I’ll call the bar you were at and see if they have it”

With a grumble you nodded “thank you”

“Don’t worry about it” he shook you off as he pulled out his phone “bottom left drawer of my dresser should have clothes you can wear, take whatever you want”

Nodding you slowly pulled yourself off towards his room, tossing the name of the bar you were at over your shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

Calling confirmed the bar did in fact have your purse and were willing to hold onto it until the morning so Robby made sure to inform Jack he would be running a little late the next day so he had time to go with you to pick it up. By the time he had finished his calls and cleaned up the kitchen you had joined him back out in the living room, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room with dripping hair in sweatpants that were just slightly too long and a shirt you had no business looking that good in.

“I’m sorry I could’ve helped clean”

He shook you off again with a swipe of his hand, practically forcing his eyes away from you as he surveyed the space around him “don’t worry about it there wasn’t much to do” he assured you, offering you the glass of water he had gotten you earlier “drink all of that first but go ahead and go to bed, we can go pick up your purse tomorrow”

With a nod you took the glass with a small thank you, “will you-uh-“ you stuttered on the words, fidgeting slightly on the spot making Robby frown “do you think we can share the bed?”

His furrowed brow raised as he realized what you were getting at, already shaking his head “Oh don’t worry about it I was already going to insist you take the bed anyways, I’ll sleep on the couch”

You chuckled nervously at that, taping your fingers on the side of the glass as you shook your head in response “no I mean. Just it was really nice last time we-ya know-shared the couch. Would it be okay if we did it again?”

Robby was at a loss for words at the question, his entire mind going blank on the spot as you fidgeted beneath his gaze.

“The answer can of course be no” you quickly cut in with a small laugh “I just haven’t slept as well since so I figured”

“Yeah” the word all but slipped out of him without his head clearing it, Robby finding in the moment that he didn’t really want to walk it back anyways “yeah we can share the bed”

Finally your fidgeting broke as you smiled in relief, relaxing on the spot as you nodded “okay good”

“You go on ahead I’ll meet you in there” he instructed softly with a smile “just gotta lock up first”

Giving him a nod you heeded his instructions, slipping underneath his covers on one side of the bed and laying still, listening to Robby’s nighttime routine as he locked the door and brushed his teeth.

When he finally made it back to the bedroom you could practically feel the hesitance rolling off of him as he stood beside the bed for a moment, not moving an inch as he debated just taking the couch anyways, before he carefully peeled back one corner of the blanket and slowly lowered himself, careful not to jostle the bed too much in case you were sleeping, careful not to get too close to what he considered ‘your side’.

You, however, were having none of that. The minute he seemed to settle you turned around and moved yourself beside him, placing your head directly onto his shoulder with a soft hum.

A startled inhale sounded from Robby as you did so, the muscles in his arm all tensing beneath you the second you made contact.

“I warned you, you make a comfortable pillow” you whispered out into the room attempting to cut the tension in the air. Something you seemed to at least partially accomplish as he huffed out a laugh in response, his arm remaining tense nonetheless “unless you’re uncomfortable cause we don’t have to-“

“no no” he interrupted you softly before you could get too far, his voice slightly hoarse causing him to pause as he cleared it quietly before continuing “could you just lift your head for a second”

Complying quickly Robby slipped his arm beneath your head and wrapped it around you wordlessly, prompting you to drop your head back down onto his chest and wrap your arm around him in response, one leg naturally tangling with his as you buried yourself fully into Robby’s side with a content hum that made him chuckle.

Your mind stayed fixed on the soft patterns he was tracing on your arm with his finger, wondering if he was even aware he was doing it. “Thanks for saving me tonight Robby”

Another appreciative laugh escaped him, your head bobbing slightly as his chest rumbled with it “’saving’ is a strong word there, I just gave you a place to crash, basic human decency”

And you thought about arguing the point, pushing back on his refusal to properly accept your thanks, point out that he was doing a lot more than the ‘basic’ nice thing. But if you knew Robby, and you were starting to think maybe you did, that would just make things worse, would just push him further away, so you let it go, for now at least “and supplied the French fries. You can’t forget the French fries”

“You’re right I did save you didn’t I? Think they’ll knight me?”

“Pretty sure that only applies in England” you hummed back, enjoying the quietness of the moment, the simplicity of it, the lack of any expectation “maybe a key to the city?”

“Not nearly as cool”

“No. No it isn’t. We’ll get you something to make up for it” your next words left you in a sleepy whisper, your eyes already closed, your brain not conscious enough to fully recognize the weight of your words as they slipped out “you deserve nice things Robby”

His fingers stilled at the words, no sound escaping him as he went silent, staring at the ceiling above the bed, all while you finally succumbed to sleep.

-

Things changed after that.

It wasn’t quite as you hoped, you still went days without seeing one another but whenever you had a bad day you had someone to go to, someone you knew would be there for you without question, without comment if that’s what you preferred, and you knew Robby felt the same.

There was no dramatic change, you didn’t automatically start spending every night together but still you found your excuses to cuddle up every now and then.

Something that apparently wasn’t going unnoticed, at least on Robby’s end.

“You seem lighter lately. Happy almost” Dana’s comment came out of nowhere at the end of a fairly standard Thursday shift. As usual with the charge nurse there was no preamble, no beating around the push, no coddling of feelings, she went right to the issue. For the first time Robby found that he really wished she wouldn’t.

“I’m sorry?”

“No it’s good. It’s creeping out the med students, our number of charting errors have been cut in half” She smirked at him, a smile that foretold trouble he did not want to deal with.

“Ah then you’re welcome”

“So you gonna tell me about her?”

And there it was, the metaphorical shoe “her?”

“The woman who’s been making you happy” Each statement was said with such a level of confidence, of finality, it felt absurd to try and push back.

“There is no woman” And yet still he must.

“There has to be a woman”

An incredulous laugh left him at that as he finally lifted his gaze fully from the chart in front of him to look at her. “Is it so impossible to think I’m just feeling better lately” he knew how weak the argument would be before it even left his lips “Maybe I found inner peace”

And based on the glare Dana sent back at him she thought so too “Either there’s a woman or I’m asking Gloria to up suicide prevention measures on the roof”

“Ask her to hire more nurses while you’re at it”

Surely there had to be something else to do in the emergency department than badger him “Does she work here?”

Surely she had to accept his flat out denial eventually “There is no woman”

“There’s a woman” The two of them both tensed slightly at the emergence of a new voice, Purlah’s sudden arrival catching them both off guard.

Dana, however, recovered quickly with a wolfish grin “What do you know”

“I know a lot of things you’ll have to be specific” Purlah leaned on her forearms against the nurse’s desk as she settled eagerly into the conversation. Now was his time to escape.

“About the woman”

“The woman up front? Is there something to know?” The last question was directed to him as the two woman fixed him with their gaze, halting him mid tip-toe.

“I don’t even know who you’re talking about” Robby groaned softly, rubbing a tired hand over his face as he grabbed the first tablet he could see “now if you excuse me I think at least one of us should be doing thier job right now”

“Wait but the woman up front” Purlah stopped him before he could leave “She’s asking for you, says her name is Y/N Y/L/N”

A strange mix of panic and dejection filled Robby at the revelation, both feelings only growing as he watched Dana break out into a wolfish grin over Purlah’s shoulder as she watched his face drop before finally conceding “Yeah send her back”

Purlah nodded and took off and Robby knew news of your existence would be spread to every medical professional on the floor within the hour. So much for flat out denial.

“So there is a woman”

He refused to look at Dana as he switched out tablets “I promise it’s not what you think”

“Believe me I’m trying very hard not to think about it” she snorted, gaze pulling to the door to the ED as it opened and you scurried in behind Purlah, head ducked low and eyes planted firmly on the ground as you held a familiar looking kitchen towel to your hand “She’s cute”

“Not a word” Robby tossed the empty threat over his shoulder as he made his way to the room you were being placed in, choosing to ignore the cackle Dana let loose as he did so, instead putting all of his focus on your clearly panicked figure that sat up on the bed before him.

“Hey I’m really sorry”

“Don’t be sorry” he brushed you off easily, docking the tablet and pulling on a pair of gloves with practiced ease “What’s going on”

“I cut myself honestly a while ago and it hasn’t stopped bleeding” you held the towel wrapped hand out in front of you, offering it to him, speaking much faster than you normally did.

“Alright let’s take a look” he tried to slow down purposefully, to speak lowly and quietly, to put as much calm into his tone as he could.

“Again I’m so sorry to bother you at work and ask for you specifically I didn’t-“ Still you took off at double speed, not even making eye contact with him as you spoke.

“Hey you’re okay you should always come in with stuff like this” he cut you off with a reassurance, hand coming out to squeeze your knee in a small offer of comfort.

“Yeah I know I just feel like I used you to bypass the whole line and you guys probably have a whole system in place-“

“You’re rambling what’s going on” he cut you off again, a small frown as he watched you squirm on the spot, gaze never staying in one spot for long enough to be natural.

“I don’t really do hospitals well” you admitted shyly, the corners of Robby’s mouth ticking up slightly at your words as he shrugged.

“That’s okay me neither”

For the first time your eyes finally met him as you sent him a cold glare “you’re not helping”

He tried desperately to fight back his smile “Okay I’m sorry but listen, small cut, just a few stitches, we’ll have you out of here in no time”

“Right sure, few stitches” he let you all but talk to yourself as he gathered the suture supplies, tuning back in when he heard you voice raise slightly as you addressed him “I’m assuming that requires a needle”

“If you’d prefer I can hold the skin together myself until it starts to heal but I’ll warn you my hourly rate is incredibly expensive”

Another death glare was sent his way, he choked back a chuckle.

“Jokes’re really not helping got it.” He changed tactics with a warm smile, planting himself onto a backless stool a breath away from you, giving your knee a soft knock with his own “I’ve done a million of these it’ll be over before you know it”

Still you looked at him skeptically, a look that told him you were seriously considering his offer of simply holding your skin together himself.

“Hey you’re the one that told me I was a good doctor not that long ago, let me prove you right”

That finally got to you, a dramatic huff leaving you as you deflated slightly on the spot, a defeated “fine” slipping through your teeth Robby couldn’t help but chuckle at as he got the lidocaine ready.

“That’s the spirit. Now local anesthetic, small pinch and a burn” The words came out quickly, more one amalgamation of sound than individual words, his brain already starting to go through the motions when he paused “Imma need you to stop tensing, it’s just going to make it worse”

“Yeah I know I’m sorry” you sighed out the words, giving your shoulders a little shake to try and relax.

“You’re still tensing”

“I can’t help it I’m freaking out” the words exploded out of you as you tried to pull your hand back, Robby grabbing you by the wrist softly to try and direct you back into place.

“Hey hey look at me” he approached calming you down like dealing with a wild animal, entirely soft words and slow movement “sweetheart please I’ve got you. Do you trust me?”

With a huff you let him have you hand back, staring back at him blankly with an expression that told him the second he let go of you you were out the door.

“I’m going to pretend this hesitation doesn’t hurt”

With a roll of your eyes you sighed again, forcing a deep breath as you shook out the tension in your shoulders once more before refocusing your gaze, locking eyes with him and nodding softly “yeah I trust you”

Before you could even think of doing anything else he inserted the needle and depressed the plunger, pulling back quick enough to escape the way you dramatically snatched your hand back from him “Fuck did you just stab me with a needle without looking”

“I told you I’ve done a few of these” he shrugged with a smirk, already moving on to prepare the next step.

“Did you do each of them blind too?”

“The needle was already lined up” he motioned for you to give him your hand back, unable to keep the smile off his face as you glared at him.

“No I’m not listening I want a new doctor”

“What if I promised to look when I actually do the stitches”

“That should be a given?” The words came out in an incredulous shriek that had Robby fully laughing

"I'll give you a lollipop when we’re done”

You narrowed your eyes at him at the offer, hand on your injured wrist tightening slightly before you suddenly thrust it back at him with a huff “If I have a scar I’m suing”

“Deal” he conceded easily, threading his needle and inserting it before you could call it off again, the cut requiring just two quick stitches Robb had you done in minutes “See that wasn’t too bad”

Only when he had finished bandaging did you pull back your arm again, cradling it protectively into your chest as you sent him another glare “I want you to know I’m leaving this hospital with emotional pain as well as the physical pain I was already in”

“Oh that’s my specialty” Robby snorted as he started to clean up “Call it a two for one special”

“I’m demanding a red lollipop in recompense”

Robby looked surprisingly sheepish at that, hands tucked deep into his pockets as he swayed back on his heels “ah so about that we don’t actually have lollipops here. More of a family medicine thing”

You let the silence stretch uncomfortably as you glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest for an effect that pulled a small snort out of him.

“I can offer you a crisp five dollar bill for the vending machine though”

“And you lie to patients” you mused with an shake of your head and a condescending tsk “I’m adding this to my pile of evidence for the malpractice suit”

“My first name’s Michael just so you can make sure to get the right person on that”

You paused at that, cocking your head to the side slightly as you asked “is it really?”

“Yeah” he chuckled softly “you didn’t know that?”

“Always thought your parents just had a thing for alliteration” You shrugged it off with a smile, watching the corners of his tick up in response “seriously though thank you for this. I know I’m not the easiest patient”

“You didn’t get bodily fluids on me or try to hit me so that’s a win in my book”

“Damn so the bar’s low”

“Everytime I think we hit rock bottom someone shows up with a pickaxe to prove we can go deeper”

You let out an almost hollow chuckle, a sound more to fill the awkward silence following a statement you guessed held more truth than you could know.

“About what you said earlier” he hedged the words in, seemed almost hesitant to let them fall.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be held responsible for anything that comes out of my mouth for the duration of this visit”

He chuckled appreciatively at the break in tension, running his knuckles up and down across the palm of his other hand as he looked at you for a moment before physically shaking himself out of it “no I mean if you’re ever back here again, for any reason, tell the nurses to come find me okay? Don’t worry about messing up our system I promise it’s a myth anyways, just come find me”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him at that, the promise falling softly from your lips “I will”

“Good” he answered just a softly with a nod “now how are you getting home”

“Ah I walked” you answered sheepishly “Tried to delay the inevitable for as long as possible”

He shook his head at that but didn’t say anything to condemn it, reaching into his pockets to pull out his wallet “I get off in 45, here”

You furrowed your brow as he tried to thrust a few folded bills into your hand “oh you don’t have to”

“Please it was cruel of me to dangle candy in front of you without following through” he was brushing off your denial quickly, grabbing your hand to force the money into your fingers when you refused to grab it “Get yourself something from the vending machine and wait in the breakroom I’ll take you home”

“Its not that far” you tried again

“Let me anyways” and you could see the silent question in his eyes, the plea, it was a look not dissimilar to the one he wore when he showed up at your door late at night.

“Which way’s the breakroom”

He responded with a soft smile, making his way behind you and leading you forward with a hand at the small of your back, stopping just outside the door to point to a room across the way. “Just through there, I’ll come find you when I’m done”

With a nod you started to make your way to the room, not making it more than a step before he was calling back to you.

“Also if a blonde woman introduces herself as Dana you run in the opposite direction”

“You realize that just makes me want to talk to her more right?”

“It was worth a shot”

-

For perhaps the first time in his life Robby was ready to leave work on time, some may even say he was eager to do so. And if the smirk on her face was anything to go by Dana was certainly one of these people.

“That’s the fourth time you’ve checked your watch in the past five minutes”

Robby chose to ignore her teasing tone, bouncing on his feet lightly as he eyed the board with dread “My shift did end five minutes ago”

She snorted at that, shaking her head as she watched him avoid her gaze “I wasn’t aware you knew what time your shift ended”

Robby sent her a cutting glare “I don’t suppose you’re going to get on Jack’s case like this too for being five minutes late when he’s always twenty early”

She sent him a dangerous smirk and a shrug “Don’t have to Jack’s here already”

Robby furrowed his brow at that, casting his gaze over the bustling ED in search of the attending “He is? Since when?”

“Bout twenty minutes ago” there was a forced casualness to her tone that made him dread whatever she was going to say next “I sent him to the breakroom for coffee, weird he hasn’t come back yet”

Another sharp glare was sent her way she couldn’t help but grin under “You’re too invested in my personal life”

“What personal life” she snorted “thought you said ‘it’s not what you think’”

“I’m leaving” he declared with a nock on the desk “you should too”

“You going to offer to walk me home too” she called after him as he made his way to the bank of lockers, enjoying the pointed way he ignored the comment.

Grabbing his things quickly he threw his bag over his shoulder and made his way to the breakroom, barging through the door without a thought to see you and Jack sitting side by side, the corners of his mouth tipped up in as close to a smile as Jack got while your soft laugh rang through the air, your injured hand without any of the dressings he had so carefully applied half an hour ago cradled softly in one of his.

“Hey Robby” Your greeting snapped him out of his staring contest with your hands, his gaze meeting yours across the room as you offered him a soft smile.

“Hey” he greeted back, watching Jack slowly, deliberately, retract his hand from yours “is everything alright with your stitches?”

“Yeah they’re good” you affirmed happily “Jack just wanted to take a look at them”

Jack, not Dr. Abbot or even just Abbot, Jack.

“Can’t remember the last time you did stitches, gotta make sure you don’t horribly scar the poor girl” if the smirk on Jack’s face was anything to go by the man knew exactly what he was doing.

“And the verdict is?”

“I’ve seen worse”

He snorted humorous-lessly “high praise coming from a combat medic”

Jack sent him another smirk before turning back to you “let me get you another set of dressings and you’re good to go”

“I got it” Robby cut in before Jack could get up, not enjoying the amusement that danced in the man’s eyes as his gaze cut back to Robby still standing in the entryway.

“I don’t mind-“

“I said I got it” Robby forced a polite smile to his face, one he knew didn’t reach his eyes, a fact that only made Jack’s smirk deepen “Besides I heard you have a case of explosive diarrhea to take care of in south 7”

Jack chuckled as he leaned slightly closer to you, stage whispering while he kept his gaze on Robby “I think I’m in trouble”

You giggled back at him knocking your shoulder against his playfully as you stage whispered back “you better go before you get me in trouble too”

Standing up slowly Jack made his way out of the breakroom finally, sending Robby off with a mirth filled smile and a slightly too aggressive set of pats on the shoulder, finally leaving you and him alone in the breakroom.

“In my defense you told me to avoid Dana, nothing in there about Jack”

With a huff he shook his head, dropping his back next to you “My mistake clearly. Now lets get you some new bandages and get out of here before she has a chance to sink he claws into you”

“Ah you’re about thirty minutes too late for that” you giggled at the way he sighed dramatically at that, sitting down next to you to start applying a new set of bandages to your hand. “I like your coworkers though, they’re nice”

He chuckled at that with a shake of his head “nice is not the word I would go with there, try lacking any semblance of boundaries”

“The best of friends are” you shrugged with a grin, Robby unable to help himself from mimicking it as he finished off your bandage.

Finally free to leave the hospital the two of you made your way out, Robby doing his absolute best to avoid the gaze of everyone as he led you through the packed waiting room. Only when he was safely outside with you did he finally breathe easy.

The silence between the two of you as you walked stretched, blanketed the surrounding area, he couldn’t help but focus on it and yet it didn’t feel oppressive, didn’t feel awkward, he didn’t feel the need to try and break it.

This was the moment everything changed, there was a charge in the air you could feel, a weight to the moment that was palpable.

Robby looked down at you wordlessly, eyes dancing over your face as he just studied you for a moment, the corners of his mouth tipping up as you offered him a soft smile.

“Let me take you out” a simple offer, said on a shrug, followed by an endearing clarification “like on a date”

It wasn’t a grand declaration, wasn’t a cathartic clash, wasn’t a dramatic outpouring of emotion. It was quiet, casual, understated. A facsimile of that first time you spoke in the hallway. A simple hand held out, palm up. An offer for the taking.

“I’d like that”

You hadn’t known all that would result from that chance meeting late at night in the hallway. Hadn’t known all of the comfortable silences, awkward moments, and heartfelt conversations that would be shared in the weeks to come. And honestly you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[savemesteeb]

I can’t stop thinking about the fluffy alphabet you did for Jack where his nightmare is you coming into his ER. I’d love if you could expand upon that please and thank you.

⨳ JUST A WALK-IN

pairing: jack abbot x wife!reader warnings: depiction of ectopic pregnancy, mentions of surgery/medical procedures. author's note: i think it'd definitely feel that much worse if he caused your visit to the ER (even if indirectly). so here's this..

It takes a lot for you to visit the ER. Lightheadedness, pain in the most random places, and three days of excruciating pain later, you've finally succumbed to the fact that this is, indeed, an emergency.

In truth, you're more worried about your husband than yourself. Jack's what the people call completely overbearing, when it comes to your health. If you could be a hypochondriac for someone, he's that. He tries to downplay it, but you know he's panicking inside every time you get a cold that lasts a little too long or tell him about that pain in your side.

That's why it's incredibly detrimental that your husband not see you in his ER. You're going to tip-toe around, asking for anyone who isn't him and hoping the nurses won't slip up and tell him they saw you around. You feel safe, for now, behind this curtain.

You managed to snag Parker Ellis on your way in. She's one of your favorites, and you know she can keep her mouth shut with Jack.

“Y'know if Abbot finds out, I'll tell him you totally threatened me, right?” she deadpans, pulling her gloves on.

She's sat on a stool beside your hospital bed. You shoot her a pouty look that you hope could soften her up. It doesn't.

“Come on! I only threatened you a little,” you yell, “Have my back. It can't be that serious. Probably just appendicitis or something.”

“You waited three days before coming in,” she berates you. “If it is appendicitis, you should be worried.”

You sigh loudly, and move to lie farther back onto the hospital bed. Ellis brings the cart with the ultrasound kit closer to herself.

“Whatever,” you whisper, pulling your shirt up to reveal your torso.

Ellis puts some ultrasound gel there. You close your eyes at the sensation. It feels too cold, especially with the preexisting pain.

She puts the transducer on your lower abdomen and moves it around, her eyes glued to the screen in front of her. You assume she's found something when her hand freezes and just stares at the screen for a minute.

“What is it?” you question, softly. You're a little scared now; you've never seen Ellis look so serious.

When the silence becomes too intense, you start turning the diamond ring on your fourth finger around. You know whatever Parker's about to tell you, it isn't good.

“Should Jack be here for this?” you suggest, unable to pull your eyes from the sparkling rock on your hand.

Ellis finally pulls her eyes away from the screen, “Yeah. Maybe.”

You nod, slowly letting your eyes flutter shut.

“Okay. Can you tell him? To come in here?” you finally look up at her, “I want him here.”

She leaves without another word. You put your head into your hands, breathing deeply. You think you're getting a moment of peace, and then the pain that's been following you around for days, maybe even weeks, it doubles.

Then, it triples.

You know this can't be a good sign. You make for the call button quickly. You're inches away, when you feel your consciousness slip away. Your vision goes black before you can do anything.

Ellis is making her way through the ER at record speed. When she finds Jack, she's even more frustrated than before.

He's operating. She can't interrupt. She isn't even sure how she was going to tell him in the first place, let alone in a room full of people, with someone's life in his hands.

Ellis is more than aware of just how much Jack loves you. She was at the wedding. She sat front row, listened intently to all of your vows. She hears how he talks to you on the phone, his voice completely morphing into something a lot softer. She notices how you’re on speed dial every time a major incident happens, because he always needs to make sure you’re okay.

She knows he'll freak out when he hears.

These things usually aren't that dangerous, but you've left it for too long. She isn't even sure if you'll make it into surgery before it gets bad. This thing's ready to rupture, and Jack should definitely be there for you if it does.

Fuck it, she decides. She walks into trauma room one with a newfound sense of determination. Ellis grabs a mask off of the tray at the door, and walks in, holding it to her face.

“Hey, Abbot?”

Jack only spares her a glance.

“Kind of busy here,” he tells her, his hands literally inside of the patient in front of him.

“You know I wouldn't do this if it wasn't important,” her voice comes off as frantic.

So much so, that it makes him look up. His eyes immediately become set into a deep frown. He quickly tells Walsh to take over, pulling his hands away. They're both out of the trauma room in seconds.

“Is it...” Jack pauses.

“Yeah, yeah. It's your wife. She's here. She came in for an emergency,” she explains.

“You didn't tell me?”

“She's freakin' scary, alright? Just—I'll tell you what it is there.” Ellis just walks away without a second glance. Jack's following, his footsteps heavy.

When they get to the hospital cubicle you were in, Ellis pushes the curtain back quickly to reveal...nothing.

“Where is she, Ellis?”

“I left her right here. Wait...” Ellis walks to the nurse's station to ask about your whereabouts. They give her the worst case scenario.

As soon as Jack hears the news, he's sprinting to the elevator to make his way to the surgical floor. You're having surgery, and he isn't there. You're having life-altering surgery, which he might've caused, and he isn't there.

His heart’s pounding so hard in his chest he think he might be having a heart attack. This is worse. It’s scarier. He isn’t scared of dying, he’s scared of losing the one thing that’s keeping him going. And the idea that he’s the one who put you in this situation makes him more uneasy.

He can't help but feel guilty, especially when they hand him your wedding ring and the band T-shirt and jeans you presumably had on, and tell him to just wait in the room you'll be admitted in.

He just stares at the glittering diamond in his hands for what feels like hours, until they wheel you in. Then, he puts it back on your ring finger and stares some more.

When you wake up, it's like being reborn. It's completely stressful, you feel like you’re learning how to breathe all over again, and you want to burst out crying. But Jack's right there, with your hand in his.

It makes you smile. Your face still feels heavy, but you manage to show a little teeth. You turn your head to the side, and he's still looking down at your interlocked fingers. He finally looks up when you squeeze his hand as tight as you can.

He can't say anything, so you do.

“I'm, like, so fucking hungry,” you whisper, and then start laughing.

Jack stands up from his seat at your bedside, leaning in. He pulls your head up with a hand buried into your hair. His lips are pressed onto your forehead and, if it's even possible, you're smiling wider.

“That was scary,” you admit.

He nods, his forehead resting against yours now. Your brows crease.

“What, uh...What happened?”

Jack shakes his head, “It was an ectopic pregnancy. Ruptured. I thought—”

He closes his eyes tight, “I thought I'd lose you.”

“You didn't.” You bring a hand up, so your fingers can brush against his jaw.

Jack takes a deep breath, but you can tell it's a little off. “I...I sit up, late at night, thinking about this. You dying, here, in this hospital. Me not knowing about it.”

You shake your head adamantly, pulling his face back so you can really look into his eyes. It takes you a good minute to form a whole sentence.

“I didn't die. I'm right here. It wasn't even close, I swear,” you promise him, offering the best smile you can in this moment.

You plant a firm kiss on his lips to punctuate your point. You let your fingers play around in the salt and pepper strands of his hair.

“But, seriously,” you sigh, “I'm totally starving. How do we get someone to bring me something to eat?”

You look around for a minute, until he starts laughing. It's more of a cathartic coping mechanism than a genuine laugh. You giggle along with him anyway.

[savemesteeb]

how easy you are to need - part 1

MICHAEL ‘ROBBY’ ROBINAVITCH x F!READER

|| part 2 >>

Summary: You accidentally send some very compromising pictures (and a particularly filthy video) to your boss/attending/crush. Chaos follows and, along with it, a very pleasant surprise.

wc: 7.6k

Warnings: f!reader, secondhand embarrassment probably (it ends well), kind of non-con voyeurism, resident/attending, implied age gap, lewds n’ nudes, jerking off at work, banter, robby has a dirty mouth, mutual pining, (they’re both down so bad but robby is better at hiding it), tension, reader is shorter than robby, alternating pov

A/N: *sobbing into my hands* it was not supposed to be like this. i need help. i need to be sedated. actual smut in part 2, i promise </3

Honestly, you really shouldn’t be putting in this kind of effort for a guy who’s failed to get you off not just once, not twice, but three times now, which happens to be the same number of times you’ve hooked up with him. 

Yet here you are, striking various poses in various states of undress with the hope of inspiring Tony to just try harder.

You start on your knees in your thigh highs, cheeksters, and a way-too-short crop top. Arch the back, make sure to get some under and side boob, a tasteful lewd to whet his palate.

Move to the bed and lose the panties. Part of your face is in the shot, lip between your teeth, but the main focus is your ass that’s pushed into the air enough to get a better view. 

The last photo is of your tits—most of them, anyway, but if Tony is smart enough to press his thumb to the screen, he’ll see that it’s a live and be generously afforded the sight of your nipples on screen for half a second when you give a little bounce. 

None of it is crazy, just enough to make him hungry, prepare him for the video you film. Back in bed, you take the time to get yourself wet with your favorite vibrator, feel your muscles contract and loosen in preparation for your fingers first, then your dildo. 

About seven inches with a satisfying girth, the toy is a shade of light teal (and glows in the dark, but that’s irrelevant). Phone secured in a telescopic stand that gives you more reach, you click ‘record’ again and spend the next 20 minutes filming and editing until you’re pleased with the end result. 

Your moans are loud enough to hear but not over the top, still leave gaps that are filled by the squelch of your pussy. Some frames catch the quiver of your thighs, others a glimpse of the curve of your tits where your shirt has ridden up. The star of the show, however, is the toy you’re plunging in and out of your cunt, coated in gossamer arousal at first but eventually smeared with white cream as you continue to fuck yourself with it. 

The orgasm at the end is faked, impossible for you to achieve without clitoral stimulation, but you’re positive Tony won’t know the difference considering you’ve already faked three with him. 

Scrolling through, you hum at everything you’ve managed to capture. Good work. Maybe he’ll finally go down on you for longer than three minutes. Maybe next time you see him, you’ll actually cum. 

Wishful thinking, but enough to motivate you to send the suggestive images and filthy fucking video. 

It’s about four PM, so Tony will be at work for another hour. Refusing to wait with baited breath, you toss your phone to the side and busy yourself with cleaning your toys. You’ve done enough for this guy; you’re not gonna let him take up any more space in your mind by obsessing over what his reply might be. 

You have no idea that you’ve just made a horrible mistake.

You should’ve double checked. Maybe then you would’ve been quick enough to delete everything. 

But, you didn’t, so you’re not, and about 15 minutes later when you pick up your phone again your heart drops into your ass. 

It’s so fucking stupid. You’re so fucking stupid. But Tony was your most recent message, and you were positive that when you unlocked your phone, it opened up his thread like it usually does. You hadn’t even noticed that it had, instead, taken you to your most recent notification—an older text thread that had remained untouched for over a week.

Until now. 

>> I know you just worked 5 in a row, but Mel is out with the flu. Is there any way you can come in for her tomorrow? 

From Robby. 

As in Dr. Robinavitch. As in your senior attending, your boss, your teacher (your crush for the last two years).

And, right there under his question, or really in response to it, are your three pictures and amateur video. 

You slap a hand over your mouth to keep vomit from spewing past your lips, ohh God, your stomach is rolling. There are literal tears in your eyes as you frantically type 

<< DO NOT FULLY OPEN THIS THREAD!!!

<< JUST DELETE IT 

<< PLEASE

But, you’re kidding yourself. It’s already been 15 minutes since you sent them, and that dreaded ‘Read’ is already time-stamped beneath your video. 

Dizzy and hot with humiliation, you walk into your bathroom and sit on the tile, want to be as close to the toilet as possible in case you really do hurl. 

<< I am SO sorry those obviously weren’t meant for you 

<< I didn’t realize you texted 

<< I should have double checked. Triple checked 

<< I’m so so sorry oh my god 

Three dots appear, and you bite down on your lip so hard, you just might open the scars left by old piercings. 

The dots disappear for several seconds. Pop back up. Disappear again. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

>> No worries. Deleted. 

You inhale shakily, the text almost impossible to read with how your phone quakes in your trembling hands. 

There is no way you’ll be able to look Robby in the face ever again. You should just go to the hospital now and grab any shit you have in the locker you share with Trinity. Start looking at different residency programs. See if you can get some kind of letter of recommendation from an attending who is not Robby. 

His question, you remember. If you can work for Mel. You can’t agree to it—absolutely not. 

Should you tell him that, though? Is he waiting for a real answer that does not involve your naked fucking body? Oh, this is bad. This is very not good. 

You don’t tell him that you’ll cover the shift, and Robby doesn’t ask a second time. He probably knows you’re going through the five stages of grief and are nowhere near ‘acceptance’. He’s a smart guy, merciful despite what some of the other residents say. You need time to process your egregious mistake, and he’s giving it to you. 

Or, so you assume. 

In reality, Robby is about ten miles away, dealing with what might be the most painful erection in the history of mankind, and he can’t even do anything about it aside from hide in the bathroom, staring and cursing at his traitorous dick for reacting like this. 

He’s at work, for fuck’s sake. There are patients bleeding out on the other side of this door, and he’s standing here like an asshole, contemplating if it’s possible to will his predicament away, or if it’ll be easier to just jerk off right here. Robby has no doubt that he’d be able to cum within thirty seconds, but the morality aspect of it…

Getting himself off in the bathroom of his own emergency department is goddamn degenerate behavior, but how the fuck is he supposed to focus like this? 

Holy fuck, he’s so hard it hurts, and when Robby finally pulls his cock from his cargos, the pressure of his hand alone has him gasping and hissing. His tip is leaking precum, and he decides that yeah, this was the right move. Most ethical? Fuck no. But at least now he won’t have to explain any suspicious fluid that may bleed through his pants. 

The weight of his phone in his pocket is comparable to that of an anvil. Robby tries to ignore it, gives himself a few slow strokes while bracing his other hand on the wall. 

Don’t. Don’t look at the pictures. Do not fucking open that thread again (the one that he definitely did not delete). Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t—

“Shit,” Robby huffs, grabbing his phone, unlocking it, immediately opening your messages. 

He’s fucked. He is fucked. Can’t believe he’s actually doing this. It’s wrong on so many levels, but God, you are gorgeous and splayed out, on display for Robby to drink in even though these images were not meant for his eyes.

The arch of your back in the picture of you on your knees. The outline—the suggestion—of your tits beneath that impractically tiny top, completely gone in the next image to show off the slopes and curves and valley between. Robby thinks about what it might feel like to suck on your pebbled nipples, what sounds you’d make for him. 

Then, he sees the video, the one he hadn’t actually opened because the screencap was already too much. It’s what sent him speed walking to the nearest bathroom in the first place. 

He’s smart enough to turn his volume all the way down, looks over his shoulder to make sure no one is nearby despite being in a very locked staff restroom that is one, marked as occupied, and two, requires a code to get in. Still, it never hurts to double check (as you learned just a few minutes ago). 

With a deep breath, hand still wrapped around his cock, Robby taps his screen to play the video and—

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he whispers, sucking saliva from his teeth as he watches you move the camera from your chest down your torso, your hips, and finally the hand between your legs. The toy between your legs. 

Robby is panting as he watches you, stroking himself and time-locked with the bright dildo you’re thrusting in and out of your cunt. 

He wants to hear you, fuck, he wants to find out if you’re moaning or whimpering or letting your pussy do all the talking. 

The toy shines in the light whenever you pull it out, but Robby zeroes in on the ring of cream you leave around the base, smearing it up and down as you keep fucking yourself, and fuckfuck, he’s gonna cum. He’s gonna cum in this hospital restroom to this video that he was never supposed to see, the video he’d told you he deleted. 

So wrong, so fucking wrong, possibly the most fucked up thing he’s ever done, but he couldn’t help it—can’t help it when you tremble and buck and shove the dildo into your pussy as far as it’ll go like you’re greedy for more. 

Robby can give you more. He wants to give you more, has wanted to for too fucking long. From the first time he stood behind you to guide you through a procedure, got a whiff of your shampoo, saw the way you smiled at him. Cute and competent, beautiful, flexible, good. You’re so fucking good. 

He’s ignored it for two years. Two years of squeezing his eyes shut to block out the stars in yours. Two years of biting back groans when you end up pressed against him in a crowded trauma room. Two years of flushed skin and heart palpitations and staring at someone he shouldn’t even be glancing at. 

But, now he has the pictures and this video, and it’s like he’s been damned to a special kind of hell. He’s watching you take that dildo, obsessed with the idea of watching you take something bigger, take him, let him fill you up with more than just his cock. Shit, he could give you so much more, load after load until his cum is dripping out of your pussy rather than off of his hand like it is now. 

“Fuuucking—”

Robby drops his head to the wall and takes a few deep breaths while letting the shame wash over him, wishing he would drown in it instead of simply bathing. 

•

Robby quickly figures out that he is going to have to be the mature one out of the two of you. He doesn’t really have a choice, has to pretend that he didn’t get off to your photos or that he’s watched the video so many times he has it fucking memorized. Every breath, every moan, the faked orgasm at the end that’s honestly kind of insulting. He’s offended on your behalf because you should never ever have to fake that. You should have never gotten so good at faking it.

The first shift that you work with one another, you go out of your way to avoid him. It’s impossible to keep up considering the environment and pace that goes along with traumas, but whenever you aren’t stuck in a room with him, you do your best to hide. 

It isn’t subtle. 

If Robby could, he would also be making himself scarce, but again, he was supposed to delete your messages, not obsess over them with his hand shoved down the front of his pants. 

After stepping into an exam room that you’re already in then watching you scurry out of it at the first opportunity, Robby decides he’s had enough. This kind of avoidant behavior, though understandable in this case, just doesn’t fucking work in an ER, and he refuses to let you fuck up the rest of your residency over some accidental nudes. 

So, Robby plasters on his best ‘I have never seen your pussy before’ expression and, when he gets his chance, wraps a hand around your elbow and gently guides you out to the ambulance bay. 

You don’t protest or shrug him off, just sigh, resign yourself to whatever fate you think Robby has in store for you. 

He looks around, checking for any coworkers or, you know, incoming ambulances, and once he deems it safe, Robby takes you by the shoulders, looks you dead in the eye, and states, “you have got to fucking relax.”

He thinks you might sputter or gawk, but that is not what happens.

“That’s easy for you to say!” and you do not bother censoring yourself when you continue, “you’re not the one who sent fucking nudes to your boss.”

“Definitely not arguing that, and I get that you’re embarrassed, but I’m telling you—” he notices that he’s still holding onto you, drops his hands and shoves them into his jacket pockets, “—it’s fine, alright? I’m not gonna fucking blackmail you or make fun of you or some shit. I’m not twelve.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re a grown ass man who I work with every day who has now seen my—my, like…” 

You can’t even say it, can’t even look at him, just hide your face in your hands. 

It’s fine. Robby can finish it for you. Maybe if he’s blunt about it, the awkwardness will dissipate. Lay it out. Rip off the band-aid. Exposure therapy. 

“I’m a fucking doctor. Seeing a pair of tits,” perfect, pretty tits, “and a vulva,” slick and creamy, hole all twitchy and greedy… Christ. Robby has to clear his throat in order to finish, “it’s not gonna faze me. Yours is not the first female body I’ve seen.”

The number of emotions that play out on your face is more entertaining than it should be. Mortification to surprise to confusion to something very fucking pouty. 

“What? What are frowning about?” 

Your, “nothing,” comes out suspiciously fast, and Robby narrows his eyes as you avert yours. “Nothing. It’s just weird hearing you talk like that.”

He rubs a hand down his face. Of all the things to focus on. 

“Tits. Pussy. Cock. Cunt,” he lists because if you’re gonna hash all of this out, he can’t have you on the brink of combusting. 

“Oh my god, stop! Stop talking!” It’s practically a squeal, and the noise sends heat racing down Robby’s spine to settle right at the base of it. 

It reminds him of the sounds you made in that video, turned up all the way while in the privacy of his own home. Gasps, and mewls, and adorable whines. Little ‘please please please’s thrown in there as a treat, but even if the begging isn’t genuine, it still sounds damn good, still ricochets in Robby’s brain even now. 

“I’m just trying to show that this isn’t a big fucking deal,” he tries, then immediately backtracks when he sees yet another emotion play out on your face: anger. “Hold on, wait, listen. I’m not trying to invalidate you. I—look, I get that you’re probably feeling vulnerable, or that now I don’t know, I have something on you, or more power or some other bullshit. I recognize that, okay? Nod with me,” he pauses to make sure you’re following, would be worried about condescending, but you don’t seem to take it as such, just stare and do as you’re told, nodding slowly. “As far as I’m concerned, it never happened,” a lie, “it was a mistake. You have a life outside of this ER just like I do.”

“You send dick pics to the wrong people?” you pipe up, finally starting to look more like a person and less like a deer being hunted.  

“Well, no…” Robby cradles the back of his neck, “but I’m sure some of the people who’ve seen it wish they hadn’t.”

He never noticed how fucking cute you are when you’re caught off guard—eyes widening, brows rising, lips parting. 

“Didn’t ever think I’d end up in a conversation with my attending about his dick,” you mutter. 

Robby laughs, “yeah, well, I didn’t ever think my best resident would send me a sex tape.”

Your jaw drops, but the corners of your mouth are still upturned. “It was not a sex tape—”

Hands back in his pockets, Robby’s body language screams his disagreement. He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, presses his lips into a line, rocks his head back and forth as if he’s waffling on the idea until he eventually responds, “mmmyeah, except it is. That was a sex tape.”

“It was n—wait,” you stop, eyes going wide again only they don’t stop growing, threatening to pop out of their sockets. 

Confused, Robby raises an eyebrow and—

Ohh, shit. 

“You watched it?”

Yep, he just outed himself, and now all he can do is cringe. 

“Robby, what the fuck?!”

He expects a slap to the face. Deserves that and more. But all you do is stand there, hands on your cheeks like you just stepped out of whatever art museum The Scream is mounted in. 

“I’m sorry—I don’t…” He runs his palms up his face, presses them to his temples before settling at the top of his head and squeezing his skull as if it’ll ground him. “I have no fucking excuse. I’m sorry. It was just base brain curiosity.”

Head hanging forward, you shake it back and forth, muttering something Robby can’t hear as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

Should he go back inside? He should go back inside. Jesus, this is about to be an HR clusterfuck, god dammit—

“Okay, the least you can do is tell me I looked good in it, fuck.” 

You seem to steel yourself, crossing your arms over your chest, hip cocked out, chin up in some kind of unnecessary defiance. 

“You…” Robby blinks at you, stunned. His entire body feels like it’s on fire, blushing all the way to his scalp. “You want me to fucking critique it?”

“Absolutely not. If you criticize any of it, I will kill myself,” you say so seriously that Robby actually believes you. “I want you to tell me that I didn’t fucking film it for no goddamn reason, ‘cause the guy it was for didn’t seem to care, so—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Robby cuts you off, startled by how loud his voice is. 

It makes you jump, but you still release something that might be a giggle. 

“I wish I was. He just said ‘you’re sexy’,” finger quotation marks, “with a sweating emoji.” 

You roll your eyes, and Robby lets out an incredulous laugh about an octave higher than is normal for him, looks up at the bay awning while uttering, “Jesus, men are so fucking stupid,” before he levels his gaze back on you. 

“Yeah, I’m well aware.” All moody and inpatient, literally tapping your foot as you look at Robby expectantly. “Well?”

He checks his surroundings again, must be habit at this point, then asks, “you want me to be honest?” and when you nod, he pushes a little more, “one hundred percent?” just to be sure. 

“Oh my god. You watched the video like a fucking pervert. I think I deserve some validation—yes, I’m sure.”

How is his skin still getting hotter? 

Robby exhales through his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut for a second before shaking off his nerves. 

You aren’t mad at him. Irritated, maybe, but not about to shove a scalpel into his carotid. And, you’re asking for his opinion, asking for his praise, brimming with curiosity. 

It gives Robby undeserved confidence, and he slowly walks you backward toward the brick wall behind you until he’s got you crowded against it. 

Lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear, he confesses—quiet, deep, rough, “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve cum to that video of you.” 

You inhale sharp enough for him to hear, air filling your lungs and making your chest rise, and suddenly Robby isn’t the only one who’s burning. He can feel the heat radiating off of you. 

So, he keeps going.

“You want validation?” 

He’s met with the tiniest nod, as if you’re ashamed for asking. Robby tells you exactly why you shouldn’t be. 

“I got those messages while I was here, right in the middle of the pitt. Didn’t even move ‘cause I was too busy staring at how pretty you are in them…” He raises a hand to catch a strand of your hair, tries to memorize how soft it is between his fingers. “Locked myself in the bathroom ‘cause I couldn’t let anyone see how fucking hard I was getting. Doubt I need to tell you what I did in there.”

He’s getting bold. Too bold. About to cross the last line bold. Your head is tilted back so you can gaze up at him, and Robby takes it as an invitation, drops your hair in favor of running a knuckle up the side of your neck then along your jaw. 

“I watched that video and stroked my cock until I came all over my hand like some fucking teenager. And, then I went home and did it again.”

Biting your lip, your eyes are hooded and desirous as you slide down the wall a couple inches, stopped by the leg Robby slots between yours without thinking. 

“Listened to you over and over—so fuckin’ sweet when you started whining, when your pussy started begging.”

“Holy fuck,” you whisper, and it pulls a chuckle from his chest. It’s easy to tell you’ve never had a man speak to you like this. Robby is glad to be the first. Honored, even. 

Some of your weight rests against his thigh, and he has to bite back a groan when your hips twitch against him. 

It was just a few days ago that Robby was locked in a prison of arousal and self-loathing, hating himself for even thinking about getting off in the EC. Now, he’s got you pinned to the wall outside of the same department, and all he wants is to watch you grind and squirm against him. 

Any shame he felt before is long fucking gone. 

“The photos, the video… I know you’re embarrassed, but I am fucking ruined, okay? I can’t think straight anymore, not when you’re around. Fuck, not even when you’re gone.” 

He’s telling you too much, admitting things he shouldn’t, but he’s spent days walking around with the image of you fucking yourself with a dildo burned into his retinas (days walking around with his cock being at least half hard at any given time). 

Pent up, frustrated, and stupid, Robby really can’t be held at fault for running his mouth and letting his hands wander. 

“And, the worst part of it all,” his fingers curl over where your neck meets your shoulder, but his thumb is stretched out to lightly press against your throat, wishing he could leave his unique print on your skin. 

“The fucking worst part is that you took those while thinking of some someone else, put on your little thigh-highs and fucked yourself for some asshole who can’t tell the difference between a real orgasm and a fake one.”

You go rigid between Robby and the wall, staring up at him in shock. You’re still simmering from the contact, with where all this is heading because it is heading somewhere. 

But, the difference between… there’s no way he could know. He’s just talking shit about Tony because he’s jealous apparently (and that idea is extremely fucking hot), but his words hit home because yeah, you have faked every orgasm with Tony, and no, he hasn’t noticed. 

But, how could Robby? He’s seen one video; it’s not like he knows—

“Honey, I’ve been fucking for longer than you’ve been alive,” oh, good lord, “I know what an orgasm looks and sounds like.” His hand is calloused where he cups your cheek, and you melt straight into it. “What you did in that video was beautiful, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t real.”

He raises the leg between yours, probably rocks onto the ball of his foot, and it presses harder against you, but it’s not enough. Even when you grind down, clutch at his shoulders, it is not fucking enough. 

His brazen display of self-assuredness makes you dizzy and dumb. If he’s this confident, there must be a reason, and that reason is likely how you’re responding to him. Your body language, how you can barely even see him through your half-lidded eyes, how your bottom lip is raw from chewing on it.

It makes you desperate—embarrassingly so, and when his coarse beard grazes over your cheek bone, you let the last of your inhibitions dissipate. 

“Robby, I swear to God, if you keep talking, I will literally fuck you in one of the parked ambulances.”

He has the audacity to laugh, a puff of air straight from his throat that cascades over the shell of your ear, and it makes you want to cry. It makes you hit your head against the wall behind you. One, two, three times before Robby slips his hand between your skull and the bricks. 

“Not in an ambulance,” he shakes his head, brown eyes trained on your mouth. “You won’t be able to move the way I want you to in an ambulance.”

His voice is so low, a rumble, a vibration, and it makes you pulse, pussy hungry for what you can’t have. 

You roll your hips in a plea for more friction, and you’re about ready to strip right here and now if it means he’ll fuck you. 

If you could just push him a little further. If you could just make him as crazy as he’s made you. 

Eager to the point of hysteria, you squeeze your eyes shut and tell him the secret you’ve been harboring since starting at the hospital (part of it, anyway), something you never imagined telling him, and it comes out in the form of pathetic incoherencies— “it was you. I was thinking about you when I made the video, ‘nd I’ve done it before—made myself cum while—I try not to, t-to think and, like, imagine other things, but can’t—”

A surprised grunt (squeak) is forced out of you when Robby crushes his lips against yours, and you cannot remember the last time a man has rendered you so fucking useless, but fuck, you’re holding onto him as if it’ll keep you in a solid state because it sure feels like you’re about to evaporate out of his hands and into the clouds.

You are going to die here. No way you can survive his beard scratching against your face or the sensation of his lips on yours, warm and a little chapped but so, so hungry as they move with yours. 

Jesus fuck, you feel his tongue, do not hesitate to stroke it with your own, licking into his mouth before pulling back and catching his bottom lip between your incisors and biting. 

Robby groans, the fingers at the back of your head curling into your hair. He cants his hips forward, and you finally see that it’s not just you who’s affected. Worked up. Not thinking straight. 

This is Robby—the man who is obsessed with controlling everything he can, who refuses to let anyone see what he’s bottled up, who compartmentalizes so much you’re surprised he doesn’t have multiple active bleeding ulcers—tearing apart at the seams little by little. 

Quick, tiny rips that turn to longer cuts then into deep gashes until he’s cleaved right down the middle. You feel the way his eyebrows pinch together when you hold his face to yours, inhale every one of his shaky breaths, grind yourself down on his thigh as his hips move in short, abortive thrusts. 

Fuck, fuck, “on-call room—”

“No.” Growled. Rough. Leaving no room for argument. “I’m not doing this until I can spread you out,” —the way he keeps running his nose up your cheek is driving you crazy, but not as much as his voice in your ear, “until I can make you scream my fucking name.”

“God, fuck, Robby—”

He smiles, you think, judging by the way his beard scratches at you differently, “not a chance in hell I’m letting anyone else hear you like this.”

There is a very good chance, however, that you’re dripping through your panties and possibly your scrubs. You surge forward, demanding another kiss that Robby eagerly bends to. 

A siren sounds in the distance, distorted by the doppler effect that matches the way you feel inside, like your sanity is waxing and waning, screaming then whimpering. 

“There are still three fucking hours left in this shift,” you grumble, “and you expect me to just power through? Wet?”

He swears under his breath, something that is so very satisfying, but when he actually lifts his head and pulls back enough for you to see his flushed face, he somehow manages to school his expression into something professional. 

“I expect you to do your job,” he says, masterfully composed. You pout, and Robby brushes hair from your face at the same time that he shifts his leg against your cunt, and you think he must really enjoy seeing you unstable because he tacks on a low, sing-songy, “be good for me.”

Fucking devilish. 

Hands on his chest, you shove him backward, eyes narrowed in a heatless glare. 

“Now you’re just being mean.”

“Oh, you have no idea how mean I can be,” he shoots back, winks, then turns his attention to the ambulance that’s pulling up into the bay. 

Back to business, hands in his pockets, brown eyes clear and alert, like nothing even happened. 

“34-year-old female with multiple fractures after a hit-and-run while biking…”

You move on autopilot, falling into step beside the gurney as the medic rattles off numbers and injuries. The motions come easily, muscle memory, but even as you assess and examine, you can’t ignore how damp your panties are. When Robby announces that the biker’s hip needs to be reduced, you almost roll your eyes at him before stepping up to get a better angle. 

External rotation, upward pull, praise the Gods for fast-acting pain meds. 

A hand steadies you as you begin to lower yourself, and you don’t have to look to know who it belongs to. Scorching and far too familiar, following your movements while remaining planted on the small of your back. 

When you’re on solid ground, you lean close to Robby’s shoulder and clack your teeth together as if snapping at him. Playful, maybe even cheeky, but quick so that no one else notices. 

He goes along with it, scrunches his nose while imitating a snarl, and you gallop to put distance between you and him before he can catch the ridiculous fucking giggle that bubbles out of you.

What have you gotten yourself into? 

Two and a half more hours, a case of appendicitis, and a knowing smirk. 

An hour and 45 minutes, a collapsed lung, and fingers that linger a little too long. 

30 minutes, a football player with a compound fracture, and breath on the nape of your neck as he slides to get to your other side. 

The night shift crew starts trickling in, and Ellis nearly pulls you into what would probably be a witty conversation full of laughs and subtle shit-talking, but you spin away from her with the excuse of being late for a family dinner. 

You need to shower and you need to give yourself a pep talk in the mirror and you need to—

“Family dinner?”

Robby catches up to you outside, which was not supposed to happen because he always stays later than necessary, wants to be his control freak self and keep an eye on the night shift for at least an hour. 

“Too late for you to play dumb. I already know you’re an evil goddamn mastermind.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responds, eyes to the sky, whistling in a casual, cartoonish manner. 

Bouncing back and forth between overwhelming frustration and giddy anticipation, you walk a little closer to him, biting the inside of your cheek when Robby gently shoulders into you.

Then, like a bucket full of ice water, the situation washes over you all at once. From the accidental pictures up to now. The mortification and anxiety, the compulsive avoidance, the enthusiastic conversation you had mere hours ago. 

You stop walking.

Flirting at work is one thing, but bringing it out into the real world…?

You want it. You want him. You have for too long, and you’ve struggled with it. 

Dating apps and hookups and finding new fucking hobbies—they’re just attempts at distracting yourself. You wish you could cope with extra shifts, but that would be counterproductive. It’s hard enough seeing Robby a few days a week. Any more than that and there would be no hope for you to get over this thing you’ve had for him. 

This can’t be a hookup brought on by a few filthy photos. This can’t be the first time he’s ever seen you as more than just a resident. This can’t be a roaring fire tonight that gets doused in the morning. 

Robby only gets a few steps further before noticing your standstill, stops a few feet ahead at the edge of the lot your car is parked in. 

“You okay?” he ventures, “rethinking all of this?”

You shake your head, “no,” then, “yes.”

Robby frowns but the expression doesn’t come off as upset. More confused than anything. 

“You can back out. I know you’re in limbo or… something, but—”

“No, it’s not that,” you wave off, and you notice that your hand is shaking. Actually, all of you is shaking. It’s pretty well contained, you think, but the antsy energy makes you clench your jaw too tight.

Robby is looking at you in a way only he can—concerned, compassionate, exhausted—and he’s about to open his mouth again, push for you to talk to him with that gentle tone that’s usually meant to placate patients and family, and unfortunately, you’re going to be completely honest, tell him what you left out in the ambulance bay, because you’ve never been able to lie to him. 

“What is it, then?” He takes a step forward but keeps his hands in his pockets. It makes him look relaxed, unimposing, I am restrained; I cannot hurt you. “This can end right here if you want it to, but you’ve gotta tell me.” 

Kind despite the gravel, just as you predicted. 

Heaving a sigh, you snort to yourself, truly cannot believe you’re about to ruin the rest of your residency with a single conversation. 

“I know, yeah, just… I’m about to say some things, and they might make you feel awkward or, I don’t know, like, trapped or whatever, so—”

“Is this about the crush you’ve had since you started?”

He just says it. To your face, right out in the open!

Jaw dropping all the way, you stare at Robby completely dumbfounded. Your cheeks blaze and your ears ring and the world around you comes to a jerky stop. 

“You—you knew?”

His eyes are damn near blinding with the way they shine, a smile tugging at his lips, so fucking self-satisfied even as he blushes. 

“It took me a while to catch on, but yeah,” he nods, moving closer now as he pulls a hand from his pocket to scratch over the hair on his cheek. 

You’re only torturing yourself by asking, “how?” but you need to know. What did you do? What tipped him off?

Robby’s grin softens, his blinks get slower, and for the first time today, he sounds a little unsure. 

“You remember that marathon last year? Some charity event, I think for Alzheimer’s or dementia, one of those nightmare diseases.”

“It was Parkinson’s,” you remind him. 

“Right, anyway, we were fucking packed with broken ankles and torn ligaments, that one guy with rhabdomyolosis…” he lists, eyes to the sky instead of on you. “Then, that kid came in with a dislocated jaw, and—”

“Oh, no, I remember now.” Because you do. You remember this story almost as well as you remember the butterflies. 

Robby chuckles. “I still don’t know why, but you got this fucking look on your face when I showed you how to pop it back into place, like I’d just performed some goddamn miracle, and it didn’t—no, it still doesn’t make sense to me, but I remember liking that look way too fuckin’ much, thought about it too much, wondered if you thought about me too much, and eventually it sort of… started making more sense. Not that it’s me, that doesn’t—the doe eyes, I mean, I understood a little better.”

His rambling would be adorable if you weren’t so fucking embarrassed. Shit, how many times had you stared at him with those “doe eyes” without realizing it? Like a dumb puppy chewing on his pant leg to get his attention. 

You slap a hand over your face and shake your head. “So, you’ve just been going along with it no matter how uncomfortable it probably made you.”

If you were to actually look at him again, you’d see the way Robby rolls his eyes. 

“Didn’t listen to a fucking word I said, Jesus…” 

Now, you do glance up, see the familiar way his fingers lock at the back of his neck as Robby slides his jaw back and forth like he’s thinking. Debating. 

“Okay, here’s what it is—I went along with it. I ignored it.” Ah, ouch. “Or, I tried to, ‘cause it’s fucking distracting, but not… it doesn’t make me feel like—what’d you say earlier? Awkward or trapped. It's distracting ‘cause I can see it. On your face. And, I lose my goddamn focus ‘cause all I can think about is—fuck—what can I do to make you keep looking at me like that?”

He looks stressed, like he’s arguing with an ignorant, unruly patient, even releases one of those incredulous laughs. It doesn’t feel like he’s frustrated with you, though, and you think that maybe he hadn’t planned on telling you all of this. 

“Wait…” you massage your temples, “what are you—hold on.”

Is he saying what you think he’s saying? No. No, definitely not. 

“You’re my resident,” Robby groans, and you know. You know you’re his resident and he’s your attending. 

You know it’s cliché and stupid and impossible which is why you’ve been doing everything you can to move the fuck on. It even felt like you’d been making progress, slow and minuscule as it was, it was still progress. 

But, now you’ve seen how heated his gaze is, heard how rough his voice gets, felt his body pressing against yours, and all of that progress has been lost. In fact, you’ve fallen behind your initial starting point, and this time he knows. 

“I’m sorry—I know. I didn’t mean to put you in a shitty spot, but I couldn’t help it! If I could stop, I would.”

“Please fucking don’t,” Robby replies swiftly, covers the last bit of distance until he’s right in front of you, shaking his head and keeping you pinned under those endlessly tortured brown eyes, “don’t be sorry, don’t try to stop.” 

His hand feels huge on your cheek, and you subconsciously lean into it while gazing up at him. Curling his fingers, you feel his nails graze your cheekbone as a devastatingly soft plea falls from him, “don’t stop fucking looking at me like this.”

You wouldn’t be able to even if you wanted to. 

The kiss is a surprise. You didn’t think he’d be the type to be comfortable displaying something like this in a public setting; any of your coworkers could walk by, could snicker, could judge, so either he’s not in his right mind, or he really does not care. 

“There are people,” half-hearted and muffled against his lips as you raise up to your tiptoes. 

Robby huffs a laugh and tells you, “couldn’t give less of a fuck,” and proves it by settling his free hand on your back, just over the waistband of your pants, and pulls until you’re slotted against him. 

It’s… not softer than before, there’s definitely still force behind the kiss, but it’s less greedy. Less about taking, more about giving—giving up, giving in, giving everything. 

You’re still just as desperate as you were three hours ago, want him between your legs, want him to wreck you, but the way his mouth feels moving with yours is all you can focus on. Harsh pressure receding into something feather light, angling your face, tender yet controlling, so that his nose bumps yours, parted lips barely dragging over yours, and he’s teasing, making you want him more and more. 

“So, here’s my plan,” Robby breathes so, so close. 

You think you hear footsteps nearby, can’t find it in yourself to be bothered by them. 

“You have my…” you barely manage to swallow a whimper when he pulls you impossibly closer, “—undivided attention.”

Robby smiles and hums, “like the sound of that,” before getting back on track, “my plan, though—”

“Mhm, your plan,” your hands travel down his torso, finding belt loops to hook your fingers in. 

“It involves going to your place first, so you can grab clothes, your toothbrush, and whatever toys you use to get yourself off—” 

The way he says it punches the air straight from your lungs. 

“Then, we’re going to mine, and I’m gonna use every one of those toys, make sure you actually cum.”

Robby nips at your lower lip, traps it and sucks before he continues. 

His voice isn’t just gravel now; it’s stone. Firm, deep, excavated from his chest— 

“And then, I am going to fuck you until the only thought in your pretty head is how good I can make you feel.”

If it weren’t for Robby’s broad frame in front of you, the setting sun would beam straight through your dangerously blown pupils, fry both of your fucking optic nerves, but the danger is blocked, eclipsed by this menace of a man.

You’ve seen Robby goof around, seen him play and poke fun, but you have never seen him look and sound and be so fiendish—an honest to god villain. 

And you are so fucking wet, you think you’re getting dehydrated. 

“That… that sounds, uh,” you try, possibly panting, definitely light-headed. But, you are nothing if not stubborn, so you counter, “sounds kinda presumptuous, actually. Assuming I’m just gonna, like, spend the night and cum my brains out.” 

You make a show of rolling your eyes. The petulance doesn’t quite land when you shudder from the sensation of his fingers toying with your waistband, so you add, “I’ve noticed that when guys talk a big game, I usually leave disappointed.”

Robby looks entertained, a little endeared, an expression that reads something like, that’s cute. 

“I’m sure that’s been your experience in the past, but I’m not some fucking,” he makes a dismissive motion like he can’t be bothered to think too hard about it, “some douchey real estate agent you found on Tinder.”

“What side of Tinder are you on?” you snort. 

“I’m not on it at all, actually, but you’re missing the point.”

“Right,” you suck your teeth, still challenging but refusing to move away from him. “The point being you’re gonna rock my world or whatever.”

Robby takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger then uses them to shake your head for you. With his eyebrows raised, his responding, “no,” sounds like an admonishment, “the point being I actually care about making you cum, and plan to do so—multiple times, if I have it my way…”

“Your way,” you parrot. 

“My way.” He strokes your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. “Gonna make sure you don’t send more filthy fucking pictures to anyone but me from now on.”

Is it possible to climax from words alone? It must be because having Robby talk to you like this, show how possessive he can be, it feels like you’re about to explode. 

“So I can keep sending videos, then? Didn’t say anything about those.”

“As long as it shows my head between your thighs, go for it.”

Your pitchy, disbelieving giggle breaks enough for him to hear, “what? Are you serious?”

“No, I’m not fucking serious, are you kidding me? My eyes only, got it?”

Your pussy clenches as if he’s already fucking you.

“I—didn’t you have a fucking plan, or are you just gonna keep riling me up?”

“Oh, so you’re on board then?” he toys, smile growing both in size and smugness. 

You click your tongue, quietly scoff, “as if you don’t know. Asshole.”

Robby laughs, and you grab a handful of his hoodie before turning and making your way to your car.

He’s more than happy to be tugged along behind you.

[savemesteeb]

Home Again

Michael “Dr. Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader | 3k words | explicit

Summary: After four days apart, Robby is aching to see you after his shift.

Tags/Warnings: Robby’s POV, female reader (female anatomy, boobs big enough to fit around a dick but I firmly believe that all boobs are fuckable boobs and that no matter how big or small your boobs are, Robby and you would make it work 🫶), post Season 1, established new relationship, therapy mention (🥳), fluff/feelings/angst, kissing, nipple play, breast play (Robby fucks them), Reader being held down, fingering (f receiving), super brief blowjob, smidge of comeplay – let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: I wrote a huge portion of this down weeks ago, meant as a part of a multi-chaptered fic, but then I remembered that I suck at multi-chaptered fic… I reworked this as a standalone one shot, with the possibility of adding more – like a series of snapshot looks at their relationship. I’m kind of dropping you in the middle. I want these to be centered around music (Baby has been on repeat) and I had a lot of fun imagining other songs Robby might listen to. First songs of this series are Home Again and Where You Lead, both by Carole King. Ok! Yay! Hope you enjoy!

– – – – –

Standing in front of your apartment, Robby slips into the familiar routine of pressing his foot against the door then pulling at the handle before pushing it down. The lock clicks, and it’s followed by a faint creak. 

When the door swings open, he’s met with the clean scent of detergent, the sound of Carole King spinning on the record player, crooning about snow and rain chilling her soul right to the marrow. A smile curls at his lips at the song, and at the sight of you, wearing a loose fitting T-shirt and dark cotton shorts he’s seen you sleep in once or twice, swaying your hips to the music. Your back is turned to him, too busy folding some laundry on the kitchen table and singing along to the music to notice him yet. 

Until he closes the door behind himself a little louder than he wanted, and your head whips around.

“Hey!” you greet him, a smile breaking out across your face at the sight of him. “I wasn’t expecting you today.” 

Robby’s stomach does a little flip at the excitement in your voice. He pockets his sunglasses, toes off his shoes, drops his backpack by the door, and reaches you in a few quick strides. His arms wrap around your middle from behind and he greets you back with a kiss to your cheek and a, “Hi.” Hooking his chin over your shoulder, he holds you close and watches as you finish folding your last two pieces of clothing. “How are you?”

“Hmm, good. Just finishing up,” you say, your hand finding his cheek blindly. Your nails scratch softly at the coarse hair you find under your palm while your free hand divides your washing into neat stacks. “And you? How was work?”

Robby hums, the sound noncommittal as he nuzzles your neck and his beard tickles your bare shoulder. 

It hadn’t been better or worse than any other day, but work had kept the two of you apart for four days in a row now, and it had made his body thrum in a way that was distinctly different from the usual emergency department adrenaline rush. Despite the fact that he was busy, flitting between rooms, checking up on patients and residents alike, firing questions at the interns, you were on the back of his mind all day. The feeling of wanting to be around someone so bad that it became physical was something he’d long forgotten, and he spent the day aching for the end of shift so he could go see you, even though you hadn’t made any plans.

“It was okay,” he says. Without planning to, he adds, “I was thinking about you, I missed you.” 

Robby’s terrified of how fast he’s falling, and how quick this has become something meaningful; this thing between you new enough to still be making him feel like a teenager with a crush, but familiar enough that you leave the door unlocked for him. For the first time in a long time, he feels like there’s more to his life than his job, but he’s afraid it’s all too much, that his personal and work life can't possibly coexist as equals.

But he’s working on it. Every Wednesday afternoon he’s talking to someone about it.

Because if he’s truly honest, he’s equally terrified of something–or God forbid, you–stopping this now. He’s a little too familiar with people close to him letting him down, and this thing between you crashing, on top of everything else that happened in the past two months, might be too painful. So he can’t move too fast, or–  

But then he feels the way your cheeks round around a smile, and he forgets his train of thought when you say, I missed you, too, and melt into his embrace.

“Yeah?” he asks, peppering your shoulder with kisses to hide the relief that washes over him at your words.

Your head turns to him, your palm on his cheek guiding him to look at you. “Yeah,” you say quietly. It sounds like a promise, and the worry etched on his face instantly smoothes over. Your lips find his in a kiss that’s soft and slow. Robby sighs into it, his eyes fluttering closed as the warm press of your mouth soothes him as much as your words did. 

When your arm lifts and your hand slides back into his hair, your shirt rides up. Robby’s fingers slide down over your skin, the space from your hips to your belly button pleasantly warm, and his pinky grazes the waistband of your panties that peeks out from your shorts. He cracks an eye open when he feels it. It’s simple, black cotton; no frills, nothing fancy. But it’s you and it’s driving him crazy.

He kisses you harder, swiping his tongue over the seam of your lips, your answering gasp allowing him to taste you; it’s familiar and sweet, a hint of that drink you like so much still lingers. Robby gets lost in it, in the feeling of your hand tightening in his hair, your tongue dipping into his mouth, the feeling of your stomach tensing under his touch when he uses his grip on you to grind against the swell of your ass.

“Fuck– I really missed you,” he murmurs.

“Hmm, so you said,” you say with a grin. You guide his hand under your shirt, up, until it fits around the underside of your naked breast. “Why don’t you show me?”

He nods, nose sliding against yours when he does. He moves slowly, testing the weight of your chest in his palm before pushing up with a squeeze and flattening it against you. You’re even warmer here, smooth under his touch until your nipple hardens under the roll of his thumb. The sound of your breath hitching when he pinches it is music to his ears, and he can’t help but laugh when your hand slams against the glossy surface of the table the moment he gently twists the sensitive bud.

“I said show me,” you huff, but the unserious tone of your voice is not lost on him, “not tease me.”

“Same difference,” he says, taking pity on you nonetheless and going back to kneading your breast instead. He nips at your pulse, “Why don’t you show me to the bedroom?”

He can feel your laughter before he hears it. “I’m pretty sure you know the way by now.”

– – – – –

If anyone were to walk into your apartment now, they would find a trail of clothes - a T-shirt, a Beers of the Burgh Festival hoodie, cotton shorts, charcoal coloured scrubs, cargo pants - tracking from the kitchen to your bedroom.

You’re on the bed, sitting up against the pillows, working your underwear down your legs and throwing them off to the side; Robby’s working as fast as he can to match your state of undress. 

There’s so much he wants; to get lost in the taste of you with your moans muffled by your thighs around his ears, to turn you over and slide inside while he can get his hands on your ass, to switch places so he can have you in his lap and kiss you for as long as he needs. But then he catches the way your fingers slide over your kiss-swollen lips, down to cup your breast while your eyes rove over his body. He recalls the way you felt in his hand just minutes before, soft and pliant, and suddenly he knows exactly what he wants.

“Stay right there” he says, sliding his boxers off, before kneeling on the comforter at the end of the bed.

He shuffles closer, straddles your waist, and when he finds your eyes to check in with you, they’re glittering with enthusiasm. Working with him, you slide down to make sure you fit together, his knees pressing into your armpits. Robby takes a careful seat on top of you, pinning you under his weight.

When he takes himself in hand, he catches the way your mouth falls open, ready, but instead of guiding himself inside, he taps the head of his cock against the soft underside of your breast. It lands with a wet sound, and a surprised, encouraging gasp from you. A little string of precome connects the two of you, and he repeats the action, alternating sides, watching your skin bounce, before resting his shaft against your sternum.

Realization makes your eyes widen, your pupils dilate, and you quickly move to cup your breasts, then push them together around his length. “Is this how you want it?” you ask, eyes falling down to watch, covering what doesn’t fit with your palm, before looking back up at him.

His hands curl around the headboard to keep himself steady, the peak of his nose and the high of his cheeks no doubt dusted with a rosy flush. It feels better than he imagined, you are making it feel better than he imagined; the eager energy, the tight press of your hands.

“Yes.” 

“Hmm, yeah?” you ask, moving your hands up and down to give him some friction. “Do you wanna fuck my tits, Robby?”

His eyes flutter, a shaky breath sailing past his lips at your sweet tone. “Fucking– You know I do,” he grunts, giving an experimental thrust of his hips.

“Hold on, lift up” you murmur, letting go of yourself. Robby takes himself in hand, following your instructions and giving his length a slow stroke. Your lips purse, before you spit into the cup of your palm and spread your saliva between your breasts. Using the same hand, you reach for him, stroking down until you meet his fist. “Now come back.”

“Jesus,” Robby huffs, the sight of your dewy skin and the feeling of your soft, slick hand guiding him making his cock pulse. The snug fit between your glistening tits reminds him of the way your pussy feels at that very first slide inside; the warm, velvety stretch, that specifically slippery feeling he can’t really describe. He sets a gentle pace, testing the waters, watching the tip reappear on each forward thrust of his hips.

“It looks so hot,” you mutter softly. “How does it feel?”

“So fucking good,” he says, his voice laced with a hint of disbelief at just how good it is.

“Yeah,” you encourage, moving a little under him and pushing down harder, making the space tighter. ”Keep fucking me like this.”

Robby’s eyes close with a groan at the feeling. Between the plush press of your skin, the words spilling from your lips and how wound up he’s felt all day, he knows he’s not going to make this last as long as he wants. 

Before he’s fully thought about doing it, his hand is flying up to his mouth. He licks at the pads of his fingers before reaching behind him, between your legs. He can see it on your face when he finds your clit, just a fraction before he feels himself roll over it; the widening of your pretty eyes, the twitch of your lips before they fall open around a surprised, deep moan. Robby can feel the rumble against his thighs where they’re pressed against your ribs. You buck under him, chasing his touch, his slippery fingers sliding over your lips, down to the wetness collecting at your opening. He uses it, dips one fingertip inside, swipes up, and swirls it around.

More of your sweet sounds echo around the bedroom, and it goes straight to his cock, getting the space between your breasts wetter with the next push of his hips. Together, you find a rhythm; the push, pull, twirl of hands and hips, the sounds, all making Robby’s mind swim.

“Faster,” you mutter, planting your feet against the mattress to give him more room to follow your instructions. “Please, just a little faster.”

Robby tries to do as you ask, tries focusing on his ministrations equally. He’s dipping forward more and more, the slick head of his cock grazing your chin every couple thrusts. Your mouth drops open, tongue unfurling, and his pace stutters when he fucks up against it. “Sweetheart,” he warns sharply, the muscles in his thighs flexing when you dip into his slit before closing your lips around his tip. 

One of your hands lets up, using the other and the side of your elbow to keep yourself closed around him. Reaching for him, you finger the hair that’s scattered all over him, following the dark trail down over the soft give of his belly, his hips twitching when you flit over that sensitive spot next to his navel. The wild curls at his base are wet with a mix of your spit and his precome, and he can’t help but let out a gruff sound when you give them a little tug.

It makes him press down harder between your legs, pushing the hood of your clit back further and exposing more of it to his rolling fingers. With a gasp, your mouth pops off him, head falling back into the pillow as your eyes screw shut. “Oh, my– Stay right there,” you beg, widening your legs, “Robby, yes, it’s– Fuckfuckfuck–” 

Robby can feel your pulse where he’s touching you, the twitching under the circle of his fingers turning into a steady throb as you come with a breathy gasp. It’s one of the most erotic things he’s ever experienced, he thinks, the feeling of it, the sight of your shoulders pulling together as you arch up, managing to keep yourself pressed around his cock, your mouth hanging open as you shudder under him.

He wants to tell you everything; how good you look, how good it feels, that he’s so hard that it hurts, but it’s too much. The familiar feeling of release is already tingling up his spine and taking root in his gut, making his shaft pulse and his balls draw up. “Gonna come,” he manages. 

“Please. Want you to feel good.” You sound wrecked, voice gone hoarse with desire and intensifying the pleasure coursing through his body. “Want it all over me.”

The headboard creaks again when he lets go, grabbing at you before you can reach up to help him, pinning your wrist to the mattress while pulling himself from between your tits with his other hand. The bounce of your chest, your dazed little grunt, and the quick, wet slap of his fist make him feel warm all over. It’s a fight to keep his eyes open when it hits, when he almost doubles over before he splashes warmly over your chest with a deep groan of satisfaction. He’s heaving on top of you, hissing as he uses the tip of his cock to smear his come over your pebbled nipples, braving the overstimulation until he has to pull away. 

After a beat, when the final drop lands on your skin and he starts softening in his palm, his shoulders slump with a heavy sigh. The muscles in his thighs protest when he lifts himself off you, before he settles on his back beside you. With a little frown, he takes your wrist, and brings it to his lips. “Got a little carried away,” he says apologetically.

Still catching your breath, you huff out a laugh. “‘’s okay,” you say, voice reassuring as you shuffle towards him, careful not to spill, until your hip presses against his. You turn your face towards his. “I liked it. All of it.”

Robby hums in agreement, lacing your fingers together and resting them on his chest. His heart is still slamming behind his ribcage as he comes down, and he sighs again as he allows himself to slowly feel the contentment thrumming through his veins, watching as you curiously search his face. 

A finger comes up to caress his jaw. “Are you staying?”

He snorts. “You just want someone other than you to finally turn poor Carole over.”

You throw your head back, the line of your throat bobbing with a laugh. “You’re funny.”

Robby uses your joined hands to pull you closer. “You think so?” he asks, basking in the way the crinkles next to your eyes deepen at his question.

“Very,” you say, giving him a quick peck before letting go of him and getting on your feet. “I should really get cleaned up.”

Robby’s eyes land on the swell of your ass, the sway in your hips as you make your way to the bedroom door. When you turn in the doorway, his gaze is drawn to your sticky chest; his come warm enough to still be sliding down, slow as molasses, but cooled enough that he’s pretty certain it won’t leak everywhere before you’ve made it to the bathroom. The amused look on your face when he drags his eyes up again makes him blush.  

“How about this: I’ll take one for the team and turn Carole over before I clean up, and you are staying,” you propose. “Deal?”

“Deal. But…,” he grins, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “...if you want to send me away when you hear my poor rendition of Where You Lead, I would totally understand.”

One corner of your mouth turns up, but it quickly morphs into something else, a crease forming between your brows. You shuffle your feet, your voice softer, “I could never send you away while you’re singing that song.”

Robby’s mouth goes dry, but before he can even think of how to reply, you’re turning on your heels, padding towards the kitchen. There’s a sharp pinch in Robby’s chest; your words, your sweet face, lyrics, it all settles somewhere behind his ribs, blooming bright and warm. He falls back against your pillows, eyes pressed tightly shut as he brings a fist to the center of his chest, moving it in circles, something he’s done with so many patients today.

It does very little to snap him out of how affected he is.

They didn’t cover this in med school. 

– – – – –

Thanks for reading! Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with! Also, if you have any song suggestions, send them over, I’d love to add more songs to my Dr. Robby playlist!

[savemesteeb]

That Old Man

Michael Robinavitch x F!Resident!Reader

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (language and smut) Word count: ~3,500 Tags: reader insert, no use of y/n, female reader, smut, explicit sexual content, newly established relationship, slight age gap (29F and 54 M), car sex, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, p in v sex, no beta

Summary: You began dating Dr. Robby a few weeks ago and now it's time to introduce him to your friends, who know nothing about him beyond your age gap. They quickly learn he's definitely not "some old man."

Notes: Literally just a random dose of smut. Reader is a 29-year-old ob/gyn resident.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Pittsburgh is a perfect 72 degrees today. It’s a welcome relief from the spring chill, which had been getting old. Now, the early June skies were clear and bright, begging you to put on your favorite sundress.

“I’m so over this song,” your friend Jen groaned as Sports Car began blasting from the speakers. You nodded in agreement, reaching for a sip of your beer.

“Do you even know this song?” your other friend Aya teased you.

“It’s Tate McRae,” you said indignantly. 

“Wow, I’m impressed,” Aya mused as the rest of your friend group laughed. “I thought maybe you only listen to old man music now.”

“Stop,” you groaned in annoyance. 

“We’re only joking,” Aya said, smiling at you with sincere eyes. 

“I’m beginning to regret this,” you muttered.

“Oh, stop,” Jen pleaded. “You know we’re all happy for you, and we can’t wait to meet him.”

“You can’t wait to ask him about his AARP benefits,” you quipped, drawing a laugh.

“It’s not our fault you’re fucking an old man,” Aya teased.

“He’s 54!” you exclaimed incredulously, though you’d already made this point to your friends several times in the last few weeks. “You guys act like he’s on his death bed in a nursing home or something.”

“He’s technically old enough to be your dad,” your friend Sara noted. “Like, he and your dad are only a few years apart. Isn’t that weird?”

“No,” you said firmly. “Because I’m not dating my dad. I’m dating a perfectly normal and healthy man, and I would appreciate it if you guys would act that way when he gets here.”

“Okay, okay,” Aya laughed. “We promise no old man jokes to his face.”

You rolled your eyes and returned to your beer, your eyes scanning the festival grounds as the conversation shifted to Aya’s new car.

You and your friends were seated at a long picnic table, enjoying a Saturday evening at one of Pittsburgh’s annual summer festivals. You were on your third round of drinks, the next live music act was prepping the stage, and your boyfriend, Michael, was supposed to join you after his ER shift. He was meeting your friends for the first time and you were excited, but unsure of what to expect.

You first met Michael a few years ago, the first time you ventured into the emergency department of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center during your internship. Now in the fourth year of your ob/gyn residency, you’d gotten to know Michael throughout the years, though you had never expected to end up in a relationship with him.

He was more than two decades older than you, but you were drawn to each other. You liked that he was straightforward and secure. He liked that you brought a lightness to him. Michael needed someone to ground him when life felt unfair; you needed to feel needed.

But when you told your friends you were dating the 54-year-old senior attending of the ER, they all stared at you with shocked, judgmental eyes. That all started nearly three months ago, when a particularly rough day at work led you to the bar down the block from the hospital. Michael, who had also had a shitty day, showed up unexpectedly as well, and the two of you swapped your horror stories. By the end of the night, your crush on Michael had snowballed into feelings you could no longer mask and you ended up straddling him on his own couch.

Since then, you and Michael slipped into a cozy relationship. Your mutual friends and colleagues weren’t surprised – a small group of ER staff even had a betting pool going – and they all seemed genuinely supportive. But your girlfriends had questions. And while they were supportive, they also begged you to meet Michael. You hadn’t even shown them a photo of him, your Instagram feed going quiet once you started dating him. 

The departure from the norms of modern dating was freeing. No pressured social media posts with your relationship on display, no texting games, and the only reason you ever needed to track Michael’s phone location was because he had a bad habit of leaving it in random places. Michael was a man in all the ways you needed him to be – he spoke like one, he fucked like one and he carried himself like one – but you never found yourself questioning his values or his respect for you.

Finally, you agreed to let your friends meet Michael today. You hoped they’d back off on the old man remarks, though truthfully, you didn’t care. You simply wanted them to see Michael the way you did – an attractive man who you respected, admired and adored.

The buzz of your phone on the table pulled your attention. 

On my way, see you in 10, a message from Michael said. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, excited to see him.

“Ooh, she’s smiling!” Aya cooed at you. “It must be a text from that old man!”

You shot your friends another eye roll. “He’s on his way,” you informed them. “So please, I beg of you, be nice.”

“Oh, come on,” Jen said. “You know we’re just kidding, right? Of course we’ll be nice.”

“Yes, we’ll be on our best behavior. Gotta respect the elderly,” Aya joked. 

“Does he have a curfew?” Sara chimed in. “You know, at the nursing home?”

“What time do you need to remind him to take his Viagra?” your friend Maddie added. The group burst into laughter and you merely smiled and shook your head.

“You guys are assholes,” you laughed. “He’s 54, not some dementia-ridden senior citizen. And he does not take Viagra. He doesn't need it.”

“Okay okay, point made,” Maddie said. “Obviously the sex must be good. Why else would you be with someone on the brink of a retirement home?”

“Hey now, I actually like him!” you insisted. “The sex is only part of it.”

“But is it good?”

You failed to suppress a smirk, despite your annoyance with your friends. “Best I ever had,” you said simply.

“And you’re like, genuinely attracted to him?” Sara asked honestly.

“Yes!” you sighed, your annoyance flaring. “Why is it so hard to believe I’m attracted to a 54-year-old? Maddie’s in love with Pedro Pascal and he’s like, 50.”

“But Pedro Pascal is an actor. It’s like his job to be attractive,” Aya said. “He’s not just some guy.”

“It just seems like quite a change from your usual type,” Sara cut in, in an attempt to smooth the conversation.

“That’s exactly the point,” you said. “I’m tired of wasting time with these cokeheads and non-committal assholes. Michael’s too mature and smart for any of that bullshit. He's good to me... and good in bed.”

“But why isn’t he married? If he’s so great, why hasn’t someone locked him down by now?” Aya asked.

“He’s… had some emotional baggage,” you admitted carefully. “Dating as a doctor is hard, especially when you have a schedule like his, working in the ER. It’s hard for people to understand until they’ve lived it. And it’s hard to do that job without suffering some mental health consequences.”

“But he’s not like, unstable, is he?” Jen asked.

“No.” You spoke with confidence and assurance. “He’s working on it. He had a breakdown about a year ago after the PittFest incident but he’s been in therapy. He just needed better support. He’s a good person, guys. He just needed help. Most of us working in medicine do. It's rough out there.”

The table fell quiet as your friends mulled over your words, the weight of your boyfriend’s work sinking in. Aya and Maddie had been at PittFest and seen the horrors that day, but they’d never considered how much of it had made its way into the halls of the hospital.

You drummed your fingers anxiously over the tabletop. Despite all the teasing and banter, you really did want your friends to approve of your boyfriend. And you wanted Michael to get along with them, though he wasn’t the one you were worried about.

You knew your friends had their concerns. After all, you’d spent six years of your life in a previous relationship that ended in a broken engagement and months of therapy. Your friends were excited to see you happy again, but they were also looking out for you.

But Michael was different, as cliche as it sounded. He took the guesswork out of a relationship, but he wasn’t boring. He made you feel safe and secure, but he also allowed you to exist as your 29-year-old self. He didn’t hold his age over you or infantilize you. He wasn’t trying to change you, tame you or turn you into someone he wanted you to be. 

When you finally spotted Michael, his eyes scanning the rows of tables for you, you smirked to yourself. He was wearing his favorite pair of sunglasses and a green button-down shirt – one that was just a little too snug in the sleeves. He looked good.

You waved him over and felt your heart leap as his eyes settled on you, warming as they filled with recognition. 

“Hey you,” he said as you rose to your feet so he could lean in to kiss you, his hand pressing gently into the small of your back.

“Everyone, this is Michael,” you said, your eyes sweeping over your friends to assess their reactions. You bit back a snort. Aya was staring at Michael with wide eyes while Sara and Maddie swapped a surprised glance. Jen was grinning stupidly. “Michael, this is Aya, Sara, Jen and Maddie.”

“It’s good to meet you all. I've heard a lot about you,” Michael said as your friends took turns shaking his hand. He took the seat next to you and smiled at you as he eyed your sundress. “You look nice.”

“Thanks. How was your shift?”

“It was alright. Busy, but nothing too eventful. Night shift’s probably going to get slammed. Summer nights like this bring out the worst in everyone.”

Your friends eyed you curiously, as if they were analyzing your interaction. While you wanted nothing more than to spend some time getting lost in Michael, you returned your attention to them. 

Michael, of course, aced their tests. They peppered him with questions and bantered with him until it was clear he wasn’t some old creep looking to take advantage of a younger woman. He charmed them with his insightful wisdom, biting sarcasm and personable interactions. 

When he got up to buy the next round of drinks for everyone, your friends leaned in closer.

“Okay, I take back all of my mean jokes,” Aya said. “That old man is hot.”

“Can you please stop referring to him as that old man?” you chided. “Now that you’ve met him, the least you can do is call him by his actual name.”

“You didn’t tell us he was that hot,” Sara cut in.

“Yes I did!” you exclaimed with a laugh. “I literally told you guys when we first started dating.”

“But he’s like, actually hot,” Jen said. 

“It’s not my fault you guys didn’t believe me.”

“Okay, that’s fair. But does he have a brother?”

“No.”

“Well, are there any other hot old doctors you work with?”

Your lips thinned in an attempt to conceal a smirk. You knew your friends would lose their minds over Jack Abbot, but he was currently dating your friend Samira Mohan.

“Oh, so now you all want to date an old man,” you teased.

“If they’re like yours, yes,” Maddie said.

“Maddie, you have a man,” you noted.

“That’s not the point.”

“Really, though, he’s great,” Sara interjected seriously. “We’re sorry for doubting you.”

“Do you guys actually think he’s great, or just fuckable?”

“He’s great,” Aya agreed. “He’s funny and chill.”

“But he has a warmth to him,” Sara added. "Kind of a dad energy, but not cringe."

“Definitely fuckable,” Maddie said.

“Definitely DILF vibes. Does he have kids?”

“No.”

“Even better.”

When Michael reappeared with an armload of beer and seltzer cans, he set them down on the table and remained standing.

“I’m going to grab some food,” he said. “Can I get you ladies anything?”

Your friends all shook their heads and you rose to your feet. “I’ll come with you,” you said, offering your friends a smug smile as Michael led you away from them.

“Well,” you said once you were out of earshot. “What do you think?”

“I think you wore that dress to drive me insane.”

“About my friends,” you laughed, clinging to Michael’s arm. “What do you think?”

“They seem nice,” he said simply. “The blonde one – the one who’s in marketing – she’s a lot like you.”

“She is,” you agreed. “We were roommates my first year at Penn and we’ve been close ever since.”

“Well, hopefully they don’t think I’m too old to hang out with,” Michael continued. You swiveled your head to look at him pointedly.

“You are not old,” you chided. “And my friends all agree, the important thing is that we’re happy.”

“Oh, so you’re happy?” Michael teased as he hooked an arm around your waist.

“Are you?”

“How could I not be when you’re wearing a dress like that?” he murmured in your ear. You paused in your tracks to slip your arms around his waist, tilting your head back to smile up at him.

“Perhaps I’ll show you just how happy I am,” you purred. Michael lifted an eyebrow at you, clearly intrigued and clearly no longer hungry – for food, at least. You tugged at his arm to lead him away from the crowds of festivalgoers and food lines until you reached the parking lot.

“Oh no,” Michael laughed with a shake of his head, realization striking him as you approached your SUV and hit the remote start. “No way. I’m too old for that.”

“I thought we just established that you’re not old.”

“That was before you wanted me to climb into your backseat like some kind of horny teenager.”

“You’re never too old for this. You’re only as old as you feel,” you challenged, locking eyes with Michael as you backed yourself up against the car, tugging the front of his shirt until he was pinning you against the hot metal. “How do you feel?”

Michael swallowed, his eyes clearly conceding defeat. “I definitely don’t feel old now.”

“That’s what I thought.”

You fumbled with your key fob to unlock the car and climbed into the backseat, Michael following after you. The air was hot, punctuated by the air conditioning blasting from the vents, and the seats were scalding from hours in the sun. You might have noticed the way they seared the backs of your thighs had the burning between them not been hotter.

“This is ridiculous,” Michael laughed as you crawled on top of him to straddle his lap, your thighs flanking him as his hands found the small of your back. “But you look too good to resist.” He snaked one finger through the strap of your dress until it fell from your shoulder, exposing the swell of your left breast. The other quickly followed. “I thought about you all day,” Michael murmured as his eyes hungrily roamed your chest.

“Right back at you,” you purred, shifting in his lap until you could feel his erection pressing beneath your ass. Michael groaned at the friction. His fingertips grazed up your thighs beneath the hem of your dress, stroking slow patterns back-and-forth over your hot flesh as you leaned in to kiss him with slow lips.

Michael hummed into the kiss as you rocked your hips, your own moaning threatening to escape. You shifted backward until your back pressed against the back of the driver’s seat to make room for yourself to unbuckle Michael’s belt. Once you had his jeans unzipped, you fished his cock from them and gave it a stroke. Michael hissed, his head tilting back against the headrest as he welcomed the feeling of your hand around him.

Michael’s own hand returned beneath your dress, two fingers dragging against your wet panties. It forced a sharp exhale from your nostrils as your arousal surged. Michael’s fingers nudged their way into the soaked fabric and pulled against your folds. They dabbed inside you until you were clenching yourself around them, desperate for more.

“You really were thinking about me all day, weren’t you?” Michael growled when he pulled his hand away, leaving you whining at its absence. He sucked his fingers and smirked at you.

Your patience fizzled and you shifted again, your dress hiked up around your waist as you pulled your panties to the side to allow him access. You lowered yourself with a low whimper as you impaled yourself on Michael’s cock, sinking slowly as your walls stretched for him. You held his gaze as you did so, your eyes locked in a mutual blaze that crackled the air around you.

“Jesus Christ,” Michael groaned through gritted teeth. He squeezed your hips hard in an attempt to maintain restraint while you slowly – too slowly – lowered yourself, despite his desperate urge to drive himself fully inside you immediately with a swift thrust of his hips. His jaw tightened as you took your time until you suddenly dropped the remainder of the way in a swift motion. The tension in his jaw released as he let out a grunt, the pressure shifting to his fingers as they pressed into the flesh of your waist over the tight heat compressing his cock.

Perhaps it was the angle, or the cramped back seat, but Michael couldn’t help but swear that you felt particularly tight that day. It was dizzying as you moved above him, your hips lifting and falling until you found a rhythm that had you both breathing heavily.

Michael’s hands returned beneath your dress to grab your ass, clenching your plump skin with every motion. You rocked harder, desperate to achieve your release as you buried your face in his shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” Michael hissed. You slammed your hips downward in response.

“Still feeling too old?” you teased, your eyes shining with mischief. 

“Don’t provoke me,” Michael warned. You flashed your canines at him and before you could rock your hips for emphasis, he had you pinned flat on your back. You yelped in surprise at the swift change in position, but Michael was already burying his cock inside you again.

“Not so old now, huh?” he teased, pressing a thumb against your clit to prove his point. You gasped as it set your nerve endings ablaze. Michael offered a facetious chuckle. “That’s what I thought.”

He shifted to rest back on his heels, his hands pulling your hips toward him for a better view of his cock disappearing inside your cunt. 

He snapped his hips forward, his cock prodding your core. He waited until your moans filled the car, only rivaled by the whoosh of the air conditioning from the vents, before he drove upward. He set a steady pace as his cock dragged through your walls repeatedly until they threatened to quiver.

“Michael, please,” you breathed.

Had it been any typical day or setting, Michael might have continued to tease you. At the very least, he’d prolong this. But the close confines of the car, the stifling heat, and the vision of you splayed out before him was making it impossible for Michael to want anything other than the feeling of you falling apart beneath him.

Your knees were damn near at your ears as he drove into you, knocking the air from your lungs and the final threads of tension from your walls. You unleashed a shrill wail and your back arched as you spasmed hard around Michael’s cock, your chest heaving as he fucked you through it. 

He swore at the sensation as the heat in his stomach ignited, triggering his own climax. 

“Fucking shit,” he stuttered, his hands holding your hips flush with his as he emptied himself inside you. It left him panting, one arm flung over the back of the seat as he caught his breath, peering down at you as you returned his gaze with a satisfied smirk. He smirked back, knowing damn well you’d be feeling the remnants of his release running down your thighs the remainder of the evening.

“We should get back to my friends,” you said as you straightened upward to adjust the straps of your dress. Michael nodded in agreement and climbed out of the car before offering a hand to help you.

“So, think your friends approve of me?” he asked as you walked back toward the festival.

“They asked if you have any friends or a brother to hook them up with,” you laughed.

“Oh? I thought they said I was too old for you.”

“That was before they met you. I think they see my vision now.”

“Your vision?”

“Mmhmm,” you answered as you neared your table of friends, who were eyeing you suspiciously. “You know, a hot old man who’s still able to climb into a back seat.”

[savemesteeb]

It's never over

parings. jack abbot x reader

summary. after a fight with jack, you spend the rest of your night clubbing with some friends. unfortunately that choice lands you into your partners er.

warnings. implied age gap (jack late 40s, reader late 20s/early 30s), established relationship, jack and reader fight, reader gets drugged and creeped on, hospital setting, medical emergencies, reader is okay tho, accurate as possible medical talk, soft!jack eventually, angst and hurt/comfort, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. I can't believe this is my longest fic and I don't like it 😭 I do love them though, and I love the angst, I just think this wasn't my strongest so we'll see how I feel when I get some more of yall's opinions. as always any and all feedback is appreciated!

wc. 4100+

You were just finishing your makeup when you heard the shower turn off.

It was a quiet kind of hope that filled your chest—small and delicate, but real. It had been weeks since the two of you had a night off together. Back-to-back night shifts, emergency call-ins, 4 a.m. arguments whispered in the dark… it had all blurred into something numb. Something too heavy.

But tonight?

Tonight was supposed to be the reset button.

You stepped out of the bathroom, smoothing your dress down with your hands, a nervous flutter in your stomach. Something soft played from the speaker on your nightstand. The perfume you wore on your first date still lingered in the air.

Then you saw it.

Black scrubs. His badge clipped to the collar. Go-bag on the floor.

You froze.

Jack stepped into the room, towel around his shoulders, running a hand through damp curls. He paused the second he saw your face.

“Babe—”

“No,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t say it, you didn’t…”

He glanced at the scrubs like he wished they’d disappear. “Shen called when you were in the shower. They’re short. Real short. Two nurses out and a doctor is MIA—he’s drowning.”

You blinked. “And you said yes.”

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. “He sounded desperate. I figured you’d—”

“You figured I’d be fine,” you cut in, hurt creeping into your voice. “Because it’s always me who has to make the compromise.”

“It’s one shift,” he said, already tugging on his top.

“It’s never just one,” you snapped, then caught yourself, hands tightening at your sides. “I got off three hours ago, Jack. I’ve been dragging myself through twelve-hour nights, sometimes more just like you. And the one time we both actually had a night off…”

He looked away. “This isn’t about us.”

“Isn’t it?” you said, your voice cracking. “Because it feels like it is.”

Silence pressed in between you.

“I get it,” you added. “I know what it’s like when the unit’s falling apart. I know what it’s like to be needed, to be the one that says yes every time. But God, Jack… when do I get to be your emergency?”

He stiffened.

“You think I want to do this?” he snapped suddenly. “You think I don’t feel it too? That I don’t want to just stay here, take you to dinner, act like our lives aren’t chaos 24/7?”

“Then why don't you?” you said, voice breaking. “Why is it always someone else who gets the best of you?”

He looked at you then, eyes tired, voice bitter. “Because they need me. You wouldn’t get it.”

Your heart stopped.

“What did you just say to me?”

He hesitated—too long. “I didn’t mean it like that—”

“No. Say it again,” you said, stepping back. “Say I don’t get it, Jack.”

Jack sighed, frustrated. “You know what I mean. You’re not—”

“Not what?” you snapped. “Not enough? Not capable of understanding? I work the same damn shifts as you do. I patch up the same wounds, hold the same dying hands—don’t you dare act like I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, but it was already too late.

You grabbed your bag, throat thick with hurt. “You want to play doctor, Jack? Fine. Go save Pittsburgh. But don’t expect me to sit here and wait again for whatever’s left of you after.”

He moved toward you, but you stepped around him, heart pounding in your chest.

“I gave you tonight,” you whispered at the door. “And you gave it away.”

And then you left—heels in your hand, dress still clinging to hope, the soft click of the door the only sound between you.

Things didn’t get much better after you left. 

The music thumped in your chest, the bass vibrating through the soles of your feet. It was loud. Too loud. But that was the point, right?

After the fight, after the disappointment and the sting of Jack’s words, you just needed something different. Something that would make you forget for a little while. So, when Marina and Kat suggested hitting the club, you agreed. You’d always enjoyed the energy, the people, the feeling of being free, even if just for a night.

So now you found yourself in a packed, dark club with flashing lights and bodies grinding against each other on the dance floor. You didn’t know exactly why you were here, but the thought of being home alone, stewing in anger and confusion, was too much to handle.

The girls were already lost in the crowd, their laughter cutting through the music as they grabbed drinks from the bar. You followed, trying to shake off the ache in your chest, the one that kept whispering that Jack should’ve been out with you, not  at work.

“Another round?” Kat asked, leaning close enough for you to hear over the beat.

You nodded, your eyes scanning the bar area, the chaos of the club almost soothing in its madness. The atmosphere was a welcome distraction, even though it wasn’t the night you’d planned. You hadn’t expected to feel so… hollow. Jack’s absence was like a weight pressing against your chest, and you were trying to ignore it. Trying to not think about how your plans had been shattered, how this whole night had been supposed to be different.

You made your way toward the bar, needing a moment of quiet, a break from the noise, when a guy approached. He was dressed in a tight shirt that seemed to shimmer under the club lights, his hair perfectly styled. He smiled at you, one that was too eager, almost practiced.

“Hey, I couldn’t help but notice you,” he said, leaning in just a bit too close. “I’m Alex. And you—wow. You look incredible.”

You forced a smile, taking a step back instinctively. “Thanks,” you said, trying to keep the interaction polite, your voice still a little stiff. “I’m just here with some friends.”

His smile didn’t falter. “I can tell, I just had to come over. I mean, with a woman like you, how could I not?”

You glanced around, hoping to spot either Marina or Kat, but the crowd was thick and you were feeling boxed in. “I’m not really looking for company,” you said, hoping that would be enough.

He didn’t take the hint. Instead, his hand moved closer to your arm, brushing against the bare skin of your shoulder.

“You sure? I’m just trying to have a good time, and you seem like you’re someone who knows how to enjoy herself,” he said, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper. A chill ran down your spine. You weren’t sure if it was the way he said it or just how off his energy felt, but it made your stomach turn.

“I said no, thank you,” you said, trying to sound firm, but your words barely made it through the noise of the music.

He didn’t back off, though. His dark eyes raked over you like he was trying to figure you out, like you were some new prize to be won. “Come on, what’s the harm in just one drink? One dance?” He stepped in closer, his breath warm on your neck.

You shook your head, feeling the walls close in. Your palms were starting to get clammy, the tightness in your chest spreading. “I’m not interested,” you repeated, your voice sharper this time, but his grip on your arm tightened, just a little.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, his fingers brushing the strap of your dress. “You know you want to have some fun.”

That was it. The polite smile you’d been forcing finally slipped away. You wrenched your arm free from his grip, your voice loud and clear now.

“I said no,” you snapped, the force of your words cutting through the loud music.

His eyes flashed, surprised at your sudden change in tone, but then he just scoffed. “Fine, whatever,” he muttered, his expression turning into a sneer. “Guess I misread you.”

You didn’t even wait for him to finish walking away. You turned sharply, heart pounding in your chest, as you made your way back toward the dance floor. The excitement of the club had completely evaporated, replaced with the taste of bitterness and frustration.

You made your way back toward the dance floor, heart still racing, the heat of the club suddenly feeling suffocating. The beat of the music had lost its pull on you, replaced by the sting of unwanted attention and the frustration of a night gone wrong. You barely noticed the way the crowd shifted, how people pressed against you as you walked through them, each of them just another stranger in your path. You tried to shake the unease away, but it lingered like a shadow.

Marina and Kat, the only two familiar faces in this chaotic scene, were still at the bar, but you couldn’t muster the energy to go back to them just yet. You needed a moment alone, even if that meant getting lost in the crowd. You found a quiet corner at the edge of the room, trying to collect your thoughts, breathing in the air that smelled of alcohol and sweat, but it did little to calm the storm in your chest.

The drink you’d had earlier—a rum and coke—was still sitting in your hand. You’d been nursing it for most of the night, the ice now long melted, the liquid a watered-down version of what it had been when you first grabbed it at the bar. It wasn’t your favorite, but you didn’t mind. You hadn’t been focused on the drink anyway, just trying to keep the edges of your frustration from seeping through.

But now, as you took another sip, something felt off. Your stomach tightened, but not in the way it usually did after too much alcohol. It was deeper, almost hollow, like there was something foreign inside you. You set the drink down on the nearest table, trying to ignore the growing sense of unease gnawing at the back of your mind.

Your vision started to blur, the flashing lights of the club becoming a chaotic swirl of neon. The music, once a vibrant pulse beneath your skin, now felt distant—like you were hearing it from underwater. The pressure in your head built an oppressive weight that made it hard to think clearly. You stumbled slightly, your legs growing heavy, and it took all your effort just to stay standing.

You glanced around for your friends, but the crowd had thickened, and the girls were nowhere to be seen. Panic crept up your spine. You needed them. You needed someone to help. But the room felt like it was spinning now, faster and faster, and your body wasn’t cooperating with you anymore.

"Hey, are you okay?" A voice cut through the fog in your mind, but you couldn’t place where it came from. You tried to focus, to find the person speaking, but your vision darkened again, everything going black at the edges.

You blinked, trying to fight off the overwhelming dizziness, but it was useless. The world around you tilted, and the last thing you remembered was sinking to your knees, the floor rushing up to meet you.

The ER was chaotic as always.

Monitors beeped in staccato rhythms, stretchers lined the halls, and the air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and the metallic tang of adrenaline. Jack hadn’t stopped moving since he walked in, not even long enough to get a proper cup of coffee. His scrubs still clung to his damp skin from the rushed post-shower change, and his muscles ached from tension he hadn’t had time to notice until now.

A code had just cleared. He stood in the corner of north three, charting with one hand, the other gripping a barely-sipped paper cup of coffee that had long gone cold. The flicker of a headache gnawed behind his eyes.

He shouldn’t be here.

His mind kept drifting—back to the house, to the way you looked in that dress, to the way your voice cracked when you said “when do I get to be your emergency?”

 God, that had hit harder than he’d let on.

And then he’d said the wrong thing—“You wouldn’t get it.” The words kept echoing back in his ears like a cruel joke. You did get it. Maybe more than anyone ever had.

He hadn’t checked his phone since you left. Couldn’t bring himself to. If you texted, he’d crumble. If you didn’t… Well, that was somehow worse.

“Dr. Abbot!”

Jack snapped out of it at the sound of John’s voice shouting down the hallway. He turned toward him, brows knitting together. Shen was already halfway across the ED, panting slightly, eyes wide.

“What is it?” Jack asked, already moving toward him.

“Overdose. Young woman—unknown age, female. Brought in from the strip district—some club off Penn. Unconscious on arrival, GCS dropped to six en route.”

Jack's jaw tightened. “ETA?”

“They just pulled up.”

Jack tossed his chart aside and strode toward the ambulance bay without another word, adrenaline already kicking in.

Shen jogged beside him. “Paramedics think her drink was spiked—GHB, maybe? Said she started seizing before they got her out of the club. Friends couldn’t find her at first—she was alone when they found her on the floor.”

Something twisted in Jack’s gut. He didn’t know why. Just a flicker of unease, a sick chill climbing up his spine.

The ambulance bay doors opened with a mechanical hiss. The flashing red lights reflected off the glass like warning signals in his head.

He stepped outside, heart thudding.

And then he saw her.

Or You.

Unconscious. Oxygen mask strapped to your still pretty face. IVs in both arms. Your dress—the dress you had bought—bunched awkwardly around your hips. One heel missing. A smudge of mascara on your cheek like a cruel reminder of what tonight was supposed to be.

The paramedic was shouting something, but Jack didn’t hear it. His vision tunneled. His world narrowed to just you—still, and small on the gurney.

“No,” Jack whispered, stepping forward, his breath catching in his throat. “No, no, no—”

He pushed through the medic, grabbing onto the rail of the stretcher.

“What happened?” he barked. His voice was hoarse, shaking.

“GHB suspected. Found alone. Low responsiveness. HR is unstable. She’s seizing on and off—”

Jack was already moving, wheeling you into trauma bay one. “Get Narcan ready just in case. Push fluids. Get me labs, tox screen, full workup. Page neuro for consult—now.”

He didn’t even care that his voice cracked. Didn’t care that every nurse and medic in that hallway was staring at him like he’d lost it.

Because he had.

You were his emergency now, and he was terrified he might be too late.

The doors slammed open with a bang as Jack wheeled you inside, every step fueled by sheer panic and clinical precision. His hands moved on autopilot, but his mind? His mind was screaming.

“She’s hypotensive,” a nurse called. “BP’s dropping—seventy over fifty.”

“Push fluids—hang a liter of LR, now. Get a second IV. 16-gauge if you can find a vein.”

Your head lolled to the side as the team lifted you onto the bed. Jack’s breath hitched.

“Jesus, she’s burning up,” he muttered, pressing his palm to your forehead. “Get her temp.”

“102.6,” Shen called.

“Possible serotonin syndrome or stimulant combo,” Jack said quickly. “Start cooling measures. Ice packs under the arms. Get a foley—need accurate output.”

A nurse moved to cut the dress from your body, but Jack put his hand out. “Don’t—” His voice cracked again. He paused, swallowed, forced the words out through gritted teeth. “Let me.”

No one argued. Everyone knew—this wasn’t just another patient, you were one of them, you were jack’s. His slightly trembling hands carefully unzipped the side of your dress, easing it off your shoulders and down. He fought to keep his face unreadable, but his throat felt raw, his stomach twisting into knots. The scent of your perfume—the one you wore on your first date—still lingered faintly in the air.

“Vitals?” he barked, refocusing as nurses applied leads to your chest.

“HR 122. O2’s eighty-nine but climbing. BP’s coming up a little.”

Jack leaned over you, brushing damp hair from your forehead. Your lashes fluttered, just barely. A flicker of awareness behind your lids.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered, not caring who heard. “Stay with me. I’m right here. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

You stirred faintly, a tiny groan slipping past your lips.

“Hey, hey—it’s me,” he said, brushing his knuckles gently along your cheek. “You’re in the ER. You’re safe now, alright? I got you.”

Your eyes opened a crack, glassy and unfocused. You blinked slowly, clearly struggling to process. And then—

“J…Jack?” you croaked, barely above a whisper.

He exhaled, choking on relief.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said quickly, squeezing your hand. “I’m right here. You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

You blinked again, trying to sit up, but your body betrayed you. “What… happened?”

“You were drugged,” Jack said gently. “Spiked drink. Club downtown. Do you remember anything?”

You shook your head faintly, then winced as pain rolled through you. “I—he—there was this guy… he wouldn’t leave me alone…”

Jack’s jaw tightened. Fury flared behind his eyes, but he pushed it down.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, brushing some hair out of  your face. “Don’t worry about that right now. You’re here. You’re safe.”

“Y-you were supposed to be at work,” you mumbled, confusion clouding your voice.

His heart cracked clean in half.

“I am. But they brought you in,” he whispered, gripping your hand tighter. “They brought you in… and everything else stopped.”

He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until your hand weakly squeezed his.And for the first time that night, Jack let himself fall apart—just a little. Because you were the emergency. And nothing else mattered now.

After an hour of working on you, Jack stood at the foot of your bed, hands braced on his hips, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest. Monitors beeped in steady rhythm. The IV pumped fluids into your system, and you were stable now—groggy but safe.

It had been the longest hour of his life..

He didn’t realize how tight his jaw had been until he stepped out of the trauma bay and let the door swing closed behind him. He needed a second. Just one.

But that’s when he saw them—Marina and Kat, hovering near the nurses' station down the hall like two ghosts.

They looked like hell. Club makeup smudged, heels in their hands, eyes wide and red-rimmed. They’d followed the ambulance but hadn’t pushed forward until now.

When Jack made eye contact with them, they froze. The hallway felt too quiet, the tension snapping taut.

He moved toward them with slow, deliberate steps. His face was unreadable—too calm to be safe.

“You two were with her.” His voice wasn’t angry, not exactly. But it carried the weight of someone barely holding it together. “So tell me what happened.”

Kat opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Marina stepped in instead, her voice small. “We didn’t know. Jack, we—we didn’t know. She just said she needed a minute and went to the bar. We were right there.”

“She was alone,” Jack said, his tone still deceptively even. “Long enough for some asshole to slip something in her drink.”

“We didn’t see anyone,” Kat said, her voice cracking. “We were watching her an-and then she was gone until someone screamed. She collapsed. We thought—Jesus, we thought she just had too much to drink, but she only bought one.”

Jack closed his eyes for a beat, dragging a hand over his face.

“She didn’t,” he muttered. “Tox screen lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree. Probably in that one drink she barely touched.”

Marina blinked, horrified. “She said it didn’t taste right. Said it was too sweet.”

“She was trying to be safe,” Jack said, his voice tightening. “Did everything right. Still ended up in my fucking ER, barely coherent.”

Neither of them had anything to say to that. Because what could you say?

“I should’ve been with her,” Jack added quietly, more to himself than to them. “We were supposed to have tonight. And I left.”

Marina stepped forward cautiously, soft as always. “She didn’t blame you, Jack. She didn’t even say your name like she was mad. She just—she was looking for you.”

That hit harder than it should’ve. Jack’s throat worked as he swallowed, glancing back at the trauma room door behind him.

“She’s sleeping now,” he said finally. “Out of the woods.”

“Can we… see her?” Kat asked gently.

Jack nodded. “Just be quiet. She might not wake up for a while.”

Marina hesitated, then touched Jack’s arm, tentative. “She loves you, you know that. Don’t let tonight be the thing that breaks you both.”

Jack didn’t answer, but something in his expression softened—just barely. The steel cracked for a second, showing the man underneath. The one who hadn’t left her side. The one who never would.

And then he stepped back toward the door, glancing once more at the monitor inside.

“Tell her I’m here,” he said. “When she wakes up…”

The soft beeping of the monitor was the first thing you heard. It was steady, rhythmic, almost comforting, but it felt like the sound was a distant echo, like you weren’t quite sure where it was coming from. Your eyes fluttered open, blurry at first, the room around you coming into focus slowly.

Your head throbbed with a dull ache, a tightness in your chest pulling at your breath. Something felt wrong—like the world had shifted just slightly, leaving you off-balance.

Then, the scent of antiseptic and faint, stale coffee mixed with the familiar one that had always been home to you: Jack.

Your eyes scanned the dimly lit room. There, sitting at your side, was Jack—his back to you as he slumped in a chair, his hand resting near yours on the bed. His posture was stiff, but there was something in the way his shoulders hung, the way his breath came a little too fast, that told you he wasn’t just tired.

He was worried.

You tried to speak, but your throat felt dry, raw. You croaked out a faint sound, and Jack snapped to attention, immediately leaning forward. His eyes met yours, and there it was—the instant relief, mixed with guilt, storming across his features.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice hoarse. “Hey, look at me. You’re okay.”

You tried to say something, but your voice wouldn’t cooperate. You croaked again, your hand weakly reaching for his.

Jack’s fingers tightened around yours, warm and steady. His thumb traced over the back of your hand as if to reassure both of you.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve been with you.”

You blinked, your mind sluggish as it pieced things together. You could barely remember what had happened. The night, the club, the man at the bar, the drink…The wave of nausea hit you, and you squeezed his hand harder. He immediately noticed.

“Take it easy,” he said, his free hand brushing a few stray hairs from your forehead. “You’ve been through a lot.”

It wasn’t just the physical toll—it was everything else. The confusion, the anger, the heartbreak.

“I… I didn’t…” You stopped, your throat closing up. The words didn’t come out easily, but Jack was right there, waiting patiently.

“You didn’t deserve this,” he said gently, like he could hear everything you couldn’t say. “I know. I should’ve done better. I should’ve been with you.”

You squeezed his hand again, the weight of his words and your own swirling in the space between you. The thought of him taking the blame—the one who had stayed behind, who had always put in the work—was almost too much.

And you didn’t have the strength to argue.

“You’re here,” you whispered finally, eyes barely open. “That’s all I need right now.”

Jack’s chest tightened at that, his eyes darkening as he bent closer, brushing his lips against your forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered. “I’ll never do that to you again.”

Your heart gave a flutter at his words, and though your head was still spinning, your chest felt just a little lighter.

A quiet comfort settled between you, something unspoken but deeply understood. For all the chaos of the world outside, for all the mistakes and regrets, you knew that together, you’d get through it.

And for tonight, that was enough.

mercvry-glow 2025

[savemesteeb]

tuesday afternoon. | robby x f!reader

⁂ pairing: dr. michael 'robby' robinavitch x f!reader word count: 1,450 warnings: fluff, baby robinavitch, postpartum, parental dynamics, minor mentions of stitches but doesn't say where, robby blushes™, dana is the mvp, no use of y/n, no physical descriptions of reader, no beta, all mistakes are my own summary: the emergency department never slows down—except, perhaps, when you walk in carrying home on your chest. ⤷ ao3: linked

A/N: this is just indulgent fluff, call it hormones, call it who knows what - but this is what I needed, hopefully you enjoy it too!

It’s a Tuesday afternoon.

You weren’t planning on stopping at the hospital.

You really weren’t. The original goal had been to just get out. Get air. Get movement. Stop the walls from closing in and a chance to shake off the static of sleep deprivation, baby spit up and the endless stream of doorbell notifications from parcels you don’t even remember ordering. And Robby—sweet, half distracted, back at work after barely being home five minutes the night before—had left his badge sitting by the coffee maker, right next to the box of protein bars he’d swore he’d take with him and didn’t.

You’d picked up both on your way out.

Two birds. One stone. And a walk that wasn’t from the nursery to the kitchen for the hundredth time.

It was a reasonable walk to the hospital. Long enough to feel like something. Not so far your OB would file a formal complaint. And the baby? Still and content, wrapped to your chest—sleepy, warm, and milk-drunk. You’d been cleared for physical activity the day before. Doctor’s order. Well, depending which doctor—the one sharing your bed seems to think you should still be on bed rest.

You barely make it past the welcome desk of the hospital before you catch the eye of one of the junior nurses as she glances up, does a double take, and disappears down a hallway like she’s just witnessed some emergency.

You exhale. “Here we go.”

Thirty seconds later, barely on the cusp of the threshold of the emergency department, Robby appears. Walking, but at that rigid stepped up pace that he gets when he’s pretending to be worried for the sake of those around him. Like he’s technically calm but absolutely not. His eyes flick across the rows of chairs until they land on you—as you make your way around to meet him—then drop to the baby on your chest.

She’s asleep. You’re fine. No one is crying or bleeding.

Still, he picks up speed like it’s a code blue until he’s in front of you.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low but tight.

You hold up his badge.

“You left this. And I didn’t feel like ordering a lunch I’d forget to eat. So walked, figured we’d pick something up after dropping this off.”

Robby doesn’t take the badge right away. He looks at you—really looks. Takes in the sunglasses perched on your forehead, running shoes on with your jacket half zipped, eyes bright, but standing steady.

“You walked?” he asks, more alarmed than if you’d just announced you’d hitchhiked on the back of a motorcycle.

You nod, shifting slightly, wincing just enough that you hope he doesn’t notice. He does.

His brow furrows deeper. “Wait—are your stitches okay?”

You exhale through your nose. “Fine. Just… tugged the wrong way.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press.

“We walked,” you say again, like repetition will soften the truth.

“That’s—what, two miles?”

You fight rolling your eyes. You know he cares.

“Two and a bit. Mostly flat.” You smirk. “And before you pull rank on me, Doctor Robinavitch, remember—I was cleared yesterday.” You raise an eyebrow. “You were the one who kept telling me I needed to listen to the doctor.”

“I meant—” he knows he has no argument here, “I just worry, and you brought her here.” he’s not angry, not really, just… Robby. All protectiveness and overthinking wrapped in sarcasm.

“She slept the whole time,” you say, glancing down. The baby is warm against you, one hand curled into your shirt. “We came in through the back entrance. Didn’t lick any patients.”

Robby, unable to switch it off, sighs, “Don’t make this a thing,” you murmur. “I just missed you. And you forgot your crap. And I wanted air.”

That last bit lands. Robby nods slowly. Then finally he steps closer, one hand coming up—not to touch you, but just hovering, fingers twitching like they want to. Like he’s still learning the rules of what this version of you two—now three—looks like in public. As if seeing you here, where the two of you don’t belong, has short-circuited him a little.

Robby exhales slowly, it’s not quite defeat—but it’s close.

“Still,” he says, eyeing your daughter, “she’s only four weeks.”

“And snug as a bug,” you say, glancing down. The tiny human between you is snoring softly. “Didn’t even stir.” You press his ID badge to his chest.

He takes it with a thank you, muttering something about he hates manually logging in to the system and none of the temporary badges ever work right. You smile.

“See?” you say. “I saved you from having to call IT. Again. Heroic, really.”

“You could have just texted, I’d have been fine.”

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug, “but then I’d still be home covered in formula and half-resenting your freedom. This was nicer.”

Robby’s mouth pulls to one side. “You’re not supposed to be doing too much yet.”

“I’m not. Just enough.” You lean into him slightly. “Although… I was thinking, if I’m not too wiped out later, maybe you could remind me of some of that physical activity that got us into his position in the first place.”

He freezes. And blushes. Blushes.

You grin. It was the effect you wanted your words to have.

He clears his throat. Fidgets with the badge. Avoids eye contact—he knows it’ll only deepen the blush when he sees the spark in your eyes and your tongue-in-cheek smile.

“I have that admin meeting when Jack arrives for turnover.”

You feign disappointment. “Shame.”

He shifts his weight, rubs the back of his neck as he looks back to the doors to the emergency department that are swinging shut, then back at you.

“You should go home. Before she wakes up and decides you owe her for dragging her across town.”

“She’s living rent-free. I think we’re square.”

His expression softens, but there’s still that undercurrent—like part of him doesn’t want to let you leave just yet. His hand moves down to your waist, where it rests gently at your hip.

You let yourself linger there a little longer.

When he pulls back, his hand brushes over the curve of the baby cocooned in the wrap, one last sweep over your daughter’s hair. He steps back, his badge now clipped to his hoodie, he takes a deep breath and as you’re both about to say your goodbyes—maybe add in an extra bit of flirting for the road—when a familiar voice pipes up behind you.

“Well would you look at this,” Dana says sauntering up from behind the intake desk like definitely wasn’t watching your entire exchange. “If it isn’t our littlest future chief of emergency medicine.”

You smile as she leans in to peer at the baby—you angle her for Dana to get a better look—she lowers her voice to a whisper like she’s afraid to wake her.

“She’s so stinkin’ cute,” Dana murmurs, grinning at the tiny fist now poking out of the wrap. “Got his nose though. Poor thing.”

Robby rolls his eyes, she doesn’t have his nose—she’s all you. Dana pats his shoulder.

“She here to drop off your badge?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” you say. “Figured we’d get some air at the same time. She slept the entire way here.”

Dana gives Robby a sideways glance, “No traumas. I hear the cafeteria special’s passable today.”

Robby lifts a brow. “Is that your way of telling me to go eat?”

“It’s my way of telling you to take your partner for lunch while the ED isn’t on fire,” she says plainly. “And while that baby is still knocked out.”

“Wait—you letting him loose from the ED Dana?” you ask.

Dana shrugs with the casual authority of knowing who exactly it is who runs the ED, “If anyone asks, it’s a consult.”

Then she smirks and walks away, already tapping open her tablet like she just didn’t play fairy godmother in scrubs.

Robby watches her go then turns to you.

“Want to split a grilled cheese and let me stare at you for twenty minutes before I have to go back to being responsible for other people’s lives?”

You pretend to think it over, then adjust the baby wrap just slightly.

“Only if my date is buying.”

“I’ll even throw in a pudding cup.”

Your smile widens, “You sure know the way to a girls heart.”

Robby offers his arm like the sentimental goof he is. You link yours through it and the two of you start toward the cafeteria

[savemesteeb]

Maroon

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, age gap, unprotected sex

Description: Robby makes sure the reader knows her worth after being stood up on a date.

Michael Robinavitch Masterlist

—

You knew you looked good. Fuck, you had spent three hours getting ready. Exfoliating your entire body to be smoother than marble. Shaving your legs and pelvic area. Massaging lotion deep into your skin. Blow-dried hair and flawless makeup. And your outfit. A long, red, satin dress that hung off your shoulders, snatched around your waist, and a slit that showcased your left upper thigh. 

You walked into the Pitt, the clicking of your black heels announcing your presence. Every head, single and taken, craned to watch you pass by. The path up to the nurses' station might as well have been a catwalk. When Dana turned around, she let out a surprised laugh. 

“Wow! I didn’t know you owned any clothes besides scrubs.” She teased. 

You smiled and leaned against the counter. “To be fair, this is probably the only nice outfit I have.” You admitted. 

Dana glanced around the room, and just about every person, staff and patients alike, were trying to sneak glances at you. “Well, you’ve certainly got everyone’s attention. Why are you all dressed up?” She asked. 

You rubbed your hands together, trying to soothe yourself, swallowing hard before you spoke to mask any insecurities in your voice. “I had a date. Got stood up.” You replied.

Dana furrowed her brow when she saw your nose scrunch at the early sting of tears. “Stood up? Does he know you look like this?” She waved her hands down your body as if she were presenting you to an audience. 

You felt a smile reach your lips again and giggled slightly. “I mean, he had only seen me in scrubs.” You answered. 

Dana leaned in, suspicion in her eyes. “Was it someone from the Pitt?” She whispered. 

You looked around to make sure nobody was close enough to hear, but you still shielded your lips when you mouthed the name “Matteo.”

She pulled her lips into a thin line and nodded. “Not surprised. Good nurse, but still a kid.” She said. 

You shrugged, shoulders pulling closer to your frame to minimize yourself. “We’re the same age. I just thought he was a little more serious than that.” You confessed. 

Your work mom pointed her index finger at you. “What you need is a man. Not some kid. Someone older.” She advised. 

A huff of air passed your lips, and you stood up straight again. “Trust me, I’ve been trying.” You glanced around before leaning in again. “A certain stick-in-the-mud won’t hold a conversation longer than thirty seconds if it’s not about a patient.”

Dana chuckled. “Too bad he’s already gone home for the night. Otherwise, I think you’d have him wrapped around your finger if he saw how you looked right now.” She mused.

You smiled at the thought and compliment. “I’ve kinda given up on that. It’s out of my reach. Hence, my date tonight.”

“Well, never say never. Now why are you here instead of at a bar picking up hot men?” She asked. 

You looked towards the doctor’s lounge. “I left my purse here. Has my driver’s license and everything. Just glad I didn’t get pulled over.” You replied. 

She smiled and gave you a ‘get outta here’ nod of her head. “Get your stuff and go have some fun. Don’t let a stupid boy ruin your night. But not too much fun because I don’t want to see your body search on the evening news.” 

You giggled and rolled your eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll probably just go to Fenian’s across the street.” You agreed before heading toward the doctor’s lounge. 

As you opened the door, you bumped into someone exiting the lounge. “Oh, I’m sorry.” The familiar voice said. Dr. Robby towered over you, still not looking down, distracted by the last few minutes of his shift. “This is a doctor's lounge. We ask that patients and families-“

“Doctor Robby.” You said, trying to get him to actually look down at you. 

And boy, when he finally did. Robby’s breath hitched once he realized it was you. He had already pinned you as a patient’s girlfriend, probably in the ER after your boyfriend had an allergic reaction at a fancy restaurant.

“Oh.” Was all he could say. 

His eyes scanned your body, lingering a little too long at your exposed cleavage. You fiddled with the delicate bracelet around your wrist out of nervousness and let out a breathy laugh. “Sorry, I just left my purse here.” You said.

Without a word, Robby held the door open for you, and you went inside. You grabbed your purse, slung it over your shoulder, and exited the room again. “Thank you.” You added before heading towards the entrance of the Pitt. 

Robby’s eyes were locked on your calves as you strutted away in those black heels. He felt winded like he had fallen flat on his back and had the air knocked out of his lungs. Slowly, he walked up to the nurses’ station, not taking his eyes off you until you exited the building.

Meanwhile, Dana had been watching the entire interaction. Amused, she leaned back in her chair. “I thought you went home.” She said.

Robby rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous tic. “Uh, no. Not yet.” He answered.

“You look like you’ve seen an angel.” She teased. 

He leaned against the high counter and shook his head. “No, I just didn’t recognize her.” He replied. 

Dana rolled her eyes. “Come on, Robby. Productivity dropped fifty percent the moment she walked in the door. You can admit that she looked good.” She said. 

He looked to Dana like admitting it out loud would be an unforgivable sin. It would verify that he had entertained the idea of dragging you to an on-call room with him or bringing you coffee at the beginning of your shift. “She’s half my age. I could be her father.” He replied. 

Dana shrugged. “A young father.” She amended. 

Robby rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t shake the image of you walking away. Hair bouncing on your back with every step, the sway of your hips. “Why was she all dressed up?” He asked. 

“She had a date and got stood up. Can you believe that?” She answered. 

No. He really couldn’t believe that. How does someone as intelligent as you, looking like a modern-day goddess, get stood up? But he said nothing to show his hand. 

“I’m about to head out. Anything you need before I leave?” He asked instead, drumming his hands on the high counter. 

Dana gave him a skeptical look. “No. Go on, get out of here before night shift drags you into a room.” She replied. And as Robby began to walk away, he heard Dana add, “She’s at Fenian’s.”

Fenian’s. The bar across from the hospital. Robby began to consider it. Showing up after his shift in scrubs that had probably come in contact with every possible bodily fluid that day. His eyes were sunken in from dehydration and sleep deprivation. All while you looked like a pin-up poster girl. And you probably had men on either side of you now, each trying to best the other to win your affections. 

His mind ran on like that until he found himself standing at the entrance of the bar, the neon blue ‘OPEN’ sign shining bright in his eyes. He turned to leave, shaking his head in disbelief that he had even walked to the bar. Until he saw you through the window. Sitting alone at the counter. Legs delicately crossed, posture impeccable. You sipped on what looked like vodka and club soda, eyes peering up at the Steelers game on the TV. You looked like an angel in the low light of the bar.

Robby didn’t realize he had walked in through the door until a bell signaled that he entered. The bartender looked up and smiled. “Hey, Robby. What can I get ya?” She asked. 

You didn’t turn around, eyes focused on the game. You hadn’t even considered that it was your Robby who walked in. “Shot of Lalo, please.” He answered. 

His voice made your heart jump to your throat. You turned your head, hair tossing naturally over your shoulder. Robby smiled, but it was a small one. Slowly, he moved to sit at the barstool next to you, back leaning against the bar to watch a different game on the TV behind you. 

“Can’t stay away from the hospital for too long, huh?” He said, trying to begin a lighthearted conversation. 

You studied the way he sat next to you, arms crossed over his chest, head tilted up to watch the game. You smiled slightly. “I was supposed to have a date.” You answered, almost embarrassed.

“Didn’t show up?”

“No. He even had the day off, too.” 

Robby finally glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. Your posture regressed to a slouch, and you stared blankly at your fizzing cup on the bar. A strange twist in his chest arose at the pitiful sight. He turned slightly to face you, leaning an elbow on the counter. 

“You deserve better than that.” He affirmed. 

You huffed at his words and took a sip of your drink. “I guess he really is more interested in Javadi.” You said. 

Robby raised an eyebrow. “Javadi? You mean you were supposed to go on a date with Matteo?”

Your silent nod sent a vile jolt of jealousy through his body. One that he hadn’t expected. He downed his shot of tequila that he had let sit on the bar. The burn in his throat distracted him from the nausea pooling in his stomach at the thought of you and Matteo. Someone much younger than him. Better looking than him.

“Maybe it’s a good thing. I’m looking to settle down, and he doesn’t seem like he’s in that headspace.” You finally added. 

Robby raised a finger to the bartender, who poured another shot for him. “Yeah, I don’t think he is.” He confirmed. 

You glanced up at him as he threw back the second shot. It hurt to hear the truth confirmed, even if you already knew. But then Dana’s words seemed to creep into your mind.

“Dana said I need someone older.” You found yourself admitting. 

Robby met your gaze again, feeling a whisper of warmth in his cheeks, unsure if it was the tequila or your words. “Older.” He repeated, though not as a question. 

You nodded and turned to face him on your barstool. The slit in your shimmering red dress widened to reveal even more of your thigh, dangerously close to your hip. Robby couldn’t help himself from looking, and you noticed the way his eyes politely flicked back up to yours with a swiftness. 

“Someone who knows what he wants. Knows how to take care of me.” You tested the waters, seeing if Robby would take the bait. 

He remained guarded, but his eyes were riveted on your thickly glossed lips. “Take care of you.” He mumbled to himself like an oath. 

You shrugged. “Or at least let me take care of him.” You added, voice laced with sultry. 

Robby’s dark chocolate eyes snapped up, a twinkle of understanding within them. Your lips curved into a small smile, and you leaned in closer, your cleavage deepening from the change in position. “Do you know of anyone like that?” You asked softly, feigning innocence. 

You were close enough now to smell the strong aroma of Lalo on his breath, and he was intoxicated by the sweet scent of your perfume. “I-“ He began to stutter, the pitch of his voice faltering. “You’ve been drinking. I’m not going to take advantage of you.” He said as firmly as he was able to. 

You raised an eyebrow and tilted your head to your drink. “That’s Sprite.” You deadpanned. “I’m sober. Are you?” 

Robby chuckled at the idea that two shots of tequila would make him feel anything. “Absolutely.” He answered. 

Your bare knee brushed against his, leaning in impossibly close now. “Then take me home.” You whispered. 

Robby’s hands trembled as he ran one through his thinning dark hair. “I don’t do hookups. I can’t do casual. I can only handle something real.” He warned. “I know you’re upset about Matteo not showing-”

“Robby.” You cut him off. “I never wanted him. I’ve always wanted you.”

The air hung heavy between the two of you. Your doe eyes were making him crumble. “You want me?” He questioned. Now he was concerned that two shots of tequila did affect him.

You rose to your feet, standing in between his spread legs now, still craning your neck up at him. The distance between your lips was minuscule, and for the first time, you placed your hands on his body, resting them on his chest. “I want you. Take me home.” You reaffirmed. 

—-

The door to Robby’s house slammed shut after he pulled you through the threshold. He pinned you against it, hands resting on the wood on either side of your head. His head lowered so that your noses brushed, but he wouldn’t go any farther than that. 

Your hands found rest on his chest again, flush against the fabric of his navy hoodie. “Are you gonna kiss me, Robby?” You asked. 

Robby’s smile pulled to one side of his face as he studied the beautiful features of your face. “My name is Michael.” He whispered and placed a sweet kiss on your forehead. “Only here.” A kiss on your cheek. “Only for you.” A kiss on your jaw. 

Your breath staggered at the sensation of his beard dragging across your soft skin. “Michael.” You tested the name on your lips. It felt intimate. It felt natural.

Robby grinned, and his teeth dragged across your skin as he finally made his way to your lips. Your mouth opened immediately to welcome his, slipping your tongue across his bottom lip. He answered with a quiet moan and deepened the kiss by grabbing the back of your head and pulling you closer. Your arms draped around his neck, pushing your entire body against his. You both savored the simplicity of kissing, learning each other’s mouths, familiarizing yourselves with the closeness of your souls for the first time. His hand that wasn’t rooted in your hair explored the curves of your waist and back, leaving a tingling sensation wherever it wandered. 

After what felt like hours, he pulled away first but stayed close with his nose nuzzling against yours. “I’m gonna take care of you tonight. The way you deserve.” He whispered, lips ghosting over yours as he spoke. “But I have some ground rules, okay?” 

You nodded, gently scratching his beard with your fingertips. “Okay.” You agreed. 

“Number one. We can’t tell anyone at work. I don’t want anyone knowing what happens between us at home. And more importantly, I don’t want anyone questioning your judgement as a doctor because I’ve got a soft spot for you. Okay?” He pressed a kiss to your cheek when he finished. 

You closed your eyes and nodded again. “Okay.”

“Number two. You’ll always communicate what you’re feeling. What you need, what you aren’t ready for. I’ll do the same.” Another kiss on your temple. 

Another nod. “Okay.”

“And number three. Look at me, baby girl.” He tilted your chin up with a hooked finger. “Please don’t run when you see the skeletons in the closet.”

Your eyes locked with his deep brown ones that glimmered in the low light of his living room. For the first time since he brought you home, he looked timid. Like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Like he was terrified of fracturing the fresh connection you both made tonight.

A final nod, and you cradled his face in your hands. “I promise I won’t run.” 

And with one more kiss on the lips, smiles pressed against each other, Robby led you to his bedroom. You never let yourself imagine what his home looked like, let alone his bedroom. But it was neat and simple. No decoration aside from medical journal papers stacked high on every flat surface. 

He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled you into his lap. His lips trailed across your bare shoulder, leaving gentle kisses as his fingers delicately slid the straps of your dress down. You shivered at the light touches and pulled at his hoodie. Instead of taking it off, your silent wish, he stopped kissing your body and tilted his head up at you.

“If you want something, you have to use your words.” He demanded in a sickeningly sweet tone.

Your cheeks flushed at the commandment, and suddenly you felt powerless. “I want to feel your skin.” You begged pathetically.

Robby held your gaze as he shrugged off his hoodie, then pulled his scrub top and undershirt over his head, jostling his hair a bit. Your eyes studied his upper body. Freckles dusted his broad shoulders. His abdominal muscles were toned, but not excessively so. A couple of scars were cemented near his ribcage from hostile patient encounters. A glitter of gold lured your eyes to his sternum.

A smile melted on your face. “The Star of David.” You mumbled.

Robby tilted his head slightly. “Yeah?” He affirmed, unsure of why his pendant captivated you.

You brushed your fingertips across the metal, cool from the air. Your hands lifted the Star from his chest, inspecting it gingerly. Robby wouldn’t admit it, but in that moment, he felt like a dog on a leash from the gentle tug of his chain in your hands. And he loved it.

“I’ve always wondered what it was.” You mused to yourself. “You wear it every day.”

Robby nodded, an unconscious smile gracing his lips. “My savta gave it to me. I never take it off.” He confirmed.

“Softa?” You were unsure of the word.

“Savta.” He repeated with the utmost patience. “It means ‘grandmother’ in Hebrew.” 

You smiled and nodded as the first branch into his past formed between you. “Savta.” You repeated correctly this time. “When did she give it to you?” 

Robby brushed a strand of hair out of your eyes, thinking for a moment. “When I was about six or seven.” He answered. “It’s older than you.” He added with a wink, but couldn’t hold back his grin.

You giggled and threw your arms around his shoulders. And he laughed. Not like the sarcastic ones you heard at work when he was exasperated, but one full of heartfelt joy. The sound was so beautiful that it nearly brought tears to your eyes. His mouth found yours again, and you fell back into the waltz of lips.

His fingers grasped the zipper of your dress and lazily pulled it down, unsheathing your upper body from the silky fabric. Your chest became exposed to the frigid air of his home, and your skin tightened at the temperature.

Robby pulled away to analyze your newly exposed skin. Your breasts hung perfectly from your chest, and his absent-minded hand cupped one of them, massaging gently.

“So beautiful.” He murmured as his lips returned to your upper body, slowly moving his way down.

His mouth latched onto one of your nipples, pulling back with suction until a loud smack from his lips filled the air as your breast recoiled into place. You moaned at the sensation, digging your fingers into his scalp. He continued to the other breast, giving it the same treatment. Suck and smack. Then, he dragged his tongue across your nipple, rough tastebuds scraping smoothly against it. While he worked on one with his mouth, he used his fingers to tweak and tug at the other. You let out a squeal of delight, and Robby couldn’t help but chuckle.

“That feel good?” He asked before latching onto your breast again.

You shivered at intense pressure on your breasts. “Feels so good.” You mumbled.

Just when you thought the sensation had maxed out, the unmistakable hardness of teeth grazed across your nipples, and an involuntary scream left your vocal cords. The mix of pain and pleasure wasn’t new to you, but it had never felt this good. Robby looked up to you with those innocent brown eyes, teeth still clenched around your sensitive bud. With his gaze locked on yours, he relieved the pressure of his teeth, your skin snapping back to its configuration. 

“Michael!” You shrieked, and your shrillness only encouraged him to follow suit for the other nipple. 

Surely, by now, your fingernails had dug their graves within his scalp. But Robby relished the feeling of your oversensitivity inflicting pain of his own. With confidence, he trailed his hand down your waist, your hip, and to the slit in your dress. The very opening that taunted him at the bar, daring him to brush against your thigh in public. But when his fingers reached up, up, up to your hip line, he froze.

You furrowed your brow at the halt in momentum, and you looked to his face. He stared back at you, face suddenly unreadable. 

“You don’t-” He began, but he paused to take in a deep breath. “You don’t have anything on under the dress?” 

You studied his face, trying to understand what his angle was. Of course, you weren’t wearing panties. It was a silk dress, and any kind of…oh.

Oh.

You finally felt like you had the high ground again. An involuntary smirk found its way to your lips. “No.” You answered innocently.

Robby’s chest puffed out, and a primal, vicious jealousy coarsed through his veins for the second time tonight. The very notion that you went garmentless for your date with Matteo reinforced his mission to treat you better than that boyish nurse would have.

“You only do that for me from now on. You understand?” He growled in your ear.

The dominance made your spine feel weak, and you nodded. “Yeah.” You breathed.

Robby fisted your hair, forcing your face to meet his eyes. The same ones you often saw at work when he was reaching his maximum level of fury. “You can answer better than that.” He said.

Fuck, he was sexy when he was pissed. “Yes, sir.” You corrected yourself.

“That’s what I thought.” He relented, finally letting his fingers move under your dress again.

Rough, calloused pads brushed against your pelvis, moving down until they slipped against your weeping pussy. The sound that fell from Robby’s lips was unholy but heavenly as he collected your wetness on his fingertips, and your hips ground against them subconsciously.

You felt tears sting your eyes as the burning desire to be filled with some part of his body grew stronger. “Michael, please.” You begged.

Once again, Robby’s eyes locked on yours, and the desperation in his face gave you some hope. His index finger swirled around your external anatomy, collecting lubrication, before plunging into your pussy. And just that one, long finger was enough to draw a scream from you. A smug smile slithered across his face as he curled his finger inside you, pressing his fingerprint against your gummy walls.

“Think you can handle another one?” He cooed, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.

Your hand clenched around his bicep, feeling the muscles ripple underneath his skin as he fingered you. “Yes, please.” You begged.

Robby deftly inserted his middle finger, curling it in tandem with his index. The stretch was pleasant, and the added finger reached even farther inside you. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, letting out a string of shredded moans. “That’s my good girl.” He whispered in praise as he continued to pump his wrist.

Finally, once you adjusted to the width of his fingers, you formed a coherent statement. “Can you please fuck me?” You pleaded.

Robby’s smile wasn’t one of agreement but one that mirrored a parent admiring a child’s innocence. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ll get there.” He assured you.

His hand movements stopped, and he withdrew his fingers from your pussy, leaving you uncomfortably empty. He raised his fingers to his line of vision. Your wetness formed slick webs between his two fingers, and he studied it like a new scientific discovery. Then his tongue tore apart the webs, devouring every drop.

Watching him consume your juices with such fervor sent an involuntary pulse to your pussy, foreshadowing his next steps.

“You taste so fucking good.” He growled, pulling his large fingers from his mouth once he sucked them clean. “Stand up for me.” He ordered.

Knees trembling, you rose to your feet, trying to balance yourself in your heels. Robby held you by your ribcage, letting your dress fall to the floor and pool at your ankles, revealing your fully naked body to him. After sitting you back down on the bed, he knelt on the hardwood floor of his bedroom and delicately removed your heels like you were a reverse Cinderella. This level of care overwhelmed you, but you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Robby positioned himself between your legs, initiating a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses beginning at your ankle, moving up to your knee, then your inner thigh. He could feel the furnace heat of your pussy on his nose as he inched closer to your opening. Your knees hung over his shoulders, his hands finding purchase on the outside of your thighs. Then, without a warning, he engulfed your entire womanhood in his mouth, pulling back dangerously slow to create suction. The scream from your throat rivaled that of a psychiatric patient waiting for a room in the Pitt.

The overwhelmed tears from your eyes finally streaked down your temples as your back arched and head tilted back at his magical tongue. You repeated his name over and over and over, and his only answer came in deep grunts, the vibrations adding an unfamiliar sensation to your building orgasm.

His tongue expertly manuevered inside your pussy like a ship on treacherous waters. Every lick, suck, and nibble drove you farther from sanity. And when his thumb reached up to spiral around your delicate clit? Then you only had seconds until you spilled juices inside his mouth.

“Michael, I’m-” Your voice staggered, trying to focus on circling your release. “I’m gonna-”

Your first orgasm came in a tsunami, splashing juices into Robby’s mouth, which he gratefully lapped up like it was an oasis in a desert. Your thighs had clenched around his neck like a boa constrictor, but he had anticipated your release based on the pulsing of your walls around his tongue. 

As you came down from your high, Robby kissed back up your body, whispering praises like “that’s my girl” and “so fucking good for me.” When he reached your face and your eyes could focus again, you saw his beard glistening with your cum.

You grasped the back of his neck and pulled him close in a kiss, tasting your own salty flavor. “You’re really good at that.” You mumbled, breath still faltering from your high.

Robby chuckled, dragging his nose against yours. “It’s easy when you taste like fucking candy.” He confessed.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, and for the first time in a long time, you realized he still had his scrub cargo pants on. Suddenly, you felt a surge of energy.

“Take off your pants.” You demanded.

Robby pulled away from your shared intimacy with a raised eyebrow. “Excuse me?” He asked in the same tone he used in a patient’s room when a junior resident defied him.

Your eyes narrowed, darker than they had been before. “Take off. Your pants.” You broke it down for him.

Robby didn’t know how to handle the change in dynamics. He had been in control in every sexual encounter he ever had since his virginity was lost in college. While he didn’t want to yield, something about the tone in your voice was compelling him to reach for his belt. He stood up straight, leisurely reached for the buckle, and tugged, letting the leather slither from around his waist. You sat up on the bed, watching him undress for you in the lamp-glow of the room with a similar view of power that he had once given you a few minutes ago.

Robby unfastened his cargo scrub bottoms and shucked them off, leaving only his grey boxer-briefs, stained with a pool of precum. You marveled at the man in front of you for the first time. His body was exactly what you imagined in your late-night fantasies. Six foot one, muscled appropriately, and…

Actually, you hadn’t imagined that. His cock bulging from his boxer-briefs, threatening to shred through the fabric. Much larger than you had pictured based on his height and weight, which was already pretty large.

His hand unconsciously massaged his aching dick, and that brought you back to reality. You tilted your head, crossing your ankles over the edge of the bed. “Why are you touching yourself?” You asked, sitting closer to the edge of the bed. “My mouth is right here.”

Robby’s eyes widened slightly, even though he had plenty of blowjobs in his lifetime. But something about your tone excited him. That you were eager to suck him off. You reached a hand out and snatched the waistband of his boxer-briefs, reeling him closer. Then, in one swift motion, you pulled them down, and his cock sprang out, nearly smacking your jaw.

Fucking glorious. Cut, veined, thick, and tilting down from the sheer weight. Your mouth watered at the sight, and your pussy clenched in preparation for later. You wrapped your hand around his cock, barely fitting your grasp, and brushed the tip of your tongue across the head. Robby grasped the back of his neck with both hands, groaning at the lightest touch. You licked up the pearls of his precum, indulging in the salty appetizer. Your moans of delight and its resonance sent a shiver up his spine. He grasped a fistful of your hair to ground himself.

“Listen, kid, I’m not gonna be able to last very long if you keep-” He began.

But you cut him off by plunging down his length with your mouth until your nose was snug against his pelvis. The yell he let out was visceral and animalistic. You half expected him to yank at your hair, but instead he pushed you deeper. Your throat stretched with his length, surely bruising your soft palette. You pulled away, mouth watering even more from the gag reflex. 

Robby whispered your name, but you sunk down on him again, drawing another carnal scream from his vocal cords. This time, you remained in place, letting him feel with his free hand the stretch in your esophagus from his cock. He pulled away this time, refusing to let himself come in your mouth.

With impressive ease, Robby man-handled your body and tossed you up further on the bed, crawling over you until his face hovered above yours. “You can take care of me another time.” He whispered, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. “Tonight is about you.”

Your eyes were lost in his again, and for a moment, neither of you moved. But in that moment of peace, you felt a dangerous vulnerability. Your brows furrowed, holding back unexpected tears. “This isn’t a one-night stand, right?” You whispered.

Robb’s face softened, almost to sadness that he hadn’t already convinced you otherwise. With one elbow propping him above your body, he used his free hand to brush some disheveled strands of hair from your face. “Listen to me.” He ordered with the same authority he used in the hospital. “I told you I can’t do casual hookups. I meant that. This is something that I’ve wanted for an embarrassingly long time. I’m right here, right now. And I will be right here tomorrow.” He continued. “And the next day.” He pressed a kiss to your collarbone. “And the next day.” A kiss to your neck. “And the ne-”

You cut him off with a cheerful kiss, smiling against his lips. Robby let his body press heavier against yours in the moment of innocent love, although you wouldn’t say that out loud for another couple of months. “Michael.” You breathed against his mouth.

He hummed in response, moving his lips down your jaw, tempted to leave territorial marks on your neck for the rest of the Pitt staff to see. You grabbed his face so his eyes met yours again, forcing the connection. “I am begging you. Please fuck me.” You whispered.

Robby finally gave in, deciding he had worshipped you long enough for tonight. With a nod, he reached down and lined his cock up to your entrance, The tip nudged against your threshold, and you gave him a nod of confirmation. Slowly, every inch of him buried deeper, deeper inside you. The stretch of your pussy was paralyzing, and you couldn’t make a sound despite your open mouth.

Once he sank all the way, maxing out at the hilt, he gave a pathetic grunt. “Oh, fucking hell.” He breathed, unable to move from the overpowering tightness of your walls.

For a minute, you both remained still to adjust to each other. Tears welled in your eyes again at the overexpansion of your pussy. Then he began to move. In and out. In and out. A slow, molasses pace to start out. Your breaths were heavy to adjust to his unprecedented size, and his breaths staggered to hold his orgasm back from your tightness. But as he continued to move, you eventually began to meet him in the middle. 

Vulgar squelching sounds of your sopping wet pussy meeting the wall of his firm pelvis filled the bedroom. His hips pistoned into yours, the pace becoming steadier and controlled. His eyes never left your face, which scrunched in ecstasy and bliss. He wished he could save that image forever. 

There were other positions he wanted to fuck you in. On your knees in his bed, ass in the air. Against the wall of an on-call room. In the backseat of his truck on a hiking trip. Riding him reverse cowgirl on his living room couch. But right now was for both of you. For the months of stolen glances at each other in the Pitt, lingering hands while trading CPR positions, hopeful wishes that the other showed up on a random night shift assignment.

Robby dropped his head to capture your lips as he railed into you. Gratefully, you returned the kiss, grasping the short strands of hair on the back of his head. His Star of David pendant slapped against your chin over and over and over. “Michael.” You whispered in the same cadence that alerted your first orgasm.

He nodded, reaching down to your clit again to work you through the next release. “That’s right. I can feel you getting ready.” He guided, circling your sensitive spot again and again. “Come for me one more time.” He pleaded.

It didn’t take much for your high to snap again. Your walls clenched around his cock, soaking it further. Robby grunted at each squeeze of your pussy, hips becoming weaker as he neared his own climax. 

“I’m almost there.” He breathed. “Where do you want me?”

Your eyes snapped open through your dazed bliss, and your legs wrapped around his waist. “Inside me. Please, Michael. I want to feel you.” You pleaded.

That was all Robby needed to hear. A few more vulnerable grunts, and he erupted inside you. Each hot rope of cum was an unusual sensation. He was the first person you allowed to come inside you, let alone beg. He collapsed on top of you, chest heaving. Your hand lazily ran through his sweat-soaked hair. 

“I’ve wanted that for a long time.” You admitted, rubbing circles with your other hand on his slippery back.

Robby pressed a gentle kiss to your dewy chest. “Me too.” He agreed.

For a few minutes longer, while your vitals returned to normal, there was peace and quiet for the first time that night. Just exhausted bodies clinging together, enjoying the silence in each other’s presence.

Finally, Robby sat up. “Wait here.” He instructed before heading to his bathroom. You heard the shower start, and he emerged with a dampened wash cloth. 

He sat on the edge of his bed, dark hair slack against his forehead from sweat. He cleaned you up with the cloth, making sure nothing was left behind. Then, he placed a hand to the side of your face, cradling it. “Let’s shower and go to bed, okay?” He whispered,

You agreed and followed him to the bathroom. You both reveled in the warmth of the shower, washing each other and kissing until the water turned icy cold. Robby supplied you with a fluffy towel to dry off with, a New Orleans t-shirt, and a pair of his boxer briefs as pajama pants. Once you both settled into his bed again, he pulled you close. Closer than any man had ever held you at night.

“Gotta work tomorrow?” He mumbled against your wet hair.

You shook your head. “No. Seven on, seven off.” You whispered. “What about you?”

“Nope. Seven on, seven off.” He replied.

And with the next week off, you both had plenty of opportunity to make up for lost time.

--

A/N: This ended up being a 6.2k word fic that I wrote after having some wine. This was definitely NOT proofread, but I did my best! I enjoyed writing this so much. I love Michael Robinavitch with my whole heart.