#Michael Robinavitch m

[killmeleatherface]

It Had to Be You

Part 1

Dr Michael Robinavitch x f! resident (turned attending) OC

AN: hey everyone! This is the 1st part in my multiple part series. I’m still very new to this and slowly learning how to format and edit so bare with me not being able to always link everything together :) but it’s all on my profile and very easy to find! As of 5/9/25 there is 4 parts out and a one shot!

Warnings: smut, so much smut. P in v, handjob, shower sex, lots of kissing, cheating, age gap relationship (not defined but reader is assumed to be in late 20s and Michael is early 50s) mention of kinks. Pls let me know more!

Established relationship/Engaged.

Dr Robby x F! Attending

Summary: You and Dr Michael Robinavitch started as friends, attendings exchanging information. Until he asked if tou wanted to go to a diner to talk about an especially hard shift. The rest was history. That was years ago and your forbidden fling became an actual relationship, boyfriend and girlfriend. And then the love of your life proposes. Life couldn’t be better, until it comes crashing down. You catch the person you couldn’t be more in love kissing his ex girlfriend in a trauma room when they obviously thought no one was looking. You instantly react with fight of flight instinct and flee home, using all your vacation and sick time. You escape, leaving behind no call or text for your fiance and get the first flight out of there. Now you’re back. And life didn’t wait for your arrival, it just kept on coming like a freight train at The Pitt.

——-

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

You couldn’t believe you were up at this hour, let alone 2 hours before. It never gets easier, especially after a prolonged vacation. You were on the day shift because The Pitt was severely lacking in staff and you were happy to cover when you could. And you definitely could, because you owed a majority of the day staff a big favor.

You walk through the metal detectors and give Ahmad a smile. He returns after a facial stutter. Ugh. Already?

You pull your bag tighter over your shoulder and keep going. Past the full chairs of the waiting room, past the eyeing nurses seated at intake. You just ignored their looks and said thank you with a smile as they buzzed you through the double doors of the emergency room.

“Well you’re a sight for sore eyes!” Dana immediately beams as she sees you walking in. “It’s good to have you back, kid.” You walk over to the short blonde nurse that is like a best friend and second mother to you. Langdon walks around the corner the same time you’re dropping your bag under the counter and says, “Oh! Didn’t realize you’d finally choose today to be gracious enough to offer us your presence, Spencer” in a very annoyed tone.

Fuck. How many more times were you going to say that today? You really should stop cursing you think, but maybe that habit can die another day. Today was definitely going to be a day where a substitute word wouldn’t suffice. “Hi, Langdon. Yes I’m back and yes I’m sorry. I owe you and Dana and pretty much everyone else in the department on days pizza.” Langdon looks at you still very unamused.

“That’s a start.” He walks away, picking up an iPad and heading away into a patient room. Dana walks next to you.

“Ignore him for now. He’ll forgive you. He’s more annoyed with you know who then he is with you. He’s been let’s say, less cheery than usual.” You pull your long black hair halfway up into a claw clip and turn to your friend, silently eyeing her to continue.

“Look, I don’t want to get into your business, but he’s been a wreck for the past month and a half. He definitely hasn’t been sleeping, I don’t know if he even goes home half the time. I know what he did was and is majorly fucked up and I’m on your side. I’m not saying forgive him by any means but just be warned, he’s not himself without you.” She reaches a hand up to put it on your shoulder.

“Also, you picked a hell of a day to come back because he’s on shift.” She eyes behind you.

————

10 weeks ago

The way Michael Robinavitch kissed you was electric. You’d never felt something so substantially soul taking until you knew his lips on yours. He was a drug you wished you could have more of, always itching for a fix of when you weren’t together.

Right now he was placing soft kisses up your neck, gliding by your clavicle, up to your jugular and finally nipping at your ear and whispering “is that right sweetheart?” When you moan in want. More. More. You could never get enough.

“Michael” you gasp.

“Tell me more” He replies through lips kissing back to yours. He leans back and looks at you in admiration. Like a proud hunter who’s bagged his prey.

You reach up to cup his face. His beard longer than usual, just the way you liked it. You raked your fingers through his facial hair and back to his hair, grabbing a gentle hold and pulling, just a bit of roughness to add to what you were hoping was foreplay.

Robby closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “Oh you’re naughty baby. Okay let’s see.” He says with a wicked smile. His large hand cups your jaw and you manage to suck his thumb into your mouth, causing him to pause momentarily, watching your pink lips wrap around his thumb.

He doesn’t stop long and instead glides his hand down your throat, putting pressure where he knows will make you feel a sort of dizzy but not cause any problems breathing. You moan and he responds by dipping his head to your shoulder, moving your oversized t shirt down. He kissed down your arm and said “I think we should lose this.” As his hands moved from your neck down and head under your shirt. You happily let him and he pushed himself up, straddling your waist. You pulled your shoulders up and he easily lifted the shirt above your above your head, throwing it in a random direction, taking his off and doing the same. Now you both were in your underwear, an obviously hard Robby beaming down at you.

“Beautiful girl. My beautiful girl. I could look at your forever.” He says in a gravely low voice. Sounding like he’s trying not to break. Trying not to rip your underwear off. Trying not to claim you in the most savage ways.

You bring your left hand into both of your views and smile.

“Well good thing you put a ring on it, baby.” You say, eyeing your large engagement ring that he surprised you with 6 months ago.

“Mmm I did, didn’t I?” Robby runs his hand back down your neck to your chest and palms your right breast, holding on to a nipple and twisting it. He eyes you and says “Baby I hate to do this but if we both want to get what we want then we need to have a quickie or you can let me take care of you in the shower.”

So that’s what you do. Immediately pushing him off, simultaneously saying shower and stripping your panties off. You run to the shower, turning it on to a warm temperature and feel Robby behind you. He glides his hand down your stomach and before he hits your most sensitive spot he says against your neck, “Before we get in, condom or no condom?” You crane your neck and close your eyes. You’d talked about going condom free since you guys were going to be officially married soon, but never got around to actually practicing it. You thought about it for a few seconds and you knew you wanted to feel him all the way. As an answer you turn around smile and reach down to his shaft. He’s so thick, your hand barely fits around it. You give it a few strokes and kiss him. Cupping his jaw and slowly waking backwards, into your steaming shower.

Robby senses what you’re doing and smiles through the kisses and moans. He pushes you against the wall and crashes into you. “Fuck baby I’m wound up, if you keep going I’m-” he says as you twist your wrist. He plants a hand against the shower wall and lets the water stream down his head and enjoy the moment. Finally he pulls your hand away him and in one quick motion he’s leaning down and grabs your ass, pulling your legs around his waist. He kisses you hard and walks the 3 steps to sit down. He has a larger shower in his apartment, one made of stone that’s about 10 feet by 10 feet. It’s very spacious and appreciated in activities such as what you’re partaking in.

Robby sits himself down and positions you on top of him. You tease the tip of his hard cock, rubbing yourself on it with your slick wetness. You make small circles with your hips, doing a sort of secret dance to entice your partner. You feel his cock jump.

“Come on baby, you’re killing me.” Robby moans with ecstasy. You don’t listen and keep going, but don’t get far when he puts both his hands on either hip and pulls you down slowly.

“That’s right baby. You know who’s in charge.” He slurs in a sex fueled drunken state.

You start riding your fiancé up and down feeling every inch of him until you hit 100% and you both groan. It’s amazing. He’s amazing.

After just a few more movements of your hips a familiar heat makes its space known in your belly. Wow, this is fast, even for him.

“Fuu-I’m gonna” you moan.

“Good baby, good. Me too. Let it go” he kisses your neck and thrusts up to you. You lose it and your heat spasms around Michael’s cock and you scream. It feels like it goes on forever and then Michael follows suit, finally erupting and filling every spasm of his cock be let go into you. His orgasm is loud and beautiful and you love watching him unravel.

It feels like an eternity has passed when your vision returns to normal and you sit yourself up. Robby hazily looks at you and smiles.

“Let’s finish this shower before we’re both late for work.” He says.

——

You couldn’t believe it. Of all days. Of all fucking days. Ugh! You should’ve checked with Dana about starting today, but you also felt if you called anyone and said anything, you’d lose your gumption and never come back. You still wouldn’t be here today, but you’d ran out of time to take off and you needed a job.

Whatever. If Robby is here, you’ll avoid him. It’s just for a day, you can make sure you’re on opposite shift of him after that. You stay in the back of the group for rounds. You’re an attending, it’s not like a resident who needs to impress anyone.

Mohan slides up next to you.

“Hey stranger.” She whispers as she bumps your shoulder. You look over to your best friend and smile.

“We’ve missed you here.”

You don’t know about that. From what you’ve already heard it’s been almost a shit show, more than usual, at least partly because of your absence.

“Thanks dude, but you’re a bad liar.” You smile.

“Well, I missed you. That’s not a lie. It’s so much more fun working a case with you than it is with anyone else, especially he who may not be named Mr Grumpy Pants.”

She’s talking about Robby and trying to be nice about it, since you’ve told her you don’t want to hear his name.

“Speaking of him, what are you going to do about it? Have you talked to him?” She inquires.

You look past the small crowd and directly at the man you’re talking about. He’s in a black hoodie and his signature cargo pants. He has his stethoscope around his neck and he’s talking with his hands about a case that the previous shift had. He always does that, he’s always doing something with his hands. It’s almost endearing, like a nervous tick. Like he can’t let them sit still or they’ll come off his arms and fly away.

You look at your friend who’s waiting for an answer. “No, no I haven’t. And I don’t plan on it. He doesn’t deserve it.” You say matter of factly.

Robby claps his hands and says have a great shift. Your immediately turn around trying to disperse with the group, meaning to sneak away, and you’re almost successful, until you realize you’ve left your phone in the kitchen on your last coffee run. Ugh. You head that way.

You open the door and you’re looking down at something on your badge when you come face to face with the last person who ever want to talk to.

“What the fuck.” Robby says almost too loud.

You roll your eyes and don’t make eye contact. “Just left my phone in here, that’s it.”

Robby puts his coffee mug down on the counter and says “You just left your phone in here?! You. Just. Left. Your. Phone.” He rubs his hands down his face. Another signature move with a part of his body your body is way too familiar with.

He’s malfunctioning. You don’t blame him. His fiance who he spends almost every waking moment with is right in front of him again. The same fiance who disappeared without warning 6 weeks before. It’s like you’re a ghost. A ghost of all things good that’s come back to haunt him in a way to hint at what a good life you can have. And he could’ve. He could’ve had you as a wife, a partner, a best friend, a confidant that will do anything for him. But he lost that privilege.

You don’t say anything to him. You try to turn around and he grabs your shoulder. “Come on, Y/N, that’s all I get? You disappear for 6 weeks and don’t answer any of my calls or texts and all I get is some bullshit about forgetting your phone? You show up back here without even an acknowledgement to me and I don’t get a simple explanation? I have to find out from Dana that you’ve gone home to your moms and you’re safe. I even called your mom, you know that? I never thought I’d have to call your parents on you. Like some sick fucking daddy daughter joke because of our age gap. It’d be almost comical if it was another situation. And now you’re here in front of me and can’t even-Youre my fiance and you won’t even speak to me!” He runs his hands over his face and through his hair. He leans his head down on his arms placed on the counter. He looks up at you. He’s eyeing you as if he’s searching for something. Searching for words you’re not saying, things he can help, anything. He needs something. Hes silently begging you to stop. But you haven’t really done anything. You can’t stop what’s already in motion, no matter how desperately you wish you could.

He’s unraveling. Actually, he’s already lost it. He’s broken. You broke Michael Robinavitch.

But you don’t care. You really couldn’t care less. You cross your arms and for the first time ever you wish someone would interrupt you and the man in front of you at work. Anything to get you out of this situation. You didn’t know what to say to him. You didn’t even want to look at him. You thought your vacation away would allievate the pain you hold in some fashion but you realize now it hasn’t even touched it. Robby has you seething with anger. The man you said yes to spending the rest of your life with. The man you dreamed of getting a house and picking out every little detail with. The man who could say sweet nothings to you as long as he was stroking your hair and laying next to you in bed. The man that at some point became someone who felt like was your missing piece without. Like you weren’t whole unless he was there. Now, standing in front of the tall doctor who’d you’d just decided flower choices for your wedding with made you physically ill. Or actually you were really nauseous. Ugh.

“Please, I’m begging you. Tell me what’s been going on. I’ve been this close to checking myself into the 9th floor. Please baby.” Robby steps closer.

He’s reaching for you. You step back.

“Robby, I’m not doing this now. Not here…actually, ya know for a really intelligent guy you’re being a huge idiot right now. Think about it bud.” You point to your head. “And I’m not your baby anymore.”

You turn and head towards the door feeling instantly more nauseous. Fuck. Fuuuck. You cannot puke right now.

Robby again reaches for you. He manages to grab your wrist and flip you around. Your almost toe to toe with him touching shoes and you finally allow yourself to look up at his deep brown eyes. Man, you let your self think for a moment, how truly handsome he is.

Then he cups your jaw as he’s done dozens of times before and you grab his wrist, pulling his hands off of you. Something you’ve never done before. Robby tenses. He closes his eyes. In your relationship, you don’t just take your significant others hands off of you. He doesn’t know what to do. There’s always been such clear boundaries before, something you’ve had since your very first actual date. Where you learned Michael was a dom and wanted his girl to be comfortable being a sub. You weren’t at all unfamiliar with what he was asking for, and something ignited in you to prod him with your extreme interest. You weren’t surprised either. He had to be demanding for his job. He had to be in charge. He couldn’t lose his cool. That’s what a dom is. And right now he has no semblance of having it together. You know what he wants to do. He wants to pin your wrists above your head and leave tingling bite marks down your neck to claim his territory. He’s wondering how dare you take your hands off what’s his but he’s also tired and confused and seemingly malfunctioning. This is brand new territory for both of you and you wish you weren’t here.

Something ignited in you suddenly and you have the sudden empathetic bone you didn’t know you still had for Robby. You’re fully aware this man was your everything. And you were his. It wasn’t always such a clustered mess.

You step back and look at the ceiling, willing yourself not to cry.

You can’t break down. You can’t puke. Your body is fighting so many things at once. You put your head down and meet your match’s eyes. He’s watching you. Waiting. His mind still reeling.

“Listen, just box up whatever’s mine at your place and drop it to the girls at intake. Tell them to let me know it’s there.” You throw your hands up in defeat.

“Y/N, we’re supposed to get married here soon. What do you mean put everything in a box? You don’t want to get married anymore. What a fucking day.” You eye him.

“What a fucking day? What a fucking day? How about what a fucking month? What a fucking life I’ve wasted! Of course I don’t want to marry you!” You scream.

“You disappear for over a month, I almost put an amber alert out on you, I get no information , and now you’re calling off our engagement?” He steps closer to you.

“If you don’t want to marry me, why are you still wearing my ring around your neck?” He inquires. He’s reaching. He’s assuming. He’s calling your bluff. He’s doing anything he can to stop this conversation but still keep you in the room. You reach into your scrub top and pull out the chain, exposing a circle pendant with the letter of your first name. Not your engagement ring that you usually kept on a necklace while working because you loved to show you were claimed even if it wasn’t outright obvious. You reach into your scrub pocket and feel the cold of your engagement ring. You pull it out and hold it out to him.

“Here.”

Robby’s eyes widen. He doesn’t take it, but you’re not putting it back in your pocket, so you put it on the break room table in front of you.

“Besides I thought you’d be shacked up with Collin’s and my shit would be thrown away by now.” You say coldly.

That was it. That was what truly broke him. He lost it and tears formed in his eyes.

“Collin’s? What?” And then it dawns on him. “You saw that didn’t you? Please let me explain. I, uh, she, she kissed me and I froze. I know I shouldn’t have and I should have pushed her away immediately and I’m so so incredibly sorry.”

You don’t hear the rest of it before you feel bile race up your throat and you sprint to the trash can, pulling your hair back by instinct. You throw up whatever’s left of your breakfast and wipe your mouth.

Robby’s hand is on your lower back, rubbing circles. He’s over you obviously concerned. “Y/N, please let me..are you okay?”

“No. No I’m not okay.” You look up at him. Whatever, it’s not the perfect time but he doesn’t deserve perfect. You didn’t get it.

“But I am pregnant.”

Heres the next part!

AN: this will definitely be a series don’t worry! Idk how many parts but between flashbacks I have in mind and the future possibilities, it will be at least a few more parts :)



[abbydidnothingwrong]

Dr. Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch & Dr. Frank Langdon in THE PITT / 09:00 P.M.

[alchemypanda]

Noah Wyle as Dr Michael Robinavitch in The Pitt 01x02 8:00 AM

[hawktims]

my contribution to rollins and kingdon nation

[apinchofm]

m's couple moodboards

dr michael 'robby' robinavitch & dr heather collins

[djkerr]

👀

The Pitt 01x04 10:00 A.M.

📷 @nocontextthepitt IG

[tabbyofwisdom]

Close enough, welcome back Hawkeye, Margaret, and Trapper

[zekeg33k]

@bloodyxballet asked: I said I'm fine, please just drop it // DR. MICHAEL 'ROBBY' ROBINAVITCH.

Robby stayed perched on the counter in the room, hands clasped over his lap. This was when his work was tough- knowing someone needed more help, and being mostly unable to give it. People could only be helped as much as they were willing to admit they needed it.

"This isn't your first visit like this." He stated, which was neutral enough. It was just a statement of truth, not accusatory, or judgmental. "If there's something going on, we have resources." Sometimes he didn't know when to leave well enough alone. "No one is saying you have to use them."

[itsmeatballworld-library]

This was so amazing UGHHH im in love with him

Mrs. R Part Two

Part One

Notes: Hi welcome to part two okay love you bye

Not beta-read.

Warnings: Angst; fluff; all that good stuff

Summary: You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close. 

“You got any more lightbulbs in here that need changing?” 

You lean in the doorway of the living room, watching Robby unscrew the old bulb and toss it onto the couch before lifting his hand to screw in the new one. 

“I don’t think so. Unless you wanna go around and change a few preemptively.” 

“Think we’ll just stick with this one for now.” 

You bite your lip, glancing down at your bandaged hand and picking at a stray strand. 

“How was the rest of your shift?” 

“Oh, fine. You know.” 

But you still don’t. You bite your lip, fighting back the argument as you pick at another stray strand. 

“How’s the hand feeling?” 

“Oh, fine. You know.” 

You shoot him a coy smile at his sidelong glance. He shakes his head as he turns his attention back to the light, fitting the fixture back over the bulb. He climbs down from the step ladder, folding it, and leaning it against the bookshelf. 

“Where was that, anyway?” You ask, nodding toward it. 

“In the basement.” 

“Ah. I don’t go down there much.” 

“Yeah, the film of dust gave that away.” 

Your smile widens at the tease, then falters as he turns away, dusting off his hands. 

“Alright. I should head out.”

Your stomach twists as he straightens, heading for the door, and where he left his bag. 

“Oh?” You fight to keep your tone even as you straighten up. “I ordered pizza. Should be here soon if you’re hungry.”

“You’ll have leftovers.”

“Sure! Sure.” You tuck your hands into your back pockets, wandering after him as he reaches for his bag. “I could just um…Wrap it in foil…Stick it in the back of the fridge…Forget it’s there for a few days until I inevitably remember that it’s in there on Friday. Nuke it, gobble down a couple of slices, give myself food poisoning, and then I’ll, uh…” You smile as he turns to face you again. “I’ll see you back in the ER.”

--

“Does it bother you that they still call me that?”

“Call you what?” 

“Mrs. R.”

You catch the slight delay in his movement, the pause in raising his beer to his lips. His eyes stay set on the tv, and you watch the flash and flare of the screen's glow lighten and shade his face. For as long a day as he’s had, it should be easier to read his expression—or maybe you’re more out of practice than you realized.

But you know that he heard it. It’s not as if he can pretend that he didn’t hear Evans or Langdon say it. You hadn’t gotten a good look at him when they’d had though not for lack of trying. 

“Why would it bother me?” He finally asks.


“Because we’re not married anymore.”

“You change your name yet?” 

You turn back to the tv as Robby’s head turns. It’s your turn to fall silent, to take a sip from your beer. 

“It’s a lot of paperwork.” It’s the lamest of excuses. It’s not a complete lie, but it’s not the entire truth, either. You hear Robby huff a soft laugh through his nose, and you can’t help the embarrassment that pulses through you. You push the feeling down, leaning forward and setting down your beer.

"You want that last slice?” You glance toward him and find his lips pursed. He wants to say no, but you’re positive he barely had anything to eat that day.

“You wanna split it?” You correct, already taking up a knife to cut it down the middle. 

“If you really want it, you can—”

“Oh, shut up and eat the slice, Robinavitch,” You lean back, holding it out and raising your own slice to your mouth. 

“Half slice.” 

“You’re way too particular for this late in the day. Did you get all hangry on the ducklings?” 

“...Not on the ducklings.” 

Your brows rose at the admission as you tore off a piece of the crust, popping it into your mouth. 

“Wanna talk about it?” You asked after a moment. 

“Nope.” 

Figures. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be wholly disappointed. But he’d come over, he’d changed your lightbulb. He’d stayed. Months of not seeing one another and now this. It felt like two steps forward and one step back…Though, for what it was worth, that was still one step forward. 

--  

You chalk it up to muscle memory. A late-night hazy wake up, an infomercial droning on the tv, and Robby's head in your lap. You manage to nudge him up, shut the television off, and find his hand to lead him to your bedroom. He doesn't gripe or grumble. His movements seem as automatic as he strips down to his underwear and climbs into bed with you, each on your own sides. 

You think, as you sink into the pillows, that you’re almost glad Robby is too tired to gripe or argue that he should be going back to his place. 

And you think, as sleep takes full hold of you, that you feel his hand curl around yours under the sheets. 

-- 

You wake up to the steady thump of Robby’s heart beneath your ear, and the rise and fall of his belly beneath your arm. You don’t open your eyes for a few moments—you don’t dare. You can’t remember the last time you and Robby were this close. 

For the last few months of your marriage, the two of you hadn’t slept in the same bed, and with the separation and divorce that had followed, your physical connection had ceased to exist.

The closest the two of you had gotten was when he’d bandaged your hand at the ER the day before. 

Of course, that same hand is now throbbing. 

You wince, wiggling the fingers a little and holding back a hiss of discomfort. Damn, you should’ve taken some Tylenol before you went to bed last night. You just hadn’t been thinking about it. You reluctantly push yourself up, sliding out of bed as gently as you can, wary of waking him.

You freeze as he shifts, watching him roll closer to the warmth you left behind and pressing his face into your pillow. You relax as he settles, and turn to your closet, sleepily fishing out your favorite hoodie and tugging it on over the PJs that you hardly remember changing into. 

--  

By the time you hear Robby coming down the hall, you have 500mg of Tylenol in your system, and coffee has nearly finished brewing. You glance back in his direction as he comes into the kitchen. You’re chagrined (but not surprised) to find him fully clothed. 

“Morning,” You greet. His answer is to take two mugs down from the cabinet, setting them by your wrist on the counter. 

“Sleep okay?” You prod. Robby leans against the counter beside you, and you glance up, watching him scrub his hand across his eyes. 

“Yeah,” He finally admits. “Thanks for letting me crash.” 

“Sure,” You shrug. “My fault, anyway. I talked you into staying for pizza.” You pick up the coffee pot, filling both mugs. Robby mutters his thanks as he takes one up, drawing in a sip. You let the silence settle back in, but you can only handle it for so long: “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“About what?” 

“About whatever it is that’s been fucking with your sleep lately.” 

“Do you wanna talk about why you haven’t changed your name yet?”

It catches you off-guard, and you whirl around to face him. 

“I told you, it’s a shitton of paper work—”

“If you’d started when we filed for divorce, it would be done by now.” 

“Well if it bothers you that much, why didn’t you fucking say so last night?” 

“I didn’t say it bothered me, I just find it weird—”

“It isn’t that weird—And how the fuck did we get on to me? We’re supposed to be talking about you.” 

“We don’t have to talk about me.” 

“Yeah, we fucking do. Something is off with you, Michael. You’re not sleeping, you’re snapping at people—I get that you’re under pressure—”

“You don’t get it.” 

“Alright, maybe I don’t know how it feels, but I can see how much it’s fucking messing with you—”

“Forget it—”

“Mikey, c’mon, just talk to me—”

“Let it go!” 

The snap and bark of his voice startles you, and you unthinkingly take a couple of steps back. You become more aware of the way your face is crowding with heat, your heart pounding in your chest. You turn away from him, shoving your hands in your pockets and curling your good hand into a fist. You’re not gonna cry, not when he’s right fucking there. He’s going to leave, anyway. 

You hear him push out a weary sigh, chased by the sound of him putting the coffee mug down. He’s going to put his hoodie on and just fucking go—

“Hey.” His hands curl around your shoulders, and he sighs again as you shrug him off. You step away, turning back to your mug and taking it up. Maybe you can take a big gulp and pretend that your eyes are tearing because the coffee’s so hot. 

You feel the heat of him as he crowds up behind you, his hands landing on the counter and caging you in. You open your mouth to tell him to back off, but fall silent as he gently nuzzles his temple. 

“I’m sorry,” He murmurs. “I know you’re just trying to help.”

“And I know you’re a closed book, so why do I fucking bother.”

Robby inches closer, curling his arms around your middle. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to take this stuff on.”

“I don’t feel like I have to, Michael.” You turn in his arms, meeting his eyes despite the tears lingering in yours. “I’ve only ever asked because I want to, because I’m not okay if you’re not okay.” Your throat grows tight as you admit it, and you blink rapidly as more tears well up. You drop your chin, closing your eyes as you shake your head, fighting to steady yourself. 

Robby lifts a hand to cup your chin, thumb sweeping tenderly over the apple of your cheek as he tips your head up. You sniffle as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, then rests his forehead against yours.

“You shouldn’t still worry like this.” 

“I know.” 

Robby tips his head, nose gently nuzzling against yours. You can’t help but chase the touch, a few tears escaping and slipping down your cheeks. You each go still as your lips brush, then stop just a hair’s breadth from one another’s. Robby’s breath puffs warmly across your mouth, and you feel his chin tip up just a touch more. 

“Don’t,” You breathe, then hurry to explain—”Don’t do this if you’re just trying to fix it.”  

For a few harrowing moments, neither of you move; you hardly breathe. And then Robby’s hand lifts to cup your other cheek, thumbs gently disrupting the few tear tracks. He brushes tender kisses to your closed eyelids before his mouth descends tenderly on yours. You shiver, curling your hand in the fabric of his shirt and drawing him closer, until he’s pressing you fully against the counter. Your lips part and your tongue teases gently against his, his beard brushing pleasantly against your skin. 

The kiss breaks slowly, with Robby stealing another two languid pecks before resting his forehead back against yours, his hands smoothing over your shoulders again, fingers rubbing across the familiar fabric. 

"...Couldn't find that last hoodie, huh?" He asks knowingly. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking into a guilty grin.

"Misplaced it."

Robby hums knowingly before he dips his head, giving you another tender kiss.

"How's that hand feeling?"

You grunt, raising it and wiggling your fingers.

"Better now. Hurt like a bitch when I woke up, so I took some Tylenol."

"Good." Another peck before he draws away, and you reluctantly let him go. You expect him to head into the front hall, to grab his backpack. But he goes into the living room, taking up the stepladder. You frown, straightening up.

"Where are you going with that?"

"To check the other bulbs."

Tag list:

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

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

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

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

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

[thepencilnerd]

seeing double

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader x michael "robby" robinavitch summary: A night out with two of your closest colleagues turns into something you never expected—or did you? Between cocktails, dancing, and old tension, the line between friendship and something more finally blurs. warnings/content: nsfw | 18+ MDNI, porn with a whisper of plot, pining, threesome (m/f/m), p in v + oral sex (m&f receiving), jack and robby are both soft/pleasure doms, protective/possessive/jealous tendencies, praise kink, no condoms but IUD use, domestic fluff, banter wc: 10k a/n: wine drunk alone on a friday night + one very rare instance of dreaming = this monstrosity, excuse any mistakes, not religious but i will pray for forgiveness for i have sinned because jfc—

It started like any other post-shift outing: exhausted, half-delirious, desperate for something that didn't smell like ammonia.

Robby had slung his arm around your shoulders the second you walked out of the ER, pulling you toward Jack with a bright grin. "First round's on me. Hell, second round too if you both promise not to ditch me for charting."

Jack had just smirked, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "We'll see how intolerable you get after two shots."

It wasn't always like this—the three of you tangled together like gravity and inevitability. When you first joined day shift, it was Robby you bonded with. Quick jokes in the trauma bay, quiet coffee runs between codes, the kind of easy camaraderie that came from surviving the same battlefield night after night. His touches had started out friendly—a pat on your shoulder after a long shift, a gentle squeeze on the same shoulder when you nailed a tricky procedure—but over time, the air between you shifted.

Every glance lingered longer. Every touch sparked hotter.

Robby's hand on your lower back when you squeezed past him in the supply room, the way he’d always seem to find reasons to stand just a little too close, his thumb brushing yours when you handed him charts—it all built slowly, unbearably. You’d catch him staring sometimes, his round, dark-rimmed frames lingering a second too long on your mouth or the curve of your neck before he’d grin and deflect with a joke.

There was the night after a particularly brutal trauma when Robby had tugged you into a half-hug outside the ambulance bay, squeezing you so tightly you had to laugh. "You're a badass, you know that?" he'd said against your hair, voice rough. And for a second—just a second—he hadn't let go.

When you switched to night shift for extra trauma training, you met Jack. At first, he was just your attending—brilliant, relentless, intimidating. He kept a careful distance, crisp in his authority. But slowly, cracks showed.

One night, after a rough code, you’d slumped against the nurses’ station with blood-streaked gloves still on. Jack appeared beside you, two coffees in hand, sliding one toward you without a word. You’d blinked at him, fingers brushing his when you took it, and for a moment he didn't move.

"Thanks," you’d muttered, voice rough.

He’d just shrugged, but there was the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "You’re welcome, hotshot."

You caught him smirking more often after that—at your dry jokes, your quick comebacks—offering gruff praise when you pulled off a save. Once, when you fumbled a suturing kit in a rare moment of exhaustion, Jack crouched beside you and murmured low, "Hey, breathe. You've got this."

His hand brushed your back—brief, grounding, unbearably warm—and your heart stuttered so hard it was a wonder he didn’t hear it.

Jack was slower to open up. The late-night rooftop coffees, both of you leaning back against the ledge, city lights blinking below as you traded quiet stories about worst patients, favorite saves, tiny admissions about sleeplessness and fear. The stolen glances across the nurses' station, like magnets catching without meaning to.

There were nights the ER would blur around you—patients screaming, monitors wailing—and Jack's voice would cut through the noise, steady and sure: "You with me?" 

And you’d always nod. Always.

Once, you'd both reached for the same suture kit and your hands had collided, his fingers wrapping around yours instinctively. Neither of you pulled away immediately. His thumb brushed your knuckles before he let go, the moment stretched tight enough to snap like a stale rubberband.

By the time you'd rotated back onto a blended shift with Robby and Jack, you were caught in the pull of both of them. Two different kinds of push and pull. 

If working with the both of them had taught you anything, it was that Michael Robinavitch and Jack Abbot were combustible—two sparks waiting for a reason to ignite, especially when it came to you.

They both had a tendency to be overprotective, possessive, and if they were honest, being around each other's orbit didn't help. When you’d come in for night shift and bid Robby goodbye as he ended his day, Jack would eye the way you laughed with Robby, the way Robby’s hand lingered at your elbow or lower back. More than once, Jack had swooped in, pretending to need you for a case, cutting the conversation short with a clipped, "You ready, Dr. L/N?"

Robby noticed. His wide grin supersaturated with disbelief, like he knew exactly what Jack was doing, clapping him on the shoulder harder than necessary as he left.

Likewise, when you clocked out in the morning and Robby was coming in to start his shift, it was Jack’s turn to be on the receiving end. You’d be talking with Jack at the nurses' station—usually laughing softly, leaning in closer than strictly necessary—and Robby would stroll up, insert himself easily into the conversation, his arm bumping yours as he reached for a chart.

Jack would tense, jaw ticking, shooting Robby a look that practically screamed, "We'll talk about this later," even if the words never came.

And when it came to the new interns—the accident magnets they were—their protective instincts bordered on alien.

Santos once knocked over a cart dangerously close to you and before you could even flinch, Jack had caught the edge of it with lightning-fast reflexes, his body shielding yours. He turned to Santos after, shooting him a look so sharp it could’ve drawn blood—the kind of glare that promised slow, premeditated murder if she didn't start paying more attention. Santos paled visibly, stammering an apology that Jack didn't even acknowledge.

Another time, Whitaker had nearly swung a door into you during a code and Robby had yanked you back by your waist, muttering a sharp, "Watch it," without even looking. A few minutes later, Robby—with all the casual malice in the world—assigned Whitaker to shadow Myrna for the rest of his shift as punishment. The look on Whitaker's face had been priceless; the vindictive smirk on Robby's face afterward, even better.

Javadi once sent a gurney skidding wild around a corner and you barely sidestepped—only for both Jack and Robby to step in front of you at once. Both of them looked ready to grill Javadi, who froze like she'd been caught committing arson. Before either could open their mouths, you clicked your tongue at them in warning, stepping around them to calm the sleep-deprived child genius, "Are you okay, honey? Let's get you some coffee."

You shot Robby and Jack a narrow glare over your shoulder—a silent command to stand down—and, grudgingly, they obeyed. But not without Jack muttering something about "rookies" under his breath. You, for the most part, played innocent—but you weren’t completely blind. You saw the way they watched you, the way they bristled and circled, each trying not to cross some invisible line neither had the nerve to define.

Once, you’d even caught them at the end of the hallway near the staff lockers, deep in a heated whisper-yelling argument. You were too far away to hear it all, but you caught pieces as you slowed your steps.

"...not yours to stake out," Robby hissed, shoulders tense.

Jack’s jaw flexed. "Maybe I’m what she needs," he snapped, voice rough with something almost broken.

Robby stepped closer, the space between them charged. "You don't get to decide that."

You’d ducked away before they could notice you, heart pounding, pretending you hadn't heard a single thing. You hadn't known then—not really. But you'd be lying if you said you hadn't had an idea.

In the weeks that followed, you noticed the air between them eased—less tense, less brittle. They started joking again, nudged shoulders in passing, teased you in tandem during transitional shifts. It almost felt normal again. Almost. But underneath it, something still lingered—a crackling undercurrent that neither of them could quite hide. Not from each other. And certainly not from you.

Little did you know that tonight would be the night where things completely shifted.

The bar was loud and too warm, the floor sticky, the music a little too old to be considered vintage and a little too new to be classic. It didn’t matter. It was freedom.

Robby bought whiskey for himself, beer for Jack, and whatever alcohol-masked cocktail you pointed at on the menu.

"To surviving," Robby toasted, clinking glasses.

"To making it out without a lawsuit," Jack amended dryly.

You laughed, rolling your eyes, and drank deep.

It was easier than it should have been to relax. To let the haze of alcohol smooth the sharp edges of exhaustion. You grabbed Robby's hand and tugged him toward the makeshift dance floor, singing, "Come on, old man, dance with me!"

He hesitated, shaking his head and smiling to himself—then grinned and let you pull him. Robby spun you first instead, taking you by surprise, his laughter warm and easy against your ear. You laughed as he caught you against him again, both of you breathless and loose with happiness.

Jack leaned against the nearby wall, watching with that steady gaze of his, beer bottle dangling from his fingertips.

"C'mon, Jack," Robby called over the music. "Get your ass over here."

Jack held up a hand from where he leaned against the wall, a silent 'I'm good,' his mouth quirking in a reluctant smile. But you weren't having it. You weaved your way through the crowd toward him, leaning up on your toes to whisper something warm against his ear.

"Dance with me, Jack," you whispered through the noise, your voice low and warm, meant only for him. Jack stiffened for a second, breath catching, and when you pulled back, his eyes were dark, hungry. He pushed off the wall without another word and followed you to the floor, his beer forgotten.

Robby spun you again, and when you stumbled laughing into Jack, he caught you with hands that lingered a little too long on your waist. His palms were warm, steady, the faint smell of his cologne—clean soap and cedar—curling around you. Robby pressed back into your other side, the scent of whiskey and his usual lazy citrus aftershave filling your senses.

Their touches blended together—Jack’s firmer grip at your hips, Robby’s looser, teasing sways—and yet you could still tell exactly who was who. Jack's breath was slow and deliberate against your temple; Robby’s laughter rumbled against your back, a low vibration that soaked into your bones. For a moment, you were suspended between them, the music, the warmth, the want—utterly theirs.

You were on cloud nine, swaying to and fro like you were caught between the ocean and the moon—their touches the tide, pulling you back and forth, holding you steady.

Jack’s fingers flexed, and for a moment, the world tightened down to just the three of you—the heat, the gravity pulling you closer.

Robby pressed in behind you, his hands finding your hips, swaying you to the beat. Jack didn't step back. He stepped closer.

The music pulsed around you. Your head tipped back against Robby's shoulder, your eyes locking with Jack's.

Jack’s hand brushed your cheek, feather-light, like he was giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Robby's breath ghosted your ear. "God, you’re beautiful."

Jack's thumb traced your jawline. "You drive us crazy, you know that?"

Your pulse thundered. Your body ached in ways that had nothing to do with fatigue.

You leaned in close, hovering near Jack's lips, but didn't kiss him—not yet. Jack froze, his hands tightening just slightly at your waist, pulling back just enough to make the boundary clear. You could see it written all over him—the hesitation, the unspoken rule he lived by: he wouldn't kiss you or anyone without explicit consent, either given or received.

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers lightly along his jaw. "I'm sober enough to give consent," you assured, breathless but certain.

Then you turned to Robby too, catching his eye as your fingers brushed his cheek, your voice low but sure. "To both of you." His fingers tangled with yours easily, his grin soft and a little stunned as he let you loop him into your orbit—exactly where he’d always wanted to be.

Facing Jack again, you saw relief flash across his face—followed almost immediately by want. Jack leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning your lips, his nose brushing yours. He hovered there, still hesitant, giving you one last chance to pull away. When you didn't—when you leaned into him instead—he surrendered. His mouth claimed yours unapologetically, slow and aching, like he had all the time in the world and no intention of ever letting you go.

Robby kissed your neck at the same time, teeth scraping lightly against your pulse point, one hand splaying over your stomach, pulling you closer. His beard scraped roughly against your skin, a delicious, rasping contrast to Jack's lighter stubble as Jack’s mouth moved against yours—a difference you felt everywhere they touched you. Robby's touch was warmer, softer, always teasing; Jack's was firmer, anchoring, a bundle of hot coals beneath your skin. Different, but the same in the way they both made your nerves light up, made you feel like you were being pulled apart only to be put back together better, more whole, by the both of them.

You whimpered into Jack’s mouth, dizzy from the dual sensation, from the way they bracketed you, claimed you without a single word. Jack's hands shifted, strong and sure, spinning you gently—a slow, deliberate turn—until you faced Robby. For a moment, you stood suspended between them again, heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Robby met you with a grin that was all heat and mischief, and then he kissed you—hotter, deeper, needier. Jack's mouth found your pulse point, sucking and nipping, while Robby's tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing you open.

You gasped into Robby's mouth, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as Jack’s teeth grazed your throat, a low growl rumbling against your skin. Every nerve ending sparked, overwhelmed by the heat, the dizzying contrast, the way their hands and mouths knew your body like a song they'd always known by heart.

You couldn't tell how long the three of you had been standing there, tangled up, swaying in the sticky heat of the bar, the music thudding faintly around you. It could’ve been minutes or hours—time had stopped mattering somewhere between Jack’s lips and Robby’s hands.

Jack dipped his head, his breath skating warm against your ear, sending a fresh shiver down your spine.

"Do you want to get out of here, sweetheart?" he murmured, voice low and rough, a rasp of barely leashed need.

You nodded immediately, the word tumbling from your lips like a prayer. "Yes," you breathed—needy, desperate. The delicious ache between your legs had built to a throbbing pulse you couldn't ignore anymore, and feeling their firm bodies sandwiching yours, pressing into you from both sides, did absolutely nothing to help your self-control.

Robby chuckled, low and rough. "My place?"

"Fuck, yes—anywhere," you breathed, a laugh bubbling out of you, unable to stop the grin pulling at your lips. Jack grabbed your hand. Robby wrapped an arm around your waist.

Together, you stumbled out into the night—drunk on each other—laughing, touching, wanting.

Robby’s apartment wasn’t far—just a few blocks—and the fresh air hit your overheated skin like a balm.

The three of you walked fast, heads down, hands brushing and grabbing. Jack’s hand found the small of your back, steady and grounding. Robby kept an arm slung around your shoulders, pulling you close enough that you stumbled a few steps, giggling breathlessly against his chest.

The streets were mostly empty, just the faint hum of distant traffic and the sharp sound of your shoes hitting pavement. Every so often, Jack would glance over at you, his gaze dark, searing through the haze of streetlight. Robby would squeeze your side, lean in to murmur something low and wicked that made your cheeks burn and your thighs clench.

By the time you reached Robby’s building, you were buzzing with need, clinging to both of them without even thinking.

Jack opened the door for you, hand lingering low on your back. Robby herded you inside, already crowding close, already reaching for you like he couldn't wait a second longer.

The door slammed shut behind you with a thud, and before you could even blink, their hands were on you again—urgent, hungry, claiming.

It was dizzying, overwhelming, intoxicating.

But somewhere between Jack's mouth brushing your neck and Robby's fingers slipping under your shirt, clarity cracked through the haze. You shifted slightly, placing a hand on each of their chests, feeling their hearts hammering under your palms.

"Wait," you breathed.

Immediately, they froze—Jack pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, Robby's hands pausing where they'd met your hips.

You took a shaky breath, sobering a little more with every heartbeat. "I just… I need to ask… what's going on between us?" you said, voice rough with nerves. "I want this—I want both of you—but are you two okay with that? With… us?"

You glanced between them, heart hammering, terrified of the answer but needing it all the same.

Robby's grin softened into something gentler, thumb brushing the bare skin of your waist. "Been wanting this longer than I should probably admit."

Jack's hand found your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone, gaze burning into yours. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, seeming to gather himself. Then, with a gentle but firm touch, he guided you to sit on the couch behind you.

"Come here," he said softly. "Let's talk."

Robby, reading the mood immediately, peeled away toward the kitchen. "I'll make some tea," he said over his shoulder—giving you space, but also clearly knowing this conversation might take a minute, and that sobering up a little more wouldn't hurt any of you.

Jack sat down on your left, still close but not crowding, his thumb brushing lightly over your knee. "Talk to us, sweetheart," he murmured. "Whatever's in your head—we want to hear it."

You fiddled with the hem of your top, nervous energy humming under your skin. "I... how did we even get here?" you asked. "You, Robby—this thing between the three of us... Are you two really okay with it? With… sharing me? Sharing each other?"

Jack's lips twitched like he almost smiled but held it back, something more serious glinting in his eyes instead. Robby set down mugs on the table and dropped onto the arm of the couch on your right.

"Yeah," Robby said, voice softer now. "More than okay."

Jack reached up, thumb tracing the edge of your jaw. "Been a long time coming, if you ask me," he said quietly. "And if we weren’t good with it, sweetheart, you’d know already."

Robby leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, flashing you a crooked grin. "If it's any consolation," he said, voice teasing, "I liked you first."

You scoffed, the tension easing a little, even as your cheeks heated. Jack snorted under his breath, giving Robby a sideways look. "Congratulations. You had a head start and still fumbled it."

"Hey!" Robby protested. "Some of us play the long game."

You shook your head, warmth blooming in your chest, feeling the old familiar dynamic between them—sniping, nudging, teasing—but now all focused on you.

"So," you said, biting your lip. "Was that what you two were arguing about that day by the lockers? A few weeks ago?"

Jack sighed through his nose, and Robby grinned like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Yeah," Robby admitted. "You caught the tail end of it."

Jack's hand slid down your arm, squeezing gently. "We were... figuring it out."

"Mostly... arguing over who was gonna make the first move," Robby added, winking.

You laughed, soft and breathless, the last of the nerves bleeding out of you. Robby bumped your shoulder gently with his, his eyes crinkling with affection.

"Old school here wanted to make some grand gesture," Jack said, jerking his thumb at Robby. "I was ready to just tackle you and confess."

Robby shook his head, tongue poking the inside of his cheek, the corner of his mouth twitching. "And you wonder why I didn't trust you to lead."

You let out a giggle you couldn't quite suppress, heart squeezing at how easy this felt—how they both looked at you like you were something precious. Jack shifted closer, his knee brushing yours, while Robby draped his arm casually across the back of the couch behind you.

"Whatever pace you want, sweetheart," Jack murmured. "Whatever you need. If you want this—us—we're in."

"We're not going anywhere," Robby affirmed. "Only if you want us too."

Cradling the warm mug between your hands, you smiled to yourself, giddy and a little dazed. Surrounded by them—their warmth, their steadiness, their absolute certainty—you felt a slow, overwhelming peace settle into your bones.

Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined either of them liking you—let alone, outside any professional context—but this? This was beyond anything you dared hope for. A dream you hadn't even let yourself dream.

Still, nerves prickled under your skin. Nerves hummed just beneath your skin. "I’m nervous," you admitted, voice soft but steady. "I’ve never done anything like this before. What if I’m not enough? What if I disappoint you? I don’t know if I’m built for relationships—let alone something this delicate. I’m scared I won’t be able to give each of you what you need."

Robby immediately set his mug down and reached for you, his hand settling warmly on your thigh, squeezing gently. "Hey," he said, voice low and sure. "You’re already enough. You, exactly as you are."

Jack leaned in too, his fingers brushing the back of your neck, grounding you with each slow stroke. "We’re not asking for perfect," he murmured. "We just want you."

Their certainty cracked something open inside you, something you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding shut—and slowly, steadily, the fear loosened its grip.

You set your mug down, heart hammering, and looked between them, searching their faces one more time. Robby gave you an encouraging tilt of his head; Jack’s hand never left your skin, tracing slow, grounding patterns.

You cleared your throat. "So how does..." you gestured vaguely between the three of you, "this work? Sharing me, I mean."

Robby chuckled. "Well, we'd figure it out together," he said easily. His fingers traced lazy circles over your knee, comforting, teasing. "It’s not about splitting you up or taking turns like it’s a damn schedule. It’s about both of us making sure you feel wanted. Taken care of. Every second."

As he spoke, Jack leaned in, lips brushing just below your ear, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. Goosebumps bloomed across your skin. 

Robby's voice dropped, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilted his head toward Jack. "Though he’s better at explaining the rules."

Jack's hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face toward him. "No rules, not really," he murmured, mouth dragging along your neck. "Just tell us what you need. When you need it. And we—" he pressed a lingering kiss just below your jawline, "promise to give it to you."

You exhaled shakily, caught between the heat of Jack’s mouth and the warm weight of Robby's hand sliding higher along your thigh, the both of them slowly, steadily, setting you aflame.

Jack leaned in first—not demanding, not pushing, just giving you space to meet him halfway. You did, pressing your mouth to his, a sigh escaping against his lips. His kiss was slow at first, savoring, a promise.

When you broke apart, Robby was already there, catching your chin between his fingers and drawing you into him. His kiss was hotter, rougher, all pent-up hunger and laughter and want. You gasped softly into his mouth, fingers curling in his shirt.

Hands roamed—Jack’s warm and patient, stroking slow, steady paths along your inner thigh, while Robby’s fingers flirted shamelessly with the hem of your shirt, tugging it higher inch by inch. The pace between them built naturally—Jack’s touch grounding and possessive, Robby’s teasing and featherlight, like a promise he was aching to keep.

Jack’s hand slipped under the fabric of your top first, palm splaying flat over your bare stomach, the heat of him searing straight through you. Robby followed a breath later, fingers brushing just beneath your ribs, making you arch into them, helpless and wanting. Jack’s mouth was back on your neck, teeth scraping lightly against your pulse, while Robby pressed kisses along your jaw, slow and coaxing, both of them winding you tighter with every breath.

The duality of it—the steadiness of Jack’s hands anchoring you, the playful, maddening tease of Robby’s touch—left you trembling, gasping, caught between them, aching. They didn’t just touch you—they learned you, charting every gasp, every shiver, every breathless plea with reverent, greedy hands. And you gave yourself over to it completely, trusting them to catch you as you fell.

Jack's hand slid higher, fingertips brushing just beneath the band of your bra, while Robby nudged your shirt up over your ribs, planting slow, open-mouthed kisses along your exposed skin. They worked in tandem, peeling your shirt away with practiced ease, leaving you shivering and bare between them.

Jack kissed along your collarbone, featherlight, while Robby's hands coasted down your sides, making you arch and sigh into their touch. You felt dizzy with it, lost in the contrast—Jack's slow, claiming heat, Robby's teasing, daring warmth. Every nerve in your body sang for them, thrumming with the need to be touched, devoured, loved.

Jack's mouth returned to yours in a slow, bruising kiss while Robby leaned in, hands slipping beneath the band of your bra, rough thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped, the sensation sparking through you like lightning, hips shifting restlessly against the couch cushions.

Robby grinned against your shoulder, murmuring low against your skin, "Sensitive, huh?"

Jack chuckled into your mouth, his hands steadying your waist. "Good to know..."

You whimpered, nodding, surrendering completely to their slow, relentless worship—your body already unraveling under their hands and mouths, and they were just getting started.

"Too many clothes... off," you gasped breathlessly, tugging at the hem of your own top and glancing meaningfully between the two of them.

Robby grinned, wicked and eager. "Thought you'd never ask."

Jack hummed low in his throat, his hands already sliding up your sides, helping to peel the rest of your clothes away with deliberate slowness—as if unwrapping something precious they both intended to indulge in to the fullest extent.

They stripped you bare first, taking their time, every inch of skin revealed under their hungry, adoring gazes. After, you leaned back against the couch, heart hammering, feeling their eyes rake over you with something between adoration and possession. Then they undressed themselves—shirts pulled off in swift, unceremonious movements, revealing solid, muscular frames. Jack's arms flexed as he tossed his shirt aside, lean but powerful, while Robby's broader chest gleamed under the low light, his biceps straining deliciously as he shucked off his own layers.

You couldn't help it—you toyed with the hem of your underwear absentmindedly, admiring them, drinking them in. The dips of their hips, the strength built over years of unrelenting shifts and physical work. The noticeable bulges pressing against their briefs made your thighs squeeze together instinctively, seeking relief from the growing, delicious ache.

Both of them noticed. Jack prowled closer first, his eyes dark, focused, reverent, like he was already memorizing every inch of you. Robby followed, his grin dropping into something hungrier, need coiling thick between the three of you.

Jack knelt between your legs, his hands trailing slowly up your calves, your knees, coaxing them apart as Robby lowered himself onto the couch behind you, sliding you down lower, pulling your back flush against his chest. His arms bracketed you securely, anchoring you against the firm heat of his body, while you melted between him and Jack, breath catching at the feeling of being completely surrounded.

You felt their heat everywhere—Jack's breath fanning against your inner thighs, Robby's heartbeat hammering steady against your spine. Jack's hands were firm on your thighs, thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your skin prickle with anticipation. Behind you, Robby's hands roamed shamelessly, toying with your stomach, skimming higher to tease the sensitive peaks of your breasts, brushing and rolling your nipples until you gasped and arched into their touch, caught helplessly between them.

Jack glanced up at you through his lashes, a slow, devastating smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Let us take care of you."

Robby murmured into your ear, his lips brushing your temple. "Just lean back. Let us show you how good this can be."

You whimpered softly, head falling back against Robby's shoulder, fully surrendering to them. Jack's hands squeezed your thighs, steadying you, while Robby's fingers skimmed higher, teasing circles around your nipples until you were trembling with need.

Jack pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, then another, working his way slowly, deliberately up your inner thigh, each one hotter, wetter, more possessive than the last. Robby kept you anchored, his free hand brushing your hair back from your face, murmuring low praise against your skin, grounding you even as you unraveled.

Every brush of Jack's stubble against your sensitive thighs sent shivers skating down your spine. You barely managed to pant out, "Please," before Jack's mouth hovered dangerously close to where you needed him most, the heat of his breath making you writhe against Robby's chest, desperate and burning and so beautifully undone.

Jack hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down with agonizing slowness. Once it was off, he balled the fabric in his hand for a moment—then tossed it up toward Robby without a word. Robby caught it without missing a beat. He lifted it to his face, inhaled deeply, and groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back. "Fuck, baby," he rasped, his grip tightening around your waist.

And then—finally—Jack's mouth found you. One slow, deliberate lick that made you cry out, made your whole body tense and shudder against Robby's.

Jack groaned into you, hands digging into your thighs like he could hold you open forever. He ate you out like a man possessed, like he'd been starved for the taste of you and was finally allowed to feast. Messy, desperate, utterly pussy-drunk. He mouthed and sucked and licked you like worship, dragging obscene sounds from your throat with every flick of his tongue. The wet, filthy sounds of it filled the room, each lap of his tongue driving you closer to the edge.

You were soaked—shamelessly, beautifully wet for him—and Jack reveled in it, letting out a low, wrecked groan every time you bucked against his mouth. His face was drenched in you, slick and shining under the dim lights, the evidence of your pleasure painting his jaw and chin as he worked you over with single-minded devotion. Robby pressed kisses along your temple, whispering praises into your ear, but it was Jack who owned you in that moment—Jack who wouldn't stop, couldn't stop until you shattered for him, drunk on nothing but the sound and taste and feel of you, desperate for everything you would give him.

Jack slid one thick finger inside you, curling it expertly, pulling another whimper from your throat. He didn't give you time to adjust before slipping in a second, stretching you so sweetly, working you open with slow, devastating precision. Robby's fingers trailed down your stomach, teasing lazy, featherlight patterns until they found your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Jack held your right thigh open with one firm hand, while Robby used his left leg to nudge your other knee wider, keeping you perfectly spread for them—completely, gloriously exposed. The contrast of their steady pressure, their control, only heightened the burning pleasure already coiling low in your belly. 

Overwhelming was an understatement to describe the state of your sensory cortex—Jack's tongue and fingers working deep inside you, Robby's slow, relentless pressure on your clit. You felt your soul begin to slip from your body, floating somewhere above, untethered by the sheer, unbearable pleasure. Everything was too much—the wet, filthy sound of Jack feasting on you, the breathy filth Robby was murmuring in your ear, the way they both knew exactly how to break you apart.

It hit you like a flashfire—white-hot and consuming—and you exploded with a choked cry, body arching helplessly between them as the orgasm ripped through you, shattering you into a thousand glittering pieces in their hands.

Jack didn't stop—not at first. He licked you through it, groaning into your core like a man possessed, savoring every trembling aftershock you gave him. Robby held you tighter, grounding you while your vision blurred and your body spasmed with the force of it.

You whimpered, boneless and wrecked, hips twitching as Jack finally eased off with a final kiss to your sensitive clit. When he pulled back, his face was a mess—slick with your release, shining under the dim lights, utterly wrecked and utterly in love with the taste of you.

He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth—completely unashamed—and smirked, voice rough and low. "You taste even better than I dreamed, sweetheart."

He lifted his hand—your essence webbed slick between his middle and ring fingers—and held it up toward Robby. Robby caught his wrist without hesitation, wrapped his lips around Jack's fingers, and sucked them clean, slow and deliberate. The sight—Robby moaning low around Jack’s fingers, Jack staring down at you like he wanted to devour you all over again—nearly made you die and ascend straight to heaven on the spot.

Robby licked his lips, eyes molten. His voice was low and rough when he finally spoke. "Which one of us do you want first?" 

You could barely breathe, still half-falling from your last orgasm. Your body was limp, floating, buzzing with overstimulation—but the way they looked at you—hungry, waiting—set a fresh ache rolling through your gut. 

You bit your lip, gaze flickering between them. Robby—broad and steady behind you, heat radiating from his bare chest now damp with sweat. Jack—still kneeling between your spread thighs, resting his head lightly against your thigh like it was a pillow, his face slick with you, shining under the dim lights. He stared up at you with a look so raw, so utterly reverent, it made your breath catch—like you were something holy, something he couldn't believe he was allowed to touch.

You opened your mouth to answer—but all that came out was a wrecked, breathy little giggle.

Jack chuckled, low and wrecked. "Yeah," he rasped, thumb brushing your thigh possessively. "We might've broken her a little."

Robby grinned wickedly against your shoulder, pressing a slow kiss to your neck. "We haven't even started yet, baby."

You found the strength to lift your head, heart still hammering against your ribs. Jack and Robby seemed to feel it too—the need to slow, just for a second, to gather you back into yourself.Jack kissed your thigh softly while Robby stroked lazy, grounding patterns along your ribs and stomach, whispering, "Breathe. We've got you."

Their touches soothed the wild, frantic buzz in your veins. You melted between them, savoring that brief, perfect moment of care—before the tension, the heat, the hunger started sparking again.

You leaned forward, pulling Jack up onto the couch, crashing your mouth against his in a heated, desperate kiss. You tasted yourself on his tongue, slick and filthy and devastating—and it only made you kiss him harder, grinding your hips against Robby in wordless, frantic need.

Robby groaned, feeling you start to move against him, and his hands slid possessively down your sides to anchor you. Jack pulled back just enough for you to gasp a shaky breath, eyes dark and blown wide, before you started moving, trading places—Robby got up with a low groan, adjusting himself slightly as he moved aside. You slid off Robby's lap, allowing Jack to fall back onto the couch cushions, legs spread, inviting. Kneeling between Jack’s thighs, your fingers fumbled at his waistband. He hissed softly when you freed him, the heavy, flushed weight of him slapping against his stomach.

Robby kneeled down behind you—his hands tracing down the delicate arch of your back, then slipping lower to spread you open. You shuddered as he leaned in, pressing a soft, teasing lick along your folds, tasting you again before standing up behind you, lining himself up.

Jack held his hand up toward Robby and paused for a beat, gaze searching yours. "Do you want us to use condoms?" he asked, voice quiet but serious.

You shook your head instantly, breathless but certain. "I want to feel you. Please, I need you like this..."

That was all the permission they needed.

Before he could push in, you turned your head slightly, your hands reaching back. You found Robby's cock in one hand and Jack's in the other, stroking them both slowly, deliberately, savoring the way each man shuddered under your touch. You gave yourself a moment to take in their differences: Robby was longer, while Jack was thicker. Robby had a dark, full bush of hair at his base, while Jack was trimmed short, neat but not bare. Both of them were perfect—different textures, different shapes—but each exactly the right length and girth to fulfill your every need. Your mouth watered just thinking about it, your thighs instinctively pressing together in anticipation.

Robby leaned down, kissed the curve of your shoulder, and then pointed toward Jack with a tilt of his chin, a silent handoff. "It's okay, baby," he murmured against your skin, voice thick with need. "We've got you."

With that, he gripped your hips, steadying you, and with one slow, devastating push, he slid inside—filling you completely, making your knees tremble.

"Fuck." You couldn't tell which one of you said it but all of you understood. 

Sandwiched between them, your mouth found Jack’s cock, wrapping your lips around him as Robby filled you from behind, and you thought—half-delirious—that heaven had nothing on this.

"I'm considering getting it taken out," you admitted to Samira one sluggish morning, slumped at the nurses' station after a brutal overnight shift. "I haven't had sex in forever. And honestly? After that disaster of a 'date' last month—if you can even call it that—I’m swearing off men altogether."

Samira snorted into her coffee. "Babe. It's an IUD, not a vow of celibacy. Just leave it. Who knows? One day you’ll trip and fall onto someone worthwhile."

You laughed weakly, swirling your pen between your fingers. "Yeah. The odds of my toys and I having a long, happy life together are becoming more and more likely."

Neither of you noticed Jack and Robby just around the corner of the nurses' station, both frozen in place, pretending to sift through charts as they listened intently—Jack’s jaw clenched tight, Robby’s fingers twitching like he wanted to strangle something. Robby cleared his throat a little too aggressively.

Samira sipped her coffee, then grinned over the rim of the mug. "Please. The perfect man could walk in, naked, with a six-pack and a stethoscope and you’d still roll your eyes."

You snorted. "Exactly. Unless he’s got magic hands and a brain with emotional intelligence to match, I’m not interested. And even then…" You shrugged. "Battery-powered and drama-free is winning right now."

Jack's pen snapped clean in two, the sharp crack making you and Samira both glance up. He didn't even flinch, just grabbed another pen—handed to him silently by Robby, like nothing had happened—and kept moving. You and Samira shared a puzzled look before continuing your conversation.

"I'm just saying," Samira continued breezily, unaware of the storm brewing behind the divider, "maybe keep it. Future you might thank you."

Jack’s voice floated in a second later—low, rough, a little too casual. "Keep it."

You blinked. "Uh… thanks for the unsolicited medical advice, Dr. Abbot?" you teased lightly.

Jack just shrugged, gaze unreadable. "Saw a teen pregnancy case come through last night," he said, voice low and rough.

Samira let out a soft exhale. "Shit."

You winced, the image settling heavy in your chest. "That’s awful."

Jack tipped his chin down. "Reminded me how fast things can change. Better to be protected. Even if you think you won’t need it."

You nodded slowly, assuming he meant it like any good physician would—just another reminder in a world of unpredictable chaos. At the time, you didn't know that when he said "keep it," he wasn’t thinking about some random case or an oath of ethics.

He was thinking about you, and Robby, and the secret, filthy hope that someday soon, it wouldn’t just be hypothetical anymore.

The thing about Jack and Robby was this—they both prided themselves on being brilliant doctors, but even more so on remembering the little things.

Especially when it came to you.

A particularly deep thrust snapped you out of your mind wandering. Robby set a brutal pace almost immediately, hips slamming into yours with deep, relentless thrusts that made your entire body jolt forward. You moaned around Jack's cock, drool slipping from the corners of your lips, your throat vibrating with every desperate, broken sound you made.

Jack hissed, his hand tangling in your hair, the vibrations from your moans sending sharp waves of pleasure up his spine. "Fuck, sweetheart," he groaned, head falling back against the couch. "You're perfect like this."

You could barely think, overwhelmed and soaked, the rhythm of Robby pounding into you from behind driving you forward with every thrust—until your lips slid further down Jack's length, gagging slightly as you fought to keep your composure.

"That's it," Robby growled, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other sliding up your spine. "Look at you… taking him so well while I wreck you."

Jack moaned low in his throat, eyes dark and glassy as he watched your mouth stretch around him. "Jesus Christ," he breathed, his voice rough and reverent. "You're gonna make me lose it."

Robby laughed softly behind you, breath hot against your shoulder as he drove into you with another sharp, delicious thrust. "She loves it. Don't you, baby?"

You could only let out a faint, muffled whimper, your mouth still stuffed full of Jack. Jack leaned forward, his hand curling into your hair and giving a firm tug at the roots—just enough to sting, just enough to make your eyes roll back with the delicious ache.

"He asked you a question, sweetheart..." he cooed, his voice dark silk in your ear.

He pulled you off his cock slowly, strings of spit still connecting your lips to him, a line trailing messily down your chin. You turned your head to look back at Robby, dazed and trembling, lips swollen, your chin slick, eyes red-rimmed and glassy with the threat of a tear, and a blissed-out, filthy smile curving your mouth.

"I love it," you managed, voice hoarse, breath catching between words. "I love everything you're doing to me. Please... don't stop."

Robby’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. His eyes darkened, hands tightening on your hips. "Fuck," he rasped, stunned and awed. "You’re gonna be the death of me."

Jack leaned in, brushing your hair away from your face with a surprisingly gentle hand, his other palm cradling your cheek. "You’re doing so well," he murmured, voice a smooth, deep rasp that curled low in your belly. "So fucking perfect like this. Look at you, taking him so well. Can you feel how much he loves being inside you?"

You whimpered, nodding as Jack’s fingers trailed down your jaw, tilting your chin up so he could look into your eyes. "That’s it," he whispered. 

Jack brushed your cheek with his knuckles, tugging you into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, his hips slowing just enough to keep you balanced right on the precipice. You moaned against him, the sound helpless, raw—your body trembling with need. Robby's smirk brushed your skin where he pressed kisses to your shoulder, still moving inside you with slow, devastating thrusts. He pulled out suddenly, making you whimper as the high you were balancing on ripped cruelly from your grasp. You barely had time to recover before Jack's hand wrapped around your throat, firm but careful, beckoning you to follow his lead.

"On the couch," he ordered, voice rough silk.

Dazed but obedient, you moved quickly, positioning yourself laterally across the couch and head perched on the raised armrest. Robby stood directly above your head, cock glistening and heavy, while Jack moved below you, one hand stroking your chest possessively before gripping your thighs.

You braced your elbows on the cushions, breath catching as Jack lined himself up. With one strong, devastating push, he filled you—thicker, stretching you even more, making your mouth fall open in a ragged moan. Robby guided your face toward him, his hand gentle on your cheek, his cock brushing your lips. You blinked up at him, wrecked, lips parted around a gasp as Jack pounded into you, driving you up with every punishing thrust. Robby watched you with hooded eyes, stroking himself lazily, the sight of you completely wrecked making his cock twitch in his hand.

"Come on, baby," he said softly, thumbing the center of your lip. "Open up for me."

"Look at you," Jack rasped. "You're fucking perfect. Made for us."

Both of them were drinking in the sight of you—your hair damp and stuck to your forehead, lips swollen and slick. Your moans were breathy and ragged, a near-constant stream of gasps and incorrigible cries. Robby's gaze was half-lidded, jaw tight. Jack’s hands gripped your hips like he never wanted to let go, his eyes devouring every inch of you like a man deprived of oxygen. The raw awe in their stares made your stomach twist with heat.

It was too much. The stretch of Jack's thick cock filling you, Robby's taste still lingering on your tongue. Surrounded by their heat, their sounds mixing with your own, the pressure finally crested. Your pleasure broke like a supernova, sharp and wild, tearing through you. You came again with a single, desperate cry, your entire body convulsing between them, walls fluttering and gripping Jack so tightly it dragged a guttural, broken groan from his throat.

That did it for Robby.

He thrust into your mouth with a sharp snap of his hips, then again, and again—desperate, ragged, chasing his own high. You could barely keep up, still shuddering from your orgasm as he fucked your throat, one hand braced on the back of the couch, the other in your hair.

"Jesus fuck—" he gasped, voice unraveling. "Just like that..."

With a final, wrecked moan, Robby came, hips stuttering. Hot release spilled across your tongue as he groaned through clenched teeth, fingers flexing in your hair as he slowly stilled, trembling with aftershocks.

You swallowed greedily, drinking him down without hesitation, eager for every drop. His taste sent another flicker of arousal through your spent frame. The hunger in your body didn’t fade—it only simmered lower, deeper, tethered to the way Robby was still trembling, cock pulsing with the last aftershocks of his release. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, cheeks flushed, a dazed but satisfied smile curling at the corners of his lips as he memorized you—every wrecked, glistening inch of you. Jack, still hard and deep inside you, kept his hands on your hips, his eyes fixed on your face like he was watching something holy.

Jack slowed his thrusts, then gestured silently for Robby to join him.

Robby leaned down and gave you a deep, claiming kiss, tasting himself on your tongue with a low groan before making his way down your body. Jack shifted, lifting you with surprising care, settling onto the couch with you pulled onto his lap—back to his chest. You were straddling him in reverse, legs spread open across the cushions.

"Just relax," Jack murmured against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin. "Let us take care of you." 

Robby knelt down between your legs, his breath ghosting over your plump folds before his mouth latched on, tongue teasing and devouring in practiced rhythm. He licked long and deep, groaning into you, tasting both your slick and Jack's—heady, intoxicating. He held your knees wide open, anchoring you in place with firm hands, occasionally slipping one beneath your thighs to lift you slightly—helping Jack thrust up harder, deeper, driving his cock into you at an angle that made your vision blur.

Jack's hands returned to your breasts, massaging, kneading, rolling your nipples between his fingers until you whimpered. One hand slid up to your throat again, pressing just enough to make your breath catch, before traveling back down over your chest, across your belly.

If God was real, you had no doubt that this was the Biblical version of heaven. Jack filling you from behind, grinding up into your sweet spot with precision, while Robby sucked at your clit, tongue flicking and curling.

Robby pulled back for a moment with a breathless groan, his mouth slick, beard glistening, and eyes dark with awe. "So fucking beautiful," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your trembling inner thigh.

Jack's voice followed, low and wrecked against your ear.

"One more for us," he rasped. "Come for us again. Give it to us."

The word—us—shattered something inside you. The way he said it, raw and desperate, made your body clench again in anticipation, your breath hitching helplessly as the overwhelming pressure began to build all over again.

Your vision went white. The combined rhythm of Jack's thrusts and Robby's relentless mouth on your clit sent you spiraling. You shattered with a choked cry, body trembling uncontrollably, and everything dropped away for a second—blacking out from the intensity of it.

Jack groaned when he felt your walls clamp down hard around him, the aftershocks of your orgasm milking him with every flutter. He growled into your shoulder and buried himself deep, spilling into you with a rough, broken curse, clutching you tightly as he came, hips twitching with each wave of release.

You collapsed back against his chest, boneless and dazed, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it thrum through your fingertips. Jack wrapped an arm tightly around your waist, pressing lazy, reverent kisses to your shoulder as he caught his breath.

Robby made his way up the couch and slid in beside you, tucking your loose hair behind your ear before pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek. "You are an absolute vision," he murmured against your skin, voice low. Jack found your hand, intertwining your fingers, rubbing soothing circles into the knuckle of your index finger. The steady rhythm of his thumb was the only thing anchoring you to the now, holding you steady in the soft, humming aftermath.

They took their time with you after that—gentle hands roaming your skin, tender kisses mapping your body. Jack shifted you carefully off his lap, murmuring soft praises as he rubbed soothing circles over the places where his grip had been a little too rough, thumbs ghosting over faint red imprints along your hips and thighs. He pressed warm, apologetic kisses to your shoulder, to the curve of your neck, anywhere his hands had left their mark. Robby, meanwhile, grabbed a warm cloth and helped clean you up with quiet, focused tenderness, his fingers brushing your skin like you were made of glass, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee when he finished.

You smiled through the haze of bliss, wriggling free once you felt a little more solid. "Be right back," you muttered, voice scratchy and small.

You tried to stand—and immediately wobbled, your knees buckling.

Jack and Robby, splayed out lazily on the couch, reacted instantly. Their hands came up instinctively to support your back and arms, steadying you with a gentleness that made your chest ache. When you managed to stay upright, they let their hands linger a beat longer.

They watched you sway with twin smirks tugging at their lips, too spent to do much else but chuckle under their breath.

"Careful," Jack drawled, his voice rough but warm. "You look like you just got hit by a truck."

Robby grinned, resting his head against the back of the couch. "Hell of a good one, though."

You managed to wobble to the bathroom, limbs heavy and bliss-drunk, but halfway there, you turned around briefly—gave them both a playful glare, narrowing your eyes, and held up a finger in mock warning.

The living room echoed with bellied laughter, eyes bright despite the exhaustion, the sound warm and full of affection.

By the time you returned from the bathroom, your body felt like a jar of honey under summer sun, the post-sex haze still curling like smoke under your skin. You flopped gracelessly back onto the couch, a sigh of contentment escaping your lips. Jack and Robby had disappeared briefly into the bathroom themselves. You heard the sound of running water, a few low murmurs exchanged, and then footsteps returning.

When they stepped back into the room, you were curled into the couch cushions, fast asleep, a soft smile curving your lips—blissed out and peaceful. Jack stopped in his tracks, heart thudding at the sight. Robby stilled beside him, eyes soft.

"Out like a light," Robby said quietly, but fondly.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. She earned it."

With a quiet grunt, Robby bent and scooped you up gently, cradling you against his chest. You stirred slightly, your arms looping behind his neck, head nuzzling into his collarbone. Jack padded behind, turning off the lights as they went.

The bedroom was dim and quiet. Robby laid you down carefully, brushing the hair from your face as Jack pulled the covers up over you. You shifted sleepily, instinctively reaching for them.

They climbed in on either side of you—Robby wrapping an arm around your waist, Jack curling close behind. Sandwiched between them, you let out a little contented hum as Jack pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, and Robby to your shoulder.

And in that soft, sleepy silence, you drifted off again—safe, wrapped in warmth, held by the two men who had finally let themselves love you, together.

—

Morning came slowly, the golden haze of sunlight warming the sheets. You stirred first, blinking your eyes open and stretching slightly—only to wince at the delicious soreness that radiated from places you hadn’t known could be sore. You smiled into your pillow as flashes from the night before flared back into focus: the heat of their bodies, the sound of their voices, the way your name had spilled from their mouths.

You tip-toed to the bathroom first, brushing your teeth with the spare toothbrush Robby kept under the sink and washing your face. The cool water anchored you back in your body. When you looked up, the mirror offered you a sight to behold—patches of hickeys forming on your neck, some darker than others, scattered like constellations across your collarbone and throat. Something flashed in your core, a low ache waking up with a pulse of memory. Your smile curled with equal parts embarrassment and pride.

Voices drifted from the kitchen. You pulled on a random shirt hung on the edge of the laundry hamper and padded toward the sound, feet silent on the hardwood.

Jack and Robby stood by the stove—well, more accurately, bickered at the stove. Robby held a spatula mid-air while Jack pointed at something on the counter.

"You can’t add garlic to pancakes," Jack muttered, exasperated.

Robby rolled his eyes. "I wasn’t adding it to the pancakes. I was sautéing it for the eggs—Jesus, keep your scrubs on."

Jack gestured broadly with a mixing bowl. "They’re in the same pan, Robby. They’re going to taste like garlic pancakes."

You leaned against the doorway, grinning as you watched them. Both of them were shirtless, wearing sweatpants. His curls were still mussed from sleep, and Robby wore his sweats low on his hips. They looked like a married couple arguing over brunch logistics—and you loved it more than you could say.

"You need to flip that now or it's going to burn," Jack warned, eyeing the skillet like it had personally offended him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Robby shot back, jabbing at the eggs with the spatula, "Did you suddenly become head chef? You're not even on omelette duty."

Jack crossed his arms and tipped his chin up. "I was until you hijacked the burner and tried to infuse everything with garlic."

"As someone who survived off of expired MREs and basically drinks hot sauce as your only condiment, you are the last person who should be judging my culinary decisions."

You couldn’t hold back your amused scoff. You cleared your throat loudly.

They both froze and turned like synchronized swimmers. Two sets of eyes locked onto you—Jack’s going slightly wide, Robby’s mouth parting like he was about to offer an excuse.

"Morning," you said, deadpan, then broke into a smile.

Their expressions melted, sheepish grins appearing in tandem.

Jack stepped forward first, slipping a hand around your waist and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. It was soft, warm, lingering just long enough to make your chest flutter.

Robby started to move toward you too, clearly intending to follow suit, but Jack smirked and turned slightly. "Can’t let the eggs burn, can we?"

Robby glared at him but stayed put, grumbling under his breath as he gave the eggs a stir.

With a quiet laugh, you stepped over to him and tiptoed to press a kiss to his cheek. "Good morning, chef."

His grumble softened into a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into your kiss.

Behind you, Jack busied himself at the counter. "Coffee?"

You nodded. "Please. God, yes."

He smiled without turning around, already reaching for a mug. The air was thick with the scent of breakfast, coffee, and something much softer—something like home.

He handed you the cup a moment later, and your fingers brushed as you took it. Jack gave you a smile that was still sleep-soft and just a little shy, like he couldn't quite believe this was real.

Robby passed you a plate stacked high with eggs and a slightly lopsided pancake, and kissed your temple as you sat down. "Hope you’re hungry. I tried." Jack pinched his side lightly at the remark, smirking. Robby swatted his hand away with a glare, but he was smiling too.

"It looks delicious," you murmured, cheeks warm.

You ate shoulder to shoulder, trading quiet smiles and bites off each other's plates, content in the hush of morning. Jack poured more coffee without being asked. Robby reached over occasionally to tuck your hair behind your ear. It was nothing—and everything.

When the meal was done, you sat in the warmth of it all, sipping slowly from your mug.

Jack stretched behind you, his voice low. "We should do this again."

You looked up at him. "Breakfast?"

He smiled. "All of it."

Robby leaned back in his chair and reached for your hand. "Yeah. Us."

And for once, the thought didn’t scare you. It settled in your chest like something inevitable. Like something already yours. "I'd like that... very much..."

Jack kissed your temple again, his lips lingering a second longer, and Robby gave your hand a small squeeze. No fanfare. No big declarations. Just warmth, safety, and quiet promises in the soft morning light.

Robby nudged your plate closer. "You want the last pancake?"

You shook your head with a sleepy grin. "Only if we split it."

Jack rolled his eyes fondly and reached for a fork. "God help us, we’ve become that couple."

"Correction," Robby said, stealing a bite anyway. "That throuple."

You laughed, heart full to the brim. And as they bickered softly over syrup and coffee refills, you leaned back in your chair, wrapped in the calm after the storm—content, adored, and exactly where you belonged.

[ovaryacted]

SPECIAL TREATMENT

─ Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem! reader || WC: 1.2k

CW: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Michael is canon age, reader is 25+]. Power imbalance situation [Attending/Resident]. FWB dynamic, sort of. Past mentions of smut in different instances. Oral (m & f receiving. Unprotected p in v. Heavy praise kink. Everything is consensual & mutual. They’re freaky idk. A tinge of yearning. Reader has hair & is a beast at medicine. Note: I have not watched The Pitt yet, so I apologize for any mischaracterizations lolz.

Hi. I honestly don't know what this is. It came to me in a dream after I yapped with @superhoeva in the DMS, and now she's tormenting me to keep writing for Mista Dr. Robby. Now I'm sucked into this world that I didn't even know existed lmao. Anywho, walk with me for a second here, let me cook! Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated. Proofread by moi. <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

It all started with two simple words.

“Good job.”

Seven letters. One singular statement. A term of encouragement familiar to practitioners all over the Pitt, and of course it’s not unknown to you. Always said in recognition of one’s efforts, and in this family you’ve meshed with in the emergency department, it went a long way to hear that phrase after the intense shifts you all had to handle.

Though with Dr. Robby, it had a second meaning.

Sure, he recognized everyone’s hard efforts in saving lives, pairing his words with a nice pat on the shoulder and his signature smile. But he would never admit to giving you special treatment, at least away from prying eyes.

As a fourth year resident in the Pitt, you’ve already made somewhat of a name for yourself, and it didn’t go unnoticed by your other colleagues, especially Dr. Robby. You impress him on a daily basis, your quick reflexes in adapting to current situations is a trait he’s always admired, your ability to keep your cool in moments that would otherwise crack everyone else brings a mix of admiration and envy. You weren’t particularly the sensitive type, often reminding him of Dr. Abbott and his demeanor at times, but he knows it’s because you’re determined, because you hold yourself to a different standard and aim to command any room you step foot in regardless of the circumstances.

He can sympathize with that, he was like that years ago. It’s nice to watch the spark take over when you’re in your element.

You can be confident and borderline cocky at times, but never arrogant. You barely flinch when you need to crack open someone’s chest, or when you were covered with blood after a particularly extreme trauma, steady hands working despite the adrenaline running through you. Michael liked when you called the shots before he did, and usually he didn’t need to ask for your thoughts on the cases assigned to you when you were already so persistent in sharing your resolutions.

He had no choice but to commend you for your hard work, always slipping a quick “good job” after doing something right or a “job well done” once things were taken care of. You’d never show it to anyone else, but Michael knew the impact of his words, how your eyes gleamed for the slightest second as you fought off the urge to smile. It was amusing to say the least, so he didn’t stop, he couldn’t, not when it encouraged you to push your own limits, to be the best, if not for yourself then for him.

He reveled in it.

Your consistent performance is what resulted in this mess you found yourself in. Going from being Dr. Robby’s trusted and favorite resident to something more over the course of a year was enough to give you whiplash.

It began with a brief “pep talk” in an empty on-call room. You thought you had fucked up royally on the last patient you had, that maybe Dr. Robby had a different opinion towards your approach. Yet, he surprises you when he leans down to kiss you, your breath hitching in your throat and instantly reaching to grasp his shoulders, fingers digging into the material of his hoodie in an attempt to bring him closer.

Those two little words became a frequent saying in the safety of his apartment, where you often went after your shifts synched up. Michael always needed to give you more than just words, to feed you the reverence you deserved—craved even.

He always tells you when your lips were wrapped around his length, sucking lavishly while he keeps your hair out of your face. Your throat grew sore from the tip of him slipping inside, lips plump with your constant sucking. Pulling away with a smile on your spit covered face and placing a wet kiss to his crown, the words tumble out of him with a groan.

“That’s a good girl. Taking all of me like that. Good job, baby.”

Or when it was his head between your thighs, licking and eating at you with such fervor, your thighs shake every time. Clutching at his head, you’ve already fallen over the edge twice, and it was never enough for Michael. Like an addict, he ate you up until his jaw ached, refusing to leave his spot from your cunt until tears streaked down your face and your overworked pussy throbbed from all of his attention. Despite his overwhelming touch, he was always there to keep you grounded with his slick covered mouth.

“Doing such a good job for me. You got one more in you, right? One more and I’ll give you what you need.”

And the other instances where he was inside you? Those were probably your favorite pastimes.

Your legs were hanging loosely over his hips as he pummeled into you, back arching up as your arms slung around his neck. Moaning against the side of his throat, Michael cradled the back of your head with one hand, the other keeping your lower back at the right angle, letting his cock fill every crevice so deliciously you had no other choice but to just take him. Completely smothered under him, your senses were overwhelmed with him; his scent, his touch, his voice. Tears pooled at your lash line, cheeks warm under the intense gaze of the man hovering above you, stuttering on your own breath that turns into a moan at the precision of his thrusting. He only smirks above you, lifting up one of your thighs to his shoulder and diving inside you even deeper.

“Been such a good girl for me, letting me take care of you like this. I know, I know. I got you.”

Your moment of daydreaming is cut short as you’re back in the commotion of the Pitt, the beeping of the machines and people yelling here and there grab your attention once more, deciding to look down at your clipboard to review what else was on your roster for the day.

“Reviewing the caseload?”

You didn’t need to look in the direction of the person’s voice to know it was Dr. Robby, slyly eyeing up at you from where he sat, typing some notes on the computer. The black glasses he wore sat on his sharp nose, a staple to the rest of his appearance along with his cargo pants and baggy zip-up.

“Had so much on my plate I started to lose count. You still want me to handle that patient in Room 5? Heard it was a bad one.” He glances at you, slightly tilting his head to the side with the faintest smug grin on his aged face.

“Yeah, I do. Plus, I know you’re always up for a challenge. I’ll be there in five.” You rolled your eyes at that, shaking your head with a sigh and turning on your heel to head towards your next patient, fully aware of the set of eyes following you from behind.

You didn’t mind being Dr. Robby’s favorite resident. After all, a little special treatment never hurt.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[abbydidnothingwrong]

THE PITT 11:00 A.M // 8:00 P.M for @drtrinitysantos

[abbotjack]

Overtime .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪₊ ⊹˚

pairing : dr. jack abbot x reader x dr. michael "robby" robinavitch

summary : You told yourself you were just taking your time. Just late for a blind date Samira set up. But the truth is, you stayed behind on purpose. You listened to their voices. You waited. You weren’t supposed to want this—not from them. But you've been holding it in for too long. And they’ve been watching you just as closely. INSPIRED BY PREVIEW FOR NEXT WEEK'S EPISODE.

warnings/content : Threesome (M/F/M). Vaginal and oral sex (f. receiving). Set in a hospital locker room. Praise, light power dynamics, subtle possessiveness. Emotionally restrained men. No m/m interaction. No protection used. Yeah really no plot just filth

word count : 4,672

18+ ONLY, not beta read. Please read responsibly.

The trauma bay smells like alcohol swabs and synthetic latex, and something heavier clinging underneath—stale blood or antiseptic, it’s hard to tell which. Someone’s wiped down the counters but not the floor. There’s still a puddle under the base of the gurney, shiny and half-dried, not enough to slip on but enough to keep you standing a little off-center.

You leave the curtain half-drawn behind you as you head toward the locker room. Not in a rush. You don’t move like someone eager to get out—you move like someone delaying something they haven’t put a name to.

Your body’s on autopilot. The kind of post-shift shutdown where your hands still flex like they’re gloved, your spine’s too straight from twelve hours of standing, and you haven’t realized how hungry you are until your stomach knots around nothing.

The hallway lights feel too bright. The door handle cold against your palm. You step inside and let it swing shut behind you. The air is still. Not silent, exactly—just muffled. Contained. The hum of the vents.

You stop at your locker and open it. A half-eaten granola bar sits on the shelf next to your spare scrubs. Your hand rests on the hem of your scrub top. You don’t pull it off.

You just stand there. Listening.

Not to yourself.

To them.

From somewhere down the hallway you can hear Jack and Robby trading tension like it’s clinical procedure.

“You pushed the paralytics too early,” Jack says, voice low and clipped. “She wasn’t ready.”

“She was already bottoming out,” Robby answers. “I didn’t see you moving any faster.”

“If I waited, we would’ve had a stable line.”

“If you waited, she would’ve lost her airway.”

It’s not yelling. They don’t yell.

It’s quiet. Controlled. So precise it hurts to listen to. Like they’ve done this before—not just here, but in a hundred trauma bays before this one, in years they never talk about.

You know the way they argue. You’ve watched them do it across body bags and shift changes. But this time, you don’t move on.

You just stay.

You reach for your phone.

8:07 PM – SAMIRA don’t ghost me

8:08 PM – HIM still good for 8?

8:08 PM – SAMIRA please go i told him you were hot like ER hot he’s new he’s NORMAL u need normal just flirt kiss him if he’s not annoying

You stare at the screen for a long moment. Type out :

Still at work...

Then delete it.

The plan was simple. Leave on time. Shower. Maybe mascara. Meet Samira’s friend for a drink somewhere tolerable. You hadn’t been optimistic, but you’d said yes. You even wore a lace black bra, not too sheer, just something that made you feel like a person under the hospital layers.

But instead, you’re still here.

The voices carry again.

“You want clean intubation? You wait for visualization.”

“You want a pulse? You don’t wait at all.”

And then, clear as anything, you hear it—

“You always think you’re right.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

You’re halfway out the locker room before you realize you’re moving.

One hand still on the doorframe, body loose with something between exhaustion and defiance.

You don’t think. You don’t plan it.

You just lean into the hallway, and say,

“Looks like two old white guys who still can’t figure out how to intubate a patient.”

The silence that follows is surgical.

Jack’s head turns slightly at the sound—reflexive, automatic—but the second he sees you, something shifts.

A flicker of recognition. Like a signal’s been hit.

His shoulders square. His mouth goes still.

He turns the rest of the way. Not fast. Just… deliberate. Like a spotlight locking on. His eyes skim your face, your chest, then back to your eyes—taking in everything and giving nothing back.

Robby follows a second later. He’s already smiling like he can’t decide if he’s impressed or pissed.

“Oh, I know she’s not talking about us,” Robby says.

“Well I know she’s not talking about me,” Jack mutters.

You lift a brow. “And if I am?”

You hold their stares for a breath longer than you should. Then you turn. Not fast. Not flustered. Just… done.

You walk back into the locker room without a word and leave the door open. You don’t have to look to know they’ll follow.

And they do.

Jack enters first—quiet, unreadable, his presence pressing in without needing to speak.

Robby follows a beat later. He exhales, half-laughs under his breath, and says :

“You’re mouthy today.”

“I’m post-shift,” you reply, not facing them yet. “And this is the third time this week I’ve heard you two go at it like divorced dads at a resuscitation workshop.”

“You’re still here,” Jack says, watching you. “Why?”

You shrug. “I had a date.”

Robby’s brow arches. “Had?”

“Supposed to meet someone. Samira’s friend. He just moved back to Pittsburgh.”

“You're not going?”

You glance over your shoulder at them. “Clearly I’m running late.”

You don’t wait for their response. You just pivot—slow, deliberate—like the conversation’s over. Like you didn’t just hand them the truth in a sealed envelope and walk away from it.

Jack shifts. Robby studies you.

You add, quieter now, without turning back :

“Figured if I stalled long enough, maybe I wouldn’t have to go at all.”

A beat.

“Guess I’m just not in the mood.”

“Not in the mood for what?” Jack asks.

You hesitate—just for a second.

“Nice,” you say.

And that’s when it happens. That snap in the room. Like someone closed a valve too fast. The pressure spikes.

“You wore lace,” Jack says.

You stop mid-step. Turn slowly. Blink.

“Excuse me?”

“That strap peaking out doesn’t look standard. You wore lace under your scrubs.”

Robby’s gaze flicks down, measured. “On a trauma shift.”

“It’s what was clean,” you lie.

It sounds false the second it leaves your lips—thin and fast, like you’re trying to sweep something off the floor before anyone notices. And both of them notice.

Robby doesn’t correct you right away. He just tilts his head, eyes flicking briefly down the center of your body—not ogling, but noticing. He lingers at your waist, then lifts his gaze back to your face, calm and unshaken.

Then, without a hint of mockery,

“No,” he says softly. “It’s what you picked.”

The quiet that follows isn’t comfortable. It vibrates.

You shift slightly, the hem of your scrub top sticking to your lower back. Your chest feels too tight in the tank beneath it. The lace underneath is starting to itch, but not from discomfort—just awareness. The fact of it, now exposed, somehow makes it feel sharper against your skin.

Jack’s still watching you—shoulders squared, hands at his sides, not moving. But it’s the stillness that unsettles you. The patience of it. Like he’s already read the outcome and is waiting for you to catch up.

“And you stayed,” Jack says, voice low.

Not accusing. Not surprised. Just the truth.

You look toward the exit, like that’ll help you regain control. Like pretending you’re still on your way out will change what’s already unfolding.

But you don’t move. You don’t even blink.

His voice drops—not teasing anymore. Just steady. Clinical. Like he's reading vitals straight off your chart, and he already knows how the story ends.

“You haven’t changed. You didn’t go to your car. You didn’t even unclip your badge.”

Robby's voice cuts in—smooth, but anchored with something harder.

“You’ve been waiting.”

A pause.

“You missed your date on purpose.”

You laugh, too quickly. It’s not convincing. It’s the kind of sound you make when you feel the edge of something sharp and pretend it doesn’t hurt.

“Right. Because standing around while you two argue like it’s foreplay is a great way to spend a Friday night.”

Jack doesn’t even flinch. “You mouth off in the pit. You flirt without smiling. You track us when we speak.”

You shift your weight. “I track everyone.”

“Not like this,” Robby says, voice tighter now, like the act of calling it out is doing something to him too.

Jack’s eyes narrow—not in anger. In certainty. “You ask us questions you already know the answers to. You stall your movement when we pass you. You hold the vitals clipboard like it’s a shield and a dare.”

“You wait for our shift overlaps,” Robby adds, voice lower. “You take the longest hallway. The one that goes past trauma, even when it’s not the most direct.”

“You hold eye contact longer than anyone on this floor,” Jack murmurs. “Until it matters. Then you look away.”

And you do.

You already did.

You didn’t even realize you dropped your gaze until Jack took that step forward and the room got hotter.

You look down at your shoes like that means something. Like it gives you back a piece of yourself.

But it doesn’t.

Jack sees it.

You hear it in his tone—how something in him tightens.

“You think we don’t see it?”

Robby’s voice is quiet, but it lands heavy. “You think we haven’t wanted to say something sooner?”

Your pulse climbs to your throat.

You make yourself look at them—at both of them.

Their faces are unreadable, but not blank. You can feel it radiating off them—attention. Restraint. Intention.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask.

Jack doesn’t hesitate.

“Because the second we say it, we’re not just talking anymore.”

The air between you cracks open.

You feel your stomach dip, your chest clench, your calves tense like they’re bracing for something that hasn’t touched you yet.

The silence this time is worse.

It lingers.

It buzzes.

You realize you’ve been holding the edge of the locker the entire time—so tight your fingertips are red.

You swallow, but your throat sticks.

Then you say it :

“You think I wore this just to get your attention?”

Robby doesn’t move. His voice doesn’t change. But his gaze drops—slowly—to your clavicle. He watches the way your pulse shifts under the skin.

“Did you?”

You try again. “No.”

It barely makes it out. Too breathy. Not defiant—just unraveled.

“Then why aren't you going on that date?”

You know the answer. You’ve known it since you stood in front of your locker too long. But saying it? That’s something else.

“Because I didn’t feel like sitting across from some guy who’s never set foot in an ER and explaining why I showed up thirty minutes late and still covered in adrenaline.”

You look at them now, full on.

“I’m good at this. I’m better than good. And I’m not going to spend the night pretending I’m smaller just to make someone else feel bigger.”

Jack’s gaze sharpens—not cruel, not even surprised. Just locking in. Like a monitor flatlining and spiking at once.

“He wouldn’t have known how to talk to you,” Robby says. It’s not a dig. It’s a diagnosis.

Jack, quieter now, “He wouldn’t have known how to see you.”

You almost respond.

But your mouth stays open and useless. Because they’re right. And you hate that some part of you wanted to hear it from them.

Robby steps forward. Not crowding you. Just present. Enough to tilt the room.

“But we do.”

Jack’s voice is a whisper of heat.

“We’ve seen you. All along.”

It sinks into your chest.

You feel your jaw twitch. Your vision tightens.

Jack continues. “We’ve watched you lead. Watched you pull two lives back from the edge this week. Watched you make choices most residents would’ve hesitated over.”

“You think we haven’t noticed that your hands don’t shake when it matters?” Robby says. “You think we don’t see how much it costs you to keep control all the time?”

“You’ve been waiting,” Jack says again. “You just didn’t know if we’d be the ones to break it.”

You shiver. You don’t know if it shows.

Your breath catches on something inside you, and suddenly you’re braced between them—not physically, but gravitationally. Like they’ve closed in without moving.

“I don’t—” you start, but Jack’s already stepping behind you.

“You don’t have to lead right now,” he says, voice low, close to your neck. “You don’t have to perform.”

“You already did,” Robby says. “And we saw it.”

“You’ve been better than most of the other residents for months.”

“You just never let anyone say it.”

“You called the chest tube before I did,” Jack says. “And you did it without hesitation.”

Your whole body aches now. Your shoulders. Your legs. Your hands. All of it. Like tension has been your armor and now it’s slipping, inch by inch, to the floor.

“You moved,” Jack says, “like someone who knows what they want.”

Robby watches your face. Your breath. “Do you?”

You try to answer. Nothing lands.

Jack is behind you. Close enough now that the air bends. That your spine straightens without permission.

“You want permission,” he murmurs.

You nod, barely. “Permission for what?”

"To stop pretending you don’t need this.”

“To be seen.”

Jack, a little closer, a little deeper, “To be told you’ve been good.”

You inhale sharply.

Jack leans in—his breath just behind your ear.

“You’ve been so good.”

You break.

“You’re standing still,” Robby says softly. “For the first time all day.”

And it’s true. You don’t remember when you stopped pacing, bracing, pretending. But you’re still now. Still and shaking and too full of something you can’t name.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” you whisper.

Jack doesn’t miss a beat.

“You’re not supposed to do anything.”

“Just stay,” Robby says. “Just let go.”

Your fingers slip from the locker. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. And when Jack leans closer—

“Say it,” he whispers.

Your voice cracks.

“Close the door.”

And Jack moves.

The lock clicks.

The air shifts. And you're not the same.

It’s not that it gets hotter. It just presses down—thick, charged, intentional. You’re not used to this kind of quiet. Not in the locker room. Not between them. Not like this.

You don’t turn around. You just stand there—heart hammering, breath shallow, arms loose at your sides—because the thing you’ve been circling for weeks? It’s not circling you anymore. It’s here. It has you.

Jack doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. You feel him behind you like a current. Stillness, held so tightly it hums.

Robby’s in front of you, leaning back against the lockers. Watching. Palms braced behind him. His gaze is steady—assessing, not predatory. Like he’s watching your vitals rise in real time.

You don’t know what you’re waiting for. But then Jack says—

“Turn around.”

You do. Slowly.

Your pulse is in your throat now. You’re not trembling, not really. Just over-aware of everything—the heat of your own skin, the way both of them are looking at you like they’ve already decided.

“Take off your top,” Jack says. Calm. Commanding. A tone you’ve only heard once before, during a double code. It made your hands steady then. It makes them ache now.

You peel your scrub top over your head. Fold it. Set it down.

“Tank too,” he adds.

You hesitate for half a second. Then you reach for the hem and lift.

The fabric clings slightly, damp from heat and wear. As it pulls over your head, the lace edge of your bra drags against your ribs—cool, sharp, suddenly too exposed.

You know they can see it now.

Robby shifts off the lockers, gaze steady.

“That’s not the kind of bra someone forgets they’re wearing.”

Your mouth dries out.

Jack’s eyes rake over your chest—slowly, deliberately—and when he speaks, his voice lowers.

“Take it off.”

Your hands fumble at the clasp, just for a second. It’s not nerves. It’s exposure. You’ve stripped down a thousand times in hospital locker rooms, but never like this. Never while being watched.

The lace hits the floor. You don't reach for it.

Jack steps in close enough to ghost his fingers over your collarbone. He doesn’t look at your breasts. He looks at your face.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to see you like this,” he murmurs.

Behind you, you feel Robby’s warmth draw near. He’s not touching you, but his presence is a second gravity. You’re caught in the pull of both of them.

“You’re not shaking,” he notes, voice low.

“Should I be?” you ask.

Jack’s eyes flicker.

“We’re not going to be gentle.”

Your breath catches.

Robby moves behind you, hands bracing gently on your waist, not grabbing—just anchoring.

“You want us to take it from here?” he asks. “You want to stop thinking for once?”

You nod. Not because it’s polite. Because it’s the only thing left in you.

Jack leans in. “Good.”

Then he kisses you.

It’s not soft. It’s not rough either. It’s contained—all sharp control, jaw tense, mouth firm, tongue deliberate. Like he’s tasting you to see if you’re telling the truth.

You kiss back. Open-mouthed. Hungry. Barely holding your balance.

Robby’s hands trail up your sides as you kiss Jack, fingertips dragging gently over your ribs, your sternum. When Jack breaks the kiss, you’re already breathing hard.

“Bench,” he says.

They guide you to it. You sit, knees slightly apart, spine straight.

Jack drops to one knee in front of you. His hands go to your waistband. He looks up. “Yes?”

You nod again. “Yes.”

He slides your scrub pants down slow, watching your face. You don’t look away. Your underwear is next—low-cut, black, delicate. His thumbs hook into the sides and pull them down in one smooth motion.

Now you’re bare. Fully.

And they’re both still fully clothed. That does something to you. Something low and sharp and needy.

Jack’s hand smooths up your thigh. His eyes stay locked on yours.

“You’ve been so fucking good,” he says. “You kept it together all shift. Gave everything to your patients. Took nothing for yourself.”

He leans in.

“That ends now.”

Then his mouth is on you.

His tongue starts slow—flat, firm pressure over your clit, no teasing. No buildup. Like he’s been waiting for this and he’s not wasting time.

Your hips twitch, but his grip locks you down—one arm slung under your thigh, the other braced across your stomach, holding you exactly where he wants you.

You can barely breathe. Your hands scramble for something to hold.

Then you feel Robby behind you.

He climbs onto the bench, one knee beside your hip, chest flush to your back. His arm wraps around your shoulders—steady, grounding—and his mouth finds your jaw.

“Relax,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “Let it happen.”

Jack’s mouth moves with maddening precision—every flick, every circle deliberate. Not fast. Not gentle. Exactly what you need. Like he’s been studying the way you breathe for weeks.

You whimper. It escapes before you can catch it.

“Good,” Robby whispers. “That’s good. Let us hear you.”

Jack groans low into you and your hips twitch again. You can’t help it.

“Jack—” you gasp.

He doesn’t stop. His grip tightens. You feel his tongue change rhythm, pressure intensifying just enough.

And then—

You come.

It hits like a wave, cresting hard and then crashing down your spine. Your body shakes with it. Jack holds you through the whole thing—never backing off, never letting up until you’ve ridden it to the end.

When he finally pulls away, his mouth is wet, eyes dark. Controlled.

“You’re going to come again,” Jack says.

You barely have time to breathe before he stands and undoes his belt.

Behind you, Robby doesn’t move far. His hand slides up, slow and deliberate, until it rests gently at your throat—not choking, just there.

His mouth finds your ear again.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs. “We’ve got you.”

Jack pushes his pants down just enough. His cock is thick, flushed, hard.

He strokes himself once. Twice.

“You want this?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe.

“You ready to be fucked like you deserve?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Your thighs go weak at the praise. It shatters something soft inside you.

Jack lines up. Grips your hips. Pushes in slow—inch by inch.

He’s big. Stretching. Real.

You gasp. Clutch his arms. He groans when he bottoms out.

“You take it so well,” Robby murmurs behind you.

Jack starts to move—deep, even thrusts. His hips roll, grinding against your clit every time. You can’t stay quiet. Not with the way he fills you, not with Robby’s hands on your skin, not with both of them murmuring praise you didn’t know you craved.

“That’s it,” Jack growls. “Take me.”

“You’re doing so well,” Robby breathes, lips at your neck. “So fucking good for us.”

You’re going to fall apart again.

“Jack—”

“I’ve got you,” he pants. “Don’t hold back.”

You don’t.

The second orgasm is messier. Sharper. It rips through you like a current, and this time, when you cry out, Jack slams into you and holds.

You pulse around him. He groans.

And then he comes—hips pressed deep, cock twitching inside you, a low growl caught in his throat.

The locker room goes still.

Your head drops back against Robby’s shoulder. You’re breathing like you just ran a trauma code—fast, uneven, body humming from the inside out.

Robby’s arms stay wrapped around your waist, anchoring you.

“You okay?” he murmurs, lips brushing the edge of your jaw.

You nod.

Jack’s still inside you, hands gentler now—steadying your hips as you both come down.

“You did so well,” he says, quiet and low.

You exhale. A shaky laugh escapes—half-sigh, half-something else. Robby kisses your shoulder. Your skin still buzzes with aftershock when Jack finally pulls out.

You whimper—barely audible, not from pain, but from the absence. The sudden ache of being empty.

Robby doesn’t let you fold in on yourself. His arms stay around you, his chest flush to your back, his hands firm at your ribs. Holding you there.

“Easy,” he whispers, brushing damp hair from your neck. “You did so fucking good.”

Jack steps back. His pants are still open. His cock glistens, softening, but he doesn’t tuck himself away. Doesn’t move far.

He just watches.

Your eyes flutter open.

Robby shifts slightly behind you—just enough to look down at you from the side.

“She’s not done,” he says, voice quiet but certain.

Jack doesn’t answer. But the way his jaw clenches—you know he agrees.

“You okay?” Robby asks again, lips brushing your temple now.

You nod.

He smiles, slow and crooked. The kind of smile that means something soft is about to feel dangerous.

“Good girl.”

Your body jolts at the words—like your nerves haven’t caught up yet, like the phrase reached something deeper than muscle.

Jack smirks. “She likes that.”

“She loves that,” Robby murmurs. “Don’t you?”

You nod again. This time slower. Your throat is too tight to answer out loud.

“Up,” Robby says gently. “Let’s get you on your back.”

He helps you shift—guiding you gently by the waist as you lie back along the bench, your spine pressing into the cool surface, legs still parted and loose from the high.

Then Robby slides down from the bench. Jack doesn’t move. He stays where he is, leaning against the wall.

Arms folded. Cock still out. Watching.

Robby presses your legs apart with both hands, thumbs stroking gently along the inside of your thighs.

Then he lowers his head. Close. Close enough that the heat of his breath makes you twitch.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs.

“She’s a mess,” Jack says. “Made for it.”

You let your head fall back. Your chest rises, tight with expectation.

Then Robby’s tongue licks slow up your center, and your hips jolt.

He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t test the waters.

He dives in.

He eats you like it’s his job. Like he’s been thinking about this for weeks.

And maybe he has.

His mouth is precise — all tongue, lips, and breath — alternating pressure and rhythm, soft where Jack was firm, deep where Jack was tight.

You’re gasping by the second pass. Your thighs twitching.

Jack steps in, crouches beside the bench. His hand finds yours and grips it — firm, grounding — as Robby mouths your clit and groans into you.

“She’s close already,” Robby murmurs, not lifting his head.

“She’s been close since I pulled out,” Jack mutters. His free hand trails along your breastbone, tracing lazy lines between the soft curves of your chest.

“You holding back on us, sweetheart?” Robby says, flicking his tongue against you.

“No—” Your voice breaks. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” Jack says.

Robby’s mouth works faster now, tongue circling, flattening, sucking you into the space between his lips and holding you there while your body starts to shake.

“I’ve got her,” Robby murmurs.

Jack strokes your arm, smooth and slow. “Let go.”

You do.

The third orgasm rips through you. It’s a full-body collapse — thighs trembling, fingers digging into Jack’s arm, head thrown back. You moan loud this time, and neither of them shushes you.

Robby doesn’t stop.

He works you through it — mouth never letting go — until your legs start to twitch uncontrollably and your voice cracks from the noise caught in your chest.

“Easy,” Robby says. “That’s it.”

You’re gasping. Trembling. Raw.

Jack leans in, kisses your jaw. Then your mouth. Then your cheekbone.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmurs. “You should see yourself right now.”

Robby finally pulls back, chin soaked, breathing hard. He leans in and kisses your inner thigh—slow, reverent.

“You’ve got nothing left to prove,” he says.

You want to answer. You can’t. All you can do is lie there, letting them both touch you, praise you, look at you like you just gave them something holy.

Which maybe you did.

You smile, lips swollen, hair plastered to your forehead. You exhale slowly, like your body’s still remembering how to breathe.

Robby runs a hand through his hair and rises to his feet, then offers his arm without a word.

You take it. Let him help you sit up, your legs shaky. Jack is already tucking himself back into his boxers, and zips his pants without a word.

He doesn’t wipe himself off. Doesn’t look away.

He moves like he’s still in it—like he’s taking every part of you with him.

No one says anything.

You find your clothes from where they were dropped and pull them on slowly. You don’t bother with the bra.

You grab your phone from your locker where it was buzzing, thumb hovering over the screen for a second too long.

9:12 PM – SAMIRA well??? did you kiss him?? is he weird pls tell me you didn’t ghost again girl don’t make me call the ER, i swear this guy is TOO GOOD to waste!!! if you’re hiding in a supply closet again i’m going to strangle you

“Oh, fuck,” you mutter. “Samira’s texting me.”

Jack lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. Robby leans in just enough to see.

“She really thought you were gonna make it to that date, huh?”

You snort, exhausted. “She probably already told him I got called into another trauma.”

Jack wipes a hand down his face. “Not technically a lie.”

Robby smirks. “You gonna tell her the truth?”

You lean back against the lockers, phone still in your hand, and exhale.

“What—‘sorry, got fucked on a bench instead’?”

Robby whistles low under his breath. “Yikes.”

“Bit much,” Jack agrees, but he’s not even trying to hide the smirk.

“Pretty sure you’re done with blind dates,” Robby says.

You slide your phone into your pocket, still smiling.

“Yeah,” you say. “I think I am.”

[asxgard]

Companionship | pt. 13

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: You score tickets to a Penguins game for Michael’s birthday — but you have more than one way to celebrate in mind.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: I can’t always answer all of your lovely comments or reblogs, but thank you all so much!! I appreciate all the interactions you guys give this series💜

I’m sorry this wasn’t out yesterday! I got a migraine at work and then it just wouldn’t go away all day. It proceeded to stick around for a good chunk of this morning as well lol

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, violence at a hockey game, birthday blowjob (oral, m! receiving), pet names (sweetheart, honey)

not beta read

How you had been able to save enough money to afford the tickets really was beyond you. When Michael picked up your utility bill, you put the money you would have spent and put it into savings. You were then able to buy the tickets for the Penguins vs. Predators game at the PPG Paints Arena after saving for nearly two months.

“So…your birthday is coming up.” You ventured one night, rubbing a thumb into your palm.

He half groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, “Don’t remind me.”

“So that’s a no to your gift then?”

His interest piqued, looking back over at you, eyebrow raised. “You got me something?”

You pulled the card out of your bag, “It’s a little early…but you’ll understand why in a moment.”

The card was quaint, with your sprawled handwriting with his name on the front. You hadn’t gotten physical tickets, so the inside of the card was empty, except for the heartfelt little note you had written. Then at the bottom was: you are now two Penguins vs. Predators tickets richer!

Michael read over the note a few more times, before looking back up at you and blinking. He brought a hand to the back of your head and pulled you in for a kiss.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything.” He said, still holding onto you.

“I wanted to.” You smiled and gave him a quick peck. “Not sure if you want to take Jack, or Jake maybe, but I wanted to give you enough notice in case you needed to take time.”

He scoffed like he was offended, “I’m taking you.”

Your smile grew, “Yeah?”

“Of course I’m gonna take you, sweetheart.” He said, kissing you again. “This was really nice of you, thank you.”

Your cheeks warmed, “Sorry I couldn’t do more. Once I’m a CPA—”

“None of that. This is a great gift and I’m looking forward to spending time with you.”

You nodded, taking in his genuine smile.

“I would like you to meet them. Jack and Jake, I mean. And a few other people from the hospital, in a more official manner than showing up for stitches.”

You smiled at him, but anxiety filled your chest at the thought. Jake was his surrogate step-son, and had been in Michael’s life since he was just a kid — you worried over the fact that you were much closer to Jake’s age. You wondered if he was the judgmental sort. And Jack. From everything you had heard about him, he was not likely to sugarcoat anything — if he didn’t like you, you’d know about it.

“I’d like to meet them.” You said, twisting your hands together.

As if sensing your unease, he kissed the side of your head. “They’ll love you.”

“I’m sure it’ll be nice to put all those rumors to rest.” You smirked, thinking back to how everyone hovered both times you had been at the hospital.

He chuckled, “All the people who need to know do now.”

Your face heated, thinking that you had done the same.

You swung your legs into his lap and cuddled close to him, “Good, I did too.”

—

The trek to Saturday was a busy one, hardly having time for each other. When Michael was working, you were studying, and when you were working, he was trying to occupy himself with mundane chores. By Wednesday night, he had showed up on your doorstep with takeout and a smile. You had thrown the door open and crashed your lips together, giggling and saying, “I missed you.”

You found a Penguins t-shirt in the back of your closet to wear for the occasion, slipping on a simple pair of jeans and your favorite sneakers.

You arrived at Michael's apartment with coffee and bagels — set to spend the majority of your day there while you waited for gametime. You lounged around and watched shitty tv reruns, and it was a welcomed lazy few hours for the both of you. Stolen kisses that left you wanting more, and soft touches that made you want to throw your plans out the window.

You ate dinner at a bar near the arena, excitement brewing at being to your first hockey game.

“I don’t wanna jinx it, so I’m just going to hope we have an enjoyable game.” You said, sipping your drink.

Michael chuckled, “Cheers to that.”

The arena was not overly packed, but it felt crowded navigating through the halls and to your seats. You had paid for decent seats, in the last row of the first floor, on one corner near the home bench.

Michael kissed you softly, “These are great seats.”

You beamed at him, and intertwined your fingers. He brought your hand up to kiss the back of it.

At puck drop, you traded conversation over predictions, and hoots and hollers at your favorite players. You laughed and held onto each other when the other team got too close to scoring. You cheered when the Penguins scored their first goal, standing with your hands in the air. You held your breath every time a fight broke out, squeezing Michael’s hand. And you enjoyed the way he knew the game well enough to make calls before the referee’s did — announcing “icing!” or “offside!” before the whistle blew.

During the first intermission, you went together to get a beer before heading back to your seats. The crowd around you was rowdy, but not uncomfortably so. You were enjoying the atmosphere.

Second period came with a few idiotic calls from the referee’s, but also another point for the Penguins. You cheered loud enough you feared you would lose your voice, and Michael watched you affectionately.

In the second intermission, you wandered off to get cheesy fries while Michael got another beer, and you met back at your seats. You were bouncing on your heels in excitement, though did not dare to utter the W word, in fear of jinxing it.

During the third period, the Penguins scored another goal toward the latter half.

“This has been the best game,” You laughed, munching on a cheese fry.

Michael pulled you in close, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He kissed your head.

By the time the buzzer sounded, the Penguins had won in a 3-0 shutout game against the Predators. You gave a relieved laugh, as you had been standing on your feet for the last minute of the game when the Predators had gotten too close. On your way out, you asked a random couple to take your picture.

You added the photo to your favorites on your way out, taking in Michael’s smile, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, his other hand in his pocket. Butterflies fluttered around in your stomach.

You looked over to him with the widest smile, admiring how handsome he was.

“Something on my face?”

“No,” you said, heat blooming in your cheeks. “Can’t a girl take in the view?”

He grinned softly, making his smile lines crinkle. He brought a hand to cradle your face, rubbing a thumb across your cheek. His eyes flickered between your eyes, and your heart started racing. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, leaning down to kiss you instead.

You melted into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, wanting to savor it for as long as you could.

When you returned to his apartment, adrenaline filled your senses, suddenly having the urge to get on your knees for him — half desperate to taste him, half addicted to the sounds he made when he was enjoying himself.

“It’s late…you should stay over.” Michael said in his dim living room, the one side table lamp being the only thing illuminating the room.

“I didn’t bring anything.” You said, a sheepish smile on your lips.

“I’ve got plenty of things that’ll fit.”

Your smile widened into a grin, heart racing at the thought of wearing his clothes. You pulled him down for a kiss, tongue sweeping across his bottom lip, and he opened his mouth. His tongue entered your mouth and you hummed against him.

Something bubbled in your stomach at the feeling of him getting hard, and your thoughts spiraled downward. You moved a hand to the waist of his jeans, pulling at the button until it unbuttoned. Michael’s breathing hitched, bringing both hands to either side of your head and kissing you fiercely.

As the zipper lowered, so did you, getting onto your knees and looking up at him.

He stared down at you, shoulders moving up and down with his breathing, face half shadowed. Though his brown eyes pooled desire low in your belly.

You pulled down his jeans to his knees, running your hand over his length through his boxers, watching as his eyes flickered closed. When you pulled them down, he opened them again, looking down at you with half concealed desire.

“You don’t have to—” he choked on his words when you grabbed hold of him, your hot breath on his tip.

You wet your lips, “I really really want to.”

He cursed lowly, running a hand through his hair, “Fuck, okay, honey.”

You licked tentatively along the head, and you noticed how his stomach quickly clenched and unclenched. Your smile was hard to hide. You took him into your mouth, tongue swirling along the tip before you descended deeper.

Michael let out a low groan from the back of his throat, head pointing up at the ceiling. HIs hand found the back of your head, not pushing, but simply holding you.

You took him until his cock hit the back of your throat and tears quickly gathered. You set a slow pace, using your hand to pick up the slack closer to his base, unable to take the full thing into your mouth. You moved your other hand to cup his balls and he moaned.

Your pussy pulsed at the sound of it, feeling yourself grow wet. You looked up at him through your lashes, and he was watching you intently, eyebrows drawn in.

“So beautiful, sweetheart. Fuck.”

You hummed around him at his words, and his apartment was filled with the sound of his quiet moans and grunts while you unraveled him. You took him deeply again, trying not to gag, flattening your tongue to apply pressure upwards while you hallowed out your cheeks.

“If you keep that up—fuck—I’m going to come down that pretty throat of yours.” He warned, though his voice sounded wrecked.

You looked up at him and didn’t stop, easily saying that that was exactly what you wanted.

He let out a few pants, one hand going to his neck, while his body tensed. You could feel that he was trying not to thrust into your wanting mouth. You ran a finger over his balls still in your hand and picked up your pace.

Michael came with a low groan, eyes squeezing shut, and you took it all. You swallowed his spend until he was twitching from overstimulation. You let go with a wet pop, which made him jolt. He quickly pulled you up in a kiss.

“Yeah, I need you in my clothes right now.”

You met his eyes, noses touching, and you smirked. “You gonna make me, handsome?”

A sly smile grew as he pulled up his pants, “I can certainly do that.”

He chased you into his room, your laugh echoing off the walls.

[ Next ]

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Companionship taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone @shadowhuntyi @fuckalrighty @elli3williams @yournerdmodziata @i-know-i-can @dickheadturner @dcgoddess @pittobsessed @glamorizethechaos @blueb33ry-cat @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @burningpenguinwitch @evienorville @equallyshaw @heyysolsister @justrandomthougt @babygirlagenda @lauracantsleep @rogersbarnesxx @longlivecandice @misshoneypaper

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08

(50 tags have been reached with the combo of all three taglists, so unfortunately some of Dr. Robby & all of The Pitt taglist for this series will be added in a reblog right after this is posted - I’m sorry if this is an inconvenience!)

three parts to go + the epilogue😭

[oldermenfucker]

Daddy’s Girl | M. Robby

Summary: You finally manage to send your daughter to a sleepover and get your husband alone after various unsuccessful attempts to get your hands on his body.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! SMUUUUUT, kind of daddy kink? Idk? They refer to each other as mommy and daddy (parental lmao like a nickname), handjob, p in v, unprotected sex, breeding, cowgirl, they are PENT UP OKAY, English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 3.3k+

An: this is basically Mama’s Boy but Robby’s version with horny reader cause I’d also be very interested in getting that man naked so🤭

Comments & reblogs are always appreciated<3

Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!

  You are sure you will turn into a green ghoul if you hear this word one more time. You are sick of it, sick of how this one single word with five letters has your husband trapped in a spell.

  It’s not like your little girl doesn’t cling to you at all, but when Daddy is home, then Daddy has to do everything for her; bathing? Daddy. Thirsty? Daddy. Hungry? Daddy. Bedtime story? Daddy, please!

  And Michael Robinavitch folds the second his precious daughter opens her mouth.

  It irritates you, frustrates you beyond belief, not your daughter, though, god no, you would kill for her. Still, she is always around when you want to take a few seconds to cuddle with your husband, she shows up at the most inconvenient moment when you are sneaking your hands under Robby’s shirt.

  Take last week, for example. You and your daughter were coloring in her book on the coffee table in the living room when you heard the keys jiggle from the other side of the door, knowing your husband was just a second away from entering the house.

  “Hey, girls!” 

  “Daddy!” She shrieks and drops her pencils on the table, nearly tripping over the cushion she was sitting on as she bolts toward Robby, “Daddy, hi!”

  “Princess,” he groans as he picks her up, kissing her cheek as she wraps her little arms around his neck, “How are you? Were you good for mommy?”

  “Hey, baby,” you stand up and walk up to them, kissing Robby softly when he leans down to capture your lips with his. “How was your day?”

  “Exhausting,” he sighs, dropping his forehead on yours before smiling and looking at his daughter, who just nuzzles his neck and pouts, “But it’s so much better now that I’ve got my girls with me.”

  “I drew something for you!” Your daughter wiggles her way out of Robby’s arms, rushing to her room to grab something, leaving the two of you alone.

  You pull Robby in for a deep kiss, your hands going to his cheeks as he kisses you back just as eagerly, his hands going to your waist to pull you closer. But the tension is broken just as quickly as it was built when your little girl runs back outside with two large drawings in her hands.

  “Look, daddy, look!”

  You break away in haste, putting your hands on your hips as you throw your head back, letting out a loud sigh as your daughter jogs toward you in the living room, waving the papers as she waits for Robby to pick her up.

  “What did you draw, princess?” He asks, dropping his backpack on the floor before he scoops her up in his arms, moving to sit on the couch to look at what she has drawn for him, leaving you breathless and needy.

  The second time was when you thought Robby had put her to sleep successfully. You both thought she was dreaming of seven kingdoms and fairies, so without wasting a second, you were straddling him with your lips chasing his and his hands roaming your body.

  Unfortunately, you were wrong.

  “Daddy!”

  Robby pushed you off him, making sure you were okay with a quick glance as you caught yourself on your elbows on the cushions, chest heaving and lips swollen as you stared at your daughter with wide eyes.

  “What happened, sweetheart?” Robby cleared his throat, shifting on his spot to hide the evidence of his arousal as he ran a hand over his daughter’s head, “Why are you up?”

  “You didn’t read this part, it is the most exciting part of the story!” She pouted, the spitting image of Robby that made you melt right there, but you nearly choked on your saliva when she turned her face to you, pouting even harder when she noticed what state you were in, “Mommy, are you okay?”

  “Yes, little birdie, come on up here! Daddy will read to both of us, yeah?” You collected her in your arms, moving so your back was against Robby’s chest as he reached for his readers before he began.

  The next time you were sure she was busy, you knew she was busy. That was why you chose that moment to slip inside the shower with your husband, clothes soaked and pressed up against the wall.

  Your daughter was watching her favorite cartoon, eyes practically glued to the TV while she ate her fruit. That was the routine, she wouldn’t pay attention to any distractions when this specific cartoon was on, she never did.

  So you seized the moment, bathroom door locked, and lips collided under the steaming water while Robby tried to get your pants off without having you both slip down.

  But the spell was broken as soon as he got his hands on your wet thighs, ready to haul you off the ground. You knew it would be reckless, but you had no choice; you needed your husband, and that seemed the right moment to do something about it.

  “Daddy?” A confused voice made you freeze under the hot shower, eyes terrifyingly wide and no longer dark with arousal, “Mommy?”

  You somehow managed to take all of your clothes off and put on the clothes Robby had taken with him to the shower to wear after he cleaned himself. With a racing heart, you opened the door only to find your daughter looking around the room, equally terrified as if you had left her.

  “Baby, what happened?” You crouched down next to her, gently rubbing a hand down her back as she shrugged, “I thought you were watching your favorite cartoon!”

  “I was!” The kid nodded and wrapped her arms around your neck, waiting to be picked up. You did as she asked, holding her on your forearm while walking back into the living room, hissing when water droplets fell over your shirt, “Until I couldn’t hear anything! It was too… quiet? Why is your hair wet? I thought Daddy was taking a shower!”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah, he is! I just spilled something on my hair and had to do a quick rinse.” You tried to act like nothing happened, and nothing did, but it was apparently enough for your daughter’s genius brain to run ten different scenarios. 

  “Oh, okay— daddy! Can you watch cartoons with us, please?” Robby managed to catch her in time when she threw herself towards him, looking up at him with the same brown eyes he possessed.

  “Yes, princess, I can,” he kissed her head, sitting back down on the couch before he grabbed your hand and pulled you down on the cushions gently, “Let’s see what you got there.”

  He gave you an apologetic look when the kid settled against his chest, bringing your hand up to his lips to kiss your knuckles, humming when you kissed his shoulder in return, and laid your head there.

  Tonight, though, there is no way you are letting your little angel get in the middle of your plans.

  “What’s going on?” Robby walks out of his study, smiling when he finds you and his daughter packing a bunch of clothes and dolls, “Going on a trip without me?”

  “A sleepover!” She grins, jogging back to her dolls to pick another one from them before she scrunches her face and runs to hug Robby’s legs, “I won’t go on a trip without you, daddy…”

  “I know, baby,” he kneels in front of her, cupping her little face in his hands before he pecks her chubby cheek a few times until she is giggling and trying to push him away, “I’m just messing with you! Now, where are you going to have a sleepover?”

  “At Aunt Dana’s! Mommy called her and asked if her daughter wanted to play, and she said yes!”

  “How exciting!” He picks her up, slowly walking to you when you zip up her bag, smirking when you side eye him, knowing exactly what he is thinking about, “A sleepover? You? Since when?”

  “Since today,” you hiss at him, picking up the brush from your daughter’s vanity with a few hair clips to do her hair, taking her from Robby before sitting her down on the chair in front of the mirror, watching as she kicks her feet in excitement, “It’s Dana and I trust her, so I thought why not!”

  “Aha, okay,” he crosses his arms over his chest, looking at you when he tilts his head down, trying to hide the amusement in his tone, “And what are we going to do without our princess around?”

  “Don’t have fun without me!” 

  “Oh, nothing is fun when you’re not around, babygirl.” You kiss the crown of her head, gently untangling the strands before you glance at Robby, “Us? Boring adult stuff, reading a book, cooking dinner, maybe watching a sad, boring movie.”

  “It doesn’t sound fun,” your daughter beams when you are done with her hair, and you watch as she gasps and bolts out of the room when she hears the sound of the doorbell.

  You know Robby wants to say something cheeky, so you pin him to his spot with a glare but it only spurs him on, the smirk turning into a cocky grin as he throws his hands up in the air, grabbing the pink bag on the floor to follow you out of the bedroom.

  “Aunt Dana!” 

  “Hi, thank you for picking her up.” You hug Dana tightly, making sure she knows how much you appreciate her stepping up to have your little girl over for the night, “I’m sure they’re going to have so much fun.”

  “They will. Don’t worry about anything, okay? Just worry about your man,” she winks at you, spotting Robby approaching the door with his daughter’s bag in hand, “Hey, Robby.”

  “Hi, thank you for taking care of her, we owe you one,” he hands Dana the bag before he crouches down in front of the kid, hugging her one last time, “Be good for Aunt Dana, yeah?”

  “I’m always good, Daddy!” She hugs him back, “I’ll call you when I’m not here so you won’t miss me a lot.”

  “Okay, baby,” he chuckles, smooching her cheek before he sends her off to you, watching as you tickle her sides and kiss her head gently.

  “See you tomorrow, little birdie.”

  “See you, mommy!” 

  You both watch as Dana takes her hand and waves at you, walking into the elevator while she listens to your daughter’s ramblings about her day. 

  You sigh with relief, body already burning with unresolved sexual frustration, as you shut the door before turning around, finding Robby standing there with a curious smile, waiting for you to say something.

  You don’t. Instead, you fist his t-shirt in your hands, yanking him down to meet your lips halfway, stumbling back to the nearest wall as he struggles to keep his weight up from crushing you.

  You need him to crush you, you need to feel him all over you, on top of you, under you, in any position you can get him. 

  He braces himself by one palm on the wall and the other on your hip, lips tangled in a dance of dominance that has your mind swirling in desire. He tastes like his evening coffee and brownies you and your daughter made, a bittersweet flavor that is enough to make you moan wantonly.

  “What’s going on, love?” He asks breathlessly, his forehead resting on yours, as the hand on the wall comes down to tilt up your head by grabbing your neck.

  “It’s Mommy’s playtime with Daddy now.” Your hand goes to the nape of his neck, craning your neck to crash your lips into his once more, finally letting the noises you have been holding back for weeks pour out of you.

  He groans back in reply, teeth clashing and tongues meeting in a battle of dominance which he wins immediately, pulling out a desperate whine from your throat.

  He grabs the back of your thighs, large palms spread against the flesh as he picks you up like you weigh nothing, pressing himself to you as he holds you up against the wall with ease, making home between your legs.

  You can feel his hardened length resting over your clothed sex, ready to be released and taken care of, and the idea excites you that he seems to be just as frustrated as you have been.

  “You’re crazy,” he mumbles against your lips, carrying you to bed slowly while your lips travel down to his jaw, pressing kisses all over his beard, going lower with each nibble until you reach his neck and he digs his nails into your thighs as a warning, fearing he might drop you while making his way to the bedroom with you in hus arms, “Sending our daughter just so you can have your way with me? Real fucking crazy, wife.”

  “Your mouth’s saying one thing,” you grind yourself down as best as possible, biting your lips as the bulge in his sweats rubs on the wet spot, “Your dick is saying another.”

  “Keep talking and I’ll show you—“

  You cut him off as soon as he lowers you on the bed, pushing him on his back on the mattress roughly with a hand on his chest, straddling him swiftly while he is in shock.

  “No,” you place your heat right on top of the tent in his pants, hands bracing against his chest to keep him pinned down, “My turn to show you what happens when you don’t fuck me fast enough when our daughter isn’t paying attention.”

  “What my princess wants, she gets—“

  “Neglecting the queen has never been in the benefits of the kingdom, Michael,” you pull his shirt off, raking your nails on his exposed skin, caressing his pecs and soft grey hair dusting his chest, “I will fuck you tonight cause it seems you have forgotten how to do it.”

  “Oh, so bitter,” he laughs, looking at you with a smug and playful expression, “Jealous of your own daughter? Baby, don’t be like that—fuck!”

  You pull on his nipple, pinching the bud between your thumb and pointer finger. Now it is your time to get smug and move lower on his thighs, pulling his sweats down in one motion, watching as his cock bounces free.

  “No underwear? Were you planning to get fucked, Daddy?” You ask, cocking your head to the side as you bring your palm to your mouth, spitting on it before grabbing a hold of his twitching member and stroking him.

  “Fuck, that’s my line,” he throws his head back, hands moving to reach for you but you swat them away, tightening your hold around his dick as you go faster, watching how a few droplets of precum ooze out of the red tip.

  “I don’t care,” you shake your head, stepping out of your pants and underwear quickly before moving back to crawl into Robby’s lap, “Not tonight at least.”

  He doesn’t reply, he can’t when you are already lining him up with your soaked entrance, sitting down on him as he breaches past your walls, splitting you on his cock without even trying.

  You shut your eyes, feeling so full and stuffed with how his thick cock opens up your cunt for him, sitting deep inside your core like he belongs there. He does.

  You keep yourself up by your hands on his belly, beginning to circle your hips, moving them slowly and steadily. Finally, you’ve got him inside you, finally, you can come without any interruptions.

  He seems to have the exact same thought with how fast his hands move to hold on your waist, lips parted, and eyes blown with lust as he helps you grind down on him. Robby enjoys how your weight pins him down; he can easily overpower you, but he has needed this for too long not to enjoy the sight of you taking what you want from him.

  You ride him vigorously, nails digging into his skin and thighs aching from the stretch around his wide hip bones while bouncing on him with your eyes glued to his flushed face.

  You have never seen a man so beautiful like him, so tantalizing that makes you turn into a feral woman, feisty and pathetic with how much desire he awakens in you — that’s why you have a child, maybe another won’t hurt.

  “C’mere—“ he groans, noticing how you got lost in your head before he grabs the back of your neck and tugs you down, laying you flat on top of him, “It’s daddy’s playtime again.”

  You can only wail out his name as you hide your face in the crook of his neck when he plants his feet on the ground, making sure his hips are secured on the edge of the bed before he starts thrusting into your puffy cunt with abandon.

  Fisting the sheets as hard as he is groping your ass, your eyes roll to the back of your skull when one of his hands goes to your waist to keep you in place, hammering his cock in a pace that he knows makes you gush around him.

  And you do; you come with a choked moan, biting his shoulder hard enough to leave your teeth marks while your cunt spasms around him, waves of euphoria going straight to your core.

  He isn’t too far behind, his thighs tremble, balls tightening before he goes numb under you; head thrown back, deep throaty groans falling from his lips as his cock twitches inside you, spurting his cum deep into your cunt.

  Breathlessly, you start kissing a line from his neck to his throat, sucking a mark right over his Thyroid, high enough for the entire world to see. 

  You can feel the tension leaving your body as you bask in the warmth of Robby’s body, the thumping of his heart right under your ear as you both try to calm down from the shocks of your orgasms.

  “I hate you for not wanting to do quickies,” you say, running your hand through his sweaty hair, snickering when he playfully slaps your ass.

  “Not my style,” he shrugs, smiling down at you, hissing when you sit up with his soft cock still inside you — even when he is soft, you feel so full — and he caresses your bare stomach, “Although this wasn’t a romantic love making either.”

  “Just wanted to call you out for your hypocrisy, thank you for being self aware, daddy,” you pinch his arm playfully, “Can’t believe I sent her to her first sleepover just so I can fuck her dad, wow.”

  “You mean your husband,” he sits up with you still naked on top of him, chest flushed against yours, “Besides, kid’s gotta learn how to be independent.”

  “Right, at the ripe age of five,” you laugh, resting your head on his shoulder, “I mean, yeah? But.. I don’t know, dude, I know it’s Dana—“

  “Did you— what the fuck did you call me?” He pulls your head back by grabbing your neck, forcing you to look into his widened eyes and a shocked smile on his lips, “You’re in trouble, young lady.”

  He flips you over, making you squeal when he nudges you upper on the bed before crawling over you, holding himself up by his forearms next to your head.

  “You’re a fifty-something-year-old dude, I doubt you can get it up again.”

  “Fortunately I’m not like other dudes, wife,” he slowly inches lower, kissing a path from your chin to your stomach, “I might need some time to ‘get it up’ as you so rudely put it, but I’ve got a mouth and ambitions to keep you up all night.”

  And oh, did it sound so delightful to hear the words you have been craving for weeks.

[zekeg33k]

They moved to help the patient back towards his room, and once inside Robby picked up the clipboard with information.

"No ID on him?" His voice was lowered, as he looked over to Shiloh. Robby flipped through the pages.

"It looks like you've had some head trauma." He looked at the patient, bringing out the small flashlights he used to check pupils. The light darted over the patients eyes, and Robby stood back up.

"Pupillary response is normal." He pocketed the light, now wondering what kind of head trauma they were dealing with, since there were no visible signs to go off of.

Call to the ICU momentarily forgotten by their wandering patient, Shiloh pushes forth a smile as they stride over to him.

"hi. i'm dr. miller, this is dr. robby. let's get you back into your bed, okay?"

The patient looks between the two doctors, his brow furrowed. His eyes are fuzzy, dazed, looking at them but not seeing either one of them. "where... am i?"

Shiloh gently lays a hand on his shoulder, leading him back towards the room he came from. "lakeview medical center. can you tell us your name?"

The patient looks blankly at Shiloh, then over to Robby, as if hoping he would know the answer to that particular question.