utterlyhopeful-fics

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Robby’s and Jack’s reaction to your outfit when you get called in while you’re on a date.

A date that you only went on because you can’t have either of the men you want.

Or so you think.

(gif belongs to @jackabbot , I think?)

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

The North Star: John Carter x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989 @mossthedevouring @antisocialfiore @rainmg @arigoldsblog

Summary: There's a whole lot of history connected to your engagement ring.

Companion piece to:

Dreamer (NSFW) - John dreams of you when he’s with someone else.

Little John - You try to keep John’s mind off the task at hand.

The First One Is Always The Hardest - You comfort John after the death of a patient.

Forget-Me-Nots - John wakes up hung over in a strange bed and with an unexpected memento of the night before.

Speak Your Truth - John speaks his truth in the aftermath of a tragedy.

Trauma - John makes a realisation after his confession.

Fever - John gets more than he bargained for when he attends a friend’s stag party in a Chicago Speakeasy.

Minx (NSFW) - John had no idea he had such a deviant little minx on his hands.

Always - You and John discuss the reasons behind your dancing.

Diamonds - John’s friend and rival makes you an offer you can’t refuse.

The Stethoscope - John’s world is turned upside down when he finds your stethoscope in his locker.

Elderberry Wine - You come home to find John waiting for you.

Sex, Lies and Cocaine Dreams - John takes his revenge on the man that shattered your dreams.

By The Grace of God - An unexpected ally goes to bat for you during your beard hearing.

Choices - You and John discuss your options moving forward.

The Sexual Revolution (NSFW) - You decide to give John a private show before the event.

A Love Story - Your performance sparks an unexpected conversation with Gamma.

The Problem With Winning The War - The problem with winning the war is that you don’t expect the second attack.

Mack The Knife - You come face to face with a nightmare in John’s apartment.

The Merry Go Round - Reality starts to crash down on you in the wake of your recent trauma.

Rounds - John’s his first thoughts are of you upon waking up from surgery.

Love & Duty - John’s recovery at Gamma’s leads to friction in your relationship due to a laundry disagreement.

The Wishing Fountain - John reflects on his life before you.

Physical (NSFW) - John gets an erection for the first time since the attack.

Reconnecting - You and John reconnect for the first time after the stabbing.

Scar Tissue - John doesn’t realise you can tell when he’s mishaving.

Life Support - John realises he’s missed a couple of things during his recovery…

The Mulder To My Scully - The circumstances surrounding John’s patient lead him to think about the future.

John doesn’t buy you an engagement ring, instead you inherit one from Gamma. It’s a gorgeous piece; the vintage salt and pepper diamond is set within a teardrop fitting and there’s a cluster of smaller white ones framing the curve underneath. It reminds him of the costumes you used to wear when you were dancing, the delicate V of a daring neckline.

It was given to Gamma by her first love during the Second World War. She had been a of the force’s sweetheart, and he had been an English officer and aristocrat. Their fairytale had over spanned four years and two different continents before he was cruelly snatched away in Normandy.

“I love your grandpa, John. He was secure, steady and all the wonderful things a man is supposed be, but he wasn’t Alistair.” She tells him as she removes the ring from the safe where she keeps her most treasured possessions. “You only get one soulmate, and he was mine, just like Crys is yours. I’d be honoured if you gave this to her, if this piece of our history became a part of your happy ending.”

He'd known the moment she’d opened up that box that the ring was made for you. It didn’t matter that it had swept through generations of the British Royal Family, that it had been handed down from duke to duke. As far as he was concerned this ring belonged on your finger, he believes that with every fibre of his being.

You’ve just come home from the night shift when he gives it to you. He watches from the bed as you strip off your clothes, tossing them into the laundry hamper before you pull on the limited-edition Buffy the Vampire Slayer t-shirt he got you for your birthday. You love the damn thing just as much as the X-Files one he gave you for Christmas.

You climb in under the sheets alongside him, your legs tangling with his as he gathers you up close, tucking you against his chest, his forehead resting upon yours. He has to get up soon, start getting ready for his own shift, but he just wants these last few minutes, that brief amount of time where the two of you exist together in the same space.

“Before you go to sleep, I have something for you.” He murmurs his nose chasing along yours before he reaches behind him, groping for the ringbox on the nightstand. His back twinges, just for a second, but it’s enough to remind him that even with Pilates there are certain positions he shouldn’t try to twist himself into. He retrieves it before taking the ring out, grasping it between his fingers as he holds it up for you to see.

The morning sunshine filters in through the gap in the curtains, the silver flecks in the slate grey diamond glinting in the light.

“It looks like the stars in the sky at night.” You say breathlessly as he clasps your hand in his, slipping the ring onto your finger. Something clicks inside him, and he knows this is the way it was always meant to be, you and him, together for a lifetime.

“You have been my North Star for a long time Crys.” He whispers as he lies next to you, his thumb chasing over the apple of your cheek as he looks into your eyes. “You’ve guided me through some shitty things, things that would have broken me if I didn’t have you by my side. This ring, it represents all of that. Your grace, your strength, your resilience.” His mouth captures over yours, the softest brush of lips but already he’s stirring, the need to consummate this union thrumming through his veins. “Diamonds are forged under pressure baby, you shine like the brightest, most badass diamond I’ve ever seen.”

His fingers hook on your underwear, guiding them down your thighs as he devours your mouth with needy, sinful kisses. Your fingers wrap around him, drawing him towards the wet heat that’s nestled between your thighs.

“I don’t want to wait Crys.” He mumbles against your skin, his mouth dragging over your hollow of your throat as he notches himself at your entrance. “I’ll get the marriage licence today; we can get married tomorrow-”

He sinks into you and that sensation, he’s never felt so complete in his entire life. He buries himself deep, the tip of his dick nudging against that special little place that makes your breath hitch, and your core tighten.

“Say yes.” He begs you as he starts to thrust, his thumb chasing along your jaw guiding your gaze back to his. “Tell me you’ll make the happiest man on this earth tomorrow morning and become my wife.”

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

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.Interested in supporting me?

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Two Is Company (5/?) - The Argument

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x f!reader

Summary: After a disagreement at work, Robby shows up at your place to … apologise.

CW: Implied smut, mentions of sex, swearing, little bit of angst, ends in fluff, medical procedures (and me not knowing anything about medicine), reader is kind of a brat, robby is kind of an asshole.

AN: Our first (but not last) taste of angst! They can’t stay mad at each other for long though, of course. Ask box is open for anyone who wants to chat about the series, or if you have any questions/prompts for me. Enjoy!

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

—————————————————————————

It was almost scary how easily things fell into a routine between you and Robby. At work, you were polite and respectful to each other. He was your attending, you were his star resident, and that was it. But alone, behind closed doors, things were different. He would have you on his couch, his kitchen counter, against the wall, in his shower. The arrangement worked perfectly. You were having incredible, no-strings-attached sex with a hot, older guy. You just had to not think about the fact that the hot, older guy you were fucking was Robby. The same Robby who had taught you how to suture with the mattress stitch. Oh boy…

The whole situation was insane, really. The two of you would be in bed together, panting and sweaty, lost in the ecstasy of each other, and then not even twelve hours later you’d be arguing over the best course of treatment for a patient with pulmonary edema. The secrecy, the sneaking around, it made everything all the more exciting. Although, you’d never admit that. There had been a couple of moments where his hands would wander in the trauma rooms - a brief touch against the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours as you passed him an ET tube. He was doing it on purpose, he had to be. But when you’d confront him about it after hours, while he was kissing up your thigh, he’d simply smile and say ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Sometimes you’d return the favour. Tease him the way he enjoyed teasing you. Bend over a little more than necessary when adjusting the height of a gurney, making sure he got a good view. Calling him ‘Dr Robinavitch’ while looking up at him through your lashes, the way you had when you’d been on your knees in his living room. The whole thing was highly unprofessional, childish even. Unbecoming of a resident who was in the running for a chief position next year. It was worth it though, when he’d fuck you extra hard that night, reprimanding you for being a ‘little tease.’

*

You hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. Not because you were with Robby, for once you’d actually gone home to your own apartment. The fire alarms in your building went off at 4AM - someone trying to cook French after they’d been out drinking all night. Since you were on at seven, you didn’t even bother trying to go back to sleep, you just showered and headed straight to work. The hours that followed were a mix of head lacerations, heart attacks, and one case of herpes. You were running on a protein bar and a stolen sip from Robby’s coffee thermos - definitely intentional this time - but the patients just kept coming.

A young man who was having trouble breathing was wheeled through the ambulance bay doors by a couple of paramedics. You sidled along the gurney, pulling it in the direction of exam two. Robby followed you into the room. You smelled him before you saw him, that mix of sandalwood and coffee you always savoured while he was lying in bed next to you. The patient was in ARDS, and his vitals were dropping fast. You called for an intubation tray, diligently prepared by Perlah, and got into position.

“Size 10 ET tube.” Robby ordered.

“No, give me a 10.5.” You corrected, shooting him a look. Nobody likes a backseat intubater.

It was a struggle to see the patient’s vocal chords with the laryngoscope. You’d done countless intubations before, it was simple. Visualise the chords, insert the tube, blow up the balloon. Come on, this was the easy part.

“BP down to 70.”

Perlah’s voice caused your eyes to drift to the monitor. Fuck. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Robby. He had his arms folded, chewing on the inside of his cheek. A tell for when he was getting impatient. It was rare that you were ever on the receiving end of the look. The last time was during your intern year, when your tongue got twisted trying to say ‘abdominal aortic aneurism.’ You couldn’t see the chords at all, the patient’s throat was too swollen.

“I can’t see the chords.”

Robby sighed. “Alright. Give me the laryngoscope.”

“No. I can do it, just give me a minute.” This was your patient. You gripped the laryngoscope tighter, daring anybody to try and take it from you.

“No, you’re taking too long. Give it here.”

You could see that Robby was getting annoyed. Maybe you couldn’t do it. Maybe he did need to step in. But you were nothing if not stubborn. “I’ve almost got it!”

“No you don’t.”

“BP down to 60.”

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

“Give me the damn scope.”

Your head jerked up towards Robby, words spilling out before you could stop them. “No! Just back the fuck off and let me do it!”

Oops.

“Step out.”

That tone. It was enough to stop you dead in your tracks. The kind of tone that said ‘don’t you dare argue with me.’ At any other time you probably would have found it hot, right now it just made you feel like a scolded child. You swallowed, slowly stepping out of the way. Fine. If he wanted to take over, he could damn well take over.

You passed him the tools, unable to look him in the eye, and stormed out of the room. Extremely unprofessional. Not your finest hour. You stalked off down the hallway, unable to decide if you were more frustrated with yourself or him. He was right. He was always right. He was the attending and you the resident, he had years of experience, he was the boss - you hated whenever you were reminded of that fact. Your feelings towards him since you started having sex together were all over the place. It was hard to separate work Robby from private Robby sometimes. The last thing you wanted from him was special treatment. If word somehow got out about your after-work trysts, it would crush you to think that people only saw you as a girl who slept her way to the top. Maybe you were just jealous that this all seemed so easy for him. When he looked at you from across the ER, there was never any indication that he was the same man who had eaten you out on his couch the night before. If compartmentalising your life was an olympic sport, Robby would take home the gold medal every time.

“What the hell was that?”

Speak of the devil.

You swallowed slightly as you turned, meeting his gaze. “What do you mean?”

“Tryning to do something you knew you couldn’t do. It was irresponsible.”

“I could’ve done it. You didn’t even give me a chance.”

Robby crossed his arms, muscles bulging against the fabric of his hoodie. “How much longer did you want? Until the patient died? You ask for help when you need it. You don’t try to play the hero.”

You tried to fight the urge to flinch at the harshness of his voice. You knew deep down that he was right, yet you still found yourself crossing your own arms, mirroring his stance. “He was my patient! I don’t need you hovering over my shoulder, babysitting me!”

“Babysitting you is my damn job. I’m the attending.”

“Oh you’re the attending? Wow, I didn’t know that, you’ve never mentioned it.

You were being an ass, you knew it. But you were running on four hours of sleep and hadn’t sat down once since you woke up.

“Watch the attitude. And learn some fucking respect for your superiors.”

Robby’s tone was deep, almost a growl. He probably spoke low to avoid making a scene, keep things between you, but the bass in his voice made your spine tingle. You hadn’t realised how close he was standing until that moment, you had to tilt your head slightly to meet his eyes.

“Yes, sir.”

The sarcasm dripped from your voice. Sir. A part of you had debated calling him it in bed one time, but the thought had made you too shy. Now here you were calling him it in the middle of the ER. An intentional freudian slip. You saw how his eyes darkened slightly, noticed the way his jaw tightened. He was pissed.

“Dismissed, Doctor.”

*

You didn’t speak to Robby for the rest of the day. As you took your bag out of your locker, you didn’t linger like you usually did. Today had been a shitty day from start to finish, and to top it all off there was going to be none of your favourite stress relief tonight. You didn’t really feel like humiliating yourself by showing up at Robby’s apartment. ‘Hey, sorry I was such an asshole today! Mind if we have sex?’ Apologies weren’t really your strong suit. Besides, he had been an ass too. Your evening plans had therefore boiled down to a crappy horror movie and leftover Chinese takeout. That was until you heard the knock at your door.

Robby. Of course it was Robby.

The moment you opened the door you suddenly became hyper-aware of the fact that you were wearing the shortest pair of shorts in existence. Robby clearly noticed too, given the way his eyes were immediately drawn to your legs. You weren’t trying to show off, they were just your comfiest pair. It didn’t matter anyway. You didn’t have to justify your loungewear choices to him. Although you couldn’t ignore the heat that pooled in your stomach as his gaze travelled over you.

“A booty call? After today? Really?” You managed to keep your voice steady.

Robby’s eyes snapped back up to meet yours, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “Booty call?”

“You’ve never heard the term ‘booty call’ before? Jesus, you are old.”

“Well, sorry for not being down with the current lingo.”

Why was he so effortlessly charming? You tried to stand firm, but just the sound of his voice was enough to make your legs feel weak. He was close enough that you could smell that damn aftershave again, sandalwood, alongside the lingering scent of hospital antiseptic he always seemed to carry. ‘It’s probably in my veins at this point,’ he’d once joked when you could still smell it on him after your shared shower.

“Are you just gonna stand out there all night?”

“Are you gonna invite me in?”

As if you could say no to that. You held his gaze for a moment, willing yourself to grow a spine, but it was no use. Not when he was standing right in front of you, those dark brown eyes staring directly into yours. You stood aside, gesturing for him to enter. His broad shoulders almost brushed against the narrow doorframe, and you suddenly realised that this was the first time he’d been in your apartment. It was tiny compared to his, filled with second hand furniture, and you felt weirdly self-conscious about it. Your apartments were like a physical representation of the gap between you, the older man who had carved out a life for himself, and the young woman who had barely started hers. You watched as his eyes roamed over your belongings, feeling more exposed than you did when you were standing naked before him.

“This is a nice place.”

You bit back a scoff. “It’s tiny, and half of this stuff is from Goodwill, and my neighbours are the worst, and there’s a leaking faucet in the bathroom that drives me insane. But we don’t all make attending salaries.”

“Do residents even get salaries?” He asked with a slight smirk.

“We get paid in coffee and trauma.”

Robby let out a snort of amusement. He folded his arms, sitting down on the side of the couch. His eyes studied you, trying to size up what kind of mood you were in. “Are we going to talk about earlier?”

“I don’t think you came here just to talk about it.”Your breath hitched as he stood up, stepping towards you.

“No. I didn’t come here to talk.”

*

The sheets were tangled around your legs, clinging to the sweat. You closed your eyes, fighting to bring your breathing back to a normal rate. God, that man was a miracle. Robby had his head resting on your stomach, the scruff of his beard tickling the skin above your navel. You reached down and threaded your fingers through his hair, pushing the sweat damp strands off his forehead. That had been intense. It always was between you, but that was a whole different level. A punishment when he had your body pushed down into the mattress, followed by an apology when he had his head between your legs.

He was the first to break the silence. “You okay?”

You’d never heard his voice sound so low, so husky. It made your whole body shiver. You let out a small sigh, continuing to stroke his hair. “ Good… and exhausted. Maybe I should piss you off more often.”

“Oh trust me, you piss me off plenty already.” He said with a low chuckle.

You gave him a small, tired smirk, even though he couldn’t see it. He pressed a tender kiss to your stomach, before moving up the bed and settling in next to you. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. Neither of you had to apologise for being assholes earlier, because you both understood. You were assholes. A grumpy old bastard, and a snarky troublemaker. It was why you worked so well together. Except… you weren’t together.

“This bed is way too small.”

Robby’s grumble made you chuckle. It was a small bed. Your room was only big enough to fit in a standard double. It was one of the reasons you kept finding excuses to stay at Robby’s place, his king-size made you feel like you were staying in a fancy hotel. You felt the warmth of his chest pressing against your back and you snuggled into him slightly.

“You just take up too much space.”

He huffed. “At least scoot over a little. I’m hanging over the side here.”

“You are not hanging over the side!” You laughed, “Don’t be such a drama queen.”

The room was silent except for the faint ticking of your living room clock, and the muffled sounds of traffic outside the window - the broken one that you couldn’t open in the summer. You felt Robby’s warm breath against the back of your neck. One of his hands rested on your stomach, stroking it gently with his thumb. “Robby?”

He answered with a sleepy hum. You kept your voice quiet, “I was just gonna say-”

Your words were interrupted by the sound of your upstairs neighbours stomping around. BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Jesus,” Robby groaned. “What the hell are they doing? Testing out their combat boots?”

You chuckled softly. “They do this every night. I’ve never actually seen them so I always imagine that there’s a family of elephants living up there.”

“What time is it?” Robby murmured, reaching for his wristwatch on the bedside table. “Christ, it’s 3AM.”

“Oh great, that means next door’s rave session will be commencing soon.”

Right on cue, loud house music started seeping through your bedroom wall. Pete, your neighbour, had become rather infamous in the building for his week-long parties. The police had been out a few times after receiving noise complaints, but he must have had a brother or a friend in the force because nothing ever came of it. Typical.

“Christ almighty. I’m going to go say something.”

You grabbed Robby’s arm, stopping him from getting out of bed. “Don’t. It’s more trouble than it's worth, trust me. I don’t really need you pissing off my neighbours.”

He huffed, settling himself back into bed. His annoyance was kind of amusing to you. He was Michael Robinavitch, an ER doc who’d been on the frontlines of New Orleans during Hurricane Katrina, but one night in your apartment was enough to drive him insane. The faucet in the ensuite bathroom started to drip, the water echoing as it bounced off the ceramic sink. Robby buried his head in the pillow, grumbling a string of muffled profanities.

*

The other side of the bed was empty when you woke up the next morning. Robby had snuck out while you were still asleep. Your sheets still smelled like him, and you sat up to find that he’d neatly arranged his side of the duvet. There was a folded sheet of paper left next to your pillow. A note from Robby. You reached for it, smiling as you unfolded it and caught sight of his scrawly handwriting. It read -

Left for work.

Fixed the broken faucet for you, just needed tightening.

R

He’d fixed the damn faucet.

tag list: @pleasecallmeunhinged , @midnight-dixon , @oldmanbunnylover , @totally-awkward-random , @borbalalikesdocs

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

In On It

summary: When the Cody family’s crimes cross a thin line, Pope has to choose between blood and the one person he can’t protect.

pairing: Andrew 'Pope' Cody x fem!reader

warnings: Robbery, Canon violence, BAZ (Mf is a warning on his own), Angst, Guns, manipulative family

Word count: 5,337

a/n: Okay so, you don't have to read them but I did write this in the same universe as "Baby Boy" and "Contaminated". I think it takes place maybe a month or two after those stories! I have worked on this non stop oh my god. So just to hit on a few things I had two request that were pretty similar. I was originally going to wait until i got further into the show but this idea woke me up in the middle of the night and I had to write it. also I'm fully aware Baz probably isn't that bad but I hate him so he will always be the villain in my fics so sorry

Dividers:@strangergraphics

Pope knew he should have ended things with you before it got this far. Five months together, and you still didn’t really know anything about his family. What they did. What they’d done. He kept you at arm’s length, always feeding you the same line—family business. All you needed to know.

Until Baz.

Of course it would be him—Baz, who had a gift for poisoning anything good in Pope’s life. He came up with a plan for their next job. Low stakes, he said. A local credit union.

The alarm bells didn’t start ringing for Pope until it was too late. Out of the millions of credit unions in California, Baz had to choose yours. Pope tried to argue. The connection was too obvious—if they got caught, it would tie him to the bank, the bank to you, and you to them. It would damn you as complicit. It was too risky.

But Baz wasn’t wrong. It was the perfect hit: privately owned, no security, minimal staff. Everything would go off without a hitch… as long as they didn’t get caught.

Was Pope willing to risk that?

You didn’t love your job—who does? but you loved your coworkers. You told Pope about them all the time. Their inside jokes. Their monthly game nights at the bar next door. He’d even gone with you once to pick out a graduation gift for your boss’s kid.

None of that mattered to Baz.

And Pope couldn’t stop picturing it—couldn’t stop imagining the day they’d come crashing in. Guns drawn. Voices shouting. You, frozen behind the counter. The terror on your face when you realized what was happening.

The thought followed him all the way to Smurf’s house, where he sat at the table surrounded by his family. No one on his side—not that it was anything new.

“Pope, it’ll be easy, I promise. In, out, no one gets hurt,” Baz said, met with murmurs of agreement from around the table. Pope’s jaw clenched.

“And when she recognizes our voice? When something goes wrong—because when has a job ever gone to plan for us? What if she gets hurt? Or one of her coworkers? You wanna risk that? I don’t. I am not putting her in a position where she sees someone hurt or killed.” His voice rose, rough, his glare fixed on Baz from the corner. Shoulders tight. Arms crossed like steel bars.

“Look, Pope—” Baz began, but was cut off by the weight of Smurf’s hand on his shoulder. “Listen, sweetie,” she said, calm as ever. “We need this. Like Baz said—easy in, easy out. We’re doing it. If you want to sit this one out, that’s your choice, baby.” Pope gritted his teeth, breaking her gaze before it swallowed him whole.

“But…” Smurf stepped away from Baz, crossing the room toward him. Her hands slid up his chest, slow and deliberate, before cupping his face and forcing his eyes back to hers. “If you go, you can protect her. Leave the work to your brothers—just keep your eyes on her. And the others, if that makes you feel better. Okay, baby?” Her thumb brushed along his jaw before she finished with a light pinch of his cheek—a mockery of tenderness that made his skin crawl.

So that’s how they ended up here. Pope took extra care in stealing cars you’d never picture him driving anonymous sedans, forgettable colors trying to put as much distance between himself and this job as possible. Every choice was deliberate, every step meant to hide the truth from you for as long as he could.

The night before the job, Pope took you out.

He didn’t have it in him to be nervous—not outwardly. Instead, he went out and bought a crisp button-up and a bouquet of lilies, just for you. He waited outside the bank until you walked out, catching the exact moment your face lit up when you saw him. This would be the last time he had you like this—untainted, unsuspecting.

He drank in the sight of you as you bounced over, the warmth in your smile, the way your hand slid into his without hesitation. You talked all the way to the restaurant, your voice animated as you told him about your day. You didn’t take his silence as rejection—never had.

You babbled about Carolyn, your “recently divorced work bestie,” and the disastrous date she’d gone on. Pope barely spoke, just nodded at the right moments, letting your words wash over him. He wanted to memorize this. Your joy. Your trust. The way you filled the silence so easily, unaware of the storm coming.

Because tomorrow, he’d be the one to ruin it. He’d be the one to make you feel unsafe in the world. You already felt things so completely, so unabashedly—like your heart had no armor. And he was terrified to see what this would do to you.

He walked you to your door, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as you rattled off your plans for the week—how you were hoping to hit the gym after work tomorrow, or maybe go to the beach if he wasn’t too busy. You reminded him that he’d promised to teach you how to surf. Before you could keep going, he cut in without thinking.

“I love you,” he said, finally.

You blinked, startled, your next words dying on your tongue. Pope wasn’t an overly affectionate guy. In fact, most people found him off-putting, the way his stare could burn through anyone it landed on. Carolyn had once joked that he had serial killer eyes. Maybe she wasn’t too far off.

You tilted your head, searching his face, trying to figure out if he meant it. Before he had a chance to retreat or laugh it off, you answered.

“I thought I was going to be the one to say it first.” You grinned up at him. The way you looked at him in that moment broke him completely—like you truly believed he’d hung the moon and stars just for you. And he would. God, he would. But tomorrow, he was going to be the one to break you instead. He was going to be the voice that made you jump, the presence that made you flinch.

“Do you wanna come in? You’ve been quiet all night. I could run us a bath… rub your shoulders?” You were too good for him. Too sweet. Julia would have loved you. Pope gave you a tight-lipped smile and shook his head. “Nah… I— I gotta get back to the house. But I’ll see you this weekend, okay? I’ll teach you to surf.”

He reveled in the way your eyes lit up at the promise. You bounced forward, wrapping your arms around him and pressing your lips to his. When you finally pulled back, you kept your forehead resting against his.

“I love you too, by the way.” Andrew was going to hell. He knew that for sure now. For a while, he’d let himself believe that being with you might redeem him. That you might be the one pure thing he could keep untouched.

But like everything else in his life… he was going to ruin this, too. Andrew drove to Smurf’s house in silence. He ignored his brothers’ taunts and jabs, slipping wordlessly onto the couch. Reaching for the remote, he put on the one thing he thought might quiet his nerves—a nature documentary. He sat there, watching lions stalk antelope, his stomach sinking lower with every passing hour.

At 8 a.m., his phone buzzed.

Headed to work :)

A beat later:

Thanks again for last night. Had so much fun with you. Can’t wait to see you this weekend!

Pope shoved the phone into his pocket and rubbed a hand over his face. By noon, everyone was gathered around the table again. Supplies laid out—masks, gloves, a gun for each man, duffel bags stuffed with everything else they might need. Baz went over the plan one more time, his voice a low hum that barely cut through the pounding in Pope’s ears.

“Pope? You getting any of this?” Craig asked, elbowing his shoulder. Pope blinked, straightened, and forced his voice steady. “No one gets hurt,” he said, gravely.

Famous last words, obviously.

Four p.m.—one car rolled around to the rear entrance, and Pope’s car pulled up out front. His hands shook as he tugged the ski mask over his face.

Six minutes, he told himself. What could go wrong in Six minutes? Pope, Craig, and Daran jumped out of the car, boots hitting pavement in unison. Pope’s fingers brushed the gun tucked in his waistband as they pushed through the doors.

“Everyone down on the ground—now!” Craig barked, firing a shot into the ceiling for good measure. Pope’s eyes scanned the room instantly—Carolyn. Your boss. Three other employees. No customers.

More importantly—no you.

For a brief, flickering moment, he thought maybe he’d gotten lucky. Maybe you’d left early. Maybe you’d been sent out to run an errand. Anything to keep you far from this building.

Of course, he should be so lucky.

Baz emerged from the back room, gun pressed firmly to the head of a trembling figure. Your trembling figure.

Bile burned the back of Pope’s throat. His ears roared with static, drowning out the world. He heard your cry when Baz shoved you toward the floor, but his feet were lead—heavy, rooted, useless. “Alright, now—no heroes,” Baz said, his voice steady. “We want all the money in the safe, and no one gets hurt.” Pope’s pulse hammered in his skull as Baz’s hand tightened on the gun, pressing it harder into you. Baz motioned towards your boss on the floor.

"You. Get up open the safe up" Gun pointed directly at the man, This gave pope a chance to breathe. To revel in you not being in harms way for two seconds. Daran walked over to your boss and halled him up. The mans whimpering made him sick, When Pope got you out of here he would make it a point to make you get a new job. There's no way you could rely on your boss to keep you safe in an emergency.

"Please- I have kids I-" The mans whimpering turned into full fledge cries. You struggled against Baz slightly as he gripped you tighter. "Please wait- I- I'll do it just leave him alone" The air was sucked out of the room. Pope locked eyes with Baz and sent a pleading look to him.

"Well, looks like she's got more balls than anyone in this room" A pointed dig that Pope didn't have any time to process. He marched over to you and Baz and grabbed your arm wanting to tug you away from the man, from the danger, from everything. But he saw it. The way you flinched back. The way tears gathered on your lash line threatening to spill. He froze.

"Let's go, get her back there." Baz interrupted, So he's doing this. It has to be him. He wont trust anyone else with you. He nods his head towards the back hoping youd catch the hint. He wanted so badly to soothe you, offer you some kind of comfort but if he spoke hed surly give his identity away.

He followed you into the safe, close enough to feel the tremor in your steps. Your head stayed bowed, hands still slightly raised like you weren’t sure if it was safe to lower them. He hated it—the way you shook under his gaze. “I’m just—I’m going to start gathering everything, just please—” Your voice cracked, a sob jerking out of you mid-sentence. “Just please don’t hurt me. Oh God—” The words gutted him, like you’d been the one to put the thought of hurting you into the air.

Pope couldn’t look at you. Wouldn’t. He shoved the gun back into his waistband and took a step back, both hands raised in a useless gesture.

He watched in silence as you scrambled to grab stacks of cash, shoving them into the bag with frantic, jerky movements. Every so often you’d glance at him over your shoulder—then work even faster, like his stillness was more dangerous than if he’d barked an order.

“Three minutes!” Craig’s voice rang from the lobby. You jumped like the words were a gunshot. “Listen,” you started, turning to hand him the bag. “If you guys just leave without hurting anyone, I promise—I promise—we won’t say anything.” Your trembling fingers brushed against his as you passed the bag. A loose strand of hair fell across your face.

Pope didn’t think—his hand moved on instinct, brushing it back. You flinched, barely swallowing a yelp. You froze as his hand lingered a moment too long, his thumb grazing your temple before he pulled away. Your eyes locked on his. Something passed between you—recognition, disbelief, maybe even betrayal. Pope’s throat tightened, the words I'm sorry clawing their way up. He wanted to say it, to explain, to take the mask off and end this nightmare before it went any further.

But he didn’t.

“Load up—time to go!” Baz’s bark shattered it. Baz’s hand shot toward your shoulder—Pope swore that’s where it was aimed—but instead, it tangled in your hair. He yanked, dragging you out of the safe and back into the chaos of the lobby.

Pope followed, his hands fists at his sides, that unsaid confession burning like acid in his chest. You cried out when Baz kicked your knee, sending you crashing onto the thin carpet with a thud. The breath left you in a gasp as you tried to push up, but Baz was already cocking his gun, pressing the barrel to your temple.

The shouts from your coworkers spiked into chaos. Carolyn—God bless her—actually tried to lunge toward you, more spine than your Pope had shown all day.

“On the ground!” Daran barked, swinging his gun toward her, the muzzle leveled right between her eyes. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Things were spinning out—when it got like this, someone bled. “No one sees anything, no one says anything,” Baz barked, his voice cutting through the noise. “You wait fifteen minutes, then you call the cops.”

“And if you don’t—” He stepped closer to you, crowding in until you had to tilt your head back to keep his face in view. Your voice broke into desperate pleading, and that was it—Pope’s body moved before his mind caught up, every instinct screaming to get you away from him. But Craig’s hand clamped on his arm, yanking him back before he could close the distance.

“We’ll be back,” Baz finished, his tone almost casual—like a promise. Then he shoved you down. Pope’s gaze locked on you just long enough to see Carolyn scramble to your side, hands hovering, voice shaky but urgent. Craig’s grip on his arm yanked him back into motion.

He moved on autopilot, feet pounding to the car. The second he slid behind the wheel, he tore out of there, the engine screaming as his hands trembled around the steering wheel. They pulled into the drop-off garage, Baz’s car sliding in ahead of him. Pope barely threw his into park before he was out, rounding on Baz. His fist caught Baz by the collar and slammed him against the side of the car.

“What the hell was that?” Pope snarled, shoving him hard. Craig and Daran jumped out, closing in fast.

“She was in the back, man—what do you want?” Baz spat, shoving back weakly. “We went over the plan!” Pope’s voice cracked with fury. “We didn’t go over you using her as a hostage.”

Daran hooked his arms under Pope’s, trying to haul him away. Craig added a solid shove, finally wedging himself between them. “Fuck you, man—you were there. She volunteered.” Pope broke free from Daran's grip, his fist crashing into the taller man’s face. “You hurt her—You—I swear to God, if there’s a scratch on her—” He was jerked back again, Daran barking, “Cool it—”

Before Pope could respond, Baz’s voice cut through, sharp and mocking. “Or what? You didn’t do anything when we were in there. Know why? ’Cause you’re a fucking pussy.” He lunged at Pope, only to be held back by Craig.

“Enough.”

A sharp, commanding voice sliced through the tension. Smurf stepped into the garage, her heels clicking against the concrete, with J trailing behind. “Are you boys really going to let a girl come between you?” she asked, standing squarely between Pope and Baz, eyes flicking from one to the other. “Baby, are you going to let this girl come between your family?” She locked eyes with Pope.

Pope’s phone vibrated violently in his pocket—unknown caller. He glanced down, then back at Smurf, then back to the phone. He swiped to answer, pressing it to his ear. “Andrew—sorry, this is Carolyn—” Relief surged through him at the sound of her voice, even with the distant chaos of sirens and screaming bleeding through the line. “Something happened at work. We need you to come get her. She’s not hurt, but she’s shaken up.”

“I’ll be there in ten. Don’t leave her alone.” Pope cut her off and hung up. Without another word, he turned from the garage and started for his truck, ignoring Baz’s taunts and Smurf’s sickly sweet voice. His choice was made.

He sped through the streets until the flashing lights told him where to stop. The bank was cordoned off with police cars, their lights painting the night in red and blue. A lone ambulance idled in the lot. And there you were.

Sitting on the edge of its bumper, a silver shock blanket wrapped around your shoulders, staring blankly out into the dark. Staring at nothing. Andrew climbed out of his truck, shoulders tense, jaw set, and pushed past the officers trying to block him. The commotion drew Carolyn’s attention. She set a gentle hand on your shoulder before rushing toward him.

“It’s okay! He’s here to pick her up—I called him!” She grabbed Andrew’s arm and tugged him under the tape. “Look, Andrew—these guys, they robbed the place. She’s not hurt, but they had a gun on her. I don’t know what they said, but she won’t talk to me.” Carolyn’s words tumbled out as they approached. She stopped just short of the ambulance and turned to him, lowering her voice.

“You need to be… gentle with her.” Pope nodded once, sharp and curt, but his chest felt like it might cave in. Gentle. The word rattled around in his skull like a foreign language. Gentle wasn’t something he knew how to be, not really. But for you, he’d try—he’d break himself into pieces if that’s what it took.

He stepped closer. You hadn’t noticed him yet, eyes still fixed somewhere far beyond the parking lot, lost in the aftershock. Your hands clutched the blanket so tightly your knuckles blanched white.

“Sweetheart,” Pope said softly, crouching in front of you. His voice sounded strange in his own ears, rough and unsure, but low enough that only you could hear. “It’s me.” Your head turned slowly, eyes glassy, unfocused for a beat—then recognition flickered.

“Let me take you home,” he said softly. You shook your head, chest jerking with every sob. “I can’t—I… Can I go to yours?” The words staggered out, broken. His heart splintered. He stumbled over a half-formed sentence, some useless excuse, but you cut through it with one word.

“Please.” The plea gutted him. Because he knew. He knew he was the one who put you here, the one who broke you like this.

And still—he nodded.

He carefully guided you toward his truck, barely acknowledging Carolyn’s worried rambling. He opened the passenger door, let her wrap you in one last lingering hug before he gently lifted you inside. He muttered a promise to keep her updated, then shut the door with more finality than he meant to. Sliding into the driver’s side, he risked a glance at you blanket clutched, eyes unfocused before leaning across to buckle your seatbelt himself.

The drive was silent, suffocating. The only sound came from your occasional shaky breaths. When he turned onto Smurf’s street, a soft sniffle broke through the quiet.

“I thought he was gonna kill me,” you whispered, voice raw. Pope jerked his head toward you, throat tight. He opened his mouth, desperate for something to say, something that could undo it. Nothing came.

“The one guy… he grabbed me when I was alone. He put his gun—” You caught his hand and pressed his finger against your throat, right at your carotid. “Here.” Your voice cracked. “All I could think about was you.” The confession knocked the air out of him. His chest squeezed, guilt and longing and shame clawing up his throat.

“I kept thinking that someone was going to have to call you, tell you what happened. I kept thinking about how Carolyn would react, walking into the back and seeing me there. What would happen to the others if he shot me—” You were spiraling, your words coming faster, jagged. Andrew pulled his hand free only to curl it around the back of your neck, drawing you closer until your forehead pressed to his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you, solid, anchoring.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you again. Do you understand me?” Your sobs had quieted to uneven breaths by the time Pope pulled away from you. He killed the engine, sat there for a moment with his hand still warm against the back of your neck. His chest felt hollow—how could he ever explain that it had been him? That he had been in that room? Instead, he gave your shoulder a squeeze and forced his voice steady.

“Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

You nodded wordlessly, still wrapped tight in the silver blanket, and let him guide you up the steps. He unlocked the door, ushered you in, and shut it quick behind you.

The house was dim and smelled faintly of smoke and beer—signs the others had already returned. Pope’s stomach knotted. Any second, they’d come down the hall. Any second, you’d hear their voices and maybe recognize them. He couldn’t risk it.

“Go on,” he murmured, steering you toward the bathroom. His voice softened when he added, “Take a hot shower, yeah? It’ll help.” You looked up at him with wide, exhausted eyes, like you needed him to confirm it was safe. He brushed your hair gently back behind your ear—slow, deliberate, nothing like the way Baz had yanked at it earlier. “I’ll be right here,” he promised.

You froze as you looked up at him. For a beat too long, your glassy eyes locked on his face, searching. The corner of your mouth trembled, like you were piecing something together—like you’d seen him before. His stomach dropped. He felt it—the shadow of the safe between you, the way his hand had brushed that same strand of hair back hours earlier, the way you’d flinched at his touch then, the way you stiffened now.

But then you blinked, lashes damp, and whatever thought had been forming seemed to dissolve under the weight of your exhaustion. You gave a small, shaky nod and finally let him nudge you inside. The bathroom door shut with a soft click, and a moment later the shower sputtered to life. Pope sagged against the wall, pressing the heel of his hand hard against his eye, fighting the rising tide in his chest. The muffled sound of voices carried down the hall—low, rough, familiar. His stomach sank.

He pushed off the wall and stormed into the living room. Exactly what he expected: duffel bags dumped open, guns sprawled across the table, bricks of cash tossed in careless piles. “Get rid of it,” Pope snapped, his voice cutting like a blade through their chatter. “She’s here now.” His glare swept across the table, landing squarely on Baz. Baz’s head jerked up, bewildered. “She—why the hell would you bring her here?”

“She’s scared,” Pope hissed, stepping dangerously close, chest nearly brushing Baz’s. Baz smirked, cold and knowing. “Wonder why.” Baz’s smirk widened, pushing just enough to set Pope’s blood boiling. Pope shoved him back a step, teeth bared, his voice dropping to something ragged.

“You don’t ever ever put a gun on her again.” Craig shot Daran a look, shifting uneasily, but neither moved to intervene. The room vibrated with the heat rolling off both men.

“Or what?” Baz sneered, tone sharp and goading.

“You gonna finally grow a pair? ‘Cause in there you froze. You always freeze, Pope.” His voice rose with the taunt, bouncing off the walls.

The bathroom door clicked open down the hall. Steam drifted out as you padded barefoot onto the hardwood, the hem of one of Pope’s shirts clinging damp to your thighs. You paused, hearing the edge in Baz’s voice, and crept further, peering around the corner.

Your breath caught. Baz’s raised voice, the snarl, the sheer grit. It was the same sound, the same cadence, that had been pressed against your skull in that back room. Your pulse skittered wildly. You crept around the corner, watching the exchange for only a moment before Pope slammed his fist against the table. The sound made you flinch, and you stumbled into the vase in the hall. The crash echoed. Silence followed. Every head turned. Pope’s eyes found you instantly.

Caught, you stepped out, gaze locked on Baz.

“It was you—” your voice cracked, trembling but certain. But then your eyes fell on the table. The guns. The masks. The stacks of money. Your blood turned to ice. You staggered back, hand reaching out blindly for balance. Pope moved toward you, instinctively reaching to steady you, but your voice cut sharp through the air.

“Don’t.”

You put as much space as possible between yourself and the men at the table, tears streaking your face. “I—I won’t say anything, okay? I promise. Just… don’t.” Pope finished your sentence before you could. “We won’t hurt you. Would never—” A sharp, bitter laugh cracked out of your chest, cutting him off. “You let your brother pull a fucking gun on me.” Your voice broke on the words, fury and fear colliding. “Do you—do you have any idea how scared I was?”

Your eyes swept the table, landing briefly on Craig. He wouldn’t even meet your gaze. Not exactly your friend, but close enough after the months you’d spent around him while dating Pope. Still—he looked away, shame painting his features.

“I thought you guys were going to kill us.” The confession scraped out of you, your face twisting with disgust. You shook your head, a disbelieving laugh spilling into your sobs. “And I—I actually felt bad for making you take me back here.” Pope took a tentative step toward you, his hands raised like he was approaching a frightened animal.

“Don’t—please,” he rasped. “You know me. I’d never let anything happen to you.” But you backed away, your hand trembling as you pointed toward the table. “I saw. The guns. The masks. Don’t—don’t tell me you weren’t part of it.”

His mouth opened, but no words came.

A low scoff broke the silence. Baz leaned back in his chair, arms folded casually across his chest, his smirk sharp enough to cut glass. “You don’t need to be so dramatic about this,” he drawled. “If it makes it any better—he made us promise not to kill you. Real sweet.” He jerked his thumb toward Pope.

The sound of his voice hit you like a bullet. It dragged you straight back into the bank—the smell of gunpowder sharp in your nose, the weight of the barrel digging into your skin, your knees buckling as you begged for your life. Your stomach lurched; bile clawed at your throat.

Your eyes went wide as Baz stood, his smirk still painted on his face, and stepped toward you.

“Calm the fuck down. No one got hurt. Insurance’ll cover what we took. Now what I want to know is—” He took another step closer. “We gonna have to worry about you running your mouth?” Pope’s hand shot out, shoving him hard in the chest. “Baz—shut up.” He drew back, ready to throw another punch, when your voice sliced through the tension.

“I won’t. I won’t say anything. Just—” Your words caught, jagged in your throat. “I never want to see you again.” Your eyes cut to Pope, sharp and deliberate, the weight of your words burning into him. “Any of you. You’ll never hear from me again.” Your chest heaved as silence fell.

Then, before anyone could stop you, you spun on your heel and bolted. Your feet pounded down the hallway, the front door crashing open as you stumbled out into the night. Cool air slapped your tear-streaked face, but it didn’t slow you—you just needed distance, any distance.

“Wait—!” Pope’s voice chased you, heavy footsteps following close behind. You spun on him the moment you hit the yard, chest heaving, fury ripping through the fear. “Don’t you fucking follow me!” you screamed, your voice breaking. “You lied to me—you sat there, you held me, and the whole time you knew. You knew it was you. It was all of you!” He stopped a few feet away, chest rising and falling, hands half-lifted like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

“I thought I was gonna die in that bank. Do you get that? I thought someone was gonna call my mom and tell her I was gone, that Carolyn would have to clean my blood off the floor—and it was you!” Your voice cracked, each word sharper than the last.

You shoved him hard, your palms slamming against his chest. He didn’t budge—he just stood there like a stone wall. You hit him again, fists pounding against his shirt, wild and desperate. “I can’t trust you—I can’t trust anyone again because of you!” Tears streamed freely now, hot and relentless, your fists losing strength even as you kept striking. Pope didn’t move, didn’t raise a hand, didn’t defend himself. He just took it—every shove, every blow his jaw clenched, his eyes breaking in a way words never could.

Your fists slowed, strength draining until you were just shoving at him weakly, broken sobs tearing out of your chest. Pope still didn’t move, his silence cutting deeper than if he’d shouted back. You staggered a step back, dragging the sleeve of your shirt across your face, smearing tears you couldn’t stop. Your voice came out raw, trembling with fury and heartbreak.

“I hate you.” His eyes flickered, but he didn’t argue. “Everyone was right about you. About your family.” You shook your head, a bitter laugh scraping past your lips. “You’re poison. All of you. And I was stupid enough to think you were different.” Pope opened his mouth, some soundless plea caught on his tongue, but you cut him off before he could breathe it into the air.

“I wish I never met you.”

The words cut through him like glass, sharp and final. Beneath the venom, another voice ghosted in his head—the one from just days ago, whispered with bright eyes and the promise of future plans, soft and unwavering: I love you too, by the way. Possibly the first time he had heard those words in years. The first time since Julia. It collided violently with the words you’d just hurled at him, twisting like a knife in his chest.

You turned and ran, feet pounding down the street, the night swallowing you whole. Pope stood rooted where you left him, his chest heaving like he’d just been gutted. He didn’t call after you. He didn’t chase. He only watched until you disappeared into the dark, every instinct screaming to go after you—while the sick weight in his chest told him the truth. You were gone. And he didn’t deserve you back.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

You're not sick of working nights yet? My therapist thinks I find comfort in the darkness.

Shawn Hatosy as Dr. Jack Abbot THE PITT • Season 1

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

force of nature, pull of gravity master list

shared history, shared traumas, it all should bring you closer. but robby is intent on pushing you away. after decades of friendship, and occasionally more, adamson’s death pushes you and robby so far apart, things finally seem done for good. but something always seems to pull you back in his orbit. and four years later, although you feel desperate to break old, bad habits, you somehow end up revolving around him again.

dr. robby x f!attending!reader

content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, the entirety of this fic navigates grief in depth, death of mentor (adamson), death of child/family member, suicidal ideation, swearing, canon medical events, alcohol, smoking (marijuana), mentions of drug use, angst

part one

part two

part three

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Superman (2025) — dir. James Gunn

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Afternoon Delight

A/N: Unedited so excuse the grammatical errors. I wish I could find/tag the writer who inspired this because your fic SPOKE to me...all I remember is "I'm not your boyfriend."

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader

Masterlist

Warnings: Angst, language

Word Count: 1.5k

*********************************************

Sunday afternoons were sacred at the Robinavitch household. Robby usually refused to be scheduled to work to have one full day with Y/N whether it was to simply catch up and cuddle or explore the latest farmer’s market. He wouldn’t dare admit it out loud, but it was his favorite part of the week, the time they spent truly together without an obstacle in sight. If he could help it.

“Yes, Mom. I’ll be there next Saturday. I’ll bring my homemade key lime pie, will that get you off my back?”

Y/N’s tone swung somewhere between sarcasm and affectionate teasing still loving to give her mom an extra wrinkle or two.

“Honey, that would be fabulous! And make sure to bring that boyfriend of yours? Aunt Jackie and Esther would love to meet him after all the wonderful things you’ve told us. Sounds like quite the catch, baby.”

Robby froze, leaning against the doorframe, heart thudding loud enough to drown out the faint clatter of dishes from the sink. Robby didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the speaker Y/N so kindly used ricocheted off the kitchen walls. His mind raced, but his body refused to move. The next words were crucial, and even though every instinct screamed to back away, he couldn’t pull himself back.  

“I’ll check his schedule and get back to you but I’m sure he’d love to come.”

He looked at her then—really looked. She was wearing that oversized cream sweater she always pulled out when the weather turned the slightest bit crisp, the sleeves swallowing her hands. Her hair was pinned up messily, a stray curl catching the breeze. She looked like home. And he hated that he was letting home feel temporary.

“I’m happy for you, Y/N. Seems like you finally found yourself a man who knows my baby’s worth. I’m looking forward to meeting this mysterious doctor. You’ve only kept him hidden for six months now.” Her mom continued babbling about the holidays right around the corner.

“Okay, okay. Please don’t get ahead of yourself, woman. It’s still new and we’re feeling things out as they come.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are, honey.” Her tone appearing tauntingly all-knowing.

“Mother!”

“Oh, hush it. Don’t pull the saint card now, sweet daughter of mine.”

Y/N’s eyes rolled so fast she felt a sudden ache behind the sockets.

Robby remained paralyzed and perplexed by the conversation and the direction of their …situationship. He’d sold the time old tale of not wanting a label, to explore this …feeling wherever it took them. He just didn’t realize until it was too late it was starting to morph into something entirely different. Robby genuinely liked Y/N, her company setting him at ease, someone to look forward to seeing and listening to him, but somewhere in between he wasn’t quite ready to give his heart to her... or anyone for that matter. Past relationships taught him he strayed towards selfishness tending to forget two people were involved, that he wasn’t the only person capable of making decisions. Y/N always went along with his notions, knowing any attention of his was better than none.

So, she settled into a sort of ebb and flow, allowing Robby to take charge a majority of the time. She was passive to a fault; it was one of the qualities Robby admired. How she felt everything all at once, understanding his conflicts from both sides without judgment. But now he knew he’d allowed it to go too far, accepting it was easier to let Y/N down now than later.

He cleared his throat alerting her of his presence. Regardless, Y/N startled slightly jumping at his footsteps.

“Hey, Michael just walked in. I’ll call you later. Love you!”

The sour expression on his face was enough of a warning; “You were listening,” Y/N said, not accusing, attempting to maintain her composure. Her heart kicked into overdrive.

Robby swallowed, caught between the truth and the lie he wasn’t ready to tell.

“Aren’t I a little too old to be called your boyfriend?”

“Is that ageism I hear, doctor?”

Fighting to keep her voice calm, Y/N skin heated slowly but with force. Robby scratched the back of his neck awkwardly fumbling for his words. His tongue slid across his front teeth before setting his jaw.

“Y/N, I think it’s time we had a talk.”

Playing oblivious, Y/N questioned back; “Sometime in particular on your mind Michael?”

She wasn’t making this easy for him. Every word, every glance, pulled at something fragile inside Robby, and he knew—this would break her heart. He could see it in the way her eyes flickered with quiet sadness, like she was bracing herself for something painful he wasn’t ready to face.

“I thought we agreed no labels.” He paused, searching for the word; “Us. I’m not your boyfriend, Y/N.”

Robby’s chest tightened. Saying it out loud didn’t make the words feel any less heavy. I’m not your boyfriend. Yet here he was, caught in this impossible moment, tangled in emotions he wasn’t ready to name.

Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line, the vulnerability gone, replaced by something harder—resignation, maybe even pain. “Good.”

Her gaze softened for a flicker—a quick crack in her armor—before steel slid back in. “You know, it’s not about that, Robby. Not now.” Their voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of all the unspoken things between them.

For a heartbeat, the room seemed to shrink, the air thick with everything they weren’t saying. Robby wanted to ask—wanted to demand—why he mattered so much, why Y/N trusted him, but his mouth stayed shut.

Instead, Robby stepped forward slowly, careful not to break whatever fragile truce they’d found in silence. “Then what is it about?”

Her exhale was other worldly as she set the knife on the cutting board; “You’re really gonna make me say it, huh? Okay then. I’m falling in love with you and correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought you might feel the same way too.”

Robby swallowed hard, realizing that whatever this was between them—wasn’t simple. It wasn’t clean. But maybe, just maybe, it could be real. His own insecurities shouted at him inside his head waiting with bated breath to ruin anything decent in his life. So, he let them.

“…I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge verging on non-confrontational.

‘What’s the difference?”

She shook her head slowly, a bitter smile tugging at her lips; “A whole hell of a lot if you ask me.”

Y/N’s eyes locked on his, neither daring to be the first to look away, to admit defeat. The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. She’d been so happy two minutes ago, so lightweight and at ease to now be met with conflict. Finally, she stepped closer, her voice dropping to something raw and fragile, her hand brushed against his forearms stirring goosebumps to rise.

 “Robby, love is terrifying. I’m not saying to jump into the deep end, but I think we really have something here. I just need you to say it out loud.”

Robby’s breath caught. The walls he’d been hiding behind cracked, just a little. She was giving him a chance. A chance to truly be, a platform for his unresolved feelings. But like any asshole, Robby squashed it deciding to hide beneath the cracks.

His silence was answer enough. Not because he didn’t care. But because he cared too much -- and didn’t know how to say it without unraveling.

“So, I’m good enough to sleep with but not love-- is that it?”

Robby’s fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms.

“If you’d stop with the petulant child act, you’d see you’re missing the point here.”

Her eyes burned with a fierce kind of pain, the kind that came from carrying wounds no one else could see.

“Says the man child who won’t own up to his own shit.”

She reached out, fingertips trembling, and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead; “Look, I’m sorry you overheard me call you my boyfriend. I take it all back; can we just rewind five minutes and start over?”

She absolutely knew she was cheapening her worth, but it felt like her only chance at holding onto something, somebody as important to her as Robby.

“I don’t think so, kid.”

“So, that’s it. We’re just …done now? Oh, sorry-- I forgot you get call all the shots.”

“Maybe… maybe a break wouldn’t be a bad idea,” he said quietly, the words tasting bitter but honest.

Her demeanor changed as an abrupt chill overcame her. Robby was running from a fight. If she left today, she knew the chance of him calling was slim to none, so she did what she rehearsed forcing a smirk; “Message received.”

And in that quiet, messy moment, they both understood that sometimes stepping away was the bravest kind of fight there was.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Queen Elizabeth Woodville Moments (1-∞)

REBECCA FERGUSON as Elizabeth Woodville (1-) The White Queen (2013) — Episode one

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

sacraments master list

the way we were raised and the people we were raised by leave permanent scars no matter how badly we wish them away. robby proves to you over and over that he loves those scars and wouldn’t change a thing, even if you’re always wishing things were different. (this started as a sort of reimagining of ep 2x06 of the bear and spiraled from there)

robby x f!attending!reader ; established relationship

content: 18+ only minors dni, angst, swearing, sexually explicit content, smoking, alcohol, sibling death, grief, complicated mother/daughter relationship, family/childhood trauma, mentions of physical/emotional childhood abuse, accidental pregnancy, abortion, age gap

healing

penance

baptism

communion

matrimony

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

This was amazing!! If you’re tagging, could you please include me for part 2?

Undone

Michael Robinivitch x Reader

Summary: Robby and you are happily married, or so you thought. Everything changes when you come home to no husband, divorce papers on the counter.

Warnings: BIG Angst, Smut, PIV sex, breakdowns, break-ups, and the awkward parts of moving on. Written as Plus size! Reader, but ambiguous enough! The reader is Robby's Wife. The Reader has hair.

No Beta, minimal editing, we're getting this one live guys.

4.5k words

Part 1 of 2!

Meeting Robby was the start of the best years of your life. He was, without a doubt, your better half. You spent months pining over him, a stranger who frequented the same bar as you, but you never imagined he’d be yours. Your romantic life had never been overflowing; you kept to yourself in hopes that the right man would eventually sweep you off your feet.

That had all paid off when a frosted winter storm brought you together. His bashful attempts at flirting were all you needed, that was the man you were going to marry. So two years later, eloped, moving into a newly renovated town-home within walking distance of the hospital, you thought the bond shared was unshakable. Michael had promised you the rest of your life, and you had every intention of following through on that. 

It was hard to pinpoint an exact moment when he stopped looking at that same goal, when he stopped looking for you in every room he walked through. It was slow at first, plenty of overtime at the hospital hides the truth, but by the time you had noticed that he had begun pulling away it was too late. 

Michael was an expert at deflection. He left hundreds of words unsaid on the tip of your tongue, waiting for the moment to unleash its concern. 

I’ll be back tonight, we’ll talk then. 

Then it’s-

I’m sorry Honey, I’m dead on my feet, let’s talk this weekend. 

And then it’s- nothing. He’s nothing, he stops asking how you are, stops inquiring about your hobbies, your work, everything. He’s a machine now, wake up, go to the hospital, come home, collapse. It was brutal, the pressure he was under, something you couldn’t seem to understand no matter how many times you asked him to let you in. 

You should’ve seen it coming, but you were younger, naive, blind with hope that eventually he’d take a deep breath and spill his feelings to you. You were the forgiving wife, letting him process how he needed, in hopes that the rubber band would snap soon and bring him back to you. It was supposed to be the monthly date night, he always had the first friday of the month off to spend with you, it was tradition. 

You should’ve suspected when he hadn’t answered your call earlier in the day. You should’ve just taken a half-day and come home. You should’ve caught him moving boxes of his clothing into the bed of Jack’s pick-up. You should’ve-

You should’ve done a lot of things, but nothing had prepared you for a dark home, all traces of your husband sterilized, and a thin folder of divorce papers sitting on the counter. He already signed them too. Your brain loves to remember the loopy illegible chicken scratch at the bottom of the page. 

And then it was the world falling out under your feet. He had promised the rest of your lives and he broke that promise as easily as he had everything else in your life. 

You’re not sure what happened next, not clearly at least. Just the feeling of your chest caving in and the overwhelming feeling of loneliness you had greeted like an old friend. The world was spinning, you're not sure how the world could possibly keep spinning, but it had. 

The first night was spent curled up on the floor of your newly renovated kitchen, one you had planned to fill with light and memories. You had hoped this space would bring him back to you, ironically serving as its final resting place. 

The thoughts swirling around you were drastic, how could he do this to you? How could he just leave like that? What had you said to him this morning? Was there someone else? 

Your brain ran through every detail picking at the past five years for clues of nefarious incidents. All you found was your husband had left you a long time before he placed those papers on the counter and you, as always, were left trailing behind begging him to understand the jagged pieces piercing through your chest. 

The first night was completely unbearable, only the uncontrollable emotional release and a threadbare kitchen rug to comfort you. It was completely pathetic, and borderline insane. It was incredible darkness, and you hadn’t felt this small in years. 

The cruelty continued with a sunrise peaking through the curtains of the bay window. In your distress you had wished for time to stop, to take away the pain and relieve the crushing weight of abandonment even for a moment. 

The world had responded in its own savage revenge, the world continued turning until the sunlight spilled over the horizon. Time passed and cemented the new reality, and whether you were ready it was pulling you alongside it. 

It’s a testament that you’re able to survive the fall from his grace. The feeling that lingered was hollow, echoes of pain radiated through you. Your body resisted the urge to move, waiting for someone to come out and shout that it was all some sick joke, that your life hadn’t been cut to pieces with the precision only a certain emergency room doctor possessed. 

Passively, a quieter voice, wondered if he was alright, if he was already working or if he was holed up somewhere shattered to pieces. If he was hunched over the on-call bed thinking of the memories he’d tainted with an exit so swift he forgot to leave his wife’s dignity behind. 

The first movement had been to reach for your phone, flipping it over. Part of you had hoped for something truly pathetic, maybe a missed call or even an I’m sorry. 

The lack of notifications had been a mockery. 

Would anyone notice if I was gone? 

You had to push the thought from your mind, selfishly he wasn’t allowed to be the reason. He was the selfish one here, he was the one in the wrong, and you needed to pull yourself together. 

You couldn’t help the thought from passing through your mind- what was it about me that made it so easy for him to leave?

The first few weeks had been an exercise in relearning. Relearning how to be a singularity. Relearning how to stand on your own two feet. Relearning to trust yourself. 

Michael had done a wonderful job in making you feel like you were blowing everything out of proportion. Ironic isn’t it. He had made everything steady so questionable, and now it was up to you to rebuild what was destroyed so spectacularly. 

It was empty days and emptier nights. It was the feeling that crossing paths again would be agony, would be suicide. Reprieved only by sleep and the occasional visit from the closest friends and family. 

He doesn’t deserve you.

He’s an idiot, you just need to move on.

It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay. 

Well meaning words, but none of them know the beauty that was being known by Robby. None of them had ever felt the warm foamy bubbles of making him blush over candle lit meals and the dizzy way he’d kiss you until he’d run out of air and then kiss you some more anyways. He was an all consuming wildfire lover who had burned you inside out, there wasn’t anything about deserving the love he gave you, it was about preserving it. 

It was cheap, the way people had explained moving on, like it was something that just happened. Or, it had felt that way until one day you looked up and it was happening before your eyes. 

The first month, leaving the house meant looking out of the corner of your eye for ghosts. A single ghost really, a poltergeist slinking just out of reach from your eye, plotting the ways to finally kill you off. Everywhere was a place where he had been, and every sense was on fire searching for another clue to where he’d been. In the absence of your husband your body seemed to cry out for relief, a relief that would simply never come. 

The frame of a stranger that looked a little too similar at the gas station could set off a spiral. It was better off avoiding everywhere that was a shared place, better rip the chance away. It wasn’t worth it anymore, you couldn’t spend the rest of your life chasing after a ghost that didn’t want to be caught. 

The isle of the grocery store a few blocks out of the way had become somewhat of a safe haven. Pursuing the ice cream pints like it was life or death without the looming thought that he loves the produce selection here- it was reassuring. 

You hadn’t hardly thought twice about the slight breeze of antiseptic alcohol smell when you turned in, and you could’ve walked by if the slightly familiar voice hadn’t called out your name. 

The blood in your head rushes out, making the world seem dreamy, and your body rivals the freezers that line the isle for icy temperature. The first thing that strikes you is that it’s so unfair for him to be reaching out, to be calling out your name. He should be hiding his head deeper in the ice cream stashes and hoping you didn’t see him. He shouldn’t get to stop you, to disrupt the equilibrium you’d only just seemed to find in your new routine. 

Jack looked tired, he stood with a painfully obvious lean, and every movement seemed to grate against his skin. The bags under his eyes seemed to rival the inky scrubs that still wrapped his frame. His hair was disheveled wild, in a way that contradicted the tense regimented posture he usually sports. He looked surprised too, to see you, and it seems like he’s surprised by his own action. He hadn’t really made a move towards you, and you wondered if you could pretend you hadn’t heard him. 

“How are you doing?” He asked gently, moving to close the chamber to the fridge. 

It’s a fair enough question, one you’d been asked more times in the last month than you had your entire life. It was the first thing anyone always asked, but it hadn’t made responding any easier. It’s a non-question, really, because if you’re asking it usually it means- you look like you’re not doing well, let’s talk about that. 

And suddenly it’s a completely unfair question. It’s a completely unfair question for your soon to be ex-husband’s best friend to ask you in the middle of the day in an ice cream aisle. It’s completely ridiculous to even be asking, and it sparks something that had been dormant inside for a long time, anger. 

Jack had really made you nervous when you first met. He was the first person Robby had asked her to meet, the only person he really cared about. He’d been around the bar when you met Robby, but he was always more interested in nursing his beer then walking home. You were convinced he was going to hate you. 

Robby, for all his reassurance, was convinced of the opposite. He spent days dispelling your anxiety leading up to the dinner he had planned for the only night off they both had all month. 

“He’s going to love you, Honey.” Robby placed chaste kisses across your hairline and down your jaw. “I’m pretty sure he already loves you.” 

“You have to think that Michael,” Your nose scrunches, and he leans in to kiss it, “You’re blinded by the honeymoon phase.” He silences you with a kiss. The wired tendrils of his beard brush softly against you as you melt into him. He tilts your head just right until he can deepen the kiss, just the way that made your stomach flip. 

He brushes the hair out of your face, savoring the taste of your sweet hums of approval. The grip of breathlessness creeps up your neck until it wraps its way across the base of your skull. You grip Michaels shirt, he squeezes you to him just until you think you might become dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Then, as suddenly as he was there, he pulls away and the pleasure of airflow is euphoric. It wraps around you like a warm blanket fresh from the dryer and you find a home in the crook of your boyfriend’s shoulder. 

“Jack’s going to love you because I do.” 

Your breath caught, a heat creeping up your spine, he loves you. He loves you. 

You love him back, so much it hurts. He smiles at you and it feels like finally, everything in the disorganized chaotic rotation of the stores makes sense. You were absolutely meant to spend the rest of your life with him. 

Jack did love you. Jack, over the years, became a friend. You conspired with him for Michael’s birthday gifts and confided in him when things at the hospital had been hard for your husband. He was always going on about how you two were a team, because ‘we both want what’s best for him’. 

You wonder now, what had changed, because you suddenly realized you were no longer on that team. Another identity stripped. It pricked at the back of your eyes, and talking was silenced. You were thankful for the cart between the two of you, perhaps the distance would disguise the urge to suddenly lay down and cry. 

“I’m…” Is all you can get out before you have to look away completely. “I’m fine.” 

You don’t attempt to elaborate. You know any information will only trickle back. You attempt to steel yourself to look him in the eye again. 

“That’s good,” It sounds patronizing and you glare at him “I’m glad to hear that.” He gives you a pathetic smile, and you consider walking away entirely. 

“I’ve been, um, meaning to call-” You can’t help but let out a humorless laugh, “to see how you’ve been holding up.” 

“I’m sure you have Jack.” 

“Seriously, we-I’ve been worried about you.” He scratches the back of his head in shame, he looks like a kid being sent to the principal's office. 

His stumble didn’t go unnoticed. The anger that had finally- finally- unsheathed itself was indiscriminate. It doesn’t matter what he, Michael, or anyone else thought about you anymore. You were in the middle of building your life when Michael came crashing into it, you hadn’t asked him to come up to you in a bar, you hadn’t begged him to take you out to dinner after, nor did you throw grand gestures of forever at him. 

He had done this, he had made that choice. The fact of the matter is Michael had made his choice, he was in your life and now he chose to leave it. He didn’t get to have anything to do with you. So for Jack to earnestly stand here in front of you asking how you were was ridiculous. 

Your arms repositioned the cart so there was even more distance between the two of you. You could see his jaw set, the hackles in him rising, he takes a step back, and for the first time he looks away first. 

“I’m not having this conversion-” You gesture wildly around you, “In a freezer aisle.” 

Jack raises his hands up in defense. 

“Fair enough.” 

Neither one of you move to say anything else. The burning fire, seeming less of a wildfire and more of a flash paper, dissipates in the silence. Indignance slips away leaving the evidence of a poorly healing wound, freshly opened by the proof of Robby’s existence. 

Until now, the memory of your husband felt similarly to death, he was here and then suddenly ripped from you. Your brain, in a sick attempt at comfort you’re sure, had almost detached reality from the truth that sat heavy in the back of your head. 

Michael was still out there, living, breathing, existing, and he wants to do it without you.

And that sober reality plays through on your face. It suddenly becomes useless to walk through the empty shelves to fill even emptier shelves at home. Being angry with Jack, picking fights with him, wouldn’t magically bring Robby back into your life. Even if it did, how could he possibly fix the gashes he left behind. 

Michael was still alive, people saw him every day, but not you. You were still alive and people would fly in and out your orbit, but the Michael who had promised to be a bright shining star had been more of an asteroid, just passing through. 

You don’t really bother saying goodbye. It really doesn’t feel like there was ever a hello, and you don’t have the energy for small pleasantries that might lead you to the new life your husband leads. So, abandoning the groceries in the middle of the aisle, you turn to leave. 

Jack makes no attempts to stop you. It hurts more than you’d expected. 

When you’re home that evening there’s a knock at the door, you hesitate to answer at first. You knew it couldn’t be Michael, it was before he’d be off for work. You knew that but you still hesitated, because now there will always be that ‘what-if’ behind every door. There will always be a small voice wondering if he was finally coming home. 

At your doorstep was the groceries you’d abandoned in the store, a small note tucked under one of the bags. Your head shot up to look for some evidence, just as Jack’s truck sweeps quietly around the corner out of the small street. 

It’s not until you’ve curled yourself in bed that you can stomach the thought of opening the letter left behind. Its edges jagged, like it was ripped from a spiral notebook, likely some sort of journal he kept for his cases. Robby had something similar, although you had never dared peak inside lest there was something far too private for your eyes. Maybe you should’ve peaked. 

The note was simple, clear, very like Jack. At first you wanted to rip it, or throw it in the antique fireplace at the foot of your bed maybe. You settled for letting it slip into the drawer of your bedside, and tried not to look at the eyes of your husband framed and hidden away until you can stomach boxing it up. 

You feel something lighten that night, but moving on feels a lot like lying to yourself. 

I’m still here anytime, Kid. 

Please keep taking care of yourself, I couldn’t handle seeing you in my Trauma room. 

I’m worried t

Jack

And then time goes on. You re-learn yourself, what you like, what you want, what you need from other people to feel safe again. You go to therapy, and while it’s slow and you constantly feel like you’re drowning under the weight of your own life, it helps. 

You don’t remember the last time you had this much time to yourself just to think. It leaves a lot of time to wonder about your husband. It leaves time to contemplate every option of recovery before you realize it’s all futile anyways. 

The only reprieve you get is short updates from a lawyer you had, one who communicated exclusively on Michael’s behalf. One that delivered far more agreeable terms than you had expected.

At first you were upset, thinking Michael can just throw his attending money around like it would soothe any of the burn. But you knew him, you knew deep down this was the only way he’d be able to sleep at night, if he can make sure you’re taken care of in some way. 

And, as much as you’d like to strike down your own vanity in favor of making a big scene, the money softens the blow slightly. Before meeting Michael, money was a precious good, hard earned, and rationed carefully. It would make you anxious, how much money was spent where and when and how and on who. Michael had shown you the benefits of attending money, he’d shown you the benefits of relaxing in it, enjoying it. 

The comfort it brings to know at least you would still have your life, your home, and the luxury of time was an unexpected kindness considering the frosty exit he had taken from your life. So, while the shame of a once perfectly happy couple communicating exclusively through divorce lawyers had its sardonic upsides. 

With every step forward in proceedings your friends and family made use of the financial upswings. Friends taking you out for drinks, ‘on him’ of course, and your family had encouraged you to redecorate some aspects of the shared home. 

Michael’s old office that held copious medical textbooks had become a beautiful guest room for your parents to stay over. The hall closet that was storage for his old memorabilia he wasn’t sure if he wanted to display had been reorganized into a mini library of sorts. All the pictures came down from the hallway, slowly, like they melted down the walls, and replaced themselves with art. 

The only room that had remained untouched was the main bedroom. You had no intention of ever eradicating Michael’s touch from this space. It would be disrespectful to the touch he’d had on you in that space. His moody blue aura drowned here and you were desperate to keep the small reminders of him perfectly intact here. 

“You’re late.” Your voice called out to the figure stumbling through the hallway, his shadow silhouetted both in light and exhaustion. You can see his shoulders slump and he can hardly drop his bag at the doorway before he’s collapsing on top of you. 

“M’sorry, Honey.” He murmured into your sternum. Your hands wind through his hair and soothe his scalp. His body pressing deeper into yours, the soft cotton of his hoodie rubbing against the silk of your nightdress. 

“Today was just-” His hands brace themselves on your ribcage, pulling his body up until he can tuck himself into your neck instead. “Today was a nightmare.” 

You hum, giving him the space to talk if he wanted to. He only tries to bring his body closer into yours.

“I’m so sorry, Honey, you were waiting for me.” He presses chaste kisses to the skin in front of him.  

“It’s going to be ok, baby, you’re home.” You soothe.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, when you feel the wisps of the day start to leave him, you press his shoulder until he’s laying flat on the bed. He admires you, in the soft light of the beside lamp casting a warm glow across your skin, as you swing your legs across his hips. 

His hands anchor themselves on your hips, slipping under the gathers of your nightgown that pooled at the crease of your leg. The rough callus hands sweeping over your soft skin, his feet prop up forcing you to tip forward, giving him ample view of your cleavage. 

“You look so beautiful in this dress baby.” 

Your hands move to unzip his jacket, to expose more of his chest underneath. 

“Wore it for you Michael.” You let your fingers trace circles down his chest until your lips are hovering above his. “You’ve had such a long day, let me make it better?” 

The sound that escapes him is obscene. Your kiss is bruising and passionate, his mouth moves unforgiving against yours. He wastes no time trying to flip the two of you back over so he could look at you properly. But you had bigger plans. Distracted by the feel of your tongue tangled against him you take the hands once anchored to your hips and pin them down by his side. 

“Let me make you feel good.” You murmur against his mouth, before climbing off of him to strip in the lowlight of the bedroom. 

Michael, propped up, already out of his mind with lust popping out of his scrub pants, can’t take his eyes off of you. Not even when you reach for him to strip his clothes, he can hardly take the milliseconds you are out of view. 

Michael had always worshiped your body, he could hardly believe how lucky he was in your presence and made it known to you. The sight of his bare body propped against the large pillows of your shared bed had been so worthy of the worship. 

“C’mere baby, want to kiss you more.” He admitted, one hand propped up behind his head, the other lazily stroking over his erection. 

Michael kisses you reverently, pressing you into him, relishing in the sensation of your soft curves melding into his weary frame. The rough texture of his beard scraping against your skin was hypnotic, contrasted by the soft lips that soothed your aching burn. He was no stranger to using the different textures to his advantage, pulling you into him further and further. His hands trail up your legs to your ass, pressing you down, and another steady at the back of your neck, angling you just right to be worshiped with his mouth. 

“Want to kiss you, Baby.” You murmured against him. “Want to kiss you everywhere.” 

Michael hums against you, pressing his sturdy chest into yours, trying to catch your lips one more time. You turn your head, trailing kisses down his neck, to his chest, before you try swinging back to kiss down his stomach to where his cock sat ruddy and red against his stomach. 

“Won’t last-” His voice is cut off from the feeling of your hand wrapped around his aching erection. “Just want to be in you- please!” 

His desperation brings you to another level of arousal, and you can’t help but admire the sight laid out before you. Dr. Michael Robinavitch, Chief ER Attending, living breathing hero, laid out on your martial bed desperate for your touch. 

You don’t let him wait any longer, it would be a crime to make him wait any longer for the soft warmth and safety only you can bring him. When you sink down on him, the feeling of his thick shaft stretching you open is unlike anything else. He throws his head back whether it be from relief or pleasure, his hips buck up uncontrolled, he fills you completely. 

As you sit back adjusting to the feeling of being complete, of feeling completely filled, you can’t help but let out your own sigh of relief.

“Fuck, Michael!” You cry out, “Feels so good.” 

He lets out his own chuckle, his hands returning to anchor your hips to his own. “Feels like forever, doesn’t it Honey?”

A/N: Guys, I'm not sure how I feel about this one, but I have about 4k more already written, and I knew if I didn't put it out, I'd never do it. So please let me know if you like it, it's my first time writing for Robby, and it's like a lot less Robby in this than I intended.

If it sucks, I can scrap! But idk I went down a huge spiral in the last month, and this is all I could get out.

Send me a message letting me know what you think!

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

LEWIS PULLMAN as CALVIN EVANS Lessons in Chemistry 1.02 "Her and Him" (2023)

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Animal Kingdom: Shawn Hatosy Directs - Season 3 [BTS] | TNT

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Beggars can't be choosers- Part 2

A/N: Part 2 as requested! I live for the angst so buckle up.

Masterlist Part 1

Warnings: language, angst, jack being a slick sob, sad robby

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader x Jack Abbot

Word Count: 2052

********************************************************

The metal door slammed shut upon her exit, the stairwell ricocheting finality as she trudged towards the first-floor exit. Every creak an announcement and every whisper a potential rumor. Her shoes squeaked against the polished tile attempting to avoid any unwanted attention. Every noise seemed to mock her; a reminder she couldn’t escape the tension rooted in her bones.  

Dana sat at the nurse’s station, the all-knowing eye of PTMC ER; lips pursed in annoyance or focus varying by the minute. Y/N gave up trying to differentiate long ago.

“Kid, you okay?”

Y/N looked up without a single flicker of recognition, no spark of thought—just a flat, distant stare like the windows of an abandoned house. Dana quickly logged out jumping to her feet. Y/N continued at a speedy pace adding distance from a place that once brought her comfort wrapped in chaos. Robby exited South 4 catching sight of the women following hot on Dana’s trail.

“Y/N, wait up!”

Automatic doors slid open quietly, the chilly air kissing any available skin. A warm hand landed on Y/N’s shoulder forcing her to turn towards the unwelcome pull.

“Hey, didn’t you hear me callin for you back there?”

Dana halted- She’d seen patients bleed without making a sound. That’s how Y/N looked now—like someone quietly hemorrhaging just under the surface. She’d seen this dance a million times.

Octave dropped honing her attention; “What did he do?”

“Let go.” Y/N gritted.

“Not until you tell me you’re okay to drive home.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I haven’t had a single alcoholic beverage or illicit drug…yet, therefore I have no reason to not make it home safely. The problem is you prolonging that right now.”

“Jesus, he must’ve messed up big time to make you this much of a bitch.”

“Well, get used to it.”

Motherly instinct took over bringing Y/N in for a forced hug. To understand someone else cared when her world was shattering.

“Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me anything, kid.”

Time felt stretched and compressed all at once—ten seconds could feel like a lifetime or vanish in the blink of a flatline.

Robby watched from a safe distance, it looked like an ordinary conversation—two people standing close, speaking softly. But something in their posture gave it away. The way Dana kept looking down, like the words were too heavy to hear while making eye contact. Y/N nodded slowly, blinking too often, fighting tears that hadn’t yet fallen.

“Please don’t ask me what’s wrong unless you actually want to know.”

Dana’s stare softened prompting Y/N to continue. The words tasted acrid consumed by melancholy; “I loved him, D, and I’ve got nothing to show for it.”

Dana’s sighs echoed off the walls, pity sneaking its way into her face guiding her away from prying eyes.

“Y/N.”

Y/N swallowed attempting to combat the readily approaching tears.

“How do I come back from this? From loving someone so much I lost myself somewhere along the way?”

“I swear to God, men are absolute morons. You don’t deserve any of this crap, hon.”

“I know. But I won’t let it happen again. Won’t let him happen again. Just need to get Robby out of my system for good.”

A glazed look and pathetic undertone escaped her parched throat; “Don’t tell the others. I mean- I know they’ll figure out something happened eventually. I just can’t –” Her lip quivered; “Deal with them placing bets on my disaster of a love life right now. Robby and I are done. Forgiving him feels cheap. Like I’m telling myself it didn’t matter—that I didn’t matter.”

“You don’t have to forgive him. Not now. Not ever, if it doesn’t feel right. But he is Chief so try not to loathe every square inch of the asshole.”

“No one’s ever made me feel more foolish in my life, career, you name it --except Michael. I really thought things were different, he was different. And now I get to show up every day and work with Robby and Collins and act like my insides aren’t molten lava waiting to erupt.”

Dana’s hand cupped her heated cheek; “You’ll get through this. I know tough and you are I got it, girl. You hear me?”

Y/N nodded reining in her agitation; “M’sorry, didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“You didn’t but how bout you get the hell outta here. You’re off the next two days, right?”

“Thank fuck because I’m in dire need of food, sleep, and a Texas sized espresso. Possibly a true crime documentary to remind myself life could be worse. You know, completely normal things.”

Exasperation attached itself to each cruel word; “I loved the real, flawed, impossible him. I loved him when it was easy. And I kept loving him when it got hard. When he pulled away. When I knew—God, I knew—he wasn’t coming back in the way I needed. But I stayed. Because love makes you stubborn. It makes you hopeful. It makes you stupid. And now? Now I carry that love around like a bruise no one can see. But me? I’m still here, loving a ghost.”

Dana cupped her cheek placing a lingering maternal kiss; “You’ve survived worse. You will move past this. But please don’t devalue yourself. You are 100% worth loving.”

Her lips twitched—just barely; “I’ll see ya in a couple days. I’m blowin this popsicle stand.”

“See ya kiddo. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, I mean it.”

For a long moment, quietness stretched between them — heavy but healing, a fragile peace settling in the quiet space. Then, Y/N exhaled deeply, the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding finally released into the morning air walking towards the parking lot.

 Dana sensed him before he spoke; “You’re a real jackass, Robby. What the actual hell?” 

He stood there, arms lifted over his head, catching his breath like he was holding the weight of the world atop his shoulders.

“I don’t need reminding, thank you very much.”

Her hand slapped the back of his head harder than anticipated; “Obviously you do, dickhead! I thought you wanted to marry her, not implode your entire relationship on a god damn whim. Whiplash much?!”

“It was a mistake, a dumb and avoidable mistake. But I made it anyway.”

Dana scoffed; “No. Leaving the stove on is a mistake. You? You knew exactly what you were doing, idiot.”

Pause. Another deafening pause.

“Why, Robby?” Her voice dropped an octave; “She loved you --everything from your rotten personality to the flicker of charm you try to hide behind that cynicism of yours.”

“Still asking myself that question but I can’t think straight. I don’t have an answer. That’s what scares me most.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna get her back. The emptiness I saw…I hope Heather was worth it.”

The doors swooshed open as she stepped inside, leaving Robby out in the cold — literally and figuratively.

Keys rattled in her right hand as Y/N scanned the lot, searching for her car. Her face held steady, eyes dry. But she didn’t cry — not yet. That would come later, when no one was around to see. Not out here, under the harsh fluorescent lights. Out here, she just wanted to disappear. The sudden shriek of the car alarm cut through the quiet air like a sharpened blade. Her feet felt like weighted cement blocks as she trudged closer to the grating sound.

“Y/N, wait up!”

She ignored whoever was calling uncaring about literally anything else today. One foot moved in front of the other as the gap closed. She didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch. But he caught up anyway, and before she could open the car door, Jack gripped her shoulder firmly. Not rough. Just enough to remind her he still thought he had the right. She froze, spine stiff.

“Hey.”

“Save it, Abbott. I’m not in the mood.”

His hands raised in mock surrender; “I come in peace, promise. Didn’t come over to defend him.”

Y/N sent him a weary look exhaling annoyingly; “What do you want then, huh? We just got off a shift from hell, I’m running on fumes, and I can’t remember the last time I ate something that didn’t come in a plastic wrapper. So, please get to the point.”

“I’m still your friend too, you know.”

“Seriously, you don’t have to kiss my ass.”

He shrugged, trying to remain casual—but there it was. That smile. Crooked. Dangerous. Tempting--flirtatious in a way that says I’ve maybe thought about you more than I should.

“Well, it is a nice ass…”

With her brain short-circuiting, Y/N was too dumbfounded to decipher if her hearing had finally given out or not.  He was undeniably attractive, sculpted muscles underneath his stupidly fit tee. And those salt and pepper locks curled delicately at the nape of his neck begging to be run through… Her hands twiddled by her side scrunching her scrub pants.

“Doctor Abbot, you’re a menace to society.”

Jack nudged her should playfully; “Provocation is my number one skill set. My irresistible charm a close second.”

The gravel shifted underneath her sneakers searching for the right words, any words. She was nearing her limit of available vocabulary for the day. There was easily a decade between them, but a friendship evolved nonetheless occasionally bordering on something she dared not admit out loud. Jack always teetered on the edge of flirtation pulling back on the reins at the final second. That is until Robby swooped in, charming her with his broodish attitude and a handsomely bearded jawline. The constant furrow in his brow, tension held in his posture, like Robby was always halfway stuck in some internal battle. Y/N instantly erased the train of thought figuring it was Jack’s shot at cheering her up ignoring the building tingle forming in her lower belly.

God, she was going to miss sex. Her mind roamed to just yesterday when Robby fucked her so good against the shower wall after coming home from his shift. The smell of lavender, Robby’s breaths hot against her clavicle as he met her thrust after thrust until she climaxed hard enough her vision to become spotty. He kissed her like she was the only woman in the world. Something she now knew was entirely false. An accidental scowl emerged causing Jack’s eyebrow to questionably raise.

“Was about to ask what’s going on in that pretty head of yours but …seems more intimate if you catch my drift.” He finished his sentence smirkingly.

“Was just thinking how I’m gonna miss getting laid, frequently. You both might be AARP card holders, but the man made me cum in record time. Kinda sad that it just dawned on me now that my relationship is dead so are my future orgasms.”

“Hopefully not all orgasms. No need for dramatics yet.”

Y/N slapped his chest; “Jack! You horn dog! Take me off the roster. Call one of your one- night stands to scratch your itch.”

“Only if it’s your name I get to moan.”

“You’re intolerable! If Robby knew—”

His hands found the front pockets of his scrubs, setting his shoulders back showing off his ridiculously defined chest; “Knew what? That I’m speaking to my friend who happens to be his girlfriend…well ex-girlfriend? Don’t think he has much room to talk. But seriously, all jokes aside, you doin okay?”

She sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion and defeat.

“I keep replaying it trying to pinpoint what I did wrong, where we went wrong.”

Unshed tears glistened awaiting their cue; “Why wasn’t I enough, Jack?  I keep going over it in my head—every conversation, every glance, every moment where maybe I should’ve known. I hate that I keep asking what’s wrong with me-- instead of remembering there was something deeply wrong with him for letting me go.”

“You were. You still are. Look, I’m not interested in discussing ex-boyfriends at 7:18am. What I am on board with is a fat stack of pancakes with the astronomical serving of hashbrowns. You in?”

Again, that smile made it impossible for Y/N to say no so she didn’t.

“As long as you’re paying, I’m in.”

And in that tiny space between heartbeats, everything began to tilt.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

Beggars can't be choosers- Part 2

A/N: Part 2 as requested! I live for the angst so buckle up.

Masterlist Part 1

Warnings: language, angst, jack being a slick sob, sad robby

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader x Jack Abbot

Word Count: 2052

********************************************************

The metal door slammed shut upon her exit, the stairwell ricocheting finality as she trudged towards the first-floor exit. Every creak an announcement and every whisper a potential rumor. Her shoes squeaked against the polished tile attempting to avoid any unwanted attention. Every noise seemed to mock her; a reminder she couldn’t escape the tension rooted in her bones.  

Dana sat at the nurse’s station, the all-knowing eye of PTMC ER; lips pursed in annoyance or focus varying by the minute. Y/N gave up trying to differentiate long ago.

“Kid, you okay?”

Y/N looked up without a single flicker of recognition, no spark of thought—just a flat, distant stare like the windows of an abandoned house. Dana quickly logged out jumping to her feet. Y/N continued at a speedy pace adding distance from a place that once brought her comfort wrapped in chaos. Robby exited South 4 catching sight of the women following hot on Dana’s trail.

“Y/N, wait up!”

Automatic doors slid open quietly, the chilly air kissing any available skin. A warm hand landed on Y/N’s shoulder forcing her to turn towards the unwelcome pull.

“Hey, didn’t you hear me callin for you back there?”

Dana halted- She’d seen patients bleed without making a sound. That’s how Y/N looked now—like someone quietly hemorrhaging just under the surface. She’d seen this dance a million times.

Octave dropped honing her attention; “What did he do?”

“Let go.” Y/N gritted.

“Not until you tell me you’re okay to drive home.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I haven’t had a single alcoholic beverage or illicit drug…yet, therefore I have no reason to not make it home safely. The problem is you prolonging that right now.”

“Jesus, he must’ve messed up big time to make you this much of a bitch.”

“Well, get used to it.”

Motherly instinct took over bringing Y/N in for a forced hug. To understand someone else cared when her world was shattering.

“Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me anything, kid.”

Time felt stretched and compressed all at once—ten seconds could feel like a lifetime or vanish in the blink of a flatline.

Robby watched from a safe distance, it looked like an ordinary conversation—two people standing close, speaking softly. But something in their posture gave it away. The way Dana kept looking down, like the words were too heavy to hear while making eye contact. Y/N nodded slowly, blinking too often, fighting tears that hadn’t yet fallen.

“Please don’t ask me what’s wrong unless you actually want to know.”

Dana’s stare softened prompting Y/N to continue. The words tasted acrid consumed by melancholy; “I loved him, D, and I’ve got nothing to show for it.”

Dana’s sighs echoed off the walls, pity sneaking its way into her face guiding her away from prying eyes.

“Y/N.”

Y/N swallowed attempting to combat the readily approaching tears.

“How do I come back from this? From loving someone so much I lost myself somewhere along the way?”

“I swear to God, men are absolute morons. You don’t deserve any of this crap, hon.”

“I know. But I won’t let it happen again. Won’t let him happen again. Just need to get Robby out of my system for good.”

A glazed look and pathetic undertone escaped her parched throat; “Don’t tell the others. I mean- I know they’ll figure out something happened eventually. I just can’t –” Her lip quivered; “Deal with them placing bets on my disaster of a love life right now. Robby and I are done. Forgiving him feels cheap. Like I’m telling myself it didn’t matter—that I didn’t matter.”

“You don’t have to forgive him. Not now. Not ever, if it doesn’t feel right. But he is Chief so try not to loathe every square inch of the asshole.”

“No one’s ever made me feel more foolish in my life, career, you name it --except Michael. I really thought things were different, he was different. And now I get to show up every day and work with Robby and Collins and act like my insides aren’t molten lava waiting to erupt.”

Dana’s hand cupped her heated cheek; “You’ll get through this. I know tough and you are I got it, girl. You hear me?”

Y/N nodded reining in her agitation; “M’sorry, didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“You didn’t but how bout you get the hell outta here. You’re off the next two days, right?”

“Thank fuck because I’m in dire need of food, sleep, and a Texas sized espresso. Possibly a true crime documentary to remind myself life could be worse. You know, completely normal things.”

Exasperation attached itself to each cruel word; “I loved the real, flawed, impossible him. I loved him when it was easy. And I kept loving him when it got hard. When he pulled away. When I knew—God, I knew—he wasn’t coming back in the way I needed. But I stayed. Because love makes you stubborn. It makes you hopeful. It makes you stupid. And now? Now I carry that love around like a bruise no one can see. But me? I’m still here, loving a ghost.”

Dana cupped her cheek placing a lingering maternal kiss; “You’ve survived worse. You will move past this. But please don’t devalue yourself. You are 100% worth loving.”

Her lips twitched—just barely; “I’ll see ya in a couple days. I’m blowin this popsicle stand.”

“See ya kiddo. Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything, I mean it.”

For a long moment, quietness stretched between them — heavy but healing, a fragile peace settling in the quiet space. Then, Y/N exhaled deeply, the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding finally released into the morning air walking towards the parking lot.

 Dana sensed him before he spoke; “You’re a real jackass, Robby. What the actual hell?” 

He stood there, arms lifted over his head, catching his breath like he was holding the weight of the world atop his shoulders.

“I don’t need reminding, thank you very much.”

Her hand slapped the back of his head harder than anticipated; “Obviously you do, dickhead! I thought you wanted to marry her, not implode your entire relationship on a god damn whim. Whiplash much?!”

“It was a mistake, a dumb and avoidable mistake. But I made it anyway.”

Dana scoffed; “No. Leaving the stove on is a mistake. You? You knew exactly what you were doing, idiot.”

Pause. Another deafening pause.

“Why, Robby?” Her voice dropped an octave; “She loved you --everything from your rotten personality to the flicker of charm you try to hide behind that cynicism of yours.”

“Still asking myself that question but I can’t think straight. I don’t have an answer. That’s what scares me most.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna get her back. The emptiness I saw…I hope Heather was worth it.”

The doors swooshed open as she stepped inside, leaving Robby out in the cold — literally and figuratively.

Keys rattled in her right hand as Y/N scanned the lot, searching for her car. Her face held steady, eyes dry. But she didn’t cry — not yet. That would come later, when no one was around to see. Not out here, under the harsh fluorescent lights. Out here, she just wanted to disappear. The sudden shriek of the car alarm cut through the quiet air like a sharpened blade. Her feet felt like weighted cement blocks as she trudged closer to the grating sound.

“Y/N, wait up!”

She ignored whoever was calling uncaring about literally anything else today. One foot moved in front of the other as the gap closed. She didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch. But he caught up anyway, and before she could open the car door, Jack gripped her shoulder firmly. Not rough. Just enough to remind her he still thought he had the right. She froze, spine stiff.

“Hey.”

“Save it, Abbott. I’m not in the mood.”

His hands raised in mock surrender; “I come in peace, promise. Didn’t come over to defend him.”

Y/N sent him a weary look exhaling annoyingly; “What do you want then, huh? We just got off a shift from hell, I’m running on fumes, and I can’t remember the last time I ate something that didn’t come in a plastic wrapper. So, please get to the point.”

“I’m still your friend too, you know.”

“Seriously, you don’t have to kiss my ass.”

He shrugged, trying to remain casual—but there it was. That smile. Crooked. Dangerous. Tempting--flirtatious in a way that says I’ve maybe thought about you more than I should.

“Well, it is a nice ass…”

With her brain short-circuiting, Y/N was too dumbfounded to decipher if her hearing had finally given out or not.  He was undeniably attractive, sculpted muscles underneath his stupidly fit tee. And those salt and pepper locks curled delicately at the nape of his neck begging to be run through… Her hands twiddled by her side scrunching her scrub pants.

“Doctor Abbot, you’re a menace to society.”

Jack nudged her should playfully; “Provocation is my number one skill set. My irresistible charm a close second.”

The gravel shifted underneath her sneakers searching for the right words, any words. She was nearing her limit of available vocabulary for the day. There was easily a decade between them, but a friendship evolved nonetheless occasionally bordering on something she dared not admit out loud. Jack always teetered on the edge of flirtation pulling back on the reins at the final second. That is until Robby swooped in, charming her with his broodish attitude and a handsomely bearded jawline. The constant furrow in his brow, tension held in his posture, like Robby was always halfway stuck in some internal battle. Y/N instantly erased the train of thought figuring it was Jack’s shot at cheering her up ignoring the building tingle forming in her lower belly.

God, she was going to miss sex. Her mind roamed to just yesterday when Robby fucked her so good against the shower wall after coming home from his shift. The smell of lavender, Robby’s breaths hot against her clavicle as he met her thrust after thrust until she climaxed hard enough her vision to become spotty. He kissed her like she was the only woman in the world. Something she now knew was entirely false. An accidental scowl emerged causing Jack’s eyebrow to questionably raise.

“Was about to ask what’s going on in that pretty head of yours but …seems more intimate if you catch my drift.” He finished his sentence smirkingly.

“Was just thinking how I’m gonna miss getting laid, frequently. You both might be AARP card holders, but the man made me cum in record time. Kinda sad that it just dawned on me now that my relationship is dead so are my future orgasms.”

“Hopefully not all orgasms. No need for dramatics yet.”

Y/N slapped his chest; “Jack! You horn dog! Take me off the roster. Call one of your one- night stands to scratch your itch.”

“Only if it’s your name I get to moan.”

“You’re intolerable! If Robby knew—”

His hands found the front pockets of his scrubs, setting his shoulders back showing off his ridiculously defined chest; “Knew what? That I’m speaking to my friend who happens to be his girlfriend…well ex-girlfriend? Don’t think he has much room to talk. But seriously, all jokes aside, you doin okay?”

She sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion and defeat.

“I keep replaying it trying to pinpoint what I did wrong, where we went wrong.”

Unshed tears glistened awaiting their cue; “Why wasn’t I enough, Jack?  I keep going over it in my head—every conversation, every glance, every moment where maybe I should’ve known. I hate that I keep asking what’s wrong with me-- instead of remembering there was something deeply wrong with him for letting me go.”

“You were. You still are. Look, I’m not interested in discussing ex-boyfriends at 7:18am. What I am on board with is a fat stack of pancakes with the astronomical serving of hashbrowns. You in?”

Again, that smile made it impossible for Y/N to say no so she didn’t.

“As long as you’re paying, I’m in.”

And in that tiny space between heartbeats, everything began to tilt.

[utterlyhopeful-fics]

For @spookypeachpitt13 I hope this matched what you wanted!

That’s also serving as your content warning folks! Angry, rough sex with a bit of degradation and an under-negotiated kink ahead followed by sweet aftercare. On with the show!

Robby slammed the door behind you and the argument that had been brewing since you left the hospital finally erupted. “What is your goddamn problem?” you yelled at him.

“My problem? My problem? I don’t have a problem. Just a girlfriend that likes to flirt with every male that crosses her path and expresses even the slightest interest.” He barely raised his voice and that pissed you off almost as much as what he said.

“I wasn’t flirting, I was being friendly. And you’re one to talk. I don’t flip out and get insecure every time I catch you making moon eyes at Collins,” you snapped back.

“Fuck you, that’s over. It’s been over. And I wasn’t the one offering to show the new guy ‘all the best places in town’” he did raise his voice here, in a high, mocking falsetto.

“Jesus Christ, Robby, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, so you’re a tease as well as an attention whore-”

The crack of the slap echoed louder than the argument, both of you freezing- for half a second and then Robby was grabbing you by the back of your neck and reeling you in for a brutal kiss that was more teeth than anything. Walking you backwards, he pulled your shirt up before using it to secure your arms behind your back and he roughly bent you over the table.

Pressing you into the table, he bit your ear, “Tell me to stop” “Fuck you” you spat, struggling to release your arms. A hard smack against your ass jolted your hips further into the edge of the table. Four more smacks, each increasing slightly in force, quickly followed. You couldn’t stop the initial cry of pain, or the whimpers and moans that followed.

“See. I knew you were a whore, you can’t help it, can you?” He taunted, pulling your pants down to your knees. “How wet am I going to find you, huh?”, he reached forward, cupping your cunt and your absolutely ruined panties. “Oh ho ho, someone is enjoying herself, aren’t you, my pretty little whore.”

You were still squirming, trying to get your arms free or his fingers in you, anything that would allow you to relieve the pressure building in your core. Robby gave a sharp tug and tore your panties off, ignoring your indignant whine, before shoving the scraps into your mouth. “You are going to take what I give you, when and how I give it to you. Snap your fingers twice if you understand”. A moment of hesitation and then two quick snaps. “Good girl”

Rubbing his fingers along your slit, Robby briefly plunged them in, giving the most perfunctory of prep. Kicking your feet a bit farther apart, he lined up the head of his cock with your hole, and then thrust in hard. Your keen, muffled as it was by the fabric in your mouth, still made him laugh, running a soothing hand mockingly down your back.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it” and pulled out before thrusting back in, harder and faster than before. The pace he set kept knocking your hips into the table, and you knew that you were going to be bruised for days, if not weeks. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not with how good he was fucking you. All too soon, you were coming, clamping hard around his cock, soaking the panties in your mouth with more than your slick.

Robby just kept fucking you through it, telling you to be a good little whore and take it. You could feel your second orgasm building, alongside a strange pressure and tried to fight against it but Robby pulled on your hips, changing the angle and telling you to just let go and you came hard, gushing all over you and him and the floor. Trembling hard, you started snapping your fingers, and Robby stopped, reaching around to pull the panties that were soaked in your slick and spit and tears out of mouth before untangling your arms from your shirt.

Gasping, you asked “Wh-what? What just happened. Did I- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” Robby helped you stand up, pulling you into his chest and running soothing hands up and down your back and sides. “Shh. Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay. Breathe with me, okay?” And he put your hand on his chest, and held it there, letting you feel his deep breaths and his heartbeat. Once you were calm, you looked up at, finding him already looking back, all traces of anger from the argument gone. “Are you okay?”

“What happened?” You had never done that before, didn’t even know what it was. Robby huffed a small laugh, “That was squirting, and it’s fucking hot,” he rushed to reassure as you saw the uncomfortable way you looked at the mess on the floor. “I’ll clean it up, don’t worry. Kinda my fault anyway.” He actually sounded smug at that.

“Hey,” he softened, tilting your head up to look at him, “ Are you okay? Truly?” You took a minute to take stock, “My legs are jello, I need a shower and I feel like sleeping for a week. Did you come?” Another small laugh and “Yeah, you didn’t really notice because of-” and he weakly gestured between your legs and the mess on the floor.

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up, and you can get started on the week of sleep while I clean up in here.” You just hummed, letting him manhandle you to the bathroom. “Hey, I’m sorry. I was flirting, but only because you’re cute when you’re jealous and I didn’t expect it to blow up like that. And I shouldn’t have said anything about Collins.” You were starting to get teary.

“I’m sorry too. Normally it doesn’t bother me but something someone else said about our age gap got to me. I had absolutely no right taking it out on you. And I really had no right calling you names. I can promise that it won’t happen again.” He was also getting a bit teary, realizing how easily this could have gone very bad.

“I don’t know,” you teased, “ I might not object to being your whore at home.” And with a slap to his ass, you slipped past him into the shower.