i'm a sad shell of a woman

An early morning sun shines on a sparkling sea, the salt air flooding your senses through the open window. Rubbing sleep out of your eye, you flail your hand around the mattress, not entirely surprised at the lack of Robby that greeted you.

It's the second morning of your first vacation together, and you've already come to notice some new things about your boyfriend. For one, he's a morning person, even when he doesn't have to work. That. you'll never understand.

You glance at the digital clock on the wall, 8:47. Groaning, you stuff Robby's long abandoned pillow over your face. Still too damn early. The darkness that the cologne drenched cushion almost allows you to fall back asleep. The real Robby isn't so kind.

He lifts the pillow gently from your face, and you crack open an eye to see him giving you a sweet smile. You can't help but return it, eyes falling shut once more.

A quiet 'mmph!' escapes your lips as he presses a sweet kiss to them, the point of his long nose lodged against your cheek. Your hand finds the nape of his neck, keeping him there for a moment longer.

He gives you one, two, three more kisses as his hands find the bare skin of your thighs peeking out from your nightgown. His long fingers fiddle with the flimsy fabric, lifting it higher and higher until he exposes your panties, your tummy.

Your belly is warm, butterflies occupying the space as you squeeze your legs together. His touch is soft, and, for the most part, pretty innocent. He rubs his hand on your tummy, giving the plush skin there a little squeeze before placing another kiss to your lips.

"C'mon, angel," he says, punctuating with another pinch, now to your inner thigh. "Up, let's go."

With two sharp claps of his hands, he pushes the curtains wide open. This elicits a long groan from you, desperately attempting to save your sleepy state with two hands over your eyes. The cawing seagulls and bright light still manage to will away any hope of returning back to your former state, and you accept defeat.

You sit up, finally getting to take in your boyfriend. He's dressed for the day already, which, in Cape Cod, has been a strict uniform of unbuttoned shirts and swim shorts.

His round glasses frame his pretty, big eyes, a cup of coffee hiding the small smirk you still see as he takes a sip. Your heart skips at the sight, the sweet domesticity that a life with Robby provides.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you pad over to him. You wrap your arms around his generous waist, head planted firmly in his chest. His free hand finds your hair, still a bit mussed from your sleep, running his soothing fingers down your head.

"Good morning, angel," he whispers into your hair, and you mumble a greeting of your own into his body. He laughs at this, at how grumpy and tired you most definitely sound. He loves to tease you when you're tired, and unfortunately a beachside vacation is no exception.

"Coffee's still on, baby, left it for you in case," he mutters, giving you one more squeeze before letting go, making his way over to the little kitchenette. "Want cream and sugar?"

You nod, sliding onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Chin in hand, you admire how he flits around the kitchen, how pretty he looks painted by the early morning sun as he pours sugar into your mug.

"You're pretty," you mutter, and his head shoots up.

His brow is cocked, a small smirk lifting his lips.

"Yeah?" He asks. It's sarcastic, and you hate it. "Not as pretty as you, love bug."

He presses a sweet kiss to your head as he hands you the mug, your legs wrapping around him to keep him in place.

"Don't do that," you point a strict finger in his direction, the rest of them clutching the warm, pink mug. His brow raises, and you continue.

"Don't deflect," you clarify. "You love to do that. Makes me sad," you jut out your bottom lip to make your point, but he just kisses your pout away.

"How do you know me so well, baby?" He coos, question still laced with his dry, sardonic humor.

"Because," your gaze follows him throughout the small cottage, "I actually listen to what you say and pay attention to what you do."

He stops at this, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. You study him, what this might mean. It doesn't take long for you to conclude his face as a desperate plea to keep tears at bay.

Your heart cracks, still not entirely used to how sensitive Robby really is. His facade is strong, something that had you fooled, albeit very briefly, at the very beginning of your relationship.

At the end of the day, though, there's a small boy in there that just wants to be loved. It breaks your heart that it took him so long to find it, but you're grateful it gets to be you.

"Hey," you prompt, and it seems to help. He shakes his head a little, and you know he's trying to actually shake his thoughts away. "I love you, you know that, right?"

His familiar self-deprecating smile stretches across his face, and he refuses to make eye-contact. Still, he nods.

"Good," you hop off the stool, closing in on him with an intense gaze. "You're pretty. Now what do you say?" You ask, hooking a finger under his chin and dragging his gaze to meet yours.

"Thank you," he mumbles, cheeks pink and lips trembling.

"Yay!" You squeal, planting a sweet, sloppy kiss on him. "You're welcome!"

He barks out a sardonic laugh at the change in tone, rolling his now teary eyes at your devotion.

"Y'gotta stop making me cry, sweetheart, it's bad for the brand," he croaks, and you can't help but laugh yourself.

"Who told you about a brand?" You ask, wrapping your arms around him once again.

You both get lost in each other for a moment, lips ghosting over each other, noses grazing. Against your lips, though, he speaks.

"Dana did," he mumbles, and you can't help but laugh. "Her and Trinity. They told me everybody has a brand, said mine was 'grumpy old man who somehow bagged a woman way too pretty for him'."

His words are blanketed in finger quotations, and you rear your head back.

"What?!" You scoff. "You made that last part up, no way they said that."

"Oh, I'm serious, baby. Ask them the next time you come visit me. They'll be happy to relegate the information," he croons, placing a sweet kiss to your lips.

Your mind goes a bit hazy at his lips on yours, allowing him to swallow your senses for a brief moment in time. When his words really process, though, you quirk a brow.

"Wait, so, if that's your brand," you start, brows furrowed, hands on his chest as you pull away, "why am I bad for it? Is that not, like, exactly what has transpired this morning?"

He rolls his eyes at this, unable to hold back his. now genuine, smile. It sparks your own, and soon you're just smiling into each other, like two fools.

"See this?" He flits a finger between you. "This is what I mean. 'm not grumpy at all anymore," he slinks his arms around you as he talks, your chest pressing into his. "Got me smiling too much, baby," he grumbles, his nose dragging up and down your neck.

You close your eyes, fingers finding his scalp and giving him a soft scratch. He shivers at this, and you smile.

"Oh, I'm sooo sorry baby," you drawl. "Guess I'll just go make another man smile then."

You make a show out of walking away from him, but his fingers grip your wrist in record speed. He pulls you into him once again, your back to his chest, planting a kiss to your temple.

"Don't you fucking dare," he growls in your ear, and you shiver as he gives you one last pinch to your backside. "Get dressed, we're going on the boat."

- When you'd arrived in Cape Cod three days ago, the first thing Robby did was rent a boat for the two of you. He's eager to show off his newly acquired boating license, and you're never one to turn down drinking on a boat.

Your wedge sandals clunk on the wooden dock of the marina. Robby's close behind, carrying your bags for the day. He's bogged down by a cooler, and both of your beach bags. You'd insisted on taking at least one thing, but he refused, his strong arms slinging them onto the parked boat.

You jut a hip out, leaning all your weight on it as your jaw goes slack. It's blatant, the way you ogle the little show he's putting on for you. He can deny all he wants, can make his cheeks flush that pretty pink that makes you weak in the knees, but deep down, he knows exactly what he's doing.

The drive on the water is a perfect sequel- his strong arms and large hands steering, his effortless leadership butterfly inducing. About halfway to your "surprise destination"- his words- he turns his head to rest on his shoulder.

"I can feel your eyes burning a hole in the back of my head," he teases, and you scoff in faux-annoyance.

"Am not!" You chirp, standing from your spot to stand behind him, resting your hands on his shoulders.

He reaches back, offering a hand to you, keeping the other on the wheel. Your smile is large as you enclose both of your own around it, bringing it to your mouth for a sweet kiss.

"Are too!" He bites, returning the favor.

"It's not my fault I have a hot boyfriend," you murmur, pressing your cheek into his shoulder.

He tenses a little at this, and you squeeze his hand. This helps, but he continues the rest of the ride in silence.

He parks the boat in a secluded little cove, the perfect amount of sunlight peeking through. He's beautiful in this light, it breaks your heart he doesn't see it.

He moves from the driver's seat, going down the few steps to grab a bottle of wine in the little drink fridge. You're about two sips in when you start to feel it between your legs, a blooming heat that Robby is doing nothing to quell.

He's leaning on his two palms, legs outstretched, ankles crossed, tummy on full display. It's mouthwatering, damn near pornographic.

With another big gulp, you mount your steed, thighs encasing his own, hands resting on his shoulders.

He's a bit surprised by this, setting his own glass down and clutching your waist in his hands. His eyes are wide, but excited, genuine. A light laugh escapes him, too. Your heart flutters.

"Oh- hi honey!" He coos, a sweet smile on his face. "How's the weather up there?"

You laugh at the dad joke, sinking your weight fully onto him. This knocks the wind out of his proverbial comedic sails— a groan erupts from his chest at your full weight, his cock already hardening.

"Hi, handsome," you drawl, scratching at his scruff with your nails.

He tenses again, averting his gaze. You don't let him escape you, following his gaze with your face.

"Hey," you press a quick peck to his lips. "Start with thank you, how about that?" Another kiss.

He blushes. "Thank you," he murmurs against your lips, pressing a short one to you now.

You kiss him deeper, then, and it takes him a moment to adjust. He does this, sometimes, like his body is still moving on touch starved autopilot, still not expecting your affection.

You've never once made him feel bad for this, pressing sweet kisses to his face as he warmed up, truly let himself go. It just makes you crazy that he's been made to be so guarded. You want to send the person responsible to that godforsaken ER of his.

Your hands slide down from his cheeks to his neck, his shoulders, finally pushing down the linen sleeves that have taunted you all morning. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, your hands continue their journey down, down, down, halting at the swell of his tummy.

It's a necessary pit stop, reveling in the little gasp your touch elicits, and the moan that follows. Your lips follow in suit of your hands, sinking down in front of him, ass perched up as you pepper kisses over the skin there.

"Fuck," he whispers, reaching to grab your ass.

He's still a bit too gentle with you, still too closed off. You have more work to do, most definitely.

"When are you gonna believe how pretty you are, hm?" You ask, fingers tracing the waistband of his swimsuit.

Your lips are still hard at work, now lazily slugging over his skin, sinking your teeth in every now and again.

"Never-ah!" He jumps at a particularly hard bite. "Never been called that before you," he punctuates his confession by sinking his hands into your hair, tugging on your scalp a little.

This is good, he's letting a bit more of his inhibitions go. You're still not done.

"That's such a shame, honey," your coo, your lips now following your hands as they tug down his shorts.

Your mouth rests on his pubic bone, nose buried in the little hairs decorating the skin. You press more kisses into him, desperate to get your lips on any piece of him you can.

"Can I show you how pretty I think you are?" You ask, and he nearly whines out a 'yes'.

You reward him by grazing his balls with your nails, juggling them when he gasps. You don't break eye contact as you open your mouth around his head, tongue splaying on the underside of his cock.

He gasps, and you let him go with a little pop! A hand wrapping around his length, you bring his tip to your open mouth, smacking it against your tongue.

He groans, and you sink your mouth down on him. It's only halfway, as you're still working on taking all of him in one go.

It gets the job done all the same, punching a low moan from his chest as you hollow your cheeks. His hands sink in your hair, helping you take a bit more of him.

"Thaat's it," he breathes, his chest heaving. "Ooohhh, fuck, that's it, baby."

His free hand finds your ass once again, laying a harder smack this time. It spurs you on, finally taking him to the hilt. Tears prick your eyes as you let him stay there, taking deep breaths through your nose.

"Oh my God," he whines, bucking his hips up and down, up and down. He finds a rhythm soon enough, his cock hitting the back of your throat with each thrust.

He collapses after a few, but you maintain the pace, using your hands as an aide. His head hangs in bliss, and you reach a hand up his chest. You grip his skin, play with the hair there.

Swirling your tongue, you bring him all the way out once more, a string of spit connecting you to him. Selfishly, you take a moment to stare at it.

His tip is a deep red, his generous length curving upward. It's dripping, little beads of pre-cum adding to the mess. You circle your thumb around the tip, and he jerks his hips.

"Baby, baby. stop!" He gasps, and shoves your hand away. "That was…so good," he says between deep breaths. "Too good, didn't wanna cum yet," he remarks, laying you on your back now.

He unties your bikini top, lips attaching to the plush skin in record time. His kisses are sloppy, lazy even, reminiscent of the love you'd given his tummy. Your heart swells thinking about it, pushing your chest further into his face.

"So pretty, honey," he murmurs into your chest. "Love this body," he kneads your skin in his hands, leaving little slaps every so often. They don't hurt, they're not mean. Just little reminders of his love, in his own, special, fucked-up-Robby-way.

You preen, leaning into them with an open heart- and open legs, but that's neither here nor there- before he moves lower down your body. His lips make a trail down your own tummy, leaving you with your own little marks by the time he's untying your bottoms.

He nearly cries at how wet you are, at how you flutter around nothing. He tells you so as he moves a finger up and down your folds.

"So pretty…" he coos, his fingertip catching on your clit. "Love how wet you are for me," he presses a kiss to your pussy at that. "Love how eager you are for it."

He sinks in the tip of his middle finger, making your hips jerk in his hold. His free hand pinches the skin there, another slap accompanying it. You whine, and he furrows his brow.

"Ooh, I'm sorry baby," he leans down, presses a kiss there. "I'm so mean, aren't I? Such a mean old man with his finger in your cunt."

You squeal at his words, carding your fingers through his hair. His cheek is resting on your tummy, gaze trained on how your pussy reacts to his fingers.

"Good girl," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your skin once he's knuckle-deep. "That's so good, so good for me, hm?"

You nod, and his mouth attaches to your clit.

"Michael!" You gasp, pulling on his hair.

He groans into your pussy at this, and you tug harder.

"I know, honey, so good, isn't it?" He asks, and you nod. "Tell me, honey," he pulls his finger out, only to thrust back in, ring finger now in tow. "Gotta hear words."

His free hand finds your mouth, thumb tugging at your lip. You wrap them around his digit, a gentle suck reminiscent of your earlier activities. He pulls his thumb out, pinching your cheeks in his big hand.

"It's so good," you splutter through pursed lips. "You're always so good, Mikey."

He dives back in at the nickname, tongue pressing flat against your clit as his fingers resume their work. You arch into him, wiggling your hips against his. He shushes you at that, pushing you down.

"Easy, easy, baby," he coos, placing sweet kisses to your clit, giving it a few kitten licks.

"Just so good, honey," you whine, and he groans into you. "Yes!" You squeal.

The vibrations tighten your stomach, a familiar bright heat growing with each thrust of his fingers. He wraps his lips around your clit, and sucks.

His fingers find your sweet spot, pressing into it again and again and again. The coil in your tummy twists even tighter, and you pat his head, his shoulders, desperate to tell him.

"I know, I know," he mumbles into you, pressing two sweet kisses before opening his mouth on you again. "Gonna cum for me?"

You nod, not caring if he can't see it.

"Gotta tell me, princess, you know how this works," he takes his fingers out, circling your opening to tease you.

"Mikeyyy!" You draw out, kicking your leg up and letting it fall on his back.

He slaps your thigh at this, and you can't help but kick again, another squeal leaking from your lips.

"Hey!" You whine, tears burning your eyes as he continues his merciless teasing.

"Are you gonna tell me what I wanna hear or are we gonna stop? Your choice, princess," he rests his chin on your mound, wide eyes looking up into you.

You whine, letting your head fall back in defeat.

"Please make me cum, Michael, I wanna cum on your fingers so, so badly," you wiggle your hips, his absence already unbearable. You're surprised you'd made it that long, actually. "Please, I'm so wet," you beg, your voice watery. "It's all for you, Mikey."

"Ooh, poor baby," he wraps his lips around your clit again, and you almost scream. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he inserts his fingers back where they belong, and tears stream down your face. "Didn't mean to make you beg so much, you know you always have me, you know that, right?"

"Of course," you mutter between deep breaths, knowing he'll stop if you don't use your words.

"Good girl," he murmurs against you. "Always got me, okay? Any time you want, you have my fingers, my tongue, my cock."

You're teetering the edge at his words, your entire body tensing up.

"Gonna give you that last one next, hm?" He asks, and you grow even tighter around him. "Ooh! You like that idea, huh?" He mocks, and you wail. "Like the idea of getting pounded by my cock after stretching you out on my fingers?"

This does it, the coil snapping, shockwaves rippling over you as his mouth refuses to let up. Trails of fire speed up and down your veins, warming you from the inside out.

You dissolve into the pleasure, putty in his hands as he helps you through it, the waves ebbing as you go.

"Good job, wooow, look at all that, good job," he whispers, pulling his fingers out, only to collect your release, and push it back inside you. His tongue nearly lolls out of his mouth as he watches it seep out of you again, bringing his fingers to his mouth.

"Great job, princess, feel good?" He asks, and you nod.

"Yes, Mikey," you whine, and he hums in approval. "Thank you."

He settles on top of you, and your arms wrap around his neck in greeting.

"Hi, honey," he smiles. "Never gotta thank me, okay?" You nod, and he lets you get away with it this time. "Always wanna make my girl feel good, yeah?" He lines himself up with your entrance as he speaks. "It's my job, 'm not being a proper boyfriend if I can't make you cum."

With that, he sinks his tip in. You both freeze, just for a moment, jaws slack, eyes wide and boring into each other's. You're tense, shivering a bit, even, as he continues to bully his thick length into you.

"God," he groans, eyes trained on where you meet. "Doesn't even matter how much I stretch you out, 's always hard to take me, isn't it?"

You nod, tears springing up once again as he sinks in even deeper.

"Yes! God you're so big, it's always so much," you whisper, planting your feet flat on the floor so he can spread your knees even wider.

"Yeah?" He whines, bottoming out inside you. "Always so big, hm? I'm sorry, honey, sorry that it makes you so dumb, that I can see it in your tummy right now, that it's gonna make you scream and shake and cum."

You're speechless, your body following suit, as if it could hear him. Your legs begin to tremble around him, a shit eating grin on his face when he feels it.

"Already so close? Fuck," he throws his head back, squeezing his eyes shut as he pulls out, and thrusts in. "I absolutely love how desperate you are for me, y'know that?"

You nod, displaying your widest, prettiest eyes. He bites his lip, picking up his speed, only a little. The pace is torturous— long, slow drags of his hips against yours.

"I love you, Mikey," you whimper, bottom lip jutting out.

He rolls his eyes, biting back another wide grin.

"I love you, too, princess," he lifts your legs over his shoulder as he talks. "Even when you pout to get what you want."

It's only when you whine, paw at his chest that he fucks you in full, the way he knows you like it. Butterflies bloom in your tummy as he slides in and out, in and out, your orgasm sizzling deep within you.

There's a wet slide as he moves, and your cheeks heat up. Plopping your palms on your face, you receive a slap to the outer thigh.

"Look at me," he pleads— not strict, but desperate, almost wanton. You open your eyes to find his shiny, but bright all the same. "There she is," he coos. "Prettiest girl in the entire fucking world and I get to put my dick in her," he picks up his speed at his words, bliss taking over.

"Michael!" You squeal. "You're so filthy."

"You love it," he mutters, hips unstoppable as he continues to pound you.

You tighten around him, and this catches his attention. He stops, thrusting all the way in and staying there. The friction of the hair littering his pubic bone against your clit sends electricity flying through you, your release just out of reach.

"God, please!" You wail, grasping at his biceps.

"Not God, just Michael," he jokes, picking up his hips again.

"You're the worst," you roll your eyes, a big smile on your face.

He leans down, his thrusts are once more ruthless, maybe even more so than before, as he plants a sloppy kiss to your lips.

"Let go, baby," he encourages, sneaking a thumb to your clit. "You can do it, c'mon, I'd be so proud of you."

This does it, and you arch off the floor of the boat, into his chest as white noise takes over. Time stops, your head falling back as your orgasm rips through you.

It's electric, lightning bursting through you with each shockwave. The ripples soon slow, but the bliss you feel is still intense.

"God, it's still going, isn't it?" He huffs out a laugh.

You nod, completely lost in it and uncaring of how desperate you look. He kisses you at this, muttering how he's 'so fucking close, just keep being good for me.'

You nearly dissolve into the pleasure, Robby's thrusts growing sloppy, his own release not too far behind.

Coming down around him, your pussy flutters as he pistons inside of you, throbbing with the threat of his own release. Gripping his bicep, you reach your lips up to his ear to whisper sweet nothings.

"You got it, Mikey," you press a kiss to his lobe. "I love you so much, you always make me feel so good," a kiss to his neck. "Taking me on a fancy trip," another kiss, "driving me around on this boat," and another. "God, you looked so fucking hot behind the wheel of this thing, I almost couldn't wait till we got here."

That does it for him, a guttural groan escaping his chest as you feel him twitch, his hips stilling against yours as he spills himself inside you.

Scraping your nails up and down his biceps, you revel in his goosebumps as he shakes and shivers and moans.

"Good job," you whisper, and he nearly sobs. "I'm so proud of you, Mikey, love you so much."

Another cry wracks his body, and you rub your hands up and down his skin as he collapses into you. Dampness floods your neck, as well as little kisses he presses there.

"I hope these are happy tears," you say, pulling his face back so you can really see him.

He's teary, as expected, but he's also…lighter. He's smiling, a carefree one that takes over his whole face. It prompts your own, and you bring your mouth to him, kissing him slow and sweet.

"I love you," he mutters against you, sliding out slowly.

You whine at the loss, making grabby hands for him as he sits back on his haunches.

"Sorry, princess," he coos, extending a hand to you. "Gotta get you cleaned up, hm?"

You shake your head, not quite ready to leave this little reprieve you guys have created for yourself.

"Nuh-uh," he insists, giving you one last swat to the thigh. "C'mon, gotta go pee, honey."

He scoops you up, clutching your trembling form to his chest as he carries you down the little steps, into the teeny bathroom. He's not far as you clean yourself up, reveling in the proximity.

Your legs are soupy as you climb up the steps, Robby not far behind. His hands splay against your backside to help prop you up, or so he says.

To your delighted surprise, he's even packed a little lunch for you two— something light, to accommodate your desire to go swimming.

He forces you to wait 30 minutes after eating, rolling his eyes when you insist that theory has been debunked. You pretend to mind, pretend to be annoyed at the extra time you get with his hand on your belly, your back to his chest.

You don't get a lot of time like this when you're home, the school year and hospital typically in full swing. Leaning your head on his shoulder, you tell him this, how thankful you are to have this time with him.

"You're sweet, princess," he coos, rubbing his nose against yours, pressing a chaste kiss there, too. "We can do this more often, y'know."

You sit up a bit, turning toward him with big eyes.

"Mikey, you know I won't be able to afford that. I can't ask you to spend all this on me more than once, I already feel bad enough about this trip as is," you say, and he just waves a hand.

"Please," he insists. "I haven't had anyone to dote on, I don't think ever," he confesses. It roils through you, like it always does when he opens up more of himself, of his lonely past. "I want to, would you let me if I said I really want to?"

You secede, nodding your head and settling back into him.

"I guess so," you mutter, hands gripping his forearm that's wrapped around your body.

"Mainly, I just want to see you in a bikini more," he jokes, and you slap his bicep. "And fuck on a boat again. That cannot be the only time we do that."

Your laughter launches you from him, back arching off his chest. Flopping on him, you see his own smile in your periphery.

"No, I'd have to agree there," you muse, looking around at him. "That can't be the only time."

"It was too good…" he trails off, his fingers skimming the waistband of your swimsuit.

He doesn't get far, though, as your fingers wrap around his wrist, halting him in his tracks. You turn to him to see a little pout, and you kiss it off.

"Nice try, horn dog," you roll your eyes playfully, standing up to make sure he gets a good view of your ass in his face. "Come on!" You twist at the waist, looking down at him. "I still want to swim!"

Without waiting, you jump off the boat, swimming out of the cove and into the large body of water you've parked in. The cool water rushes through you like a drug, your veins coming back to life in the brutal summer heat.

He's not too far behind you, and you're eager to cling to him. Wrapping all your limbs around him, you're like a koala as he takes you two further out, the boat getting smaller in your line of vision.

He's hesitant to let you go, careful as he does so. With a soft push, you float backwards, kicking your feet and paddling your arms.

It's then that you feel it— a sharp, burning pain along the expanse of your shin. You squeal, unable to control the guttural noise ripping from your throat, the tears that spring to your eyes.

Robby moves immediately, his shift into 'doctor mode' practically visible at this point. He's got you in no time, shushing your cries and smoothing your hair over with his hand as he holds your face in his hands.

"What is it, sweet pea? What hurts?" His eyes are worried, scanning all over your body to find the cause of your tears.

"My leg," you croak, lips trembling with more tears.

He wraps his arms around you in record time, lifting your leg out of the water. Lo and behold, an iridescent blue is sticking to your skin— an unfortunately beautiful creature pumping its venom into you.

"Ohhh, angel, I got you, let me peel it off, okay? Might hurt," he coos, ensuring each tentacle and needle is as removed as possible. "There's still a bit more in the skin, baby, let's get back to the boat and I'll take care of it, okay?"

You nod, thanking whatever powers are above for giving you a doctor boyfriend.

"Good girl," he croons, and you just cry more.

A gentle hand lowers your leg into the water once more, another rush of pain sweeping through you.

"Oww," you whine, squeezing Robby's hand. "Michael, 't hurts."

He's nearly tearing up at your words, working overtime to get you back to the boat.

"I know, angel," he affirms, "but the saltwater is good for it. It'll kill the venom."

You trust him, you think you'd follow him to hell if he said it'd take the pain away.

"It hurts so bad, Mikey," you whine, nearly lifeless as he helps you onto the boat.

Once you're on flat feet, it's an immediate collapse. Robby's quick to protect your head, a gentle hand coming up behind your neck and lowering you the rest of the way down.

"You're okay, you're okay," he whispers, and you can't stop crying. "I'm gonna go get the first aid kit, I'll be right back, okay?"

You nod, biting your lip. Fear fills you as you watch him disappear, but you already feel clingy enough. You let him go.

Thankfully, you're just dramatic, and he returns in record speed with a white plastic box. Propping it open, he finds a pair of tweezers.

"I'm gonna pick out the rest of the needles, and then we're going straight back to the cottage, got it?" He instructs, and you nod, feeling like one of his interns.

It hits you, then, that he's essentially had to clock in on vacation. More tears spill, a shaky cry accompanying your woe.

"What is it, honey?" He murmurs, thoughtful, but concentrated. "Talk to me, does it hurt?"

"No," you blubber, hiding your face with your hands. "I'm making you work. I'm so sorry."

Your apology is punctuated with a few more cries, and he lifts the tweezers from your shaking frame.

"Hey, hey, hey, sweetie, deep breaths," he mimics what he'd like you to do, and you follow suit. "Can't help you if you're fussy," he resumes his work, but keeps talking to you. "I don't want you to worry about me, baby. I'd take care of you if it was the apocalypse and a zombie was actively eating me. This is nothing compared to that!"

You laugh at this, watery but light. It triggers his own smile, and a smooth, 'there's my girl.'

He speeds a bit on your way back, your leg propped in his lap so he can 'keep an eye on it'. Docking at the marina, he runs you to the cottage with an efficiency that only comes with 25 years in an emergency room.

You fluff his hair with your fingers as he carries you, prompting a little look from him.

"I love you," you sigh, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Feeling's mutual," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your lips and kicking the door open.

He sets you on the couch, leg extended while he puts a pot of water on the stove.

"Okay, now that we're back, we need to immerse it in boiling water, and hit it with some vinegar. I'm going to get a rag for the water, okay? Don't wanna burn you even more," he assures at your wide eyes.

You nod, still unsure, and he kneels down to your eye level.

"You're gonna be okay, do you hear me?" He asks, and you can only nod again. "You know that's not what I want," he growls, and you tear up again.

"I understand," you croak, and he tugs on your bottom lip with his thumb.

"Good girl," he praises, moving to the stove once more.

"Are you sure you're not upset? I totally ruined our day," you mutter, looking to your lap in shame.

"Baby, you didn't ruin anything, it was that damn jellyfish," he laughs, moving the now bubbling pot to a different burner.

Dunking a rag in it, he holds his free hand underneath as he brings it over to you.

"This is gonna be really hot, okay?" He looks up at you for confirmation, and offers you his hand. "Here, squeeze if it gets really bad."

You do, a sharp, prickly burn pumping up and down your limb at the touch. Sucking air in between your teeth, your head falls back onto the arm of the couch.

"Mikeyyy," you whine, and he kisses your injury-free leg.

"You got it, it's okay," he coos, dabbing the rag once, twice, before going to get more water.

"Gotta kill the venom, baby," he informs, resuming his previous work.

"But it hurts!" You kick your good foot, and he holds it down with his hand.

"Do you wanna try that again?" He asks, and you immediately shake your head no. "I know it hurts, princess, just gotta be a little patient, okay?"

Tears prick your eyes again as he continues to work, leaving the hot cloth around your skin while he wanders back into the kitchen.

He returns with vinegar and cotton pads, the application near immediate. It stings again, this time, surprisingly, is worse than before. You wince, doing your best not to kick and cry.

"Yeah, I know honey. It's killing that venom, baby, it's helping. I know, I know," his coos are endless, and the tears spill anyway.

"We smell like salad now," you whine, as he reaches into his emergency bag for hydrocortisone cream.

He laughs, gentle fingers applying the ointment to your still-burning skin.

"That's okay," he murmurs, still concentrated on you. "I'd rather smell like salad than let you get an infection, or worse."

You shudder at the thought, tears finally subsiding as he puts all his materials away. He plops down next to you, your bad leg up on his lap. He strokes the top of your foot, up to your ankle, stopping just below the injury.

"Are you okay, angel? That was scary, huh?" He asks, free hand smoothing over your cheek.

You nuzzle into him, eyes closing as he pinches your skin.

"Yeah, hurt really bad," you grip his forearm with both hands, giving him your prettiest eyes.

They work every time, and now is no different. He pouts, cooing as he pinches your cheek even harder, leaning over to press a kiss on the afflicted skin.

"You did so good, sweet pea, so brave," he praises, and you let it wash over you.

You feel the cortisol and adrenaline flush from your body, your heart rate returning to normal.

A moment's silence falls over you, like a blanket on a chilly night. Your eyes drift shut, already tuckered out from today's fiasco. How Robby does this everyday, you think, you have no idea.

Your thoughts are interrupted, though, by a low growl coming from deep in your belly. Robby laughs at this, his hand squeezing your tummy next.

"Hungry?" He asks, and you nod, eyes still closed. He reaches in his pocket, fishing out his phone. "We're getting pizza. Sound good?"

yorktown

wait for it

satisfied

helpless

non-stop

my shot

guns and ships

the schuyler sisters

alexander hamilton

dear theodosia

history has its eyes on you

stay alive

that would be enough

you'll be back

aaron burr, sir

right hand man

the story of tonight

what comes next

meet me inside

the story of tonight (reprise)

ten duel commandments

a winter's ball

farmer refuted

act ii:

what'd i miss

the room where it happens

who lives, who dies, who tells your story

take a break

burn

one last time

it's quiet uptown

cabinet battle #1

cabinet battle #2

say no to this

washington on your side

best of wives and best of women

the world was wide enough

the reynolds pamphlet

the election of 1800

the adams administration

i know him

your obedient servant

we know

blow us all away

stay alive (reprise)

schuyler defeated