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dr. robby xfemale!teacher!reader

summary: you were a girly-girl and robby loved it

warnings:fluff, female!reader, reader likes sterotypical women things.

Robby loves all the girly things about you. 

Like how on a Sunday evening you’ll be sitting on the living room floor in front of the coffee table, digging through the bucket you keep all your nail polish in. 

“Which one?” You ask, thrusting two small bottles at him. 

He makes deliberate work of folding the newspaper (you love to joke that he’s single-handedly keeping the newspaper company in business), setting it next to him on the couch, and reaching for the bottles. He peers over his glasses, studying them intently.

“All be honest, Doll, I’m not really seeing a difference,” he says, just because he knows it drives you nuts. 

You click your tongue with an eye roll. “There’s an obvious difference, Michael. Maybe you should get your prescription upped.”

You stretch to your knees to grab the polish back, but Robby lifts his arm out of your reach.

“Not so fast. I am choosing.”     

Finally, after studying for several moments, he’ll hand you one of the bottles. “This one.”

Then he’ll watch you as you work, eyes tracking you as you skillfully drag the brush up and down each individual nail. 

He loves joining you on shopping excursions, trailing you from store to store, up and down aisle after aisle. Hangers pile up on his finger, but not once will he complain. Encourages it even. You’ll spin toward him, holding up two of the same shirt. “Green or purple?” 

“Why not both?” He’ll say. 

And so on to the pile they’ll go.

Later, he’ll sit patiently outside the dressing room, giving his opinion on each piece you’d showcase. 

And then when it came time to pay, he’d pull out his credit card without a word, swiping it before you could protest. 

Robby loved the way you hated bugs with every piece of your being. Adored when you’d yell his name from across the house and he’d come running only to find you on top of the counters or in the far corner of the shower, cowering from a tiny insect. He couldn’t help laughing when you’re like that.

“Don’t fucking laugh at me!”

Robby’d kill the poor thing, grin still on his face. If he were in a particularly silly mood, he’d pick up the squashed spider or beetle between two fingers and bring it closer to your face, just to make you squeal. 

Then, bug discarded, he’d lean in for a kiss, but you’d lean away. 

“I’m never kissing you again,” you’d tell him petulantly.

“You don’t mean that.”

“No, I don’t,” you’d agree, appeasing him with a peck on his waiting lips.  

Robby loved your collection of perfume. You had several bottles that lined the top of the dresser. All sorts of different sizes and shapes. Each season had a different scent: pumpkin spice for fall, peppermint for the winter, floral in the spring, fruity in the summer. You had special ones too, like the one you’d worn on the first date, or the day that Robby told you he loved you. You never wore them again, but every so often, Robby’d catch you with them pressed to your nose, savoring the memories. 

He loved to be in your space, nose buried in your neck. On the occasion that you worked on a day he was off, he’d shift closer to your side of the bed in the mornings, pressing his face into your pillow, drowning himself in your scent. 

When you’d mix smells, Robby found joy in trying to guess which two you’d picked. 

“Vanilla and…” he’d pause, inhaling deeply. “Apple?”

“Close. Vanilla and cherry.”

And when one would get low, he'd make sure another bottle would be on the doorstep the very next morning. 

And finally, Robby loved watching rom-coms with you. Loved the way your eyes got shiny with tears during the confessions. Adored that when you’d seen a particular movie enough times, you’d mouth along to the lines. 

Once a week, the two would pile onto the couch, getting comfy underneath a shared blanket. His arm thrown around your shoulder, your hand toying with his hand in his lap.

 You’d take turns picking a movie, and when it was your turn to choose, Robby could just about count on it being some cheesy love story. But he’d never complain. 

Jack, on the other hand…

On the nights he didn’t work, he’d join, mostly to save himself from being lonely at home. “Oh man, another one?” He’d complain, plopping himself down in a chair, bowl of popcorn in his hand.

“Why are you here again?” You’d tease.

“Hey, man. Behave,” Robby would warn him, good-heartedly. “What the lady wants, she gets. I like her more than you.”

“Only because she’s prettier.”

Halfway through the movie, Robby’d start to get distracted, peppering kisses on your neck, making you giggle. Jack’d roll her eyes, easing himself to a stand. 

“Alright, I’m leaving before you two start screwing right in front of me. You kids, have fun.”

dr.robby x gf!reader

summary: you decorate yours and robby's home for fall.

Warnings: fluff, mentions of seasonal depression, female!reader, no use of Y/N

Music swirls around the apartment as you decorate. A pumpkin there, a cat here, bats taped to the walls, cobwebs in the corners.

You hated summer. Sure, it was great for a few weeks, but then for the rest of your break, you moped around waiting for school to start back up.

 Most people got seasonal depression when the sun disappeared in the winter, but you were the opposite. The second the temperature dropped and the leaves began to turn, you could feel your soul returning to you. 

And so to celebrate, every year at the end of August, you would put on an old Ghostface shirt and spend an entire Saturday decorating for the upcoming season. You made a huge deal of it. Baking pumpkin cheesecake cookies, listening to spooky music, the works.

You were so focused on your work, you didn’t hear the door unlock, didn’t hear Robby cross the room. Your heart leaps hard when he slots himself behind you wordlessly, his arms encircling your waist, beard scratching against your neck. It’s a damn miracle you didn’t become one of the ghosts next to the fireplace.

“Jesus, Robby, you gave me a heart attack. Thought you were an intruder,” you tell him, twisting to smack his chest.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you attach your lips to his, welcoming him back home. 

“You always kiss intruders like that?” Robby questions, eyes bright with a teasing smile. 

“Only the really hot ones.”

The eye roll was back. “Cute.”

“House looks nice.” 

For a moment, as his eyes flicked around the place, you wondered if it was too much. You’d only been living together a couple of months; it's too soon to be claiming the space like this. You should have just taken it all to your classroom, passed some off to the other teachers when your room got too full.

“I can take it down if you want,” you tell him, already reaching for a paper bat. 

“Leave it,” Robby commands. His hand shoots out, holding your arm in place. 

“You don’t think it’s too much?”

“You like it?”

You nod.

“Then it stays.”

A slow smile spreads on your face.  You leave Robby’s side to grab a large bag off the dining table. A new bedding set you’d picked up earlier in the day. Black comforter, black sheets with orange jack-o'-lanterns. “Good. You’re just in time to help me make the bed.” You toss a pumpkin-shaped throw pillow at your boyfriend, who catches it effortlessly with one hand. 

Robby follows you into the bedroom wordlessly. He’d do whatever you wanted him to do, so long as you were happy. 

dr. Robby x wife!reader

Summary: you and Robby had way too many kids.

warnings: fluff, age-gap, femalereader, no use of Y/N, incorrect descriptions of foster care and adoption, mentions of infertility, difficult pregnancy, c-sections

You and Robby never expected to have four children. Robby especially had long assumed he was much too old for fatherhood, seeing himself as already having one foot in the grave. But you kept him young, and so when the subject of children was broached, he readily agreed. And well, once the first one came, he really couldn’t stop himself. He loved seeing you as a mother. And so they kept coming. That's not to say they were all planned, because they weren’t. 

dr.robby x fiancee!reader

summary:Robby worries about the nutritional value of your food.

Warnings: fluff, mentions of sex, nothing graphic, teacher!reader

“That all you’re eating?” 

The words catch you off guard. You swivel, toaster strudel halfway to your mouth, and find Robby standing at the entrance to the kitchen, clad in only a pair of jeans, shirt in hand. He’s staring at you with his hard, dark eyes, as though disappointed. 

Robby has this thing about your nutrition. Forces you to eat three full meals a day, even if he won't himself. You know damn well his lunch will consist of some sort of protein bar scarfed down in a dark corner of the hospital before he's back to being a hero.  

“What's wrong with it? There’s grain, and the filling is strawberry, so that’s fruit. And also the icing probably has dairy in it. Possibly. Maybe.”

Your fiancé plucks a juicy red apple from the bowl by the fridge and takes a large bite. A drop of juice leaks onto his chin. “It’s imitation. The strawberry.”

“Still counts.”

“Hardly.”

Robby wrenches open the fridge. Selects a bottle of some kind of nasty protein drink he liked. “Drink this.”

“And if I say no?”

Robby’s eyes narrow. “Thought you liked sex.”

God damn it, he got you there. “That’s just mean.”

“Then drink.”

He slides the drink across the island to you. You take the cold bottle in hand, twist off the lid and sip. It’s not as bad as you’d expected but your nothing if not stubborn. You won’t give him the satisfaction of being right. 

You finish the drink, shaking the bottle for proof. 

“Good.”

He’s fully dressed now, and much, much closer. His lips were on you, hands in your hair, on your shirt, pulling you closer. 

You’re breathless when he pulls away. Robby, on the other hand, looks completely unfazed. His thumb is on his lips, either rubbing you in or away; you weren’t sure. 

“You’ll need to fix your lipstick.” 

And then he’s gone. A distant roar of his bike, all that's left.

Asshole.

You think the nutrition debate is done, but then during lunch, the secretary pages you over the intercom. 

“You called?” you say, walking into the office.

The secretary doesn’t respond, just points with a pen toward a takeout bag on the desk, not even bothering to glance your way.

Back in your classroom, you pull out the food. Salad with pieces of grilled chicken and ranch dressing. Some kind of wrap. And at last, a bottle of Pepsi. 

Taking a sip of the soda, you pull out your phone from the drawer you keep it in, and type out the text to Robby.

You: thanks for the food. Pepsi was a nice touch

Michael: No need to thank me. Just taking care of what’s mine.

Michael: I figured you’d need something unhealthy after torturing you with that protein shake this morning. 

You could practically see the eye roll from here.

You: would you really withhold sex

Michael: Let’s not find out.

Dr. Robby x teacher!reader

summary: You surprise your students with a special guest.

warningss: fluff, un-mentioned age-gap, reader teases robby about being old, robbys no match for a bunch of kids, no use of Y/N.

“All right, class, I believe we have time for one more speaker.”

It was career day in your school, which meant all morning, parents, aunts, and uncles had been in and out of your classroom talking to your second graders about their professions. The adults had all gone, now that it was after lunch, but you had one more special guest.  

You waited a few moments for a lull to come over the students before speaking again. “Now this guest has a very special connection to Mrs. Robin. Does anybody have any guesses?” 

Immediately, several hands shot in the air. You cross your legs at the ankles, finger on chin, a conspiratorial grin on your face as you begin calling on students.

“Mrs. Robin, is it your dad?”

“No, I think it's her mom.”

“I bet it’s your brother.”

Stealthy, you cross the room, hand on the doorknob, ready to open the door. You poke your head out into the hall, catching your first glimpse of your husband. When you’d left him this morning, he was still in his pajamas, easing into the morning on his day off. Now he was in his work scrubs, complete with the stethoscope hanging around his neck. “Ready for this?”

Robby takes a deep breath. “I hope so.” 

Excited voices rise from inside the classroom at the faint sound of his voice. 

You peek your head back inside. “Alright, kids, we have to be quiet; this guest is a little shy.”

Straightening, you push the door open more, and Robby follows you into the classroom, joining you in front of the whiteboard. 

“Boys and girls, I present to you our special guest, my husband, Doctor Robby.”

The roar of squeals and cheers is almost deafening. There’s nothing more exciting to a bunch of seven-year-olds than to get a glimpse of their beloved teacher’s personal life. 

You write Robby’s name on the board and then take a seat at your desk where you have a great view of his ass. “Take it away, Doc,” you say, waving your hand to the class.

A faint blush paints Robby’s cheeks, and he wipes his palms on the front of his scrub pants. 

It was endearing, the way that he was taken out by a few elementary school kids despite the fact that he spent his life barking orders at residents and med students. 

“Uhm, okay. How many of you have taken a fall while playing or gotten sick and had to be taken to the emergency room?” A few hands went up. “Alright, then chances are you may already recognize my face.”

Robby gives a brief rundown of what his job entails and then answers a few questions. Questions that soon turn into probes about your personal life to the deep embarrassment of both of you. 

Thankfully, before long it’s time to ship the kids off to gym class. Robby heaves a sigh and plunks down in your chair, leaning back with his hands interlinked over his head, eyes closed. 

You take a seat on his lap. His large hands seek you out instantly as if on autopilot; one comes to rest on your skirt-covered thigh, the other snaking around to your ass. 

“That was insane. I don’t know how you do that every day,” he murmurs, completely spent.

“Ah well, I’m not the one literally saving lives.” 

“Doesn’t make what you do any less important. What you’ve built here is incredible. You are incredible.”

His words choke you up. You reach out to straighten the photograph of the two of you on your desk to distract yourself from crying.

He buries his face in your back, and for a while you just sit there in silence. You soak in the feeling of having him here. In sharing this side of you with him. This space. 

Twisting around you, card a hand through his dark hair, shit-eating grin on your face. “So I take it you won’t be returning next year?”

He sighs. “Do you want me to come back? I didn’t fuck it up too bad?”

“You did great, baby.”

“Yeah, I’ll come back.” He grabs a piece of your skirt. “But you best be wearing this skirt.”

“Yes, sir.”

He nips at your bottom lip. “Don’t start.”

Robby stands up, placing you on your feet. You glance at the clock on the opposite wall. “You better go. Kids will be returning from gym  in a minute, and trust me, thirty second graders fresh from a game of tag is not a smell you want to witness.”

You follow your husband to the door and are unable to resist the urge to smack his ass, to which he shoots you a fiery glare. 

At the door, his lips find yours once again. 

“Go take a nap old man,” you tease, shoving him away lightly. 

Robby grunts. “Behave.”

Then, as he's walking away, you swear you hear him grumble, “Old man. I’ll show her old man.”

Dr. Robby x teacher!reader

Lunch

Hair

career day

nutrition

kids

decorations

girly

Dr.Robby x gf!reader fluff

summary: you struggle with a knot and Robby is all to happy to lend a helping hand.

Warnings: fluff, teacher!reader, unmentioned age gap. no use of Y/n, teasing

One thing that surprises you about Robby is that he’s extremely gentle. It’s not long after you’ve begun dating when you’re staying the night at his place. It’s later in the night, nine, give or take. You’ve just gotten out of the shower, one of Robby’s shirts hanging low on your still damp body. You’re sat on the edge of his bed, attempting to wrestle the brush through your tangled hair. 

You groan when faced with an especially stubborn knot. Your hair has gotten long in the recent months, due to skipping your bi-yearly cut, and now hangs well below your shoulders. 

“Everything okay?” Robby asks, now haunting the doorway, no doubt having run from wherever he was when he heard your distress.

“I’m fine, just can’t get this stupid knot out.” 

Admittedly, the sight of him standing there, broad chest lit from the moonlight pouring in the room, momentarily had you forgetting all about the knot.

Robby crossed the room in an instant, discarding his water bottle and settling in behind you on the bed. “Here, let me help.” 

You’re all too happy to relinquish the battle to him, handing the brush over your shoulder. 

He works intently, separating the hair into small sections, brushing softly. Places small kisses on your shoulder where the shirt doesn’t cover when the brush snags. 

Finally, he shifts, putting down the brush and picking up a hair tie from the nightstand where you’d left it earlier. 

And then his fingers are in your hair again. Braiding with the kind of precision perfected by years in his profession. 

Before you want him to be, he’s done, securing it in place, letting his long fingers ghost down your back. 

“There, whatcha think?” 

You grab the braid, bring it over your shoulder for inspection. It's a bit messy, but so much better than you’d expected. 

“It’s perfect,” you tell him, turning to place a kiss on his soft lips. 

The two of you stay there a moment, a breath away. Eyes interlocked, saying something neither of you are yet ready to vocalize. 

Then, in one quick moment, Robby’s pulling you on top of him, both of you falling back onto the bed. 

You place a quick kiss onto his jaw. “Where’d you learn how to braid anyhow?”

Robby’s breath catches; it’s quick, but it’s there nonetheless. “Dana.”

You can’t help but laugh. 

“Why’s that so funny?”

“Oh come on.”

“I’m serious.”

You snort out another laugh. “You really expect me to believe you, the great, grumpy Dr. Robinavitch, asked Dana to teach you how to braid hair?”

“Yes.” Because of course he did. Robby wasn't used to being challenged. 

“Yeah okay. And the sun is green.”

Robby glared, and your smile dropped incrementally. “Alright then, when exactly did these lessons take place, Doctor?”

The warmth in your boyfriend’s eyes was back, mixed with something else. Without warning, he flipped your position, taking all of the air from the room. He loomed over you, a mischievous, almost-smile on his face. “For your information missy, I asked Dana the day after our very first date.”

“That quickly?” 

Robby was closer now, his face just inches from yours. He grabbed the end of the braid, twirling it between his index and middle fingers. “Couldn’t help it. I’d just met the most amazing woman and she had this incredible hair. Hair that I needed to learn how to fix after I mess it up. "

Dr.Robbyxwife!reader, fluff.

summary: When Robby leaves his lunch at home, you really have no choice to bring it to him.

warnings: teacher!reader, age gap (not specified but I imagine reader as being early 30s and Robby being mid 40s), slightly suggestive but not descriptive, female pronouns used, no use of Y/N.

Dr. Robby prefers to keep you separate from his work. Not that he’s ashamed of you; of course he isn’t. An accomplished doctor, he still thinks convincing you to marry him was his greatest achievement. Truly, he keeps you away because he doesn’t want the others to see how soft you make him. 

And so the first time you step foot into the E.D. It's completely unbeknownst to him. You’re off work for a small government holiday, and He’d forgotten his lunch that morning, so you, his ever-adoring wife, decided to bring it to him.

It’s not as chaotic as you expected, a mental picture you’d built up from the details Robby had shared. Busy, but not chaos.

You spot Dana quickly, smiling at the familiar face.  

“Hey, girl, what brings you by?”

“Michael, left his lunch at home, thought I’d bring it over to him. Otherwise he’s going to be surviving off of air and spite for the next several hours. You know how he is.” You and Dana share a knowing eye roll. “He around here?” You ask, your head swiveling, trying to scout your husband out in the sea of people. 

“Trauma 2. I’ll save you the gory details, but he should be done any moment.”

As if summoned, Robby steps out of a room nearby. He’s tense in a way he never is at home, eyebrows furrowed, focused, his muscles tight. 

His dark eyes land on you, and his face visibly relaxes, his pace quickening. In a second he’s by your side.

Dana steps away to give the two of you privacy, her face buried in a tablet. 

“What’re you doing here?” He says. “Hi, honey? How are you, honey? It’s nice to see you, honey?” You tease.

If there were eyes on you before, they’ve doubled now that Robby’s next to you. 

Robby smirks in spite of himself. “Hi, sweetheart. What’re you doing here?” He doesn’t hug you here, but one  of his large, warm hands encases its self around your arm, squeezing three times. Your secret code for when the words can’t be said out loud. I love you. 

You hold the blue lunch box up. “Someone forgot his lunch that his gorgeous, sexy wife made him.”

“Ahh, sorry about that. I’ll never again forget the lunch that my  gorgeous wife makes me again.” Robby takes the lunchbox, his fingers brushing against  yours.

“You forgot sexy.” You say, your bottom lip sticking out ever so slightly in a mock pout. 

“My gorgeous, extremely sexy wife.”

“Better. I should go, let you get back to saving lives.”

Robby places a quick kiss to your temple, his greying beard scratching at your skin. 

“Make sure you actually eat that, Michael. You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I promise. Love you.”

“Love you too Doc. See you tonight.” 

You head towards the exit. When you peer over your shoulder for one last look at your husband, it makes you smile to see he’s already being surrounded by subordinates, no doubt pestering him with questions about his impromptu visitor. 

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It’s not until later on that Robby finally gets to sit down and enjoy the meal you made for him. Taking out each container, he finds the box to be not quite empty.

What he finds makes his cheeks redden and his eyes scan the room to make sure he’s truly alone. Only then does he dare to reach in and daintily pull out the polaroid and accompanying note.

Oh how he wishes he could take his time, memorize each piece of it. Instead he forces himself to place it neatly away from anyone who may walk past. This photo, you, were for his eyes and his eyes only.

Then he unfolds the note, studies the delicate swooping letters on the pink stationary you loved so much. Like the polaroid, this note doesn’t do much but quicken his heart and sharpen the ache for you. In your neat, carefully practiced handwriting you’d wrote: thanks for eating all your food. Come find me at home for dessert ;)