Mhaggy

Should he reach for the remote control on his coffee table after you just put it there? He wants to turn down the volume a few notches on the TV because the movie is a bit loud or maybe his ears are just sensitive.

Should he grab more popcorn out of the bowl cushioned between you both on the couch? Your hand was already in it and he didn’t want to accidentally bump it and disturb you.

Should he put his arm around you to hold you upright when he noticed you blinking slowly and maybe starting to drift into sleep because old westerns movies weren’t your thing? He didn’t want to overstep. Even though you’d been dating for three months. 

And in those three months, he was understanding that intimacy could be a lot of things. It could include his consideration for your boundaries…your consideration for his…holding each other’s hand. Andrew liked to hold your hand sometimes but he didn’t want to overdo it by touching you every chance he could get and seem…needy and make you uncomfortable? Hugs were the same. But he liked entwining his fingers with yours when you walked down the boardwalk after dinner…and he liked when you draped your arms over his shoulders as he slipped his around your waist to hold you for a minute or so on your porch after he dropped you off home. 

It was the little things…the little touches…Andrew liked those when it felt right. 

But he kept having thoughts…intrusive, maybe inappropriate, thoughts…thoughts that made his eyes pop open in the middle of the night from sleep he desperately needed. Or thoughts that clouded his vision as they played right before his eyes as he sat on his couch and daydreamed instead of watching the nature documentary in front of him. 

Thoughts of your body in his hands. His thumbs skimming the small of your back or pressing in softly beneath your breasts to keep you in his grasp. He wondered about the sound you’d make if he held you like that against him while he kissed your lips or your neck. If he had you under him. Naked. Maybe in his bed. If he gripped your wrists like that or maybe your thighs. If you gripped him, too. How gentle or hard you might squeeze his biceps as you felt his muscles wrapped around you…or his back as your palms rubbed down them. You had such smooth, warm palms. He’d feel them when you held hands. The thought of your smooth, warm palm and fingers around his di—

No. Oh, no. That was another intrusive thought. Andrew didn’t want to entertain those kinds of thoughts if he couldn’t make them a reality. And maybe he could…maybe you felt the same? It wasn’t something you both discussed, to be honest. But he just wasn’t certain if he felt ready to follow through. The fantasy of being touched by you, him getting to touch you…he had a fear that it was more fun in his head.

What if he disappointed you? What if he didn’t do it right? Worse yet…what if he was scared to enjoy it? 

Touch was complicated for Andrew. For…a lot of reasons he refused to think about for too long. But when he saw you in his mind, cozied up next to him in bed, bare and beautiful, your backside tucked into him as he held you…letting his palms caress over your warmth and listen to you sigh…feeling you pressed to his body, to his...it made him hard. And if it made him hard, maybe he would enjoy it…

At the very least…he just wanted you in his arms. Clothed or not clothed. It was worth a try, he imagined.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked your boyfriend. He was quiet next to you as you drove. He was often quiet, no matter the time of day or activity, but thirty minutes had passed and stoplight after stoplight, mile after mile, Andrew hadn’t said a word. The world outside of your truck was already so silent with it being almost midnight on a Thursday in the mountains.

The R&B station on the radio softly playing “All This Love” was the only other sound besides your tires rolling on the asphalt and the truck’s heater humming. Only another hour or so before you and Andrew reached the cabin you’d spend the weekend in. A late autumn retreat to celebrate your three month anniversary together. But Andrew felt so far away right now and it worried you. 

You glanced over at him before looking back at the dark road and saw your boyfriend sitting still, hands clasped in his lap and looking straight ahead through the windshield. A thunderstorm brewing in his eyes that didn’t show a strike of lightning lashing out, no. Just brooding, dark brown trepidation…letting a thought swell in his mind until it reverberated through his body like an omen. You recognized that look. 

“Do you want me to turn around? Take us back to Oceanside?” you offered softly. Praying you didn’t sound condescending. It wasn’t your intention. You just knew when Andrew was in a stressful headspace, he liked to be home. Yours, his, didn’t matter. Home was healing for him. 

“No,” he spoke up then. Voice gruff and airy like his vocal cords strained to get the word out from lack of being used in the last half hour. But Andrew always sounded like that. Always sounded a bit hoarse, a bit unsure. You understood why, for the most part. But this was still unusual.

“Okay,” you gave gently. You weren’t going to press him. You’d have the entire weekend to talk things out if that’s what needed to happen. So you focused on the road. But Andrew’s voice cut through the quiet again. 

“Are we going to have sex when we get to the cabin?”

Your mouth opened but no sound came out. So you tried again, an awkward grin appearing and disappearing on your face. “Um. If you want to? I was, uh, thinking about the hiking trails.”

“And not sex. With me.”

You peeped at him again as you slowed to make a right turn, following the GPS route displayed on the little screen mounted on the dashboard. Andrew was looking at you now. Expectantly. Chin tilted down and eyes low but revealing more of that storm he carried in his mind. You wrung your fingers around the steering wheel as you thought of the best way to answer. 

“I think about that sometimes. Oftentimes, actually. But it’s…it’s not something I planned on us doing this weekend. Not unless it felt right.”

“But it’s a special occasion. Isn’t that what couples…do? Celebrate their anniversaries or birthdays with sex, yeah?” You kept your eyes on the road but you could hear the genuine question in his tone. Andrew wasn’t trying to be a wise-ass. He wanted to know what you thought…what you expected of him.

“There are plenty of ways to celebrate our anniversary without sex. I, for one, am looking forward to making s’mores with you over that bonfire pit in the backyard. And bird watching.”

Andrew giggled quietly at that last bit and it made you smile. “What about you?” you asked. 

He was quiet again as he gathered his thoughts, all two hundred and twelve of them, and tried to condense them into a coherent sentence. “I’m looking forward to chopping some wood,” he breathed out. “Stock it up for the fireplace to keep us warm. Lounge in front of it with you while I hold you. Naked, if that’s alright.”

“I’d…really love that,” you whispered with a half-grin that quickly spread into a full one when you caught him starting to grin, too, in the corner of your eye. He loved to see you smile…loved the sound of your voice when you added, “I’m glad we packed those big blankets. Perfect to cuddle under, I think.”

The words “hold you...naked” made you both grin again. You’d never cuddled together before, let alone even lay in his or your bed at the same time. The idea of it made you a little giddy because you were tender from lack of touch, too.

It was nothing you’d ever complain about because you loved holding hands with Andrew, hugging him, and spending time with him more than anything else. That was enough. But the thought of sharing a blanket with your boyfriend as your bodies huddled together under it, skin to skin…it was exciting. Nerve-racking. But exciting.

“Would you want…to do more than cuddle?” Andrew blurted his intrusive thought, hoping it wouldn’t freak you out. He kind of freaked himself out and almost balled up his fist to smack himself on the forehead for letting the words escape out of his brain.

“Would you?” you replied. Your boyfriend went quiet again for a moment before you reminded him in a mumble, “I hope you’re not trying to convince yourself that we have to have sex or anything for this weekend to be special…”

Andrew remained quiet because that was exactly what he was thinking.

“We don’t even have to cuddle, you know?”

“No, I want that,” he piped up, almost before you were finished speaking. You rolled to a stop at another light and your gaze drifted over to him to find him already watching you. The red light glowed softly on his face and revealed the storm in his eyes had lulled some. The look that replaced it you were unfamiliar with but it showed a certainty…and a sweetness you definitely recognized. He held your gaze as he said almost under his breath, “I wanna hold you in my arms until you fall asleep. And I wanna kiss you awake tomorrow morning. That’s all I want, if you do, too.”

Your heart flipped in your chest to hear him confess that…especially when you felt his hand cover yours on the steering wheel to take and hold on his lap. There was no one behind you at the light even after it turned green so there was no rush to let go of your boyfriend’s hand and you didn’t want to. Your eyes fell to how he carefully caressed his thumb along yours and it made a smile touch your lips.

“I do. I want that with you, too.”

Author's Note: If you couldn't tell, that scene in Animal Kingdom S2E5 inspired my little drabble because I always felt like Amy was too pushy with Pope to strip and get to the getting...our man is a delicate soul who deserved to go at his own pace. 🥺

"Dr Abbot doesn't know what a dilf is." She blurted out.

Your eyes widened, your lips forming an 'o' shape.

"I-" Jack stuttered. "Two patients said I was a dilf and I didn't know what to say."

"Oh." Is all you could say.

Seeing Trinity still losing her composure you look back at Jack as he asks "Is it a bad thing?"

"Dr Abb-" you started but a light chuckle escaped you, breaking the sentence. "It's not a bad thing, don't worry." You smiled, a crease still on your lips.

"Ok-ay."

"It means your attractive." Your mouth moved faster than your mind. "They find you attractive. It stands for Daddy I Like to Fuck."

Santos walked away, she would erupt if she stayed.

"Oh." Jack repeated what you'd said thirty seconds ago. "But I'm not - I don't have children."

As Trinity was still in earshot, you both heard a hearty laugh as she slipped into the break room.

"You don't have to be a dad to be-" your lips thinned into a straight line but you carried on. "-to be a daddy."

Silence. Confusion.

"You could probably get their numbers if you wanted to." You giggled as you walked past him.

✦ committing crimes should count as foreplay between you and your partners, the infamous poison ivy and the mysterious batman. of course, it’s a bit more complicated than that. baran is overjoyed to see you around blackgate penitentiary, sporting an orange jumpsuit that matches her own. jack is the one you have to appease afterwards, the one you have to explain yourself to and ask forgiveness from.

✦ goodness, does it break your heart to see him frowning at you from the other side of the glass. “you were doing so good,” he mutters, standing stiffly rather than sitting. “you know how hard it is to keep the press off my back when my wife suddenly disappears?”

“i know, i know, baby-sweetie-honey,” you coo, brows furrowing together as you fidget with your sleeve, “i’m sorry. that guy, he just—”

“you are not the law,” abbot cuts you off, huffing. “you’re lucky he’s recovering at all. otherwise your sentence would’ve been much longer. you should be grateful.” he pauses, then adds, “i’m holding an investigation of his property. all of his dogs have been removed and sheltered for the time being.”

“thank you, thank you, thank you,” you rattle off, a small smile slipping onto your lips. then, you get an idea. “i want one, jackie— please? just one? since i saved them and all, just one?”

you can tell he’s hiding his amusement. his tells are scarce, but you’ve taken the time to learn them, slowly but surely. after a moment or two of staring, he shakes his head and replies, “only if you behave in here.”

“absolutely, i will! i’ll be the best, i’ll be the most behaved criminal you’ve ever met!” you promise, clasping your hands together before leaning towards the glass. “kiss before you go, baby?”

silently, jack presses two fingers to his lips. then, he puts those fingers along the glass, watching as you do the same with a loving grin. “i’ll be back,” he vows before taking his leave, ending the visitation session.

✦ baran makes it hard to be behaved, however, while you’re inside. you’re not roommates (cellmates, technically, but roommates is cuter, isn’t it?), but she still finds ways to linger around you. her hand’s found permanent residency in the small of your back, thumb brushing gingerly through orange fabric as the two of you walk. you’ll be rambling a mile a minute while she’s busy glaring at anyone who looks too curious about you.

✦ “you did so good,” al-hashimi compliments you over breakfast one day, referring to your crime. “explosions have always been your style, haven’t they? been a long time since you’ve done anything that big, though.”

“it was fun,” you admit, “but i can’t do it again. you know me, baran-baby, you know my heart. i’m a good girl, really.”

“my good girl,” she corrects you, chuckling, “and i know. i do love it when you’re a little bad, though.”

you take another bite of your food, ignoring how it tasted like dirt from a racetrack. breakfast is never good; lunch is where it’s at. “don’t tempt me, red.”

“we could make it a date. a break out date. an explosive break out of prison date,” baran teases, “you’d like that. i know you would.”

of course, you would! the thought of snuggling up to your girlfriend while crawling through some tight, poorly dug tunnel or running away, hand in hand with her while the penitentiary’s mechanically locked door goes kaput in the background…

“ugh,” you groan, covering your face with your hands, “you’re making this so hard, babe!”

✦ sometimes, the guards skip cell checks. laziness seems to be the reasoning more than insanity, but regardless, al-hashimi doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of this. “baby,” she coos as she slips out of the night and into your tiny bed, pressing close.

“red?” you murmur, half-asleep, “what’re you doing in my cell? where’s that cat lady?”

“enjoying some… catnip,” she replies dryly, “don’t worry about it. sleep.”

you give a hum before settling back down, letting your body wrap around hers as you fall back asleep. the nights are always better when you share them with baran.

✦ and when you’re finally released— with noted good behavior, mind you!— abbot’s there to pick you up in one of his secretive, black suvs. he waits until you’re settled into the passenger seat, already gabbing about how surprisingly nice prison was outside of the food, before reaching towards the backseat and picking up a small mutt. “for you,” he says simply as he holds it out towards you.

“for me?” you gasp, “oh, jackie, you shouldn’t have!” never mind that you asked for the dog. excitedly, you take the puppy from his arms, carefully cradling it the whole ride home. “aren’t you the cutest?” you dote on the dog, petting it.

“how’s baran?” jack asks, his gaze focused on the road.

“oh, you know… still beautiful, still an eco-terrorist. she sends her kisses.”

he nods. “we’ll have to convince her to lay off crime for a while. it would be nice to receive those kisses in person.”

you open your mouth but quickly shut it, opting to nod quickly in agreement instead. you don’t have the heart to tell him you received plenty of her kisses while serving your sentence. without her loving, you’re not sure you would’ve made it through your sentence at all!

you would not guess how much the word penitentiary kicked my ass while writing this. anyways, i need to make a harley quinn reader post and prob a jack abbot batman post to match the baran poison ivy post… only if ppl gaf though. i kind of like the world im building here but im willing to drop it if no one gafs.

Robby moved through the house on autopilot, all the years of sleep deprivation through college and twelve-hour shifts made him efficient even when he was half-awake. He stepped into Noa’s nursery, flipping on the lamp. She was working herself up in the crib, waving those little fists while her face scrunched in hunger. “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered, scooping her up immediately. “Daddy’s here. Let’s get you sorted.”

He laid her on the changing table and made quick work of the dirty diaper, cleaning her gently with wipes and sliding a fresh one on with the ease of someone who’d been doing this every day for two months now. “There we go, you’re all clean now. Yes, you are. Who’s a clean girl?” He cooed at her, and Noa’s cries eased a little at his voice and touch, blinking up at him with those big and round eyes.

Next, he warmed one of the bottles of your pumped milk in the small warmer on the dresser, testing the temperature carefully on his wrist the way you both always do. Back in the rocking chair, he settled Noa in the crook of his arm. She latched onto the bottle hungrily, resting her tiny hands on the bottle as she drank with contented gulps.

Robby watched her with pure adoration, rocking her slowly. “You’re adorable at everything you do, you know that?” he murmured, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. “Look at you, you’re drinking like a champ. You need to be gentle with mommy, okay? She loves feeding you, but sometimes you hurt her. She’s giving you everything she’s got, we’ve gotta take care of her too, right?”

Noa paused drinking for a moment, locking her eyes onto his face as if she was truly listening to him. Robby smiled at the adorable sight. “That’s my girl. You’re so smart, just like your mom.”

When the bottle was nearly empty, he lifted her to his shoulder for burping, patting her back in steady circles. A good burp came, but as it did, she spat up a little of the milk she’d just drunk on his shoulder. “Ah, there it is,” he chuckled, not bothered in the slightest. He grabbed a clean burp cloth from the stack, wiped her mouth and chin tenderly, then cleaned himself up. “All better. Let’s get you back to sleep with that full belly.”

Robby spread the soft blanket out on the changing table. Noa’s arms flailed once, then twice, her face scrunching in that particular pre cry warning that meant she was about three seconds from protesting. “I know, I know,” he murmured. “Hold still for your old man.”

He laid her down in the center, gently guiding one arm against her side, then the other, and began the fold. One side of the blanket came across her body, tucking firmly under the opposite side. The bottom edge came up and over her legs, and the final flap wrapped around and under, snug but not too tight, until she was neatly packaged with her arms secured and her legs gently contained, the whole of her looking exactly like a tiny burrito.

For a second she went quiet, with her eyes wide with surprise, as if she couldn’t quite believe the sudden containment. Then a defeated little sigh left her. Robby grabbed her once again, holding her against his chest.

He rocked her for a few more minutes, humming a tune that came from a place buried inside of him. He had the faintest memory of hearing it once, long ago, in his mother’s voice. Or maybe it wasn’t a real memory at all, maybe his mind had simply invented the comfort, out of longing and the few soft fragments he still carried from a childhood that had never been particularly gentle. He couldn’t tell which it was, whether the memory was true or manufactured no longer seemed to matter as much as the simple fact that he was here now, holding his daughter, offering her the same soft sound that may or may not have once been offered to him. 

Robby continued rubbing her back until her eyelids grew heavy. With her belly full, Noa drifted off quickly, her body going limp and trusting in his arms. Robby held her a little longer than necessary, just savoring the weight of her, the way her head was tucked perfectly under his chin. “I love you so much, Noa,” he whispered to her. “More than anything. You and mommy… you two are my whole world.”

Carefully, he lowered her into the crib, adjusting the swaddle and making sure she was comfortable. Robby lingered by the railing for a moment, watching her sleep, wrapped like a little burrito in her swaddle, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. “Sleep well, baby girl. Daddy will be home before you know it.”

He still couldn’t believe this little miracle that was now sleeping in the crib. He had spent decades walking into rooms where people were dying, or already gone, or fighting for their lives. He knew the weight of failure, he knew how easily everything could be taken. And yet here she was, warm, breathing, utterly unaware of the improbable path that had led to this exact moment. He couldn’t understand it, lucky felt too small a word, it felt almost insulting. What had happened to him was closer to theft, someone or something had stolen the version of his life that was supposed to stay solitary and quietly exhausted, and replaced it with this brighter, terrifyingly fragile thing. He kept waiting for the correction, for the universe to notice the error and take her back.

But she stayed. Night after night, she stayed. And every time he looked down at her like this, he felt the same stunned ache in his chest. Not the kind that used to mean another loss, instead he felt the one that meant something had finally, against every expectation he had ever allowed himself, gone right.

The two of you had been together for exactly one year when it happened. A beautiful year of falling deeper in love than either of you expected. The pregnancy was an accident, you'd been violently ill for a week with a stomach virus, endless vomiting, dehydration, barely keeping anything down. Your birth control pill had failed in the midst of it all. When the two pink lines appeared on the test, you'd sat together on the edge of his bed, stunned into silence. "We don't have to do this if you're not ready," he'd said quietly, covering your hand with his hand. But you shook your head. "I love you. And... I've always wanted to be a mom. If you're in this with me..." Robby had pulled you close. "I'm all in. I’m so in. I’d given up on being a dad a long time ago, but with you? This feels like a second chance."

From that day forward, Robby became your rock, devoted in ways that still made your heart ache with tenderness. As a doctor, he was meticulous, scheduling every appointment around his shifts, reviewing ultrasounds, ensuring you took your prenatal vitamins religiously. As your partner, he was everything you needed. He’d satisfied every craving without complaint, driving across town at odd hours for specific street tacos or fresh strawberries. He’d massaged your aching back and swollen feet, held you through hormonal waves of emotion, and spoke to your growing belly every night in that low voice you loved. "You're going to be such a great mom," he'd whisper, kissing your forehead. "The best. Our girl is going to know nothing but love."

He spared no expense for the baby. The nursery was a dream, with high-quality furniture, the most beautiful crib, expensive onesies and blankets he couldn't resist buying, a top-tier stroller, everything chosen with care. Having a baby with you felt like a dream come true for him, a beacon pulling him away from the darkness of the pitt. You gave him purpose, a reason to be better, to leave the hospital behind each shift and step into the light.

The first month after bringing her home had been a beautiful whirlwind. Robby was utterly ensorcelled by your baby girl. He lived for those moments maybe other men dreaded, changing diapers at 3 a.m. without a hint of complaint, feeding her while you rested, simply watching her sleep in his arms with a wondering expression you'd never seen on his face before. He'd trace her tiny features, hum songs under his breath, and whisper promises about the world he'd help her explore. 

With one last glance, he slipped out of the nursery, pulled the door mostly closed, and headed to work.

The pitt was already a chaos when Robby walked through the doors. The automatic doors hadn’t even finished sliding shut behind him before the noise hit, the beeping monitors, hurried footsteps, and hum of conversations between staff welcomed him as he approached the nurse station. He was used to it, there was never a clean first hour, never a quiet stretch where a man could collect himself before the day started demanding pieces of him. The pitt didn’t offer that kind of courtesy, it only took from the moment you crossed the threshold and kept taking until the next set of doors opened and someone else walked in to take your place.

Jack was finishing up his night shift, leaning against the counter with a cup of coffee.“Hey, daddy,” Jack called him out with a grin, using the nickname that’d become permanent since Noa’s arrival. “How’s my niece doing this morning?”

Robby chuckled, setting his bag down and clapping his friend on the shoulder. “She’s wrapped like a burrito and deep asleep,” he replied. “Five solid hours last night, she’s killing it.”

Jack laughed, shaking his head. “Living the good life. I wish I could swipe places with her. Burrito swaddle and zero responsibilities sounds better than this circus.” He took a sip of coffee, his eyes crinkling with genuine affection for his friend. “Seriously though, man. She’s got you wrapped around her tiny finger, and her godfather too.”

They moved into the handoff the way they always did. Robby stood with his arms crossed while Jack walked through the overnight cases one by one: the elderly woman with the troponin, the young guy with the syncope whose ct had finally cleared, the pending cultures that hadn’t resulted yet. He nodded and asked the questions that needed asking, keeping all the cases organized in his mind.

Once the essentials were covered and the board looked as controlled as it was going to get, Jack leaned in a little, dropping his just enough to make the shift from colleague to friend. “How are you both doing?” he asked. “You and your girl holding up okay with the new routine?”

Robby nodded, curving his lips into a wide smile, the same one that always appeared on instinct whenever he thought about you. “Surprisingly great. The nights are getting better. She’s a good sleeper, and we’re figuring it out together. It’s exhausting, but… it’s good. Really good.”

Jack landed his hand between his shoulder blades in a brief clap. “Glad to hear it. You deserve this, Robby. All of it.”

There was no teasing in it, just the certainty from a man who had watched him burn through too many years. Jack held his gaze a second longer, then turned and headed for the locker room and the much-needed rest waiting for him. Robby was left standing in the nurse station as the day crew filtered in.

Word had always traveled fast in the pitt. When you were pregnant, he’d kept it locked down tight. Not because the joy wasn’t there, God, it had been almost unbearable some days, the way it kept rising up in his chest at the most inconvenient moments, but because the idea of opening that part of his life to the entire department had felt like standing naked under the bright lights. His personal world was his, and yours, it wasn’t for public consumption.

Jack had been the first to know. It had happened one night over beers in the corner of a bar. Robby hadn’t planned on saying anything, but the words had simply slipped out somewhere between the second and third round. Jack had gone quiet, he sat there with the glass in his hand, and his eyes fixed on Robby’s face as they turned glassy. He shook his head as a disbelieving smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He was simply so glad that his friend had found this in life. After the years of watching Robby carry the weight of the department, Jack looked at him like he’d been waiting a long time to see something good finally stick.

Dana had been next. He’d told her he was taking the rest of the day off, muttering something about the twenty-week ultrasound appointment, and she’d looked at him for half a second before she started to silently cry. She’d pulled him into a fierce hug right there, saying, “About time, Robinavitch.” 

Still, somehow, the rest of the department found out weeks later. Someone caught a glimpse of his phone lock screen, the unmistakable curve of your belly under one of his old t-shirts. Someone else ran into the two of you outside the movie theater on a night off and saw the way your coat no longer closed properly over the growing evidence of what you carried. After that it was inevitable. Congratulatory claps on the back, knowing smiles, the occasional quiet “Sleep while you have the chance, dr. Robby.”

And now that everyone knew the baby had actually arrived, now that he had come back from leave, they asked every single day. Begged, really, to bring her in.

Donnie leaned against the counter, grinning like he’d been waiting all morning for the opening. “Hey Robby, you gotta bring Noa in one day, just for a little visit. We can arrange a playdate with my daughter.”

Princess didn’t even look up. “Yeah, call your girl and tell her to swing by with her. We promise we’ll be gentle. No crowd-surfing the newborn or anything.”

Dana, who’d been one of the view people who’d visited the three of you in your house, was passing when she caught the last of it. She slowed, a laugh escaping her as she turned toward them. “She is the sweetest baby. Those big brown eyes and those round cheeks? I’m telling you, she’s going to break hearts one day. You’ve got no idea what you’re missing.”

Robby felt the familiar heat climb the back of his neck. He laughed and rubbed at the spot with one hand, the other still holding a half-finished note. “I’ll talk to her,” he said. “Maybe on a slow day we can make it happen. But no promises on the timing, Noa’s still tiny, and we’re trying to keep things low-key for now.”

A collective groan rose from the group. Someone called him a party pooper, someone tossed a crumpled glove in his direction, but there was no real anger in any of it. On the inside they understood, there was no arguing with him. When it came to his daughter, Robby was as protective as they came.

Throughout the shift, the requests popped up again in quieter moments, Perlah and Princess cooed over the latest photo Robby reluctantly showed from his phone after begging him for hours, and García teased him about “the Robinavitch legacy” in the making.

Robby moved through the rest of his shift with a steadier mind than he had known in years. The old restlessness was still there sometimes, but it no longer felt like it owned him. Between patients, in the brief pockets of relative calm, his thoughts kept drifting home. He would picture you dozing somewhere, maybe with a book half-open on your chest, Noa nearby, either asleep in her bassinet or awake and occupied with the serious work of being two months old. 

He wanted to be there, twelve hours had never felt longer. He found himself calculating, almost without meaning to, how many more patients, how many more hours until he could walk through the door and find the two of you waiting on the other side of it.

Then, in one of those rare stretches when everything was temporarily under control, he stepped into the break room. He leaned against the counter, pulled his phone from the pocket of his cargo pants, and for the first time all day allowed himself the luxury of opening the message thread with you.

Robby: hey love, quick break here. how are my girls doing?

You were curled up on the couch with Noa nestled in your arms when your phone vibrated on the coffee table. It was Robby. The notification made you instantly smile, shifting Noa gently so you could snap a quick selfie. You were both looking soft and content, with your hair a little messy, and Noa’s big brown eyes half-open, fisting one tiny hand in your shirt. 

You: We’re good💕 Just taking it easy today

Sometimes when he saw you and Noa like that, a thought would come unbidden. What would it have been like, he wondered, to grow up with a mother who looked at him the way you looked at Noa? Not the keeping-alive kind of care he had known in fragments, but a mother who noticed when his voice went quiet, who sat on the edge of the bed instead of behind a closed door, who made the ordinary hours feel safe simply by being present in them. Someone who would have reached for him the way you reached for your daughter without thinking.

He tried to imagine it sometimes. A different house, a different childhood, where the question why wasn’t I enough? never had to form in the first place. He wondered whether he would have been softer, less braced for loss, whether the impulse that made him push people away before they could leave might have been sanded down by something as simple and profound as being wanted without condition. He would never know what it felt like to be on the receiving end of that kind of mothering. But he knew, with an almost painful certainty, that his daughter never would have to wonder the same thing. And somehow, that had to be enough.

Robby’s response came back a few minutes later.

Robby: Are you two angels that fell from the sky? my beautiful girls.  god, I miss you both already, that smile of yours and noa’s cheeks i’m the luckiest man alive

You laughed softly, typing back while Noa made a small contented noise against you.

You: We just had lunch and now we’re relaxing. Our bellies are too full to move. Noa demolished her bottle and I ate way too much pasta. How’s your shift?

Robby: Managing, nothing too crazy yet, thinking about you two makes it easier save some of that pasta for me? love you.

The conversation tapered off the way when a multiple-car pileup sent six patients inbound, two critical, the rest still being sorted. Robby was already moving, pulling on gloves and scanning the board. And yet, even as the ED filled with the chaos of shouted vitals and the smell of blood, the picture of the two of you stayed with him. You on the couch, Noa’s body curled against your chest. For the next hour, through the first wave of stabilizations, that single image kept finding him. 

A couple of hours later, you had Noa on her play mat for tummy time, the little one determined and doing so well, pushing up on those still pudgy arms, lifting her chin clear of the mat with a concentration that made her round cheeks puff out like she was holding her breath for the effort. A soft grunt escaped her, you watched her for a second longer, then lifted your phone and caught the exact moment she managed another small raise of her head. 

You sent the photo to Robby without overthinking.

You: Look who’s being a tummy time champion today

His reply came almost the second the message left your phone.

Robby: look at her go!  she’s lifting her chin from her chest so well, she’s so strong already.  i’m melting over here Tell her daddy’s proud

By the end of his shift, Jack clapped Robby on the back as they wrapped up handoff. “Go home to your girls, man. Don’t linger here, they need you more than we do tonight.”

Robby didn’t need telling twice, he pushed through the sliding glass doors, and the cool night air hit his face. His scrubs were rumpled and his hair looked disheveled from running his hands through it during the final hours of a brutal shift. A few years ago, he would’ve walked to his car with heavy steps, feeling the depression taking over his body, wondering what the point was, if there was any light left beyond the next shift, the next inevitable loss, the next person he couldn’t save. No one would be waiting for him at home, there was no reason to keep pushing forward.

But tonight, a smile curved his lips as he unlocked his car. He exhaled slowly, feeling the tension easing from his shoulders. He was going home to you, and to her. The pitt still demanded much of him, but coming home to both of you recharged him in ways nothing else did. The memory of your face during labor, the first time he held his daughter, the way you looked now as a mother… it all fueled him. And suddenly the depression that once had haunted him post-shift felt like nothing but a distant shadow. For the first time in years, the future felt bright and full of possibility.

You heard the familiar sound of the front door clicking open and then shutting softly, followed by the thud of Robby’s shoes being kicked off in the entryway. 

Robby appeared in the doorway, his tall frame silhouetted for a moment before he stepped inside. His eyes found you immediately

He still hadn’t found the right words for what happened to him the second he stepped through the door and saw it. You were there, settled into the middle of the bed in your oversized sleep y shirt, with Noa cradled against your chest like she had been born knowing exactly where she belonged. One of your hands supported the curve of her back while the other traced absent circles between her shoulder blades. Her little face was turned into the hollow of your throat, her eyes half-lidded and her mouth working sleepily against your skin. 

The tired but genuine smile you loved so much spread across his face. He moved quietly, shedding his jacket and setting his bag down without a sound, then he approached the bed. “Hey,” he whispered, keeping his voice low so as not to startle Noa. “How are my girls doing?”

His breath brushed your cheek as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, then another, a softer one to your lips. He placed one of his big hands on your shoulder, resting it there, while he hovered the other tenderly over Noa’s back. Robby stroked the soft fabric of her onesie with the pad of his thumb, careful enough not to wake her. Noa made a small sigh in her sleep but didn’t stir. 

Something moved through him then, it started in his chest and spread outward until his throat tightened and his hands felt useless at his sides. He could have stood there forever just watching the two of you. The woman he loved more than he had ever allowed himself to love anyone, and the tiny person the two of you had made together. It was so quietly sweet it undid him.

You were effortless with her, so natural that it made him a little stunned still. The way you shifted her weight without thinking, the soft sounds you made under your breath, the absolute certainty in the way you held her. Noa trusted you with her whole body. Even at this age she seemed to know, the way animals sometimes knew, that you were her safe space, that you would never let anything touch her, that you loved her fiercely.

Part of him still flinched from it, the old voice that whispered he didn’t deserve this picture, that something this good couldn’t possibly be meant for a man like him. But he had learned not to feed it. Every time it rose, he heard your voice instead, you told him he deserved this, that he made you the happiest woman alive, that Noa was lucky, so lucky, to have a father who already loved her the way he did. And somehow, when it was your voice saying it, he could believe it.

He kicked off the rest of his clothes down to his boxers and slipped into bed beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. Robby slid one arm around your shoulders, pulling you and Noa carefully against his chest as best he could without disturbing the baby. 

“How was your day?” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your temple, gently playing with the ends of your hair with his free hand. “Tell me everything, I want to hear it all.”

You shifted slightly, keeping Noa secure on your chest, and started recounting the day in a quiet voice. The morning walk around the block in the stroller when the sun was still gentle, the way Noa had stared wide-eyed at the leaves moving in the breeze. The feeding session that lasted nearly an hour around lunchtime, followed by a messy but successful attempt at tummy time where she’d managed to lift her head for a few seconds. Robby listened intently, asking gentle questions in between.

“She’s getting so good at tummy time, how long this time?” His thumb continued its soothing path along Noa’s back. “Did she fuss much when you tried the new bottle we got? Any spit-up today?”

You answered each one, smiling at his genuine interest. He wants the details, the small victories, the tiny struggles. After a while, he glanced down at Noa, then back at you. “Want me to put her in her crib so you can stretch out a little? You look like you could use the space.”

“Yes, please,” you whispered, and Robby nodded, carefully maneuvering himself into a sitting position. With infinitely gentle hands, he slid his arms under Noa and lifted her from your chest. 

She fussed for half a second at the transfer but settled quickly against his broad chest, instinctively turning her face into the crook of his neck. He stood there for a long moment, just holding her, rocking side to side with a natural rhythm.

You watched as he carried her to her nursery. From the monitor on your nightstand, you could hear everything. “Hey, my sweet girl,” he whispered to her. “Daddy’s home. I missed you so much today. You know that? I think about you and mommy every single second I’m away.” He cuddled her closer, pressing feather light kisses to the top of her head. “You are so beautiful. Look at you… those perfect little cheeks, that tiny nose. I still can’t believe we made you. Me and your mom… we created something this perfect. You’re half her and half me, and somehow you’re better than both of us combined.”

He took his time admiring her in the glow of the nursery lamp, tracing a finger along her eyebrows, marveling at the delicate curve of her ears, the way her fists stayed curled even in sleep. “My perfect Noa. I love you more than I ever thought possible. You and mommy… you saved me, baby. Gave me a reason to go on every single day.”

Eventually, he lowered her into the crib, carefully adjusting her clothes and swaddling her snugly in a fresh blanket, just the way she liked it, with her arms tucked in, secure and warm. He double-checked the swaddle, made sure the monitor camera was angled perfectly so you could check on her from your bedroom, and finally dimmed the light before whispering one last “Sweet dreams, baby girl. Your daddy loves you.”

A minute later he was back in your bedroom, closing the door behind him and climbing  into bed. Robby wrapped one arm around you immediately, pulling your body flush against his. As he tangled a leg with yours, he buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply.

“God, I hate being away from you two all day,” he murmured against your skin, his voice coming out muffled. “Coming home this late… it kills me. I miss so much.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, soothing him. “It’s okay, Michael. Noa and I keep each other company. We’re all right.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. “I don’t like leaving you alone with everything. I wish I could be more present. Help you more with the chores, the nights, all of it. You’re doing so much.”

You cupped his cheek. “You have your job. Taking care of Noa is mine right now, and we’re managing, I promise.”

Robby sighed, pressing his forehead to yours. “You should reconsider hiring someone. Just for a few hours a day at first. We could find someone certified, with lots of experience and references. She could handle the chores, watch Noa so you can rest, shower, whatever you need. I want you to have some… room to breathe.”

“I’m fine,” you reassured him softly, smiling. “I promise I’ll tell you if it gets to be too much. But today we actually had a full one-hour nap, straight through, no crying, no fussing.”

Robby’s face lit up, and he let out a quiet laugh that vibrated through his chest and into yours. “Oh wow, a full hour? No interruptions? You lucky girls.” He grinned, pulling you even closer, sliding his hand down to rest it on your hip. “I’m proud of you both, seriously. You’re incredible.”

You turned in his embrace, capturing his mouth in a kiss. What started gentle quickly deepened as Robby groaned quietly against your lips. He was roaming his hands all over your body, keeping his touch gentle but undeniably hungry, sliding them down your sides, over your hips, and up your back, as if he was relearning every curve. He pulled you closer, kissing you harder, his tongue meeting yours in a familiar dance.

He broke the kiss just enough to murmur against your mouth. “We can stop whenever you want, baby. I’m just kissing you… we don’t have to go any further if you’re not ready yet.”

“It’s fine,” you whispered, threatening your fingers through his hair. “I’ll tell you if I want to stop.”

That seemed to be all the reassurance he needed. Robby shifted, settling his body on top of yours between your legs, careful not to put too much weight on you. The familiar press of him felt comforting and new all at once. His hands moved under your shirt, lifting it slowly.

Robby’s gaze darkened with desire as he looked at you, skimming his palms reverently over your breasts. He’d always loved them, loved sucking on your nipples until you squirmed, massaging the soft flesh, teasing until you were breathless. But he knew how sensitive they still were from breastfeeding, so his touch stayed feather-light tonight, brushing his thumbs softly over your nipples without pinching or pulling.

You froze for a moment as the insecurity took over. It came quietly at first, then all at once. The hunger that had been building under your skin suddenly was overtaken by the doubts creeping in.

You couldn’t help but notice the little changes, the faint lines that marked where your body had stretched to make room for Noa, the way your breasts felt different, no longer quite the same shape he had first mapped with his mouth months before she arrived. Nothing had fully returned to what it had been, and some part of you suspected it never would. This was not the same body Robby had first fallen in love with. This was not the same woman who had turned him on that first night, confident and untouched by the irreversible work of growing and delivering a child.

What if he didn’t find it appealing anymore? What if, when he finally touched you, it would feel obligatory, something he did because he loved you, not because he still wanted you with the same desire? You lay there with the questions pressing against your ribs.

Robby pulled back immediately, a look of concern replaced the previous heat in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently, cupping your cheek with one hand. “You want to stop?”

You shook your head, biting your lip as you looked away for a second. “I just… I feel weird about my body right now,” you admitted quietly, a little ashamed of expressing these feelings of insufficiency to him. Robby would want a confident woman, not someone afraid of taking her shirt off. “I’m… insecure, I guess. It’s changed so much, I keep thinking maybe you don’t like it anymore. That I look different… gross even. You know, with the stretch marks, and the softness, and everything. I don’t want you to think I’m gross now.”

Robby’s expression softened completely. He shifted his weight to lie beside you, pulling you close so you were facing him. He couldn’t believe you were saying something like this. You, the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, were lying here looking at him like you somehow believed the changes in your body could make him look at you with different eyes.

He’d watched you grow Noa, had seen your body shift and soften and stretch into something stronger and more miraculous than anything he had ever put his hands on. None of it had lessened what he felt, if anything, it had made him want you even more. The idea that he could ever look at you and feel anything less than that same helpless pull was so far from reality it almost hurt. 

“Hey… look at me. I have seen you, all of you. Every day through the pregnancy, through the birth, through the recovery. And I think you are so fucking beautiful, so sexy. You look incredible to me. Your body carried our daughter, and I love it. I love every inch of you, exactly as you are right now.”

He leaned in and kissed you again, slowly, as if to drive the words home. When he pulled back, his hand continued its gentle exploration, over your stomach, your hips, your thighs. “I wouldn’t lie to you about this, never. I want you just as much as I did before, maybe more. You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. The way you look, the way you feel under my body… it drives me crazy in the best way. Nothing about you is gross. You’re perfect to me. My beautiful woman, my partner, the mother of my child.”

His words wrapped around you like a blanket, easing the anxious knot of insecurity. He kept kissing you, your lips, your jaw, your neck, while his hands caressed your body with admiration. “This body,” he murmured against your skin, squeezing your hip gently, “It's so soft… I love it. I love touching you, feeling you. You’re so damn sexy it’s hard to keep my hands off you.”

You relaxed into his touch, the earlier heat returning slowly but surely. Robby stayed patient, never pushing, just showering you with affection and reassurance until the doubts faded into the background of your mind. 

Robby helped you peel his shirt off when you reached for the hem of it, tugging it upwards. He glanced down at himself with a self-deprecating chuckle, patting the gentle curve. “Look at this,” he said with humor. “I look about three months pregnant myself, and you still love me anyway.”

You laughed, the sound coming out genuine instead of forced, and pulled him closer until there was no space left between you. Your hands moved freely over him, with greed, tracing the lines of his back, the solid planes of his chest, then lower, mapping the soft give of the belly that had always made your mouth go dry. You squeezed the warm flesh of his sides, sinking your fingers in just enough to feel him.

“I love your body too. It makes me so wet,” you whispered. “Feeling you like this. Fuck, Robby…”

He groaned, the sound was pleased, vibrating against your lips. “Yeah? I know exactly how wet you get for me, baby. God, I love when you touch me like that. Don’t stop.”

You didn’t, you kept kissing him, kept your bodies pressed tight, and your palms sliding over his warm skin while his own hands began their slow descent. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and dragged them down in one motion, the fabric whispered along your thighs until it was gone. The cool air kissed your bare skin for only a second before the heat of his hand replaced it.

Robby parted your thighs with insistence and touched you, sliding his fingers through the slickness already gathered between your folds, spreading it, coating himself in how ready you were.

“So wet already,” he murmured to you. “This pretty pussy is so ready for me. Look at you… you’re dripping.”

His fingers found your clit with ease, rubbing slow circles that made your hips twitch helplessly against his hand. He worked your clit with that steady pressure that felt devastating, building the pleasure in rolling waves until soft moans spilled from your throat. Your nails scraped lightly down the length of his back, leaving faint red trails as sensation crashed through you, almost too much and nowhere near enough.

“Does it feel good?” he asked with his eyes locked on your face, drinking in every reaction he managed to pull out of you.

“It feels amazing,” you gasped, your own breath hitching under the assault of his fingers. “I missed this so much… missed your hands on me, missed feeling like this.”

Robby’s touch stayed steady, still circling your clit with the pad of his thumb in those perfect strokes that had you slick and open for him. Your body was responding eagerly, your wetness coating his fingers, your inner walls fluttering with every pass… until he let those same fingers drift lower. He toyed gently at your entrance, resting the blunt tips of two fingers right there, teasing you without quite pushing in yet, spreading the slickness he’d already drawn from you.

You grabbed his wrist instinctively. The motion was sharp, almost involuntary. Suddenly a million doubts flooded your mind at once. Robby’s fingers were long and thick, you knew the exact stretch of them, the way they filled you when he was patient and when he wasn’t. You knew he’d be careful the first time after birth, you trusted him completely. But fuck, after everything your body had been through, the thought of anything inside you still felt scary. 

“Stop.” The word came out quiet but clear, your fingers locked around his wrist, holding him still.

He pulled his hand away immediately, watching you with a concerned expression across his face. “What’s wrong, love?”

You took a shaky breath, the anxiety surfacing once again. “I’m scared it’s gonna hurt… after everything. The tear, the birth… I just—”

Robby shifted once again so he was looking directly at you, resting his hand soothingly on your thigh. “The tear is fully healed. Your uterus is back to its normal size and back in place. Medically, it shouldn’t hurt. But we can stop right now if you need to wait. It’s okay. I can just keep rubbing your clit if you want, whatever feels good for you.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “I want you… but it’s scary to think about something inside me again.”

He kissed you reassuringly. “I understand. You’re really wet already, which is perfect, but we can use some lube too. It’ll help everything slide in easier, make it more comfortable. Sound good?”

“Yes,” you whispered with relief. You trusted him so fully, you knew you were in the safest hands you had ever known. Robby would never push, he would never take more than you were ready to give. Your pleasure and your comfort mattered more to him than his own.

He pressed one more lingering kiss to your lips, the kind that said I’ve got you without needing the words. Then he pulled back just enough to look at you. “Don’t move.”

As he rolled onto his side, the mattress shifted under his weight, he reached toward the nightstand, rummaging through the clutter until his fingers closed around the bottle of lube you kept there. He settled between your legs again, kneeling on the mattress as he warmed the lube between his fingers before applying it generously to your pussy. “Tell me if anything hurts or if you need to stop,” he said. “No matter what. This is all about you feeling good.”

You nodded, and once you did, he started rubbing the slick lube over your folds. His touch was gentle, coating everything thoroughly. He teased your entrance with just the tip of one finger, circling it and pressing it barely inside. The cool glide of the lube mixed with your own wetness, making everything feel smooth. He watched your face the entire time, gauging every reaction.

Little by little, he pushed his finger deeper. Robby moved with patience, the length of it easing forward only when your body gave the smallest acceptance. You felt the stretch immediately, familiar after all the times he had been inside you, yet still careful, almost tentative. It wasn’t painful, the sensation was simply full, a pressure that made your breath catch and your inner walls flutter around the intrusion. Slightly foreign at first, like your body was relearning the shape of him all over again.

He didn’t rush, every fraction of an inch was measured, his eyes remained on your face the entire time, watching for any flicker of discomfort. When at last his finger was seated all the way inside you, knuckle-deep, he paused completely. His thumb stayed gentle against your clit, offering the smallest pressure, but the rest of him went still.

The fullness settled, and so your body adjusted around him in involuntary pulses. “How does it feel?” he asked softly, brushing his thumb lightly over your clit to keep the pleasure flowing.

“Fine,” you breathed the word out. “It’s okay… good, actually.”

Robby smiled and began to move his finger slowly, sliding it in and out with careful and shallow thrusts. He crooked it gently, searching for that sensitive spot inside you. “Still good? Any pain?”

You shook your head and a soft moan escaped your lips as he found the right angle. “No pain… feels nice.”

He kept going, building a steady rhythm, fucking you with one thick finger while his thumb continued circling your clit. The combination sent waves of pleasure through your core. You started moving your hips, almost on their own, seeking more of the pressure on your clit and the deepness of his fingers inside you. Soon your breaths turned into moans and whimpers, his name fell from your lips in broken gasps. “Michael… oh god…”

After a few more minutes, finally Robby leaned down and added his mouth. The first stroke of his tongue over your clit was slow, tasting how wet you already were for him. Then the flicks came faster while he began to pump the single finger deeper, matching the rhythm of his tongue to the thrust of his hand. The dual sensation crashed through you in the best way, the thick stretch inside and the wet heat of his mouth working your clit until your thighs trembled on either side of his head.

You threaded your fingers into his hair and pulled him closer, the initial fear had burned away under the rising pleasure. “More,” you begged him. “Please—another finger…”

Robby groaned against your pussy, he answered without hesitation, carefully working a second finger in alongside the first. The stretch was deeper, but the lube and your own slickness made the slide smooth. He gave you only a moment to adjust before he began to fuck you properly with both fingers in strokes that grew harder. Robby was crooking the tips perfectly against that swollen spot inside you until sparks burst behind your eyes.

His tongue never stopped moving, he licked and sucked your clit with almost ruthless focus, occasionally glancing up just enough to watch your face as he drove you higher. You were moaning loudly now, the sounds echoing in the bedroom walls. “Don’t stop! Fuck, Michael, it feels amazing… so good, please don’t stop…”

Your thighs were trembling around his head, and you pulled his hair harder, grinding your hips against his face and hand as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. Robby worked you relentlessly, thrusting his fingers deeper and faster, moving his tongue from side to side on your swollen clit.

The orgasm hit you hard, making your whole body seize on the bed, your back bowing as you came with a cry of his name. Your pussy squeezed his fingers rhythmically, pulsing with wave after wave of intense pleasure. Your own thighs squeezed his head and gripped his wrist, holding him exactly where you needed him as the climax ripped through you.

Robby kept going through it all, gentling his movements but not stopping until you started to come down, whimpering from how oversensitive you felt. Only then did he slowly withdraw his fingers and lift his head, looking at you with his lips shiny with your arousal befor kissing your thigh. “You did so good, baby. You look fucking beautiful when you cum for me.”

You just lay there panting, with your body limp, as Robby climbed up to hold you close, pressing tender kisses to your face and neck while you caught your breath. “I’d missed eating this pussy so much. Missed how sweet you are, how you soak my beard when you cum. Nothing in the world compares to that.”

Pressed against your body, you could feel how hard he still was, the thick length of him against your hip. When he spoke, his voice came out almost shy. “Could you… would you mind giving me some head for a bit?” He swallowed. “I’ve missed it so fucking much. Missed the way you look when you’re on your knees for me, how wet and hot it feels when you suck me. I keep thinking about it.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Yes,” you breathed against his lips. “I want to taste you.”

He rolled onto his back, propping himself up on his elbows so he could watch, you sat up and moved between his legs, sliding your palms over the warm skin of his thighs. The front of his boxers was tented, with a dark spot already dampening the fabric where the head of his cock pressed against it. You hooked your fingers into the waistband and dragged them down slowly, letting the elastic catch for a second under the curve of him before you pulled them the rest of the way off and tossed them aside.

His cock sprang free, leaking a clear bead of precum that slid down the underside. You wrapped one hand around the base and just looked at him for a second, then leaned in. You started slow, with open-mouthed kisses against the tip, letting your lips drag over the fat head, tasting the salty bead that kept forming there before licking it away with the flat of your tongue. Then you did it again, slower, circling the ridge, teasing the slit until his hips twitched. Another kiss, wetter this time, then a long lick from the base all the way up the underside, pausing to suck gently on the head while your eyes stayed locked on his.

“Fuck… baby…” Robby dropped his head back with a broken sound. “That’s it… look at you. So pretty with my cock on your tongue.”

You kept teasing him, kissing, licking, sucking just the tip into your mouth for a few seconds before pulling off with a soft pop and doing it all over again. Your tongue painted slow stripes up and down his shaft, getting him all shiny and slick. When you nosed lower, you mouthed at his balls, sucking one carefully into your mouth, rolling it with your tongue while your hand stroked him tight. The other ball got the same treatment, and Robby’s thighs tensed hard on either side of your head before a high, almost helpless whimper slipped out of him.

Only then did you finally take him properly. You sank down, stretching your lips wide around the girth, taking him halfway in one smooth slide. You worked your tongue on the underside as you sucked, hollowing your cheeks until the lewd wet sounds filled the quiet room. You bobbed slowly at first, getting used to the weight of him on your tongue again, then started taking him deeper, getting saliva dripping down his shaft and over your fingers. 

Every time you pulled up, you twisted your wrist just the way he liked, then sank back down with a little moan of your own. Robby was already falling apart. “Oh my god! Yes, just like that. Your mouth feels so fucking good. Missed this so much, baby, missed how good you suck cock.”

You pushed yourself further, relaxing your throat and taking him deeper until your nose was pressed against the hair at the base and his balls rested against your chin. You held him there, letting your throat flutter around the head, then pulled back just enough to breathe before doing it again. Spit ran down your chin, but you didn’t care, you just sucked him like you were starving for it, with deep strokes that made wet shuck shuck suck noises every time you took him to the root.

Robby’s moans were turning into something closer to continuous broken sounds. He whimpered when you hollowed your cheeks especially hard. He gasped your name when you focused on the head and sucked like you were trying to pull the orgasm out of him. He tangled one of his hands in your hair while his hips kept making tiny thrusts, like he was fighting the urge to fuck your throat properly.

“Shit! Look at you. You’re taking me so deep… your throat feels incredible. Fuck, baby, I’m not gonna last if you keep—”

You only sucked harder and messier, letting him hear every wet slide and every soft gag when you pushed past your comfort zone. Drool coated his cock and dripped onto his balls. You pulled off just long enough to lick him clean again, to spit on the head and smear it around with your tongue, then swallowed him back down to the base with a hungry sound.

Robby’s whole body went tight. “Stop… fuck, stop. I’m close… I’m so fucking close—” His voice cracked into another whimper. “Your mouth is too good, I can’t… I don’t want to finish yet—”

He pulled you off with a filthy sound, his cock was flushed almost purple and shiny with your spit, a string of saliva still connected your bottom lip to the tip. He was clearly right on the edge, breathing hard. Robby tugged you up into his arms instead of finishing, burying his face against your neck with a shaky laugh.

“Not yet,” he rasped. “Wanted your mouth so bad. But now I want to fuck you.”

Robby hauled you up by the waist and flipped you onto your back against the mattress, the movement was urgent, like he’d been holding himself back for too long and the last thread had finally snapped. His cock, still shiny with your spit, dragged across your thigh as he settled between your legs. He shoved your knees wide with his own, spreading you open, and looked down at the mess he’d already made of you, your clit swollen, your pussy flushed and dripping, the stretch of your entrance still slightly open from his fingers.

“Look at this pretty pussy,” hesaid. “All wet and ready for me after all that. You still want it, baby? Want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, please,” you breathed, nodding desperately. “I want you inside me. I need it.”

Before getting inside you, he took his time .He gripped the base of his cock and dragged the head up and down the length of your pussy, spreading your folds open, smearing your wetness all over himself, then pushing up to rub circles over your swollen clit until it was shiny and throbbing. Every pass left another string of your slick connecting his cock to your cunt. He did it again and again, teasing the entrance without pushing in, watching the way your hole fluttered and tried to suck at him every time the head kissed it.

“Fuck, look at this messy little pussy,” he growled. “Already trying to pull me in. You’re so greedy.”

He finally lined up properly and pushed forward, just the broad tip forcing its way past your entrance. The stretch was intense, that first flare spreading you open after so long, but how soaked you were made it slide instead of burn. He stayed right there, only the head inside, and Robby started fucking you with it in short thrusts, popping just the tip in and out of you over and over, stretching your rim around the thickest part again and again while your juices coated him.

“How’s that feel?” he asked trying to hold himself back, locking his eyes on your face. “Any pain? Tell me.”

You moaned his name loud enough that it echoed off the walls, dropping your head back against the pillow. “Good! fuck, so good, Michael. Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop.”

He kept those shallow thrusts going, watching every twitch of your face, every time your pussy clenched and tried to drag more of him inside. Your moans got louder as you arched hard off the bed, chasing the head that kept rubbing perfectly over the sensitive ring of muscle.

Robby groaned through gritted teeth. Gradually, he started giving you more, with every slow thrust he sank a little deeper, another inch, then another, until your pussy was visibly swallowing him, the stretched rim clinging to his shaft as he fed it to you. You wrapped your legs tight around his waist and dug your heels into the soft flesh of his ass, rolling your hips up hard. The movement forced the rest of him inside in one long slide. Robby bottomed out with a loud moan that cracked in the middle, pressing his balls flush against you, the entire thick length buried to the root.

“Fuck! Michael— fuck me,” you gasped.

He cursed loudly, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as his cock twitched deep inside you. “Jesus fucking… your pussy. You’re so goddamn perfect. It feels so tight, so hot. I missed this so much, baby. Missed being buried balls-deep in you.”

He stayed completely still for a long moment, letting you feel every pulse of him, every throb. “You feel incredible. This pussy was fucking made for my cock. So wet it’s dripping down my balls already. You’re fucking perfect, baby.”

Then you begged, your voice cracking with pure need. “Fuck me, Michael. Fuck me deep. Please… I need it.”

Robby pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in to the root in one strong stroke. He set a deep rhythm right away, snapping his hips forward hard enough that each time he bottomed out, his heavy balls smacked against you, and the head of his cock punched that spot inside until your vision went white at the edges.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, voice already wrecked. “Take every fucking inch”

You clung to him like you were drowning, carving red lines down his back with your nails, locking your legs tighter around his waist so he had no choice but to stay buried deep. He gripped the backs of your thighs and shoved them wider, pinning them open against his body so he could watch every inch disappear inside you. 

“Michael… oh god, Michael, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—”

The sound of his cock plunging in and out of your soaked cunt filled the entire room. Robby leaned over you, his sweaty chest sliding against yours, and claimed your mouth in messy kisses between thrusts, fucking his tongue  past your lips the same way his cock was fucking your pussy.

“Fuck, baby,” he snarled against your mouth, sounding desperate. “I’m trying so hard not to cum yet but this pussy is squeezing me so goddamn tight.”

One hand stayed braced beside your head for leverage, while he shoved the other between your bodies without mercy. He found your throbbing clit and rubbed tight circles in perfect time with the snap of his hips. 

You were moaning his name like a prayer now, bucking your hips up to meet every brutal stroke. “Michael! Michael! yes! fuck! I’m gonna cum—” you gasped.

“That’s it. Cum for me,” he ordered. “Cum on my cock… let me feel this pussy milk me. Soak me. Do it.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like a wave, your cunt clamped down in pulses, squeezing and fluttering around every inch of him. Robby’s control shattered with a primal groan. “Fuck— I’m cumming. I’m cumming right now, baby—”

He slammed home as deep as he could go and stayed there, stuttering as he unloaded inside you. You felt every hot rope of cum flooding your cunt, painting your walls and overflowing around the tight seal of his cock. He kept thrusting through it, forcing more of his release deeper, groaning your name into the side of your neck like it was the only word he still knew.

For a long moment afterward, the only sounds were your heavy breathing and the faint hum of the baby monitor on the nighstand. Robby collapsed on top of you, careful not to crush you, with his face buried in the crook of your neck.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to your damp skin. “You’re incredible. Thank you for trusting me with this… with you.”

“I love you too.” You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as your bodies stayed joined. The intimacy, the release, the love… it all settled warmly around you. Robby eventually pulled out gently, before pulling you into his arms. 

He held you tight, brushing a damp hair from your forehead with gentle fingers. “You good?” he asked softly. “Any discomfort? Did it hurt at all?”

You shook your head, a satisfied smile spread across your face. “God no. That was perfect. Even better than I remembered it. I feel… amazing.”

Robby’s face lit up with relief and pride. He leaned down to kiss you tenderly, lingering his lips there. “It was perfect,” he murmured against your lips. “You felt incredible. I missed being with you like this more than I can say.”

All of a sudden,  Noa’s cries start coming through the monitor, small at first, then building into a fussy wail. Robby stirred immediately, already moving to get up. “Stay here, baby. I’ll go.”

You sit up a little, shaking your head. “There’s no milk ready. I’ll go.”

He gently pushed you back down with a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll get Noa and bring her here. You rest.”

Robby slipped out of bed, pulling on his boxers and a pair of pajama pants before padding quietly down the hall to the nursery. You heard his soothing voice through the monitor as he lifted her. “Hey, sweetheart. Daddy’s got you. What’s all this fuss about?”

He checked her diaper quickly on the changing table, it was clean and dry, then scooped her up against his bare chest, rocking her as he carried her back to your bedroom. Noa’s cries eased slightly at his familiar scent and voice, but she was still hungry and fussy. Robby climbed back into bed carefully.

“Here she is,” he said, helping position her so you could nurse. You lifted your shirt and guided her to your breast. She latched on eagerly, the suckling sound filling the room. Her little hand rested on your chest as she drank, her eyes blinking slowly.

Robby lay on his side facing both of you, with one arm wrapped around your waist, hugging you close while you fed your daughter. “I feel so lucky,” Robby whispered after a while as he watched you. “I never thought I’d get this. Making love to the woman I love… then watching her feed our baby. It’s the most beautiful thing in the world… you’re the most beautiful thing.”

You smiled softly, reaching over to touch his cheek. Robby stayed right there with his arm around you, occasionally leaning in to kiss your shoulder or Noa’s head. When Noa was done, with her belly full and feeling drowsy, Robby gently took her to burp her, patting her back until a good burp came. 

“Hey, you want me to set up the side-car crib? We can put Noa next to us and co-sleep tonight.”

You turned your head just enough to meet his eyes in the dim light. “Yes,” you whispered. “Please.”

He carefully transferred her into your arms while he stood. The side-car crib was already in the room, leaning against the wall where you’d both kept it for nights like this. He moved it, unfolding the frame, locking the rails and adjusting the height so the mattress sat flush with your bed. 

When it was ready he took Noa from you with infinite care, and lowered her onto the small mattress. He adjusted the light blanket over her, made sure her head was turned just so, then stood there for a second watching the rise and fall of her chest before he finally climbed back into bed behind you.

You shifted onto your side, facing the side of the crib so you could watch her. Robby moved in close behind you, pressing his chest fully against your back and sliding one arm under your neck, the other wrapping around your waist. He pulled you flush against him until there was no space left, his knees tucked behind yours, the curve of his belly warm against your lower back. “There we go,” he murmured. “All three of us.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, you simply existed in the closeness. Robby’s voice finally broke the silence, coming out vulnerable. “There’s something about seeing you with Noa,” he whispered. “Watching how good of a mom you are… how much love you pour into her every single day. It heals something in me, deep down. Something I didn’t even know it needed healing until I saw you with her.”

You felt the slight tremble in his voice and squeezed his hand over your waist, turning your head to look at him. His eyes were glistening. “Because I know that you’d never… that you’d never leave her like… like my mother did,” he continued, and the wau his voice cracked on the last words almost undid you.

You knew the story, he’d told you once, late at night in the early days. His father had died when he was still a baby, too young for memory, only the absence left behind. After that, his mother had tried, for eight years she had tried, in the only way she knew how, which turned out not to be enough. Those years were not happy ones, the clearest pictures he carried were of a closed bedroom door and the silence behind it. Her depression had been a living thing that filled the house, keeping her in bed for days at a time, the curtains drawn, the world reduced to the small square of mattress she rarely left. A little boy learning too early that the person who was supposed to be his safe place could not even get up to meet him. He remembered standing outside that door sometimes, listening for any sign of life, and the stubborn hope that today she might open it. She never did, not really.

The night he found her on the bathroom floor stayed with him in fragments, the cold tile, the way her body looked smaller than it should have, the childish terror that something irreversible had already happened. He was eight, old enough to understand that she was gone. Losing her carved a particular kind of scar, the kind that never fully closed. He never spoke of it, but it lived in him all the same.

He was older now, and he knew better than to hate her for being ill. He’d stood in that same dark place himself more than once, close enough to the edge of death to understand how a mind could decide the world was no longer bearable. He could list the clinical reasons, the weight of grief and untreated depression and the impossible task of raising a child alone while drowning. 

He could be fair, but fairness never quite reached the part of him that was still that eight-year-old boy. That part still carried the furious question: why wasn’t I enough? Why didn’t the thought of me keep her here? If the one person meant to love him without condition could choose to leave him, what proof was there that anyone else would stay? The fear had settled deep, becoming a kind of muscle memory.

“Michael… baby,” you whispered, your heart aching a little for him. You shifted across the bed, moving to lie on top of him fully. Your body covered his, legs straddling his hips as you rested your head on his chest. You started giving him the soft little neck kisses he loved so much, gentle presses of your lips against the warm skin just below his ear, then trailing slowly down to his collarbone. Slow, loving, reassuring kisses that you knew soothed him like nothing else.

The contrast was almost painful enough, his own mother had been a closed door and a drawn curtain and the silence of a child who learned too early that love could be present in theory and still entirely out of reach. He had spent years telling himself he had made peace with that absence, but watching you with your daughter did something the years of rationalization never managed. It reached the place that still hurt and, gently, without asking permission, began to ease it.

Not all at once or dramatically. The knowledge that this little girl would never stand outside a locked bedroom door waiting for a mother who could not come, that she would grow up knowing the sound of a voice that answered when she cried, the presence of hands that reached for her without hesitation. That the woman he had somehow, impossibly, found was the kind of mother he had only ever been able to invent in the vaguest, most private corners of his mind.

It healed him, Robby would feel the old ache loosen its grip just enough to let gratitude settle in its place. He felt that in giving Noa a mother like you, the universe had, in some unexpected way, begun to give him back pieces of what had been taken before he even understood the loss.

He let out a shaky breath, wrapping his arms around you tightly, one hand stroking up and down your back. “I think it hurts a little, deep inside, when I see you taking care of her,” he admitted quietly. “It makes me wish I’d had a mom like you. What life would’ve been like if I had had that kind of love from the start. The consistency, the patience, the way you look at her like she’s the most precious thing in the world… it’s everything I missed.”

You kept kissing his neck, resting your hand over his heart. “I know. But you have me now,” you whispered between kisses. “As your partner, I’ll always love you unconditionally. I’ll look after you too, just like I look after her. You’re not alone anymore, Michael. You never have to carry that by yourself again. I’m here… we’re here.”

Robby’s arms pulled you impossibly closer. “Thank you,” he murmured. “Thank you for being so amazing with Noa, for loving her the way you do, for being such a great mom. You have no idea what it means to me… to see her safe and happy and loved every day. You’ve given me a family I never thought I’d have. You’ve given me healing I didn’t even know I needed.”

You continued the gentle kisses, moving across his neck and shoulder, occasionally nuzzling against his skin just to feel him. His hand never stopped its soothing strokes on your back. Eventually, you both drifted into a light doze, still tangled together.

He fell asleep knowing that tomorrow would be another day, another chance to do this all over again, and he couldn’t wait for the brand new morning to arrive.

A/N: If there’s one thing you need to know about me, it’s that I love imagining Robby as a father, especially as a girl dad. You’ll never catch me writing a fanfic where that man has a son.

I’ve always found it so interesting to think about how he’d experience parenthood given his difficult childhood, and how becoming a father might change the way he sees himself and the world around him. And now, knowing that canonically his mother took his own life, I think those feelings become even more complex. I’m also really interested in the idea of what it would be like for him to watch his partner be a mother to their child. To see someone love, protect, and nurture his daughter in a way that he never got to experience himself. I imagine that would bring up a lot of emotions for him, some painful, but also some incredibly healing.

That’s something I wanted to explore in this fic.I don’t know if I did it enough justice. I don’t think writing about emotions, or trying to be profound, is my strongest skill. I think there are plenty of writers who could tackle those themes much better than I can. But they were thoughts I’ve had for a long time, and they felt important enough that I wanted to try putting them into words anyway.

I hope you enjoyed it🩷 I’d love to know what you think, and as always, your comments and reblogs are very appreciated!

the reminder makes him clutch you tighter. it's true, him and the turbulent relationship between him and sleep. but you make it easier. better. slumber feels a touch more conceivable after pinning you with an arm and slurping you his chin is all slick and drippy.

"c'mon, baby." jack's hands snake down to grab at your ass. kneading a silent plea. "stay, okay? just for a little bit..."

just a little bit. long enough to stuff him inside you and make you do that thing where you forget how to do anything except hug the guy and sob in his ear.

god, he likes that.

loves it.

lives for it, plus getting to kiss up on you like this after feeding you dinner and wine.

jack's victory comes in the stripping of your jack and your palms reaching to grab at his cheeks. hands scratching the stubble along his jaw, he feels you push yourself into his front. growing just as needy as him.

"...okay."

jack tugs your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls enough for you to feel it. he keeps the plus there as a tiny sound pushes out of him.

"yeah? okay?"

Everyone knew that you and Dr. Abbot were exceptionally close, more so than anyone else. Still, the two of you conducted yourselves in a professional manner and the residents chalked it up to doctors having their favourite/preferred nurse to work with; ie. Robby and Dana.

Whenever there was a case that Jack worked on, everyone knew that you'd be the first person he'd ask for. Whenever out with the team for a post-shift beer or rare bar night, Jack could always be found chatting with you or Robby, but with you always somewhere close behind. During short lulls in the shift, on the occasion that Jack would actually eat, he'd make his way into the staff room and plop himself down beside you, no words needed, just your company and the simple task of sharing a meal together.

So as far as relationships go, the residents and med students never even thought of pitting the two of you with one another. Regardless of how much time you spend with the doctor, your personalities were entirely different. You were the sunshine of the ED. Whenever someone was down, you were always the first person to try and comfort them, lending an ear or shoulder to cry on. When a difficult patient came in, you somehow always managed to calm them down, explaining the situation and never letting them feel blindsided by the steps and procedures needed to be done. To the rest of the staff, you were the epitome of rainbows and butterflies so they expected that if you were dating someone, they'd be just like you.

Jack on the other hand could not be more different. Just the fact that he was more senior in position and age to most of the people in the ED intimidated them already. Also, in their eyes, anyone who could spend years being Robby's best friend must already have something wrong going on with them, the SWAT shifts did not help to dissuade this assumption. Jack wasn't mean or rude, but he was definitely assertive. Jack knew how to run a trauma and didn't let anyone's mistakes get in the way of saving a patient. He could be gruff and sometimes appear cold but only because he didn't feel like oversharing about his life like the rest of the team. Jack knew what he liked and didn't like and was honest almost to a fault, the reason why some people felt scared to approach him.

Thus, all things considered, you and Jack were nowhere near the resident's radar, with only Dana and Robby knowing the truth about your relationship, that is, until the two of you stopped caring whether or not the rest of them knew.

It was one of those rare quiet times in the ED when no one needed immediate care and attention. Everyone was gathered around the nurses' station and computers. The residents were all catching on their charting while Robby and Jack sat close by reviewing patient labs and getting orders for medication ready. You of course were sat beside Jack catching up on your own work.

Trinity felt as though her head was gonna explode, closing her eyes for a brief second to try and will the ringing in her ears to go away. Dennis sat beside her and yawned for what felt like the hundredth time in ten minutes. Across from them, Victoria looked as though she was two seconds away from falling asleep while Mel's face scrunched up trying to focus on her screen. On either side of the desks, McKay was mindlessly scrolling through her chart, trying to look as if she was actually absorbing any information while Samira sat on the other end, the most put together of the bunch with her headphones in. The day seemed to drag on with no end in sight, the comfortable beeping of machines and low murmurs of patients acting as background noise.

"Would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Everyone's immediate attention was ripped away from whatever they were doing in order to turn in your direction which seemed to be entirely focused on Jack.

All of the residents looked at each other with incredulous eyes, even Samira took off her earphones once seeing how everyone reacted. Though, you seemed not to care at all that the rest of the ED seemed to be watching you as you continued to stare at Jack; even Dana looked up from where she was reading a chart to let out a small huff of laughter at your antics.

When Jack didn't immediately respond, you poked him lightly on the bicep trying to get his attention.

"Jaaaack" you draw out his name, "would you still love me if I was a worm?"

Without even looking up from his work, Jack silently grabbed your hand that you were holding out before bringing it up to his mouth to plant a brief kiss onto your hand, "yes darling, of course I would."

Satisfied with his answer, you gave a giddy nod of your head before turning back to your work, keeping your hand in Jack's as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

Less than five feet away, the residents felt as though they were witnessing a medical miracle. Victoria was left with her mouth hanging open while Mel sat completely still, blinking in fast intervals as though trying to understand what just happened. Dennis kept looking back and forth between the two of you before turning over to look at Trinity, knowing that if anyone was going to speak up, it'd be her.

"So, are we just pretending that didn't happen?" Trinity asked bewildered.

"Pretending what didn't happen?" Robby said, looking up from the chart in his hand.

"That, right there" McKay gestured widely at you and Jack still holding hands.

"I don't know what you're talking about" Robby smiled, before looking back down at his work.

The residents continued to share wide eyes with each other, even going as far as to look over at Dana for explanation but the charge nurse wouldn't even glance their way, choosing to stare at the tablet in front of her, but not without them seeing the obvious smirk on her face.

── ✦ pope who was sometimes very strange and didn’t know he was. he’d bring you rocks because you once said – while walking past an enormous house in oceanside – that the quartz gravel in somebody’s driveway was pretty. so naturally he picked up a random little rock from the gutter two streets over, wiped it on his shirt, and gave it to you.

he did it again and again and again because you found that you were more endeared than anything and had started keeping these rocks first in your pocket, then in a shoebox, and finally on your windowsill. you could’ve told anyone which came from where. so even if you didn’t particularly have a fondness for random rocks when you noticed the quartz gravel, you definitely grew one!

(pope who also later replaced said rocks with the real thing when he came into money he had no idea what to use for, only ever remembering how your older tastes had sometimes made you look through the window at the jewelers and your eyes had lingered too long on a little diamond necklace. he never saw the necklace, really, only noticed you wanting it. he knew how to take care of that)

pope who wasn’t really sure how a simple hangout worked, so when you’d asked him to come over later on saturday without specifying when, he sat on your porch step for two and a half hours. when your mother asked him if he wanted to come inside and eat something, he’d say no, because he was supposed to be hanging out with you, not your mother.

when you finally came, you just sat next to him on the step and stayed there, finding it all so natural.

── ✦ and when he’d begrudgingly agree to hang out with your other friends, it’d accidentally lead into him drawing them away from the both of you. he hadn’t even meant to do that (not at first, at least).

he’d watched your friend hand you some shitty snack and said something like “don’t give her those,” without any explanation, smacking the snack away from your hand gently (though the explanation was that you’d ate one of those and promptly threw up on the ferris wheel, and it’d put you off of them for life).

if someone asked if you wanted beer, he’d say “she’s driving.” you were?

if someone asked you if you were cold, he was already handing you his jacket, mentally beating himself up for not having noticed sooner.

he’d move his chair to face the door wherever he was sitting, because ever since he’d watched people break into their little trailer as a kid – smurf, always tangled up in some shit – he’d learned to stay alert. so people always thought he was rude when he randomly turned his chair away from the group while someone was speaking and they were forced to stare at his back.

── ✦ pope who during your surprise birthday party (that he was only invited to because everyone knew how mad you’d be if they didn’t invite your best friend since you were a kid) would just stand in the corner and watch everyone with a frown, and when it got too late he’d tell everyone that the party was meant to end at ten even though that was never decided. and everyone would leave because you’d just stand there beside pope being like “yup!”

and then you and pope would spend the next three hours bagging cans, wiping down corners, finding a nickel or two between the couch cushions because of how thorough the two of you were. that was the good part. he’d wait for that.

after, he’d say, “that was fun.” and you’d think he was talking about the party.

── ✦ pope who kept saying “i can take care of it,” whenever one of your friends mentioned someone bothering them. at first, they thought it was a turn of phrase – ugh, i’ll beat him up for you, but in pope’s language – until pope started asking where he worked, where he lived, and what his car looked like.

pope who had punched a guy for you, a boyfriend-of-a-friend, when he’d said something about you while you were in the bathroom. he’d asked the guy to go outside to smoke a cigarette, decked him, and come back with his hands in his pockets.

you were a little confused when your friends told you pope had gone out for a smoke, because pope doesn’t smoke, and because the six of them had squeaked it out at once.

he knew your friends knew, so when he came back, he’d just looked at all of them as he stood behind your chair as you and your friends sat in silence, tilting his head to the side to confirm whatever social contract he’d expected from them. then he’d simply shrugged and said, “he had to go home.”

── ✦ and when pope started noticing that you were being invited to hang out less with your other friends, consequently meaning he was being invited by you less with your other friends, he’d ask, “is it ‘cause of me?”

you’d immediately say “no!”

because even you hardly believed that it was because of him; pope was so good. he read the manuals for everything you got, peeled oranges for you – handed over in an unbroken coil, because a torn piece would've bothered him – fixed your bike chain, and made you the perfect sandwiches.

sure, he had a tendency to sometimes growl when a stranger got too close to you or a little puppy barked at you. sureee, he always had bruises on his knuckles without ever having a story for them (or rather, without giving one). and he sometimes glared when your girlfriends asked you to go on a double date. or appointed himself as the designated driver when they specifically asked you to have girls night.

on the occasion you actually did go, he’d sit outside in the car watching you through the window of some restaurant or bar.

he’d come in just once – after he saw a guy linger at your table for nineteen minutes and thought it was fucking girls night, waiting until the guy went to the bathroom – and when you gave him a questioning look he just pointed toward the bathroom, forcing an embarrassed shrug like he just wanted to take a leak.

maybe it was just a coincidence that you nor your friends saw the guy come out of the bathroom! pope stopped at your table on the way back, hands in his pockets, knuckles freshly pink, and said, “want anything?” and when you said no, he went back to his car.

“isn’t he so sweet?” you’d say to your friends, misty-eyed and dreamily, watching him sit in the parked car like he was a pretty sunset.

“the sweetest,” they’d say, three of them in unison like they’d been trained. you were completely unaware that they were in the midst of realizing you were a lost cause.

so obviously you could not, for the life of you, imagine that people wanted to not hang out with you because of pope. it was their loss, anyway, you thought.

pope was so relieved once he realized he wouldn’t have to spend time with other people, just so he could hang out with you.

── ✦ pope who took over their vacancy so quickly that you didn’t even consider it as a loss even for a day.

if you wanted to get drunk at a bar, he’d go with you and get a beer while you slammed three cocktails within an hour. he’d try to gossip with you when you asked him to “tell me something fun.”

“craig and renn had a fight.”

you’d light up because that was interesting. “good. he’s bad for her anyway.”

“yes,” he’d simply say.

and when you’d press for the details (what did they fight about? who started it? did anyone cry? on a scale of one-to-ten, how bad?), and he’d have none, he’d noticed how you’d slumped slightly, ever the nosy little thing he’d been hauling around for years, he’d frown. he genuinely had no more details to give you because he hadn’t cared enough to listen to craig’s tangent. but clearly you cared, so he’d say, “i’ll ask him.”

after he managed to get the hang of it – and found he liked it, talking shit, the whole nine yards of "but you didn't hear it from me – you’d both end up laughing.

and when you’d ask him for another story (because he had so many; the cody house was so weird), he’d say, “smurf woke up so late this morning,” thinking it held the same value as baz breaking up with his girlfriend at the time.

when you opened your mouth without saying a single word, stumped, he'd double down, "like ten," like you just didn't get it yet.

pope who somehow started filling every single shoe of the people in your life. pope, your girl best friend. pope, your mother (“did you eat?” “yes.”). pope, your dad, apparently, at some point (making it his mission to check your car).

pope, your dog (waits by the door and knows the sound of your car pulling in). pope, your bodyguard (constantly scaring away everyone, threat or not). pope, your financial advisor (“you don’t need to spend that kinda money on that.”) pope, your sugar daddy, immediately after (“fine. give it to me.” “what?” “i’m getting it.”)

pope, when you’d run him through the list, just looked at you confused and said, “someone’s gotta.”

once again, he was right. you’d gotten so lucky with pope, what were the odds of that? astronomical, you’d think, cheerfully. and then you’d wonder if he’d like one more shoe to fill.