dark!robby who calls you into work whenever he's having a tough shift.

and he has you cornered in a supply closet, fucking your mouth, using you as a way to take out all his anger and frustrations- and you sit there on your knees looking up at him with tears spilling from your glazed over eyes as his cock hits the back of your throat over and over again, hard enough to bruise.

and he pinches your nose closed when your mouth is stuffed full of him, only for a handful of seconds, just until your face is just about to flush purple and your pounding your fists against his thighs, fighting for breath- that's when he lets go, pulling you all the way off him, but only long enough for you to take in one big gasp of air before he repeats over and over until he cums.

dark!robby who loves to have you over his knee. one hand slapping your ass, hard.

the other on the small of your back, holding you down as you squirm and jump from the sharp pain from each blow to your ass.

it leaves purple, raised bruises that he loves to admire. he has you on the bed, face down ass up, completely naked. his cock in his hand, and he finishes himself off standing behind you. and when he cums it lands on your ass, white streaks dripping down your purple and red flushed skin, he has you stay there as he takes in his masterpiece, admiring it.

sometimes he'll take a picture so he can come back to it time and time again, and of course he'll show the guys.

dark!robby who knows that he shouldn't be so hard on you all the time, but he wouldn't be if he thought you couldn't take it- he doesn't do it out of hate, he loves you truly, and knows that you love all of it too.

dark! evil! perverted! michael robinavitch, how i love you

it’s not stated but TRUST he believes in aftercare

The position of your head gave him better access to your neck, and he buried his bearded face right in the crook, sucking on your pulse point until you were moaning and writhing more insistently beneath him. He was burning up, but it was a small taste of the hell he was surely going to.

Your hands clutched restlessly at his clothes and your legs opened a little more, allowing his hips to slot perfectly between your plush thighs. Robby thought he might see the afterlife sooner than he intended when the hard ridge of his cock pressed against the delicious heat of your center.

“Fuck,” he groaned roughly, kissing his way back to your mouth and capturing your lips with a fierceness he hadn’t felt in far too long. 

The way you softened beneath him, melting into his kiss and dragging his body deeper into the cradle of yours had him losing all sense entirely. You were no longer the off-limits daughter of his best friend, but lust incarnate. 

Robby knew better than to get lost in you, but you were too perfect, too eager for what he had to give, too ready to be defiled by him. 

Distantly, Robby knew he needed to be the one to pull away before this went any further. He was older, after all. Though he didn’t know how much older than you he was, he knew it was on him to make the reasonable decision. To be the mature one and put a stop to this before either of you said or did something you couldn’t take back. 

But, god help him, when your thighs hooked over his hips, and you used the leverage to grind against his hard cock, Robby couldn’t think, let alone come up with any of the litany of reasons to stop himself from giving you what you wanted. Especially if what you wanted was him. 

“That’s it, angel, rub that pretty pussy on my cock, take what you need,” Robby murmured in your ear, brushing kisses across your cheek, reveling in the softness of your skin and the scent of your shampoo.

He pressed his hips deeper between your thighs, pure pride blooming in his chest at the way your breath hitched, your pulse thrumming beneath your skin. He could feel your heat through your clothes, and he was greedy for more, but he wouldn’t push you for anything you weren’t willing to give.

“I need—” your husky whisper cut off in a whine, your hips humping furiously beneath him. Robby choked on a breath, his hips grinding his thick length harder against your cunt through your clothes. “Oh god, Robby, I need to feel you against me with nothing in between. Please!” 

You were already unwinding your legs from around Robby’s body. You’d shoved your pajama shorts down over your hips, and kicked them and your panties off beneath the blankets before he caught up with what you were begging for. 

“Angel, we shouldn’t…” Robby rumbled, cupping your jaw in his large hand. His warm, dry skin felt especially rough against the softness of your face, and for a moment, Robby was distracted by awe as he stroked his thumb over your cheek.

But then you let out a desperate little whimper and Robby’s gaze met yours, finding your eyes wide and pleading, tears pooling at the edges as you stared up at him. “Please, I-I want this so bad.” You shifted restlessly beneath him, your fingers dancing along the edge of his sweatpants, teasing and playful and so desperate in the way they trembled. “Please, Robby.”

It was the way you said his name—like a plea, like a prayer—that did him in.

“Okay, angel, okay. I’ve got you,” Robby murmured, pushing his sweatpants and boxers down, until his cock was free. 

In the back of his mind, Robby acknowledged that he’d give you anything you asked, but he couldn’t think about how dangerous that would be, not when the tip of his cock brushed against the damp folds of your pussy. All he could think about was you, and how good even that brief bit of contact felt.

Robby closed his eyes and stilled, gathering his resolve around him like armor. It took every ounce of his strength not to press into your tight heat. He knew you could take him, and he knew you would feel divine, but you hadn’t asked for that. And he wouldn’t give you more than what you asked. He couldn’t. 

So he angled his hips between your thighs and pressed the shaft of his cock deep between your folds. Your eyes went hazy, your soft lips falling open on a helpless moan as you both focused on the feeling of him gently rocking his hips, rubbing his hard length against your pussy, your drooling hole coating him in your slick desire. 

“Fuck, is this what you need, angel? Need my big cock rubbing against your wet cunt, huh?” Robby growled, making the mistake of lifting up enough to look down between your bodies. 

The room was lit by the blue light of the TV, and there were dark shadows everywhere, but Robby could still see too much. Just past his soft belly, he could see the tip of his cock poking through the top of your folds. He could see the way your hips writhed beneath him, meeting his rocking thrusts with little humping motions of your own.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned, hooking one of your thighs over his hips, opening you up wider so he could press deeper against your pussy. 

You were already drenched, and so warm, so welcoming. It would be so easy to tilt his hips and sink into your tight cunt…

“Robby, fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, dragging his attention back to your face, which was twisted with pleasure, your skin damp and shining in the dim light of room. You were so gorgeous, you took his breath away, and it took him a moment to realize you were being too loud.

A thread of panic shot down his spine, but he had no desire to pull away or put a stop to this. Instead, Robby lowered himself more fully on top of you, brushing kisses to your cheeks and lips, enjoying the shivers that raced through your body at the roughness of his beard.

“Shh, baby, you don’t want to wake your dad, do you?” he muttered, looking deep into your eyes as he asked the question.

Since he was watching you closely, Robby saw the moment your eyes went hazy and heavy-lidded—could feel the way your pussy pulsed against his cock, like your body was enticing him inside, and he bit out a curse.

“Shit, angel, does it get you off—the idea of getting caught?” he demanded, his voice almost a hiss. He stared to pull away, cursing himself because he knew you were dangerous, but that was a step too far, even for him. 

Before he could move, though, your thighs tightened around his hips and you shook your head quickly. You stared up at him, your eyes two wide pools of desire and uncertainty, and Robby wanted to soothe you immediately. He wanted to drown in your desire.

“No, no, it’s not that,” you whispered in a rush. But you didn’t explain further, only bit your lip and stared at Robby’s shoulder, like you were ashamed to admit the truth.

“You can tell me anything, sweetheart,” Robby said, softening his voice and cupping your face in his hand, using his thumb to tug your lip free from your teeth. When you glanced at him, he smiled warmly, watching your shame transform into hope before his eyes. 

“It was that word—‘dad’,” you admitted shyly, your eyes darting away then back to Robby’s, like you couldn’t bear to watch his reaction, but also didn’t want to miss it. “I-it turned me on, hearing you say it.”

Robby’s heart nearly stopped in his chest, his cock twitching greedily against your drenched pussy. A possessiveness that would’ve scared him if he’d been in his right might swept through him, and Robby let himself sink into that feeling, gathering you in his arms as a wicked smile spread across his face.

“Oh is that all?” Robby murmured, his tone teasing and exceptionally pleased. “It turned you on just to hear me say ‘dad’?” He dropped a kiss to your mouth, nuzzling your cheek until his beard tickled you enough to make you giggle softly. “Do you want to call me ‘dad’, sweetheart—maybe ‘daddy’?” 

“Daddy,” you moaned in response, turning your head and capturing Robby’s thumb between your lips. You sucked it deep into your mouth, staring up at him with wide, trusting eyes. 

That was the moment that did him in—that was the moment he knew you were his, just as much as he was yours.

“Daddy it is,” Robby said gruffly, his cock throbbing between your thighs, unable to hide how much he enjoyed the feeling it gave him—like he was your whole world. He swallowed thickly, then nodded and pressed a kiss to your cheek, regaining control of himself. “Now be a good girl and rub that sweet pussy all over daddy’s big cock, baby.”

He watched your eyes go hazy again, your mouth falling open around his thumb. Your expression was so blissed out, so open and trusting, and he knew you weren’t capable in that moment of what he’d asked. 

So, like a good daddy, Robby took over. He rocked his hips harder between your thighs, his cock twitching at the soft little ‘uh uh uh’ sounds that fell from your lips. You were so soft beneath him, your body molding to his, your drenched cunt clinging to his cock shaft. 

It was depraved how good it felt, and Robby knew he should be castigating himself for everything he’d already done, but he couldn’t bring himself to—not when you looked so happy beneath him. 

Just then, the tip of his cock caught in the opening of your pussy, pressing against your tight entrance before pushing past. Roby nearly went crosseyed from the feel of your hole around the head of his dick, suckling his tip like your pussy was begging him to bury his cock in your body.

Your breath hitched in a soft gasp that had Robby rocketing back to earth, his eyes focusing on your face. He found you with your head lifted off the pillows staring down at where his cock was sliding through your slippery folds. You angled your hips up, making it easy for Robby’s dick to catch in your hole again, and you both groaned.

“Baby, we can’t…” Robby said, little conviction in his voice even as he tried to get ahead of what he thought you were about to ask for, already knowing he wouldn’t deny you—or himself.

“Please, daddy,” you begged, lifting your gaze to him, your eyes shimmering with tears of need. Robby could feel his resolve—what little he had—crumbling. “Just the tip.”

At that, Robby ducked his chin to his chest, giving you the sternest look he could muster, and he was rewarded with an impish smile spreading across your beautiful face. Your eyes glimmered with mischief, and you stared up at him without a lick of remorse, spreading your thighs wider while you rocked your hips, coating his cock in your desire.

From the unrepentant look on your face, it was clear you knew exactly what you were doing—Robby was absolutely certain that you knew your request would turn into him buried balls-deep in your hot cunt—but neither of you cared enough to stop. 

As far as Robby was concerned, the whole night, ever since everyone else had gone to bed and left him alone with you, was like a train careening off its tracks. You were the only one capable of putting an end to it, but Robby knew you wouldn’t, since you were the one who instigated everything that’d happened in the first place.

You’d been the one to snuggle up to him under the blankets on the couch in the basement of the cabin where he’d been sleeping while he and your family were on a ski vacation. You’d been the one to insist on laying down, Robby’s body spooning yours. You’d been the one to rub your soft ass against his cock until he was hard enough that when you turned over and asked him to kiss you, he’d been unable to do anything else but give in.

And it had all led Robby to this moment, where you were begging him to fuck you with the tip of his cock, knowing it wouldn’t end there, and all he could do was give you exactly what you’d asked. He was helpless to your desire, unable to stop himself from giving you—and himself—what you wanted.

“Ple-ease, daddy,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as a tear slipped down your cheek. 

Your impish smile had melted away, replaced by an unadulterated need so exquisite, Robby felt his cock throb in response. He brushed your tear away, enchanted by the sight of you begging, and your lip pushed out into a perfect pout.

“I need your cock, daddy. I need it.”

You writhed restlessly beneath Robby, humping his cock until the tip notched at your entrance again. Robby’s body tensed, but the inevitability of what was about to happen was a reassurance. 

He gave himself over to the idea that this was always going to happen. He’d wanted you since the moment he’d first set eyes on you, when he’d arrived at the cabin. He didn’t know it at the time, but you’d wanted him just as long, gathering the courage to make the move he never would.

The fact that you were snowed in together, that mother nature herself had pushed you two closer, had Robby forgetting all the reasons he shouldn’t fuck you—you were so much younger, you were his best friend’s daughter. You were too perfect. 

You were unavoidable, you were destiny. 

“Just the tip, angel,” Robby said, reminding himself just as much as you. He pushed up on one hand, the other gripping your soft thigh and holding you open for him. He pressed the head of his dick against your entrance, but you were so tight, he met resistence. “Let me in, sweetheart.”

You whimpered and whined, and Robby felt you soften beneath him. The tip of his cock slipped inside your velvety heat, and his hips stuttered to a stop. His low, rumbling groan mixed with the sound of your soft, breathy moan, both of you reveling at the feeling of him inside you—the heat, the desire, the perfect way you fit together.

“Again, daddy,” you begged, your voice breathless, your eyes glittering with lust when Robby caught your gaze. 

He nodded, pulling his hips back until his cock slid out of your hole. Then he pushed forward again, inexorably slower, indulging in the way your body yielded to him, your slick hole swallowing the head of his dick like a greedy cocksleeve.

“Oh fuck, baby, you’re taking me so well,” Robby rumbled, pulling out and pushing in again, watching the head of his big dick disappear inside your tight pussy. “You want more, sweetheart? Want more of daddy’s cock in this perfect cunt?”

“Ye-es,” you moaned, arching up off the couch and trying to bear down on his cock. Robby’s hand on your thigh held you down, and he tsked at you.

“Daddy’s in charge, sweetheart,” he said, clicking his tongue and enjoying the way you squirmed beneath him. He had to stop the grin that wanted to spread across his face. He gave you a stern look down the line of his nose. “Be a good girl and take what I give you.”

“If I’m good, will you fill me up all the way, daddy?” you asked in a low, breathy voice that did something to Robby’s gut, making it twist with a desire so acute, he thought he might cum right there, with only the tip of his cock inside your pussy. 

“Maybe, baby,” he sing-songed, bending down to brush a kiss to your lips. He used the distraction to thrust deeper into your cunt, swallowing your gasp and moan. He let his smile bloom against your mouth when you clutched him closer, like you couldn’t bear to have any space between you.

For the next few minutes, Robby worked you open with his cock, taking the time to make sure your tight hole was stretched to accomodate his thick girth and you weren’t in any pain or discomfort. If anything, you begged and whined for more before he knew you were ready, and he would shush you with a kiss or stern words until you submitted to his authority.

When Robby finally pushed all the way into your tight cunt, feeling his balls press against your ass as he bottomed out in your dripping hole, a half-feral groan tore from his mouth. He ducked his head, muffling the sound against your neck, and pressed you deep into the couch, covering you with his weight.

You moaned sweetly in Robby’s ear, wrapping your bare legs around his waist while your arms circled his shoulders, holding him tight against your body. Your fingers carded through his hair, nails raking lightly over his scalp and he groaned yet again, his hips thrusting on reflex at how good you felt surrounding him.

You were perfect. So tight and wet and warm. You felt like heaven around his cock, and Robby knew, all over again, that you were his unavoidable destiny. You were meant to be his, and in that moment, he vowed he would spend the rest of his life making sure he was deserving of you.

“You feel so good inside me, daddy,” you whispered against Robby’s scruffy cheek, pleasure dripping like sweet honey from your voice. “Knew you would,” you babbled, words spilling from your lips almost like you couldn’t help them. “Knew your big daddy cock would fill up my tight little cunt so perfectly—like I was made for you.”

“Fuck. Fuck, angel,” Robby growled, pulling back as far as your legs circling his body allowed—which wasn’t very far at all—before slamming inside you again, the tip of his cock hitting a spot that made you gasp. “Don’t say shit like that when I’m fucking you raw, or I’ll cum inside you.”

“Do it,” you gasped excitedly, a shiver of delight making your body tremble in his arms. “Cum inside me.” You pressed your lips against Robby’s ear, your words crisp and clear and so sweet he thought they’d be the death of him. “I’m not on birth control—knock me up, daddy.”

For a brief moment, Robby blacked out. And then all he saw was you. 

You, splayed out on your back while he fucked his cum into your pussy, shoving it deep into your womb to make sure it would take. You, with your belly rounding from his seed, growing his baby in your body. You, curled up in his arms, one of his hands on your big belly while his mouth suckled on your nipple, drinking your milk that would feed his baby. 

You, holding his child in your arms while he held you in his. You, as his family, his whole world. His destiny. His.

God would have to forgive Robby for what he was about to do, because he couldn’t help himself. Not when it came to you, not when it came to the chance of breeding his baby into you. Not when it came to the undeniable need he felt to make you his forever.

In that moment, Robby made peace with the fact that he was going to hell—because being with you was better than heaven—and he gave himself over to instinct, digging his arms beneath your body and holding you caged against his chest while he pounded into you. 

He fucked your tight, slick cunt with a fury and intent he’d never felt in all his five decades on earth. All he could do was drive deeper and deeper into your clasping body, fucking you with the sole purpose of knocking you up and making you his.

“You want my baby, baby?” Robby growled against your cheek, teeth pressing into your jaw with a teasing bite that had your pussy clenching hard around his cock. He let out a rough sound of pleasure and kept going, emboldened by the way your body yielded to his. “You want me to breed your tight cunt and fill you with my seed until it takes, huh?”  

“Yes, daddy, yes,” you cried softly, clinging to him with a desperation that had Robby’s heart pounding harder, beating a selfish, staccato rhythm. “Breed me, daddy—I want your baby. I want you to knock me up. Make me a mommy—make me yours.”

The possessive beast in Robby roared its pleasure, and he grabbed your ass in one of his big hands. Holding you tight against his body, he ground into your cunt, the tip of his dick pressing against that magical spot inside you while the base of him rubbed mercilessly against your clit. 

“Cum on daddy’s cock, angel,” he urged, pressing his forehead to yours, watching pleasure wash over your pretty face. “Be a good girl and let me feel your perfect pussy sucking on my cock, and then I’ll fill you up—make you my perfect little cumdump and breed a baby into you.”

“Daddy!” 

Your high-pitched cry was cut off when Robby slanted his mouth to yours, swallowing your sounds of pleasure as you came apart on his cock. He could feel your body go taut beneath him, your cunt clenching down so hard on his shaft, he saw stars, and then you were coming.

He grunted into your mouth, fucking you hard through your release, and it wasn’t long before he was following after. He pressed deep into your cunt, the tip of his cock ramming right against your cervix so he could spill directly into your unprotected womb.

That thought had Robby coming even harder, the rhythmic pulsing of your pussy milking every drop of cum from his balls. His chest heaved as he tried to suck in enough air so he didn’t pass out, and he pressed his face into your neck, huffing your scent deep into his lungs. You smelled like sweet sex, and sweat—and a little bit like him. 

You both came down gradually, Robby collapsing on top of you and half-crushing you into the couch. You didn’t mind, though, keeping your legs locked around his waist, your fingers carding through his hair and beard as you made soft sounds of contentment. 

Eventually, he tried to pull away, but your legs tightened around him. You let out a little sound of protest and when he pulled back to see your face, you were pouting up at him, something like betrayal and uncertainty in your eyes.

“Sweetheart, this can’t be comfortable,” Robby rumbled, gently cupping your face and smoothing his thumb over the corner of your mouth to wipe away your frown. You turned your head and pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb, making his cock twitch weakly in your pussy.

“Just a little bit longer,” you pleaded, giving him your wide-eyed look. “Please, daddy. I like being close to you.”

Robby felt his cock leak a little bit more cum, and he groaned, settling his weight on his forearms, braced on either side of your head and capturing your lips in a kiss. “A few more minutes,” he murmured indulgently, shifting so his hands could take turns massaging your thighs and hips.

It was more than a few minutes later when Robby finally disentangled himself from your body. He quickly righted himself, pulling up his sweatpants and boxers, then helped you redress, pressing kisses to your skin anywhere he could reach—your thighs, your belly, your neck. 

Before he could get lost in you all over again, he walked you up to your room, careful not to wake anyone else in the cabin.

You didn’t ask him to stay in your bed with you, and Robby was relieved. You both knew the situation with your father would need to be handled much more delicately than him discovering his best friend in your bed. Especially when you all were snowed in at a remote cabin in the mountains. 

How and when you’d break your newfound relationship to your father was a discussion for another time. For the night, Robby tucked you into your bed, giving you a slow, sweet kiss before he retreated back to the bastement and the couch where he’d been sleeping. 

The blankets still smelled like you—like your shampoo and your cum—and Robby found himself aching to have you in his arms. He fell asleep and dreamed of you, looking forward to the future, and the family, the two of you would build together.

thanks for reading!! reblogs and comments are appreciated ♡♡

you don't know how it happened. truly. an honest slip up. maybe it was the overtime working on your already stressed brain or maybe it was too much time spent an the ed. enough time that a few lines between work and the. hospital could be blurred. or it's was something dormant inside you that was currently being fucked out of your system–but it happened. "s-shit, you feel so good, dr. abbot–" you choked out and as soon as the new style of dirty talk rolled off your tongue, you froze. and the same time your eyes flew open, you felt jack twitch inside you. you don't have enough time to correct your dirty little mistake before jack speaks, and it wasn't exactly what you were expecting.

"doctor abbot? so..so when you call me that at work, its a turn on? f-fuck..such a dirty girl..." he managed out, breathing even more ragged that before. you gulp thickly at the possibility of that being true, but the tug in your lower belly makes your eyes fall shut again. and all of sudden, the grip on your hips gets tighter, his nail digging into your flesh like it was a way to control himself. yet, he failed. a sharp gasp was yanked from your throat as jack upraised your ass and tugged you down in one swift movement that makes you yelp out of a mix of pain and pleasure. he groaned and it was guttural. chest vibrating against yours as he hummed out a shaky "fuck..." while fucking you. ass slapping against his thighs as he takes total control.

"go on...tell me how much you love being used by dr. abbot, baby. tell me." he breathed, voice rasped and gravelly, sending a blunt spark of heat down your back and straight to your puffy clit and making the coil in your stomach clench. you nodded franticly, hair and tits bouncing as his hips lifted to meet yours and driving himself deeper. you're moving so fast it's hard for you to speak a coherent sentence, but you tried. "i..I love it–fuck–when you use me, dr. abbot. I fucking love it–" you whimpered, trembling hands finding his broad shoulders and holding on for dear life. "yeah, that's right, sweetheart...you love being fucked by your doctor."

✿. more -> the pitt masterlist | navi | m.list

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He shakes his head, his phone already in his hand and lighting up his face. He isn’t sure how much your rent is, and he honestly doesn’t really care. He figures about $1,000 for your studio, but he’ll double it just to be safe.

Watching over his shoulder as he sends you money, you can’t seem to form words. “Robby… Michael, seriously. You don’t need to do-”

“Already done.” He sets his phone down, giving you a satisfied smile. A few seconds later, a notification comes through your phone that he sent you $2,000. Enough for this month's rent, and next.

Your phone shakes in your trembling, mortified hands. “This is too much.” Is all you can get out, barely able to look up at him. Seemingly relaxed, his eyes are now on the TV, like he doesn’t even care that he sent you so much.

He doesn’t fight you, he knows your embarrassed and too prideful to accept the money. Instead, he extends his arm over the back of the couch, an invitation for you. A shaky sigh leaves your mouth as you melt into him and his large arm wraps around you. His lips press against your hair, and he would never admit it, but a sense of pride fills him up. He likes taking care of his girl. “Please promise me that you’ll tell me if you ever need anything.” He speaks calmly, his lips still on the crown of your head.

Turns out, you never have to ask for anything again. He usually beats you to it.

From there on out, $2,000 appears in your account on the 30th of every month. He prefers you don’t mention it, he doesn’t like over the top thank you’s. He’ll never complain about the thank you blow jobs you give him, though.

To Robby, the rent is just a necessity for you. He hates the thought of you worrying over something as stupid as finances. Other than necessities, he still indulges in your wants, too.

It isn’t long after you and Robby become serious that you’re strolling into the ER decked out in Lulu Lemon. Yeah, he’s hip with the times.

You don’t understand why he does it. Why he wears around the same raggedy scrubs and sweatpants, but nearly has an aneurysm when he finds out your shoelace broke and you didn’t immediately consult him for new shoes.

It isn’t until one of your many date nights that you understand that he likes it. Really likes it. He takes you to the Italian place you love, in a dress that he bought, in shoes that he financed, with manicured nails that you used his card for. He, of course, orders an expensive wine and the most lavish dessert on the menu.

“You spoil me.” You state after a few glasses, your chin propped in your hand as you gaze across the table at him.

His eyes sparkle brightly in the dimly lit restaurant. Barely having to reach, his hand finds yours from across the table. His thumb grazes your knuckles and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world. “I take care of you.” He corrects, his voice low and dark. The kind of darkness you only hear from him when he's on top of or underneath you. It’s in that instant you realize the sparkle in his eyes is actually a fire burning deep within him. He gets off on this. Gets off on taking care of you, making sure you have everything you could ever want. Your foot finds his leg under the table, innocently grazing his calf.

You see it in his eyes. He would take you right there over the table if he had it his way.

“You’re just so good to me.” You play into his desire, into this giant, expensive game he has created. “Always making sure I have everything I need.”

His eyes are practically black with lust as he nods. “You deserve it all. Anything you want.” His voice is so heavy, his grip on your hand unyielding.

“Anything?” You ask sweetly. You understand it all now.

“Anything.” He affirms, almost needy. Let me give you the world. Please.

You look down at the table cloth, pretending to think. “Maybe we could stop at Tiffany’s tonight.” You suggest, hoping it comes out as sweet and innocent as you intend. “There’s this necklace I’ve been eyeing.”

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who didn’t fight back when you slid the papers over to him one evening. Who nodded and signed without question- he knew this was coming for a while already. The fights over being gone for too long, arguments over how he deals with his mental health, crying and silent screaming matches at 3 am so you don’t wake the kids up. It was too much to handle and after he signed the papers he stood, kissed your cheek- packed himself a bag and went to Robby’s for the night.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who insisted you keep the house- your dream house that he had built as a push present after having your second kid. Irish twins- ignoring your OB entirely when she warned you about how fertile you’d be after having your first. The same house where you brought your third son home another year later because somehow Jack just couldn’t keep his hands off of you. The same house where you call him when there’s an issue- no sense in spending money and hiring someone when Jack knows the ins and outs of his own place. The same house where Jack is sure he’s had you pressed against every wall and piece of furniture- christened with love that he thought would last forever.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who still comes to every game the boys have. Every Saturday morning- pulling up to the soccer field with sunglasses and a dimpled smile that still has your knees weak and heart race. Wrapping an arm around your waist with your youngest in his arms- so proud when your oldest scores a goal that when you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth he doesn’t give you one of his usual smirks. Who joins you for lunch with the boys at home- both of you moving around the kitchen in tandem to feed your kids.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who hasn’t dated since the divorce. Why would he? He still wears his fucking ring. Jack still calls you his fucking wife. In his mind that would be fucking cheating and he’s not that much of a shitty husband that he’d think about being with someone else. Why would he? He has the best thing in the world going on, a beautiful woman who gave him equally beautiful sons- he’s fucked it up enough the first time around. Why push his luck?

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who comes over when the boys are on a camping trip with their uncle Robby. Maybe at Jack’s insistence. Either way- the house is empty and after a bottle of wine and Jack making you dinner he’s on his knees in front of you. Eyes rolling back in his head when you push the curls at the top of his forehead back a few times before gripping because he always knew exactly how to apologize. Flowers forgotten before you could put them in a vase- Jack’s thick fingers working your tight pussy open because it’s been months since you’ve let him fuck you and he’s just making sure you’re prepared before he fucks you into the couch. And the bed. And the floor. And the shower. And the kitchen counter.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who doesn’t forget your anniversary despite being divorced. Because he worked through so many birthdays and anniversary and holidays that- he needs to put you first this time. Who comes through the door of the house he had made for you, with the key he still has, with your favorite flowers and your favorite desserts and tells the boys that he’s taking their mom out for dinner because he loves her. Whose breath gets knocked out of him when he sees you walks down the stairs in some gorgeous dress that reminds him why he put three kids in you. Who sees a familiar glint on your ring finger- smirking when you tell him ‘for the boys-’ that’s the only reason you agreed to dinner. The only reason you’re putting up with his shenanigans. Not because there’s butterflies in your gut or because he looks so good dressed up for you tonight.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who takes their boys for a night so you can go out with some friends. A much needed break- to feel like a woman again and not a mom. Who picks you up from whatever bar or club your friends dragged you to because they wanted to party and you missed your sons- you missed Jack. Who’s mouth goes dry when you drop to your knees for him as soon as you’re through the door- letting you pull down his zipper and throwing his head back so hard with a moan that you can hear the thud when it hits the front door. Who has no idea what’s come over you but he won’t question it. Who has no idea that you rebuffed every man who came up to you that night- taking your wedding from your clutch and holding it up to them with a smug ‘no thanks’. Who has no idea one of your ‘friends’ made a comment on how you were actually divorced- if you’d mind giving her Jack’s number. Yes you fucking mind. That’s your fucking husband.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who silences you with slightly chapped lips against your own- hushed out praise with a soft ‘not too loud sweetheart, the boys are asleep- yeah?’ that night after he crawled into your old marriage bed with need after putting your youngest back to bed after a nightmare. It was hard seeing how fucking good a dad he was- how doting of a father he was to your sons and not remember exactly why you gave him those kids in the first place. ‘Such a good mom to my sons- another one honey? God- just one more fucking baby, you’ll look so good with another one of my babies inside you. I’ll even let this one look like you- yeah?’ Almost a joke- the boys look so much like him that people even questioned if you were in the room when they were born. But you couldn’t answer. Too fucked out to do little more that whimper, than to tighten your thighs around his waist and nod with soft tears sliding down your cheeks because you feel another orgasm rushing through your body when Jack asks to get you pregnant again.

Ex Husband!Jack Abbot who was always good at getting you pregnant. Who was overjoyed when a month later you hold up a sonogram with a little white blip on the radar. Who cried when you asked if he wanted to come back home. Who cried when nine months later your little girl came out looking like you this time around.

But somewhere between teaching you how to intubate and reduce fractures, insert IV lines, and suture, Robby falls into a hole he cannot dig himself out of.

Nearly half a year into knowing you, and he finally understands why he can’t escape: 

He’s utterly infatuated with you. The one person he shouldn't be infatuated with.

“Like this?” you whisper as Robby guides you through an IO line placement.

His firm chest presses into your back, and he angles his head to rest his chin on your shoulder as his gloved hand glides over yours to control the drill’s trigger. He squeezes until the needle hits the medullary cavity.

The sweet smell of your sweat hits his nose, and he can hear your breaths—steady—but maybe a little more rapid than is normal because of his proximity.

Wishful thinking on his part.

Robby's not a passive attending; he’ll step in and guide a student or resident if they’re unfamiliar with a procedure, but the act of being so near—and enjoying it—certainly crosses a line. Breaks a rule he supposes is better off being followed for the sake of his job, but he’ll make an exception for you because... look at you.

How you flourish with a little handholding.

“Just like that,” Robby turns his head, whispers directly into your ear, “you’re doing good. Will be doing this on your own soon.”

He lets go of your hand and wills himself to step back so you can remove the stylet, place the dressing, and hook up the tubing. Once complete, Jesse works on administering the patient the necessary medications to treat his injuries, and you both step outside the room.

“Thank you, Dr. Robby. I appreciate your help,” you say with a smile as you snap your gloves off and into the nearby bin.

He chuckles softly, does the same, then cups his cheek with a palm in slight embarrassment, “it’s my job, but... you’re welcome. It's worth it to see that smile.”

When Robby admits to himself that he’s more than infatuated with you—is damn near in love with you—it nearly kills him.

“You were great today, Dr. Robby. I know you don’t think it, but you really were. There was nothing more you could’ve done,” you reassure, bumping your shoulder against his.

Everyone’s left. It's only the two of you enjoying each other’s company, staring into each other’s eyes, nursing your beers as you sit on the park bench.

“You're right. ‘m sorry,” Robby rubs his free palm over the nape of his neck, “you shouldn’t have to be telling me this for fuck’s sake. I'm your attending. Are you okay?”

You shrug, worry your lower lip between your teeth, and he has to fight the urge to free it with his fingers,

“I'm alright. I mean… I've had worse days,” you chuckle dryly, “They’re never too bad though. Not since you’re right there with me.”

Robby feels a blush creeping on—blames it on the alcohol—and though it’s pathetic of him, he can’t help but ask, “why? Why do you like me so damn much? ‘m not what you make me out to be, kid.”

He can tell you’re affronted by his question. Your brows knit together, and without delay, you explain like it’s obvious, “you’re my boss. And you’re an amazing doctor and an even more amazing person. Why wouldn’t I like you?”

Fuck, does your naïveté infuriate him sometimes. You're too kind to him.

You look up to him, see him as some sort of role model, and all he wants is to look down at you. Whether you’re on your back or on your knees… it doesn’t matter to him. Whichever. Both. He’s not picky.

But he is a masterclass in restraint. At least so far.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he chugs what’s left of his beer and tosses both yours and his into the nearby trashcan.

“Hey! I wasn't done with that,” you pout.

“It's getting late. You should go home.”

You stare at him for a bit, then nod, sighing as you stand, “okay, then. Good night, Dr. Robby. See you tomorrow?”

He presses his lips as he salutes and watches as you walk away, thinking to himself,

You’ve ruined him for anyone else.

When Robby kisses you for the first time, he has an excuse.

It’s to relax you.

The elevator lurches to a sudden stop as you two are on your way to the rooftop.

A critical patient is being transported here by helicopter and will require immediate attention. A fire broke out somewhere; Robby doesn’t know where, only that the third-degree burns it caused will likely kill the patient if they haven’t already.

A stuck elevator doesn’t help matters.

“Shit,” Robby curses, looking at you with concern.

You don’t do well in enclosed spaces. In the E.D., you’re a class act, capable, composed, timely, everything he could hope for in a resident.

But here, in this stuck “vertical sarcophagus,” as you sometimes call it, your breaths quicken and are stolen by anxiety. Your eyes widen, you’re working up a sweat, trembles become shakes.

He tries to calm you down with soft words, a gentle hand on your shoulder, eye contact—

“I'm right here. You're safe. Let's take some deep breaths together, okay?”

—but when all else fails…

He takes a second, another, yet another, debates, weighs likely outcomes, mumbles “fuck it,” draws you into his chest, grips your chin, and then kisses you.

Your lips are soft compared to his.

He’d like to discover more, part them and lick into your mouth to memorize the taste of your saliva or test how you might react if he bit your lip, sucked on your tongue, but he does none of that. Instead, he cuts the kiss short and pulls away from you.

It was no more than a peck. His chapped, thin lips were pressed on yours for a few seconds, just long enough to get you out of your head and back down to earth with him.

His paws cradle your warm cheeks, and you blink up at him, confused, dazed, and... smiley.

That's encouraging.

“D—Dr. Robby,” you chuckle nervously, “um. What the hell was that?”

That's less encouraging.

He curses low, “fuck,” and apologizes, “I’m sorry. I was just trying to get you to calm down. Don’t think anything of it. It was stupid. But... it worked, right? How are you feeling? Better?”

You nod with a smile still playing on your lips, “I—I think so? Yeah. I'm not on the verge of a full-blown panic attack anymore, so I think I'll be okay.”

He lets your cheeks go; swears your face crumples the tiniest bit as a result, “okay. Good. Great. I don't know how long we’ll be in here, but the last time the elevator went down, they got maintenance here pretty quick, and—” he looks to his watch, “—we still have time before the—”

A whirring noise startles you both as the elevator starts up again.

“Oh! It’s back online!” you exclaim.

A miraculous revival. Robby's almost—no, he is—glad that it didn’t power on before he had the chance to breathe some life back into you.

The elevator resumes its flight up to the rooftop, and you break the lingering tension with, “so... you kissed me for nothing.”

“Yeah… that’s what happened,” he groans, covers his face with his hands, and turns away from you to face the elevator door, “I’m really, really s—”

“—Don’t beat yourself up about it, Dr. Robby. I didn't say I didn't like it. Just surprised me, is all. Which I guess was the point, right?”

He fists the pockets of his zip-up, trills his lips as he rocks on his heels, “of course. I don't make a habit of kissin’ my residents.”

This is not the first time Robby has masturbated to the thought of you. He's beyond saving, yet he justifies his actions, reasoning that his thoughts are his own and he can do with them as he pleases. Today's a new day, though, and it marks the occasion;

Today he feels disgusting. He hates himself. Because he jerks off during a rare bathroom break, only a few hours after he kissed you.

His long fingers wrap around his cockhead and squeeze. No more than a few strokes, and he’s already close to spilling into the urinal.

He can’t come too fast, or it’ll be over.

He’ll have to return to the E.D. floor, pretend he didn’t come to the thought of you while overlooking your cases, tell himself that he’s satisfied with giving himself an orgasm and doesn’t want you to be the one to give it to him instead.

But fuck, he doesn’t have the time to savor this.

Someone could come in at any moment—reckless, he knows, to tug one out here, whereas he’d be safer in the stall—but truth be told, he could do with a little embarrassment, a little shame.

He certainly didn’t feel enough of it to keep him from running here as soon as he could to fuck his fist to the memory of his lips on yours.

It was only a few seconds. 

Still, he considers those the best few seconds of his recent life.

He resumes his ministrations fast, hurriedly; the wet, squelching sound of his saliva and precum gliding down his length as he pumps reddens his cheeks, neck, down to his chest.

“Fuckfuckfuuuck,” he groans. The deep, wrecked sound travels through the air and echoes around the restroom.

The palm of his free hand meets the wall, and his head bows as he feels his impending orgasm start to wash over him. His face scrunches, his toes curl, his hips move of their own accord, thrusting recklessly into his fist, into the tight ring of flesh he wishes were your pussy.

Imagining how soft it must feel if it were to be wrapped around his thick cock—warm, wet—he’d make sure you were wet—is his undoing.

Ropes of his cum shoot out from the slit on his glans, an angry red color now, into the urinal. He gasps, grunts, hisses from oversensitivity.

It’s a mess, and it’s too much, and it makes him hot all over again to think about getting it on you.

He barely tucks himself into his cargos and flushes the urinal when the door suddenly bursts open and you appear at the entry.

Just his fucking luck.

He barks your name and asks you, “what the hell are you doing, kid? Christ, this is the men’s room.”

You look worried, sound breathless when you reply, “I—I’m sorry, Dr. Robby. But we really need you. There's been a food poisoning outbreak, with many critically ill coming in and more on the way. Someone had to get you.”

Robby's frustrations—more toward himself than you—melt away with the news, though he’s still frazzled. He’s not sure what you see when you look at him, but he knows he’s red in the face and has a strange cloudiness in his eyes.   

“Fuck. Okay. Shit. Just... just let me wash my hands, alright?” he moves to the sink with haste and tucks up his sleeves, “call Abbot and get him over here.”

You nod, make the mistake of glancing at his hands before turning to leave, see the sticky cum strewn all over his fingers, and your eyes widen, lips parting in a small gasp.

He sees your reaction. Does not address it. Simply opens the tap and lets the water wash away the remnants of his desire for you.

“Go. I'll catch up.”

When Robby takes you out on a date for the first time, he pretends it wasn’t you who asked him out first.

He also pretends it wasn’t because you had an extra ticket to the Carnegie Museum of Art and no one else was available to go with you.

You both stop and ogle at the displays in the hall of miniatures. Each display has its own set of antique, handcrafted trinkets, most of them furnishings like cupboards or tables or shelves.

Robby's been to this museum plenty of times. Most times with Janey and Jake, a few times on the occasional date since his breakup with her, which he’s not had recently.

Until now.

“Aren’t these amazing? And so intricate. I wish I had my own set to stare at all day,” you say giddily.

Robby barely spares a glance at the box you’re peering into and is more interested in watching you from behind.

You’re wearing a nice dress, one that hugs your form (your ass especially) and is much more enticing than your standard scrubs, along with a pair of comfortable sneakers and the ridiculous socks that everyone got during the winter gift exchange late last year.

Your purse hangs low, nearly touching the ground as you clutch the strap in your hand, and he takes a step closer to steal it away from you to hold for himself.

You look back at him, make an odd noise in the back of your throat, and frown.

“What? I’ll hold onto it for you,” Robby says with a chuckle.

“No, it’s not that—thank you—but... aren’t you looking, Robby?" you turn around and gesture your hands wildly up and down the hallway, “your mind has been elsewhere today. Art should be appreciated, you know. If you didn’t want to come, you should’ve just said so.”

“Ohoho, I’m appreciating the art alright,” his crow’s feet are accented as he flashes you a smile, then he steps closer—backing you into the display—stares you down, and mumbles, “and it’s mighty fine.”

You blink, your brows raise up to your hairline, and sick as he is, your fluster makes him harden in his expensive trousers.

“Robby, are... are you flirting with me?”

He's feeling bold. Being outside of the hospital and away from prying eyes only makes him feel bolder. A little fun won’t hurt anyone.

“And if I said I was?”

When you don’t respond right away, he worries, thinks he’s fucked up and is being too forward, and now you see him as some sort of a creep. He supposes he is one.

His attention is always on you. Sideways glances and pets on your head or shoulder or lower back that just barely brush the curve of your ass make that obvious. As do preferential treatment and unnecessary hands-on teaching moments. Kissing you in elevators and masturbating to the thought of you could be argued as well. Factor in the age difference and...

His worries are confirmed—

“I’d say it’s highly inappropriate,” your tone is serious, and your arms cross over your chest.

He disgusts you. You hate him.

—but then are assuaged when the beginnings of a smile pull at your lips and you giggle.

You’re fucking teasing him.

“Now, if you’re done pretending to care about the miniatures, I think I'm getting hungry,” you pat your belly, and Robby laughs in both relief and agreement when his stomach rumbles.

“I think I am too. Shall we?” he asks, offering you his arm, "I know a place nearby.”

You weave your arm through his, and he has to remind himself that you are not his. This is just for fun. Play. Pretend.

When Robby fucks you for the first time, it’s not planned.

A medical conference a few states over has you two sharing a hotel room. He could have gone alone. Decided he’d rather bring you.

“It’s a good learning experience,” he said to convince you, but he didn’t have to. You'd have said yes to joining him either way.

He swore he booked two separate hotel rooms.

But the front desk clerk tells him otherwise, that there’s only one room booked under his name, and the one room has only the one bed.

Robby's at a loss. He stares at the clerk, who stares back at him with an awkward smile, as if that’ll somehow change the circumstances.

As you're standing beside him, watching the silent stare-off, you tug at the hemline of his shirt and reassure him, “it’s okay, Robby. It's just one night. Let it go and... let’s go.”

He has no other choice. He sighs, grabs your hand at his shirt, says a curt “thank you” to the clerk, and pulls you by the wrist to the elevators with the room’s keycard in his other hand.

After the conference tomorrow, you’ll both be taking a red-eye back to Pittsburgh. He just has to keep his hands to himself for one night.

He doesn't want to. Is already failing the assignment because he releases his grip from your wrist to interlock your fingers as you take the elevator up.

You squeeze his hand, tapping your feet against the floor; you’re a little more nervous in the elevator since the incident some time ago, and he almost brings the back of your hand to his lips to kiss it as a comfort.

But he’s the attending. You’re the resident. It wouldn't be right to do such a thing. Or the million other things he’d like to do with you. Then again, any interaction between you two that goes beyond the bounds of what is appropriate at work wouldn’t be right... and you both have punched past that.

He takes most of the blame. He can’t help himself around you.

For now, he’ll continue as he has. Be mostly appropriate with you.

Though he knows he can’t go on like this forever—holding himself back from spilling his guts and giving his heart to you—he can go on like this for a little while longer, at least until you’re no longer his resident.

Or so he tells himself.

He wonders if he can manage a “session” in the restroom tonight without you bursting in again.

You both get to your hotel room, take some time to settle in, relax, order room service, go over the itinerary for tomorrow’s conference.

But then, after finishing your respective nighttime routines, it’s time for bed, and you both have yet to address the elephant in the room.

“Robby,” you say pointedly while buried under the sheets, “it’s fine. Don’t make a big fucking deal out of this. Just get in here.”

It's been about ten minutes of back and forth, beating around the bush, hemming and hawing, and arguing about the consequences if he were to share the bed with you, and you’re, needless to say, fed up with him.

“You’re sure?” Robby asks again by the foot of the bed, “don’t agree to this just because you feel bad for me. My back can handle the couch for a single night.”

You groan, look at him with eyes that say “you won’t fit on the couch,” then actually say, “Yes! I mean…  seriously. What are you expecting will happen?"

He hopes for something. He knows it won’t—can’t—be anything. 

Balancing the scales, desire and restraint, is quite exhausting. He’s fucking tired of doing it.

“Nothing,” he mumbles, “I don't know. This wasn’t the plan.”

“But it’s what we’re doing, so get the fuck in already.”

He huffs a laugh that earns a glare from you.

It seems his habit of cursing has rubbed off on you, and it makes him glad to hear you be so comfortable mouthing off at him.

“Fine, fine,” he says with a raise of his hands, “you win.”

He rounds the bed and lifts the covers to settle in beside you.

Every minute that passes feels like an hour for Robby. The bed isn’t so big. You're right beside him with your back turned, while he’s flat on his, staring up at the ceiling for the nth hour in a row.

The scent of your showered, lotioned skin stirs up some unfed beast deep inside of him. Makes staying still difficult. Impossible.

He doesn’t know how many times he’s gotten up to walk a lap in the hallway or chew on ice from the machine. Any more times and he’ll surely wake you up with how much the bed creaks as it sinks under his weight.

He carefully turns on his side, watches your silhouette move up and down with every breath you take. He hesitantly reaches a hand to—he doesn’t know—fix the strap of your sleep dress? Pull it down further to maybe lean over and get a peek of your tits like a pervert?

He withdraws his hand because he’s a man with at least a modicum of integrity, and it’s a good decision on his part, because you turn to face him suddenly.

While the room is in shadows, he can see your eyes, bleary and yet piercing right through him. Looking at you in this state, exposed, fragile, uncaring of how you look (beautiful) only makes him hungrier.

“I thought you were asleep,” he whispers, voice rough with want.

“I've been in and out of consciousness. Hotel pillows suck.”

“Would having mine help?”

“No,” you state plainly, pausing a bit before asking, “were you staring at me? I thought I could feel those eyes on my back.”

“Well, staring is a bit—”

“—What’s wrong, Robby? Is… is sharing a bed with me really all that bad?”

“What? No. It’s just—”

“—Do you not like me?”

Robby’s thinking lapses. He’s not able to comprehend how you came to that conclusion, and all he can ask in response is,

“What?”

“Do you or do you not like me? Because you don’t want to share a bed with me, you can’t seem to fall asleep around me, but then you invite me to this conference, and you hold my hand, and…” you trail off, furrowing your brows, then demand, “tell me the truth, Robby.”

He snorts a laugh because this is a bit full on and all of a sudden and reminds him of how young you are, but he supposes this confrontation was inevitable. He's not been subtle with his affections, but apparently not overt enough with them if he has you doubting his attraction to you. A balancing act that results in mixed messages; not uncommon.

But as it happens, this could work in his favor.

The question is out in the open. All he needs to do is answer honestly. Do it and get it over with.

He sighs because he has no idea where things might lead, mumbles, “yes, i like you,” then blurts, because he can’t imagine living in a world where he’d not tell you the truth if it were already being expected of him, "Christ, I like you so much. Too fuckin’ much. More than I should because I’m your attending, and it’s not a good fuckin’ look.”

You’re silent. You tend to do that after he cracks open his chest and gives a piece of himself to you.

And it always leaves him breathless.

Silence, silence, and more—

“I don't care about optics, Robby. You should’ve just said so,” you scoot closer to him, whispering while wrapping your arms and legs around him, “because I like you too. Always have,” and crash your lips to his.

Any shred of self-control Robby has left falls away. He returns your kiss with fervor.

Sleeping garments get tossed aside, blankets get shoved away, and suddenly all that’s left is your bare body on top of his equally bare one.

“You're so goddamn gorgeous, sweetheart.”

“So are you, Robby." 

Your knees bracket his waist as you grip his cock, parting your wet folds with the underside of him before catching his glans to your hole and slowly sinking down. He pushes past the tight ring of muscle, and your inner walls suck him in, feeling heavenly around the thick of his cock.

“F-fuck, kid. Christ, you—you feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah,” you’re breathless, clamping down on him and dripping slick down his shaft to his balls, “you too, Robby. Fuck—”

He massages your thighs—admires the view of your face contorting in a mixture of pleasure and pain—while letting you take him at the speed you're comfortable with. It takes you some time before you’re able to seat yourself fully on his cock, but when you do—

“What the hell, Robby—ngh—you—god—you’re so fucking—!”

“—Yeah? Your cunt feel… full? Full of my fat… cock?” he pants, does an awful job of teasing you. He’s pathetic. He's close to coming, and you haven’t even started moving yet. It’s been too long since he’s fit himself into a nice, snug pussy, and considering it’s yours, well…

It’s clear he’s always been at your mercy.

You start to lift and drop yourself onto his shaft,  “Go slow, baby,” he grunts, “‘s gonna hurt otherwise,” and he gropes your tit with one hand, fondles your swollen clit with the other.

The sight of you falling apart is really something else.

Your hands land on his stomach, nails digging into the soft layer of fat to anchor yourself as tears well up in your eyes. 

He can’t feel self-conscious about it though, not now.

Not when you’re moaning unabashedly, squealing when his cockhead nudges against the soft, spongy surface of your cervix with every drop, rock, and roll of your hips.

Robby stretches you wide; he knows he’s got to hurt, but the fingers at your clit help loosen you up, make you leak for him. They swirl, pinch even, and he’s met with a scream as he feels the nub throb between his fingers. A few soothing caresses over your clit and some sweet talk—

“‘m sorry, baby. I’ll be more careful. Don’t stop—keep riding that cock of yours. You’re taking me so well,”

—and he has you purring like a cat again. 

Your pace hastens as the initial pain from the stretch subsides, your confidence grows, and you reach a hand back to grope his balls.

His eyes shut, his head is thrown backwards and cushioned by the soft pillows, “fuck, kid, you’re—” he groans when he opens his eyes to the sight of you licking the palm of your hand and promptly returning it to his balls, cradling both and wetting them with your saliva, “you're gonna kill me.”

“Can't forget about these—they feel—oh—” Robby mirrors your actions, squeezes and plumps your tit, then plucks a nipple and thrusts into you, meeting your downward movements, “—s-so full, Robby. Can tell you’re gonna fill me—oh fuck—right up.”

Condoms weren’t on the list of items Robby thought to bring with him to this conference. You don’t seem to mind, but—

“I—I shouldn’t come inside you, sweetheart. Wouldn't be,” he feels his cock throb to the thought of it: plugging you up with his seed, leaving a sticky mess inside you that’ll be dripping out of you for days to come, but the rational part of him rings the message in his head, “wouldn’t be responsible.”

“Please, Robby… please, I-I want to feel it. I want you to come inside me. I need your cum.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. 'm not gonna last long—if you keep saying shit like that—”

Robby continues his swipes at your clit, struggling to hold off from releasing inside you, but it seems you’re closer to the finish line than he is. Your knees are about ready to give out, and from the look on your face, so are you.

Your unraveling is what does him in. Rationality gets thrown to the wayside. He gives you what you want.

Your cunt clenches tight on his cock as your orgasm pummels through you, and you crash to his chest with a cry. He fucks you through your high, hands appearing on your hips with a harsh, bruising grip to spear you onto his cock; he’s crazed, mad, like a dumb dog in heat who knows nothing else but to fuck.

Your arousal dribbles out of you—you both can hear how wet you are—smears along the length of him—collects to form a sticky ring of essence around the root of his cock—with every thrust, and mats the dense patch of hair on his pubis. 

A few more passionate strokes—mindless babbles from you—and he’s spilling inside you with a throaty groan. You whimper as he fills you up to the brim—like you predicted he would—and though you’re tired and fucked out, you still have the energy to litter kisses on his neck and over the pelt on his chest.

He softens inside you, lets the post-coital quiet settle over you both, pulls you closer by the nape of your neck to kiss you, but then after some time basking in each other’s presence—

Robby clears his throat, “It’s almost been a year since we met, you know.”

You hum, voice soft and sweet, “you’re right. Going into my second year of residency soon. Scary how time flies,” and nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

“I didn’t think of you as anything more than my resident at first, but… well, you snuck up on me.”

He feels the smirk forming on your lips on the side of his neck, where you leave a tiny bite before smugly responding, “I did, didn't I? But it’s really you who snuck up on me, isn’t it?"

He ignores your teasing (the truth), asks as he rubs a hand up and down your back, "were you really that clueless about how I felt?”

“I always thought you favored me. Was a little obvious when I didn't see you treat any of the other residents the same way. But I didn't think much of your behavior until that kiss in the elevator. And… later that same day. I had a suspicion then, but… I dunno."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why didn't you?"

"Fair point,” Robby groans, wipes a hand over his face, and pulls on the hairs of his beard, "I'm not sure how this is gonna work. Fuck if I know, but—”

You laugh, breath ghosting over his flushed skin, “we'll figure something out, Robby. Why don’t we revisit this later? Got a busy day tomorrow.”

“We do. But we still have tonight,” he grunts, then angles his head to press a gentle kiss to your lips, "and I’m not finished with you yet.”

When enough time has passed, Robby asks to make things official and move you into his place.

He laughs when you (jokingly) tell him you’re only saying yes because there aren’t any sarcophagi in his house like in your apartment complex.

“No family in town?” He frowned.

“No, I work Friday, so it didn’t make sense to fly out to LA. They never come here, say it’s too cold.” You shrugged on your coat. “You got any plans?”

The two of you were walking towards the parking garage now, which made no sense because you didn’t even have a car and you took the T.

“Nah, kinda in a similar situation. Mom and Dad moved to Charleston when they retired. I work Friday night too— where’d ya park?” He pulled out the keys to his truck.

“I— uh. I didn’t?”

“Huh?”

“I— I didn’t drive. I took the T.”

“Well then come on, I’ll take you home.” He grabbed your back and threw it in the back seat before you could protest.

“Wai— oh— oh okay?”

The two of you chatted on the drive back to your apartment. About your families, your plans to stay in Pittsburgh after your residency, the new ice cream place that opened up near Schenley Park. When he pulled up to your apartment you both were quiet for a while. He reached back into the back seat and handed you your bag.

“Thank you for the ride, Dr. Abbot. Happy Thanksgiving.” You hopped down from his truck, the morning air sending a chill down your spine.

“No problem, kid. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Happy Thanksgiving.”

Your hand hovered over the door handle, something deep in your chest telling you not to slam the door. He looked at you, and smiled. Softly. His eyes wrinkling.

“Dr. Abbot?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to come in? I mean—“ you began to stutter “I’m sure you’re tired. It’s just— you said you were spending Thanksgiving alone. I’m sorry— that was inappropriate. Forg—“

Before you could finish your awkward rant, he turned off the ignition.

“Yeah— as long as Dale doesn’t mind.”

When Jack walked into your apartment you couldn’t help but be a bit embarrassed. It was a studio, cramped to the ceiling with books and papers. Leftovers sat on the counter and well, you didn’t have a couch. You hadn’t exactly thought this through. Frantically you tried to clean up, putting away your laptop and notebooks and shoving them under your bed.

“Don’t worry about it, I was a resident once too, I get it.” Dale scampered over and began to rub against Jacks legs. “Is this the man, the myth, the legend?”

“That’s him.” You giggled, watching Jack scratch the top of his head and Dale purred and meowed at him.

After much protest, Jack finally let up cook him some breakfast, which the two of you enjoyed while watching the Macys Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“I must really be old, I have no idea who any of these people are.” Jack chuckled before taking a bite of sourdough bread. “You make this?”

You nodded.

“How do you find the time?”

“I don’t.” You shrugged, “but I like to bake. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane right now.”

“It’s delicious.” He wiped his face before awkwardly asking for another slice, to which you happily obliged. He smiled as he watching you flit around the kitchen, subconsciously dancing and signing to yourself as you waited for the toasted to pop.

You changed out of your scrubs in the bathroom before coming out to find Jack more comfortable, leaning back on your bed and Dale snuggled up against his lap. He sat up when he saw you.

“Oh no no— please make yourself at home. I wasn’t thinking when I invited you up with the fact I don’t exactly own a couch.”

Jack laughed before settling a bit once more. You brought him a cup of tea before sitting as far as possible from him on the other side of the bed. As the two of you talked however, the two of you got closer, like you couldn’t stop the pull the two of you had towards one another. Neither of you realized either, the way you were now laying side by side, Dale weaving his way through Jacks legs.

You don’t remember how he ended up on top of you, or how your fingers ended up raking through his messy curls.

It happened so fast you were sure you’d blink and you’d miss it a —a skipped beat in time.

One moment you were sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, knees warm under the blankets, the steam from your mugs fogging your glasses. The next, his hand was on your jaw—gentle, questioning—and your lips brushed once, then again, and then the world got quiet.

You didn’t remember shifting. You didn’t remember the angle where his thigh slotted between yours or the soft thud of Dale hopping off the bed in scandalized protest. All you knew was the weight of Jack above you, braced on his forearm, his breath warm against your cheek, the hungry sound he made when your fingers slid into his hair.

That sound went straight through you. Your back arched before you could control it.

“Jesus—” he whispered against your mouth, the word torn from somewhere deep. His lips trailed along your jaw, slow and reverent, like he couldn’t believe he was allowed to touch you.

“Jack,” you breathed, helpless.

He froze. Not away—just still, hovering, checking in.

“Kid… I didn’t mean to— I didn’t plan for this.” His forehead pressed to yours.

Neither did you, but your fingers curled in the fabric at his shoulders, holding him there. Not pulling—just anchoring.

“I know,” you whispered. “I don’t want you to think that when I invited you up…”

He exhaled shakily and shook his head, his lips brushed against yours delicately. “Tell me to stop.”

You look up at him. Really looked. Your eyes hungry yet terrified. You opened your mouth to speak yet no words escaped. All you could do was respond to his touch. The way his arms caressed your thigh as his hiked it over his hips. The way his lips brushed against the hollow of your collar bone and traveled up your neck; sucking along your pulse point.

You rocked your pelvis against his, feeling the strain beneath the sweats he changed into before leaving the hospital.

A sound—low, incredulous—escaped him. His hand slid to your waist, warm and steady, grounding you even as he kissed you again. This kiss was different: deeper, slower, full-body and unhurried, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth.

Your hands traveled, down his chest, his stomach, and you soon began to toy with the elastic of his pants.

“Careful,” he murmured against your lips, breath hitching. “I’m only hanging on by a thread here.”

You smiled—barely—your nose brushing his. “Then let go a little.”

His eyes flicked down to your mouth, then back to your eyes, as if searching for any hint of regret.

He found none.

His lips met yours again, harder this time, your tongues working in sync as they danced together. His hand slide up your side with the same precision he used placing central lines—slow, sure, deliberate. He kissed you like he’d been holding his breath for months.

And you kissed him back like you’d just learned how to breathe.

Your bottoms were off in one fell swoop, teasing your lips with his tip. Your back arched off the bed as he thrusted into you, finding a rhythm, the perfect angle, that had you breathless.

Jack wasn’t thinking anymore — or maybe he was thinking too much, all of it focused on the way you moaned into his mouth, the way your fingers trembled against his skin, the way you pulled him closer without a shred of hesitation. Every inch of him felt drawn to you.

You shivered as your orgasm ripped through you, his not far behind. Collapsing beside you, he traced his fingertips along your goosebump riddled skin. Your body twitched as he twisted the stiff peaks of your nipples between his thumbs.

“This can’t…” you began to speak.

Jack nodded into your shoulder, he knew this couldn’t happen again. The meetings with HR, the way this could destroy your entire residency, his license suspended.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Your pulse was a small stampede under your skin. Jack noticed—of course he noticed; he noticed everything—and his palm flattened gently against your ribs like he was trying to steady the rhythm from the outside.

“I don’t want you thinking any of this was just heat-of-the-moment,” he said slowly. “Or because we were tired. Or because your apartment’s cozy as hell and I’m a sucker for your damn cat.”

“Dale has that effect on people.” You chuckled

“So do you.”

Your breath caught.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering like they weren’t ready to leave your skin yet. His thumb grazed your cheek, cautious.

You don’t remember falling asleep either as he drew circles on your back. What you do remember is waking up in his arms, his chin resting atop your head, and Dale curled around Jack’s neck like a scarf. That damn cat.

You laid there in comfortable silence and his warmth as you waited for him to wake up. Your fingers tracing the freckles that riddled his arms.

The two of you would share shitty Chinese takeout while watching football and drinking your cheap beet. Maybe you’d make love again before he’d stay the night and carpool with you Friday night. He’d come back the next morning, and the next, and maybe the one after that.

To see your cat of course.

Two weeks. Two entire fucking weeks.

That’s how long you and Jack had been on opposite shifts. He’d been running the night shift as per usual, but due to a day-shift staffing shortage, your regularly scheduled day shifts had been bumped up from a five-day streak to a two-week one.

For fourteen awful days, the only time you’d seen your boyfriend was during shift exchange.

And despite Jack usually coming in an entire hour early most days - even though you told him not to - just so you could get a bit of time together every day, the last two weeks had felt like torture.

Even though you loved working with the day-shift staff, especially Robby, you noticed a change in your demeanor - beyond being mopey. Your patience was running thin; you snapped back easier; patients got on your nerves far more frequently...

On day ten, after you complained about something silly, Samira made an offhand comment about you being “seriously underfucked,” which caused you to do a spit take with your coffee, leaving her to pat your back for a solid four minutes while you recovered.

Besides being mortified that your bad attitude was apparently so extremely noticeable - and that your colleague had publicly commented on your sex life with her superior - your cheeks flamed for an entirely different reason: she was right.

This was the longest you and Jack had ever gone without sex since you first got together. And it was getting to you.

As if the situation couldn’t get worse, Shen decided to chime in as well. “Oh, that’s what’s going on. Was wondering why Abbott’s been in such a shitty mood. Swear he almost ripped a paramedic’s head off three days ago when he-”

He mercifully cut himself off when he noticed your flaming face.

Luckily, even though it felt like forever, the two weeks have passed, and you couldn’t be happier. Both you and Jack are scheduled to have the next two days off, and you don’t plan to let Jack leave the bed - the Pitt could go up in flames for all you care.

When you kiss Jack goodnight by the locker rooms as he comes in for his shift, you can tell from the dark look in his eyes that he shares your sentiment.

Once you get to your shared apartment, the only thing you do is make and eat some dinner before putting on one of Jack’s shirts as pajamas and crashing in your bed.

Apparently, you’re more exhausted than you thought, because instead of waking up after about eight hours so you can make breakfast before Jack gets home, you’re awoken by open-mouthed kisses on your neck and calloused fingers circling your clit.

The moan that leaves you feels like it's punched out of you and Jack groans in response, abandoning your neck in favor of looking into your hazy eyes that slowly focus on his face.

"M'sorry bunny", he mumbles, "you just looked so fucking good in my shirt."

His fingers moving over your cunt create audibly slick sounds, and Jack groans again, his voice more wrecked than it should be as he speaks, “So wet already. God, I fucking missed you, baby.”

Before you can tell him you missed him as well, he’s pulling you into a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth.

You respond all too eagerly, twisting one hand in Jacks hair to deepen the kiss further and snaking the other down in between your bodies - oh he's taken his shirt and pants off already- to stroke him through his boxers.

Now it's your turn to moan at how turned on your partner is.

Jacks cock strains in his boxers and when you move your hand inside to stroke over the head you can feel he's fucking leaking.

Jack breaks the kiss in response, and his fingers stop teasing your clit as he throws his head back with a throaty moan and thrusts into your hand involuntarily. When his eyes return to yours, they’re darker than you’ve ever seen them.

He snatches both your hands away from his body and pins them to the pillow, intertwining your fingers.

“I need you so bad,” Jack whispers, barely a breath of space between your mouths. “Tell me you need me too. Please, baby. Need to hear it. Let me have you.”

“Yes.” You’re nodding so fast you almost give yourself whiplash. “God, yes, Jack, please. Need you. Missed you so bad. So fucking bad.”

When Jack lets go of your hands to shuffle down your body, you shake your head and grab onto him to pull him back up.

“No, please, Jack, need you now. ’M ready, I swear.”

Your begging almost gets Jack to give in, but he shakes his head softly. “Gotta prep you first, bunny,” he reminds you. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

“Want it to hurt.” His face grows dark at your reply. “Please, Jack, I’ve been so fucking empty. I need to feel you. Baby, please.”

Your world suddenly spins as you’re flipped over, strong hands pulling your hips up until you’re face-down, ass-up on the bed.

“Yeah?” Jack growls out behind you. “My little girl wants to feel me? Wants it to hurt? Fine.”

You barely have time to register how Jack grabs his cock, lining himself up with your dripping hole before he thrusts in one swift stroke.

The sudden stretch burns so bad that you instinctually move forward to crawl away, but Jack uses both hands to grab your hips and leans over you to pin you down, which shoves his cock even deeper inside you- You keen.

“Uh-uh,” he tuts. “Don’t you run from me. Ah, fuck, bunny, you wanted this - begged for it. Now be good and fucking take it.”

He accentuates his words with a sharp thrust and you moan, "Oh, fuck, Robby-"

You feel like your blood has turned to ice in your veins.

Turning your head to look over your shoulder, you immediately open your mouth to apologize-

And are faced with the image of Jack throwing his head back, releasing a guttural moan that sounds like it’s being ripped from deep within his chest.

When he looks at you again, his grin is fucking wicked. “Robby, huh?”

Before you can protest, Jack leans back down over you and shoves two thick fingers in your mouth. He starts thrusting, deep strokes that leave the tip of his cock bumping your cervix with every thrust.

“So that’s how it is, huh? You work with my best friend for two weeks, and now you’re thinking about him when I’ve got my cock inside you? ’M I not enough for you? Greedy fucking girl.”

You try to speak around his fingers, but the words come out muffled. “S’ not true,” you manage, causing Jack to remove his hand and ask, “What was that, sweetheart?”

Taking a deep breath, you try again. “That’s not true. Want you. Only want you. I’m sorry, I don’t know why—”

A slap lands across your ass and you whine, your face burying into the pillows, as Jack picks up his pace even further.

"Don't play dumb with me bunny," he warns.

"I see the way you watch him. The way you look to Robby for approval all the time, the fuck - the way your gaze drifts to him when reprimands someone, eyes all hazy."

You want to protest, but your body responds for you, your pussy clenching tightly around Jack's cock, as you feel your high quickly approaching.

"Oh, just like that, yes. I- fuck, I can see your fucking doe eyes staring at his hands during procedures, probably wishing they were wrapped around your throat instead, huh?"

"Don't worry bunny", Jack leans down and you feel his breath hot against your ear, "I look at him too."

Your orgasm rips through you, body shaking as Jack groans, "Thaaaaat's it, good girl - fuck baby."

You've barely come down from your high, when Jack removes his cock from you cunt, making you whine.

You don't feel empty for long though. Jack flips you on your back and pushes you into a mating press, before he enters you again.

Both of you moan at the new angle. You've never felt so full before.

“Jack, baby,” you whine, using your hands around his neck to pull him closer. He pins them to the bed again and once more intertwines your fingers.

“I know, bunny, I know. So good for me,” he mumbles into the tiny space between you, mouths barely touching - sharing the same air.

His hips move in lazy, deep strokes - more so grinding than thrusting, massaging your G-spot with every thrust. The hair at his pubic bone scratches over your clit sending sparks up your spine.

"Been looking at him for a long time", Jack admits, voice low. "Just know he'd be so good to you - to us, hm? Fuck, you'd be so pretty together."

You can feel another orgasm building inside you, both from the way Jack is fucking you and the images his words are conjuring up.

“We’d be good to him too, right?” Jack asks, and you nod, moaning a breathy “Yes” - fully submitting yourself to the fantasy.

Jack moans at your tiny acknowledgment of your shared desire.

“Yeah, we would,” he whispers, moving his head down to trail slow, sloppy kisses over your neck and collarbones.

It seems like he can't stop talking, mumbling into your skin as his pace picks up, his own orgasm approaching.

"He'd be so gentle with you. Jus' know it. He's so soft on you. Always told me how good you were during your shift. Every fucking day, bunny."

Your legs are nearly shaking from how close you are. Jack's kisses move up your neck, now mouthing lazily at your jaw.

"Can tell you're close, you're doing so good. I'm so close too, fuck..."

"You're perfect bunny. Feel like fucking velvet, gripping me so tight."

"You'd take Robby like this too, huh? So deep, nudging at your fucking cervix?"

"Poor guy wants to be a dad so bad, but thinks he's too old for that now... You'd be good and make him one though, right? Let him knock you up - make him a daddy?"

You don't hear anything else Jack says, your ears ringing from the orgasm that burns through your body like wildfire, only distantly aware of the way Jack groans and floods your pussy with his cum.

When your next ovulation rolls around, you schedule time off of work to have what you coined baby making time, much to Robby’s chagrin.

During those five days, Robby goes through more little blue pills than he’d like to admit, and you get bent over in more positions than you thought possible.

Robby is endearingly methodical. He checks your temperature every morning and evening. He ensures you're well fed and hydrated. And after he fills you with his cum, Robby props your hips up with a pillow, even when you remind him that it won’t make it stick.

Robby is also incredibly intimate. Between rounds, when you’re wrapped up in his arms, he's hand-feeding you some fancy granola bars from Whole Foods. The pillow talk is sparse, but meaningful. At almost every step, Robby is thanking you, reminding you how big of a step it is that you're taking. Yet, somehow, you're not worried.

Your heart aches when the final day of baby making time rolls around. Robby has you with your face pressed in the crook of his neck. He rubs a once-calloused hand up and down the length of your bare back. Every now and then he whispers to you praises and gratitudes, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

It nearly tears you apart on your walk to work the next morning when Robby texts you: Keep me updated. Don’t be a stranger.

Stranger you are not, texting him almost anything you think would warrant a response. He gets up to date on workplace gossip, your patients, to even pictures of your lunches. It goes like this for the better part of a month. One Sunday, Robby wakes to two words from you on his phone.

I’m late.

He shows up to your house with three different pregnancy tests, a bouquet of flowers, and a box of chocolates to give you to calm your nerves while the tests develop. He holds you during those 15 minutes, reassuring you that things would be okay no matter what the test says.

If you kiss him when all three tests turn up positive, that's nobody business but your own.

When Robby leaves you that night, he already has a plan to get you moved into his home by the end of the month. Very quickly do you realize how involved Robby's idea of co-parenting is.

During your first trimester, Robby is stocking up. Almost every day you come home to a new stuffed animal or onesie waiting in the nursery he's building. You're allowed to help with easy things, folding clothes or painting, while Robby builds the furniture, everything, from the crib to the matching pair of rocking chairs.

He comes to every appointment from day one. Even insists on picking you up for them. Except, his idea of “picking you up” is showing up to the Pitt and taking the elevator with you up to the obstetrics wing. It’s nice to have him there. Plus, Robby always makes sure to bring you Thai food as a treat.

In the mornings before you leave for work, he has breakfast waiting for you. Pancakes. Bacon. A bagel if you so desire. Or, if you spent the morning with your head in the toilet (with Robby holding back your hair, thank you very much), just a ginger tea to settle your stomach.

Sometime around the six-month mark, Robby convinces you to go down to city hall and get married. It’ll be easier for you three to be under one medical insurance plan, he said. Plus, the all three of you can share a last name. That’s all. You don't even let him talk you into a ceremony. And even if you wear his ring, you insist on sleeping in different beds most nights.

So it isn’t all that big of a deal when your libido spikes in your third trimester. Robby’s already your husband, and it’s not like you haven’t fucked before. If you could help it, neither of you would be doing this, but you’re just so damn needy it makes you cry.

In the weeks leading up to your due date, Robby insists on sleeping in the same bed as you. God forbid something happened in the middle of the night, say you going into labor, he wanted to be there.

When you do go into labor, he's there. You need to hold his hand? Which one. You're feeling gross and sweaty? He has a towel to your forehead and is telling you how beautiful you are. Angry? Curse at him, he is the one who got you into this mess. Sad? He's crying with you. Anxious? He's whispering reassurances with every breath.

When the baby does come, the splitting image of her father, Robby cries. As your daughter latches to your breast for the first time, Robby kisses you and says I love you.