His girl
Your older neighbor, Dr. Robby, who's taken an interest in you.
It had been a few months since you moved to Pittsburgh. Your apartment complex was decent, and your roommate was nice. Nothing really caught your attention except your neighbor who lived right across from you. You didn't know why you had such an interest in him. You had seen him once or twice; he was a doctor. He wore black scrubs and rode a motorcycle. When you would stumble home drunk after a party, he would follow up after a late night at the hospital. One time, some of his mail came to your door; that's how you saw his name. Michael Robinavitch, you looked him up not to be creepy or anything… just to be safe. He didn't say much and mostly just kept to himself. You and your roommate would jokingly call him Doctor Daddy; he was sexy, and it was obvious. He was tall and definitely single; there was no wedding ring, and you had never seen a woman in and out of that apartment. “Be his sugar baby,” your roommate would joke any time she saw him, and you'd shush her, knowing he was nearby.
You had thought about it one too many times; maybe it was because your own life was going to shit. You were in school, and that was alright, but you were drinking a lot, going out every other night, and trying to drown out any thoughts of negativity and existential crisis with a shot of Tito's. You didn't have the best relationship with your family; that's why you had moved all the way to Pennsylvania. It was nice to focus on something else and fantasize about your sexy old neighbor who probably could spin you away from all your issues.
This particular night, it was raining heavily; the rain hadn't let up since early morning. It had been pouring against your window and flooding the streets all day. Your roommate was out for the weekend; she was over at her boyfriend's, and you were sitting all alone with no classes, no homework, and nothing but you and some drinks to keep you company. On top of that, your idiot ex was starting drama. You had gone a little too hard tonight, drinking so much that you eventually stumbled out of your own apartment.
Robby, on the other hand, had just parked his motorcycle in the garage after a long, almost 15-hour shift at “the pitt”. All he wanted was for this day to be over. He didn't want to think about all the patients he had lost today or the fact that he was all alone. As much as he hated how busy and chaotic work was, he felt needed in the emergency department. He knew that someone would always need him and that he would always be busy. When he was at home, nobody needed him. He was all alone. He let out a sigh before grabbing his backpack and helmet and quickly making his way up the stairs. He was about two floors up when he ran into you. You were stumbling and clearly drunk. You took another step forward, tumbling down the stairs, before he could catch you. He quickly made his way down the stairs, taking you up, putting one arm under your back, bringing your face close to his, and shaking it.
“Hey, hey, kid. Wake up, c'mon." He muttered in a worried tone, giving your face a couple of taps with his hand, hoping you would come to. You groaned, feeling his light smacks to your cheek, and your eyes opened. You couldn't focus; the lighting in the stairwell felt too bright. Robby groaned, knowing that his day was not yet over. He quickly scooped you up and held you in his arms, carrying you up to his apartment. The door swung open, and he gently placed you down on his couch. He did a thorough examination of you, making sure you were alright, checking your pupils and where you fell. He asked you a ton of questions, but clearly you were drunk, so you didn't respond well. He sighed, putting his stethoscope away. “Stay here tonight, and I'll watch you.” He muttered as he went to grab an extra blanket and a bottle of water. When he came back, you smiled at him drunkenly. He quirked an eyebrow, giving you an exasperated look, and shook his head with a small huff. “You think this is fun?”
You let out a long whine and shook your head. He got up about to go shower, and you quickly grabbed onto his jacket, stopping him from leaving. “Wait, no, stay with me,” you said with a pouty look. He looked back at you, his eyes dropping to your fingers tightly gripping his jacket. The unexpected request caught him off guard; he hesitated, looking down the hallway, wanting to go shower, then back at you, wanting to stay with you. “And where am I supposed to sleep?” he huffs. Your face falls into a frown, and you tug on his jacket again like a sad puppy not wanting their owner to leave for work. The expression on your face does something to him, and he closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose before eventually giving in and sitting down on the couch next to your feet. You squeal excitedly and pop your feet on his lap. He looks at your feet on his lap, then back at you. But he doesn't move them away.
“Happy, now? He asks, rubbing his forehead, clearly not ready to deal with this. “You're an oldddd man,” you slur out. A sharp laugh leaves him. “Yeah, well, this old man just spent the last 15 hours in the ED, so give me a break.” You giggle, not really registering his words. “You little brat. You dare to say that after I carried your sorry ass up here like some fireman, too damn old to be doing all this.” He tosses the blanket over your face. “Go to sleep, kid,” he groans. You slowly pulled the blanket off your face just enough so your eyes were peeking out, your eyes trailing all over his body, his gray hair and beard, his big arms and hands resting on his thighs. Before you could even help yourself, you blurted it out: “You're sexy, wow.” His hand froze in midair as he adjusted the blanket, and he blinked slowly, processing what he had just heard. “That… is a concussion and your alcohol talking.”
You quickly shake your head no. “No, you're so sexy, mmmh, don't have a wife?” Robby’s entire body goes rigid, and then he exhales, trying to control himself. “All right, new rule.” he leans forward, elbows on his knees, glaring at you intensely. “For the next few hours that you're here, you don't get to talk to me; you are in quiet time.” He says sternly, as if you're a child in trouble. “Christ, now I need a drink,” he says, getting up and making his way to his bar cart. Your face scrunches up. “I'm not a baby,” you huff. “Rightttt, all your decisions to this point scream adult,” he snorts, pouring himself a drink.
“Yknow we call you Doctor Daddy,” you giggle. Robby chokes on his drink midship and puts the glass down. “Alright, that's it. No more talking for you. Officially.” He walks over to his backpack, pulls out a roll of medical tape, and waves it at you. “You keep that up, I'm gonna put a piece of this on.” You whine, “But you are doctor daddy…” “Oh, for the love of-” He scrubs his beard again, a man at the end of his rope. He groans, then goes back to the kitchen and grabs his drink. You huff and get up, trying to stand without falling. “Fine, I'll go back home drunk and concussed.” Robby walks over, picks you up, and puts you back down on the couch. “Listen, kid, it has been a very long day of trying not to let idiots die, and if you think I'm going to end my streak by letting some college kid get hurt, you got the wrong idea. Now sit your ass down,” he growls, very serious. He arranges the pillows around you more carefully and drapes the blanket over you, tucking you into your comfort, making you less likely to leave. You were shivering, but that was no surprise considering you were wearing a thin tank top and shorts that should have been classified as underwear.
“Mmh, you're so nice to me,” you drunkenly coo. “No.” He points a single finger right in your face. “Don't coo at me like I'm some golden retriever.” He turned on his heel and walked away to grab another drink. “What, ya don't like being called daddy? You can be my daddy?” You muttered out, playing with your fingers. Robby froze his entire body, locking up; he sat down next to you. “What the hell did you just call me?” he grinds out. Your inebriated self just repeats it like a no big deal. “Daddy, like my daddy.” He leans forward, his forearms tensing. He spoke again, this time his voice lower and deeper, a familiar stern edge to it, “Listen to me. I'm going to say this once; I am not your damn father.”
“I know,” you say softly, still not understanding the levels of embarrassment you're committing. “Then don't call me that.” He pushes himself off the couch and stands over you, arms crossed with a dark, brooding energy. “ But you are a sexy doctor, Daddy.” Your eyes roll almost like you're frustrated he didn't understand. The sheer audacity takes him a second to process; his eyes widen like he just got whiplash. “Kid, you are a walking pain in my ass who doesn't know when to shut up.”
About 10 minutes later, Robby had gotten up to take a shower. He told you to sit still, and by the time he came back, you were fast asleep. He sat down on the chair next to you, keeping an eye on you until the sun came up.
You didn't wake up until you heard the birds chirping and the sunlight peeking through his windows. The concussion and being drunk were a bad mix. You groaned slightly. Getting up, you felt panic when you realized you weren't in your apartment or in your bed. Your eyes looked around, and they fell on Robby, who was asleep right next to you on the chair. You couldn't remember much of what had happened, other than feeling him carry you into his apartment. You relaxed a bit. You didn't have a sinking feeling that he did anything for some reason; it just felt like he did something to help you. Your gut was telling you that it was all okay. “Welcome back to planet earth.” his voice made you jump a bit. “Easy there, you had a rough night.” His gaze sweeps over you, checking for any wounds or anything.
“Dr. Robby?” you ask, rubbing your eyes, confused. “Right on, you took a bad fall last night. What's the last thing you remember?” He asks, pressing into your wrist. You squint, trying to remember anything. “Ummm, I went out to get some air and then nothing.” Robby huffs, sitting back into his chair. “Stairs,” he says bluntly, exhaustion in his voice. “You fell down the stairs, gave yourself a pretty good concussion.” You nod, processing everything he was saying. “You remember nothing after that?” You nod, trying to remember anything else, but nothing comes to mind. “No, sir.” he nods, getting up and going to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. “Headache, nausea, double vision?” He asked the questions, rolling off his tongue like it was second nature. “No, just hungover.” He snorted, pouring some black coffee into a mug. “Of course you are. Can't you just have a normal night for once?" He paused, taking a sip of his coffee, then putting it back down. “How much did you drink anyway?”
“I'm not sure; I was getting pretty drunk,” you say, rubbing your face. Robby exhaled sharply. “Of course you were. Tell me there was a single thought behind those pretty eyes last night, or were you just winging it?” You smiled, looking down into your lap. You didn't miss that he called you pretty, and you hated how many butterflies you felt when you heard it. “I was supposed to go to this party, but my loser ex-boyfriend showed up, and then I couldn't go, so I got upset and drank a little more than I should.”
Robby sat up straighter, his expression darkening at the mention of some punk-ass ex-boyfriend. “Let me guess: he's a jackass, so you decided to drown all your emotions in alcohol.” You purse your lips in a thin line, not wanting to admit that you were so emotionally immature that you thought drinking your way out of your emotions was the next best idea. “Yeah…” he lets out a groan, almost disappointed. “Of course you did, because why deal with your problems in a rational way when you can get drunk and fall down the stairs, am I right?” He rolls his eyes. “In my defense, the falling down the stairs part wasn't on purpose.” he shoots you a glare, and you shut your mouth. “Listen, I'm really sorry you had to take care of me. I'll make it up to you.” he waves a hand dismissively. “You don't owe me anything. Just for the love of God, try not to hurt yourself again.”
You quickly nod, reassuring him that nothing like that would happen. Then flashes of last night pop into your head; you cringe at the thought of possibly calling him Daddy Doctor. “...Um, I didn't say anything embarrassing last night, right?" He reluctantly nods. “Yeah, you called me a daddy and daddy doctor.” Your mouth hangs open, and you immediately bury your face in your hands, completely red. “Oh, my god.” He takes a slow and very deliberate sip of his coffee. “I'm so sorry; it's just a dumb joke between me and my roommate.”
A few days go by, and you can't get him out of your head; it's so bad you might've gone out to a bar and brought an older guy home. He looked kind of like Robby; he was tall and had the same beard and hair. When he kissed you, you thought of Robby; when he took off your clothes, threw you on the bed, and fucked you, all you could think about was Robby. You wanted him, not some cheap replacement; you didn't come that night. You couldn't. Your mind wouldn't let you forget it wasn't him.
Robby saw it too. When he was leaving for work, he looked up, through his window into your living room; there you were standing there making out with some older man. He almost spit out his drink right there. His first instinct was outright denial; there was no way this was happening. It had to be some kind of hallucination; the same idiot who called him daddy just a couple of days ago was now getting undressed by some guy. He noticed the guy was a lot older and looked a little too much like him for comfort. The guy had to be at least 40. Robby felt creeped out watching this scene, but he didn't know what to do; he just walked away, headed to work, and slammed the door shut. He didn't know if he was disgusted, angry, or maybe even jealous.
The next day, you decided to make up for all the trouble you had caused him by baking him some cookies. You knocked on his door with a plastic Tupperware full of cookies. Robby's head jerked up, and he yanked the door open maybe a bit more forcefully than necessary. He had a scowl on his face that disappeared when he saw you. “Hi, Dr. Robby. I made you some cookies,” you say softly. He stares at you for a few solid seconds. “You made me cookies?” he says in disbelief. You quickly nod. “As a thank you for the other day.” He's silent for another long moment; his expression is neutral. “You didn't have to do that,” he whispers.
“I did. I'm really sorry for stressing you out.” He softens at the gesture and runs his hand through his hair. “Stressing me out is an understatement. You're a walking disaster, you know that?” You let out a small laugh and nod. “Yeah, I do.” He smiles as he opens the door, letting you in. “I'm trying to be better,” you say, stepping into the house. Robby's gaze lands on the hickey. “So…” he says, his voice dripping with dry amusement as he steps closer. “Daddy issues part 2 went well, I take it?” Your eyes go wide, and your mouth hangs open slightly. You look at him like a deer in headlights. “H-Huh?” Your hand slides on your neck where the hickey is. “Oh, you know.” He leans against the counter nonchalantly. “ I saw your whole little show the other day. Assuming that love bite, it went well?”
You awkwardly nod. “Oh…um, it was okay, I guess.” He quirks an eyebrow at your unenthusiastic response. “Just okay, huh?” There's a hint of mockery in his voice; he folds his arms, watching you. “Sounds like it was a real life-altering encounter. I'm surprised you're not already planning the wedding.” You let out a dry laugh and brush your hair out of your face. “Old men don't want to marry me; they want to fuck me cause it's a good thrill.” His smile evaporates immediately; his eyes darken. He doesn't feel like teasing you anymore. “And that is the problem,” he exhales through his nose. He was disgusted and protective; he didn't like hearing how men used you just for your body. “Listen, you might not care, but any man chasing you for a thrill can go fuck himself. You deserve better than that.”
“What? How about you? You seem like a great guy, but no girlfriend, no kids?” He rolls his eyes as you change the topic. “ What does that have to do with anything, sweetheart?” You come closer to him, bumping him with the cookie container. “Because it seems like you can find the good in everyone but yourself.” Robby goes eerily still for a long moment. “Okay, but stop playing therapist and eat some of these cookies.” You laugh and open up the container. “Please eat as many as you like.”
He takes one out of the box and bites into it. His eyes widened. “Jesus, these are God damn good,” he moans, finishing up the first bite quickly before taking another. “I'm glad you like them,” you giggle. “I mean it, these might be the best damn cookies I've ever had.” He takes another bite and moans. You smile, watching him devour them one by one. You step closer and wipe the crumbs off his beard. His eyes lock with yours, and your heart thumps hard in your chest. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he whispers. You nod, stepping back and letting out a deep breath. “I-I should r-really get going, um, just gimme the container whenever.” You quickly scramble out of his apartment, too embarrassed to even look at him.
He doesn't see you for a few days after that, until one day he gets home after a long shift his brain was numb his feet were tired and he was ready to collapse on his bed there was a package at his front door and he picked it up opening it without thinking, he pulled out a few pairs of soft fabric confused until he squinted and realized there were panties… his breath hitched when he turned the package around and realized your name was on it. The package fell from his hands like it was on fire. The panties spilled onto the floor in an incriminating display; he just stared at them for a solid 5 seconds, flickering about 15 different shades of pink.
Then he slowly picks them up with two fingers and shoves them back into the package. He walks across the hall to your apartment and knocks on the door. It swings open, and there you are standing in a white Cami and some matching shorts. You smile up at him with a sweet expression. He holds up the package. “You've got mail.” Your eyes squint, and you grab the package from his hands, only to realize it was torn open. “Oh, thanks, doc.”
You quickly realize what it was. “Ohhh, it's my Victoria's Secret package.” That stopped Robby in his tracks; for some reason, your reconfirmation and realization made it worse. “Victoria's Secret?” he muttered. “Yeah, I'm sorry they dropped it at your house.” That gets a quick, amused sound of disbelief. “Of course they did,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I, uh... didn't peek.” He adds You didn't know if he was trying to convince you or himself. “Calm down. I know you're not some creep who's going to steal my panties.” He chokes at the implication; he doesn't know whether it's because he's offended or because a part of it is true. His eyes keep flickering to the package, those damn panties on display like some kind of mockery of his perverseness. “Jesus Christ, no, I have better things to do in my life and creep on some kids' underwear goddamn you, really don't have an ounce of common sense, do you?”
You let out a small smirk at his words; you knew something was going on with him too; he always got a little mean when he felt called out. “For the last time, I'm not a kid; I'm a grown woman, and I can order some cute panties if I want.” He closed his eyes, unwilling to continue this discussion. You pull them out of the package and look at the sizing before groaning, “God damn it, these are too small.” He needs to almost smack himself in the head for the image that's going through his mind. “Oh fucks sake- is there anything in your life that doesn't turn into a disaster?” You huff, stuffing them back into the packaging. “These were so cute, I'm so sad.” He rolls his eyes at your first-world problems. “Return them, jeez.” With that said, he walks away.
After he left, you decided to start the return process. You might as well. When you grabbed the panties out of the package again, you stopped for a second. You could smell his cologne on them. He was holding the package against him, so some of it must have rubbed off on the way here. Your mind twisted with thoughts about him as you were holding your underwear. A part of you secretly hoped that maybe he did take them from you, maybe he did want to use them for something else… Your mind wandered for hours that night. God, what was wrong with you? You were so depraved that you were getting off and fantasizing just off the scent of that old man holding your underwear.
The next morning, you knocked at his door. You had meal-prepped breakfast and lunch, and you ended up with extras; your first thought was to give them to him; you knew he didn't eat much. With his schedule, he was lucky if he had even had time to get some coffee. Robby opened his door; he had his phone in one hand and keys in the other, clearly on his way out to work, when he stopped dead at the side of you standing there again. His expression flickers between exasperation and mild panic. “...please tell me you're not holding another Victoria's Secret package,” he pleads. You let out a small laugh, quickly shaking your head no. “It's just another thank you for safely returning my package. I made you a sandwich.” That threw him off; his eyebrows shot up with genuine surprise. Nobody ever cared about him this much, and now he had some college kid cooking him up cookies and breakfast. “Y-you made me breakfast?” He asked, very skeptical, “You?” You rolled your eyes and pushed the sandwich towards him. “It's just a sandwich wrapped up in foil; you can eat it on the go,” you huffed in response to his sass.
He frowned, an automatic response to any act of kindness; he took the sandwich anyway. “Are you sure you didn't poison it or something?” he asked, playing with the foil. You tilt your head, rolling your eyes at his stupid joke. “I actually did.” He snorts in disbelief before he can stop himself. “Well, thank you, sweetheart.” he smiles. “Now, I've got to get to work; go bother someone else,” he said with his usual gruffness, but you could see a smirk curling at the edge of his mouth.
Every week now, he started finding little Tupperware containers at his front step. He couldn't understand why someone would be so kind to him. He thought it was adorable that you were putting in the effort. As the days went by, he slowly started to expect it. The little care packages became something he relied on at lunch; each lunch, it didn't matter what it was. He started to look forward to it. One day, he caught you grabbing the empty container as you leaned on the door frame. “You know most people don't just start feeding their neighbors like a stray cat.” He says, his voice dry like usual. You freeze, then slowly stand up and meet his eyes. He has a cocky, amused expression, like he thinks it's the funniest thing ever. “Hi…” you squeaked out, hugging the container to yourself and stepping back. “Hi,” he says, crossing his arms and smirking. He was wearing plaid pants and a navy shirt; you could clearly see his biceps as he crossed his arms, his head leaning against the door frame.
Then, just as it seemed like he might actually say something meaningful, he reached into his apartment and grabbed a plastic container of his own. “Figured it was time I returned the favor,” he muttered, shoving it into your hands. You looked inside, and it was a perfectly made sandwich; butterflies sprang into your stomach, and your heart was beating faster than ever. The thought of a man who wouldn't even cook for himself making something for you made you wanna squeal. “Now scram,” he says, shooing you away. “Awwww,” you let out. He shook his head. “Don't.” His voice was flat, almost a warning, but you could tell there was a flicker of fondness. “Eat it before it gets soggy, sweetheart.” You giggle, holding back a squeal. “You likeeee meeee,” you tease him. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “I barely tolerate you,” he calls out, so you can hear him as you walk away.
For the first time in years, Robby looked forward to coming back home. He began counting down the hours each shift, knowing there was a chance he might run into you; he knew another little care package was waiting for him. The food, the little note you’d put in, and a dumb lollipop. The kind he'd get as a kid at the doctor's. Dana noticed he was happier. He was lighter at work, smiled more, didn't stay late, and didn't snap at anyone anymore. Jack knew a little bit about you and the situation. Of course, he noticed his best friend was brighter and was bringing in lunch. He finally got it out of Robby when he grabbed his backpack and found one of the notes that read, “Here's some fuel for you, Gramps.” “Oh c'mon brother, just tell me,” Jack pleaded. Robby snatched his bag back and laughed, shaking his head. “It's just this girl in my building… She's a sweet girl.” Jack’s eyebrows shot up, and his lips pursed. “A girl…?” “She’s kind, thoughtful, and she makes the day feel lighter,” Robby whispered, zipping his jacket. Jack grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “Then go after it, man.” Robby pressed his lips together, grabbing his bag. “Shut up, man,” he groaned, grabbing his bag and leaving. “Going home to see her, huh?!” Jack yelled out behind him. Robby laughed, shaking his head and flipping Jack off.
Robby’s heart raced as he drove home; the air felt cooler, and he felt genuine excitement and relief to be home. About thirty minutes later, he pulled into the parking lot and parked his motorcycle. He turned it off, stuffed the keys into his jacket, and headed upstairs. That's when he saw you arguing with some guy. He slowed down, debating whether to walk away, but immediately knew when he saw the guy grab your arm. He heard you yell from down the lot. “Fuck you! Don't touch me!” Those words are like lighter fluid to a match; he steps towards you fast and hard, his loud shoes on the concrete making it clear he's nearby. “Let go of her,” he growled. His voice was low. The asshole holding your arm glances back, looking Robby up and down. “Listen, this ain't your business-” Robby cuts him off. “I said, let her go. Last time I ask." His eyes were dark, not just protective but almost possessive; he hated the way that asshole's fingers were digging into your skin.
You looked back at Robby; you were so grateful that he was here, but so terrified. You hated that he was getting pulled into this, but you knew you didn't want things to escalate. Your ex scoffs and lets go of you, shoving you back into Robby's chest. “ Oh, I see… you're slutting around with this old fuck now, huh?” Something snapped in Robby, and he moved you away, grabbing that bastard by his shirt, yanking him closer and up. “You got three seconds to walk away,” he says, his voice low. “Robby, he's not worth it, please.” You sniffle, trying not to break down further. ”Not worth it?” His grip loosens slightly as his expression falters for just a moment. “He was putting his hands on you,” he says, his voice gruff and almost sad. “That makes him worth every bit of it.” Your ex laughs, rolling his eyes at the scene. “You’re fucking some old guy to fix your daddy issues, huh? I knew it. Fuckin whor-” That was it. That last word made Robby lose all control, and he moved before that bastard could even finish the sentence, making his hand into a tight fist and turning ready to swing on him. You immediately call out what's happening and step to him before he can land it, grabbing his forearm.
Robby freezes; he's caught between his rage and his love for you. “Please. He is not worth breaking your oath or getting you in trouble. Please,” you plead with him, your voice shaky and your fingers gripping his forearm. His eyes soften; you know just how to pull the brakes with him. He nods at you, looking back at your ex. “Get gone. Now, before I change my mind,” he huffs. Your cowardly ex runs off, clearly only having balls when it comes to pushing around women.
The two of you head upstairs to his apartment. The second the door closes behind you, his hands are on your wrist. Gently, this time he inspects the red marks left behind, his thumb tracing the worst of it carefully. “Fuckin bastard,” he mutters quietly. “You okay?” You nod, sniffling. The sound makes something twist in his chest, something like guilt and overprotectiveness, something he wasn't ready to look at. “Come on, let's get some ice on this”
You walk over to the fridge with him, and he pulls out a bag of rice, wraps it in a washcloth, and carefully presses it to your wrist. “Hold it there,” he softly whispers. You nod, listening to him, and, moving back, he lifts you up as if you weigh no more than a feather, putting you on his counter. His hands linger on your hips, a subtle protective touch you seem to catch quicker than he does. You hold the ice to your wrist carefully, and he steps back, crossing his arms and looking at you. “You sure he didn't grab you anywhere else?” his eyes were darting over for more injuries. You weren't really listening to him; you were so distraught with everything that had happened. The way he was yelling at you, the way he tried to do awful things, Robby almost fighting him… your head hurt from it all. Robby touched your face slowly, asking you again. You actually registered the question this time. “Um…” you sniffle.
“Hey.” His voice was soft. “You tell me where he hurt you exactly." You take a deep breath in, readying yourself to tell him what happened. “He came to my apartment. He was drunk and angry about some stuff, then said we should have sex, and I told him to leave. He started pushing, and I didn't want to trap myself, so I went downstairs so he would leave.” Your voice breaks as you talk. Robby's eyes pinch shut as he hears the awful events. He has to take a breath before he can respond clearly. “So he was at your apartment.” he stops, taking a minute. “Pushing you, trying to-” he cuts himself off; he couldn't even speak. He was disgusted and angry.
You started crying, your head falling down, and you felt so sad, so alone. This just made you feel like everything in your life was falling apart, or maybe it just made you realize that everything really was. The sound of your crying breaks him, and he puts his arms around you, one hand cupping the back of your head and the other wrapped tight around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest. “Breathe,” he murmurs. His grip tightens like he's trying to press the safety into you. “You're safe," he says, rubbing his arms. “I'm not letting him near you again,” he whispers into your hair. You sniffle and nod. Your mind keeps wandering back to the things he said to you, the way he called you a whore and a slut, the way he ignored what you wanted. “He said why I would not want to have sex with him because I'm a slut…” your voice trails off. Robby tenses his fingers, digging into you a little tighter. “He said what?” His voice was full of anger. “That's bullshit; don't tell me you believe that.”
You sniffle, wanting to say no; you didn't believe it, but it was hard to. How could you value yourself when someone who was supposedly in love with you didn't? Robby's heart aches at your hesitation; he couldn't stand it. His hand comes up almost of its own volition, and his fingers barely brush the tears from your face. “Hey, hey, look at me, none of that is true; you're not any of that bullshit he said,” he whispers, cupping your face. You shake your head no, almost trying to deny it, but he just pulls you in tighter for a hug. “No. You're not a slut, and don't you ever let some bastard make you think you're any less than perfect." His words make you sob, and your tears drench his shirt. Robby holds you tighter, his arms wrapped so firmly around you that you can hear the steady thought of his heartbeat.
“I'm sorry, Robby.” You sob into his shirt. “Don't apologize.” his hand strokes down your back, soothing you. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he mumbles. You wanted to believe him, but it felt like every time something went wrong, he was cleaning up your mess. “ I'm sorry I feel like I'm always dragging you into my problems,” you whimper. Robby scoffs, “Dragging? You're not the one dragging me into anything. I'm here because I damn well want to be, and if that means dealing with some bastard downstairs, then so be it.” His words warm your heart, and you hug him even tighter. He melts at your affection. You are always so sweet and have such a good heart; it broke his heart to see you feel so down. “Why are you so nice to me ?” you whisper. “Why wouldn't I be?” He pulls back just enough to look down at you, a half-frown on his face. “I care about you. You idiot.” You press your face into his chest.
Robby groans. Fuck. The second you do that, something in him just melts. He doesn't say anything, just lets you stay there, pressed against him, breathing in sync with his heartbeat. “Robby...” you whisper. “Hmm?” You softly press your lips together and look up at him, your chin pressing into him. “Can I please stay here tonight?” The question hits him hard. “Yeah…” Then he slowly moves down, kissing the top of your head. You whine into him, feeling the gentle touch to your head. After a night like this, that kind of touch made you feel safe and soft. Robby’s breath hitches at the whine, and he locks eyes with you; his thumb grazes your cheek. You lean closer, your nose pressing against his, and slowly press your lips against him. He freezes, his hand still gently holding your face while the other one is on your back. You whimper, pulling away, afraid you've made a mistake, but he quickly pulls you in.
You moan against his mouth, and he softly grabs the back of your head, pulling you in. The kiss isn't full of lust or heat. It's soft and intimate, the way his lips softly catch yours and how carefully he holds you, like you're made of glass. You deepen the kiss, and he picks you up off the counter; you quickly wrap your legs around him. Your hands go around his shoulders, and he walks, taking you into his bedroom. You moan against his lips and gasp as he pushes you away, placing you down on the bed. He kneels down in front of you, resting his large hands on your knees. “We don't have to do anything,” he whispers. You whine, grabbing his hands and pulling them up to your thighs. You wanted him close. “I wanna…I just…I like feeling this nice with you. It's so soft.” Your voice was whiny and whimpering.
He tilts his head at your tone, his big and calloused hands coming up to your waist. “Okay, sweetheart.” he stands up, pulling you up as well. “Let's get you cleaned up first, baby,” he coos. You nod, entranced by his caring tone. He spins you around, and his hands tug down your zipper. You didn't feel overwhelmed or anxiously nervous like usual when a guy was undressing you. You felt comfortable and cared for. His hands pull the sleeves down, and the dress pools down to your legs. He spins you around and offers his hand, having you step out of the dress. His eyes roam all over your body in admiration. He tugs your underwear down and tosses it. The two of you head to his bathroom, and he starts the shower, warming it up. He began undressing, but you quickly caught his hands. You start pulling off his jacket and scrubs. You sigh as your eyes land on his bare chest. It was hairy, and your soft hands ran over it, making him groan.
You tug his pants down, his boxers coming down with them, and his half-hard cock sprang out. A suppressed cry leaves your mouth. He was so big and thick. He had a lot of hair around it, and his tip was slightly pinkish purple. He cups your face, moving you to look up at him. “It's okay, angel. C’mere,” he whispers, pulling you in for another kiss. Your lips smash into his, and he entangles his fingers into your hair. You whimper as his other hand presses into your back, and your stomach is pulled into his semi-hard dick. He pulls away and guides you into the shower. The bathroom was nice and steamy, and you were melting at what just happened. His back was turned to the shower head, and he stepped back, letting the water cascade over him. You watched as his big body was drenched, and you bit your lip. He grabbed your hand, pulling you in, and the warm water hit your head, and you moaned. All the anger and stress from the day seemed to melt away under the water. He stepped closer, shielding you from the water and kissing you. This time he lifted you off the ground and pressed you into the shower wall. You whine and grab onto his wet hair. His mouth moves to your neck, leaving soft, open-mouthed kisses. The water on your body and the warmth of his kisses made you feel like you were in a sauna.
You whine and grind into his stomach; he laughs, pulling away from your neck and looking at you. “Sorry…” you whisper. “It's alright, honey. I want it too, just be patient,” he coos. You nod quickly, and he sets you down, turning around to grab the shampoo. You stood there, wet and confused. By this point, the guy had fucked you and was already close to finishing, but not Robby. He squirts some into his hand, mulling it into his hair, and it foams up. He pulls you close and pours some shampoo on your hair. You gasp, feeling the cold liquid in your hair, and his fingers start slowly kneading the shampoo, working it into your scalp. Your eyes close in pleasure as he massages your head. A few minutes later, he pulls you under the water, rinsing the shampoo out of your hair. You open your eyes and look up as he finishes rinsing and grabs his loofah. He coats it in body wash and grabs your hand.
He looks into your eyes, then slowly starts at your fingers, moving the loofah up your body. You whine as the soapy mixture is applied to your skin and his hands rub you clean. His hands make their way to your tits, and he grabs them, making sure they are clean and soapy. You moan as he keeps rubbing the soap over them, teasing you. He then moves down your sternum and to your stomach. “Am I getting everywhere, baby?” he asks, in a smug tone. “Yeah…um mmh~” you moan out as he moves down to your pussy. He smirks as he scrubs you all down; he leans down, getting your legs, and his mouth is dangerously close to your pussy. He moves back up and pulls you under the water. You stand there as the soapy mixture falls over you; Robby decides to “help” by using his hands to rinse the soap off. It was actually just him groping you.
After he finishes rinsing off, he shuts off the water, and the two of you step out. He pulls a towel over his hips and grabs one to pull over your shoulders. He dries you off and moves the towel down your body, wiping up each wet spot and droplet. You sigh as he carefully dries you off, bending down and taking care of you like you were the most important thing to him. He leads you into the bedroom, and you sit on the bed. You open your mouth, a bit confused; no guy had ever treated you so well. Why hadn't he just fucked you? He sits next to you, cupping your face, almost like he knows what you're thinking. “I wanna have sex with you too, angel…just wanna take care of you first. That's what matters to me,” he coos. You smile at his words, looking down at your lap. He reaches over into your dresser and grabs you an oversized shirt of his. He stands up, opening up the shirt and pulling it over you; he grabs your arms, pulling each one through the armhole. “I could've done that…” you whisper. “I know…but I wanted to.”
He dims the lights and pulls you under the covers with him. You sigh, and he spoons you, your back against his soft tummy. “Thanks…” you whisper. He laughs quietly, kissing your temple. “Any time, angel; go to sleep now.”
Would we like a part two? 0_0
