robbyshoodie

You shrug your shoulders, "I mean it's the Fourth. What else would I wear?" You fidget with the handle of your outdoor wagon, heavy with all the things the girls wanted in there along with bug spray, a picnic blanket, and portable fans.

Simon opens the door of his truck and your two little girls hop out, twinning in red and white gingham tops with jeans shorts and white shoes. You coo at their pigtails, clearly done by Simon but perfect for their hair type. He watches you greet them with sweet kisses to their cheeks. He notices the heavy outdoor wagon you're holding with one hand trying to greet them, and he silently takes it from you.

"Look it. All of my girls are red, white, and blue today." You squint at the way he puts you into his statement and not the twins alone. He smirks and walks closer to you, "behave today, for our girls and America, yeah?" You couldn't help but roll your eyes. Simon drags the wagon while taking the hand of one of your girls, Ayla, while you take the tiny hand of Kyra.

Finding some grass on the field for you all to sit on, Simon sets the picnic blanket onto the ground and gestures to you to make yourself comfortable first. By instinct, he sits next to you, placing a gentle hand on your back. You spot your twin girls playing with their bubble guns, giving you a chance to smack his hand away. "Don't even think that me being here means I want you. I'm here for our girls and to look at pretty fireworks, not to suck you off after."

He chuckles and takes off his cowboy hat, rubbing it against his chest in mock-hurt, "So mean to me, lovie." He frowns, "cause I'm British, huh?"

You roll your eyes. You know he's just teasing but this constant banter has continued even after your divorce. "It's too hot for this." You turn around and look in the wagon for a portable fan.

Luckily for Simon, he was given a perfect view of you on all fours looking for this portable fan. Your back arched slightly, your tits spilled a little out of your top, and your butt was perked perfectly to him. If it weren't for all these people here, he'd make use of your positioning here on this picnic blanket. All he needed was for you to stretch your torso a little further until...perfect.

Your bottoms lower slightly down your back but enough to let the red lace of your panties peek out and Simon feels himself grow harder by the second. Thankfully, his hat is more than big enough to cover his growing bulge. You're his ex-wife on paper, sure, but how can he forget all of the restless nights you shared while you're being an unintentional tease. You turn back around and start waving the fan around yourself, clueless about Simon's conflict.

To beat the awkward silence that you're both experiencing, you decide to stroke his ego a little, "their hair looks really good," you nod your head to the twin girls.

Simon's eyes light up at your compliment. He reclines himself a little, sitting now with his arms behind his back. "I'm glad you think so. They kept telling me 'only mommy does it good' until I was finished." He laughs recalling the scene of the girls sitting on his bathroom sink. Simon maneuvered their hair and the gel with tactical precision for the perfect pigtails and topped them off with American flag pigtail bows. He sighs before letting out a low, "I've mis--"

"Daddy!" The twin girls run in unison towards the both of you, bubble guns still in hand.

Ayla, a spitting image of you, speaks up, "when are the fireworks starting?"

Simon whips out his phone to check the time, "any minute, angel."

Kyra, who looks exactly like Simon, settles into your side and whispers a low, "I want Daddy to come with us after the fireworks."

You sighed because you hated that you wanted the same thing and all you could say was, "we'll see."

The fireworks finally started, making it Simon's cue to stand up and carry the girls in each arm so they could get the perfect view. You videoed them with the fireworks in the background.

After plenty of fireworks, the girls were finally tired and you walked back to Simon's truck, parked right next to your car. You stuck to Kyra's word and decided to ask Simon, "The girls want you to come back to my place." You pause, looking for any excuse for him to decline, "But you're probably on duty so I--"

"No." Simon shakes his head, cowboy hat on. "I'm a reservist right now. Don't worry." He crosses his arms and his forearms pump just a little but enough to make your legs clench. He walks closer to you and nudges you with his bicep, "Besides, don't think me saying yes means I want you. I'm coming for the girls, not to get sucked off after." He winks, slyly aware of his own remark.

It's going to be a long night.

Now in your house, which used to be the primary residence before the divorce, Simon changes out of his jeans into gym shorts. He spots you bent over the damned wagon again, but now in loungewear. He can't tell whether this wagon you bought was a blessing or curse.

Without any cowboy hat to hide his bulge now, he sucks it up and notifies you that he'll put the girls to bed. Not only because he's a good dad, but one more minute with you and he'll use that wagon to keep you situated as he bends you over in doggy. Bloody tease, he thinks to himself.

After putting the girls to bed, he passed the master bedroom that you two used to share. He walked in and thought it was missing something:

The both of you.

Before you could comprehend what was going on, your red lace panties were pulled to the side and your stomach was lying on that room's bed, abandoned for years until this moment.

You could feel Simon's torso sweat on your back as he pressed against you to slide in deeper. He settles his mouth by your ear, just where you like it. "You feel so good, mama." He finishes his statement off with a kiss to your temple. "Teasing me the whole day." He groans in pleasure and annoyance.

"Pretty red bra."

Thrust.

"Pretty red panties."

Thrust.

"My pretty woman." Thrust.

Your left hand clutches the mattress, while you triy whipping your right arm back towards Simon in an effort to push him off because it felt too good.

"Si," you mewled into the bed. "We're not using protec--"

He speaks roughly into your ear, now sensually sliding in and out. "You want a third one?" He lifts his torso off of your back, now using his hands to massage your lower back and hips as he keeps his tempo. "I'll come in this pretty little pussy right now. Get you pregnant. Say the word baby."

Two weeks later, an on-duty Simon in his office wasn't surprised when he got a text from you. A pregnancy test on a bathroom sink with a clean and clear "Pregnant" is attached, along with your text, I better not be popping out two babies this time.

He texts you back, I'm on my way.

Doesn't mean the room isn't crowded. People crammed into chairs, standing along the walls. The tvs play the news, a boring chart about stock prices or the cost of gas. Robby’s not really paying attention. His eyes dart across each patient, making quick assessment of what he can see.

Make sure nobody was dying. Making sure nobody is on the verge of-

Hold on.

Robby freezes, hand pausing against his shoulder as he turns back to the pair of girls in the chairs across the room. Two familiar looking twelve year olds, both sharing a chair, hips pressed together, brows furrowed in annoyance.

“Will you scoot over-”

“I’m as far as I can go-”

“Nuh uh. You're trying to hog-”

“I am not!”

Robby’s heart practically plummets into his gut as he registers he’s not just looking at a familiar pair of twins. He's looking at his twins.

Those are Robby’s girls- his Maddi and Liz.

Still in their pajamas and sporting messy hair, elbowing each other in the oversized chair they were sharing, a phone playing some disney movie between them.

Robby swallows thickly, moving on autopilot, apologizing as he skirts around an elderly man with a walker. The girls look up before he even gets to their chair, ‘dad’ radars going off. Because somehow they always knew. When his car was pulling into the culdesac, when he was the one picking them up from school.

Liz’ face lights up first, her crooked teeth breaking out into a big smile. She's got on her gray hoodie over pink pj's, converse kicking her sister. Maddi gives her a withering look, noticing Robby a fraction of a second later. She gasps in surprise, waving her thick pink sweater sleeve to garner his attention, teal pajama pants tucked into rain boots .

Not that she had to. Robby would know his girls anywhere.

“Dad!”

They scramble out of the chair, limbs clashing, the phone tossed on the floor as Robby hurriedly crouches down to embrace them.

“Hey,” Robby chuckles, an arm around each girl, hands already feeling for any bumps or bruises. He laughs as he looks both of them in the eye, a hand cradling Liz’s cheek, the other brushing along Maddi’s hairline. “What are you two doing here? It's Saturday. Isn't mom making-”

“Pancakes. But the pot holder was-”

“Mom burnt her hand and so we had to get dragged-”

“Liz was trying to grab the turtle for the car-”

“And she was screaming-”

Robby shakes his head, holding his hands up to try and calm them as they jabber over each other.

“Okay, wait. One at a time-”

It was always like this. Two girls bursting at the seams wanting to be heard first, needing their father to understand.

They ramble on.

“Of course then she had a blow out-”

“We offered to help but mom said no.”

“She didn't want to hurt the baby-” Robby makes a face.

“Woah, what about the baby? Where's your mom?” Liz sighs and Maddi rolls her eyes.

“Dad. Weren't you listening?!”

Robby gives Maddi a look, head tilted with the kind of silent parental authority that said “watch your tone.” Liz reaches out to tug Robby’s sleeve, her head turned around.

“There she is, dad.” She points toward the bathrooms, where in fact, you were. Robby feels himself tense up at the sight, diaper bag slung over your shoulder, six month old baby on your hip… and a tight, pained look on your face.

The cloth wrapped snuggly around your hand might explain that.

Robby stands with a grunt, hands finding the girls’ shoulders automatically, guiding them back to the chair.

“Sit here for another minute will you?”

Liz makes a face.

“Dad we've already been here an hour,” Maddi huffs.

“Just sit there. I’m gonna talk with your mom,” he presses a kiss to Liz’s head before marching off in your direction.

You're struggling to get something into the diaper bag, Hazel fussing against your shoulder, her sounds muffled by the stuffed turtle she was chewing on.

“I know, baby girl. Give me a minute and I’ll find your cheerios. I just need-”

“Hey,” Robby calls out your name softly as he reaches to caress your back, being careful not to startle you. You give him a surprised look, your eyes wide with relief.

“Robby- oh,” your head falls against his shoulder as he pulls you close. Hazel shrieks at the sight of him, socked feet kicking against your hip.

“What are you doing here?” Robby asks, the question rougher sounding than he’d like. Not that you notice. You're too busy feeling relieved as he takes Hazel from your arm, the turtle smushed between her little body as he pulls her close.

“I- Robby it was so stupid. We were making pancakes and the girls were getting water everywhere. The sausage was smoking in the oven- I didn't realize the potholder was soaking wet when I grabbed it- and the-”

“No honey,” Robby shakes his head, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “What are you doing here?” Robby nods his head towards the crowded waiting room, the twins watching the two of you carefully from their chair, acting patient now.

“Waiting,” you purse your lips, glancing down at your hand. “The lady at the front desk said it wouldn't be too much longer.”

“You should have called me. I could have-”

“Robby,” you shake your head. “I’m not going to cut the line just cause I’m your wife.”

“Why not?” Robby shrugs, Hazel giggling softly at the movement. “I pull the chief attending card all the time.”

“Yeah. For free chips and guac at the mexican restaurant down the street. Not when there are actual lives on the line,” you gesture towards a man being wheeled in, blood dribbling from his forehead. Robby unconsciously shifts Hazel’s face away from the sight, glancing at the twins again. They're back to their movie, pretending like they weren't listening.

They were. They always were.

Robby sighs, looking you up and down. You hated the emergency room. Actively avoided it any way you could. He could count on one hand the number of times you had visited the ED.

When Maddi sprained her finger playing volleyball at school, the time Liv broke her tooth and split her lip riding a friend's skateboard. When Robby had cut his hand open trying to build the girls a playhouse for Christmas one year.

The most recent time had been during your last pregnancy; unable to keep any fluids or liquid down, you’d been sick as a dog.

Hazel whines in Robby’s arms, looking between you and him with a big pout. You sigh, giving her a smile as you carefully maneuver your bag so you can reach inside.

“I know, baby. I know you're hungry. I’m sorry.”

You were here.

Two girls haphazardly dressed, Hazel in an emergency onesie Robby knew she'd just been changed into; the outfit you had been wearing when Robby kissed you goodbye that morning still cozy around your frame.

And the towel wrapped around your hand.

Robby helps you zip the diaper bag, reaching for your injured hand.

“You said you burned it?” You hesitate for a moment, finally letting him take a peek when Robby gives you a look. You concede, the unnatural warmth of your skin radiating from the thick layers of terry cloth.

Balancing Hazel and her cheerios in his arm, scrub sleeve surely soaked with drool, Robby peels away the towel. You inhale sharply as the cool air hits the burn, your skin an angry red, palm peeling and blistering in places. Robby swallows thickly, looking at the painful wound.

You look away from it first.

“It doesn't hurt that bad anymore. I soaked it for twenty minutes before we came here.”

“How long have you been waiting?” Robby asks. You don’t meet his eye.

“Just a little while.”

“You don't have to lie to me. I know this hurts.” You take another shaky breath, your hand flexing against his touch.

“I can't just cut the line Michael. That's not right-”

“You're not cutting anything. Okay? Let me take care of you.” Robby lets go of your hand gently, thumb brushing your cheek as he cups your face.

You melt into it slightly, glancing over at your other girls. They're watching you expectantly, practically buzzing with anticipation of leaving the waiting room. Robby could see you were ready to cave, wanting to get out of there.

He adds a final nail to the coffin, crouching a bit to meet your eye.

“Please.”

Robby can see it. The resignation crossing your face, the pain of your hand catching up to you.

“Okay,” you nod slowly. “But only if l’m not messing with your work-”

“Of course not,” Robby presses a kiss to your temple. “Come on. You ready Hazel?”

The baby blows a raspberry, squealing happily before chewing on a cheerio she manages to grab. You nod towards the girls, gesturing for them to get up. They share an equally happy sentiment as their sister, quickly following you through the staff entrance.

“Finally!” Maddi sighs, pulling her sister up. “Come on.”

“I’m coming!”

------------------------------------------------------

You can feel the eyes on Robby as the five of you enter into the Pitt. The Emergency Department’s big bad chief… a smiley baby girl in his arms and two preteens following like baby ducks.

It was cute, you have to admit. Maybe cuter if your hand wasn't throbbing like you’d thrown it into a pile of glass.

Liv holds on to the sleeve of your sweater nervously, looking around at the bustling nurses and loud monitors. Robby glances back at the three of you, making sure you were still alright. You give him a small smile, observing the worry lines already creasing between his brows. The calculations and treatment plans and patient names he was likely filing through. Slotting your name next to an already crowded roster.

You really had tried to hold off going to the emergency room. It hadn't hurt that bad when it happened, surprised you mostly.

But your palm had gotten redder and hotter as the minutes ticked by, your girls looking at you with worry. Robby was always telling you to call him if something happened. Always leaving in the morning with the same goodbye whispered against your cheek.

“Love you. Call me if you or the girls need anything.”

But it just didn't feel right to skip the line. To get in simply because your husband was the chief attending. Although the sentiment was becoming a little stale as your palm throbs deeper.

As you pass by the nurses station, Maddi lights up, quickly finding her favorite person in the ED.

“Hi Mel!”

The blonde resident pauses, turning from her conversation with Langdon, a bright smile blooming when she sees your girls.

“Hey!”

Maddi runs, in spite of Robby’s warning to be careful, tall frame running into Mel’s open arms.

“Is everything alright? I never see you guys here.”

“Peachy,” you raise your injured hand. Frank cringes behind Mel, whistling as you show him the burn.

“Oof. You soak it?”

“Please, she's married to a doctor. Of course she did,” Robby says, chest puffing proudly. Langdon laughs.

Liz clings to your sweater shyly as Frank looks over at her. Then Hazel. His eyes light up like a kid getting candy.

“Ah, Miss Hazel. I see you've graced us with your glorious presence. My favorite Rovinavitch!” Hazel squeals as Frank tickles her foot, curling into Robby’s chest. Maddi lets out a protesting gasp.

“Hey. I thought I was your favorite!”

“Yeah. Before Mel stole you from me.”

“I did not,” Mel frowns, adjusting her glasses with a little smile. “Can't steal what you never had.”

“That’s alright. We all know who my real favorite is,” Frank glances down at Liz, giving her a quick wink. She blushes furiously, turning further into your side.

You laugh, glancing over at Robby. He just shakes his head, cringing as Hazel squeals again, turtle clutched tightly in her flopping hand.

Dana peeks her head out from behind a curtain, squinting over her glasses.

“Is that my happy Hazel I hear?” The charge nurse comes over, giving your older girls a tight squeeze before grinning at your youngest daughter. “Hi beautiful girl.”

Robby can't even protest before Dana is scooping Hazel into her arms, the six month old wiggling around happily. Always the center of attention.

You have a crowd forming, Trinity and Princess inching closer and cooing at the baby, Dennis giving high fives to your older girls.

Robby sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly as his staff fawns over his girls.

“Okay, most of you have patients you need to see.”

“Do we?” Princess asks, eyes wide as she makes faces at Hazel. Robby rolls his eyes.

“Yes. Now, go on and scram.”

“Mom,” Liz looks up at you apologetically.

“Yeah baby?”

“I’m really hungry now.” You sigh, closing your eyes and nodding.

“I know. I’m sure.”

The girls had really been troopers. Helping you clean up the mess breakfast turned out to be, waiting patiently to go to the hospital, keeping the complaints to a minimum. They'd grabbed some granola and fruit before you’d left the house, but they were growing girls. You'd seen them out eat Robby a few times already and it was getting closer to lunch time.

You look over at Robby who takes Hazel back from Dana, brow furrowing as he looks you up and down.

“What's going on? You okay?” You nod, your uninjured hand running over Liz’s short hair.

“The girls need food.”

“Sustenance,” Maddi groans. She then gets a look on her face, turning to her sister. The two lock eyes and huddle, shoulders pressed impossibly close as they whisper. You raise your brow suspiciously, Mel laughing behind her hand as she watches from her computer.

Liz nods and stands beside Maddi as they approach Robby. He frowns.

“Uh oh. What’s the council discussing this time?”

“Can we get Starbucks?” He cocks his head.

“Um. Here?”

“Yeah. You can order it on your phone,” Liz adds quietly.

Robby shares a look with you. You shrug.

“I could use a chai.”

"You're encouraging bad habits," he mutters.

"Robby, you know they're not gonna eat the soggy pb and j's they try to pass off as food in the cafeteria," you whisper back.

Robby sighs, looking between your two girls. You can see the torn expression on his face, the fight between saying no because he still wasn’t thrilled about the girls drinking coffee just yet and also saying yes because they’d already been through a wreck of Saturday-

“Please,” Maddi pouts, hands clasped desperately. Her big brown eyes, mirrors to her fathers’, shine beneath the hospital lights. Robby opens his mouth, the words lost as Liz adds another please.

“Please papa.”

Oh. Your girls were good.

You snicker to yourself as you watch Robby become undone in real time. Any pushback he might’ve had lost at the name. The first name the twins had called him.

‘Papa.’

Before they decided they were too cool and the social norm of ‘dad’ was adopted.

Robby sighs, head lowering in defeat. Dana gives your arm a squeeze as she passes by, smiling fondly.

“Okay, fine. But I don't want you two drinking straight sugar for breakfast. You're getting egg sandwiches too.” Maddi makes a face.

“Egg?”

“That's the deal Mads.” She crosses her arms, a familiar looking pout crossing her face.

“Fine.”

“Hey Boss,” Perlah calls out, the red phone pressed to her chest. “We’ve got an GSW coming in five.”

Robby looks up, nodding. “Uh, okay. Give me just a minute.”

“Sure,” Perlah smiles at Hazel who gives her a friendly wave. Robby fishes his phone out of his pocket, handing it to Liz.

“Here. You can get one drink and a sandwich. One,” he gives the twins a pointed look. They giggle, nudging each other knowingly. “Mel can take you guys to the breakroom. Stay in there until I come to get you.”

“What about Hazel?” Maddi asks, reaching over for Robby’s phone in spite of the way Liz keeps it clutched tightly to her chest.

“She'll stay with me honey,” you smile. “She's got to eat soon.” Robby checks his watch, looking between you and the baby. You had her on a pretty strict schedule; the girl loved her consistency.

Liz frowns, looking down at your hand with sad eyes. “Mom. Are you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine, baby. Your dad will fix me up just fine.” You smile again, meeting her eye reassuringly.

But with each passing minute your hand starts hurting even more. You know Robby can see it. The forced line of your smile.

It's the same smile he's shared a hundred times over. The brave face of a parent.

“Cap-” Dana starts, giving Robby a look. “GSW is here in two.”

“Right,” Robby hums, the sound gravelly and tired. He had that look on his face, the one you'd seen plenty of times over. When he was being pulled in multiple directions and didn't know which he should choose. “Okay, uh, Mel-”

“I got the girls, Dr. Robby,” she smiles. He nods, gratefully.

“Feel free to get yourself something too, okay.”

“Oh, that's alright-” Mel shakes her head as Maddi tugs her hand, pulling Mel away towards the break room.

“Mel. Starbucks has boba now!” That gets her attention.

“Really?” Liz nods in agreement, fingers already zooming across the screen.

“Well, they're tapioca pearls. Not really boba. But the same thing…”

You feel the tension in your shoulders release slightly as the girls follow Mel into the break room, and you allow yourself to finally let out the whimper you'd been holding.

“Ow,” you hiss under your breath, cringing as you bring your hand closer to your chest.

Robby turns, his hand moving to rub a soft circle on your back.

“Okay mama, let's get you taken care of.”

“Robby-” Dana’s voice cuts in, the red phone in her hand. “Another ambulance on the way. Three minutes out.”

Robby lets out a frustrated sigh, cursing beneath his breath. “Okay. Okay that's fine. I’ll have Dana look over your hand first and then I’ll be right there.”

“Whatever you have to do,” you nod. “Remember, I’m just like any other patient you’d see-”

“You're not just any other patient,” Robby shakes his head. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he passes Hazel over to Dana, her arms already ready for the baby. “You're my wife. And you deserve the best, okay. I’ll be right back.”

Robby gives Hazel a little wave goodbye, a pair of gloves seemingly materializing in his hands, face already set with a determined focus. You watch him head off to a gurney being wheeled in, voice steady and authoritative. Dana stands beside you, bouncing the baby slightly.

“He hit the jackpot with the four of you, you know.”

“I know,” you smile. Dana nods.

“Good. Let's get you taken care of, okay?”

------------------------------------------------------

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” Robby looks at you apologetically over his glasses, gloved hands gently prodding your burnt palm. It looks somewhat better after being cleaned and sterilized. Although Dana is a master at making even the most frightening cases look appealing.

“No sorry, it's not you,” you look down at your daughter- or rather what you could see of her beneath your nursing cover. Just the sliver of a onesie covered foot kicking rhythmically. “She's being extra aggressive today.”

Robby smiles to himself, leaning over to grab something off the tray laying between you.

“Told you she's teething.” You roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief.

“I can't believe it- ow! Hazel,” you hiss. Robby pauses, watching as you try to peek at the baby with one hand. “Gently honey. Mommy already has enough she's got to try and do with one hand.”

“Are you sure you don't want me to wait till you're finished feeding her?”

“It's okay,” you shake your head and smile. “You guys are busy enough. The Robinavitch’s are multitasking pros. I can manage.” Robby chuckles, shaking his head.

“Come on. Indulge me. I think this is the longest I’ve sat all morning.” You smile, your eyes raking over Robby.

He's sure he looks a mess, after two trauma cases and a patient consult. Hair mussed from running his hand through it, scrubs rumbled and splattered with something he couldn’t quite identify.

It still surprises him how much can change in just thirty minutes. Someone's whole life flashing by, blood on his hands and decisions on his head.

You hum, looking down at Hazel.

“Alright Doctor Robinavitch. Whatever you say.” Robby groans slightly, leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, don't call me that.”

“What,” you laugh. “It’s appropriate, no?” You gesture at the patient room, the walls lined with medical posters, curtains still drawn shut to give you privacy.

“Yeah, well not when it's coming from you. That's how we got this little one,” Robby reaches over and gently shakes Hazel’s small foot. She kicks back and you smile, arm adjusting to hold her closer again.

“Well it’s not my fault you have a thing for role play. And I wouldn't trade her for anything.”

“No. Me neither,” Robby chuckles. She'd been a surprise for sure. Almost more jarring than the first time around when you found out you were having twins. But it was hard to imagine life without her now.

Robby shakes his head and hums, picking up the medicated balm and beginning to smear it gently over your palm.

You sigh, eyes closing as you lean your head back against the chair. Robby smiles, watching you.

“Tired?” You nod.

“Yeah," you say slowly. "More frustrated, I think. I wanted to get some things done around the house today. Get the living room picked up at least.”

“It’s fine,” he shrugs, gathering a long strip of gauze to wrap around your palm. You peek your eyes open, unenthused.

“Robby, the same basket of laundry has been sitting by the couch for a week.”

“So have the girls put it away.”

“It’s your laundry.” He smiles sheepishly, looking down as he continues to wrap your hand.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you tease. Robby can see a shift cross your face, and you get more serious. “I am going to need your help though. At least, for a couple days.”

“I know,” Robby scratches the scruff of his beard. “I figured I’ll have to rearrange some things.”

“By some things you mean getting home on time, right?” Robby gives you a look.

“Woah, hey. I’ve been getting home at a decent hour.” You throw him a look.

“Ten at night is not a decent hour, Michael.”

Oof. Michael.

Robby shifts in his seat, setting your now wrapped hand on the table between you. You slide it away, closer to you. Robby narrows his eyes.

“I thought you said you weren’t mad.”

“I’m not mad,” you huff. “I just… it’s hard sometimes. And I get it. I know you’re the boss and the hospital needs you. But we need you too, you know.”

“I know.”

“I mean it Michael. Those girls are growing up faster than you’d think. And while yeah, I wouldn’t mind you being home earlier to help around with dishes or watching the baby, I want you around to just be with them.” You smile sadly.

Robby knows he’s been busy. The long hours he’s been putting in, the overtime. The late nights where he’d get home and crash on the couch with barely a hello and goodnight to the girls. Dana always chided him for staying so late. Even when she was doing the same thing-

“You’re turning her into a single mother, Robby.”

“She’s okay. She hasn’t said it’s bothering her.”

“Of course it’s bothering her. Your wife is just a saint and won’t say anything because she hates seeing you worry.”

Robby looks at you now in the patient room, carefully pulling the nursing cover away now that you had both hands back, oddly adjusting your daughter as you check her.

“I think she’s finally asleep,” you murmur. Robby watches you carefully. Not assessing. Not diagnosing. Just watching.

It hits him then, watching you juggle his daughter and your injured hand and your other girls in the break room… just how much you truly kept everything held together.

The glue of the little Robinavitch clan.

And Robby had been playing the part of chief attending much more than he’d been playing father and husband. Leaving you to gather the pieces and try to make something good out of it. Robby scoots his chair closer to you, cupping your cheek as you look at him in surprise.

“I’m sorry.” Your eyes widen at the sudden movement.

“For what?”

“For not being here like I should. For having you worry about whether you’re bothering me at work when you’re hurting.”

“Robby-” He cuts short whatever you were going to say with a soft kiss, lips pressed gently against yours. You melt slightly into it, cheek pressed against his as he moves to press another against the corner of your mouth. Then the corner of your nose. And-

There’s a knock at the door. You hum, giving Robby a smile.

“I think that’s for you.”

“They can wait.”

“Robby…” you give him a look. He pulls back, thumb brushing against your cheek. “Go. It’s okay.”

Robby sighs, grunting as he pushes off from the chair. He pushes the curtain aside, taking in Whitaker standing nervously at the door.

“Yeah?” Robby asks, brows drawn low with curiosity. “What’s happening?”

“Uh, I was told I had to give this to you,” Whitaker holds out a perspirating plastic cup and a paper bag with something sweet smelling. “I believe the instruction was ‘make sure mom eats. So she feels better faster.’”

Robby laughs, taking the drink and bag, the smell of banana bread wafting towards his face. He also takes the phone Whitaker holds out, the dark phone case splattered with something that smells like whipped cream.

“Thanks for relaying the message huckleberry.”

“Oh sure. Your girls are quite the pair.” Robby smiles.

“They are.”

Whitaker stands awkwardly for a moment more before adding- “Also Dana said we’re in shambles without you.”

"Yeah, okay. Hang in there for a couple more minutes. I'll be back soon."

“Aye aye captain,” Whitaker gives a two finger salute. “Just don’t be too long. Dana might start threatening to recruit your girls.”

The two laugh and Robby closes the glass door gently, balancing the goodies in his hand. Your eyes are wide with appreciation as Robby holds up your food.

“It was for you.”

“Oh thank the Lord,” you grin.

Robby laughs, helping you take off the nursing cover, Hazel gently passed into his arms. You pick at the banana loaf, pushing a generous chunk over to Robby as he sits down again.

“Here.”

“No, I’m okay,” Robby shakes his head as he settles his sleeping girl on his chest. You give him a look.

“Robby…”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“I know you haven't eaten all morning.”

Robby huffs and takes a piece with a mumbled thank you. You give him a bright smile, letting out a pleased hum as you eat. Robby sits, enjoying what he knows is the last bit of quiet before he's thrown back into the throes of the ED.

------------------------------------------------------

Bonus:

You're packing up the diaper bag, the twins helping you tuck in extra bandage wraps and medicated ointment into the side pockets. Maddi happily slurps on a caramel lined coffee cup, Liz sipping at something tall and green. Robby watches them fondly as they hover over you, Hazel still sleeping in his arms.

"Mom, I got that."

"Here, I can hold the bag!"

"No I can-"

"Girls," you chuckle. "It's fine. One of you can hold the bag and the other can hold my drink."

Robby's phone pings and he fishes it out of his pocket, frowning as he reads the notification. You don't notice as you take the baby from him, holding her closely.

"You girl's ready to go?"

They nod enthusiastically, giggling softly beneath their breaths. Robby's frown deepens as he looks at them over his glasses.

“Hey… why does it say my card was charged a hundred and thirty dollars?”

------------------------------------------------------

"i think this is good for him," simon says as he sits on the garden furniture (it's the perfect summer day again. you're making the most of it, before it get's too hot and your feet get too swollen and it gets too uncomfortable).

you're tucked against his side, head on his shoulder. humming, you shuffle as close to him as you possibly can. "maybe we could keep him around," you suggest, only halfway joking. (because your kids really do love him. and he is good company. and you know simon likes having him here).

simon chuckles. "sure he'd love that," he say, fingers coming to rest on your chin. with two fingers, he gets you to look at him. "i think he likes you, too," he whispers and kisses you once. it's quick, so quick you're not even sure it really happened. but your husband would never torture you like that.

your arms wind around his neck. "yeah?"

he kisses you again, humming against your lips. "can't say i blame him. my wife is fucking sexy when she's pregnant."

you scratch at his scalp and scratch. "wanna go up stairs while the kids are entertained?"

you could have. you so easily could have let him take you upstairs, let him pump his cock into you and fondle your tits until your legs are spasming on either side of him. but you don't. you can't. you can't leave johnny down here, an unwilling babysitter for your kids.

reluctantly, you push your husband away. "later," you promise and press one last quick kiss to his lips.

simon grunts before he lets you go. you stand, hand on your swollen belly, and waddle over to your children and your guest.

all three of them look up at you. the kids squint and johnny puts his hand over his eyes, shielding them from the sun. "having fun?" you ask the three of them.

"yes, ma'am," johnny answers and trinity giggles. "the weans an' i thought we could handle lunch today," he says and sits up.

you breathe out, unable to hide your smile. "thank you, johnny," you say, grinning down at him. "that's really sweet of you."

johnny looks at your kids, still laying on the floor, staring up at the clouds. "what's a we-ain?" trinity asks, her brows furrowed. but she's still looking at the clouds, like she's still trying to figure out all the shakes the clouds can show her.

the laugh johnny releases isn't malicious; he's not making fun of your daughter as he gets to his feet. "you are, bub," he says and helps her up. he does the same with noah, getting him up.

they lead johnny to the kitchen, pulling him after them. you're calling after them, like every mother does. telling them to be careful, to wash their hands and let johnny do the chopping up.

as they head inside, you head back to your husband. "i like him," you say as simon uncrosses his legs and reaches for you. he pulls you onto his lap, not caring for the extra weight you're carrying. "but i thin trinity and noah already having him wrapped around their pinkies."

"wouldn't surprise me." he squeezes your hips. his fingers toy with your dress, with the material of your skirt. "we could be really quick," he whispers. "come on, love. let me fuck my pregnant wife."

you breathe out like he's being ridiculous. "fine," you say anyway and raise yourself up.

simon pulls your underwear down your legs as you fiddle with his belt buckle. he touches you, touches your thighs as you manage to get his belt off and free his cock.

as badly as he wants to take his time with you, as he normally does when you're in the privacy of your bedroom, simon doesn't. he can't, not when johnny and the kids are whipping up sandwiches. it's bound to be chaos that the two of you have to clean up after.

you sink down onto him, a hiss leaving your lips. you've much rather be lying back, his strong muscles keeping him above you. but this'll do for now.

thank god your husband is strong, built like a beast. he raises the both of you up and thrusts into you. over and over again, his pace already rapid. he just has to get you there, just have to have you spilling over the edge and squeezing his cock until he's following closely behind you.

your head falls onto his shoulder, making the sweetest noises. he grunts, squeezing whatever he can grab.

it's such a relief when you finally finish, when he finally manages to take you over the edge. simon gives a few shallow thrusts before he finishes, spilling inside of you. "wanna get you pregnant again after these two," he whispers.

"fucking hell, riley," you reply as he slips out of you. "gonna have a small army on our hands."

and johnny watches from the kitchen window. eyes transfixed as your kids fill the sandwiches with the toppings he'd prepared before he caught sight of you and your husband.

he watches now as simon meets his eye. his scarred lips tip up and he whispers something in your ear.

you turn around and smile at johnny. it so warm, it doesn't feel right. but then you stand, still covered up. but he can see your underwear, near your knees. you pull it the rest of the way down, putting on a little show for johnny, and drop it into simon's lap.

"johnny." trinity tugs his hand for his attention. "can you cut the sandwiches into triangles? they taste better that way."

"of course we can," he says and comes over to cut up the sandwiches. he tries one and hums, nodding his head. "you're right, trin! delicious."

***

bed time has been and gone. johnny can't help but feel bad as he sits on the sofa. you and Simon had to deal with reluctant vegetable consumption and bath time while he got to read the bed time story (noahs request. he loves johnny's accent.)

simon sit beside him, a wide space between them. there's something playing on the TV, but he doesn't know what it is.

he's too busy thinking about you.

you, pulling your underwear down your legs. you, dropping your underwear into your husband's lap before you headed inside to help with lunch.

you're upstairs, getting ready for bed, and he's thinking about you. it's not fair; you're married.

he hears you come down the stairs. a sigh leaves your lips as you walk into the room. both men turn their head when you pause, looking at whatever crappie is playing on the television.

"those kids love you," you say as you walk in front of simon and sit down between them. "noah wanna a mohawk now."

Simon chuckles as you ease yourself down beside them. "no way," he says, shaking his head.

but you look at johnny, hand on your bump. "how you doing?" you asked, your free hand reaching for his.

johnny breathes out, his body sinking into the cushions. "great," he says honestly. "seriously. thanks for having me."

your shoulder touches his. you're warm where you touch him, leaning against him. "you can stay as long as you need to, you know that?" your hand leaves his, touching his thighs instead.

he should be between you and your husband, caged in by you. but you work with what you've got.

"johnny," you whisper, dragging your nails up his thigh. "I know you were watching us earlier."

he swallows thickly and looks past you, looking at simon. but he's just touching your back, letting you do what you need to do.

"can I touch you, johnny?"

he doesn't know. but simon makes no move to stop him. he doesn't pull you away and kick johnny out.

so, he nods.

you're still smiling when you free him from his shorts. no underwear, he's already ready for bed. "wow," you say, moving closer. "it's so pretty, johnny."

you pump your hand twice. johnny's breath in is sharp, but he let's you move, hands by his sides.

and then, you spit on it. its not violet, more of a dribble. just something to make this hand job easier.

a noise is pulled from johnny's throat. a moan, a whimper, you're not sure which. but you keep going, swiping your thumb over his tip.

his body shudders. "you're doing so good," simon whispers. johnny isn't sure who he's talking to as he grabs the bottom of your shirt and lifts. "good boy."

his eyes are shut, head thrown back when you whimper. he shudders, the sound getting stuck in his head like a song on a loop. you do it again as johnny hisses, his eyes opening.

"fuck." it's the first thing he's said since you started touching him. but it's not because of you touching him, not from the pleasure you're bringing him, but from the sight of your husband, his hand in your underwear to touch you.

and simon just chuckles. "she's fucking soaked," he says, other hand coming to fondle your tits.

you don't kiss his lips. but your lips find his shoulder, his neck. it's almost sweet as he's bucking his hips up to meet your hand.

he feels like a kid again, an intense orasgm he can't control, making a mess and spilling onto your hand. he's panting, your fingers still wrapped around him, hips still moving as he comes down.

and you? you're shaking, coming apart of your husband's fingers. he'd picked you apart, pressing all the right buttons to have you finishing, breathing heavily against johnny's neck.

he's still, stiller than he has been with any other woman. but this is an experience like no other. he breathes in a deep, shuddering breath as you bring your hand to your mouth. fuck, he thinks when you lick it clean.

but simon stands. "come on, love," he says and helps you to your feet. "let's get you to bed."

you accept your husbands help and stand. johnny watches you, both of you. the way simon holds you, as if that's the only thing keeping you standing. he hands you your shirt and you pull it over your body.

"goodnight, johnny," you whisper and lean in to press a kiss to his lips.

he doesn't know if he can kiss back. he's still, letting your lips move against his. and, just when he works up the courage to kiss you back with your beast of a husband standing behind you, smiling like an apex predator, you pull away.

he watches the two of you, your retreating forms. "night," he calls because he doesn't know what else to say. he tucks himself into his shorts and sits there for a moment, willing his heart to stop beating so damn fast.

taglist: @spookyplasms

@dayyysinterlude

@silveredschemecurator

@simp-of-the-day

@to-touch-an-angel

@lord-kermit

@annoyinglyloudcomputer

@gwenparker8121

(you're not ready to pop. actually, you're just carrying more than one and you're ready to kill your husband over it).

your smile is so warm when you look at him. his muscles relax and his mind quietens for the first time in a long while. "can i help you?" you ask him, voice sweet like honey.

johnny clears his throat. he stops looking at your face, instead looking at your carefully painted baby blue nails. for just a moment, he wonders if it's a clue as to what you're carrying.

his tongue darts out to wet his lips. "is simon riley here?" he asks.

your eyes seem to sparkle at that. "oh!" you cry, and johnny dares to look at you. "you must be johnny! wait right here."

you retreat into the house, leaving the door ajar like you know and trust him. but you don't. you have no idea who he is, just what ghost has told you. but still, you left the door open.

johnny wants to push it open some more. to reveal this secret perfect life ghost has been keeping from him, from all of them.

because this, the pregnant wife, the kids running around, the dog barking somewhere in the background, is everything johnny has ever wanted.

johnny hears ghost before he sees him. the lumbering footsteps that sound like they should shake the whole house. "daddy!" a little girl cries, and johnny wants to imagine ghost playing the part, but he just can't.

but ghost doesn't pull open the front door. simon riley did. without the mask, scars on display, blonde hair sticking up in all directions. but the most striking thing is the little girl on his hip, sucking her thumb like she's blanketed in complete safety.

"christ, LT," johnny says before he can stop himself. the little girl gasps and goes to cover her ears. "you got it pretty good here."

simon looks around and nods. "yeah, i do," he answers and tips his head, gesturing for johnny to follow him.

johnny does, pushing the front door shut behind him.

the inside of the house is lovely, too. plants and kids toys everywhere. every sofa has an array of cushions and blankets. there's enough dog beds for johnny to wonder how many dogs you've got.

simon puts the little girl down and she runs through the house, out to the garden. "full of beans at that age," simon says as he leads johnny through the house.

they stop at the kitchen, where you're making enough sandwiches to feed a small army. simon reaches for you, settles his hands on your waist and pulls you into him.

hearing your laugh, standing there as a spectator, feels so wrong to johnny. but what else can he do?

simon whispers something in your ear and you nod. "I'll make up the spare room after lunch," you say and simon kisses your shoulder. "what would you like for dinner, johnny?"

johnny shakes his head. "whatever's fine," he says as simon moves over to the fridge. it's covered in magnets and drawings, not an inch of actual door to be seen. simon pulls it open and grabs two beers from inside the door.

johnny follows Simon outside. the back garden is gorgeous, too. a little swing set, a furniture set surrounding a fire pit. somehow, johnny can imagine you put here with simon, tucked against his side with the fire burning in front of you while the kids are asleep upstairs.

the little girl from before swings on the swing set while a little boy rides his trike around. simon picks him up as he comes zipping past, knocking the trike over and hoisting him up onto his hip.

"papa!" the little boy shrieks. he kicks his legs excitedly and simon presses a kiss to the top of his head.

"say hello to papas friend," he says and nods towards johnny.

the little boy waves his hands. "hello mister!" he says and simon puts him down. he's immediately on his trike and riding away.

"my entire fuckin' world, those two," simon mumbles as he sits on the garden sofa. there's an umbrella, but it's not open.

"got another on the way?" johnny asks, like he didn't notice your swollen belly.

simon chuckles and opens his beer (a corona, the lime forgotten about). "two, actually," he says and stretches his arm across the back of the sofa, leaving a space for you.

johnny takes the seat opposite. "thanks for this, LT," he says quietly, looking around the garden. at the greenhouse, at the flower garden, at the vegetable patch. he looks towards the house, at you in the kitchen window, at the dog guarding the back door. "you've got it good out here."

"I do," simon agrees. he's got it real good. good wife, good kids, good life. "thought you could use a bit of it, johnny."

his throat burns as he nods. "yeah," he answers.

he'd kept himself so guarded, protected those around him from his own mind. and he thought he saw that in ghost. he does see that in ghost.

but ghost isn't in front of him. simon riley is. simon riley has everything.

"you've not got the mask on," johnny says.

simon chuckles. "wife doesn't like it," he says. "don't want the kids to see it, either."

they drink as the kids play, chatting about anything that isn't work (you've got a rule. no work talk while the kids are awake). at some point, you brought over a bowl of cut up fruit. the kids joined the three of you, snatching pieces of fruit and feeding it to the dog at your feet.

it really is a little slice of heaven. the kids asking him questions, pointing at his tattoos, asking how he knows their daddy. your little girl, trinity, stood for a full minute, explaining to concept of twins to him. it's sweet and relaxing and everything johnny needs.

"okay, my munchins," you say as you stand up. you pick up the now empty bowl and head towards the house, the dog at your feet and the children behind you.

simon's got this sickeningly loving look on his face, a look johnny should never get to see. but he does and it's lovely.

"you're gonna get to see bed time," simon says and finishes his beer. "it's always fun with those two."

johnny let's himself smile. "can't wait," he says and looks up at the sky. "your wife is gorgeous, LT," he mumbles.

"yeah," he agrees and looks at him. "she's really something. fucking horny, too. you know, pregnancy and all that. 's been amazin'."

Johnny's eyes widen. "huh," he says, finishing his beer.

"yup." they're both staring at the house, at you in the kitchen. "she'd probably be down to let you fuck her."

johnny nearly chokes. "seriously?!"

"seriously," simon answers. he stands up and, for a second, johnny thinks he's gonna pet his head (and he likes it). "just gotta stick around."

then simon starts arriving on base with lunches. real good lunches. johnny watches in envy as simon will lift his mask over his mouth and open his little (big) box, juicy steak covered in a real nice sauce.

"y'must be an awful good cook sir" johnny mutters, entranced in the smell of good food.

"told ya my missus makes it for me" simon would grunt. he silently pockets the small notes you would leave him.

i miss u <3

or

im proud of u <3

or

want u to fuck me real good tonight ;)

he would pocket the latter to jerk off to in his office later.

one day simon forgets his lunch. and being the everso caring and worrying wife, you rush down to the base to bring it to him.

when a pretty thing such as yourself arrives on base, the recruits can't keep their eyes off you. especially johnny who approaches awful confident.

"you lost lass?" he can't help his eyes drifting to your pretty tits spilling over your top.

"no" you bat your pretty lashes at him, "my husband left his lunch at home, i thought i could give it to him!"

johnny nearly fell to his knees in agony when you said husband. sighing he said, "aye then, do you know his rank or platoon number?"

you hum trying to recall. "i think task 141, his name is simon riley." you quickly reconfirm, "oh wait everyone here calls him ghost"

johnny stops dead in his tracks.

"you're LT's wife?"

you look up at him with a pretty smile and nod proudly. johnny had to hold back a groan, god you were beautiful.

and you were real.

you follow behind johnny while he leads you to simon and when you reach his office, johnny knocks once.

"come in" is grunted out slightly harshly

any hostility is quickly wiped off simon's face when he sees his pretty little wife standing next to his sergeant.

"hi si! you forgot your lunch" and you almost gallop over to simon in excitement holding out his lunchbox for him.

fuck. when is it johnny's turn :(

"you're excused soap" simon grunts, "although i'll get you to escort her back off base so stick around."

thats how johnny ends up sitting outside simon's office getting having to listen to the clattering of items on simon's desk as well as your sweet moans and whimpers while simon thanks you for making his lunch.

he can't stop staring at you when you stumble out on shaking legs with messed up hair and smudged lipgloss.

“C’mon, it wasn’t even close. You,” his gaze swings accusingly towards Simon, “were letting her squirm around too much.” Simon shakes his head.

“Didn’t want to break her.” You’re fragile. A little kitten in the jaws of wolves. Breakable like a pane of glass. Even more so now, since you’re sick. The bond corroding away inside your body hasn’t done you any favors.

The smallest amount of guilt pinches in his stomach. They’ve made a mess of everything.

Only right they clean it up.

A small cough echoes from the bedroom, and Simon frowns. You should be asleep. There was enough sedative in that water to knock out a horse. He jerks his head towards the sound. “Johnny.” His mate nods, and silence fills the kitchen as he disappears down the hall.

“So what’s your plan here?”

“Ger her on the plane, get her home, go from there.” There’s more, a methodical step by step plan, but he doesn’t care to elaborate. Kyle can infer most of it already. He’s familiar.

A hand rests on Simon’s shoulder, thumb working slow circles into the tense muscle. “She’s in the closet,” Johnny murmurs, “passed out. Must’ve been feelin’ really anxious, poor thing.” The sympathy is dripping with something darker, something sinister. You’re anxious, you’re fearful, and though it’s their fault, they don’t truly care, not in this moment. Once they get you home, get you settled, they’ll work on it, right the ship. But for now, it’s fuel for a machine that has to keep churning, has to carry you across the finish line. Fear is a powerful motivator, they know. If you threaten someone’s life, scare them into thinking they’re in real danger, they’ll do anything to protect themselves.

Anything.

“Closet again.” Johnny shoots him a mischievous grin. It’s been hours since you retreated back to your room after dinner, tucking yourself away in your nest. “Gonna be a tight squeeze.”

“‘m not crawling into that closet unless it’s to drag her out.” He tells his mate with a flat look, trying to curb his frustration. He knows it wasn’t a conscious decision to build your nest in there, more so your biology urging you to find somewhere safe, your omega trying to retreat, protect herself, but bloody hell do you make everything so difficult. “Did you take her temp?” Johnny hums.

“Borderline high. Think we’ve got one more day before it hits, maybe two.” His mate is almost giddy, the overwhelming happiness flowing down the bond like warmth, filling an empty space in Simon’s chest.

And why shouldn’t he be? They’re getting everything they ever wanted, everything they’ve dreamed. All their planning, their strategizing, everything put into motion finally paying off. If they’re lucky, they’ll get through this unscathed, they’ll bite you, bond you, keep you forever, and you’ll never know the truth. He can taste it, taste you, on the back of his tongue, and it’s more than just perfume, pheromones. It’s clean and buttery and sweet…

and made for his mouth.

Made for their mouths.

There isn’t a gift quite like having a mate. Someone predestined for you, a mate is the only thing in the world that belongs to you before you ever see them, lay a hand on them. There is no ownership greater than the bond, no claim stronger.

There is no choice.

Only fate.

“Bleedin’ christ.” Johnny swears, laser focused on the rear view mirror. He’s rattling in the passenger seat, shaking from the amount of energy it’s taking to restrain himself.

“Stay calm.” Simon grits from a clenched jaw. He’s clinging to shreds of control, his alpha instincts surging to the surface, trying to break free. Johnny sits frozen in the passenger seat, still locked onto the mirror watching you fade into the distance.

“Ghost, Soap. Status?” The earpiece chirps, John’s voice echoing between them.

“Clear. Lost the target, we’re returning to base. There’s been… a complication.” The line is quiet for a moment, no doubt their captain weighing their words, trying to discern their meaning. Eventually, he just acknowledges them, but it hardly registers.

“Copy.”

“I cannae believe this.” Johnny hisses, half mad. His scent has turned feral, rimmed in rage, in confusion, as Simon’s teeters on a similar edge. They’re a powder keg right now. “Of all places…” Simon grimaces.

“Nothin’ we can do about it now.” It’s rotten luck, at the end of the day. Finding their scent match, their omega, should have never happened while they’re on a mission, in some unknown in a foreign country. It’s the perfect storm of wrong place, wrong time, and all he can do is hope that their little show was enough to convince whoever is tailing them you’re not of interest. “We’ll get clear of this, ask for leave, come back for ‘er.” Johnny’s eyes are dark as they flick towards him.

“She’s no’ gonna come willingly, not after that.”

“No.” Simon agrees, his hand coming down to lay atop Johnny’s, their fingers intertwining. “She won’t.” An unspoken certainty settles between them, a silent promise to do what it takes.

Whatever it takes.

Johnny is out for a run during breakfast.

It’s his normal, and they’ve tried to get back into their usual routines, their normal life, without exposing themselves as much as possible. They’ve scrubbed the house clean, anything personal or meaningful loaded into storage crates, cardboard boxes and bags, all of their belongings that made this house their home hidden away. Everything from photos to tea towels, all of it crammed along the walls of their bedroom.

It makes Simon’s skin itch.

The sooner they can move on from this, the better.

“Johnny’s gone on a run,” he tells you, not surprised at the answering silence. You try not to speak to them, insisting on kicking and screaming, digging your heels in like a petulant toddler.

He wishes you’d just give it up already, but he can’t deny he enjoys your stubbornness, your strong will.

It makes everything more interesting. More fun.

You’re worse for the wear this morning, listless, slightly swaying in your seat, pushing food around your plate, scent tinged slightly sour at the edges. Just enough that his alpha bristles, an overwhelming need to fix it, fix you, rolling through his blood like a wave.

“Feelin’ alright?” You blink at him, brow furrowed for a moment before it smooths away and you shake your head.

“I’m fine.” You croak, reaching for the pill bottles. He feigns disinterest as you shake them into your palm, watching you from the corner of his eye. You’re a dutiful patient, clinging to the hope that the medication will help you, ease your suffering, completely oblivious to the truth.

They tossed that poison weeks ago, and what’s left of it is currently burning through your system. The last line of defense disintegrating before his very eyes, castle walls collapsing into dust around you.

He smothers his smile.

It’s not that he’s taking pleasure in your suffering, because he’s not, but he can’t help but silently celebrate the inevitable. Every second, every hour brings you closer to the finish line, to the moment where you’ll be so overtaken by your biology that you won’t be able to fight it, or them. Your protests, your fear, your rational thought will fade away as your instincts take over and you beg them for bites, knots… bonds.

You’ll become theirs, and they can leave this entire mess in the past where it belongs.

“She has it..” Johnny scrubs a hand over her face. “She’s sick, Si.”

They watch from the SUV as you come out of the clinic, zipping your jacket up to your chin. Your eyes are dull, lifeless, and a chill runs up Simon’s spine.

Bond corrosion. They’ve felt the effects too, the rot festering under their ribs, their biology slowly turning on them, punishing them. They’re just too strong to succumb.

Johnny taps away at the keyboard of the laptop balanced on his knees, your medical records spread across the screen in a dozen different windows. “Been gettin’ treatment for it for months. Suppressants, blockers, painkillers. The whole lot.” Simon grits his teeth. “Says here she had…” He trails off, focuses through the windshield to where you’re standing on the sidewalk.

“Had what?”

“A heat. After we left.” Regret tinges Johnny’s scent, and it pinches his heart. It shouldn’t surprise him, considering they went through a rut around the same time, but at least they had each other. They always had each other. You had no one.

You look over your shoulder for a second, eyes sweeping across the street. Simon freezes.

“Can she…” Johnny whispers, Simon shakes his head.

“No. She might feel us, maybe. But if she’s this sick, I doubt her instincts are reliable.” The moment passes. You turn away, flipping your hood up over your head, walking in the opposite direction, walking away from them.

“We need to move in. No more waiting.” Johnny pulls his phone from his pocketing, opening their text thread to Keller. A hot flare of jealously rises in his stomach. His alpha is possessive. Alex has no right to see you, smell you. You’re theirs.

“He doesn’t touch her,” Simon warns. “We only want him to spook her. Make sure he understands.”

“Tonight?” There’s hope in Johnny’s eyes, excitement. A little bit of worry too, for you, but overall, this is a good thing. An expedited timeline just means they’re one step closer to bringing you home. Sick, but they’ll fix it. They’ll take care of you. Simon nods his affirmative.

“Tonight.”

“Dove?” A small crease forms between your brows, as Johnny gently shakes your shoulder. “Dove, ye alright?”

“Mmm?” You shake him off, pressing deeper into the cushions of the couch. Simon’s fingers find your cheek, backs of his knuckles brushing upward, over your temple, across your forehead. Hot. Your skin is hot, nearly burning, damp with sweat. Dark satisfaction burns through his veins. How long will it be before you’re begging for them? Crying for them? How long will it be before you forget how they’ve hurt you, all the suffering you’ve endured because of them, and crawl towards them on your hands and knees?

Your scent blooms, flowers into something sweeter as you lean into his touch, lashes fluttering as your eyes open.

“What is it?” You mumble, pushing yourself up on an elbow, shaking your head like you’re trying to shed the clutch of sleep. It’s no use. It’s not sleep that has its hooks in you but heat, biology building to a crescendo, an overwhelming symphony drowning out your rational mind, your logical thoughts.

“You’re sick, sweetheart. Think you’ve got a fever.” He lies easily, and you try to push him off, but there’s no strength in you, your effort feeble.

“No, ‘m fine.”

“Ye’re not.” Johnny argues, propping you up with arm around your shoulder. “Did ye take yer meds?” Simon swallows his snicker.

“Y-yeah, I don’t know why they’re not working.” You moan, attempting to pull away. All it does is give Johnny an opening to hold you closer, and his mouth brushes across the top of your head when you instinctively turn your face into his neck, seeking his scent. “It’s so hot.” You complain, and Johnny smiles, unabashed since you can’t see his face.

“Aye. Want to get in the shower, try to cool off?” You nod miserably, and Simon urges you up, supporting your weight as you struggle to your feet.

“Take it slow,” Simon murmurs as you tackle the stairs, one painstakingly drawn out step at a time. Johnny’s behind you, fingertips at your waist, as Simon shoulders your lack of balance from the side.

Your scent is overwhelming. Burnt sugar turning to caramel, it mixes with Johnny’s excitement, his joy, tangling together in a perfect, heady combination that nearly has Simon’s mouth watering. He can’t wait to taste you, can’t wait to spread your legs and bury his face in your pussy, taste your slick.

The bathroom in their room is large, more than enough room for them to maneuver around you as Simon holds you upright where you’re sitting on the closed toilet lid and Johnny tests the temperature of the water.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes.” You shake your head, try to pull away as they curl under the hem of your t-shirt.

“It’s alright dove,” Johnny reassures you, now kneeling at your feet. “We’re jus’ gonna get ye cooled down.” They synchronize their movements, Simon lifting you slightly so Johnny can hook his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and pull, Johnny holding you at the waist so Simon can get your bra off. You’re left only in your underwear, listing weakly to the side into Simon. “Such a good girl,” he croons, rubbing your thighs, “such a good omega.” You mumble something into Simon’s stomach, an objection maybe. A last line in the sand. “Up ye get.” Johnny pats your waist, and they herd you into the shower, supporting your weight, carefully holding you under the spray.

“Don’t…” You protest, but it’s fruitless. Your body is bared to them, naked while they're clothed, and Johnny grins with a full mouth of teeth, the widening maw of a predator. He drinks his fill, sweeping over you from head to toe, his fingers lightly brushing your nipples as he soaps your skin. When you shudder, Simon can't help himself, can't stop from splaying a hand across your belly, feeling your softness, the goosebumps rising beneath his touch. 

“You’ll feel better after this,” He promises, moving you deeper into the shower, rubbing your back as water cascades over your shoulders. This won’t do much to keep you cool, not for long. It’s a temporary balm, but until you’re panting and presenting, they need to stay the course. Try to keep you cool, keep you comfortable, until you’re overwhelmed by your heat and unable to fight it.

“Cold,” you whimper under the lukewarm water, instinctively pressing yourself into Simon. You fit there so perfectly, and Johnny smiles, sweet and sharp, the loofa in his hand sliding down your spine, soap working into a lather.

“I know dove, I know.” Johnny keeps his voice even toned, pillow soft. “Jus’ a minute more.” You shake your head against Simon’s chest, your nose turning inward, dragging across his wet shirt like you’re searching for him, seeking his scent. You sniffle, fists clenching and then relaxing, a battle unfolding inside your head, your body, a whine growing in your throat as the shift you further under the water to rinse off.

Johnny starts to hum. It’s a gentle, slow rumble building from his chest, and Simon presses a thumb into your nape, careful and firm. You’re powerless against his touch, Johnny’s subharmonics, your muscles immediately softening, turning more pliant by the second. Johnny kills the water and you sag between them, boneless and shivering. “Poor thing,” You shake your head.

“No.” It’s a whisper on deaf ears. Simon reaches for the clean towel they hung on the rack, wraps it around your shoulders. “No.” You say again.

“Aye, we heard ye.” Johnny rubs your shoulders, your arms dry, and you try to take a shaky step away, a small, half attempt that ends with your knees buckling. Months of sickness, meds, futile efforts, has wrecked you, left you defenseless, and he considers it a small stroke of luck. It’s easier, like this.

Simon leads you out of the bathroom, an arm wrapped around your waist, as Johnny moves ahead, pulling back the covers of the bed.

Their bed.

Not yours.

Not guest bed, not the little nest you’ve built in the closet, but their bed. The one that’s saturated with their scent, their warmth, the one that will become yours.

“No,” you rasp, pushing against Simon’s chest as he lowers you to the sheets, “not in here. I want m-my room. My...” The rest goes unsaid. Your nest.  Your omega is seeking her safe space, you don’t realize yet that this is where you’re truly safest. With them.

“I know,” Johnny soothes, cupping your cheek. “But we need to keep an eye on ye.” Simon tugs at the towel, your grip falling away, anger igniting behind your eyes for a brief moment before it’s snuffed out again, and you hang your head.

You don’t fight as Simon pulls the sheets and blankets up to your chin, you don’t push Johnny away as he fluffs the pillows behind your head. The heat roiling under your skin has drained your energy, and once they’re done tucking you in you roll onto your side, turning your back, shutting them out.

He’ll allow it, for now.

Johnny is already climbing into bed, over eager, eyes shining, murmuring into the crown of your head sweetly. Lies, probably. False promises meant to relax you, and Simon watches as your shoulders hitch once Johnny’s arm folds over your waist.

You do not have the strength to push him away.

Simon takes the other side. Your eyes crack open, fever heavy and suspicious.

“Close your eyes dove. Sleep.” Your mouth opens, closes, and he waits for your temper, your questions, but your lower lip trembles instead, and you bury your face in the pillow, hiding from him. From them. From everything.

He squeezes your hip, relaxes his palm next to Johnny’s, their thumbs folding over one another atop your body.

This is it. This is right. This is how everything should have been all along, you here, with them, cradled between their bodies, an omega made for her mates.

This is where you belong.