robby’s a light sleeper, believe it or not. and you thinking that you could sneak out of his bed and not wake him was laughable. not for the fact that he’s a light sleeper, but since he’s grown a physical dependency on you being near him at all times.

it was about eight in the morning, your early morning work schedule showing up on a cloudy saturday morning, (because why would you need to sleep in in your day off?) white light from outside peaking sheepishly through the blinds of robby’s kitchen.

you’d thought a cup of coffee would be a nice way to wake him up, letting him catch up on his sleep since you know he gets so little of it anyways.

especially since he was… more advanced in years than you were.

you press the on button to his coffee machine, it starting to turn on but after a few minutes it rattles back to sleep mode.

you’d been over a handful of times, despite you and robby dating for a few months, keeping your relationship under wraps. you couldn’t risk anyone at work being suspicious of the two of you. you never really had a thing for older guys, and robby for younger women until you went out for a drink with your coworkers, and realized how much you needed the other.

you try again, replugging the machine, turning it on the same way, the blue led light blinking and teasing like it was laughing at you.

“c’mon,” you mutter.

a gruff, sleepy voice enters the room.

“you have to hit the side of it. that top button doesn’t work.”

you yelp at the sudden sound, the room that was empty less than two seconds ago now making you feel like you were on a survival reality show.

you grip the countertop, “you scared me.”

“sorry that i scared you in my own house, hon.” he plants a kiss on the top of your head, “let me help.”

he warrants a ‘move aside’ motion, and you take a half step back as he tinkers with the machine. he mumbles to himself then hits the side of the plastic, a screeching sound and the smell of coffee filling the room.

“there we go.”

you lean your forehead against his chest, him smelling like spearmint and home while his chin rests atop your head. one hand in your hair and the other wrapped around your shoulder.

“‘m sorry that i woke you.”

on thursday, robby questioned the shift schedule you had made for the month. bullshit, you knew that. it was something you had been doing since you started at your attending position in the PTMC, which had been on the scope of your position ever since gloria had offered you it. robby had never once questioned what you did, only asking for some clarification when something wasn’t clear or if one of the students was on a different rotation.

you still don’t know why he had made a deal of it that day.

today… well, today was the last drop. the morning had actually started with the right foot. robby was fine, all smiles and even shared a joke or two with you and jack during shift change, but as the day progressed, his mood soured with it.

it happened close to three in the afternoon. the heavy of the day was starting to get to the both of you after one too many traumas that you were sure you would be reeling about for days. a nasty head lac came in and you took javadi and ogilvie with you to teach them about suturing.

the wound had been cleaned, the suture kit was opened on the tray and you were about to put your gloves on when robby walked in on north 3.

robby questioned everything. from your choice of thread to the type of stitches you were going to give. you knew it was bullshit, knew he was trying to get a rise out of you because he was pissed about something and wanted to release it somehow, and this time, you fell for it. bickered with him to the point that the students and the patient asked if they should leave the room.

your answer was “no, but we will. dr. javadi, please keep going. be careful not to break skin. dr. robinavitch, could you please accompany me?”

you closed the door of west 4 with a sigh, counting to ten with your head to try to cool down. when you opened you eyes, you found robby leaning against the gurney, with his hands on his hips and staring at you. “i know you have a problem with me, i know you don’t like that i’m here, but all i ask of you is to have some respect for my work!”

“i don’t have a problem with you! i have a probl–“

“you fucking do! you question every single decision i make in front of the whole ED. do you have any idea how humiliating it feels?”

the back and forth went for so long that you lost track of time of how long you had been screaming at each other. somewhere in the middle, you had gotten closer to robby and assumed his position against the bed.

“i swear to fucking god, robby! don’t make me drag gloria into thi–“ your speech was cut short by angry lips.

the kiss robby dragged you into was a mess, all full of teeth and rage. his beard felt scratchy against your soft skin, and you knew you would feel the burn later. robby helped you up on the and quickly dragged you to the edge, ferociously dragging his hard cock against your core.

you raked your nails against his scalp, eliciting a moan from him that you took as leverage to yank him back by his overgrown hair. “i see what this is, old man–“

“shut up!” robby groaned, a bit out of hate and a bit out of the pleasure he was getting from grinding on you.

“no, seriously, robby. if you wanted to fuck, all you had to do was ask.”

“you’re really annoying, you know that?” robby mocked as he untied your scrub pants and pulled it down.

“yeah? maybe you should fuck it out of me.”

You’d gone to Deran’s room to change after swimming, knowing he wouldn’t mind. He was your friend, and it wasn’t unusual for you to be around the house.

You escaped there after swimming, leaving Deran outside with the others while you went to change. You were distracted, which was probably why you didn’t notice the door hadn’t closed properly behind you.

You were halfway through getting changed when that familiar feeling hit.

Pope’s presence.

Ever since he’d come back from prison, you’d started noticing him more. He had a way of appearing without warning, standing in doorways, sitting quietly across the room, always seeming to know where you were.

You’d caught him watching you before, but he never said anything.

He never explained why.

It wasn’t exactly fear, just the awareness that Pope was close.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

Slowly, your eyes moved toward the mirror beside you.

And there he was.

Pope.

Standing just outside the doorway.

The small gap in the door had given him away.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Pope looked different when he realised you’d seen him. Not angry. Not defensive. Just caught. Like he’d been pulled out of his own thoughts and suddenly remembered there were rules he was supposed to follow.

You stared at his reflection, and he stared back.

The strangest part was that he didn’t look like someone trying to intimidate you.

He looked like someone who didn’t understand why he was there in the first place, like he’d been drawn to something familiar without knowing why.

Slowly you turned around to face him. You should be freaked out and angry, but instead you felt more thrilled.

You dropped the wet towel around you, revealing your swimwear clinging to your body.

Slowly, you ran your fingers up your body; Pope’s eyes widened at the scene unfolding in front of him.

Reaching the straps of your swimwear, pulling them down to reveal your chest, nipples hardening from the cool night air, goosebumps forming from the water dripping down your skin.

Pope's Adam's apple bobbing as he took a shuddering breath in, his eyes darkening but also pleading for more.

And who were you to deny him, pulling your swimwear down your torso all the way till it was bundled around your ankles.

You bent down, your head up, eyes not leaving Pope's gaze. Stepping out of your swimwear, slowly rising till you were up straight.

Pope rumbled a growl deep in his chest at your body fully bare for him, his hands clenched tightly at his side.

You stood in front of him, eyes locked toward each other, not saying a word, just in an intimate silence.

You kicked your wet swimwear toward him, pope looked down at it then back at you. He slowly crouched down, picking it up.

He stood back up straight, clutching your wet swimwear to his chest.

Pope stood there for a long moment, still holding onto the only proof that the moment had happened.

Neither of you said a word.

Finally, Pope looked away first. Not because he wanted to, but because he knew he had to.

His hand tightened slightly before he stepped back toward the hallway.

Closing the door softly behind him, somehow that was worse than if he’d said anything at all.

Because now you knew something you hadn’t before.

Pope Cody wasn’t just watching.

He knew this was stupid, plainly a terrible idea. On any other day, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but today wasn’t any ordinary day. Today was his birthday. Fifty-five years old, and he had never felt more lost in his own life. Nothing had turned out the way he’d once imagined it would. If someone had told him, back when he was a resident, that he would still be coming home to an empty apartment at this age, no wife curled up on the couch waiting for him with a tired but loving smile, no chorus of small feet thundering toward the door, shoving drawings into his hands and saying “Look what I made for you today, daddy!” he would have laughed in their face and called it a cruel joke.

Yet here he was. No relationship had ever survived the weight of the hours and the way his mind stayed trapped in the ED long after he left it. He couldn’t be present anymore, not the way a partner deserved. The job had hollowed him out in ways he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

It had been almost a year since he ended things with Noelle, not long after he returned from his sabbatical. He’d told himself it was the right thing to do. Maybe it really was better this way. At this point in his life, trying again felt pointless, almost selfish. He was saving whatever good women were still out there from the inevitable complications of loving Michael Robinavitch.

But today the emptiness hit differently. The apartment felt quieter than usual, and his thoughts were louder, circling like a vulture. He knew it was the birthday doing this to him. Birthdays had a way of dragging the sorrows out into the light, every missed milestone, every abandoned version of the life he thought he’d have. Jack had tried to pull him out of it, offering a beer after shift, but Robby had politely declined. He wasn’t in the mood for forced cheer, for anyone raising a glass to another year of the same.

He’d made it clear to the whole department that he didn’t want any birthday cake, no cards, no presents, nothing. Still, the well-meaning murmurs had followed him all day: “Happy birthday, Dr. Robby,” each one met with a progressively wearier smile until the words blurred together. By the end of the shift, he was only managing quiet nods of acknowledgment, the kind that said thank you and please stop at the same time.

So here he was, in an apartment that was too big for himself, lying on a couch that felt even bigger, downloading Tinder on his phone. He rubbed a hand over his face, he’d tried Tinder once, maybe two years ago. Downloaded it, swiped for a week, then deleted it when the superficial nonsense started bothering him too much.

He started with the basics. Photos. Robby opened his gallery and scrolled slowly through the meager collection. Most of the images were work-related, grainy screenshots of charts, or blurry shots of trees and roads he’d taken during his bike rides. After a long hesitation, he picked a silly selfie he’d sent Jack a few weeks earlier. He was holding up the book the two of them had been texting about, half-smiling at the camera like he felt ridiculous even taking it. It wasn’t terrible, he supposed. He looked… friendly. Approachable, maybe. 

Next, he chose one from the department barbecue he’d actually forced himself to attend last summer. He was wearing the sleeves rolled up on a button-down shirt, and holding a beer in his hand. He didn’t hate it, it showed a version of himself that still showed up for people, even when he didn’t feel like it. The last one was from the hospital fundraiser gala two years ago. He looked elegant in that photo in a black suit, but he had to crop Jack out of the frame, his face was still half-visible over his shoulder. Three photos, not exactly a compelling portfolio, but they were honest, he wasn’t pretending to be anyone other than himself.

He moved on to preferences. Gender: Women. Age range… His thumb froze. At first, he set it to 50–60. Women at the same stage he was, maybe divorced, maybe widowed, or just tired of feeling alone. But then something flickered in his chest, part curiosity and part desperation, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dragged the lower end down. Twenty to sixty. The wider net felt reckless, almost embarrassing. But what if the love of his life existed somewhere in that range? What if he missed her by something as stupid as a single year on a slider?

As if the love of your life was sitting on Tinder on a Sunday night, he thought. Don’t be fucking stupid, Robby.

He stared at the screen for a long moment, and with a quiet sigh that sounded too much like surrender, he tapped confirm. Now it was time for the bio. Robby stared at the blank field for a long minute. What the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t looking for anything specific. Company? Distraction? Someone who wouldn’t mind a man who came home at crazy hours, sometimes covered in blood and whocarried more baggage than he could carry?

He typed slowly what felt the most honest: “ER doctor in Pittsburgh. Love long bike rides to clear my head and 70s rock. Not entirely sure what I’m looking for here, but if you can handle sarcasm and odd hours, we might get along.”

He read it back. It sounded stiff, after all, he wasn’t used to this. But it was him, and so he hit save before he could overthink it more. The app prompted him to start swiping. Robby leaned back against the couch as the profiles began loading, smiling faces, pictures of holiday destinations, and bios full of lists of requirements. He swiped left on most without much thought. 

Left. Left. Left. Some of the women seemed nice, but nothing pulled him in. He kept going until the endless scroll of faces started blurring together. No one stuck, just the same hollow feeling that had driven him to download the damn thing in the first place.

But then your profile appeared. Robby’s entire body froze. The photo loaded first: you, one of his own residents. You were standing in scrubs outside the Pitt with the same smirk you got after a particularly chaotic shift. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as the heat crawled up his neck. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling right now. 

At work you were talented and dedicated, but still green enough that he rode you hard during shifts. And here you were on Tinder, of all places. The thought that you, or anyone else from the department, might stumble across his profile made his stomach twist with embarrassment. He could already imagine the gossip: Dr. Robby on Tinder. How pathetic.

He should swipe left immediately, delete his profile, and pretend this never happened. Instead, curiosity won. Robby tapped on your profile, telling himself it was just… professional concern. Making sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. He cared about his residents. Yeah, that was it.

Your bio loaded beneath the main photo: “If you like girls who will force you to watch her Letterboxd top four and then talk your ear off for hours about the hidden meaning behind her favorite songs, then I’m your girl. Emergency med resident with zero free time. Not looking for anything serious, just fun, meeting people, seeing where it goes.”

Robby let out a chuckle despite himself, the sound was unexpected in the quiet of the moment. He had only ever seen you in the chaos of the ED, running on adrenaline and too little sleep. But this version of you felt… different. He found himself thinking about how little he actually knew you. How little he’d allowed himself to know.

He didn’t know where you were from, or what your family was like, whether you had siblings who called too often or parents you tried to make proud. He didn’t know what you did outside of the hospital besides the occasional beer in the park, or what made you laugh until your sides hurt. All those small and ordinary pieces of a life that existed outside the emergency department.

It felt strangely intimate, seeing you like this. Like stumbling across a part of you he wasn’t supposed to have access to. A version of you that wasn’t filtered through the hierarchy of resident and attending. Up until now, you had been “his resident”, contained within the professional boundaries he’d carefully maintained.

He started swiping through your photos. The second picture was you laughing in what looked like a group hike, with your hair windblown and your eyes bright. You looked undeniably pretty. Objectively, he’d always known you were attractive. The kind of natural attractiveness that turned heads in the hospital corridors even when you were exhausted and covered in sweat. But once again, he’d never thought about it. You were a resident, he’d gone down that path before, and it’d ended badly. That made you off-limits, end of story.

The third photo was of you in a cozy sweater, curled up with a book and a mug of coffee. It was cute, almost sweet. The kind of image that made the loneliness in his chest ache. He kept swiping until the last photo hit him like a defibrillator. You were on a beach somewhere sunny and sandy, wearing a bikini. Your skin was glowing under the sun, and you were smiling at the camera in a confident pose, the kind of effortless beauty that could stop any man cold. Holy fuck, your body barely contained by the fabric of the bikini, the photo capturing the gentle swell and the way the light played across your body. 

Robby’s mouth went dry, the heat flooded his face and then lower down his body. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t let himself imagine you like this, outside the hospital, undeniably a woman and not just one of his residents. His pulse kicked up, the nervousness made his hands shake and his grip slippery. He fumbled the phone, trying to swipe left fast. Swipe left, damn it, he thought.

But he accidentally jerked his thumb the wrong way, to the right, and the screen lit up with that unmistakable animation. 

It’s a Match!

On the other side of Pittsburgh, you had been lying in bed, still trying to unwind after another brutal twelve-hour shift. Sleep felt miles away, so you’d given in to the guilty habit of late-night Tinder scrolling. Sure, swiping at 1 a.m. probably looked desperate to anyone else, but who cared? It wasn’t like you had much of a life outside the hospital anyway.

You swiped left with efficiency. Guy whose entire bio was just a link to his podcast. Left. Gym mirror selfies and nothing else. Left. Self-proclaimed “entrepreneur in the crypto market” with a Lamborghini in the background that probably wasn’t even his. Left.

How was it this difficult to find someone even remotely decent? You weren’t expecting to meet the love of your life in this digital dumpster, but was it really too much to ask for a man with basic social skills and a profile that didn’t scream immediate red flags? Someone whose opening line wasn’t just “u dtf?”

Guy who still clearly lived with his mom. Another left. “No feminists” in the bio, followed by a rant about “high value woman.” Left.

Then your thumb froze mid-swipe. Michael Robinavitch. Your heart slammed against your ribs. There he was, Dr. Robby, looking straight into the camera in one of the photos, that familiar half-smile you’d seen a thousand times in the ED, only now it was on a dating app.

You sat up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake. What the hell was Dr. Robby doing on Tinder? You’d scrolled through this app for weeks and never seen him before. He must have created the profile recently. The man you’d been quietly (and not-so-quietly) thirsting over since your very first day of residency was right here. One match away. 

How could you not like Robby? He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man, strong, steady, impossibly smart, and so damn capable it made your legs weak every single time he gave you a calm and yet authoritative instruction in the middle of a trauma.

You’d lost count of how many times he’d gently reprimanded you for being distracted while charting. He always assumed you were just tired from the long hours. He had no idea that you kept getting lost in vivid daydreams about him: running your fingers through the silver-flecked hair and that coarse, greyish beard, feeling those big hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close.

You loved the way his eyes crinkled warmly behind his glasses when he smiled, the way his voice dropped into that gravelly register when he needed to command attention in the ED… it did things to you. Dangerous, addictive things. Sometimes getting in trouble with him felt more exciting than it had any right to.

His Tinder bio was unexpectedly adorable. He looked a little lost, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged on the app but was willing to put himself out there anyway. That bike is not the only thing I’d like to ride, you thought, as a little smile tugged at your lips.

His pictures made you melt and sigh at the same time. That warm, contagious smil, the glasses that struck the perfect balance between hot and endearingly sweet. The silver threading through his beard that made you press your thighs together at the mere thought of feeling it against your skin, between your legs, specifically. 

You swiped slowly through the rest of his photos. Those wide shoulders, that tall and solid frame, that soft belly under the button-down shirt… you wanted him in a way you had never wanted anyone before. 

It was almost pathetic the way your heart did a little skip every time he complimented your work on a tough case. The way your thighs squeezed together almost involuntarily whenever he stepped in close during a complicated procedure, guiding you step by step, his voice low and patient near your ear. “Yeah, grab the blade like that… make a two-inch incision, softly, very gently.” “Hold the tube with your left hand, tight, don’t move it.”

It made your mind wander to dangerous places. Was he like that in bed too? The kind of man who talked you through it, calm and devastatingly attentive? In your fantasies, he absolutely was. Late at night, alone in this very bed with nothing but your hand and your imagination, you could almost hear his voice murmuring against your skin: “Keep your legs open for me, nice and wide… just like that.” “Look at you… already making such a mess. I’m gonna start with one finger, okay? Think you can be good and take it for me?”

Should you swipe right? It felt like the only logical choice. If he swiped left, which seemed like the most likely outcome, he would never even know you’d swiped on him. But if he did swipe right… then maybe, just maybe, you could end up in Robby’s bed.

Your hopes stayed low. Never in a million years did you actually expect Robby to be attracted to you the way you were to him. You would’ve noticed something by now, maybe in lingering stares, subtle flirting, or any shift in the way he treated you. But he didn’t. He treated you exactly like the rest of the residents: a young doctor he needed to teach, who could sometimes be frustratingly distracted.

Still, you couldn’t contain the tiny, thrilled scream that escaped your lips when the screen lit up:

It’s a Match!

Robby had matched with you. He wanted you too.

“Shit!” Robby dropped the phone onto the couch like it had burned him. It bounced once and landed face-up, the match confirmation still glowing on the screen. He and you had just matched on Tinder. All thanks to that goddamn bikini photo and his clumsy, nervous fingers.

He stared at it, feeling his heart hammering harder than it had during the worst trauma cases. This was mortifying. You’d seen his profile, you’d swiped right, and now you were going to see that he’d swiped right as well. Part of him, the tired and lonely part that had downloaded the app and widened the age range, wondered what you’d think. 

A dozen what-ifs tumbled through his mind. What if you saw his profile and laughed? That disbelieving laugh when something genuinely surprised you. What if you messaged him first? Maybe it had been a mistake on your end too. Maybe your phone had slipped, or you’d been swiping too fast after a long shift, half-asleep and a little buzzed. Or maybe… maybe you’d swiped right on purpose, just to tease him. He could already picture the text popping up on his phone: “Oh my god, Dr. Robby. What are you doing on Tinder? lol.”

Robby ran both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. He picked the phone back up, looking straight at the Send message button. He shouldn’t. The responsible thing would be to delete the app, pretend this night never happened, and go back to being your attending, not your Tinder match. 

Instead, he opened your profile again. Robby tried to move past it, he really did, but his eyes lingered on that last photo far longer than they should have. You in a bikini, your skin glowing under warm sunlight. He couldn’t believe that was what you looked like underneath the baggy scrubs you wore every day in the ED.

It felt wrong. Like he wasn’t allowed to see you like this, like he was intruding on something deeply private, crossing a line that should never even be approached between an attending and his resident. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but it wasn’t enough to make him look away.

His body reacted anyway, a sudden heat stirring unwanted, a throb of arousal he hadn’t felt this sharply in longer than he cared to admit. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hating himself for it even as the reaction deepened. What the hell is wrong with you, Robby? he told himself, but the self-reproach did nothing to dull the pull. What could he do? You were a woman. A beautiful one, and for the first time, he was seeing you not just as his resident, but as someone undeniably, breathtakingly desirable.

Before he could delete his account and go to bed as he should, your message popped up.

You: hii :)

Robby’s breath hitched in his throat. For a split second, he swore his heart actually stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, in his temples, in the tightness of his chest. The little smiley face stared back at him from the screen, innocent and cheerful, as if it hadn’t just flipped his entire night upside down.

You had matched with him. At eleven at night. On his lonely fucking birthday. What the hell was he supposed to say to you at 11 pm. after accidentally matching with her on Tinder? “Hey, funny seeing you” here felt pathetic. “This is wildly inappropriate” felt like a lie because the rush of heat still lingering in his veins said otherwise.

He set the phone down on the coffee table for a moment, dragging a hand over his face for the millionth time. Part of him wanted to delete the match immediately, pretend it never happened, and go to bed like the responsible, professional attending he was supposed to be. But another part, the part that had been sitting alone on his fifty-fifth birthday, couldn’t bring itself to swipe left on this one unexpected connection. So he picked the phone back up and stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.

Another message came through a minute later.

You: robby? it’s me from work... guess you saw my profile too haha

Robby let out a long breath, he couldn’t avoid it now that you’d initiated a conversation with him. It was better to be direct, explain the mistake to you, and shut this down before it got any more awkward.

Robby: hey yeah, I saw it listen, this is embarrassing as hell, i was messing around with the app, dropped my phone and it must have swiped right by accident sorry about that, didn’t mean to make things weird

He hit send and immediately regretted how cold it sounded, but it was the truth. The phone stayed quiet for a moment that stretched too long. He had his eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for your reply so he could shut down this awkward conversation and delete this stupid app before he accidentally matched with anyone else from work. 

You: oh. so it was a mistake? damn, i thought you had swiped right on purpose. bummer.

Robby’s eyes widened. You were being direct, not beating around the bush or deflecting by saying it had been a mistake on your end as well. He could practically hear your voice saying it with a teasing edge.

Robby: Sorry about the confusion  i know it might be awkward finding me on here. probably the last person you expected, i don’t usually do this. 

You: honestly it was surprising. didn’t peg you as the tinder type at all.  but hey, we all have our moments i guess

Robby: i’m not the type this is my second time ever downloading it and i already regret it, should probably delete the whole thing before i make an even bigger fool of myself.

You: yeah i get it. i thought the match was mutual so i figured i’d say hi. sorry for texting if it was just an accident. didn’t mean to make it weirder

Robby read your message twice. Thought the match was mutual. The words echoed in his brain. You had swiped right on purpose, not as a joke, not out of morbid curiosity about your boss’s sad dating life. You had chosen him willingly. The realization of what that meant sent a confusing rush through him. You liked him, that had to be it. The thought of you… having a crush on him made a warm feeling run through his body, one he immediately tried to shove down.

Robby: What do you mean you thought it was mutual?

You: idk... i saw the notification and figured you wanted to match with me since it happened. that’s why i said hi right away. didn’t want to leave it hanging if we were both curious

He stared at the screen, his heart beating a little harder. You were so honest and blunt about your feelings, he found himself almost intimidated by it. Some rational part of his brain was trying to tell him this had to be a big joke, there was no way in hell you could like him. You were… you. What would you see in a man like him?

Robby: you wanted us to match? seriously?

You: lol yeah i did swipe right, didn’t i? your profile was actually really nice. the book pic is cute and the 70s rock mention made me smile. plus... i don’t know,  you’re interesting. figured why not. no pressure though

Robby: i thought maybe you did it out of curiosity or just to see if I’d swiped on you didn’t expect you to actually want that

You: well i did. but if it was an accident on your end then no big deal. we can pretend this never happened and go back to normal tomorrow. i won’t mention it at work or anything. promise

Robby let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes for a long moment as he exhaled heavily. He knew exactly what the responsible Chief of Emergency Medicine should do right now: unmatch immediately, delete his profile, and pretend the entire night had been nothing more than a lonely fever dream.

But tonight… tonight he didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to be Dr. Robinavitch, the attending who had sacrificed nearly every personal connection, every version of a fuller life, on the altar of the ED. For once, he wanted to be Michael. Just Michael. The man who had matched with you on Tinder. The man who was currently staring at his phone with his heart hammering like he was twenty years younger.

Before he could piece together a polite but firm way to end the conversation and retreat back into the safety of professional distance, another message appeared.

You: i think your profile’s part of the reason i swiped right. the book pic’s really nice

He smiled faintly at that, a rare genuine twitch at the corner of his mouth. Robby leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

Robby: your profile’s pretty good too, better than most of the ones i’ve seen tonight

You: aww thanks. your’s so much better than the usual bullshit on here which is not that hard but still finding you here is a nice change :)

Robby: you on this app a lot? seems like you’ve got the profile down

You: not really. i’ve been on a couple dates from here but it’s honestly exhausting. hard to find someone decent in this city. most guys are either looking for hookups with zero conversation or they’re boring as hell. you know how it is

Robby: fair enough. your age range must be set pretty high if it pulled me up fifty four isn’t exactly the usual crowd for you or is it?

You: haha yeah well  i like older men

Those four stupid words hit him square in the chest like a defibrillator. “I like older men.” Robby reread them slowly, feeling a dangerous warmth bloom low in his belly and spread outward through his chest. He was an older man, and apparently, that fit exactly into your preferences. Was that flirtation? Were you subtly implying that he was the kind of older man you liked? Or was it just a casual, throwaway comment, something you’d say to any guy on the app who happened to have a few gray hairs?

No. He was spiraling too deep, overthinking it the way he always did. Your words didn’t carry some hidden, special meaning meant just for him. They couldn’t. And yet… No matter how hard he tried to talk himself down, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of validation that lit up inside him. He felt desired, really desired. Not just by anyone, but by you: someone younger, and so strikingly pretty it almost hurt to look at your photos for too long. Someone who, in his mind, was clearly way out of his league.

Robby: It’s okay to have preferences  everyone does.

You: yeah exactly. i just find older guys more attractive than the ones my age. they’re usually more mature, know what they want, have actual life experience. it’s... hotter, i guess. plus the conversations are better

He swallowed hard, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He could practically see your face as you typed those words, maybe biting your lower lip in that teasing way you sometimes did right after nailing a difficult procedure.

Then the bikini photo from earlier flashed unbidden through his mind, and the heat in his body flared hotter. He pictured you exactly as you’d looked in that shot: sun-warmed skin, curves barely contained by the fabric. The thoughts he had no right to entertain came rushing in anyway, pulling him deeper. Thoughts of having you all to himself, of finally being able to run his hands slowly over every inch of that bare skin, tracing the line of your waist, sliding up your ribs, cupping the soft weight of your breasts. Of putting his mouth on you and every sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.

Robby: makes sense i usually go for women closer to my stage of life we have more in common that way

You: do age gaps bother you?

Robby: in what way?

You: like as a concept. are they a problem for you?

Robby: i’m okay with consenting adults doing what they want as long as everyone’s on the same page it’s not my business.

You: have you ever been in an age gap relationship or anything like that?

Robby: i once dated a woman a bit younger than me but usually around my age

He paused before sending the next part, he shouldn’t keep engaging in this deeply unprofessional conversation, but curiosity was getting the better of him. And you were simply so easy to talk to that he couldn’t stop himself from letting his walls down a little.

He typed before he could second-guess himself.

Robby: how much older are we talking anyway? the men you usually like i mean.

Your reply came fast, like you’d been waiting with the phone in hand.

You: usually over fifty up until their sixties or so. around that range. but it’s just a preference, nothing crazy. i feel like older men usually treat you better. they’re more gentlemanly, know how to actually listen, and they tend to understand what a woman wants... in every way, if you know what i mean ;)

Robby read the message twice. Three times. Four. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me. You weren’t just being polite or making casual conversation. That winky face, the implication hanging there about “every way”. You were deliberately flirting with him, there was no other way to see it. He shifted on the couch, suddenly very aware of his own body and the fact that it had been a long damn time since anyone had spoken to him like that.

He took a slow breath and replied, trying to keep some semblance of control.

Robby: do you date men closer to your own age too?  or is it mostly the older crowd?

You: i have tried guys closer to my age. some of them are sweet but a lot are still figuring their shit out. you should try dating a woman younger than you sometime though. maybe it’s exactly what you need.

Robby didn’t know what to say. The words hung there, full of possibilities around them. He was still wrestling with a response when another message from you popped up.

You: anyway sorry again for the confusion earlier. i’ll leave you alone so you can keep scrolling through profiles. i’ll go back to robbing the graves haha (joke, get it? because i like older guys... sorry that was sooo bad)

Robby chuckled despite the whirlwind in his head. The joke was cheesy, so perfectly you that it cut through some of the tension. But it also gave him an out, you were offering to back off and let this weird moment fade into nothing before tomorrow’s shift made everything awkward as hell. Part of him wanted to take the exit ramp, wish you a good night, unmatch, delete the app, and pretend none of this happened. But another part, the one that had been sitting alone on his birthday didn’t want the conversation to end.

He tapped over to your photos again, almost against his will. There it was the last one. You on the beach in that bikini, with the perfect swell of your tits catching the sunlight. Holy fuck. He wanted you, the realization hit him all of a sudden, making him switch back to the chat and move his thumbs almost on autopilot.

Robby: Nothing to apologize for honestly you’ve kept me better company tonight than I expected

You: see? younger women can be good company too :) you shouldn’t close the door so fast. you could meet someone nice if you give it a chance

Robby: you shouldn’t close the door on guys your own age either there are decent ones out there, you’ll find someone who can keep up with you

You: out of all the guys i’ve matched with here... you’re easily the best one. no contest

Robby: Really? that can’t be right  you’re selling yourself short.

You: no i mean it. you’re exactly the kind of man i’d usually go for. tall, older, smart... and hot

The word hot hit him harder than it had any right to. His face flushed deeper, his clothes felt constricting, his pants uncomfortably tight. Robby’s cock was already half-hard, thickening and pulsing insistently against the zipper of his jeans with every new message.

All because you’d called him hot. Just a little cheeky, playful comment, and it was enough to unravel him. The touch starvation wasn’t helping. It had been so damn long since anyone had looked at him with real interest, longer still since he’d felt this fluttering feeling low in his stomach. This rush of ego, this sharp need to be close to someone, to be wanted, to touch and be touched.

Robby: thanks i guess you’ll meet someone worth your time, you’re a good girl 

The message was sent before he could fully reconsider the wording. The second it went through, Robby winced. It sounded weirdly sexually charged, maybe it was because he was feeling sexually charged, painfully so. A Freudian slip at its finest.

You: good girl? 😏

Robby: shit i didn’t mean it to sound weird just a figure of speech i suppose.

You: should i call you daddy then? ;)

Robby nearly dropped the phone again. The winky face, the bold suggestion, the way it played so perfectly into the tension that had been building sent a bolt of pure want through him. He could imagine your voice saying it, teasingly so, with that mischievous glint in your eyes. His mind supplied far too many vivid images: you in nothing but your skin looking up at him, you saying it in person with a flirty smile. He was fully hard. Actually hard, just from a fucking text conversation.

The professional alarm bells were clanging loudly in the back of his head. This was his resident, the age gap, the power dynamic, the fact that you’d have to face each other at the Pitt in a few short hours... it was all wrong. But god, it felt good. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

He glanced down at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, his cock straining against the fabric like a flagpole. He couldn’t believe it. One flirty text from his resident and he was rock hard. Don’t get hard for your fucking resident, he thought. She’s one of your own. Off-limits. This is insane. He adjusted himself uncomfortably, trying to will it down through stubbornness, but the ache only sharpened.

You: too much? sorry i was just messing around lol

Robby exhaled and typed back, trying to sound more composed than he felt.

Robby: Don’t worry about it i know it was a joke, no harm done

You: it was... unless you don’t want it to be a joke 

He let out a surprised laugh, his cock twitched again at the follow-up, you were relentless, and something told him you were noewhere near done.

Robby: you’re funny, i’ll give you that.

You: that’s what i’ve been told. glad you’re having fun with me tonight

Robby: Well, I guess I should let you get some sleep early shift tomorrow and all

You: i don’t mind staying up. i swiped right on you, remember? yk for a minute i really thought you were gonna flirt with me or maybe even ask me to come over to your place or something

The words hung there. You had been excited, you had hoped he would flirt. The image flashed through his mind, you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, stepping inside and… He shifted again, pressing his hand down against his insistent erection through his sweatpants, trying to get some relief even as guilt gnawed at him. This was crossing so many lines he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross after Heather. But the loneliness that had driven him to download the app in the first place was quieter now, replaced by an electric tension.

Robby: that would be very inappropriate i’m your boss and there are lines we can’t cross

You: but you’re not dr. robby my attending in here. you’re michael robinavitch, 55, the guy who loves 70s rock and long bike rides. and i’m not your resident in this chat. i’m just a girl who likes movies and older men... and who is really, really into you right now

You were separating the roles so cleanly, drawing a line between the hospital and this private space. It was tempting, dangerously tempting. 

Robby: you know it doesn’t work like that we can’t just turn it off when the shift starts tomorrow

You: nah i’m pretty sure i can

Robby: No.

You: If we really can’t meet then we can do it over text, you know.

He stared at the screen trying to guess if you really meant what you were saying. 

Robby: what do you mean?

You: sexting, duh

He let out a short breath, Jesus fuck you were actually gonna kill him tonight.

Robby: that’s basically the same thing.

You: no it’s not. technically we’re not doing anything if it’s just messages. no one has to know.

Robby rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind was screaming at him to shut this down, but his fingers were already moving. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering to do this.

This was a terrible idea. What difference did it really make whether it was real sex, his hands on you, feeling your heat around him, or just describing it in detail over text messages? A line was still a line. One he had promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. He didn’t want this to end with you giving up your residency, transferring to another hospital, another city, once things inevitably fell apart.

But fuck, his cock was achingly hard, straining against the front of his pants like a caged animal that desperately needed to be freed. The thought of you right now, maybe lying in your bed in, pressing your thighs together, that sweet slick already soaking through your panties because of him… it made it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t leave you like that, so wet, so needy, aching for him.

Robby: what do you want me to say?

You: i don’t know… just say something hot. you’re goot at being hot  

He hesitated, he wasn’t sure of what to say. He was scared of seeming naive and old school to you, but he wasn’t used to this whole… sexting thing. The most spicy exchange over texts had been insinuating pictures before asking someone to come over. Okay think Robby, if you can save someone’s life under extreme preassure then you can sext with a woman, just say something typical, he thought

Robby: who’s been a naughty girl?

The second he hit send he regretted it. He winced, already typing another message to backtrack when your reply came through.

You: lmao that was the best you’ve got?

Robby groaned out loud, dropping his head back against the couch. 

Robby: forget it. i’m going to bed

You: nooo wait. let’s try again :(

He should’ve put the phone down. He really should’ve. Instead he waited to see if you had anything else to say.

You: you’re so good at giving orders and guiding me at work. maybe you could do that now too? tell me what to do

You were right, in theory. He was good at instructing, guiding, teaching. It came naturally to him to step into that mentoring role, he had always been the one others looked to for direction.

Robby: i  feel stupid doing this.

You: pleeeease. i’ve always thought you were the kind of guy who talks people through it in bed. it’s the same here, just write it instead of saying it. tell me how you want me to touch myself

Your words hit him hard. He reread the message twice. He had never consciously thought about it before, but yes… that did sound exactly like him. Fragments of memory surfaced unbidden: the commanding tone he’d used with past partners, the way he’d instructed them. “Open your legs for me.” “Turn around.” “Look at me.” He remembered the way their breathing would change, the way they’d tremble under the weight of his voice and his hands.

Robby: you really want me to talk you through it, sweetheart?

You: yessss that was so much better. keep going

If anyone had asked you how it happened, you honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain it. You weren’t even sure yourself. One moment you were typing a slightly embarrassed apology to Robby for matching with him and the next, the conversation had taken a turn and you were the one demanding he sext you so you could get off. It was bold, stupidly reckless, and yet it felt inevitable.

Robby: good girl that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, i want you to get those pretty legs spread nice and wide for me, can you do that?

You whimpered softly and obeyed him instantly, letting your knees fall farther apart on the mattress. The cool air hit your exposed pussy making you shiver. 

You: yes. they’re open

Robby: Perfect i’d be on my knees between them right now if I could run your fingers up the inside of your thighs for me slowly, feel how soft they are

As you trailed your free hand up one thigh, you imagined his callused palms and the scratch of his greying beard following the same path.

You: doing it… feels so good thinking about your hands instead.

Robby: that’s my girl  now slide two fingers through your pussy and ell me how wet you are for me

You did exactly as he says, gasping as two fingers glided easily through your slick heat. You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom as you stroked yourself.

You: So wet… i’m dripping. all because of you.

Robby: fuck i knew you would be i want you to circle your clit for me now Do it slowly and imagine it’s my tongue instead, licking you just the way you need i’d take my time, taste every inch of you

Your mons got louder, tipping your head back against the pillows as your fingers obeyed, traxing circles around your clit that sent sparks up your spine. In your mind, it was Robby’s mouth devouring you while his strong hands pinned your thighs down.

Robby: how does that feel, sweetheart? tell me

You: so good, i’m so sensitive. keep talking please

Robby: Good now slide one finger inside that tight pussy, nice and deep curl it up just like I would, searching for that spot that makes your legs shake i’d be watching your face the whole time, telling you how beautiful you look spread open for me, how good you are for listening

When you pushed a finger inside yourself, you curled it upward as instructed to hit that sensitive spot while your other hand kept working your clit in circles. 

Robby: add another finger and stretch yourself open i’d be so much thicker than your fingers, but we’ll start like this imagine me pumping them in and out while i rub your clit

Adding a second finger, you continued fucking yourself to the rhythm of his words on the screen. It was not enough, it was nowhere near enough to calm the hunger and desperation that was threatening to consume your whole being. You knew nothing would be enough, only feeling him inside of you.

You: wish it was you inside me. can’t get off like this. i need you robby please

Robby: you were the one who told me to do this 

You: i know i did. but it’s not enough send me your address

He was tempted, so tempted that for one second his fingers almost started typing on an impulse. But the reality crashed back in immediately. The risks, the morning after, the way he’d have to look at you during rounds, knowing what you’d done. He was rock hard and aching for you, but the responsible part of him still refused to crumble completely.

Robby: what for?  you’re not seriously thinking about coming over right now, are you?

You: robby i’m literally only like 2 miles away from you. are you dtf? not as dr. robinavitch and his resident, but as two adults who casually matched on tinder tonight. there’s no title or hospital here. it’s just us.

Two miles. You were so close. He stared at your message, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs. His cock gave another insistent throb, the head already leaking a little against his underwear. The thought of you actually coming over, right now, in the middle of the night, made his mouth go dry.

Robby: Send me your address and I’ll order you a ride. 

You sent your address a moment later. It really was only two miles away. He confirmed the ride, watching the estimated arrival time tick down. Fifteen minutes… only fifteen minutes until you’d be at his door.

You: this is exactly what i meant earlier about older guys. so much more gentlemanly. taking care of the details instead of just telling me to get there

You had no time to get ready, and honestly, you didn’t care. Makeup? Hair? None of that mattered when you were this desperate, this aching for him. You climbed out of bed still wearing the thin tank top and soft sleep shorts you’d worn to bed, and threw an oversized jacket over everything, one that swallowed most of your body and made you look far more put-together than you actually felt.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys and phone. The rideshare arrived sooner than you expected. The drive across the city felt both endless and far too short, but eventually the car pulled up outside his building.

You stood on the sidewalk for a second, staring up at the apartment complex, suddenly hit with the full weight of what you were doing, showing up at your attending’s door in the middle of the night, soaked and trembling with need, because a stupid Tinder match had spiraled completely out of control.

But you didn’t hesitate for long, you took a deep breath, pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, walked toward his door and knocked on it.

Robby opened it right away. He didn’t say a word, the second you were in reach, you had one of his strong hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. It was electric to say the least. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath. His beard was scraping deliciously against your skin as he moved his lips with experienced urgency. You melt into it instantly, fisting your hands in his shirt, tasting the pure, overwhelming taste of him. Finally. Here he was, kissing you like he’d been starving for it just as much as you had.

He kicked the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his taller frame. You felt the warmth of his hands roaming everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, squeezing the curve of your ass through the fabric of your shorts. In your mouth, he groaned, making a vibrating sound that went through you as he explored every inch he could reach, like he was memorizing the feel of you. 

Your breasts were the next to get his attention, he was cupping them with his big hands through your tank top, brushing his thumb over your already hard nipple, while he tangles his other hand in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You pulled back just enough to gasp against his lips, “It took you long enough.”

Robby chuckled, the sound coming out breathless. “Took you long enough. You have any idea what it’s like waiting twenty minutes for you with a hard-on?” He pressed you closer, letting you feel the thick and insistent bulge against your stomach. 

As if they had a mind of their own, his hands couldn’t stop moving, squeezing, caressing, claiming, running down your back, over your thighs, everywhere he’d fantasized about touching. Before you could respond, he bent slightly and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively. 

The strength in his arms, the way his broad chest felt against you, sent a fresh rush of heat between your legs. He carried you through the house with purposeful strides. The door to your room swung open and he layed you gently on the bed, climbing on top of you immediately until his full weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress. 

The kissing resumed instantly, slower now but no less intense. Robby’s mouth was moving from your lips to your neck, sucking lightly and scratching you with his beard in the most perfect way. Now his hands got bolder, continuing their exploration but this time sliding under your tank top, pressing his palms against your bare skin. He lifted the fabric higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room.

“Fuck,” Robby groaned, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you could see his soft brown eyes turning darker as he stared down at you. “Look at you. These tits… so perfect. So fucking pretty.” His voice was rough with want, the same commanding tone. He cupped them reverently, as if they were something precious, circling your nipples until they pebbled tighter under his touch. “They’re made for my hands. For my mouth.”

He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently at first, then harder, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. The wet touch of his tongue made you arch into him with a moan, threading your fingers through his hair as he kept lavishing attention on your breasts. 

From one side to the other, Robby switched sides, licking and sucking the other while his hand massaged the first, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation, the tingly heat of his mouth and the firm squeeze of his callused hand, had you writhing beneath him, making you so wet you were soaking through your shorts.

The humming of his mouth against your skin sends sparks straight to your core. “So responsive,” he murmured, switching back to the first breast and sucking it harder than before. “These tits are going to ruin me. I could spend hours right here.” Sliding his free hand down your side, Robby gripped your hip possessively, continuing with the worshipping of your chest, licking broad stripes, sucking marks into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading until he had you panting and grinding up against the hard line of his cock through his pants.

The age difference between you only heightened everything, his experience was showing in every skilled touch, in every perfect flick of his tongue. He was being patient but hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long. You could feel how hard he was, he was making you feel it, pressing insistently against your thigh. The knowledge that you did this to him made you even wetter.

Robby lifts his head briefly to lock his eyes on yours. His lips were swollen and his beard slightly damp with his saliva. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, but his hands never stopped, squeezing and caressing, teasing your sensitive nipples with his thumbs as he waited for your answer.

You shook your head, pulling him back down. You’d rather die than stop right now. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His mouth trailed a hot path down your sternum, over your stomach, scraping you teasinglywith his beard against your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed strong, sliding down your sides and gripping your hips as he settled between your spread thighs. The weight of him, the sheer size and presence of this man, made your core clench with anticipation.

“These shorts have been teasing me since you walked in,” he murmured with the same steady tone he used in the pitt, but now turned intimate and commanding. Robby hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly peeled them down your legs, taking his time as he revealed more of you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart. Good girl.”

You obeyed instantly, lifting your hips so he could slide the fabric off completely, leaving you in just your thin panties and the tank top. Robby smoothed his hands up your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle but firm pressure. “Keep your legs open like that,” he instructed you. “Nice and wide for me. Don’t close them unless I tell you to.”

You were already moaning softly, and he wasn’t even touching your core yet. Robby dropped his eyes to the damp spot on your panties, making the fabric cling to your pussy lips, and he let out a groan of desire and hunger. He cupped you over the fabric with one hand, pressing his palm firmly against your heated pussy while his thumb found your clit through the material and began rubbing slow circles.

“Oh god,” you moaned, twitching up your hips into his touch, seeking more of the contact. The friction was simply perfect, it was teasing, and it kept building higher and higher. Robby’s callused thumb was applying just the right pressure on your swollen nub. 

He watched your face intently through his hooded and lustful eyes as he worked you higher. “Feel good?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own breathing grew heavier. “You’re so wet already. Soaking through these panties for me. That’s it… rock against my hand, sweetheart. Show me how much you need this.”

Your moans only grew louder and more unrestrained, as he kept rubbing your clit with precision. The fabric added a delicious layer of friction, and every circle sent sparks shooting up your body. He got you gripping the sheets, your thighs already trembling as you fought the urge to close them around his hand.

Robby leaned down to kiss the inside of one thigh, scratching your skin deliciously. “You want my mouth? Want me to taste this pretty pussy? You gonna wrap these gorgeous legs around my neck while I do it?”

“Yes,” you gasped, nodding frantically. “Please, Robby. I need it.”

He hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them down slowly, revealing your glistening, bare pussy to his hungry gaze. “Fuck… look at you. So wet and perfect.” He kissed along your inner thighs, taking his time, brushing his lips and beard against the sensitive skin as he worked his way closer. “Wrap them around me, sweetheart. Lock your ankles behind my head if you need to. I want to feel you holding me right where I belong.”

You did exactly as he said, wrapping your legs around his broad shoulders and pressing your heels into his upper back. The position left you completely open to him, vulnerable and exposed. Robby groaned, the sound vibrating against your core as he finally leaned in.

The first lick of his tongue was broad and slow, dragging from your entrance up to your puffy clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and it made you cry out loudly, threading your fingers into his greying hair as he began to devour you with the same intensity he brought to every procedure at work. He licked and sucked with precision, alternating between long and flat strokes to tight and quick circles around your clit. 

His beard was scratching your inner thighs and outer lips in the most delicious way, adding a kind of texture that made your toes curl. “Robby… Oh fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, rolling your hips against his mouth. 

He hummed in response, pulling back with his lips glistening with your arousal just so he could speak to you. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. I want to hear it.”

“So good… your tongue—oh god, your mouth, Robby. It’s driving me crazy. Don’t stop, please.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, diving back in to suck your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly while applying suction with his lips. 

Before you could register it, he teased your entrance with two thick fingers, slowly sliding them inside you, letting your own greedy hole swallow them. Once he curled them upward to find that perfect spot, the sensation had you moaning loudly and arching off the bed. 

Robby pumped his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue with his digits. A few moments later, he stopped again briefly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes and shiny lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread open for me, taking my fingers so well. This pussy is perfect, made for me. Keep moaning for me. Let me hear how much you love my mouth on you.”

You obeyed, your moans spilling freely as he returned to his task with renewed hunger. The pleasure built fast and faster, making your thighs tremble around his head and your feet dig into his back as you held him exactly where you needed him. Robby gripped your hip with his free hand, holding you steadily while he worked you closer and closer to the edge with expert skill. Every command, every praise, every flick of his tongue pushed you higher. 

Robby didn’t relent, he kept his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking with rhythmic pressure, devouring you like a man starved. “Robby—oh fuck, yes!” The pleasure was overwhelming, every single nerve ending in your body was alight as he worked you higher. 

“Keep those legs open for me, sweetheart,” he growled against your clit. “Don’t you dare close them. I want to feel you squeezing around my fingers while I eat this pretty pussy.” He added a third finger slowly, stretching you wider, the burn blending perfectly with the pleasure. “That’s it… take three for me. Feel how full you are? You’re doing so well. Such a good girl taking everything I give you.”

The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy and his mouth sucking hungrily on your clit filled the air. You were soaking his beard, his chin, his wrist, but he didn’t care. Robby slid a hand under you, grabbing a firm handful of your ass and lifting your hips slightly off the bed. The new angle let him bury his face even deeper, working your clit with more precision while he fingerfucked you harder. “Just like that,” he praised you between licks. “Grind on my tongue, baby. Use my mouth. Show me how bad you need to come.”

You obeyed helplessly once again, rolling your hips and bucking them against him as the coil in your belly tightened unbearably. The pleasure built in powerful waves until your thighs started to shake violently around his head. Robby kept talking you through it, pushing you closer to the edge.

“You’re getting so close, aren’t you? I can feel this tight pussy clenching around my fingers. Come on, let go. Cum all over my tongue. I want to taste it. I want to feel you fall apart for me.”

The orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity, making your back bow off the bed, a loud and broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy spasmed hard around his digits. Your thighs were squeezing his head tightly, your heels digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. Robby didn’t stop though, he kept sucking your clit through the peak, curling and thrusting his fingers to draw out every last shudder.

You came harder than you ever had. So hard that your vision went white for a moment as the pleasure bordered on overwhelming. Your moans turned into whimpers as the orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving you limp and gasping on the bed.

Robby finally eased back, gently lowering your hips and kissing softly along your inner thighs. He looked up at you with dark and satisfied eyes. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So beautiful when you cum for me.”

You lay there panting, your thighs were still twitching, completely wrecked and already aching for more of him. Robby climbed back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He was so close that his hard cock was pressing insistently against your thigh through his pants. 

“That was… amazing,” you whisper with your voice hoarse from moaning. “So much better than I ever imagined.”

Robby chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine against your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Yeah? Better than your hand?” His eyes were sparkling with lust. 

You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “So much better. Your mouth… God, Robby. I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He hummed in satisfaction, grinding his still-clothed erection slowly against your bare, sensitive pussy. The thick ridge of his cock was being pressed perfectly against your clit, giving him some much needed relief while teasing you both. “I loved doing that for you,” he murmured. “You were so good for me, sweetheart. So responsive, so wet. The way you moaned my name and squeezed my head with those pretty thighs… fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Robby rolled his hips deliberately, the friction making you whimper and arch up into him. You could feel how achingly hard he was and how much he’d been holding back. You slid up your hands down his chest, feeling the soft flesh beneath his shirt.

“I want you,” you breathed, looking up at him with need. “Please, Robby.”

He stilled for a moment, as if to pulling himself together. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”

You bit your lip, feeling the warmth invade your cheeks. “Your cock. I want you to fuck me. I need you inside me.”

Robby let out a groan, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, drawing out the anticipation. You sit up slightly, eager to help, moving your fingers to tug his pants down along with his underwear.

“I’ve been dying to see you,” you confessed as you pulled his pants down his hips. He caught your wrists before you could push his boxers down.

Robby looked almost nervous, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Wait… I, uh—” He cleared his throat, flicking his eyes away for a second. “I haven’t trimmed down there in a while. This whole night was… unexpected. I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known we were gonna end up here.”

He said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. Like it might actually make you want him less. It made you soft, you cupped his jaw, turning his face back to yours.

“Robby. Do you honestly think I give a damn about that? It’s just hair.”

He let out a self-conscious breath, still looking a little defensive. “I know. I know it’s just hair. It’s just… it’s probably a fucking jungle down there right now. You don’t have to— I mean, you don’t have to do anything if it’s too much.”

The way he was trying to give you an out was almost painfully endearing. You shook your head. “Just let me see you,” you whispered.

You slid his boxers down his thighs and freed his cock, it sprang out, thick and hard, the head flushed in a dark red with arousal. It was beautiful, so long, girthy, with a slight upward curve, prominent veins running along the shaft. Exactly like he’d warned, there was a thick, dark mat of coarse hair at the base, dense and untrimmed. He looked completely natural, it was so him, deeply masculine and unpolished.

A fresh rush of wetness slipped down your inner thighs. Your fingers twitched with the need to touch him there.

You looked up at him through your lashes “I love it,” you slowly carded your fingers through the thick hair at the base of his member. “You look so fucking hot like this. I like every single inch of you.”

Robby’s whole body shivered under your touch. “God…” he rasped as he stared down at you. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”

Almost with instinct, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking the shaft slowly from base to tip, feeling the heat and weight of his member.

Robby hissed in pleasure, twitching his hips forward into your grip as he watched your hand move up and down his cock. “Fuck, your hand feels good,” he groaned, letting you stroke him for a while, savoring the sight of your smaller hand working his thick length, making a bead of precum leak from the tip.

After a few moments, he gently stopped you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Lay back down for me, sweetheart. Keep those legs open nice and wide. Just like before.”

You obeyed, lying back against the pillows and spreading your thighs for him. Robby reached over toward the nightstand, stretching one arm past you as he pulled open the top drawer. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, before his hand closed around what he was looking for.

A moment later he sat back, a condom held between his fingers. He held it up, searching for your eyes with his. “I’ve got this if you want me to wear it.”

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his arm. “No. I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”

You both knew it might not have been the smartest option, doing it raw, with nothing between you. But there was a deep, unspoken trust between the two of you, forged through long shifts, that made you feel safe. And in that moment, that trust felt solid enough to lean on.

The hunger that had taken over both of you made anything else almost unbearable. The need to feel each other completely bare, skin on skin, heat on heat, with nothing separating you, was overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He tossed the condom aside, leaning down to kiss you deeply again. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”

He groaned, positioning himself between your legs and nudging the thick head of his cock against your slick entrance. The anticipation felt electric, this was the culmination of over a year of longing, of hours of texts, and now all that was left was this desperate connection. Robby gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he looked down at you with hunger.

The night is only beginning, and the way he’s looking at you promises he’s going to take his time ruining you in the best possible way.

As his cockhead was being rubbed up and down your folds, teasing your clit with every pass, coating itself with your juices, the sensation felt maddening, promising everything you’d fantasized about for so long. You whimpered, twitching your hips up instinctively to chase more contact.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Robby commanded you softly, the same authoritative tone that had guided you through countless procedures was now guiding you through this. He cupped your chin gently, tilting your face so your gazes locked. “Keep looking at me the whole time. I want to see you while I fuck you.”

You nodded shakily, unable to look away even if you wanted to. Robby continued rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness, drawing out the anticipation until you were squirming beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your mouth. “So wet for me already. This pussy is going to take me so well. Breathe for me, relax and let me in.” He pressed forward slowly, breaching your entrance with only the tip. The stretch was immediate and intense, opening you up inch by inch as he sank deeper. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, but you forced your eyes open, locking them on his as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Easy, baby,” he cooed, stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braced beside your head. “You’re doing so good. Feel how you’re stretching around me? So tight and warm… fuck, you feel incredible.”

You moaned loudly as he continued sliding in, the deliberate thrust filling you completely until he was buried to the hilt, until his hips were flushed against yours. The fullness was overwhelming, his thick cock stretching your walls like nobody had stretched you before, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Robby stayed still for a moment buried deep, resting his forehead against yours as he looked straight into your eyes. “There you go. All the way in. You took every inch.” He started to thrust with deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls with exquisite friction. “Wrap your legs around me. Hold me close while I fuck you.”

You did as he said, locking your legs around his waist and digging your heels into his lower back. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and you cried out in pleasure, digging your nails into his shoulders. Robby kept talking you through it, just like he knew you liked.

“That’s my girl. Feel that? I’m hitting that spot inside you, huh?” He angled his hips slightly, grinding deep on every stroke. Robby slid one hand up to cup and squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple as he thrusted harder.

Robby moved his hand from your breast to cup your chin. His grip was gentle enough not to hurt, yet firm enough that you felt every one of his fingers pressing against the bones of your jaw. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to see how good my cock feels inside this tight pussy.” He tilted your face up and held it there, leaving you no choice but to meet his eyes.

And God… what a glorious sight he was. This handsome man, with his face flushed, his brow glistening with sweat, devouring you with his gaze as he kept driving his cock into you.

His face was only inches from yours, and he kept fucking you in long strokes while he held your chin like that, as if he were starving for every single expression that crossed your face. He loved watching the way pleasure wrecked you. The way your lips parted around helpless moans, the way you bit down on your lower lip only for it to slip free again with a broken sound. The way your eyes went glassy and pleading, silently begging him for more even as your body trembled around his cock. He drank it all in like a man who had been thirsty for years.

With his free hand, he gripped your waist, holding you in place so he could drive into you with more power. Every slide of his cock stretched you perfectly, dragging the fat tip along your g-spot like that was what it was made for.

“Robby—oh god, yes!” You moaned loudly, raising your hips to meet his thrust and tightening your legs around him. Your tits were bouncing with every powerful stroke, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth again, flicking his tongue as he continued fucking you.

“You feel so good,” he groaned against your skin, switching to the other breast. “So tight and wet around me. This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it? Taking me so deep.” His hand on your waist slid down to grip your ass, lifting your hips slightly to change the angle as he thrusted harder. “Lift your legs higher for me, sweetheart,” he said against your neck,kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there. Ronny held the back of your thigh, helping guide your leg up. “That’s it… over my shoulder. Let me get deeper.”

You whimpered as he assisted you, hooking your leg over his shoulder. He did the same with the other, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, until he was pressing the head firmly against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, grinding against your g-spot relentlessly.

“Fuck—Robby, it’s so deep like this,” you moaned, fluttering your eyes shut for just a moment as the intense sensation washed over you.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided gently but firmly, cupping your jaw with his hand to tilt your face back to his. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Keep them open. I want to watch you while I fuck you like this. Don’t look away.”

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his hungry gaze as he continued hammering into you. The eye contact made everything more intimate and overwhelming. The feeling of his hand leavinf your jaw and sliding down between your bodies made you shiver. Robby found your swollen clit and began rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.

The combined stimulation was devastating. The pleasure was burning higher in your core, so close to finally exploding. Your body was arching and squirming beneath his frame as you scratched down his back and trembled over his shoulders. Every thrust, every rub of his fingers on your clit, every moan and grunt that escaped his mouth pushed you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” Robby groaned, never removing his sight from yours. “Look at you taking my cock so deep. You’re getting close again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you cum all over my cock. Keep your eyes on me when you do.”

You bowed your back off the bed as your climax took over your body. A loud cry tore from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his length. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders and you dug your nails harder into his back when the waves of pleasure crashed through you. Robby sekpt thrusting through it, drawing out your orgasm with deep strokes and continued pressure on your clit.

“You look so beautiful when you cum for me… that’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me. You’re being so good.”

By the time he finally slowed and gently pulled out of you, you were still trembling and gasping. Robby layed back on the bed beside you, with his cock hard and glistening with your release. “Come here, baby,” he said. “Get on top. I want to watch you ride me.”

He helped you shift positions, gripping your hips firmly to guide you as you straddled him. “Easy, sweetheart. Take your time… that’s it. Feel me right there? Let me watch you take every inch.”

You positioned the head at your slick entrance and began to sink down, inch by inch. The stretch was intense all over again, his girth opening you up as you lowered yourself onto him. Robby kept his hands still on your hips to steady you, stroking your skin soothingly while watching every expression on your face.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groaned. “You’re doing so well. Keep going… take a little more. Feel how full you are?”

Louder moans left your mouth as you sank lower, the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. Bracing your hands on his broad chest for balance, you finally took him to the hilt, resting your ass against his thighs. Robby squeezed your hips encouragingly. “Ride me. Roll your hips like that… yes, just like that.”

Whn you started moving, rolling, and grinding your hips in a steady rhythm, the pleasure built quickly. His cock was dragging along your walls as you found a rhythm that made your tits bounce and your clit grind against his pelvis.

Robby kept moving his eyes are everywhere, watching where your pussy stretched around his shaft, sliding up to your bouncing breasts, then locking onto your face. He reaches up with both hands, cupping your tits and rolling your nipples as you ride him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep going… faster if you want. Take what you need from me.”

Without a word, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He sat up just enough to help you pull it off, and the second the fabric cleared his head, your hands were on him.

God, you loved his body. Your moved your palm slowly over his chest, feeling the coarse hair and the thud of his heart beneath your fingertips. You dragged your hands lower, mapping the soft, rounded curve of his belly with desire. It turned you on more than any gym-honed torso ever could. As you pressed your palms into the softness, your fingers dag in gently. Then you smoothed your hands over it again and again, savoring the way it yielded under your touch.

You were mumbling praises and moans between gasps, completely lost in the sensation. “Robby… you feel so good… so deep… fuck, I love your cock inside me…”

At one point, Robby planted his feet firmly on the bed, bent his knees, and started thrusting up to meet you. The change felt devastating, he was now fucking you from below with powerful strokes that made you cry out loudly as he droveinto you. 

The slap of skin on skin grew louder when the slamming into you intensified. “Fuck—Robby!” you moaned, letting your head fall back as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Eyes on me if you can, sweetheart,” he growled, moving his fingers down to rub your clit again. “I’m getting close. You feel too good. You’re gonna make me cum.”

You were a moaning and squirming mess on top of him, riding and grinding as he thrusted up harder. His fingers on your clit and his cock hitting deep pushed you toward another peak, but it was his impending orgasm that had you focused on him.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, snapping his hips up faster. “Fuck—can I cum inside you? Please, I want to fill you up.”

“Yes,” you gasped, riding him desperately. “Cum inside me, Robby. I want it. Fill me up. Please—”

With a deep groan, Robby thrusted up hard one last time and came, pulsing nside you, flooding your pussy with thick and warm ropes of cum. He held you down on him, gripping your hips tightly as he emptied himself completely. The feeling of him cumming inside you, fully claiming you, triggered your own smaller orgasm, making your walls clench rhythmically around his pulsing cock.

You both stayed locked together, panting. Robby stroked your back and thighs as you came down from the high befor pulling you down against his chest, kissing your forehead, keeping his cock still buried deep inside you as his release slowly leaked out around him, so much that you could feel the hot nd sticky evidence of his climax.

There were no more walls, just the two of you, finally giving in to everything you’ve both wanted and repressed for so long. You stayed draped on top of Robby for a long stretch of time, both of you catching your breath as the intensity slowly ebbed. Eventually, you lifted your head and looked at him. “That was… amazing. I wouldn’t even have dreamed that it’d be that good.”

He hummed in agreement, continuing his soothing path along your back. “It was. Better than I let myself imagine. You felt perfect.”

The praise made a warm feeling bloom in your chest. After a few more quiet moments, Robby gently helped you sit up, easing you off his cock with a shared sigh. You both winced slightly at the loss of connection and the feeling of emptiness, but he pulled you down beside him on the bed, wrapping his arms around you again as you cuddled into his side.

“So… you don’t regret it, do you?”

He met your eyes as a small smile began tugging at his lips beneath the beard. “Right now? I can’t regret having amazing sex with you. My mind is still somewhere up in the clouds.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow when reality hits, but tonight… no regrets.”

You nestled closer, throwing one leg over his. The cuddling felt easy, natural, like you’d been doing this for years. For tonight, the outside world, the hospital, the guilt, the what ifs didn’t exist. There was only the two of you, and Robby might be right about reality hitting tomorrow, but right now, in the darkness of his room, everything felt right.

A/N: Two attempts at posting this fic, and two times Tumblr’s stupid AI mistakenly flagged it😭 I’ve spent days trying to figure out what was causing the problem and doing everything I could to finally get this fic posted for all of you. So if you’re reading this, it means it worked. Hopefully.

If you end up enjoying the fic, I’d really appreciate it if you could help me share it with a reblog (only if you enjoyed the fic) cause I’ve put a lot of work on it

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I worked on when inspiration finally struck me. I don’t know if I read it somewhere or if we all collectively decided it, but Robby absolutely feels like the type of guy who talks you through it. You’re telling me the man who spends all day teaching med students and residents how to do procedures wouldn’t also be guiding his girl in bed? It’s literally in his nature!!! This TikTok also got me inspired because, yes, he absolutely looks at you through it too.

I also think Robby’s canon texting style is weirdly inconsistent. In that scene in season one where he’s texting Jake, sometimes he starts messages with capital letters and sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he ends sentences with a period, sometimes he doesn’t. In my head, he has perfect grammar but deliberately tries to sound Gen Z and chill when he’s texting someone younger than him lol. Anyway, I tried to replicate that here too.

Thank you all so much for your patience. I really appreciate it, and I hope I can stick around for good this time🩷

Jack Abbot was normal. He was fine. He was definitely not seething watching you dance with friends. The problem with dating the hottest woman in existence was that he couldn’t exclusively monopolize your time. He barely knew anyone at this wedding, it was your friend’s wedding.

She had too many sisters to have you as a bridesmaid and in the comfort and secrecy of your bedroom you had whispered to him that you just didn’t have it in you to be in so many weddings—most of your twenties had been spent traveling around the country to be in friends’ weddings.

Now, he was watching you in a gorgeous plum dress dancing around barefoot with girls you’ve known for over a decade. Some of their husbands were tolerable. Your best friend and her husband were here. Most of the time Ted was fine. Drunk Ted cared a lot about golf and Jack, drunk or sober, couldn’t give a shit.

When P!nk’s “So What” ended you meandered back over to Jack and to his surprise (and delight), collapsed in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I’m a little tipsy.”

“So I see,” he replied, lightly pushing your hair back away from your face. Your nice hairdo had long since come unraveled and kept falling in your face.

“I like you so much,” you said leaning into him.

“You don’t love me?” He asked with a smile on his face. You snorted.

“Of course I love you. But I also like you.”

“Thanks?”

“I don’t think all my friends like their husbands,” you whispered a little too wet in his ear. He had to resist the urge to push you away to wipe it off.

“What makes you say that?”

“Take me back to the hotel and I’ll tell you,” you said laying your head on his shoulder. It definitely didn’t look comfortable, largely speaking to your exhaustion. You had been dancing and jumping with your friends for multiple hours.

“C’mon, babe,” he said shifting your legs off his lap.

“Ugh,” you groaned standing again. “I need to tell Claire goodnight.”

“I’ll get our stuff,” he said.

The send off had been a few hours ago, before the elderly relatives had left. Now, it was just a fun party with friends. He loved watching you light up and enjoy being around your people. He loved his people, but they were far more subdued than yours.

Across the dance floor you approached your friend who threw her arms around you with heartfelt but drunken balance and coordination. It made his heart swell, watching how happy you were. Fuck, he loved making you happy. All he wanted in life was to make each day just a little easier; he wanted to do his best to make you happy.

By the time you’d extricated yourself from your friend’s embrace and made your way back to him, Jack had a hold of your purse and coat. He also had already dug your ugly Birkenstocks out of your purse so you didn’t have to put your heels back on.

“Fuck you’re so good to me,” you said, holding onto him while you slipped the shoes on.

“Well if that’s all it takes,” he replied, helping you into your coat.

He kept a hold of your bag when walking out to the parking lot. Just like his mother taught him, he held the door open on the rental car and shut it gently behind you. When he got into the drivers seat, you had dug your water bottle out of your purse.

“Ugh, I’m already sobering up,” you complained.

“So you don’t want drunk fast food?”

You gasped dramatically. “Do you kiss your mother with that dirty mouth?”

Jack laughed and grabbed your hand as he turned out of the parking lot heading back to the hotel.

“What did you mean earlier about your girlfriends not liking their husbands?” He asked pulling into a greasy fast food joint. It rarely mattered which one as the point was disgusting food.

Once the French fries and chicken and burgers had been acquired, Jack pulled into a parking spot towards the back of the lot. One of the first things you both discovered you’d had in common was growing up in small towns. It meant that you both had fond memories of idling car conversations and the occasional makeout. Even now, a long away from your teen years, you both adored your post party ritual.

“So,” you began, curling your legs up. “Abigail, not technically my friend, but she’s a good time. Was talking to me about how glad she was that her husband couldn’t come and that was fucking bonkers to me. Why would you marry someone you don’t like?”

“You would be sad if I couldn’t come?”

“Sure, I like spending time with you. It’s not like it would ruin it for me, I basically barely hung out with you tonight, but it’s fun coming back and kissing you before dancing to Pitbull songs with everyone.”

“I think that’s a compliment,” he laughed.

“But seriously!” You said nudging him. “I like being around you. It’s fun. You’re just as fun as my friends.”

“Even though I can’t dance with the energy of a drunk college girl?”

“Even then,” you laughed. “Hear anything good with the spouses?”

“Ted likes golf,” Jack sighed.

“God he’s so boring,” you laughed. “But she needs boring after the shit head she used to be married to.”

“Do your friends think I’m boring?”

You scoffed. “No, they think you’re a crazy adrenaline junky, not boring. Did you notice the groom’s sister had a fucking weird speech?”

For the next hour you both sat in the car, eating food that would clog your arteries and gossiping about the wedding. It was life giving and comforting in ways you never wanted to lose. You’d had this with friends but Jack was the first man you’d ever dated who wanted to do stupid shit with you. He wanted to go to weddings of people he didn’t know. He wanted to sit in a slightly too heated car talking shit about speeches. He wanted to do nothing and everything with you.

“What’s that look?” Jack asked.

“I dunno,” you sighed. “I just really fucking like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I really fucking like you, too,” he said. “Even if you dance like a baby giraffe.”

“Fuck off!”

When you both got back to the hotel, Jack helped you search for the various pins hidden somewhere in your hair.

“You’re so pretty,” he said mouth at your bare shoulder.

“Are you trying to get in my pants, Dr. Abbot?”

“You’re not wearing pants,” he said, bracketing your body against the counter of the bathroom. “You are, however, wearing a gorgeous dress I’ve wanted to peel off with my teeth all night.”

“Your teeth, huh?” You asked making eye contact with him in the mirror.

“God I’ve wanted to touch you so bad all night,” he whispered in your ear, pressing a soft kiss right near your hairline.

“You look so good in that suit,” you grumbled, pushing your ass back against his groin. “Kept coming back to kiss you so everyone knew you were mine.”

Jack’s eyes fluttered closed as he buried his face in your neck. Being wanted by you was intoxicating. Knowing that you coveted him as much as he coveted you was more than enough to turn him on. He could feel the ghost of your cunt clenching around him. It had been two weeks since he last fucked you. Both of your jobs had been hectic.

But now, in the privacy of the too expensive hotel room, he had you at his mercy.

“Look at me baby,” he said softly against your ear, relishing in how you shivered against him. “All mine, right?”

“Only yours,” you breathed. “I’ve missed your hands.”

He ran his hands from your thighs up your dress to cup your tits. The strapless dress was held up by tape and some intricate ties in the back. He pulled the tape off your chest gently and then yanked the fabric down under your tits, bra and all. You looked so good. In the dim light of the bathroom, he drank in your heedy gaze.

“Beautiful,” he said attacking your neck again.

Having you in his bed for so long, meant Jack knew just how to kiss you and play with your chest to make you soaked. It’s like he had a cheat code to turning you on. It helped that most of the night had been subtle foreplay between you both. During dinner his hand was definitely too high on your thigh but he couldn’t bear to move it.

“Fuck, baby, take me to bed. It’s cold as shit in here,” you groaned.

“Anything for you,” he said. “How hard do you want tonight?”

“Rough,” you replied.

He wove his fingers through your hair, close to the roots and pulled. He drug you back into the main room and tossed you on the bed face first. Holding you down with one hand on your upper back, he slowly pulled the zipper of your dress down.

“Look at this sexy body,” he said. “All for me.”

You wiggled a little as he unhooked the strapless bra with one hand. It had taken him nearly a year to master, but it was one of his most used bedroom skills. Letting you go, he pulled off the dress harshly, taking your underwear with it. Then you were face down on the bed, naked and already dripping for him.

You had arched your back, preening under his gaze. With a sharp smack to the meaty part of your glute, he watched you jump and settle back into your skin. A few more spanks and he quickly shoved his fingers inside you making you gasp.

He loved all the noises and movements you made during sex. For the duration of your relationship, he had been making a running catalog of how to get you to do a sound or movement. While he harshly fingered you, enjoying the way you squirmed under him, he began unbuckling his belt and pants.

“Feel good, baby?”

“Fuck me, please,” you panted against the comforter.

Shoving his pants down just low enough let out his dick, he pulled his fingers out of you and rubbed your wetness along his cock. Just the smell of you was sending him over the edge. He made sure to clamp down on your hips tightly, hoping to leave a bruise for you to enjoy, before careening his hips into yours aggressively.

There was a grunt as the air was knocked out of you. For a moment he paused, enjoying how you felt. Your cunt always felt so fucking good against his dick. You were so warm and wet and you clenched so beautifully when he spanked you. As much as he loved to be the one furiously fucking you, he also loved having you in charge.

He always enjoyed feeling your nails rake down his back. He was desperate to feel you closer against his skin, so while he had your hips pinned to the bed, he quickly ripped off his button up and undershirt so he could wrap his arm around your neck and pull you up against his body.

Once he felt you against his chest, he began to thrust ferociously against your cunt. He loved how it fluttered and the grunts and groans you released as he harshly pounded into you.

“Fuck, baby,” Jack growled harshly. “You feel so good. Made for me. Carved for my fucking dick, isn’t that right?”

“Just for you,” you said breathlessly.

You were clutching onto the bicep his had wrapped around your neck (more so your chest than neck, but it had the same effect). He felt you meeting his thrusts sending shockwaves through both of you.

“I love it when you’re rough with me,” you heaved against his assault. “Harder, please.”

Your tone was always so breathy and almost whiny when you got worked up like this.

“Anything for my naughty girl. Do you like this dick pounding into you. Does it feel good to have someone treat you so meanly?”

“Fuuuck,” you groaned arching against his grasp more. “You feel so good inside of me.”

“You make me so fucking crazy, pretty girl,” he hissed against your ear. “Watching you tonight was like my own personal dream. The prettiest girl in the world dancing and jumping but always coming back to me. Can’t be without me can you?”

“No, I can’t,” you whined as one of Jack’s hands roughly kneaded your tits. “Your hands are so good.”

“Rub your clit for me, baby. I want to feel you cum on my dick. I’m going to fuck you so hard you can’t walk tomorrow.”

“Yes please,” you mumbled. He felt one of your hands leave its iron grasp on his arm. “You fill me up so good.”

Jack felt himself getting close so he pulled out and finished taking off his pants. Getting his prosthetic off quickly was a hard fought for skill, but he managed to push you flat on the bed covering your body with his own before slipping back inside of your warmth.

He wrapped his arm around your throat again and grinned at how you moaned wantonly.

“So pretty when you’re being used by me.”

“Please,” you managed.

“Prop your hips up, baby,” he said getting on his knees to allow you room.

The harsh sounds of him slamming into you filled the room while he kept whispering debauched things in your ear:

“You’re made for me and only me.”

“Using you feels so sweet.”

“Are you going to cum on my dick?”

“I’m so fucking deep, baby.”

“I’m going to make you cum so hard.”

He was so focused on making sure you came, he didn’t noticed how you turned your face.

“Please, daddy, harder,” you moaned.

His hips stuttered and to control himself, he bit into the muscle of your shoulder. He almost felt guilty for how hot he found your cry of pain to be.

“Rub your clit and say it again,” he mumbled against your skin.

Your hand snaked underneath your body, and gasping under his assault you said,

“Harder, daddy. I want to feel you cum inside me.”

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned.

He was so close when he felt the tell tale flutters of your cunt against him. He nearly wept with relief you finally were close enough for him to say,

“Cum on my dick, pretty girl. Show me how good I make you feel. Milk me. Milk daddy.”

You cried out as you tensed and gasped underneath him. He made sure to keep moving as you clenched against him until your shaking thighs collapsed. He continued his furious pace until he felt himself orgasm. It felt like he came forever. When he finally collapsed and rolled over next to you, he chest was heaving.

“Daddy, huh?” He asked.

“I don’t know where it came from,” you laughed. “But you clearly liked it.”

“Surprise for me, too,” he huffed. He pulled you against him, reveling in how your naked skin felt against his.

“You’re sweaty and hot,” you grumbled, nuzzling your face against his chest. It was said like a complaint but you weren’t moving away.

“So are you,” he laughed. You tweaked his nipple.

“I’m fresh as a daisy.”

He laughed and kissed the top of your head. “Want to shower first?”

“Yes please,” you said. “Will you keep me company?”

He snorted and nodded.

The accessible bathroom had a removable shower chair that he used while he waited for you. Unlike the shower at home, it wasn’t big enough for Jack, his shower chair, and you. So he watched as you tied your hair up and quickly rinsed off. He noticed your wince when you gently cleaned your vagina.

“Do you want me to check it?” He asked a little concerned.

“Nah, just sensitive. You did a good job.”

“Wow, did I get an A-plus in sex?”

“Fuck off,” you laughed.

While Jack showered, you began working through your nighttime routine. You took off whatever make up hadn’t been sweated off during the wedding or the following sex and washed your face. By the time Jack got out, you were brushing your teeth.

Before leaving the bathroom you kissed him and said, “I love you.”

“Wuv yew,” he said with his toothbrush in his mouth.

Using his crutches, he made his way back to the bed, pulling on a pair of clean boxers before sliding into bed with you. Like you always did, you slept on the side farthest from the door. It was one of the many things that lingered from the war. Jack wanted to be between you and anything unexpected.

He pulled you against him, in the dark, enjoying how warm and soft you were.

“A good night,” he mumbled.

“And good sex,” you said.

He laughed and closed his eyes, feeling so much love and affection for you leaking out of his chest.

“Hey,” you said after a while. “You awake?”

“Hmm?” Jack asked sleepy.

“I just really like you.”

Jack laughed softly. “I really like you, too.”

You pushed open the door to twelve and was greeted with cigarette breath and stale perfume.

“Hey, sugar tits!”

“Myrna,” you greeted. “I thought we agreed we'd stop meeting like this.”

She chuckled, showing off teeth that weren't particularly white anymore, stained by years of smoking and drinking. “What can I say? I can't get away from you hot stuff.”

Myrna was around enough you were shocked she didn't have her own room. She did have her preference of wheelchairs, the one that had the smoothest wheels she deemed that made pushing around the Pitt and chasing doctors easier.

“What are we in for today?” you asked, folding your hands over her age old chart and keeping to the end of the bed.

Her brows rose. “Aren't you gonna come any closer?” she teased, crooking a finger into her as best she could from where they were restrained softly to the bed.

“Myrna you know I'm married.”

“Happily?”

“Sadly.”

“To the fruitcake?”

“Still,” you said with an amused smirk. Sometimes when you wanted to annoy Robby you'd call him fruitcake and watch his face twist up.

Myrna scoffed. “Pathetic.”

“You had another seizure?” you asked, knowing already her usual tricks.

“Yeah.”

“Who brought you in?”

“Some guy.”

“And what was his name this time?”

“Antonio. Italian. Handsome,” she said with a drool. “Looked great in his uniform.” Myrna pulled at her restraints again as you walked around her, checking the vitals another nurse (most likely Dana) had already took. “Are these really necessary?”

“They are when police bring you in.”

“Is this because I grabbed fruitcakes ass?” she asked.

“No, Myrna,” you said, checking her IV. “It's because you grabbed my ass.”

As if she were proud of herself, Myrna grinned and chuckled.

The door behind you pushed open gently, two bodies, one tall and lean and the other slightly rounded blocking the doorway.

“And this is, Myrna. Seizure activity, or so she says,” said Robby as he gestured from his son next to him to the lady in the bed.

Carter's med student days had been spent mostly in Presby, in order to avoid such conflicts of interests like working with his mom and dad in the ED. However, Presby was closed for up to two weeks due to a viral outbreak and quarantines that Robby insisted Carter come do days in the Pitt.

Carter was pressed in his fresh and light coloured scrubs, a polished stethoscope slung over his shoulders and a pep in his step. Looking at him, you wouldn't have thought he was roaming the halls he ran through as a child, talking to Dana as if he didn't use to babble incoherently at her.

“Myrna, say hello,” said Robby, passing you a nod.

Instead, Myrna dragged her tongue over her teeth and growled.

Carter all but jumped back.

“Fruitcake, you've multiplied,” she smirked.

“Don't worry, Carter,” you said. “She's harmless.”

“She's-she's tied to the bed.”

“Exactly. So she's harmless,” you said. “Just don't get too close if you're examining her, she bites.”

At first Carter laughed but when nobody- not even Myrna- laughed with him, he fell silent, looking between his dad and you. Robby only nodded, confirming that fact.

“Who is this tall, lean, fresh blood?” Myrna asked, eyeing him up.

“Myrna, this is Carter. Our kid. He is doing a emergency medicine rotation and is here to learn,” said Robby.

Carter's chest puffed out, his hair that was soft to the touch and bounced around like Robby's used to do, fell in front of his eyes.

Myrna shifted in her bed. “You need to do a physical, huh?”

“He does not,” said Robby. “Rest easy, we'll be back soon.”

Robby held the door open, letting you and Carter out first as if to protect you from her 'abuse', but he didn't close it quick enough, the nicknames sugar tits and fruitcake floating out behind you.

“What-what was that?” asked Carter, frowning at the names he could have sworn he heard.

“Nothing, don't think about it,” said Robby, a firm had clamped on his shoulder and stirring him away.

“Fruitcake?” he laughed, probably thinking of every way he could use it against him.

“I said don't ask.”

“Don't worry about Myrna, just keep your distance,” you advised.

Carter looked between you and Robby, the both of you in doctor and nurse mode. It was the sort of thing he'd caught glimpses of throughout his life but never seen so much of. The both of you shed the scrubs like skin when you got home, pulling off the medical practices and putting on everything you'd learned about being parents. It was a fine line, Robby had decided, between happiness and work and he wasn't going to drag the dead and the sick into the home he'd created.

“You guys put up with her a lot?” he asked.

Robby huffed. “She comes in to avoid the cops.”

“She's here so often we're thinking of inviting her to thanksgiving next year,” you teased.

“But she doesn't actually bite, does she?” asked Carter, laughing at the very idea.

You and Robby shared a look, ignoring him.

“Just don't find out the hard way, son,” advised Robby, leaving him to it and letting him go.

Carter nodded. “Is she the reason you came home with a bite mark on your shoulder last week?”

He regretted asking almost immediately as he watched your cheeks grow pink and watched Robby fight a smirk down at you. He reached for you, turning you around as you walked away laughing.

“Yeah, sure, son.”

Carter was at the nurses station, leaning over the cool counter and watching the rest of the ward work. He watched nurses float around him, Dana be called off on different ventures, traumas being wheeled in and pushed through doors. Nobody was calling his name. He was waiting to be called, to be rushed into the action.

At some point he watched you and his dad be called around, the two of you taking patients like it was a tag team mission. He watched Robby's hand ghost the small of your back as he directed you around, he watched your careful words console him after tough patients.

So, that's what love was.

The squeak of wheels from behind him sounded, dragging over the floor closer and closer.

“Doctor, doctor, I got a bad case of loving you,” said the drag of a voice.

Carter turned, looking down at the wheelchair. “Oh, I'm not a doctor. I'm a med student.”

“Younger, even better,” she smirked, licking her lips.

“You're Myrna, right?” said Carter, looking around him for help before he was cornered by her.

“Call me mama,” said Myrna.

Carter gulped, eyeing the handcuffs that gleamed in polished silver. She was attached to the wheelchair. Could she still bite him? “Is there anything I can help you with, Myrna?”

“You could make my time worth while,” she said with a lur of desire.

Presby had been a different kind of chaos to PTMC. There'd been a blur of patients and an over crowded hall way of equipment, less put back and clean and darker than here. He could see Myrna in daylight, the ragged pull of a dressing gown which seemed to be strictly hers. The dark colour of exhaustion under her eyes. Hadn't he been told she came here to hide from the cops?

“I need the bath room hot-stuff,” she said, as if catching his hesitation.

“Oh. Right. Yes, course, let me just-” Carter looked around desperately, hoping to catch a face he could put a name to. He drew a blank.

“Come on, sweet-cheeks,” she said, a low droll of her voice. “Never seen a real woman before?”

If he said yes would word get back to his mom? If he said no would word get back to his dad?

Finally, a small doctor in a neatly combed-back braid and glasses walked by, focused and clear of mind.

“Hey! Um, hey! Wait, Can I-Can I get some help?”

She looked back to him, eyes alight. “Oh, Doctor Robby! I mean not-not our Doctor Robby, a Doctor Robby, our third, really,” she frowned at herself and shook her head. “I'm Mel, D-Doctor King.”

“Hey, nice to meet you, Doctor King,” he greeted with a bright smile. “Myrna needs the bathroom and I-”

Mel caught on quick and took over the charge of Myrna who was less than enthusiastic later.

“Strip down and get on my bed, sailor!” she yelled.

Carter's cheeks blazed.

It was one of those days where things seemed quiet for you and Robby. Where patients came in with small complaints that could be handed off to med students and residents, carefully supervised of course.

So carefully supervised from Robby's place in the lounge, you perched on his lap with his arms tightly around you. You were only blocking his view a little bit, he'd know if anyone was dying at least, it was basically a sixth sense.

But with you in his lap, tracing patterns in his hands, Robby didn't seem to care if outside was on fire.

“You know, if this one's another boy,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder, hands pressing into the small, nearly un-noticeable swell of your stomach. “We might have to call him Jack.”

You smirked. It was a running joke that with three sons and one daughter not one of them was named after Jack, even if he was there for the births of them. Once when Robby was not.

“He might start thinking we hate him.”

“But if we have a girl I am not calling her Jaqueline,” you said.

Robby huffed a laugh into your shoulder. “No, definitely not.”

“I think if it's a girl, we should call her Stacey,” you suggested.

“Stacey?” asked Robby, trying to go through everyone you knew to understand why Stacey was an important name. He came up blank.

“So I can be Stacey's mom.”

Robby knew there was a joke there that he didn't understand.

You backed up, peering at him. “You don't know Stacey's mom?”

The door squeaked open, flashes of the Pitt startling the two of you as Dana walked in, pushing her glasses up into her hair.

“There you two are! Hiding out here while the rest of us do your dirty work!” she said, smiling at the sight.

“Is somebody dying, Dana?” asked Robby, smug and still secure with you in lap.

She scoffed. “Yeah, your kid.”

You shuffled in Robby's lap, sitting up straighter. “Carter?” anxiety clawed at your nerves, turned over the little breakfast you'd eaten.

“Myrna's got her claws in him, poor kid,” she said with a show of no sympathy. The truth was all of them had to put up with Myrna at some point. It was always best to get it out the way in the early days. Let Myrna have her fun then she usually left you alone.

Except you. And Robby. By a common trend, Carter might not be so lucky either.

Robby's hands squeezed your thighs, a subtle signal that you were both going to have to get up. “All part of the hazing programme.”

The three of you crept to the door, huddled close and looking out the slim window at the door.

In his scrubs still yet to be strained, Carter was crowded at the counter, Myrna and her wheelchair up to his feet, practically rolling over his toes in the trainers you'd brought him. He was laughing awkwardly and trying to climb up the counter to get away from her. You'd never seen someone so afraid of an elderly woman in a wheelchair.

Robby's chest rumbled in a chuckle as he lingered over you. “He's your son.”

You swatted his chest.

“C'mon,” tutted Dana. “He's doing good. Says he wants to go inter surgery.”

“We taught him where the money is.”

Across the way the three of you noticed you weren't the only one watching the show. Hiding by an exam room, a curtain pulled close you could see Santos and Whitaker watching. Trinity was doing a bad job at hiding her grin while Denis was a decent guy, he looked bad.

“Shouldn't we be helping him out?” you pondered.

“Are you kidding?” smirked Dana. “This is the most fun I've had in years.”

“You think he gets treated better at Presby?” you asked.

Robby shook his head. “Presby doesn't have a Myrna.”

Carter had just stitched up a gruesome cut in a leg, finally staining his scrubs in a speck of blood. It was small but made him feel like a real doctor.

He was just walking past an exam room when he heard calling. He supposed it was for him, though it wasn't his name.

“Hey! Pussycat!”

He paused past the exam room, hand grasped at the doorframe to steady him. Sweet-cheeks. Hot-stuff. Pussycat. Carter dreaded to think what she could come up with next.

Carter stepped back. “It's-It's Carter, or Robinavitch.”

“Yeah, yeah, plenty of them,” she said, holding up her arm as far as she could while restrained. “I got an itch.”

“Okay?”

Her restraints jangled again as she proved a point. “I can't reach.”

He was stuck in spot, wondering if Myrna had been paid by his parents to make his day harder. With a sigh he took a step in at her bed side, making an exaggerated move in tugging on powderless, latex gloves.

She watched and rolled her eyes.

Carter was tempted to pull on a mask to prove a point. “Where's the itch?”

Myrna tugged a little at her gown, exposing the curve of her thigh. “Right here,” she said, as seductive as she could.

Carter stared down at the skin, veins a deep blue and a wide purple bruise forming over where she needed the itch. He drew a stool closer and settled, drawing a delicate circle around the mark. “When did this happen?”

“When the cops caught me, itch!”

Gently, Carter started to drag his fingers over the mark she emphasised. He eyed the bruise still, trying to find the best way about it. Had anyone else examined her? “I could get you a band for that,” he said. “To help with the inflammation. Some elevation and that-”

“Higher!” she said.

Carter looked to see if she had listened to him. It seemed she had not. He moved half an inch further, knowing where his hand would end up if he went any more, or even if she shifted.

“You know know one's been this high up to me since my third husband,” she said.

“What happened to the other two?”

“I killed them!”

When Carter looked up at her she seemed only smug and proud of herself. It was impossible to tell what was a lie.

Myrna rose her brows in challenge.

Carter itched a second more before slowly taking away his hand, yet she latched on like a snake sinking in its claws when his hand brushed hers. “Is your... itch satisfied?”

“Not yet sugar,” she smirked. “You want to see my Vagina?”

Carter felt his cheeks rise up in heat.

“Myrna,” you appeared in the doorway, leaning there with your pleasing smile, the sort reserved for patients. At home, the kids got a different one. And Robby got another one. “Are you behaving?”

“Me? Please. I'm a good girl,” she said with a wink, releasing Carter.

He fell to your side quickly, like you could protect him.

“Really? Cause we've had a complaint from a nurse saying you grabbed his ass,” you said.

Her face fell. “That grey-haired pussycat? There was nothing there for me to grab, please.”

“So you're keeping your hands to yourself?” you asked.

“Urm, mom- I-I mean Nurse Robinavitch,” said Carter with a clear of his throat. “Miss- Mrs, er-”

“It's just Myrna, Carter.”

“Oh, okay.”

“She won't tell us her last name,” you added, looking to her pointedly.

“It changes!”

“Myrna has a pretty bad coloured bruise on her thigh,” he said. “I suggested a band to help with the swelling and elevation.”

You nodded. “She knows all of this. We put a band on her when she came in with the bruising, she just choses not to.”

“You want to see my vagina?” asked Myrna.

Carter looked back to you. “And she keeps asking that.”

“I'd be worried if she didn't.”

“Can I see yours?” she asked.

Carter suddenly really didn't want to be in that room.

You patted his shoulder, gently leading him out the room. “When you become a doctor, Myrna and I have a problem you'll be the first I go to, I promise.”

You closed the door behind you and chuckled quietly, shaking your head.

“Is she- is she a real patient?” Carter asked. “Or has dad paid her to do all this?”

“Myrna is as real as they get. Just wait till you meet Earl.”

“Who's Earl?”

“Don't ask.”

It was only one hour later when Carter knew what all the warnings about Myrna had been about. Why Jesse had complained about her hand and his butt. He knew it in the cigarette breath, the scratch of a wheelchair against the floor and the pinch in his ass.

“Ah- what the-”

Myrna was still looking down at him when Carter turned, biting his tongue. “You have a much better ass than your daddy.”

“Okay, Myrna, that's-”

Before he could erupt about how wrong it was to flirt, to pet name, to touch, two doctors slid up on either side of her.

“Hey, pussycat,” said Santos, taking the bars of the wheelchair and pushing her away. Next to her Javadi accompanied and Carter followed slowly to see what happened to her. “We've got your discharge papers.”

“Fuck off,” she grumbled.

“Ah, my own term of endearment.”

“So you're like-” started Javadi next to Carter. “The prince of this place?”

Carter was surprised it had taken this long for someone to bring up his name. To bring up the fact he was a Robinavitch. “I mean, I don't know about prince.”

“Please,” said Santos with a scoff as she pushed the door open to Myrna's room with her back. “You're set to inherit this place when Robby retires. Or if.”

He didn't think Robby would ever retire. There were days his dad relaxed, always easier when with you. If the both of you had days off, which seemed to be the only days you and Robby took off, Carter could usually find the two of you at each other's side. It was all romantic but as the child to witness the stolen kisses in the kitchen, the moments you both thought you were being sneaky in making excuses as to why Casey shouldn't come in their room for ten minutes, it was also embarrassing.

In PTMC it didn't seem to change that much.

Robby still touched you all the time. Still looked for you when he left every exam room, still called for you at every trauma. He almost envied anyone else ever trying to get in Robby's good books because your name took up the whole thing.

Robby wasn't leaving this place without you.

“I'm thinking about surgery, actually,” he said.

Victoria's eyes widened. “Surgery. Woah. That's- that's really cool,” she said with a dusting of pink on her cheeks.

Santos's eyes rolled. “Surgery, yeah, great.”

“She's got a lover up in surgery,” said Myrna as she moved herself back into bed.

Carter's brows rose. “O-oh?”

“You know,” said Javadi as he looked back to her. She was staring up at him, a sparkle in her eyes. “It's-it's like they copy and pasted Doctor Robby.”

“Yeah, I- I get that a lot.”

“Goin’ into medicine like them?” Said Myrna with a cheap Ha! Punctuated at the end. “What’s the point? I won’t be around forever to watch out for you Robinavitch’s.”

“Don’t say that, Myrna,” Trinity said with an air of boredom, like she’d had this conversation a hundred times before. “You’re gonna live forever.”

Myrna chuckled dryly.

“I-I’m thinking of psychiatry,” said Victoria, still to Carter. “Emergency psychiatry.”

Carter nodded. “Cool.”

“You think so?” She blushed.

“Crash, you can’t flirt with Carter,” said Santos. “That’s like flirting with Robby.”

Victoria stuttered, ponytail swooshing as she looked between her and Carter. “I’m-I’m not flirting. What? No, I-I would never and that’s totally- totally-”

“Honey,” said Myrna. “This is painful.”

With some dull excuse, Javadi scrambled away quickly, Carter still trying to figure out just what had happened as he watched her go.

Santos looked at where she’d left. “Damn. Crash crashed.”

You were hunched over at the nurses station, chasing up labs for Robby as he always knew how to ask sweetly. In the dim reflection of the glow of the screen you saw Myrna creeping closer, regular clothes adorned.

“Myrna,” you warned.

“Can't a girl say hello?”

“So long as your hands are to yourself.”

“Then how are we supposed to shake hands?” she hummed, the gruff sort.

You shook your head and fought of a smile as you slowly turned to her. “I'm sure you'll be shaking something. Are you going home?”

Myrna smirked. “The city doesn't sleep for anyone.”

It wasn't a secret to you what Myrna did that had her being brought in so often enough you typically always had a gown and room ready, even her favourite snacks in the lounge. She'd maybe never said it in so many words but you knew the streets were her domain, the hospital her sanctuary. You'd offered to help, dropped of pamphlets on her first few visits before you realised she only used it to dump her gum.

“So, I'll be seeing you soon?”

“You know I can't stay away from you, Sugar Tits.”

“Don't I know it,” you said, walking her out to the doors. The real VIP treatment of passing through the ambulance bay.

“Your kid is good,” she grumbled.

You smiled to yourself. “You think so?”

“He's on a tight leash. You must have warned him about me?”

“That we did.”

She rolled her eyes, her mascara smudging at the edges. “He'll be an annoyingly good doctor. Just like his daddy.”

“Who knows, maybe the next time you're here he'll be around to patch you up.”

The automatic doors slid open as you walked her outside, letting her give her flirtatious smiles and winks to the paramedics on call and a special blow of the kiss to Ahmed.

“Yeah,” said Myrna in the dying light of the day. “I left him a little something to remember me by, just in case he forgets me.”

You chuckled. “I don't think he'll be forgetting you.”

When she was far away enough, Myrna popped a cigarette between her cracking lips and lit it up. Though she may have squeezed the asses of any hospital worker close enough, she respected the rules enough to stand out of the no smoking zone and light one up.

“Well, see you around sugar tits!”

You watched her slowly walk off, the click-clack of her heels fading as she went.

The doors behind you sounded and Robby's arm slowly slid over your shoulders.

“Was that Myrna?” he asked.

“Yeah, she's off to fight crime and defend our streets,” you teased.

“You worry about her?”

You worried about everything. Really, it was your job as a nurse. Your regulars who came in, Earl with his sandwich requests, Louis and his stories, Myrna with her nicknames. You worried that every time you saw them it would be your last.

Robby drew you in closer to his chest, caving you in in his warmth. “She'll be back, then you'll be sorry.”

Behind you the ambulance bay doors slid open and closed again and a distressed voice called out.

“Why is this in my bag?”

The both of you turned to Carter who was pink in the cheeks and hands trembled as he held up a thin and stringy lingerie set. It was pink with bows, saggy in all the wrong places and teared slightly at the seems.

You chuckled as Robby stared, almost as alarmed as Carter. “That's Myrna's gift. From her to you.”

You had a felling she'd be back for that.

"Behave," he warns.

You completely abandon your book and crawl over his lap. He sighs with a reserved smile, looking up at you. "The delivery driver could be here any minute."

"Then we shouldn't waste anytime." You lean down capturing his lips in a kiss. You take the book out of his hands and make the conscious effort of showing him that you had bookmarked his placed with the receipt he was holding for the exact reason. You then set the book down on the coffee table gently.

His hands squeeze your waist as he watches you put the book down. As you come down for another kiss, he leans up and moans into your mouth. You smile against his lips before deepening the kiss sliding your tongue against his.

Robby's hips thrust upward and you can feel his erection against you. You smirk and grind against it. "Ugh, we can't do this right now." He groans.

"Why not?" You whisper, "I can be quick."

"No, we can't because you're going to force me to get the door."

"I'm not seeing the issue here." You kiss his jaw and make your way down to his neck.

"I'm going to have a massive hard-on as I try to pay the delivery driver. And then we'll— mmph— we'll have to choose between our— Ah!— hot food or finishing our hot sex."

"Mm, decisions, decisions." You purr as you continue down his chest to the waistband of his sweatpants, "How about I suck you off and see how far I get before our food gets here."

Robby's brows knit together as his cock jumps at the suggestion. He bites his lip in thought as you palm him through the fabric of his pants. "Oh my god." He groans, "Fine, be quick."

You lick your lips before pulling down his waistband and pulling his dick free from his pants and underwear. You give the tip a few kitten licks before putting the entire thing in your mouth.

As you bob your head, Robby gently thrusts into your mouth. When the tip hits the back of your throat, he moans. He hold the back of your head as you continue. "Fuck~" He moans. You hum in response sending vibrations through his dick.

Robby wasn't going to last much longer. With the anxiety of the door and the way your mouth felt around him; he was only going to last a matter of minutes. He continues to thrust into your mouth as he grunts, getting closer to his orgasm.

You suck on his tip as your hand holds his balls. You give them a gentle squeeze as you moan around his cock. Robby's breath hitches as he shoots his cum into your mouth. He continues to thrust until he finishes painting the inside of your mouth with his cum.

Just as you pull off, the doorbell rings. "Just in time," He chuckles as he pull his pants up

"I can get it" You wipe your mouth. The doorbell rings again more aggressively.

"No, I got it. Go wash your mouth out." He gets off the couch as you go to the bathroom. He grabs his wallet and pulls out some cash before opening the door.

When he opens the door, he is not greeted by a food delivery but instead a small elderly couple stands on the porch. A small older woman and a much taller older man. They look among each other awkwardly. Everyone at the door seems disappointed by who is presented to them in the moment.

"Uh, hi, can I help you?" Robby purses his lips.

"Hi we're Eli and Vivian's grandparents." The woman says it like it's obvious.

Surely, not your parents. These people look nothing like you. Robby nods, "Let me get (Y/N) for you." He calls your name from the door, "Could you come to the door, please?"

"What is it?" You shout back from the bathroom.

"I think it's best you come see for yourself." He smiles to the couple apologetically but they don't seem all that amused.

You shuffle to the door, "What's wrong?"

Robby steps to the side revealing your dead husband's parents at the door. "Oh… my god! What are you guys doing here?" You feign your excitement and hug them both. As you do, you notice the luggage behind them.

"Eli's senior night is this weekend and we heard through the grapevine the Michigan coach was going to be there scouting talent." The old woman says excitedly.

You blink slowly knowing that Eli wasn't the one to invite them as the boy had forgotten his facebook password years ago. "I see, well, this is my friend, Dr. Michael Robinavitch."

"Friends call me Robby." He holds out his hand.

"Robby, this is Alan and Birdie, my husband's parents."

"Pleasure." Alan gives his hand a firm shake.

"It's awfully late to be having friends over, no?" Birdie says nonchalantly as she gives his hand a weak shake, "Had we known you had a guest staying, we would have booked a hotel in town instead."

"No it's fine." You say, "The guest room is clean. Robby, can you get their stuff?"

Robby nods as you invite them inside. You give him an apologetic look before following the couple to your living room. As Robby brings in the suitcases, the food arrives.

As you follow them, Birdie is bombarding you with questions, "Is that his motorcycle in the driveway?"

"Yes ma'am." You smile

"You don't get on it though, right? You should really think about that now that you are all by yourself…"

"No ma'am, I don't." You lie.

"And what were y'all planning on doing this late?"

"We were just waiting for our dinner to arrive, actually."

"Not cooking, as usual. Where are the kids?"

"At their friend's house." You let a sigh slip from your lips, "Aren't you guys tired? The flight must have been exhausting."

"Nonsense. We don't mind y'all eating. We ate at the airport so we're full of energy." She waves you away and goes to occupy the couch with her husband. Alan has already hijacked your television, resting his feet on Robby's book on the coffee table. You quickly yank the book from under his heels and smile politely before holding the book close to your chest. "Oh, Hun, you should put those things up. It makes your living room look all cluttered."

Your eye twitches from the nickname before you grab your book too putting them both on a shelf. Robby enters the kitchen with the food and you quietly thank god before going into the kitchen and boring holes into the back of the old couple's heads.

Robby notices the irritation in your eyes as you watch them from the kitchen. He grabs your waist and beckons you to the sunroom.

Once outside you rub your face with both your hands in frustration. Robby chuckles as he pulls out the food, "Not a fan I take it."

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. "They are very… particular people that don't seem satisfied with anything I do. Especially when it comes to 'homemaking.' They are very traditional and in their opinion, I am not."

"What was your husband like with them around?"

"Not helpful." You flop onto the couch cushion next to him, "I would argue she is worse now that he isn't around than when he was."

"She seems like it," He mutters. "Let's just enjoy dinner."

"Our last meal." You mumble.

After dinner, you come back inside to clean up the kitchen for the night. Birdie hears you and gets up from the couch to help. "So, Dr. Robinavitch, what kind of doctor are you?"

"I practice Emergency Medicine. I work in the emergency room." Robby explains, "I do a little of everything."

"I see," She glances at you, "What hospital do you work at?"

"Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center."

"Really… isn't that where my son passed away?"

You clatter some dishes in the sink, "You already know the answer to that, Birdie."

"I was just curious," Birdie defends, "Were you one of his doctors?"

"I was overseeing the doctor treating him. It's a teaching hospital."

"Maybe you should reconsider that malpractice lawsuit, Hun." Birdie whispers.

"No, Birdie, your son was having a heart attack and didn't know until days later. His heart just wasn't strong enough. There was no need to sue the hospital." You exhale.

Robby starts to get offended for you. Her judgemental gaze on the back of your head, "Well, Hun, it's getting pretty late. We are going to hit the hay. Are you on your way out, Robby?"

"He's staying the night." You wipe your hands on a dish towel, "In my room, in my bed."

Birdie blinks a few times, "Oh, I see. He's that kind of friend."

"Yes, Birdie, my boyfriend. And we are also going to retire for the night." You grab Robby's hand, "TV is on a timer after eleven, Alan. Good night."

You bring Robby upstairs and once the door is closed you grumble with frustration. "You saw that right? Her snide little comments, her judgemental eyes. Always judging me."

"Mhm, you did good not getting upset." He commends.

"Oh, wait until the kids come. Then it becomes a real Olympic sport." You flop onto your bed. Robby crawls into bed next to you.

"I'm here for you." He kisses your shoulder, "I don't know all the history there but I'm in your corner."

You melt in his hold as he spoons you under the covers. "You probably deal with a hundred of her every day."

"Oh no, she is a different breed. I pray she doesn't end up in the ER while she's staying here." You both giggle before relaxing in each other's arms falling asleep.

The next day, Robby's alarm wakes him up for work. He notices you not in bed when he sits up. His brows furrow in confusion before he gets up and ready for the day.

When he comes out of your room, he see you come out of Viv's, "Hey is everything okay?"

"Yeah, Eli brought Viv home late last night. She's got a fever and couldn't sleep so she called Eli." You whisper.

"Do you want me to check her out?" He offers.

"No it's fine for now I think her cold is coming back. I bet they were outside late in the night in the cold air." You sigh, "Let me make you some coffee before you go."

The both of you head downstairs to find Birdie already at your coffee machine. Your eye twitches before you take a deep breath, "Good morning, Birdie."

"Good morning, Hun. I heard the kids come home and just couldn't go back to sleep." She says. You face falls when you see the coffee she was using.

"Where'd you get that coffee?" You try to keep your composure. Robby purses his lips and holds your shoulders to keep you steady.

"Oh, I found it in the cabinet. It looked so delightful, perfect for the cold day." She made it sound so simple when you knew that wasn't the case.

It was your husband's favorite coffee. The last bag of it. You put it in the very bottom and farthest corner away from your vision. Every time you'd get even a whiff of the aroma of his coffee, you'd get overwhelmed with tears.

"Would you like some?" She asks, "I'm brewing a pot now."

"No, thank you, I've got to get to work. I'll get some on the way." Robby pulls you back to the hall.

You lip begins to quiver as Robby tries to comfort you. Tears well up in you eyes as he holds your face, "They'll be gone by the weekend. Take a deep breath. You're okay" He stares deeply in your eyes. "Take a deep breath."

You do as he says, taking a deep breath, "I'm just going to go back to bed."

He gives you a quick peck on the lips, "You can always call me, okay?"

"I'll see you later," You close the door after him and trudge back to your room in defeat.

-

"Woof, sounds like a true monster-in-law." Dana says after listening to Robby tells the stories of Birdie from the night before and the morning.

"Was Benji's mom like that?" He asks.

"No way, she had my mom to answer to." She scoffs, "Those kind of women are tough. They feel the need to punish you for taking their sons away from them."

"I wish I could tell her off." He sighs.

"Don't do that. Let the missus handle it. She's had to deal with that woman for twenty years." She pats his back, "Just be more present than her husband was."

"Hey Robby, your girlfriend is here with her daughter." Donnie walks over, "Her fever got worse so they came in."

"Thanks for letting me know. Santos you're up. Let's go." He walks over to the room with Donnie.

You lean against the wall with your eyes closed as Birdie complains about everything. Vivian lays in the bed with a mask on as a precaution. "It's so drafty in here. Don't they know it's fifteen degrees outside. The least they can do is offer a blanket around here." Birdie shivers.

"She's burning up, Birdie. A blanket is the last thing she needs."

"Then they could offer it to me. I'm getting aches."

"Hello again, Birdie. Hi, Viv how are you doing," You open your eyes and smile with relief as Robby and Santos approach the curtained room.

"I'm okay." Viv mutters timidly.

"Oh nonsense, I tried to wake her up this morning and she wouldn't budge. When I touched her face, she was burning up. Thank goodness I went to check on her."

"The fever was the same as it was this morning but she's been sluggish. She's also complaining about her ear."

"Alright, Santos why don't you go ahead and take a look."

Santos grabs the otoscope to look in Viv's ears. "Has she had any history of ear infections in the past."

"Yes—"

"Yes, she had one when she was five. It was swimmer's ear though. Nothing like this." You quickly cut Birdie off from speaking.

"Any hearing loss, Sweetie?" Santos asks Vivian directly.

"No, my ear just hurts." She points to her left one.

"Yeah, I see." Santos looks again with her otoscope, "Looks to be a middle ear infection."

"What causes it?" You ask.

"The common cold is a possibility. Since she's been having the condition frequently." Robby suggests.

"Frequently?!" Birdie shoots a glare at you.

"It's February, Birdie. She's got school and practice. She's always in the cold." You argue.

"Then maybe you should make her stay home once in a while. Ice skating is not that important." Vivian wilts after Birdie says that.

"Is it treatable?" You ignore her, deciding not to pick a fight anymore.

"It is. They usually go away on their own but we can write up a prescription for antibiotics just in case." Santos explains, she takes Viv's hand, "You'll be back on the ice in no time. Let me get you some meds for the pain now and write up the script. "

"Thank you." You say to Santos. "Thank you." You hug Robby tightly. It was a strong hold like he'd vanish in your grasp.

"I'll check on you guys before you go." He whispers. You let go and return to the wall. Birdie is scowling at your affection before she proceeds to dote on Vivian.

After Santos explains the prognosis and treatment, Viv and Birdie go to the bathroom while Robby takes you to the break room. "She's only been here half a day and I want to tear my hair out."

"Don't do that. I like your hair." He twirls a strand between his fingers

You look at him unamused and pouting. "She's been helicoptering around Viv all day just waiting for her to get worse so she can say 'I told you so.' The nerve of that lady."

"Yeah, she's quite the character. How have you dealt with her for so long."

"It's nice when they're hundreds of miles of away in Florida. And when we are there I could make myself sparse. Kinda hard to do that now that you don't have a husband to hide behind." You suck your teeth.

"Well, you are doing a phenomenal job. I don't think I've ever seen your angry face before. It's very sexy."

"Shut up." You slap his shoulder, "I feel the wrinkles lingering on my forehead like a Shar-Pei."

"And you still have your humor." He chuckles. He kisses your forehead, "I'll see you tonight."

You kiss him longingly before leaving with your family. Santos approaches him, "That older woman was kinda…"

"A bitch? I know." He sighs, "She'll get what's coming to her someday. People like that don't have healthy hearts."

Later in the night, at your house, Birdie messes around in your kitchen trying to cook dinner for the family and some soup for Viv to make her feel better. Alan rambles to Eli about his future at Michigan while Eli looks at you begging to be put of his misery. You lay against Robby's shoulder, rubbing your temples as you hear Birdie swearing under her breath and clamber in your cabinets. She's mumbling about your organization skills and the layout of the kitchen.

She's always hated your renovated kitchen. It was too large, too pristine and too expensive. She had a lot to say at the wake to the other guests about the house. She was under the impression that you would have put the house on the market by the end of the month.

"Dinner's almost ready, I'm just going to run this up to Viv." She says as she carries a large bowl to Viv. As she walks it past the living room, you and Robby try not to gag at the smell.

"What is that?" He asks.

"Sour soup recipe. It's good for when your sick. Not that you'd care, eh doc? I bet you see the sick and see dollar signs." Alan laughs at his own joke before returning to his conversation with Eli.

"I may have failed to mention they are kinda… anti hospital?" You whisper.

"I figured." Robby whispers back.

"They are here until the weekend but I don't know if I'm gonna make it." You whine.

"Don't say that. You gotta hold on. Do it for me." He holds your hand and laces his fingers with yours, "I can take a week off and I'll be your servant and I'll do whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?" A smile grows on your face, "I like the sound of that." You lean in and kiss him.

"Hun, are you going to work tomorrow?" Birdie scares you apart as she comes down the stairs.

"No I'm going to take some sick days until Viv gets better."

"Oh Hun, that's what I am here for. I'll keep an eye on her. You should go to work. My son's life insurance isn't going to last forever."

"Of course." You sigh. Robby's eye twitches slightly at the woman's slight. "But you will let me know if anything changes, right?"

"Yes, yes." She waves off your presumptuous tone, "Dinner's ready. Hun, can you set the table? I can't find the table settings in this damned kitchen."

"I can do that. I know where they are." Robby gets up and kisses your hand. You mouth a thank you as he walks to the kitchen.

Every day after the first feel like a slow and painful countdown to the end of their trip. With Birdie's complaining and Alan's possession of your living room, the only place you knew peace was your bedroom. And it seems to be everyone else's peace too.

"Tomorrow's the big day Eli. Are you excited?" You pinch his cheek.

"I guess so, I'm more ready for it to be over and done with." He sighs.

"Don't feel obligated to out perform on the ice for Michigan. There are plenty of other schools that have given you offers." You assure, "Wherever you go I'll be happy just don't become a Flyer, okay?"

"Yes mom." He rolls his eyes.

You turn to Viv and notice her looking better, "You gonna come to the game with us tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'm feeling much better." She smiles.

"You look better too." You smile in return, "We are almost home free. They'll be gone the day after next."

"Is it bad that I've been dumping grandma's oily soup in the garden?" Viv confesses.

"Viv!" You pat her playfully, "I can forgive you since it's still Winter."

"It's gross." She pouts, "I mean, at least she cares."

"Sometimes we can appreciate care when it's coming from Florida and not in our face." You snicker.

-

The next day was the big game; Eli's Senior Night. The coach of his high school team introduces you to the recruiter but the conversation is immediately hijacked by Birdie and Alan. You take a step back and go to sit with the rest of the seniors' families where the moms have saved your family some seats.

Viv sees her friend and goes to sit with them instead. As the players warm up, Robby arrives wearing a team shirt for the occasion. He finds you in the stands and takes a seat beside you. "Final stretch," He whispers.

"I'm literally counting down the seconds." You chuckle, "They are hoping to go out to dinner but I'm praying someone is out there slashing tires to prevent it."

"How well are you at faking a medical emergency?" He suggests.

"Oscar-worthy." You smirk.

He laughs and kisses you cheek before finding Viv down below, sitting with her friend, "Viv looks better."

"She says she feels better. We didn't have to fill the prescription." You smile, "I'm glad she's upright again."

"Dr. Robby, you're here too. Glad you could find the time in your most likely busy schedule." Birdie says as she takes the seat below you. Alan sits down beside her.

"Wouldn't miss it, Birdie." He purses his lips.

"What I don't understand, Hun, is being so high up in the stands. You know Alan's got those screws in his knee."

"You and Alan are more than welcome to sit anywhere else in this arena, Birdie." You retort. She sneers and faces forward.

It was clear your patience was waning by the minute with Birdie and her bull shit. Robby doesn't say a word and simply takes your hand as a comfort. You were not going to tolerate all that she had say at a 2 hour high school hockey game.

Before the game begins, the announcer goes through the home team's seniors and their plans for the future. Eli is the last to be announced: "Elijah is still undetermined of which school he will be choosing but has received offers from schools like Ohio State, Providence, Denver, and Notre Dame."

Eli skates around the ice waving as the announcer continues, "He plays today in honor of his mom and sister for being his support after the passing of his father last summer." Everyone cheers as he goes around.

"He must have submitted that before inviting us." Birdie mutters to Alan.

"He also would like to give special thanks to Dr. Robby for helping him back on his skates and continue to the season after his father's passing."

Robby looks at you in surprise. You simply smile and shrug, "You left an impression."

After the announcements, the game begins with a face off. Eli is the starting center and when the puck is dropped he is quick to gain possession. His team are swift to score their first goal in the first quarter. It was a game of keep away until the intermission.

During the intermission, Birdie is babbling about Eli while your eyes are on Viv. The game has started but she's not paying attention, choosing to stare at her phone instead. She's further down the stands with her head resting on her friend's shoulder.

"Hey," Robby nudges you, "You okay?"

"Yeah, just worried about Viv like a doting mother." You says.

"You worry too much. That little girl is a fighter like her daddy was." Birdie dismisses your worry.

"That's what I'm worried about." You mutter.

"I can check on her after the game. Our excuse for the dinner." Robby whispers. You smile and kiss his cheek.

"Thank you."

Intermission ends and the boys are back on the ice again. They zip around chasing the puck from end to end until the opposing team scores. Players are subbed in and out constantly until Eli is back on the ice again. It was incredible seeing how he maneuvered on the ice. Taking hits, staying balance, ramming others while maintaining speed and focus. By the end of the second quarter the teams are still tied.

Vivian comes up to you during the second intermission, "Can I have a couple bucks for a snack."

"Sure. Are you feeling okay?" You ask as you dig for your wallet. Robby pulls out his wallet and hands her some cash.

"Thanks Robby!" She beams, "I'm okay, I think I'm just need to eat something."

Before you can ask anymore questions she rushes down the stands, linking arms with her friend and heading to the food stand. You can't shake the feeling that something is wrong though. A dull but familiar pang in your heart from when your husband passed. "I think she should have stayed home." You say.

"You think? She might just need to rest when we get home." Robby says.

You chew on your bottom lip before taking a breath. You notice Birdie talking to the recruiter again. "God, she is insatiable," You grumble.

"You'd be too if your child died before you did." Alan speaks to you directly for the first time since arriving. You nearly jump at the sound of his voice, "She'd give anything in the world to have him back. You and the kids movin' on just hurts her feelings. She hopes Eli can fulfill her dead son's one wish of going to Michigan for hockey."

"Well that's up to Eli to decide." You state, "And I hope as his grandparents no matter what he chooses you'll be happy. And I can't help that my kids and I mourn differently. I can respect her sadness but I will not accept her disrespect."

Just then there is a scream by concessions. You and Robby jump up to follow the source. A crowd starts to form but Robby pushes past with you following behind. "I'm a doctor, everyone I need you to take a few steps back please."

As he kneels down, you fall to your knees in the center of the crowd. Viv lays on the floor with her eyes closed.

"Can anyone tell me what happened?" Robby asks as he checks her pulse.

"W-we were waiting in line together when she stiffened up. I let her go to see what happened when she started seizing. I've never seen her have one before." Her friend explains.

"She's not epileptic." You sniffle as you touch her cheek.

"She fell and hit her head on the floor." The friend says.

"Pupils equal and reactive. Viv, can you hear me?" He rubs her sternum and her chest raises, "Show me a sign, Sweetie, letting me know." There's no response.

"Oh god." You pull out your phone and dial 9-1-1.

"Tell them we have a head trauma and fall from a seizure." He says. Tears well up in your eyes as you explain to the operator what happened and the location of the incident.

Soon after, paramedics arrive to the scene putting her on a back board then the gurney. As they wheel her to the ambulance, you follow holding her hand tightly as tears fall from your eyes. "Go with her." Robby urges you.

"N-no you should go with, you're the doctor." You croak.

"No, what she needs right now is her mom to be with her. I'll meet you there." He rushes to his car.

You get into the back of the ambulance with Viv and hold her hand the entire ride. "C'mon baby. Don't go too. Please don't go." You whisper as tears continue to fall from your eyes.

You arrive to PTMC and are immediately overwhelmed with the feeling of deja vu as you watch your daughter enter the same room her father died in. You hesitate at the door taking shallow breaths before entering. The nurses and doctors are working promptly for the task at hand getting vitals and getting her prepared. Prepared for what exactly, you didn't know.

Abbot enters the room brushing past you to see Viv. When he recognizes her face, he turns to you, "Robby's girl?"

You nod slowly, unable to speak.

One of the other doctors tells him the story from the paramedics but Abbot looks at you, "What can you tell us, Mom?"

"She… she had an ear infection for the last few days," You sniffle, "She said she was feeling better and that her ear didn't hurt but towards the night she started feeling bad again."

"Okay, then she had the seizure at the hockey game."

"Yes, her friend said she may have hit her head when she fell backwards."

"Good to know. Robby, nice of you to join us. Tagging in on this?"

You turn to see Robby and almost fall into his arms. He returns the hug as he feels you tighten your grip. "I'm just here for support."

"Okay, what are we thinking… Nazely?" Abbot looks at the smaller doctor.

"Past infection could mean it has spread? Has your daughter been vaccinated?"

"Yes. My kids are up to date on vaccines, she gets the flu shot every year." You say.

"Could be another kind of infection, and to find that out we need to…"

"We should do a spinal tap and order a CT."

"Smart thinking, Dr. Toomarian. Mom?"

"Do whatever you need to do." Tears make a mess of your face. You move closer to see Viv's serene face with an oxygen mask strapped to her face, "Just make her feel better. Let her come home."

"We'll do everything we can. She is in a stable condition. We will do a CT for her head injury and a spinal tap for the infection." Abbot turns to his team, "Let's move, people."

"Let's go sit." Robby whispers.

You're feet feel like cement as you watch them turn your daughter on her side for the tap. You trudge forward and walk away with Robby to the family room. Once inside, you can't sit still. You pace from corner to corner. "Come sit." Robby says gently.

You don't listen, you stop to pull out your phone to call Birdie. No answer. "I should have been the one to monitor her. She wasn't actually getting better. She lost her appetite." You scoff, "I should have known but my stupid squabbling with Birdie filled my head."

"You can't blame yourself for this."

"Why not? She's my daughter and I failed her like I failed my…" You cover your face and fall onto the couch.

"That's not true. You know that isn't true." Robby comes to the couch and grabs your wrists to pull your hands away, "She's going to be just fine. The doctors are doing everything they can right now." He pulls you into a hug and rubs your back as you cry on his shoulder.

Several minutes later, the door to the family room flings open. "Mom?" Eli enters the room dripping in sweat still in most of his gear from the hockey game. He's panting with a scared look on his face, "Where's Viv? Is she okay?"

"She hasn't woken up yet. They're running tests to figure out what's wrong right now." You hug him, "What are you doing here?"

"I heard in the locker room Viv was taken by an ambulance and nobody knew what was going on." He sniffles, "Rochelle gave me a ride. Grandma and Grandpa were trying to stop me but I didn't care. I don't want to be on the ice again while you guys are hurt." He bursts into tears. You rub his back, bringing him to the couch for comfort.

Soon, Abbot and Nazely enter the room, "We have an update. We took a scan of Viv's head and it does show some swelling from the head trauma as well as some fluid around the brain."

"Wh-what does that mean?" You ask.

"It means we have a clearer idea of what she may have and would like to start her on some IVs. We won't have a definitive cause until the spinal tap results are back." Nazely explains.

"What's in the IVs?"

"Just some steroids, they act like a anti-inflammatory that will help with the swelling."

"Thank you." You finally smile in relief.

"She has a quiet room if you'd like to see her now."

"Yes, please, and thank you." You and Eli follow Nazely to one of the central rooms where Vivian lays.

"What do you think it is?" Robby asks.

"Meningitis. The bacteria from her ear most likely reached her brain stem. When the ear infection ended the immune system was still weak. Loss of appetite, probably sleeping all day. She just couldn't recover fast enough."

Robby sighs, "Glad you caught it."

"Always cleaning up your messes." Abbot pats his shoulder, "Go see your family. I'll find your honey when I get the results.

Robby finds you in central ten. Eli leans back in a chair against the wall as he finally succumbs to exhaustion. You stay beside Viv, holding her hand as she sleeps, "I'll never hear the end of this."

"Don't worry about them right now." He says.

"They're bound to arrive any minute now and they'll say I ruined everything."

"Babe, please don't worry about them, okay?" He says. He puts his hand on your shoulder and places a kiss to the top of your head, "I'll take care of it."

You lay your head on the side of the bed and sigh. You're still holding tight to Viv's hand.

A bit later, there's a knock on the door. In enters, Birdie and Alan but you are too exhausted to move from your spot. Robby stands against the wall eyeing them carefully.

"Oh look at the poor thing," Birdie pouts, "Why didn't you come get us, Hun? We had to hail a very expensive taxi."

"Things got a little scary for everyone, Birdie. Can you give it a rest right now?" Robby speaks for you.

"Tsk, like you were any help, Doctor. You know, Hun, you could have at least drove her to the hospital instead of the ambulance. You know how expensive those things are. It also distracted Eli from his game. Hopefully the coach from Michigan saw enough—"

"Birdie, stop talking." Robby says.

"Excuse me?"

"He said shut up." You sit up and look her dead in the face. Your tears now dry and your voice still soft, "All you have done this week is belittle me, my house, how I raise my kids, how I mourn my dead husband. So let's just lay it all out, shall we?" You stand up, "Your son was shit husband. That's why it was so easy to move on. I devoted my life to him and had to beg to get anything in return. Honestly, a little of me was happy he died because I thought I would never have to endure you two again. All you ever cared about was hockey for Eli. You would never show up for Viv and her skating. Hell, look how long it took you to get here."

"That's not fair." Birdie says

"Shut up! You keep inviting yourself into my life and taking all that I am. You took his things, his photos, you sold the things I thought were beloved. You took over his wake at MY house. You have done nothing but take and take just like he did, Bernadette. I see where he gets it from all these years later." You take a breath, "Now if you don't mind, I'd like to sit with my family and pray my daughter wakes up."

Birdie looks at you aghast. She opens her mouth to speak but Robby steps in front of her, "I think you should leave. This visit has become inappropriate. I can escort you or I'll call security to escort you."

"Fine." Birdie and Alan turn on their heels and leave the room. Robby follows them out.

"You did this to her. She was never like this with my son." She sneers.

"Have you consider the consequences of your actions?" He scoffs. They reach the waiting room door, "You guys should look into getting a hotel room for the night."

"What?!"

"I thinks it's for the best that you make yourself scarce until you leave back to Florida," His gaze darkens. Then he clears his throat, "If you need money for another taxi I'd be happy to give it but you should not be home when we get there."

Birdie looks taken aback, "We can get our own taxi."

"Good." He gives them an unnerving smile then walks back to the room. He finds Elijah awake by Viv's side you're nowhere in sight.

"She said she needed air." Eli mumbles then closes his eyes again.

He heads out into the hall again looking for you. As he comes to the hub he finds you hugging the wall trying to catch your breath. He holds your waist and takes you outside. "You're okay now. Take a deep breath."

You do as he says gulping as much air as you can. "I can't believe I said all that."

"It was a lot. You were feeling a lot." The two of you sit on the concrete planters.

"I was expecting to feel better after saying it but I don't." You admit.

"What do you feel?"

"Guilty?" You look at him. "Guilty not doing it sooner. When she tried to criticize you for not helping Viv it made me so mad. I know in my heart of hearts that you would do anything for Viv, or Eli, or me. I needed to protect you. I care so deeply about you, Robby. I didn't want you to be scared away by her."

"She could never scare me away. I love you."

"Move in with me." You say.

"What?"

"All I thought about this week was how I wish you were at my house every day and every night. Had you been in my bed all this time, I would have had a better week. Knowing you'd be coming over excited me. I looked forward to it. I want to look forward to it every day going forward."

"I'd love to." He smiles harder, "You've become my family. I can't imagine my life without you guys."

The two of you sit in each other's arms until Abbot walks out to find you. You notice him first and stand up. He smiles, "We got the results from the spinal tap and we can begin treating Viv."

"What is it?"

"It was bacteria from her ear infection that caused meningitis."

"But it's treatable?"

"Yes, we are putting her on IV antibiotics right now." He says, "We also recommend everyone in the house with her also get a vaccine against the bacteria."

"Oh my god. I just sent her grandparents away and I don't know if they'll pick up the phone."

"I can call them." Abbot says, "Give me there numbers and I'll be sure to call. A nurse is inside that can administer your vaccine."

You give him Birdie's number then head inside. Before he hits the call button, Robby puts his hand on the phone. Abbot raises an eyebrow.

"You called them and they didn't answer. It went straight to voicemail and the inbox is full." Robby says.

"Robby, they are at risk."

"Just this once look the other way." Robby stares deeply into Abbot's eyes. Reluctantly, Abbot sighs and puts his phone away.

"I called them and they didn't answer. It went straight to voicemail and the inbox is full." Abbot repeats the lie.

They both then head inside so Robby can get his vaccine and rejoin his family. "Do you want to help me move next weekend?"

˖⋆࿐໋₊ ☆

Companion Piece To:

The Casting Couch - Your first foray into porn starts on a casting couch with Michael “Robby” Robinavitch behind the camera.

The Photo Lab - Jack and Robby review the photographs from your audition on the casting couch.

The Screen Test (NSFW) - You and Jack set the screen test on fire during your first video together.

You’ve left your gym bag.

Robby finds it resting against shelves that stocks the towels and the baby wipes after him and Jesse hoof Dana’s velvet sofa back to the reception area of the studio. He stares at the white and green Nike bag containing your spare set of clothes before glancing at the bathroom door where Jack has graciously let you take the first shower. He’s currently reviewing the footage Robby shot during that scene, something he’s very interested in to Robby’s surprise. He’s usually a ‘wrap it’ and move on to the next shoot kind of guy.

Jesse’s already been sequestered to this next assignment. Dana’s on location, filming a bathroom scene with Garcia and Walsh, and needs his skill set. They have no idea why, but their viewers really love the whole lesbian in the bathtub trope, the more bubbles the better.

He picks up the bag and approaches the bathroom door. You’ve been in there a few minutes by now so he’s hoping you’re finishing up. He raps his knuckles on the door, a loud one, two that has Jack’s head popping up from behind the camera like a meerkat. “Honey, you’ve left your bag-”

You call out his name through the thin wood. You mustn’t have gotten in yet, he turns the handle, pushing the door open and to his surprise steam bellows out. The showers running, he can hear the patter of water against the tiles.

His name sounds again like a siren’s song. The showers in this place, they can take a minute to reach an ambient temperature. He pokes his head through expecting to see you in front of the vanity. Instead, he’s treated to your naked silhouette in the fogged-up glass of the cubical. Your back is against the wall, the blurred shape of your hand between your legs, while the other kneads your breast.

This happens sometimes after a shoot if one of the performer’s didn’t climax, the build-up it can lead to taking matters into your own hands…

“Robby.” His name rolls off your lips, your voice desperate, closer to the edge than you ever were with Jack.  

His cock springs to attention, thrusting itself against the inside of his combats, electricity spiking underneath his skin. He stares down at the tent in his pants, surprised by its sudden interest. It’s the second time he’d popped a woody over you. He’d made sure to jack off before the screen test just in case it happened again but it’s still there, big, bold and craving every inch of your bareness.

Christ, he hasn’t felt like this in a long time, not since before all that shit that happened with Driscoll.

That memory, it’s like cold water dousing his entire body, reminding him of how boundaries can be blurred, how temptation can be entirely one sided. He pulls away, setting your gym bag just inside the bathroom before closing the door.

“You alright?” Jack asks. His body is angled away from the camera, his eyes on Robby. The movie you’ve just made plays in the background, your gorgeous tits on display as you play with them, almost a mirror of what’s going on in the bathroom. “Oh, is she…”

Robby nods his head at the insinuation. “I walked in because she was saying my name.”

“I knew she had a thing for you.” Jack’s hands grasp his hips, his tongue clicking as he jerks his chin back to the movie. “The way she looked at that camera at the end…Are you going to-”

Robby cuts him off with a shake of his head.

“I’m her boss.” His arms cross over his chest, affirming his stance on the situation. “Everything we do here is based on ethics, that’s why we set up our own studio in the first place. She should be able feel safe here.”

Jack, more than anyone else on this earth understands exactly why Robby has to maintain that professional boundary, he was the first one Robby told about the assault, the one who found him after he tried to slit his own wrists.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Jack suggests, picking up the camera from the tripod and handing it to Robby. “You can grab a coffee, get started on editing the footage. I’ll close down the set, finish up here.”

“You’re sure?” Robby asks him, cradling the camera to his chest. He’s usually the one that resets the room after a scene, that does the checks to make sure everything’s ready for the next shoot.

“Yeah, don’t worry.” Jack says as the shower turns off and the sound of you humming Destiny’s Child drifts through the bathroom door. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Like My Work? - Tip your friendly fan fic writer here! Or be a sweetheart and drop me comment or reblog.

"you know? like i taught you before, remember that? when you helped daddy feel really nice with your hands?" he tilts his head when he speaks to you, using that gentle tone that he knows you respond best to.

you swallow and nod slowly. "should i get in with you?"

robby nods and watches intently as you strip your clothes off, leaving them in a neat pile on the floor before stepping into the bath, you go to sit down facing him but he stops you with a hand on your hip.

"other way, angel." he guides your body with his hand so your back is turned to him now.

"but how will i be able to do that thing if i'm not facing you?" you ask but still sit down between his legs anyway. daddy always knows best so you do as you're told.

"don't worry, i'll show you. how about you open your legs for me, sweetheart?" he has both hands on each of your thighs, gently smoothing over them under the surface of the water.

"o-okay, daddy." you part your legs the best that you can in the cramped tub, bringing your knees up to your chest. robby slides his hand between your thigh and stomach, fingers resting against the soft mound of your pussy.

"okay, now give me your hand." he instructs and takes your hand in his, pushing himself as far back as he can to give you a little bit of room while he wraps your fingers around his shaft. it feels very different under the water than it did when you jerked him off before, feels softer, easier for you to glide over it with your fist.

"there ya go, doing so good, sweetheart. makin' daddy feel really nice, such a sweet girl takin' care of your old stepdad like this, aren't you? my sweet sweet girl." he purrs in your ear, his deep tone rumbling through his throat and sending shivers down your spine.

"well, i love you, daddy. this is how you show people you love them, isn't it? that's what you said before." robby wonders how he got so lucky to get such a sweet naive girl like you who just believes everything her daddy tells her. just his dumb little puppy so eager to please him.

"exactly, you're so clever, baby. you learn so quick, don't you?" he presses a wet kiss to your neck and revels in the way you lean into it, he can feel your smile across your cheeks from the praise he gave you. "hey, how about you let daddy show you how much he loves you, hm? it'll feel so nice i promise. you're always such a good girl for me, think you deserve to feel good too, right?"

"uh yeah, okay. but how?" you ask, hand still gliding up and down the length of his hard cock at the pace he taught you the last time, you can still feel the way it twitches in your hand under the warm water.

"don't worry, i'll show you. just relax, sweetheart." he presses one last kiss to your neck, resting his chin on your shoulder as he leans forwards, bringing the hand he was resting on your pussy down a little bit. his long fingers find your clit immediately and gives you a few gentle rubs, feeling your body tense up a little bit as you gasp from the sensation.

"never touched yourself there before, huh, angel?" he asks, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his damp beard tickling your warm skin. you shake your head slowly, hand still firmly wrapped around his cock, though you're jerking him slower now, a little distracted by what's going on between your legs.

"that's okay, sweetheart. it'll feel really really nice, but i need you to promise me that you won't try this yourself, only daddy can touch you like this, yeah? so if you like it and you're feeling achy down there, you just come tell me and i'll take care of it, okay?" his fingers work slow circles over your clit and small whines tumble from your lips as you nod, resting your head against his as your body starts to feel so fuzzy and limp.

"uh-huh. i promise, daddy. only dads can touch their sweet girls like this?" your moans get louder as robby's pace increases, he presses down a little harder, finding exactly the right pressure to make you fall apart in his arms.

"yep, exactly. aren't you just the smartest girl in the world, hm? my sweet girl is just so so clever." he smirks against your neck. he has you exactly where he wants you and you don't even know it

michael robinavitch you are a pervert and i love you very much <3 (maybe i’m the pervert seeing as i wrote it) anywayyy hope u enjoyed, taking a bit of a gamble posting it this late but we ball.

want to be added to my fauxcest taglist .ᐣ reply to this post ᝰ.ᐟ

Pope remembers when he met you for the first time, June 1st 2012. You were eighteen and bright-eyed, happy, smiling. Precious. Catherine needed time to herself, needed help with little Lena, two years old at the time and you were there. The babysitter. 

            He met you when he went over to talk to Baz about a job and found that Baz and Catherine were out and you were there, holding Lena on your hip. 

            “Hi,” you had said, your expression concerned, drawn together, suspicious, your body put between him and your charge, the door not entirely open. “Can I help you?”

            “I’m looking for my brother, Baz,” he had replied and your eyes had narrowed in that analytical way you have, the one he didn’t know then, but he grew to know. Grew to love. “Where can I find him?”

            “Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell have gone out. They won’t be back for a few hours. Should I take a message?” You were perfectly polite, but all he’d done was shaken his head, angry at the stone wall you’d put up, the impenetrableness of the force which you created. 

            “I’ll be back later,” is all he’d said, storming off, walk rigid like always. He’d been told by his brothers that he didn’t walk like a human and when he’d reached his car, he’d glanced back, noticing the door still open. You were watching him, making sure he left, protective of Lena. Of the girl you were tasked to look after. 

            That was the first time he met you, but it was not when he fell into deep, sickening love, a kind of love that others would call obsession, stalking. That time came later, after you’d been introduced to him by Catherine and Baz and he became Mr. Cody, someone okay to be around Lena. 

            You were always there, watching over Lena, your laugh always echoing, infectious. A college student, he’d been told. One studying science, but no one ever told him what science, only that you were quite good, quite skilled at what you did. What you were studying. He could sometimes see you doing complicated equations while Lena scribbled with crayons. 

            But he did not fall into his love (obsession) until October 27th 2012, a date seared into his memory. He’d been tasked with checking on Lena, a task from Smurf who didn’t like Catherine and he knew that you were watching her, most likely at the park. 

            He’d shown up, lurking in the trees, watching as you played with Lena in the sand, pushed her on the swings, looking for all the world like a young mother or older sister. There was just something about you that made him feel you truly cared for the girl. He watched and he felt something shift inside of him, like the compass in his chest that was always steered to Catherine now steered towards you. 

            You’d looked up at that moment, your body haloed by the sun, attention on him. You had noticed him and waved him over, calling out “Mr. Cody!” Lena had grown excited and he complied, standing there awkwardly, standing there unsure what to do, unsure what to say the way he always was. 

            He did not know intimacy. He did not know love. He knew what had paid for, had been purchased, bought, and expected of him. He did not know what it felt to have someone entirely his to be someone else’s entire. He knew what it was liked to be used, forced and hurt. 

            He knew heartbreak. 

            But you made him want more. You made him want love. Especially because as Lena fell asleep against you, the three of you sitting on a grassy knoll, watching the birds as you explained that Lena liked to do, you had been at peace. You had not been scared of him, ashamed. You had felt comfortable, safe. 

            And you read him like an open book. 

            “You’re in love with Cath,” you had whispered and he remembers that he looked at you with shock, surprise. You had smiled at him, the kind of smile that came from being used to people’s surprise. “You don’t hide it, Mr. Cody,” you continued, the smile turning sad. “I just wish more for both of you.”

            “What do you mean?” he had asked and you sighed, your hand stilling on Lena’s head from where you had been smoothing down her ever-growing dark hair. 

            “I mean that Cath deserves someone who loves her wholly and you deserve to love someone capable of loving you back, Mr. Cody.” He had wished that you would call him Andrew, called him by his name, but it seemed like you were incapable of that, a line drawn between professional and personal. Except for Cath, it seemed. 

            “You call her Cath,” he had said, unsure of how to ask, unsure of what to say and you had looked at him with softened eyes and a smile, one nostalgic. 

            “Because she asked me too,” you’d whispered. “She said that I’m more like Lena’s older sister than her babysitter and that I should call her Cath.” He had wanted to ask you what would happen if he asked you to call him Andrew, but he understood then that he was not Cath. That Cath was Cath and he was Mr. Cody, a line forever drawn. 

            But he didn’t want that line there. He just wanted you. You as his and he as yours. A part of him thought you wanted that too. 

            And then he fell headfirst into loving you, learning your music preferences, your favourite colours and foods and days. It didn’t matter, what you loved he knew about. He just wished that he made it onto that list. 

            When he was arrested in 2013, you were the person he thought of, cared about. Worried for. You visited him once at Folsom, a backpack on your shoulders, your body tense and rigid as you stepped into the visiting room, putting the phone to your ear as he did the same on the other side. 

            “I heard Mr. Blackwell and Deran talking about you being here,” you had said and he’d swallowed hard at your words, at this admission that he mattered enough to you for you to do that. “I thought I’d come by.”

            “Why?” he’d asked, watching as your face shifted, shuttered, eyes darting around, refusing to settle on him. 

            “Because I figured no one else was.” It was true, the truest truth he’d heard since…well, ever and it did not surprise him that it came from you. You seemed honest to a fault. “And Lena wanted me to tell you about her ballet recital.” You had pulled your phone out, putting the screen against the dividing wall so he could watch as his niece toddled around the stage in a glittery blue costume. “Made the costume myself,” you’d told him and he felt his heart pound and pound and pound harder and harder because you were so…perfect. 

            You came every so often for a visit, some update about Lena over the three years he was away, but you mainly wrote him letters, keeping him apprised of her daily life, but never you. It was still a line drawn between you and him and what you could be. 

            But in the walls of Folsom, he pretended that the wall did not exist, spoke of you to the inmates as his wife. His, his, his, his, his. He wanted you to be his. So badly. 

            When he got out, the first person he went to was you, your apartment number burned onto his mind and he stayed in the rental vehicle he’d gotten, watching you through your curtains, watching as you moved around. Alone. 

            Blissfully alone. 

            He knew then, that night, his first of freedom, that you would be his. 

            He just had to wait until the time was right. 

            “Are you crying?!” Lena cries, standing up from the couch, her little face twisted into an expression of shock and disgust, hands on her slim hips. 

            “No,” you lie, looking away, your hands pressing against your eyes, moving from in to out, wiping away your tears. 

            “You so are! Why? That movie’s just weird,” she says and you can hear her grab her glass from the coffee table, small feet making a surprising amount of noise as she stomps to the kitchen. 

            “The Notebook is not weird, you little gremlin!” you call out, your voice teasing despite the thickness still there. The movie reduces you to tears every time, the way that love wins and yet it doesn’t. The way they fight for their happy ending and yet lose it so quickly. 

            “He’s so obsessed with her!” Lena calls out and you roll your eyes, untangling your legs from one another and the fluffy blanket you’ve curled up under, planting your feet flat on the hardwood floor, pushing up to a stand, grabbing the popcorn bucket and your glass, walking through the living room, back towards the kitchen, the movie’s credits still rolling. 

            “And what?” you ask, stepping in, walking to the sink while Lena pulls a bottle of water from the fridge. “What’s wrong with him being obsessed with her like that? I think it’s romantic.”

            “He never moves on,” Lena says, her spare hand held up, index finger of her right hand, the one currently wrapped around the bottle ticking down the reasons, folding each finger. “He, like, falls apart and is all unkempt because she’s gone—”

            “He did survive war too, you know,” you interrupt, but she waves you away, silencing your protests with an enthusiastic wave of her hand. 

            “He builds the house for her,” she says. “And he fights to have her even when she’s marrying someone else!”

            “That doesn’t count!” you exclaim, turning from her to the sink, running some water in your glass, the one that held you cream soda. “She wasn’t in love with him. She loved Noah the whole time too.”

            “Yeah, but,” Lena continues, “she was moving on. And Noah ruined it! Besides! Lon’s way cuter!”

            “You take that back!” you cry, spinning around, eyes wide as they settle on the child who has completely and totally destroyed your faith in humanity. “Ryan Gosling is way hotter than James Marsden! That rain scene, man!” Lena’s laughing so hard that it’s more a cackle, her seven, nearly eight year old body, convulsing with her laughter while you roll your eyes, leaning back against the kitchen counter, hands splayed flat on the cool, smooth granite. 

            “I just,” she says, now that she’s calmed down, “think it’s creepy how in love with her Noah was. You know.”

            “I don’t know,” you muse. “I think it would be romantic to have someone…willing do to anything for you—like the house. I think…ah, man, I think I would want that.”

            “You’re weird,” she says, tone flat and thick black brows drawn together, her expression so stern and serious that it’s now your turn to laugh, the kind of laugh that starts deep in your stomach, rumbling through you. 

            “Yeah,” you tell her, amidst the laughter. “Don’t listen to me, kiddo. Now, go get ready for bed.” She runs past you, up to the stairs, her feet padding on the carpet noisily despite the fact that it’s carpet and she’s no more than 60 pounds soaking wet. 

            You can’t help but laugh again, the sound more of an exhalation than any real laugh, as you run some water in the sink, adding soap, knowing that Mr. Cody prefers his house clean, obsessively so. 

            A part of you wonders what would happen if you didn’t bother to clean, what he would say, but you know there’s no use going down that path, even if you sometimes wish that he would speak to you. Look at you. 

            But that line of thinking leads nowhere. 

            It’s best to just close it down. 

            Pope’s heart is in his throat, pulsing and pounding erratically, his lungs tightening and clenching, constricting and burning. He heard you, those words I think it would romantic to have someone willing to do anything for you…I think I would want that still echoing around him, surrounding him, choking him. 

            He’s been waiting for the right time, the right way and here it is. He just has to show you that he’ll do anything for you. 

            And he can do that.

            The club is loud, music pulsing in the air, almost in a way that you can see, the sound so loud, more noise than music. Your friends are laughing, yelling at each other just to be heard over the music, but you’re quiet, hand turning your glass in circles, a single shot of tequila downed. You’re not much of a drinker, never have been, preferring to stay present in your mind. Preferring to stay present. 

            “YOU OKAY?” Jonathan yells, his voice still just barely audible as you turn to him, shrugging. 

            “IT’S TOO LOUD,” you reply and he nods, looping his arm through yours, his touch gentle and kind, sweet in his way. Jonathan is sweet though and pretty, bright green eyes set in skin the colour of toffee, dark hair curling down his forehead and a smile even and pretty. Not crooked in the slightest. Not like…nope, you won’t go there, not even in your own mind. 

            “Better?” he asks, pushing out of the club, the autumn breeze cool and crisp, tinged with cigarette smoke and car exhaust, yet still better than the sweat and alcohol smell of the club that mingles with mildew and broken leather. 

            “Much,” you tell him, sighing and leaning against the brick wall of the club, your head falling back against it, a buzzing in your jacket pocket. “One sec,” you tell him, walking a ways away, pulling your phone out, noticing LENA in all caps on your screen. “Lena?! What’s wrong?”

            “Uncle Deran fell asleep before he could help with the bedtime routine!” she cries, her voice thick and pained and you sigh, your eyes closing for a minute. The bedtime routine became sacred after Cath left, an open sore, her disappearance still a question of what? Where? Who? When? Lena needs to see her door close, needs to know someone is there, the way Cath isn’t. 

            You wanted a single Saturday night to yourself, with friends. You wanted to have fun, to return to a world that wasn’t full of the Cody’s and the Blackwell’s, but rather the life you could have had if you had never accepted the babysitting gig that your friend, Elizabeth, skipped out on seven years ago. 

            You wanted to forget and be someone young. You wanted to act your age. But you just can’t get that. 

            “Hey, I have to call it a night, Jonathan,” you say, tucking your phone into your pocket after assuring Lena that you’ll be there, just wait for a bit, you’ll be there, always. 

            “What’s wrong?” he asks, hands tucked into his jean pockets, cheeks darkening from the cold. 

            “My…Lena needs my help,” you tell him, your lips twisting into an apologetic smile, but he shrugs, eyebrows rising. 

            “I could give you a lift and then, you know, when you’ve helped her…maybe you and I could grab something to eat or…something,” he says and you can feel something inside of you, some kind of feeling that you don’t entirely know rise as you nod and he smiles, a bright kind of smile. 

            “That sounds good,” you tell him, mind only half here, the other part on Lena and who was supposed to be watching her. 

            Why wasn’t Mr. Cody there?

            Where is he?

            Did Lena lose another person again?

            You fumble with the keys that Mr. Cody gave you, the ones needed for the days that you pick Lena up or for the occasional times that you have to take her somewhere and lock up and unlock it again to come back. 

            They’re slipping through your fingers, chiming and clinking against one another as you finally slot it into the door, unlocking first the deadbolt then the knob, twisting the handle and pushing the door open. You step into a quiet house, still except for the sound of snores coming from the couch. 

            Deran, the fucker. 

            “Deran!” you hiss, closing the door behind you with more force than necessary, delighting in the way he jumps on the couch, hissing shit in a startled voice, head swivelling until he sees you, standing, arms crossed, no doubt a seriously pissed off look on your face. 

            “What are you doing here?” he asks you, blinking, sleep still heavy in his eyes, in his voice. 

            “I’m here because Lena called me, fucking crying because you fell asleep before the bedtime routine could happen,” you hiss, watching as realization dawns on his face, his hand coming up, scrubbing down his face as he murmurs “shit” for a different reason now. “And where the fuck is Mr. Cody? He’s supposed to be here watching Lena.”

            “He left real fast. Said he had to check on some girl,” he answers, his voice becoming more alert as he sits up and you grit your teeth together, turning to dart up the stairs, taking them two at a time, conscious of the fact that Lena’s up there, she’s sad and scared and her routine has been thrown out of order. 

            “Lena!” you call out when you reach the second floor landing, pushing open her partly closed door to see her sitting on her bed, face stained with tears. “Lena,” you whisper, “let’s do the routine, okay?”

            “Okay,” she whispers, standing and walking over to you, her face brightening at your presence. “You look fancy,” she says, “were you out with a boy? And did he look like the love of your life Ryan Gosling.”

            “Oh ha-ha, little one,” you say and she giggles, heading across the hall to the bathroom to rewash her face and brush her teeth, but in truth…Jonathan kinda does look like Ryan Gosling. But even as you think that, you swallow hard because that’s not exactly what you want. You want someone older, you want someone rougher around the edges who never looks at you and is awkward and someone you should never want, but do. Someone with dark auburn curls and hazel eyes…you blink, refocusing on the here and now and the nice boy waiting for you who has never seen the inside of a prison. 

            “Okay,” Lena says, bounding into her room, her face clean and words trailing minty breath. “I’m ready.” She runs across the room, leaping onto her twin bed, disturbing her piles of stuffies, tucking herself in as you cross the room towards her, kneeling down and smoothing the hair back from her face. 

            “I miss, Mommy,” she whispers and you can feel something crack inside of you. Something you’ve kept inside, locked up tight. 

            “She was a good woman,” you whisper, feeling tears in the back of your throat as you press a kiss to Lena’s forehead, tucking her blanket in tight all around her and rising, swallowing hard. Lena really does look like Cath, does carry that bit of her. 

            “She liked you,” Lena says and those words threaten to bring you to your knees. 

            “I liked her too. She was my friend.” Lena nods, satisfied with your answer before snuggling deeper into her blanket, eyes still open, watching as you click off her lamp and walk to the door, pulling it closed while you mouth good night. You know as the door clicks shut, the light flipped off that now she’ll fall asleep. Because she saw you leave. 

            You didn’t disappear in the dead of night. 

            You draw in a deep breath, shaking your head against the onslaught of tears that threaten you, bounding down the stairs preparing to rip Deran a new one, except…the living room is empty. You glance around, seeing nothing of Deran, instead just Mr. Cody standing there in the entrance way, his hazel eyes on you. 

            “Where’s Deran?” you call out, watching as Mr. Cody walks towards you, his presence making your mouth go dry and you swallow hard, his walk like that of a predator. 

            “I sent him home,” he says, his voice husky, rough. Dark, in a way that you like but wish you didn’t. You shouldn’t like him; you can’t like him. You are nothing if not professional. 

            “Well,” you say, nodding once and moving to step past him to the door. “I best let you get on with your night. Lena’s all tucked in, Mr. Cody.” You begin to walk, but he catches your wrist, his fingers calloused and warm against your skin in a way that feels good, feels nice, but no, stop that. You can’t think that way. 

            “It’s late,” he says. 

            “I know,” you answer, keeping your gaze trained straight ahead. “But I have a ride waiting for me outside.”

            “The boy?” he asks, his voice darkening, deepening. Primal in a way, if a sound can really be primal, which, you think it can. 

            “Yeah, Jonathan…why?” you ask, feeling a small bit of fear like ice creeping up your spine, goosebumps spreading along your skin. 

            “I sent him home,” he says and you can feel his breath on the back of your neck and you know his body is far too close, but you also don’t want him to step away and god, you’ve always had that line of professionalism, but this man…since Cath disappeared, he’s been the best with Lena and you never expected to feel anything for him, but…you do. 

            “Why?” you whisper and then he’s tugging on your wrist, turning you around, pulling you against him, his broad chest against yours. 

            “Because it’s late,” he whispers, his words actually rumbling through his chest, echoing into your body. “Because you’re already home.” You swallow hard at his words, at the way he’s just said that this…his home…is yours too. 

            It’s not like you haven’t stayed here before on nights when you’ve been told that no one will be watching Lena and you’re needed for a few days, but calling it home…that’s different. That’s making it seem like he likes you, that he caresfor you. 

            “I’m not home,” you whisper, looking down at the ground where the toes of your shoes are against his. You forgot to take your shoes off in the rush to get to Lena and you never do, but he’s forgotten too. 

            “Eyes on me,” he says, two fingers under your chin, tipping your head up, your gaze landing on him because how could it not? Everyone else is afraid of him, but how can they be, when he’s kind and caring and sweet and he’s quiet. He doesn’t just speak what’s on his mind, he looks at a room and decides what to do from there and god, professionalism. Professionalism, you remind yourself even as his proximity is fraying the last of your control because his lips look reallysoft and kissable. 

            Oh god, it’s hot in here, isn’t it?

            His stare is unrelenting, tracing every part of you as if he expects to find some damage on you, but you’ve been safe all night. 

            “Why were you gone, Mr. Cody?” you whisper, noticing the way his jaw tightens at your words, the way his eyes darken and the grip on your wrist tightens. 

            “Andrew,” he spits out, “call me Andrew.”

            “Why were you gone, Andrew?” you ask and he drags his fingers from under your chin to trace your lips, the digits replaced by his thumb pressing down on your bottom lip, a pressure that has a fevered feeling growing beneath your skin. 

            “I was watching someone,” he whispers, his voice husky, watching every bit of your face for a reaction. For a response. 

            “Who?” you ask, the word just slightly muffled by his thumb digging into your lip. 

            “Who do you think?” he asks and Jesus Christ, has his voice always been this hot, this capable of getting a reaction out of you? And you really need to leave now, really need to get going, but with the way he’s looking at you, the closeness of your bodies, you press your thighs together, hoping he doesn’t notice. 

            But of course he does. 

            Because he’s Andrew fucking Cody. And he notices everything. And really, where does he get off on ruining your professionalism, on breaking that line you’ve built, a tentative wall? Where does he get his attitude? And what deity decided that making your boss look like that was fair?!

            You hate your life right now, but also not because as he presses his body against yours, the hard lines of his body fitting against the soft lines of yours, you realize that everything you’ve imagined is not even close to reality. 

            God did not make everyone equal because Andrew Cody might be the hottest man in the entire world and you are so fired if you don’t end this now. 

            “I have to go!” you blurt out, pulling back and sliding your wrist from his hold, running from him to the front door, but he’s faster than you, putting his body between you and the door. 

            “No,” he says. 

            “Why?” you ask him, swallowing hard feeling both serious lust and fear inside of you, the two warring together and yet working together at the same time too. 

            “Because you said you wanted this,” he whispers and you can feel confusion added to the choking mix of emotions, your throat tight, lungs burning and chest constricting, heart pounding, pounding, pounding almost as odd a beat as “Edge of Seventeen”’s drumbeat. 

            “Wanted what?” You don’t want the answer, you’re slightly afraid of it because you really don’t know what he’s talking about, only that he’s blocking an exit.

            “Someone willing to do anything for you.” His words ring in the room where just yesterday, in the kitchen, you mentioned that to Lena, how you thought Noah was romantic and Jesus! He was there the entire time. 

            “That’s…that’s out of context,” you tell him, blinking fast, trying to see him while also not see him at the same time. 

            “What context did I need?” he whispers, stepping towards you, steps slow and quiet as if he’s afraid that you’re a doe he’s about to startle before he can get off the killing blow and should that idea really turn you on as much as it does? “Because I would do for you anything that Noah did for Allie? You want a house like he fixed for her because I’ll do it, sweetheart. I’ll do anything for you.”

            “What?” you whisper, confusion winning out over fear because those aren’t the words of someone who only wants one thing. Those are the words of someone in love. Those are the words of someone who wants you for more than sex. 

            “Don’t you get it?” he asks and honestly, not really, because this is the most he’s ever spoken to you before. “I’m in love with you. Completely in love with you.”

            “You don’t talk…to me,” you whisper, turning from him, from the words he’s saying that sound pretty and honest but at the same time like lies and you walk, your shoes dragging against the hardwood floor, your steps slightly off-beat towards the kitchen, the tile floor. 

            “What was it that Noah said?” you hear Andrew whisper behind you. “‘So it’s not gonna be easy. It’s going to be really hard; we’re gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, every day. You and me…every day.’”

            “What did you memorize the movie?” you whisper-yell, spinning around, taking note of his relentless proximity to you. 

            “Maybe,” he whispers and the sheepish expression on his face has you laughing, but not a laugh built of humour, more of someone delirious and surprised and horny, yeah, horny too because he has no right to look that good. 

            You can feel your knees giving way, this night having been too much, too much and you slide down the counter, the handles of the cabinet digging into your spine as you sink down, your head landing in-between your knees. 

            “June first,” you hear him say, his body landing beside yours. “Twenty-twelve. The first day I met you.”

            “What?” you whisper, your head pressing against your left knee as you tilt your head, looking at him. 

            “Yeah,” he says, “I was looking for Baz, but you were there, Lena on your hip, watching me until I disappeared.”

            “No way you loved me then,” you whisper, your arms wrapped around your knees, body folded into a self-contained unit. 

            “No,” he agrees. “That came later. October 27th 2012. You invited me over when I was lurking and I fell in love with you because you were the first person not afraid of me and you talked to me. And I didn’t want to live without that. And then…you visited me in prison and wrote me letters…and…you love me too. I know you do.”

            “Mr. Cody,” you whisper, but he shakes his head, eyes darkening again. 

            “Andrew,” he hisses, “call me Andrew.”

            “You’re my boss,” you cry. “I can’t be with you. That breaks every moral and ethical code I have!”

            “But do you love me?” And for once, you fall silent, the answer in you truth, the answer resting on your tongue a lie and you don’t like to lie. 

            “I knew it,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours, his hands pulling you, shifting you, your body coming to rest on his lap, straddling him as he kisses you relentlessly. He kisses like he stares, deep and dark and predatory. It’s not a battle or a conquest, but a claiming, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip, his tongue controlling yours, sliding along it and leaving you breathless, his hands everywhere, hips moving up into yours, the bulge pressing into you, telling you just how much he wants you. 

            “Andrew,” you whisper, pulling back from his lips as best you can, his hand on the back of your head, holding you close to him. “We can’t do this. Lena’s home.”

            “I’m sick of people telling me what I can’t do,” he whispers, voice low and dangerous and so unfairly hot. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

            “Andrew…” He’s kissing you again and you don’t want to fight this. You don’t want to stop, you want this closeness, you’ve wanted this for so long, but you need assurances. You need to know that this isn’t going to ruin the babysitting job. “Pause,” you murmur against his lips and he listens, his head falling against yours, forehead pressing against you, eyes on you. 

            “What?” he asks, his voice not curt, but concerned. 

            “What does this mean for me? You’re my boss, Andrew,” you whisper and then he’s shifting again, rising, pulling you with him and shoving your hips into the counter, the granite digging into the small of your back, his body pressing into you, caging you in. 

            “Be Mrs. Cody,” he whispers, one hand tracing your face with a feather-light touch. “Be Lena’s aunt…just,” he pauses, his head falling against your shoulder, “be mine. Please.”

            “I don’t have a ring,” you whisper, “but alright.” And then he’s lifting his head and looking at you, deep and dark and now you understand that expression he’s been giving you for years: love. He does love you. 

            Then his lips are on yours again, tongue sliding along yours as he guides you up the stairs, his hands firm on your hips, guiding even as his lips trail from your mouth to your neck, to the sensitive spot just below your ear, teeth sinking down onto it, your gasp muffled as you bite your tongue, skin fevered. 

            He pushes you down the hall, to the very last door and inside, shutting the door with his foot, hand leaving you. You can hear the lock flip and then Andrew is walking you back to the bed, his hands drifting to the front of your hips, fingers pulling open the button of your cutoffs, undoing the zipper and they drop to the floor. You step out of them and you want him now, want this relentless ache and throb to end, but he’s someone who seems to savour, his mouth trailing over your neck, teeth sinking into the skin every few minutes, tongue lashing out to soothe the bite marks. 

            He pushes you back, your body landing on his bed and he’s rough, but at the same time gentle as he kneels on the ground, sliding your underwear from off your hips, down your legs, set aside. He pauses for a moment, folding your cutoffs and underwear, setting them aside, his room obsessively neat, something you appreciate. 

            “God,” he whispers when he turns back, lifting your legs onto his shoulders, “so pretty.”

            “Andrew,” you whisper and he looks up at you, eyes black with desire. “You’re too dressed up.” He stands, taking his shirt off and god you wish you’d said nothing because who made him look like that? He’s too attractive for his own good. It’s highly unfair. 

            He unzips his jeans, folding them and his shirt, setting them in a pile beside yours, boxers still on, just like your baggy shirt is still on. He kneels again, a coil in your stomach tight, yet not tight enough, your legs on his broad freckled shoulders. He presses a kiss against each side of your arousal slicked inner thighs before, pulling you closer to him, his tongue darting out to lick a stripe from your entrance to your clit, the fucker locking eyes with you the whole time. 

            He knows exactly what he’s doing and where the fuck did he learn to do this? Because the way he circles your clit with his tongue, doing figure eights, his one hand sliding along your thigh, long fingers slipping along them, into the space between. He teases two fingers between your folds, scissoring them apart before plunging both of them inside of you, sinking them up to the knuckle and scissoring you open before pulling them out, knuckles dragging along your walls. 

            “Jesus—Christ!” you cry as he continues to finger you, tongue never stopping its ceaseless rhythm on your clit, little figure 8s which stop every time that he pulls his fingers out, rather his tongue pressing against your clit, against the swelling pearl. “Andrew! Fuck!”

            You can feel his chuckle against your clit, your pussy and you want to hit him, but also not because that coil in your belly is winding tight, tight, tighter and it’s about to burst and his mouth and hands are really unfairly good at what they’re doing right now. You’d hate to mess up his—rhythm. 

            He has four fingers inside of you at this point, all his extremities pumping in and out of you at a faster and faster pace, knuckles dragging down your walls one by one, each finger leaving you at different times, his index finger the last to leave always, the slowest drag against your walls, stimulating every part of you that it touches. 

            It’s not long before he has you coming apart, your orgasm ripping through, that coil snapping as he pushes all four fingers in again, his tongue pressing against your clit. He holds his fingers still while your cunt trembles with aftershocks. 

            “I’ve got you, sweet girl,” he whispers against you, his breath causing you to hiss as he pulls the four fingers out of you, slipping them in his mouth, sucking them clean, eyes locked on yours as he steps out of his boxers, cock hard and the tip leaking, a bead of precum sitting on top, sliding down, a vein bulging. 

            “Andrew,” you whisper, “how’d you get so good?” He comes to sit beside you on the bed, pulling you up, holding you, his lips on yours for a moment and the kiss is sinful and oh so hot because you can taste yourself on his tongue. 

            “When they…” he looks down at his hands for a moment, “when they paid for women to sleep with me, I learned what they liked because I…I never liked anything.”

            “Andy,” you whisper and his head jerks to yours, “what do you like?”

            “You,” he whispers and then his lips are on yours again and your body is flat on the bed, his cock teasing between your folds, kissing against your entrance as his tongue slides along yours and he murmurs, you, you, you into your mouth. 

            He slides his cock from your entrance to your clit like he did his tongue, circling your clit with his tip once before sliding back down and pushing inside, sinking into the hilt with a single thrust. He moans at the feeling of you all around him, a kind of whimper that shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but it is. 

            “You’re okay,” you whisper when he pulls back from the kiss, his eyes closed. “Keep going, Andy. Use me.” And he does, pulling out and slamming himself back in over and over in a brutal rhythm that has your entire body moving with each thrust, his mouth hot on your neck. 

            “You’re so perfect, sweet girl,” he says, his words slightly unclear, but you know what he means, can hear it, the tip of his cock slamming against your cervix. “Gonna fuck a baby into you. Give Lena a cousin, maybe?” He’s hesitant in his words, but you nod and he looks up at you.

            “Go ahead, Andy,” you whisper and his pace picks up, relentless and punishing and delicious, his one hand on your waist, the other resting on your mons, thumb circling your clit, drawing you to orgasm at the same time he does. His release is thick and hot inside of you, cock pulsing and then he’s collapsing beside you, his body pulling yours tight against him and you’re not aware of much, except that he pulls the covers over the two of you and you fall asleep to his kiss against your neck. 

            “Good night, Mrs. Cody.”

            “I knew it!” Lena screams the next morning, taking in the sight of you and Andrew both in the kitchen, making breakfast, your body in his clothes, a ring on your finger that he went out and bought for you. “You’re gonna be my auntie!” And then her stick arms are around you and holding tight. 

            “Yeah, bug,” you whisper, your hand smoothing down her hair, the pancakes in the pan, “I am.”

            “And hopefully,” Andrew chimes in, “you’ll have a cousin soon.”

            “Andrew!” 

            Lena giggles when you hit him with the oven mitt and his response is to press a kiss against your cheek and you feel a contentment you’ve never felt before. 

            Because…wasn’t this what you wanted all along?

            You think it is.