i love men

There is already a small crowd accumulating in the cramped North Shore dive bar when you, Samira Mohan, and Mel King breeze through the door. It’s unseasonably warm, the late winter fading to a tease of early spring you know the city won’t be able to sustain for long. You bring the temperate air in with you, a stray gust catching the hems of your dress, and it takes you all a moment to right yourselves.

Over the last month of immersing yourself among the crew of PTMC, you have learned that this is a favorite haunt of theirs – relatively close to the hospital, casual, homey in the way that these small, unpretentious establishments tend to be. You’ve been here twice before, once with Dana at the end of your first week on the job and once with a larger group to celebrate the nurse practitioner Donnie’s birthday. This time, the celebrant is Samira.

“Over here!”

A voice cuts through the sound of nineties rock blaring through the speakers, and you glance up to find Alpha resident Trinity Santos flagging you down from a booth near the back of the bar. She has a cocktail in hand already – tequila soda with lime, if you remember correctly from the last outing – and her dark hair hangs in limp waves around her cheeks, crimped in that specific way that tells you she has just taken it out of a ponytail.

Clustered around the booth with her are the rest of the day crew who have just finished their shifts – Dennis, Cassie, Princess, Victoria, all looking a bit haggard though in good enough spirits. Victoria has dark circles under her eyes, and Princess’s signature braids are starting to frizz along her hairline. Even still, the cries of “happy birthday!” are loud and earnest, and you can sense the happiness and embarrassment rolling off of Samira in waves as she smiles back.

The three of you make your way through the press of other patrons, squeezing your way down the narrow stretch between the bar and the booths along the wall. The others spill out to greet you, and although you know the celebration isn’t for you, you can’t help but respond with the same warmth and fondness. Working shoulder to shoulder with this team has brought you closer to them than you would have expected, certainly more than you’ve experienced while on other travel contracts. Though you might only count a few as true friends, the camaraderie between you all is undeniable. You’re happy to spend your precious free time in their company, particularly if it means getting out of Dana and Benji’s house for the night.

Not that you aren’t grateful for their hospitality; of course, you are, and you love them both dearly. But something about living in their home, sharing their meals, and sleeping in their youngest daughter’s old bedroom has you feeling a bit like a teenager again. You need a night to breathe.

“Hey, Cassie,” you say with an easy smile as the older Alpha pulls you into a friendly embrace. There are bright red patches of skin at the base of her pale neck, evidence of the irritation left behind by the hospital’s scent blocker patches. Without the dulling effects of the medicated cotton and hospital antiseptic, she smells like late October in your nostrils – fallen leaves and baking spices. It’s comforting, maternal, and lived-in.

“Thank god,” she groans into your hair. “I feel like I’ve been babysitting.”

You snort a laugh as, around you, a chorus of protests fill the air.

“Fuck off, you love us,” Trinity says, giving Cassie a playful shove. The young resident’s eyes shine tellingly in the dim light of the bar, and you’re suddenly certain that the drink in her hand is not the first one she has imbibed this evening.

“How on earth did you get here before us? Didn’t you all work today?” you ask with a frown.

Trinity shrugs. “Maybe we’re just that good.” You arch an eyebrow at her, hitting her with a pointed stare, and she smirks. “Nah,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Honestly, we got lucky today. And everyone was super motivated to get the hell out of there. Aaaand speaking of, there she is, the birthday queen herself!”

You turn just in time to see Samira shrugging off her jacket and tossing it into the booth. The dress she’s wearing is truly befitting the milestone of her thirtieth birthday – a deep plummy-purple silk thing that hugs the curve of her waist, its plunging neckline showing off the freshly-healed mating bite where her neck meets her shoulder. Her long legs are clad in sheer black stockings, the heels on her feet sure to bring her to at least eye level with her mate when he arrives.

“Goddamn. Look at you!” Trinity sounds physically pained as she takes in the senior resident’s apparel. You can hardly blame her for the reaction; it’s certainly a far cry from the nondescript black and gray scrubs you typically see each other in. “C’mon, give us a twirl.”

Samira hides her face in her hands for a moment, embarrassed by the attention, but you can tell there’s a part of her that is pleased, too. Obligingly she gives a little turn, spinning on the smooth soles of her heels, and you join the others in whistling and cheering her on.

“Jesus Christ,” Trinity sighs. “Abbot is one lucky bastard.”

The evidence of her interest is blatant, a wave of enticing sweetness scenting the air, the fragrance making you laugh while Dennis Whitaker grimaces. “Okay, okay, we get it, Dr. Mohan’s hot. Lay off the pheromones,” the young Omega scolds. His pale cheeks are tinged pink.

Patting him soothingly on the back, you, too, shed your jacket and adjust the ruffles on your skirt as you settle in. There’s something so freeing about getting to look like yourself for once, to not have to make yourself bland and sexless for the sake of the workplace. If you’re honest, most of your time outside of scrubs is spent in your pajamas, so the flirty little number you have on tonight is a particular treat.

Feeling flush with warmth, you announce to the table, “First round’s on me!” And then softer, to Samira, you add, “What can I get for you, birthday girl?”

“Whatever you’re having,” she replies, shrugging noncommittally. “I’m not picky.”

You blink at her. “It’s your birthday. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“I know.” She slides into the booth with a mischievous smile. “And for my birthday, I would very much like to not have to make any decisions.”

Barking a laugh, you give her a mock salute. Samira is a girl after your own heart – exhausted, a bit strung out, and ready to be pampered. “Of course. I can do that. Now, what about for the rest of you?”

Robby can’t remember the last time he joined the crew for a night out. It has to have been more than a year, maybe two. It isn’t as though he hasn’t been invited; on the contrary, Whitaker makes it a point to ask every time. Santos, too, on occasion. He keeps a handful of excuses in his back pocket for when the question arises – he has other plans, he’s promised a neighbor he’ll let their dog out, just let him wrap up this one patient and he’ll meet them there, he swears.

Lately, he can never quite muster the energy it would take to laugh through a few beers and play a round of darts. He can’t imagine sitting around a high-top or crowding himself into a booth and talking for hours. These days, every bit of himself goes to the hospital, every scrap of enthusiasm and identity siphoned from him by the ceaseless pace, the endless demand. Outside of those walls, he is hollow, devoid of substance.

Which is why, when Jack had asked him to come to Mohan’s birthday celebration, Robby had been quick to decline. It sounded like precisely the sort of gathering he preferred to avoid, and that wasn’t even taking into account the…strained relationship between himself and his senior resident. Admittedly, he has been trying to mend fences there, but he knows he has a long way to go to get back to a place where her hackles don’t immediately go up when he enters the room. Would she even want him there, he wonders? Somehow, he doubts it.

Jack, however, assure him that she does – once when he first invites him and then again when Robby had attempted to back out of their plans not half an hour ago. The older Alpha still has his reservations, but he chooses to trust his friend. After all, if anyone were to know what Samira Mohan wants, it would be her mate.

The bar is crowded when they arrive. There are a few faces Robby doesn’t recognize, a few pockets of neighborhood regulars not associated with PTMC, but the majority of the people he spots from the doorway are part of his team. A gaggle of night shift congregated by the bar, a table full of nurses he barely recognizes out of their scrubs, and there, nearly to the back of the bar, a cluster of day shift, half draped across the nearest booth, half hanging out into the narrow aisle, uproarious laughter spilling through the bar almost loud enough to drown out the music.

Just as he expects, Jack spots Samira immediately – holding court with her day shift colleagues, arm looped through one of Mel King’s, leaning into her shoulder companionably. He doesn’t bother to excuse himself from Robby’s side, simply locks eyes with her through the crowd and makes a beeline through the throng of bodies to meet her.

The crowd parts for him effortlessly, the space deferring to him without question or thought, and Robby shakes his head ruefully. Jack has always worn his Alpha status with such grace.

He gets to the collection of day-shifters before Robby does, and it takes him all of about two seconds to extend a hand and coax Samira out of the booth. The older attending can’t quite hear what the two say to each other, though the tone of their voices is warm and intimate, and it’s impossible to mistake the joy pouring out of each of them as Jack takes her into his arms.

It’s been years since his best friend has looked at another person like that, with deep wrinkles around his eyes and an even deeper softness in his smile. The loss of his first mate, his wife, had nearly killed him, and Robby had done his best to help him pick up the pieces in the aftermath. Looking at him now, watching him pull Mohan in for a deep kiss in front of the entire bar, is like looking at a different person in all the best ways.

Though Robby would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a twinge of jealousy at the whole display. Jack had somehow managed to find a great love not once, but twice. Two other halves of his soul, two marks of devotion scored into the meat of his neck. For something that he had never really thought he might want, the other Alpha certainly did make it look appealing.

The kiss drags on for a handful of seconds too long, and the crowd responds appropriately – cat calls and wolf whistles, a stray crumpled straw wrapper tossed and landed perfectly in Jack’s salt-and-pepper hair. By the time he finally lets Mohan go, the senior resident is laughing and hiding her face in his neck, and Robby has taken to busying himself reviewing the chalkboard beer menu hanging behind the bar.

“Oh! Dr. Robby!”

He blinks, turning to find Mohan running a nervous hand over her now-disheveled curls, an embarrassed half-smile quirking the corners of her lips.

“I didn’t think you were going to make it,” she continues, and goddamn it, Jack was right. She looks a bit confused but undeniably pleased to see him. Her big, dark eyes give her away. She looks like someone has given her a gift she’s afraid she’s not allowed to accept, and Robby’s chest aches.

Glancing down at the scuffed, sticky floor, he replies haltingly, “My, uh. My schedule opened up. And I didn’t want to miss telling you happy birthday, so.” He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, meets her gaze through his eyebrows. “Happy birthday, Dr. Mohan.”

He watches as she blinks at him, taken aback. “Thank you.” Her voice is soft and painfully earnest and tinged disbelief. He hates that something as simple as a birthday wish from him is so unexpected, but he has no one but himself to blame for that. So he bears it with a toothless smile and tries not to let loose a sigh of relief when she adds, “I’m happy you’re here.”

“Me, too.” Clearing his throat, Robby shifts on his feet and redirects his attention to the rest of the table. There’s a collection of empty beer bottles and cocktail glasses scattered across its surface, as well as a round of shots that he suddenly feels thankful he missed. It’s been a long time since his tired body could tolerate that kind of night out. Still, he offers, “Let me know when you all are ready for another, next round’s on me.”

At that, Trinity Santos lets out a triumphant sound and bangs both of her palms down onto the surface of the table, shaking glasses and sending bottles rolling. “That’s what I’m talking about – drinks on Dr. Robby!”

The lingering crowd bursts into laughter, and feeling lighter than he has in a long time, Robby can’t help but join them.

You are two amaretto sours deep by the time the attendings make their conspicuous entrance.

It would be impossible not to notice their approach, two broad-shouldered, graying men with the same competent swagger, the same quiet authority in the way they cut through the crowd. It’s a rarity to see either of them outside of the hospital, even rarer to see them in anything other than scrubs, and there are just enough drinks in your system for the sight to send heat rushing to your cheeks. Dr. Abbot, of course, has eyes only for Samira (as he should). But Dr. Robby…

Booze humming in your bloodstream, syrupy sugar and tart lemon juice coating your tongue, you watch the way the older Alpha’s ears flush pink at the group’s attention. You watch the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, the way his dark, silver-threaded hair fluffs and ruffles as he passes a large hand over his head in self-consciousness. In the month you’ve been working in his ED, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve heard him laugh like this, and it never fails to make your chest tighten.

It’s honestly frustrating how intriguing you find him. Even after that first stilted, off-putting introduction, there’s a pull to him, a gravity that you can’t quite shake.

It’s all innocuous, all professional, but you can’t deny that over the last month, you have spent more time on Dr. Robby’s patients than anyone else’s. You take every opportunity to work cases at his side in the trauma bays, standing elbow-to-elbow with Jesse and Kim and the other seasoned nursing staff, all the while learning his methods, his preferred instruments, the shorthand of his commands. You’ve started to be able to anticipate his orders before he gives them, and you tell yourself that it’s all in the name of the job. You assure yourself that you’re doing the same things you’ve always done, that you’re simply living up to the central tenet of travel nursing – get good, and do it fast. It’s not a lie. But it’s not the whole truth, either.

Even now, even in a crowd of your peers, free from the confines of the sterile hospital walls, you can feel the tug of his presence in your gut. It’s like he’s got a homing beacon in the pocket of his classic Levi’s, and the receiver is tucked behind your navel. He mingles with your colleagues, floating from table to table, and it does not matter how invested you are in your conversation with Princess about Love is Blind or how interested you are in Cassie’s story about her last family vacation. A part of you is always focused on him.

And fuck, but he looks good. Not that he wasn’t handsome in his scrubs, but there’s something intimate about seeing his familiar figure in this new context. The bulk of his well-loved canvas coat, the softness of the navy-blue flannel he wears beneath it, the way the buttons of that flannel pull slightly against the breadth of his chest and the gentle curve of his belly. His jeans are effortless and perfectly-fitted, and you are embarrassed to acknowledge that you recognize the brown boots on his feet from the days when he rides his motorcycle to work. He looks rugged. Strong. Stupidly masculine in a way that speaks to the basest part of your psyche.

You’re such a goddamn cliché – the younger, subordinate Omega squirming in her seat over the older Alpha in a position of power. You’d be mortified if you weren’t so…distracted.

You make it about another 15 minutes before you find yourself slipping from the booth and retreating to the bar. You’re going to need another drink if you’re going to survive the rest of the night without making a fool of yourself at the feet of the chief attending. Perhaps something a bit stronger than amaretto this time…

Flagging down a bartender, you order a whiskey ginger. You busy yourself studying the countless dusty neon signs that cling to the walls while you wait, nodding along to the thump of the music in the background. Trinity had insisted that once it got late enough, the music would switch to something funkier, something with more of a groove, and the far end of the bar would become a makeshift dance floor. You could hardly remember the last time you had gone dancing…

Beside you, someone clears their throat and leans against the bar.

You startle at the sound, but the surprise quickly morphs into a dizzying flush of pleasure as the scent hits you. Clean, masculine soap floating over woodsy base notes of oakmoss and black tea leaves. Unfiltered, unblocked, completely lacking the sanitized, antiseptic qualities you associate with the hospital. Just…him.

Swallowing thickly against the sudden surge of nerves, you flash the older man a weak smile and a wave. “Hey, Dr. Robby.”

Robby’s gaze flicks to yours, and he returns your smile with one of his own. It deepens the creases at the corners of his eyes in a way that you find senselessly charming. “Hey,” he replies, voice warm and rasping, almost too soft to hear over the music. Thoughtlessly, you shift closer to catch it better.

“I was told not to expect you here tonight.” The words leave your lips of their own accord, your tone light and open while still carrying a hint of accusation. This was meant to be a fun night out celebrating one of your new friends. The disruption of his presence was never meant to be a factor.

Thankfully, he merely laughs at the suggestion, as though the idea pleases him. “Oh?”

The sparkle in his dark eyes is contagious, and you fight a grin in spite of yourself. “Way to prove everybody wrong.”

“Well, I’d hate to think I was getting predictable in my old age,” he quips, rapping his knuckles against the sticky lacquered surface of the bar. “It’s good for the kids. Keeps them on their toes.”

His words settle low and heavy in your abdomen, and you pray to whatever higher power might exist that he can’t sense how he’s affected you. It’s honestly humiliating the way your stomach tightens, the way you have to press your thighs together against the pulsing there. You’ve always had a preference for older men, but this might be the first time an explicit reference to one’s age has gotten you wet.  

Clearing your throat, you make a big show out of rolling your eyes and make a desperate play for humor instead of arousal. “Oh, come on,” you groan lightheartedly. “You’re not that old.”

At that, Dr. Robby merely scoffs. “Tell that to my back. And my knees.”

You are saved from having to craft a response by the return of the bartender. He drops a thin, flimsy cocktail napkin onto the bar top and slides your whiskey ginger across its surface before redirecting his attention to Robby.

“What can I get you, man?”

The attending orders several drinks, a combination of shots, beers, and a single tequila soda that you know is going directly to Trinity Santos. It seems he’s made good on his offer of a round for the table. The bartender listens with a mildly-concerned arched brow but doesn’t question it. Instead, he simply nods along as he absorbs the long list. Giving Robby a short nod, he returns to the backbar and starts pulling glasses out from beneath the counter.

You take a sip of your drink as the lull in conversation lingers. It’s precisely what you wanted, sharper and smokier than the sweetness you had started the evening with, stinging your throat on the way down in a way that feels more grounding than uncomfortable. It sharpens you, pulls you out of the Alpha scent-induced haze that had you wanting to press closer, to bury your face in the weathered skin of this man’s neck and just breathe.

“So how’ve you been settling in?”

The second sip of whiskey catches strangely in your throat, and you smother a cough in the crook of your arm.

Well. Perhaps you’re not all the way out of the haze just yet.

Gathering yourself, you put on a smile and offer him a carefully unaffected shrug. “You tell me.”

“Well, of course, your work is exceptional,” Robby says easily. “Only took you what, a week? Two? To figure out the rhythm of the department?”

This time, the heat that blooms across your neck and chest has nothing to do with pheromones. “I’ve been doing this for a while,” you demure, brushing off the compliment. “It gets easier over time.”

He accepts the response with a gracious nod, but corrects, “I meant more…interpersonally.”

Quirking your brow, you blink back at him in surprise.

“I just…the ED is a team sport. Sometimes it takes new players a bit to find their footing,” he stammers in explanation. It must be a trick of the neon lights that has his cheeks turning red under your stunned gaze.

Either way, you warm at the sight. Stirring your drink with its little black cocktail straw, you swallow and reply, “If I’m being honest, I’ve felt more welcomed in the Pitt than anywhere else since I left Philly.”

You watch as Robby’s eyes soften, your words hitting him someplace quiet and vulnerable.

“Dana helps, of course,” you’re quick to add. “I’ve known her my whole life – she’s basically family. But really, this team seems to be…especially accepting of new players.”

Now, it is his turn to shift uncomfortably on his feet, to shutter a bit at the earnestness of your praise. “It’s a teaching hospital. We’re pretty used to people coming and going.”

“Still. It’s appreciated.” You pick up your drink, raising it in his direction in a casual toast. “Compliments to the team captain.”

Robby scoffs a soft laugh, and now you’re certain he’s blushing. Satisfaction swells in your chest. He will be able to smell it on you, surely, but you’re not certain how much you care anymore. You made him smile. Made him laugh. In spite of the amount of time you’ve spent at his side over the last month, you think you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve witnessed both of those gifts in a single interaction.

Thankfully, the bartender returns before you can let it go to your head, before you can start formulating increasingly more ridiculous things you might say or do to elicit such a response from the older Alpha again. The number of drinks deposited onto the bar top feels truly absurd, entirely too many for one person to carry, but Robby does not balk. Instead, he thanks the bartender and begins gathering them into his hands.

“Need help with those?” you ask, eyebrows raised as you watch him artfully arrange the glasses so that he can carry four in each hand.

“No thanks, I’ve got it,” he replies. “Think I’d better get these to the parched masses.”

Fuck, his hands are huge. It’s not the first time you’ve noticed – as he rubs hand sanitizer into his skin, as he scratches his beard while deep in thought, as he snaps extra-large nitrile gloves on and off while breezing through trauma bay doors. It’s distracting every time, and this display only adds to the Robby-shaped fantasy fodder stored carefully away in the back of your mind. Wide palms, long, thick fingers… He manages everything in one single pass.  

Throat suddenly dry, you take another drink of your whiskey ginger before responding. “Probably for the best. Trinity might mutiny otherwise.”

The noise the attending makes in response is gruff and warm and full of good humor, not laughter but something with more substance, low in his throat. It makes you feel hot under your dress. Makes you feel…reckless.

“Catch you on the dance floor later?” The question is out of your mouth before you can swallow it back, and you’re not sure you’ve ever wanted to disappear more than you do right now as the older man glances up from the drinks in his hands. He bites down on his bottom lip, smothering a smile, and shakes his head.

“Ohhh no, I don’t think so.” Though clearly taken aback, his refusal is tinged with laughter, and you are suddenly grateful for the cold press of your drink against your palm. You’re in real danger of overheating under his sparkling gaze.

“That’s a shame,” you manage to reply. “I’d have saved you a dance.”

You can’t bear to stick around long enough to allow him to respond. Instead, you duck around him and make a beeline for the table where most of the nursing staff have congregated. With any luck, he won’t follow you there, and you’ll be able to slam the rest of your drink in peace.

Robby may have turned down your invitation, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t allowed to watch.

At least, that’s what he tells himself as he lingers against the bar, twirling a half-empty IPA bottle in his fingers while trying (and failing) to be discrete in the way his eyes follow you. It’s late now, the drinks and the atmosphere settling heavy and loose in everyone’s system, and if he were a stronger man, he would have made his excuses and gone home by now. He would have clapped Jack on the shoulder, bid Mohan one final “happy birthday,” and disappeared into the night.

But he can’t remember the last time he felt strong. These days, he mostly feels tired. And old. And desperately lonely.

But you? Since the day Dana brought you into his ED, you’ve been…a revelation.

You’re a goddamn ray of sunshine. Bright and warm and giving, a smile on your face for every patient, a helping hand at the ready for every colleague. Whip-smart, quick on your feet, experienced enough to not require much oversight yet always eager to learn something new. Clear-eyed, unafraid, kind down to your bones... He could go on.

He’s only known you a month; it’s embarrassing how much time he could fill extolling your virtues.

And now, as of tonight, he has even more to add to the ever-growing list. A far cry from your typical gray scrubs and well-worn Brooks sneakers, the ruffled, body-hugging dress you’ve got on leaves little to the imagination. There’s something achingly feminine about the way it clings so softly to the swell of your breasts, the nip of your waist, the full plush of your ass. It’s frothy and sweet with just enough sex appeal to keep it from looking too girlish. Even still, watching you sway through the crowd, head thrown back in laughter, pulling Samira into your lithe arms as you move to the beat, Robby feels like a dirty old man. But he can’t seem to make himself look away.

He’d gotten a whiff of your scent earlier. It was warm and light and musky, almost sparkling, amber and champagne and white florals. It’s taken residence under his skin, clouding his thoughts with gauzy, half-formed images of tenderness that make his chest ache. You smell like tangled sheets and satin pillowcases. Soft sweaters and bare feet and cups of coffee in the sunshine on his back patio. The fucking farmer’s market on Sundays.

Sweet. Painful. Like pressing too hard on a bruise left by a lover.

“Still with me, brother?”

Robby blinks, clears his throat, and turns to find Jack watching him with raised eyebrows and that little quirk of his mouth he does when he’s got something to say but is choosing not to. Shaking his head, the older Alpha smiles ruefully. “‘Course. Continue.”

Everything is beautiful.

The music is loud in your ears, throbbing in your chest, fusing with your bones. Whiskey in your veins, floaty and warm, you feel like all the sharp angles and edges of you have blurred and softened. Surrounded on all sides by your new friends, you bleed into each other like watercolors on a wet canvas. Samira spins with you, her dark curls wild against her cheeks, her mate’s leather jacket draped around her shoulders. Nearby, Mel holds hands with Trinity, jumping more than dancing but still managing to keep perfect time with the song. Victoria and Dennis both look like they’ve never been on a dance floor in their lives, but they’re grinning so big and singing at the top of their lungs, dripping sweat and spilling the sweet, intoxicating scent of Omega joy from every pore.

You’re cocooned here – bodies pressed close, eyes half shut, hips swaying, fingers catching on Dr. Abbot’s coat, on Mel’s loose blonde hair, on the silver chain resting on Dennis’s chest. And still, the back of your neck burns.

Dr. Robby is watching you. You can feel it like a brand on your skin, and you savor the heat. It’s wrong. God, it’s so wrong, for too many reasons to count. He’s got almost 20 years on you. He’s the chief of the ED. You hardly know him. And you cannot forget that you’re temporary here, already a third of the way through your contract. When it ends, there will be another, and who knows where you will find yourself next?

But those thoughts are too heavy, too real for this moment. In this moment, with the music and the booze and the dress and all your beautiful friends, you feel beautiful, too. You feel sexy. You feel desired in a way that’s more exciting than intimidating. And you’re perfectly content to allow this gruff, mysterious, older Alpha to watch you dance for as long as he likes. Perhaps you’ll even put on a bit of a show for him…

One song fades into the next, then again, and before long, you’ve utterly lost track of time. You’re sweaty and fuzzy and so happy, so lost in the music and the moment that you don’t notice the approaching stranger until he is close enough to snake his hands around your hips and pull you into him.

You flinch, loose body stiffening instantly. An Alpha. A face you’ve never seen before towering over you, red-rimmed, heavy-lidded eyes finding yours in the darkness. He’s young, maybe two or three years your junior, with a square, clean-shaven jaw and shoulder-length blonde hair he wears pushed back from his face. And holy shit, he reeks – like smoke and ash and sickly, cloying flowers, an exotic greenhouse someone doused in vodka and lit on fire. There’s arousal there, too, the scent distinctly Alpha. It invades your nostrils as he presses your hips into his pelvis, using his grip on your body to grind you against him.

“I like your moves, Omega,” he says, leaning down and speaking directly into your ear. His breath is boozy and hot on the skin of your neck, and you recoil at the feel of it brushing over your scent glands.

Stomach soured, palms firm against his wiry chest, you shove him hard. “Hey! Back off!”

But this stranger is wasted, and he’s got almost a foot of height on you, and in his single-minded lust, he’s stronger than you expect.

“C’mon, baby, don’t be like that,” he groans with a laugh, as though your disgust and your refusal are no more than an inconvenience to him. His fingers dig hard into the soft flesh of your hips, blunt nails scraping the filmy fabric of your dress. “Could smell you all the way on the other side of the dance floor. I know how bad you need this.”

Your stomach drops, and you let out an involuntary whine as you scramble ineffectually against his hold. A young, strong, cocksure Alpha has caught the scent of an aroused, unmarked Omega. It’s the stuff public safety announcements are made of. You’re in danger.

“Get your hands off me!” you cry. And with that, chaos breaks out on the dance floor.

Samira’s dark eyes flash with fury as she fearlessly charges into the strange Alpha’s space and wraps both her hands around one of his elbows. You can tell she’s throwing her whole bodyweight into trying to yank his paws off of you, but the man doesn’t budge.

Dennis tucks Victoria under his arm and shepherds her off the dance floor, and you feel a swell of gratefulness for his quick thinking; Victoria is so young, even more vulnerable here than you are.

From a few feet away, you hear a growl of “oh, fuck no”, and out of the crowd, you can smell Trinity approaching before you see her – the bright green notes of the mint and lime in her scent sour and sharpen with rage as she bullies her way through the press of bodies to get to you. There’s a brief, instinctual surge of relief the moment you lock eyes with her – the only thing this man might listen to right now is another Alpha – but the feeling is short-lived. Trinity is fierce and scrappy and famously protective, as virile as any other of her designation, but the stranger currently grinding a growing erection into your stomach is so tall –

“Let. Her. Go.”

Barked in a low, gravelly voice, the Command drowns out the beat of the music and sends ripples through the crowd of dancers – gasps, shudders, a groan through gritted teeth as Trinity Santos halts in her tracks. Even without being directed at her, the will of a more senior Alpha is too strong for her to resist. The sound of it makes your knees tremble with a wave of fear and bone-deep gratitude. You twist in the stranger’s grip and crane your neck to find the source of the words that have taken such swift control of the scene.

It does not take you long. There, standing almost directly behind you, tall and square-shouldered and stinking of rage, is –

“Dr. Robby.”

His name leaves your lips like a plea, and you watch as his frown deepens. You’ve never seen him like this – he’s radiating dominance and territorialism, his scent darker, thicker, every inch of softness you’ve ever observed in him evaporated into the night air. He looks…formidable. Strong and broad, still not quite as tall as the young Alpha holding you but infinitely more daunting. The threads of silver in his hair and the dense patch of it in his beard practically glow in the neon lights, and you feel certain that when you think back on this moment, you will remember him as a barrel-chested old wolf standing undaunted in the face of an enemy upstart.

“I said, let her go,” he repeats, taking a step forward.

The stranger scoffs and turns you around in his grip, this time tugging hard enough to make you stumble as he pulls you back into him. “She’s unmarked, man,” he says as he grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head to the side, exposing your bare neck.

He touches you like the mere fact that no bite mark scores your flesh entitles him to your body; the thought alone disgusts you. You yelp in pain, and you swear you can feel the vibration of Robby’s growl as it thunders through the air.

“I don’t give a shit,” the attending snaps. “She doesn’t want your hands on her.”

“She doesn’t know what she wants.” The blonde man grinds against your ass, and you swallow a wave of nausea. “I smelled her first. Get your own bitch!”

That seems to be the final straw. Closing the distance between you in two long-legged strides, Robby’s hand darts out and clutches onto the back of the younger man’s neck.

“I would think very carefully about what you do next,” he snarls, almost too soft for you to hear over the music. “I’ve been putting pups like you in their place for longer than you’ve been alive, and I swear, if you hurt her, I will let every other Alpha in this room take their turn with you before I kick your ass from here to Philadelphia.”

The acrid, burnt-rubber scent of fury pouring from the young Alpha is enough to make your eyes water and your throat swell, but there’s something else there now, too. Fear. Intimidation. Submission. His hands tighten against you even further.

“Now,” Robby says. “Let her go. And then get the fuck out of here.”

For a moment, you don’t breathe. The challenge hangs in the air as Robby maintains his grip on the other man’s scruff, holding him fast and certain in what is quite possibly the most aggressive, provoking move one Alpha could pull on another. Had he attempted to hold you like that, you feel certain you would have turned into a pile of goo, limp and pliant and utterly boneless as you dangled from his fingers. Instead, this Alpha merely whimpers and shudders against your back.

There is a beat where he continues to cling to you, the hold suddenly feeling less possessive and more stubborn, but in the end, the younger man cannot resist following the attending’s orders. It’s sudden when he finally drops you, and without this stranger’s hands keeping you upright, your legs give out beneath you.

Robby is there in less than a heartbeat – releasing the scruff hold on the younger man, catching you in his strong arms before you can slump to the floor. The former staggers backward and lets out a weak, unconvincing sneer.

“Whatever, man. She’s a fucking tease, anyway.”

Out of the darkness, Dr. Abbot appears then, his face like a storm cloud as he inserts himself between a furious Robby and this overconfident pup. Wrapping his thick fingers around the younger man’s upper arm, he growls, “Time to go, buddy.”

Without another word, Abbot drags the man toward the door. You think you see him pass his fingers over the back of Samira’s hand on his way by, but truthfully, you weren’t certain. You’ve started to shake in Robby’s arms, the edges of your vision have begun to blur, and you feel as though you could collapse again at any moment.

Around you, the dance floor abruptly surges back to life.

Everyone within the radius of Robby’s Command seems to descend on you at once, strangers and friends alike all rushing to check on the distraught Omega. The sounds of their voices, the touch of their hands, all of it feels oddly deadened and far away – as though they are talking to you through the wall of a quarantine bubble.

“Okay, everybody, back off – give her some space!”

You spot Mel’s wide, worried eyes. Trinity’s furious frown. There’s a Beta night shift nurse – Olive, maybe? – checking on the other Omegas in the crowd. Thankfully, the ones you can see look relatively unscathed…

And that is all you register before Dr. Robby is shucking his big brown coat, wrapping it around you, and ushering you away from the dance floor.

“D-Dr. Robby – ”

“Shh,” he soothes, his hands gentle but firm on your shoulders as he steers you toward the rear exit, the thick metal door labeled “Employees Only”. “I’m just taking you someplace quiet.”

As he guides you through the door, you find that all of the unseasonable warmth you had enjoyed earlier has dissipated with the setting of the sun. The late winter night is damp and bracingly cold as you step out into the back alley, but the relief you feel almost makes up for the sudden chill. Out here, the fresh air smells faintly of wet concrete and the nearby Allegheny River, and you find yourself gulping lungfuls of it to try to banish the ash-rubber-flower scent of the man whose bruises now decorate your skin.

“Okay, here we go,” Robby coaxes as he directs you away from the door. He is a steadying presence, his touch light but constant. When he encourages you to lean back and brace yourself against the brick exterior of the bar, you obey without a thought. “Better, right?”

“Yes.” Your response sounds tremulous to your own ears – dazed, weak, and far away…

“Look at me.”

Your eyes snap open. You didn’t realize you had closed them.

Robby’s gaze meets yours. Hands on your shoulders, brows gathered at the center in concern, you notice he has bent down in front of you so he can look you in the eye. This close, he’s all you can see, and he’s even more handsome than you thought. You’re fascinated by the wrinkles around his eyes, his long, dark lashes, the sharp, commanding line of his nose…

“Hey. I’ve got you. You’re safe now,” he says. The comforting words are muffled and distant. It’s like he’s talking to you through a pair of tin cans and some string from a block away. “Deep breaths, okay? Breathe with me. In.” He sucks a dramatic breath through his nose, nostrils flaring, and you do your best to imitate him. “Out.” His breath smells like the IPA he had been drinking as he exhales through his mouth. You breathe out, too, and he smiles faintly. “Good girl. Again. In. Out.”

You comply easily, breathing in rhythm, in and out, sinking into the cold, textured brick of the wall behind you. It takes a few rounds of this, your bleary eyes locked on his as he helps you regulate, but after a while, your heartrate slows, and your vision begins to sharpen.

He must be able to see the clarity come back to your expression because he asks, “Better?”

Jaw tight, you nod. “Mm hm.”

The confirmation, however, does not seem to do much to comfort him. Instead of the smile you expect, his frown deepens, and he runs his palms over your arms briskly, like he’s trying to warm you up. “You’re shaking,” he observes.

Oh. You are, aren’t you? You take another deep breath, the scent of your assailant blessedly faded now, and make a conscious effort to relax your rigid muscles. You start with your jaw, then down to your neck, your shoulders, your back, but every inch of you is wound so tightly, as though still braced for unwanted touch, that you make little progress. You may no longer be on the edge of hyperventilating, but still, your body clearly has not caught up with the sudden absence of threat.

“I’m s-sorry,” you reply. “I c-can’t stop.”

Robby shakes his head, brushing off the apology, and you watch as he examines you with a critical, almost clinical gaze. You weren’t injured – not really, not in any lasting sort of way. The man didn’t bite you (thank god) or even scent you. It had been scary, terrifying even, but more in the threat of it than the actual reality.

The more you sit with it, the more you recognize this feeling. The dread, the thoughtless, nauseating panic so intimately, biologically tied to your nature as an Omega that it feels doubly wounding, doubly personal. It’s been more than a year since you last felt this way. It’s the reason why you left your ex, why you packed your bags and fled Philadelphia, leaving behind a life you loved for the chance to get away from this.

You see it in his eyes the moment he recognizes it. Omega distress. A primal defense mechanism designed to encourage community protection and care when an Omega is in danger. Of course, as an Alpha and as a medical professional, it’s something you’re certain he’s seen before. Perfectly treatable, but prolonged distress could result in neurological damage, and it’s not as though most Omegas carry the necessary hormone treatments on their person –

Under his breath, Robby curses. “Fuck. Okay.”

You might be the one bracing your weight against the building right now, but Robby has never felt more backed into a wall.

Of course, it had to be you. So pretty, so sweet, so frightened – shaking in your high heels, drowning in his coat, pouring the choked, sour fragrance of your distress into the night air. Your eyes are wide and glassy, shining with tears that refuse to fall, and you’ve got your elegant hands balled up in little fists so tight your knuckles have gone pale. He can still smell hints of that bastard pup on your skin, and even the faint reminder is enough to have his hackles standing on end.

He comforts himself with the knowledge that if he does what he knows he must, if he manages to work up the courage to take that step, at least that scent will finally disappear.

And of course, it had to be him. After all of his efforts to maintain professional distance, after all of the scoldings he’s given himself about keeping you at arm’s length, of course it would be him in this impossible scenario. He knows what you need – would know it even if he weren’t an Emergency Medicine physician, but in his line of work, he can’t count the number of times he’s treated this exact condition. But you are not a patient in his ED, and this alleyway behind a dive bar is not PTMC. There are no synthetic hormones he can inject you with here. There is only…him.

Well. Not only him. There are at least three other Alphas inside that bar, two of which are unmated and could do the job just as well. But the idea of letting anyone else anywhere near you right now makes something ruinous and feral clamor inside his chest. For the first time since his adolescence, Michael Robinavitch truly feels the depths of the raging beast that lingers at the edges of his subconscious.

In this moment, if anyone but him were to touch you, he thinks he might rip their throat out with his teeth.

“Fuck. Okay.” Robby squeezes your shoulders and tucks his thumbs into the collar of his jacket. Your eyelids flag instinctually at the touch. “Hey, right here, look right here.”

You obey, but that sense of presence and awareness he had detected just moments ago has already begun to fade. Your skin is burning up under his touch, and shit, you still haven’t stopped shaking. Your nervous system is fully strung out, on high alert, and your body is struggling to keep up.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures you. “I’m right here with you. Just keep your eyes on me.”

“Robby.” His name leaves your lips on the back of a whine. Gritting his teeth, Robby swallows against an answering purr that threatens to rumble from his throat.

“I know, Omega.”

God, he’s going to have to do it, isn’t he? He’s going to have to –

Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, he asks, “Do you trust me?”

Your responding nod is immediate, the delicate skin of your neck brushing against his thumbs. “Yes. I trust you.”

Combined with your big, wet eyes and your pouting, open mouth, your words hit deep and sound like praise. They make him want to preen, to roll over at your feet and show you his soft belly.

You trust him. He is a good Alpha. His Omega trusts him.

No.

He slams the door on that fantasy before it can take hold.

Not his Omega. An Omega. Never his.

Shoving that painful conclusion to the back of his mind, Robby nods and ducks his chin, making deep, direct eye contact with you once more. “Okay then. You’ll feel my touch on your hands and on the insides of your wrists.”

He keeps his words calm and clinical, like he’s talking a skittish patient through a painful and unfamiliar procedure. But there’s nothing clinical about what he’s about to do to you. In fact, if he were to do this with a real patient, he would be lucky to get off with a written warning from the Ethics Committee. But here, he has no choice. Here, it’s the kindest thing an Alpha like him can do given the current circumstances.

So he does it. He scents you.

Moving slowly so as not to spook you, Robby wraps his fingers around one of your graceful wrists and brings the thin, vulnerable skin covering your secondary scent glands to press against the weathered base of his neck.

It’s admittedly a bit unconventional – scenting someone on the wrist instead of the neck – but the rational, practical part of him hopes it might soften the staggering intimacy of the gesture. You might be an Omega in distress, but you are still his colleague, still someone he has to see every day in the Pitt. You’re still a member of his pack that he is responsible for protecting – and that includes from himself. If he were to put any part of himself on your neck right now, would that make him just as bad as that impudent pup on the dance floor, smelling your arousal and thinking it an invitation?

Robby allows a handful of seconds for his scent to permeate yours, for the hormones to mingle and for your body to recognize his, and then your eyelids are drooping, and your knees are turning watery, and for the second time tonight, he finds himself propping you up as you sway on your feet.

“I gotcha,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, cradling you to his chest.

You fold into him easily, every rigid muscle going pliant beneath his hands as you nuzzle into his flannel. Your answering sound – somewhere between a contented hum and moan – vibrates through his collarbones to his sternum.

Goosebumps break out across his skin as the sensation of it zips along his nerve endings to burrow at the base of his spine. Fuck. The most primal parts of him love that sound. That sound means happy Omega, comfortable Omega, safe Omega.

He did that. No one else.

“Thank you,” you sigh, dazed but grateful. Your fingers dig into the fabric of his flannel shirt as you pull yourself upright. Your pupils are blown wide, and if he thought you had smelled appealing before, you are downright edible now.

Clearing his throat, grasping the remaining strings of his restraint, he replies, “Anytime.”

The warmth and softness of your skin. The rich, earthy sweetness of your arousal. All of it buoyed by his own scent.

You smell held. Protected.

Fuck. You smell good together…

You must think so, too, because in less than a heartbeat, you lean back into his space, tuck your face into his open shirt collar, and begin nosing around in search of his scent glands. Robby can feel the heat of your breath on his skin, the delicate, ticklish sensation of your fluttering eyelashes against his throat, the dampness of your lips –

“Jesus, Robby, you smell amazing.” The breathlessness of your exclamation goes straight to his cock.

Twitching in his jeans, eyes falling shut, he shakes his head in weak protest. He knew this would happen, knew the consequences before he ever touched you. Scenting might be the most effective treatment for Omega distress ever studied, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have physiological and socioemotional side effects. Scenting is deeply personal – the sort of thing a partner does, the sort of thing a lover does.

He definitely feels like your lover right now.  

“Michael,” he groans thoughtlessly, and for the span of a breath, you pause.

“What?”

If there was ever a time to pull back, it would be now. As he holds you to his chest, Robby feels a bit like he does when he goes up to the roof of the hospital and stares down at the city below – the thrill and the terror of the knowledge that the smallest move now would send him plummeting, and there would be no coming back from it. There would only be the cold, unforgiving embrace of the pavement below. It tempts him now just as it does on the roof.

You’re so…good. And so vulnerable. And something inside him is fundamentally broken. What if he breaks you, too?

“Robby?”

Wordlessly, his hands grip the well-loved canvas of his coat, the one he is certain will carry the scent of you for weeks now that it’s been wrapped around your shoulders. Fuck, Robby is so weak. All it takes is the pretty little travel nurse showing a little skin and carrying his scent, and all of the very legitimate reasons why this is a terrible idea go out the window.

Gritting his teeth, resting his cheek against the crown of your head, he murmurs, “Michael. My name is Michael.” 

You’re floating.

The irrational, involuntary panic is gone. The dread has retreated. The instinctual clench of every muscle and tendon has softened. Instead, it has all been replaced with ease. Peace. An unshakeable sense of safety. It’s chemical, what this man has given you, and you can’t deny the way you’ve hungered for such a feeling.

Of course, the sweet, molten warmth that has taken residence low in your abdomen doesn’t hurt the situation, either. You’re just like any other red-blooded Omega; there have been a variety of Alphas (and a few Betas) throughout your life whose scents and touch have triggered a…primitive response. But Dr. Robby had had you dampening your panties even before scenting you. And now –

No. Not Dr. Robby, you correct yourself. Michael.

Michael, with the competent, seasoned authority in baked into his every move. Michael, with the soft, expressive eyes and the painfully charming smile. Michael, with the scent that makes you lightheaded and flustered every time you detect it.

Michael, with the hardening cock pressed against your belly as he allows you to wrap yourself eagerly around him. Something deep inside you trembles at the feel of it, and you are suddenly reminded of how long it’s been since you’ve been properly fucked.

Michael would fuck you properly. You know it in your gut, can feel it in every gentle-but-firm touch of his big, calloused hands. An Alpha his age? He has to have been around the block a few times. With his intelligence, his sense of humor, and his looks, there is no way he hasn’t learned a thing or two about how to please a woman. Just the thought of it is enough to have you biting back a whimper.

Your ex – who you try so hard not to think of if you can help it – was a Beta with an inferiority complex. David had been so insecure in his own designation and so envious of every Alpha he met that he had molded his entire personality around trying to emulate them. Early on in your relationship, you had found it intriguing. It was subversive in a way that you had admired; to flout the expectations and predispositions of one’s designation like that was no small thing. You had always loved a man with convictions, and David certainly had that going for him.  

Plus, the sex with him had been pretty good; what he lacked in certain anatomy, he made up for in his willingness to experiment. But it had been over a year since you saw him last. And you couldn’t deny that no matter how hard he tried, he had never quite managed to replicate the specific, inimitable satisfaction of taking a knot.

You bet Michael’s knot is big.

With a trembling breath, you pull away from the older man’s chest just far enough to be able to meet his eyes. He looks wrecked as he stares down at you – freckled cheeks flushed pink, graying hair disheveled, brown eyes nearly black with arousal. In the dim light of the alley, his sharp, white teeth glisten. He looks like he wants to eat you. Fuck, you wish he would.

“Kid?”

Inhaling a sharp breath, Michael abruptly yanks himself away, putting inches and then feet between you as Dr. Abbot and Dana emerge from the bar. The sharp, sudden distance steals the air from your lungs, and you bite back a whimper of protest as you steady yourself against the wall and pray your godmother did not just see you about to offer yourself up on a silver platter to the Chief of Emergency Medicine at her hospital.

You blink rapidly and try to clear the warm, intimate blur from your vision as you take her in – blonde hair loose on her shoulders, face pale and free of makeup, winter jacket zipped up to her chin. She’s wearing a pair of heather gray sweatpants you know she would never normally be seen out of the house in, and you recognize the boots on her feet as the ones she keeps in the garage that she only wears when gardening.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Dana hisses, a frown of distaste wiping away the concern etched into her tired face. “It stinks out here. I got here as soon as I could. You okay, honey?” 

Behind her, Dr. Abbot keeps his distance, hands clasped behind his back in a loose parade rest. Of course, he would call her. She’s the emergency contact you listed on your employment contract, your host while you’re in town. And what had happened tonight on the dance floor with that other Alpha was certainly an emergency.

However, from the way he is staring down Michael, expression unreadable, you wonder whether that was his only motivation.

Swallowing against an unexpected lump in your throat, you nod and offer Dana a close-lipped smile. “I’m okay, promise. M-Dr. Robby had my back.”

With his scent still in your nostrils, his jacket around your shoulders, and the gusset of your underwear uncomfortably soaked, calling this man Dr. Robby feels nothing short of bizarre.

Dana, thankfully, does not seem to catch your near slip, but Dr. Abbot does. You watch as a faint smirk twists his lips, and although you can’t hear it from where you stand, the little puff of warm air that escapes him tells you that you’ve made him laugh.

“I’m sure,” he mutters under his breath.

Closing the distance between you, you are helpless to protest as Dana peels the oversized canvas jacket from your body and hands it back to Michael. Her hands are cold but so gentle as she coaxes you away from the support of the brick wall at your back. “C’mon, missy. Let’s get you home.”

Before you can think better of it, you shake your head in refusal. “No, I’m okay, really. I can go back in, I just need another minute.”

Your godmother arches her brows at you, and the expression is so familiar, you feel certain that if she had her reading glasses on her person, she would have met your gaze over the rim of them.

“Listen,” she says softly, and that tone, too, is familiar. It’s the one she uses with patients, the one that tells them that she sees them, that she cares, but she also isn’t afraid to do whatever is in their best interests whether they like it or not. “It might not have hit you yet, but we both know that you’re gonna be falling asleep on your feet in a few minutes. The comedown from a distress episode is nothing to joke about, you understand? Now c’mon – I’m parked by the curb out front. Let me take you home.”

She’s not wrong; you know it from experience, both personal and professional. But the idea of leaving, the idea of being any further than a few feet away from Michael – Dr. Robby – right now feels unbearable. It’s as though he’s invaded your body on a cellular level, his scent on your skin a chemical signal that you belong at his side. The peace he had so graciously granted you starts to waver and wane as you try and fail to catch his eye. Surely, he feels it, too. Surely, he will advocate for you to stay. With him.

Instead, Robby’s wide shoulders stiffen, and he very pointedly does not meet your probing gaze as he crosses his arms over his chest and says, “Dana’s right. You should let yourself rest.”

If you were in your right mind, if you had been capable of paying attention to the microexpressions in his voice in that moment, you would have noticed that the words sound as though they have been ripped from his throat. There’s a tension in his jaw that would tell you that it hurts him to deny you. But instead, all you feel is a cold wave of rejection that is enough to snuff out the heat in your belly and make your chest ache.

“But – ”

“It’ll be all right.” Finally, he glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Trust me.”

Do you trust me? he had asked. Of course, you do. You have trusted him since the day you met him, have only grown to trust him more as you’ve worked alongside him, as you’ve gotten to know him. Especially after tonight, after everything he has just done to protect you, you can’t imagine not trusting him.

“Okay.”

The word is all Dana needs to pull you away from the wall and start ushering you toward the door. “Okay. Let’s go grab your coat, it’s freezing out here.”

This time, you allow her to guide you along without protest. Just as she is about to beckon you through the threshold, however, you pause and turn to Dr. Abbot. “Tell Samira happy birthday for me again, and that I’m sorry I caused a scene at her party.”

The expression on the older man’s face is one of fond affection as he replies, “Wasn’t your fault, honey. But I’ll tell her.”

And then you’re stepping back into the neon light of the bar, and no matter how loudly your body screams at you to turn around, you keep your eyes locked on the back of Dana’s head and let the door fall shut behind you.

Every step you take is a leaden weight in Robby’s stomach. It goes against every one of his instincts to let you out of his sight knowing how vulnerable you still are. He supposes the knowledge that you carry his scent should help; if any other Alpha were to even consider approaching you for the next 24 hours, you might as well be wearing a shirt that reads “Property of Michael Robinavitch.” But it’s not enough.

You should be where he can see you. Where he can touch you. For your safety.

For his sanity.

Releasing a long, trembling breath, he rubs his hands over his face. Fuck. What a mess.

The sound of someone clearing their throat breaks through Robby’s mental pity party, and he opens his eyes to find Jack Abbot standing with his arms crossed over his chest and a pointed expression on his face.

He feels a bit like a child, like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Hackles bristling, Robby snaps, “If you’ve got something to say, now’s the time.”

He’s expecting a scolding. A lecture about the impropriety of his actions, about the potential complications at the hospital if the events of tonight were to get back to the administration. At the very least, he’s expecting a ribbing – something about how Robby had gotten on Jack’s case about the exact same things when he had first learned of his friend’s burgeoning relationship with Samira Mohan, and wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?

Instead, as Jack sweeps his knowing gaze from the top of Robby’s head to the tips of his boots, he offers the older Alpha a wry smile.

“Don’t worry, brother,” he says, slapping Robby on the shoulder fraternally. “You’ll see her on Monday.”

Credits: Dividers -@saradika-graphics, Chapter Beta Reader -@kedsandtubesocks

Taglist: @kedsandtubesocks @sawymredfox @livslifeonline @rosharanfiction @skylardenae @pocket-of-possibilities @bergamote-catsandbooks @peepawispunk @80ssong @ohheyitssj @vicky066 @windsweptarmadillo @sharkerino @dugiioh @tatertot118 @pickles-the-jackalope @delusionalcvnt @thegift0fgabb @inkededucatednnerdy @princessesareforsuckers @natbat666

Dana chuckled and shook her head.

“Any ideas?” Robby inquired, turning to her.

“Yeah. Get better friends,” she snarked.

Robby leaned his head sideways with a disapproving look, but at this point, Dana was immune.

“Next week’s my anniversary,” Robby said. “Any ideas for my wife?”

“You mean ex-wife?”

Robby felt like a cartoon character; he was almost certain his face was red and steam was coming out of his ears.

She took a step closer. “You know, Robby, these two may not, but I remember how hard you worked to get her to date you. Be that man again. I’m sure she’d appreciate it.”

He simply nodded, remembering all the schemes he’d pulled just to get you downstairs. All the favors he’d asked to have you in the same room. All the bribes he’d sent in order for his plans to work. But first and foremost, he remembered the effort and how it made you blush.

“Jack, can you babysit my kids next Tuesday night?” Robby asked, his fingers tapping against one of the iPads.

“I’m working.”

Robby slapped his arm as he passed behind him, whispering a “Not anymore.” 

He reached your floor feeling uncharacteristically lucky, until the front desk nurse stopped him.

“Where are you headed?”

“To see my wife. Ex-wife.”

“Let me announce you.”

“It’s alright.” Robby took another step towards your office. 

“It’s procedure,” she said, offering a practiced, polite smile that gave Robby the feeling that he was the reason procedure existed in the first place.

He released a tiresome huff and crossed his arms, waiting.

“The Chief of Emergency Medicine is here to see you,” she announced into the phone. She listened for a moment, said, “Yeah,” and hung up. She turned her gaze back to him. “You can go in.”

With a smile that felt more like a grimace, he walked into your office. You were already standing, arms stretched above your head as a wide yawn took over your face. He could have been lying to himself, but he swore he saw your expression brighten the moment you saw him.

“Rough day?” he asked, immediately reaching your side to rest his hands on your waist.

“Uh-uh,” you nodded, leaning into him. “Just boring.”

“Hmm.” He kissed the top of your head. “You know where the fun is.”

You looked up at him, already smiling. “Yeah—home, with a glass of wine.”

He smirked. “Yeah, that’s fun, too.” He leaned down and pressed a simple, domestic kiss to your lips. “Hey, what are your plans for Tuesday?”

“Let me see.” You pulled away from his embrace and returned to your chair, pulling your agenda from a drawer and opening it to the marked page. “Ah—Tuesday.” You looked up at him through your lashes.

Robby nodded, already lowering himself toward the floor. “Yeah, Tuesday.” He knelt beside your chair and turned you to face him, his hands settling on your hips. “I want to take you out on a date.”

Your eyes widened. “What about the kids?”

“It’s been taken care of.” He gave a single, firm nod, then pushed up on his knees to reach your mouth, pressing a tentative kiss to the corner of it. “Dinner. Drinks. And back to my place. No kids.”

He watched a slow smile form on your lips. 

“Sounds nice.”

“It’s going to be even better than that.”

“You’ve got yourself a date, Robinavitch.” You pecked his lips. “Now go get the kids. I’ll see you in the parking lot.”

He stood in one fluid movement, extending a hand toward you to help you stand. “Yes, boss.”

As you busied yourself packing your things to leave, he walked toward the door.

“Dr. Robby?” you called out, your eyes fixed on sliding your laptop into your bag.

He stopped dead in his tracks and turned back. “Yeah?”

“Does it include breakfast?” You peeked at him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

His blood pressure spiked. “Damn right it does.” He nodded once, gave you a look, and walked out of the office.

immediately he scoops you up into his arms, holding you tight in his lap, pressing kisses into your hair. “oh, sweetheart, was i a little rough back there? i’m so sorry, i didn’t realise.”

you nod slowly, sniffling softly before letting out a loud sob. you feel a bit silly, usually you can take whatever robby gives you, you thought you could today but you’re feeling a little extra sensitive and it was just too much. “i’m sorry, baby. you should’ve said, i’d of stopped. you know i would’ve, i’d never want to hurt you…” he whispers into your hair between kisses, you can hear the genuine sadness in his voice.

“i-i wanted you to–” you sniff again, trying to hold back the tears, you weren’t even really in much pain but your body was clearly very overwhelmed. “–wanted you t-to feel g-good.” another big sob follows, robby’s heart breaks at your admission.

“baby, no. i always feel good when i’m with you. please please please don’t ever feel like you have to perform a certain way for me, or have to do things your body can’t handle just because you think i want to. okay? i love you, don’t want my sweet girl to be in pain.” the two of you just sit for a beat, robby softly rocks you back and forth in his arms while quietly shushing your intermittent cries waiting for your body to calm down.

it takes a while but slowly your sniffling and crying slows to a stop. he gently pulls you up by your armpits then, sitting you up in his lap, wrapping one arm around your waist the other around your back. “feeling a little better?” he asks with a kiss to your temple, he rests his head against yours.

you nod, worried if you speak you might start crying again. “want to cuddle in bed and watch a movie?” you can feel his smile grow against your cheek when you nod your head more enthusiastically this time.

“yeah? sound good? let’s get you cleaned up and i’ll grab your snacks and we can watch whatever movie you want, okay?”

“i can eat in bed?” you pull away to face him, eyes sparkling at that. robby never lets you eat snacks in bed usually.

“just this once, yeah? you’ve been so good today, my sweet girl deserves a little treat.” he kisses your cheek again and internally sighs in relief when your face lights up once more.

robby vows to never ever be the reason that light goes away again.

sorry if this is ass, i tried my best, this heatwave is kicking my ass my brain feels fried.

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the game finally did come to an end and the way robby jumped up off the couch and seemed to usher jack out the door shocked him a little, but again he didn’t press. jack gave robby a firm pat on the shoulder and a quick “if you need anything, anything at all…i’m here for you, man.” to which robby thanked him quickly and all but pushed him out the door.

robby looked at his watch, 11pm, shit. he wondered whether you’d still be awake or not, he thought about leaving it for another day but ultimately his feet carried him to your door.

you answered the door on the first quiet knock, so fast robby wondered if you’d been waiting for him there the whole time but he didn’t have time to think as you grabbed him by the wrist and hurriedly pulled him inside.

“hey, i’m sorry that i took-” robby starts but is interrupted by one of your fingers being pressed against his lips.

“shhh. have to keep it down, my parents are asleep.” robby’s eyes widen at that admission, uh oh.

“your who!?” robby asks rhetorically in a shocked whisper. he figured you lived alone, didn’t think you still lived with your parents…now that he’s really thinking about it, he didn’t even know your age. shit.

“my parents.” you repeat, like his question was stupid. you’re dragging him up the stairs at this point, firm grip on his wrist as you lead him to your bedroom.

“yes but–” he’s stopped again by you aggressively shushing him, pointing to a closed bedroom door that he figures must be your parent’s.

you open your own bedroom door and pull him inside, swiftly closing it behind you before letting out a sigh and flopping down onto your bed. “okay, we should be good now.”

“i’m sorry, i hate to ask but, um–how old are you, sweetheart?” robby rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and watches as you let out a little laugh. though he doesn’t find this funny.

“old enough.” you wink and robby gives you a stern look.

“seriously, i’m old enough…god, want to check my id?” you roll your eyes, you were joking about the id of course but robby nods.

“seriously!?”

he nods again so with a huff you grab your purse from your bag and fish out your license, turning it towards him. “see, i told you. old enough.”

robby let’s out a sigh of relief and let’s himself relax, sitting down beside you on the edge of your bed. he didn’t really know what to do with himself, he was so busy waiting for the game to finish that he didn’t even think this far ahead. so he just kind of sat there awkwardly waiting for you to do or say something, anything.

“so…how old are you?” you ask, smirk tugging at your lips. you knew he was older, much older and you didn’t really care how old he was but seeing as he pressed you about it, you figured you’d give him the same treatment.

robby let’s out a somewhat nervous chuckle, “old enough.”

“funny guy.” you laugh before dropping your amused tone. “but seriously. i told you now you tell me.”

“50….ish…” robby looks down at the floor awkwardly, worried that you’d turn him away in disgust but you don’t. your face lights up actually.

you take one of his hands in yours, squeezing it slightly. “oh, old enough then” you giggle and he turns to face you with a genuine smile, already so endeared by you.

“so…wanna pick up where we left off?” you bite your lip, eyeing robby up and down, he nods slowly. “uh, sure. if you, if that’s what you want.”

you giggle again, amused by his nervousness. “i do want, very much so.”

robby swallows thickly as you stand up and position yourself in front of him, he spreads his legs slightly and you step into the space.

“so, where were we?” you pretend to think for a second, tapping your chin with your finger. “oh yeah!” you slowly pull your t-shirt up, exposing your bare breasts to the older man. robby’s breathing catches in his throat as his gaze meets them.

“shit.” he whispers under his breath, you giggle softly again. “like what you see?” you ask, your voice dripping in honey. robby nods, “y-yes.”

“you can touch, you know?” robby looks up at you, his eyes all big and dark and hopeful. “yeah?”

you nod, “of course, that’s kind of the whole point.”

robby takes a beat and deep breath before reaching both hands up, slowly moving to cup the underside of your breasts as if he’s scared that you’ll run away if he moves to fast. you won’t.

he lets out a shaky breath as he softly squeezes them in his hands. he seems so nervous, so sweet. your heart lurches in your chest at his demeanour, you don’t know what you expected him to be like but it wasn’t this shy, nervous little guy.

feeling a little braver, he swipes his thumbs over your hard nipples, you fall forwards slightly and a soft moan escapes your lips.

“that feel good, sweetheart?” he asks, looking up at you again, smile on his lips and cheeks flushing a slight pink.

you nod, “mhm. s’good, daddy.” you didn’t mean to say it, it just came out and you immediately felt embarrassed by it. robby’s eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up, “daddy?”

now it’s your turn to go shy, “m’sorry, didn’t mean to say that, it won’t happen–”

“no. no. don’t apologise. s’okay, sweetheart. i can be your daddy if that’s what you want?” he’d be lying if he said that hearing the word daddy fall from your sweet lips didn’t set something off in him, in an instant his nervousness washed away and he understood his assignment.

you nod again, more enthusiastically this time. “please.”

robby hums, sliding his hands down your sides to rest on your waist, long fingers digging in your plush skin, not enough to hurt but enough to feel. “want to show daddy that pretty little pussy of yours finally?”

you take in a deep breath and move to sit on the bed, crawling to the middle. robby shifts to watch you, his legs still spread and his hand playing with his strained cock over his pants.

your fingers toy with your shorts, taking a moment before hooking them under the waistband and pulling just slightly, just enough to expose the bare skin beneath.

“no panties, huh?” robby breathes, squeezing the throbbing outline of his cock as he watches intently, waiting for you to pull your shorts down the rest of the way.

you shake your head and bite your lip, “no panties.” you confirm with a slight mischievous lilt in your tone. slowly, you pull them down the rest of the way, kicking them off your feet and discarding them at the end of the bed. you keep your legs closed, for now.

robby kicks off his shoes and moves so he’s sat fully on the bed now, leaning down on his elbows so he’s eye level with your closed legs. “please open your legs f’me, sweetheart. daddy wants to see so bad.” his tone is whinier, more pathetic than he had intended it to be but you don’t seem to mind as you slowly start spreading your legs for him.

again, his breathing seems to catch in his throat and he lets out a soft, small gasp as he’s finally met with the sight of your sweet cunt. he reaches a hand out, almost touching but not yet. “can i?” he asks, looking up at you waiting for approval, and when you nod he runs two fingers up through your folds, spreading them to get a better look at how they’re already glistening with arousal.

“so pretty, sweetheart. so so pretty. bet you taste so sweet too, please can i taste her?” how could you say no when he’s pleading with those big brown eyes of his? “y-yeah, please daddy.” you’re already bringing your hips up to meet his face before you’ve finished your sentence, feeling his hot breath against your sensitive skin making you so desperate.

robby let’s out a satisfied hum before bringing his face down to press a kiss against your pussy, feeling the soft, plush skin beneath his lips. he allows another hum afterwards, his eyes closing as he gets the smallest hint of your taste on his lips. after one last kiss he dives in, spreading your folds with his tongue, exploring every single inch of your cunt with his mouth.

your hands fly up to grip his hair, being careful not to pull too hard but just enough to ground you as your hips buck up involuntarily into his face. “fuck!– feels s’good, daddy. shit!” you moan, back arching off the bed, burying your face into the sheets to try and hide your scrunched up expression from the older man.

that’s not good enough for robby. he slides a hand up your body and grips your cheeks, forcing your face forwards. “uh uh. don’t hide from me, sweetheart. wanna see that pretty face when i make you cum, got it?” his tone has a slight hint of condescension that has your thighs squeezing against the sides of his head.

you nod, “yes, sorry daddy.” your eyes fluttering closed as his tongue darts across your clit in quick succession that feels like tiny shocks up your spine. “good girl.” he hums against your pussy, lips wrapping around your clit to suck, not gently, he’s on a mission now, he absolutely needs to make you cum on his face.

it’s not long before you’re right there. your fingers tighten in his hair, your hips buck wildly now, thighs squeezing his head like a vice as you wail. “oh my god, yes! just like that! just like that! fuck, fuck, fuck. gonna cum, you’re gonna make me– oh shit!” the pace of robby’s tongue lapping against your clit doesn’t let up even for a second as that knot in your stomach explodes.

heat blooms across your skin and up your spine, your toes curl against the sheets and you have to cover your own mouth to muffle the scream that’s ripped from your throat. robby’s lost in the feeling of you coming undone on his face. he’s mindlessly babbling about what a good girl you are, how pretty, how good you taste, literally anything that comes to his blissed out head.

your body goes limp and your thighs finally let him go, falling to the bed beneath you. your chest swells and your breasts heave as you try to catch your breath back. your eyes are still closed tight so you don’t notice robby getting up to strip himself, nor do you notice the dip in the bed as he positions himself on top of your body.

“ready, sweet girl?” he presses a kiss to your sweat slick forehead and that’s when you open your eyes, greeted by the sight of him gazing at you adoringly.

“y-yeah, please. want your cock so bad, daddy.” you mewl, letting your hips rise up to meet his own, feeling the way his dick twitches against your skin when you call him that name.

“don’t worry, m’ not gonna make you beg for it, sweetheart. know you’re gonna take my cock so well, gonna be a good girl for me, hm?” he peppers kisses all over your face as he lines himself up at your entrance, you can feel the blunt head of his cock against you, notching in slightly and he feels big.

“mhm, so good!” you nuzzle your face against his, feeling the scratch of his beard against your flushed cheeks. “good, ready?” he holds the side of your face in one hand, his other holding his cock waiting for your final nod of approval to push in and when you give it he wastes no time in sinking into your wet heat with a deep guttural groan.

“shit! you’re so tight, baby.” he drops his forehead against yours and squeezes his eyes shut as he pushes his hips forward into yours. your eyes slam shut too, overwhelmed by the feeling of his thick cock filling you up so much, feels like he’s splitting you open.

it takes a minute for your body to relax, allowing him to sink in the rest of the way. when he’s fully buried inside of your tight hole he waits a beat before moving, giving you a few seconds to adjust to his size. “ready?” he asks, pressing a couple more kisses to your face, down your jaw to your neck where he buries his face.

“please, daddy. please.” your tone is whiny and desperate, robby’s cock throbs inside of you at the sound and so he starts moving. it’s slow at first, just a gentle roll of his hips to get you used to the feeling but as your moaning picks up, so does his pace until all that can be heard is the sound of his hips snapping against yours and your joint moaning, his muffled by your shoulder.

“oh fuck! you feel so fucking good, sweetheart. gonna make me cum too quick if you keep squeezing my cock like that.” robby adjusts his position so he’s sat up on his knees, both hands gripping your hips so he can control your movements a little better, bringing them up to meet his thrusts.

“s-sorry, daddy. shit!– i can’t, can’t help it-t!” you’re gripping his forearms for dear life now as if you’ll take off if you don’t, like he’s the only thing keeping you here.

“s’okay, baby. don’t know any better do you? just a sweet little thing, can’t help being so fucked out on my cock can you?” robby smirks, digging his fingers into your skin a little harder, his pace becoming sloppier the more your cunt squeezes around him. you can’t even find words in your fuzzy brain anymore so you just shake your head lazily in response as little whines and moans escape your swollen, wet lips.

“think you can be good and give me one last orgasm, hmm? wanna feel you cum on my cock, pretty girl. can you do that for me? want to cum again for daddy?” you’re already sliding your hand down your stomach before he’s finished asking, fingers meeting your pulsing clit, still buzzing from your last orgasm.

“that’s it, good girl. mm, look so pretty touching yourself for me. there y’ go, yeah, just like that, sweetheart.” the sight of you touching yourself while robby fucks you has him barrelling closer and closer to his own orgasm, he holds it back though, wants to wait for you to get there first. the gentleman that he is.

“oh fuck– daddy, i’m–i’m–” you pick up speed with your hand between your legs, robby matches it with his hips. “gonna cum for me again? of course you are, you love this don’t you? love being a good girl for the old man next door, hm? christ, never even spoke to me before today and now look at you, cumming all over my cock like you were made for it.”

robby’s obscene words are what set you off, have you diving head first off the cliff into your second and hopefully final orgasm of the night. again, you have to cover your mouth with your free hand, afraid that this time you’ll wake up your parents. your cunt clamps down and spasms around robby’s cock, your legs wrap around him, heels digging into the small of his back to keep him in place. that alone sends robby right over the edge with you.

“shit, gonna cum–fuck–should i p-pull–” robby’s eyes grow wide as he realises he never even asked you about protection, got too lost in all of to even think about asking. “no, please. want to feel it inside of me. please, daddy!” not even a moment of hesitation passes through robby, and how could it? how could he say no when you’re begging him so pretty like that?

and so he doesn’t stop. his thrusting picks up, as much as it can with your legs wrapped around him and his fingers dig into your hips hard as he finally lets himself go. “oh fuck! feel so fucking good, baby. gonna fill up this pretty pussy so fucking deep. have you leaking my cum for days. shit! shit!” and true to his word he does fill you up, deep. so deep you can feel the warmth of his release inside of you, feel it reaching parts of you that you didn’t know existed, the feeling alone making you want to cum again.

but you don’t, robby collapses on top of you with a heavy thud, the weight of him caging you in on the bed. his soft, sweaty tummy heaving against your own as he comes down from his high. he doesn’t pull out, not yet, can’t even think about moving he’s so spent. so you both just lie there for a couple of minutes, waiting for the moment to pass.

eventually, it does. you don’t say much after the fact, there really isn’t that much to say so you both redress yourselves. the silence isn’t awkward, it isn’t weird, it just is. once dressed you lead robby out of your room and back downstairs to the front door.

“so…will i see you again?” robby asks once you’re out on the porch, the cool night air feeling nice against your still flushed skin.

“well, seeing as we’re neighbours i’m gonna say probably.” you giggle, you knew what he meant but you couldn’t resist being a little cheeky.

“you know what i-” robby starts but you cut him off with a quick kiss against his moving lips. “yes, you’ll see me again…” this is when you realise you don’t even know his name, never even thought to ask.

“robby.” he prompts, you give him your own name in return. “you can just call me daddy though, if you want.” he winks and you playfully hit his arm.

you say your goodnights and after one final kiss you’re going back inside. robby sighs once he gets back to his own house, feeling so completely exhausted all he wants is to collapse in his bed and finally get some sleep.

he washes himself up in the bathroom, having a quick shower and brushing his teeth before making his way to his bedroom with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.

“what the fuck!?” robby screams as he enters his bedroom, grabbing the towel to stop it from falling down. when he entered his bedroom he expected it to be empty, didn’t expect his best friend to be waiting in the corner of the pitch black room when he turned the lights on.

“hello, brother.” jack smirks from where he’s sat in the chair robby likes to read in. robby’s heart feels as though it’s about to burst out of his chest and he has to sit down on the edge of the bed as to not pass out from the fright.

“what the hell are you doing here? it’s…” robby looks over at the alarm clock on his bed. “…2 in the fucking morning.”

“came to check on you, you were being weird earlier but when i came back the house was empty.” jack explains, well half explains, not really.

“why are you still here then? why didn’t you go home when you realised i wasn’t here?” robby has his head in his hands, all he wants is to go to bed, not to deal with whatever this is.

“how could i when you were putting on such a good show in the window here, brother? nice job by the way, she’s very cute, how old is she?” jack motions towards the window he’s sat by with the curtains still open, which looks directly into your own bedroom. thankfully, your curtains are closed now.

“what. the. fuck.” robby mutters under his breath, dragging his hands down his face in a mix of defeat and annoyance. “you watched? how much?”

jack smirks, “enough..”

“all of it then?”

jack nods, “yep. the whole thing. just wanted to make sure you were safe, brother. you know me, always so worried about you.” he laughs.

“you’re a real freak, abbot. a real freak.” all robby can do is laugh now, out of exhaustion or exasperation? he doesn’t know.

“yeah, i know. soo…you gonna introduce me to her or-”

“absolutely fucking not.”

ahhh hope u enjoyed!! finally got around to doing a longer one! also trying out a new layout.

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The sun dawns on a new day, a new environment. This is the first thing you register. Then it's long, thick limbs wrapping around you. Light snores are next, a woodsy cologne shortly following.

You're with Robby. Officially. As of yesterday, he's your new roommate.

A smile pulls at your tired muscles at the thought, the joy far outweighing the trudges of sleep trying to pull you back.

Your arm's alive next, fingers gently scraping the nape of his neck. It seems you're just as wrapped up in him.

A low growl vibrates his chest, a small laugh escaping your lips. He shakes his head against you, not unlike a dog, another huff rocking him.

"Good morning, old man," you tease, pinching the bare skin of his side.

The extra pudge there is kind to you, relaxed and folded over the waistband of his boxers. He's not conscious enough to tense away from you just yet, to hide himself.

You're slightly worried that your fingertips will bring unwanted attention to the area, but the soft scrape of your nails against him is comforting enough that you simply just don't care.

He seems to feel the same, thankfully, his eyes fluttering closed once more, a breathy shudder shaking him. You press your fingertips deeper into his skin at the sound, a cute little squeeze to remind him where he is.

He jumps a little at your pinch, a sweet smile on his sweet face. He snuggles in closer to you, head planted firmly in your neck as you both come back to life.

"When are you going to the store, baby?" You rasp, and he presses a kiss to your neck.

"After I have my coffee," he grumbles. "Store probably doesn't open until 8 anyway."

You hum, glancing over at the alarm clock on Robby's side of the bed, 6:38 a.m.

You groan, throwing an arm over your eyes. Mornings are not your best time of day.

"So dramatic," Robby teases, stretching his long form around you.

"What else is left for you to get for today?" You poise, and he twists his lips in thought.

"I need to pick up the cake, plus some extra snacks, maybe some more soda…" he lists off, and you smile.

"We have plenty, baby, don't overextend yourself. You're going to be grilling all afternoon," you point out.

He considers this, rocking his head from side to side.

"Is it weird that I'm nervous?" He admits, eyes flitting from yours towards his duvet.

"No, it's not weird, baby," your nails graze his jawline, he still won't look at you. "Your emotions are never weird. Let's talk about it, though.""

"You're sweet, y'know that?" He grumbles, eyes finally finding yours again.

You smile at what greets you, his wide, vulnerable eyes, parted lips and rosy cheeks. The perfect picture of the frazzled doctor you'd fallen in love with. Though you were concussed and freezing, he was pretty from minute one.

"I don't know, I just want today to be perfect. Want you to be happy," he grumbles, raking his fingertips up and down your arm. "

His touch erupts a trail of goosebumps in its wake, his words freeing reckless butterflies in your tummy.

"It'll be amazing," you promise, a small smile on your face. "We'll make it amazing, just by being us."

You place a palm on his belly, jiggling the loose skin there. He chuckles, low and self deprecating. You kiss his neck, soft little pecks that leave him shivering.

"Jack keeps teasing me," he grumbles, "telling me I'm 'down bad'?" The unfamiliar lingo scooping up at the end.

You throw your head back and cackle, squeezing his forearm in your fingertips.

"Well, picture yourself a year ago. Did you ever think you'd be hosting a housewarming barbecue with a girl who just moved into your place?" You poise, and he shakes the question around in his head.

"No," he admits, you both knowing full well where he was a year ago. You're coming up on the Fourth of July, nearly a year since his sabbatical, a year since you'd first met. "I honestly didn't know where I'd end up."

The implication of his words weigh heavy between you, his fingers fiddling with yours. Your fateful E.R. trip happened to fall on the day before Robby's sabbatical started, the start of your relationship blooming in his newfound free time.

"I'm proud of you," you mutter, and this seems to do the trick.

He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. He then releases you from his grip, sitting up on the edge of the bed.

You train your gaze along the expanse of his back, counting all the freckles you've traced along the skin.

His joints crack as he stands, a soft groan falling from him as he stretches his back, chest puffing out.

He turns back to you, face softening at your pout.

"Ooh, what is it, angel?" He coos, and you snuggle deeper into the sheets.

"Missing you," you mutter, and he tsks.

"Dramatic girl," he tuts, maneuvering around your newly shared room, throwing an old shirt over his head. "Want some coffee, baby?"

You nod, your gaze following him around the space. Robby in the mornings is a sight you're gleefully getting used to.

"Vanilla?" He asks, trailing his fingertips along the edge of your bed, waiting for your confirmation.

You grumble a soft 'yes', before your eyes start to drift closed. He taps your butt, a reminder to stay awake, before exiting to the kitchen.

The strong aroma of coffee beans fill your shared space, wafting in from the other room. The soft hint of vanilla is nearly Pavlovian. alerting your senses before any caffeine has actually entered your bloodstream.

It's not long until Robby comes back, a forest green mug in his left hand, a soft pink one in his right. You gratefully accept, sitting up and giving him your prettiest 'thank you' eyes.

He smiles, reaching down to give you another kiss.

It's sweet domesticity for the next hour, sitting between his legs, his free hand in your hair as you aimlessly talk. It's your first morning together as roommates. and you wouldn't be mad if all your mornings got to look like this.

He's true to his word, though, and at 8 o'clock, he promptly slips out of your grasp.

"Mmph!" You groan, flopping back onto the pillows. "Come baack!" You whine.

"Flattery gets you nowhere, love," he calls, teasing from the walk in closet.

"Agree to disagree," you respond, though all your gusto is promptly knocked out of you at the sight of him.

The buttery athletic shorts you got him for his birthday cling and flow around him, and he's pulling an old band tee over his head as he walks out of the closet.

Your jaw drops slightly, not used to seeing him like this. He's scruffy, hair and beard mussy and untouched.

"What…?" He asks, slowing down at the door.

"Just pretty," you respond, snuggling into his pillow. "Love you."

He melts at this, leaning over to press a kiss to your lips.

"Love you too, my angel girl. I'll be back, okay? Rest up," he mutters, and then he's out the door.

You're out of bed before he comes back, denim shorts hugging your hips and thighs, a red tank top to match.

It's his turn to stop when he comes back, balancing a large sheet cake in his big hands. You turn at the waist to see him, arching your back at an angle you know drives him crazy.

The company is hours away from arriving, so why not start your teasing early?

"Hi honey! Have any luck with the extras?" You chirp, walking over to help him set the cake on your kitchen island.

Your heart warms at the red writing that spans across the white icing— "Our First Housewarming."

You smile, looking up at him through now damp lashes.

"You anticipate on having more housewarmings together?" You tease, sipping your third mug of coffee and not really expecting much of an answer.

"Of course," he says. It's nonchalant, like he doesn't have a care in the world. "We're gonna want to get a bigger house when we're ready to have kids, no?"

You choke, the caffeinated liquid sputtering from your lips. Turning away in an attempt to preserve the cake, you bend over and allow your cough to rack your body.

"Woah! You good there, angel?" He asks, rubbing soothing circles over your back. "Don't wanna have kids with me, eh?" He teases, and your heart hurts at his self--deprecation.

"You know that's not it, baby," you quip back, taking deep breaths to settle yourself. "Just surprised me, is all."

"Okay, honey," he mutters, his touch never leaving your body.

You turn to him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a sweet hug. His hands find your waist, greedily running against the skin peeking out between your top and your shorts.

"We'll have kids one day, for sure," you say into his neck. He squeezes your waist at your words, and you smile. "Let's just get through this first housewarming though, okay?"

You pull your head back and he nods, pecking you on the lips.

"Let's get set up baby," he quips, pinching your side before moving around you. "Get your suit on, gonna be a hot one."

You smile at his obvious attempt to see you in your bikini all day. Regardless, you oblige. Flitting to your room, you wiggle on the new red and white polka dot bikini he surprised you with last night.

It's a scorching day, the early July heat relentless. You can tell by the way the sun beats down out the window, illuminating the backyard deck, the pool glimmering a quenching blue.

You do a 360 in the full length mirror, twisting and turning your body for the best angles. You pinch and squeeze at the extra skin of your sides, the pudge of your tummy.

You're unsure, but if Robby thinks you're beautiful, that's all that matters for today.

You grab a matching sarong, sliding it on for a bit more coverage. This helps your feelings of uncertainty, turning to find Robby leaning against the doorframe.

"Oh, gosh!" You squeal in surprise. "How long have you been there?"

He shrugs, walking closer to you.

"Since you pulled the bottoms over your cute ass," he replies, hands immediately finding your ass beneath the thin fabric.

Heat blooms in your stomach as you fall into him, groaning into the great expanse of his chest.

"Don't do this to me right now, the backyard isn't even close to being ready," you mumble, and he gives you a teasing squeeze.

"Go ahead, baby," he starts, the point of his nose pressed against your temple. "I have it all set up for you, just need to put it all out."

A wave of gratitude washes over you, your relief a sigh escaping your chest.

"Thank you, bub," you reply. "Don't know how I got so lucky."

You look back up at him for this, making sure the words really sink in. He just nods, his own little confirmation. You squeeze his hands in yours before you make your way to the yard.

He's right, and you're taken aback. Various pool floats lay there, already blown up in full. Tablecloth packages line the bar, as well as multiple soda, seltzer, and beer packages resting against the drink fridge, the extra coolers he bought 'just in case'.

Half the work you thought you had to do is now slashed in half, thanks to the big teddy bear currently preparing the world's largest charcuterie behind the sliding glass door.

You smile, and get to work.

The pool floats go in first, as this is your favorite part. It's the best thing to see— reds and pinks and white littering the blue water. You stare down to the bottom, at the crystal blue paint lining the bottom.

One day you'll convince Robby to paint it pink. But for now, you decide it's time to set up the patio furniture. Unwrapping the tablecloths, you lay them out, moving to the endless Dollar Tree bags, full of different table toppers and themed plastic cups.

Your heart swells at the thought of Robby, glasses on, brows furrowed, wandering aimlessly through your local dollar store, plopping anything red, white, and blue into the cart.

There's a whole separate bag of pink decorations, too. Something that most definitely can be attributed to his desire to please you.

You smile, eyes nearly tearing up when the glass door slides open. Darting your head up, you give him a sweet smile. He revels in this, maneuvering quietly past you to grab a Dr. Pepper from one of the coolers.

"Ah! Dr. Robinavitch!" You scold, swatting his backside as he's bent over.

He doesn't even react anymore, your affinity for his ass the exact opposite of a secret. He does respond to the title, though, whipping around to face you.

His brows are wild, eyes bugging out.

"I'm sorry…WHO?" He demands, cracking open the can with one hand.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip at this, the reminder of how large his hands are not doing you any favors.

"Is that not your name?" You play into his attitude, swaying your hips as you walk towards the bar.

Popping behind it, you grab a Diet Coke for yourself. You hold it out for him, knowing he'll help you open it. Neither of you want you to break a nail.

He copies his previous motion in the other hand, your tongue now darting out to lick your lips.

"Thanks, Mikey," you murmur, and he eases at that.

"Good girl," he whispers, nose to your temple once more, before going back into the house.

It's scary how well you guys work around each other, the way you seamlessly fit into Robby's life, his space. Your heart pounds as you watch him through the door, the relentless beat of something very real echoing in your ears.

The mid morning flits past, full of you darting around every inch of the yard, stretching streamers over the wooden fence, topping each table with a cute summery centerpiece.

It's jarring how quickly you've felt at home in Robby's place, the little adjusting you've had to do. While this might change over time, you've surprised yourself today, at how perfectly you've blended in with the hosting duties.

They're split pretty evenly between the two of you, you assuming most of the decor, Robby the food. You were worried about throwing such a lavish party the day after your move, but you haven't really had to lift a finger throughout this whole process.

You recall the weeks beforehand, spent curled up next to Robby while he looked over expenses, the best places to find hot dogs and hamburgers in bulk, the cutest decorations. You got to have most of the say there, thankfully.

The one thought that persists. is how badly you want to do this again. How badly you want to merge your friends and his friends, how badly you want to work parallel to each other, to promote this place as your own.

Squinting your eyes, you walk inside, adjusting to the indoor lighting. Your vision focuses on the large man in the kitchen, cutting up watermelon and defrosting the meat.

You walk around him to the cupboards, reaching up to get pitchers for your drinks. Piling the glass with various fruits, you bump hips with him before heading back outside.

You feel his eyes on you as you walk past, blowing him a kiss over your shoulder before sliding the door shut with your foot.

A lot of juicing, blending, and mixing later, you're tucking different concoctions into the outdoor fridge. Colorful mocktails resting alongside the alcoholic beverages, and you only close the door once you're satisfied with your work.

Looking at your phone, your heart drops at the time that appears.

By the time you run through the kitchen, wash your face, and dab it with a little bit of makeup, you hear Robby welcoming in the first guests.

He'd changed in the meantime, a half buttoned linen shirt flowing over swim shorts. You have to bite your lip to hold back the moan, and approach the group that's gathered at the stoop.

It's so easy being on his arm, smiling and welcoming in your loved ones. Hospital people you recognize begin to float in, the first staggered members of the Pitt making their appearance.

A quick hour of introductions and cracked beer cans rolls by, and soon enough, the sun has warmed you inside out, a soft bead of sweat picking at your brow.

The clack of your kitten heels echo around the deck as you flit from guest to guest, refilling drinks and pointing in the direction of the bathroom.

Robby's done a pleasant job at keeping your own glass filled, as well. Over the course of your relationship, he's mastered the art of keeping you perfectly tipsy, without over-serving.

You feel these effects ever so slightly, a pleasant buzz ringing in your ears, as you float around the party.

You're eventually corralled into a break by some of your girlfriends, who have, undoubtedly, linked up with Trinity, Dennis, and Victoria. While this combination can only spell trouble, you're eager to slide off your sandals for just a moment.

You sink into the couch decorating the patio, legs hanging over its arm. The new position allows your shoes to dangle, falling to the concrete with a soft 'thud'.

A certain flick, hiss, fills your ears, and your head turns to find Robby, twisting the knobs of your grill, a pile of raw burgers and hot dogs stacked a mile high.

You pause for a moment to take in the sight. He's in his same outfit from earlier, his tummy on full display, though now it's partially covered with a 'Kiss The Cook' apron— a gag gift from Jack.

Your heart flutters in your chest at the domesticity, the ease with which he mans the open flame, dropping searing meat onto the charred racks. It's so masculine, in that old fashioned way Robby is, heat blooming warm within your belly.

A group of doctors soon fill your line of vision, and you allow yourself a few more minutes of reprieve until you snap back into host mode. You silently analyze the bunch, attributing the sharp cheekbones and defined muscles to…orthopedics, you're pretty sure.

There's one in particular-- a significantly large man with huge arms crossed over his chest, eyeing you like prey. A nervous thread stitches itself in your chest, unraveling the longer he leers.

"Oh, God," you hear Trinity groan, and you turn to look at her, brows knit in confusion.

"What?" You ask, tongue darting out to wrap around your straw, slurping the fruity, slushy drink Robby had made you moments before.

The three Pittlings all exchange a look, and you sit up, heart beating in your chest.

"Park the Shark's got his eye on you," Dennis supplements, and the gears turn in your hazy mind. "He's harmless, but he's most definitely going to try and flirt with you."

From the other side of the couch, your friends sit up at this news, heavily tuned in to this new development. You roll your eyes at them, and they can only shrug, in a way that says, 'can you blame me?'

Unfortunately, you can't.

"That's harmless?" You poise, and they exchange understanding looks. "Does he not know who I am?" Normally, you'd feel embarrassed for asking such a selfish question, but it's your party, dammit.

"It really doesn't matter either way," Victoria mutters, lips twisted in an awkward purse. "He will still try. He's relentless."

"And you look bomb as fuck," Trinity adds, and your cheeks heat up, reveling in the complimentary agreements from the other people there.

"That's true!" your best friend, Susie, chimes in. "Your old man's gonna hate that, though," she adds, nodding to Park.

You twist your lips, his eyes still glued to you. Swinging your legs over the couch, you decide to take the bait. Swinging your hips, you approach the group. Features lighting up, a smooth 'hi!' spills from your lips.

"How are you all?" You're diplomatic, a sweet smile painting your lips, shaking hands and making eye contact. "Do any of you need anything? Everybody have something to drink?"

You look at each of their cups, confirming your question before their pleasantries float around, reassurance in each syllable.

"I mean, I could be better," a smooth, low voice drawls. "You available?" This elicits an eye roll from the rest of the crew, some scoffs echoing out.

"You're digging yourself a deep hole, Park," mutters one of them, who you're pretty sure is Garcia, if the way Trinity was gazing at her was any indication.

You play ignorant, smiling and nodding, though your fingers grip your cup even tighter.

"How could I not?" He smirks to his colleague, lifting a hand up as if to say, 'what else am I expected to do?'

"You know, one day, Park, you're going to make some lucky girl very uncomfortable," you smile, "but it's not me."

He pouts at this, and you can't help but roll your eyes. The others around you begin to disperse, and you very quickly regret your actions. The bravado that got you on your feet moments earlier is dwindling by the second, cowering under his heavy gaze.

"That's not fair," he murmurs, taking a step closer. "You don't even know me."

"I don't know if I want to, given that relationship status is suggestive for you," you cross your arms over your chest, immediately regretting the way it pushes up your boobs.

Park's eyes immediately flit there, and you drop your arms. He pouts again, but still, doesn't tear his gaze away.

"If I was in a relationship with you, I'd never stray, beautiful," he croons, his attempt to be smooth nearly making you gag.

The gazes of your friends burn into your back, and you know they're hanging on to every word. You think you even hear a 'gross!' from Trinity.

"You know, I have to admire how openly you're flirting with the host of this party, who's actively living with your colleague," you remark, and one of them sputters on their drink.

Park cocks a brow at this, and your tummy rumbles with anxiety. The gleam in his eye lodges itself under your skin, making a home there. Robby's never looked at you this way, thank God.

"Well, I'm always open for a challenge," he sidles up closer to you, completely ignoring the others surrounding you. "Never really understood what you were doing with Robinavitch. anyway. Too pretty for that sad sack."

Stomach curdling with disgust, you offer him your best tight lipped, irritated smile.

"I'm not a challenge, I'm a person," you quip. "A person who is never going to sleep with you. Don't hold your breath."

"Hm, i might," he hums, "only if you're into it," he smirks, before walking away.

Your gaze follows him, watching him traipse through the party like he pays rent. Your heart pounds as he makes his way closer to the grill, clapping Robby on the back before leaning in to whisper something.

Robby's eyes find yours, his face falling the more he talks. Confusion and anxiety a perfect storm raging your insides. It feels as if a grater is running through your stomach, shredding until you're nothing left but scraps.

Your fears are confirmed when he finds Jack, handing him the apron and tongs, running inside. Tears sting the back of your eyes, and you dart your gaze back to the group of your friends.

Their faces mirror your emotions almost exactly, wide eyes, raised brows, and slacked jaws. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, and you nearly trip over yourself on your way into the house.

It's a sad attempt to maintain your smile as you greet the partygoers floating in and out of the house. There's not many, just people using the bathroom or refilling waters.

You hastily make your way to the other side of the house, the voices of the party-goers fading into the background. Heart pounding in your ears, you find the bedroom door cracked.

Inside you find Robby, tucked away in the en suite bathroom. He's planted in front of the mirror, left hand propped on his hip, right smoothing down his neck.

You instantly recognize this regulation tactic, one you've frequently seen him use in your time with him. Heart breaking, you push the door the rest of the way open.

The creak catches his attention, and his head snaps toward you. He relaxes only slightly when he realizes it's you, but shame soon takes over. Turning to you, he wraps himself in his open shirt.

You don't let him get very far, meeting him where he's at and stopping his arms from moving.

"Hey," you whisper, mouth ghosting his. "You know I wasn't giving into him, right?"

He nods, though he's avoiding eye contact.

"Yeah, 'f course, not that I was worried about," he grumbles, and you tilt your head.

"What are you worried about, then, my love?" You smooth your hands up and down his forearms, reveling in his little shiver.

"Worried that maybe he's right," he responds, face fully parallel to the ground now. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, hands covering his reddening face.

Tucking a finger under his chin, you pull until he's looking at you. Upon seeing his face, you almost regret it.

His eyes are big and shiny, droopy in a way they only get when he's truly heartbroken. He's biting his lip to stop him from trembling, and his cheeks are rosy.

You can't help but cup them, running your thumbs along his cheekbones. Giving him a sweet pout, you ask, "what's wrong, hm? What did he say to you, angel?"

He tries to look down, you only grip him firmer. He lets out a huffy exhale, as if he's annoyed— which, to be fair, he probably is. You simply don't care, his well-being is more important than his intense dislike for talking about his feelings.

"C'mon," you whisper, sinking into him. Looping your arms around his neck, you smile when he grips your waist. "Talk to me, Mikey."

He sighs, and you know the name got him. He has never been able to resist the way you purr the nickname, one he hadn't been called since early childhood. You feel a twinge of guilt for playing so dirty, though you justify it for your cause.

"Said he could tell you were thinking about his offer," he starts, an your blood is instantly on fire. "That I need to satisfy you more. That I must not be doing a good job if his girl is willingly approaching him."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You scoff, rearing your head back. "Baby, I need you to know that when I first approached him, he was in a group. He'd been staring me down for like, ten minutes, and I thought I could polite my way out of it," you roll your eyes at what looks, in hindsight, like a confirmation of his stares.

"I'm so sorry, honey," you kiss his cheek. "I should've ignored him, should've listened to my gut," you kiss his other cheek. "How are you feeling about that?"

This is a newer question for the two of you, as you find it yields better answers from him than 'how are you doing?' Robby proves your point, another sigh accompanying what he says next.

"Ashamed," is the first word, and he's successful in this attempt to avoid your eyes. You pout, but let him continue. "Embarrassed, disgusting," he continues, and you're not sure how much more of this your poor heart can take. "Like you'd maybe be happier with someone like him."

This breaks you, and you pull him into a sweet hug. He clings to you, his head resting on your bicep as he desperately quells the cries that shake his body. Dotting kisses along his head, you scrape your nails down the back of his neck.

He lets out another sob at that, though you can tell it's from the relief you're providing. This eases your heart, but only slightly.

"I love you, Mikey. Yeah?" You're desperate in your search of his confirmation. Enclosing his cheeks once more, your hands pull him back to you, heart clutching as the streaks rolling down his face.

He nods, and you lean down to kiss his lips.

"I don't know why," he whispers, lips ghosting yours. "I don't know what I've done for you to love me, I don't get it."

Your heart clutches, and you plop yourself on his lap. You revel in the newfound closeness, pulling him to you as you straddle him. He backs up on the bed so you can have some more stability, a large hand splaying over the small of your back.

Dysregulation be damned, he waits to continue until you're settled back on him, fully bracketed in his arms. He clings to you for dear life, the point of his nose resting on your temple.

"You protect me," you tell him, "even when your brain is being mean to you." You tap two gentle fingers onto his temple. "You made sure I was nice and safe and cozy, even when I know what you're telling yourself right now."

You don't want to go to deep into that thought spiral, afraid you'll be the one to start crying. Though, you do always have a pretty solid guess of the thoughts swirling around his mind in times like these.

You'd dealt with it yourself, feelings of self hatred so deep it feels like you want to rip your skin apart. It's partially why you connect so well with Robby— buried, past traumas blooming into the bouquet of your relationship.

The first hand understanding of these moments has benefited your relationship multiple times, for both parties. It's not work when it's him, helping him heal his heart has never once felt like work.

"You…open my doors," you plant a kiss on his forehead, eyes trailing over every inch of his pretty face. "Pull out my chairs," kiss to his cheek, "pay for my food," kiss to his other cheek, "you cherish me, baby."

You punctuate this with a sweet kiss to his nose, but, to his everlasting dismay, you're not done.

"You have a good heart," your lips ghost over his, your voice dropping to a whisper. "A good soul," you peck his lips. "I see you, Michael. I know who you are, I know what I've gotten myself into."

Tears are flowing down his cheeks once more, though this time it's a silent stream, not a violent river. He nods, taking in your words. His hands smooth up and down his favorite spot— the small of your back, over the curve of your ass, rest for a moment at the tops of your thighs, rinse, repeat.

"You take care of me," you mutter, giving him another peck, then another. "You make me feel seen, heard, loved," another kiss. "Just by being you, y'hear me?"

He nods.

"Good," you coo.

His lips smash onto yours without another moment's notice.

The two of you positively melt into each other, his teeth nearly gnashing against yours at the intensity. The Robby-induced haze is immediate, going dizzy for his lips, the way they trail down your cheek, your neck.

You give your hips a little rock, arching your back and letting out a little whine.

"I love you, Michael," you whisper, his hand traveling up your body, your waist.

He rests his head on the peak of your chest, looking up at you with wide, desperate eyes. His adjacent hand creeps up to cup you through your bikini top. He gives you a light squeeze, and you squeal in delight.

"I don't think I can say enough times how beautiful you look, honey," he mutters, lips pursing, nearly slotting onto your skin below him. "So fucking insane, you're fucking insane."

He punctuates his compliments with a deep roll of his hips, his hard length evident in his swim shorts. You kiss the apples of his cheeks, the scruff peppering his jaw, dragging your lips over the Adam's apple in his neck.

"I could say the same thing to you," you respond, smoothing your hands over his still exposed tummy. "Love this belly so much, baby, you don't even know."

Tears spring to his eyes once more, the heels of his own hands catching them before they fall this time.

"Fffuucck!" He growls, a sardonic laugh following. "Y'gotta stop making me cry, princess. Can't take it," he wraps an arm around you, flipping you over so your back is on the bed.

"Michael!" You squeal, bouncing a little from the impact. You don't miss the way he pauses to watch your body adjust to the new position. He then crawls between your legs, eyes on you the entire way there.

"Wait, baby, wait," you sit up on your elbows to get a better look at him. "I wanna get you off first, please?"

"Fffuuuccckkk," he exhales, his forehead pressing against the bed. "Never thought I'd say no to your begging, baby," he presses a kiss to your tummy before untying your pretty skirt.

"Guess there's a first time for everything," he ponders, sliding your bikini bottoms down next. "Especially when my other option is to eat this pretty pussy," he presses a kiss to your clit, and you jump. "I love your mouth, but there's nothing I want more right now than to be the one to make you cum, please?"

You can't help but nod, his mouth immediately attaching to you. The kisses and licks he provides are messy, desperate, a strangled noise wrestling from his throat at your taste.

"Always so fucking sweet," he pulls away a tad, a glob of spit falling from his lips.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as it drops on your clit, rolling down your slit, your ass, onto the bed. His gaze follows the journey, jaw going slack, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Your breath hitches, biting back a moan as he gets back to work. The hand that's not holding your legs open slides up your tummy, fingertips tugging on the string tying together your bikini top

With a swift tug, the bow comes undone, the nylon falling to reveal your tits. They bounce slightly at the release, and he whines into his meal. The vibrations make your skin prickle, a whine falling from your lips.

"So perfect, baby," his large hand grabs as much of both tits as he can, his long fingers stretching as far as they'll allow.

He gives them a rough squeeze, letting them go with a loving slap. You whine at that, too.

"Such a whiny girl today," he murmurs into you, and you nod, legs shaking around his shoulders. "Have I not paid enough attention to you baby?" He asks. It's soft, a sweet question that has you keening. You nod, chest heaving with deep breaths.

"'m sorry, honey, that's so mean of me," he's so genuine, it makes your heart ache. "No wonder you went lookin' for Park, this pussy needed some attention, yeah?"

You swallow hard at his words, belly blooming with a bright heat. You wiggle your core against him, catching his nose on your clit.

"But it's only for me, though, right?" He asks, and you nod. "Nuh-uh," he gives your inner thigh a little pinch, a little kiss. "Tell me. Tell me you need me to make you cum, tell me it's only going to be me."

"Fuck!" You squeal, grinding harder onto his face. "It's only you, Michael," you scrape your nails against his scalp, eliciting a whine into your sopping cunt.

"You're the only one I want like this, the only arm I want to be on, the only man I've ever loved," this confession pushes you over the edge, a white hot sensation rolling over you like an electric shock.

"Fuuuccckkk," he groans into you, tongue never leaving your clit. "Love this pussy so much, c'mon, know you got more…"

A fresh wave hits you, your body going tense at the extra stimulation. Pleasure is all around you as you come down, a sudden sharp sensitivity popping the bubble once it all becomes too much.

You push his head out from between your thighs, and he crawls up your body. Resting his forehead on yours, you run a thumb along his glistening bottom lip.

Bringing it to your mouth, you suck it in, down to your knuckle. Letting it go with a 'pop!', you rest the pad of your thumb on your lips, giving your upper lip the perfect pouty push.

He caves at the sight, and you use his vulnerability to maneuver his body, climbing off the bed and sinking down to your knees on the floor. You beckon him, and he sits up, wiggling his hips until his feet are planted around you on the ground.

You smile up at him, at home between his thick, muscly thighs.

"You should know better than to try and deprive me of your dick in my mouth," you purr, wrapping your fingers around his length.

Tongue lolling out of your mouth, you tap his head against it, his pre-cum sticking to the muscle. The salty taste is immediate on your buds, and you swallow it down greedily.

It's not enough, of course it's not enough. Your lips part in a pretty 'o', closing around his mushroom head. He cries out, head falling back onto the pillows.

Hollowing you cheeks, you take him in deeper, and you hear his breath stutter.

"Oh," he starts, sinking his hands into your hair, "my fucking God."

He punctuates his cry with a tug, the ache in your scalp eliciting a whine. He massages the same spot in a sweet sorry, puling you off his length.

A string of spit connects your mouth to his head, and you go dizzy at the sight. You pout, missing the weight of him on your tongue. He smiles, pinching your cheek, giving it a soft pat.

"Sorry, angel," he starts. "I was gonna come, need to be inside you for that."

Your cheeks heat at this, climbing back onto the bed, reminiscent of the position you'd first started in. He scoots the both of you back to the pillows, slipping his red, angry length into your pussy without warning.

Your breath catches as his head breaches your entrance, the initial split taking the air from your lungs. Robby's gasping, barely getting a breath in as he fully sinks in his tip.

Your pussy swallows him up, tight and eager. Sinking down further, you start to create a rhythm, wiggling your hips, bouncing, just a little, to see what feels good.

With a certain swivel, the hook of his cock reaches a specific spot inside that has you lurching into him. He catches you, the sudden movement shoving him further inside you.

"Ffuuucckkk," you whisper, allowing yourself to seat yourself fully. "God, fuck," you throw your head back, pressing your hand into his knee. "You feel so good," you use the leverage to move your hips, circling his cock.

"Motherfucker," he groans, "so good to me, you're so good to me, baby."

Raising up on your knees, you lift slowly off him, to sink all the way back down again. You begin to bounce, your breasts moving in time with your thrusts.

His expression is cartoonish— wide and dazed, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Your thigh muscles work as you bounce, his cock pistoning deep inside you.

"Don't know what I did to deserve you," he mutters, almost lost in thought. His free hand cups your breast, thumb running over your nipple. "So fucking beautiful, so fucking perfect…happily bouncing on 50 year old dick, yeah?"

Your cheeks burn at his words, a shameful nod rocking your head.

"Yeah, 's what I thought," his thumb picks up speed on your nub. "My girl doesn't need someone younger, doesn't need fucking Park," he growls that last part, and you press a quick kiss to his lips. "Needs me, hm?"

You nod, nose brushing against his.

"Yeah," you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Need your cock, honey," your smile is sweet, despite the depravity of your words. The juxtaposition makes him groan. "It's so big, so fucking deep inside me, fuck!"

You pick up speed, bouncing at a rate your thighs will come to regret tomorrow. Robby's head falls back, mouth parted in an 'O'.

"Fuck," he groans, his thumb finding your clit. "Tight little pussy is gonna make me cum, honey," he squeezes his eyes shut, a loose tear rolling down his cheek. "Fuck, thank you for making me feel so good, honey, thank you."

Bending over, you lick up the tear, kissing the dampness that's dotting his crow's feet. It's not long until the coil in your belly tightens once more, his thumb unrelenting on your button.

"Feels so good, gonna cum too, wanna cum together, please," you beg, feeling drunk off the intense thrusting.

Your blood is buzzing as you fall over the edge once again. This one is more overwhelming, more explosive as you tighten, squeeze around Robby in a way that has him finishing, too.

You feel him twitch, the relief of his own orgasm softening his cock. He nestles deep inside as you both come down, his thighs against your ass as you snuggle into each other.

Deep breaths rock the two of you, bodies moving with each heave. Pressing your forehead against his, you take a big gulp of air before you say, "I love you."

You press a kiss to his lips, and keep talking.

"I never want you to compare yourself to anyone, let alone Park," you spit the name out like it tastes bad. "I love you just the way you are, m'kay?"

He rolls his eyes, but you pinch the skin of his bicep.

"Hey! It's cliche, but it's true. Bruno Mars wrote that song for a reason," this gets him to smile, and you pinch his cheek.

"I hate to break it to you, old man, but we do have a party to get back to," you say, and his face falls at the reminder.

"Damn, do you think anyone noticed we were gone?" He asks, finger tips running up and down your arms.

"Probably," you smirk, lifting your hips off of his.

You both whine at the loss of each other, swinging your leg over his lap so you can make your way to the bathroom. He follows, holding your hand while you pee, a tradition born from your post-sex sensitivity.

He lets you finish your business on your own, but makes sure to pat you down with a wet wash cloth before re-tying your bottoms, your skirt. He situates your top for you, too, placing a kiss to the parts of your breasts that peek out of your swimsuit.

You're fixing your hair when you walk back outside, knees fluid, cheeks aflame, a huge smile on your face. Your friends are right where you left them, a knowing smile on each of their faces as they take in your rumpled form.

Susie slides you a fresh glass, a margarita, and you gratefully accept. Hiding your face with the large, plastic cup, you avert your gaze from your friends.

You find Robby, sheepish as he accepts his apron and tongs back from Jack. From across the deck, you hear him say,

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

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

Hold on.

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

“Will you scoot over-”

“I’m as far as I can go-”

“Nuh uh. You're trying to hog-”

“I am not!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dad!”

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

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

“Pancakes. But the pot holder was-”

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

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

“And she was screaming-”

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

“Okay, wait. One at a time-”

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

They ramble on.

“Of course then she had a blow out-”

“We offered to help but mom said no.”

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

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

“Dad. Weren't you listening?!”

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

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

The cloth wrapped snuggly around your hand might explain that.

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

“Sit here for another minute will you?”

Liz makes a face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were. They always were.

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

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

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

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

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

You were here.

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

And the towel wrapped around your hand.

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

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

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

You look away from it first.

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

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

“Just a little while.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m coming!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi Mel!”

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

“Hey!”

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

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

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

“Oof. You soak it?”

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

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

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

“Hey. I thought I was your favorite!”

“Yeah. Before Mel stole you from me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Now, go on and scram.”

“Mom,” Liz looks up at you apologetically.

“Yeah baby?”

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

“I know. I’m sure.”

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

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

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

“The girls need food.”

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

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

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

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

“Um. Here?”

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

Robby shares a look with you. You shrug.

“I could use a chai.”

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

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

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

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

“Please papa.”

Oh. Your girls were good.

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

‘Papa.’

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

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

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

“Egg?”

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

“Fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” you smile. Dana nods.

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

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

“Ow!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hum, looking down at Hazel.

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

“Oh, don't call me that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tired?” You nod.

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

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

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

“So have the girls put it away.”

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

Oof. Michael.

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

“I thought you said you weren’t mad.”

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The glue of the little Robinavitch clan.

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

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

“For what?”

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

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

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

“I think that’s for you.”

“They can wait.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for relaying the message huckleberry.”

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

“They are.”

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

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

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

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

“It was for you.”

“Oh thank the Lord,” you grin.

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

“Here.”

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

“Robby…”

“I’m fine. Really.”

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

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

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Bonus:

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

"Mom, I got that."

"Here, I can hold the bag!"

"No I can-"

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

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

"You girl's ready to go?"

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

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

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