#kaja94

John Carter woke up to the sun shining in across his face and coffee wafting from his kitchen. He didn’t care what time it was, or that he had laundry to do; he wanted to go back to bed…with you. It was a funny feeling, one he had been talking about in therapy. A few years ago, he would have woken up next to Kem, but life is weird. It felt like, in the blink of an eye, he had become divorced from Kem and gotten a new kidney. And now a new girlfriend.

He let his left arm guide his body toward your side of his bed, seeking the warm, round plushness of your belly, entangling his legs with yours, feeling the fullness of your ass pressed into his pelvis. To his disappointment, he found a space. Groaning, he slid out of bed.

“Baby? Oh my sweet baaaby?” he padded down the hallway to the sound of your sweet giggle. Soft light shining through the curtains bathed your skin. As he came around the large lounging couch, his breath caught in his chest. You stretched out naked, sipping a cup of coffee, steam swirling to frame your face—every roll, curve, dip, and dimple on display. 

Seeing his pouty face, you put your mug down on the little end table next to you. Turning back to face the handsome doctor, you open your arms wide and spread your legs to allow him to slot his body into yours for morning cuddles; something busy weekday schedules didn’t always allow for. Without hesitation, he lay over top of you, his thinner legs slotted between your plush, thick ones, your voluptuous middle against his slimmer one, his face nuzzled into the dip of your neck, placing soft, delicate kisses to the column. 

It took therapy to learn that he found immense comfort in physical touch and affection. Kem had struggled with it after the loss of their child. Wanting to be respectful of his then-wife, he tried self-soothing, but it didn’t compare to being wrapped in his partner's arms, the skin-to-skin contact doing wonders for his nervous system. It was one of the things that made him worried about dating again- having to explain to someone that he was a divorced recovering addict who lost a child and had a kidney transplant. Women weren’t lining up around the block to date him.

But God, you were sweet. You let a nervous stranger with big, sad puppy dog eyes flirt with you in the aisle of the bookstore, and instead of running for the hills, you agreed to join him for dinner. You let him spill his guts, bracing himself for the disgust to hit you, and to tell him you never want to see him again. Instead, you took his hand, letting him know you were okay with everything, and encouraged him to share more. Just as he opened up to you, you opened up to him: talking about moving away from your family to the big city, working at Northwestern, and dating as a fat woman. You talked about being less experienced than Carter, but you were never shy about asking for what you needed. 

“What a needy man you are.” Your lips brushed his, placing a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Think you can be needy between my thighs?” One thing Carter would never turn down was being a munch. The chance to worship you to your peak as many times as you would let him (or could take) was one of his simple pleasures. He let his right hand wander from your shoulder to your breast, giving the fatty deposit gentle squeezes before allowing his lips to trace a path down the column of your neck, making sure to litter your collarbones with marks, forming a beautiful purple-blue necklace.

“Aww, puppy needs to mark his territory?” The sarcasm mixed with sincerity sent a shiver through his body. He hummed, then let the suction go with a pop. Carter tilted his head toward you with a cheeky grin.

“Always,” he kept his eyes on yours as he left, barely there kisses to the valley between your breasts. He traced the swell of the right one with the tip of his tongue. He used a free hand to grab one of yours and guide it to his hair. You know this game. You two play it often: for as much as he needs to take pleasure from you, Carter needs to know you are taking pleasure from him. He needs to feel you on him. Slowly, you let your fingers tangle in his locks, allowing nails to gently scratch, before giving a tug to his already messy hair.

“You like people knowing who makes me feel so good? Who treats me so well, pretty boy?” His eyes soften, nodding feverishly. He isn’t fully in his body. You let your grasp soften, slipping to his jaw, bringing him to you. Lips collide, wet, messy smacking, and the sweet sounds of John Carter mewling filled the apartment. 

“Baby,” he pants, noses brushed against one another, sending a shiver up your spine at the thought of riding his pretty face till he is smothered under you, “can I taste you now?” You would give him the world if he asked you like that.

“Of course, puppy.” He slides down your body, leaving quick kisses and singing your praises. His hands grip your thighs, moving them to rest on his shoulders. He rubs his face into your pubic mound, relishing in the feel of the hair against his smooth cheeks. If he could live in your bush, he would. Sometimes he finds himself absently playing with your hair there; a hand down on your lower belly will slowly travel lower and lower, until there is a bristling against his skin.

Carter lets the saliva he has worked up glide from his lips to dribble down your slit. He watches the wet drop twist and twirl before taking a long finger to guide it toward your pretty bud. He places his left hand on you, gently pulling your mound back, giving the perfect view. Your clitoris, coming out from its hood, jumps at contact with the cool air. 

“Carter,” you whine, realizing just how desperately you need him to do something, anything to give you relief. 

“Easy, baby. I am just getting reacquainted with her. I missed your pretty pussy.” He lets his finger trace a trail from clit to hole, making sure to swirl the wetness teasingly slow over your bundle of nerves. The little noises escaping your lips shoot right to his cock. He grinds his hips into the seam of the couch cushion beneath him, but his pleasure isn’t important; making you come undone is all that matters to him. 

He slips two fingers inside your tight hole while he flicks his tongue over your pretty pearl. Your eyes flutter, hands grasping at your breasts, thrusting your hips up in hopes of getting more pleasure from Carter. If pleasure is what his baby wants, then pleasure is what she will get. He uses the hand not currently playing with your spongy button to make sure he can really get to your clit. Once absolutely positive, this is as good as he is going to get; he latches on. Sucking and slurping like his life depends on how earth-shattering your orgasm is. 

“Carter… oh my god, Carter!” A brilliant heat was twisting in your lower belly, rising with every thrust of his fingers, flick of his tongue, and suckle of his lips. His free hand instinctively came to rest on the center of your tummy, his fingertips tracing your stretch marks. 

“Oh god, John. Please don’t - fuck- don’t stop.” He had no intention of stopping. When it came to you and your pleasure, he was a starved man, and there was never enough of you to satiate him. He could feel you getting wetter against his fingers, your breath becoming more ragged. He couldn’t help but smirk against your glistening center when he noticed your thighs starting to quiver. He kept a smooth pace and even pressure. Hands gripped his arms tight enough that there would be finger tip bruises on Carter’s biceps; a reminder that he is yours and you are his and he made you cum so hard you needed to keep yourself secured to the earth. 

“Huhhhhhh mmmmhummm, Carter…..Joh-huh-ooon.” He couldn’t respond. Responding meant releasing suction on your precious bud which would ruin the high he knew you were so close to reaching, and he wasn’t going to ruin your pleasure just to tell you he knew you were close. He gave two gentle taps with his hand that didn’t have three fingers (almost four) buried in your sopping cunt. Your clit began to pulse in his mouth and against his tongue, your hole crying, sobbing around his fingers.

Feeling your cunt flutter around his digits is one of the best things Carter would ever feel. Each time you came undone for him, it was a gift he thought he would never experience again after his divorce. The fluttering turned, gripping, and quickly became sucking, pulling his fingers further inside of your warm, wet center. So zoned in on your pleasure, he hadn’t realized he was grinding into the seam of the cushions, casing his own bliss at the end of his rock-solid throbbing cock. 

You could feel your body tingle, heat rising from your belly, muscles starting to tense as a medley of moans and whimpers escaped your lips. Hands squeezed tighter around John's arms. Your toes curled, and suddenly a wave of intense pleasure rolled through your body. Breath escaped you. Eyes slammed shut. Nails burrowing into Carter’s skin, you were positive there would be crescent-shaped punctures. Coming back into your body after hitting your high, you began to pull at your lanky loverboy, wanting to get your hands on him to return the favor, noticing his hips pistoning the seam below. 

“Mmmmm, baby, that was so go-hood.” Nothing. Carter was still knuckle deep, suctioned to your clit, causing your body to hick up. 

“John? Baby?” He shook his head, no eyes shut, still going. This was too much. You were past the point of pleasure, teetering on the unknow. You had never pushed yourself to this point when seeking your own high, and John had never done this before. 

He was lost in you - in your body. In how warm and wet your cunt was. In your squirming and scratching and clawing at his arms. He registers you saying something about pressure, but you are getting impossibly wetter. Suddenly, your thighs are clamped around his head in a vice grip, your whole body shaking; another orgasm plows through you. His lips let go of your clit, his fingers slowly pull out of you, and he begins to massage your thighs to help with the shaking. 

Slowly coming back into your body, chest heaving, you motion for your lover boy to come up from your core. You need him. He doesn’t need you to speak, to command; he knows you and your body, so he slides himself up your body. Plush arms embrace him, pulling him impossibly close. Foreheads touching, chests pressed together, he litters sweet, gentle kisses to your face, one hand wrapped around you, the other rubbing softly up and down your side. 

“Oh, pretty girl, I am sorry. I am so sorry. I got carried away. Are you okay?” Genuine fear and worry reflect on Carter’s face. You let out a little giggle and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck to place a kiss. 

“I am okay, lovey. I just didn’t know what you were doing, and I really didn’t know I could cum back to back like that.” Pulling away, you place a peck on the tip of his still shiny nose, unfazed that it is your own wetness. He flushes a deep red, matching the tip of his still hard cock. 

It doesn’t take much to get Carter under you, settling your weight on his thighs. Before he can register being manhandled by his sweet woman, full body shiver racks through him as you glide your finger tips from the base to the tip of his cock.

“I think puppy needs a punishment for being a naughty boy. Do you think you have been a naughty boy?” Your voice is sickly sweet. His eyes are wide, and you know you have him right where you want him. You lean forward and begin sucking a pretty purple bruise into the pale skin of his chest.

“Use your words, John.” his hands grab your cheeks, pulling you up to him. 

“I have been a very bad boy, baby.”

“Good,” you place a kiss on his lips, “glad you agree. Now, lay on your hands. We are going to start with a blow job. No touching. No cumming until I tell you to. Understood?”

“Puppy understands.”

John Carter doesn't mess around about several things: his job, his Gamma, several of his coworkers, and, for the last six months, you. It's not like Carter was looking for anything. Actually, it was quite the opposite. After a particularly interesting string of women who had ended up as meaningless flings instead of romantic partners, Carol had suggested that he take some time for himself.

So one Saturday morning, he found himself wandering into a branch of the Chicago Public Library. He picked up a few books and made himself comfortable in a cozy seating area near the circulation desk and near you, the pretty librarian. The pretty librarian, who is smart, funny, kind, and gives excellent recommendations. The pretty librarian who, when Carter gets called in on Saturday or oversleeps, or forgets to call to renew the latest medical journal, will just go ahead and do it for him (even though he would pay the overdue fine, no questions asked, especially if it was you taking the payment).

In taking time for himself, he just happened to get to know you. On especially slow mornings, you two could often be found chatting about anything and everything. Carter thought it was obvious that he had a crush on you, but you didn't see that. Why would you? Why would the tall, lanky, hot, funny doctor working at County General be interested in you? You are fat and no matter how pretty, smart, funny, interesting, kind, put together you are, in your experience, men like John Carter didn't crush on you. They are nice and polite to your face at the very best. You didn't want to think about the very worst.

It took you aback, on that chilly fall Saturday, as you were saying goodbye to your coworkers, he stopped you, all nervous and flustered.

"I am sure you are probably busy, and this is probably a long shot cause I would be stupid to think you are single, but if you aren't and not in a hurry, maybe you would want to join me for lunch today, or or or we could plan something for tomorrow or even next weekend if you would rather? I just really like you and I would be stupid not to try to take you out." He wrung his hands before running them over the upper part of his jeans. You had never seen Carter like this - all nervous energy oozing out of him.

"This is very sweet, John, but you don't have to do this." His big doe eyes looked confused. It was endearing.

"Do what?"

"Pretend to be interested in me, you know, like wanting to take me on a date." It was Carter's turn to be confused. Of course, he was interested in you and absolutely wanted to take you on a date. More than one if you would let him. And he would bring flowers every time he saw you because you mentioned that no one other than your family had ever brought you flowers and he would make sure that with those flowers to bring you your favorite snacks, so you never ran out and he would always be waiting to pick you up, so you didn't have to walk in the terrible cold or the blistering heat in his blue jeep that you that off handedly mentioned you thought was a really pretty color.

"I am not pretending. Really, truly honest to god, I have been working up the courage to ask you out since you smiled and said hi to me the first time I was in here." Now it was your turn to ooze nervous energy. You shifted your purse from one shoulder to the other and wrapped your arms around yourself in an attempt to shrink out of his sincere stare.

"Seriously, if you don't believe me, I can call at least seven of my coworkers who will verify that I don't stop talking about you; how smart, funny, pretty, kind, intell-"

"Okay, John." Your coworkers softly giggled behind you. Carter's heart was racing at a thousand miles a minute. "There is a diner around the corner that has an amazing soup and sandwich special on Saturdays, so you are lucky I'm willing to share my secret spot with you." You let your shoulder brush his as you gently push past him toward the main doors.  Quickly, he spun on his heels, rushing to catch up to you, only to almost trip on a corner of a pretty rug near another cozy sitting area. He felt like a stray dog getting the chance to be taken in. He would follow you to the end of the earth, which, if that would impress you enough for a second date, then so be it.

"Can I ask something?" he sputtered while opening the passenger door of his pretty blue jeep.

"Of course." This was it. The moment when he got you away from people to finally do or say something shitty. You braced yourself.

"My family really only calls me John. Please call me Carter." Sheepishly, he looked down at his shoes and the concrete beneath them. John sounds like music leaving your lips. He had wondered what Carter would sound like.

You let a deep breath you hadn't realized you had been holding out.

"That isn't a problem, Carter." His heart melted right out of his chest. How are you single? How is he this lucky? How is he going to survive your first date?

Survive he did; both of you did. Six months of regular Saturday dates, surprise flowers, showing up at the hospital with fresh-baked cookies (and a packed meal for Carter so he would actually be able to eat real food), late-night phone calls when you two couldn't meet up after a long shift, and lots of conversations.

Carter, not wanting to scare you, was open about his addiction, his recovery, and how that often impacted people's opinion of him. No matter what he told you, he was still your sweet, sweet boyfriend; your lovey.  You spoke about your journey with your body. How growing up a fat kid, then a fat teen, and now a fat adult really screws with a person. How you sometimes still wonder how he can be at all attracted to you? How can he be oblivious to the looks and remarks people make about your relationship? But even with all that, you loved your body, and all that it had, would, and could do for you. Being fat didn't make you any less hot (your mantra). Carter, absolutely smitten and trying to be worthy of you, started paying extra attention.

You and Carter had a hot date at The Field Museum- some fundraiser thing his Gamma had been invited to for making a sizeable donation. She thought it would be nice for John to take you and go in her stead. You got gussied up; hair pinned up strategically in a sexy, messy, but appropriate way. Make-up done, classy and a tad smoky. The dress was a splurge. It was a secret you had been keeping from Carter. Long, black mermaid, with faux ostrich feather detailing around the bust and skirt bottom. You found some high-quality costume jewelry (second-hand) that brought the whole look together. Your very sweet friend, who had helped you get ready, promised you that "Carter is going to cream his pants when he sees you!" Unfortunately, you had to meet at the hospital.

Carter hadn't wanted to meet at the hospital. He had wanted to get ready together; be able to watch as you got ready, help zip your dress so he could pull you into him by your hips, allowing him to nuzzle into your neck, breathing in your perfume. He wanted to help you with your necklace, especially so he could place gentle kisses on your shoulder and neck.

Instead, he was called in, promised he would be out on time, and could use the on-call room to get ready. Gamma was sending a car to your place and then stopping at County General to pick him up. He told Carol that you would be coming in and to let him know when you arrived. Fingers crossed, praying to the hospital gods that all went according to plan, because you deserved a very nice night out.

Surprisingly, you were feeling good - sexy even! Couldn't wait to show Carter. You hadn't had many reasons to get all gussied up like this ever really. The driver pulled up to let you out, saying he would be right there, waiting for you and Dr. Carter.

"What did Carter do to deserve you?" Carol looked stunned. You were hoping to elicit a similar reaction from Carter.

"It isn't too much?"

"Oh no! I am telling Carter that he needs to start finding more reasons for you to look this fancy."

"She looks like something." You heard it from somewhere around the hub but couldn't pinpoint the voice.

"The car is out front. Carter told me to pop in," You looked around, "Is he ready?" Carol mentioned that he was wrapping up in the on-call room and she would let him know you were here.

"A car brought her? More like a boat for a whale. Didn't know they made dresses big enough." You hear the voice again. The hub had cleared out a bit, but you couldn't figure out where it was coming from.

You caught your reflection in the glass of one of the rooms. You had thought you looked good, but now you weren't sure.  You were noticing the slight stretch marks on the top of your breasts, extra noticeable with your cleavage all pushed up. It wasn't cold by any means and a shawl wouldn't go with this dress, but the pudge of your arms was extra noticeable. You had decided on shapewear (as uncomfortable as it was), but you still saw your belly, hips, thighs, ass...

"Surprised she is with Dr. Carter."

"Right? He normally goes for babes and smoke shows."

"Probably a pity date."

You spun and caught them. Two med students are sitting, charting, huddled together. They made eye contact with you and began laughing. One quietly mooed, causing them to laugh hard. Tears formed in your waterline. You felt stupid, silly, and embarrassed. How could you have possibly thought this was a good idea? Putting yourself out there like this? Trusting Carter? Trusting that if he saw you as worthy of his time, attention, and love, others would too. You started walking away, toward the door. There was a pay phone just around the corner. You could call a cab, be home in your pjs, and curled up in bed in just a few minutes.

"Hey! Hey, wait!" Carol came up next to you.

"Carter is just finishing his hair and he will be - oh no, what happened?"

"Nothing, nothing happened. I just - I umm - I am going to go home. Tell Carter to enjoy his night and that I am sorry."

"Would you look at that. Cow got cold feet." You heard them. Carol heard them. It was written on her face. No denying it.

"Is it them?"

"Carol, really, I a-"

"Sorry! I am so sorry. I was having trouble with my cuff links, and then my hair wasn't lying right." Carter came bounding over. Handsome as ever. Black suit, white shirt, silver cuff links to match your jewelry, and the pretty bowtie you picked out for him. He looked like a movie star.

"What's wrong, pretty lady?" He was confused and sincere. Unsure what had transpired since you had gotten here. This was supposed to be a good night, a fun night, a romantic night. Had he already screwed it up so badly to make you cry?

"Carter, the interns ju-"

"I am just not feeling the best, Carter," Carter, not lovey, not honey, or baby, or sweetheart. His heart broke. Whatever was wrong, he could fix it; would fix it.

"Okay, we can go back to my place and I can take care of you. Nurse you back to health with cuddles, kisses, and soup."

"Carter, I really think you should -" Carol tried to rat out those two men. Again overlooked.

"No, John," he winced. You hadn't called him that since your first date, "I am not ruining your good time like I have ruined your image. Go. Go enjoy yourself. I will just bring the evening down."

"Oh, for the love of god," Carol was not going to be ignored this time.  "The two interns made a horrible comment about her. From what I can tell, probably a few." She grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. A sob racked through your body.

"My makeup is probably ruined." Carol pulled you in for a hug, promising that it wasn't, it could be fixed, and she would help fix it if you promised to go with Carter.

"Honey, we don't have to go, but what did they say?" Carol stepped back so Carter could step closer. He had been paying attention for a while now, picking up more on the comments, the looks, the reaction people had to you; to both of you together.

You spilled the beans to both of them about what the two had said.

"You look beautiful, honey. You're a vision! I mean, you always look beautiful, but I really need to find more excuses to get you all dolled up."

Carol made eye contact with you, an I told you so, acknowledging her earlier statement. You gave a little laugh.

"You are hot! A babe, a bombshell, a smoke show, a total hottie. My hottie." Carter kissed the top of your head, being gentle to not disrupt the perfection that was your updo.

"As for you two," Carter yelled, pulling away.

"Don't worry, lovey," you tried to grab his hand as he walked past.

"No, this is important. Hot shots," the ER froze watching his every move, except the two interns in their own little world, snickering to themselves, totally unaware of what was about to be unleashed on them.

You watched as Carter grabbed a file and whacked the two young men in one swift motion.

"Oh, he is mad mad," Carol whispered to you.

"I have never seen him mad mad." You whispered back.

"You don't want to be on the receiving end."

"No, but I wouldn't mind witnessing it a little more." A blush crept across your cheeks, down your neck, and onto your chest. Angry Carter was kind of hot.

"Dirty bird." Carol giggled. You gave a gentle nudge to her. Two ouches echoed out.

"What the - Dr. Carter."

"What makes you think you can disrespect my girlfriend?" Crickets.

"Oh, so you two have no problem running your mouths, insulting the woman I love, but don't have the gall to say it to me? Is this a habit we need to be concerned about with you two? Bullying? If staff have to worry about your questionable behavior toward a doctor's girlfriend, there is no world in which we should let you anywhere near patients.

"No, sir." One sputtered.

"Our bedside manner with patients is much better." The other one added.

"Doubt it. I really fucking doubt it. For the remainder of your time here, you don't speak unless spoken to, unless it is utterly necessary. If I hear anything that isn't work-related or could be misconstrued as anything other than professional, I will make sure you never work in the medical field. Understood?"

They barely squeak out a 'yes' before Carter takes off again.

"That woman whom you insulted is the best thing that has happened to me in a long time! She is so much more than her physical appearance. I am sorry you will be missing out on those things, because if you ever look at her, talk to her, or breathe in her direction, I will make your lives a nightmare."

"Is it weird that I find him trying to threaten them in a professional manner cute?" Carol bites her lip to hold in a laugh.

"I am sorry that you two are so shallow, so childish that you can't appreciate the different forms of women's bodies. She is beautiful and incredibly sexy. If being obsessed with her "ruins" whatever image you two built in your heads about the kind of women I pursue, that is your fault. Sutures and bedpan duty for the rest of the night."

"Are you finished, Carter?"  Benton asks as he comes out of an exam room, arms crossed, presence looming.

"Yes, I am, and I will face any consequence you want give me."

"You and I will talk about this. I would hate for you to keep your beautiful girlfriend waiting any longer," the Carter gives a nod and quick turn on his heels. Benton smiles, giving a wink at you. You give a little smile back.

"As for you two, we need to discuss disciplinary action and professionalism. Come with me."

Carol quickly gives you a once-over and tells you that your makeup isn't ruined. A little touch-up powder under your eyes will do the trick. She gives Carter's arm a squeeze as she walks away. Carter takes both your hands, bringing them up to his lips, and placing sweet kisses on the back of them. He gently lets your left hand go, then raises your right hand for a twirl. Happily, you oblige.

Carter takes this moment to drink you in. The curve hugs your belly, and your butt makes his mouth water. He can picture the swing of your hips in this dress, and he nearly melts at the thought. With fluff at the top, only drawing more attention to your chest, he knows he will have to do the majority of his staring at them in the privacy of the car. He already has self-control issues around you. This outfit doesn't help. If he could, he would take you in the back of the car, but he doesn't want to further disrupt the effort you put in (on the way back to his place tonight is another story).

He pulls you close to his side, your hand wrapped securely around his bicep, leading out to the still waiting car. He opens the door like a gentleman, making sure everything and everyone is in their proper places before stepping inside. Once he is settled, you scooch into his side, taking his right hand into both of yours, giving you access to play with his steady hand.

"Lovey."

"Yes, sweetheart?" His eyes meet yours; you melt.

"No one has ever stood up for me like. You didn't have to do that. I am sorry if you get in trouble on Monday, but I want you to know that I really appreciate it. Truly."

"I am sorry that I am the first person to do this for you. I will always do it for you." He rests his cheek on your head, breathing in the scent of your shampoo mixed with hairspray. His heart aches that no one has stood up for you. You deserve better from people. Carter silently vows to change that for you because you deserve to be loved openly and honestly, and he doesn't mess around with the ones he loves.

I don't think that this is my best work but I hope you all enjoy it. I want to get into smut but the fluff has been hitting in the honey-nut feelios real hard recently

As always cuties, I adore you all! This is an orginal work. It has been several years since I have really written like this so thanks for sticking with me.

It was going to be a long night for Robby. It was date night. After his shift ended, Robby swung home to change and pick you up. He knew you loved a reason to get dolled up, so he tried to give you many, even though he may not always want to; if it made you happy, he would suck it up. What he wasn’t expecting was for you to look like a walking wet dream - his walking wet dream. 

Your hair was big and teased, your makeup sparkly to match the body glitter you had on, but what was really going to be a problem for Robby was your outfit: a black button-down shirt you had tied up under your bust. He recognized the lacey pink bralette he had bought you as part of a Valentine's Day lingerie set peeking out from the top. You clearly added your body glitter to the purchase ofmiddrift. He had seen you wear the leopard print skirt in more professional settings, but now it had been hiked up to show more leg and hug more of your delicious ass. 

“Jesus, honey! Trying to give me a heart attack?” You giggled as you leaned forward to put on your chunky heels. He approached you at your vanity, where you were sitting, to help you. He helped slip your foot in and adjust the straps, kissing your ankle to your knee before switching to the other leg.

“I laid out an outfit to wear,” you let your hand rake through his hair, “if you let us out of this house.

“Is keeping you in this house so that I can get you naked an option?” You told him no and to hurry up.

It wasn’t the kind of bar he would normally seek out, but it was perfect for showing you off. Fancy but not too fancy, served good food that you two could share in a booth back in as quiet a corner as can be found in a bar, with music on the weekend so that if you got the urge to dance, you could drag him to the floor with you. You two were disgustingly cute, sitting across from one another, your legs up on the bench seat next to Robby, allowing for his big, strong hands to touch your legs as he pleased. Nearby sat a table of two women, presumably friends. You caught it out of the corner of your eye. They were eye, Robby. As they should! Robby is hot. He looks damn good.

“I think you have some admirers.” You tilt your head to the table. Robby looks cause the table to giggle and leaning into one another. They turn back and look at you. Their stare is less “Hell yeah girl, get your old man!” and more “Oh no, girl.” Before your mind could run wild with that thought, Robby’s hand was slipping up under the hem of your skirt.

“Easy, big boy.” You giggle out. Robby barks out a laugh and squeezes the flesh. The waitress brings out a plethora of appetizers to make up your meal. Robby fed you delicious bites of pretzel logs dunked in beer cheese, you let him nibble bits of mozzarella stick, and talked about your days, lightly planning a trip to his cabin, and maybe spending tomorrow being lazy bones in bed while munching on sliders. 

“Want a sweet treat tonight?” There was an implication in your boyfriend's question.

“Sweet treat as in one of those brookie skillets on the menu or sweet treat as in you and me engaging in -” you felt a gentle tap your thigh, shoes sitting on the bench next to Robby, feet resting in his lap. 

“The brookie cause I know you love it, but also the other thing as well. If you wantto take a bite out of your bear.” There was teasing in his tone that made a shiver run up her spine. He began to put your shoes back on.

“Yes to both. I am going to run to the restroom. Be back quick.” Off you flounced, giving a sweet kiss to Robby’s head as you left him. Just as quickly as you left, the two ladies slide into your seat. 

“Uhhh excuse me?”

“Hi handsome,” the blonde on the left extended her hand in an attempt to touch his, “wanna get out of here?’

“With my girlfriend, when she comes back.” He pulled his hand away. 

“With that fatty? You should up grade. How about two baddies for the price of one whale?” The brunette on the right crossed her arms to accentuate her breast in an attempt to lure him in. He wasn’t buying it. 

“Okay, couple of things. You aren’t going to insult my girlfriend. Sorry that you can’t see her beauty, but I do. Don’t know what made you think I was remotely interested in leaving this bar with anyone other than her, but if I did, I apologize. That outfit she has on makes her look like every woman I had wet dreams about in high school, and I have plans that involve that outfit looking even better on the floor of our bedroom. So no, ladies, whatever you are trying to do here isn’t cute or funny, it is sad and pathetic that you feel so threatened by my girlfriend.”

You came around the corner to see the two women from earlier scurrying from your side of the table, looking as if someone (Robby) had kicked their puppy, only for the look to turn to disgust as they saw you. You placed your hand on Robby’s shoulder to get his attention.

“Mind telling me what I mis-,” before you could finsh Robby was up out of his seat planting a searing kiss to your lips. His whiskers tickled as he gently let his tongue poke your lips asking for entry. You happily let his tongue slip in and quickly explore your mouth. As soon as he was in it seemed like he was out, place a quick peck to your lips. You stood there breathless looking at Robby with love and a little confusion.

“Just beating women off with a stick cause there is only one woman for me.” He pulled you close to him by the fat of your ass (which wasn’t uncommon for him).

“Those women from earlier?” You grabbed his wrist and started for the door.

“Mmm, yeah, didn’t you want that br-”

“I changed my mind. I think my big sexy bear can satisfy my cravings tonight.”

Robby wasn't built for this. Maybe in his 20s, but as a 50-something-year-old man, this seemed like too much. The problem was that Robby, try as he might, couldn't say no to you if his life depended on it.

You mentioned once early in your relationship that it drove you crazy that he put his mismatched towels out in his guest bathroom. Something snapped within Robby, and the next time you two were together, most of the time was spent cuddling on his couch, scrolling through online stores looking at towels, which is why his guest bathroom has fluffy lavender ones, while the mismatched ones are banished to the linen closet.

Jack and Dana refer to it as his "loverboy gene" - this overwhelming desire that he keeps locked away until he is in love, and boy howdy, Robby is in love. Which is how he ended up locked in his bathroom, trying on what can only be described as barely acceptable shorts.

Hoochie Daddy Shorts, you called them. You were so excited to show off the purchase, giving Robby a tour as if you had bought him a fancy sports car.

" 3 and 1/2 inch inseam, so they are short short. 95% cotton with 5% spandex, so they will be tight but not uncomfortable. Draw string. No pockets. I thought these could be something you wear around the house," you were pressed up against him, letting your hands gently wander under his shirt, across his back.

"Angel, are you sure about this? I don't think these can be called shorts. This is basically underwear?"

All he could think about was how much better these would be on anyone else. He had seen Jack in shorts like these, and he looked amazing! But that was Jack, and he is Robby. Robby with a tummy. Robby, whose thighs jiggle instead of being rippled with muscle. Robby has been told his legs don't match his thighs. Robby, who absolutely adores every wiggle and jiggle of your body, who would always defend you against anyone who so much as looked at you with even an ounce of disgust.

There was gentle rapping on the locked bathroom, startling him.

"Everything okay? You didn't trip, fall, crack your head, and are bleeding out?" There was a teasing tone to your voice causing a tiny smirk to cross his lips.

"No, still alive sweet girl. Why don't you go sit on the couch and I will be out in a minute." He was going to need the walk to compose himself.

He could hear you doing a little happy dance.

"Will you do a little fashion show for me?!?"

"Sure, baby. Whatever you want." You padded off quickly. He was sure you were excited, while he wanted to hide. But we wouldn't let you down. You want a fashion show, he would give you a fashion show.

Taking deep, calming breaths, Robby tried to find his inner supermodel as he approached the back of the couch. He could see your body buzzing with excitement, being patient, and not trying look behind you for a sneaky peek. All he was finding was disgust for his body and feeling like he was disappointing you.

"Gonna be honest, angel," he came around the back of the couch making his way to infront of the entertainment center, " I think you might you want to-"

"AAAAAAAH! YOU LOOK SO GOOD! COME HERE! WAIT! GIVE A SPIN!"

Robby looked good! No, he looked hot. It was taking all the self-control you had not jump his hot old man bones and ride him till his wheels fell off. He stood in front of you, no shirt, shoulders broad, chest expansive, arms bite able, tummy pudge cuddly and squishy, thighs heavenly, but you need to see how his ass looked.

You could see the reluctance in Robby's face as he gave a slow spin. He hadn't verbalized it yet, but you had an idea these shorts hit a nerve about his body. He was such a champion of your body, loving your body, and was your biggest supporter in battling the voice in your head that was constantly trying to put you down. You wanted to do the same for him.

He spun slowly, the way you do for him when you're trying on all your pretty things. Upon completing his 360 spin, you waggled a finger at him, standing as he approached the couch, letting any embarrassment about how good he looked and how much you wanted him go. He was shocked when you let your hands grab fistfuls of the fat of his ass, nuzzling your face into the softness of his chest.

"This is really doing something for you?"

"Hmmm, so much. Do you realize how sexy you are?" You could feel him tense up. Pulling away slightly to see his face, you let your hands wander up to his back. He was bright red and his eyes were looking everywhere but yours.

"I don't know how you can find me sexy, right now, especially. I look ridiculous."

"-ly hot! Sit, my love." You pulled away so he could take your place on the couch. Once he was seated, you settled your body on top of his, legs spread deliciously over his thighs, allowing his large hands to rub and squeeze the plushy flesh of yours to soothe himself. You placed your palms on this chest to brace both of you for what was about to happen.

"You listen to me good and hard, Michael. From the moment I laid eyes on you, I have wanted nothing more than to jump your old man bones." You placed a kiss on his temple, where his eyes crinkled and he tensed.

"And that desire has only grown since we started dating. Your work clothes, the sweater you have had since med school and you wear that stupid navy t-shirt with the worn-out neck under it with the hole by your collar bone, or that white tank when you put on to mow, or fresh out of the shower in your underwear! ANG!" You placed a teasing bite on the junction of his neck and shoulder, not hard enough to bruise but enough to elicit a whine.

"If I wanted some young idiot gym bro, I would find one. I don't want that, Michael! I want my grumpy old bear of a boyfriend who lets me use his tummy as a pillow and man handles me and never makes me feel like I am crazy for my emotions or my mental health." You kissed his jaw. Placing your hands on his cheeks, you gave him no choice but to look at you directly. His body was more relaxed, with his eyes a little blown out with lust.

"Do I make myself clear?" He nodded and you pulled him in to kiss.

"You know," he muttered as you pulled away, "sometimes, I need a visual to help retain information."

You hummed.

"Think you might also be able to show me what you mean when you say you want to jump my old man bones?" The laugh that slips your lips is music to his ears. He knows you love him, lust for him, desire him, want him the same way he does for you. It is hard sometimes, though, when in his head he is still young, cocky med school Robby, and not 50-something Dr. Robby with aches, pains, and greys.

Your hands roaming the expanse of his chest. brought him back to the present. You were on a mission and he wasn't going to get in your way. Your lips were making quick work down his middle. He noted that you let your mouth show extra love to his tummy, going as far as to suck a purpling bruise just off to the side of his belly button. Nimble fingers made quick to the draw string of the barely there shorts. Your fingers hooked under the material near his hips.

"You sure you are ready for this?" The teasing in your tone was thick and sweet like honey. Robby barked out a laugh. He couldn't be more ready if he tried.

"'Cause I am gonna ride you till the wheels fall off, old man."

You weren’t sure when it started or how it came about, but after dating for a few weeks, you and Robby had settled into comfortable patterns, such as pet names. You weren't planning to give him a special one; you initially just rotated through them. 

You noticed that Robby had a few he used often; Sweet girl, angel, and honey. He wasn't opposed to other terms of enderment but to him, those just felt like the best for you; you wanted something that felt best for him. Something that would roll off your tongue and make his heart skip a beat. 

It came about unexpectedly. You had gone to visit your family. You loved them, but they could be a lot - not always in a fun way. This time was not fun. Lots of negative talk about your body, the things you enjoyed, how you were spending your time, and, probably most hurtful of all, negative comments about your relationship with Robby. You left as soon as you could, calling Robby from your car, sobbing hard. 

"Hi, Angel, how was the visit?" Robby's voice was deep but sweet. The comfort of hearing him only made your sobbing worse. 

"Angel, what's wrong?" Panic was rising within him. He wasn't there, and there was nothing he could do if you were physically hurt. 

"Why do they hate me?" His heart broke. He knew that your family had done something or said something shitty - something that they wouldn't have if he had been there. He should have been there - could have been there, but you said it was fine. Said you weren't going to be there long, and that his taking the day would be a waste. Being with you was never a waste, and he should have pushed harder to go.  Your hyperventilating breaths pulled him back to you.

"Sweet girl, I need you to breathe for me, okay? Can you breathe with me?" It was hard not to follow Robby. You would do anything he asked of you. You followed the sound of his breathing. Once calm enough, you explained what happened, and you could feel Robby fuming on the other end of the phone.

"I should have been with you. They wouldn't have said those things with me around."

"Am I too sensitive? Too much?" The hurt in your voice shattered Robby. He knew that was their influence talking and he needed to fix it.

"No, not too much or too sensitive. You come to my place. Doctor's orders." You both knew being together right now would help both of you - Robby would be to busy doting on you affectionately so as not to call every member of your family and evicarate the m, and you would be too busy being doted on to think about the shitty things your family said. 

He could hear your keys jingle as you walked up the steps to his little porch. You had a key, but in situations like this (ones where you needed Robby the most), he was scary quick; the door flying open, giving way to him before you could even begin searching your keyring for it ( you like a trinket). 

Your lower lip wobbled, eyes becoming glassy, hands doing little grabbing motions toward him.

"Come here, sweet girl." Robby opened his arms so you could fit up against him. The door closed behind you, allowing you to relax enough to let a few tears slip again. 

"I made a nest for us to cuddle in and there is a warm night shirt waiting for you in the bedroom."

"You made a nest?"

"Lots of pillows and blankets. Just the way you like." He kissed your lips delicately.

"And a night shirt?"

"One of the big oversized ones. Someone may have snuck it out of your bag last time you were here, so you wouldn't have to worry about bringing sleep clothes." 

You giggled. Robby got you to giggle - a sign that things were going in the right direction. 

And so you made your way to Robby's bedroom. Warm light from the nightstand lamps dances through the space. He helped to change you out of your clothes and into the night shirt, allowing his hands to be an extension of his love. He kept his arms around your middle, his body pressed against yours while you did your nighttime routine, giving you a physical reminder that you weren't alone and oh so loved. 

He had got into bed first so that you could adjust yourself around him as you pleased. Once settled, your head in that sweet spot (not quite high enough to be his chest but not low enough to be all tummy), you could both feel some of the hurt leave your body. 

"Thank you, Mikey." 

"For?"

"For letting me come over. Doing all this extra stuff. Dealing with me." You were still a tad embarrassed about having these kinds of moments. Largely because your family had and still makes you feel bad about them. Often telling you that no one who was romantically interested in you would stick around to deal with this.

"1. You are always welcome, angel, that is why you have a key. 2. This isn't extra. This is me doing exactly what is needed to help my sweet girlfriend when her family is shitty and 3. I am not dealing with you. I deal with Gloria. You are not Gloria. You are my sweet angel. I would do this every day because I love you." He kissed the top of your head and felt you try to snuggle deeper into him.

"You are the best teddy bear a girl could have." Robby laughed so hard it brought tears to his eyes.

"Did you call me a teddy bear? I am not a teddy bear, angel. I was ready to fight your whole family tonight." Even with his joking tone, you knew he was serious. 

"Sorry, sorry. Not a teddy bear. A big, scary, grumpy bear. My bear."

"Yes ma'ma. Your bear."

The nickname just stuck. Infact you hadn't realized that you were calling him bear more often instead of honey, babe, baby, love, etc. Your phone screen lit up with "THE PITT". It was never good when that contact popped up so you answered quickly.

"Hello?"

"Oh, thank god." You could hear the relief in Dana's voice. "Robby left his phone at his place. He said you were off today 'cause the holiday. Wanted me to call to see if you could bring it to him."

"Of course, I can. Tell it will be 20ish minutes. Do you know if he brought lunch? I could also bring him real food."

"Lunch? We are lucky if he eats a protein bar, sugar! He has been to worried about not having his phone in case you need him. Doubt he has even thought about food."

"Tell bear I will be there soon, phone an-"

"Bear? Who is Bear? Is that what you call him? Wait, is this a weird sex thing? Cause if it is I don't wanna know - well maybe a little bit - no, I don't wanna know."

"OH MY GOD DANA NOT A WEIRD SEX THING! Please don't tell Robby. It is a nickname, like a pet name. He is gonna kill me."

"Okay, that is adorable and he won't kill you. He likes you too much. I will let him know you are coming."

An hour later, phone and food in hand, you walked into the pitt suprised at the gaggle of people surrounding the nurses' station; none of them was Robby. From her spot at the station, Dana let it rip through the department.

"EH, DR.BEAR! YOUR DELIVERY IS HERE!" Robby rolled out of an exam room, so red, gloves on, utensils in hands. As quick as he rolled out, he rolled back in. Several of the pittlings had grabbed your attention, trying to get any answers they could about the kind of partner Robby was. Shock washed over as you felt two big, strong arms wrap around you, since Robby wasn't huge on pda at work. You turned your body to face him.

"Thank you, Angel. I was worried that you would need me and I wouldn't know." He placed a chaste kiss on your forehead, earning some hushe ooos.

"I also brought you lunch. Dana put it in the staff lounge."

"Wanna stay and eat with me? Give me an extra reason to take a real lunch." You let out a sigh, explaining that you had a nail appointment and didn't want to miss it. Robby nodded.

"Gotta keep these nails pointy. Best back scratches ever." He placed kisses on the back of your hands. 

"Send photos. I wanna see what color you pick and use my card this time. I know they have it on file." Standing on your tiptoes, you placed a kiss on his lips - quick but sincere. 

"Okay, if you say so, bear." A chorus of "aww" and "bear" followed you out of the ED. As the ambulance bay doors whooshed closed, your phone buzzed.

"Thank you for doing all this. Lunch is delicious. Wish you could have stayed to eat with me. Enjoy your appointment. XOXO - Bear"

John Carter woke up to the sun shining in across his face and coffee wafting from his kitchen. He didn’t care what time it was, or that he had laundry to do; he wanted to go back to bed…with you. It was a funny feeling, one he had been talking about in therapy (yes, therapy). Just a few years ago, he would have woken up next to Kem, but life is weird. It felt like, in the blink of an eye, he had become divorced from Kem and gotten a new kidney. And now a new girlfriend.

He let his left arm guide his body toward your side of his bed, seeking the warm, round plushness of your belly, entangling his legs with yours, feeling the fullness of your ass pressed into his pelvis. To his disappointment, he found a space. Groaning, he slid out of bed, grateful that he had put his boxers back on when he grabbed you both water last night. 

“Baby? Oh my sweet baaaby?” he padded down the hallway to the sound of your sweet giggle. Soft light shining through the curtains bathed your skin. As he came around the large lounging couch, his breath caught in his chest. You stretched out naked, sipping a cup of coffee, steam swirling to frame your face. Every roll, curve, dip, and dimple on display. 

Seeing his pouty face, you put your mug down on the little end table next to you. Turning back to face the handsome doctor, you open your arms wide and spread your legs to allow him to slot his body into yours for morning cuddles; something busy weekday schedules didn’t always allow for. Without hesitation, he lay over top of you, his thinner legs slotted between your plush, thick ones, your voluptuous middle against his slimmer one, his face nuzzled into the dip of your neck, placing soft, delicate kisses to the column. 

It took therapy to learn that he found immense comfort in physical touch and affection. Kem had struggled with it after the loss of their child. Wanting to be respectful of his then-wife, he tried self-soothing, but it didn’t compare to being wrapped in his partner's arms, the skin-to-skin contact doing wonders for his nervous system. It was one of the things that made him worried about dating again - having to explain to someone that he was a divorced recovering addict who lost a child and had a kidney transplant. Women weren’t lining up around the block to date him.

But God, you were sweet. You let a nervous stranger with big, sad puppy dog eyes flirt with you in the aisle of the bookstore, and instead of running for the hills, you agreed to join him for dinner. You let him spill his guts, bracing himself for the disgust to hit you, and to tell him you never want to see him again. Instead, you took his hand, letting him know you were okay with all of it, and encouraged him to share more. Just as he opened up to you, you opened up to him: talking about moving away from your family to the big city, working at Northwestern, and dating as a fat woman. You talked about being inexperienced compared to Carter, but you were never shy about asking for what you needed from him. 

“What a needy man you are, John Carter.” Your lips brushed his, placing a kiss at the corner of his mouth. “Think you can be needy between my thighs?” One thing Carter would never turn down was being a munch.

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