Warnings: afab reader, no use of y/n, smut, unprotected piv sex, cream pie, kissing, nipple play, m and f orgasm
Word Count: 813
His lips felt like fire on your skin. It was only a kiss on your neck, his simple affection. A greeting. Tommy smelled like pure leather, aftershave, and sweat. He pulled you close and smiled against the goosebumps on your delicate skin.
Tommy murmured quietly, “Pretty girl.”
“Shut up.” You huffed, pulling away with a fat grin tugging at your lips.
You took him in, freshly arrived from the site to your home. His red flannel had dried sweat stains, jeans scratched up more than this morning, and his boots were covered in dirt. His dark wavy hair came down to his shoulders as he took his hair tie off. Gorgeous.
The last 4 months with Tommy surprised you as much as it did him. It’s not that he was a player, more so he never lasted in a relationship more than 2 weeks. He wasn’t upfront about it, but you could tell by the way you met. He bought you a drink, flirted, and you fell for it. He took you home and pleased you like it pained him not to. The next morning, Tommy made you breakfast and fucked your brains out against the counter. You gave him your number and he actually called. Three dates later, he was coming over, or you were, everyday. Nights alone at the bar were long gone, he’d rather watch your favorite movie in bed with you.
“What’s going on in that head’a yours?” Tommy’s eyes roamed all over you, tired and curious.
“Something dirty.”
He sucked in a breath and gave you the biggest pout you’d ever seen from a grown man.
Before you could process what was happening, his mouth was on yours, lips sucking without fear. His hand roamed over your back, going higher and higher until his fingers met the clasp of your bra. The other was on your ass, squeezing through the denim and growling into your mouth. He propped you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and carrying you to the bedroom. Both of his hands were pressing his crotch into yours, grinding desperately.
“Shit.” He chuckled into your mouth as your tongue danced with his. Every feeling was heightened around Tommy. Stubble that had grown from his clean shaven face that morning scratched your cheek and nose. The heat in your belly spread all over, it was addicting.
He barely managed to shove his jeans and trunks down past his thighs after putting you down on the bed. He lifted your shirt just enough to suckle your breast. His tongue took turns circling your areola and laying it flat against your nipple over and over like a dog drinking water. You whined and pulled his head to the other lonely tit.
“Sorry, mama.” Tommy apologized.
His hands yanked your pants down and pulled your panties aside.
Tommy usually took his time, making you cum at least twice before fucking you, but he was desperate. You could see his blown pupils even in the dark room, practically begging. “Can you take it like this?” He was out of breath, holding his dick at your entrance.
The moment you nodded, he pushed in slowly with a smug look on his face.
He was hung as a fucking horse, of course he was. It was skinnier than most, but eight inches could hit your g-spot better than anyone else you’d been with.
About half-way in, your walls were already clenching around him. You mewled into the bedsheet, fingernails digging into his back. “You gotta- fuck..” He was breathless. “Gotta relax for me, I’ll make you all better.”
You only clung on tighter and took a deep breath. “Bear with me, baby.” A dirty smile clung on your lips. He chuckled and kissed you gently, feeling the tension leave your body. You were about to speak when he thrusted again, bottoming out.
“Fuck!” A stray tear left the corner of your eye. You knew what you were in for.
He became relentless, touching as much as he could of you. Your hips met his pace quickly. Thrust. The hair at the base of his cock rubbed against your clit. Thrust. He kissed his way up your neck and grunted into your ear. “My-” Thrust. “Fucking-” Thrust. “Pussy!” Suddenly your legs were over his shoulders. Bent in half, you yanked his hair.
The signal.
Tommy spit into his middle and ring finger and rubbed your clit in fast circles. Your hips jerked and a loud moan escaped you. “Just like that-” Your eyes shut as you chased your peak, feeling the coil your belly about to release. He rolled his hips and found the spongy spot near your cervix. “Tommy-!” Your walls clamped down on him and it was over. He came hard inside you, rutting in his last few thrusts. Your ears were ringing as your body went limp under him.
This was my first time writing smut and was meant to be posted months ago.. Hope y’all liked it!!
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making a scene at dinner bc you want to w/ husband jack
jack abbot x fem!reader
heels clack across the pavement as you might as well be stomping away from jack, arms crossed over your chest, lips twisted in a little pout. “no.” you say, with a petulant huff.
“sweetheart,” he calls after you, passenger door still open. “sweetheart, get in the car.”
still frowning, you twist your neck to look at him over your shoulder to send him a furrowed brow, before continuing to walk away from him. he exhales.
it was a little, stupid thing. but little, stupid things to you were never just that, and so the waitress and her silly smile and the fact that she laughed absentmindedly at an inside joke between you and your loving husband immediately turned into: she wants you, she was flirting with you, and you flirted back!
none of that, of course, were actually verbalized to jack. instead, you sat in your chair and sulked, ordered another cosmopolitan, sulked some more, then ordered another cosmopolitan, until jack decided dinner was over and it was time to get you home and investigate what the hell got you looking so sour in the midst of what had started as a pretty good night.
jack shuts the door to his truck, one hand in the pocket of his slacks as the other massages his jaw. “sweetheart, come on.” he calls after you again, as you traipse down the street. when he realizes you’re not stopping, he begins to follow after you. “you can’t walk all the way home, honey.”
“i can,” you huff, despite the fact that the balls of your feet have already started to rub themselves raw against the sole of your manolo blahniks. “i’ll call a cab.”
“you got your wallet with you?” he asks.
your jaw shifts. because, of course you don’t. you don’t think you’ve brought your wallet out on a date with him in the last year.
jack doesn’t wait for an answer, already knowing. “so how the hell’re you gonna pay for the ride, huh?”
you look at him over your shoulder again, still pouting as you reach the crosswalk. “whatever.”
he lengthens his stride until he catches up to you, his hand, warm and heavy, resting on the dip of your waist. “the hell’s goin’ on?” he asks, voice low and raspy. warmth, sticky and strong, settles in your lower belly as you lock eyes underneath the streetlamp. another petulant huff, before you turn your face away from him again.
with exasperation, he sighs, tilting his head up to look at the sky as if to ask what it is he did to deserve this, and moreover, why he feels like he’s right where he wants to be.
“what? c’mon, honey, tell me. where’d i fuck up, huh? can’t fix it you don’t tell me.”
sad, round eyes look up at him once again. “she liked you.”
his brows quirk upwards. “the waitress?”
almost timidly, you nod.
his expression loosens as he sighs. “okay, so what?”
“she laughed at our joke,” you whine. “and you laughed at her joke!”
“i was being polite to a service worker.”
“you laughed at her joke. she was givin’ you fuck-me-eyes the whole time, i swear,” you huff, folding your arms tighter over your chest.
“sweetheart—“
“no!” you interrupt, shifting your body to face him as you drop your arms, purse flopping down against your thigh. “she was—she was flirting, i saw! and—and she wanted you, an’—an’ you—“
“and i what?” he asks, grabbing hold of your wrist from where you’d started poking a finger into his chest. he rubs little circles into the joint with his thumb. “sweetheart, take a breath. come on.”
you do, lips still downturned in this sweet little frown.
he nods, his voice shifting to something gentler. “okay. okay?”
again, you nod, quiet. a little embarrassed.
“you think i put this on your finger just to act a fool over someone else? huh?” he asks, thumb shifting to toy with the shiny diamond ring on your ring finger. “think she didn’t see it at the table?”
bashfully, you shake your head. “but—“
“ah-ah. i’m talkin’, baby.” you quiet. “fuck kinda business does she have flirting that openly with a happily married man?” he asks.
“none.”
“that’s right, none,” he says, lifting your hand to press a kiss over the ring. “and i’m sorry i made you think all that. didn’t mean to.”
pouting, you mumble, “‘s okay.”
“yeah?” he asks, pulling you closer by the hand, pressing his nose into your temple before kissing at it. “if another waitress ever does that again, i’ll be givin’ her the stink eye the whole time.” you giggle. “i’m serious. gotta make it clear i’m taken.”
“yeah, y’do,” you murmur, as he wraps his free hand around your waist to pull you into his body. you bury your face into his chest. “she was so desperate.”
“so desperate,” he humors you, rubbing his hand in circles into your lower back. he gives your ass a little squeeze. “you done now? you okay?”
tilting your head up to rest your chin against his sternum, you nod.
“okay,” he chuckles, eyes wrinkling. “gonna let me take you home?”
again; you nod.
“alright,” he hums, letting out a little sigh as he grabs your hand, tugging it lightly as he leads you back to his car. “jesus, baby. starting to think you do this just to get a rise out of me.”
you giggle. “a little bit.”
he turns his head to look at you, a brow raised, before he chuckles, shaking his head. “c’mon. let me take my pretty girl home. gotta make it up to her.”
he’d love to tell you you were being moody, a little dramatic, that there’s no need to make a scene on a date night he’d been planning for weeks, but that’d be denying him of the fact that, despite all the stress you give him sometimes, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
you were awoken, rather abruptly, by the sound of toys clattering down your side. blinking sleep away, you groan softly, before you’re face to face with your little toddler, her little ringlets messy and sticking up in every direction. she blinks at you. you blink at her.
“g’mo’ning, mama,” she says, in something akin to a whisper, but it comes out more just like hot toddler breath in your face. you can smell coffee wafting from the kitchen.
“mm, baby, what’re you doing?” you croak, lifting a sleepy hand to move the sheets off of you when you’re instead met with a small plastic toy car. then, a little train. then — ah! another toy! this time, in the form of a small cloth bee stuffed with pellets. there’s a damp spot on its antennae, where your darling daughter had no doubt chewed on it just moments ago.
she blinks at you again, extending a little pointer finger towards the collection of trinkets now placed on your stomach. “play.”
“play?” you ask, as she hands you yet another toy from her chubby fingers. she must’ve gotten out of her crib somehow, and judging from the fact that jack’s side of the bed is empty, that’s probably how. “where’s papa?”
“ou’side.” she says, walking the little bee plush along your blanketed stomach. “mama, play.”
“mm.” you groan slightly. you give her one last look before resigning to your newly appointed role as a play-mat. the books did say to encourage spontaneous play. “m’kay.” you pick up the little car, rolling it along your torso as she mimics the buzzing of a bee.
her cheeks are flushed a sleepy pink as her brows furrow in concentration. freckles dust her little nose, and the person who gave them to her walks into the bedroom. jack, still in his sleep shirt and plaid pajama pants leans against the doorframe, as a warm smile graces his aged features.
“there you are, buggy,” he says, as your daughter’s head whipped over her shoulder to look at him. jack cocks his head behind him. “pancakes’re ready,” he smiles.
then, your daughter turns to you. “mama, pancakes.”
“mm, i’ll be there in one sec, baby,” you nod, still wearing off the last of your grogginess as you sit up, the toys clattering into your lap. your daughter, sweet and full of energy as she is, waddles her way out of the bedroom with the soft pitter-patter of her feet following her. as she rounds the door into the hallway, jack extends a hand to cup the back of her little head, gentle.
then, he turns to you, a bright glint in his eyes. “she wanted to play.”
a little smile graces your lips. “yeah, she did,” you murmur, stretching your arms over your head.
rubbing your sleep from your eyes, the comfortable silence is broken by the sound of your toddler shouting, “mama! papa!” from the kitchen, the clumsy clanging of her plastic utensils against her paw patrol plate joining her.
you can’t help the laugh that leaves you, and jack’s chuckles join you.
“she’s a tyrant,” you sigh with affection, kicking the duvet away from you as you stand, approaching jack. you rest your hand on his lower back as his drapes over your shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before walking the both of you out in the hall, muttering, “yeah, but, i mean, look at her,” he says, nodding in the direction of where she tries to climb into her high chair. “she makes for a pretty fuckin’ cute one.”
Especially when he rams himself inside you. He’d be balls deep, your tight gummy walls squeezing his length as he thrusted himself inside and out your tight hole.
“Fuuuckk Joel- ,” you’d moan out gripping the bed sheets beneath your touch while he’d have you in a filthy doggy pose.
“Sho-Sho good Joel-“ you mumble, utterly cock drunk as he’d continuously ram himself in and out of you.
his throbbing length roughly and fastly penetrate you as your poor pussy gushes out your sweet sweet juices in return.
And the noises, god the noise, the filthy skin slaps with every thrust fill in the room causing your neighbours to once again complain about the lewd noise that was coming from upstairs every night.
Joel finds himself reaching his climax one you had finally come again which was the third time you had.. your legs shivering as as his thrusts turned rougher and faster and when he grunted out
“Fuck, baby.. Let me finish inside, please”
“Want you-shit- round n’ full with my kids, baby”
You nodded, eagerly begging for his fat cock to spill his sweet liquid deep inside your pussy.
“Fill me, Joel, please please- oh fuck,”
And just like that with a finally thrust Joel had spilled his warm milky ropes deep inside of you, his thrusts slowing down but not pulling away as he softly thrusted inside and out of you, whispering softly in your ear,
“Gunna make it stick baby, want you full and round with my kid,”
ᨳଓ~
And it wasn’t much of a surprise when the pregnancy test Joel had bought you when you had some faint morning sickness came back positive cause he knew how to make it stick.
Breeding kink might actually be my favourite thing ever omfg. Also i wrote this at the beach cause i hate getting in the water💪💪 #productiveaf + this wasn’t proof read:(
Taglist! Ig im tagging people in drabbles from now on oh well
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Synopsis: Robby hates to see his wife feel bad about herself. (comfort & fluff) based on this request
Content: reader & robby are married, no use of y/n, pet names (sweetheart, beautiful, sweet girl, baby), soft Robby!!!, insecurity, brief mention of body image (body type not specified), robby is the best at comforting his lovely lady
WC: ~1.5k
A/N: I love soft robby & I need him to hold me immediately.
the pitt masterlist
Now Playing: Look after you - The Fray
──────────────────────
You could feel your chest tighten as you navigated your way through the bustling emergency department of the Pitt.
The accumulation of moisture in your eyes began to blur your vision as your throat tightened in compensation for not letting your tears fall just yet, trying to avoid the eyes of concerned coworkers throughout the long hallway.
You swung open the door that led to an empty stairwell, immediately taking a seat on one of the steps and letting your head fall into your hands, finally allowing your tears to pour freely and loosen the pressure in your throat.
Though your shift was merely halfway done, you felt as though you had been in the throes of the Pitt's typical chaos for far too long.
It was only a matter of time before someone came looking for you.
You knew that.
But you just couldn't stand to be surrounded by your coworkers anymore.
Not when it felt like every move you made took up too much space and every laugh you let out used too much air.
In the hallway of the ED, Robby seemed to notice your absence almost immediately.
"Hey Langdon, you seen my wife anywhere?" He asked Frank, who was rushing around, seemingly in the middle of something.
"No, sorry man, she came through here a little while ago though." He said, immediately splitting off to whatever important task was awaiting him.
Robby sighed and ran a hand through his hair before Mel spoke up from where she was sitting and completing charts, "I think I saw her go over there." She pointed a finger towards the end of the hallway with a soft smile.
Robby knew that your choice of isolation could only mean one thing, "Shit, okay. Thanks, King." He said with a sigh, rushing in your direction.
The door swung open in a clamor behind you, causing your head to immediately whip around to the sound, disregarding your own current state.
"Jesus, Robby. You scared me." You said, placing a hand on your chest in an attempt to control your startled heartbeat.
"Sorry, sweetheart. Just wanted to make sure you were in here." He sighed, finally allowing his body to loosen up as he took a seat next to you on the step.
It was only then that you remembered the tears staining your cheeks, so you turned your face away from your worried husband in embarrassment.
"Hey, no, don't do that." He said, placing a hand under your chin and turning your face towards his, "What's goin' on, beautiful?"
You felt your face heat up at his words, though you were unable to form your own due to your ever-growing unease.
"It's nothing." You said bashfully, letting your eyes wander anywhere but his own.
"It's definitely not nothing." He replied sternly.
You knew that you couldn't hide from Robby for long. You never could. He always found a way to soothe you even in your worst diffidence.
And so you told him everything.
You rambled on about how you felt like your scrubs didn't fit right and how every word you said felt misplaced. You told him about the way everyone's glance seemed to follow you around all day, and how your brain felt like a conglomeration of every negative word ever muttered in your general direction.
Your voice broke with sobs between nearly every word and all Robby did was listen with his eyebrows furrowed together, lightly nodding at every new discomfort you described.
Eventually, you took a long, shaky breath and finished with, "So today just really sucked."
To you, he looked sad about how upset you were, as any loving husband would be.
But to Robby, he felt the pang of his heart breaking into a million pieces as he listened to you speak so negatively about yourself.
He didn't understand how such a beautiful, smart woman could ever feel so unwelcome in a place that would not be half of what it was without her.
And worst of all, he didn't know how to put it into words to make you change your mind.
But in true Micheal Robinavitch fashion, he did his best.
Before he managed to say anything, he firmly wrapped his arms around your torso and pulled you into him.
Your face found its place buried in his neck, while his arms wrapped tightly around you and for the first time all day, everything seemed to quiet.
Neither of you spoke for a long period of time.
He sat there with his arms caged protectively around you, as your salty tears slowly dried on your cheeks, but not before leaving a few damp spots on the sweater Robby wore over his scrubs.
As you sat in his arms, you allowed your mind to drift from your woes. You took deep breaths into Robby’s neck, smelling his cologne and feeling his hands spread across your back.
Once you gained your composure, you lightly pulled away from Robby to look at his face.
“I'm so sorry, my sweet girl.” He said slowly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.
There were very few people who had the privilege to witness Robby taking time to slow down. Between his job keeping him on his toes and his driven personality, he seemed to never take a breath.
However, whenever he was with you, he seemed to find time to let the rigidity go.
"It's okay. I just wish I could y'know... be invisible sometimes."
His lips pulled into a frown as he nodded in understanding.
Taking your hands in his own, he let out a sigh and looked down at his fingers wrapped around your own. "I just want you to know that I love you, okay?"
"I know."
"And I always will." He looked back into your eyes.
"I know."
He nodded and leaned in to press a firm kiss against your forehead.
“You never have to hide from me, sweetheart.”
Then another kiss to your cheek.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Then your other cheek.
“And I’m so lucky that you’re my gorgeous girl.”
And finally, your lips.
For the first time since you left the house that morning, you felt covered.
Not hidden, not secret.
But secure.
It didn't matter whether you were already drowning or not, because Robby would always be there to build a roof below the rain and hold you through the storm.
His mouth melded to yours, warm and fervent, as you breathed him in and allowed him to occupy all of the space in your lungs.
You didn't pull away until you felt him take a shaky breath against your lips. As you opened your eyes to see him, you noticed the slight shift in his demeanor.
"Are you okay?" You questioned in concern.
"I'm so fucking proud of you, baby." He stated without a second thought, his gruff voice gently breaking in admiration.
You let out a quiet "Oh?" at the explanation... or lack thereof.
Then he lent back into you.
And you let it all wash away onto his lips.
Though the storm was insistent, Robby was your home and you knew he always would be.
No matter how often you felt that your beams were unstable, he would always be there; sturdy, devoted, and yours.
When you pulled away again, you rested your forehead against his and he let out a deep breath he didn’t know he was holding.
You could hear the commotion coming from inside the ED, but you both chose to ignore it for one moment longer.
“I know you don’t feel like it, but you are so beautiful. And so worthy. Of everything.” He said, his forehead still pressed against your own.
“Thank you, baby.” You responded.
“I mean it, okay?”
“Okay.” You gave in.
It was then that a bang on the doorway broke the two of you apart.
“Hey uh, Dr. Robby now would be a great time to get in here.” Said a panicked Whitaker, peeking in through the cracked door in caution of interrupting.
Robby groaned and stroked a hand through his beard, “Yeah, yeah, alright.”
Once Whitaker closed the door, he leaned in to press another kiss to your lips.
“Don’t you ever feel like you need to hide from me. No matter what it is.” He said sternly.
“Okay.” You said and he gave a firm nod, before standing up and reaching his hand out to you.
Once he pulled you up, he went to open the door.
“Wait!” You said before he turned the handle.
He raised an eyebrow in confusion but it quickly faded as you wrapped your arms around him one more time, breathing him in.
He let his hand fall into your hair, cradling your head against his chest.
“Are you ready?” He said, referring to the rest of the shift that awaited you outside of the stairwell.
“I think so.” You said into his chest, and he placed a kiss on your head as he pulled away and opened the door.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Contains: pregnancy mention, breeding kink, cheating mentions (don't condone, just a hot fantasy), police mention, mean Tammi :(, really soft romance, divorce mention, 'daddy', p in v, fingering, f and m oral, f and m orgasm, shower sex
Author's Note: filthy smut and then sweet romance. It wasn't really my intention! But I felt guided by Sammy's character, so sorry about that!
You can read Part 1 here!
Gif credit: shortbreadjamandtea and kaizsche
--🩷--
When you first whispered to Sammy that you might be pregnant, his face had lit up like Christmas. He couldn't speak for a second. All Sammy had wanted was to be a daddy, to look after a little one, his little one, and dote on a mother as in love with him as he was with her.
You had been nervous to say; it wasn't like this was a normal, functional set-up. You had recovered from losing your college place and were renting an apartment, financed by an admin job. The fact you were in a secret relationship with your brother-in-law was less recovering and more regressing, some might say.
Your relationship had begun when Sammy pressed you down into your sister's couch and fucked you into oblivion. You wouldn't be surprised if that was the time that made you pregnant. Sammy had cum so much until it was overflowing inside you. What you didn't know was Sammy had fucked you with a steely determination, pressing snug against your cervix and anchoring himself on the couch. He had made sure to keep pressed against it, spurting spray after spray deep inside you, with the grim determination of a desperate daddy.
There had been countless times since then of course, especially once you'd moved into your apartment. It had been fun sneaking around, Sammy banging you up against the living room wall, sat on the kitchen counter, in the shower, on Tammi's side of the bed.
Most of the time it had been whilst Tammi was out taking photographs with Victor, her photography instructor.
Some of the time it was not. Like when you were so excited that Sammy had come home, and you couldn't wait another night, you'd fabricated a poorly-disguised lie about needing the deep freezer. He'd barely left the car when you slammed into him, jumping to wrap your legs sound his chubby waist. Sammy had looked at you in bewildered surprise, which had quickly turned to gratitude, when you began kissing him. He moaned and returned the kiss eagerly, mouths open and wet. You had unbuttoned his shirt and wrapped his tie across your shoulders like a cardigan. You shushed him when he groaned into your mouth and let him step forwards, still holding your hips, and pressed you up against the garage wall. Sammy lifted one leg and pulled your red panties down and tossed them somewhere on the floor without looking, never stopping kissing you. He's unzipping himself with the same hand, taking himself out of his suit pants and pushing up into you. You cry out and Sammy buried his head in your neck, grunting as he pushed you up and down on himself. Your head was banging off the wall but you didn't care, moaning with your head thrown back. Sammy rutted into you with unbridled desperation, hitting against the spot deep inside you. He had you squirting all over his cock, splattering against his suit pants and spraying against the floor. Sammy came with a roar, fucking his cum back up into you until his cock was soft and curled up.
He had walked into the house, closing the door, sunglasses still on and lips swollen from kissing you. You had straightened your dress and pulled your panties back up before bringing out some ice cubes no one wanted or needed.
The second time was whilst you were in the shower. Sammy had left Tammi sleeping in bed and slunk into the bathroom, softly closing the door behind him. You had turned to face him and Sammy's jaw went slack. The pounding water running down your naked body, your wet hair plastered to your head, and traces of mascara streaking tears down your cheeks.
Sammy had grunted and couldn't get undressed quickly enough. Knowing that Tammi could wake at any time and pad into the apartment to look for him and not being able to find him, his car still on the driveway, and muffled sighs flooding through the closed, unlocked bathroom door.
The thought of it made Sammy cum even harder. You had dropped to your knees and kissed down his squishy belly, through his auburn pubic hair, and onto his cock. He had groaned and thrown his head back against the cold tiles, hissing through his teeth. You had teased the head with your tongue, making slow circles and little kitten licks across it, before spitting on him. Sammy had nearly choked. You held him by the hilt and took him deep in your mouth, bobbing your head whilst Sammy's hand had fisted in your hair and pulled you off of him to stop him from cumming too soon.
You had stood back up, licking the taste of his pre-cum across the flat of his tongue, before pressing yourself up against the tiles. The scalding water had run down your back as Sammy roughly pushed his fingers inside of you, groaning about how tight you were. 'What am I going to do with you?' He had asked, lining up against you and sinking inside you. 'Fuck... 'm gon-gonna,' he had garbled, seconds within entering you. 'No... nooo stop... stop, don't do that... oh-ohhh fuck... 'm cumming.'
It had started and was all over in less than five minutes. He kept you bent like that, leaning to lick across your pussy, blazing a burnimg path along you. Without being able to reach your clit from this angle, fucked you with his tongue. Sammy's own cum was slathered across his tongue and running down his chin, mixing with the water. He kept bringing you right to the edge, working his mouth on you. Sammy was moaning as he was eating you, open-mouthed then French kisses all along the inside of your pussy, then pulling back and stopping your orgasm right as it was about to take you down. You were crying out in frustration as he edged you, the sound masked by the water still crashing down your back, and onto Sammy's freckled shoulders. The tip of his tongue finally, finally reached your clit, but just the very tip. The gentle, desperate motion was enough to send you crashing over the edge, until he made you cum on his face. Sammy had desperately finger fucked his cum back into you then, worried about having swallowed half of it and wasting it.
--🩷--
Sammy had tried to stop the swell of hope and had immediately run to the pharmacy. He came back with four pregnancy tests ("just to be sure", he said). Sammy made you drink a carafe of water and then came into the bathroom with you, sitting on the side of the bath. One of your hands you used to hold the pregnancy tests under you, the other hand was pressed into Sammy's, fingers intertwined. The only pause was when you handed him each test, which he reverently lined up one by one on the sink, before returning to hold your hand again.
Sammy literally squealed with excitement when the first one came up with two lines. He pulled you closer, his eyes flicking between each of yours. 'We're having a baby! We're havin' a fuckin' baby!' He kissed you and squeezed your hand so tight. Sammy's grin stretched his whole face and he ran a large hand through his auburn curls.
'I hope they have gorgeous red hair and your freckles,' you whispered, rendered speechless with happiness. Sammy's eyes widened at this and he leant in again, his eyes flicking between each of yours. 'I love you,' he said seriously.
It was the first fime he'd ever said it. Your insides set alight. You looked at his adoring, hopeful face. 'I love you too,' you whispered. You'd wanted to say it for a while now, but didn't know how. You weren't sure how Sammy would react.
Sammy leant in and kissed you, a hand at the back of your head, gently pulling you closer and sighing in your mouth. Then he suddenly pulled away to inspect the other tests. Sammy subconsciously rested his hand over your stomach, even though there was absolutely no bump to show yet. Two, three, four. 8 blue lines.
Sammy started crying. 'I'm gonna be a daddy.'
It was all he ever wanted. He couldn't believe it was finally happening, and with you.
'Is this a dream?' Sammy's eyes sparkled, tears splashing onto his freckled cheeks. You kissed them away. 'No, Sammy,' you replied softly, 'but it's pretty fucking close.'
--🩷--
Sammy had insisted on keeping the first pregnancy test. You had wrinkled your nose but Sammy said he needed it for his baby box. It was blue and carefully resealable. He had brought out a few collected items from his suitcase, avoiding your eyes as he carefully placed them inside. It made your heart melt.
The fact that your deadend, selfish sister had fumbled this man, had carelessly missed the opportunity to have his babies, blew your mind. It had given you this amazing gift, though.
Speaking of Tammi... how were you ever going to tell your sister you were having her husband's baby? It was like an episode of the Jerry Springer show.
You were lying on the sofa together, the tv quietly on in the background. Sammy was lying sideways across it and you were between his legs, your back to his chest. Sammy had carefully covered you with a blanket. His hand rested protectively on your stomach. It often did nowadays, and Sammy always insisted you lay together like that. His fingers large hand covered most of your stomach, and his fingers absentmindedly swirled around your belly button.
'You're going to be a great father,' you told him, nestling against his soft, pudgy stomach.
'Our kid is so lucky they'll have you for a mom.'
'Awh, Sammy... love you.'
'I love you. You're making me a daddy,' Sammy whispered, and kissed the top of your head. You felt a thrill run through you every time Sammy said it. It made it more real.
'I am... daddy,' you purred.
There was a moment of silence.
'Say that again.' Sammy's voice was strangled.
'You're such a good daddy. You take care of me so well.'
You felt his cock twitch beneath you.
'Oh, you're the best,' you moaned. Sammy's hand drifted down past your hips and played along the edge of your panties.
'Tell me how,' Sammy's voice was high-pitched and wrecked. You carried on as he came undone beneath you.
'You rub my big round belly...' Sammy's hard cock pressed insistently against your back.
'Yeah?' He squeaked. 'Oh yeah, making sure my big tits are massaged ready for milk...' Sammy let out a slow, wounded sound. '... and you take care of any aches I can't reach...' Sammy is whimpering softly down your ear, his hot breath against your neck.
His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your panties, slowly reaching your pussy lips. You were soaking.
'Is thi-this... okay?' Sammy squeaked. 'Ohhh, it feels so nice... daddy,' you moaned.
Sammy couldn't take any more. He growled and pushed his fingers inside your pussy folds, running his fingers up and down you. 'Ohh-hhh-hhhh-hhh,' Sammy let out a low, deep, gravelly shudder that travelled into his voice as he touched you.
'Da-daddy's gonna make you feel all nice,' he groaned, testing the word out loud, and swirling his finger around your clit. You moaned loudly, leaning back against his squishy tummy and letting your body go floppy against him.
As Sammy's thick fingers gently dragged inside you, you moaned, pushing back against his hard cock, pressed up and caged in his suit pants. 'Oh, daddy...' you groaned as fire sparked up your spine in pleasure. You heard a whine and then a guttural release of breath. You slowly felt a warm, wet patch spreading through his pants. 'Fuck, so s-sorry baby...' Sammy stuttered, 'jus' with you sayin' daddy like that.' Sammy shuddered and humped his hips a little against your back, whining as he milked the last of his cum into his boxers.
You had reached the stage where you were desperate to be fucked, all of the time. Sammy was in heaven. He'd been getting it at least once a day. Biting down on his fist at work when you sent filthy messages about what you'd do to him when he got home, if you were in the stationary cupboard at work, what your tits looked like right now (*attach image*). For a police officer, he disagreed with traffic lights a lot.
--🩷--
Sammy couldn't have been more attentive, picking up a swing set and bringing it over after work. A soft, halcyon evening. You were leaning against the door frame holding the decaffeinated tea he had made you, watching him carefully set it up with a solemn reverence, and it made your heart melt. Sammy had painted the baby's room and hung a soft animal mobile above the crib. You had cried.
He attended every appointment, getting there early and fizzing with excitement. Sammy kept a copy of the sonogram in his wallet. He referred to 'baby Bryant' in every conversation.
--🩷--
When you had called your mom to tell her, she had burst into tears down the phone. Tammi hadn't noticed Sammy was hardly home. She was constantly high on drugs, either semi-conscious or babbling nonsense, bumping into things on her way to "take photographs" with Victor.
She hadn't exactly given you a warm congratulations, and her distance only made you feel relieved. Tammi became less and less of a conversation piece. Sammy was practically living with you by this point. He was always finding something to do for the baby; picking you the best chair for breastfeeding and the best buggy for baby Bryant to relax in on your future adventures to the park.
You had quit your job by this point. Sammy was insistent you were looked after, and that he could afford it. You had tried to argue you were pregnant, blessedly not infirm, but Sammy wouldn't hear it. He would say you were doing the most important job of all, growing your child.
You carefully danced around the topic of the father with your mom until she finally dropped it. You knew the conversation was coming at some point, but you'd made yourself clear and your mom respected your boundaries. She was just excited to meet her grandchild.
--🩷--
Sammy came home from work one day with a strange energy. He immediately made you sit down on the sofa, close your eyes, and hold out your hands.
'I've been stung by this before,' you said wryly.
'Haaa-ha,' Sammy replied, 'it's not my cock.'
'Awww,' you pouted, making Sammy laugh. 'I don't want it then.' 'Later. 's even better.' 'Better than your cock?!' You were jokingly incredulous.
'Ssstop... you'll get me all horny again, babe.' You smirked as you felt his weight sink beside you on the sofa. 'Open.' He commanded, sounding overly pleased with himself.
You opened your eyes and looked down. In your hand was a sheaf of what appeared to be legal documents. Your eyes flicked to Sammy. 'Wha-?' 'Read it!!' Sammy was vibrating.
Your mouth fell open.
'You- you're divorcing Tammi?'
'Yes!!!!' Sammy leaned in and kissed your cheek.
'Oh my god. Oh my GOD!' You shrieked. You couldn't help adding, 'it's about fucking time!'
Sammy left, feeling weightless, floating above the sky. 'Exactly.' He pressed a kiss to your lips. 'You and baby Bryant are my priority. You-you're my world... 'love you endlessly. Time to start a new chapter.'
Tears spilled down his face. You wiped them gently away with a finger. 'I couldn't be happier.'
'Yeah?' Sammy asked, suddenly feeling very vulnerable and terrified of rejection, of having scared you away.
'You are my world...' your fingers ran through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. Sammy leant back into your fingers, closing his eyes, moaning softly. '... and my sister is a bitch.'
A smile crossed over Sammy's face. 'I'm so happy. I never wanted to expect things from you or have you feel pressured. These last seven months have been the happiest time of my life.' You felt yourself get choked up.
You leant in before you could cry. 'And I've never once had to fake an orgasm.'
Sammy burst out laughing. 'Not like with Josh.'
'Fucking Josh,' you agreed, rolling your eyes.
You placed your lips against his, inches apart. 'I love you,' you breathed, the letters forming against his mouth, one by one.
'You're mine... all mine,' Sammy pushed his mouth against yours. It was a soft, gentle kiss. Tender and conveying emotions you both didn't have words for.
You breathed him in as he kissed you, the oxytocin and his cologne a heady mix.
Sammy smirked against your mouth and groaned, ''don't think I could get you any more pregnant... but I'm gonna really fuckin' try.'
→ premise: you and sammy had made a promise as troubled teens to get married at 25 if you were both single. sammy meets tammi the next day and forgets all about the promise but you never did and you stand by him.
→ warnings: early seasons freshly divorced!sammy bryant x childhood bestfriend!fem!reader, 3.5k wc of fluff & smut, nicknames [favorite & sweet girl, honey], inexperienced! reader, lowkey pervy! sammy, panty stealer! sammy, unprotected sex, fuck tammi & she isn’t pregnant in this fic.
→ a/n: requested!
Sammy has never been more grateful for you than in this exact moment. His angelic savior of a best friend who’s been by his side since he was a reckless stoner teenager.
He and Tammi called it quits, they are getting a divorce finally. But with his continuing horrible stroke of bad luck — while he’s out she changes the damn locks, locking him out of his own house and moves the man she cheated on him with in his place. He could very well call Nate and crash on his couch but if he’s being honest with himself he would much rather temporarily move in with you instead.
As Tammi grew more and more controlling and crazy, she drove a wedge between you and him. Rambling on and on how it’s so obvious that you two are in love and he’s cheating on her with you, in the end all Tammi was doing was telling on herself. Even if she might be a tad right about the in love part. She just about flipped her shit on him when she heard him call you his favorite girl for the first time as if it’s not something he’s called you since you were kids. So he’d love to mend the gap she caused and living with you though an odd way to go about it, seems like it’d help. His decision is also aided by the fact he deeply missed being around you.
When he shows up at your door, all his clothes shoved in bags that his ex wife so graciously threw on the curb, meeting your shocked face with a funny joke trying to break the ice — “Honey i’m home” you are quick to let him in, concern evident on your face. “Sammy? What-” you take in the sight of his hands full of just about all his belongings and put together the pieces. “Oh sammy” you coo and run a hand down his arm with furrowed brows. You are albeit a bit quicker than you mean to be offering him a spot to sleep in your bed as it’s full size and you want him to be comfortable. As much as it actually pains Sammy to say no, he does and tells you that your pull out couch is just fine. You’ve shared a bed in your youth and having your body in such close proximity practically wrapped around his did things to him he wasn’t ready to examine at 16. He’s certain it’d cause the same if not a much worse reaction if you did it now that you two were older.
Living with you is a breeze though more than he expected it to be, he adapts so seamlessly into your routines and your life that it scares him a bit. The two of you wake around the same time, you padding out to tell him “Good morning Sammy” each time with a sweet smile before rubbing at your eyes as they adjust to the shining sun. The two of you work in tandem to make breakfast side by side before you sit together at your kitchen island. Thighs pressed together from the slightly cramped space as he ignores the semi in his boxers from just waking up, the sight of you in a little silk matching pj set not helping — and eat together as you chat about each of your plans for the day ahead. Mornings just might become his favorite at this rate if this is how they go every time.
You work the same long hours as he does too and even when he comes home later than you, you don’t nag him on where he’s been and why he was out so long. It jars him the first time he comes home late at night, spending the end half of his shift catching up on reports and all you greet him with is a sleepy smile and a hi from your spot on his makeshift bed where you laid watching a show. Acting like you definitely weren't waiting up on him. You just enjoy being able to say goodnight to him is all. He has to remind himself you aren’t Tammi, you aren’t even his wife let alone his fucking girlfriend so why would you care where he’s been? And why does the reminder of that induce an ache in his chest. He goes to sleep that night with his face shoved in one of the pillows you had been laying on. It was coated in your perfume and Sammy does his best to ignore the way your scent on his pillows affects his body.
His favorite part of living with you has to be though, the resurgence of your movie marathon nights. They are a core memory of his teenage years with you, you coming over to his house even if you did have school the next day. Sammy and you would curl up under blankets in his bedroom, popcorn and candy in hand and binge your favorite movies. Any franchise of movies the other had interest in you would watch them all together, you even forced him to watch far more rom-coms than he cares to admit. You’d have to boardline torture that information out of him. His favorite romantic comedy may or may not be, when Harry met Sally. Those nights ended shortly after he started dating Tammi without him really noticing and he never realized how badly he missed them til they started again.
Whenever his and your days off coincide he can’t help the giddy feeling he gets knowing it’ll be movie night. Going on a grocery trip with you to stock up on your favorite snacks, discussing which movies to watch as you go down the aisles. “How about the conjuring movies, I heard the fourth one is out? Think it’s the last, we can watch all four” he suggests. “Sammyyyy” you whine, “I don’t do well with scary movies you know that” you grab a package of oreos and plop them in the cart before looking back at him. All he can do is smile and hook an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him. “You’ll be alright, I'll take care of my favorite girl, you know that. Got a cop staying with you anyway, I'll keep ya’ safe” he chuckles softly, letting you go not noticing the small pout that grows on your face from the loss of his touch.
Now he does have a least favorite part of living with you. Laundry day. And it has nothing to do with the fact he has to do laundry. These days always include you bouncing around the apartment in a big t-shirt — usually an old police academy one of his. He can’t help staring at you, face flushed and his dick twitching for attention. You tell him it’s the only clean piece of clothing you could find, he lets you get away with the little white lie — because well you just look so damn cute in it. It also satisfies a small possessive spark in his bones to see you in his clothes, even if no one else does. Sammy is far more desperate than he’d confess, however to learn if you are even wearing panties under the shirt or not. Secretly he hopes you aren’t. His cock chubbing up in his jeans as he watches you bend over to pick up the large basket of dirty clothes, praying everytime that just once the t-shirt will hike up and he can catch a peak. His face turning red when you snap back up and spin around facing him, only giving him a little wave before you walk towards your small laundry room.
He’s not sure when he became so accepting of his attraction towards you. He’s known for years that it’s been there, hidden away under his ribs in a locked away part of his heart. He's never let it come so naturally before and allow himself to acknowledge it. When the two of you were 17 was the last time he let himself even indulge in the possible idea of getting to have you. Sat on an old tree that had long since fallen down in front of the creek, yours and Sammy’s spot. Pinkies intertwined with the promise of — “If we both aren’t married by 25 we will marry each other” you seal the words by both leaning down and kissing the other person's pinky. But then Sammy met Tammi shortly after and when they got married young, he took that as a sign from the universe that maybe he’d never get to really have you in the way he’d dream about. Don’t get him wrong, at some point he did love Tammi, he really did, he gave their relationship his all. Far more than he should have, he's recently learned, but he never loved her nearly as much as he loves you.
It’s been about a month of living with you when Sammy comes home one night to see you very sluggishly attempting to do the dishes. He watches as you practically move in slow motion, dragging your feet from the overflowing sink to the dishwasher after you scrub at them to get the majority of the guck off. He can tell you had a bad day as he drops his holster and keys on the entrance table before making his way to you. Your eyes rimmed in red as if you’ve been crying, your cuticles irritated from being picked at and your lips looking kissable bitten. He stops you mid scrub by wrapping a hand around your wrist. “Honey, let me do that” he whispers, tone soft and laced in worry. “Go lay down, you look like you had a hard day, i can do this” the hand not holding your wrist comes down to rub at your lower back. He seems to miss the hitch in your breath at the action before you are turning to face him. “You had a long day too and I can-”
He cuts you off, guiding you away from the sink. “I want to do it, need my favorite girl to relax” “Now go lay down” he prompts before letting you go and pushing up at the sleeves of his uniform shirt to get to work. Now from the sink out of the corner of his eye he can see you wander off slowly towards the couch or well his bed, he expected you to pad off to your room. It’s not much further than the living room but as he cleans dishes he watches you climb into the crumpled blankets of his fold out bed. He damn near drops a plate he’s holding when you bring the fabric to your nose and bury your face in it before your shoulders go slack and you sigh. The scent of him permeating the bedding acting like melatonin for your nervous system and lulling you to sleep. He ignores the thump in his heart and continues on finishing up the dishes.
Once he’s done, quietly he makes his way over to your sleeping figure. It hurts him to wake you and as much as he’d love to climb in beside you, tug you against him and knock out. He’s not 100% sure you wouldn’t smack him when you wake up to his morning wood pressed to your ass. Even if he’s come to terms with his desire for you, he’s unaware if it’s reciprocated — it completely is — and you are rather inexperienced so even if it was he’d want to take things slow if only he could ever man up and admit his feelings. Ever the coward that Sammy is though, he doesn’t have any plans to do so anytime soon. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, he rubs his first two knuckles against your cheek softly. “Gotta get up, you need to go to bed sweet girl” he whispers, doing his best not to startle you.
With a whine you slowly stir awake, your tired eyes blinking up at him making him feel horrible for waking you up. “I’d let you sleep here honey but it’s not all that comfortable” he chuckles softly, letting you use him for leverage to get off the couch. Wrapping your arm across his shoulders he lifts you up with sleepy babbles leaving your lips that Sammy can’t decipher. He guides you towards your room with a hand on your back, thumb rubbing circles against your shirt. Getting you settled in bed, maneuvering your body under your covers, he tucks you in with a kiss to your forehead. His lips linger a tad longer than intended. “I love yous sammy s’ much” you mumble out, a small twinge hits his chest, he wishes so bad you mean it in the way he feels. Before he can question sleepy you, you fall right back asleep. With a small sigh, a dopey smile on his face he rubs at your soft lips with his thumb. “I love you just as much sweet girl” he coos under his breath.
As he is walking out of your room, he catches sight of a basket of your clean clothes abandoned on the floor near the bathroom. Wanting to help you out further he picks it up, ready to carry it off back to your room. He stops in the middle of the hall however when his eyes spot a pair of your panties sitting atop, a lace black pair of your underwear. He’s exhausted, it’s wrong, he shouldn’t do it. He shouldn't take them and do all the dirty things he’s desperate to do to the tiny lacey piece of fabric he can’t stop staring at. The longer he looks at them, he forgets each reason it’s a bad idea.
His eyes flick now between the basket in his hands and your open bedroom door, as if you aren’t completely knocked out and are gonna catch him red handed. On impulse he snatches the tempting fabric from the pile and shoves them in his pocket before scurrying off to deposit the basket on your bedroom floor and leave once again. He keeps telling himself it’d be too perverted, it’s too pathetic, he shoudn’t fucking do it. But as he strips himself of his uniform and gets comfortable, he takes them out. Laying out on top of his blankets that now smell like a mixture of you and him he breaks. His cock is rock hard by now, aching and throbbing at the mental image of the skimpy lace on your body. Pushing his thumbs in the waist band of his too tight boxers he tugs them down his thick thighs to free his cock, a groan slipping out softly before wrapping your panties around himself.
The soft fabric against his red angry bulbous tip makes his hips twitch before he drags his hand down his shaft. A broken breath leaves his mouth, jerking his hand back up. A string of shaky whines and whimpers fall from his lips as he uses your clean panties to jerk off. He wishes he found a basket of your dirty clothes, the idea of your slick coated panties wrapped around his cock instead of a clean pair makes his hand speed up. “Fuck sweet girl, need you s’ bad” he cries out, his hips thrusting up to meet his fist, fucking up into it as if it really was your pussy. Though he’s sure your cunt would tighten far more around him than his own hand is.
You are awoken again when Sammy’s whimpers flood down the hall and fill your ears. “Sammy?” you question out loud, sleep and concern lacing your voice. Blinking open your eyes, your thighs squeeze together at the sounds coming from the living room. You are worried something is wrong but god damn if the noises aren’t a little hot, but they sound distressed especially as he says your name. Ripping your comforter off your body, you pull yourself from bed and trudge down the hall. “Sam-” you stop in your tracks at the sight before you. “Want you s’ bad’-” Sammy groan is cut off from where he is spread out on his makeshift bed, jerking off. Jerking off with your panties in fact, and all you can do is let out a breathless whine. “Oh fuck” he gasps out, scrambling to cover himself with a blanket.
“M’ sorry, im so so sorry fuck” he rambles out, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back, a hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “I know- god i know I'm a depraved pervert, fuck you hate me don’t you” he cries out, his thoughts now spiraling.
Slick settles in your core, without another word you walk closer to an embarrassed Sammy and tug the blanket off him. “Shit- honey what are you doing?” he questions, finally looking up to meet your drowsy but lust filled eyes. He’s speechless at sight, any excuse or words he had on the tip of his tongue gone. “Please” you plead, for what you don’t even know but Sammy seems to when he grabs ahold of your hand and lightly yanks your body to him. Crashing his lips against yours in a frantic emotion filled kiss. “Wanted you s’ bad” he mumbles into the kiss, panting into your mouth as your hand lands on his chest and drags down towards his cock. “Shit- wait baby we don’t- you don’t-” he starts to attempt to stop you from touching his leaking cock. “Want to, please Sammy wanna touch you” you cry out, your sleepy emotions getting the better of you. Pulling away from you, a string of saliva connecting your lips as he does. “Sweet girl, I-” he sighs, he hates himself right now but he needs to tell you this before anything. As badly as he wants this he can’t do it if it’s not gonna mean anything to you or worse if it will mess up the friendship.
“I can’t do this, I know you haven’t been with many people, sweet girl and i can’t, i can’t just be a risk free new experience or something. I-” “You’re not-” you start but Sammy seems to not hear you. “I love you, more than as just my best friend and i want this, want you s’ bad you have no idea” grabbing him by his chin you force his eyes on you again. “I love you Sammy, always have, why do you think we made that promise” “What-” “If that was the only way i could’ve been with you i would’ve been happy, cause i had you but you met Tammi and forgot about it” you sigh out, your heart heavy at the reminder. “I always remembered the promise honey” he whispers. You are on him again in a second, kissing him with fear and love mixed in one, your hands roaming his body, down his chest, through his hair at the base of his neck, down his arms. Sammy can’t help the way his hips buck up in the air at your touch — “Maybe we should slow down” he groans out even if his words are the last thing he wants to do. Going slow apparently flies right out of the window the second he actually has you on him.
“No” you whine out, “Don’t want slow, want you inside me.” A choked moan leaves Sammy’s mouth, pulling you on top of him, your panties he stole now covered in precum falling off his twitching cock landing somewhere in the bed. Using the leverage of his hold on you he flips you under him, smiling in the kiss when you wrap your legs around his waist. He peels his boxers the rest of the way off his legs and gets to work at tugging your slick soaked panties off you. “Ya’ have a condom somewhere in this damn apartment or something honey?” he questions, words hushed and muffled against your spit coated lips. “Don’t need one” you whine in response, lifting your hips to help him rid you of your underwear. Your words however caused him to pull away, “Wh- Why?”
You shrug — “Hasn’t been anyone for years, only wanted you.” “Fuck-” Sammy groans. “Know you’ve been tested because of Tammi so we’re okay” you finish. Sammy can’t wait a second longer, quickly making work of dragging his tip down your folds before pushing every inch inside you. Not giving you much of a moment to react or adjust as he pulls his hips back and thrusts inside you, staring down at you with love sick eyes. “Mm fuck!” you moan out at your pussy stretching around him. Slipping his hands down he grabs onto your hips, leaning down pressing his tummy to yours as he drills into. Whispering in your ear as his cock slams into your g-spot— “Gonna make my favorite girl cum around my cock, then im taking ya’ on a proper date tomorrow baby” He finally got his girl, he’s never letting you go now.
→ a/n: rushed the smut at the end cause i was losing my writing flow state and it’s 5:30 am by the time i’m finishing this up. proofread but might’ve missed mistakes.
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Request - Hello hello Miss Paige! I'm not quite sure if your requests are open but if they are I was wondering if I could request a dr Robby x wife reader they've been trying to get pregnant but she's infertile then one day he actually adopts baby Jane doe as their own! I just loved they way he was with that baby girl and I couldn't help but think of your fics🩷
The alarm would go off at six. You would groan dramatically, tugging the comforter over your head while Robby muttered something unintelligible into his pillow beside you. It happened every weekday without fail. He worked twelve-hour shifts saving lives in one of Pittsburgh’s busiest emergency departments, and yet somehow the trauma attending who could bark orders through a mass casualty incident became an absolute menace whenever his alarm clock dared interrupt his sleep.
“Michael,” you’d mumble.
“No.”
“You have to go to work.”
“I’ve thought about it. I don’t.”
You’d laugh into the pillow before reaching over him to silence the alarm yourself.
“You have patients.”
“They’ll understand.”
“I don’t think they will.”
He’d sigh theatrically before finally rolling onto his back, rubbing both hands over his face. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side. My side just also likes having electricity.”
That would earn you one sleepy glare before he reached over, caught your wrist, and tugged you back against him for one more minute.
“Five,” he’d negotiate.
“One.”
“Four.”
“Two.”
He kissed you.
“Deal.”
Those two extra minutes always turned into ten. By six-thirty the house smelled like coffee instead of sleep. You stood barefoot in the kitchen wearing one of Robby’s old Pitt Medical Center hoodies while scrambling eggs, your hair twisted into a messy clip that never survived the morning. Robby wandered in freshly showered, smoothing his black scrub top over a blue undershirt.
“You stealing my clothes again?” he asked.
“I married you. They’re community property.”
“I don’t think that’s how marriage works.”
“It is in Pennsylvania.”
He snorted, pouring himself coffee before leaning against the counter to watch you.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’ve got that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you’re about to ask me to do something.”
You smiled innocently. “The museum’s getting a Roman exhibit delivered today.”
“Mhm.”
“And the shipping company insists everything has to be unloaded before eight.”
“Mhm.”
“And I might’ve volunteered to help move a two-thousand-year-old marble bust.”
“…Absolutely not.”
“It only weighs—”
“I don’t care if it weighs two pounds.”
“It weighs…” You hesitated.
His eyebrow rose.
“…One hundred and forty.”
He stared at you.
“Sweetheart.”
“I wasn’t going to carry it by myself.”
“You weren’t going to touch it.”
“I am literally the curator.”
“You’re literally five-foot-seven.”
“I am capable.”
He stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of you, one hand wrapping around your waist while the other brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“I know you are.” His voice softened. “But I also know you throw your back out reaching for cereal on the top shelf.”
“I did that once.”
“It was last month.”
“It was embarrassing enough the first time.”
“I carried you downstairs.”
“You laughed.”
“I absolutely did.”
You smacked his chest. He kissed you anyway. It was easy. That was your favorite thing about loving Michael Robinavich. Nothing between the two of you ever felt forced. Not after five years together. Not after nearly three years of marriage.
Life wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t some grand romance full of extravagant gestures. It was grocery lists on the refrigerator. It was him bringing home the good sourdough because he’d remembered you’d mentioned it three weeks earlier. It was you texting him reminders to eat something besides coffee and vending machine pretzels. It was ordinary. Beautifully ordinary. Except…
For the calendar hidden inside the junk drawer. After Robby left for work, you stood in the kitchen for a long moment before quietly opening it. A small planner. Nothing fancy. Just dates. Tiny circles. Little hearts. Doctor’s notes. Ovulation windows. Expected periods. Pregnancy tests.
Six months. Six months of timing dinners around fertile windows. Six months of joking about how unromantic phone reminders could be. Six months of buying tests in bulk because somehow that hurt less than buying one. You’d promised each other you weren’t going to obsess. You were failing spectacularly.
******
The museum was quieter than usual that afternoon. Children wandered through the dinosaur exhibit while a retired couple asked thoughtful questions about an upcoming Impressionist collection. Normally, the work grounded you. You loved watching people discover something they’d never noticed before. History had a way of reminding everyone that time kept moving. Today, though your phone buzzed.
Michael ❤️
How’s Caesar?
You smiled despite yourself.
Roman exhibit survived. Curator still alive.
His reply came almost immediately.
Good. I would’ve hated explaining to your parents that you lost a fight with Julius Caesar.
It was Augustus.
History nerd.
Trauma nerd.
Three bouncing dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then came one final message.
Don’t make plans tonight.
Your stomach fluttered.
Why?
Because I’m taking my wife to dinner.
Special occasion?
There was a pause before his answer came through.
No. Just miss you.
Your eyes stung unexpectedly. Not because anything was wrong. Because everything was still so right. Even with the quiet disappointment that arrived every month, he had never let this become about obligation. He still flirted. He still stole kisses in the kitchen. He still reached for your hand whenever the two of you crossed a street.
He never made you feel like your marriage was becoming a checklist. And somehow that almost made the ache worse.
******
Dinner ended with the two of you sharing cheesecake because Robby insisted ordering two desserts was “financially irresponsible.”
“You make more than enough money to buy two slices.”
“That’s exactly how rich people become poor.”
You laughed.
“You have absolutely no evidence to support that.”
“I have vibes.”
“You have anxiety.”
“I have both.”
When you got home, the evening settled into its familiar rhythm. You changed into pajamas. He stretched out beside you on the couch. Some terrible reality competition played in the background that neither of you was actually watching. Eventually your head found his shoulder. His fingers absentmindedly traced circles across the back of your hand.
“Hey?” he said quietly.
“Mhm?”
“When does your period start?”
You looked down at your intertwined fingers.
“Tomorrow.”
Silence. Not awkward. Just…heavy. He squeezed your hand once.
“Maybe this month it won’t?”
You smiled. Not because you believed it anymore. But because he still did.
“…Maybe this month.”
Neither of you noticed that neither answer sounded quite as hopeful as it had six months before.
******
The pregnancy test sat face down on the bathroom counter. Neither of you had touched it in nearly twenty minutes. There wasn’t any reason to. You already knew what it said. You had known before you’d even taken it.
Negative. Again.
You leaned against the vanity with your arms folded tightly across your stomach, staring at the white subway tile on the opposite wall as though if you looked long enough, it would somehow rearrange itself into different news. Behind you, the bedroom remained quiet. Robby hadn’t come in. He never did. Not unless you asked. It wasn’t avoidance. It was respect.
The bathroom had become your space every month. Your place to breathe, to process, to cry if you needed to without feeling like someone was trying to make the disappointment disappear before you were ready. A soft knock came against the door.
“You okay?”
His voice was gentle. You closed your eyes.
“…No.”
The door opened just enough for him to peek inside. He didn’t ask about the test. He didn’t have to. His eyes found yours before they drifted briefly toward the counter. One glance. That was enough.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
He crossed the room slowly, giving you every opportunity to tell him to stop. Instead, you stepped into him. His arms wrapped around you automatically, one hand settling against the back of your head while the other rested low against your back.
Neither of you spoke. There wasn’t anything left to say that hadn’t already been said during the last six months.
“I’m tired,” you whispered into his T-shirt.
“I know.”
“I’m so tired of hoping.”
“I know.”
“It feels stupid now.”
“It isn’t.”
“It does.”
He kissed the top of your head.
“No,” he murmured. “It feels human.”
Your breathing hitched.
“I keep thinking…” You swallowed hard. “Maybe I did something wrong years ago. Maybe I waited too long. Maybe—”
“No.”
His answer came immediately. Firm. Certain. You pulled back enough to look at him.
“No,” he repeated. “We’re not doing that.”
“But—”
“We’re not.” His thumbs brushed beneath your eyes. “You don’t get to blame yourself for biology.”
“I just don’t understand.”
“I know.”
“I’ve done everything.”
“I know.”
“I track everything.”
“I know.”
“I stopped drinking wine.”
“I noticed.”
“I even switched shampoo because some woman online said—”
His mouth twitched despite himself.
“You switched shampoo?”
“It had three million views.”
“You let TikTok make medical decisions?”
“It was a vulnerable moment.”
That earned the smallest laugh from both of you. Tiny. Fragile. But real. Robby rested his forehead against yours.
“We’re making an appointment.”
You nodded.
“I think…” you whispered. “I think it’s time.”
******
The fertility clinic didn’t smell like a hospital. It smelled like lavender. Someone had clearly decided soft lighting and watercolor paintings would somehow make difficult conversations easier. You weren’t convinced.
Robby sat beside you in the waiting room, one knee bouncing almost imperceptibly. Most people assumed he was unshakable. You knew better. His tells were microscopic. The bouncing knee. The way he rolled his wedding band around his finger. The fact that he’d read the same magazine page three times without turning it. He looked over.
“You want to leave?”
You almost laughed.
“You think we’d make it to the parking garage?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
He reached across the armrest, quietly intertwining your fingers. When the nurse finally called your names, he didn’t let go.
The appointment lasted just under an hour. There were questions. Medical history. Blood work. Imaging. Follow-up testing over the next several weeks. Life carried on around those appointments.
You curated exhibits. Robby worked shifts. You still laughed. Still made dinner together. Still argued over whose turn it was to fold laundry. But beneath everything…There was waiting. Until one rainy Thursday afternoon. The doctor’s office overlooked downtown Pittsburgh. Gray clouds pressed against the windows while traffic crawled several stories below. The physician sat across from both of you with a folder resting on her lap. She wasn’t rushed. You appreciated that.
“We have your results.”
Your stomach dropped. She explained everything carefully. The findings. The diagnosis. The statistics. The possibilities. She talked about specialists. IVF. Egg donation. Embryo adoption. Surrogacy. Future conversations. Words continued filling the room.nYou heard them. You just couldn’t seem to hold onto them. Because one sentence kept echoing louder than the rest.
“The likelihood of conceiving naturally is extremely low.”
The office became impossibly quiet. You looked down at your hands.
“…Okay.”
It came out barely above a whisper. The doctor nodded sympathetically.
“I’m very sorry.”
You smiled automatically. The same polite smile you’d perfected through years of museum galas and donor dinners.
“Thank you.”
Beside you, Robby asked thoughtful questions. The kind he always asked. Clarifying. Respectful. Professional. You barely registered the conversation.
The drive home was silent. Not uncomfortable. Rain tapped softly against the windshield while Pittsburgh blurred past in streaks of gray. Robby kept one hand on the steering wheel. The other rested quietly between the seats. Palm up.
Waiting.
You slipped your hand into his halfway across one of the bridges. He squeezed once. Neither of you spoke.
You didn’t make dinner. Neither of you was hungry. The takeout containers sat unopened on the kitchen counter while evening slowly settled over the house. You changed into one of Robby’s old sweatshirts before wandering into the living room.
He found you sitting on the floor. Your back leaned against the couch.nYour knees hugged tightly against your chest.nHe didn’t ask permission. He simply sat beside you. Close enough that your shoulders touched. For several minutes…
Nothing. The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked steadily. Cars passed outside. Rain continued falling.
“I feel broken.”
His eyes closed.
“…Don’t say that.”
“I do.”
“You aren’t broken.”
“I can’t do the one thing my body’s supposed to—”
“Baby, stop.”
His voice wasn’t loud. It was pleading. You looked over. His eyes were already wet.
“I need you to listen to me for a minute.”
You nodded silently. He turned toward you completely.
“I married you because you make me laugh when I’ve had the worst day of my life.”
A tear slipped down your cheek.
“I married you because you can spend forty-five minutes explaining why one painting belongs in a different room, and somehow I end up caring.”
Another tear followed.
“I married you because you dance in this kitchen while you’re making grilled cheese.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I sway.”
“You choreograph.” His own voice cracked. “I didn’t marry you because I thought you’d give me children.”
He reached up, brushing away another tear with the pad of his thumb.
“I married you because you’re my favorite person.”
Your lip trembled.
“If our family ends up being just us…” He shrugged gently. “Then I won.”
You broke. Not quietly. Not gracefully. The sob tore out of your chest before you could stop it. You buried your face against his shoulder while he wrapped both arms around you, holding you so tightly it almost hurt.
“I’m sorry,” you cried.
“So am I.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head immediately
“For everything.”
He gently cupped your face until you had no choice but to look at him.
“There is nothing—” his voice caught before he steadied it, “—nothing for you to apologize to me for. We lost something today. We did. You’re not alone in this.”
Your tears kept falling.
“I don’t know what happens next.”
He smiled sadly.
“…Neither do I.”
The honesty of it settled between you. No promises. No false hope. Just truth. After a long silence, he rested his forehead against yours.
“We don’t have to decide anything tonight.”
You nodded.
“Not IVF.”
Another nod.
“Not adoption.”
You closed your eyes.
“Not fostering.”
His thumb stroked your cheek.
“We’re allowed to just…be sad for a while.”
You reached for his hand, weaving your fingers through his.
“…Okay.”
He kissed your forehead. Then your temple. Then your cheek. Finally, he whispered the only promise he knew he could keep.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Outside, the rain continued to fall against the windows. Inside, two people sat on the living room floor grieving the future they had imagined, completely unaware that, months from now, a tiny little baby with no name, no family, and nowhere else to go would quietly change both of their lives forever.
******
The museum had closed nearly two hours ago. You’d spent the evening cataloging a recent donation—a collection of handwritten Civil War letters that had somehow survived more than a century tucked inside an attic trunk. Usually, work like that settled your mind. It required patience. Precision. Quiet.
Tonight, though, you couldn’t focus. Your eyes kept drifting toward the clock hanging above your office door.
9:17 p.m.
Robby should’ve been home an hour ago. You knew better than to worry immediately. The emergency department didn’t run on schedules, and Michael Robinavich certainly didn’t leave simply because the clock told him he could.
Still…You sent a text.
You: Alive?
No response. You sighed, slipping your phone back into your purse before locking your office and making your way through the empty museum. Outside, the July air was warm, the city humming softly around you. By the time you reached home, the sun had disappeared completely.
The house was dark. You kicked off your shoes, changed into leggings and one of Robby’s old T-shirts, and started making grilled cheese sandwiches. One for you. One for him. You’d learned long ago that after difficult shifts, he almost never admitted he was hungry.
He’d simply wander into the kitchen and steal yours. You smiled to yourself. Some habits never changed.
******
It was nearly midnight when headlights finally swept across the living room wall. You looked up from the couch.
“…Jesus.”
You hurried to the front door before he’d even reached it. When it opened, the first thing you noticed wasn’t the infant carrier sitting beside his feet. It was him.
His shoulders sagged beneath his jacket. His hair was flattened in odd directions from repeatedly dragging his hands through it. Dark circles shadowed his eyes. He looked…
Empty. Not physically. Emotionally. Like someone had quietly taken pieces of him throughout the day and forgotten to give them back.
“Michael…”
His eyes found yours. For a second…you saw them soften with relief.
“Hey.”
His voice was hoarse.
“You okay?”
He gave a tired shrug.
“I don’t know.”
Your heart cracked. Then your eyes drifted downward.
“…Honey?”
He followed your gaze.
“Oh.”
As though he’d forgotten.
“There…there’s a baby.” You blinked. “…Michael.”
“I know.”
“…Michael.”
“I know.”
You stared at the infant carrier. Then back at your husband.
“…Whose baby is that?”
He scrubbed both hands over his exhausted face.
“I honestly don’t know.”
“…What?”
He stepped inside, carefully lifting the carrier before nudging the front door closed with his foot. The little girl inside couldn’t have been more than a few months old. She was asleep. One tiny fist tucked beneath her cheek. Dark eyelashes resting against impossibly round little cheeks. Your entire body instinctively softened.
“Oh…”
Robby carefully set the carrier on the living room rug before crouching beside it. He didn’t look at the baby. He looked at the floor.
“It was a hell of a shift.”
You quietly sat beside him. He took a long breath.
“They found her.” You waited. “Wrapped in a blanket.”
Another silence.
“No identification. No diaper bag. No note.” His jaw tightened. “Nothing.”
You reached for his hand. He accepted it immediately.
“CPS has been trying to locate family all day.” He swallowed. “Nobody’s come.”
Your eyes drifted back toward the sleeping infant.
“So…”
“So hospital policy allows temporary emergency placement with qualified caregivers when…” He rubbed a hand over his eyes again. “When there isn’t an immediate placement available.”
He laughed once. It wasn’t amused.
“They asked if I’d take her overnight.”
“You said yes.”
“I didn’t even think.”
His voice sounded almost apologetic.
“I just…” He looked at the baby. “…I couldn’t leave her there.”
You smiled sadly. His shoulders slumped even further.
“I know that’s insane. I have absolutely no business bringing an infant home after today.”
“You brought her somewhere safe.”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“You keep premature babies alive for a living.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“They leave. They go home.”
The words escaped before he could stop them. Silence settled between you. He immediately regretted saying it.
“I’m sorry.”
You shook your head.
“No.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” You scooted closer until your shoulder rested against his. “I know what you meant.”
He nodded once. Barely. After another long silence, he finally whispered…
“I lost three people today.”
Your breath caught.
“I had to tell an old friend he’s got cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And then…” His eyes landed on the baby’s again. “…There she was.”
The tiny baby stretched in her sleep, making the smallest little sigh.
“I kept walking past her room all day.” His voice cracked. “Every time I walked by…”
He laughed bitterly.
“She’d just…look at me.”
You listened.
“I don’t know why.” He shook his head. “I’d stop for thirty seconds. Talk to her. Make a bottle. Rock her. Then I’d get called away again.”
His fingers curled tightly together.
“I don’t even like pediatrics.”
That earned the tiniest smile from you.
“I know.”
“I barely tolerate healthy adults.”
“I definitely know.”
“But…” He stared at the sleeping infant. “…She didn’t have anyone.”
His voice broke completely on that sentence. You’d seen Michael cry exactly three times in your marriage. This wasn’t quite crying.nIt was something quieter. The exhaustion of a man whose heart had simply reached capacity.
Without saying a word, you wrapped both arms around him. He leaned into you immediately. His forehead rested against your shoulder. For several minutes neither of you moved. The only sound in the room was the baby’s tiny, steady breathing. Eventually, Robby exhaled shakily.
“I don’t think I can keep doing this forever.”
You knew he wasn’t talking about the baby. He was talking about the emergency department. About the endless losses.nThe impossible expectations. The depression he’d been carrying for months. You kissed the top of his head.
“You don’t have to figure that out tonight.”
“No?”
“Tonight…” You glanced toward the little girl sleeping peacefully between you. “…Tonight we just keep her safe.”
He looked over. Really looked. At the baby. A faint smile touched his lips for the first time all day.
“Yeah.”
He reached into the carrier, carefully sliding one finger into the baby’s tiny hand. She wrapped all five little fingers around it instinctively. Robby froze.
“…Well,” he whispered, sounding almost awestruck.
“I think she likes you.”
He let out the softest laugh.
“I’ve had tougher patients.”
You grinned.
“That’s a bold statement. She hasn’t even had dinner yet.”
Almost as if on cue, the baby’s face scrunched. One tiny whimper escaped. Then another. Robby looked at you. You looked at him. Neither of you moved.
“…Do you know how to make a bottle?” you asked.
He blinked.
“…Do you know how to make a bottle?”
“…No.”
“…Huh.”
The baby’s whimpers quickly escalated into full-fledged cries. You both sprang into motion at exactly the same time, bumping shoulders before staring at each other. Despite everything…Despite the grief. The infertility. The horrific shift. The depression weighing on his shoulders. You both started laughing.
It wasn’t because anything was funny. It was because for the first time in months…The two of you weren’t thinking about what your future might never be. You were simply trying to comfort a tiny little girl who, for one night at least, had somehow found her way home.
******
Three days.
It was only supposed to be one. You’d both known that from the beginning. One night. Then Child Protective Services would find an emergency foster placement, and Baby Jane Doe would continue whatever uncertain journey had begun before either of you ever met her. Except…the emergency placement had fallen through. Then another. Then another. Paperwork. Background checks. A family illness. A home that suddenly couldn’t accommodate an infant. Every morning someone called. Every afternoon they apologized. Every evening the baby was still there.
******
By the fourth morning, she had quietly become…
Jane.
Neither of you remembered when you’d stopped calling her Baby Jane Doe. It had simply happened. Like calling a stranger by their first name after enough conversations.
“You spoil her.”
You looked over from the kitchen. Robby stood in the living room with Jane tucked against his shoulder, slowly pacing barefoot across the hardwood floor while she chewed determinedly on the collar of his T-shirt.
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
“I’m preventing emotional distress.”
“She’s asleep.”
“I’m preventing future emotional distress.”
You laughed.
“I don’t think she understands your preventative medicine.”
“I don’t think you understand babies.”
“I have books.”
“I have a baby.”
You rolled your eyes dramatically.
“God, you’re insufferable.”
“And yet…” He smiled for the first time in what felt like weeks. “…you married me anyway.”
The smile looked different now. Lighter. Not because everything in his life had suddenly become okay. The emergency department was still exhausting him. Some mornings he still sat in his car for several minutes before walking inside. Some nights he came home quieter than usual. The depression hadn’t disappeared. But…Jane seemed to interrupt it.
She gave him something that didn’t ask him to save the impossible. She only asked for a bottle. Or a diaper. Or someone to hold her. For the first time in months, you watched your husband care for someone without the weight of wondering whether they’d survive until morning.
Later that evening, Jane finally fell asleep after what felt like an hour of determinedly refusing to admit she was tired. You laughed quietly as Robby tiptoed out of the nursery you’d hastily assembled in the guest room.
“You know she weighs maybe twelve pounds.”
He nodded solemnly.
“And?”
“You walk like she’s made of glass.”
“I think she’s offended by your tone.”
“I think you’re ridiculous.”
“I’ve accepted that.”
He followed you into the living room. The television played softly in the background. Neither of you paid attention. The baby monitor rested on the coffee table between two mugs of tea. Robby stared at it. Longer than necessary. You noticed.
“What?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead…He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The silence stretched.
“I got a call today.”
Your stomach tightened.
“About Jane?”
He nodded.
“CPS.”
You instinctively looked toward the hallway. As though someone might already be there to take her.
“They’re still looking.”
You swallowed.
“Oh.”
“No family has come forward.”
You nodded once.
“They’re expanding the search.”
“Okay.”
“They’re beginning discussions about long-term placement if that doesn’t change.”
Your heart started pounding. You knew where this conversation was going. Or maybe…You hoped you didn’t. Robby rubbed both hands together.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“So have I.”
“I know.”
Silence settled again. He looked at you. Really looked at you.
“…Can I ask you something?”
“You never have to ask.”
He smiled faintly.
“I think I do.”
You reached across the couch, taking his hand.
“Ask.”
He took a slow breath.
“…What if we tried?”
Your eyes immediately filled.
“You mean…”
“I mean…” His voice softened. “…What if we asked if we could become her permanent placement?”
The room became impossibly quiet. You looked toward the hallway again. Toward the tiny little girl asleep in the next room.
“I’ve been trying not to think about it.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been telling myself she’s only here temporarily.”
“I know.”
“I’ve been telling myself not to get attached.”
“I know.”
Another tear slid down your cheek.
“I think I failed.”
His thumb brushed the back of your hand.
“I failed too.”
You laughed through your tears.
“I love her.”
“So do I.”
“I shouldn’t already.”
“I know.”
You wiped quickly at your face.
“But…” Your voice trembled. “I’m scared.”
His expression softened immediately.
“I know.”
“No…” You shook your head. “don’t mean scared of being a parent.”
“I know what you mean, baby.”
“I’m scared they’ll take her.”
He didn’t interrupt.
“I’m scared her mother will come back.”
Another tear escaped.
“And if she’s healthy and safe and ready…” You swallowed hard. “…then they should.”
He nodded immediately.
“They should.”
“I’m scared we’ll fall completely in love with her…” Your voice cracked. “…and then we’ll have to hand her to someone else.”
He closed his eyes.
“I know.”
“I don’t know if I can survive losing another child.”
The words hung between you. Raw. Honest. He shifted closer until your knees touched.
“I’ve thought about that every single day.”
“You have?”
He nodded.
“Every day.” He looked toward the hallway. “I also think about the possibility that she doesn’t have anyone.”
You followed his gaze.
“What if…” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “…what if we’re supposed to be her someone?”
You covered your mouth. Immediately, tears spilled over.
“I can’t promise you this works.” He reached up, gently pulling your hand away so he could hold it. “I can’t promise CPS says yes.”
You nodded.
“I can’t promise her biological family won’t be found.”
Another nod.
“I can’t promise we won’t get hurt.”
You squeezed his hand so tightly your knuckles turned white.
“But…” He smiled sadly. “…I’d rather have my heart broken trying to love her than spend the rest of my life wondering if we should’ve.”
You stared at him. The man who had spent months reminding you that your worth had never depended on having children. The man who had quietly carried a little abandoned girl through your front door because he couldn’t bear the thought of her spending another night alone. The man who still came home haunted by the emergency department and somehow still found enough gentleness left inside himself to rock a baby to sleep. You leaned forward until your forehead rested against his.
“…I want to try.”
His breath caught.
“I know it might not happen.”
“Right.”
“I know we could lose her.”
“Right.”
“I know this could absolutely destroy us.”
He smiled through eyes that had begun to glisten.
“It could.”
You laughed softly.
“You’re supposed to talk me out of this.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“No?”
He shook his head.
“I’ve been picturing teaching her how to ride a bike.”
Your heart shattered all over again.
“I’ve been picturing taking her to the museum.”
He chuckled quietly.
“She’ll probably hate museums.”
“She’ll pretend to like them because I love them.”
“And then she’ll beg me for ice cream afterward.”
“Which you’ll absolutely buy.”
“Obviously.”
You smiled through tears.
“So…”
He squeezed your hand.
“So…”
“We ask?”
He looked toward the hallway one last time before looking back at you.
“We ask.”
Neither of you realized it then, but that simple decision made on a quiet evening over cooling cups of tea while a baby monitor hummed softly between you, would become the moment your family truly began. Not because the paperwork had been signed. Not because the law had changed.
But because, for the first time, the future you were imagining had a little girl in it. And neither of you could imagine it any other way.
******
The courthouse was smaller than you’d imagined. After months of paperwork, home studies, interviews, fingerprinting, reference letters, background checks, meetings with social workers, sleepless nights, impossible waiting, and more than one phone call that had left both you and Robby convinced everything was about to fall apart, it somehow came down to an ordinary brick building tucked between a law office and a coffee shop in downtown Pittsburgh. It felt underwhelming.
The biggest day of your life had fluorescent lighting. You adjusted Jane’s little cream-colored cardigan for what had to be the tenth time that morning. She immediately tugged it crooked again.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
You laughed quietly, trying to smooth it back into place.
“You know I’m going to keep fixing that until we go inside.”
Jane looked up at you with the enormous brown eyes that had somehow become capable of melting every ounce of stress from your body. Then she grinned. Not a polite smile. Not a baby smile. One of those giant, uninhibited grins that showed every tiny tooth she’d managed to grow over the past year.
“Mama!”
Your chest tightened. Every single time. She’d started calling you Mama nearly four months ago. Not because anyone had taught her. Not because you’d encouraged it. One morning while you were making blueberry pancakes she’d simply crawled into the kitchen, wrapped both arms around your leg and announced—
“Mama.”
You’d cried so hard that Robby had nearly burned breakfast. Even now It still didn’t feel real. You scooped her into your arms, pressing a kiss against her soft curls.
“Hi, baby.”
Tiny fingers immediately found the necklace around your neck. Her favorite game. You let her play. Across the room, Robby emerged from the courthouse hallway with two cups of coffee balanced carefully in one hand.
He’d traded his scrubs for a navy suit that looked as though he’d forgotten how to wear anything besides scrubs. His tie sat ever so slightly crooked. You smiled.
“You know…”
He handed you one of the coffees.
“…you’re the only trauma attending in Pittsburgh who somehow still can’t tie a Windsor knot.”
“I can.”
“You absolutely cannot.”
“I choose not to.”
“You called Langdon this morning.”
“…I did.”
“To tie your tie.”
“He has surprisingly useful life skills.”
You laughed.
“He also showed up thirty minutes early just to make fun of you.”
“I regret asking.”
As though summoned by the conversation, Langdon appeared from farther down the hallway carrying a gift bag with cartoon dinosaurs printed across the side.
“I heard my name.”
“You usually do,” Robby muttered.
Langdon ignored him entirely, crouching down in front of Jane.
“And who is this beautiful little troublemaker?”
Jane immediately reached for him.
“Nope.” Langdon stood back up. “I changed my mind.”
Robby smirked.
“Smartest thing you’ve said all year.”
“You’ve been changing diapers for six months.”
“I have.”
“And you’re judging me?”
“I absolutely am.”
“You’ve become unbearable.”
“I’ve become a father.”
The words slipped out so naturally that none of you reacted at first. Not Langdon. Not you. Not even Robby. It wasn’t until several seconds later that his own expression changed. His eyes blinked once. Then twice.
“…Huh.”
You looked at him. He looked back.
“I guess I have.”
The smile that spread across his face wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t accompanied by tears. It was simply…Peace. A kind of quiet peace you hadn’t seen in him for a very long time. The emergency department still exhausted him. Some shifts still left him sitting in the driveway with both hands on the steering wheel before he found the energy to come inside. There were still difficult days. Still nights where the weight of everything he’d seen settled heavily across his shoulders. But there was something different now.
He came home. And Jane came babbling down the hallway mumbling, “Dada!”
Every. Single. Time. No matter what kind of shift he’d had. No matter how broken he felt. There was always one tiny human being who believed he had just hung the moon.
It hadn’t cured his depression. It hadn’t erased the hospital. But it had reminded him that life existed outside those walls.
******
The courtroom itself was intimate. No jury. No spectators. Just a judge, your attorney, the county representative, your social worker, and a handful of people who loved the three of you enough to take time away from their own lives.
Dana sat in the second row with tissues already in her lap. Jack was openly crying before anyone had even spoken. Langdon leaned over.
“I’ve got twenty bucks that Robinavich cries first.”
“You don’t have twenty dollars.”
“I could.”
“Your broke ass would never.”
The judge looked over her glasses.
“Gentlemen.”
Langdon immediately straightened.
“Sorry, Your Honor.”
Robby didn’t even pretend he’d been participating. The hearing wasn’t long. Questions. Confirmations. Paperwork. The social worker smiled as she spoke about your home. About Jane. About the stability she’d found. About the way she’d blossomed over the previous time with you and Robby.
The judge asked you both why you wanted to adopt. You answered first. Your voice trembled.
“I spent a long time grieving the family I thought we’d have.”
You looked toward Jane, happily stacking blocks on the courtroom floor while Dana helped her.
“And then she walked into our lives.” A tear slipped free. “I don’t believe she’s replacing anything.”
You smiled.
“I think she’s simply become something completely her own.”
The judge nodded before looking toward Robby.
“And you, Doctor Robinavich?”
He sat quietly for a moment. Anyone who knew Michael knew that silence. It meant he was searching for exactly the right words.
“I’ve spent most of my career meeting people on the worst day of their lives.”
The room grew still.
“I fix what I can.” His fingers found yours beneath the table. “And I carry what I can’t.”
His thumb brushed across your wedding ring.
“The day Jane came into the emergency department…” He glanced toward the little girl laughing with Dana. “…she needed someone.”
His voice grew quieter.
“I thought I was saying yes for one night.” He smiled. “Turns out…”
He looked at you.
“…I was saying yes to the rest of my life.”
There wasn’t a dry eye left in the courtroom. Not even the judge’s.
The final signature looked…ordinary. Ink on paper. Nothing more. The judge smiled warmly before sliding the documents across the desk.
“Congratulations.”
She looked toward Jane.
“As of this moment…” She tapped the paperwork once. “…she is officially your daughter.”
Silence. For one suspended heartbeat…No one moved. Then you heard tiny slaps pattering across the hardwood floor. Jane had abandoned her blocks. She crawled straight toward the two of you with complete confidence.
“Dada!”
Robby bent instinctively, scooping her into his arms before she could even come to a stop herself. She laughed. One of those loud baby laughs that filled every corner of the courtroom. Then she looked over at you. Tiny hands reached.
“Mama.”
You stepped beside them, wrapping one arm around Robby’s waist while the other settled gently against Jane’s little back. She fit there so perfectly. As though she’d always belonged between you. Robby looked down at her. His jaw tightened. You recognized it immediately. The tears.bHe was fighting them. Hard. You smiled softly.
“You don’t have to hold it together.”
“I know.”
“You’ve earned this.”
“I know.” His voice cracked anyway. “I just…”
He swallowed.
“I kept thinking someone was going to tell us no.”
Your own tears spilled freely now.
“So did I.”
He rested his forehead against yours, Jane giggling happily because she was suddenly trapped in the middle of a hug. Neither of you cared.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too.”
He looked down at Jane.
“And I love you.”
Jane’s response was immediate.
“Dada!”
Robby laughed. A real laugh. Not the tired chuckle he’d forced through difficult shifts. Not the dry sarcasm everyone at the hospital knew. A full, genuine laugh that reached his eyes. Langdon clapped dramatically from behind you.
“Well…” He sniffed loudly. “This is disgusting.”
Dana elbowed him.
“You’ve cried through the entire hearing.”
“I have allergies.”
“In February?”
“Very aggressive allergies.”
Everyone laughed. Even the judge.
******
Outside, Pittsburgh greeted you with one of those perfect spring afternoons that made the city glow. Someone suggested lunch. Someone else suggested pictures. Jane decided she’d rather scream at pigeons across the courthouse steps. You watched as Robby carry her, hands half-outstretched. Not because he thought he’d drop her, but because that was simply what fathers did.
She squealed with delight as birds scattered into the air. He laughed again. You stood there for a long moment, committing the image to memory.bA year ago, you’d sat on your living room floor believing your family might never grow. A year ago, Robby had walked through your front door carrying an exhausted little girl in an infant carrier after the hardest shift of his life. Neither of you had understood that hope sometimes arrived quietly.nNot with grand announcements. Not with certainty. Sometimes it arrived wrapped in a faded hospital blanket, sleeping peacefully through the chaos around her.
Robby turned back toward you, Jane balanced securely on his hip. She stretched one tiny arm toward you.
“Mama!”
He smiled.
“Think she’s looking for you.”
You walked over, slipping your hand into his. Jane immediately wrapped one tiny hand around your finger. The other closed around Robby’s. Satisfied, she sighed dramatically.
“Yesh.”
Robby chuckled.
“Yes?”
She nodded with absolute conviction.
“Yesh.”
You looked at your husband. At your daughter. At the little hand linking the two of you together. And for the first time in a very long time, the future didn’t feel like something to mourn. It felt like something waiting patiently to be lived. The three of you started down the courthouse steps together.
Not because every question had been answered. Not because life would suddenly become easy. But because, after everything you’d lost, everything you’d feared, and everything you’d survived…you were finally going home.
