I BEG YOUR FINEST PARDON???

now, just how necessary was this shot? (very. the answer is very.)

a guard dog with a death wish | jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!widow!reader warnings: EXTREME ANGST. like seriously. reader is very distraught. death of a partner, mention of suicidal ideation, language, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late 20s/early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), there will be an eventual happy ending <3 word count: 2.6k summary: at a grief support group that you never wanted to attend in the first place, jack abbot finds you, and pulls you up by your-- admittedly-- quite sad and pathetic boot straps. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with any of my work or this fic. yay i've finally posted a new fic!!! this is the first part of a new series! yay! not a ton of jack x reader in this part, but it lays the ground work for what is to come <3 i sincerely hope you all enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3 parts that are to follow may be non-linear on reader's healing journey, but i haven't gotten that far yet so we'll just have to see hehe

the thing that no one thought to warn you about grief is that, a year may pass since the worst moment of your entire life, and you’ll still pat yourself on the back when you get yourself to swallow a bowl of fruity pebbles. the thing they didn’t think to tell you is that two hours of sleep will seem like a miracle– bonus points if the two hours are continuous. the thing that they should put in the pamphlet is that your world is going to end, but everyone else is going to, somehow, miraculously, be so much more put together than you.

you ascertained that you were not doing this whole grief thing right six months ago. when the looks that you received stopped being empathetic, and began to be outright concern. when the texts were more frantic. when it was easier to disconnect from all of it– friends, family, loved ones. how could you explain this feeling to them?

how could you explain that your heart was living somewhere else, outside of your body, so far out of your grasp? how could you explain that every night a future that was never yours, could never be yours, played on a loop in your brain until you were reduced to hot, angry tears? how could you explain any of this to someone and have them understand it, understand you?

it’s not like you thought you were the only person in the world who was grieving tucker. it felt like the whole world was grieving him– that was the type of person he was. but he was your person, first and foremost. he was the person who you sat on the couch with and watched survivor every wednesday night. he was the person who always put the groceries away. he was the person that you lived your mundane little life with– it wasn’t perfect. you didn’t need it to be perfect. that fact that you shared it with him was all that you needed.

it was tucker’s mom who sent you the information for the grief support group. there was a pang of emotion when you saw the text– you hadn’t even seen her since the funeral. you knew, deep down, that she understood. but it didn’t make your feelings of frustration with yourself dissipate.

she could get herself together, and she gave birth to tucker. you were falling apart while she held herself together. it was embarrassing.

the invitation, most likely created on canva, was sent to you in a well-meaning text alongside the words, he loved you more than anyone, or anything. he wouldn’t want you to live like this. if you won’t talk to anyone you know, talk to someone you don’t.

the words, as tough-loved as they were designed to be, didn’t bring you any comfort or resolve for making yourself better. that may be what tucker would’ve wanted– but he died, and you were left behind without the one person who made you feel like you were coming up for air.

tucker sunday was a good man. he was a good man who had loved you entirely and completely and with no reservations, from the moment the two of you met in the first grade. you were new to school, having been relocated to the pittsburgh suburbs from boston. everything felt different and scary– you sat alone on the playground with your hands in your lap, looking from left to right, right to left, hoping that someone might come up to you.

and then there was tucker. gap-toothed and freckled and with a pair of glasses perched on his tiny nose. he plopped beside you with a copy of the lord of the rings in his hand– advanced for a first grader, but that was just how tucker was.

he sat down beside you that sunny day on the playground and he never left.

that was the thing that you think people don’t understand. tucker had been your world, every day– and not in a codependent way. you each had your own, full lives. your own friends and your own families that knew just the right way to blend and merge. you were a librarian at a high school. he was a teacher at an elementary school. you couldn’t carry a tune or play an instrument to save your life. he was the best at the guitar. you loved to bake. he loved to cook.

you balanced one another. and now, the scales have tipped so fast, in such a fervent freefall… how do you climb such a steep mountain back to where you were? when you don’t have someone keeping you even?

you look at the looming building from your place where the bus dropped you off. your hands tremble as you make sure that you have the correct address– you do, of course, because despite your grief, you are still meticulously type a, somewhere inside of yourself.

“my little planner.”

his voice rattles in your head and you have to physically shake your shoulders before you walk through the doors and down the hall, turning left into a room with probably fifteen chairs in a circle. only six are occupied.

a woman turns her head to you and smiles brightly, too brightly for a room filled with such, presumably, weary souls. “hi there,” she gestures towards the empty chairs. “come on in. have a seat.”

your fingers grip your bag tighter, eyes popping from each individual to the next. there’s two people huddled together– sisters, you think. an older gentleman with kind eyes and a long beard who is wearing a veteran hat. a woman in her mid-fifties, if you had to guess, with legs crossed and peering at her phone down the bridge of her nose.

none of them glance up at you, but one.

he’s sitting in the chair facing directly to the door, alert. his eyes don’t leave you for even one singular second as you pad into the room, half wounded animal, half woman. his arms are crossed over his chest and his legs are slightly spread and there’s a camo backpack leaned against his leg. you have to question if you have something on your face or if he just has a staring problem. you decide it must be the latter.

you don’t glare at him in return, but you don’t not glare at him, either. you take tentative step after tentative step until you take a seat one away from him, fixing your hands into your lap and casting your eyes down to them. you look left to right, right to left. you fiddle shakily with the ring that weighs heavy on your left hand. you twirl it and twirl it and twirl it until your skin feels irritated.

introductions begin to happen, but you don’t quite hear them. you’re still staring down at that ring and everything surges at you suddenly, a tidal wave of anguish that takes you by the ankle and drags you under. you don’t realize you’re crying until it’s your turn to introduce yourself and you’re faced with the tell-tale signs of an emotion that you always seem to see, these days.

pity. pity from the sisters, who you presume is the facilitator of the group, and from the two older attendees. pity from all five of them.

your eyes dart over to the man who couldn’t quit looking at you when you entered. you’re momentarily jarred because he’s not looking at you with pity. he looks intense, yes, but not sad for you. you open and close your mouth and for a second, you think it must be because things are going blurry through your tears– but he gives you a small nod of his head.

your mouth falls open again, still hesitant, and he nods again.

heart tumbling over itself, you rub your hands on your pants and share your name. “i’m sorry, what else am i supposed to answer?” you ask, looking to the facilitator. natasha, her nametag reads to you.

“anything that feels right.”

you’re almost certain there were structured questions, but you feel a distant thankfulness for her flexibility. “um…” you wipe away stray tears. “i lost tucker.” you look back down at your lap. “and–” you’re cut off by a box of tissues being placed on the seat beside you. it’s the man with the staring problem, again. your silent encourager. you take one of the tissues and dab at your eyes. you’re not a delicate crier, but you’d like to pretend you are. “tucker was my husband. and–” your vision is gone again, swept away by salt and the smudging of the mascara you put on yesterday when you tried to fool yourself into thinking you were someone who wore mascara and wore cute outfits and took care of herself. “and i lost him almost a year ago. in a car accident. and– and i’m not doing well.” you laugh a little bit, but there’s nothing funny. not even a little bit. “if you couldn’t tell.”

you manage a crackling inhale before you continue on. “and his mom– god, i love her, she sent me the flyer for this. and i don’t want to be here,” you admit, laughing again. “i don’t want to be anywhere. i want to be where he is. still. and no one seems to understand that. i don’t mean it in a scary, i’m going to hurt myself way. i mean it… i mean it in a, i don’t know what’s left of me without him, way.” you blink and look around the circle. “does that make sense?”

every single person nods their head, and for a moment, you feel comforted. the man with the intense eyes nods with a fervor and you’re drawn to meet his gaze, as sad as you think you must look. the corner of his mouth turns up at you.

“anyway,” you sigh, exhausted from the onslaught of emotional upheaval you’ve just experienced. “that’s me.”

the only person left is him. he clears his throat and says, “man. how do i follow that up?”

it should offend you. but there’s a level of light in his eyes that you hope one day you could achieve again, and it makes you laugh and shake your head and look down at your hands while he speaks.

“my name is jack abbot. my wife, annie, died in 2016. i’ve been coming here every week since 2017.”

the rest of the meeting keeps you quiet. you take a handful of tissues and make your best attempt at cleaning up what you imagine is a true sight on your face. the rest of the meeting passes with very little fanfare– everyone shares, and you half-listen, and you can’t muster up the guilt to feel for being so disinterested in everyone else’s grief. you’d accepted, long ago, that your mourning had made you self centered. where once upon a time, you would be mortified at the thought of anyone thinking you to be selfish– you can’t find it within yourself to care, not anymore. you are selfish. you are self centered. grief had made you someone you didn’t recognize.

by the time natasha dismisses everyone, you all but run out to the street. you suck in a deep breath and you sink into a crouching position, covering your mouth with your hand. heavy boot-clad feet come into your line of sight. when you trail your eyes up, you’re met with that storm cloud gaze. jack.

he doesn’t say a word. but he scoops up your tote bag and he slings it over one shoulder, turns heel, and walks off.

your brows furrow, and you have to decide if it’s worth the effort– but ultimately, you stand, the wind stinging your tear-streaked cheeks. “hey,” you call. “that’s my bag.”

he doesn’t turn around. he keeps a steady, casual pace. not running, but not waiting for you to catch up with him, either. “hey!” you call, growing more frustrated. “what, do you just steal bags for a living?”

jack takes a look at you over his shoulder. “yeah, something like that.”

you pick up your speed so that you can fall into step with him. “what the hell are you doing?”

“i’m going to take you to go eat something. because, no offense, you don’t look great.” he looks you up and down while he continues to walk. “when’s the last time that you ate something with some substance? protein, have you ever heard of it?”

your silence is his answer and he grips the totebag a little tighter. “figured you’d say no if i asked. so…”

“so you stole my bag.”

“not stolen,” he says with a disarming smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “i’m gonna give it back. don’t worry.”

“but…” you try and rack your brain for some excuse.

there wasn’t all too much for you to cite. your work hours had been reduced way back in the weeks after tucker passed. you still worked enough to get by, but not so much that you were drowning in work on top of drowning in your own pain. your friends and family were constantly making attempts to make plans with you, but you were diligent in your efforts to firmly stick out an arm and keep them at that length. easier this way, you told yourself. easier for them to be far far away where they cannot see just how damaged you have become. their worry is the last thing that you want, or need.

coming up empty, jack’s smirk spreads on his face. “yeah, that’s what i thought.”

–

jack’s eyes are like a blanket on you while you push around the eggs on your plate, take a tentative bite of your toast. your stomach is still in knots, as it always is, so ultimately, you set down your fork, your toast, and push your plate away. you turn your gaze to look out the window. your body is there, in that diner, but your mind is far away when jack’s voice brings you back.

“so. husband.”

your eyes snap over to his before they slide back to the window. “yeah.”

“i know a little something about that.”

your brows furrow and your eyes narrow and you lean in towards him. “you don’t know shit about me, or about what i’m going through.” you huff out a disbelieving laugh. “bold of you to think you do. seriously, wow.”

“no, i know. i know this song and dance. i lived it.” he gestures towards you, and then towards himself, and his look is still not pitying. if anything, he seems more annoyed. “it’s addicting, isn’t it? feeling like shit?”

your mouth drops open and you stare at him, trying to muster the words, but they don’t come. he continues talking. “i bet everyone is coddling you. keeping a safe distance from you, lest you snap. not wanting to push you too hard. right? they’re treating you like something breakable. well, you know what i think?”

“you don’t know a god damn–”

“i think that you need someone who’s going to hold you accountable.”

“accountable?” you reel backwards.

“yeah. accountable. accountable of taking care of yourself. accountable of eating. accountable of dragging yourself out of this hole that you’re in. and i don’t think that anyone is stepping up and doing it.”

you grow silent. it’s not that they’re not stepping up– you’re not letting them. maybe jack knows that, too, since he seems to be able to read you like a well-loved and memorized book.

he folds his hands, one on top of the other, staring at you. “and i’m gonna be that person.”

scoffing, you cross your arms over your chest. everything about your body language screams defensive. “why?” you finally ask. you raise your eyebrows up at him.

he shrugs his shoulders. “what can i say,” he stabs his fork into the eggs on your plate, taking a big bite. “i like strays.”

610 notes View Post

espressheauxs

1 month ago

strangers.

Pairing: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Female!Reader/Slight Original Female Character (No names or y/n used but called Angel as a nickname) Summary: As you stare down the barrel of residency, stress, and anxiety, you decide that one last carefree night is what you needed. And a stranger in a bar is exactly what the doctor ordered. Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, age gap relationship (older man/younger woman), hook up culture, Soft!Dom Robby, overstimulation Crossposted to AO3

“You’re too pent up angel, we need to get you laid and fast- because I’m not going into our intern year with you practically foaming at the mouth.” Elbow digging into his ribs, you scoff. You’re fine. So it’s been 2 years since you’ve had sex? You can use your fingers, it’s worked since you were 15- it’ll work another few years. But lately it hasn’t been enough and the daunting stress of your impending residency years have you wanting to chew concrete.

“Frankie I’m fine-” you grumble, nursing your beer because if you drink any faster you’ll just get another. And another. And another and that’s not good because tomorrow is your first day and-

“What about him?” He cut you off- nodding not so secretly to the man on your left a few stools away. Um- no. He looked like Langdon- freshman year, frat boy status with his cap backwards that’s no doubt hiding a receding hairline. And the frat boy look would’ve worked if he didn’t look well past the appropriate age.

“Okay- picky, picky, um- him?” Nodding to the younger bartender, slicked back hair and probably weighed 100 pounds soaking wet. No. That was a child. You’re never letting Langdon set you up again- what’s he blind? You consider scheduling an eye exam for him when-

“Oh sure- definitely him.” Frank points his beer towards the other side of the bar with a smirk and sarcasm laced laugh. But- well? He did look handsome, tapping away at his phone with a beer in his hand. Dark hair- heavy, full looking beard, soft sad eyes you can see from here but you couldn’t tell the color yet- brown maybe. Broad shoulders, hoodie pushed up right under his elbows to show his strong forearms. Oh. Oh he might work actually. And Langdon can feel you perk up a bit- okay clearly you liked them older then. Well- if that’s what you wanted- fuck it he guesses. if you like it- he loves it.

“Him? I was joking- I mean, maybe the old man can lay it down who knows?” You roll your eyes but- you were honestly intrigued. He was handsome enough that you didn’t think he would be alone or- well single. And you’re studying his face and the way the beer or his phone look so small in his hands and his eyes meet you- quickly snapping up from his phone and locking onto yours. Fuck. Quickly you look away, moving your head even to make it all the more obvious. But he didn’t look away. He clocked you the moment you sauntered in the bar with the guy next to you. The way your dress swished around your thighs. The way you threw your head back laughing at something your boyfriend, must be your boyfriend because there’s no way you were single. He watched you take a sip of your beer, looking down at the bar still and slowly drag your eyes up to meet his again. Fuck he was still looking at you- dark eyes not leaving yours and it was slightly unsettling but so fucking thrilling. Okay- maybe this could work out in your favor.

“Oh- okay he likes what he sees then?” Frank mumbles around the rim of the bottle, nudging you with his knee a bit. I mean- you have to be confident. Right? Hell yeah he likes what he sees. He should right? You’re hot, smart, a fucking doctor in your prime. He should want you. No reason that he shouldn’t want you. Other than him being taken. Or gay. Or just uninterested in you as a whole but you’ll keep the confidence for now. “Go-“ Frank nudged you again. If he’s good for anything it’s going to be getting his best friend laid tonight. It’ll help his stress more than yours. You don’t go. Not yet. Fucking butterflies in your gut aren’t drowning with the alcohol. Dammit you don’t remember how to flirt. But you and him are playing eye tag across the bar now. Eyes meeting in a game of chicken- who will break contact first. It’s you. Always you. And maybe you’re not interested in him, he thinks. Maybe you’re being polite. But you’re just working up some more nerve because- ok fuck it. Fine. You’ll bite.

“Don’t wait up Frankie” patting his shoulder you hop off the stool in the most graceful way you can manage.

“Have fun,” he finishes the rest of your beer while throwing you some unsolicited remarks, “remember we have to be at the hospital at 8, call me if you need me, use protecti-“ but your annoyed look ceased his rambling. The man across the bar watched you, watched you fucking float over to him in your short dress like a damn sign from god telling him to enjoy himself for once. Nervously chewing at your lip and pulling at your fingers, looking anywhere but at him while you walk over. You could still turn back to Frank, or pass the gorgeous man sitting alone at the bar to act like you were going to the restroom but- no. No, you are getting laid tonight. One last hurrah of your ”carefree“ twenties because the remaining few years will be dedicated to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. You needed to relax. You fucking deserved this. And this is all before you talk to him- he hasn’t even told you his name yet and you’re nervous. At least let him agree to sex first.

“This seat taken?” God that sounded awful, so fucking cliche and awkward and you should just apologize and turn around but-

“Waiting for you actually” he smiles, grabbing the stool and pulling it out a bit for you. Okay. So far so good then? You settle into the seat and start to awkwardly scoot yourself closer to the counter but- his hand grabs one of the stool legs and pulls you closer to the counter, closer to him- your knees brushing against each other just barely to where you can register the rough fabric of his jeans on your bare knee. Oh. Oh he was strong and the way his arm flexed and- okay. Focus.

“Do you always drink with that look on your face?” You tilt your head, meaning it more playfully than it came out but- he did have this, sad look about him. Exhausted look behind his eyes and- you could relate really. These last almost two years have been hell.

“And what look would that be sweetheart?” Okay, he’s taken the bait then. Good. Flirt. Flirt fucking hard.

“Like you’re just daring someone to interrupt you.” You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ears, maintaining eye contact but break it- just for a second to trail your eyes down to his lips that were framed with a thick dark beard, dusted in spots with grey.

“Maybe I am?” He sees your eyes, sees the way they watch him. How they darken when you speak and- maybe he can play along. It’s harmless. That’s what bars are for right?

“Might be off putting to some,” you shrug, reaching over to take a small handful of the shitty bar mixed nuts, just needing to occupy your hands, “but I do like a challenge.”

“Is that right? Someone as innocent looking as you?” Goading you, seeing if you’re all talk or- or if you’d actually want to come home with him. He doesn’t do this. He doesn’t know how to pick girls up at the bar.

“You’d be surprised what some strangers are like after a few drinks. Let me buy you another and we can reevaluate?” Waving the bartender over you ask for another round of beers- not waiting for his answer because you play to win, and dammit this prize looked handsome. Older, definitely taller than you, broad shoulders and you squeeze your thighs together tight because you can just imagine his beard-

“I’ll take that challenge then” winking, he takes a long sip of his replenished beer after clinking it with yours. Maybe this was a success? Is it working?

“Good- I’m a girl that likes to win.” He tries to not stare, not look at the innocent way your lips wrap themselves around the rim of the bottle- swallowing the bitter taste and licking your fucking lips after you do. Fuck- was that on purpose?

“Then I guess we’re no longer strangers,” he turns, extending his hand out to yours, “Michael.” Oh. His hands were big, warm, calloused- heavy.

“Angel.” Your smile was sweet, fuck. You looked up at him beneath batting eyelashes and your hands were so soft, smaller in his. He has to force himself to take his hand from yours because he’d fucking hold it all night if you’d let him.

“Your boyfriend going to be okay with you chatting me up?” He nods over to Langdon who was awkwardly drumming his hands on the bar top- a poor attempt at making himself look busy while he stares you both down from the corner of his eye, just in case you need him to rescue you.

“Who? Him? Oh- definitely not my boyfriend. Roommate.” You didn’t have time to regale Michael with the saga of Frank and Angel, it was almost a decade long and many didn’t understand the bond you two shared. So- roommate was what Langdon has been demoted to tonight. He relaxes a bit, thanking god because he’s been in weird situations where couple ask if he’d join them and he’s too fucking old and tired for this poly shit- barely has time for monogamous relationships. You both fall into an easy conversation. He finds out you’re new in town, just moved a week ago for a new job. And you don’t exactly talk about residency right away. Some men find it intimidating if you mention being a doctor right away so- you just pretend you’re someone else tonight. Someone confident and who is used to picking up strangers in a bar. He’s charming. Charming and funny and he loves the way you’re laughing at his little sarcastic jokes and you’re witty and so fucking pretty. He thinks he can do this. He can be the guy that takes home the girl from the bar- at least once right? Jack is always telling him to have fun, to not be so uptight, to fucking go to therapy but until he does go- this will definitely suffice because you’re so close now, leg almost fucking thrown over his under the counter and he can smell the intoxicating aroma of your perfume and like a fucking siren-

“Wanna get out of here?” Low- so low he almost didn’t fucking hear it but- the way you’re looking up at him through your lashes and wet your lips with a dart of your tongue and- fuck yes he wants to get out of here. He smiles, nods and pushes back from the counter to step off the stool and holds out his hand for you to hold as you hop off your own stool. And you don’t pull your hand away- he doesn’t pull his hand away as he waves bye to the older bartender. He’s been coming here for years- bar that’s close to home that he can walk to, bartender who gives him free drinks because of the work he does. And you both just- walk. Walk down the street hand in hand like you’re not practically bouncing and itching to kiss him. The breeze is nice and the conversation is still so easy- he looks at you when you talk, asks questions and adds constructive comments while ducking his head to miss a few branches that you can easily walk under.

His house was nice, quiet neighborhood with a classic single family style look- a porch where he reads the paper, sipping coffee on his day off. And you feel nervous again. Butterflies swarming around in your belly and you have no more alcohol to drown them in because his hand is on your lower back, ushering you inside. It was quiet- simple. You can admire his style while you take off your shoes- from the old record player in the corner of the living room, the shelves of books along the walls where you can make out a title or two that you’ve been dying to read. You thumb through his books, running your fingers along the spines and he has his hands in his hoodie, watching you with desire creeping up in his gut. What were you doing here with him? You were so pretty and smart and funny and- he stops thinking because now you’re rounding his couch and settling into the plush fabric while holding your hand out to him. Okay. Okay he can do this. You can do this. He unzips his hoodie, laying it on the arm of the couch.

“Yes?” He asks smugly, coming to sit next to you on his couch. Taking your hand in his- he kisses your palm, beard tickling gently- then kisses up to your wrist. He can smell the dab of perfume that you sprayed as he kisses gently. Why was this so hot? Letting him kiss up your arm and you don’t realize you’re leaning closer with each kiss until you’re face to face now-

“Can I kiss you?” It comes out barely above a whisper- as if you’re still unsure if he wants this with you like he didn’t just kiss and lick up your arm a second ago. And he laughs- soft and lightheartedly because yes, yes you can fucking kiss him. He’d beg for your soft lips on his and he doesn’t have to wait much longer now as you’re surging forward- knocking into him and throwing yourself in his lap. Okay- maybe you were a little too eager and you’re about to apologize but his hands are in your hair now and- oh this is good. He kisses so eagerly and bites your lip with a tug when he pulls back to look at you and you’re both breathing hard now after just a fucking minute of kissing. Everything feels hot and too much and his hands are on your thighs now- dragging up to your hips from under your dress and he’s actually toying with the band of your underwear now, snapping it absentmindedly. You just- it’s hot and you’re needy and you have to take initiative so you’re pulling your dress up and over your head and he groans. One hand pulls the cup of your bra down and he trails light kisses down your neck, coming up to the swell of your breast and bites- sucking a soothing mark into the stinging feeling and your hands tug at his hair now.

“Let me taste you angel,” he begs, feeling how you grind into his lap- desperately, for some sort of relief. He mumbles against your chest rubbing his beard a little and grinning at the way you gasp at the sensation while he’s easily unclasping your bra with one hand and tossing it on the floor like it’s offended him. He doesn’t give you a chance to answer- grabs your ass to grind harder into him while sucking galaxies along your breasts. “Just- fuck let me use my mouth on you, please?” He’s fucking begging to eat you out? Is he actually? He is. He hasn’t fucked in so long and he knows you’ll taste amazing and if that’s all you want is to cum on his face and in his beard he’ll be happy but-

“I don’t- I’ve never really,” you try to find the words- try to think but the way you can feel him under the rough seam of his jeans has you mindless at the moment. “It’s not my favorite.” You weren’t lying- the few times you’ve had someone between your thighs you just, laid there. Waiting until they were done because it was weird and your clit actually was a few inches to the left and-

“No?” Michael forces himself to pull away from your chest, holding your hips still from grinding and you whine a little- “do you not- like it? If you absolutely don’t want to I understand but-“

“No- no, it’s not that I just-“ you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks now. You’re practically naked in his lap and you’re having this conversation and- “it just feels weird.” You shrug. It did feel weird. Most guy just mindlessly lick and miss your clit and you can easily just use your own fingers and-

“Can I try? Please baby?” God he was begging. Maybe- maybe it’ll be good? Wordlessly, you nod- sit back on the couch to let him kneel in front of you and fuck- it was a sight. On his knees, kissing up your ankle while he slides your underwear down. Okay. Okay, fuck- this was happening. Definitely happening now as he easily pulls you by your knees and slides them over his shoulders. You were mouthwatering. Absolutely appetizing. Wet and glistening in the moonlight for him- whispering for him to taste and he actually moans when he looks.

“Lemme take care of you.” He sighs, readying his tongue between your folds.

“Yeah- sure oka- shit!” You roll your eyes back with a scream, arching your back to where it’s not even touching the couch anymore and the only thing that’s keeping you from ascending to the fucking heavens is the way he has you caged to him. Both legs thrown over his shoulders, forearms around the tops of your thighs and keeping you still. So fucking still- but open for him because his shoulders are massive and wide and you’ll feel the stretch tomorrow for sure. But you can’t seem to care right now. You’ve been on edge for at least an hour now since you’ve met him and are unbearably wet. It would be embarrassing really. He’s licked a single stripe up your cunt and- fuck. His tongue is hot, wet, flat and slowly dragging up your cunt and his beard gives a fucking heavenly scratch against your thighs and- fuck. He’s staring at you. And starting from right below your entrance, trailing so devastatingly slow up to your clit- his eyes never closing or breaking contact. Once he reaches your clit- he swirls his tongue around it for good measure before closing his lips around it and sucks. Fuck. And he was fucking moaning- finally closing his eyes and enjoying the way you tasted and how one of your hands has taken hold in his hair now, pulling just a little. God he was fucking good and you know you’re about to cum soon and it’s going to be so fucking good. He wasn’t lying- it does feel good. You haven’t had sex in so long, hadn’t really even had much time to take care of yourself between prepping for tomorrow and moving and- fuck you were already feeling that swell of ecstasy.

“Good?” He mumbles, smirking against your wet lips and you want to slap his stupid fucking gorgeous face because you can hear the fucking sarcasm in his voice as he’s clearly trying to prove a point now. And you can only nod but- “say it- look at me and tell me how good you feel angel.” Fuck. He’s stopped- you can just feel the ends of his beard against you and you try to grind into it but he’s so much stronger than you are and his eyes are dark and beseeching you to tell him how good his tongue is. How good is fucking mouth feels against your throbbing pussy and-

“Fuck- fuck yes it’s so fucking good Michael please just- don’t stop please baby I need-“ you don’t get to finish your babbles and whimpers because his lips have wrapped themselves around your clit again and you’re melting into his damn couch now. Sinking into the fabric and the only movement you can make is pulling his hair and using the heels of your feet to pull him closer to you. He teases a finger inside, just one and tries to not moan at how tight it feels. Just testing the waters- then another. One more of his thick heavy fingers getting easily sucked into you and it was tight. You’ve had your own for so long but his already have you seeing stars behind your eyes and- he’s pulling them out. No. No no wait. And he laughs because he hears you groan- looking up and he’s replacing his hand back to keep you still and he drags his tongue back down again, swiping at your entrance and shoving it deep inside while one of his thumbs start slow circles around your clit. He was fucking good, knew exactly what he was doing. His other hand finds purchase on your chest- roughly tugging at your nipples and pinching. You’re going to cum, and you’re going to cum in his mouth, and it’s going to be amazing. His tongue- while still inside you is shoved up along your top wall and licks back and forth slowly while working the same pace with his thumb on your clit. Fuck. Your nerves are on fire. Your body contracts and arches into him more as you cry out from your orgasm. Fuck it was good. Slow and steady and creeping up along your body. You’re whining his name and he’s letting you roll your hips into his mouth to ride out the heat and waves.

He was watching you. The entire time. Eyes focused on how you’d bite your lip, throw your head back, use your other hand to grab your breast and you were fucking gorgeous. Fucking ethereal and unreal- cumming on his tongue and whimpering his name so sweetly. And when you finally open your eyes you’re giggling, the adrenaline pumping through your body and you’re pulling him up by his collar to kiss him and taste yourself on his tongue. God he needed you. He needed to bury himself inside you now because he was impossibly hard at the moment and wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand not knowing what you felt like.

“Good angel?” Like he didn’t already know the answer- but you’re still smiling and can barely nod before he stands- tugging you to sit up. “C’mon baby, up-“ easily, he grabs you from the couch and you cling to him- bare legs wrapping around his waist and you can feel how hard he is through his jeans. “I need you so fucking bad sweetheart.” Grunting into the kiss you’ve dragged him into by a tug of his hair- he’s maneuvering through his living room and down the hall to his bedroom but you’re grinding into him now, desperately needing some friction even though he tongue fucked an orgasm out of you minutes ago. “Fuck-“ he stops, tripping almost over the feeling of your bare pussy over him- he’s pushing you against his doorway for a moment and the corner of the wood digging into your back but he takes just a second to compose himself and- “just wait, fuck- just wait until I’m inside you.” You’re not sure if that was a threat- or he’s telling himself to hold out from blowing his load all over his jeans before he’s hand a chance to fuck you into his mattress like he planned. maybe both. Definitely both.

You get placed on his bed- gently and you look up at him with anticipation in your eyes as your hands reach up to capture the hem of his shirt and drag it upwards while you rise to your knees to be eye level. He had never been shy really, he was painfully aware that he doesn’t have the same body he did when he was 20 but- the way your eyes hungrily took him in? He did feel a small pang of insecurity. You were at least 15 years younger than he was, could’ve went home with any one from that fucking bar but you’re here now- in his bed, pulling his belt from the loops of his jeans and dragging the zipper down almost torturously slow. And your eyes didn’t leave his. You smiled. You kissed him. You pulled his jeans down and fucking gasped. Oh. It was- well it was fucking bigger than you expected that’s for damn sure. Your mouth watered, and you feel young and inexperienced all over again because you’re tentatively touching him, just a slow drag of your index finger along the length and he shudders. He was hard- but it was so heavy and thick, his cock wasn’t even able to be held up, the sheer gravity of it kept him hanging deliciously low and you leaned down to take a swipe at it with your tongue, desperate for a taste- but he stopped you.

“No- don’t- I need you now-“ he rasped, forcing himself to tell you no, stroking your cheek and shoving you as gently as he could to lay back on his bed. “I can’t wait any longer sweetheart.” He wants nothing more than to fuck your mouth- have your pretty little eyes watering and looking up at him with your lips wrapped around his cock and drooling for more. But he’s even more desperate to be inside you. He’s tasted you- felt you clench around his tongue and if stuffing his cock in you is half as good as eating your pussy, then Michael needs to fuck you now. He’s crawling up the bed with you, kicking off his jeans and kissing your lips in a firm kiss, tongue licking into your mouth and swirling around yours as he grabs your thighs to come around his waist, feeling the blunt tip of him at your wet entrance. He settles above you- one of his hands holding your thighs open while the other comes to rest atop his headboard- swiping his cock along your folds to tease and collect at the juices that have dripped and finally- he pushes inside you.

“Oh- f-fuck-“ You don’t think you’ve ever gasped when someone stuck it in before. You’re sure of it. Because you would remember this feeling. You would have remembered it because of the way Michael’s feels. Splitting you open, pushing slowly through your tight walls. You’re wet. You’re so fucking wet and where you weren’t naturally wet with your own juices- his own mouth took care of that for you. The only resistance was his size- the tightness of your pussy contracting and working the sheer girth of him through. Fuck. Fuck it’s good. It hurts in the way that feels so fucking right. You feel rearranged, feel him not even fully sheathed within you and- god he still has more? It’s been so fucking long since you’ve had anything besides your own fingers inside you and his were already stretch to begin with earlier. It hurt so fucking good and you whine when he pushed deeper inside you- tensing your thighs around his waist and dragging your nails down his back.

“Almost angel, fuck- fuck almost I-“ God he was already losing what little sense of control he had. He hasn’t had sex in ages and you were so tight and wet and sounded so pretty underneath him and he’s trying to ride out every clench you give around him- but fuck it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard when you’re whining his name and he’s not even fully buried inside you yet. “You’re doing so good for me baby, so good. Almost. Little more ok?” He moans, dropping his head down to kiss your lips because you’re biting them, biting at your lower lip to keep composed because you already feel the waves of another orgasm crawling up your spine and dancing along every fucking nerve that wasn’t burnt from the last one.

It’s hot. Fucking searing. Your orgasm slams into you all at once. The first one was a crescendo of ecstasy that his tongue slowly pulled from your body and let you ride out with it. This? White hot pleasure- ripping into your soul. You feel it in your bones, rattling and shaking with each fucking wave. You make no noise, can’t even fucking breathe because you’re sure whatever neurons you have left have been fried by the way he felt. He wasn’t even fully seated in you, a little over halfway- shoved tightly inside your walls and your body just, gave in. Gave into the indulgent way his cock was inching its way inside you, rubbing up against that spot that your fingers can never quite reach- stroking along with nowhere else to go besides deeper. Of course you came that easily- there was nothing but delicious fucking friction from the way Michael was wedging himself between your legs and how the bit of hair at the top of his cock rubbed so mouthwateringly well against your clit. All you could do was let him keep pushing inside you, his hand coming down to grab one of your legs from around his waist so he can slide it over his shoulder and- fuck.

“Fuck- I feel you cumming angel,” you somehow got wetter, aiding so he can slide in just a bit more with the angle and he presses his forehead against yours now. Sharing panting breaths and hot whiny moans together- finally his hips were flush against yours. “You okay baby? Talk to me,” taking your hand in his, lacing your fingers together and squeezing gently and kissing the back of your hand before letting it rest above your head. He starts a slow pace, inching back out of you slowly and groaning into your mouth. He doesn’t want to cum yet, he wants this, no- needs this to last longer. And it’s hard when you’re squeezing around him and whimpering his name- your perfume is dancing around in his mind and he feels himself pulling tighter and higher. Fuck he’s about to cum. He’s using his headboard to steady himself- the knock of the wood thudding against the wall in a tantric rhythm, would almost have you embarrassed if he wasn’t fucking you so good.

“K-keep going baby- don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop Michael-” you beg him. The rub and heavy drag of him felt so good. Indulgent and sinful because there’s no way sex could be this intense and not be frowned upon by the heavens. He’s kissing and licking at your ankle now, the anklet that you had was scratching at his shoulder and a charm was reflecting the moonlight and he swears he sees fucking stars. One of your hands cards through his hair, then his beard, and you drag your nails down his chest, dancing along the hair that’s trailed from his belly button to his cock and you just let it rest there, stroking your thumb gently. Resting right above his cock only to dig your nails into his lower abdomen and rub your thumb along the marks and- he’s fucking cumming.

“Fuck! Fuck me- so fucking-“ he groans, hot and deep into your calve and bites down hard enough to leave a mark but- he doesn’t stop. No- Michael keeps fucking you, he goes soft for a beat, maybe two but immediately you feel him hardening up again and nudging up into you deeper and- he’s fucking his cum into you now. It’s wet and warm and he doesn’t know what happened to his refractory period but he thanks all the gods he can in this moment so he doesn’t have to leave your tight heat. But he does- he does stop to reluctantly pull out of you and ignores your whining with a chuckle and light slap to your thigh as he rolls you over to your front. Instinctively, you start to arch your back but-

“No- lay flat baby, legs together.” You feel his voice in your ear, tongue licking the shell of it and biting at your lobe while the metal of his chain is between your shoulder blades now. He pushes some of your hair off your shoulder so he can kiss your neck, down your spine a bit with his beard scratching along the way before licking back up from the base of your spine and you shudder, sighing because it’s so good. The anticipation of what he’s going to do next. One of his heavy hands is holding your hip steady now- while the other holds his cock to slide teasingly against your folds. Oh.

“Oh f-fuck me-“ you gasp- biting the meat of your palm from just the stretch alone. The angle has you grabbing at the sheets in front of you- needing something to cling to because between his fucking thick cock and the hand on your hip that’s all you feel from him. You want to open your legs a little more, you try but his legs have you stuck and you try to surge forward to escape the pleasure and-

“No- you can fucking take it,” he growls, a slap to your ass to drive the point home. Fuck. He’s so fucking hard again, fucked you through both your orgasms and immediately still ready to keep pounding into you. “Be a good fucking girl and take it sweetheart.” It’s not slow this time. It’s fucking brutal and you can hear the slap of his hips against your ass. This man- Michael- this fucking stranger has given you two orgasms already and another is quickly flickering in the bottom of your gut- his mind shattering pace is hard to take and you think you can ride it out until he reaches under you and grabs you by your throat to haul you up so your back is pushed into his chest. He doesn’t squeeze- no but his hand is still heavy and he can feel your pulse under his fingers like a good trained doctor. He’d be able to tell you your BP if you asked and if he had the wherewithal to stop his sufferingly brutal pace to do so. He has you on your knees, holding you up with one hand on your neck and the other hand that has captured your own is now trailing down past your stomach- lowering to your soaking cunt to force you to rub your own fucking clit with him.

Fuck it’s so good. The hand of yours that’s not caught between his heavy one and your soaked clit is reaching up to tug at his hair while you turn your head a bit so you can try to see him. You try to breathe evenly because it’s so hot and the air feels heavy now and you swear there are stars beginning to form in your mind as your eyes roll back into your head now. He drags his nose along your temple- the hand resting against your neck trailing a few inches up to hold your jaw and kiss you. Biting and pulling at your lower lip when you open your mouth and moan his name. So sweet. You sound so fucking pretty and wrecked by him. He hasn’t fucked this hard since med school- you’re intoxicating. Your body fucking sings for him- every touch he gives is met with a sigh, a moan, a while of his name. Your hips are rolling back to meet his now and he groans into the kiss- feeling you clench around him again as you tug roughly on his hair.

“Fuck- just like that angel,” Michael has you pulled tight against his chest- his necklace digging into your back, one arm around your chest, hand gripping your jaw so you can look at him and see exactly what he looks like as he’s wrecking you. The other arm is strong against your stomach, his hand making your fingers rubbing vicious tight circles around your clit. “Doing so- fuck- so good for me baby. Are you gonna cum again for me? Just one more?” And you can only nod, it’s not like you have a choice, really. Between the way his fingers and yours are working in tandem to play with your clit and the way his thick cock is spearing into you from behind- you’re lucky that you can breathe at this point.

“No, no-“ he stops his movements now, feeling your whine into his mouth and attempt to push your ass back into his hips. “I wanna hear you say it baby- tell me you wanna cum again.” Fuck, you’re trying to get the friction back- get the delicious drag of his heavy cock back but he’s shoved so deep inside your wet cunt that he’s not moving anywhere. And neither are you from the way he has you pinned to his front. Fuck.

“P-please Michael,” you whimper into his lips, trying to wiggle your hips just a little so that you can feel him rub against that spot inside your- or maybe get his fingertips to brush your clit but he has your hand forced between his and your body, still and twitching for movement but he’s so much stronger than you are. “Fuck- I need to cum. I need to cum again baby. Please. F-fuck please. Please. Please. Please-“ you’re babbling and he groans.

“God- asking so fucking pretty baby. You need it?” He’s going to be an asshole- make you beg for a third orgasm like some fucking greedy bitch and you nod. You nod and whine and because you know he likes to hear you say it now. You’re saying yes. Whining really but it’s all the same to him.

“Yes baby,” nodding like a woman drunk and starved and high all at the same time. “Please I’ll be so fucking good Michael just-” you choke out at the end, he’s easing out then shoving himself back inside you now. Fast. Fast and hard and you can fucking hear colors at this point. You feel him in your veins. You’ve been injected with pleasure and it’s so good. He’s spewing pure fucking filth in your ear now and the wet slapping sound of his hips and fingers against your clit drive the point home. Growling out how good you feel. How fucking wet you are. He’s trying so hard not to cum yet- he needs this to last because he doesn’t know when he’ll get another opportunity to fuck you someone like this again. It shatters through you. Like glass spidering around every weak point of your nerves. That drop. Like the drop of a roller coaster. It’s wet. It makes you soar and float off the planet for a second and you think you can see yourself from above. You cum with a loud scream of his name and he stops fucking your pussy for a moment, stops your rubbing of your clit and moans along with you now- feeling you clench and tighten around him.

“There it is, angel, you sound so pretty for me baby.” He lets you go. Lets you slump forward but he hasn’t pulled out of you yet and you can feel him throbbing inside you still. You’re tired. So fucking tired and he’s still hard. He leans over you now, kissing the back of your neck and when he pulls out- you gasp because he’s been inside you for so long but he’s turning you back over now. Grabbing the back of your knees and slotting himself between your thighs again and you whimper because you’re so sore. But he’s kissing you so softly now, running his hands over your body and whispering praises and- pushing the head of his cock back inside you fuck- fuck- fuck- fuck.

You just- lay there now. Accepting the pleasure of his fucking. Becoming a wave of orgasm and orgasm after fucking brutal, hot, wet orgasm. He’s buried his face into your neck- kissing and biting gently but still slowly keeping a steadfast pace. He adjusts you for himself. Pushing your thighs open or closed to suit his needs. Gripping your leg to place over his shoulders or around his waist to drive deeper into you if he wants. And you just- take it. You moan and sigh his name because that’s all you remember how to do. You’re sure you black out at some point because it’s so overwhelmingly good. He asks if you’re good- if you want him to stop and you beg him- no. No. Don’t fucking stop. Please don’t fucking stop because you’ve absolutely never been fucked like this before and you’re sure it’s some gift from the gods. And how can you deny such a gift? Between his hot tongue in your mouth, beard against your skin, cock inside your pussy- you don’t even remember your name. You just- you’re more him than you at this point.

“Fuck- are you cumming again?” He stills, feeling the familiar tightness of your pussy spasm and flutter around his cock as he nips at your jaw. “Oh- f-fuck yeah you are- you’re cumming again for me baby,” slowly, achingly slow he starts his pace again, angles his hips up and- fuck. Fuck you can’t think anymore. He’s caged you in, completely has you under his control in the best way possible. You can’t even move your hips in tandem with his- you’re stuck in this position and you have to just fucking take it. Your body is being accustomed to the slow debilitating orgasms that are coming, just one after another after another after a-fucking-nother. There’s no point in counting. No point in attempting to keep score because you’re losing. Winning? No- definitely losing because it’s devastating now. You’re accepting your fate. You feel raw. You feel heavy. You feel your mind blank because all you know at this point is pleasure that’s bordering on pain- and his name.

“M-Michael I- fuck I- I can’t-” Your thighs were sore, so fucking sore from being held open by his cock but not wide enough from the way his knees are on either side of your thighs. You were gonna feel him tomorrow. Fuck you were gonna feel him all week. Your legs hadn’t stopped shaking from your first orgasm and that was at least an hour ago.

“Can’t what baby?” God, his voice was so deep, raspy and graveled in your left ear, tugging the lobe between his teeth and groaning so deep you felt it in your gut and swim along your spine. “You can- fuck, you’re doing so good for me sweetheart.” He still doesn’t stop. His cock is inching through your tight walls with no real trajectory other than to wreck you- so fucking tortuously slow. You shake your head and turn- looking at the art he has along his wall, anything to distract you from the pleasure for a moment because your think you’re going to die by orgasm and-

“No, no you stay right here with me angel-“ his calloused hand grabs your jaw and forced you to look back into his eyes. “Look at me baby- I need you to look at me so I can see those pretty eyes while I wreck you okay?” You nod along with him- obediently accepting your directions and fate. The drag- the long and heavy drag of his thick cock through your wet cunt has you spiraling, circling the drain between pleasure and pain. It feels so fucking good- his thick warm thighs bracing your own as he rocks into you devastatingly slow. The way he’s consuming you, all you feel is Michael. He’s the breath in your lungs, the taste in your mouth. It’s the scent of his cologne in your nose, the burn of his beard along your neck and jaw, the feel of his elbows digging into your shoulders with every deep, slow, hard thrust while the chain he had one is no longer cold- it drags, back and forth in the valley of your breasts.

“Just- fuck, just one more for me? Okay baby?” his voice cracks a bit- he’s almost coming to a close. He ducks his head down and swirls his tongue around your nipple then licks a hot stripe up your neck, coming to stop at your jaw and gently nipping at the skin there again while his hand gently brushes some strands of your hair from your face. Fuck- you feel it. You feel another fucking orgasm clawing its way through your body. Fuck. You have hot, frustrated tears running down the side of your face. The pain is so good. And the only thing that stops your from transcending into the fucking astral realm is how he grabs your hand, gently from its position that was locked on his back and no doubt leaving angry red marks along his skin- grabs your hand and threads his fingers between yours and squeezes gently- and kisses your hand once more. Yeah. Yeah you’re fucking cumming again. It’s ripping its way throughout your body now, hot- hot violent waves erupting from within you. Michael moans against you, feeling you clench around him and he’s letting himself go now, content that you’re spent and whimpering bonelessly under him. “That’s it- good fucking girl.”

The tightening and shakes of your orgasm inspire one in him, he’s ready to fuck his cum into you again but he just needs to be a tiny bit deeper. Michael pants, tries to slow down so he can move you how he needs, sitting back slightly and grabs your leg to wrap around his waist and you whimper. Feeling just an inch more of his thick cock inside- you whine. He’s fucking you hard in contrast to the way he’s kissing you- pressing his sweaty forehead softly against yours and “so sweet baby- so fucking good for me angel, I’m gonna cum ok?” Nodding and slamming just a bit too hard- bordering on painful but fuck, it’s perfect. And that fucking headboard again- slamming against his wall in a heavy pace. Hard and rhythmic and starting to pick up speed just from the sheer force of how he was driving into you. The waves of your orgasm are riding out as he’s cumming finally. Hard. Hard- and a deep raspy groan is emitting from him while he continues fucking you through it, shoving the remnants of his resolve deeper with each sloppy broken few pumps of his hips.

You lay there- sated and weak and let him kiss along your face with praises whispered between. He hasn’t pulled out of you yet- he needs a moment to enjoy you like this. To remember what this feels like next time he’s spiraling in his own mind. You have just enough energy to kiss his palm when he cradles your face- swiping at a stray tear and asking if you’re okay. Yes. Yes you’re okay. You’ve been fucked into his mattress, split open and completely sated. You’ve never felt better. You just wanted sex before starting residency because who knows when you’ll have time and- yeah. Michael definitely gave you more than you asked for. More than you ever bargained for.

“Give me a second,” you whine into a kiss, “I don’t remember my name.” He’s chuckling- letting your hands lazily trail over his broad shoulders, card through his beard with a twirl or two of the hair around your finger, and you push his slightly sweaty hair back from where it had stuck against his forehead. He hasn’t stopped smiling. It was so- cute? Grown man with the softest brown eyes you had ever seen, smiling after sex and it made you smile too because yeah- it was fucking good. Finally- he pulls out of you with a bite of his lip and a soft sigh. Trying to commit the feeling to memory because he’s not sure if he’ll get to experience this again. It’s been a while since he’s had sex and he’s sure it’s never been like this. He would’ve remembered vividly it being this good.

“Hey, wake up sweetheart,” you don’t even remember closing your eyes- don’t remember how long he was gone but he helps you sit up and has a glass to your lips and- “here, drink.” It’s cold, icy and immediately soothes your throat. And while you take slow sips he holds a washcloth in front of you and- “can I?” And- you just nod. You’ve never had anyone offer to clean you before. Few have even tossed you a rag but- he’s gentle. He apologizes when you gasp at the contact because you’re sore and overstimulated but the washcloth was fucking warm. He gently cleans you and kisses your temple. Who was this man? You just- you watch in awe as he cleans the mess he made of you and takes the glass from your hand to set on his night stand.

“Um, I- I should go.“ you stutter out. You should- right? You’ve clearly overstayed your welcome from what’s acceptable after mind altering sex. But he just nods.

“You don’t have to.” He doesn’t trust himself to not beg you to stay. He just- he wants more time with you. He just met you hours ago and he’s not ready to give you up yet. “You can stay- if you want. Only if you want. Offer stands.” He smiles, trying to not seem nervous because he genuinely never has done this before. He’s never taken a girl home from the bar. He’s only had sex with women he’s been in relationships with. But you just- he was fucking drawn to you since he landed eyes on you. When you tipped your head back laughing at whatever your roommate had said- he was struck. The way your eyes would dart over to him and then quickly back when he’d make eye contact. It was cute- how you bit your lip and tried to ignore him until you pat your roommate on the back and practically floated over to him. He knew he was a goner then.

“Okay,” you bit your lip and nodded- “yeah- I’ll stay.” You smiled. Leaning in to kiss him and he’s offering you something to sleep in- one of his shirts or some boxers but you shake your head and smile wickedly at him as you slither back up his bed and in between his sheet, grabbing his hand to pull him with you. No. No clothes necessary tonight.

It was his lips you woke up to, dragging along your neck with his beard in tow. You were sore and tired but it was hard to argue with the way your body opened up so easily for him. His hand splayed across your chest, not rough- just warm and resting along your skin while his lips mindlessly kissed your neck and jaw.

“Good morning,” he rasps, feeling you stir against him. He woke up maybe 15 minutes ago, your legs tangled up with his longer ones. He took a moment for himself, a moment to enjoy the feeling of someone in his bed again- no matter how fleeting it would be. You would be gone soon. And he can’t- he can’t delude himself into believing he’s ready for a relationship right now. It been a while since Janey. He’s been focused with work and things have settled down, albeit slightly, pandemic wise. And you were so- young? Clearly a woman and old enough to drink but- you two did get to talking to be fair. He wasn’t drawn to you in a way that felt deeper than physically. And maybe that was his own clouded judgment but he wanted to get to know you. He wanted to see you again. But he wouldn’t say anything- not unless you did. He wasn’t ready to get rejected or shatter a perfectly harmless fantasy. But he couldn’t help tasting your skin one more time- seeing the erupting marks along your chest and smiling to himself a bit.

“Good morning-“ you mumble, sighing into the way his lips felt along your raw skin. How was he so gentle? How could he rearrange your insides last night and place feather like kisses along your jaw now? Turning- you face him, throwing your arms around his neck and tilting yourself up to capture his lips.

“I have to go-” you’re not really trying to leave the comfort of his warm bed- sighing into his mouth as he’s pulling you into his chest. “I’m gonna be late for work- it’s my first day.” mumbling against his lips, moaning at the feeling of his hands dragging down to your ass so he can grind you into him. Fuck. No. You know you’ll never be able to leave if you stay now- feeling his heavy cock start to stir against your thigh.

“Don’t go baby,” He was going to be late too, he had a fresh crop of interns to see to, so he absolutely had to be there today but- “stay here with me.” Fuck- why was it so hard to let you go? It was one night. Stranger at a bar, something he’d never allow himself to do and he was struck. He’s grabbing your ass to grind into him harder- smiling at the way you gasp into his mouth when the tip of him catches your clit. You can hear a phone vibrating on his nightstand- probably yours, most likely Langdon calling you and wondering where the fuck you were. He did call, 3 times and texted. He had your location and you were still alive at least. He was going to have to pick you up and haul ass to the hospital.

[Frankie]: 20 minutes away

[Frankie]: Be ready

[Frankie]: Or I’m leaving your ass.

[Frankie]: Got your stuff tho

You groan, exasperated because you have to untangle yourself from Michael to walk to the living room for your clothes but you feel his strong, heavy arms circling around your waist as he’s coming up behind you to kiss your neck. God why was it hard to leave him? He was so funny, charming and- no. No, you just needed sex to get through your first day- one night stand. Someone you’ll definitely never see again because you’re starting residency and can’t afford to be distracted now. But- he was so fucking handsome.

“I really,” you pause to kiss him, “really,” another kiss, “mm, really need to go.” A moan, kissing his swollen lips again but running a hand through his beard to hold him into the “last” kiss. You make it to the living room and sit on the couch to tug your underwear on, well- trying to, anyway, because he’s grabbing at it and pulling you back into his lips and your back hits the couch. He just- he needs to get it out of his system. One last kiss. Maybe a mark that he nibbles into the top of your breast. That’s it. And as you’re pulling on the rest of your clothes he’s going back to his room to find his boxers and walk you out the door but-

“Just one more kiss-” you whine, pulling him hard and crashing your lips into his. You spend another 15 minutes trying to leave. Every time more clothes come on, one of you pulls the other back for ‘just one more kiss’.

You’re on his couch, pressing him into the arm rest now that your shoes are finally on- locking your lips against his.

He’s pushing you against his kitchen counter now as you’re reaching for your purse, hands coming on either side of you so he can cage you in and claim your lips once more.

You grabbed handfuls of his Steelers shirt at his chest, forcing him against his front door now while you try to savor the possibility of a last kiss.

He would walk you to the car- but he’s so fucking hard again that there would be no hiding it from his neighbors or your roommate in broad daylight. So he claims the official last kiss, cradling your face in his large hands and- this one was gentle. Not hungry. Not desperate. Gentle like- like it would be happening again. But you’re not delusional. It’s won’t happen again. You didn’t get his number, he didn’t ask for yours. You’re definitely never going to that bar again because this was a one time thing you allowed yourself to have. You need to be focused. Focused now because you’re gonna be so fucking late and it’s your first day and you got hardly any sleep and Frank is fucking honking-

“Hurry the fuck up- I have your shoes, clothes, and stethoscope along with a nice cold Red Bull.” Fuck he was the best. Sometimes it’s hard to believe you have a Frank Langdon in your life who can read your mind. “So did the old man lay it down good or?” You take the thought back immediately, jumping in the back seat to change into fresh clothes as you tell him to drive and not break any traffic laws to get to the hospital now. You’re running through the hospital- Langdon a few paces ahead because of his stupidly long legs and you’re chugging the rest of your Red Bull while running the ER nurses station to sign in and let them know you’re both here for your internship.

“Barely made it.” A voice interrupts as you both are shuffling through the doors to who you assume is the Dr. Abbott the nurse mentioned- arms crossed and pointing to the locker room for you both to await further instructions. A few other interns are already inside and what you assume are some residents prepping for their shift.

“ER?” One asks, throwing her hair in a bun while you shove what you can in an empty locker next to the one Frank picked out.

“Yeah,” you nodded- offering your hand to her with your name and introducing your other half to her as well. “You?”

“Surgery, Garcia.” You wanted to ask more but Dr. Abbott is calling everyone outside the locker room for a briefing. God, why were you nervous? You’ve never been nervous- well about work or academics anyway. But your stomach won’t stop fluttering and you’re trying to pay attention to Dr. Abbott but something is gnawing at your gut. Langdon can feel your anxiety, can feel your antsy movements and see the way you’re chewing at your bottom lip And pulling at your fingers so he grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze- making you look at him to see his wink. A silent “it’ll be ok angel.” Like he always says.

“Okay kids, the rest of this little introduction into your internship will be handled by Dr. Robby.” You don’t hear anything more- blood is rushing through your ears, mouth has gone dry, palms fucking sweating. Fuck. No? Fuck. There he was- Michael, in all his fucking 6’2, bearded, sad soft brown eyes, wide linebacker shoulders glory. As if on cue, your pussy clenched involuntarily- thighs started to ache from being held open by him for so long last night, scattered bruises across your chest started to sting. Every kiss and touch he laid on your body flared up like they knew their owner was near- like your body was calling out to his. As if your body picked up on the fact that he was near like some fucking homing signal for orgasms. And Michael, well- Dr. Robby actually, he’s as cool as a cucumber on the outside. Laying down some information and guidelines while trying to not stare at you. He doesn’t remember anyone named Angel on his list of interns. Did you lie? Of course you did- you just wanted sex and to be fair no one really calls him Michael so he can’t blame you.

And next to you? Well Langdon is practically vibrating with excitement. He hasn’t been this happy since his med school acceptance. He’s trying to contain his joy while his eyes bounce back between you and your new boss. You’re speed running through all five stages of grief and he’s never been happier because that is definitely the old man you went home with last night. He’s excited for your debriefing and inevitable crash out session at home later because you have a 12 hour shift ahead of you both and you cannot spiral. Not now. Not yet anyway.

460 notes View Post

espressheauxs

1 month ago

Companionship | pt. 4

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: The lines of your agreement begin to blur with one simple word: sweetheart.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: Thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented and/or followed me!! I truly appreciate each and every one of you💜(I’m screaming with joy on the inside)

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: age gap, alcohol, mild fluff, feelings, foul language, hospital stresses, some angst thrown in because what the hell, slowburn, they AWKWARD (I love them)/bad jokes, idk Robby’s a hockey fan because I could totally see that (baseball too)

not beta read

When one of your co-workers had asked you on a date the following week, you had turned him down. It had come as a surprise, not having said much more than pleasantries to each other when you passed in the hall. He was nice, attractive enough to have caught your attention before, but you told him you were not looking to date. Too busy, gotta focus on school, just not for me right now, were all valid reasons. Not because of Michael. Nope. That would be stupid.

You tried to remove yourself from getting too wrapped up in your imagination. Frankly, because it was making you incredibly anxious. You texted Erin and Marsi to hang out, to come study, to go out for brunch, anything to get you out of your apartment. You worked longer hours. You even joined a random study group with some other accounting majors.

You believed you had it all back on track just two weeks after your dinner. But it was hard to ignore the way your pulse quickened whenever he called. You kept telling yourself it was still the anxiety around the arrangement and not the person on the other end.

Michael called late one Tuesday, exhausted from his shift. You began to think that perhaps he did not enjoy returning to an empty, quiet apartment to be alone with his thoughts.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, rougher than usual.

“Long night?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked, laying down on your bed after changing into some pajamas.

He let out a long sigh, “Perhaps another time.”

You were smart enough to pick up on the deflection, but you hummed, “Sure.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You felt stupid for getting upset over his deflection, annoyed that it was likely just going to be another night you filled the void with your voice. Was it stupid and unjustified to get frustrated with him? More than likely. Did you feel that way anyways? Definitely. You kept trying to remind yourself you were both barely acquaintances, and this was exactly what you had signed up for.

“Can I ask you something?” You ventured, glancing at your nails.

“Shoot.”

“Why’d you become a doctor?”

There were several moments of silence as he digested the question, and you anxiously bit at the side of your nails.

“I wanted to help people.” He told you, but there was something in his tone that suggested it was just a reflex answer. In the quiet that followed, he cleared his throat, “It wasn’t easy. I was tested at every turn, still am. But it meant something. It mattered.”

Something so large went unspoken between you — I mattered. You did not dare speak on it.

“That’s very honorable.”

“Honor’s got nothing to do with it.”

“Well, I find that very honorable. Selfless.” You stressed, staring up at your ceiling.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, “how was your day?”

Despite wanting to push, you realized that perhaps you had wandered into territory far too personal for your arrangement, which made your cheeks flare with heat. You found yourself wanting to get to know him more than was likely appropriate.

You launched into your day, discussing a few minor details about work and the new system they were slowly beginning to implement. You paused after he yawned, causing you to mirror it.

“Goodnight,” you said first, eyes heavy.

“Goodnight,”

—

It was easily your busiest day all month. Between onboarding a bunch of new employees, cashing out a handful of ones that had quit, studying for an exam, a project and a few prior commitments to hang out with your friends, you were stretched thin. You left your apartment early and were not set to return until late.

Hunger ate away at your stomach as lunchtime came and went without stopping to eat. Thankfully you had left a granola bar in your desk drawer, but it did little to satisfy you.

After clocking in overtime, you left the office just after 6 — moving into your car and finally taking a breath. You quickly went through a handful of notifications, before finding a text from Michael timestamped at 2:23.

Can we talk tonight?

You debated it. You wanted to, but you still had things to do and you were starving.

Raincheck?

I had the busiest day and I haven’t been able to eat yet.

Your phone buzzed with an alert not even a moment later, while you sat still in your car, trying to take a moment for yourself.

We could grab food instead?

. . .

New Thai place opened up near me

Your stomach grumbled, making up your mind for you. Smiling to yourself and deciding the last details of your project could be edited the following morning, you agreed, asking for the address.

You were far too hungry for the nerves of seeing him again to invade — instead trying to freshen up with the aid of your sun visor mirror and whatever you could find in your bag. Lipgloss and a tiny bottle of perfume were going to have to make it work. You studied your reflection, and tried to fix your hair as much as you could given the circumstances.

The Thai place was busy, which considering they had only just opened, should have been expected. You found a parking space near the back and sent a text to let Michael know you had arrived.

Smoothing out your work slacks and blouse once you were out of the car, you pulled your blazer tight — the evening having grown chilly. You saw Michael waiting near the front door, dressed in jeans and a casual zip-up sweatshirt, a festival t-shirt peeking through.

You smiled as you approached, “Hi.”

He smiled in return, taking you in, putting his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. “Hi.”

You glanced in the window to see how busy the place was and your stomach protested.

“They said the wait to sit down was likely going to be an hour,”

You frowned, glancing around at the other buildings on each side of the street.

“There’s a Chinese place just a block away, we could try that?” He offered.

“Do you mind?” You asked quietly, bringing your arms across your body. “I’d still like to check this place out, but I don’t think I can wait that long.”

He smiled easily, “Not at all.”

You stepped into pace with him, heading down the sidewalk towards the Chinese restaurant. You were away from the more central part of Pittsburgh, but traffic still whizzed by, undisturbed by the darkening skies.

“Did you work today?” You asked, peeking at him from the corner of your eye.

“No, but I have a swing shift tomorrow. Haven’t had to work one of those in awhile, but we’re short staffed.” He explained with a tiny shrug.

You absorbed the new information. “You usually work days?”

“Normally, yeah. Sort of a perk of…my job title.” He chuckled.

Part of you wanted to ask what exactly that title was, but realized it would likely give away too much information. From everything you knew about his job, it definitely seemed like he worked in a hospital as opposed to a clinic or private practice — ICU perhaps? Emergency room? Curiosity ate away in your mind, picturing him in a white lab coat, but you tried to shake off the thought.

He held the door open for you, and you stepped into the restaurant, taking it in. The smell of food was overwhelming until it was all you could consider, your stomach making it painfully obvious how empty it was. You took note of the vending machines against the wall and the two tables — both occupied. You turned back to him and watched as he noticed the lack of seating as well.

“We could just get take out,” he said, eyes meeting yours. “My place is just a few blocks away.”

You swallowed, and genuinely considered it. You were far too hungry to try someplace else and you turned to look at the menu. Fuck it.

“That was—that was forward of me. I didn’t mean—just so we have a place to sit down and eat. We can—”

You looked up at him and smiled, “No, that’s fine. Killing me would be so hypocritical of the whole ‘do no harm’ thing.”

He blinked and your face instantly heated, digesting your own words.

“That was a terrible joke, oh my god—”

He laughed. He laughed.

All your fears washed away at the sound of it, and you smiled sheepishly before turning towards the counter at the end of the restaurant.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a breath, grin still stretched across his face, “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“No! I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to insinuate—”

He waved off your concern, moving towards the counter. “No harm done.”

You both ordered, and you got your usual and Michael ordered orange chicken — but you both moved to pay. You stared down at each of your cards, catching just a glimpse of his full name on the front — Michael C. Rob — the rest covered by his thumb. You glanced at his face.

His brown eyed gaze was on you, too, holding steady for several beats of your heart, and it took the sigh from the woman behind the counter for you to move again.

“I got it.” He said.

“Thank you.” You whispered, putting your card back into your wallet.

The woman informed you it would just take ten minutes, much to your relief. You moved off to the side and leaned against the wall to wait, Michael leaning next to you. It was a small space, filled with the sounds from the kitchen seen behind the counter, and the light conversation from the five other people sitting down.

Thoughts moving from your hunger and the food, you absorbed the information that he lived near here. It was a considerably nicer part of Pittsburgh, you knew you could never even afford a studio in the area, but it made sense. He had money — he had money to burn, considering your monthly stipend.

The walk back to his place after you had collected your food was quiet, and you savored the sound of his street — off the main streets, it was nice. You had long grown used to the white noise of cars outside your window in your own apartment.

There was a doorman when you arrived at his building, and you craned your neck to look up at it. Red brick and large windows, and your shoes clacked! on the clean tile once you were through the main door. It was immaculate, and gave you the sudden intrusive thought that you did not belong. It worked up your throat like bile and you turned your eyes to the floor.

You took the elevator up with him to one of the top floors, and you stared at yourself in the mirror on either side of the elevator. His reflection watched you, until the elevator doors opened. The hallway was empty and quiet, and you reflexively reached for the takeout bag so he could get his keys.

21B

His apartment was beautiful. Even before he flicked the lights on, you knew — late evening light spilling in from the windows along the far wall. It was an open floor plan, his front door opening into his living room with a tiny entryway. His kitchen was laid on the right side, with a quaint dining room set up, large windows and a door to a balcony. There was an archway that led to a hallway along the wall to your left — presumably to his bedroom and bathroom.

The brick accents did wonders for the space, and the furnishings were modest. Not fancy or flashy, but clearly not second-hand. There was something distinctly lived in about the space, a discarded book on the end table and scattered coasters on the coffee table. There was a dip on the L-shaped couch, a favorite spot undoubtedly, with the remote haphazardly discarded on one of the cushions.

He removed his shoes in the entryway, and you followed his lead before you followed after him.

“I don’t have much in terms of drinks,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Uh, I’ve got water and iced tea…wine, I also have wine.”

You smiled at him, placing your bag on the granite countertop. “Water’s just fine, thank you.”

He nodded, putting the takeout bag next to the sink, when he reached into one of the cabinets to get a glass. While he sorted through the bag, and got your drink, you wandered over to the windows, glancing at the city sprawled out before you, the sunset burning behind the buildings. The sky was a fine array of oranges and reds, and you found you loved the view.

Michael cleared his throat behind you, making you jump. He smiled sheepishly, handing you the glass of water. You took it with a smile of your own and sipped it.

“You have a really nice place.” You found yourself saying, still looking over the walls and wood finishes.

“Oh, thank you.”

You walked back into the kitchen with him and followed his lead bringing your food into his living room. You glanced at his dining table, but did not question it — not being able to argue to sit down on a very comfortable looking couch after you had been running around all day.

You both began eating with a Penguins game in the background, and you did your best to be polite and not inhale your food.

“Did you want to talk about your day?” He asked after a few bites of his orange chicken.

You looked over to him, swallowing a mouthful of food. “Me?”

He looked amused, “You.”

You blinked, “I mean, aside from it being an incredibly long and busy day, there’s not much to say. A shitshow, but hey, that’s showbiz, baby.”

The corners of his lips rose into a grin, “Yeah? I didn’t know accounting and show business were related.”

You held up your hand and crossed two of your fingers, “Incredibly intertwined. You could play ‘pick the narcissist’ with either profession, and you’d be right either way.”

Michael laughed, “Run into a lot of those today?”

You shrugged, but your lips were inching upward, “Without delving into company secrets, yeah, my boss can be a bit of a megalomaniac. It’s all a numbers game, even at the price of employee satisfaction. There’s been a high turnover rate recently.”

Michael nodded like he fully understood what you were talking about. “Have you considered leaving?”

“Frequently. Once I graduate, for sure. Only a few more months.” You chewed a bite of your food, the hunger in your stomach ebbing away, “How has work been for you?”

“Admin has been on my ass,” he told you, eyes flickering to the tv and back to you. “Patient satisfaction scores, you know?”

“You have satisfaction scores?” You asked incredulously, confusion knitting your brows together. “That sounds like some shit they do for a fast food chain.”

He gestured wildly with his hands, “That’s what I said.”

“I mean, sure, satisfaction is important in any industry — but that wouldn’t be my main concern in a hospital environment. How is employee satisfaction?”

“Down,” Michael said with a frown. “Understaffing is a big problem. Nurses, attendings, techs, you name it. Wait times are high, and I just don’t have the staff to bring it down.”

“Damn,” you breathed out, “I guess I can’t say I’m surprised, especially not after the pandemic.”

He looked down into his food, nodding, “The pandemic hit us hard. There’s definitely a distinct difference in life before and life after for most of us.”

You watched him, noticing the smallest wince in his cheek at the mention of it. And to think just the other week that I had been thinking how nice it had been to work from home. You swallowed your guilt with the last bite of your food, noticing how the mood shifted.

Your knees brushed when he turned his eyes back to the television, a faraway look in his eyes. You bumped his knee purposefully the second time, gaining his attention.

“I don’t know how to help you, or even if I can, or if you even want me to. But I’m always here if you want to talk, or if you need a distraction.” You offered with a small smile.

His face relaxed at that, “And that’s enough, sweetheart, thank you. Being able to talk, or think about anything else has been incredibly helpful.”

While you absorbed everything he said, the word sweetheart bounced around in your head, making your palms clammy.

“Of course, yeah,” you looked away from him, unable to hold his gaze.

“I mean it.” He said, gaining your full attention, “Thank you.”

A genuine smile appeared on your face, soft and gentle.

Hours passed with simpler conversation, both your attentions on the hockey game. But you would be lying if you said you missed the way his touch lingered on your skin, or how warm his body felt next to you, throwing your thoughts in a frenzy.

You were thankful that he was talking about simple, mundane things, because you were having a hard time focusing on it. You felt like a stupid hormonal teenager sat next to him, stuck in your own head rather than the moment.

When the game ended at a brutal 3-0 against, you could not help but yawn.

“I should probably call it,” you said, glancing at the time on your phone.

He nodded, moving to sit up, rolling his shoulders with the softest groan that short-circuited your brain. He held his hand out to you and you took it, gathering your scattered thoughts, trying to remember to grab all your things.

“Let me walk you to your car.” He said, putting on his shoes.

“You don’t have to do that—”

“Well, I’m going to anyway. It’s late and your car is several blocks away.”

You grabbed your bag, cheeks heating, “Alright.”

Once outside, you absentmindedly looped your arm with his, his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. Neither of you spoke on it, his eyes only lingering on your face for a few short seconds. You enjoyed the warmth of his body, pressed into his side — the thoughts in your head momentarily quieting.

You felt like the walk to your car had been far too short as opposed to the walk to his place, and it took a moment to finally let go of him.

“Thank you for walking me.” You said, looking at him. “I had a good time tonight.”

“I did, too. Spontaneous. It was good.”

Nodding in agreement, you stepped toward your car. “I’ll let you know when I get home?”

“Yeah,” he smiled softly at you. “get home safe.”

You parted with a lingering goodbye.

—

It had only been a few days since you had heard from Michael, though that wasn’t uncommon. Part of you felt antsy about it — fingers itching to send him a message or call to check in on him. You felt foolish, a tiny part of your brain aching to connect with him. Every time the thought crossed your mind, you pushed it back down, desperate to discard it. He wasn’t looking for connection — that was the exact opposite of what he was looking for.

Sweetheart echoed in your head even now, the rough timber of his voice burrowing deep, making your heart flutter.

Huffing a long sigh, you focused back on your report, but your eyes seemed to look straight through the screen like it wasn’t even there.

When your phone buzzed, you quickly reached for it. You tried not to feel the disappointment flood through your system at the text from Marsi.

I had the worst day. Let’s go out tonight?

You pursed your lips, debating it. It surely would get your mind off a certain someone, and maybe even help you get your thoughts back on track.

Please

You sent back.

—

The bar was pretty busy. It had been a long time since you had been out on a Friday night. Marsi clearly had been through it, her numerical analytics presentation for her computer science masters had gone terribly when she had misunderstood a pretty large part of the project. She had the weekend to correct it — the professor not wanting to fail her.

But she had needed a night off, and you decided a night off would be good for you, too. It was nice. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Marsi ordered shots, downing hers as quickly as it came. You hesitated, staring at the clear liquid. You debated it, but then decided a shot and a drink wouldn’t throw off your weekend too much.

“Alright, you’re so off. Spill.”

Your eyes went wide, looking back to your friend. “What are you talking about?”

“That! That look right there.”

You pursed your lips and frowned, sipping your drink. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Is it a guy?” When she received no immediate answer, she continued, “Oh jeez, did he find out about that sugar daddy thing?”

“No! What? No, of course not.” Speaking quickly, you turned her eyes away from your friend, hoping she wouldn’t notice you flustering. “There’s no guy.”

Marsi did not look even slightly convinced, narrowing her eyes over her jack and ginger. “You suck at lying.”

Flustered, you tried to change the subject. “Did you catch the Penguins game last night?”

“What?” Marsi laughed, “Don’t try to change the subject!”

“There’s no guy.” You huffed, stressing your words.

She quirked an eyebrow, “I don’t believe you. Is it a taboo thing? Is it a co-worker?”

You tried to quiet your friend, hushing her. Give it to Marsi to see right through you. At least it’s not Erin, your mind commented.

“Professor?” Marsi shooed away your hands, “Jeez, stop that!”

“What? Ew, no!”

“Oh fuck.” Marsi said after a moment's realization. “Is it the sugar daddy?”

“No!” You protested quickly, too quickly, before adding with your nose scrunched and face ablaze, “Don’t call him that,”

Marsi groaned, “Jesus. Didn’t Erin warn you about that?”

You tried to collect yourself, taking a deep breath to steady your heart, your thoughts hazy from the questions. “Please don’t get it twisted. It’s not like that.”

Marsi gave an unconvinced hum, sipping her drink. “Do you wish it was?”

“I don’t—I—uhh—no!” You closed your eyes tight, leaning your head back trying to stifle your annoyed groan. You looked back at your friend, “No.”

Marsi was quiet, watching you closely.

“Look, I don’t want that. He’s nice. I enjoy talking with him, but that’s it. It’s not complicated like that.” You told her, gulping the last of your drink.

“Whatever you say,” Marsi waved off. “That guy across the bar has been eyeing you up for the last ten minutes. Maybe you should get laid.”

Your face burned, not even bothering to check. “I’m not into one-night stands.”

“I’m sure that’s the reason you haven’t looked.” Marsi said with a smirk.

You groaned in frustration. “Can you just drop it?”

“Sure, sure,” she sipped her drink. “You’re awfully flustered for it being something that’s not complicated.”

“Please.”

When you opened your eyes, Marsi was frowning at you. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push.”

You sighed, “Thank you. I just don’t want a lecture right now.”

Marsi nodded, “You’re right, we came out to have fun! Let me tell you about this—”

Your phone buzzed on the bartop, Michael’s name lighting up your screen. Marsi’s eyes flickered from the tv above the bar to your phone to your face. She gave a wry grin.

Exasperated, ignoring the butterflies in your gut, you grabbed your phone. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

Marsi laughed, “I didn’t even say anything!”

You gave her a dry look, “I’ll be right back.”

You were out of your seat, moving quickly towards the entrance of the bar. Your heart picked back up, worry ebbing into your excitement. He never called this late without warning you first.

Not wanting to risk missing his call, you answered, “Hold on.” You moved out onto the sidewalk, moving until you were under the streetlight. “Hey.”

“Am I interrupting? I’m sorry—”

“No, no. Is everything alright?”

“I just wanted to—I thought—” Michael sighed. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Oh.”

“I shouldn’t have called, you’re clearly busy,”

“I want to talk to you, too.” You said, I wanted to talk to you all day went unspoken.

“Oh.”

You smiled gently, staring down at your feet, ‘I’m just not home yet. Can I call in like an hour?”

“Please do.”

—

“So…night out…uh, solo?” He asked after you greeted each other.

Was that jealousy in his tone? No, it couldn’t be.

“Yeah, one of my friends really needed it,” you explained, kicking off your shoes and moving into your bedroom. “She had a bad day.”

“Oh.”

“I’m glad to be home now,” You said, removing your dress, placing him on speaker. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy hanging out with her. Just Friday nights out aren’t always my thing, not much anymore, anyway.”

“I get that,” he said, his tone raspy. “I wanted to check in about work. I know the last week has been stressful for you.”

You pulled a pajama top over your head. “Some of the new staff is picking up the slack, I just hope they don’t leave before I do.” You chuckled.

He let out a breathy laugh.

You crawled into your bed, stretching out with a long yawn. “Admin still up your ass?”

“More than usual, yeah.”

It did not take long into your conversation for the light snoring on the other end to start, indicating that Michael had fallen asleep. His soft breaths in and out brought a comfort to you, enjoying the simplicity of him. Instead of ending the call, you placed your phone on the nightstand next to your head.

Closing your eyes, you laid back on your pillow and went to sleep.

[ Next ]

want to join the taglist? shoot me a message!

Companionship Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @clementine111002 @virgomillie @emily-b @kaygilles @lt-jakeseresin @imonmykneessir @kniselle @cannonindeez @gabsgabsvaz @rosiepoise88 @calivia @holdonimwalkingmysnail @valhallavalkyrie9 @blahkateisdone

All Dr Robby Content: @cherriready

jUST KISS ALREADY jeez

514 notes View Post

espressheauxs

4 months ago

3K notes View Post

espressheauxs

2 months ago

I've got a lot of respect for smut writers. you write something incredibly sexual, it's probably somewhat of a look into your own soul, and then bitches are too scared to leave kudos of comments half the time, so it looks as though everyone hates your work. And yet yall still do it, and I love that

10K notes View Post

espressheauxs

2 months ago

¡qué calor! [javier peña x bipoc moodboard].

content credit: image one, stephanie. image two, jasmine. image three, phaith.

a/n: a veryyyy belated request, curated for @verybigvag. i’m so sorry for the wait! and, you could never bother me. c’mon, now. <3

npt: @80ssong. @almostempty. @almostfoxglove. @always-andromeda. @clubsoft. @cxrsed-angel. @dontlookatme121. @frankensteingotwet. @gothcsz. @joeloverture. @jolapeno. @letsgobarbs. @magpiepills. @mandaloriankait. @ovaryacted. @yxtkiwiyxt.

🔗 here’s a couple more instagram pages that i enjoyed scrolling through, while sourcing for this. just in case anybody else’s interested. <3 becca, bethany, carobi, & maddie.

114 notes View Post

espressheauxs

1 month ago

Companionship | pt. 5

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader

Previous | Next

Summary: After a brief mention two weeks ago, Michael gives you a gift, making your feelings all the more complicated.

[ Series Masterlist ]

Note: y’all are so amazing!💜thank you for all the comments, reblogs, likes and follows! I’m so grateful you all are enjoying this as much as I am!! over 300 followers?? That’s crazy, thank you!!

Someone on ao3 said there needed to be more Robby pov and you know what? I agree! I tried my best lol

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: age gap, foul language, feelings angst, slowburn

not beta read

Butterflies invaded your stomach at the mere thought of him, the memory of his fingers on you — soft and fleeting. How warm his skin had been against yours, seared into your mind.

This is so stupid.

You thought to call Erin and ask her if this had ever happened to her, but there was a fear in saying anything. In calling attention to your feelings. Aside from the fact that he was not looking for anything, your arrangement was a glaring obvious fact that nothing truly could happen between you. Wouldn’t that break all the boundaries you had set with each other at the start? That was not even getting into your age difference, and the uneven balance it could create. He was so much older, it could never work.

Trying to distract yourself with work and studying and late nights with your friends, you still eagerly accepted any of his calls. He still planned a weekly one, but an unplanned call late at night became more frequent. You enjoyed those late night conversations, they were typically more raw and revealing than when he had time to think about what to say.

He had told you more about the hospital administration hounding him, and the third year resident he had taken under his wing some years past.

Toward the end of the conversation, he had asked to hang out.

“Maybe get take-out again, or something.” He suggested.

You contemplated it. Your laptop was giving you a headache, and you were half-tempted to throw it out a window. A little food and conversation might do wonders to make you feel better.

“I’d still like to try that Thai place.” You told him, playing with the hem of your sweater.

“That can be arranged.”

You laughed, “Tonight?”

“Yeah, meet me there at 7?”

—

Michael really had no excuse for the nerves that flooded his system. They nearly always did in your company, but the calm that would wash over him just a little bit later was bliss. It was nice to have someone to talk to — someone interested in his days without wanting to pry. It was freeing, almost, knowing you would still be there for him the following week even if he revealed his harrowed feelings.

There was a hopeful optimism, too — like it was all good practice for human connection. Yet, the thought of someone else on the other line or the other side of the table, it soured.

He was being stupid. He was being reckless.

The feelings in his chest were just simple, calm familiarity. It could never be anything more.

You were nearly half his age, and the thought of embarrassing himself at believing the feelings could ever be anything more made him tense up. The walls around his heart remained steadfast and strong.

Perhaps the whole arrangement was bleeding into something it shouldn’t be — and he thought to perhaps call the whole thing off.

He thought that, but he was already reaching for the phone to hear your voice.

The Thai place was crowded, but you were able to get a table. You were dressed in business casual, coming from work, and your top did wonders for your eyes. He admired you for a few moments in the lobby while you waited for a table, desperately trying to be subtle about it.

When you sat, you looked over the menu with interest and the quiet that settled over you was warm. Your orders were taken and you smiled, eyes roaming around the new restaurant.

“Have you still been pretty busy?” Michael asked.

“Never too busy for you.” You commented effortlessly with a smirk. “But yeah. Getting down to crunch time. Soon I’ll have to worry about getting my license.”

Your first comment made his heart stutter. I’m too old for this. But he was grinning.

“At least you’ll have school off your plate.” He said.

You gave an agreed nod, “I’m looking forward to that fact, oh my god.”

Michael chuckled.

“How was work yesterday?” You asked, looking genuinely interested.

You were good at that — making him want to open up, but some of his days were just too gruesome to tell you about. Too painful to share. You always had an ear open for him, regardless. Part of his mind whispered you were just doing as their agreement dictated, but he shoved that back down.

“It was…” A thousand words floated through his mind: Bad. Good. Terrible. Short-staffed. He settled on, “...fine.”

It was easy enough to see in your eyes that you did not believe him. Pretty eyes framed with long lashes, flickering from his face to your meal and back again. He hated how it felt not opening up all the way, but he feared he would swallow you whole.

He let out a long sigh through his nose, refusing to look at you. A thought was bubbling in his head, half-tempted to tell you about Adamson, feeling guilty for shutting you out. Not yet, I can’t yet, echoed in his head, memories burning in his mind of Adamson on the ventilator.

“Hey, hey, Mike.” You snapped him out of the images that haunted him, reaching across the table to hold his hand. “You got lost there for a minute…are you okay?”

He cleared his throat and you removed your hand, much to his disappointment. He covered it easily, smiling back at you.

“Well, I’m out with a very beautiful woman, so I’d say I’m okay.”

You stared at him, eyebrows raised, eyes wide, before quickly looking away from him. His heart picked up at your reaction, hope blooming. No—

“That’s—well—uh—thank you.”

He smiled, trying to brush all the thoughts swimming in his head aside. “I got you something.”

You sputtered, “What?”

“I got you a gift. I left it at my apartment, figured we could head back that way after we finished eating.” He explained, thinking of the box sitting on his couch. It had sat like a heavyweight in his living room all week.

“You…got me a gift?” Then, “You really didn’t have to do that, Michael.”

He shrugged sheepishly, “I wanted to.”

“Well, thank you. Really. That…you really didn’t have to.”

Michael tried to read all the emotions flickering across your face—shock, confusion, red eared embarrassment, and finally, gratitude.

He called for the check.

—

Warm feelings were swirling around in your stomach. The cool night air did little for your cheeks, or the heat that had crawled up your neck or wrapped across your chest, holding you tight.

A gift. He got me a gift. A gift. A goddamn gift.

Why the fuck had he gotten you something? A nausea rolled in, feeling like you owed him — even if his only intention had been to be kind. What was it? Did he see something simple, think of you and buy it? Did he go out searching for something to buy?

The possibilities ate away at your insides.

The walk into his apartment building was filled with quiet banter, which helped pull you back out of your head. You registered the look on the woman’s face as she had stepped off the elevator, giving Michael a side-eye, while you both stepped onto it. You swallowed thickly, turning your attention back to the man beside you.

“Maybe they just need a few games to get into the swing of things. I still have hope.” You told him, referencing the game the Penguins had played the day before.

Michael chuckled, “They’re a disappointment, but they’re still my team.”

“Sometimes I feel lucky when I’m too busy to watch them lose.” You laughed, moving beside him when you got to his floor.

You were nervous to be in his apartment again, but a part of you also enjoyed being surrounded by a space that was purely him.

“If it makes you feel any better, it can’t technically be a gift. I didn’t wrap it.” He said, glancing at you.

Your eyes moved around his apartment until they settled on the brown paper bag on his couch. Your heart started racing.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works,” you said with a small chuckle, looking over at him.

He had his hands in his pockets, side stepping to his couch to grab the gift. Seeing the size of it, you began guessing in your head as to what it could have been — a clothing box? Too big to be a book.

“Here you go.” His voice was so soft as he handed it over.

You lowered yourself onto his couch, taking it from him. It was heavy. Not unbearably so, but it had some weight to it. You smiled up at him before putting your hand into the bag, feeling the box inside.

He moved to sit next to you…impossibly close. Close enough to feel his body heat, feel the shadow of his form hovering.

Gut twisting, you pulled out the box, blinking down at what now laid in your lap. HP was written on the cardboard in large black lettering, and your heart completely stopped. The cardboard had been opened so it was easy enough to peek inside, all your thoughts stalling in your head at the sight of it.

An HP ProBook 460 G11.

A goddamn fucking laptop.

“Michael,” your voice squeaked out, heart hammering against your ribcage. “I can’t accept this. This is too much.”

“I know you were saying yours was giving you trouble.” He said, like it explained everything.

You finally removed your eyes from the box to look at him. He had a soft smile on his lips, but it still reached his eyes, crinkled in contentment. His brown eyes held an emotion you did not recognize, but it crept into your chest and curled up.

“I really can’t take this.” You breathed out, quiet since he was so close.

“It’s bad luck to give a gift back.”

“I thought it wasn’t technically a gift.”

He smirked, eyes flickering down to your lips before snapping back up to your eyes. “I want you to have it.”

And that seemed to settle it.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “This was really, really nice of you. Thank you so much.”

He rubbed his hands down his legs, letting out a long breath, “Yeah, of course.”

You grabbed his wrist, forcing his attention back to your face. “I mean it, this…this was incredibly thoughtful. Thank you, Michael.”

“You’re welcome.” And there was your name, so pretty on his lips.

[ Next ]

want to join the taglist? shoot me a message!

All Dr. Robby Content: @cherriready @kittenhawkk @seeyalaterinnovator