iamawhore4life

Latest Posts by iamawhore4life

Kiss It Better (John Carter x gn!reader)

prompt: wisdom teeth removal from @medwhumpmay

Summary: At age 24, John Carter needs to have all four of his wisdom teeth removed. When the day comes, you take care of him.

Content: Mentions of wisdom teeth removal procedure, blood, hurt/comfort, mentions of pain medication and anesthesia, somewhat dubious consent for a kiss, reader is alluded to have their wisdom teeth out in 1 line. takes place day of and day after wisdom teeth removal surgery. so.

WC: 5k

John Carter thinks he must be cursed. He made it through high school and college without issue from his wisdom teeth, but as soon as he’s placed at Cook County General Hospital for his ER rotation, his jaws start to ache.

A few weeks into his rotation, when he’s finally getting the hang of treating patients and following Benton’s orders, the aches in his jaws move up into his head. The pain throbs along his temples and distracts him from patients, which, so early in his time in the ER, isn’t a good look for him.

At home, he sticks his fingers into the back of his mouth to get a sense of how far along the wisdom teeth are growing in. His fingers run over tender bumps, and one finger makes contact with the sharp edge of a tooth. His hand freezes. He knows he can’t ignore this now.

Carter catches you in the cafeteria and sits down at a table next to you. 

“How do I know I need my wisdom teeth removed?” He blurts out his question. You turn to look at him and see the worry in his eyes. 

“Well, you should see a dentist, they know more,” you answer. “But pain is a sign you might need things checked out. Why, are yours coming in?”

Carter nods his head. “...I think I might need to get them out soon.”

You smile, amused at the thought of Carter with swollen cheeks and suffering through the recommended soft diet for weeks. 

“Getting sore?” You ask, taking a sip of your drink.

“My head feels like it’s going to explode.”

“Yeah, you should see your dentist,” you tell him. “Best to get it over with.”

Carter deflates. He childishly hoped you’d tell him he’ll be okay, that he won’t need any teeth removed. The idea of having someone else dig into his gums and extract teeth– possibly all four– was nightmarish to him. Then he thought about all of the pain that will follow in the immediate days after, and how it will linger for weeks, and the holes in his gums that will catch the chewed-up food he eats. 

Carter’s eyes glaze over, focused on a dark stain on the table in front of him, as he comes up with more scenarios to worry about. 

“You’ll be fine,” you smile. “Eat a lot of soup and pudding for a week and you’ll be almost back to normal.”

He groans at the thought of eating mush for a week. “Can’t they just put me in a medically-induced coma for a month until I heal?”

His complaints earn a laugh from you. “I wish. Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.”

Carter complies and sees his dentist, who schedules his surgery for the month after. On one hand, he’s glad he can get it over with. The longer he had to wait, the more he would worry himself sick about it. But he doesn’t want it to happen that soon, either. He wishes he could put it off forever. He’s heard too many horror stories from friends in high school and college and from his cousin, stories of dry socket and pain that lingers for weeks. 

The dreaded day arrives faster than Carter had hoped. He knew he would need someone to take him home, so he asked you as you walked outside with him after a shift. 

Carter shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m getting my wisdom teeth out in a few days,” he tells you while you’re walking, a reminder, but you’ve been counting down the days, too. 

“Nervous?” You ask him. 

He nods. “I’ll need someone to drive me home,” he adds. “Are you busy that day?”

“No,” you smile. The thought of seeing Carter coming out of the anaesthesia is an opportunity you can’t pass up. “I’d love to take you home.”

Carter blushes, but the darkening sky and soft light from the hospital behind you does a good job of hiding it. “Thank you.” 

There’s a steady ache in his jaws that bleeds into his chest. You walk silently beside him to your cars that are subconsciously parked close to each other, only a few parking spots separating them. 

Carter hardly sleeps the night before. His mind is plagued with visions of botched surgery and infections that seep into his bloodstream. Despite how routine the procedure is, he’s convinced something will go wrong. He’s never been good at playing the patient. That’s why he went to medical school.

A few hours later, Carter walks out of the room with gauze hanging out of his mouth and a nurse holding his elbow to steady him. He smiles the best he can with a swollen, full mouth, and the anaesthesia still in effect. His eyes don’t quite open all the way. 

“Feeling okay?” You ask, stepping closer to him to take over keeping him steady.

Carter nods. “He did great,” the nurse tells you. She extends a hand to you, “Here are his extracted teeth, and further instructions for post-operative care.”

You take the papers and the small container of his teeth, analyzing the dried blood stuck to a few of them. The nurse turns to Carter. “Take it easy, okay? Your partner will take good care of you.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. You realize how it looks– picking up Carter and helping take care of him when he gets home does seem like something a romantic partner would do. Carter just nods, either not registering her words or too dopey to argue. 

You grasp Carter’s arm in your other hand and lead him down the hallway to the front door of the clinic. His steps are slow, his eyes wanting to close. 

“Don’t fall asleep on me now,” you grin at him. 

“Sleepy,” he says, his full mouth muffling his words. 

“I know. We just have to make it to the car.” 

Carter shuffles along beside you outside into the parking lot, where, thankfully, you parked as close to the front doors as you could. Walking to the car was the easy part— getting Carter in is the hard part. 

He moves so slowly, unsure of his own body, crouching lower and lower until his head clears the roof of the car. Sitting down for him is better. He doesn’t have to worry about anything now. You lean across his body with the seatbelt in hand to buckle him in. 

“You smell good,” Carter murmurs. 

You angle your body away from him as you pull out of the passenger side, hiding your flustered smile. “Thank you.” 

Carter zones out during the drive back to his apartment. He admires the passing building with awe, as if he’s seeing Chicago for the first time. He leans closer to the window, peering up at the skyscrapers, drool leaking out of the side of his mouth. At a red light, you reach over and wipe some of it away with your thumb. 

Getting Carter out of the car proves more difficult than getting him in. He’s had all this time to relax and give into his sleepiness, making it harder to keep him awake enough to walk inside. 

You tug on his arm and he groans. The sound he makes is more of a whine, really. A high pitched noise that comes from the back of his throat, and his body falls limp the more you tug on his arm. 

“Come on, Carter, you can sleep when you get inside.”

He groans (whines) the entire time but he complies, and uses all of his strength to sit up and get out of the car.

The door to his apartment is a welcome relief. Inside, he sheds his jacket with difficulty, letting it fall to the floor for you to pick up later, and sinks into the couch. Trailing behind him, you pick up his mess, and put down his things on the coffee table. 

“Change,” you tell him with a smile. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Can you get it for me?” He mumbles, head leaning back against the cushions. 

You come back from his room with pajamas in hand. He changes quickly, agreeing that this feels better than what he was wearing before. He reaches for the TV remote on the table in front of him, getting comfortable in his spot and flicking through the television channels.

After tidying up the mess he left in his wake, picking up his dirty clothes and putting them in his laundry hamper, you join him on the couch. You don’t have anything better to do. You’re his for the day.

Carter tries to fight through the soreness in his jaws to sleep, but he’s not successful. He sits on the couch with his eyes closed, listening to the TV and hoping sleep will find him.

“Hurts so much,” Carter mumbles with his eyes closed. He can barely open his mouth to speak, causing his words to blend together. 

“You already took your pain medication,” you tell him in a gentle tone. He won’t be due for another dose for a few hours. Seeing someone you care about in pain isn’t easy to deal with, especially when you’re helpless. The most you can do is comfort him, make his recovery easier on himself, but you can’t take away his pain. 

You’re not prepared for his next words. With his slurred speech, you’re not even sure you heard him right. 

“Kiss it better?”

He stares at you with glassy, wide eyes, almost pouting. Begging. 

You answer with a nod before leaning closer to him. The couch cushions dip beneath your shifting weight. Carter’s face isn’t too swollen, just enough to notice something happened, but you know it’s still sore to touch. Your lips are feather-light against the side of his jaw, lingering for a moment, not wanting it to end just yet, even if it’s merely a friendly kiss in a time of need. 

Carter’s eyes follow yours as you pull back, but not completely away. “Turn your head for me,” you instruct, using one hand to guide his head towards you while leaning over his lap. Again, your lips touch his skin, careful not to make his pain worse. 

For a moment, your kisses do make him feel better. He manages to forget about the pain radiating up and down his jaws, replacing everything in his mind with you. Your fingers on his chin, lips pressed to the most tender part of his body. Carter doesn’t have a single coherent thought racing through his brain. All he can think about is kissing you.

Desperate to feel better, Carter takes advantage of your proximity and turns his head back to you so he can kiss you properly.

It’s a dream come true and a nightmare all at once. His lips are still dry and tasting faintly of copper, moving awkwardly from either residual numbness or pain, but it’s hard to pull yourself away. It isn’t right. He’s not thinking straight, he’s still loopy from medication, he’s just seeking comfort. It’s nothing more than that, a mistake in a moment of weakness, something you’ll both laugh off in a few days when he’s feeling better.

Carter puts a hand on your shoulder to keep you close to him. He didn’t even consider the fact that you might not want that, even if you did just kiss both of his cheeks because he asked. He didn’t think you’d pull away. 

“I…”

“It’s okay,” you look up at him with a weak smile, still almost on his lap. You can’t stand to look at him for long. You’ll lean in for another kiss if you do. 

Not knowing how to deal with this situation, you run from it. It’ll be easier this way, you convince yourself. Don’t talk about it. Don’t bring it up tomorrow or next week. Wait until it doesn’t hurt anymore, if that time ever comes. It probably won’t. 

“Hungry yet?” You ask while standing up from the couch, anxious to distance yourself from the situation. The ground feels uneven beneath your feet. “I could heat you up some chicken broth?”

Carter nods. He is hungry, not just for broth, but he’ll take what you give him. 

The couch swallows him whole. His eyes close and he can’t think about anything other than the pain and the fact that there are four holes in his mouth right now. He knows the recovery process. He knows not to drink from a straw or smoke, to stick to liquid and mush for a while before he can move on to slightly more solid foods, almost like he’s a baby learning how to eat again. He knows the pain will fade over the course of the week, with the next day or two being the peak of it. He’s sleepy but he also knows he can’t sleep on his sides yet, unless he contorts his body so his cheeks aren’t pressing against his pillows. The sound of pots and pans rattling in the kitchen snaps him out of his racing thoughts, but what replaces them isn’t all that much better. 

The TV steals his attention until you hand him a mug of warm broth and a spoon. And a hand towel to mop up whatever liquid he’s bound to spill. 

Carter seems to catch on. That, or he regrets the kiss and is too embarrassed or ashamed to bring it up. He keeps his eyes on the TV, never once stealing a glance at you like he always does. He’s too scared you’ll see right through him. 

The rest of the afternoon is like that; tense, and quiet, far too quiet. 

Carter thought– hoped?– you would stay the night. Just tonight, although he wouldn’t complain if you stayed a few more nights. The thought of waking up miserable and sore and alone sets a wave of nausea in his stomach. The thought of asking doesn’t make him feel any better. It’s bad enough he can barely talk and feed himself. He doesn’t want to be greedy and ask for more of you. 

He’s curled up on the couch now, the living room darkening, fidgeting with the corner of the blanket you put on his legs. You’re on the other end of the couch, leaning against the arm of it the same way he is. He’d flicked through the channels earlier while you were heating up another mug of broth for him and he landed on some action movie, something fast-paced yet easy to follow if he lets his eyes close for too long. 

Carter sits up. Your attention turns to the movement, thinking maybe he needs the bathroom, but he doesn’t move from the couch. He just looks at you. His lips aren’t so dry anymore, you notice. 

“When are you going home?” He asks you. His jumbled speech is almost endearing. Carter isn’t a true mess so often. He has bad days at work, walking in with bed head once in a while, or messing up something with a patient, but seeing him truly in such a state of disarray is rare, impossible, even. He’s always been one to guard his troubles, wanting to handle it himself. Stubborn. 

You attribute his soft voice to his inability to move his mouth properly. The question catches you off guard. “Oh, um, in a bit?” You answer. Truthfully, you don’t want to leave Carter all alone tonight. But he’s not asking you to stay. He’s asking when you’re leaving. “When do you want me to go?” 

He doesn’t know what to say. Never? Right now? 

“Can you stay?” Carter whispers. 

His request, so small, sends an ache across your chest. During the evening, since the kiss, it was easy to forget why you were so close to him in the first place. You were kissing him better. Your touch was what he needed for comfort. He still needs it. 

You can’t deny him when he looks at you with those eyes. He’s not even pouting but his lips don’t have to move for his eyes to plead.

“I’ll stay,” you answer with a nod. “Getting tired?”

He sighs, relieved that you don’t want to leave. The tension between you has slowly dissolved since he abruptly kissed you. He’s still worried about it, refusing to bring it up yet, but your answer is a good sign, he thinks. You could go and come back tomorrow, but you don’t. You’ll stay. 

“Yeah,” Carter replies quietly, his mouth not numb anymore but the sharp pain in his jaws when he moves them residing, “so tired.”

“Come on, you need to get into bed,” you smile at him. He groans, throwing his head back in frustration, clearly biting back a smile, too. 

Carter huffs as hard as he can, which isn’t very hard because he’s afraid of dislodging anything in his mouth, and stands from the couch. You follow him to his bedroom and pull the blankets down his bed for him. He’s already in pajamas, having lounged around his apartment in them all day since you brought him back, an oversized shirt and flannel pants. 

He settles under the blankets and loops up at you. “Water?”

“I’ll get you some water,” you answer with a soft smile. “And you should take your medicine before you sleep. You might have to wake up to take it during the night so it doesn’t wear off.”

The idea of waking up in the middle of the night sounds like torture to Carter. But he doesn’t want to be in pain in the morning, either. 

You bring back a glass of water from the kitchen and hand it to Carter, also passing him the pills he has to take. He winces as his jaws open to make room for the pills. He just wants it to be over already. 

He rests his head back against his pillows, handing you the glass of water, his lips still wet from drinking. For a second, your mind wanders back to earlier. The kiss. His lips look so inviting right now, but there’s nothing you can do about it, unless you want to ruin everything. He probably didn’t know what he was doing, you reason in your head. A rational, clear-minded Carter wouldn’t have kissed you. 

You pull the blankets up to Carter’s chest. He doesn’t look very relaxed yet, still wearing a faint grimace on his lips, from the ache in his gums or being forced to sleep on his back. 

“Here,” your hands reach for his pillows. His eyes open from the disturbance. You prop up a pillow beside his head. “You can lean your temple against this,” you explain, pushing the bottom of the pillow in so it doesn’t touch his face. He does as you say and lets his head drop to the side, resting against the pillow. It’s not much, but it’s better than trying to sleep lying flat on his back. 

“Better?” You ask, and he hums in agreement. He turns his face to the side, resting more of his forehead against the pillow, still careful to not put any pressure on the lower half of his face.

He looks far more comfortable now. It brings another smile to your face. “Good night,” you whisper.

“‘Night,” Carter mumbles with his eyes closed. The floor creaks under you as you leave his room, leaving the door open just a sliver behind you.

The TV is still on in the living room, playing the credits of whatever movie was just on. Carter’s blanket he sat on the couch with all afternoon is still there, which saves you a trip to his hall closet to dig for something to sleep with. 

Carter wakes you up in the morning. He leans over you on the couch to shake your shoulder, having to shake you two or three times before your eyes finally open. 

“Yeah?” You groan, your arm resting over your eyes to block out the sunlight from the windows. 

“Where’s the medication?” He slurs. The question wakes you up. You forgot to leave out extra for him when he woke up so the pain wouldn’t be unbearable. 

“It’s, um, it’s on the kitchen counter.” You sit straight up and yawn. Carter turns around to head into the kitchen but you throw the blanket off and swing your legs over the side of the couch. “No, I’ll get it.”

Carter freezes, not wanting to disturb your sleep but his mouth hurts so bad he just wants to crawl back into bed and sleep off the radiating stabbing sensations. 

Carter’s apartment is cold. Without the warmth of the thick blanket covering your body, you shiver as you step into the kitchen to grab the bottles of pills. The cold tile under your bare feet doesn’t help, either, your teeth chattering as you walk back into Carter’s bedroom.

“Hurts?” You ask, handing him the bottles. In an effort to retain any heat, you sit down on the edge of his bed. 

Carter hums in agreement. He sinks back into his pillows after swallowing his pills. The relief isn’t immediate, but he knows it will come soon. 

His eyes close, too, as he shifts to a more comfortable position for his jaws, although nothing is comfortable as long as the pain persists. 

“You can stay,” he offers quietly.

“Here?”

Carter nods. There is enough room in his bed to lay next to him.

Convinced this is another decision made under the influence of medication or pain, you sit next to him anyway. It’s too cold to be anywhere else, you reason with yourself. His bed is warm, and you’re cold, and he doesn’t know what he’s asking for. It can be simple. 

Carter’s head lowers to rest on your shoulder. His temple meets your shoulder and his body tilts towards yours. From your perspective, he almost looks small, which is rare for a man of Carter’s stature. He never looks small, always towering over most of your coworkers, a skyscraper working amongst humans.

But next to you in his own bed, the skyscraper illusion melts away. You can see his chest rise and fall steadily, slowly, as close as he’s ever been, and you think about how easy it is to get caught up in that closeness. If only his head was tilted up instead of down, if only Carter was thinking clearly, if only Carter would ask you to kiss him again. If he looked up at you right now, you just might lean down for a quick kiss. 

He doesn’t, because he’s tired, and his face aches and throbs too much to move again.

A few hours later, you wake up, unaware you dozed off in the first place. Carter’s head is still attached to your shoulder, his body still dangerously close to yours, still sleeping.

There’s no easy way out of this, you realize. Any movement you make will wake him up, and you really don’t want to do that, but in order to get up and use the bathroom, you’ll have to.

Carter’s bed creaks when you move, which doesn’t help your attempts to leave as smoothly as possible. Your movements are jerky and the bed is too loud, and Carter’s eyes open, blinking in confusion. 

“What’re you doing?” He asks, propping himself up on his elbow. 

“I’m sorry. I tried not to wake you up.”

Carter turns his head back to look at his alarm clock and a hand reaches up to rub his eyes. 

“You don’t have to get up,” you tell him, hoping to comfort him. 

He shakes his head. “No, I should anyway.”

He’s almost speaking normally, but you know it’s just the medication helping him. In a few hours he’ll need another dose again, this time you’ll remember to catch it early instead of late.

“What do you want for breakfast?” You ask as you stand up from his bed.

He pauses to think before quickly shrugging. “It’s all mush anyway.”

That earns a laugh from you. “What flavour mush do you want for breakfast?”

You linger in the doorway for his answer. “Chocolate pudding?” He asks.

“Chocolate pudding coming right up for my patient,” you smile at him.

Carter flops back onto his bed, a smile forming on his lips. He hates being anyone’s patient but he’s happy to have you here. He’s happy you stayed the night, because you bring him his medicine and his breakfast, definitely not because he likes how you make his heart beat faster like he’s in middle school again, and absolutely not because he wants to kiss you again.

He eats his pudding in bed, listening to you wash the dishes from yesterday and tidy up the rest of his place. He can’t imagine having to come home alone and take care of his apartment on top of himself. 

Yesterday’s numbness has completely worn off, and even with the pain medication earlier, his jaws are tight. He can feel the holes in the back of his mouth throb lightly as he does his best to swallow the pudding without letting it touch his raw gums. It’s quite difficult to manage, and he smears some pudding on his chin in the process. 

You pop your head into his room to check on him, instantly grinning at the mess on his face. “You look like you just ate shit.”

Carter rolls his eyes. “Can you bring me a napkin?”

You disappear and come back with one in your hand. Instead of handing it to Carter to do for himself, you walk up right in front of him and take his jaw (making sure to not touch the slightly swollen hinges) in one hand and wipe the pudding with the other. His eyes meet yours for a second before flickering away, his head trying to follow his gaze but your hand keeps him in place. 

“There,” you murmur. “All clean.”

With his face in your hands, his lips look so tempting again. He’d probably taste like chocolate, too. 

Carter, still shy from your touch, looks back up at you. Your hand lingers on his face, burning against his skin. “Kiss me again,” he whispers.

His voice is so quiet you’re not sure if it was real or just what you want to hear.

“Please?”

How can you say no to him?

You lean down, and like yesterday, press your lips to his, careful to be gentle so he’s not in any more pain. He can hardly move his jaws from how tight they feel, but he manages to kiss you back with the little motion he’s granted.

Your hands move down to his neck, wanting to cradle his jaws but that is out of the question, for now, at least. He shifts on the bed so he can sit taller to be closer to you. His hands grip whatever’s closest, your waist, and doesn’t let go. 

A whine scratches out of Carter’s throat when his mouth erupts into pain from his carelessness. He got too excited, moved his mouth too much, forgetting just how sore he still was. The surgery was only yesterday, after all. 

You pull back in fear of hurting him more. Reality hits, again, hard, as you look down at him. But he’s looking up at you, lips parted as he breathes heavily, and he doesn’t recoil. His eyes flicker down to your lips for a second and that tells you he wants more.

“Carter…” you whisper, voice unsteady. “Are you sure?”

He doesn’t understand. Sure about what? Sure that another kiss won’t hurt him? Sure that he does want another kiss? Sure that it’s you he wants to kiss?

It doesn’t matter. He’s sure of it all, so he nods. “Please, it makes me feel better.”

His answer sinks down from your chest into your stomach. Your hands on his neck slowly drift away. Your initial fears were right. This wasn’t anything more than a home remedy for his aches and pains. 

Carter doesn’t know why you’re stepping back. All he did was tell you the truth– finally kissing you makes him feel better than he has in years. It melts away the stress of work, the pain from his surgery, everything. Nothing else matters but you, and that’s what he’s always wanted. Just you. 

“Don’t go,” he whispers, fearing what’s going to happen next. He doesn’t want you to leave, not yet, certainly not like this. His hands fall from your waist and try to grab for your hands, but you move them behind your back. 

“I’m sorry,” your voice cracks as you speak. “I don’t want to be just a bandaid for your pain.”

He shakes his head rapidly, not caring about the pain it causes. He lifts himself up onto his knees. “No, no, no, that’s not what I meant,” he pleads. “I- I want to kiss you always. Not just because I’m hurt.”

Your arms slowly fall from their guarded position behind your back and Carter takes the opportunity to hold on to them, to make sure you don’t leave. 

You don’t know what to think. You’d spent far too long convincing yourself he didn’t actually mean it, he was just seeking whatever form of comfort he could get. But now he’s in front of you, on his knees, telling you the opposite. 

“If you’re lying I’m going to be really mad,” you tell him, your brain too fuzzy to think of a real threat. 

He shakes his head again and tugs on your arms. “Not lying.”

“Promise? ‘Cause I’ll… I’ll switch out your pain medication if you are. Really.”

“Promise,” he whines. He doesn’t even care about your empty threats because he knows he’s telling the truth. 

You give in. Arms slack, you let yourself be drawn closer to him again. 

“Your face hurts, doesn’t it?” You ask, noticing how short his responses have become. 

All he can do is nod. He overdid it with kissing you, but he doesn’t care. He’d do it again. He probably will later.

A/N: i had my wisdom teeth removed in Feb and it was not fun at all I wish I had someone to kiss it all better. based this off of my own experiences (but i only had tylenol for pain relief after and i wasnt This out of it but there are things i have to do for plot ok). and thank you medwhumpmay for including this... i sent it in🤭

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Chuffed

Help Lama's family to rebuild her life

Hello, I'm Lama from Gaza, I'm 24 years old, and my husband Mohammed is 30 years old, we got married in 2022 in a beautiful, warm and quiet

Matcha

Michael Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (language and smut) Word count: ~17,000 Tags: slow burn, slight plot but mostly just an excuse for eventual smut, slight age gap, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, p in v, oral, friends to lovers, colleagues to lovers, mutual pining, meet the parents, reader insert, no y/n, 2nd person POV, no beta

Summary: It's Thanksgiving and you're en route to introduce your boyfriend, Dr. Robby, to your parents for the first time. Though you're nervous about their reaction to your age difference, you reflect on the journey of your relationship and how proud you are to call him yours.

Notes: Reader is a 35-year-old psych doc. Dr. Robby is 50. This takes place a year after S1 ends. I never know if I should refer to him as Michael or Robby, but Michael just feels so weird to me. Also, I am not a doctor or any type of medical professional, so please forgive any medical inaccuracies. Thanks to all who take the time to read!

I'll upload this to AO3 once my invitation request goes through. Until then, read below the cut.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Nope, not like this.

Bringing a boyfriend home to meet your parents was supposed to be thrilling. And truthfully, it was. You adored your boyfriend and you were proud of him. After years of a slow-burn back-and-forth, the two of you finally breached the boundaries of the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ whispers within the curious confines of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

So yes, you were excited to introduce your man to your parents, and they were excited to meet him, too. After all, you hadn’t introduced them to a boyfriend in nearly two decades, since you were sixteen. They’d spent years patiently waiting on you to finish med school and acclimate to your career. Now, they were ready to see you settle down and start a family. They were both newly retired and itching for grandchildren. 

But they didn’t know your boyfriend was closer to them in age than he was to you.

You, personally, didn’t view it as a problem. It wasn’t a scandalous age gap. Your boyfriend was experienced, mature, and over the performative bullshit that often accompanied relationships. He was open, honest and blunt about what he wanted, not to mention he was in therapy now, something most men your age avoided like the plague. He made you feel safe and secure, valued and loved. Most importantly, you couldn’t get enough of each other.

So yes, you loved your boyfriend. But you weren’t sure your parents would love the notion of their 35-year-old daughter dating a 50-year-old man.

The drive from Pittsburgh to Cleveland was quiet at first. You insisted on driving – you enjoyed it and you knew where you were going, you claimed. In truth, you hoped focusing on the roads would prevent you from dwelling too deep within your own insecurities.

The roads swished with steady traffic beneath grey skies as other travelers headed home for the Thanksgiving holiday. You promised your mother you’d arrive by 2 p.m. Dinner was planned for 4 p.m., and then you’d spend the night at your parents’ house before returning to Pittsburgh in the morning.

It all seemed so simple. The plans were in place, your parents were happily awaiting your arrival, and you were smitten with the man sitting beside you. But your brain buzzed with anxious energy.

Your parents were good people – kind, friendly and hard-working. They ensured you got into med school and supported your decision to specialize in psych, rather than become a primary care physician like they’d hoped. And when you’d decided to remain in Pittsburgh rather than return to Cleveland to work, they remained supportive.

But they were still old-school, set in a particular way of doing things. Your dad was protective and your mom still worried far too much about what others thought. And now, you were worried over what they’d think. 

There was no reason for them to dislike your boyfriend beyond your age gap. He was handsome and humble, but sharply intelligent and competent. Most importantly, he adored you. But you weren’t sure your parents would be able to see past the 15 years that separated you. They’d surely wonder what a 50-year-old man was doing with you.

Sometimes you wondered that, too. There was the obvious – you were pretty. And you were sharp as hell, often deemed snarky and sarcastic by your friends, but also one of the smartest people in every room. You were the classic honor student turned doctor, but that of course meant you’d ignored much of the social life you should have had in your 20s. Dating wasn’t your expertise. You were more of the girl who went home with men and forgot to call them back. But while others looked at you as the boring, albeit brilliant, workaholic, your boyfriend saw someone who understood the sacrifices required of a career in health care.

You knew your parents would also wonder what you saw in him. The short answer was everything, but you also knew few people understood your boyfriend the way you did. Others saw a man who could be gruff and moody. You saw a man who merely wanted to save as many people as possible, even if it meant sacrificing his own best interests. But you were helping him work on that.

Others also wondered why you didn’t date someone your own age, who didn’t carry as much emotional baggage, or who better aligned with your generational interests. You saw a man who didn’t lie or cheat, who didn’t waste your time or his, and who preferred to catch a ballgame than catch an STI at the club.

The two of you were simpatico, a match meant only for your understanding. You brought light to his darkness, but you never tried to extinguish it. You didn’t view him as someone who needed fixing. You embraced him exactly as he was, with hopes that seeing and accepting him would help him find comfort in you.

With twenty minutes remaining in your drive, the soft sounds of Springsteen wafting from the car speakers, you snuck a sideways glance. Though the two of you often sat in peaceful silence, your boyfriend was fidgeting with the strap of his seatbelt. His eyes remained forward, but it was clear he wasn’t actually observing anything.

“Robby,” you said gently, your eyes glinting with warm amusement. “You alright?”

His eyes shifted toward yours and he offered you a reassuring smile.

“Oh yeah, I’m good,” he said. You turned your head slightly to offer him a pointed stare, your eyes quickly returning to the road.

“Liar.” You smirked sideways at him and he chuckled.

“I’m fine, really,” he assured. “This is just…”

“Weird,” you finished. “It’s weird.”

“You said it, not me.”

It was your turn to chuckle softly. “I know,” you said sincerely. “I know it’s weird. Trust me, this was not on my life’s bingo card.”

“What, you mean to tell me the teenage version of yourself never envisioned bringing a 50-year-old boyfriend home to Mom and Dad?”

You laughed. “The teenage version of myself was supposed to end up marrying the lead singer of My Chemical Romance.”

“Guess that shouldn’t surprise me,” Robby said. “Your vinyl collection is atrocious.”

“Says the man who only owns Springsteen albums.”

“Hey, respect your elders.”

You rolled your eyes, the corners of your lips curved upward in a smile. “They’ll love you, you know,” you said encouragingly. 

“I still think you should have disclosed some of the more important details,” Robby muttered.

“I did disclose the important details,” you noted. “I told them you’re an ER doc at Pitt Trauma, that you’ve never been married, no kids and no criminal background.”

“Just not the part where I’m only twelve years younger than your dad.”

“And you’re only fifteen years older than me. It’s not a big deal,” you insisted. “It’s not like this is a Bill Belichick situation.”

“Isn’t your dad a Browns fan?”

“Yes.”

“Feel like I’d be better off as Belichick.”

You heaved a sigh, though you’d be lying if you said you weren’t entertained. After all, this was a predicament of your own doing, so you might as well learn to laugh through the discomfort. Not that you’d intended to fall for the ER’s senior attending in the first place. 

Your crush on Dr. Robby developed long before you had any idea you’d end up working in the same hospital as him long-term. 

You first met him in the Pitt Trauma ER during your clinical rotations, where you quickly decided you weren’t interested in emergency medicine. Still, you developed a close bond with the ER staff and grew to view many of them like family. Once you’d decided on psych, you desperately wanted a residency at Pitt Trauma to remain close to them.

But even after you completed your residency and cemented your spot on staff within the Pitt Trauma psychiatric care team, you never predicted you’d find love within the hospital’s walls, too. After your residency, you opened up more to dating. You swiped your way through apps, stumbled home with men from bars and even let Dana set you up with a family friend.

Dates came and went, some stuck around for weeks, even months. You even had a three-month fling with Dr. Shen that fizzled when you discovered him following far too many models on Instagram.

But you never envisioned yourself in a months-long relationship with Dr. Robby of all people. You’d always admired him from afar, a schoolgirl-type crush in which you often daydreamed of pulling him into a supply closet for a hook-up, but never thought you’d learn what he eats for breakfast or what brand of deodorant he buys.

But your attraction stemmed from more than mere physical desire. You felt pulled to him. He was confident and commanding, respected and revered. Even when you made it clear you weren’t interested in pursuing emergency medicine, Robby taught you things few students had the opportunity to learn. And when you revealed you were interested in psych, he ensured you were included in all of the interesting psych cases.

You respected the hell out of Dr. Robby. The gentle banter and attraction for him were merely bonuses, as far as you were concerned.

But once you began visiting the ER for psych consultations and were no longer under his direct supervision, your chemistry with Dr. Robby ignited from a simmer to a rapid, rolling boil.

Your colleagues noticed, no matter how much you insisted on the contrary. Meanwhile, you remained convinced Dr. Robby remained clueless. But he heard the whispers, too. He shrugged off inquisitive remarks from Dana and Dr. Abbot, stifled the jealousy that shredded his insides when you dated Dr. Shen, and did his best to maintain a respectful and professional distance.

The night at the bar was the first time the two of you approached the edge, the near-tipping point into something you couldn’t claw your way back from. 

Trinity convinced you to go, insisting that most of the ER day shift would be there. So you tagged along and spent the first portion of the night laughing and drinking with your old friends.

You enjoyed catching up with them, nostalgic for your time spent in the trenches of The Pitt, while your eyes occasionally swept toward the TV airing the Pirates game above the bar. You were simply checking the score, you told yourself. You were most certainly not glancing at Robby, who stood at the opposite end of the bar with Frank Langdon.

But as the night progressed, so did the confidence in some random bar bro who offered to buy you drinks. You kindly thanked him for the offer and said no, but he lingered. You could feel his eyes clinging to you the entire evening, like a predator biding his time.

Typically your friends would have your back and tell the guy to fuck off. Typically you would, too.

But Samira was working late, Cassie was with her son and Trinity was too busy trying to beat Mateo on the skee-ball machine. And an incident a few weeks prior hovered in the back of your mind. 

You were in line at a coffee shop when a man struck up a conversation with you. You were polite and friendly, perhaps too much, because by the time you left the shop, he asked you to dinner. And when you said no, he called you a “fucking tease” and a “waste of time,” vowing that someday, women like you would "pay for your bullshit behavior.”

So when the bro at the bar moved in again, the smell of liquor and cigarettes smothering your senses as he tried to ask about your Penguins sweatshirt, you seized an opportunity as Robby happened to emerge from the bathroom.

“There you are!” you squealed, making a quick beeline toward him, leaving the bro with your vacated barstool. You tossed your arms around Robby’s neck and he froze, his eyes wide in confusion and lips lopsided in an amused smile. “Babe, it was the longest day without you!”

“Uh, you too,” Robby managed, his posture rigid. Neither of you could believe you were that close. You silently thanked the gods that Robby was sharp enough to catch on to what was happening.

“Babe, let’s go out back to the patio and have a smoke,” you said, grabbing Robby by the hand to drag him toward the back door. He followed you without resistance.

You snuck one final glance toward the bro at the bar, who was scowling at your retreating forms. Once outside, you dropped Robby’s hand immediately. 

“I am so sorry!” you exclaimed hurriedly. “That guy, he’s been following me around all night. Couldn't take a hint.”

“It’s alright,” Robby chuckled, amusement blooming within his warm eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” you said with an assuring nod. “Just didn’t want that weirdo near me anymore.”

“I’ve been watching him all night. Seems like he was pretty drunk.”

Your lips thinned at Robby’s admission. Why had he been watching that guy? Was it because he was also keeping an eye on you? You swallowed the naive notion and flashed Robby a grin.

“I’m sure he’s harmless,” you said. “But can’t be too sure. Anyway, thank you for… you know, being my boyfriend for 30 seconds.”

“Anytime.” Robby stood with his hands in his sweatshirt pockets, the signature pose you’d come to expect from him. You struggled to meet his eyes and prayed he couldn't see the flush creeping up the back of your neck.

“Well, I think I’m going to call it a night,” you finally said with a soft smile. 

“I’ll come with you.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, I’ll walk you home.” More amusement glimmered in Robby’s eyes and all you could think about was how fucking appealing he looked.

“Oh. No, you don’t have to do that,” you said as casually as you could manage; nevermind the sudden spike in the pitch of your voice. “My apartment isn’t far, I’ll be fine. I have pepper spray.”

“Nonsense,” Robby said, motioning you toward the door. “I couldn’t live with myself if I let you walk home alone after some creep’s been following you all night. I was getting ready to head out anyway.”

Heaven help you. You returned inside the bar, where you waved goodbye to your friends and pretended to ignore Trinity’s piercing stare when she realized Robby was leaving with you. 

Once outside on the sidewalk, you silently begged every higher power to prevent you from embarrassing yourself. You weren’t sure why you were so flustered – beyond the fact the man you’d held a years-long torch for was walking you home.

But this was Dr. Robby. You’d known him for years and you were comfortable in his presence (when you weren’t thinking about how handsome he was or how nice his hands were). There was no reason to be rattled by him. Nothing had ever happened between the two of you, nor would it in the future, you reminded yourself. He was your colleague and a mentor. You couldn’t allow your silly crush to jeopardize your relationship.

“Did you, uh, end up admitting that patient this afternoon?” Robby asked as you walked. “The man who was presenting with ideation?”

“We did,” you sighed. “He has family flying in from Florida in the morning.”

Robby nodded in quiet acknowledgment. Silence settled between the two of you, and you couldn’t decide if you were grateful or terrified. You glanced at your phone to check the score of the Pirates game, desperate for a distraction. Robby smiled.

“Still the eighth inning?” he asked.

You shook your head as you slid your phone back into your bag. “Bottom of the ninth. They’re down one.”

“You ever find one of those co-ed softball leagues?” Robby asked. “I remember you mentioning wanting to join one.”

“I did, but it was too late,” you replied. “Their season had already started and the spots were full.”

“Ah, too bad.”

“I was thinking we could start a Pitt Trauma team,” you mused. “Santos said she used to play and Langdon’s competitive as hell. Could be fun. You in?”

“Oh, no one wants to see that,” Robby joked with a shake of the head. 

“Oh, come on,” you teased. “You love baseball. How bad can you be?”

“I’d rather not find out.”

You laughed, thankful for the ease in your self-inflicted tension. But as you neared your building, the anxiety bubbled into your throat again. 

“Cool building,” Robby commented as you approached the front steps. His head tilted backward as he scanned the building’s exterior to admire the historic details. “I love this part of town, all the old architecture.”

“It’s a great neighborhood,” you agreed. In fact, the architecture and old charm was precisely why you’d picked it. You fished your keys from your bag and met Robby’s eyes with a smile. “Well, thanks for getting me home… and for, you know, keeping me safe from bar creeps.”

“Anytime,” Robby said. The warmth in his eyes seemed to permeate your skin, sweeping across your flesh with a crimson flush. You hoped it was too dark to notice.

You knew it was time to say goodnight, or to say literally anything to initiate your exit. It was time to go inside, to hop in the shower and crawl into bed to pretend you weren’t down bad for the senior attending of the ER. But you remained frozen in place, your feet unable – and perhaps unwilling – to step away from Robby.

“See you tomorrow?” you finally managed. Robby seemed to swallow, though his eyes held your gaze, heavy and intense. They pierced the battlements of your resolve, then flickered downward for a fleeting moment toward your lips. You held your breath as you wondered if he was going to kiss you. Your heart threatened to slam against your ribcage. 

“Ah, yeah, I’m on tomorrow,” he said instead, knocking the air from your lungs with disappointment.

“Oh, great,” you said, much too cheerily. “See you then. Goodnight, Dr. Robby.”

“Goodnight.”

You avoided the ER at all costs the next day.

Weeks passed and you had managed to move past whatever that moment was outside your apartment. In fact, you convinced yourself it was nothing. Robby acted no differently at work, so you decided to do the same. You had merely been swept up in a wave of wishful thinking, you told yourself.

But the fire changed everything.

It was your day off and you’d spent the afternoon running errands around town before meeting up with a college friend for dinner and drinks. 

You declined to mention Robby when she pressed you for details on your dating life. After all, he’d need to ask you on a date for it to count as anything more than a crush, right? Instead, you merely shrugged and insisted you weren’t seeing anyone, nor were you interested in any prospects. Your friend called you boring. You didn’t disagree.

As she disclosed more details about her upcoming wedding, you were none the wiser to the fire that threatened to destroy your home. In fact, Robby learned of it first.

The ER received two transports from the scene, a mother and son who had suffered burns and smoke inhalation. Then more victims trickled in, none seriously injured but coughing and covered in smoke and soot.

“What happened?” Robby asked as another victim was wheeled past him.

“Apartment fire,” one of the EMTs answered. “1100 block of Liberty Avenue.”

Robby froze. “Liberty Avenue?”

“Yeah, big old brick building. Sounds like it started as a dryer fire in the basement.”

Robby swallowed the lump forming in his throat. Focus, he told himself. You’re needed here. She doesn’t need you.

But by the end of his shift, he was damn near ready to sprint to Liberty Avenue. He went straight there, eyes roaming the building as he approached. The flames and smoke had been doused hours ago, but fire crews were still on scene and the sidewalks were still wet. 

He didn’t know why he thought he’d be able to help you. The entire building had been evacuated, its residents gone in search of other living arrangements. You had always been tough and independent. Surely you’d already figured things out.

Robby heaved a sigh and shook his head, annoyed at himself for coming there. If you’d needed him, you would have reached out. And the notion that you would have picked him for help now felt silly. You were closer with McKay, Mohan, even Dana would have been a likelier choice. 

He turned to head home, his eyes widening when they landed on you. You had just rounded the corner from the bus stop, your shocked expression revealing that this was the first time you’d been home all day. Before he could react, Robby watched you sprint toward the building before you were stopped by the fire crew. He jogged after you.

“But I need my stuff!” you were shouting. “All of my stuff is in there!”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t let anyone in. It could be dangerous. The structure has to be checked and secured, and the investigators need time to determine the fire’s cause,” a fireman told you.

“But what do I do? Where do I go? I have nowhere to stay! I have no stuff!” 

“See that van over there?” The fireman gestured toward the other side of the street. “That’s the American Red Cross. They’ll help you out.”

“But my stuff— Dr. Robby? What are you doing here?”

“I heard about the fire at work,” Robby answered quickly. “We treated a few of the victims and I… I thought I’d check and make sure you’re okay.”

“Clearly not,” you mumbled, your head spinning at the overwhelming clash of emotion. You were exhausted and stunned, scared and aggravated. But you were also relieved to see Robby.

“Come on,” he said, draping a gentle arm around your shoulder. “You can crash at my place.”

“What? Oh- no, no I can’t ask you to do that-” you started, your panic threatening to swell into a full-blown attack.

“You’re right, you can’t, because you don’t need to ask,” Robby said. 

“No,” you repeated. “I can’t, I won’t be a burden. I mean, I don’t even know how long until they’ll let me move back in and-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Robby said. He began steering you away from the building. 

“But I have no clothes. I have work in the morning. How am-”

“I’ll hook you up,” Robby said. “At least until the morning when we can get you some new clothes.”

You didn’t want new clothes. You wanted your clothes, which were carefully curated from years of an Anthropologie shopping addiction. Besides, Robby lived alone. He didn’t have a girlfriend or wife or daughter whose clothes you could borrow. Your eyes began to tear up at the thought of having to sleep in the jeans you were wearing. But it wasn’t the actual jeans or clothes that were making you cry. It was the sudden, crushing realization of what was happening to you.

You refused to let Robby see you cry, so instead you walked in determined silence. You didn’t even notice when you reached his building until he was leading you into an elevator. You stared at your reflection in the steel doors. Robby remained quiet.

When he unlocked his door and motioned you inside, you paused. You never dreamed you’d actually ever see the inside of Robby’s home, let alone under such bizarre circumstances.

“Go on,” Robby said in your ear as he held the door open for you. “I promise, it’ll be fine.”

You held your breath and stepped inside. Had you not been distraught over your present predicament, you might have smiled. Robby’s apartment was exactly as you would have imagined – clean and tidy, but completely lacking in character or decor. The far wall was exposed brick and a vinyl record player sat on a table against it. There was no artwork on the walls, but a framed photo of Robby and Jake at a Pirates game sat on a corner of the TV stand.

“Make yourself at home, okay? I’ll be right back,” Robby said as he brushed past you. He tossed his backpack and keys on the counter before disappearing down the hallway.

As you stood, glued to your spot near the door, Robby scrambled around his bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, his bedroom was neat and orderly, but he kicked his laundry basket into the corner and hurriedly changed the bedding. He had nothing to hide, nothing embarrassing in the apartment, but he still felt the undeniable pressure to impress you. Or at the very least, he wanted you to feel comfortable. 

He popped into the bathroom to make sure it was clean – it was – before returning to you. You hadn’t moved.

“Are you alright?” Robby asked gently. His eyes suffocated you with their concern.

“I’m fine,” you sighed. “Just… processing everything, is all.”

Robby nodded with sympathy. “I can’t imagine how you feel right now,” he said. “If there’s anything I can do-”

“Trust me, you’re doing more than enough,” you said. 

“Well, if there’s anything more I can do, just ask.”

“You know I won’t,” you couldn’t help but joke. Robby smiled.

“I know,” he agreed. “It’s not like you to ask for help. But I want you to know you can.”

You nodded in silent acknowledgement, not that either of you believed you.

“Right now, all I want is a hot shower. And maybe a beer.”

“At the same time?”

“Do I look like a frat boy to you?”

“Just checking.” Robby chuckled as he motioned you toward the hallway. He reached into the bathroom to turn the light on before he stood back, hands finding their usual place in the pockets of his hoodie. “Towels are under the sink. Take your time and I’ll go get that beer ready. No IPAs, right?”

“Right,” you breathed, flattered he remembered your beer preferences. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Robby retreated to the kitchen and you quietly snapped the bathroom door shut. You closed your eyes, grateful for the peace and solitude. And once you stepped into the hot shower, you couldn’t help but chuckle quietly to yourself. You couldn’t believe where the fuck you’d ended up. 

You were presently naked in Robby’s apartment, no clothing, nowhere to go. Sure, you could have checked into a hotel, but something had blocked your brain from entertaining the idea. You blinked at the bottles of shampoo and soap and snorted. What the fuck is Old Spice Swagger? You sighed and lathered up, your senses quickly recognizing the familiar woodsy scent that you had always associated with Robby. 

By the time you finished showering, steam had fully fogged up the bathroom mirror. You dug beneath the sink for a towel and cursed under your breath. Clothes. You forgot to ask for clothes. 

You muttered a string of “fucks” under your breath before securing the towel around your body. You checked it twice and a third time until you were certain it was more secure than a deadbolt. 

Your feet padded quietly down the hallway until you carefully peeked around the corner. Robby was sitting on the leather sofa, a beer in hand while the Pirates game played on TV. You inhaled sharply, as if oxygen would give you the courage to speak up.

“Hey,” you managed, stepping tentatively into the living room, very aware that you were nearly naked in front of someone who was technically your superior. “Um, I need some  clothes.”

“Oh, fuck!” Robby exclaimed as he scrambled to his feet. It would’ve been a comical moment had his eyes not been so wide and your cheeks not so flushed. He set his beer down and scurried past you into the hallway. “Sorry, I meant to get you some clothes before you got in the shower.”

“It’s my bad, I should have asked,” you offered, fingers gripping your towel for dear life. You followed Robby toward the bedroom and lingered in the doorway, unsure if you should follow him as he rummaged through his dresser. After all, when you’d fantasized about being naked in his bedroom, it certainly wasn’t under these circumstances.

“Here,” he said, offering you a pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt. You took the pants but blinked pointedly at the shirt.

“I'm not wearing that,” you deadpanned.

“What? What’s wrong with– oh, that’s right. You’re a Cleveland girl.”

“Damn right, I am. I won’t be caught dead in Steelers gear.”

“But you root for the Pirates.”

“That’s different. Different divisions, plus Cleveland’s in the American League. I don’t mind rooting for an American League and a National League team. Now put that hideous Steelers shirt away… or in the garbage.”

“Right, right, I get it,” Robby sighed. He returned to the dresser and fished out another shirt. “Here,” he said as he held it up. “What are your allegiances to The Who?”

You snorted but reached for the shirt. “God, you’re old,” you teased. 

“Sorry it’s not Jay-Z.”

“Jay-Z’s old, too. I’m more of a Nas fan anyway.”

You both fell quiet and for a fleeting moment, you thought you caught his eyes roaming your toweled form.

“Right, well, I know that’s not exactly your style, but it’ll get you through the night. Tomorrow you can go shopping for clothes that fit,” he said. 

“I don’t mind the oversized part,” you mused. “It’s the old man aesthetic that bothers me.”

“Then maybe you can stop by the Baby Gap,” Robby teased. 

“Probably cooler clothes than what you wear,” you shot back. Robby chuckled and moved for the door. 

“You can change in here,” he said. “Your beer’s waiting for you on the counter when you’re done.”

The moment he closed the door behind himself, you seized the opportunity to examine his bedroom. A king-size bed was an interesting choice, you thought, as you couldn’t help but wonder how often Robby needed a bed that big. A TV was mounted to the wall opposite the bed above a dresser, which was cluttered with a watch, Robby’s wallet and a stack of books. You decided the room was clean and spacious, with dark, masculine tones. Once again, it was very Robby. You resisted the temptation to rummage through the nightstand and got dressed.

Robby’s gaze wasn’t lost on you as you returned to the living room. You prayed he wasn’t appalled by your make-up free face or your body, which was drowning beneath his baggy clothes.

Of course, Robby had seen enough of you to picture your body beneath the oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. He’d seen you in everything from scrubs to professional dresses and jackets to jeans so tight they looked like they were painted on. Those were his favorite. But this was new. He loved seeing you in his clothes. In fact, he decided you’d never looked more alluring. 

As you turned toward the counter to fetch your beer, he shifted in his seat, his head swarming with filthy thoughts as he remembered you weren’t wearing any underwear beneath those loose pants.

You sat at the other end of the sofa, your legs tucked beneath yourself as you pretended to be positively enthralled by the Pirates game. Nevermind the score was 10-1 and they were losing.

“Terrible at-bat,” you muttered as you watched Tommy Pham strike out. “He couldn’t hit sand on a goddamn beach.”

Robby laughed and eyed you from the corner of his eye. Your hair was still wet, dripping damp spots across the t-shirt. You hadn’t noticed, but the white cotton was clinging to your skin in translucent patches. Just the right amount of light and he might be able to see the pink of your— fuck, Robby thought as he scolded himself for thinking of you like that. You’d surely scold him for being such a pervy old man. He decided it would be a good time to excuse himself to the shower.

Once he was out of the room, you tilted your head back and closed your eyes. How the fuck were you going to survive this? It was agonizing enough to be wearing Robby’s clothes and sitting next to him, alone, but what if you had to do this for weeks? 

There was no way. You’d check into a hotel or find a friend to stay with. There was no way in hell you could do this for more than one night.

You rested your eyes and listened to the TV until you could feel your phone buzzing in the pocket of your sweatpants. Your group text with Samira, Cassie and Trinity was full of missed texts.

Cassie: Heard about your apartment! You good?

Samira: Do you need a place to crash? You can stay with Jack and me.

Trinity: Or you can stay with me if you want to steer clear of the lovebirds. I can make Whitaker sleep on the couch.

Samira: Rude.

Trinity: You aren’t dead, are you?

You sighed and tried to choose your words carefully. Not that it mattered. They were going to freak out regardless.

‘I’m okay!’ You wrote back. ‘I’m staying with Robby.’

The replies were instant.

Samira: ??????

Cassie: WHAT?

Trinity: DR. ROBBY?!

You: Yes. He came by to check on me.

Samira: What do you mean he came by? Came by where? 

Trinity: I bet it won’t be the first time tonight he’s going to c-

You dropped your phone as Robby reentered the room. It clattered to the floor with a thud and you scrambled to pick it up. Robby lifted an amused eyebrow at you and you became determined to deflect your embarrassment.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a dog,” you commented with a casual air. Robby tilted his head to look at you. 

“Why does that surprise you?” he asked as he lowered himself to the couch again. You averted your eyes when you realized he was wearing grey sweatpants. 

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. “I guess I always figured you were a dog guy.”

“I love dogs,” Robby agreed. “But I’m also not home enough to take care of one.”

“Ah, that’s fair.”

“Pretty tough to keep a pet with this lifestyle. Or to keep much of anything.”

“Cheers to that,” you muttered as you raised your bottle. 

“Says the woman who just had the day off,” Robby teased.

“And whose apartment nearly burned down!”

“Ah yeah, I suppose that’s true.” You rolled your eyes at him and returned your attention to the TV. But you could feel him studying you. “You sure you’re okay?” he finally asked.

You nodded and tilted your head to meet his gaze to assure him. “I’m fine,” you said. “Not like there’s much I can do.”

“Well, if you need to talk…”

You smiled at him. It was an amusing spin of fate. Just a year ago, you’d been the one offering to talk to Robby when it became clear he wasn’t healing from the deaths of Dr. Adamson and Jake’s girlfriend. Then Dr. Collins moved to Arizona, leaving him with no one who could pull him from the dark place that was dragging him downward.

So you spent numerous nights on the roof of Pitt Trauma Medical Center with Robby. You didn’t want to pry or overstep your boundaries, to make him feel like you were trying to treat him like one of your patients. You merely offered him friendship that crafted a slow, budding trust that eventually eased Robby into opening up more to you. 

Some nights, you'd sit there in cheap lawn chairs and share takeout, bantering back and forth. Other times, he'd speak to you with a quiet vulnerability, detailing the demons that lingered in the dark corners of his head.

And when you decided he needed help from a professional he didn’t know personally, you recommended a colleague with a private practice. Robby began weekly therapy sessions — and he hadn’t missed one yet.  

Slowly, you watched the sadness vacate Robby’s eyes. It was replaced with the old familiar laughter you’d once adored. 

“I’m fine, really,” you finally insisted. “In the grand scheme of things, this is merely an inconvenience, right? At least the whole damn building didn’t burn down, and at least no one died.”

Robby nodded in agreement. “And at least you’re safe.”

“You didn’t have to come check on me, you know,” you said. You quelled the temptation to ask him why he did so in the first place. Though you were dying to hear an explanation, you didn’t need to make Robby uncomfortable in his own home.

“I know. But when I heard the EMTs mention the fire was at your building, I got worried,” he said.

It was an honest reason, and you weren’t sure why you felt surprised by it. Robby had always been one of the most honest men you’d known, almost to a fault at times. Perhaps you were merely surprised because, though you considered him a friend and colleague, you didn’t expect him to spend any time thinking about you outside of the workplace.

“Well, thank you for checking. And for this,” you said, gesturing around the room.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Robby said seriously, his eyes matching his tone. 

The room’s atmosphere was shifting. You could feel it in the way it pricked your skin, the way it hummed in your ear, a low buzz meant to distract you from all decorum. It was a devil on your shoulder, dangerous and desperate to make you do things that would surely sever your friendship and working relationship with Robby.

He sensed it, too. He clenched his jaw, fingers gripping his bottle of beer with far too much pressure in an effort to calm his nerves. The air felt like charged static; it crackled overhead, oppressive and full of energy.

What you craved felt forbidden. You weren’t sure why. You certainly wouldn’t be the first attending and former student to do this, nor would you be the first age-gap couple to grace the halls of Pitt Trauma. 

But this felt taboo because it was Robby. Everyone wondered if he’d ever settle down, find someone who didn’t fear his surly nature and obnoxious devotion to his job. Then you came around and the whispers shifted to you, the pretty intern-turned-doctor who clearly had chemistry with Robby. But neither of you dared to breach the boundary of professionalism. And you were convinced Robby was too mature, too jaded and too busy to bother with someone like you.

“I should probably get some sleep,” you finally said. Robby swallowed audibly, but you pretended not to notice.

“Of course,” he rasped. “Bed’s ready for you. There’s an extra blanket in the closet if you get too cold.”

You blinked at him in confusion. “Wait. No. No, no, no, I can’t. I won’t impose like that-”

“Nonsense,” Robby cut you off. 

“No, let me sleep on the couch.”

“Absolutely not.”

“But-”

“The answer is no. So either you take the bed, or we’re both sleeping on the couch.”

Your lips thinned as you searched your mind for words that could help you reason with him. You genuinely hadn’t expected to take over this man’s bed when he offered to let you stay with him. If anything, you wanted to share it with him.

“Robby, I can’t-”

“You can and you will,” Robby insisted. “Now off you go.”

You sighed and rose to your feet. You were afraid to look at him, fearful how you might react to his gaze. 

“Goodnight, Dr. Robby.”

“Goodnight.”

Your insistence on only staying with Robby for a night or two fell on deaf ears. He refused to take no for an answer, even when you swore you could afford a hotel. Meanwhile, your building manager said it would take weeks before you could move in again, due to concerns about structural integrity. So you became Robby’s unofficial roommate, much to the jubilation of your friends.

“How’s it going?” Dana asked one morning when you wandered into the ER for a psych eval. “You poison Robby’s dinner yet?”

“Things are great,” you chirped. Dana offered you a knowing smile.

“I’m sure they are,” she mewed. “But I’m sure he’s also driving you crazy.”

“What? Robby’s great!” you insisted. “He’s easy to live with. Clean, quiet… I’ve got no complaints.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dana said with a smirk as she sauntered off to check on a patient.

You were about to shout a rebuttal at her when a familiar voice found you.

“There’s my favorite shrink.”

“Good morning, Myrna,” you called over your shoulder, not bothering to look. “How are you today?”

“I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Oh?” You spun to face Myrna, curious what kind of out-of-pocket accusation she’d make this time.

“I heard a little rumor about you,” she said in her usual raspy tone. “I heard you’ve been shacking up with Dr. Robby.”

You sucked your top row of teeth. “Oh? And who told you that?”

“I was eavesdropping on the nurses,” Myrna answered simply. “They said you moved in with him weeks ago, you dirty girl.”

“Oh did they now?” You returned to the paperwork you needed to complete. The quicker you finished, the quicker you could get out of the ER.

“Spill it, sweetheart,” Myrna continued. “I’ve gotta know.”

“Know what?”

“About Dr. Robby! I’ll tell ya, I always thought he was a fruitcake. Didn’t know he had it in him to go after the young ones.”

“Myrna, I’m in my thirties,” you deadpanned.

“Makes you a youngin’ compared to me. Now tell me, sweetheart, what’s it like? How is he?”

“How is he?”

“In the sack!”

You closed your eyes, unsure if you should laugh or sprint toward the stairs. “Don’t you have somewhere to be, Myrna?” You knew she didn’t. She never did.

“At least tell me the size we’re workin’ with here, doll,” Myrna pressed. “With that posture, I can tell he’s hung like a hor-”

“Goodbye, Myrna.”

Despite the incessant teasing from your colleagues, you and Robby quickly fell into a comfortable routine. You’d never been one to go out after work much, save for the occasional date or round of drinks with friends. But now, you found yourself wanting to go straight to Robby’s apartment as soon as your shift ended.

On the days where you both managed to get off work around the same time, you’d meet him outside the ER and walk home with him. Sometimes you’d join him and the rest of the ER day shift crew in the park for beers. 

Other nights, when he ended up working late, you’d head to his apartment and have dinner ready for the two of you. He never said it, but he looked forward to those evenings the most. It’d been ages since anyone cooked for him – and ages since he came home to any company. Some nights, you sat together and ate at the counter, but most nights, you sat in front of the TV with the Pirates game on. You chatted about your days, joked about your colleagues and merely appreciated each other’s presence.

You also realized that Robby noticed the little things. When he gave you his spare key, you expressed concern you’d lose it, so he rummaged through his junk drawer until he found an old keychain from Southern Tier Brewery to help you keep track of it. The next day, you noticed he cleared space on the hook next to his by the door, where you could hang your keys and purse.

He also noticed that, like him, you enjoyed reading. One evening you emerged from a shower and found him reading on the couch, his glasses on and an open beer on the coffee table. The two of you slipped into a discussion of your reading lists and favorite writers. The next morning, you found two books from your list waiting for you on the counter, plucked from Robby’s collection.

But your favorite simple gesture was the matcha. Robby noticed you didn’t drink coffee in the mornings. Instead, you’d stop at a shop on your way to the hospital for a matcha latte. Robby teased you, said you were blowing money on “grass water,” but two days later, you discovered a tin of matcha in the cupboard.

It was simple but comforting. You’d never admit it to anyone, but you didn’t want your time there to end.

Still, you and Robby remained at arm’s length inside his apartment. You never stood too close, always sat at opposite ends of the sofa and never discussed topics that were too personal. Until the night you went out with Santos and Whitaker.

You and Trinity dragged Dennis to a karaoke bar one Thursday night after he revealed he’d never been to one. Several rounds of drinks and a group performance of Espresso later, you found yourself swaying on your barstool.

“You good?” Trinity asked, smirking at you in amusement.

“I’m fine,” you sighed wistfully, the latest round of tequila shots taking command of your composure. It was becoming painfully clear you couldn’t keep up with the 20-somethings anymore. “But I kinda wanna go home.”

“Home?” Trinity mused. “As in, to your condemned apartment, or to Dr. Robby?”

“Robby’s apartment is really nice,” you babbled. “I love the exposed brick. And he somehow manages to keep it so clean. And he buys the good ice cream, not the shitty generic brands.”

Trinity snorted. “That all you like about Dr. Robby’s place?”

“No,” you said dreamily, clearly too drunk to notice your whimsy state. “I like hanging out with him.”

“Yet neither of you has made a move yet,” Trinity noted.

“Oh, please,” you laughed. “That’s never going to happen. Robby is way too mature to be interested in me.”

“Dr. Robby is a single, straight man,” Trinity said. “Trust me, he isn’t worried about your age gap. It’s not that bad anyway. No one has a problem with Mohan and Abbot.”

“But this is Robby we’re talking about,” you insisted. “He’d never be interested in me.”

“You’re joking, right?” Trinity groaned. “Please don’t tell me you really think he’s out of your league or some self-esteem bullshit. You are way too hot to be talking like that.”

“It’s not that,” you sighed. “I just… he just…”

“You like him way too much,” Dennis cut in. “You like him so much, you’ve built him up in your head and now you think he’s unattainable.” You and Trinity both blinked at Dennis. “What?” he asked with a shrug. “I observe things.”

Trinity laughed. “Who knew Huckleberry was so perceptive.”

You walked back to Robby’s apartment well past midnight, and much later than you’d planned to be out. You treaded quietly when you approached the door, assuming he’d already be asleep on the couch. 

When you entered, the lights inside the apartment were still on and the TV was airing an old rerun of Bar Rescue. Robby was seated on the couch, an open pizza box on the coffee table. He clearly had nodded off.

Your plan had been to tiptoe to the bedroom without waking him. But your inebriated brain couldn’t quite compute the proper distance between your body and the furniture, meaning you bumped clumsily into the back of the sofa.

“Fuck!” you hissed at the sharp pain that surged within your hip, and at the sight of Robby stirring. He blinked a few times before his gaze found you. “Hey,” you giggled. “Did I wake you? Sorry.”

“S’alright,” he mumbled. The sleepy look in his eyes made you want to climb him like a tree.

“Didn’t mean to get in so late,” you continued. “But Whitaker was really into it. Guy’s a big Kesha fan.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.”

You eyed the pizza sitting on the table and the tightening in your stomach reminded you it had been hours since dinner. 

You should have walked away, taken yourself straight to bed. Solitude inside the sanctity of Robby’s bedroom would have been the safe choice, where you couldn’t get yourself into any trouble.

Instead, you sank into your side of the sofa and reached for a slice of pizza.

“So, was it just you, Whittaker and Santos?” Robby asked. You nodded as you chewed.

“Mohan was supposed to come, but bailed. I saw Abbot had the night off so I suspect he spent it on her,” you said.

“Thank you for that visual,” Robby muttered. 

“Don’t be a hater,” you giggled. The laughter made your head spin. The room tilted and you decided it’d be in your best interest to be horizontal. You let yourself flop over until you were flat on your back, your head in Robby’s lap.

His spine straightened immediately.

“I think Samira and Abbot are great together,” you babbled on. “And he’s absolutely obsessed with her. Not in a creepy stalker way, but he clearly adores her.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Weird? Why is it weird? Two people with undeniable chemistry falling in love? Do you think it’s weird?” You stared upward at Robby curiously, your pulse spiking in anticipation.

“No, I don’t think it’s weird at all,” Robby responded. “I think they’re great together. I just wasn’t sure how you felt about your friend dating an old guy.”

“Aren’t you older than him?” you laughed. 

“By one measly year,” Robby noted. 

“Why do people get so hung up on age?” you rambled on. “It’s not like she’s a teenager. It’s not like he’s Leo DiCaprio. If two consenting adults want to be in a relationship, they deserve support, not judgment.”

“Hey, I’m with you,” Robby agreed. “I’ve just never heard you talk about Mohan and Abbot. Wasn’t sure how you felt about them.”

“I think they’re lovely together. And I think most of us could only be so lucky to find that kind of connection.”

The silence that settled between you rang in your ears, a screaming signal that you should say something, or better yet, take your ass to bed. But instead, you merely blinked up at Robby, who peered down at you with a soft smile. 

“You’re right,” he said. “They seem to make each other very happy.”

“Exactly. That’s all that matters.”

The warmth in Robby’s eyes made your pulse race. Maybe it was the curiosity in them, or maybe it was the alcohol surging through your bloodstream, but you were finding it hard to swallow the words that threatened to spill from your lips.

“What about you?” you finally asked, the liquid courage taking command. “When are you going to settle down?”

Robby laughed, but you noticed his smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever do that,” he said.

“Why not?” you asked innocently. “Marriage and kids not your thing?”

“I didn’t say that,” Robby replied. “I just haven’t had the best luck. Most people don’t understand what this job entails. It’s hard to convince anyone to stick around for very long.”

You nodded in understanding. “It is hard,” you admitted. “It’s a commitment and a sacrifice that rarely returns any favors.”

“See, you get it,” Robby said. 

You couldn’t help but pout at him, the alcohol tempting your thoughts with more truths. 

“But do you want to find that?” you pressed. “You know, your person?”

Robby shifted slightly, causing your head to bobble in his lap. If he felt it, he did a hell of a job of hiding it. 

“Of course, I do,” he answered simply. “But I’m not holding my breath. I spent a lot of years pushing people away when they got too close. My opportunities may have run their course.”

“I’m sure you will,” you said with far too much honesty. “I mean, of course you will. You’re too…”

Robby rose an eyebrow at you, urging you to continue. “Yes? Too what?”

Your eyes bailed, shifting toward the wall in a cowardly attempt to appear nonchalant. But your tongue continued to betray you.

“You’re too… everything,” you blurted out. “Too handsome, too brilliant, too good of a person. You’re far too good of a catch to miss out on your person.”

A flush crept across your face as you spoke, drawing another smile from Robby. 

“Handsome and brilliant?” he mused. “You should go out drinking more often.”

You scowled at him in faux annoyance and he laughed fondly at the way your face scrunched. 

“Watch yourself, old man,” you threatened. “I know where you sleep at night.”

“Says the lady who’s taken over my bed.”

“You offered me that bed.”

“And you’d better stop calling me old man unless you want me to take it back.”

You managed to swallow your thoughts before they could take on the form of words that would surely embarrass you. You wanted nothing more than for him to take his bed back, as long as you were still in it.

Instead, you continued to pout at him.

“Would you really put an innocent person out on the street?”

“No, I’d send you to go live with Mohan and Abbot.”

“That’s even worse.”

“I know.”

You shared a laugh that made your body bloom with more warmth. It sprawled over your skin, from the pit of your stomach outward to your toes and fingertips.

“And what about you?” Robby suddenly asked, his eyes studying your expression with far too much focus for your comfort. “Do you plan on finding your person?”

“Of course,” you offered with a bit too much gusto. “But it’s hard to weed out all the douchebags in bars and impatient idiots who don’t respect my career. Like you said, few people really get it.”

“Can I ask you something?” Robby blurted out. You tried not to tense, in case he could feel it. That question always had a way of unsettling you. “Why’d you date Shen?”

You shrugged in amusement, a drunken giggle threatening to surface. “I don’t know, honestly,” you answered. “He really isn’t a bad guy. He just needs to grow up a little. I’d like more conversation and less video games.” 

“Sounds about right,” Robby muttered. 

The silence that followed was more comfortable this time. You let your eyes fall shut, the sleepy stage of your drunken night out taking over. When you finally cracked them open again, Robby was staring at you. Though you felt like you might vomit your heart up, you lifted your head from his lap to sit back on your elbows. You were no longer in physical contact, but your face was much closer to his. 

“Sleepy?” he asked as he held your gaze. You were certain you were going to drown in his irises. 

“Very,” you breathed. The air inside the apartment seemed to hitch, as if the walls pulsed with a heartbeat of their own. They were waiting with bated breath for something, anything to happen. 

Instead, you smiled softly at Robby and sat all the way up, your hair falling in tangled tresses down your back. You rose to your feet and paced toward the hallway, stopping to linger in the archway as you turned to look back at Robby.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You crawled into bed and wondered how close you had just come to discovering the side of Robby you’d only envisioned in solitude. He went to sleep wondering why he stopped himself.

Three weeks became four and you began to wonder just how long you could get away with being Robby’s roommate. As much as you cherished all of the alone time you had with him, you felt guilty. The poor man had begun complaining of back pain, and though he’d never admit it, you knew it was from sleeping on the couch.

Finally, you received a call from your building manager informing you your building would reopen in a week. Your relief clashed with your disappointment.

Meanwhile, Robby found himself clashing with Gloria, per usual.

She cornered him in the ER one morning to remind him he hadn’t returned his RSVP for the hospital charity dinner. Robby swore under his breath.

“It’s non-negotiable,” Gloria warned. “You’re the head of this department and all department heads are expected to attend. The only reason I came down here to remind you to RSVP was so that we can add your plus-one to the list.”

“My plus-one,” Robby deadpanned.

“Yes, as in your date,” Gloria replied as if it were obvious. “Ask a date, rent a tux and don’t forget to return the RSVP.”

Robby muttered a string of curses as Gloria left.

When he returned home after his shift, he found you chopping bell peppers in the kitchen, wearing earbuds that were undoubtedly playing 90s music given the way you danced around.

He couldn’t help himself. He paused in the doorframe and watched, smiling softly to himself. It had become impossible to ignore the surge in serotonin he felt whenever he was in your presence. And this – this was too perfect; you, dressed in a skimpy pair of track shorts, your hair pulled back into a high ponytail as you hummed to the Spice Girls. It was a masterpiece mounted on canvas in Robby’s mind.

He watched as you began to chop another pepper and approached you with caution, reaching to remove your left earbud as he loomed behind you.

“Hey.”

You flinched and nearly dropped the knife. “Asshole!” you hissed, though the laughter in your voice negated your anger. “You can’t sneak up on people like that. I have a knife, for fuck’s sake.”

“Sorry,” Robby chuckled. “Didn’t consider the fact you might be capable of murder. What are you making?”

“Fajitas,” you said happily as you removed your other earbud. “We’re celebrating.”

“Celebrating what?”

“My building manager called. He says I can move back into my apartment in a week.”

“Oh.” Robby forced a smile and silently prayed it was convincing. “That’s great.”

“He said there was no significant damage to my unit, but they still need to treat the entire floor for smoke damage,” you continued casually, searching his eyes for something, anything that indicated disappointment. You thought you caught a glitch in his stare, but convinced yourself you were merely seeing what you wanted.

“Great,” Robby said, turning to fetch a beer from the fridge. “I’m glad they’ve got it all straightened out.”

“Me too.”

You weren’t sure what you were even hoping for. For him to beg you not to go, to please stay forever? That was ridiculous and unhinged and you knew it. But the disappointment sat heavy within your stomach, so much so, you no longer wanted any fajitas.

You both picked at your dinner in excruciating silence, your legs dangling nervously from your barstool at the counter. Robby could sense your shift in mood. It mirrored his own. 

He decided the past few weeks had been too good to give up on. You’d be moving back home, so he might as well find a way to craft another memory with you.

“Hey, are you going to the hospital charity dinner gala bullshit on Saturday?” he finally asked.

“Oh that,” you said with a fake laugh. “No, I’m not going. Dr. Meadows in neurology brought it up, but I told him I couldn’t make it.”

“Meadows asked you out?”

You nearly jumped in your seat at the sharpness in Robby’s tone. You blinked up at him, taken aback. 

“Yeah,” you answered slowly. “But I told him no. I figured I’ve got too much going on with my apartment and whatnot.”

“Oh.”

“...Are you going?”

“Don’t have a choice,” Robby sighed. “Gloria says it’s non-negotiable.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Maybe that’s just her way of getting you in a tux. Rumor has it she’s on the hunt for a new man now that her divorce has been finalized.”

“Can’t imagine why she of all people would be divorced,” Robby muttered. You snorted.

“I’m sure the dinner will be… nice,” you offered.

“Nice,” Robby deadpanned. “Nice and miserable.”

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad. You get to fill up on shrimp cocktail, schmooze the donors and pretend like people give a shit about supporting the American health care system.”

“Easy for you to say, you aren’t required to be there.”

“Eat some shrimp in my honor.”

“Actually, I was thinking,” Robby started. Your mouth became cotton as you waited with your breath held. “Maybe you could come with me. Then you could eat all the shrimp you want.”

You pleaded with yourself to stop from fucking this up – even if he was only asking out of what you assumed was convenience. You knew Robby. He’d likely hoped he could get out of attending the dinner and failed to ask anyone to be his date. Now, you were his only viable option.

But you liked spending time with Robby. And if you were going to be moving back home soon, you wanted to take advantage of whatever time you could get. Even if it would inevitably worsen your feelings for him.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” you noted. “All of my clothes probably reek of smoke.”

“So then we’ll go shopping.” 

You quirked an eyebrow at Robby. “What are you, my sugar daddy?” you couldn’t help but joke.

“I thought you said you’d knock it off with the old man jokes.”

“Never.” He was waiting, watching you intently for an answer. Even if you hadn’t wanted to go, you wouldn’t have said no. “Alright fine,” you finally said, not that you needed convincing. “I’ll go. But I can buy my own damn dress. And I get to make double the old man jokes.”

Two evenings later, you dragged Samira and Trinity to the mall after your shifts. Normally, Trinity would have needed to be tranquilized or bribed to go dress shopping, but given the circumstances, she was elated, and you were grateful for style advice from your younger friends. 

“I still can’t believe you’re going on a date with Dr. Robby,” Trinity teased as the three of you combed through racks of formal gowns.

“It’s not a date,” you insisted. “I’m going as his date. There’s a difference.”

“You’re full of shit. It’s a date.”

“No, it’s a convenient agreement between two friends,” you said tactfully. 

“A what?” Trinity snorted.

“He forgot to ask a date and I was around and available, so he asked me,” you said simply as you eyed a blue gown.

“Please don’t tell me you think that low of yourself,” Samira said. “We all know Dr. Robby wanted to ask you to begin with. He was just too much of a coward to do so and got lucky that you happen to be living with him, which gave him the perfect excuse.”

“Not for much longer. I can move back into my apartment in a few days,” you noted.

“Well then, sounds like you and Dr. Robby had better seal the deal soon,” Trinity said with a smirk. You rolled your eyes and disappeared into the fitting rooms.

By the time Saturday night arrived, you were certain you’d be better off flinging yourself from the roof of Pitt Trauma. You began to wonder if you were making a mistake, if you were setting yourself up for a disastrous freefall. But as you applied a coat of mascara and checked yourself in the bathroom mirror for the millionth time, it became painfully clear that you’d already tumbled too far deep into the point of no return. 

Robby was standing in the kitchen when you emerged from the bathroom. When you appeared, your heart jumped into your throat as you watched him do a double-take. His eyes scanned you with excruciating intensity, though his expression remained stoic.

“Wow,” he blurted out. “You look… Wow.”

You stifled the urge to squeal. Instead, you eyed him back. His tux fit him surprisingly well and you made a mental note to ask him why he had such a nice suit tucked away in his closet later. 

Though you felt incredibly confident and sexy in the dress you’d picked out, you wanted nothing more than for Robby to rip it off.

You failed to notice the way he dragged a palm across his face in agonizing lust when you turned to fetch your clutch, presenting him with another view of your very backless dress.

“You look wow, too,” you said simply when you turned around again. “Langdon insisted you don’t own a suit. Guess I should’ve bet him on it.”

By the time you arrived at the dinner, which was taking place at the Rivers Casino Event Center, you were certain you were going to pass out from nerves.

The walk into the ballroom was more daunting than your med school graduation, your first day of residency and your senior prom combined. The realization seemed to creep over the room like a slow surf, breaking and sprawling until it felt like all voices had fallen to a hush and all eyes were on you.

Neither of you spoke but as you swapped a glance, it was clear you and Robby were thinking the same thing: the rumor mill was about to spin at full force. But despite the inevitable gossip, you couldn’t help but swell with pride to be Michael Robinavitch’s date. Standing next to you, he was even prouder.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting from an evening as Robby’s date. You assumed you’d spend much of it on your own, chatting with random colleagues while Robby engaged in performative pleasantries next to Gloria. 

But he was astonishingly attentive to you. He fetched you flutes of champagne from the bar. He included you in every conversation, even the ones with the hospital big-wigs who would surely forget your name the minute they stepped away. He even held your clutch so your hands would be free to eat hors d'oeuvres. And every once in a while, you could feel his hand gently find the small of your back as he spoke, leaving traces of unbearable heat from his fingertips. 

The only time he wasn’t at your side was when you excused yourself to the restroom. While you were gone, Robby waited patiently at the bar.

“You lucky bastard,” Frank mused as he leaned against the bar next to him, a sly smirk across his features. 

“Gonna have to be more specific than that, Langdon,” Robby sighed.

“Oh, come on man,” Frank said. “You brought her? It was about time. But Jesus Christ, you’re making the rest of us look bad.”

“I know you aren’t objectifying my date, are you, Dr. Langon?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m certain I don’t.”

Frank shook his head and clapped Robby on the back. “Whatever you say, man,” he said as he walked away. “But we’re all happy for you.”

You could tell Robby was ready to leave by 10 p.m. He stopped trying to mask his annoyance with Gloria, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in aggravation each time she dragged him into conversation with another person of importance.

When he finally managed to slip away from her, you offered him a sympathetic smile.

“Want me to fake a seizure or something?” you offered as you stood in front of the room’s large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Ohio River. The reflections across the water’s surface seemed to dance and shimmer with the music playing behind you.

“You’re in a room full of doctors. They’d catch on in a heartbeat.”

“Want me to pull a fire alarm?”

“Pretty sure that’s a misdemeanor.”

“Wouldn’t be my first.” You cackled with laughter as Robby turned to look at you in bewilderment. “In all seriousness, if you need an excuse to leave, I’ll help you create one.”

“No,” Robby sighed. “I’m fine. Shouldn’t be too much longer before Gloria’s had enough wine to make her forget I’m here. By the way, I apologize for her calling you my girlfriend when she introduces you to people.”

“I’ve been called worse.” Robby couldn’t suppress a smile. “But you still haven’t asked me to dance,” you continued. 

“Yes, because I value your physical well-being,” Robby answered. “Trust me, you don’t want to dance with me.”  

“You’re no fun.”

“I’ll make it up to you later.” The words spilled before Robby could think to stop them. You tried to conceal your reaction, your eyes threatening to widen and lips tugging toward a nervous smile. Your brain began to short-circuit as you scrambled for a smart reply.

“Thought you couldn’t make it.” 

Oh, fuck. You recognized the voice of Dr. Cooper Meadows behind you. 

“Cooper,” you said warily as you turned to face him with a nervous smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s a surprise to see you,” Cooper said dryly. “Thought you said you were busy tonight.”

“Well, I kind of am, right?”

“Right.” His eyes flickered toward Robby. “I guess we have different definitions of busy.” 

“Look, Cooper, I’m sorry,” you sighed. “I genuinely wasn’t planning on coming tonight, but-”

“But what?”

But Robby needed a favor. That’s what you were going to say. That was the honest, surface-level truth. But the deeper truth was you wouldn’t have come with anyone else.

“But I twisted her arm until she agreed to come with me,” Robby cut in. 

“Figures,” Cooper muttered. “Another senior attending throwing his weight and authority around to chase younger tail. Thought you were better than that, Robinavitch.”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you cut in. “What the fuck, Cooper? Robby’s got nothing to do with this.”

“Bullshit. You know, I am so sick of the higher-ups at this hospital walking around like they’re gods,” Cooper continued, narrowing his eyes at Robby. Robby blinked at him and Cooper’s glare shifted back to you. “But how very stereotypical of you. The psych who needs to fix the miserable old senior attending just because he crashed out during an MCI last year.”

Robby opened his mouth to reply, but you were quicker. “Fuck you, Cooper,” you snapped. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about. I’m here because I want to be. I turned your miserable ass down because I was waiting for Robby to ask me. Just because your brain is too tiny to fathom the fact that someone is interested in someone other than you doesn’t mean you get to throw strays. Now fuck off so I can get back to my date.”

Cooper’s lip curled. He was clearly debating whether to keep pressing you, but finally rolled his eyes and stalked off. You swallowed in an attempt to ground yourself, too pissed and too embarrassed to look at Robby yet.

But he was looking at you intently. “Well, I think this night’s just about done,” he said. You thought you could detect a hint of amusement in his tone, but chose not to acknowledge it.

“Sorry,” you sighed, your eyes still refusing to meet his, mortified over your admission. “I forgot he’d be here. Though I didn’t think he’d be that much of an asshole.”

“He’s in neurology,” Robby mused. “Of course he’s an asshole.”

“I’d hate to hear what you say about psych.”

“Perhaps another time. You know, when you don’t look like you’re contemplating murder charges.”

“Can’t charge me if they can’t find the body.”

Robby chuckled and you felt his hand graze the small of your back again. You fought the instinct to tense. You didn’t want to tense. You wanted to melt to the floor so that Robby would scoop you up and carry you home. 

“Are you ready to get out of here?” he asked. You nodded, your eyes registering one final glance out the window. 

“Yeah,” you sighed. “Best leave before causing any more scenes.”

“At least we got some entertainment,” Robby offered. His hand was still on your back. Why was his hand still on your back? Nervous tension simmered through your body, rising into your skull until you could practically feel it pulsing in your hair.

Langdon caught Robby’s eye and raised a very suggestive eyebrow as the two of you headed for the door. Robby, still guiding you with his hand on your back, shot Frank a sharp look before he snuck a glance at you to ensure you hadn’t seen.

Instead, you were staring determinedly straight ahead, fearful your knees would give out. 

Something was happening. Something had changed, a shift in the current between you and Robby. Its usual push and pull, the back and forth that had always kept you hopeful yet hesitant, now felt smoother; a free flow of high-charged anticipation. It made your insides twist and your palms sweat, a clash of uncertainty and excitement. 

But what if it was all in your head? What if your delusions were crafting a foundation built on frail glass? Or what if the two of you were one act of bravery away from getting exactly what you wanted?

By the time you were climbing into the front seat of Robby’s SUV, you were gnawing at your fingernails. Robby, of course, noticed from the driver’s seat but said nothing.

“You enjoy yourself tonight?” he finally asked. Streetlights whizzed past your window and you tore your gaze from them to study him as you spoke.

“I did,” you said assuringly. “I ate more shrimp and shook more hands than I can count.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot of socializing,” Robby sighed. “Worst part of the job.”

“Gloria seemed pleased with you.”

“Gloria is never pleased with me.”

“Really? I would have thought a night of ass-kissing would do the trick.”

“You’d be surprised.”

A silence fell over the car as street signs swished past, but your mind raced faster. Were you and Robby really toeing a boundary, on the brink of leaping into something new and uncharted? Or were you merely making things up in your mind? Either way, the more you studied Robby from the corner of your eye, the clearer it was that you were already tripping over the unspoken line. 

“Thank you for coming with me tonight,” Robby said quietly. You flashed him the prettiest smile you could manage, even if his eyes were on the road. 

“I appreciate the invite,” you said. “Even if it was only to please Gloria.”

“Can we please stop talking about pleasing Gloria? It sounds… wrong.”

“Fair enough,” you laughed.

“I didn’t ask you because I needed a date,” Robby pointed out. “You know that, right?”

“Oh.”

“I’ve gone to those damn fundraising events solo countless times. I asked you because I wanted you to be my date.”

“Oh.”

Robby cast an uneasy glance your way. The whoosh of a passing car roared in your ears, though it may have been blood rushing to your head. The air conditioning inside the car was on, but you felt flushed and flustered as you willed yourself to respond with poise – something, anything to give yourself a fighting chance.

Instead, you shifted in your seat. Robby’s eyes darted toward you, then downward for a fleeting moment at your exposed thigh in the high slit of your dress. You watched him flex his hand around the steering wheel. 

Your quick, shallow breaths stretched into torturous seconds of silence. You had a choice, you decided, and you wanted to choose Robby.

“Well, I’m glad you asked,” you said carefully, steady enough to convince Robby of your sincerity. “I didn’t want anyone else to ask me anyway.”

“Oh.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his response. “Yeah,” you continued. “The feeling was mutual… or is mutual.”

“Oh.”

You held your breath as you waited for his next move; a chess match between two people who had no desire to play in the first place. Neither of you wanted to continue your dance around the glaringly obvious. You didn’t want to play games. You were tired, needy and looked too damn good to waste your time on any more uncertainty.

“Well, I’m glad it worked out for us both then,” Robby finally continued. You both snuck a glance at the same time, your eyes meeting for a flash. It spiked your pulse and made your pupils dilate.

And finally, Robby’s hand slowly reached for the top of your thigh. The motion was smooth, as if his hand was always meant to be there. It was a dizzying juxtaposition – Robby’s large and rough, calloused hand against your smooth, soft flesh. Your knee stilled, as if moving it in the slightest would force his hand away. You wanted it to remain there forever.

Both of your eyes remained glued to the road straight ahead. Oasis played quietly from the radio.

The walk from the parking garage to the elevator inside Robby’s apartment building seemed to extend from mere feet to miles. When the elevator doors snapped shut, you held your breath again, eyes still fixated forward as Robby stood behind you. In the doors’ reflection, you could see his eyes clinging to your form.

The dip in the back of your dress, the pieces of hair that had fallen loose from your updo, the scent of neroli and jasmine from your perfume; it was all pulling Robby to a vexing place where he was torn between his desire to stop resisting you and the vulnerability required to do so.

The clack of your heels echoed through the hallway towards Robby’s apartment door, a steady tick-tock that counted you both down to the moment of truth. When you reached the door, eyes clouded with desperation, you shared one final glance. Robby’s eyes darkened with hunger. 

He wanted to be gentle, wanted to be careful and sweet. But all of his suppressed cravings breached their dam, spilling from their confines in the form of primal dominance.

The sharp click of the lock felt symbolic – unlatching years of what-ifs. Robby entered the apartment first, tossing his keys on the counter before he whirled around. Before the door could fall shut, he had you pinned against it. It latched when it met the force of your back, concealing the two of you from the outside world with a quick thud.

Robby held your face in his hands as he kissed you. It knocked the breath you’d been holding for weeks from your lungs in the form of a pitiful whimper. The kiss was deep but sensual, fervid but sophisticated, giving yet demanding. It continued until you were gasping into his mouth, desperate for air and desperate more. When he finally pulled away, his hands lingered, still cupping your face as he studied the reaction in your wide eyes. You stared back, your chest rising and falling as you caught your breath. 

You didn’t blink. You didn’t move. You refused to do anything that could be misinterpreted as anything but your desire to stand right there in that moment.

Robby kissed you again. This time, your hands snaked over his arms until you were sliding his suit jacket off. You only removed your lips from his to shift your focus to his tie. Once you loosened the knot, he pulled you toward himself this time, one hand pressed flat into the small of your back as he kissed you.

He dared to step forward, pressing his body against yours until he had you backed against the edge of the counter. Your fingers worked over the buttons of his shirt until you could skim your palms over his chest. You could feel it rising and falling beneath them as Robby’s breathing became more ragged.

Once his shirt was off, he raised an eyebrow at you. 

“How come I’m the only one getting undressed?” he murmured. You offered him a pointed blink.

“I don’t see anyone stopping you from helping me out of this dress,” you replied matter-of-factly. Robby couldn’t argue with that. 

You expected him to make a hasty move for your dress, but instead he hooked an arm around your waist to pull you in for another kiss. This one was slow and deliberate. Your teeth grazed gently against his bottom lip, desperate to pull more from him. Your arms clung to his neck until you were damn hear hanging from him, thankful for his sturdy frame.

You could feel his hand glide from your hip to the slit of your dress, his fingertips caressing over your thigh. His lips found your neck, first pressing a tender kiss there until he dragged his lips toward your collar bone. A low moan hummed in your throat. His touches were tender and deliberate. The ache between your thighs burned to your core.

Robby’s hand disappeared inside the slit of your dress and your breath hitched as he finally swiped a finger against the fabric of your thong, relieving some of the agonizing tension. The slickness pooling at your entrance was a dizzying paradox to the heat that scalded your nerve endings. Robby inched two fingers inside your panties and groaned at the sensation of your arousal clinging to them. And before you could beg him to continue, his index and middle fingers skimmed your folds. They met your clit and pressed until a whimper escaped your throat.

Robby leaned with one hand on the edge of the counter, the other dragging against your sacred flesh until your knees threatened to give out. Your head tipped back, your eyes squeezed shut as you silently thanked every higher power you didn’t believe in for granting you the privilege of crossing paths with Michael Robinavitch.

His lips found your neck again, ghosting hot breath against your skin that sent goosebumps peppering across the surface. 

You inhaled sharply as Robby sank a slow finger inside you until you could feel the heel of his palm pressed against your clit. It quickly became clear that Robby knew what he was doing – not that you had expected anything less.

The obscene sound of his rhythmic hand pulling you toward the edge echoed around you, your labored breaths its only rival. You whimpered over the mounting pressure within your walls, tightening them until Robby groaned again. 

“Robby,” you panted with a desperate plea. He curled his fingers and you choked out a moan. The coil inside you tightened as Robby’s hand hastened its pace, his fingers pulling against your front wall until they dabbed your sweet spot. Your fingers clutched at his bicep, nails pricking at his skin as your body tensed. 

Your hips jutted forward and a pitchy whine rose in your throat until the coil inside you finally snapped, sending your climax pulsing through your core. Your hips rolled as you rode it out around Robby’s fingers, your clit grinding against his palm until your high subsided, leaving you slumped against him.

You didn’t speak – hell, you couldn’t – but Robby eyed you in quiet satisfaction, grunting in arousal as he removed his fingers from your soaked cunt. Your chest rose and fell as you caught your breath, head still cloudy in its post-orgasm haze.

Finally, you felt Robby’s arm squeeze around your torso as he lifted you up, your feet dangling in the air as he supported you on his shoulder.

“You know, I’m perfectly capable of walking,” you noted from over his shoulder.

“Really? Because I seem to recall you nearly falling in those heels no less than five times tonight,” Robby replied.

“I thought you wouldn’t notice.”

You could feel Robby’s body shake as he chuckled. He carried you toward the bedroom and you became certain he could feel your heartbeat rattling within your ribcage. When he set you on your feet again, he studied you with pensive eyes, as if he were waiting for you to change your mind. 

You shimmied your arms from the straps of your dress, revealing your bare chest. Robby stilled.

“Jesus,” he hissed. “You are… so fucking beautiful.”

Words were failing you so you licked your lips in anticipation. Robby lifted a slow hand to guide your dress downward until it pooled in a heap at your feet. You stepped out of it and kicked your heels off, widening your height difference. You tilted your head backward to peer up at Robby, urging him to act. 

He leaned into you for a long kiss, his hand roaming from your waist until it was cupping your breast. His thumb brushed over your nipple and you could feel his erection pressing against your stomach, triggering your impatience. You fiddled with his belt until it clinked apart. 

Once you managed to shove Robby’s remaining clothing to the floor, he stepped from his shoes and you chewed at your bottom lip. It’d been weeks since you had sex, since before you moved in with Robby. And it’d been ages since you had sex with someone that big. You swallowed a laugh as you realized Myrna was right.

The groan Robby released when your hand curled around his cock sounded like it had been stifled for weeks. Of course, that had been exactly the case.

“Fuck,” he rasped as you stroked him, his jaw clenching at your touch. You could practically feel his cock twitching in your hand. 

Your patience waned until you were practically dragging Robby toward the bed. He tugged your thong down and kissed you hard, his hand tangling itself in your hair while the backs of your knees met the bed frame.

Robby eased you onto your back, his knee between your thighs as he planted a trail of kisses from your neck, across your collar bone and to the swell of your breasts. The ache returned between your thighs.

You held your breath as his kisses drifted downward past your navel to your hip bone, then across the tops of your thighs. You could feel them tensing, squeezing together in an attempt to relieve the throbbing between them.

Robby smirked against your skin. His hands gently parted your thighs and you sucked in a sharp breath when you felt his tongue find your clit. Your hips grinded upward, desperate for more until you were fisting his hair. It spurred Robby on, leaving his arms hooked around your thighs. The sight of your soaked entrance ignited an invigorating surge of avidity in him. He’d fling himself from the roof of Pitt Trauma before he allowed anyone to deny him a taste.

His tongue flattened against your clit, pressing and prodding until your legs were shaking. Your eyes fluttered shut and Robby hummed against you in approval of your taste.

“Jesus Christ, Robby,” you breathed, unsure if you could withstand the sensitivity. But the way your hips were jutting upward, pressing your entrance against his tongue, told him you wanted more.

He drove his tongue harder against your clit, forcing it in swift, short swipes until your feet were kicking from the pleasure swelling inside your nerve endings. You ground yourself against his tongue in slow, sweeping motions, desperate for more friction. 

Robby received the hint. He sucked on your clit, lips pulling it against his rigid tongue. It was a tactical assault of unwavering pressure. Your cries chorused higher until you issued a rapid succession of whimpers, one after another, as you climbed toward your climax. 

Robby applied more force and held his tongue in place until your body seized, your nails sinking into the back of Robby’s neck as heat sprawled across your cunt, its ripples triggering a blissful shriek from you. It left you boneless, your head void of all coherent thought.

But Robby’s desperation peaked. He crawled on top of you, his eyes dancing with a raw greed you’d never seen before. He leaned down to kiss you, his lips slow and assuring as if the two of you were exchanging an agreement to stop withholding from one another.

Robby’s eyes locked on yours when he pulled away to position himself between your legs. Your heart hammered as he held your gaze and lined the tip of his cock against your entrance. The air in your lungs screamed for relief as you held your breath, your fingers pressing into the mattress in anticipation.

He sank into you slowly, groaning at the squeeze of your tight heat. Your teeth chewed at your bottom lip as you willed your walls to stretch around him. The friction was dizzying as he filled you. Robby clenched his jaw so hard, his teeth threatened to crack. 

Once he’d reached the hilt, a clarity settled within your skull and your senses became hypersensitive to every movement, every breath and every agonizing second that Robby wasn’t driving you into the mattress.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Robby rasped. His voice was strained, as if he was in pain. In truth, he was merely fighting his final threads of self-restraint.

Robby was torn. The sight of your folds swallowing his cock was beyond anything he’d imagined, a vision he wanted burned into his mind forever. But he also felt a desperate longing to be close to you. He wanted to shower your face and lips with kisses while he whispered passionate prose in your ear.

“Robby, please,” you begged. As arousing as the power was to Robby – the pitiful whine of your voice, the plea in your eyes, the way your body twitched in response to his cock – he didn’t make you beg again.

Robby’s hips retreated and snapped forward, driving his cock within your plush walls. You issued a low, guttural moan in response. Robby’s hands reached for your hips, pulling you into him in contrast to his thrusts. Together, your bodies composed a symphony that was approaching a grand coda.

“You feel so fucking good,” Robby groaned. You bucked your hips in response, his praise heightening your arousal and your desperation to learn how it would feel to fall apart around his cock.

You squirmed beneath him, each panting breath signaling your impending orgasm. You squeezed your cunt tighter around him and your eyes clamped shut as you focused on the friction within your core. Robby shifted until he was directly above you, supporting himself with one arm as his shaft dragged through your walls and his tip pressed into the deepest part of you. The bedsheets clung to their corners for dear life. 

Your nails sank into Robby’s shoulder, leaving tiny half-moon divots. If he felt them, he said nothing. Instead, he grit his teeth at your slick passage, his cock nudging you closer to the edge with each snap of his hips until you were certain the force would drive your heart straight into your throat.

Heaven couldn’t feel this good and hell couldn’t feel this hot. 

“Oh fuck, Robby,” you moaned. The sound of his name spilling from your lips became his new favorite song. “Robby, I’m close.”

The desperation in your voice instilled a sense of urgency within Robby; a demand for deliverance that could only be rivaled by the high pitch of a flatlining patient. But this wasn’t loss of life; this was rebirth.

Robby rocked back to a kneeling position, his eyes glued to your joint union as he drove his cock upward. It speared your core’s pressure point until your toes were curling.

Your cunt clenched tighter, beckoning your release. It mounted within your walls, swelling until it surged. You unleashed a sharp, ringing cry that filled the bedroom while your back arched off the bed and stars filled your eyes. Robby maintained his pace as your cunt convulsed, sending spasms searing through your nerve endings.

The end of your high marked the beginning of Robby’s. The vision of your mouth hanging open, breasts bouncing, dripping cunt swallowing his cock, was far more than he could handle. He swore loudly as his cock twitched. He yanked your hips flush with his as he spilled himself inside you, his fingers pressing hard into your flesh. 

Robby stilled when it was over. He released your hips and collapsed on the pillow beside you, his arms snaking their way around your torso as he pulled you close. You, however, were incapable of any movement. Your fucked out frame was limp and weak, but you couldn’t remember the last time you were this satisfied.

Faint traces of the morning’s first sunlight leaked through the curtains of Robby’s bedroom when you awoke. He slept with one arm flung across your torso. You studied him quietly as he slept. His peaceful breaths were a soothing contrast to his serious demeanor.

Then he snored so abruptly, he jerked awake. You bit back a laugh.

“Hey,” you said softly. Robby rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and offered you a crooked smile.

“Hey.” Robby studied you with such intensity, you could feel the familiar flush threatening to creep over your cheeks. “You sleep alright?”

You nodded. “You?”

Robby cracked another smile. “I did, considering it’s the first time I’ve slept in my own bed in weeks.”

“And whose fault is that?” you laughed with faux indignation. “I seem to recall offering to let you have the bed.”

“I only wanted it if I could share it with you.”

You swallowed your heart back down to your chest. “Well you left that minor detail out,” you quipped.

“Well I wasn’t aware it was an option,” Robby replied. You chewed at your bottom lip, unsure how to respond and annoyed at yourself for the lack of confidence. But in all fairness, it'd only been mere hours since the man had absolutely ruined you by turning you into a pitiful, whimpering, moaning mess. “But in all seriousness,” Robby continued, the amusement in his eyes shifting to something much more serious, “You do understand that I didn’t want for this to be a one-time thing, right?”

“You didn’t?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“But if you do want it to be a one-time thing, it’s alright,” Robby continued. “I just… you just…” His eyes scanned the ceiling as he decided on the right words. “Just tell me, okay?”

“I don’t want it to be a one-time thing, either,” you said immediately. Normally, you’d have practiced more restraint, more poise, played it cool and nonchalant, but this felt too raw and honest to hold back. 

“You don’t,” Robby repeated as if he needed confirmation.

“No.”

“Okay, good.”

You shifted to rest your head on his chest, the warmth of his body enveloping you with comfort. 

You couldn’t believe that, finally, you got what you wanted. Now it all seemed so simple; you and Robby made sense and it shouldn’t have taken so long for the two of you to reach that mutual understanding. But now, you were too giddy and too relieved to dwell on the past.

“The ER’s going to have a field day about us,” Robby muttered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m pretty sure they’ve all had their bets placed for quite some time,” you said.

“We don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to,” Robby said carefully. “But I don’t want you to feel like we have to be a secret. You’re not a secret or something that I could ever be ashamed of, but I understand if you want to keep this under wraps.”

“I’m not ashamed either,” you said with a frown. “Robby, I’ve wanted this – wanted you – for as long as I’ve known you.”

“Oh.” Robby seemed genuinely surprised by your revelation. He dragged a palm across his face and grimaced. “Guess we both wasted the past few years then.”

“Guess we’ll have to make up for it,” you said, drawing a grin from Robby. “But maybe to start, we just let everyone at work figure it out on their own.”

“Wanna bet on who’s the first to figure it out?”

“Oh, I’ll put $20 on Mohan,” you said confidently.

“I’ll put $20 on Dana.”

“Deal.”

A quiet moment fell over you, and you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the momentous change that had just taken hold of your life. Just 24 hours ago, you were single and pining hopelessly for the senior attending you thought couldn’t be bothered with any interest in you.

“I’m going to make some tea,” you declared, sliding out of bed to pull your bathrobe on. 

Once you were alone in the kitchen, you couldn’t help but grin to yourself. You gazed around the kitchen, now wondering how often you’d spend time there in the future. Sure, you’d move back to your apartment in a few days, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were in your second home.

The sudden buzz of your phone on the counter pulled you from your daydreams. 

“Hey,” you said, accepting a Facetime call from Trinity.

“Goooood morning,” she said in a sing-song tone as Samira peered over her shoulder. They were clearly at work, standing at the nurses’ station. You’d never been so grateful for you and Robby to have a mutual day off.

“Good morning,” you said carefully, your tone cheery but not too jubilant.

“How’d it go?” Samira asked eagerly.

“Wait,” you said with a frown. “Samira, didn’t you work last night? Why are you there?”

“Working a double,” she responded breezily. “Now quit deflecting. How was the charity gala?”

“It was good,” you offered casually, propping your phone up on the counter against the backsplash so you could retrieve your tin of matcha from the cupboard. “I had a good time.”

“A good time,” Trinity repeated blankly.

“That’s what I said,” you hummed.

“Oh, come on,” Samira whined. “We need details. Did anything happen?”

“Define ‘anything,’” you replied as you filled the tea kettle with water.

Trinity rolled her eyes. “You’re really going to hold out on us, after all we’ve done for you.”

“What exactly did you do for me?” you laughed.

“We helped you pick out that stunningly sexy dress that Dr. Robby was supposed to tear off of you,” Samira answered matter-of-factly. 

“You two are insane.”

“And you are an asshole,” Trinity retorted. “Come on, give us something. You really can’t tell us that nothing-”

Her voice stopped abruptly and you watched her eyes widen at something behind you. You turned to look over your shoulder, where a shirtless Robby had appeared. 

“Hey, Dr. Robby!” Samira called out merrily. Meanwhile, Trinity’s jaw was hanging open.

Robby blinked, his hair still a tousled mess. “Good morning,” he said, stepping closer to peer at your phone. “Everything alright?”

“Everything is splendid,” Trinity answered. Even through your phone screen, you could see her eyes glinting with glee.

“Is that Dr. Robby?” Dana’s face appeared in frame and you sighed as you watched her expression react to seeing her senior attending standing in nothing but sweatpants behind you. “Well good morning to you both!” she mused with a knowing smile.

“Fuuuuuck,” Robby groaned from behind you. 

You glared daggers of annoyance at your friends. “We’re hanging up now,” you said.

“We’re hanging up?” Trinity mused. “You hear that? She’s already referring to them as ‘we.’” 

“Goodbye!” you sang as you ended the call. Behind you, Robby was rubbing his temples.

“Sorry,” he sighed. 

“It’s fine,” you said, more amused than annoyed. You’d known all along your secret would be short-lived. You crossed the kitchen to slide your arms around Robby’s torso, tilting your head backward to smirk up at him. 

“Guess you technically owe me $20, though.”

By the time you turned onto your parents’ street, your nerves had you anxiously drumming your hands on the steering wheel. You tried to play it cool, to keep Robby from worrying more, but the closer you came to your childhood home, the more the knot in your stomach tightened.

When you pulled into the driveway, you could see your mom peeking from the living room curtains.

“Ready?” you asked as you put the car in park.

“Ready,” Robby said with a surprising air of confidence. You couldn’t help but raise a curious eyebrow at him. “Look,” he continued. “I want your parents to like me, obviously, but I’m also too old to think that their opinion of our relationship is going to make a difference. How they feel about us isn’t going to change how I feel about you. They love you, and so do I.”

You offered him a smile, your heart swelling over how fucking lucky you felt. 

“You’re right,” you agreed, reaching to the passenger’s seat to give his knee a gentle squeeze. “Regardless of what they think, it’s still you and me.”

The glance exchanged between your parents when you introduced Robby wasn’t lost on you. You knew what they were thinking — they were surprised you’d brought home an older man. But as the evening progressed, you found yourself seated at the dinner table, smiling to yourself at the warm conversation that unfolded. You felt silly for doubting your parents. Sure, they could be a bit conservative and too concerned with keeping up appearances, but by the time your mom was cutting the pumpkin pie for dessert, they had embraced Robby with fondness. 

“And you really doubted me,” Robby murmured into your hair as you cuddled up to him in bed that night. 

“I didn’t doubt you,” you pointed out, turning to peer at him through the lenses of his reading glasses. “I doubted them. And I guess I shouldn’t have.”

“That remark your mom made about grandkids was a bit alarming though.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you sighed. “But at least she likes you enough to grant you permission to make her a grandparent.”

“She does know any child of mine will be raised a Steelers fan, right?”

You smacked him with a pillow. 

You woke up early the next morning and crept quietly into your parents’ kitchen, leaving Robby to sleep. Your mom was already up, drinking coffee in her favorite armchair by the front window. 

“Morning,” she chirped, motioning for you to sit on the sofa. When you obliged, she smiled at you. “Robby seems really nice, honey,” she said. “He seems like a hell of a doctor. And he really seems to care about you.”

“He’s brilliant,” you agreed. “And he’s a far better person than I could’ve asked for.”

“Do you think he’s the one?” 

“I hope so,” you answered. “Because even if there were two of him, he’s the only one I’d want.”

By the time Robby woke up and strode into the living room, you and your mom were watching the latest episode of 90 Day Fiance. Robby shook his head at you and headed toward the kitchen for coffee. 

“Sorry I don’t have any tea for you, honey,” your mom apologized. “I always forget that you don’t drink coffee.”

“I have tea.” Robby poked his head back into the living room. “I brought your matcha. It’s in my backpack.”

From across the living room, your mom smiled at you in approval.

pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!reader warnings: not beta read, barely proof read oops word count: 3k idk what happened i started with the bar scene and then felt like it needed some lead up and here we are notes: be kind to me, i am not a writer but these doctors have awoken a monster in me.

Robby got roped into a frontline workers’ talk at a local elementary school.

Shen’s mom’s friend is the principal if some public school and somehow that’s how Robby ends up walking into a fluorescent-lit elementary school foyer the same morning Shen’s leaving for his bachelor party weekend.

“You owe me big time, buddy.” he texts Shen.

“We’re naming our firstborn Robby,” Shen fires back.

“You know I’ll hold you to that,” he replys

He walks in with AirPods in, sunglasses still on, looking a bit lost. You glance up from your clipboard and do a double take.

He pops one AirPod out just as you mutter, “Oh… you’re not Dr. John Shen.”

“Nope, I’m not. He’s on a boat somewhere. Bahamas, I think. You’ve got me instead. Dr. Michael Robinavitch. Older. Not as good-looking.” taking his sunglasses off.

“I never said that,” you say, blush creeping up your neck. “I think he must’ve told our principal and it didn’t get passed along. No worries—I’ll just update my intro slide.”

“Sorry for the switch-up,” he says, finally meeting your eyes properly, and holding the look a moment too long.

“Really, it’s fine. Come on, I’ll show you to the gym. Kids will be filing in soon. Just a quick overview of what you do, your schooling, then a few questions. You’ve got backup—a fire chief, a nurse, an EMT. You’re not on the hook for the whole thing.”

As you walk, he points to a motivational poster taped to the wall: a kitten dangling from a tree branch.

“‘Hang in there.’ Very ER-core.”

You nod, straight-faced. “It’s more for the teachers than the students.”

He chuckles.

He introduces himself to a room of squirming third to fifth graders with “So I work in a place where people try to die and I spend most of my time convincing them not to. It’s great.”

They’re hooked.

He talks about trauma bays, night shifts, a time he held someone’s heart in his hands. The kids go wild.

One kid asks if he’s famous.

Another asks if he’s seen poop.

A third says: “You look like Iron Man.”

Robby: “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

After the assembly wraps up, your work bestie sidles up to you.

“So we’re just gonna ignore that Dr. McHottie was eye fucking you the whole time?”

You don’t look up from the stack of worksheets you’re grading. “Literally no idea what you’re talking about.”

She tilts her head. “You should’ve gotten his number. Or I should have. What do you think they’d say if we just called the hospital?”

“I think it violates HIPAA.”

She shrugs. “I don’t think that you know what HIPAA is.”

You roll your eyes.

But the universe isn’t done.

Later, still riding the post-event adrenaline, you stop at the grocery store on your route home. This day earned you cake and a bottle of wine. You’re crouched down in the wine aisle, scanning for the cheapest red on the shelf, when someone clears their throat behind you.

“I think you’re better off with a white. With, uh, berry chantilly cake,” he says, peeking into your basket.

You look up. It’s him.

“An ER doctor and a sommelier? A modern renaissance man.”

“SAT words. The future’s in good hands,” he teases.

“So what’s your wine recommendation then?” you say standing up.

“Oh, I don’t know shit about wine.”

You laugh, and the silence lingers a beat too long.

“I—” “Not—” You speak at the same time.

“Ladies first,” he smiles.

“I was just going to thank you again for coming this morning. Not to show bias, but you were definitely the kids’ favorite.”

“Yeah, the heart story always kills. No pun intended.”

“Well, they had plenty of questions after you left. I told them they missed their chance.”

“I could give you my number. Y’know, in case more vital questions pop up. Or… you could use it to talk to me. Maybe even plan a time for me to take you out?”

You chuckle. “That line work on every elementary school teacher you try to pick up?”

“So far I’m one for one.”

“Not sure that’s statistically significant,” you reply, handing him your phone.

You text him your name—just your name and a smiley.

His phone starts ringing. He glances at it, then winces.

“I’m so sorry—I have to take this. Yeah… I’m just around the block. Okay. Be there in seven.” He turns to you, regret softening his expression. “Really sorry. I’ll text you later?”

“Of course, Dr. Robinavitch. Go save lives.”

”Everyone calls me Robby, or you can call me Michael” he says heading out. Just before the door closes, he glances back once more.

Later, you’re finally home. Glass of red in hand, cozy on the couch. You scroll, half-buzzed from the wine and the day, when a new text pops up:

Michael: My research says champagne’s actually the move next time—for the cake, I mean.

You grin.

You: Not a ton of room in the budget for a Thursday night champagne toast on a public school salary. Think I’ll stick to my $9 red.

You snap a selfie: you, the wine, a smirk.

Michael: Could be my treat? Next Thursday?

Followed by a link to a cozy bar you’ve been wanting to try.

Your fingers hover for only a second before typing:

You: It’s a date ❤️

You get there first.

The bar is small, dim, and full of mismatched chairs and candlelight. The kind of place where couples whisper over charcuterie. You’re nursing a glass of something bubbly, trying to look casual and not like you checked your makeup in your phone camera twelve times already.

Then the door creaks open, and there he is.

Button-down rolled at the sleeves, hair mussed just enough to look effortless—though he’d never admit it took longer than it should’ve. He spots you instantly and smiles like he doesn’t do that often. Like it caught him off guard too.

“You clean up nice,” you say as he slides into the chair across from you.

“You clean up… irresponsibly good,” he says, raising his eyebrows and making you laugh.

You clink glasses and dive straight into easy conversation. It flows, faster than either of you expected. He tells you about the time a raccoon got into the ambulance bay. You tell him about a class trip gone wrong and how a goat chased the entire third grade around a petting zoo.

There’s food—fancy grilled cheese, olives, tiny things with aioli—and more wine. You talk about work, but not too much. You learn he’s been at The Pitt longer than he planned. That he’s not from Pittsburgh, but ended up staying because… well, because.

You don’t push.

He watches you talk with his chin resting on one hand, doing that thing again—looking at you like you’re a puzzle he doesn’t mind not solving.

Midway through dessert, a berry cream tarte— the closest thing they had to the cake you bonded over a week ago— he leans in a little.

“Be honest,” he says. “What’d you actually think when I walked into the school?”

You smirk. “I thought you were a dad who got lost on his way to drop off a forgotten lunchbox.”

Robby laughs. “Brutal.”

“Okay, and also… I thought, oh no, he’s hot.”

He raises his glass. “That’s better.”

He offers you a hand to help you out of the booth and follows beside you, hand barely there at your lower back.

You’re standing outside, the city quiet in that just-past-bedtime way. There’s a light breeze and the smell of something warm from a nearby bakery.

“I had fun,” you say.

“Me too,” he replies. “Thanks for not fleeing halfway through.”

“Thanks for not turning out to be a wine snob.”

“I told you, I know nothing about wine. I was just trying to impress you. I was frantically Googling wine recommendations so i could have a reason to chat with you.”

You both laugh, and then there's a pause. A beat of quiet.

He tilts his head. “So, uh… what’s the move here?”

You step forward. “Well, you did save a lot of lives this week.”

“And you wrangled children into making a thank-you card with the word ‘trauma’ spelled wrong.”

“Tramua is the French spelling,” you deadpan.

That makes him laugh again—but softer this time.

Then he kisses you. Slow and warm, like he’s been thinking about it since the grocery store.

When you pull back, he looks at you like he wants to say something—but doesn’t.

Instead, he laces his fingers with yours.

“Did you park around here?”

“I walked. I’m only a few blocks away.”

“Can I walk you home? Make sure you get there safely.”

You smile. “Of course. It’s that way,” you say, pointing left.

He releases your hand just long enough to move to the curb side, then grabs it again without a word.

You walk in comfortable silence. That kind of quiet that doesn’t need filling.

“This is me,” you say as you reach your stoop. “I’d invite you up for a nightcap, but… it is a school night.”

Robby chuckles. “Can I kiss you again?”

You don’t answer—you just lean in. And suddenly you’re a teenager again, making out on your front porch under a flickering streetlamp.

This time, he’s the one to pull back first, forehead resting against yours. “Alright,” he murmurs. “Guess I have to be the responsible one.”

You steal a few more kisses anyway, laughing softly, before finally saying goodnight and slipping inside.

You’re curled up in bed, grading a stack of vocabulary quizzes, red pen in hand, when your phone buzzes:

Michael: Made it home. Thanks for a great night.

You: I had an amazing time. Up until I got home and got a paper cut on a stack of quizzes I need to finish before tomorrow.

Michael: Sounds serious. I can’t diagnose over text. Could I see it in person? Maybe Saturday?

You: I’d love that, but I won’t be in town—I can’t believe this didn’t come up. I leave tomorrow for an elementary STEM conference. Riveting, I know. I’ll be back Wednesday.

Michael: My schedule’s rough next week. Could you do Friday?

You: One date in and we’re already juggling calendars. I think that’s a good omen 😊

But yes—I’ll pencil you in for Friday.

Michael: Pencil? Ouch. That kind of hurts.

You: Okay, okay. Permanent marker. Color coded. Red for Robby.

Michael: That’s more like it ;)

The days go fast—seminars, lectures, hands-on demos. You barely stop moving.

But every spare second you get, you’re texting him.

Sometimes flirty. Sometimes funny. Sometimes just: Here’s what I’m eating. What about you?

It’s been a while since you’ve been in something like this. But it’s never felt this easy. And you’re really hoping he feels the same way.

Little do you know.

It’s almost time for handoff , and shockingly the ER is in a lull which gives the team time to strike an inquisition on Robby. Dana kicks it off, perched on a nurses station desk.

“Alright Robinovitch, spill”

He looks at her over his glasses, “I just finished handing off to Shen, theres nothing else to spill.”

“You’re smiling.”

“No I’m not.” he says with a frown.

“All week your face is trying so hard not to smile, it’s giving your wrinkles wrinkles.”

Shen turns from the drawer hes been rummaging in for snacks. “Wait, are we talking about how Robby’s been… weirdly chill?”

“I’m not chill.”

“You told a med student that it was alright, we all make mistakes sometimes.”

“I did not.”

“You did. I was there,” Dana grins. “Who are you?”

Robby leans back in his hair, sips his coffee. “Maybe I’m growing. Emotionally.”

Dana gasps. “Oh my God. He’s in love.”

Robby chokes slightly on his drink. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ve had your nose in your phone every free moment you’ve had.” Dana adds. “You’ve taken real breaks where you go talk on the phone in the ambulance bay.”

Robby sets his cup down, but he’s not denying it. Just smirking like someone caught red-handed.

“Alright who’s the lucky lady?”

“You don’t know her and you’ll never know her.”

Shen looks like he’s doing calculus in his head and leans in. “Wait this started when I was on my trip, oh my god, did you meet a hot mom at the elementary school?”

Robby pauses. Just long enough.

“Holy shit, I don’t owe you any more – you got your repayment a hot MILF.”

“Oh my God,” Dana says.

“Jesus Christ, she’s not a mom, she’s a teacher”.

There’s a beat of silence before Dana grins. “You know what? I love this for you.”

Robby rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue.

“Wait,” Shen says. “Does she know you’re, like, emotionally stunted?”

“She’s a 3rd grade teacher. I think she’s prepared.”

Dana hops down. “I’m gonna need details.”

“You’re not getting details.”

Friday rolls around and you’re more excited than you’ve ever been for a second date. It’s cozy and dimly lit—more plants than light fixtures, menus scribbled on chalkboards, and the faint buzz of a bar that feels like a well-kept secret.

You spot him at the bar, already seated towards the back. He’s dressed down again, but there’s something intentional about it—like someone who spent an extra minute wondering what shirt to wear.

He catches your eyes and smiles like he forgot how to do that for a while until recently.

“You’re punctual,” he says, clearly pleased.

“You’re early,” you reply, shrugging off your coat. “I was promised a perpetually late, cynical doctor.”

“Tragic. He’s been replaced by a man who googled ‘cozy date spots that don’t feel like you’re trying too hard.’”

You laugh. “And did it recommend this place?”

“Nope. Shen’s girlfriend did. Which I now realize makes this deeply traceable.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait—do they know?”

Robby sighs. “Dana cornered me in central. I didn’t confirm or deny. Shen said I was glowing. It was… a dark time.”

You smirk.

The food is good—small plates, easy to share. The conversation is even better.

He opens up, just a little—enough to mention the long hours, how emergency medicine pulls you in like a rip current, how sometimes it feels like it’s the only thing he’s really good at.

You tell him about your student who tried to fake a cough for three weeks to get out of a math test, and the tiny triumphs that feel like wins no one else sees.

He watches you talk, head tilted slightly, the corner of his mouth pulled into a lazy smile. His fingers rest near yours on the table. Not touching. Not quite.

Finally, he says, “I’ve gotta be honest—I haven’t really… done this in a while.”

“Tapas?”

He chuckles. “No, like—dating. Letting someone in. It’s easier to stay busy. Stay… guarded, I guess.”

You nod. “Well, I haven’t really dated someone who sees more blood before lunch than most people do in a year, so.”

“So we’re both out of practice.”

“Guess we’ll have to wing it.”

He leans in and kisses you. Slow. Deliberate. This one without surprise. This one because he wanted to all night.

You’ve fallen into a comfortable cadence. You see him a few times a week, more often than you thought you would, but you don't complain. You love his company.

Your schedules do still clash at times.

You planned to go home after parent-teacher conferences. Michael had already mentioned he had plans—finally joining his coworkers for a long-overdue drink after weeks of skipping out.

It doesn’t take much to convince you to meet your own colleagues for a post-conference drink. It’s been a day, and you deserve it.

But as you walk into the bar, you spot a familiar profile near the corner.

You don’t even hesitate. With a little liquid courage in hand, you stroll over and place a hand on his shoulder.

“So… they really just let anyone in here nowadays?”

Michael turns, eyes lighting up in that way that makes your stomach dip. “How’d you find me?”

“Coincidence. We needed to lick our wounds after the parent-teacher conference firing squad.”

One of the guys at the table leans toward the person next to him. “Ahhh. This is the teacher.”

Michael grins and slides his arm around your waist, his hand resting easily at your hip. “Right, where are my manners?” he says introducing you to the team.

You smile, trying not to let the arm-around-your-waist thing short-circuit your brain. “It’s so nice to meet you all. I’ll get back to my workplace complain-fest and let you return to yours.”

You squeeze his shoulder lightly, but before you step away, his hand shifts on your waist, catching your attention. He leans in and lowers his voice just for you.

“If you head out before we do… come say bye?”

You meet his eyes and nod. “Of course.”

The moment you slide into your seat, your coworkers pounce.

“What the hell was that about?”

“You don’t have friends outside of school.”

“Thanks for introducing us to your hot doctor friends???”

“Wait—HOLY SHIT, was that Dr. McHottie with his arm around your waist? Did I miss a chapter?!”

You laugh and give them the short version. You field a rapid-fire round of teasing, eye-rolls, and maybe a few not-so-subtle attempts to angle to get set up with his coworkers, but eventually the conversation drifts to who cried in the hallway today, who mispronounced “photosynthesis,” and whose turn it is to deal with the PTA bake sale disaster.

Your group starts calling it a night. Long day, longer week. You say your goodbyes and make your way back toward Michael’s table, which has thinned out significantly as well.

He stands when he sees you. “My friends couldn’t hang. I’m calling it a night too—just wanted to say bye.”

“You’re more than welcome to stay if you want another drink, honey,” Dana offers, eyes twinkling.

“Oh, I couldn’t impose—”

“You could never,” Michael says, standing and lightly touching your elbow. “What are you drinking?”

You smile. “Whatever you’re having.”

You settle in at the table. The conversation is easy, flowing from hospital horror stories to favorite dive bars to why Dana is banned from karaoke at two different establishments.

Michael returns with drinks, sliding yours to you and casually resting his hand on your thigh under the table, thumb tracing slow circles that make it a little hard to concentrate on anything Dana is saying.

You laugh, you listen, you really like his friends.

The convos come to a close and you all start heading out. You shrug on your coat, and Michael helps, fingers brushing lightly down your arm.

“Want to walk me home?”

He smile. “I’d love that.”

The conversation is light—teasing, wandering, nothing too deep. You talk about favorite childhood snacks and your worst Halloween costumes. He tells you how Jack once sliced his palm on a pineapple slicer and tried to pretend it wasn’t bleeding.

As you reach your apartment steps, you stop and turn to him.

“That was really fun,” you say, quietly. “I like your friends. I hope I didn’t make anything awkward.”

“Not at all,” he replies. “They loved you.”

“Good. Glad I passed the first big test.”

He chuckles. “Teachers and their testing.”

There’s a pause. Then: “So… want to come up?” you ask, voice soft but steady.

He hesitates, not pulling away. “I’d really like to. But I just came off a twelve-hour shift, and I’ve probably had two more drinks than I should’ve. If I sit down, I’m going to be half-asleep in seconds.”

You take his hand and start walking him toward your door.

“Then that’s settled,” you say. “Can’t have you falling asleep in the Uber.”

You open the door, letting the warm light spill into the hallway, and look back at him with a little smile.

He follows you in without another word.

You flick on the light and immediately cringe.

“Wow. Sorry. My place looks like my classroom exploded in here.”

Michael steps in behind you, taking in the scattered worksheets, the pile of books on your couch, and the half-folded laundry draped over a chair.

“You should see the trauma bay on a Tuesday,” he says, tossing his jacket over the back of a stool. “This is a spa by comparison.”

You kick aside a rogue glue stick. “I did mean to clean today, but then 30 small humans and their guardians demanded to know if their kid is ‘thriving academically’ while also asking what ‘phonics’ actually is.”

He snorts.

You pad to the kitchen and grab two glasses of water, handing one to him. “Doctor’s orders.”

He grins. “Responsible and charming.”

You sit on the couch, tucking your legs underneath you. He follows, moving slowly—like someone who’s used to being on his feet for twelve hours and finally has permission to stop.

He slouches into the other end of the couch, long legs stretched out, one arm thrown over the backrest. He takes a sip of water and closes his eyes for a second, just breathing.

“I’m gonna fall asleep right here,” he murmurs.

You smile. “Go for it. My couch has a strict no-judgment zone.”

There’s a long, easy silence after that. Not awkward—just soft.

Eventually, you get up and offer him a hand “you’re not sleeping on the couch, come on”

He reaches for your hand —warm fingers curling around yours for just a second longer than necessary.

He follows you to your room, hands still intertwined. It’s not the first time you’ve shared a bed, but it is the first time you’ve shared one without hooking up before. It all feels very intimate.

There’s a surgical precision to how he fits into your evening routine that leaves you a little breathless as you settle into bed.

“Night,” he murmurs wrapping an arm around you and nuzzling in.

You squeeze his hand once, gently. “Goodnight, Michael.”

urgent / 🆘

"I need your hearts above all else..."

You may not know me, and perhaps we will never meet, but today I am writing to you because I need your support, your humanity,my story is not easy for me to tell, but it is true, and it is filled with hope that has not yet been extinguished,i ask that you just give my story a minute of your time.

"In a single moment, everything collapsed..."This is not a fairy tale, but the painful reality of a displaced woman.

Rima lost everything she owned. She lost her home, which housed her dreams; her father, brother, and son, who were snatched away by death in a cruel moment; and her husband, who struggles with pain after a serious injury. All that remains for her is her patience. Her livelihood has been cut off and she has lost her source of income, yet she continues to resist with silence and dignity.

Help us make her voice heard, perhaps a compassionate hand will reach her, ease her pain and restore some hope.

gofundme.com

Donate to Help me so that I can help myself and my family, organized by Alaa Alser

Hello everyone Im Alaa Alseer from Gaza and im 20years old, i want to open … Alaa Alser needs your support for Help me so that I can help my

1. Every time we try to get back on our feet, the war befalls us with another tragedy. My husband, for whose treatment I was collecting donations outside Gaza, was seriously injured for the second time. My eldest son is a prisoner, my youngest is a martyr, and my little girl passed away before she saw the light of day... All I have left is God, and perhaps your hearts.

2. My tent burned down, just as my heart burned for those I lost. My children and I are now homeless, without medicine, and without hope... Help me protect what's left of my family.

3. All our wounds bleed; we have no home or homeland, but we hope for a compassionate heart to reach out to us. My family needs you today... Don't leave us alone.

4. In one moment, I lost two girls: one was martyred in my womb, and the other's dreams were burned under the rubble of the tent... Please, life is too harsh for us.

5. We only dream of medicine, a blanket, a loaf of bread, and the shade of a tent that doesn't burn. Whoever has a living heart... let him remember us.

6. I am a mother who has lost everything, and I am still waiting for relief from God and from your merciful hearts. Your donation could revive a family that dies silently every day.

If you can't donate even a small amount, reposting could make a difference in my life.

Help me make my voice heard.

You are the light on a path that darkness has tried to obscure.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who feels, shares, and helps.

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Don't skip 🚨 Emergency

This isn’t just another post—this is a cry for help.

In Gaza, we are living through unimaginable pain.

Homes destroyed. Families torn apart. No clean water. No enough food. No safety.

Children sleep hungry. Parents cry in silence.

We’re not just struggling—we’re trying to survive.

If you’re reading this, please don’t scroll past.

Even sharing this post can make a difference.

Even a small donation can help someone eat, sleep safely, or survive one more day.

Donate here:

gofundme.com

Donate to Help me and my family to travel and survive , organized by Abdalah Fawzi

Hi, my name is Abdullah , and I'm from Gaza, Palestine, a place that has su… Abdalah Fawzi needs your support for Help me and my family to t

Please, stand with Gaza.

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #598 )✅️

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bullet graze | michael robinavitch x reader

summary: reader gets caught up in an armed robbery and ends up in the ER

warnings: mention of bullets and robbery

It was a miracle you were only grazed by the bullet. 

You were at the gas station on your way home from work when a gunman came in to rob the register. The gunman panicked when he heard the sirens, not realizing the owner had pressed the police button on his side of the register. In the chaos of everything going on, his gun misfired in your direction. It was a miracle the bullet only grazed your shoulder, if you had moved even just an inch it would have been life threatening. you were taken to the nearest emergency department even though you insisted you could drive yourself, you weren’t even really bleeding and your vitals were fine, but the cops and paramedics insisted they transport you. 

When you arrived at PTMC, you were placed in one of the rooms and after a few minutes you heard a knock on the door and were seen by Dr. Mkay, “I have a medical student with me if that’s alright with you,” the doctor nodded toward the student who came in with her as she put on gloves. 

“Yeah that’s fine, I don’t mind” you responded and with that Javadi took off the gauze covering your shoulder. 

“Ouch, what happened?” Dr. Mkay asked, reaching for the measuring tape by the computer and passing it to Javadi 

“I was at a gas station and someone came in with a gun to rob the place and he got spooked by the cops and misfired in my direction” you said with a wince as Javadi touched the surrounding area 

“Wow, you got very lucky then” Javadi said 

“Yeah, I did” you laugh slightly under your breath

After Javadi cleans up the wound, they give you instructions on wound care and tell you a nurse will be by in a few minutes with your discharge papers. At least you didn’t need stitches. 

You knew your boyfriend, Michael, was working tonight, but you hadn’t seen him in the few minutes you were being wheeled into the room. You thought about texting him, or asking Dr. Mkay if she could get Robby for you, but you didn’t want to make it a big deal and figured you would tell him what happened when he got home later tonight. 

You didn't even think about the possibility of Robby seeing your last name and first initial on the patient screen above the nurse’s station with a room number next to it. 

You were on your phone when suddenly the door opened. you looked up expecting the nurse with your discharge forms, but were surprised to see Robby, staring at you with his mouth slightly open in surprise 

“Hi babe, what are you doing here?” you try to joke, but it's like he didn't even hear you as his eyes zero in on the bandage on your shoulder. 

“Sweetheart what happened? Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me you were here? You could’ve told whoever treated you to come get me” he stresses, his eyes sweeping over you looking for other injuries 

“I didn’t want you to worry. Besides, the bullet only grazed my shoulder. Very gently, I might add” you say as his eyes widen

“I’m sorry, you were shot!?” he nearly shouts, his thoughts going a mile a minute as he dons on a set of gloves.

“Gently. I was gently shot” you emphasize as he uncovers the bandage 

“Jesus honey, what happened?” he asks as he replaces the bandage and takes a look at your vitals

“Well I stopped by the gas station next to work, like I always do on fridays” you start 

“For your after work sweet treat” robby nods, familiar with your routine

“And a robber came in with a gun. I honestly blacked out everything that happened until I heard the sirens, and then the guy got spooked and his gun misfired in my direction.” you say with a shrug and robby takes the stool seat beside you, grabbing your hands in his. 

Maybe it was the adrenaline of what happened wearing off or being comforted by your boyfriend that allowed all the emotions you were bottling up to come to the surface, but tears started welling up in your eyes. You looked up at michael and saw his eyes soften when he saw a tear slide down your cheek. his palm cups your cheek and he wipes the tear away with his thumb, “its okay to cry about what happened honey” he says, he could tell you had been trying to downplay the whole situation

“I was so scared” you said softly as your bottom lip started to tremble. You felt silly for crying. Yeah you were hurt, but it’s not like you were actually shot. But for a split second after you saw the guy had a gun, you thought you were done for. You didn't know his intentions, didn't know if he was actually gonna use the gun or if it was just for show, you were terrified. Your brain disassociated until you heard the sirens, and even then you were still in fight-or-flight mode.

Robby stands up from the chair and takes you into his arms as your tears come faster and faster, placing a kiss on the top of your head. He holds you tight in his arms, his heart racing with the thought that he could’ve lost you tonight. 

“Will you wait for me to take you home? I don’t want you walking by yourself or taking an uber” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead 

You nod against his chest, “you read my mind, I was gonna park myself in your break room until you were finished” there was only about an hour left in his shift anyway 

“You can sit at the nurse’s station if you want, I know dana will be happy to see you” he says, his arms still wrapped around you, dana was the only one who knew about your relationship along with Jack. “do you want me to bring Kiara? If you want to talk to someone?” he says hesitantly 

You debate for a moment, “no it's okay, thank you though” you give him a small smile, “I’ll sit with dana at the nurse’s station” you nod, you haven’t talked to her in while it’ll be nice to catch up. 

You pull away from robby, but before you get too far he pulls you back in and cups your face, “I love you” he says softly and before you can respond, he crashes his lips against yours.

----

requests are open!

the pitt masterlist

hiiii love your l&d nurse ideas and i hope you get to write about it at some point!! <3 i saw on an ask u said to drop ideas so if you ever feel like it i l've been praying for someone to write reader sharing an on-call room while in between shifts or something w/ carter or definitely something with carter being gentle with kids 😫 or l&d reader showing carter the newborn babies in the maternity ward (i can't remember what that's called but yk the room where hospitals keep the newborn babies??) when he's like stressed or having a bad day and it cheers him up and he's like yearning for the day he can have kids

this was so fun to write i have to be real with you. i love this little guy so much he makes me stupid. CW: uhh, babies, carter being sleep deprived and lovesick, denny's awful lack of medical knowledge(I googled), an overabundance of the word little and baby, carter being a little delusional at the end (don't worry they're gonna get together in the next one) 1500 words! i hope you like it :)

ONE AM

Carter can’t remember the last time he’d slept, or ate, for that matter. He’s running on fumes, and Benton’s constant hounding about charts and imaging and lab results is wearing him thin. He just wants a nap. One, tiny thirty-minute nap. So, when he finds a dark on-call room with nobody in sight, he flops himself down on the bed without a second thought. “Hey-!” A voice yelps quietly, and then there’s an elbow in his ribs. He grunts, huffing a breath. “Woah, what the- Oh,” He breathes out, grinning despite the exhaustion that threatens to swallow him up. “Hey, you. What are you doin’ down here?” Your hand fumbles for the light switch as you emerge from the cocoon of blankets you've surrounded yourself with, grumbling at being woken up. “I was sleeping.” You mutter with nowhere near as much venom as you would use on someone else. Being mean to Carter doesn’t come naturally to you, even when he wakes you up from your naps, apparently. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you s’posed to be on the floor with Benton?”   Carter sighs, an exaggerated sound, rubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I have an hour to spare, was hopin’ for a nap myself.” He looks tired, the soft skin under his eyes bruised a light shade purple, his shoulders drooping. Even his normally bright smile is dulled. You feel a pang of sympathy twist in your heart. His hours are crazy, Surgery is much more taxing than L&D. You know from his frequent complaints over shitty cafeteria food that Benton is partially to blame for that. “Don’t let me stop you.” You reply, stretching your arms up over your head, yawning softly. “I have to get back upstairs anyway. We have a baby boy with a pretty severe case of jaundice, I’m hoping his labs are back by now.” He watches you with warm eyes, sitting with his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His smile doesn’t fade either, a little dopey with how tired he is. You’re pretty, he can’t help but think. Your hair is a little sleep mussed, eyes heavy still, but more alert than before. “He gonna be okay?” He asks, equally concerned as he is desperate to hear your voice again.  It makes you smile though, poking your tongue in your cheek to try and tamp it down. “He should be. We’ve got him in the incubator, and we did some Phototherapy on him earlier this morning. The labs are to check his bilirubin levels, see if they’re down from yesterday.” You’re standing up now, and he mourns the loss of your warmth pressed against his side. It takes every ounce of brain function he still has not to whine. You notice, of course, you notice everything about Carter. (“John,” He keeps insisting, even though you never listen.) The way his smile falters and his chin dips down gives him away. “You should come up later,” You suggest, fingers lifting to ruffle through his hair playfully, a selfish move. His hair is soft, and he tips his head into your hand lazily, his smile back in force. “Come see all the new babies. If Benton can survive without you for thirty minutes, that is.” It’s a gentle tease, smiling softly back at him, finding yourself infected by his bliss-filled grin. 

He huffs, groaning softly in displeasure, eyebrows pinching together, lips twisting into a grimace. “I think he wants me to work till I drop, angel.” He grouches, shaking his head dispondently, pouting up at you. “He’s a surgeon, Carter,” You hum, fond and the tiniest bit amused at his peril. He’s so expressive, his emotions playing out plain as day on his face. It’s hard not to love him. “He’s a sadist by nature. Don’t let him get you down.” You order, eyebrows raising pointedly, looping your stethoscope over the back of your neck. He nods heavily, a deep sigh spilling from his lips, a dry puff of a laugh. “Yeah,” He mumbles, giving you a tiny smile. “Yeah, I’ll try.” You nod, watching as he wiggles himself down onto the bed. You only leave when he closes his eyes, flipping the light switch off on your way out. SIX AMYou’re just picking up Baby Elliot-Jones when a quiet knock rings on the door. You turn, confused, but you soften at the sight of him. Carter somehow looks worse than before, haggard in a way that makes your heart hurt. “You didn’t get that nap, huh?” You ask quietly, adjusting the baby boy in your arms, swaying gently to keep him calm. John huffs a wry laugh, shaking his head while he pulls on a gown. He makes his way over to you, smiling softly down at the little boy you’re cradling to your chest. “No,” He murmurs, tipping his head to the side some. His eyes go all gooey warm, and it sends your heart fluttering. “No, I didn’t get that nap.” He confirms, shrugging a shoulder noncommittally. “S’this the guy?”

You hum, nodding gently, bouncing slowly in your spot. “The man of the hour.” You verify, speaking in hushed whispers for fear of waking the poor little ones up. The nursery is full, fuller than he’s ever seen it. Little, wriggling and cooing babies in bassinets, swaddled in white and yellow. “His bilirubin came back lower this go around,” You murmur, dragging a gloved fingertip over the baby's cheek delicately. “Tough little thing. He threw a real fit earlier.” Carter watches with wide eyes, entranced by how gentle you are with the baby. It’s almost comical how easy it is for you to flip the switch from ‘hard-ass’ to ‘tender’. He only ever sees you be this soft with the babies. Well, and him, which he tries not to read too far into. “He’s cute.” He replies lamely, watching intently as you shift the baby in your arms. Too enraptured by the look in your eyes when the baby’s fingers grip the front of your gown to come up with a more eloquent response. You look up at him then, contemplative, and then decisive. “You wanna hold him?” You offer a smile lifting one corner of your lips. It makes his stomach knot up with affection. “Yeah, yeah sure. Absolutely. Please?” He mumbles, a smile splitting his lips, already reaching out to take the baby with all the eagerness of an overexcited puppy. “Careful.” You murmur on autopilot when you deposit the baby boy in his arms, rolling your eyes at the look Carter gives you. “I got this.” He assures anyway, cradling the babe in the crook of his arm, turning that blinding smile down at the tiny thing. “Hello.” He greets in an exceedingly soft tone. It makes those damn butterflies surge in your belly, biting hard at the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning like a fool. Quiet settles for a few moments, just the steady beeping of monitors and the occasional gurgle or coo from an infant in the room. “I always wanted kids, y’know?” Carter states suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper. There’s a wistful quality to his tone that sends a pang through your heart, like he’s already given up on the idea of ever having them. “You’d be a good dad.” You reply quietly, more sincere than you’d planned on it coming out. His eyes flick to you, eyebrows raised, looking pleased with your vote of confidence. “Yeah?” He whispers. “You think so?” You laugh softly, nod once. “Yeah, John. I’ve met enough bad dads to know you would be in the good category.” He beams at that, his shoulders straightening up some. It’s as if the praise has breathed new life into him, blown away all the verbal abuse that’s no doubt been spewed at him all night. His pretty eyes shift back to the baby, who’s gurgling soft coos up at him, tiny fingers clenching and unclenching around Carter’s index finger. “I might have one.” He states, voice barely a whisper now, as if he fears that if he speaks too loudly, it might break the peace. “Someday. Haven’t had much luck finding someone who wanted to uh, commit to something that serious yet.” He chuckles softly, trying to brush the comment off as funny, you think. Something to poke fun at him for. The thought of doing so makes you feel a bit ill. “You will.” You whisper back, your fingers brushing over the top of the baby’s head with a light touch, smoothing back downy soft tufts of hair. There’s a certain domesticity to the moment. Something he can imagine doing with you, with a baby that looks a little bit more like the two of you combined. His heart feels full, his mind blissfully calm for the first time in weeks, and he’s hit suddenly that- I think I already have.

"This is my brother Mohammed… 17 years old, from Gaza.

He’s not just a number — he’s a human with a dream, and he wants to live with dignity." ✊

I’m his brother, and today I’m sharing this video where Mohammed talks about our pain, our life, and the dream he refuses to give up — even in the middle of war.

If his voice reaches your heart, please help him continue his journey. ❤️

Donation link to support Mohammed and our family:

Chuffed

Help Naser & His Brothers Rebuild Their Future

My name is Naser AbuThaher , and my world has been shattered by war. I lost my beloved mother and sister in an attack that took them away fr

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts to everyone who stood with us, donated, or even shared our story.

You are the light in our darkest days. You are the hope. ⭐

My Journey to Escape the War in Gaza

My name is Abdelmajed. I never imagined I’d be sharing my story like this, but life in Gaza has become unbearable. I am a survivor of the war here, and in the blink of an eye, everything I once knew—my home, my safety, my community—was ripped away from me.

The war has transformed Gaza into a graveyard of broken dreams. The buildings that once stood as symbols of life and resilience are now piles of rubble. Every corner is filled with the echoes of explosions. Every moment is shrouded in uncertainty. There is no security. There is no stability. There is no light at the end of the tunnel.

Basic needs have become luxuries. Food is scarce. Clean water is even scarcer. Hospitals are overwhelmed and under-resourced, and there is almost no medical care to be found. Every night, families go to bed hungry, praying they’ll wake up to see another day. The cost of basic necessities has skyrocketed, and it’s become a daily battle just to survive.

I’ve seen things I never thought possible—standing in long lines for a piece of bread, rationing every drop of water, and watching my people suffer in silence. I have lost everything—my home, my safety, my dignity.

Escape from Gaza is my only hope, but it’s almost impossible without financial help. The cost of evacuation is far beyond my means, and without support, I’m trapped in a warzone with no way out.

I’m reaching out to you now, in the hopes that someone, anyone, can help. I am not asking for luxury. I am asking for a chance—just a chance—to live. A chance to escape this never-ending cycle of fear, destruction, and loss. A chance to rebuild my life somewhere safe, where I can begin again, where I can find hope once more.

Chuffed

Help Abdelmajed Escape Gaza and Rebuild His Life

My name is Abdelmajed, and I am a survivor of the war in Gaza. Everything I once knew has been taken away—my home, my safety, and the people

Any amount you can give will help me get closer to safety. Even the smallest donation will make a difference—it could be the lifeline I need to survive. If you are unable to donate, please share my story. The more people who hear it, the better the chance that I can find the support I desperately need.

Your kindness and support mean the world to me. You’re not just helping me escape a war; you’re giving me a chance to live, to rebuild, to breathe again.

Thank you for listening. Thank you for caring.

Vetted by @gazavetters

Hello🙏😭😭, my situation is very difficult. I have children and I do not have money to buy food and flour for them. My husband is sick and his situation is very difficult. Please help me. 😭😭😭😭 200

Unfortunately I can't donate as of right now but I need you guys to help as much as possible ❤️ 🙏 ♥️

gofundme.com

Donate to PLeas Help Me And My Family , organized by Mohammed Hajjaj

Hi I am Mohammed from Gaza married and I have 4 children we were living together in a … Mohammed Hajjaj needs your support for PLeas Help

Dear generous soul,

I survived an airstrike. My body is broken, but the greater pain is watching my children waste away from hunger.

I have 3 beautiful kids, and I cannot give them food.

Every day they ask me for bread. I have none. Every night they cry, and I hold them with empty hands.

This is not just war — this is starvation.

We are blocked from aid. We are dying slowly in silence.

Please, if you can, donate. Even a little could mean the world to us.

If you cannot donate, please share our story. You might save a life.

👉 Donate now — give hope, give food

Please Donate now:👇

🔗 Donation Link

Please Reblog My Post :👇

📌 Post Link

!!!

https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-fayez-family-in-gaza

I'm dying of hunger, along with my three children. 💔

Can you consider me a member of your family and listen to me? This may be the last thing I write.

I've written to you repeatedly. Please don't ignore my message.

I'm Lubna, a displaced person living in a tent in southern Gaza. ⛺

A week ago, a tent next to ours was bombed, and I miscarried my three-month-old baby due to extreme panic, fear, and terror. My husband is a prisoner, and I know nothing about him. He left me with three children. The youngest had unsuccessful surgery and needs treatment abroad. He needs to buy medicine for 50 euros a day. 💊

I also need medical care after losing my baby and miscarrying. Please donate 100 euros to provide urgent treatment for two days. ‼️

Thank you from the bottom of my heart ❤️

🔗 My number has been verified by @gazavetters, and it's the first number on the list.

https://chuffed.org/project/117668-help-my-family-get-out-gaza

!!!!

Chuffed

Help Lubna's family To escape from Gaza

Husband Ahmed, Lubna, and sons Mohammed, Hassan, and Yazan.

My name is Farah, I am 19 years old and I live in Gaza🍉, where we face daily bombardments, hunger, and a severe lack of healthcare amid devastating humanitarian conditions. I launched my campaign to survive and continue living, and I kindly ask for your help in sharing it so it can reach as many supporters as possible.

https://gofund.me/6653e930

Unfortunately I can't donate as of right now but I need you guys to help as much as possible ❤️ 🙏 ♥️

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Farah in Gaza, organized by Nassima B

My name is Shahad Pharmacy student I have always strived to achieve the highest academic and professional… Nassima B needs your support for

My name is Farah, I am 19 years old and I live in Gaza🍉, where we face daily bombardments, hunger, and a severe lack of healthcare amid devastating humanitarian conditions. I launched my campaign to survive and continue living, and I kindly ask for your help in sharing it so it can reach as many supporters as possible.

https://gofund.me/6653e930

!!

gofundme.com

Donate to Help Farah in Gaza, organized by Nassima B

My name is Shahad Pharmacy student I have always strived to achieve the highest academic and professional… Nassima B needs your support for

children in gaza are losing their sight due to malnutrition. losing their sight. in the 21st century. in an entirely engineered famine, constructed by the "only democracy in the middle east" and facilitated by the rest of the civilized world including the united states and egypt. all in the name of defeating hamas, one of many groups to take up arms as a response to israeli determination to forcibly bring the myth of a land with no people for a people without a land to reality.

the problem is when you try to impose a settler colonial state on an indigenous people and they resist, you will be doing things like starving children until they lose their sight. and there's nobody else in the world to blame for that except the people who let you do it.

This is so shameful. How could we have possibly allowed this heinous cruelty to come so far. We've failed the Palestinian people so egregiously, there aren't words to describe it. Bisan, I'm sorry. I am so unbelievably sorry. We don't deserve your forgiveness. Over and over again we repeat the same horrid acts of violence against each other. And over and over again we learn absolutely nothing. Millions upon millions of innocent lives are completely destroyed, and we have only ourselves to blame.

im at disbelief at the fact that a lot of folks are simply over palestine. like protests are dwindling down. people are not very interested in news related to gaza. some are simply over it.

israel hasn't let aid in gaza in 70 days. gaza has been starving for 70 days. the condition of people there is horrendous.

i find it distressing to think about children in gaza. how does one continue to have a childhood in a genocide? they don't have school. they don't have safety. they don't have food.

despite all this, the kids will be alright. they'll be alright once the genocide stops and they get back to 'normal'. till then, can we please try to support them however we can?

this fundraiser (verified) helps feed a family which includes two young children. please consider helping their mother take care of them.

donate here

Here are some of the donations for Congo

congoaction.co.uk

Congo Action 3

Congo Action is a small British charity working in Kivu Province in the Democratic Republic of the Congo offering resources that can be used

Action Against Hunger

Democratic Republic of Congo

Action Against Hunger’s work in the Democratic Republic of Congo focuses on the hunger crisis, sexual and reproductive health and mental hea

https://href.li/?https://cammedrcongo.org

Eastern Congo Initiative

Homepage - Eastern Congo Initiative

ECI has been investing in the future of Congo since 2010. Along the way, we are transforming humanitarian aid for good. Come join us.

War Child

Donate - Democratic Republic of Congo

SUPPORT CHILDREN IN DRC

Panzi Foundation

Home Page - Panzi Foundation

Her Tomorrow Starts Today. Founded by Dr. Mukwege, Panzi is working to end rape in war and help survivors of sexual violence rebuild their l

Hey all! There's a campaign for eSims again which are in dire need!!!

For donating at least 16$ you can get 237 games in one bundle, valued at almost 900$!

They are donating all proceeds to Crips for eSims for Gaza!! Who have helped donate and top up over 18 000 eSims for people in Ghazzah!!

This campaign ends on May 20th, and they hope to make 20 000$!!!! Please help in whatever way you can. Spread the word, donate, or whatever else!

Noah Wyle in The Myth of Fingerprints

a whole bunch of gazan mutual aid projects and nonprofits. if the decision of which individual fundraiser to give to feels too daunting, or if you just want to help as many people as possible in one go, these are great initiatives to support.

care for gaza - focuses on providing food and essential supplies. donate here or here.

connecting humanity - securing internet access via donations of virtual sim cards (esims). if you can't afford a whole plan yourself, crips for esims is a communal pool that will use your donation to purchase and maintain esims

gaza soup kitchen - provides food, medical care, and classes for children. also has a gofundme

glia gaza medical support initiative - provides medical care through field clinics and tents at hospitals. donations can also be sent through their website.

ele elna elak - provides clean water, food, clothing, and shelter. they also have a gofundme

life for gaza - raising money for the gaza municipality to repair water and waste management infrastructure

taawon - partners with local civil organizations to provide food, water, medical care, shelter, and basic supplies

the sameer project - running various initiatives providing tents, medical care, and necessities. they have their own encampment project focused on sheltering families with children, sick and disabled members, or members in need of perinatal care

islamic relief worldwide's gaza emergency appeal - provides food, water, hygiene kits, medical supplies, and psychological support

baitulmaal - provides a variety of necessities, including food, water, shelter, and medical supplies

gaza mutual aid fund - distributes food, hygiene products, water, and other essential supplies, including financial support. run by @/el-shab-hussein's amazing friend Mona. updates can be found on her instagram.

hygiene kits for gaza - provides hygiene supplies including menstrual products, wipes, and toothbrushes/toothpaste

anera - provides a variety of necessities, including food, water, hygiene supplies, medicine, blankets and mattresses, and psychological care

palestine children's relief fund - provides supplies and support with a focus on children. also has an initiative for lebanon

dahnoun mutual aid - provides water, food, tents, baby supplies, financial support, and other necessities. updates can be found through their instagram

certainly this is not an exhaustive list, so please feel free to add on other projects or organizations that i didn't include. and as always, please take the time to donate if you can and share. it truly makes all the difference.

"550 days since the beginning of the war on Gaza, more than 150,000 martyrs, wounded, and missing under the rubble, and the world stands silent. I swear to God and the heavenly books that we are being subjected to a war of genocide by Israel.

By God, if a natural reserve for animals were exposed to what we are being exposed to, the world would rise up and intervene to solve the problem.

We are human beings, oh human beings, have mercy on us and rise up and demonstrate for us. "

That is a message from @rima-44 who is from Gaza, asking for help. And she is right, we as human beings must be compassionate and rise up and speak about against genocide and terror, but where is everyone? If a litteral genocide isn't enough to make you say something, I fear to imagine what will. I feel as if animals are have more compassion then humans, people are shown being burned alive in front of you. Children being shot in the brain, corpses living the streets. All for you to see, infront of you. And yet you still say nothing, where has our humanity gone?

It is so easy to help - now more than ever. All you need to do is click on a fundraiser, and spend only a minute to donate. If you have money to spend at a coffee shop - you have money to help. Please do not be selfish. No excuses, I'm tired of people refusing to donate when they can - their lives are worth more than a few dollars.

gofundme.com

Donate to Help me so that I can help myself and my family, organized by Alaa Alser

Hello everyone Im Alaa Alseer from Gaza and im 20years old, i want to open … Alaa Alser needs your support for Help me so that I can help my

23% OF GOAL RAISED. Show you are human, show you have a heart.

And if you truly cannot donate, keep sharing, speak up. You have to excuse.

Age: YA Traits: Adventurous, Lovebug, Perfectionist Aspiration: Extreme Sport Enthusiast

Presets: Headshape (n°5) | Eyes + Nose + Lips | Ears (n°2) | Body

Skin details: Skintone | Skin overlay (Raven) | Pores | Face details | Hairline | Face contour | Nose highlight | Face highlight | Blush | Lip overlay | Chin overlay | Eyelids overlay | Eyebrows | Cleavage overlay | Body highlight

Make-up: Eyeliner | Lashes (n°1) | Blush | Lipgloss | Eyes

As always a big thank you to all the cc creators ♡

Sim available on the gallery (ID: gzb_naomi) or here (tray files only). Please don’t re-upload or claim as your own.

Everyday: Hair | Sweater | Shorts | Socks | Sneakers | Nails Formal: Hair | Dress | Heels | Earrings | Bracelets | Nails Athletic: Hair | Top | Shorts | Sneakers | Headphones Sleepwear: Hair | Pajamas | Eyemask | Slippers Party: Hair | Outfit | Boots | Earrings | Choker | Nails Swimwear: Bikini | Shades Hot weather: Hair | Top | Skirt | Sandals | Hat | Bag Cold weather: Puffer jacket | Pants | Sneakers

I have been homeless for 36 days.

I just need somebody to care. I’m a preschool teacher that sleeps in their car.

gofundme.com

Donate to Support a teacher without a roof, organized by Enya Obi

Every morning, I help small children feel safe, loved, and hopeful for the future. But every… Enya Obi needs your support for Support a teac

I am a preschool teacher living in their car. I completely abandoned all hope of getting housed because I am easily discouraged. When I started posting I have been ignored despite posting proof and being transparent as possible.

Direct Aid:

V: Enyasaint

CA: $Enyasaint

PP: enyasaints@gmail.com

I have been discarded by society.

Do you have any idea what it’s like. I have to hold back tears at work. I’m extra sensitive about my smell. I donated most of my things to charity because I was scared that the parents or my bosses would find out that I’m homeless.

The weather is getting bad. Between potential tornados and increasing temperatures I’m not sure how long I will last.

Not to mention the constant danger of being caught in my sleeping spot. It is incredibly dangerous to be homeless. People who seek to harm the vulnerable with the assumption that no one would look for me. Assuming possessions like a parking lot they could violently remove me from the parking lot. I could be sexually assaulted. I have been fortunate to not have to face these things, but this is just a cusp of what I could face if I don’t find housing soon. I am a young woman and fear for my life everyday.

This post is disorganized. It’s more of a culmination of my thoughts this path month.

Sometimes I can’t even post if I’m not connected to wifi.

I’m tired of sitting at the library all day as its the only place that I can exist

I’d like a home cooked meal. Fast food is expensive and I’m getting sick of it.

I’m craving cereal.

I have a medium goal

To get permanent housing it would cost $6000

I NEED HELP! PLEASE

I don’t know how else to express this. I am tired of peeing in cups. I want the warm embrace of a hot shower. I long for a bed. I long for basic necessities.

If you can find it in your heart. Even if you can’t or don’t want to donate. Can you please post my GFM on your biggest platforms. Even if it’s reddit, Tiktok, Twitter. It helps me a lot.

Reblogs ≠ Do not equal goal met

$20/$6000

Update: 11 hours in I raised $20 🥳

This is for every person who has a heart and for every person who has emotions and feelings. Have you ever felt the loss of the person you love the most? Have you felt sleeping in a tent in the street while the rain falls on you? Have you experienced your house being bombed on your head and your family dying and you being the only one left and your foot being injured and when you want to treat your foot it is amputated without anesthesia after the occupation destroyed 90% of hospitals? Have you experienced many things that are unjust to humanitarian laws? Feel with us, we are human beings like you. We had jobs and a normal life, but Gaza is no longer the same as before. All those who live in Gaza have lost many things, but now we are looking for something to live on and fate brought me here for you to donate and participate with me. Be with me and fate. Thank you to those who helped with anything. Don’t make me cry. I am waiting for something from you to make me happy. This is not everything. I mentioned some of the pain we are living. You can donate here to make hearts that have been broken happy.

Sorry I left you on read for 3 months, I was stuck in an endless self isolation and self destruction cycle bc I thought I deserved to be alone. (It will probably happen again.)

you haven't unlocked platonic pining yet? wow ok fake yearner

Verna Hair

Long, straight hair available in four variants, each featuring a small side braid.

EARLY ACCESS DOWNLOAD

The public release is scheduled for April 30th.

Website | Patreon | Instagram | X | Bluesky | Pinterest

base game compatible

teen-elder

hat-compatible

24 EA swatches

5K polygons

all LODs