Slim shady b*tch

✨Dilfs✨ 21

[6luciffer6]

Hello, let me introduce you to my husband

(it's possible you might have heard of him. He plays football, goalkeeper, he won this award called 'The World Cup' and he won twice this other one called 'Copa América' so he is kinda of a big deal) (DIBU TE AMO HDP HACEME TREINTA HIJOS)

[pandoraslxna]

Shiny little lie

Miles Quaritch x female human reader

Words: 11k

Summary: Pretending to be married wasn’t exactly the dream solution, but it was better than the constant parade of wandering hands and flirting that made concentrating on work seem impossible. Oh, and it would also hopefully protect you from loosing your job when a certain Colonel once again decided that you were his favorite past time activity in the base.

Warnings: explicit smut, doggy style, age difference (not exactly daddy issues but reader is thinking about the possibility), p in v, oral (f receiving), size difference, authority kink, minimal misogyny / catcalling / non consensual flirting from coworkers, basically everyone wants y/n, lots of lying, lots of teasing, lots of sexual tension, semi-public sex, fake marriage, fake engagement ring

Notes: Huge thanks to my beloved @eywaite for allowing me to make this prompt become reality!! I love you for always feeding me the most juiciest ideas 🤭🩵

Sometimes you hated this job.

Recombinant Support Officer, or RSO for short. Lots of fancy-sounding words for what’s basically the professional babysitter of the recombinant team Deja Blue.

Your days are a blur of running around playing manager, nurse, personal assistant and part-time waitress. You fetch whatever they demand, no matter if it’s protein sludge, ammo or a snack they suddenly need in the middle of a briefing. You check their vitals, patch up minor wounds, monitor their workouts and make sure they don’t forget to hydrate. You keep them healthy, combat ready and basically presentable enough to show off to command.

And when one of them snaps their fingers? You’re there, med kit in one hand and coffee in the other, trying not to roll your eyes too hard. They’re supposed to be the pinnacle of military engineering. Most days however, it feels like you’re wrangling giant, moody housecats with assault rifles.

The military calls this "critical operational support." You however just call it the longest, never-ending shift of your life…

Okay, you may be exaggerating a bit. Usually it’s not that bad.

You get to order around people, which is kinda fun when they’re these genetically enhanced badasses who’d rather glare than listen to anyone but you. You’re the one calling the shots on the small stuff, like when to eat, when to rest, who needs patched up first, so you get a little taste of power.

And yeah, you do get to see some insane action every now and then, when the squad actually gets sent out instead of just flexing in the lab. Makes the whole circus feel kinda worth it.

Sometimes they actually surprise you, too. Like when one of them cracks a joke or thanks you for keeping their sorry asses alive. That’s a win.

It's nice to know they need you. But that isn't the part that bothers you. No, what bothers you is that even though they’re blue and inhumanly tall, they’re still men.

And the thing about men is that they are all the same. No matter how big, how strong or how blue their skin was, they were still just men. Selfish, arrogant assholes who think the world owes them something. Even underneath all that superhuman bullshit that should make them look like earths hero’s, they’re just men with zero self-awareness and a serious touch of entitlement.

In their spare time, when they’re not roughhousing with each other, the soldiers tease and flirt like you’re some prize they’re trying to snag, tossing around dumb jokes and smirks like it’s all just harmless fun. You’ve had to shut down more than one awkward friendly shoulder squeeze or accidental hand linger. And they don’t even realize they’re being gross half the time!

So yeah, it’s nice to know they need you, that you’re as much part of the team that they feel comfortable around you. But the constant parade of unwanted attention? That’s the part that wears you down.

This was one of those weeks, the kind that seemed to stretch on endlessly, where every shift bled into the next and sleep became more of a vague memory than an actual necessity. Between running interference on squad drama and making sure none of your overgrown blue idiots forgot how to eat properly (no, a cigarette and beer doesn’t count as breakfast), you were running on fumes.

So that morning, the cafeteria was your sanctuary. Early, quiet, blissfully free of soldiers. Just you in a corner booth, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that was finally, mercifully hot. A very rare occurrence.

You were halfway lost in thought, mentally counting how many hours of sleep you’d missed this week, when the artificial light above your head suddenly vanished and a shadow fell over your table.

"Well, ain’t this my lucky mornin’."

You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was: "Colonel."

"Boss." With a sharp grin, Quaritch slid into the seat across from you without waiting for an invite, his long blue frame making the table look like it belonged in a dollhouse. "Up early I see."

You took a sip of your coffee. "I’m trying to have breakfast without an audience for once."

Quaritch’s grin widened, before he tipped his own coffee mug up in cheers. "Hell, I’m the whole damn show, sugar. Front row seats, backstage pass. Comes free with my company."

A dry laugh escaped you. "Generous offer. But I’m still not interested."

"That’s cold," he said, feigning injury with a hand pressed dramatically to his chest. "Here I am, brightenin’ your day and you’re gonna shut me down like that?"

This was nothing new. Quaritch had a way of circling conversations like a predator that already knew it had the upper hand. Among all the recombinants, he was easily the most persistent, needling with a mix of sarcasm, shameless flirting and just enough sincerity to make it difficult to tell where his game ended. Or where it was even headed.

"Quitting isn’t in your vocabulary, is it?" You joked lightheartedly, yet your chuckle came out more nervous than you intended.

"Not when I see somethin’ worth the effort." His tone was smooth, confident, as if the words were a statement of fact rather than an attempt at charm.

You couldn’t help but squirm in your seat at that.

Quaritch was still grinning, all teeth and arrogance. Sometimes you thought he must’ve been paid by the number of flustered looks he could wring out of you, because when it wasn’t teasing, it was this thick, shameless flirting that made you want to either laugh awkwardly and flee the scene or pour cold water over your head to regain some sense of control over your own body.

Because truth be told, it was betraying you. Every. Single. Time.

Unfortunately you knew just where unprofessional work affairs would get you. And Pandora was not one of those places.

The stakes were too damn high for that kind of stupidity. Getting caught flirting (or worse) with the Colonel wouldn’t just earn you a slap on the wrist. It’d get you a one-way ticket off Pandora, and not the cushy kind with severance pay and a nice shuttle ride home. No, it’d be the kind where you’re tossed out with a 'don’t come back' stamped on your record, reputation shot to hell before you even made it through the debriefing.

But this right here, this was exactly where your newest plan finally came into play.

Born out of equal parts desperation and self-preservation, you had went out and bought the cheapest fake diamond you could find in a rundown supply store tucked away in one of Bridgehead’s less glamorous corners.

Pretending to be married, or at least engaged, wasn’t exactly the dream solution, but it was certainly better than the constant parade of wandering hands and flirting that made concentrating on work seem impossible. Oh, and it would also hopefully protect you from loosing your job (and dignity) when a certain Colonel once again decided that you were his favorite past time activity in the base. Because, let’s be honest, a simple 'no' would not work on this man. Not that you were able to ever tell him that, once it really came down to business.

So, with a subtle clearing of your throat, you let your hand rest casually on the table, the ring catching the light just enough to draw attention.

And just as you thought, his eyes immediately dropped to it. Quaritchs smirk faltered for the briefest fraction of a second before he recovered. "Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t know ya‘ had a boyfriend."

"Fiancé," you correct, hiding your nervous smile behind your coffee mug.

He let out a low chuckle at that, shaking his head. "Huh. Bet he’s a lucky son of a bitch."

"Yeah," you said, quickly taking another slow sip. "He is."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s amazing how fast a simple band of metal changes the mood of team Deja Blue.

Only a couple of days later and the not-so-professional comments at work had dropped by half, the 'accidental' touches happened less and the teasing had shifted to dumb jokes about your 'lucky husband' instead of your ass. It was as though the squad had collectively decided that maybe there were better uses for their energy than testing boundaries.

Today’s task list, however, hadn’t gotten any shorter. Down in supply, a fresh shipment had arrived. Crates stacked high with whatever specialized gear Command had decided the recoms couldn’t live without this week.

Unfortunate for you, none of them moved itself.

Three bulky boxes were stacked in precarious balance against your chest, your arms straining to keep them steady. Every step down the hallway became an exercise in blind navigation, the top box blocking nearly all of your vision. The muffled thud of boots and distant chatter echoed off the metal walls as you shifted the boxes from one hip to the other, inching closer to the squad’s staging area.

Somewhere ahead, a shadow shifted into view, though the stack made it impossible to identify what or who was standing in your way. There was no warning, no greeting for that matter, just a sudden shift in weight as the boxes were lifted away in one smooth, unasked-for motion.

"Jesus, kid. C‘mere." Quaritch huffed, the boxes now cradled easily in his arms, his expression equal parts irritation and amusement, as though watching someone single handedly drag themselves into exhaustion was both maddening and weirdly impressive. His gaze flicked over to your now empty hands, then back to the face that had been hidden behind the boxes.

"Thanks, Colonel," you muttered, hiding the relief in your voice.

"Where do these go?" he asked, already walking ahead, like this little rescue operation was just a minor detour in his day.

"Oh, uh, these are for the squad," came your reply, already a little breathless from keeping pace with his big steps. "They’re headed to your floor."

A curt nod was all you received as an indication that he’s even heard you.

As you walked, Quaritch’s tail swished lazily behind him, a subtle, rhythmic motion that was impossible not to notice once your eyes had drifted in that direction. And that was certainly not because you were staring anywhere else in that region. There was just something about the way it moved, those sharp little flicks when he was irritated, that made it clear he wasn’t entirely thrilled to be here right now. Maybe it was the fact that someone had been hauling three boxes solo, maybe it was something else entirely. Either way, he carried these boxes as if they weighed nothing to him, which was definitely impressive.

From behind, it was hard not to let your gaze linger. The broad line of his back, the easy flex of his biceps, the muscles under his camo tank, even the casual confidence in every movement. It was an irritating kind of perfect. And sure, it was easy to dismiss that flicker of interest as something purely biological. Quaritch was tall, strong, yeah even a little bit handsome, but that didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything. Yes, that also may have made him look dangerous in all the best ways and infuriatingly capable, but it also made him off-limits.

So no, there was no real crush here. Just… an aesthetic appreciation. That was all.

Not to mention, he was so much older than you!

Old enough that if life had gone a little differently, he could’ve been the dad glaring at your prom date on the front porch.

The worst part about this was that you found it a teeny tiny bit attractive. Not the potential dad part— God, no, but the way it showed how much older he was.

Every time he called you 'kid' (and he did that a lot) it was like being smacked in the face with the reminder that you were barely halfway to his age and miles beneath him in experience, rank, and, well… every other way that counted. It was both a turn-off and a turn-on in the most deeply inconvenient, self-loathing and confusing sort of way.

Never, ever in a million years would you admit that to anyone. This piece of information about yourself was something you’d take to the grave.

Which was exactly why you had to actively force your eyes away now, because if he ever caught you staring you’d never hear the end of it.

"So," the Colonel drawled, slowing his steps just enough to glance over his shoulder with that stupidly hot half-smile, "your boyfriend know they let you do manual labor, sweet cheeks?"

"Fiancé." You correct him again. "And yes, he does."

"And he’s fine with it?" Quaritch pressed. The corner of his mouth twitched with a flicker of curiosity, though there was a certain weight in his stare that you guessed meant he probably wouldn’t like whatever answer was coming.

You arched an eyebrow in return. "Why wouldn’t he be?"

"M’just sayin’," he shrugged, shifting the boxes in his arms with ease. "You’re such a tiny thing, I wouldn’t want my girl carryin’ boxes twice her weight."

A short, nervous laugh escaped you. "Well, lucky I’m not your girl then, huh?"

Quaritch didn’t bother replying to that. He just let out a low, amused scoff, as if the very idea of you being his was so far-fetched it was laughable. Oh, well. There goes another blow straight to your self esteem. Not that there was much left to chip away at when it came to Quaritch anyways. He was so out of your league, the both of you (and basically the rest of the world) already knew that. No need to sulk about that in self-pity.

The rest of the walk stretched in silence, his boots echoing dully against the corridor floor until you stepped through the wide double doors into Team Deja Blue’s common area.

This part of their floor looked exactly like a bunch of oversized soldiers had claimed it as theirs.

There was an absurdly large couch sprawled across one wall like it had been built for titans, all rumpled cushions and a suspicious stain you weren’t willing to identify. In the center sat a pool table so big it looked like it had been stolen from a luxury cruise liner, with pool cues that could double as spears. A mini fridge, that was about as tall as you, hummed quietly in the corner, plastered with dented RDA stickers, pictures of na’vi pinup girls and the faint smear of what looked like dried hot sauce across the handle. Ew.

This room smelled like the unmistakable cocktail of protein powder, sweat and whatever half-eaten ration pack someone had abandoned in the sink. Your nose wrinkled and you took a mental note to get someone to come in here this afternoon with industrial-strength disinfectant.

In the open gym section, the heavy clank of weights rang out as one of the men grunted through a bench press. Meanwhile, Lyle was flexing in front of the mirrored wall. Behind him, Z-Dog sat cross-legged on Mansk back while he cranked out push-ups, barking encouragement like some sadistic personal trainer. A few others lounged across the couch, trading jabs over a card game.

"These go into the storage room next door," you told Quaritch, moving to take one of the boxes from his arms.

He didn’t argue, just shifted his grip so you could grab hold.

In the storage room, narrow industrial shelves lined the walls, stacked with neatly labeled crates of gear, recom supplements and spare uniforms.

Balancing the weight in your arms, you stepped past Quaritch and made for the nearest empty shelf, stacking one box on top of another with a grunt. The second you did, there was an unpleasant little snag. Your hand caught somewhere between the cardboard and the metal of the shelf. You hissed under your breath, tugged, and before you knew it, the fake engagement ring went spinning off your finger and clinked against the floor.

Quaritch’s gaze tracked it instantly.

He set his own box down with a solid thunk and, without a word, strode over in one step. One large hand swept it up from the floor, his long fingers turning it once between them as though examining it.

When he straightened, the ring sat gleaming in the center of his palm, dwarfed by the sheer size of his hand. His eyes flicked from the cheap little diamond back to you.

"I know I said you’re tiny," Quaritch murmured with a dry chuckle, “but that thing is ridiculous, even for you. It’s so small."

"Excuse me?" The words came out sharper than intended as you stepped forward and quickly snatched it from his fingers.

His smirk didn’t budge, if anything, it deepened. "I’m just sayin’. Your fiancé must not love you if that’s the best rock he could put on your finger."

You could feel the heat crawling up your neck, not entirely from embarrassment but also because his words hurt. Fake marriage or not, you felt offended by his comment.

"It’s not always about the size!" You grumbled angrily.

"Sure it ain’t," he chuckled. "Man lets his girl bust her back carryin’ shit at work and sticks her with a pebble from the bottom of a fish tank. Sounds like a real winner."

That was the last thing you’ve heard him call after you, after you squeezed yourself between him and the door, and marched off.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The water tastes sweet.

It takes you by surprise and for a split second you think of spitting it out. If this was the same water you got in the canteen yesterday then it should still taste like the bottom of a boot or licking a stop sign. But it doesn’t. Now it’s citrus and sugar, things you hadn’t tasted since before the world went to shit and your minimal pay on this exo-moon was spent on more important things and not… Lemonade.

You glance down at the translucent cup in your hand, brows furrowing in confusion. It’s lunch hour and the usual grumble of tired bodies and clinking trays slowly fill the cafeteria.

You swallow as slowly as you can, savoring a flavor that may end up killing you if that turns out to be poison or something. But there’s nothing. It really is just lemonade.

Interesting.

Usually, the only liquid that ever crossed your lips since you’ve landed here was water and the occasional black coffee so bitter it could strip paint. Lemonade wasn’t part of the deal. Not for someone at your rank, not unless you were dreaming or someone had screwed up the dispensers. Or… paid for your ration.

Here, everyone carried those thin, plastic cards that could be scanned at the drink machine or the food line. The machine would then spit out whatever ration or meal plan had been assigned for you, a hardcoded limit on what you could order. Usually, that meant choosing between two options neither of which was worth getting excited about.

You take a sip again, eyes scanning the room, wondering if someone upstairs finally decided to cut you some slack. Like that’d ever happen.

The higher-ups and the recombinants, those were the only ones who could afford things like lemonade, beer, or even an occasional steak. And speaking of the devil…

"Trouble in paradise?" Quaritch’s voice cuts through the background noise like a knife.

Before you can blink, he’s already settled himself to sit opposite of you, that damn grin stretched wide, looking almost hopeful as he’s waiting for a response. Hopeful for what… exactly?

"Huh?" You stare at him, dumbfounded. His gaze flickers down and you follow his direct line of sight. The ring! You must’ve forgotten to put it on this morning.

"Oh! Oh, that. Uhm, no I, I’m just getting it cleaned." It’s a lame excuse and you know chances are high he’s not buying it, but Quaritch just raises a brow, clearly disappointed. That must have not been the answer he was looking for.

Before another beat can pass, the weight of his stare makes your skin prickle. That flicker of disappointment in his eyes is almost worse than the grin. On top of that, he’s a lot more intimidating when he’s quiet like this.

You scramble for an escape hatch. "So… the lemonade." You lift the cup with an awkward smile, waiting for him to put two and two together.

The Colonel’s laugh was low and quick, the kind that rumbled in his chest and made your shoulders hitch. He leaned back in his chair, big arms folding over his chest. "What? Can’t spoil my favorite girl?"

"It’s Recombinant Support Officer," came your prim correction.

He snorted, one brow hitching up. "Yeah, whatever, kid."

There was a long, drawn-out sip from the lemonade, partly to hide the flush creeping up, partly to avoid giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. Of course, that only earned you a slow head tilt from across the table, like he was evaluating whether the drink or your fluster was sweeter.

Now that you were thinking about it, today was the second time this week the Colonel lingered in the cafeteria without the rest of his merry band of chaos following in his wake. That alone was unusual. Quaritch was a pack animal, the squad usually orbited him like stubborn moons. Seeing him here alone, sitting across the table with no distraction but the occasional sip from his coffee, sent an odd ripple of unease crawling up your spine.

Not fear exactly, he wasn’t about to flip the table and throw punches, but a different kind of nervousness. The kind that came from being the sole focus of someone who didn’t often give their attention in such a concentrated dose. And the lemonade? Clearly his way to apologize for the rude comment about your ring size the other day.

You idly stabbed your fork at the pile of mashed potatoes on your tray, more a performance of eating than an actual attempt at it. Every so often, an obligatory bite was taken just to keep yourself from looking too obvious, though chewing felt mechanical under the weight of Quaritchs unblinking gaze.

There was a feeling of hyper awareness of every movement, how long it took to lift the fork, whether your posture looked too stiff, if avoiding his eyes made it seem suspicious or just obvious. But still, he stayed put, leaning back and watching you like his favorite show was on.

"The squads been wondering when we‘ll get to meet the lucky guy," Quaritch said eventually.

The cup in your hand met the table harder than you had planned, a muted thunk that drew his eyes briefly downward before they came back up, pinning the focus squarely in place. Great. Now you were sweating for real.

Once more, the tray in front of you became very interesting. Stabbing at the limp cafeteria greens felt safer than holding his stare, though the fork kept scraping against the plastic in a way that was far too loud to be considered subtle.

"Oh uh, never I guess." You forced it out as casual as possible. "I keep my private and work life strictly separated."

Opposite of you, Quaritchs gaze didn’t waver. There was no smirk and no easy grin this time, just a low grumbled, "Aha."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

"Pick it up, ladies! I’ve seen retirees with hip replacements run faster than this!"

That damn whistle of yours split through the morning air again, sharp enough to make Quaritch’s ears ring.

There was something about the smug little way you stood on the inside of the track, clipboard in one arm, whistle dangling from the other hand. Your shorts, fitted top, hair tied back just enough to keep it out of your face… Christ, you looked like a high school PE teacher who’d swapped dodgeball for military-grade training.

Behind him, a few groans rose from the pack. Z-Dog threw a glance over her shoulder, her signature smirk in place, before she broke into a bark of laughter.

"Pretty sure this counts as harassment, boss!" She called out.

"Pretty sure you still have another three laps," you countered without missing a beat. The laugh that followed was completely unbothered.

The sun caught on the sheen of sunscreen across your shoulders, highlighting the faint smirk you wore every time someone groaned or cursed under their breath. That, of course, only egged you on. You could be a real sadist if you wanted to, he had to give you that.

"Straighten up, Wainfleet! You’re leaning like you’re dodging sniper fire— fix it!" Another blast of the whistle, followed by some spiel about daily training goals like you were the damn drill sergeant here.

Quaritch smirked despite himself. There was a part of him that almost respected the nerve. Most people simply kept their mouths shut around the recoms unless they wanted a bad day. Not you, though.

Little spitfire. Barely came up to his shoulder and yet somehow had the balls to bark at a squad of recombinant marines.

"She’s enjoying this way too much," Fike muttered from somewhere next to him, just loud enough for the others to hear. A few chuckles followed at that.

"Yeah, she’s only here to watch us suffer." Wainfleet, never one to keep his damn mouth shut, didn’t even bother lowering his voice as he poked Fikes side with his elbow. "Waste of a good view if you ask me."

That earned him another round of snickers from the rest of the squad.

"I wonder if she’s that bossy with her husband," Prager then chimed in, words laced with a grin Quaritch didn’t need to see to picture. "Poor dude probably doesn’t get a say in bed either."

"Yeah, bet she’s got a damn spreadsheet for it," someone else added. Most likely Wainfleet, by the sound of his smug laughter.

Again, Z-Dogs shrill voice piped up, "Hell, if she gives him performance reviews like she gives us, I feel bad for the guy."

Enough of that. Quaritch gave a sharp whistle of his own, the kind that cut clean through their gutter talk. That got them moving again, boots thudding against the packed dirt in uneven rhythm. A few of them still muttered under their breath, but it was drowned out by the slap of sneakers and the shrill blast of your whistle. If their banter had hit, there wasn’t a flicker of it showing. Maybe their little comments didn’t register to you anymore, just another layer of morning noise, like the hum of the electric fence or the smell of wet earth.

Still, the mental picture stuck in his head like a tick. Some poor sap, thinking he’s king shit in his own little castle, while getting steamrolled daily by a five-foot-nothing hurricane. A guy like that probably asks permission before touching so much as a shoulder. Probably schedules his own sex life around your damn Google calendar.

Quaritch bit back a laugh. That’s not what a woman like you needed. Not some limp handshake motherfucker who folds like a lawn chair every time you bark an order. No, you were the type of woman who needed to get yanked right out of that command tower, shoved up against the wall, and reminded you didn’t have to hold the reins every second of every day. Let you lean back, breathe for once, and watch somebody else put in the work. You needed someone to fuck that tension right out of your little body, turn you into a real mess, until you were satisfied and fed. Not this pencil-pusher you were supposedly shackled to now. You needed a real man.

But that tiny ring belonged to a man who probably thought taking charge meant picking between the two options of a dinner date that you had planned. Poor bastard didn’t even know the fire he was sitting on.

After a quick medical checkup once you’ve had decided their morning cardio was done, a shower and choking down whatever the cafeteria was pretending was chicken, the squad drifted off to kill their free time.

Quaritch however, had a briefing to sit through. One of those that dragged on well past its usefulness while some corporate type clicked through slides of information he’d already heard twice this month. Unable to keep his focus on the slide show about na’vi migration patterns and some half-baked plan to foster cultural understanding, his gaze kept drifting to the datapad balanced on his knee. His thumb dragged over the brightness slider that refused to land anywhere between blinding and nearly black.

After the third flare of white across the screen, the Colonel exhaled slowly through his nose. Not that this was urgent, but irritating enough to decide it needed fixing once this was over.

When the meeting finally wrapped, he headed straight for the IT department.

The echo of his boots on the tile carried down the corridor, drawing a few sidelong glances from passing people. Some stiffened automatically, stepping aside to give him a clear path. Others held his gaze for half a second too long, that mix of wariness and grudging respect written plain on their faces. A pair of soldiers straightened from their slouch against the wall and snapped quick salutes as he passed, earning nothing more than a curt nod in return.

The second floor’s hallways were quieter, lined with the less glamorous offices and departments. IT sat at the far end, the door unmarked except for a faded placard with a serial number no one bothered to replace.

Quaritch didn’t knock when he reached it, just swung the door open and ducked under it.

The shift in atmosphere was immediate.

The low murmur of conversations and the clack of keys faltered, replaced by the same silence that often followed when his big shadow fell across a room.

Rows of desks were cluttered with cables, monitors and the occasional half-drunk cup of coffee. Most of the occupants were men, heads bent over their work, but a few women also sat among them, their posture stiffening as his gaze swept over the room.

The first to actually move towards and approach him was, surprisingly, a woman. A woman with more balls than the rest of these nerds in here. She was tall, soft around the middle and with a mess of red curls tied back in a loose knot. With thick glasses perched low on her nose, she certainly looked like she belonged here.

Now that he looked at her up close, there was something familiar about her face, though he couldn’t place from where exactly. She might be one of those people he‘d seen in passing often enough to know they belonged, but not enough to remember their name.

"Colonel," she greeted with a polite nod, "What can I do for you, sir?"

"This needs fixing." Quaritch shifted the datapad in his grip, holding it out for her. "Thing‘s been acting up all day and I can’t figure it out."

The woman in front of him nodded briskly. "Alright, just give me a moment, sir."

But when she turned toward her desk, he didn’t move to the entirely too small chair she’d no doubt intended for him without second thought. Instead, he fell in step right behind her, the soft squeak of her flats barely covering the heavier sound of his boots. She glanced back once, then decided not to argue with the man twice her size.

The desk she led him to was a battlefield of stacked folders and open manuals. There were a few familiar devices to the datapad in her hand as well, all of them connected to her computer by a chaos of several different colored cables.

The redhead slid into her chair and began tapping at the screen, narrating in a quick, clipped tone about recalibrating the sensor and adjusting some internal settings. But Quaritch didn’t bother to take in any of her words. His attention had already shifted, eyes skimming over the chaotic sprawl in front of him. Two handwritten notes about codes he couldn’t make sense of hung on the edge of her monitor, right next to a small framed picture that stood on the desk.

The photo showed her and a few other women, smiles wide and carefree, arms draped around each other as they were holding their boarding passes to Pandora. Friends, maybe. Nothing unusual at first glance.

But then his gaze hit the far right of the frame, and his chest hitched ever so slightly at this one particular face. There you were, all smiles and grin wide enough to make the sun jealous. Made him wonder how anyone could look that damn confident and still get through life without flattening half the idiots around them.

A slow grin began to form on his face, part disbelief, part amusement. That explained where he had seen this woman before: You had the exact same framed picture sitting on your tidy desk.

Leaning back slightly, pretending to stretch, Quaritch then settled his gaze on the woman that seemingly grew nervous under the sudden, unwanted attention.

Licking his lips, he then asked, "Busy day?" Although his mind was anything but, he kept his voice light, letting it sound casual.

"Always," the redhead replied without looking up, hands still dancing over the keys. "This place doesn’t run itself. But who am I talking to?"

Quaritch let the corner of his mouth hitch up. "Fair point." His eyes drifted toward the little frame perched on the edge of her desk once more. This time, the woman did notice. "That your crew?"

"Oh, uh. Yeah, kinda," She said a little awkwardly. "Some of us came to Pandora together. Training, orientation, that kind of thing."

"The one on the far right…" He hummed, tilting his head as if studying the picture for the first time. Then his finger tapped the desk beside the frame. "She the one who keeps barking orders at my squad, right?"

"Sounds like her." The redhead briefly looked up, then laughed softly. "Yes, that’s y/n. We shared quarters for a while before assignments got shuffled. She’s… She is a handful, huh?"

"She is." Quaritch’s mouth curved into that slow, knowing smirk. "Bet her husband’s got his hands full keepin’ all that fire under control."

The redhead snorted. "Oh, no. Y/N’s not married."

Now that made him pause for a moment.

"No?"

"Nope," she said, popping the p a little, her nose too far up that datapad to pay any attention to the way Quaritch ears twitched at that. "Far as I know, she’s not even seeing anyone."

The woman was already back to clicking through menus, like she hadn’t just dropped a grenade in the middle of his thoughts, when Quaritch leaned an elbow on her desk, licking his lips,

"Interesting."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

It’s not like you’re busy or anything.

The digital clock in the corner of your monitor had already slipped well past quitting time and the only thing on your mind was the blessed quiet of your quarters. The keycard to your room was already in your hand and the only thoughts you had left in you revolved around a shower, maybe a snack and definitely not about work for at least ten glorious hours.

That was, until your phone buzzed.

»Need your input on reworking the squad’s training schedule to accommodate new operational priorities. Come by my office to sync calendars. Now. — MQ«

"Wha— right now?" You groaned.

There wasn’t even a 'please,' no 'if you’ve got time' or anything of that sort, just the assumption that your evening plans were infinitely less important than the Colonels little calendar crisis. You let your head fall forward against the door to your quarters with another long groan. God, sometimes you really hated this job.

Guess the universe had decided your night off needed a body count.

"I’m gonna kill him," you muttered as you shoved your keycard back into your pocket and turned on your heels.

The halls were quieter at this hour, most offices you passed already had their lights off and blinds drawn, but a few scientists still lingered in the corridors.

By the time the Colonels office came into view, it was immediately obvious something was… different. Pushing the door open you found him already expecting your entry. But instead of sitting in his chair behind the desk like usual, Quaritch leaned against the edge of the table, arms crossed over his chest in a way that somehow managed to make him look both casual and intimidating at once. The muscles in his arms flexed a bit once you stepped into his office.

"Evening, Colonel," you said, trying to keep your tone casual, though a subtle edge of impatience crept in. The day had already stretched longer than it should have and all that was standing between you and your bed was him.

Surprisingly, Quaritch didn’t reply to your greetings. Not a word, not even a grunt. You raised a brow, half expecting some sarcastic jab, but nothing.

"Alright then," You murmured. Shrugging subtly, it was easy to chalk it up as nothing. Moods like this weren’t unusual for the Colonel after all, even if they so very rarely were directed at you.

Sitting felt almost absurd, given he was practically looming over you. But since he made no move to sit as well, you just continued with your routine. Bag set down beside you, your hands immediately fished out your datapad, flipping it awake with a swipe of your thumb.

"Looks like we’ve got a clash with the training simulations on Thursday," you said, keeping your voice measured, trying not to betray how aware you were of his close proximity. "We might need to shift some sessions or—"

Fingers hovered over the first entry, but before another word left, a large hand slid into view. The datapad was then taken from you. It left your hands ever so slowly and was gently laid down on the desk, just out of your reach.

Your spine straightened instinctively and a look of confusion crossed your features. Had something been entered wrong? Some misstep in the schedule? Maybe he’d dragged you up here just to chew you out over a typo or something.

"So," the Colonel said, licking his lips before they spread into a grin. "How’s your little boyfriend, fiancé, whatever?"

"Uhm… what?" The word slipped out sharply, surprise tugging your brows together. For a moment the thought struck that maybe you’d misheard him, maybe fatigue had twisted his words into something else. But the look on his face told a different story.

Quaritch didn’t so much as blink.

"You heard me, sweetheart." That grin of his only widened, teeth flashing like he was savoring your reaction.

The silence stretched long enough for your pulse to trip over itself. You shifted in your chair and a flicker of defensiveness running up your spine made your posture straighten instinctively.

"…Good, I suppose," you finally managed, though it came out clipped and uneven. Fingers tapped against your knee in restless rhythm, desperate to steer things back into safer waters. "Can we now go back to—"

"You know what’s funny?" He cut you off.

Your jaw tightened. "No, sir."

"I had a nice little chat with one of your girlfriends earlier." Quaritch drawled, shifting just enough to push himself off the desk and step closer. "The redhead from IT, what was her name again? Ah, hell, doesn’t matter." A low chuckle rumbled out of him. Then, he leaned over your frame, his hands gripping the armrest of your chair on either side, basically caging you in.

You swallowed drily. Every nerve in your body seemed to stand at the attention, muscles coiling before you even knew why.

"But she told me something very interesting."

A cold shudder licked its way down your body, pooling heavy in your stomach. The room suddenly felt too small, too quiet. You could hear the faint hum of the overhead light, the sound of your own pulse thudding in your ears.

"She said you don’t have a fiancé." His voice was low and steady. "That you don’t even have a boyfriend."

The bottom dropped out of your stomach immediately after Quaritch had uttered these words.

Heat flared in your cheeks and your mouth parted— whether to deny it, explain or tell him off, you weren’t sure, but he was already leaning a fraction closer. You decided on the second and perhaps the safest option.

"L-Listen I can explain—"

"I‘m all ears."

Your mouth went dry, words tumbling out in a rush before you could stop them. "I just— I don’t want to get in trouble!"

One of his brows arched. "For what, sweetheart?"

"For this." Hands made a vague, helpless gesture between the two of you before dropping back to your lap. "Flirting with the squad, being unprofessional. For getting caught doing something I’m not supposed to, doing inappropriate stuff—"

The ramble spilled faster, "I mean, I’m supposed to keep things organized, on track, not get tangled up in rumors or, jesus, even just laughing too much at one of their dumb jokes could look bad, and now you’re sitting here looking at me like that, and what if—"

You stopped only because your chest seized and your lungs were clawing for air. Quaritch took his sweet time to take all of your words in, his eyes mustering you for a moment.

"So you’ve been thinkin’ about doin’ things that aren’t appropriate?"

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. "Wha— No!"

He let the corner of his mouth twitch upward, almost amused. The weight of his gaze pinned you in place, making it impossible to look away and sweat broke out over your forehead at that.

"Relax," he drawled, voice rumbling with that calm authority that made your pulse trip faster instead of slower. "Ain’t no one gettin’ you in trouble, kid."

The words should’ve soothed you, but the way he said them only made the knot in your stomach twist tighter.

"But you could’ve just said no, you know?" Quaritchs tone was lighter now, almost taunting. "S‘not like they were gonna bite you or anything."

"Yeah, sure," you scoffed, frustration edging your voice. "Your men behave like animals. Even Z-Dog gives me the creeps sometimes..."

That earned you a laugh.

"Can you blame ’em?" Quaritch said, leaning in just enough that the air around you grew significantly warmer. "A young thing, cute little doll, bossin’ us around. ’Course they’re gonna act like dogs around you."

Heat rushed to your cheeks before the meaning even finished sinking in. His eyes stayed locked on you, even as your breath caught when his shadow shifted closer and you glanced away in shame.

A single calloused finger then tipped under your chin, the touch deceptively light for a hand that size. Instinct had you jerking a fraction, but his grip didn’t tighten, just held you there, guiding your gaze back up to his.

"There wasn’t any need for that little story about bein’ engaged. Not with me, kid." He said lowly. "I ain’t in the business of makin’ trouble for you. Hell, I’d make damn sure no one else does either."

Again, your lips parted, but nothing came out. That little pause seemed to amuse him. He angled his head slightly, studying your face like he could peel you open and read everything you hadn’t said out loud. That alone made you shiver.

"You know that, don’t you?" His thumb brushed along the edge of your jaw, slowly, enough to make your pulse hammer. "I know you do, but you were tryin’ not to let it show. The way you go stiff when I’m close. The way you talk back like you’re tryin’ real hard not to trip over your own tongue. S‘cute."

"That’s not—"

"Sweetheart," he rumbled, leaning closer until his breath ghosted warm across your cheek, "you don’t lie half as well as you think you do. That little ring ain’t foolin’ nobody. Truth is, you want that cookie. You just don’t wanna get caught with your pretty little hand in the jar, right?"

The faint scrape of his lips ghosted along the sharp line of your jaw, slow enough to make your pulse stutter. And when he pressed his mouth to the side of your throat, heat flared beneath your skin.

This shouldn’t be happening.

God, this couldn’t happen. One wrong sound and if anyone opened that door, just one of the night staff or a soldier passing through, it’d all come crashing down. The thought should’ve snapped you into motion, should’ve made you push him off, should’ve sparked a protest sharper than the shallow breaths slipping through your lips. But instead you sat rooted in place.

Each exhale from him feathered warm across you, raising goosebumps that contradicted the heat pooling in your core. Involuntarily, your thighs squeezed. Then his mouth was there again, but not in the polite brush from before. No, this time he parted his lips, pressed them open against your skin, leaving kisses that burned and claimed all at once.

His tongue skimmed the column of your throat, dragging a hot line over tender skin as if he were committing the shape of you to his memory.

"W-We really shouldn’t," it finally burst out of you, and if it hadn’t been words you were sure it had been a moan instead.

Your body betrayed you. Shoulders twitched as you squirmed in the chair, thighs pressing tight together in some futile effort to ground yourself. Heat coiled in every inch of you, flooding your face, your neck, down your chest. Each open mouthed kiss dragged another surge of warmth up your spine, until it felt unbearable to sit still, unbearable to do nothing.

"Then don’t. Tell me to stop," he hushed against your neck. "Tell me like you mean it."

Your lips parted, breath spilling uneven and shaky, but the words he had asked for never came. Of course not. Because you didn’t mean it. You didn’t actually want him to stop.

His hand then found your thigh with the same unhurried certainty as his mouth, palm broad and warm even through the fabric of your uniform. The weight of it settled heavy, reminding you of the difference in size between you and him. His fingers tightened, squeezing until your breath hitched sharp in your chest. That small show of strength sent a pulse of heat straight through you, robbing you of any last scraps of willpower you’d been clinging to.

Your eyes fluttered closed, lashes trembling, as if shutting out the sight of him might dull the sensation. It didn’t. If anything, it sharpened everything else, the rough scrape of his jaw against your skin, the wet drag of his tongue marking you, the pressure of his hand as it squeezes your thigh.

"If Ardmore finds out about this…" The words came out as a whisper, half plea, half warning, but barely steady enough to count as protest.

The Colonels hands didn’t falter. They shifted higher, inch by inch, broad palms sliding until they nearly encircled your hips.

"No one will find out about this," was muttered against your neck.

And then the world tilted. Strong arms lifted you in one swift motion, the grip around your waist like iron. With a squeak, your body was set down atop his desk. The solid edge was cool beneath yours thighs. A sharp contrast to the burning press of him crowding in close. Under you, papers shifted and a pen clattered to the floor.

A minute later, Quaritch has you pinned to the desk with a giant hand on your chest.

The weight of his palm flattened against the center of your chest, not harsh, but firm enough to keep you pressed back into the wood. Every shallow breath only made your chest rise against his hand, every movement reminding you how easily he held you there.

Soon, Quaritch‘s hands find the waistband of your skirt. He tugs on it with minimal effort and against all logic, your hips rose to help.

He peeled fabric down inch by inch, humming under his breath in a sound that might as well have been approval. A hum. The Colonel humming at your half-naked body like he’d just stumbled onto a damn fine bottle of bourbon.

For all his size and brute strength, his hands moved with startling precision. Your shoes thudded against the floor as your legs shifted, freeing yourself from the last stubborn stretch of fabric.

You could feel every pass of his eyes like a physical touch, hotter than his palms on your thighs as he dragged your lace panties down. Quaritch hummed again, deep in his chest, and something traitorous in you fluttered at the sound.

Then your eyes caught his.

The reality check slammed into you with the grace of a shuttle crash: this was Quaritch. Colonel Miles Quaritch. Not some faceless soldier, not some harmless flirt you could shrug off at breakfast tomorrow. This was the man with enough authority to ruin you six different ways before the end of the week.

Quaritch’s mouth curved into something smug, as if he knew about the thoughts behind your eyes just from looking at them for too long and too intense. Then he sank lower between your thighs, shoulders wide enough to nudge them apart with barely a shift. The cool air of the room skimmed your exposed skin, but all you felt was heat.

Soon, Quaritch started kissing down your stomach, savoring every inch of skin. You felt the faint graze of teeth as he dipped lower and lower, his tongue drawing a path from your navel down to—

"But what if we… what if we’re—"

Quaritch’s low growl cut you off once more. "Jesus, kid. Relax and let me take care of you, will you?"

And then his mouth was on you in the blink of an eye.

You spine arches at the sudden, but not at all unpleasant sensation. Your gasp of surprise peeks into a whine and you quickly bite your lip to quiet yourself, when his long, board tongue swipes through your folds.

It becomes clear almost immediately after that first lick, that this moment right here. This would be so worth getting in trouble for.

Who would’ve thought that the Colonel Quaritch was so damn good at pussy eating?

It only takes mere seconds for him to find where you are most vulnerable, the most delicate. Tracing the outline of your cunt with his thumbs on either side of you, he spreads your slickness up and then down, then gently spreads your folds apart. It gives him access to lick and suck on your clit in all the best ways.

His lips and tongue are big, so much bigger than yours. But that made it so much easier for him to cover your pussy whole, to reach all these wonderful places. The top of his tongue moves with practiced ease as it flicks over your clit and god, it feels phenomenal. Your toes curl and you sob out a moan, lungs burning with the need for air. You don’t know whether to suck in a breath or hold it there.

Despite all you know of him, in this, Quaritch is messy, you realize. He doesn’t care about the mixture of spit and slick running down his chin, that it covers half his face or the fact that you hear him gulp it down with groan like it’s the fountain of youth and you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting on his tongue.

"Oh!" Your spine arches even more, subconsciously pushing yourself against his face. It’s embarrassing, really. But you’re already too far gone to care. No one has ever made this feel so good before.

Then his middle finger breaches your entrance, sliding in deep, and you moan, something high and pitched, hips canting upwards as Quaritch fucks you with a single digit, smooth and slow.

One finger becomes two, and you sigh, arching like a wave with every thrust. Your hands grasp at nothing before they settle on the back of his head and Quaritch circles your swollen clit with his tongue, playing with it in a steady rhythm. Occasionally you even feel him kiss it and it’s enough to make your thighs shake.

Your slickness increases until his lips and chin are sopping, his ministrations ringing sighs and cries in an ever increasing volume from you. Your hips stutter, you pull at his hair and that makes him suck on your clit harder.

Distantly, you remember the fact that you’re not in any of the soundproof rooms meant for training, but in an office with very thin walls and an even thinner door. Immediately, you clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling the strings of curses and moans that fell freely from your lips.

"Such a shame." Between your thighs, the Colonel glanced up at you, his grin wide and sharp canine wet with slick. "Those sweet little moans suit you better than that bossy tone."

His hand slid up your thigh, prying it wider as if to emphasize his point. His eyes never leave your face, not even as he sinks down again.

"Don’t go hiding ’em now, sweetheart. Let me hear ‘em." The words were hushed against your wet skin and his lips were immediately drawn to your clit once more.

"I- I‘m gonna.. oh, fuck," you let out a shaky breath. "M‘gonna cum— stop! Stop, stop, I— can’t!"

"Can’t, what?" Came a low chuckle from between your thighs, pointed tongue teasing your entrance where it stretched around his thick digit.

"Quiet," you choke out, fisting your hands in the short stubbles of his hair to try and pull him off, "I can’t keep quiet! S-Stop, oh god!"

But the bastard doesn’t stop. If anything, his lips sealed firmer against your slick heat while two thick fingers curled deep inside, grinding into that exact spot that made your vision strobe with white-hot sparks. The low groan that came from the man feasting on your sweet arousal sent vibrations up to your core. It rattled your bones, stole what little composure you had left. And if it weren’t for his wide shoulders to be in your way, you would’ve clamped your thighs shut around his head. It doesn’t hold you back from trying though.

The sound that escaped you was strangled, almost feral, muffled only by the trembling hand still clamped against your mouth. Every twist of his fingers, every stroke of his tongue, dragged you closer to the edge of something that felt inevitable, unstoppable, terrifyingly good.

"Mm, there she is," Quaritch rasped against you, his voice low and wicked, lips dragging slick down your folds before latching back onto your clit. "Knew you had more in ya than that stiff little attitude."

You shook your head, tried to twist away, but the desk under your hips and his hand splayed heavy across your stomach kept you pinned. Each flick of his tongue ripped another ragged noise out of you, each thrust of his fingers pushed you closer to shattering.

"Don’t fight it, sweetheart. Give it to me." His words vibrated into you, sharp enough to make your toes curl, thighs quivering against the iron lock of his shoulders. And then— release hit like a flood. Your hand fell useless from your mouth, the sound that tore free far too loud for thin walls, a cracked cry strangled into his name.

"Atta girl," Quaritch growled in approval, holding you down as your body arched off the desk, every muscle seizing under the quake of your climax. He didn’t let up, not until the tremors had left your thighs trembling and your chest heaving, not until you sagged back against the wood, utterly spent.

Slowly, he pulled his fingers from you, dragging them slick over his own tongue to clean them, before rising to his full height. That grin was back, sharp and devastating, mouth glistening with proof of what he’d just done to you. Proof of how much you enjoyed it.

The air hadn’t even returned to your lungs before the world spun again. Now Quaritch’s hands were on your hips and in one effortless motion he flipped you onto your stomach. The desk rattled beneath the shift, papers scattering again, the cold edge biting into your ribs as your cheek pressed against the polished surface.

Quaritch’s palms slid up your sides, pinning you down just enough to remind you who was in control here. He leaned over, chest hovering heavy against your back, breath hot at your ear.

"I ain’t done with you yet," he murmured, his voice a low gravel that made your core clench all over again.

Rolling his hips forward just enough for you to feel the promise of him pressing against you, thick and hard even through his gear, you gasped softly.

"Please… stop teasing me," you whispered, and even though your legs were shaking, toes barely touching the ground, you tried to push back against him.

The rasp of a zipper made goosebumps race across your arms, your back, your neck, everywhere, as anticipation began to flood your veins like fire.

"Y’know," Quaritch drawled, "I’ve been thinkin’ about this for a while now. Wonderin’ how that sweet little pussy might feel wrapped around me."

Your breath hitched, body tightening at the words alone. His laugh rumbled against your spine, dark and satisfied, as though he could feel the way you clenched around nothing just from the thought.

"Bet it’s even better than I imagined."

Through the tangle of hair that fell into your face, you risked a glance over your shoulder.

Quaritch’s pants rode low on his hips now, his broad hands tugging them just far enough to free himself. And what he revealed had your breath catching in your throat.

Huge. That was the first word your scrambled brain managed to cling to. Too big, too thick, alien in ways that made your pulse trip and stumble. His length was ridged in subtle lines and dots that caught the low office light, the flesh a darker shade that gleamed faintly as he stroked himself once, leisurely, as if he had all the time in the world. The sheer scale of him made your thighs quiver against the edge of the desk, heat pooling low in your belly.

"Eyes up here, sweetheart," Quaritch rumbled with a smirk, catching you staring. The tip of him brushed against the inside of your thigh, leaving a slick trail of pre-cum behind.

"Don’t worry about that," his voice dropped into something dangerously close to a growl, "I’ll make it fit."

The blunt head of him then pressed against you, nudging insistently at your entrance. Your whole body clenched in defiance and desperate need all at once. The stretch came slow at first, a sharp, biting fullness that made your breath break apart in short, choppy gasps. Nails raked the desk, useless against the hard surface as the first thick inch split you open.

"Jesus— fuck!" The words dissolved into a moan, muffled by the crook of your arm as you bit down to silence yourself. Every nerve lit with fire as he eased deeper, inch by agonizing inch, the ridges along his shaft dragging over hypersensitive flesh in a way that felt so alien and yet unbearably good.

"Relax," his breath was hot against your ear. "Breathe. Let me in, sweetheart."

His palm spread over your lower back, pressing you down just enough to make your hips tilt for him. "That’s it," he rasped, voice thick with triumph. "Takin‘ me so good, so fuckin‘ good."

The desk creaked under the strain of your body fighting to adjust, trembling thighs trying to hold steady. Every inch he fed into you sent another shockwave, another surge of heat through you.

"Miles," His name broke out of you like a prayer, shaky and drenched in need.

The fullness of his cock sinking into you was overwhelming, almost suffocating. Each inch settled heavy inside you until there was no room left, no space unclaimed, just the ache and heat of him stuffed to the hilt. Your walls clenched instinctively, fluttering around the thick length buried deep inside you.

Quaritch stayed pressed flush against you, chest to your back, holding still as though savoring the way your body struggled around him. His cock throbbed inside you, thick veins and ridges pulsing against your inner walls like he was marking his presence there with every heartbeat. The sensation sent another shudder down your spine, your breath catching on the sharp edge of another moan.

"Feel that?" His voice rumbled low against your ear, almost smug. "That’s me. Right where I belong."

Slow at first, letting the full weight of himself sink in deeper, he started moving. Each thrust made your body melt over the desk, every inch dragging fire through nerves you didn’t even know could burn so hot. Quaritch’s hands gripped your hips like anchors, guiding each powerful thrust. The sound of him moving inside you, the wet slap of skin against skin as his movements grew faster, made a new wave of pleasure crash down over you.

"O-Oh my goood," you let out a long, drawn out whine. Your thoughts spiraled— this was reckless, insane, probably career-ending, but fucking hell did it feel good.

Each powerful thrust drove deeper, stretching and filling you in a way that made your mind spin. The pace of his hips was calculated, cruel and intoxicating, forcing you to feel every inch of his cock. Another stroke, harder this time, and your body jolted in response, the pure intensity of it making your brain melt.

The force of Quaritch’s thrusts made the desk squeak and groan beneath you. His own grunts were low and guttural, vibrating against your back as he drove into you again and again.

"Fuck, yes… Look at you fuckin’ takin’ it. So perfect and tight," he groaned, hips snapping forward with precise, merciless intensity. Fingers dug into the curve of your hips, holding you steady even as every pulse of his length stretched and filled you further.

"Please," you begged in that whiny little voice that was still so unfamiliar to you. "Please don’t stop, don’t s-stop! I‘m so close! Pleasepleaseplease!"

Quaritch grunted against your shoulder in response, teeth grazing the tender skin as his hips pistoning without mercy, each stroke pushing you closer. One of his hands then found your jaw, lifting your face until you were bent enough for his lips to reach yours.

His tongue still tasted of you, salty and warm, as he shoved it inside your mouth, deep enough you nearly choked on it. It’s enough to make you clamp down hard on his cock, and you moan into each others mouths at that.

And then finally, warmth pooled and spilled, every nerve ending inside your core alive with fire, your body shaking uncontrollably beneath his relentless rhythm. More moans tore free, high and broken, echoing across the walls of his office as you arched hard, pressing yourself impossibly close to him.

Quaritchs hips still snapped forward, holding you in the peak of your pleasure, matching the rhythm of your shuddering climax until he‘d reached his own. The grip he had on your hip was almost bruising and your teeth found the softness of his bottom lip in return. The Colonel hissed sharply at that, but the sound quickly morphed into a sigh of relief as you felt his hot cum paint your insides.

His hips pressed forward a few more times, languid thrusts that drove every drop home, making sure none of it went to waste. Your walls clenched reflexively around him, a trembling, overstimulated cocoon of heat and satisfaction.

Finally, he pulled back, letting his cock slip free with a slick, wet sound that left your core aching and your body shivering from how empty it suddenly felt.

The Colonel straightened, his gaze still locked on you with this possessive intensity and also a hint of triumph as he helped turning you over and sat you onto his desk when your legs were to weak to stand on their own. Truth be told, it did flatter you that he was so obviously uncaring about the way you made a mess on his things when you sat there, bare and filthy wet. If anything, the sight of you shifting uncomfortably to prevent his cum from staining his desk made a flicker of hunger return to his eyes.

"Okay," you finally panted between heavy breaths, fingers brushing through your hair in a desperate attempt to appear collected, but there was a significant amount of spit, cum and slick smearing between your thighs that made you physically cringe. "We… we can’t— nobody can ever know about this!"

"Jesus, kid." Quaritch just rolled his eyes as he slumped down onto the seat behind him. With his thighs spread and his sweat soaked tank highlighting his abs, it was hard not to ogle the man in front of you. His hand rested casually around your ankle, mindlessly rubbing circles onto your skin with his thumb.

"For the record," he adds, his lips curling into that signature grin. "I don’t care what anyone thinks about rings or promises, so you can keep wearing that shiny little lie. But you’re mine when you’re around me, got it? Anyone else even looks at you wrong, and I’ll make sure they regret it."

Your brows lifted at that. "You… you would do that for me?"

"Course I would." The Colonel scoffs. "Nobody is gonna get you in trouble because you’ve decided to have a little fun. Not tonight, not ever. I’ve got that covered."

Your cheeks heated even more now, and a smile tugged at your lips despite the rapid thump of your heartbeat. It covered the feeling of guilt that wanted to gnaw on your insides for tasting this forbidden fruit, and that alone was a win.

Quaritch mirrors your little smirk. "But," he leans forward, letting his thumb continue its lazy circles over your ankle, "if you feel like trying that again… I’m more than willing to help make sure ya‘ don’t forget how good it can be to break a few rules sometimes."

"Alright," You bite your lip, laughter and heat blending together, and nod. "I think I can agree to that."

And sometimes you think, you don’t hate your job that much.

[bluetimeombre]

GOLDEN GIRL

synopsisyou were Robby's star pupil, his favourite person, but when he catches you and Jack in the middle of performing a high risk procedure you definitely shouldn't be doing he can't handle the jealousy. so really, is it your fault if your pushed into Jack Abbots bed, but can't stop thinking about Robby?

warningsjealous&possesive Robby x reader, Jack Abbot x reader, kinda Rabbot, Jack kinda wants Robby in this, language. smut MDNI. fingering, oral (f receiving) breast play, dirty talk, praise, Robby calls while Jack eats you out. handjob

authornotei'm so close to writing Rabbott fics, I need them both!

pitt masterlist. last robby fic! last jack fic!

“What the hell are you doing?”

If you weren't as skilled a resident as you were, as stony as you'd been made, the raise of voice and slam of a door would have stolen you from your attentive work. But it didn't. You didn't flinch. As your hands were all but inside a patient it was a good thing, too.

Jack tutted from over you, the heat of his breath hot on the back of your neck. “Robby...”

“I said- what are you doing?” he barked again, standing in the middle of the trauma room.

Nurses turned to look at him and then back to you and Jack, un-sure of which immovable force was greater.

You only focused on the woman in front of you. Bruises up her arms, blood on her cut-away clothes, tubes coming out of her and into her, monitors beeping with life signs fleeting.

“It's a hypotensive pelvic bleed,” you said through your face screwed in concentration.

“A REBOA? Are you serious, right now?”

“I'm here, supervising, brother,” said Jack, still caved over you like he could protect you from Robby's wrath.

“You're not her attending,” Robby argued.

“No but I'm an attending.”

You could hear Robby's sharp inhale of breath, picture the clock of his head in annoyance and the tight pinch of his eyes. You knew every small give away of his that he didn't know he had. The tightness of his muscles when angers, the way he clutches at his chest for his star of David when silently scared.

The tension in the room chocked you.

Jack was still at your side, a comfort, a gentle wave against the sharp rocks. “Keep going.”

Robby said your name, an edge to it you'd never heard before.

Looking past Jack you found Robbie. He stood blocking the door, gowned up already, arms over his chest. His brows were pulled in, eyes dark as they levelled on you. He was danger dressed as a man.

But in front of you there was Jack, nodding encouragingly.

“Keep going.”

Your hands moved to carry on in spite of Robby's sigh.

“Okay... good...” said Jack as you pushed in the needle. “Femoral artery, couple inches. All right, let's guide wire and introduce the sheath.”

You pushed and did what Jack said, careful under his guidance.

Robby watched all the while, walking slowly around. He knew how well you preened under praise and careful instruction, like a cat purring at an owners touch. Robby knew because it was always him, ever since you began as a med student to intern to resident he'd been there to build you up, crafting you into a perfect doctor.

His perfect doctor.

Apparently he didn't like to share.

“How much saline have you pushed?” asked Robby.

“Five CC'S,” said Jack, without entertaining his attitude.

“Your carotid is weak,” said Robby. “Is it even there?”

“Yes,” you said.

Jack caught your gaze behind your goggles, pleading silently. You hadn't worked with him as much as you had Robby, or Langdon or almost anyone in the day shift but he seemed to catch on to your needs at once. “You know what to do.”

With his words you proceeded.

“Push another three CC'S of saline in the balloon,” you ordered.

“Injecting.”

There was a moment of silence as the saline was passed through tubes into the woman.

“How we looking?” asked Robby.

“Radial is up, pressure's up too- BP hundred-and-ten,” said Donnie.

For the first time since Jack dragged you into the trauma to teach you a REBOA, you looked at the patients face. At the blankness of it, the blood splattered at her cheek. There was colour returning to her.

“Check the wound,” said Jack.

You did so, the wound at her pelvis are that had been gushing on arrival had stopped bleeding.

“Looks okay,” you said.

Jack's gloved hand squeezed your gowned shoulder, blood of the woman passing between the two of you. However, it was the physical contact that broke you from your trance, pulling you up taller. “Good job, you saved her life, another couple minutes she wouldn't have made it.”

“She's still not out the woods yet,” said Robby.

You looked back at him with enough time to catch an un-characteristic roll of his eyes.

“Surgery can take her now,” said Jesse from the phone.

“Oh, finally they're ready for us?” teased Jack as he moved around the gurney. “Now that they've missed all the fun.” He passed you a wink that sent butterflies in your stomach rolling around.

The team pulled off gowns and gloves, pulling the gurney out the room.

“Wait-” said Robby, arm out stopping you as you went to follow.

The doors shut behind the gurney before Jack could understand you were behind, trapped in a room with a bear of a man who was failing at concealing his anger.

You waited for him to begin. Whether it were to be a lecture or an approval that you saved a woman's life, you wanted it over and done. The adrenaline was coursing through your body in crashing waves of red. You'd crash if you didn't calm. “There was no time for anything else-”

“- save it-”

“- there was no time for me to come and get you-”

“- stop!”

You stepped back, hands balled at your sides.

It wasn't un-common for any member of staff at PTMC to have Robby Robinavitch yell and demand the stars and moons from a person. It was scary to have him yelling at you, his deemed shadow and golden girl.

Since day one everyone knew you held a special place in Robby's heart.

“I saved a patient's life,” you defended. Was that not the most important thing to be doing? Could you not be attending to at least two other patients while he stood- imposing- in front of you.

“Doing an extremely risky procedure that is only reserved for the senior residents which you are not,” he scoffed out.

“Doctor Abbot was at my side the whole time, he talked me through every step.”

Robby shook his head, chuckling and looking around the room as if to be anywhere but with you. “Abbot-”

“- he believed me capable,” you said. “Don't you think I'm capable?”

His teeth bit into his bottom lip as he turned away from you, stretching his hand to the back of his head and flattening the hair there. When he turned back to you he took a step closer, watching the toes of his shoes meet yours.

“Do you know why I'm angry?”

No, you really didn't.

You took in a deep breath, meeting his eyes that lowered to yours. “Because I performed a high risk procedure.”

“A high risk procedure without me,” he corrected. “You're on day, not night. I'm your attending, not Jack. You get me when you're doing something like that, you understand?”

There was little room for argument. Your body trembled, the mixture of blood on your gloves and the beating of your heart heard in your ears. The lights of trauma two were suddenly too bright; walls too sterile. You nodded.

Robby tsked. “Do you understand?”

Every word was punctured with anger.

You rose to all your height. “Yes, I understand.”

He didn't dismiss you, only jutted his head back as he dragged a hand over his beard.

Without a word, you dismissed yourself.

“I just don't get why he was so.... angry,” you admit quietly.

The lights of the bar were dimmed in a golden light, casting sun set gazes around the bar Jack had told you was a good place to get a drink. He'd led you to a small table by a window with the blinds pulled down, his hand- the one that had saved so many lives- splayed out on the small of your back.

Somewhere along the night Jack's chair had scraped around closer to you. So close with every inhale you could catch the musk on him and his arm was comfortably slung around the back of your chair.

There were two empty whiskey glasses of Jack's and you were still cradling your first, down to the dregs.

“It's Robby,” said Jack with a shrug of his shoulders, but it didn't stop the crease in his brows.

“But he's never been like that with me.”

Was it the fact you'd seemingly lost your favouritism bothering you? More than you cared to admit. More so the fact you didn't understand why he'd yelled.

Why the flare of anger had burned brighter with you saving a life than anyone else?

Why your body had trembled at the rise of his voice.

Jack's body tilted toward yours, head bowed low as he looked up at you through his lashes. “Oh, come on....”

You slurped the last from your straw and looked at him. “What?”

“You don't have to play dumb with me.”

Your own body gravitated towards him. “Play dumb? I'm not playing dumb, what are you talking about?”

Jack chuckled, shaking his head to himself. He sipped the last of his drink. “Robby's...” he trailed off.

“Robby's...”

Jack levelled his gaze to yours. “He likes you.”

The words sat frozen in your brain. You knew Robby must have had some soft spot for you, you knew he liked you. But the way Jack said it, a teasing lift to his voice and the serious gaze of his eyes suggested it was more than the competence of your skills as a doctor that had Robby's affection.

“He doesn't,” you chuckled.

“He does,” said Jack, nodding along with your words.

“How would you know?”

Jack's cheeks dusted a faint pink, the rain on the window behind you dropping like mini thunderstorms. “Believe me, I know.”

You waited for more clarification.

“You have no idea the kind of effect you have on old men like us.”

Like us. Jack didn't just speak for Robby but himself. The pink in his cheeks, the hand on your back earlier. The heat from him was all different now. A wanting.

“Old men?” you smirked.

Jack's eyes darted between your eyes and lips. “Yeah, old men.”

“You're not that old, are you?”

Jack tilts his head side to side.

You peer closer at him as if trying to find the lines of age in his face. “Younger than Robby though, right?”

Jack nods. “Younger than Robby, if that makes any difference.”

“Any difference to what?” you asked, stirring the straw against the ice in one hand, the other holding your chin.

“To you.”

Under the table Jack's fingers traced over your knee, gently, as if he was trying to go un-noticed. You felt it anyhow. Felt as his fingers gripped your knee when you pushed your leg against his.

He watched you, analysing.

“Well,” you began, pushing your leg to kick over the other under the table and moving his hand further up your leg, till his all too eager fingers were splayed over your thigh. “What kind of effect is that?”

Jack was always a serious man at work. Competent and well kept. You didn't expect him to be so well versed in 'playing games'. “I dunno if I can tell you.”

“No?”

Jack shook his head, eyes lingering over his lips and his head tilted to the side, watching you. “I could show you?”

There was lip gloss stain over the straw in your glass, you saw it catch Jack's eyes as he pushed away your empty glasses to provide more space on the table.

“See any time you look at us, it's like-like a tingling sensation,” he said. “Like when you know someone's got their eyes on you.”

His hand that had been riding higher at your thigh darted away, leaving a sudden tremble of everything cold through your body. Instead, he rested his elbow at the table and beckoned your hand to his. He didn't hold it, instead, spread your fingers out and put palm to palm in a tender touch.

“And then when you touch us, it gets worse,” he uttered, eyes stuck on where your palms met. Jack's hand moved around yours, playing with your fingers.

“Worse?” you ask.

“A good worse. Good shivers,” said Jack, pulling at a finger.

“I touch you enough for you to gather all that?”

Jack's dark gaze found yours again. He bit down on his bottom lip. “Not nearly enough as I'd like.”

The door of the bar opened and a gush of wind cooled the heat on your skin. But Jack's eyes were like a furnace that you were sitting too close to, burning yourself and delighting in it. When the door shut again with an un-oiled squeak, Jack reached over.

He plucked the necklace charm from against your chest, the brush of his knuckles against your chest. “Pretty necklace.”

“Thank you,” you said, voice shaky un-characteristically.

“You get it yourself?”

“No, it was a present.”

It was almost as if he didn't have to ask who had gifted it to you. Whose hands had brushed back your hair in the middle of a shift and clasped it around the back of your neck.

Or maybe he just didn't want to know.

Jack's apartment was everything that made him.

As you passed the kitchen and he peeled off his jacket, keeping his lips close enough to breathe you in, you could smell the coffee from the morning plastered to the walls.

When he pressed you up to the sofa to shove his hands down your pants and slide a finger into your wet pussy your fingers scratched at some blanket he had thrown over the back of it.

You caught a glimpse of pictures around the place, a frame of meddles too but his place came to you in flashes and glimpses through pleasure.

“I'm gonna show you,” he uttered against your mouth as another finger slipped into you, worked inside of you. They curled up, your body moving into him at the feeling. “Just how I want to touch you.”

The car ride over had been torture enough. He could hardly get himself inside the car, stealing himself away from you. But your lips had been at his neck at every stop sign and red light. Your hand had ghosted over his crotch and the hardening length of him. As occupied as you'd been in each other in the front seats of his car you'd been beeped at twice.

“Jack,” your voice whispered, lips dragging against his as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of you, pulling at the seams of your panties.

“I'm gonna show you just how Robby wants to touch you.”

You wish the name didn't have the effect it did. That the fury you felt at him for how he yelled didn't turn to a throb in your core when Jack said his name.

“You're touching me, Jack,” you said, breathless.

“Yeah... yeah,” he said. “You like that I'm touching you?”

You nodded as his fingers retracted, finding your clit and wetting the bud of nerves, circling it.

“Say it,” said Jack. “Say it.”

“Yes, I like it.”

Jack grinned into the curve of your neck as his fingers plunged back in, working you open and spreading your wetness of the black of your panties. “God, you're making such a mess for me baby, aren't you?”

He worked you open a little longer, mumbling encouragement with every moan and throw back of your head. 'So pretty, arg, you're so pretty baby.'

By the time your stomach was coiling tight like a snake ready to pounce Jack removed his hand from your pants and kissed you again. It was a hard kiss, his clean hand grasping your cheek and keeping you still as he forcefully worked his lips against yours, like it had only just clocked in his head it was you he had on his lips, it was you he was turning to putty in his hand. Like he wanted to forge you into his lips

“Not done yet,” said Jack, hands sliding down to your hips as he guides his nose up and down your neck, breathing you in. “I wanna make you moan on my tongue, like Robby wishes he could, yeah?”

Your body betrayed you, shivering again in anticipation.

Jack's hands stirred you by the hips, urging you to his room. He pushed the door open over your head, licking into your mouth.

“Please... don't mention Robby right now,” you said as Jack fell slowly to his knees in front of you.

His brows rose. He kept his eyes on you as he pulled down your pants, helping you step out of them. “No? You don't want me to mention Robby?” he asked.

You shook your head, looking away from him. You knew you'd soaked yourself through by the small touches and passionate kisses from Jack. But you didn't need to see the realisation hit when he realised Robby's name had as much effect on you as Jack's own touches.

“Eyes on me, keep your eyes on me,” said Jack.

With a tight squeeze, you looked at him, seeing the attending of the night shift get closer to your heat.

“See, I think, you like when I say his name, huh?” his nose nudged your clothed clit. “Robby.”

Jack licked a stripe up your pussy, gathering your want through the cloth.

You were left, mouth agape, to catch your breath. Your hands didn't know where to go till Jack peeled off his shirt and guided your hands to his shoulders, your nails digging into the freckled skin there.

Jack wet his tongue with his spit before he rubbed it along your panties again, kissing you there. “I think you're so wet for me, but you're wet for Robby too, huh?”

“Jus-just you, Jack,” you gasped.

He swept a finger into your panties and let the elastic snap back against your skin.

Your body jolted in its wake.

“Not just me, don't lie,” he said, darkly.

In the morning would you realise what you'd done? Jack wasn't your attending but an attending none the less and Robby's friend- brother- at that. Although you and Robby were nothing more than colleagues, it didn't feel right to have Jack licking up your want with his name on his tongue.

“Liars don't get to come, you know,” he said. “So, you get this wet when you think about me?”

“Y-Yes.”

You could feel Jack's smile against your thigh as he pressed a kiss there.

Jack hooked two fingers around the bands of your panties and slowly dragged them down. “Do you get this wet when you think about our Doctor Robby?”

“Yes. Yes I do,” you gasped, your body curling up in the relief of letting go.

Yes, you liked Robby's extra attention. You couldn't even be left angry at his chastising you when it sent a wave of need through you, settling in your core. When you'd been at the bar with Jack, touching him in ways you'd thought about touching your own attending, almost wishing he would storm through the door and see the two of you.

“Good girl.”

Quickly Jack tilted his head back and found purchase in your pussy.

His tongue laid flat against your core.

It didn't stay in one place long. It explored all around you, tasting you for the first time and mapping out delicate spots. He slipped between your folds like he was always supposed to be there, moaning into you.

Your nails dug into his shoulders. “Mmh, Jack!”

He licked you up, spreading the mess of your want around and cleaning it up. “Taking my tongue so well,” he said against you. He dragged his lips down your thigh, wet tongue dragging up and down.

Your legs trembled as Jack spread the lips of your pussy and buried himself in there again. He pressed his thumb onto your clit, your body lurching at the pressure.

“Oh fuck, J-Jack!”

“Pull my hair, pull my hair,” he said into you.

Your did so. Your hand fell into the short strands of his salt and pepper hair, twirling into the strands and tugging just enough to rip a groan from him.

Jack buried himself into your further, his nose nudging into you deeper and deeper till he was almost trying to be inside of you.

Every time your eyes fluttered shut Jack pulled back, easing up on his work of your pussy and easing the orgasm that was slowly building up.

“No, no- eyes on me, keep your eyes on me, baby,” he said.

You looked down to him. “Jack, I want- I want to come.”

“I know, I know you do baby,” he said, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit again. “You will, I promise, I promise.”

He eased himself up from his knees and helped off your shirt and peeled off your bra before he latched himself onto your breast.

Your back arched into him. His hands felt larger than ever as they curled around your waist and held you in. He groped at your breast, watching it jiggle as he moved before swirling his tongue around your nipple.

“Jack-”

“God, I wish Robby were here,” said Jack as he switched his attention to your other.

“Wh-what?” you didn't know if you'd heard him right.

Jack looked at your breasts instead of you, dedicating time to licking up each of them. “Wish Robby could see how good a girl you're being,” he muttered, almost to himself, like he wasn't talking to you. “How responsive you are. Would you like that? Would you like Robby to watch?”

You imagined it, closing your eyes.

Jack let you.

You pictured Robby sat on the bed, watching. Would he watch with his glasses perched low on the bridge of his nose? Would he keep his hands to himself or want to touch and play? You imagined how big he was, if he'd get hard watching.

If he'd touch. If he'd stand behind you while Jack kissed along your breasts. Would Robby dedicate enough time to the back of you?

“You want Robby?” asked Jack.

Anyone else eating you out or with hands on your chest wouldn't want another mans name on your lips.

Jack seemed to thrive on it.

“Yes,” you gasped.

Jack reached back up to you. “Yeah.... yeah...” his nose ghosted yours as he inched closer to kiss you.

In the slim lighting of his bed room you could see the shine of his lips from your arousal, the burn of red at his cheeks. There was a clink as he un-did his belt, throwing it behind him as he slowly pulled down his trousers.

First you saw the prosthetic of his leg before you trailed up, past the scars, to the heavy set of his cock. It flushed red at the tip, a leak of pre-cum running down. It stood tall onto the thin, greying hair down his sternum.

“Jack-” you reached for him, wrapping your hand around him.

“Ah- ahh fuck, baby,” he moaned as you slowly pumped him. “You feel so good. God, Robby doesn't know what he's missing.”

You tangled your tongue with his as you pumped, growing confident in every pump, in every leak of his cock, in ever groan of him into your mouth.

Would Robby guide you to holding Jack's man hood in your hand? Would his own hand wrap around your wrist and guide you up and down, muttering how good you were doing.

It was like you could hear him in your head.

'What a good girl doing what you're told, so responsive,' you imagined the heavy set of his tongue dragging over your pulse as you wrapped your arm around Jack's shoulders, smothering him in closer.

“I wish-” you said against his lips, making a mess out of you mouth as you squeezed his cock. “I wish Robby were here.”

“Yeah. Yeah, me too baby,” said Jack, slowly wrapping his fingers around your wrist and peeling back your hand. He pulled two of your fingers into his mouth, licking the taste of himself off and into the warmth of his mouth. “Next time.”

Jack eased you back on his bed, crawling over you.

You shuffled up, sitting up on his headboard. “Do you- do you want me to?”

Jack's brows pulled together as he brushed back your hair, tucking it behind your ear. “To what, baby?”

“To ride you? Would it be easier on your leg?”

Jack smiled, love sick. “That's very kind of you sweetheart. Next time, I'll let you ride me like I'm a damn horse,” he whispered as he slowly lowered you down. “Right now I want you to finish on my tongue. Then I'm gonna really fuck you like I've wanted to for so long.”

You watched with a bite to your lip as Jack rolled a condom over his cock before hovering over you.

He stirred the base of his cock against your pussy, rubbing the arousal of you over your slit.

“You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes, yes.”

Would Robby hold you against him, keep your legs spread for Jack? Or would Jack insist on Robby going first.

“Beg for it, baby.”

Before your words could leave your mouth the familiar buzz of your phone echoed between you.

Maybe anyone else would have ignored it, sent it to voicemail or let it ring. Except Jack- he moved down his bed, reaching for your pants and fishing out your phone. He smirked down at the contact before holding the phone out to you.

“Answer it.”

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, looking at him. “Wh-what?”

“Answer him,” he said, grabbing your hand and putting the phone it in.

Robby.

You looked to Jack, having no time to ask if he was serious before he was descending on the bed again. His eyes were pointed, gaze locked on you.

You answered, holding the phone to your ear. “H-hey, Robby.”

“Hey. Is everything okay?”

Did he know you'd left the bar with Jack? Did he hear his name called from both your lips?

“Yeah, everything's okay.”

Jack smirked at you.

“I've been calling you all night, you didn't answer,” you could hear the slight accusation in his voice, the small anger you hadn't bowed and answered the phone when he called. He wasn't good at hiding it though maybe he thought he was.

“Sorry I-”

Jack slid two fingers inside of you at once and pumped them without warning.

You caught your breath in your throat. “- I was busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yeah,” you gasped.

Robby stirred down the line. “You okay?”

Jack was looming close enough to you, nodding for you to pull the phone back enough for him to hear.

“Yeah, it's just, cold in my apartment,” you lied.

Jack's brows rose, he mouthed the word, cold?

“Still haven't sorted that heating, huh?” Robby chuckled down the line. “You need someone to come sort that out for you.”

Jack withdrew his hand, dragging those two fingers from inside of you around you, before lowering himself back down. He spread you open, lying his tongue back in.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Want me to come take a look at it?” asked Robby.

“Not- not right now,” you pushed your phone back as Robby scoffed lightly. You sort Jack's attention, begging for the end of the torture he was inciting. His eyes were a haze of lust as he only watched you, shaking his head slowly to feel all around you.

His hand pushed your knee up to your chest, welcoming him in deeper.

“Are you still mad at me for earlier?”

“Y-yes!”

“You are?”

You'd forgot Robby down the line, forgot his question, could only feel the depth of Jack's tongue in you. You bit down on the bottom of your lip. “Yes! Yes! Yes, I am!”

“Okay- well, i'm sorry,” he said down the line. “You just have no idea what seeing you with Jack does to me.”

Jack moaned into you, sending vibrations through your body. His nose nudged against your clit, circling his tongue in you. Your mouth opened, a moan ripping through you that Jack managed to stifle quickly by slamming his hand over your mouth.

“- It's just, I think of you as one of mine,” Robby continued down the line, un-aware's to Jack tapping your phone on speaker and placing it next to you.

Jack dropped his mouth next to your ear, nipping at the lobe. “As mine,” he uttered.

“- seeing you with Jack, I can't stand it, you know I can't-”

Jack went back down to his work, two fingers working inside of you as he sucked in your clit. Your walls are like silk that his fingers thread through with ease, your mind blank with pleasure.

Your moans continued to be muffled by his mouth, he dared not move it.

“- you know I... you know I favour you over anybody else in that ER-”

Your hand reached out for your phone, sure you would come soon and needed to end the phone call.

Jack reached out for you. “Be nice, be nice.”

You picked up the phone and put it to your ear, Jack sucking diligently at your bundle of nerves. “Robby, I-”

“What is it? You sound like you're burning up? You need me?”

Yes, you needed him.

Jack curled his fingers up and you came with a loud gasp, ending the call abruptly as your world shattered in stars of want. Your back arched into Jack's mouth as he laid there open mouthed, taking what you could give him like a man dying of thirst.

Only when your breathing calmed and you could open your eyes to make sense of the world- and Jack's room- did Jack slowly move out his fingers, gently crawling up you body with kisses like butterflies.

You laughed when Jack reached your neck. “Oh god.”

“What?” he said, laughing along with you.

“I hung up on Robby.”

Jack fished for your phone, holding it between the two of you as he rubbed the head of his cock against the slick of your folds. “Then I guess we better call him back.”

[kosakukisser]

Random quicksilver doodles

Ey peter (joe swanson voice)

Also quicksilver and cleaver. Theres no beef

Pls give comic recs for more quicksilver🙏🙏I’ve only seen the movies with Evan Peters quicksilver and I want more

[cryscabbage]

I hate Robert Romano so much but I adore little snippets that show he does actually care about the people he works with.

Like when no one could reach Elizabeth during that mass murderer threat, or the time he signed to Reese behind Peter's back and made him laugh.

My favourite is when Peter was asking for reduced hours and he was adamantly 'no' until he goes "Okay, is this about your son?" And offers every other Saturday, then even offered Weekends.

He's a dickhead in so many ways but he does care.

[pinkandblueblurbs]

mr. abbot

dad!bf robby bro!bf frank and dbf! jack x fem!reader. poly relationship, daddy kink, penetrative sex, oral sex (m receiving), praise, light degradation, d/s dynamics, teasing, riding.

word count: 2.7k

You put on a pretty little sundress when Robby tells you his buddy Jack is coming over for dinner.

Robby's starting the grill while you make lemonade and Frank sets the table. You're so focused on Robby, as usual. You always find him so attractive like this, wearing an old t-shirt and sunglasses and manning the grill. You try not to let it distract you from your tasks-- putting out a vase of flowers, fetching Robby anything he forgot from the kitchen. You're eager to be good and helpful, desperate to make sure everything is perfect to welcome his friend.

But then in walks Jack through the gate of the yard. Your heart skips a beat and your pussy clenches at the mere sight of him. The way his t-shirt strains around his chest and arms, his grey curls and stubble. You stare dumbly as he walks over. He greets robby with a brief on-armed hug and Frank with a nod, and their mouths are moving but you don’t even hear them.

Then, suddenly, you realize Jack is looking right at you, brows raised expectantly and mouth curled in an amused grin. And his hand is out. “Oh,” you quickly take it, trying not to fixate on how big and warm it is wrapping around yours. You let him move it in a firm shake.

“I said it’s nice to meet you, sweetheart.” Jack repeats. Frank chuckles somewhere behind you, and your ears burn with embarrassment.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Abbot.” You smile at him. He angles his head back, chin out, and studies you from down his nose. The eye contact feels so intense that your knees threaten to buckle and you can’t help but look away.

You’re awkward and ditzy the whole evening. Stuttering over your words, mishearing things, bumping into the table and almost dropping your plate.

At one point you’re so distracted staring at Jack’s lips while he eats that Robby has to snap at you to get your attention. “Jesus christ, honey.” He laughs and shakes his head. “You back now?”

Jack’s kind enough to stifle his chuckle and smirk down at his plate, playing it off like everyone didn’t just catch you ogling him.

Soon everyone's plates are cleared. You and Frank stand up to take the dishes to the kitchen, and you know what’s coming before he even starts talking.

“You’re really subtle, you know that?”

“Oh my god, shut up.” You grumble, putting the stack of plates in the sink.

“No, seriously.” He says, of course, not shutting up. “I mean I know you, so I can tell that you’re undressing Abbot with your eyes— but I’m sure he hasn’t even noticed.”

You groan and thump your forehead against the cabinet dramatically. “Frank. Please. I already wanna crawl into a hole.”

Frank’s sarcastic snark turns into an equally irritating coo. “Don’t worry, princess.” He reaches out and pinches your cheek. “He probably thinks you’re the cutest thing.” He just laughs when you smack his hand away and shoot him a hard glare.

You guys bring out icecream and more beers after washing the dishes. Robby beckons you over and pats his thigh, summoning you to sit in his lap. Your cheeks are so warm as you do it, hyper-aware of Jack's presence next to you while you settle into Robby's chest. He's not even 5 feet away.

The three men keep chatting while you’re eating your icecream. You try to keep your head down, hoping not to embarrass yourself any further. But then you feel something pulling your gaze towards Jack. It's his eyes on you-- fixated on your mouth. Watching the spoon disappear then come back out clean, the white cream lingering on your bottom lip that your tongue darts out to swipe away. Your heart hammers in your chest.

When you finish your icecream Robby's quick to take your bowl from you and put it on the table. Then his warm hand finds your thigh. Rubs up and down in what starts as a soothing gesture, but soon his touch moves higher and higher…

“Da-“ the word catches in your throat as you spare a glance at Jack. He’s watching you like a hawk. You shift nervously in Robby's lap.

Robby leans forward, smirks against your neck then presses a kiss there. “What was that, sweetheart?” His voice rumbles against you through his chest. His big hand cups your pussy over your skirt. “It’s okay, you can say it in front of Jack.”

“Daddy,” it’s barely above a whisper. Jack curses under his breath, leaning back in his chair and spreading his legs to accommodate the blood rushing to his dick. Frank’s grinning from across the table.

“Attagirl." Robby presses another kiss to your cheek, his facial hair leaving a scratchy tickle. You curl back further into him. "Don't be shy, honey. Jack's practically family."

You let out a small squeak at that. All actual words seem to escape you as Robby presses his fingers firmly against your clit. You can’t help but raise your hips in search of more delicious friction.

“That feel good, pretty girl?” Jack voices, soft and gruff and just a bit teasing. You turn to hide your face in Robby’s neck. He chuckles while Jack clicks his tongue. “C’mon, sweetheart, look at me. I don’t bite.”

Your gaze hesitantly finds his. He’s careful to keep his smile kind and reassuring despite the intense hunger looming behind his eyes. “There she is.” He crooks two fingers, gently beckoning you towards him like you’re a small animal threatening to bolt. “C’mere, babygirl. Why don’t you sit with me.”

That open invitation is enough to override any shyness you’re still feeling. Robby releases his hold on you and you’re on your feet in an instant, practically tripping over yourself in your haste to get into Jack’s lap.

Robby laughs at your eagerness. “That’s more like it.” He reaches over to where you’re now straddling Jack to grope your ass through your dress then delivers a solid smack. “Needy fuckin’ girl.”

Jack’s grinning up at you, hands running up and down your sides while you smile shyly back at him. You loop your arms around his neck. He tilts his head up. “Gimme a kiss, honey.”

Your smile widens to show your teeth, exposing your giddiness. Jack mirrors it and brings a finger up to tap his lips.

You take your cue, leaning down and giving him a sweet peck. He chuckles against your mouth, murmurs “you’re cute,” then his hand finds the back of your neck to urge you closer. He uses the gasp you let out as an opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth.

He kisses exactly how he presents— confident, measured, smooth. Everything is intentional despite the obvious passion behind it, from the way his teeth graze your lip to the way his hips rise up to meet yours.

When you finally pull away you’re breathless. Your head is swimming, your cheeks are hot, arousal swirls in your stomach, and you’re craving more of him.

“Oh my god,” you mean to whisper, though it’s more of a moan.

Frank laughs. “Baby, he hasn’t even touched you yet.”

“Don't be an asshole,” You snip back before you can think better of it. Jack purses his lips with a quiet ooh, amusement twinkling in his eyes— but it earns you a low warning to “watch that mouth” from Robby.

“Uh oh, letting the good girl act slip already?” The younger man taunts again. He looks so fucking smug, and you really could smack him— but you know the better angle to play.

“Frank,” you’re whining now, gripping Jack’s shirt and throwing in a pout for good measure. You know it's working when you feel Jack's hand rub your back soothingly.

“Ignore him, babydoll.” Jack coos. “You’re doing great.”

Robby lets out a low whistle. “Careful, man. She’s gonna have you wrapped around her finger.”

Jack just shrugs and clicks his tongue. “She already does.” He shoots you a little wink, like the two of you are colluding and this is some shared scheme. You giggle and lean down for another kiss.

You’re far more comfortable now, rolling your hips against his bulge shamelessly and whimpering into his mouth. Somewhere to the side you hear Robby grumble “I’m gonna regret this,” and you can practically feel Frank roll his eyes.

“Heard so much about this tight little pussy, sweetheart.” Jack says gruffly into your mouth. “Gonna let me feel it?” You’ve never nodded so fast. “Yeah?” He voices. “C’mon, pretty girl. Tell me.”

“Wanna ride you,” you breathe out, reaching down to fumble with his belt. “Please, Mr. Abbot, wanna feel you inside me.”

“Good girl, honey. Such nice manners.” Jack’s eyes flit to Robby, who returns the look with a smirk. Jack’s own hand replaces yours on his belt, unclasping it with ease and then working open his fly. “Your daddy taught you well, didn’t he?”

“Mhm,” you affirm. You bite your lip and cast a smile in Robby’s direction, swelling with pride when he gives you an approving nod.

When you look down next, Jack’s cock is out, thick and heavy against his abdomen, already leaking. You suck in a sharp breath.

“Here, doll.” Jack’s hand finds your ass and urges your hips up slightly, allowing him to reach under your skirt and pull your panties aside. “Now sit down, let me inside you.”

You tilt your hips forward and let him angle his cock against your entrance. You moan as you sink down on him, your cunt stretching deliciously as you accommodate his size.

“Thaaat’s it,” he groans out, fingertips digging into you hips. “Shit, Mike, you weren’t kidding. Best fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You pause once your thighs meet the top of Jack’s, breathing heavily and adjusting to the fullness. One of Jack’s hands trails upwards and kneads your breast— you’re braless in your dress, and the thin fabric of the bodice is the only thing separating his fingers from your nipple as he pinches gently. You whimper.

“You like that, babygirl?” Jack asks with a smirk before leaning forward to press a heated kiss to your neck. He ruts his hips upwards, driving his cock further into you and grinding his pelvis against your clit. That action alone is enough to make your head collapse against Jack’s shoulder. He does it a few more times, gripping your hips and thrusting up into you, and the pleasure is overwhelming.

“Get moving, sweetheart.” Robby’s low command pulls you back to reality. You glance his way and are surprised to see Frank kneeling at his feet, palming the bulge in his jeans— you hadn’t even noticed the younger man move. “Don’t make Jack do all the work.

You stare at the two of them, watching Frank free Robby's hard cock from his pants, and roll your hips absentmindedly. You startle to attention when Robby says your name, short and commanding. "Yes, daddy, sorry."

You start moving your hips with intention, lifting up off Jack's cock and coming back down in a steady rhythm. “Look at that.” Jack murmurs appreciatively, his eyes raking over your body as you ride him. “So pretty, aren’t you?”

“Thank you,” you say with a breathless little smile. You distantly hear Robby exhale to your side, a familiar tell that Frank has his mouth on him. Jack pulls down the rouged cups covering your breasts, hooking the neckline under them so he can watch your tits bounce. You whimper when you hit the right angle and Jack’s cock sponges over your g-spot. Your rhythym falters. “Oh my god, feels so good.”

“I’ve got you, babydoll.” Jack cups one breast in a warm palm while his other hand grips your waist, guiding your movements and helping to support some of your weight. “Keep going, just like that. Want you to make yourself cum on my cock— can you do that for me, sweet girl?”

“Yes,” you respond in a rush, gripping his shoulders and rocking his dick against that perfect spot. You can feel your release building in your core, tingling in your stomach and pulsing through your cunt. Jack starts to jerk his hips up to meet you. “Please, please, right there.”

“There you go. Good girl.”

That soft, gruff praise spilling from Jack’s lips sends you over the edge. Nearly blinding pleasure shoots through you, making your thighs shake and your pussy clench and a lewd moan catch in your throat.

Jack groans at the vice-like grip of your walls, and he brings his other hand to your waist, continuing to lift you up and down on his cock as you tremble through your orgasm. “Fuck.”

“Not inside, man.” Robby warns, voice rough with arousal as Frank takes his cock down his throat.

“I know, I know.” Jack thrusts a few more times, letting you ride out your pleasure. Then he’s patting your hip. “C’mon, baby, get on your knees for me— lemme cum in that pretty mouth.”

You struggle to obey, moving gracelessly off his lap on shaky legs. Jack helps you, steadies your movements with a strong hold on your waist.

You take his head into your mouth immediately with no prompting. Jack makes a choked sound that eggs you on, makes you suckle needily, humming at the taste of your own pussy mingled with the precum leaking from his tip.

"Fuck, that's it. You're so fucking good at that, babygirl." Jack grits out. The sensation along with the sight of you-- hands in your lap, lips stretched around his cock, bleary eyes gazing up on him through your lashes-- is enough to get him there. "Good girl, here it comes--"

You moan when the first rope of come hits your tongue. You push down deeper, allowing him to shoot down your throat, and the effort is rewarded with a long, low groan from Jack.

"Swallow it all, sweetheart." Robby urges from the sidelines-- as if you'd ever dare to waste a single drop. You swallow two big mouthfuls and don't stop until Jack sucks in sharply through his teeth. You pull off with a lewd pop.

"Goddamn, honey." Despite sounding breathless Jack is reaching for you immediately, picking you up under your shoulders and coaxing you back up into his lap.

"Show him." Comes another command from Robby.

You open your mouth without second thought, allowing Jack to see the broad pink expanse of your tongue. He blows out an impressed breath, reaching up to grasp your chin and sliding his thumb past your lips. You smile around the digit as he strokes your tongue. "You really have got the best girl, Mike."

Robby lets out a huff, half assured half humored. "Sure, when she wants to be."

You pout at that, nuzzling into Jack's chest and making all three men chuckle. Jack's arms wrap around you, rubbing your back and holding you close.

You blink sleepily, finall taking in the scene of Frank, still on the ground, leaning with his head on Robby's thigh. Robby's pants are back on-- he must've cum somewhere along the way-- and there's a wet spot on the front of Frank's jeans. You look at his face to find him already watching you, and when your lips curl in a jeering grin he narrows his eyes and mouths don't say a fucking word.

Normally you wouldn't be able to resist, but Jack's dick left you feeling calm, satisfied and floaty, so all you do is stick out your tongue at him. Frank rolls his eyes.

"So, you wanna come over for the game tomorrow night?" Robby asks after the short stretch of silence, fingers carding through Frank's hair. Jack hums, as if considering, and gives your clothed ass a couple hearty pats.

"Sure," he deadpans, "how could I say no to that?"

[hampdencollege]

Santos is one of the angriest people you are ever going to meet.

[annsfics]

♡ how a woman's body works ♡

♡ pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader x michael robinavitch

♡ synopsis: due to accidentally syncing your period tracking app to your work email, the entire ed is notified when you begin ovulating. unable to not do something about it, robby & jack get you alone & all to themselves after work in a dark parking lot so they can tend to your needs.

♡ content: fingering, dirty talk, breath play (kinda), fondling, squirting, p in v, jack touching himself, flirting, praising, exhibitionism (kinda)

♡ a/n: based off this meme lol

You feel something brush against the side of your neck, and jolt in surprise when you see Abbot leaning in rather close to you.

"Did... Did you just sniff me?" you ask with surprise.

"You smell nice today," he murmurs quietly. "But it's not overpowering like perfume. New soap? Detergent?"

You shake your head while staring back at him in confusion. "No. Been using the same products I always do."

He hums in interest, then returns his attentions to the patient sitting before the pair of you.

You feel unseasonably warm today. It's at the height of summer outside, sure, but it always feels so chilly in the ED—whether because the thermostat is set to Antarctica, or because the stark white walls and sheets and cool metal instruments give the illusion of cold, you're unsure—which is why you usually wear a thin, long-sleeve shirt beneath your scrub top for warmth.

Today you fear you may melt into a puddle, though.

Running a sweaty hand down the back of your neck, you roll it to the side and shift on your feet, causing your sneakers to quietly squeak beneath you.

Returning to the task of gathering materials so they may be returned to their respective drawers in the exam room you stand in, Robby studies you from a few feet away. "You alright?"

Your eyes flit to his and you shrug. "Just feeling kind of hot." Pushing up the sleeves of your undershirt, you continue. "I think I need to take this off once we're done."

You straighten when he comes over to you.

Robby slides a calloused palm over your forehead and you remain quiet as he uses probably the worst method there is to take your temp.

Dropping it, you think to turn away to toss a paper gown into the trash, until he cups the back of your head and presses his lips to it next.

You lean in slightly to the unexpected gesture, but just as quickly, he pulls back. "You do feel a little warm."

You fiddle with the sleeve of the shirt you mean to rid yourself of. "I'll go change in the ladies room after."

"Or, you could change right here if you're feeling that overheated."

You release a breathy, nervous laugh. "Are you going to stand outside?"

He shrugs, and you watch as a corner of his lips twitch in amusement. "Not if you don't want me to."

Forget the heat, you may pass out just from this exchange alone.

"Kidding," he says quietly while leaning forward with crossed arms.

You turn away so he can't see the annoying grin which has spread across your face. "I'll just do it in the restroom."

Once your extra layer of clothing has been removed, neatly folded, and safely stored away in your employee locker, you head back to the nurses station to look at what new items have popped up on the menu board.

You smirk from thinking about it like that.

Brushing past McKay, her phone dings, followed by Frank's doing exactly the same, but a few feet away. You shrug it off until Mohan's does as well.

Picking up the pace, you speed-walk the remainder of the way to the front of the room before swiftly seating yourself next to Mel and rolling closer to her. Even she's staring down at her phone.

"Did something happen?" you ask quietly.

A fire? A building collapse? An active shooter? So many possibilities race through your mind that you're unable to get a handle on even one before another presents itself.

Turning to you, it's with flushed cheeks and eyes which struggle to reach your own. "It's a not a big deal," she begins with a reassuring tone. "But, uh, it looks like you may've synced your tracking app with the ED's calendar."

Your eyes bug from your skull. "W-What?"

Turning her phone around, she hands it to you.

There, mocking you from the glass screen you stare down at, is a small notification stating that your period of ovulation is due to begin today.

You discovered as much when in the restroom. While wiping yourself, there'd not being an ounce of friction when doing so, and the toilet paper came away shimmery and wet. You were relieved to discover the source of your tepidity wasn't an oncoming cold or a bout of the flu, at least.

Now, you wish either had been the case instead.

Handing her phone back to her, you nearly drop it your hand is trembling so terribly. "Does everyone know?" you whisper.

Glancing around, it seems almost the entire department has come to a standstill as they check their respective devices. Including Robby and Abbot.

Maybe if you crawl beneath a desk, or hide under a hospital bed, the shame will be easier to bear. But with so many eyes now turning in your direction, you stay rooted to the spot.

Mel tucks her phone back away. "I'm sure that in an hour—probably less—everyone will have forgotten about it. I wouldn't worry."

Suddenly skating up to the counter you sit behind, Santos leans over it with an elated grin.

You wince while looking at her from beneath your lashes.

"So, you're breedable and submissive right now, huh?"

You bury your face in your hands. "I can't believe this is happening to me," you mumble in mortification.

"I think she must've accidentally used her work email for the app," Mel explains.

"Oh, is that what you think?" Trin replies sarcastically between fits of bubbly laughter. Turning back to you, she grins. "Just send me another notification when you get home if the electric slide doesn't cut it for ya," she states with a wink before turning and walking away.

Mel looks at you. "What's the electric slide?" she whispers.

You squeeze your eyes shut. "A song. Which is about a vibrator."

"A vibr— Oooh," she says with sudden, dawning realization.

Finally returning to yourself, you slip your phone out of your pocket in a panic. Should've been the first thing you did once Mel told you what a spectacle you've inadvertently made of yourself. Fumbling and nearly dropping it just like hers, you punch in your pin code and swipe through your collection of apps before pressing on the culprit.

Barely able to concentrate, you scroll through this page and that one in frustration, desperate to fix whatever you screwed up by accident.

"I could take a look?" she offers.

Eagerly handing the device over to her, you watch as she easily locates the settings. "Notifications?" she mumbles, followed by a shake of her head. "Ah, here it is: backup and sync."

Once she's removed your work email from the app, she hands the stupid thing back to you.

"Thank you," you say with a sigh of relief—even though the damage has already been done.

She smiles and shrugs slightly. "No problem. Probably just something you did without thinking."

"You get that notification same as me?" Abbot asks while coming to stand beside the computer cart Robby is currently stationed at.

He nods while typing. "I did."

Jack pushes his hands into the pockets of his scrubs. "And what do we intend to do about it?"

"We?" Robby asks with a laugh and a raised brow before turning back to the monitor. "There's nothing to do. I'm sure she's humiliated enough as it is."

Jack crosses his arms while staring at him with pursed lips. "So, we are explicitly told that for the next few days the one woman in this department that neither you or I can keep our eyes—or hands, for that matter—off of is going to be at her most needy, and that doesn't turn you on in the least?"

Robby shoves his hand beneath his glasses and massages the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to forget the fact you just said that to me," he mumbles before returning to his work.

Jack shakes his head while taking a step backward. "Your loss," he calls. "When you lose out because I'm the only one who chose to take initiative."

To his satisfaction, Jack manages later on to catch you alone in the Employee Lounge taking a generous sip of water. He watches as bubbles speed toward the bottom of the bottle—you're just that eager for it.

"Thirsty, huh?" he asks while leaning against the fridge with crossed arms.

Lowering it, you lick your damp lower lip. "Hm? Oh, yeah."

"I'm sure it was just a technical mishap, but can I ask why you're apparently signed up to be notified when you're in your fertile window?"

Good thing you finished your long drink of water, because if you were still swallowing, you'd have choked. "I'm sorry, what?"

Just as he makes to explain, Robby catches the two of you out of the corner of his eye and swings back around before heading into the lounge under the guise of grabbing a drink as well.

You step to the side as Robby walks past you for a plastic bottle of water same as your own.

"I wasn't aware you were seeing anyone," Jack states. "Being notified about your period I get. But ovulation?"

Heat creeps so high past your cheeks that you can feel the tips of your ears now burning.

You look at Robby from the corner of your eye, who's now stationed himself against the counter to your left. "It's so I know when to...carry extra underwear," you clarify quietly. "And pantiliners."

Robby's brows raise and he wraps one arm under the other that's holding a half-drunk bottle of mineral water. "That much, huh?"

You glance to him. "What?"

"You get that wet?" he asks. "Wet enough that you have to bring a change of panties to work with you?"

You feel like you're floating outside of your body right now.

He's a doctor, so surely he's just trying to make sure that everything is in tip-top shape down there.

The alternative is unthinkable.

"Y-Yes," you stutter. "It's normal. For some women...maybe not all. But for me." You chew your lip. "It's kind of embarrassing, actually."

He chuckles, and your brows draw together at the sound.

Jack pushes off the fridge. "Take it from us, sweetheart—middle-aged men who actually understand how a woman's body works just as well as our own—it is anything but something you should be ashamed of."

"Most definitely a turn-on," Robby adds before sliding a hand along the small of your back as he sweeps past, but not before giving you a quick peck on the head.

Once your shift is through, you head out to the parking lot while occupying yourself with a vision of yourself in a steaming bubble bath and reading a romance novel by candlelight.

But only once you've folded and put away the load of laundry you threw in the dryer last night.

Such is life: endless chores.

You observe the curious sight of Jack and Robby chatting by the latter's truck as you steer yourself toward your own vehicle. You don't know how so many people have the energy after work to socialize when all you want to do is to race home to begin decompressing.

With a quiet beep, you unlock your car's trunk and toss your things inside before circling around toward the driver's side... Only to discover a flat tire awaiting you.

You groan in frustration and fight against the temptation to kick it.

What you don't see behind you is the two of them exchanging knowing looks. All Jack had to do was release a few pounds of air, and voilà, their plan was set in motion.

Shaking your head, you pop open your bag to begin digging for your cellphone and AAA membership card until Jack interrupts.

"Flat tire?"

You nod in irritation. "Yes. I'm gonna call AAA."

"We were just going to run out and grab a bite to eat," Robby says. "Could bring you with us, then come back after." He jerks a thumb toward his truck. "I have a portable air compressor in the back."

Releasing your wallet, it drops back down into your purse. You were planning on eating leftovers tonight, but those can always be saved for tomorrow. At least that way, it'll save you another night of cooking.

You turn around to them. "Okay."

When Robby heads toward an empty lot, you raise a brow in question. There's certainly no drive-thru to be found around here. Doesn't look like there's much of anything, in fact, with not even a streetlamp in sight to provide a bit of illumination upon the bare asphalt his truck tires roll upon.

When he throws the vehicle into park and kills the engine, you shift in your seat. "What're we—"

Robby turns fully toward you while Abbot scoots himself closer to the back of the passenger seat you occupy.

"You know, I messed with the valve stem on your car so we'd have an excuse to bring you with us," Jack rasps in your ear.

Your eyes flit between Robby's for explanation.

Robby, who leans in toward you and cups your cheek in his palm.

"Are we not...getting dinner, then?" you ask ignorantly.

Robby chuckles while glancing toward Jack for explanation.

"Maybe later, but we have something else in mind for right now, sweetheart," Jack replies before sliding a hand up the length of your throat and holding firmly to it, but with dexterous gentility.

Robby busies himself with untying the front of your pants before hooking his fingers under the waistline on either side.

"Lift your hips, honey," Jack tells you while swiping his thumb along the underside of your jaw.

You swallow thickly, but lift off the seat momentarily, just like he asked.

In one fell swoop, Robby has pulled your bottoms, as well as your damp panties, all the way down to your ankles, leaving you exposed before them.

"Arms up," Robby mutters before gripping the hem of your top.

Acting on instinct, you raise your arms toward the truck's ceiling and he pulls your shirt over your head before tossing it into the back, beside Jack. Forcing a hand behind you, he unclasps your bra in one swift motion, relieving you of the pesky garment as well.

With his free hand, Jack snakes an arm around your seat and fondles your right breast, leaving the other free for Robby to tend to.

Robby bows his head and sucks your nipple between his lips and gently rolls it between his teeth.

Your hips jerk and you sigh wantonly.

You fell and hit your head in the ED, right? Because this surely is not actually happening.

You hear something unzip behind you, followed by the feel of Jack's fingers twitching against your throat and a moan escaping his lips.

Robby leans back, then sinks his hand between your slick thighs before easing two fingers inside of your wet heat.

"Oh my God," you whimper as your eyes flutter closed.

Jack strokes his cock languidly. "As wet as we thought?" he asks quietly.

Robby swipes his thumb over your clit while shaking his head. "Better. She's absolutely soaked."

You quiet yourself, and listen instead to the sound of your quiet panting, Jack moaning in pleasure, and Robby's fingers making your pussy squelch.

You wiggle your hips. "Mm, another one, please."

With a grin, he obliges your request when he eases a third finger inside of you.

Squeezing tightly around his calloused digits, you loose a shaky breath. God, your heart is pounding so hard that you're sure they can both hear it.

Robby leans over you—sinking impossibly deeper between your fluttering walls—before pressing his lips to yours. Mewling against his lips, his beard, him, you clutch at his hoody while circling your hips, desperate to keep him close.

Toeing off your shoes with a frustrated whine, you maneuver your pants the rest of the way off before propping your socked feet up on his dash and spreading your legs so wide that one of your knees knocks against the window beside of you.

"You need it, don't you, baby?" Jack asks while tightening his grip around your airway.

You nod as Robby's ministrations grow in fervor. "Yes. Please."

With every plunge of his fingers, your slickness pools on the seat beneath your bottom, and his thumb swipes against your swollen bundle of nerves. "Ah," you pant. "S-So close."

Releasing your neck, you gasp when Jack instead grips each of your breasts in his hands and rolls his fingers along their fleshy surface. He tugs against your nipples, fondles them by massaging their peaks, then sinks his dominant hand lower to tend to your clit while Robby grunts as he works feverishly at your needy cunt.

Seeing the way his Carhart pants have tented, you slide a shaky hand across his thigh before finally gripping him tightly in your hand.

He sucks in a sharp breath, then shifts in his seat. Grabbing your left thigh, he jerks it back to give himself a full view of your weeping, swollen cunt.

With blown pupils, he gazes into your eyes. "Finish for me, sweetheart. Come on my hand. Let me see it."

"But take your time," Jack soothes while continuing to circle your clit with lubricated fingers. "Enjoy this."

You nod repeatedly before biting down on your lip and watching Robby's face. The way his lips twitch, or how his wrinkles are accentuated in the lack of light, or how his thick cock throbs to be buried inside of you where it's wet and warm and pleasant—you're unable to concentrate on any one facet of him you're that excited.

You claw at the seat beneath you, completely at their mercy as they race you toward your finish.

"Oh G—"you gasp as a familiar feeling begins to grow between your legs.

"That's it," Robby growls. "Come for me, baby."

You gently rock your hips against his hand, causing the truck to squeak in response.

"I'm..." you swallow, despite your mouth having gone dry. "I'm gonna—"

Using all fingers but his thumb, Jack rapidly swipes them back and forth over your sensitive clit.

"Oh, fuck—" you start before shoving yourself back in your seat—preparing yourself for what's about to happen. But it feels different this time; unlike anything you've ever felt before.

Robby's fingers have seemingly found a part of you that you didn't even know was there. A place full of pleasing pressure.

It feels like you're about to wet yourself.

Throwing your leg over the middle console, and keeping your other spread wide as you possibly can, you scream as you fall over the edge.

The sound of squirting liquid fills the cabin, and when you open your eyes, you realize it's coming from you. Rather, between your legs where Robby is still continuing to finger you with no sign of stopping.

"Goood girl," Jack drawls with affectionate praise.

"Oh, sweetheart," Robby mumbles as his hand slows.

Your right leg slides from the window and back toward the floorboard while your pounding heart slowly returns to a steady rhythm.

"'M sorry," you mumble. "I made a mess. That's never...happened before."

Robby pulls you toward him, and wraps strong, comforting arms around your naked form while showering you in kisses from the top of your head to your chin. "I'll clean it up later. Don't worry about it."

You jolt when you hear Jack open the door behind you, followed by him popping open your own.

"What're you doing?" you question while making to reach for your pants. Just because you can't see anyone around, doesn't mean no one can see the three of you.

You watch as he unbuckles his belt before unzipping his pants and removing his long, weeping cock. Gripping either of your hips, he turns you around before pulling you toward him. "Taking my turn," he replies with a wink.

Leaning your head back, Robby dives in for a kiss while Jack sinks inside of you.

[beatsheetromanroy]

i think cas went by it/its for ≈400 million years until he started hanging out with dean, and dean called him he/him saw him as a man and at some point, cas saw himself that way too. because of dean AND a new closeness he’d developed to humanity that even in prior vessels he’d never had before

[beatsheetromanroy]

@casteeyell

[bohnerrific69]

he looks so adorable 😭💗⚡️

[chvoswxtch]

I don't know if y'all caught that there was a building that said "franklin 820"

guess what comic issue foggy fakes his death

ISSUE 82 BITCH

and what was the number on the building next to the nelson, murdock, and page sign??

468

THE SECRET LIFE OF FOGGY NELSON

AND WHAT HAPPENS IN THAT????? HE'S IN WITNESS PROTECTION BRO

y'all can keep dragging me away to the asylum but I will be vindicated when the prophecy unfolds as I have foreseen it

AND WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT GETTING A MAYOR LUKE CAGE STORYLINE I know y'all saw those set pictures of his fine ass in those suits stop playing with me

[bioodbank]

by ‘jokingly’ wanting robby to kill himself and celebrating the fact that he’s suicidal because of him being an asshole this season, you’re also sending the message to people out there who are dealing with suicidal ideation that they deserve to die if they’ve hurt people while actively struggling themselves.

i know it’s supposed to be all fun and just frustration over your favorite character getting treated badly, but idk maybe do it privately !!

i was a huge bitch when i was in my worst depressive episode and thought of killing myself daily, and just like robby, i thought that it didn’t matter cause i would be gone soon. his character arc this season feels really personal to me and other people so please try and be more empathetic.

yes, robby is in the wrong for treating samira, mckay, dana, langdon, etc badly he has been almost degrading them all season. i also think it was annoying and it made me dislike him a little bit. but i also don’t think celebrating his active mental health crisis is the way to go.

[rr-after-dark]

should i write the inverse of this post? like jack is old fashioned so it never even occurs to him that you have to have a “labels talk” to officially be his girlfriend. like, you get breakfast together after every shift. you come over to his place for movies and cuddles. what else would he call you? there hasn’t been anything physical beyond touching but that’s just because he’s a gentleman, of course, even though he’s a flirt. he would never be presumptuous about the sex side of things. but bc you’ve never labeled it and he’s never tried anything with you physically, you think he’s single and maybe at most indulging your crush. he turns someone down bc he has a girlfriend and you cry into your pillow until he fucks some sense into you

[scruffylookingpiratecaptain]

I think people have truly lost any ability to be patient with storytelling.

‘I don’t understand this’ They’ll explain it if you wait.

‘I don’t like how this episode left things hanging’ There’s a continuation next week.

‘This character is flat’ Wait for them to be fleshed out.

So many of the complaints I see about shows lately are people being confused by things THAT THE SHOW WANTS YOU TO BE CONFUSED BY THATS THE FUN OF MYSTERY AND FORESHADOWING YOU ABSOLUTE GOBLINS THE MAIN CHARACTER IS ALSO CONFUSED AND THEYRE GONNA DO A BIG REVEAL AND EXPLANATION LATER IF YOU WOULD JUST FUCKING WAIT

[hooray4skeleton]

[gatorlovebot]

audio erotica

michael "robby" robinavitch x f!reader

summary: you find yourself in a bit of a predicament when a night out with your girlfriends turns into you matching the voice of your favorite audio erotica creator to his face.

a/n: i originally wrote this fic (series) years ago for another fandom but i decided to rework it for da pitt/robby. the audio erotica website mentioned is quinn <3

wc: 2.1k

contains: a few lines of dirty talk, no smut mentioned.

a single voice shouldn’t be able to stop you in your tracks, especially not in a crowded pittsburgh bar on a thursday night, but somehow, it does. you and your girlfriends had been out for some casual drinks and you’d been overstimulated by the sounds of dozens of voices swirling around you, but none have made you pause like this one. at first, you just thought it was a pleasant voice drifting over to you from somewhere near, but you couldn’t shake how familiar it sounded.

you, almost unconsciously at first, start listening for the voice, slowly tuning out the familiar tones and cadences of your friends. you’ve always been more of an observer when it comes to nights like this, so your friends pay you no mind as you keep to yourself instead of paying attention to whatever work gossip is being spilled. your ears perk up every time you hear it, your eyes scanning the crowded bar, longing for its source.

you’re rewarded for your observant nature when your eyes finally land on a crowded high top table just to your right. you don’t even have to turn much in your chair to get a good view of the man at the head of the table. it had to be him, you just knew it. the table was cramped with bottles and glasses, chairs squished so men and women could all fit. but there’s only one man that voice could belong to. you just knew it was him.

“want in on another round?”

the hand on your wrist startles you, pulling you completely out of your thoughts. your friends' dark eyes search yours as you scramble for a response. you reach for your glass, the last dredges of your vodka cranberry diluted with melted ice. you smile at your friend, “i’d love another, thanks.”

you give her a grateful smile as she squeezes your wrist before turning in the direction of the bar. you take the last sip of your drink, trying to put that voice out of your mind. your stomach tugs with guilt and shame reminding you what you’re actually here for, to catch up with your closest friends. but your eyes quickly fall back to that goddamn high top when a voice from that table exclaims, rather loudly, “oh, come on, robby!”

robby. robby. robby michael.

you must be dreaming. you must have fallen asleep on your couch instead of making it to the bar because there was no way robby was just a stones throw away from you right now. before, you had just been caught in the fantasy, of the what-if of it being robby, but it had to be just some other guy named robby, right? a few more moments of eavesdropping makes your stomach twist because the voice is just too spot on.

“ohoh, you’re so going to pay for that, brat.”

you had stumbled across robby a few months ago, he was new on the website and typically you didn’t stray too far from your rotation of voices, but you had made an exception for him. it had been his profile picture that really piqued your interest, it was a close up selfie that cut off right below his eyes.

he had a full, but well trimmed beard and your eyes had immediately darted between all the grey sprinkled in the dark hair, finally landing on the grey patch on his chin. you had always loved a man that was capable of growing a thick, full beard. and his nose. god, his nose. a strong, built nose that sat perfectly on his long face. you were smitten from that picture alone.

and his voice. his voice ruined you for every other guy on the app. his voice was deep and gravely, it definitely came with age, which you certainly had no complaints about. he had a handful of audios regarding age gaps, with him being all sorts of older and domineering figures, which always left you feeling incredibly wet. but even with the obvious tropes he was very clever and creative when it came to his audios.

one of your favorites of his was a short series he did where he played the owner of a used bookstore. his voice was so soft as he had read passages from a book that you couldn’t remember, the sounds of pages turning completely calming your brain. there was a first time audio that you had listened to at least a dozen times at this point, his voice had been so sweet and gentle right in your ear. and the audio that made you squirm the most just thinking about it was a gynecology roleplay he did, you had sighed out dr. robby as you came that night.

“everything feels perfectly normal, miss, but let me add another finger just to be sure.”

and maybe it was a little bit pathetic, cumming to a voice nearly every night that you would never know, so that's why you kept that part of yourself locked away. never talked about it with your friends because it was your dirty little secret. so that’s why this whole situation, is your worst fucking nightmare.

you look over again, stealing a peek of the scene before you. he’s still at the head of the table, nursing a glass of dark liquor while listening to the guy next to him tell a story using mostly his hands. they look to be the oldest ones at the table, robby with his deep crows feet and his friend with his silver curls.

it wasn’t like they were significantly older than the rest of the men and women around them, but some of them were in much flashier clothing. more appropriate for a nightclub than for a casual bar. maybe they were going to a club later, seemingly having much more energy than robby, with his ruddy cheeks and his tired eyes.

shame washes over you, feeling like a voyeur, as you turn away from the group as your friends return from the bar with more drinks. you gladly take yours, more so chewing on the straw to give you something to do as you try to tap back in on the conversation at hand. luckily, it was one of your closer friends rehashing work drama she’d already called you about earlier in the week. it gives you the opportunity to sit back and throw in comments when appropriate and within a few minutes you’re enthralled in the conversation again.

but your eyes can’t help but cut back to that high top table when you hear the sounds of chairs scraping against the bar floor. you watch as the younger girls of the group, dressed in skirts and kitten heels, get up from their seats. you overhear drawn out goodbyes and mentions of “stay together” and “don’t get too fucked up”. but the timber of robby’s voice cuts right through to you. “i’ll walk you guys out, gotta hit the bathroom, anyway.”

he walks behind the girls, making their way past your table towards the front of the bar. “god, robby, already breaking the seal after just one beer?” one of the girls jokes, familiar humor in her voice.

you watch as robby’s face scrunches up in an annoyed huff of breath, “oh, santos, you’ll understand when you’re my age.”

the teasing lilt of his voice washes over you, your eyes taking long drags over his body as he passes by. he's tall, that's what you first notice. he towers over the girls even in their heels. but he's not imposing, instead he walks behind the small group and gives them a wave as they make it out of the bar and he ducks into the bathrooms tucked into the corner by the front entrance.

the salt and pepper in his hair wasn't surprising, you knew he was older and it showed quite clearly in his profile picture on the site. but seeing all the grey in his well kept beard in person? you had to squeeze your thighs together when he finally came back to his now much less crowded table.

you watch him take his seat at the head again, his shoulders relaxing as he wraps his long fingers around a dewy pint glass. you watch him laugh at something someone says, delighting at the crows feet around his eyes and the way his cheeks flush. but you feel like your stomach is going to fall out of your ass when his eyes cut directly to you. oh shit. he caught you staring.

you feel your eyes widen in embarrassment as he unfortunately holds eye contact with you, before you finally get it together enough to dart your eyes away. you look down at your sugary cocktail, bringing your shaky hand up to the glass. you take a long sip, giving yourself something to do as you try to slow down your erratic heart beat.

you firmly set down your glass, the ice rattling at the bottom, the dredges of your vodka cranberry coloring the pieces a soft pink. the coolness of the glass helps to ground you a little bit. you tell yourself that even though it kind of feels like it, it's absolutely not the end of the world that you were caught staring.

after a few more moments, you force yourself back into the conversation happening around you. you turn your back fully to the man, not allowing yourself to get distracted by him for the rest of the night. but your new position makes you miss the way his eyes shine in delight and his lips curl into a barely there smile. your gaze sends a spark up his spine and even though you don’t allow him another look at your face for the rest of the night, he still shamelessly watches you as you leave the bar with your girlfriends.

the following days are frustrating to say the least and you end up falling into a cycle of remembering being caught by robby, feeling so embarrassed, and then trying to push the whole thing from your mind completely. but, nothing helps. you can’t stop thinking about him. his hands, his beard, his eyes, his voice were all you could think about and it was becoming a major problem.

you were also experiencing another problem, you hadn’t been able to get off since that night. you had banned yourself from listening to any of robby's audios in the following days, but nobody else on the site did it for you anymore, so you were left feeling frustrated and unsatisfied.

but, you end up aimlessly scrolling through the app anyways, just like tonight. multiple new audios were uploaded to the site earlier that morning, but nothing sounded even remotely interesting to you. then you saw it, the slope of his perfect nose in his profile picture. you couldn’t help but feel like he was mocking you by uploading so soon after your blunder. but then your stomach drops when you see the title of his audio, “Meet Cute at the Bar”. oh no. then your eyes skim over the tags he's included, [M4F] [Strangers to Lovers] [Banter] [Slow Burn] [First Time] [Gentle] [Praise] [Curve Appreciation]. but what really gets you is the summary, “I caught you looking from across the bar, mind if I join you?"

you’re pressing play before you can even think about what you’re doing. your ears are initially filled with mindless chatter and the clinking of pint glasses, background noise, before you hear robby's all too familiar voice, “this seat taken?” followed by the sound of him settling into what you assumed was a bar stool. “i know us locking eyes for all of 5 seconds isn’t exactly an invitation for me to come over and bother you, but i guess i’m pressing my luck tonight.”

he follows it up with a laugh, a barely there huff of breath that you've become very familiar with. robby knew how to flirt, which was something that you might have found dickish in other guys, but with robby there was always a sort of bashfulness to it. you scroll down to the comments, reading through the gushing praise that was par for the course for any of the man's audios. when you scroll down to the end, though, you find that the first comment left on the audio was from…robby.

“Made eyes with a gorgeous woman across the bar a few days ago and haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since. Tried to get over it by recording this but, I'm still stuck on her.”

you roll over, your laptop landing askew on your bed as you shove your face in one of your pillows and scream. you were so fucked.

[diirty--chaii]

Robby gets his shirt back

Get caught up on Nanny!Reader - pt. 1, pt. 2, pt.3

cw - dubcon (sorta), voyeurism, little bit of degregation

You double check the lock on the basement door before you flop onto your bed with a groan. 

You were so stupid.

But also, you still had the shirt for now. You could always slip into his laundry basket when you had a chance. 

You can still hear their footsteps while you rip your own hoodie off your body and shimmy out of your pants, kicking them into the laundry basket. You put your arms through the sleeves and remove your bra, adding it to the pile. 

Robby’s shirt is nice. Worn, material soft on your nipples as it flows off your body. It covers your ass like a mini dress. Every movement you make sends a waft of his musk to your nose. 

You end up in the same spot you were earlier; on the bed with your legs spread apart with Robby’s shirt rucked up to your nose inhaling deeply with each breath as your fingers bury themselves deep inside you. 

Robby has never been a very agile man, but he tries his best to keep his footsteps light as he creeps down the stairs to your basement. He presses his ear up against the door, hearing you. Your voice is clipped, like you’re trying to hold back from crying out too loudly. He chuckles, raising his fist to knock at the door.

You stop abruptly, frozen in place as your heart pounds in your chest. You don’t move, hoping that whoever is at the door will leave if you stay still long enough. 

Another knock, this time accompanied with a call of your name. 

“Are you awake? I have a question for you,” Robby’s voice permeates through the door. 

You keep your eyes locked on the handle. 

“I’ll be quick, I promise.” 

You curse under your breath, wiping your hand on Robby’s shirt once more. You pull it over your head, dropping it into your closet and shutting the door, quickly pulling on the first thing you can find that covers your body before you open up the door.

Robby is a tall man, this you know. But once you open the door, he’s taller somehow, looming over you. 

“Where’s my shirt, kid?” 

You blink, startled, “What?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me now kid,” he steps past the threshold into your basement - something he has never done without your explicit permission before, “You’re not stealing from me to resell like a normal nanny, ‘cause you didn’t take one of my nice ones.”

He starts to walk you backwards, guiding you back to your bedroom.

“You took the old one, the used one. And you think we wouldn’t notice our bed all messed up? What were you doing there, hm?” 

He keeps eye contact with you, the look on his face makes your thighs clench together involuntarily. 

“I wasn’t-I- I didn’t-” 

“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. We’re not mad, we just wanna know what you were doing in our room.” 

You’re silent, mouth agape, certain that your brain has forgotten every word you’ve ever learned at this moment.

Your knees are pinned against 

His eyes dip lower for just a moment and then he reaches out, grabbing your wrist. 

He chuckles to himself, “Were you touching yourself in our bed, kid? ‘Cause it smells like you were.” 

“Jesus-” 

“Not my guy,” he laughs. You let out a breath as he steps back, “Go get my shirt. I know you have it.”

You scramble, wordlessly to your closet, tearing through the mess you made earlier trying to find the shirt. When you find it, you bunch it up in a ball, holding it out to him. 

He shakes his head, “Put it on.”

“What?”

He shrugs, “That’s what you were doing earlier, right? I’ll look away in case you’re shy, all of a sudden.” 

When he does actually turn his head away from you, you realize that he isn’t joking. You swallow, quickly shedding the clothes you had on and pulling on the shirt once more. You clear your throat, and he turns back. 

"Hm, you do look good in it,” he tips his head to the bed, “Get on the bed.” 

You follow without a word, leaning against the pillows.

“Where’s your phone?” 

“Why?” 

He rolls his eyes, “I’m not gonna take pictures, relax - well, not without permission, anyways.” 

You hand him your phone from the bedside table unlocking it for him. 

“Go ahead, show me what you were doing in my bed, kid - but  do not let yourself cum until I say so.” 

Your pussy is throbbing, He’d interrupted you before you’d been able to finish again. You see his fingers tapping the screen, unsure of what he’s doing while you spread your legs once more. Robby taps one more button and then the sound of your phone ringing fill the room. 

You gasp, touching your swollen clit with light fingers. 

“Spread your legs for me, can’t see too good right now.” 

You nod, spreading your legs further. The call connects, letting Jack’s voice ring through the speakers, “How’s she doing?” 

“You were right,” Robby laughs, “the little pervert stole my stuff so she could get off in our bed.” 

You whine, opening your mouth to defend yourself when Robby holds up his finger, shushing you. 

“I’m on the phone, kid, don’t interrupt me. It’s rude.” 

Jack laughs, “What are you doing to her?” 

“Making her show me how she defiled our bed,” Robby bends down, getting eye level with the bed, keeping his eyes on your cunt the whole time. 

“I think our bed is plenty defiled, Mike.”

“You should see her,” Robby hums, “Practically leaking all over the place. Must have been doing this a while, right sweetheart?” 

You nod, letting  out a shaky breath as you circle your entrance with one finger, tentatively sliding through.

Robby clears his throat, “Words, baby, Jack can’t see you.” 

“Yeah,” you say with a sigh, “Yeah I have.” 

“How many times did you cum in our bed?” Robby asks, still entranced by the way your fingers are pumping in and out of your pussy. 

“T-twice.” 

“Twice?” Robby questions, “And you were still touching yourself when I came down here. I heard you.” 

You moan, toes curling into your sheets. 

“We’ve got a greedy little thing, don’t we, Mike?” 

“I’d say so,” Robby nods, “Just listen to her.” 

Robby holds the phone up to your pussy, letting Jack hear the wet squelch with each thrust of your fingers. Your face is burning, with the brashness of the two of them. Your pussy clenches around your fingers. You bring the heel of your hand to your clit, hips thrusting forward. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Robby tuts, grabbing your wrist once more and pulling it away from your body. You whine as your fingers leave you empty, clenching around nothing, “You’ve already had two, I think that’s good enough.” 

“Please,”  you beg, “I-I-I’ve-”

“You’ve what?” Jack cuts you off, “You’ve broken into our room, stolen our things, and masturbated on our bed. Don’t say you’ve been good, doll, we all know that’s a lie.”

You huff, “I want it.” 

Robby’s brows raise as Jack’s deep laughter flows through the speaker. 

“You heard the woman, Mike, give her what she wants.” 

Robby hands you the phone, large hands pushing your legs back and apart to keep your pussy exposed to him. 

“Bear with me, kid, been a few years since I’ve done this.” 

You don’t have time to respond before his tongue is on you, licking broad stripes up your cunt. You cry out, panting, as his lips attach to your clit. You’re so close already, but Robby doesn’t give in quite yet, keeping you teetering on the edge. 

“Fuck,” you moan, throwing your head back as Robby brings you to the edge, but refuses to let you tumble over. 

“He being mean to you, doll?” Jack asks, though you’re not sure that you’d call his tone sympathetic. 

“Mhm.” 

“Get used to it, sweets, ‘cause he’s the nice one.” 

Robby, however, pays no attention to your conversation. He’s preoccupied, drinking in your scent as your clit slides along the bridge of his nose while his mouth works you. He’s precise, every time he feels your body tensing, he pulls back. 

You try to buck against face but he stops you, keeping you at his mercy. 

"Robby, Robby please,” you babble over and over again. 

It’s music to his ears. 

[toxicanonymity]

s3 of the Pitt is a night shift with Abbot, and there's some doubt about what happened with Robby until he shows up partway through the season like Abbot normally does