CW: Discussions of job (reader is a hospice nurse) kinky things, use of the word daddy
feel free to ask me anything! enjoy
You locked your car, leaving everything except your wallet inside before you walked into your favorite bar after a week like this.
(Every week was like this, you’d found out. Smiling in the face of people dying in front of you becomes second nature when you dedicate enough time to it.)
The doorbell rings as you open it, startling you like it does every week. It’s a little busier than normal, but you don’t really care. You come here every week at 7 in the evening, sit at your spot on the bar (they have a little reserved sign, after you helped the owner’s mom through hospice) and order three things: fries, a coke, and an amaretto sour.
Tonight you’ll do the same. You’ll sit there and watch the bartenders make drinks until one of them has a break and comes to talk to you to keep you from being lonely. They all know what you do for work. It’s heavy, and you don't have anyone to lean back on. You just have them.
Camila sees you and smiles brightly, her six foot frame towering over you as she hops the bar to give you a hug and spin you around. “Mi amor! I’m so happy to see you, nena.”
“You too, Cami,” you say softly. “Anyone need yelled at tonight?”
You also doubled as verbal security for the girls. They’re the only people you have, so when someone talks down on them, you immediately need to reset their vibe before they make them cry.
“Not today, go sit. I’ll make your stuff.”
“Extra cherries, today.” You smile sadly.
“Awe,” she huffs, blowing a hair from her forehead. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to hold the seat next to you?”
“Nah, just pour one out for Matilda. She died about two hours ago.” Matilda wasn’t her real name, you won’t violate HIPAA, even in death. “She liked bourbon.”
You take your set and set your wallet on the bar, the clink of your keychain making you flinch. Matilda’s daughter, who was only six, made it for you with your name and a little star. You’d held her today while her mama cried over her mother’s body, soothing her shaking and reminding her it was okay to touch her.
You shake your head, trying to clear the memory.
Your drink with a glass of bar cherries is set in front of you, then a coke, then a basket of fries with garlic aioli. Camila smiles at you and grabs the remote, switching it to the local hockey game you’re missing. Sarai used to go with you, but with medical school and then residency, you don’t get to see her much. Or talk to her, really.
You take a cherry and pop it in your mouth, chewing aggressively.
The next hour goes by quietly, a few regulars saying hello and nodding at the bourbon in the chair next to you. A couple people leave a note, which you’ll take to the family at the funeral. Your funeral dress has been dry cleaned for over a week now.
It’s normal and calm until someone sits on the other side of you, a rare occurrence. Most people just leave you alone.
“Are you okay?” Her voice says, her accent similar to your own. “I know you probably wish to be left alone, but I’m too curious for my own good.”
You look up and have to hold your breath at how beautiful she is. She’s got the most beautiful blue eyes, lined with eyeliner. Her shirt fits her like it was sewn on and the light catches her eyebrow piercing every couple of seconds, then you realize you never responded.
“Sorry,” you clear your throat. Pretend you don’t recognize her. “A patient of mine passed away a couple hours ago. I come here to not be alone. The girls take care of me.”
She looks up, smiles softly at the three of them, all congregated in the corner and not so subtly staring. “Needless to say, they’re probably freaking out right now. No one ever approaches and stays.”
She giggles. “Glad to be the first. María Victoria, Vicky.” She extends her hand, and you take it, introducing yourself.
“Beautiful name,” she whispers. “Beautiful girl.”
You hide your blush in your drink, a wry smile on your lips. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”
“Nah, not this week.” Her joke lands and you snort inelegantly, covering your mouth. “Got a laugh out of you, though.”
“Thank you,” you pause. “Are you busy? If you aren’t, you can stay, but I don’t want to bother you.”
“No, nena, I’m not. But even if I was, you could bother me and I wouldn’t complain.”
You talk for what feels like hours, but you know it’s only been thirty minutes. She's in town for work, usually is here a couple times a month. Never been to this bar before. It’s so cliché, but you feel like Matilda had put her here for a reason.
It’s one of those days you don’t know why you do anything.
“Not to be too forward,” Vicky says, clearing her throat. “But I really do like you, and I want to help. Is the necklace just for decor?”
Your hand immediately flies to the chain with a knot around your neck, your face turning a bright red. “Oh my god.”
“Don’t be embarrassed, cariño.” She points to her earrings, a similar style. A calling card basically. “If you’re up for it, and it’d help, I’m interested.”
You finish your drink slowly, contemplating. If you go with her, it would help. If you don’t, it’s another lonely night where you have to make up stories in your head of better times.
“I have a hotel room about twenty minutes away. Do you want to go home first, change, then meet me there? I can send a car for you.”
“I can drive,” you say slowly. “If that’s okay.”
She meets your eyes and sees what you really mean by it. You want her to decide. “I want you to go home, change, and meet me there. Give me your phone, pretty girl.”
This doesn’t happen in the wild for you. You basically have to download an app, vet the person’s socials, meet them, then you can let go. But for some reason, you want this.
You speed through an everything shower, nicking your leg twice, and text her quickly.
What’s your favorite color?
You select a royal purple, lacy and intricate bodysuit with a cutout over your navel. It exposes your own tattoos brilliantly, your upper body almost without a blank space.
You grab a random pair of sweats and a hoodie, packing a bag at the same time and texting your neighbor to feed your cat, Milo, while you’re gone.
The drive there is too short for you to think about what you’re doing, but you pull up your recent test results and send them at a stoplight. She does the same, hers dated only two weeks prior, just like yours.
The hotel is…fancy, to say the least. She’s on the top floor, and the bellman guides you when you give her your name.
Vicky opens the door in a similar outfit to your own, taking your duffel bag and dropping it in the closet. She guides you to a small table, a glass of water and a protein bar sat in front of you.
“Drink and eat, while we talk boundaries.”
Without blinking, you listen, her eyes gleaming with pride.
“I basically need to be overstimulated to the point of losing my mind, if that makes sense. No stopping unless you need to or we call a safeword, I use the traffic light system. I don’t like anything in my butt. It’s not my thing. I’ll call you whatever you want and you can call me whatever you want, I like a mix of praise and degradation.” You say it all so fast that she laughs at your anxiousness, taking your free hand.
“I’m happy to do all of that, with one condition. You have to listen to me. If I tell you not to move, you stay still. I don’t mind a little brattiness, it’s cute, but I have been known to be a little heavy handed. You seem to like that idea.”
“Yes,” you nod emphatically. “Yes, I do.”
You finish your protein bar and set everything to the middle of the table, looking down at your hands.
“I know your life is really public,” you say softly. “Mine is not. I don’t care if your close friends know what you get up to with me tonight, but with my job, I need them to be able to trust me. I’m with them through everything and I just—“ your voice catches, eyes tearing up against your will. “I can’t lose them. They’re all I have.”
She stands, making her way to crouch in front of you. “Mirame, por favor.”
You meet her eyes, blurry through tears.
“I won’t let anything happen to you that you don’t want. This is private, this is sacred. You’re trusting me to care for you. I won’t compromise that, baby girl.”
Then you lean in and kiss her, and it feels like something spectacular happens, like someone stuck your fingers in a lightning bolt.
“Diablo, mami.” She curses, resting her forehead against yours. Your hair falls from where it was resting on your shoulder and she tugs it lightly, grinning. “Get on the bed, on your back.”
You hustle to follow her directions, stumbling over your shoe, and chuckle when she catches you. “Sorry, I’m a little clumsy.”
“I can see that,” she says, pushing you to lay back gently.
“I like you the way you are. Quit…What's the word? Fidgeting?”
“I think you’re aiming for fussing, and I’m sorry. Habit.”
“No more sorries mama. Just settle down.” She leans over you, tugging at the zipper of your jacket. “What will I find under here?”
You smile slyly. “Look and see.”
She unzips the jacket slowly, groaning when she sees the delicate lace beneath. She pushes the jacket off your front and stares, without moving her eyes tugging on your sweatpants. You wonder idly if she’ll leave the jacket on.
“You’re so pretty,” she coos. “Got all dressed up for me?”
“Yeah,” you breathe out. “Can I have a kiss?”
“Good job asking,” she hums, leaning down to kiss you softly, at first. Her hands leave your pants, leaving them halfway down your thighs, landing softly on your cheeks to work her thumbs into your jaw. She coaxes your mouth open and kisses you filthily, the noises echoing in the room.
She breaks the kiss to look down at you, her eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “You’re a phenomenal kisser by the way. Ten stars.”
“I think it’s supposed to be five stars?”
“Shhhh,” she kisses your cheek. “Just let me have my moment.”
Her hand lands on your throat in a warning, her eyes checking in. You nod lightly, and she adds the slightest pressure to the side of your throat. “Quit sassing me.”
You sigh, then let her continue kissing down your throat and hum impatiently when it’s too soft.
“You’re fine with your neck?”
“I have really good concealer. I invest in that shit.”
“I didn’t think you cursed.”
“You’ll hear a lot of that tonight.”
She kisses again, softly, then without warning bites harshly, and you groan in relief. This is what you like. The pain, the harsh sensation. She sucks on the skin there long enough that you know the mark will be large, and you grin dopeily.
She continues on that manner, working over your neck like she’s done this with you before, knows your body better than you do.
“I think I’ll leave the jacket on,” she muses. “You look so indecent like this, you know? I like it. I bet you’re always so put together.” She caresses just beneath your eye. “That mascara doesn’t look waterproof, either. It excites me.”
You swallow, not responding.
“You’re learning,” she praises, her thumb swiping just under your nipple. You gasp, arching into the touch. “Responsive, too.”
She pushes your sweatpants the rest of the way off, then settles on top of you, kissing her way over the bruises she’s left. Her lips are so soft, and you feel every ridge of her smile as she bites and licks her way down your sternum. Her hand splays the width of your stomach where the bodysuit is cut out, and she pushes lightly.
“Pretty art,” she comments, looking at you. “Is it just on your stomach?”
She’s looking for an answer, “My arms, back, and my stomach.”
“I didn’t notice any on your arms.”
“Long sleeves, it’s an under scrub shirt. I get really cold.” You shrug. “Sometimes, I let kids color the ones on my arms in when they’re upset.”
She melts a little, then goes back to her task of looking for the clasp on the front of the top, unhooking it and exposing your chest to the air.
“For this, you can grab my hair. I like it when it’s pulled.” She takes a nipple in her mouth and you groan, so hard that your voice cracks. Your hand flies to her hair and holds her there, and you watch as she takes her other hand and squeezes the other breast with a firm hand. You’re expecting fingerprint bruises from the pain, and sigh in relief when she bites down on the side of your breast.
She ravishes you with a dedication that has your brain going a little quieter than usual, the only noises you can make are moans and little whimpers when her teeth mark you. Her hand leaves your breast, finally, and travels down to hold down your hip from where you’ve started to grind on her.
“The first time you come will be on my tongue, baby girl. Don’t you dare.”
You whine, “Please. I just wanna come.”
“All you had to do was ask. Demand more from me when you want more.” She stands up, suddenly, and yanks you to the side of the bed by your knees. She drops to hers and unhooks the clasp holding it together, and her mouth is finally on you.
“Oh my god—Victoria,” you groan. “Oh my god.”
She makes little circles on your clit, her arm coming up to rest on your hips when you start to chase the feeling. She lets you get close, then closer, then pulls away only to stick her tongue inside of you. A wrecked moan falls from your lips and you reach down to grab her hair, relishing in the groan it pulls from her.
This time, she lets you get even closer, the edges of your vision going blurry. Her tongue is magic, you think. Something about the way she presses deeper and lighter at the same time, and—
“Noooo,” you groan. She’s pulled back fully now, biting at your thigh. “Please. Please let me come, daddy.”
It’s like the room freezes in time, the only sounds your heavy breathing and the rustle of fabric. You open your mouth to apologize when she starts eating you out vigorously, nodding at you in permission.
She likes that, you think to yourself. Noted.
You ask again, “Can I come? Please, daddy?”
She moans into you and nods, and your back bows off the bed with the force of it. You’re sniffling through the aftershocks when she quickly rolls you over into her arms, collecting you in her lap and pulling you close.
You fidget with her zipper, asking without words to touch her skin, and she obliges you easily, wrapping your arms tightly around her. She sways you back and forth, whispering soft words in English and Spanish until you stop shaking.
“You okay?” She murmurs into your hair.
“I’m okay,” you breathe out. “I’m—“
“No need to be sorry. Just sit with me, we can continue when you’re ready.”
You eventually stop shaking and sit up, pushing your jacket off your shoulders and tossing it off the bed. She smiles at your debauched look, kissing your shoulder.
“Lightning bolts?” She asks, tracing one with the tip of her finger.
“Yeah. They’re all the way from my neck to my shoulder, the back of my hair hides them pretty well.” You move your long hair off your neck and expose the snakes on your back, Medusa’s head staring back at her. “Got this one just for me, though. Then there’s my second favorite, my little tramp stamp.”
“I like it,” she laughs. “Monster?”
“That song? Yeah, I know it. Good hype song.”
You straddle her legs, placing your hands over her stomach. “Do you have a strap here?”
She nods, jutting her chin to her bag. “I can go get it. You’re ready to go again?”
“Yes, but I have a question,” at her nod, you continue, “Can we just keep going till one of us taps out?”
“Sounds fun, mami.” She lifts you off of her like it’s nothing, kissing your cheek and stripping on her way over. Her strap is also a deep purple, with a leather harness that looks hand made. It’s bigger than you’re used to, as well, but your mouth waters at the sight of it.
“Wanna get it nice and wet for me, sweetheart?” She grasps your chin. “Open.”
She spits into your mouth softly, guiding your head to the silicone jutting from her body.
You make a show of it, licking up the bottom of her, then taking it deep and holding it, letting the tears build up in your eyes. You’re trying so hard not to fidget, holding yourself still until she pulls you back by your hair.
“Good job,” she murmurs softly. “You’re such a pretty little slut.”
You blink up at her, a wide grin on your face. She’s getting more comfortable.
“I think you should ride me first,” she says, “So I can see what you like. Que pienses, mami?”
You nod, sitting back on your ankles while she arranges herself on the bed, her back leaning up against the headboard. You furrow your brows lightly.
“Yellow,” you say, then grab a pillow to put behind her back. It’s not safe to have no support in case something goes wrong, or—
“Do you need to talk?” Vicky asks gently. “Everything okay?”
“Yes. It’s the nurse in me, I didn't want you to hurt yourself.” You laugh. “Take the girl out of the hospital, can't take the hospital out of the girl.”
She smiles. “Good to go now, nurse?”
“Then sit on this dick and get to work,” she says roughly, her voice like gravel. “Let me see you.”
You line yourself up over her, deciding that the pain is worth the reward, and slam down harshly. You immediately cry out at the stretch, and she reaches for you instantly.
“Tan cuidado, díos.” She holds you still. “You could have hurt yourself.”
“I—“ you gasp, rolling your hips. “I wanted it to hurt a little.”
“Masochist,” she shakes her head at you, only joking. “Go on, then. Let me know if you want me to do anything.”
You take a few test thrusts, holding onto her shoulders. It feels a lot bigger than whatever you've used before, but it’s a pleasurable sting. Comforting in a way you start to appreciate, getting lost in the movement.
“That’s all? You don’t want to put on a little show for me?” She tsks. “Come on baby, let me see what you can do. You were so eager earlier.”
The taunting makes you flush, deeper than you can put into words, so you take your hands off of her and place them behind you, on her knees, and watch her jaw drop. You’re more flexible than you look, almost into a back bend to get the angle you want. You whimper, meeting her eyes.
“Can you put your fingers on me? Please?”
She places her hand on your abdomen, fanning out until her pinky touches your clit. “Better?”
“N-No,” you whine, “on my clit, baby, please.”
“So nice,” she murmurs, thumbing over you like you’re an instrument, only for her to play. Your brain feels a little mushy, quieter than it was earlier. All you can think about are the movements in your stomach. The way her skin is so, so soft where it meets your hands.
“I like it like this, when I’m on top.” You whimper, squeezing your hands. “I can’t move that much, my hips are bad.”
“Aren’t you like, 25?” She teases, still keeping up with her movements.
“Twenty four, actually.” You roll your eyes once. “I was a dancer who didn’t stretch enough.”
“I’d love to see you dance, mami. Why don’t you show me?”
You make a show of it until the pressure starts to build in your abdomen, and you wrap your arms around her shoulders, pulling her tighter to you. You come just like that, your stomach clenching and releasing harshly. Your breath comes out in small little pants, directly into her ear.
She kisses just below your eye, pushing your hair back off of your shoulder. She looks contemplative, like she’s deciding if she wants to say something.
“Say it,” you whisper, pushing your fingers through her short hair. It curls on the ends beautifully, and you twirl one around your finger.
“I’m wondering if I want you from behind, or I want to watch you come again.” You exhale sharply, pausing in your movements on her that you didn’t realize you’d started.
“I guess that’s up to you,” you say, then sit back to get a good look at her. She’s entirely too calm.
She gives you a minute, then two, then flips you over and puts your legs over her shoulders, pounding into you with a strength you didn’t think she’d have.
“You like it like this?” Her breath comes out in short bursts, like this is getting her off too. Your legs shake from exertion, the stretch just this side of too far, but you love it. You’re crying fully now, your whines turning into sobs and she smiles, like this is pleasing for her.
You do faint, this time. Waking up still crying is a shock, but you love it. You feel boneless and sated and so calm that you can barely remember your name. Vicky is holding you, still inside of you, and trying to get your hair off your neck.
“Baby? Hey, look at me.” She grasps your chin in one hand. “Good job, mi amor. Good job. I’m gonna pull out now, okay?”
You grown at the loss of contact, but feel such a relief that you start to cry again.
“I’m calling it, okay? No màs.” She discards the strap and pulls you into her chest. “Need to calm you down.”
“It’s—“ you hiccup. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I need this.”
“Would you like a bath?” She whispers. “It makes me feel better.”
You nod and let her carry you to the bathroom, kissing her cheek once she sets you down. The water is warm when you get in, and you hold onto her tightly as it soothes your muscles.
She laughs. “What kind of dancer were you, nena?”
“Oh,” you huff. “Contemporary. Lyrical, sometimes. I did acrobatics for a little while but then I fucked up my back, had to do physical therapy. I quit in college.”
“I’d love to see videos one day,” she pauses. “Will you stay here with me tonight? It helps me recover after—“
“I’d hope you wouldn’t kick me out.” You tease. “Of course, I’ll stay. When do you have to leave?”
“About 11 in the morning, but I can extend if you’re still sleeping.”
You shake your head, “I wake up at 7:30 every morning. I don’t sleep in.”
She holds you till the water runs cold, then wraps you up in a towel while she grabs something to put on the bruises. It’s cold and she’s so gentle, apologizing when you flinch.
She tucks you into her side as you go to bed, immediately falling asleep.
When you wake up, there’s a note.
Call me when you wake up. I went to the gym.
You dial her number and wait, hanging up when she walks through the door. It’s exactly 7:33, so she must have timed it so you didn’t wake up alone.
“Good morning,” she sings. “Do you want breakfast?”
“I would say yes, but I don’t eat in the mornings.”
“You know, I thought you might say that, so I am asking you to eat with me. I ordered a full spread, you seem to like sugar, so there is pancakes and sweeter coffee.”
You roll your eyes and stretch, watching her eyebrows pop up as your joints crack. You laugh, waving your hand.
“I just need to stretch. Can I have a shirt, please?”
She tosses you one of hers, it fitting you loosely and hitting the tops of your thighs. You run through a few stretches, faster than you normally would, when room service drops off breakfast.
“Eat,” she hears you to the table. “It’ll make me happy.”
You eat together, making easy conversation and she laughs at the absurd amount of sugar you put in your coffee, drinking hers with just milk.
She mopes while you shower alone, packing up your things and leaving you her hoodie and an extra snack in your bag. You don’t want to go either, but you know this was only—
“You know,” she muses. “I’m here a lot for work.”
“You are,” you say slowly.
“I’d like to see you again, if that’s alright. I had fun. You’re beautiful and funny, so if you’d like, we can see each other when I’m here?”
You smile. “I’d like that.”
author's first time writing x reader, so if there's errors, I'll get better.
