I wanna cry thinking about check-ins with Jaaaaack :(( he'd be sooo sweet, so gentle.
Hes sooo in tune with you. Big warm hands on your body at all times. He tries to hold one of your hands when he's fully inside you if he can!!
But he'll notice even the smallest of things; a small flinch or wince you try to hide and hes immediately checking in with you.
"We okay?"
And youre confused cos you didnt even realize youd done it.
"Yeah," you're nearly out of breath with the way his cock fills you, "please keep going."
Or sometimes the scene is just a little too intense, its new to be tied up. He's only ever spanked you in the past while your ankles were bound but now you're a mess with your hands bound at your back and your ankles tied tight together as he brings the warm of his palm down to the stinging skin of your asscheek.
You dont even notice your teeth are chattering and youre shivering, jolting even when hes not touching you.
So he immediately goes into daddy mode.
He kneels on the bed beside your head, slipping a hand under your jaw and his other at your hands bound at the dip of your back, helping you up to sit back on your haunches so he can get a good look at you.
"You okay?"
You nod but the way your eyes droop and teeth chatter convince him otherwise.
"Are you cold?"
You shake your head.
A moment passes where you think he's gonna shove you back down into the comforter and you're not quite sure you'd be able to handle much more. Your legs feel weak and your head is fuzzy with mush.
"Whats your safe word?"
It takes a second for it to come back to you among the haze and a second too long for Jack's liking apparently because he snaps the rope fibers almost immediately.
You cant even get a word in.
"We're done for tonight."
"Dadd–" the word almost falls but you catch yourself.
Jack raises a silver brow at you, unimpressed.
"Think we need a break?"
You nod.
"Me too."
Or or or after everything when hes got you all wrapped up in his big, warm arms, he strokes a hand up and down the dip of your spine, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder and the curve of your jaw, telling you "gotta tell me when something doesnt feel right, 'kay?"
You nod, you try to arch yourself into him but a hand on your hip stops you. He turns your head to look at him.
"M'serious. Daddy takes care of you but he cant catch everything. Need you tell him when it doesnt feel right."
"Yes sir."
Jack hums softly, brings you in for a kiss, slipping a hand between your thighs to cup your heat through your pj shorts.
Your hips roll into his hand but he stops you, pulling his hand away and kissing your cheek as he hums "already told you no."
Description: You and your new boyfriend haven't had sex yet. Though, getting drunk for the first time — and seeing your gorgeous boyfriend take care of you — awakens that dormant part. Or, you being a drunk mess trying to get him to fuck you, and him fighting his self-control.
Tags/warnings: Drinking, r is drunk, lots of flirting, highly suggesting themes, lots of mentions of sex, huge age-gap (reader in 20's, abbott is 50), size difference, horniness lol, slight allusions to dom!jack
Note: This is my first fic, and i wrote it in one go. While I tried to make the reader very neutral in terms of characteristics — the fic is highly self-indulgent (i, too, am horny for abbott), and you may see some mentions of reading having hair, reader being in heels.
“I kind of want to get shitfaced.”
Jack did not turn to look at you. He just huffed into his cup of black coffee, held closely to his lips. The kind of black coffee that made you wrinkle your nose. You proudly liked yours with a bit of milk in it. Okay, a lot of milk. To the point, Jack called it a milkshake.
His eyes remained fixated at the screen of his phone, straining even with his reading glasses, to read the daily news on a bulletin app you downloaded on his phone.
“What about your policy against having fun, and letting yourself go for more than two minutes in a row?” Jack asks in his low voice, scratchy from the coffee. His eyes finally find yours, as he takes a slow sip from his cup. His eyebrows raise at you questioningly, holding your gaze.
Damn him and his gaze. Even after 6 weeks of dating — and pining for a lot longer than that — he sure could still make you feel like a puddle.
You're only able to speak once he turns to his phone again. “Uh, excuse you, I'm a very fun person, thank you very much. Yesterday, I put a fake ‘your computer is down’ screen on Shen's laptop,” you tell proudly.
“Dear god. He did not go into a cardiac arrest from your…prank?” Jack's voice caught on the word “prank” as if it deeply amused him.
You narrowed your eyes at your boyfriend (still hard to say that), shifting close enough to him on his couch that your knee knocked against his thigh. Your entire body faced him, while his faced the front — a tiny whine left your lips.
Jack turned his attention back to you as you spoke again. “You know it's the loss of control I hate. Don't you think I also feel like getting all loose-lipped and dancing on top of tables and flirting with strangers?”
His eyes softened a fraction when he saw the small frown on your lips. He sets his phone face-down on the arm of the couch, before shifting so his upper half faced you too. “Okay, what brings this on? You know I just like teasing, I don't think there's anything wrong with being an alcohol virgin.”
You rolled your eyes at his choice of words. “I want to know what it's like. It makes everyone so…” your hands do a weird dance in front of your chest, trying to find a proper word. Your attending swiftly moves his cup a bit to the left, so your hands wouldn't knock it all over yourself.
“Joyful,” you finished.
“Okay, but let's not dance on table tops and flirt with strangers,” he takes off his reading glasses and perches them next to his phone. When his eyes find you again, they're equal parts amused, and that softness that only seems to show up when you're in the room.
“I would never, I'd feel bad for giving you stress at your age.”
He lightly smacks your hip that's not smushed against the couch, “Brat.”
You grin widely, “You'll be there, right?”
“With a camera and a mic. My beautiful, sensible, nurse, looking like an absolute fool,” he tugged at a loose strand of your hair, his eyes shining with endearment.
Your little baby blue sling looks absolutely ridiculous hung over his shoulder. “What did I tell you before leaving?” His voice strains with the effort of all the workout he got in today. He's struggling with unlocking the door, because your purse keeps slipping down his arms.
You were a disaster. While your favourite doctor made sure you only stuck to fruity drinks that gave you a pleasant buzz and not regrets — you still managed to outdo yourself in terms of being a mess.
You challenged a man twice your size in an arm wrestle. You advised 3 different women to break up with their boyfriends, “Mine's handsome and kind. You guys stay safe, though.” And, finally, broke the heel of your left boot making you even more unbalanced than you already were.
“That Dr. Robby is a little shit with no self-preservation inst-”
“The other one, honey.”
You went silent for a moment, searching your hazy brain as the door opened in front of you. Jack gently guided you in, before locking the door with a sharp click. His rough hands sneak up your arms, tugging the jacket at your shoulders, and shrug it off you to safely hang it on his coat rack.
“That I shouldn't carry my bag if I couldn't keep it safe?” you say, looking down at him, as he sets his knee on the floor. His hands that cut and heal skin with such precision, are deftly working the zipper of your boots. He gently helps your feet out of the pair, patting your calf, before rising to his full height again with a groan.
Without your size boosters, your head was once again leveled with his chest. Jack nodded, leaning his head down so you didn't have to crane your neck as much.
“But I had my ID and pepper spray in there,” you justified, your lower lip jutting out in a pout.
Jack's hand pats the right-side pocket of his hands, “ID,” his voice rumbling as if coming straight from his chest. “And you don't need pepper spray. You have me.”
But you're not registering a word he says, not when he looks like this. His salt and pepper curls are all ruffled from your bar visit. His simple black tee is pulled taut across his biceps, making them look just as delicious as they do in his SWAT uniform.
His fingers snap in front of you, “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” You look in his honeyed eyes again. God, why haven't you guys had sex already? You seriously can't remember why.
“Why haven't we fucked?” You blurt out. Oh, the alcohol doesn’t make you Joyful. It makes you blunt.
Your boyfriend freezes for a second, before letting out a deep, throaty laugh. His hands settle on your shoulders. With a slight bend of his knees, he manages to stare completely and directly into your eyes. “Wow, thought we went to the bar, not to a seminar for clear communication.”
You capture both his hands and slide them down, so they're firmly on your hips. After humming in satisfaction, you take a step closer to him, your chest brushing his. “Answer me.”
As if suddenly realizing you both are still standing in the entryway, Jack starts walking you backwards, swiftly maneuvering you so you don't hit the kitchen counter. “I'm your attending, honey, I don't answer to you,”
You furrow your brows, staring up at him with irritation. You press yourself even closer to him, your palms settling on his hard stomach. “Like hell you don't. I want to know why me and my gorgeous boyfriend haven't made good use of every room in this too-big-for-you house.”
Jack sighs deeply, his fingers unconsciously tightening around your hips. He takes a seat on one of the low kitchen counter stools, so he doesn't have to keep looking down at you. His arms completely wrap around your waist, pulling you in until you're standing between the hard muscle of his thighs.
“Because we work at a hospital, we're either busy or tired. And…it's hard to find a footing with sex. You tense up whenever my hand slips under your shirt, you've talked about how insecure you get. And me…well, I'm not what I used to be.”
Your eyes soften, “But do you want me?” Your lips graze his jaw, your hands palming the hard plane of his chest.
Jack shifts in his seat and takes a deep breath, “What do you think, baby?” his right hand moves an inch lower with exaggerated slowness, settling on the top curve of your ass, his thumb stroking the curve.
You let out an entirely pathetic whimper at his breathy voice, his lips brushing your temple. You move back your face, so you can watch him again. His eyes look darker than they actually are.
“I see this as a good opportunity that we should seize, doctor.” His throat catches at the ‘doctor’. Oh, you are not a fair player.
“Well, I don't like my medical staff being inhibited. Perhaps, sometimes when you're horny and sober, we can continue the procedure.” His breaths are coming in shallow, his hard thighs squeezing around you to completely lock you in. His hands have not stopped moving, the one on your waist has moved north to tangle in your hair at the nape of your neck.
A petulant whine leaves your lips as you bury your mouth in the crook of his neck. “But-”
“No buts. I have no intention of being between your legs in a state you won't even remember anything in.” The rasp in his voice so close to your ear directly travels to the your belly, already coiling tight with tension.
The imagery makes you groan: His mouth working between your legs, his jaw shining under the dim lights, stopping for a moment to say, “Louder, baby. Your doctor can't hear you.”
Your lips slip from his neck, replaced by your forehead. His lips brush against your hair, the gentleness so different from what his body is suggesting.
“Kids and their hormones,” he teasingly says. That makes you pull yourself back. Because that's rich coming from a man whose pants are getting visibly tighter.
“Is that so, grandpa?” Your eyes are entirely fixated on his lips. Your own bottom lip has caught between your teeth.
His thumb comes up to free your lip so you don't hurt it, “Careful, brat.” His hand stays on your face, and you lean heavily into his palm, blinking at him. The strap of your top has conveniently fallen off from its place, and Jack is staring like a man who's just discovered shoulders, tracking the soft curve of it, following the slope of your neck, where your pulse thrums rapidly.
Leave it to him to have a gaze that weights at least a 300 pounds.
Your palms drop from his chest to his waist, brushing your fingers against the waistband of his pants. A soft “uh-uh” leaves his mouth as he slowly shakes his head, though he makes no move with his hands to push you away.
“You're palming at me like you're a little girl, and I'm your favorite barbie doll.”
“You are my favorite barbie doll, Dr. Abbott,” it leaves your mouth in a soft, needy, whine.
His shoulder shake slightly from laughter, the comforting rumble filling the room, subsequently reaching every tensed part of your body, and taking its place there too, perfectly fitting every crook and corner.
“I am a 50-year old man with a military background, who spends his nights managing an entire floor of medical staff. My day hobbies include being a buddy to SWAT and getting shot at.”
You look at him, as if to say “so?” and hearing the adoration — despite the choice of words — in your voice completely decentres him. “Glad to be your favourite barbie doll, honey.”
He finally freezes when your wandering palm brushes against the hard ridge in his pants, practically begging to be freed. You let out a little gasp as you feel his size, even with a barrier of rough fabric.
A low groan leaves him, his hand sharply capturing your bold wrist against his own chest, heaving up and down. For someone just talking about being 50, the man's heart is sure beating with a fast thump-thump-thump, like a teenage boy catching his crush in a 2-feet vicinity. Your name leaves his mouth, dirty and like a prayer at the same time.
“Let me help you, doctor. Please” you say sweetly, voice coated in silk and need and whatever poison this man mixed in your drinks.
A pause.
He gets off the stool in a sudden motion, his hands grip your forearms, and starts walking you backwards in the general direction of the bathroom.
“You are a pain in my ass. And, frankly, a horny mess.”
“Speaking of horny and my ass-”
He doesn't let you complete the sentence before turning you around, his broad chest hovering over your form from the back. “Nope. You have lost the privilege of looking at me before you've taken a cold shower.”
You tilt your head back to look at him, excitement glinting in your eyes, “together?”
“No, you pervert.” Your boyfriend opens the door to the bathroom and lets you both in. Before you can even complain, his rough palms are gripping the back of your thighs, swiftly lifting you up on the counter. You let out a little squeal, squeezing your thighs at the display of his strength.
Show-off.
So fucking hot, though. It's like he was made by Lana Del Ray's mind.
Jack doesn’t stop, though. He finds his way behind the glass that separates the shower from the rest of the bathroom. His practiced hands mess with the settings until he's satisfied, and comes back.
He stands in front of you again, crossing his arms over his chest. His muscles strain at the motion, trying to escape their way from the tight shirt. You pout at his slut-ishness. A walking, talking, thirst trap. If he was an actor, he would surely have his fare share of editors.
“How am I supposed to not get wet when you manhandle me?”
“Jesus,” he mumbles, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes to lull some of his composure back into him. He silently thanks his military discipline, or you would currently be spread on the soft sheets of his bed, waking up his neighbours.
He takes a deep breath, eyes scanning you again. His fingers come up to pinch your chin in a soft embrace, “Shower. Clean. Mind and body both. And then, we will sleep. Got it?”
Heat pools low in your belly at his authoritative voice. God, how did you land this man?
“Sir, yes, sir.” You watch his gaze get heavy at the word. He leaves his hold on your chin, pats your hip, and exits the bathroom.
Guess you know what you'll be calling him, when he finally lets you do what your body is begging you to do.
You find him on his bed, wearing only a pair of low hung worn-out sweatpants. His back is slumped against the pillows, fingers locked behind his head as he stares at the ceiling.
He finally looks at you, crawling on his king-sized bed, trying to make your way over to him. It seems the shower un-possessed you. You look soft, sleepy, tired, and utterly his.
He holds out his arm and you immediately curl up into him, your icy-cold nose finding the hollow of his neck. “Hold me,” you murmur.
“One second, honey.” Before he can properly embrace you, he pulls up the thick duvet and arranges it to cover both of you. His left arm is trapped under your body, fingers pressing against the small of your back to pull you closer. His other hand brushes the hair back from your face, watching your heavy eyelids.
“There you are,” he softly rumbles before pressing the softest, most lingering kiss on your temple. A low sigh of satisfaction leaves you. You're still inhibited, but the tiredness has caught up.
“You didn't like the freaky me?” You ask, your jaw cracking with a yawn right after.
“I like every-you, unfortunately. It's a weakness in the ED.” His fingers are still moving in your hair, scratching your scalp in a way that turns your brain to mush. You push your face even deeper in his neck. Hell, you would live inside his ribcage if he ever allowed it.
You let out a soft giggle, hiking your thigh over his hip so no part of you is separate from him. “Can we have a proper conversation about sex tomorrow?”
Your boyfriend murmurs a “yes, baby,” against your forehead.
“Okay, goodnight. Gonna have some good wet dreams.”
“Shut up, and go to sleep, sweetheart.”
If anybody even reads this, and ends up liking it - pls feel free to glaze me in comments, asks, or dms. likes and reblogs appreciated as well <3
you slide your card toward the register like it’s nothing, like you didn’t spend the last hour watching dick grayson smile at you across dinner and pretending your knees weren’t weak.
he notices immediately. of course he does. this man has the reflexes of a cat and the dramatic instincts of a theatre kid raised by ninjas.
“hey— hey, hey, hold on.” he’s already halfway out of his chair, eyes wide, voice half-laughing like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “what do you think you’re doing?”
you blink. “...paying?”
dick presses a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him. “paying? you? for me?” he shakes his head slowly, lips twitching. “that’s cute. wrong, but cute.”
you try not to smile, because he’s being ridiculous, standing there in his leather jacket, hair falling into his eyes like he was crafted to be your weakness. “i just thought I could take this one.”
“no, no, sweetheart.” he steps closer, resting his palms on the counter beside your hand. you can feel the warmth of him, the way he crowds in without being pushy. “that’s my job.”
you raise a brow. “your job?”
his grin softens just enough to make your heart stutter. “yeah. my job. i asked you out. i pay. that’s the rule.”
“that’s not a real rule.” you argue.
“it is in the dick grayson handbook,” he counters, tapping the imaginary badge on his chest. “chapter one: be a gentleman. chapter two: do unnecessary flips. chapter three: pay for dates.”
you snort. “i swear you make half of this up.”
he leans in, lowering his voice like it’s a secret just for you. “only the parts meant to make you smile.”
your cheeks warm and he definitely catches it. His eyes flicker in that smug soft boy way, not arrogant, just unbearably fond.
dick nudges your card back toward you with two fingers, slow and deliberate. “look… i know you can pay. you’re capable, you’re independent, you scare the hell out of me in the best way.” he pauses, blue eyes bright, honest. “but let me treat you tonight. i want to.”
you swallow. “you really don’t like when i try to pay, huh?”
he huffs a laugh, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “i like that you try. i like that you’re thoughtful. but it also makes me wanna wrap you up in my arms and say ‘nope, not happening’ every single time.”
“possessive much?” you tease.
“only when it comes to you,” he shoots back, grinning like it’s the most natural truth in the world.
he takes your card, sets it back in your bag, and presses the tiniest kiss to your forehead before you can argue. “let me do this one. consider it… an investment in more nights like this.”
you look up at him, fighting a smile. “and what do i owe in return?”
dick shrugs lightly, looping his fingers with yours as he hands his card to the cashier. “just keep showing up.”
and the way he says it. Soft, earnest, like you’re the best thing to happen to his week...yeah.
cw: bicep biting, teasing, male whimpering, dry humping, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, talking you through it, hair pulling, he's described as big, back scratching, creampies, not proofread.
ⓘ Featuring how sexy Dick Grayson is for his pretty girl.
boyfriend!dick who muffles your moans with his bicep whenever you're staying over at his father's, cooing, "You need to be quiet" so his family won't find out how dirty you are, as if he isn't the one fucking into you so hard the headboard's slamming against the wall.
+ Bonus points: Whenever you finish, and he pulls back to see drool on his arm along with the teeth marks, he knows he did well.
boyfriend!dick who can spend hours teasing you before getting to work, with light brushes of his fingers up your thigh, light kisses to your lips, and rubbing the tip along your slit, but pulling back once you start begging him to just fuck you already.
Eventually, you wear each other down; you're moaning out his name & he's struggling not to finish in two minutes.
boyfriend!dick loves when you go down on him, fists clenching against the sheets as he struggles not to guide your head, biting down the sweetest moan every time you swirl your tongue around his blushing tip.
After he finishes in your mouth, he'll always wipe your lips clean & whisper how pretty you are in the shakiest, hottest tone known to man.
boyfriend!dick who tends to get a little needy & sometimes ends up dry humping you till he's creamed his boxers instead of just fucking you like he'd originally planned. Noting "it felt too good to stop" while letting out a choked laugh & burying his face in your throat.
He'll always joke about it afterwards. But it's kind of obvious at the moment how embarrassed he feels about it.
boyfriend!dick likes to finger you after a blowjob, scissoring you open on long fingers so he can stare at the wetness pooling on your skin while telling you just how sexy it looks to him & licks you clean after each orgasm.
He likes to give you at least two orgasms per one of his.
boyfriend!dick has grown used to your nails sinking into his back every time he bottoms out; he's even grown to like how every few thrusts bring the sweet sting of your nails scratching at him in sync with sharp moans.
boyfriend!dick who is well aware just how endowed he is & always takes it slow to let you adjust, making sure to whisper sweet little praises in your ear.
boyfriend!dick who has made himself well acquainted with your clit, happily goes down on you every time you're being bratty or not in a good mood, knowing his tongue can be an instant mood booster.
He always moans at the feeling of your nails scratching at his scalp, pulling & begging for more, loving the sensation of feeling your pleasure through the sharp tugs.
boyfriend!dick who has a bad pullout game & ends up accidentally filling you up more often than he'd like to admit. He's so embarrassed when he pulls out and sees his seed spilling out, but your fucked-out expression always makes him feel better about it.
"more?" he coos, hot breath fanning against your ear "but, baby I thought it was 'too much'?" he continues slapping the tip of his cock against your swollen bundle of nerves. earning him more of your delicious whines.
he's been at this for what feels like forever. playing with you, rubbing at your sensitve bundle of nerves until you're begging for more, only to stop when you get too close. letting your eyes fill up with hot tears of frustration as you tremble underneath him. it's not fair.
"but you're a big girl, huh? you can take more" he whispers into your ear, sinking the swollen head of his cock into you. just barely giving you what you need before you start whining again.
he chuckles, a boyish grin spreading over his features. "thaaaats it. just needed my cock huh, sweet girl." he says thrusting the tip of his cock in and out of your puckering hole. you nod desperately, mewling out little broken pleas as he takes his time. painstakingly sinking his cock into inch by inch.
contains: dry humping & some domesticity. that's it that's all ^.^
wc: 1.9K (idk how i did that)
i did proofread, but yk... ദ്ദി◝ ⩊ ◜
so easy to fall in love ♡
“saturday? yeah, i got it. well, tell auntie that we’ll try our best to be there, but i can’t make any promises.”
your eyebrows furrow and your lips morph into a curious pout as you zone in on the tail end of your boyfriend’s phone call. the movie you had been streaming immediately became unimportant with the brief mention of his family claiming your full attention instead.
likely referring to another impromptu get-together that they’re clearly asking for you both to attend, you were itching to learn the details of it over the plot of a film you admittedly had little interest in before you even pressed play. the fact that the volume hadn’t made it past ten should’ve been enough to emphasize its insignificance.
“doesn’t matter to me, but i’ll ask her and see what she thinks.” valko exhales with a hum of approval in acknowledgment to whatever else his cousin was relaying, leaning back and tilting his head so that his temple can rest comfortably against your knee. with the warmth of him against you and the soft caress of his fingers along and around your ankle, little moments like these made you cherish having a man so mindlessly affectionate.
to call your boyfriend clingy was an understatement, but it was something about him that you’d never trade for anything in the world. the moment you welcomed him into your life with open arms and kissed him sweetly when he confidently asked you with the silliest smile to be his girl forever, you knew what kind of relationship it was bound to be.
to this day, it didn’t matter if he had important phone calls, intricate things to study up on, or confidential documents to overlook and analyze. one thing for certain was that he would always do any and all of it wherever you were if he could.
ten minutes go by before he’s finally sitting up and removing the earbuds from his ears and the whole headset from around his neck. whatever work he had been click-clacking away at for the last two hours after taking a shower and having dinner was disregarded when he shuts the screen of his laptop and turned to look up at you holding the cute wolf plushie he’d won for you a couple months back.
“everything okay?” you ask him softly as he faces you completely, reaching out to gently rake your fingernails through the soft and now fully dried hair right behind his ear.
getting to watch that handsome face of his fall completely relaxed and content was truly a sacred experience. his immediate submission is something you frequently tease him for when compared to his cocky demeanor, but you both knew you’d never hear the end of it should you stop for any reason.
“yeah, it’s all good. random brunch for the third time this month over the weekend. you up for it? by all means, say no if you prefer to just chill with the love of your life or whatever.”
“you and your family are just too cute. once again, i’m reminded where you get all that audacity from.”
valko grins at the giggle you can’t contain, continuing to explore the softness of your skin as you both doted on the other silently. settling between your legs while he sits on the floor was on the top of his list of his preferred kind of intimacy. “but you know i’m down if you are. i go where you go. i mean duhhh, that’s how we always move. like a pack, right?”
he leans deeper into your touch, eyes nearly falling shut completely from the euphoria he gets out of the way you love on him with one of the things he classifies as a guilty pleasure. truthfully, he wasn’t secretive about such an obsession at all, but what was known didn’t always need to be said out loud. unless used against him, of course.
“didn’t even give you any info on it yet and you’re already so eager to follow me like a good little pup, huh?”
“oh, i’m the eager one?” the protest ready to fall from his lips is first expressed in the pinch of his brows when your hand slips away from the stimulation being given to one of his favorite spots. his expressions had the tendency to give away any thoughts before he could say a word. it’s why he always says you read him better than any book he’s ever laid his eyes on.
“what the fuc—”
“watch it,” you warn playfully. whatever was to be said is swallowed down when the pads of your fingertips begin tracing the defined outline of his jawline before resting on the underside of his chin. “so quick to start with me. aren’t you supposed to be my good boy?”
valko takes your lighthearted taunting as a challenge, grasping you by the wrist and bringing it up to his nose to inhale your addictive scent and the faint aroma of your perfume.
“aren’t i always?”
“you have your moments. i’ve gotta say though, obedience looks super sexy on you.”
“hm. i bet it does.” his grin brings out the subtle dimples in his cheeks. “is it my turn to make a move now?”
he’s pulling you off the couch and on top of him before you’re capable of offering a response to his vague request. the two of you are caught in a laughing fit all the way down until his back hits the plush rug and you’re settled in his lap.
the chuckles are interrupted when you feel his not-so-little friend prodding at you for some kind of attention.
“oh, you perv.”
“perv? that’s not a nice thing to say to the man of your dreams, now is it?” he’s slipping his hands beneath your shorts as his palms slide up the outside of your thighs. “i just consider this instinctual. others would say natural. can’t blame me for what i can’t control.”
the heaviness of his hardening cock pressing into you from below had a steadily increasing heartbeat thumping in your panties. from the soft look he sports with his glasses, the oversized red sweater you got him last christmas, and the dark gray sweats doing nothing to conceal what you were quickly becoming unashamedly desperate for, no way were you getting off of him without some kind of relief.
valko watches you closely as you raise said sweater to sit below his chin, revealing the big, strong, and sculpted body that you’ve fallen helplessly head over heels for. he was hard where you were soft, and it was opposites like that that made you fit so well.
“would you look at that. and i’m the one being labeled a pervert. baby, i think we’re mixing things up.”
“can’t i admire my boyfriend? isn’t this natural?”
it’s almost like his eyes shine when you use his own words against him.
“‘course you can. in fact, you better. but…” he sniffs up at the air four times, a smug grin taking over his lips. “i’m sensing that admiration isn’t the only thing you’ve got planned in that big head of head of yours.”
“fuck off,” you laugh, pinching his nose. “and don’t act so tough.”
with one slow upward motion of your hips, the thickness pulsing against you seems to swell even bigger than before. his teeth tuck his bottom lip into his mouth from the sensation and his hold on your hips deepens, nails biting deliciously at your flesh. “admiration isn’t enough for you anyways.”
your lips fall to his quickly, tongues battling for a dominance you know he’d fight tooth and nail to be the one to conquer. but he throughly enjoys a biting prey and it’s why he loves you.
his hands are sliding out the fabric of your sleepwear to find purchase on other parts of your body the more heated your sensual exchange becomes. as he licks at the roof of your mouth and tries his hardest to devour you whole, you’re embraced by his large hands grabbing at you like the greedy beast he’s proud to be.
it’s when he makes his way back to your hips that you both know this wouldn’t last long. and when he starts to frantically guide you to grind against him faster, holding you down to feel him through the few layers of clothes that’s causing separation, instinctively you knew that it was in your best interest to prepare yourself for the more he was going to give soon after this.
“you’re not… hah—wearing underwear…” you breathe against his mouth glistening with your shared saliva. you’re quick to take off his glasses from the growing frustration of them getting in your way of being closer, discarding them towards the plush cushions with fingers crossed for a safe landing.
“aren’t you smart.” the teasing inflection in his tone and the deepness of his voice has the your cunt throbbing to the point of growing uncomfortable.
your clit continues to ache the more you move with him, nipples grazing underneath your top and begging to be sucked into his mouth.
“sit up,” he says breathlessly with another sloppy kiss to your partially swollen lips.
he keeps you moving on his cock as you rise, lustful gaze focused on the way your shorts ride up your thighs and cling to your pussy from how taut he’s got them pulled to increase the friction. the outline of his dick moving against it back and forth, trying its best to nestle in between—the visual alone has him bucking up and trying to make that a reality.
valko’s hands slide up the sides of your torso and his thumbs delicately play with your peaked nipples beneath your t-shirt.
“val,” you whine, resting your hand on his chest to keep you steady as you try your hardest to not lose your shit from the sensitivity taking over everywhere. “w-want it inside. want it so bad…”
“you open that pretty mouth for everything else.” he flicks them this time to make you tense and for tears to damn near overfill both your waterlines. “should’ve just said how much you wanted to be fucked way sooner, pup. saves us so much time.”
but you can’t wait for that now, not when you’re so close. the lone idea of stopping was aggravating enough.
your head falls back from the insatiable manner in which you chase your high, using his body to the highest degree to help get you there.
“you smell so sweet,” he coos through a husky moan. “mm. you’ll let me taste it later? it’s not good to be stingy.”
“right t-there,” you mewl, pressing your lips together before your vision practically blurs and and has you seeing dots. your orgasm is cataclysmic, and valko keeps your momentum going despite the clear overstimulation you’re experiencing. hearing you sing for him like this and watching you fall apart was worth your little hits of retaliation later.
he’s not far behind you either, thick spurts of sticky cum making a complete mess in his pants soon after you cave and quickly seeps through the material to add to the wet spot in between your legs.
both of you sit breathless with the sound of your forgotten movie still playing and being the only thing to fill the silence.
“you can taste it if i can taste you, too.”
“a deal?” he raises an eyebrow as if he’s open to negations. “other than the obvious, what’s really in it for me?”
of course he never misses an opportunity to play coy.
“keep making me feel good…” your thumb swipes along his bottom lip. “and maybe you’ll find out. or are you too scared?”
you sure were bold to offer up another challenge like this. and he could show you better than he could promise that this time, he wouldn’t go easy.
a/n: ofc i haaaddd to write about that picture. i’m so obsessed with it. like i was genuinely imagining this…. i almost felt it—AND, i know we can’t really tell if he’s ooc or not but if you think he’s ooc… DON’T TELL ME!!!!!!! valko baby, you’re ALIVE over here. they can’t take you from me. i hope you enjoyed, my cuties. MWAH MWAH!!!
﹙♡﹚yeah, no. valko won't become lost media under my watch. infold gave me enough information to make myself a general idea regarding his personality, so you best believe he's going to be considered the sixth and official li in this blog. love him so much 𐙚˙⋆.˚
it had been raining horribly for days, and going outside was a questionable choice.
you were focused on your screen, watching a silly drama series while clutching a cushion, your eyebrows furrowed.
you truly needed the entertainment, or else you'd bore yourself after thirty-six hours of confinement.
“how dumb, why doesn't he just confess…?” you whispered to yourself, taking a sip of your sweet, warm tea without looking away from the unnecessarily heartbreaking scenes.
just then, you heard a knock on your door.
it was five past eleven, no one in their right mind would go out so late, let alone when it was raining like crazy.
you paused the series and went to your door with soft, hesitant steps, your eyes narrowing.
“...who is it?” you asked, not daring to open the door just yet.
a soft whining noise caught your attention, most likely a puppy's.
did someone abandon a pup on your doorstep?
oh gosh, who'd do such a thing?
you opened it immediately, and when you looked down, expecting to see a wet box with a poor little creature inside, you found a pair of polished yet soaked shoes instead.
“gotcha,” a voice echoed, making you jump and look up.
ah, of course.
valko, with a stupid grin on his face.
“you… what are you—?” the words died in your mouth as he stepped inside, drenched, water droplets falling onto your clean floor.
he discarded his coat and shook his entire body like a dog, not only making a mess, but getting you just as wet.
“valko!” you squeaked, covering your face in a pathetic attempt to protect yourself from the flying water.
he looked around briefly before sniffing the air, his nostrils flaring softly. he left muddy footprints all the way to the kitchen, his large frame looking out of place inside your cozy apartment.
you grunted under your breath, picking up his wet coat with the tips of your fingers, trying to avoid the small puddles he left carelessly behind.
he checked your pantry, then your fridge, his eyes slowly travelling around.
he only turned around when he sensed your presence behind him.
“you can't just come in and make a mess, valko!” you whined, crossing your arms over your chest. “what is this? why are you here so late? and… step away from the fridge, you're wet and you'll catch a cold!”
he straightened up and looked down at you.
“you don't have much protein,” he said, pointing back at the fridge before closing the door. “you need meat.”
you parted your lips to speak, then frowned.
what was this?
an inspection?
he kept walking around, and you followed despite yourself.
now, valko and you had… a thing.
you'd say it was casual, occasional.
you liked him, and he liked you, but you felt it'd be too rushed to invite him over to your sacred place, even though it'd been going on for months.
so, having him here, invading every inch as if he owned the place, was not in your plans.
he entered every room, analysing the furniture and your unmistakable scent.
he sat down on your bed, his large hands dragging one of your plushies over and holding it hostage against his chest.
that's when he finally addressed you.
“it's nice,” he nodded, leaning against the headboard. “it's big enough to have four or five pups running around.”
you immediately felt your skin turn hot, your eyes wide.
your heart almost gave out with how fast it was beating.
“v-valko?”
“okay, what about three?” he arched an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side. “and then three more when we move to my place. it's bigger.”
you finally had enough.
you stomped closer and yanked the plushie away, holding it close.
this man—
“you can't— you… first of all, you're getting my bed all wet! second of all, you…” you took a sharp inhale, closing your eyes briefly. “you can't just casually mention… c-children, valko.”
he looked down at the damp mattress before meeting your gaze again.
his fluffy ears emerged, and you hated when they did.
it was a vile tactic, a dirty move, especially when… when he made them go all droopy, and his golden eyes looked so sad…
oh, that sweet face…
no!
“stop, valko!” you turned around and closed your eyes. “bad boy, bad!”
seconds later, a pair of strong arms coiled around your waist, easily lifting you off the ground.
he nuzzled the back of your head and inhaled your scent, his tail swishing softly behind him.
“why didn't you tell me to come over sooner?” he asked, his breath brushing the shell of your ear.
you planned to squirm away and get out of his grasp, yet instead, you found yourself freezing in place.
you didn't expect him to ask that.
“why did i have to invite myself in?” he continued, his tone dropping even lower. “you didn't want me here, in your space?”
“valkie… isn't it too soon?” you whispered. “it's only been a couple of months…”
“soon?” he echoed, his fingers digging ever so slightly into your soft tummy. “it's been one hundred and fifty-seven days. that's five full moons, little bunny.”
your eyes fluttered, finally opening after a while. all you could see were your legs suspended in the air.
“we should be married by now. you, marked. me, claimed,” he nuzzled your jawline from behind, lingering there a little longer. “how much longer am i supposed to wait?”
“valko…”
“you keep saying my name. if you like it that much, use it to beg for me to make you mine.”
you gasped, his words making you feel a strange warmth in your chest, and a dizziness you couldn't explain.
he sat down all of a sudden, pulling you onto his lap. your back was against his chest, and he hid his face in your neck, as if it were his refuge.
you thought he'd grow uncontrollable, that you'd have to throw a cushion his way and make him calm down, that he'd mark you right then and there, taking what he saw as rightfully his.
but the seconds went by, slowly, and instead of the situation escalating, you heard a small whine, muffled and low.
his arms tightened around your body, refusing to let go.
“...please,” he whispered. “how much longer, bunny?”
your heart melted.
you didn't know if you were ready.
hell, you didn't even know if he was being serious about the six kids, and if he was, then you had lots of things to think about beforehand.
but the idea of being his, of being marked and claiming him as yours in return, wasn't strange.
you'd had a taste of what valko would be like as a partner for… a lot of days, as he so explicitly recalled, and you didn't regret a single moment spent with him.
“i… i'm not sure yet, valko,” you whispered, not daring to move an inch. “i can't give you a date.”
he sighed, and while you weren't looking at him, you knew his tail had dropped when you could no longer hear it thump against your bed anymore.
“but…” you continued.
one of his ears perked up with interest, his golden eyes now bright.
“but you… could stay the night. get to know where i live, and… explore my space.”
that's all it took for valko to stand up again, turn you around with ease, and pull you against his chest in a tight hug.
his tail wagged like a propeller, and he buried his nose in your hair, shamelessly taking deep breaths to carry your scent with him for longer.
“two more full moons at most,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “no more.”
“valko, i just said—”
“i'll go clean up,” he kissed your lips, tilting your chin up with his index finger just to keep you in place. your eyes shut, and you instinctively returned the kiss, though it took you a few seconds to react.
when he pulled back, he brushed your lower lip with his thumb, noticing how it glistened with his saliva under the soft light of your lamp.
marked.
his.
“don't go anywhere,” he whispered, and that crooked, stupid grin came back to his face.
you were left speechless as he left your bedroom, his chest puffed out, and his fangs showing as he smirked.
you knew he'd take this as an opportunity to snoop around and mark his territory however he could, but instead of irritating you even more, you found it… somewhat adorable.
the rain kept falling outside, and your laptop had long since run out of battery, but you didn't mind.
the wet puppy now invading your space, checking whether you had enough food, whether your windows were secure enough, or whether your plushies were fluffier than him, was far more interesting than anything else.~
valko pays for your claws nails so you'll scratch tf out of his back!
content: fem reader, scratching, blood from scratching, sex, piv, mating press, not proofread
wc: 860
a/n: there is no war in ba sing se. there is no valko cancellation. forget about him being nuked and read this.
your hands smooth over the muscular expanse of valko’s back, dull nails tracing the dips and curves. he shivers and pushes back into your fingers, purring slightly. he shuffles food around in the popping skillet, looking at you over his shoulder.
“i like your back.” you mumble and pepper kisses against it.
valko smirks and steps back, crowding you. “it’s looking a little bare, don’t you think?”
“mmm? looks fine to me.”
“it would look better than fine if someone marked it up.” he turns the skillet off and turns to face you, grabbing your hands and maneuvering them into a clawing gesture.
valko chuckles and ‘grrs’ for you, pretending like you’re some vicious predator.
you raise an eyebrow and look at your short nails. “won’t that hurt?”
he holds your nails in his palms and presses on the edge of them, feeling for the sharpness. “sweetheart, these wouldn’t even hurt a pup. you remember i’m a werewolf, riiight?” he smiles. “i’ve been scratched by newborns with longer claws.”
you hum and consider it. “well… even if i did want to scratch you, my nails would break before they got long enough.”
valko pats the tops of your hands and lets them go, going back to cooking. “i’ll pay for you to get acrylics. any shape, length, color you want- you could even get a design.”
“are you sure?” you ask skeptically. despite knowing that your boyfriend was rich rich, you still felt bad spending his money.
the very next day, you had long stiletto nails in a deep plum color.
valko was ecstatic when he saw them, but paused when he examined them further. you’d gotten his initials painted on your ring fingers- a suggestion from the nail artist. you’d been worried it was too much… what if valko didn’t like it?
…valko liked it. probably a little too much, considering how he was fucking you so deep into the memory foam mattress that you were sure your indentation would be there for years to come.
“nnghhhh!! ‘ko- shit!” you breathed out, gasping for air as his thick cock drilled against your cervix.
your nails pressed dully into his skin, not quite scratching or piercing the skin.
valko groaned and moved forward, pressing your knees fully beside your head into a deep mating press. “scratch me. dig your nails in- hmmmm.” he whined out.
you pressed down harder, raking your nails down the expanse of his back and raising the skin in red streaks.
“yes- fuck, perfect. harder, dig in harder, i know you’re strong. show me how strong you are.” valko’s breath hitched and he let out a pleased moan when you followed his instructions.
you whined and babbled incoherently about how good he felt, how deep he was in you while your nails left scratches on his back in every direction.
you mindlessly clawed at his skin, searching desperately for something to hold onto and he fucked you harder than you’d ever felt.
“s’ good.. such a good mate, so accommodating, scratching the shit out of me.” valko praises, voice gruff in your ear.
“mmhmmm.” you whine. he switches his angle ever so slightly, hitting upward and bullying the spot deep inside you that makes your vision white out.
you screech and dig your nails into his back hard, hard enough to make him groan and stutter.
“fuck! cumming- cu- shit, holy shit.” valko moans out, collapsing on top of you as he fills you the condom full of his thick cum.
you’re both in a hazy sort of bliss that only sex can give for a handful of minutes after. you’re only brought out of it when valko stands to go get a warm towel for you and your eyes meet his back- your canvas.
you gasp and sit up weakly. "valko!”
valko turns, on high alert and scanning the room. “what- what? fuck, don’t scare me like that-”
“your back is bleeding!” you interrupt, crawling towards him on shaky limbs.
valko pauses and reaches to touch his back, looking at his bloody fingers. “oh.”
“i’m so sorry- oh my god, i’m evil, i’m terrible!” you ramble, tears brimming your eyes.
when you look up at valko, he’s… smiling?! ear to ear, at that! “what the hell is the matter with you?! i injured you!” you yell, tossing a pillow at him in frustration.
valko smiles and walks to the edge of the bed, cradling your cheek with his clean hand. “you marked me up, just like every good mate should. here, take a picture for me.” he grabs his phone from the nightstand and hands it to you, turning around.
you open the camera and snap a picture, trying not to drool over it. you’d marked him up good- he had red streaks in all directions, blood trickling from most of them. weirdly, the sight made a new wetness form between your legs.
valko looked at the picture cleared his throat, a flush rising on his cheek. something else rose, right beside your face, thick and leaking pre again.
since that day, your nails were always done and valko’s back was always painted ruby red.
a/n: no one be sad!!!! everyone be happy!! valko lives on, i promiseeee yall everything will be okay. do you really think mama rhi would let anything happen to our valko? no!!
dick grayson waking you up in the morning | 18+
tw: nsfw mdni, cursing, smut, nipple play, fingering, it's fluffy and spicy, although it gets a tad rough.
pairings: boyfriend!dick grayson x female reader
Sunlight filtered through the blinds as you felt soft kisses being peppered on your shoulder and neck, your boyfriend's strong arms wrapped around your waist, holding you tightly against his front. You hummed contently as your eyes fluttered open. "Good morning, sleepyhead." Dick chuckled quietly, brushing stray strands of hair off of your face before kissing your cheek.
"Morning." You murmured back sleepily, your eyes starting to flutter closed again.
"Falling back asleep already, pretty girl?" He asked softly. "It's almost 11 am. It's time to wake up."
"Don't wanna." You whispered into your pillow, sleepiness beginning to pull you under once again.
"Fine. I guess you leave me no choice then." Dick said before his hands came to your sides and he started to mercilessly tickle your sides. You squealed loudly, trying to squirm away. "Nuh-uh, get back here." He chuckled as he yanked you back again, locking an arm around your waist so you couldn't get away this time, his free hand tickling you once again.
"I- Dick!" You yelped before bursting into a fit of giggles.
"All you gotta do is agree to wake up and I promise to stop. It's that easy, sweet girl." His grip around your waist tightened as you squirmed more.
"Okay, okay! I surrender! I'll wake up." You said breathlessly as Dick finally stop his assault of tickles on your waist. Instead he turned your face slightly so you were looking at him before peppering light, gentle kisses all over your face. You giggled more, a big grin stretching across your lips. "I'm still mad at you for tickling me though."
"I promise to make it up to you, baby. Will you let me?" He asked softly as he kissed the spot just below your ear. You whimpered softly and nodded, tilting your head to the side to give him better access.
He hummed softly as he kissed along your neck, nipping and sucking as he went. His hands roamed up your sides and to the edge of your sleep shirt. "Can I?" He murmured against your skin, tugging lightly on the hem. You bit your lip and nodded. "Use your words, pretty girl. I want to hear you."
"Y- yes, you can." You whispered softly.
He carefully pushed your t-shirt up over your breasts, exposing them to the cool air, your nipples hardening instantly. His hands cupped you tits softly, gently kneading the flesh. You whimpered softly, arching into his touch as you pressed your ass against his growing bulge.
"You're so pretty, baby." He whispered against your skin as his fingers began to gently tweak at your nipples. His right hand left your nipple, caressing down your stomach and to the waistline of your sleep shorts. He dipped his hand under the shorts and your panties, finding you already slick with arousal.
"Fuck, you're already so wet for me." He groaned a little against your neck as his fingers slowly circled your clit. You moaned softly as your hips started to grind against his fingers. He leaned down and gently sucked on the spot between your neck and your collarbone, causing you to gasp shakily.
He slid two fingers inside your pussy, now using his thumb to toy with your clit. "Oh god," you moaned as you rocked your hips faster, fucking yourself onto his digits.
"That's it, just like that." He cooed in your ear softly, his tongue flicking the shell of your ear. "Fuck that pretty pussy onto my fingers. Take exactly what you need from me, sweetheart."
You whimpered as you met each of his thrusts, your pussy clenching around his thick fingers. You held onto Dick's forearm tightly as he picked up his pace. "Do you forgive me, baby? Does making this pretty pussy feel good fix it?" He murmured, his breath warm against your skin. You nodded as another moan escape past your lips, your cheeks flushing slightly as you herd just how wet you were, his thrusts now audible because of your arousal.
"Yeah? Good, cause I know this pussy already has. Squeezing my fingers like a fucking vice." You could feel your stomach tightening, your climax just out of reach. Dick could tell you were close to the edge as he planted a soft kiss against your cheek. "You gonna cum for me? Gonna be a good girl and cum all over my fingers?" You let out a borderline pornographic moan as you nodded frantically, your high now quickly approaching.
"Then say it. Use your words and fucking say it, or else I won't let you cum." He growled as he slowed his fingers down.
"I- I'm gonna cum! Please, Dick. Please let me cum!" You whined, your cunt squeezing his fingers.
"Give it to me." He murmured as his fingers thrusted into you at an almost unhuman pace. "Cum on my fingers, baby." You cried out, back arching, thighs shaking as you squirted on his fingers, your arousal soaking through your panties and your shorts.
Dick groaned as his fingers slowed, helping you through your high. He eventually pulled his fingers out before bringing them to his lips. He sucked his digits clean, his gaze never leaving yours. "Fuck, you taste so good, pretty girl." He said as he leaned in for a kiss, his lips tasting of your arousal. "You're such a good girl, my good girl."
He kissed you once more before getting up out of bed. He leaned down, scooping you up in his arms as he headed to the bathroom. "Let's get you cleaned up before we start out day."
“Oh ho, you’re so bad for me. Too young, too fucking dangerous. Ridiculously brazen… showing up here in that fucking skirt.”
“You enjoy the danger, Michael Robinavitch.”
Robby seemed to be having a particularly hard day at work, so you decided to bring him lunch as a little pick-me-up.
If you happen to be wearing the short skirt that has always had him unable to keep his hands off you... Well, that was just a curious coincidence...
You stepped out of the already oppressive summer heat and into the worse heat of the emergency department waiting room. A cloying mixture of sweat, oxygen deprived air and the lingering stench of those without access to the necessary means to keep up good hygiene.
Your tote bag slung over your shoulder and a tray with paper coffee cups in your hand you fell into the line of waiting patients.
Robby didn’t like to talk about work when he got off - usually too relieved to have actually made it out of the ER before another major case dragged him back into the ceaseless current of illness and injury that reigned the Pitt, as he called it affectionately. Or at least you believed it was an affectionate nickname. You couldn’t always tell. The few fragments of shop talk he had shared with you slipped through when he was particularly vexed by the hospital administrator, by nonsensical new rules or after a tough case left him feeling emotionally frayed. He would rant about the unreasonable waittime, the lack of staff, and the shitty conditions they all had to somehow make work. You knew the people all around you had a very, very long day ahead of them, all just because they were seeking care.
Being a doctor wasn’t merely a job to Robby. It was a calling, but even the most passionate and selfless person would be swallowed up and ground to dust by a broken system held together only by the compassion, love and devotion of its workers. A shattered vase haphazardly stuck together with cello-tape. Water leaked through the ever growing gaps, pouring, gushing, but giving up was simply not an option when human lives were on the line.
It was fucking heroic.
You could not help but admire his dedication, even though it sometimes scared you to see just how much the job was taking out of him. So when you got his text today, you could not stay away.
Should have stayed in bed with you.
Robby didn’t text. Not often. He preferred calls, something about hearing people’s inflection or something. It had taken some time to get used to, to stop yourself from assuming something had happened. Your friends only called you when shit had already hit the fan. There were few things that could not be handled over text.
Well, that was what dating a guy old enough to be your dad got you.
You tried to conceal the grin that thought summoned to your lips quickly when the person in front of you walked away to sit down in the waiting room.
“Hi.” You smiled brightly. The nurse sitting on the other side of the glass looked stunned for a second. Right. People probably weren’t usually so fucking cheery in the Pitt. You cleared your throat. You had not thought this through, you realised. Did the people at his work even know he had a somewhat steady, somewhat serious relationship currently? Would he prefer to keep this private, especially given the pretty scandalous age difference? Ah, fuck it. It was too late now.
“Uhm, I’ve got some lunch for Robby?” You patted the side of your tote bag, as if that was necessary. God, you could be such a mess when you were nervous. “I tried to call but he wasn’t picking up his phone.”
The nurse’s watchful gaze flicked over you. Eyes trained by years of experience in dissecting the people pouring through those doors to find out where it hurt assessing you mercilessly. “Come right on in then, sweetheart.” She said with a slight upward tick of her lips and nodded towards the double doors leading into the Emergency Department. “Dana at central should know where he’s hiding at the moment.”
“Thanks!” You weaved through the weary masses waiting for hours and hours to be seen. You felt slightly bad that they would no doubt believe you were getting some special treatment by being waved through, but you weren’t here for treatment.
Or perhaps you were… but at least not to receive any.
You fought another grin as you made your way through the Pitt. An older blonde woman stood at the cluster of workspaces in the middle of the room, her hips leaned against a desk, arms crossed, and watched you approach.
“You must be Dana.” You said, putting down the coffee tray on the counter. “Charge nurse extraordinaire.”
“You’re a little charmer, ain’t you?”
You picked up one of the coffees. “Robby told me this place would crash and burn without you. Just a little token of appreciation for the work you do every day.” You said, setting it down in front of her and giving her your most charming, innocent smile. Dana took the coffee, popped the lid off and took a sniff of the hot beverage. “Vanilla latte.”
“Someone raised you right.”
“Mom was a nurse for thirty years. Robby’s with a patient?”
“He should be coming around here again eventually.”
You nod. You know he was constantly on the move when at work, complaining about his feet and back when he came home, and never got to spend as much time on a patient as he would like. As attending his attention was needed everywhere at once, all the time. It was more of a supervisory position, perhaps more so than he wanted, but Robby was a great teacher and you could always tell he enjoyed mentoring the next generation of physicians, even if it came at a price.
“Who’s this?” Two nurses joined you - Princess and Perlah you assume based on the snippets about the team you got from Robby.
“Robby’s girlfriend brought him lunch.”
You blushed. You hadn’t introduced yourself as such, and if you really thought about it you and Robby hadn’t exactly spoken about your relationship yet in those terms but things had been going along those lines for a while now, with him spending more time at your place than his own, going to the farmer’s market together on weekends he was off, you joining him on hikes on one of his rare days off work. Perhaps such talks didn’t feel as necessary anymore at a certain age - like the whole do you want to be my girlfriend question stopped after high school. Perhaps to Robby the parameters of your relationship were obvious.
The two women shared a look that you knew all too well. You had shared it with your friends before when one of them announced a new relationship. It was that knowing, intrigued, ahh of sensational new developments.
“Dana, C 12 is ready to be discharged- What are you-? Are you hurt?”
The air of exhaustion oozing from every line life had carved into Robby’s face evaporated the second he spotted you behind the nurses, rushing around the desk towards you. His thick-rimmed glasses sat low on his nose, and even in the middle of the bustling, loud ER that sight did things to you. Unholy things.
“I’m bringing you lunch.” You chirped.
Robby blinked. “Lunch?” He glanced at the grinning nurses. In an attempt to hide his brief moment of vulnerability, the fear of what it meant to see you standing in his ER, he turned towards the counter, tapping away on the black tablet in his hand. “I don’t have a lunch break. I don’t have time for a lunch break.”
You had already fished the metal lunch box out of your tote bag and opened it before he was done talking. You slid it across the counter. You watched feigned detachment and reluctance battle in his sad, big doe eyes as he stared down at the tiny tofu waffles you made him. Tiny, because you knew he didn’t have time to sit down and eat, and wolfing down a bite-sized snack during a brief moment of calm was more manageable. Tofu waffles because he once, rather reluctantly, admitted how they had kept him feeling full and energised for a long time after you made them for breakfast before his shift once.
“Are those-?”
“Yep.” You popped the p. “Rolled them in some cinnamon sugar. I know how hangry you get sometimes.”
“That’s what I always say.”
Robby glared at Dana. You picked the second cup out of the tray and slid it towards him too. A peace offering almost.
“Tough day?”
“When isn’t it?” He sighed and plucked a waffle out of the lunch box to all but swallow it whole and wash it down with a sip of coffee. Robby glanced at you from the corner of his eye. His gaze travelled down your front, over the shirt that belonged to him, stuffed into the waistband of your skirt, a playful short thing. He never could keep his hands off you when you wore it.
“Yeah, I figured when you texted me.”
“That’s why you’re here? You shouldn’t have bothered.”
“You never text, you’re such a boomer like that.”
“I’m a- what?”
“She called ya old.” Dana called over her shoulder, just to turn around to flash him a crooked grin. “My daughter is teaching me all the Gen Z lingo.”
You watched Robby wolf down two more waffles, the sight oddly reminiscent of a pelican swallowing down prey. You kept having to remind him at home that he had time to eat and you actually let himself taste the food you cooked. He always gave you a sheepish look and apologised for his bad table manners, but you’d never be mad at him for it. He lived most of his life between catastrophes and emergencies, and you could hardly blame him for struggling to shut that part of his brain off when he got off work.
“Good?”
“Fucking amazing. Fuck, I was starving.”
“I figured.” You watched the two nurses being called away from the corner of your eye. They whispered with each other in muffled voices. Dana was off talking to a jittery looking kid in scrubs that did not seem to quite fit him yet. “So how has it really been?”
Robby sighed. “Shen’s not here, so the q-word wasn’t dropped.”
You chuckled. ER staff and their superstitions.
“We’ve had it worse. Much worse. At least we aren’t being overrun but… ah we lost a patient. Nothing new, but…” He trailed off, scratching his beard absentmindedly.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hm.” Robby rubbed the back of his neck. He closed the lunch box and set it down behind the counter. “You really didn’t need to come.”
“I wanted to. Thought you could use a friendly face… some care for the one taking care of everyone else… maybe some…” You ran your fingertips down his arm, over the worn fabric of his beloved Beers of the Burgh hoodie you liked to steal when he wasn’t looking. “Stress relief, maybe.”
Dana returned. Robby tore his eyes away from you, they had briefly flicked down to your skirt and your bare legs beneath. Their conversation went right over your head. You waited for them to finish before continuing.
“I was gonna get some groceries later, anything I can pick up for you?”
“Probably, not that I’d know a thing right now. Head’s too full.”
You peered up at him through your lashes. You’d never get tired of how he towered over him, looking down at you with those soulful, beautiful eyes, the grey scattered through his bears, the crow’s feet tugging on the corners of his eyes…
“You could give me your keys. I can check the whiteboard on your fridge and fetch those things. Then you wouldn’t have to after your shift.”
Robby watched you. You already began to wonder whether you were too subtle when he sucked in a breath through his teeth and nodded. “That’d be great actually.” He turned to Dana. “Be back in five.”
“Sure ya will.” The nurse chuckled, not looking up from the tablet in her hand. Robby took your hand and tugged you along towards a narrow hallway off to the side where a row of lockers lay hidden. The eyes following you from all around the emergency department did not go unnoticed by you.
“Good thing she doesn’t know I already have a set of keys.” You purred, pushing him back against the lockers and getting up onto your tiptoes to be closer to him. “Is there some place lockable around here?”
“Oh ho, you’re so bad for me.” Restraint, vibrating from being stretched too far, gleamed in his eyes. “Too young, too fucking dangerous. Ridiculously brazen… showing up here in that fucking skirt.”
You dragged your lips over his jaw, savouring the way his beard tickled your skin.
“You enjoy the danger, Michael Robinavitch.”
Robby’s hand already slid down towards your ass. You had him on the hook and he just needed to get some of the self-flagellation at being with someone twenty years plus his junior out before he could give in to you - and what he actually wanted to do with you right now instead of just fondling your ass.
“I sure fucking do, doll.”
Robby snatched your wrist and dragged you along. You stumbled trying to keep up with him while also trying to contain your giggles.
You’d be lying if you claimed you had never thought about this. About fucking him in a supply closet or an on call room like all the doctors seemed to constantly be doing in the medical dramas Robby liked to tear apart whenever you watched them. As if you understood any of the medical inaccuracies! Or being one of his patients perhaps, and Dr Robinavitch goes above and beyond to make you all better…
Robby shoved you into a dark room and pushed the door shut. The faint click of a lock sliding in place kicked you out of your filthy fantasies and back into the reality of one of them unfolding before you.
The light spilling through the slight gap under the door and the frosted glass window cast the room in dim, grey shadows.
Robby’s lips slammed against yours the second you were alone. You crossed your arms behind his neck, grinning into the kiss at your victory. You’d known exactly what you were doing when you fished that skirt out of your closet before coming to the hospital.
“Fuck me, Michael.” You cooed into the kiss. “I want to leave here with your cum running down my thigh.”
He cursed, a colorful mixture of your name and swears his raspy voice twisted into such deliciousness, it made your insides clench with need. Your tote bag lay forgotten on the ground somewhere. Robby’s large hands encompassed your ass, kneading your soft flesh greedily while licking into your mouth. He tasted of coffee and cinnamon, and a tiny bit like the sugar-free nicotine gum he’d been using to starve off his cravings. You knew he’d been trying to stop smoking for a while, but a high-stress job like his was a breeding ground for bad habits.
He pulled you into him, dragging your smaller body against him while forcing you backwards at the same time. “You are trouble.” He grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you up onto a supply cart, trapping you between the shelf at your back and his broad chest. You wrapped your legs around him, enjoying how it made you feel exactly how much bigger he was than you. He towered over you, having to bend down to claim your lips in a suffocating, passionate kiss.
“I’m just an attentive girlfriend.“ You purred against his lips, already tugging on his belt. “And you seem very… very stressed.” You slipped your hand into his cargo pants, which always looked way too good on him. Sometimes you just stared at him in the mornings, when you were still curled up on the sofa with your coffee while he was gathering his things before his shift.
He had no right to be so hot with his slightly dishevelled, greying beard, the baggy pants and washed-out old hoodie. It was a real challenge to not jump Robby like a cat in heat every time he put his glasses on to read a little to wind down after his shift.
You had no idea how you managed to bag that man. Sometimes it all felt too good to be true. One would think you two would have nothing in common and nothing to talk about with the huge gap in your respective life experience but with Robby, unlike with the immature guys your own age you’d tried to build a life with before meeting Robby, conversation never trickled out. Silence never grew uncomfortable. He never felt distant, even when his 12-hour shift sometimes turned into 15-hours.
Your fingers curled around his already hardening cock. Robby groaned in your ear, fingers tensing against the soft flesh of your thighs. He throbbed under your touch and a delicious little shiver ran through him when you swiped your thumb over his tip.
“I’m already so wet, Robby.” You whispered, knowing that nothing got him harder quicker than when you murmured filth into his ear with that pouty, innocent whine in your voice. “I’m so horny for you all the fucking time. Haven’t felt like this since I was sixteen-”
“I make you feel like a hormonal teenager? Doll, you have me with my pants down at work.”
You grinned. In the dim light it was difficult to make out his face in all its handsome glory. You cupped his cheeks with your hands, fingers dragging through his beard, and pulled him closer. “And we better do something about that before you’re missed, Dr Robby.”
“Minx.” He all but growled. He grabbed the back of your knees and pushed your legs up until your knees almost touched your shoulders. You bit back a needy moan. “That’s right. I know how much you like to scream when coming on my cock, but you have to be quiet for me. Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir. Mh, fuck- I can, Robby. Please. Please fuck me.”
He entered you in a single, smooth thrust, forcing your weeping cunt to open up for him, bullying his way into your twitching channel and making you bite the back of your hand to suppress a moan. Robby grabbed hold of the shelf above you. His breathing was ragged and heavy, hammering in your ear as he panted against your hair, soaking in the scent of your shampoo lingering on it.
“Fuck me- you are so good for me, doll- so fucking tight and sweet- and fuck nobody ever brought me lunch to work because of a stupid text.”
“I like taking care of you.” You muttered against his throat, running your teeth across his adam’s apple in a teasing grazing drag. “Let me take care of you, Robby- take what you need, baby.”
He cursed again. He drew back, leaving you empty and craving the stretch of his sizable girth. He set an even pace, fucking you in long, punishing thrusts that had the supply cart under you aching dangerously. You whimpered at the inescapable, overwhelming drag of his cock along your inner walls, pouring tingling, writhing pleasure into your core with every measured thrust.
“No need to play nice.” You whispered against his jaw. “You know I won’t break. Fuck me like you want to fuck me, Robby. Like you need to.”
“You won’t stay quiet if I do.” He said between clenched teeth, a suffering expression cutting across his face.
“Then make me be quiet.”
It was a challenge. A metal gauntlet thrown to his feet like in one of those corny, terribly inaccurate period romances. And Robby didn’t back away from a challenge.
He let go of your leg just to put his hand over your mouth, pushing you further against the metal shelf.
The last tether of his restraint had finally snapped.
“Is this what you wanted?” He hissed in your wave, pounding into her with a feral hunger. “For me to use your little hole at my place of employment like a cheap fucking slut getting paid by the hour?”
Pleasure stabbed into you, tearing your lower abdomen to shreds until your toes curled in your shoes and the muscles in your thighs twitched.
“To make me lose control, hm? Oh yes, you fucking get off to that, don’t you? Driving me up the wall just so you can get your pussy pounded by a man old enough to be your fucking father?”
Robby dragged you off the cart and spun you around roughly. He flipped your skirt up and sunk his fingers into the flesh of your waist before sinking back into her. You cried out but Robby had already put his hand over your mouth. He pulled your back against his chest, his arm an unyielding weight around your waist while your legs turned more and more to jelly under the tendrils of unbearable pleasure melting down the inside of your thighs, following the slow drip of your arousal.
Robby pressed his lips against the crown of your head. The gesture oozed tender affection and was a stark contrast to the vicious pace of his thrusts.
“That’s it, doll.” He murmured into your hair. His thumb stroked your side, up and down, up and down, a soothing caress. “You take me so well… so fucking well, sweetheart. I’m almost there… almost fucking there… just let me use you a little longer, baby…”
You clung to his arms with enough force to turn your knuckles white. Your knees trembled, pleasure surged, pressure and hunger alike growing, raging, consuming you until the reality of the supply closet around you faded, the danger of fucking in the ER while Robby was on shift, the absolute depravity of the whole thing, no longer matter and only Robby remained. Robby’s arm around your waist. Robby’s breath against your scalp. Robby’s lips pressed to your hair. Robby’s cock battering into you until you were a pathetic, overstimulated mess of frayed nerve endings and sticky arousal gushing from your abused cunt.
His hand over your mouth and arm around your middle slipped away. You slumped forward, catching your fall with your hands against the supply cart. Robby gripped your hips and doubled down his effort, pounding into you with such consuming, animalistic hunger you saw stars creep in around the edge of your field of vision. You buried your face against the crook of your arm to muffle your whiny, sobbing moans.
“Come for me, doll.” Robby groaned. His hands slammed into the supply cart on either side of your head, his front molding to your back as though you had been made to fit there, encompassing your trembling body, hiding your sight and the sight of your encroaching orgasm away from the world.
“You want to come for me, don’t you? To be a good girl and squeeze daddy’s cock? Ah fuck, you’re so tight- so fucking tight and you keep getting tighter, fucking strangling me-”
“Michael-” His name was barely more than a whine, muffled against your arm and yet Robby heard it. He throbbed inside her, burying himself to the hilt in you, his cock a hard, heavy, burning brand inside your quivering cunt. His dropped his hand between you and the supply cart, shoving your skirt aside to slip his fingers into your panties and pet your swollen, needy clit. You feel apart within seconds, twitching under him, clinging to the supply cart to not collapse while your legs forgot what their purpose was.
“That’s it- ah- fuck- fuckfuckfuck-” He muttered your name against your neck, burying his face against your flushed skin and touseled hair. His hips rolled against you, slamming against your ass in shallow, quick thrusts that punched the air out of your throat and made you claw at the unyielding metal of the cart to find some, any hold you could.
Hot spurts of cum filled you and leaked into your underwear the second Robby pulled out of you.
“Fuck.” He sounded breathless and you knew without looking he was running his hand through his hair and over his face. “As I said, dangerous.”
You chuckled. Attempting to straighten up turned out to be a stupid idea. You swayed and you weren’t entirely sure you would have managed to catch your balance again if Robby hadn’t been there to catch you. He pulled you into his arms and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.
“Fucking needed that.”
“Mh, thought so.” You stayed in his embrace for a moment longer before reluctantly allowing him to pull away and sort his clothes out. You brushed down your skirt and ran a hand through your hair to hopefully hide some of the mess Robby had made of it. You found your tote bag by the door. Robby peered outside and only once he was sure the coast was clear, he took your hand and pulled you towards the lockers again.
You hugged his arm, hiding your face against the soft hoodie that smelled so much like him to hide your giddy giggles.
“Pull yourself together.” He chided, a grin painted across his lips. “You’re gonna get us busted.”
“I’m pretty sure Dana already knows.”
“That’s Dana.” Robby cast a wary glance around. “Gloria is always fucking lurking somewhere. I swear the woman waits for the most inopportune moments to jump me.”
You cleared the lockers without a sneak attack from the hospital administrator, or any staff. Robby’s hand slid towards the small of your back as he guided you past the bustle of gurneys and nursing staff. The same nervous kid you’d seen talk to Dana earlier rushed towards you with a question for Robby. You barely paid attention - you didn’t understand any of the lingo anyway.
“Let me walk you out.”
“Uh-hu.”
The kid was nowhere to be seen. The pace of the ER was not something you were used to keeping up with.
“That was more than five.” Dana called over from her hub. You got a feeling nothing happened in the ER without her knowing.
He gave you a sheepish, apologetic look. “I need detergent. Have been for two weeks, probably longer. I have so much fucking laundry piling up but I keep forgetting to pick some up.”
A smile crept onto your lips. “I’ll get some for you.”
“Thank you. But don’t you dare do my laundry for me, doll. I’m not some useless slop who can’t take care of his fucking household. I’m just busy.”
“I don’t mind-”
“Don’t.”
You’d start a load, just to get the ball rolling, you thought to yourself. Robby seemed to read it in your eyes but he surrendered, knowing he could not change your mind once you had made it up anyway.
“Ah, before I forget it.” You turned around, grinning up at Robby. You stood by the doors leading to the ambulance bay, a little shortcut that was closer to the park you’d need to walk through to get to his apartment. It would save you a needless hike around the whole building. “My parents have been asking to meet the guy I’m dating.”
Robby’s eye twitched.
“How old was your father again? Fifty-five?”
"Forty-nine." You grinned.
“Fuck.” Robby rubbed his beard, peering down at him while racking his brain how to get out of that most uncomfortable conversation. “Was… was your late grandfather the hunter or-” He trailed off, leaving the question open. Your grin only grew.
“No, that’s dad.” You said, pushing your hands into your pockets innocently. “He has several hunting rifles.”
“I don’t think I’ll have a day off for the foreseeable future.”
“You make the schedule.”
“Exactly.”
“Michael.”
“Thank you for lunch, doll. And the detergent. I really need to get back to work.”
“Michael!” You called after him, but he had already disappeared behind the tablet, pretending to drown in work. “Don’t force me to get injured, Michael. You know I will.”
“You know I could put you on a mandatory seventy-two hour psych hold for such statements.”
“Dad would definitely show up then.”
“Can’t hear you, I’m working.” He ducked into a treatment room.
You shook your head and laughed to yourself. “Silly old man.” You turned on your heels and headed outside, leaving behind the roaring buzz of the emergency department to get the poor man some detergent.
Maybe you’d start two loads. Just to get things starting…
“Mh mh mh, sounds like a betting pool to me.” Ahmad, the security guard, slipped back into his office to clear the white board and was quickly followed by three nurses.
The first time you call him daddy, it’s a playful joke. He doesn’t take it as one though. A shadow passes over his face, and the mood in the room shifts. Next thing you know he has you bent over the kitchen counter, your hands pressed into the hard granite, the cold edge digging into your stomach every time he pounds into you from behind. His fingers are tangled in your hair to stop the forward momentum so his cock can hit your sweet spot at just the right angle.
The second time you say it, it’s deliberate. You want to rile him up. He’s fucking you into the mattress as you’re face down, and you’re positive your streaked mascara is going to leave a stain on the pillowcase.
“Oh g-god D-daddy please…”
Robby growls in response like you’ve set something off in him again. The tempo of his thrusts becomes almost animalistic, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing the room.
Afterward he swears you’re going to drive him insane.
The third time takes you by surprise. Bouncing up and down on his dick while you’re in the lotus position, your legs wrapped around his hips and your arms above his broad shoulders. Your foreheads are pressed together, drawing in each other’s fogged breath. You’ve come three times now, and Robby is shooting for a fourth.
“Robby, I can’t-t…” you sob.
“Yeah you can, I know you fucking can.” He bounces you harder on his lap. He tilts his chin up, leveling with you. “Don’t you want to be a good girl for Daddy?”
established!Rabbot X Reader, Jack Abbot X Reader, Michael Robinavitch X Reader
Summary: Robby ‘hates’ his new resident so much that he notices something very interesting about her
Warnings: Praise kink, BDSM in a non-sexual setting, non-sexual submission, non-sexual intimacy, very soft jack abbot, small bit of an asshole michael robby robinavitch,so many pet names, mentions of workplace bullying, mentions of suicide and medical procedures
Wordcount: 4,021 words
A/N: This is all disgustingly self-indulgent. I am writing this while very sleep deprived and very lonely and just in need of a little comfort. Please let me know if anyone is too OOC!! Also i stole samira's case from ER 😭😭
Abbot gif is from @ho-ii and i'm not sure where Robby's is. If anyone knows lmk!!!
Robby wanted it to be known that he really, really, really did not want to like you.
You, who was headstrong, stubborn and particular. You were a Presby transfer, one of their prized senior residents who just didn’t get along with their team. It was hard and impacted your ability to work and after one too many cruel schoolyard jokes, you jumped ship. You took to the teaching hospital’s ways and its momentum quite quickly. You didn’t hesitate to correct an intern or med student. You never gave a second thought to questioning an attending or fighting a call someone made that you didn’t agree with.
You, who was also patient and kind. You took extra time with struggling interns, calling them into labs to practise sutures or to go over procedures they couldn’t seem to crack after your shift - time you knew you wouldn’t be paid for. Any mistake a student made during procedures was gently amended, be it by putting your hand on theirs to guide them or just by giving additional verbal instructions.
This was all mostly fine to Robby. Really, he told himself he could handle it for someone Presby was borderline crying over losing.
It was all fine until you walked in on him absolutely whaling on Samira Mohan.
You stood at the door, expression changing immediately. You gawked at him when he told you he was busy, and to ask Dana if you needed something.
Mohan’s case was not too complicated, all things considered. A lady came in after being hit by a car. The car wasn’t going all that quickly, so she wasn’t too badly injured. You had overseen Whitaker doing some of her sutures and knew they had it handled. No internal bleeding, great GCS level, maybe a minor concussion at most.
Nobody had accounted for her general melancholy throughout the procedure. She was lamenting about how late she’d be for work. There wasn’t much anyone could say to that, she needed treatment and she was getting it in a very busy, very understaffed ER. Mohan ran it by you afterwards and you approved the discharge.
She was back in maybe an hour later. She had jumped from a three-storey height. It was hopeful when she first arrived, but things turned complicated and she never even made it to surgery. Time of death, 6:12PM.
Robby’s brows were so furrowed they were pretty much touching. He was going on and on about missed signs and how the car accident had clearly been a suicide attempt. You stood up and argued back - how could she possibly have predicted someone would do that? Her sadness was chalked up to the adrenaline leaving her system, and why wouldn’t that have been the answer? She was just in a car accident!
You sent Samira out, and he reminded you that you had absolutely no authority to do that. You told her to go, anyway. The two of you went back and forth and back and forth until he finally relented. This wasn’t anybody’s fault. You’re doctors, not mind-readers.
After that ‘blatant disrespect’ he had suffered, he was doing everything he could to try and find fault with you. He needed something to write you up, to ride you about. He needed to even the score, and remind you he was top-dog around here.
He followed you from case-to-case, watching how you spoke to everyone and did everything. This was when he noticed something about you.
You were very, very quick to dole out praise.
Whitaker assisted you in a really clean intubation? “Good man, that’s exactly what we want.”
Javadi catching a small symptom that could have turned fatal? “Amazing catch, we’d be lost without you.”
None of it was sarcastic or felt over-the-top. It was warm and fond and real. You loved teaching them, you loved seeing them gain their confidence.
You were shy, too. Not usually, but sometimes. When you got a taste of your own medicine with a ‘good save’ or a ‘nice job’, you got so bashful. All red and quiet, for once. He filed this information away, although he really didn’t know why.
You weren’t warm to him. You were strictly professional after you caught him with Mohan. You seemed to be good friends with her. He liked Samira, he really did. She was talented and could be brilliant if she applied herself like he wanted. Maybe he pushed too hard, she seemed to perform perfectly with you.
Abbot really liked you as well. You worked a double in your first week and you - unsurprisingly - got along just as swimmingly with the ‘night crawlers’ as you did with the day shift. It was starting to piss him off at this stage.
Every time he and Abbot met up at home, you were the first topic of conversation. He ranted and raved about what you did and what you didn’t do and why it annoyed him and why he didn’t think you were gonna be a good fit in the long run.
His husband listened, of course, and empathised with him. It’s hard to work with someone you don’t seem to like at all. But days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. This time, when Robby started, Abbot had to intercept.
“Mike, baby. This is becoming an obsession." When Robby opened his mouth to argue back, Abbot couldn’t help but take notice of the slight flush on his cheeks. The same flush he had had every time he brought her up recently.
At first, he had assumed that he was just getting worked up about you, but now…
“Honey, I think you might have a little crush.” Abbot said softly. Robby scoffed in response.
“Well, I’m hardly gonna leave you at this stage.” He put his palms on his eyes and pressed hard. Abbot leaned over and gently lowered them before he hurt himself.
“She’s fake as fuck, brother. You should hear how she talks to the others. It’s like a fucking kindergarten.” He groans, squeezing Abbot’s hands.
“What, all this ‘cause she won’t call you a good boy?” He joked, but he smiled when Robby blushed harder.
“Ohhhh, brother.” He laughed, scooping Robby up into his arms and squeezing him. “You got a crush, it’s okay.”
“I’m married.” Robby whispered into his shoulder.
“Yeah, I know, champ. I was there.” Robby raised his head to glare at him.
“I wouldn’t want her to be anywhere else. I mean…” Abbot looked down at Robby, wiggling his eyebrows emphatically. “I wished she’d have preferred nights for a while.”
Now, Robby’s head flew up.
“You’ve thought about her?” He asked.
“Not as much as you, hon. But, yeah, I have.” Abbot squeezed him gently again.
“W- why?” Robby’s question was fair. They’d swung for a bit, yeah. But Abbot didn’t go for women. Not after his late-wife. Robby fiddled with Abbot’s blackened out band, resting underneath their matching ones.
“Well, she’s pretty. Seems like she’s a good girl, too.” Abbot said, shrugging off his concern.
“Don’t tell her that.” Robby huffed, rolling his eyes. “It fucks with her flow.”
“Does it now?” Abbot intoned. He found that very, very interesting.
It had been a few weeks since you last ran into Jack Abott. Robby was off and Shen had covered the day. He did a hand-off and ran for the hills. Abbot is secretly glad he doesn’t prefer the days. He’s a pretty vital part of his crew. Abbot met you just as you were surveying the board for the last time.
“Anything you need to warn me about?” He asked. You laughed, this guy was a sucker for gossip.
“Nothing too interesting. Central 12’s a biter, though. Relative distance is recommended.” You supplied, lips thinning even with your smile.
“Doin’ anything for the night?”
“Nothing, just sleeping.” You responded, sighing. This little tell was the closest to complaining he’d seen you. Abbot nodded. You looked like shit.
“Eat something nice and go straight to bed.” He didn’t quite order you to do it, but it definitely wasn’t a suggestion either.
“Sir, yes, sir.” You gave him a mock salute, standing up straight.
“Good girl.” He said, patting your shoulder and walking away. He looked back after a moment to look at you and sure enough, you were short-circuiting.
Like Robby had been doing for you, you very much actively tried to avoid him. Which didn’t typically work. You couldn’t seem to stop running into him.
Your frosty demeanor didn’t waver with him, but his had softened greatly with you. He had taken to sticking around for your procedures again, nodding affirmatively when you did the right thing, or offering a gentle “ah-ah” when doing something he thought wrong.
He often went to you after a tough patient, asked if you needed anything or if you wanted to talk. You tried to be open to it, you really did. But he got under your skin. You were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
You had spoken to Samira about how Robby was when first started, kind and encouraging. How quickly he turned cruel and empathetic when he found a new ‘star student’. You didn’t want to be his star student, but you seemed to have had most of his attention recently.
You knew he’d turn on you again, and when he did the others would follow. It happened at Presby, and it’ll happen here. You could feel it in your bones, you wouldn’t let them get the leg up on you like that.
The day finished up and like always, you searched the board. You wanted any reason to stick around for a bit, to chat to someone, to be useful to someone else. Robby walked over and prattled on about his weekend plans. Him and Abbot were both off, something that almost never happened.
“C’mon, you got here early. I’m not gonna let you do any overtime.” Hands on your shoulders, he gently steered you towards the exit. You hadn’t brought in anything other than your worn hoodie and your phone, both of which were in your possession, so you had no excuse to not follow.
“You got a ride?” He asked, eyeing your lack of keys.
“Car’s at the shop.” You admit sheepishly. “I’m walking today.”
Robby frowned.
“No, you’re not. I’ll give you a ride.” He shook his head, hand going to your shoulder to hold you in place before crossing the road. He used the same hand to lead you across the road. You couldn’t help but relax a little at the action. You liked just following along with whatever people wanted at the end of the day. I mean, your whole job revolved around making choices to save lives, who would want to make a decision about themselves after that?
“You really don’t have to, Dr. Robby.” You murmured.
“He’s not, I am.” A gravelly voice caused you to look up. Jack Abott stood by their car, dangling the keys until they made a jingleing noise. You clearly weren’t the only one surprised. Robby’s eyebrows shot up. He went over and kissed Abbot on the cheek.
“We actually had a question for you.” Abbot spoke, hand rubbing Robby’s back.
“If you don’t have plans tonight, would you have dinner with us?” Your brows shot up this time.
“But- you…” Your eyes shifted between Abbot and Robby several times.”
“Want you to have dinner with us? Yes.” Robby finished off what he assumed your sentence would have been.
“I- I’d hate to intrude.” Was all you could think to say, because one part of your brain immediately wanted to say ‘yes!’.
“Good thing you wouldn’t be, then.” Abbot smiled at you, winking. “Look, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. We want you to, but your word is final. We won’t be offended.”
“We can pretend this never happened. We drive you home and we don’t talk about it again.” Robby confirmed softly.
“No, I- I don’t have any plans. Dinner would be nice…” You admitted, stomach starting to grumble. Robby’s did too, causing Abbot to laugh.
He ushered both of you in the car and drove to what you could only assume was their house. A real nice, big townhouse a little ways outside the city. It was quiet, but thoughtfully decorated. The lawn was stunning and the colour pleasing to the eye. You were invited inside to see the gorgeous interior. The kitchen was a mix of modern furniture with retro colour schemes - reds, blacks and blue used interchangeably. The house seemed to be lit according to mood, with the kitchen lights on full whack and the dining room a little dimmer.
“I actually have it all ready, just sit down anywhere.” Abbot instructed, not caring that he admitted he assumed you were going to say yes.
“Can I help?” You asked.
“Yes, by sitting down.” Robby replied, pointing to one chair in particular. Right to the head of the table.
Abbot’s voice rang out again - “Do you drink wine?” - Upon hearing your affirmative, his head popped through the doorless frame.
“White or red?”
“Red, please. Will I help set out the drinks?” You asked for the second time.
“You can stay right where you are, please.” You are told for the second time.
After what feels like an eternity (it was 5 minutes), a small bowl is placed in front of you and your wine is topped up just slightly. Robby took the seat in front of you and Abbot beside you, at the head.
All three of you ate in relative silence, before you broke it to compliment the soup. It was potato and leek, so creamy and starchy that you didn’t even feel the crunchy onion-y texture.
“Thank you, you’re very sweet.” Abbot smiled at you. You tried to control your blush, ducking your head modestly.
“Isn’t she just?” Robby agreed, as you hurriedly spooned another mouthful of soup into your gob.
The first course passed quickly after that. Robby collected the bowls, pushing you down in the chair when you got up to help him. He disappeared into the kitchen.
“You don’t know when to give up, do ya?” Abbot asked, laughing slightly.
“I’m not good with being idle.” You admitted, laughing along. He stared at you for a bit.
“You can relax, you look so tense. Did you have a bad day?” He asked kindly.
“No, no. Everything went very well. I’m just… I’m just like this.” You laughed again, albeit a bit more nervously this time.
“Uh-huh, well, I want everyone who walks in here to feel better when they walk out. Is there anything I can do for you?” His gaze followed yours, ducking his head to look you in the eyes. It’s hard to ignore the husky undertone in his voice.
“Look up at me, please. It’s not good to slouch.” He gently corrected and you rushed to remedy yourself.
“Sorry, Dr. Abbot.”
“You’re okay, I just don’t want your back to get sore. And, call me Jack when we’re not working.”
“Yes, sorry Jack.”
“Good girl, you’re okay.” He doesn’t miss the way the tension leaves your shoulders. You stare at him for a moment, your eyes almost glazing over before Robby returns.
“Roast should be ready in 20.” He murmured, squeezing Abbot’s shoulder as he passed him. Him and Abbot exchanged a few looks before Robby began again.
“You’re a very smart girl.” He stated simply, you couldn’t help but whip your head over to him.
“Settle.” Abbot huffed a small laugh.
“I’m sure you can see we didn’t call you just to eat with you.” You didn’t know what to say to that. You simply hummed and nodded for him to continue.
“Jack and I have a particular… void that needs filling. And you seem to be the perfect candidate.” Robby continued, watching your face very closely. He saw your brows furrow.
“We aren’t asking you to have sex with us.” Abbot spoke very quietly, “That isn’t what we want.”
“Then what is this ‘void’?” You asked cautiously, not sure if you felt relieved or disappointed you attendings didn’t want to have sex with you.
“We’re old men, who make a lot of money and don’t have family to look after. We want someone to take care of.” Robby informed you.
“You want me to be your sugar baby?” You asked, a bit incredulously.
Simultaneously, you heard a ‘no’ and a ‘sort of…’. Abbot glared at Robby.
“Are you familiar with BDSM dynamics, honey?” You tried not to react when Abbot called you honey but judging by the way he looked at you, you failed.
“I-yes, I am.” You mutter, looking down again.
“Ah-ah, look up.” Abbot couldn’t help but remind you. Robby gawked at him, but you looked up automatically. Abbot tipped your chin encouragingly.
“Have you had any experience with it?” He asked and Robby turned his attention back to you.
“Uh, a bit, yeah.” You admitted in a whisper. God, this was so fucking embarrasing. Robby reached across the table for your hand, which had clenched around itself. He unwinded your fingers and placed his hand on top of yours, rubbing circles onto it.
“Can you tell us what you were doing?” He asked softly. Suddenly, it was hard for you to remember why you didn’t like Robby.
“I was- I was a submissive. Sometimes for sex, but usually domestically.” You murmured, feeling a bit lost in his gaze.
“Thank you for answering. You had a regular dom then?” He asked. You blinked up at him slowly.
“No, I was a part of this, like, group. You texted in and someone usually responded. I knew a few of them well but not all of them. I just… I just needed to be out of my head.” You shared, feeling a bit like a common whore. You went to look down again, but Robby clicked his tongue.
“I believe Jack asked you not to do that.”
“Sorry, Dr. Robby.”
“Michael, please.”
“Sorry Michael.” You murmur automatically.
“No apologies necessary, sweet girl. That must have been hard to tell me.” You nodded without thinking. Abbot piped up again.
“That’s exactly what we want. A submissive. You don’t have to fuck us. We want to feed you, bathe you, dress you up. We want you to listen, and do as you’re told, and to feel free.” Abbot took your other hand, thumb rubbing up and down your wrist.
“You don’t have to even try it. If you’re not interested, we eat dinner, drop you home and pretend none of this happened.” Robby promised, squeezing your hand.
“No pressure. If you want to think about it, then same thing.” Abbot assured.
“I… I do want to try. I haven’t done it in a bit, I might be a bit shit at it.” You admitted, feeling a bit exposed.
“You have been doing absolutely wonderfully.” Robby reassured you quickly.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about a thing, we’d do that for you.” Abbot added.
“Okay, I’ll try it with you. But if I don’t fall deep, don’t be upset.” You warned
“Stop getting in your own head about this, we’ll take it as we go, babe.” Robby brought your hand to his lips, kissing each finger between words. You revelled in the attention for a moment, and you knew they knew. You felt yourself settle down, the weight rolling off your shoulders.
You didn’t notice Abbot getting up beside you, so you jumped when a plate was placed in front of you. Abbot petted your hair soothingly.
“Hush, it’s only me. Here, Mike…” As he passed Robby his own. He placed his own down and quickly plucked the cutlery from your hands.
“Would you like it if I fed you, hon?” Abbot asked quietly, waiting for your response. You nodded slowly.
“Brave girl.” He noted you must have been wrecked to give in so easily.
The plan had initially been to just ask you tonight. Talk to you a bit about it, get to know you. You’d talk about expectations and fears and all of you would set a schedule. Which would still need to be made, but tonight was not the night. Abbot really hadn’t meant to start domming you before you’d even discussed it, but you were plain irresistible. It irritated him how you couldn’t see it. He could see you needed it tonight, Robby could too. You were barely hanging on.
“Do you like to try everything separately first or do you usually go straight in with your meal?” Robby asked before Abbot began.
“Separately, if it’s not too much trouble.” You disclosed, reaching to take the fork from Abbot’s hand preemptively. Abbot gently lowered it.
“Hands on your thighs or on the table, please. Thank you for telling me, I’d like to feed you.” They had a feeling you would need more than a simple instruction. You seemed to be a lot more insecure in yourself than they originally thought.
Clear instructions, easily-won praise often, and many reminders of the initial order or rules. They could remedy that, if you would let. They could only hope you would.
Abbot handfed you every bit, stopping every few to take some himself. When he was eating, Robby took the opportunity to feed you some of his own.
“You are taking this so very well.” He murmured, rubbing your cheek after a bit.
You had cleared the plate before you knew it, and Abbot smiled wide.
“Very, very good. Do you want anymore?” You shook your head lightly, muttering a small ‘no thank you’.
“Thank you for being so polite, sweet girl. You are doing so well. It’s hard to let someone take care of you, isn’t it?” Abbot asked empathetically, taking both of your hands in his own and kissing them. He turned to Robby, who was only watching.
“Mike, could you…” He asked Robby something, but you didn’t quite catch it. You watched him stand up and walk around to you.
“C’mere… That’s a good girl.” Robby spoke, bringing you into the living room. He plopped himself down on the middle of the couch and when he went to pull you into his lap, he was surprised to find you on the floor. You knelt between his legs, not needing to be told to get into position and falling into total habit for the first time tonight.
“Aren’t you a high achiever?” He crooned into your ear, petting your hair. He grabbed a pillow from the end of the couch and quietly ordered you to move for a moment. He could see the panic in your eyes and dropped the pillow. He brought his hands to your hips and looked up at you.
“I just wanted to move this underneath you so you’re not in any pain. You’re not in trouble, we’re all okay.” He assured quickly, thumbing circles onto your hip bones. You nodded and lowered yourself onto the pillow when he had it placed.
“Is that much better, honey?” He cooed at you from above.
“Mhm-hmm. Thank you, Michael.” You instinctively leaned against his left leg. He continued cooing at you until Abbot came back in. They said something to each other, but you weren’t listening. You didn’t feel like you needed to. You weren’t told to pay attention to anything.
“Feeling okay, baby?” Abbot looked down at you, gently tugging your chin upwards to meet his eyes. He was sitting on Robby’s left side. You nodded slowly, eyes glazed over. You smiled softly at him and he released his hold, letting your head fall back to where it was.
“Best girl.” He said, scratching your scalp, while Robby’s leg supported your body weight.
In the morning, you would hope and pray tonight was not a fluke and that you impressed them. But tonight, you weren’t worried about that. You weren’t worried about a thing at all.
summary — the first rule of sleeping with your attending was to make sure it meant nothing. you’d been very good at that right up until you weren’t.
warnings — 8.1k words. 18+ Minors DNI!! (explicit sexual content, oral [m! recieving], unprotected p in v, power imbalance [attending/resident], friends with benefits dynamics, mild dom/sub dynamics, hair pulling, a lot of talking during sex, can be read as slightly coercive maybe?), hurt/comfort, commitment issues, fear of emotional intimacy, lightly implied widower undertones, age gap (jack’s 50/reader’s a resident, implied to be late twenties), jack jokes about paying for sex, alcohol
notes — this one started light in the beginning and ended pretty heavy like idk where all that came from i wrote the first half when i was in a better mood and finished it when i got this request and i guess i was just feeling like i wanted to make it hurt even more
Jack Abbot came with his perks. He’d taken you under his wing when you first joined the PTMC as a second-year-resident, and somewhere over the space of a year, he’d taken you to his bed. You’d built him as a man who lived in a sad bachelor pad with the way he’d taken you to his house after a shitty shift; no preamble, just a jerk of his head toward the parking garage and a raspy ‘come on’ that you’d followed like he was still your attending after-hours.
And fuck, you couldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel slightly good to see a floor-to-ceiling windowed penthouse and drink something amber and expensive after you’d spent the last few years of your life not seeing the other end of what your work could bring you. It was grim and improper, you knew, fucking your attending in the early hours of the morning before the sun fully rose, but you knew it was coming; half the ED had placed bets on it and Cassie and Javadi were yet to know they were right.
He’d taken you against the window the first time.
“You afraid of heights?” he’d asked, and the question moved through you like warm liquid rather than reached you. You’d shaken your head, or tried to. “No,” he’d murmured, your jaw in his hands. “Didn’t think so.”
He’d taken his prosthetic off after, wryly claiming that the position felt good but the leg disagreed. That had somehow lead to another round, slower the second time with him on his back and you set over him.
A part of you wondered often the sort of impression you’d given Jack, what he’d seen, exactly, that made him sure he could have you like this and keep it weightless. Whatever it was, it had to have been right to some degree because you’d spent more nights in his penthouse than your own apartment for the past six months without ever calling it anymore than what it was.
He was a better lay than you’d ever had. He was probably the best option around to get steam off while you worked your way through residency. It helped that he was your attending and you shared the same strange hours.
You kept the books carefully and columns balanced. Sex, sleep, the occasional terrible four a.m. meal that didn’t count because eating was maintenance, not intimacy. You never stayed for coffee — you took it to go — and you didn’t learn his middle name on purpose. You’d never seen the inside of his closet. You left before you could risk having to go to work together. A woman in trouble would linger, and you did not linger. Therefore.
But the stupid books had started running a quiet deficit you hadn’t accounted for. You knew exactly how he took his coffee. The toothbrush in the second drawer that you reached for now without looking, muscle memory in a place you’d sworn was temporary.
And even though you could admit that Jack knew his way around you and never made you ask twice for anything in that bed, that wasn’t the line item that worried you. Bodies learned bodies. It was that you’d stopped taking your coffee to go some mornings without ever noticing the change; you’d sit at his counter with a mug that was somehow yours now, and drank it there while he read something on his phone and never told you to leave. You’d started to become a woman that lingered, and even worse, one who liked to do so.
And that had to stop, because Jack had told you point-blank what this was on the first night while you were still putting on your shirt with his mouth print blooming under the fabric.
This doesn’t have to be a thing. I’m not looking to make it one. Is that alright?
He’d said the words while putting on his briefs, and you’d agreed too fast, because at that time, it had cost you nothing. You’d wanted a body and a break, and he was offering both. He’d been more honest than any man you’d let touch you. He’d told you the terms up front and never moved them.
So, you simply had to put yourself out of the arrangement.
Jack found you by your car in the parking garage. He’d put on his coat a heavy thing that should’ve swallowed him but instead he was able to fill out almost perfectly.
“Jack,” you said, trying to find an even voice as he closed the distance between you. Before he could even ask, you forced out, “I’m not going home with you.”
His brows furrowed and he looked confused. For good reason, you supposed. Friday mornings had become sort of a usual for you, the easiest compensation in your life for missing Friday nights.
“You good?” He stepped close and tipped his head, and you watched him give you a complete once-over, eyes dropping to your hands and the set of your shoulders like you were a patient. “You looked a little out of it today. Come — I’ll make you soup.”
You pinched your eyes shut at his words. “What’s that even supposed to mean — I was fine.”
“Don’t take it personal,” he said. “Come on, soup.”
“Seriously, I was fine.” You were almost offended now, which was clearly his intent, the bastard. “I’ve been awake for nineteen hours, I’m not sick —” You caught yourself getting pulled into it, defending your honor, exactly the kind of dumb circular thing you’d let him rope you into a hundred times because arguing with Jack was sometimes fun. You shut it down. “I’m not going home with you,” you said again, this time with a sharper edge.
He pursed his lips and crossed his arms over his chest, giving you another once-over as he recaliberated the situation in real time. “Did I upset you?”
“No, it’s not a fight,” you said fast. You dragged a hand down your face. “I’m not mad at you, Jack. I’m done with this. The whole — all of it.”
He tipped his chin down when you gestured vaguely with your finger between the two of you, at the whole abstract nature of you. Then, he said, “You’re calling it?”
“Yeah, very much,” you said, voice dropping a register as you leaned against the driver’s side door of your car. Then, when you saw how his brows furrowed and how he looked just slightly caught off-guard, you added, dumbly, “Sorry. I guess.”
He held your eyes a long beat, something working in his mouth, and then closed the last of the distance between you. His hand came up to your jaw, and you felt your face turn to liquid as you involuntarily leaned into it; his thumb dragged slow along your cheekbone and his gaze followed it, and you stood pinned to your own cold car door and let him, because telling him to stop would mean pretending you didn’t want it, and you’d never once been able to sell that lie for either of you.
“You mean it?” he asked, voice rough, and his forehead dropped to yours. When you nodded, he mimicked your movement. “Alright. Then let’s at least end it properly.”
When you showed no urgency to decline, his mouth found yours before you could decide whether you trusted yourself enough to end it properly. One of his hands stayed at your jaw while the other one fitted you back against the cold of the car. He smiled against your mouth, and you used your palm to push him by the chest.
He went back, just slightly, dropping his head to your forehead again. “I’m guessing that’s a yes?”
“One time,” you said quietly, almost in a whisper. “And then I mean it. It won’t change anything.”
“I believe you,” he said. “Last time, then. Make it count.”
Jack was making it obscenely difficult for you to make it count. The rhythm you’d settled into with him at around month two — the one where the two of you skipped the drink and went straight into his bed — had disappeared tonight. He just really needed a drink tonight, and then another, and then he really didn’t want to shut his mouth.
He poured the second one without offering you a top-up and stood at the window instead of coming to you, two fingers of amber catching the lamplight. You watched him and watched him, answering his questions until the two of you finally ended up in the bedroom.
He’d opened his mouth to argue something and you got his belt open instead slowly, and whatever he’d been about to say faded elsewhere. The city sat out past the glass, unblinking, that audience he never drew the blinds against. His hand found your hair, resting with his thumb at your ear, almost gentle and completely fucking distracting.
“Slow,” he murmured when you took him into your mouth, and the word came out scraped down to nothing. His head went back against the headboard. “Fuck.”
You went the opposite of slow; you knew that taking your time with it, acknowledging the last time of it all, would crack something open in your chest you couldn’t afford to have open. You did everything you knew undid him — six months of evidence, a body of proof — fast and certain, and the breath punched out of him and his fingers curled into your hair and the smug, talkative version of him went quiet for about four seconds.
“You — huh — last time. Really?” he managed to say, fingers tightening against your scalp, the blunt fingernails scraping against the skin. You slid your tongue down his length, and he let out a short groan, letting out a wrecked, “Good girl.” His hips lifted a fraction before he caught them, forcing himself still under your hands. “Good — yeah.”
You’d have smiled if your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, so you settled on humming around him. You let yourself think you’d won the quiet, and then his thumb moved against your temple slowly, and he ruined it.
“You really mean it?” he asked quietly, words aimed somewhere at the ceiling. “You’re done?”
You ignored him and kept your rhythm. It wasn’t a question you were going to dignify with him in your mouth and your resolve already pooled somewhere on his bedroom floor.
His hands flexed in your hair at the silence, then tugged, a frustrated little pull that went straight down your spine and that he absolutely felt you react to, because his thumb pressed flat behind your ear like he was talking to your pulse there.
“Don’t go quiet on me,” he said, rasp going uneven, breath catching somewhere between the words, his whole stomach drawn tight. You watched the muscle there jump when you took him deeper as his jaw worked. “You hear me. I know you — shit.”
You’d found the underside with the flat of your tongue you slowly dragged, and the sentence collapsed. His head dropped back and your eyes caught the tendon at his throat standing out. One of his heels dug into the mattress and you felt the tremor run up his thigh under your palm.
You’d have been lying if you said this wouldn’t be missed. Not the talking, but this, the privilege of watching Jack Abbot lose a fight with his own body, a man who controlled every room he stood in coming apart by degrees because of what you were doing. You pressed your thumb into the crease of his hip and felt him shudder. You took him to the back of your throat and swallowed and he said your name that came out of his mouth breaking.
“You’re really gonna — ” He inhaled sharply, hand fisting tighter on your head. “ — gonna do this and walk, you’re — ”
You pulled off of him with a slow, wet, and deeply unflattering sound and sat back on your heels and looked up at him, lips swollen, thoroughly out of patience, your hand still working him just enough that his hips chased it. His eyes were closed, and he let out a large exhale.
“Are you kidding me?”
He cracked an eye open, then shifted his head to the side against the pillow. “What?” he muttered.
“Why won’t you shut up?” You squeezed deliberately and his jaw clenched against the noise that almost got out of him. “You’re acting like a child.”
“Acting like a child,” he huffed, head tipping back. “I’m pretty aged out of the tantrum bracket.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” You dragged your thumb up the length of him slowly. “You’ve been throwing one since we got off.”
His hand left your hair and closed around your wrist instead — the one still working him — stilling it, and then he was pulling with his unarguable strength, drawing you up over him until you had to crawl up his body or be dragged.
You ended up straddling his waist. He stayed flat on his back beneath you, one arm folding behind his head while the other spread warm and heavy over your thigh, and he looked up at you with his chest still heaving and the gray stark at his temples.
“Better,” he muttered. “Neck was startin’ to go, watching you be stubborn down there.” The hand on your thigh slid up slowly, settling at your hip, thumb working a lazy circle into the bone. He tilted his chin up slightly. “What’s this really about?”
You went still because you had too much of an answer, and it was the sort of one that you didn’t believe could survive being said out loud over a man who’d made it clear exactly what this was on day one.
“You know,” you said.
“Maybe. But humor me.” His eyes stayed on your face, looking patient as ever, as the circle of his thumb continued moving. “Thought we had something nice going and now — ” He tilted his head slightly against the pillow. “So, what’s going on up in that pretty little head of yours?”
“I want more than this,” you said plainly. “That’s what’s in my head. I want the whole thing — the relationship and dates and stuff. I think I’ve got enough time to — get into that.”
“Yeah?” he said, voice coming out in a breath His thumb stilled on your hip. He looked up at you and his other hand came up and pushed a piece of your hair back off your cheek.
You had to press your lips together, because you obviously weren’t expecting him to offer, and yet you’d been holding your breath anyway.
“Yeah,” you said. “I do.”
His hand stayed on your cheek a moment longer, the pad of his thumb resting just under your eye. Then his hand dropped back to your hip where it was safe.
“You should,” he said after a moment, swallowing. “Get into that. You’ve got the time.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?” His hands flexed at your hip, his hips still beneath yours and the want still humming under all of it. “Not gonna talk you out of one thing you actually deserve. Even I’m not that selfish.” His brows furrowed, like he’d just processed his own words. “Most days.”
His hand left your hip and found your waist, and then he was turning you, guiding you off of him onto the side on the mattress beside him, leaving the two of you laying facing each other in the gold dark. His thigh slid between yours.
This close, you could see everything you usually didn't get to study: the silver threaded through the stubble at his jaw, the small white seam of an old scar through one eyebrow, the way the lines around his eyes weren't from laughing. He had one arm folded under his head and the other draped heavy over your hip, fingers spread at the small of your back, and he just looked at you, the want and the conversation both still hanging in the air between you, neither resolved.
“S’it somebody at work?” he asked. “Has to be. You don’t have time yet to meet anyone who isn’t.”
You shook your head slightly against the pillow, and your brows furrowed together at the idea. “No — no one. I haven’t met anyone yet.”
He huffed. His eyes dropped from yours to somewhere near your collarbone, then came back up.
He turned his face toward the pillow for a second, as if to hide his face from you, then met your eyes again. “You’d rather have no one than me, huh?”
“Wow,” you breathed out in almost a gasp. You pulled back an inch against the pillow to look at him properly. “Now that’s mean, Jack. I can find someone, you know.”
“Yeah?” His brow lifted, scar catching the light. “Course you can.” His hand slid off your hip and down, palming the back of your thigh, drawing your knee up over his. “Always hear someone in the hospital talking about you.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“M’not.” He hitched your leg higher, fitting himself into the space it opened, and you felt the blunt heat of him press where you were already aching for it, rubbing slowly against your folds. “I mean it. It’s about time you got out from this old man.”
“Don’t call yourself that.”
He dragged the length of him through you again, catching you over and over where you wanted him and not giving it. “It’s what I am. Fifty, boring life, no good to you past this.” His mouth ghosted the corner of yours, breath warm and uneven. “You should be out with someone who can give you the whole thing. I’ve already done my time.”
You could do it again, you wanted to say. You could be the whole thing. But the words sat behind your teeth, because you already knew what he’d say and do if you’d said them, and you couldn’t take hearing it kindly. Especially not with him notched against you like this when it was supposed to be the last time.
You let your hand find his jaw instead, the rough of the stubble, the silver, and you watched his eyes flicker at the touch, at how your lips moved from one side to the other as you tried to keep the words down. It seemed like he’d understood whatever you didn’t say.
“Yeah, baby,” he muttered and pressed his thumb to the back of your thigh, eyes fluttering shut at the touch of you. “I know.”
He pushed in then, slow, all the way, mid-breath like it was just the next thing between you. The shudder rolled clean through him as he sank into you, his exhale breaking ragged against your mouth. Your spine arched off the mattress. His arm hooked under the small of your back and dragged you flush, no space left, no air, the two of you pressed chest to chest in the gold hush.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth, holding there, buried to the hilt and not moving as he felt you clench around him. “Spoiling me rotten and then telling me you’re leaving.”
“Shut up now — ”
He drew back slow and sank back in deep, and the sound you made came out somewhere against his shoulder. Each roll of his hips pressed you up the sheets. “Get me used to this and then — what? Go hand it to someone who hasn’t earned it.” He laughed brokenly against your throat. “Selfish girl.”
You got a fistful of his hair and pulled, hard enough that his breath stuttered. “Go find — someone else yourself,” you said through your teeth, because opening your mouth seemed like something embarrassing would follow. “You’re not lacking options — ”
“But I like having my cake,” he breathed, and there was almost a laugh under it. “Eating it, too.”
“Gross,” you mumbled against him.
One month was meant to be enough time. Lying awake the first week, you’d assumed it’d take thirty days to unlearn a person. It had worked on the obvious things. You’d stopped reaching for your phone at the end-of-shift and stopped seeking him out by the lockers. You’d slept in your own bed and not found it lacking, mostly. But nobody warned you that being in a car for four hours would call it all into question.
One month of calling him Dr. Abbot across the bay, crisp and so weightless, handing him a chart without your fingers brushing his. You’d gotten good at it. Then Robby floated the conference. Some emergency medicine thing four hours upstate; a block of credits, a hotel with a conference rate, a chance to put PowerPoint slides between yourself and the actual work for two days. Dana volunteered the department van before anyone could think of a reason not to, already half out of her scrubs spiritually, determined to get a few days of being a person instead of a charge nurse.
Like these things usually did, the seating assembled itself, which was to say it was assembled badly. Robby drove while Dana drove shotgun. Trinity somehow won the entire back row. And the middle row was you, Dennis, and Jack.
You in the middle, because the universe worked in fucked-up ways. In this case, the universe was named Dana.
“You’ll fit,” Dana had said, and pressed a duffel of granola bars into your arms like a consolation prize, steering you into the gap between the two men before you could mount a defense.
You fit pressed thigh-to-thigh with Jack Abbot for four hours up interstate, his arm slung along the seatback behind you because there was genuinely nowhere else for a man his size’s arms to put it, the heat of him bleeding through your sleeve like a low fever. You knew that arm. You knew the weight of it, the places where his hand fell when it wasn’t thinking about where it fell. It was a quarter-inch from touching you, which was worse than actually touching you, and you suspected he knew that, too.
The van pulled out of the lot at five in the morning. Dennis had his headphones in before the drive even started. Up front, Dana was already arguing with Robby about the music. Trinity was sprawled in the whole back row to herself, scrolling on her phone.
Thirty minutes into the drive, Jack broke the seal.
“Excited?” he asked, eyes still out the window, profile flat and bored as anything. His voice was pitched low enough that it lived in the space between his mouth and your ear and nowhere else.
You kept your head tipped back against the seat. “More excited about sleeping in a comfortable bed than the conference.”
His brows narrowed as he turned to look at you. “Some Marriot-adjacent mattress? You’re aiming low.”
“It’s horizontal and not on-call. I’m easy to please.”
“Since when?” he drawled, bone-dry, eyes going back to the window. But his thigh had pressed a degree closer against yours, a shift you couldn’t call a thing without admitting you were keeping track. Up-front, Dana won whatever argument she’d been having and something with a heavy bassline filled the van. Jack let the noise ring and leaned half-an-inch closer that nobody would ever catch. “You used to say my sheets were scratchy.”
“For a man with that penthouse, they were scratchy — ”
“Finally,” he breathed out, satisfied, like he’d been fishing for exactly that and reeled it in. Something in his face eased and you hated, a little, how much you wanted to have done that. “I almost forgot you’d been in it.”
God. You hadn’t forgotten anything. That was the whole problem. You knew the place, the cold floor on the way to the bathroom, the exact freckles on his chest up close. You knew he wore a ring you had never once asked about and he’d never once explained, and that you’d both kept your eyes politely off the subject the way you keep your eyes off a wound that wasn’t yours to dress. You knew all of it, and all you could do was keep promising yourself it didn’t count anymore.
“Can we stop at the next exit?” Trinity said from the back. “I need coffee and the bathroom. In that order.”
Dana hummed. “There’s a Sheetz coming up in ten. That good?” She looked through the map on her phone. “Everybody go when we stop. We’re not pulling off twice.”
“Works for me,” Robby said.
Dennis plugged out one of his earphones and glanced over everyone in the car. “We’re stopping?”
“Yup,” Dana confirmed. “Bathroom, snacks, ten minutes, back in the van. Whitaker, you want anything, you decide now.”
Dennis considered, then put his earphone back on, apparently deciding the whole thing was beneath the commitment.
Jack leaned in from beside you, barely. “Single stall in the back of those places, you know?” he said, voice low, barely audible over the music. “There’s a lock on the door and everything.”
You kept your eyes on the windshield in front of you. “Weird thing to know off the top of your head.”
His thigh pressed warm against yours through the curve of an off-ramp that didn’t strictly require it. “How much would it take?” His eyes flickered back out to the window, even as his shoulder now pressed up against yours. “You and me in there. Ten minutes. Name a number.”
“Can’t be bought.” You forced your eyes to the windshield. “Sorry. Not for sale.”
“No?” His voice dipped, amused. “Everybody’s got a price.”
“Not me.” You turned your head and found him already closer than he’d been a second ago. “You really think you could afford me?”
“Could take a run at it.”
“Wouldn’t get far.”
“Fifty,” he said, and you could see the slight grin crawling onto his lips.
You let out a short laugh, then immediately pressed your mouth over your lips before it became any louder. “I don’t get out of bed for fifty dollars, Abbot, let alone on my knees.”
“Oof.” He winced, mock-wounded, dragging a hand over his chest. “Expensive date.”
“It’s never a date with you.”
He bit his lip at that, eyes raking over you, the grin caught behind his teeth. “Right. Hundred, then.”
“I’m gonna report you to HR. You’re my attending.”
“Good luck with filling out the history we have for that.”
You turned to look at him, and let your mouth curl. “You really think I’m the sort of girl to do it in a gas station bathroom?”
You watched the grin go still on his face, watched his eyes drop to your mouth and drag back up, the warmth in them tipping into something darker. “Would you?”
You scoffed, shaking your head. “In your dreams, Jack.”
“Frequently,” he said, not missing a second. “Vividly, too.”
You leaned in enough to feel his breath catch. “Keep dreaming, then. It’s all you’re getting.”
You sat back before he could answer, fingers playing with the seatbelt, sweet as anything.
“Christ.” He dragged a hand down over his jaw, his head tipping back against the seat and looked at you sideways through the gray morning light, and the bit fell off his face. “Missed you.”
Before you could even process the words with his attention on you, because he was who he was, his jaw worked once and looked back out the window, ending it himself before you could, handing the silence back to you to do with it what you pleased.
Your chest squeezed just slightly at that, and you had to be the one to force yourself to look away, catching sight of Dennis’s head bumping against the window as he soundly slept, oblivious, lucky.
At some point past the gas station you lost the fight with your own exhaustion. Nineteen hours of being awake before the drive, and the van was warm, and the bassline had mellowed into something Dana hummed underneath her breath, and the road had gone smooth — almost hypnotic — interstates often did when they’d gone out of the clutches of the city. You’d meant to stay awake. You’d made the small private rule about it, too; you went under anyway, somewhere between a stretch of dead farmland and the next, your head listing by degrees toward the warm solid thing on your left because your body, again, moving without giving a single shit about how you felt.
When you surfaced, it happened slowly. The light had changed; it was full morning now, white and flat through the windshield. Your cheek was pressed against something that rose and fell in a long, even rhythm, and your brain took its time arriving to the fact of it. You’d fallen asleep on Jack's chest. One month clean and your face was tucked into the seam of his jacket like it had never stopped being there.
You weren’t proud of how you didn’t want to move just yet, so you didn’t move.
You could feel his breathing under your cheek, slow enough that he might have been asleep, too. There was a smell to him you’d made yourself forget and were now remembering, completely against your will. It was nothing fancy, just clean cotton and something warm. The Gatorade bottle you’d been clutching was in the cupholder against your knee now, and you had no memory putting it there. Which meant there was a slight chance Jack had worked it out of your sleeping hand at some point so it wouldn’t tip into your lap, and set it down.
You cracked one eye to assess the damage to your dignity. Dennis had leaned in the same stretch of road, toward you, hood up and mouth open, gone to the world. And somewhere in all that, Jack’s arm, the long span of it along the seatback, had come down around you with his hand had ended up resting flat on the top of Dennis’s skull, holding it off your shoulder, fingers spread over the kid’s hair like a melon he was deciding whether to buy.
You’d furrowed your brows at the arrangement, reeling, when the camera shutter went off.
Jack came awake all at once. He always did; he was never groggy, never had a transition. It was like there was an off and on button to him, as though his nervous system had been trained somewhere that didn’t allow the luxury of waking up slowly. He clocked it in a half second: the phone, you against his chest, the unexplained weight under his own palm. He followed his arm down to where his hand was cradling a sleeping resident’s head and his face crumpled slightly.
He smacked it off, open-palmed, off the top of Dennis’s skull.
“Ow.” Dennis jolted awake, flailing upright, a crease pressed into his cheek from your sleeve. “What — Dr. Abbot — what —”
“Wrong shoulder, kid,” Jack said.
“I wasn’t —” Dennis took in the angle for himself and recoiled. “Sorry. God. Sorry.”
You’d started to sit up to peel yourself off Jack’s chest and salvage some dignity to sit back into the cold neutral air of your own seat where you belonged. His palm came up to your forehead and pushed you back down against him.
“Not you,” he said. His hand stayed flat on your forehead. “You’re fine where you are.”
You reached up and pulled his hand off your forehead, sitting up out of the warmth of him.
“C’mon,” he said quietly, under the music, softer than a command.
You paused with your hand still around his wrist and turned to look at him full-on. He was already looking at you, none of the previous needling present in his face.
You shook your head once, a small gesture. You didn’t trust the words to come out the way they needed to, so you let your face carry it instead.
He held your eyes a second, then his jaw shifted slightly and the corner of his mouth went to a worn-down half of a smile. He gave you the smallest nod. His eyes fell shut and he tipped his head back with a small shake of his head as he eased his wrist out of your hand.
You put your hands in your lap where they couldn’t get you in trouble, and stared out at the flat white morning coming up over the interstate, and made sure to not look at him again.
The conference threw a networking event the first evening, which meant a low-lit ball room, a cash bar charging eleven dollars for wine that came from a box, and a couple hundred physicians standing around in lanyards pretending they’d be here without the boxed wine.
You’d lost the group almost immediately. Dana was drawn to a cluster of people she knew in a previous life; Robby to someone he’d done a residency with; Dennis to the food; Trinity to one of her college buddies. It left you working the edge of the room with a plastic cup of wine, doing a slow orbit as you read badges, when a man peeled off a nearby conversation and aimed at you.
He was older. Closer to Jack’s range, give or take. He had silver coming in at the temples and an unbothered ease that made you wonder if he’d ever had it hard. His badge put him outside Columbus. He had a good face and seemed aware of it without leaning on it, and no wear that graced his features; a man who slept fine, you assumed, and didn’t own a single thing he refused to speak about.
“Pace yourself with that,” he said, tipping his own glass in the direction of yours. “It comes up to you pretty quickly.”
“Bit late for that,” you said, lifting the cup up an inch. “This is already number three.”
“Then I’m too late to save you and might as well make it worse,” he said, offering a hand. “Mark. Philly. I run the shop out there.”
You introduced yourself. He had a good handshake, dry and brief, none of the holding-on the men sometimes did at these things.
He tipped his head to look at your badge. “Pittsburgh Trauma. You like it?”
“Most days.”
He shrugged. “Anybody who says every day is lying or hasn’t been doing it long enough.” He took a sip and let his eyes come back to your face. “Let me guess. Senior resident. Somebody made you come.”
You were going to say something back—you had something, you’d half-built it—and then there was a hand at the small of your back. You knew the weight of it, the breadth, where the fingers fell. It settled low against your spine and stayed, warm through the dress.
“Mark,” Jack said from beside you. He had a club soda in his free hand and an easy nothing on his face. “Jack Abbot. Pittsburgh.”
“Jack.” Mark did a quick thing, the hand, the half-step Jack had folded into the space between you without seeming to take it, the way you hadn't stepped out from under his palm. Something recalibrated behind his face, pleasant and unhurried. He stuck the hand out anyway. “I think I’ve read you —” He referenced one of Jack’s studies you knew all too well, something he’d handed over to you once in his bed like it was a bedtime story.
“That’s me.” Jack took the handshake. His thumb moved once at your spine, where the angle hid it from the third person entirely. “Philly? You inherit the department or build it?”
“Little bit of both. Mostly inherited the problems,” he said lightly. “You enjoying the conference?”
“It’s a conference,” Jack said, lifting his glass half-an-inch. Then, his head tilted in your direction. “You know this one’s my best trauma resident? I’d put her on anything. Watched her run a procedure last month half the seniors I came up with couldn’t have called that fast.”
“That so?” Mark looked at you again, interest sharpened. “He doesn’t seem the type to hand those out.”
“He’s nice to everyone.”
“She’s underselling it.” Jack’s hand spread a degree wider at your back, the heel of his palm settling into the dip of your spine, fingers easy along your hip. “You’ll be reading her name in a couple years and remembering you met her here, of all places.”
It got the laugh Jack wanted it to. Mark took a sip, easy, regrouping, and you watched him do the math the way smooth men do—fast, behind a pleasant face—and land on a play.
“Well.” He tilted the glass toward Jack. “I won’t monopolize you. I’m sure you’ve got the room to work — everybody wants a minute at these things.”
The thumb that had been moving at your back stilled, and Jack’s features crossed into something amused as he narrowed his brows at the man.
“S’alright,” he said pleasantly. “Got everyone I need right here.”
Mark recaliberated again, watching him take Jack’s measure one more time; the hand, the half-inch of space that hardly qualified as space. You watched him arrive to the easy conclusion that whatever was happening here had been decided before he ever walked over.
“Fair enough,” he said, setting his empty cup down at the nearest high-top. “Pleasure. Good luck with the residency.” He nodded at you, then to Jack. “Abbot.” And then he was gone, folding back into the room, off to find the next conversation that wasn’t already spoken for.
Jack’s hand was still on your back, and you stepped out from under it. You turned to face him, and felt the thing that had been climbing in you all night finally find a target.
“Why would you do that?” you asked, shaking your head and pressing your lips shut to keep yourself from saying anything more.
“Do what?” he said mildly, the glass loose in his hand.
“Don’t.” You kept your face arranged for the room, tamping down your voice so it wouldn’t carry over to strangers. “You know what you did. You’re not stupid.”
“I said you were good at your job.” He had the gall to look reasonable. “Becuase you are.”
“That’s not what it was and you know it — thank you.” Your jaw tightened. “You don’t get to walk over and put your hand on me when I’m talking to another man and act like — ” Your fingers moved between the two of you, a small and sharp movement. “ — like you’ve got any claim. We agreed to this a month ago.”
Jack’s lips pressed in a thin line at the words, and his eyes raked over your face. “He’d have you in his bed by ten,” he said, calmer now. “Guys like that — it’s their whole game at places like this. One night, gone by checkout. You didn’t lose anything worth keeping.”
Your brows furrowed at that, and you felt something go hot in your neck. “Yeah?” you asked, voice going quieter. “Isn’t that what you were?”
He looked away for a second, one hand coming up to rub over the bottom half of his face. “If you can’t tell the difference between me and a guy like that,” he said evenly, and there was something genuinely stung underneath as his eyes met yours, “then I really don’t know what to tell you.”
“Maybe there isn’t one.”
His face twisted at that, and he let out a disbelieved laugh. “That’s how you think of me?”
“That’s not — ” You stopped, because his face had knocked something loose in you and you had no idea what you thought anymore. “That’s not what I said.”
“It sounded a hell of a lot like it.” He shook his head. “Six months and you’re putting me next to a guy you met ten minutes ago. Alright.”
“Jack — ”
“You wanted it, too. Okay?” When you let out a small ‘what?’ he continued, “You heard me. You’re acting like you just went along with it, and you never once asked for more either.” His voice had dropped low, and he’d walked closer to you before you even realized. “You never once asked for more until the night you walked. So don’t put it all on me.”
“I asked,” you said, voice cracking just slightly, and you looked around the room to see if anyone was close to you. “You were the one who told me to go find someone else. You said you’re no good past what we were doing.”
“I said it because it’s true,” he said quickly, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m not the guy you build the rest of your life around. I tried to do the decent thing.”
“Then stand on that,” you said. “You don’t get to tell me to find someone and stop it the second anyone shows up. Pick one. You don’t get to keep me in your life like this forever because you can’t stand to either let me in or go.”
“I’m trying to do right by you,” he said roughly.
You pressed two fingers above your eyelid, shaking your head. “Why are you doing this?” You shoulders came up to your ears. “I don’t — it was never going to be us, Jack. You said so yourself. I don’t get why — I need to move on.”
He closed his eyes at that for a moment. “I know you do,” he said quietly, the fight gone all out of him. His eyes flickered down to his hand for a second, then made a loose fist out of them. “I — can we go somewhere else?” He leaned in slightly, body stiffening up. Reading the hesitation on your face, he said, “Please.”
You’d watched him avoid the word in a dozen rooms, so you nodded slowly and forced yourself to not look too hard at why. You couldn’t, because if you stopped to let yourself consider it, it’d make your body hurt even more, and you’d still do it.
The stairwell was the only door on the floor that wasn’t a room or a lobby. It was fire-exit cold, raw concrete, a fluorescent light overhead. The reception came up through the floor as bass and nothing else, the words gone out of it. The door sucked shut behind you both and took the noise with it. You both walked four floors up, apparently neither of you being ready to do anything about it. And then there was simply the buzz of the bad light and Jack, six months and one month and four floors and a whole conference away from you, standing with his back to the cinderblock and his hands jammed in his pockets.
You crossed your arms and your eyes involuntarily flickered up to the ceiling because you weren’t sure you could talk. But when he let the silence drag on, too, you said, “Jack — ”
“Did you want it to be me?” he said immediately, like your voice had spurred him into action.
“What?”
“The whole thing you said you want. Dates, the rest of it.” His body was stiff against the wall. “Was that — did you ever imagine me, or just, someone else. Someone who would.”
You took in a shaky breath. “You.” It came out more plainly than you’d expected, like your body had been ready to be rid of it, to place it somewhere in the open. “I left because I wanted more — with you, and you made it pretty clear I could never have that.”
His hands jammed in his pockets. The light buzzed overhead, that sick fluorescent flutter, and somewhere four floors down the reception kept going, two hundred people who'd never know this was happening over their heads.
“I don’t think I can give you that,” he said.
“Okay.” You forced yourself to nod, and your eyes went hot. “Thanks for telling me that, then.”
He raised a palm just enough that it caught in your eyesight. “I didn’t — didn’t say I never wanted to. Don’t think that.” He tilted his neck up to meet your eyes properly. “Wanting you that way wasn’t hard. I’ve been doing that against my own advice the entire time.”
He'd come off the wall a step without seeming to know he'd done it, and his face had lost the arrangement it usually wore, the bored set of it, and underneath was something you'd caught glimpses of and never the whole of. His eyes shifted to the wall, the stenciled number, anywhere but you.
“I did years of this already. And it ended about as badly as it could end.” He laughed wryly, no humor in it. “I stopped letting myself want things — I thought it’s a lot easier to get through a night if there’s nothing you’d be hurt to lose.” His muscles tensed on his face, the lines deepening as he pinched his eyes shut and shook his head. “Feels like I’m losing you, and it hurts like hell.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know when it happened. It wasn’t meant to.”
You pressed a finger against the underside of your eye then, determined to catch anything that could possibly leak out.
“But you don’t know if you can do it,” you said, words coming out shakily.
He tugged his bottom lip between his teeth and shook his head slowly. “No,” he said honestly, and it was worse than any lie he could’ve told. “I don’t know.”
You nodded again, because there was nothing else for you to do.
“But — but, I don’t wanna lose what I’ve got with you,” he admitted, voice dropping into something shameful. “I know that the nights you’re not on are longer. And if I can’t have you, I want you to know you do that for me. It started being pretty serious a long time ago — for me, too.”
The light fluttered overhead and you let the finger drop from under your eye, gave up on holding it, let whatever wanted to come just come. Somehow, they were words you’d always wanted to hear and yet they arrived wrong, off-rhythm. You’d kept careful track of everything he wouldn’t give you, a whole running tally of it, and he'd just gone and paid the entire balance in one breath in the worst-lit room, and the awful part — the part that made your blood run even hotter — was that it counted. It counted, anyway.
“So what do we do with that?” you said. “I don’t — I don’t know where that leaves us.”
He was quiet for a moment. You watched him sit in the question instead of dodging it, which was new, which was maybe the most he’d ever given you in one night.
“I’d want to try,” he said finally, words careful, like he was setting something down that might break. “Not the old way. I mean the other thing. What you wanted.” He let out a breath. “If you still want it. I wasn’t very great the first time, and I’m out of practice, too.”
You wiped your cheek, and winced as you felt your hand scrub at your skin a little too roughly. “You were okay with it a month ago — ”
“It hurt,” he said immediately. “It hurt, you walking out. I didn’t have anything better than to let you, but don’t — don’t think it didn’t.”
He moved when you didn’t respond, stepping closer than the conversation needed. His hands came up and settled at your arms, just below the shoulders, loose, holding you in place or holding himself there, you couldn't tell which, maybe both.
“Let me try,” he said roughly. His thumbs moved once against your arms. “I want to learn this with you.”
You looked up at him. He held it — your eyes, the closeness, all of it — instead of glancing off the way he had all night. You realized distantly that this was a sort of contract you’d be signing, and he was laying out the option for you to not do so.
“You can’t disappear on me,” you said instead of considering the second option, “when it gets hard. I don’t ever want to feel like I made up something I didn’t.”
He nodded stiffly. “If I do, you can drag me back out.”
His forehead came down, to the top of your head, his chin resting in your hair, his arms folding the rest of the way around you like he'd finally run out of reasons not to. You felt him breathe out, the whole tense length of him going down an inch against you.
“Just let me try,” he said again, into your hair, voice a whisper. “Please. I’m asking. I don’t do that a lot.”
you were lounged back against the pillows in dick’s oversized t-shirt, legs stretched out, completely absorbed in your book. fingers flipped through the pages with the occasional rustle while your boyfriend was out.
dick slipped in after patrol, still in his nightwing suit. he crawled onto the bed and settled between your legs, resting his head on your chest with a soft sigh. this was practically routine now. dick was obsessed with your tits—needed them after every patrol like they were what he came home for (which… they are.)
“baby… can i…?” he asked, voice low and warm and so sweet, that easy charm threaded with pure need. when you made a small noise that indicated permission, dick tugged the shirt up gently and latched onto one nipple.
his mouth was hot, his motions eager—lips sealing tight around the stiff peak as he sucked with slow, rhythmic pulls that made your breast ache oh so sweetly and sent heated jolts straight to your cunt. his tongue swirled and flicked relentlessly around the sensitive bud that had pebbled immediately under his tongue, then flattened to nurse harder, drawing your nipple deep into his mouth with wet, obscene slurps. cheeks hollowing, he moaned softly against your flesh, the vibrations buzzing through your tit while saliva dripped down the curve of your breast.
he ground his hips against your thigh like a desperate puppy, his thick cock rock-hard and straining through the thin suit fabric. the leaking head left a growing wet spot as he humped slow and insistent, rubbing his throbbing cock along your legs in needy strokes. the friction the suit provided was delicious—but nowhere near what it would feel like to thrust into those pretty tits.
“mm… baby,” he mumbled around your tit, switching sides effortlessly, latching onto the other nipple and sucking deeper, tongue lapping messily at the slick, spit-covered skin. “missed this. fuck… you’re so soft and warm.”
you slid one hand into his dark hair, holding him close but kept your eyes on the book. he couldn’t help but wonder what was so good about words that made you so distracted. “wait a sec, dick. i’m in the middle of this chapter.”
he groaned, the sound buzzing through your breast as he sucked harder, pulling your nipple taut between his lips before soothing it with hungry laps, spit trailing down your tits as he sucked like he couldn’t get enough—which is true. his hips rocked faster, cock sliding hot and slick with pre-cum against your thigh, dragging the swollen head in filthy up down motions. “c’mon… just look at me? i’m being good here.” his tone stayed playful, that signature wit light even in the plea. “feels good, right? tell me. please.”
you turned another page, fingers stroking his hair absently. he groaned, hips twitching. “you’re doing fine, baby. give me a minute.”
“okay… fine. i can wait,” he breathed, still nursing with greedy pulls that left your nipples swollen and glistening with his saliva, grinding harder now so his aching cock dragged along your leg with slick, filthy friction. “but god, these beauties… been thinking about them all night. don’t ignore me too long.”
after a few more minutes of his devoted sucking and puppy-like humping, you sighed, slotted your bookmark in and closed the book with a snap, setting it aside. you tugged his hair gently so he met your eyes, a teasing smile on your lips.
“aww, look at my needy dick,” you murmured, guiding his mouth back down while you laid back fully so you weren’t resting your back against the headboard anymore. which meant he could grind better now. “begging so sweetly while humping my leg like a puppy. can’t get enough, huh?”
dick pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny and swollen, biting his lower lip up at you with that bright, boyish spark. “guilty. you bring out the best in me… or the neediest.” he chuckled softly. “you gonna tease me or finally give me all your attention?”
you laughed, arching your back to press your glistening tits closer. “go on then. keep going. make it good and i’ll take care of that aching cock next. you’ve earned it.”
he groaned happily and latched on again with fresh hunger, sucking deeper and sloppier while his hips kept grinding, cock pulsing hot and heavy against your cunt now that he’s got you under him properly. you held him close with both hands in his hair, finally giving him the full attention he craved.
i think dick grayson is so much of a tease that when he’s having some hookup with you, civilian! female reader he only has sex with the suit on.
he had you in missionary, on your back, your legs crossed around him as he thrusted into you. You only whined and whimpered at his masked face that was so close to you.
Your fingers trembled as you made an attempt to pull the tiny mask off his eyes, the one thing stopping you from finally seeing the identity of the hero in your bed was this blue mask over his eyes.
as lost as dick was inside of you once he caught onto what you were attempting, he grinned. “oh? Tryin’ to get this?” he took one hand off your hip to point at his mask and you responded back with a eager head shake and saying, “mhm mhm!”
“aw well..”, he pulled out for just a moment and in one swift move he switched you into a new position with your head down onto the soft cushion of your pillow and your ass up in a mean arch.
“sorry but..”, he thrusted back into your wet cunt so nastily., “classified information there, baby.”
he went back into a nice rhythm of thrusting, not too harsh but not soft, just in between that had you groaning from frustration and moaning. “nightwing you fucking nngh.. you’re such a— mmngh.. dick!”
dick grinned, gripping onto your hips with a tighter hold. That almost made him say some dumbass quip that would’ve revealed his identity.
summary: Overtime meant Bruce’s paperwork should’ve been your only problem. Instead, it turned into Dick Grayson pinning you to the desk because, of course, he never makes your job easy.
pairings: dick grayson x secretary!reader
warnings: 5k words. mature themes. unprotected p in v. internal ejaculation. breeding kink. semi-public sex. rough sex. clothed sex. breast play. clit stimulation. marking. overstimulation. dacryphilia. (light) d/s dynamics. degradation & praise kink. read & consume responsibly.
note: I am going back to my nightwing obsession and this is just the start of it!
It always felt like Dick lived to get under your skin. Every time he came into the building, he was always stopping by your desk just to bother you. Sometimes he’s leaning on the edge like he owns the place. Sometimes he stole your pen. Sometimes he commented on how you never smiled. Sometimes he just stared until you finally snapped at him. Everyone else in the office thought he was charming. To you, he was a distraction you didn’t have time for. The only reason you were still in the building tonight was because Bruce had dumped last-minute documents on you before rushing out to whatever excuse he made. You were finishing a report in his office, trying to ignore the silence that hung over the empty floor, when Dick slipped inside. You didn’t even hear him at first until he was suddenly behind your chair, warm breath against your neck as he asked if you were really working this late for Bruce. You turned with a scowl, told him to quit it, and that was all it took. His mouth was on yours before you could even stand.
Now you were sitting on Bruce Wayne’s expensive desk with your blouse pushed open, lips raw from how hard he kept kissing you. His hand slid under your skirt, pushing it up over your thighs while you clung to his shoulders. He groaned into your mouth when your fingers tugged at his belt, and you whispered against his lips, “You’re only here to make me lose focus.” He smirked, biting your bottom lip before saying, “And it’s working.” His tongue pushed past yours again. The kiss is messy and hot while your legs are wrapped around his waist as he presses closer. You let out a muffled whimper against his mouth when his bulge in his pants ground right against the thin barrier of your panties. His grip tightened on your hips like he wanted to keep you pinned to the desk. He broke the kiss for just a second just to rest his forehead against yours as he muttered, “You taste better than the coffee you pretend not to like when I bring it.”
You huffed out a breathless laugh, nails dragging across the back of his neck. “Shut up,” you whispered, kissing him again, because the last thing you wanted was to give him the satisfaction of being right. His hands were already pushing your blouse apart. Fingers pop the buttons one by one until they hang loose over your shoulders. The cool air hit your skin at the same time as his mouth dragged down your neck. It feels wet and hot at the same time while his fingers shoved your skirt higher. He didn’t bother being slow. The fabric bunched at your waist and your panties hooked down in one rough tug that left you bare on the desk. You gasped when his teeth scraped your throat and his palm squeezed your breast through your bra.
“You know it’s almost midnight,” he muttered against your skin, lips sliding to your collarbone while he yanked the bra cup down. His thumb rubbed over your nipple until it peaked under his touch. “What are you even still doing here? You planning to open the building yourself in the morning?” You let out a broken sound when he sucked at the top of your tit, biting just enough to make you jolt. Your head tipped back and you clung tighter to his shoulders. “I had work to finish,” you managed, voice obviously laced with annoyance but shaking at the edges. “Bruce doesn’t do his paperwork, so I have to.” Dick laughed under his breath and kneaded your breast harder, rolling the nipple between his fingers. “Figures. He leaves, and you’re stuck here making sure the world keeps spinning for him.” His tongue flicked over the sensitive skin again before he dragged his mouth back up to yours. He steals another kiss that makes your lips throb.
You moaned into it when his hand slipped lower to brush the bare skin of your thigh. It doesn’t take long before his hand finds the wet heat between your legs and the rough pad of his finger parts your folds. You felt his smirk against your mouth as he pressed just enough to make your hips jolt. “So wet already,” he whispered. “I think you like being caught like this.” He bites at your lip again before kissing it softly. “Don’t,” you warned, though the sound broke into a breathy whine when he pushed a finger through your slit and circled your clit. He chuckled and licked into your mouth, swallowing every noise you made as his other hand kept your tit squeezed tight, thumb flicking over the hardened tip until you were arching off the desk under him.
His mouth left your skin just long enough to mutter, “Missed this.” He removes his hand from your tit just to move it towards his belt and work with it before he kisses you again. His mouth is moving like he’s starved and can’t get enough of it. The metal buckle clinked while he continued to open it and then the sound of his zipper filled the room. He pressed his hips against your bare cunt while he worked his pants lower. He continues to grind his hard length against your slit through the fabric. You broke from the kiss to glare at him. His chest is heaving as his hand shoves your bra down even further. “Missed this? You’re always here. You show up every chance you get just to annoy me.” He laughed against your mouth, and his cock pushed heavier against you now that his pants were open. The heat of it slid over your folds and made you shiver. “Not the same,” he said, dragging the words low while his lips brushed your jaw.
“I see you at your desk, sure. I steal your pens, drink your coffee. But this? Fuck, I haven’t had this in a month.” A gasp broke from you when his cockhead rubbed over your clit, wetness smearing across the thick head. Your hand snapped down to his wrist, nails biting into his skin. “Stop acting like you’re owed anything,” you hissed, even as your legs trembled open wider for him. He grinned like he caught you in a lie and rocked his hips harder. He’s sliding his length along your slit until the fat tip presses right at your entrance. He didn’t push in, but the tease made your cunt clench in anticipation. “You’d throw me out if you didn’t want me here,” he said, biting lightly at your ear before groaning when your pussy throbbed around nothing. “But you don’t. You let me back in every time.”
Your back hit the desk as his hand caught your thigh, holding you open while his cock rubbed slowly along the wet seam of your folds. Every stroke dragged heavily over your clit, and you couldn’t hold back the way your hips tilted up to meet him. “Nngh, fuck- stop acting like you know me,” you panted, trying to push him back, but your hand clutched at his arm instead of shoving him away. He grunted low, cock sliding again over your swollen clit, smearing more slick. “I know you like this,” he said with a rough smirk against your throat. “That’s enough.” Your protest died the second his cock pushed into your pussy, slow but unrelenting. The thick stretch forced a moan out of your throat even while your nails dug into his shoulders. Wetness clung to him as he pressed deeper until you felt full, stuffed, his cockhead nudging as far as it could go.
“Fuck-” you gasped, tilting your head back when his thumb came down on your clit, rubbing in messy circles. Sparks shot through your belly, and your legs tensed around his hips. “Dick… nghh- if this costs me my job, I swear, I’ll kill you.” Your voice was strained, caught between anger and the hot tremor rolling through you. His mouth dropped to your tits without even hesitating. Lips wrapped around your nipple to suck it until it throbbed under the pull of his tongue. The wet drag made your back arch, and you whimpered as his teeth grazed lightly before his mouth moved to the other breast. Between the drag of his cock sitting heavy inside you and the swirl of his tongue on your tits, you were shaking.
He only pressed deeper when you threatened him, hips grinding forward like he wanted every inch buried. His words were muffled against your skin as he sucked harder, “Worth it.” You squirmed against him, your hand pushing at his chest even as your cunt clenched tight around him. “You’re an asshole, you know that? Always barging in, always- ahhnn, f-fuck, don’t-” Your complaint cracked when his thumb pressed harder on your clit, rubbing it in rough circles while his cock throbbed deep inside you without pulling out. A heavy groan rumbled from him when your pussy tightened even more around his cock. He broke from your tits long enough to growl, “God, you feel too good. Month without this and you’re still fucking perfect.” Your breath came out uneven, lips parting around a moan you tried to bite back.
“Hahh, nghh- stop… talking… like that.” Your hands clutched his hair instead of pushing him away while his mouth returned to your tits. He’s sucking greedily and messily. His cock stayed buried. Not moving, but every grind of his hips forced you to feel how deep he was and how soaked you’d gotten already. Your cunt clenched around him while he stayed buried to the hilt. His cock pulsing against your walls. The drag of his thumb on your clit made your thighs tremble. Every slow circle pushes you closer until your chest heaves against his mouth. His mouth remains around your nipple like he’s pumping milk out of you. His tongue was swirling while his other hand squeezed your waist. “You’re fucking insane,” you gasped while your fingers clawed at his hair as his mouth tugged harder. The words broke into a moan when his teeth grazed sensitive skin. “Nghh- Dick, I’m serious. If this ruins my job, I’ll- hahh, I’ll kill you.”
He groaned against your tit, the vibration making your nipple throb. His hips pressed forward, cockhead grinding deeper inside your cunt without pulling out. “Shut up. You’re clenching like you love it,” he muttered, lips dragging back to your other breast, tongue flicking until you cried out again. The pressure on your clit grew rougher, his thumb rubbing fast now, not gentle. You tried to twist away but your body betrayed you, pussy squeezing tight around his cock with every pass of his hand. “F-fuck- stop, nghh, don’t do that-” you begged, though your nails dug deeper into his scalp instead of pushing him away. “Month without this and you’re dripping all over me,” he rasped against your chest. His mouth left a wet trail between your tits before sucking hard at the soft flesh just above your nipple. He didn’t even wait for your reply before pressing deeper and forcing your cunt to swallow him down again.
You bit your lip until it hurt to try to hold back the sound clawing at your throat. The slick rub of his thumb on your clit finally dragged it out and a shaky moan broke loose. “Nnghh- hahh, Dick, fuck- I can’t-” Hearing you crack seemed to break his restraint. His hips drew back at last, the thick length sliding out halfway before driving back in with a wet slap. The sudden thrust made your head fall back against the desk, your moan spilling free, loud and shameless. His teeth gritted as he slammed back in again, balls smacking your ass while your pussy clenched around every inch. “God, yeah- that’s it,” he groaned, his thrusts picking up into a rough pace. The desk creaked under both your weight as he fucked you hard, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the office.
You choked on your own voice, eyes squeezing shut as the pounding forced your body to rock against him. “Sh-shit- too much- hahh, nghh, slow down, fuck-” The words came out broken, tangled with every gasp as his cock drove into you over and over. He pressed his forehead against your tits while his hand kept working your clit, refusing to let up. His thrusts only grew harder, the wet squelch of your pussy growing louder each time he bottomed out. Your legs trembled as he forced them wider around his waist. “I missed this. Missed you,” he panted, his words hitting hot against your skin before he sucked your nipple back into his mouth. Every thrust sent sparks up your spine, your moans spilling freely now with no control.
“Ahhnn, ffffuck- nghh, hahh, Dick-! I’m gonna-” Your nails scratched red lines down his back as his cock battered into you, relentless and deep, until your body gave in completely. His thick and hot cock stayed buried inside you while his mouth dragged across your tits. Every slow pull of his lips over your nipple sent a shiver through your body. The steady rubbing of his thumb on your clit continues and makes your thighs shake and moan despite how you tried to hold back the sound in your throat. It still slipped out anyway. A broken little moan that only made him groan against your skin. “Mmhh, fuck, you’re perfect like this,” his voice is low when he mutters while he sucked harder on your nipple. His hand cupped your other breast, kneading it roughly before pinching your bud until you gasped. “No wonder Bruce keeps you around… favorite secretary he’s ever had.”
Your chest burned with heat that wasn’t only from his mouth. “D-Dick,” you whispered while feeling embarrassed at the way your pussy clenched just from the tease. “Don’t… don’t say that.” He chuckled against your breast, breath warm over spit-slick skin. “What? You think he has a clue how pretty you sound stuffed full of cock?” His hips pressed forward while he said it, cockhead grinding deeper into your cunt without moving out. “He doesn’t. Only I get this.” Your nails dug into his shoulders as your face heated, the words twisting inside your chest. You couldn’t bring yourself to answer, only a shaky moan falling out when he rolled your clit harder under his thumb.
“That’s what I thought,” he groaned, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his cock twitched inside you. His tongue flicked mercilessly, drawing more whimpers out of your throat. “Sweet little secretary, acting all shy, but squeezing me like you want me to ruin you right on his desk.” Your head tipped back at the filthy words, lips parting around a whimper. “Nnghh- stop saying that, fffuck, I can’t-” He shakes his head before he says, “You can.” Words gritted while he let go of your breast to grab your hip. The hand between your thighs never stopped working your clit, rubbing harder, faster, until your legs shook against his sides. “You’re taking it so fucking good.” Before you could respond, he finally pulled his hips back. His cock is dragging wet and slow out of your cunt before slamming back in with a wet slap.
The sudden thrust knocked a moan out of you. It’s clear and loud. Your hands clutched at his back. “Ahhnn-!” you cried, toes curling as he drove into you again, balls smacking your ass with the force. The desk rattled under the weight of his thrusts, every push deep and rough until your vision blurred with heat. He grunted hard, jaw clenched as he fucked into you. “Christ, you’re so fucking tight. Been thinking about this every time I saw you bent over those files. Pretty little blouse, short skirt. All I could picture was this pussy gripping me.” His teeth sank into your breast again between words, the sting mixing with pleasure until you gasped loudly.
“D-Dick, nghh, don’t, oh god-” Your body betrayed you, cunt clenching tighter around his cock, milking every thrust even as you tried to protest. The shame only made the heat worse, your clit throbbing under the rub of his thumb.“Yeah, that’s it. Moan for me,” he growled, fucking into you harder now. His hips snapped against you in quick and heavy thrusts that made your whole body jolt with every hit. Wet sounds filled the office. The slap of his cock in your pussy mixed with your cries until it was all you could hear. Your legs were trembling and breath catching in broken moans. “Nnghh, hahh, fffuck, Dick- it’s too much- ohhnn, god-!”
“Take it,” he rasped, forehead pressed against your tits while he kept pounding you into the desk. “Bruce’s perfect secretary is getting railed like a slut in his office. You love it.” The shame made you clench harder. Your pussy gripping his cock in greedy spasms before you buried your face in his hair to muffle your cries, but your body gave you away with every arch of your back. Every wet sound of him fills you over and over. His cock finally started to move, just dragging out slowly before sliding back in deep. The stretch is making your whole body jolt. Your legs dangled against his back, and you trembled as his hips found a steady pace. One of his hands pressed tight to your waist while the other gripped your hip to keep you steady so you would not slide down the desk.
Every thrust pushed you back, but his hold kept you exactly where he wanted you. Pinned and open for him. “Mmhh… fuck, that’s it,” he groaned as his sweat beaded on his forehead. His eyes watch your pussy swallow him down. His words were heavy but his touch stayed careful. He’s steadying your body with each hard push inside. “You’re perfect like this… You feel so good.” You can feel your cheeks heating while uncontrolled noise spills from your mouth. The stretch from his cock inside your pussy was overwhelming, yet the way he steadied your body made you feel almost safe in the mess of it.
“Nnghh- Dick, hahh, slow- it’s so deep-” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as your tits bounced from his thrusts. His lips brushed your ear as he answered low, “I’ll take care of you… just hold onto me.” His hips slammed forward again, the thick length bottoming out in your cunt with a wet slap. The desk rattled under your back as your moan cracked into the air. The hand on your hip tightened when your legs shook, his grip firm enough to keep you steady. “That’s it, baby… you’ve been working so hard, I know. Let me fuck some of that stress out of you.” He pulled back and drove in hard again, groaning at the way you clenched tight around him.
Your chest burned at his words, every compliment slipping under your skin. “Nnhh- oh god- don’t-” The words fell into another whimper when his cock slammed back in and rubbed right where you were weakest. “Don’t say that… I’ll- nghh- I’ll lose it-” He kissed your jaw as your body trembled beneath him, voice steady even while his thrusts grew heavier. “Yeah?” His cock dragged out and pushed back in, hard enough to make your tits bounce under his chest. His mouth caught one nipple again just to suck it into his mouth while his hips never slowed.
Your hands clutched the back of his neck to pulling him closer as your cries turned high and broken. The sound of his balls slapping your ass filled the office while wet heat dripped down the inside of your thighs. Every time he bottomed out, the weight of his cock had you twitching around him, cunt clutching tighter no matter how much you tried to hold back. “Fuckkk- nghh, ohh- Dick-!” you cried, your legs trembling against his back. The words tumbled out messy as your nails dragged across his skin. “It’s too much, hahh, I can’t- ohhnn!”
“I know,” he groaned, kissing the swell of your breast between thrusts. His hand on your hip squeezed firmly, guiding your body into every push. “You’re taking me so well. The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen sitting at that desk… and even prettier like this.” His voice cracked with effort as he buried himself to the hilt, holding you tight while his cock pulsed deep inside. “God, I’ll never get enough of this…” Your head tipped back against the desk, lips parted around moans you couldn’t bite down. The steady drag of his cock, the wet slap of his thrusts, and the low praises spilling against your skin had your body giving in completely. Your nails rake along the warm skin of his back under his shirt, and he lets out a grunt that vibrates against your ear. The fabric clings to him with sweat. It makes it easier for your fingers to dig in harder.
Your forehead presses into his shoulder, teeth sinking into the curve of his neck because you can’t hold yourself quiet. “Fuck… keep doing that,” he mutters, voice rough in your ear as he thrusts deeper. His hand clamps around your waist to steady you against him so he can move harder and his cock stretches you open with every push. A shaky breath tumbles from your lips and it muffled against his skin. Your bite makes him hiss but he doesn’t stop, instead his free hand slides down between your bodies. His fingers spread your folds so he can rub your clit in messy circles. The sudden touch makes your legs jolt, and he chuckles lowly. “Yeah… there you go. Can feel how wet you are.”
You whine into his shoulder, nails dragging across his back again, and your cunt clamps around him so tightly it forces a curse out of his mouth. His cock drags out slowly just to slam back in, and you let out a broken moan. He presses his mouth to your ear and his hot breath rushes over your skin. “You like that, don’t you? Pussy’s taking all of me.” His fingers keep rolling your clit, slick and steady, while his cock drives into you over and over. Your voice shakes when you manage to answer, “Feels so fucking good…” The words melt into another moan as his hips snap forward. “Yeah? You’re clenching like you’re gonna milk me dry,” he groans, teeth grazing your earlobe before he bites down lightly.
His back flexes beneath your nails when you drag them down again. “Shit- keep marking me up, I don’t care. Just hold onto me.” Your body jerks with every push, and legs trembling while he continues to move inside you. His hand tightens on your waist to stop you from falling back on the desk as he moves against you. Fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Your forehead stays pressed to his shoulder and your mouth is dragging wet against his skin as you bite down again and again. You’re leaving him dotted with teeth marks. He shudders when you do it. “Fuck, you’re not letting up,” he pants, rutting into you harder, cockhead hitting deep enough to make you cry out against his throat. His fingers on your clit don’t stop, rubbing fast and messy now, making your whole body twitch in his hold. “I’m close-” the words spill from you, broken by a gasp when his cock slams deep again.
“I know,” he answers quickly, voice a low rasp. “Can feel you squeezing me.” Your nails drag hard across his back as your cunt starts fluttering around him, and your forehead presses harder into his sweaty shoulder. A cry tears out of you, muffled by his skin, while your body shakes in his grip. “That’s it… fuck, that’s it, cum all over me,” he groans, hips stuttering as your orgasm pulls him closer to the edge. He fucks you through it, fingers never leaving your clit until you’re shaking so much you can barely hold onto him. When he finally pulls his hand away, it smears slick over your waist as he grabs you tighter, pumping into your spent pussy with heavy thrusts.
His mouth presses hot against your temple while his voice breaks into a rough growl. “Not letting up ‘til I’m spilling in you.” Your body is still shaking, pussy fluttering tight around him as he fucks through your release without slowing down. The tight squeeze around him makes his breath catch, but he holds you firmer, voice rough as he says, “You feel so fucking good.” Your face presses into the side of his neck, heat soaking through his shirt as tears slip down. A broken whimper escapes against his skin, and your nails dig into his shoulders because every thrust drags you further past the edge. He groans low when you shudder hard around him, chest heaving against yours.
“Shit, you’re still clenching like that? Gonna make me lose it,” he mutters, the words hot against your ear. The sound pulls another cry out of you. A muffled sound as you bite down on your lip while your body trembles from the overstimulation. His hand strokes your hip steadily and firmly. He’s guiding you into his thrusts like he can’t let go. “Breathe, baby, just breathe through it,” he urges, kissing along your hairline, sweat dampening his forehead. His cock drags deep, pushing through the wet mess between your folds. Each stroke forces a new shiver out of you, thighs twitching as your chest rises in stuttered gasps. “I can feel every drop of you,” he grits, fucking harder now as his own control frays. His mouth brushes your jaw, his voice breaking with a groan. “You’re perfect. Fuck, I’m gonna cum inside-”
The words cut off as his hips drive forward, and his whole body shakes against you. The sound that rips from his throat is rough. Almost guttural. Like he has been holding it back for too long. His cock jerks deep and each pulse sends more slick warmth spilling into your cunt. He mutters against your skin, “God, you’re gripping me so good… you’re not letting me go.” Your nails dig harder into his shoulders when he grinds in deep again, refusing to pull out, grinding until his tip kisses the very end of you. “Stay right here,” he pants, voice hoarse while his thrusts falter. “Take all of it for me… fuck, I can’t stop.” His mouth finds the corner of your lips in a desperate kiss, teeth grazing before he groans into your mouth as another hot spill fills you.
He presses you down into the desk like he needs every inch locked inside, and his hand squeezes your waist until you whimper against him. The thrusts turn ragged as his body locks tight against yours, and he spills the last of it into your cunt. The sudden flood of his cun pushes a sob out of you, your pussy squeezing down around the twitch of his cock while he curses into your throat. His hips grind forward until every drop leaks warm between your folds, dripping down your ass onto the desk. He doesn’t let go, still holding you close, chest pressed to yours while his cock throbs inside you. His voice comes softer now, murmured through heavy breaths. “You did so good for me. Took it all so good. Look at you… fucked me perfect.”
Your face stays pressed into his neck, damp with tears, body trembling in his arms while he’s still twitching from the orgasm and you’re also a mess like him. His breath slows first, chest pressed heavy against yours until the weight starts to ease. His cock is still seated deep, twitching with the last pulses, but he finally lets out a low laugh against your hair. “Christ… look what you do to me.” Carefully, he leans back enough to see your face. His hands steady your hips when you flinch at the movement, slick already sliding down the curve of your ass. “Hold on-don’t move yet.” One hand leaves your waist to fumble at the side of the desk, pulling open the drawer he’d spotted earlier. He drags out a half-crumpled box of tissues and tugs a few free with messy fingers. He eases out of you slowly, cock wet and flushed as your pussy leaks down your thigh. The loss makes your body jolt, and he immediately presses a hand to your stomach, grounding you.
“Easy. Just me.” He crouches slightly, wiping carefully between your legs, dabbing away the mess before it can drip too far. The tissue catches on your swollen folds and you whimper, but his touch stays gentle. “Shhh,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up to yours. “I’ve got you. Don’t need Bruce’s desk looking like a crime scene.” The tease is light, but his hand is tender as he works, switching tissues when they get too soaked until you’re clean enough. Once he’s finished, he tucks himself back into his pants and fastens them quickly. Then he turns back to you, hands bracketing your waist. “Up we go.” His voice is steady when he lifts you off the desk. Cradling you against his chest like you weigh nothing. You make a weak sound of protest but your face is nuzzling into the crook of his neck, and his grip doesn’t falter.
The short walk to the leather couch in the corner is silent except for your uneven breaths. He lowers you down onto it with care and sits beside you immediately so you don’t tip over. One of his arms remains wrapped around your shoulders before he pulls you closer against him. Your blouse looks like a mess while it hangs loose on your body. Both of your bodies are sticky with sweat, but all you feel is his body heat. His nose brushes your temple as he whispers, “You did perfect. Took everything I gave you, even when you thought you couldn’t.” He presses a kiss to your hairline, voice softer now, almost a promise even if neither of you will name it. “I’ve got you. Always.” You let out a tired laugh, eyes half-shut as you mutter, “Yeah, well… we better clean this place before it reeks like sex tomorrow.”
༯ synopsis. fwb dick who gets jealous when your ex tries to get back with you.
warnings. 18+. dick grayson x fem! reader. fwb. neighbors au. he’s jealous and a little insecure. smut. p in v.
dick grayson lives in the apartment next to yours and introduced himself by helping you carry boxes up three flights of stairs without being asked. you’d told him he didn’t have to and he’d just shrugged and picked up two more. by the time you’d gotten everything up he knew your name, your old neighborhood, and that you took your coffee black, and you knew he was annoyingly charming and had a smile that did something inconvenient to your chest.
that was six months ago. somewhere between then and now the friday night bar visits became a standing thing, the easy conversation became something you looked forward to all week, and the line between neighbors and friends and something else entirely got blurry in a way neither of you has bothered to address.
it works. you like that it works.
it’s a friday night. the night you spend with dick unboxing your entire week and then drink to it.
you’re on your way back from the bathroom when you see him. your ex, standing near the bar like he belongs there, and your whole body does that involuntary thing before your brain has even caught up. he spots you before you can redirect. the smile that never quite reaches his eyes. the way he steps into your space too easily, like the last year didn’t happen.
you laugh at something he says because it’s reflex, because it’s easier, your shoulders drawing in without you meaning for them to. he presses his number into your hand with a casualness that makes your skin feel wrong and you smile your most noncommittal smile and walk away.
you slide back into the booth and dick is already looking at you.
he has very blue eyes and a very irritating habit of seeing straight through you with them.
“who was that,” he says.
“my ex.” you reach for your drink. “it’s fine.”
his jaw does something quiet and controlled. “he give you his number?”
“dick—”
“he gave you his number.”
“it wasn’t like that—”
“cool. cool,” he says, and picks up his drink, and smiles the smile that’s all surface, and you know exactly what that smile means.
the walk home is three blocks and dick spends all of them somewhere else entirely.
normally he fills every silence — some joke, some completely unnecessary observation about whatever you’re passing. tonight his hands are in his pockets and his eyes are forward and he says nothing.
“you’re doing that thing,” you say.
“what thing.”
“the thing where you pretend you’re fine.”
“i’m fine.”
“richard.”
“i’m tired,” he says. “it’s been a long week, angel.”
you both know that’s not it.
you make it as far as the hallway outside your apartments before you stop.
he’s already reaching for his keys and something about the set of his shoulders, the careful performance of it, makes you reach out and catch his arm.
he turns.
you kiss him.
it takes him exactly one second and then his keys hit the floor and his hands are on your face and he’s kissing you back with something desperate and unguarded that he’s been keeping very carefully under wraps all evening. a low groan muffled against your mouth, his fingers curling into your jaw, walking you back against the wall without breaking it.
when he pulls back he’s breathing harder than usual.
he looks at you for a moment. then he bends and picks up his keys and opens his door and picks you up like it’s nothing, carrying you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.
later he has you underneath him and there’s nothing easy about it tonight.
he pushes in slow and the stretch of him makes your breath stutter, thick and girthy, the flushed red tip of him pressing through your plushy folds and sinking into your gummy walls inch by inch until you’ve taken all of him and your walls are fluttering around the fullness of it.
his jaw is tight. his eyes on your face.
“why do you want him back,” he says. low and rough.
“i don’t—”
he snaps his hips forward and the words evaporate entirely.
“hm?” he pulls back and drives in again, his cock dragging against your walls, you feel, oh, so full and overwhelmed all at once. “why him.”
“dick i’m not—i—”
your eyes shut. the pleasure too much, the words bleeding into a moan.
“eyes on me,” he says quietly.
you open them.
and that’s when you see it. something vulnerable in his expression, unguarded and unusual, the kind of thing he’d never let you see if he were thinking straight. something that’s been sitting underneath all of this for a long time.
“why do you want him,” he murmurs, hips rolling and pressing deep, the head of his cock nudging that soft spot inside you that makes your toes curl, “when you have me.”
it’s not cocky. it’s almost like he’s desperate to hear the answer. desperate to hear you say he’s enough. that what you have with each other is enough.
heat builds low in your belly, your body sensitive from the drag of him, your walls clenching greedily around his girth every time he pulls back.
your mouth opens. what comes out is a garbled mess of his name and something that isn’t words at all.
“yeah,” he breathes, forehead dropping to yours. “that’s what i thought.”
something releases in him after that. his pace picks up and you stop trying to think at all, hands gripping his shoulders, your slick walls taking him over and over until the heat that’s been building low in your belly crests and you come apart underneath him with a broken sound, clenching tight around him. he follows shortly after, hips stuttering, a low groan muffled into your throat as he spills into the condom, his whole body shuddering through it.
afterward he’s on his back and you’re tucked against his side.
“i can make carbonara from scratch. i remember how you take your coffee. i’ve sat through every terrible film you’ve picked on a friday night without a single complaint.” he’s quiet for a second. “i’ve been your boyfriend for six months. you just haven’t called me that yet.
you look at him.
“maybe i should,” you say quietly.
he’s very still for a moment. then his hand finds yours and laces with you. warm and calloused and big.
“it was nothing,” you say. “tonight. with him. i don’t want him back. i never did.”
the breath that leaves him is slow. like he’s been holding it since the bar.
“obviously i don’t want him,” you say. “i want you. i’ve wanted you for a while.”
he turns his head to look at you. really look.
“yeah?” he says softly.
“yeah,” you say.
he brings your hand up and presses his lips to your knuckles, and settles back against the pillow.
the city hums outside. the lamp stays on.
“friday nights,” he says eventually. “same booth.”
“same booth,” you agree.
“except now i’m going to hold your hand across the table and if your ex shows up again i’m going to be very annoying about it.”
you laugh softly and his mouth tilts into a smile.
