Hi! Would you be interested in writing something with daddy Joel being a little physically aggressive (only bc he’s strong not bc he’s being mean necessarily) bc he’s so eager to get his girl off and PERHAPS she’s never squirted before and she pushes at him to stop bc she thinks she’s going to pee but she can’t get him to move bc he’s so much heavier and stronger and he knows what he’s doing so he doesn’t budge? I can’t get this out of my head I just imagine him being sooo condescending with it too omg
Sorry if this is long and too specific lol I love your writing!
Messy Girl
Warnings: 18+, smut, daddy!joel, slight ddlg undertones, unspecified age gap (only if y'all like), joel being physically aggressive, fingering, clit rubbing, overstimulation, squirting, crying, praise kink, unprotected sex
A/N: sooo sorry for the long wait anon! I'm still a bit sick, but feel a lot better so i thought i could write a request. I'm still tackling down a lot of fics that i've planned and ughhhh🥴 this was really delicious to write though, and i hope you like this anon!!!
Your big, old daddy is testing your limits today.
His weight pins you into the mattress, thick fingers already buried deep, deep inside your soaked, velvety cunt, stretching you around them in a firm constant motion.
His forearm flexes as he pumps and pumps them in and out with a wet, filthy rhythm, thumb pressing into your little nub and knuckles brushing onto that sweet, sensitive spot that makes your thighs jerk over and over again.
"Shhh, babygirl," Joel murmurs, voice low. "Daddy's got you. Daddy's got his baby. Just let it happen, honey."
You're already crying—soft, small hiccuping sobs that shake in your chest—because it's too much, too fast, too overstimulating for your poor little cunt, and you've never ever felt anything like this.
Oh and Joel knows you've never felt this way before.
Your hands can only push weakly at his shoulders, and he won't move. Solid, immovable, pinning you completely under him, every ounce of his strength focused on squeezing another orgasm out of you.
"Daddy—please, I-I think I'm gonna—" Your voice cracks as fresh tears slip down your temples. The pressure in your belly is so unbearable, a hot, insistent throb that presses and presses. "I'm gonna pee, I can't—"
Joel's free hand slides up, palm broad and calloused, and presses firmly right below your belly button. The heel of it sinks into the soft flesh of your tummy, and the sensation makes your whole body jolt against him.
"S'okey, baby. You ain't gonna pee. That's not what's happenin'." He places a kiss on your forehead. "You're gonna squirt for Daddy, that's all. My messy girl just needs a little help."
His fingers curl again, scissoring them inside you, and the wet sound is obscene—slick, squelching, constant. Your thighs tremble around his wrist, trying to close, but he's wedged between them, hips braced wide so you can't escape the relentless drag of his knuckles.
Every thrust and rub makes your clit throb oversensitive, swollen and aching, you can feel how puffy your folds are, how they cling to his fingers on every pull.
"T-too much," you whimper, voice breaking. Fresh tears spill, hot, salty, melting into your hair. "Daddy, please, I can't—"
He hushes you again, leaning down so his beard brushes your cheek, breath warm against your ear.
"You can, honey. You're doin' so good for me." He murmurs, his free hand going behind your head and making you look at his fingers disappearing in your hole. "Pretty cunt takin' my fingers like it was made for 'em. So tight, so wet—fuck, listen to you."
He punctuates the words with a particularly deep, hard thrust, and a gush of slick spills out around his knuckles, soaking the sheet beneath you.
"Oh—" you gasp, your hands fist into his flannel shirt, tugging, but it's useless.
He's too damn heavy, too solid, and he knows it.
The knowledge sits in his pretty brown eyes when he pulls back just enough to watch your face; dark, patient, maybe a little amused.
"Push all you want, babygirl. Ain't movin' till you give it to me."
The pressure crests then again, sharper this time, and your back arches hard off of the bed.
Joel's hand on your tummy presses down firmer and firmer, pinning you, making the overstimulation worse. The combination—his fingers stroking that spongy spot inside you, the weight of his palm, his body lying on top of you—snaps something loose.
"There she goes."
You sob his name as it hits, a sudden, violent rush that sprays out around his fingers in a hot, messy arc. It soaks the sheets, splashes up his wrist, wets his pants and keeps coming and coming in pulsing, squelching waves while your cunt clenches desperately around him.
Joel groans low in his chest, the sound filthy and approving. "There it is. That's my girl. Look how much you had in ya, so messy."
But he doesn't stop.
His fingers keep moving, slower now but still deep, working you through every aftershock until you're a twitching and whimpering mess.
The overstimulation burns, sharp and electric, every nerve raw and singing. You try to twist away but his body keeps you caged, your hips shifting just enough to grind the heel of his palm against your clit on every stroke.
"Shhh, I know," he soothes. "Daddy's too strong for you, ain't he? Can't get away even if you wanted to. And you don't really want to, do you? Feels too good, havin' your old man ruin that pretty pussy."
Your answer is a broken moan, hips jerking helplessly as another smaller gush leaks out around his fingers.
Joel chuckles, low and warm, finally easing his hand free.
Your cunt flutters around nothing, empty, aching, slick dripping down the cleft of your ass to join the wet patch beneath you.
He shifts his weight then, one knee nudging your thigh wider, and the blunt head of his cock nudges against your entrance suddenly.
He's thick, hot, the ridge catching on your swollen folds as he rocks forwards just enough to tease.
You shake your head immediately, a whine of protest leaving your lips. "S'too much, daddy..."
"S'okey, honey. You're okay. We're gonna do that again," he murmurs, and your stomach flips. "But this time, i'm gonna fuck it out of you. Fill you up all nice and slow, and make you squirt on my cock, over and over till you can't think straight. Ya hear me, sweet girl?"
You can't do anything but nod, tears still clinging to your lashes, body trembling under him.
This overstimulation in your body has you floaty, every sensation now amplified: the drag of his cockhead through your slick, the way his chest hair rasps against your nipples when he leans down, the steady press of his hand still splayed across your tummy because he owns it.
Joel pushes in slow, the stretch burning sweet and so, so deep, making your walls flutter around him, still so sensitive from the earlier release.
He groans when he bottoms out, hips flush to yours, and stays there for a moment, rubbing your little clit, letting you feel every inch.
"Theere we go, just take me. You're so tight, honey." he breathes. "Even after all that, still squeezin' me like you don't wanna let go."
When he starts to move—it's long, deliberate strokes that grind against every oversensitive spot inside you.
Each thrust punches little gasps and pitiful whimpers from your throat, and the wet sound of your cunt taking him is louder now, slick and messy from everything he's already pulled out of you.
His hand stays on your belly, thumb stroking soothing circles even as his hips snap harder, driving you up the bed.
"Gonna make you squirt again," he promises, voice rough with effort. "Gonna feel you gush around my cock, soak the both of us. And you're gonna take it, 'cause Daddy knows what you need better than you do."
Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in, but there's no fight left—just the overwhelming rush of sensation as he fucks you through the overstimulation, each thrust pushing you closer to that same unbearable edge.
Joel's voice stays in your ear the whole time, sweet and condescending, praising and guiding you through every wave until you're sobbing his name again and again while the sheets are ruined completely beneath you.
This makes me kinda want to write a piss kink fic but...I already got so much hate for writing fauxcest im a LITTLE traumatised😭😭
masterlist. Req are open! ⋮ 💌┆Send me ur thoughts <3
𑣲 MDNI + by interacting with this post, you are responsible for the media you are consuming ꒱
synopsis: you’re a smart girl, jack knows it. but you have a bad habit of getting distracted or forgetting about simple tasks. he has his rules, his expectations he’s put in place are there to keep you safe. whether it’s in the workplace or at home, he expects you to follow the mannerisms.
wc: 3.7k
tags: jack abbot x reader, fem!reader, daddy kink, ddlg themes, dom/sub dynamics, dumbification of reader if you squint, nickname usage, borderline piss kink, ditzy!reader kinda, barely proofread
part one
at work…
check in protocol
things can get hectic fast in the er, everyone knows that. it’s hard to get breaks in, whether it's for a quick snack, a trip to the washroom or even just a breather. a normal person would be able to pick up on those signals that one of their needs had to be met.
but (un)fortunately, you don’t fall under that category. you don’t mean to forget to drink water or go potty, you just get sooo busy chatting with people and running around taking care of other people— you forget about yourself. going hours on end on an empty stomach and full bladder usually is a recipe for disaster in the remaining hours of your shift.
luckily, your attending boyfriend, with years of experience behind him, knows how to deal with hisyounger, scatterbrained girlfriend. he knows your body and its cues to well.
on those busy days, during the brief moments in passing, he does a head-to-toe on you. eyeing you up and down, noticing if your posture isn’t quite right, if you’re sluggish or pressing your thighs together a bit tighter than usual.
if he deems that you’re in need of something after his inspection, he doesn’t hesitate to page you to a secluded patient room.
—
the beeping on your pager signalled you were needed again for someone, somewhere. the relentless noise pulling your attention from charting.
room 9 south? odd, that’s far from here… you thought to yourself as you excused yourself from your charting (despite robby’s warning and dana’s eye roll).
weaving through the hallways, you said passing hello’s to those around you. you loved talking with people!
arriving to the requested room, you pushed the curtain open— still looking out to the hallway giggling at something— before you turned your attention to the ‘patient’.
“heh, sorry about that! i’m doctor—“ you paused when you fully turned your attention up to the ‘patient’.
“jackie? whatcha doing here…” you whispered loudly. he let out a gruff laugh, standing up from the bed with a hand on his knees and a groan.
“called you here sweetheart, had to check on ya.” jack explained, a hand reaching out, gesturing you to come to him.
“b-b-but!” your voice came out a pitch higher than normal. when you had that tone, it was a clear sign you were overwhelmed. you were fine and busy!
before accepting his invitation, you turned around, poked your head through the curtain to check if the coast was clear. deeming it safe, you shut the sliding door with a quiet click and closed the curtain a bit too aggressively.
with a huff, you turned back to you boyfriend. you hadn’t noticed him approaching you till his hand was resting on the small of your back to pull you closer to him.
“i—you—were busy! i was tryna get caught up on charting and and and—“
“ah ah ah, sit baby.” he tutted with a small head shake, effectively silencing your rambling. placing both his hands on either side of your hips, he helped give you a little boost as you hopped up onto the hospital bed.
settling to nestle between your legs, both hands rested on your thighs, rubbing comforting circles.
“when was the last time you had some water or a snack?” he first asked. you blinked at him for a moments, processing his question.
“i’ve been drinking water all shift out of the water bottle you got me!!” you whined, you were doing half of the obligations he expected from you.
“mhm, i know i’ve seen you packing that thing around and drinking out of it a lot. you’re being a very good girl for that, but what about eating hmm?” he asked again. managing to praise you and then prompt a question right after that he already knew the answer to.
looking away, you shook your head. you hadn’t had a chance to have a snack!
“mhm, that’s what i thought.” jack nodded, a small smile on his lips. patting your cheek lightly, he chuckled, “i can tell you’re hungry, you’re getting fussy— here.”
reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small energy bar. your eyes lit up at the sight of a marvellous (and well needed) snack. reaching out to grab it from him, he pulled back his hand at the last second before your grabby hands could obtain it.
“ah ah ah, what do you say?”
“can i pleaseeeeee have it? please please please!” you pleaded, dragging out words.
shaking his head in amusement, he opened the bar and handed it to you. happily accepting it, you got to work munching away on it.
“what would my poor baby do without me?” jack said in a mocking voice. though, was it really mocking if it was true?
as you finished the snack, jack asked the next question that made you a bit more embarrassed.
“you been drinking all that water, have you gone to the washroom yet?” he asked so casually, leaning against the wall.
your cheeks began to grow rosy, the answer becoming clearer at your reddening face.
“i-i was going to! b-but i got busy with patients and talking to people that i—“ you were rambling excuses as you got more worked up. truth be told, you simply just forgot.
“shh shh, you’re getting yourself all worked up sweetie.” jack cooed, stepping back into your personal bubble. tapping on your knees, he simply asked, “up.”
sniffling, you slid off the bed. it wasn’t fair! why did your silly bladder not understand you were at work! you usually could just hold it till you got home and—
“oh baby…” jack said in a quiet voice, snapping you from your jumbled thoughts.
turning around, you looked at the small damp spot where you had been sitting.
“cmon, i got some spare panties in more locker. you gotta pay more attention when you get all achey in your tummy ok?” he explained, pulling you into his side for a brief side hug.
kissing the top of your head, he patted your bottom before opening the curtain— a sign for you to hurry on up ahead of him.
or or or
if you or jack can’t take a moment away from work, he’ll find a way to check in with you.
you’re probably wiggling around on a spiny chair restlessly. swinging side to side when suddenly a knee digs into the side of the cushion, pushing into the plush of your hip.
without a word, jack slides a small protein bar— one of those sugary ones that probably aren’t healthy (but it’s the only thing you’ll eat without complaining)— towards you.
“your hands look a bit shaky.eat something to get your blood sugar up ‘kay?” he says in a hushed tone, only meant for you to hear.
taking the snack, you hum in appreciation to him, distracted by well, everything unwrapping it, you nibble away at it with a smile while typing away your charts.
at your limited words, jack looks around before pinching the side of your hip. in response, you jump and try to wheel away. only to be stopped as he places a foot on the legs of the chair.
“owie! what was that for?” you whine quietly, your hand placed protectively on your hip.
“what do you say? don’t forget your manners now young lady, i taught you better.” he tuts, shaking his head in mock disappointment.
shifting in your seat, you looked at your lap. “thank you… dr. abbot.” you said in a hushed tone, your face pink with embarrassment.
what if someone heard us!
inspecting you one last time before he would have to return back to his duties.
dropping his tone to a more authoritative one, his voice was laced with mock concern.
“you’re all squirmy sweetheart, do you have to go to the potty?” he asks, causing your face to red.
“i—no—well uhh…” you stammered out the response, fiddling with your hands in your lap.
chuckling at your response, he pushed off the counter as he approached you again.
patting your shoulder, it looked like a normal gesture between a mentor and student. minus the choice of words that followed it.
“charting can wait, i’ll fax it to my home computer and do it. you little missy go pee before you leak through again.”
him and that god forsaken fax machine.
nodding your head vigorously, you muttered a bunch of ‘yes’, ‘okies’ and if you listened close enough, you might’ve heard a ‘daddy’ or two be said.
hands to yourself
because you are a known thief of stationary supplies, you tend to pocket whatever you see around you— not wanting to forget a pen at an embarrassing moment.
god forbid a girl being extra diligent!
during busy hours, the entire er department tends to run out of pens and all eyes turn to you.
—
“now just hold on a minute there missy.” jack’s voice calls out from behind you. turning back around to face him, you have a confused look on your face, you had a patient to check up on!
“huh? what i do?” you ask confused, your head tilting to the side. beckoning you over with the tilt of his head, you shuffle over to him and stop a respectful distance from him.
“empty your pockets kid.” jack commands in a lower tone. gulping, you scramble to stick your hands in your pockets. soon after, your pulling handfuls of pens and other random small things out of your pockets.
from a nearby desk, santos groans with an eye roll. “oh you have got to be kidding me, you’re telling me she was hoarding all the pens?”
looking at the collection spread out on the desk, you look up at your boyfriend sheepishly. rubbing the back of your head, you let out a quiet ‘oopsies’ with a nervous smile. with a sigh, jack looks at the collection then back to you. “what do you say to santos?” he prompts.
looking up at santos again, your cheeks are a rosy pink. “s-sorry!” you manage to squeak out. santos smirks and waves it off, she was just messing with you— jack knew that, you didn’t.
shaking his head with a smile, jack pushes off the counter and places a hand on your shoulder. steering you away from the crime scene, you both stop in front of robby. hunched over a computer, his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose as he concentrates on whatever he was typing. as the two of you stop beside him, he pauses his typing and looks up at you both with a raised eyebrow.
“she’s gonna stay with me for the rest of the shift brother. she’s been a little thief and is pocketing all the stationary in sight.” he says, his voice bordering a teasing tone. his hand tightening on your shoulder, his fingertips slightly digging into the soft skin of your shoulder.
looking between the two of you, robby scoffed and waved the two of you off. picking an ipad up off the counter, jack found an abundance of patients you could accompany him with for rounds.
“cmon kiddo, your under my supervision for the rest of this shift.” he says all to casually. you groan and roll your eyes at him with a huff, when ever you got stuck with him, he always was so like like like, strict with you!
turning his head slightly, he raised an eyebrow at your reaction which caused you to stand up a bit straighter with a guilty look to the floor. “mhm, that’s what i thought.” jack said in a low tone to your self correction.
him and his god damn sass, he said you were bad with attitude— look at him!
during the first patient, you had been absentmindedly fidgeting around—twirling your hair or fiddling with your hands or sleeve. you were lost in thought while jack talked with the patient. noticing your wandering gaze, he shook his head with a tut.
after chatting with the patient, you booth stood near the computer to enter the notes. unlocking the computer with his badge, he multitasked by typing and talking to you in a hushed tone.
“you’re awfully fidgetty today sweetie. you feeling okay?” he first asks, he’s gotta check in with his girl. giving a hum, signaling you were fine, he smirked. “well you know the rules then, what do we do with our hands while we wait?” jack prompted in that mocking tone.
as he continued to type away, you swayed on your feet chewing on the inside of your cheek with a pout. pausing his fingers, he took a moment to look at you, expecting an answer.
“t-to keep my hand to myself…” you responded quietly, your voice hitching. automatically, your hands slowly found their way to your back where you laced your fingers together. it looked like a watered down version of jack’s military stance, but it was something he had trained you to do when you started to get all squirmy or restless.
“atta girl, keep those hands where i can see ‘em ok?” he says lowly to you again before turning back to the patient and resuming the conversation like nothing had happened.
throughout the remainder of the shift, you followed him around like a moth to a flame. maintaining his rules, you circulated between having your hands in front or behind you.
eventually, in the final hour of your shift you made one final slip up. in a moment of passing, you had grabbed an eraser off the counter and began picking away at it. jack noticed it as you were talking to the final patient of the day, the little bits of eraser littering the floor.
the patient, an elderly lady hard of hearing, was resting on the bed unaware of what was about to happen. giving her a small smile, he turned away from her and snatched the eraser from your hands. before you could give a whiney response, his voice cut through the air, voicing his concern.
“ah ah ah, where did you get this?” he asks as he pockets the eraser in his scrubs, out of your reach.
your face was growing pinker by the minute, you were caught red handed. facing the computer as he logged on again, you mumbled out your excuses. “it was just sitting on the desk, i—i wanted it incase you needed to erase something!” you complained in a quiet, pitchy tone.
jack clocked that change of tone immediately in you, shaking his head.
“little girls don’t touch things that aren’t yours.” he said in that dominant tone, making you gulp (and redden more in embarrassment).
“dr. abbot! the patient is right there!” you whisper yelled, looking past his frame at the elderly lady who was more interested in her knitting.
“i know baby, but she doesn’t have the best hearing. see, look in her chart, she has presbycusis.” he explains, taking a moment to teach you.
oh, how could i be so silly and not see it in her chart right away! you thought to yourself, a pout forming on your face. beside you, jack chuckles at your visible response.
it had been a long twelve hours and he was starting to see you fade in real time, you had done so well following his orders and sticking with him. it was only a little slip up in not paying close enough attention to a patient’s medical history, nothing major or life threatening (if it was, his smart girl would never miss it).
but you were growing tired and starting to wander on him, the carnage of the eraser was just the physical manifestation of it. jack knew you needed a bath and head to bed to get some well needed sleep in.
“tell ya what,” he starts. “you’ve been such a good girl all shift minus a few little reminders that you can head to central hub and catch up on some charting before we go home. how does that sound baby?”
your eyes practically light up at the offer, you shake your head with a smile. “yes yes yes! thank you dr. abbot!!” you giggle in a happy tone.
“alright then, get going. dana will keep an eye on you in central.” jack says before patting your lower back, a signal for you to get moving.
as you disappear into the hallway, jack returns to the elderly patient. she puts down her knitting, “you have your hands full with her.” she says with a smile.
sitting down beside her on a stool, jack groans, placing his hands on his knees as he sits. with a chuckle to her comment, he shakes his head with a smile while taking the stethoscope off around his neck to use.
“oh you have no idea.”
use your words
communication in the er is vital for everything to run (somewhat) smoothly. he knows his girl can’t help it, she just feels everything all the time, such an empath! but when she gets overwhelmed, excited or even flustered, her brain tends to short circuits and she tends to talk a million miles an hour, mumble or becomes a whiney mess. jack just can’t have that in the er, there’s no room for it. but with his baby, he’s been working with her sooooo hard to get her to use her words properly.
—
“i don’t knowwwwww!” you whine out, crossing your arms with a huff while slouching down into the chair.
jack had been trying to quiz you with medical terminology during the short break the two of you had in the staff room. “that’s not an answer sweetie.” he simply says, mirroring your actions and crossing his arms.
“i’ve been guessing foreverrrrrr! gimme hints.” you ask with a pout. jack raises an eyebrow at your demand, clearly not impressed with your tone.
“now young lady, that is not how we ask for things, i’ve taught you better now.” he adds, his voice boarding mock disappointment. “let’s try that again, what do we say?” he adds.
your cheeks get pinker at your previous little outburst. “c-can i have a hint?” you ask again in a smaller, but nicer tone.
“andddd?” he draws out the word, waiting for the magic word.
“please…” you finish, looking at your lap. you could hear his chuckle from in front of you.
“see? that wasn’t so hard now baby was it?” he says in mock sympathy, you only nod your head in response. looking back up at him, his arm was outstretched as he spread his legs, a gesture for you to come to him.
pushing up out of the plastic chair, you shuffled over to him. standing between his legs, he rests a hand on your hip rubbing small circles. “we gotta remember our manners ok? we’ll work on them more tonight.” jack says, ideas running through his head.
“yes daddy...” you add quietly. smiling at your hushed response, his pats your bottom lightly.
“atta girl, now we gotta get back to work. use your big girl words while we’re out there ‘kay?”
sometimes he’s a bit of a meanie and will ignore you till you use your manners
you were busy stitching up a patient when he first came in. you had total concentration, your tongue sticking out the corner of your mouth as you sewed up the skin with perfect precision.
“heard you needed an attending in here?” jack says as he pops in, pushing the curtain aside. instead of the usual verbal response, you gave a head nod and a hum of agreement.
while he fired questions to use, you answered with minimal words and approving and disapproving hums. by the time you were done with your hand stitching work, jack inspected it and to no surprise his sweet girl had done a wonderful job.
leaving the room, you were proud of your clean work as you almost had a skip in your step. of course you were speaking a million miles an hour, you were just sharing your excitement with him!
“and then i— dr. abbot? are you listening?” you ask, pausing mid thought when you realized he wasn’t responding. stopping at the central hub, he picked up some papers off the printer and stood at the high counter reading them over and signing away.
you continued pestering him, leaning against the counter beside him. finally, you were starting to get worried when he seemed to be ignoring you. which in turn only caused your mind to go a million miles an hour.
“jackie? did i do something…?” you ask in a quieter tone, your voice becoming a bit wobbly. at the sound of your upset voice, jack turned his head to you to see the tears beginning to well up and your bottom lip began to tremble.
instantly, he changed his attitude. “oh no baby shh shh, don’t cry.” he muttered back, his hand sliding closer to yours so your pinkies touched.
“why aren’t you talking to me?” :(
sighing at your sad words, he reminded you. “because sweetheart, you gotta remember to use your words properly when we’re at work.”
sniffling, you realized you had been so dialed in with the stitches you had just been giving him nonverbal responses. tilting your head down, you gave a quiet apology.
putting his pinky over yours, it was the small gesture that was hard for the public eye to see, but the comfort you needed right now. “it’s alright sweetie, you did an amazing job with those stitches. i was very impressed with your work.” he praised, earning a small smile from you between sniffles.
“but when we’re working you gotta remember your big girl words, ‘kay? no mumbling or babbling here, we gotta understand each other.” jack said in a more dominant tone so his words would stick with you.
“yes dr. abbot.” you said in reassurance that you heard the message he was trying to convey. removing his hand from beside yours, he let it rest on your upper back, pulling you into a side hug.
jack was always looking out for you, he just wanted the best for you. at work, he made sure you were safe and being a big girl. but in private, you were his baby, his little one to look after and for you to depend on.
A/N: im back with some filthy smut, it took me way too long to finish this fic but here we are!
WORD COUNT: 6.7k
WARNING: sexual content
SUMMARY: Harry is a lot of things. A talented business man, a known name in the industry, a dedicated CEO and a fucking goner for his assistant. He knows he shouldn't be having dirty thoughts about Y/N and he fights them as much as he can, but when one drunken email gets sent to the worst person possible he completely loses his mind. But maybe, just maybe, that email wasn't the worst thing to happen.
MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!
This meeting is stretching way too long. Harry knew it would be useless to talk about these topics for an entire hour when he walked into the meeting room, but apparently it would be rude to tell everyone to just email him the numbers and don’t bother him. So here he is, staring at his laptop screen, pretending he is reading something, but really, he is just zoning out while the fourth person is presenting something he couldn’t care less about.
He checks the time, just ten more minutes and he is free to go. He has an entire hour for lunch today and he is not meeting up with anyone either, which is a rare occasion. And it also means he is spending it with Y/N, his assistant.
At the thought of her his eyes jump over to the glass wall that separates the meeting room from the hallway and he instantly spots Y/N sitting on a sofa, typing away on her laptop with a focused look on her face. It makes him smile, wondering what she could be working on currently. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her eyes are jumping rapidly on the screen as she reads something and then starts rapidly typing again.
He finds himself chuckling under his breath before returning his attention to the meeting, now wanting it to end even more to talk to her. The thought comes to him so easily and fast, he fails to catch himself from sinking further into it. He just starts daydreaming about the smile she’ll gift him once he walks out of the room, about her perfume that will fill his nostrils once he is standing close to her and the way she’ll giggle when he urges them to leave for lunch as quickly as possible.
This has been quite frequent lately, Harry finding himself thinking about her, at work, at home, in meetings and at events, whenever she is not with him, but also when she is right beside him. He has no idea when things shifted in his mind, when she moved from just being his assistant to occupying almost all of his thoughts. It’s been tearing him up, if he is being honest, because he knows he shouldn’t be thinking about her this much and in this way. Because his thoughts are often straight up fantasies.
It’s been a reoccuring event lately: Harry waking up after a rather steamy dream that featured Y/N, sporting the worst case of a morning erection which he had to take care of in his shower and then pretend none of it ever happened when he walks into his office and sees her bright smile.
Fuck, he feels like an actual piece of shit for having dirty thoughts about his sweet, young assistant who does her job so well and he definitely shouldn’t ruin things because of his horny thoughts.
An email notification pops up on his screen when there’s only five more minutes left of the meeting and as soon as he sees the sender his eyes jump up to the person sitting across from him at the oval table.
Niall, his CFO, is grinning smugly at him, like he is daring Harry to open the email, though he already knows it’s nothing work related.
With a soft sigh Harry opens it and reads the single line Niall sent him.
Stop jerking off to your assistant in your mind.
Harry shoots him a murderous look over his laptop, but Niall just shrugs with a grin and then pretends to be listening to the presenter. Harry shakes his head and types a quick response.
I’ll call compliance on you if you don’t stop.
He deeply regrets that one drunken night when he and Niall drank way too much sake and he ended up confessing his attraction towards Y/N, which Niall is not letting him live down ever since. This is the downside of running a company with your best friend, who also tends to be a big pain in the ass. He tells Niall one little thing in a weak moment and he’ll bring it up at the worst possible moments.
“Our time is up, thank you for your attention, I’ll send you all the slides and schedule a follow-up meeting soon.”
That snaps Harry out of his thoughts as the room comes to life and everyone starts packing and he does the same. Niall walks over to him, leaning closer so only Harry can hear him.
“Just bone her already, dude.”
“Shut the fuck up or I’ll make sure you end up jobless,” he groans, but it only makes Niall laugh as he pats him on the back.
“In all seriousness, I’m getting tired of seeing your pining. Just ask her out already!”
“Niall, already told you to quit with it,” Harry sighs as he grabs his laptop and phone and the two men start walking out of the room side-by-side. “We both know it’s just… It’s not gonna happen.”
“You’re just making it way too complicated, when it’s not.” Niall rolls his eyes as they step out of the room. Y/N is already standing, holding her laptop to her chest, a bright smile on her face as the two men approach her.
“Just… let it go, will you?” Harry hisses to Niall, but he just snorts out a laugh before walking away.
“How was it?” Y/N asks Harry as he stops in front of her.
“Boring. Let’s eat.”
She giggles with a nod and he ignores the tug in his chest as they head out.
There’s a sandwich place near the office they both like and it’s not as crowded during lunch time as all the other places in the neighborhood for some reason. That’s where they settle, Harry with a veggie sandwich and an iced tea, Y/N with a club sandwich and a lemonade, their usual.
“How is the book hunting going?” he asks between bites. Y/N has been trying to find a first edition of Little Women, a book she loved so much growing up.
Y/N shakes her head with a soft chuckle.
“Not good. I thought I found one the other week, but it turned out to be a scam.”
“What about that auction piece? Have you signed up for that?”
“There’s no way I can buy that. The price starts at twenty-six thousand, my budget is fifteen at best,” she shakes her head sadly.
“Told you, I can pa–” Harry starts, but she cuts him off instantly.
“You’re not paying the rest, Harry.”
“Why not? Take it as a bonus,” he shrugs, taking a sip from his tea. He has offered to buy the book all together, but she just refused to accept his help every time.
“So then I won’t get my usual bonus at the end of the year?” she arches an eyebrow at him.
“Of course you will.”
“Then I’m not taking ten grand from you just randomly,” she chuckles. “I’ll find one that I can afford, I just have to be patient,” she adds and with that Harry knows her mind is set.
He wishes she would stop being so stubborn. He would buy it without hesitation if it means it makes her happy. He already thought of just getting it, ignoring all her protesting.
“Anyways, I made your schedule for next week. Did anything new come up that I need to fit in?”
“Nothing I know of.”
“No parties or dates maybe?”
“You know the answer to that, Y/N,” he gives her a look that makes her laugh.
Parties haven’t been his thing in a while and dating… He can’t remember the last time he went on a date. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t have anyone to ask out, because he simply doesn’t talk to women in that way. Hasn’t been in a long time and he is not ready to admit it, but it’s been since he started to compare everyone to Y/N.
The rest of lunch goes by without any work talk. Y/N tells him about the trips she has planned with her sister and Harry listens like it’s his favorite podcast. Really, she could be talking about anything and he would be drinking her words, he just absolutely loves listening to her.
Returning to the office is painful, but at least Harry manages to focus for a while as he buries himself in work. It’s a temporary fix, but a welcomed one.
It’s not unusual for him to stay late, but he noticed that Y/N tends to work late too when he does. As the building starts to empty out Harry is still deep in a task, but he looks up and spots Y/N still sitting at her desk, typing away on her laptop.
“Let me remind you again that you can leave before me.” He stops at her desk, hands tucked in his pockets as he looks down at a sleepy-eyed Y/N.
“I have stuff to do.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow?” She bites her lip with a guilty look that answers his question. “Alright, then you’re done for today,” he simply says, shutting her laptop.
“Bossy,” she chuckles under her breath, but doesn’t protest as she pushes her chair away from the desk.
“Well, I am your boss.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” she chuckles, throwing her things into her bag and rounding it to meet him at the front. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” he nods and then watches as she walks away to the elevators, a heavy feeling settling over his chest that he wishes she was going home with him.
Harry returns to his desk to finish up so he can finally go home as well, but when Niall appears he knows his plans are about to get destroyed.
“Want to grab some drinks?” he asks, throwing himself down to the sofa in the corner of his office.
“I’m tired and it’s Thursday, we have work tomorrow.”
“When did you become absolutely no fun?” Niall groans, but doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he stands and walks over to the minibar where Harry keeps some good whiskey and two crystal glasses. It’s usually for when they close a deal, a little ritual they’ve been doing since the start of the company. “Alright, then let’s just drink here.”
“Any particular reason for that?” Harry sighs, but takes the glass Niall hands him, leaning back in his chair.
“It’s Thursday,” Niall simply shrugs, clinks his glass to Harry’s and then they both take a sip.
Harry had a suspicion that Niall wanted to bug him about Y/N again, but surprisingly, he doesn’t bring her up. They unwind a little, talk about work stuff and then anything but work as they both empty their glasses before Niall refills them.
“Oh fuck, it’s already past eleven,” Harry growls after the second glass that already made him kinda tipsy. He hasn’t eaten anything since lunch, so it’s hitting him like he’s lightweight.
“Again, when did you become absolutely no fun?” Niall snorts. “But alright, I’ll call us a car.”
The building is eerily empty when they make their way out of it, laughing at something Niall said in the elevator. They bid goodbye to the night guard stepping out into the breezy night, the car already waiting for them.
“Ah man,” Nial sighs, sliding down on the seat as the driver heads to his address first. “Are you really not gonna do anything about the Y/N situation?”
“Not this again!” Harry groans. “I told you, it’s not happening.”
“But you didn’t even try! I think you have a good shot with her.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he shakes his head, that familiar tug in his chest back again, but he brushes it off. “She is my assistant, I’m her boss. It’s not happening.”
“You wouldn’t be the first person on Earth to fuck an employee,” Niall grins at him wickedly.
“I won’t even be one,” Harry retorts.
“Okay, but I need to know something.” Niall says, sitting up straight, as if he is about to say something serious. “You’re fantasizing about the nasty stuff with her, right?”
“Jesus,” Harry rolls his eyes, just as the driver pulls up in front of Niall’s apartment building. “Good night, Niall!”
“Have you thought about fucking her in your office?” Niall’s grin widens as he opens the car door, but doesn’t get out.
“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Harry pushes on him, urging him to get out.
“Come on! Just give me a crumb!” Niall begs, climbing out of the car.
“No! Good bye!” And with that Harry shuts the door, cutting his friend off.
It’s only a few minutes drive to his place and those minutes are occupied by thoughts of Y/N thanks to Niall’s prying. He wonders what she is doing right now. Is she already in bed? Or maybe having a bath? What did she have for dinner? Is she the kind to lay her clothes out for the next day? His guess is not.
Her bed must be full of pillows and it smells just like her. He wonders what it would be like to lie next to her, pull her into his arms, kiss her…
“Fuck,” he groans when the driver stops at his building and he’s already feeling himself getting hard.
His head feels dizzy as he rides the elevator up to the penthouse, thoughts of Y/N racing in his mind. His phone pings just as he steps into his home. It’s an email from Y/N.
Found the contracts you’ve been looking for. I’ll have them printed and on your desk by the morning!
He smiles seeing her picture on the screen next to her email address, but then realizes that she must be working at home this late as well. Settling on one of his kitchen stools he types a reply.
If you don’t stop working right now, I will fire you!
He sends the email, but then quickly sends another one.
Hope you know I’m kidding, I would never fire you.
Her response came at the same time another email arrived, the second one from Niall. First he opened the one from Y/N.
Never? That’s a brave statement! Should I put it to the test?
He barks out a laugh before opening Niall’s email.
So like on your desk? Or her desk? I bet you fantasize about fucking her in the kitchen!!!
Harry groans and decides to ignore him as he goes back to Y/N’s email to reply, but first he needs some water. He leaves the phone on the counter and grabs a bottle from the fridge while his thoughts start racing again.
He did think about fucking her on his desk. Several times. On hers too. And he would be lying if he said the kitchen never came up in his dirty daydreams, though the one that keeps haunting is fucking her from behind by his floor-to-ceiling windows, her sweet moans filling his office.
And just like that, he is hard again. All because stupid Niall wouldn’t leave him alone.
With a frustrated groan he goes back to his phone and starts typing.
Of course I think about fucking her on every possible surface in the office and in my home, it’s literally all I can think about all the time, especially when she comes in wearing a tight dress or a blouse with a low cut or those goddamned short skirts that make me want to slide my hand under it and feel her warmth between her smooth legs!!! Happy? This is what you wanted me to admit???
He sends the email with an angry tap on his screen, then tosses the phone back onto the counter as he tries to control his reaction to the thoughts.
But then his heart skips a beat.
His eyes snap to his phone, the screen still unlocked as he grabs it and checks who he just sent the email to, his worst nightmare staring back at him from his phone. He didn’t send it to Niall, his detailed fantasy just ended up in Y/N’s inbox and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Shit!” he shouts, dropping the phone as he stares at it with bewildered eyes, hands gripping his hair so hard he almost rips his locks out. “Fuck! No!”
He grabs the phone and checks again, but nothing changes, his pornographic paragraph was sent in reply to her last email and by now he is sure she’s read it, judging from how quick her responses have been. In a frenzy he quickly sends her another email.
Shit Y/N, I’m sorry, this wasn’t meant to you!! I was emailing Niall at the same time and sent it in the wrong thread, I’m sorry!
He waits, holding his breath as a minute passes by, then another and she finally replies.
It’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.
“Fuck. I’m so fucked,” he groans, his forehead dropping against the hard surface of the counter and he even smacks his head against it a few more times, like some kind of punishment for being such an idiot.
He has no idea what to do, how to handle it. What’s the protocol for when the CEO sends a dirty message to his assistant about wanting to fuck her on every surfice in the office? Is this a matter for HR? What if she quits tomorrow? He wouldn’t blame her, not wanting to work for such a pig.
He fucked up, big time. But he also knows there’s nothing he can do now, he’ll have to face the consequences of his actions tomorrow.
***
He didn’t sleep, not even for a second. Harry laid in bed all night, thinking about the worst possible scenarios that could happen because of his mistake. He is on the verge of losing his mind by the time he arrives at the office in a wrinkled shirt and his hair looking like a bird’s nest.
He ignores the weird looks he is getting on his way up, only thinking what he should do or say if Y/N is already in. But when he sees her desk abandoned, relief spreads in his veins, however it’s rather short-lived.
Is she not here because she is about to quit? Or is she already talking to HR about the email? What can HR do to him? Nothing, he is the CEO. Right?
The spiraling continues as he forces himself to start his usual morning routine of checking his mails and schedule. He manages to sit still for a whole 10 minutes, but then he spots her walking towards her desk.
He jumps to his feet as if catching him sitting would get him into even bigger trouble. She is reading something on her phone while walking, so she doesn’t spot him right away and Harry has a few moments to look at her.
She looks like she always does. Beautiful and effortless, no signs of distress, so that might be a good sign. Then when she’s just a few steps away from her desk she looks up and their eyes meet.
“Hey,” Harry breathes out. “Can–Um… Can we talk?”
For a second she looks hesitant, but she nods, dropping her bag onto her desk before heading into his office with him.
She stops in the middle of the room, at the same spot she always does when she comes in to talk, but her usual cheery vibe is missing today. Harry notices how stiff and uncertain she looks and he hates that it’s because of him. He stands by his desk as he looks at her.
“Look, I’m really, really sorry about that email. That was… So unprofessional and I swear I didn’t mean to send that to you, I hope you know I would never put you in such an awkward situation on purpose.”
“It’s fine,” she says, keeping her gaze down at the floor, her voice so quiet he almost doesn’t hear her.
“It’s not fine and I’m really fucking sorry, Y/N.”
“No, let’s just… Let’s move past it,” she shrugs, but still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“I really hope we can do that, I would hate it if my stupidity ruined our dynamic. I’m officially promising not to ever reply to Niall’s awful emails,” he adds with a bitter chuckle and that at least pulls a small smile out of her.
“You often email about stuff like that?” she asks, finally looking into his eyes.
“He likes to be a pain in the ass,” he chuckles. “We had a few drinks yesterday and he started his usual game of bugging me on the way home. I thought once we parted ways I would be free of him, but then he started emailing me. That’s something he likes to do recently.”
The words are flowing out of him like he has no control over them. It’s like he needs to say all of this in order to attempt to move on, so he continues.
“So he sent me a very inappropriate email about you right when you were emailing me and I guess I had enough drinks to finally give him a crumb of what he’s been trying to pry out of me, but then I messed up the emails and—”
“Wait,” she frowns, confusion taking over her expression. “About me?”
Harry stops, unsure what she is asking about. “What?”
“The email… It was about me?”
“Yeah, it’s… Shit.”
That’s when Harry realizes that in that message, he didn’t name her, Y/N had no idea he was talking about her. It was only obvious to him, since he knew he was talking about her. But now he just made it clear to her as well.
For a second he feels like he is about to pass out. All along Y/N thought he was just talking about someone, any woman in the office, but now she knows it was particularly about her.
Her expression changes, but he can’t read it. She opens her mouth to say something two times, but ends up staying silent.
“Y/N, I’m sorry. I thought you knew it was about you. I’m really sorry, I don’t want this to fuck things up between us.”
“No, it’s…” she shakes her head, as if she is just now snapping out of her thoughts. “It’s… fine.”
He wants to talk more. He wants to apologize more, he feels like he needs to, but then Carla, his marketing manager appears at the door.
“Knock-knock! Hey, sorry to interrupt, but there’s a few things I need your insight about like right fucking now.”
“I’m coming, just a minute,” he says, turning back to Y/N. “I’m really sorry. Are we good?”
“Yeah,” she breathes out, her tone is not quite convincing, but he has no time to push it further.
“I’ll… Let’s talk later, okay?”
“Sure,” she nods and then walks out as Carla takes her place and business takes over.
Harry hates how the conversation ended, he is debating blowing everyone off just to talk to her until everything is resolved, but that’s not happening.
In fact, he barely speaks to her until late afternoon, jumping from one meeting into the other, emergency calls and last minute tasks, the whole day is just one stressful blur.
When he finally finishes his last meeting of the day he heads back to his office and sees Y/N in one of the meeting rooms, pacing the floor while talking on the phone. It’s past five, she should be heading home, but as always, she is working overtime. When Harry returns to his office he finds Niall lounging in his chair.
“I’m not in the mood for your games today, Niall,” he bites out.
“Woah, someone is pissed today. What’s gotten your panties in a twist?”
“Remember your stupid emails last night?”
“I’m still waiting for your reply on that,” Niall grins, which just pisses Harry off even more.
“I did reply to it. Only problem is that I didn’t send it to you, I accidentally sent it to Y/N!”
Niall’s jaw slacks, staring back at his friend before the most hysterical laugh bursts out of him. It takes several minutes for him to even calm down.
“And what now? What did she say?”
“She didn’t realize it was about her, which I didn’t know and when I started apologizing like a maniac in the morning I revealed it to her.”
“Oh my God, this is like the best comedy ever!”
“I’m glad my misery is so entertaining to you,” Harry grumbles under his breath, massaging the bridge of his nose. He is so tired, he feels like he ran a marathon today, that’s how much all this stress affected him.
“And what’s going on right now? I saw her today, so I’m guessing she didn’t quit.”
“We didn’t have more time to talk, she said we were good, but I don’t know…”
“Dude, this is your time. Just tell her you meant whatever you wrote, send me those deets by the way, and finally get your girl!”
“I can’t believe you’re still on this shit,” he shakes his head, giving up. “Just leave, Niall. I’m too tired for… I’m too tired for you right now.”
“Ouch!” Niall places a hand over his chest dramatically, but stands from the chair. “Alright, I’ll let you sink into your guilt for a little longer, but just know that I think you’re missing out of the best opportunity ever.”
“Leave already!” Harry groans, gesturing towards the door. Niall shakes his head with a quiet laugh and walks out.
He collapses into his chair, a headache already throbbing in his skull from this day. He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back for a bit, hoping to gather some energy to carry on for the rest of the day.
He doesn’t even hear it when Y/N appears in his open door, only snaps his eyes open when he hears her knocking on the doorframe.
“Hey!” he sits up straight right away. “Come in. Sorry for being MIA all day.”
“It’s fine, I know how it is,” she smiles softly as she walks in and stops in her usual spot.
“And I’m sorry for cutting things short in the morning,” he adds, clearing his throat. “I know you said we’re good, but I just wanted to apologize again.”
“Really, it’s all good,” she shakes her head dismissively.
“Can we just forget about it?” he suggests. She freezes for a moment, like she is considering it, but at last she nods.
“Sure. Forgotten.”
He exhales in relief, leaning back in his chair.
“Okay, good. Now go home, I don’t want to see you working overtime on a Friday,” he smiles at her, which she returns, but there’s something different about it this time, though he can’t put a finger on it.
“Then you should head home too,” she challenges him, a soft chuckle slipping past his lips as he nods, standing from his chair.
“Fair point. I’ll see you on Monday, Y/N.”
“Yeah, see you,” she nods, voice quiet as she turns around and starts walking towards the door while Harry gathers his stuff from his desk, ready to leave as well.
But then just a step away from the door she stops.
“And what if… What if I don’t want to forget about it?”
Her voice is quiet, but Harry hears her, loud and clear. He stops mid-action, gaze jumping over to her figure, her back facing him.
“What?” he asks, heart thumping wildly in his chest. Y/N slowly turns around, a sheepish look on her face.
“What if… What if I wanted all that too?”
Harry stares back at her, his first thought is that he must have heard her wrong. She definitely did not say that. But slowly, it sinks in that she actually did say that and now she is standing there, waiting for him to say something, anything.
He rounds the table, walks closer, but stops a few feet away from her. He notices how nervous she appears, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her pencil skirt, her chest rising and falling as she draws deep breaths.
And something switches in him.
“Do you?” he asks, voice low.
“What?” she breathes out.
“Do you want all that too?”
She sucks on her breath, a heartbeat passes and then she nods. He almost groans, desire flooding his groin instantly as he walks around her, like she’s a prey he wants to hunt down, while she just stands there, frozen.
“I need your words, Y/N,” he says, now standing behind her. He is not touching her, but she can feel his presence right behind her.
“I want all of that too. What you wrote in that email.”
“Fuck,” he exhales, pushing his body forward just an inch so now his chest is pressed against her back and as soon as she feels him, she leans even more into him.
His hands move to her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh over the fabric of her skirt, but she is eager to feel him somewhere else, her hands cover his and pull them up, over her breasts, her bluntness sending a shiver down his spine as he palms her.
Even though she is practically offering herself to him, he feels like he needs to be cautious, as if he could scare her away at any moment. Her head rolls back to his shoulder, baring the soft skin on her neck and now he has a great view of her breasts in his palms, a scene he has probably played in his mind a million times before. His erection is growing harder with each second and when she pushes her ass against him he can’t help the moan that slips past his lips.
Leaning down he runs his nose down the side of her neck first, teasing her a bit with the feather-like touch, but then he can’t hold himself back any longer, practically latching onto her neck, kissing, sucking, biting the soft skin, making her arch from the sensation. When he pulls back he is happy to see the mark he left on her, bright and clear, almost screaming his name.
He moves a hand up her chest, cradling her jaw to turn her head until she is facing him. For a second she looks nervous, almost like a deer caught in headlights, but then he sees the pure desire in her eyes and realizes it’s excitement that has her all worked up, unsure what’s coming next, but also quite thrilled.
He takes a moment, just admiring her this close, the want and need in her eyes directed at him, it’s making him go feral.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he breathes out before leaning in and kissing her.
He goes in hard, demanding, wanting to devour her and she willingly kisses him back with just as much fever, twisting in his arms until she is facing him with her body as well, arms locking around his neck while his hands grab onto her ass, pressing her even more against him. She moans into his mouth, grinding against him when she feels his erection pressing into her stomach and he starts walking her backwards without breaking their hungry kissing, right until the back of her legs bump against his desk.
Blindly, he pushes everything to the side on the tabletop before picking her up and sitting her on it, her legs caging his waist in an instant as they keep kissing wildly. It feels like a fever dream, Harry thinks, but he doesn’t want to wake up.
His hands tug her shirt out of her skirt, then he leans back just enough to rid her from it, throwing it behind him as he looks at her exposed chest, now that she is only wearing her lacy bra on the top. The sight of her is so beautiful he needs to take another moment to just admire her. Sitting on his desk, her breasts almost spilling out of her bra as her chest is heaving from her panting. Her lips are swollen and parted and her eyes… they are bewildered, full of lust and want, only for him. The sight of her alone could make him come, he swears.
Then he returns to kissing her, hands pushing up her skirt to reveal even more of her soft skin on her thighs until the fabric bunches around her waist. Her hands roam his body through his shirt, but soon she starts unbuttoning it, only reaching the button under his pecks, because she is so impatient to touch him she simply starts clawing at his pecks, reaching into the shirt as far as she can.
Harry steps back, a disapproving groan slipping from her lips once he is not pushed up against her, to which he just chuckles softly.
“Take your skirt off, baby,” he says as he unbuttons the rest of his shirt as well. Y/N jumps off the table, fumbles with the zipper of her skirt before she can slip it off. It pools around her feet, she steps out of it and then simply kicks to the side. Harry has got ridden of his shirt as well and he is now taking his pants off, leaving both of them only in their underwear. His mouth goes dry seeing the matching set on her, part of him wants to leave it on, but another part of him wants to tear it off her body with his teeth.
She leans back against the desk, pushing her thighs together, clearly to get some friction between them as she eyes him standing there in only his boxer briefs, palming himself through the fabric while his hungry eyes are eating her up. Then, with confidence she hasn’t seen from a man before he simply takes himself out and pushes his underwear down, leaving him in all of his naked glory. He gives himself a few lazy tugs while watching her with hooded eyes, sending a shiver down her spine. She pushes herself away from the desk, hooks her thumbs into the elastic of her panties and pushes they down while keeping eye-contact. Once the fabric pools around her ankles she kicks the underwear to the side as well and then… and idea pops into her head.
With Harry still standing there she simply turns around and bends over his desk, peeking over her shoulder to see his reaction, which doesn’t disappoint.
He stops moving, maybe even stops breathing, eyes glued to her exposed cunt, glistening from her arousal that’s all for him. His cock twitches in his hand and he lets out a long, shaky breath before stepping closer and dropping to his knees, mouth latching onto her in an instant.
“Of fuck!” she cries out, grabbing the edge of the desk to stabilize herself.
He shows no mercy, hands grabbing her ass cheeks while his tongue works wonders, almost making her see stars. If it was his last meal, he would go as a happy man, he thinks.
But as much as he would love to spend hours with his face buried in her cunt, he is also aching to have his cock buried in it too. When he stands and yanks her up as well, kissing her vigorously she can taste herself on his lips, but it just makes her want even more of him.
With skilled moves he easily unhooks her bra and tosses it to the side before grabbing the back of her thighs and picks her up with ease, walking over to the sofa in the corner of his office where he sat and daydreamed of her so many times before. Holding onto him she starts kissing a path on the side of his face until she reaches his lips, kissing him so deeply he stops in his track for a second.
Sinking onto the soft cushion of the sofa he pulls her onto his lap, her wet pussy meeting his erection, making them both moan at the same time and she involuntarly grinds against him, making his cock glide between her lips.
“Fucking hell,” he curses, head falling back, his fingers digging into her hips. “You have no idea how many times I thought of having you like this.”
“How many?” she asks with a coy smile as she keeps grinding her hips gently, just enough to drive them both insane. “Did you fantasize about me during meetings?”
“Yes,” he answers shamelessly right away.
“Did you get hard?”
“Always.”
With each answer her confidence keeps growing, she loves seeing him so gone for her. One of his hands comes up, cupping her breast, making her moan in pleasure, then he leans forward and takes her hard nipple in his mouth, sucking on it hard. Y/N whimpers, fingers sinking into his hair, scraping his scalp with her nails which makes him groan against her skin.
“Have you ever been hard, hiding it under your desk when I was in here?” she asks, almost out of breath. Harry nods against her chest, then tilts his face up just enough to look at her, while he swirls his tongue around her nipple.
“Many times,” he whispers and she swears she almost came just from those two words and the look on his face.
“I need you,” she whimpers, pulling his face up so their lips can meet. “I need to feel you.”
“Feel me as much as you want, baby,” he mumbles against her lips.
“No, I want to feel everything,” she says, hoping he’ll finally understand what she is trying to imply. It takes him a few seconds, but he finally does.
“Are you on–”
“Yes,” she nods eagerly. “And I’m clean.”
“Me too.”
“I trust you,” she says and the words tug on something in his chest.
“Come here,” he whispers, cradling her jaw in his hand as he pulls her face close, kissing her passionately, his other hand reaching down between them, tugging his cock so it lines up with her entrance.
She sinks down on him not too slow, not too fast, both of them moaning against each other’s mouth as he fills her up inch by inch. Once he is in fully, she takes a few moments to adjust to his size, gently circling her hips slightly.
“Want to ride me, baby?” he asks, giving her hips a squeeze.
“Yes, boss,” she breathes out and then starts moving.
Up and down. Back and forth. She is bouncing on him, nails digging into his pecks, surely leaving marks, but neithe rof them cares. He’ll happily wear them and then once they fade he will have her redo them again and again.
When she can feel her orgasm nearing Harry wraps his arms around her and pulls her tight against him, lips crashing messily but she just keeps moving even when her thighs start shaking.
“Harry,” she pleads gasping.
“Let me feel you come on my cock, Y/N,” he growls against her lips, his arms locked tightly around her.
Then he starts thrusting up, meeting her rhythm and a few seconds later he feels her walls gripping his cock as her orgasm washes over her. He doesn’t stop moving, watches her ride through her pleasure before he reaches his high as well, his thrusts staggering. She can feel him pumping inside of her and seeing him completely lose himself in her is something she will never forget.
They stay like that, Harry is slowly softening, but he is still inside her as they lazily kiss. When she leans back she reaches down and collects some of his cum that has dripped out of her with her finger and he watches as she sucks it off before letting her her finger go with a pop.
“Jesus, you’re killing me,” he growls, head falling back, but she just chuckles and kisses his chin.
“Mm don’t tell me you’re done for today,” she smiles at him coyly. Harry looks up at her in awe.
“Not at all. But why don’t we go back to my place? I have quite some fantasies to fulfill with you there as well.”
She leans closer, but stops before their lips could meet, then whispers:
“Yes, boss.”
Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!
SUMMARY ⋮ ⌗ ┆Your father calls you mid-shift to make you feel how he always does: Like he couldn’t care less about his only daughter. You try to push through and keep your head up, be the lovergirl everyone knows you as, but you can’t help but crumble, because all you want is to be enough for your father. Special to him.
Who’d show you just how special you really are but the day shift attending?
PAIRING ⋮ ⌗ ┆grumpy!michael robinavitch x sunshine!reader
CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ ⌗ ┆18+ SMUT AHEAD. MDNI. age gap (r! is in her 20’s, robby’s in his 40’s), r! is heavily implied to have anxiety. panic attacks. hurt comfort. r! is sort of a social worker but also a doctor. medical inaccuracies. other pitt characters featured. #alsomadeupcharactersfortheplot. small description of patient fall and sustained head injury. brief mention of blood. r’s father’s a deadbeat. briefly established backstory ⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ dom!robby. sub!reader. afab!reader. quick escalation. big dick robby. . .unprotected piv sex. tummy bulge. praise. cunnilingus (r!receiving). fingering (r!receiving). major daddy kink. two uses of little girl. slight fauxcest? (if you want to read it that way). pussydrunk!robby. use of pet names (kiddo, kid, sweetheart, babygirl, and honey are all used). palming. brief handjob. kissing. creampie. slight breeding kink.
WORD COUNT ⋮ ⌗ ┆ 6.7k
LYNNIE'S TEA ⋮ ⌗ ┆☕︎ started this on a plane ride and did not expect it to go as far as it did. . .everybody thank my own paternal issues for this one. . .i’m also not 100% i like this buuut hopefully someone else does ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა
ּ֯ . ❥ ּ֯ ┆꒰ I'D RUN AWAY .ᐟ ꒱
AND HIDE WITH YOU.
“I NEED EXTRA HANDS in Trauma 2,” boomed the unmistakable sound of Dana’s voice across the ER. “Where the fuck’s our lovergirl?”
That was usually your cue, but you didn’t catch it at first. If you had, you’d’ve probably bolted the other way, extending your already too long break that’d went from a five minute call to a fifteen minute panic attack. One more stressor and you’d be down for fucking the count.
“Right here,” you said with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, approaching the center desk. Too late to back out now. “What’s the case?”
“Six-year-old fell from her treehouse. Robby’s already in there,” said Dana. She gave you a quick once over, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Y’okay, hun?”
You blinked back tears at the genuineness of her tone. “Yeah. Fine. I’m on the case,” you said with a nod and a tight smile. Not too obvious, nor too shallow.
This was your poker face. This, you had to be good at. Because with even half the things you went through on the daily, it’d be foolish not to have mastered it.
You felt like an idiot for letting your father make you feel this way. For giving him so much leverage over your outlook on life. The people around you thought you loved wholeheartedly because you’d learned it from someone else, but the reality was far more complicated than that.
You loved the way you did not because of someone you knew, but someone you wanted to. Someone who loved like the word had no limits, like the way you did.
Your father was incapable of such treatment. When you left Boston for Pittsburgh years prior, he barely bat an eye. Just wished you well and asked you come back for the holidays, but never complained when you didn’t. Never cared that you didn’t. The man hardly cared about you, period.
And so he calls sometimes. Tries to be a father. Tells you he’s thinking of you, but it always feels like you’re a check on a to-do list. An afterthought. Like talking to you is an obligation, a thing he does because he has to, not because he wants to.
He’d called you in the breakroom the minute you got the door closed. You’d forgotten about the juice you were about to indulge in before answering the phone, wondering what he wanted. The man had promptly asked for help with the bills, and you being the angel you were, unable to ignore someone in need, no matter how salty, sent it without complaints. He hadn’t even told you he loved you when he hung up. Just told you this is what your responsibility was as a daughter now. He’d taken care of you, nurtured you after your mother had left. So you should be thanking him.
Man, you thought. Your old man had a twisted sense of family.
That call had you questioning your own validity. What had you done to deserve the loneliness you’d accumulated? To have a father who used you like an ATM? Friends who knew you but didn’t see you? It felt like the world was on your shoulders, too heavy for one person to carry, especially for someone so young.
The last place you wanted to be carrying all these feelings was the PTMC. But life didn’t stop just because you were having a go at it. So neither could you.
You all but sprinted to Trauma 2, not ready to get back to work, but at least able. Eleven in the morning was early for a fall out of a treehouse, and you’d hate to be the little girl who’d taken the damage, so you made quick work of your feet, willing them ahead until you arrived.
At the bedside were Doctors Santos and Garcia, as well as Langdon, Javadi, and your attending, Doctor Robby. Behind Santos and Garcia were the parents of the children who were in inconsolable tears, being comforted to no avail by Doctor Javadi.
“Still no consciousness,” said Santos with her lip between her teeth, her hands working quickly at the bleeding gash across the little girl’s forehead.
“How high’s this fucking treehouse?” said Garcia, ever the blunt one. You shook your head.
“Garcia,” you chided, because that was often your role. Keeping the flow of empathy in a room at any given time alive. Especially when that room contained people in dire need of it.
“Am I happy to see you,” said Robby. He excused himself from the bedside while the other doctors worked, handing you a chart. “Talk to the family before you jump on. Girl’s named Hailey, mom and dad are Janet and Carl Atkins. You know the drill, yeah?”
“Yes. Yes, of course, Robby,” you said with a nod. You tapped your fingers against the cardboard of the chart as you read its contents, like that’d somehow snap you back into doctor mode.
It’s the thought that counts, right?
“You’re an angel,” Robby said.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Atkins,” you said when you approached the parents, introducing yourself. “Why don’t we take a step outside?”
“We’re not leaving our daughter,” said Mrs. Atkins, who was still in tears.
“I understand your pain, Mrs. Atkins, but these doctors are doing everything to care for your little girl. Soon, that’ll mean lots of blood and sights you won’t want to remember of her. I promise you can come back in as soon as they’re finished.”
Mrs. Atkins, Janet, looked at her husband with teary eyes. He nodded and turned to you. You took that as your cue to lead them out of the room. Robby nodded as you made your exit with the parents.
“What happened this morning?” you asked gently, keeping any accusation out of your voice. You knew from experience that families of patients never responded well to that.
“H- Hailey wanted to play outside. It was beautiful out. We went into our backyard after breakfast, a- and Carl and I were having a bit of coffee after helping her into her treehouse. She’s a smart girl, so I thought—“ Janet stopped her sentence short to heave a sob. Carl rubbed her back.
“You thought you could trust her, like all parents do,” you finished. “She’s six. Still small, but she’s learning about the world in her own way, and you want to let her. There isn’t anything wrong with that. Then, what?”
“We didn’t even see her get out. Usually she stays inside and calls for one of us when she’s ready to come down. But this time, I guess she thought she could do it on her own,” Carl said. “She’d just hit the ground when we ran over. And we called 911.”
“I see. It’s to my understanding that Hailey’s very lucky,” you said after taking a good look at the chart. “No noticeable fractures, minimal chance of long-term brain damage. The worst she should walk away with is a concussion and a sprained ankle, but apart from that and her visible wounds, she should be back to health in no time,” you said.
“Then why is she not waking up?” said Janet.
“Her age and nature of the impact are likely to blame for her unconsciousness. Falling hard on your back is generally more dangerous, especially for teenagers and children. That doesn’t mean her injuries are severe,” you said calmly. “Hailey’s your only child?”
Janet nodded. “She’s the best little girl in the world. She was everything we prayed for.”
“Your love for her is palpable. You’re first time parents who are navigating the ups and downs of what it takes to raise a child. Mistakes don’t negate your progress. There’s no benefit in being hard on yourselves,” you said. “This wasn’t your fault. Children are naturally curious and occasionally unpredictable. That doesn’t mean you’re to blame for what happened today. The most you can do now is be there for Hailey. That’s all you can do.”
Janet sniffled, moved by your words. That was just the effect you had on people.
Most people, anyway.
It was your job at the PTMC to provide comfort to families in time of need, as well as finding balance in being a good doctor all the same. But it occurred to you more often than not that you had yet to acquire that same balance in your personal life.
As per usual, that wasn’t the matter at hand right now.
The other woman took your hand in hers and squeezed. You squeezed back.
“Thank you. You’re a great doctor,” she said.
You smiled. “No, thank you. Now, why don’t you two take a seat over here? I’ll come back out with any updates on Hailey.”
After the parents sat on a bench outside Trauma 2, you braced yourself and went back in. Robby eyed you as you returned.
“Worked your magic out there, kiddo?”
You gave that same fabricated smile you’d offered Dina not too long prior and nodded, grabbing a pair of sterile gloves. “Sure did.”
He didn’t have to know that was just more of your magic.
After half an hour or so, Garcia finally threw her hands up, exhaling a sigh of relief. “My services are no longer required.”
You’d been helping keep the Hailey stabilized beside Robby, while Santos had been next to Garcia. Javadi and Langdon had since left to handle another case. You checked the monitor to view the girl’s heart rate and blood pressure and nodded your agreement.
“All set. Thanks for your help,” you saod.
“Sure thing. Call if you need the jazz hands again,” Garcia said before heading off.
“Good work, you two. Couple hours and she should be waking up,” said Robby.
“Great. I’ll give the parents the good news,” you said.
You discarded your gloves and put some hand sanitizer on before turning to face the parents who were still seated outside Trauma 2. They both stood up with urgency, looking frantic at your return.
“How is she?” said Janet.
You smiled. “Little Hailey’s going to pull through. She’s still unconscious, but we’ve completely stabilized her and she should incur no lasting brain damage from this incident. She’ll wake in a few hours.”
Janet threw her arms around you, and you responded with a little “Oh!” before reciprocating the hug.
“Thank you so much,” Janet said.
“Can we see her?” said Carl.
“Of course. Right this way.”
You led the way back into the room, where Robby was still standing opposite Santos. The latter backed away to allow the parents room to see their child.
“Thank you, Dr. Robby,” said Carl.
“You’re very welcome,” said Robby.
The two of them sat at their daughter’s bedside. Carl instantly grabbed Hailey’s hand, squeezing gently.
“We’re so sorry, honey,” Janet whispered in a quiet sob.
“Daddy loves you so much, Hailey,” Carl sniffled beside his wife. “We’ll never let anything like this happen again. I promise.”
I promise.
At the little declaration, you felt your throat tighten with a weird feeling. It felt like plain sadness at first, salt on the wound after your interaction with your own father. But it was more than that. Deeper.
It felt like fucking jealousy.
Tears filled your eyes and threatened to spill at the scene as Carl whispered all the ways he loved his daughter. The promises to take care of her. The dedication to doing better. All things you wish your father could do for you.
It was too much.
“Um, if you’ll excuse me,” you said with your fake smile, though you weren’t sure how convincing it was now that it was paired with teary eyes and a broken voice. You practically sprinted out of there and didn’t stop until you reached the breakroom.
You slammed the door closed behind you and went for the sink. Everybody was busy with their own cases—it was just one of those kinds of shifts—so there was no one around to see you break down for a second time that shift. While it didn’t necessarily feel good to be alone, you weren’t sure you wanted anyone to see you like this.
Splashing water on your face was futile for your nerves. The sobs you heaved that came from the innermost parts of you were so much more than tears. It felt like all the things your father had said to you since he created you, the words or lack thereof that you’d tried and now failed to suppress, were bubbling to the goddamn surface.
You were in the middle of pressing your thumb to your palm, a trick for anxiety you’d heard from Dr. Collins, when the sound of the break room door opening snapped you out of your thoughts. You took a large breath and didn’t immediately turn around, because you couldn’t give yourself away, couldn’t be vulnerable. Not on a day like this. Maybe not fucking ever.
You thought so, anyway, until the sound of Robby softly saying your name made your resolve crack in two.
“Y- Yeah?” you said without facing him.
“You alright? You kind of ran out of there,” he said. You could hear him coming closer.
“Oh, yeah, j- just needed a glass of water. Dehydrated,” you lied.
“Hydration is important,” he humored you. Yet his tone of voice gave way to the fact that you were a terrible liar. “But I’m not convinced that’s what this is.”
Fuck.
Tears spilled from your eyes. You still didn’t turn around, but when you felt your throat constricting again, your breath picking up speed, you realized it didn’t matter if Robby could see you or not. Your body language was going to betray you.
“I just need a m- minute,” you said, and that did him in. Your body started to shake with a familiar force, one nobody knew you dealt with on a daily basis.
A panic attack.
“Okay, okay, it’s okay,” Robby said as your legs started to fail you. He didn’t say anything about the mascara that was probably coming down your cheeks, or the blatant redness in your eyes when you finally turned around. Instead, he sat you down in one of the chairs in the breakroom, rubbing your back. “Head between your legs.”
You did as told. This tactic did sometimes work for you. But it wasn’t enough to stop your heaving sobs or uncontrollable breathing.
“Come on, s’okay, in through your nose, out through your mouth,” Robby said. “It’s not forever. S’all temporary, s’all temporary. Come on, kiddo, breathe with me.”
Robby’s words felt like honey. But even the sweetest of candies can’t overpower the taste of salt.
It wasn’t Robby’s fault. Robby didn’t know. He didn’t know much about your life beyond the city you’d come from or who you are now. No one did.
But that was just the thing. Even without truly, truly knowing you, Robby still wanted to help. That was more than your own father could ever say.
“It’s going to be okay,” Robby said finally. “Breathe with me.”
Every word had your nervous system slowly regulating again, and you tried to listen to the sound of his voice. After a few minutes of crying and shaky breaths, the world started to come back into focus.
“That’s a girl, just breathe. Breathe with me,” Robby hummed. “Let me get you some water.”
You felt the aftermath of your panic attack starting to hit the moment Robby returned with a glass of water. You drank it down in one quick gulp as your breath finally slowed back to normal pace.
“I’m. . .sorry you had to see that, I—“
“Don’t apologize. It happens to the best of us,” Robby said. You’d never seen the older man look so concerned. His eyebrows were wrinkled with worry, and there was a frown pasted on his lips.
After a beat, Robby spoke up again. “Did you. . .wanna talk about it?”
You shrugged, looking away. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid if it’s making you cry.”
You shook your head and let out a bitter laugh. You’d tell anyone else the same thing, but you felt stupid for feeling the way you did about a man you’d known for a long time would never change. The stupid thing was holding out hope that he would.
“My dad called me. Just before I hopped on that case,” you said shakily. “He didn’t even ask how I was or what I was doing. He. . .he needed money f- for his bills. So I just sent it without thinking twice. He didn’t even tell me he loved me or anything before he hung up. Just told me this was my responsibility now. So that little girl. . .her father caring so much,” you sniffled. “Just felt like salt to the wound.”
You looked away from Robby completely now, turning your head to the side. “It’s dumb, right? I’m in my mid twenties and I’m still getting hurt by the man when he’s always been this way. Anyone else would have given up by now, but not me.”
“Now, that’s not entirely true,” Robby said sharply. “You need your father today as much as you did when you were born. Your age doesn’t have anything to do with it, kid. And if he can’t show up like he’s supposed to, that’s on him.”
Robby tilted your face to meet his and caught your eyes. “He has no idea what he’s missing.”
You sniffled at the sweet reassurance, leaning your cheek into his palm.
“You’re sure you’re fit to stay?” Robby asked, stroking your cheek.
You almost thought you’d misheard him. There was a loudly spoken rule about all hands on deck at this hospital. Confusedly, you returned, “It’s been crazy in here today. Don’t you guys need me?”
Robby shrugged. “We have the staff, for once. If you’re not 100%, we’ll be okay if you need to leave. Seems like you need to relax, and this place is definitely not helping with that.”
You giggled at that. “Yeah, probably not,” you agreed. Your smile then faded. “But it’s alright. I took the bus here and with midday traffic, who knows how long I’ll be waiting, anyway,” you sniffled.
“That’s true. And you can stay if you want,” Robby said as he stood up. “Or I can bring you home.”
You looked up at him confusedly. “Bring me home? But, Robby, you—“
“—Jack wanted to come in early,” Robby said. “S’no problem.”
The offer made your heart ache. “You’re sure?”
Robby gave you a small smile. “Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”
That’s what wound you in the passenger seat of Robby’s truck the second Jack walked into the ER. He opened the door for you and buckled you in before getting into the driver’s side, putting the keys into the ignition.
“I’m sorry I’m making you do this,” you said with a small voice, leaning your head against the window. Even after his reassurance, you still felt guilty for pulling him away from work. “You have a job to do.”
“You’re not making me do anything. And Jack’s a good doctor. He’s got it under control,” Robby said. “How far are you?”
“I’m a little far. It’s about a half hour commute,” you replied. “You really don’t have to bring me, Robby.”
“How about we go to my place instead? It’s closer. You’ll want to decompress sooner rather than later, I imagine.”
You nod. “Okay,” you replied. Robby did the same and began to drive.
Your hands were still restless from the aftermath of your attacks. You leaned your head back against the leather seat, closing your eyes while shaky breaths left your lips. Robby didn’t say anything until he heard you hiccup another sob. He’d stopped at a red light and turned to look at you.
“Sweetheart? You okay?”
You cringed at the whimper that left your lips. “I don’t know.”
“Hey,” Robby said. He reached over and looped his fingers through yours, squeezing your hand to reassure you. “Don’t think about him. It’s not doing you any good. Put the window down, kiddo. That’ll help.”
You did as told, putting the window down ever so slightly. You used Robby’s hand like a lifeline while he drove, and not once did he let go.
Leaving the Pitt made you realize instantly how drastically it was affecting you. You had your anxiety under control most days, but it was easy for anybody to snap in a place like that. Now that you were here, you didn’t feel so frenzied. How Robby could run the show on a daily basis like he did, you had no idea.
The drive was mostly silent, save for the wind from your window and the low hum of the radio. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, not with Robby’s hand in your lap and intertwined with your own, grounding you throughout the trip.
He pulled up to a family home about fifteen minutes later. It was a beautiful place with flowers out front and two stories. Robby opened your door for you as you got out, and smiled when you immediately slotted your hand through his again.
“Come on, kiddo. Let’s get you inside,” Robby said.
You followed behind him and watched him unlock the door, letting you inside before following. You took the place in, shockingly neat for your sarcastic attending, while he slipped his shoes off at the door.
“You can shower upstairs if you want. I can give you some clothes to change into,” Robby said. “Are you hungry?”
“I don’t think I’m ready to eat yet. But thank you, Robby. A shower would be nice,” you said.
“Okay, sweetheart. Come on, you can have your pick of my closet.”
You followed Robby upstairs, taking in the various picture frames that lined the walls of the staircase. Most were with Jack or your other coworkers in group pictures. You were even in some of these.
Robby opened the door to his large room, his bed messy with strewn pillows and scattered books on the nightstand. There were some clothes on the floor and Robby grimaced as he retrieved them.
“Sorry about the mess. Don’t ever have company,” Robby said. “You can look through my dresser.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you said as you approached it. You went through his drawers and picked out an old band tee and baggy sweatpants. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll get you a towel.”
After Robby did so, you took the shower you’d been in desperate need of, hoping the cold water would cleanse your nerves. They still felt incredibly frayed even after leaving work, and part of you was still in panic mode.
Most of it was just plain sadness.
When you came out of the bathroom, Robby was sitting on the edge of the bed, which was now neatly made. He perked up when he saw you, standing up and pulling the covers back. “You didn’t like the sweatpants?”
You shook your head. The tee was long enough to cover the bareness underneath it, and your body temperature wasn’t regulated enough for pants yet. “No. I’m hot,” you said, folding the pants neatly back into the dresser.
“I see,” Robby said. “Feeling better?”
You shrugged, approaching the bed and settling in. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” you said meekly.
“I don’t. But I want to,” Robby said. He tucked you in and turned the TV in the room on, handing you the remote. “I’ve got a few streaming platforms. Watch whatever you’d like. Let me know when you’re ready to eat.”
With that, Robby turned to leave the room, evidently wanting to give you your space, but before he could, you sat back up in bed. “Robby?”
Robby turned to look at you with a foot out of the door. “Yeah, kiddo?”
“Stay? Please, don’t. . .don’t go.”
Robby looked slightly startled by the request, but his expression shifted back into a smile just as quickly. He closed the door and joined you in bed, laying down over the covers. “Whatever you need.”
You turned the TV on and pretended to be interested in the channels, but even entertainment couldn’t do its part in distracting you. You flipped a random movie on before turning to Robby, laying on your side.
Robby rubbed your forehead, then stroked your hair with such care that you thought you might cry all over again. Maybe you would. “Comfortable, kiddo?” he asked.
You nuzzled into his touch, scooting closer. “Mhm. Thank you, Robby.”
“You’re welcome,” Robby said. “You let me know if you need anything, yeah?”
That simple comment worked you right up again, tears brimming in your eyes. All this sweetness from your somewhat gruff attending, the one who’d tucked you in after taking you home and giving you his clothes, no less, had you wondering how hard it really was for your father to do the same.
“Oh, honey,” Robby said as you broke down all over again. “Come here, baby.”
You followed the instruction of Robby patting his lap, sitting up and settling into it. You buried your face into his neck while he held you, cradling you like you were a baby. The gesture made you sob harder as he soothed you, rubbing your back tenderly while he shushed away your tears.
“Your father doesn’t deserve you. You’re too sweet to feel so neglected by him,” Robby said.
“Wh- What’s wrong with me? I just want him to care and somehow I feel like an asshole, because all I do is beg for the man to love me.”
“That doesn’t make you an asshole. It’s normal to want your father. Even more normal when he’s mostly absent.”
“I just want to be enough.”
“You are enough. More than enough,” Robby reassured you.
You pulled back to look at Robby, tears swimming in your eyes. “You’d. . .you’d take care of me, right?” you said without thinking. “If I was your daughter? You wouldn’t let me go?”
Robby smoothed his thumb over your cheek. “No, baby. I wouldn't ever let you go.”
You moved impossibly closer to Robby at the reassurance, now sitting up with your thighs on either side of his legs. He had a hand on your waist, the other coming up to cradle your cheek as he watched you stare.
“What is it, kiddo?” he said softly.
“I. . .I want. . .” you whimpered, bottom lip between your teeth. You of all people knew how unprofessional this position alone was, with your attending, no less, but you were craving more. Comfort. Touch. Love. All things Robby was willing to give you. All things your father never had.
Before you could overthink it, and before your brain could even process what you were doing, for that matter, you leaned slightly forward in Robby’s lap so that your lips ghosted over his. You pressed your hands to his chest in a silent plea, hitting him with those sweet eyes he’d known and admired since you joined PTMC.
But it was different now.
“Please?” you whispered.
“Sweetheart,” Robby huffed. He held his hand on the small of your back and left it there, making no effort to pull you closer or push you away. “We shouldn’t. Hell, I shouldn’t. Shouldn’t even be holding you like this.”
“I know, Robby, but. . .please, I won’t say anything. No one will ever know, I just. . .” you trailed off.
Too late to back out now.
“Make me forget. Forget him, forget everything,” you said. Your fingers dug into his shirt, another wordless beg for more. “Please.”
Robby stared at you for a few long seconds, the silence louder than the sobs you’d heaved earlier in the breakroom. Your head was spinning from said tears, and it occurred to you that you should go home, lay in bed, pretend this never happened—
Until Robby cupped your cheek with a gentleness you’d hardly known he possessed, and pulled you in for a kiss.
The kiss was electric despite its initial slowness. He was soft with you like he was afraid to break you, as if you needed to be handled with fragility. Except when aggression is all you know, it’s natural to exert—which is why you push your tongue past his lips and wrap your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.
Robby understands instantly and settles a hand on your hip, the other finding its way to your neck. He holds but doesn’t squeeze, again, like you’re too soft to be handled in such a fashion, and works his lips against yours ravenously. You can already feel the hardness of his cock below you and it has you embarrassingly soaked.
“That what you needed, baby?” Robby said with a small smile, cupping your face as he said it. You shook your head, to which he replied, “Oh, no? Then, what?”
You let your hand drift downwards before you could think twice about it, rubbing the aching bulge in his pants with shaking fingers.
“Fuck, honey,” Robby groaned. “Big girl words.”
“I. . .I want your cock, Robby,” you whined.
“That right?”
“M- Mhm, please,” you managed through a few more rubs. Then, the cherry on top to completely seal the deal—
“Please, Daddy.”
He’d said to use your words, right?
“Shit,” was all Robby said. His pupils were completely blown at the name, but the disgust you half expected to see when you looked at him wasn’t there. No, when you looked at him, he held a different expression entirely.
And it looked a lot like lust.
“Y’want me to be your daddy, huh? Guess you really meant you wanted to forget,” Robby hummed like it was a normal Tuesday, and you hadn’t just asked your attending of all the people to play the part. Luckily, for you, Robby was happy to oblige—evidently so, as he yanked you closer by the waist, pressing a quick kiss to your mouth.
“S’okay, sweetheart. I can be his replacement.”
With that, Robby flipped you onto your back and pinned you underneath him with his body, using a hand to prop himself up. You continued to rub at the bulge in his scrubs, only now, you’d begun to tug them down, already ready for more.
Robby followed your lead and released his hardened cock from his jeans, the tip aching and bright. You tried not to think too hard about how the hell that’d fit inside you as you started to stroke him carefully.
“Let me take care of you, Daddy,” you said. “After everything you did today.”
“You’re such a sweet girl, honey,” Robby said through a grunt. “But I’m afraid that’s your Daddy’s job, now, isn’t it?”
The sentiment made your cheeks flare, and you simply nodded.
“Good girl,” Robby cooed. He slowly tucked his dick back into his pants. Confusion filled your face until he started to lift your shirt—his shirt—up so that your skin was exposed to him. He smirked at the sight of you without panties on.
“Someone was ready,” he teased. He tucked his dick back into his pants and pressed featherlight pecks to your belly, then started his descent down your body, starting with your inner thighs. He kissed and sucked at the skin there which had you squirming instantaneously, watching your every move to gauge how you were feeling.
“This okay?” he asked. You nodded.
Robby did the same and continued his ministrations. When he finally locked eyes with your pussy, a little sigh left his lips at the sight of your wetness. “Fuck, honey. You’re soaked.”
“Couldn’t h- help it, Robby. Need you.”
“Ah-ah, that’s not my name,” Robby chided with a sharp bite to your inner thigh. “You wanna try again?”
“I need you, Daddy,” you corrected.
“Much better, sweetheart,” Robby said. With that, he finally licked his first stripe up your pussy, groaning at the taste of you. He started slowly to watch your reactions, tonguing your puffy clit in steady circles while his fingers joined the ministrations, entering your aching hole.
Robby alternated between licking your clit and diving between your folds, but whether that was more for you or him was unclear. He was completely drunk on your pussy, and paired with the sound of your pleasured noises, he was eating you up like a man starved.
“Fuck, babygirl, your pussy’s perfect. You’re perfect,” Robby grunted, driving his fingers inside you. You arched back with a particularly loud moan, the new nickname making you dizzy.
“F- Feels so g- good, Daddy,” you moaned. Robby smirked.
“Yeah? S’your Daddy making you feel good, kiddo?” he grunted between your folds, though it felt like he was talking more to your pussy then to you. “You deserve it, honey. My girl deserves to feel so good.”
He lifted your legs above his shoulders so he could dive deeper into your cunt, and you gasped at the change in position, his face almost completely blocked by your own body.
“D- Daddy, can you even breathe like that?” you asked worriedly.
Robby chuckled against your cunt, the sound vibrating between your legs. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Just focus on feeling good.”
With that, he started to eat you out again, only this time, it felt completely different. This time, with his hands wrapped around your thighs and your knees hooked over his shoulders, there was no limit to what Robby could do to you. His tongue entered your hole this time while his big nose rubbed against your clit, and you were convinced you were seeing stars.
“Fuck, D- Daddy, m’gonna—!” you moaned loudly, bucking your hips into the heat of his mouth. You were grinding against his face shamelessly now. Thankfully for you, Robby didn’t seem to mind.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go, Daddy’s got you,” Robby cooed before flicking his tongue against your clit, and not letting up until you were practically exploding against his face, coming with a loud cry.
Robby eased you through your orgasm with small licks against your sensitive clit. When the feeling became overstimulating, he switched gears and pressed kisses to your inner thighs, peppering them in a gentle path up your abdomen soon afterwards. He continued until he was hovering you again, and you took the opportunity to press your lips against his.
You tasted yourself on his mouth and felt your wetness from his beard, both facts working you up even so soon after your last orgasm. You wrapped your legs around his waist, and he immediately caught on.
“Needy little girl. So eager to cum again, huh?” Robby said, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You nodded, to which Robby chided, “None of that, babygirl. You tell Daddy what you want.”
“Want you inside me, Daddy. Want your cock,” you managed through shaky breaths, bucking your hips against his for emphasis. “Please.”
“You sound so sweet when you use your words, honey,” Robby cooed. For the second time, he freed himself, only this time he was visibly more hard. The tip of his cock was an angry red and dribbling bouts of pre-cum, and, fuck, did he look so much fuller than before. You gasped as he ran his head between your folds.
“You’re sure you want this, sweetheart? Absolutely positive?”
“Yes, Daddy, m’sure. I want you so bad. Please.”
Robby didn’t need another word before he was thrusting inside you completely, filling you to the brim.
You’d thought he was big before, but this stretch was completely different. There was a visible bulge where your bodies were conjoined which became more prominent with every little thrust into your pussy. Robby watched, utterly transfixed, at the sight of his large cock causing such an imprint on your skin.
“Y’okay?” Robby grunted. He had one hand on your belly and the other next to your head.
“M- Mhm. You’re so big,” you huffed.
Robby chuckled. “Hope that’s a good thing, sweetheart.”
“I- It is, I—oh!” you were cut off by the feeling of Robby’s hips snapping against yours, trying to find his pace. His stamina isn’t exactly what it used to be, but he’ll be damned if he leaves this room without making you feel good.
“Too much, kiddo?”
“N- No, not at all.”
“Good,” Robby said. He kept a steady albeit rough pace, reaching the deepest parts of you. It wasn’t your first time having sex, but it was with a man who was set on really taking care of you and not chasing his own pleasure. The thought made it feel all the more better.
You pulled Robby in for a kiss he answered gladly. As your tongues pushed against each other, his hips rocked even harder, driving his thick cock into your spongy walls. He was starting to hit the part of you that made you see stars, and you weren’t doing a good job of hiding it.
“That’s it, babygirl. That feel good?” Robby grunted against your lips.
“M- Mhm, y- you’re s- so good, Robby. Feel so good,” you said.
Robby chuckled and decided to let the use of his name slide, deciding you were probably too fucked-out to even remember your own right now. “You feel good, too, sweetheart. You’re so pretty like this,” he praised.
It was only a few minutes before Robby’s steady pace was replaced with a stronger one, as much faster as it was rougher. At the blown look of your pupils, he figured as much that this was what you wanted, what you needed, and he was right.
His cock was driving so far into you that it felt like he was in your throat. Every push had your back arching off the bed, unable to make any noise beyond a few broken whimpers and moans.
“That’s it, sweet girl. I got you, I got you,” Robby said gently, a stark contrast to the way his dick was bullying into your pussy.
“You—fuck—you promise, Daddy?”
“I promise, honey. M’never letting you go, alright? Never,” Robby assured. Despite the pace, his words had your heart lurching, and you almost got emotional all over again.
“Robby,” you gasped. “I’m g- getting there again. Close.”
“S’okay, kiddo. Your Daddy wants you to feel good,” he groaned. He wasn’t so much looking for his pleasure as he was trying to give you yours. “What do you need?”
Easy.
“Just don’t stop,” you said.
And Robby didn’t. He pressed kisses down your neck and sucked hickeys into your skin while he fucked you hard and fast, setting an absolutely lethal pace. The same pressure from earlier when you’d cum in his mouth was starting to return, and you were seconds away from your second orgasm.
“Cum with me, Daddy, please, please, I wanna feel you,” you begged, framing his cheeks with your hands. Robby had his on either side of your head while he smirked down at you.
“Yeah, you want my cum, baby? Want me filling your pretty pussy with my load?”
You nodded quickly, pulling him in for another kiss. “Yes, please. S’all I want.”
“That’s what you’ll get,” Robby said.
He didn’t stop until you were right on the edge, and when you were, he kissed you through it, rocking his hips into your pelvis and driving his dick hard into your cunt while your second orgasm crashed over you. You clenched hard around his cock as he spilled into you, securing your legs even tighter around his waist so that every drop stayed inside.
Robby got the message and gave a few last thrusts that stirred his cum deep inside you. When he pulled out, small ropes of white dribbled out of your hole and stained the bed, while the rest of it remained nestled within you.
“Who knew my little girl could be so dirty?” Robby teased, kissing your cheek.
You giggled. “It takes two, you know.”
“Fair enough,” Robby chuckled. “I’m going to get a towel, honey. Get you cleaned up.”
As he made his move to leave, however, you tugged his arm. Robby was at the edge of the bed. “Robby, w- wait.”
“Yeah, honey?”
“Did you. . .mean it? When you said you’d. . .never let me go?” you asked. “That you’d be his replacement?”
Robby smiled at you and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, nodding. “Yeah, sweetheart. I meant every word.”
summary: your boyfriend finds out you have a praise kink and is having way too much fun with that information
masterlist
pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader
warnings: some suggestive content, hotch being a menace, reader having a praise kink, end suggests something may happen but nothing explicit in this one folks im getting my libido under control swear, also count how many times r refers to hotch's face as stupid im crying
wc: 1.9k
You hated running. No, correction, loathed it. Detested it. Despised it with every fiber of your being. If there was a stronger word, one that captured the burning, irrational rage you felt whenever someone suggested going for a jog, Spencer might have known it, but you couldn't bring yourself to care enough to ask. Simply put, running was not your thing.
But when Aaron, your boyfriend and somehow the most persistent man alive, asked you to join you on a run, you couldn't exactly say no. He didn't beg, Aaron Hotchner did not beg, but his version of asking, that soft it'd mean a lot to me paired with an encouraging smile, was close enough to begging in your book. Besides, you figured there'd be some sort of reward when you got back home. Aaron was good at those.
So here you were, contributing absolutely nothing to your marathon-obsessed, fitness-loving FBI boyfriend's training. Sweat coated every inch of your body, your legs felt like lead, and your lungs burned with every ragged breath you managed to suck in. The sun blazed overhead, making you feel more like a roasting chicken than a willing participant in this so-called fun activity.
Aaron, on the other hand, looked like he'd stepped out of a fitness ad, shirt clinging to him in ways that felt outright scandalous. Even the sweat on his face somehow made him look even more attractive.
He was at least ten paces ahead of you and every few steps, he'd glance over his shoulder, probably checking to make sure you hadn't spontaneously combusted or snuck off to find an air-conditioned cafe. Honestly, both were real possibilities.
Aaron's pace slowed until he was running beside you, throwing you a smile so unfairly handsome it made your legs feel weaker than they already did.
"How are you feeling?" The question felt retorical, anyone, profiler or not, was sure to be able to read you like an open book right now. "Still alive, or do I need to start figuring out the best way to carry you home without breaking any traffic laws?"
"I think I'm alive," you managed between gasps, wiping sweat from your brow. "But if carrying me is on the table, I'm not above playing dead to make that happen."
"Not necessary, I'd carry you anyway, if only to reward you for keeping up this long. You're doing great."
You foot caught a crack in the pavement, nearly hurling yourself into it, but Aaron's hand was there quicker keeping you upright as you tried to ignore the terrifying way your body had reacted to his compliment.
"Okay you can't just say stuff like that while I'm trying to run," you blurted out, avoiding his gaze. "You're trying to kill me, I swear."
You planted your hands on your hips, still trying to catch your breath, secretly relieved to have a break, even if it almost involved a face-first meeting with the sidewalk.
"Stuff like what?" He tugged at your ponytail and you swatted his hand.
"Nothing," you said way too quickly, shaking your head like you could physically toss what you said aside. "Forget I said anything. Let's just... keep running."
You quickly realized your mistake as soon as you started jogging again. You would never willingly suggest to keep running. Unfortunately, Aaron was actively aware of this, moving to come up beside you. You didn't need to look at him to know he had the stupidest smirk on his face.
He didn't say anything at first, to your immediate relief, just kept jogging beside you. The silence stretched on, his calm breathing only seeming to make your wheezing sound worse.
"You're breathing too shallow," he said after a moment, his tone completely casual like he wasn't even winded. "Try to take deeper breaths, match them to your strides. It'll make it easier."
You glanced towards him out of the corner of your eye before attempting his suggestion. You had no intention of letting him know that it worked. His ego was far too substantial for that.
"See? You're a natural," he said, shooting you a sidelong glance. "Atta girl."
Your brain flatlined and you almost tripped over your feet again, every rational thought replaced by static. What was wrong with you? You vaguely remembered reading somewhere that people with unresolved daddy issues were prone to developing praise kinks. Was that what this was? Whatever the reason, hearing Aaron talk like that shouldn't make you feel all gooey inside, but here you were, a puddle in running shoes.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, yup, fine!"
You stared at the ground so intensely, it was a miracle you didn't bore a hole into the pavement. Your voice had betrayed you, far too shaky and way too rushed, and you knew Aaron was probably filing away every bit of your reaction.
"Hey," he said softly, his hand brushing against the back of your neck as he spoke. "Stop staring at the ground. You'll run better if you keep your head up, it'll open your chest so you can breathe easier."
His hand lingered for a second too long than what your body could handle, leaving you completely flustered and fighting every urge to do exactly the opposite of what he said.
"There you go," he murmured, a small, approving smile tugging at his lips. "That's good, honey. Just like that."
His voice, his god forsaken voice, was like lightning to your system, and not in a good way. Or maybe it was a good way, which was the problem. It was bad enough to hearing it out here, on the jogging trail, but your brain decided to replay it in an entirely different inappropriate context: one that involved you, him, and a bed.
Your face burned, and you couldn't tell if it was from the exertion, or the very real possibility that your body was too receptive to those words. And now, not only were you fighting for every breath, but you were trying to figure out if the dampness between your legs was entirely from sweat. Surely it was sweat. Right? Gods, you hoped it was sweat.
You stopped so suddenly that Aaron jogged a few steps ahead before he realized you were not longer beside him.
"Okay, I'm calling it. I'm done. Can we please go home now?"
He jogged back to you, an easy smile on his face, and placed his hands on your shoulders as he reached you.
"Alright, we can be done," he teased, thumbs brushing lightly over your collarbones. "You survived, and you did great. I'm proud of you."
He leaned down then, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips that made the ache in your body a little easier to ignore.
When he pulled away, you barely managed to keep standing.
Aaron let out a low laugh, his hands squeezing your shoulders. "Alright. What's going on? What's wrong with you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," you said over your shoulder, practically power walking towards the car.
Aaron's laugh deepened and you ignored the funny feeling curling in your chest.
"Sweetheart," he said, gently tugging your elbow to slow you down. "Come on, talk to me."
"There's nothing to talk about, I'm fine!" You avoided his eyes as you tugged your elbow free. "I'm just tired, and, uh, need a shower."
A cold shower, your brain screamed, but you shoved the thought down.
"I know, I know you're tired," he said, lips curving into a smile, "but that's because you actually pushed yourself. I'm proud of you for sticking with it."
You were pretty convinced you were you were about to go up in flames. Your obituary would read death by too many unnecessary compliments. When your heart inevitably gave out, Aaron would have to explain to Rossi and the others how his dumb smile and sweet words had resulted in second degree manslaughter.
But then you saw it, the smirk. The one that said he absolutely knew what he was doing.
"Oh my gosh, you know!" You groaned and threw your hands in the air. "You know, and you're enjoying this!"
Spinning away from him, you stormed to the car, and slammed the door like it might shield you from his stupidly smug face.
You barely had time to exhale before the passenger door swung open, revealing Aaron, casually leaning against the car.
"You know," he said lightly, his tone far too casual for your liking, "slamming car doors isn't a great habit. You could hurt yourself."
"And you know," you snapped back, pointing at him, "torturing your girlfriend isn't a great habit either!"
He leaned in slowly, his fingers brushing against your shoulder as he grabbed your seatbelt. As he clicked it into place, his face lingered close to yours.
"I wasn't trying to torture you, baby. Just wanted to give you the chance to admit it, that you liked it."
Before you could muster a reply, Aaron's hand slid up to cradle your face, his thumb moving along your cheek. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was so deep, leaving you no choice but to sink into it, even as the faint remnants of your annoyance tried to surface.
By the time he pulled back, you felt like you were under his spell. Then, without another word, he shut your door and headed to the driver's side.
"That's not fair," you muttered, crossing your arms and pouting as you stared out the window.
Aaron's hand found the back of your neck as he backed out of the parking spot, rubbing gently into smooth circles.
"I don't mean to be unfair," he said with a small smile. "I just needed to hear it, because sometimes people don't even realize what they need until they say it out loud. And I wanted to make sure I didn't misread anything, though I'm rarely wrong, as you know."
"Trust me, you remind me every chance you get." Your tone was dry, but you were well aware that the twitch in your lip was giving you away.
"Alright, smartass," he said, chuckling as his fingers pressed a little firmer into your neck. "Now tell me, how does it make you feel when I say those things to you?"
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I don't know, okay? I just... like it! Do I have to explain it?"
"You don't have to explain it if you don't want to," he said, "but I'd like to know what it is you like so much."
Aaron's hand moved from your neck to your hand, his fingers sliding between each of yours while his eyes stayed glued to the road, a thing that only came from months of familiar motions.
You let out a long breath. "I don't know. I just like hearing it. It makes me feel good. Special, I guess."
"You are special, sweetheart." His eyes flicked to you before returning to the road. "You're my best girl."
Your stomach flipped violently. You shifted again, trying to disguise the way your thighs pressed together tightly as your face burned hotter than ever. The debate earlier in your head was officially over, absolutely not just sweat, you thought miserably.
Aaron let out a soft chuckle, fingers brushing over your knuckles. "Something I said?"
You swatted his shoulder, your glare losing all its bite thanks to the flush all over your body. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"I can't help it," he murmured, voice dipping just enough to get you on edge. "But don't worry, I'll take care of my best girl once we're home."
You slumped in your seat, muttering something unintelligible that made Aaron chuckle again. And even though you wouldn't admit it, you found yourself smiling, already dreading and anticipating whatever he had planned when you got home.
in chronological order. f!reader. No y/n, no descriptions of the reader. Requests are open (add a "please" if you don't mind!!) fics of the week are in pink
request queue: 17
main masterlist
the chasing (3.2k) - where you introduced yourself to one of your peers, having heard all the rumors about him. he is obsessed with asking you out. (fluff, pre-marriage)
power move (1.6k) - where you see your ex husband flirting and decide to pull a power move to stop it (fluff)
the intervention (1.4k) NEW ! - the pittlings arrange an intervention when they think robby is harassing you (fluff)
the warning (1k) - where you warn your ex husband to stop flirting around (fluff)
the reminder (1.2k) - where one of your kids ends up in the er and robby reminds you why you divorced (angst + comfort)
the vacancy (1k) - where robby finds out you haven't been dating since your divorce (fluff)
nightcall (1.2k) - where after an incident next door, you call robby and ask him to come home (fluff + angst)
the smirk (1.3 k) - where robby finds out you like someone else (angst)
the realization (3.6k) - where robby realizes you are dating someone new (angst)
instagram stories - your ig stories when you start dating
myths (500) - where robby hears all the myths about your boyfriend
the plan (1.5k) - where you realize both your kids are playing matchmaking (fluff)
the anesthesia (2k) - where you end up in the er and confess a thing or two under anesthesia (fluff + angst)
the crush (300) - where you diagnose one of the pittlings to have a crush with the chief
the sabbatical (3.8k) - self explanatory really (fluff + angst)
out of office (500) - where you call robby on day 2 of his sabbatical to ask about a case (fluff)
the "emergency" (1.8k) - where you receive a call from the er saying your kids are there (fluff)
dental evidence (500) - where robby left his dental evidence on your neck (fluff)
playing nice (500) - where you pretend to be great at co-parenting at your daughter's birthday party (fluff)
the old habits (1k) - where you go out with your friends (fluff + smuttish)
the test (1.3k) - where you and robby have a pregnancy scare (angst + comfort)
the vasectomy (900) - NEW ! where you find out robby actually did what you asked him to. always has.
the sleepover (700) - where your kids find you asleep in the morning and interrogate you about your family (fluff)
the gala (800) - where you and robby are forced to attend a gala together (fluff)
big ideas (700) - where robby asks abbot and langdon dating advice (fluff)
the date (1.4k) - NEW ! you and robby go on a date and he asks a big question
the punch (1.2k) - NEW ! you’re assaulted at the ER and Robby tends to your injuries
the new intern (1.2k) - NEW ! where you have a new intern whose specially interested in robby
Robby has never been a fan of birthdays. This year, loneliness drives him to download Tinder on an impulse, only to come across the last person he expected to find there: his favorite resident.
warning/tags: minors DNI, p0rn with little plot, masturbating, sexting, pet names (sweetheart and good girl) robby loves talking you through it, unprotected piv, pussy eating, multiple orgasms, body hair, fingering, creampie, handjob, kinda softdom!robby, age gap (I imagined reader being in her 20s or 30s but could be in her 40s too, tried to keep it broad)
For those of you who read it the first or second time I uploaded it: during the days the fic was down, I expanded some scenes, added a bit more dialogue, and made it a little kinkier along the way. You might want to read it again for some extra content
He knew this was stupid, plainly a terrible idea. On any other day, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but today wasn’t any ordinary day. Today was his birthday. Fifty-five years old, and he had never felt more lost in his own life. Nothing had turned out the way he’d once imagined it would. If someone had told him, back when he was a resident, that he would still be coming home to an empty apartment at this age, no wife curled up on the couch waiting for him with a tired but loving smile, no chorus of small feet thundering toward the door, shoving drawings into his hands and saying “Look what I made for you today, daddy!” he would have laughed in their face and called it a cruel joke.
Yet here he was. No relationship had ever survived the weight of the hours and the way his mind stayed trapped in the ED long after he left it. He couldn’t be present anymore, not the way a partner deserved. The job had hollowed him out in ways he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.
It had been almost a year since he ended things with Noelle, not long after he returned from his sabbatical. He’d told himself it was the right thing to do. Maybe it really was better this way. At this point in his life, trying again felt pointless, almost selfish. He was saving whatever good women were still out there from the inevitable complications of loving Michael Robinavitch.
But today the emptiness hit differently. The apartment felt quieter than usual, and his thoughts were louder, circling like a vulture. He knew it was the birthday doing this to him. Birthdays had a way of dragging the sorrows out into the light, every missed milestone, every abandoned version of the life he thought he’d have. Jack had tried to pull him out of it, offering a beer after shift, but Robby had politely declined. He wasn’t in the mood for forced cheer, for anyone raising a glass to another year of the same.
He’d made it clear to the whole department that he didn’t want any birthday cake, no cards, no presents, nothing. Still, the well-meaning murmurs had followed him all day: “Happy birthday, Dr. Robby,” each one met with a progressively wearier smile until the words blurred together. By the end of the shift, he was only managing quiet nods of acknowledgment, the kind that said thank you and please stop at the same time.
So here he was, in an apartment that was too big for himself, lying on a couch that felt even bigger, downloading Tinder on his phone. He rubbed a hand over his face, he’d tried Tinder once, maybe two years ago. Downloaded it, swiped for a week, then deleted it when the superficial nonsense started bothering him too much.
He started with the basics. Photos. Robby opened his gallery and scrolled slowly through the meager collection. Most of the images were work-related, grainy screenshots of charts, or blurry shots of trees and roads he’d taken during his bike rides. After a long hesitation, he picked a silly selfie he’d sent Jack a few weeks earlier. He was holding up the book the two of them had been texting about, half-smiling at the camera like he felt ridiculous even taking it. It wasn’t terrible, he supposed. He looked… friendly. Approachable, maybe.
Next, he chose one from the department barbecue he’d actually forced himself to attend last summer. He was wearing the sleeves rolled up on a button-down shirt, and holding a beer in his hand. He didn’t hate it, it showed a version of himself that still showed up for people, even when he didn’t feel like it. The last one was from the hospital fundraiser gala two years ago. He looked elegant in that photo in a black suit, but he had to crop Jack out of the frame, his face was still half-visible over his shoulder. Three photos, not exactly a compelling portfolio, but they were honest, he wasn’t pretending to be anyone other than himself.
He moved on to preferences. Gender: Women. Age range… His thumb froze. At first, he set it to 50–60. Women at the same stage he was, maybe divorced, maybe widowed, or just tired of feeling alone. But then something flickered in his chest, part curiosity and part desperation, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dragged the lower end down. Twenty to sixty. The wider net felt reckless, almost embarrassing. But what if the love of his life existed somewhere in that range? What if he missed her by something as stupid as a single year on a slider?
As if the love of your life was sitting on Tinder on a Sunday night, he thought. Don’t be fucking stupid, Robby.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, and with a quiet sigh that sounded too much like surrender, he tapped confirm. Now it was time for the bio. Robby stared at the blank field for a long minute. What the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t looking for anything specific. Company? Distraction? Someone who wouldn’t mind a man who came home at crazy hours, sometimes covered in blood and whocarried more baggage than he could carry?
He typed slowly what felt the most honest: “ER doctor in Pittsburgh. Love long bike rides to clear my head and 70s rock. Not entirely sure what I’m looking for here, but if you can handle sarcasm and odd hours, we might get along.”
He read it back. It sounded stiff, after all, he wasn’t used to this. But it was him, and so he hit save before he could overthink it more. The app prompted him to start swiping. Robby leaned back against the couch as the profiles began loading, smiling faces, pictures of holiday destinations, and bios full of lists of requirements. He swiped left on most without much thought.
Left. Left. Left. Some of the women seemed nice, but nothing pulled him in. He kept going until the endless scroll of faces started blurring together. No one stuck, just the same hollow feeling that had driven him to download the damn thing in the first place.
But then your profile appeared. Robby’s entire body froze. The photo loaded first: you, one of his own residents. You were standing in scrubs outside the Pitt with the same smirk you got after a particularly chaotic shift. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as the heat crawled up his neck. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling right now.
At work you were talented and dedicated, but still green enough that he rode you hard during shifts. And here you were on Tinder, of all places. The thought that you, or anyone else from the department, might stumble across his profile made his stomach twist with embarrassment. He could already imagine the gossip: Dr. Robby on Tinder. How pathetic.
He should swipe left immediately, delete his profile, and pretend this never happened. Instead, curiosity won. Robby tapped on your profile, telling himself it was just… professional concern. Making sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. He cared about his residents. Yeah, that was it.
Your bio loaded beneath the main photo: “If you like girls who will force you to watch her Letterboxd top four and then talk your ear off for hours about the hidden meaning behind her favorite songs, then I’m your girl. Emergency med resident with zero free time. Not looking for anything serious, just fun, meeting people, seeing where it goes.”
Robby let out a chuckle despite himself, the sound was unexpected in the quiet of the moment. He had only ever seen you in the chaos of the ED, running on adrenaline and too little sleep. But this version of you felt… different. He found himself thinking about how little he actually knew you. How little he’d allowed himself to know.
He didn’t know where you were from, or what your family was like, whether you had siblings who called too often or parents you tried to make proud. He didn’t know what you did outside of the hospital besides the occasional beer in the park, or what made you laugh until your sides hurt. All those small and ordinary pieces of a life that existed outside the emergency department.
It felt strangely intimate, seeing you like this. Like stumbling across a part of you he wasn’t supposed to have access to. A version of you that wasn’t filtered through the hierarchy of resident and attending. Up until now, you had been “his resident”, contained within the professional boundaries he’d carefully maintained.
He started swiping through your photos. The second picture was you laughing in what looked like a group hike, with your hair windblown and your eyes bright. You looked undeniably pretty. Objectively, he’d always known you were attractive. The kind of natural attractiveness that turned heads in the hospital corridors even when you were exhausted and covered in sweat. But once again, he’d never thought about it. You were a resident, he’d gone down that path before, and it’d ended badly. That made you off-limits, end of story.
The third photo was of you in a cozy sweater, curled up with a book and a mug of coffee. It was cute, almost sweet. The kind of image that made the loneliness in his chest ache. He kept swiping until the last photo hit him like a defibrillator. You were on a beach somewhere sunny and sandy, wearing a bikini. Your skin was glowing under the sun, and you were smiling at the camera in a confident pose, the kind of effortless beauty that could stop any man cold. Holy fuck, your body barely contained by the fabric of the bikini, the photo capturing the gentle swell and the way the light played across your body.
Robby’s mouth went dry, the heat flooded his face and then lower down his body. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t let himself imagine you like this, outside the hospital, undeniably a woman and not just one of his residents. His pulse kicked up, the nervousness made his hands shake and his grip slippery. He fumbled the phone, trying to swipe left fast. Swipe left, damn it, he thought.
But he accidentally jerked his thumb the wrong way, to the right, and the screen lit up with that unmistakable animation.
It’s a Match!
On the other side of Pittsburgh, you had been lying in bed, still trying to unwind after another brutal twelve-hour shift. Sleep felt miles away, so you’d given in to the guilty habit of late-night Tinder scrolling. Sure, swiping at 1 a.m. probably looked desperate to anyone else, but who cared? It wasn’t like you had much of a life outside the hospital anyway.
You swiped left with efficiency. Guy whose entire bio was just a link to his podcast. Left. Gym mirror selfies and nothing else. Left. Self-proclaimed “entrepreneur in the crypto market” with a Lamborghini in the background that probably wasn’t even his. Left.
How was it this difficult to find someone even remotely decent? You weren’t expecting to meet the love of your life in this digital dumpster, but was it really too much to ask for a man with basic social skills and a profile that didn’t scream immediate red flags? Someone whose opening line wasn’t just “u dtf?”
Guy who still clearly lived with his mom. Another left. “No feminists” in the bio, followed by a rant about “high value woman.” Left.
Then your thumb froze mid-swipe. Michael Robinavitch. Your heart slammed against your ribs. There he was, Dr. Robby, looking straight into the camera in one of the photos, that familiar half-smile you’d seen a thousand times in the ED, only now it was on a dating app.
You sat up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake. What the hell was Dr. Robby doing on Tinder? You’d scrolled through this app for weeks and never seen him before. He must have created the profile recently. The man you’d been quietly (and not-so-quietly) thirsting over since your very first day of residency was right here. One match away.
How could you not like Robby? He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man, strong, steady, impossibly smart, and so damn capable it made your legs weak every single time he gave you a calm and yet authoritative instruction in the middle of a trauma.
You’d lost count of how many times he’d gently reprimanded you for being distracted while charting. He always assumed you were just tired from the long hours. He had no idea that you kept getting lost in vivid daydreams about him: running your fingers through the silver-flecked hair and that coarse, greyish beard, feeling those big hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close.
You loved the way his eyes crinkled warmly behind his glasses when he smiled, the way his voice dropped into that gravelly register when he needed to command attention in the ED… it did things to you. Dangerous, addictive things. Sometimes getting in trouble with him felt more exciting than it had any right to.
His Tinder bio was unexpectedly adorable. He looked a little lost, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged on the app but was willing to put himself out there anyway. That bike is not the only thing I’d like to ride, you thought, as a little smile tugged at your lips.
His pictures made you melt and sigh at the same time. That warm, contagious smil, the glasses that struck the perfect balance between hot and endearingly sweet. The silver threading through his beard that made you press your thighs together at the mere thought of feeling it against your skin, between your legs, specifically.
You swiped slowly through the rest of his photos. Those wide shoulders, that tall and solid frame, that soft belly under the button-down shirt… you wanted him in a way you had never wanted anyone before.
It was almost pathetic the way your heart did a little skip every time he complimented your work on a tough case. The way your thighs squeezed together almost involuntarily whenever he stepped in close during a complicated procedure, guiding you step by step, his voice low and patient near your ear. “Yeah, grab the blade like that… make a two-inch incision, softly, very gently.” “Hold the tube with your left hand, tight, don’t move it.”
It made your mind wander to dangerous places. Was he like that in bed too? The kind of man who talked you through it, calm and devastatingly attentive? In your fantasies, he absolutely was. Late at night, alone in this very bed with nothing but your hand and your imagination, you could almost hear his voice murmuring against your skin: “Keep your legs open for me, nice and wide… just like that.” “Look at you… already making such a mess. I’m gonna start with one finger, okay? Think you can be good and take it for me?”
Should you swipe right? It felt like the only logical choice. If he swiped left, which seemed like the most likely outcome, he would never even know you’d swiped on him. But if he did swipe right… then maybe, just maybe, you could end up in Robby’s bed.
Your hopes stayed low. Never in a million years did you actually expect Robby to be attracted to you the way you were to him. You would’ve noticed something by now, maybe in lingering stares, subtle flirting, or any shift in the way he treated you. But he didn’t. He treated you exactly like the rest of the residents: a young doctor he needed to teach, who could sometimes be frustratingly distracted.
Still, you couldn’t contain the tiny, thrilled scream that escaped your lips when the screen lit up:
It’s a Match!
Robby had matched with you. He wanted you too.
“Shit!” Robby dropped the phone onto the couch like it had burned him. It bounced once and landed face-up, the match confirmation still glowing on the screen. He and you had just matched on Tinder. All thanks to that goddamn bikini photo and his clumsy, nervous fingers.
He stared at it, feeling his heart hammering harder than it had during the worst trauma cases. This was mortifying. You’d seen his profile, you’d swiped right, and now you were going to see that he’d swiped right as well. Part of him, the tired and lonely part that had downloaded the app and widened the age range, wondered what you’d think.
A dozen what-ifs tumbled through his mind. What if you saw his profile and laughed? That disbelieving laugh when something genuinely surprised you. What if you messaged him first? Maybe it had been a mistake on your end too. Maybe your phone had slipped, or you’d been swiping too fast after a long shift, half-asleep and a little buzzed. Or maybe… maybe you’d swiped right on purpose, just to tease him. He could already picture the text popping up on his phone: “Oh my god, Dr. Robby. What are you doing on Tinder? lol.”
Robby ran both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. He picked the phone back up, looking straight at the Send message button. He shouldn’t. The responsible thing would be to delete the app, pretend this night never happened, and go back to being your attending, not your Tinder match.
Instead, he opened your profile again. Robby tried to move past it, he really did, but his eyes lingered on that last photo far longer than they should have. You in a bikini, your skin glowing under warm sunlight. He couldn’t believe that was what you looked like underneath the baggy scrubs you wore every day in the ED.
It felt wrong. Like he wasn’t allowed to see you like this, like he was intruding on something deeply private, crossing a line that should never even be approached between an attending and his resident. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but it wasn’t enough to make him look away.
His body reacted anyway, a sudden heat stirring unwanted, a throb of arousal he hadn’t felt this sharply in longer than he cared to admit. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hating himself for it even as the reaction deepened. What the hell is wrong with you, Robby? he told himself, but the self-reproach did nothing to dull the pull. What could he do? You were a woman. A beautiful one, and for the first time, he was seeing you not just as his resident, but as someone undeniably, breathtakingly desirable.
Before he could delete his account and go to bed as he should, your message popped up.
You: hii :)
Robby’s breath hitched in his throat. For a split second, he swore his heart actually stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, in his temples, in the tightness of his chest. The little smiley face stared back at him from the screen, innocent and cheerful, as if it hadn’t just flipped his entire night upside down.
You had matched with him. At eleven at night. On his lonely fucking birthday. What the hell was he supposed to say to you at 11 pm. after accidentally matching with her on Tinder? “Hey, funny seeing you” here felt pathetic. “This is wildly inappropriate” felt like a lie because the rush of heat still lingering in his veins said otherwise.
He set the phone down on the coffee table for a moment, dragging a hand over his face for the millionth time. Part of him wanted to delete the match immediately, pretend it never happened, and go to bed like the responsible, professional attending he was supposed to be. But another part, the part that had been sitting alone on his fifty-fifth birthday, couldn’t bring itself to swipe left on this one unexpected connection. So he picked the phone back up and stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.
Another message came through a minute later.
You: robby? it’s me from work... guess you saw my profile too haha
Robby let out a long breath, he couldn’t avoid it now that you’d initiated a conversation with him. It was better to be direct, explain the mistake to you, and shut this down before it got any more awkward.
Robby: hey
yeah, I saw it
listen, this is embarrassing as hell, i was messing around with the app, dropped my phone and it must have swiped right by accident
sorry about that, didn’t mean to make things weird
He hit send and immediately regretted how cold it sounded, but it was the truth. The phone stayed quiet for a moment that stretched too long. He had his eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for your reply so he could shut down this awkward conversation and delete this stupid app before he accidentally matched with anyone else from work.
You: oh. so it was a mistake? damn, i thought you had swiped right on purpose. bummer.
Robby’s eyes widened. You were being direct, not beating around the bush or deflecting by saying it had been a mistake on your end as well. He could practically hear your voice saying it with a teasing edge.
Robby: Sorry about the confusion
i know it might be awkward finding me on here. probably the last person you expected, i don’t usually do this.
You: honestly it was surprising. didn’t peg you as the tinder type at all.
but hey, we all have our moments i guess
Robby: i’m not the type
this is my second time ever downloading it and i already regret it, should probably delete the whole thing before i make an even bigger fool of myself.
You: yeah i get it. i thought the match was mutual so i figured i’d say hi. sorry for texting if it was just an accident. didn’t mean to make it weirder
Robby read your message twice. Thought the match was mutual. The words echoed in his brain. You had swiped right on purpose, not as a joke, not out of morbid curiosity about your boss’s sad dating life. You had chosen him willingly. The realization of what that meant sent a confusing rush through him. You liked him, that had to be it. The thought of you… having a crush on him made a warm feeling run through his body, one he immediately tried to shove down.
Robby: What do you mean you thought it was mutual?
You: idk... i saw the notification and figured you wanted to match with me since it happened. that’s why i said hi right away. didn’t want to leave it hanging if we were both curious
He stared at the screen, his heart beating a little harder. You were so honest and blunt about your feelings, he found himself almost intimidated by it. Some rational part of his brain was trying to tell him this had to be a big joke, there was no way in hell you could like him. You were… you. What would you see in a man like him?
Robby: you wanted us to match? seriously?
You: lol yeah i did swipe right, didn’t i? your profile was actually really nice. the book pic is cute and the 70s rock mention made me smile. plus... i don’t know, you’re interesting. figured why not. no pressure though
Robby: i thought maybe you did it out of curiosity
or just to see if I’d swiped on you didn’t expect you to actually want that
You: well i did. but if it was an accident on your end then no big deal. we can pretend this never happened and go back to normal tomorrow. i won’t mention it at work or anything. promise
Robby let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes for a long moment as he exhaled heavily. He knew exactly what the responsible Chief of Emergency Medicine should do right now: unmatch immediately, delete his profile, and pretend the entire night had been nothing more than a lonely fever dream.
But tonight… tonight he didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to be Dr. Robinavitch, the attending who had sacrificed nearly every personal connection, every version of a fuller life, on the altar of the ED. For once, he wanted to be Michael. Just Michael. The man who had matched with you on Tinder. The man who was currently staring at his phone with his heart hammering like he was twenty years younger.
Before he could piece together a polite but firm way to end the conversation and retreat back into the safety of professional distance, another message appeared.
You: i think your profile’s part of the reason i swiped right. the book pic’s really nice
He smiled faintly at that, a rare genuine twitch at the corner of his mouth. Robby leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.
Robby: your profile’s pretty good too, better than most of the ones i’ve seen tonight
You: aww thanks. your’s so much better than the usual bullshit on here which is not that hard to be
but still finding you here is a nice change :)
Robby: you on this app a lot? seems like you’ve got the profile down
You: not really. i’ve been on a couple dates from here but it’s honestly exhausting. hard to find someone decent in this city. most guys are either looking for hookups with zero conversation or they’re boring as hell. you know how it is
Robby: fair enough.
your age range must be set pretty high if it pulled me up
fifty five isn’t exactly the usual crowd for you or is it?
You: haha yeah well
i like older men
Those four stupid words hit him square in the chest like a defibrillator. “I like older men.” Robby reread them slowly, feeling a dangerous warmth bloom low in his belly and spread outward through his chest. He was an older man, and apparently, that fit exactly into your preferences. Was that flirtation? Were you subtly implying that he was the kind of older man you liked? Or was it just a casual, throwaway comment, something you’d say to any guy on the app who happened to have a few gray hairs?
No. He was spiraling too deep, overthinking it the way he always did. Your words didn’t carry some hidden, special meaning meant just for him. They couldn’t. And yet… No matter how hard he tried to talk himself down, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of validation that lit up inside him. He felt desired, really desired. Not just by anyone, but by you: someone younger, and so strikingly pretty it almost hurt to look at your photos for too long. Someone who, in his mind, was clearly way out of his league.
Robby: It’s okay to have preferences
everyone does.
You: yeah exactly. i just find older guys more attractive than the ones my age. they’re usually more mature, know what they want, have actual life experience. it’s... hotter, i guess. plus the conversations are better
He swallowed hard, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He could practically see your face as you typed those words, maybe biting your lower lip in that teasing way you sometimes did right after nailing a difficult procedure.
Then the bikini photo from earlier flashed unbidden through his mind, and the heat in his body flared hotter. He pictured you exactly as you’d looked in that shot: sun-warmed skin, curves barely contained by the fabric. The thoughts he had no right to entertain came rushing in anyway, pulling him deeper. Thoughts of having you all to himself, of finally being able to run his hands slowly over every inch of that bare skin, tracing the line of your waist, sliding up your ribs, cupping the soft weight of your breasts. Of putting his mouth on you and every sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.
Robby: makes sense
i usually go for women closer to my stage of life
we have more in common that way
You: do age gaps bother you?
Robby: in what way?
You: like as a concept. are they a problem for you?
Robby: i’m okay with consenting adults doing what they want
as long as everyone’s on the same page it’s not my business.
You: have you ever been in an age gap relationship or anything like that?
Robby: i once dated a woman a bit younger than me
but usually around my age
He paused before sending the next part, he shouldn’t keep engaging in this deeply unprofessional conversation, but curiosity was getting the better of him. And you were simply so easy to talk to that he couldn’t stop himself from letting his walls down a little.
He typed before he could second-guess himself.
Robby: how much older are we talking anyway?
the men you usually like i mean.
Your reply came fast, like you’d been waiting with the phone in hand.
You: usually over fifty up until their sixties or so. around that range. but it’s just a preference, nothing crazy. i feel like older men usually treat you better. they’re more gentlemanly, know how to actually listen, and they tend to understand what a woman wants... in every way, if you know what i mean ;)
Robby read the message twice. Three times. Four. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me. You weren’t just being polite or making casual conversation. That winky face, the implication hanging there about “every way”. You were deliberately flirting with him, there was no other way to see it. He shifted on the couch, suddenly very aware of his own body and the fact that it had been a long damn time since anyone had spoken to him like that.
He took a slow breath and replied, trying to keep some semblance of control.
Robby: do you date men closer to your own age too?
or is it mostly the older crowd?
You: i have tried guys closer to my age. some of them are sweet but a lot are still figuring their shit out. you should try dating a woman younger than you sometime though. maybe it’s exactly what you need.
Robby didn’t know what to say. The words hung there, full of possibilities around them. He was still wrestling with a response when another message from you popped up.
You: anyway sorry again for the confusion earlier. i’ll leave you alone so you can keep scrolling through profiles. i’ll go back to robbing the graves haha (joke, get it? because i like older guys... sorry that was sooo bad)
Robby chuckled despite the whirlwind in his head. The joke was cheesy, so perfectly you that it cut through some of the tension. But it also gave him an out, you were offering to back off and let this weird moment fade into nothing before tomorrow’s shift made everything awkward as hell. Part of him wanted to take the exit ramp, wish you a good night, unmatch, delete the app, and pretend none of this happened. But another part, the one that had been sitting alone on his birthday didn’t want the conversation to end.
He tapped over to your photos again, almost against his will. There it was the last one. You on the beach in that bikini, with the perfect swell of your tits catching the sunlight. Holy fuck. He wanted you, the realization hit him all of a sudden, making him switch back to the chat and move his thumbs almost on autopilot.
Robby: Nothing to apologize for
honestly you’ve kept me better company tonight than I expected
You: see? younger women can be good company too :) you shouldn’t close the door so fast. you could meet someone nice if you give it a chance
Robby: you shouldn’t close the door on guys your own age either
there are decent ones out there, you’ll find someone who can keep up with you
You: out of all the guys i’ve matched with here... you’re easily the best one. no contest
Robby: Really? that can’t be right
you’re selling yourself short.
You: no i mean it. you’re exactly the kind of man i’d usually go for. tall, older, smart... and hot
The word hot hit him harder than it had any right to. His face flushed deeper, his clothes felt constricting, his pants uncomfortably tight. Robby’s cock was already half-hard, thickening and pulsing insistently against the zipper of his jeans with every new message.
All because you’d called him hot. Just a little cheeky, playful comment, and it was enough to unravel him. The touch starvation wasn’t helping. It had been so damn long since anyone had looked at him with real interest, longer still since he’d felt this fluttering feeling low in his stomach. This rush of ego, this sharp need to be close to someone, to be wanted, to touch and be touched.
Robby: thanks i guess
you’ll meet someone worth your time, you’re a good girl
The message was sent before he could fully reconsider the wording. The second it went through, Robby winced. It sounded weirdly sexually charged, maybe it was because he was feeling sexually charged, painfully so. A Freudian slip at its finest.
You: good girl? 😏
Robby: shit i didn’t mean it to sound weird
just a figure of speech i suppose.
You: should i call you daddy then? ;)
Robby nearly dropped the phone again. The winky face, the bold suggestion, the way it played so perfectly into the tension that had been building sent a bolt of pure want through him. He could imagine your voice saying it, teasingly so, with that mischievous glint in your eyes. His mind supplied far too many vivid images: you in nothing but your skin looking up at him, you saying it in person with a flirty smile. He was fully hard. Actually hard, just from a fucking text conversation.
The professional alarm bells were clanging loudly in the back of his head. This was his resident, the age gap, the power dynamic, the fact that you’d have to face each other at the Pitt in a few short hours... it was all wrong. But god, it felt good. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.
He glanced down at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, his cock straining against the fabric like a flagpole. He couldn’t believe it. One flirty text from his resident and he was rock hard. Don’t get hard for your fucking resident, he thought. She’s one of your own. Off-limits. This is insane. He adjusted himself uncomfortably, trying to will it down through stubbornness, but the ache only sharpened.
You: too much? sorry i was just messing around lol
Robby exhaled and typed back, trying to sound more composed than he felt.
Robby: Don’t worry about it
i know it was a joke, no harm done
You: it was... unless you don’t want it to be a joke
He let out a surprised laugh, his cock twitched again at the follow-up, you were relentless, and something told him you were noewhere near done.
Robby: you’re funny, i’ll give you that.
You: that’s what i’ve been told. glad you’re having fun with me tonight
Robby: Well, I guess I should let you get some sleep
early shift tomorrow and all
You: i don’t mind staying up. i swiped right on you, remember? yk for a minute i really thought you were gonna flirt with me or maybe even ask me to come over to your place or something
The words hung there. You had been excited, you had hoped he would flirt. The image flashed through his mind, you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, stepping inside and… He shifted again, pressing his hand down against his insistent erection through his sweatpants, trying to get some relief even as guilt gnawed at him. This was crossing so many lines he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross after Heather. But the loneliness that had driven him to download the app in the first place was quieter now, replaced by an electric tension.
Robby: that would be very inappropriate
i’m your boss and there are lines we can’t cross
You: but you’re not dr. robby my attending in here. you’re michael robinavitch, 55, the guy who loves 70s rock and long bike rides. and i’m not your resident in this chat. i’m just a girl who likes movies and older men... and who is really, really into you right now
You were separating the roles so cleanly, drawing a line between the hospital and this private space. It was tempting, dangerously tempting.
Robby: you know it doesn’t work like that
we can’t just turn it off when the shift starts tomorrow
You: nah i’m pretty sure i can
Robby: No.
You: If we really can’t meet then we can do it over text, you know.
He stared at the screen trying to guess if you really meant what you were saying.
Robby: what do you mean?
You: sexting, duh
He let out a short breath, Jesus fuck you were actually gonna kill him tonight.
Robby: that’s basically the same thing.
You: no it’s not. technically we’re not doing anything if it’s just messages. no one has to know.
Robby rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind was screaming at him to shut this down, but his fingers were already moving. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering to do this.
This was a terrible idea. What difference did it really make whether it was real sex, his hands on you, feeling your heat around him, or just describing it in detail over text messages? A line was still a line. One he had promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. He didn’t want this to end with you giving up your residency, transferring to another hospital, another city, once things inevitably fell apart.
But fuck, his cock was achingly hard, straining against the front of his pants like a caged animal that desperately needed to be freed. The thought of you right now, maybe lying in your bed in, pressing your thighs together, that sweet slick already soaking through your panties because of him… it made it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t leave you like that, so wet, so needy, aching for him.
Robby: what do you want me to say?
You: i don’t know… just say something hot. you’re goot at being hot
He hesitated, he wasn’t sure of what to say. He was scared of seeming naive and old school to you, but he wasn’t used to this whole… sexting thing. The most spicy exchange over texts had been insinuating pictures before asking someone to come over. Okay think Robby, if you can save someone’s life under extreme preassure then you can sext with a woman, just say something typical, he thought
Robby: who’s been a naughty girl?
The second he hit send he regretted it. He winced, already typing another message to backtrack when your reply came through.
You: lmao that was the best you’ve got?
Robby groaned out loud, dropping his head back against the couch.
Robby: forget it. i’m going to bed
You: nooo wait. let’s try again :(
He should’ve put the phone down. He really should’ve. Instead he waited to see if you had anything else to say.
You: you’re so good at giving orders and guiding me at work. maybe you could do that now too? tell me what to do
You were right, in theory. He was good at instructing, guiding, teaching. It came naturally to him to step into that mentoring role, he had always been the one others looked to for direction.
Robby: i feel stupid doing this.
You: pleeeease. i’ve always thought you were the kind of guy who talks people through it in bed. it’s the same here, just write it instead of saying it. tell me how you want me to touch myself
Your words hit him hard. He reread the message twice. He had never consciously thought about it before, but yes… that did sound exactly like him. Fragments of memory surfaced unbidden: the commanding tone he’d used with past partners, the way he’d instructed them. “Open your legs for me.” “Turn around.” “Look at me.” He remembered the way their breathing would change, the way they’d tremble under the weight of his voice and his hands.
Robby: you really want me to talk you through it, sweetheart?
You: yessss that was so much better. keep going
If anyone had asked you how it happened, you honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain it. You weren’t even sure yourself. One moment you were typing a slightly embarrassed apology to Robby for matching with him and the next, the conversation had taken a turn and you were the one demanding he sext you so you could get off. It was bold, stupidly reckless, and yet it felt inevitable.
Robby: good girl that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, i want you to get those pretty legs spread nice and wide for me, can you do that?
You whimpered softly and obeyed him instantly, letting your knees fall farther apart on the mattress. The cool air hit your exposed pussy making you shiver.
You: yes. they’re open
Robby: Perfect
i’d be on my knees between them right now if I could
run your fingers up the inside of your thighs for me slowly, feel how soft they are
As you trailed your free hand up one thigh, you imagined his callused palms and the scratch of his greying beard following the same path.
You: doing it… feels so good thinking about your hands instead.
Robby: that’s my girl
now slide two fingers through your pussy and ell me how wet you are for me
You did exactly as he says, gasping as two fingers glided easily through your slick heat. You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom as you stroked yourself.
You: So wet… i’m dripping. all because of you.
Robby: fuck i knew you would be
i want you to circle your clit for me now
Do it slowly and imagine it’s my tongue instead, licking you just the way you need
i’d take my time, taste every inch of you
Your mons got louder, tipping your head back against the pillows as your fingers obeyed, traxing circles around your clit that sent sparks up your spine. In your mind, it was Robby’s mouth devouring you while his strong hands pinned your thighs down.
Robby: how does that feel, sweetheart? tell me
You: so good, i’m so sensitive. keep talking please
Robby: Good
now slide one finger inside that tight pussy, nice and deep
curl it up just like I would, searching for that spot that makes your legs shake
i’d be watching your face the whole time, telling you how beautiful you look spread open for me, how good you are for listening
When you pushed a finger inside yourself, you curled it upward as instructed to hit that sensitive spot while your other hand kept working your clit in circles.
Robby: add another finger and stretch yourself open
i’d be so much thicker than your fingers, but we’ll start like this
imagine me pumping them in and out while i rub your clit
Adding a second finger, you continued fucking yourself to the rhythm of his words on the screen. It was not enough, it was nowhere near enough to calm the hunger and desperation that was threatening to consume your whole being. You knew nothing would be enough, only feeling him inside of you.
You: wish it was you inside me. can’t get off like this. i need you robby please
Robby: you were the one who told me to do this
You: i know i did. but it’s not enough
send me your address
He was tempted, so tempted that for one second his fingers almost started typing on an impulse. But the reality crashed back in immediately. The risks, the morning after, the way he’d have to look at you during rounds, knowing what you’d done. He was rock hard and aching for you, but the responsible part of him still refused to crumble completely.
Robby: what for?
you’re not seriously thinking about coming over right now, are you?
You: robby i’m literally only like 2 miles away from you. are you dtf? not as dr. robinavitch and his resident, but as two adults who casually matched on tinder tonight. there’s no title or hospital here. it’s just us.
Two miles. You were so close. He stared at your message, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs. His cock gave another insistent throb, the head already leaking a little against his underwear. The thought of you actually coming over, right now, in the middle of the night, made his mouth go dry.
Robby: Send me your address and I’ll order you a ride.
You sent your address a moment later. It really was only two miles away. He confirmed the ride, watching the estimated arrival time tick down. Fifteen minutes… only fifteen minutes until you’d be at his door.
You: this is exactly what i meant earlier about older guys. so much more gentlemanly. taking care of the details instead of just telling me to get there
You had no time to get ready, and honestly, you didn’t care. Makeup? Hair? None of that mattered when you were this desperate, this aching for him. You climbed out of bed still wearing the thin tank top and soft sleep shorts you’d worn to bed, and threw an oversized jacket over everything, one that swallowed most of your body and made you look far more put-together than you actually felt.
Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys and phone. The rideshare arrived sooner than you expected. The drive across the city felt both endless and far too short, but eventually the car pulled up outside his building.
You stood on the sidewalk for a second, staring up at the apartment complex, suddenly hit with the full weight of what you were doing, showing up at your attending’s door in the middle of the night, soaked and trembling with need, because a stupid Tinder match had spiraled completely out of control.
But you didn’t hesitate for long, you took a deep breath, pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, walked toward his door and knocked on it.
Robby opened it right away. He didn’t say a word, the second you were in reach, you had one of his strong hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. It was electric to say the least. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath. His beard was scraping deliciously against your skin as he moved his lips with experienced urgency. You melt into it instantly, fisting your hands in his shirt, tasting the pure, overwhelming taste of him. Finally. Here he was, kissing you like he’d been starving for it just as much as you had.
He kicked the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his taller frame. You felt the warmth of his hands roaming everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, squeezing the curve of your ass through the fabric of your shorts. In your mouth, he groaned, making a vibrating sound that went through you as he explored every inch he could reach, like he was memorizing the feel of you.
Your breasts were the next to get his attention, he was cupping them with his big hands through your tank top, brushing his thumb over your already hard nipple, while he tangles his other hand in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.
You pulled back just enough to gasp against his lips, “It took you long enough.”
Robby chuckled, the sound coming out breathless. “Took you long enough. You have any idea what it’s like waiting twenty minutes for you with a hard-on?” He pressed you closer, letting you feel the thick and insistent bulge against your stomach.
As if they had a mind of their own, his hands couldn’t stop moving, squeezing, caressing, claiming, running down your back, over your thighs, everywhere he’d fantasized about touching. Before you could respond, he bent slightly and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively.
The strength in his arms, the way his broad chest felt against you, sent a fresh rush of heat between your legs. He carried you through the house with purposeful strides. The door to your room swung open and he layed you gently on the bed, climbing on top of you immediately until his full weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress.
The kissing resumed instantly, slower now but no less intense. Robby’s mouth was moving from your lips to your neck, sucking lightly and scratching you with his beard in the most perfect way. Now his hands got bolder, continuing their exploration but this time sliding under your tank top, pressing his palms against your bare skin. He lifted the fabric higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room.
“Fuck,” Robby groaned, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you could see his soft brown eyes turning darker as he stared down at you. “Look at you. These tits… so perfect. So fucking pretty.” His voice was rough with want, the same commanding tone. He cupped them reverently, as if they were something precious, circling your nipples until they pebbled tighter under his touch. “They’re made for my hands. For my mouth.”
He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently at first, then harder, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. The wet touch of his tongue made you arch into him with a moan, threading your fingers through his hair as he kept lavishing attention on your breasts.
From one side to the other, Robby switched sides, licking and sucking the other while his hand massaged the first, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation, the tingly heat of his mouth and the firm squeeze of his callused hand, had you writhing beneath him, making you so wet you were soaking through your shorts.
The humming of his mouth against your skin sends sparks straight to your core. “So responsive,” he murmured, switching back to the first breast and sucking it harder than before. “These tits are going to ruin me. I could spend hours right here.” Sliding his free hand down your side, Robby gripped your hip possessively, continuing with the worshipping of your chest, licking broad stripes, sucking marks into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading until he had you panting and grinding up against the hard line of his cock through his pants.
The age difference between you only heightened everything, his experience was showing in every skilled touch, in every perfect flick of his tongue. He was being patient but hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long. You could feel how hard he was, he was making you feel it, pressing insistently against your thigh. The knowledge that you did this to him made you even wetter.
Robby lifts his head briefly to lock his eyes on yours. His lips were swollen and his beard slightly damp with his saliva. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, but his hands never stopped, squeezing and caressing, teasing your sensitive nipples with his thumbs as he waited for your answer.
You shook your head, pulling him back down. You’d rather die than stop right now. “Don’t stop. Please.”
His mouth trailed a hot path down your sternum, over your stomach, scraping you teasinglywith his beard against your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed strong, sliding down your sides and gripping your hips as he settled between your spread thighs. The weight of him, the sheer size and presence of this man, made your core clench with anticipation.
“These shorts have been teasing me since you walked in,” he murmured with the same steady tone he used in the pitt, but now turned intimate and commanding. Robby hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly peeled them down your legs, taking his time as he revealed more of you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart. Good girl.”
You obeyed instantly, lifting your hips so he could slide the fabric off completely, leaving you in just your thin panties and the tank top. Robby smoothed his hands up your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle but firm pressure. “Keep your legs open like that,” he instructed you. “Nice and wide for me. Don’t close them unless I tell you to.”
You were already moaning softly, and he wasn’t even touching your core yet. Robby dropped his eyes to the damp spot on your panties, making the fabric cling to your pussy lips, and he let out a groan of desire and hunger. He cupped you over the fabric with one hand, pressing his palm firmly against your heated pussy while his thumb found your clit through the material and began rubbing slow circles.
“Oh god,” you moaned, twitching up your hips into his touch, seeking more of the contact. The friction was simply perfect, it was teasing, and it kept building higher and higher. Robby’s callused thumb was applying just the right pressure on your swollen nub.
He watched your face intently through his hooded and lustful eyes as he worked you higher. “Feel good?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own breathing grew heavier. “You’re so wet already. Soaking through these panties for me. That’s it… rock against my hand, sweetheart. Show me how much you need this.”
Your moans only grew louder and more unrestrained, as he kept rubbing your clit with precision. The fabric added a delicious layer of friction, and every circle sent sparks shooting up your body. He got you gripping the sheets, your thighs already trembling as you fought the urge to close them around his hand.
Robby leaned down to kiss the inside of one thigh, scratching your skin deliciously. “You want my mouth? Want me to taste this pretty pussy? You gonna wrap these gorgeous legs around my neck while I do it?”
“Yes,” you gasped, nodding frantically. “Please, Robby. I need it.”
He hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them down slowly, revealing your glistening, bare pussy to his hungry gaze. “Fuck… look at you. So wet and perfect.” He kissed along your inner thighs, taking his time, brushing his lips and beard against the sensitive skin as he worked his way closer. “Wrap them around me, sweetheart. Lock your ankles behind my head if you need to. I want to feel you holding me right where I belong.”
You did exactly as he said, wrapping your legs around his broad shoulders and pressing your heels into his upper back. The position left you completely open to him, vulnerable and exposed. Robby groaned, the sound vibrating against your core as he finally leaned in.
The first lick of his tongue was broad and slow, dragging from your entrance up to your puffy clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and it made you cry out loudly, threading your fingers into his greying hair as he began to devour you with the same intensity he brought to every procedure at work. He licked and sucked with precision, alternating between long and flat strokes to tight and quick circles around your clit.
His beard was scratching your inner thighs and outer lips in the most delicious way, adding a kind of texture that made your toes curl. “Robby… Oh fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, rolling your hips against his mouth.
He hummed in response, pulling back with his lips glistening with your arousal just so he could speak to you. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. I want to hear it.”
“So good… your tongue—oh god, your mouth, Robby. It’s driving me crazy. Don’t stop, please.”
“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, diving back in to suck your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly while applying suction with his lips.
Before you could register it, he teased your entrance with two thick fingers, slowly sliding them inside you, letting your own greedy hole swallow them. Once he curled them upward to find that perfect spot, the sensation had you moaning loudly and arching off the bed.
Robby pumped his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue with his digits. A few moments later, he stopped again briefly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes and shiny lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread open for me, taking my fingers so well. This pussy is perfect, made for me. Keep moaning for me. Let me hear how much you love my mouth on you.”
You obeyed, your moans spilling freely as he returned to his task with renewed hunger. The pleasure built fast and faster, making your thighs tremble around his head and your feet dig into his back as you held him exactly where you needed him. Robby gripped your hip with his free hand, holding you steadily while he worked you closer and closer to the edge with expert skill. Every command, every praise, every flick of his tongue pushed you higher.
Robby didn’t relent, he kept his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking with rhythmic pressure, devouring you like a man starved. “Robby—oh fuck, yes!” The pleasure was overwhelming, every single nerve ending in your body was alight as he worked you higher.
“Keep those legs open for me, sweetheart,” he growled against your clit. “Don’t you dare close them. I want to feel you squeezing around my fingers while I eat this pretty pussy.” He added a third finger slowly, stretching you wider, the burn blending perfectly with the pleasure. “That’s it… take three for me. Feel how full you are? You’re doing so well. Such a good girl taking everything I give you.”
The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy and his mouth sucking hungrily on your clit filled the air. You were soaking his beard, his chin, his wrist, but he didn’t care. Robby slid a hand under you, grabbing a firm handful of your ass and lifting your hips slightly off the bed. The new angle let him bury his face even deeper, working your clit with more precision while he fingerfucked you harder. “Just like that,” he praised you between licks. “Grind on my tongue, baby. Use my mouth. Show me how bad you need to come.”
You obeyed helplessly once again, rolling your hips and bucking them against him as the coil in your belly tightened unbearably. The pleasure built in powerful waves until your thighs started to shake violently around his head. Robby kept talking you through it, pushing you closer to the edge.
“You’re getting so close, aren’t you? I can feel this tight pussy clenching around my fingers. Come on, let go. Cum all over my tongue. I want to taste it. I want to feel you fall apart for me.”
The orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity, making your back bow off the bed, a loud and broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy spasmed hard around his digits. Your thighs were squeezing his head tightly, your heels digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. Robby didn’t stop though, he kept sucking your clit through the peak, curling and thrusting his fingers to draw out every last shudder.
You came harder than you ever had. So hard that your vision went white for a moment as the pleasure bordered on overwhelming. Your moans turned into whimpers as the orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving you limp and gasping on the bed.
Robby finally eased back, gently lowering your hips and kissing softly along your inner thighs. He looked up at you with dark and satisfied eyes. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So beautiful when you cum for me.”
You lay there panting, your thighs were still twitching, completely wrecked and already aching for more of him. Robby climbed back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He was so close that his hard cock was pressing insistently against your thigh through his pants.
“That was… amazing,” you whisper with your voice hoarse from moaning. “So much better than I ever imagined.”
Robby chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine against your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Yeah? Better than your hand?” His eyes were sparkling with lust.
You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “So much better. Your mouth… God, Robby. I’ve never felt anything like that.”
He hummed in satisfaction, grinding his still-clothed erection slowly against your bare, sensitive pussy. The thick ridge of his cock was being pressed perfectly against your clit, giving him some much needed relief while teasing you both. “I loved doing that for you,” he murmured. “You were so good for me, sweetheart. So responsive, so wet. The way you moaned my name and squeezed my head with those pretty thighs… fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”
Robby rolled his hips deliberately, the friction making you whimper and arch up into him. You could feel how achingly hard he was and how much he’d been holding back. You slid up your hands down his chest, feeling the soft flesh beneath his shirt.
“I want you,” you breathed, looking up at him with need. “Please, Robby.”
He stilled for a moment, as if to pulling himself together. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”
You bit your lip, feeling the warmth invade your cheeks. “Your cock. I want you to fuck me. I need you inside me.”
Robby let out a groan, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, drawing out the anticipation. You sit up slightly, eager to help, moving your fingers to tug his pants down along with his underwear.
“I’ve been dying to see you,” you confessed as you pulled his pants down his hips. He caught your wrists before you could push his boxers down.
Robby looked almost nervous, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Wait… I, uh—” He cleared his throat, flicking his eyes away for a second. “I haven’t trimmed down there in a while. This whole night was… unexpected. I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known we were gonna end up here.”
He said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. Like it might actually make you want him less. It made you soft, you cupped his jaw, turning his face back to yours.
“Robby. Do you honestly think I give a damn about that? It’s just hair.”
He let out a self-conscious breath, still looking a little defensive. “I know. I know it’s just hair. It’s just… it’s probably a fucking jungle down there right now. You don’t have to— I mean, you don’t have to do anything if it’s too much.”
The way he was trying to give you an out was almost painfully endearing. You shook your head. “Just let me see you,” you whispered.
You slid his boxers down his thighs and freed his cock, it sprang out, thick and hard, the head flushed in a dark red with arousal. It was beautiful, so long, girthy, with a slight upward curve, prominent veins running along the shaft. Exactly like he’d warned, there was a thick, dark mat of coarse hair at the base, dense and untrimmed. He looked completely natural, it was so him, deeply masculine and unpolished.
A fresh rush of wetness slipped down your inner thighs. Your fingers twitched with the need to touch him there.
You looked up at him through your lashes “I love it,” you slowly carded your fingers through the thick hair at the base of his member. “You look so fucking hot like this. I like every single inch of you.”
Robby’s whole body shivered under your touch. “God…” he rasped as he stared down at you. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”
Almost with instinct, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking the shaft slowly from base to tip, feeling the heat and weight of his member.
Robby hissed in pleasure, twitching his hips forward into your grip as he watched your hand move up and down his cock. “Fuck, your hand feels good,” he groaned, letting you stroke him for a while, savoring the sight of your smaller hand working his thick length, making a bead of precum leak from the tip.
After a few moments, he gently stopped you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Lay back down for me, sweetheart. Keep those legs open nice and wide. Just like before.”
You obeyed, lying back against the pillows and spreading your thighs for him. Robby reached over toward the nightstand, stretching one arm past you as he pulled open the top drawer. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, before his hand closed around what he was looking for.
A moment later he sat back, a condom held between his fingers. He held it up, searching for your eyes with his. “I’ve got this if you want me to wear it.”
You shook your head, reaching up to touch his arm. “No. I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”
You both knew it might not have been the smartest option, doing it raw, with nothing between you. But there was a deep, unspoken trust between the two of you, forged through long shifts, that made you feel safe. And in that moment, that trust felt solid enough to lean on.
The hunger that had taken over both of you made anything else almost unbearable. The need to feel each other completely bare, skin on skin, heat on heat, with nothing separating you, was overwhelming.
“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He tossed the condom aside, leaning down to kiss you deeply again. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”
He groaned, positioning himself between your legs and nudging the thick head of his cock against your slick entrance. The anticipation felt electric, this was the culmination of over a year of longing, of hours of texts, and now all that was left was this desperate connection. Robby gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he looked down at you with hunger.
The night is only beginning, and the way he’s looking at you promises he’s going to take his time ruining you in the best possible way.
As his cockhead was being rubbed up and down your folds, teasing your clit with every pass, coating itself with your juices, the sensation felt maddening, promising everything you’d fantasized about for so long. You whimpered, twitching your hips up instinctively to chase more contact.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Robby commanded you softly, the same authoritative tone that had guided you through countless procedures was now guiding you through this. He cupped your chin gently, tilting your face so your gazes locked. “Keep looking at me the whole time. I want to see you while I fuck you.”
You nodded shakily, unable to look away even if you wanted to. Robby continued rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness, drawing out the anticipation until you were squirming beneath him.
“That’s it,” he whispered against your mouth. “So wet for me already. This pussy is going to take me so well. Breathe for me, relax and let me in.” He pressed forward slowly, breaching your entrance with only the tip. The stretch was immediate and intense, opening you up inch by inch as he sank deeper. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, but you forced your eyes open, locking them on his as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.
“Easy, baby,” he cooed, stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braced beside your head. “You’re doing so good. Feel how you’re stretching around me? So tight and warm… fuck, you feel incredible.”
You moaned loudly as he continued sliding in, the deliberate thrust filling you completely until he was buried to the hilt, until his hips were flushed against yours. The fullness was overwhelming, his thick cock stretching your walls like nobody had stretched you before, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.
Robby stayed still for a moment buried deep, resting his forehead against yours as he looked straight into your eyes. “There you go. All the way in. You took every inch.” He started to thrust with deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls with exquisite friction. “Wrap your legs around me. Hold me close while I fuck you.”
You did as he said, locking your legs around his waist and digging your heels into his lower back. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and you cried out in pleasure, digging your nails into his shoulders. Robby kept talking you through it, just like he knew you liked.
“That’s my girl. Feel that? I’m hitting that spot inside you, huh?” He angled his hips slightly, grinding deep on every stroke. Robby slid one hand up to cup and squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple as he thrusted harder.
Robby moved his hand from your breast to cup your chin. His grip was gentle enough not to hurt, yet firm enough that you felt every one of his fingers pressing against the bones of your jaw. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to see how good my cock feels inside this tight pussy.” He tilted your face up and held it there, leaving you no choice but to meet his eyes.
And God… what a glorious sight he was. This handsome man, with his face flushed, his brow glistening with sweat, devouring you with his gaze as he kept driving his cock into you.
His face was only inches from yours, and he kept fucking you in long strokes while he held your chin like that, as if he were starving for every single expression that crossed your face. He loved watching the way pleasure wrecked you. The way your lips parted around helpless moans, the way you bit down on your lower lip only for it to slip free again with a broken sound. The way your eyes went glassy and pleading, silently begging him for more even as your body trembled around his cock. He drank it all in like a man who had been thirsty for years.
With his free hand, he gripped your waist, holding you in place so he could drive into you with more power. Every slide of his cock stretched you perfectly, dragging the fat tip along your g-spot like that was what it was made for.
“Robby—oh god, yes!” You moaned loudly, raising your hips to meet his thrust and tightening your legs around him. Your tits were bouncing with every powerful stroke, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth again, flicking his tongue as he continued fucking you.
“You feel so good,” he groaned against your skin, switching to the other breast. “So tight and wet around me. This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it? Taking me so deep.” His hand on your waist slid down to grip your ass, lifting your hips slightly to change the angle as he thrusted harder. “Lift your legs higher for me, sweetheart,” he said against your neck,kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there. Ronny held the back of your thigh, helping guide your leg up. “That’s it… over my shoulder. Let me get deeper.”
You whimpered as he assisted you, hooking your leg over his shoulder. He did the same with the other, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, until he was pressing the head firmly against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, grinding against your g-spot relentlessly.
“Fuck—Robby, it’s so deep like this,” you moaned, fluttering your eyes shut for just a moment as the intense sensation washed over you.
“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided gently but firmly, cupping your jaw with his hand to tilt your face back to his. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Keep them open. I want to watch you while I fuck you like this. Don’t look away.”
You forced your eyes open, locking onto his hungry gaze as he continued hammering into you. The eye contact made everything more intimate and overwhelming. The feeling of his hand leavinf your jaw and sliding down between your bodies made you shiver. Robby found your swollen clit and began rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.
The combined stimulation was devastating. The pleasure was burning higher in your core, so close to finally exploding. Your body was arching and squirming beneath his frame as you scratched down his back and trembled over his shoulders. Every thrust, every rub of his fingers on your clit, every moan and grunt that escaped his mouth pushed you closer to the edge.
“That’s it,” Robby groaned, never removing his sight from yours. “Look at you taking my cock so deep. You’re getting close again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you cum all over my cock. Keep your eyes on me when you do.”
You bowed your back off the bed as your climax took over your body. A loud cry tore from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his length. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders and you dug your nails harder into his back when the waves of pleasure crashed through you. Robby sekpt thrusting through it, drawing out your orgasm with deep strokes and continued pressure on your clit.
“You look so beautiful when you cum for me… that’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me. You’re being so good.”
By the time he finally slowed and gently pulled out of you, you were still trembling and gasping. Robby layed back on the bed beside you, with his cock hard and glistening with your release. “Come here, baby,” he said. “Get on top. I want to watch you ride me.”
He helped you shift positions, gripping your hips firmly to guide you as you straddled him. “Easy, sweetheart. Take your time… that’s it. Feel me right there? Let me watch you take every inch.”
You positioned the head at your slick entrance and began to sink down, inch by inch. The stretch was intense all over again, his girth opening you up as you lowered yourself onto him. Robby kept his hands still on your hips to steady you, stroking your skin soothingly while watching every expression on your face.
“Fuck, look at that,” he groaned. “You’re doing so well. Keep going… take a little more. Feel how full you are?”
Louder moans left your mouth as you sank lower, the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. Bracing your hands on his broad chest for balance, you finally took him to the hilt, resting your ass against his thighs. Robby squeezed your hips encouragingly. “Ride me. Roll your hips like that… yes, just like that.”
Whn you started moving, rolling, and grinding your hips in a steady rhythm, the pleasure built quickly. His cock was dragging along your walls as you found a rhythm that made your tits bounce and your clit grind against his pelvis.
Robby kept moving his eyes are everywhere, watching where your pussy stretched around his shaft, sliding up to your bouncing breasts, then locking onto your face. He reaches up with both hands, cupping your tits and rolling your nipples as you ride him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep going… faster if you want. Take what you need from me.”
Without a word, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He sat up just enough to help you pull it off, and the second the fabric cleared his head, your hands were on him.
God, you loved his body. Your moved your palm slowly over his chest, feeling the coarse hair and the thud of his heart beneath your fingertips. You dragged your hands lower, mapping the soft, rounded curve of his belly with desire. It turned you on more than any gym-honed torso ever could. As you pressed your palms into the softness, your fingers dag in gently. Then you smoothed your hands over it again and again, savoring the way it yielded under your touch.
You were mumbling praises and moans between gasps, completely lost in the sensation. “Robby… you feel so good… so deep… fuck, I love your cock inside me…”
At one point, Robby planted his feet firmly on the bed, bent his knees, and started thrusting up to meet you. The change felt devastating, he was now fucking you from below with powerful strokes that made you cry out loudly as he droveinto you.
The slap of skin on skin grew louder when the slamming into you intensified. “Fuck—Robby!” you moaned, letting your head fall back as the pleasure overwhelmed you.
“Eyes on me if you can, sweetheart,” he growled, moving his fingers down to rub your clit again. “I’m getting close. You feel too good. You’re gonna make me cum.”
You were a moaning and squirming mess on top of him, riding and grinding as he thrusted up harder. His fingers on your clit and his cock hitting deep pushed you toward another peak, but it was his impending orgasm that had you focused on him.
“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, snapping his hips up faster. “Fuck—can I cum inside you? Please, I want to fill you up.”
“Yes,” you gasped, riding him desperately. “Cum inside me, Robby. I want it. Fill me up. Please—”
With a deep groan, Robby thrusted up hard one last time and came, pulsing nside you, flooding your pussy with thick and warm ropes of cum. He held you down on him, gripping your hips tightly as he emptied himself completely. The feeling of him cumming inside you, fully claiming you, triggered your own smaller orgasm, making your walls clench rhythmically around his pulsing cock.
You both stayed locked together, panting. Robby stroked your back and thighs as you came down from the high befor pulling you down against his chest, kissing your forehead, keeping his cock still buried deep inside you as his release slowly leaked out around him, so much that you could feel the hot nd sticky evidence of his climax.
There were no more walls, just the two of you, finally giving in to everything you’ve both wanted and repressed for so long. You stayed draped on top of Robby for a long stretch of time, both of you catching your breath as the intensity slowly ebbed. Eventually, you lifted your head and looked at him. “That was… amazing. I wouldn’t even have dreamed that it’d be that good.”
He hummed in agreement, continuing his soothing path along your back. “It was. Better than I let myself imagine. You felt perfect.”
The praise made a warm feeling bloom in your chest. After a few more quiet moments, Robby gently helped you sit up, easing you off his cock with a shared sigh. You both winced slightly at the loss of connection and the feeling of emptiness, but he pulled you down beside him on the bed, wrapping his arms around you again as you cuddled into his side.
“So… you don’t regret it, do you?”
He met your eyes as a small smile began tugging at his lips beneath the beard. “Right now? I can’t regret having amazing sex with you. My mind is still somewhere up in the clouds.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow when reality hits, but tonight… no regrets.”
You nestled closer, throwing one leg over his. The cuddling felt easy, natural, like you’d been doing this for years. For tonight, the outside world, the hospital, the guilt, the what ifs didn’t exist. There was only the two of you, and Robby might be right about reality hitting tomorrow, but right now, in the darkness of his room, everything felt right.
A/N: Two attempts at posting this fic, and two times Tumblr’s stupid AI mistakenly flagged it😭 I’ve spent days trying to figure out what was causing the problem and doing everything I could to finally get this fic posted for all of you. So if you’re reading this, it means it worked. Hopefully.
If you end up enjoying the fic, I’d really appreciate it if you could help me share it with a reblog (only if you enjoyed the fic) cause I’ve put a lot of work on it
Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I worked on when inspiration finally struck me. I don’t know if I read it somewhere or if we all collectively decided it, but Robby absolutely feels like the type of guy who talks you through it. You’re telling me the man who spends all day teaching med students and residents how to do procedures wouldn’t also be guiding his girl in bed? It’s literally in his nature!!! This TikTok also got me inspired because, yes, he absolutely looks at you through it too.
I also think Robby’s canon texting style is weirdly inconsistent. In that scene in season one where he’s texting Jake, sometimes he starts messages with capital letters and sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he ends sentences with a period, sometimes he doesn’t. In my head, he has perfect grammar but deliberately tries to sound Gen Z and chill when he’s texting someone younger than him lol. Anyway, I tried to replicate that here too.
Thank you all so much for your patience. I really appreciate it, and I hope I can stick around for good this time🩷
masterlist. Req are open! ⋮ 💌┆Send me ur thoughts <3
𑣲 MDNI + by interacting with this post, you are responsible for the media you are consuming ꒱
synopsis: you have a habit of losing things around the ER. whether it be your pens, hair ties, ipads, or your most frequent escapee, your ID badge. luckily, your (much older) secretive boyfriend is much more aware of his surroundings, and your belongings.
wc: 1.6k
tags: jack abbot x reader, daddy kink, borderline ddlg themes, dom/sub dynamics, dumbification of reader if you squint, nickname usage, uhhh i thinks that’s all?
i swear it was just here! you thought as you frantically searched your scrub pockets again. patting down your body, you looked around the desks at the central station, shufling stationary around.
your ID badge always seemed to go missing, vanishing into thin air. you had it on you one second, scanning into computers and POOF! the next minute it was gone.
running a hand over your hair, you sighed, puffing your cheeks out in annoyance.
“looking for something kiddo?” a voice calls from behind you. turning around, there stood your attending boyfriend, arms crossed behind him in that military stance. nodding your head, you shuffle over to him.
“have you seen my badge jackie? i lost it again…” you questioned, clearly looking to him for answers. an amused look crossed over his face before he leaned down to whisper something in passing.
“that’s dr. abbot to you right now sweetheart, we’re on the clock.” he voiced in a low tone, meant for only you to hear. standing back up to his full height, he brushed pasted you. walking a bit ahead, he turned around to see you not following, standing there flustered since you had forgotten the ‘no nickname’ rule at work.
“you coming? we’re gonna go look for that badge of yours.” he called out, beckoning for you to follow by the tilt of his head. due to his request, you shuffled to catch up with him.
normally, you’d latch onto his arm or hand, but not here, not in the hospital.
following him around, he made you ask other nurses, residents, doctors, and even some patients you’d treated previously if they had seen your badge. at each enounter, you would first think jack would speak for you.
wrong.
when you looked up at him, his gaze met yours with a tilt of his head, motioning for you to voice your concern of your lost badge. if you were hesitant to speak, or a bit mumbley, he would place a hand on your lower back— a warning to correct yourself.
after what felt like forever, you plopped down on a chair at the central station with a whine. “how do i always lose it? i swear i make sure it’s on!” you groan in frustration. jack settlled across from you, leaning against the raised counter.
from a nearby desk, dana turned to face the two of you, her glasses perched low on her nose. nothing gets by dana— whether you wanted her to know or not. you didnt see the silent interaction, but jack happened to turn to face dana who knew where your badge was. a silent conversation passed between the two,
if you don’t tell her where it is, i will.
don’t you dare.
pushing off the wall, jack tapped the top of your head to get your attention. looking up at him with a hum, he motioned for you to follow him.
“i think i know where it is, follow me.” he says, leaving no room for further whines.
getting up, you catch up with him asking a million questions, not bothering to see where he was leading you. before you knew it, you were in the break room. confused, you tilted your head up at jack.
“why are we in here ja— dr. abbot?” you asked. jack was proud you had caught your slip up and corrected it.
“because sweetheart,” he started, placing his hands on his knees and sighing as he finally sat down on the plastic chair for a brief moment of relief. “c’mere..” he muttered in a hushed, more strict tone.
wanting answers, you shuffled over to him, slotting yourself between his open legs. his weathered hands from years of military and medical service left the place on his knees and gently gripped the plush of your hips, thumbs moving in hypnotic circles around your back dimples.
for a moment, one of his hands left your waist and reached into the pocket of his scrub pants, pulling out your lost property.
“my badge!” you squealed in excitement, reaching out to grab it. closing his hand around the colourful badge, he blocked access for your soft hands to grab at it.
“uh uh,” he tutted at your grabby behaviour. “kept it on purpose to teach you a lesson sweet girl.” jack explained in that tone that boardered authority.
the two of you bickered for a few minutes before you started to get a bit more fussy, you just wanted your badge back!
“such a silly girl, what would you do without me?” jack hummed in mock sympathy. crossing your arms with a huff, you looked to the side, your cheeks a bit rosy.
“i’m a big girl at work! i don’t need your help with everything here.” you pouted :(
rolling his eyes, he patted your bottom with the spare hand witholding your badge. “well if that’s the case,” he said, faking a sigh and standing up with a grunt, joints quietly popping. “i guess big girls don’t need help getting ready in the morning.” he started with a list. “…or they don’t need to be reminded to eat her snacks.” his back was to you as he started fiddling with the coffee machine. “and big girls definitely don’t need to be reminded to go potty.” he finisihed.
placing the cup under the coffee maker, he turned to face you, leaning against the counter with his hands behind his back with that stupid smirk.
infront of him stood you, all teary eyed and swaying on your feet, hands tucked neatly infront of you (like you’d been taught by him). you wanted those things, you needed those things and him.
with a sniffle, you let the waterworks start. “i’m sorry jackieeeee!” you whined, wrapping your arms around him as you cried into his chest. “i-i-i need you and and and…” you babbled off nonsense, backtracking your thoughts.
huffing with a smile, jack’s warm arms wrapped around you. “shhhh shhh, there’s my little girl.” he cooed, placing a kiss on the top of your head. pulling you away, his bigger hands cupped the side of your face, thumbs wiping away stray tears. “no need to get all fussy at work, hmm?” sniffling, you nodded and left out a hum of agreement.
“tell ya what,” jack offered. clipping the badge securely back onto your scrubs, he continued, “have a cookie and a juice box ‘kay? then you can head back out once your little head’s calmed down.”
you looked up at him with a sparkle in your eyes, you looked at him with a surprised tone. “i can have a treat before dinner?” you asked, jack nodded his head. “just this one time sweetheart.”
bouncing with happiness, you headed to the cabnet where the good chocolate chip cookies were while jack grabbed a juice box from the fridge. in concentration, your tongue stuck out while you balanced on your tippy toes to grab the box off a higher shelf (purposely put there by jack so you wouldn’t eat the entire thing in one day).
once you had the sweet treats in your hand, jack poked the straw into the box, ready to hand it to you. “ah ah, only one. don’t want you getting a tummy ache.” jack warns, though the smile on his face gives away any seriousness.
BANG!
you jumped, spooked by the door practically coming off the hinges. in came whitaker, a smirking robby looking over his shoulder in the distance.
“dr. abbot, we need you in bay four! incoming GSW with uh uhh… an ETA of five minutes.” whitaker heaved. standing up a bit straighter, jack responded to the request. “got it, be there in two.” he nodded, ending the brief convo. closing the door, the world consisited of only you two again for a few moments.
looking back over at you, you were sipping away on the juice box, cookie crumbs coating the corner of your mouth. shaking his head at you, a smile crept back up onto his face as he approached you once more.
“stay here for a bit ‘kay? don’t want you out there while you’re still a bit fussy.” he suggested, though it was more of a command. nodding your head, you let out a muffled ‘okie’ around the straw.
jack pried the juice box from your hands for a moment, the straw plopping out of your mouth. you had been knawing on the straw, the habit of oral fixation jack had tried to break but ended up entertaining it more when his fingers ended up there instead. with your mouth empty, you let out a whine.
“manners.” jack said, his voice urging compliance. the world outside the breakroom was getting louder as the incoming trauma appraoched. you knew he had to go, you had to soon too!
sighing, you sniffled one last time and looked up at him with a smile, “thank you daddy.” you whispered. “you’re very welcome baby.” he responded while wiping the lingering crumbs from your mouth.
“i’ll come get you when i’m done, you’re sticking with me till trade off.” he mumbles against your head. kissing the top of your head, he walked off into the chaos of the emergency department.
standing in the now empty break room, you blink, registering the whim of events that just happened. the gentle click of the door opening snapped your attention upwards. dana stood there, head poking through the door.
“you comin’ kid? we need the— JESUS ALMIGHTY ROBBY GET YOUR RESIDENTS TOGETHER!” she yelled with her head turned across the room.
giggling, you finish your snack and wipe off your hands on your scrub pants. “you gotta be the one to tell dr. abbot i came out here on your orders.” you tell her, gathering your hair into a ponytail.
shaking her head in amusement, she opened the door for you to walk out. “sure thing kid, don’t wanna get you in trouble with your attending.”
you moaned at the feeling of his cock doing in and out, you swore you could see the end of it in your tummy as you stay restrain on it
harry holding onto your hips as he pound like a rabbit in heat "fuck, lovey..y'a feel so gwood.."
he keep his heavy pacing as his big balls slapped against your clit, your back arching more to feel the friction "harry..pwease i can't anymwor.."
"shut the fuck up and take it" he would grumble and slap your ass four times, if it's not more
you moaned as you came, holding at the sheets then at his hands still holding onto your hips
he didn't stopped fucking you through it as you both came, his white semen painting your gummy inside as he groan, keep holding onto you
"you've been such a good girl for daddy tonight.." he said quietly in your ear as he gently sucked a spot behind it, you only whimper weakly as an answer
a/n: i wrote that in front of my foster dad while he thought i was doing homework, i hate him
Oooh what about a Dark!Daddy!Clark? Maybe he likes a cute little intern at the Daily Planet and he obsesses and manipulates her into ddlg-esk relationship and she’s none the wiser??
If I’m not making sense, ignore me, pookie. I’m glad you’re back!!!!
𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 | 𝐜.𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭
pairing: Dark!Clark Kent x Reader
synopsis: You're a nervous intern at the Daily Planet, struggling to keep it together. Clark Kent watches quietly until his protection becomes possession.
warnings: +18, daddy/caretaker dynamic, obsession, infantilization, emotional manipulation, dubcon, shy reader with low self-esteem, age gap, possession, disturbing dynamics, minimal editing, proceed with caution.
word count: 2.3k (one-shot)
It starts small. So subtle that Clark hardly knows he’s doing it in the first place. You’re just so scattered. Overwhelmed.
He’s there at the elevator whenever you scramble out of it, carrying all your belongings and two drink carriers full of hot coffee. You rush out a few nervous thank-yous, and your lips part in shock when he grabs the drinks and your heavy workbag too.
Despite your job description, he doesn’t like to see you lifting a finger.
When he’s not working, he watches you from across the bullpen while you sit at your cluttered desk. You’re always in some shade of pastel, a knit cardigan, curly hair adorned with colorful hairpins or bows. Your socks always reach up to your shins, and on the days when you’re the most tired, you don’t notice that they aren’t matching.
He dislikes that Perry expects you to fetch coffee for the entire staff, and he hates it even more when you bring some sad excuse for a lunch in your strawberry-patterned lunchbox. Almost everyone leaves for lunch. You, a struggling student, always turn Jimmy down when he invites you. You don’t have the money, Clark assumes, so he joins you in the breakroom a few times a week.
When you whip out the same peanut butter sandwich and apple that you always bring, Clark sees the way your face falls.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, and your heart quickens.
“Just tired.” You nod, then nervously tap at the table.
“Here,” he offers you half of his favorite sub sandwich he orders at the deli on the next block. “I’m not going to eat all of it.”
Your lips part to protest as he lays it out in front of you. “Clark, you don’t—”
“You look hungry,” he adds. “Did you eat breakfast?”
“Yes,” you answer quietly. His blue eyes are focused on you. Hard. Expecting. “…No.”
You find that the truth slips through your lips before he has a chance to question you further. “Y/N.”
“I had coffee,” you say next. “I have to get up at 4:30 if I want to catch the earliest train into the city, and sometimes I forget.”
Clark nods, understanding, although his mind is already working toward a solution.
After that, he shares his lunch with you when he can. When you get to work, there is always breakfast waiting for you. A breakfast sandwich from the deli or a Tupperware with homemade pancakes. It doesn’t take you long to put the dots together. When you thank him, he never answers directly.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
“But—”
“You have to eat breakfast.”
“But you don’t—”
“And lunch. And dinner. I don’t want to find out you’re still skipping meals.”
Your lips press into a thin line then. It’s the first time he’s seen you frustrated. Embarrassed, even. Your brows furrow, and you turn in your pink ballet flats and walk away from his desk.
The thought crosses his mind that he should back off then. Give you your space. And he tries. Really tries. But you are so needy. So much more needy than he even realized.
He follows you home. Your tiny studio apartment that you’ve made into a home, but that doesn’t make it any safer or less cheaply built. He checks on you most nights, makes sure you’re tucked into bed, although you stay up way too late working on assignments for Perry.
The night he hears you crying behind the bathroom door at work, he nearly loses control. It takes everything in him not to storm into Perry’s office and toss him off the roof of the Planet.
He doesn’t, of course.
He waits until everyone clears from the office. You emerge from the bathroom as the sunset illuminates the room in shades of red. You clutch your heart, frightened, when you find him waiting for you. You wipe under your eyes quickly, but there’s no hiding from Clark.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Please, Clark.”
“Tell me what’s wrong, sweetheart. I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me.”
Clark can feel how fast your heart is beating. He closes the distance between the two of you, one hand finding the small of your back and the other cradling your neck. Your lips tremble and your sweater sleeves pull down over your fists.
“Clark—” you hiccup, and the tears start to fall again. “I just… I-I—”
He thinks of how badly he wants you not to call him Clark in this moment. He’s been telling himself not to rush this. It will take time. “You’re okay,” he says, deep and soothing. “You’re being so brave.”
You blink up at him through the tears. “He… h-he ripped into my article. The final one. For my class. He’s hated every draft I sent him and it’s due at midnight,” your voice cracks, high and thin. “I think he’s gonna fail me. On my review. I-I worked so hard to get this internship, Clark.”
Clark’s jaw tightens. “I know you did, sweetheart,” he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb.
“It doesn’t matter,” you shake your head. “I’m not a good writer. I-I’d be a t-terrible journalist.”
Clark’s eyes darken as he looks down at you. He sees you crawling inside yourself. Retreating. He doesn’t think as he lifts you off your feet, wrapping strong arms around your torso, before he carries you toward his desk.
Your body tenses, though you don’t protest. Your eyes only widen, and you go quiet. You have no sense of fight or flight. He understands that your first instinct will always be to freeze. His entire purpose in life is to protect people like you.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Clark takes a seat at the desk before he settles you into his lap. You wiggle, but he holds you tightly. It feels like pushing at a steel door. You hadn’t realized he’d feel so… heavy.
He rolls his chair closer to the desk, effectively trapping you in, and he opens his laptop, your back pressed against his chest. In your ear, you hear him say, “I’ll help you rewrite the article.”
“What—”
“I know what Perry is looking for. I can help you clean it up.”
“I’ll miss my train.”
Clark pauses for a moment. He clicks his teeth. “I’ll take you home.”
“Oh…” What choice do you have? “Okay.”
His voice lowers, soft but firm. “Relax.”
“I’m trying,” you sniffle.
“Good girl,” he whispers.
Clark is a man of his word. He helps you write the ten thousand words in a way that Perry would approve of. He helps you with the pacing, the tone, the flow. It never crosses his mind that you’re a bad writer. Just inexperienced. He remembers being exactly where you are.
When Clark finally feels your mood lift and sees the tired smile on your lips, he isn’t willing to let you go just yet.
You were hesitant when he opened the passenger side door of a dark sedan that doesn’t match his reporter salary. You were even more hesitant standing on the threshold of his high-rise apartment. You thought he would take you to the subway station, only for him to insist that you stay in his spare room.
Noticing your hesitation, he grabs your hand and leads you forward. The door closes with a finality you weren’t quite prepared for. You turn and feel your feet trying to carry you back toward the door. Clark squeezes your hand, gentle but firm. When he notices your body start to freeze up again, he sighs, low and almost fond, before taking matters into his own hands. Literally. You let out a startled breath as he sweeps you off your feet like a bride.
He isn’t frustrated with you. He directs you like a child about to wander into the wrong room, or a pet that doesn’t know any better.
“Let’s get you out of these work clothes, okay?” he asks rhetorically, carrying you deeper into the apartment. “And then you can have a warm bath and something soft to sleep in.”
“I don’t have any other clothes, Clark.”
“Don’t worry, baby.”
Your resistance matters little to him. You expect a guest room that’s impersonal. Bare bones. Instead, you’re met with a room with cream-white walls, a cozy bed with a white, fluffy comforter, and a plush, oversized teddy bear in the corner.
“I—” You clear your throat. “Is this a kid’s room?”
“No,” he answers as he sets you onto your feet. “I just wanted it to be… comforting.”
Clark’s lips part to explain further, but out of the corner of your eye, you spot a tall bookshelf. “You have The Secret Garden and A Little Princess,” you say. Clark watches how your eyes light up and how you pad over the soft carpet. “I’ve never seen these editions before. They are so pretty. Look at these pink flowers.”
His hulking figure shadows you as he reaches past, taking The Secret Garden off the shelf for you.
“I don’t know,” you say instead of taking it, but he grabs your hand, lifts it, and places the book in your palm. “You like these books?”
“I know you like them,” he answers casually, and your mind skips over the absurdity of the situation because next you notice a line of figurines that look like fairies on the shelf below them.
“Look around and get comfortable, sweetheart,” he says. “I’ll start your bath.”
You gasp softly as you lean down, studying a woodland fairy with so many delicate, adorable details.
Every detail in the room is perfect. There are even fairy lights hanging near the windows. Just like the ones you have hanging in your apartment. And on the nightstand?
A Hello Kitty nightlight.
The exact one from your Amazon cart. The one you’d bookmarked and rebookmarked, hovered over for months, but never bought.
“You ready?” Clark asks, snapping you from your daze. Your lips part to answer, only to realize his question is, once again, rhetorical. With a hand on your lower back, he guides you toward the attached bathroom.
The lights are dimmed to a golden hue, and the tub is filled with bubbles. A soft towel sits on the bathroom counter, and a pair of neatly folded pajamas rests right next to it. You glance at the older, taller man and realize he’s removed his glasses. You almost do a double-take, your eyes focusing on his features, and he’s almost unrecognizable.
You’re not sure if it’s the lack of sleep or the fact that this all feels like a fever dream, but you can’t help but let this happen to you.
“You’ve been working so hard, haven’t you?” It doesn’t help that his voice is deep and melodic. You look down at his fingers as he gently undoes each button of your cardigan. “Let me do this for you. Let Daddy take care of you.”
Daddy.
The word touches you somewhere deep. An embarrassing place.
“I don’t need you to,” you say, although you aren’t convincing. And now he’s undoing the buttons of your khaki skirt.
“Let me,” he says again, softer this time, like he’s reassuring you.
Isn’t that what you’re doing? Shaking like a leaf and letting him get you naked? It’s done with such care. His touch doesn’t wander in the slightest. It’s almost clinical. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt, and the glimpse of his arms—thick and muscled—makes your eyes widen. How had you missed this before? You’ve never felt intimidated by Clark until now. Never felt how much power radiated from him.
“I-I shouldn’t have come,” you stutter out, mostly to yourself. “I’m imposing,” you add next, politely.
He gives you a knowing look. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer.”
It’s good to know. It’s reassuring. It isn’t completely your fault that this is happening. You cover yourself with your hands when he’s fully undressed you.
He guides you closer to the clawfoot tub and keeps you steady as you step into the warm water. His invasion of your personal space doesn’t stop there. You’re not sure if he understands the concept anymore. His hands are already reaching for the soap. He kneels beside the bath and continues to look at you like you’re the most fragile thing he’s ever seen. You look down then. You don’t meet his eyes as he runs a washcloth over every inch of your skin.
He notices.
“I know you don’t understand it yet,” Clark says. “But you will. You don’t have to do anything but let me take care of you.”
You focus on the warmth. The comfort in his voice. You realize you have to or else your heart will jump out of your chest.
“Relax.” He says that word again. Your eyes focus on him again as his fingers sink between your legs. A large hand against a small area. His palm presses against your lower belly. He spreads your folds, and everything in your body tenses.
Determined, focused blue eyes stare back at you. “Clark—” you rush out, and your small hands wrap around his arm. His arm doesn’t move as you push. It doesn’t even tremble beneath your grasp. “Clark, please. P-Please—oh my—”
“I’m not trying to scare you,” he says. “But I will be firm with you. You need that, don’t you?”
Your eyes flutter as your body trembles.
His movements are so precise. Large circles, and then small, concentrated ones. Your chest heaves as your head tilts back. It’s almost as clinical as when he was undressing you. It’s something he has to do. He’s treating the act like a mission that needs to be accomplished. A step in a nightly routine.
Now you’re dizzy. The act doesn’t take longer than two minutes. He applies the exact right pressure. It’s almost painful how your orgasm rips through your body. It's embarrassing how quickly it happens. “That’s it,” you hear him say. You gasp for air in between your moans. Now you’re holding onto him instead of futilely pushing at him. “Good girl, sweetheart. You needed that, didn’t you?”
He takes your silence and shaking body as a sufficient answer.
“Let’s get you dressed and tucked in, sweetheart. Big day for us tomorrow.”
Description: Alexa, play ‘manchild’ by Sabrina. Or, 3 times Jack notices the incompetency of your new boyfriend and gets annoyed, and 1 time he does something about it.
Tags/warnings: big age gap (r is in 20's and abbot is 50), "ive got tattoos older than you" gets said, yes he has tats bcos i said so, size diff, mentions of concussion, medical inaccuracies (idk shit), (1) allusion to reader having a choking kink (💀), r has a used to have a massive crush on him, made ellis a lesbian bcos ofc, abbot life's goal is to make fun of r's bf, flirting (so much), bit of yearner!jack & dom!jack vibes, gets dialogue heavy at the end, angsty fights & confessions, suggestive themes, mentions of sex, sexual innuendos, i use loads of em dashes (dont even compare me to chatgpt bcos im better), pet names: kid, kiddo, sweetheart
Note: tysm for the love on my first ff, it means the world to me. Writing something longer made me lose all objectivity, and I genuinely cannot tell if it's good or great or whatever. Please give me feedback (PERSONALLY). Again, I tried to keep r neutral but you might see mentions of r having hair.
Enjoy. This is for the ones with a competency kink. And for the ones who def wanted him to call you “kid.” and the ones who love silver foxes (get checked) (ur girl incl)
1
“I told him not to take me here,” you mutter to Jack, who's checking for tenderness in your neck, his thick fingers pressing against the side, while you try not to think of his hands on your neck in a very different context.
“Let him. Something the boy can do right, hm?”
After checking for initial symptoms — making you walk in a straight line, and balancing yourself on a single foot, you're subjugated to the very hands-on physical examination. You're suddenly wondering how other patients remain composed when Dr. Abbot touches them like this.
Well, usually, attending physicians don't do a history check or a physical exam, but this one does. For you. Probably because you're his staff.
Focus.
You clock into the reality, realizing the dig he made at your “boy.”
“Yeah, she didn't wanna come, I kinda dragged her here. I was like, ‘babe, it may just be a light concussion but you're a nurse, not a doctor’ so, like, thanks, doc. We needed the big guns,” proudly speaks Noah standing against the wall, checking time on his phone for the 5th time since you've been in this room.
Jack's jaw tightens and he shoots him a look so dirty, Noah actually takes a step back.
“Watch it, kid, if it wasn't for nurses, American healthcare would be even fuckin’ worse.”
Abbot looks back at you, and raises an eyebrow as if to say “really? him?”
You should speak up in your boyfriend's defense, something — anything — to wipe that perceptive look on Jack's face, the smugness he isn't trying hard enough to hide. You might as well be in your birthday suit right now, for how bare you feel. How bare you always feel in his presence.
God knows how much you'd actually like to be — no, you have a boyfriend. A perfectly handsome, competent, and a caring one.
Handsome. Not rugged.
Competent. Doubtful.
Caring. Well, caring enough.
“Doctor Abbot…” you begin, voice stripped raw, breath coming uneasy, when his index brushes right over your thrumming pulse.
“Focus on the examination. Tsk, thought we taught you better here. Well, I at least did. Don't you agree, nurse?”
The air leaves your mouth in a little puff, leaving your throat dry, your lips soon following. You need a glass of —
“Need some water? You've been here a while,” Jack asks, tone becoming gravelly and intimate, eyebrows drawing closer seeing how pale you look.
He immediately turns to Noah — hands leaving your neck — without waiting for a response from you. His voice takes on its normal cadence. “Hey, son, grab her a bottle, would you? Vending machine is at the end of the corridor. Thanks.”
His ‘Thanks’ comes out in a slow drawl that makes you squirm in your seat.
Your attending has not even fully turned back to you yet, when your partner speaks up, “Uh, bottle of what?”
“A Pinot Noir, perhaps. Which one do you prefer?” His eyes find yours again, brows raising in deep amusement. Is he getting a kick out of humiliating your boyfriend — and by extension, you?
“Uh…” noah looks utterly confused. You feel almost bad for him. Almost.
“Water, son. Get your girl a bottle.” Noah makes a move to leave, complying immediately to the doctor. Has he ever even listened to you so quickly? God, men are such dicksuckers for each-other.
“A chapstick while you're at it, maybe,” Jack mutters, trying to keep the humour out of his voice. Noah stops in his tracks again, clearly deaf to the sarcasm.
Jack huffs. “Just go.”
You honestly don't understand why he dislikes Noah so much. You've only been dating him for 3 weeks.
Well.
Noah did try to make a “romantic” gesture by coming to pick you up from your shift. Except, he arrived an hour early as a “surprise” and cribbed because you couldn't leave early. And he did just undervalue your job as a nurse. And…of course, an hour ago, he accidentally hit you your head with a football while he was showing attempting a trick.
As Noah leaves, Jack lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Don't worry, I'll get you a chapstick,” he says, staring shamelessly at your trembling bottom-lip before making a slow way up again.
“Penlight. Incoming.”
You've barely had time to react when a sudden light shone in your eyes. Your face instinctively tries to move back, only to be stopped by a feather-light touch on your jaw. Jack's finger retracts as soon as it comes, leaving you starved for more. More than just the pad of his index.
You hold still for him, letting him sway the torch alternatively between your eyes. When the light is kept back with a soft clink, there are no more distractions as he stands up straight again.
The creases in his scrubs only increase when he folds his arms over his chest.
“So.” You mutter, your gaze trying to find something interesting on the floor.
“Nick seems like a good guy.”
“Noah.”
“Right. We should thank Nick for bringing you here right on time. Wouldn't wanna lose one of our best nurses.”
You scoff at his words. Your feet are moving in a slow back and forth rhythm, your eyes fixated on them.
“Let's not say things we don't mean for good staff satisfaction scores.”
“If you're trying to insult me by implying I care about that shit, good job. I'm slightly more offended than the time you implied I am too old for karaoke." He's slightly rocking himself back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Didn't imply, actually. I think I was pretty direct.”
A huff of laughter leaves his lips. You don't want huffs or sarcastic laughs. You want his full belly-laugh. His happy laugh that you've only seen Robby drag out of him.
“I don't care about staff satisfaction scores,” he lightly shakes his head for a moment.
“Yes, you just sai —”
“Only care about yours.”
That makes you look up at him again with widened eyes and parted lips. Little shit, off-handedly throwing around words that gives you butterflies.
Dead butterflies, of course, just like your affections on him. Former crush. Yes.
You quickly regain your senses to retort.
“Satisfaction with your services? If so, thank you for checking me for a concussion.” The formality in your words completely betray the flush creeping up your cheeks.
“Of course, what else?” You hate the way he says your last name. The way it rolls off his tongue. The way it reeks of intent, and not casualty.
The sharp noise of metal rings dragging across a rod brings you out of your trance. Nic — Noah emerges from behind the privacy curtain, a bottle of water clutched in his right hand, and a simmering cup of black coffee in left. “Got you choices, babe.”
You smile thankfully at him, perhaps more grateful for the distraction. You extend your hand, your pointer gesturing at the water. You don't feel the same electricity when Noah's fingers brush against yours in the hand-off.
Jack takes a step back. He nods at you. “Rest. Hydrate. You know it.”
"Mhm, no big brain activity, limited screen time, don't avoid if symptoms worsen."
"Impressive. How does a civvie like you know the drill?" he asks, eyes widening in mock-surprise.
"Oh, I'm very smart. Could've easily been a nurse at your hospital," you can't help but smile.
"Shame. I'm sure you would've been terrific."
He nods at your boyfriend next, “Nick.”
“Uh, it's actually Noa —” but Jack's right hand has already caught the edge of the curtain, swiftly pulling it out of his way, and disappearing shortly after.
“She prefers lattes, by the way.”
2
Bzzzzzzz
“Doctor Ellis, I didn't know you allowed your staff to bring phones in a trauma bay. I would've brought mine to play some music while we inserted a chest tube inside this man.”
Ellis only grunts, too focused on work at hand.
Your cheeks heat at Doctor Garcia's comment, feeling the loud buzz against your thigh for the nth time today.
“I'm sorry — ” you had only just begun when Dr. Abbot's voice cut in, deadpan and dry.
“Yolanda, you listen to music?”
“Doesn't everyone?”
“Yeah, well, normal people do. Why?”
Garcia's sharp glare to the attending does nothing to his demeanor. His hands — controlled, precise, and so fucking practiced — don't stop for even a fraction of a second.
“Not everyone can have eccentric hobbies like nude yoga, Dr. Rabbit.”
Nude yoga? Nude? You force your mind to not conjure up an image of that. Especially not with your attending — who you have used to have a schoolgirl crush on — as the main character. Or, you'll be the one on the operation table instead of observing, breaking out in hives.
“I'm sorry, Dr. Garcia,” you complete.
“Apologise to the man on the table; It's not my life on line. No matter how much I wish whenever I work with you boy scouts.” You always cringe at the bluntness in her tone, but it's worse when directly aimed at you.
“Easy, Garcia,” Jack commanded, tone instantly gaining its authority, pausing a moment to shoot her a look. Yolanda doesn't deter, and two of your most-respected, highly-competent seniors seem to engage in a silent eye-conversation. It ends with a twitch of Garcia's lips as she glances at you, and your attending muttering, “shut it.”
Huh, Strange.
***
The biohazard bin shuts with a snap, and you rub your clammy hands, trying to get the feel of rubber gloves off them. Trauma bays are always stress-inducing, no matter —
Bzzzzzzzzz.
You're about to kill someone tonight. It's gonna be your boyfriend. And you're gonna enjoy it. And you're gonna go online, talk about it, and watch a number of supportive women tell you, “I support your rights, but also your wrongs. You go, bitch.”
The constant vibration against your thigh, the baby crying in pedes, and looking like a fool in a trauma bay…you heave a sigh. Has the ED always been so bright? It's like the lights are directly in your eyes.
You hate loud. So much.
You un-pocket your phone, letting it unlock before you start typing furiously, your mouth instinctively murmuring everything you're typing. Your feet carry you forward, muscle memory taking you to a quiet corner, where you can peacefully argue. And bang your head against the wall, if you're lucky. But you're not sure if there's a staff discount at The Pitt. And frankly, you're already struggling with rent and groceries.
Look at you being fiscally responsible.
“Fuck, sorry,” leaves your mouth as soon as you accidentally collide with someone. A single calloused palm settles on your hip, steadying you.
Your lips part to say something, but no words come out. It seems the entirety of blood in your body has rushed towards your hip to greet Dr. Abbot's hand, before it retracts.
“Been apologising a lot today. Forgot your training or have you rejoined pre-school?” His body moves to your front, effectively blocking the view of rapid-paced staff, and people in wheelchairs and gurneys.
“Just…one rookie mistake after another.” Your body sags sideways, taking support of the wall. As if on instinct, his posture mirrors yours, his entire side leaning against the wall as well. You deposit your phone back in your pocket.
“For what it's worth, you started out not too long ago. You are, technically, still a rookie,” he speaks.
In this slow corner, the lights seem dimmer and noise quieter. Your shoulders drop just a bit. You're not sure if it's the location or him. Your bet is on location.
You wonder how you must look to the others, a junior nurse and the person with the most seniority on this floor, tucked away in a hushed hallway. What would they think of you? Certainly not co-workers.
Your lips curl in a tired, soft smile. “Trying to make me feel better again, sir?”
“Trying to tell you trauma surgeons have a permanent stick up their ass. Shen and I have bets on whether she lives in an ice castle or a secluded cave.”
Your smile grows bigger, and his eyes crinkle. “It's not just her. In fact, I admire women with a mean mouth.”
“Only women?”
“Men already are. I can't think of any situations where they'd need to be more mean.”
“I can think of a few,” his voice dips even lower, rocks coated in honey. Your eyes find the fluttering pulse on his throat, and travel up his face, to find his gaze fixated on your lips. He looks up again. Slowly. Not in a rush.
In this low-lit corner and his head tilted down to adjust to your height, his curls — salt and pepper and presumably soft — brushed his forehead, creating shadows across his face.
You clear your throat, trying to erase some of the tension. “It's Noah. You met him the other day, if you haven't forgotten."
“Oh, I tried.”
You click your jaw, “He's a nice guy, sir.”
“Uh-huh. Is he blowing up your phone? What's wrong?” His brows furrow in concern, and you find his worry comforting. You're about to open your mouth to explain —
“Did he forget his Roblox password?”
You slightly shake your head, looking down at his shoes. “You…Dr. Abbot,” you trail off, looking up at him again to see the corner of his mouth twitching, eyes wide as if he's seriously expecting an answer.
“How do you even know what that is? And no, that's not it. He…sprained his ankle, hewasdoingaparkourjump,” you mumble the last part as quickly as you can, cheeks heating and eyes wandering.
Jack pauses, expression caught somewhere between humour and exasperation, “Wow, didn't know your boy was still in middle school. Tell me, were you trying to find a boyfriend or a son?”
You throw your head back, a light groan escaping your mouth. While you rub your eyes, you feel your attending move. After a second, he has a bottle of water in his hand.
You give him a look of gratitude and hold your fingers out. But before passing it to you, he twists off the cap with ease. For a moment, you let yourself enjoy the sight of his biceps straining against his scrub top.
You empty almost half the bottle, throat working the liquid down, flushed under the heavy gaze of the man standing in front of you who is currently shamelessly oggling your neck. He's quick to take the bottle off your hands once you're done.
You mutter a quiet “Thanks.” He holds out his free hand forward. You shoot him a confused look, your fingers come up, hovering centimeters away from his palm.
Does he want you to hold…?
“Your phone, nurse.”
Your eyes blink, realisation creeping with a smudge of cringe, “Oh, that makes more sense. Yeah.” But the embarrassment is quick to vanish when you think about what he said.
“What? No. I feel naked without my phone on me.”
His eyes drop to your chest the moment the word “naked” leaves your mouth. You're not sure you've stopped blushing in the last 2 minutes.
“You're not a teenager.”
“Well, I love my phone like one,” you defensively say, standing up straighter. Your right hand moves towards your pocket to protect your mobile.
Abbot rumbles your last name like a warning, his husky voice settling low in your belly, and your traitorous hand is fishing the phone out without a conscious thought.
Before you can even hand it to him, he slightly bends, prying it out of your fingers.
“Now, I feel like a teenager,” you pout.
He uses her corner of your phone to tap against your nose, “Then don't make me go all authoritative on you again, kid.”
With that, he pockets your phone and walks away. You watch him twist the cap off the bottle again and drink directly from the mouth of it. The mouth you just had your own lips wrapped around.
Kid.
You need a chair.
3
“Okay, instead of using this job as an excuse for a sad dating life, how about you guys just admit…y'all got no game,” Mateo knocks back the last sip of his drink, making this very, very bold claim.
“First of all, nobody was talking about dating life. We were talking about sex. Forget dates, when was the last time any of you got laid?” Ellis asks, using her glass to gesture vaguely around the table, a few droplets falling on the wood.
Your shift was hell. Well, everyone's was. Really, every shift is hell, so this one was no different. The only thing was that today, everyone decided to grab a drink. Not in the nearest park, no. Instead, they're all here, the nearest bar that's open at a time when a person should be doing a morning walk, not shots.
You're tucked between Mateo on your left and Jack on your right, in a worn-out brown leather booth, with Shen and Ellis across the table.
“I don't feel comfortable talking about the personal details of my married life with my colleagues,” replied Shen, sadly nodding his head.
Jack's voice, raspy from his whiskey, cuts in, “Oh, shut it, Shen.”
“I'd say 6 weeks since we slept together,” Shen gave up quickly. A series of sympathetic groans and nods went around the table.
Mateo juts his chin towards Ellis, raising his brows. “Hooked up with someone last week. Left before she woke up,” replied the woman.
“Didn't know you were a player, doc,” laughs your fellow nurse, before his head turns to you. “And you? Come on, we're the youngest and hottest, we gotta rub it in their faces. Besides, you have, uh, what's his name...”
You laugh nervously, tracing the rim of your glass with your index. While everyone’s lazy and heavy-lidded all around, you feel Abbot's fervent gaze burning a hole into the side of your head.
“Noah. And hate to disappoint, but it's been some while,” you admit. Not being able to hold back any longer, you finally turn your head to the right. Not taking his eyes off you, your attending takes a long sip of his whiskey.
“How much is a while?”
This is inappropriate. Your attending physician shouldn't be asking you this, you're sure of it. But nobody but you looks alarmed.
“I would say…none of your business, doc,” you softly murmur, the liquid courage making your tongue sharper.
“And what about you Dr. Abbot?” Mateo jumps in again.
It's your turn to look at Jack with the same intense gaze. He doesn't take his eyes off you, “been a while for me too,” he mutters so low, like he's only referring to you.
You lose. You lose the staring contest and let your eyes fall back to your glass. Thank god, you have some of your drink still left.
“Why, is it…old man stuff?” Mateo asks, and your eyes widen at his question. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold back your laugh. Ellis's rich chuckle fills the quiet bar. You finally bring your cup to your lips.
“I'm an attending, Mateo. We're always at the very top of our performance. Here to serve well. In or out of trauma bays.”
Your drink goes down the wrong pipe, and you break out into a violent cough. Why would he say it like that? You're pretty sure you look like a tomato.
You feel a strong hand on your back, beginning to rub small circles through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Easy,” Jack whispers into your right ear.
Is nobody watching this?
You look around to see Shen, Ellis, and Mateo have deeply engrossed themselves in a completely different conversation. You wonder for a second if it's intentional.
His heavy hand stops rubbing, instead patting the small of your back softly and rhythmically. Your coughs start dying down, and you wipe the underside of your watery eyes with your knuckle.
“Have trouble swallowing, kiddo?” His voice is right next to your ear, every breath rustling a tiny bit of your hair.
Oh. Oh. OH.
“Think I need some air, sir,” you mutter, voice dried. You feel floaty, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.
Jack rises from his seat with a low grunt, “Think we're gonna step outside for a moment,” he announces.
You quickly follow suit and walk out after him before you can see anyone's expressions. You're pretty sure you hear Shen's giggle.
***
You welcome the morning chill that greets your face as soon as you step out, double doors falling shut behind you. You close your eyes, tilting your head upwards, and take a deep breath, easing the night's tension out of your body.
“Hot date yesterday?” You're quickly brought back to reality, turning sideways. Abbot has his hands in pocket and hair ruffled from the wind.
“Oh, uh, yes. How'd you guess?”
“You clocked in yesterday wearing something…different.” His eyes drop to your chest, before lingering on your lips, and then meeting your eyes again.
Your cheeks burn. You didn't realise he saw you in your fancy clothes. It was bad enough that you were running late, and worse that you didn't get to change before clocking in with your date outfit still on.
“Yeah. Noah took me to dinner. I just signed a new lease. I'm moving out of my current dumphole to another dumphole, but it's nearer to work. So.”
“Congratulations, glad to have you close.”
“Thanks, sir.”
A comfortable silence falls over for a minute before he speaks again, “was the place nice and quiet?”
“Hm?”
“Where he took you. Nick.”
“Ah. No. It's kinda trendy right now, so, super loud…” you trail off with a sigh. Jack keeps looking at you, as if wanting you to say more, as if finally expecting you to spill the truth out: Noah doesn't know you.
“Hm. Didn't peg you for a gold person, either.”
“What?”
He gestures with his chin towards your neck, where a sliver of chain is peeking out from under your shirt. A new one, gold colored, gifted by your boyfriend yesterday.
“I'm an anything person, really.”
Jack doesn't say anything, only waits. And this time, it works.
“Well, silver, if I had to pick. I like silver,” you speak, your voice bordering on a whisper.
Jack finally stops looking at you, and with that, you finally breathe. He casts his gaze towards the sky.
“I know.”
He says your name.
Your first name that he rarely says. Your heart stutters. Every bit of fresh air you inhaled seems to leave your lungs all at once. Instead, a family of butterflies — so fucking alive — have swarmed in there, rendering you speechless.
Please say my name again.
“I know, kid.”
“I'm not a kid, Jack.” For a second, you watch his eyes get darker. He takes a step closer to you. Then another.
You crane your neck to look up at him. Suddenly, he turns his back to you. One of his hands peeks from his side, and tugs at the lower back of his shirt, pushing it down by an inch or two.
You stand confused, until you notice faint black ink — now visible — just below his neck. You suck in a sharp breath.
By the time Jack turns towards you again, you're barely holding yourself up. He leans forward, his nose only inches away from yours.
“I've got tattoos older than you,” he breathes, “kiddo.”
Your knees turn to jelly. A sharp heat travels straight into your belly, increasing the buzz between your legs. Your lips part, teeth sinking into your plush lower lip.
You can only numbly turn your body towards the door as he holds it open for you. There's not a hint of teasing or smugness in his expression. There is something else, though.
Desperation.
You walk in through the gate, mind already trying to think of a reason to break up with Noah. Unfortunately, or fortunately, it finds plenty.
+1
“Oh, honey, just take this right now. The doctor has told your mom the rest. You're gonna be just fine!” You give your brightest smile to the 6 year-old girl, looking all sad and tiny on the gurney.
You stand up straight again, your back protesting. For someone still “young”, you definitely have an old-person back.
The mom gives you a thankful smile that still doesn't hide her tiredness, “Thank you so much.”
“She's gonna be alright, mom.” You flash one last smile and turn to pull the privacy curtain. When you step out, you see Lena, your charge nurse, and Jack in a conversation at the charge nurse station.
Lena calls out to you, “All done in there, hun?” You nod and give a thumbs-up. You expect your attending to say something, a joke, or even glance at you, but he doesn't.
Your heart sinks. After the morning at the bar, you went home and planned how to break-up with your boyfriend. On the other hand, Jack apparently went home and came up with, “10 ways on how I will ignore my co-worker who I occasionally flirt with on purpose.”
For the past week, there have been no lingering looks, no cornering you to check in, and no making fun of you.
No point in dwelling. You start going on about your usual business, entering through another curtain, all while the back of your mind still calculates how to leave Noah.
You had prepared your speech and your reasons. But then, Noah lost his job the same day you were planning to have the talk. And 2 days later, he was leaving to visit his parents in California. Shouldn't you just wait until after the trip? It will be so much easier.
Yes, you're definitely delaying it because it makes sense, and not because you're scared that Noah will absolutely take it the wrong way. He's been miserable lately as is, and while you were trying to be sympathetic, you couldn't find it in yourself.
Noah had always been unobservant and insensitive to your needs, not doing anything till he's told. All while, he expected it all from you — emotional support, moral support, and now, financial support. You saw nothing wrong with being “needy” but didn't you deserve the same treatment from him?
As you leave another exam room, still conflicted, you see Lena waving you over, the telephone receiver pressed against her ear. You quickly walk over.
Lena brings down the handset, palming the mouthpiece so the other person can't hear. “Sweets, it's your boyfriend, he's all panicking over something. Do you wanna take this, or should I make an excuse?”
The color from your face drains. This is humiliating, Noah calling at your work because he can't take care of himself. You quickly un-pocket your phone, tapping the screen awake.
9 missed calls from Noah.
“Uh, I'll take it. Thank you, Lena. Sorry too.” She gives you a sympathetic smile and hands you the handset.
“Noah, you can't be calling me at work.” You whisper into the mouthpiece.
“Babe, did you think I wanted to? I called your phone like 3 times, but you didn't pick it up. It feels like you're ignoring me.”
“It's because I am ignoring you. I am at a fucking hospital, working the emergency department,” your voice is straining with the effort to keep it low.
“Oh, I knew you'd throw your job in my face because I'm unemployed. You're a nurse, not a doctor, babe. See, I remember things.”
You take a deep breath.
“What do you want?”
“I locked myself out of my house. The locksmith will come by in the morning. Can you swing by and drop your keys? You know, I lost my license recently, and my ankle is still not good enough to take the subway.”
“No.”
“Jesus, I'm stranded, just be a good girlfriend for once.”
That sends you over the edge. You put the telephone down with more than necessary force, cringing when a few people turn to look at you.
“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, tears of frustration welling up in your eyes.
“You okay, kid?” Lena asks sweetly, coming to stand closer to you. You're only able to nod at her. If you open your mouth, your voice will break. When your charge nurse finally steps away, you clear your throat, and blink back your tears.
When you look up with clear eyes, there's Dr. Abbot standing about 20 feet away from you, in a conversation with a nurse that he's not listening to. Because he's looking directly at you.
You quickly move your head, “Lena, mind if I take 5?”
“Take 10, hun.” You flash her a grateful smile and start walking towards the supply closet.
You twist the doorknob and walk into what must be a 6×6 feet room, and close the door behind you. Your phone is still in your hand, clutched tightly enough to be used as a weapon. You open Noah's chat.
This isn't working out. When the locksmith figures out your door, pack my things in a box and leave them outside my door. Have fun folding your own bedsheets. I'm changing my Netflix password!
Your thumb hovers over the send button. Is the message too unkind? Too cruel for you? You drop the phone in your pocket, with the text still sitting there.
You force yourself to take deep breaths, pressing the heel of your hands against your eyes, turning around to face the organized racks.
“Fuck, fuck, fuc —”
The door slams open, and then shuts behind you, making you jump around, your hands falling to your chest.
“Jesus, Jack.”
“Did you forget your manners?” His voice comes out stern, low enough to drop the temperature of the room.
Your hands fall to your side. You're not in the mood for this. You don't want him in here, no matter how quickly your body is gaining color in his presence.
“What do you want, sir?” your question comes out breathless.
“You know, we pay you to work, not to hide in supply closets when you have fights with your childish boyfriend.”
“I asked Lena first, and I should be out in 5.”
“A patient can need you in 1,” he deadpans.
“Good thing there's Mateo and a bunch of fucking nurses already out there! I'm not the only one, sir,” you frantically wave your hands around, voice rising in pitch.
“Yeah, you're the only one yelling at your attending,” he leans back against the door, looking like he's enjoying a goddamn show. His calm pisses you off even more.
In your frazzled state, the true words spill out before you can filter them.
“Yes, my attending who has spent the last couple of days icing me out, keeping his distance, like I broke into his house and stole his leg.”
He's eyeing your motioning hands cutting through the air. You must look like the crazy one, while he stands there all frickin’ composed, his lips twitching.
“That's dark. And I'm your attending, nurse, as you mentioned. I'm not your boyfriend,” he shakes his head slowly like he's talking to a dog.
“I know that. Do you?”
“Oh, I know I'm not Nick,” he snickers.
“FOR THE LAST —” your voice booms throughout the small room before you stop yourself. You pinch your nose, chest heaving up and down.
Deep breaths. In and out. You're not the only two people in the hospital, no matter how much it feels like that.
Nurse, there's people that are dying.
“For the last time, his name is Noah,” you calmly say, voice shaking with the effort of controlling your pitch.
“Right, sorry. I just forgot because he forgot to fill his name out on your discharge papers when he brought you in. It's okay, children make mistakes like that all the time. Even when the forms are very easy to navigate, and the font size is very large,” Jack mocks, laughing sardonically.
“Why do you care so much?”
“Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart. I care about all my staff.”
Sweetheart.
“You're killing me.”
“Trauma bay 1 is empty,” he deadpans, shrugging his shoulders.
A humorless laugh escapes you. Oh, he thinks he's so funny.
“Staff. Is that what I am? Then why do you look at me differently than you look at others? Why do you catch me in the hallways? Why are you always seeking me out? Why have you not walked out of this —”
You flinch at the sudden motion, hand moving towards your temple where something just knocked against it. You look down, where a box maybe twice the size of your hand, lies on the ground.
The rack behind you is still vibrating from when your right arm collided with it 2 seconds ago. You shouldn't have been waving your arms around so much.
“Ow,” you mutter, the heel of your impacted hand rubbing your temple, and eyes downcasted at the box, looking at it like it personally wronged you. Which it did.
Jack quickly moves towards you, his left hand shooting up to take hold of your fingers that are kneading your head — same fingers that smashed against the rack — and brings your conjoined hands down.
“Careful. Are you hurt?” With only inches between you, he bends his head down to examine where you took the hit. His free palm brushes your hair back gently, and you shiver at the touch of his warm skin.
Trapped between your torsos, your hands are still joined, his thumb stroking against your knuckles to soothe any pain you felt on the impact.
“I asked you something, kid.”
You've lost your voice. You look from your connected fingers to his eyes.
And, oh.
His eyes have softened, looking at you with concern. This man sees lacerations, head traumas, hematomas, and fractures every single day. You've never seen him look this worried, and all for a pathetic clash that didn't even leave a bruise behind.
He switches positions with you, and suddenly, his back faces the shaky rack, his form protectively towering over yours. All of your body protests when he moves back, his hands dropping to his own sides.
“You can continue yelling at me now.”
In and out. Deep breath.
“Why have you not walked out of this room yet? And why have you kept me at an arm's distance?” you say but your voice is anything but loud, it's small and quiet, breaking at the end.
“As I said —”
“Stop, stop, stop. Stop, Dr. Abbot, and don't lie to me.” You instinctively take a step forward, closing all the distance again.
A pause.
“I really thought you were gonna break up with him. That morning, I thought you finally regained your senses, and were gonna cut off the dead weight,” he admits, running a hand through his hair.
“Jac —”
“Shut up and let me speak. I thought you were gonna end it with him, and you would come to the next shift looking happy and bright again. Just like you used to before you let that boy date you. You.”
His eyes are boring into yours, and he looks breathless and affected, so opposite to how he was just a minute ago.
“Me? What about me?”
He laughs humourlessly, “let's not fish for compliments. You know what you are. And if you don't, it makes me wonder what kind of limpdicks you have been with.”
You suck in a sharp breath, at a loss of words. Your cheeks burn, and your heart does a backflip.
He thinks that?
Jack turns around, so his back is facing you. Both his hands brush his hair back, and you can see the expansion and contraction of his back as he takes deep breaths.
“What if I had broken up? Nothing would've changed. It's not like you would've done anything. You would've continued to eye-fuck me across gurneys, and flash a smile once a day,” you speak up, voice rising in pitch again.
He turns back sharply, walking even closer to you, his chest colliding with yours.
“Oh, you know it's more complicated than that,” he retorts, eyes narrowing.
“What? You're my senior, you're older —”
He says your name. Low. Authoritative. You feel a traitorous sensation between your thighs.
“I'm not just older, I am old. Period. And I know just how old I am, because I feel it everyday when I strap my leg, and wake up with a new pain every day."
You don't know how to respond. Your gaze falls to his lips, and before you know what you're doing, you're withdrawing your phone from your pocket.
You take a tiny step back to make space, and tap your screen awake. It directly opens to Noah's chat, your message still sitting there in the type box.
You turn your screen towards Jack. His eyes move back and forth, reading your draft. When his eyes meet you again, they're intense, frantic, and what do you know…excited.
“Why haven't you sent it?”
“Because he's already going through a lot. He doesn't have a job, or a car, or…okay, I get it.”
Jack's fingers come up to grab your chin, holding it up. He looks like he's just had a shot of espresso and topped it off with another 3.
“Do it. Do it right now, in front of me, or you'll chicken out. He lost his job, his car, the next thing he loses is you. The one that's worth the most.”
With his breathless voice, taking the edge of desperation as every second ticks, you know you've lost. You bite your bottom lip.
His thumb moves from your chin, to your lower lip, freeing it from your teeth, “don't worry yourself over him.”
Deep breath. In and out.
You slowly look down at your screen, your thumb hovering over the little arrow.
Send.
You put the mobile back in your pocket and look up at Jack with hope, like a kid waiting for approval. Jack flashes you the biggest smile you've ever seen on him.
You did that. You.
“You did so good, sweetheart,” his thumb strokes your cheekbone, and you can't help but lean into his palm. You're high watching him smile, a similar one takes form on your lips.
He's so beautiful. He's the most beautiful man you've ever seen. He should be on TV, winning Emmy's for his grin.
But then you falter, “My…my minutes are up.”
“You can take another 5,” his face leans closer, and the tip of your nose kisses his.
“Patient might need me in 1,” you helplessly whisper, your breaths mingling.
“Well, consider me a patient, then. Your patient.”
You gulp. Your knees are growing weaker by the second and you can't stop staring at his soft lips. You let out a little pathetic whimper before lifting your chin, brushing your lips against his softly.
Fuck.
Your heart tries to escape your ribcage, palm operating with a brain of its own and landing right over his heart. His fluttering, excited, nervous heartbeat greets you, and your lips curve upwards.
Just as you try to move your lips against his —
“Not like this,” he murmurs against your mouth.
You let out an entirely pathetic whine, forehead crashing against his neck with a soft thunk. Your affectionate graze on his sternum turns into a punch — also, pathetic — and it makes him chuckle.
“How, then?” your mutter into his neck.
His arm comes around your waist, holding you up for him so you can let your weight go. His arm tightens as soon as he feels you melt.
“When I'll get you all the silver jewelry in the world,” he breathily replies in your ear.
“That's a lot.”
“What can I say? I like paying for things.”
His free fingers travel to the back of your neck, deftly working the hook of your golden chain with a single hand. You catch as the necklace falls down your chest, reluctantly taking your face out from his neck.
Note to self: Ask him what perfume he uses later.
“One hand, wow.”
“A lot of things I can unhook with one hand.”
He captures your wrist that you've held against his chest — index hatefully scratching, trying to harm him for not kissing you — and brings it to his lips.
He doesn't break eye-contact when he kisses the inside of your wrist. Then the middle of your palms, and finally the tips of your fingers.
You're grateful for his arm around your middle, otherwise you'd be on the floor, shrieking and screaming.
“Don't want to see that on you again,” he points with his chin towards your fist with the necklace inside it.
“Yes, doctor.”
He nods, heat swimming in his gaze. He finally extracts his arm from around your midriff, using it to pull out your phone from your pants and swiftly slipping it in his.
“No more worrying, hm? In return…” He empties his other pocket, taking out a set of keys. He brings your palm down from his face and puts them in it.
“Sit in my car at the end of the shift. You know which one. Turn the heating on, and wait for me,” he raises his eyebrows, awaiting confirmation.
“Yes, okay,” you gulp, closing your other fist as well. One holds your past, another, your future. Or, so you hope.
“Yes, what?” he asks, already side-stepping you and moving towards the door.
“Yes, doctor”
“Good girl,” he shoots you a wink, the door falling shut behind him.
Look at that, your 10 minutes are up.
I enjoyed writing this sm, and i hope you lovely people do too. again, feel free to glaze me in asks, comments, and dms. likes and reblogs appreciated much <3 i also need to know if yall blushed reading this, if yes, WHEN
Him patting and rubbing your back… “having trouble swallowing, kiddo?” GAHHHH………. he’s insane.. him looking at your chest after you say naked… him ordering you to give him your phone…this is peak daddy!jack teasing and yearning im so here for it
Summary: Joel sits downstairs, reading by the stove, trying to pretend he doesn’t hear the footsteps of his son’s girlfriend. Trying to pretend he doesn’t remember what the two of you have done and feel. But when you appear in the dark—barefoot, wide-eyed, floaty-headed and call him Daddy like you still mean something by it, he knows you’re about to break the rules again.
Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, slight angst, age gap! (60s and 20s), fingering, praise kink, slight mean!joel, daddy kink, ddlg undertones, subspace, infidelity, power imbalance, taboo relationship dynamics, needy!reader, no outbreak,
A/N: i’m not feeling very well lately. this is just an unfinished draft that I never finished, but I wrapped it up now to kinda ease myself back into writing. I also want to finally get to some requests that have been sitting in my inbox. Things might move a little slower for now, I’m sorry about that! But i hope yall enjoy this one in the meantime: filthy, taboo nonsense that just hits right when you’re horny hehe😋
The fire crackled low in the stove, its orange glow flickering across the old wooden floorboards. The room was dim, lit only by the firelight that danced around Joel’s chair. He sat still, legs stretched out, reading glasses perched low on his nose, the spine of a thick book resting in one hand.
Outside, the wind knocked against the windows, but inside it was warm and real quiet. The kind of quiet that settles into your bones and makes you forget the day.
Joel turns a page slowly, his eyes moving steady across the lines, but he wasn’t really reading anymore. Not with the fire murmuring besides him. Not with the weight of the day finally easing off his shoulders.
And then—
a sound.
Soft and unmistakable. Footsteps.
He stilled.
The book lowered an inch. His jaw tightens just slightly. He didn’t look up, not yet. Just listened. One step. Then another. A pause. Then the creak of the top stair.
Joel closed the book gently, thumb marking the page.
He didn’t need to look to know it was you.
His eyes flicked towards your figure in the hallway, dressed in white like a ghost. The room was dark, but Joel could still make out the tremble of your lips, the flush blooming across your cheeks.
He doesn’t want to know what you did upstairs with his son, he didn’t even want to think of it.
And more than anything, he didn’t want you coming to him—disturbing the only ounce of peace he ever feels, that quiet hour when the house is asleep, and it’s just him, a book, and the soft crackle of the fire.
You slip into the room without a word, the hem of your dress brushing your thighs as you move gently to the couch besides him. He doesn’t say anything. Just watches. Swallows. His jaw tightens. And you can already see his knuckles going white from gripping the book too hard.
With a quiet sigh, legs are drawn up as you settle besides him, eyes fixed on the way he turns the page—his hands broad and steady, the book looking small in his palm.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, thoughts wrapped in cotton. Everything feels soft, distant—like the only thing keeping you tethered to the moment is Joel.
He clears his throat, making you look up to him.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks, voice low and hoarse, the sound of it rumbling deep in your chest.
You shake your head. “No, it’s too quiet up there.”
“You’re not used to country,” he answers with a hum.
He was right. Staying at Joel’s farmhouse—just because your boyfriend insisted that spending the holidays at his dad’s place would help you relax—was a mistake. Instead of peace, you were face to face with the very thing you’d been trying to avoid for years.
And now you can’t keep it together anymore. Joel knows it.
He saw it already on your glassy eyes on the breakfast table. Or on the way you gently touched him when you tried to slip past him.
“Do you always read in the dark?” You ask.
“Sometimes. When my eyes get used to it. Helps me wind down, you know?”
You nod, and you feel it in your chest—knowing that once, you knew everything about him. That he once told you everything. Every little quirk he had and has.
Silence stretches between you. Joel’s head dips, trying to make something of the words he is reading, but the only thing his mind allows is to hear your little breaths and your voice looping inside his mind.
He can feel you staring.
“You should go back to bed.” He says, finally.
Your heart thuds in your chest. You tilt your head, eyes glassy looking at him.
“Doesn’t feel right,” you murmur. “Up there. Without you.”
He shakes his head, jaw clenching, hands closing the book.
“We’ve talked about this.”
You nod.
“Remember?”
“I remember.” Your voice is just above a whisper.
“And?” His eyebrows go up, reading glasses moving with them. His voice makes your skin crawl; it makes you want to curl yourself further into the couch and disappear. You just needed him.
“I-i’m not trying to start anything.” A lie.
“Bullshit.” His voice cuts through the warm atmosphere of the room—sharp, hitting right into your heart. Your bottom lip wobbles as you look at him, breath picking up.
“Look at you.” His hand sways in your direction, eyes scanning you up and down. “You look like a mess.”
“I—I don’t mean to be.” Your voice is breathy, almost like a whimper. “I just…I don’t feel right.”
Joel scoffs, his heart breaking a little too—from being so mean. He doesn’t want to be. But you two were never meant to be. What happened between you has to stay in the past, forgotten. That was the deal: to never talk about it again. To never seek each other out. To never ask for more.
“You should go,” Joel says again, quieter this time. “Ain’t right, you sittin’ here like this.”
You don’t move. Just look at him, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t wanna be alone.”
“That ain’t my problem.” You flinch. “You have your boyfriend right upstairs, you don’t need me.”
Silence falls again.
Neither of you move or say anything. Joel doesn’t look at you—his eyes are focused on the way the fire plays shadows on the walls and the way it lights up the place.
You, on the other hand…are almost on the verge of crying. Not because of sadness, but because you’re locked in a headspace that won’t let you think straight. One that just wants to be cradled, to be held, and to be told that everything is going to be okay.
And that should be from Joel.
Because your boyfriend doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand your headspace, your needs. He doesn’t listen, and when he does he misinterprets what you say.
Joel doesn’t. He never did.
After a while Joel releases a big breath, and rubs his forehead.
And then he hears it:
“daddy, i’m sorry.”
It lands like match on dry grass.
Joel freezes. That word hangs in the air—thick, trembling. He squeezes his eyes shut, his mind already drifting to the past, to when you laid underneath him and called him that word like he was your anchor.
When he opens his eyes again, they’re darker. But they’re not angry. Not anymore. They’re wrecked. He knows he has been fighting this way too long, and he knows that a single word can break him. And that happened now.
“Jesus,” he mutters, just under his breath.
Your cheeks flush, embarrassment runs through your body.
He drags a hand down his face, then looks at you—really looks. At the way you’re still curled in on yourself, flushed and trembling, eyes wide, lips swollen, wet and waiting for something.
“You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me,” breathes out.
But he’s already moving. The book slides from his lap to the floor with a soft thud. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and opens his arms.
“C’mere,” he says, voice gentler now. “Come here.”
You move fast. You climb into his lap like you’ve done it a hundred times before—knees on either side of his thighs, arms already reaching to curl around his neck, face nuzzling toward the warm space beneath his jaw.
But his hand comes up, firm against your shoulder.
“Hey.”
You pause, blinking up at him, dazed and soft. Sou try again, leaning in, seeking the comfort of his chest, but his voice sharpens.
“Hey…hey. Hey.” He catches your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his. His eyes focused on your lips.
“You know we can’t keep doin’ this,” he starts, voice low. “We said last time was the last time.”
You whimper, barely a sound, but it’s enough to make his grip falter for a second. His thumb brushes your cheek, gentler now.
“Last time,” he says again, quieter. “You hear me?”
You nod, slow.
“Promise?” he asks.
You nod again, eager. But he doesn’t let go.
“No,” he says, firmer. “Words.”
“Promise.”
He watches you for a beat longer, then exhales through his nose. His hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you in.
“Good girl.”
And just like that, you curl into him, breath soft against his neck, while he can feel how far you’ve gone—how quiet, how warm, how gone. Your body’s heavy in his lap, boneless, like you’re melting into him inch by inch. And Joel knows what that means.
His hand moves slowly over your back, steady and grounding, trying to soothe you.
“You’re real quiet now,” he murmurs. “That little motor of yours finally ran outta steam, huh?”
You don’t answer. Just nuzzle closer, your lips brushing the side of his neck, barely there.
“You’re deep in it, ain’t you,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Didn’t even see it happen.”
He shifts slightly, adjusting you in his lap, cradling you closer. His voice drops to a whisper.
“You always do this to me,” he says. “Come in here all soft, all sweet…and I try so damn hard to be good.”
You let out a tiny sound—half sigh, half whimper—and it breaks something in him.
“Shh,” he soothes, pressing his lips to your temple. “I know, baby. I know.”
His hand cups the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.
“You’re safe,” he whispers. “Daddy’s got you.”
You feel soft in his lap, breath already hitching, hips starting to shift just enough to make him feel it. You need him.
Joel’s hand tightens on your hip, his jaw clenching like he’s trying to hold something back.
You nod, whimpering softly, and he exhales like it hurts.
“Can you tell me what you need?” he asks, brushing your hair back. “Just wanna make sure you’re still with me.”
“Want you,” you whisper. “Please, Daddy.”
He closes his eyes for a beat, then nods. “Yeah. You want Daddy to help you come back down.”
His hand slides lower, slow and steady.
“S’okay,” he murmurs. “I got you.”
And just as he shifts you in his lap, his mouth close to your ear, you hear it—barely a breath, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud: “This the last time.”
But his hands don’t stop.
“Y’stay real quiet, yeah? Don’t want him hearin’ that his dad’s takin’ care of his girlfriend better.”
It’s not a threat. It never is. It’s resentment, but not at you—god, never at you. It’s at the boy, his own son, who gets to have you in the daylight, while Joel only gets the dark.
He presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard while looking into your hazy eyes. You whine again, signalling that you’re ready. Ready for him to take you. He chuckles under his breath in response.
So, Joels hand slides down, slow and warm, slipping beneath the hem of your dress, then lower. He cups you over your panties, real gentle, but firm—and lets out a quiet breath when he feels the dampness.
“Messy girl.” he coos.
You whimper, hips pressing desperately into his palm.
“Shh,” he soothes, lips brushing your temple. “I know. Daddy’s here.”
He quickly hooks a finger around the edge of your panties, tugging them aside with care, while your head rests on his chest—breathing in his wooden scent. His fingers find you, slick, soft, sticky and he strokes through the wetness, slow and teasing. His fingertip brushes over your clit gently, and you gasp.
“Just like that,” he whispers. “Let me feel you.”
After letting you settle, he eases one finger inside—only one, because he knows you need time to adjust in this headspace. His finger settles into your cunt, and you breathe out, clinging to him, as he holds you tighter.
“There you go,” he murmurs. “Nice and easy.”
He waits for yuou, lets you adjust, then begins to move—gentle, curling thrusts, deep and slow, while his other hand cradles your back.
You were already feeling sensitive—like your body knew Joel was near, like your cunt could sense the weight of his big, steady hands cradling you. And you were always extra needy when you started to float.
He shifts just enough to see your face, brushing your hair back with the hand not inside you. Your eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed. You look dazed, dreamy, like you’re floating somewhere only he can reach.
Joel swears under his breath. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “All gone, huh?”
You hum, barely even able to nod, and he smiles: absolutely wrecked by how beautiful you are like this.
His fingers keep moving, slow and sure, coaxing you through it, fingertip curling into that one spot that only Joel can reach. He leans in, presses his forehead to yours.
“You stay with me, babygirl. Don’t drift too far.”
You move softly in his lap, breath hitching, but hips shifting just a little more desperately—like you’re chasing something just out of reach.
Joel notices. Of course he does.
“Still restless, huh?” he murmurs, voice still against your ear. “One ain’t enough for you, baby?”
You shake your head, your body answering before your mouth can.
He smiles knowing. “S’okay,” he whispers. “I got you.”
He eases his hand back, just enough to press a second finger to your entrance. He waits—feels the way your body flutters, how you cling to him tighter.
“Breathe for me,” he whispers. “Let me in.”
And when you do—when he slides that second finger in, slow and careful—you sigh, your cunt fluttering around him. The stretch is deeper, fuller, and your whole body melts around him.
“There she is,” he murmurs. “That’s what you needed, huh?”
Joel starts with his thrusts again. Slow, deep and grinding. Every thrust now pressing into you more fully, brushing against that sweet, aching spot inside you. You can already feel the stickiness between your thighs, the way your slick clings to him, to you, to everything. It’s warm, messy, perfect.
“Daddy…” you sigh, burying your face into his chest.
“Yea? Like that?” He asks, placing a kiss on your temple. “Daddy’s filling you up nice and slow?”
You nod your head softly, coming closer to his chin, pressing a peck on his lips and then a faint one on his stubbles.
The chair under you two groans as your hips shift, chasing the rhythm of his hand. You’re trying to stay quiet, but every slow thrust makes you tremble, makes you cling to him tighter.
His fingers continue to move slow and deep inside you, while the room is quiet, so quiet that you can hear it. That soft, wet sound each time he thrusts in. It’s intimate.
A slick little whisper between your thighs, hidden in the space where your bodies meet.
He presses in deeper, and the squelch is louder now—squelching, needy. You feel it in your belly, on your skin.
The slick sounds between you grow wetter, messier, and your breath comes in soft, broken gasps. Joel feels it—the way you’re clenching tighter, the way your body’s starting to shake.
“You’re close, yea?” he murmurs, voice thick with warmth. “I can feel it, baby.”
You can’t answer. You just whimper, pressing your face into his neck, trying to hold on.
And then you feel it—his thumb, warm and steady, sliding down to circle your clit. Gentle at first, just enough to make you gasp.
“There we go. So puffy for daddy, aren’t you?” he whispers. “Let Daddy help you.”
His fingers keep moving inside you, while his thumb works soft, perfect circles over that aching spot. The rhythm is steady and grounding.
“That’s it, babygirl. Just come for me. I’ve got you.”
His fingers find that tender spot inside you again—just as his thumb circles your clit just right, and his voice drops low in your ear. “Yes, that’s it, baby. I’ve got you.”
And then you do.
Your whole body tenses, then breaks. You cry out, soft and wrecked and he holds you tighter as your release rushes through you. He feels it immediately—the way your walls flutter around his fingers, the way your slick gushes over his hand, warm, wet and so desperate.
It runs down his fingers, over his knuckles, dripping onto his wrist and soaking into the fabric of his jeans. But he doesn’t care. He loves it.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers, kissing your temple. “Let it all out. I’ve got you.”
He doesn’t pull away. He keeps his fingers inside you, gentle now, nestled deep, cradling the soft, fluttering squeeze of your walls as you come down. The chair creaks beneath you, the room still thick with heat and breath and the soft, wet sounds of your release.
“You’re making such a big mess, baby girl…” he murmurs. “Daddy has to clean ya up, hm?”
His other hand strokes your back, grounding you, while his lips press soft kisses to your temple.
“Still flutterin’,” he whispers, almost in awe. “So sweet. So soft.”
You whine, your body coming down from your release—still overwhelmed, and he hushes you gently.
“I know, baby. I know. You gave me everything, didn’t you?”
He stays there with you, fingers still inside, until your breathing evens out and your body stops trembling. Even then, he doesn’t pull away. He just holds you, full and warm and safe in his arms.
“You’re okay,” he says softly.
You hum, content. His scent is everywhere—smoke, leather, wood. You feel like you could stay here forever.
“You feel better, babygirl?” he asks sweetly.
You nod, slow and lazy. “Mhm. Thank you, Daddy.”
You’re curl into his lap, limp and trembling, your cheek pressed to his chest. His fingers slip from you now, but his arms don’t move. One hand strokes your back in slow, grounding circles. The other rests on your thigh, warm and steady.
The chair creaks softly beneath you both again, but neither of you moves. You’re still slick between your legs, the mess of your release soaking into his jeans, but he doesn’t care. He just presses a kiss to your hairline—gentle, lingering.
“You were so good,” he says softly. “So damn sweet.”
There’s a pause. Like he wants to say more. Like there’s something sitting heavy in his chest. But instead, he just holds you tighter.
“Let’s just stay like this a while.”
“Just let me have this,” he says, barely audible. “Just for a little longer.”
And you do. Because right now, in this hush, in his arms—you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
Okey i’m gonna be honest…i don’t like this but i also missed writing for daddy Joel sooo…I hope you guys enjoyed it! Also this is not proofread🫣 please let’s just ignore all the mistakes and things that don’t make sense
Now i’m gonna concentrate on some requests, and then i’ll probably post ex hitman!joel! He is miserable, bleeding but still soft for her <3
