Jemma, she/her, 21 with no kids, trying to be a corporate baddie, youngest daughter, dilf lover, chronically online, and writing fics for fun! If you want to be moots, please feel free to message or send me asks! My backup account is @jemmalovespopecody
Recent works: Devotion | Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!reader (Ongoing Series), Together | Andrew, "Pope" Cody x f!ex-girlfriend!reader (One Shot), and Party Girl | Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!reader (One Shot)
Please like, comment, and reblog but do not repost or upload my fics without permission. This is an anti-AI blog. Do not feed my works to AI!
18+ This blog is NSFW. Minors please do not interact! Ageless and nameless blogs will be blocked. If you are racist, homophobic, zionist, xenophobic, bigot, sexist, fatphobic, transphobic, a trump supporter, a misogynist, or ableist do not interact! This blog is proudly free Palestine, fuck Trump, fuck Netanyahu, fuck ICE, and fuck AI!
Stay mad. Stay mystified.
Dividers by the incredibly talented and wonderful @graphiclost
Imagine being Abbots favorite nurse and he’s ur fav attending but lately he’s been giving you the cold shoulder and being a little extra rude to you after a one night stand. So you invite Robby over for dinner and it ends with Robby sending him a picture of you on your knees for him, cock in ur mouth as he pets your hair- with the words, “guess who has a new favorite attending…”
imagine licking the blood off andrew’s body. he and baz played rough once again, leaving your sweet boyfriend with a bloody nose.
his body is tense and stained with blood, but the moment your delicate hands touch his massive frame, you can feel him relax as he looks at you with those pretty, sad eyes.
within seconds, your plump lips are on his skin, kissing his broad chest, only to stick out your tongue a moment later and start licking the red liquid off of him.
andrew looks at you with blurry eyes; his hands are clenched into fists so tightly that the blood flow in them is barely noticeable, but he doesn’t move a single millimetre, letting you do whatever you want with his body.
when your tongue finds its way to his neck, moving higher and higher towards his face, his breath catches in his throat. as you reach the top, you slow down, licking him at a pace that’s almost torturously slow; your lips linger for a long moment on his chapped ones, before moving away to finally focus on his nose.
your hands gently grip his jaw as you lick the last drops of blood off him.
and when you pull away from his face, satisfied with your work, with that sweet smile of yours, andrew grabs you by the hips and presses you tightly against him, letting you feel his hard, chubby cock, ready to fuck you.
summary: he will never be ready for something real, but always comes crawling back for your touch. you want your life to go forward, you can't help it when he sends you the pathetic late night texts. you're both weak for each other.
it's better when you do it - wc: 5.7k 🍮
summary: another night of lackluster sex with your boyfriend leads you to Robby's door. who else would you confide in about your lack of pleasure than your closest friend. he's sure he can show you a thing or two.
⤷ rubbing it in - wc: 3.4k 🍮
summary: after sleeping with robby, you finally break up with derrek without telling him the real reason you're leaving him. when you face him again at a party, Robby is keen on showing him the real reason why you broke up.
blurbs
experienced!med student!robby x inexperienced!reader - wc: 655 🍮
summary: why would medstudent!robby deny such a sweet girl the chance to refine her skills in bed. he’s always been a great tutor.
MICHAEL ROBINAVITCH is a boob guy, and has to make it everyone's problem.
CONTAINS: 3.6k words, SMUT 18+ MDNI, subby!daddy!robby, boob guy!robby, heavyyy use of daddy, reader cries from pleasure, squirting, fingering, insane dirty talk, not proofread! based on this post <3
MASTERLIST | INBOX | LATEST WORK
It starts with the clack of your pretty kitten heels along Robby's hardwood floor. The sound is Pavlovian to him at this point, you can tell by the way his neck is already craning towards the hallway, from which you exit in a brand new dress.
A soft, buttery yellow cinches your waist, flows around your hips. You flex your hands at your sides, a sort of presentation for your lover— clad in plaid pajama pants, a loose university tee hanging off his broad shoulders, round glasses on the bridge of his nose.
"What do you think?" You chirp, giving him a little spin.
By the time you've completed your 360, his head is hanging back, Adam's apple bobbing as he squeezes his eyes shut.
"You look perfect, honey," he coos, and your belly warms.
"Thank you, handsome," you reply, sauntering over to the couch.
Perching yourself on his knee, you get comfortable as a big hand reaches out to steady your back. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in to rest your forehead against his.
He puckers his lips, and you place a finger over them.
"Not now, lip gloss," you whisper, and he groans.
"Baby, y're killing me," he croons, ghosting his lips over your face.
Scrunching your nose, you giggle as you try to dodge him, only for the sake of your meticulous makeup.
"Mikeyyyy," you whine, wiggling around on his lap. "Spent too much time on this face, no kisses!"
Your heart breaks as his face falls, a small pout jutting his lips. You mirror him, glossy lips teasing him as you squeeze his bicep with your manicured fingers.
"Love you so much, Mikey," you purr, tracing a nail up his skin. Goosebumps erupt across his skin at your touch, and your heart flutters with love, and a small sense of pride. "So patient," you praise, and his eyes flutter shut.
"Love you, my sweet girl," he whispers, burying his face in your neck.
His lips ghost over your skin, a shiver unzipping your spine. The tip of his nose follows, dragging up the length of your neck, then back down again.
"Can I kiss you here?" He asks, placing a tentative kiss to your collarbone. "Don't got any shit on down here, do you?" He asks, dotting kisses along your chest.
Closing your eyes, you arch your back into him, emphasizing his favorite parts of you. Your plush tits rustle against the silk fabric of your dress, nipples peeking through the fabric.
Robby catches this, and it seems to snap him out of whatever reprieve your perfume put him in. The room turns cold, but not dreadful. In fact, a jolt of excitement races up your spine, the darkness in his eyes all too inviting.
"You're going out without a bra on?" He growls, sinking his teeth into the curve of your breast.
All he's afforded are the parts that peek out of the low cut fabric, the plush upper cut of your tit nearly hypnotizing him.
"Yeah," you answer, scraping your nails along the back of his neck. "That okay, Daddy?"
"Fuuucckk," he rasps against your skin, nipping and sucking along your neck. "Can't fuckin' say that to me when we don't have the time for me to rip you apart."
His hand slides up your thighs with his words, resting at the apex of them, just to tease you. Butterflies erupt in your tummy at his touch, the sweet, sadistic twinkle in his eye.
"I look pretty?" You goad, knowing the answer.
He tells you this, his head craning to the side before he confirms your question anyway.
"So pretty, honey," he presses another kiss, now to your shoulder. "My pretty girl, yeah?"
"Yeah, Daddy," you whine, your earlier teasing completely removed from your tone now.
He chuckles, a mean, low rumble in the pit of his chest. You wiggle on his lap, whining and squeezing him closer to you.
"You're really gonna go out like this, baby?" He asks, playing with the flimsy strap of your dress. "Gonna really go show your tits to everyone? Thought those were just for your daddy."
He's pouting, eyes shining as he rests his cheek against your chest. He looks up at you through his lashes, and your heart positively pounds against your ribcage.
"Love you, Mikey," you coo, stroking his cheek. "They're always for you, y'know that, honey."
He pouts, closing his eyes and pressing his lips against your skin.
"But you're leaving," he whines, and your breath is knocked from your chest.
This is a new side of Robby, his whining, his thrashing underneath your thighs. His hard length is prominent, too, rubbing against your dress, desperate and heady.
"Yeah, I am," you mutter, sticky sweet and dripping with syrupy love. "But you're gonna be okay, hm?"
He nods against you, wrapping his arms around your waist, squeezing you tight.
"Gotta wait so long to cum, baby, fuck," he complains. "So mean to me."
"I know," you pout, pinching his sweet cheek. "I'm so mean…so unfortunate that you have a hot girl half your age on your lap sticking her tits in your face."
He barks a laugh at this, your joke breaking him out of his seemingly-subby daze. You can't help but join in, a wide smile cracking your lips, heart immensely full with the love you hold for the man worshiping you.
"Don't be long," he mutters, releasing you from his grip. "I'll be thinking about you the whole time."
You look down at him, your skin warming above his intense gaze.
"Same here," you quip, heart shining with his affection. "I love you, Mikey."
"I love you too," he calls back on your way out.
"Keep the Viagra nearby!" You chirp on your way out, chuckling to yourself at his heady groan.
-
A few hours later, you stumble back across the threshold, the little bit of tipsiness wearing off with each step. Robby's still in the same spot you left him in, though this time he's got his phone to his ear, pouty lips and glossy eyes.
"Oh thank God," he groans, rolling his eyes and hanging up the phone, tossing it on the other side of the couch.
"Hi, baby," he smiles up at you, hands crawling over your hips. "Missed you so much, Jack was about to kill me."
You giggle, cupping his face in your palms.
"Were you on the phone with him this whole time?" You ask, brows shooting into your forehead.
"I made it about ten minutes before I called him, but basically, yeah," he mutters, cheeks tinting pink as he settles into your tummy.
"Love you, Mikey," you whisper, pressing a kiss to his head. "Missed you."
"Missed you so much," he whimpers, pressing a kiss into the silky fabric of your dress. "So pretty, missed this body, honey."
"I was only gone for a couple hours, big boy," you tease, knowing full well you missed him just as much.
You sink to your knees, in between his legs, now at eye level with him. You take a moment, reveling in his desperate face. Wide, brown eyes, pouting lips, tired brows.
"Still missed you," he rasps, leaning forward to bury his face in your neck. "Missed your pretty tits, honey."
He cups you through your dress, his callous hands rasping through the thin fabric.
"Just walked around letting anyone see you like this? So fuckin' unfair, baby," he groans, pressing sloppy kisses to your skin. Your eyes flutter shut atop your cheeks, a deep breath racking your chest.
"Bunch of guys your age…" He rambles, slinking your dress strap off your shoulder. "Probably looking at my girl's tits…" He mutters, the other strap coming free. "Wishing they could get their mouth on you…"
"Michael-" You whine, and he tuts his tongue.
"Am I wrong?" He cuts you off. "Am I wrong? Look me in the eyes and tell me guys weren't staring at you."
You twist your lips, knowing you can't, and he sees it in your eyes. He smirks, an evil, sardonic expression that takes over his entire face.
"Y'wanna know how I know that, baby?" He asks, pushing the dress down your torso, standing you up to bury his face in your tummy again.
"How, Mikey?" You relent, shaky and watery.
"Because," he peppers kisses across your tummy, massaging your tits. "I see how guys look at you when we go out. I see the men who look at you on my arm, who wish they could take you from me."
You shudder, butterflies erupting in your tummy at his words, his rough palms dragging along your nipples.
"Imagining it when I'm not there?" He laughs at the sheer thought. "It's enough to make me sick, baby. You're just so pretty, can't fucking help it."
He looks up at you then, eyes shining with a desperation you don't think you've ever seen before. It breaks your resolve, that look, crashing your lips to his.
You melt into each other, frantic hands sliding your dress the rest of the way off, leaving you in nothing but a lacy white thong.
Robby pulls away, registering what lies before him, before letting out a long, tortured groan. He buries his face in your tummy once more, pressing kisses along the waistband of your panties.
"You're so fucking pretty, baby, oh my God," he moans, hooking his finger beneath the waistband, letting it snap against your skin.
You jump, a small whimper falling from your lips. This satisfies Robby, who places his two, large hands on the globes of your ass, pulling you onto his lap.
You slot into his body like a puzzle piece, eager to get him undressed, inside you. You lick your lips as you look down on him, his hands gathering at your breasts once again.
Pressing your foreheads together, your heart flutters at the proximity. He's so close, his woodsy cologne and smoky aftershave flooding your senses — a devastating combination that leaves you weak in the knees, and wet between your thighs.
He shoves his hands there, next, delving into your wetness with a selfish greed that sends your eyes rolling into your skull. Expert fingers find your clit, swirling over your nerves with fervor.
"Ah!" You whine, clutching his neck in your arms, wrapping yourself up in him. "Mikey, that's so good."
It's whispered against his neck, sends shivers down his spine. You smile against his skin at the way he reacts to you, pressing sweet kisses along his thick shoulder.
"Love you honey," he confesses. It's breathy, his eyes fluttering shut with his words.
"Take my panties off," you beg against his neck, kissing and kissing and kissing him. "Please, wanna feel all of you."
"Got you, baby, I got you," he assures, slipping the fabric down your legs. "Don't ever gotta beg with me, understand?"
You nod against him, and he lands a harsh crack on your ass. You lurch further into him, a whine ripping from your throat.
"Words, princess," he demands. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Daddy," you whine, wiggling your hips further into his touch. "I'm sorry, feels so good."
The newfound freedom Robby finds with your panties off is exhilarating, his fingers maneuvering your folds any way he likes.
"Good job," he coos, sweet and loving. "So good for me, always so good. Love you so much, hm?"
You nod against his neck, murmuring a sweet, "Love you too, Mikey, love you so much."
"Yeah?" He whines, his still-clothed length throbbing against your thigh. "You do? You love me so much?"
You nod, desperate and eager.
"So much, angel, you're my guy, love you so much," you croak, watery from the pleasure.
"God, fuck!" He nearly shouts, squeezing his eyes shut as he turns his head, pressing a kiss to the first piece of you he can find. "I'm your guy, baby? I'm your fuckin' guy?"
"Yes- oh!" You gasp, the tip of his middle finger pressing into your entrance. "Yes! Yes! The only one for me, my only guy, I love you."
"That's what I like to hear, baby," he croons, pressing sweet kisses along your shoulders, your back. "You're my girl, you know that? My best girl, I love you so much honey. So fucking lucky to have you, you have no idea."
Tears prick at the back of your lids, a culmination of the pleasure and love Robby brings you. It's overwhelming, and yet you can't get enough.
"Please, I need more, Mikey, please give me more," you whine, sinking your hips further onto his hand.
"Yeah? Want another finger, honey?" He asks, slipping in his ring finger before you can give him an answer.
"Oh my God!" You wail, squeezing your eyes shut as the tears finally fall. "Thank you, Daddy, thank you, thank you-oh!"
You jolt, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot with just the right amount of pressure.
"I love being your girl, Daddy," you whine against him. "You were right, y'know? Guys were looking. Some even approached me-ooh!"
Robby's fingers speed up, electricity running through your veins.
"Are you fuckin' serious, baby?" He growls, cracking hand down on your ass.
You sniffle, whining at the pleasure that courses through you.
"Yeah," you say, sweet and innocent. You rest your cheek on his shoulder, enough to look up at him, and for him to look back at you.
He melts when he sees your watery eyes, the mascara streaks down your cheeks. He presses some kisses there, tongue darting out to trace the dark tracks along your face.
"Yeah," you sigh. "There were a lot of them, maybe six different guys tried to buy me a drink."
He growls under his breath, thumb finding your clit to get you even closer to the edge. He ruts his hips up into your ass, his length hard and bulbous, throbbing against your warm skin.
"All I could think about was you, Daddy," you finish, the coil in your belly pulling tight. "Told them all no, told them my old man was waiting at home for me."
He groans, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back.
"Fuck!" He shouts, fingers moving now at lightning speed. "You already have me fucking close, baby, holy shit."
You breathe out a laugh, pressing a kiss to his jaw.
"Love you Daddy, can I cum?" You ask, just to push his buttons a little more.
He presses his thumb into your clit a little more, unzipping a shiver down your spine as you creep closer to the edge.
"What did I say about fuckin' askin' me questions?" He growls against your temple. "Hm? You gonna cum? Please, honey. Want to taste you, you gonna let your old man taste this pretty pussy?"
"Oh fuck, oh Jesus, fuck yes, there, just like that, yes!" You wail, squeezing your eyes shut, a fresh wave of tears rolling down your face as you give in to the ache, the release.
The world stops on its axis as you explode into the pleasure. A blinding ache rolls through you, guttural whines racking through you as you wiggle your hips against Robby's fingers.
"That's it, thaaat's it, good girl, good girl," he coos, pressing endless kisses against your temple as the waves shock your body.
"Oh, fuck, oh my God," you whimper, the last few trails of fire running through you.
Slumping against him, you let him chuckle, lift you and bring you to your bedroom. Locking your legs around his waist, you cling to him and let him maneuver you.
He plops you on the bed, ripping his shirt over his head as you prop yourself up on your forearms. His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek, a sardonic smile forming.
"Get your pants off, old guy," you tease, his brows shooting into his forehead.
"Ohhhohoho," he chuckles, sliding them down his hips. "First the Viagra, now this?"
He kneels on the bed, the sheer size of him imposing, dizzying. You nod, teeth sinking into your lip.
"Bad fuckin' girl," he rasps, stroking his cock once, twice, three times before lining himself up with your entrance. "But you like being my bad girl, don't you?"
You nod, resting your cheek on your palm, looking up at him with your sweetest eyes.
"Love it, love you, Daddy," you breathe, puckering your lips for him. "Love being with you like this."
That last part is a whisper, a soft confession of your affection, your devotion.
"God," he breathes, shaky and raspy. "Love you so much, God, you're fuckin' perfect. Do you know how perfect you are?"
You shake your head, cheeks heating, still not used to his ever-present love for you, your body.
"That's so fucked up," a sardonic chuckle escapes his chest. "Maybe I'm not lovin' on you enough. 'S that it?"
He pushes his head in, your jaw going slack, a gasp echoing from your throat. Your eyes flutter shut, head falling back into the pillow.
"Hey, look at me," he demands, a sweet little tap against your cheek breaking you out of you reprieve. "Look up at Daddy, look at me and answer my fuckin' question."
"No, God! Daddy it's enough, you're enough, Daddy, love you so much," you wail, wiggling your hips in a sad attempt to swallow more of him.
"Ooh, we're desperate tonight," he coos in awe. "I love you, baby. but y're lyin' to me. Clearly I'm not doing enough, or else you'd realize how sexy you are."
You're so distracted by his words, that you barely even register that he's bottomed out inside you, brain fuzzy.
"Daddyyyyy," you draw out, lips pouting. He kisses it away, starting to rock his hips.
"I know, I know, honey," he coos, tilting his head to the side. "Such a good girl, my fuckin' good girl."
You nod, digging your fingers into his shoulders as he finds his rhythm. Jaw going slack, your eyes flutter shut as his thick length works you out.
"God, you should fuckin' see this, baby," he grunts, eyes trained on his cock slipping in and out, in and out. "Pussy swallows me up so perfectly, so proud of you, love you so much."
You whimper, clutching his plush hips, pressing him further into you. This new angle sends his tip right into your g-spot, punching out a sharp whine from your lips.
"Ooh, there's your spot, good job, honey, way to take what you want," he rambles, dipping his tongue into your collarbone.
He picks up his speed, not changing his angle so he pounds into you over and over and over again. You're dazed, light headed and drowning in the pleasure, even dizzier when he stimulates your clit.
The pressure is unrelenting, intense as you thrash underneath him, kicking your legs out while your tummy flips.
"You got it," he encourages, knowing your body better than you do. "You can do it, please let go for me, baby."
You whine, brows furrowed sweetly. He coos, kissing you all over your face.
"Daddy, it-I feel like I'm gonna pee," you look up at him with wild eyes, the pressure in your lower belly almost too much.
"That's okay," he coos, kissing your nose. "Tell me if you want to stop, but even if you do pee, I don't care. As long as it feels good, get Daddy as wet as you need."
You squeeze your eyes shut, relenting into the pleasure that continues building inside you.
"I know you're close, you can do it. I love you so much, can you show me how much you love me? Can you cum on Daddy's cock?" He asks, voice sticky sweet.
The release is intense, more so than normal. Squeezing your eyes shut, you groan, desperate and guttural. You relax into the mattress as a warm, gushy splash echoes between you and Robby.
"Holy shit! Oh fuck, ohhh fuck! Good fucking girl, I'm gonna cum, yes! Fuck!" Robby grunts, hips stuttering into your own as his cock throbs inside you.
"Yes! Yes, Daddy! Oh God, Daddy, it's so much, feels so good," the tears are back again, rolling down your cheeks as you wail, thrash around him.
The pressure of your release is unrelenting, all consuming as it wracks through you. Luckily, Robby's there, kissing you and cooing at you and shushing you.
"Fuck yes, pussy's so sweet, baby, squirted all over me, good fuckin' job," he grunts, hips stuttering as he comes down from his own high.
It takes a moment for his words to sink in to your brain, and when it does, your eyes shoot open.
"I squirted?" You ask, only earning you a laugh from the man above you.
"Yeah, y'did baby, so proud of you," he leans down to kiss you, and you melt into him.
An intense relaxation falls over you, your eyes unable to open, even after he pulls his lips away.
"Love you, Daddy," you whine, wrapping your arms around his neck, keeping him close. "Love making you proud."
"Yeah, you do, everyday, you're my good fuckin' girl," he praises, running his hands up and down your thighs, up to your ass.
He slips his length out, and you whine at the new wave of vulnerability that hits your pussy, the cool air making you shiver.
"Oh, honey," he frowns, sardonic and condescending. "Oh my sweet girl, I'm gonna get you cleaned up in a little bit, here, just gotta watch this for sec, good God."
You whine, thrash around the bed as his spend leaks out of you, his animalistic gaze refusing to let up.
"I love you, Mikey," you whine, and he smiles.
"Love you too, baby," he slots over you once again, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. "Wanna go shower? Maybe I can lick you clean while we're in there."
You're out of bed in record speed, tugging his wrist towards the bathroom. You're in for a long night.
"Love you, my sweet girl," he whispers, burying his face in your neck.
UGHH I WANNA BE HIS SWEET GIRL
"So pretty, honey," he presses another kiss, now to your shoulder. "My pretty girl, yeah?"
"Yeah, Daddy," you whine, your earlier teasing completely removed from your tone now.
HOLY SHIT???? I'M WET AND DROOLING
"That's what I like to hear, baby," he croons, pressing sweet kisses along your shoulders, your back. "You're my girl, you know that? My best girl, I love you so much honey. So fucking lucky to have you, you have no idea."
BELLE I'M KISSING YOU ON THE FOREHEAD FOR EVERY TIME MICHAEL SAYS BABY, PRETTY GIRL, MY BEST GIRL, AND SWEET GIRL!! I FEEL LIKE A DOG HEARING ALL MY FAVOURITE WORDS
"God, you should fuckin' see this, baby," he grunts, eyes trained on his cock slipping in and out, in and out. "Pussy swallows me up so perfectly, so proud of you, love you so much."
Pairing: dom!Brendon Park x best friend's sister!reader
Word count: 5.7k
CW: MDNI, 18+
Tags/warnings: D/s dynamics, f!reader, age gap (reader is 26, Brendon is mid 30s), little more angst from brendon, so much fluff, comfort, tinge ooc but like is it really if that man was only on screen for like 3 seconds?, yearning, kinky relationships, kinky dating sites, jealousy x10000
Summary: The secret is out, the truth is laid out...will you both be able to take the dive into uncharted waters?
a/n: setting up Michael's own fic like this is the avengers actually
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.
“Oh my god, that’s him.”
Your head whips towards the entrance with such force you instantly curse yourself for your lack of subtlety. It isn’t your fault, you’re three drinks, it’s girls’ night—no boy talk allowed. But at the mention of him, this mysterious man your friend had been on a date with many months ago, the man she claims to be the most handsome, caring, attentive, vocal dom she’s ever gone out with, you simply need to know.
But curiosity truly does kill the cat in every scenario because the second your brain catches up with your eyes and you realize who the person who just walked into the nightclub is, you instantly choke on your drink.
This cannot be happening to you. Embarrassment, guilt and something akin to jealousy burns through you stronger than the alcohol ever could, flushing your face, your neck, your exposed chest in an instant. Suddenly, the flirty satin dress that barely covers your ass and hangs low enough to give everyone the perfect peek of your tits feels shameful; the shitty excuse you gave Steven about catching up with your friend at a casual bar, definitely not a sex club, coming up to bite you in the ass like a comically cartoon shark.
You turn away immediately, downing the rest of your drink as casually as you’re able, praying that you’ll be able to avoid him for the rest of the night, for the rest of your life honestly. But something else sparks inside of you, a little ember of greediness, of the memory of his hands on you, his sweet words after the hospital, his ever grounding and comforting presence, his messages after the fact, his support, his kindness, his—
“I’ll have a bourbon on the rocks, please.”
A weathered man slides up to the bar beside you, his eyes trained on the bartender casually as if he’s not definitely there to check you out. You’re already turned towards him from your previous move to hide yourself from view, a rookie mistake on your part that he’s completely taken advantage of in the most gentlemanly way possible. So you check him out without shame.
He’s a little older than who you normally go for, the gentle streaks of white in his hair and beard enough to let you know he’s definitely been at this a while, the quiet confidence with which he carries himself grounding. And yet there’s an air to him that you can’t quite place, like he’s not…whole.
He lets you dissect him, lets you take in the bags under his eyes, the crows feet that form around his eyes as he smiles to the young bartender that sets his drink down, not a flirty smile, just understanding and grateful. He hands over a black amex, subtle flex, and keeps his tab open. You barely register as a drink is set down beside you, water, ice cold just like you like it, as if he’s been watching you indulge in too many alcoholic ones and is taking his time to sober you up before he pounces.
You roll your eyes, making a show of grabbing the tall glass and drinking at least half of it before he lets out a satisfied hum, setting his own glass down after a mere sip of the amber liquid.
“Michael,” he says, hand outstretched towards you. You look down at it and then back up at him, deciding on the fly if you should entertain him at all. While unsure, there’s something in the way his eyes sparkle with genuine intention that doesn’t scare you off. You place your hand in his, shaking it just seductively enough, and tell him your name.
His smile returns, brighter than before, truly a sight for sore eyes, a reward. It makes you completely fuzzy inside, like you want to work for his praise and attention, a dangerous precedent that has you more intrigued than apprehensive. So when he asks, “would you like to join me and my friend?” You actually nod, excited at the prospect of attention.
Curiosity bites down on you like an apex predator, draining all the blood from your face as Michael looks past you towards where your friend and his friend are now engaged in conversation, and a pair of icy blue eyes bore into yours.
It’s not awkward. Not at all. The booth is big enough for both couples to have distance, for conversations to not mix, for him to have his privacy while you have yours. To your satisfaction, Michael has been nothing more than a perfect gentleman, a fantastic conversationalist, and truly dedicated to the art of courtship.
But you can still feel his gaze on you, the intensity of his cold stare practically making you shiver every time you feel it on the back of your neck, a tingling sensation that just doesn’t go away.
You try to ignore it, order yourself another drink which Michael doesn’t object to, not when you actually engage with him in conversation, a little too loose and overly happy, but not so much that he feels like he’s taking advantage of you.
You can count the times that Brendon Park has been angry with you on one hand, two fingers short of it being the complete thing. The first time had been at Christmas when you’d gotten his date drunk at a rowdy game of Truth or Drink, Steven’s idea, not even yours. The second had been three years into his residency at PTMC, you’d just turned twenty-one, were in town visiting, had gone out to a bar, made some friends and then called Brendon to pick you up at 2 am because you were definitely not calling Steven cause you’d never hear the end of it.
And now, with his stare practically uninterested in anything other than you, your exposed skin, the way your body erupts into goosebumps every few minutes—you know you’ve pissed him off to the point of no return.
“So,” Michael speaks suddenly and you realize that you haven’t heard a single thing he’s been saying for the past few minutes. “What’s your history with Park?”
Like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, your eyes widen in shock as your terrified stare meets his honestly…infuriatingly calm one. If anything, there’s an air of deep understanding, as if he too has been on the receiving end of that particular look that would make anyone wish for the ground to swallow them up.
Your cheeks flush embarrassingly quickly, throat drying up as Robby keeps assessing you, as if readying himself to catch you if you faint. And honestly, that would be a much less embarrassing reaction to all of this.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Michael reassures you. “I’m just curious since he’s definitely telepathically cock blocking me right now.”
That lightens the mood instantly, a laugh exhales out of you, releasing all the tension you’ve been carrying and reminding you that, at least you’ve got a confidant in this stranger.
“He’s…” you inhale a shaky breath, mind racing, because what is Brendon Park? You make the fatal mistake of sneaking a glance at him, at the one second that his eyes aren’t on you but on her, lips dangerously close to his as she murmurs something that only the two of them can hear. Her hand traces the silver chain around his neck and you’re reminded of everything he isn’t—yours. “An old family friend.”
Michael scoffs at the simplicity of your answer and you get the feeling that he somehow knows all the layers hidden behind, under, against, on top of those four words. As if lighting can strike twice, a tinge of realization hits him and he points his drink towards you.
“I remember you,” he murmurs. “Central eight, sprained ankle, three months ago.”
Your brows scrunch instantly. “Okay weirdo, isn’t HIPPA a thing for a reason?”
He chuckles at your terrible joke because he knows he’s pulled on the right thread.
“Perks of being the chief of the emergency department,” he leans in. “And the gossip train of Park the Shark being domesticated by a patient made the rounds for two weeks straight.”
Your entire body heats up instantly. “No!”
He nods, grinning like a fool as he takes a sip from his drink, catching the way that Brendon shoots him a death glare from across the booth. He can’t hear you, he’s too far away. All he can do is watch as Robinavitch makes you smile, makes you flush, makes you giggle, makes you—
Michael leans in, making a show of it as much as he can, his sadistic nature reveling in the fact that he’s been able to find the Shark’s pressure point for once.
“Don’t look back at him, honey,” he coos. “Just look at me, let me make him so jealous smoke will shoot out of his ears—”
You chuckle then, dismissive and almost self-deprecating.
“Brendon doesn’t think of me like that,” you fiddle with your fingernails as you say it, the clear, telltale sign that you definitely have feelings that you think aren’t reciprocated.
All Michael can do is shake his head, shifting even closer to you, his cold hand settling over your exposed thigh as his lips barely brush your jaw.
“From where I’m standing, the most calculating, patient, level headed surgeon I know is about to leap off his seat while he has a beautiful woman draped across his lap because he can’t fathom another man having something that belongs to him.”
The air thickens, time stops moving, up is down and inside is out. You can’t think, can’t process the words that have been said, the secret that has been outed by someone who doesn’t know you, doesn’t know your baggage, doesn’t know the implications of your desire, the wrongness of it. He only knows what he sees, and right now, he sees his colleague ready to grind his jaw into dust with how hard he’s biting down on it and your glossy eyes desperate for the courage to cause some mischief.
A glass shatters off in the distance, effectively breaking the spell that you’re under. Suddenly, Michael’s gaze drifts behind you, his cockiness swiftly replaced with panic and recognition, his own moral dilemma evident across his features.
He may be a bastard but at least he’s a human one.
He stammers out an apology, getting up on his feet so quickly he knocks the glass table before you as he stumbles, nervous energy a complete contrast to the man he just was. You can’t help but smile at his clumsiness, a soft and reassuring gesture that has him blushing like a teenager. He leans down and places a soft kiss on your cheek, slyly handing you his card just barely out of sight of Brendon.
“Give him hell, honey, he deserves it.”
He winks at you before he swiftly nods his goodbye to Brendon and disappears into the crowd, towards a group of girls that’s hanging out on the other side of the room.
Emboldened by Michael’s words, you take a deep steadying breath as he leaves. The older man is right, Brendon does deserve hell because who does he truly think he is, looking at you like that and expecting you not to get your wires crossed.
Whatever fears plague you about him spilling your secret dissipate the second you clock just how much of a secret this is for him as well, mutually assured destruction and all that jazz. A devilish smirk quirks on your lips, your back straightening out of routine, the dip in your dress exposing more of the skin of your back, the hem sliding up your thighs just enough as you turn on your seat, leaning over to pick up Michael’s discarded bourbon.
You can feel his breathing hitch as your breasts practically spill out of the flimsy fabric, no longer doing the shy, flustered move of covering yourself up out of pretend decency. You’re not wearing anything underneath, not even nipple pasties or some boob tape to avoid a real slip. No, it’s just you and the swell of your breasts and your hardened nipples, there, in his direct line of sight for only a second, but that’s all it takes. All he had to do to not be subjected to the sight was to not be looking at you, but you both know that he is, and he continues to as you down the drink, barely flinching at the disgusting aftertaste.
His breathing hitches enough as you set the glass down and cross the small space towards them, alerting your friend who, has continued to speak mindlessly for the past ten minutes without even noticing that your own date has abandoned you. She finally stops and Brendon can hear himself think long enough to feel his entire body stiffening when you sit beside her, legs perfectly crossed, stilettoed heel just barely touching his calf.
“What happened to your silver fox?” She pouts, turning from Brendon just enough to give you a little attention.
You shrug. “Had something to do.”
She launches into another tangent about a guy she’d met a few months ago, before or after she met Brendon, you can’t tell, but it gives you the perfect opportunity to take him in instead. You’ve always loved your friend, she’s the perfect ice breaker in the sense that she will literally force her way into any conversation, through the uncomfortableness of silence and apprehension. She’s a great conversationalist, present and always puts the evening’s goal first…except when there’s a man involved.
You glance at Brendon subtly at first, catching how his white button down creases over his stupidly big muscles, how one more button has definitely come undone, letting you see more of his exposed chest, how his navy slacks are just a smidge too tight over his crotch. He shifts, his knee tapping the tip of your shoe lightly, a not so subtle reminder that your friend is talking and that he’s technically her date tonight.
“Yeah he was awful,” you huff, jealousy doesn’t even let you pretend anymore. “How did you two meet then?”
If you’re going down, might as well take the entire ship with you. You don’t want to hurt her, but that green eyed monster festers inside of you, desperate to pull him down to the depths with you instead.
“Oh,” her cheeks turn bright pink, a shy smile over her features which you know for a fact is staged for his attention, playing a role she thinks he wants her to fulfill. It takes everything in you not to scowl. “Remember that app I told you about?”
Brendon goes still beside her. It’s subtle, could be brushed off as if he’s just embarrassed but you know him. It’s not embarrassment, it’s getting caught, like that one time you caught him and your brother smoking pot after everyone had gone to bed, and while they were both adults at the time, his entire body went rigid as if you had power over him or something.
“Yeah I remember,” you coo. “I’ve never seen him on it though.”
“Well babe, it’s location synced, you’ve only been here a few weeks,” she states like you’re a little dumb girl that doesn’t know what she’s talking about but the panic in Brendon’s eyes tells a different story. “And besides, Brendon’s really selective with his partners.”
In the span of one minute your friend has simultaneously given you the ick and also served you the entire world on a silver platter.
“Brendon,” you test his name on your tongue as if it’s the first time you’ve ever said it before. You can feel your friend stiffen as fury curls in her chest, that definitely struck a nerve. But she can’t do anything about it either, you’re not doing anything wrong and she…she doesn’t own him, can’t stake her claim, not in the way you know you could if you actually wanted to. You extend your hand to him, introducing yourself in that saccharine tone he knows well, the one you used to convince that cop one time to not give him a speeding ticket for going only five miles over the limit as the two of you rushed down to the hospital for Tyler’s birth. “It’s nice to meet you then.”
He only hesitates for a second, a smirk curling at his lip at just how much you’re pushing your friend’s possessiveness over him. He’s a simple man sometimes, reveling in two beautiful women fighting over him is definitely one of those, soaking up the attention like he knows he deserves it. And he does, you know he does. Because underneath all the sex appeal and power games that your friend told you that she likes, Brendon is Brendon, and there’s no one you’ve ever wanted to be on the receiving end of their affection like him.
He takes your hand respectfully, of both you and your friend, but there’s a familiarity to him that just makes you clench around nothing. The tension is palpable, of that you’re sure, but be it lust or jealousy, you know your friend can’t see past her own need to claim. So you let him go, begrudgingly, offering both of them a soft smile before you excuse yourself to the bathroom, fully aware in your turbulent heart that he’ll be close behind in a second.
You only have to wait six minutes and forty-seven seconds before there’s a knock to the private bathroom you’re occupying. Your heart is practically beating out of you chest, the anticipation of what’s waiting for you on the other side both exciting and debilitating. He’s definitely going to yell, and you definitely do not want to have your heart broken at one in the morning, six drinks into what was supposed to be your night to let loose and relax.
You didn’t come here searching for anything, just needed to decompress after Tyler decided to throw five tantrums in the span of four hours. Of course by the time his dad got home, he was the perfect angel and did exactly what he was told with no complaints, so instead of getting angry at a toddler, you decided to go out.
You haven’t had a night out since you moved in with Steven three weeks ago, your brain still clouded with too many emotions for you to actually want to shut it down long enough to feel anything other than shame. But your friend convinced you to go out with her to this new club that the app had opened in Pittsburg and you simply couldn’t say no, the comfort of being in a room full of people that you know have the same relationship expectations as you exactly what you needed to get over yourself, at least for a few hours.
You take a steadying breath and unlock the handle, stepping back towards the sink as you watch his comically large frame trying desperately to be inconspicuous as he slips into the most definitely occupied bathroom. He locks the door again, the click loud enough to pierce through the loudness from outside the room. It feels heavy, the air shifting instantly, making your skin erupt in goosebumps. You brace yourself for impact.
“I’m so sorry, sugar plum,” his voice is uncharacteristically soft and it immediately throws you off center.
“What?” You’re dumbfounded, eyes wide and mind hit hard with whiplash.
He’s on you in seconds, big hands cupping your cheeks as he searches your eyes for any inkling of discomfort.
“If you never want to see me again, I totally understand,” he’s spiraling more than you are now and it’s honestly only making him that much hotter. “I’ll swear on my nonna and my mamma and my sisters that I’ll take this knowledge to my grave, just whatever you need from me, just tell me and I will do it—”
“Brendon Emiliano Park,” you put your foot down, his cheeks flushing a perfect shade of red. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Your genuine confusion seems to snap him out of his panic. He towers over you, his thumbs unconsciously rubbing soothing circles over your cheeks, his chest so close to yours that you can feel the heat radiating off him. You don’t think, you just move, the need deep in your bones to soothe him so loud that it doesn’t matter what it ignites in its path.
You loop your arms around his waist, taking the final step, the final leap into the dark waters below, and the reaction is instantaneous. His shoulders drop, the breath he’s been holding in releases in a hum, his grip slides down to your neck. He practically melts into you, his forehead resting against yours as he finally lets go, succumbs to your calm.
It feels right. Perfect, almost. Like a puzzle piece that’s been missing from your life for almost a decade finally slotting itself in that little hole where it’s supposed to go. Your mind tries to overwhelm you with thoughts but you do your best to push them away, to focus on his hands on your body, on your hands around his.
Minutes pass in silence until both of your heartbeats have slowed down enough that he’s able to pull back and face you again. He almost cries when he makes eye contact, your pupils slightly dilated and the overhead lighting making it look as though you’ve got stars in your eyes.
“Hi,” he breathes, an embarrassed smile curling at his lips which you instantly trace with your thumb, desperate to memorize the contours of his face while he’s open like this with you.
“Hi doctor stranger,” you match his smile, your voice perfectly soft and familiar and—
“I’m sorry.”
You frown again and he absolutely fucking hates the sight.
“Whatever for?”
He shakes his head as if it’s obvious, as if whatever he’s battling with internally is common knowledge to everyone else around.
“No, Bren, look at me,” you grab his chin and pull him to face you again. “What are you sorry for?”
He sighs deeply, like he’s gearing up for great fear and loss.
“For…knowing.”
He says it so remorsefully that it breaks something in you. There’s something he isn’t telling you, something that has to do with this…shared affinity the two of you apparently share. Something that has to do with how he treated you the night of the hospital.
You take a deep breath in. “You knew.”
He nods again. “Saw your profile before I took you home.”
A million thoughts race through your mind in an instant. Brendon Park saw your app profile, Brendon Park did something to his own so that you wouldn’t be able to see it, Brendon Park…made you feel so safe that you dropped in his car, Brendon Park knew what was happening and took care of you.
You surprise him by smiling, not like any of the smiles that you’ve thrown around tonight to your friend, to Robinavitch, to him. No, a real, joyous smile that pulls at his heartstrings and makes him feel even guiltier than before because he doesn’t deserve it. He broke your trust, why can’t you get that?
“Why didn’t you match with me then?”
Oh Brendon is definitely dead and this is his own personal hell. He can’t prove it, but this has Robinavitch written all over it—the slow torture, the repressed emotions just flooding out of him, the unbridled want.
He stammers, panic flooding his features once more as he chokes on a breath and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You know exactly why he didn’t match with you, why he’s being such a weirdo about it now, why you’re certain that if you truly wanted him to, he’d disappear from your life and take on all the blame of his absence in the lives of those you love the most.
He’s being so adorably noble that you honestly can’t help but keep laughing as he huffs out in annoyance, his grip moving to your hips as he squeezes on your love handles, hoping the little pain will stop your teasing but it only spurs you on. He’s so damn cute, his brow creased in embarrassment, his lips pouting in frustration, his eyes both darkened with desire and also softened with a million other emotions that neither of you is brave enough to name yet.
Step by step, you tell yourself, you’ll get there soon enough. That is, if you can get through this gigantic bump in the road.
The irony is not lost on you, how this big, scary man who’s supposedly very self-assured, confident and calm in the role he takes inside the bedroom has practically turned into a whiny mess at your antics. The softness that carries him in your arms is a privilege, one that you’re never going to take for granted. He trusts you. He’s safe with you. There’s no judgement in your eyes, no fear in how your arms wrap around his neck, how you press your chest against his, how you look up at him like he hung the moon and the stars.
“What if I want you to?” You whisper the words against his mouth like a prayer, intimate and sacred.
The whimper that escapes him is divine.
“Baby you’re killing me here,” he whimpers, eyes falling shut at the intense battle between his heart and his mind.
You press even closer, your mouth just one breath away from finally pressing onto his and absolving him of all his sins. Or snatching him up in a current after falling for temptation.
He shakes the thought away quickly. You are not temptation. You are something holy, worthy of being revered like the goddess that you are, deserving of pilgrimage and sacrifice, of nothing shy of devotion itself. He can feel the grip you have on his soul then, how deep the tendrils of your care have gotten, wrapped around his heart and lungs, threatening to squeeze the life out of him if he lets you go.
If he were less of a selfish man, he would, he’d break your heart and pretend he doesn’t want you, would push you away and save himself the arduous humiliation of looking at himself in the mirror and choosing to be the man that you deserve. But he is not a perfect man. He’s flawed and cruel and craves to watch you fall apart by his hand and build you back up with gentle fingertips and precious words.
He yearns for truth and honesty and not having to pretend to be okay, to not have to always be the strong one, the one that has to be an unmovable, unshakable rock. He wants to feel, and that scares him most of all, because up until now, he doesn’t know if he’s really ever felt anything at all.
And then you bump his nose with yours, a silly little gesture that has his heart bursting with warmth, breaking through his icy walls. He doesn’t think, doesn’t care anymore, all he knows is want, and right now, you’re the only thing he needs. So he leaps.
The kiss is…everything.
It’s life and death in a single shared breath, it’s every promise that has ever been shared, every dream, every loss, every celebration, every truth left unsaid. It is warm and cold, it is soft and hard, it is…so fucking good.
You gasp at the intensity and he doesn’t waste another second deepening the kiss. His tongue instantly takes control, exploring your mouth like he needs to figure out how to keep pulling those divine noises from you. His hands grope and knead at your waist, your hips, your ass, eager and desperate for more and more and more as you meet him in his intensity, your hands hooking into his gelled hair and break apart the cast in your need to hold onto something.
He moans at the feeling and you practically shiver in deep satisfaction. You are doing this to him, you are making him break apart like this, you are staining his lips a dark plum color and making them plump and puffy with how much you’re sucking on them. You pull back for air begrudgingly, your mouth following his until he steps far away enough that you can’t follow.
His expression turns into one of hunger, his chest heaving in tandem with your own disheveled breathing, your lungs desperate to fill up after who knows how long. He grins brightly down at you, like a cocky son of a bitch that knows he got exactly what he wanted and is now reveling in the fucked out look on your face. Tears brim your eyes, you’re so horny and needy and he knows it, knows it’s all for him and it only spurs him on to not pounce.
“You like me,” he chuckles meanly, one hand slowly sliding down the side of your thigh and under the pathetic excuse of a skirt.
“Of course I fucking like you,” you pant, breathless and raw, but mostly irritated. If this is how he’s going to act as your dom then you’re exactly where you need to be.
His grin only broadens. “Did Jennifer really leave or did you scare her off at Christmas?”
You’re certain you’ve stopped breathing, body stilling completely as he gets the answer he’s been looking for for the past six years.
“Oh don’t worry baby, I like my women just as possessive.”
He lean down and places a kiss on your sternum, his hot tongue lapping at the area to distract you as his hand slips between your thighs, just barely touching your mound. His lips suck on your skin then and his fingertips barely ghost over the lacy panties you’re wearing, making you squeal against him pathetically.
“Bren—”
He’s gone just as quickly, stepping back complete as you’re left to hold onto the sink behind you for dear life.
“You fucking asshole!”
The laugh that leaves him is heavenly, you wish you could drown in it. Instead, your legs are shaking like jelly, your core contracting with want and every possible variation of “motherfucker” that you can think of. And the cocky asshole in front of you just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, fixing his hair with one swift swipe over the now fluffy waves, before he crosses the room back to you as if none of that ever happened.
He squeezes your biceps soothingly, holding onto you like a dear friend looking after you. “Let me take you home.”
You shoot him a glare so powerful he could swear he just opened the oven too soon and deflated your sourdough and he knows for a fact he’ll never do that again. It endears him to no end, his head becoming fuzzy with affection once more.
“Come on, sugar plum,” he kisses your temple softly. “You’ve had a lot to drink and if you really want to do this, you’ll let me do it right.”
You look up at him through your eyelashes, a pout already forming on your perfect lips. God, Brendon truly doesn’t know how he’s ever going to say no to you ever again.
“Alright, how about this,” he’s already negotiating, Jesus fucking Christ. “We go back to the bar, you drink one last glass of water for me, I drive you home so I know you’re safe and sound, and…” he sighs, the fear creeping back up his spine like a tingle he can’t quite shake. But the way you stare up at him with such trust and awe, like you’re really listening to him, like you’ll do anything he tells you to because…because you want to please him so badly—it beats the fear back into the shadows from which it came. “I’ll send you my profile.”
You burst into a mess of happiness that he’s never seen from you before, just vulnerable and honest and deeply intimate. And in that moment he knows he’ll do whatever he has to do so that you’ll keep sharing this side of yourself with him.
You pepper his face with kisses, chaotic and messy, a chorus of thank you’s slipping with every touch of you lips to his skin. He can’t help but let his body match your own, this burst of excitement making him feel like he’s a teenager again and the girl he had a crush on from chem class just agreed to go with him to prom. He knows exactly how he feels about you then, the words left unsaid yet felt.
He thinks back to your friend, to how his heart had dropped into his stomach at the sight of her at the club, to the mask he had slipped on before he caught sight of you in this sinful dress that barely leaves anything to the imagination. He thinks back to Robinavitch and how he gravitated towards you instantly because that’s just the type of person you are. You take up space but don’t smother it, you get comfortable but don’t take advantage, you listen and ask questions and actually give a fuck about checking in and doing something because you both want to do it, not because it’s a one sided chore.
Whatever concerns linger, they simply don’t matter anymore. He can and will deal with all of them if it means that you’ll keep looking at him like this, that you’ll keep kissing his face like you want to show him just how grateful you are, that you’ll let him take you back to his car, drive you home, kiss you goodnight at your door and wait patiently until the light to your bedroom turns on.
It why he’s so certain, so sure, so confident now as he takes a screenshot of his profile to send to you before deleting it for good. He doesn’t need it anymore, he’s found exactly what he’s been searching for all along.
I completely forgot to mention for some brain fart reason that @rr-after-dark's own dom!Brendon Park fic is a constant and forever inspiration for me. I love it sm, thank you Jay for all that you do 🩷
dividers by @/enchanthings
hook, line and sinker tag list: @mayawainfleet, @lillianarosethorns, @andicody, @thedamnqueenofhell, @luchelingers, @laughsandlivia, @popecodysgirl, @curly-lau, @venusianrings, @abbot-fanatic, @buttercuppy8, @fuyu-no-kodomo, @sarahloubug
[if you want to be tagged, lmk in the comments and please make sure that your blog displays your age somewhere thanks!]
“Michael,” he says, hand outstretched towards you.
OMG OMG OMG
You are not temptation. You are something holy, worthy of being revered like the goddess that you are, deserving of pilgrimage and sacrifice, of nothing shy of devotion itself. He can feel the grip you have on his soul then, how deep the tendrils of your care have gotten, wrapped around his heart and lungs, threatening to squeeze the life out of him if he lets you go.
SHAKESPEARE WHO??? TATI THIS IS INCREDIBLE!!!!
The kiss is…everything.
It’s life and death in a single shared breath, it’s every promise that has ever been shared, every dream, every loss, every celebration, every truth left unsaid. It is warm and cold, it is soft and hard, it is…so fucking good.
I'M SCREAMING
He can’t help but let his body match your own, this burst of excitement making him feel like he’s a teenager again and the girl he had a crush on from chem class just agreed to go with him to prom. He knows exactly how he feels about you then, the words left unsaid yet felt.
— robby’s tummy appreciation courtesy of my angel @wildflowerluver and i ❤︎
husband!robby who waits for you to get home from work with a hot cup of tea already calling your name — who wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you in for a greeting kiss and a hand that lingers downward. “mmm, hi, baby,” he’ll murmur with a tired gruffness. you’d hum in turn and rub a hand over his tummy, splaying your fingers over the skin while it drifts further up his shirt. “you need to rest, mikey. why’re you still up, huh?” robby who pulls you in closer, pressing a starting kiss to your temple then trails several down your cheeks, finally landing on your lips once more. “can’t sleep without you, honey, you know that,” he returns. he uses his free hand to sneak the tea into your hand with a smile he knows you can’t resist. “now, c’mon, baby. let daddy take care of you.” and suddenly, the slight hitch of robby’s breath as you continue to caress his tummy, and the one word he knows you can’t get enough of, makes you fold instantaneously — “that’s a great idea, mikey.”
