ooooooh nikki who is plays very very very possessive but in such a cute fun way. imagining her at a party with her butch, watching him talk to sarah and not giving a fuckkkkkk. watching them laughing together and playing around, and feeling infinitely fond of her friend and her partner, enjoying every second of seeing them getting along so well. when your conversation dies down with sarah, nikki comes over and casually asks you to come to the bathroom with her for a “wardrobe malfunction.” no one is weirded out or suspicious, the vibe of the party stays light and fun while she drags you off to the bathroom.
the second the door closes, she plays the role of ‘the mean possessive girlfriend’ bc she can tell you get off on it sometimes. she has you pinned against the door with her knee between your legs. her hand is in your hair, tugging your head back so she can leave marks all over your neck. eventually, when she is satisfied with how worked up you are, she sweetly kisses you on the nose and says “you know i dont actually care, right? i like that you get along with my friends so well, and i trust you completely” in the most sickeningly sincere way imaginable.
nikki pulling the full-coverage concealer she knows is your shade out of her bag. realizing she planned this all out so you could have your full possessive gf fantasy without having to go back out there with any evidence.
her possessive outburst might have been fake, but the flip she gets in her stomach when you decline the concealer and go back out there proudly wearing the marks she gave you? when you show all her friends how you are sooo good for her and belong to her completely, even if hickeys are a little juvenile or immature? that feeling is very real.
maybe she is a little possessive after all.
pairing: nikki freeman x butch!reader
genre: suggestive
wc: 626
“Baby?”
Nikki stands with her arms behind her back, and she’s looking between you and Sarah sheepishly.
“Yeah?” you ask, turning to face her completely.
“Come with me to the bathroom? I had a little wardrobe malfunction.”
You stand up and look her over, leaning in close to ask, “Do you need my jacket?”
You make sure to cover her as she leads you to the bathroom by your belt. Nobody sees it as possessive or suspicious because Nikki tugs you by your collar and your belt all the time.
Following her into the bathroom, you look at her with concern, ready to help with the wardrobe malfunction she spoke of. But the second you close the door behind you, you’re being pinned up against it. Nikki nudges your thighs apart and shoves her knee between your legs.
Oh. She’s doing this possessive bit again. It makes a lazy smile grow on your lips.
“You and Sarah got way too touchy.”
Nikki tangles her hand in your hair and yanks your head back, leaning in to bite down on your neck, making you hiss at the feeling of her teeth sinking into your skin.
Humming, you place your hands on her hips and chuckle into her ear. It makes Nikki’s face burn.
“We were just messing around,” you tell her.
She huffs and nips at your neck, making her second hickey on your skin.
Nothing’s going on between you and Sarah. You’re like her annoying younger brother. Nikki knows this.
“I don’t like when you’re with her.” Nikki plays into that possessive girlfriend role she knows you love.
She moves to the other side of your neck and makes more bruises on your skin, moaning and whining into your neck as you hump her knee and breathe out her name.
“You’re mine,” she grunts, with your skin sucked between her teeth. She pulls back slightly to admire her marks on your neck, finding the bruises looking so pretty on your skin.
Her possessive marking goes on for a few more minutes before she stops. She’s more than satisfied with how riled up you are because of her words and marks.
Nikki kisses you on the nose so sweetly that it makes your head spin even harder than those rough kisses from earlier.
“You know I don’t actually care, right? I trust you. I like that you get along with my friends.”
Her tone is so sincere that it makes you feel sick. You get a rush of love for her that hits you so hard it sends you reeling. Nikki’s always been the sweetest. That’s why you love her so much.
Despite feeling so lovesick for her, you tease her. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Nikki smiles with you, and your heart flutters at the sound of her giggle. You look at her like she’s your entire world as she digs through her bag, thinking about how pretty she looks tonight. You admire her pretty lips. Her eyebrows. Her nose. That mole right under her eye that makes you melt. Your entire body starts melting into a puddle.
She pulls out the concealer that’s in your exact shade, and you realize that she planned this whole thing.
You push her hand away and shake your head. “Don’t wanna cover it up. Let’s just go back out.”
Nikki’s stomach flips and twists with arousal at your refusal to wear the concealer. She grows uncomfortably wet as she thinks about you walking back out to the party, covered in her marks. Marks to let everyone know that you’re hers. Marks to let Sarah know that you belong to her, even if she trusts both of you completely.
She wants to make more marks just for the hell of it.
saw that dynamic on pinterest and immediately thought of yolanda x butch reader
reader who genuinely delights in rage baiting their girlfriend, revelling in the glare yolanda shoots their way. reader who does nothing but grin at her as yolanda uses her palm to push their face away. glaring at reader but ultimately fighting a smile at their goofy grin.
yolanda and butch!R4 reader who flirt in trauma rooms. before they become official. no one can tell whats going on but they’re making everyone wildly uncomfortable with their charged dynamic.
The door to the trauma room is pushed open and you look up to see Garcia entering in confident strides. A smirk makes its way onto your face as she catches your eye. "Garcia so nice of you to finally grace us with your presence" you announce as she takes her place opposite you.
"Just say you missed the view" she shoots back before getting a rundown of the patient. You offer a fake pout, "How'd you know?" you joke plainly and she looks up at you with that telltale smirk of her own. "Just have that effect on people". You scoff, stepping back from the patient to allow one of the medical students to step in and take over from you. "Someone's egotistical today" "and you're mouthy today". Javadi raises her eyebrows from next to you while her hand is checking the patient's wound for any leftover fragments.
"Thought you liked mouthy Yolo" you say while watching Victoria's moves carefully. You correct her momentarily before shifting your gaze to the surgeon who's already looking at you. “You know me so well” she hums with a playful squint. “Too well” you murmur with a sigh. “Be nice” she tuts back. “Can’t make any promises” you shrug in response. Javadi finishes up, tying off a stitch cleanly before finally stepping back and looking to you for approval. You give her a curt nod which she preens at.
"Never were one for following instructions" Yolanda sighs as you shrug off your gown. "Where's the fun in that?" you grin to which Yolanda scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Patients stable, I better not be called down here for anything else today" she grumbles, gesturing to nobody in particular. "What don't want to see me again?" you question while allowing the nurses to wheel the gurney out. "Just say you hate me Yolo" "Careful, I can show you hate" she says while moving towards the door. "Promises, promises" you muse as she leaves with a smirk.
reader is obsessed with yolanda, like down bad doesn't even bother looking in other peoples directions because no one can compare to their girlfriend. yolanda pretends she doesn't care but secretly loves their shows of devotion as if its nothing. reader getting a tattoo of yolanda's kiss on their wrist or neck a few months into dating and just casually mentioning it to her when yolanda asks about the new tattoo.
standing in yolanda's bathroom brushing your teeth when she comes up behind you, hands snaking around your waist as she kisses your jaw. she leans back with furrowed eyebrows as her eyes narrow in on the wrap on your wrist. "new ink?" she questions and you nod, leaning forward to spit your toothpaste out before straightening up and wiping your mouth. you undo the wrap carefully to reveal a burgundy lipstick mark on the inside of your wrist. her eyes widen as she grabs your arm, pulling it closer to examine the tattoo.
both are hella possessive but very nonchalant about it. reader always has a hand on yolanda's waist or in her back pocket, their hand is always on her thigh when driving or sitting next to each other. yolanda's finger is hooked in readers belt loop or her hand is on the back of their neck.
reader is definition of 'i like my girl mean as hell, she barely like me i know she don't fuck with you'. enjoys watching yolanda being mean and judgy to people, they love their mean femme. gets a little turned on when they argue.
reader calling yolanda 'wifey' and yolanda pretending she doesn't get butterflies everytime they do.
going out to a work gathering together for the first time. people are shocked to see how different yolanda acts with them, leaning into them at the booth with their arm protectively around her shoulders, fingers interlaced with theirs. allowing them to kiss her neck as she converses.
yolanda who acts all tough at work suddenly turning to a sap at home with her muscular tatted butch. relaxing on the couch wrapped in readers arms as they kiss away the stress of the day.
Mouth dry, lungs burning with the infiltrating sting of copper and disinfectant, head pounding from dehydration and stomach growling, though you doubted you'd be able to eat anything even if you did have the time. Every part of your body was aching and screaming at you to slow down, take a break, to do the exact opposite of what is needed from you right now.
The world was crashing down around you while you raced from gurney to gurney, scrambling to pick up the pieces.
Blood was smeared across almost every touchable surface, warning people that this was not a place they wanted to be in. Agonized screams lacerated your eardrums, the background noise of the ED reaching heights previously unknown to man. Monitors beeped with increasing frequency, gurneys scraped across the tiled floor, people were speaking over each other with more and more urgency.
Members of the public were desperately crying out for their loved ones, the Pitt transforming into a missing persons billboard as well as an emergency room. Someone is trying to find their friend, was missing their mom, had lost their brother.
Patients were showing up 4 at a time, being yanked out of vehicles, rushed in through the back doors and shoved into the crowd of people clogging up the floor. There were warm bodies spilling out of every room the PTMC had. You could barely move without hitting a gurney, or a wheelchair, or a person crying on a gurney or a wheelchair.
Orders were flying at you from every direction, mind splitting to be in several places at once. Doctors beginning to grow more frantic with their attempts to save people.
Chest tubes were gone, O-positive was gone, O-negative was gone and you were starting to think you were gone too. That maybe this was all some fucked up dream and you would wake up clawing at your sheets with your throat raw but at least you would be in your bed and not underneath florescent lights that had been burning your eyes since 06:50 in the morning.
Another wave of disinfectant stung its way up your nose as the cleaning crew feverishly tried to stay on top of the mess, but were only suffering under the weight of PittFest like everyone else.
"Hey!"
You shot back into your body to see Robby snapping at you across the ER in a tone that suggested it wasn't the first time he'd tried to get your attention.
"We need help over here!"
Shoving away from the gurney you were hovering above with a final once over to the GSW you were checking, you pushed through sobbing patients and panicked staff before falling into step with Dr. Robinavitch.
Jaw grinding together with every step you take towards the back entrance of the Pitt, fingers flexing impatiently at your sides, grasping and ungrasping the papery fabric of your gown, cuticles red-raw from you tearing nervously at the skin with your teeth during the numerous briefings held today.
Your knuckles throb. You stretch out your fingers to soothe the ache and don't look down at your hands.
Steeling yourself against the cold to come, you follow your attending through the door and outside into the ambulance bay.
He looks as bad as you feel. Brows pinching together, dark circles forming under his eyes, head tilted to the side as he looks you over, scanning your face for something.
He must be satisfied with whatever he finds, or there just isn't time to have a proper conversation about it right now because he drops his eyes from yours and turns back towards the road leading up to the rear entrance of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.
It's probably the latter as you're practically dead on your feet and you know people can see it because the last time you saw Santos she cycled through six different expressions, each one more horrified than the last, before settling on slightly horrified attempting neutrality.
He's gracious enough not to look at you when he asks if you need to leave, not giving you a visual of his trust in you slipping further away than either of you can reach.
Maybe the night shift attending was right.
It surprises you, that he asked, but the shock passes quickly. Sting slightly soothed when you remember he's your attending and it's on him to notice this kind of this, lest one of his doctors crash and burn in the middle of a crisis, leaving you only with the numbness that had been spreading through your body since the call came in about a shooter at PittFest.
Right as you open your mouth to say something, you hear rubber spinning against asphalt so you just shake your head and refocus yourself on the incoming vehicle.
The ambulance raced towards the empty space in front of you, swerving dangerously to the right and making a close call with the other vehicles littered around the back entrance of the Pitt before furiously lurching to a stop. A car accident is not what people need right now.
The EMTs jump out, shouting things that converge and fog together in your mind. There's a singular gurney being pulled from the rear of the ambulance, numerous hands flitting over the body, touching, pulling, poking. Robby turns to you, eyes wide, desperation and exhaustion tinging around the edges of an already grief-stricken expression.
"Get up there now."
You mount the gurney and something makes a sickening crunch when your knee hits where the patient's hand should be. Blood soaks through the right knee of your scrubs. Your thighs bracket the patient's hips and you slot your fingers together before ramming them down on top of his chest.
One. Two. Three. Four. Repeat.
The gurney starts moving towards the doors and you hear a crack beneath your fingers.
You keep going.
Crashing through the ED, gurney speeding towards red zone, yelling from all directions. You keep going. The gurney rolls to a stop as sweat stings your eyes, hair sticks to your forehead, one of your sleeves comes loose and starts slipping down your arm.
One. Two. Three. Four. Repeat.
"Hold compressions." It's said calmly but you can hear the anguish seeping into Robby's words.
Something orange flashes at your side. Fingers gently tug the fabric back onto your upper arm, the faint smell of smoke and warm vanilla fills your nose and you subconsciously relax into the familiar touch, deflating a centimeter or two. The hand wraps around your bicep and squeezes once, twice, three times before disappearing off, back into the ED chaos.
Everything else had already been tried, bagging, intubation, a procedure that went one in ear and out the other. Epi had been administered. Shocks had been sent through his body.
Your hands were the last thing that could bring him back.
You can feel yourself beginning to shut down. You drag your hand across your brow, palm returning slick from the moisture spiking along your hairline. Heavy breaths rattle through your body and slump you forward. The taste of salt fills your mouth and saliva starts creeping its way up the back of your throat.
Someone's saying something to you.
"Asystole. Resume compressions."
One. Two. Three. Four. Repeat.
More ribs crack underneath your ministrations. Bones caving in, trying to in vain to hold steady against your hands when you need them to do the opposite. Thighs protesting from being in the same position for so long, needles prick along the base of your spine and up your back, too cold and too hot all at once.
"Hold compressions."
It's as if you're all in a silent movie, waiting with stilted breath to see what will happen. The machine monitoring his vitals dropping into a continuous beep without your hands to do the work for him.
His pupils remained dilated. The patient beneath you remained unresponsive.
"Still asystole. Resume compressions." It's tense this time, an edge to it, you can't put all your energy into this one boy when victims are practically spilling into the street from how busy it is. He knows it, you know it, and the nurses crowded around the sides of the gurney know it.
Still, you keeping pumping your hands up and down.
One. Two. Three. Four. Repeat.
You stumble forward, grasping the metal railing barricading the top of the roof, and slump against it, the chill of the steel barely registering in your brain while you tilt over the highest bar.
People crawl through the streets of Pittsburgh beneath you, barely more than specks from so high up.
Couples heading towards restaurants after watching a movie that really should have been better when you consider the amount of money put into it, discussing the main character's plight in between laughter and soft touches.
Someone walking their dog, furry creature rushing up and down the street, herding their owner, thinking it's in control of where they end up and taking that role very seriously.
College students gathered around a streetlight, blowing smoke from their lips and trading lighters while scrolling on their phones.
You think of Morgan whose house is going to be one person quieter. Having to sit at a table with one less place setting, one less plate of food, one less voice asking about her day, chair undisturbed until some careless relative pulls it out without thinking and sends a fresh wave of grief flooding through the house.
You're on the other side of the barriers now, the cold metal meant to prevent people from doing exactly what you're about to do stood unrelenting behind you. A silent witness.
The tip of your boot hit the ledge in front of you, small pieces of grit breaking off and bouncing from your shoe onto the floor.
You took a step forward, boot striking the next brick harder than necessary and pain threaded its way between the muscles of your foot, settling heavy like the weight on your chest.
"Fuck!"
Sweat needles along your hairline and the shake returned to your hands. Fingers twitching up and down almost imperceptibly. Working its way through your body until you were shivering all over, despite the perspiration that clung to you like a second skin.
Wind licked at your scrubs, testing the bounds of the fabric, chilling you to the bone, luring you closer to the edge of the building.
Telling yourself you were just checking for loose fixings made it easier. Can't have loose pipes tumbling down from the top of a trauma center, sends the wrong message.
Chairs was already crowded beyond belief without adding 'easily preventable falling debris related injuries sustained outside an ER' to the check in list and Gloria had been hounding the senior staff like a wolf outside a hen house all day about patient satisfaction scores. If she got wind someone had a pipe fall on them? Her interference with the Pitt would only become that much more incessant.
You think of Jake, his body stiff on the gurney, knuckles rigidly gripping the plastic arm rests on either side of him while his face crumpled in on itself. Knowing he was leaving the ER with one less person in his life, that the blood fusing with the fabric of his clothes was all that was left of his relationship with Leah.
Maybe he'd have a few less people in his life if the growing animosity between him and Robby is anything to go by.
Would he still visit the PTMC? Skirting around Robby and pinning his hopes onto another hopeless doctor? Waiting until someone else he knows ends up in here and the staff fail to do their job once again, letting another innocent person die?
You didn't know him that well, knew Leah even less, only grabbing her name from Dana once there was nothing anyone could do for her anymore. But he was always polite when he came in and you were stopped in front of the nurse's station, shrugging off your duties for a moment to hang around your girlfriend like a needy puppy, exchanging pleasantries and current playlists.
He's the reason you listen to Mindless Self Indulgence.
Realizing you might not see him again makes something twist deep in your chest.
The open air around you starts to condense itself on top of your torso, vast abyss of the sky seeping its way into your lungs and down your throat, drowning you underneath the darkness.
Your breathing quickens, long breaths turned short and relaxed inhales turned panicked as less and less oxygen moves around your body.
Six people's families got a bit smaller because you weren't fast enough to save them. You weren't quick enough, capable enough and six people died.
How do you come back from that?
Logically you know it's not your fault, there were dozens of medical professionals flooding through the building, doing everything in their power to help. Some people were DOA, injuries too severe to push through without immediate medical attention. Others died from lack of resources, the ER not equipped to handle this big of an emergency amidst budget cuts and staffing issues, even with everyone putting everything they had into it. Even so…
How do you come back from that?
A step closer to the edge, the stones you'd knocked free from the row of bricks encasing the top of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center crunching under the weight of your foot.
Then you heard the door to the roof open.
Both of your shifts finished hours ago but everyone was working overtime to keep up with the victims of PittFest and the night shift had to be brought up to speed with everything that happened, patients needed to be discharged or transferred over and it all culminated with you finishing your shift 4 hours later than normal while Dana was still sifting through files at the front desk.
Lena had finally deemed the night shift up to date enough with the current patients and dismissed Dana from the desk with a wave of her hand and a promise to check in later if there's any issues with filing.
When she heads into the locker rooms, she sees your jacket still hung on its hook, undisturbed since you rushed in this morning, running late with a coffee in one hand, pastry for your girlfriend in the other.
You'd caught her right before she passed into the ER, grinning and bounding over to her with an excitement most commonly seen in children on their birthdays or overeager animals that almost caused the hot liquid to spill across the floor.
She'd taken the pastry with a kiss to your cheek and left you to stow your belongings while she let the weight of the Pitt settle onto her shoulders, pushing through the locker room doors and heading for the front desk to see what horrors awaited her today.
The last time she saw you had been less than an hour ago, influx of shooting victims finally slowing. You were covered in sweat and shaking, scrubs soaked through with blood. A dazed look in your eye as you stood in the doorway of the makeshift morgue.
You'd walked over to the nurse's station like you were in a trance, eyes unfocused, arms limp at your sides. Rounding the desk and slumping against her back, bringing your arms up and folding them around her waist.
Exhaustion flooded through her at the feeling of your touch, and she wanted nothing more than to pick up her bag, walk through the front doors and not look back. Warmth radiated through the fabric of your scrubs, flimsy plastic gown discarded on your way across the floor, nose brushing the side of her neck as you inhale.
"I'll be done soon honey." She reassured you with a pat to your hand. Your hair tickled her neck, the scent of your sweat and something that hinted at your shower gel filling her nose and she could feel the skin of your lips brush against the intersection between her jaw and her neck. She made a mental note to pick up some lip balm before her shift ended.
"Love you." It's muffled by the fabric of her scrubs, your breath warming a small circle on her shoulder as you squeeze your arms tighter around her hips for a moment, two, before they drop to the desk in front of her. Dana appreciates the way your muscles tense when you pull yourself into her slightly before pushing your body off of hers in a lazy press up. She mourns the loss of your warmth immediately.
Maybe that should have been her first sign that you weren't ok, the tone of your voice, or the lack of words coming from what is normally the human embodiment of a puppy but she just assumed the adrenaline was was wearing off and exhaustion had finally started setting in.
Something twists in her gut when you attempt a smile. It looks forced, the way a creature not quite human would smile in an effort to convince the people around it they were the same, right before something terrible happens.
But she still let you leave, distracted by the amount of patient files stacking up on the shelf in front of her, with a stroke of her hand across your cheek and another promise to be done soon, she turned and grabbed the phone ringing loudly against the surface of the nurse's station, eyebrows pulling together as she watches your retreating form when her focus gets overtaken by the person on the other end of the line asking about the state of an incoming patient.
"Heading out?"
Cassie's voice startles her, head whipping towards the place the sound came from. She takes a step backward, hands splayed out in front of her, skin crawling at the thought of someone being able to creep up on her so easily after earlier.
"Sorry." She looks apologetic for scaring Dana, dipping her head towards the floor and bringing her hand up to scratch the back of her neck.
Dana deflates slightly, taking a deep breath and reminding herself that she's fine, the worst of it's over and you'll both be on the couch, showered and in your pajamas, eating Chinese takeout within the next hour.
"Yeah." She answers in response to the question and the apology thrown at her.
Cassie leans back against her locker, bag already slung onto her shoulder, hair flying loose from the band holding her ponytail back."I'm so glad today's over."
"You and me both, kid."
"Hey, where's your guard dog?" Cassie chuckles at herself whilst nodding towards the place your jacket still rests on its hook, bag abandoned on the floor in your quest to show up at the last second possible without receiving a scolding from Dr. Robinavitch.
"Must have been taken to the pound." Dana tilts her head at the R2, brows pinching together. "Got dismissed half an hour ago. You haven't seen him?"
"Uh, no, sorry, not since he was hanging around the nurse's station earlier." She shrugs and shoves her hands into the pockets of her scrubs, thumbs peeking out the top, running along the stitching in the hem, a nervous habit Dana noticed Harrison also possessed, although which one passed it on to the other was yet to be seen.
"Ok, thanks,' Dana deflates slightly at the thought of having to scour the whole hospital for your whereabouts.
"I can help you look." The offer makes something warm in her chest, a soothing balm to the bruised muscle that reminds her of the reason she went into nursing, of the companionship between people who care.
"No, no, I'll manage," Dana waves her off with a shake of her head, "Get outta here, go home to your kid."
Cassie shoots her a small smile before pushing off the row of lockers and heading towards the exit.
Leaving her coat and bag on the peg next to yours, Dana turns back towards the Pitt entrance, on a mission to find you as quickly as possible so she can recline in the passenger seat of your car whilst you lazily tap your hand on her thigh in time with the radio and drive home.
The door stop has moved, been kicked to the side by the looks of it. That's the first thing Dana notices when she reaches the roof door and it sends heat prickling up her spine.
She's reached the final stop on her way to drag you from the ER. Her phone died two hours into the PittFest rush and she started to regret not bringing a charger somewhere between south one and south three. Sooner she can get out of here the better.
The cold metal against her warm palm makes her flinch as she pushes the roof door forward, breeze filtering through the small gap already making her regret her decision. If you were crazy enough to be outside in this weather that was on you.
She clenches her teeth, shoves the door open fully and her heart stops.
You're so close to the edge.
Fuck.
Fuck, a gurney is wider than the gap between the tip of your boots and the wall, really more of a trip hazard than anything, that encases the top of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.
Suddenly everything feels like it's underwater, sounds of the city muffled beneath the pounding of her heart. You look so small against the backdrop of the night sky, shoulders stiff, body listing towards the edge of the building as the space between you yawns open like the grand canyon.
She has never felt further away from you than she does right now.
For some reason the first thing the flickers to the front of her mind is the suicide prevention seminar you attended last summer.
Senior staff, residents and a couple of lucky med students were invited to a medical conference hosted at some convention center in the middle of Philly, attendance was mandatory but everyone knew it was for optics more than anything.
You said it would be helpful. Good knowledge to have on hand when working in an ER and it would help provide patients with resources so people didn't have to wake up in a hospital bed before getting the help they need.
Seeing you on the roof, late at night, hours after your shift had ended, with your disheveled scrubs covered in blood and stood facing away from her makes her reconsider if you really were just going to help patients or if there was something she missed.
Something in the tilt of your head when you laughed or the way you shuffled in your chair after the speaker mentioned the suicide attempts of healthcare professionals or the way you hold her hand a little bit tighter than you did before the seminar that could have told her you would end up here.
She takes a step forward, not caring to catch the door before it slams shut behind her.
"What are you doing?" Her voice cracks halfway through the question, pain laced through her words, spiking her voice higher and her accent getting thicker in the way that it does whenever she feels too much of anything.
Her heart is in her throat. The breath knocked from her lungs.
Maybe she had thought about this happening with Robby, or Abbot, or hell maybe even some med student that she would have to chase after because that's what she does, she doesn't let people slip through the cracks.
You once joked that Saint Camillus would have to hang up his hat because Dana was doing his job for him, she'd responded with a slap to your shoulder but the honesty in your tone, the shine of adoration in your eyes when you'd said it hadn't been forgotten.
But she never expected the person opposite her to be you.
That you, of all people, with your gentle touches along her waist whenever you passed her on the way to a patient's room, with the way you would look at her with stars in your eyes when her glasses slipped down her nose, with the kisses pressed into her neck trying to get as much of her as you could on your increasingly rare breaks, would slip through the cracks.
Your shoulders slump away from your ears at the sound of her voice, exposing them to the wind and letting the cold bite at your flesh.
A single dry sob racks through your body before you straighten yourself again, the same way a scared schoolchild steels themselves before receiving their punishment after being caught stealing markers off another student's desk.
She knows you won't do anything now that she's here. She knows that.
But it doesn't stop the fear gripping her heart or the blood rushing through her body, pounding in her ears, the way her brain screams at her to run up to you and drag you backwards and never let you out of her sight again.
She watches you shift so you're turned half towards her, half still facing the law firm opposite the hospital, scanning your body language to see how you were standing, if you were going to run.
Glimpses of the past fly back at her, shaking teenagers and overworked businessmen with shadows etched into their face, mothers with the light stripped from their eyes and people who were just too tired to keep fighting.
It rushes over her like a tidal wave, the feeling of having to look at you the same way she would a patient, clawing up the back of her throat and tingling along her skin.
The floodlights above the roof door illuminate your side profile, being able to see the emotion flickering across your face does nothing to soothe her nerves, and she briefly hopes for a power outage. That maybe this conversation would be easier in the dark, separated from the rest of Pittsburgh.
You look so tired.
"I just…" You seem to be measuring your next words carefully, hesitating with your answer, protecting her from a side of you she's never seen before, "needed some time alone."
Raw emotion cracks your face open, the hurt written across it becoming something more and more common in the faces of healthcare workers, giving everything they have and more to a thankless job that doesn't give nearly enough back.
She's seen it in so many hospital workers she's lost count, but seeing it on your face has left her fumbling for something to say. Anything that would make you stop looking at her like that.
"You come here often?" It spills out of her before she can control it, some way of trying to get a handle on the things around her, like maybe if this was the first time you'd been here it would be easier.
Sounds of life climb up from the streets of Pittsburgh and fill the silence between the two of you. Cars making their way across town, tires humming as the rubber rolls against asphalt. Shoes thumping against the sidewalk, coagulating and creating an underlying 'thump, thump, thump' that beats underneath the city like a heart. Churning from the fans on the other side of the roof, pumping air fruitlessly into a hospital that will always need more.
"Yeah."
Your response strikes her as she watches your eyelids flicker, like you were unearthing something you'd buried, something that you wanted to stay buried.
You don't look at her when you deliver your next line, clearly having sensed the underlying question in her words before she did.
"Sometimes."
Then it's like a switch flips.
Dana watches as the windows behind your eyes flutter shut, no longer allowing her to see the turmoil underneath. You roll out your shoulders and shake life back into your arms that must have lost feeling a while ago if the numbness creeping into her own limbs after being out here for 10 minutes was anything to go by, before spinning to face her fully.
She watches as you walk back from the edge of the roof like nothing happened, stopping inches away from her. There's no heat radiating off your body this time.
You drop your gaze to meet hers, jaw tightening and brows furrowing with sincerity. Warmth clouds over your face, heat from her breath reacting with the cold night air.
"But I'll always come back to you." It's said with such conviction that it takes her back slightly. The look on your face searing itself into her brain.
Your fingers intertwine with hers, cold skin against warm and you pull her along with you when you walk back towards the roof door, only pausing to yank it open for her to go through first before going down the stairs.
She listens as you rattle off a list of different places you can pick up dinner, trying to catch something in your gaze that confirms what just happened on the roof was real, not just some fucked up hallucination conjured up from unrecognized brain damage and more caffeine than someone should consume in a week. Evidence that she's going to have to do this again and again, talking you back into a job she's not even sure she's going to show up to tomorrow.
But you just keep gripping her hand, animatedly talking about the new Italian place near your apartment, looking down at her with eyes full of adoration.
And she thinks maybe she doesn't have to worry about you, remembers you trailing after her on your first day like a dog ready to bite if someone got too close and here you are now, still trailing after her, still ready to bite anyone who got too close.
Your loyalty to her outweighing whatever you may face when you're standing on the roof, alone and cold. Maybe she just has to trust that you'll make your way back to her.
Be her guard dog for one more day.
The side of the parking lot reserved for day shift staff is mostly empty when you and Dana push through the front entrance of Pittsburgh Hospital's ER. Dana's car is parked a few spaces over from yours. Mohan's car lingers in one of the outer spaces, patiently waiting for her to return.
There's a little stuffed deer perched on her dashboard that you gave her for her birthday, quickly pressing it into her hands with a comment about how it looked like her, button eyes glinting yellow underneath the glowing street lamps.
"What a pair we make, huh?" Dana's voice draws your attention back to her. She has the faintest trace of a smile on her face, but it doesn't reach her eyes and her voice still trembles slightly when she speaks.
You pull your gaze from hers and flick your eyes down to stare at the bruise blossoming on the left side of her face, a blurry purple climbing up the side of her nose before dipping beneath her eye and forming a crude crescent, lighter pink splotches splattered around the edges.
It briefly makes you think of the moon, powerful, all-knowing and maintaining a balance so precarious the slightest waver could disrupt the whole system. A fitting shape, Dana is the moon hanging in the Pitt's constellation. But this was born from violence while the moon slept peacefully so maybe a bruise is just a bruise and you should focus on different things.
Your hands don't look much better. Another thing born from violence. Crusted blood was still flecked on the skin around your split knuckles, having dulled from vivid red to rusty brown after hours outside your body.
They had burned like all hell for the second half of your shift, eventually dulling to a manageable throb you could safely ignore. You never got a chance to tend to them before PittFest victims flooded into the ER.
When Dana returned from her smoke break with blood pouring out of her nose, head tilted back to keep as little of it as she can from dripping onto her scrubs, you were at her side in an instant. Darting over from your position leaning on Princess' desk, practically sliding across the floor in your haste to get to her.
Heart convulsing in your chest, dropping to your knees before her while Robby checked her over, hands soothing up and down her biceps, the fabric of her long sleeve following your motions, eyes scanning over her body in case there was something he missed.
A crowd of hospital staff crookedly circle the three of you, more people joining as word spreads, questions being thrown into the air around you.
She tracks her eyes in time with Robby's finger while answering as many as she can, until someone asks who hit her. Then she hesitates, sucking in a breath and trying to brush it off with a mumble about an unhappy patient.
Javadi looks like a spooked deer as nurses around her recall past run-ins with unhappy patients, ill equipped for the level of brutality faced in a place that's meant to heal people, evidently not something her college professors deemed worthy of mentioning, before someone directs her to go and fetch the security guard.
Kim's hand is warm when you brush over it to hold the tissue against Dana's nose, feeling the cartilage move under your fingers makes you wince and hold it a little tighter. In exchange, you pressed your ID card into her palm, she clearly understands what's being asked when she departs with the promise of getting Dana a new set of scrubs.
Ahmad returns with Javadi hot on his heels, he pushes through the crowd of bodies thrumming around the charge nurse, asking her who hit her after he comes to a stop beside her.
Dana says something about a pissed off patient as Perlah swipes an Antiseptic wipe under her chin, smearing the blood before removing it completely.
Ahmad asks again, voice firmer this time.
You were almost on top of her from how close you got, knees bracketing your ribs, upper arms resting against her thighs while your hands remain on her biceps, now rubbing soothing circles into the fabric so you can feel the shake that permeates her body as she spits out the name of who did this.
Rage coursed through your body. You see your recognition reflected in Mateo's eyes as he follows it up with confirmation about the 'asshole in chairs.'
The nurses dedicate their lives to helping people, injured people, scared people, people who can't help themselves and some jackass decides that he's too good to wait like everyone else and goes on a violent tirade.
Robby presses his hands on Dana's cheeks, feeling along her bone structure for anything broken when she hisses in pain. Your hands immediately tense, gripping her arms slightly tighter and you bury the urge to push your attending away from her, reminding yourself he's there to help.
At least one facial fracture.
That's what Dr. Robinavitch determines, with orders for a CT scan with head and maxillofacial. Mohan takes off towards the stairwell, on her way to give the third floor department a heads up about the incoming charge nurse.
You flick your eyes away from Dana for a moment, scouring the crowd in front of you before locating the person you're looking for. Ahmad looks back at you.
You tilt your head towards the ambulance bay, silent question in your expression. He shakes his head in return. A heavy sigh makes its way out your mouth and you refocus your gaze onto the woman in front of you.
You'll deal with that later.
It's only when everyone breaks away, going back to their patients, collecting dropped clipboards that were abandoned in the commotion, checking the board for new arrivals that you allow yourself a moment to think.
And something dawns on you, a short laugh escaping your mouth before you can stop it. A gentle smile settles on your lips.
"What? You think this is funny?" Dana's tone is hard, clearly not in the mood for your antics, but her head inclines with something that looks a little too much like hurt for your liking.
"No." you keep your voice low and firm, slightly taken aback she'd ask that. It briefly makes you wonder if someone had laughed before, "Sweetheart of course not."
You gesture to the fresh pair of scrubs folded on the bench beside her, dropped off by Kim before she had to assist with an incoming patient, soothing your fingers over the neckline, tracing the label sewn into the collar.
"They're in my size."
Her eyes flick between your face and the fabric next to her before she huffs out a half laugh half groan and slumps further into the bench she's sitting on.
"I gave Kim my ID card while Robby was checking you over, forgot our sizes were programmed in."
She stares at you with a blank expression.
"So not only do I have to work with a busted face, I also have to wear scrubs that don't fit. Great."
"I'll change them if you want, probably have enough time."
Your offer hangs in the air for a moment longer than necessary and you start to shift yourself to your feet before Dana puts a hand on your shoulder.
"It's fine. But if this is anything like the time I wore your t-shirt, I'm walking out the doors and I'm not walking back in."
A chuckle passes your lips and you grin at her, eyes shining and warmth flooding your chest.
Mohan hovers a few paces behind you before approaching fully, fingers tapping an anxious rhythm into the side of her thigh. "They're ready for you upstairs."
You mumble out a thank you before pushing yourself to your feet, pulling your hands away from where they were rubbing circles into her arms to cup Dana's cheeks. Making sure to be cautious of the place she was hit you pull her face towards you, bending over to press a kiss to the top of her head.
The smell of vanilla lingers on strands of her hair from her shower this morning and a wave of anger rushes over you with renewed vigor. You extract yourself from between your girlfriend's thighs and step back to give her space to stand.
Dana gives everything she has to this job, returning home exhausted, constantly overworked, only taking 5 minute breaks when she's sure the ED won't fall into disrepair while she's gone and this guy thinks he's entitled to take the only piece of herself that she hasn't sacrificed.
"I'll see you later."
You nod once in response and wait until her and Mohan have disappeared from your line of sight completely, before spinning on your heel and bolting over to Ahmad's station. He eyes you warily.
"Two hours." His tone is strained, and he holds up two fingers to emphasize his point. Weight settling heavy on his shoulders, clearly conflicted between what you're asking of him and the hospital protocol for incidents like this, but the Pitt look out for their own. "Then I report it to the authorities."
You nod and head towards the ambulance bay.
He says nothing when you return an hour later with split knuckles and blood staining the corner of your scrub top.
Her fingers are still laced through yours, palms pressed flat together, gripping you so tightly you're half certain your hand will fall off due to lack of blood flow, nails digging painfully into the top of your bruised knuckles but you don't say anything. The pain helping tether you in this moment.
Besides you deserve this. After she had to come up and see you standing on the roof. You can allow her this simple grievance.
When you get close enough to the car to make out the bumper stickers littered around the license plate, the hand not held hostage by your girlfriend goes to your belt loop, keys jingling as you unhook your carabiner.
The stickers were the result of a a drunken pact made between the younger staff members to get a new one from the hospital gift shop every time physical contact was initiated between crushes.
You had 7 before they realized you and Dana were already dating and disqualified you for cheating, to be fair you were surprised you lasted that long. It was relatively common knowledge the two of you were together and you were often seen crowding around her like an excited sheep dog.
Javadi's currently in the lead with 32, she stopped sticking them on her car after McKay had stroked her back four times in one shift. Samira and Mel both had 20, oblivious to the fact they were crushing on each other. Dennis has 16, although it's less impressive when it's split between two people and he keeps adding them together with the justification that Abbot and Robby are already dating. Trinity had 3 but she dropped out after her and Garcia hooked up for the first time.
Dana spins to stand before you, back pointed towards the trunk, palm turned upright, eyes expectant.
"You think I'm gonna let you drive?" She looks at you as if you're stupid, hand pressed to her hip, eyebrows pulled together in the middle of her forehead, nostrils flaring as she exhales sharply.
Your own expression mirrors hers, dissatisfaction showing in your furrowed brow and down turned lips, and you feel like you're stating the obvious when you tell her she was punched in the face.
"I'm fine. Give me the keys."
"If you really don't want me driving then your cars over there."
That's clearly the last thing she wants to do, not trusting you to drive home safely without her in the car, it stings but you understand her apprehension.
She gives in after 15 seconds of standing in silence, sighing and wordlessly handing you her bag before she rounds the car and nods towards the passenger side door.
You click the button on your car keys and they respond with an upbeat chirp, unlocking it for her. Pressing a second button results in the trunk latch clicking open and you toss your bags in and round to the drivers seat.
The radio springs to life when you slide the keys into the ignition, a crackly rendition of Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On' pouring through the speakers and filling the car with a sick kind of irony. But neither of you reach to turn it off, exhaustion from the day solidifying and weighing down your limbs, hovering over the car like a dark cloud.
Looking both ways before pulling out into the street, you merge seamlessly into the crowd of cars heading home.
An orange glow filters through the windows, street lights bathing everything in a warmth inappropriate for the somber tone inside the car. Heat blasts through the car's AC, and you reach your arm across the center console, hand settling firmly on Dana's thigh, reflexively starting to tap the beat softly into the fabric.
Her hand comes up to cover yours, resting on top of it as she sinks further into the leather chair. It's probably the most comfortable she's been all day.
"I'll pick your car up in the morning."
She just hums in response, sleep beginning to cloud her mind.
An hour later you both had full stomachs and had washed the grime from your shift down the drain.
Your room is left almost in complete darkness as you flip the switch on the wall, yellow hues spilling out from neighboring apartment windows your only source of light as you pad across the carpet towards the bed, narrowly avoiding the piles of paperbacks stacked at the foot of your bed frame.
Soft sheets meet your skin as you slide in behind Dana, stripped down to your boxers and socks the downy fabric of the comforter welcomes you home like a lover from war, wrapping around you like a cocoon.
Strands of wet hair tickle your face as you move closer to your girlfriend, taking your place behind her like a dutiful soldier. Pressing the length of your body against hers whilst one arm tucks itself underneath her head and the other curls around her waist.
Vanilla and the scent of your shower gel fill your nose as you push your face into the back of her shoulder.
"I think I'm done." She mumbles it into the empty air in front of her, leaves it hanging in the quiet of your bedroom.
It's in this darkness that you allow yourself to break open again.
"I think I might be too."
You press a soft kiss into her shoulder and slide your fingers beneath the fabric of her tank top, rubbing soft circles into her skin and wait for Dana's breathing to even out before allowing sleep to take you as well.
Some of the many different ways your girlfriend (turned fiancé [turned wife]) tells you that she wants to have sex with you.
Contains ~
Texts and dialogue. Heavily suggestive themes, but none of the actual sex (sorry). Swearing. Mentions of alcohol and weed. AFAB reader and AFAB Ellie. Masc Ellie. Reader can look however you want her to look, she has no physical description in this other than that she has a female body shape.
Standing in your kitchen, humming languidly to yourself, you mix the brownie batter in the floral patterned bowl. Flour coats every surface of the small room, including your nose.
You can hear the shuffling behind you before you find your fiancé's arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back into her warm body.
"Hey, sweetcheeks."
You smile wider at her low murmur. "Hi, Els. Everything okay?"
Ellie nods against your shoulder, tilting her head to press her lips on the spot just beneath your ear. Her lips are slightly chapped but comforting nonetheless.
"The brownies will take thirty minutes..."
"Good. Thirty minutes that we can use wisely."
You turn, grinning at your soon-to-be wife. "What are you suggesting, Elizabeth Williams?"
"That isn't my name," she rolls her eyes before grabbing your hips and tugging you closer, chests pressed together and noses nearly brushing. "But I'm suggesting..."
And then she breaks out into a sort of sexy sound effect, if you will. A 'bow-chica-wow-wow' kind of noise. Something utterly dorky, but almost endearing...?
"God, you're such an idiot," you huff before colliding your lips with hers.
Let's just say... she got what she was suggesting after you put the brownies in the oven.
You were surprised she asked since you two had kept your relationship such a secret. It was easy since she was in the ER and you were in Peds. Her rough start with Robby being such a prick was a big motivator to keep Baran from looking unprofessional in any way. Not that it was. She just didn't want a reason to have her ethics questioned.
When you pointed that out she had cradled your face and said if Robby could have had a minimum of two workplace relationships that definitely did not work out. She could and should show off her very healthy relationship with her amazing talented girlfriend.
She takes you shopping for a suit. She tells you hers is navy and nothing else wanting you to not be influenced by her. When you come out in the suit you really like you find yourself out of it very quickly and nearly getting caught by the attendant. Thankfully Baran's mind was a bit more clear and able to produce some excuse as to why it was taking so long. When you get home she puts on her dress and she finds herself out of it rather quickly as well but with no interruption thank god.
When you were getting ready the night of the Gala Baran and about to leave Baran surprised you with cufflinks in the shape of a cursive B. She smirked at you with an air of possession simmering under her gaze. "So there's no confusion about how you belong to." She said before dragging your dumbfounded body out to the Uber. In the car she fixes your hair and tells you how absurdly handsome you looked. You tried desperately not to completely crumble under her attention.
At the Gala you two entered together, Baran arm wrapped around yours in a way that left no room to question what you were to each other. Eyes immediately landed on you which then did a double take when you reached the bottom and she leaned in kissing your cheek smiling like no other. "I'm so happy Azizam that I get to let our coworkers know how lucky I am." She whispered.
You drank, ate, and danced for part of the night. But most of it was talking to everyone who knew you and Baran. Her residents (the Pittlings as she lovingly called them) were the most enamored trying to get the whole story. But Baran had told them that was more a story for a bar than a Gala. Your coworkers took a different approach and asked Baran if she had to remind you as much as they did to drink water and eat your lunch as they did. She didn't have to but promised them she'd work on that with you at home. Your coworkers were passing money around after that and you didn't bother asking what that was about. You'd know come tomorrow.
The both of you wrapped up the evening taking shots when the Pittlings so by the time you got home you were both teetering between tipsy and drunk. But one thing was very true. You were both extremely horny.
None of your clothes made it to the bedroom. You made an immediate pitstop at the front door. Then the kitchen counter. Then the couch. Then the hallway wall. When you finally made it to the bedroom you pulled an unknown amount of rounds before collapsing into each other at 3am knowing that tomorrow would be the longest day of work for multiple reasons. But neither of you found the will to care.
I’ve been having butch thoughts again…..Agatha being a grumpy meanie who helps guide reader anyone?
Tags: baby butch reader, on t, bottom growth referred to as tdick, grumpy butch Agatha, tiny dick humiliation (consensual kink)
Words: 364
You barely manage to remember to take your boots off with how excited you are. Between her too-long hours at work and your own busy schedule, it’s been ages since you and Agatha have spent longer than a coffee break together. Which means she hasn’t measured your bottom growth in forever and since she’s the one who’s always done it you forgot yourself.
You careen into the living room. Agatha raises an eyebrow. She’s sitting on the couch, manspread, with a beer in her hand.
“What’s got you so excited?” She looks you up and down. You bounce on your toes.
“I’ve grown!”
“Still look short to me.” Her words are dismissive but you clearly still have her interest. It’s rare for you to get this excited.
“No—” You’re too excited to try and explain properly so you shove your pants and underwear down instead. “I’ve grown!” you repeat. You use your fingers to spread your bush and outer lips apart to expose your tdick. Agatha immediately leans in.
“Huh,” she says. Her actually acknowledging it makes you even more excited. She holds her pinky out next to your slightly protruding tdick. Embarrassment surges through you.
“Agatha,” you whine.
“What? I’m doin’ what I always do.”
You resist the urge to squirm. She often compares your dick to her pinky in bed. You hope she doesn’t notice your tdick twitch.
“Huh,” she says again and gently runs her pinky over your tdick. You’re still so sensitive electricity runs up your spine and your hips jump. You barely resist whining again. You know she’s doing it to get a rise out of you. “Let’s get you hard so I can really tell, hm? That’s the whole point after all.”
You nod eagerly, keeping yourself spread. Agatha uses two fingers to gently stroke you. You’re past the pain stage, thankfully, but you’re still a bit sensitive. It’s easy to get overstimulated and it’s hard to not to quickly dissolve into a mess. Your hips move jut forward a little as blood rushes to your tdick. It stands slightly more at attention and your excitement rises at being able to see the head peeking out more.
Rita Calhoun x Navy Seal!reader
Warnings: lots of flirting!, Rita being a lil shyt, sass city
WC: 3.1k
Authors Note: I'm back! Life has been pretty rough lately so writing has been hard. I missed my ladies. Thank you @roylekel for this request! This is part 1 and I'll keep adding to this story as the mood strikes. Enjoy my loves <3
Your sister had insisted you “do something normal,” which was how you ended up in a boutique self-defense studio off Madison Avenue — the sort of place where the air smelled faintly of eucalyptus and generational wealth.
You took a place near the mirrored wall, hidden but observant, dressed in your faded Navy sweatshirt and joggers.
If your sister wanted you to blend into civilian life, you’d try, terribly, but you’d try.
Leave was supposed to feel restful. Instead, it felt like wearing someone else’s clothes.
The instructor had just started explaining wrist breaks when the door opened with the soft but unmistakable confidence of someone used to entering rooms worth entering.
A woman stepped inside — late, unbothered. Camel coat draped over one arm, sunglasses still on, a coffee from a place with no posted prices.
Her presence didn’t fill the room so much as recalibrate it. Her gaze passed over glossy-haired associates and executives, then caught on you.
You raised your fingers in a lazy two-finger salute before you could stop yourself. Old habits. She lifted one eyebrow above the rim of her sunglasses and almost smiled.
The instructor cleared his throat. “Welcome, we’re just getting started. You can join any group.”
She removed her sunglasses with leisure, revealing sharp, assessing hazel eyes. “Lovely. And here I was worried I’d missed all the fun.”
The instructor gestured her toward a cluster of women. She ignored it, walking directly toward you.
“Is this spot taken?”
You shook your head. “Help yourself.”
She looked at you a beat too long, playful in her gaze. “You stand out,” she said.
You huffed a soft laugh. “Look who’s talking.”
Her smirk softened into something warmer. “Touché. Two standouts in one room—imagine the odds.”
A beat passed before you asked, “You got a name?”
She let out a soft huff of laughter. “Rita.”
The name carried weight, like she expected you to recognize it. You only noticed the way she said it — controlled, polished, practiced — like a signature on expensive stationery.
“And you?” she asked.
You gave her your name, and she repeated it back in a low, testing murmur, as if trying to decide where to place you in her mental puzzle.
Before either of you could say more, the instructor clapped his hands. “Pair up with a partner!”
Rita didn’t look away from you.
“Well,” she said, sliding off her jacket and rolling her sleeves to her elbows. “Shall we?”
You weren’t sure whether she meant the drill. Or the trouble she’d very clearly just invited you into.
Either way, her confidence was a gravitational force.
She stepped closer, enough that you could smell her perfume — expensive, the kind worn by women who never rushed for anything. “I work with cops,” she said, lowering her voice as if leaning on a bar instead of standing on a padded gym floor. “I can tell when someone walks in with training. And you scream ‘military.’ What branch?”
You kept your stance loose, hands relaxed. “Navy.”
She gave you a once-over, the kind that began professional and slipped into something amusing. “Navy what?”
“…Just Navy.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “That’s an adorable lie,” she said, folding her arms.
“Or a deflection. And I get the feeling you’re very good at those.”
“Oh, I’m excellent at it.” You let a slow grin appear, just to watch her reaction.
Before she could ask anything else, the instructor called out, “Volunteers for the next demonstration?”
Your hand went up out of habit. Hers rose a half-second later.
She glanced sideways. “Guess we’re doing this.”
The drill was simple: break a wrist grab, step back, counter—at least for you.
Rita, as it turned out, was stronger than her frame suggested and infinitely more competitive. She engaged like she did everything in life: with expectation of victory.
The first time you redirected her wrist without effort, she blinked, scandalized. “How—what—okay. Again.”
You repeated the motion with the same gentle precision.
Her eyes narrowed. “You are absolutely not just Navy.”
“Maybe I work a desk.”
“Oh yes,” she said dryly. “You radiate ‘administrative support.’”
You leaned in, voice dropping. “Are you investigating me, Rita?”
Her breath hitched — barely, but enough to betray her. “I’m observant,” she countered. “It’s not every day someone like you shows up to a Saturday class in Midtown.”
“Someone like me?”
A devastating smile curved her mouth.
“Strong. Very controlled. Annoyingly skilled. You could’ve tossed me across the room, but you were being polite.
You chuckled. “Want me to stop being polite?”
She blinked rapidly, regaining composure with visible effort. “I—no. Well… later? Perhaps. Purely for educational purposes.”
God, she was fun.
When the seminar ended, the others drifted out with water bottles and weekend plans. Rita didn’t move. She lingered against the mirrored wall, tapping her phone without ever unlocking it, as if waiting for a reason to stay.
You walked toward her. “Headed anywhere?”
She looked up, caught. “Home.”
Then, before you could respond: “I’m two blocks away. And before you ask — no, I don’t need a ride.”
“Didn’t say you did,” you replied, amused. “I just figured maybe I’d walk with you.”
She huffed an involuntary laugh. “Direct, aren’t you?”
“Efficient. In my line of work, it helps.”
“And what line of work is that?”
You shrugged. “Right now? Vacation.”
Her expression softened, like light catching glass. “You don’t seem like someone who relaxes easily.”
“I don’t.”
She smiled — a real one, the kind that settled low in your chest. “Well. If you’re bored, there’s a place around the corner with terrible pastries but excellent people-watching.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You offering to spend more time with me?”
“You’re interesting.” She said it simply, like an unnegotiable fact. “I don’t meet many people who can flip me without dislocating my shoulder.”
You pretended to consider. “Alright. Coffee.”
As you walked beside her onto the street, she nudged you lightly with her elbow.
“So,” she said, that signature sly curve returning to her mouth, “when you inevitably tell me what you really do… make it dramatic.”
You bit back a grin. “Trust me, I’ve got material.”
She laughed and the sound of it slipped into your bones, loosening something that had been clenched tight for far too long.
For the first time since returning home, you felt… human again.
—
The café was the kind of place that tried to look effortless and failed — curated rustic, with reclaimed wood tables and pastries arranged like museum pieces.
Rita pushed the door open with her shoulder and held it for you, though she did it with the kind of casual precision that made it seem like she held doors only when she wished to — not out of obligation, but out of strategy.
“Order whatever you want,” she said, waving vaguely at the chalkboard menu. “Just don’t choose the almond croissant. It tastes like ennui.”
You snorted. “Noted.”
She ordered an Americano; you ordered something with oatmilk and foam that made her raise an eyebrow like she was adding the detail to a dossier.
The two of you took a small corner table, half-hidden behind a pillar, where the noise softened to a pleasant murmur. You settled opposite her, and she draped her coat over the back of her chair — the kind of coat that suggested private drivers and winter weekends in the Hamptons.
She studied you again. You were starting to understand that she didn’t do anything halfway — not her career, not her wardrobe, not her scrutiny.
“So,” she said, wrapping elegant fingers around her mug. “You’re on leave. From…?”
You could deflect. You usually did. But something about the way she asked made it feel like a dare — one you didn’t mind rising to.
“Navy,” you said. Then, because her gaze invited precision: “Navy SEAL.”
She went very still. Then slowly blinked, as if recalibrating her assessment of you.
“Well,” she murmured, leaning back. “That is considerably more dramatic than I expected.”
“You asked,” you said with a shrug. “And you wanted dramatic.”
“Please,” she scoffed, though her eyes were gleaming. “If you’d told me you were a dentist, I would’ve assumed there was a classified component. You radiate competency.” Her mouth curved.
You sipped your coffee. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Immensely,” she admitted without shame.
A moment passed — not awkward, but charged.
She rested her chin on her hand, studying you with something warm, curious, and interested.
“You know,” she said lightly, “you still haven’t asked what I do.”
“I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to.”
She hummed at that — amused. Then she said, with a small, elegant shrug, “I’m a defense attorney.”
You raised your brows. “You defend criminals for a living?”
“I defend the Constitution,” she corrected smoothly. “Sometimes the Constitution is standing behind a man who did terrible things, but that’s hardly my fault.”
You laughed, unable to help it. “You’re dangerous too.”
She lifted one shoulder. “In Manolo Blahnik, even.”
Rita leaned in slightly, voice low enough to be intimate. “So let me get this straight. You jump out of planes and storm buildings… and you voluntarily spent your Saturday in a self-defense class full of women who buy crystals for protection?”
“Trying to stay sharp,” you said. “And my sister signed me up.”
“She has excellent taste,” Rita murmured, her gaze making a slow path over your shoulders, your jaw, the way you sat. “Very excellent taste.”
Heat flickered under your skin — not embarrassment, but recognition. She wasn’t subtle. She wasn’t trying to be. She was enjoying this: the reveal, the banter, the proximity.
When the coffees were nearly finished, she glanced toward the window, then back at you with a different expression — a quieter one, though no less certain.
You watched her trace the rim of her mug with one fingertip, an uncharacteristically pensive gesture from someone who seemed otherwise incapable of second-guessing herself. It struck you how… human she looked in that moment.
You cleared your throat. “I should tell you something.”
Her attention snapped back to you, alert in that lawyerly way. “Should I be worried?”
“Not unless you’ve grown attached in the last two hour.”
Her mouth curved, sly. “Impossible to say.”
You leaned your forearms on the table. “I’m only in the city for two weeks. Leave. Then I fly back out.”
There was a brief tightening around her eyes, there and gone so fast you might’ve imagined it. But she recovered with a practiced smoothness.
“Well,” she said, “some people are worth knowing even on a countdown clock.”
You smiled, softer than you meant to.
“So,” you said, trying to sound casual and not at all like your heart had just done something inconvenient, “can I see you again while I’m here?”
Rita’s brows lifted, undeniably pleased. “Are you asking me out?”
“Yes. I’m asking if you’d like to get coffee again,” you countered. “Maybe somewhere with pastries that don’t taste like cardboard.”
She laughed — a low, warm sound that made her look less polished and more reachable. She studied you and you had the strange feeling of being evaluated for admission to a club you hadn’t applied to but very much wanted to join.
“I suppose,” she said, though the softness in her voice betrayed that she’d made up her mind before you even asked. “My schedule is… demanding, but I can make time.”
“I can be flexible.”
“I get the impression you’re many things,” she said, “but flexible wasn’t one I expected.”
“Try me.”
Rita let her gaze drift down your forearms, your shoulders, then back to your eyes. “Oh, I intend to.”
Your pulse jumped—a subtle little traitorous thing—and the corner of her mouth lifted like she’d heard it.
She reached for her coat, smoothing it over one arm. “Before we do coffee again, meet me tomorrow evening,” she said. “There’s a place I like. Excellent wine list. Do you own anything that won’t scandalize the hostess?”
You blinked. “I have… a jacket.”
“A jacket.” She repeated it as if tasting the word and finding it adorable. “Fine. We’ll make it work.”
You stood as she did, stepping closer than necessary, only realizing too late how little distance there was between the two of you. Her breath brushed your cheek. She didn’t step back.
“Two weeks,” she murmured. “We’d better not waste any of it.”
You gave her a slow nod. “Agreed.”
Rita slipped on her sunglasses, elegant armor returning. You didn’t miss the tiny curve of her lips before she turned toward the door.
She paused with her hand on the frame, glancing back at you once.
“Don’t go jumping out of planes before tomorrow,” she said.
“No promises.”
You watched her walk away, feeling the strange, startling buzz of excitement settle in your ribs.
—
Your sister nearly dropped her glass when you told her you had a date.
“A what?”
“A date,” you repeated, trying not to smile. “Tonight.”
“With who?” she demanded, already crossing her arms like she was about to interrogate you under a bare bulb. “You’ve been home for three days. How did you even meet someone? You can’t talk to anyone without scanning for exits.”
You shrugged. “Self-defense seminar.”
She blinked. “You went to that thing I signed you up for?”
“I was bored.”
“And?”
You hesitated, then said too casually, “Met someone.”
Your sister’s eyes widened with glee. “Oh my god. You like her.”
“I didn’t say—”
“You like her,” she repeated, marching to the hall closet like she’d been preparing for this moment since your enlistment. “And you are absolutely not wearing that ‘Navy sweatshirt trying to be a personality’ thing on a date. What’s the vibe?”
“Wine bar,” you said, surrendering to the inevitable. “Fancy. Fancy enough that she asked if I owned anything that wouldn’t scandalize the hostess.”
Your sister grinned like she’d been handed an Olympic-level challenge. “Say no more.”
An hour later, your bed was buried under what looked like half of her closet: tailored jackets, crisp shirts, slim-cut trousers, all in deep neutrals and sharp silhouettes. But she kept pushing garments aside, muttering to herself.
“No, softer shoulders… no, this color is wrong for your skin tone… no, you need something that says ‘I’m dangerous, but I’ll also hold your drink while you fix your lipstick.’”
“You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Absolutely.”
In the end, she chose a dark charcoal suit that fit your frame like it had been waiting its whole life for you. Strong lines, clean detail, understated but undeniably butch. A crisp white shirt. Polished boots.
You looked in the mirror and felt like yourself.
Your sister stood behind you, her hands on your shoulders. “You look good,” she said. “Like… actually relaxed. I’m proud of you.”
You swallowed, caught off guard by the warmth in your chest. “Thanks.”
“Now go,” she said, waving you off. “Go be charming and mysterious and broody but emotionally available just enough. And if she’s awful, I’ll come drag you out by your ear.”
“She’s not awful,” you said before you could stop yourself.
She turned, eyebrows raised. “Oh. You really like her.”
—
Rita had told you to meet her at a wine bar on the Upper East Side — the kind of place with marble steps, whispered lighting, and a front door that looked like it judged your worthiness before opening.
You arrived a few minutes early.
Which meant you got to watch her walk in.
And god — you were taken.
Rita wore an expensive suit with a tailored blazer and a skirt that fell mid-thigh, just long enough to be professional and just short enough to be lethal. A silk blouse in a deep jewel tone. And Manolo Blahnik heels that made her legs look like they belonged in a museum.
Your first coherent thought was that you had no business looking at her like that — and your second was that she wanted you to.
Her eyes swept over you — the suit, the posture, the way you stood when you were trying not to be nervous. Her lips parted slightly, like she’d been caught off-guard.
“Well,” she said after a beat. “That jacket will not scandalize the hostess.”
“High praise,” you murmured.
“From me? It is.”
The hostess led you to a quiet corner booth, the lighting low and flattering, the room filled with soft conversation and the faint clink of crystal glasses.
Rita crossed her legs, and you had to subtly rewire your brain.
“You clean up well,” she said, glancing at you over the top of her wine menu.
“So do you.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I always clean up well.”
“I noticed.”
She smirked, pleased.
The night unfolded easily. Rita teased you for being the kind of person who noticed exits and angles; you teased her for noticing everyone’s motives. It felt strangely easy, the two of you slipping into each other’s rhythms without effort.
She talked about the art scene with the familiarity of someone who actually frequented galleries; you admitted the last museum you’d been in was on a foreign base and mostly full of old maps.
Rita laughed — a clean, unpolished burst of amusement that startled something loose in you. She looked softer like this, her brilliance still flaring in her eyes but less guarded, less curated. You didn’t mean to feel it, that small thrum of wonder in your chest, but it bloomed anyway.
“You know,” she said, swirling her wine, “I never do this. The whole… letting someone get to know me thing.”
“Same,” you admitted. “But I’m making an exception.”
Her eyes softened. “So am I.”
Time slipped. The restaurant began to empty. At one point, her knee brushed yours beneath the table — subtle, then neither of you moved.
By the time you stepped outside, the night had settled into a cool, quiet glow. Streetlights shimmered on the pavement.
“This was…” she began, then paused, unusual for her. “Unexpected.”
“Good unexpected?”
She met your eyes, and whatever armor she wore in court wasn’t present here.
“Very.”
You hesitated, savoring the moment — then reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
A small, helpless sound left her lips—the first unguarded thing you’d heard from her.
“May I?” you asked.
“Yes,” she said, almost a whisper.
You leaned in, pressing your lips to hers.
Rita kissed like she handled arguments — controlled, articulate — but there was a spark beneath it, something warm that opened the moment your hand rested lightly on her waist. Her fingers curled into your lapel, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.
When you finally pulled back, she was still holding your jacket, eyes slightly dazed, lips faintly parted.
“Well,” she murmured. “I suppose I’ll be thinking about that for an unreasonable amount of time.”
“Same,” you said, breathless in a way you never let yourself be.
She stepped back just enough to regain composure, though her voice was still velvet-soft. “Tomorrow? Coffee?”
“If you want.”
“Oh,” she said with that devastating half-smile, “I very much do.”
She walked away then, heels clicking, perfume drifting behind her — but halfway down the block, she glanced over her shoulder.
ButchFirelfly!Reader x CatalinaIsland!Abby
✧ chapter 7✧ Sweet heat.
✧ ⋆ 4.7k words
cw:slow burn sexual tension, oral sex!abby receiving, tribbing/scissoring, nipple play!abby receiving, grinding, praise kink, soft dom!reader, inexperienced!abby, lots of foreplay, emotional vulnerability during sex,overstimulation, multiple orgasms/implied multiple orgasms, body worship,aftercare,implied trauma,and soft/coaxing dirty talk.
⋆ MDNI 18+
THIS TAKES PLACE POST GAME
**THIS IS AN AU SOME EVENTS IN THIS WILL NOT MATCH THE ORIGINAL GAME STORYLINE**
You cleared your throat quietly.
Abby’s lower lip trembled once before she pressed it hard between her teeth. Her chest still rose too fast from panic, shoulders tight beneath the thin straps of the tank top.
You moved before you could think too hard about it.
Two quick steps carried you fully into the room. The mattress dipped sharply as you sat beside her, careful not to crowd her too fast. Your hands stayed visible in your lap at first, fingers flexing once against your knees.
“It’s okay.” Your voice came softer now, roughened by embarrassment and leftover sleep.
She dragged in a shaky breath through her nose. “It’s just…” Her throat moved hard when she swallowed. “Last night…”
You nodded immediately like you understood, even though your head still spun trying to process what you’d walked into.
Then the words left your mouth before your brain caught them. “Was I good?”
Her head snapped toward you so fast strands of blonde hair shifted across her cheek. “What?”
You scoffed softly at yourself and rubbed your palm over your jaw. “I was pretty drunk.” Your shoulders lifted awkwardly. “Was it good?”
The confusion in her face deepened for exactly one second.
Then realization hit.
Her embarrassment vanished so abruptly it almost looked like irritation instead. “We didn’t have sex.”
Air left your chest hard. “Oh, good.”
Silence hit again immediately afterward.
Abby stared at you.
You stared back.
Then her eyes narrowed slightly. “Is that something you do often?”
Your brow pulled upward. “What?”
She shook her head quickly, looking away toward the blankets twisted beneath her knees. “I’m sorry.” She exhaled hard through her nose. “This was wrong of me.”
Your eyes dropped toward the pillow beside her.
Still tangled in your blankets.
Your throat tightened.
You reached out slowly and rested your hand against her thigh.
Warm.
The muscle there tensed instantly beneath your palm. “I could make it feel better than my pillow could.”
Her breath caught sharply.
Your thumb moved once against her soft skin before stilling again.
She swallowed hard enough that you saw it move through her throat.
You leaned in slowly.
Not enough to trap her. Just enough that your breath brushed against her mouth.
Her eyes closed gradually, lashes lowering in uneven little flickers while she tilted toward you.
Then she stopped halfway.
“I haven’t been with a woman.” The confession came out barely louder than breath.
You nodded once.
“Then I’m perfect.” A soft laugh slipped out of you, nervous and low. Your mouth brushed lightly against hers without fully kissing her yet. “I’m not exactly a typical woman.”
A shaky breath left her mouth against yours.
Your hand tightened slightly against her thigh.
Then you kissed her.
Soft at first.
Careful.
Her lips parted slowly beneath yours while her fingers twisted tightly into the blanket beside her. The mattress shifted under both your weight as she leaned closer without seeming to realize she was doing it.
Your patrol disappeared completely from your mind.
You pulled back slowly, your mouth lingering close enough that your lips still brushed hers when you spoke. Her breath warmed your skin in uneven little bursts.
“It can just be one time.” Your voice stayed low, almost swallowed by the space between you. “Just a fuck. Help you relax.” Your thumb moved once against her thigh. “Then we can go back to how we were.”
Abby’s teeth caught her lower lip immediately. “I’ve never done that.”
You tilted your head slightly and kissed her again, soft enough that it barely lasted a second before you pulled back. “Never fucked?”
A quiet laugh slipped out of her, nervous and breathy. Her blue eyes stayed locked on yours now instead of darting away. “No.” Her tongue swept slowly across her lips before she swallowed. “Just went about my day after…” Her shoulders shifted awkwardly beneath the tank top. “I’ve only been with one person.”
You nodded slowly, studying her face from this close. The flush across her cheeks had spread down her neck now. “New experiences keep life interesting.”
She gave a small nod. “You’re right.”
You kissed her once more, lingering slightly longer this time before speaking against her mouth. “We don’t have to.”
The sound that left her throat caught halfway into a whimper.
Your stomach tightened hard at the noise.
You leaned back just enough to see her properly. Her face had gone completely pink now, lips parted, breathing shallow. One hand twisted into the blanket beside her while the other stayed frozen near her chest like she didn’t know where to put it.
“You want to?” you asked quietly.
She nodded immediately.
You smiled against her mouth before kissing her again, slower this time. “How long have you been pent up like this?” The tease came softer than your usual tone, almost coaxing.
Her breath hitched.
“Since…” She swallowed hard, eyes dropping briefly before lifting back toward yours. “Last night.”
You clicked your tongue softly. “Poor thing.” Your nose brushed lightly against hers. “Want me to make it all better?”
She sucked in a sharp breath through her nose and nodded again, smaller this time but desperate enough that it made your chest tighten.
You leaned in again, slower this time, giving her room to pull away if she wanted to.
Instead, her chin tipped up toward you.
A low sound rumbled softly in your throat as your mouth brushed along the side of her neck. Your lips moved carefully over warm skin, lingering beneath her jaw before drifting lower. “I’ll make it all better,” you murmured against her.
Your mouth traced the line of her jaw with slow, measured kisses. When you reached the place beneath her ear where her pulse fluttered visibly beneath the skin, you paused there. Your tongue brushed lightly across it once.
Her breath caught immediately.
You kissed the spot after, once. Then again. Then a third time, each kiss softer than the last, barely more than warmth against her skin.
“You promise this is alright?” you whispered.
Your lips touched her neck again while you spoke, gentle enough that she trembled beneath you instead of flinching.
She let out a sharp breath and nodded quickly. “I’m sure.”
You made another quiet sound under your breath and kissed her again. One kiss over her pulse. Another lower against her collarbone where her tank top slipped loose against her shoulder.
Then you stopped and looked at her fully again.
Her face had gone completely flushed now. Pink spread over her cheeks and down the center of her throat while her chest rose unevenly beneath the fabric.
You kissed her mouth slowly.
So slowly that neither of you moved for the first second except your lips pressing together.
Her eyes fluttered closed immediately. Your mouth moved softly against hers, careful and lingering, the kind of kiss that made the room around you disappear entirely.
When you pulled back, your nose still brushed hers.
“You’ve been through so much.” Your voice came quieter now. Your eyes searched hers carefully. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” A small smile cracked across your mouth, nervous and crooked. “I’m usually not this gentle.”
She nodded slightly, eyes drifting away for a second before returning to you again. “I just wanted to feel better for a moment.” Her tongue passed slowly across her lips. “That’s why…” She shook her head once. “I hope you don’t think I’m dirty for this.”
The embarrassment hit her all over again after saying it out loud. Her cheeks deepened red while her gaze dropped toward her lap. She still sat there in only the tank top, legs bare against your sheets, visibly trying to fold into herself despite the warmth between you.
Your hand came up immediately.
You cupped her face gently, thumb pressing along her cheek while your fingers rested beneath her jaw. “Not at all.” Your head shook firmly. “We only do this if you’re ready.”
Her mouth softened into a small smile then.
“Just once?” she whispered.
You leaned forward again and kissed her lightly before answering. “Just once.”
Your mouths met again.
Her lips trembled against yours from nerves more than hesitation. You could feel every uneven breath she took.
She really was beautiful.
The sweetness of her breath mixed with the faint salt still lingering on her skin from the ocean air outside. You’d only known her days, barely enough time to learn the rhythm of her footsteps in your house, but your body already reacted to her like you’d known her longer.
Usually this part felt different.
Usually people grabbed at you harder. Wanted rough hands. Teeth. Bruises pressed into skin hard enough to ache the next morning.
But Abby sat next to you like she might splinter if handled carelessly.
Not weak.
Never weak.
Just worn thin in places nobody could see.
Your thumb brushed slowly over her cheek while you held the kiss gentle and unhurried. Then you guided her backward onto the mattress carefully, your hand supporting her shoulder while she lowered onto the blankets.
You climbed over her slowly, giving her space to stop you.
She didn’t.
You pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it somewhere beside the bed. Her hands found your chest almost immediately afterward.
Warm palms.
Curious.
Her fingers moved slowly over muscle and softness alike, tracing along your ribs and shoulders. You weren’t lean. Your body carried strength in heavier lines, solid and grounded from years of work and training.
Abby let out another shaky breath while she stared up at you.
You leaned down and kissed her neck again.
This time she reacted instantly.
Her legs wrapped around your waist quickly, almost startled by her own response. Your hand planted beside her head against the mattress while the other slid along her thigh, holding her closer without forcing her.
A low sound left your throat when her hips lifted instinctively toward you.
You kissed her neck again, slower now, your mouth lingering over warm skin while your tongue traced lazy circles beneath her jaw.
When you reached her pulse again, you stayed there longer.
Your tongue moved lightly against the rapid flutter beneath her skin. You could feel the way her heartbeat stumbled each time your mouth touched her there.
A soft gasp left her lips.
Her fingers tightened against your shoulder, then loosened, then tightened again.
You pulled back slightly and blew cool air across the damp skin before kissing it softly once more.
She turned her head suddenly and kissed you again.
Hungrier this time.
Her mouth opened against yours immediately, breath catching between soft little sounds while her lips moved faster than before. One of her hands slid up the back of your neck, fingers curling lightly into your hair as she pulled you closer.
A whimper slipped into your mouth.
“You’re going so slow, Chuck,” she complained softly against your lips, hips lifting beneath you again in restless little motions. “No one’s ever this slow.”
The words hit low in your stomach.
But you didn’t want fast.
Not with her.
Your entire body resisted the instinct to rush. You wanted her breathing slow enough to count. Wanted every inch of skin memorized before either of you lost yourselves completely. You wanted softness so deliberate it hurt.
Your hand slid from her thigh to her hip instead, fingers spreading wide enough to hold her still when she tried to grind upward again.
You shook your head once against her mouth and slowed the kiss deliberately.
And she followed you.
Immediately.
Her body softened right back into your pace like she trusted it instinctively. Her lips slowed against yours, breaths evening slightly while your mouths stayed connected.
You pulled back just enough for air after her tongue slid into your mouth, swirling once against yours before retreating.
“I want to savor you.” Your voice dropped low enough that it almost vibrated against her lips. “If it’s just once, I want to learn every line in your body.”
You kissed her again, deeper this time, your mouth lingering against hers before you whispered softly into the corner of her lips.
“I want to remember the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid with.” Your breath caught slightly in your chest. “I never want to forget your skin.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
Before she could answer, you kissed her again.
Her hands settled against your shoulders while your tongue pushed slowly into her mouth. You moved carefully with her, tasting the sweetness still lingering on her breath while your tongue flicked softly against hers before circling deeper.
But she was already falling apart under you.
Every time you kissed her deeply, her hips stuttered upward instinctively against your hand holding her steady. Her breathing kept catching halfway into little broken noises she tried to swallow back down.
You pulled away slowly and sat back on your knees long enough to unbutton your shorts.
The metal button slipped free beneath your fingers. You shoved the fabric down your hips and kicked them off beside the bed, leaving yourself in your boxers. Cool air brushed against the dampness trapped there immediately.
Abby’s eyes dropped without meaning to.
Her hand followed.
Her palm pressed experimentally against the front of your boxers and her breath caught sharply the second she felt you hard beneath the fabric. Her eyes widened visibly.
You grabbed her wrist gently before she could move again.
Your head shook once.
“This is about you, sweetness,” you murmured.
You leaned down immediately afterward, pushing her tank top upward over her stomach before pulling it over her head completely.
Her chest rose hard beneath you once the fabric disappeared.
You kissed along the center of her chest slowly, your mouth lingering over warm skin while your hand spread across one breast. Your thumb moved gently against her nipple while your mouth found the other.
A frustrated whine left her instantly at being redirected again.
You answered it by closing your lips softly around her nipple.
You let your tongue lazily roll around her nipple while your finger and thumb pinched the other softly.
“Oh my god,” she breathed, arching her back off the mattress. Her stomach tightened beneath you while she squirmed against your body, panting as she looked down at you with flushed cheeks.
You closed your eyes briefly as you kept kissing and sucking at her erect nipple, your hand tightening slightly around her other breast.
She yelped softly.
You switched sides immediately, your mouth dragging across her chest before you kissed the other nipple instead. Your fingers rolled the first gently between them while your tongue moved slow and warm against the second.
You pulled back just enough to look up at her.
“Is that good, sweetness?” you asked quietly.
She nodded immediately, hips rolling upward again in restless little movements. “So good.”
You smiled against her skin and kissed lower.
Your mouth moved down the center of her stomach slowly, lingering against warm skin while your hand spread over her waist.
You paused above her bellybutton, your breath warming the damp skin there before your tongue slid slowly across it once. Her stomach tightened immediately beneath you, muscles pulling taut under the touch.
Then you kissed the spot softly.
Once.
Twice.
Your mouth lingered there while your hand smoothed along her side, thumb brushing lightly against her waist.
You continued lower at an almost unbearable pace, kissing along the center of her stomach in slow, careful presses that made her breathing hitch higher in her chest each time your lips touched her skin.
Above you, her fingers twisted tighter into the blankets.
The sides of your hair brushed against her thighs as you settled between them again, your hands spreading gently over her hips to steady her when she squirmed. Her pulse jumped visibly in her throat while she watched you, lips parted, nervousness and anticipation tangled together across her flushed face.
You looked up at her once before lowering your head again, your mouth brushing teasingly against the inside of her thigh instead.
“This’ll be better,” you murmured softly as you slid lower across the bed.
But suddenly her hand caught in your messy mullet, fingers tightening hard enough to stop you.
“Wait!” she gasped.
You paused immediately.
Your brows lifted while you looked up at her from between her thighs. “What’s wrong?”
She looked away fast, throat moving hard when she swallowed.
“You smell so good,” you whispered against her skin as you tried lowering again.
Her grip tightened harder in your hair.
You let her pull you back upward.
You climbed back over her slowly and kissed her again, softer this time. “What’s bugging you?” you asked quietly against her mouth.
She bit her lip. “No one’s kissed me there,” she admitted shyly.
The surprise was difficult to hide on your face. You smirked slightly. “Ever?” Your head tilted.
She shook her head immediately.
Your fingers slid slowly down her body while you leaned to the side slightly, your palm ghosting lightly over her wetness between her legs instead of touching directly.
“Not a kiss?” you asked softly, watching her hips twitch beneath your hand.
She gasped sharply and shook her head again. “N-no.”
You clicked your tongue sympathetically. “Poor sweet Abby.”
You kissed her again while your palm settled more firmly over her throbbing pussy, holding her hips steady when they tried to move again.
“You’ll love this then,” you murmured with a quiet laugh against her lips. “Okay?”
She nodded shakily.
Then you kissed your way slowly back down her body again while her fingers tightened nervously in the sheets.
You kissed her thighs first.
Her left one trembled beneath your mouth. You kissed once near the middle, then higher, then closer to where her legs parted. Your pace stayed agonizingly slow. You moved to the right thigh after, pausing at her wet arousal to blow cool air softly against her heated wet opening.
A shaky sound left her throat.
You smiled against her skin and kissed her right thigh too. Once near the top. Once lower. Then you sucked softly at the skin there, leaving behind the faintest little mark.
Then you moved to her pussy.
You paused there, looking up at her.
She squirmed immediately beneath your gaze, head tipping back toward the ceiling before dropping again to look at you. Her hips lifted impatiently off the mattress.
“Come on,” she whined softly. “You’re driving me insane.”
You tilted your head and rested it briefly against her thigh.
“Am I?” you asked quietly while your fingers traced slow circles over her wet folds.
She nodded immediately. “God, yes.”
A soft laugh left you.
You lowered your mouth again, kissing along her hip while your fingers tightened slightly to keep her still. Your tongue flicked gently against her throbbing clit and she whimpered sharply, fingers tangling into her own hair.
Her thighs shook.
Your hands spread wider against her hips while you kissed and teased lower, every movement unbearably patient.
Your tongue circled her wet opening, swirling softly and tasting her. You slurped and moved back upwards to her clit. Sucking softly and swirling your tongue gently.
“This is too much,” she complained breathlessly. “Holy shit.”
You hummed softly against her skin, watching the way her face twisted apart above you. Every little reaction hit you straight in the chest. Her breathing kept breaking into uneven gasps while her hips twitched beneath your hands.
You took her clit fully int your lips. You sucked softly while you rolled your tongue around the bud. You felt it pulse with each circle around the throbbing pink flesh. You chuckled into her and wet faster, flicking while you sucked.
Then her whole body jerked suddenly.
Her back arched hard off the bed.
Your brows lifted immediately as you realized what was happening. How quick it was happening.
You stayed gentle, letting her ride through it while soft little sounds kept spilling from her mouth.
“Oh my god,” she repeated shakily. “This is too much.”
Her body trembled beneath your hands.
You rolled your tongue at the same pace sucking her clit gently as you listened to her gasp.
Once her breathing finally started slowing again, you eased back. You kissed her clit softly before climbing back up the bed toward her.
She still whimpered quietly while you kissed her mouth again.
“Oh god,” she breathed. “I’ve never—”
You cut her off gently with another kiss.
Her body stayed oversensitive now, every touch pulling another shaky reaction from her. You wondered briefly how long it had been since someone held her carefully instead of roughly.
Your tongue slid slowly into her mouth again, kissing her deep and warm while your hands held her steady.
Then your hips settled carefully against hers.
You pressed your wet arousal onto hers. Feeling the mix of spit and fluid stick together. The sounds were wet, obscene almost. Loud in the quiet room.
You rolled your hips down once.
The contact alone made her gasp sharply into your mouth, nails digging into your shoulders hard enough to sting.
“You’ll be okay,” you whispered against her lips. “I know it’s a lot, isn’t it?”
She nodded quickly, breathing uneven. “So much.” Her teeth caught her lower lip before she looked up at you with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. “I want you to feel good too.”
A rough little laugh left your throat.
“Then stay nice and still for me.” You tilted your head slightly. “Can you do that, sweetness?”
She nodded immediately. “I can.”
She repeated it again in another breathless little sound while your forehead rested lightly against hers and your hips began moving slowly against her.
You roll your legs around hers gently, locking them into a loose X shape beneath the blankets so she can’t drift away from you even if she tries. The movement drags another rough sound from your throat when you feel the heat between her thighs pulse harder against you. Your forehead dips to her shoulder for a second as you fight to keep your breathing steady.
She whimpers immediately.
The sound breaks apart against your skin while she hides her face in your chest, short hair pressing against your collarbone. Her thighs tremble harder around your hips now, little helpless shakes that make the mattress creak beneath both of you. Tiny noises keep slipping from her lips no matter how hard she tries to swallow them down.
Then you feel her mouth brush your collarbone.
“I can’t,” she whispers shakily. “I can’t, I can’t…”
You tighten your arms around her waist and shake your head against her temple, letting out a low grunt near her ear. “Not much longer,” you breathe. “You’re doing so good for me.”
Your hips pick up pace slowly at first, then harder once you feel the way her body reacts to it. She whines louder this time, her nails digging sharply into your back hard enough to sting. You can feel every twitch of her hips against yours now, every desperate little movement she can’t control anymore. The warmth between her legs starts building faster, slick heat dragging against you in a way that nearly makes your head spin.
A smirk pulls at your mouth despite yourself.
“Come with me,” you grunt, rhythm growing rougher. “I know you can, pretty.”
She whimpers again, the sound muffled against your chest as she presses her face harder into your skin. Her mouth falls open with a soft broken moan, breath hot against your collarbone. Then her entire body jerks.
You groan deeply into the side of her neck the second you feel it hit her.
Her legs shake violently around you, trembling hard enough that you have to hold her tighter to keep her still. The feeling of her twitching against you drives you insane. Every stuttering movement of her hips pulls another strained sound from your throat until your own rhythm finally breaks apart with it.
You grunt hard, hips stuttering unevenly as pleasure crashes through you too.
For a few seconds neither of you can really move.
Your chest heaves against hers while your head stays buried near her shoulder, dizzy from the intensity of it. Her fingers still cling weakly to your back, nails barely scratching your skin now instead of digging in.
“So perfect,” you whisper hoarsely once you can breathe again.
She lets out a tiny whimper into your collarbone. “Thank you.”
The words make your stomach twist unexpectedly.
You swallow hard and slowly lift yourself enough to look at her. She peels herself from your chest reluctantly, flushed pink all the way down her throat. Her lips are swollen from biting them and her lashes stick together slightly from tears.
You lean down and kiss her softly.
“You did so good,” you murmur against her mouth.
She nods shyly, pink pout trembling a little. “You made me feel so good,” she whispers, voice rough and sleepy. “Thank you for being so sweet to me.”
You freeze for half a second.
Usually after this, you’re the one getting up first. Getting water. Cleaning up. Maybe getting a lazy kiss if you’re lucky. Maybe a little praise before they rolled over and the moment disappeared.
No one had ever thanked you before.
No one had ever looked at you like you’d given them something precious.
Your throat tightens unexpectedly.
“You’re…” You clear your throat quietly, suddenly unable to look at her for a second. “You’re welcome.”
You roll carefully off the bed, legs shaky beneath you the second your feet touch the floor. The room still feels warm and heavy around you, the sheets tangled from where the two of you had been wrapped together moments ago. Your body aches pleasantly as you drag a hand down your face and head downstairs toward the kitchen.
This part is familiar.
Water after. Always water after.
You move through the house quietly, one hand trailing along the wall while you open the cabinet and grab two glasses. The kitchen light from the window is dim, barely bright enough to catch the marks scattered across your chest and shoulders when you glance down.
You’re filling the second glass when you suddenly feel arms wrap around your waist from behind.
You jolt softly in surprise.
She presses herself sleepily against your bare back, cheek warm between your shoulder blades while her hands flatten over your stomach. Her grip is lazy, loose with exhaustion.
“Why did you go?” she mumbles, voice thick.
A breathless laugh leaves you before you can stop it.
She only hums in complaint and presses a slow kiss against your back. Her lips linger there for a second, warm against your skin.
“I didn’t say I wanted water,” she whispers.
You click your tongue quietly and turn around in her arms. She’s still completely bare, hair messy from sleep and lips swollen pink. The sight of her standing there wrapped around you like this makes your chest tighten strangely.
“You’re getting water anyway,” you murmur.
She rolls her eyes sleepily but takes the glass from your hand. You watch her drink greedily, throat moving with each swallow while one of her hands stays hooked lazily around your waist.
You sip from your own glass before setting it on the counter beside hers.
The second you do, she steps closer again.
Her arms slip around your waist immediately, hugging you tight while she leans her head against your chest. You can feel how warm she still is against you. How relaxed.
“That was really nice,” she whispers softly.
Your hand moves to the back of her head without thinking, fingers sliding carefully through her messy short hair.
