thinking about emily prentiss getting caught staring at your chest mid-conversation :: 3.4k
⠀⠀18+ . mdni . emily prentiss is down bad . chest staring . boobs . hard nipples . wet pussy mentions . dirty talk . praise kink . “good girl” . mouth on boobs . nipple sucking . clothed grinding . thigh pressure . soft possessiveness . teasing . sapphic smut . consent included .
navigation :: ko-fi - for my fave @kenna-prentiss
and the thing is, she’s usually so damn good at hiding herself. emily can sit across from murderers, liars, politicians, and grieving families without giving away more than she wants to.
she knows how to keep her face smooth, how to make her voice even, how to make her eyes stay exactly where they’re supposed to. that control follows her home too, wrapped around her like a second skin, elegant and infuriating and almost impossible to crack.
except tonight, she’s standing in your kitchen with a glass of wine in one hand, pretending to listen to you talk, and failing worse with every second that passes. because your shirt is thin, soft, clinging over the full curve of your boobs just enough to make her attention keep slipping lower, and emily prentiss, for once, looks like she’s losing a fight with herself.
you don’t catch it immediately, mostly because she’s still doing all the right things at first. she nods when you pause, hums softly like she’s following every word, even tilts her head in that thoughtful way she does when she wants you to know you have her full attention. but then her gaze drops.
it’s quick the first time, just a flicker, barely anything, the kind of glance she could probably deny if she really wanted to. then it happens again, slower, her eyes lingering near your chest before lifting back to your face like nothing happened.
by the third time, she isn’t as subtle as she thinks she is, and there’s something almost delicious about watching someone so composed get ruined by the shape of your boobs beneath fabric.
your shirt doesn’t hide enough, not really. it stretches softly across your chest, the fabric resting over the swell of your boobs and shifting whenever you breathe. you’re not sure whether it’s the cold kitchen air or emily’s attention that makes your nipples tighten, but either way, the reaction is obvious enough that her eyes catch on it instantly.
she sees the little peaks pressing against your shirt. she sees the way your chest rises a little harder when you notice her looking. she sees the way your body gives you away before you can decide whether you want to tease her for it.
and the longer she stares, the more aware you become of every inch of yourself, your boobs feeling warm and sensitive beneath the thin fabric, your pussy already starting to feel wet between your thighs.
you stop mid-sentence, letting the silence settle between you with purpose, and emily only realizes something is wrong when your voice cuts off completely. her eyes snap back up too fast, sharp and guilty despite the calm expression she tries to arrange over her face.
“what?” she asks, and it would almost be convincing if her voice didn’t come out lower than before, rougher at the edges, like she had been thinking about something entirely different from what you were saying.
you raise an eyebrow, staring at her while she holds your gaze with the stubbornness of a woman who refuses to confess without being cornered. the pause stretches.
her thumb strokes once along the stem of her wine glass, a tiny little tell that makes heat curl low in your stomach. then you ask, “were you even listening to me?”
emily’s mouth curves into that smooth, dangerous smile, the one she uses when she knows she’s been caught but hasn’t decided whether she wants to admit it yet.
“of course i was,” she says, far too easily. you stare at her. she stares back. then, like her body betrays her before her pride can stop it, her gaze drops again, dragging right back to your chest for one brief, shameless second.
when she looks up this time, there’s no saving it, and the faintest flush rises across her cheekbones. you laugh, quiet and disbelieving, and emily exhales through her nose like she’s irritated with herself more than with you.
“don’t start,” she says, but there’s no bite in it, no real warning, just that low velvet tone that makes your thighs press together.
“you’re staring,” you say, and the words come out softer than you meant them to. emily sets her wine glass down with a quiet click, slow and deliberate, like she’s making a choice. “i know,” she says. not defensive. not embarrassed. just honest enough to make your breath catch.
the simple admission changes the air between you completely, taking the conversation from playful to charged so fast it leaves you warm all over. she doesn’t move toward you yet, which somehow makes it worse. she just stands there, eyes darker now, letting herself look at you openly, and the weight of her attention feels almost physical, like her hands are already on your skin.
you step closer because you can’t help yourself, because there’s something addictive about watching emily’s composure fray in real time. her gaze dips again, slower now that the pretense is gone, and her lips part just slightly when your chest rises with your breath.
she notices everything. the way your boobs shift beneath your shirt, soft and full enough to pull her attention down again. the way your nipples are hard now, straining against the fabric like your body is begging for her mouth before you even say a word.
the way your thighs press together because your pussy feels slick already, warm and wet and aching from nothing more than being watched by her.
“you wore that on purpose,” she says quietly, and it sounds less like an accusation than a confession of weakness. you tell her you didn’t, but your voice is already thinner than it should be, already giving too much away. emily’s smile turns knowing, almost cruel in how soft it is.
“maybe not consciously,” she says, and her eyes drop again, taking in the way the shirt clings to the rounded weight of your boobs. her attention makes your skin prickle.
it makes your nipples tighten further, your stomach flutter, your pussy throb with that slow, needy pulse of arousal. the dampness between your thighs is impossible to ignore now, your underwear clinging wetly against you every time you shift.
her hand lifts slowly, giving you every chance to pull away even though both of you know you won’t. she touches your waist first, fingertips light through your shirt, dragging up your side in a patient line that makes your stomach tighten.
she’s watching your face now, because emily likes proof. she likes seeing the way your lips part, the way your breath catches, the way your eyes flutter when her thumb brushes just beneath the curve of your boob.
the contact is barely anything, just the edge of a touch, but it makes your whole body feel too warm. your boobs feel heavy and sensitive under her attention, your nipples aching for more pressure, and your pussy gives another wet little pulse like it knows exactly where this is going.
“emily,” you warn, but it comes out more like a plea. she hums, innocent and unbearable, letting her thumb skim a little higher until she’s brushing over you through the thin fabric.
the pressure makes your breath hitch, especially when her thumb grazes the hardened peak of your nipple. your body reacts instantly, your back arching just enough to press more of your chest into her hand.
emily sees it. of course she sees it. her eyes darken like the sight of you getting needy from one touch is almost enough to ruin her by itself.
“what?” she asks, like she didn’t just spend an entire conversation staring at you. you open your mouth to answer, but she kisses you before you can say a damn thing.
at first, it’s controlled, warm, almost teasing, her lips moving against yours with the kind of patience that makes you ache. then your fingers curl into the front of her blouse, pulling her closer, and something in her restraint gives.
the kiss turns deeper fast, her body pressing yours back against the counter until the edge digs into your lower back. her hands slide to your waist, then up, slow and deliberate, as if she’s giving herself permission inch by inch. when she finally cups your chest over your shirt, her palm warm and firm around your boob, you gasp against her mouth.
the sound does something to her. you feel it in the way she groans softly, in the way her fingers tighten, in the way her kiss gets rougher for one messy second before she reins herself in again. her hand fits over you like she’s been thinking about it for ages, squeezing gently at first, then with more confidence when your body melts into the touch.
your boob feels soft and full in her palm, your nipple hard against the fabric, every slow press of her fingers sending sparks down your stomach. your pussy feels wetter by the second, slick gathering between your folds, warm enough that you can feel it soaking into your underwear.
“i was trying to be respectful,” she says against your lips. you laugh breathlessly, tilting your head back as her mouth drags to your jaw. “you failed.”
“miserably,” she says, and then she kisses down your neck like she wants to prove it. her mouth is hot and slow, lips dragging over your pulse, teeth grazing just enough to make your hips push forward without thinking.
one hand stays on your chest, kneading through the fabric, while the other settles at your lower back and pulls you closer until there’s barely any space left between you.
she’s still composed in pieces, still careful, still attentive, but there’s hunger underneath it now, dark and obvious and impossible to ignore. every touch feels deliberate, like she’s been thinking about your boobs under her hands for longer than she wants to admit.
when her thumb rubs over your nipple through your shirt, your knees nearly weaken, and emily’s mouth curves against your skin.
“that sensitive?” she asks, voice low enough to make you shiver. you try to answer, but she does it again, firmer this time, rolling your nipple beneath her thumb until a soft, broken sound slips out of you.
the pleasure goes straight between your thighs, making your pussy clench around nothing. you can feel how wet you are now, how slick and swollen everything feels, how badly your body wants more pressure.
emily pulls back just enough to look at you, and the expression on her face is devastating. smug, affectionate, starving. like she wants to tease you for falling apart so quickly and kiss you for it at the same time.
“you have no idea how distracting you are,” she says, her eyes dropping again, shameless now. “standing there, talking to me like i’m supposed to focus, wearing this little thing like i’m not only human.” heat rushes through you so fast it leaves you dizzy.
you tell her she should have said something, but the words barely survive the way she’s touching you. emily’s fingers hook under the hem of your shirt, slow enough to make anticipation crawl over your skin.
“i was trying to behave,” she says, and there’s a smile in her voice now. “clearly, that was a mistake.” then she lifts your shirt, waiting just long enough for your nod before pulling it up and off you completely.
the fabric drops somewhere near your feet, forgotten immediately, because emily is staring again. only this time there’s nothing between her eyes and your bare skin, nothing to soften the way her composure cracks wide open.
your boobs are exposed to her completely now, warm and soft, rising with your uneven breaths. your nipples are hard from the cool air and from the way she’s looking at you, tight little peaks that make her eyes go darker the longer she stares.
the silence that follows feels filthy in itself. emily looks at your chest like she’s been handed something sacred and obscene, her eyes moving over the fullness of you slowly, taking in the curve, the softness, the way your body is already reacting for her.
her hands settle on you carefully at first, palms sliding over your ribs before she cups both of your boobs with a reverence that makes your throat tighten. then her thumbs brush over your nipples, and the soft moan that leaves you makes her inhale sharply.
your boobs feel almost too sensitive beneath her hands, heavy and warm and aching as she squeezes them with slow, possessive pressure. she watches the way they fit in her palms, the way your nipples stiffen under her thumbs, the way your whole body arches when she touches you just right.
“pretty,” she says, almost under her breath. then, rougher, like the word isn’t enough, “fuck, you’re so pretty.” and before you can even process the way her voice has changed, she lowers her mouth to you.
the first touch of her lips against your boob is slow enough to be cruel. she kisses around your nipple first, soft open-mouthed presses that leave damp warmth behind, while her hand kneads the other boob with steady, possessive pressure.
you can feel how badly she wants to rush, how much effort it takes for her to take her time, and somehow that makes it worse. when her tongue finally flicks over your nipple, your back arches off the counter, and emily makes a quiet sound like she’s pleased with herself.
she does it again, dragging her tongue over the sensitive peak before closing her lips around it. the suction is gentle at first, teasing, but when your fingers slide into her hair and pull, she groans against you and sucks harder.
your whole body reacts to her mouth. heat pools between your legs, slick and insistent, every slow pull of her lips sending another pulse of want through you.
your pussy feels soaked now, wet enough that your underwear clings uncomfortably to you, every shift making the damp fabric rub against your swollen clit. emily knows exactly what she’s doing, and worse, she’s paying attention to every single reaction. when you gasp,
she repeats the motion. when your hips twitch, her hand tightens at your waist. when your fingers tug at her hair, she looks up at you with your nipple still in her mouth, eyes dark and smug and completely ruinous.
the eye contact makes you throb. it makes you feel exposed in the best way, like she can tell exactly how wet you’re getting without needing to touch you there yet. your boobs rise and fall beneath her mouth, one wet from her tongue, the other held firmly in her hand while she rolls your nipple between her fingers.
you feel warm everywhere, flushed and sensitive, your pussy pulsing with every drag of her mouth. there’s a slick ache between your thighs now, needy and impossible to ignore, and the worst part is that emily can tell.
she can tell from your breathing. from the way your thighs keep squeezing together. from the way your hips keep shifting like your body is trying to find friction all on its own.
“this is why i wasn’t listening,” she says against your skin, lips brushing damply over your boob as she speaks. “you were talking, and all i could think about was this.” her hand slides down your stomach as she says it, fingers spreading over the soft, warm skin there before dipping lower.
she doesn’t rush, because emily is a menace when she knows you want something. she kisses across your chest, giving the other boob the same slow attention, tongue circling before she sucks your nipple into her mouth.
your thighs press together, desperate for friction, and she notices immediately. of course she notices. emily prentiss notices everything.
her hand slips between your thighs over your clothes, pressing just enough to make your breath break. “there it is,” she whispers, like she’s found the answer to a question she already knew. your hips roll into her touch, needy and automatic, and she smiles against your chest before kissing lower, then back up again.
she keeps one hand on your boob while the other rubs slow, firm pressure between your legs, not enough to give you what you need, just enough to make you ache for more. it’s maddening. it’s perfect.
you’re hot everywhere, trembling against the counter while emily takes you apart with her mouth, her hands, and that steady, devastating focus she usually saves for interrogations.
“you’re soaked, aren’t you?” she asks softly, and the way she says it makes your stomach flip. not mocking exactly, but pleased. deeply pleased. your pussy throbs at the words, wet and swollen beneath your underwear, and you hate that she can feel how hard you react through the layers between her hand and your body.
you try to glare at her, but it falls apart the second she presses her palm against you again, firmer this time. “all because i got caught staring?” she continues, her voice warm with amusement. “or because you wanted me to?” you say her name, half warning and half surrender, and emily’s smile turns downright wicked.
she kisses your nipple once more, slow and open-mouthed, then lifts her head to look at you properly. “tell me to stop,” she says, and the softness of it hits just as hard as the hunger.
because beneath all the teasing, beneath the dark eyes and the greedy hands, she’s still emily. still careful with you. still waiting for you to choose her back.
you shake your head, already breathless, already ruined enough that pride feels pointless. “don’t stop.” emily’s expression changes at that, something hot and tender flickering across her face before she kisses you again.
this time, there’s no pretending either of you are going back to the conversation. she kisses you like she’s done being patient, mouth deep and hungry while her hands move over you with more confidence. she palms your chest, thumbs circling your nipples until you’re making soft, helpless noises into her mouth.
every sound seems to pull her further under, making her touch rougher, her breathing heavier, her body press harder against yours. she slips one thigh between yours and lets you grind against her, just once, just enough to make you shudder.
the pressure against your soaked pussy makes you gasp into her mouth, your wet underwear dragging over your clit in a way that sends a sharp pulse of pleasure through you.
“good girl,” she whispers against your mouth, and the praise goes straight through you. she feels the way you react, feels the tiny jerk of your hips, and her smile is slow and knowing. “oh,” she says softly. “you liked that.”
you don’t answer, because answering would mean admitting how badly those two words affected you, and emily already knows anyway. she kisses down your throat again, her mouth returning to your chest like she can’t stay away from it now that she’s allowed to touch. her tongue traces over your nipple before she sucks it back into her mouth, her hand sliding lower to keep pressure between your legs.
the combination makes you dizzy. your boobs feel swollen and sensitive under her mouth and hands, your nipples slick from her tongue, your skin hot everywhere she touches.
your pussy feels even wetter now, slick spreading messily into your underwear, your clit aching from the pressure of her thigh and the teasing rub of her palm. every time you grind down, the damp fabric drags against you, and every time you make a sound, emily’s mouth gets greedier.
your fingers tighten in her hair, your head tipping back, your body trapped between the counter and the warm, relentless weight of her attention. emily looks completely gone now, composed mask finally cracked, replaced by something hungry and intimate and almost reverent.
and the worst part is, she still manages to sound controlled when she leans in close, lips brushing your ear. “next time you want my attention,” she whispers, her hand squeezing your boob again while her thigh presses between yours, “just wear this.”
your laugh breaks into a moan when she moves against you, slow and deliberate. “or don’t,” she adds, voice dipping darker. “i seem to get distracted either way.”
then she kisses you again, messy and deep, stealing the smart response right out of your mouth. and this time, when her eyes drop to your chest, you don’t call her out. you just pull her closer, soaked and trembling, and let her stare.
dana evans is your neighbour 18+, age gap, dry humping, pussy eating <3
you'd never lived in an apartment that held 'get to know your neighbours' night. strange concept, you were perfectly fine knowing just one other person in the building, not by name but politely smiling whilst you gathered your mail. you had enough friends, not a lot, but enough and work was tiring so if you could avoid small talk in the corridor then you were happy to.
then fliers appeared on the lobby notice board.
people have too much time on their hands, you exhaled as you read, also wondering how much buy in this would actually get. your night would be spent the same as any other single woman in their late 20s, finish work, take-out and real housewives, NOT mingling in the hall with strangers.
unfortunately for you, there was a lot of buy in. crowds of people flooded the communal space, all cradling beer bottles and plastic cups like it was some kind of frat party. you had no intention of staying, of chatting or getting involved in any measure but fighting your way through the stairwell, unnoticed with a bag of ramen, proved quite difficult.
"hey! you're 64b right? i'm 68, just above you" a sweet bubbly girl beamed at you, intercepting your path. she was most likely the organiser of this event, like she'd made it her mission to get to first name basis of every single resident in the building.
"oh, yeah. hi.." you weren't rude, you were tired. and you didn't need this adult-friend-making-speed-dating shit. "nice to meet you, i'm just gonna-" trying to slip past.
"you HAVE to meet your neighbours" she ignored your attempt to politely excuse yourself, ushering you back into the crowd of people so close to your front door.
the introductions were tedious, she pointed out the couple to your left, the old man directly beneath you. you stood half smiling, giving your name out and trying to find any morsel of energy to even give a shit. you just wanted to go inside, eat your ramen and go the fuck to sleep. but the conversation left no gaps for your escape, not that you didn't try. you knew politeness would be your downfall one day.
then—
"think you're all keeping this nice gal from her dinner" a petite blonde in grey-blue scrubs broke up the circle you were standing in, eyeing your ramen as she pulled a key from her bag. "and stacey, keep it down out here yeah? need some shut eye" she walked to the door opposite yours, turning the key and giving you a subtle wink as she let herself in.
"sure dana, don't worry we'll keep it-" the girl, whom you now know as stacey, called out as the door slammed "-down"
you smiled, finally finding your own queue to leave.
she found her way into your mind that night, the blonde in scrubs. you weren't sure how you hadn't noticed her before, being in such close proximity and all. not when collecting mail or leaving for work, maybe your schedules were polar to each other but you knew you'd have remembered her. and that wink, nice lady.
⋆˚࿔
after your brief encounter, you found yourself looking out for your neighbour a little more. she clearly kept to herself which just made you more curious. the scrubs suggested some kind of doctor or nurse, the one bed apartment told you she probably lived alone and you hadn't stopped thinking about her no nonsense approach to stacey. she was quite a bit older than you, you could tell that from her voice - a little deep, accent thick.
the day she walked past you she smelt like cigarette smoke and rich perfume, her ears were double pierced and she chewed gum with an open mouth.
the next time you caught her was brief. early morning, pre-7am, in the same clothes as last time. you were taking advantage of the mild air, heading out for a quick run before work and she was clearly starting her day.
you exchanged 'mornings' and then she was gone.
⋆˚࿔
summer brought a heat wave and unfortunately for your building, a strain on the air con.
it was early evening when you heard raised voices in the hall. you stepped closer to your front door, slick sheen across your chest from the growing heat inside your apartment, listening to the other side.
"no you need to come and fix this fuckin thing now. not tomorrow, now. it's 100° in here for christ sake"
you only heard one voice, like she was on the phone.
"jesus-" then silence.
you opened your door to see her stood in a tank and lounge pants, hair stuck to the back of her neck with the rest pulled into a claw clip.
she turned to face you at the sound of the door click, holding up her phone "building manager, piece of shit"
you laughed under your breath. "your AC out too?"
she nodded, shaking her head down at the phone with a raised brow, then shoving it into her pocket.
"spent my day off sucking on ice and trying not to pass the fuck out" her smile travelled from her eyes to her lips, skin creasing at the edges. she looked at you for a second, titling her head slightly. "we haven't met"
you opened your door more, stepping out into the hall. "we kinda did" you meant that first day she saved you from the crowd.
"mm not properly, doll" she folded her arms, face softening "i'm dana"
you told her your name and she smiled, like it fit you. "you new here? not really seen you around much" you asked her, curious to find any detail, big or small.
"i work a lot and never really been one for stairwell small talk"
"oh yeah, of course- sorry i just-"
"not you kid, the ole neighbourhood watch crew and their building parties" she clearly had the same view of 'meet your neighbour' as you did. your shoulders relaxed. after a second, "you want some ice tea? just made a jug" she gestured her hand towards her apartment.
"won't say no to that" you mumbled, smiling.
her apartment was nice, it mirrored yours just the opposite. you were right to assume she lived alone, there was just one of everything. no manly shoes in the entrance or photos of anyone other than what you assumed were her grown children.
she dabbed her forehead with the back of her hand as you both sipped and made the small talk you claimed to hate.
"so you a doctor or something?" you asked.
"close. nurse. down at pittsburgh general, have been for 32 years"
that confirmed the age gap you already knew was there. it shocked you, how she'd been in a job longer than you were alive and you didn't have to say it for her to know you were thinking it.
"let me guess, you were still in diapers when i was in college?"
"close. i was born about 5 years after you graduated i think" you didn't know why you said it, feeling rude after it came out but she just laughed, shaking her head as she sipped her tea.
"jesus. even my tattoos are older than you"
you weren't sure why you felt that in your stomach. you huffed a laugh to try conceal it, blaming the spreading burn on your neck on the stifling heat.
then her phone rang, you could vaguely hear the building manager say he couldn't come til tomorrow. she was an animated woman, hands flying around, voice raised. you wouldn't want to get on her bad side, you thought. you finished the last sip of your tea, setting the empty glass down and mouthing thank you before excusing yourself while she dealt with the dick on the other end of the line.
⋆˚࿔
you started seeing more of dana. passing in the hall, starting your day, taking out the trash. your conversations became longer and more than just greetings. sometimes you'd forget you were going to work and spend 15 minutes in the hall just chatting.
you got to know her more. she worked day shifts, had 3 daughters, she liked white wine (you saw her bringing a bottle home one night) and she loved her job.
she got to know you more too. where you went to college, how you were allergic to cats and loved to read on the door step when the sun was out.
your grocery hauls were complete opposites. hers were that of an adult with fruit and veg, bottled water, essentials. she made a joke at how your bags clinked like you were hiding the entire liquor store in there and she asked if you knew pop tarts were not a substantial breakfast.
since then, she'd be at your door a couple of times a week with filled tupperware. sometimes it was a full meal, other times fruit salads and home baked biscuits. you returned the favour by bringing a jug of margaritas to her doorstep on a saturday night.
"jesus h christ, did you blend these at all?" dana half laughed, almost choking on your lethal dose of tequila and lime.
you sat on giant cushions in the open window of the fire escape in dana's apartment, the half filled jug between you.
"it's saturday night. we're getting lit"
she rolled her eyes at your lingo.
"it's saturday night and you're getting drunk with your elderly neighbour" she corrected.
"it's my community service, helping out a senior citizen-" she swatted you, spilling some cocktail on your lap as your head fell back in laughter.
"fucker"
"i'm kidding you know" you said after a second. "you're literally like my closest friend right now"
you weren't sure if you were supposed to feel like this about friends. or what it even was you were feeling. you just knew you liked her company, perhaps more than you should. you liked getting to know her, wanting to know everything about her. you knew that you liked women but obviously, you assumed she didn't.
dana sparked up a cigarette, inhaling deeply as the smoke curled above the pair of you. she handed you the tab, exhaling and you took it between two fingers. your gaze didn't break from one another.
"quite fond of you too, doll" that smile again, the one that narrowed her eyes and showed the top of her teeth. fuck.
⋆˚࿔
it'd been a few months since you first met dana and your friendship had grown into something you both treasured dearly.
you'd end up at one another's place at least once a week. the nights when she wasn't too tired from her shift or you hadn't been pulled away by your other friends. you'd much rather spend your time with her, not that you'd admit it.
it was all nice and neighbourly. knocking on each others door with take-out or a bottle of wine. somewhere along the line you'd swapped numbers. that was originally for the purpose of dana taking in your parcels when you weren't home, keeping each other updated for anything in the building but it soon became a text chain between friends.
use the back entrance, stacey's on the rampage
got some of your mail, let me know when you're home and i'll come drop it
hey, is your power out?
don't suppose you fancy a glass of vino 🍷
one evening you'd managed to get yourself roped into going to the bar with some work friends. the cocktails fell down your throat far too easily and by 9pm you were more than tipsy.
you weren't quiet coming home. stumbling up the stairwell, talking to yourself, an oop when you missed the top step, dropping your purse. a door next to you clicked open.
"someone's had a good night" dana picked up your purse and you beamed up at her, pulling yourself up by the hand rail.
"daaaaana, hey"
"you smell like a brewery" she laughed, lightly holding onto your upper arm to guide you to your front door.
"just had a few drinkypoos" you hiccuped. "you wanna come in for one?" your words weren't slurrred but it was no secret you were drunk.
"i think you've had enough" she pulled your key from your hands as you struggled with the lock, turning the key in one smooth movement for you to enter.
you walked through your apartment to the sofa, falling onto it as dana dropped your purse next to you, headed to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water.
she returned and you couldnt help but notice the glow on her face, the softness in her eyes. you took the glass and just held it. "drink" she urged, stern but not unkind.
sipping from the glass, you held her gaze. there was something between you, something that felt different in that moment. her finger came up to tip the glass further, pouring more liquid down your throat, until she was content you'd had enough.
"good girl" she took the glass away from you and despite your thirst being quenched, your mouth suddenly felt dry.
she saw you swallow thickly. her lips parted slightly. the skirt you were wearing had ridden up to your thighs with how you were sat.
"now get some rest"
you were still sat in the same position when you heard your front door click behind her. what you didn't see was dana stood in the hall for a second, breathless like she'd just ran the length of your apartment. you didn't know she thought about turning round, coming back in. not knowing what she'd say but considering it all the same. she pondered for a moment, one hand on her hip, the other tousled in her hair.
"fuck" she thought about how you'd looked at her just moments ago. how you reacted. her chest tightened, unknown feelings creeping their way into her conscience.
she didn't turn round. she fought the urge, heading into her own apartment.
you managed to sober up relatively quickly. downing more water, a couple advil and a luke warm shower to cool the heat between your legs. good girl, it replayed in your mind over and over as the stream poured onto your skin. what the fuck? your neighbour, your friend, a woman almost twice your age, a woman who you had no confirmation had any interest in women whatsoever, a woman you couldn't have.
it was hard to get dana out of your mind as you lay in bed, not that you really tried. the room was dark with the exception of a bedside lamp, quiet. it was then you decided to pick up your phone.
you: you awake?
you didn't expect her to be with the time. but then the bubble appeared.
dana: yeah, everything ok?
you hesitated for a second.
you: just wanted to say thank you for earlier
you: not sure i'd have made into my apartment without you
that's not really what you wanted to say.
dana: just doing my community service, helping out the drunk and disorderly...
you laughed at her using your own words against you.
dana: assume you're feeling better?
you: much
you: followed the nurses orders with water and two advil
it felt a little loaded to send but you did anyway. then the bubble appeared and disappeared enough times to cause you panic. you almost sent another message, something flat and obviously platonic, maybe even just a 'anyway, good night' to kill the conversation.
then—
dana: good girl
you didn't even know you were clenching your thighs til you felt the flutter between them.
in 64a, dana's mouth went dry as she pressed send. it was a lot for her, being bold like this. she didn't know what she was doing or what her intentions were but for once in her life, she ran with it. ran with the knot in her stomach, the throbbing sensation between her legs.
she waited for you. nervous at your reply. hoping she wasn't mistaken by this, whatever the fuck this was.
you: dana
fuck it.
you: can you come back over here
this could go one of two ways, the way you want or the way in which you've read this so incredibly wrong.
it was the longest five minutes of your life, between sending that message and hearing the knock on your door.
when you opened it, she was facing away. turning when she heard you. you could see her breathing heavy, the rise and fall of her chest. you stepped back slightly and she stepped in. then it was just the two of you, stood silent in your hall. your oversized tee had wet patches on the back from your damp hair, you saw dana's eyes glance once over you, suddenly aware you're naked on the bottom half beside underwear.
she was in similar loungewear you saw her in one of the first times. she wore a gold cross on her neck, something you'd noticed before but not really paid attention to.
"i-" you started. she stopped you.
"i don't know what i'm doing" her eyes wide, voice low. "this isn't- i've never-"
you extended your hand to hold hers.
"dana-"
"i don't know why i feel like this" there was an undertone of panic and vulnerability. "about you"
you could feel your heart in your ears, in your chest, in your stomach.
"i'm twice your age, i shouldn't feel like this about you" she spoke quietly, as if being loud would make something real.
"but you do"
a moment. your thumb brushed over her hand.
"i do"
before you could stop yourself, your lips were on hers. she stilled for a second, and then she let herself feel. she kissed you back, hands tentatively finding the base of your neck as yours found her waist.
then it got messy and heated and the two of you were stumbling from the hall to your bedroom one door down.
she was panting into your mouth as you led her backwards, calves hitting the bed.
"fuck dana, wanted this f'so long" you breathed between her lips. "tell me you want this"
dana moaned, it slipped out before she could stop it, pulling back from you. "want this. please"
you were soaked. you had been since you were full of booze and she'd touched your arm in the hall. but now her tongue was in your mouth and your hands were slipping under the hem of her tank, feeling skin you'd never felt.
"can i?" you tugged at the material and she nodded. she was naked under that, her hands came up on instinct to cover her bare tits, you replaced them with your own, pulling away slowly.
"wanna see you" she let you, your mouth watered at the sight. they were incredible, nipples hard from your fingertips ghosting over the skin. she exhaled deeply, breath hitching when your lips skimmed the flesh of her neck.
your fingers trailed from her chest, grazing skin down her sternum to the waistband of her trousers. you felt her move against you the closer you got. you flattened your palm against her stomach, sliding it beneath the elastic and finding her without panties, hot and needy, her bare cunt dripping and begging for you.
dipping your index and middle finger through her wetness, dana whimpered, mouth parting.
"mmm, fuck-"
you swiped your fingers a couple of times, spreading her wetness and then you pulled away. fingers glistening in the dim light. the noise she made when you sucked her off your middle finger made your pussy twitch.
"taste so good dana" you kissed her, light and loving. "so fucking good"
you pushed her softly onto the bed, standing above her as you pulled your t shirt over your head, leaving you almost equal in your clothing. her eyes wandered all over you and you watched her take it in. when you pulled her trousers down her legs, you couldn't believe the sight. her laid back, naked and yours.
when you crawled onto the bed, she moved herself back on her elbows to make space for you. you nudged her legs open by the knees, they fell apart with ease and she shuddered at the cool air against her bare cunt.
she was nervous. not because she was inexperienced - this may be her first time with a woman but she was no stranger to sex. in fact dana would have always considered herself a sexual person, in touch with her own desires however it'd been so long. so long since her divorce, since she'd slept beside someone, felt that kind of intimacy. then seeing your body and youth almost intimidated her. but the way you looked at her soon seemed to negate all of that.
when you were between her legs, lowering yourself to become face to face with the slick mess, she felt sexy. and wanted. you wanted her.
"oh my god- mmph" the first swipe of your tongue had her head thrown back. she lay flat on the bed as you worked her up, holding both thighs steady, licking up to her swollen clit.
you moaned into her, nails digging into skin as she started to roll her hips against your face. god it was hot. she whimpered and moaned and muttered your name over and over. "oh fuck, yes- there, that's-" her own cry cut her off as you curled two fingers deep. they slipped in with ease, her own arousal and your saliva dripping from your fingers as you pumped in and out.
you came up for air, resting your cheek on the inner of her thigh as you started fucking her, hard. the noises were obscene, slick and squelching with every move.
"doing so good baby oh my god i wish you could see what i can" you kissed her thigh, she moaned your name. "so fucking good"
"fuck you're gonna make- make me cum" her accent sounded thicker as she moaned, unbelievably sexy. you could tell she was close the way her cunt started to clench around your fingers. "don't stop"
like hell you would. hands squeezing her thigh, you worked your hand hard inside her and brought your lips to suck softly on her clit. the dual sensation had dana's back arching from the bed, handed fisted in the sheets and her toes curled against your back.
"yes yes yes ye-" with one final fuck of your fingers and pop of your tongue, she fell silent and rigid. then a looooong groan drew from the back of her throat, hoarse and deep. you worked her through it, until she was breathless and shaking, lifting your head up away from her.
"m gonna need a minute, hon"
you smiled. she was glowing, sweaty and messy. hair had fallen into her face, cheeks rosy and chest flushed.
"that was so fucking good dana" you kissed up her body, bringing your leg to straddle one of hers. your mouth landed between her tits, softly sucking the skin there, her hand found your back, stroking lazily across your shoulder blade.
"you're telling me" she laughed under her breath, still trying to regain some composure.
you were so turned on. seeing her cum like that, how bad she wanted you and you her. you hadn't even noticed your hips rolling against her thigh.
she had.
her hands snaked down your back, finding your ass. she squeezed over your panties, smirking at the wetness she could feel against her leg.
"did that turn you on huh?" she tensed her leg a little, giving you more to work against. "seein me cum like that?"
"shit" you moved harder against her, voice all whiny and strained.
"you wanted this for a while didn't you" her hands helped you, digging into your ass, pulling you into her. "wanted me, naked and wet for you"
you'd drenched your panties by now, dripping onto her skin. the wet material slick against your pussy felt so fucking good, your movements became more erratic, chasing your pleasure, needing to cum so bad. and her words only made it worse.
"good girl, just like that, gonna cum for me?"
fuck. there she goes praising you like that, knowing what it does, knowing that's what got you both here in the first place.
"fuck dana 'm gonna- mmm"
you fucked her leg whilst whining her name, brows knit, eyes screwed shut until—
"look at me. look at me when you cum baby"
your mouth fell open and everything building in the pit of your stomach grew hot and tight. you came all over her leg, a flood of wetness drenching you both, a guttural cry unleashed.
it shocked you both. how hard you came undone just from that. when you fell on the bed next to her, you both lay in silence, just the sound of hot breath and quiet traffic outside.
"stay tonight?" you managed, eventually.
when you turned your head, hopeful she'd agree, dana met your gaze with a glint in her eye.
"if you'll have me"
you kissed her. you didn't stop kissing her for a while.
♡ synopsis: what begins as mistakenly sending an erotic video to your boss late at night eventually blooms into something more when he makes clear that he's very much interested in taking over the role of being your late-night hookup when you're at home & looking for a bit of fun over the phone. but with you both being lonely, it was never just going to be some casual fling.
♡ content: sexting, phone sex, cam sex, jealous!robby, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, hea (including pregnancy), medical inaccuracies, sexualizing that man's belly
You thought you'd feel content getting off all on your own tonight... Until that familiar, heated feeling of craving male attention and validation overcame you, and you thus found yourself wanting to hear just how pretty you looked or sounded while playing with yourself.
That's your purpose to one another: you and your sexting buddy, R. You don't know his real name, nor he yours, but given that the two of you only ever talk when you're simultaneously in the mood, you suppose extraneous details are wholly unnecessary for your little arrangement.
Yanking your cellphone off its corded charger and leaving the wire to fall to the floor, you quickly unlock it while keeping your opposite hand between your thighs, and fiddle with the home screen until you manage to get the camera to come up. With only having a soft, dull lamp turned on, it makes your body look extra appetizing on the glass screen.
It takes you a minute to find the right position where just the right features are visible: your slightly parted mouth, your soft breasts, your bare tummy, and your slick cunt that you have two fingers buried inside of, and once you do, you click the big red button to record.
You allow a few squelching pumps of your fingers inside your slick cunt before muttering a few chosen words, "Do I look pretty, daddy?". After a few more seconds, you cut the recording off before making to share it. You type a simple R into the search bar, click the first contact that comes up, and it's on its way to the desired recipient.
Closing out of the camera app, you redirect into your messages... And then your entire body grows cold while your heart jumps so violently into your throat that the squeezing sensation feels quite painful.
Swiftly removing your fingers from inside yourself, you wipe them off on the fluffy white towel you left folded beside you incase things got messy tonight, then stare down at your phone with a horrified open-mouthed expression.
"Oh no," you squeak while sliding toward the side of the bed and planting your feet on the floor. "No, no, no!" you scream. "Fuck!"
Google, yes, you'll Google it! He hasn't seen it yet.
Swiftly typing, you become enraged when you're given an unsatisfactory answer to your question of how to undo such a monumental mistake.
What do you fucking mean there's no way to unsend it? Even Gmail gives you a so many second window to unsend an email, but a text, once sent, is irretrievable?! Stupid piece of shit!
Switching back to your texting app, you stare as blue dots fill, indicating that he's viewed it.
Your superior.
Your damn attending!
R, it was supposed to go to R, not Robby!
typing...
Pause.
typing...
You can feel a panic attack coming on. You're going to lose your job. What you just did can and will be considered sexual harassment. Doesn't matter if it was a mistake. You have absolutely no way of proving that. And once the entirety of the ED hears why you were fired? You'll be the laughing stock of the Pittsburgh medical industry when the news spreads like wildfire across hospitals and ambulance bays.
Stupid, stupid, stupid girl! And for what? To get yourself off?
You had already been halfway there, so you should've kept going, or just watched porn for Christ's sake!
Was that meant for me?
You bark a hysterical laugh while hot tears slip down your cheeks.
Trying to type an apologetic reply is fruitless with you continually making typos because your hands are shaking so terribly. Backspacing the entirety of it, you instead opt for voice-to-text.
"No, I am so, so, so, so sorry, Dr. Robinavitch. It absolutely was not. I was trying to send it to someone else whose name starts with a R and hit the wrong contact. Please forgive me for such a humiliating mistake."
You reread the message once, twice, three times, then hit send once you've confirmed beyond a doubt that there're no typos.
typing...
No worries.
No worries?! That's all he has to say? You just sent your naked body—your whole vagina to the man and he says 'No worries'?
Tossing your phone back onto your bedside table, you consider slapping yourself across the face as punishment before wrenching the towel from the bed and padding into the bathroom to clean up before slamming the door shut behind you.
You consider many things overnight. Like assuming a fake identity and moving to a tropical island, like the one in Castaway where the only company you'll ever keep for the rest of your days will be a volleyball. No chance of sending salacious videos from there to the incorrect party.
Maybe you should invest in a rotary phone.
You check your cell more than once, but when the clock reads well past midnight and there's been no further contact, you finally lock it and force yourself off to sleep for the day ahead.
When you come into work the next day, you tell yourself to keep your head down. At least until you reach your locker and store your personal effects away. But never one to listen to yourself, you bother glancing up just once, and you bristle when you meet the unwavering gaze of Dr. Robby at the nurses station.
Your cheeks burn in mortification—a rush of blood which spreads across your nose, causing it to prickle, as well as the tips of your ears which start to itch—so you promptly look away before speed-walking past him to a place of hopeful solitude.
Rounding a corner at the end of the hall, you sigh when you find the corridor empty, then make a beeline for your respective locker. Once you've popped it open, you hang your head inside while trying desperately to gather yourself. "It's fine. You're fine. You know you didn't mean to," you mumble while taking a few therapeutic breaths.
Once you've safely tucked your things away, you slide your stethoscope around your neck and resolve to get to work and put your very stupid, yet nevertheless silly mistake behind you.
Maybe he didn't even watch it, but only viewed the thumbnail. While that would've undoubtedly given him a full view of everything, it would at least save you the shame of him hearing your...arousal, as well as the horny little question you asked. Dear God, you cannot imagine calling that imposing man daddy.
This is the worst thing to happen to you since you threw up in front of your 7th grade class because the teacher insisted on you signing out first before she would excuse you to the restroom.
Avoiding Robby at all costs, you go to join McKay on whatever case she's already grabbed this morning.
It's midday before you manage to grace the nurses station to check the board to snag a case of your own. Studying the multi-colored blocks, you debate between a cakewalk and something a bit more challenging, but your decision making is cut short when a familiar frame steps up beside your own.
The corner of your mouth twitches, and you fear you may break into a fit of nervous laughter over the close proximity.
Hopefully Robby is just grabbing something real quick before—
"I haven't told anyone," he whispers while leaning in slightly toward you. "So you have nothing to worry about."
You continue staring, but with impossibly wide eyes. "I'm so sorry," you mutter shamefully.
He chuckles and you look at him out of the corner of your eye. How dare he find humor in this?
"Nothing I haven't seen before. Well, I suppose it technically is, but..." he turns to walk away. "You know what I mean."
You half want to ask him if he watched it, but refrain when you head for Chairs instead.
Grabbing a small snack, you decide to take a quick break outside before grabbing a new patient after your last discharge. Compound fracture, which Park was forced to come down for. He'd not been pleased about the page, but had softened when Dana told him that it came from you.
You're not sure why he seems to hate you a little less than... Well, everyone, but you're also not complaining about the fact, either.
Munching on a meat, cheese, and nut medley, you scroll idly through social media while the ambience of sirens, car horns, and distant voices fill the air.
"This seat taken?"
You jerk your head up and nearly drop your phone and snack both when you see that it's Robby looking down at you with a thoughtful expression.
You silently shake your head before returning your attentions to your screen. Not that you'll be paying much attention to whatever is on it now. Perhaps eating isn't such a good idea either for the moment being. You might choke, and then he'll be given cause to touch you when he administers the Heimlich maneuver, and, well, things are already bad enough.
"Was it, uh..." Robby scrubs a hand down his beard. "Intended for someone here at the hospital?"
You blink stupidly at your phone. "N-No," you stutter. "Just...someone I met in a chatroom a long time ago."
He hums while crossing his arms and turning to look at you. "Is that safe?"
You raise a brow. Why must he discuss this?
Why must this be your fate?
"I don't ever put my face or defining characteristics in any photos or videos, so... We don't know each other's real names, either."
He nods. "Might be showing my age, but that sort of thing seems a bit dangerous to me. May I ask why you do it?"
You pop a salted almond in your mouth and chew very, very slowly while trying to think up a non-embarrassing reply. "I get lonely sometimes," you say quietly. "It can feel nice to hear someone else's voice. Or...read flattering messages."
You'd like to peel your skin off now.
"Wouldn't you prefer it to be someone you actually know and trust?" Robby questions while turning even more toward you.
You take a couple more bites of your snack. "Maybe. But if things eventually came to a close, it could make facing them in-person difficult."
Robby hums in understanding. "Well," he says while resting a palm against your thigh fleetingly. "If it means anything to you to hear, I was interested in what I saw last night."
You look at him in surprise.
"Just something for you to consider next time you think about sending yourself to a complete stranger." He stands. "You have my number, and it can stay just between us, if that's something you think you'd want."
Your jaw is left slightly hanging when he heads back inside.
You've tried occupying yourself tonight with Netflix and reading and browsing random internet forums, as well as studying medical textbooks, but it's all done little good when your interest continually drifts back to a small electronic communication device.
After your and Robby's conversation, you'd tried telling yourself that he didn't entirely mean it, even if he thought he did. Give it a few more hours, and he would be regretful for ever making such an offer.
But every time the two of you ended up in a room together, it was all he could do to not look at or touch you, even covertly. It was almost like it was a silent invitation, or encouragement every time he did: please, think it over, I want more of what I saw last night.
So here you lie, fingering the hem of your panties while staring at an empty chat with Robby's name at the top.
This is insane to even consider. You could both wind up in massive trouble if something so indecent were discovered to be going on between you. But, God, that makes it impossibly hotter, doesn't it? You having a dirty secret with him of all men, who you practically worship. Someone so much older and wiser and handsome and smart and—
Did you really mean what you said?
You double over in bed while staring at your screen, expecting either no reply at all, or a succinct one in which he expresses regret for the offer he extended.
typing...
I did.
Your heart leaps in your chest. And then your thumbs hover above the touchscreen keyboard while you try and think of what to say next.
Have you ever sexted before?
typing...
typing...
It'd be a first for me.
You grin. You'll get to take his digital V-Card if you follow through. Not that that's even a thing, but...
Would you want to right now? You consider the message at length before pressing send with a slightly shaking hand.
typing...
If you do
You sink down in bed while squealing and kicking your feet excitedly. Does that mean you'll get to see him without clothes on? His chest? Belly? Cock? Will you learn what it sounds like when he cums?
The possibilities are truly endless.
How would you like to? There's FaceTime, phone calls, voice messages, texting, photos, videos...?
You don't mean to overwhelm him, but there is admittedly a wealth of options.
Does a phone call make me sound old?
You grin while shaking your head, even if he can't see it.
Of course not.
When his name pops up on your screen, accompanied by accept and rejection buttons, you shoot up in bed. "Oh God..."
With a shaking index finger, you slide the green symbol inward and lift the phone to your ear. "H-Hello?"
"Hey," drawls an all-too familiar voice.
You stay quiet for a moment.
"You there?" Robby asks.
You shake your head to snap out of it, then nod. "Yes. Sorry."
"Is a phone call how you normally do things?"
You flop back against the pillows behind you. "Sometimes. It just depends. But, yes, I do like hearing his voice and him being able to hear mine while I'm...y'know."
He clears his throat. "Have you and he known each other long?"
You shrug. Always with the physical mannerisms, when he clearly cannot see you. "A few months. Like I said, we haven't even exchanged names. It's just the one thing we have a common interest in."
"Orgasms," he says with a quiet laugh, which causes you to squeeze your thighs together.
"Yes," you confirm quietly. "Did... Did you watch the video, or just look at the thumbnail?"
You don't know it, but he smirks at your question. "Oh, I watched it."
And? And?
"Oh."
"Would it bother you if I told you I got off to it?"
Your heart is pounding so hard that you wonder if he can hear it through the speaker. "No," you say breathlessly.
You may pass out, you think.
"I worried that I went too far after our conversation. It's why I sort of hovered for the rest of your shift."
You smile warmly at his concern. "You didn't. I was just...very surprised that you were that interested in me."
He chuckles again. "Kind of hard not to be after watching that a few dozen times."
A few dozen?
"That many times?" you ask with surprise.
"At my age... Things can take awhile to work the way they used to twenty something years ago."
You toy with one of your breasts. "Oh. Do you take anything for it?"
"I have Viagra, but I haven't had much reason to use it." You can hear the grin in his voice when he continues. "'Til now, anyway."
The line goes silent for a moment.
"That bother you?" he asks.
"No! Of course not. I like it, actually."
You hear him shift on the other line. "I don't think I've ever heard of a woman liking a man having ED," he replies with mild disbelief.
"Well," you begin with dragging a hand beneath your camisole. "For one, it's a sign of your age, which I like. But also...to think that a man desires me that much that he's willing to take medication, and also wait for it to kick in because the drive is that strong..."
"Thought you might've just been trying to humor me," he remarks.
You giggle. "Nope. I'm telling the truth."
He feigns a cough. "I did, y'know?"
Your eyes shift this way and that in confusion. "Pardon?"
"Think you looked pretty. Since you asked in the video."
You deadpan while removing your hand from beneath your clothing. "I was mortified. Not to mention terrified that you might report me."
He laughs. "And lose out on the chance of this happening?"
You nibble on your lower lip. "So, um..." You sigh. "I'm sorry, I'm just so nervous."
"That makes two of us," he states. "But just relax. Do whatever you normally do, and I'll do my best to play along."
You swallow thickly. "Okay." A pause of silence. "Should I just... Call you Robby?"
"You can call me whatever you like, sweetheart. Whatever makes you comfortable. But I'd prefer Robby, yes. Or Michael. But no one I know really calls me that anymore."
Michael. Feels so intimate. Maybe you'll try it when things get hot and heavy just to gauge his reaction.
"Okay," you sigh. "I'm gonna take my clothes off now."
His brows raise in response, though you can't see it. "Take your time."
You consider your bedside table for a moment. "Hold on. Let me put my earbuds in."
Leaving your phone in the middle of the bed, you stretch and yank open the drawer to your nightstand and retrieve the wanted devices. Removing them from their charging case, you pop them in, then wait a moment. Once they indicate that they've paired, you speak. "Can you hear me okay?"
"I can," he replies.
With your hands now free, you set your phone to the side, then take off your shirt and toss it onto the floor.
With all your limbs freed, you feel a bit braver, in terms of getting down to business. "Do you want me to sort of lead things?"
"That might help a bit," he says with a quiet titter.
"Well, I just took my shirt off." You hook your thumbs under the waistband of your underwear. "And now my panties. They're already wet, by the way."
You can hear him swallow. Poor man is probably more nervous than you.
"Do you, uh... Are... Do you get wet pretty easily?"
It endears you to him knowing that he's so flustered. "I do. In particular when I think about you. I've had a crush on you for a really long time, Robby."
He snorts. "Can't imagine why."
You frown and your brows furrow. "Why do you say that? You're incredibly attractive."
"I guess I just don't see myself that way anymore."
You wish you were there with him to rid him of such insecurities. "I'll tell you everything I like about you, then. Are you ready, because it's a pretty extensive list?"
"Ready," he replies with a chuckle.
You use one hand to roll a nipple between your fingers while the other drifts down between your legs. "In no particular order," you sigh, starting off. "Your voice; how deep it is and how easily you wield it to command authority. Your hair, which I'd love nothing more than to run my fingers through. Your beard, which I've fantasized having between my thighs and the silver throughout it."
You hear a quiet moan.
"Your hands, and how much bigger they are than mine. And speaking of size, your height—how I have to lean my head back to meet your beautiful, warm brown eyes. The way you dress—Carharts and boots and hoodies that I wish I could try on just because you wore them first. How intelligent you are, and steady; reliable and someone I know I can come to. For anything."
He's quietly panting now.
"Even the fact that you're Jewish."
He snickers. "Really?"
"Yes," you sigh while dipping fingers between your slick folds. "It's a part of you that means so much. I like the necklace you wear, with the Star of David on it. Do you wanna know what part of you I like best?"
"Tell me," he rasps.
"Your belly. I have no interest in abs. There's just something so erotic about a man who's grown comfortable in his body. God, Robby, even your name. Everything about you turns me on."
"Are you touching yourself?" he groans.
"I am, baby. Things are really slick between my thighs right now. All because of you." You sigh quietly. "Are you hard for me yet, sweetie?"
"I am," he huffs.
You drag your fingers over your clit. "Good. You like that I'm playing with myself while you listen? Hm?"
"Fuck," he moans while sliding through his fist. "I do."
"Tell me what you liked about my video. About watching me fuck myself with my fingers." You circle your clit a few times, then dive back inside.
"Everything, sweetheart. You were perfect. The sound of your voice—the pitch, since you were so turned on—how wet your pussy was, asking me something like that." Even though the question wasn't meant for him then, he deems that it was now.
You smirk, then go for it. "Am I? Am I pretty, daddy? Can you tell me if I am?"
Robby laughs while continuing on with stroking his weeping cock. "You are, baby. Very much so. Naked or otherwise."
You hum. "But you prefer me naked, don't you? All wet and ready to take whatever you have to give me?"
You listen to his ragged breaths, punctuated by the sound of skin against skin.
"I wish I was there right now, fuck."
"What would you do to me, Michael? Tell me."
He groans. "Don't call me that again unless you want me to cum."
You laugh musically. "Oops."
"Lie you back on the bed, kiss you between your thighs like you wanted. Taste you."
"Would you let me cum on your tongue?" you whine.
"However many times you wanted," he grates.
Your body shudders. "More, more, tell me more."
"I'd sink my cock inside you, once you're good and wet and ready for me."
"No condom," you state. "I want you to be able to finish inside me."
He snorts. "Horny li'l thing."
You laugh and ease a third finger inside yourself. "When it comes to you, I think I'd let you do anything you wanted to me if it made you feel good."
Robby continues. "And I'd make love to you. Until we both finish. Until you do around me. Spilling myself inside of you until we can't breathe because we're both so spent."
So old-fashioned. Making love. Not fucking, screwing, or any other derivative. It brings you impossibly closer to finishing already to hear it.
"I want that," you sigh. "To feel you inside of me. To come all over your cock so you can know how much I want it. You." You whimper. "Could I see it?" you ask softly.
"What? My—"
"Yes," you reply with certainty. "I showed you mi-ne," you say in a sing-song voice.
Robby chuckles, then sighs. "I need a solemn vow that it's for your eyes only."
You roll said eyes. "I'm far too selfish when it comes to you to think about sharing. And uh... Could you maybe use the front facing camera? So I can see your belly, too?"
The other line goes quiet for a moment. "You're sure you want that?"
You giggle excitedly. "I really do."
He sighs. "Alright, hold on."
You quickly grab your phone and wait with bated breath for the notification to arrive.
"I sent it. Just...don't judge the bush, alright? I don't prescribe to the whole waxing trend. That or...my slight gut."
"I'm glad to hear it," you say breathlessly, with a giddy smile. "I asked for the latter because it's what I'm most eager to see, baby."
As soon as the text pops up, you press on it, then proceed to stare in awe. "Oh my God, you're perfect," you moan, letting your eyes roam the heavy swell of his stomach that hangs just above his long red cock, which is smattered with dark brown hair. "But I...I don't think that'd fit inside of me."
He barks a laugh. "It would if I took my time with you. Trust me."
"It's so thick," you say while swallowing down pooling saliva. "And veiny and... I like the bush, just so you know. A lot. But your belly really is the icing on the cake. I hope you know I'd ride it if I could."
He exhales with relief while shaking his head and grinning. "You're somethin' else."
You giggle excitedly. "I'm having so much fun."
He smiles broadly on the other line. "You and me both, honey."
You swipe your fingers repeatedly over your clit. "I'm getting close, though. Are you?"
You can hear him lick his lips. "I'm workin' towards it."
"Where would you cum?" you inquire while teasing yourself toward your climax. "I'd let you finish anywhere on or inside me that you like."
He sighs. "Generous of you."
"Only because it's you, Michael."
He curses quietly. "Inside of you. Between your legs."
"Why?" you whimper, desperate for an answer.
"It's more intimate. Somehow anywhere else just doesn't seem right. Not with you."
"I'd like that," you intimate. "So, so much."
You continually circle your clit with lubricated fingers. "I'm so close, baby."
"Let me see."
You raise a brow. "My pussy?"
He chuckles. "Yeah, sweetheart."
Feeling generous, you decide to record a quick little video again, up close and personal. You spread your labia in all its dripping glory, swipe your fingers through your messy folds, advertise your swollen clit, then send it. "Hope you like it," you say lowly.
"It just came through," he confirms. Then, "Oh, sweetheart."
You gasp when he says it like that—wantonly, like he's been overtaken by lust.
"You like that? You like seeing how wet you've made me?"
"Christ," he groans.
"You're watching it on repeat, aren't you?"
"Fuckin' right I am," he rumbles. "Do you have any idea how pretty you are, sweetheart? How absolutely perfect?"
"Tell me. Please." Between porn and social media, you're not so sure anymore...
"I'd give anything to be inside of you, honey, even just one time. Not even for myself but for you."
Your chin wobbles. "Really?"
"Really."
"Please, Robby, come with me. Come with me, baby."
You listen to his ragged breaths as they grow in fervor. "I'm so close, sweetheart."
Plunging your fingers rapidly between your dripping folds, you lick your lips and nod. "I am, too. Just a little more. God, I love it."
"Fuck, I can't remember the last time jacking off felt this good."
Hearing him speak so filthily about his own self-pleasure only heightens your own. "C'mon, baby. Come for me, Michael. Come all over my pussy. Come right inside of it like I want you to."
"Oh fu—Oh fuck. Oh, fuck!" he groans, and you curl your legs back toward you while fingering yourself into oblivion.
You hardly speak a coherent word as you cry, whine, whimper, and squeal from your overwhelming finish. Once you come down from your passionate high, you do your utmost to catch your breath, and listen as Robby does the same on the other line.
Just hearing his labored breathing serves to make your loins stir yet again.
"So... Was it good?" you ask shyly.
Robby tosses his head back. "It was perfect, sweetheart. Never thought the first time I put eyes on you that I'd eventually hear what you sound like when you orgasm."
You're a naked, slippery mess, but somehow that's what makes you flush. "Same here," you murmur. "Um... thank you." It comes out sounding more like a question.
"Thank you," he replies with a gravely voice. "God, that felt good, baby."
Nibbling on your thumb, you can't keep yourself from smiling gleefully. "I'm so glad to hear it," you whisper. "So, uh... I'll see you tomorrow?" God knows how you'll face him after this, but you'll just have to figure it out.
"Oh," he chirps. "You wanna get off?"
You both chuckle at the same time.
"Yeah, guess we already did that, huh?" he jokes.
"We certainly did."
"Yeah," he replies. "I should probably clean up."
"Mm," you hum with interest. "Make a mess, did we?"
"On a towel, thankfully, but yes," Robby says with a quiet laugh. "Alright, honey, I'll see you tomorrow morning. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Once the call has ended, you remove your earbuds, then throw a pillow over your face and squeal to the high Heavens with delight.
The next morning, you and Robby arrive in PTMC's parking lot at around the same time. Ironic, you muse to yourself while gathering your things before climbing out of your vehicle.
Coming around to the driver's side of your car, Robby slips his hands into his pockets while smiling down at you rather sweetly. "Mornin'."
You smile in return while your cheeks warm from a feeling of utter enchantment. Oh, this is no good. You shouldn't be forming some juvenile attachment this early-on. But if you let on that you have, last night will be the one and only instance of such intimacy between you.
It had made you feel so special, so you don't want to lose the possibility of having it again.
"Hello," you say quietly while glancing down to your shoes.
"You, um... You don't regret—"
Your jerk your head back while staring up at him, and the way the rising sun has practically formed a halo around his head. Maybe you're more than just a bit fond, after all. "No," you say while reaching out to touch his forearm. "No, Robby, not at all. I just don't know how to meet your eyes now," you say while chewing your lip.
Resting a hand on the crown of your shoulder, he slides it around to the small of your back while leading you toward the hospital. "Just like you always have. Hell, maybe," he begins with a shrug, "It'll make things easier. Talking, I mean. Being around each other now that we," he gestures with his hand. "Have this between us."
You giggle quietly. "I still refuse to believe it'd fit," you state while glancing toward his waist.
He throw his head back and laughs. "Oh, sweetheart, I have moves you've yet to see."
"Decreased breath sounds on right side, BP holding steady at 109/70, pulse dropping and down to 62."
Racing around to the other side of the gurney your patient lies unconsciously upon, you pull open one of her eyelids while flashing a small flashlight across it. "Eyes are PERL, but that airbag nailed her in the face—"
Robby shakes his head while pressing his chest to your back and assessing the broken nose she came in with. "It just knocked her out. I'm not worried about head trauma at this time if pupils are reactive." He points to the gaping wound on her abdomen where a piece of shrapnel sliced through. "Hey!" he says—calling to someone you don't glance up to see. "Have Perlah page the OR and tell them to prep for a laparotomy. They've got one incoming."
Pulling you back by the elbow, Robby releases the brakes on the gurney and you stand back, watching as a team rolls it away. Snapping off his gloves, he tosses them into a nearby waste bin. "You did good, sweetheart," he whispers while squeezing your hip reassuringly. "There's something I wanna talk to you about on your next break, though, alright?"
Pulling off a dressing gown, you bunch it up. "Did I do something wro—"
He shakes his head while pushing out of the room. "Not about that," he interrupts with a wink.
"She gonna make it?" you ask when Robby walks over to you from the ambulance bay doors.
He nods. "Already out of surgery and in a recovery room. Apparently things were touch and go for a minute, but she'll be fine."
You loose a sigh of relief.
"You wanted to talk to me about something?" you ask when he sits down next to you.
"Yeah," he rasps while settling his palms atop his thighs. "I just... Thought it might be good for us to lay some ground rules if we choose to continue this."
You nod hesitantly. "What did you have in mind?"
He grins while running a nervous hand through his hair. "I've never done any sort of "friends with benefits" thing before. Especially not for phone sex. That said, I can still tend to be a jealous guy. Now," he states while holding up his hands. "This isn't me trying to tell you what to do or stake a claim or anything, but I would prefer if I was the only one you were carrying on with like this."
Oh, so he's the territorial type, huh? You rather enjoy hearing that, actually.
"So, no more talking to your other friend," Robby requests while looking at you.
You nod. "Done."
He shrugs and sweeps a hand over his beard. "And if you wouldn't mind, no dating while this is ongoing, either."
You frown. "I'm sorry, Robby, but that feels a step too far for me."
"How so?" he asks while crossing his arms.
"I'm a young woman exploring her options. I want to at least try and find someone to start a life with. I can't do that if I keep myself strictly tied up with... Well..."
"The man you're sexting at midnight?" he asks with a chuckle.
You look at him from beneath your lashes. "Yes."
He sighs while gripping the brick half-wall you both sit upon. "Yeah, I can respect that."
You scoot closer. "If it would help, I don't have to tell you when I have a date scheduled, or about when I go on one. Could make things easier? Jealousy is a normal, human emotion, and I get it, so this is my way of trying to prevent it if I can."
He licks his lips. "Deal."
You swing your legs out, then let the heels of your tennis shoes bounce off the wall. "Anything else you were thinking about?"
Robby tries—quite poorly—and fails to bite back a smirk. "Are you, uh..." He pinches the bridge of his nose while wrapping an arm around himself and breaking into a fit of laughter.
Unable to stop yourself, you start giggling almost hysterically at the sight. "What?" you question with a snort, which makes him double over.
Gosh, I adore you, you think.
When he eventually begins to calm, he swipes tears from his eyes. "I'm sorry, honey, I don't know what the hell happened," he says between occasional chuckles.
You beam. "That's okay."
"I was gonna ask," he says lowly while leaning in close. "If you're aware of the little noise you make just before you cum."
You bite your lip. "I am now."
"It's pretty cute," he drawls while sliding a hand over your knee. "So, are we gonna talk tonight so that I can hear it again?"
You grant him a sultry expression. "Sure."
"On my knees," you pant while shoving a vibrator between your fluttering walls. "Sucking your cock while you spill down my throat when you finish."
"Fuck, that's good," he moans. "You'd do that for me, sweetheart? Swallow?"
You circle your clit with the sex toy. "I'd do anything you wanted. Of course I would, baby."
"Oh yeah? And if I fucked you after because I haven't had enough? If I need to feel you squeezing around me?"
"It might be slick," you whine. "You'd have a pretty easy time slipping in and out. I'm just that wet for you, Michael."
He curses. "You're dripping, aren't you?"
You circle your lips with your tongue. "I'm lying on a towel, if that tells you anything."
He chuckles. "You're not the only one desperate to give oral, I can tell you that."
"Oh yeah? You like my pussy that much, baby?"
"It's all I can think about. It's why I keep watching those videos. I want you to send me more."
You open up the camera on your phone. "Well, Dr. Robinavitch," you begin while pointing it between your spread legs. "That I can do."
It's been almost every night for the last two weeks. After a few days, however, you did have to crush Robby's libido by telling him that you needed a break for at least a day because you were starting to get a bit sore.
Unable to help himself, however, shortly after eating dinner, he sent you a photo of his semi-erect cock with an accompanying text that read Thinking about u
So you sent him a photo of your tits pushed together and a voice message asking, once again "Am I pretty, daddy?" while also worrying that maybe he finds being called that rather odd.
Until he replied with a voice note himself—you could hear his wet cock in the background—"Fuckin' beautiful, baby."
You went back on your promise to refrain from masturbating for a night when you ran to your bedroom and stripped down naked before hopping on a FaceTime call with him so you could finally watch each other get off.
You genuinely gasped when you saw the amount of semen that spurted from his cock when he came, then shoved the camera between your thighs while spreading your labia so he could see the way your tight little hole pulsated when you finished.
After cleaning up, you fell asleep on the phone together—a very charming gesture.
"We on for tonight again?" Robby asks quietly and with a soft, affectionate smile.
You click your locker shut and turn to him. "I'm actually busy tonight. I'm sorry, sweetie," you state regretfully while resting a palm against his upper arm.
"May I ask with what?" he inquires.
You study him from beneath your lashes while shifting on your feet. "We sorta agreed not to talk about it."
His brows knit together while brown eyes flit between your own, and then they unfurl when a look of realization dawns across his handsome features. "Oh. You're going on a date?"
You nod while nervously massaging one of your shoulders. "I am."
He shrugs nonchalantly. "Does he work here? Or...he's not the guy you used to—"
"No. No to both," you interrupt while waving your hands. "I couldn't even tell you what state R lives in."
Robby nods. "So, is it pretty serious, then?"
Your brow raises, curious as to why this conversation is still ongoing. "Well," you begin while skirting past him. "Considering that it's due to be a first date, no."
He turns and matches your strides to keep up. "What does he do? Is he—"
You turn back to him on your heel. "Robby?"
He crosses his arms and leans down, watching as you purse your lips and shake your head while looking at him with wide eyes.
He sighs, then chuckles. "I'm sorry; being nosy. Just—you're being safe, right? Taking precautions? Like," he glances away, then back to you. "You've told someone where you plan to be, who you're going to be with—"
"Yes," you interject with a smile. "Cassie is kinda my go-to girl for those sorts of things. I've sent her his profile, told her where I'm going to be and what time, and we even have a location tracking app. So, if my phone shows me somewhere I shouldn't be, she can contact the authorities. But I very much doubt that will be necessary."
"You hope not," he deadpans and your smile begins to fade from his suddenly dry tone. "But, y'know, meeting strange men on the internet, you have no way of knowing their true intentions."
"Which is why we're meeting in a public place," you state firmly.
"And if he follows you home?" he insists while stepping closer.
You huff, then step around him again.
"Alright, I'm sorry," he says while grabbing your forearm. "Just trying to show a bit of concern. I'll back off."
"I appreciate it," you assure. "But I'll be fine. Promise. You have no reason to worry."
Wouldn't have to if you just offered yourself up instead...
"Call me if you need anything," Robby utters tenderly. "An excuse to get out of there, or whatever else you may need, alright? And...have fun."
He doesn't truly mean the last part. Whatsoever.
You nod while also deflating just a little. "Alright, and I'll see you in a couple of days."
"Wait, a couple days?" he asks while squeezing your forearm in question.
"Tomorrow is my scheduled day off," you quip simply.
"Are...Are you planning on taking him home, then? Is that why—"
"Okay, Robby, for one, that's none of your business. But if you must know, no, I don't do that. Not on the first date."
He crosses his arms again, but in irritation this time. "Not on the first? So, what? The seco—"
Saved by the bell, Whitaker comes around the corner and tells Robby that he's needed in a trauma bay.
That's when you make a break for it.
Flipping your phone over, you check the text that's just come through.
Everything going ok?
"Do you need to get that?"
Glancing up to the young man who sits across from you, dressed in a crisp white button-up shirt with perfectly quaffed hair, you smile while shaking your head. "No, I'm sorry. Just one of those automated texts that tells you that you're about to be billed for your car insurance in a couple of days."
He sighs. "As if we need any reminders."
You chuckle while turning your phone on silent mode and flipping it back over. "You're telling me. I should probably look into opting out of them at some point."
He's far past the age of waiting up by the phone, waiting to hear from an opposing party who's clearly more interested in another. But he'll be damned if he hasn't checked his cell at least thirty times tonight, just waiting for even one little text that will finally grant him relief.
Just a simple he was an ass will do.
Good thing McKay has your location and not him, because if Robby had any idea where you were at right now for dinner? He's not entirely sure that he wouldn't show up and crash it.
Maybe it's a difference in generations. Yours, which seems to think of intimacy as a casual thing, whereas his often took it as the beginning of something more serious.
He paces, tells himself to get a goddamn grip, considers calling Abbot to see if he has a way of tracking a cellphone with his military and SWAT expertise, then finally falls into bed when he can no longer bear to keep his eyes open, while praying that this prick isn't whatever you've been looking for.
"So, how'd it go?" Cassie probes with an eager smile as you grab a mask to tuck away in your scrub pocket.
Almost like magic, Robby appears at your side and grabs an iPad, but of course doesn't leave.
You turn your back to him to face McKay instead. "He was very polite and sweet, but he brought up his ex more times than I felt comfortable with. So, I questioned him on it and—"
"Rebound?" she assumes.
You nod. "Three years, only broke up two month ago." You sigh and shake your head. "I don't even think he's aware that it's what he's doing. But he will eventually," you state wearily.
"Whole point of a first date," she replies while giving your hand a squeeze. "Weed 'em out."
"Starting to think they're all weeds," you grumble with disappointment while following her to Chairs.
Unable to fight the feeling of smugness which fills his chest, Robby walks into an exam room with a satisfied smirk and his head held high.
The only "breaks" you were allotted today were those you spent relieving yourself in the restroom. You had nearly a dozen patients, one of which ended up in the morgue after they were brought in by an ambulance: a husband working on his wife's car when the jack stand collapsed and he was left trapped under the vehicle for nearly half an hour until she came to check on him and found him aspirating on his own blood due to his chest caving in.
You can still hear her screaming over his body as you lie in bed scrolling mindlessly through your phone while looking for an escape via social media or stupid YouTube videos.
Until a text pops up.
U awake, sweetheart?
"Not in the mood tonight, Robby," you mutter while swiping the text away.
You did everything you could today. Just want 2 make sure you're alright.
You soften then. Pressing on the text, you type a reply. I know & I am. Thank you.
typing...
Worried you were mad at me.
Your brows wrinkle. Why?
typing...
Didn't speak much to me today, even when I pulled you onto my cases.
You huff. How to politely say that you were more concerned with patients than a silly office romance? Just trying to focus on the medicine.
typing...
typing...
Understood. Want me 2 leave u alone?
Your stomach sinks. Great, now you've hurt his feelings most likely.
You type your reply, then wonder if perhaps it's a bit too much, even if it's only one word. But he doesn't really seem to have anyone. He's lonely. And sweet; concerned.
Never.
typing...
Mind if I call so I can fall asleep to your voice again?
You smile contentedly while pressing the phone icon.
It's been over a month now, and while you and Robby have continued with sexting and the like, more and more, you're just generally talking. FaceTiming while you're cooking, calling when he's running errands in his truck, sending mundane photos of your days to each other—like pretty flowers you see on your walks, or he the two new pairs of boots he was trying to decide between, ultimately allowing you to be the deciding factor.
When he comes into work with them on, you can't help but to grin at the sight. Something so simple and dumb, but it's like another little secret. Hey, everybody, he's wearing the Rockies because I picked them out!
He even gets a bit brave by giving you swift kisses on the cheek when you're leaving work, or one on the forehead when you're just coming in before the two of you throw yourselves into a mess of waiting patients.
But no matter how domestic things may seem, you make sure to hold true to the promise you made to yourself to keep your options open. Because you know it's nothing serious to him, whereas that sort of connection is what you're desperate for.
"He's gorgeous," Samira exclaims while scrolling through your phone.
Robby glances up from the counter he stands at, overlooking results from a CT scan.
"A lawyer?" she asks with interest. "Aw, cute kitty. Wait, is that his daughter?"
You smile while shaking your head. "No, his niece. He said she loves playing doctor." Warmth blooms upon your cheeks. "He told me that if things go well, he can't wait for me to meet her."
"Wants kids," she mumbles, reading various tidbits he's provided. "Homeowner, goal of marriage.." she trails off, then sighs dreamily. "He could seriously be the one this time," Samira remarks while wheeling closer. "Have you heard his voice?"
Robby's jaw is clenched so hard a fucking tooth might crack.
"I have," you mutter bashfully. "The call was only a few minutes long because he had another client about to come in, but he said he couldn't wait any longer to hear what I sounded like."
You giggle.
"Ok, he sounds dreamy, actually," Javadi says from behind you.
You throw your head back and she smiles while waving a hand. "Sorry, I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything..."
Shaking your head, you spin around. "Oh, it's no problem. Wanna see his picture?"
"Yes!"
Tossing down a pen in irritation, Robby stalks off with a pissed-off shake of his head.
He's had an absolutely shit day. Two deaths, a patient who insisted they knew more than him because they spend all their spare time watching fucking Grey's Anatomy and listening to RFK Jr's bullshit, one of the new med students nearly making a critical mistake because they wanted to do more than they wanted to listen, and a patient high on opioids tackled a phlebotomist in the hall.
He knows he should just take a breather. Go outside for some fresh air and count backwards from a hundred. Instead, however, he goes in search of you.
"So, a lawyer this time, huh?"
Running on empty, you have no energy to deal with this tonight. "Yes. We go out tomorrow night."
Wrapping his arms around himself, Robby shakes his head while chuckling sarcastically. "Another dead-end first date? Sounds like a waste of time to me. Probably just some rich asshole who doesn't know the first thing about y—"
"Robby?" you hiss while stalking toward him. "I don't know what the hell your problem is right now, but you need to back off. Got it?"
"He know?" he whispers while bending at the knees to meet you at eye-level.
A gesture which just sets you to burning all the hotter, but not in a good way.
"That when you get bored and needy, you send photos of your pussy to someone else?"
"Fuck you!" you shout. "As of this moment, this is over," you spit. "You understand me?" you seethe through clenched teeth.
An expression of hurt flashes across his features and a lump forms in your throat when something between the two of you snaps and breaks.
He rises to full height again and snorts. "Until your date goes sideways and you go home lonely, just like always. So, you better be sure of that when you find yourself wanting for me in the middle of the night."
You choke back a sob then shove past him while heading directly for Chairs to get the hell out of PTMC, and even further from Robby. How the fuck were you stupid enough to get involved with him in the first place? If he wishes to make your life a living hell here at work now, he can. Easily. And it's not like reporting him to HR would lead to anything good.
That's not who you are—someone who stirs up trouble if you can avoid it by any means—but of course you're now afraid for your future here.
"You know that you never even fucking asked me?" Robby bellows from behind you, refusing to just let the matter go.
So close. Another thirty seconds and you would've been gone from this damn parking lot.
"Excuse me?" you cry while swinging around.
"You made this assumption," he growls. "For whatever reason that apparently I'm only interested in one thing." He marches closer. "Maybe you think I'm too old for the prospect of anything meaningful. That my bed is made and that's just the way it is." He gets in your face and you back up against the side of your car. "But it was more to me than just some stupid little tryst. The fact that you never even considered me?"
He shakes his head while pressing a hand to the back of his neck. "What?" he asks, and his voice breaks. "I'm not enough for you? Not good enough? Too old and broken down and—"
Realization slams into you in that moment like a speeding train.
He's desired more all along, hasn't he? But how could you have ever known? Did it hurt him when you went on your last date? Have you made him feel used?
You throw your arms around his neck then and your body against his, deciding that your forgiveness has already been granted. "Sweetie, no," you whisper while carding your fingers in his disheveled hair. "You're right. I assumed that you were content with bachelorhood. Baby, I'm so sorry that I did." You lean back just enough to gaze into his glassy eyes. "You could've told me," you mutter while brushing tears from under his eyes with the pads of your thumbs.
"Why didn't you?" Robby murmurs.
You sigh. "Robby, I felt attached to you after the first night we talked. But I was so..." you blink back tears yourself. "It's why I chose a stranger before: no risk of developing feelings. Not really. But I kept things going between us, despite knowing that I was going to get my heart broken, because I deemed it worth it. Getting to have that kind of intimacy with you? I was terrified of losing it."
Robby presses his forehead to yours while sliding his arms around your hips.
"Tell me that you want me to be yours and I'm yours, Michael."
"I want you all to myself, then," he grates. "Don't go with him. Just you and me, like it's been, but more. We'll be together."
He sucks his teeth. "I'm just... I'm no good at it. I have commitment issues. I know it sounds fucking ridiculous and stupid," he starts while pulling back and staring at the blanket of sky behind you. "My mother left when I was eight, and ever since—"
Your face crumples. "Oh, sweetheart..."
"So, I have a tendency to push back or run if someone gets too close, because that reminder is always fucking there that no matter how close you may be to them—no matter how much you may care, maybe they don't. One morning you might wake up and they'll be gone."
You cup the back of his head in one hand while the other cradles his cheek. "Robby, I am not going anywhere. Honey, if you could feel how I do about you—could read my mind and see how I think of you—you would know that you have me wholly. I wanted you, before my last date, to stop me. But you didn't. So I went..."
He slides a hand to the curve of your neck and holds you still while pressing his lips to yours.
Grasping gently at the soft protrusion of belly that hangs over Robby's Carhart trousers, you fist your hands in his shirt and hold yourself to him. "'M yours," you mumble against his lips and the scratch of his well-groomed beard.
He nods with a solemn expression. "Yeah, you fuckin' are."
Robby holds you so close that you're sure he'll never let go.
That makes two of you.
"Guessing Robby is running a little late today?"
You smile up at the nurse that stands over you and shrug. "Probably. He said he'd be here. But you never know what's going on down there."
You fiddle with the ring on your finger.
A quiet knock sounds at the door, followed by his entry. "Sorry, sorry," he says while coming around to the side of the exam bed before planting a kiss on your forehead and plopping down in the seat provided.
You extend a palm and cup his cheek while brushing your thumb along the corner of his mouth. "Do I wanna know?"
He shakes his head with a feigned, sarcastic expression.
Turning back to the screen beside you, you stay quiet while a probe is pressed to your swollen belly, and a rapid heartbeat soon fills the silence of the room.
"There's our girl," Robby murmurs with shimmering tears—same as always—while taking your hand between each of his and holding it to his lips.
"Hi, baby," you whisper while grinning from ear to ear.
"Oh, shoot," Hannah, your nurse, says quietly. "Ran out of paper. I forgot to refill it earlier." Removing the probe, she looks at you. "I'm gonna grab some real quick so I can get you both a few prints to take home."
You nod. "Take your time."
Once she's stepped out, Robby rises and kisses you, and with tongue no less. "I've never thanked you," he says quietly. "For marrying me, having my child..."
You shake your head. "Those are things I wanted just as much as you. You don't owe me thanks for being your wife and choosing to make a baby with you, honey. For loving you. We've both given the other things they thought they may have to one day settle with not having. That's what marriage is. What love is."
He kisses both of your cheeks. "How the hell'd I get so lucky, huh?"
Info: you are on a school trip with your professor. You basically confess and confirm what was there
Tags: smut, lil degradation, student x teacher (adults), couple of names sweetheart, baby, etc.
Enjoyyyyyy
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈
The end of the semester was finally here, and my trip to DC was this weekend. The thing is, after months of underlying tension with my professor, you knew this was going to be a problem.
Why, well, because she and I had to travel to another state with two other students and one other professor. We had signed up for some program; honestly, I had forgotten about it until four months ago when my professor told me I needed to come up with lesson plans for workshops.
Since then we had been spending more time together after school before school and even on the weekends if we needed to. I won’t lie; it was hard being around such a smart woman who also was drop-dead gorgeous. I would always be so excited to see her, but I’d never show it even when her hand would graze over my shoulder or my lower back to guide me out a door. Until we got to DC.
Present
“No no no!” “I’m sorry, Mrs. Prentiss." “Miss Prentiss," she snared. The worker looked horrified, and I was just sitting on my suitcase, waiting for her to be done, not really knowing what the hell was happening.
She turned around and gave me a doomed face and gave me a card. "Um, so we have to share a room, but they said it has two beds. I’m sorry; I SPECIFICALLY SAID I WANTED TWO ROOMS!” She yelled out, and I giggled. "It's fine as long as you don’t mind," I said, moving my suitcase and hers together. "Yeah, it’s really not a problem; it’s more annoying, and I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable." I nodded and tried to contain the smile, anxiety, and nervousness running through my body.
I was just about to share a room with Emily Prentiss, what the fuck. I smiled and followed her to our room, where we were surprised to find only one bed… "Oh my god," Emily’s voice was low and pissed. I knew it. "It's ok; it’s a king. Are you a kicker?” Emily sighed, "No, are you?" I shook my head. “And there are two desks?” “And if you want we can ask for a different room?” “True, didn’t know you hated me that much," I said, putting down my bag and opening up my suitcase, trying to hide the grin on my face. “Whaa?” Emily looked dumbfounded. "You are cute. I’m kidding." “I know I don’t mind and I like you; I just don’t want…it’s just you are my student…” she said softly. "Well, I’m also an adult, and I’m okay with sharing this big ass bed if you are!” “I think yes," she said, putting up her suitcase on the desk. “What time do we have to be at the conference?” “Two hours?” I nodded. "Are you cool if I take a nap? I’m so tired from the flight," I groaned, plopping on my side of the bed. “Of course. I might have to join you in a little." She giggled, laying down with her back on the headboard.
I caught a glance at her glasses, the way her hair was up loose with hair strands out her beautiful nose. I tried to keep myself distracted and closed my eyes. I fell asleep to the shuffling of her book.
Emily’s POV:
Once I had seen y/n’s eyes were fully rested, I put my book down, glancing at her face; my heart skipped a beat. I was so hesitant because I knew how I felt about her, the way she looked at me or asked if I needed anything. She was a sweet girl and smart. Always attentive and caring…
Hell, I’ve had better conversations with her than I ever had with anyone else. She’s my student, and she might not even feel the same way.
What the fuck am I talking about, Emily? Get it together. I took a deep breath and tried to close my eyes and sleep for a little until I actually did.
I finally woke up to see y/n still asleep, beautifully calm, her nose twitching a little; it was so adorable. I sighed and looked at my phone. "Crap," "y/n," I said, rubbing her back to wake her up. “Hey, sweetheart, we have to go." "Mmm," she groaned. “Fuckkk, I'm somehow more tired," she giggled. Her laugh made my heart sink; there’s just something about her that’s so alluring.
y/n pov:
I put on a jacket and slid into my shoes. “How did you nap?” Emily asked, "Eh, my neck kind of hurts now." "Maybe I can give you a massage later." She winked. My heart dropped to my ass. What the fuck? No way she just said that. Which could also mean nothing. “I like your glasses; you look cute," I said, walking down to meet everyone.
"Thanks, I can’t see; I’m blind as a bat." She laughed, nudging my shoulder. My face turned red trying to contain the giddy feeling I’ve been having all day long.
Once our forever-long intro to the conference, we were able to head back. “Don’t you think we should have waited for everyone else?” I whispered to Emily, "Nah, fuck it, let’s just go back to the room and call room service?” She said, pulling my arm across the street, basically giving me no choice, not really like I minded either.
“I guess you also hated how long they went on about how men need more safe places," I said, shaking my head, causing Emily to laugh. "You are something, y/n." I didn’t know what she meant by that, but I do know it made me feel seen in a way.
Once we got to the room, I groaned and threw my jacket off, showing my tank top underneath with no bra, leaving really nothing to the imagination. I felt Emily’s stare from behind me. She probably is uncomfortable. What am I even saying?
"Sorry, I hate bras," I breathed out almost like I had to confess something. She smiled. “Me too. My boobs are just too big to not wear a bra if not they look awful," she said, sighing. “Oh god, no. If anything, yours are perfect. They sit nice, and you can hardly tell if you are even wearing one." I laughed, throwing on a baggy t-shirt, then stopped in my tracks, realizing what the fuck I just said.
“I’m sorry I didn’t mean… I think you have awesome boobs. I just…fuckkk, I just need to shut up." I started saying frantically, "You think my boobs are perfect?” Emily moved closer to me. I couldn’t even look at her until her hand cupped my chin upward. “Do you?” "Yeah," I muttered, embarrassed; it was almost pathetic. She smirked slightly. “I notice you too, y/n; your hair, your makeup placement perfectly around your lips." Her voice was low and seductive as her fingers trailed to my bottom lip. She moved closer and placed a delicate kiss on my lip before biting the bottom one. "Fuck, you are so perfect, Emily." I was too desperate to even process what just happened, and I shifted us to the bed, laying on top of her. “Someone’s needy…” she said, taking off my shirt and sliding off my pants. "Mhm, I’m needy," I said, kissing her as I undid her shirt. “Are you sure you want this?” “I’ve never wanted anything more in life than this." Emily wasted no time and pulled me in, kissing my neck hungrily. I moaned at her touch; it felt like she’d done this so many times before.
Everything I ever thought was true. My hands explored her body, her perfect fucking body. I kneaded her boobs with my fingers, her nipples getting hard at the touch. "Fuck, I want to taste you so bad." She pulled me in desperately, and I won’t lie, I was just as desperate; it was like we had been craving one another.
“Please just fuck me, Emily," I begged, which caused Emily to shift without hesitation, moving herself between my legs and pulling on the waistband of my panties. "These are so cute," she said softly, admiring me, staring at how I was for her already a mess. I whined a little and tried to buck my hips; I could feel myself throbbing from the lack of stimulation. “Mmm, baby, be patient…” she cooed, her voice just making me more and more needy.
I could feel myself getting wetter when she placed her thumb on top of my clit over the thin fabric. “All for me?” She said with shock and smugness, "Yes, I need you so bad." She chuckled and moved my panties to the side, sliding in two fingers into my core with ease. “Holy fuck," I moaned as she slowly entered and disappeared into my cunt. "Mmm, that’s good," I huffed, gripping the sheets. Emily pulled off my panties and kept her pace, collecting my arousal.
“Please fuck me faster." I begged. Emily smirked and moved down to me, still not leaving me and, if anything, just at a painfully slow pace. "Mmm, but I like how you look right now, just all messed up for me, desperately begging me to fuck you faster, and I’m guessing harder too?” She said and slammed her fingers into me, curling them and the perfect spot. I couldn’t even moan before she stopped. "Look at you dripping for me, being such a good girl." She laughed, kissing my neck and speeding up her pace, her palm hitting my clit perfectly.
Our moans mixed with the sounds of her fucking me were filling the room. “Look at the way your tits bounce so fucking perfectly," I groaned at her praise, feeling myself tighten around her fingers. "Do you want to come, baby?” She asked, "Y... yes... fuck, Emily." I breathed out, feeling my stomach tighten. Emily kissed all down my waist and sucked lightly on my clit. "Oh my god, Emily." I whimpered. Her tongue glided over my clit, lapping and collecting my taste. "You taste so good." She buried her face more; it felt like I was seeing stars. “I’m going to cum." I moaned louder, coming undone for her. "Just like that, princess," she praised, slipping out of me and licking her fingers. "You taste amazing, baby," she said, kissing me while I was still trying to catch my breath. “You are something else, y/n, like an angel" she said, kissing my body, causing shivers down my spine. "You are so hot," I said, kissing her lips. "Well, we don’t have to wake up early tomorrow…” she said, smirking suggestively. “YES PLEASE YES!" I said, laughing, “Well, I was going to say let’s get some food, but—" "Oh, that’s fine too; we have a whole week here." I giggled, kissing her again.
⤷ cw : d/s dynamics .ᐟ .ᐟ age gap (r! 26 Dana! 50s) .ᐟ .ᐟ spanking .ᐟ .ᐟ fingering .ᐟ .ᐟ major mommy kink .ᐟ .ᐟ subspace kinda (?) .ᐟ .ᐟ aftercare .ᐟ .ᐟ reader is an r2 but it’s never mentioned .ᐟ .ᐟ minors do not interact .ᐟ .ᐟ
You knew you were fucked the moment you stepped through the front door and saw Dana sitting on the couch nursing a glass of whiskey, something she only drank when she was pissed or had a difficult shift. Stumbling into the living room, you sit down on the couch opposite to her.
Dana’s eyes look you up and down like you’re a piece of meat, she’s not visibly tired, which scares you more. She’s too calm. You’d gone out for drinks with Trinity and Dennis, before you had left the house, Dana made it clear that you had to be back by 1am. Promising her that you left and now you were back at 3:30am.
“I can explain—"
“Over my lap. Now.” She downs the last bit of her drink and places the glass on the side table. You stand up and walk over to her with shaky knees, you’d only see Dana this mad once, and it was when a patient was violent with you. Dana pulls you over her knee, slowly pulling your skirt and panties down and rubbing your exposed ass.
“You know why you’re being punished, right, baby?” She’s still rubbing her hand on your bum and thighs, you slowly nod, tears gathering in your eyes.
“Y-yes, Mama, I stayed out past my curfew.”
“I thought you were my good girl and would follow my rules, but you didn't, so now you’re here. You’re getting 20 hits.” You nod once again, tears running down your face. You feel so disappointed, you always wanna be good for Dana. She’s the first person to really see through your tough act, she clocked it on the first day of your R1 rotation when she found you sobbing in the parking lot. Dana knew you needed guidance and a stern hand, and she was more than happy to give it to you.
The first hit comes down hard, you let out a little yelp. Dana tells you to count, and you do not, wanting to upset her more.
“One! Thank you, Mama."
Another hit comes down on your ass, and you thank her once more. They keep coming and coming, and you can’t stop yourself from crying. The alcohol is making you more emotional and has heightened your senses.
“20! Thank you, Mama.”
“You did so well for me, baby. So proud of you.” Her hand rubs all over your bum, trying to soothe the feeling a bit, but you’ve grown uncomfortably wet from the punishment, and Dana knows. Her hand trails in between your thighs, and her fingers find your soaking wet cunt.
“Someone enjoyed their punishment a little too much.” Her fingers sink into your cunt, and you let out a small moan, she thrusts them in and out of you, her finger coming to rub circles on your clit. “F-fuck, Mama feels so good!” You moan out, your senses overwhelmed with pain and pleasure. Dana only goes faster, you feel yourself getting closer to the edge.
“Yeah you gonna cum, sweetheart? Come for Mommy like a filthy slut?” The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a broken moan; the pleasure is too overwhelming. She continues to move her fingers in and out of you, rubbing your clit. Your orgasm washes over you like waves, Dana lets you ride it out until you’ve calmed down.
She pulls her fingers out, and you whimper at the loss of her fingers, but she brings them down to your mouth, and you suck them clean for her. She helps you get up and takes you to the bathroom, where she takes off your makeup and applies some ointment to your bum. She helps you get into your PJs and leaves the room for a moment.
You get caught up in your head. What if she actually hates me? Or she’s actually really upset. You don’t notice that she came back with some Advil and water.
“Hey, hey, kiddo, why are you crying? "Mama's here." She gets into bed beside you and tucks you into her chest, you can’t help the sobs that come out of you.
“I-I’m—I'm sorry, please don’t leave me I’ll be good.” She understood now, you felt insecure and vulnerable. You thought she left you.
“Sweetheart, look at me. I’m never leaving you, okay? Mama's not mad anymore, you took your punishment well and you apologized. All is forgiven, okay? You’re my sweet girl, and I’m so lucky to have you.” She presses a kiss to your lips, and you melt into her. “I love you, angel."
“I love you too, Mama." With that, you fall asleep safe and sound in her arms.
Boyfriend’s dads x reader where Robby and Jack are married and adopted a son who’s dating reader. And of course reader brushes off their advances because they’re gay and in a relationship, it’s just their personality to be flirty (except they’re only flirty with reader and each other) and it isn’t until they corner reader and make their advances crystal clear that she succumbs to the dilfs
*takes a drag of my imaginary cigarette* yeah that's some good shit
Tags/warnings: perv!Jack Abbot, perv!Robby, perv!Rabbot, age gap (reader is mid-twenties, Rabbot is however old you want them to be), manipulation, cheating, guilt and shame, threesome, flirting, inappropriate touching, groping, dry humping, fingering (f receiving), somno, intox reader, cnc, hand jobs, wet humping, slight D/s dynamics, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected piv sex, creampie, Rabbot being terrible parents but like their son fucking sucks
Summary: You're supposed to be spending the 4th of July weekend with your boyfriend but he leaves you with his dads instead
a/n: this one's not for everyone but my god did I have fun writing it
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.
The day is actually perfect.
You can’t believe it.
The sun is shinning bright, perfectly warm and burning for your skin to get a nice tan.
The pool in front of you glistens under the light, rippling almost seductively.
You can't wait to get in.
But right now you're practically toasting yourself so that the change in temperature will be that much more satisfying.
You're perfectly waxed, body lathered in sunscreen and tanning oil, the tiny little bikini you have on leaves nothing to the imagination.
You've laid yourself out like a sultry present, stomach turning itself in knots as you wait for your boyfriend to wake up, to come out to find you.
You can barely contain yourself with anticipation sparking your nerves, the slickness between your thighs only becoming more and more prominent as you hear rustling through the house behind you.
You shift in your sun lounger, positioning yourself again so that every single one of your assets is in full display.
The glass door slides open.
Your heart does a leap in your throat.
You turn towards the noise and—
"Jesus fucking Christ, sweetheart."
The yelp that pours out of your throat is almost unnatural as you instantly heat up everywhere, and not in a good way.
You pull the towel over your body, quickly covering yourself up, absolutely mortified as you lock eyes, again, with one of your boyfriend's dads.
You’ve been dating your current boyfriend officially for a little over two months having met both Jack and Robby, in this very house, a little prior to that.
They'd been complete gentlemen, open and kind, absurdly in love with each other to a point that it made you swoon.
You'd ridden their son aggressively that night, his hot dads the only thing in your mind as you came around his cock, making sure to pull him out of your tight hole before he could finish inside.
You'd brushed it off as having forgotten to take your birth control that morning but the truth was much more nefarious than that. You simply couldn't let him do that when all you wanted was for his dads to fill you up instead.
Having not seen them until now had helped to alleviate some of those feelings. You had been ovulating then, clearly, and there was no way you were going to listen to what your thoughtless, horny mind wanted.
So when he suggested you take advantage of the Fourth of July weekend to take a trip to his parents' home since he knew for a fact the two of them were going to be working instead, you agreed.
A whole three day weekend where you could lounge by the pool, fuck on every surface imaginable, and not have to come into contact with the two of them?
It was the sexiest plan you've ever heard, especially after your summer research job at the university had been kicking your ass and your brain was definitely fried.
Well, unfortunately, none of those things have come to fruition.
You're still unfucked, barely tan and now definitely not not coming into contact with the hot doctors.
You watch as Robby comes rushing out onto the deck, instantly bringing a hand over his eyes unlike his, honestly, worse half, as he catches even the slightest glimpse of your uncovered skin.
There's nothing to look at now, you've made sure of it, but Jack's gaze lingers on your legs, as if he keeps thinking about the memory it'll somehow become real once more.
Heat explodes in your core at the thought of him memorizing what your body looks like, his hungry gaze almost predatory in nature, as if he's waiting for a reason to strike.
"Jack—" Robby's not subtle about it, slapping his husband's arm in embarrassment.
Jack gives your body a once over, subtle enough if you weren't also staring intensely at him, before he casts you a wink and turns slightly so that you can finish wrapping the towel around your body.
Once you're covered up you return to staring, taking them both in before you let them know you're done.
They've both put on slight weight since the last time you were here, their bellies budging out over their scrubs. The bags under Robby's eyes look somehow deeper, a detail that makes your heart constrict in a desperate desire to fix it. And Jack...he just feels unhinged, like he's holding in so much energy he honestly doesn't know what to do with.
"Okay," you whisper. "I'm decent."
Jack is the first to snap his eyes back to you, pouting slightly, teasingly or not, you simply can't tell, but your lips are instantly curling into a shy smile.
Robby peeks through his finger first, earning himself a little giggle from you which causes his cheeks to flush a satisfactory pink.
"Sorry about that, honey," Robby apologizes profusely. "We didn't know the two of you would be here."
You frown. "Well I was told you would be working so..."
Robby cracks a smile as Jack moves to sit on the lounge chair beside yours.
"Damn kid never tells us anything," he complains, causing you to laugh, airy and warm. "I tell ya, the only reason we know he's been here is cause half the fridge is empty and there's an absurd amount of laundry we gotta do."
You bite your lip, watching as he settles into the hot mesh, resting his leg for a little respite which you're certain he hasn't had in the past twenty-four hours, especially since you know he insisted on driving the two of them here from the hospital.
"I promise I'll do all the laundry and wash all the dishes and go grocery shopping before we leave."
"Absolutely not," Robby cuts you off. "He's the one who brought you, he's the one that has to do it."
Your cheeks heat up instantly, the desire starting to bubble over into your stomach.
"Where is he anyway?"
And as if talking about the devil will make him appear, your boyfriend finally makes an appearance, stepping out to join the three of you on the deck, dressed up in his golfing attire?
What the fuck?
"Dad, what're you doing here?" He stumbles over himself, coming over to give both of his parents a little side hug.
"Holiday weekend," Robby answers. "What are you doing here?"
"Same."
Jack scoffs. Yeah right. If anything this looks like three days of uninterrupted fucking and drinking and more fucking.
Ah to be young and in that carefree phase of their relationship.
Only...
Jack's eyes drift back to you as his son walks over to place a chaste kiss over your lips.
You lean into his touch more than he leans into yours. It's subtle but the vet picks up on it right away.
Last time they saw the two of you, it was impossible for him to behave, always needing to have a hand on your body in some way.
But now?
Barely a hand over your leg to steady himself.
Weird.
"Where are you going?" Jack asks his son, gaze narrowing.
He gulps in response, stepping away from you, leaving you practically deflating as he removes his touch without a second thought.
"Golf with some friends from high school."
You instantly snap your gaze up to his, pouting like they've never seen anyone pout ever.
"What?" you whine. "What happened to pool day?"
If your boyfriend feels guilty in any way, he doesn't let it show, instead your words are processed like an inconvenience, as if you have no right to demand his time and attention now.
"Sorry babe, change of plans. But I'll be home for dinner, yeah?"
You open your mouth to complain, to keep fighting back against the plans that have been made without your knowledge or input, but he doesn't let you utter a single word.
"Don't start, please. I haven't seen these guys since spring break, we'll still have one more whole day together before we have to head back."
You don't want to be clingy, he's right, he hasn't seen his friends all summer, he deserves to spend time with them too. You've gotten to see him every day, even if it’s for a few minutes or a few hours.
So you simply nod, forcing a tight lipped smile that he clearly doesn’t process as anything but your blessing to do whatever he wants.
It makes Robby’s blood boil and Jack’s gaze sharpen on their boy.
Have they truly raised such an emotionally unintelligent man?
“Thanks babe,” he claps his hands. “I’ll see you later,” he moves to leave before swiftly turning back to you. You light up again, thinking he’s going to kiss you again, give you any kind of attention before he leaves you for the entire day. “Could you make that roast chicken I love, with the broiled veggies for dinner?”
If Jack wasn’t in so much pain he’d leap to his feet and beat the shit out of his son.
For a split second Robby’s convinced you’re going to fight back, to get up in his face and curse him out.
But you don’t. You just smile again, the picture perfect face of complacency.
“Of course.”
“You’re the best,” he turns around and leaves. “Later pops.”
And with that he leaves. You hear his dad’s truck engine starting and the vehicle leaving the property a few minutes later.
You don’t acknowledge any of it, staring off into space as you process what just happened.
You’re so completely and absolute embarrassed.
Who the fuck does he think he is? And to make that type of scene in front of his dads.
You’re mortified.
And now you’ve got to spend the entire day with them?
Alone?
Fuck.
You’re so flushed, the shame practically rendering you into a dumb mess, so much so that it’s made Jack so fucking stiff in his pants that his leaking tip is making uncomfortable contact with his clothes.
"His loss," Jack winks at you again, positively breaking the spell you’ve been under. "Y'want a beer?”
Half an hour later you've got a nice buzz going on.
Robby’s been relegated to kitchen duty as you and Jack continue to lounge outside. It’s like he's made it his personal mission to keep you company, to include you in whatever vague plans they had for coming over to their house today.
You let your laughter die out as Jack finishes telling you a story of how he made Robby look a fool a few shifts ago.
“Stop that’s so mean Mr. Abbot,” you playfully chide him but you simply can’t stop laughing.
You’re unsure if it’s the sun hitting him directly in his eyes or if maybe you’re seeing things, but you can swear his eyes darken ever so slightly.
“If you’re not gonna call me by my first name at least call me doctor, sweetheart.”
He winks, playfully, causing your cheeks to heat up instantly.
You roll your eyes as Robby comes back out, handing you and his husband fresh, cold beers.
“Don’t let him charm any more clothes off you, kid,” Robby jokes and you’re certain you’ve stopped breathing.
You watch in stunned awe as Jack huffs an offended breath at his partner, pulling him down to place a soft kiss on his lips before the chief attending settles down on the lounge chair by Jack’s legs.
God, they’re so—
Your thighs shift together slightly as you sit up, tilting the bottle against your lips, suddenly thirsty as all hell.
You try not to look at them as they definitely watch you gulp down the amber liquid. There’s no way they’re flirting with you. They’re fucking married and you’re dating their son, you’re just sun drunk and horny as fuck.
Right?
You set the bottle down on the ground before you reach out towards the little plastic table separating the lounge chairs and picking up the sunscreen.
Standing up from your seat, a sudden rush of alcohol to the brain makes you dizzy with courage, stupidly so honestly, so you simply smile down at him, stepping up to stand in front of his outstretched legs.
“Can I charm you into taking some clothes off,” you turn to Jack briefly. “Doctor Robinavitch?”
Robby becomes a fucking tomato and you and Jack both know that you’re gonna take that as an excuse to lather him up in sunscreen.
Fuck you’re good.
You’d been flirty when the three of you met but it was a tame, meet the parents type of casualness that didn’t pierce through their defenses, only lingered on their minds enough for them to actually want to see you again. At the detriment of their son, but who could care less about him now?
Jack nudges Robby with his leg and it’s like the older man comes alive, swiftly and uncoordinatedly discarding his t-shirt.
Your eyes definitely darken as you take in his soft, hairy belly, the little patches of scattered tattoos decorating his skin, the freckles and spots that claim his body with age.
Jack snorts beside you, forcing you to blink out of the spell Robby’s got you under.
Self-esteem has never been an issue in the Robinavitch-Abbot household. Jack is…practically a greek god carved from decades of dedication to his body, the ingrained routine of military life and an honest to god ego that forces him to keep looking his best for himself and those he chooses to invite into his bed.
But with Robby, it doesn’t matter how many times his husband has told him he’s beautiful, has taken his time kissing down his body and worshipped every single inch that he believes will never be perfect enough — the way your eyes rake over him like he’s a delicious piece of meat is enough to make him feel like he’s the most desirable person in the world.
His chest puffs out slightly, muscles flexing as he reaches out for your hand, grabbing the sunscreen and handing it back to Jack.
“Do you mind, handsome?”
Jack smirks, sitting up and placing a lingering kiss over Robby’s shoulder, eyes never leaving yours all because he needs to see you react to them.
And boy do they get a treat as you actually shiver.
Jack squirts a big dollop of sunscreen on his hand, rubbing the two together before he begins to run them all over Robby’s expansive back, digging into the muscle, causing him to moan and groan at the diligent action.
You find yourself taking a step back, literally forcing you to stop staring at the two because if you stay there, if you so much as give them another second of inaction, you will definitely find yourself planting your core against Robby’s practically tented cock and that’ll be the end of your story.
So instead you pretend to not care, to not desperately want, with every fiber of your being, to ogle at them as Jack makes his parter feel good, to fight the urge to get your hands tangled within the mess as well.
You take another swig of your beer, enjoying how the cold washes through your insides and now you desperately need your outsides to match. Without a second thought, you sprint towards the edge of the pool, jumping in gleefully.
The older men watch as your ass and breasts jiggle satisfyingly, water splashing them as you breach the pool before them.
“Oh we are so fucked,” Jack huffs through gritted teeth.
“You think she’s torturing us?” Robby mumbles as they watch you resurface.
“Are we not doing the same thing to her?”
Robby’s gaze snaps back to his partner. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”
Jack doesn’t answer, only grins before he spreads more cream over Robby’s face.
“There, all done,” he kisses Robby’s nose. “Why don’t you go join her?”
Robby’s entire body tenses, swiftly erasing any and all playfulness from Jack’s face.
He opens his mouth to speak, to tell Robby he doesn’t have to do anything that makes him uncomfortable. He was just teasing, sure, he’s wanted to be gross and weird since the opportunity presented itself, but—
“Could you pass me my hat, please?”
Your sweet, angelic voice stops them both dead in their tracks.
A long, electric beat passes through them as Jack searches his husband’s face for any more uncomfortableness. But he surprisingly finds none.
“I got it, honey.”
Robby gets up on tired knees, shuffling over to your discarded seat picking up the silly little animal bucket hat he’s certain you got a few months ago while on your trip out to see your family on the west coast.
What? He’s definitely not been stalking your Instagram. He just wants to know what his son is up to since he definitely won’t tell them.
He walks over to you, leaning down to hand you the adorable garment but just as you’re about to grab the fabric, your delicate hand wraps around his wrist and you’re pulling him into the pool.
Robby never even saw it coming, but Jack did. The mischievous glimmer in your eyes, the sly wink at him before you used every ounce of strength you have to pull the bigger man into the depths with you.
You’re a laughing mess as Robby resurfaces, a bright smile threatening to take over his entire face as he tries really hard to not let it pierce the faux frown of disappointment that he’s shooting your way.
The hat floats its way towards you and you pick it up, putting it over your head.
“Thank you for the hat, doctor Robinavitch.”
That has Robby erupting into a Santa Clause laugh, menacingly moving across the pool towards you.
“Oh, you are so not welcome, kid.”
You yelp, trying to get away from him but you’ve practically cornered yourself against the wall.
His large hands are on you swiftly, one grabbing your waist while the other digs into your leg, picking you up over his head, turning around and tossing you towards the other end of the pool.
“You sure you’re not doing it too?” Jack calls out to Robby as your body sinks for a few seconds.
The older man turns back, cheeky grin now adorning his own lips as well.
“She’s really soft, Jack.”
“Oh fuck off—”
You flail to the surface, determination on your face like never before.
You leap against Robby, hands digging into his shoulders as you lift yourself out of the water to try to sink him back down.
But he’s too strong, like an unmovable tree.
The two men watch you struggle for a while, laughing warmly before Jack cuts in.
“Put her out of her misery, please.”
Robby turns back to you, expression soft yet bordering on patronizing.
It takes him no effort to pull you off him, trapping your arms in his big hands and wrapping you up in his embrace, your back pressed tightly against his front.
You try to thrash against him, barely, as he shushes you, calming you down instantly as you allow your body to finally catch its breath again, panting deeply against his neck.
“You tried your best, kid,” he murmurs. “’twas a good game.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes. “‘m still gonna be a sore loser.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
The second he feels you chuckle against his skin, his hips press further into your round ass. Curse his body and the way it reacts to your warmth.
He pushes you forward then, almost too quickly, almost as if he’s ashamed and is in desperate need to hide something.
You don’t dare turn back to him because you know what he’s trying to bury so deep within himself.
With flushed cheeks, you get out of the pool, pulling yourself up, breasts pressing together for Jack to ogle as you jump up on the ledge.
You watch Robby start to swim, doing grueling laps as you too take a second to calm the fuck down.
You simply can’t think, can’t try to make sense of it because if you do you’ll literally go crazy.
So instead you get up, dry yourself off a little, and join Jack in your favorite activity of being lazy fucks together, unashamedly staring out at the water at Robby’s gorgeous body cutting through the water powerfully.
Jack doesn’t try to engage in small talk. He knows that if he opens his mouth now you’ll shut yourself off for good. It’s a delicate balance, teasing you and also making sure none of you feels bad for it.
None of you wants to think about it, but it’s a looming threat, consistent and present, one that he’s determined to not think about once until the three of you get what you clearly, desperately want.
When Robby finally comes back out of the pool, he’s like a wet dog, shaking the water off himself right above Jack who groans loudly at the little droplets of iciness disrupting his warm glow.
Robby goes to sit next to him but Jack is quick to push him away.
“Go somewhere else,” Jack barks. “You’re too wet.”
Robby practically pouts at his husband. “There’s no more chairs out.”
“Not my problem.”
“You can share with me,” your voice is mousy but clear.
Both men stop their bickering and turn to stare at you as you shift towards the other end of the lounge chair, making a tiny little space for Robby’s massive frame to somehow fit.
Robby’s tentative at best, almost shy as he crosses the small space towards you.
He sits on the edge by your feet at first. It doesn’t matter that his back is aching and he wants nothing more than to lie down and enjoy the sun for a little while like his husband and you have been doing.
It’s only when you grab his bicep and pull him back that he lets himself fill the space.
He lies down awkwardly at first, trying to make himself as small as possible, the minimal contact with your skin driving him mad again.
Fuck, he just spent the past fifteen minutes swimming like his life depended on it so that his disgusting erection would subside and now you’re—
And then you get up and place him under your body, getting him comfortable before you turn onto your side and place your head on his shoulder.
It’s barely there, just enough for the two of you to fit, but your breath dances over his pec, inching too close to his heart with every exhale, and he knows for a fact that you can feel just how fast the blood is pumping through his body.
Jack practically bursts with raw and unbridled pleasure beside the two of you, his pupils swallowing his eyes whole as his hand begins to tease the stark outline of his cock over his swim trunks.
Robby shoots him a darkened look to stop and for the first time in his life, Jack listens.
If Robby can’t get himself off then neither can Jack.
They’ll be tortured together, just like their wedding vows definitely did not intend.
Jack turns away, eyes closing. That’s that then.
Robby does the same, comfortably getting lulled into slumber by your own steadying breath.
Before he succumbs to it, he drapes a towel over your heads, at least some respite from the fire burning everywhere else in his body. And yours. Not that he knows that yet.
He finds out just how hot you are about half an hour later, when he’s awoken by your leg draping over his.
He cranes his neck slightly to see you’re still fast asleep. Embarrassingly so.
You’re dreaming.
Clearly.
Thankfully.
Your hips begin to move slightly over Robby’s crotch, his cock springing awake at even the smallest form of contact.
He bites back a groan, the feeling so incredibly delicious.
Jack needs to see this too—
He pulls the towel off his head and turns to where his husband has already pulled himself out of his swim trucks.
Robby shoots him a disappointed look but Jack doesn’t give a fuck, can only shrug as he continues to pump himself in tandem with your movements.
And then something snaps in Robby’s brain, primal and possessive.
He softly cradles your body in his hand, pulling you further onto him so your barely covered core can make full contact with his erection.
You snuggle further into him.
Must be one hell of a dream.
Most definitely, as you pick up your movements slightly, hitting your clit against Robby’s head with every roll.
Robby sucks in sharply, biting down on his tongue to stop himself from screaming out in pleasure.
Jack smirks, making a show of spitting on his hand as the slick mixes with the oozing precum leaking from his own slit.
The men stare at each other as they let you have your way with Robby.
It’s only fair.
You’re family after all. And family takes care of each other, right?
You mumble a strangled moan against Robby’s chest, your body shivering slightly as a surge of electricity washes over you.
You just came.
You definitely just came and Robby feels like a teenage boy at how the way your body sparks sends him hurdling towards his own release.
He cums in his pants shamelessly, biting down on his fist so he doesn’t make a single sound.
Thankfully the dark blue fabric is still damp from the pool so his spend just blends in with the blotches of wetness already there. But the smell of sex is in the air, a disgusting reminder of what he’s just done, what he’s let you do.
Fortunately he doesn’t have a second to think about it as he catches Jack making his way over on his crutches, standing just beside Robby and aligning his crotch towards his husband.
Robby dutifully opens up his mouth and Jack wastes no time jerking himself to completion over his tongue. He hisses, allowing himself that simple pleasure as thick ropes of cum paint Robby’s throat white.
Neither of them feel you still as you wake up, peeking through the little hole in towel up at them, practically having to stifle a moan as you watch Jack’s eyes close in pleasure.
Your heart thrums in your chest as if you’ve just ran a marathon and yet you can’t look away.
Robby rolls his tongue over his husband’s tip, placing a cute kiss on it before he stuffs Jack’s dick into his swim trunks.
And then Jack, very loudly, states— “I think something’s burning in the kitchen, handsome.”
Robby leaps out of your embrace swiftly, rushing into the kitchen as your hazy brain plays catch up.
Were you just…draped over him?
Why do you feel so sticky down there?
And then it hits you.
The dream. The way your brain is just the right amount of dizzy and light.
You’ve done this before. Many partners have told you. But the shame of now having done it to your boyfriend’s dad sends an embarrassed chill down your spine.
You take the disruption as a blessing, practically running after Robby and hiding in the guest bathroom instead.
What the fuck is going on?
Jack and Robby almost look disappointed when you come back out with a t-shirt and the shortest denim shorts they have ever seen, the slightest sliver of your ass hanging out from underneath the trim.
Jack’s already sat at the table and he has to fight back the urge to tell you to come sit on his lap, you know, just to tease you.
But instead he lets you sit down beside him, his status as head of the household one that he’s never taken seriously, not until right now.
He can see how your gaze shifts from him to the empty seats beside him. One for you and one for Robby, almost equal in a very weird way, forming a triangle.
“What’re you having, kid?” Jack asks you, pulling a rolling cart towards him, their portable bar as your boyfriend has so literally described many times.
You desperately want some liquor to help dull the shame boiling in your stomach. It doesn’t matter that it’s the root cause of why you’ve found yourself in this particular situation, no, you just need to stop feeling like your heart is going to leap out of your mouth for three seconds.
Maybe all you need is to be buzzed all day so hopefully you won’t remember a drop of this tomorrow.
“Vodka tonic with a lime please.”
Jack smiles devilishly. “Coming right up.”
You watch as he reaches over to grab one of his whiskey glasses, portioning out two ounces of vodka…and then two more into your glass. He shoots a smirk your way and you can’t help but roll your eyes. Either he’s trying to keep you tipsy so you’ll loosen up or he’s just being a good host and making sure you at least have some fun on your day off with them, you can’t tell, secretly hoping it’s a mixture of both.
He tops your glass off with tonic water before pouring a handful of ice into the mixture. Your cheeks heat up as you watch him work, deftly fingers working a pairing knife into a ripe lime and peeling a garnish before he cuts the fruit in half and squeezes it in.
Lime juice drips down his hands and you practically have to force yourself not to lean forward and lick it up. His eyes darken as you lean forward for a millisecond before you quickly straighten back up in your seat, catching his knowing stare as he tops it all off with the little garnish.
He sets the glass in front of you before bringing his hand up to his own mouth instead, his tongue skillfully cleaning up his freckled skin.
Your eyes practically bulge out of your skull as you watch the sinful display before you.
“Drink up,” he murmurs, settling back as if he’s just done the most casual thing in the entire world.
Your chest is practically heaving, whatever mental faculties you've got left practically screaming at you to not show him just how much your hands are shaking as you reach down for the glass and bring it up to your lips.
Savoring the cool drink and letting the alcohol do its thing, you hum contently as you swallow the bitter yet refreshing liquid.
“It’s really good,” you beam. “Thank you Mr. Abbot.”
He huffs out a ragged breath at your teasing, bringing his own beer back up to his lips.
You settle back, getting comfortable as the two of you wait for Robby to finish up in the kitchen.
“D’you do anything wild today?” You ask before taking another sip of your drink.
“We performed an emergency c-section. Saved a mother and her baby,” Jack tells you, not boastful, simply proud.
Your eyes widen in excitement. “That’s incredible.”
Jack beams. “Glad you think so, sweetheart.”
He swears he can see your cheeks heating up at his comment, suddenly becoming shy and trying to hide behind the liquid courage of your drink.
“What about you?” He inquires next. “How’s your research project coming along?”
The smile you throw back at him is so bright it could rival the summer sun. He remembered what you’re doing, that’s so kind of him.
“It’s going well,” you try to maintain his own humbleness. “We were almost finished last week but one of my peers found a research paper that practically blew a hole right through our main argument so we’re having to reconstruct a bit unfortunately.”
Jack groans, feeling your pain. “Hate when that happens, why can’t academics just keep their logic to themselves?”
You giggle, shaking your head. “It was a valid point sadly.”
“Yeah, they usually are,” he shrugs. “Hope you’re not having to work overtime because of it.”
You sigh. “It’s…been an issue.”
Jack eyebrows shoot up, a silent encouragement for you to continue.
“I’ve been having to spend more time at the lab and with…your son working late as well…it’s just been difficult to see each other is all.”
You’re being vague on purpose, wishing upon every star that Jack won’t prod.
Unfortunately for you, the sky is very, very clear right now.
“So that’s what this weekend was,” he smiles into his beer. “A honeymoon of sorts, tryin’ to reconnect.”
You’re certain your entire body is now set on fire with just how hot you’ve become.
Jack chuckles. “Hey, I’m not judging. We all need to do that sometimes. Hell, I know Michael and I are trying to do the exact same thing this weekend.”
Trying not tried. The truth settles deep in your stomach, igniting that desperate pit of want back up again.
Did they…are they…
Oh god, what if you cock blocked them?
You down the rest of your drink as Jack relishes in your embarrassment. Something deep inside of you pushes then, like its reacting to a dare that hasn’t been issued yet.
“Well I mean, have at it, God knows I won’t get any action so you might as well enjoy.”
The second the words leave your mouth you desperately with you could go back in time to take them back.
Jack opens his mouth to reply, practically beaming with glee at the newfound information you’ve served him up on a silver platter, but you beat him to it, leaping across the table and slapping your hand over his forearm.
“Oh my god please forget I said that,” you blurt out.
Jack lets out a hearty laugh, his own hand coming up to rest atop your own, holding you hostage with both his touch and his gaze now.
“Don’t worry kid, your secret is safe with me.”
Luckily, you don’t have to think about it much longer as Robby returns with plates overflowing with the BBQ takeout they got for themselves.
If you weren’t completely dying of mortification, you probably would’ve caught how Robby’s own face was deeply crimson, how Jack ran his hand along his husband’s leg, how the two of them came to a silent agreement over you.
There’s honestly no better feeling than your stomach full and your blood coursing with the perfect amount of alcohol.
The sun is high up in the sky, the water perfectly cold against your skin.
You’re back in the pool the second your twenty-five minutes are up after finishing up your lunch, Jack and Robby following out after you and returning to the scene of the crime boldly now.
It’s Robby’s turn to observe as Jack settles on the edge of the pool, helping his husband lower himself into the pool before he retreats back to the shade, settling down against your discarded shorts and shirt.
He watches, almost drunk on your skin, as sunlight reflects off the surface of your supple body, how the rivets of water caress the expanse of your back down to your ass and then further south across your legs.
He’s never been so thirsty as he is right now, his tongue begging him to move, to touch, to allow himself to clench his need for you and just—
“Mr. Abbot!” You squeal, positively breaking the spell he’s been under.
Robby instantly flinches, body jerking forward in case he needs to step in.
Jack’s never been one to shy away from his needs. It’s what he most admires about his partner. He knows what he wants and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t go after it.
And right now…well let’s just say he’s going after it alright.
The two of you seem to be engaged in a very physical fight, his front pressed against your back as he tries to steal the beach ball from your grip.
He’s not shy about it either, doesn’t feel any kind of shame, at least not one that’s as noticeable as Robby’s.
It took Robby a good fifteen minutes of hiding in the kitchen to get himself together after you came against his thigh, another ten to convince Jack to get him a new pair of swim trunks, and then another five as his husband took him in his hand and jerked him off again to the thought of you.
Robby has never wanted for anything ever since he and Jack got together. Sure, they’ve dabbled with bringing people in to share their bed, but it’s never been like this.
They should not want you.
They certainly cannot have you.
It’s not just morally wrong, it’s…
Another yelp erupts from your throat as Jack throws himself over you, causing you to lose your grip on the ball and drowning dramatically as Jack pulls the ball towards him, swimming to the other side of the pool to “score a goal”.
Robby watches as you resurface, spitting water from your mouth as you wipe your hair off your face.
It’s then that Robby notices it.
Your top has come undone and your breasts are now…
He clears his throat. “Uh, honey?”
You look up at him like he’s hung the moon, eyes wide and your chest practically pushing out towards him.
Robby blushes instantly, a sheepish smile adorning his lips as he points down. He just can’t say it, doesn’t dare himself to bring any more attention to it.
He watches, practically drooling, as your spacey brain processes it, another yelp escaping your lips, this time followed by an embarrassed giggle that brings Jack’s attention back to the two of you.
At the sight of your bare back, the SWAT medic crosses the pool in what feels like two powerful strides, swiftly pulling the strings back around your neck but not before shamelessly stealing a peek at your hardening nipples.
He sucks in a breath sharply, using the excuse of contact to have his fingertips linger over your overheated skin.
He’s unsure if you’re even aware you’re doing it, but the contact makes you hum contently as you pull your hair off your back and almost make daring eye contact with Robby.
You may be tipsy but the way his eyes definitely darken now and the way Jack’s touch lingers more than necessary confirms whatever doubt still lingered in your brain—
They want you.
And fuck it if you don’t want them too.
It’s unfortunately you who ends up getting out of the pool first and retreating back into the house.
The sun is still out and proud but it’s getting to that time when dinner prep simply must get started so you make your way into the guest bathroom and take a thorough shower, flinching in pain as you realize you’re definitely sunburnt.
So much for being careful.
You do your best to be gentle and wrap a fluffy towel over your body before you go back out into the common areas of the house. You’re sore everywhere so the longer you can stay without having to put on actual clothes the better.
You start on dinner prep, preheating the oven, cutting up vegetables, prepping the chicken, readjusting the towel cause it just keeps coming undone and almost flashing—
“Damn, kid,” Jack sucks in a breath behind you. “You’re really burnt.”
You turn to him and nod, annoyance clear over your features as you watch him set the two beers he’s taken out of the fridge on the counter.
“Does it hurt?”
You nod, your brain somehow emboldening in mischief as you respond.
“Yes, doctor Abbot.”
Jack doesn’t even hide the Cheshire smirk that pulls his lips.
Oh, this is how it is now, huh?
He steps forward, cold hands coming up to rest just below the base of your neck where it meets your spine. You moan at the contact, the iciness the perfect contrast to your burning skin.
You can feel his lips ghosting over your neck, causing goosebumps to erupt down your back and arms. He hums satisfactorily before he guides you out of the kitchen, pushing you towards his bedroom.
You don’t question, you just do, falling down onto the soft, cold comforter as he retreats into the bathroom. It’s only then that you realize he’s put his prosthetic back on, able to move himself and yourself wherever he needs. It sends a thrill down your spine, most definitely.
He comes back a minute later, a bottle of cooling gel in his hands.
“Towel off,” he tells you. You hesitate for a split second, the sudden realization of where you are and what he’s asking almost too much to process. “Doctor’s orders.”
It shouldn’t have worked, but it just does.
You lift off the bed just enough to pull the towel off your body, throwing it beside you on the bed for easy access before settling back down on the bed, doing your best to cover your front as much as you can.
“Good fucking girl,” Jack groans and you hear him adjusting beside you, the mattress dipping from his weight and the gel squirting over your skin.
You hiss at the change in temperature but quickly relax as his hands begin to massage it into your skin.
Your eyes close in bliss as Jack takes his time, making sure to cover every inch of your skin, from your upper back and arms, the pads of his thumbs digging into your sore muscles, all the way down to your lower back before trailing the expanse of your ass.
You moan into the sheets as his hands travel lower, barely ghosting over your slit, your legs opening up for him slightly. He smirks at the action, teasingly continuing their path down your thighs and calves instead.
You huff in annoyance causing him to chuckle.
“What’s wrong, kid?” He spits meanly. “There something you want?”
“No,” you pout.
“No?” Jack continues his movements, making sure to press a little deeper, returning to the swell of your ass. “Okay.”
He stops his movements abruptly, picking up your towel and wiping his hands.
You whine then, your hand coming up to grab his wrist, turning your face to look up at him.
You give him the most intense puppy eyes you’ve ever given anyone in your life and you’re certain if he were Robby instead, he would’ve caved instantly.
But he’s not.
And doesn’t.
“Aw, poor baby,” Jack coos. “Just say what you need and I’ll be happy to give it to you.”
You huff, staring back at him defiantly for a total of five seconds before you’re spreading your legs wider, your left knee bending up to rest over his own.
“Please doctor Abbot,” you whimper. “I need your fingers.”
It’s the bare minimum but it’s enough to spring him into action.
His clean hand instantly slides against your soaked folds, causing him to groan at the contact.
“You’re so wet, kid,” he whispers.
You roll your eyes, letting yourself go to the pleasure. “Duh, I just got out of the shower.”
He chuckles. “The mouth on you.”
He slips two fingers into your entrance without warning, curling them forward as they bottom out to the knuckle.
You wail then, your grip on the sheet and his bicep tightening.
“What?” He leans down to whisper into your ear. “No comeback?”
You let out another moan as he starts to move his fingers in and out of you, settling on a thorough pace that quickly has you tightening around him.
“Such a needy little girl,” Jack huffs into your ear. “Is he not treating you like you deserve?” Another curl of his fingers. “Leaving you so pent up you have to go ask his dad for help?”
You moan louder at that and Jack sheathes his fingers deep inside of you, focusing on wiggling his fingers against your spongy flesh.
“Touch yourself baby,” he commands, the hand clutching the bedsheets slithering in between your body and the bed without question.
You’re so close, so freaking close—
Robby clears his throat at the door and you freeze, your orgasm taking you by surprise as you cum around Jack’s fingers.
“One second, handsome,” Jack tells his husband as he continues his ministrations, fully working you through it as you writhe and pant against him. You try to pull away once, overwhelmed and sensitive, but Jack’s having none of it, grabbing you tightly and pressing you against him as you squirm.
“Jack, you’re gonna break the girl,” Robby chides, his heart beating a million miles a second as he watches you contort in pleasure.
“Just one more,” he turns to Robby. “Please.”
It’s at his husband’s plea that Robby comes over to the bed, his large hand coming down to the small of your back to soothe you as he pulls Jack’s own out from inside of you.
You jerk at the feeling of wetness pouring down your entrance, brain so fuzzy you can barely make out what’s happening as Robby turns you over onto your back, displaying everything they hadn’t been able to see until now.
You don’t try to hide, instead you simply lie there, completely at their mercy.
“Doctor Robby,” you whine for him, your hands greedily coming up to grab at him.
“‘M here honey,” he soothes, coming down to place a kiss on the side of your mouth sweetly before he trails a path of kisses down your neck, your chest, your tummy, all the way down to your hip and then—
His mouth is hot over your clit, his lips unbelievably soft as he starts out slow, chaste almost.
Jack settles back on the bed, watching Robby as he finally takes what he wants, unhurried and unbothered.
Your hips buck up against his mouth and it’s all the encouragement he needs to grab your legs and pull you down so he can kneel in front of the bed and bring his mouth over your slit.
You scream in pleasure at the gesture, hand coming up to grab his hair, the other tangling itself on Jack’s swim trunks.
Robby doesn’t slow down then, his tongue swirling over your entrance before it comes back up to your clit, hungry lips sucking and biting and swirling, repeating the pattern until you’re writhing against him.
Jack is entranced by the sight, palming his cock over his pants as he watches you react to his husband.
“That’s a good fucking girl,” he reiterates his earlier sentiment, causing your hand to unfurl from the fabric on his body and trail up under the waistband, tentative fingers wrapping around his leaking tip.
He hisses at the contact, causing Robby to smirk against your clit, the two of you in cahoots now.
“Make him feel good, honey,” Robby encourages you before he slides further down your body, his tongue breaching your entrance without any more preamble.
So you do.
You pull Jack’s impressive erection out of his clothes and wet your palm with his precum, your hand barely able to wrap itself around him entirely.
He barely contains himself, moans spilling out of his mouth almost instantly as he leans forward into you, his lips catching yours passionately.
You moan into his mouth as tongues clash sloppily, your movements only intensifying in tandem with Robby’s.
When he feels your attention pulling away from him too much, he slides two fingers into you, his mouth returning to latch itself around your clit.
You wail into Jack’s mouth and the vet lets you go, wrapping your hand with his and picking up the pace to his liking.
“Handsome, spit on my cock,” Jack commands Robby who detaches himself momentarily from you to come up and spit a large glob on his spit and your wetness over his husband’s tip. “Thank you.”
Robby smiles hazily before returning to the task at hand, making you cum.
You clench around his fingers as he adds a third, stretching you out so deliciously you squeeze Jack’s cock accidentally.
The man beside you tenses, erection twitching as his hips thrust up into your grip.
He pulls you further into him, his strong arm wrapping around your body so he can pinch your nipple.
“Oh my god, please,” you mewl. “I’m so close—”
“Cum for us, baby,” Jack groans in your ear. “Let go and I’ll be right there with you.”
You focus on the feeling of it all, on the knowledge of Robby between your thighs, on the way Jack’s cock feels in your palm, on the power you hold over them right now.
It’s all too much, Robby’s breath on your pubic bone, Jack groaning into your ear, the wet, slurping sounds echoing through their bedroom—
Your body succumbs to them happily, flooding with bright, hot pleasure as you cum for them. You spasm blissfully, grabbing onto them tightly as they work you though your high. You can feel hot spurts of cum drench your hand as Jack lets go after you, his hand taking control over your limp one as he strokes himself through the aftershocks.
But it’s his hot breath against your ear, the way he whispers praises that are only meant for you to hear that cause you to let go completely. You press into him tightly, whimpering against his skin as Robby removes his fingers from you, holding them out for Jack to wipe them clean with his tongue.
You barely register as the chief attending gets off his knees, the joints popping hilariously before he settles on the bed behind you, pressing you tightly in between their two bodies.
“Such a good girl for us,” Robby praises, kissing over your shoulder, neck and jaw dotingly as Jack runs his fingers down your thigh. “You’re all good honey, did so good.”
It takes you no time to let sleep take over, so content all you can really do is just let it happen.
You wake up after the sun has set, disoriented and naked underneath the thick comforter. Your body feels sticky, the cooling effect of the gel the clear indication of the culprit. Surprisingly, your inner thighs do not feel wet, no more than normal and you’re almost able to pretend like what definitely happened was nothing more than a dream.
Except you don’t want to.
Not when you hear warm laughter outside the room—their room.
Called to them like a moth to a flame, you groggily get out of bed and search their messy floor for one of their t-shirts, forgoing underwear entirely since you’re pretty certain you know where the night is going to lead.
Your heart is practically beating out of your chest as you approach the dining room, dread already creeping as you half expect you-know-who to be back.
Relief floods your system like a drug as you take in the two men before you. They’re wine drunk, their cheeks the perfect shade of pink, the dinner you started to cook laid out on the table before them, their plates already empty.
You’re unsure if it's the warm glow from the overhead lights or the way their laughter settles richly in the bottom of your stomach or the fact that you feel so satisfied for the first time in months, but you simply cannot stop smiling, staring straight at them as you try your best not to break the spell.
A girl can get used to this…and that’s what scares you the most.
Unfortunately for you, your traitorous stomach gives you away, a loud enough growl as the smell of that buttery chicken fills your nostrils.
Their laughter dies, replaced by a different kind of hunger.
“Hi sleepyhead,” Jack greets you first, beckoning you forward towards him.
You smile shyly at him before you turn your attention to Robby who is looking oh so bashful. He tries to hide behind his glass of wine, a hand over his mouth to shelter the glowing smile from view.
You’re instantly drawn to him, making your way towards him first.
“Hi,” you mumble, standing next to the man before you lean down to press your lips to his.
He’s shocked at first, definitely, but you simply need to know what his lips feel like on yours after all that happened, after how good he made you feel.
He swiftly loses himself to the kiss, humming against your lips before granting you entry.
The kiss is gentle and comforting, shy and honestly tame in comparison to how Jack practically staked claim when it had been his turn.
Robby’s the first to pull back, his hands running up and down your exposed thighs as he jerks his head back towards Jack, a clear command to do your due diligence.
You giggle, leaning down to press one last sloppy peck as he smacks your ass playfully before you can make it around his seat to Jack.
“C’mere kid,” Jack doesn’t hesitate, pulling you onto his lap as his lips claim yours once again, one hand around your neck while the other playfully slips under your—his—t-shirt.
Your own arms fall against his chest, fully relinquishing control over your body for him to do what he pleases. It’s only when your stomach growls again that he finally lets you go, your lips puffy once more.
He doesn’t release you entirely, opting to twist your body and have you settle on his lap facing Robby and the dinner table instead. You squirm, rolling your hips teasingly before Jack smacks the side of your thigh.
“No.”
You huff dramatically yet settle as Robby serves you a piece of chicken, some steamed veggies and those creamy mashed potatoes that you were supposed to make yourself earlier.
Jack’s hands continue to roam over your body as Robby cuts up your food, sticking his fork into the soft flesh before holding it up to your mouth.
You open without hesitation, humming contently as the richness hits your tongue.
“What’ya say?” Jack pipes up.
“Thank you doctor Robby,” you say sweetly, causing Robby to blush once more and Jack to hum approvingly against your ear.
They keep this up until the majority of the food is gone, Jack going as far as to top off his own wine glass so that you can take a sip every time he does.
By the time you politely decline another bite, you’re full, warm and fuzzy, practically melting against Jack.
You feel so…
A dopey smile pulls your lips upward. This truly is everything you’ve ever wanted.
And then Jack’s phone lights up on the table beside you, reality sobering the three of you like a sharp knife to the heart.
It’s a text, from him.
You tense against Jack, panic flooding your once peaceful body with dread.
It suddenly becomes too hot, too hard for you to breathe. You heave as Jack picks up the offending device and reads the message.
You take advantage of his attention going elsewhere and leap out of his lap. Unfortunately, you’re crowded by the table you’re not swift enough, your brain short circuiting long enough for Robby to stand up himself, his strong frame tightly wrapping itself around you.
He shushes you gently. “It’s okay, honey, you’re okay.”
You fight against him, slapping the sides of his body to get him to let you go, to stop caring, to stop—
But he doesn’t, he just lets you do whatever you need to in order to calm down.
“I have to go, I can’t be here, I need to—” you cry against his chest.
“No you don’t,” his tone leaves no room for pushback. “Just follow my lead, breathe in,” he inhales deeply. “And breathe out.”
He exhales until there’s no more air in his lungs.
It takes you a few seconds to finally relinquish to him but ultimately you follow his lead, following his breathing until your arms go limp to your sides, until you rest your head against his chest willingly, until you step into his body and cling to him.
You can feel Jack’s hand trailing your back gently, another comforting presence as you come back to yourself.
“‘M sorry,” you mumble against Robby. “I just…I don’t know what to do.”
Robby sighs, the first and only admission of guilt he’s allowed himself. “We don’t either, honey.”
Tear brimmed eyes look up at him and he honestly wishes that he could somehow snap his fingers and make everything okay. This is so fucked and yet he simply cannot feel anything other than gratefulness at the twisted circumstances that brought you all together.
“Whatever this is,” Jack chimes in. “It stays between us, sweetheart. You don’t have to keep going, you don’t have to see us ever again, hell, we’ll disappear from your life if it’ll make it easier—”
“No!” You practically wail, turning to face him as Robby loosens his grip on you. “I…I don’t want that.”
Jack smiles brightly, relief flooding his body as he grabs your hand, pulling you back to him as Robby settles back down on his seat.
“We don’t want that either,” Jack states and the air in the room turns electric once more. “How about we focus on tonight? Huh? Use the time we’ve got left and leave our brains to decide tomorrow.”
You nod, interlacing your fingers with his as he brings your hand up to his mouth and kisses your knuckles softly.
“Good girl,” he praises. “Did you like dinner, baby?”
You nod, a sharp thrill running down your spine as your brain realizes what he’s about to ask you to do.
“Well then shouldn’t you say thank you to the chef?”
You match his mischievous smirk, turning in your heels to face Robby as Jack lets you go completely, sitting back to enjoy the show.
Robby watches you like a deer caught under headlight as you approach him, your hands coming down to grab onto the chair handles for support as you lower yourself to the ground, on your knees, between his open legs.
He hisses in anticipation as his brain processes what you’re about to do.
“Thank you so much for dinner doctor Robby,” your hands slide over his lap now, teasing him over his pajama pants as you all notice the tent that has swiftly grown at your barely there touch.
“You’re very welcome, honey,” he pants, causing you to giggle sweetly.
Oh you truly are a little devil, just like Jack.
“Enough teasing, kid,” Jack snaps. “Get to it before he cums in his pants again.”
Your brow scrunches slightly until you remember. Your face heats up instantly, sharply turning to look at Jack with wide, shocked eyes.
“Oh yeah,” Robby groans, leaning down to grab your chin and pull you back to him. “And Jack oh so kindly came in my mouth. You made us so hard with your little sounds, we simply couldn’t resist.”
You’re sure the room is spinning now, your head instantly going fuzzy and dizzy as their confession practically pulls the rug from under your knees.
“Now, baby,” Jack breaks you out of your haze. “Robby was mighty generous earlier, return the favor like a good girl.”
Snapping out of it for real now, you slide your hand under his waistband, pulling out his even larger dick and staring at it in awe for a few seconds as saliva begins to pool in your mouth.
“You can take it, honey,” Robby coos.
You nod, lifting off your heels and leaning over his purpling tip to let all the slick drip from your mouth onto his length.
He hisses at the contact, causing Jack to chuckle darkly behind you as he pulls out his own cock and begins to slowly pump himself.
You waste no more time, coating your hands with your combined slick and swiftly jerking him off at a moderate pace. The second his entire length is coated, you lean further down, taking his tip into your mouth and swirling your tongue over his slit.
Robby can’t hold back any longer, his hand fisting your hair possessively as his hips begin to jerk up into your mouth, causing you to gag with each thrust, but you don’t slow down, don’t tell him to stop, you simply let him have his way with you.
Saliva drips down the sides of your mouth as you desperately relax your throat, the sounds filling the room obscene. Robby’s moans mix with your throat constricting as you desperately try to swallow, to work your hands faster, to open up for him.
But it’s no use.
He’s too big, too long.
So instead you just let him do what he needs to do.
“That’s it,” he groans. “Such a good girl, such a good fucking mouth.”
Jack spits on his hand then and Robby’s attention swiftly turns to his husband, the display before him so lewd he forcefully pulls you off his dick so that he can turn you around to face Jack.
You moan as you stand up, gasping for air desperately while Robby turns you around and pulls you down onto his lap, his erection and his chest caging you against his body.
You watch as Jack’s hand pumps his length again to the sight of you coming undone by Robby, your wet folds sliding against his dick, mouth hanging open as you pant.
“Robby please,” you whine and the man behind you effortlessly lines himself up with your entrance, thrusting his tip inside of you before he finally cums inside of you.
You moan at the intrusion, burying him further inside of you as his hot spurts paint your insides. He moans against your ear, his fingers digging into your hips bruisingly as his body spasms in ecstasy.
“So fucking perfect,” he murmurs. “You feel so good, honey, such a—” a strangled moan escapes him. “Such a perfect girl, so tight and warm.”
You hum happily, staying right where you are until you feel his cum dripping out of you that you make an effort to move off him.
“Come here, sweetheart,” Jack demands and you shuffle towards him on shaky legs, straddling his hips as you take him in your hand and ease him inside of you instantly.
His hands wrap around your lower back, pulling your shirt over your head swiftly before he leans down and wraps his mouth around your nipple. You moan loudly as his teeth pull on your sensitive bud, your hips jerking at the pain mixing in with the pleasure.
You start to move then, the sounds of your body and Jack’s coming together a choir of wetness as the knowledge of Robby’s cum and your own arousal being used as lube for Jack to easily slide in and out of you makes you clench around him.
As if knowing exactly what thought led to your reaction, Jack smirks against your nipple, releasing it with a pop before he hovers his mouth over yours, teasingly.
“You like it when we both use you like this baby?” His breath is so hot against your lips. “Yeah, so cock drunk you can barely speak,” he turns to Robby. “I think we’ve created a monster, handsome. Such a spoiled brat.”
You whine, unable to take it any longer and pressing your lips to Jacks desperately. He chuckles into the kiss, letting you take control up there while he rolls your hips back and forth to his liking.
He’s so deep inside of you, hitting every single spot that makes you see stars. You could honestly stay here forever, satiated and cared for, all the attention you could ever want directed exclusively at you.
Robby comes up behind you, his tall frame adding extra support before his hands snake in between your bodies, fingertips rolling over your clit expertly.
You moan into the kiss, detaching yourself to look up at the man behind you with such devotion it honestly makes Robby forget he’s ever felt bad about himself.
He leans down to kiss you then, soft and caring, the perfect contrast to Jack’s rawness.
“Cum for us, honey,” Robby asks against your lips, pressing his fingers harder against your needy bud and just like that the floodgates open.
You tense over Jack like your life depends on it, clenching around his dick, causing him to shoot his load inside of you without warning.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jack curses into the night, holding you firmly against him, not letting even one drop go to waste.
Robby continues to kiss you, his hands running down your arms soothingly as Jack slumps against the chair, spent and silent for the first time all day.
You lean back into Robby, enjoying how he’s towing over you.
“You feeling okay, honey?”
You nod, pulling back from his kiss to pepper even more against Jack’s jaw.
“And you?” Robby chuckles at his husband, the blissed out expression causing Jack to look adorable you can’t help but giggle.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jack pants. “Calm down.”
You roll your eyes playfully. “Yeah Robby, gotta give the old man a second—”
Your laughter dies instantly as Jack jerks his hips upward, nudging his tip against your cervix.
You fall forward against him, a string of unintelligible apologies falling from your lips.
He smirks proudly, leaning forward and giving you a quick peck on your lips. You smack his arm playfully in return before hiding your face behind your hands, heart definitely beating out of your chest for a completely different reason now.
“What…um…” you stammer. “What did he say?”
“He won’t be home tonight,” Jack answers as if it’s the most normal information ever. “Staying over a friend’s house.”
Happiness blooms through you once more. “Can we cuddle?”
Robby kisses your temple. “Of course, honey.”
“And maybe we’ll be ready for round two.”
“Speak for yourself, old man,” Robby leans down to kiss his husband lovingly.
“Oh I definitely am.” He winks at you and just like that, everything is just as it should be.
a/n: this turned out way sweeter and way longer than intended but idc. lmk if you have any requests for them or any other dark!rabbot scenarios
dividers by @/enchanthings
for @autisticoscarpiastri
Summary: With your daughter learning to speak, you start to call Robby 'daddy.'
Tags/Notes: established relationship, mom!reader/dad!robby, daddy kink obv, breastfeeding kink, fingering, oral (f), unprotected piv, impregnation, robby is so pathetically in love
Content: discussion of pregnancy and such
A/N: From the “Yours” universe but can be read separately with the context that Robby and reader have a one-year-old daughter.
IB this ask:
i cannot stop thinking abt “yours”!robby who needs to catch his breath every time mama!reader calls him daddy! like she doesn’t say it to tease him or anything, she’s just so used to talking to their first babygirl that she just says it thoughtlessly, not even minding how robby reacts to it BUT THEN one time, baby’s with aunt dana for the day or something and he finally snaps!! and hes ready to give mama baby #2
Word Count: 5.2k
It’s already a problem the very first time you say it.
Robby’s having one of those awful, slogging days in emergency medicine where nothing’s going his way. It’s heavy and exhausting and frustrating all at once. By the time he’s heading to lunch, he just wants to sit in his car and scream.
Then he sees you.
At the nurse’s station where you‘ve returned to work, his perfect chubby eleven-month-old on your hip and a grin on your lips as you talk to Dana.
And he melts.
Everything falls away as he closes the distance keeping him from his family. Not even caring that he’s interrupting your conversation, Robby engulfs you and the baby into his huge arms, breathing in your shower-fresh hair and finally feeling his body relax.
When he manages to let you go, you stand up on your toes, kiss him warmly, and smile when Ella reaches up automatically for his attention. As he adds a kiss to your cheek, you greet him, “Hi, daddy.”
Robby’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he shifts Ella into his arms. He buffers for a few seconds before asking, “What did you just say?”
You shrug innocently and explain, “One of the girls in our mommy-and-me group says we should be calling each other ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ now that she’s learning words so that she doesn’t start calling us by our first names.”
“Is that so?” He kisses Ella’s round cheeks until she giggles and then tickles her belly until she reaches maximum squirmy laughing. Only then does his mind start to calm down. Nestling his nose in her wispy dark hair, he asks, “Are you and mommy having a good day, princess?”
She babbles into his chest and you translate, “So far so good. She did great having some of that fancy baby food we’ve been wanting to try and did her first nap like a champ. Now we’re raring to go for daycare.” You open up your purse then and remove a stack of folded cards for him to look at. “On the way here, we got her first birthday invites from the printer; they’re exactly how I wanted.”
Robby takes a card in one hand and opens it up like he’s reading Ella a baby book, expression warming at the brightly themed invitations for her “Chapter One” birthday party in a few weeks, full of Dr. Seuss style illustrations and whimsical colors. He hands it back to you and grins. “Do we get to hand these out now? Everyone’s been begging me for their invitation to the hottest party in town.”
“You can start giving them out as soon as you’ve dropped this one at daycare,” you confirm with a beaming smile, brushing Ella’s round cheek with your thumb. You plant a kiss on her forehead and murmur, “I’ll see you later, sprout. Love you.”
She gives you one of those smiles that makes it feel impossible to say goodbye for the afternoon. You’ve been doing half shifts since your maternity leave ended, bringing her in during Robby’s lunch break for daycare at the hospital’s complimentary staff center. Thank god for that job perk; you’re not sure you’d make it without being able to peek in on Ella whenever you miss her too much. You’d feel clingy and pathetic about it if Robby weren’t twice as bad, lingering near the daycare every time he has a second to breathe.
Today, though, he uses one of those brief breaks for something different. The moment he sees you shouldering your bag and stepping away for your first break in the private pumping room, he slips in behind you and closes the door. Leaning against the wall, he watches you turn back to him with already rolling eyes. He gives you a sweet smile. “Hi there, mama.”
Unloading your pumping accessories onto the side table next to the cozy recliner Gloria ordered for you, you cut him a suspicious glance. “Something you need, Mikey? Could I interest you in a mini cooler, an extra bra, some sanitizing wipes?”
“All I’m interested in is my girl,” he murmurs, closing the distance between you right away and tugging you into a searing, claiming kiss. His fingers slide beneath the waistband of your scrubs just so he can hold the bare skin of your waist. He presses his forehead to yours and sighs, “Needed my hands on you.”
You giggle as his touch warms you to the core. “Why are you so worked up?”
Robby looks you up and down seriously. “You called me daddy this morning.”
You give him the nastiest eyeing he’s ever experienced, so amused that it borders on sadistic. “If I recall correctly, all I told you was that we shouldn’t let our baby call us by our names. I swear hearing my toddler say ‘Robby’ would be the end for me.”
He puts a hand on either side of your head against the wall, doing that thing where you’re caged against his chest, looking into his rich coffee eyes, breaths coming fast because you want him to make good on what his body’s promising. Gazing firmly at your lips, he points out, “You didn’t say ‘dad,’ though. You said daddy.”
“I assume our one-year-old is probably going to call you that,” you laugh as his hands traverse lower, holding you against the wall now, “unless you have a different idea.”
“I always thought of myself as more of a ‘papa,’” he says nonchalantly. Like he’s not being disgusting. And hot. Always both. “I much prefer the sound of you saying that one particular moniker,” he purrs, pulling you into a deeper kiss. He drags needy lips up your neck and murmurs against your ear, “Say it again for me, sweetheart.”
Robby grabs your ass, digging his fingers into your flesh just enough to make your knees weak. Desperately trying not to get horny at work, you roll your eyes, turn the kiss into a peck, and say, “You’re a pervert.”
“And you’re so insanely sexy back in your scrubs,” he groan as he lifts you up slightly by the curve of your ass so that you lose balance a bit and have to lean in fully to him. “I swear these things hug you like nobody else.”
You huff, trying to suppress a giggle, “Because someone keeps picking up a smaller size for me at the scrub exchange even though my boobs are constantly swollen.”
“I’ll have to say thank you to them,” he chuckles as his hands slide beneath the front of your top now, palms brushing the elastic of your nursing bra. Running his thumbs over the place where your nipples beg against the thick fabric, he murmurs, “You need to pump?”
You roll your eyes. “No, I just like to hang out in here by myself on my breaks.”
“Beats listening to the ducklings whine about their love lives over lukewarm leftovers.” You move toward the recliner where you usually set up shop, but Robby stops you with a strong hand on your waist. He gives you those ridiculous puppy dog eyes of his and muses, “You know, the daycare has an extensive supply of your breastmilk and we’ve got a whole freezer full at home.”
Knowing exactly what he’s asking for, you raise an eyebrow at his reddening cheek and challenge, “And that’s a bad thing? I was under the impression that breastmilk was something of a necessity for Ella.”
“Ella’s weaning,” he replies, maneuvering you into the recliner and kneeling in front of you. He pushes your knees apart and waits to see if you’re going to stop him. You definitely aren’t. The privacy of the pumping room as the only breastfeeding person on the floor had become, admittedly, a little bit of a problem for your and Robby’s ‘we should try to fuck less at work’ rule/attempt. Not feeling each other up between patients had never been a strong suit of yours. With his fingers looped in your waistband at your hips, Robby looks up at you and pouts. “The baby has plenty and daddy’s thirsty.”
“Michael, ew!” You throw your head back and laugh even as you lift your hips slightly so he can tug your scrubs down and away from your body. “You could not have possibly said something less sexy than that.”
“You doubt my abilities,” he tuts. Then he pulls on the hem of your top, clearly a request, and you resist the urge to make fun of him as you strip it off. You expect him to get right down to business, muttering something about only having a few minutes the way he usually does, but he doesn’t. Robby sits back for a second and just takes in the glory of your frumpy nude bra and your practical cotton underwear. To Robby, there’s absolutely nothing hotter. Gazing at your postpartum stretch marks just beginning to turn silver, your widened hips, your swollen boobs, he sighs lovingly, “You’re fucking perfect.”
“You’re delusional, but I love you anyway.”
Robby narrows his eyes at you and tilts his head to the side. Even as he gives you that admonishing stare, he slides his hand down the front of your underwear and finds your clit with his thumb, gently nudging the hood upward to expose your sensitivity. As you gasp from the light contact, he presses, “Are you saying my fiancée is anything less than fucking perfect? I could take you to court for slander over a lie like that.” When you just purse your lips in response, any joke or argument fizzling away as your pussy starts to flutter in want for him, he smirks. “That’s what I thought. Now just be good and take those pretty tits out for me.”
God, when did you get so pathetically weak for him? Just over a year ago he had to kiss your feet just to get your attention and now you’re here misusing hospital facilities so that he can get on his old man knees and use his only break to get you off and- Yeah, he’s still whipped, actually. So at least it’s mutual. As you slide your bra off, he does the same to your panties.
And, the moment you’re naked, laid bare for him when he’s still clothed, he’s done screwing around.
Robby spits onto your pussy and then watches his own fingers sliding over your slit, rapt as his saliva mixes with your glistening wetness. He curses under his breath when you squirm slightly in response, widening your legs further to give him better access. You rasp out, “Did you lock the door behind you?”
He meets your eyes. “Who’s going to interrupt you when you’re pumping?”
“Maybe someone looking for the chief attending they watched follow me in?”
He clicks his tongue, relenting, and tells you firmly, “I locked the door. Now relax and let me enjoy myself down here.”
“Let you enjoy yourself? Is that what’s-”
Your words strangle off into a moan as he plunges his middle finger inside of you, curling it back toward himself. Your eyes close and your head goes back against the headrest and nothing else matters anymore. Robby slips in his second finger and praises softly, “There you go. Good girl. Just let me play with my pussy for a minute.”
You can’t even tease him for saying it because he’s just too stupidly hot. It is his pussy, plain and simple. So, with nothing but mischief and need in your tone, you murmur, “Yes, daddy.”
“Oh, fucking hell,” he grunts, rocking upward on his knees so that he can kiss over the top of your chest, nibbling the base of your neck and dragging his tongue down your sternum. Pumping his fingers firmly but slowly inside of you, Robby uses his thumb to focus attention on your clit. With his breath ghosting one of your tingling nipples, he says, “You’re too powerful, you know that?”
“No idea.” Your back arches into his touch and the pressure building behind your nipples builds and aches. The distance between his mouth and your tits is so, so close and way too far. You whine unabashedly, knowing he’s not strong enough to deny you, “Mikey, please. It’s gonna start hurting and leaking.”
“Can’t have you hurting,” he soothes. You can feel how much he means it, deeper than the sexy teasing. He’s protective of you, more and more every day, and his lust is only an extension of that. His eyes flick up to yours one more time, reminding you, “Remember you have to be quiet; we aren’t at home.”
You bite your lower lip and assure him, “I won’t get you in trouble, Dr. Robinavitch.”
“That’s my girl. Enough trouble all on her own.”
Before you can come up with any kind of reply, he latches onto your left breast. Because he’s made this something of a habit – you’ve been incredibly lucky with milk production, to the point of annoyance at times – Robby knows exactly what to do. His lips and tongue and suction are just right and suddenly you’re being flooded with sweet oxytocin that mingles with the pleasure between your legs. Delight prickles up your spine and you gasp, stifling the sharp sound with the back of one hand while the other flies into Robby’s hair. Pleased, he groans around your nipple and swallows the constant stream of your gentle, mild breastmilk until the flow slows enough to switch to the other side. He even takes the care to quickly grab one of your breast pads to catch any overflow from the breast he’s leaving behind.
God, he’s sexy.
Your body can’t help responding to Robby’s intoxicating mix of tenderness and gluttony that blur together into one entity. He’s building you and consuming you at the same time. And he definitely doesn’t miss the way your moans turn high-pitched and needy as your pussy gets wetter around his fingers. He stays the course. Steady. Much as he craves you cumming on his hand, he wants to make sure you’re thoroughly comfortable first, your breasts tended to with a meticulous desire he didn’t know existed until the first time he tasted you like this. Before you gave birth, he fucked you voraciously, so ravenous to have you that the world stopped existing until he came.
Then, once you were ready to be intimate again after being cleared, Robby felt a seismic shift inside of himself. Sex became an act of devotion. Gratitude. He thanked your body for its abundance and its giving with every touch. You’re not just his girl anymore; you’re the person who gave him the world. The woman who raised him from the dead. He needs to have you, to make you comfortable, to keep you safe. To taste you is to be blessed by you.
And, fuck, is it a blessing when he feels your cunt clenching slowly around his fingers.
You’re gripping his hair so he stays on your breast and your toes curl, legs locking him to you, and you’re blossoming. Your hips buck upwards and he stills you with his free hand, firm, demanding, insisting that you take as much pleasure as he can give you. He only releases you when you’re physically squirming and biting your lip hard to stop the moans from the overstimulating sparks filling you.
Robby eases you back to earth with a few final licks on each side of your chest, slowly pulling his fingers out as your body relaxes. He closes his eyes and savors the taste of you as he cleans off his fingers with his tongue. You take a minute to catch your breath, just gazing down at Robby as he looks at you with so much love it tightens your chest.
After he helps you get dressed again, Robby takes a swig of water and grins. “Thanks, baby, now I can skip the vending machine.”
You smack him on the chest and duck your head to hide your warming face against his shoulder. “I hate you.”
He catches your hand and kisses it. “I love you.”
Of course, it only becomes more of a problem from there. Eight out of ten times, Ella’s in your arms or his and your voice is sappy and ‘daddy’ is just something that slips from your tongue as easily as ‘mommy’ does his. He can keep his mind out of the gutter when it’s ‘Want daddy to read you a bedtime story?’ and ‘Show daddy your finger painting.’
But those other times?
Those other times are driving Michael Robinavitch clinically insane.
In the week leading up to Ella’s first birthday party, there are several particularly damning instances.
Robby takes the night shift when Ella’s particularly fussy after you’ve had a rough day, letting you sleep and staying in the nursery with her as long as he has to (and then some more because he just can’t bear to leave when she’s asleep on his bare chest, heartbeats synching up and breaths slowing). When she’s finally settled, Robby slides back into bed next to you. He tries not to rouse you at all, but you feel his weight and warmth, your subconscious recognizing him. When you flip over, your tee rides up around your stomach. Your hips are beautiful beyond belief. He can feel the heat and dampness growing between your legs as you throw your thigh over him and nestle close to his chest, happily murmuring, “Mmm. Thank you, daddy.”
He’s fucking you back to sleep in a matter of minutes, spooning you with needy hips and coaxing out gentle, half-awake whines that drive him crazy. The whole time, he groans quietly under your ear about how much he loves you, how good you feel, how he’s always going to be here for you. He only gets up long enough to throw away the condom before passing out into bliss with you.
The next night, Robby’s in his study, glasses on the tip of his nose, huffing through paperwork while you do Ella’s bedtime routine. Once she’s sleepy and warm from her bath, you knock gently on the study’s glass panel door and push it open. “Wanna join us for story time?”
Absently, he replies, “I’m sorry; I need a minute to finish these notes.”
You bat your lashes playfully and pout, propping Ella, who’s too sleepy to care, adorably on your hip. “Pleeeeease, daddy?”
Ella yawns as Robby’s eyes snap up at the word. He tilts his head to the side and examines you carefully. The mischief in your eyes. The swing of your hips as you balance his baby on your plush body. Ella is such a perfect blend of you both – Robby’s dark waves and inquisitive eyes, your nose and cheeks – and he absolutely melts seeing her falling asleep against your chest. Whenever you’re like this, in one of your comfortable pajama sets with your makeup long gone, he’s punched in the gut by the fact that he missed the first two-thirds of your pregnancy with Ella. He wants to be there with you when you first take the test, when you first hear the heartbeat, when you first notice your bump. When you pair that with the word ‘daddy,’ the potent reminder of how you made him a father and vice versa, it launches him to his feet.
He can’t miss another moment.
Ella’s knocked out not even halfway through “Oh, The Places You’ll Go!” so Robby drags you into the bedroom and starts kissing you feverishly. He’s got you pressed against the wall with his hands between your legs in no time. You’re dizzy from his lust and cumming a second time before he’s even taken his clothes off, his beard scratching your neck and cheek as he praises you. You’re such a good mom, angel. You saved me. Thank you for our family. I love you. I love you. I love you.
Robby finally loses all composure at Ella’s party.
You’ve spent the morning ordering him around – foreplay in its own right – and now the living room, kitchen, and dining room are decked out in all of the homemade decorations you’ve been working on for weeks. It’s like walking into a children’s book with inviting colors and textures on every surface. Cupcakes frosted with the colors of Ella’s favorite story, candy red-and-white striped hats you’d custom-ordered, cotton candy on striped sticks for truffula trees. It’s so whimsical that even your most serious coworkers gently gasp and smile as they take everything in.
Ella’s whisked off into a sea of cooing and kisses, so you and Robby are on full hosting duty. With his friends and family gathered around to celebrate your daughter’s first birthday, you seem determined to give him a heart attack.
Called across the room: “Can you grab us a cupcake, daddy?”
With a sweet smile: “Daddy, you wanna open the next present?”
A freshly manicured hand on his bicep as you breeze by: “Love you, daddy.”
It’s positively unrelenting. He’s trying to stay focused on hosting the party, but the fact of the matter is that you’re wearing a flouncy little dress that swishes just right and you’re positively glowing as everyone dotes on his daughter and every single time you glance back at him it’s with a total, unending love that he’s worked so damn hard to be worthy of. It’s so distracting that, with Ella on hip, he spills half a pitcher of Yink Pink Ink Drink down the front of your dress when you say ‘daddy’ a little too flirtatiously as he turns the corner out of the kitchen to top off glasses.
The neon pink juice saturates your chest and you’re already laughing at the slack-jawed look of horror on his face. As you flick beads off your hands, rivulets running down onto the floor, you scoff, “Michael Robinavitch, they let you practice emergency medicine and you can’t even walk a pitcher from one room to another?”
Ella tries to squirm away from the disaster and Robby calls, “Dana, would you mind-”
She stands up, puts out both her hands, and grins. “Gimme that baby.”
Ella squeals with delight as Dana takes her and starts making silly faces. At the same time, Trinity heads over and starts to clean up the mess, ushering you away with something firm about how she’s not going to have you cleaning up at your own party.
So you and Robby, with matching pink stains, escape up the steps and steal away into your en suite bathroom. Grumbling under your breath, you shimmy out of your dress and turn on the tap to work on the stain. Before you can get to work, though, Robby snatches it out of your hand and turns off the water, closing the distance between you in a few steps. He’s already shed his own shirt and your eyes rake hungrily over his bare torso. Some of his chest hair had gone silver since Ella was born, matching his beard, and it makes you ravenous.
Faux exasperated, you protest, “Robby, I need to rinse that.”
He tosses the dress into the bathtub, tugs you into his arms, and practically growls, “I’ll do it in a minute.”
You suppress a smirk, seeing the lust building in his expression, and push once more, “I need to grab a change of-”
“No you don’t,” he interrupts as he turns you around by the hip. Palming your ass, so much of it exposed by the delicate lacy thong you must’ve put on just to ruin him, he amends softly, “Not yet.” He kisses the top of your shoulder and plants more up toward your neck. You can’t help the way you sigh, releasing tension, when his hands roam over your stomach and up to your damp bra. “I need you, baby. You make me crazy.”
You roll your hips backwards and he tugs them flush with his so you can feel his hardening cock against your ass. Meeting his eyes in the mirror, you tease, “Need me, huh?”
“So fucking bad,” he confirms, voice rough and gravelly. His hands go to the sides of your panties and he begs, “Can I have you? Please?”
After nibbling your lower lip for a second, you can both tell you’ve already given into the idea. You were hoping to save the big reveal of your intentions for after the party, but he looks so damn good with his chest hair and thick thighs on full display. Turning around so you can wrap your arms around the back of his neck, you check nervously, “You think nobody’s gonna notice us being gone?”
“They’re all cute baby drunk,” he replies pointedly. As you agree with a nod, he cages you against the counter and kisses you hard, hands gripping your waist, the need obvious in every touch. You reach for his boxer briefs and tug them down urgently; he chuckles and kicks them off before doing the same to you. Then he turns you around and kisses you toward the bedroom, guiding you onto the bed and gazing down at you and your beautiful body. The body that gave him his daughter. The body that gives him life. When he has you laid bare beneath him, he whispers reverently, “There’s my girl. So fucking pretty.”
Then, knowing the clock is ticking, Robby drops onto the covers in front of you and laps at your clit. He still makes a point of not rushing you, but he sets an urgent pace that makes it perfectly clear your pleasure is his singular focus. The moment he tastes you, he’s rutting his cock down against the bed, pathetic like a humping teenager because he gets to have you, please you, be yours.
When he slightly nudges up the hood of your clit to make you even more sensitive, you dig your fingers into his scalp and groan, “Fuck, daddy, just like that.”
Robby’s next moan into your cunt is rumbling and low and so drunk it almost surprises you. Almost. The sound borders on pathetic. He’s never wanted anything more than your orgasm on his lips. You’re powerless to deny him that simple pleasure, especially when his tongue rolls insistently over the exact place you need exactly how you need it. He doesn’t let up through your orgasm, arms looped around your hips, tasting starlight from your core until he’s high on it.
When you’re blissed out and breathy, he crawls up above you on the bed, presses his forehead to yours, and groans, “You’re driving me absolutely nuts lately, you know that? Daddy this, daddy that. Please, daddy. Yes, daddy. Thank you, daddy. Fuck, daddy, just like that.” He buries his face in your neck and breathes hard. Then he reaches into the top drawer of the bedside table and fishes out a condom. Before opening it, he gives you another peck and muses, “How am I supposed to stop wanting to fuck you when you’re making me think about you having my babies every five minutes?”
After a second of letting him agonize, you wind your fingers in the hair at the back of his head, turn him to center to face you, and reply, “You’re not supposed to stop.”
His eyes go straight to your lips. His heart rate spikes as he considers the implication. Not wanting to trip face-first into wishful thinking, he clarifies, “What are you saying, sweetheart?”
“You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” You spread your legs wider, exposing the shiny fresh desire between them, and give him a heady, wanting gaze. He sucks in a sharp breath when you yank him forward, his bare cock nearly touching your pussy, the condom still dangling from his fingers. You run your hand down the center of his chest, scratching his hair just right, and purr, “Wanna make a baby, daddy?”
With a grin splitting his lips, he cups your face in his hand. “Are you serious?”
“Completely,” you giggle back, thrilled to finally admit it after ruminating on the idea for a few months, debating if you were ready physically and mentally to be pregnant again. Now, all you can imagine is how great it’ll be to share all of the early milestones with Robby by your side and Ella old enough to understand some of the moments. “I know it’ll be a lot with the whole ‘two under two’ thing, but-”
“I’m convinced,” he interrupts with an enthusiastic, infectious laugh. “This last year with Ella has been the best gift. I can’t even imagine how good doubling that will be.” He lines up his cock with your entrance and holds your hip steady as you try to squirm for more. “Tell me one more time.”
“C’mon, Robby,” you plead, reaching up to grip his bicep, “knock me up.”
As he slides into you bare for the first time since Ella was born, he shudders and sighs contentedly. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”
You pull him into a kiss and whimper in response, his thick cock stretching you just how you fantasize about all the time, his lips forever marrying yours, his eyes shut tight in ecstasy. The way Robby’s mouth falls open in that tiny shattered ‘O’ when he feels your walls holding him close will never fail to give you an ego high. He looks almost innocent as he fucks you, like he’s praying at a service, his whole body trembling slightly as he tries to hold back. You’re luxurious for him, silky as a sunbeam, and he wants to bury himself inside of you for the rest of time.
Feeling the way his hips stutter and beg, you press your lips to the curve of his ear, breath hot and loving, his beard scratching your cheek deliciously, and urge him, “You don’t have to force yourself to last, Michael. Cum inside of me. I need it as bad as you do.”
Robby locks his hips to yours with short, deep thrusts as he grunts, “Fuck, angel.”
The feeling of his warmth coating you is cozy and safe and intimate. The two of you curled up by the hearth of a shared fire. He stays slotted inside of you for a long time, savoring the way your body holds onto his, and kisses your cheeks and collar and neck as many times as he can.
A knock on the door yanks you both into reality. Jack’s voice, of course. “There’s still a party out here, you freaks. C’mon, we want to cut the damn cake.”
Robby laughs and calls back, “Be right there, Uncle Jackie.”
Dana who is a full-on Mommy Domme, pinning you down with her strong body after a long shift and spreading your pretty pussy open with her fingers while she coos, “Look at Mommy’s needy little girl, already dripping for me.” She loves fingering your tight cunt deep and steady, curling against your g-spot until your walls flutter and cream around her, then rubbing your swollen clit until you’re sobbing and squirting.
Dana who loves feeling how soaked and puffy your pussy gets, it drives her crazy — her own cunt throbs and gets slick under her scrubs as she forces orgasm after orgasm out of you, getting off on how your legs shake and your slick runs down her wrist while she praises you for being such a good, messy baby for Mommy.
Dana who bends you over the counter the second she gets home, yanks your pants down and spanks your ass red before dropping to her knees to devour your dripping pussy from behind. She tongues your hole and sucks on your clit until you’re grinding back against her face, then fucks you hard with her thick strap while your scrubs are bunched around your thighs. She gets ridiculously wet hearing the wet sounds of your cunt taking her cock and the way you clench and gush around it, moaning filthy praise like “that’s my good little slut, creaming all over Mommy’s cock” as the sight of your pussy stretched and leaking makes her own clit throb with need.
Dana who pulls you into her lap on the couch, lets you suck on her tits while she slowly fingers your oversensitive pussy, working you through gentle overstimulation until you’re whimpering and soaking her thighs. She stays soaked the entire time, her own cunt aching as she feels your walls pulse and flutter around her fingers, loving how helpless and needy you get for her. Nothing turns her on more than watching her sweet girl fall apart, all sloppy and dripping just for Mommy.
Dana who comes home after a brutal shift and immediately needs to reclaim you. She pins you against the wall, yanks your scrubs down, and spanks your ass hard until it’s glowing red. “Mommy’s had a long day, baby. Now you’re going to be a good girl and help her relax.” She shoves two fingers deep into your soaked cunt, curling them roughly against your g-spot while her palm smacks your clit with every thrust. When you’re shaking and dripping, she drags you to the bedroom, straps your wrists to the headboard, and rides your face until she cums hard all over your tongue, grinding her slick pussy against your mouth while praising you for being her perfect stress toy.
Dana who loves intense sensory play and overstimulation. She blindfolds you, ties your thighs wide open with soft ropes, and spends hours teasing your exposed pussy. Ice cubes on your clit, followed by the sharp buzz of a Hitachi wand pressed mercilessly against it. She edges you until you’re crying and begging, then forces orgasm after orgasm out of you with the vibrator while fingering your dripping hole. “Look at Mommy’s messy baby, squirting all over the sheets like a little slut,” she coos, her own cunt throbbing and leaking as she watches you break so beautifully for her.
Dana who makes you worship her after she’s done ruining you. After wrecking your pussy with her thick strap and a vibrating plug in your ass, she’ll straddle your face and slowly ride your tongue. “Clean Mommy up, sweetheart. That’s it… be a good girl and lick every drop.” She grinds her soaked cunt against your mouth, smothering you with her wetness while she plays with your oversensitive clit. The more desperately you please her, the sweeter and filthier her praise gets, and she often cums twice like this before she’s satisfied.
Dana who turns punishment into something deliciously cruel. When you’ve been bratty, she bends you over her lap, spanks you until your ass is purple and you’re sobbing, then locks a remote vibrator inside your dripping cunt on a low setting for the rest of the evening. She’ll make you sit at her feet or do chores while it buzzes inside you, edging you mercilessly without letting you cum. Only when you’re crying and begging on your knees does she finally fuck you hard with her strap, pounding you into the mattress while reminding you who this pussy belongs to.
Dana who adores using you for her own pleasure while keeping you desperate. She’ll sit on the couch with her legs spread, wearing nothing but her white coat, and make you kneel between her thighs for long stretches of time. You’re expected to worship her cunt with your mouth and fingers until she’s satisfied, sometimes while she’s reviewing charts or on a work call. Every time you do a good job she rewards you by pressing the wand against your clit, but only long enough to keep you dripping and aching. The power of having you so eager to please Mommy makes her incredibly wet.
Dana who gets especially intense during breeding sessions. She ties you in a mating press, ankles by your ears, and fucks you deep and brutal with her biggest strap while a bullet vibrator is taped directly to your clit. “Mommy’s going to fill this pretty cunt up, baby. You’re going to take every inch and thank me for it.” She pounds you relentlessly, slapping your tits and rubbing your swollen clit until you’re squirting and sobbing. She only stops when you’re a shaking, leaking, cock-drunk mess, then pulls you into her arms and fingers you gently through the aftershocks while whispering how perfect you are for her.
CW: 18+, MDNI, smut, gn!reader, afab!reader (no pronouns), D/S dynamics, dom!Dana, sub!reader, age gap, power dynamic, mild predator/prey, marking, strap-on, public sex, guilty!reader
AGELESS BLOGS AND MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED
WC: 1k
"So are you and Dana...you know..."
Victoria waved her hands to indicate something. What it was, she didn't quite know, but it was definitely not nothing.
The little clues of your less-than-professional relationship with the charge nurse had been stacking up over the past month; you knew deep down that it would only be so long before that tower crashed down around you both.
"What? No." You let out a sharp, uncomfortable laugh. "She's old enough to be my..."
Pausing, you didn't even have to look across the room to feel Dana's red-hot glare as she read your lips from over her reading glasses.
"Friend. She's just a good friend." You finished quickly. Before Victoria could prod any further, you surged from your seat with a strained comment about needing to use the restroom urgently. Whatever Victoria had intended to say next died in her throat as she watched you rush toward the other end of the ED.
The bathroom air was frigid against your damp skin. Though you had made a valiant attempt to clear your head, the splash of water to your face had failed to do much of anything beyond making you uncomfortably cold.
What am I doing?
Dana was recently divorced. Far too recent, in fact, for it to be anything less than catastrophic for her to enter a relationship with her far younger subordinate.
It was wrong.
It had to be wrong.
But still, you couldn't help but feel the heat crawl down your chest and between your thighs when you remembered how Dana's fingers curled deep inside of you. Her hands worked in a way that spoke to the years of experience she had learning how to satisfy others before you were even born.
You were so fixated on the ghost of Dana's touch that you hadn't noticed the door opening behind you.
"Friend, huh?" Dana's voice was soft but teasing nonetheless. "That's not what you were callin' me last night. Actually, if I remember correctly..."
Your shoes squeaked on the linoleum beneath you as you whipped around.
"Jesus. You scared me."
"Actually…no. Of the many things you called me, I don't think "Jesus" was one of ‘em. "Friend" though...that one piqued my interest."
As Dana sauntered close, her hands quickly found their way to your hips. Though the touch was gentle, it only loudened your thundering heart.
"I'm sorry, but what was I supposed to say? You're technically my superior. What if Robby heard me? What then?"
Your arms folded protectively against your chest as the guilt bubbled in your stomach. You didn't know what was worse, the fact that you had let this happen in the first place or that your lips were already beginning to tingle in the older woman's presence.
"What then?" Dana repeated, leaning in close. Her voice was raspy and hot against your ear. It was quickly becoming difficult to speak, the words catching in your throat as her lips grazed against your jaw.
What then?
Dana’s mouth began to work down the length of your neck, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive skin when you became all too aware of her bottom half gently rutting against you. You quickly stiffened in her embrace once you took notice of the hard bulge that was pressing against you.
"Dana, you didn't."
You all but moaned as Dana's silicone cock pushed further into you. Throughout the day, the charge nurse had expertly hidden the thick, black strap-on beneath tight underwear and baggy scrub pants. Now, the shaft threatened to spring loose from its confines as Dana more fervently sucked at your neck.
It was almost like the older woman could smell the arousal you emitted, attuned to the way you had been aching for her cock all day. Dana had been waiting for this moment, doing everything in her power not to take you in front of the entire hospital staff. She had been tracking you down like prey and, finally, it was her moment to pounce.
Without a word, Dana used her hold on your hips to force your back against the cold, bare wall and roughly yank down your bottoms. Her lips clashed against yours with such fervor that you feared one of you would begin to bleed.
Dana's powerful hand slipped under the back of your knee, forcing your leg upward and allowing easy access to your fluttering core.
"Look at you, baby. So wet for me already, you must have been waitin' all day."
The hand that wasn't propping up your leg was digging under the hem of her pants, untucking the member that now wobbled freely up and down.
Dana didn't take the time to prep your hole before thrusting the length of her cock into you. You brought your fist to your mouth and bit down hard in a poor attempt to stifle your moan.
"D-Dana." You stammered. She was pumping into you hard now, every thrust of her hips causing an unbearable tension to grow in your stomach. Though you tried to move Dana's head lower with a tug at her hair, her teeth remained at the center of your throat. She knew the bruises would be deep and difficult to hide from the already suspicious eyes of your coworkers. She wanted them to be.
Your legs were beginning to tremble under the force of Dana's thrusts, little whimpers and cries now impossible to suppress under the growing pressure.
"Please...I'm...I'm so close please..." you begged and squirmed beneath her.
"Aw, you want them to hear us, don't you doll?" Dana lifted her head to lock her eyes onto yours, but the movement of her hips never stopped. In fact, each thrust grew closer together, her pace quickening.
"No! No, I- please. Fuck."
You didn't know what you wanted anymore. Both of you could be fired, or worse, lose your licenses entirely. What if security had found you? What if you were arrested for public indecency?
What if...what if...
Dana's voice cut through the growing wall of fear that had contained what was left of your restraint.
"Don't worry, baby." She breathed. "I want them to hear you. I want them to know you're mine."
A scream ripped through you as the tether broke. The fluorescent lights of the bathroom were like fireworks as your body went limp, the only thing keeping you from hitting the floor being Dana's strong arms.
She was never a friend, and now, she never could be. You would always belong to Dana. Everyone would know.
Nobody bothered asking what had happened in the bathroom that day. In fact, not a word had been said for the next several days that whimpers and muffled screams could be heard from behind the door. Even Victoria's questioning had stopped abruptly, though her eyes lingered at the darkening marks that lined your neck.
It didn't really matter anyway.
Victoria had placed her bets well. She was more than happy to show off her earnings from the weekly Pitt gamble to Dennis who, of course, had insisted that the two of you were "just friends."
Thank you for ordering from Honey's Diner! Come back soon!
A/N: And finally I am back to fulfilling some Honey's Diner orders. I hope you guys enjoyed this one, it was really fun to explore this dynamic. Thank you as always to those who left requests and I will be getting to them as soon as possible! 🍯
KINKTOBER ‘25 ❤︎ DAY THREE nipple play → emily prentiss !
like what you see? check out my kinktober 2025 masterlist!
warnings: fem!reader, dom!emily, bau!reader, highkey toxic/possessive emily, jealous emily, fwb(but its more than that lets be real), kissing, bratty r, brat taming/a little dumbification, punishment, nipple clamps, tears, marking, fingering, nipple sucking, ownership kink(????), a little dumbification.
wc: 2.9k
div: animatedglittergraphics-n-more, toastray
lowercase intended, no use of y/n
“you’re not going in there.”
emily’s voice cut through the air like a blade—low, firm, commanding. her eyes were sharp, and you knew her well enough to see the storm brewing underneath.
she stood planted in front of the interrogation room door, her stance rigid, arms folded like steel bars across her chest.
it wasn’t a request. it was an order.
“emily,”
you forced your tone steady, though your pulse skipped.
“you know i have to. he’s not talking, and I’m the only one who’s managed to get through to him.”
her jaw tightened, a flicker of something—anger, worry, maybe both, crossed her face. on the other side of the glass, the suspect sat slouched in his chair, smug grin plastered across his face, tapping his fingers like he owned the place.
he’d been uncooperative with everyone else, but with you… oh, he’d been plenty talkative. too talkative.
the memory of his comments made your stomach turn. the lingering way his eyes had raked over you, the shameless way he’d let innuendo drip from his tongue. it had been predatory, deliberate. excruciatingly uncomfortable.
and emily knew it. she had watched it. which was why she now looked ready to tear the door off its hinges and force information out of that scum bag. anything before she’d let you anywhere near him again.
you swallowed, caught between frustration and something else you didn’t want to name. emily’s protectiveness was infuriating sometimes—treating you like you were fragile, like you’d shatter under pressure. but you couldn’t deny there was something about it that… thrilled you. the way she stood between you and danger. the way her anger sparked hotter when it came to you.
you weren’t even together. not officially. no labels, no soft romance to pin it all down. no hand-holding in public or forehead kisses behind closed doors. just late nights and stolen touches, an agreement you’d both pretended was casual.
except casual wasn’t the right word, not anymore.
her protectiveness had grown teeth. it bled into everything. if anyone so much as looked at you the wrong way, emily was there, sharp-tongued and ready to cut them down. if someone brushed too close, she was already squaring her shoulders like she’d been waiting for the excuse.
your eyes darted back to her now, to the way her hands curled into fists, to the way she looked at you like you didn’t have a say, like you didn’t control your own actions.
“emily,”
you repeated, softer this time.
“let me do this.”
and for just a second, her mask slipped—worry seeped through her gaze, raw and unguarded. before her walls quickly rebuilt, glare sharpening once more.
she was still against it. no doubt about that.
but you had a plan, a strategy tailored to your strengths—and you weren’t about to let emily’s protective streak derail it. you were an adult, capable of making your own choices, and you didn’t take orders from her.
you’d prepared yourself, too. hair fixed to fall perfectly, framing your features just right, jacket discarded, blouse tugged down enough that the neckline dipped into dangerous territory. just enough to draw his gaze where you wanted it, to give him the illusion of control while you maneuvered him into revealing what you needed.
confidence wrapped around you like armor as you pushed open the door to the interrogation room. the suspect looked up immediately, the hunger in his eyes made your skin crawl, but you shoved the unease down deep. this wasn’t about him. this was about getting answers.
you leaned against the table casually, tilting your head, letting your voice slide into something softer, more coaxing. you twirled a strand of hair around your finger, batted your lashes at just the right moments, smiled when he leaned in a little too close.
his smirk widened with every second you indulged him, and with every widening smirk came another breadcrumb of information. piece by piece, you were breaking him open.
behind the two-way mirror, emily seethed.
she stood rigid, arms crossed so tightly her nails bit into her palms. she caught every shift in his posture, every sleazy smirk, every flash of triumph when he thought he was getting to you. her stomach twisted with fury—not at you, but at the way you allowed him to look at you like that.
and worse… at the way you let yourself perform for him. the flirty little smile, the deliberate inflections in your words, creating a ruse of interest.
emily knew exactly what you were doing. it was a well thought out approach. it was brilliant. you were pulling more out of him in ten minutes than the rest of the team had managed in hours.
but god, it made her sick.
because she’d never seen you look at anyone else that way. that playful gleam in your eyes, that teasing lift in your voice—it was hers. it belonged to her.
seeing you give it away, even as a tool, even as a weapon, scraped something ugly inside of her.
her jaw tightened as she forced herself to keep watching. the others beside her shifted, murmuring about how effective you were being, but emily barely heard them. she was locked on you.
every second you flattered that bastard with that soft look in your eye? it cemented something inside her.
right then and there, she decided.
you needed reminding. a lesson, that this, your smiles, your softness, your fire—wasn’t for him. or anyone else.
it was for her.
and the second you walked out of that interrogation room, emily knew she was going to make damn sure you remembered.
“was that fun for you?”
she asked, voice low but tight with barely suppressed anger.
“letting him drool all over you while you twirled your hair and played innocent?”
emily cornered you in one of the deserted hallways of the precinct that you were currently assisting, the place as hollow and echoing as a ghost town. the station was chronically understaffed—which meant silence settled thick in every corridor, and in those blind nooks and forgotten crannies, emily had found opportunity.
as she blocked your path, eyes glinting, sharp and deliberate, you realized she intended to make very good use of that emptiness.
still, you sighed, rolling your eyes a little harder than necessary. you weren’t about to let her berate you for doing the work no one else could.
“don’t start, em. i got the job done. you should be thanking me.”
her eyes narrowed, she wasn’t falling into your attempt at softening her with the nickname.
“thanking you?”
she pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you in slow, echoing steps.
“i’ve never seen you look at anyone else like that. you just gave it away to him.”
your chest tightened, but you refused to break eye contact, sharpening your gaze.
“it was an act. you know that.”
“didn’t look like an act.”
her voice dropped, dark with jealousy. she was close enough now that you could feel the heat rolling off her, close enough that your back brushed the cool wall behind you.
“you don’t get to hand out what’s mine like that.”
something inside you snapped at her words.
“yours?”
you bit back, your voice sharp.
“we’re not together, emily. you don’t own me.”
for a second, the silence between you crackled like static, dangerous and alive. and then she smirked.
“no,”
she murmured, bracing one hand against the wall beside your head, leaning in until her breath ghosted your lips.
“but you sure like it when i act like i do.”
your pulse spiked, heat crawling up your throat. you hated the way your body betrayed you, the way her dominance always did this to you.
“you’re impossible.”
you whispered, though the edge in your voice faltered when she tilted her head, mouth a breath's length from yours.
“and you’re reckless,”
she shot back.
“flirting with him like that. letting him think he had a chance… tell me—did it make you feel powerful? forcing me to watch while you played his game?”
her other hand slid to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch.
it did. the truth tastes sharp and sudden in your mouth. but before you could deny it, she kissed you—hard, claiming, without any gentleness. her mouth burnt like fire and possession; her hands pinned you to the wall.
you should’ve pushed back, you knew this wasn’t healthy, wasn’t fair. instead, your hands fisted in her shirt, dragging her closer, feeding the fire instead of extinguishing it.
her tongue slid past your lips without warning, forcing yours into obedience, hot, rough, insistent. your teeth catch once; her mouth is anything but gentle.
when she breaks the kiss your breaths come out in ragged, frantic pants, searching for air. her lips are glossy where they brushed yours, smudged with a sheen of evidence.
the truth is ugly and simple: you prefer her when she’s like this. sharp, jealous, dangerous—every movement laced with possession. you want her furious. you want her needy. you want her to force you to prove you belong to her.
and emily was more than content to oblige.
you had known that something of a punishment was waiting for you when emily dragged you to her apartment after wrapping up the case, the suspect that dragged you into this mess ended up proving himself useful—spilling just enough for the team to pin down the unsub without issue, successfully apprehending him.
the night had begun unhurriedly, almost tender in its approach—gentle, feather light kisses that drifted across your skin like a whisper. each press of emily’s lips felt deliberate, lingering just long enough to set a trail of warmth prickling on your flesh.
her hands wandered freely, gliding over the curves of your body, every brush of her fingertips sent sparks dancing across your nerves—little waves of pleasure rippling outward, making you arch ever so slightly into her touch.
when her lips finally closed around the peak of your breast, a startled gasp escaped you, the sudden contrast of her hot mouth against your sensitive skin overwhelming in its intensity.
her tongue moved in slow circles, teasing, coaxing, worshipping, until the hardened peak stood impossibly tight beneath her attention. each flick, each swirl, each playful drag of her mouth sent shivers rushing down your spine, leaving your entire body taut with need.
emily’s hands tightened at your sides, holding you still, as though she could feel the way you threatened to twist and writhe beneath her touch.
the combination of her firm grip and her maddeningly gentle mouth left you undone—helpless to do anything but breathe her name like a prayer as she lavished every ounce of care on the perfect, aching sensitivity of your chest.
each press of her lips was followed by a sharper bite, enough to draw your breath, and then the soothing warmth of her tongue to ease the sting.
the evidence of her adoration—those blossoming purple marks—spread across your chest like flowers in full bloom, her smile curving against your flesh as she etched her devotion into you with every nip and kiss.
you had never imagined such serenity would be bestowed upon you tonight. emily's touch was lighter, gentler than you had ever expected it would be, especially after you had tested her time and time again. maybe she had cooled down, maybe you were off the hook.
you realized how devastatingly wrong and hopeful your thoughts had been the moment something new pressed against you.
it was sudden, shocking, the cold bite of metal whispering across the heated peaks of your chest. you gasped, every nerve sparking at once, the contrast so jarring it nearly stole your voice.
that's what brought you here.
“em! emily! fuck!”
your words slip out as a pleading hiss, lips curling under your teeth in a futile attempt to suppress your whines. your body trembled relentlessly, sensitive and hardened peaks of your chest chilled against the cool clasps of metal.
now, emily tuts at you in mock sympathy, fingers cool against your sweat-damp hair as she brushes it from your forehead. her thumb ghosts over a tear you didn’t know you were shedding and she pats your cheek with exaggerated concern, smearing the salty wetness across your skin.
the tenderness is an act of course—a performance. it only sharpens the sense of ownership she feels over you.
“you’re such a mess.”
she murmured, half scold, half observation as she worked two slim fingers in and out of your throbbing core. her palm slapped against your swollen clit at an excruciatingly relentless pace, forcing incoherent whimpers past your lips as her digits snapped into you.
“d’you think he imagined you like this? hmm? all fucked up, completely at his disposal?”
you say nothing, mainly because your brain was already too fried to process her words, though the edge you were desperately chasing—and hurling towards came a close second. emily worked her slender fingers inside of you with skillful precision, the pads of her digits proding at that perfect spongy spot that led you to see stars.
though your bliss was cut short, as the silence that followed your lack of response displeased emily beyond belief, causing her to harshly tug the ice-cold metallic chain hanging in the valley between your breasts. her actions yanked you forward and caused you to fall helplessly into her lap, shivering from the harsh sting in your sensitive nipples.
“gah!”
you yelped, unable to properly speak due to the burning sensation that crawled up your spine, convulsing in emily’s lap at the overstimulation of her fingers penetrating your pulsating hole, and at the biting pain shooting through your chest.
“what? is my poor baby too dumb to speak? yeah? is that it?”
with the last ounce of strength left in your body, you forced your head into an imitation of a nod that was so pathetic it was almost amusing. your efforts weren’t an attempt to cater to emily, softening you fate. no, they were truth. you accepted the possession behind her degradation. you accepted yourself as hers.
maybe you‘d never admit it—not outside of these circumstances. but buried deep, deep down. you knew. and the thought secretly brought you more comfort than you ever imagined possible.
“i’m the only one who gets to see you like this, who gets to touch you like this. understand?”
the tremors in your body spoke for you as you reached your climax, so intense you may have blacked out. the buildup wasn’t steady, it was nearly impossible to take—and the peak that pushed you over the edge hit you like a transport speeding down a highway, violent and shattering.
you couldn’t speak, but the drool that pooled at the corners of your lips and dribbled down your chin only said one thing: “yes.”
the static in your brain, the glaze in your eyes, the limpness of your body, they all repeated the three letter confirmation like a mantra. like the only person who mattered, who could ever love you in such an intimate. unconditional way, was emily.
“e-em…”
your head lolled to the side as you tried your best to reach for her face, though your weak arms did nothing but betray you.
she cooed over your useless form, her fingers tracing down your scalp—the same fingers that moments ago had been harsh and relentless, now impossibly delicate and gentle.
it was honestly hard to keep up with the way her touch varied, still, you relished in every second of contact.
you shivered as emily’s hands rose to your chest, steady and unhurried. the metal resting against your skin was cool, made slick by the sheen of your sweat. she found the clasp with careful fingers, easing it open and soothing you through the sting and sensitivity.
your nipples were hard as steel, engorged, swollen with a fury that made emily bite her lip, satisfied with the way your body fell apart in her hands.
she took a stiffened peak into her mouth once more, lightly swirling her tongue around the impossibly overstimulated skin, lapping her pink muscle around you—revelling in every gasp and shiver she pulled from your drool streaked lips.
a sudden nip sent a pulse through your skin, the baring of her teeth caused a whine to slip from your lips, tipping your head back. the sound was torn from somewhere deep in your chest, every muscle in your body still quivered, strung tight from the aftershocks of release. your heartbeat was uneven, ripping through you in uncoordinated waves.
“shh let me take care of you, sweet girl.”
tension clung stubbornly to your limbs, heat to the rise and fall of your breath. you were left wrapped in a blanket of complete exhaustion.
emily’s fingers traced slowly down the length of your arms, a featherlight touch, bringing her lips to the shell of your ear to whisper, the feeling was innocent, soft, though her words were anything but.
“tell me… who do you belong to?”
your throat tightened. desperate to form a proper response. you had already answered a thousand times over in your head. when you finally turned to her, the reply slipped out soft and trembling, meek yet stripped of all hesitation.
“…you.”
hehe day three done😛😛😛 this one took me a while tbh… anyway baii hope u enjoyed🩵 (please reblog if you did!)
CEO Agatha Harkness x Reader Rich Boss x Submissive Assistant AU
Other parts & Tip jar & ao3
Word count: 11k
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, power dynamics, toxic relationship, d/s dynamics, absurd mean sugar mommy behavior, Agatha is emotionally constipated but trying, themes of corruption, smut, anal fingering, discussion of crime, fluff, angst, CUDDLING, secrets, threat, she's not nice but she's also nice.
"I always want to be where you are. I see the good in you."
She scoffs. "There is no good…You're so naive. Coming here. You couldn't leave even if you wanted to."
Your skin feels hot. You can't tell why.
The helicopter is loud. Even louder is your heartbeat in your chest. Hard thuds against your ribcage, barely containing the feelings inside of it.
It's too dark to see the water below you as the blades buzz above your head. It's almost a relief as the wind picks up, rocking the tiny little floating lounge above vast amounts of terrifying nothingness.
You don't remember the last time you were able to breathe normally.
Was it at the club with her hands on your skin? Was it in your apartment with your lovely new roommate and Agatha's portrait on the Forbes magazine cover? The image glossy and half rolled over where you'd shoved it into your bag. Maybe a little careless. Maybe you knew you'd get the real deal soon.
Goosebumps on your cold skin despite your cheeks feeling hot and if being in her penthouse somehow wasn't safe enough for you, her island certainly will be.
Certainly? Hopefully.
A private paradise for the two of you. All those things she'd talked about...did she expect you to come here so soon?
You'd imagined a romantic vacation. Hammocks out of place for the Hamptons and waking up together in the private bubble of bliss. Like a honeymoon that lasts forever.
Just the two of you, and all the peace money can buy.
How long will it take you to realize that Agatha can't and won't live like that?
Every instance of normality is quickly replaced by something complicated, terrifying or an alluring combination of the two.
Including Agatha herself.
It's hard to imagine her preparing for you to come here at all, despite her words. A new level of sharing her space with you, somewhere so private she's retreated there in whatever emergency this is.
Despite her bragging, you don't actually know that much about this island of hers. Is it one big house? A little village? Wanda's island seemed like one massive complex, but Agatha had made a point of having lots of special rooms.
Her island is almost certainly bigger, you think. If everything else is anything to go off of. If there's something to compete at, Agatha is making sure she's winning.
How are you supposed to process all of this?
If only there was somebody you could talk to. Properly talk to. Jake could never have been your friend, it seems obvious now. The late nights with him watching the television too loudly. His gross cups stacking up in the sink and the subtle digs thats have become far less subtle as time has passed. He didn't understand you, and it seems he never will.
But Maggie, maybe there could have been something there. It didn't seem like she was the kind of person to be nice to you just because you lived there. Someone sweet, with pure intentions and a kind heart.
She seemed like she wanted to be your friend.
And predictably, you've picked the woman that looks at you like you're lunch. The woman that has committed so many absurd HR violations, she's somehow forced you into needing her to feel human.
But you can't think like that.
Agatha is difficult, and she is intense. But she cares. It's obvious in the cherry syrup she keeps in her penthouse and the laugh she lets out when you press her buttons. In the way she looked at you when she didn't think you noticed back at the gallery.
When she rented the whole space out so you could take a closer look at the artwork. A thoughtful memento from the date stored as a surprise in the car. Teaching you wine like she wouldn't ever judge you.
It can be hard to get her into that headspace.
But you've made your decision.
Floating above the midnight sea, it's too late to turn back even if you wanted to. So, you try to focus on your breathing and hope you’ll be landing soon.
Despite it all, you just can't wait to be in her arms again. Despite her causing these problems, intensifying them and running away without telling you where she was even going.
It's push and pull. A shifting conversation of not being able to stay away from you, and sending you away without a text message…only to tell you she's been recording you in secret while you lay on her bed.
Even though you've shared her space, eaten dinner in her bed and met her friends, one thought makes you question everything.
What if for her this is some kind of game that's gotten out of control?
And for you, well, this is your whole life.
Although your bag holds almost nothing important, although you're yet to rest or remove the image of that man from your brain, all you can think about is whether she's okay. Whether she's stressed. Scared. Overwhelmed. Whether she's changed clothes, whether she's had anybody bring her food or make her coffee. How much whiskey she's gone through while on strategy calls.
Swept from the rough sheets of your apartment and flown to a private island at the hands of the only person who can make your life more meaningful and more disastrous at the same time.
And you probably won't even get a raise for it.
Dim lights come into view as the helicopter sways and drops slowly, you suspect it must be landing but it's almost hard to tell with the dark and the breeze.
You grab onto the arm of the chair. The leather squishing between your fingers as your grip intensifies.
Landing.
It's certainly landing and it feels worse than when her hand was in yours. At least you knew she had it under control. Something about how she can switch between her silly sarcasm and the quick, controlled voice she can command boardrooms with. It makes you feel like she could fix anything.
Just close your eyes. Imagine her warmth, her skin finally on yours, the smell of her perfume and her shampoo. The safety and security she brings you just by being near. You pull out your phone to check the time. The battery is low. This day is too fucking long.
The pilot says something through the headset and you pick up approximately none of it trying to focus on not losing your shit as the whole thing moves about in the wind. You'd hoped there’d be more test runs of this thing before you had to ride it to the island, and you never imagined doing it on your own.
Well, maybe in some distant fantasy you'd indulged once or twice. When your head hits the pillow and your brain shows your subconscious in vibrant shapes and colors. When her bed becomes your bed, and her house becomes your house, and flying to the island to see the Agatha Harkness is a normal occurrence. You'd cook dinner for her and rub her shoulders after a long day. She'd finally learn to make you pancakes and buy you a teddy bear on valentines day.
You know you can't think like that. But if you could control your dreams, would you change any of it?
With your eyes forced closed so tightly you start seeing glittery squares, the whole thing finally stops moving.
It's silent.
Less bumpy than maybe you expected.
Your fingers are still bursting through the leather when the door is opened for you and with wobbly legs, you're able to step out. Your useless bag in one hand and the other trailing along the exit of the helicopter, grabbing onto the arm of the pilot as he helps you stand.
The helipad is enormous, and you suspect Agatha was being somewhat modest about the island as well as the yacht. Maybe less modest, and more financially clueless.
Agatha.
She knew you were coming, she'd sent for you.
You need her. Her body holding yours. Her warmth on your freezing skin and the sound of her voice purring in your ear.
So where is she?
"Thanks." You're able to muster up as you release the pilot from your clawed grasp. It comes out barely audible and you clear your throat before attempting anything else.
The place is almost entirely dark, with red lights on the helipad. As the sound of water hits the shore, you fully grasp the fact that you're on an island.
She literally owns the ground you're walking on.
It’s hard to take in, looking around as you head toward what you assume is her house. One large building surrounded by several smaller ones. Orange lights coming through the windows.
It’s almost too dark to see, like she hadn't plan on you coming at all and somehow hasn't prepared in any way to collect you. The firm texture of the helipad becomes crunchy as you head up the path. Gravel or sand under your feet, something unsteady.
Is she as bad as you'd worried? Sat hunched over a laptop covered in crumbs and drunk out of her mind?
You wouldn't care. You could help her.
Helping her is part of your job.
Maybe she's picking snack wrappers up off of the carpet. Maybe she's brewing you a pot of tea or cooking you a hot dinner. Putting on a jazz record and warming you pajamas.
The thought is preposterous, but you walk towards the lights anyway.
Other buildings and trees pass you as you head further up the path, small lights on the ground lighting up as you stumble up the gravel texture. It seems mostly modern, with large windows and a chimney. Most of the house already in darkness.
Is she really not coming to find you?
The gravel turns solid as you wander up the steps of the house like some kind of confusing trial you're now a part of. The door enormous, rounded at the top with the shape of the moon inside of the glass.
Do you knock? This feels like a humiliation ritual all on it's own.
What could she possibly be doing?
You hesitate for a second before your knuckles hit the wood three times.
Despite the frustration that's becoming more noticeable within you by the second, it’s hard to outweigh the excitement and sense of relief already bursting out your chest.
For a long minute, there's nothing.
The sound of the water.
The whistling of the breeze.
Your breath as you continue to grow more and more annoyed....she really didn't bother to pick you up?
After everything she's put you through?
Until the door pulls open, and your eyes finally rest on her once again.
A cream colored sweater high on her neck, a brown blazer draped over the top and a glass of red wine in her hand.
She looks surprisingly, perfect?
"Agatha!" You burst towards her without thinking, the stress of the past god knows how many hours bundling inside of you until you can't hold yourself back as she stands in the dim lighting.
You hadn't even registered the expression on her face as you collide with the expensive fabric of her jacket.
Her free arm catches you, and the softness of your body that was preparing for a wholesome hug is thrown off when she shoves you against the wall without a second to spare.
Air leaving your chest in surprise and exertion as the smell of cherry and red wine hit your senses.
You don't get a hi.
You don't get a hug.
Her hand is on your throat, looking over your face like she's examining you. Keeping you in place as she scans over your skin. Nails digging into your cheeks as she inspects your features.
"Did anybody hurt you?"
Her words are sharp and her eyes are wild.
You suddenly feel embarrassed you even went in for a hug in the first place. She’d just been so soft recently. You’d been playing a game of silly dates and romantic dinners before it all fell apart.
Shaking your head, Agatha takes a sip of her wine and releases your neck.
Already desperate for her touch as soon as it leaves you.
You didn't realize how hard she was squeezing until the pressure is suddenly gone.
Her hand presses firmly down your chest, trailing hard over your stomach and finding the waistband of your pants.
It's not even been a minute since you showed up here.
"Agatha I–"
"Shh. Do you even know how frustrated I am right now? I can't even think straight I just—" her left hand fumbles with the button on your pants until it pops open, she doesn't waste a second longer before she's pressing against you with her fingertips. "—just let mommy relax..."
You're not sure how you're already getting wet, is it from the simple action of her hands on you despite their intention? Are you conditioned by the smell of alcohol on her tongue? By the roughness of her hands when she grabs you like that?
It would be embarrassing. But Agatha doesn't make you feel embarrassed.
She makes you feel important and necessary.
You push back against her without thinking as she slips aside the fabric of your underwear. You should have worn something prettier, for some reason you thought maybe you'd just go to bed.
She doesn't care, the fabric is only a barrier for her. She doesn't look, she doesn't need to.
Her eyes closed as you study the gentle lines of her skin. A soft hum leaving her lips. Her touch making you shudder, the salvia you swallow making a louder noise than you anticipated.
Agatha's movements are slow, delicate and controlled as she lets your body adjust to her. Collecting your wetness on her fingers without another word, without a question or a demand or a kiss.
There's apparently no time for pleasantries as she presses two fingers inside of you before even saying hello. The pressure of the intensity is soothed instantly as she groans. Like the simple act of being inside of you is enough to relax her after the disaster that was the past few days.
"What are you—fuck–" you struggle for words as she thrusts into you, her expression easing and softening as you adjust around her.
"You can take it, can't you?"
Agatha gives you a moment, feeling your body melt against her touch. Her thrusts slow as she studies your face, is this what she was thinking about while she watched you on her bed?
Wanting to fuck you right here in her isolated hallway?
"Just couldn’t help myself” she whispers as she picks up the pace, her palm flat against your clit, her voice hot against your ear.
Your legs begin to tremble beneath you as she picks up the pace, quick and erratic, like she's been waiting to do this all day.
Maybe she has.
"There's my girl, come on." Her words are deep and settle right through you as she shamelessly takes what she wants, it's too much too quickly, your stomach tightening and your hands in her hair before you can stop yourself.
Her softness. You missed her softness. But you missed this too.
"Let me feel it. Let go. There you go." She gasps, watching you through hooded eyes, blues dark as she curls her fingers in your throbbing cunt.
It's too much and not enough as soon as you're reunited with her, the way your body welcomes her like it's branded with the same initials as her cars.
The smell of her is in your throat.
She looks far too perfect for a woman on the run.
She knew she wouldn't be able to wait.
That's why she didn't meet you at the helipad.
You come right there, whimpering against the wall with her name on your lips.
Her hair still in your hands as you settle. Deep breaths and shallow breaths between the two of you.
Your chest feels things it shouldn't. Words it shouldn't for a woman so rough with you, your boss no less.
You push them away.
"I uh—" The blues of her eyes instantly softer as you finally move in too quickly for that hug. Her free arm pulls around your waist, the other outstretched so you presumably don't knock her wine over.
Priorities.
Agatha's hand settles on the small of your back as you inhale the cherry of her perfume, and something salty. Maybe it's the jacket.
Her brooch digs into your chest, shoving against your collar bone. You don't care.
You could live in this hug forever.
"Hi." You finally exhale after a long, long second.
Expecting her to pull away.
She doesn't budge.
She rests her head against yours. The woman in that suit on the cover of your magazine.
"Hi."
"You smell like salt."
"That'll be the sea, hon." Her words are matter-of-fact. Her body warm and comforting, the stability after your legs were shaking is a bonus.
You hug her tighter.
She let's you.
"I missed you."
"I know."
She pulls back so she can take a sip of the red liquid, and you're finally able to get a little look at the hallway. Lamps on the wall light the expansive space. Artwork in expensive frames.
You'd be excited if you weren't so damn exhausted.
"Can I get you a glass of wine?"
She seems far too casual about the situation and although you would have killed for a glass of wine on the way out here, all you can think about is being unconscious next to her while she sucks up all the air in the room with her snores.
"God no. No thank you I mean. I just...It's been a really long day."
"Well, that's why I offered." Her hips sway as she moves down the corridor ahead of you, you follow her without question as she leads you into a kitchen, the bottle of wine sits almost empty on the side. The label isn't something you recognize from your wine tasting adventure.
"Just as well. I think this one is too strong for you." Agatha's long fingers grip the bottle as she empties the rest of the wine into her glass. "It's a little bolder, a little more full-bodied."
In this light you can see the lines under her eyes.
She does look tired.
The kitchen is wide, small dim lights under wooden countertops glow in the room. You know you're sleepy, because you don't even care about gleaning every piece of information you can out of the space.
Until your eyes fall on the overflowing trash can. Ready to pity her for having to do her own chores and ask questions about how it's already gotten so full, when you see it hanging out the top of the trash mountain.
"Agatha you ordered Taco Bell to your island?"
She almost flinches on the pour.
"What are you, the taco police?"
"Oh my god. Did you send a helicopter to get that? Was it even hot?"
She screws the lid back on the bottle before launching it in the recycling bin anyway. Recycling all the wine bottles must really offset all of the jet emissions. The things a woman will go through for queso. That was not in the Forbes article. You've created a monster.
"I mean, no, not really. But that's why I have staff. To fetch me things."
"I knew I would regret taking you there. You need actual nutrients. You need to eat vegetables.”
“Tacos have vegetables. Although I did pick most of the lettuce out. But you’ve seen me eat a salad.” She drips the last few red splashes into the glass, holding it upside-down to make sure she's really getting the last of it.
"I don't greatly enjoy you telling me what I can and can't do. You know i'm in charge?"
“Please just try and balance the things you eat.”
"I lived a long time before you started bringing me lunch, you do know that, don't you?"
Agatha's sauntering towards you, nails drumming on the counter as she approaches. Your arms fold over each other like you're on display in the middle of the mostly-empty room. Where are all her appliances?
"Well yeah but...not as well."
Good one. Heiress Harkness didn't know true living until she met you.
She laughs one loud 'ha!' with her head thrown back. It's hard to pretend to be even a little mad when she's so outrageous.
You can't wait to be in her bed.
She's already beginning to leave, waltzing away a few steps ahead of you. You were hoping she wouldn't go so soon, playing hard to get even when you've been in her vehicles more than you've been in your apartment recently.
"Come on. Let me show you to your room. You look worn out."
You start following her anyway as she pushes off of the counter and begins to enter her hall-maze again. You are worn out. That doesn't mean you want this to be over. You only just got her again.
Wait did she say?
"My room? Wait. No."
You plant your feet firmly on the floor. "...I don't want my own room. I want to stay with you."
She turns on her heel. Swallows in the silence between the two of you, you're slightly further away than you initially thought, it feels tense again. Like maybe you had imagined all the fun you had at the movies and the club. Maybe the taco wrapper is all the evidence that's left of that.
Your eyes focus on the way her body moves under the dim light. The waves of her hair as the highlights catch under the lamps. It's messy. Messier than usual maybe. You know she's been running her hands through it the way she does when she's overwhelmed. You could untangle it, if she'd let you, you doubt she will.
Her posture is perfect, but there's something behind her eyes that's clearly bothering her. Maybe it's just all of the recent problems. Maybe all of the problems aren't just recent, and she hasn't lived a normal and relaxing life since...well, ever.
There's no way you're sleeping without her.
"I just thought you might want your own space, because of tonight and because of—" her eyes wander from your face to your half-empty bag "—all of your luggage."
The smirk from her own joke is plastered on her face as she spins, contunuing down the hallway, past several oak doors and various paintings you'll get a better look at tomorrow.
"Please can I stay with you?"
Your voice comes out smaller and more distant than you intended. She doesn't turn back, she doesn't reply. Just a swig of the wine and finally stopping at one of the many doors.
Agatha turns the doorknob, the house responds with a croak as it settles. Like it's welcoming you.
Her hand ushers you inside the room, your feet finding the soft dark carpet as you brush past her into the space.
Is this the guest room? She's really going to make you beg to sleep with her after everything?
You are not above begging.
She knows it.
"As if i'd let you sleep on your own." She slams the door shut behind her.
You nearly pass out at the tenderness of her words as a lamp shaped like a paper lantern casts a warm glow across the bed. The sheets crisp white and delicate looking like a clean hotel.
Your body aches for it almost as much as it aches for her.
You throw yourself down, sitting at the edge of the bed and kicking off your shoes like this is the most natural thing in the world. Like being swept away to the CEO's island after a break-in is just a normal weekday afternoon. The people at work wouldn't believe this. And if they did, they'd call you some help immediately.
The sheets smell too fresh. Too clean, ironed and perfect.
She didn’t sleep here last night.
You should be thinking about how she got into this mess. About the danger that comes with being with her. About her secrets, her temper, your differences. About what she was doing last night, and what she'll do tomorrow to solve it.
But all you can think about is hoping she doesn't spill red wine on the white sheets as she leans over you, taller now you're sat. Moving in close until she's a shallow breath away from you.
The heat from her skin in your breathing space.
You swallow. Not sure what's happening now.
Not wanting to look stupid from asking.
And not wanting to apologize in case she tells you off.
You brace as Agatha Harkness places a delicate kiss on your forehead.
Your body relaxes so much at the unusually sweet gesture you practically melt into the high thread count beneath you.
"I'm glad you're safe." She whispers, her lips are soft against you before she's standing tall again like she's cracking her shoulders. "...And that..." She clears her throat, almost kind of awkwardly. "...That you're here."
"...Me too."
You want a thousand more kisses.
You don't want to scare her off.
"It was scary. At the penthouse. I didn't know, I mean— I didn't know what was going on for a second. I thought that would be the best place to be, you know? I hope I didn't intrude going into your house like that."
Agatha turns, facing away from you as she takes off her jacket and delicately hangs it over the back of a chair. Her thin wine glass placed on top of her dresser next to some objects you can’t quite make out. Maybe a photograph, definitely some books.
You don't mention how you snooped through her stuff. You just open your bag, tipping the contents onto her bed to grab one of the many snacks that fall out onto the sheets. You are so glad you bought a lot of these things.
If you weren't so emotionally and physically drained you'd probably feel odd. Like you're intruding. Like you shouldn't be treating her space like this. Like you don't belong.
Instead you finally feel the familiar domestic comfort of the woman you're dating.
Even if she's not going to let you call it that.
But two dates is dating.
That's just science. Or dating law.
Agatha is rolling up her sleeves as she takes off her necklace and unclasps her bracelet. You watch her as she unwinds for the evening. Her hair flows down her back as she faces away from you like it's the most natural thing in the world.
You realize that outside of sex, Agatha seems to mostly get undressed in different rooms.
Her taking off her jewellery feels soft...and unusual.
In a good way.
"It should have been safe. It's never happened before...I have top notch security." She doesn't sound comforted by the thought of the security, she suddenly sounds extremely frustrated.
"I pay the best of the best to watch over all of my belongings. My safety. Fucking—"
Her voice is louder like she's remembering how she feels in real time. Her house. Her things. Her safety. Her girl.
"One of them has seriously got some explaining to do, I don't even know where to begin with him."
You rummage through your snack pile for something that'll curb your stress cravings. Although her talking about the incident as she undresses, discussing it like she has a plan, even though each word feels louder and angrier than the last, it feels like you can let her take over and passenger princess this whole runaway thing.
"And for god's sake, they found out he knew the code because someone had left little melted chocolate fingerprints on the keypad, I mean can you believe it?! It's probably the fucking housekeeper! I knew she was—"
She turns as if on cue to see you holding a Snickers.
You didn't even register what she was saying. Fuck. Wait. Is she serious? You were that focused on getting out of your apartment you didn't even notice? Are you five?! Wait. Did you even eat any candy before you left? Should you defend yourself? It's been so intense you can't even remember.
You want to drop the chocolate. You don't. You clutch it tighter like it'll protect you from her wrath, her eyes are angrier than you've seen her in a while, vicious and furious as she marches over to you, her eyes flickering between the snack pile and your face.
You miss the forehead kiss.
"Are you fucking serious?!"
She raises her hand without thinking about it as you sit below her, you gasp, eyes closing quickly as you brace for impact.
You're not sure whether you flinched or not as you cower beneath her like a terrified animal.
Agatha settles for a growl and an angry grasp of the air instead of instinctively hitting you.
"How old are you? You're getting melted chocolate all over my penthouse and now you're bringing it to my island? Why do you even have all of this?”
You shy away.
“Look at me when I’m taking to you!"
"I don't— I don't know!"
Don't cry.
Don't cry.
Don't bring up the m&ms you found in her stuff-drawer.
Don’t tell her she’s messier than you’ve ever been.
Don't say it might not have even be you.
"I mean I— I bought it all because I was trying to get your attention, with the credit card. I'm sorry I didn't mean to, I left so quickly I was just...I said I bought food—"
"This isn't food. This is what you bought with my money?"
You're not sure what you're supposed to do now.
"You have no idea how much trouble you're in oh my god."
She paces on the ground, her hand on her forehead.
"Do you know what that penthouse is evaluated at? And you rubbed your little chocolate fingers all over it? I should—"
Don't cry.
Don't mention you do know what it's evaluated at because you were literally Googling it this morning.
Don't cry.
"—I don't even know what I should do with you. I don't even know."
Her hands are wild in the air and you can tell she's trying to hold back on terrifying you.
You shrink back into yourself. Are you supposed to say something?
"I'm sorry."
She stops. Her nostrils flared as she looks down at you.
"I'm really sorry, he came to my house and I was really scared and...the day before at the club was scary and I just— I just wanted to feel close to you and I wanted snacks I guess and I— I left my house all stressed and nervous I didn't even think about it I didn't even notice I feel so stupid!"
You can't tell yourself not to cry again, it's already too late as the tears stream down your face. They're hot against your flushed skin as the overwhelm of the last few days all floods out of you at once.
And Agatha just watches.
Just for a minute.
Just blank behind the eyes in a way that's new and unreadable.
Both hands grabbing the air as she watches you break down on her bed.
The silence is uncomfortable and you hesitate in your realization that this can't be the relationship you need.
Agatha swallows, sits.
"Oh."
The weight of her body settles in beside you on the bed as her arm wraps around your waist once again and the familiar sense of comfort returns.
You should flinch. You don't. You nuzzle closer to her like she didn't just hold herself back from hurting you. Your mascara on her cream sweater.
"My baby."
Her voice is slightly above a whisper as you sob onto her cashmere. "I shouldn't have..." But it trails off when she can't decide whether to apologize or make an excuse for her behavior.
Should you have even come here? Leaving behind Maggie and Jake and the only normality you had left to be here with her?
Her hand doesn't move in a way that's relaxing. It stays rigid like she's not sure how to hold you, she just knows she has to.
And although you expect her to pull away, Agatha makes no attempt at moving when you can finally breathe again.
She takes a deep breath.
"I shouldn't have raised my voice like that."
You sniff. "It's okay."
"...I just, I'm sorry...I usually wait for you to leave."
"I know."
She nods as she takes a second before moving off of you, her hand flexing as she picks one of the snacks from your pile. You aren't sure what will happen now as the air feels lighter, but not quite right.
You accept her apology.
You don't mention the S word.
She's ripping the packet open before you can lecture her about her health again.
"You should have brought the magazine too."
You blink.
"What?"
"The Forbes." She takes a bite of the candy bar. "You should have brought it. Did you see how good I looked in that photo?"
You did.
"How...did you know about that?"
"Did you like the interview? Or just the photos?"
You laugh, taking a bite of your own. Your breathing back to normal. It's okay. Everything is okay.
"I mean, I liked the photos the interview was..."
Agatha stands, pulling her sweater over her head and throwing it on the ground, the chocolate held between her teeth.
She's not wearing a bra and the dim lighting shows off the muscles in her shoulders.
You try not to stare as she opens up a mahogany set of draws, pulling out a black vest and slipping it on.
There's no fucking way you're going to sleep next to her like this tonight oh my god. Will this ever begin to feel normal? Will your moments with her ever feel ordinary, even when they are?
"I mean, it was fake. Obviously."
"Fake?" Her face is a dramatic shocked expression as she turns to look at you. "You think I'm fake?"
She makes you giggle like a baby.
"I mean, I've spent time with you. I think you were pretending to be somebody else. Which makes sense, I mean you're in the public eye I wouldn't—"
"Stop talking."
You nod.
“Do you have pajamas in your snack bag or do you need a t-shirt? I don't really have anything else in this room." She rummages aimlessly as you try not to stare at her biceps. "I can go find something. A dress shirt, or—”
The concept of what’s even in your bag falls right out of your head at the mention of her giving you a shirt.
“—Can I have a t-shirt?”
She’s already sifting through her drawer again before you finish the sentence, fabric of different colors squished all around as she finds something for you.
In a second she’s flung a large grey piece of cotton at you, and you’re glad your reflexes don’t fail you as you reach up to shield your face from it. Spreading the fabric open you get a good look at the yellow faded print.
Yacht Club Italiano '93.
Like something you'd find in the back of a thrift store. But you know she wouldn't shop there. Agatha probably doesn't even know what a thrift store is. This is a memory. A memory of hers, draped across your skin.
The woman from the magazine. Your boss, cold and cruel. The woman people refuse to make eye contact with as she walks through the corridor. The woman who owns this house, and this land, and this city, is eating a KitKat as you get changed into her Italian yacht club shirt from 1993.
Your clothes feel suddenly uncomfortable as you stand to change, Agatha slips out of her pants and leaves them in a lump on the ground. You're too tired to tell her to use the hamper.
You're too distracted by the skin of her thighs to see when she finishes the KitKat and instantly reaches for another candy bar, before pushing the rest of them onto the floor in one big careless swoop.
The cotton slips over your skin like it was always meant to be there.
Did she really wear this in the 90s? Does she wear it still? Does she keep all of her old clothes? It dawns on you you've always seen Agatha as so current, so present. Always this terrifying, this powerful and this perfect. Even when she tells you stories about when she was younger, or even when your eyes scanned that photograph of her and Rio. She just seems so...constant? Always knowing exactly what to say and do. Always having this element of control, despite you knowing that isn't true.
"How old were you in 1993?" You ask as you slip under the covers. You should really brush your teeth after the sugar but the thought of getting up again makes you feel like you might die.
"Twenty."
Agatha isn't looking at you, she's fishing through a different drawer for a makeup wipe and begins rubbing her eyes much, much too hard.
The stress of your day and the anxiety of the evening rub away with her mascara. You're not sure why she bothered wearing any makeup, or such a precise outfit. Unless it was for you? No. That's a silly thought.
You snuggle into the softness of the white sheets as the old shirt holds you in it's thirty years of memories.
"Did you enjoy it? The yacht club?"
Agatha had mentioned she could drive boats, she must have done it more recently than 1993 though.
She hums, long and slow as she leaves the makeup wipe on the dresser and takes a couple steps over to the bed. She's so beautiful in the light. Her hair waved and wild as she fixes her parting.
She makes you feel feral.
The sheets are soft under your fingers as you pull back the covers for her to get in next to you.
"No. Not really."
Of course she'd give you the shirt with the shitty memory.
You're not sure whether to pry as her head hits the pillow. Her side profile a perfect series of backlit shapes as you watch her think. The lamp glow bouncing off of the bridge of her nose and her cheekbones.
"It's ok. You don't have to talk about it."
"Mhm. It's not entirely bad. It wasn't my intention to give you that one. I didn't look at the print."
Well now she's just being ominous.
"Then?"
"They just didn't like me, at the yacht club. It's stupid." If you could go back in time and start a riot in the Italian yacht club in 1993 maybe you would. But you can't. So you stay quiet and let her relive the memory. "...Well. I mean. I don't know. I probably deserved it."
That's probably true. She slides her hand over her face.
"But you're so friendly and welcoming?" You smile, catching your lip under your teeth.
"I know right?" Her hand reaches out and forcibly turns out the light so you can't look at her. Either it's one of those ones that's touch sensitive or she's just murdered it.
You shuffle a little closer to her body. You were hoping to be in her bed, but this is more than you could have ever asked for.
"Then what happened?" You don't touch her, not right away. Settling your skin in the warmth that’s radiating off of her.
"I just...I got out of boarding school when I was eighteen. The yacht club was something my mother signed me up for after she refused to let me buy a boat. I should have known it'd be agonizing."
"I thought you liked boats and stuff?" It's hard to avoid your words spilling out like you're talking to a toddler.
"I do. Like boats....and stuff." Her tone mocks your voice, before she clears her throat like she's in too deep to back out of this conversation.
"I don't know...I think they thought I was bad. Pompous and annoying...I liked the sailing. They stopped inviting me to their dinners and group activities after the first day. I spent the rest of my time there on my own."
If you could go back in time and start a riot in the Italian yacht club in 1993 absolutely you would.
Really, you should be asking questions about the poker club. The island. The break-in. But you want nothing more than to imagine a twenty year old Agatha Harkness buying a t-shirt because she wants to learn to sail.
You pity her.
You know she doesn't like that.
"Isn't everyone at a yacht club pompous and annoying?"
In the dark you hear her raising both of her arms up, before slamming them back on the bed.
"Yes! I'd hear them whispering rumors in the hallways in exactly the same way I'd heard them when I was at the school and I just—" she takes a sharp breath, her words are faster like she can't quite catch up to what she's going to say.
It's unlike her.
She's usually so in control.
"—and it’s exactly the same way my mother would talk about me, exactly the same way they talk about me in the headquarters and I think maybe—" you're startled as she stands too quickly, blinding you suddenly when she turns the lamp back on.
"—if everyone thinks i'm so fucking terrible already, maybe it's easier if I just am."
You're not sure how this all started from your yacht club shirt, shielding your eyes with your arm as they adjust to the sudden change, sitting up you watch her grab her robe from the hook on the back of the door.
"What? Agatha, where are you going?"
"For something stronger than wine."
For the amount of drinking Agatha does you've yet to see her properly intoxicated, but the combination of anger and whiskey sounds relatively terrible for the two of you right now.
"Don't. Please. Please just stay here?" You gesture to the bed, patting it which you regret instantly when she her eyes turn cold like something inside of her has been switched on.
"I need to calm down."
"Have you tried breathing? That always helps me?"
Her smile sits the wrong way around on her face. The blues of her eyes look almost wet as she swallows. Is she about to scream or cry?
"Breathing? What are you, a shrink?"
You knew you shouldn't have suggested that, crawling to the edge of the bed to try and reach for her.
She flinches away.
"Please just come back to bed."
"You talk to me like...I don't even know." Like she's important? Like she's more than the mask she puts on? "It's ridiculous."
And just when everything feels so right, she loves to make it feel so wrong.
"Everything they say about me is true, you know that, right?"
You clear your throat in a room that suddenly feels too quiet.
"No. It's not. I've met you."
"No you haven't."
Will this relationship always be like this?
Your heart race increases like you're prey, when it suddenly dawns on you that you might be. Agatha drops the robe, leaning against the door when she sees you waiting for her.
Not leaving, not cowering. Waiting. Kneeling at the edge of the bed without even being aware of where your body is, and what it's doing.
"Well then I want to."
"You don't."
Her voice is low.
"Why?"
Maybe you shouldn't be poking her, encouraging her when the fire is behind her eyes and there's nobody around to save you. But you're hers. And whether she knows it or not, she's yours.
"You wouldn't want to be here with me."
"I always want to be where you are. I see the good in you."
She scoffs. "There is no good…You're so naive. Coming here. Now you couldn't leave even if you wanted to."
Your skin feels hot. You can't tell why.
"Agatha. Stop trying to push me away. It's not going to work."
"You know what people say about me. Online. In the newspapers. At the galas when they think I can't hear them."
A few steps closer, and she's able to reach out and touch you, holding your chin in place to look at her, too soft for the spite in the words. "At the club...and on Wanda's island."
"Why do you let people believe those things about you?" The words come out half-baked.
Croaky and more nervous than you perhaps realized.
Her grip is firmer as you grab onto the sheets beneath you, balancing yourself as she stares upon you with an expression you can't read. Somewhere between awe, desire and pure, true disgust.
"You hear all of those things and you still follow me everywhere...like a sad little fucking puppy."
One hard shove to your chest and you're flat on the bed, her frame climbing onto yours. Straddling your hips. Her hands finding your wrists, pinning you down as her face hovers above yours.
That look in her eyes.
Perhaps that look is pity. Pity you can't see the truth. Pity you've fallen for her charms and constant disarming. Pity you've ignored the warnings from others. Ignored the warnings from Agatha. Pity she can't truly respect you, because you're just that pathetic.
"I don't believe them." You try again, harder. the words feel firmer in your mouth this time. "I don't believe what anyone says about you."
You aren't sure if you're telling the truth or not.
"Then you're dumber than I thought you were." But her lips are inches away from yours. And deep down, you don't think she means that either.
Her hands are slow and controlled as they move from your wrists to your neck. Wrapping around your throat softly like a warning, eyes pale like she might kill you, or kiss you. Maybe you'd let her do both.
Her hands rest. No pressure. Just the promise of what she could do to you if she wanted to.
"And it wouldn't matter if they were true." You breathe heavy, in time with her. She grimaces.
And this time, you know you are telling the truth.
The smile that spreads across her lips is a cruel one, and this is not the same woman that kissed your forehead earlier.
"You don't even care?"
"No."
Her fingers tighten, slowly, steady. The smell of wine on her lips.
"If they were true, you wouldn't want me to let go of you right now?"
You shift beneath her.
"No."
"Does anybody even know you're here?"
"...no."
"The tallest penthouse. A private island. Nobody even knows you're with me...where exactly would you be able to go? Your apartment is in my name."
The vein in her forehead is more prominent than it was a half hour ago, but as you lay beneath her, focused on the tone of her words and the venom in her voice.
"I fucking own you."
You still feel safe.
"I know. You can't keep me away from you."
"Does anybody even know you belong to me?"
"...No. Nobody."
Agatha's lips crash into yours before you're able to process what's happening, the taste of merlot and lies and things she can't or won't tell you.
And you still see the good in her.
If the world says you’re wicked, why not just be wicked?
Her tongue is in your mouth, deeper as your fists find her hair.
She doesn't like that, releasing the grip on your neck and finding your wrists again. Interlocking her fingers with your own as she grinds her body against yours.
"They will." She breathes when you break free from her lips.
Another kiss. Heat and fire and the thin fabric of her vest and yacht club italiano separating you from her.
"I thought it was a secret." You breathe, mouth dry.
"I have too many secrets."
You don't care. You want the gardens of the chateau with her. You want to see the yacht club anyway. The french attic. Every house of hers in every country. Every terrible club in every terrible neighborhood she bought. All of it.
Agatha shifts her weight, her bare thigh slipping between yours, a gentle moan spilling into your mouth as she kisses you again. Grinding her body against yours as you push against her. The fabric of her underwear is soaked as she moves against your thigh.
You know she can feel you too.
"My poor little slut. You're awfully wet for someone who should be scared of me."
You gasp against her lips.
"I'm not scared of you."
"God. Shut up."
Agatha climbs off of you abruptly, watching you lean back onto your arms as she peels off her underwear, probably dumping it on the floor with everything else.
"Lay back down."
You obey as she crawls over you again, continuing to move until her thighs are either side of your head.
You swallow.
You don't move.
She's dripping.
Fuck. Settling down on your mouth until all you can taste is her, all you can breathe is her and even if you have been manipulated, you don't care about that either.
She's everywhere, your hands on the soft of her thighs as she rides against the flat of her tongue. The taste of her consuming you, looking up at her head thrown back. Hair wild and free. Lips parted.
Your cover star. Your boss. Your everything.
"This is the only way I can get you to shut up, huh?"
You try to talk. You can't. She groans against the vibration of your lips against her clit.
Her mess dripping down your chin.
"Mommy's pretty little doll loves saying all the wrong things. Lay there and be useful."
And you do.
As if you'd want to be anywhere else.
She's rough. Her hand reaching to find something to grab onto. Your hair, the wall, she settles on the bed frame, shifting her weight as she forces herself against your lips. Your air overtaken by her.
"You don't even know what you're saying. Just that fucking desperate for me."
Her nipples hard under the thin fabric of her vest, but you don't dare try to touch.
"My perfect, pathetic girl."
Her thighs lock against your cheeks as her moans get louder above you. Your fingers in the soft skin of her thighs, smooth and warm. Her legs shudder as her breaths stutter.
"Fuck—stay fucking still"
Not being able to breathe is a privilege when it feels like this. When it's all for her pleasure.
“Ggonna come on your pretty lips baby—fuck—" her voice is higher, weaker "—so glad you came.”
Her cheeks flushed as her hands move back to her hair, pushing it out of her face as her forehead wrinkles. That face you've come to love. The silence that comes right before the cries.
She shakes, pornographic noises erupting from her, eyes forced shut as her movements become more erratic.
Throbbing against your tongue as she finishes making use of your face.
You can’t help but gasp when she shifts back a little.
Her breathing loud as she wipes the sweat from her eyebrows with the back of her hand.
“Jesus Christ.”
With your eyes closed you can feel her climbing off of you, your lips covered in her.
She's silent only for a moment as her chest rises and falls.
“You look pretty like that.”
You swallow.
“Thank you.”
The ache between your own thighs is unbearable as she settles herself back on the pillow besides you.
It’s hard not to squirm as she catches her breath and wets her own lips, she notices without even having to take a proper look at you, obviously.
“Aw.” She coos, rolling over to get a better look at your soaked face and desperate, pleading eyes. “Is someone feeling needy?”
Embarrassingly so.
“I— yeah”
“Well, you did come all this way…” she taunts, propping herself up on one arm, her palm flat against the yacht shirt as she feels your nipples harden beneath her touch. Your skin alert as she drags her experienced fingers across your stomach, walking down to grip your thigh.
Goosebumps left in her path.
“…I bet you’re already leaking for me...You always are.”
That is an understatement.
Her fingernails tease across your skin, clit aching with desperation as she reaches under your waistband again.
Gasping softly when she feels you against her.
“My my, is this all for mommy?”
“Yeah— yes.” You nod your head furiously, bucking up into her, the taste of her still on your tongue. Desperate for something, anything.
“Even after everything?”
"Always."
She glides against your clit too easily, the pressure perfect like she's done this a thousand times. Like she knows you inside and out. Circling slowly, and then too gently. Too precise. Too much and not enough.
"All alone with me." She laughs, biting her lip as she watches you fall apart for her, and only ever her. "Nowhere to go."
You can't tell if she's trying to scare you off again.
"I just want you."
"...You have me...The things I'll do to you."
Her fingers dip lower, collecting your wetness between them as she presses against your entrance, teasing gently before following the curve of your body further. Placing the gentlest pressure against your ass.
"Aw…You're so wet my cute little thing, I could probably slip right in...I never did get to see that pretty diamond..."
God. You almost forgot about that. Her touch is so much gentler than when you tried that. Maybe she should help you next time.
"But your mistress needs to keep you nice and ready for when she wants to use you, you understand don't you?"
You nod, choosing words when her eyes shift colder.
"Yea. Yes. I understand."
"You know how stressed out I get during meetings." She purrs. "I want you to be the perfect assistant. My perfect little toy."
The pressure of her finger is more intense as she pushes against you, the feeling not foreign but certainly less familiar. Her eyes are on you, looking for any suggestion of a safe word or hesitation.
"Are you going to let me touch you here? You'll like it. I always know best, don't I?"
You nod, a firm and pleading "yes" when she hisses in response.
To your surprise she removes her hands from you, only to flip you onto your stomach in a quick, controlled move. Her grip already pulling your panties down before you can get comfortable on your front.
"Mommy wants to see everything she owns."
Exposed and trembling as her hands return to you, kneading the soft curve of your ass before she's right where she wants to be.
She's right.
She slides in easily.
Slowly, little by little. A wide soft smile painted on her face as she watches you relax around her. Your head turned to the side, straining to try and see her as she takes what she wants.
She thrusts just a little, enjoying the visual of you letting her decide what’s best for you.
"Oh." You gasp, reaching for her. Her eyes on yours as she moves a little more, and a little more after, picking up the pace as your brows furrow.
"There's my girl." She purrs as her thumb grazes your clit.
You swallow the spit on your tongue, tasting her as she watches you unravel.
"You're doing so well hon, fuck...I can't wait to feel this tight little ass stretch around my cock while I'm on a stupid fucking client call."
You clench around her at her words, at the thought of being so perfect for her. Picking up her dry cleaning, bending over her desk, and getting right back to making photocopies when she's done.
Your moans become more and more raw as she fucks you harder, the sound of skin on skin and ragged breath as she crawls palms your flesh with her free hand.
"There you go honey. My good girl. Do you love it?"
She can tell your close, she always can. But your body is so sensitive, she could be doing anything and it would be enough.
"Answer me slut, do you love it?"
"I— yes."
The pressure on your clit is too much as she pushes you over the edge, she gasps as you tense around her.
"Aw, you do?"
Your body hot and tense as she slips out of you agonizingly slowly, her thumb gentle as you ride out the aftershocks.
Until it's just the two of you in the silence again.
Mouth dry as she looks down at you. Agatha watches you as your heartbeat slows, sitting back on her heels.
You wish you could read her mind.
"Well..."
She starts, and you know the rest can't be good because the only possible thing you want to do next is go to sleep.
"…We should probably go get cleaned up."
The worst thing anyone could ever have suggested.
"I really don't want to do that." You need a glass of water.
"You have to." Her tone is stern, your body feels like jello. "Do I have to bend you over my knee?"
"Maybe."
"What if I lure you in?"
She's Scooby snacking you right now and you know it.
"With what?"
"I'll give you a t-shirt with a good memory."
You sit bolt upright.
"And you'll tell me about the memory?"
She rolls her eyes but she's already standing and opening the drawer.
"Yeah. Whatever I'll tell you about the memory. Just take a shower."
"Will you shower with me?"
She takes a deep breath.
"...no. I'll meet you here in 10."
---
The shower is scalding hot and you can't quite figure out the dials, opting to pre squeeze the gel on your body, and hop in fast and smart. You'd ask for help if Agatha wasn't so anti showering with you.
But even though you want it all, the roughness, the softness, the domestic moments and the care. You want to respect her boundaries.
So you spin fast in the shower and hope you're clean enough to pass potential inspection.
Does she shower with it this hot? You thought she was from Salem, not hell.
You're in the towel before you can ponder anything else. Drying yourself off quickly so you can skip to the part with the t-shirt and the pretty cheekbones of your boss.
She's already on the bed with messy hair and the same vest when you return, making you wonder if she even showered or whether she just wanted you clean.
But as you get closer, the smell of freshness radiates off of her. Expensive bath products like she's a human spa.
You're sure you'll grow to love it, but it all you want are the smell of cherries and coffee and wine.
The t-shirt is already laid out as Agatha scrolls through her phone. Does she even get signal all the way out here? It occurs to you that you know nothing about owning islands in any way, and have one million questions she'll hate you for.
The shirt on the bed is black, less faded, with a small chest design.
Employee of the month, 2015. The company logo right underneath.
"What is this?" You ask, picking it up and taking a closer look. This thing is hardly worn.
"It's your happy memory shirt."
She's still on her phone as you drop the towel and slip it over your head.
That gets her attention.
The phone is on charge in an instant as she watches you climb back onto the bed. It's even softer than you remember and it must be so, so late by now.
"I didn't know we had employee of the month shirts." You state flat and confused. is this a joke? This is a joke.
"We don't."
Agatha climbs under the covers, seemingly uninterested in telling you her story.
"So....story?"
The eye roll again.
"I had an advisor in 2015, because we had terrible employee retention and I couldn't figure out why."
She's certainly the why.
You don't tell her that.
"He said if we gave people employee of the month stuff, they'd feel happier. They'd want to stay longer."
This somehow doesn't make any sense still. Who was employee of the month this year?
"And did it work?"
"Well I gave myself the shirt and fired him. So I don't know."
"Why do you even want the shirt?!" You can't help but laugh as you crawl under the covers opposite her. She's ridiculous.
"Well I was the best employee, and I hated that guy so... We never did it again. I guess you're employee of the month now."
"Wow thanks boss this means so much to me. I love it."
"Does it make you want to work harder for me?"
"Yes that's absolutely why I work so hard for you, not any other reason."
“I picked you to be employee of the month because you never spill a drop of coffee when you get it from the store. You’re great at replying to emails and my plane journeys are always perfectly stocked.”
“Any other reason?”
“Hmm. Let me think…no.”
The tender playfulness between you settles. It feels comfortable. Right.
And kind of like you're at a sleepover.
Your skin feels on edge, in a good way. Butterflies in your chest that risk escaping as she suddenly reaches out and pulls you closer to her by your waist.
You place your arms on her chest as she holds you close.
You want to poke fun, and you also don't want to draw any attention to her actions.
"I'm just cold." She states like she can read your mind. "Don't get used to it."
But she's warm. She’s so warm. You’re both probably too warm to be this close.
Her hair still smells like cherries and salt.
"Can I ask you a question?'
If you focus you might be able to hear her brain work.
"No."
"What if it's an easy one."
She sighs. You can feel her hands clench for a moment.
"Okay. What is it?"
"What perfume do you wear? I like it...it’s so sweet."
"I have it custom made from an Italian company. I went to the factory, to sample the scents I liked."
She swallows in the silence that follows.
“Before you had to leave…” she starts up again, half awkward and half sleepy “…I had fun. On our date. Like I was young and stupid instead of old and stupid.”
“You’re not stupid.”
“…neither are you.” She blinks slowly and softly. Her body relaxing into the bed. “…but I make stupid decisions.”
“Me too.”
Maybe that’s why you’re both right here right now. Or maybe you can tell yourself that. You both know the clear, obvious reason.
“Can I ask about—"
The blackmail. Your mother. The man. The accusations she’d half confirmed were true.
“No. Not right now...”
It’s frustrating, it’s scary.
“…please.”
She’s too soft to argue with.
“Okay.”
But as her hands hold you close to her chest, and as you settle in to sleep close to the woman you’ve been chasing. Your brain has the same things on repeat.
Lies. Fraud. Other women. Murder. Secrets. Dirty money. More secrets. Agatha’s terrible memories.
“Tell me something nice about you?” You ask, voice slow and sleepy.
“Something nice? No.”
“Please. You have stuff to say, you’re nice.”
“I am not nice.”
“You’re so nice. I think you’re nice.”
“I think you’re tired.”
You are tired.
You can’t sleep.
“Tell me about your rabbit.”
Agatha leans over and slaps the lamp shut, you’re crawling over to her and filling the space before she even has a chance to adjust.
“My rabbit?”
“You told me you had a rabbit.”
She sighs.
“I have a rabbit. As in currently.”
The gap between you opens again as you pull back to try and see her face in the darkness. Moonlight shifts through the curtains just a little, her face fresh but exhausted. The tiny lines on the side of her lips.
“You have a rabbit?”
“Yes.”
“You have a rabbit. As in now. The present. And he’s alive?”
She makes a face you can’t quite see in the shadows.
“What you think I’m nice but not nice enough to have a pet?”
“I thought you’d like, have a goldfish you killed by accident. Maybe a scary dog. Oh, or a cat. You guys could ignore each other.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Rabbits are so floppy and cute!”
You squeal as she groans. The woman who made you cower earlier has a little soft friend. Unless she’s lying again.
“Shut up.”
“Oh my god and you’re serious? Where is he, what’s his name?”
“He’s in France. And I’m not telling you his name.”
Her sleepy voice is almost as cute as the rabbit information.
“Oh you’ll fly me to your island but you won’t tell me the name of your secret rabbit?”
“He’s not a secret. He just didn’t come up. And don’t get too attached to him. You don’t even know him.”
Is she defending herself or the rabbit?
“You don’t get to know rabbits. They start off great and only get better. Unless he’s like, evil. Does he bite?”
“He’s not evil and he doesn’t bite. I mean, unless he’s has evil thoughts. He seems normal. He just sort of, I don’t know. Hops around.”
“You let him LOOSE?”
“Oh my god. Yeah. I’m not gonna cage the rabbit...Then where would I put you?”
You’d playfully smack her but you don’t want to discourage her from that idea
“Why did you get a rabbit?”
“Can a woman not want a rabbit? What’s with all the questions? Go to sleep.”
She pulls you in again so you’re pressed against her, despite her words sounding more serious.
“Okay.”
You close your eyes, breathing her in. The security you needed last night.
“…why are you so surprised?”
She wants to keep talking.
She wants to keep talking.
“I’m just so excited imagining you talking to a little rabbit. Being all cute with it. I can’t wait to see this.”
“Oh I see, you think you’re gonna get to meet him.”
“Well when you take me to France duh I’ll meet him. He lives there, Agatha.”
She scoffs.
“We can talk about it. Go to sleep.”
"Why did you lie in your interview? You pre-approved the questions."
"Go to sleep." She grunts.
"You said you listen to podcasts. You hate podcasts."
"I hate everything."
"You like rabbits."
She shuffles, her grip loosens and tenses again, like she seriously debated ending the cuddle over this.
"Go. To sleep."
"I've never seen you eat a healthy breakfast."
"Coffee is healthy."
"Coffee with syrup is not healthy. And that's not breakfast. Breakfast is like, an egg or—"
"—Stop talking about the interview. I say that stuff so people get off my back."
"Because you're famous?"
You tense your whole body in case she hits you.
"I'm actually going to kill you dead if you don't go to sleep right now."
The wind picks up outside. The sound of it against the windows, the sound of Agatha’s breathing slowing, calming. You hope you sleep before she starts snoring.
Her sheets under your skin as you rest in her safety, knowing tomorrow you’ll need to have a conversation.
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