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robinavitchswhore · 2 days ago

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Fat cock Robby is my only thought.

Holding You, Holding Me / M. Robinavitch

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Three: stop waiting

summary: your parents’ wedding anniversary brings you and your mom’s friend closer to each other, closer than it should be, but there is no harm if no one finds out, right?

warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut (who said that???), piv, protected sex, kind of angst cause they argue, reader makes Robby jealous, fingering, down bad robby, English isn’t my first language<3

word count: 4.4k+

If you wanna be tagged in the next chapters, fill this form<3

an: so sorry for the late update!!! new chapters WILL come faster and I hope you enjoy it hehehehe let’s start our secret relationship AAAAA!! Comments are so so sooooo appreciated!!! Talk to me about this fic I’d love to know what you guys think!!

I could win, I could lose But that's a look I can't refuse

Robby wants to die, so to speak. There is nothing more embarrassing than mustering all the courage he had to end up here, in front of Dana’s house, waiting for someone to open the door and hand him his shirt and wallet.

He shouldn’t be here; he could have easily asked Dana or Benji to bring his stuff to the hospital or drop at his place, but no, he is here with shallow breaths leaving his mouth as he taps his foot on the ground.

But it is more than that; he is scared. The way he left you on your couch has been haunting him for days. If Dana finds out, he is screwed for something he didn’t do and hurting you at the same time. But even the fear of his friend doesn’t compare to the hollow feeling inside his chest.

He didn’t think losing you would make him spiral into a worse version of himself that night. He couldn’t sleep for days, and still can’t. The look of defeat and disbelief you had on your face kept him up for hours, twisting the knife in his heart — the knife he put in there by not giving in to his feelings.

He clears his throat, raising his hand to knock on the door. He drops his arm and waits for someone to answer, rolling his shoulders back to relieve the tension. He is anxious, and it is making his neck itch in discomfort; he resists the urge to reach and scratch it or run his hand through his hair again.

Maybe he should just go back; no one’s probably home anyway. Dana and her husband are out, you are at your place, hopefully, and your sister is with her friends, he assumes. But fuck, is he wrong big time.

“Robby?”

He can die right now — not just a wish anymore, it’s a possibility — he should, though, because the way you utter his name as soon as he decides to leave makes him halt in his steps, stopping instantly like you have shot him in the knee.

He doesn’t say anything, he can’t even if he wants to, because when he finally turns around, his mouth goes dry. You look beautiful, and shocked to your core. He scoffs internally at the thought of Dana not informing anyone about him coming there, but the way you look at him makes him think that maybe she’s told you, and that’s why you’re here.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he swallows the lump in his throat. He usually isn’t nervous around you; there has never been a reason to be, but now? Yeah, he is near having a panic attack with how fast his pulse is rising.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you wait for him to respond, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Neither did I,” he shrugs, giving you a lazy smile. Get it together, man. Even if things go south more than they already have between the two of you, you will always have him as someone you can confide in, but that’s what he thinks, and it is probably far from the reality.

He walks back towards the door, standing at the bottom of the two stairs, looking up at you, finding you already picking at the skin of your fingers. He reaches to grab your hand and stop you from hurting yourself, but you shake his hand off.

“I just want to–“

“I know what you wanted to do,” you say, gaze hardening as you look down into his big brown eyes, “But you lost the privilege already.”

“I’m sorry–“

“Don’t, Robby.” You start tapping one of your feet on the ground, rubbing your palms on your shorts to wipe off the sweat. He knows he has fucked up, but this? To see you being anxious because of him? That is probably enough to put him in a psych ward. “What do you want?”

“I left my shirt and wallet here,” he retrieves his hand, scratching the back of his neck while he tries not to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness before pushing both fists into the pocket of his jeans, “From the night of the party–“

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” you sigh deeply before walking back into the house, leaving the door open for him to follow, and he does like a lost puppy, taking off his shoes and running after you, “I don’t know where they are, and no one told me you’d come so you gotta wait till I find them.”

“I thought Dana would say something, because I called her today and told her I’d come…” he says, unsure of his own words because he doesn’t know how you will react.

He has never been like this around you, not even before you grew close to each other, especially not before the party night. You were close, so close sometimes Jack would tease him about it, and now it causes his heart to ache just by the thought of losing you due to his hesitation.

There are a lot of things at stake for him when it comes to doing something with you. The last two times he was reckless, not in the right head, but fuck, that’s how he usually is when he is around you.

“Well, I didn’t know.” You sound cranky, ready to snap at anyone who dares to say the wrong thing, and Robby has been saying every word wrong since he’s stepped inside the house.

“Can I get you anything?” He watches you go to the kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water and sipping it gently, waiting for him to say something. You turn around, leaning your hip on the counter as you stare at him.

He takes a moment to look at you; you are wearing a set of pink shorts that sit too high on your thighs, making them look extra tantalizing, and top it off with a crop top that clings to your chest and stomach. He needs to take a breath before he embarrasses himself. He hates how hypocritical he is turning out to be — pushing you away then lusting after you — but he would be damned if he didn’t find you beautiful.

“Just my wallet and shirt, please,” he clears his throat, trying his best to look away from the curve of your breasts stretching the top, but when he looks up, you are already looking at him, raising your eyebrows at him before scoffing, putting the glass down, and walking past him toward the staircase.

“Very pathetic by the way, Robby,” you say, probably rolling your eyes at him — he can’t see when he starts following you up to your room, leaving a good distance before your bodies, but that seems to be a very very poor decision. Because now he can’t stop staring at your ass like a pervert, and you know it, perhaps you are doing it on purpose to show him exactly what he is missing out on. “Look, I don’t know where it is, but it should be in my room. That was the last place you were in.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember.”

“Good,” you push the door open and enter the room, starting to look around immediately, “What does it look like?”

“What?” he asks dumbly when he watches you bend down to check the drawers, pinching the bridge of his nose when you crane your neck to look at him, and the way you squeeze your eyes shut makes him even more nervous.

“Your wallet, Robby, I know your shirt is white, so it won’t be that hard to find, but the wallet?”

“It looks like a wallet…?”

“Robby, focus! I know what a wallet is, but I have a few myself, now, please, tell me,” you stand up, caressing your neck with your elbow on your other hand’s forearm, waiting for him to say something.

“Well, it’s black leather, and um, the size of your hand probably,” he nods and drags a hand down his face, watching you sigh and start searching again, “I can help.”

“That’d be appreciated, thank you,” you say, pulling one drawer after another, slamming each one closed when you don’t find his belongings. “How did you pay for that night’s dinner?”

“Ah, I have a spare wallet in my backpack,” he explains, looking inside your bathroom cabinets. “It’s for emergencies, cash only, and I never take it out ‘cause… obviously for this reason.”

“So you do this a lot?” you ask out of nowhere, not even turning around to look at him, “Make out with girls half your age and lose your wallet?”

“I tried to apologize–” “Save your breath, Robby,” you snap at him, finally acting out on the anger that has been brewing inside you since that night, straightening your back while you try to take a deep breath, but he sees how rapidly your chest rises and falls, and you caress your neck to relieve the pressure somehow. “Your apology means nothing when you obviously want something from me.”

“We can’t do anything without feeling guilty!” It’s his turn to snarl, one hand moving up and down over his knuckles while his eyes burn into yours, “I can’t lose Dana, I can’t lose you, if anyone finds out… sweetheart, we’ll be fucked.”

“I don’t know why we are having this conversation again, especially after how you left me! I get it, you’re my mom’s friend yada yada yada, I’ve heard it before, but she wouldn’t have found out! You lost your chance anyway. I’m sick of telling you I want you and receiving nothing back.”

“What do you mean I lost my chance?” his tone is dangerously low, his eyes as hard as steel as he waits for a response, “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“I’m going on a date tonight,” there, out in the open for him to know, “And I have to get ready in a few minutes, so take your shit and leave. Now.”

“A date?” he takes a step closer, and another when he notices you moving back slowly. He licks his lips, head hanging low as he chuckles in disbelief, running a hand over his beard before he looks at you with a dangerous smile, “For fuck sake.”

“What is so shocking about this?” You try to appear unbothered by the proximity between the two of you, but he is backing you up against the wall of your childhood home with ease, “Someone wants me and isn’t afraid of pursuing me. He is more of a man than you’ll ever be.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” he says, watching you gasp as your back hits the wall, hands fisting your shorts in anticipation. He knows you like the back of his hand, even when you mask your feelings. Robby bites his bottom lip, his face turning bright red as he shakes his head at you, “I’m not afraid of pursuing you–”

“Oh, yes, yes, you fucking are,” you step forward, looking into his eyes. If it were any other time, you would be crying, but not now, because the anger inside you is far stronger than the sadness he has caused. “You think you are the only one who will be screwed if someone finds out, but I will lose everything too! I have already lost you before I could have you! Do you think it’s easy for me to have feelings for someone who can’t think about anything but the negative things that might happen–”

“I can’t bear the thought of you hurting because of me–”

“But I already am!” You push him away with your hands on his chest, “Find your stuff and get the fuck out of here, Robby! I can’t be with someone who’s too scared to admit to himself that he likes me. I will go on that date and I desperately hope he is a better man than you’ll ever be!”

You don’t get that far before he grabs you by the arm and drags you back to him, pushing you against the wall before he crashes his lips to yours. Your hands fly to his biceps when he cups your face in his palms, angling your head the way he wants to kiss you.

You don’t have the strength to push him away, you don’t want to do it either. So you kiss him back just as passionately, pulling him closer by an arm around his shoulders, hooking a leg around his thighs to press his body into yours.

Robby bites your bottom lip, one hand moving to the back of your head and the other going down to hold on to your hip, swiping his tongue over the sensitive flesh. He pushes his tongue into your mouth as soon as you gasp and part your lips, welcoming him by sucking on his tongue eagerly.

You sigh into his mouth when he pushes his knee between your legs, urging you to grind down on his thigh while he rocks you back and forth, never letting go of your lips while he flexes the muscles and you go limp in his arms.

You break the kiss to breathe for a few seconds, throwing your head back when he trails the tip of his nose from your lips to your ear, sucking on your earlobe while he inches his hand down to your shorts, rubbing your pussy through the fabric as you buck your hips and seek the pleasure he barely gives you.

“Robby–“

“You wanted to go on a date, fuck,” he bites your neck, running the tip of his tongue over your pulse point as he pulls your head back gently to expose more skin to his hungry eyes, “You gave up on me so quickly, sweetheart.”

“You left me alone, Robby,” you gasp when he pushes your shorts and panties to the side, swiping his fingers between your folds, finding you already wet and ready for him, “You left me because of your stupid morals–“

“And I’m so fucking sorry for it,” he groans into your ear, hiding his face in the space between your neck and shoulder as he starts rubbing your clit with the heel of his palm and moves his hand to your waist to bring your hips closer, making you shudder at the slow yet steady pace he is setting up, “You should kill me if I ever leave you like that, but not now, sweetheart. Now, I need to make it up to you.”

“Please…” you whine as he pecks the corner of your lips, watching you with hooded eyes as his finger traces the edge of your hole before slowly pushing inside, dropping his forehead on yours when he moves his digit inside you gently, “Robby, I swear–”

“Patience, sweetheart,” he says, kissing the space between your eyes as he gently thrusts his finger inside you, observing every quiver of your lips, how you frown a little when he pushes in up to his knuckle, and how you begin to move your hips to get more pleasure, “Can’t even wait to get used to the feeling? Eager thing.”

“Just fuck me already, I deserve it after the shit you put me through-o-ohh…” Your words fade into a moan when he adds another finger, scissoring you open slowly before he picks up his pace when he notices the little smile forming on your face.

“Does it feel good, sweetheart? Want me to go faster?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for your answer. He speeds up, fucking you faster with his fingers, making the lewd sound of your wetness echo in the room, “Bet he couldn’t get you this wet, could he?”

You shake your head no, dropping your head on his shoulder when he presses himself closer to you, driving his fingers deeper inside your cunt, curving them to nudge your sweet spot over and over again, making your legs shake.

“No, no one can–” you hiccup, body trembling more the closer you get to your orgasm, “Rooby, I-I’m so close, please!”

“I got you,” he kisses the edge of your hairline, keeping you tucked into his warm body as you finally reach your high. It’s a slow and warm release, but it’s forceful given how pent up he’s made you over the last few days. You gush around his fingers, wetness coating his entire hand, and you can hear the filthy sound of squelching as he fucks you through your orgasm, “There you go, sweetheart.”

“I need more–”

“You need to take a breath first–” but you cut him off by smashing your lips to his, threading your fingers through his hair, and tugging on the strands while you help him move backward to the bed. You both fall on the mattress with a yelp, Robby wrapping both of his arms around your back to keep you secured against him, “Greedy girls don’t get fucked.”

“Jealous men don’t either, but we’re way past that,” you whisper against his lips, kissing him roughly before you pull back and stand up, shimmying out of your shorts and panties and pulling off your top as fast as you can, standing naked in front of him, suddenly feeling so exposed under his unwavering gaze.

Robby sits up, running his palms from your calves up to your asscheeks, grabbing a handful before he pulls you between his legs, caressing your hips and stomach slowly. He looks you up and down, dragging his eyes from your hips to your tits, biting his lips as he takes the scenery in.

“I don’t deserve this,” he mutters and reaches to cup your breast in one hand, the other resting on your asscheek, fondling and squeezing the flesh.

“No, you don’t, but I’m giving you a second chance,” you gasp when you feel his wet fingers smearing your arousal over your chest, “Don’t fuck it up.”

“I won’t.” With that, he stands up and pushes you on the bed, watching you bounce on the mattress while he undresses this time; he takes off his shirt in one go, unzipping his pants and dropping them along his boxers.

You stare; he is gorgeous, roughened with years and hard work, soft on the right places and muscular where it needs to be, and what really steals the spotlight is his long, fat cock resting heavily between his thighs, hanging low, hard, and throbbing.

“Come here,” he listens to you and crawls on the bed, making home between your legs as he kisses a line from your belly button to your lips, moving in sync as he grabs your thigh in one hand and holds himself up by the other next to your head, “Condom?”

“Fuck, yes, uhhh, it’s probably in the drawer there–“ you point at the nightstand next to your bed, running your fingers over the happy trail that leads to his cock as he straightens his back to reach the drawer and searches for a condom.

“Were you expecting something to happen?” he asks with a hint of jealousy he is trying so hard to hide. Of course, he is talking about your date, and while your answer is no, you don’t want to lose this chance to mess with him a little.

“More like preparing, but you could say that too,” you smirk at him, giggling when he swats your thigh playfully, ripping off the condom with his teeth before he rolls the plastic over his cock, and you watch with bated breath as the condom stretches around his girth. You throw your head back, whining impatiently, “I swear I’ll kick you out if you don’t fuck me right now!” “Okay, okay,” he chuckles and leans down a little, holding himself up by his palm on the bed while he strokes his cock a few times before he lines his tip with your fluttering hole, “Don’t forget to breathe, alright?”

You don’t get the chance to utter a word before he pushes inside you slowly, caging your body under his as he fills you up to the hilt, groaning into your neck and letting you adjust to his length as long as you need.

He kisses your jaw, dragging his lips all over the skin he can reach, sucking and licking while he waits for you to tell him you are ready. You don’t word it out, but with how desperately you begin to rock your hips, he takes it as his cue to slowly move in and out of you.

“Robby–”

“I know, sweetheart, tell me if it’s too much–”

“No, no, just go faster.” You wrap your arms around his back, locking your legs around his waist to keep him right where he is, “Please, I’ve wanted this for so long, don’t make me wait any longer.”

“Fuck, do you know what you are asking me?” he says and nods absentmindedly, making you moan deliciously as he begins to move faster, “You couldn’t even wait until I was ready. If I come too fast, it’s entirely your fault.”

“Enough talking!” You claw at his back when he hits a delicious spot inside you, his cock dragging against your velvety walls heavily, making you writhe in pleasure beneath him, “Fuuuck, yes–mmh–right ther–”

“Yeah? Right here, sweetheart?” He cradles your head in his arm, pressing his nose to yours as he picks up his pace, breathing in the air you let out with each thrust. He looks down at your face, eyes squeezed shut, and lips swollen with his earlier kisses, brows furrowed into a deep frown as he fucks you faster, punching whines of his name out of your throat.

“Robby-fuck! I’m getting close…”

He groans and snakes his hand between your bodies, reaching to play with your clit, rubbing circles on the bundle of nerves as you arch your back into his touch, digging your nails into his muscles, feeling the knot in your stomach tightening more and more each time Robby hits your sweet spot.

You are dizzy, mind foggy, and eyes hazy as he brings you closer to your high. He is everywhere, filling your senses and body in a way you have never experienced before. You can smell his special scent he carries anywhere he goes: his Creed Aventus cologne, coffee, and sandalwood. You hope you smell like him after this.

“I’m coming-Robby, Robby–”

Your climax crashes into yours forcefully; it’s rushed, hot, and it consumes you whole, leaving you breathless and shaky in his arms. You cry out his name, walls clenching around his dick as you release all over him, coating the base of his cock as he fucks you through it.

“Shh, I got you,” he kisses your hairline, and you can feel him grinning, “There you go, sweetheart, give it to me.”

And you do so intensely that you try to move away from his finger on your clit. Your senses have heightened three times, limbs numb, and eyesight blurry. You hear him groan and speed up, fucking you roughly for a few seconds before his hips falter and he pulls out, sitting up on his knees as he takes off the condom quickly, stroking his cock until he starts twitching.

You replace your hand with his, and he comes at the barest contact, shooting ropes of his cum on your stomach and chest, throwing his head back while he lets out deep groans and keeps coming.

He can’t hold himself up anymore, so he flops down next to you on the bed as best as he can, given how your bed isn’t big enough for two people, let alone someone as big as him.

“You made quite the mess.” You turn your head to look at him, finding him grinning lazily at you with his face pressed into the mattress. His boyish smile is contagious, and it makes you smile back at him, “So?”

“I fucked up, I’m sorry,” he says and sits up with a groan, stretching his arms over his head before he helps you up as well, “Let’s clean you up.”

“Okay– fuck–” you groan when you hear your phone ringing, “It’s probably my date, I should answer it.”

“I’ll grab a towel and come back,” he states, kissing your head before he bends down to peck your lips, then walks to your dresser to hand you your phone. He looks at the name, giving you an unamused glare before he passes the phone to you, “Martin? Seriously?”

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask, rolling your eyes as he throws his hands up and walks to the bathroom.

“You wanted to go out with someone named Martin–”

“Like your name is any better, Michael,” you answer the phone, telling him you can’t make it out and all the stuff about how you are not ready for a relationship, and hang up before he tries to convince you otherwise.

You lean back on your elbows, watching as a very beautiful and naked Robby walks out of the bathroom to wipe off his mess with a wet towel, sitting next to you on the edge of the bed as he cleans you up.

“I’m sorry for what I did that night,” he starts, voice soft and soothing, one hand caressing your thighs while the other drags the towel over your stomach, “I wasn’t ready to risk it all, I’m not ready now either, I just… I feel brave now for going behind Dana’s back–”

“Robby, I know my Mom, she won’t care–”

“Yes, she will, but I don’t think I have the strength to stay away from you,” he shrugs, “Either this will end horribly, or something good will come out of it.”

“Robby, we’ve known each other for years now, and we will make it work–”

“No one can know, sweetheart,” he cups your jaw in his hand, forcing you to look into his eyes, “Promise me, no onecan ever know, that means we can’t go on dates really, I may have a little time to come to your place, and spend time with you.”

“I don’t want a lot from you, just don’t run away from me when things get hard,” you nuzzle into his palm, smiling at him softly, “And I’ll behave.”

“You always do,” he whispers and kisses you, but you push him away before he gets the chance to deepen it. “What?”

“Shit, my sister’s about to come home! Get up, get up!” You stand up and immediately search for some decent clothes to wear. “We gotta leave before she arrives. She has a large mouth and sharp eyes; she’ll find out something is wrong in a second.”

“That reminds me of someone–”

“Robby, focus, find your shirt and wallet, put on your clothes, and let’s get the fuck out of here. We don’t have time for sarcasm.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

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robinavitchswhore · 3 days ago

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Barking at my screen

#michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #noah wyle #the pitt #knawing at the bars of my enclosure #dr robby #dr robinavitch

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robinavitchswhore · 6 days ago

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Fightin and fuckin. Favorite genre.

Maldives; The Land of Chaos / M. Robinavitch

Summary: you planned this trip a year ago when you had no idea you’ll go to it as exes, especially not after the nasty breakup you experienced.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smutttt, angst, exes to lovers, angry!robby and equally angry!reader, TENSION, jealousy, alcohol consumption, oh but there’s only one bed:(, pining and yearning cause they’re not done yet oops, unprotected sex, breeding ofc, mean!robby a little, fingering, oral(F!), English isn’t my first language<3

Word count: 7.3k+

an: this is my piece of work for the Fun In The Sun collab by @robbyology ! Hope y’all enjoy this fic🤭 Comments and reblogs are always appreciated💕 and a very special thank you to my babe @m-robinavitch for brainstorming with meeeeee<3333322

Fuck.

Yes, fuck is right, so is any other curse word you can think of, as you thank the lady and grab your plane ticket to read it. Fuck. Your seat is next to him, right next to him. If you weren’t so pissed at him, if you made it to this trip as a couple, you would have been overjoyed.

Not now, though, not when you remember how happily you reserved these seats so you would sit next to each other all throughout the flight. But you weren’t exes back then, and you didn’t experience one of the nastiest breakups of your life.

“Fuck,” Robby sighs, scratching his chin as he looks down at his own ticket, shaking his head as he walks back to the lady behind the counter, “Listen, Ma’am, can you please check if there are any seats available–“

“Sir, I’ve checked it for the lady next to you and gave her the same answer: no. Your seats were booked under your name, and the flight is full. We can’t change your seats, I’m sorry.”

“Fuck,” he groans this time, throwing his head back as he tries not to look so miserable, but you can see it in the way he scrunches his face and runs a hand through his hair.

“Move, man, we wanna get our tickets too,” someone nudges Robby gently, and you roll your eyes at the interaction before walking away, hearing a quick ‘sorry’ and a string of curses as he tries to catch up with you.

“Why are you following me?” You turn around abruptly, making him crash into your chest, but you are lucky he is fast enough to grab you by his arm around your waist and stop you from hitting the ground, “Watch out, grandpa.”

“I’m not following you, kid,” he lets go of you immediately — as if your skin burned his hand — before he puts some distance between you. “Don’t get your hopes up, this is just a trip.”

“Yeah? Then why are you following me around with your tail between your legs, Robby?” You glare at him, scoffing when he rolls his eyes and runs a hand over his face, “Don’t do that, it makes you look like you are a breath away from cardiac arrest.”

“You might send me to one if you keep talking to me like that,” he sighs, his eyes meeting yours, gaze hardening when he sees your smug smirk, “I’m not following you, don’t flatter yourself, kid. Our seats are next to each other, it’s best if we board the plane together.”

“I thought we were on this trip on our own, Robby,” you cross your arms over your chest, biting your cheek in annoyance, “You do remember that we broke up, right? Maybe the old age is getting to you finally.”

“Very funny, sweetheart, but the only thing that’s getting to me is your insufferable attitude,” he says, walking past you with an innocent-looking grin, but you know him better than this, “And it wasn’t a we decision, you broke up with me.”

“Don’t fucking start,” you grumble behind him, grabbing your suitcase and bolting past him towards the chairs without sparing him a single glance, sitting down on the only chair available in the row you saw him going to, “Oh, so sorry. You wanted to sit here?”

“Forget about it,” he snaps at you, giving you an annoyed smile as he stands next to the seat, looking out of the big window, watching the planes land one by one. He stands with his hands in the pockets of his worn-out jeans — jeans, yes, because it’s Robby and he can’t wear something a bit comfortable even for a flight.

You sigh and throw your head back against the edge of the chair, looking up at the high ceiling while you count the lights slowly. By accident, of course, you glance at Robby. It would be a lie if you said he didn’t look good. He does look good, straight out of your favorite fairytales, looking good, and it makes you anxious.

He’s always had that power over you, and he knows it, or perhaps knew, given how shitty your relationship turned during the last few months of it. He knew he could consume your mind all day, making your brain shut down with full trust and simple words when he was around you, having you tremble with pleasure in many different ways.

You take another look at him, noticing the twitch in his fingers before he buries them in the hair at the back of his head, scratching his scalp and taking a deep breath while you are busy eyeing him up and down.

“You’re staring.” He announces, turning his head slightly to catch your eyes, the ghost of a smug smirk forming on his face already. You don’t shy away from his gaze, especially not when he notices you pulling on the skin of your lips, watching him closely as his grin widens, “Oh, you are, sweetheart.”

“I am not,” you hiss, frowning as he shakes his head and leans down to be face to face with you, raising his eyebrow at you when you bite your lip and give him a daring look, “I’m not staring.”

“Could have fooled me.”

It’s his time to stare at you, watching the quiver of your lips closely and the twitch of your eyelid. There is something hidden behind his big brown eyes, a longing perhaps, or a resentment he’s developed for you.

“Sir, take my seat,” the old man next to you says, giving the two of you a disgusted look as he shakes his head, “You have a lot to talk about, it seems.”

“Um, no—“

“Sit down, don’t make a scene.”

Robby thanks the guy and sits down immediately, not really wishing to sour his mood more than it already is. He spreads his thighs, his jeans grazing your pants, making you shudder at the barest contact.

“Do we really have a lot to talk about?” He nudges your knee with his, trying to lighten your mood even though he hates to be here — or so you think.

“No, we don’t.” You shift your knees to the side, crossing your arms over your chest, squeezing your eyes shut when you feel him let out an annoyed sigh. You do have a lot to talk about. There are many, many things you should talk about, like how his jealousy would piss you off, and he would leave for the night when you confronted him about it. Yeah, you definitely have a lot to talk about, but you don’t want to. Not now. “What are you doing here, Robby?”

“Going on a trip I’ve paid for?”

“I had to beg you to pay for your half because you thought we should relax and enjoy our time in the house, yet here you are dragging your ass all the way over to the Maldives.”

“What is your point, kid?” He turns around fully in his seat to look at you, the lighthearted intentions gone as his tone drops, “I’m here now, you can’t get rid of me, I’m going on this trip.”

“Don’t call me kid, Robby, I fucking hate it.” You don’t, you just hate how many memories it brings back. “And that’s my point! Why are you going? It’s not like you’re dying to experience this. So? Are you here just to make my life hell?”

“I deserve this break as much as you do, if not more, kid.” You roll your eyes as he leans on the back of his chair, looking forward, “Not everything is about you.”

“Oh, hahaha, of course it isn’t.” You sound just like him, and you know it irks him; he has rubbed his personality all over you, and it isn’t a good thing. “But this time it is, isn’t it, Robby? You always say you are too tired, that nothing can ever be good enough to leave the town for a break, but you are here.”

“I won’t leave because you’re bitching in my ear, I won’t. We will go there and you’ll see me every fucking hour for four days. Get ready for it, sweetheart.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he smirks at you, side eyeing you, watching how you seethe silently, “You actually love me, which is really embarrassing for someone who tries to act tough all the time.”

“I only act like that around you ‘cause you hurt me, asshole,” you spit the words out, throwing one leg over the other, knocking his knee harshly, giving him a fake pitiful look, “Oh, no, sorry, did I hurt you? Boo-fucking-hoo, Robby. I don’t care, just like how you didn’t care.”

“I’m not leaving,” he says, clutching his knees, rubbing his palm over the place you just hit, inhaling deeply, “Your efforts are in vain, kid. Good luck.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss, standing up to grab your suitcase when you hear your boarding announcement start through the speakers, “I’m gonna make this trip hell for you.”

“I would like to see you try.”

•••

“Ma’am, I need you to check the villas again. I’m sure there is at least one villa with two bedrooms. I’m begging you, please.”

“Look, Mrs. Robinavitch—“ you glare at her so hard you are sure your eyes are about to pop out of your skull, but she isn’t phased, she only keeps talking, “We are fully booked, meaning there is no other option for you other than the villa you chose a year ago. Okay? Please enjoy your stay.”

“Thank you,” Robby cuts you off before you start begging the receptionist more than you already have, grabbing the key cards and pointing at the driver who is waiting for you to get in the cart to take you to your villa.

Robby extends his hand to you after you thank the lady and walk away, but you slap it away and get in the cart without glancing at him, hearing his sharp laughter as he takes the seat next to you, grabbing the front seat when the driver starts taking you to your assigned spot.

“So I was thinking—“

“We’re fucked already—“

“Can you listen for a second? You’ve become so miserable since you started your senior year,” Robby says, looking at you from beneath his lashes, “I was wondering if we could still do—“

“I’ve always been miserable, and no, we can’t do the shit we booked a year ago when we were too gooey for each other. I’m not gonna go on a date on the beach with you.”

“We paid… two thousand dollars for that one—“

“We did?!” You gasp, hiding your face in your hands when Robby nods, “We can’t go.”

“We have to—“

“We don’t! We can just… go our separate ways! We don’t need to do anything together—“

“This is your villa, Mr. Robinavitch.” The cart stops in front of a deluxe over-water villa, and you are reminded by how real this trip actually is, “I’ll bring in your stuff, please, enjoy.”

You jump down instantly, snatching the key cards from Robby before marching towards the door, swiping the card, and entering the villa; it’s huge. There is a full-length mirror in the hallway, one bathroom on your left, and a few steps to reach the bedroom.

“Robby?”

You stand there, in the middle of the room with a defeated look on your face, hands on your hips as you stare at the California King bed right in front of you — huge, blindingly white, clean and ready to be used.

You could have gotten the best dick of your life if you hadn’t broken up with the man behind you.

“You’re taking the couch,” you point at the foot of the bed, walking on the patio that connects to the ocean with a staircase, “Ooo, lovely.”

“I’m not taking the couch,” he follows you, sitting on the said couch, putting his ankle on his knee as he spreads his arms over the back of the cushions, looking at you while you have your back to him. If only he could do it without being reminded of how you weren’t his anymore.

“Yes, you are, it’s not up for debate.” You turn around, leaning back on the railing, mimicking Robby’s smile, “The bed’s mine after the shit you put me through, so—“

“The bed is big enough for five grown adults; you don’t need all that space for yourself.”

“Yes, I do. You sleep on the couch.”

“Nope,” he shakes his head, walking toward you, standing in front of you, close enough that you can smell his cologne, “I’ll sleep right next to you.”

“I hate you,” you grin at him, puffing out your chest and taking a step closer to him, his tummy barely brushing against yours, but you can feel the warmth of his body already.

“I hate you more, sweetheart.”

•••

You take off your clothes the moment Robby slips inside the shower, tiptoeing toward the outside pool you have on the patio next to the staircase leading into the ocean.

Robby being here won’t change your plans. You wanted to skinny dip in a clean pool and watch the sunset a year ago, and you still do. So, without caring about Robby — you definitely care, it’s kind of a show now — you slip into the warm water, sighing at the feeling enveloping your body.

You lean on the edge of the pool, resting your head on your forearms while you watch the clouds change colors as they move in the sky. This is exactly why you planned this trip a year ago. The calmness, the silence, the soft breeze, and the smell of the ocean. And a smoking hot ex in the shower.

Yup. Totally how you imagined it.

You hear his footsteps: slow, deliberate, and determined. There it is, the beating of your heart and the hope that turns into reality when he approaches the patio. You have set up the steps for him to follow, and he does.

“Enjoying the view?” He asks, joining you in the pool, but he doesn’t swim to your side; instead, he mimics his earlier pose, leaning on his elbows on the edge of the pool.

“Yeah, until you came and ruined my moment of peace.”

Big mistake, you shouldn’t have turned around to look at him. Fuck, fuuuuuuck, he looks good. Naked as the day he was born, his lower body is covered by the water, his broad chest catching the peachy hues of the sunset, and his eyes twinkle as he stares at you.

“You’re staring,” he says, running a hand through his hair — still damp from his shower, and fucking hell, the few strands that cling to his forehead are driving you nuts — before his eyes drop to your collarbones and lower, catching the sight of your tits under the water.

“You wish,” you reply quietly, not knowing how to mask your emotions while he is only two meters away from you — fully naked by the way — and looking at you like you are the reason the sun goes down and the moon comes up, “I’m just enjoying my pool.”

“So am I,” he shrugs, still not looking into your eyes, running his tongue over his teeth — you can follow the movement even though his mouth is closed, “By staring at you.”

“Keep looking and I’ll bite you.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a threat,” he smiles at you, watching as you scoff and shake your head, swimming to his side before dragging a nail down his chest, then digging it in his skin, making him hiss, “Oof, kid, you’re down the wrong path.”

“Good, whatever keeps you away from me,” you smile back sarcastically, patting his chest before putting your palms on the patio, pulling your body out of the water, rolling your eyes when he lets out a low whistle and eyes you up and down, “Pervert.”

“You love it.”

“Fuck no.” Fuck yes, but he doesn’t need to know that. You walk away from him, water dripping from your limbs, and he nearly breaks his neck to try and stare at your thighs. “Enjoy the sunset.”

“I already am.”

•••

“Is it too late to walk back to the villa?” You ask, tapping your foot on the soft sand as the two of you stare at the large table and two fluffy cushions on each side, while the waiters place different dishes for you.

“Yup,” Robby smiles back awkwardly when the waiters stand on the side and wait for him to ask if you need anything else, “No, everything is perfect, thank you.”

“Fuck, is that lobster? Robby, we paid for a fucking lobster?” You kneel on one of the cushions, examining the dinner table, “Were we fucking crazy?”

“Not just one, but three because we thought we wouldn’t be full by the end of the date,” he scratches his beard, walking through the sand to reach his cushion, taking off his sandals to sit cross-legged, scanning the table, “Okay, fuck, did we just— order oysters? We never fucking eat these things!”

“What were we thinking, Robby? This is insane! Can we, like— send them back or something? Thank the chef and write a gratitude letter, and ask for a steak or hell, even a pizza?” You bring an oyster to your nose, smelling it before gagging and putting it down, “Fuck no, I can’t eat this shit.”

“I mean, at least we’ve got a– what is this?” He turns the golden bottle around, squinting his eyes to read the label before doing a dramatic fall on his back, his head hitting the soft sand, “We’re fucked, sweetheart.”

“What? What is it?” You reach across the table to grab the bottle, faking a cry as you read the words, “Moet & Chandon Rose Imperial, Case of 24 with Gold Sippers. Robby, you need to fucking talk before I scream.”

“I don’t have any words to say–“

“You spent over $500 on a fucking champagne, not just you but me as well. Were we preparing for you to propose to me or something?” You shriek, placing the bottle back on the table, throwing your head back as soon as you feel the evening breeze hit your neck.

“I mean… yeah, I ordered this with buying a ring in mind…” he groans, sitting up, shaking off the sand from his hair, giving you a bashful smile, “Can’t fault a man for wanting to do you good, can you?”

“Yeah, well, we’re not together, so I’m not sure how good you did me,” you sigh, before scooting closer to Robby, dusting off the sand from his sky blue shirt, “We’ve paid for everything, might as well enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just—“

“You couldn’t have known, Robby.” You lean your head on his shoulder, watching as the hot balloons go up in the sky and the sun lowers slowly on the horizon, “Let’s just have a civil dinner for everyone’s sake. The mashed potatoes look delicious.”

“Yeah, and the little bowls of pasta too,” he nods, kissing the top of your head before you have the chance to move away, and he looks down at his hands when you pat his shoulder and move to sit on your cushion again, “So, champagne to celebrate my failed proposal?”

“Absolutely,” you grin, watching him while he tries to open the bottle, grabbing the knife nearby before he smashes the top of the bottle, making you scream and hand him a glass, giggling as he pours you the drink while some of the liquid spills on the sand, “You’re fucking messy.”

“Yeah, well, one of us has to be entertaining!” He smiles fondly. For the first time in months, you are laughing at something he does, not out of sarcasm, anger, or frustration. It’s genuine, out of pure heart, and it sounds all too familiar.

He’s missed this sound more than he likes to admit.

“Can we eat the pasta and sneak out of here?” You ask, giving him a shy look, “Take the lobsters and champagne and order a cheap pizza while we drink in the ocean?”

“Do you have a bag? We should also take the wine—“

“Oh my god, are you seriously agreeing with this? No complaints, no lectures about how it’s a waste of money–“

“Nope, nothing,” he shrugs, placing the bottle on the table before he grabs his glass, “Well, cheers to our failed relationship.”

“Don’t say that! You make it sound like we were a mistake, but we weren’t! You were just controlling—“

“I wasn’t!” He scoffs, clinking his glass to yours before he drowns the golden liquid, “I just didn’t like seeing men ogle my girlfriend. I don't think it was a bad thing.”

“Oh, were you now–you know what? Let’s just stop right there. I’m quite enjoying this moment. Don’t fucking ruin it,” you tip your glass toward him, huffing out an exaggerated breath when he only looks at you as if he isn’t saying anything wrong, “don’t do that. I hate when you act like I’m crazy.”

“Do what? I’m just looking at my girlfriend—“

“Ex-girlfriend, Robby,” you say through gritted teeth, drowning the rest of your champagne before grabbing one of the pastas and stuffing your mouth with it, talking with a full mouth, “You do that stare thing when you think I’m in the wrong, which I rarely am by the way.”

“Right, I’m not gonna talk about it anymore,” he sighs and stands up, offering his hand to you, and you look at it for a good minute. For a second, he thinks you are about to push it away, but he is relieved when you place your hand in his palm gently, letting him pull you to your feet without a fuss: “Grab whatever you want, we’re going back to the villa.”

“Fuck, yes!” You take the champagne bottle after letting his hand fall and give the wine to Robby, picking up the lobster plate as you watch him put his sandals on, “You know, this would have been amazing if we had some music.”

“I’ll play something on my phone when we get back to our room,” he says, following you out of the area the waiters cleared out for the date, walking shoulder to shoulder with you over the wooden bridge that leads to the overwater villas, “Look.”

You follow his gaze, watching the sky turn into a bright shade of orange and pink, the image of the sunset falling over the ocean. It’s beautiful, it could have been more beautiful if you could hold his hand, but you have to enjoy the sight for now, with or without him.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, taking a long sip from the bottle, walking ahead of him toward the villa.

Robby stays behind for a second, his eyes trailing after you, following every step you take. It is pathetic, it really is, to look at you with heart eyes even though he was the one who caused the downfall of your relationship. If only he had worked on himself back then and regulated his insecurities, maybe you would have given him another chance.

He takes a good look at you; you are wearing a floral dress that reaches your mid-thighs, clinging to the curves of your body just the right way, and the sight makes him dizzy, reminding him how much of an idiot he actually is.

He comes inside the villa quickly, finding you on the patio, putting the bottle and the plate on the table before taking off your shoes, walking down the staircase that leads to the ocean, sitting on one of the stairs with your feet in the cool, clear water.

“Hey, come join me!” You smile, kicking your feet in the water gently, “Bring the champagne too.”

“Sure,” Robby smiles back and joins you, his large body occupying most of the space, his thighs grazing yours as he drinks from the bottle before handing it to you, his hazy brown eyes watching you closely, “You look beautiful.

“Thanks,” you reply, suddenly feeling shy at how intense his gaze is. You used to love how he looked at you; so full of love and adoration, like somehow you were the center of his world, and anything other than you was irrelevant. Tonight, he seems like the Robby you love, the one who would feel so comfortable and happy around you, not the one with destructive thoughts that eventually pushed you over the edge.

“Nothing to thank me for,” he wiggles his toes in the water, pouting a little, “I mean it.”

“I bought it for tonight, you know? The dress, I mean,” You shrug, taking a swig of the champagne before you give him the bottle, leaning back on your elbow on the upper stair, “I went out a few days after we booked everything, saw the dress and thought you’d like it.”

“I do, a lot actually,” he grins at you, his wrinkles deepening when you chuckle and shake your head, “What? You don’t believe me?”

“I do, I do! But,” you scrunch up your nose a little, “I didn’t buy it just for dinner. I thought you’d go crazy over it and we’d have some fun after that.”

“You’re lucky we’re not together, cause that dress would have been on the floor the moment I saw you in it,” he tells you so casually you think you are hallucinating. His eyes are darker than usual as he rakes them down all over your body, from your toes to your lips, “If only we were together.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do,” he looks away for a second, running a hand down his neck, “I’d have turned into a beast, you know me better than that, sweetheart.”

“Well, lucky me,” you stand up, approaching the table before you grab a fork and bring the lobster to your mouth, humming at the taste, “I’d have hated you for ruining my vacation by fucking me.”

“Yeah, lucky you,” he stands up as well, walking past you into the villa and towards the bathroom, “I’ll take the couch tonight.”

“Why?”

“'Cause I can’t trust my self-control to keep my hands to myself.”

And that leaves you breathless.

•••

It’s stupid, you tell yourself, it’s probably nothing. You told him you were on this trip as two individuals, not as a couple, not as anything other than two exes. But last night changed everything for you, and you thought he felt the same. But he has been gone the whole day, the clothes he had on yesterday are on the couch, and his phone is on the coffee table.

“Don’t,” you whisper to yourself as you put your perfume on. Fine, if he wants to get lost, so can you. You spotted a beach bar this morning, and now, you are determined to go and have some fun because Robby can’t ruin this trip for you; you refuse to let him do that.

There is a lingering thought in the back of your head, and it is making you anxious. Everything was going so well last night, what changed? Why did he leave without a word before you woke up? And more importantly, why did he say those things if he wanted to disappear a few hours later?

Doesn’t matter anymore, you walk to the beach bar, white sundress falling on your upper thighs, and your sandals catching some of the sand in them as you make your way further into the area.

The hotel has done a wonderful job in making the atmosphere welcoming, and as much as you like to enjoy your surroundings, you can’t. Not when you notice Robby laughing at another girl, flashing her that sickeningly charming grin.

It feels as if someone’s dumped an entire bucket of ice on you. Of course, he would go around and have fun, of course he would enjoy his vacation to full potential, of course, you were being delusional about making progress with him, and hoping for another chance.

You walk a bit closer, taking a good look at both of them; he is leaning into her, and so is she. She looks older than you, probably mid-forties, and fuck, she is beautiful, and definitely Robby’s type.

You feel sick to your stomach, and each quick and shallow breath you take in doesn’t help because your heart is racing a mile. You can’t do anything but watch her raise her hand and rest it on his biceps. He glances down at where she is touching him, looking up and giving her a very soft smile.

You look away instantly, biting the inside of your cheek so hard you start to taste the metal. You need to get away from the scene as soon as you can, so with shaky legs, you take long strides to go to the other side of the bar.

Sitting on a stool, you wait for the bartender to come and ask for your order. You wish he would come sooner because, unfortunately, you are sitting where you can see them laughing and chatting.

“What can I get ya?”

“Gin Tonic with a twist, make it two,” you say, tapping your fingers on the countertop while you try to take your eyes off the scene in front of you. It’s impossible, even though the bar is crowded and music fills the space, you can still hear Robby’s rich laughter across you.

What you wouldn’t do to make him laugh like that, but someone has already taken your place, it seems.

“Is this seat taken?” a man a few years older than you asks you, waiting for you to reply, and when you shake your head no, he sits down and rests his forearms on the countertop. “It sucks to be alone in this place.”

“Tell me about it…” You agree, thanking the bartender when he brings your drinks, gulping down one so fast you feel your throat burning for a good few minutes, face twisting, and eyes squeezed shut, “Fuck!”

“Rough night?” The man next to you chuckles awkwardly, sipping on his drink while he looks at you with an amused expression.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” you take a good look at him, and you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t handsome. He is tall, muscular, with curly brunette hair and flushed cheeks. He is a beautiful guy, pleasant to the eyes, but no one compares to the man you have in mind.

You glance across the bar, finding Robby already looking at you curiously, his fingers wrapped around his glass while the woman sitting next to him keeps talking. You turn your attention back to the man next to you, smiling softly at him before you start nursing your second glass.

“I’m not really alone, you know,” you sigh and resume talking, “I’m here with my ex, actually. This was supposed to be our dream trip, but meh, nothing is going the way we thought it would.”

“I’m sorry—”

“Oh god, no please, don’t pity me—”

“It’s not pity! I’m sorry he was that undeserving of you,” he shrugs, grinning when you hit his arm playfully, “I’m serious! You’re so beautiful, I had to leave my sister alone just to shoot my shot.”

“You are here with your sister?” you ask, turning fully toward him, suddenly feeling the burning sensation of a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. “Why would you come on a trip like this with your sister?”

“It’s her honeymoon, and I don’t know, somehow her husband had a spare ticket, and here I am!”

“You’re not here to ruin her honeymoon, are you?”

“I won’t as long as you let me buy you a drink.”

“Oooo, okay, I mean, it’s better than sharing a room with your—”

“Sweetheart?”

Speaking of exes, there he is — Robby with a smile that can kill a man from ten miles away, standing behind you, hands pushed into the pockets of his beige linen shorts. If he didn’t look too good, you would have slapped him across the face. You might do it anyway because he looks down at the man next to you like he wants him dead.

“That’s your ex—”

“Boyfriend, actually!” Robby beats you to it: “Should we leave now?”

“No, we were talking,” you hiss at him, turning back to the man in front of you. Two can play this game, Robby. “I’m so sorry, he has always been like this.”

“Get up, sweetheart, we had plans for the night.” he glares at you, and you glare back, standing up, but before he can hold your hand, you grab your glass and throw your drink on him, soaking his shirt completely.

“Fuck you, Robby,” you march past him, not bothering to check and see if he is following you, but you are sure he is with how heavy his footsteps fill the open air, “I can’t believe you! How much of a fucking asshole you have to be to ruin my night like that?”

“I didn’t ruin anything—”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite! You can go and flirt with every woman you can get your hands on, but the second someone shows interest in me, you are scaring them away!” you scream, swiping your key card before pushing the door of the villa open, wiping your tears with the back of your hand, pacing the space around the bed, “What do you want from me, Robby?”

“I’m not gonna watch someone else flirt with you—”

“Robby! Oh my fucking god, do you hear yourself?” You cry out, “You can’t let others flirt with me, but you also get insecure because someone is nice enough to approach me! ‘I don’t deserve you, kid.’ Yeah, you fucking don’t because you can’t get it into your thick fucking head that maybe, just maybe I want you and nobody else! That I have never led them on, and it was you who couldn’t see my efforts.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just stares at you with teary eyes, his lips trembling as he watches you walk around the room, rubbing your arms to soothe yourself. He takes a step closer, speechless and shocked.

“I saw you with her, someone closer to your age, someone who isn’t like me, Robby, and you looked happy! And I understand why you’d get jealous because fuck, I wanted to throw up when I saw the way she looked at you,” you heave, wiping your tears away, “And I thought, was I so neglectful that I couldn’t make him feel secure in our relationship? Did I not show how much he meant to me—hmmm!”

Robby kisses you so hard that you stumble back, clinging to him to keep yourself steady while you try to kiss him back. There is nothing sweet in the way he moves his lips against yours; it’s forceful, full of unresolved emotions, pent-up anger, and passion.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him impossibly close while he leads you toward the bed, his hands roaming your body with one thought in mind — he has to make it up to you.

“You’re such a hypocrite,” you mumble against his lips as he trails his kisses down to your neck, grabbing the hem of your dress and pulling it off, your bra and panties following it closely — too fast, you don’t even have time to react because he is so desperate for you.

“You can cuss me out as long as I get to eat your pussy,” he says and grabs the back of your thighs and drops you on the bed, pulling off his shirt as soon as he can before he crawls on top of you and begins to kiss a path down from your belly button.

“I hate you—” you gasp when he bites your inner thigh, throwing your knees over his shoulders while he nibbles at your flesh, making his way to your aching pussy.

“Yeah, I know, sweetheart.” And with that, his mouth engulfs your cunt, tongue flat against your wet folds as he drags the thick muscle up and down, enjoying how you buck your hips and grab his head.

There is not a single thought in Robby’s head, not one, and it shows by how he is eating you out like a man starved. Months without getting to touch you, days spent together in the Pitt, yet you have been too far away from him, and now he finally has you where he wants you, where you want to be too.

“Fuck, Robby!” you let out a shaky breath when he wraps his lips around your buzzing clit, humming as he starts hollowing his cheeks, his beard burning your skin as he feasts on you. You pull on his hair, thrusting your hips up, whining when he pushes you down with his forearm on your lower abdomen, “You’re such a loser.”

“Oh, yeah? Tell me more, sweetheart,” he dives back in, flickering his tongue over your sensitive bud while he brings his fingers to your fluttering hole, circling the entrance with the tip of his finger before he pushes in, making you hum and go rigid in his hold.

“Fucking pathetic,” you moan out, digging your nails into the back of his neck, “Thinking I wanted other men— ah, Roh-bbyy– I can never do that to you.”

He adds another finger, stretching you open, relishing in every sound you make as he scissors you open with his digits, listening to the way your breath hitches when he curls his fingers inside you while his tongue does wonders on your clit.

You can’t hold back anymore, your orgasm crashes into your body like a truck, leaving you a moaning mess under Robby’s touch. Your legs shake on his shoulders, your release coating his face as he pulls his fingers out immediately and shoves his tongue inside you, drinking you up as best as he can.

You lie on the bed, breathless and shaky, when he gets rid of his shorts and crawls on top of you, dragging his teeth on your skin until he reaches your open mouth, pushing his tongue into the cavity and humming when you start sucking on it, wrapping your legs around his waist to keep him locked to your body, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Still think I’m a loser?” he asks, pressing his forehead to yours, staring into your eyes as he reaches between your bodies to grab hold of his throbbing cock, stroking himself a few times.

“I’ll always think you’re a loser,” you peck the corner of his lips, arching your back when you feel him running the tip of his cock between your drenched folds, tapping your clit a few times with his member before he lines it up with your hole.

“Well, this loser is about to fuck you.”

“Good, just do it fa-aah!” You can’t finish your sentence because he bottoms out in one swift thrust, feeding you all his cock in a single move, punching the air out of your lungs, “Robby!”

“I should have fucked you in front of him,” he groans into your ear, his larger body covering yours entirely as he picks up his pace, driving his dick in and out over and over, “Pretty boy thinking he’s got a chance with you.”

It’s been quite a while since the last time you slept with anyone, and the last time was with him anyway. He is stretching you out deliciously, making your eyes roll to the back of your head with each thrust. He is pouring everything he’s felt during the past few months into fucking you, and boy, is he doing a great job.

You claw at his back, wailing out his name in pleasure. It should feel wrong; he is your ex, and yet, you’ve never felt closer to him than you are now. You throw your head back, spine arching off the bed as the fat tip of his cock hits your cervix repeatedly, making your body pulse in delight.

You can’t fight off your climax, nor can he. It’s kind of ironic how you both come at the same time, as if your bodies are synced even after a breakup.

You gush around him with a moan of his name, head buried in his neck, and teeth sinking into his flesh while he groans into your hair, movements faltering as he comes deep inside you, pushing his hips into yours roughly, making sure you take everything he is giving you.

“You are a real loser for coming so fast.”

“Says the one who came twice in twenty minutes.”

•••

You toss and turn on the bed, reaching mindlessly for Robby, but you are only met with his empty space. Sitting up slowly, you spot him on the patio, sitting on one of the chairs, staring off into the horizon. You stand up, grabbing the cover and wrapping it around your naked body before approaching him.

“Hi,” you say, smiling gently at him, and he returns it without a second thought, his grin reaching his eyes — it’s been a while since you were the reason for his smile, and it feels great to do it again.

“Hey, c’mere,” he spreads his legs a bit, pulling you on top of him gently, and you take your time to cover his naked body, except for his boxers. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Wanted to ask you the same thing,” you mumble, laying your head between his neck and shoulder, enjoying the warmth his body provides. “You were gone, I thought you might have ditched me again like yesterday.”

“Sorry about that, sweetheart,” he says, squeezing your hips, resting his head on top of yours, “I was craving a cigarette so bad, I had to distract myself.”

“Good,” you nuzzle your face in his neck completely, kissing his pulse point quickly, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“You wanted to skin me alive a few days ago,” he chuckles at your groan, holding you tighter against him.

“Yeah, well, I still wanna do that, so you're treading on thin ice, mister,” you tell him, wrapping one arm around him, gently scratching the nape of his neck, knowing how he calms down immediately, “You shouldn’t have done that last night.”

“I’m sorry,” He sighs, “I just… sometimes I can’t control my thoughts, it’s fucked up, I know that, but… I keep thinking about how someone your age could treat you better, someone who doesn’t come with a heavy emotional baggage—”

“Robby, look at me.” You cup his cheek, forcing him to listen to you, “If I wanted someone like that, I’d be with him. But I don’t want that, I want you, with all your stupidity and your jealousy to some extent, because when we were together… it would get out of hand sometimes.”

“I know, I’m so sorry about that. I’m trying, I’m really fucking trying.”

“That’s amazing, and we will talk about it later when we get back to Pittsburgh, okay? Let’s just enjoy our time for now.” You kiss him softly, and he reciprocates without hesitation, but the moment is cut short when Robby pulls back suddenly.

“We have to go out in a few hours.”

“Why?” you ask, kissing his cheek down to his jaw, enjoying how his beard scratches your face.

“Because I just remembered we’ve booked two jet skis for an hour—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? How the fuck are we gonna— you’re not serious, are you?”

“Yeah, unfortunately, I am, and we paid for it.”

“This has to be our last vacation for a while,” you poke his chest, giggling when he brings the finger up to his mouth and bites it gently, “Only road trips from now on, at least they are less chaotic.”

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robinavitchswhore · 8 days ago

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ˋ°•*⁀➷ Beneath the Rubble

► Michael Robinavitch x female!reader

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

synopsis—Michael Robinavitch has one of the worst shifts of his life when the ER gets a very specific patient.

warnings— ANGST, heavy descriptions of injuries, talks of mental health

wc—3k

dedicated to @ironcade because she is a real one for letting me ask for help and ramble about this piece.

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THE FLUORESCENT LIGHTING OF ER WORSENED MICHAEL’S HEADACHE. He had already tried to take a simple bathroom break four times, and every time, the nukes dropped, and the hospital grounds became a war zone. He was in and out of rooms, head on a constant swivel he feared it might snap off any second. Tumbling to the ground and rolling beneath Dana's chair.

It was possible. He had pushed out one single chiropractor appointment seven times now because someone decided to present with life endangering symptoms. The kink in his neck ached and festered like malignant cancer across his body until he was coiled wrong and nursing several parts of his depleted body.

He was getting far too old for this.

Yet, retiring was merely a dream that blipped across his fingertips and danced away every time he tried to curl one finger around the light. He was built for the chaos. For the endless life catastrophes. He was born to heal at the expense of his own well-being. He could rehearse all the mumbo gumbo about patient care before discharging someone, yet he never followed a lick of his own monotonous advice.

No, because he still loved fried foods despite their ability to worsen heart health. He never slept when he had the chance, but when he didn't have the chance, his body decided to shut down. He sometimes didn't look both ways when crossing the street. He nursed beer instead of water when he was back home. He was 6 months free of nicotine, and he still felt that nasty, grating itch to buy a pack of cigarettes any time he got stressed out. Which was a lot. Which meant he never truly kicked the habit he developed in his early twenties as a fresh-eyed medical student.

He was in an endless rut of self-destruction, brought on by a heavy desire to do right. He was a good doctor because he cared. Which was a hell of a lot considering the state of the world these days. Most people did not simply just care anymore. There was always something they wanted in exchange.

But Michael, he didn’t care about the money or the glory. He just wanted to do his job. Money or loneliness wouldn't be worth all the early morning crash outs if he didn’t want to ensure most people left the bounds of the hospital alive.

Plus, the battlefield was his home now. He felt almost indebted to keep with it. To keep down the same pathway that he had been on for decades now. Because if it was not this, it was nothing-at least he perceived it as such.

Though today, he would truly despise the career choice he had made all that time ago.

He was just leaving a room for a kid that overdosed when the first bomb dropped on him. It was a solitary feeling, not one that could be felt by any other person. Michael felt the deep claws of dread quite often. It was just a natural occurrence of his life, but this one demanded to be felt. Like his body knew before his eyes and brain processed the full extent.

Three paramedics came rushing in with a gurney, already Doctor Langdon and their medical students for the shift flocked to the area. He was immediately crossing the room, knowing his role and where he fit best.

He missed Langdon looking back nervously due to Dana crossing into his pathway. “Robby, do not go over there!” She said sternly, hands raising in a gesture that was anything but placating.

Robby was curious, but on a mission. He sidestepped her, raising an eyebrow as he pivoted his head just slightly to look at her. “Oh! That’s a first,” he said sarcastically and lazily as he turned back towards the commotion. They were already wheeling the gurney towards one of the trauma bays, and he was starting to follow. “Telling me not to do my job.”

“Robby! I am serious,” Dana was nimble and quick as she rushed in front of him again. She pushed back on his chest for extra measure even though it barely had an effect on him. It did get his attention.

“Am I missing something here?” Michael asked, looking towards the others. He had to go in there. It was his job. He made the shots. Commandeered the whole ship, lest he wanted the whole thing to flip belly up.

“Michael!”

Michael froze as he heard the urgent, distressed voice pick up just behind him. He turned immediately, seeing you there, and that dread grew tenfold as he spotted the state in which you appeared to him. Tightness grew in his dry throat as he glanced between you and the crowded gurney with a rapidly growing fear growing in his belly.

You were a mess. Tears clinging to your eyelashes as you gazed at him with reddened eyes. You looked like you had just rolled out of bed, still clad in pajamas you always like to wear. There was nothing put together about you when you have always worried about your appearance. Mindful of presenting yourself like a functioning human in society.

His face fell, body sagging as it went on a defense he was not akin to. He ran a hand through his hair, pointing to the trauma room as his face heated up. He knew your presence like this was not sunshine and rainbows like it was when you brought him lunch on your days off.

“No…fuck…” Michael made the decision to go to gurney rather than comfort you as you evidentally crumpled there. “Who is on-“

Denial was a fickle thing.

Because he knew there was no one but one person that you would be so torn up about like this. Why Dana would try to go against protocol to block him.

And when he got closer, he almost wished he had chosen to stay with you instead. Plead his ignorance until reality inevitably smacked him in the face. At this moment, he was reminded of his own brutal mortality in a more alarming manner than the disassociative, human reactions he had towards fading patients before.

Every day he coded, discharged, and failed all kinds of patients. He was never terrified at these times. Stressed? Sure. Sympathetic? Definitely. But he had long learned to purge fear.

Fear got him nowhere when he was calling the shots for the people who worked under him, grieving family members, and patients who trusted him to save them. He had to make split decisions or face the consequences of a fatal hemorrhage, lack of oxygen, blunt force trauma, or whatever fancy way someone decided to die.

He could not afford to second guess.

Now? That suppressed terror flooded right through him, curling up his spine, twisting around his heart, and smothering him at the throat. Because nothing could’ve prepared him for seeing his son’s broken form in a place he saw the worst all the time.

He saw the deep bruising and small cuts first. Then, he saw his leg and felt queasy. The bone was jutting out through the flesh of his shin, blood everywhere. Open fracture of the Tibia bone. Common, not untreatable, but still not a fun healer. Not even that injury compared to the sinking of his stomach when he saw the C Collar around his neck. He hoped to god it was just one of those precautionary moves rather than a genuine worry for spinal damage.

“Someone get him out of here!” Langdon’s voice was muffled in his ear, but he understood perfectly.

Instinct told him to go to his son. Cradle and heal him like a father was supposed to do. From the moment he became a father, he signed a metaphorical document that claimed that he would always shield any children to the best of his ability. Protection came natural to him.

Yet, protocol told him to turn around and put his son’s life in the hands of those he trusted. It was expected of him. The right way to handle things. He knew he could not be the frontman of his son’s healing, but god, did he want to be. He saved people every day, and it was quite cruel to know his guiding hands could not heal this one.

Muscle memory brought Michael closer until a body blocked his way. “Robby, out.” Langdon’s voice was stern as he stared down at his attending with unwavering eyes.

It made the pride in his chest flare at the audacity, even if it was justified. His current mindspace refused to unwind its steely grip on the reins. He was the overseer of this whole joint. He should’ve been able to decide when and where he intervened.

“That’s my son!” Michael’s words were far more desperate than he enjoyed. A small crack broke the normal lilt towards the end, bitter emotion threatening its way up his esophagus. “That’s-“

Langdon followed his Attending’s gaze to the broken boy on the gurney and the way all the necessary people had already worked on stabilizing him. It was chaotic when Michael peeked in from the outside, but when he was in the trenches, their methods made sense. The way they always moved like a well-oiled machine.

“I know. But-“ Langdon started.

“Robby. C’mon, out with me,” Dana was back and pushing Michael back through the clear double doors. His muscles went rigid, a fight brewing, but on the outside, he relented. Some sort of agonizing acceptance slackening his would be protest. “You got other places to be.”

“I need-“ this time Robby was interrupted.

“Robby!” Dana exclaimed in a hushed tone. “We do not operate on family, yeah? You know that. Go be with your wife.”

Michael bit his lip and looked back at the trauma room. He went through the mental checklist of how to stabilize severely injured patients but gained no relief when he saw everyone doing what they were supposed to. Being unable to command the ship was a stinging betrayal to his psyche, and he averted his gaze with a heavy, stress-filled sigh. He ran both hands over his face with a groan.

Snap out of it, Michael.

Michael said nothing, body feeling heavy as he looked back at Dana. He saw her but really wasn’t focusing all that much. The immediate stress had overloaded his synapses, making him function at a less than ideal pace. Fuck, what he would give to restart this day.

“They’re in the family room,” Dana said softly. “They need you, okay. They’re confused and worried. Go be a husband, not a doctor. It will save you a great deal of hurt.”

Michael’s eyes softened. His body slumped, and he nodded with one last glance back to the hell just to the left of him. Dread made its home in his bloodstream. He could not be expected to make fully sensible decisions right now. Because the moment he had a chance to be there for his son, everything else was falling away.

How could it all have changed so abruptly? Just this morning, he was teasing Alex for being grumpy as he loitered at the kitchen sink with complete exhaustion in his eyes. He was on summer break now and had spent most of his nights slumped in a shitty chair at his desk. Michael could never say he understood the appeal of gaming for hours, but he usually let you deal with the aftermath of telling a moody teenager to go outside.

You could handle your own quite well, and Alex mostly listened. Though, god forbid, Michael caught him saying something out of line to you. Then he was most definitely the bad cop.

With heavy footsteps, Michael made his way to the family room. He let out a deep breath, trying to understand why he was hesitant to be near you. He should be rolling in your presence, and instead, he felt like doom was crashing down on him.

Maybe it was because he knew the moment he crossed that threshold, he wouldn't be able to stay strong anymore. You would undoubtedly untether him, piece by piece until he was nothing but mush at your feet. It was terrifying when he didn't know how to handle this situation.

He opened the door and immediately saw your glassy eyes dart to his form. He swallowed as he barely had time to close the door before you were on him. Your arms were trembling as you pressed your forehead into his chest and sought comfort, making his heart twist with pain.

“I got you, sweetheart,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He rubbed your back, shushing you softly as your shoulders began to shake.

“I didn’t… I wasn't paying attention… he…” your broken words send shooting pain right into his heart. He held you tighter, reassuring you when you are evidently too scatterbrained to even voice yourself properly.

Though he couldn't blame you, Alex was your lifeline. He always worried about what would happen should something tragic unfold to the awkward teen. He despised the fact that he could find out the full extent if something went wrong on the table.

Alex was a sick kid. Good thing he had a father who knew his way around all the little occurrences, saving them a great deal on hospital visits. While he turned out okay in the end, having been mostly healthy his whole life, it sent you into a constant state of stress.

You worked hard not to become a helicopter parent, but any time something was wrong with Alex, Michael was used to the hovering you did.

“Sweetheart…” Michael pulled away from you slightly to cup your cheeks. Now that he was here with you, he didn’t want to go back out there. Dana was right. You had needed him. Desperately. “Take a deep breath. Can you do that?”

Your lip wobbled, grief bubbling to the surface. Michael’s heartstrings burst as he watched you crumble right in front of him. He didn't know what to do because he was also feeling the deep shackles of worry branding his skin. If he could, he would find a way to heal Alex. To restore him to the version he witnessed just this morning.

The worst part is he, once he knew exactly the state of his son, would be tortured with the grim reality of his knowledge. He would know what would heal. When it would. He would know everything. If there was something there that couldn't be mended, he would know that as well.

Suddenly, he hated his own experience.

“He…” you took a deep breath, and he instinctively rubbed your back. “He took your car out while I was… well… I had one of my migraines.”

Michael frowned. You had a stressful week at your job, and you always paid the price for it with your health at the tail end. His mind was spinning. Between you and now Alex, he felt guilty over not being there.

He didn't even register that you mentioned his car. A 1970s Chevelle that he went back and forth for months on with this one guy. It was all original parts, save for the mandatory body work all older cars needed. All in all, he took great pride in it.

Yet, he cared less about that and more about his son.

“He crashed?” He put the pieces together.

“The car is totaled. It's…”

Michael shushed you, pinching at your back lightly to stop your rambles. “Could care less about the car, sweetheart,” he rasped. His throat felt tighter. That car was nice, but it definitely did not have the safety precautions newer cars did. “Where'd he crash?”

You sniffled, wiping at your leaking eyes and nose. He noticed the tremor of your hands, and he wondered if that was from the residual migraine or the stress of the current situation. He settled on grabbing your hands in his, thumbs rolling over the knuckles.

“Stay with me, yeah?” He prompted, watching your mind receding in real time. He squeezed your hands. “Hey…sweetheart…”

You rapidly blinked and took a deep breath. He did it with you. “I… I don't know. I… just got a call, and I was out the door. One… one of the paramedics recognized him and knew to call me.”

Michael was grateful. He wouldn’t have been able to muster the courage to do the call himself. Wouldn’t be able to handle you answering the phone in a cheerful voice, only to have your own husband snuff out that joy. He wouldn’t handle leaving his son alone in the hospital while he drove to you.

“Okay… you’re here now, yeah? They got Alex. You and I are going to take deep breaths until we know more. Okay?”

Michael hated his own words. He always gave the families of patients pep talks. Sometimes, it was a completely false hope to get them through a moment before he inevitably pulled the rug out from underneath them later. He couldn’t take his own advice because he knew just how fragile the situation was. Knowledge was a curse more often than not.

Yet, he watched you raise your shoulders with a deep, shaky sigh before you nodded stiffly. You took that silent demand because you trusted him wholeheartedly. So he prayed to God that there was no news that shattered that perception you had of him.

You swallowed, body slumping into him. He protected you, one hand cradling the back of your head, while the other rubbed up and down the length of your spine. He sat you down in one of the chairs while still holding you.

He took note of your exhaustion. He hummed softly and dragged his hand around to hold the side of your head. You drooped your head into that hand, a soft groan escaping you when he rubbed at your temple.

“Still feeling your migraine?” He questioned, but he already knew the answer. “C’mon, I will get you something for that and then set you up in the staff room.”

He took your hand and helped you up again. Your hand was trembling badly in his grasp, and his heart twinged with pain again. He felt his own fear bubbling up his body, threatening to release in the form of vomiting or a complete meltdown, but he swallowed it the best he could.

This wasn’t about him right now. He had to make sure you remained as stable as you could while your son was flirting with death.

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robinavitchswhore · 9 days ago

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Grinding your clit on Robby’s nose while his tongue laps at your hole

#the pitt #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #noah wyle #Michael robinavitch smut

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robinavitchswhore · 10 days ago

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HELP

I read a fic a while ago where Joel, convinced by Maria and Tommy, help this young mom with a new baby. Like the woman was abused and doesn’t really know what she’s doing so Joel begrudgingly helps her.

And now I can’t find it :(

#joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller

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robinavitchswhore · 12 days ago

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I need a cigarette while reading this

welp.

warnings: threesome, pegging, m/f/m

“Juuust like that,” Robby breathes, guiding hands on your hips as he slowly, gently, urges you forward.

On his back with a pillow beneath him, Jack is panting, the tendons in his neck straining as he groans, low and broken.

You run a hand down his chest, a sheen of sweat making his skin slick, warm, intensified by the way he’s flushed all over.

He’s so handsome—so pretty—hands beneath his thighs to hold himself open, his grip hard enough to bruise.

“You okay, love?” you ask him, wrapping your fingers around his weeping cock and pulling another throaty noise from him.

When he doesn’t answer aside from that, you feel Robby move behind you, looking over your shoulder and trying, “Jack—do you need us to st—”

“Do not,” Jack cuts him off, “fucking stop.”

You laugh, lean down enough to kiss his left knee as Robby pushes you forward again.

It’s like this for a bit longer, moving at a glacial pace, but each inch of the strap-on that you feed Jack seems to punch another new sound from him.

It isn’t huge, smaller than both men, but it isn’t tiny by any means. The way Jack stretches around the toy is a sight you hadn’t ever imagined, but now that you’ve seen it firsthand… well, you understand why your boyfriends always stop and stare when they stretch your pussy out.

Gorgeous.

“You ready for me to really move?” you check in again just in case.

Jack pushes himself up some, levels hooded, hazel eyes at you, then grabs the back of the neck and plants his lips against yours.

“Baby, I’ve been ready—please fuck me.”

He catches your little gasp, and your knees almost buckle at the demand. The plea.

“F-fuck, okay, yeah,” you nod, feel him smirk against your lips before he falls back.

Jack’s hands cover Robby’s where they’re already gripping your hips, and like that, you let them guide you in a lesson of angles, rhythm, and depth.

The first time you hit Jack’s prostate he lets loose a loud, strangled groan, and you find yourself moaning right alongside him, the sound breaking into a high keen when Robby takes the opportunity to slide his cock into your messy cunt.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking wet,” he actually chuckles, kisses your shoulder, and you guess he’s looking at Jack when he fucking informs the other man, “I think she likes having you all spread out like this.”

You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so hot, the flames in your belly shooting up into your chest when Jack’s mouth pulls up on one side, satisfied and sly when he tells the other man, “gimme a taste.”

Robby doesn’t hesitate, just stretches your pussy even more by pushing a thick finger inside of you. Once satisfied with how you’ve coated him, all slick and creamy, Robby offers his hand to Jack, leaning into you which has you leaning into Jack, and you watch in a daze as the man beneath you greedily sucks Robby’s finger into his mouth.

As if your taste spurs him on, Jack bucks up against you, encouraging you to move again, so, of course, you do. With a snap of your hips, you grin when he releases a muffled swear, take in the rise and fall of his chest, the way he trembles, the way his cock leaks a little more with each graze to his prostate.

It isn’t long before you lose sight of Jack, though—lose sight of everything as your eyes start to roll from Robby taking you from behind.

You thought that fucking Jack would make you feel at least somewhat in control, but as you stay trapped between your boyfriends, rocking back and forth and lost in pleasure, you feel more out of control than you ever have.

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robinavitchswhore · 13 days ago

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i can't live with the fact anymore that dr michael fucking robinavitch isn't real

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robinavitchswhore · 15 days ago

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SHUT THE FUCK UP

I go to your master list so so often just to reread your fics. Babe I LOVE your blog so much. You’re a great writer do not doubt yourself.

My fics are so boring omg i’m gonna sob😭 i look at other’s people’s fics and i go WOW THIS IS SO GOOD but then i look at mine and i’m like… who wrote this shit… why is it so dull😭😭😭😭😭😭

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robinavitchswhore · 16 days ago

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BRAVO BRAVO

I LOVE IT AND YOU

Andante, andante // Dana Evans

18+. MINORS DNI.

Tagging; @oldermenfucker cause she inspired me to do this (ily rue mwah mwah) and @kja06 cause she requested dana get her pussy eaten 🤭

Summary: Dana just got divorced (albeit amicably) and she feels free and happy. So she’s bought herself an opposite-honeymoon to Cyprus, and happens to end up at a hotel where you work at the bar.

Warnings: smut (duh), divorce mentions, cunnilingus, uncertainty, age difference, alcohol, sex with one person intoxicated. female reader (pronouns aren’t mentioned but female genitalia), reader’s age not mentioned but it’s insinuated dana is older.

Word count: 2k

A/N: english is not my first language and i have never ever before written anything x reader, so critizism is very welcome but PLEASE be kind about it <3

It’s not your first work day this summer, not by far. Cyprus is always welcoming — you’ve been doing this for four years, travelling out to Larnaca during peak vacation season and working the bar at one of the major hotels. So you’re familiar with everything you run into at a no-children-allowed hotel during summer with an open-bar policy.

What you weren’t prepared for, however, is Dana Evans in room 843. The first night, she had practically bounced over to the cocktail lounge to order a drink, and you had the sudden feeling of every brain cell leaving your body. Blonde hair just past her shoulders, a navy blue bikini top, white shorts with a lace trim that you wanted to sink your teeth into. She was grinning, and happy, and didn’t seem to mind having to repeat her order. “One old fashioned on the rocks. I’m celebrating.” After finally relocating the parts of your brain that controlled speech and movement, you got started on the drink and asked a follow-up question. “Celebrating what?” The older woman had grinned, shadows of crows feet at the corner of her eyes, and you’d felt a little lightheaded. “My divorce. It finalized a week ago, and I’m taking myself on the opposite of a honeymoon. Two weeks, sunshine and the pool and all inclusive.” Her joy was contagious, so there had been a huge grin on your own face when you held out the drink. “Then I wish you a happy single life. Enjoy!”

From there, it had evolved slowly. On her third order she asked your name, and you asked hers. On the second night she stayed at the bar, rather than walk over to the karaoke stage. By the fifth night, she was a comforting staple in your shift. “So, what about you, sugar? Anyone special in your life?” You were used to listening to people (it sort of came with the job description) but they rarely wanted you to talk, so Dana’s question brought you pause before you realized she actually expected an answer. “No, not really. I have a few flings now and then, but I mostly just enjoy being my own person.”

Your reply seemed to be the right thing, because Dana seemed pleased; nodding slowly as she took a sip of her drink, the fifth of the night. Her hair was even lighter now, her skin tanned, and she was wearing a turquoise sundress tonight. It was nearing the end of your shift, and you began picking away dishes. “Any last calls tonight, ma’am?” The usual question, and you expected the usual answer; a glass of ice water with lemon to go. But no. Tonight, Dana’s eyes were dark with arousal and full of a promise you couldn’t quite decipher. It sent a shiver down your spine when she followed the silence with a slow shake of the head and the tug of teeth on her bottom lip. “No, thank you. But when you’ve closed up, I’d like to see you upstairs.” Before you’ve even attempted to recover from hearing those words (really, you must be hallucinating), she’s downed the last of her drink and placed a plastic keycard on the table. “Think about it. You know where to find me.”

You had pocketed the card; just to keep it safe, of course. During dishes and wiping down the bar, it was practically burning a hole in your thigh through the linen dress. Should you go? It would be unprofessional and not very smart, really — but boy oh boy, you were sure it would bring with it the best sex of your life.

In the end, your lizard brain won out. Against your better judgement you found yourself in the elevator, cradling the small plastic card that held the key to your next adventure. The rising elevator seemed to take a torturously long time, and when you stepped off at the eight floor your heart was pounding against your ribcage. You weren’t usually wandering the halls so it took a minute to locate the right room, but suddenly you were right there. Staring at the numbers, feeling lightheaded with anticipation. You almost knocked — it was common courtesy after all, when arriving at someone else’s place — but then remembered you had a key. Your fingers shook slightly in bringing the card to the reader, but with a click you found yourself able to tug the door open. “Hello?”

She let you take a small step inside, and then another, before a hand slid up the exposed skin of your arm and the door slowly closed behind you. “I’m surprised,” Dana’s voice was low and practically purring, and your head dropped backward as if it could bring her closer against you. “I didn’t think you would dare.”

With a contented hum, arms suddenly snake around your hips and tug your back tight against her chest, leaving you breathless. This was actually happening. You were here, in her room, and she was touching you. “Uh, yeah. I dared. Apparently.” A wry, nervous chuckle, but a warm hand with calloused fingertips stroked across your collarbones. “No need to be worried, darling. I’ll take care of you.” She’s so at ease, despite the strange and unusual situation, that eventually your own shoulders drop too. You melt into the touch, suddenly gaining confidence that has you turning around — backing her up against the wall of the hotel room. “Let me take care of you, first. Please. You’re the one on vacation.” You finish the sentence with a wink, before you sink to your knees before her without hesitation. Her breath hitches, and you smirk up beneath your lashes, a hand sliding slowly up her leg. “Saying something, darling?”

The comment has her letting out an amused snort, but in the next moment her head is falling back against the wall as your fingers meet… skin? A shudder runs down your spine and you fight the urge to close your eyes, instead glancing up at her again. Your voice is husky when you speak, fingers now trailing the dip where her thigh joins her pelvis, getting to know her body with just your fingers. “Were you not wearing any underwear down at the bar either?”

The way your words heave with arousal only serves to make her give a cocky grin and shake her head, and you can’t fight the chuckle that leaves your own chest. “Kinky.” But then your other hand is gathering the skirt of her dress and bunching it above her hip, and you groan at the sight that’s revealed. Tan lines along her hipbones, dark blonde strands curling atop the silky smooth skin of her pubic mound. You want to taste her, so you waste no time. Within moments your face is pressed against her despite the uncomfortable angle, eyes closed and fingertips digging into the flesh of her thigh as you hold her leg to the side. Tongue toys between her folds, teeth graze her clitoral hood, lips greedily wraps around her already swollen clit.

Each hitched breath and stuttered movement urges you to increase your efforts, a woman starved where you kneel on the wooden floor. Her sounds increase; whimpers and mewled whines she can no longer contains, strong fingers curl in your hair as if desperate for something to hang on to. You don’t relent; working her closer toward the edge. When her knees start shaking and almost buckle, you still don’t pull back. You only push your body between her thighs and lift one leg over your shoulder, taking her weight on to make sure she doesn’t fall. Then, the same hand finds its way between her strong thighs to join your mouth in its efforts, and you groan against her when two fingers slide in to the third knuckle without much resistance at all.

It pushes Dana into the orgasm you’ve chased, crashing into it with a string of curses. You cherish every twitch of her muscles around your fingers and greedily swallow every drop that gushes onto your tongue. Insatiable, eager, fingers and mouth relentless even as your jaw starts aching. It’s a bad angle, and it’s overworked — but god, you could die happy right here. Maybe you have died? You being in heaven would certainly explain most of what just happened. But, you realize regretfully, your lungs start craving oxygen. So you slowly lift your head, grinning up at her with slick covering the lower half of your face, and you drink in the sight of her above you; eyes closed, lips parted, chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. When her own chin tilts downward to face you, there’s a sated expression of lust and relaxation on her face but it soon grows into mischievous promise.

Before you can consider what she might be planning, she’s grasped you by the upper arms and urged you back on your feet. For a moment you worry she’s going to send you on your way, but she nods towards the bed. “Let’s get comfortable. And naked.” The bluntness doesn’t surprise you — she’s been open and honest without hesitation, ever since you first met. But the order does make nerves grow in your stomach; worry that perhaps she will be unhappy with what she sees.

Turns out, you didn’t need to worry. Afterward, you don’t remember getting undressed, or when Dana discarded of her own clothing. You can only recall the feeling of having her climb on top of you, the scent of her enveloping you — coconut lotion, whiskey, floral perfume and a faint shadow of mosquito spray. You don’t think the scent will ever leave your brain, honestly, but that’s the very last thought to enter your brain before she’s suddenly got her hand between your legs. Eyes locked on yours with a ferocious focus that you couldn’t tear your gaze away from even if you tried. Fingers trail between your thighs, stroke through swollen folds until she can touch your desperate, sensitive clit. You jolt at the touch, but it must be evident in your eyes that you’re not intending on getting away because Dana only grins.

From there on, there is not an ounce of mercy in her movements. You’re putty in her hands, and she takes full advantage to fold and shape you to her will. Toys with your clit, pushes fingers into you so deeply you wonder if she’s digging for gold (and the thought makes you giggle). Eyes roll when her tongue meets your clit, and you can’t seem to remember how to think. Her hands and mouth are everywhere, touching and tasting and driving you absolutely insane. It’s okay — you don’t need to think, she’s got you. And she makes the most of it.

By the time you’re both catching your breath, she must have gotten at least three (four?) orgasms out of you. You’re all but passed out on the bed, grinning, and you’re both glistening with sweat. She drops down beside you, a hand on your face now gentle rather than arousing, and you tilt your head toward her. She meets you face to face, noses touching, and her voice is barely a whisper when she speaks up. “Can I kiss you?” The request surprises but doesn’t deter you, and you nod once — the only sign she needs. Her lips close over your own; slowly, gently. She tastes like whiskey, like your own cunt, like promise. A taste that has your eyelids fluttering shut and your body arching toward her own, and you’re both drowning in the kiss for what somehow feels like both forever and barely a second.

She doesn’t push you to go, doesn’t thank you with a voice that strongly suggests you leave. Instead she tugs the sheet across both your bodies and buries her face into your own messy hair, as if she doesn’t hesitate to fall asleep right there beside you in bed. So you do too — relax, close your eyes, and suddenly you’ve fallen asleep too. Tomorrow, her vacation is one day closer to the end. Tomorrow reality calls; conversations will need to take place, decisions will need to be made. But right now, you both just enjoy the calm of each other’s embrace.

#the pitt #dana evans #dana evans x reader #ahhhhh #fuck me

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