Evelyn | nurse girlfriend

The second you heard her key in the door, your stomach dropped.

She’d warned you. She texted earlier.

“PTO approved. You’re mine now, squish.”

And you were. That was the problem.

The door opened with a creak, followed by the click-thump of her bag hitting the floor.

Then—her voice.

“Babyyyyy. I’m hoooome. But not just for today. For a whole f*ing week.”

You swallowed.

She strolled into the room like a queen on vacation—scrubs halfway unbuttoned, bra already unclipped under her shirt, hair pulled up in a loose bun, and an expression on her face that said she had plans.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t even try.

She looked at you curled up on the couch with the blanket tucked around your waist and grinned like a cat that spotted a wounded bird.

“Awww. You look so helpless. That’s adorable. You waiting for your sugar mama to bring home dinner again?”

You opened your mouth. She was already on you.

Literally.

She stepped over your legs and dropped her full weight across your lap in one heavy, squishy, entitled motion—her thighs pinning yours down, her stomach pressing warm against your belly.

“I should’ve taken this PTO ages ago,” she purred, hands grabbing your cheeks, squeezing like she was trying to test for ripeness. “I forgot how fun it is having a boyfriend who can’t afford to say no to me.”

You stammered. She tsked.

“Shhh. Let the grown woman talk. You’ve had all day to sit and do nothing. It’s my turn now.”

One of her hands drifted down your chest, then back up again. Light touch. Familiar. Claiming.

“You’ve gotten skinnier again. What, is depression eating better than I do now?” She smirked. “I’m gonna have to fix that. I want you soft enough that you squeak when I sit on you.”

You flushed.

She leaned forward, her arms now fully wrapping around your shoulders, her chest spilling against your face as she buried you in a lazy, commanding cuddle.

And kept talking. Right into your ear.

“I was gonna use this PTO to relax. Yoga, journaling, naps, candles… but then I remembered I have a live-in plush doll who won’t run away because he literally can’t afford rent without me.”

You tried to shift. She tightened her grip and rocked her weight against you until you stopped moving.

“See? Perfect. This is therapy for me. You’re warm, squishy, and don’t talk back unless I let you.”

You mumbled something.

She pulled your face deeper into her cleavage.

“What was that? Oh, right. Nothing.”

Her voice lowered now, more teasing, meaner, still sweet around the edges like a poison candy:

“I get to play housewife and breadwinner while you sit here like a little rescued stray. Honestly? I think I like you better like this. Dependent. Helpless. Mine.”

Then she patted your cheek.

“You’re a full-time job and a full-body pillow. Lucky for you, I’m off the clock.”

She leaned back to look down at you—her thighs still locked over your lap, one hand under your shirt, absently rubbing her palm over your stomach.

“I’m gonna make you too comfortable to ever leave me. You’ll forget what independence felt like. Just stay here. Get used to it.”

You blinked.

She grinned.

“I should get a bell for you. Or a leash. Ooh, or maybe one of those giant baby carriers so I can just strap you to my front while I make eggs. Think about it. Breakfast on my hips. That’s peak efficiency.”

You said nothing.

She sighed happily, her fingers trailing down your ribs now.

“I can already tell this PTO is gonna be healing. For me, anyway. You? You’re just gonna get smothered into obedience.”

Then she leaned in, voice low:

“Be honest. You missed this. You like when I treat you like a dumb plush I picked up at the clearance bin and refused to throw away.”

You didn’t answer.

She licked your cheek.

“Thought so.”

Then she kissed you—deep and mean and possessive.

And just before you could even recover, she muttered into your mouth:

“Now be good, hot water bottle. Mommy needs you to absorb some trauma.”