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thepencilnerd · 22 days ago

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Anatomy of Want

summary: Jack Abbot never thought he'd be this undone over a resident. But you were unlike anyone he'd met—brilliant under pressure, quick on your feet, and impossible to ignore. What begins as admiration quickly becomes something deeper, something that simmers beneath every shared shift, until it threatens to boil over. warnings/notes: 18+ MDNI, age gap, slow burn, mutual pining, jealousy, praise kink, shameless smut, oral sex (f&m receiving), body worship, depictions of war scars, literally just an excuse to write jack abbot smut & you kissing his scars bc that man lives in my head rent free wc: 5.4k a/n: forgot i posted this on ao3 but not here :}

You joined the night shift in a flurry of quiet confidence and dazzling competence, and Jack noticed you immediately. It wasn’t just the way you handled patient load like clockwork, or how you navigated the trauma bay with a calm assurance usually reserved for seasoned attendings. It was the way you asked questions, the way you looked at problems sideways, the way you never folded, even when things got messy.

He told himself he was just impressed. That it was his responsibility, as your mentor, to push you. And he did—assigned you the trickiest cases, brought you into every complicated intubation, every crashing patient. You rose to each occasion like you'd been waiting for it, and Jack couldn't stop himself from watching.

"Nice call on that bleed in bay three," he said one night, as you stripped off your gloves, blood spattered on your gown. "You didn’t hesitate."

You shrugged, a wry smile on your lips. "Wasn't much time to, I could've acted faster."

He looked at you a beat longer than necessary. "Take the win, Dr. L/N."

That was how it went for months. Shifts passed in a rhythm he hadn’t felt in years. He trusted you. Relied on you. Admired you, yes, but more than that. There were moments—lingering looks across trauma bays, soft laughs shared over half-spilled coffee at 3 a.m., casual brushes of your hands when passing charts that lingered a beat too long.

Once, when you struggled with a stubborn intubation, he’d leaned in close, murmuring, "You've got this," low enough that it was meant just for you. His hand steadied your elbow, brief but grounding. You’d nailed the tube placement. He’d smiled the whole rest of the shift.

After the harder nights, he started climbing to the roof again. The first time he found you there—legs dangling off the ledge, coffee in hand, still in scrubs—he thought it was coincidence.

It wasn’t.

"Couldn't sleep either?" you'd said without looking at him, voice soft with exhaustion.

He didn’t answer right away. Just sat beside you, shoulder brushing yours.

You didn’t say much after that. Neither did he. Just silence, and the hum of the city below, and a sense of belonging he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

Some nights, you’d pass a bag of vending machine pretzels back and forth in companionable quiet. Other nights, you'd trade war stories—the worst consults, the craziest saves—your voices low, private, confessions to the stars.

It was easy. Natural. Dangerous.

Jack tried to tell himself it didn’t mean anything. That it was just friendship. Just exhaustion.

But then there were the nights he caught himself watching you laugh at something small, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and his chest tightened with something he couldn’t name.

The tension built slowly, like pressure behind a dam.

Then came the morning you were signing out charts at the nurse’s station, still in your scrubs and rubbing at a bruise forming on your shoulder. Samira Mohan breezed in, bright-eyed, coffee in hand.

"Don’t forget," she said, pulling up beside you. "8pm tonight. David from anesthesia."

"Shit." You'd totally blanked. "I almost forgot, I'm sorry."

"You’re gonna be great," she assured. "He’s nice. And hot. Like... surgery hot."

You couldn't help the snort that escaped you. "What do I even wear? It’s been so long. I bought that one thing..."

Samira's eyes lit up. "Oh, the black lace set?"

"Samira!" Your hands flew up to cover her mouth, cheeks pink and lips pressed tight. "Keep your voice down!" The words came out tight.

"It’s classy!" she laughed, prying your hands off her mouth. "I stand by it. Black is always a good call."

Neither of you noticed Jack at the far end of the nurses' station, flipping through charts but not actually reading them.

He stood there longer than he needed to. Long enough to hear about the date. Long enough to hear about the lingerie. Long enough for his mind to start betraying him—already picturing you in it, delicate black lace against your skin, curves he'd only admired from a respectful distance until now. He wasn't sure whether he'd be more desperate to tear it off you with his hands or his teeth.

And something in him shifted. Just a little. But enough to curl his fingers tighter around the chart in his hands, to clench his jaw until it ached. You sounded hesitant, unsure, nervous in a way that didn’t track with the woman who could crack a diagnosis under pressure without breaking a sweat.

He heard the waver in your voice when you said, "I’m just… worried," and it rang in his head like bolded text. Jack knew you too well not to read between the lines. You weren’t worried about the guy—you were worried because someone else already occupied your mind.

And damn it, he wanted nothing more than for it to be him.

He didn’t want anyone else to be close to you like that. Not because he thought you needed protecting, but because he’d never met someone whose mind, whose hands, whose presence made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he could let someone in again.

Samira nudged you with her elbow, oblivious to the ripple effect her words had left in their wake. "Go home, take a nap, put on something that makes you feel good, and just... have fun, okay? It's your first night off in weeks—you deserve to enjoy it."

You hesitated, biting your lip. "I don't know... it's been a while. What if it's awkward? What if I forgot how to do this?"

She grinned like the devil herself. "You don't forget. It's like muscle memory. Besides, you’re hot. And smart. And wearing black lace. You'll be fine."

You laughed weakly, dropping your voice. "It's just... first date sex? After a dry spell? I feel like I'll crash and burn."

Samira waggled her eyebrows. "Best way to crash. Trust me."

A snap echoed through the room—the sharp, unmistakable crack of plastic breaking.

You and Samira both glanced up.

Jack bent calmly, retrieved the shattered halves of a pen from the floor, and tucked them into his pocket like nothing had happened.

You blinked. Samira blinked. Then shrugged and kept talking.

"Go have fun," she repeated, nudging you again. "Tonight's about you. No pressure, no expectations. Just... have a good time."

You nodded, though your heart wasn't in it. The twist in your stomach wasn't nerves about the date.

It was the thought of someone else entirely.

You smiled weakly and nodded, though your stomach twisted in ways that had nothing to do with nerves and everything to do with someone else entirely.

On your way out, you passed Jack by the charting station, offered him a quiet, "See you on Monday, Dr. Abbot." He gave you a tight-lipped smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Eight o’clock rolled around faster than you expected.

You stood outside the restaurant, already regretting your decision. The lace set beneath your outfit felt less like a confidence boost and more like a secret that didn’t belong to this version of the night. Still, you squared your shoulders and walked in, searching the tables until you saw a man wave—clean cut, kind smile, textbook charming.

David was, by all accounts, exactly what Samira had described. Funny, intelligent, a bit pretentious, but typical for your average resident. He complimented your dress. Asked about your shift schedule. Talked about scuba diving in Belize, his past summer at his parent's beach house.

But your smile stopped at your cheeks. You laughed at the right moments. You answered questions politely. And every so often, your mind wandered back to a different voice—rougher, lower, more familiar.

You thought of Jack’s dry wit. The way he tucked his hands into his scrub pockets when he was thinking. The sound of his laugh, more of a chuckle, rare but always sincere. The heat in his gaze when he really looked at you, like he was trying to hear what colors tinted your thoughts.

You forced yourself back to the conversation with rapid blinks, nodding at whatever David was saying about residency rotations and placements. He was nice. He really was.

So why did you feel like you were somewhere you didn’t belong?

Maybe it was the way David's hand reached for yours across the table, smooth and tentative, and how you instinctively pulled back before you could stop yourself. It wasn’t rude—just reflex. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel familiar.

Not like Jack’s hands—callused and warm—when they’d guided your wrist during your first real incision, steadying your nerves with his quiet presence. His grip had been firm, reassuring. You could still remember the way his fingers curled gently but purposefully around yours, the scent of antiseptic and adrenaline in the air.

David’s hand was too small. Too soft. Too unsure. There was no strength in it. No certainty. No experience.

God you were going insane.

"Sorry," you exhaled, offering him a polite smile. But your attention was already drifting, your eyes drawn to a familiar silhouette across the room.

Salt and pepper curls caught the neon light just right. Jack Abbot stood at the far end of the bar, one hand wrapped around a beer, the other resting on the wood tabletop, eyes cast toward the floor—until he looked up.

And found you.

Your breath caught. The background noise dulled to static. For a suspended moment, the two of you just stared. Time slowed. Jack didn’t blink. He didn’t look away.

He didn’t have to.

You felt it in your gut—the electric pull of something intangible.

David started talking again, but it was white noise. The clink of a glass, the hum of conversation, all drowned out by the weight of that look, of Jack watching you like you were the only person in the room.

And suddenly, you were.

You raised your wine glass slowly, holding his gaze as you took a sip. Jack mirrored you, bringing his beer to his lips with a quiet intensity that made your chest tighten. The silence stretched between you like a live wire.

Fingers tightening around the stem, you set your glass down with a little too much force, feigning a glance at your phone as if a sudden messaged had triggered a vibration. "Shit, it's an emergency," you lied, offering a rushed, apologetic smile. "Something came up at the hospital. I have to go. I'm so sorry."

David looked disappointed, but nodded, ever the gentleman. "Of course! Rain check?"

A small, apologetic smile tugged at your lips as you rose, shrugging into your coat. Pulse pounding in your ears, you threaded your way through the maze of tables, slipping out the door with a tight exhale.

Behind you, the scrape of a barstool echoed a second later—quick, deliberate.

Out in the cool night air, you rounded the corner into the alley beside the building, your breath misting as you leaned against the brick wall. The adrenaline had only just begun to settle in your bloodstream when you heard the trailing of familiar footsteps.

Jack Abbot appeared a moment later, turning the corner with his hands outstretched, his brow furrowed like he wasn’t sure what he was doing there until his eyes found yours.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice low. He shifted closer to you, arms now crossed.

You nodded. "Yeah. I just... needed air."

A pause. Eyes dipped, then lifted again, something unspoken skating between you.

You cleared your throat. "How was your evening?"

Jack blinked at the pivot, letting it settle between you. "Uneventful."

"What were you doing at that bar?" you asked, an arch to your brow that softened the tension.

He allowed himself a grin, shoulders relaxing just slightly. "It’s my usual spot. Popular with the old folks."

"Samira did say it had a vintage charm to it when she picked it out," you replied with a smirk.

Jack scoffed at the poke at his age, making both of you laugh.

"Alright then," he countered, eyes narrowing with a spark of mischief. "What were you doing there?"

You hesitated, then exhaled a slow breath. "Ruining my chances of settling down."

His expression flickered.

"What?" You gave a half-laugh, smile twisted with self-deprecation. "Isn't that the whole point of dating as a doctor? Just a long game of figuring out how emotionally unavailable I still am and forever will be?"

Abbot sighed, long and quiet, like it came from somewhere deeper than just the moment.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him, curiosity tugging at your features. "Were you… waiting on someone?"

That gave him pause.

Jack stilled. The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a frown, not quite a smile. His gaze didn’t meet yours at first. He looked past you, to the mouth of the alley, like the answer might be written in the shadows or the neon lights beyond. Like if he stalled long enough, you might forget you asked.

"Not exactly," he started, voice rougher than usual.

You lifted a brow.

He exhaled again, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "I didn’t come here for that. But when I saw you…" He trailed off, eyes finally locking onto yours. "Guess I started waiting."

Your breath caught. The weight of his words settled in your chest—slow and warm and heavy. Something about the way he said it made it feel less like a confession and more like an inevitability.

He’d been waiting. Watching. Wanting. The same way you’d been tiptoeing around the truth since you'd stepped foot into that ER—since the very first time your fingers brushed as he passed you a chart, since the first time your eyes met across the trauma bay, since that first quiet moment together on the roof.

With the dim alley light casting soft gold between you, something gave. Tension melted into gravity, and gravity into pull, pull into a quiet explosion. You stepped forward just as he did, meeting in the middle, neither of you saying a word. The kiss hit like floodgates bursting—urgent, aching, years of held-back desire finally snapping loose.

His mouth was warm, tasting of beer and something deeply Jack. His cologne clung to the collar of his coat, smoky and crisp, and you inhaled it like oxygen. Hands found your waist, large and steady, trailing down to your hips and cupping your curves like he'd memorized them long before ever touching. Your fingers curled around the lapels of his jacket, pulling him closer, needing more.

It felt like one of those messy makeouts from college—reckless, hungry, impossibly heady. But this wasn't some clumsy hookup. This was the culmination of every stolen glance, every almost-touch, every moment spent not saying the thing that burned between you.

You were both sober enough to know what this was—what it meant. When Jack pulled away, just slightly, his breath brushing your lips, his voice dropped into something gravel-soft. "You're not drunk?"

You shook your head, words catching in your throat. "One glass of wine. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

That was all he needed.

You surged forward, capturing his mouth again with a need that bordered on desperate. Jack backed into the wall with a soft grunt, pulling you in like the space between you had always belonged to him. His hands roamed—one sliding up to cup your jaw, the other finding your lower back, anchoring you like he was terrified you'd disappear.

The kiss deepened, his tongue brushing yours, tasting of mint and longing and everything unspoken between you. You whimpered into his mouth, fingers threading through the curls at the nape of his neck, feeling him shiver at the contact. He devoured you like a man starved, and when he pulled back, just enough to look at you, lips swollen and voice rough, he rasped, "Let me take you home."

You nodded, breathless, pulse thundering in your throat. The walk back to your apartment was quiet, the tension between you humming like electricity under your skin. Jack simply held your hand the entire way. The air crackled, your hand brushing his once, twice, before he finally laced your fingers together.

Arriving at your front door, your hands trembled slightly as you unlocked it. The weight of what was about to happen anchored itself deep in your stomach. You stepped inside, the warm light of your living room spilling over the hardwood floors. Jack hovered in the doorway, hesitant, until you reached for his hand again.

"Come in," you said softly.

He followed.

You led him to the couch, asking quietly if he wanted anything to drink. Jack shook his head, stepping closer until your bodies were barely apart.

"I don’t need anything," he murmured. "Except you."

You inhaled sharply, but before you could speak, his lips were on yours again—slower this time, reverent, like he was memorizing every contour of your mouth. His hands cupped your face as he pulled you closer, until you felt the full heat of him against you.

You reached for the hem of his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders, then your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, fumbling slightly. Jack took over, shrugging out of it with ease. Beneath, his skin was warm and firm beneath your wandering hands, the light dusting of chest hair catching the soft glow of your floor lamp.

Jack’s hands slid under the hem of your top, brushing up your sides, warm palms skating over bare skin. When he pulled it over your head and saw the black lace lingerie beneath—filigree against your skin, delicate and dark—his breath caught in his throat.

"That kid," he spat, "wouldn’t know how to take care you."

You managed a breathless laugh, the tension and heat between you turning reckless. "And what exactly does taking care of me imply, Dr. Abbot?" you teased, voice low and daring.

Jack's eyes darkened immediately, his fingers tightening slightly where they gripped your waist. "Everything you need," he rasped. "And more."

You smiled, bold with adrenaline, tipping your chin up toward him. "And you think you can handle me?"

He leaned in, mouth grazing your ear, voice wrecked and certain. "Sweetheart," Jack said, "I'm counting on it."

He unclasped your bra with one hand, letting it fall away before sliding his palms across your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, deliberate strokes. "You’re perfect."

You arched into him with a quiet gasp, his touch both soothing and incendiary. He kissed your neck, down your collarbone, until he was lowering you gently onto the couch.

"Let me take care of you," he said, voice hoarse with restraint.

Your only answer was a nod, a whispered, "Please."

Jack kneeled between your thighs, kissing his way down your stomach, murmuring soft nothings against your skin. He slipped your underwear down slowly, eyes locked with yours. He paused only briefly, kissing the inside of your thigh before taking two fingers and teasing them along your entrance.

You gasped, hips bucking as he gently eased a finger inside, curling it expertly. "So wet for me," he murmured, awed. "God, you’re dripping."

And then he was lowering his mouth to you, tongue parting you gently. When he sucked your clit into his mouth, your back arched and your fingers dove into his hair, holding tight.

Jack groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core. "I could live here," he muttered. "Die happy between your thighs."

You whimpered, tugging harder at his hair. "Jack—please—"

He didn’t stop. His tongue moved in rhythm with his fingers, slow at first and then faster, guided by your every gasp and shudder. The sound of him—soft groans muffled against your slick, the wet sounds of his mouth working you over—had your skin tingling. The taste of you seemed to drive him wild, his chin slick with your arousal as he murmured, "Fucking incredible," into your core.

His fingers curled just right, finding that perfect spot with unerring precision. Your moans spilled out freely, hands clutching at his hair, holding him there. He groaned again, a sound of pure pleasure. "That’s it, sweetheart. Let go for me."

When it broke—when you shattered with a breathless, keening cry—Jack held you through it, grounding you with his strong hands bracketing your hips. His lips never left you, drawing out every tremble, every ripple of your climax until it became too much. Your thighs twitched, pleasure tipping toward the edge of pain, and with trembling fingers, you tapped gently at his shoulder. A silent plea for mercy.

He stilled instantly, pulling back with his mouth slick and eyes dark, but gentle.

You could only scoff, breath shaky and a smile of bliss coloring your face. Jack leaned forward to press a kiss to your thigh, tender and unhurried. "You’re unbelievable," he whispered, voice rough with awe and restraint.

He pulled back slowly, face glistening, licking his fingers clean before sucking them into his mouth, savoring every bit of your taste. Then he looked up at you like you were the only thing that existed. Like he'd just touched heaven.

As he kissed up your body, his breath fanned across your damp skin—each kiss a pause, a confession. His facial hair scraped lightly in contrast to the softness of his lips, leaving trails of heat along your ribs, then your collarbone. When he reached your neck, he lingered there, nuzzling the hollow beneath your jaw before pressing a kiss to it, like he couldn't get enough of the way you tasted, the way you felt, the way you breathed beneath him.

"Can I undress you?" you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. He looks up at you like the morning sky, warmth, admiration, and affection—but there's hesitation there too.

He swallows, jaw flexing slightly, before nodding. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Just... heads up."

You pause, thumb brushing the edge of his cheek. "Jack?"

His voice is rough. "You’ll see scars. From before. It’s not a big deal, just... some of them are pretty bad." He tries to laugh it off, but his eyes flicker away and his shoulders tense. Your heart cracks open at the vulnerability he rarely lets anyone see.

"Hey," you murmur, tilting his face back toward yours. "Whatever you’ve been through, whatever you carry—I want to see all of you. Every piece."

Jack's throat bobbed with a swallow, eyes glassy as he searched your face for doubt—and found none. His fingers brushed lightly along your jaw.

You undressed him slowly, fingers trembling as you tugged his belt open, then popped the button of his slacks. His cock strained against the fabric, an eager outline that made your mouth water. When you pushed his pants down, the sight made you pause—he was perfect. Not too much, not too little—cut, well-groomed, thick and just the right length. A light trail of hair led up to a stomach carved with muscle, the kind earned by years of hard work, not vanity.

You wrapped your fingers around him, gave him a few slow pumps, marveling at the weight of him in your hand. When you ducked your head and pressed a kiss to the flushed tip, he hissed softly, hand threading into your hair. You licked him experimentally, kitten licks at first, savoring the velvet softness of his skin, the way he twitched at every flick of your tongue.

You took him into your mouth, slowly, a few shallow bobs that had him groaning low in his throat. His other hand gripped the back of the couch behind you as his hips twitched forward, but just when you began to settle into a rhythm, he gently but firmly pulled you back.

Jack crushed his mouth to yours, desperate and breathless, his hands cradling your face. "Not like that," he murmured, voice trembling against your lips. "I’m not coming anywhere but inside you. I want to feel you, every inch, every heartbeat." He drew back just enough to look at you, something raw and uncertain flickering in his eyes.

"If you're sure," he whispered, thumb stroking your cheek, "I want to take care of you. Let you shut everything else out—just feel me."

You nodded, breath catching. "I need you."

His breath shuddered out, the last thread of restraint snapping in his chest. With worship and heat in his eyes, Jack kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, as if trying to memorize the very shape of your mouth. Reaching over to the end table, you pulled out a condom wrapper and tore it open, your fingers trembling with anticipation.

With a breathless murmur of his name, you rolled it onto his length—slowly, deliberately—giving him a few teasing strokes first. His cock twitched in your hand, heavy and perfect, and your thumb brushed over the slick tip, spreading the pre-cum like a promise. Jack's breath caught, eyes dark as he watched you, jaw clenched with restraint, like you’d just lit a match in a room full of gasoline.

He guided you down gently, his body pressing into yours, firm and certain, a grounding weight that promised not just desire, but devotion.

You moved first, hips sliding up and down in slow, deliberate strokes, and Jack almost exploded at how good you felt. Every part of him molded to you, surrounding you like safety and fire all at once. His hands cradled your face like something sacred, and the press of his chest against yours ignited sparks beneath your skin. You couldn't remember sex ever feeling like this—like your very soul was unraveling. It was almost a religious experience, divine and consuming, the way he fit with you, moved with you. It felt like surrender.

"Fuck." It punched out of Jack Abbot like a confession, like he’d been holding it in for months. You felt like pure velvet around him—tight, warm, impossibly soft, dragging him to the edge with every glide of your hips. His head tipped back for a moment, jaw clenched, trying to hold on. The sounds spilling from your lips—soft gasps, high whimpers, breathy moans—were branded into his memory already. God, he thought, if he could bottle them, he’d keep them forever. Hoard them. Pray to them for forgiveness.

Your hands were grasping onto whatever they could—his shoulders, the cushions, the curve of his neck—anything to anchor yourself. When your nails dug into his back, Jack groaned low and deep, the sound vibrating against your skin like a warning and a reward. He definitely had a thing for rough, and that knowledge thrilled you.

You leaned in, breathless, and whispered praises against his ear—how good he felt, how perfect he was, how he filled you like no one else ever had.

"Please," you begged, voice shaking.

Jack groaned, the sound catching in his throat. "You’re everything I've ever dreamed of," he rasped, pressing his forehead to yours. "You feel like heaven."

Your nails raked down his back, and he hissed through clenched teeth, clearly loving it. "You take me so well," he murmured, lips brushing your temple, his hand smoothing along your spine. "So fucking good—perfect, you’re made for me."

"Jack—God, please—don’t stop," you whimpered, arching into him. His rhythm faltered for a heartbeat at your words, his grip on your waist tightening like a man barely holding on.

"Never," he whispered. "Gonna keep you like this. You're mine."

Each word wrapped around you like silk, the praise as intoxicating as the rhythm of his hips. You drank him in like water in a desert, letting it fill every hollow part of you until you were burning with it—consumed, adored, alive.

Jack shifted, pulling you with him, guiding you until your hands were braced against the couch and your body arched for him. The air thickened as he pressed behind you, one hand splaying over your lower back, the other skimming down to grip your hip firmly.

He slid back inside slowly, a groan torn from his throat at the new angle. "Fuck, look at you—" he breathed, eyes roaming over the arch of your spine, the way your skin glowed beneath the dim lights.

Your breath caught at the intensity. He moved with purpose now, hips snapping against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the dim light. His grip bruised in the best way, grounding you, guiding you, adoring you with every thrust.

Every movement lit you up, sending shocks through your body until you were keening, meeting him stroke for stroke. Jack leaned over you, one hand splaying across your lower back while the other slipped beneath to rub tight, teasing circles over your clit. The added pressure was too much, the timing of his thrusts too perfect. You were a whining mess, trembling and begging for release, the pleasure cresting like a tidal wave.

"That's it, baby," he groaned, his voice wrecked. "Let go for me. Give it to me."

You clawed at the cushions, barely able to hold yourself upright, your body burning at every point of contact. And when his teeth sank gently into your shoulder, scraping over sensitive skin and biting down with a growled praise, everything inside you shattered.

You came with a strangled cry, ears ringing, vision going white around the edges, the force of your orgasm crashing over you like fire and light. Jack held you steady, worshipful even now, as you pulsed around him—his voice in your ear, a low whisper of your name like a prayer he’d never stop saying. He pressed kisses down your shoulder blades, pausing to give you a break, his breath shaky with restraint.

Then, without a word, he gathered you into his arms, shifting you with care. He carried you up effortlessly, propping your legs over the edge of the couch so you were just hanging off, perfectly open for him. Nestled into the crook of your neck, Jack rocked into you with purpose, his thrusts slow but relentless, chasing his own release. Your hands wrapped protectively around his head, fingers stroking through his hair, grounding him.

"Are you going to fill me up?" you edged, voice breathless, lips brushing the shell of his ear. "Have me dripping for days so everyone knows who I belong to?"

"Jesus Christ, Y/N," he gasped.

That was it.

Jack shuddered, a low, desperate groan escaping him as he pressed himself deeper into you. He trembled, a broken moan tearing from his throat. His fingers clutched your thighs as he buried himself to the hilt, the sound of your voice—the permission, the trust—pushing him over the edge. His release surged through him, hips stuttering as he spilled into you, heart hammering as he held you close, breathless and undone. He collapsed gently against you, all tension melting as he pressed a kiss into your neck, lost in the aftershocks of something that felt like more than just pleasure.

A long moment passed before he pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, the edges of his eyes glistening with overwhelmed want, cheeks flushed with effort and awe.

"What did I do to deserve you?" he murmured, cracking with disbelief. His gaze searched yours—earnest, sincere, undone.

He leaned in again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, as if he couldn't stop reassuring himself you were real. "You okay?" he asked softly, still breathing hard. "Was that too much?"

You smiled through the afterglow, brushing your fingertips over his jaw. "I've never felt anything like that. It was perfect."

Jack exhaled a shuddering breath of relief, then smiled too—soft and disbelieving, like he’d just found something sacred.

Later, after the two of you had cleaned up and slipped beneath the covers, the world slowed to a hush. Jack lay beside you, one arm tucked beneath your shoulders, the other lazily tracing shapes across your skin. Hearts, spirals, question marks—he wasn’t thinking, just moving, touching, grounding himself in your presence.

The silence between you was full—not empty—with comfort and understanding, the kind only found in someone who sees every scar and stays anyway.

Your body ached in the sweetest way, muscles languid and sated. You felt Jack’s chest rise and fall with slow, steady breaths against your back, the heat of his body a constant balm. You turned slightly to glance at him, catching the way his eyes fluttered closed, then opened again to meet yours.

"Stay with me?" you whispered, though it wasn’t really a question.

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your temple. "Always."

Every quiet morning after that was a sort of miracle—waking tangled in his warmth, with the sun filtering through the curtains and the scent of coffee already brewing. Even the hardest days felt lighter, the sharp edges dulled by his steady presence, by the simple truth that he was yours, and you were his.

And in that stillness, that shared understanding, you knew: this was only the beginning.

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mssorceressupreme · 4 months ago

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Truth or Dare | F.W

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Pairing: Fred Weasley x reader

Summary: Fred realises his true feelings for you once you are dared to french kiss George during a round of truth or dare. Draco then forces you to kiss him instead, which only results in a brawl. You then take Fred back to the common room and help clean his wounds.

Warnings/tags: violence/fighting, jealous!fred, kissing, non-con touch, Draco being a git (sorry malfoy lovers 😭), cleaning wounds after a fight trope, reader isn't in a specified house here, spicy ending (if u squint)

———

The Ravenclaw common room had never seen a gathering quite like this. The enchanted blue flames flickered in the fireplace, casting a radiant glow over the room, which today, was packed with students from all four houses.

Luna had invited everyone over, claiming that a “spontaneous social gathering” would be a great way to pass the time and forget about your studies for a while.

The usual gryffindor group, Cedric and some hufflepuffs, the slytherin trio and Cho, all decided to partake in this gathering.

And so, there you all were, sitting in a large, chaotic circle on the floor, playing a game of truth or dare that had long spiralled out of control.

The rules were simple: if you refused a dare or a truth, you had to take Veritaserum and spill your deepest, darkest secret in front of everyone. No one wanted to risk that.

So far, Harry had been dared to kiss the prettiest girl in the room, which led to him—rather sheepishly—kissing Ginny, earning a gag from Ron. But moments later, Ron found himself a stuttering mess when Hermione had been dared to sit on his lap for two rounds, her face burning red while he struggled to keep his cool.

Neville, poor thing, had been forced to recount an embarrassing moment where he tripped down an entire staircase in front of his crush, which turned out alright anyway because they went to Madam Pomfrey together and spent the whole day chatting.

And now, it was your turn.

Draco, who sat beside you, leaned in with a smug grin. “Alright Y/N, let’s make this interesting,” he drawled. “I dare you to French kiss the person sitting across from you.”

You turned your head, your stomach flipping.

And there sat George Weasley, grinning at you like he had already won.

The room erupted into cheers, and George wiggled his eyebrows playfully. “Well, Y/N, I won’t say no,” he teased, leaning back on his hands.

Your heart sank a little—not because George was a bad choice, but because you wished it was his twin instead.

Still, rules were rules.

Taking a deep breath, you stood up and took slow tentative steps across the large circle, kneeling in front of George. “Alright Georgie, just get it over with,” you muttered, cheeks burning.

George chuckled. “Hey! At least pretend to be excited.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling lightly, before leaning in, pressing your lips to his. He kissed you back easily, bringing a hand to your neck, letting it linger a moment longer than necessary before you pulled away, flustered.

George gave you a grin then winked, and you smiled back. He was one of your closest friends, after all; teasing you came naturally to him.

"Okay that's done!" Flustered, you rose up and hurried back to your spot next to Draco.

"You guys are adorable." Cho, who was sitting on the other side of you, nudged you gently, and you laughed nervously.

Sure, George was handsome, humorous, and kind, but he wasn't Fred. To most people, they were pretty much the same person, two halves of a whole, but to you, it was different. There was something about Fred that you saw differently.

Speaking of Fred, you shot a quick glance in his direction, curious as to his whole reaction regarding the scene that just unfolded.

Fred hadn’t said a word.

He sat stiffly, arms crossed, his jaw tight as he glared at his twin. Something in his chest twisted when he saw George’s smug grin.

But it wasn't entirely George's fault. You see, no one knew of Fred's secret crush on you. Would you call it a crush? Man, feelings were a complicated mystery to Fred, he never bothered going down that lane, it was foreign to him. Best avoid all that sappy stuff, y'know.

Draco, however, was unimpressed. “That was pathetic,” he scoffed, leaning closer to you. “You call that a French kiss? It had to be longer.”

You folded your arms, tilting your head to the side. “You didn’t even say how long.”

Draco smirked. “Fine, then, two minutes. You can do it on me instead. Save you the hassle of walking over there again."

The room let out a collective “ooooh,” and your stomach churned.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" Crabbe, Goyle and Dean chanted.

"Wha—I already did the dare!" You countered, raising your hands in defence.

"Hmm now that Draco mentioned it, it was a bit of a short kiss, barely a French kiss, more like a Portuguese kiss." Lee agreed, resting his hand on his chin.

"Portuguese kiss? That's not even a thing you git." Angelina chortled, throwing her head back.

Before you could react, Draco leaned in slightly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His fingers barely grazed your cheek, but it was enough to make you shift uncomfortably. He patted your head, smiling like he was doing you some kind of favour.

You didn’t like it.

But Draco was your friend, and this was supposed to be fun, so you ignored it. You didn't want to ruin the mood for everyone so you forced yourself to tolerate it.

Fred, however, wasn’t ignoring it.

His hand was clenched into a tight fist in his lap, and his usually mischievous eyes were laced with something entirely different.

Draco leaned in again, wrapping one arm around you. “Come on, then,” he murmured, his smirk widening. “Or do you want the Veritaserum?”

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. You didn’t want to kiss him. But you definitely didn’t want to take the serum, either.

Draco took your hesitation as an invitation. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you’re scared.”

The crowd cheered again, urging you on.

Draco removed his arm then ruffled your hair slightly, "Don't be a wuss, I'll make it enjoyable for ya."

"Don't be scared Y/N, it's only a kiss!" Seamus encouraged, hoping to make you feel better, but it only made you feel worse.

Only a kiss? You wanted to save french kissing for someone special, not some ridiculous dare.

Draco leaned closer, nuzzling his nose into your neck. His hand brushed against your arm, he was so close that you could now smell his fresh scent. You leaned back instinctively, smiling awkwardly while brushing your arm.

Everyone was so caught up encouraging the two of you to kiss that no one paid attention to the speed at which Fred stood up from the floor and bolted to Draco, tackling him harshly.

A collective gasp echoed through the room as the two of them crashed onto the floor. Draco barely had time to react before Fred punched him, his face twisted in pure rage. The two of them were now in a brawl, wrestling each other on the ground. It was clear that no one was going easy on each other.

“Keep your hands off her,” Fred snapped, his voice low and furious.

Draco, stunned for only a second, sneered up at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

"Fred! Oi! Stop, it's just a game!" Lee's attempt at stopping Fred with his words was useless.

Fred wasn’t listening. His fists clenched, his breathing heavy as he pinned Draco down, gripping his shirt harshly.

Draco’s smirk returned. “Merlin, are you jealous Weasley?”

Fred loosened his grip, blinking slowly, "I..."

"Called it. Bet you wished it was you getting to french kiss Y/N then. Why don't you let me finish my dare with her so I can show you how it's done eh?" Draco remarked, all too obnoxiously for Fred's liking.

Fred's eyes grew darker, laced with furiousness.

He lunged again, and in a matter of seconds, they were full-on fighting.

Gasps and shouts filled the room as they tumbled, fists flying, knocking over a pile of books and scattering cards from an abandoned wizarding chess game. The flood thudded heavily, as they continued their wrestling.

“Fred! Draco! Stop!” Voices pleaded, but they were drowned out as Fred was blinded by rage. How dare Draco force himself onto you like that?!

No one listened.

You watched them in pure horror as they fought; you joined the others in yelling at them to stop, but none of them listened.

Hermione immediately went to comfort you, placing a comforting hand on your arm and sending you an apologetic look. Was this all because of you? You felt like shit for causing this, bloody hell, you should've just french kissed Draco.

“Merlin’s beard, Fred, stop!” George tried pulling his twin back, but Fred shook him off, shoving him away.

Cedric attempted to pull Draco off Fred, but Draco pushed him aside, scoffing, "Not now Diggory!"

Draco, despite being an arrogant prat, was also a decent fighter, and he managed to shove Fred back, wiping a bit of blood from his lip.

“What the hell?!” you finally yelled, eyes darting from Fred to Draco.

Fred froze.

His furious gaze met yours, his chest rising and falling heavily, as he wiped some blood off his lips.

He swallowed hard. Then, without a word, he turned and stormed out of the common room.

You hesitated only a second before running after him.

—

You found him on the astronomy tower balcony, leaning against the railing, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were white.

The night air was cold, but Fred’s skin was burning.

You took a deep breath. “Fred—”

“Why don’t you go check on Draco?” he cut in sharply. “Or George. Your boyfriends.”

Your brows furrowed. “They’re not my boyfriends. You're being ridiculous now.”

Fred let out a short, humourless laugh. “Really? You were getting pretty cozy with George back there.”

You sighed. “It was a dare, Fred.”

“Oh, and Draco just happened to be all over you?” He turned to face you, and that’s when you saw it—his bruised lip, the cut on his cheekbone, the faint traces of blood at the corner of his mouth.

"Come on, I know we're friends but I can handle myself." You assumed he was being protective as a friend, so you attempted comforting him, but failed miserably at doing so.

"Yeah, friends." He pressed his lips together.

You took a step closer wanting to reach up, but Fred’s eyes flickered elsewhere. “Don’t.”

You froze.

“I don’t need you feeling bad for me,” he muttered, turning back to the railing. His grip tightened. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity, Fred,” you said softly.

Silence stretched between you. The wind howled through the tower, whipping his hair slightly, but Fred didn’t move.

Your gaze drifted to his hands. His knuckles were raw, bruised from the fight.

Without thinking, you reached out, gently prying one of his fists open. He held his breath, glancing down at you.

Your fingers traced the swelling on his knuckles, your touch featherlight. “We need to clean this up.”

Fred didn’t protest. He just stood there, his jaw clenched, watching you. He released his breath, silently agreeing.

Wordlessly, you pulled his hand in yours, leading him down the spiral staircase, away from the cold, away from the fight, away from everyone else.

—

The fire crackled softly in the Gryffindor common room, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The common room was empty—everyone was either asleep or still in the Ravenclaw tower, talking about what had happened.

Fred sat on the couch, his arms resting on his knees, his head tilted slightly downward. He hadn’t said much since you dragged him back.

You returned from the bathroom with a damp cloth and knelt in front of him.

“Hold still,” you murmured, gently dabbing at the dried blood on his lip.

Fred flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away. He just watched you, his hazel eyes unreadable, though there was a glimmer of something, awe, perhaps. His eyes studied yours, the way your eyebrows furrowed as you focused on cleaning his wounds. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, you were the epitome of beauty in his eyes, a darling angel.

You focused on cleaning him up, biting your lip. The silence between you was begging to be broken, heavy with something left unsaid. But you chose to ignore it, shifting your focus to getting Fred cleaned up. You see, it was the way you were always so caring towards everyone, so kind, always selflessly giving your time away to help those who needed it. That was part of the reason Fred had fallen for you in the first place, your kindness.

Fred exhaled sharply as you pressed on his wound.

"Sorry..." you mutter, but he gently removed your arm, and rested it on his knee.

“I don’t know how to stop this,” he said suddenly.

You paused, looking up at him. “Stop what?”

He let out a cheerless laugh. “This. You. Making me feel like a complete idiot.”

Your heart pace increased. “I—”

“Do you know what it’s like?” His voice was raw, unfiltered, a slight rasp as he spoke softly. “Watching you? Seeing every guy in that room touch you? Kiss you?” He shook his head. “I nearly lost my mind.”

You swallowed hard, unable to tear your gaze away.

“Never thought I'd admit it, but I’ve wanted you,” his voice low, almost trembling. “For so long, and I—” He broke off, exhaling harshly. “And then tonight, I had to sit there and watch it. Merlin, it drove me so bloody mad.”

Your hands were shaking. Was this it? The Fred you never thought would ever return your feelings, about to spew the words right out?

Fred’s eyes locked onto yours, something desperate behind this gaze.

“I hate that you don’t see it,” he muttered.

“See what?” you breathed.

His lips parted, and for a second, he hesitated.

“That I love you.”

Your breath caught, inhaling as you paused.

Fred let out a rough laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Godric, I love you. I don’t just like you, I love you. And it kills me because I know you don’t feel the same way so I just thought I'd keep it to myself but here we are."

Your heartbeat felt as though it was pounding loud enough to wake up the whole dorm.

“You idiot,” you whispered.

Fred blinked. “What?”

“You idiot,” you repeated, your voice shaking. Then, before he could react, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his with all the emotion you've held back, the words you've been dying to say to him.

It was nothing like the kiss with George.

This was everything.

Fred let out a soft, startled sound before his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, as if he had been waiting for this moment forever. His lips moved against yours, desperate, breathless. He kissed you like he had something to prove, like he needed you to know how much he meant it.

And you did.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, getting up from kneeling and he pulled you onto his lap, now straddling him in the common room, to which you were thankful that no one was around.

A soft moan escaped you, as he sucked on your lower lip, your hands tangled themselves in his fluffy hair, tugging lightly.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, you whispered, “I love you too.”

Fred let out a quiet, shaky laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “You better.” He teased.

You rolled your eyes, and he grinned.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, kissing him again as if there was no tomorrow. He smiled into the kiss, desperately needing a round two with you, his Y/N.

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zephyrchama · 1 month ago

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"What time is it?" you grumbled.

It was dark, and it didn't feel like morning. You were excited that the brothers had come to spend time with you in the human world, and you were sure they were excited, too. But you were also exhausted and wanted a good night's sleep.

You could vaguely make out the outline of Beelzebub in your doorway. There was a weird smell in the air you couldn't identify. Belphegor sat on the edge of your bed, saying, "You can't get mad, okay?"

He rubbed your back in a comforting manner. Beelzebub was fidgeting with his hands and kept glancing over his shoulder. They were acting suspicious. "What's going on?"

"Just remember: you can't get mad at us, okay?" Belphegor repeated.

You groaned in passive agreement.

"I was trying to get a midnight snack and I broke the toaster," Beelzebub confessed.

The room was silent. That was it? You huffed. "That's okay, we'll get a new one tomorrow. They're pretty cheap."

"Actually, he used too much strength and the toast got stuck in it," Belphegor elaborated. You wondered why this story couldn't wait until morning.

"It was taking a long time to cook, and the toast wouldn't pop up. So I kept waiting for it to finish, but the bread started burning." Beelzebub explained. "There was a lot of smoke, and I didn't want the alarm to wake you, so I turned that off first."

"He punched it off the ceiling," Belphegor clarified. "And then the toast caught on fire, so I threw the whole thing in the sink and turned the water on to put it out. It was quick thinking."

"Yeah, except the toaster was still plugged in, so it caused the power to go out and made an even bigger fire." Beelzebub slumped his shoulders. "Sorry."

That's why it was so dark. The power was out for the whole house, not even a single LED was on. You sat up, assisted by Belphegor. With your head away from the pillow, there was a horribly acrid smell of smoke. You can't believe you hadn't noticed it sooner.

"What?" You went to stand up. "Take me to the kitchen," you ordered. The demons hadn't even been in the house for 24 hours and were already causing trouble.

Beelzebub lead the way as your trio moved in silence. You hung the front of your shirt on your nose to try and mitigate the stench of fire. You flipped the kitchen light on out of habit to no avail. Instead, you had to squint.

The cabinets and counter were black and also soaking wet. It looked like something exploded. The fire alarm was scattered into a hundred plastic pieces every which way, and the wall outlet was still smoking. The toaster in question, dented and charred, lay in the middle of the floor. It sat in a puddle of water that trailed from the overflowing sink, which was still running.

"You broke both sink handles?" you exclaimed. They had been snapped clean off and the faucet was bent.

"Yeah, Belphie panicked and couldn't control his strength," Beelzebub told you.

Belphegor put a hand on your shoulder. He was calm and spoke with a soothing tone. "Remember, you can't get mad."

#you were mad.#obey me #obey me!#omswd #obey me scenarios #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me x mc #obey me fanfic #obey me x reader #obey me fandom #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me mc #obey me nightbringer #obey me fic #obey me drabble #obey me writing

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sempiternalmuze · 11 days ago

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And we go on.

dr abbott x third year resident who feels with her whole soul. late night chinese takeout is how they connect

tags: dr. jack abbott x female!reader, jack calls reader kid ONE TIME, more off a slice of life deal we've got going on here, reader probs has anxiety ngl, full scope of relationship never really established, just kind of implied, jack abbott please save me pookie, reader loses patient, probably medical inaccuracy (sorry pitt and greys you raised me better), first fic in five minutes but I NEED this man, no use of y/n, female reader

enjoy and let me know <3

ϟ.·:¨༺ ♡ ༻¨:·.ϟ

"That's enough. Clock out. Now." Robby whispered, firmness and anger dripping from his tone.

You looked up at him, jaw clenched as you pushed around him, past Dana despite her best attempts to reach you, and straight to the elevator. You practically punched the fading 4 and waited for the doors to close. When they met in the middle you slid down the wall, breathing heavy.

Head pounding, fingers flexing as you recounted every step you'd taken on the patient. It should've been easy. Bag them, push the meds, step back. But something happened. She coded, her heart refused to cooperate. Robby had walked in, and that's when your head started spinning because god forbid you lose a patient in front of him. He'd told you to stop compressions five minutes ago. It wasn't fair.

The elevator stopped, you stood up, entering one of the empty rooms. This part of the hospital was empty, and the beds were heavenly after a shitshow in the Pitt. You sat, took down your hair. You glanced at your hands. They were shaking. A sob escaped you, a quiet, strangled sound that you fought hard to keep down.

The patient had been in her sixties, she was frail for her age. It probably wasn't your fault, but that didn't mean you weren't going to take it to heart. She had a life, a family. She woke up this morning, and now she was dead.

The tears had long run out. The AC was turning off and on, the buzz kept you awake. Your shift was over, but you didn't really want to go home. A buzz lit up your phone. You grabbed it, the text message bright as day.

Come downstairs, from Jack. You sighed, stood up and went back to the elevator.

When the doors opened, there he was. Dark washed out jeans, a tight blue tee, curls a bit disheveled.

"Robby called me." He barely had time to finish the sentence before you were pressed against him, arms holding tightly around his neck, as you breathed him in.

He didn't say anything, his arms wrapping around you, strong hands rubbing up and down your back. His head rested on yours, letting you take your time, regain your peace.

"Wanna get some Chinese?" You laughed and looked up at him, his soft eyes already looking down at you. You nodded. He presses the basement button, and the elevator moves. You two stand side by side, fingers brushing softly as the hum of the fluorescent lights sing around you.

You elect to grab your things during your next shift and soon enough you and Jack are off, walking in a hushed silence with the promise of orange chicken awaiting you.

At the restaurant (which is so courteous to be open late for the hospital workers or the loud college kids) Jack pays, much to your protests ("During my third year I could barely pay rent, you're not paying for your dinner") and you two sit in a booth in the back.

The food comes, the zesty warmth like a hug on what has been a shit day. After a few bites Jack pushes his white rice to the side and reaches across the table to you, his hand quick to find your own, fingers rubbing tiny shapes across the back of your palm.

"What happened out there today kid?"

Kid. It was such an arbitrary nickname that he'd assigned you when you two had first met. It made you feel small, like he didn't see anything past your age, past the gap of years between the two of you.

"I couldn't help her." Was all you could muster, barely looking up at him.

"No, you couldn't. She threw a clot. There wasn't anything anyone could do at that point. Not Robby, not me...not you sweetie." He leaned closer, his hand traveling to your arm now, pressing thumb into your forearm.

"You couldn't save her, but you've still got your pulse. You carry on. I'm not saying you should move on, I'm the last one to be giving out that advice." He smiles. And when Jack smiles you have to look, because its almost rare, almost a foreign action from him. So you look, and he catches your eyes, and you can't look away.

"I know you love with everything in your heart. I know you feel it all, its part of why I love you so damn much. But this work—and its work you are damn good at—you gotta pack it and set it on the curb."

You nod. His words have such power, they're so calculated but genuine. Never has Jack made you feel like your problems were small and stupid, or that you needed to get over it. But he did make sure you knew that you had to pack it up and move on to the next.

"How else are we supposed to live? We don't have to remember the reason, we just have to know its there." He'd told you after the fourth date.

You and Jack pack up the rest of the food, lunch for the next shift. He walks you home, he comes inside. Its quiet, the way you two interact. He doesn't push you, you don't need to thank him, because you both know where the line is, where the other person's head is at, and its so perfectly meshed for you both.

Its 10:43 pm when you crawl into bed, Jack laying beside you.

"You don't have to stay." You whisper.

"I know." Is all he whispers back, pulling you so your head rests against his bare chest, his arm hugging you close against his body. The night takes over, and you tangle your body with his.

And your head quiets.

ϟ.·:¨༺ ♡ ༻¨:·.ϟ

a/n: lol posting for the first time in MONTHS and I hope this is enjoyable. if you liked please like/reblog, it helps so much. give me feedback, I felt like I could see this "oc" coming together in my head and i'm wondering if I should make some sort of series from it. lots of love - muze

#dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbot x you #dr. jack abbott imagine #dr jack abbot x reader #jack abbot imagine #jack abbott x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt imagine #jack abbott #sempiternalmuze

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 2 months ago

Text

Mrs. R Part Four

Previous Part | Masterlist | Last Part

Notes: Not beta-read.

Warnings: Angst and fluff. Flangst. A lotta cursing. Ends happily, I promise!

Summary: Your eyes dart to the time in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.

It's late—but for all of your qualms about whatever the hell you and Robby are or aren't, for better or for worse, in sickness or in a health, for richer or for poorer, you still care about him.

One glimpse. That's all it takes to convince you that you need to get over him, and to finally move beyond the foolish delusion that the two of you are ever going to get back together.

Robby has been saying that it's something that he's been meaning to do, have you over to his new place—that it's not as sad as you're probably imagining, that you'll be impressed.

And he's sort of right. It's not as sad as you were imagining. It's a little sadder.

You're not completely surprised by the nearly-empty fridge, the scatter of mail on the counter. You are heartened by the little touches of your old life together there, the few things that he took from your home that are scattered throughout the kitchen, the living room.

And he should've known that when you went to the bathroom that you were going to snoop.

That's why spotting the women's perfume bottle on the counter is so fucking jarring.

There aren't touches of anyone else, nothing that you looked at and immediately felt that they weren't his but this—?

The bottle shape is familiar, and you're sure the label would be too if you hadn't suddenly lost the ability to read. You stand in his bathroom staring at the bottle. Your hands are frozen over the drawer that you were about to pull open and snoop through. Your heart is pounding in your ears; your throat feels like someone's just crammed a boulder down it. You try to swallow past it, clear your throat a few times, but it won't budge.

You need to get out of there. You can't tell him that you're not feeling well, because he'll insist on running a full living room diagnostic. You're sure your BP is up, that your skin is going hot with upset. You can't imagine the conversation going well—

"And what were you doing when you felt the onset of symptoms?"

"Oh, just realizing that I don't have a snowball's chance in hell of fixing this."

You take a step back, draw in a deep breath, flex your shaking hands. No, this is fine. You can get out of this. You pull your phone out of your pocket, wincing as you hear Robby pass down the hall nearby. You open the ringtone menu on your phone, tapping one and letting it play loudly for a few beats before you pretend to answer a call from your best friend.

"Hello?...Honey, are you okay?...Chlo—Chloe, calm down," You fake your conversation, forcing yourself to pace through your answers. You glance toward the door, biting the inside of your cheek. Is he still nearby? How much of this can he hear? "What?—Oh, god, I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?...Yeah, of course I can come."

You glance up as the bathroom's overhead bulb begins to flicker.

"No no, don't worry about that. Drop a pin, I'll be there as soon as I can."

You shove your phone into your pocket and yank the bathroom door open—nearly smacking right into Robby. He has a hand up as if to knock, and lowers it as you pull up short.

"Everything okay?"

"I—Yes—No," Shit. "Chloe called, she had a whole fiasco—Bad date, and then she got rear-ended. I'm really sorry, but I've gotta go."

Robby nods a touch, stepping back. "You want me to come with you?"

"No! No," You hurry to cover off on your too-quick answer with a smile and a pat on the shoulder. You lean up, pecking his cheek before you skirt around him, hurrying down the hall.

"Thanks for having me over. I um—" You glance back, jerking your thumb over your shoulder. "You should probably fix that bulb."

To your credit, you do talk to Chloe that night. It's mostly to warn her that in case she somehow runs into Robby, to let him know that her car is fine. And you know that she has more questions, but maybe it's the weariness in your voice that lets you off of the hook for the night. You know that you'll have to answer for the fact that you were even talking to Robby in the first place, something that you've neglected to mention since the light bulb situation kicked you into a new personal level of hell.

And you're so, so tempted to let yourself stew on this all for one more night, but you decide that you can't just wallow anymore.

For as difficult as this is going to be, it's been a long time coming. You need to make changes.

It's not a complete surprise when he turns up at your door. You've been avoiding him for the better part of a month, coming up with excuse after excuse after excuse to not see him, to not answer his phone calls.

What does surprise you is what he says. Not hello, not how are you, just—

"You're selling?"

You puff your cheeks up and push the air out in a long breath. Maybe you should've answered one one of his messages sooner. Then he wouldn't have taken it upon himself to turn up, and to run into the real estate agent hammering in a sign out front.

You cross your arms and lean in the doorway, eyeing the sign, the slight swing of For Sale in the breeze.

"Yeah. You looking to buy? I'm sure I could get you the ex-husband and bulb-fixer discount."

"When did you decide to move?"

"Been meaning to. This is too much house for me. I use, like, a third of the space. Don't even go in the basement, remember?"

"Where are you looking?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're going to stay in Pittsburgh, so—which neighborhoods?"

The fact he says it with such certainty makes irritation flare in your gut. You curl your hand into a fist out of sight, give a short shrug.

"I don't know if I am."

Robby's brow tip up, his chin dropping toward his chest as he takes that in.

"You don't know?" He repeats, a disbelieving laugh falling from his lips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just means I'm still weighing my options."

"Where else would you go?"

"I dunno...Philly, New York, LA—"

"You're serious."

"I'm thinking about it."

Robby's eyes narrow, brow furrowing as he takes you in. You fight to stay still, to hold his gaze, even when every part of you wants to retreat inside, close the door, and lock it until he leaves.

"When were you planning on telling me?" He asks.

"What's that matter? It's not like I need your permission, right?" You don't mean for it to sting, but the way Robby's head jerks back makes you think that you've hit a target you didn't even know was up to be aimed for.

"No," He finally says. "You don't need my permission."

"Great, so I don't know what the fuss is about—"

"I guess I mistakenly thought that friends told each other things—"

"Oh, please," You splutter a bitter laugh. "When's the last time you fucking told me anything important?"

"This again?"

"You can't 'this again' me when you're the one that brought this shit up, Michael."

"There's a difference between that and you moving across the fucking country!"

"I'm not—I'm not absolutely gonna, I'm just thinking about it!"

"If this place sells tomorrow, where are you gonna go?"

"I'll figure it out."

"You can't just fly by the seat of your pants on shit like this."

"Whatever happens, I will work something out."

"Since when do you want out of Pittsburgh?"

"Since when do you give a fuck about what I want?"

"HEY!"

The two of you turn to see your neighbor, Diane, standing on her steps, glaring at the two of you as she waves toward where her kids are playing in the yard.

"Do you mind? Watch the language."

"Please," Robby scoffs," You curse more than the two of us combined."

"Yeah, blow it out your ass, Diane," You snap. She blanches, tightening her robe around her and pointing a warning finger at you.

"Keep that up and I'm calling the fucking cops."

"Now who needs to watch their language," You sneer, glaring at her until she goes back inside. You draw in a deep breath, keeping your focus just over Robby's shoulder.

"...Look," You say quietly, "I've got shit to do, so. You should go."

"Jesus fucking christ," Robby scoffs, turning and heading down the front walk. You force yourself inside, shutting and locking the door before sagging heavily against it, drawing in a deep, shaky breath. Your hand curls into a fist, and you just manage not to slam it against the wood grain. Hitting something won't solve anything. You have to start weeding through your living room for the things that you absolutely don't need—things that you can sell online, or just put out on the curb to get rid of.

Then you can go back to apartment hunting online, browse the internet, and see if you can google your way into figuring out where the hell you're going next. The house needs some work, there's no way it'll sell tomorrow—unless Robby decides he does want to buy.

The thought freezes you in your tracks on the way to the living room. You don't think...You'd asked, teased, but you'd been kidding—

"No. No," You mutter to yourself, shaking your head as you turn into the living room. There's no way he would do that. You have some books to sort through, then name-change paperwork to get rolling on, and then some apartment hunting as you passively watch House Hunters.

The call is atypical—has been for a couple of weeks now. Robby hasn't reached out since your blowout on the steps. No quick calls, no voice notes, no💡gracing your chats.

That's why seeing his name flash up on your screen in the middle of your nightly doom scroll catches you so off-guard. Your eyes dart to the time in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. It's late—but for all of your qualms about whatever the hell you and Robby are or aren't, for better or for worse, in sickness or in a health, for richer or for poorer, you still care about him.

You answer, raising the phone to your ear. It's quiet for a moment, and you hedge, "Robby?"

More silence—and then a sniffle.

You're throwing the covers off of yourself and getting out of bed before you can even think about it.

"Hang on, okay?" You yank your drawers open, grabbing the first pair of sweatpants and sweater that you see. "Give me twenty, I'll be right there. Do you wanna stay on with me?"

You tuck the phone between your shoulder and your ear, wiggling out of your pajama pants and tugging the sweatpants on.

"Michael? You've gotta talk to me, honey," You press when the quiet persists. You hear him draw in a deep breath, then push it out slowly.

"Okay," He finally mumbles.

"Okay what? Okay you want to stay on?"

"I'll see you in twenty minutes."

"You don't want me to stay on?"

"No. No. S'okay."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Okay I'll be there soon. I—" Love you. The words are automatic, but they clog in your throat, your fingers flexing around the phone. "I'll be there as soon as possible."

You're hardly across the threshold with the door shut and locked behind you before he's leaning into you, pressing his face into your neck and drawing in a tight, shaky breath. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, gently scrubbing your nails over his nape as he shakes.

You don't tell him to let it out, that you're there, that everything's going to be alright, that nothing's gonna hurt him. You learned a long time ago that Robby can dish platitudes, but he doesn't like to take them—and he's already been hurt so damn much. He needs someone to look at the walls that he builds up around himself and identify and patch leaks before the dam breaks. You knew it was work, at least—if one a friend or family member was sick or had passed, he would've told you over the phone.

His hands curl in the fabric of your shirt, anchoring tight; you feel his eyelashes fluttering, spreading warm tears against your skin. You let him stay there, your heart breaking with each soft sob and sniffle.

When he draws back, you let him. He doesn't go far, only lifting one of his hands from you to scrub at his eyes.

"Thought you said twenty minutes," He mumbles.

You frown, brow furrowing. "I did."

"It's only been ten. How many traffic laws did you break?"

"Let me and the speed cameras worry about that."

Robby pushes out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. You reach up, gently swiping away a few of his tears as you cup his cheeks. You let yourself search his weary face—his red-rimmed eyes, tear-stained face, quivering lips.

"What's going on, Mikey?" You press softly. His gaze drops to the floor, and you watch his shoulders tense. It's the first brick of a new wall—once he's all cried out, the dam needs to be rebuilt, maybe at double-time now that you're there. A wave of irritation is pushed down by petty attraction as his hands flex in the fabric your shirt. You expect him to tell you to forget it, that it was a lapse in judgement when he called you, that he's fine. You watch him wet his lips, see him open his mouth, and—

"Can you stay tonight?"

It's not an easy night of sleep for you. You have to stop yourself from fidgeting. You constantly find yourself in that hazy space between light sleep and wakefulness. Whenever Robby shifts, when he mumbles in his sleep, when his fingers skim along the strip of skin exposed between your borrowed pajama top and sweatpants, your heart beats double-time.

You're not entirely sure when you manage to drift off, or what exactly it is that wakes you up first—the sunlight creeping through the curtains, or the tender brush of Robby's lips against the underside of your jaw. You hum softly at the sensation, that way his beard prickles against your skin. You press up unthinkingly against his palm where it's anchored against your hip, keeping your body tucked tightly against his.

Your hand lifts sleepily, fingers sliding into his hair as the kisses lazily drift higher and higher. The tantalizing pressure of his teeth closing around your earlobe makes you pull in a soft, sleepy gasp, your thighs squeezing together beneath the sheets to quell the growing ache there. His answering hum sends a pulse of want through you—but it also wakes you up.

You push yourself to sit up, the speed of it knocking Robby's hand aside. You stare down a your lap as you try to sort through the mess of feelings twisting in your belly.

Robby's soft murmur of, "What is it?", the sleep-roughened timbre of his voice, does nothing to quiet your thoughts. You raise your hands, scrubbing at your eyes.

"Are you working today?" You ask.

"'No."

Considering the state he was in last night, that's for the best.

"Okay. Okay, good." You swallow thickly, looking around. You left your sweatshirt in the bathroom, didn't you? When you got changed—

You still as Robby's hand slides across your thighs, his face pressing into your hip. You bite the inside of your cheek, steeling yourself.

"I've gotta go." The words come out firmly, but you don't make a move.

"Can't stay for coffee?"

"No. No, I can't stay for coffee," You insist, forcing yourself from his hold as you slide out of bed, "And I can't keep doing this."

"Can't keep doing what?"

"This!" You wave toward him as he sits up. "This one-leg-in-one-leg-out shit! Things need to change, Robby. It's gonna suck for a little while, but—"

"Is that what this move about?"

"Yes! Not—I mean, partially, yeah. I need to sort out my shit, I have to remember who I am without you and I don't think I can do that here. Not when we're both a phone call away."

You bite your lip as Robby dips his head, scrubbing his palms over the back of his neck.

"Besides," You push on, "You're—You've moved on, so. I think it's about I do, too."

"Moved on?" He laughs derisively. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You fix him with a stern look. "I saw the perfume last time I was here, Michael. Look, it's fine—" Even though it most certainly does not feel fine—"And expected, we're divorced, but—" You falter as Robby yanks open the bedside drawer, drawing out something and tossing it to you. You fumble to catch it, and your stomach churns when you realize it's the same perfume bottle from the bathroom.

"Michael, I said—"

"Look at the bottom."

You frown, tipping the bottom as he says, and going still when you see the familiar, half-torn, half-faded Christmas label. It had been one of your worst Christmases together—Robby had been working overtime, and had been so tired when he'd tried to wrap presents that he'd wound up sticking labels on the wrong side of half of your gifts.

You run your thumb across the adhesive, shaking your head.

"I don't understand."

"It got packed up with my things when I moved. I kept meaning to give it back, but I kept forgetting, and then it got further away, and—" He draws in a deep breath. "And then when I stayed the night, a few weeks ago—and I slept better than I have in months. I tried to convince myself it was the scent of you on the sheets that I needed, tried spraying it on the pillows but it isn't enough." He shakes his head, dark tired eyes flitting to your face. "It's you."

Your heart skips a beat, and your fingers tighten around the bottle as tears prickle at your eyes. You lower yourself to the edge of the bed, pulling in a deep, shaky breath. You hear the rustle of the sheets as Robby shifts, coming closer.

"...You still want me to stay for coffee?" You hedge.

"I want you to stay for a lot more than that."

You tip your head to the side, warily meeting his eye, and finding an almost boyish smile on his face.

"...Robby," You sigh, setting the bottle on the bed. "I mean it, I can't...I can't survive in this emotional purgatory. I'm tired of tying myself up in knots trying to figure out what the hell you're thinking—And it's not so easy as just being more open with communication," You warn as he lowers his head. "We've got...Stuff. We know one another so well but we still get tripped up by this shit."

"I know." Robby reaches out, taking one of your hands between his. "But I also know that when I needed someone last night, the only person I thought to call was you."

"Because you knew I'd answer?"

"Because even if you didn't, I could still listen to your message. I could still hear your voice." His own breaks with the admission. "I need you. And I've missed the hell out of you."

You reach up with your free hand, gently stroking across his cheek.

"I've missed you, too," You murmur, "You grumpy old man."

He splutters a laugh, and you smile, relaxing as Robby raises your hand and presses a gentle kiss to the back of it.

"Whatever you decide, I can't stop you—I won't," Robby clarifies, "But...Cards on the table: I don't want you to leave."

You nod a little. "Cards on the table: I'm not so sure I want to leave either. And—" You reach up, running your fingers over his nape before giving it a gentle tug. "You still need a haircut."

"Okay! So I know what I read on the intake form, but I'd like to hear it in your own words from the two of you: What brings you to marriage counseling today?"

You hesitate, eyeing Robby on the other end of the couch. He gestures forward, softly urges, "Please."

"Well, this might be a bit unorthodox. " You shift in your seat, "Robby—Michael," You correct, "And I are divorced. Have been for a while now. But we've been talking a lost more lately, and the lines between our relationship have...Never felt more blurred than they do now."

"Would you say that's an accurate assessment, Michael?" The counselor prods, and he gives a nod.

"Yeah, I'd say that's pretty accurate."

"What would you say has been your biggest stumbling block throughout the relationship?"

"Communication."

The two of you manage it in unison, and it takes everything in you not to burst out laughing at the stunned look on the counselor's face.

"I promise we didn't practice that."

"Well," She chuckles, leaning back in her seat. "In some aspects, the two of you are seem to still be in sync. Why don't you tell me a little about how the two of you met?"

"I didn't think we'd get homework," You grumble, stepping outside.

"It's all part of the process."

"Yeah, but week one? Harsh." You tuck your hands into your pockets, glancing up the block. "You headed to the Pitt?"

"Yep. Shift starts in half an hour."

"Alright. Be careful, huh?"

"Always am." Robby glances back toward the doorway. "It's gonna be weird, not talking to you until next week."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," You fidget, shifting from foot to foot. "But honestly, if something happens at work and you need to—You know." You lean in a little, fake-whispering, "We could just lie."

He grins, taking a step closer. "Oh, no. We're doing this right."

"Such a stickler."

Before you can argue further, Robby cups your cheeks, drawing you in for a soft kiss. You hum against his lips, raising your hands and grasping his hoodie. You should lean away sooner than you do, but for you a few moments, you can't bring yourself to care that you're standing in the middle of the block in broad daylight, right outside the marriage counselor's office. But hey, maybe it's a good look. The sight of a kissing could could give off a good impression, drum some business up for her. Really, you're doing her a favor.

You lean away, letting your eyes slip closed again as Robby tips his chin up, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Seriously, though," You murmur. "If you really need—"

"I know."

"Okay." You nod, finally letting go and giving his chest a teasing push. "Have a good shift, Dr. Robinavitch."

He takes two steps back down the block, eyes still fixed on you as a warm smile grows on his face.

"I'll see you next week, Mrs. Robinavitch."

Last Part

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ;

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ;

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ;

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

@mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989 ; @veryprairieberry ;

@kittenlittle24 ; @ilariyalavorowrites ; @morgy3456

#Michael Robinavitch x Reader #Michael Robinavitch x You #Dr. Robby x Reader #Dr. Robby x You #Dr Robby x Reader #Dr Robby x You #Mrs. R

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auroralwriting · 10 months ago

Text

his little finger

spencer reid x fem!hothead!reader

part two!!! | part one

spencer has you wrapped around his finger; you'd do anything he said without question. your team can't quite understand it. little do they know you and spencer have an unsaid.. thing.

warnings: reader has a hot temper, reader gets injured, innuendos for smut (they did it) | words: 1k again im sorry but i have plans for spence!!

It finally happened. The day everyone had been dreading. Finally, your hot temper got you injured during a case.

You caught a guy, he fit your profile exactly. You knew deep down it was him. He didn't react well to confident women, so Hotch sent you in to interrogate him. You would break him down, reduce him to mere atoms.

"Come on, Charlie," You had your hands on the table, leaning over to him. "We know you killed those women. We have all the evidence right here. Save yourself some jail time and just admit, yeah?"

Charlie kept his eyes trained to the floor, "I didn't kill those women." He stated, voice quiet.

You could see the sweat on his face, the way his foot tapped. "You can't even look at me!" You laughed, "Of course you didn't kill those women. You can't even look at one without almost pissing your pants." You gave Charlie a small tsk, "But I guess that just goes to show you aren't so tough, huh? You couldn't control a situation, not if you wanted to, not even if you tried. You--"

Stars. You saw stars and heard a loud clang. It took you a moment to realize you were on the floor. You felt absolutely nothing for a second, then a searing hot pain in your head. Finally, you looked up to see Charlie had a thick, sharp rock in his hand. He had struck you. The table and chair were on opposite sides of the room, and there was blood on the rock. Your blood. You pushed yourself up to the wall, unable to stand up or speak.

"Yeah? I can't control a situation?" Charlie taunted, "Guess you got your fucking profile wrong, you little bitch!"

The door was busted open, Hotch and Derek running in. Derek got the guy under his control as Rossi and Spencer ran in.

"Hey, hey," Hotch kneeled beside you. "Come on, let's stand." You felt his arms under you, lifting you up.

Spencer was quick to take one side of you, helping you out of the room. "Hey, sweetheat, it's alright," You heard Spencer say. "You're okay now. Come on, say something!"

The genius refused to leave your side, even as the paramedics came into the room. One went to touch your head, but you flinched away harshly, grabbing his arm. "Don't you dare touch me," You hissed. It was the first thing you'd said.

Your team watch in shock, surprised you refused help. Spencer was quick to jump in, recognizing you were in flight or fight mode. "Honey, he's just trying to help you," Spencer softly explained. "He's gonna help your head,"

"It won't hurt?" Your voice turned soft, nearly a whine due to the pain.

Spencer shook his head, "It won't hurt. I'll hold your hand the whole time, okay?" After a slight hesitation, you nodded. Spencer laced his fingers with your own, letting you lean on him for support as he rambled about random statistics to help occupy your mind.

Hotch instructed that Spencer was to take you back to the hotel for the rest of the night to rest. He drove you there, allowing you to pick the music and temperature for the car. The whole time, you held his hand.

Once you got back to your room, he helped you in. He was kind enough to help you take off your jacket and slip off your shoes. After he was done, he turned around, ready to leave.

"No," You called, pulling him back with your hand that you had in his. "I want you to stay."

Spencer was quick to turn back around, "Of course, yeah, I'll stay." He slipped off his own shoes and sat next to you on your bed.

"I shouldn't have been so harsh," You muttered. "I got myself hurt."

"Hey, no," Spencer shook his head. "That guy would've hurt someone no matter what. He was ready. You didn't get yourself hurt, okay? It was all his fault. You were doing your job, one you're damn good at."

You felt your eyes water. "I'm too mean, too quick to anger." You muttered as Spencer took his hand, gently pulling your head onto his shoulder. "I wish I wasn't."

"I don't," Spencer responded, voice soft. "I, uh, love you just the way you are."

Finally someone said it.

You didn't even respond in words, you just pulled his face to yours and pressed your lips together. Spencer took no time in reciprocating, kissing you back with a firey force. You'd both been waiting for this for so, so long.

"I love you too," You breathlessly responded as you pulled back. Spencer didn't let you have another moment as he pulled you back to his lips, chasing the gratifying feeling it gave him to finally be kissing you. "Spence, air," You gasped, pulling back.

"You can last three to five minutes without air," Spencer mumbled, pressing kisses to your lips as he spoke. "I think you'll be okay for a few more."

Even while practically making out with you, you loved that Spencer couldn't help but use his big brain to ramble off some facts. "Thought you had to go back,"

"They'll be fine without me," You giggled at Spencer's response.

After a half hour, Spencer's phone began to buzz. It was Derek. Spencer, half undressed, rolled over to look at his phone. "Who is it?" You asked.

"Morgan," Spencer said. He hit the decline button, leaning back over to you when it buzzed again. He let out a frustrated groan and picked up the phone. "What, Morgan? I'm busy."

You could hear Derek from how close you were to Spencer. "Busy? Doing what?" He paused, "Oh, doing who- Wait a minute--"

Quickly, Spencer hung up the phone. "I think he got the point." Spencer smiled as he silenced his phone. He turned back to you, caressing your cheek. "Where were we?"

Back at the station, Derek's jaw was slung open. "Guys, you aren't gonna believe this." He turned back around to the team who stared at him curiously, wondering where their genius went. "They're having sex, Reid and L/n."

"No way!" Emily laughed, "Now?"

"Hotch did send them to the hotel," JJ smiled.

With a shrug, Hotch held out his hand. "Today is day four. Pay up,"

"You!" Rossi pointed his finger at Hotch. He slowly began to pull out his wallet. "You sent them back on purpose!"

"She was hurt," Hotch held back a smile. "I would do no such thing, especially on a case."

Derek rolled his eyes, "Case's over. Right after we detained the guy again, he admitted to it. You just wanted to win this." Derek slapped a crisp twenty in Hotch's hand, along with the rest of the team. "I guess I'll let Garcia know she owes you."

Hotch smiled to himself, "I'm always right."

#dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #bau team #criminal minds fanfiction

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vidals-harkness · 6 months ago

Text

jealousy, jealousy (agatha harkness, rio vidal)

summary: pulling a stunt on your partners for their attention goes terribly wrong.

fic type: smut

pairings: agatha harkness x fem!reader, rio vidal x fem!reader

warnings: smut, jealousy, alight age gap, use of pet names (r is called bunny), mommy kink, daddy kink, oral sex (agatha and rio receiving), fingering, enchanted strap-on use, spanking (r receiving), degradation, mean!rio, mean!agatha, rough sex, choking (r receiving), orgasm denial, face sitting (agatha receiving).

word count: 2.1k

note: this is my first time writing smut, i apologise if it sucks, so please don’t judge me :<

This party was beyond boring. All you saw were people you barely recognised, smelt liquor you definitely weren’t allowed to drink, and saw your partners talking to everyone except you.

So, natural as it was, you wanted their attention all on you. What could you say? They had you craving more of them every time.

So, your eyes landed on the young Miss Wu-Gulliver, a sweet young woman who you quite liked being around.

You sat beside her, smiling angelically. “Hiya, sweetheart,” you winked, making her blush.

“Hey,” she nodded. “Um…s-sup,”

Your eyes caught Rio’s from across the room, and she raised a brow at you, earning a simple, enigmatic wink in return.

“You know you look damn pretty tonight,” you whispered, running a hand up Alice’s arm, making her breath hitch.

At the other end of the room, Agatha watched you and leaned closer to Rio, muttering through gritted teeth, “Looks like bunny’s putting up a bit of a show,”

Rio chuckled darkly, her eyes fixed on you as you began to dance your fingers over Alice’s thigh.

“Let her think she’s won, my love,” the primordial being laughed, sipping on her drink. “Bait her just a little,”

Agatha’s hands clenched into fists, eyes blazing as she saw Alice reciprocate, squeezing your hand in hers a little, pulling you a tad bit closer.

They snapped, it seemed, when you shot them a wink.

“Screw this, I’m making that brat pay,” Agatha hissed, going over to you both.

You leaned back in your seat, feigning innocence. “Aggie? You look a little bothered, what’s the matter?”

Agatha’s blood began to boil, and you knew it. A sly smirk came over you as she muttered a gruff word of adieu to Alice, leading you away.

“Let’s go,” she hissed to Rio, guiding you back to the car.

You waited for Agatha to speak as you sat in the back seat, but strangely she didn’t.

“Bunny…” came Rio’s voice—disconcertingly soft and gentle. “Exactly what did you think you were getting out of riling me and Agatha up?”

You fidgeted with your fingers. While you bratted out ever so often, getting reprimanded, however gently, still hurt.

“Attention…” you admitted ashamedly.

“Attention?!” Agatha spat, irritated. “The only thing you’re getting out of that stunt is a whole lot of punishment, bunny,”

"No, no, no, daddy, I'm sorry!" You exclaimed. Agatha and Rio's punishments were the worst. It always involved a lot of begging, a lot of crying, and enough denial to make you want to scream.

"Too bad, bunny," Rio chuckled. "You dug your own grave,"

You leaned your head back, eyes closing in defeat. You were very, very screwed.

The second you three entered the house, you were met with a sharp smack on your bottom, given by Rio.

"Upstairs, now," she said firmly.

"And strip while you're there, would you, bunny?" Agatha added, her sweet tone only giving away more of the fact that she was fuming.

You were quick to obey, dashing up the stairs to sit and wait for them, kneeling on the bed, naked and shivering a little.

As they entered, you felt goosebumps rise on your skin. Agatha's expression was, as usual, very readable, yet terrifying. She was mad, and you could tell by the way she didn't even look at you as she went to the 'special' drawer.

Rio, on the other hand, was a closed book with an enchanted lock. Her eyes were soft, her touch was the same, but her words were stinging, condescending, and conveying enough for you to know that she, too, was just as mad as Agatha.

She sat on the bed, stretched out and relaxed. She snapped her fingers, the command sharp and clear, "Come here, bunny,"

You quietly and obediently crawled over to her, not in the mood to worsen your punishment. You sat in front of her, not meeting her eyes. In response to your demeanour, she chuckled lowly, grabbing your chin firmly to make you face her.

"God, you're so stupid, aren't you bunny?" She chuckled, squeezing slightly. Your brows furrowed only slightly, as her gaze shot to Agatha, who was leaning against the foot of bed on her palms, eyes fixed on you.

"She really is," the woman agreed, standing straighter and coming closer. You caught a glimpse of what she was wearing--a purple lace lingerie set, the one you knew Rio liked.

"How do we begin, hm? Maybe our sweet bunny could choose the first punishment?" Rio purred, letting go of your chin. You took it as an allowance to look down, but as your head dropped, you felt the cold tip of her knife kiss the underside of your jaw. "Eyes on me, sweet girl," she laughed.

"No way," Agatha said, scowling. "She's gonna get twenty, and she's going to thank me for each and every one," her hands caressed your ass gently as she hissed, "Isn't that right, bunny?"

Before you could squeak out even the smallest 'yes daddy', she had landed one sharp smack on your ass, making you whimper softly. She'd positioned you on all fours such that you faced Rio, the knife keeping your eyes on her, leaving your bare behind to Agatha.

"Count," Rio ordered, pressing the knife against your skin hard enough to make you wince. "And thank her for each one,"

Agatha started over, each spank feeling harsher than the last. You didn't make a mistake, thankfully, but by the end you were a crying, soaking mess, your skin stinging.

"Aww..." Rio cooed, wiping your tears with her thumb gently. "Was daddy too harsh, bunny?"

You nodded with a whine, breathing a sigh of relief when you felt the knife lower, and crawled into Rio's arms, while Agatha rubbed some ointment on your reddened skin, providing some relief.

They were mad, but they never liked seeing you in too much pain.

"Alright, bunny," Agatha purred, snapping her fingers to make a velvet collar appear around your throat. She grabbed it and gently pulled you down so you were aligned with your face between Rio's thighs, which, with the help of magic, were devoid of any clothing.

“Make mommy feel good, bunny,” you heard Rio grin, laughing through her teeth in that gritty way which made you weak at the knees. “Be a good girl…”

Quietly and obediently, you began to suck on her clit, earning a sharp whine from her as her hips arched towards your head, her hand tangling into your hair. “Fuck, you’re so good, bunny…” she breathed, a heavy moan falling from her lips as you thrust your tongue inside her, eating her out expertly. You knew every inch of her, so every move of yours was calculated, feeling a rush of pride as a string of curses, praise and moans fell from her lips so effortlessly as you worked your magic.

Suddenly, you felt Agatha tug at your collar, a silent order to stop. You did so, earning a desperate whine from Rio.

“Daddy’s turn,” Agatha smirked, pinning you down on the bed, making you squeak in surprise ever so slightly. You felt her hand fist in your hair, the sharp pull feeling nice, sending a rush of pleasure to your already sensitive core.

She positioned herself over you, ordering curtly, “Make daddy cum, bunny,”

You nodded and put out your tongue, letting her ride your face, her clit bumping against your nose as she did, her moans like music to your ears. You felt Rio’s hands all over you, slipping between your slick folds every now and then to tease, making you a squirming mess, while you moaned il into Agatha’s dripping cunt.

“Such a good little slut for me and mommy, aren’t you, bunny?” She panted, her hips going at a steady pace, words punctuated by a breathy moan each time.

“Look at her, she’s dripping on the sheets,” Rio giggled, her two fingers running up and down your slit, making you whimper into Agatha.

“You get off on being used like this, bunny?” Agatha panted. “Like a cheap toy for us?”

You couldn’t speak, not with her using your face, but the answer was evident and clear: yes.

You heard Rio’s laugh, and felt Agatha’s hips starting to get more irregular in their pace. She came over your face with a loud moan, perhaps audible to the downstairs neighbours.

“Clean it up,” said Rio firmly, seeing you about to squirm away from under Agatha. Quietly and obediently you licked her clean, breathing deeply.

“Good girl, bunny,” Agatha purred, sliding off you and gently petting your head. “Why don’t you keep Mommy company till I get right back, hm?”

You let out a quiet whine, nodding as Rio smirked and pulled you onto her lap, her hand going down to your dripping, aching, needy cunt.

“Oh bunny, you’re damn near tears,” she gasped, hand gripping your chin and her fingers squeezing your cheeks gently. “Are Mommy and Daddy being a little too mean?”

You nodded, making her nod with you somewhat mockingly. “Yeah?” She pouted. “Yeah, we’re so mean, aren’t we? Maybe if you’d been good, just maybe if you hadn’t acted so stupid, perhaps then we wouldn’t be so mean,”

You whimpered softly when she stuffed you with two of her fingers, eyes rolling back as you bucked your hips, begging her to move.

“Don’t,” she warned firmly. “Stay still bunny,”

You heard the tone—heard how it invited no argument, no defiance, and absolutely no resistance.

You nodded, making her smile.

“There’s my obedient bunny,” she chuckled darkly, moving her fingers inside you agonisingly slowly.

Agatha came back, her favourite purple strap around her hips and looking positively gorgeous as per usual—her hair open and wild, as well as her whole body radiating that kind of overpowering dominance which always had you on your knees in seconds.

“Bunny, come,” she said, standing on the edge of the bed, her eyes on you, taking in your flushed cheeks, sensitive body.

You obediently, though somewhat reluctantly, moved off Rio’s fingers, crawling to her and kneeling on the bed, eyes fixated on her.

“Down,” she pointed at the floor, brow raised. “You’re gonna put that smart mouth to use, hm?”

You nodded and knelt on the floor, parting your lips obediently, not wanting a second of more punishment. You felt your cunt, ever neglected and sensitive, dripping on the floor a little, making Rio giggle.

“Oh look at her, making a mess, so pathetic,” she said, laughing.

Before you could turn and react, Agatha’s hand had fisted in your hair, making you take her strap in your warm mouth. The sensation clearly made her moan, and you knew immediately—enchanted strap. You bobbed your head up and down as she pleased, moaning around her length, relishing the soft whimpers and expletives which spilled past her soft lips.

She suddenly pulled out, her strap connecting to your lips with just a sliver of your drool, and she pretty much manhandled you into position, your face in between Rio's legs, and ass in the air. You felt the green witch grab your hair tightly and hold it there, showing what she wanted, and before you could comprehend anything, Agatha's length filled you up.

A muffled yelp came past your lips, making Rio groan at the vibration on her aching cunt. Agatha began thrusting in and out of you, bottoming out every single time. The feeling of your walls around her cock made her moan gutturally, and with their constant teasing so far, you were quick to approach your high.

"You gonna cum, pretty bunny?" Agatha growled, her hands finding their place on your hips, squeezing the soft skin as you moaned into Rio's pussy as you replied, her juices soaking your tongue and face.

Before your high could crash down over you, Agatha pulled out, making you push your head back from between Rio's legs.

"Daddy no, no, please--I was good!" You whimpered, the easy tears gathering at your eyes.

"Tears again, bunny? God, such an adorable crybaby," Agatha giggled, placing you simply next to Rio. "What I want you to do is keep those pretty, sweet, teary little eyes of yours on Mommy and I, yes?"

You nodded, but felt Rio squeeze your cheeks sharply, her words that same, firm command. "Words, bunny,"

"Y-Yes daddy," you nodded, looking at Agatha with wide, scared eyes.

“Oh look at you, so fucking terrified,” Agatha giggled, using magic to bind your hands above your head, before she started to fuck Rio brutally with her strap, both their moans making you start to feel like you were going to explode with arousal.

Your whined and whimpered, trying to get their attention. You only got it when Rio came over Agatha’s strap, coating it in her cum.

She slumped forwards, breathing heavily, slowing her high down a little.

“I think…” Rio panted. “I think bunny’s had enough punishment,”

Agatha nodded in agreement, her hands coming to your hips to pull you forwards so Rio could hold you from behind, her hands toying with your nipples gently as Agatha lined up with your dripping pussy.

She pushed the strap through your soaking walls, moaning at the feeling, her eyes rolling back.

“Fuck, so wet…” she groaned, thrusting slowly and gently, while Rio held you close and kissed your forehead.

“Easy, bunny,” Rio purred, when you yelped as Agatha bottomed out. “Easy…”

Agatha continued at the pace you wanted and your body was flooded with feelings of ecstasy throughout.

You mewled out a small, ‘I’m close’,

Which made Agatha reply, “Cum when you want, my love,”

It just took that one order to have you coming undone under her and in Rio’s arms. You cried out and whimpered, repeating their names constantly.

As you came down form your high, you saw the strap vanish, and immediately there was cool water pressing against your slit tenderly. Rio. She cleaned you up, while Agatha held you, whispering sweet nothings to you.

“What did we learn, bunny?” Rio asked as she started running a bath for the three of you.

“Don’t make Mommy and Daddy jealous,” you mumbled, hiding your face in Agatha’s neck, feeling her laugh and stroke your hair.

Once everyone was bathed, sheets were changed, and in comfortable clothes, you snuggled into them both, watching a sweet Christmas movie together.

You acted up, but in the end, you knew they loved you.

i hope you enjoyed this, bao buns! sorry for how overdue and late this is and for that ending, I couldn’t figure it out :< feel free to request!

love, jaya

#agathario x reader #agathario smut #smut #fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #rio vidal x reader

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pucksandpower · 11 months ago

Text

Wagification

Max Verstappen x analyst!Reader

Summary: your job was slowly crushing your soul and stealing your sanity … until Max showed you the pleasure to be found in letting yourself be cherished and cared for (or in which a chronically overworked Sky Sports analyst becomes a WAG)

Monaco Grand Prix, 2025

You take a deep breath as you step out of the car, the Monaco sunshine bright and warm on your face. Max comes around and takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You ready for this?” He asks, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, though your stomach is fluttering with nerves. It’s been nearly a year since you were last at a Grand Prix, and so much has changed. You glance down at the massive diamond on your left hand, still not quite used to seeing it there.

Max kisses your temple. “Don’t worry, I’ll be right by your side the whole time.”

Hand-in-hand, you make your way into the paddock. Immediately you’re assaulted by the familiar sights and sounds — mechanics yelling, engines revving, reporters gesturing to their cameras. It’s like you never left.

You keep your sunglasses on and your head down, hoping to avoid notice. The last thing you want is to be bombarded by your old coworkers. As a data analyst for Sky Sports F1, you knew everyone in the paddock. But you walked away from it all for Max and you aren’t sure what kind of reception awaits you now.

“Max! Max Verstappen!” You hear a female voice call out. You suppress a groan as you recognize it as belonging to Emma, one of the network’s top reporters. She hurries over, dictaphone in hand. “Max, can I get a quick interview for the pre-race show?”

“Sure,” Max says easily. He keeps holding your hand, drawing you forward. “Just make it quick, yeah?”

Emma nods, then seems to notice you for the first time. “I’m so sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I’m Emma Walsh, with Sky Sports.” She sticks her hand out with a friendly smile.

You hesitate a second before shaking her hand. “Y/N,” you say simply, not offering your last name.

Emma’s eyes widen behind her glasses and she leans in for a closer look. “Wait a minute, I know you ...” Her jaw drops open. “Y/N Y/L/N? Is that you?”

You give a little shrug. “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Oh my god!” Emma practically shouts. “I can’t believe it! We all thought you fell off the face of the earth after you left Sky. What happened to you?”

Max slides an arm around your waist. “She fell for me,” he says with a grin.

Emma’s eyes bug out even more as she takes in your designer dress, heels, and rock on your finger. “You mean … you and Max ...”

You nod, feeling yourself blush. “About a year ago, yeah.”

“Wow.” Emma shakes her head in disbelief. “Just … wow. I mean, look at you! You look incredible!”

You smooth your hands self-consciously over your dress. Your style has certainly changed since your Sky Sports days of sensible pantsuits. As an analyst, you had lived in jeans, flats, and minimal makeup, your hair always pulled back in a simple ponytail. Now your hair falls in soft waves over your shoulders, and you’re wearing a floaty floral maxi dress and strappy heels. You went from broadcasting racing stats to being a WAG almost overnight.

“Thanks,” you say, your cheeks growing even warmer. “It’s really good to see you, Emma.”

“You too!” She grins. “I have so many questions, but I better let you go for now. Don’t want to keep the championship leader waiting.” She winks at Max. “We’ll catch up later, yeah? Drinks tonight to celebrate your return?”

“Sure, sounds good.” You smile, thankful she’s not pressing for more details now. Emma waves and heads off in search of her next interview.

Max keeps his arm around you as you continue through the paddock. “See, that wasn’t so bad,” he murmurs.

You let out a shaky laugh. “One down, about a hundred more to go.”

Over the next hour you run into what feels like every person you used to work with. They all react with similar shock at the former paddock nerd turned glamorous girlfriend of the reigning four-time World Champion.

You chat briefly with Will, who stutters over his words and goes bright red when you say hello. He had the biggest crush on you back when you worked together. Sarah can’t stop gushing over your ring. Tom tells you how weird it is not to see you hunched over a laptop crunching numbers.

The encounters leave you feeling drained, but also relieved. Your old coworkers seem genuinely happy for you, not resentful like you had worried. They don’t pry too much into how exactly you went from reporting race stats to ending up with Max Verstappen. That’s a story for another time.

Eventually you make it to the Red Bull garage, where you let out a long breath. “Phew, I survived.”

Max grins and pulls you close. “You were amazing. And you look beautiful, as always.” He nuzzles your neck.

You smile and loop your arms around his shoulders. “Have I mentioned how happy I am whenever I’m with you?”

“Mmm, maybe once or twice.” Max kisses you softly. “But feel free to keep reminding me.”

“Ahem.” Christian Horner clears his throat from behind you. “If you two can pause the PDA for a moment, we have a race to focus on.”

You spring apart, blushing furiously at being caught by Max’s team principal. Max just laughs and slings an arm around your shoulders.

“Lighten up, Christian. I’m allowed to kiss my fiancée.”

Christian shakes his head, but he’s fighting a smile. “Indeed you are. But perhaps when there aren’t cameras around?” He nods over your shoulder.

You turn to see several photographers zooming in, no doubt dying to get shots of the paddock’s newest it couple. You bury your face in Max’s shoulder.

“Ugh, no privacy anywhere,” you grumble.

Max kisses your hair. “It’s not so bad. Just part of the deal when you’re with me, remember?”

You smile up at him. “Very true. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

The day passes in a blur of activity. Max has various sponsor obligations and media commitments. You stick close by his side, learning how to avoid the cameras and deflect the constant questions about your relationship. Being the center of attention still feels strange, but you’re getting better at handling it.

During Max’s autograph session, you chat with some of the other drivers’ girlfriends and wives. They give you tips on dealing with the madness. You’re touched by how kind and welcoming they are.

“It takes some getting used to,” Alex Albon’s girlfriend, Lily, says. “But once you figure out how to focus on what really matters, the rest just becomes background noise.”

You nod. Your priority is Max. Everything else is just part of the ride.

***

One Year Ago

You sink down onto a stack of tires behind the Red Bull motorhome, finally letting the tears fall. This weekend in Barcelona has been a nightmare so far. Your team at Sky Sports is chronically understaffed, so you’ve been working 18 hour days analyzing data and prepping stats graphics.

You’re exhausted, frustrated, and seriously questioning your career choices.

On top of that, you just found out that your coworker and boyfriend Jamie has been cheating on you for months with one of the new junior reporters. You feel like such an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

You just need a few minutes to yourself to cry it out before plastering a smile back on and soldiering through the rest of the weekend. You hear footsteps approaching and quickly dab at your eyes with your sleeve, but it’s too late.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to ...” The voice trails off awkwardly.

You glance up to see none other than Max Verstappen standing there, a look of concern on his face. Great. The last thing you need is Formula 1’s wunderkind catching you bawling behind the motorhome.

You scramble to your feet, trying to compose yourself. “Um, hi. No worries, I was just ...” You trail off, at a loss for how to explain.

Max steps closer, head tilted. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

His kindness makes the tears threaten again. You stare down at your scuffed sneakers, embarrassed.

“I’m fine, really. Just had a bad day. You know how it goes.” You force a weak laugh.

Max doesn’t seem convinced. “Here, come sit for a minute,” he says gently, guiding you back over to the stack of tires.

To your surprise, he sits down next to you in his designer jeans and Red Bull Racing hoodie like it’s no big deal. You would laugh if you weren’t still fighting more tears.

“I’m Max, by the way.” He smiles and holds out his hand.

You shake it weakly. “Yeah, I know. I mean, uh, I’m Y/N.” You blush. Smooth.

Max either doesn’t notice or is too polite to comment. “So Y/N, what has you so upset? Boyfriend troubles?” He raises an eyebrow knowingly.

You let out a watery chuckle. “Yeah, something like that. The idiot’s been cheating on me it turns out.” Saying it out loud makes the hurt swell back up.

Max shakes his head angrily. “What a dick. I don’t understand guys who treat girls like that. You deserve so much better, Y/N.”

The genuine outrage on your behalf makes you smile a bit through the tears. “Thanks, Max. I appreciate that.”

He nods. “Any guy would be lucky to have a girl as pretty and smart as you. This loser doesn’t know what he’s lost.”

Now you really can’t help blushing. You’re used to being called a lot of things — nerdy, awkward, obsessive about stats — but no one’s ever called you pretty before. Especially not a kind, cute, and famous race car driver.

You dip your head, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear self-consciously. “You’re very sweet to say that.”

Max bumps your shoulder with his. “Just calling it like I see it.”

You chat for a few more minutes about nothing in particular. Max is easy to talk to, and makes you laugh with funny stories about mishaps in the garage. By the time you hear your boss calling your name, you’ve almost forgotten about Jamie and your tear-stained face.

“Shit, I have to get back to work,” you say, standing quickly and grabbing your laptop bag. “Thanks for listening, Max. I really appreciate you taking the time.”

“Of course.” Max stands too, shoving his hands in his pockets. He seems reluctant to end the conversation. “Hey, maybe I’ll see you around again this weekend?”

You give him a curious look, wondering why he’d want to see you again after witnessing that mess of emotions. But he looks sincere. “Yeah, maybe! I’m around if you need any stats analysis or data work.” You tap your temple. “Numbers nerd, at your service.”

Max grins. “Good to know. Take care, Y/N.” With a little wave, he heads off, leaving you staring after him in surprise.

The rest of the day you keep replaying those moments with Max in your head, unable to focus. Why did he seem so interested in a frumpy data analyst having a meltdown? You can’t make sense of it.

By the time qualifying ends on Saturday, you’re practically dead on your feet. Your eyelids keep drooping as you pack up your equipment. Maybe you’ll just sleep under your desk tonight instead of walking all the way to the hotel.

“Long day, huh?”

You jerk awake to see Max leaning in the doorway of your makeshift office, thumbs hooked in his pockets. He looks annoyingly energetic and put together compared to your disheveled state.

“Uh, yeah.” You smooth your hair back,feeling self-conscious. Why does he have to catch you looking like such a mess yet again? “Just have about a million graphics to finish before tomorrow’s broadcast. The glamorous life of a data analyst,” you say wryly.

Max frowns. “They keep you here this late doing all the work yourself?”

You sigh, rubbing your grainy eyes beneath your glasses. “Unfortunately yes. We’re way understaffed, but it’s not like they’ll give us more budget to hire help.”

Max shakes his head. “That’s unacceptable. You deserve so much better than this.”

The kindness in his voice makes you suddenly emotional again. You bite your lip, willing yourself not to tear up at work twice in one day.

“Thanks, Max. I’ll be okay though, once I get some sleep ...” You know you don’t sound convincing.

Max appears to think for a moment, his brow furrowed. “You know what, enough of this. Come on.”

Before you can react, he takes your hand and gently tugs you to your feet.

“W-what? Where are we going?” You stammer, heartbeat quickening.

“We’re getting out of here. You’re clearly exhausted and need a break.” Max keeps hold of your hand as he leads you from the office.

“But-but my work … I have to finish-” Even as you protest, you let him continue pulling you along. A rebellious part of you is thrilled at this sudden adventure.

“It can wait. Right now, we’re getting some food and drinks in you so you actually have energy left for tomorrow.” Max winks at you as you exit the paddock into the cool night air. “Trust me.”

And despite barely knowing this man, you realize you do trust him. Max guides you around the corner to a lively tapas bar, chatting all the while about random topics to make you laugh. He seems genuinely interested in getting to know you.

Over shared plates of patatas bravas and fizzy cocktails, you find yourself opening up to Max in a way you never do with people you just met. But his kindness and openness make you feel comfortable. He tells you more about life as an F1 driver, the pressures and perks.

“It must be amazing getting to travel all over the world racing cars,” you muse after your second cocktail. “Like a dream.”

“Part of it is, yeah.” Max smiles wryly. “But it can also be lonely. Never really putting down roots anywhere. Hard to meet people outside the racing bubble, you know?”

You nod thoughtfully. Under the playboy racer exterior, it seems there’s a down-to-earth guy who just wants connection. On impulse, you cover his hand with yours and give it a squeeze.

“Well, you’ve got a friend here now if you ever need company at a race.”

Max turns his palm over to link his fingers through yours. “I was hoping you’d say that.” His smile is so warm and genuine, you feel your cheeks heat.

By the time you stumble back to your hotel, you’re laughing and chatting with Max like old friends. When you get to your door though, you blink blearily and sway on your feet — the long day and alcohol hitting you hard.

Max steadies you with a hand on your waist. “Whoa there. You gonna make it okay?”

You wave a hand drunkenly. “Oh yeah, totally fiiiine ...” Your balance wavers again. Okay, maybe not so fine.

Max bites his lip, seeming to have an internal debate. “Alright, slight change of plans. You’re in no state to be left alone right now.”

In one smooth motion he scoops you up bridal-style. You make a very dignified squeaking noise and clutch his shoulders.

“Max! What are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re safe for the night.” He grins down at you. “You can stay in my suite where I can keep an eye on you.”

“But … people will think ...” Even tipsy, you know spending the night in Max Verstappen’s hotel room is probably a bad idea.

“Let them think whatever. I’m being a gentleman, I promise.” The sincerity in his eyes melts your feeble protests. You really are in no state to be left alone.

You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder. “Okay fine, you win. But just for tonight!”

Max chuckles, carrying you towards the elevator. “Deal. We’ll get you sobered up and rested for tomorrow.”

You have vague impressions of a plush suite, being tucked into cool satin sheets and handed water and pills for your headache. Max brushes hair off your face with a lingering touch. “Get some sleep, Y/N. I’m right next door if you need me.”

His kindness brings tears to your eyes again, but happy ones this time. As you drift off surrounded by his scent, you think dazedly that maybe this race weekend hasn’t been so terrible after all.

In the morning, waking up in Max Verstappen’s hotel bed, you at first think it was all some crazy dream. Then the smell of brewing coffee draws you out to the living room, where Max stands in the kitchenette.

“Morning! I ordered us some breakfast.” He hands you a mug, smiling softly.

Daylight streaming through the windows makes last night’s events seem even more surreal. You feel suddenly shy as memories return. A part of you wishes you could stay here in this peaceful bubble with him forever, away from the outside world.

But reality calls, as you both have jobs to return to. Max convinces you to eat some food and take more pain meds before he walks you back to your own room to shower and change.

At your door he pulls you into a gentle hug. “Take care of yourself today, okay Y/N? And if you need another break or company again, you know where to find me.” He presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead that sends tingles through your entire body.

Somehow you make it through the day fueled by Max’s kindness and the smallest hope this could lead to more. You catch sight of him striding through the paddock, fans clamoring for his attention. His eyes always seem to find you though, lighting up with that warm smile.

After the race, you’re back in your makeshift office trying not to fall asleep at your desk before the last minutes of broadcasts. When you walk outside into the golden hour sunset though, Max is waiting for you.

“So, ready for round two at the tapas place to celebrate my win?” He bumps your shoulder playfully.

You grin up at him, this beautiful boy who inexplicably wants to spend all his free moments with you. “Definitely. Bring on the croquetas.”

Laughing together, you start making your way there. And though you don’t know what this budding connection will lead to, you’re ready to find out.

***

Nine Months Ago

You snuggle deeper into Max’s arms with a contented sigh, resting your head on his chest. The lights are dim and music plays softly in the background of his hotel suite. Rain patters against the windows, making it the perfect night to get cozy indoors.

Being wrapped up with Max like this, away from the chaos of the race weekend, has become your favorite place to be over the past few months. After that impulsive first night in Barcelona when he took care of you, you started spending more and more time together.

What began as a supportive friendship soon turned into dates, kisses, and eventually becoming official boyfriend and girlfriend. You still can’t believe that Max Verstappen, Formula 1 superstar, wants to be with a plain data analyst like yourself. But from the way he looks at you — like you’re the most captivating person in the world — you don’t doubt his sincerity.

“Have I told you lately how beautiful you are?” Max murmurs, trailing his fingers slowly up and down your arm.

You smile and nuzzle his neck. “Mmm, I think you mentioned it once or twice.”

His hands drift up to stroke your hair and you practically purr, eyes drifting shut. Max kisses the top of your head. “I mean it though, Y/N. Being with you makes me so happy.”

You lift your head to meet his lips in a soft kiss. “You make me happy too, Max. I-” You cut off with an enormous yawn that you fail to stifle in time.

Max chuckles. “Am I boring you over here?”

“No no,” you insist around another yawn. “I just can’t seem to keep my eyes open tonight.”

It’s true. As blissful as you feel cuddled up with Max, you’re utterly exhausted. This weekend has been nonstop work with little sleep. By the time you wrapped the Sky broadcasts up for the night, you could barely see straight.

Max brushes a strand of hair back from your face, his expression growing serious. “You’re completely worn out, schatje. I hate seeing you push yourself to the breaking point like this.”

You give him a tired smile. “It’s okay, really. I’m used to the long hours by now. Occupational hazard.” It comes out less convincingly than you intended.

Max’s frown deepens. He shifts around to face you, cradling your cheek in his palm. “But you shouldn’t have to be used to it, Y/N. Your bosses take advantage of your dedication. It’s not right.”

You bite your lip, not meeting his earnest gaze. Deep down you know he’s correct, but you don’t know what else to do. This career has been your life for years now.

Max gently turns your face back to his. “You deserve so much better. You keep giving everything to this job and they just keep demanding more. When’s the last time you took a real break?”

You look down, feeling the prickle of tears. You can’t even remember your last vacation or rest day. “It’s okay, really ...” you whisper half-heartedly.

“No, it’s not.” Max’s voice is firm but caring. He tips your chin up to meet his eyes. “I can’t stand seeing you being taken advantage of. It makes me want to take care of you properly, the way you should be.”

Your breath catches at the intensity in his gaze. Being taken care of and cherished so deeply is new for you. You don’t know how to respond.

Max seems to take your silence as uncertainty. “Just think about it, liefje. You could finally put yourself first and do what makes you happy instead of what makes Sky Sports happy.” He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Doesn’t a break to rest and recover sound nice?”

You close your eyes with a shaky exhale, admitting to yourself just how badly you need it. Your health and mental wellbeing have been steadily declining under the relentless stress.

“It really does sound nice,” you whisper. A few tears leak out beneath your lashes.

Max kisses them away tenderly, holding you close. “Shh I know, baby. You’re burning yourself out trying to do the impossible. Anyone would be exhausted.”

You cling to him, sniffling. “But it’s my job, my career. I can’t just walk away ...” Even as you say it, the prospect doesn’t seem as scary as it once did. Not if you get to have this, being wrapped in Max’s love and care.

“You can walk away from anything that’s making you suffer. You’re so much more than this job. And you’ll never have to worry or want for anything ever again.” His tone drips with promise.

You lean back to search his face. “What do you mean?”

Max smiles and brushes his nose against yours. “I mean, I’ll take care of you. If you leave your job to focus on yourself and our relationship, you will want for nothing. I’ll make sure of it.”

Your eyes go wide. “You mean … quit working altogether and just … be with you full time?”

Max nods, still smiling. “It can be that simple if you want. No more crazy hours and stress. Just let me spoil you and give you the life you deserve. What do you say?”

Your pulse races as you imagine it. No more coming home at 2 am and collapsing, living off vending machine snacks. Instead you could be leisurely mornings with Max, seeing the world together, doing activities you actually enjoy instead of endless stats analysis ...

It sounds idyllic. But could you really just stop working and let Max support you? Would people judge you for it?

As if reading your mind, Max says “Ignore whatever anyone else might think. This is about what’s right for you and makes you happy. I’m sure of this, Y/N. Please trust me.”

His eyes radiate so much love and certainty. Slowly you nod, feeling a weight lift from your chest.

“Okay,” you whisper. “If you’re sure then … I trust you, Max.”

Joy spreads across his face. He kisses you deeply, pouring all his feelings into it. When he finally pulls back you’re both breathless.

“You won’t regret this, schatje. I’m going to take such good care of you from now on.” Max strokes your hair, eyes shining. “No more exhaustion and stress. Just being together and enjoying life. It will be amazing.”

You truly believe it as you drift off, safe in his arms. No more pressure to single-handedly carry Sky Sports’ data analysis. From now on, you can just be his … and find yourself again.

The next day you take a deep breath and knock on your boss’ door. Within minutes, you’ve quit your job and ended a years long chapter. It feels bittersweet but right as you box up your belongings from your little makeshift office. This time when tears prick your eyes, they’re from overwhelming relief.

Max is waiting to pick you up, greeting you with a spinning hug and long kiss. “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be so much happier and healthier from now on, I just know it.”

You hug him tight, burying your face in his neck. “I already feel lighter. This was the right choice.”

And it truly is. As you jet off to a tropical island just the two of you that weekend, it feels like a new life.

The days pass in a dreamy haze — sleeping in, long massages, breakfast in bed courtesy of Max, sunset walks on the beach holding hands. He delights in pampering you with gifts, gourmet meals, and your every whim met often before you even speak it.

“I could get used to this,” you sigh contentedly as you lounge together in a cabana, sipping fruity cocktails.

Max smiles and nuzzles your neck. “That’s the idea. You’ll never lift a finger except when you want to from now on.”

It amazes you how he transforms from fierce competitor on the track to this caring, protective boyfriend behind closed doors. He seems to find his greatest happiness in making sure you’re thoroughly spoiled.

You do occasionally think of the drastic shift your life has taken. But any flicker of doubt is erased by Max’s love and devotion. He’s given you freedom from exhaustion and anxiety. You’ve never felt more adored.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” you whisper one night as you sway together on the balcony under the stars, your silk robe fluttering around you.

Max gazes at you like you hold the secrets of the universe. “You just had to be yourself, schatje. That’s all I’ll ever need.”

He takes your breath away with slow, passionate kisses until you meltingly agree to take things inside. Your first time together is everything you imagined and more.

Afterwards, lying entwined with Max stroking your hair, you have never felt more whole. You found in each other what you needed most — care, understanding, and unwavering love.

This blissful new life together has only just begun.

***

A Few Hours Ago

You hum to yourself as you flip through the designer outfits in your massive walk-in closet, selecting options for the upcoming race. This will be your first time attending a Grand Prix on Max’s arm and you want to look perfect.

As you sift through rows of Chanel, Dior, Valentino, and Prada, you feel a pair of familiar arms wrap around your waist.

“Need any help choosing?” Max asks, nuzzling your neck.

You lean back into him with a smile. “I was just trying to narrow it down. I want to look nice for your big weekend.”

Max turns you in his arms, one hand coming up to caress your cheek. “Schatje, you could show up in sweatpants and you’d still be the most beautiful woman there.”

You scrunch your nose. “But it’s Monaco! I need to look at least semi put-together.”

“It’s impossible for you to look anything but,” Max declares, stealing a quick kiss. “You always look perfect to me.”

You swat his chest but can’t help grinning. His constant compliments and admiration still give you flutters even after months together.

Taking your hand, Max comes to stand before the endless clothing options. “Okay, let’s see what we’re working with here.”

You pull out two of your favorites: a sleek black Balmain jumpsuit with a deep neckline and waist cutouts, and a shimmering floral Givenchy maxi dress.

“Ooh, these are both amazing,” Max says, fingering the luxe fabrics. “That jumpsuit would show off your sexy legs, but this fabric is so pretty with your skin tone ...”

You chew your bottom lip thoughtfully. “I’m torn too. What’s your vote?”

Max pretends to scrutinize them closely before breaking into a smile. “Well you know I love you in anything. Or nothing,” he adds with a wink.

You roll your eyes and swat him with a hanger. “Behave! I need actual fashion advice please.”

“Okay okay.” Max puts on an exaggerated serious expression. “The Givenchy dress is very classy and princess-like. But I love the way this Balmain hugs your curves.” To demonstrate, he traces a hand along the waist and down your side.

You shiver pleasantly at his touch. “Mmm, good point ...”

Max leans in close behind you, hands resting on your hips. “Imagine me peeling it off of you after my win.” He presses a kiss below your ear.

You melt back into him, tilting your head to give him better access to your neck. “Well when you put it that way ...”

“The dress would be pretty easy access too though.” Max slides his hands under the fabric across your thighs teasingly.

You gasp and swat him away again, laughing. “Okay stop distracting me! I really do need to pick.”

Max relents with a grin, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, you win. I officially vote for the dress. It’s sexy yet elegant, just like you.”

You smile and give him a peck on the lips. “Now, what about bags and shoes?”

You move through your endless options as Max offers his input. He has a surprising eye for fashion despite his own relaxed, sporty style.

“This one matches the best.” He selects a sleek black crocodile Birkin. “Classy and understated.”

You turn the bag over in your hands. “Ooh I forgot I had this one. Good call!”

After picking strappy heels to complete the look, you start browsing your jewelry selection.

“That’s a lot of shiny stuff,” Max remarks, eyes roving over the boxes of diamonds, emeralds, sapphires and more.

You arch an eyebrow. “Says the one who got carried away with the jewelry purchases ...”

Max just grins and pulls you close. “I want you to have it all. You deserve to be spoiled.” He captures your lips in a sweet kiss.

You hum happily against his mouth before pulling back. “Will you help me pick something?”

“Hmm let’s see ...” Max peruses the options before selecting an elegant diamond necklace. “Yeah, this one is perfect. Really complements the dress.”

He fastens it carefully around your neck, meeting your eyes in the mirror with a smile. His gaze trails down your body as you model the full outfit together.

“You look absolutely incredible, liefje. Every man in Monaco will be drooling over you.”

You turn to wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Well I only care about impressing one man.” You kiss the tip of his nose.

Max’s hands find your waist again, warm on your exposed skin. “Oh trust me, I am very impressed. And the second we’re alone after the race this outfit will be on the floor.”

You laugh as he nuzzles into your neck, nipping lightly. Somehow, you manage to fall more in love with Max every day.

You eventually disentangle, needing to actually get ready for the day ahead.

“What should I wear in the meantime?” You muse, fingers drifting over the designer options.

Before you can choose, Max comes up behind you and starts guiding a silk robe onto your shoulders.

“How about nothing at all? I’m enjoying this view already,” he murmurs against your skin as he wraps the sash loosely around your waist.

You lean back into him with a hum of pleasure. “Well if you insist ...”

Max takes your hand and leads you to the bed, laying you back against the pillows. He undoes the robe just enough to expose your body as he trails kisses everywhere. “Mmm yes, this is much better than any outfit.”

You run your fingers through his hair, arching into his touch. “What happened to getting ready for the race?” You breathe.

Max pauses his kisses just below your navel to flash a wicked grin up at you. “Race day can wait for a few more minutes. Right now I want to appreciate my gorgeous girl.”

You have zero arguments with that logic. With a happy sigh, you surrender to his skilled and eager mouth, letting all other concerns fade away. Everything else will have its turn — being worshiped by Max is the only thing on your schedule this morning.

Eventually though, you manage to dress and make your way to the circuit. As you ride through the streets together on the way, Max keeps an arm curled tightly around you.

“You know, despite the fancy clothes and jewelry, you’re still the same humble, kind-hearted woman I fell for,” Max says, kissing your temple. “All that other stuff just enhances your inner beauty.”

You smile and squeeze his hand as you lift your lips to meet his. “You always know just what to say.”

You keep your chin up and shoulders back as you step onto the harborside track that will soon be swarming with VIPs. With Max by your side, you have everything you need — now and always.

***

Monaco Grand Prix, 2025

The cheers of the crowd echo in your ears as you watch Max pass the chequered flag, securing his win. Your heart swells with pride and love as he pulls the car over to parc fermé and hops out, immediately searching for you on the other side of the barriers.

The second his eyes land on yours, his face lights up with that smile that melts you every time. He’s barely stepped out of the car before you launch yourself into his arms.

“You did it! I’m so proud of you,” you breathlessly exclaim.

Max laughs and pulls you closer. “I’m just happy to win it for you, liefje.”

Still holding you against his chest, he claims your mouth in a fierce celebratory kiss as the team and cameras swarm around. Your world narrows to just the feeling of his lips on yours, his race suit damp with sweat under your palms.

When you finally break for air, foreheads touching, Max murmurs “I love you so much. This one was for you.”

Your answering smile feels brighter than the Monaco sunshine. “I love you too. You were incredible today.”

The podium ceremony and interviews pass in a euphoric blur. Max keeps you tucked close to his side whenever he can, his arm firmly around your waist. He only has eyes for you despite the chaos surrounding him.

Finally escaping to the privacy of his driver’s room in the Red Bull motorhome, Max properly ravages you up against the door. The heady mix of victory and desire is intoxicating.

Much later, surrounded by empty champagne bottles with Max nuzzling lazy kisses across your bare shoulders, you hear a tentative knock.

“Decent?” Comes Emma’s teasing voice.

“Just a minute!” You call out, scrambling for your discarded dress.

Max pouts adorably as you wriggle back into it. “Do we have to go out? I’m enjoying having you all to myself ...”

You smile and kiss him sweetly. “Soon baby. But let’s celebrate with some friends first.”

Max sighs but nods, taking your hand as you go open the door. Emma’s eyebrows shoot up as she takes in your thoroughly debauched state, but she politely doesn’t comment.

“Y/N! There you are! Oh, and congrats on the win,” she says to Max before turning back to you. “We’re all heading to Jimmy’z for the afterparty. You have to come!”

You hesitate, glancing at Max. “Oh, actually we already have plans ...”

“Come on, it will be like old times! We can squeeze you both in, I’m sure,” Emma pleads. Your former colleagues are beckoned over — Tom, Will, Sarah, and others waving excitedly.

Their eager faces make you pause, but Max just chuckles and slides an arm around your waist. “No need for squeezing into crowded clubs. I’ve already reserved some VIP booths so we can party properly.” He winks down at you.

“Oh! Well in that case, we’ll see you there.” Emma looks impressed. The others chatter excitedly as they head off to get ready.

You grin up at Max, arms looped around his neck. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Only the best for you, beautiful.” He kisses you softly before you head off hand-in-hand.

After making yourselves presentable again, you set out into the Monaco night. The Circuit de Monaco is still abuzz with energy, music and laughter pouring from every corner.

The line outside Jimmy’z stretches far down the block. But the bouncer immediately waves you through with a respectful “Mr. Verstappen, this way please.”

You exchange a smile with Max, who keeps you tucked close against his side. It still feels surreal being ushered into exclusive areas that once intimidated you. Now it’s your glamorous new normal.

“Y/N, you made it!” Emma jumps up and hugs you tight. She eyes your designer outfit and perfectly styled hair. “Damn, look at you! Got that WAG glow going on.”

You smooth your hands self-consciously over your dress. “Oh, thanks! Just trying to look the part, I guess.”

You chat and laugh with Emma and your former coworkers as music pulses around you. When the Go-Go dancer comes by with a tray of sparklers, you impulsively grab two, popping one in your mouth and handing the other to a wide-eyed Emma.

She fumbles to light hers, watching as you tilt your head back and laugh, little sparks showering your face.

“Girl, you are wild tonight!” Emma has to shout over the music. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

You just smile and rummage through your Birkin for lipstick to touch up, crossing and uncrossing your legs that sport sky-high Louboutins. Your time working 18 hour days hunched over a laptop feels like another lifetime.

Eventually needing a break from the noise, you head to the bar to refresh your drink. Emma joins you, peering at the menu.

“Damn, I can’t even pronounce half this stuff,” she laughs. “What are you thinking of getting?”

You scan the options. “Mmm, maybe the Dom Pérignon Rosé? Sounds nice.”

Emma shakes her head in disbelief. “You really have gone full glam. I don’t think I ever saw you drink anything but Heineken at the track.”

You scoff, “Well we didn’t exactly have champagne on offer in our part of the paddock.”

You smile politely as the bartender brings your drink over. Emma is still eyeing you curiously.

“What?” You ask, laughing under her scrutiny.

“Nothing, just ...” She waves a hand at you. “Look at you with the designer outfit, Birkin bag, $500 drinks … you’re a whole new woman!”

You take a sip of the bubbly pink liquid and just smile. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No no, not at all!” Emma rushes to say. “You seem really happy. I’ve just never seen you like this before. You were always the practical, focused one. Now you look … fully embraced by the glitz.”

You lean against the bar, considering her words. She’s right — the old you never could’ve imagined fully embracing this lifestyle. But now you can’t imagine anything else.

“I am happier than I’ve ever been,” you tell her honestly. “With Max I’m free to enjoy life and not worry about anything. He takes care of it all.”

Emma raises her eyebrows. “So he just … pays for everything, and you live this champagne lifestyle together?”

You smile, fingering the enormous diamond on your left hand. “Basically, yes. And it’s as amazing as it sounds. I’ll never need to work or stress over bills or anything again.”

“Huh.” Emma takes a thoughtful sip of her own drink. “Don’t you ever miss the thrill of data crunching and racing strategy though?”

You consider it for a moment. The thought of long hours analyzing race stats and performance metrics makes your brain hurt.

“You know … I really don’t,” you realize. “I can barely even remember the programs and systems we used. And I like it that way.”

Emma nods slowly. You can tell she’s making an effort to be open-minded about your new life. Before she can respond, you feel the presence of someone behind you.

“There’s my beautiful girl,” Max murmurs, sliding his arms around your waist and nuzzling your neck. “This party is nowhere near as fun without you.”

You lean back into him happily. His passion and desire for you still give you the same flutters as that first night together in Barcelona. You doubt that will ever change.

Turning in his arms, you accept the kiss he gives you, not caring that Emma is still standing there. Let her see how crazy you are for each other.

When you pull back, Max smiles down at you like you’re the only person in the crowded club. “Dance with me?” He extends a hand, already gently pulling you towards the dancefloor.

You let him lead you away without a backwards glance. Emma can think what she wants, but she can’t possibly understand your relationship with Max. You know this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

Max hands you a fresh glass of champagne and keeps an arm curled around your waist as you sway together. The music and alcohol fill you with euphoria.

“Have I told you how stunning you look tonight?” Max murmurs in your ear, his breath hot on your skin.

You smile up at him coyly. “Feel free to keep reminding me.”

Max’s answering grin is sinful. His hands travel your body as you move together. “I plan to show you later just how irresistible I find you.”

The night flies by in a blur of dancing, drinks, and stolen kisses in the shadows with Max. Your former colleagues party into the early morning, but eventually stumble back to their hotels.

You and Max retreat back to your shared apartment just as dawn breaks over the horizon. As promised, your dress hits the floor immediately. He ravages you with hungry kisses, urging you higher and higher until you cry out his name again and again.

After, wrapped securely in his arms, you sigh in utter contentment. The smooth sheets feel divine against your skin and Max gently strokes your hair as you doze against his chest.

“So I take it you had fun?” He asks, a smile in his voice.

You lift your head to grin at him. “It was amazing. Although ...” You bite your lip coyly.

Max raises an eyebrow. “Although what, schatje?”

“Well, this part is still my favorite.” You punctuate your point by straddling his waist again, bending to kiss him deeply.

Max groans appreciatively against your mouth, hands grasping your hips. “Mmm mine too. In fact, I don’t think we’re done celebrating yet ...”

Your lips part in ecstasy and your nails rake down his back as he takes you right to the edge again and again. Finally collapsing in a tangle of sweaty limbs, you’re both completely spent and blissful. You curl into Max’s side, eyes drifting shut.

“I love you so much,” you murmur, the words slurring together.

Max kisses your hair, stroking your back. “I love you too, Y/N. Being with you is a dream.”

You slip into peaceful dreams still wrapped in each other. The glitz and glamour of F1 life is fun, but nothing compares to the private world you share with Max.

You’ll face the crowds and cameras again soon. But right now, lost in Max’s embrace, you have everything you need.

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mind-empty-just-fictional-people · 1 month ago

Note

I know it’s not much but can I request Dr. Jack Abbot calling his younger girlfriend reader a “good girl” at work please!!

Good Girl

main masterlist | the pitt masterlist

pairing: dr. jack abbott x female reader

rating: PG-13

word count: 0.8k

warnings: age gap in relationship

pairing note: reader is in her mid to late twenties

author’s note: thank u for the request anon! this had me giggling like a fool i love jack sm

“Intubating,” you said as you began to do so. “Done.”

“Good girl,” Jack said without thinking.

The whole ER seemed to freeze as you looked over at Abbott. You gulped nervously before you darted your eyes over to Robby, who seemed stunned.

“Are you two…” Robby furrowed his brows, looking back and forth between you and Abbott. “...Never mind.”

“Good job, Dr. Y/l/n.” Abbott cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Thank you, Dr. Abbott,” you replied quietly, not daring to look at him.

It was finally time for you to go home, although your boyfriend was only three hours into his shift. You two had a quick second alone where he apologized for his earlier behavior, but you brushed it off and opted to kiss him quickly in response.

On your way to your car, Robby stopped you.

“About what Abbott said earlier–”

“Robby, it’s fine,” you laughed him off. “I’m not gonna report him to HR anytime soon.”

“I was gonna say… I know.”

“You…know?” You furrowed your brows. “Know what?”

“I know you and Abbott are… a thing.”

You furrowed your brows deeper as you chuckled, “A thing?”

“I finally put the pieces together, and I’ve gotta admit you two were pretty good at being discreet. How long has it been going on?”

You sighed. You had a good rapport with Robby, and you trusted him deeply. And yet, you still wanted to keep what you and Abbott had together with just the two of you. On the other hand, Robby was a good man, and you knew Abbott trusted him, too.

“Four months,” you admitted. Robby’s eyebrows shot up, followed by a beat of silence. “Sorry for not telling you earlier,” you mumbled.

“I get it.” Robby shook his head. “But I’ve gotta say, in the last few months I’ve never seen Jack happier.”

“Really?” The blood in your face rushed to your cheeks as a sheepish smile formed on your lips. You hadn’t known Jack as long as Robby had; you had met him a year ago when you first started working at the hospital.

He nodded, “Makes so much more sense now that I’ve put two and two together.”

“So… we aren’t in trouble?”

“Of course not,” Robby chuckled. “I’m happy for you two, really. I think its about damn time Jack finds someone who makes him smile like a fool.”

That made you smile even wider as you fought the giggle wanting to escape your lips.

“Well, I’ve gotta head out, you get home safe, alright?”

“You too,” you said as he turned to walk away.

You waved goodbye to Robby before you hopped into your car. Sitting behind the wheel, you pondered the conversation you just had. You put your hands on the wheel and checked yourself in the rearview mirror, finally letting out that giggle.

“Robby knows,” you whispered to yourself. “Robby knows…” Panic was starting to settle in. “Shit.”

You got out of your car, locked it, and went back to The Pitt to find Abbott. He was busy, but never too busy for you (as he’d always say).

“What’s up?” he asked the second you two were alone.

“Robby knows,” you told him.

“Knows… like knows?” he asked, and you nodded. “Okay… how?”

“I dunno, he just stopped me in the parking lot to tell me he knows,” you said, clearly freaking out.

“Well, that’s okay, it’s just Robby,” he said, wanting to make you feel better. “He’s not gonna tell anyone.”

You looked up at him as he put his hands on your hips to comfort you, your arms crossed in front of you.

“Are you sure?” you asked him.

“Positive.” He put a finger under your chin to keep your head tilted so he could kiss you. “This is still just us,” he whispered.

The curtain flung open, revealing Dr. Ellis, whose mouth flew open when she saw you two.

“I am so sorry!” she exclaimed.

You and Abbott scurried apart, but it was far too late; the few people who did see you were sure to gossip about it, and it was only a matter of time before everyone was talking about the two of you.

“Screw it,” Abbott mumbled before addressing the people starring. “Yes, Y/n and I are dating. Get back to work.” Everyone stood there, still in shock. “Now.”

“So… that’s gonna be a problem,” you said once everyone was back to whatever they were doing before.

“Eh, nothing we can’t handle.” Abbott shrugged. “Now, give me a kiss before we head back out there,” he said, and you smiled before you did so. “Good girl.”

#jack abbott x reader #dr jack abbott #dr jack abbott x reader #jack abbott #shawn hatosy #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt hbo #by mind empty just fictional people #by astrid #usermindempty #userastrid

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mysicklove · 2 years ago

Text

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋!

DAY 18: DRY ORGASM

With: Yuuta Okkotsu

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Sub! Yuuta, gn! reader, multiple orgasm, sorta mentions of cnc? idk, "breeder balls" are used in a silly goofy way, pregnancy mentioned, yuuta cums a total of six times, unrealistic portrayal of dry orgasms.

A/N: i almost named this fic breeder balls just to mess with all you guys. kinktober is driving me crazy

“It will be fun. C’mon, just trust me!” You tease, pressing kisses along Yuuta’s neck while he sighs. You sit behind him, hands resting on his stomach while you continue to pepper kisses along his neck. One of his weaker points.

He lets out a shaky breath and then whines gently. “I don’t know…I-It sounds kinda scary.”

“Aw, scary? C’mon, my big, strong, sorcerer boyfriend isn’t afraid of anything,” You quip, teeth grazing his pale skin when you smile into his back.

Your hands begin to roam up and down his body, and he gulps but doesn’t stop you. He does let out a noise of complaint about your choice of words though. “Yknow that isn’t true,” He mumbles out, pouting slightly.

You pinch his nipples, and he lets out a high-pitched squeal before turning to you with a half-hearted glare. “Sorry, they are too cute.”

He sighs, slumping against your chest and closing his eyes. “You're the worst.”

“Aw, you don’t mean that. You love me.”

He glances at you before rolling his eyes and nodding softly. Yeah, he did, even with all your teasing.

“Yuutaaaaa,” You purr, getting back to the main point. “Let’s do it.”

He hums, nodding for you to continue to try to convince him. He was still unsure and slightly nervous at the thought.

“You will look so cute. Haven’t you always wanted to cum like a girl? To have every ounce of cum milked out of you,” You bite his ear, earning a whole body shiver from the boy. “Forced out of you. Till you’re shooting blanks.”

That immmediately perks him up, and he cranes his head backward to look up at you with a sheepish grin. He already feels himself growing hard.

“F-Forced?”

You grin.

“No more! No more! Please!” He screeches, tears and drool coating his face and falling onto the sheets below him. He was heaving, and he feels like every inch of his body was covered in cum. His thighs and stomach were so sticky, and he was unbelievably sweaty.

Shaky legs try to crawl forward, away from your tortuous hands, but he ultimately fails. You use one arm to grab him by the waist and pull him back. “Where do you think you are going?”

He lets out a pathetic “Noooo!” as his fingers drag along the sheets back toward you. His thighs shake as he tries to hold his body up, and he buries his face into a pillow.

You hum to yourself, sitting cross-legged and fully clothed, contrasting your lover’s naked body. His knees straddle your legs, giving you a perfect sight of his ass and easier access to pull him back whenever he tries to crawl away.

His thighs, stomach, balls, and even your hand were coated with his cum, and is beginning to dry up from how long its been. But nevertheless, your hands continue to work at his cock, pulling it slightly downward so that it hangs between his open legs.

Yuuta lets out a choking noise, a mix between a gargle and a yelp, and suddenly he is cumming again. He doesn’t say anything as his orgasm comes crashing upon him again, but you weren’t surprised – he went borderline nonverbal after the third one.

His chest rises and falls with his rapid breathing, and you watch his whole body tense up. His tears stain the pillow, and his mouth hangs open in a silent scream. The only thing that showed that he was in pleasure was the way his nails dug into the sheets as if he wanted to tear them apart from how intense the sensation was.

You frown through it all, and watch two globs of cum slide down your finger. His legs give out, and he begins to slump on the bed, but you are quick to grab him and hold his waist up with your arm. “Am I–Did I? Are we d-done?” He stutters, his voice raw from his previous screams and cries. You hear him sniffle and watch the way a shaky arm rubs at his nose.

You lightly slap his thigh. “Nope. Almost there, Yuuta! The next one will definitely be dry. Think I got the last couple of drops,” You say, pointing to his cum staining your hand.

He looks up at you with wide, fearful eyes and starts squirming in your hold. “No! I can’t go anymore. A-And you said that the last couple of times!” He screeches, legs kicking out like a toddler throwing a tantrum, trying desperately to run away from your hold.

Your hands remain on his waist, and you move your body aside so that he doesn’t accidentally kick you with his frantic, panicked movements. His dick was raw at this point, and every muscle was trembling. He couldn’t go again – he was exhausted, completely pushed to his limits.

“Hey, hey, hey. Relax. This time I'm really sure! How many times have you ejaculated?”

He pauses for a moment, gulping as he thinks back to the previous events. “I think after that…Five times?”

You giggle at him, and the sound makes him tense up. Whenever he is put in these positions, and you laugh, it never is a good sign for him. “Woah, Yuuta, you really have a lot of cum stored up. I’ve heard that most men go dry after their third one…Don’t tell me your pent up?” You babble, passing time to hopefully let his body rest for a moment. Overstimulating him would probably kill the dark-haired boy.

He sniffles again, and then furrows his eyes and turns back toward you. “Im not, though. Came two days ago, remember?”

You think back to the night and chuckle fondly. “Yeah, I guess your right. Guess my lovely boyfriend just has breeder balls.” You laugh at yourself from the ridiculous word.

His mouth hangs open at your crude words, and he turns a bright shade of pink. Immediately, he tries to scramble out of your hold again, but you just laugh at his flustered noises. “Why would you say something like that? So embarrassing…And no, I don’t,” Your boyfriend complains, shaking his head back and forth to execute his point.

You hum to yourself, content that he has finally calmed down again, at least enough to put up and actively respond to your teasing words.

“Bet you could get any girl pregnant,” You continue to coax, mind drifting off from your words to return to your original motive. You begin to situate yourself again, hands moving back to the task at hand.

“Stop it, please! It’s so,” He groans into the pillow, unaware that you have begun to stand up. “I don’t know! Just sto–” Suddenly, his head is being forced into the pillow, and your hand is back onto his cock. Your movements are rough and fast, and his whole body seems to short-circuit.

Yuutas eyes widen as he feels the back of your hand pin his head into the pillow, and he feels your hands wrap around his dick again. He doesn’t even have time to react, except for a surprised yelp. By the time his brain catches up to the sensation, you have already palmed him four times now, and he is so sensitive. “W-Wait!” He begs, tears resurfacing.

The sound of your hand wrapping around his red cock is lewd. Loud squelching sounds fill the room, and he knows that the wetness is from his previous cum. It makes your head spin, and Yuuta wants to die from embarrassment.

Your hand finally lets go of his neck, and he pulls away immediately, gasping out for air. His back arches, and he begins his clawing at the bedsheets again. “F-Fuck,” Your lover whimpers, tears free streaming again.

His cock feels raw by now. Five orgasms in a row was an insane amount to him. The farthest he had gone before this was three, before he was forced to call it quits, or else risking him passing out. Right now, his mind seemed to be melting from the harsh feeling.

You have to support his body still by hoisting his hips upward. His forehead touches the sheets, and his bangs cover his face as he looks downward. It was almost disappointing that you couldn’t see his pretty expressions, but from what you could see by his sporadic movements, Yuuta was crumbling.

It hurt. Your hands were too rough. The pace was too intense. He can’t think anymore. His mouth hangs open, and his tongue threatens to loll out. All he can hear is your hands and his cum, and honestly, although he hates to admit it, it was spurring him closer to his orgasm.

Just one more. He can do that. He can cum one more time. Everything in him pleads for it to be dry, because he may seriously die if he has to go a seventh round.

So, with everything in him, he begins to grind into your hand, trying to coax his orgasm to come quicker. He lets out a silent scream, and he furrows his eyes shut but doesn’t stop fucking back into your hand.

You watch with amusement at the trembling boy’s movements. He was trying his best, and it was honestly quite cute. Just for him, you pick up the pace of your hand movements.

The reaction to it is immediate – the muscular body curls over on itself as he heaves. You bring him closer to you, now using both hands to jack him off, hoping he doesn’t collapse just for a couple more seconds.

Yuuta’s eyes roll back, and he can faintly hear your encouragements. “C’mon, love. Just one more. Cum for me one more time.”

He bites onto the pillow and nods his head, unable to give you a reply. He can feel his orgasm approaching, and frankly, it scared him. It was going to be a strong one, he could tell, and he was unsure if his body was able to take it. He was already shaking at this point, could his muscles really constrict one more time? He could barely hold himself up.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it, because his orgasm hits him out of the blue. For the first time since his second orgasm, Yuuta screams into the pillow. His thighs come squeezing together, and his fingers dig into anything they can grab. Tears continue to rush down his face, and he tries his best to breathe.

His knees come forward, and accidentally, he raises his hips higher into the air, creating a pretty arch in his back. You watch, mesmerized by the show, and then glance at his cock.

Not a single drop of cum is let out. You grin, and rub his thighs, coaxing him through it all, proud of him.

He slumps against the bed and this time you let him. Then, he very slowly turns to you, eyes cloudy. “I–I?” He tries, brain not catching up with him.

“Yep, good job. Came dry. I’m so proud of you.”

He gives you a lazy, but satisfied grin, nodding slightly. You crawl over to him, sitting down next to his head. He places his near-limp hand on your knee, and you hold onto it. “Guess…Guess I–No breeder balls for me,” He mumbles in full seriousness, as if he is proud of the fact.

You have to cover your mouth to refrain from laughing too loud. You place your head over his eyes, shutting them for him. “Guess not. Sleep, Yuuta.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He falls asleep not even a minute later. You don’t blame him.

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