#I spent almost 3 hours on this for no reason

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

Hiiii how are you doingggg??? I was wondering if you could do a hawks x reader fic where reader is an anti-hero and they're like a super criminal that's searched all over Japan but deep down Hawks knows they're not a bad person! The rest is up to you !! :3

Omg yes I love this! Keep the requests coming y'all <3

Pairing: Hawks/reader

Warnings: cursing, slight injuries, Hawks is Lowkey whipped, sexual tension

Word count: 0.9k

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

It had been a long ass day, the longest one you'd had in a while.

Of course, you loved your job. There were some obvious downsides, but it was more fulfilling than your other careers in the past. Not exactly in a 'my work doesn't matter kind of way,' (as a previous customer service worker, you could attest to the fact that they were the real heroes of modern day society), but in a more so 'there's a lot of scum in the world that I can't take care of properly behind a hostess desk' type of way.

So, yes, you very much enjoyed your job.

What you didn't appreciate, however, was the fact that the number two pro was tailing you, after you had spent hours of energy decommissioning a CEO who had decided to lovingly start investing his money into a human trafficking ring, now less.

More than deserved, in your opinion.

Fatigue was beginning to overtake the adrenaline of today, yet you continued to run and jump between buildings, only stopping when another body rammed straight into you.

Letting out a grunt, you shielded your head with your upper limbs, fighting back a curse when the skin of your forearms scraped against the pavement, leaving tiny droplets of scarlet in their wake.

A pair of hands wrapped around your arms, forcefully pulling when away from your face as another duo of small, soft, and presumably red, objects wrapped around your ankles, easily keeping you contained.

A smirk, irritatingly more arrogant than it had any right to be, met you when you looked up.

"I've been looking for you, ya know."

This time, you did let out a curse.

Hawks was undeniably annoying.

For some reason, he had decided to make himself a big old pain in your ass since your first run in with the police. His cocky comebacks vexed you like no other, and you had made the point to stay away from the man whenever possible.

However, he seemed to be dead set on making himself a constant in your life.

"Funny. I've been trying my best to avoid you."

He scoffed. "You could try to be nicer to me. I'm the only thing standing between you and jail."

"Why wait? I figured I'd already be handcuffed by now." Your irritation at the situation shown through, but it definitely wasn't too dire. In fact, the quicker you could get this whole thing over with, the quicker you could make your quick escape.

"It's a shame, actually. I forgot them at home." Two pieces of scarlet plumage floated up behind him, the inaniment items almost taunting you as they hovered. "Though, I think you'd look just as good wrapped up in these."

That was another thing you absolutely hated about the number two; he was infuriatingly attractive.

And somehow, by some evil, cruel twist of fate, he had figured out that you thought so.

The bastard had the nerve to laugh when you looked away, trying to ignore the heat blooming in your cheeks. "You're cute."

"And you're an asshole."

"Aww, come on. And here I came hoping to make a truce."

That sure had you pausing. "Excuse me?"

"Yep. Which is pretty damn thoughtful considering the Commission is wanting to stick you in Tartarus for the rest of your life."

"That's only if they can catch me." Regardless of your confident retort, the information sent fear shooting down your spine. "And my charges can't be that bad."

One golden eyebrow cocked upward. "You've killed heroes."

"Only the ones that deserve it," you muttered. "Now are you gonna get on with it or what?"

"I want you to join me."

Silence was all that followed his answer.

"You're bullshitting me." And yet, a simple glance at his face told you it was farther from the truth. "Why?"

Another flirtatious grin was all he offered. "Maybe I just don't want to see such a pretty thing have to rot behind bars."

"I don't believe you."

He slowly lowered himself, the warmth of his breath echoing over your skin, his lips practically skimming your face as he whispered, "Why don't you let me prove it then."

The words had your legs weak and self-respect weaker. It was almost unconscious when you found yourself moving, mouth centimeters from his.

And then a scream echoed across the city, barely loud enough to overcome the screeching blare of car engines.

Taking the opportunity, you wrapped a leg around his own and slipped out from his grasp, jumping to your feet in an instant. "Better go get that. Duty calls, right?"

And with that you took off sprinting, using the slight moment of rest Hawks provided to overcome your exhaustion from the day.

"Just give it some thought, yeah?" He yelled, chuckling when you offered nothing more than a middle finger his way.

Even as you disappeared into the shield of darkness night provided, he just sat and watched.

He knew you would be back.

Who could say no to him?

[nuggetpool-hi]

Saw a cool pose on pinterest and my hands gained a mind of their own

+ stupid doodle because Wade covered in lipstick marks sigh falls to the ground

[cemeterym]

today's lesson is teach your kids to use public transport so they do not end up like me bc holy shit

[olessan]

I love the fact that I can work as hard as I can manage with a broken tooth and a dying tooth (one on each side, I've been chewing on the cavity for a year) and I still cannot save even $10 towards getting dental treatment (2 impacted wisdom teeth, + tooth broken off under the gum, + bad cavity) because I barely make enough to cover my food and board and the insane energy bill

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[cassandralexxx]

Actually no I am so pressed like it is actually absurd the number of times I have had to say “well English is my first language” while up here these past few years. to a point it’s like kind of insulting like people seem to ignore all of my background and greater details about myself and focus in on half of my ethnicity.

[erwinsvow]

𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 — 𝐣.𝐚.

summary: you're too young for me and this is wrong and i'm supposed to be teaching you float around jack abbot's head. but every time, knowing that he shouldn't, he still leans in to kiss you.

word count: 17.9k

tags: first year!reader (but no age mentioned + she has a stupid nickname), illicit workplace relationship, lots of guilt/we shouldn't do this (mostly from jack), yearning/pining, shea's version of slowburn and a bubbly reader and much too much dialogue, regular hospital talk/mention of injuries/death and fourth of july special scene <3 maybe out of character for the other doctors but i tried my best!, smut (fingering, orgasm denial, dirty on-call room sex, creampie because.. duh).

note: based off of the intern baking for jack during his bad week blurb, also known as i can't help myself

jack abbot stares at you, then down at the containers in his hand filled with cookies that you baked for him after he spent the better part of a week yelling at you, and then back at you. 

and then he laughs for the first time all week and wonders to himself—what the hell am i going to do with you?

because truly, you are something else. jack’s seen you in passing during day shift sign-offs at seven pm, and occasionally walking to the lockers a touch early. reflecting back, while placing the yellow tupperware into his own locker, he thinks he’s even seen you as early as six-thirty in the morning some day, if not most days.

he can’t resist—who told you about his sweet tooth, he’s not actually sure—but he opens up the lid. just like you had told him before you walked away to start your shift, the round chocolate-chip cookies don’t have any sea salt on them, not that he minds.

he bites into one and chews on it while trying to remember what else he knows about you—all that comes to mind is your teary eyes day before last when he yelled at you over something he can’t remember right now.

it hadn’t been that big of a deal—there was a patient presenting with disrupted kidney function and you hadn’t discontinued their nsaids on your initial evaluation. the solution, usually, is a stern conversation and to inform you for next time. no ibuprofen for the guy with bad kidneys, something you would have figured out in the next hour even if they hadn’t immediately caught it.

but for some reason (he knows the reason, he thinks grimly) he had yelled instead. raised his voice, caused a scene. every nurse nearby had looked up and started whispering—and he knows how the gossip goes in this place.

even ellis had intervened and dragged you away, glancing back to give him a look something akin to what the fuck, man? 

because he doesn’t yell—it’s not hardwired in him to do so. he was raised in a loud house but he’d almost looked to avoid it everywhere he went, trying his hardest to not become like his father in that way. 

the realization that he never yelled when his wife was still alive hits him like a slap to the face every time. he can’t help it, and he’s sure everyone justifies it for him. even when he’d yelled at you and you’d stood in front of him like a kicked, teary-eyed puppy, he hadn’t realized he’d done it again—taken out his frustration on the nearest thing. he’s sure that parker’s with you in some corner, telling you how he usually never yells and it’s his week from hell and you’ll see the real abbot next week. 

that doesn’t take away from the fact that he made you cry, though. 

nor does it erase the fact that you made him cookies. quite frankly, delicious cookies. maybe the best ones he’s ever had. soft and chewy and made with semisweet chocolate chips. before he realizes it, it’s seven pm sharp and he’s eaten the whole thing, shoving his go-bag into the locker carefully on top of the container you gave him and going out to join you for sign-offs.

and he doesn’t realize it either, not until you stare at him for a moment too long, garnering a cough from mckay as she tries to tell you about the patients from the chairs, the ones that you’ll be following up on and taking care of for the rest of the evening. 

there’s chocolate smudged on his fingers, and he’s licking it off, trying to pay attention to robby—who looks at him confused, and then glances at you, and turns back to jack almost… knowingly—while you’re paying attention to him.

and jack, well, everyone knows about jack’s staring thing. they call it just that—he has a problem with overdoing eye contact. he doesn’t know when he picked it up, though he’s sure it’s another one of those military attributes he pretends he doesn’t have. what he does know is that he’s always been able to tell when someone’s looking at him, like you are now.

jack turns his head just to look in your direction for a moment and he finds you already facing in his direction. your gaze quickly goes from his eyes to his fingers and then back to cassie, and he doesn’t have to be near you to know that you’re flushed.

then he stops himself—he doesn’t have any business digging around in your thoughts, wondering what exactly made you look away, was it the fact that he turned to look or that he already knew you were staring—and for the first time all night, he tries to pay attention to robby.

fuck. is this what it’s going to be like for the rest of your time on nights? resisting the urge to turn and lock eyes with you, to make sure you’re there and make sure you’re looking, even when he knows you are? 

no, no. he’s not that guy. he’s not the guy who obsesses over the nice, pretty intern and accepts her cookies when he’s the one who made her cry to begin with. 

you have a place in this hospital, and it’s to learn and grow and better yourself under his guidance, not stay nestled in his thoughts that linger somewhere between inappropriate and really inappropriate.

no, what jack wants to do is get you alone somewhere quiet so he can apologize, and make sure that you believe him. 

rarely does jack abbot get what he wants.

you’re talking with mckay still, going on about something at a mile a minute, in more of a carefree tone that he’s never been on the receiving side of. every time he’d spoken to you the previous week, he’d been angry and you’d been dejected. it’s not how teaching is supposed to be, especially not jack’s teaching. he’s always been proud of how he treats residents, how they flourish under him, how they end up liking nights like john and parker did. 

he catches the ending half of your conversation with cassie.

“-but the recipe doubles really, really easily, so if you make them and you feel like you want more, because, i mean, i made them for a bake sale once-”

“and it’s always a crowd pleaser?” cassie asks, tilting her head at you, looking as focused as jack has ever seen her. he doesn’t know the context, though he’s sure it has something to do with harrison and his school. 

you, on the other hand, are completely engrossed in the conversation. as though cassie’s son and his school’s bake sale are the most important things on the planet.

“always! it’s so good. but just make a test batch—it’s so easy. half the recipe, try it out, and then if you like it, you can use the extras to let people try it before they buy it-” you’re interrupted, parker calls out your name somewhere in the distance.

the day shift has began to filter out. robby pats jack’s shoulder firmly before muttering i’m outta here, but jack stands frozen in place, wanting for some reason, to hear the end of your conversation.

he didn’t know people could be so passionate about baked goods—but he guesses it makes sense. for you, that is.

“actually, that’s not a bad idea. you sent me the recipe already?”

“yes, i texted it. but i can email it if you want, or i-”

jack actually laughs—you’re so eager to get cassie this recipe. he thinks you have more energy right now than he’s had all day.

he hears cassie thank you, and he gets a glimpse of you beaming at her, a bright, pretty smile, before the charge nurse calls out his name and his shift really starts. 

shen jumps on with him and he sees you somewhere in the distance, probably running through your game plan for some patient in the chairs with ellis. you smile brightly at her too, and for the first time in a long time, jack has a thought that he deems in the category of uncontrollable. 

he’s a disciplined guy, always has been. thoughts don’t consume him like wildfire, rather they run through a series of checks and balances before he even fully thinks them. last week his system had been all off, leading to you getting yelled at in the first place, and right now, the whole thing seems like it’s gone haywire, focused on one thing in particular.

what does he have to do to get you to smile at him like that?

+

the night shift is a place of routine. jack wants to get you on a trauma with him, wants to show you what he’s like when he’s of sound mind and not thinking about how last week, a couple of years ago, he had the worst day of his life. and then a couple years before that, another worst day of his life. 

he has an overpowering urge to show you what he’s like on a normal week. he can even picture it in his head—handing you gloves and asking you questions that help you run the trauma, to get you in the habit of approaching the cases like he does. the questions are to make you believe in yourself—if you know the answers, you could have run this whole thing by yourself. if you get something wrong or don’t know, he throws in an easier one next time. 

you might be a little worried at first but you’d get the hang of it. and then, after the patient was stable and he got to tell you good job, you’d do it. smile at him, beam up at him like you’ve been doing to the others. the kind that makes your eyes light up, makes little lines crinkle in the corners of your face, lets him see your lips—well, that’s not important.

what is important is that you realize that jack abbot is there to help you, not to make things worse. that’s the side of him he wants you to see.

but unfortunately, the night shift is a place of routine. interns are on chairs, getting every move double-checked by a senior resident. there’s enough hands on the day shift to allow first years to jump on every incoming but nights are not nearly as well distributed.

so, you and jack fall into a routine—you both show up early for your shifts, walk to the lockers together in silence. sometimes you stare and he catches you, and other times you catch him. you think about asking him what he thought about the cookies, or if you can get your tupperware back, but then you stay silent and head out into the chaos.

one day at six forty-five, he sees you looking at him while mel is trying to tell you something that you are decidedly not paying attention to. after he looks your way, you turn back to her and start profusely apologizing.

he turns back to robby, missing half of what he said. 

“you okay?” robby asks, gaze flickering towards jack, and then back at you, somewhere in the distance. jack nods. “how’s she been doing?”

he doesn’t have to say your name for jack to know who he’s talking about.

“fine. good. i haven’t gotten much of a chance to teach her, so-”

“right. teach.” robby says it and looks at jack differently—as if he’s amused. 

“what?” jack snaps, suddenly irritated by the line of questioning.

“nothing. this week’s probably gonna be her last on nights, just so you know.�� before jack can respond, robby puts his hands up in defense. “don’t shoot the messenger. apparently we’re supposed to be cycling interns and r-twos so they all get to experience nights. something about equality and fairness. i don’t know but you can read the memo.”

“fairness?” jack grumbles, though it’s mostly to himself. he’s annoyed, and he knows why, and he doesn’t like the reason why. “they used to put us on nights for three months at a time and the only memo i ever got was too bad.” 

“careful, jack,” robby says, a little too sing-songy for his current mood. “you keep talking like that and she’s gonna think you’re an old grump.”

jack glares up at robby, wanting to reply but nothing biting comes to mind. 

“you have a good night, jack,” robby says and jack mutters back a yeah, yeah. he turns to watch robby leave, but somehow, his gaze still ends up back on you, like it always does. it’s harder still throughout the course of the night, nerves somehow taking over him every time he wants to tell you to drop whatever patient’s hand you’re stitching and jump on this trauma with him. 

the vision he’s been chasing, aimlessly at that, seems further and further away as the hours pass each night. your shift is filled with first degree burns and sprained ankles and kind-of, sort-of allergic reactions, when it should be spent by his side, learning everything he has to offer you before you’re back with the day shift.

because that’s why he’s so invested in making sure you’re on a trauma with him—because of how much he has to teach. parker and john haven’t said a bad thing about you, and even the day crew during passing exchanges—nothing besides wondering how you have so much energy at seven am without a cup of coffee in your system. 

that is why he’s so invested—right?

on your last shift of nights for this block, you show up a little extra early. you think you can avoid jack by doing so, but he comes early too, wanting to catch you alone, if just for a moment. 

you walk with your hands filled with more tupperware that he recognizes. the very same containers are sitting on his countertop right now, the contents mostly eaten. he doesn’t want to finish the last of your cookies even though they’ll get stale soon. and why that is, he pretends to not know the answer.

he follows you into the break room at six twenty-five while you open the lids and set out napkins. 

“oh,” you say, surprised when you hear the door click behind you. you didn’t think anyone would have noticed you sneaking in there. “dr. abbot-”

“listen, kid, i need to-” jack’s eyes, without intending to, fall from your confused expression to the table in the room. you have more cookies—maybe snickerdoodle—in the containers. “what’s this for?”

“it’s my last day on nights.”

“so you made cookies?”

“it’s to thank everyone,” you ramble on, like you have to justify the idea to jack. “for being so patient with me. interns are already so annoying and then on top of that when they’re not sleeping. i just thought it would be nice. and there’s no nuts or chocolate so it’s more allergy friendly, you know. i-i’m gonna stop talking now.”

“no-” he says, too quickly, and you look just as confused as ever. your eyebrows knit and your mouth opens a bit and he stares at you, while you stare at him. in fact, jack wishes you wouldn’t look at him like this—cute and confused and too nice for your own good. “no, i mean-” 

what does he mean? what he really wants to say is please don’t stop talking, but all that comes out is—

“that’s…nice. i’m sure they’ll appreciate it. and interns, well, they’re supposed to be annoying. that’s how you learn.” jack pauses, thinking he’s done well, that this is a good place to stop. “not that you’re annoying, that’s not what i-”

“thank you, dr. abbot,” you supply, smiling at him. and god, if it isn’t exactly how he thought it’d be—your bright smile feels like it sends a halo of warmth over the person you’re looking at, and this time, it’s lucky him. your face changes too, the confusion and concern melt away and are replaced with sheer joy, like you’re thankful for every bumbling word in a fairly awkward conversation. 

he’s never been like this, he thinks, or maybe the confidence that surged through him during every trauma had nestled somewhere permanently, constantly hitched along into his real life. he’s never considered himself a don juan but he’s not a stranger to women either—and he certainly doesn’t stutter through sentences and backtrack because he’s worried he’s offended you. that doesn’t happen to him. it’s never happened to him.

but he supposes, taking in how you smile with your entire face and what else he can do to get you to stay smiling, that there’s a first time for everything.

“you were saying something? when you came in?” you ask.

“yes, uh-” 

damn it. what was he saying? he can’t remember. it’s distracting—you, the cookies, your radiant smile, all of it. especially when he thinks about a week ago today, when you were standing in front of him with your wet eyes and wobbly chin, when he was angry about something he can’t even piece together right now. right—the apology. 

“i just wanted to apologize for my behavior last week. i-i hope you-”

but before he can finish the sentence the door opens. it’s dana.

“jack, robby’s asking for you. three incoming mvc’s and mckay left early for something with her son and no one else is here yet, and-” she stops, glancing between you, jack, and the cookies on the table. “hey, kid. you jumping in?” 

you glance to jack when dana asks that, big eyes staring at him for permission. you really shouldn’t have done that, because he thinks you’re only making all the rest of this much worse, whatever he’s been pushing down and burying for the last week that seems determined to hit the surface today. 

“tell him we’re coming,” jack says, and though he had more to say to you, he has to stop for now. on the walk to the trauma bay, jack recaps how he runs through traumas with you. he ties your gown while you pull gloves in his size, and then the ones in your size.

when you hand him the gloves, he gets a look into your eyes—pretty, nervous, excited. in that order.

“what do we have?” jack asks, and trail behind him momentarily, taking a big breath before walking out and following him into the trauma bay. robby jumps on the first ambulance with heather and leaves the second to you and jack. you see frank and mel walking towards the third one, still driving up.

the paramedic starts rattling off the vitals and the patient keeps speaking over him, thrashing up and trying to crane her neck despite the c-spine collar wrapped around it. 

you know what you’re trained to do in these situations—listen to ems, treat the patient, figure out what she keeps interrupting for after you’re positive that she’s not going to die on your table. but some part of you just can’t let it sit like that. you can’t stand when someone thinks you’ve ignored a part of their sentence, much less ignore them entirely.

“wait, wait,” you tell the paramedic as they’re wheeling the gurney into one of the trauma rooms. all around you, the nurses have started their work, setting up iv’s and rolling in portable x-rays. they set aside blood and wait by the phone to call for the surgical consult or to clear up ct as soon as you and jack decide the patient needs one.

“excuse me?” he replies, turning to look at jack with an expression that asks are we listening to her? and even jack looks at you a little confused while you get closer to the patient, until you’re in her line of sight and she stops moving so much. the noise around you will never fully go quiet, but it dims down for thirty seconds.

“you have to stop moving so much, ma’am. what are you trying to say?”

“i really think we should-” the paramedic interjects, but you snap your head towards him, trying to figure out how to say shut up without really saying it.

“can you please, just give me a second?”

“my daughter, my daughter, she’s hurt, please-” she responds, not thrashing anymore, just crying.

jack looks between you and the patient for a moment. this case is surgical—she practically went through the windshield. there’s glass that needs to be removed, a concussion, possibly a chest tube, and an airway if she crashes. 

“you guys need hands in here?” you hear trinity ask from somewhere behind you.

jack knows you have a choice here, and he thinks, for a moment, you’ll tell her to find the daughter while you finish this trauma with him. it’s for your own learning, your education. it’s to show you what the some of the worst outcomes from car accidents look like, things to check for in the future even if your patient looks fine.

“i’m gonna find your daughter, okay? but i need you to stop moving so they can take care of you. because she needs her mom, too.” you turn to santos, and trinity jumps in while you walk out. jack catches one glimpse of you before turning to his patient, laying still and compliant, crying silently. 

an hour later, most of the day shift has gone home. trinity even stops at bed 19 where you’re suturing the little girl’s arm while she drinks a juice box and waits for a head ct in case she has a concussion too. 

“when is it gonna be my turn on nights? abbot is so cool. i put in the chest tube and got to bring her up to surgery.”

you get an uneasy feeling in your chest thinking about someone else on nights with jack in your position—not the yelling, but rather the apology he never got to finish. how sincerely he looked at you when you left to find the daughter instead of finishing up with your patient—maybe it was a mistake. maybe he’ll be upset with you, but it doesn’t matter, since it’s your last shift, anyways.

“and those cookies are fantastic. alright, thanks bubbles. i’ll see you back on days.”

“bubbles? wait, those cookies weren’t for you-” you call out after her, but she walks away without responding. you turn back to the little girl.

“there’s cookies?”

“yes,” you sigh, taking your seat again. her arm is nearly done, just needs a bandage. dad is on his way, the social worker is informed, and someone should be coming over to take over to watch her until ct is ready. “i can give you one after your dad gets here, if he’s okay with it. but for now you have to rest.”

she asks you if her mom is going to be okay, and in truth, you don’t know the answer. you should, but you don’t. you excuse yourself when one of the nurses gets there to monitor her, and try to find parker so you can move onto the next. 

jack must be in another trauma, because you don’t see him anywhere and though you’re not eager to get yelled at again, you do need to finish the conversation from earlier.

and you need your tupperware back.

you end up seeing six patients, getting four of them ready to be sent home and two waiting for beds upstairs and consults that are taking far too long. parker pulls you aside while she chews on one of your snickerdoodles.

“can you do nights more often? these cookies are great, bubbles.” 

“okay, when did this catch on? i know trinity likes her nicknames but this is the first time i’ve heard it. also, what the hell does it even mean?”

parker looks at you with a tilt of her head.

“seriously?”

“bubbles? maybe something like, i don’t know, crybaby, i would have understood.” you pause, hesitating, and then glancing up from the screen you’ve been staring at, your half-assed attempt at a proper note. “wait, how long has she been calling me that?”

“since your first day. but it doesn’t sound like nearly as much of an insult as it used to.”

at least parker will give it to you straight.

“can i ask you something? about dr. abbot?” you don’t know where the surge of confidence comes from, but you think you need to ride the wave to some answers before your shift ends. you glance at your watch while parker does the same. almost midnight.

“i’ll give you five minutes. by the way, he was in the break room if you want to ask him directly.”

“really?

“yeah. shoveling down cookies. you’re gonna give him pre-diabetes.”

“really?” and it’s hard to hide your smile, entire face lighting up. “it’s my favorite recipe. well, second favorite, i guess. my roommate in medical school had a nut allergy so i always made snickerdoodles for her, but those brownies i made for him are probably are my actual favorite-”

parker’s expression changes.

“you made him brownies?”

“yeah?” fuck. “it-it was to apologize. for last week, the nsaids thing.”

“he yelled at you.” she pauses, staring at you a little more quizzically. “he made you cry.”

“he was having a bad week?” you offer sheepishly. 

“right.” another pause. “what was your question?”

“i don’t remember. i’m gonna go see a patient now.” you save the contents of your note and decide to finish it later, during the three am lull with a hot cup of coffee and a cookie if there’s any left.

your question was going to be disguised with a ramble of some sort, asking ellis if she thinks jack abbot is the type to apologize for yelling at her or if there was something else he was going to tell her before those traumas came rolling in.

but lucky for you, you get your answer. four am, in the break room, running a little late on finishing your notes, behind on a schedule that you had invented in your own head. the last patient you saw had been really frightened of the hospital, as well as a language barrier that you had to wait thirty minutes to find a translator for at this hour.

you need a coffee, a cookie, and a computer to finish your notes. and then you need to leave the night shift and not be stuck in the hospital with jack abbot for twelve hours.

though there’s a smile on your face when you open the door, at the very idea that jack liked your snickerdoodles enough to shovel them down, or whatever parker had said. you look up and your smile gets replaced with surprise at the man standing in front of you.

it’s mental beetlejuice, or something. every time you think about him, boom, there he is. facing the counter, pouring black coffee into his steel gray tumbler.

“oh. hi.” how can you be so shocked that he’s in here? it’s four am with no incomings and it’s really not that big of a department. you passed the other two doctors on with you on the walk here—parker at central talking to a nurse and shen at a computer eating a granola bar.

“hey, kid. coffee? just made a pot.”

“yes, please.” you walk over, fetching your yellow mug from the cabinet. you glance at the table—your containers empty save for the crumbs of cinnamon sugar on the bottom. “was gonna have a cookie too. i should have made more.” jack pours you a cup and then hands you the creamer and the sugar. you notice that his own coffee is drunk just black though.

“it’s john, i’m telling you. he’s got a sweet tooth worse than mine. and don’t let parker fool you. i saw her in here three times tonight.” jack takes a seat in one of the chairs, but first he pulls one out for you.

you sit down and smile, laughing at his comment.

“well, she said that you were in here shoveling them down, so, i don’t know who to believe.”

“she said that?” you nod, taking a sip of your sweet coffee.

the coffee in the break room is notorious for being just fine. it’s never great, or even just good, it’s just fuel. but it tastes a lot better today.

“i’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.” 

you laugh again. you look over, realizing there’s one cookie left in the container.

“one left. but you can have it,” you say, the caffeine and this conversation doing wonders for your energy levels. “i had a bunch at home earlier today and i make them all the time, so-”

“nah, kid. we’ll split it.” jack breaks it in half and slides it towards you on a napkin, and you smile at him again—warm, generous, compassionate. 

a lot of big words to describe the smile of a resident he just got to know better this week, but he can’t turn it off. the radar in his head alerting him that the person he’s been thinking about for hours is sitting in front of him now, nibbling on half a cookie.

“that was a nice thing you did, earlier. with the mom and the daughter. she was completely compliant after.”

“i figured. i can’t believe the paramedic didn’t listen to her the whole ride in, though.” you take another sip of coffee before putting your mug down on the table. “not that he did something wrong. i know he was trying to help and they’re trained to focus on the patient and all that. but she was moving around in a c-collar, so i figured-well, i’ll stop rambling. they said the surgery went good so that’s all that matters, i guess.” you go quiet, taking another bite just so you stop yourself from talking too much again.

“both things can be true. he should have listened and he did his job. how’s the daughter?”

“good, good. i gave her stitches and she had some minor cuts. i think the mom thought she was bleeding a lot worse. dad’s with her, so…” 

“you had the chance to jump on the trauma but you left to take care of the kid.” jack doesn’t say it with any sort of tone, presents it to you plainly, like a statement.

“is this the part where you’re gonna yell at me?” you blink up at him, worried again.

“no, no. i just-” he pauses, thinking about his words carefully. he smiles, like he’s about to laugh. “it’s just the sort of thing i can’t teach, so-”

there’s a knock on the door, and you audibly sigh. is it the worst thing in the world to ask for some privacy for five minutes in this place, to be able to finish a conversation with your attending for once?

it’s john.

“incoming. three minutes out. aw, man, are those the last of the cookies?”

you do get to jump on the case with shen and abbot, though the man isn’t in bad condition at all. took a spill on his kid’s toys and bruised his tailbone, but his wife called for an ambulance. he waits for a head ct and x-ray and the room clears out, and you wonder if you’ll get a chance to finish out your conversation with jack abbot.

you don’t.

he stays behind to tell robby something and parker and john usher you out for a celebratory latte—decaf, obviously—to finish your first small taste of nights. you carry your empty containers in the tote bag you brought them in, and realize you didn’t even get a chance to tell him to bring your containers back.

(whether you want the containers or an excuse to talk to him again, you don’t know. it’s a can of worms not worth opening now that nights are done—though you’re sure he must have finished the contents by now. the idea of your yellow tupperware sitting on his counter or his kitchen table, well… it leads your mind to wonder about other things.

what does his place look like? did he sit on his couch with brownies and farmer needs a wife, like you had suggested? what about in his bed? jack doesn’t seem the type to have a television in his bedroom, or the type to eat in bed, though sometimes you’ll make an exception for dessert, and maybe he can be convinced.

and then you cut the entire thought out of your head, because it’s downright unprofessional and you have no business spending time wondering about his bed or his couch or anything else. stupid tupperware. and what’s even worse is going home with the realization you might not get to find out what jack was going to say to you in the break room, either time.)

+

if you ask a hundred emergency room doctors what the worst day of the year is, you’ll get a hundred different answers. halloween, thanksgiving, and new year’s are all up there. 

but jack abbot’s answer has never changed—fourth of july. 

a day littered with sunshine, grilling, and sparklers. to any emergency medicine specialist, it’s more about sun-poisoning, choking on hot dogs, and burn injuries from at-home fireworks. the hospital is flooded with back-to-back traumas, ranging from people passing out at the beach in the afternoon to full body burns by the evening.

you had always predicted the worst part is how a lot of the injuries are on children. they’re the ones left unattended while mom and dad drink themselves silly or let them play with firecrackers on the pavement, assuming they’ll be fine. you’ve done two emergency medicine rotations in school and you think you know what the fourth will be like, that you’ll be unnerved the entire day by the sound of crying children and trying to hold back anger on the irresponsible parents.

but walking through the doors of the hospital on your second week back on days, you realize you really don’t know much. 

like, for example, that jack abbot walks in beside you and mel at six forty-five. you look at him confused, and then turn to mel, who doesn’t match your expression but is also confused, you’re sure. jack is quick by the lockers—takes off his backpack and heads straight back out. 

mel speaks up first.

“i didn’t know dr. abbot does days,” she says, taking off her jacket and folding it neatly. 

“i didn’t either. do you know why?” it’s really an unnecessary question—it shouldn’t matter to you at all. but it does, and you’re terrible at burying things. it’s written all over your face that you want to know the answer why.

“well it’s likely just for overflow. i’m sure they’re expecting double the amount of patients today.”

“right. yeah, that makes sense.” 

“though it is surprising-”

“what is?”

“-that he didn’t take the day off, i suppose.”

“why’s that?” you ask, and mel shrugs.

“fourth of july is a usually tough day for a lot of veterans. when i was at the va hospital, some of the other doctors who had served would stay at home with their families. and the noise from the fireworks, too-”

mel goes on, but you have a hard time paying attention to the rest of her story. one thought washes over you, filling you with enough dread to last all day, making your blood feel icy cold in your veins. jack doesn’t have any family to spend the day with at home, so instead he’s here for the day shift, to help with the extra patients.

“i hadn’t thought about that.” you say quietly. you put your stethoscope around your neck and hold the familiar container in your hands.

“that’s okay, a lot of people don’t. i don’t think i did before my year there. wait, are those more cookies?”

it seems that robby shares some of your dread. you head out with mel, putting the star shaped sugar cookies with red and blue frosting in the break room. during sign-offs you tell parker and john to grab a few—just a few! leave some for the rest of us—before they head home. you smile politely at frank, who seems very concerned with making sure mel knows how hectic this holiday gets in the pitt and ask cassie how that bake sale went.

and then robby pulls you aside, leading you in front of central.

“i brought sugar cookies, i hope that’s okay. is something wrong?” you ask, gauging how robby is looking at you right now.

“yeah, everything’s fine.” he looks around distractedly, or maybe like he’s trying to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “listen, i know you just got back from nights-”

“are you sending me back? to nights?”

“what? no, no, we need you on days. i mean, you just finished nights and you were with abbot for a bit. how’d that go, by the way?”

“dr. abbot?”

“nights.”

“oh,” you say, feeling yourself flush. warmth spreads over you despite how cold it runs in the hospital. flustered, you continue. “it was good. um, busy and i learned a lot.”

“and you got to spend some time working with abbot, right?”

“yeah. some-uh, yes. i did.”

“great. because today is a bit of a weird day for him. he’s not used to days and we get overwhelmed pretty quickly. he’s here to help and it’s always great to have extra hands, especially his hands, but-” you zone out for a moment at the thought of jack’s hands. “-he seems a bit off and i want to make sure he’s doing okay, and he’ll just ignore me if i ask. so if you could—?”

robby trails off and you stare at him blankly, blinking after fifteen seconds of silence.

“if i could what?”

“just, check on him, y’know, throughout the day. just make sure he’s alright. thanks a ton kid, i knew i could count on you.” 

“wait, what-” but then robby is gone, and you’re left at central with dana behind you, handing you a tablet with a patient’s name on it and somewhere to your left is jack, immersed in a conversation with heather. you stare at him, and the he notices you looking, and looks back.

any other day, you’d turn and go straight to your patient, but not today.

today your attending has given you a task—check in on jack. make sure jack’s okay. and you are not the type of person to disappoint your superior.

you walk over to them, smile at both, and then watch as heather excuses herself. had robby told her about the task he’d assigned you?

“hey, kid. don’t tell me—america themed cookies?” 

you shirk under his gaze, the idea that felt very cute last night suddenly seeming exceedingly corny.

“it’s just festive,” you argue. “the frosting is made with blueberries and strawberries instead of food coloring. it’s healthier, i mean, it’s practically like eating fruit.”

“i don’t think you’re winning that argument, but sure, whatever you say. if parker and john left any for the rest of us.”

“i made a bunch this time. i figured there’d be more hands on deck today, i guess.”

(you hadn’t figured that. your logic with doubling the recipe and yielding twice as many cookies was that maybe there’d be some leftover for the night shift to take home with them—specifically one salt and pepper attending who already has two containers of yours at his home. what’s a third?)

“smart. we’ll need them. it’s gonna be a busy day.”

“that’s what i’ve heard,” you look up at jack again with a small smile—trying to disarm him without alerting him of your motive from robby. “how are you feeling, by the way?”

jack knits his eyebrows together.

“how am i feeling?”

“are you okay? do-do you need anything? i can go get you a cookie now, if you want, before they’re all gone. it’s not just the night shift, you know, trinity plows through them. and mel doesn’t have as much of a sweet tooth but since it has the fruit frosting, you know, i think she’ll like them.”

jack looks at you with a twinkle in his eyes, like he’s holding back a laugh, stopping it short at just a smile.

“i’m, i’m fine, kid. and that’s alright, i’ll go get one in a bit.”

“oh. okay. well that’s good.”

“are you okay?”

“yeah, why wouldn’t i be?” you lock eyes with him again.

“no reason. well, maybe we can go get that-”

“dr. abbot?” someone says, and you hold back the groan. it’s getting harder and harder to keep it inside. 

the people in this hospital really don’t want you to finish a conversation with your attending.

“yeah?”

he gets pulled up, and you do too—back to the chairs. it’s the usual residual patients from last night, but as the hours pass, you get more injuries related to the holiday. the allergic reactions and sprained wrists turn into burns from the grill and heat exhaustion. 

you find jack three more times in between seven patients—asking him he’s okay, how his patients are, if he wants that cookie now, or maybe water? all these people are dehydrated, it’s no good if their doctors are too, right? 

the next time you do it, he locks eyes with robby right after. you sneak your way past moving gurneys and crying patients, just to tap his shoulder and check in one last time before you sit down to debride a severe burn, one that’ll have you gone for at least an hour. 

“what the hell did you do, robby?” he asks, while they monitor a man who came in on the ambulance after setting half his body on fire trying to grill hot dogs.

“what do you mean? nothing.”

“that kid has-”

“did you try those cookies? they’re fantastic. no wonder you want her back on nights.”

maybe another two hours later, during a surge of ambulances, you realize you haven’t seen jack in a while. 

you pat your patient on the shoulder—a little girl with her mom who took a spill on the pavement while chasing her sister—and tell them you’ll send the nurse over with their discharge papers, and set out to find jack before sitting down with yet another burn—your tenth or so at least so far today. you close the curtain and look at the chaos in front of you—gurneys lined up against walls, patients crying and the entire place smelling of burnt flesh and salt water. 

dr. abbot is by the trauma bay, organizing patients as they come, and the whole thing feels more like a triage unit than it does an emergency room. 

you see trinity seeing the others from the chairs, heather jumping onto an incoming with robby. mel and frank are in one trauma room and jack is standing in the middle of everything.

is it the best time to ask him how he’s doing? no. that much is clear to anyone with a functioning frontal lobe.

but you are not just anyone, you’re you. you get slightly muddled in the head when it comes to jack abbot, and you definitely are not going to disappoint robby when he put you in charge of checking in on him.

you weave your way through the floor, avoiding nurses walking through with supplies in their hands and telling whoever you were supposed to be checking in with that you’ll be right back.

you dodge two gurneys that almost took your knees out just to get close enough to say his name and for him to hear you. you don’t see the one rolling right behind you.

“dr. abbot, are-” you’re interrupted by the sound of your own yelp, when jack reaches out to clasp his hand around your arm. he yanks you hard, pulling you out of the way, and suddenly, all the noises of the emergency room die down.

you hear the paramedic behind you, apologizing as he wheels the gurney out and back to the ambulance bay. you hear dana shouting from central to you—watch out, kid!—and even the wails coming from the trauma room robby and heather are in—a woman crying. 

but you don’t really hear any of it. your eyes are locked on jack’s hazel ones, his fingers still tight against your bare skin. his hands are softer than you’d imagined.

you blink at him stupidly, mouth falling open a little. you must look as dumb as you feel, almost getting hit by a gurney in the middle of a very busy shift. it’s like intern 101—things to avoid doing, especially in front of your attendings.

but jack doesn’t seem mad. he looks at you with concerned, pretty eyes, a focused expression. and then, at the same time—

“are you okay?” 

you both stare at each other for a while. you must look the equivalent of someone starstruck, staring with sparkling eyes, looking almost as grateful for him as you feel. that gurney would have taken you out of commission—at the very least you’d hit your head and be filling out paperwork under gloria’s watchful eye. 

but you’re fine, save for a large bruise forming on your upper arm with each second that passes by as you continue stare at jack.

“you two!” dana shouts over the other commotion, effectively snapping you out of it. all the noises return at once, making you wince, and what’s worse is that people are staring. “incoming, two minutes out. the rest of you, back to work-”

“come on, kid. you’re with me.”

you most certainly are.

+

at around quarter past eight on the fourth of july, you’re seated across from jack abbot at his favorite twenty-four hour diner. 

well, to be fair, you’re making more assumptions in the thirty minutes you’ve been sitting here with him than you have for the entire time you’ve know him. first—that this is his favorite diner. second—that he’s as interested in you as you are in him. and third—that you’ll finally get to finish the multiple conversations you’ve started with him and been unable to finish due to interruptions.

but there’s no interruptions here. post dinner rush, with a group of teenagers a few tables away and a couple in business clothes eating on the stools by the counter. there’s no nosy residents or gossipy nurses or incoming traumas. it’s just starting to get dark out, and you know the fireworks will start soon.

what you don’t know is if jack is going to be completely okay tonight. you don't care if you’re a temporary distraction from the noise, but you do care if you’ll be enough of a distraction for him.

the two of you order enough food to feed the entirety of the night shift at the hospital right now. the short staffing is the reason why you didn’t sit down to eat until seven forty-five, but it’s fine. as long as you’re here with him now.

you justify it mentally while jack steals one of your french fries—the ones he said he didn’t want half of when you asked—that you just need to finish the conversations from earlier. that it’s not wrong or inherently bad to order half the menu with your attending, one that was responsible for all of your anxiety three weeks ago. 

but staring at him like this, you wonder what you had been so worried about. in fact, over the last few weeks, you’ve realized he’s nothing like what you thought at first. 

“okay, i know this must be sound terrible,” you start, setting down your soda and reaching for another salty fry. “but that was amazing. like, the thrilling kind of amazing. does that make sense?” you stare at jack while you await his response.

“yes, it makes sense,” he says, but he can’t contain the laugh anymore. it comes out from his chest—unadulterated laughter, the rumble taking over his entire body.

“you’re laughing at me?” you ask, though you don’t actually seem upset about it. it’s hard to feel any sort of upset when you’re listening to what may be your new favorite sound in the world.

“no, no, i promise i’m not. you’re just so… you. even on a day like today.”

“what does that mean?” you reply quickly, sitting up straighter in your seat, expression turning deadly serious. “god, i’m so sorry. is that completely insensitive? i know it can be a hard day, i mean, well i didn’t know know. but mel brought it up this morning when we saw you and then robby told me to check on you and i thought i was helping until that stupid gurney almost took me out. but i just meant after that! the traumas and doing them with you. i-i hadn’t done any yet, with you, so i-” 

“when do you breathe?”

“sorry,” you sigh. “it’s a bad habit.”

“don’t apologize to me, please. it’s-” jack goes quiet, his mind searching to fill in the blank but coming up empty. 

it’s nice, he thinks. sweet. refreshing. funny. you’re all of those things and more. you don’t bite your tongue and hold back thoughts. you ramble until he can step into your thoughts completely—see it from your perspective like he’s inside your brain.

and jack—well, jack has friends. army buddies, guys he used to study with during medical school, a couple people from his residency that he stays in touch with. he has robby, though his friendship with him is going to be on thin ice after what he put you up to earlier, and dana. his parents are gone and so are his in-laws but he calls his sister when he really needs to talk about something and he checks in with his wife’s siblings once or twice a year, usually around the anniversary of her death.

(he hadn’t done it a few weeks ago, though, and he has trouble figuring out if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. but then he stares up at you, sipping your drink, patiently waiting for him to finish his sentence, before you, undoubtedly, ask him if he’s okay again. like if he tells you that he’s not—because really, he’s not—that you’ll make it your personal mission to make sure that he is. and that, well, what is he supposed to do with that?)

luckily the waitress interrupts the silence with the rest of the food—grilled cheese and waffles and whatever else sounded appealing in a hunger-driven craze—and he doesn’t have to finish the thought.

you two do talk about other things—how he’s sorry about yelling that week and how you completely didn’t deserve it. you tell him it’s fine and that he had a bad week and that you’re not upset, that it would feel wrong to hold that against him. he tells you about how good the brownies and the cookies were, and you beam at him with that smile again.

the conversations ebbs and flows—how it was nice of you to take care of that woman’s daughter. how great you did in the traumas today. how stupid robby is for asking you to check in on him—don’t listen to him ever again, just, come to me first next time. 

and then once the food is eaten and your drinks run empty, and the sound of fireworks is littering your eardrums, you just say it.

“i don’t think you should be alone tonight.”

“i’ve spent lots of july fourths alone, kid. i’ll be fine.”

he probably will be fine. he has noise cancelling headphones and though his apartment is close to the park where the fireworks are held—an oversight he didn’t think of when he moved in—he can distract himself enough to get through the night. he’s been doing it for years—taking care of himself when it comes to things like this.

“no, i-i know you will be. i just don’t think you should be alone.”

and then, for a split second, the force of your caring, of your affection for him hits him like a blow. it rushes over him—the feeling of how easy it might be to let you take care of him. to let someone else do it for once. reality seeps back in slowly, bringing his senses back one by one.

the first thing it does is remind him that you’re an intern.

“kid,” jack says firmly, sitting up straighter in the booth. he rests his elbows against the table, staring straight at you, boring into your soul like he always does. “i don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“why not?”

“well, for one, i’m your attending.”

“oh, who cares about stuff like that? it’s not like i’m gonna tell anyone,” you reply, as though the words had come to you quickly, like you really believed them. 

as if you’d already put some thought into your response before he’d asked you the question.

you don’t seem the least bit hesitant about basically telling him to spend the night with you—whatever that might mean to you. he doesn’t want to assume things, but it’s been a while since he’s done something like this. he doesn’t know what’s changed in the last decade and he certainly has never done something like this with a resident, much less an intern.

the whole thing is seeming much too bill clinton to him. he wants to express the thought to you, though it doesn’t make much sense—he’s not married and he’s not the president but you’re an intern and he was raised right so it feels wrong—and then he realizes it quickly. are you even old enough to remember that scandal? he shakes his head, as though he can dispel the thought by physically removing it.

“i care about stuff like that. there’s a power imbalance here, and-”

“i’m not even on nights anymore!”

“but you will be on nights again in the future. in a few months from now, when you’re a second year. you’ll do a whole month of nights in third year, too.” 

your lips curve up into a playful smile.

“getting a little ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?”

“kid-”

“i said you shouldn’t spend tonight alone. you’re thinking three years ahead. i mean, don’t get me wrong, jack, i’m totally flattered, but i think you should scale it down. one day at a time and all that.” his expression changes and so does yours—it’s the first time you’ve ever called him anything other than dr. abbot. “i’m sorry. is that completely unprofessional? oh my god, am i one of those people? is that harassment?” you whisper the last part, as though you’re worried he’ll leave to report you this instant.

jack wants to bang his head against the table. he thinks, not for the first time and certainly not for the last time about what he’s going to do with you. 

the waitress brings the check and he places his card in her hand before you can so much as glance at it.

“i… i just meant that, i think it’s a bad idea if you spend tonight alone. we can watch a movie or make cookies or whatever you want to do. it’s just-” you trail off, suddenly quiet.

“it’s just what?”

“if we both go home alone, i’m just gonna spend the whole time worrying about you, anyways. might as well worry about you while i’m sitting next to you.” you stare at the table the whole time you say it, and then your gaze flickers up at him before looking back down quickly. “that must sound crazy. i’m sorry-”

“stop apologizing to me, kid.” 

it’s hard on a regular day to resist the urge to listen to everything you say, to comply since he knows how good you are. made of a kind of sweetness that he really doesn’t know the first thing about—how you got to be this way, with an abundance of compassion, enough to make him feel like he’ll explode from the sheer strength of it.

what jack does know is that he wants to find out.

you both get up, and you put on your pullover from what can only be your alma mater, grabbing the containers you’d brought into the break room this morning. he swings on his backpack and you both walk outside. it’s dark now, and you can hear fireworks somewhere in the distance. the noise is loud and uncomfortable even to you, and you briefly wonder how it might sound to jack, and decide again that you really, really don’t want him to be alone tonight.

“listen, kid. i don’t want you to waste your night worrying about me. you should-”

“oh, trust me, it’s not a waste. i have an ulterior motive for wanting to go back to your place,” you say, nodding when jack tilts his head at you in confusion, wondering if he’ll bite.

“yeah? and what’s that?”

“i need my tupperware back.”

+

your back thuds against the wall beside jack abbot’s apartment door. you’ve never been here but you try to blink open your eyes to take it in, to see if it’s just as you thought it’d be while his lips—soft and wanton and kissing you—stay against yours.

it’s stupid—why are you worried about his apartment when your attending is kissing you like you belong to him? but then you remember something frank had once told you during your first week, something about adhd and how all of you probably have it, and then you start giggling against jack abbot’s lips.

his fingertips, which were brushing against the skin of your waist after sneaking under your shirt, tighten around the soft skin there. you can feel them digging in, but stupidly, deliriously, and a little light headed, you wonder if you’ll bruise if he pushes hard enough.

“y’know, kid,” he mumbles against your mouth, pulling away for just a second. his breath is hot against your lips and his touch makes goosebumps rise all over you, makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up tall. “i haven’t done this in a while but if you’re laughing, i must be doing something wrong.”

you should say something, say anything, so he stops talking and keeps kissing you, but nothing comes out besides another laugh. 

“i’m sorry,” you say, trying to catch your breath while jack’s hands hover over your hips. “i-” you glance up to lock eyes again, but when you see the way he’s looking at you, you stop laughing completely. 

“if you’re uncomfortable, we can stop. you don’t have to-”

“no! no, i’m not uncomfortable. i-i’m laughing because this is so funny. you’re my attending and now we’re kissing and i’m in your apartment and it looks, exactly how i pictured it. and you’re so nice to me, but it’s the fourth of july and i want to make sure you’re okay because-” 

jack interrupts you with another kiss, his lips pressing against yours. this time he doesn’t let up, his tongue slipping into your mouth while you collapse against the wall, knees suddenly very weak.

but it’s alright, because jack’s got you. he holds you up by your hips and your legs mindlessly wrap around him, his hands going to your ass to hoist you up and secure you around him. he lifts you up and starts walking, and you whine against him, impatient and fairly comfortable where you were.

it’s like he’s a mind reader.

“our first time is not going to be against a wall,” he mutters, mouth on the column on your neck, tracing kisses from your collarbone to your cheek and then back to your lips. you want to reply, you want to tell him that you would have been perfectly content against that wall, or the door, or the couch, or even the floor, but nothing comes out.

you pull away just for a moment to look at him in the dim light of his bedroom—flushed cheeks, breathing heavy, taking a moment to push a piece of your hair behind your ear before kissing you again. and then with his mouth on yours again, you realize that jack abbot has discovered some way to turn your brain off. 

his touch is rough on your skin—when your scrubs got peeled off of you, you don’t actually know. he throws them somewhere on the ground and you paw at his shirt until he gives in and takes it off. 

it should be slower, he thinks briefly, he should slow down and take his time and not even give in and slip inside of you until you’re already a writhing, aching mess. he’s out of practice but he knows how you are, knows what would make you fall apart piece by piece.

that’s what he thinks of when your hands go to the button and zipper of his pants. for everything he knows about you, you’re also impatient. and lucky for you, he is too.

jack is out of practice, but it doesn’t mean he’s forgotten everything.

“c’mon, kid,” he breathes against your collarbone, wrestling your hands away from and then pinning them over your head. “be patient.”

“i’ve been patient—!” you whine, but he doesn’t give in just yet.

“it’ll hurt, sweetheart. i have to stretch you out first,” he says, and you feel dizzy with lust. it washes over you and makes you dumb, and you, for everything you are, are not a dumb girl. at least—not normally.

jack skips the teasing this time, trailing fingers down your chest, between the valley of your breasts and over your stomach. when he gets to your leaking cunt, he collects the wetness there with two fingers, and when you start whining again, impatient and antsy and your entire body humming with want, he does it again.

reminds you to be patient, and then plunges a finger inside of you. a moan leaves your throat—choked and loud, but he wants you to be even louder. you don’t know when he adds a second, and then a third, but you feel the delicious stretch of your walls, how his palm stays in place for you to grind up against. your hips buck up and you’re ruining his sheets and crying for more though you don’t even know what you’re asking for.

and jack takes it all in. how wet you feel against his fingers, how beautiful the noises that you’re making are. so focused on you—the sheen of sweat on your skin and how responsive you are to his touch, the noises outside his walls get drowned out. 

“jack, jack, more—” you plead, but jack doesn’t listen. everything in your body feels ready to finish. your muscles ache, the knot in your belly tightens, and heat washes over you while your toes curl in anticipation.

and then jack just stops.

“no—” you whine, the rush disappearing all at once. “no, no, jack!”

“patience, kid.”

“you’re being unfair-”

“no, i’m not.”

“then why’d you-”

“because the first time i make you finish is going to be when i’m inside of you. understood?”

and for once, you’re silent.

+

“i would have gone to the roof, probably.”

you blink open your sleepy eyes. you’re pressed against jack’s chest, your head resting there while he trails his fingers through your hair. you’re wearing his shirt, sleeping in his sheets, a cup of water that he got you from his kitchen resting on the nightstand.

you can’t feel your legs, but that’s a problem for tomorrow—but at least you know now that you might have bitten off more than you can chew. 

“what do you mean?” you ask quietly. the fireworks stopped an hour or so ago, and the only noise you hear now is jack’s heartbeat thudding against your ear.

“the rooftop, at the hospital. i go there after my shifts sometimes.” 

a lot of the time—but you don’t need to know that. from the way you immediately sit up in bed, his sheets slipping a little and exposing more of your soft skin that you don’t seem to care about, he can tell you’re concerned already. 

his shirt looks good on you. 

“tell me it’s just for fresh air?” you ask, reaching your hand over to run your fingers through the hair near his temple. his eyes close when feels your touch there, and suddenly, it feels more intimate than it has all evening. jack takes a deep breath, and then sighs.

“something like that.”

“jack-”

“it’s just… i don’t know. i got used to it, i guess. at first it was just to see what it felt like being up there. then it just turned into something else. i go up there after a bad shift and look at all the people below and… decide if it’s still worth it, i guess.” his hazel eyes look towards you and jack nestles himself more comfortably against your hand that hasn’t left him. 

“what’s gonna happen if you decide it’s not worth it one day?” you ask quietly, wet eyes sparkling up at him.

teary-eyed and flushed in his bed, all for him. you feel your emotions so strongly that he can watch them flooding your body, taking their course, almost sense them radiating from you. 

that’s the second time you’ve cried because of him, and he decides he’s not going to let it happen a third time.

he takes the hand that you had extended against him into his own and presses a kiss against your palm. 

“i don’t think i have to worry about that anymore.”

+

you get back to your apartment around four in the afternoon—you have a rare day off today. jack’s back on the night shift at seven, and though he offered to let you stay the night while he was gone, you wanted to give him time to get ready before going into the hospital. everyone has a pre-shift routine, even if they don’t recognize it. 

now that you’re back on days, yours consists of waking up early to stretch and eat a big breakfast and leave enough time lay in bed for an extra ten minutes before you actually have to get up.

you don’t know what jack’s is but you’re sure you’ll find out soon enough. 

the two of you slept in, courtesy of his black out curtains. you’re more of a get up with the sun person, but exceptions can be made.

(you’ll be making a lot of them from now on. jack abbot made you cum three times in his bed and once in the shower, and then he washed your body with his soap, the one you can still smell on your skin now. he kissed you while making you breakfast—eggs and bacon—and then told you to stop apologizing every time you accidentally hit your foot against his prosthetic under his dining table. and finally, he gave you one of your containers to take back home, and said he’s keeping the other one here. why? you’d asked. insurance, he’d replied.)

so you go back home, make dinner for yourself and wash your singular yellow tupperware and text jack to have a good shift tonight. 

you set an alarm for five, get out of bed at five-fifteen and get ready for work, more giddy for a shift than you have been since your first day of intern year.

when you walk into the hospital, early like always, you see jack talking to parker. he looks in your direction and even parker can notice his gaze following something, but she doesn’t say anything. you look away before smiling to yourself, the grin being glued to your face the entire walk to the lockers as you recall memories of the last time you saw jack.

one of the perks of always being early is that there’s no one by the lockers when you arrive.

(you’ve never thought of it as a perk until now though.)

jack walks in behind you a few minutes later—right as you’ve tucked away your pullover and your bag and he stands beside you as you reach to pick up your stethoscope. 

“ah, hold on,” he says, taking the stethoscope of your hand and into his. he loops it around your neck carefully, setting it in place for you. “there you go.”

“really?” you ask with a laugh, closing the door to your locker. “when you walked in here i thought i was gonna get a kiss. wait, what did you tell parker-”

“c’mon, kid,” jack says, looking at you with an expression you’re not sure you could ever get tired of. “i’m not that obvious.” you stare at him. “yeah, okay. i told her to go finish the note from the last trauma.”

“lucky for you, i’m your best resident. these other chums don’t show up until much closer to seven. actually, one time, santos came five minutes late. so-”

and for the second time, jack interrupts you with a kiss. he leans in, pressing his lips against yours, and your hands go slack by your side. his mouth tastes like coffee and even after a twelve hour shift he still smells like jack, the way his sheets and his soap and his shirt had smelled when you wore it.

he pulls away, and your eyes blink open slowly, like you’re figuring out where you are. fluorescent lights and the smell of the alcohol wipes they use to clean everything lingers around you.

and, of course, your attending, the one who sneaks into the locker rooms before shift change to give you secret and likely highly forbidden kisses.

“my lips are sticky,” jack says, bringing a finger to his mouth and rubbing it against another. you can’t bear to look at his hands right now, so you look away, at the risk of being useless for at least the next hour.

“it’s this lip peptide thingy. i don’t know, it’s good for them, i think. better than chapstick and they have all these flavors. they say it-” you trail off, staring at jack while he stares at you. he licks his lips.

“tastes good, kid. see you out there.”

oh god. you lean against your locker and watch jack leave. a minute later, mel walks in with trinity.

“i don’t want to hear it, bubbles. i’m here extra early, and not just to prove a point-”

“well, actually, i think it is to prove a point, but not-”

“what’s wrong? did the cat finally get your tongue?”

“i never understood what that meant-”

oh god. it’s going to be a long shift.

and outside the lockers, robby finds jack.

“so?” robby asks, leaning against the counter while jack sorts through tablets. he hands one to parker and then another to john, and they go off to pass on their patients to everyone arriving. 

“am i supposed to know what you’re talking about?” jack replies, noticing you from the corner of his eye. 

you’re coming out with santos and king, a water bottle in your hand. he had filled it for you before you left his apartment, after you’d refused his offer of walking you home. you look in his direction, and then you both look away at the same time. jack picks up his coffee cup to take another sip—if he doesn’t get the taste of you and your lip peptide thingy out of his mouth, he’s going to have a freudian slip in front of robby.

“i’m talking about you and the kid.” jack sputters, choking on his drink mid-swallow. “woah. you okay?”

“f-fine. uh, what? me and the kid?”

“yeah. since the fourth, you know, are you two good again?” 

robby looks at him expectantly, waiting for him to fill in the silence with an answer. 

“uh, yes. yeah, of course.”

“good. that was my goal. she started on nights at a bad time, and uh, i mean no one blames you. but we don't want to scare away all our interns, either.”

“right.” jack looks back at robby. “anything else?”

“no.” robby arches a brow at him. “you sure you’re okay? because she’s back on nights soon, and i don’t want-”

“i’m good, robby.” 

“alright then. where are we with sign-offs?”

you on the day shift is something manageable. something he can handle, something that shouldn’t be too terrible for you two to figure out. you always come early and he always stays a little late, and he’s sure that it won’t look suspicious. 

if you’re on days, then he’s not the one primarily in charge of your post-graduate medical education. that falls to robby and heather and frank, and he can trust that none of them are going to accidentally interfere with you learning everything you need to learn to be a good resident. 

to be a great resident—because he knows you have it in you. you’re made of the stuff it takes to be teaching other interns one day—compassion and kindness and how to treat the person while you’re fixing the patient. 

robby and heather and frank can help you with that. but if you’re on nights, it’s an entirely different ball game. he’s responsible for your education, for approving your notes and questioning your decisions and making you jump onto incoming traumas and justify every choice you make. he’s also responsible for correcting you when you’ve made a mistake. making you drink a cup of coffee if he thinks you’re getting tired. waking you up if you fall asleep at your desk at three in the morning.

and that’s just the problem. for the first time, jack abbot wonders if he can do all of those things if you’re the intern he has to do them to. 

for god’s sake—he couldn’t even wake you up to ask how you wanted your eggs. 

that’s the conundrum he’s facing when you come back home that night, near seven thirty. he’s off tonight and back tomorrow night, which means he gets about eleven or so hours with you until you leave tomorrow morning.

“hi,” you breathe, when he opens the door to let you inside. you’re clad in your pullover and you drop your bag by the front door when you come inside. “it feels weird to not go straight home.”

“oh, sweetheart, you could have gone home. i could have met you there-”

“no, no, it’s okay. i have a noisy neighbor and, well-” you drift off, smiling up at him the way you usually do.

“well?”

“i’d rather wear your clothes anyways.” 

what’s he supposed to do when you say things like that? a couple of words that make him happier than he’s felt in years, lifting the storm cloud that’s been following him around since the conversation with robby this morning. 

but it’s an important conversation, one that needs to be had. jack is a lot of things, but he is absolutely not a meddler in the lives of pretty interns or in the business of hindering their education.

“did, uh, robby say anything to you today?”

“jack,” you start slowly, turning on the couch to face him completely. “he’s not a mind-reader, you know.”

“no, i know. i just meant—well, did he?”

“no. he was normal. he even apologized for giving me side quests on an already busy day.”

“oh. that’s good.” 

you bring your hand to his hair again, running your fingers through it. it’s almost an instinct to him now—jack closes his eyes for a moment and you watch his shoulders relax.

“what’s wrong? what’re you thinking about?” his pretty hazel eyes meet yours.

“i just want us to be careful-”

“hey, you’re the one who kissed me this morning-”

“i know, i know. i need to be careful, too. i don’t want-”

“i understand. i wouldn’t want everyone knowing i’m screwing the intern either. it’s kind of a cliche, honestly, we’re no better than-”

“what? no, no. i don’t want anyone to say anything that could hurt you, or for this to interfere with your education. it is a cliche, and i know you’re close with the others and people can act very differently when they think that-”

“jack,” you start, moving yourself closer until you can crawl into his lap. his eyes flick over you, settling to watch your lips before he locks eyes again.

“yeah?” he asks, his throat dry.

“in five minutes, i’m going to be wet and naked in your shower. you can either keep talking about this or you can come join me.” then you lean in to press a kiss to his cheek. “c’mon, i wanna hear all about how you spend your days off, old man.” 

and then you get up, peeling off your sweatshirt, and then your shirt, and leaving him a trail of your clothes that ends with your panties on his bathroom tile. 

jack is a lot of things. but stupid isn’t one of them—so he follows you in there and leaves the rest of the conversation for another day.

but that day doesn’t end up coming that quickly.

as it turns out, interns on day shift barely get to spend time with their attendings from the night shift. on top of that, he has no idea how anyone manages to have an affair with a resident—they’re at the hospital every single day, pulling eighty hour weeks and coming home, if jack is even at home, completely exhausted.

but he also learns that glimpses of you at shift change and sign-offs at seven am and seven pm are enough to sustain the two of you. 

it starts with conversations in the locker room before your shift starts. he makes sure his residents are distracted before sneaking away to get a kiss or two and leaning against the metal lockers like a lovesick high schooler.

“you know that patient i was telling you about yesterday? with the bleeder? well, i came to change my scrubs and trin was grabbing something and she saw me and asked if i was mauled by a bear.”

“oh, god,” jacks says from his position, watching you do the same thing you do every morning. put away your hoodie, grab your protein bar for later, tell him whatever you’ve been thinking about since he left you yesterday night. “what’d you tell her?”

you smile.

“something like that.” you laugh, so then jack laughs.

“that’s a little dramatic, no?”

“i also told her i’m clumsy, but i think she’s come to the conclusion that i’m a sex freak.” you close your locker, facing your boyfriend-slash-attending.

“well, i mean-”

“shut up. do not-” you start with another laugh, but your smile fades when you see mel walking in with frank.

“uh, make sure to check that with ellis, alright?”

“yes, i will, dr. abbot.” jack leaves, smiling politely at frank and mel and turning back to look at you once. he really shouldn’t but he’s gotten in a bad habit of it, even though one day, someone is going to notice.

“did you just tell abbot to ‘shut up’?” frank questions, and they both look at you, waiting for your answer.

“no! no, of course not. i was just telling him about something a patient said and, um, dr. ellis wants to document it. yeah, she wants, like, really thorough notes, so he was just telling me. about that. um-”

mel looks at you thoughtfully, before bringing her hand to frank’s arm.

“i have noticed that she writes her patient encounters in a very specific format,” she says, and you sigh without realizing it. you let her carry the conversation into how frank’s notes could use some work, and then the two tease each other while you quietly make your exit.

+

another morning, jack stands at central with dana and robby, filling both of them in on two patients who are due to come back in the afternoon and the three patients still waiting for a bed upstairs.

heather and frank are bickering next to the three of them like they always do, like they’re siblings fighting in front of the parents, when he hears what they’re talking about.

“well, now i feel bad, ‘cause she’s mel’s friend, but i don’t even have that kind of energy after two red bulls, so-” frank starts, before heather interjects.

“it’s not about energy, it’s just a conversation about burn-out. candles don’t burn on both ends for a reason.”

“okay, you lost me with the metaphor.”

“you can’t be that nice to every patient forever. at some point you have to pick.”

“be nice or save their life?” frank supplies. “so basically, when is she gonna become like the rest of us?”

“i mean…” heather trails off, turning to dana. “what do you think?”

“i think they call her bubbles for a reason,” dana says, pushing up her glasses. she cranes her neck to stare at the screen of patients, looking for the next empty bed. “and i think north-two needs to be discharged, so if you two are done-”

“let me test our theory,” frank says. he waves over the lot of you coming in for your shift—you, cassie, mel, and trinity. you look over at jack, and he looks over at you, before you focus back on frank. “need someone to discharge this bed and then go grab the next patient from chairs. dana—?” he holds the clipboard and looks over at all of you, but it’s only half a second before you chirp up.

“i can do it,” you say brightly. you smile at frank and dana, reaching for the clipboard, while jack watches it happen.

“thanks bubbles,” trinity says, while the others dissipate. you make a slightly dampened face at the use of the nickname.

“one other thing,” heather asks. “when are we gonna get more cookies?”

“oh! i’m so glad you guys liked them. i guess another holiday, if there’s one coming up? or someone’s birthday? actually, i think there’s just labor day and i don’t know what kind of themed cookies i’d make. well, chocolate chip cookie day is in august, i think-”

“kid?” dana asks. “the patient? north-two?”

“right. i’m sorry. i’ll come check in after i bring the new patient back,” you say, still smiling when you walk away with the clipboard in your hand.

“what exactly were you testing?” heather asks.

“i don’t know, but she’s definitely doing whatever your metaphor meant. are we taking bets yet? i wonder how long she’ll last-”

“alright, enough,” jack snaps. “do you two not have anything better to do? who’s this helping?”

“jack?” robby questions, his eyes flicking towards dana, who looks back at him with a shrug.

“why would you want her to be jaded? isn’t it better for our patients that she stays like that for as long as she can? i thought you’d try to keep her that way, but i guess-”

“jack-” robby interrupts. 

“you two, go help somebody,” dana says to heather and frank, before turning to jack. “what the hell was that about?” 

jack sighs, not realizing when his hand had turned into a fist. probably when your name was brought up.

“nothing, i just- bad night. that’s all.”

“o-kay,” robby whistles. “you going up to the roof, or?”

“no. no, i’m going home.”

jack walks away, not in the direction of the door, but rather towards the beds on the north side, almost instinctively.

“what the hell’s wrong with him?” dana asks.

“i don’t know. since when does he just go straight home after a bad shift?”

“i have no idea.”

(that night at six-fifty, trinity pulls you aside before you two head home. you’re antsy since you want to get a couple of quiet minutes with jack before you have to leave, but when she starts talking, you forget all about it. listen, trin says, i’m sorry about the whole bubbles thing, i didn’t think it was bothering you. but collins told me that abbot was yelling at them about it and he was pretty upset, so i- but sadly, you don’t hear much of the rest of the conversation.)

you walk away from her after she finishes, reassuring her that you’re fine, before setting out to find jack. he’s putting his backpack under the desk at the hub, and you go straight to him, not entirely caring that people can see the two of you, supposing it’s fine as long as they don’t hear you.

“what’s the matter?” jack asks, and then much quieter—”everything okay, sweetheart?”

“you defended me?” you ask softly. you’re normally full of words but it feels hard to find them just now, your head feeling cloudy. 

“no, no, i just told them to knock it off.”

“was it something bad?” you question, your expression knitting into worry. 

this is exactly why he got upset—why he didn’t like their conversation from the jump, why he knew that he wanted frank and heather to stop talking before someone else overheard and jumped in and you found out what they were saying.

it’s not bad, even you wouldn’t think it’s bad. but jack doesn’t like it. he doesn’t like anyone speaking of you in any way that he doesn’t like and he especially hates the idea that you’d be upset when you found out. 

“no. i just-” jack trails off.

“you just?”

“i don’t like anyone talking about you. and i don’t like that stupid nickname, so-”

you smile at him, not the sort of innocent smile one casts at their attending—the result of being told good job on a case or have a good night on your way out. no, you smile at jack the way you do everything—with the full force of every emotion behind it, wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

and jack couldn’t look away from you, even if he wanted to.

(the two of you look like idiots—googly eyed and lovestruck and every other way to describe people who like each other a bit too much. this time it’s dana who sees the two of you. she does a double take on her way to hand a stack of tablets to the night shift charge nurse and blinks twice to make sure she’s seeing the right thing. jack abbot, a regular on the roof, and the intern who they call bubbles, looking at each other like the rest of the hospital has faded away into nothing. and then she walks away, and decides she’ll wait for robby to bring it up.)

+

it’s mel next—she’s incredibly observant as it is, but even more so when it comes to someone she considers a friend, someone like you. trinity jokes about the continual bear attacks that explain the hickies on your neck and chest when you change out of your scrub top and pull on your hoodie, but mel knows it’s more than that.

she’s always known you get to work early, but recently, every time mel comes in to put away her belongings, the space that you usually occupy is already empty. your things put away, locker closed and locked, your yellow water bottle already resting by the computer that you usually write your notes at. 

and after that, it’s just a game of paying slightly closer attention. you walk out from behind a curtained bed and come say hi to mel, ask her how her evening was, how becca is doing. but when mel glances up at the screen to see what patient you were with behind that curtain, it’s empty.

that bed was empty. and well, mel’s not much of an detective (though she has her moments), but it’s worth a shot. waste a few minutes, stare at that curtain to see if she can figure out what, or rather who is behind it. she’s almost about to call it quits, frank was running late but he’s here now and there’s an incoming so she should start moving and then—

dr. abbot comes out from behind that same curtain. he leaves it open, comes to the hub, smiles politely at mel and tells her to have a good day, dr. king, and then he walks away.

more specifically, he walks in your direction. the back of his head moves slightly in your direction. you beam at the tablet in your hands. and then—

“mel? you okay?” frank asks, and she’s snapped out of it.

(she could have figured it out ages ago, she thinks afterward, reflecting on how dr. abbot never used to tell anyone to have a good day or hum while finalizing notes or look up and smile in your general direction before looking back down at whatever’s in his hands. the first time she met him, she thought he was the type of person you categorize in the debbie downer sort of group, whereas from the moment she met you, you were clearly more of a chatty cathy. but you’re her friend. and when she had told you about her feelings for frank, you had listened and supported her and never made her feel that it was anything less than okay.)

so the next time she sees you at seven am, already out by your computer or walking back from around an empty corner, when she notices dr. abbot trailing behind you, she doesn’t say anything. when dr. abbot hangs around late finishing up a trauma and you go ask him for his opinion on whatever patient you’re seeing, even when robby is free just over there, she doesn’t say anything.

even when frank brings it up over dinner with her and becca, a side conversation while they eat spaghetti—you noticed anything different with abbot recently?—she doesn’t say anything. 

in fact, the closest she gets to saying anything is when dr. abbot comes in early—maybe around five-thirty one evening—because they’re getting swamped and heather and cassie have the flu and it’s been a terrible mess of a day.

you and mel have been running around the entire shift, barely stopping to drink water or eat something. when jack shows up and flocks straight to you and leans in to tell you something, your hand moves to touch his arm for half a second before you remember where you are and put it down. jack pulls out a granola bar from his pocket and leaves you with it to jump on the next incoming.

mel watches the encounter and puts her head down when you look her way, pretending that she’s drinking her water and staring at a tablet. when she looks up, you’re gone in another direction, but dana stares at mel, both with an understanding of what they just saw.

and then they go on with their shift.

+

it all comes crashing down, just as it had the first time, after a particularly terrible night shift. it’s always hard when someone dies in the first few hours, leaves a horrible, bitter taste in his mouth that makes him want to walk outside and not come back in. 

it’s even worse when he knows he did everything he could, that there was no way this patient was making it off the table. that the devastated husband and the crying kids were completely unavoidable, that he still has to go back and jump on the next case and start fresh and try to drown out those noises.

drowning, drowning, drowning. he’s always trying to drown out something. if it’s not the fireworks then it’s the kids sobbing over their dead parent, and if it’s not that, then it’s how he relives his own worst day of my life every time someone’s wife dies in front of him. 

it’s been one of those days. you’re due to start on nights in two shifts from now, and he still has no idea how he’ll manage to be any less obvious when it comes to you.

(the last thing he keeps trying to drown out is how wrong this is. the voice in the back of his head keeps reminding him, seemingly unable to stop, no noise being loud enough to get it to stop repeating itself. you’re still a while away from being a second year, but is that even any better? or is that another excuse he’s invented to stop feeling so guilty about the fact that you sleep in his apartment every night and leave cookies for him on the counter so he has something nice to come home to? jack doesn’t know.)

you show up at six-thirty, smiling sweetly at parker and john, telling them to grab a cookie on their way out. parker asks you why and you tell her just because, and you want five minutes alone with your boyfriend before he leaves.

you’re impatient, always have been and always will be, especially when it comes to any and all matters related to jack abbot. you’re eager to go back on the night shift because you think you’ll be able to appreciate it so much more now—learning under his tutelage, being able to discuss those foreign medical journals he shares with you over coffee at four in the morning rather than through his illegible, scribbled print on post-its and your neat handwriting in the margins. 

you want it all, and you want it now.

so you made more cookies—oatmeal raisin—to make jack’s apartment smell nice, and you pack several of them to have a valid reason to distract the others so you can get those five minutes, maybe ten, in peace.

“hi,” you sing, while jack stands in front of you, tablet in his hand and blood on his shoes. “how was your night?” he doesn’t look up, but you don’t wait for an answer. “i made oatmeal raisin last night and i put some in the break room so i think we have five minutes. i want ten but i won’t be greedy, i mean, we’ll be on nights together soon, so at least that’ll be-”

“we need to talk, kid,” jack says, looking up at you with an expression you don’t recognize.

“what’s wrong ja- dr. abbot?” a nurse walks by just as you start your sentence, changing it mid-way. 

“that,” he says, coming out a bit louder than he meant it to. “that’s what’s wrong.” 

“jack?” you say it quietly. he doesn’t mean it like that—he doesn’t want you to be upset and worried about him when you have a whole shift ahead of you, one that you show up early to with distractions so the two of you can have a few minutes alone.

it’s all of it—it’s the fact that you even have to do things like that to get five minutes alone with him. it’s that you can’t let someone overhear you calling him anything besides dr. abbot.

it’s the realization that you deserve much better than what jack abbot can give you. more than five minutes behind a curtain or a couple minutes in the break room or thirty seconds at central hub before the charge nurse comes in with another incoming. 

“come on,” he says, leading you away for a moment. you have twenty-five minutes before your shift starts and he has two senior residents who can run the show until robby walks in. he leads you to the on-call room, four walls enclosing four beds. surgery has rooms of their own, but sometimes the trauma surgeon on deck will crash in there waiting for the next page, so he checks the room before letting you into it, closing and locking the door behind him.

“i thought you were gonna yell at me. this is so much better,” you say.

your mouth has gotten you into trouble before, especially with dr. abbot. in fact, it’s what got you into this whole thing to begin with, but where you expect jack to laugh in the privacy of this room, he doesn’t.

“kid, we need to have a serious talk about this.”

“about what?”

“this. us.”

“oh, jack, come on-”

“no, i-i’m being serious. this is not okay, it’s not sustainable.”

“you’re upset because we don’t see each other? honey, i start on nights in two days, i think we can make it,” you say, coming in closer to bring your hand to jack’s shoulder. “what’s going on? really?”

“don’t you think that… what i’m doing is wrong? you’re an intern. this is about your education, i-”

“why do you think you’re disrupting my medical education just because you’re my attending? i know i get stupid around you but i promise, i’m not gonna stop paying attention to my patient because you’re standing near me. i am a doctor, you know-”

“kid, i-”

“no, stop. half this hospital is dating each other. robby is heather’s attending and i don’t see you storming them into on-call rooms to debate about his influence on her medical education-”

“that doesn’t even make sense-”

“it doesn’t have to,” you sigh, out of breath and a little winded from how loud you’re being. “we make sense. you and me. we’re good together. a lot of things in this place don’t make sense but we do. people die everyday and i don’t want to die wondering what could have been if i’d just-”

“don’t,” jack interrupts, his hands coming to your waist. they feel tight, like the first time he’d help you like this. he brings his face closer to yours, foreheads almost touching. “don’t say that.”

“oh my god. i am so sorry. that must sound so insensitive, i just meant-”

“stop talking.”

“but i-” 

and this time, he doesn’t give you a choice, pressing his lips against yours quickly. you mumble against else against his mouth, but he can’t make it out, choosing instead to ignore it. like always, jack’s mouth tastes like coffee and you take it in—your boyfriend, your attending, and whatever else jack abbot is to you, kissing you like he’s finally realizing that he belongs to you, just as much as you belong to him. 

jack’s fingertips travel under your scrub top, hands roaming the expanse of your back and then settling onto your waist again while you keep kissing, realizing that when you go back out there, you’ll be flushed and warm and your lips will be swollen.

and then you realize that you don’t care, and you let your body lean against jack’s. he pulls away for a moment, but you don’t let him get the chance to stop, leaning in to resume the kiss, desperate to feel his tongue against yours again. 

jack does pull away finally, holding your jaw with his hand.

“this is so much better,” you mumble again.

“kid, we can’t-”

“yes, we can. we have so much time, jack,” you say, trying your best to sound convincing. 

“it’s seven in the morning,” jack argues, though he doesn’t resist when you pull his navy shirt off and over his head, exposing his chest to you. you run your fingers down the exposed skin, pressing your mouth against his shoulder.

“no it’s not,” you reply, leading hot, open-mouthed kisses from his collarbone to his neck, back up to his lips. “it’s six forty-something.”

“someone’s gonna-”

“no one’s gonna,” you say, smiling in that way that you do, the way that makes it impossible for him to say no. “not unless you stop talking, old man.” 

“oh. that’s how you wanna do this?”

“i’m not doing anything,” you say, pulling off your own scrub top, and then your shoes. 

“you’re gonna kill me, kid,” leaves his mouth as your hands go to the tie of his scrub bottoms, undoing the knot. jack brings his hands to either side of your waist and lifts, bringing you down onto one of the beds with all of his strength, making you squeal as your head hits the pillow. 

he starts with a kiss to your jaw, and then your neck, trailing down between your breasts while he undoes your bra. your hands find his shoulders, gripping him tight while he works his way down, littering your stomach with kisses until he gets to the drawstring of your pants. 

his fingers work on undoing it while you whine, and then try to push yourself to sit up against jack’s weight on top of you.

“oh my god, this is so embarrassing. i didn’t know we were doing all this. i have so many matching sets of underwear for this very occasion and the one day-”

“sweetheart, i love you, but you really need to stop talking right now.”

“you love me?” you repeat back. “you love me. oh my god, i-”

you lean in, lips crashing together hard, until jack moves and he’s on top of you again. he slides off your bottoms first, his fingers dancing around the waistband of your panties—navy blue with lace on the sides and he thinks they’re awfully great so he’s not sure what you were talking about—and then you start giggling. nearly uncontrollable.

“kid, that’s twice now you’ve done that-”

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry jack,” you plead, trying to keep a straight face but being unable to stop laughing. “i can’t believe this is how we’re saying i love you to each other-”

“you’re the one who wanted to date your attending-”

you burst into another fit of giggles, which jack effectively silences by kissing you again.

“one day,” jack starts, tugging your underwear down until it’s discarded somewhere by your feet, or maybe somewhere on the floor next to your clothes. “i’ll get to take my time with you again.”

that sentence leaving jack’s mouth makes your entire body tense up, a flood of want washing over you until you feel loopy. 

you pull him in for another kiss, and you feel him against you, memories of the first time he stretched you out on his fingers running through your mind. you two don’t have enough time for that today, and you both know it, but it still makes your cunt throb with anticipation.

jack lines himself up against you, running his thick tip over your opening, collecting wetness and making pleasure course through your body when he bumps against your clit. it’s electric—like a live wire hitting your nerves and making everything feel like lightening.

your limbs already feel like jelly, and you let jack maneuver your legs up onto his shoulders, watching him while he looks down at where you two are connected. 

he pushes inside and you moan—loudly and unfiltered—feeling that ridiculously amazing stretch again, your toes curling and every muscle tensing. jack leans in to kiss you and swallow the noises you make, but you still think it might not be enough.

when he pushes all the way in, your eyes roll all the way to the back of your head. 

“i’m sorry, kid, we can’t be loud,” he breathes, followed by a groan. he uses his hand to cover your mouth, pulling out and then thrusting back in all at once. the bed creaks as jack starts fucking you with an intense rhythm, the thin wooden frame hitting against the wall repetitively. 

you lock eyes with jack, moaning against his hand, feeling how big he is like it’s the first time all over again. 

every ridge and vein makes you see stars while you focus on how full you feel—full of jack, how you want stay like this forever if he’ll let you—in a tiny on call room with the door locked and people looking for the two of you. 

you repeat it against his palm—jack, jack, jack—while he keeps fucking you with an intensity that makes the coil in your belly keep tightening. he’s so deep inside of you that you’re sure you won’t be able to walk after this, let alone finish your shift, but the thought drifts somewhere far away when he changes the angle slightly. 

jack pushes his hand against your lower belly and thrusts back into you, while your back arches and tries to fight him. maybe you’re trying to get away from how good it feels, that overwhelming sensation that the ground is about to give out beneath the two of you. you stare up at jack through teary eyes, taking in how he looks hovering over you, taking care of you and watching out for you and thinking about you first like he always does. 

and then it happens, the hot sensation in your belly tenses, and then snaps, and it washes over you like a current. you feel it—the ringing in your ears feels like it’s making its way through your entire body and your walls clench and pulse around jack’s girth. 

your eyes snap shut but when they open, you keep looking up at jack, finally forcing his hand away from your mouth. 

“jack,” you get out, your throat dry and sore and lips aching. “i love you too-”

you hear jack groan, a noise that makes your walls flutter, and then you feel it again—jack’s hips stuttering, his grip on you tightening, and then warmth filling you, hot streams of cum coating your walls until it’s leaking out of you. 

you take deep breaths, head hitting the pillow while jack collapses on top of you, and then rolls over until he’s beside you. 

the room is silent besides the two of you breathing, until of course, you speak up.

“i can’t believe this is how we said i love you.”

“you already said that, kid.”

“i know. i just really can’t believe it. i figured it would at least be outside of the hospital, but, i guess that wouldn’t feel right.” 

“sweetheart-”

“am i doing it again? the not knowing when to be quiet thing?”

“no, but i-”

“wait,” you cry out, sitting up immediately. “what time is it? oh my god-”

“don’t worry about that right now. i gotta get you cleaned up before-”

“jack, i have never been late for a shift before.” you sigh dramatically before you keep going. “i just knew it. this relationship is completely affecting my medical education-”

jack shuts you up with a kiss before you can finish the sentence, capturing your laugh against his mouth. 

he starts making half a plan in his head, though what he wants to do is take you home with him right now.

“i think i’m ready for you to be back on nights now.”

“yeah? why’s that?”

“because at least we can sleep next to each other if you-”

“jack!” he hears robby’s voice shouting from the other side of the door, followed by three pounds that rattle the wood. “do not tell me that my intern is in there.”

“fuck,” jack whispers, while you stare at him with wide eyes.

“what should we do?” you mouth, while jack gets up, finding your scrubs and pocketing your underwear while he pulls on his own clothes.

“stay in here,” he tells you quietly. “just take your time.” 

“okay,” you whisper back, leaning in for another kiss with a smile. “i love you.”

“i love you too.”

jack pulls on his shirt and unlocks the door, closing it quickly behind him as he steps out to meet robby on the other side. 

“you’re kidding me, right?”

“i can explain, robby. we-”

“i don’t want to hear it. the on-call room? that’s disgusting, you know.”

“robby, i-”

“go talk to hr before gloria gets on my ass about this.” robby walks away, shaking his head. 

you open the door, poking your head out, and jack turns back to look at you.

“gosh. i sure hope hr doesn't think you’re interfering with my medical education-”

♡ thanks for reading!

[shortnspidey]

PERILOUS SKIES

Bob Floyd X Fem!Seresin!reader || WC: 6.9K

SUMMARY: Dating Bob Floyd had been nothing short of perfect. The sweet, ever-attentive WSO felt like he’d walked straight out of a rom-com. That’s why, when your scheduled date night arrives and he doesn’t show, your mind immediately begins to spiral. It’s so unlike him, so out of character, that you can’t stop replaying every possible reason in your head. As the hours stretch on, worry takes hold, deep down, you can feel something’s wrong.

WARNINGS: Established relationship, cursing, talks of minor injuries, minor talks of violence, overall fluff, steamy kiss, slight angst, typical Hangman behavior, incorrect military details (sorry)!

A/N: Ugh! I need a man like Bob! 😫 I have been sucked back into my 2022 Top Gun era and Lewis Pullman has me in such a chokehold which is why this was written. Hope y’all enjoy! Divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

➩ main masterlist

➩ bob floyd masterlist

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d fall for a military man. Not because you didn’t respect them, you did. You’d seen what that kind of life demanded: the discipline, the bravery, the sacrifices. But you'd also seen the ego, the recklessness, and the emotional walls that seemed to come with the uniform. You knew their type, inside and out. Especially because you were raised right alongside one.

Jake “Hangman” Seresin wasn’t just your older brother. He was a force of nature, sharp smile, sharper jawline, and enough swagger to make heads turn before he even stepped foot in a room. He’d always been that way. The golden boy. The daredevil. The protector. And as his little sister, you were someone he guarded with his life. Especially, when it came to men.

Every birthday party, every school dance, every casual dinner date you attempted growing up had been intercepted by Jake. Sometimes he scared them off with a pointed glare. Sometimes it was a not-so-subtle, “I’m watching you.” And sometimes it was just his mere presence, standing a little too close, arms crossed over his chest like he was waiting for an excuse to break someone’s nose.

At first, it had almost been sweet, he was simply looking out for you. But as the years passed, it became suffocating. You weren’t fragile. You didn’t need saving. And yet, he treated you like some porcelain doll that might crack if someone so much as looked at you the wrong way. God forbid it was someone in the Navy. It was safe to say that you had grown so tired of flight suits.

That’s why you built a life as far away from that world as you could. Your work meant everything to you. You were a licensed therapist, specializing in trauma and stress-related disorders, an emotionally demanding job, but one that gave you purpose. You spent your days helping others unpack the things they carried, offering a safe space for people to speak their truth, even when it broke your heart.

You had your own small private practice just off base, tucked into a converted bungalow with soft lighting and calming artwork on the walls. It smelled faintly of lavender and worn paperbacks, and your bookshelf overflowed with psychology texts, handwritten notes, and dog-eared poetry collections. Your life was rooted in listening. In feeling. In forming connections.

And if, some nights, the weight of everyone else’s pain lingered in your chest, well, you’d made peace with that. You had your quiet apartment, your plants, your routines. You knew how to breathe through the noise. You were proud of what you’d built. Which made what happened next was all the more unexpected. You weren’t planning to go out that night.

It had been a long, exhausting week, three new clients, a crisis session, and a war veteran who hadn’t said a single word until your fifth session together. You were mentally and physically drained, emotionally raw. You had planned to stay in, maybe order Thai food and watch something mindless just to silence your thoughts. But your phone lit up with a message from Penny.

Swing by the Hard Deck tonight. First drink’s on me! 🍹

You almost said no.

But, surprisingly, something pushed you to say yes. So without thinking too much, you slipped into an orange sundress, threw on your favorite sandals, and drove the familiar road to the beach. As always, the Hard Deck buzzed with music, laughter, and the sound of boots hitting the wooden floors. The scent of sea salt and beer filled the air, and the jukebox was already playing something classic, probably something from Maverick’s rotation.

You knew half the faces there. A few pilots you’d grown up around. Some you had met through Jake. Speaking of Jake, of course he was already there, was holding court by the pool table, cue stick in hand, that ever-confident grin on his face. Same old scene. Same old bar. Penny spotted your first, waving you over as she started making your go-to drink. You smiled, walking over and giving her a hug behind the bar.

“Here, looks like you need it.” You smiled, accepting the fruity cocktail from her hands. As she attended to the other bar patrons, you sat in a nearby stool, fully intending to linger just long enough to be polite before heading back out so that you could crawl into bed by 10PM. Only, the universe seemed to have different plans, because that's when you saw him. He was tucked away in the corner of the bar, half-shadowed by the low glow of the neon beer signs above.

He sat with a bottle of beer in hand, long fingers loosely curled around the neck of it, his posture slightly hunched like he was doing his best not to take up too much space. His glasses were a little fogged from the humidity, slipping just slightly down the bridge of his nose. He reached up now and then to adjust them, eyes flicking around the bar like he was trying to blend into the furniture.

Not hiding, exactly, just keeping to himself. He wasn’t laughing with the others, wasn’t showing off at the dartboard, and he definitely wasn’t trying to flirt with anyone. In a room full of men with too much confidence and not enough subtlety, he was different. You couldn’t look away. There was something almost disarming about how awkward he looked. Like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands or where to rest his gaze.

But even in all that quiet discomfort, there was something gentle about him. You were too far in your head when he looked up, and caught you staring. Your breath hitched, just slightly. But instead of looking away like most people would, he offered a sheepish, crooked smile. And you smiled back, because how could you not? He dropped his gaze immediately, taking a sip of his beer like maybe he was embarrassed by the brief moment of eye contact.

It only made him even more endearing.

You turned back toward Penny behind the bar, trying to play it cool, but your voice betrayed your interest. “Hey Penny, who’s the guy in the corner?” Penny followed your gaze, then gave you a knowing little smile. “That’s Bob.” You hummed, faking interest, taking a sip of your drink. “Lieutenant Robert Floyd. WSO. Flies backseat for Phoenix.” She added casually, wiping down a glass. “One of the good ones. Real quiet, but sweet as hell. Kind of Jake’s opposite.”

That earned a short laugh out of you. “So, he's not a pilot?” You smiled behind the rim of your glass. “He is, technically. But he’s the kind that listens more than he talks.” Penny raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are you interested?” Instead of responding, you glance over your shoulder again. Bob was staring down at the condensation on his bottle, idly tracing circles with his fingertip like he’d rather be anywhere else, and yet, somehow, he didn’t look miserable.

Just… out of place.

“Maybe.” You murmured, trying to sound nonchalant, but the truth betrayed you in the form of heat creeping up the back of your neck. You lifted your drink to cover the slight twitch of a smile you couldn’t suppress. Penny leaned in with a smirk, wiping down the bar like she wasn’t studying your every move. “Then don’t wait too long,” She coaxed under her breath, voice teasing. “Use that Seresin charm. Guys like that don’t usually make the first move.”

You glanced back at him. He was still in the corner, tracing the rim of his bottle with his thumb, eyes low, posture slightly slouched like he was trying to shrink himself into the background. But something about him, it tugged at you. Maybe it was the way his eyes had flicked toward you moments ago, a little wide, like he couldn’t believe someone like you had noticed him. Like he wasn’t used to being seen.

Or maybe, just maybe, you were tired of playing it safe. Tired of living under your brother’s ever-watchful gaze. Tired of waiting for permission you never needed in the first place. Your fingers tightened around the glass as you made your decision. You slid off your stool, smoothing down your dress like it could steady your nerves, and crossed the bar, each step quickening your heartbeat. “Mind if I sit?” You asked, voice smooth, chin tilted ever so slightly in confidence, fake or not.

He looked up at you, caught off guard. His expression flickered,first surprise, then something gentler. He cleared his throat, straightening a little. “Uh—yeah. I mean, no. I don’t mind.” You smiled and took the seat beside him, the wood cool against your skin as you eased into it. “Thanks, I’m Y/N.” You extended your hand across the small gap between you. The contact was instant, his larger palm warm, slightly rough from flight gloves, his grip unsure but respectful nonetheless.

“B-Bob,” He mumbled out. “Well, Robert. But, um… everyone calls me Bob.” You smiled, loving how blush dusted his cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Bob,” You let his name linger, giving it weight as your gaze swept over his face, softer up close, his features earnest and boyish beneath his glasses which hid his captivating cerulean blue eyes. “So… you always hang out in dark corners, or is tonight a special occasion?” The edges of his mouth twitched with a quiet, amused smile.

“Just trying to stay out of the way.” You raised a brow, slightly leaning into him so your shoulders were touching. “Of who?” You teased, head tilting. “The loud ones? Or the terrifying older brothers?” That made his eyes widen slightly behind his lenses, and you didn’t miss the way he stiffened, the realization hitting like a gust of wind. He blinked once. Then again. “Y-You’re… Hangman’s sister?” You sipped your drink, nodding slowly. “Guilty as charged, Lieutenant.” You winked as Bob stared for a moment.

You could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes, fast, nervous, cautious. “You gonna run, Bob?” You asked, eyebrow lifting, lips curved just enough to keep it playful. You wouldn’t have blamed him. You were used to that look. You’d seen it before on a dozen other faces. Guys who decided no girl was worth catching hell from Jake Seresin. But Bob surprised you. He didn’t bolt. Didn’t stammer out a goodbye or glance over his shoulder like he was looking for an exit.

Instead, he just smiled, really smiled, and for the first time, something inside you fluttered. His whole face shifted when he did, gentle and sincere, like the smile had been waiting for the right moment to be let out. His shoulders dropped, and the tension in his spine eased as his nerves melted into quiet warmth. The corners of his eyes crinkled behind his glasses, and the golden bar light caught the faint dimple in his cheek, softening his whole demeanor.

Something about it, about him, felt honest. “Not unless you tell me to.” His voice was low, laced with a touch of humor, but no hint of fear whatsoever. And that was it. And you knew then… you were in trouble. Of course, right on cue, nothing good in your life ever slipped past Jake unnoticed. And the moment your brother spotted you talking to someone, especially someone in uniform, he made a beeline across the bar like a guided missile.

“Seriously?” He muttered under his breath, then louder. “She’s off-limits.” He slung an arm around your shoulder, the heavy weight of it both familiar and infuriating, while his eyes narrowed at Bob like he’d caught him trying to hack into the Pentagon. His voice was low and sharp. “I mean it, Floyd.” To Bob’s credit, he didn’t bristle or shrink away. He didn’t puff his chest or try to argue. He just gave a small, respectful nod, calm, measured. “Understood.” You expected him to walk away after that.

Hell, Jake even expected him to.

That was usually the part where most men retreated, tail between their legs, deciding no woman was worth facing down a protective older brother with a reputation like Hangman’s. But Bob surprised you. Later that night, long after the initial rush of aviators had moved on to games of pool and darts, and Jake had wandered off to trash-talk some poor soul at the dartboard, you found yourself by the jukebox, flipping through the cracked plastic covers of old CDs. Then, a quiet voice spoke up from behind you.

“I know your brother’s... protective,” Protective was one way to put it, you thought to yourself. You glanced up from flipping through the CD’s as Bob shifted his weight from one foot to another, hands in the pockets of his khakis, standing just far enough away to give you space, but close enough that you could feel the sincerity in his tone. “But I’d still like to buy you a drink and maybe talk some more. I-If that’s alright with you of course.” You looked up, surprised and maybe a little impressed.

It was more than alright.

You gave him a nod, and the two of you sat at the end of the bar, away from prying eyes and Jake’s over-the-top dramatics. Conversation flowed easier than you expected. Bob wasn’t flashy or performative, he was thoughtful. Funny in a dry, unexpected way. A little awkward, but charmingly so. That night turned into another. Then a real date. Then two. Then weeks of texts that made you smile at your phone like a teenager. Things didn’t move fast, they didn’t need to. With Bob, it was steady.

He remembered your favorite drink after the first time you ordered it. He walked you to your car every time, even if it meant doubling back on his own route. He asked about your day and actually listened, not just to respond, but to understand. He never interrupted. Never made you feel small. He laughed at your jokes, even the bad ones. He offered his hoodie on breezy beach nights without saying a word. And even had this quiet habit of checking on you.

Whether it was a text at the exact right time. A glance across a room that grounded you. And maybe most surprising of all, he made you feel safe. It didn’t matter that he flew backseat for one of the Navy’s best pilots. That he was part of a squad who took down a nearly impossible mission. That half the base jokingly called him “baby-on- board.” None of that defined him.

What mattered was that when you were with him, for the first time in years, you didn’t feel like someone’s little sister. You didn’t feel like someone to be guarded or shielded or spoken for. You just felt seen. Of course, that didn’t mean you were ready to throw it in Jake’s face. For a while, you and Bob kept things quiet. It wasn’t that you were ashamed, far from it. But you both agreed: Jake didn’t need to know just yet. You liked the way things were. Soft. Sacred. Yours.

Besides, the moment your brother found out you were seeing someone, especially someone on his squadron, he’d lose his mind. So you kept your dates discreet. Stolen kisses in parked cars. Quick coffee dates before his briefings. Whispered conversations during beach bonfires where no one was paying attention. And on one particularly slow afternoon, he stopped by your office. Your practice had just closed for the day. The soft hum of the white noise machine still filled the room, and the late sun poured through the windows.

Bob was leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets, pretending to read the spines of your books, psychology texts, self-help, a few novels tucked in like secrets. “I still can’t believe you keep a weighted blanket in your office.” He teased lightly, eyes glued to your legs as you reached for your laptop. “Trauma work, remember? Nervous systems love pressure. Plus, it’s cozy.” Bob stepped closer, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “You’re cozy.” You mirrored his smile, letting out a lovesick giggle before you could stop it.

“Are you trying to flirt with me using therapeutic language?” His blue eyes twinkled with mischief stepping closer. “Is it working?” You laughed, and before you could answer, his lips were on yours. It was supposed to be just one kiss. A quick goodbye before he headed back to base, enough to hold you off until you could get your hands on him later that night. But then your back hit the wall, and his hands cupped your jaw like he was memorizing every curve of your face.

You instinctively melted into him, fingers curling into his fitted white t-shirt that had no business making his biceps look that good. His lips pressed to yours, slow at first, soft and searching, but it deepened quickly. His hands found your waist, sliding over the thin fabric of your blouse, fingers splaying wide as if to anchor himself in the feel of you. Bob groaned quietly into your mouth, the sound low, needy, almost reverent. His tongue slipped past your parted lips, tentative but eager, and you welcomed him in with a soft, breathy moan.

Your hands fumbled for his collar, pulling him closer, grounding yourself in the way he tasted. One of his hands slid up your side, fingers brushing under the hem of your shirt, calloused fingertips grazing the bare skin of your ribs. You shivered at the contact, arching into him instinctively. His other hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb stroking just below your ear as his mouth moved with yours, deeper, hungrier.

Your nails scraped lightly through his hair, mussing it from its neat comb, and that earned you another quiet groan that vibrated against your lips. The air between you felt heavy, time blurred. Nothing existed beyond the feel of his body against yours, the way he kissed you like he was starved for it, like he’d been holding back for weeks. Maybe he had. Your hips shifted, a little too eager, and you felt the subtle hitch of his breath as his hand gripped tighter at your waist, holding you there.

Which is how you didn’t hear the office door creak open until: “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You both froze. Your lips were still tangled. Bob’s hand was still under your shirt. And Jake Seresin was standing in the doorway of your office, expression stuck somewhere between outrage and horror. You sprang apart, your heartbeat plummeted. And Bob, poor Bob, froze in place like someone had pulled the eject handle. Jake stood in the doorway, arms crossed, jaw clenched, face unreadable.

A vein twitched in his temple. “Jake—” You started, breathless, smoothing down your blouse. “It’s not, well, it is what it looks like, but—" Busted. “Of all the people,” Jake let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a sigh, dragging a hand down his face, then pinching the bridge of his nose like it physically pained him to witness what was happening. “Baby-on-board? Seriously, Y/N?!”

You instinctively stepped in front of Bob, shielding him with your body like your brother might actually tackle him through your office window. “Jake. Don’t.” Bob, didn’t move. His back was straight, blue eyes wide behind fogged-up glasses, lips parted as if mid-apology. His cheeks were flushed, his t-shirt slightly wrinkled from where your hands had just been. “I, uh… hi, Hangman." He offered awkwardly, pushing his glasses up with a shaky hand.

Jake stared at him, hard. Like he was cycling through a mental list of disciplinary actions and weighing the pros and cons of each one. “I told you once,” He growled slowly, voice like ice cracking. “My little sister is off-limits.” You stepped in again, squaring your shoulders, chin lifting. “And I told you I’m not twelve.” There was a beat of silence. Then Jake turned to you, jaw tight, mouth slightly open like he wanted to argue, but the fire behind his eyes dimmed.

You saw it, the shift. That split-second of hesitation. The realization. You weren’t his kid sister anymore, sneaking candy into movie theaters or crying over scraped knees. You weren’t some fragile thing he had to wrap in bubble wrap and keep hidden from the world. You were a grown woman. And you’d made your choice. “I’m your big brother,” He muttered voice quieter now, rough around the edges. “I’m supposed to look out for you.”

Your expression softened, shoulders dropping. “You always have. Better than anyone, but you don’t have to protect me from Bob. He'd never hurt me.” You glanced over your shoulder, eyes meeting Bob’s. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose and looked between the two of you. At Bob, still standing there like a soldier awaiting his court-martial. And at you, arms folded, gaze unwavering. After a pregnant pause, a long, reluctant sigh left his chest. “Are you really into him?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I am.” Jake stared at him for another long second, then finally, finally, cracked the smallest smirk. “Jesus Christ. If this is happening, I don’t want to hear about it and I definitely don’t want to see it.” He turned toward the door, muttering under his breath. “Shit, I need bleach for my poor eyes.” Then, he paused and glanced back “If you break her heart, Floyd, I don’t care how good of a WSO you are, I will make you wish you had ejected mid-flight.” Bob swallowed visibly and nodded.

“Understood.” You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth lifted. It wasn’t exactly a blessing. But from Jake Seresin? It sure as hell was close enough. You smiled at the memory, lips curling as your thoughts drifted back. Since then, Jake had slowly eased up, still overbearing at times, but less of an asshole, finally starting to accept the reality that you and Bob were together. It wasn’t instant, but it was progress.

Maybe it was the way Bob never rose to Jake’s bait, or maybe it was how he treated you, with a kind of quiet reverence that left little room for protest. Because Bob was nothing but attentive. The kind of man who remembered how you took your coffee, who sent midday check-in texts just to ask how your sessions had gone, who looked at you like you were his entire goddamn universe. He made you feel like the only girl in the world, seen, cherished.

Which is why, when your usual Thursday night rolled around, the one night you always carved out for each other, and Bob didn’t show… something inside you spiraled. You’d cleaned the apartment, lit one of your favorite candles, even queued up Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith knowing it was one of his favorites. His favorite hoodie was draped over the back of the couch, the one he always “forgot” to take home because he liked the way it smelled after you wore it.

The popcorn was in the bowl. The wine was chilling in the fridge. Take-out menus were on the coffee table. Everything was ready. Except him. You glanced at the clock. Once. Then again. Then again, your eyes flicking to the screen, then to the door, like maybe he’d appear if you wished hard enough. Each time, you brushed it off with a quiet, He’s probably still at the hangar. You knew the drill. Sometimes they got grounded late, schedules shifted.

But the minutes stretched into an hour. Then two. Still no text. No call. Just eerie silence. And Bob? When it came to date night, Bob was never late. When your phone finally rang, the shrill tone sliced through the stillness, making you jump. You scrambled for it, heartbeat thudding against your ribs as your thumb slid to answer without even checking the caller ID on the screen. “Hey, handsome,” You breathed out. “Are you on your way home yet?” Only, it wasn’t Bob’s voice that answered.

“Aww, Y/N,” Came the familiar, cocky drawl you had grown familiar with. “I knew you were lying to me all those times you called me ugly.” Your jaw clenched. Your eyes rolled before your brain could catch up. “Jake,” You snapped, already pacing. “What the hell, where’s Bob? Why are you calling me?” Your brother’s voice cut through the line, irritatingly casual. “Sorry for the late notice, but your beau isn’t making it to date night.” The floor practically dropped out from under you.

“What?! Why? Jake, what happened?” You barely heard yourself over the rush in your ears. Your pulse kicked up, adrenaline beginning to surge. He ignored the edge in your voice, brushing off your panic like it was nothing more than static. “Just come to base. I’ll be waiting at the gate to escort you inside.” Then the line went dead. You stared at your phone for a second, willing it to light up again, to clarify, to make sense. It didn’t.

Just the reflection of your stunned face in the dark screen. “God, I hate when he does that.” You muttered, voice low and sharp as you shoved the phone into your back pocket. Without wasting another breath, you yanked Bob’s hoodie over your head, feet shoving into the nearest pair of sneakers, fingers scrambling for your keys. Your heart thudded in your throat as you raced down the stairs, and out the door.

The base wasn’t far, thankfully. About a twenty-minute drive. You didn’t floor it, but your foot stayed heavy on the gas, knuckles white around the steering wheel. Your thoughts circled and twisted with every mile: Was he hurt? Why didn’t Bob call you himself? Was Jake just being dramatic, or worse, trying to protect you from something serious? By the time you reached the gate, your nerves were all over the place.

True to his word, Jake was waiting just past the security checkpoint, casual as ever, like this was a run-of-the-mill errand. You flashed your ID to the guard, who barely glanced at it before waving you through. You didn’t even bother straightening the car when you parked. The engine had barely cut before you threw the door open and leapt out. “Jake,” You barked, striding toward him with a glare. “You have one minute to explain yourself before I kick the shit out of you. Where’s Bob?”

Your brother slung an arm around your shoulder like this was all completely normal. The audacity of it made your teeth grit. “Relax, baby-on-board is fine.” He muttered, steering you forward. “Don’t call him that. How many times do I have to tell you before it sticks?” You snapped, elbowing him lightly. Jake lifted both hands in mock surrender, grinning like this was all part of a joke only he found funny. “Alright, alright fine. Just… follow me.” And without another word, he led you deeper into the base.

Your steps faltered, just slightly, as dread started to pool low in your stomach. Because something wasn’t right. You could feel it. Your suspicions were confirmed the moment Jake led you down the familiar corridor toward the medical bay. The sterile scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of fluorescent lights filled the air, too clean, way too quiet. Your heart pounded harder with every step. Then you saw them, Maverick and Bradley, standing a few feet away near the nurses’ station, mid-conversation.

Or they had been. The second their eyes landed on you and Jake, their voices cut off like a switch had been flipped. “Mav,” You rasped, your voice laced with urgency as your eyes locked on his. They both turned fully now, posture straightening. Bradley offered a tense smile as he stepped forward to greet you, arms opening automatically. You didn’t hesitate, letting yourself fall into the hug, if only for the brief comfort of familiar arms and the steady heartbeat beneath his civilian clothes.

“Where’s Bob?” You asked again, for what felt like the hundredth time. The question burned now, raw and desperate, clawing up your throat. Maverick moved closer, his expression calm but lined with concern. “He’s alright,” He began, voice steady, measured, but the silence that followed said otherwise. The look, the flicker of shared worry between him, Bradley, and Jake did nothing to settle the growing storm in your chest. You could feel it building, pressure against your ribs.

Maverick exhaled slowly, like he didn’t want to alarm you but knew sugarcoating it wouldn’t help.“During today’s training, Phoenix and Bob suffered a bird strike. The impact triggered an engine fire, which spread fast and caused a total systems failure, both engines, and hydraulic controls.” Your breath hitched. “They had no choice but to eject,” He added, quieter now. “The medics brought them in immediately. They’re stable, conscious, and mostly okay. The doctors are keeping them overnight for observation.”

The words tumbled in slowly, too slow to process all at once. Bird strike. Engine fire. Ejection. The air felt thinner. The hallway longer. Your mouth moved before your brain could catch up. “C-Can I see him?” You asked, your voice barely more than a whisper. Maverick nodded, but you were already moving. Your sneakers squeaked against the linoleum as you bolted down the hallway, weaving past a nurse and ignoring the muted “Miss, wait—” that came from someone behind the desk.

When you spotted the door at the end of the corridor with Seresin scrawled hastily on the visitor clipboard and Floyd, R./Trace, N. listed beneath it, your chest constricted. You pushed the door open. You spotted Natasha first. She was reclined in the hospital cot closest to the door, propped up slightly by a pair of thin, starch-white pillows. Her skin looked pale under the sterile fluorescent lights, a stark contrast to the deep purpling bruise blooming along her cheekbone.

A butterfly bandage held a small cut together above her eyebrow, and her arm, though not in a cast, was wrapped in gauze from wrist to elbow. Still, she was awake. Alert. Breathing. “Nat,” You exhaled, already moving toward her. Her head turned at the sound of your voice. The split-second surprise in her expression melted into something warmer, despite the lingering pain behind her eyes. She pushed herself up with a small wince, the thin hospital blanket slipping off her shoulders.

“Y/N, hey,” She murmured, voice raspy but steady. Your arms were already wrapping around her before you could stop yourself. Your movements slowed as soon as you felt her body tense slightly, stiff from the impact, from the adrenaline still likely fading. She let out a breathy laugh against your shoulder, one arm curling weakly around you. “I’m glad you're here.” She murmured, voice muffled against your sweatshirt. You leaned back slightly to look at her, brushing a stray curl from her forehead, careful not to graze the fresh scrape on her temple.

It was safe to say that ever since you and Bob had started dating, you and Natasha had become inseparable. It started with casual conversations at the Hard Deck that turned into late-night wine nights, venting sessions, and a friendship built on fierce loyalty and shared eye-rolls at the men in your lives. Part of it, no doubt, came from the fact that she and Bob were more than just teammates, they were a crew. They trusted each other with their lives, and somewhere along the way, that trust naturally extended to you.

“I’m just glad you’re both okay.” You whispered. Natasha gave you a faint, lopsided smile, tired but genuine. “Yeah, well, Bob took the worst of it. I was lucky.” Your stomach dropped. You hadn’t even seen him yet. The cot next to hers was shielded slightly by a privacy curtain pulled partway across, and suddenly, you couldn’t breathe fast enough. Your eyes darted toward the edge of the curtain. “He’s awake. A little banged up. But, he’s been asking for you since we were brought in here.”

That was all it took. You gave her hand a gentle squeeze and whispered. “I’ll be right back.” Then, without hesitation, you stepped around the curtain, ready to face whatever was waiting on the other side. As soon as you rounded the curtain, your eyes found him. Bob was sitting upright, well, trying to. He winced slightly bracing himself on one elbow as he straightened in the cot, ignoring the tight pull of gauze around his ribs and the IV in his arm. Sensing the presence of someone in the room, he stopped fidgeting, blue eyes meeting yours.

You moved without thinking. The world blurred as you rushed across the room, the cool floor beneath your sneakers giving way to the warmth of his outstretched arms. He barely had time to brace himself before you collided with him, sinking into his chest, arms wrapping around his torso with desperate urgency. He winced, but his hands immediately came up, one cradling the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, the other wrapping tightly around your waist.

His grip was firm, steady, anchored, as if the contact itself might undo the fear that had rooted in both of you. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin beneath the sterile tang of antiseptic. His heart was pounding hard beneath your cheek, fast and erratic, matching your own. “Shit, Bobby,” You whispered, voice trembling. “I thought—” You couldn’t even finish the sentence. “I know,” He murmured into your hair, his voice cracking with emotion.

“I’m sorry I scared you, sweetheart.” Then, more softly, almost sheepishly, he mumbled into your shoulder. “I’m also sorry I missed date night.” You nearly scoffed, half a laugh, half a sob, as you pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers still tangled in the collar of his shirt. “Date night? Bob, I could care less about date night right now. I’m just glad you’re alive.” Bob’s selflessness never ceased to amaze you, how even through the haze of pain and adrenaline, his first thought had been about you, about letting you down.

As if your heart hadn’t broken in half the moment you realized he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. You clung to him tighter, your arms curling around his back, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt like letting go wasn’t an option. Bodies wound tightly around one another, like you were trying to climb inside his chest and stay there. Like the only way to be sure he was real was to feel every inch of him pressed to you. He exhaled shakily, lips brushing your temple.

“All I kept thinking was that I had to get back to you.”That made your throat tighten even more. Your hand moved instinctively to his face, cupping his cheek, thumb grazing over a scratch along his jawline. His glasses were still slightly askew, and he hadn’t even bothered to fix them, too focused on you. “I’m right here,” He reassured, almost as if sensing your inner turmoil. “I’m okay. We’re okay.” In that moment, he held tightly in his arms, everything faded away.

There was only the thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm and the soft warmth of his breath against your skin. You didn’t want to pull away, but when you finally did, it was only to take in his face. You brushed a thumb gently beneath his eye, tracing the faint bruise that had bloomed along his cheekbone. He looked a little beat up, but to you? He was perfect. Alive. And most importantly, breathing. His eyes met yours, impossibly blue beneath the smudged lenses of his crooked glasses.

They searched your face like he couldn’t quite believe you were here either. Like he was afraid if he blinked, you’d vanish. You leaned in again, this time slower, gentler, your hand cradling the side of his face. His breath caught just before your lips met, as if even now he was asking for permission without words. The kiss that followed was soft. No heat. No urgency. Just a lingering press of your mouths. You could feel the tremble in his shoulders as his hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you there like he needed it as much as you did.

His lips parted slightly against yours, letting out the faintest sigh, and you melted into it, into him, feeling the world finally slow down. When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. “I love you.” You whispered, the words weightless, certain. He smiled, eyes closed, breath warm against your cheek. “I love you more.” Just as you were about to lean in for another kiss, the door creaked open behind you. “Fucks sake, not this again.” Came the dry, unmistakable voice of your older brother.

You groaned softly, forehead dropping to Bob’s shoulder as he stifled a wince and a laugh at the same time. You were so close to murdering Jake and becoming an only child. “Do you have some kind of built-in radar for whenever we kiss?” You muttered into Bob’s shirt as his hand rubbed comforting circles on your back. “Apparently,” Jake scoffed, stepping fully into the room, arms crossed, brow raised in brotherly disapproval.

“I give it ten seconds and you look like you’re ready to climb the guy like a tree.” Bob straightened awkwardly, almost like a cadet caught doing something wildly against protocol. His cheeks flushed deep red, climbing all the way to the tips of his ears, and his hands instinctively loosened their hold on you. Before he could scoot even an inch away, your fingers curled gently but firmly around his bicep, grounding him right where he was as you shot Jake a glare. “What do you want now?”

Jake gestured vaguely at the two of you. “Don’t mind me. I’m just checking in on the critically injured WSO who, last I heard, had survived an emergency ejection, a bird strike, and now looks like he’s about two seconds away from a very different kind of cardiac episode, caused, I assume, by my little sister sticking her tongue down his throat.” Bob gave a tiny, nervous cough, his gaze flicking toward the heart monitor as if it might start blaring just to spite him. He wisely chose not to answer.

You smirked, leaning in to press a slow, lingering kiss to Bob’s temple, just to be petty. You felt the way his breath hitched beneath you, the way his fingers curled gently at your waist despite himself. Jake rolled his eyes so hard you were genuinely concerned they might get stuck that way. “I figured you’d be staying the night, so, I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. But don’t get any ideas. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early, and I better not walk in on a repeat performance, especially not with Phoenix two feet away.”

From the other side of the curtain, Natasha’s dry voice floated through like a dagger dipped in disinterest: “Fuck off.” You bit your lip to stifle the laugh that almost broke through. “There’s the door, Bagman.” You shot back, raising your middle finger without even looking at him. With one last grumble and an eye roll that nearly cracked his skull, Jake pulled back the curtain dramatically and disappeared down the hall, muttering something about needing a drink.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Bob let out a soft breath, his entire body seeming to relax now that Jake had exited the room. He didn’t even need to ask. With a quiet grunt, he shifted on the narrow hospital cot, careful but determined, wincing slightly as he adjusted his IV line and tugged back the scratchy blanket with his good hand. It wasn’t much, but he made space for you like it was second nature, like your place had always been beside him, no matter the circumstances.

Without a word, you discarded your shoes and climbed in next to him, moving slowly, mindful of the bruises you couldn’t see and the ones you knew would surface by morning. The cot creaked under the added weight, but neither of you cared. Your head nestled into the curve of his shoulder, your hand drifting under the soft fabric of his t-shirt, fingers resting on the soft skin of his abdomen, like you just needed to feel he was real.

His arm slid around your waist, drawing you in with a familiarity that made your heart flutter. The other hand found its way into your hair, combing through the strands slowly, rhythmically, like he was soothing both of you at once. His thumb brushed absently along your spine in lazy arcs, and he let out a content when your legs tangled with his beneath the thin blanket.

The room had gone quiet, the soft beeping of monitors fading into the background like a lullaby. Wrapped in his arms, you tilted your head just enough to meet his eyes. “Still worth it?” You whispered, the question edged with lingering fear. Bob didn’t miss a beat. His smile was the same one he’d worn eight months ago, the first time he saw you across the bar. He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“Every single second.”

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[hyuckiefluff]

Flipped Pt. 2 | Mark Lee

pairing: gryffindor!mark lee x slytherin!fem.reader genre: smut summary: the first time you met mark lee, you flipped his world upside down— literally. seven years later and after countless attempts to avoid you, you're still driving him insane. except now, it’s for an entirely different reason. wc: 6.3k+ cw: explicit content, cursing, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, semi-public sexual acts, oral (fem receiving) a/n: hi!! this is a continuation to my hogwarts au, so please read part one before checking this out <3 I originally wasn't even planning on adding any smut to this fic, and I think it works well without it, but still, a little smut is always a good bonus so here it is! enjoy!

By the time your seventh year rolled around, you and Mark felt like two halves of the same whole. You spent nearly every possible hour together and most of it was sweet and wholesome. He’d sit with you in the greenhouse while you tended to your plants, pretending to be helpful but mostly just watching you with this lovesick look on his face. Or sitting beside you in the library when you worked on assignments, though he hardly ever got any studying done himself. Or at the Quidditch games, where he’d celebrate his wins by flying over the stands and swooping down to kiss you.

But there were also the other moments. The ones where you simply couldn’t keep your hands off each other. Most of your prefect shifts ended in heated makeout sessions behind the statue of the one eyed witch on the third floor. Or tucked away in the Astronomy Tower when everyone else was asleep. Or in the dark staircase leading to the dungeons, pressed against the cold stone wall with his hands roaming your waist and your fingers tangled in his hair. You two found a way to use any place that offered even a little privacy.

And it was getting harder and harder to stop once you started.

You could feel the way his kisses were getting hungrier. Like that time when his hands slid under your robes during Charms class. Or the time in the greenhouse when he kissed you so deeply his knee had ended up between your legs, and you’d gasped, clutching at his robes before hastily pulling away.

And last time things almost went too far.

You’d been tucked in a hidden alcove near the Transfiguration classroom, his back against the stone wall, your body pressed firmly against his as his mouth moved feverishly against yours. His hand had slipped beneath your robes, skimming up your thigh, and before you even realized it, he was fumbling with the buttons of your uniform. His breath was heavy, and you could feel how badly he wanted you, his hands trembling slightly as he tugged at your clothes.

“Wait—” you gasped, grabbing his wrist.

Mark froze immediately, his face paling like he’d done something horribly wrong. “Shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to” he pulled his hands back “I wasn’t trying to push you or—”

“No, it’s not—” you swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat still simmering in your stomach. “It’s not that I don’t want to… I do. It’s just…”

Mark watched you carefully, still looking wrecked with guilt. “…Just what?”

You bit your lip. “I don’t… I don’t have any experience with this. I’ve never…I mean, I’ve kissed people before but not like… that. Or… y-you know.”

It took Mark a moment to process what you were saying. Then his face softened immediately, his brows knitting with so much tenderness it almost made you cry.

“Hey, that’s okay” he breathed, pulling you closer again but gentler this time. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You felt your face burn. “I don’t know… I guess I was embarrassed. I thought you’d expect me to…”

“I don’t,” Mark cut you off gently, his thumb stroking your cheek. “I swear. I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. I just… I get carried away sometimes because I really, really like you. But you can tell me to stop anytime, okay?”

“Really?”

“Really,” he promised. Then he nudged your nose with his, grinning cheekily. “Besides… I think it’s kinda cute you’ve never done any of that before.”

You swatted his arm, groaning. “Oh my god, Mark.”

He just laughed, pulling you back in for another kiss.

Later that night, you were curled up in the common room with Karina when the question came bursting out of you like word vomit.

“How does sex feel like?”

Karina choked on her pumpkin juice, coughing violently as her eyes practically popped out of her skull.

“I’m sorry— what?” she spluttered, whipping her head toward you like you’d just grown a second head.

“Like… is it painful at first?” you pressed on, your face heating up. “I imagine it is. It probably depends on the… y’know… size. I mean, I read about it in a Muggle book back home but it was mostly about conception, not really the experience itself, so I—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold it.” Karina held up a hand, looking half-horrified and half-amused. “Where is this coming from… Since when are you so curious about sex?”

“Rina, I’m seventeen.... almost eighteen. It’s perfectly normal for me to start being curious about these things.”

“Oh, so it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you spend every free period snogging the Gryffindor Seeker?”

“Keep your voice down!” you hissed, glancing around the room.

“What?” Karina giggled. “It’s not like everyone doesn’t already know. I think half the school’s caught you guys in the corridors by now”

You groaned loudly, covering your burning face with your hands. “Forget I ever asked.”

“Oh no, no, no. You can’t just drop a bomb like that and then back out—”

Before you could beg her to drop it, Haechan strolled into the common room in his Quidditch uniform, hair damp with sweat, looking like he’d just finished practice. His eyes immediately landed on the two of you  and of course, he caught the tail end of Karina’s cackling.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, flopping onto the couch next to you.

Karina turned to him, grinning like the devil. “Oh, nothing. Our sweet, innocent little Y/N here just wants to know what sex feels like.”

“Karina!” you shrieked, whipping around to glare at her as she howled with laughter.

Haechan’s jaw dropped. “WHAT?” He turned to you, scandalized. “You—? You wanna know about... holy shit…”

“Oh my God, stop,” you groaned.

Haechan’s face split into a wicked grin. “Ohhh, I’m so telling him you’re asking about this—”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Why not? I think he’d love to know that his girlfriend’s getting all hot and bothered thinking about—”

“Haechan!”

“I’m kidding!” he laughed, hands raised in surrender. “But seriously. What exactly do you wanna know, huh? Like… the logistics of it? Or do you just wanna know if Mark’s packing—”

You lunged at him with the pillow. “I swear...”

“Alright, alright!” he howled, practically collapsing onto the floor in laughter as you rained down pillow smacks. “I’m just saying, if you want details, I’m right here—”

“Absolutely not.”

Haechan, despite his teasing and borderline inappropriate comments, was surprisingly chill about Mark and you. You had made it clear months ago that you had no romantic feelings for him. He’d taken it well, saying he saw it coming, and from that moment on, he treated you just like he would anyone else. He even became close friends with Mark, realizing he had more things in common with the seeker than he initially thought.

Karina, still crying from laughter, gasped, “Oh my God, you should ask Mark yourself. See how he reacts.”

You froze, mortified. “Are you insane? I’m not asking Mark what sex feels like!”

“Why not?” Haechan snickered, finally pulling himself back onto the couch. “It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it already. Honestly, I’m shocked you two haven’t done it yet, considering how often we catch you practically shagging in the corridors.”

“We do not!”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “You two make the entire school feel single.”

You groaned, absolutely done with this conversation. “I hate both of you.”

“But seriously. If you’re curious, just… talk to him about it. He’ll probably combust on the spot, but he’ll definitely be honest with you.” Karina suggested.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling a little hot under the collar.

…Yeah. Like that conversation wouldn’t end with you both tearing each other’s clothes off.

Mark was in the Gryffindor locker room, gulping down water after finishing practice, when Peeves suddenly popped up right in front of him with a loud "Boo!"

He flinched, nearly choking on his water and dropping the bottle to the floor.

“Peeves, what the hell!” Mark coughed, clutching his chest as the poltergeist erupted into a fit of maniacal laughter, floating circles around him.

“What do you want?” Mark huffed, yanking off his gloves. He was the last one in the locker room since he stayed behind to practice a little longer for the upcoming match.

“Ooh, Peeves has a message for you! A juicy little message about your pretty girl!” Peeves sing-songed, grinning mischievously.

Mark froze mid-motion. “Y/N? What about her?”

“She’s in the prefect’s bathroom right now, calling out for you!” Peeves giggled.

Mark furrowed his brows, confused. “Why would she be looking for me there? I’m not a prefect, I can’t even go in there.”

Peeves simply shrugged dramatically, floating upside down. “Peeves is just telling you what Peeves saw! Go, don’t go, who cares! But your pretty girl seemed awfully eager to see you…” he teased before disappearing with a loud pop.

Mark stood there for a second, his heart suddenly hammering. Were you really asking for him in the prefect’s bathroom? That made no sense. But if Peeves was telling the truth… 

“Shit,” Mark muttered, quickly tossing his gloves aside and hurrying out of the locker room.

He knew Peeves wasn’t exactly known for being helpful, but what if this time he was actually being serious? Mark’s gut twisted at the thought of you upset or needing him for something.

When he reached the entrance to the prefect bathroom, he hesitated. He wasn’t supposed to be here— it was strictly for prefects and Quidditch captains— but he couldn't just walk away if you were inside asking for him. With a deep breath, he gripped the handle and pushed… but the door didn’t budge.

Mark cursed under his breath. Of course, there was a password.

He racked his brain, trying to remember if you’d ever mentioned it. But you’d never told him the password. Why would you? He wasn’t a prefect, so he had no business knowing it.

“Think, think, think,” Mark muttered to himself, glancing up and down the corridor to make sure no one was around to catch him. Then he remembered that Jaehyun, the Gryffindor team captain, also had access to the bathroom. Mark recalled how he had once bragged about how nice it was, especially with the giant bath and fancy soaps. He’d also, at some point, mentioned the password in passing. What was it again? Pine something…?

“Pinewood?” Mark tried hesitantly, his wand out.

Nothing.

He groaned and ran a hand through his damp hair, his nerves bubbling up again. Peeves had said you were in there looking for him. What if you were hurt or crying, and he was just standing out here like an idiot?

“Pineapple? No, that’s stupid. Pine scent?” Mark paced in front of the door, feeling his frustration rise. He was about to give up when it finally hit him.

“Pine Fresh,” Mark said, his wand raised with more confidence this time.

A soft click echoed from the door, and Mark felt it give under his touch. His heart thudded in his chest as he pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was warm and steamy, the faint smell of soap and fresh water filling the air. Massive white marble walls surrounded a pool-sized bathtub filled with shimmering water.

“Y/N?” he called out, his voice echoing slightly.

Silence.

Mark’s brows furrowed. His stomach sank. The room looked empty like you’d never been here at all. His gut twisted as he realized Peeves’d probably just duped him. That little poltergeist lived for messing with students, and Mark had fallen for it like an idiot. He was about to turn and leave when—

“Mark?”

His head snapped around, his heart leaping to his throat.

You were there.

You were sitting against one of the walls, your legs curled up to your chest, looking small and anxious. Your face was a little flushed, though Mark wasn’t sure if it was from the steam in the room or something else. The second you locked eyes with him, relief flooded your features.

“Oh my god, you are here,” you breathed. You scrambled to stand, your socks slipping slightly on the wet tiles as you rushed toward him.

“Wait, wha... what’s going on? Are you okay?” Mark asked quickly, meeting you halfway. His hands instinctively went to your arms, his concern spiking when he realized how clammy your skin felt. “Why did Peeves say you were asking for me?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, your teeth catching your bottom lip nervously. Mark watched as your gaze darted around the room like you were trying to muster up the courage to speak.

“I…” You swallowed thickly. “I didn’t actually ask for you. I mean... not out loud. I just- I was in here thinking and I really, really wanted you here. And then Peeves showed up and I think he just… I don’t know, sensed it or something and—”

Mark’s stomach did a little flip. You were thinking about him so intensely that Peeves picked up on it?

“Wait, wait.... slow down,” Mark said gently, his thumbs rubbing circles on your arms. “Why did you want me here? What’s wrong?”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, you almost looked embarrassed. “I… I need to talk to you about something. I didn’t know how to say it and I—”

“Hey, hey,” Mark interrupted softly, his hand tilting your chin to look at him. “It’s okay. I’m here"

You took a shaky breath, and then  “I want to do it.”

Mark blinked. “…Do what?”

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you averted your gaze, suddenly looking incredibly nervous. “Hey, it’s okay. Just tell me,” he urged softly.

You swallowed hard, your eyes flickering back up to his wide, shiny, and filled with something he couldn’t quite place. But it stole the breath straight out of his lungs. Suddenly, you rose onto your tiptoes and kissed him.

It wasn’t like your usual kisses. It was deep and desperate, your fingers curling into the fabric of his Quidditch robes tightly. Mark instantly kissed you back, his hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you there. But just as his head started to spin from how good it felt, you broke away and before he could even ask what was going on, you blurted it out.

“I want to have sex with you, Mark.”

He felt his entire body stiffen as his eyes snapped open, sure he had misheard you or that you were joking, or that Peeves had somehow cursed his ears. But the look on your face was anything but playful.

You were serious.

“W-what?” Mark croaked, his voice cracking embarrassingly.

Your face flushed, but you didn’t back down. You held his wide-eyed gaze, your hands now clenching into fists at your sides. “I… I’ve been thinking about it for a while. And I know we’ve never really talked about it or anything, but I just—” You swallowed hard. “I want you. I really want you.”

Mark’s brain was malfunctioning. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again like a complete idiot. “You mean like… like now?” he stammered, his voice embarrassingly high.

“I mean if you want to,” you rushed out. “We don’t have to. I just… I don’t know. I thought about it and then I couldn’t stop thinking about it and… and I didn’t know how to bring it up so I just—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mark interrupted, his hands shooting up like he was trying to slow down time itself. His pulse was roaring in his ears. “You seriously, like, actually want to…?”

“Have sex with you?” you finished bluntly, your voice small but certain. “Yes.”

Mark swore he nearly passed out.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, running a hand down his face. “Are you…I mean, not that I don’t want to, but are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said quickly, your voice shaking a little. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life, Mark. I just… I think about you all the time. And not just like—” You gestured wildly, your face burning. “not just like normal thinking about you. I mean like thinking about you. Like in ways that make me—”

Mark made a strangled noise in his throat. “Holy fuck.”

You groaned, covering your face in embarrassment. “Oh my god, this is so humiliating”

“No, no! It’s not! It’s hot,” Mark blurted without thinking. “I mean… it’s not embarrassing. Like at all. I’m just... wow.” He paced back a step like he was trying to physically process this information. “You’ve been thinking about it?”

“Yes,” you practically cried. “For months.”

Mark clutched his chest. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“So you… you’d want to?” you asked quietly, watching him carefully.

Mark let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-disbelieving wheeze. “Angel, if I knew you’ve been wanting this for months we would’ve done it a million times by now.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

“Are you kidding me?” Mark choked. His face was practically glowing red now. “I’ve been... I’ve wanted you like that since forever. I just didn’t want to push you or make you uncomfortable or— oh my god.” His hands flew to his hair like he was about to rip it out. “You actually want to?”

“Yes, Mark!” you laughed, still flushed. “I literally just said that.”

“And you mean like right now?”

You hesitated for half a second, then took a deep, shaky breath. “If you want to.”

Mark stared at you. Then his gaze dropped to your lips, and then lower, and then—

“Holy shit.”

And then he was kissing you again. Harder, more desperate, like the floodgates had finally burst open and he couldn’t get enough. His hands found your waist, gripping you tight as he walked you backward until the small of your back hit the marble edge of the enormous bathtub. You gasped into his mouth, and Mark swallowed the sound like he was starved for it.

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this,” he groaned between kisses. His fingers splayed against your waist, digging in like he was trying to anchor himself. “Like, stupid thoughts.... Constantly. Every time we’re alone together I just—”

“Me too,” you panted, tugging his sweater up slightly so you could touch his skin. “Every time you so much as look at me, I just... god, Mark.”

“Fuck,” Mark cursed, his teeth catching your bottom lip as he kissed you even deeper. “You’re gonna kill me.”

And Merlin help him—he was ready to let you.

Mark yanked your robes off in one swift motion, his touch eager but careful, like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. Your vest followed just as quickly, and when his fingers made quick work of the buttons on your shirt, you had to bite your lip to keep from gasping. He was so quick like he knew what he was doing, and for a fleeting, horrible moment, you wondered how many times he’d done this before. 

...Had he done it with Mia?

Your stomach dropped and you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the thought away. Not now. You were not about to ruin this for yourself by thinking about that. Not when Mark was kissing you like his life depended on it, not when his hands were brushing over your skin like he needed to touch you.

And Merlin, his mouth felt so good. Soft and warm, his tongue curling against yours as his hands ghosted over your waist. Your shirt was completely open now, hanging loosely off your shoulders, and you barely had a second to feel self-conscious before Mark was already tugging it off.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips, his voice strained. “You’re so—” His words trailed off into a low exhale as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze devouring every inch of exposed skin.

Heat rushed to your face. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Mark asked, his voice rough.

“Like you’ve never seen a girl in a bra before.” You tried to sound playful, but your heart was pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.

Mark let out a breathless laugh, his hands finding your waist. “I haven’t. Not like this. Not you.”

Oh.

Your stomach flipped violently.

You didn’t have time to dwell on it because you were already tugging at his uniform, desperate to get him equally undressed. His Quidditch robes were a nightmare to get off, heavy and tangled around his feet, and you couldn’t help but giggle when he nearly tripped trying to kick them off.

“Sorry— sorry, fuck,” Mark laughed breathlessly, finally ripping the damn thing off and tossing it aside. His sweater followed, and then you were tugging at his tie, trying to loosen it enough to get it over his head.

“Why is your uniform so complicated?” you grumbled, your hands fumbling.

“Tell me about it,” Mark huffed, yanking the tie off himself and tossing it somewhere behind him. You barely had a second to catch your breath before his hands were on your waist again, pulling you flush against his bare chest.

And oh my god.

Your mouth ran dry. His skin was burning hot, still slightly damp from Quidditch practice, and his lean frame was ridiculous. The toned muscles of his stomach, the sharp lines of his collarbones, the veins running down his forearms. You couldn’t stop staring.

“Holy shit,” you breathed without thinking.

Mark blinked. “…What?”

“You’re, like… really fit,” you admitted, your face heating up.

Mark stared at you for half a second, and then he laughed a nervous, slightly disbelieving sound. “What? No, I’m not—”

“Mark,” you cut him off, your eyes still glued to his chest. “Yes, you are. Do you even realize how many girls at Hogwarts talk about you?”

He looked scandalized. “What?”

You laughed, your hands running over his sides just to feel him. “I’m serious ‘Hot Seeker Mark Lee.’”

Mark actually choked. “Stop— what the fuck”

“You think I’m joking?” you teased, loving how red his face was getting. “Girls love you.”

Mark groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder. “Oh my god, stop. I’m literally trying to hold back right now and you’re—”

“Hold back?” you laughed breathlessly. “Why?”

He lifted his head, and the look on his face was almost pained. His gaze dropped to your chest, to the lacy black bra you hadn’t exactly planned for him to see, and then back to your face. “Because if I don’t, I’m gonna, like—” He swallowed hard. “I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

Heat flared in your stomach.

“Then lose it,” you whispered against his lips.

The second the words left your mouth he crashed his lips back to yours, messier this time. His hands gripped your waist and he pushed you even closer. Your legs instantly parted to make room for him, and he stepped between them, pressing his erection against your core.

“Mark,” you gasped, your brain short-circuiting. “Your pants—”

“Oh, right” Mark breathed, realizing he was still half-dressed. His hands fumbled with his belt, but his fingers were clumsy from how badly he was shaking. “Fuck, can you—?”

“Yeah, I got it,” you said quickly, reaching down to unbuckle it yourself. Your hands brushed against the prominent bulge in his pants, and Mark whimpered. 

You froze. “Did you just...?”

“Don’t,” Mark groaned, his head dropping onto your shoulder again. “I’m barely hanging on right now, please don’t.”

You bit back a laugh. “You’re so cute.”

“Agh, stop laughing” Mark whined, his face burning.

“Sorry, sorry,” you giggled, finally managing to unfasten his belt and push his pants down his legs. They pooled around his ankles, and Mark practically kicked them off in desperation. Now you were both down to your underwear, and the sight of the outline of his arousal straining against his boxers made your mouth water.

And apparently, Mark was having the same reaction because his eyes were glued to you. His chest heaved, his jaw slack, his gaze devouring every inch of bare skin like he couldn’t believe it was in front of him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

Your smiled shyly. “You think so?”

“Do I think so?” He exhaled sharply, his hands skimming over your bare thighs. “Angel, I’ve literally had dreams about you. Fantasies. Every time I see you in those stupid little skirts—” He broke off, his hands gripping your waist tighter and pushing you impossibly closer.

Mark’s gaze snapped to yours, and you swore his pupils somehow dilated even more.

“Can I touch you?” you both blurted at the same time, and then immediately burst into breathless laughter.

“Jesus—” Mark groaned, his head dropping as he laughed. “We’re such losers.”

“Losers who are about to have sex,” you reminded him, grinning.

Mark laughed harder, but his amusement quickly dissolved into something primal when his hands slid up your thighs again, fingertips skimming dangerously high.

“…Please,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

Mark’s hands were shaking slightly as he tugged at your panties. Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt him start to pull them down, and for a moment, you almost closed your legs instinctively, but his gaze was full of a hunger and a kind of desperate focus that made you feel weak in the knees.

He paused for a second, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise, pretty girl,” he whispered, the words low and heavy.

You felt your pulse quicken at his words, the rush of heat between your thighs making everything feel too much, but all you could do was nod. You had no idea what you were doing, but the need to have him all over you was enough to make you forget any uncertainty.

With one last look to make sure you were okay with this, he dropped to his knees and dove between your thighs. You gasped, your legs trembling as his tongue licked a long, clean stripe up your already wet core. It felt too good, too overwhelming, and your hands scrambled to grip at his hair as his mouth moved over you, sucking on your clit with a fervor that made your eyes roll back in your head.

“Oh my God, Mark,” you moaned, your body involuntarily trying to press closer to him. Hehummed against you, his hands caressing your thighs.

His mouth wasn’t slowing, even when your thighs tried to squeeze around him. Every flick of his tongue made you feel like you were floating and falling all at once. You couldn’t help the moans that kept escaping you, the tightness in your stomach that was building up with each second.

Your breathing was erratic, and your body was trembling from the pleasure, all you could think about was how badly you needed him—how badly you needed to feel more of him.

“Mark… please,” you whimpered, but you didn’t need to say anything more. He knew exactly what you wanted.

His hands gripped your thighs tighter as his tongue continued its delicious work. You were already so close, your body coiling tighter and tighter with each second.

The pleasure built slowly at first, a steady, insistent warmth curling in the pit of your stomach. It coiled tighter and tighter with every flick of Mark’s tongue, every soft hum that vibrated against you. Your fingers clutched at his hair, unsure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer.

It was too much, too intense, and yet you couldn’t stop chasing it. The sensation crackled through you like static, lighting up every nerve in your body, making your breaths come in short, desperate gasps.

Then—something inside you snapped.

Your body tensed, your legs trembling as a strangled moan tore from your lips. You had never felt anything like this before—like you were shattering and unraveling all at once, floating somewhere between pleasure and something dangerously close to madness.

Mark didn’t stop. He kept his mouth on you and his hands firm on your thighs while you trembled through the aftershocks. Your body twitched, hypersensitive. He only pulled back when you gasped out his name in a broken plea. His lips were glistening, his eyes blown wide with awe and the sight was almost sinful.

You pulled him to you, crashing your lips against his, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groaned into your mouth, his hands kneading the flesh of your ass, pulling you impossibly closer. It wasn’t until you felt him—hot, heavy, bare against you—that you realized at some point his boxers had come off too.

The realization made your breath hitch, and when you pulled back slightly to look down, your stomach clenched.

Oh.

You’d never seen him naked like this before. You’d imagined it, sure, but now that he was here completely bare in front of you, flushed from head to toe, his cock hard and pressing against your slick folds; you felt a different kind of heat spread through you. He was beautiful. And big. Your throat went dry, your fingers twitching against his shoulders.

Mark must have noticed your sudden hesitation because he stilled, his forehead pressing against yours, his breath ragged. “You okay?” he murmured, his voice rough but gentle.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. His pupils were blown, his lips swollen, but there was something tender in the way he was looking at you—patient, waiting.

“I just…” You exhaled a shaky breath, fingers drifting tentatively down his torso, feeling the hard planes of his stomach. “You’re… um.” You bit your lip, heat flooding your cheeks.

Mark let out a breathless laugh, his hands smoothing over your waist. “Yeah?” His lips brushed the corner of your mouth, teasing. “What about me?”

You swallowed again, your eyes flickering back down. “You’re just… bigger than I thought.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and as soon as you realized what you’d said, you squeezed your eyes shut in mortification.

Mark choked out a laugh, his head dropping against your shoulder. “Jesus, Y/N,” he groaned, his hands flexing on your hips. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Ugh... sorry” You buried your face in his neck, burning from the inside out, but you couldn’t stop yourself from giggling.

Mark pulled back slightly, tipping your chin up so you’d look at him again. His expression had softened, though his eyes still burned with desire. “You’re sure you still want this?” he asked, thumb brushing your cheek.

You took a deep breath, letting yourself take in the sight of him again—his flushed skin, the way he was holding himself back, the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

You nodded, heart pounding. “I want you, Mark.”

That was all it took.

Mark groaned, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His hands guided your hips, and you felt him rut against you, his cock sliding against your slick folds. The contact alone made you gasp into his mouth, your fingers gripping his shoulders.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned, his voice breaking as he fought to keep himself together. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, pulling a whimper from you, and he swallowed it like he was starving for more of you.

Your head was spinning and your body was still sensitive from your first orgasm, but the ache for all of him only grew more unbearable.

“Please, Mark… I need you,” you begged, your fingers gripping his biceps.

Mark squeezed his eyes shut trying to control himself, keeping in mind that you’d never done this before and he needed to be careful. But the way you were pleading for him made it nearly impossible.

“Shit—okay, okay, angel,” he promised, his voice cracking under the weight of his need. His hand slid between you, gripping himself at the base, and you gasped when you felt the hot, blunt tip press right against your entrance.

His breath caught. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You nodded quickly, your chest heaving. “I will… just—please—”

And then he pushed in, slowly, carefully, like he was afraid you might break. The stretch burned, a sharp sting that made your breath hitch and your nails dig into his shoulders, but you didn’t ask him to stop. Mark’s face contorted, his brows furrowed like he was in pain just trying to hold himself back.

“Fuck…you’re so tight,” he gasped, his head dropping to your shoulder as he pushed in a little more. Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, and his whole body shuddered. “God, Y/N—”

“You’re so big, Mark,” you whimpered, your thighs shaking as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming stretch.

“Angel, you’re doing so good,” Mark gritted out, his voice strained as he stilled inside you, trying to give you time to adjust. His fingers were digging into your waist like he was using all his strength to not start pounding into you. “Just tell me when, okay? I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, your body slowly accommodating him. The sting soon melted into a dull ache, and the pleasure started creeping in. You rolled your hips experimentally, and the friction made you both groan. 

“I’m okay,” you breathed, your voice shaky but sure. “You can move.”

Mark let out the most wrecked sound you’d ever heard and then he did. He pulled out just a little before sinking back in, the drag of his thick length against your walls making you throw your head back against the tile. 

“Holy fuck,” Mark rasped, his grip on your ass tightening as he thrust into you again, a little deeper this time. “You feel so…so fucking good” 

The pace he started was slow but there was no mistaking the sheer desperation in his touch. And you were losing your mind. Every stroke made you gasp, the head of his cock brushing places you didn’t even know could feel that good, and the tension in your core was already building again. 

“Mark, faster...please,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck. The ache had turned into pure bliss now, and you needed more of him. 

“Fuck…yeah, okay—” Mark practically growled, and his pace quickened, his thrusts becoming rougher. His hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit.

Your body jerked in reaction, your walls clenching down around him so tight it made his hips stutter. 

“Shit… do that again, baby. Please—” Mark begged, his voice cracking as he pounded into you harder. The sound of skin slapping filled the steamy bathroom, mixed with the high-pitched whines leaving your throat and the desperate grunts coming from Mark.

Your nails raked down his back and he hissed. “Mark… I’m—oh my god—I’m gonna—”

“Cum for me, angel,” Mark growled, his thumb rubbing harsh circles on your clit, his thrusts losing rhythm. “Please—fuck—I need to feel you cum on my cock.”

And that was it. Your body tensed as the coil in your stomach snapped again. You sobbed his name, your walls clenching down so hard around him it made his hips falter. Mark cursed loudly, his thrusts growing erratic before he finally stilled inside you, his whole body shaking as his own orgasm ripped through him. 

“Fuckfuckfuck—” he gasped, his face buried in your neck as he came hard, his fingers bruising your hips as he emptied himself inside you. 

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the castle. Mark stayed inside you, his arms still trembling as he held you against him. 

“You okay?” he finally rasped, his voice hoarse and breathless. 

You managed a soft, blissed-out laugh. “I think… that was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Mark pulled back just enough to look at you, his flushed face breaking into a dazed grin. “Yeah? That good?

You leaned up and kissed him softly, smiling into his lips. “I don’t think I can get enough.” 

And Mark laughed, his nose nudging yours as he kissed you again. “Fuck… me neither.”

The train wheezed as it prepared to depart, and you and Mark stumbled onto the platform, both breathless and disheveled from sprinting to catch it in time.

Your hand was still clutching Mark’s as you tried to straighten out your clothes. Your skirt was askew, your shirt half tucked in, and your hair a mess from the rushed… activities prior. Mark didn’t look any better, his tie crooked, his shirt rumpled, and his hair sticking up in odd directions.

“What were you two freaks doing?” Haechan called through the open window as you approached. Karina was beside him, smirking like she already knew the answer.

“Um…” you fumbled, glancing at Mark for backup. “I forgot my… uh… thing, and Mark was helping me find it,” you stammered, tugging at the hem of your skirt in a poor attempt to look composed.

Haechan scoffed. “Right. And I’m the bloody Minister of Magic.”

“Right,” Karina snorted, her eyes narrowing with amusement. “So you’re telling me you two weren’t shagging in the empty dorms while everyone was on the train?”

“What?” Mark drawled, trying to sound appalled but his voice cracked halfway through. “That’s… ridiculous. Do you really think we’re capable of such.. depravity?” 

You bit your bottom lip to keep from laughing, but the little grin trying to peek through made it impossible to sell your innocence.

“Mate, your shirt is literally on backwards,” Haechan deadpanned, pointing at Mark’s disastrous state. “Just get on the train, you bloody nymphos.”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Mark, always quick with his mouth, gestured wildly. “This is a gross violation of our characters, honestly.”

“Yeah, yeah, get in before we leave you,” Karina waved dismissively, biting back a laugh of her own. “And fix your clothes, lover boy.”

Mark squeezed your hand, grinning like an idiot as he led you onto the train. The two of you practically collapsed into the first empty compartment you found, still a little breathless, and when you finally caught your reflection in the window, you burst out laughing.

“God, we look a mess,” you giggled, trying to smooth down your hair.

Mark plopped down next to you, his head falling back against the seat.

“Worth it though,” he mumbled, a small smile playing on his lips.

He turned his head to look at you, his soft brown eyes melting with affection as he took in your flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and hair still a mess from his fingers. His chest tightened with the overwhelming urge to kiss you again, but he just smiled instead. “So worth it.”

The train began to move, and you turned your head toward the window. The castle was still visible in the distance, and your heart clenched at the sight of it shrinking away. 

You felt Mark watching you, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the back of your hand. “You okay?” he asked softly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded. “Yeah. It’s just… hard, you know?”

Mark’s gaze flicked to the window, watching the last of the castle towers disappear from view. “Yeah… it really is.”

For a moment, you let yourself mourn it— the end of an era, the end of childhood, the end of the place that had been your entire world. But then you felt Mark squeeze your hand, and when you turned to look at him, he was already smiling softly at you.

“But hey,” he said, nudging you gently. “It’s not really the end, we’ve got plans, remember? Summer at mine, then we’ll find our own place. Maybe a flat in London, or  I don’t know… wherever you wanna go. We’ve got forever now, Y/N.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you smiled through the sting in your eyes. “Forever?” you repeated softly.

“Forever,” Mark promised, lifting your intertwined hands to press a lingering kiss to your knuckles. “I mean, if you’ll have me, obviously.”

You scoffed, giving him a playful shove. “Mark Lee, we literally defiled the Gryffindor dorms fifteen minutes ago. I think you’re stuck with me now.”

Mark let out a loud laugh, his head tipping back, and it was like the heavy weight in your chest finally lifted. Because yes, you were leaving Hogwarts, and yes, things would never be the same again but you had Mark now. You had forever. And that made it all okay.

“Goodbye, Hogwarts,” you whispered under your breath. “Thank you for everything.”

And just like that, the castle disappeared from sight.

asjkjdh i loved writing this so much :(((( i could literally make a whole hogwarts series

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - Part 2

In which you spend the weekend in Miami as Max's personal guest.

Warnings: smut at the end ;) Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 5k words (whoops) plus social media posts

Part 1 Master List

(a/n: holy shit you guys absoltely blew up part one (its sitting at 1.7k notes last time i checked in under 3 days??? like WHAT???) so here's the much requested part 2. LMK if you want a part 3! Also going to try something different with the tag list tonight, so bare with me as I figure this out!! xoxo)

You play with the hem of the cornflower blue sundress, nerves ratcheting up another notch when the car pulls into the race track. After you had wrapped up filming the podcast two weeks ago, Max had taken you out to one of his favorite London restaurants where you had spent the next nearly five hours talking about everything and nothing all at once. The only reason you had left was that the staff of the restaurant had started cleaning up around you, literally sweeping up under your feet and turning off the music as you had lingered over the last bits of your dessert together. 

The next day, Max had needed to go back to Milton Keynes to spend some time in the sim ahead of Miami weekend, unable to stay in London with you despite every bone in his body screaming that he didn’t want to leave you. It was weird, almost scary, to him how much space you took up in his thoughts so quickly. He didn’t usually get attached to anyone, much preferring to remain aloof and independent but in the two weeks that passed since he had seen you, he was unable (or unwilling, depending on who you asked, honestly) to think of anything else. The way you laughed, the way you smiled, the way you seemed to hang on every word that came out of his mouth simply mesmerized him. 

So now, here you were, two weeks later, moments away from seeing him again. Because while Max was down bad and trying not to blow this, you were also completely smitten with the Dutch driver. You had spent hours editing the first and second part of his episode yourself, something you hadn’t done in years, because you insisted you wanted to keep the integrity of the interview under your total control. Your video editor had seen the way you spoke about Max and just nodded, knowing that there had been something that sparked between you and him and that there would be no arguing about it with you. 

Max is in the garage when he gets the text from you that you’re in the parking lot waiting for him. As luck would have it, he’s just finishing up with some engineering meetings so he’s got some free time. He replies instantly, telling you to wait in the car for him and he’ll be right there. 

“I’m running out for a bit, GP. I’ll be back before FP1.” 

“I mean, you’d better be. Who else is going to get in that car? Horner?” 

Max chuckles, clapping his racing engineer on the back before slipping out the back of the garage. 

Max’s heart stalls when he sees the car you're in, nerves suddenly twisting in his gut. You two had been texting back and forth constantly since he left London the morning after you met. Evenings had been spent on FaceTime together when you could manage, but with your busy schedules it hadn’t been enough for Max. The relief he felt knowing you were less than 100 feet away had him swaying on his feet a bit. 

You knew Max was coming to meet you at the car but it had been a long drive from the airport, so while you waited you decided to stretch your legs. Max watches helplessly from a distance as the rear door on the SUV swings open, your bare legs making his mouth go dry when you hop out out of the car. 

It’s almost as if you sense his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze caressing your bare skin like the touch of a well known lover. It takes you a moment to recover when your eyes lock with his, the look on his face practically a billboard for how excited he is to see you. A wide grin spreads across your face when he starts towards you, heart tumbling down through your toes as he jogs your way. 

“Hi.” He breathes, stopping just short of gathering you up in his arms like he truly wants to. Despite how close you’ve grown over the last two weeks, Max reminds himself that it truly only has been two weeks and he doesn’t want to come on too strong. 

You look up at him, eyes sparkling with delight at finally being in his presence again. “Hey you.” You croon, nearly unable to stop yourself from throwing yourself into his arms. 

This kind of behavior was as out of character for you as it was for Max. You’d been burned by men in your life that were supposed to be there for you, love you, and protect you and so those walls had been put in place high and strong for years now . Something about Max made you question those defenses, wondering if he was going to be the one to stick around long enough to tear them down. While you tried to remain calm, objective, and aloof it was utterly impossible to act that way when you were around him. 

“How was your flight?” Max stuffs his hands in the pockets of his shorts, nerves turning the tips of his ears pink. He wants you in his arms so badly but didn’t want to push you away, didn’t want you thinking he had only brought you out to Miami this weekend for one thing. Because he hadn’t. He had simply wanted you by his side. 

“Well I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to fly commercial ever again, so I’ll be sending you the bill for all my private flights from now on.” You wink.

“You can use my jet whenever you want, schatje.” 

Your stomach does the same involuntary flip it does whenever he calls you that. At first it had been timid, slipped in at the end of a sentence almost like it was an afterthought or unconscious desire to claim you but as time goes on, Max settles into calling you either that or liefje more often than not. 

“Don’t tempt me.” You grin up at him, knowing that he fully means what he says. He’d absolutely let you use his jet whenever you wanted, all you had to do was ask. 

“So, your timing is really good.” Max nearly reaches for your hand but chickens out at the last minute, settling for just walking you back towards the car that sits idling behind you. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, I actually have an hour and a half break before I have to be back for the first practice session so I thought I could take you over to the hotel, get you settled in. I booked you your own room, of course and thought you’d maybe like to take a shower or a nap during the first session and then I could have an intern get you so you can watch the sprint quali later this afternoon.” 

Your heart warms at the earnest look on Max’s face. The fact that he’s gone ahead and thought all of this through for you, clearly wanting to make sure you’re comfortable and taken care of all while you’re sure he’s overwhelmed with work, softens those well built walls arond your heart a bit more. 

“A shower and a nap does sound good.” 

Max smiles down at you, those blue eyes of his taking in every inch of your face like he’s trying to commit it to memory. “Good. Lets get you to the hotel then.” 

“Lead the way, Maxie.”  

yourpersonalinsta posted a story

story replies: user9029 girl drop the diet and workout routine plsss yourdad baby girl, i love you but put some clothes on >>>yourpersonalinsta love you too dad! maxverstappen1 are those my socks??? >>>yourpersonalinsta my feet got cold while you were gone playing with race cars. >>>maxverstappen1 i was literally working! and how'd you get into my room??? >>>yourpersonalinsta a lady never reveals her secrets, maxie ❤️ >>>maxverstappen1 i was right, you are trouble >>>yourpersonalinsta i prefer the phrase 'joy to be around'. pls hurry though back. i'm hungry and i may die of starvation in the next twenty minutes if you don't feed me. >>>maxverstappen1 do your fans know you're this dramatic??? >>>yourpersonalinsta why do you think they're my fans?

The rest of Friday blurs together in a watercolor wash of heat, and people, and sounds that you’re utterly exhausted by the time you tumble into your bed late at night.

Alone, thank you very much.

The wine that you had drank at dinner with Max and a few other drivers has heat pooling low in your belly as you watched Max watch you all night. You had wanted to invite him back to your room, but something kept those words from slipping out all night and Max had been the picture of respectable, simply dropping a kiss on your forehead before wishing you goodnight at your hotel room. 

Saturday’s sprint race is just as busy and loud as qualifying had been and by the time it’s over, you’re exhausted, hot, and sweaty. You’re over the moon when Max pulls off the win in the sprint, throwing your arms around his damp neck the moment you see him after his media duties are completed and he finds you waiting for him in front of Red Bull's hopsitality. 

“That was amazing Max. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this much fun. You make it all look so easy.” You gush.  

“It looks like you’re my lucky charm now, schatje. Won’t be able to win without you.” 

You smile, cheeks aching a bit at how much you’ve been doing that this weekend. You’ve fit in so well with everyone it’s almost spooky, like your presence was expected and welcomed in the garage, slotting into Max’s world with uncanny ease. 

As you follow Max back to his driver’s room that’s tucked away in the back of hospitality, his hand reaches for yours almost unconsciously. When his fingers twine with yours, the butterflies that have taken up permanent residence in your stomach this week take flight yet again. If this is how you react when he reaches for you, you can’t imagine how you’re going to handle when he finally kisses you properly. 

The hallway is quiet and long, with Max’s room at the end of the corridor. You’re only about half way there when a sudden wave of nausea washes over you, stopping you in your tracks. “Woah.” You whisper, free arm bracing against the wall for support. 

Max turns to you in an instant, his handsome features a mask of concern. “You okay?” 

You blink a few times, trying hard to fight the impending fainting spell you can feel yourself hurtling towards. “I..ummm…I think so?” 

Max all but picks you up in his arms, ushering you the short distance that separates you from his drivers room. “Lets get you sitting down. Have you eaten today?” 

A blush creeps up your cheeks. “Not since breakfast.” 

Max frowns, “That was hours ago, liefje.” 

The room is small with just enough room for a couch, massage table, and closet but it does the job, serving as a quiet respite from the mayhem of the paddock. Max gently leads you over to the navy blue couch. “Sit. I’m going to get you some water and food. The heat in Florida is no joke.” 

You nod, already feeling a little better now that you’re sitting down. Max is gone for several minutes but comes back absolutely laden down with so much food, you can’t help but laugh. “Max, I don’t know who you think I am but I am not a 300 pound body builder.” You say though your giggles. 

Max looks a little embarrassed but just tuts at you, placing the plates (of which there are three) down on the table in front of you. “I didn’t know what you liked. You had fish at dinner last night, much to Lando’s dismay, but they’re cooking salmon tomorrow, even though I asked for some today for you.” 

The way your chest squeezes at his ramblings has nothing to do with the headache that’s forming between your eyes and everything to do with the man sitting next to you practically spoon-feeding you a roasted beet and goat cheese salad. You obediently open your mouth when he lifts the fork to your lips, only rolling your eyes a bit at his fussing. “I am an adult, Verstappen. I can feed myself.” You grumble between bites. 

“I know but just humor me.” 

You roll your eyes again but open your mouth, the beet and goat cheese salad actually tasting really good. 

“Good girl.” He coos, setting your thighs squeezing together on their own accord. 

Your eyes flicker up to his at the praise and something passes between you two, a little spark of heat igniting there in the small room. 

“I’m sorry.” You whisper after a few more bites, tension hanging thick between you as you're tucked up together on the small couch. 

“Don’t be.” He insists, pushing a bottle of icy cold water into your hands. “I’m just glad I was here to take care of you.” 

“Me too.” You breathe, acutely aware to how close his body is to yours.

The urge to kiss you overwhelms Max, and it's not the first time this weekend this has happened. He’s been fighting the ever strengthening desire to just sweep you up and haul you back to his hotel room since you first stepped out of the Range Rover yesterday afternoon. Truthfully, he’d been wondering what you taste like ever since he’d walked into that recording studio in London.

He couldn’t explain how or why but your sudden appearance in his life seemed like some cosmic shift under his feet, his entire existence adjusting to this new normal of being in your orbit. He’d spent the last two weeks listening to all five years of your podcasts, even finding some old work you’d done in college and with each episode he found himself falling further and further into a rabbit hole that he wasn’t sure he’d ever want to climb out of.

Max falls silent then and so do you, a comfortable quiet settling over the room. The spark that had ignited so innocently just minutes before begins to smolder into something that has the energy between you two shifting. Like the entire reason for you being here this weekend had led up to this very moment. 

You break the spell first, leaning in just a fraction closer to Max like he's is the magnet you’re elementally obligated to be attracted to. But Max is equally compelled in his desire to finally find out what you taste like so he closes the gap between your lips and his, mouth grazing yours with the slightest pressure. It starts out as a timid thing, unsure of if it should exist in such a charged atmosphere. Once it gains its footing though, the kiss lengthens and takes on a life of its own. 

You sigh into Max’s mouth like it’s a relief to finally have him kissing you. Max lifts the tips of his fingers to your chin so he can tilt your head upwards, allowing him to deepen the kiss to a more heated pace. Your fingers grip at his Red Bull polo, desperate for something to hold on to while the taste of Max races through your veins. 

Something akin to a purr rumbles in the back of your throat when Max’s hands sift through your hair and it grows a little hotter when he tugs on the ends, forcing your head back so the slender column of your neck is fully exposed to him. You try not to cry when his lips leave yours, unhappy with how you can’t taste him fully anymore, but that disappointment quickly evaporates when he trails open mouthed kisses towards the enticing hollow of your throat. 

“I’ve been wondering what you taste like since the moment I laid eyes on you.” Max murmurs against your heated skin. 

Your head spins at his words. So it hadn’t just been you that had felt the spark that first day. “Max.” His name is a reverent prayer on your lips, urging him to never stop touching you. 

Max thinks he could go the rest of his life without winning another race and he’d still die happy because he’d finally kissed you. “You drive me mad, liefje. I am utterly consumed by you and I have no idea how you slipped this far under my skin so quickly.” 

The words send shivers skittering down your spine and you find yourself leaning into his touch even more, heart hammering wildly against your ribcage. 

A sharp and sudden knock sends you leaping out of Max’s arms so quickly, you nearly fall to the floor. “Holy fuck.” You whisper, hand flying to your lips like they’ve been burned. 

“Christ.” Max breathes, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah?” He calls, voice a strangled mess. 

“Uh…” The hesitation in the person’s voice told you that they knew they had interrupted something. “Max, Christian and GP wanted to go over a few more things before quali.” 

Max touches his forehead to yours, letting loose a breath to steady himself before he can answer. “I’ll be there in five.” He grumbles and you can hear the shuffle of feet retreating moments later. 

“You are going to ruin me, schatje.” Max murmurs, even though he has a feeling he was already ruined. 

You chuckle, rubbing your fingers over your swollen lips. You had never had a first kiss like that, ever. The way your body simply melted around Max like warm butter had your center turning molten. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” You joke.

Max just shakes his head and chuckles before his face pulls serious again. 

“How are you feeling? Do you want to stay here and rest or come with me to the garage? I could have an intern take you back to the hotel?” Max lifts his hand so it frames your face, concern flickering across his features. Your chest constricts in the most delicious way when he pulls your hands into his lap. 

“I’m good. I think your kisses may have healing properties actually.” You flirt, gazing at Max from under long lashes. “If I’m not too in the way, I’d like to stay with you.” 

It crosses your mind then, a quick rabbit of a thought, darting across your consciousness that you’ve been so independent for so long, so bent on not relying on anyone for security or safety, only to have the entire rug of your resistantance ripped out from under you. It’s a gooey and warm feeling that you hope isn’t just a flash in the pan, although your gut tells you Max is the real deal. 

You hadn’t given yourself this freely to anyone in so long, panic grips at your throat for a moment, the desperate need to flee suddenly choking you. Just when the panic of what’s transpiring here threatens to pull you under, Max’s cool blue eyes yank you back to him where you belong. 

“I think I’m going to like having you by my side.” His breath fans out over your cheeks, pulling you further out of your tumble.

Max stands, sensing something shifting deep within you then. He saw something pass behind your eyes just then, the delicate shiver of hesitation. He’d been expecting it. No one who was as strong as you were got that way without having a story to tell. He knew that and had known this moment would come. What he hadn’t expected was to watch you pull yourself back from that precipice of panic. It had been a stunning thing to watch, even if the act was nothing more than a fleeting moment. But the way he watched you catch yourself spinning and knit yourself back together without so much as a whisper of a breath made him want to shield you from whatever had caused you the heartache to begin with. 

He holds his hand out to you, which you gladly take, and leads you towards the door while knotting his fingers up with yours. The nerves in your stomach settle with his touch and it sort of scares you, how well this man can read you so soon. This had been the last thing you had ever thought would happen when the man you were falling for walked into your life just 2 weeks ago. 

yourpersonalinsta posted

198,392 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbull racing, and others yourpersonalinsta omg miami if this is how you introduce yourself to a girl, i can't wait to see how the first date goes! super proud of @/maxverstappen1 for winning the spring race today. next up: quali. user992 girl is auditioning to be the next WAG in the paddock >>>user020 seriously thirsting for nothing but clout this weekend maxverstappen1 told you you'd bring me extra luck this weekend >>>yourpersonalinsta ❤️ >>>user0093 oh this is interesting user9392 the fact that she was such a genuine fan of the sport before and now she's AT her first race as Max's guest all because of her podcast. i just... >>>user223 now i'm crying, thanks. redbullracing so fun having you in the garage today! excited for sunday! >>>yourpersonalinsta thank you for having me!

There was just something so enticingly attractive about watching Max race on Sunday that had you feeling embarrassingly needy for him by the time he got you back to his hotel room that night. As you had watched him on the podium that afternoon, you just knew how messy you’d be below him later that night.

“I think your performance this weekend has earned you a reward.” Your rasp, voice a husky whisper in his ear as you glue yourself to him in the elevator that evening.

Max cocks an eyebrow at you while his fingers grip at your hips. “Oh yeah? And what would that be, lifeje?”

“Why don’t you take me back to your room and let me show you.” You lick at his neck, savoring the taste of sweat and champagne that clings to him despite his shower at the track earlier.

Max’s groan is enough of an answer and when the elevator slows, signaling your arrival at his floor, you follow him out into the quiet hallway, giggling when he playfully grabs a handful of your ass.

You had tried to convince yourself the entire drive back to the hotel that this wasn’t how the night was going to end. It was too soon, you thought. This was the first weekend you had spent any time with him and you didn’t want Max to get the wrong idea about you. And then he had spent the entire drive back to the hotel with one hand inching higher and higher up on your bare thigh. His thick fingers traced random patterns on your tanned skin, until the very tips had slipped just under the hem of your dress and all thoughts had eddied right out of your head.

Max, meanwhile, had been thinking of this moment since the second he had climbed out of the car. He didn't want to push you but the need to learn how you sounded when he was buried deep inside you was was out of control.

The moment the door snicks closed behind you, you're shoving Max against the wall, utterly desperate to get your mouth on him. Sinking to your knees in front of him, hands trailing down his torso. Your fingers drag over the skin just above the waistband of his jeans, long nails sending a shudder down Max's spine.

"Let me taste you, Max." You moan, reaching for the buckle of his belt.

"Please." He begs as he sinks his hands deep into your hair.

You have to stifle a gasp when you free his thick cock from his boxers, pushing the soft cotton down to his ankles along with his jeans. He's already desperatly hard, dick all red and angry with arousal, practically begging you to take it in your mouth.

Max can hardly believe the sight before him. You down on your knees for him, lips mere millimeters from his raging hard-on, was probably the prettiest sight he'd seen in a long time. When you first wrap your lips around the tip, tongue darting out to taste the salty precum that he's already leaking, it takes every ounce of control Max has to not sink deep down your throat.

"Holy fuck, baby." He shudders, fingers gripping your hair even tighter. Max would be lying if he said he hadn't played out this exact scenario several times over the past two weeks, only it had been his own hand fisting his cock instead of your lips.

All you do is hum in response, the vibration of your voice sending sharp new shivers bolting down Max's spine. One hand snakes up his toned thighs, enjoying the thick muscles bunching and flexing as you take him deeper down your throat. Your other hand, however, trails down your own thighs, dipping below the hem of your dress to find your own already ruined panties wet with the arousal Max has already drawn from you.

"You like touching yourslef while you suck me off, pretty girl?" Max's voice is all gravel as his hips snap towards you, forcing you to take him even deeper into your mouth.

You look up at him, eyes watering, thick lashes matted with tears and smile the best you can with your lips wrapped around him. You continue your work, head bobbing up and down on his length, enjoying the way his dick is slick with your saliva, a bit of it dripping down your chin as you take him even deeper. You swear you could spend the rest of the night down on your knees with how good Max feels and tastes in your mouth, your own fingers buried deep inside you. The release you've been wanting all week starts to build and Max begins to feel it too.

Max knows he's not going to last much longer and he doesn't want to come quite yet. Gently he pulls you off, chuckling at the mewl of protest that slips past your lips when he pushes you off of him.

"Max." You whine, wanting nothing more than to swallow his release down your throat.

"Get on the bed, lifeje." He orders.

You scramble to your feet, disappointment at not making him come with your mouth quickly replaced with the anticipation of what you know is coming next. You've tried so hard to resist the fact that you've wanted this since the moment you saw him Friday afternoon but as you lay down on the bed and watch Max stalk towards you like a lion after his prey, all reservations evaporate into thin air. You know deep within your chest that this is what's supposed to happen right now.

"Dress off." He commands and the thrill of being ordered around flashes through you.

You follow his directions before laying back on the pillow, watching as Max reaches behind him back to strip off the sweaty team kit you hadn't bothered taking off before sucking his dick. A sudden wave of vulnerability sweeps over you as Max stands at the foot of the bed, eyes raking over your bare frame.

"You are the most beautiful creature I've ever laid eyes on." Max murmurs, sensing your hesitation at being so vulnerable in front of him. He doesn't want you to be nervous, needing you to know how utterly obsessed he is with you. It staggers him when he thinks about how deeply you've dug yourself under his skin in such a short time. You've barely spent longer than a few days together and he's already so deeply lost in you.

"Do something, Maxie." You beg, squirming under his heated stare.

His weight is heavy and delicious when he finally covers your body with his, notching his cock just outside your dripping core. Max reaches down, letting out a heated moan when he feels how wet you are for him. "You are soaked for me, gorgeous girl. God, how did I get so lucky? Have you been like this all fucking day, schatje?"

"Been desperate for you all fucking day, Max." You breath, your hips lifting up off the bed in a needy search for the friction you crave.

"Lets see if we can get you some relief, yeah baby?"

When Max sinks into you for the first time, you can't help the desperately needy whine that escapes from your mouth. His name is a prayer on your lips, every nerve ending in your body sparking to life. The stretch of his cock burns in the most delicious way. "So full." You cry as Max's hips meet yours when he slides into you completely.

Max doesn't quite understand how you're so blissfully tight and wet and warm all at the same time but he thinks it's the best feeling he's ever experienced. His head drops to the crook of your neck as he buries himself in you to the hilt, the base of his dick grinding against your clit. "Fuck, you're to tight around me baby. How do you feel this fucking good?"

You and Max fall into a rhythm, the only sound in the room are the quieted sighs slipping their way from your lips before Max can steal them from your throat. The friction is amazing and before he can quell it, Max feel the lick of fire coiling at the base of his spine, telltale sign that he's about to spill. “Won’t last much longer.” He pants, lips falling to suck at the skin at your neck. 

Max struggles to keep the pace up, diving into you with long, slow strokes that fill you up and empty you out over and over and over. Sweat forms on his brow that was tipped down in concentration and you have to resist the urge to lick it off. Every stroke deep into your pussy fills you up so fully it's almost too much. Too much sensation, too much heat, too much fullness. You can’t help the whines that slip from your lips but Max only encourages them by chanting your name over and over. 

“I know, baby. I know.” He coos in your ear as your muscles tense beneath him. “You’re doing so good for me, taking it all so good.” 

The praise is almost too much. “Don’t stop.” You beg when his fingers dip down between you to find your clit as he continues to stroke into you. Stars erupt on the back of your eyelids. “Holy fuck. Max.” You manage to bite out.

“Come for me. I want to feel you come all over my dick, please baby.” Blinding need consumes Max's entire existence, his full attention focused on the way you clench around him over and over.  

That’s all it takes. The command sends you hurtling over the edge, right into a spine tingling orgasm. Your body goes rigid for a moment under Max's weight but as quick as it starts, a boneless languid feeling sweeps through you as the endorphins flood your system. Your own climax has pushed Max over he edge and he comes hard, groaning in your ear as he rasps your name. 

Max collapses on top of you and you relish the heavy weight of his body on yours. Much too soon, he rolls off and you whimper, instantly feeling empty without him inside you. Max gathers you up in his arms though, the heat of his body quickly warming your chilled skin. Your hand settles on his chest, right over his heart, which is still racing.

“Jesus Christ, shactje.” Max finally breaks the silence, giving my hip a squeeze as he nuzzles into my hair. “You really are going to ruin me.”

maxverstappen1 posted:

838,291 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, yourdad and others maxverstappen1: another great weekend with a good haul of points! Thank you Miami, you were good to us. On to the next! user2992 uh, max? care to explain that second photo >>>user92928 is that who I think it is??? yourpersonalinsta had so much fun with you this weekend! can't wait for the next one >>>maxverstappen1 ❤️ >>>user0221 EXCUSE ME. user0022 i ran into them late Sunday night at the hotel and let me tell you...there's nothing PR about their chemistry together. >>>user9288 i fucking KNEW it user05543 anyone else see @/yourpersonalinsta's dad in the likes!?

yourpersonalinsta posted

231,209 likes liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, charlesleclerc and others yourpersonalinsta after this weekend, i think i can consider myself officially a red bull girlie. blissfully excited i got to see a MV1 podium AND sprint win! thank you for letting me into your world @/maxverstappen1. can't wait til next time ❤️ maxverstappen1 gonna need you at every race now that you're my lucky charm. user9282 'thank you for letting me into your world' YOU EXPECT ME TO ACT NORMAL AFTER THAT CAPTION MA'AM??? >>>user7623 kicking my feet and giggling and i'm not even @/yourpersonalinsta omg redbullracing you're welcome in the garage any time!! >>>user9935 even admin has a crush! >>>maxverstappen1 @/user9935 i mean, how can you not??? >>>user9935 omg hi king. glad you know how amazing she is! don't hurt our girl, k??? >>>maxverstappen1 i would never ☺️ (liked by yourpersonalinsta)

maxverstappen1 private stories

story replies: yourpersonalinsta god i look good in navy >>>maxverstappen1 no more ferrari red for you, sweet girl >>>yourpersonalinsta miss you already 😢 >>>maxverstappen1 i know. i'll see you soon, promise >>>yourpersonalinsta ❤️ danielricciardo excuse me but WHAT THE FUCK >>>maxverstappen1 : 🤭 charlesleclerc oh she's got you using the lip biting emoji. it's over, pack it up boys. MV1 is officially off the market. >>>maxverstappen1 accurate though

@shelbyteller @martygraciesversion381 @anilovessadbooks @formulaal @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99

[i9chicago]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Sweet loving you.

pairing — spencer reid x professor! fem! reader.

genre — smut (18+ so minors dni)

summary — you think you despise dr. spencer reid with all your bones, you think he's too good and too accomplished at what he does, and you think he despises you too. till you discover his particular liking for you that night when he saw you in a red dress.

word count — 9k (i'm so sorry)

warnings — oral (f receiving) fingering, soft dom! spencer cuz it's rotting my brain cells. masturbation. semi-public sex. lots of kissing. reader is a neuroscience professor.

a/n — this is my first fic here so be nice or i'll cry. english is not my first language so forgive me for any grammar mistakes. like for part 2 (please) ehh, i hate the ending. that's it. hope at least you enjoy it! <3

Red was never a color linked to joy. For some, it was the antithesis of calm—an unruly hue brimming with everything those fond of gentler tones tended to avoid: anger, desire, unbridled passion. A color that rose along a scale of relentless intensity, evoking not warmth, but power.

That’s why you chose to wear a crimson dress fitted neatly across your back, for the event. It didn’t need to be overly elegant or striking— just enough to keep you from feeling underdressed. Just enough to give you the confidence to stand tall and lift your chin in a room full of professors and potential future colleagues, the ones you'd meet again in hallways and over hurried lunches. You loved teaching. And truthfully, you didn’t mind being surrounded by university students who emailed you at four in the morning with long-winded excuses dressed up in flowery language to explain why they missed class or hadn’t done the work. You bit your tongue and kept going. People in the field admired your approach to teaching and your background in neuroscience had taken you far—far enough to park your car outside a sleek hotel and walk through its doors to stand among the best. To make your position as a tenured professor feel less like a myth spun into fantasy in your own head—and more like the fact it was becoming.

It was meant to be a calm affair, or so claimed the invitation embossed in gold thread and impeccable calligraphy, which promised a welcoming evening for the newly appointed tenured professors. You were one of them, even though you'd only been teaching for a year. Your heart thudded in erratic rhythms and you clutched your small handbag so tightly your knuckles turned white, the click of your heels echoing across the ceramic-gray tiles. Tilted your head, curious, catching sight of a golden chandelier overhead, mirroring the three-dimensional designs painted into the ceiling. It was such a pivotal moment, and yet, in all the hours spent getting ready, your mind had spiraled through a thousand reasons for things to go wrong. You couldn’t help it. Your head was always turning against you like it took some kind of pleasure in watching you unravel into a mess of nerves and dread, about the room’s reactions, about your own autonomy. Maybe you’d spill wine on your dress. Maybe you’d choke on a piece of ice from a champagne flute. Maybe you'd talk too much and accidentally let slip something painfully personal. The other professors didn’t need to know that. They didn’t need to know anything about you. Still, when alcohol starts to feel like a second skin, you’d promised yourself you’d manage it, one drink every two hours. Enough to keep disaster at bay.

You greeted a few adjunct professors as they passed by, and the moment you stepped into the grand hall, your jaw nearly dropped. The entire place was blue. Neon lights laced the walls, and a young DJ—probably no older than twenty—was spinning electronic remixes of ‘80s hits. It was almost a joke. There were far too many people for this to be just faculty. You doubted it. The entire teaching department must’ve been here, something you hadn’t quite expected. You’d imagined a more traditional venue: jazz music, old money burning through the most expensive drinks at a quiet bar in the corner. Instead, the tables were dressed in white linen with centerpieces of soft blue and white flowers. And suddenly, you felt overwhelmed. You accepted the glass of champagne a waiter offered you, now, it felt less like a choice and more like a necessity. You didn’t see a single familiar face and with the sheer number of bodies crowding the space, heat began to wrap around your bones. Usually, you were good at socializing, at least good enough not to make a fool of yourself. Winning over professors — especially the ones in physics— was a simple task, and the unspoken rule from the arts department was clear: never, under any circumstances, cross them. So yes, faking camaraderie came naturally to you. And with a few drinks, the task became almost idyllic.

You approached a table and picked up a small peach pastry, the sweetness of the powdered sugar melting on your tongue as your eyes scanned the room, now with a faint smudge of red lipstick on the bite. Then, something shifted. You felt it a gaze on the back of your neck. You turned slowly, your breath catching just as your pulse began to quicken.

Spencer Reid. And he was looking at you.

The same who was too ‘good’ to consider a tenured position at the college. The genius. The chosen one. The prodigy. An FBI profiler whose dignity vanished from the young girls in his classes as soon as they saw him or attended his seminars purely to watch him talk and talk and spill random data that none of them really cared about. They just went to see him. And he didn't even notice. Or, if he did, he was perfectly good at turning a blind eye to it.

It made your blood crawl. Cause you spent months hearing praise behind your back about how all his degrees and accomplishments put him in an optimal position to walk the halls as if he were a member of royalty himself. Sometimes you would see him in the gardens talking to some students being so generous and so kind that you would inevitably roll your eyes at his perfect kindness that you wanted to avoid seeing him as soon as possible. Everyone talked about him and you could understand why: He was an excellent prototype of the good man wrapped in good faith. Occasionally, you would meet his gaze at teacher's meetings, passing a cup of coffee in the mornings of pure silent politeness because neither of you had ever conversed in sentences that veered beyond a harmless thank you and good morning. You offered him your best smiles as his fingers brushed yours as you held out the cardboard cup full of black coffee and he would stare longer at your lips before sliding his periphery into your hands and leaving, as if touching you made him burn, as if he ached for the involuntary touch of your skins. Your friends were aware of how much you didn't like at all everything that endorsed his presence, and they didn't understand. You had a stable job. And of almost the same vitality as his. They told you that your reasons for loathing him were ridiculous, childish and, for a moment, they said you just didn't like him because he incarnated in flesh and blood everything you were attracted to in a man. And you were perfect at dismissing that.

Because it was. And that's what you really fucking hated.

You were unlucky. That was it. As if there was some bizarre entity pre-existing that dragged your decisions into an eternal abyss and turned you into a mixture of bad experiences that only increased as the years went by. And Spencer, in theory, seemed to be too surreal. Sure, his proportions as a whole were appropriate. And you had no trouble figuring out why young girls sighed with their hand on their chin every time he opened his mouth. There was no name for what you felt for him. It was just... It was weird. Weird for you, even, because you were used to being around people like him. But never like him. No one was like him.

Maybe your friends were right in saying that your occasional disdain for Spencer was born solely out of a need for adrenaline that you simply stopped paying attention to him. When your eyes met his in the distance, in a crowd, he smiled at you.

Bastard.

He had no right. He had no right to smile warmly at you as he raised his hand slightly in greeting, which he then lowered because of how awkward and absurd it looked. Much less did he have it to look this well melted by a suit that seemed to be itching his skin. With the red tie and the white shirt stuck to his body. All your attempts to pretend to be indifferent when it came to him were more than unsuccessful, in fact, irrational was a better word to describe it. You did nothing more than answer his greeting with a rehearsed smile as you turned to the food table swallowing a couple of those peach snacks, which you simulated with another swig of champagne feeling how the taste of alcohol numbed the few senses you had left one hundred percent. You sighed, much to your dismay, the dress was starting to feel tighter and tighter around your waist and you felt a flash of wind caressing the bare skin of your back. And to think that Spencer was probably watching you sent a searing heat through all your extremities. You stood up on your back and walked to the other end, however, the glass goblet you held in your right hand had a small crack that dug into your palm making you gasp from the sting of the glass against your flesh. Blood, thick and metallic, gushed out in small gushes from the wound. You felt dizzy for a second. And you wanted to go straight to the nearest bathroom.

Spencer followed your figure gliding through the crowd. The music was loud and what he heard from some of the professors, even if he didn't like to admit it (they were a bit older and kind of jerks) he stopped listening to them the moment your eyes connected with his and just lost himself in how he felt his heart rate become erratic. Superficial. He didn't need the world to be quiet to hear his heart racing. And it wasn't in the ingestion of alcohol, so in his glass rested a simple apple cider that he drank with enthusiasm. It was in how you received his perception, he was used to reading between the lines. And he had spent a lot of time reading specifically how you responded to being in his presence. Always evasive. You pleaded silently. He was not indifferent to your avoidance and sometimes caught you looking at him when you thought he didn't notice. In some other context it would seem creepy and worthy of concern. But it was you. All he saw was you. He wanted to see why his limits seemed to be nonexistent when it came to you and everything that warranted your mere objectivity. He listened to you in your classes, giving extensive perorations on the theory of neuroplasticity, and your students raved about you.

There was something irrefutable in how you learned to avoid him with a grace that overwhelmed him. He wished the words you never pronounced could be a clear language. But no. You chose evasion, silence. An elusiveness so subtle that it only left room for curiosity, for the need to understand why you were doing it. As if everything between you was an unwritten dialogue that he couldn't complete.

He could hear the softness of your words as he rummaged deep into his memories, when you talked about the evaluative changes in neuroscience in front of a packed classroom, your voice flowed like a calm river but inside him everything was churning and he didn't even bother to look for its root. It didn't bother him, actually, he was fascinated by how you were able to captivate everyone, and, at the same time, keep him out of your reach.

It killed him. It killed him slowly and torturously how he begged you with the simplicity of his gestures and looks and you purely eluded him. But what killed him the most was that, despite being so close, it always seemed like it wasn't enough. That he never reached that last layer that protected you.

He couldn't help but feel like a doomed voyeur watching as that invisible barricade between you held firm. Talk to me. Look at me. Why not? How long will I endure? Every vestige of desire of his was mounting to catatonic levels.

A cold current was seeping deep into his skin, icing his fingers as he waited, patiently, for some movement, a sign from you.

But nothing.

Only the pleasure of your indifference, so bitter and bewitching, like a trap he didn't know how to escape from. And, damn it, he loved it.

The white walls in the bathroom loomed over you as you walked in hoping for an aid kit somewhere, you looked in the mirror for a moment, realizing how lousy the night was going and you were just getting there. It was supposed to be a good time to continue making friends and finally find more people to have lunch with at noon. You should have seen it coming. You thought for hours about whether it was a good idea to attend and your apartment, not far from the hotel, a few blocks from the venue, was a mess. Dresses strewn across the floor and your cat found the jumble of sleeping fabric in every corner of the house fascinating. The pain in your hand was getting more intense, too strong, unbearable. A burst of burning that intensified every second. You made a point of washing away the bright blood with the water and grimaced at the new coolness and stinging sensation of the cut.

But even the pain didn't lessen the fact that you were thinking about him. And that infuriated you. The gazes that lasted longer than usual, the gestures you avoided and those imperceptible moments charged with something much more substantial. What did you want to do with all of that? Nothing. You couldn't do anything. Spencer was in a completely foreign league to you and you had to respect that.

You didn't even want to imagine what would happen if people at the college found out. People talk, and they don't measure the magnitude of their words and all that a simple hallway rumor could trigger. Like teens. No one should be interested in what two professors were doing outside the institution. And besides, he wasn't even working full time. He was an agent. Even more reason why this growing, heated thing between you two was a flat out no way it was going to happen. It was undermining all your senses. All your good judgment diminishing it to nothing. No, it couldn't happen. The tension was limiting your core beliefs. And as you tried to maintain a control you knew you didn't have, the restlessness in your chest only grew.

As you did everything in you to heal the cut quickly, you heard the faint creak of the door. You raised your head and, in the reflection of the mirror you saw Spencer's figure bursting into the glare of the bathroom lights. You failed to keep calm. Because you had nothing left. Spencer briefly held the handle, his eyes sliding a quick glance between the mess in your hand and the confusion evident on your face, your cheeks flushed, your breathing still uncontrolled. And, without a word, he locked the door.

The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the air, amplifying the tension already vibrating in the space. His scent enveloped you, the warmth of his presence washed over you so tightly that the sting in your cut receded into the background. But for him it seemed otherwise. He stood in front of you so close you could feel his breath, a faint sigh that seemed to touch your skin, make the air thick, dense. He looked at you briefly, straight into your eyes and that's when you understood why you were avoiding him so much. It was him. His gaze. His warmth. Everything about him sucked you in, pulled you in and was all too evident. His intensity was like a force of gravity that drew you in hopelessly. No matter how much you dodged it, no matter how hard you tried to shield yourself from that connection, it was as if the very nature of the situation had determined that the distances between the two of you were simply not viable.

He looked at you as if asking for permission to heal your hand, and though he didn't say it out loud, he didn't need to. The question was in the solid silence between the two of you, in the way he watched you, so close that you could almost feel his thoughts without a single word needing to be uttered. That look, that little action.

You couldn't hide from him.

You, who had always maintained control, felt how he crumbled at the softness of his gesture, at the implicit trust he offered. At how his hands, veiny and warm, took yours with an unspoken hush. You were trapped in his closeness and in his palpable presence. And worst of all, you wanted to stay there, caught in the nervousness of his look, in the subtle touch of his fingers.

You decided to speak. Or else you couldn't stand it any longer. “I should put in a beef about the dangers of champagne glasses.” You said trying to sound normal, calm. But the tension in your voice was so intense that you ignored it, "It was broken, hmm, I guess it's no big deal. It's probably not even deep."

“You're bleeding out here,” he chuckles, and the sound of his laughter, light but kind of warm, sneaks through the cracks in your conscience. You feel his thumb caress the palm of your hand, and the derision in his tone makes you laugh too. He clears his throat, before scanning his gaze around the bathroom for an aid kit. "You need to clean that. Or it'll get infected.”

“No, no. You don't need to ” you whisper, but you let his hand continue to hold you. “I'm fine, really...”

Spencer stopped in front of you, bent down slightly to look at your hand in more detail. “It does need to,” he replied in a slight murmur. "Superficial wounds can be much more dangerous than they appear. In fact, small cuts are more susceptible to infection than larger ones, because they may go unnoticed, but they leave a perfect entrance for bacterias. In this case, if you don't clean and disinfect it, Staphylococcus aureus bacteria are quite common, and that could lead to a serious infection."

You felt a little stunned. The amount of information he dumped on you so quickly left you somewhat entranced. However, the concern on his face was genuine. And it touched you.

Why did he have to look like that?

“Uh, I can't say I knew that.”

“Does it hurt?”

 “Just a bit.” You replied. It was true. But it hurt more that as he looked at you he kept stroking your hand with his thumb and each caress drove you crazy. “Any diagnostic, doctor?”

He laughed, and your heart skipped a beat. God. His smile was even more charming holding you that close. A pair of dimples growing in his cheeks and he effortlessly aroused sensations in you too primal to admit out loud.

“I'm not that kind of doctor,” he whispers, the hint of his smile still visible. “But I need to clean that up for you... It's... It's okay if I do?”

You nodded, not knowing what to answer. Her gaze slid across the bathroom coming across a small white box resting on the counter. He turned away from you for brief seconds and, though it was a flicker in time, you felt the emptiness he left. You missed his touch and felt pathetic. So simple. So insignificant. And yet he still managed to unsettle you

Why did his closeness make you feel exposed, vulnerable? You knew something between the two of you was changing, but was it something you really wanted? Or rather, something you could afford to want?

It didn't give you time to think as he stepped in front of you again and wiped a cotton ball with antiseptic. Taking your hand again, the cool sensation of the antiseptic with the warmth of his fingers pressing against you making a twisted contrast of what it was. It was soft. It was gentle. As if he feared to break you with the simplicity of his caress. He was exalted, you could tell by the way he was breathing through his nose and his chest was rising and falling in a continuous back and forth. You couldn't help but think how, for a second, it seemed like the rest of the world disappeared, and all that was left was him. Just him.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, breaking the silence. “I don't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

It was strange to hear him say that. Because how could he not know that discomfort was, in fact, what made you feel so alive? The vulnerability, the not knowing what was going on between you and the uncertainty you felt in his every gesture. It was all there, hovering between the two of you, and you weren't saying anything about it. You just held each other in this delicate balance that you longed to break.

“You don't.” you said quickly, "It's dumb. I probably wouldn't have done it. I'm not good at this stuff, the last time my cat scratched my whole arm and I'm pretty sure I made the scratches even worse."

Spencer looked up, and for a moment, his expression softened. “I just don't want you to think I'm invading your space,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice was like a soft punch to the chest.

Spencer curved his lips, barely a smile. He continued his slow, meticulous movements cleaning your wound with a precision that was hard to ignore. Every time his finger brushed your skin it was like lighting a thousand matches inside you.

 “This isn't so bad,” he murmured, as he carefully cleaned the area around the cut. “It could have been so much worse.”

“Well, hopefully I'm not bleeding to death,” you replied with a small touch of humor. The slight stinging in the wound when the antiseptic touched your skin was somewhat tolerable now, and his presence somehow made you feel calmer.

And, of course, you decided not to pay attention to the closeness of his face and that incipient beard that adorned it perfectly. All over his jaw, you had the urge to touch it and put the fingers of your free hand on the fabric of your dress as if it contained all those growing desires.

“Hopefully not” Spencer laughed, not looking away from your hand. "It's not that dramatic, but you know, some people faint over something as simple as this. The body's reaction to minimal pain can be interesting."

“Really? How?”

You knew the answer. But hearing him speak for you was a necessity now and you decided to take advantage of every second.

"The fear of pain and the physiological reaction is more prevalent than it seems, that's all kind of like a mind game. That it thinks you have something, when the damage is likely to be minimal.”

“And I assume that if there was anyone here passed out, it would be me.” you said, shaking your head and looking at the wound with mock concern. "Yeah, I should have guessed. I cannot tolerate pain.”

Spencer let out a genuine laugh, a laugh that made the air around the two of you feel less tense.

“Definitely,” he said with a laugh. “But don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you.”

“Good to know.”

He continued cleaning and gently placed a children's band-aid (from some cartoon you couldn't recognize) over your cut, now clean and out of harm's way. Were his eyes always this bright or was it the glare of the white lights? And his lips, his lips. Slightly splendorous from whatever he was drinking before he came in. You swallowed saliva, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks as he seemed to have scanned across your face and the bathroom was flooded by a couple of giggles that pretended to say a lot, but was nothing. It wasn't awkward, but that kind of silence that hovered over you and enveloped you in a still atmosphere that you countered with the rowdiness outside. You sat on the countertop, the coldness of the ceramic hitting your thighs hoping he wouldn't leave. You lay your head back in the mirror, and Spencer's head shorted out.

He didn't know how much more he was capable of taking, if he was fit to drown everything that came into his head when he saw through the mirror's reflection that curve of your back, smooth, perfect. The red dress tight to every curve fitting in the right places and that lipstick, lightly smeared across your lower lip. He put his hands in his pockets and swallowed thickly. Your eyes traveled down his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with nervousness and notoriety.

“You didn't seem to be enjoying yourself over there" you say amused, your voice tired. "I don't blame you. Teachers' humors are crap."

Spencer nods, standing in front of you. Your knee brushing against the fabric of his dress pants. "I usually enjoy theoretical physics jokes but there's a point where it gets repetitive and boring. If I'm honest, I was looking forward to getting out of there.”

The laugh you let out was soft, almost intimate, as if only he was meant to hear it. Spencer drank it in as if it were something sacred. His fingers, still warm from touching you, flexed in his pants pockets, trying to contain the absurd need to brush against you again. 

“Spencer Reid?” you repeated with an arched eyebrow, watching him with a vague smile as you leaned your head back against the mirror a little more. "You must have the highest tolerance for repetitive. You analyze it, dissect it. You find patterns in it, revel in it. I thought you were used to it.”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, tickled by your remark. His eyes roamed over your face with a scrutiny that made you hold your breath. He didn't seem to be looking at you out of mere habit anymore, it seemed he couldn't even help himself. You cleared your throat, but his closeness was brutal. He smelled like aftershave, so strong that the scent drugged you completely.

"Maybe you're right, but there are exceptions. There are always exceptions to the rule, no matter how much I'd rather abide by them." he said, this time turning to you and you swore your heart was going to jump out of your rib cage.

His hands slowly came out of his pockets, and he leaned lightly on the countertop to the side of you. His arm almost brushed your thigh and for an instant you thought he would do it on purpose, that he would trace the fabric of your dress with his fingertips. That he would dare. And you thought how good it would feel to be on his hands, long fingers and protruding veins, holding you like a longing.

“And is tonight one of those exceptions?” you asked, tilting your face toward him, watching him closely. 

His throat worked in a strained swallow. "I'm sure it is.”

A shiver ran down your spine. Your breathing got slower, deeper. Your inhibitions out of you. His knuckles, distracted, barely grazed your knee in a touch so light it might have gone unnoticed if it weren't for all your skin igniting in response. Spencer froze at his own boldness, but didn't immediately pull his hand away. Instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose, and his eyelashes lowered slightly as he looked back up at you. All content, his eyes dancing all over your face.

He didn't move. 

He didn't leave. 

The air in the bathroom seemed to thicken as Spencer leaned forward gently, closing the distance with torturous slowness as if to give your body time to react, to reject him. But you didn't. And you had no plans to either. Your back brushed against the mirror, the coolness of the glass seeping through the thin dress as Spencer's warmth enveloped you from the front. His hands continuing to rest on the countertop on either side of your legs, locking you in with devastating ease.

He was tense. You could see it in his jaw. The line of his throat working as he swallowed saliva with visible effort. Almost instinctively, you tilted your head, and mentally beat yourself up as you thought you could ignore or simply disregard everything that revolved around him because it was impossible. You hesitated on whether to do that thing that was killing you so much, to touch his face, to caress his cheek. Let him do something. His gaze made you breathless. Dark, intense. Fixed on you and only you. His dark, chocolate irises, a hazel hue that you could finally detail up close.

He had the most beautiful eyes you'd ever seen.

“Why do you keep avoiding me so much?” his voice was a whisper, but you felt it throughout your body. His breath was warm with a minty undertone, it brushed your mouth. "Did I...did I do something to bother you? I didn't say anything bad about you, if you were wondering. I have eidetic memory, I would remember if I was rude to you at any time.”

You found yourself caught between need and uncertainty. Your hands rested on your thighs, and you wanted him to push them away. Spencer saw it. He saw it in the way your eyelashes quivered in a flutter that sent shocks through his body, in how your gaze dropped fleetingly to his mouth before returning to his eyes, in the way your chest rose and fell too fast, too erratically. 

His knuckles brushed the fabric of your dress with calculated carelessness, a light touch on your right thigh that made everything in you tense with an internal jolt. There was no urgency in his movement. Only a torturous patience, an unspoken question in the way his skin tested yours. As if testing the ground.

A restrained sigh escaped your throat, almost inaudible, but he heard it. 

“You didn't do or say anything bad about me, Spencer.” you murmur, your voice sharp. "It was my thing. I make movies all the time in my head. I think I was just jealous.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. His knuckles still moving in a steady rhythm over the fabric of your dress, “Jealous? Why would you be jealous?”

Your tongue fleetingly moistened your upper lip. His gaze followed the movement with unsettling thoroughness, his fingers twitching subtly on the countertop. You were unconsciously tasting him. And it delighted you to watch his jaw clench.

“I guess you're too good to be real.” you let out an irony-laden laugh, "It's lame. Don't mind me. I actually thought you didn't like me."

“Why would you think that?” he sounded almost offended, incredulous at what you just said as he let his fingers trail southward away from the red fabric. It was silk, fine silk that hugged your thighs beautifully. His fingers were just as warm on your skin and you shivered as his caresses went up and down. Paulatine, subtle, but it made your hair stand on end. And the way he whispered your name... Almost like a longing held on his tongue, like a heavenly prayer. "I've done nothing but silently wanted you. If you only knew... How long I've been saving this. Keeping you. As if just looking at you was enough.”

Your lips parted, but the words stuck in your throat. As if every particle had stopped in time, leaving them suspended in that instant where nothing else existed except the way he touched you. His hand slid, slow, barely perceptible, but enough to set your skin on fire. His fingers traced invisible lines over your thigh with a devotion that left you gasping for breath, memorizing the texture of your skin, the way you reacted under his touch.

“I'm sorry,” you murmured, it was the only thing that could come out of your mouth. Your voice cracked, feeling the pressure building in your chest, in your belly, in every nerve ending in your body. 

A sound escaped from his throat. Low. Grave. As if the confession had managed to shake something inside him. 

His hands moved, with deliberate leisure, barely moving up the curve of your thigh before clinginging to the flesh. His torso was so close you could feel the heat radiating from him, the racing beat of his heart pounding in sync with yours.

"No, don't be sorry" his voice was a whisper, his lips against your temple. They were so close you could feel them, a temptation suspended in the air. The edge of his nose brushed yours, a touch so thin, so intimate, that a shiver danced down your back. "I guess it's my fault for not talking to you in the first place. But if you'll let me... I promise not to ask for more than you're willing to give. Because having you anyway is already more than I ever thought I deserved."

God. 

You couldn't think, not when he was there, so tangible, so immensely real, tearing down every barrier you'd ever built between the both of you. 

His fingers came up again, this time with less hesitation, brushing the inside of your thigh in a barely perceptible movement, but one that sent an electric whiplash up and down your spine. If you moved a little, just a little, he would brush the fabric of your panties.

"Spencer..." his name was a breath caught in your mouth, a plea, a surrender.

He took it. He took your exhalation and made it his own. He kissed you with the kind of awe with where someone touches something sacred for the first time. His mouth rested on yours in a brush that contained months of longing compressed into a single instant. So violently that your body tensed. His lips moved gracefully over yours and his hands squeezed the flesh of your thighs as if he was holding back from touching you further. At first it was slow, painfully slow, waiting for you to refuse. But you had no intention of it. You sensed how his tongue brushed your lower lip in an invitation to thrust inside you, and the sweet gasp that came from your mouth in delight entranced him. He sensed it in the way your fingers reached up to grasp at the lapels of his suit, clinging to him as if you were about to collapse.

Kissing Spencer was just how you imagined it would be. Addictive. Teeth and tongues in a rough dance, he was stunned by how you responded to his caresses. By how your hands stopped trembling and rested on the back of his neck, in his hair, pulling him closer to you till you melted into a lingering kiss. Spencer moaned against your mouth, a harsh, restrained sound that reverberated between the both of you, becoming a vibration that traveled down your backbone and spread in torrid heat throughout your body. His fingers, which until now had traced a contained path over superficial parts of your body, twitched over the skin of your thigh, sinking just barely into the soft flesh, as if he needed to hold on to something in particular to keep from twisting his grip. He was losing it completely.

The kiss became hungrier, more impatient. His tongue slid against yours in a fiery, deep caress as his other hand moved up the curve of your back, pressing you against him as if trying to memorize every inch of your body. You shivered from just feeling his touch on your back and how that slit in your dress gave him the opportunity to move down a little.

Every scrape of his lips against yours was a silent confession, every halting gasp a secret that slipped out without the need for words. 

Spencer wasn't doing anything by halves, and kissing you was the ultimate proof of that. He was feeling you with every fiber of his being. He was drinking you in with the devotion of a thirsty man finally finding water in the middle of a forsaken desert.

With every particle of his autonomy, with every heaving breath that escaped his throat and the way his body pressed against yours, drawing closer and closer until the air between you ceased to exist. His hand, the one that had traveled up the curve of your back, slid with exasperating slowness to the base of your nape, tangling in your hair. Wrapping itself around the strands of your locks.

As if afraid you might fade away.

His other hand went up another inch, and when his fingertips brushed the thin fabric of your panties, a fierce thrill ran through you, arching your back involuntarily at his touch. Wanting more. That he would turn his attentions upon you. He sensed it in the way your nails scratched his hairline, in how your thighs trembled under his caresses and the sudden gasp that escaped from your mouth, imprisoned in his. 

He pulled away just a few millimeters, just enough to be able to look at you. To see the slight tremble of your lips swollen by his kisses, the febrile shine in your eyes. His breath collided against your skin, warm and ragged, and in the thick silence of the bathroom, his breath seemed an echo of yours. 

The Adam's apple in his throat rose and fell in an effort to swallow saliva. 

"I can't believe we missed this just because we had misconceptions about each other." he whispered, as if he found it hard to speak, as if the words scraped his throat as they came out, "You don't know all you do to me."

"I think I have an idea." you said, stunned. With a slow smile curving your mouth as your hands went back up to his cheeks, his beard stinging your fingers, "But I think I'm starting to like it when you show me."

A low growl escaped his chest before he took your mouth again, and no fantasy could match how good it felt to be in his arms. His kisses were intoxicating, tongue everywhere, low moans sending shocks straight to the recent growing bulge in his pants. He held your jaw and claimed you. And you loved it. You melted into him. Your hands took advantage of traveling to his neck, his cheeks, his shoulders. You could spend hours like that. There was a latent tension in his muscles, in the visible struggle between his control and his desire, in the way his dark gaze devoured every detail of you. His hands were so big, gripping your face as you moved closer until you wrapped your legs around him, your thighs at his sides.

Spencer pulled away, he was a mess. His brown hair tousled and his lips glossy and swollen from you. His thumb traced a sweet line over your lower lip. "You're beautiful," he exhales briefly. "So beautiful.”

You pull him by the neck and kiss him again. Hopeless. Hungry. You were sure the denim of your lingerie was wet and that he could feel it. You move your hips moaning against his mouth from the friction of your center against his pants. Spencer noticed your need, and his knee began to rub you. Slowly, feeling you contract from the pleasure. Your dress rode up over your thighs and he pulled them almost all the way up, to the level of your hips, allowing himself to revel in the matching lace of your wet panties. Soaked. For him. His right hand slid to your chest and groped your dress, seeking to pull it down. You nodded in agreement still with your lips on his, letting him know you needed him. That he would touch you. It was a slight effort, but with blind skill he lowered the top of your dress.

"I'm surprised at how skillfully you did that," you whispered between kisses. You hear his laugh, hoarse and throaty, as his knee continued to rub your center, and you cried out. A low cry that you silenced by biting your tongue.

"If it makes you feel any better, I thought as soon as I saw you come in." he said resting his forehead with yours. Widening his hands below your knees, and when he stretched a little, the breath caught in his throat.

You looked like a gorgeous wreck. Your lipstick was running, your barely visible red lace bra made your hardened nipples noticeable and the feel of the cold made them hard as rocks. Spencer kissed you. Quick, fleeting, placing his thumb and forefinger against your right nipple and pressing it, making you turn your eyes. His touch sent tingles all over your body, no matter how small or large, the mere fact that he was touching you was driving you crazy.

His kisses descend to your neck, leaving soft bites in an everlasting path. He nibbles that spot on your pulse and you tremble. Your hand touching his curls as you gasped uncontrollably.

"You're..." he began, but the word was lost in your neck. He kissed the curve of your collarbone, the racing pulse in your throat. " You're devastating.”

He scattered sporadic kisses across your neck and suddenly you felt like you were out of orbit when his fingers found your panties. Stroking you over the fabric. You wiggled your hips in search of more friction and melted into his arms. He teased both of your nipples. He kissed you with such vehemence and eagerness. It was simply too much. Your eyes traveled to the bulge in his sweatpants, and you had that urge to touch him again. It was big, you deduced immediately by how the fabric of the pants fit painfully around the outline of his cock. Your hand barely grazed it as he pushed you away and returned his kisses to your lips. Tugging at them. Biting, sucking with impetus.

"Is that good or bad?" you asked curving your back.

Spencer looked up from his spot, his eyes burning with an intensity so pure it took your breath away. "It's all I want.”

He bent down with only one knee digging into the floor, and your brain lit up. You were aware of what he was about to do and you pressed your thighs together, almost reluctantly. In response, he put his hands on your knees and looked at you over his long eyelashes and his eyes sparkling from all the excitement that was only growing more and more. No, he had no right to look at you like that. To have you at his mercy with just a kiss. To look so needy for you. 

"Don't get shy now." he said, his fingers squeezing the hypersensitive flesh of your thighs to open them for him again. "I want to touch you, please, angel. Let me show you how much I've needed you. How much I've longed to touch you, please, can I?"

His plea turned you to plasticine. It was a desperation rooted from deep in your chest and the mere thought that he had imagined this precise scene in the past turned you on. That maybe he had it all planned out and now he was kneeling before you basically begging to touch you. Your hand reached out to his curls, stroking his brown, unruly hair and you nodded as your lips curved into a smile that Spencer was quick to retort.

"Of course, I wasn't going to let you leave me like that and then leave." you whisper in amusement, holding his face "You owe me.”

Spencer smiled at you, sweet, almost too sweet for the kind of look he gave you. Filled with desire, with something far, vastly stronger than you. His fingers groping the edges of your panties. Swiftly pulling them down to your ankles. You shuddered at the change in sensations, the gusts of wind setting your nipples on edge and his gaze fixed on your cunt enveloped you in a cloud too intense for your brain to function properly. He looked at you with dilated pupils, licked his lips slowly as if tasting you on it.

"I owe you, huh?" he said, pressing a kiss on your inner thigh. Then on the other. "I guess I should make it up to you, right? Is that what you want?"

You nodded frantically, but he bit down on a thin layer of skin and you gasped.

"Use your words, angel."

"I..." you doubted that your head could work correctly, his touch sent tingles through parts of your body unthinkable. "Fuck, Spencer. Just do it.”

"So desperate." he whispered, his tongue beginning to lick the wetness of your thigh. You swayed in response to the sensation, your back arching as your hands involuntarily moved up to your nipple, pinching and stimulating. You needed to feel him everywhere. It was disarming you. "Have you thought about this, do you think I don't notice when you look at me, when you sneak into my classes?”

He grabbed you by the knees and pulled you into his mouth with such speed that you didn't even have time to get used to the thrill. Fuck. His mouth was desperate, he licked your folds and his curls hide between your legs. You'd let him sleep right at dawn right there. You moaned his name so loud that you were thankful the music outside was so loud no one could hear, 'cause you needed that. You needed to scream how much you enjoyed it and when Spencer gasped in delight, your whole body jerked. A rough hand gripped your thigh, his thumbs pressing into your skin, holding you open just for him. To keep you from shivering. His tongue was relentless. He swirled with precision, sucked you with intensity and reserved kisses for your clit. You rolled your eyes and your hips followed in a back and forth motion over his mouth, surrendering yourself completely to the pleasure.

There was a heat swirling over your belly, over your bloated, hypersensitive center. You shuddered and Spencer hummed above you as you tightened his head making him bury himself in your pussy. You were drunk, it was vertiginous, too much to bear.

He pulled away slightly, his breathing ragged. You couldn't see him because he was still hiding between your legs but the image was projected in your head instantly. His lips glossy from your wetness, yearning for more. The fibers of his hair messy from your pulls "How did I not notice before that you are this beautiful?" he kissed one of your folds and your back flexed again. "That you taste so good…”

Your whole body jerked in pleasure as he sealed his lips on your clit. Sucking. Drinking. Opening his mouth wide and devouring every nerve of you like a starving man. As if you were his last entrée that he would hesitate to ravish for how exquisite it was. One hand came up and took away yours that was caressing your boobs, his now cold fingers closing on them. His hand was large. It went all the way around you and pressed your hard, overstimulated nipple between the middle of his fingers.

"Spencer," you moaned, your thighs trembling and his mouth devouring your cunt with vigor, "It's too much. Sensitive."

His mouth closed on you again, your hips still twitching at him. Pleasure engulfed you, your stomach contracted and you swore you saw nebulae and tiny stars the moment his tongue sucked slowly at your slit. It curved, it teased you, driving you to your limit.

"No, not yet" he groaned against your skin, but his fingers didn't falter for a single second. The bundle of stimulation cut your lungs out. "Just one, yes? Can you give it to me, angel?"

You barely nodded as he returned to devouring you. He wanted to take you to the last of your strength. Heat coiled in your stomach and your heart was about to burst out of your chest. Irregular beats that succumbed you in instant pleasure. His tongue licked in one last long line in your pussy that tore out a scream that you stifled by biting your lip. The release of your orgasm taking you elsewhere. You were trapped in ecstasy. Your limbs ached and you needed him more and more. His breath was warm as he pulled away and kissed your mons pubis, testing, seeing how much more you could take. It made your hair stood on edge.

"You had this well planned, hmm?" you whimpered in a murmur, feeling the sequels of your first orgasm shaking your body, "I bet you've thought about it too. About how good it would feel to have me in your hands, is that it? Did you want me so bad you couldn't do anything but imagine it?”

He growled in reply, and the sound made your blood rise. Time slowed down around you and for a moment you forgot there was a whole party going on outside. But all you could think about was that you had Spencer on his knees for you, his erection probably being too painful for him and yet he continued to kiss you and tasted all of your senses. The pressure of his lips was deep worship, in restrained cravings that would sooner or later explode into frenzy. Your head fell against the mirrored glass as now his fingers curved lightly to touch your cunt in search of more. He added a finger, then another, patiently opening you up. Your hips throbbed again from the overstimulation, your brow furrowing as he rose and began to spread kisses all over your face.

"You have no idea, I asked myself that every night I pretended I didn't care about you more than I should have." he murmured, his palm pressed against your clit and his bulge in his pants pressed against your thigh, in pursuit of a delicious friction you both needed. You were at his mercy completely. You lowered your head and rested your forehead on his shoulder, feeling his fingers move nimbly inside you. "And each time, the answer was yes. I wanted you so much that it hurts. Do you think you can give me one more, sweetheart?"

You nodded again and that sweet moan that came out of your mouth when he added a third finger made you see stars. Your eyes closed, you impaled yourself on his hand until you felt Spencer silencing as best he could his moans by stifling them with his own lips, still glistening from your arousal.

He continued touching you. Kissing you with ardor. And you questioned if you would have done this if you were both talking to each other instead of immediately deducing that you disliked each other. You were an idiot. Because from now on you didn't want to be in the hands of any man but Spencer. You didn't want to see another face. Neither did you want to go back to the normal course of your life when he had brought you to a point of no return that you never reached with anyone else.

"Just like that," he whispered, kissing that dangerous spot in the area of your racing pulse. Provocatively. "Fucking my hand. Gasping for me. You're so good. So beautiful. I can't get enough of you."

He bit back a slim layer of skin, and you moaned.

"Spencer..." you hissed, leaning your hips into him, "Fuck.”

You glimpsed his frown trying to concentrate on your own pleasure, but his hips bucked and he rubbed at your inner thighs, you could almost see some pre seminal liquid pouring out of his pants and the sight made you rush at his touch. His fingers curled, you grabbed him by the cheeks and kissed him as you bucked unconsciously and the surges of your second orgasm filled you up to your ears. Spencer gasped as you came in his hand, and he was precious. Beautiful, dark eyes, rosy cheeks and fully swollen, glowing lips. Your breaths hitched in unison as he pulled his hand away from you and you brushed back the strands of hair that clung to his sweaty forehead.

You give him a smile, tired, and his head does nothing but spin. At the need, at how good it felt to finally touch you and feel you collapse into him. At how masterful you perceived better than all the times he imagined what it would be like. A giggle escapes from his lips, pressing a kiss to your temple, his warm breath spreading over your skin, and his hand, almost by instinct, moved up your abdomen in a lazy rubbing tracing distracted circles. Now yours played with the hairs at the nape of his neck and you let yourself drift in the sweet silence surrounding you.

"Hmm," he whispered. "It took us longer to heal your wound."

You opened your mouth in an offended gesture, hitting him gently but you didn't have the strength for much. His body vibrated from his laughter, and you loved it. "I want to see you say that later. We'll see who gets the last laugh and it will definitely be me.”

Spencer looked at you with those deer-eyed eyes full of tenderness that your knees felt weaker. He left another soft kiss on your cheek and you hummed in delight at the gesture. Slipping your arms around his shoulders, hugging him. Melting into him.

"Whatever you say, angel." he said with his eyes closed. "We still have time."

It was as if the entire universe had shrunk to that instant. The feel of your skin against his effortlessly banishing everything you felt for him before. Of knowing he craved you as much as you craved him. His breath attached to yours, coupled in a quiet, slightly agitated rhythm, just enough to fill the bathroom with him.

You leaned your forehead against his shoulder, feeling the slow waves of his breathing, and for a moment you felt light. As if in that minuscule piece where nothing bad could reach you. As if he was the refuge you had always wanted to return to without knowing it.

"Do we have it?" you repeated softly, shyly, almost as a question to yourself.

Spencer nodded, his nose brushing against your temple."We have all the time in the world if you're with me.”

Your lips pursued his just because the words got stuck in your mouth, this time in a more chaste kiss. One that tasted of rest, of complicity. And your heart was beating so fast you could hear its beat rewinding in your ears.

"I like you so much," you murmured against his mouth, barely a whisper. "I reiterate that I'm concerned about all the effects you have on me.”

His hands traced slow figures on your back, the whisper of his voice lulling you low:

"Then let's be scared together. It's much safer for both of us, isn't it?"

And you did. You closed your eyes, sank into him... And, for the first time in a while, you didn't care what came next.

[wosospacegirl]

bewitched - Reader x Alexia x Leila

Summary: Alexia and Leila punish you for touching yourself while they were away. A bit of angst, sex and aftercare <3

Warnings: SMUT (+18) fingering (r receiving), oral (r giving), spitting, crawling, mentions of strap. Dom/sub undertones.

Word count: 7K

You were whining, an utter crying mess lying on the mattress. Your hair was everywhere, with knots that were hurting your scalp.

Your mascara was running down your face (you didn't have time to take it off), and your head was fuzzy, so fuzzy that you were having a hard time comprehending what was happening around you.

You weren't sure where you were, but the soft grey of the wall told you it was your bedroom. Or, well, the bedroom you shared with Alexia and Leila.

The little art decor on the walls to your left also gave it away, as well as the picture of you three together that was hung right in front of you.

In the bedroom. You were in the bedroom, your naked back touching the blanket that you threw lazily on top of the bed that morning to make the room look more organised.

All your hard work was for nothing, given that you were sure pillows were lying on the floor, as well as clothing scattered around the beige rug by the door.

But the mess wasn't bothering you, nor was your confusion; however, your neck was, it was sore and tender.

Your arms too, they felt weak, as if your muscles fibres had worked themself thin, which they had, considering you spent almost an hours holding yourself on all four.

You weren't sure if your arm strength would ever come back, right now it felt like only a long night of sleep would fix your body back to what it was before.

Sleep. You so much wanted to sleep. Your eyelids were so heavy, begging you to keep them closed. Your mind was playing tricks on you, telling you to let yourself go into a soothing haze of unconsciousness.

But there were voices around you, voices that were getting in the way of your sleep.

Voices you knew and loved but couldn't quite identify. Still, you felt secure enough not to freak out, secure enough to lean into the palm that was resting on your face; it was warm, grounding, reminding yourself to stay here, not to drift to whatever place your tired mind was pulling you into.

The palm was rubbing your cheek with its thumb. It felt good, you wanted it more; you wanted to relax into the palm, melt yourself into it, but the voice kept talking.

You sighed, keeping your eyes shut, as if it would make the voice go away.

"Please, bebé, open your eyes," the voice said. It sounded calm, but more like a forced calm, as if the person was a bit anxious but trying hard to sound soothing and tranquil.

You moved your head to the side, and the palm left your face. Now two hands were cupping your jaw, turning you once again.

You didn't like being turned around, didn't like how the voices didn't stop.

You wanted to sleep. You were confused and thirsty. The inside of your thighs burned, and your lower lip was stinging, as if something had bitten it.

You slipped your tongue out, touching your dry lips with its tip, and that's what did it. You winced; It hurt. Your lips were so sensitive that you had no other choice but to open your eyes, trying to find the reason behind the pain.

Alexia's eyes were carefully watching you. When your irises met, the frown on her face relaxed, turning into a smile. One you missed so much, but for whatever reason, your mind didn't find it comforting.

"Hi, bebé," Alexia said in a whisper, kissing your cheeks and wrapping her arms around your torso, lying on top of you just enough to kiss your neck, which was still very much sensitive. "You were gone for so long. Lei and I missed you."

At the mention of Leila, your body went completely rigid, and the memories of what had just happened flashed behind your eyes.

Every place Alexia had bitten, every skin Leila had kissed to make it better, every hickey Alexia left on your body, every mark Leila licked slowly.

Alexia had been mean to you. Leila had been an accomplice.

Both of them brought you from heaven to hell in the matter of a few hours.

You deserved it, though. But still, your body felt somewhat betrayed, somewhat grateful. It didn't know how to feel; it only knew that you were still wet, still needy, all marked up and very much surrounded by your girlfriends' presence, who, frustratingly, didn't seem the least bit interested in bringing you any type of release.

Alexia and Leila had gone away to a three-day camp in Madrid. It was a short period, just for media training, photo shoots and light drills.

You, on the other hand, stayed home, a pout on your face as they stood on the front door, wearing the Spain confederation uniform, with their suitcases in hand, ready to take an Uber to the airport.

Alexia loved rules; she loved being in control. She got off on knowing that, even if she was far away, she could somehow have a hold on you. Leila was more laid back and chill.

Together, they created an amazing duo, both in bed with you and on the field with the team.

Alexia (always the bossy one) usually sat you down before any flights to tell you about the dos and don'ts while they were away. To talk about rules and expectations while they were absent.

But this time around, she didn't.

She and Leila finished packing their belonging in the carry-on bag, kissed you on the cheek, and left the house holding hands, telling you they would be back in no time.

And because Alexia hadn't left any specific rules (like she usually did) you thought you could touch yourself as much as you wanted to.

Well, actually…

Alexia did have a few rules that didn't need repeating. Normally, coming without permission was one of them.

When they were away, you had to ask them by message if you could touch yourself. Usually, they let you do it while both Alexia and Leila were on speaker, listening to your voice and walking you through it.

But this time, since Alexia didn't mention anything, you figured it was okay. Maybe it had been just left unsaid that you were allowed to do it, that neither she nor Leila would mind.

So you did it. You touched yourself whenever you felt like it, and you didn't call them. You didn't text them to let them know.

But you tried, they couldn't deny you that.

In the middle of the first night, you called Leila, but Alexia was the one who picked up. Her voice was so tired that you instantly felt guilty for calling while your fingers were deep inside your cunt.

Alexia tried to pretend she wasn't tired. She explained Leila was already asleep, but that you could talk to her, that she missed hearing your voice, that she wanted to what about your day, and that she would tell Leila first thing in the morning that you had called.

The guilt made you mumble something about just wanting to say goodnight, then you turned off the phone.

If they were too busy, surely there wouldn't be a problem if you made yourself come? You did call them, and once again, Alexia hadn't reinforced the "no orgasm while we're away" rule.

You came twice that night.

But it didn't feel as good, not because you didn't know how to pleasure yourself, but because the after was different. You felt lonely when you reached your orgasm.

Leila wasn't there to call you pretty, Alexia didn't kiss your belly and remind you to breathe. They weren't there, so it didn't feel as enjoyable as you wished it did

And that was your sin. The need for affection. The need for your girls.

The next day, you woke up still feeling needy, missing Ale and Lei, craving their presence. Longing that they would hug you, kiss your forehead. That they would make you come with their hands and with their mouth, and that you would do the same to them.

During breakfast, you video-chatted them and let it slip that you had touched yourself. You didn't plan to do it, but Alexia asked how your night was, and you told her (accidentally) about how you wished she and Leila had been there, sharing the same bedsheets as you.

It was like you could see the sunny day in Madrid turning into a cloudy one just from the look of anger and disappointment on Alexia's face.

They were in their shared room at the camp, talking to you while also getting ready to go eat some breakfast with the rest of the team.

"You did what?" Alexia asked as soon as you told her what you did the night before, clearly not comprehending how you had said it like it wasn't a big deal. As if you haven't just broken a rule. A very important one in Alexia's opinion.

Leila, who was in the back of the screen, putting her hair in a ponytail, stopped what she was doing to listen to the conversation happening in front of her, already sensing where this was going

"Uhmm," you looked to the side, trying to find a way out of the situation, but there was none.

Not with the way Alexia's eyes seemed to pierce through you (even through the screen), and not with the way Leila was looking at you like a child who knew she was in trouble. "I-I touched myself."

"With whose permission?" Alexia asked, lifting a brow.

"You-you didn't say anything about not touching myself this time," you tried to defend yourself.

Leila instantly facepalmed, as if watching you dig your own grave.

Alexia took the phone, holding it close to her face. Dangerously close.

"You better have enjoyed it," she said carefully, her voice low and dangerous. "You won't come for the next week."

And just like that, the phone seemed to have been tossed onto the hotel bed. You were staring at a white ceiling, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

You were in so much trouble. You couldn't even begin to imagine what Alexia was going to do.

Alexia and Leila were the dominant ones. They took turns on who had the upper hand; it worked for them. You, on the other hand, were completely submissive. You did whatever they asked, whatever they desired.

You wanted to be good for them, to be their best girl, always. To make them proud, to make them see how well behaved you were, how well you could follow rules, how well you listened to them.

Although you were anything but good, now.

You knew you had stretched things a bit too far. But you were so wet thinking about Alexia and Leila…they were so far away, sharing a room in Madrid while you were all alone in Barcelona.

At the time, it seemed fair to give yourself a little orgasm (or two), but now, you regretted it.

Your heart hurt at the thought of Alexia leaving the phone (leaving you) to do god knows what. She tended to do that when punishing you for misbehaving: not giving you attention, letting Leila handle you.

Which is exactly what happened.

Leila's face appeared on the screen. She was sitting on the bed, holding the phone with one hand.

"Mi corazón," she began, disappointment in her voice. "Why did you do it? Why couldn't you wait a few more days?"

You looked down, not wanting to see Leila's face, not when she wasn't looking at you with pride or happiness.

"I'm sorry, Lei," you said, your voice barely above a whisper

"I didn't ask if you were sorry or not. I asked why you did it," Leila said, her tone more firm now.

"I was just feeling lonely, and—"

"That's not a reason," Leila interrupted. "I thought you were better than that. That you had more control. That you respected our rules more. But I guess I was wrong."

You wanted to cry. You didn't like it when they talked to you like that, let alone Leila, who was the more gentle one.

Some people got off on being a brat on purpose, on being scolded. You didn't. You were good. You wanted to be praised. To be everything they expected and more.

"Hey," Leila softened, seeing the single tear rolling down your cheek. "Don't cry, corazón. Come on, wipe your cheek for me."

You did as Leila asked, looking at her through the phone, a pout on your face, trying to hold more tears in.

"I'm not mad, alright?" Leila said.

"But Ale is," you whispered again, surprised that Leila even heard it.

"Well—" Leila sighed. "You know she doesn't like it when you break the rules. Now you're going to have to deal with that."

"I don't want to deal with that, Lei," you whined. "Can you talk to her, please?"

Leila shook her head. "No, corazón. I agree with Alexia. You broke a rule, and you need to be punished for it."

"But—"

"I'm only sad I won't get to make you come when I get back," Leila said. "I was already planning so many things for me and Alexia to do with you—"

"You-you can still do it, Lei," you said, feeling yourself get wet thinking about them touching, kissing, and biting you.

"I know," Leila sighed. "We'll do as we please with you. You just won't be allowed to come."

You didn't answer, regret burning inside you.

You were excited for the girls to come back, but right now, you wished they would stay two more days in Madrid, just so you could be more ready and prepared.

But you didn't have much time. '

The next day, at exactly 8 PM, Alexia and Leila walked through your front door. They were tired, you could see it, but the moment they saw you, their sleepiness disappeared.

Leila had a grin on her face, and Alexia watched you like she was ready to catch a prey.

Alexia destroyed you while Leila put you back together.

Alexia edged you more times than you could count. You were close to coming, but she always knew the signs, always took her mouth or hands away right at the edge.

She made sure to fuck Leila with the strap right in front of you, made you look at Leila's face when she came, and you didn't.

By the last time, when Alexia was fucking you with her fingers and sucking your tits into her mouth, Leila realised you were already gone.

You were mumbling things that didn't make sense, your hands were trying to grip the blanket, but you didn't have any strength anymore.

Leila stepped in.

Your body was completely limp, but you were strong enough to move just a little, to the right, into Leila's waiting arms. She let you rest your head on her chest while she rubbed your back and scratched your scalp.

"Shh," Leila whispered into your ear. "It's okay now. You were so good for us."

"Not to Alexia," you mumbled.

Leila and Alexia looked at each other, unsure of what to do.

"Of course you were good to me," Alexia said, coming closer but hesitating. "Your punishment was not coming, and you took it very well."

She kissed the top of your head, but you were confused now. You didn't want Alexia.

You wanted Leila, and only Leila. It was like your body knew. It knew who had comforted you and who had pushed you to the edge, the reason you were now a whining, overstimulated mess.

"No," you managed to say, burying your face in Leila's chest while lifting a weak hand to push Alexia's face away.

Leila stopped rubbing your back. You heard Alexia hold her breath.

"No?" Alexia repeated, confused. "Bebé, what—?"

"Just want Lei," you mumbled, trying to be closer to her, even though it was impossible.

"Hey," Leila said softly. "What colour, corazón?"

"G-green," you answered quickly. "Just… wanna be with you for a moment."

Leila looked at Alexia, uncertain. This had never happened before. And both she and Alexia had delivered worse punishments than orgasm denial, so your reluctance to be near Alexia now was strange.

Alexia looked hurt. Leila saw it immediately, the way her mouth opened slightly, like she wanted to say something but couldn't find the right words.

Alexia was always tense, always carrying something heavy on her back, but during sex, she let go. She enjoyed herself because she trusted that Leila and you would follow her lead.

But right now, Alexia's body was completely tense. She didn't know what to do, how to navigate this. And Leila saw that it was eating her alive.

"Corazón," Leila shifted until she was sitting upright, forcing you to sit on her lap. "Ale just wants to hug you. Give you aftercare. You love aftercare, don't you?"

"Don't want it," you said, your voice filled with sleep, making your words sound incomprehensible.

You were so tired. You just wanted to sleep. It didn't matter if you needed a shower or food; the last scene had taken so much from you. You just needed Leila to make it better. To let you rest with her.

"But baby—" Leila began, but Alexia cut her off with a soft kiss on the lips.

"It's okay, Lei," Alexia said, a sad smile on her face. "She doesn't want me right now. She's allowed to feel like that, okay, bebé?" she added gently, directing it towards you.

You acknowledged it with the smallest nod, face still pressed to Leila. trying to absorb the warmth of her body.

"I'll—" Alexia stood from the bed, still completely naked, but not caring too much about it. "—make dinner, I guess."

Alexia was never the one responsible for dinner; she didn't like to cock; She wasn't even sure what she was going to cook. She just knew she couldn't stay in the room, not while you so clearly didn't want her presence.

Maybe she had gone too far. Maybe edging you seven times was… humanly cruel.

Still, Alexia didn't know exactly how to feel as she bent over, slipped Leila's shirt over her torso, and walked barefoot to the kitchen.

This had never happened before. You not wanting her. Usually, you begged to be in her arms after sex. But now it seemed Leila was the only one you chose.

Maybe she had pushed too far. Maybe she shouldn't have gone so hard, especially knowing you were softer than most people when it came to sex.

You didn't mind impact play, restraints, toys, but just as long as she or Leila talked you through it. As long as you were praised while they did whatever they wanted to you.

Alexia had been cold tonight. She couldn't deny that.

On the way home from the airport, Leila had kept a grounding hand on her bouncing thigh, gently reminding her not to take things too far. That you had missed them. That you just wanted a little relief, a little comfort.

Maybe Alexia should have listened. Maybe she should've pampered you instead. But you hadn't used your safe word, and she had checked in with you more than once; it wasn't like the scene had actually hurt you.

Leila had also kept a close eye on you, making sure you were okay and comfortable. And you were okay. Y

You just needed a minute. And Alexia could respect that. She would make it up to you, somehow.

Alexia boiled water, watching it bubble as she dropped the pasta in. She stood there, silently observing the way each rigid piece softened and curled under the heat of the water.

She was going to make your and Leila's favourite dish, pasta and chicken. Even if she wasn't a pasta girl. She'd always preferred rice or lentils.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't hear the footsteps. But then she felt it…Leila's arms wrapped around her from behind, her lips kissing her temple.

"This smells great," Leila said, lips brushing her skin.

"It's garlic," Alexia smiled.

"I'm not talking about the food." Then Leila got on her tiptoes, resting her chin on Alexia's head. "It's your shampoo."

"It's the same one you use," Alexia said, rolling her eyes fondly as she kept chopping vegetables.

"I have good taste."

"You do, yeah."

They fell into silence. Leila kept stealing kisses as Alexia cooked. She didn't need to ask; she knew you were asleep by now. You always were, after something intense.

Alexia just wanted to be the one holding you, not standing over boiling water and chopped tomatoes. But Leila was there, warm and comforting against her, making her feel loved, so it was good for now.

When Alexia started moving around the kitchen, searching for more ingredients and utensils, Leila climbed onto the counter, watching her closely. Trying to read her.

Alexia knew that look well. It was the same one Leila had worn years ago when they first met at the Spain U15 camp. Like she didn't have a clue about who Alexia was, but wanted to discover all of her secrets.

Alexia put the chicken in the oven and set a timer, then she finally met Leila's eyes.

She was wearing Alexia's shorts that were too loose on her thighs, and one of your oversized shirts. She looked beautiful, comfortable and soft. Out of the three of you, Leila was the definition of home.

Alexia wanted to let the food burn and drag you both to bed, wrap a blanket around all three of you, and order takeout. Let you two fight over the film you were going to watch, and then, let you fall asleep on her chest, each girl at her side.

"You're upset," Leila said quietly, her brow arched, as if she already knew everything, but still gave Alexia space to answer.

She never pushed Alexia to answer, even though Ale was always more reserved with her feelings. She knew Alexia just needed space, a few moments of silence before talking about how she was feeling.

"I'm not, actually," Alexia replied, starting to set the table.

"When you're upset, you do everything you can to not deal with it," Leila said matter-of-factly. "You've always been like that."

Alexia hummed, placing each plate down with more care than necessary. "You seem to know me very well."

"I do." Leila hopped off the counter and walked over, resting her hands on Alexia's hips, turning her gently until their eyes met. "It was just a lot for her. She's used to you folding at everything she asks in bed, and—"

"I don't fold!"

"You do."

"I don't!"

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Leila teased, rolling her eyes. "But as I was saying, you've never denied her anything. Especially not after both of us were away. She was upset. She didn't want punishment."

"And what did she want?" Alexia asked a little defensively. "An orgasm?"

She had talked to Leila, and they both had agreed to the punishment, but now it seemed like it was a decision made purely by Alexia, which was frustrating.

"No," Leila said patiently. "She didn't just want an orgasm, she wanted you, us! She wanted us to have sex, not to be punished. "

Alexia furrowed her eyebrows, feeling slightly irritated by the conversation. She was already feeling guilty; she didn't need Leila reminding her how harsh she had been to you.

Leila noticed how Alexia's back straightened, how her lips tightened. She was getting mad, and Leila didn't want that.

The brunette leaned over, kissing Alexia's forehead, making Ale soften (just a little bit).

"Don't get me wrong, mi reina," Leila said, her lips still touching Alexia's skin, "I agree with the punishment, you know I do. I'm just saying that given the circumstances, her reaction is normal."

"I just…" Alexia sighed and let her forehead fall into Leila's shoulder. "I just wanted to cuddle her."

"I know," Leila said. "Maybe she'll wake up feeling better and—"

And just like that, you appeared in the kitchen.

You were wearing pyjamas now, Leila had dressed in before you fell asleep. Your hair was still a mess, but your makeup was gone, thanks to Leila, who had wiped it off before making her way to the kitchen to talk to Alexia.

You looked a little dazed, having that usual confused expression on your face whenever you woke up from a nap, without knowing what time of the day it was.

Even though you were a bit sleepy, your mind wasn't confused anymore. You rubbed your face from sleep and, without saying anything, you walked straight to Alexia and Leila and squeezed yourself in between the two girls' embrace. They welcomed you.

"Hi, bebé," Alexia said, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to her and Leila. "Feeling better now?"

It took you a moment to answer, but not because you didn't know how you felt, but because you were so warm between both your girls, you just wanted a moment to enjoy it.

You had missed them. Even though they had only been away a few days, the football calendar was always so relentless that even when they were home, the time together never felt like enough. It felt rushed and ephemeral.

Before your nap, you had been a mess of feelings.

You felt guilty for having touched yourself and broken Alexia and Leila's rule. You were needy and horny, desperate for an orgasm. You missed their presence, craved their comfort.

A small part of you had hoped Alexia would let it go tonight, that she would skip the punishment and just let the three of you enjoy the evening.

When that didn't happen, frustration had completely taken over you. Your brain had turned to mush after being edged for the seventh time, and all you wanted was some kind of comfort, a touch that wasn't teasing or disciplinary.

So you reached for Leila. Not because you were rejecting Alexia, but because in that moment, your body needed something soft. Something safe, and Leila was that person.

"I didn't mean to make you sad," you said after a few seconds of silence, feeling Alexia's hand slide beneath your shirt, rubbing soothing circles on your back. "It wasn't my intention… I wasn't really thinking straight."

"No te preocupes, bebé," Alexia said gently. "I was a bit harsh with you, I know. And if at any moment you want space from me, or from anything, we can pause, sí? I'll always respect that." [Don't worry, baby.]

The soft moment was broken by Leila's stomach growling.

Alexia smiled and showed you the pot of pasta she'd made, and you were quick to help her set the table and take the chicken from the oven. Meanwhile, Leila got up and served each of your plates.

You three ate and talked about the time away; the girls told stories from camp, and you told them about everything that happened at work. After that, you all cleaned the kitchen and cuddled on the sofa.

"Now you come here," Alexia murmured while Leila made popcorn in the kitchen.

She wrapped her arms around your torso, her big hands covering most of your belly. As if you weighed nothing, she placed you down on her lap.

Your legs were spread on the sofa, your back pressed to Alexia's front while she pampered kisses on your neck, shoulder, cheeks… everywhere her lips could touch.

"I missed you so much," Alexia said, her lips never leaving you, her hands holding your hip down, not letting you move. "Leila and I did. I don't think we actually told you that yet."

"You did tell me." You replied, tilting your head to the left so Alexia would have more space.

The first pop of the popcorn made you flinch, but once again, Alexia was holding you, keeping you in place, grounding. "Just after you guys got home."

"Yeah? I guess one time wasn't enough." Alexia's hands moved from your hip to your abdomen.

You held your breath just as she slipped her hands under your underwear. "I missed you, bebé. I missed your voice, your scent, your kiss, your pussy, everything."

"Ugh," You moaned as Alexia brushed her index finger on your clit, so slowly that you had to move your hips to create more friction. "I-I missed you too, Ale."

"What did you miss most?" Alexia bit into your neck. Hard. But you were too focused on the warmth that was blooming in your belly to care about the love bite.

"I-I don't know." You were starting to get confused again, especially with how Alexia's fingers had just made their way inside of your cunt, filling you in a way you didn't know you needed. "E-everything? I guess- Oh god, more?"

"No," Alexia said, it was soft, but her voice carried a string of dominance that told you she wasn't playing around. "You're a smart girl, I'm sure you can use your words."

You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back to Alexia's shoulder. The TV playing in front of you was getting on your nerves; it was playing a stupid reality show. It was distracting; all you wanted was to focus on Alexia.

"I missed your mouth, how you wake me up with your tongue on me," You said shyly, but the thrust of her fingers on your cunt was giving you the confidence you needed.

"I-I missed how you fingered Lei and let me watch while touching myself, I miss how you give me breakfast in bed after a rough night…. I missed everything, Ale."

Alexia hummed, content. "Good. That's what I wanted to hear, bebé."

Alexia picked the pace of her fingers, bringing one of her hands under your shirt, touching your nipples, taking them in between her fingers. "Do you wanna know what Lei and I did while we were in Madrid?"

You nodded desperately.

Just as Alexia was about to speak, Leila walked into the living room, a bowl of popcorn in hand. Giving, by the way she stopped at the arched doorway, she wasn't expecting to find Alexia touching you.

A smile tugged at her lips, and she took one step closer. You didn't need to see Alexia's face to know she was grinning.

"Started without me?" Leila said, a faux pout on her face. "Rude."

"Bebé just couldn't help herself, Leila," Alexia explained smugly. "When I touched her pussy, she was already wet."

Leila stood in front of you, placing the popcorn bowl on the cofffee table before cupping your jaw. "Is Ale touching you nicely, corazón?"

"Sí," you replied. They always loved it when you spoke Spanish. It made them happy, proud.

Alexia curled her fingers inside of you, and you moaned right in Leila's face. "So loud you are, you must be really desperate."

"I am," you said, pouting. "Always am for you and Ale."

Alexia chucked behind you, adding a third finger, making your back arch.

Leila tapped your lips. "Open, bebé."

You obeyed, opening your mouth and showing her your tongue. Leila leaned over and spit on your tongue. Your eyes widened, but then your body relaxed. Enjoying it.

Leila let go of your jaw, taking the bowl and sitting in an armchair right in front of you and Alexia. She tucked her legs in, watching you carefully.

"Swallow." She said simply.

You just got wetter at the command. Alexia must have felt the same, because her touch on your body became rigid, as if she was trying hard not to lose control.

You swallowed and showed Leila your tongue again.

"Perfecto, preciosa," Leila smiled. "Keep going, I want to watch you two."

Leila began eating popcorn, as if she were watching her favourite film. Maybe she was.

"I was about to tell her, Lei, about all the things we did back at Madrid," Alexia said, her fingers still working inside of you, her mouth moving against the skin of your neck.

"Oh," Leila said, grinning. "About how we rubbed our pussies together every morning? To start the day off right?"

"Sí," Alexia noticed how you were contracting around her finger, so she started to move slowly. "How you have me on all four, fucked me with the strap."

"Please—" you rolled your eyes. It was too much. Alexia's touch was delicious, and the pictures flashing on your eyes about Alexia's and Leila's naked bodies were making you wetter, getting you close to your climax.

In a normal situation, you would get jealous that they were having so much fun and you weren't. But this wasn't a normal situation. Alexia was fingering you while Leila watched. You felt more horny with each of the girls' confessions.

"Did you know that on the first night Lei got on her knees and sucked my strap, bebé?" Alexia whispered. "She was so good, got me nice and ready to fuck her pussy, I wonder if you would be as good."

"I would be good," you said out of breath. "Very good, Ale."

"We have to wait and see," Alexia said. "Tomorrow you can suck me off while Lei fucks you, does that sound good?"

"Sí, sí," you rolled your eyes. "Ale—please, I'm so close and…"

"You won't come, bebé," Leila said from the other side of the room. You just realised that she didn't have any pants on. Her fingers were deep in her pussy, touching herself. She was so wet, you could see her folds glistening with arousal. "We've already talked about that."

"But—"

"No," Alexia said, not leaving any room for argument. "You won't come for a week, that's the consequence of breaking our rules."

"I-i thought I already took my punishment." You whined when Alexia took all of her fingers from you, cleaning them on your thigh as she kissed your cheek.

"You did take your punishment," Alexia said. "But not all of it, just six more days and Lei and I will make sure to make up for it."

"But Ale, I wan—"

Alexia cupped your jaw and turned your head to her; her lips were pressed together. "I'm sure you don't want to extend your punishment, right?"

You shook your head, defeated.

"Good," Alexia brought your face closer to her and kissed your lips. "Now go make Lei come, she spent our whole time in Madrid complaining about how she missed your mouth."

You were sad that you wouldn't get to come, but knowing that Leila had wanted your mouth was enough to make your pout disappear. from your face.

You got up from Alexia's lap. She didn't waste a second before slapping your ass. You whined. It was going to leave a mark, for sure.

Before you could take a step, Leila spoke.

"No, no walking," she added a third finger in her pussy, moving them slowly. "Crawl to me, bebé."

You hesitated, looking at her, before turning your head to Alexia. You had never crawled before. You weren't sure what to do.

Alexia placed a comforting hand on your back. "Go, mi amor, crawl to Lei, she's been so patient, so good for you. Don't you think she deserves it?"

You looked at Leila once more, then your gaze dropped to her cunt. It was like you were bewitched.

You dropped to your knees before getting on all fours, making your way to Leila. The hardwood floor was cold against your knees, but it didn't matter now.

In less than thirty seconds, you were kneeling in front of Leila. She spread her legs wider, taking her finger out of her cunt. She placed a palm on your cheek and brought your face closer to her core.

"Lick me, love," Leila purred, eyes already closing as you slowly ran your tongue up and down her cunt, spreading her wetness, taking a moment to bite the inside of her thighs.

"How does Bebé feel, Lei?" Alexia asked, her voice a little muffled now that your head was in between Leila's thighs.

"Divine, Ale," Leila held your head even closer to her, you could barely breathe, but you enjoyed it.

You liked struggling to let air into your lungs, how it burned as your diaphragm fought to gasp for oxygen.

It made you feel dizzy all over again, but you kept licking Leila, thrusting your tongue inside her pussy just to wrap your lips around clit and suck it, hearing her moans, feeling her tugging at your hair.

"We taught her well, huh?" Alexia said. "Just the best girl for us. She can be polite when she wants to, right?"

Both you and Leila nodded.

Your chin was wet with Leila's arousal, and it was dripping on your face. You were feeling hot, almost as if you had a fever.

"Bebé, make Lei come," Alexia ordered. "I want to see her face, she looks so pretty when she comes. Can you do it for me?"

You didn't answer, you just keep sucking at her clit, your hands holding Leila in place, your palms each at her hip, not letting her move, or else, you wouldn't be able to get the job done.

It didn't take long.

Leila was coming on your tongue. letting out the most beautiful noises you've ever heard.

You rode her high with her, licking her pussy softly, trying not to overstimulate her. You only stopped when she lightly tapped your cheek.

You looked up, still on the ground, face a complete mess. Cheeks red with the lost of air, lips swollen from sucking her for so long.

"Come here, bonita," Leila said, helping you from the ground. She left her back relaxed against the armchair and pressed your back against her body, wrapping her arms around you.

"You looked lovely on your knees," Alexia said as you watched her. She had a smile on her face, clearly happy with the scene in front of her.

"The best," Leila murmured, nudging her nose on your temple before leaving a kiss there. "Gracias, bebé."

"Love you, Lei," you said in a small voice, letting our eyes close. You were, once again, very tired.

"I think it's time to sleep, now," Alexia said, getting up from her seat and walking to the armchair.

"No, we agreed on watching a film together," you mumbled, feeling your body relax even more against Leila.

"Baby, you can't barely keep your eyes open, come on," Alexia helped you on your feet, kissing your forehead before leaning over and kissing Leila's lips. "Lei, I'm gonna prepare a bath for you, alright? Just stay here."

Leila nodded, letting her eyes fall shut. Now that you weren't on her lap, she could shift herself into a more comfortable position.

"Come with me, bebé," Alexia said, taking your hand and leading you out of the living room, straight to the bathroom.

She sat you on the bathroom counter, pecking your lips. "You taste just like Leila," Alexia murmured against your lips.

"Want you, Ale," You said, looking down at your left dangling from the counter. "Wanna taste you too, please?"

Alexia smiled, kissing your cheek. "Tomorrow. Now you have to sleep and Leila needs a bath, alright?"

"First thing in the morning?" You looked up at the captain with big eyes.

"Sí," she promised. She took your toothbrush and handed it to you. "Brush your teeth while I get Leila's bath ready."

You did as you were told, watching Alexia move around the bathroom getting everything done. When you were done brushing your teeth, Alexia was already in front of you, wiping your face with a warm cloth.

"Are you tired?" She asked, already knowing the answer.

You nodded, feeling your eyes heavy. "But I wanted to stay awake with you and Lei."

Alexia chuckled and kissed your forehead. "We're just gonna take a bath and get back to bed, yeah?"

Alexia helped you off the counted and put you in bed, tucking you in.

It didn't take you much to fall asleep. Alexia had given you your favourite pillow, wrapping you in the warmest blanket.

"I love you," Alexia said tenderly. "Lei and I will be back in a minute, sí? You can sleep now."

With that, you let your body relax, falling asleep in the best sleep you've had in days.

Alexia had kept her promise.

She went to the living room and helped Leila to her feet. She got in the bath with her, kissing her neck, telling her how beautiful she looked all spread open. They didn't do anything besides kissing. Both girls were too tired.

Alexia scrubbed Leila's body, and the brunette did the same.

When they were all done, Leila let her body fall onto the mattress right next to you. She kissed your head, wrapping one arm around your waist, bringing your sleeping figure closer to her.

You were so soft, so beautiful. She truly had missed you. Spending some time alone with Alexia at camp was amazing, but it always felt as if a piece was missing.

Alexia crawled into bed, kissing Leila one last time before lying on your other side. She nuzzled her face into your back, pecking your neck before letting her eyes fall shut.

Alexia loved being a footballer, but she hated how many times she had to be away from you, how you couldn't travel with her.

She just wished she could put you and Leila in her pocket and take the two of you everywhere she went.

She wanted to keep the two of you close, always near her chest.

"You are taking my blanket," Alexia heard Leila mumble against her pillow.

"I'm not," Alexia replied, eyes still closed, face pressed to your body.

"You are," Leila pushed the blanket, wrapping it around her body.

Okay, maybe Alexia did in fact steal her blanket. "You always do it."

"Shut up, you two," you said, voice filled with sleep. "I'm tired."

With that, both girls closed their mouths, trying to fall back to sleep again. It wasn't so hard. Sleep came naturally when you were feeling safe and loved.

A/n: This had been in my mind for a couple of days now, hope you guys liked it!

Tag list: @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16 , @wosohk04 , @evaissleepy13, @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics @riyaexee @miaereen

[halfadiamond]

You Think It’s Love- Part 3

Masterlist

CW: angst, not sure how to describe it but I guess neglectfulness, mention of sex near the end

You still think it’s love when the men come home from their deployments, exhausted and not in the mood to give you some attention. It’s reasonable they’re exhausted from whatever they were doing out there and don’t feel in the mood to dote on you. You try to be the best girlfriend, you can be and give them space and prepare a nice welcome home meal for them.

Their exhaustion normally lasts about a day before they’re off doting on you, trying to make up on the time spent apart for you. They’re kissing and cuddling with you, preferring not to focus on the more intimate moments but rather the softer parts of love. They ask what you’ve been up to and you do the same. You’re not exactly sure as to why but the men always keep a majority of their work hidden from you.

You know that they’re in the military but that’s about it. They choose to keep you in the dark about their dirty work. But if that’s what they want then you wouldn’t complain. As long as they returned back home to you then you can look past this.

Love is still present when you guys go back to your regular routine. You pamper them and they pamper you. You’re happy with them and you trust that they are happy with you too.

Soon enough the men once again head off their deployments. You give the men a kiss for good luck and I love you as you wait for them to come back.

—

You’re sure love is here when the men come back and still act distant towards you after the second day. Maybe they’re just really exhausted, they were gone longer than normal so that could be it. You give them their space as they relax and try to once again adjust to the civilian lifestyle.

You mind your business as the men focus on themselves:

Johnny heads out to the porch to paint some flower pots you had bought.

Simon heads off to the gym to work out.

John chooses to stay in the living room to watch some movies.

While Kyle chooses to go out and enjoy some time alone in the park.

It was fine

You decided to yourself

It must’ve been a hard mission so that’s why they’re exhausted. Eventually they feel more relaxed.

With that conclusion, you head off to the grocery store to buy some extra food for the week.

—

You’re a bit confused if love is still here when you see your boyfriends act differently towards you while treating the others the same as before.

They occasionally give you the small kisses on the forehead or a I love you but that’s about it now. You’ve noticed the time spent with your boyfriends was almost cut in half while if your boyfriends were spending time with the others, it almost tripled.

You used to spend at least a hour, napping with John on his recliner and yet now he always shakes you awake after thirty minutes and tells you to go to bed so that you can sleep. At first, you accepted it and went off to bed, trying to ignore the fact that John never joined you, but you were left confused when that hour spent napping with John was replaced by Kyle napping with him.

You and Johnny used to always look up recipes to try and would always head off to the grocery store to buy them. You guys called it, Guinea Pig Day, because the other men always were the first ones trying out the new dish. When you hadn’t had that day in awhile, you try to ask Johnny if he found anything online but he shrugs you off as he says that he and John already picked out a recipe and that they’re going to try it out later tonight.

Kyle used to look up online, things to do around this city, and whenever he found something interesting he would always excitedly show you and set up a day that you two could go out and visit it. This time, you found out about a new cafe that was opening up, from what you read it was a dog cafe, but when you tried to show Kyle, he seemed interested but told you that he’d take Simon instead.

You used to always tell your boyfriends that Simon’s lap was the comfiest of all. It became an inside joke between you guys as Johnny used to always pretend to try and look up how to have a comfy lap for your partner, but it was never harmful. You came home from work one day, exhausted, wanting nothing more than to relax in Simon’s lap but when you found him, you saw that Johnny was already sitting on his lap talking about something he found on the internet. You weren’t sure what to say so you turned around and went off to the porch.

Right now, you’re just confused if love is here or not.

—

You’re not sure if love is here when a week after the men returned back from their deployment, they get all dressed up and get ready to leave.

You watch them from the couch as you see Kyle fix Johnny’s tie. You see John looking at his phone, probably for directions, and you see Simon putting on some cologne. While all the men were all dressed, you were here on the couch wearing some pajamas.

“Are you guys going somewhere?”

You speak up. The men turn to look at you as if remembering that you were here and you can see the gears in their heads turn as they decide what to say.

“We’re…”

Kyle begins, trying to find the right words to say.

“We’re going on a date.”

“A date?”

You look at the men, they certainly looked dressed for a date, but why didn’t they tell you?

“Can I come? I won’t take long to get ready, just give me about 15 minutes”

You asked them as you began to get off the couch but instead of seeing smiles and nods, you’re just met with a grimace expression.

“Love”

John begins slowly.

“It’s a date for us.”

For us? You can’t remember the last time that the men willingly chose to go out on a date without you. Sure there were times that you were feeling under the weather or was too tired to go out, but now? You felt fine, and you were definitely wanting to go out on a date with your boyfriends.

You weren’t exactly sure what to think but you gave them a small nod as you went back to the couch, trying hard not to cry as you hear the men leave.

—

Now you don’t think love is here as you try to move past the date. You try your hardest to move past the way they’ve been treating you as if you’re just their roommate rather than your girlfriend. Those sparse kisses and the I love you, you used to receive are practically non-existent now. You have to watch as the men slowly begin cutting you out from their lives.

You find yourself sitting on the couch again as you notice that all of your boyfriends are upstairs in your shared bedroom. Before you can head upstairs and try to squeeze your way back into their hearts again; you hear it, you hear the moans and groans. It doesn’t take an idiot to realize what is happening.

Your biggest fear was coming true and you couldn’t do anything about it as you stayed seated on the couch, wallowing over the lost of love.

Now you were sure that love wasn’t here.

Rahhh heartbreak 🦅🦅

According to my calculations 🤓 I should be done with this series in about 2-3 chapters hopefully, that’s not including the two endings

Edit: Changed the dividers so it’ll match with masterlist for this series.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

so! you mentioned in the 'p0rn preferences' post that Gaz is not the one who jerks off the most in the 141, and I humbly ask you, who would that be?

I don't mean this as a request, just a little discussion, cause I feel like Soap would just be going at it at any chance possible, like a bunny. he probably doesn't care much if someone hears it, but that's just me thinking too much into it.

Who Jerks off the Most in the 141 + König

Warnings: 18+, Heavy Mentions of Masturbation, Male Masturbation, Implied Reader in Individual Headcanons, Accidental and Implied Voyeurism, Edging, Brief Mention of Injury, Men Who Moan <3, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except 'You'.

A/N: As per Anon's question (which I just had to turn into a post of its own) I present to you the list of the 141 members (and König) who jerk off from the most to least <3

Soap

I have to agree with you here, Anon - Johnny is most definitely the king of self love when it comes to the 141.

He doesn't much care where he is or who he's with; when he has to satisfy his needs, he'll do so.

Though, he'll spare whoever's with him the sight of watching him throwing his head back, trying to stifle his moans behind gritted teeth whilst the wet sound of his hand slipping up and down the length of his shaft fill the room.

Unless they want to.

For one reason or another, he's nigh-insatiable when it comes to his libido, and the fact that his stamina affords him the luxury of beating himself off until his cum is practically translucent doesn't help.

The slightest thing can set him off.

Someone brushing past him ? Hard.

Someone stroking his ego a little too enthusiastically ? Bricked up.

He sees something that's shaped to be a little too curvy or phallic ? Stiff as a pole.

He remembers something mildly suggestive you did three years ago in that restaurant ? He's going to the Horny Realm.

Yes, his teammates have complained about his incessant moaning-come-grunting-come-whimpering through all hours of the night, his voice contorting through a spectrum of desperation and Johnny always ending up spent and overstimulated by the time the sun comes up.

And then he's ready to do it all again the second night touches the horizon line, giving his teammates a knowing smile when he walks into the room sporting nothing else save for a pair of boxers and a monster that looks to be trying to tear itself free from them.

Gaz

Dude's young. Of course he's throttling that rooster on a nigh-daily basis.

The only reason he's not at it as much as Soap is because he likes to believe he still has a few threads of his self-restraint intact.

He doesn't.

Especially when it comes to you (regardless of whether you're dating yet or not).

But he doesn't need to know that.

Honestly, the only thing that separates him from Johnny's unmatched libido is the fact that it takes a little more than the slightest provocation to get Gaz going.

Albeit, that line is a thin one.

If he so much as accidentally sees something explicit for upwards of three seconds, he's hard.

The only advantage of his need for satisfaction is the speed with which he can achieve it.

He and Johnny actually timed each other once to see who could get off the fastest.

Gaz won. Though, only by a slim margin.

Needless to say, that made for a rather interesting conversation with the Captain when he walked in on two of his best soldiers sat panting on the edge of their cots, an almost-translucent spray spattered across their stomachs, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

Ghost

The third-in-line for the Throttle Throne is none other than our beloved Ghost.

Unlike Johnny and Gaz, Ghost is more likely to leave himself alone at the first sign of trouble, toughing it out until he can will his mind to less lustful pastimes.

He won't make his jacking off known to anyone, either, often doing it in the shower where the water beats down so harshly that no sound can be heard for the water's fall.

That, and he's a master at keeping his voice low, no matter the circumstances.

More often than not, Simon makes quick work of jerking off purely because it’s a means to an end. However, if it’s you he’s thinking of, he’s much more likely to take his time — to immerse himself in the fantasy of your body around his, taking him so well in one capacity or another. Fucking yourself dumb on his cock.

During these times, he’s thorough — much more likely to edge himself, to throw his head back and growl between gritted teeth, to savour the sensation coiling in his stomach, his balls growing tight.

Otherwise, he’ll stroke one out as quickly as he can, getting back to business as usual.

And to look at him, on the surface, you'd never know that he just spent the last three minutes rubbing one out in the bathroom (yes, he is also a contender for first place in the 'Who Can Jack Off The Quickest Competition', but he'll never allow Johnny or Gaz the luxury of witnessing his unprecedented skill; that's for your eyes only).

Until he corners you, breathing down your neck, scolding you for tempting him - a man whose restraint lies only in his ability to hold off from reducing you to an exponential reflection of his prior state, breathless and covered in fluids.

König

Have you seen the size of that thing ? Man should be in the olympics for being able to throw that weight around.

Similarly to Ghost, König only gets himself off when it's absolutely necessary.

Only if he doesn't have you lying around to help him, of course.

Though, he lets himself have a bit of fun with it. Especially if it's been a tough day.

He's vocal, too. Though he tries not to be.

He just can't help it. Days' - maybe even weeks' - worth of unspent adrenaline and semen is hardly any way for a soldier like König to go about his life. So, he expels it in the privacy of quite literally any isolated space he can find.

König is not an adventurous spirit by any means when it comes to self pleasure, but when needs must, he's willing to shoulder the weight of the prospect that someone on his team could walk in at any second and catch him spraying his stomach or the wall white with, let's face it, thick ropes of cum.

Hong-Jin's actually caught him doing that before now.

That's actually how the two became friends: Horangi heard König grunting in the store cupboard and, knowing how stubborn his Colonel was with letting others know when he was injured, sought him out. Wanted to offer his help.

Catching Colonel König in the act of throwing his head back whilst growling the name '(Y/N)' into the darkest corner of the room was, suffice it to say, not what Horangi had been expecting.

Price

You just know he's cool with it. And by 'cool', I mean incredibly intentional, controlled, and not ravenous in the ways our other favourite military princesses are.

Sure, Price has gotten hard on the job a few times.

Who hasn't ?

But thanks to his level head, unwavering devotion to his work, and absolute refusal to acknowledge that he did, in fact, get a little bit of a chub during a shoot-out, he's managed to gain control over every facet of his body.

Until he comes home to you, of course.

Until he's able to loom over you like an omen and run his hands down your sides, stopping at your hips and pressing kisses that become more open-mouthed the further down the side of your neck he dips.

Pressing his hips into yours. Something demands your attention.

There have been very few occasions where a cold shower wasn't a quick enough fix for him.

When the days of having you milk him are too far out of sight, he's had to suffice with his own hands before now. Had to imagine - remember - what yours felt like in his place, your lips curled up as he gripped the chair arms, breathless as he moaned into the warm tones of your shared apartment.

But don't worry ! He'll be sure to catch you up on everything you've missed while he's been away once he returns.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

[catssluvr]

attention, nat scatorccio

nat scatorccio x nerd!fem!reader (804) (request)

in which you’re trying to study but your girlfriend has other plans, getting your attention

warnings: pre-crash nat, clingy nat <3

⭑.ᐟ ⭑.ᐟ

You feel her eyes on you as you scribble down on your paper. There's books scattered on your bed, proof of hours of the hours you've spent studying.

It would be a lie to say you're not tired, but you'd feel worse if you just stopped than if you pushed yourself for a little longer.

It doesn't help that Nat is here, you're aware that you can get rather annoying when it comes to school related things. But you just couldn't get yourself to say no to her when she begged you to have a study date.

"Nat." You warn sternly, rubbing at your temples with sigh without turning your eyes away from the paper.

"Hm?" She hums, not quite paying attention to your tone and twirling her bangs with her fingers, almost refusing to resume the staring.

"Focus." You say simply, receiving an eye roll from the lack of attention you give her.

“I’m very focused.” Nat retorts with a huff, lips moving into a pout you know she barely means.

She is indeed focused, just not in what you wish she would be. Not in her own notebooks that have barely been touched the whole afternoon.

“On the homework.” You clarify, having to pretend you don’t want to wipe that down that pout off her lips with a messy kiss.

Nat groans in annoyance, flipping her notebook shut with a slap.

“Can we take a break?” She tries with hopeful eyes.

“We literally took a break about half an hour ago, baby.” You answer gently, finally lifting your head to look at her with a sympathetic smile.

“I’m tired.” She pushes.

“Then have a nap. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” You reason, smirking at the way she makes a face at your resilience.

“Or… you could nap with me?” She pushes some of the books, making space for her to scoot closer to your hunched form. She traces a finger down your arm, making your hairs lift.

You make no move to answer her, hunching away from her teasing touches. Nat stays silent for a moment - and you know that can’t be good.

She pounders, smiling smugly once the idea lights up in her head.

In a swift move, she throws herself at you. Her legs are planted on either side of you, holding onto your shoulders as she is now sitting right on your lap.

“Please.” Nat tries once more, starting to press kisses across your cheeks.

You roll your eyes, happy to indulge in her games. Resting your chin on her shoulder, you peek over it and start working on your paper again.

“Babyyy.” She extends the word with a whiny voice, moving down to your neck to press her nose there.

“Yes?” You question, raising your eyebrows. Not mentioning the fact it’s getting ratter impossible to ignore her presence when she’s sitting on top of you.

“You’re no fun.” Your girlfriend says almost immediately, lips curling downwards mockingly.

You have to fight the urge to kiss her right there and then, ignoring the way she’s trying really hard to make you break and do exactly that.

“Having a bad grade is also no fun.” You retort, squeezing her waist with one hand when she slumps against your shoulder.

“You couldn’t have like a B even if you tried to.” Nat groans in frustration, persuasive voice turning defeated.

You take a moment to answer, sad to have to disappoint her but knowing the guilt will eat you if you stop, "I really do want to study." You smile sheepishly.

Nat sighs once again, lips pulled down in a frown and eyes slightly droopy from sleep in the sweetest way possible.

You wrap your arms around her waist as she moves to leave your lap, holding her in place. "But you can stay here." You brush your thumb against her skin that's peaking from her black long sleeve.

"I can?" She asks, excited smile returning to her lips in a second, making your heart warm.

"Course. I'll also let you turn on the tv if you behave." You assert teasingly, smiling at the sight of her dimples.

"I love you." Nat blurts, squishing your cheeks before pressing as many kisses as she can all over your face. Your cheeks, your nose, your eyebrow and a last one on your forehead. "Okay, i'll let you get back."

"I love you." You mumble gently, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as she lets go of you to sit by your side against the headboard.

Your girlfriend leans her head against your shoulder, picking up the controller before laying her hand gently on your thigh.

You go back to writing down on your notebook, cheeks hurting from holding back a smile as you press on last kiss to her head.

[jeondesu]

ೀ⋆ 🍂 LOVE ME HARDER !

── ✧ ˚. ꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ idol!han jisung x f!reader ˒˓ established relationship 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. fluff, a bit angsty in the beginning but fizzles out quickly, kissing, semi-suggestive but nothing explicit, reader is implied to be shorter than jisung, 𝔀ords. 2.0k

[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — i had originally wrote this on my old blog for taehyung but i rewrote some parts and made it a little better. let me know what you think <3 pls feel free to reblog/leave a nice comment, it always helps me out ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ

𝓼ong 𝓲nspo: love me harder by ariana grande

Lazy Sundays were your favorite day of the week for a good reason. One of them being that you got most stuff done on Sundays as you felt more in a productive spirit. It became your ritual, dedicating the day to deep cleaning your room, tackling piles of laundry, and tending to the much needed self-care you so often neglected during the week.

You lightly hum as soft lofi music played in the background while dusting off your pretty antiques and fold your clothes. Time slipped through your fingers like silk, the afternoon fading before you could fully grasp it. By the time everything was in it’s place, you felt that familiar ache of burnout settling into your bones.

Jisung was supposed to come over today but he hasn’t texted you back in hours— you were almost positive by the time you were done he would’ve texted you but nope. No text. No call. Pure radio silence.

You kept checking your phone periodically, as if each glance might summon him— like a message would magically appear on your screen by sheer will.

It never does though unfortunately.

Sighing and huffing, you throw your phone across the bed in frustration. What’s the point in even having a phone if he isn’t going to properly communicate with it?

You head downstairs to make a smoothie to keep yourself occupied, hoping the motion would quiet your thoughts, but your mind subconsciously betrayed you. All you could think about was Jisung. His voice, low and velvet-smooth, replaying in your head like a song that you couldn’t turn off, a distant memory that was out of reach. The more time you spent away from him left you needing to fill the void, constantly keeping yourself busy not out of habit, but out of necessity; because the stillness always brought out your melancholy, and you weren’t sure how much more of that you could bear.

It wasn’t easy at all dating someone like him— not knowing when he’ll text you, not being able to just call him whenever you feel like it. Those intense feelings of yearning cloud your mind and turn you into a lovesick pup. You also don’t want to come off as clingy and text him too much since you know he’s probably working.

You hear a set of keys jingle from outside, unlocking the door. You felt frozen in time, not making any sudden movement— it was like the universe had bent in your favor and a guardian angel just answered all your prayers.

Slowly walking up to the door, heart fluttering in anticipation, you see the man who’s been occupying every corner of your mind. A smiling Jisung in front of you with a large bouquet of pink roses in his hands.

“Surprise!” Jisung beamed through the open doorway, voice bright and familiar.

What a pleasant surprise indeed. You’ve been quietly longing for this moment practically the whole day, waiting for him to come through that door and chase the ache out of your chest. His blond hair fell messily into his eyes but you could still see that he looked a bit tired. It was nice of him to give you the flowers and all, but you still felt sort of neglected by him not calling or texting. You’d spent majority of the day wondering if he’d forgotten how much space he took up in your heart.

“Wow, these are beautiful! You really didn’t have to Ji, thank you.” You flash a soft, appreciative smile as you set the flowers on the table.

“That’s my apology gift for not being able to call you all day,” he spoke earnestly, inching his way closer to you. “Things just got hectic and I didn’t have time to. I saw this really beautiful flower spot on the way here and wanted to get you a little something. Again, I’m really sorry…”

Sometimes you wonder if he’s a mind reader, he always seemed to know when something was off— doing his best to resolve a problem before it gets too out of hand. He doesn’t handle conflict very well and shuts down if the argument gets too heated.

“It’s okay Ji, I get it. You’re a busy man… you’ve got more important things to worry about than me.” The words left your lips before you could stop them— and the second they did, regret followed like a shadow. You hadn’t meant to guilt him. You just… missed him. More than words could ever convey.

“What’re you talking about y/n? You’re the most important person in my life.” Jisung expresses, voice heavy with disbelief. “I can’t believe you’d say such a thing like that.. maybe I need to do better in showing how much I love you. How much I appreciate you.”

As if he were worried you would disappear right in this moment, he steps forward, tightly pulling you into his arms. You felt as though you could cry, but you held your tears back— you couldn’t fall apart, not when he was finally here, you had to remain strong in front of him.

“N-no Ji, you’re perfect just the way you are please don’t change! It’s just… the communication could be a little better on your side.” You tried to phrase it carefully, choosing your words in a way that wouldn’t hurt his feelings.

He simply nods in agreement, “you’re absolutely right. From this day forward I’ll try my best to communicate with you better. I truly never realized how much of an effect that can have on you. I’m so, so sorry.”

“Jisung please, it’s fine. Stop apologizing so much, I’m just… I’m glad you’re here with me right now.” You nuzzle into his chest and play into the palm of his hand, allowing the beat of his heart to calm any of the persisting doubts that loomed over you.

“Me too y/n, me too.”

‧ ꙳ ੭ * ‧ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ‧

You cuddled in bed with Jisung for the rest of the day, the glow of random Netflix movies flickering across the dimly lit room. Not that either of you were really watching to begin with— your mouths found each other too easily, too often, kisses bleeding into each new scene as if you were writing your own story between each breath.

His leg was sprawled over yours with his arm wrapped around your waist, peppering gentle kisses to the side of your face, pressing up against you— both your body heat combined was hot enough to light a match. It didn’t matter how long you’ve been with him for, the tension between you two was beyond frustrating.

Jisung never pressured you into things though, he liked it better when you initiate something more because he knows you’re having a good time. He cared more about you than he did himself and what you said earlier still weighed heavy on his mind.

“Am I a bad boyfriend to you y/n? Be honest, I can take it..” Jisung asks on a whim.

You blinked slowly, caught by surprise. “No, what the hell? You’re not at all, I love you so much my JiJi.”

“Then why do I feel so bad for what you said earlier? There’s gotta be some truth behind you thinking that you’re not important to me.”

You sighed as your head hung low, tracing idle patterns across his chest. “I don’t know why I’d say that… it just came out I’m sorry. I know you value me, I know you love me, I was just upset in that moment and should’ve have said it. We both have things to work on so I’m glad we’re talking more about this actually.” You feel better now that you were able to healthily communicate with him about all this.

“Yeah, I agree.” Jisung admits, running a hand through his hair. “I need to work on actually looking at my phone sometimes. I’ve just been so tired from all this back and forth traveling, I get jet-lagged easily.”

“I get it, it’s hard and although I may not understand I can definitely sympathize. I’m here for you whenever you need me Ji, I’m your ride or die until the end, right?” You look up at him again, getting closer in proximity to his face.

“Right.”

He leans in to capture your lips into another kiss, which leads back to you making out yet again. Things grew a little too heated when his hands sneak down a bit lower than they’re supposed to. You tsk at him and he turns red as a tomato, looking away at you with a sheepish grin.

“Later Ji, I was sweating a bit earlier and would like to freshen up before we get into… all that.” You know he definitely doesn’t care and a little bit of swear wasn’t going to turn him off but he wants to do what’s best for you anyway— he always respected what made you feel most comfortable.

You rose from the bed to get ready for your shower and he gets up to examine all the things on your dresser. Eyes curiously scanning over the newly reorganized collection of beauty products— neat rows of perfumes, palettes, and perfectly arranged lipsticks.

“I never realized you had this much makeup y/n, how do you even keep track of it all?” Jisung probes, fascinated by all the different kinds of makeup there were.

“You literally wear makeup too… you should know that it’s always important to have lots of options!” You exclaim, shaking your head at him going through your different shades of lipstick.

He spots a pretty light pink color and applies it on his lips, dramatically turning towards you to show off the final look.

“You think this shade suits me?” He points at his lips that formed a tiny pout and jokingly winks at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Honestly? That color looks way better on you than me, you should keep it!”

Curse this man’s insanely out of this world good looks.

He chuckles at your comment and continues looking through your stuff, swatching the eyeshadows on his wrist, he looked like he was having a field day.

“You seem to be really enjoying my things, huh?” You inquire, eyeing the vibrant colors on his skin.

“I just think it’s cool,” Jisung mused, still aimlessly swatching colors across his wrist like tiny brushstrokes on a canvas. “I find things like this to be artistic in a way. Makeup can be used as a form of self expression, you know? I always liked that.”

You love how your boyfriend can be so secure in his own masculinity, that it doesn’t matter for him to find interest in these things. It’s what made you even more attracted to him, his inner femininity shined through so beautifully.

He wasn’t scared to break norms with you either, he enjoyed doing the cooking (if he didn’t burn the house down), house cleaning, and running small errands for you without even asking. His love for you stretched so far that he’d do anything to prove he deserved you. It was a very healthy and balanced relationship but still, he did get in his head a lot about if he was good enough for you.

Before you get in the shower, Jisung holds your arm in place to say one last thing.

“I know I’ve probably said this for the millionth time today but, I love you y/n. Truly, I do. There’s not a single person in this world I’d imagine being with other than you. Thank you for being so patient with me and sticking by my side. You really are my person.”

He pulls you in for another warm hug, holding you like this was his last day on earth— he slightly towered over you, he could just kiss the top of your head. You couldn’t stop smiling at him, it was precious moments like these that you cherished near and dear for the rest of your life.

“I love you so much Ji, you’re everything I need and value in a partner. I know that as long as we have each other, we can get through anything.”

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