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thepencilnerd · 3 months ago

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Feels Like Trouble

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: You and Robby have been secretly dating for a while now. Most of the ER is clueless—except the five people who could probably write dissertations on your dynamic. Enter a frat boy med student with too much confidence and not enough self-awareness. Robby? Jealous. You? Oblivious. Everyone else? Watching the drama unfold like it's peak primetime television. warnings: cringe flirting, depiction of boundary-pushing behavior, mutual pining, protective!Robby genre: fluff, slow burn, banter, crack vibes, emotional constipation, robbie's love language is acts of service, strong!reader energy because women run the world word count: 6.3k a/n: robby in his protective, simmering, quietly feral era + men anticipating my needs without me having to ask is my roman empire. p.s. also check out my other Dr. Robby fics (Not Enough | And Through It All) if you're interested <3

It started at the nurses’ station.

You were finishing up notes from a back-to-back shift, hair a mess, sleeves rolled, running purely on caffeine and spite. You barely registered the med student who leaned in a little too close—Jackson, of course. Jackson, who everyone knew had barely scraped through med school with a transcript that looked like a cry for help and a reputation for quoting his frat days like gospel. Jackson, who thought calling women 'Doc' in a tone meant to charm was somehow endearing. So, yeah. Not a great dude, to say the absolute least.

"Hey, Dr. L/N," Jackson said with that ever-present grin, leaning just a little too close. "You, uh... ever take pity on exhausted interns and grab a drink after shift?"

You gave a polite smile. "I’m not really a spirits person, but thanks."

Jackson blinked. "Huh?"

"You said drink, right? I’m more of a coffee or tea girl. Caffeine over cocktails."

He opened his mouth like he was going to try again, but you were already turning back to your chart.

"Good luck today!" you said cheerfully, not noticing the groan from your colleagues. Just around the corner, Mateo muttered to Javadi, "That’s the fourth time this week. It’s painful, man."

Javadi sipped her carton of apple juice with focused precision, attention directed solely on your ability to brush off such obvious advances without it getting in the way of your work. "Seventh, actually. If you count the half-made attempt on Monday. She's bulletproof."

"Try Jackson-proof," Mateo scoffed.

Two beds down, King leaned over to Langdon with her gloved hands clasped and asked, "Why does Jackson keep hovering around Dr. L/N like a... rabid mosquito?"

Langdon just smiled knowingly, looking over to the nurses' station where the man of the hour sat. "Don’t worry. Robby'll take care of it. Eventually."

Unbeknownst to you, Robby had been watching the entire interaction—and every interaction before that. If any med student so much as breathed near you with less-than-pure intentions, he was up in arms, ready to intervene at a moment's notice.

There was that time Whitaker nearly took your eye out when a patient came in with a nail embedded in his femur; the force of pulling it out snapped Whitaker’s elbow backward—only for Robby's hand to catch it mid-swing before it could clock you in the face. Or when Santos nearly sliced your finger open as you gently guided her through her first incision—Robby had materialized behind her in the span of a gasp, steadying her hands with a calm correction that masked sheer panic. Or when Javadi passed out for the second time during a gnarly pelvic realignment and collapsed straight into you, nearly giving you a concussion from her deadweight—Robby had been there then, too, catching you both with lightning reflexes and barely concealed fury.

At this point, the only person in the hospital who hadn’t triggered Robby’s internal security system was Mel. And that was only because she kept a respectful three-foot radius and shared snacks with you during breaks. The two of you had a quiet little tradition—inviting her out to try the new cat café when it opened downtown, or attending weekend adoption events together like it was a team-building exercise. Langdon once joked that she was the third wheel in the most wholesome slow-burn romcom he'd ever seen. Mel's only response was two blinks and a single nod of acknowledgement.

Everyone in the ER noticed your dynamic—the way you and Robby worked together like a well-oiled machine, never needing to speak aloud to know what the other needed. It was intuitive. Rhythmic. Like watching a dance you’d been rehearsing for years.

Still, only a handful of people actually knew about your relationship. Abbot, Collins, McKay, Dana, Langdon, and Mel.

Abbot had been Robby’s sounding board from the very beginning. Back when Robby was still pacing around the break room, torn between professionalism and the undeniable, slow-burning pull he felt toward you, it was Abbot who told him to get over himself and ask you out. Life was too short for regrets.

Collins, McKay, and Dana didn’t know officially—but they knew. The meaningful glances, the subtle handoffs of coffee, the shared silences that were too loaded to be casual. They never said a word because they lived for the soap-opera-worthy drama of it all.

Langdon and Mel were on the same wavelength. They hadn’t caught you red-handed, but their spidey senses were borderline clairvoyant. They never probed, never asked. Just watched it unfold like a plotline they already knew the ending to.

Besides them, the rest of the department remained blissfully unaware—except for the way Robby’s entire demeanor shifted over a year ago. A quiet warmth started to replace his usual stoicism. People credited it to the anonymous private donation made to the ER around the same time.

But the truth was, it had nothing to do with money.

It was you.

You, of course, were oblivious to whatever other people thought or said—unless it had something to do with your patients. Robby sometimes joked that you were pathologically unbothered, something he made a mental note to ask you about, and he wasn’t wrong. The rumors from the nurses, the looks from the interns, the knowing smirks from Dana or Langdon? All of it flew over your head like air traffic.

Maybe you just didn’t see it. Didn’t see how Robby’s entire world seemed to tilt when you entered a room. How effortlessly the two of you moved in sync like second nature—side by side in trauma bays, tossing instruments, treatment plans, and glances back and forth like muscle memory. Everyone else could see it.

You were always focused on the next decision, the next step, the next person who needed your help. You didn’t think about what you needed until the shift was over—if ever. Your well-being came last, always.

But not to Robby. Never to Robby.

He noticed everything.

The slump in your shoulders. The faint crease in your forehead when a headache was starting to set in. He knew when you were on the verge of running on empty, when your patience was thinning, when you hadn’t eaten since sunrise. He never made a show of it. He just acted.

He didn’t wait for you to ask. He didn’t expect you to remember to need anything.

Because he already knew. He just... knew.

Your coffee, brewed and sweetened exactly how you liked it, would be waiting for you at the nurses’ station first thing in the morning. A second cup at lunch—always packed, always hot, even if you never had time to drink it. He’d drop it off like it was routine, like it was no big deal, because he knew the odds of you being pulled into another case mid-sip were astronomical.

Your favorite sandwich from the cafeteria, left quietly on your desk with a sticky note that said, “Eat this or I’m calling your mother.” You'd sooner pass out from hunger than remember to eat. He knew that. So he took the thinking out of it for you.

And after the longest days—those days where you'd made a thousand decisions, answered a hundred questions, led back-to-back codes—he’d cook dinner at his place. Quietly, without fanfare, and pieced together with the same kind of intention you gave your patients. He’d hand you a glass of water—because that was one other thing that you along with 80% of the population deprived yourself of—and steer you to the couch while he handled the rest. Just so you could turn your brain off.

You never asked, never had to, yet he always knew.

You’d just been snapped back to the present by the sound of an unwelcome familiar voice—again.

"Dr. L/N," he said, sidling up to you again with that same confident grin—clearly not deterred by every failed attempt before. "I’ve got a list of mocktails that might just change your mind. Pretty creative, right? I googled it during lunch. There’s this one with lychee and—"

You blinked at him slowly, like you were buffering.

"Jackson," you said, voice firmer this time, "I don’t even have time to finish a protein bar most days, let alone entertain another pitch for drinks. You’re taking time away from my patients, my patients. I sincerely hope you don’t treat them the same way—ignoring their boundaries and refusing to take no for an answer."

You didn’t say it harshly. Just plainly. Clearly and finite. Like a diagnosis that needed no follow-up.

Across the room, Robby pulled down his glasses as his lip quirked up into a slow, private smirk. Pride bloomed across his face so fast he had to duck his head behind a chart to hide it. He knew better than to coddle you. The mutual discomfort and stifled reactions from the staff were one thing. Watching you handle yourself like that? That was something else entirely.

From across the nurses’ station, the staff collectively cringed like someone had just dropped a post-op surgical tray. Santos and Mateo physically turned away to hide their budding laughter. Javadi buried her face in her sleeve, secondhand embarrassment blooming. Mohan took off at a brisk pace to see a patient. Whitaker closed his eyes and mouthed a silent prayer to the ceiling. Meanwhile, Dana, McKay, and Collins couldn’t look away if they tried, pressing down their grins and wishing they'd brought popcorn. Langdon sipped his coffee like it was a box-office premiere. King, ever diligent, kept her focus on irrigating her patient’s wound—Langdon would fill her in later with full commentary. Before you could continue—

"Dr. L/N," your savior called, tone light but cutting through the air like a scalpel—just loud enough to interrupt whatever nonsense Jackson was about to say next.

You turned and there he was.

Dr. Robby—your chaos compass, your caffeinated partner in crime, loyal boyfriend, favorite soon-to-be roommate, and at the moment, your very composed but unmistakably irritated attending—his expression perfectly calm to the untrained eye, but you could read the tension in every line of his face.

"Got a case," he said flatly. "Now. Come on."

You blinked, confused but relieved. "Okay."

You didn’t miss the way Jackson shrank a little at Robby’s tone, nor the way Langdon grinned over his coffee like he'd just won a bet. You caught up to him by the supply closet, where he all but dragged you inside and shut the door behind you.

"What's up?" you asked, eyebrow raised.

He stared at you, a little too intently, like he wasn’t sure whether to scold you or wrap you in bubble wrap. "Are you seriously asking me that after that guy just tried to chat you up in the middle of the ER like this is Grey’s Anatomy?"

You blinked, tilting your head. "Wait… was that flirting?"

Robby blinked back. "You’re joking."

You were. "I thought he just wanted to split an energy drink or something."

He huffed a quiet laugh, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders as his hands came up to ruffle his hair. "Jesus."

You poked his chest lightly. "You’re kind of cute when you’re flustered, you know that?"

His ears went red immediately. "I’m not flustered. I’m... professionally annoyed."

You blinked. "You’re jealous?"

"I’m not jealous," he said tightly. "I’m—concerned."

You grinned, stepping close. "Concerned is hot."

"He was twelve."

"He's definitely at least twenty-six."

Robby exhaled through his nose. "I’ve been very chill about this whole 'let’s not tell the hospital we’re dating' thing. But if I see him so much as come within two feet of you again, I’m submitting a formal notice that you are very much taken and a complaint with HR about his behavior. And if that doesn’t work—" he leaned in closer, voice dropping—"I’m dealing with him myself."

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a smirk. "What’s that going to look like—are you gonna slam your clipboard down and tag team him with Abbot? Because honestly, I wouldn’t hate that."

Your voice was teasing, but your cheeks were warm. Watching Robby get territorial from a respectful distance? Unexpectedly hot. And now, you couldn’t help but push his buttons to see how much more riled up he’d get.

He didn’t answer. Just leaned in slowly, deliberately, raising both of his arms to cage you in—palms flat against the wall on either side of your head. The move sent heat straight to your cheeks, blinking up at him as he leaned closer, so close his breath brushed your lips.

Then he kissed you—hard and fast and possessive, his hands sliding up into your hair, threading through it with the kind of reverence that made your knees go weak. You gasped softly into his mouth, one hand instinctively rising to cup his jaw, your fingers grazing the edge of his beard before curling into the softness of it. He leaned into your touch, like he’d been waiting for it all day.

Your other hand slid up into his hair, tugging gently at the strands at the nape of his neck, and you felt it—the way his pulse thrummed just beneath your fingertips, the way he shivered just slightly at your touch.

His thumbs caressed the line of your jaw, then drifted down to the curve of your neck, holding you like you might slip away if he wasn’t careful.

It was fire and softness, urgency wrapped in warmth. And you never wanted to stop.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathless. "Is that allowed in a supply closet?" you smirked.

"If they didn’t want people kissing in here, they wouldn’t make it this conveniently located."

You smacked his arm, giggling.

"I’m serious," he added, voice softening but maintaining a firm undertone. "I don't share."

You looped your arms around his neck. "Good. I wasn’t offering."

He grinned, still close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. "That thing you said back there—about boundaries, about respect." He paused, eyes scanning yours. "That was... incredible. Seriously. You handled it perfectly."

Your brows furrowed for a moment, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice.

"It was... commanding," he added a moment later, voice lower, more playful now. "Alluringly so."

You snorted. "You're ridiculous."

"Yeah," he agreed, pulling you closer to pepper your face with kisses. "Ridiculously in love with a woman who knows exactly how to shut down frat boys without breaking stride, resuscitate half the ER, deliver excellent patient care, and still make rounds on time."

His hand slid down your back, warm and steady. "You’re the whole damn package, you know that? It’s genuinely unfair."

You chuckled, burying your face briefly in his shoulder.

Somewhere down the hall, Dana's voice rang echoed through the PA, summoning you for the consult. Robby groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

"This is not over," he muttered.

You kissed the corner of his mouth, a smirk following soon after where your lips lingered. "Got any dinner plans?"

Robby raised an eyebrow, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "Actually, yeah. I’ve got a date—with my incredibly beautiful, breathtaking, beyond intelligent, and painfully witty girlfriend."

You blinked at him, then laughed, delighted. "Wow. Sounds like a catch."

He leaned in and bumped his nose against yours, grinning. "She really is. And I think she’s about to say yes."

You didn’t say anything at first. Just smiled, so full of affection it made your cheeks ache. Then you nodded, brushing your thumb gently along his cheekbone.

"Yeah," you whispered, "she definitely is."

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goofygubegubler · 3 months ago

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𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑶𝒏𝒆?

Inexperienced doesn’t mean incapable—especially when you’re bent over and begging him to go deeper.

wc: 2k | F!Reader (Established Relationship) | cw: explicit sexual content, rough sex, mild dominance/submission dynamics, inexperienced but eager Spencer, praise kink, slight hair pulling, deep penetration, overstimulation, mild dirty talk

A/N: I’m obsessed with the big useless dick trope from @esote-rika, so here’s my take—featuring a big, useless dick and a loving, overthinking, but oh-so-giving doctor. (not proof read)

Spencer had been so inexperienced when you first got together—hesitant, unsure. Just two partners before you, neither of them pushing him beyond what he knew. He was sweet, generous, and completely devoted to your pleasure, but he was stuck in his patterns. The same three positions, over and over. Missionary, him on top, or you on top—maybe a leg up if he was feeling particularly bold. It wasn’t bad. Far from it. His big, beautiful cock, thick and flushed at the tip, always left you satisfied. But satisfaction wasn’t enough anymore. You wanted something deeper. Something rougher. Something primal.

You kept thinking about last week—when Spencer had lost himself for just a second. The way his fingers wrapped around your throat as you came, his hips snapping into you harder than usual. The look in his eyes after, that flicker of something raw and untamed before he shoved it back down, had haunted you. Left you craving more.

And yet, here you were again, pinned beneath him in missionary, Spencer sweating above you, his breath ragged as he buried himself inside you with careful precision. His movements were deliberate, controlled—too controlled. You could feel the effort, the sheer determination to make you feel good, but somewhere in his need to perfect, to please, he was missing something vital. His strokes were measured and rhythmic, but they lacked the wild, desperate edge you ached for. His eyes were shut tight, damp curls sticking to his forehead, lost in his own head instead of here with you. You loved him—God, you did—but you needed more.

"Sp- Spencer," you gasped, hands trembling as they found his face, fingers pressing into the sharp angles of his jaw, guiding his gaze to yours. He nearly stopped, concern flashing in his dark, lust-blown eyes, but you shook your head quickly, tightening your grip just enough to keep him there.

"No, no, keep going," you urged, your voice a smooth plea, even as pleasure curled hot and tight in your belly, stealing your breath. Your thumb brushed over his bottom lip, feeling the heat of his breath, the slight tremble in his jaw as he obeyed. A soft, unbidden whimper slipped from him, the sound vibrating against your touch, sending a molten shiver straight through you.

His rhythm faltered, just slightly, when you spoke again. "Spencer, can we try something new?"

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his features as he leaned down to press his lips to your shoulder, his grip on your waist tightening like he was afraid to let go. He hesitated—that hesitation so inherently him, always second-guessing, always calculating.

But not tonight.

You didn’t give him the chance to overthink. In a swift movement, you rolled out from under him, flipping the balance of power in an instant. "Come on, genius," you teased, your smirk slow, dripping with something dangerously enticing. "You’re always reading. I know you’ve done your research."

His pupils blew wide, and for a moment, he hovered between intrigue and disbelief, his jaw tensing like he was fighting himself. Then, something shifted. Acceptance. Surrender. The sharp edge of arousal overtaking logic.

He swallowed hard, raking a hand through his hair before his fingers flexed at his sides. "You know," he started, voice lower, rougher, "research suggests this position promotes optimal G-spot stimulation and deeper penetration." A pause, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smirk. "And judging by your reaction, I’d hypothesize you already knew that."

You let out a breathy laugh, eyes fluttering as his hands found your hips, gripping, exploring. "You think too much, Doctor."

"I can’t help it," he admitted, his voice thinner now, like he was barely holding himself together. "It’s kind of my thing."

"Then let’s see if I can make you stop thinking for a while."

His breath hitched, eyes darkening as you crawled onto your hands and knees in front of him, arching your back just enough. Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes tracing the curve of your spine, the way your hips tilted up for him. He stared, visibly collecting himself, and then, in the way only he could, he gave a response that had your stomach tightening.

"Statistically speaking, rear-entry positions allow for deeper penetration and increased stimulation of the anterior vaginal wall, particularly the A-spot and the upper third of the clitoris," he murmured, his voice low, almost clinical, but edged with something rough. "They also offer better angles for prostate stimulation—not that that applies here, but still interesting."

You bit your lip, tilting your head to glance back at him, eyes dark with mischief. "Spencer," you purred, voice low and teasing, "I didn’t ask for a dissertation. Get behind me."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe himself. But any hesitation he had was gone, burned away by the heat simmering between you. His hands found your hips, fingers pressing into your skin, firm and reverent, like he was grounding himself in the feel of you.

“God, you’re unreal,” he murmured, almost like he was speaking to himself, as he lined himself up. The air between you turned electric, thick with anticipation. For a few long, breathless seconds, there was nothing but the sound of both of you breathing, the weight of what was about to happen settling deep in your bones.

Then, finally, he pushed in—slow, deliberate, filling you inch by inch. His hands tightened on your hips as a ragged groan tore from his throat.

The stretch had you gasping, your fingers curling into the sheets as pleasure spiked sharp and hot through your veins. Behind you, Spencer let out a broken, needy sound that sent a shiver racing down your spine, pooling heat low in your belly.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his fingers flexing against your skin. “The angle really does make a difference.”

A breathless laugh slipped past your lips, dissolving into a moan when he gave an experimental thrust, adjusting his stance behind you. Whatever hesitation he had left melted away, replaced by something deeper, something raw. He found a rhythm—strong, precise, every snap of his hips hitting just right. It shouldn’t have surprised you—of course Spencer would be good at this, just like he was good at everything—but still, you couldn’t help the way your body responded to him, arching into every movement like you’d been waiting for this all along.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his fingers skimming up your spine, sending a delicious shiver rippling through you. “I don’t know why we haven’t done this sooner.”

You couldn’t even answer, too lost in the sensation of him, the way he fit inside you like he was made for it. Instead, you pushed back to meet his thrusts, earning a sharp inhale from him, his grip on your hips tightening.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, voice rough and desperate. “You like this, don’t you?”

A strangled moan was the only answer you could give, pleasure burning so hot it left you breathless. Your fingers curled tighter into the sheets, knuckles white, your entire body trembling with every deep, measured thrust he gave. He wasn’t holding back anymore—wasn’t hesitant. He had surrendered to the need coiling tight inside him, his usual restraint shattered by the slick heat of you wrapped around him.

“Yes,” you finally gasped, your voice breaking on the word.

That single syllable sent a shudder through him, a deep groan tearing from his chest. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you back onto him harder, deeper, as if he wanted to lose himself completely in you. The drag of him inside you was unbearable in the best way, his pace relentless but still precise, like he was cataloging every reaction, every sharp inhale, every flutter of your walls around him—storing it all away in that brilliant mind of his, ready to use it against you later.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he groaned, voice thick with awe and something almost reverent. “God, you’re so—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, his rhythm faltering for just a second before he caught himself, the slap of skin on skin filling the air.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glimpse him—Spencer, his hair damp and curling at the edges, jaw clenched so tight he looked like he was fighting to hold on, his hands gripping you like he was terrified of letting go. His pupils were blown wide, his gaze locked on where your bodies met, completely transfixed.

“You feel so good,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, like it was a confession. “Too good—I don’t… I don’t think I’m gonna last.”

His honesty sent another wave of arousal crashing through you, a desperate whimper slipping from your lips as your body clenched around him involuntarily. The reaction dragged a ragged sound from him, his hips snapping into you harder, his control slipping with every thrust.

“I want you to come first,” he managed, the words punctuated by sharp, deliberate movements that had your entire body winding tighter and tighter.

“You’re— you’re getting close,” you panted, the pleasure building too fast, too intense, your thighs shaking with the effort of holding yourself up.

Spencer’s hand slid from your hip, tracing up your spine before tangling into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. The sudden shift, the subtle display of dominance, had your stomach coiling impossibly tighter.

“Then let me take you there,” he murmured, his free hand slipping between your thighs, fingers finding the swollen bundle of nerves already throbbing from the friction. His touch was precise, practiced, his fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles that had your entire body jolting with pleasure. “Let me feel you fall apart around me.”

It was too much. The fullness of him, the pressure, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way he was whispering praise into your skin like you were something to be worshipped—it sent you spiraling over the edge in a dizzying, overwhelming rush. Your body clenched down around him as the orgasm crashed through you, your vision going completely white, your mouth opening in a silent, wrecked moan.

Spencer groaned, the feeling of you tightening around him pushing him to the brink. His movements grew erratic, his grip tightening as he buried himself deep, his breath stuttering in your ear.

“Fuck—” The word was half a sob, his body tensing behind you as he reached his own release, his hips jerking against you in a few final, desperate thrusts before he stilled, forehead pressing against your shoulder as he panted, utterly spent.

The heat of him filled you, thick and warm, spreading deep, making you shudder in the aftermath. The sensation was almost too much—his release inside you, each subtle twitch of him prolonging your own pleasure, making your walls flutter around him involuntarily. He let out a broken groan, his fingers pressing hard into your waist like he was trying to ground himself, trying to feel every second of it, unwilling to let the moment slip away too soon.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing between you, the weight of his body still pressed against yours, the aftershocks still rippling through both of you, making you keen softly when he shifted just slightly inside you.

Then, finally, Spencer let out a breathless laugh, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder blade. "So, I guess that was a successful experiment."

You snorted, shoving weakly at his shoulder, though he barely budged. His smirk was lazy, smug, just a little bit cocky. "What? You were the one who encouraged me to apply my research."

Rolling your eyes, you stretched out beneath him, still catching your breath. "Never thought I’d see the day Spencer Reid goes hard."

He grinned against your skin, pressing another indulgent kiss to your jaw. "What can I say? The data was conclusive."

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abbotjack · 3 months ago

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Don't Make Me Someone You Can't Have

pairing : dr. jack abbot x resident!reader (afab!reader)

summary : The fallout didn’t start the day of Pitt Fest—it started when you told Jack Abbot how you felt and he told you he didn’t want you. A week later, grief, jealousy, and everything unsaid ignite into something impossible to bury. (Lowkey inspired by Big Love by Fleetwood Mac—because obviously.)

warnings/content : trauma aftermath (mass casualty event), hospital setting, attending x resident dynamic, mutual pining, emotional repression, angst, jealousy, possessive behavior, verbal rejection, explicit sexual content (f!receiving, protected sex), semi-public/backseat sex, emotionally loaded dialogue, swearing

word count : 4,212

18+ ONLY, not beta read. Please read responsibly.

a/n : I am just so obsessed with Abbot, like oml I do not need a new hyperfixation at this point of the semester but here we are. Hope you guys enjoy this!

There’s blood on your forearms.

Not a lot—just the dried trace of a life you couldn’t save, stuck to your skin even after the first scrub. You’ve already changed out of your soiled gloves and gown. You sanitized twice. But still, you scrub again, because your hands won’t stop shaking and focusing on the motion keeps you upright.

The shooting at Pitt Fest has left the trauma bay soaked with the sound of screams you can’t forget. The floors were slick. Supplies ran out faster than anyone could track. You can still hear the rhythmic buzz of the trauma pager, the overhead call for more gurneys, the shrill monitor that never quieted until it did.

Your white coat is somewhere in the hallway—discarded and stained, a casualty of triage. There’s a bruise blossoming on your cheekbone, just beneath your eye. It’s from when the mother of the boy thrashed in panic, her elbow colliding with your face. You didn’t notice it at first, not until someone pointed it out with a grimace. Said it was turning purple, already swelling. Said you should ice it. You didn’t.

You press harder on your hands.

Jack Abbot hasn’t spoken to you since he snapped orders across the gurney three hours ago, voice razor-sharp, eyes like flint. He’d taken over compressions without blinking. His personal protection gear streaked in blood. His shoulders set like stone. His voice—steady, calm, cold.

You’d hesitated.

Just a second. Maybe less. But he’d seen it.

“You’re too shallow—switch out. Now.”

He hadn’t looked at you when he said it. Just stepped in, hands already moving, chest compressing with the precision of someone who’d done it a hundred times before. Because he has.

He moves like he did on the field. You’ve heard stories—Jack the soldier, desert heat in his lungs, fingers suturing flesh with a kind of brutal grace. You’ve seen glimpses of it before, but tonight? Tonight, it wasn’t a glimpse. It was a full transformation.

You backed away, stunned into silence. Not because he took over. But because of how he did it. Like you were a liability. Like you didn’t belong.

You told yourself it was adrenaline. It wasn’t.

The door creaks open behind you, and you don’t have to turn to know it’s him.

You keep your eyes on the mirror—don’t move, don’t breathe—until his reflection comes into focus beside yours.

His eyes go straight to your cheek.

The bruise.

His posture changes. Shoulders tense, mouth tightening. He doesn’t say anything, but the flicker of something behind his eyes is unmistakable. Not surprise. Not guilt.

Anger. Not at you—but at the fact that you’re hurt.

He doesn’t speak. Just leans against the counter. His eyes flick to your cheekbone again. The bruise is deeper now, ugly in the fluorescent light.

“You paused,” he says finally, voice low.

You dry your hands slowly. The paper towel crinkles between your fingers.

You turn, sharp. “I froze because I’ve never had to treat a gunshot wound in a fifteen-year-old while their mother screamed in my ear.”

You don’t stop.

“She was grabbing my sleeves, pulling at my hands, sobbing and shouting his name—over and over. She kept trying to touch his face. I could barely see where the blood was coming from. I wasn’t even sure where to start.”

Jack doesn’t flinch. “That’s what the job is.”

You laugh, and it sounds like it’s clawing its way out of your chest. “Don’t lecture me on what the job is, Jack. I’ve been here three years. I know what this place does to people.”

His jaw tightens. There’s something in his eyes—anger, maybe. Or guilt. You can’t tell with him. You never can.

He pushes off the counter.

“You think I don’t know what it does to people?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Not when he steps closer, the air between you tight enough to snap.

“You think I wanted you in the bay?” he asks.

You blink. “What?”

Jack’s voice dips lower. “I saw your name on the call sheet. I almost pulled you off rotation.”

Your breath hitches. “You don’t get to do that.”

He’s close now—too close. He smells like hospital soap and something else beneath it—deep, expensive cologne that cuts through the sterile air. Teakwood. Mahogany. That warm, slightly spiced scent that always lingers a second too long after he leaves a room. Clean. Controlled. Intentionally chosen. Just like him.

“I don’t want to watch you fall apart,” he says.

Your heart slams. The words hit harder than they should, because they’re the first ones he’s offered that sound like anything real. Not just protocol. Not just war-worn discipline.

“I already have,” you whisper. “And you didn’t notice. Not when I told you how I felt. Not when you shut me down like it meant nothing. Like I meant nothing.”

He swallows hard. His posture stiffens.

“You didn’t even look at me after that,” you say, voice shaking. “I told you I had feelings for you, and you acted like I’d crossed some unspoken line. Like caring about you was a mistake I should be embarrassed by.”

Jack doesn’t say anything.

You shake your head, eyes burning. “For you, it’s easier to pretend this thing—whatever it is between us—doesn’t exist than admit you’re scared of something real.”

You don’t have to spell it out. You’ve seen the way he distances himself—the way he locks things down before anyone even gets close. You’ve felt it.

The silence now is a living thing. Loud. Brutal. The air is laced with too many unsaid things.

You can feel it—beneath the calm, beneath the scrub shirt and military precision—Jack is burning.

But he still doesn’t reach for you.

So you do what you always do.

You leave before he can stop you.

You don’t get far.

The trauma bay doors hiss shut behind you and the night air hits your face like a slap—cool, sharp, soaked in hospital exhaust and rain-soaked concrete. You pace once. Twice. You don’t cry.

You breathe. You think you might scream. Instead, you lean back against the cold exterior wall of the hospital and close your eyes. And there it is—the echo of his voice, thick with something too raw to name.

“I don’t want to watch you fall apart.”

But it wasn’t just tonight that gutted you. It started before. When you said too much and he gave you nothing.

It was three days ago. Late enough that the hospital had gone quiet—the kind of quiet where your thoughts get too loud, and nothing feels safe to admit.

You were both at the nurses’ station. Jack sat at one of the desktops, the screen glowing pale blue in front of him, his fingers motionless on the trackpad. You were across from him, one hand hovering over the keyboard, the other absently toying with a pen.

You’d been circling it for weeks—maybe longer. This thing between you. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It lived in the quiet, in the unspoken, in the almosts. In the way your skin prickled when he entered a room. The way air shifted when he stood behind you—close, but never touching.

It was in the way his gaze found you during rounds, lingering just a heartbeat too long. The way his voice dipped when he said your name, soft and unreadable—like a secret slipping between his teeth. The way your breath caught when he brushed past you in the hallway, the fabric of his scrubs grazing yours, sending a bolt of something electric down your spine.

It was professional. It had to be. But it never felt neutral.

Every look felt like contact. Every silence, a dare.

The tension wasn’t dramatic. It didn’t need to be. It sat just under the surface—constant, quiet, undeniable. Like gravity. Like something pulling you toward him whether you wanted it or not.

But it wasn’t just you.

Jack watched you, too. Carefully. Deliberately. Like he was trying not to want you and failing anyway. He always looked away too slowly. Cleared his throat when your laugh caught him off guard. Said your name differently than everyone else—lower, rougher, like he was holding it in his mouth too long.

There were moments you caught him looking at you like he was already sorry for it.

Like he knew what it would cost if he gave in.

There were nights you couldn’t sleep without replaying the way his hand brushed yours, or the heat of his body behind you in the elevator, or the flicker of something in his eyes before he shut it down again.

You weren’t supposed to notice.

He wasn’t supposed to let you.

But you did.

And he did.

And both of you kept pretending it wasn’t real—even as it took up more and more space inside your chest.

You hadn’t planned to say anything. You hadn’t rehearsed it. It just… happened.

“I care about you,” you’d said, voice soft but steady. “I’m not trying to ruin anything. I just need you to know.”

Jack didn’t look up. Not at first. He just sat there, shoulders stiff, jaw set like someone had flipped a switch inside him. When he did meet your eyes, it wasn’t with warmth. It was with something colder. Sharper. Like he was bracing for impact.

“This can’t happen,” he’d said. Quiet. Controlled. Like he was reciting a rule he’d memorized a long time ago. “You’re a resident. I’m your attending. You know that.”

You’d nodded, tried to smile, tried to make it easy for him. Tried to act like it didn’t sting.

But he kept going.

“And even if you weren’t… it’s not a good idea.”

He hesitated. Just a second. But enough.

"You don’t know me," he added, eyes hard. "You think you do, but you don’t. You see what I let you see. And that version of me—that's not real."

And then, like he needed to twist the knife just to make sure it stuck :

“Whatever you think this is—I don’t want it. I don’t want you.”

You knew, even as he said it—he didn’t mean it. Not like that. But he wanted it to hurt. Needed it to. Like if he made you hate him, it would make walking away easier. That was the part that stayed with you.

You hadn’t cried then. Not in front of him. You nodded again, eyes dry, throat burning, and told him you understood. But you hadn’t said anything else. Didn’t argue. Didn’t ask him why.

And he hadn’t offered.

Not an apology. Not an explanation.

He hadn’t said a single word to you since—not until today, when his voice finally cut through the chaos to order you off the boy’s chest. Cold. Clinical. Like nothing had ever passed between you at all. Like you were just another resident.

But you’d felt it. In the way he walked into a room and wouldn’t look at you. In the way his voice would hitch when you brushed past. In the way his fists curled tight at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but refused to let himself.

He was trying to be cold. Trying to keep the line drawn.

And still—still—he’d almost pulled you from trauma rotation tonight.

You open your eyes. The ache in your chest feels ancient. Familiar.

Big love. That’s what it was. The kind that never had a chance to grow, but still bloomed under your skin like it owned you.

And Jack? Jack let it die before it ever had the chance to live.

It’s been a week since Pitt Fest.

The hospital has started to settle into something like normal, but you haven’t. You still flinch when a trauma page comes over the comms. Still hear that mother’s voice, shrill and ragged. Still feel the ghost of Jack’s hand brushing yours when he took over compressions. That wasn’t the moment you broke, but it was the moment you knew you couldn’t pretend anymore.

So tonight, you go out. Against your better judgment.

Whitaker begged you. Santos threatened to show up at your apartment with a bottle of tequila. King and Mohan promised only one drink, just one, come on, you need it. Javadi was supposed to come too, but she bailed last minute—something about studying for boards and not wanting to get caught at another bar underage.

So now it’s the five of you crammed into a booth at this dive bar near the hospital in downtown Pittsburgh, the one with sticky floors and pool tables missing half the balls. The music is too loud, but the company is easy. Whitaker is doing some elaborate retelling of a patient who tried to fake a heart attack to get out of paying his copay. Mohan is crying from laughter. You’re sipping something sweet and strong and trying to let it all melt away.

It’s working.

Until you see him.

Jack.

He’s across the bar, half-shadowed under the neon sign, nursing a beer like he doesn’t want to be seen. But he’s not alone.

Robby’s with him. Of course he is.

They’re leaned in close, not talking much. Just sitting. Watching.

No—he’s watching.

You.

Your drink stills halfway to your mouth. Your stomach twists, not violently, but enough to knock the wind out of you. Jack doesn’t look away. Not immediately. Just holds your gaze like it hurts him. Like it should.

You force yourself to blink, to laugh at something Whitaker says. You pretend your hands aren’t shaking. You pretend you don’t feel your entire body tuning itself to the sound of his silence.

He rejected you. You know that.

But the way he’s looking at you now? It doesn’t feel like rejection.

It feels like longing.

And maybe that’s worse.

You down the rest of your drink in one go. It burns less than it should.

There’s a man at the bar. Mid-forties, maybe older. Salt-and-pepper beard. Expensive watch. He catches your glance and offers a smile that’s a little too polished, a little too practiced—but you return it anyway. Because he’s older. Because he’s sharp-eyed. Because he reminds you, in all the wrong ways, of someone else.

You excuse yourself from the table before anyone can stop you.

You take your drink, your heels, and your broken pride, and you slide onto the stool next to him.

Jack sees. Of course he does.

You make sure he does.

“Can I buy you another?” the man asks, nodding to your empty glass.

You smile. “Yeah. Why not?”

You laugh too easily. Let your shoulder brush his as he leans in. He says something you don’t hear because your pulse is thundering in your ears.

Across the bar, Jack’s jaw is tight. His hand clenches around his beer bottle, the label peeling beneath his thumb.

You tilt your head back and laugh again—this time louder, brighter, crueler.

Because if you’re going to hurt, you want him to feel it too.

And he does.

You can see it in the way he breaks eye contact first.

You can see it in the way Robby says something and Jack doesn’t respond.

You can see it in the way he stands up a minute later, like he can’t stand to watch anymore.

But he doesn’t leave.

He moves.

Across the bar. Slow, deliberate. Controlled rage in every step.

Robby calls after him, eyebrows lifted, confused—but Jack doesn’t answer.

He stops a foot away from you, the stranger mid-sentence, and you feel it before you even look up—heat rolling off of him like a storm about to break.

“Can I talk to you?” Jack says. Voice low. Measured. Barely held together.

You arch an eyebrow, take a long sip of your drink. “Busy.”

The man beside you glances between the two of you, sensing something sharp in the air. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

Jack’s eyes are locked on yours. Not the stranger’s. Not anyone else’s.

“You need to come with me,” he says, lower now. “Now.”

And it’s not a command. It’s not even a plea. It’s desperation wrapped in control, fraying at the edges.

You consider refusing. You want to.

But you rise anyway.

And follow him out the door.

The air outside is colder than you expected. Or maybe that’s just him.

Jack doesn’t speak right away. He walks fast—toward the lot behind the bar, where his car is parked beneath a crooked streetlamp. When he finally stops, it’s with his back to you. One hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair. The kind of stillness that comes right before something breaks.

You follow, heart hammering. He turns.

“What the hell was that?”

Your arms fold across your chest. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

His eyes flash. “The guy. The flirting. You were trying to—”

“Trying to what?” you snap. “Move on? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Jack exhales, sharp and uneven. “You don’t get it.”

“No, Jack. I really don’t. You said this couldn’t happen. You told me to forget it, forget you. And then you stare at me like that? Like you’ve got any right to be angry?”

“I’m not angry,” he bites out. “I’m—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Silence stretches. You can hear the distant music from inside, laughter spilling through the front entrance. But here? It’s just you and him, and everything you haven’t said.

“I didn’t want to do that to you,” he says finally, voice frayed. “Push you away. I just… I didn’t know how else to make it stop.”

Your voice lowers. “Why would you want it to stop?”

He steps forward once. Close, but not touching. His hands stay at his sides like he’s afraid of what will happen if he reaches for you.

“Because it scares the shit out of me,” Jack says. “Because you matter more than you should. And because I don’t trust myself not to fuck that up.”

Your heart twists. “So instead you say things to make me hate you?”

“I thought if you hated me, it would be easier for both of us.”

You laugh—soft, bitter. “It’s not.”

His voice breaks. “I know.”

You look at him. Really look at him. There’s pain there—old and festering. The kind that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with whatever he’s been dragging behind him since the war, since before.

You take a breath. “So what now?”

Jack steps even closer. You can feel the heat of him again. His eyes drop to your mouth, then snap back up like he’s furious with himself for even looking.

“You came out here,” you say.

“I didn’t want to watch someone else touch you,” he admits.

“Then don’t make me someone you can’t have.”

There’s a beat.

And then he’s kissing you.

Rough. Desperate. Like he’s been holding it in for years and it’s finally breaking loose. You answer it without hesitation, fisting your hands in his shirt, dragging him down like you’re daring him to finally stop pretending.

He presses you back against the car, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your waist like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His mouth is on yours—hungry, ragged—like if he slows down, this will disappear.

“Back seat,” he growls. His voice scrapes through your chest.

He opens the rear door behind you, hand never leaving your hip, guiding you with him. You climb in first, crawling across the backseat with your heart in your throat. By the time you turn, he’s already sliding in after you, pulling the door shut behind him with a solid, final thud.

He grabs your face with both hands and kisses you again, harder this time, like his life depends on it. You climb into his lap, straddling him now, knees on either side of his thighs, your bodies pressed close and flushed with heat. He shoves your coat off your shoulders, pushes your shirt up. You tug his top over his head and toss it somewhere in the car.

“God,” he mutters, eyes raking over you. “You’ve been driving me insane.”

“Then do something about it.”

He does.

He unhooks your bra with one hand—like muscle memory—his mouth already on your chest, teeth and tongue working in tandem. His other hand splays across your lower back, holding you close as your hips grind down into his.

You’re panting. He’s shaking.

You reach between you, working open his belt, and feel him throb beneath the fabric. Jack shudders when your hand slips inside, groaning low into your skin.

“Wallet,” he mutters against your neck, voice breathless. “Inside pocket.”

You grab it. Your fingers move fast, practiced by adrenaline. You find the condom tucked there, tear it open, and hand it to him. His eyes meet yours as he rolls it on—slow, deliberate. Controlled, even now.

You brace yourself on his shoulders and lower down onto him, taking him inch by inch until he’s seated fully inside you.

The stretch burns in the best way. You gasp. He swears.

You don’t move. Not yet.

He kisses your jaw, your collarbone. Holds your hips steady with both hands like he’s savoring the feel of you. And when you start to move—hips rolling slow and deep—he leans his head back and groans your name like it’s the only word he knows.

“You feel—fuck, you feel like heaven,” he breathes.

You ride him hard, your rhythm building, mouths colliding again and again between moans. His grip bruises your thighs as he thrusts up to meet every movement, his control slipping with every second you stay on top of him.

Then suddenly—he shifts.

His arms wrap under your thighs, and in one smooth, powerful motion, he lifts you.

You gasp as he turns, guiding you onto your back across the seat. He stays inside you the whole time, never letting go, until your back hits the cool leather and he’s towering over you, braced between your legs.

“You okay?” he asks, breath ragged.

You nod, already whining for more.

Then he starts to move again—deep, relentless, rocking the car with every thrust.

He shifts, bracing one hand beneath your thigh to push your leg higher, opening you up to take him deeper. The angle hits something devastating—you cry out, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

Jack leans down, mouth hot at your neck, breath ragged.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice cracked and raw. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasp. “I’m yours, Jack.”

His hand slides down your side, gripping your hip for leverage—then slips between your bodies. His fingers find your clit and start to circle, firm and focused, his pace never faltering.

It sends you over the edge.

You break apart beneath him—back arching, thighs trembling, his name ripped from your mouth like a prayer you didn’t know you were saying.

You’re still shaking when he comes—groaning into your shoulder, his rhythm faltering as he buries himself deep one last time and lets go.

Afterward, you don’t speak right away.

You’re tangled together. His chest is against yours. His arms still hold you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip. Your heartbeat stutters beneath his palm. The windows are fogged, the car soaked in heat and the weight of everything that just happened.

You stroke a hand through the back of his hair, calming him more than you.

Finally, he shifts, settling beside you, your body still half-curled on top of him.

And quietly, you say:

“I followed you out because I thought you were going to leave again.”

He freezes.

You feel his breath catch against your shoulder.

“You left once,” you say. “After I told you how I felt. You didn’t look at me. Didn’t say anything. Just made it clear I’d imagined all of it. And tonight? I thought you were about to do it again.”

His voice is tight when he finally speaks.

“I almost did.”

You nod slowly. “Why didn’t you?”

Jack exhales hard. “Because I saw you with him, and I knew—if I walked away again, I wouldn’t just lose you. I’d be choosing to.”

He turns your face toward him.

“And I couldn’t live with that.”

You search his expression. His hand brushes a strand of hair from your face, and then settles on your cheek.

“I tried to kill it,” he says. “Tried to convince myself it wasn’t real. But it is. And it’s too big to ignore.”

“Big love,” you whisper.

He nods. “Yeah. The kind that burns everything else down.”

You press your forehead to his.

“I waited. Through all of it—every time you pretended you didn’t feel this, too.”

His eyes close. Like the truth hurts more than anything else tonight.

“I don’t know how to want you without wanting all of it,” he admits.

And you don’t need him to explain what all of it means.

The chaos. The risk. The weight.

You nod. “Good. Because I don’t want halfway.”

He leans in—presses a kiss to your cheek, then your lips, soft now. Careful.

And finally—finally—he says, “Then I won’t run anymore.”

You believe him.

But only because Big Love doesn’t let you run.

It lives. Loud. Messy. Permanent.

And tonight, in the heat of a parked car, Jack finally lets it have him.

#i got too carried away #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #the pitt #the pitt x reader #shawn hatosy #dr abbot #dr abbot x reader #jack abbott #the pitt 2025 #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #smut #angst

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doietopia · 14 days ago

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˚୨୧⋆｡˚ messy eater!haechan

he’s always been like this: messy. greedy. the kind of man who can’t eat slowly, who gets sauce on his lips and never wipes it off, who licks his fingers instead of using a napkin. you should have known it would translate to this.

because now, with your thighs trembling around his shoulders and his mouth buried between them. the taste of you is something he’s been craving for weeks and now that he’s had a drop, he can’t stop. his hands are firm on your hips, anchoring you to the edge of the bed, afraid you’ll slip away. and maybe you would, if you had the strength. if your body weren’t already unraveling under his mouth.

haechan moans into you, sharp and breathy as it’s him being touched. he whines when you twitch, when your breath catches, when your hand tangles in his hair. his mouth works without rhythm and hesitation, sometimes slow and indulgent, then suddenly fast, desperate, because he just can’t decide whether to savor you or devour you whole.

you look at him, and fuck… he’s gorgeous, even like this. maybe especially like this.

his lips are flushed, glistening, swollen from how long he’s been down there. his hair clings to his forehead, damp with sweat. brows drawn tight with a tension thick with focus and hunger. his jawline, usually so soft and clean, is now slick wet with your arousal and his spit, smeared across his chin, catching the light at the corners of his mouth. you see it trailing down his throat, glinting in the hollow there.

his tongue slides lower. a thick, wet stroke right into your cunt, and your whole body jolts. your spine arches off the bed, hands flying to the sheets, to his hair, to anything that might tether you to yourself. he groans against you, the sound reverberating through your skin like a low hum. it’s filthy. perfect.

his nose bumps your clit, teasing, nudging with a kind of casual precision that feels anything but accidental. the pressure is soft, rhythmic. warm from his breath. he pushes deeper, tongue fucking into you, not just a flick, or a taste, but deep, wet thrusts that make your hips grind into his face before you even realize. he drags back up, licks through your folds, flattens his tongue under your clit only to dip back inside, messier this time. and the slick sound of it, of you, fills the air, so obscene it borders on holy.

he shifts. nose pressing to your clit again, this time with purpose, this time harder, while his tongue stays buried inside your hole. your thighs tighten around his head. you try to push him away, quivering hands on his head, thighs clamping shut, too sensitive, too much, you whisper. but he only groans and his grip hardens, prying you open again, like he’s offended you’d even try to leave.

he presses his tongue back in, slow this time, dragging it up through your slick, flicking over your clit with obscene ease. he licks like he’s cleaning a plate, unwilling to leave a single drop behind. one hand slips beneath your thigh to tilt your hips, the other splays over your stomach, pinning you there, holding you down as he already knows what’s coming. and when he adds his fingers, two of them, you cry out. he curls them inside you, unerringly, hitting that spot inside you that makes your legs jerk. without pause, he sucks your clit into his mouth and doesn’t let go, not until it’s pulsing against his tongue.

his pace doesn’t slow, not when your thighs quake, not when your hands claw at the sheets, not when your body arches off the bed in one long, trembling line. he stays, mouth open, tongue heavy, lips smeared with everything you’ve given him.

when he finally pulls back, after making you come three times in a row, he’s panting. his face is wrecked, cheeks flushed, chin wet, eyes glazed. totally drunk on you. a line of spit still connects his mouth to your cunt, and when he wipes it with the back of his hand, it only smears across his cheek.

you look at him, legs still shaking, breath shallow, and he just smiles.

a crooked, fucked-out smile, like he’s proud of the wreckage he’s made. but he doesn’t look satisfied. no. not even close. he watches you as if you owe him more, and he’s ready to dive back in just to feel you dripping down his chin again.

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luvth0t · 1 month ago

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I’VE MISSED YOU ━ L.N

in which you’re unable to stay away from lando like you’d intended after his win in monaco

warnings; unprotected sex, reader needs to stand up but whatever, public sex lowkey, oral m receiving, plenty of praise, degradation like once, hair pulling, choking, thigh riding, rough smut i guess i think that’s it ! lando could be toxic he could be genuine we don’t know ! unedited rn xox

you swore you’d stay away.

you were beyond settling, unable to pretend to be satisfied with what lando could offer these days.

it wasn’t your fault you weren’t good at keeping your word.

“where are you going?” lando’s voice chimed innocently from where he was sprawled on his bed, watching as you stumbled around the room.

the sheets draped over his lower half did little to offer modesty, tanned and toned abdomen on display decorated in red lines left by your nails only moments ago.

you ignored his words as you shrugged your underwear up your wobbly legs ━ eyes scanning the room in search of all your clothing, lando not having been precise in discarding them across the floor.

“we are well pass this,” the brit practically scoffed, jokingly speaking; not understanding why you’d been so quick to scurry off. soft touches and you cuddled up to his chest was what he was used too.

“this was a mistake.” you huffed, not offering him a glance. sounding annoyed, because you were. with yourself.

he’d laughed. laughed. you envied how unbothered he could be, rolling your eyes as you found your skirt, shimmying it up your legs as lando stood and tugged his boxers on.

“ouch,” he mused; hand resting over his heart as if your words had stung.

he didn’t believe them, so they wouldn’t effect him.

“i told you this isn’t happening again,” you offered an explanation, not that he asked for one; lips pursed and you could cringe at how unconvincing you sounded.

he assumed that had been a lie when you said that all those weeks ago. and then presumed he was correct considering you ended up back here in his sheets tonight.

“yet here you are,” lando chuckled; and your self annoyance was beginning to spread with his inability to realise you were trying to be serious.

“it’s not happening again.” you finally looked at him, and lando would be worried with how stern you looked if he actually believed you.

but he didn’t. maybe because you were the one who seeked him out tonight, or maybe because he didn’t want to believe you. regardless; such conversation was one he’d like to avoid.

you huffed when you couldn’t find your shirt, lando watching in slight amusement ━ not complaining of the sight, red and purple marks scattering your skin thanks to himself.

“have i lost my touch?” lando joked; well aware that wasn’t the case. not when you’d just cum around his fingers and cock three times.

you took a short breath, standing straight and stopping in your movements to face him.

“i’m no longer fine with just being a fuck of convenience,” you told him honestly, shoulders shrugging and only then did you capture his face falter momentarily.

eyebrows pinching together, lips tugging into a small frown which left as quick as it came.

“that’s what you think this is?” his question was somewhat accusing, but he sounded so laid back it wouldn’t make sense for it to be as such.

he ducked down and swiped your shirt off the floor; but he refrained from offering it to you.

you didn’t want to answer his question, despite it being an obvious answer. not needing it rubbed in that your wants didn’t align. but when you went to grab the material from his hand, he was quick to draw it back; eyebrows raising in question. silently telling you to answer him.

“how else would you describe it?” you challenged; head tilting aside as you refrained from rolling your eyes.

he faltered once more; this wasn’t what he signed up for. he avoided this last time, when you had ‘ended’ this arrangement that had been ongoing for months now.

“fun.” lando shrugged, and when you let out a dry laugh he wanted to wince, groaning as he shook his head. “you know what i mean,” he attempted to follow up.

he didn’t know what to call it, but he knew convenience wasn’t the right word. you were much more than just convenient.

“i know what to expect from you lando,” you hummed; successful in grabbing your shirt from his hand this time; pulling it over your head. “i’m not gonna ask for more. but this isn’t enough for me anymore,” you shrugged.

your explanation was fair, he couldn’t complain. couldn’t throw it back in your face, tell you he already warned you he didn’t want anything serious. make it your problem. or tell you that you were wrong, your expectations were wrong.

because they weren’t wrong.

this was his problem, because you made sense. you were doing what was right by you. so why did it make him feel like shit? he should be grateful you weren’t putting him in an awkward spot he’d been in too many times, forced to let others down.

“thanks for the fun night,” you’d smiled; and he had to refrain from scoffing in disbelief. it being his turn to struggle in mustering a smile.

you knew that wouldn’t be the last time you saw him, but you had hoped it’d be the last time you were so close to the driver. the last time you melted in his touch and came undone from a mere few whispers and lingering touches.

you’d hoped that’d be the case, and it seemed more and more likely as the months went past.

he knew you were in monaco, he always knew which races you were attending; despite you never telling him. it was almost a game, how you would somehow end up at his hotel or bed room despite no plans to do so.

he’d barely crossed your mind, it wasn’t like it was hard to avoid a driver. hot property, even more so here in monaco. there were stars and chaos every where you turned in the paddock, security crowded around anyone with some sort of status; it was impossible to stumble across the mclaren driver.

ignoring his presence was a lot harder however when he was stood on the top step of the podium, as if the posters of his face and name everywhere wasn’t enough.

suddenly his face was plastered everywhere at once, and only his. name dropping from everyone’s lips.

you’d like to think there was no bad blood; but he was hard to resist and you almost hated him for it. suddenly he was everywhere ━ yet not in reach.

a good thing.

so, you were optimistic. if getting near him was hard before, it’d be ten times harder now. man of the moment; you felt as if you would be in the clear.

so how the fuck did you manage to be only five people back in the line for the exclusive monaco club, VIP passes still hung around your necks, when lando arrived.

ushered through the front doors, no need to pay or wait like every other eager party go hoping their name had made it to the list, cash at the ready to pay their way in.

he shouldn’t have spotted you, not with the hectic lights and people cheering him on and attempting to grab his attention.

but he did, of course he did.

“hey, hey. they’re with me,” lando stopped in his tracks; ushering you and your friend out of line towards him ━ your face hardening as he smirked cockily towards you.

you wanted to stay where you were. tell him you would wait and get in yourself. pride too strong to spare yourself 10 minutes and a couple hundred dollars.

your best friend however was not passing up an opportunity to get in for free, nor cause a scene as people quickly made way for you. so you couldn’t put up much of a fight as you stepped out of line and followed the driver and a few others inside.

it almost felt shameful, as if you were just some pretty girl he’d picked out to entertain himself with. but you only viewed it that way because you feared that had been true in the past.

“would you believe me if i said this is almost the highlight of the day?” lando spoke to you with a wide grin, head ducked down towards you to ensure you heard him over the music growing in volume as you entered the venue.

you’d scoffed, rolled your eyes even; it appeared opting to be cold was the easiest option. friendliness never lasted with you two; being friendly became flirty. flirting lead to touching and suddenly you’d be trapped beneath the nearest surface and his hot body.

“no.” your answer was short, ‘forgetting’ to mumble the obvious, a congratulations. you’d feel bad if he wasn’t getting it from every angle however.

his grin only widened however, bemused at your words. you weren’t surprised, you doubted anything would wipe the smile of his face right now.

a breath of relief escaped you when someone grabbed at his arm and tugged him along, turning his attention elsewhere as you turned to your friend.

drinks were a need.

in hindsight opting to stay in the secluded area provided for the mclaren driver was probably a bad idea; but it was so crowded you stood by your earlier thoughts.

he’d be out of reach. everyone in here was striving for his attention, it wouldn’t be hard to avoid it.

the free drinks and friendly faces proved as enough of a distraction; music and alcohol flowing through your veins, so much so you’d join in on the cheers every-time someone toasted to the driver, or his name popped up on a board with bottles of champagne arriving.

an arm wrapping around your waist should’ve been alarming, but shamefully you recognised the bracelets and touch immediately; body naturally welcoming such action instead of pulling away.

“you haven’t congratulated me.” his voice was low and in your ear, accent thick and you had to take a sharp breath. it was stupid, ridiculous the way such an action could have your mind growing hazy.

“haven’t i?” you posed the question innocently, bringing your drink to your lips as if it would offer you refuge from the temptation behind you.

you’d lost your friend ages ago, and suddenly you couldn’t recognise many people around you. or maybe you didn’t make an effort to, because the company you quietly craved was the man behind you.

“nope,” he popped the ‘p,’ lips lingering next to your ear momentarily before he pulled away to also bring his drink to his lips, you taking the moment to turn around and face him. “not very nice you know?”

you’d rolled your eyes again, a small laugh escaping you. wanting to point out the fact that everyone was dropping to their knees to ring his praise. he didn’t need it from you.

did it make your heart skip a beat that he wanted it though? of course it did, despite your brain screaming that it shouldn’t. it was too easy to cling onto anything this man did.

“well done,” you spoke, voice laced with sarcasm despite their being truth to your words. “i’m so, so, so proud of you.”

he’d chuckled, face lighting up in amusement once more; a vast contrast to every other conversation he’d had tonight. the very reason he’d sought you out.

he thought it spoke for something, the fact his mind had been consumed with so many thoughts of you despite the win he’d just accomplished.

“thank you.” he grinned, and it was as if on queue he was being tugged away once more; and suddenly, you could breath again.

you took the time to grab some much needed air, a balcony not too far. it was a bit of a blur, the next hour or so.

ending up back on the dance floor, familiar faces all around, drinks continuously flowing ━ reuniting with your friend who’s lipstick was now smudged and hair slightly tangled, your hands quick to fix it up with small giggles.

you were loosening up, so much so when lando next appeared with two drinks in hand and daring eyes you couldn’t help but accept.

you were dying by your own hand, you should politely decline and slip back into the crowd. but he was always so hard to ignore, especially in a black button up and messy curls.

you’d cheers, both raising your glasses to your lips; somehow both still relatively sober in comparison to those around you.

lando had been doing too much talking to get much alcohol in him, also pacing himself ━ in no way would he be crashing out early.

you knew your limits, you too didn’t want the night to end prematurely.

“you’re not mad at me are you?” lando’s question had to be shouted for you to hear, your eyes narrowing at such as you shook your head.

you were somewhat surprised at his efforts, his ability to seek you out in the crowd that was here for him. all for what? to ask you that question?

“why would i be mad at you?” you deflected. because you knew he had a point.

you weren’t mad at him, obviously. he hadn’t done anything; you’d been the one to… get attached. but you were quite clearly being distant and cold; and you didn’t feel like explaining why.

he shrugged his shoulders, face scrunching up as if he was thinking momentarily, giving you time to admire how pretty he looked. how his large hand wrapped around the glass, the way his arms looked with his sleeves rolled up.

“you’re avoiding me.” he quirked a brow, and you were rolling your eyes once more, like a broken record. the grin on his face showed he didn’t care to sound desperate; that he was well aware why you were acting in such way.

he remembered the last conversation between the pair of you. how you swore off the two of you. much to his dismay.

“i’m not,” you huffed. “i’m keeping friendly distance,” you corrected playfully, eyebrows raising as he nodded unconvincingly ━ lips parting in fake shock.

it was pathetic, you already could feel it. your self restraint slipping away. suddenly posing yourself the question, would it be that bad if you entertained yourself with the idea of him just one more time?

“right,” lando practically sung, a laugh following suit as he downed the rest of his drink. “there’s no fun in that.”

you’d just shrugged at his words, no answer for him because you agreed. this wasn’t fun, it was hard. it would be so much easier to let yourself take the usual reckless route.

so you chose easy, and when someone appeared to place a drink in lando’s hand and capture a few minutes of his attention, you allowed the driver to throw his arm over your shoulders; tugging you closer to his side. he didn’t want you slipping away into the crowd again.

you let yourself stay in his grasp, mindlessly swaying to the music and awaiting for him to finish talking.

you should’ve taken that time to realise this was what you were meant to avoid, to duck out from his hold and busy yourself once more.

but instead you found yourself leaning into his side; admiring the way his fingertips danced on your collarbone ━ oblivious to prying eyes and jealous gazes from those who were hoping to be in your place.

his cologne was intoxicating, his touch was familiar and inviting; and the way he was keeping you close and still paying you attention while everyone tried to get their two cents in with the driver had your stomach flipping.

you hadn’t realised their was a gap in the constant conversation and on flow of people, not till lando’s lips were back next to your ear, a delicate kiss being placed to your neck.

“i’ve missed you,” he’d whispered; your head tilting aside invitingly ━ such contrast to your initial and intended behaviour. but the moment his lips met your skin, all rational plans were out the door.

“good.” you replied, knowing to not grow excited by such confession. not needing to say the words back because he already knew you missed him. you were always missing him.

another kiss was pressed to your skin, and another.

“i mean it.” lando mumbled; your eyes fluttering shut briefly at the feeling of his lips still peppering your skin, the heat spreading to your face.

you were glad you’d made your mind up, having come to the conclusion that one more night with him couldn’t be that bad. thought process definitely influenced by your sexual desires rather than rationality. but it meant you weren’t dwelling on his words and picking them apart, instead focused of the way his hand was now resting on the side of your leg.

“is there a bathroom near?” your question was all lando needed to hear, the pair of you not so subtle as you weaved through the crowd.

his lips were on yours the moment you were in the bathroom, your back being pushed against the door to shut it ━ his fingers finding the lock and the moment he heard it click his hands were on you.

it was messy, and rushed; adrenaline pumping between the pair of you much like the muffled music seeping through the door.

your hands were pawing at each other, his at your waist, then your hips, then your legs; touching what he could of you over the silk dress,

your hands were in his hair, then running down his chest; attempting to pull him closer despite his body pressed against yours.

his hands moved to grab yours, before lifting them up and over your head; pinning them to the door as his lips moved to your jaw, then to your neck.

“lando,” you breathed in need; eyes shutting as you attempted to push forward off the door, wanting to touch him in anyway. you were no match for his strength however.

he tsked quietly, kissing at your skin with such intent it had you whimpering.

“what do you want?” his question was almost a taunt, knee pushing between your thighs because he knew exactly what to do to have you squirming.

you felt helpless, needy and desperate. but not one bit regretful or ashamed you found yourself here again.

“you, anything,” you breathed; hips rutting against his leg slightly; the action not unnoticed as a cocky smirk grew on his lips.

your eyes poured into his, watching as he bathed the sight of you in ━ flustered and worked up already.

“yeah?” he hummed, releasing your hands now so he could cup your cheek; making it hard for you to nod but you attempted to regardless.

“want you to fuck me,” you elaborated; taking the chance to touch him, hand going straight to the buldge in his jeans which had him hissing.

you two would often take your time. lando liked to have you spread open for him, a few orgasms deep thanks to his fingers or tongue first before fucking you. take his time in kissing every inch of your body, exploring your mouth; kissing you and touching you all he could.

but both of you had a sense of urgency tonight. keen to feel him inside you, aware their was plenty of people awaiting the driver; that the night had barely begun in the grand scheme of things.

the fact you’d avoided him for so long, like promised but god it’d been too long. he would struggle to draw this out the way he wanted to.

“barely touched you baby,” he pointed out with a smirk; as if he was not feeling the same need you were.

you would’ve paid more attention to the way your stomach flipped at the casual drop of the nickname, but his actions captured your attention before you could dwell.

it was a relief as he moved you to the sink counter, pressing on your back to bend you over the surface; your hands finding a grip on the counter as your eyes settled on him in the mirror. a position you’d only be in for him.

spreading your legs was easy as you watched him, flipping the skirt of your dress up and merely pushing your panties aside; fingers swiping through your wetness, entering you once then twice.

“gotta make sure this isn’t a mistake hm?” lando’s question was a taunt, quoting you, hands leaving your figure as he unzipped his pants and freed his cock, leaving you to whimper and watch in the mirror.

he didn’t make the move to touch you, prolonging your torture; hips swaying slightly as you dwelled on his words.

his eyes were pouring into yours through the mirror, your cheeks heated. his reminder that you had once claimed you didn’t want this anymore had you speechless, not suddenly rational.

“what changed your mind?” his hands moved to squeeze your ass, cock pressing against your entrance; leaving you with nothing but anticipation and emptiness. “cause i won? good enough for you now?”

you would’ve rolled your eyes if you weren’t in such a compromising position, his wicked grin enough to show his words were simply throw away comments, not an insight into his actual assumptions.

“lando please,” you whined; hips attempting to push back onto him but his hands on your ass held you in place; chest rising at the sight of you so needy for him. a sight he’d never get sick of.

“your words not mine baby,” he reminded you; tongue flicking over his bottom lip as he took in the sight of you momentarily, your pants and inability to keep still due to your need for him always something he loved to be witness too.

he was usually gentle with you at first, would warm you up; start off slow and build up to the pace that would have tears streaming down your pretty face. but he was eager tonight, adrenaline still pumping through his veins, and by the way you were looking at him in the mirror told him you felt the same.

“gotta fuck some sense into you yeah?” his question was matched with his hand tangling in your hair, grasping a few strands before tugging you up harshly; your back meeting his chest and a gasp escaping you, a whimper following. “yeah?” he repeated when you failed to answer.

you tried to nod quickly, hips pushing back once more to little success with the position he had you in.

his lips were next to your ear now, and the chuckle he let out had your thighs attempting to squeeze together.

“please,” you whimpered; desperation growing pathetically quickly. it was almost pathetic, how he could shorten your vocabulary to pleas and curses in such little time.

lando would like to say he could do this all night, but that would be a lie. he groaned audibly at your whimper; chest now pushed forward towards the mirror beautifully, still with a perfect view of your face as well.

he gave you no warning as he slid inside of you, your jaw going slack as he bottomed out; letting go of your hair and pushing your back down once more.

your hands flied to the counter again, moaning at the stretch as he groaned at the way your walls hugged him tightly.

he didn’t give you the usual time to adjust, moving immediately and thrusting deeply inside of you, hands using your hips to meet his movements.

“swear you’re fucking made for me,” lando groaned as his head fell back, pounding into your tight cunt repetitively, your moans escaping each time as your face contorted in pleasure.

it was too good, you weren’t sure how you could ever actually give this up.

you attempted to keep your moans hushed, although with the volume of the music you weren’t at much risk of being heard; which was lucky. because you were struggling to keep quiet; failing actually.

your eyes rolled back when lando didn’t fail to hit that spot inside of you repetitively, hands still gripping your hips tightly.

his grunts and groans were addictive, so much so you wanted to open your eyes and bask in the sight of him; but the pleasure was too much to do so.

lando however wouldn’t settle for such, hand tangling in your hair once more, tugging once and pulling your head up slightly; clear intentions to his actions.

“eyes on me pretty girl,” he breathed regardless, and you did as he said; being met with his ones through the mirror; lazy smile gracing his features as you whimpered and gripped the counter tightly.

you’d never expect to get off so quickly from pure penetration, but you were. suppose it was made easier with the sight of him and his hands gracing your skin; plus his filthy mouth.

“so good,” you whined out; not that you needed to vocalise such thing, it was already clear; but he loved your praise as much as you loved his.

he’d hummed in agreement, squeezing your ass in appreciation as his groans began to grow in frequency.

he was close, but in no way would he ever cum before you. his hand sneaking around your waist and dipping in between your thighs, finding your clit with ease.

suddenly you were seeing stars as his fingers circled your clit expertly, like he knew you like the back of his hand.

“cum for me baby, go on,” his words of encouragement were all you needed to hear as he continued to thrust in and out of you; releasing on his cock practically immediately at his demand.

your walls squeezed him perfectly, his name so pretty coming from your lips ━ his own high hitting him as he came inside of you with a groan.

it was oddly satisfying, a quick release; a new experience for the pair of you; both panting and coming down as he slid out of you.

he was gentle, a contrast to before, as he turned you round and sat you on the counter.

your breaths were heavy as you watched him, his hands reaching up your thighs and tugging your underwear down your legs before shoving them in his pocket, only then pulling your dress down for you.

“pervert,” you mocked with a teasing smile, his own one growing as he rolled his eyes ━ hands moving to rest on your thighs.

“collecting trophies today,” he shrugged; a laugh escaping you as your face screwed up ━ his humour never lost on you as you pushed against his chest.

“i should slap you for that,” you taunted, failing to pretend to be disgusted as you grinned at him ━ cheeks still flushed and chest still rising and falling as you caught your breath, a small chuckle escaping him.

there was a few moments of silence as lando adjusted himself, zipping his jeans back up and straightening out his shirt; your own hands moving to flatten your own hair.

“you gonna stick around?” lando’s question fell upon you with his intent gaze, eyes showing genuine interest.

your own eyebrows quirked in interest, unexpectedly. you’d assumed this was it for the night. he got his fix.

“maybe,” you shrugged; not in a teasing way, but genuine. you weren’t going to overstay your welcome. you were sure the casual party goers would be falling off the next couple hours, the ones who just wanted to get a glimpse of the driver.

you were assuming you fell into that category, not his inner circle.

“you should,” he hummed; and you couldn’t help the scoff that escaped you and the driver almost frowned.

“you need to celebrate,” you hummed; patting his chest lightly with a small laugh.

his eye roll was one of sass, like you should’ve expected. what you didn’t expect was for him to insist on you keeping him company.

“yeah, i plan on.” he spoke like it was obvious, thumb rubbing your inner thigh mindlessly.

you didn’t respond, looking over your shoulder into the mirror; wiping the slight smudges of your mascara, which thankfully didn’t cause any issues.

next was the corner of your lips, ensuring no lip gloss was where it shouldn’t be; lando watching you as you did so.

“didn’t you tell me when i next win a race i could do whatever i want with you?” lando was gaining your attention again, finger under your chin and directing your gaze back to him by turning your head; still stood between your legs.

you giggled, eyebrows raising; not needing much reminder of the words you definitely muttered. or maybe messaged; maybe both.

“that was because i wasn’t in miami,” you hummed, head tilting aside. “you don’t invite me to races, remember?” you sassed.

you watched as his face faltered, before his eyes narrowed into a playful glare; one you returned with a teasing smile; as if to say you weren’t being serious.

you two moved pass your comment, you made sure of it; although it would linger on lando’s mind.

“come on, you have people waiting i’m sure,” you hummed; patting his chest and ushering him back so you could hop off the counter, onto wobbly legs.

you rejoined the crowd as discreetly as possible, despite your lack of underwear and sticky thighs; however you were in no way to be ashamed, not with some of the activities going on around you.

people cheered when lando came into view, the man enveloped immediately.

“don’t you dare go anywhere!” lando managed to yell out to you before he was dragged off again; leaving you to laugh and only hum.

it was only your friend who met you with suspicious eyes, you found it comical she was the first person you came across; sheepishly smiling.

“oh you’re so full of shit!” your friend yelled, your cheeks heating as you shook your head; even pouting as you realised you had no defence.

or shame or regret. yet, at least.

“stop,” you whined as you hit her lightly, huffing as you grabbed her drink off her ━ downing it quickly as she laughed.

“no judgement; i knew you wouldn’t stay away,” she mused ━ and your eyes were rolling once more that night, shaking your head as if you had no idea what she was talking about. as if you too shared the same thought process, as much as you’d deny it.

you moved the focus of the pair of you on quickly, returning to dancing and socialising ━ people coming and going as the hours ticked by into the early morning, crowd thinning but not by much.

lando’s words were ringing in your head; don’t go anywhere. but when it was almost four you were thinking of leaving, doubting lando would be making your company once more this night.

why you wanted to keep him company? you wish you knew. if you could figure out why you were unable to avoid the man your life would be a lot easier. but maybe tonight was different, maybe it was a comfort.

a comfort to know he would spend a memorable night of his life, with you. a night he’d never forget; you’d be right there. it would be nice to know you weren’t the only one clinging onto the idea of the pair of you; that he too would reminisce and think what it.

your doubt continued to grow though, alongside the temptation of your comfortable bed.

you were stupid to doubt him however.

you spotted him easily, considering the crowd that seemed to follow him everywhere tonight.

you watched as his eyes darted around the room, almost urgently, searching out something or someone.

searching out you.

when his eyes met yours you watched as he grinned widely, shoulders relaxing as he suddenly moved with intent; weaving past the people surrounding him towards you.

you watched in amusement, almost shock; surprised he’d meant it. confused if you thought too hard.

“you’re still here,” he was still grinning ear to ear, hand finding your waist almost immediately when he was in reach.

you mumbled something playfully about how it wasn’t by choice, earning a laugh.

“we’re moving up to a booth,” his statement was an invitation; and suddenly plans of going back home were long forgotten.

all it took was a nod before his hand took yours, fingers intertwined and he was leading the way to a booth, that was decorated in more bottles of champagne and a ‘congrats lando’ sign; lucky party goers and friends filling the seats, you shuffling in next to the driver.

lando’s hand didn’t leave you. whether it was on your thigh, your hand, your waist; your shoulder; he was always touching you as the conversations flowed.

you failed to notice the way he tugged you closer to his side when you laughed a little too hard for his liking at one of his friends jokes. or the way his eyes were lingering on you every moment he had a break in conversation.

you knew what it looked like however, the pair of you. you knew your friend would laugh at the sight, ask you what the fuck you were doing. but as the crowd continued to fall off and disperse, and you gained more of lando’s attentions; you had little room to care.

the booth had emptied out, for how long who knows; you hadn’t caught on to the way lando had not so subtly hinted to the last couple of guys lingering to leave.

“have i told you how good you look tonight?” lando’s question was accompanied by his hand returning to your thigh, resting higher than it had earlier on ━ head tilting towards you.

you’d giggled, leaning back into your seat and shifting to face him, side pressed against the back of the booth as opposed to your back now.

“no,” you told him; eyes flickering over his face, the moles you’d counted too many times whenever you woke up first after a night together; his features always so much harder to ignore up close.

“look beautiful,” he hummed, and though he sounded incredibly sincere you couldn’t help but laugh.

“what? you do, you are,” lando huffed; not amused with your laughter ━ although the sound of your laugh had his lips naturally curving upwards despite his dismay, hand squeezing your thigh gently.

your cheeks heated despite you shaking your head, hands moving up in innocence.

“i didn’t say anything,” you defended; not elaborating on what appeared to be doubt. not at your own expense. more so just his intentions.

you didn’t want to hear his compliments that had your heart fluttering. or notice they way he was looking at you which such admiration.

you couldn’t afford to let your mind pick at and analyse every word and action with a hope that maybe he too felt the same as you.

lando hummed aimlessly at your defence, hand dangerously high now on your thigh ━ but it felt right, like it belonged there. regardless, the feeling of it creeping upwards had your sense suddenly on high alert.

“i’ve missed you,” lando’s words left his lips before he could stop them, but he didn’t show any regret or panic ━ eyes pouring into yours.

it’s the second time he’d said such thing tonight, and you still didn’t want to hear it. even in your tipsy state, it sent alarm through your nerves. don’t believe him, don’t get your hopes up.

your eyes were quick to leave his, hand reaching for your champagne glass in front of you; humming to try dismiss his words, missing the way his eyes squinted as he watched on.

“you don’t believe me,” he chuckled lowly as you sipped your drink, frame tensing as you prolonged shifting towards him again.

you weren’t given much choice though, his hand ━ the one not planted on your thigh, grasping your chin between his thumb and finger, bringing your attention back to him as you placed your drink back down.

his eyebrows raised expectantly, silently telling you to speak. to confirm his suspicions. his thumb absentmindedly wiping a drop of champagne from the corner of your mouth as he waited.

“you don’t know what you’re saying.” you spoke softly, masking the weight of your words with a soft smile; watching as his face flickered in thought.

“you don’t know that.” he was quick, unlike you, tone one of certainty you almost envied; his grasp still set on your chin as if he was scared you’d try escape his gaze once more. a reasonable fear.

“yeah okay.” you admitted defeat, in no way wanting to discuss this right now. not while you were so close to him, so keen to get under him once more. you couldn’t think straight about him when he was invading your senses.

he didn’t believe you suddenly believed him, but he wouldn’t push further; not when you were still in grasp and glowing in amusement.

the driver went to speak again; but for once you got on the front foot. there wasn’t much distance between the pair of you, so kissing him before he could get any words out was easy.

and maybe lando should’ve held his ground, stayed true on his intentions to reassure you. but naturally he found himself kissing back.

the light grasp on your chin turned to a firm hold of the side of your head, beckoning you closer as your hand planted on his chest.

you pulled away momentarily, barely; just so your lips left his; feeling his breath fan your face. you felt as if you’d overstepped, knowing he had reservations about pda in public. people spoke, and you weren’t his.

his fingers ran through your hair delicately, as if he knew what thoughts were going through your head; and he didn’t hesitate to guide you back towards him; lips meeting once more.

it was more heated this time; nowhere near as messy as the one in the bathroom though.

he needed you closer, shifting his grip to your hips to pivot you up and onto his lap, your body sliding perfectly between his and the table behind you, straddling his lap with no complaints.

it was out of character, knowing someone could walk up into the secluded section and see the pair of you, but if he didn’t care, neither did you.

your dress rode up your legs from your new position, not enough to expose you thankfully; but considering your underwear still sat in the drivers pocket, the rough fabric of his pants against your clit had you whimpering against his lips.

the sound went straight to his cock, which was already straining against his pants; he’d been fighting a semi since you slipped into the booth next to him. but the way you were slowly and not so subtlety grinding your hips against him made it a lot harder to ignore.

it also had an idea forming in the wicked mind of his.

you were left to catch your breath as he pulled away this time, hands lifting you momentarily and easily handling you to straddle just one of his thighs now, your cheeks heating as you immediately caught on. it wasn’t the first time you’d been in this position with him. except last time it was in the privacy of his apartment while he was on a work call.

“anything i want right?” he breathed out, intense was his stare as his hands spread across your sides, smoothing your dress down despite wanting to rip it off of you.

it was like a trance when he got like this, eyes darker ━ the way his jaw was clenched, his gaze alone having you feel the need to squirm and stutter.

your head looked over your shoulder, just once, needing the confirmation you were as alone as you could be; music still pumping, voices still heard from the dance floor down below. but you were alone up here.

that’s all you needed to know.

“yeah,” you confirmed, hands grasping at his shirt where they were previously planted on his chest ━ left to watch as his lips curved upwards into that damn smirk.

“go on then,” he hummed, adjusting slightly in his seat, getting comfortable as his head tilted back ever so slightly. “use me to get off.” he sounded so casual, your cheeks heating up as you suddenly wished you’d accepted that last round of shots half an hour ago.

but you didn’t need any more motivation when his hands tightened on your waist and dragged your hips for you ━ your jaw going slack from the sudden pressure.

his lips twitched upwards cockily once more, watching as it sprung you into action; your hips following his movements and rutting against his thigh, chasing the feeling you knew only he could give you.

the drivers hands folded behind his head now, watching intently as your bottom lip ran between your teeth, eyes flickering up and down your frame.

“atta girl,” he praised through a soft hum, and you had to bite down harshly on the inside of your cheek to refrain from moaning.

he looked fucking incredible; and you were missing the feeling of his hands on you, hips working faster as if it’d motivate him to touch you again.

he had you read, he always did. he knew what you wanted; could tell by the way your eyes were pleading with his. how you were fighting back a pout and whine. your grip on his shirt had tightened, practically tugging at the material.

lando could be cruel, but he was in no mood to deny himself tonight - he’d give you something; hand moving to cup your jaw, thumb pressing against your soft lips.

you didn’t miss a beat, allowing the digit to enter your mouth without any hesitation; lando watching the way your eyes almost glistened in submission as he pressed down on your tongue.

you didn’t miss the way his breath hitched, grunting slightly at the mere sight of you ━ your hips still grinding against him desperately as you treated his thumb as if it was his cock.

he was almost in disbelief, how he had you like this for him, where really anyone could see if they were to walk up the stairs. it was ridiculous actually, and stupid; both of you being incredibly idiotic, but too lust driven to care.

he wasn’t oblivious to the fact you made him think irrationally.

“fucking look at you,” he muttered under his breath, head tilting in slight awe; but there was a teasing tone underneath. “so pretty like this, so needy hm?” he was speaking so sweet it was sickening considering he was looking at you with a taunting grin.

you whined, unable to shut yourself up this time, surprised you’d kept quiet so long. your thighs twitched a few times, still desperately chasing your high like he’d told you too.

it was building, your stomach was tightening and you could feel the way your hips were beginning to move erratically. as could he.

“come on baby,” he encouraged ━ sliding his thumb out of your mouth, selfishly wanting to hear you despite your best efforts to stay quiet. “cum for me yeah, all for me,” lando edged you on; strategic as he tensed his leg and jolted it upwards once then twice.

it was all you needed, your second orgasm of the night hitting you as you shook in his lap.

“oh fuck,” you moaned through gritted teeth, loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough for the music to drown you out; your body folding over to hide your head in his neck, muffling any other sounds to escape you.

“there you go,” he soothed, hand sliding down your back delicately, his other brushing the hair off your face as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “good girl, so fucking good,”

even if your slightly dazed state the affection had your chest tightening, still not used to the soft moments he always found time for between orgasms.

you took a few moments to compose yourself, lifting your head sheepishly as your eyes met his once more.

“your pants are gonna be ruined,” you mumbled, pouting up at him in slight embarrassment ━ watching as he chuckled and rolled his eyes.

“last thing i care about right now,” the driver smirked, adjusting the strap of your dress that had fallen down your arm ━ eyes lingering on your chest for a brief moment as he did so.

“should i call the car?” he asked you, lips pressing a kiss to your neck now, delicate this time, purely because he knew if he got too handsy now he’d not be able to stop himself.

you nodded, no need to think about the prospect of going home with him ━ you shouldn’t be surprised at this point, you couldn’t resist him. it was a fact.

the pair of you got outside relatively smoothly, in better shape than most of the crowd who were still here. you let him drag you to the exit as he simply waved and dismissed anyone who tried to speak to him, large hand enveloping yours.

the car was waiting, a bouncer opening the door for the pair of you as you slid into the backseat, not phased by the fact the sun was now rising.

the privacy shield separating the backseat from the front was all lando needed to see before he was on you again.

rushed and messy once more, you hadn’t even got your seatbelt on ━ hands cupping his cheeks as he leaned over you, closeness a need as your lips moved against his perfectly.

your chest was practically pressed to his, but still his hand found your back, attempting to pull you closer, earning a muffled giggle as you threw one of your legs over his.

“need you so bad,” lando grumbled against your skin as his lips shifted to your jaw, then down your neck, your head falling back invitingly as you grinned.

his lips moved to your cleavage now, kissing at the skin of your breasts ━ and he was about to tug your dress down until you sat up straight and pushed him back towards his seat.

your hands found the zipper of his pants before he could get a word out, the brit relaxing into his seat, in no way going to protest.

lando watched through hooded eyes as you made quick work of freeing his cock, which was painfully hard at this point.

he hissed as your hand wrapped around him, jacking him off once, twice, three times ━ smearing the precum across his tip and down his length.

his head threw back from the initial relief, and he couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him when he felt your soft lips wrap around him.

he glanced down at you quickly, watching as you leant over into his lap, head bobbing up and down now as he gathered your hair into his hand and out of your way.

“fuck, just like that baby,” lando grunted as his hips bucked upwards, hitting the back of your throat momentarily, which made you gag but you didn’t miss a beat in your movements.

your hand gripped his thigh for stability, tongue swirling around him expertly, keen to get him off as his eyes rolled back from a feeling he could only describe as ecstasy.

he could’ve cum there and then, no shame either; but monaco was a small place and the car came to a halt much sooner than he’d liked.

you reluctantly slid off him, wiping your mouth oh so innocently as you did so ━ cheeks flushed and eyes watery, lando fiddling with his pants to try get his hard on back in his boxers.

you giggled slightly, climbing out the car ━ him not too far behind.

lando was sure to thank the driver, emptying his wallet of its cash to provide a tip ━ unsure what the man would’ve heard, but frankly he didn’t care. not when you were in his sights.

the elevator ride up to his apartment mirrored the first moments in the car, your body pressed between his and the wall of the elevator, lips in sync, make out interrupted by the ding of the doors opening.

you were kicking your heels off before he even got the door to his place open, discarding them the moment you stepped inside, before lando was using you to shut the door; not so gentle as he pushed you against the surface.

“nuh uh,” you stopped him as he leant in to kiss you once more; your hands pressing against his chest. “want to make you feel good,” you spoke softly, hands returning to the zipper of his pants to free his cock once more.

his eyes squinted in thought, keen to be inside of you; watching you squirm and hear you scream his name was all he could bloody think about.

you recognised that look. “please,” you added desperately, hands tugging the straps of your dress down, your tits spilling out, which had his eyes shamelessly flickering downwards.

lando couldn’t say no to you, not when you asked so nicely. he simply stepped back, giving you space to sink to your knees as your hand wrapped around his cock once again.

you licked up the base to the tip, eyes fixated above you, watching him as he did so; noticing the way his adam’s apple bobbed from the single action.

“tease me baby and i’ll happily play with your pretty cunt till your crying,” lando grunted out as his hand found its rightful place in your hair, a not so delicate tug for good measure.

you moaned at the action, confirming what you both knew was that you got the reaction you wanted; thighs squeezing together at the ‘threat’ but taking him in your mouth fully regardless. quick to mumble a ‘so impatient’ before hand.

lando’s actions were identical to before, except his head fell forward this time as his free hand grasped the door in front of him ━ your name falling from his lips in a groan.

it only motivated you, the grunts and small sounds he made; so keen to draw more out of him, to hear him praise you like he always does.

his sounds mixed with your own, gagging around his length ━ no matter how many times you found yourself in this spot he would always be too big, but it didn’t stop nor effect your efforts.

and it only turned him on more, refraining from squeezing his eyes shut to watch as your eyes watered once more.

“always gagging for it,” lando spoke cockily, a moan escaping him momentarily before he could continue his taunting. “bit of a slut for me no?” he chuckled lowly through gritted teeth; and he couldn’t stop the grin for forming as you moaned around him.

his head fell back now, a breath of content falling from his lips as he shut his eyes momentarily. “too good to me, fuck,” he grunted, hips thrusting forward momentarily ━ and you let him, anything to get him off sooner.

he knew he was close, but he couldn’t push the need to be inside of you. and while he thought he was out of self restraint for the night, he surprised himself in being able to pull you off of him, using the grip on your hair.

“gotta get inside you love,” he explained himself as if it wasn’t obvious, helping you to your feet as you refrained from huffing, wiping your mouth and chin of the saliva that had gathered.

you didn’t need him to lead you to his room, grateful it was the first door on the right otherwise you probably would’ve both ended up on the floor, not that it’d be the first time.

you properly unzipped your dress and stepped out of it, discarding it on his floor before sitting back on his bed ━ lando following suit, shirt discarded before he was stepping out of his pants and boxers.

you crawled back on the bed as he moved to hover over you, pushing you down to lay on your back before his lips were on yours once more.

kissing him never got old, your hands tangling in his curls as he used his knee to spread your legs apart.

you had no warning before he slid inside of you, easily doing so due to how wet you were, but the stretch was always a shock; jaw dropping as you moaned into his mouth, a sharp tug on his hair.

“fuck, always wrap round me so fucking well,” lando cursed, bottoming out and giving you a moment to adjust ━ well aware you’d be tender from the quickie earlier on in the night.

“lando, please━ fuck,” you whimpered, hands moving to grip at his back, back arching as he began to move; thrusting in and out. he wasn’t slow, but you knew he was holding back.

your eyes watched his intently, his scanning your features and admiring the way your face contorted in pleasure.

“lan, please,” you repeated, whimpering as you spread your legs a little more; keen to feel all of him.

“what? need more hm?” lando asked, the chained necklace dangling from his chest and brushing against your chin with every thrust. “needy little thing,” he grinned, and you could only whine as your eyes fluttered shut momentarily.

his hand shifted to your thigh, grabbing one of your legs and moving it upwards, pushing your knee towards your chest. the new angle allowing him to hit deeper, and suddenly his thrusts were harsher and quicker.

your eyes rolled back instantly, a squeal like moan escaping you before you could even try suppress it, nails dragging down his back as he pounded into you.

“yes, fuck, yes,” you practically chanted as he lando fucked you, hard. the way your eyes rolled back and jaw went slack only had him motivated, eager to draw out every possible sound from you.

he was relentless, you still couldn’t get used to the stamina, how there was never a break in the pace or harshness of his thrusts. no moment to breathe or try compose yourself, choked out moans almost straining your throat from how often he slammed into you.

“look at me baby,” lando demanded, wanting your pretty eyes focused on him ━ he wasn’t surprised you didn’t listen however, well, you didn’t really make sense of his words. a habit you seemed to have formed.

it wasn’t like you could help it, the way your brain seems to shut off the moment he hits that spot inside of you.

his hand around your throat was enough, eyes fluttering open and he squeezed softly; whimpering as you continued to moan and pant, met with his smirk.

“fucked dumb already,” lando grinned, almost boasting as he kept his hand around your throat; not applying much pressure but the feeling of it there alone had your hips spasming momentarily. “so easy for me baby, could have you like this all the time,”

you moaned at his words, hearing him loud and clear this time, nodding pathetically; you’d agree with anything he says right now,

“my pretty girl,” he was always quick with the praise after his harsh words, the contrast always welcome as your hands shifted from his back to his biceps. “all mine,” he reiterated.

the possessive tone he found would have you falling into wishful thinking if you possessed the ability to think straight, but thankfully you couldn’t; not when your vision was starting to be replaced with stars as he continued to fuck you relentlessly.

his lips caught yours in another kiss, tongues clashing as you moaned into each others mouths ━ his turn to falter as your walls clenched around him, a string of curses being grunted against your lips.

you didn’t need to tell him you were close, no, he knew your body to well; he pushed your leg further back, as if it was possible, you in no place to recognise any slight discomfort when all you could feel was him inside of you, stretching you out.

you felt the difference in angle again however, eyes rolling back once more as you came hard and fast, his name falling from your lips as you did so.

“good girl baby, cum for me,” lando encouraged; continuing to thrust into you as you rode out your high, back arching and pushing into him.

your walls clenched around him once more, and he came almost immediately; releasing inside of you with a loud groan, your sounds intertwining and melting into one another.

your nails were sure to have left marks along his back, body going limp beneath him as his head dropped to your chest briefly, catching his breath as he too came down from his high.

he wasn’t done though, despite it almost being 7 in the morning, he wasn’t sure if it was the adrenaline, the alcohol or you; but sleep was the last thing on his mind and his best guess was because of the latter.

he was moving again before you could fully recover, the sensitivity causing you to whimper immediately, his thrusts only slow now as he pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“know you’ve got one more in you,” he mumbled, and you wouldn’t ever disagree; nodding quickly as he gradually picked up the pace.

before he got into a rhythm however he slid out, sitting back on his knees and you simply looked at him, awaiting his next move.

he manhandled you onto your stomach easily, as if you were nothing; tugging your hips up and you followed naturally, back arching as your ass propped in the air, his hands grasping and squeezing the soft flesh before sliding back inside of you.

the change in angle once again had you moaning out loudly, hands gripping the sheets beneath you as lando found the pace he’d previously possessed.

your whole body jolted with every thrust, face gradually pushing into the covers, moans muffled as your back arched further.

he didn’t like not hearing you though, obsessed with the way you’d moan and borderline scream his name; so he flew into action, grabbing your hair and tugging so your head was lifted; a loud moan escaping you on cue.

“so fucking good, take me so well,” lando grunted his praise ━ hips slamming into yours.

you couldn’t form words, only replying in little whines and whimpers, choked out moans as your body became overstimulated.

lando knew your limits though, knew how far he could push you. his hand snaking around your waist to find your clit, and rubbing circles on your sensitive bud had your body shaking immediately.

“fuck━ lando, oh my god,” you’d practically cried out, unable to do anything but take all he was giving you, hand in your hair still keeping you in place as he pounded your cunt.

“take it love, know you can,” he grunted; fingers quickening up ━ and he was obsessed with the way your thighs spasmed, your walls clenched around him and your hand reached back to try grip his wrist.

you came again, unable to give warning as your eyes watered from the mere overstimulation.

“there you go, good girl, so so good, could watch you come undone my cock every day,” lando talked you though it, hips still moving relentlessly as he let go of your hair, your front half falling back into the mattress ━ both hands gripping your hips now as he chased his own high.

you whimpered as he fucked you through your high, and when he came inside you again you swear it all became a blur, trying to recover from your back to back orgasms.

lando slid out of you and rolled off of you after he caught his breath; which was much quicker than you. his hand delicately pushing some of your hair back had your head tilting to face him however, a lazy smile grazing your features.

“you’re incredible,” lando mumbled, admiring you quietly; and if you weren’t exhausted you would’ve laughed at him.

“shut up.” you mumbled, eyes fluttering shut, legs still shaking as lando rolled his eyes ━ a stupid smile on his face none the less.

“no running out of me yeah?” lando hummed, arm moving to wrap around your frame, easily pulling you into his chest. and you should’ve been alarmed, gone into self preservation mode and pushed away.

but you couldn’t, simply accepting his embrace that you’d always crave, head finding a spot on his toned chest.

“don’t think i could if i tried,” you laughed, not sure your legs would hold your weight if you tried to stand. let alone walk.

“yeah good, that was the whole point,” lando chuckled playfully, fingers dancing up and down the side of your arm, eyes fixated on you below him.

you laughed softly, knowing this conversation needed to be addressed properly. that come morning, or well maybe early afternoon in this case, when you wake up, you’ll be met with that sinking feeling again. the one where you’ll feel the need to flea, to escape him and the domesticated side you so badly wanted to yourself.

but you’d settle for this for now, just like lando would settle for you believing this was the most he could offer. for now.

━━━

a/n: did u miss me and my shitty endings 🤭🤭🤭

soz for disappearing and soz if this is rusty asf it just came to me and it’s 3:30am but i needed to get it done 🤭🤭🤭

unedited like usual oops

#f1 smut #f1 x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando smut #f1 imagine #lando norris one shot #f1 one shot #lando norris angst #lando norris

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rosemaryhoney27 · 3 months ago

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Ghost of a Chance

Gotham was not a city known for its kindness. Rain slicked the alleyways like a second skin, and shadows crept where sunlight dared not linger. Alfred Pennyworth had seen a great many things in this city. Muggers, monsters, and masked madmen were just part of the nightly routine. What he hadn't expected, however, was to be saved by a ghost.

Or something very much like one.

It was supposed to be a quick errand—a quiet evening walk to clear his head. But halfway down Burnside, three desperate men with more bravado than brains cornered him. Alfred had been ready to disarm the first and disable the second, but he never got the chance. A blur of white and black swooped in, accompanied by the distant, bone-deep hum of unnatural power. The muggers were down in seconds—one frozen to the wall, another knocked out cold, and the third suspended midair by a glowing hand that flickered green.

The boy was there and gone just as fast. Alfred barely had time to register the tattered hoodie, the hollow cheeks, the white hair and green eyes that didn’t seem quite human.

"Wait—!" Alfred had called, but the boy was already gone, melting into the shadows like smoke.

The encounter would’ve ended there—just another strange chapter in Gotham’s nightbook—if it hadn’t kept happening.

Twice more, the mysterious young man appeared. Once to stop a purse snatcher near the theater. Another time to drag a lost child out of a crumbling building during a fire. Always fast, always silent. Always gone before Alfred could properly speak to him.

And always too thin.

It was the kind of thin that spoke of long nights without food. Hollow cheeks, knobby elbows, a belt cinched too tight around jeans that barely stayed up. It reminded Alfred of the early days—of Dick, of Jason, of Tim, of Damian. Of boys who had learned to survive instead of live.

Alfred Pennyworth had a rule: no one went hungry on his watch.

And so began his campaign.

At first, it was subtle. A wrapped sandwich left behind after one of the ghost-boy’s heroic appearances. A thermos of hot tea left conveniently near a rooftop perch. A backpack, clean and durable, filled with protein bars and fresh socks. Most of it vanished, though Alfred never saw it happen.

Then came the note, scrawled in messy, tired handwriting:

“Thanks. You didn’t have to. I’m not sticking around though. It’s safer for you if I don’t.”

The next day, Alfred left a response tucked in the same spot:

“You are not a danger, young man. I’ve seen far worse, and fed far worse. If you insist on continuing your streak of rooftop chivalry, I insist you do so on a full stomach.”

He added a slice of quiche. It was gone by morning.

Bruce raised an eyebrow the first time he caught Alfred baking two loaves of banana bread instead of one. Tim said nothing when the supply order mysteriously included a half dozen extra protein shakes and thermal gloves in medium size. Damian made a snide comment—something about stray ghosts haunting the pantry—but Alfred didn’t dignify it with a reply.

Then came the night it changed.

A patrol gone wrong. Batman caught in a collapsing parking garage. The comms went dead. Nightwing was too far. Red Hood was tracking Penguin. The only one nearby—untraceable, unregistered, and undeniably powerful—was the boy Alfred had been feeding for weeks.

He left the beacon on the rooftop.

“Help him. Please. –A.P.”

Within minutes, Bruce stumbled through the Batcave entrance, soot-smudged and breathing, but alive. Behind him, almost hidden in the shadows, was the boy. White hair. Green eyes. Shivering slightly, but still on his feet.

“I didn’t do it for favors,” the boy said. His voice was hoarse, too young for his haunted face. “I just... couldn’t let him die.”

“I know,” Alfred said gently. “Which is precisely why the offer of dinner still stands.”

“…I shouldn’t.” But his eyes drifted toward the warm lights of the manor beyond the cave, toward the smell of fresh bread and something sweet baking in the oven.

“No one escapes me forever, dear boy,” Alfred said with a small smile. “Not even slippery ghosts.”

The boy stared at him for a long moment. Then finally, like a candle burning out, he sagged.

“…Okay. Just for tonight.”

“Of course,” Alfred said, already turning toward the kitchen. “We’ll start with soup.”

Behind him, the boy whispered a name like an afterthought—like something long buried finally being said aloud.

“Danny. My name’s Danny.”

“Well then, Master Danny,” Alfred said, with the same fondness he reserved for all his wayward sons, “welcome home.”

#danny fenton #danny phantom #alfred pennyworth #dpxdc

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beloveds-embrace · 4 months ago

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(Poly 141 x fem reader)

You had always been their sweetheart.

Soft, tender, and gentle- the heart of their home. The warmth in the spaces between them, the one they curled around after long days of violence, soothed by your touch and your voice, the way you cared for them without hesitation. No matter how much blood stained their hands, no matter what nightmares haunted their sleep, you were there. Unshaken. Unyielding in your love, hands gentle and soft as you cradled them close and warm.

So they had never needed to know about the things you kept buried.

The past you refused to unearth. The things you could do, the person you had been before them- before you had a home to call your own, before you had people who held you just as carefully as you held them.

They didn’t need to know, and you didn’t need to think about it.

Until they went missing.

You first learned something was wrong when John’s daily check-in didn’t come.

It had always been a habit of his, something he did without fail, no matter how far away he was. Just to let you know I’m breathing, love. That was what he had said, years ago, the first time he had explained it to you. You had teased him for it- What, you don’t trust me to not burn the house down?- but he had only smiled, voice steady and sure when he told you, I like knowing you’re safe.

It had never failed. Not once. Even when he himself could not text you, Lasswell herself assured you they were fine and merely had to be careful.

But now came the silence.

No messages. No calls. No updates.

You tried not to panic. They were on a mission, after all. Maybe something had gone wrong with their comms, or maybe they had been forced to go dark, and Lasswell was busy. It had happened before, and they had always come back to you, whole and alive, pressing their faces into your neck, murmuring apologies and reassurances.

But then a full week passed.

Then two.

And no one would tell you a thing and Lasswell wasn’t picking up, either.

You had tried- had called, had knocked on doors, had pushed until you were met with polite deflections and stone-cold refusals.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that information is classified.”

“There’s nothing we can share at this time.”

“We appreciate your patience.”

Patience.

As if you would sit here, helpless, and just wait. Hopeless, and helpless, and unable to do a single thing to help then.

No. No, you had done that before. You had waited before. And it had cost you everything.

You weren’t that girl anymore. You weren’t a victim of circumstance, hoping for scraps of kindness, praying for someone to do right by you.

If no one would help, you would do it yourself; because they were yours, and they were the best thing that have ever happened to you, and you weren’t going to lose them.

Tracking them down was easier than you expected.

You had spent years curating the image of someone soft and harmless, someone not worth keeping secrets from. And people loved to talk. Especially when they thought you were just a grieving, desperate woman trying to find a lost fiancé and his friends.

All it had taken was a few well-placed words, a few tearful looks, and doors had opened.

It had taken only days to pinpoint their last known location, then. After you’d hunted down Laswell, and had her help you. Though you were glad to see that she was working to find out where they were, as well, and merely lacked the manpower because of some general named Shepherd.

You filed the name away for later thoughts.

A warlord with connections to arms smuggling in Eastern Europe. An old base, abandoned by one regime and taken over by another. And your men had been sent in to dismantle it.

But they hadn’t come back. MIA, the reports said.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t care for those three letters. You moved.

You gathered supplies, mapped out your route, planned your approach with the precision of someone who had done it before. You emptied old caches, dusted off weapons you hadn’t touched in years, and set off.

The infiltration was clean; a single shadow among many, slipping between patrols, cutting down obstacles with silent, brutal efficiency. Years it may have been, you hadn’t gotten as rusty as you’d feared you’d be.

You had never been squeamish. You had learned long ago that softness had no place in survival- but it could thrive and bloom in the aftermath, a stubborn weed that eventually makes way for a full bouquet.

But this was different.

This was fury burning in your blood as you carved a path forward, every movement precise- you couldn’t afford any less.

You didn’t stop, no matter what.

Not until you found them at last, and your heart ached something fierce abd sharp in your chest.

Caged. Beaten. Bound but not broken- and drugged.

I should have been more rough, you mourn for a split second. An easy death was more mercy than what was deserved.

John’s head lifted first, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Love-?”

Then Simon, bloodied but breathing, his body sluggish with whatever chemicals they had pumped into him. Every part of him was covered in blood and cuts.

Johnny’s voice, then, hoarse and raw, full of disbelief and worry. “No. No, you’re not- this insnae real-“

And Kyle, whose breath hitched as you knelt beside him, gentle fingers brushing against his bruised face.

They thought they were dreaming; they thought you weren’t real.

And maybe that was a… mercy.

Because if they had been clear-headed, if they had seen what you had done to get here, if they had watched the way you had cut down anyone in your path with merciless efficiency-

They would have looked at you differently.

And you couldn’t bear that. To have their illusion of your gentleness shattered like that…

So you played along.

Whispered reassurances, pressed kisses to sweat-damp foreheads, untied their bindings with careful hands. You coaxed them to move, guided them through the corridors you’d emptied, wiped away the blood that dripped from their skinz

And when they sagged against you, too dazed to fight, too lost in the haze of their drugged delirium, you held them-

Kept them safe, and brought them home.

Later, they woke in a hospital, clean and stitched and safe.

You were already there, fussing over them, your voice soft and sweet, your fingers gentle as you pressed cool cloths to fever-warm skin, brushed stray curls from foreheads, adjusted pillows and blankets with quiet determination. Dressed in something white and pink, the colors of innocence, nails cleaned of blood even if your hands will never be truly clean.

You looked the same as ever.

Pretty and delicate, their lovely girl, their tender-hearted sweetheart.

And for all that had happened, all that they had suffered, all that you had done-

They never suspected a single thing, and you didn’t tell them; didn’t tell them that there had been no extraction team. That there had been no grand military rescue- not even from the the same military that had abandoned them.

(His name was General Shepherd. You will not forget it- you’d need to carve his name on the bullet you’ll save just for him, after all.)

That it had been you.

Only you.

Only Laswell knew the truth, and she would keep your secret because she understood what it meant to protect the people you loved.

And if you had to carry this weight alone to keep them from ever looking at you like you were something other-

So be it.

You sat beside John, pressing a kiss to his temple as his fingers curled weakly around yours.

You smiled at Simon when his hand brushed against your knee, seeking reassurance, seeking you, his eyes tired.

You let Johnny hold you, his arms tight around your waist as he mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder, still half-lost in the remnants of the drugs.

And when Kyle murmured: “At leas’ you’re safe, pretty.” His voice thick with sleep-

You just smiled and ran your fingers carefully through his hair, and held them the way you always had.

And pretended that everything was exactly the same.

(Part Two)

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itsnesss · 2 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | max has been leaving signs for you all along—hidden flowers, colors, and initials

warnings | fluff, romance, intimate moments, emotional intensity, subtle symbolism

word count | 1.2 k

🖇️ more mv1 🖇️ f1 masterlist

You don’t know exactly when it started.

Maybe it was after that race in Monaco, when you stayed late in the paddock helping him organize a few things and ended up talking for hours. Or maybe it was before, when you lent him your jacket under the rain in Spa, and he returned it with a smile that lingered with you longer than you were willing to admit.

The truth is, one day, without warning, you started noticing the little things.

The flower came first.

It was tiny. Just a brushstroke along the bottom edge of Max’s helmet, almost imperceptible. A lavender. No one else would’ve noticed it—except you. Because no one else in that paddock knew that was your favorite flower. Because you were the only one who wore lavender perfume. The only one who left dried sprigs on your desk, like a charm.

You recognized it instantly.

You didn’t say anything. You just watched him from the edge of the garage, pretending to study the tires or check data that wasn’t even your responsibility. It was easier to act like you didn’t know. Like your heart hadn’t started racing over a single gesture.

Because… how do you explain it?

How do you explain that a flower on a Formula 1 driver’s helmet can make you feel so much? How do you justify that, in the middle of roaring engines and the chaos of the paddock, something so small could cut so deep?

The first time, you thought it was a coincidence. Max had thousands of fans, and his helmet design changed from race to race. You couldn’t jump to conclusions over a tiny flower.

But then came the blue.

Not just any blue. Yours. That shade somewhere between sky and mist you wore on your nails, your favorite sweater, in the notes you left Max when he forgot things. A blue that began to show up in the details of his gloves, in a stripe on his suit collar, in the curve of a signature. Subtle. Intimate.

And that’s when you started to suspect.

Then you saw the initials.

Three letters painted inside the helmet, right beside the protective foam. Where no one would see them. Where only he could look before stepping into the car.

They were yours. Your initials.

Small, precise, etched with care and intent.

And that’s when you knew. You knew it wasn’t a coincidence. You knew he was speaking to you in another language—one without words, one of symbols and details the world ignored but you understood.

And something in you melted.

You spent weeks saying nothing.

You didn’t know how. How do you tell someone you found out they carry your essence beneath a layer of carbon fiber? How do you face a silent, hidden confession with trembling hands of "me too"?

Because you knew. You’d known for a while. That Max looked at you differently. That his tone changed when he talked to you. That his smile was softer around you. That when your eyes met amid the press chaos, there was something between you that couldn’t be explained or denied.

But he never said anything. And neither did you.

Until now.

That morning, you woke up with your heart racing. There was no race, just testing and simulations, but you knew Max would be there. Like always. Like you.

You grabbed your backpack, got ready with more care than usual, and left before you could talk yourself out of it. You couldn’t keep pretending you didn’t see what he put on his helmets. You couldn’t keep acting like you didn’t feel what you felt every time you saw him laugh, or quiet, or just being so genuinely him.

You had to face it.

And not just for him. For you.

The paddock was nearly empty when you arrived. The mechanics were focused, the air smelled of hot tires and coffee. You walked quickly, ignoring curious glances, until you reached the Red Bull box.

And there he was.

Sitting on a stool, helmet on his lap, cleaning it with those calm movements he used when he was nervous. His fingers ran a microfiber cloth over the design again and again, like he was trying to polish more than just paint.

“Max,” you called his name, firm but soft.

He looked up.

And for a second, everything stopped.

His expression shifted. From surprise to recognition, from recognition to nervousness, and from nervousness to something else. Something dangerously close to hope.

“Hey,” he said, lowering the helmet slowly. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

“Neither did I,” you confessed, walking toward him. “But I needed to talk to you.”

He nodded, swallowed hard. Waited.

You stopped in front of him and looked at the helmet. A new flower decorated the edge. A gentian. Your second favorite after lavender. The one you mentioned once, in Austria, while walking through the Alps.

It wasn’t a coincidence anymore.

“How many more are there?” you asked, gently touching the edge.

Max fell silent. Then he sighed.

“All of them,” he replied. “Since that time in Silverstone. When you stayed with me after the crash. Since then I started to… I don’t know. Keep you there. Carry you with me.”

Your breath caught.

“Why?”

Max looked up. His eyes were intense, but there was a tenderness that broke you inside.

“Because you make me feel stronger.

Because when I drive, when I’m going 300 kilometers an hour, you’re the only thing that calms me. And… because I want you close. Even if it’s like this. Even if you don’t notice.”

“I noticed, Max.”

He went still.

“For weeks now,” you added, with a trembling smile. “I just… didn’t know how to tell you I feel the same.”

And that’s when his eyes widened.

Like you’d activated something in him.

Like finally, the truth could come out without fear.

“Really?”

You nodded. Stepped closer. Took the helmet from his hands and set it aside. Then cupped his face with your palms, soft and slow, afraid of breaking something sacred.

“Really.”

And you kissed him.

It was slow. It was warm. It was everything he’d been waiting for, everything you’d secretly wanted for months. His hands found your waist like they’d been searching for it all along. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

No cheers. No flashes. No ovations.

Just two people, and a tiny universe of silent love.

When you pulled apart, Max rested his forehead against yours, wearing a goofy smile you’d never seen on him before.

“I knew you’d see it one day,” he whispered.

“I didn’t just see it,” you said softly. “I felt it. In every race. In every hidden message. In every detail.”

He laughed, quietly.

“I guess now I’ll have to redesign the helmet. Add something bigger.”

“Like what?”

Max raised an eyebrow, that mischievous little-boy look on his face.

“I always wanted you to find out like this. Not in a press conference. Not with some big announcement. Just you and me. Here.”

“And a helmet full of secrets,” you joked gently.

He smiled, laughter shaky.

“You know me too well.”

“I watch you with my heart. What did you expect?”

He closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“I want you to come with me to the pit wall.

Be there next time I go out.

I want to race knowing you’re watching. That you know.”

You held his hand tightly.

“I always knew, Max. I just needed the courage to come say it.”

#🖇️ max verstappen #max vertsappen fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x you

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h1biscusgal · 2 months ago

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Tee hee y'all, i'm not back but i loved y'all sm so take this subliminal i took six days to perfect.

I AM NOT BACK, NO, I AM SO SORRY.

my studying session been going good AND YALLLLLLL I MISS YOU SO MUCH, I CAN'T EVEN EXPLAIN.

so, last week, when i closed tumblr, my mind was reeling from one thing it kept repeating itself:

"i wanna give smth to my people in tumblr."

why? i've seen people having problems for the void, i've seen people say they are so close but their "heartbeat" stops them, some say they sleep without knowing.

so i thought.

"mf, why not a subliminal that will fucking guarantee you to enter IN EVERRRYYYY situation?"

think you need to keep awake? this sub

think you need to sleep to enter the void? still this sub

need to enter while using it? this sub

need to enter but can't have your phone with you during sleep? again this sub, you can listen to it during the day and try at night.

like WHATEVER the fuck you do, i have made a loophole for it, now for god's sake please be careful, it gave me such a headache making it my head is still pounding, it has PURE fucking delta waves and 5 set of repeated NON-LAYERED NOT TOO SPED UP affirmations, why?

these are the safest type of affirmations that penetrate the subconscious, i cannot express this enough please.

PLEASE BE FUCKING CAREFUL WITH IT, DON'T LOOP TOO MUCH, DELTA WAVES CAN MAKE YOU DEADASS TIRED.

now this? holy shit this? i call it my beautiful Voided Hibiscus project, and yes i love hibiscuses-

this sub???

here's the benefits:

Voided Hibiscus is a one-of-a-kind, high-power subliminal crafted to guarantee entry into the Void State — no matter your state of mind, environment, or experience level.

Whether you're lying still or fidgeting, wide awake or asleep, listening consciously or with it running in the background — the moment this subliminal activates, the Void becomes inevitable, it is fucking guaranteed and i made so sure of it by science.

During these exact 22 minutes and 22 seconds, your mind will swallow THE LITERAL definition of "master at void." The affirmations are layered with master precision — spoken, whispered, echoed, reversed — to penetrate the deepest layers of the subconscious, bypassing every mental block, doubt, or distraction. Delta isochronic tones pulse beneath the surface, gently entraining your brain to the perfect frequency of surrender, silence, and awareness, like ya'll i am NOT playing.

This is for you if:

You want to enter the Void effortlessly, with full certainty.

You want to enter during the day, or while sleeping — either way works.

You’re tired of trying methods and want results without effort.

You want a subliminal that works permanently — even after you stop listening.

Features:

Affirmations that dissolve fidgeting, overthinking, boredom, and resistance.

Built-in confidence: You will never doubt your ability to enter the void again.

Repetition formula designed to rewrite your subconscious with absolute certainty.

Works even if you accidentally fall asleep.

Activates the Void even when played silently or in the background.

After consistent listening, your command over the Void becomes instinctual.

like mf, you is the bored type? you is the annoyed impatient as fuck type? you is the type to try for 2 minutes and give up? homie this shit will throw you in the void while you move, fidget, breathe hard, feeling bored, sleep accidentally.

like what the fuck am i supposed to do next-

THIS CAN BE USED IN THREE WAYS:

awake method: lay down and have it on your head (no mf you won't sleep accidentally and ruin it bc i backed it up that you'll wake up there) and simply repeat affs for it, watch yourself enter without even knowing how the fuck you entered, i swear if you trust? you'll enter within the duration of those 22 minutes and 22 seconds, there's no "when", it's like a guarantee.

sleep method: if you is the type that yo parents let you have your phone with you? use it overnight and watch yourself wake up in the void.

thru-theday method: just listen to it during the day and do any method before sleep or just anywhere and bam.

there's no "how" here, this sub? almost made me tumble, i am not tryna brag, no seriously, but i thought to post smth that helps ppl, now let me stop yapping the fuck out and take this:

(so sorry for this quick and messy post-)

youtube

good luck loves, and send me the asks and messages coming! i'll be on here for a very few minutes and see what asks there is to answer.

EDIT: I AM SORRY WHAT THE FUCK???? LAST TIME I CHECKED I HAD 661 FOLLOWERS NOW IT'S A 1700 SMTH????? I AM SCREAMING PLEASE I LOVE YALL SO MUCH??? I CAN'T BELIEVE IT I WANNA CRY PLEASE.

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mattsundaes · 11 months ago

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contravention

soshiro hoshina x f!reader

Hoshina finds himself in a precarious situation when his repeated use of the No. 10 suit sends his body into a rut, one that's only further exacerbated when you let yourself into his office without warning.

wc: 3.2k

c: 18+ only, friends to lovers, rut dynamics, breeding kink, oral sex (f & m!receiving), cum eating, squirting, unprotected p in v, creampies, too many creampies to count, copious amounts of cum, a ridiculous amount of orgasms, pussy drunk!hoshina, required horny suspension of disbelief, author takes great liberties with human biology

a/n: this one goes out to the two requests i received for hoshina + office, in addition to an older request for him in a rut!

SPICY SLEEPOVER — ROUND V

There are three things Soshiro Hoshina promised himself when he was sworn into his position as Vice-Captain of the Third Division—

To give his life to the JAKDF.

To do everything within his power and abilities to ensure the safety and preparedness of each and every officer under his watch.

—and to never let himself get involved with a fellow officer.

…after all, sentimentality is a dangerous weapon to hang oneself with.

The third is the reason he’s currently staring at you with wide, panicked eyes as you step past the threshold of his locked office door, your brows furrowed as you point what appears to be a hairpin in his direction.

“You’ve been holed up in here for days, Soshiro,” you frown, your gaze tracking across the uncharacteristically messy state the room is currently in. Paperwork is left askew across the surface of his desk, a haphazard pile of blankets and pillows stacked on the couch, and an array of takeout food and drink containers is stacked precariously atop the filing cabinet.

Soshiro grips the edge of his desk, teeth grinding as he fights to ignore the surge of possessive, blinding heat that unfurls inside of him at the sound of his given name on your lips.

(It was an exception he was too weak to deny you, not when you’ve become the closest friend he’s ever had in the years since you joined the Defense Force.)

You begin to walk toward him, and his nostrils flare, chest heaving as the familiar, soft scents of your perfume and shampoo invade his senses, amplified like never before.

“S-stop,” he gasps, hunching forward, palms flat against the desk as he inhales sharply.

Your voice has an edge of panic to it as you stride closer. “Soshiro?”

He backs up, putting several more feet of space between the two of you, though the added proximity does little to quell the blazing fire your presence has ignited in his veins.

“I…there’s….,” his throat burns as he tries to talk, “…a side effect from Number 10.”

A rut, to be precise.

Biologically, it makes zero sense. There are no reported cases on file across the JAKDF of similar side effects as a result of kaiju weaponization. And Soshiro’s not even wearing the goddamn suit, he hasn’t been since he collapsed in the middle of the training grounds earlier in the week without warning.

But the medical team at the Third Division has since hypothesized that it’s a particular irregularity resulting from the repeated usage of the No. 10 suit which has simply tricked his body into believing it’s going into an animalistic rut, of sorts.

His cock has been achingly hard nearly round the clock all week, a thick and throbbing presence between his legs no matter how many times he brings himself to completion.

Mortifyingly, after the higher ups insisted on contacting Captain Gen Narumi of the First Division to see if he had any insight, the other man had nearly laughed himself out of his seat as he suggested Soshiro try “fucking it out of his system.”

And this is where your presence has now become a problem.

Deny it as he might, there’s a traitorous golden thread of sentimentality for you that runs deep in Soshiro’s veins, one that has nearly cost the team a mission on several occasions at times when he’s found himself too focused on your individual wellbeing on the battlefield.

He sees the way you look at him.

He feels the way his stupid, reckless heart throbs against his ribcage in your presence.

He knows what this could be—what the two of you could have. If only he was weak enough to bend to the will of his own desires.

But under the influence of the rut currently sinking its ruthless fangs into his better judgment, he’s a weak man.

He’s a weak, hungry, desperate man who wants to claim you as his.

Who wants to breed you, to fill you with his seed, to pump every last drop of cum he has left to give into the tight, slippery warmth of your cunt.

This is why he’s been avoiding you specifically, why he’s teetering on the frantic edge of panic as he feels his body’s visceral, uncontrollable reaction to your presence.

You sigh, expression softening. “I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

He stares at you in confusion and chokes out, “What?”

“Well…Captain Narumi called me to ask how you were doing, which threw me off. He didn’t go into much detail, but I…I got the gist of it.”

“That asshole…” Soshiro groans.

“I think he was trying to be nice, if you can believe that. But I just…I know you like thinking you have to shoulder every burden yourself, and you hate asking for help. And you’ve been ignoring all of my texts. So I’m here now to offer you whatever help you may need.”

Soshiro maneuvers himself behind the side of his desk, if only to hide the stiff erection currently tented at the front of his pants. “This…I don’t…this ain’t somethin’ you can help me with.”

Putting your hands on your hips, you huff. “You look like you’re barely keeping it together. And I…” you scratch the back of your head, looking a bit sheepish, “I may have done some research. On the internet.”

“Research?!”

“I mean, I know the mental gymnastics of applying the concept from animals to kaiju to humans isn’t exactly laying the groundwork for the next peer-reviewed scientific study…”

“Do ya even know what you’re saying?”

You sidestep around the barrier of the desk, and Soshiro backs up again, his shoulder blades hitting the wall, the obvious outline of his cock in his pants the least of his concerns now.

“I’m saying that your body probably isn’t going to revert back to normal until you satisfy the conditions of your rut.”

A subtle shiver runs through him. “I’ve tried,” he grumbles, looking off to the side.

“Oh?” you ask, an odd look crossing your face, one that he can’t quite read—but it makes something inside of him clench all the same.

“By myself, I mean,” he continues. “Many times, actually. S’not changing anything.”

“Because your body wants you to breed someone. Well, probably in the hypothetical sense, like just finishing inside of them…,” you reply, matter-of-factly. Like his cock isn’t threatening to thrash its way past his zipper at the sound of those words on your lips.

He inhales slowly, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before finding your gaze once more. “‘m not goin’ out and findin’ some random—“

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Excuse me?” Soshiro’s not sure he remembers how to breathe.

“Use me, breed me. Whatever it’s going to take to get you out of this room and back into commission.”

He’s going to lose his fucking mind.

“I can’t—“

“I trust you, Soshiro. I trust you more than anyone else. I don’t think you understand how much you mean to me. And I know you refuse to let yourself care about anyone enough to become a liability…but I’m here if you want me. If you’ll have me.”

Everything inside of Soshiro feels like it’s reaching a breaking point, a fever pitch. He takes one step toward you, and then another.

—and it’s almost excruciating, the distance that remains, every cell and fiber in his body helplessly, desperately drawn toward your gravitational pull.

“…also I…the contraceptive part is covered. So I won’t actually get pregnant. You can come inside of me as many times as you need to…”

Another step.

“…or as many times as you want to…”

He’s standing directly in front of you, his muscles tensing painfully as he begins to feel the warmth of your body heat.

“I locked myself in here to stay away from you,” he rasps.

Your face falls a fraction. “Am I that terrible of an option?”

“No.” He sidesteps, and you turn to face him, your backside leaning against his desk. “You were the only option I want.”

You blink, clearly a bit taken aback by the admission. “Then why didn’t you tell me? I feel like I’m not exactly subtle about my feelings…”

“Cause I don’t know if this is goin’ to stop if we do this. I don’t know what kinda side effects there might be afterward.”

“Are you trying to scare me off with the threat of a potential sex sabbatical if your boner doesn’t go down?”

He bites the inside of his lower lip. “I’m tryin’ to warn ya that I don’t know if we can go back to normal after this…it’s more than just sexual…there’s this possessive feeling eatin’ me alive whenever I so much as think about ya.”

You lean more of your weight back into the desk, letting one of your feet slide forward to nudge against Soshiro’s.

“You know just about everyone in the entire Defense Force already thinks we’re dating, right? Captain Narumi started crying laughing when I got into an argument with him over it.”

Soshiro’s self control is dangling by the edge of a frayed, treacherous rope.

“You really wanna do this?”

“I was already yours, Soshiro. Even if you weren’t ready to acknowledge it.”

A ragged exhale leaves him at that, every last piece of his desire falling at his feet and bursting into flames. And when you meet him halfway as his lips come crashing into yours, Soshiro knows there’s no turning back.

Distantly, Soshiro knows that if he were in the right state of mind, this would unfold in a far different manner. He’d settle down into his office chair, tugging you into his lap to kiss you soft and slow and languid.

He’d take his time, familiarizing himself with each dip and curve of your body. Every corner, every plane. Every little sound and reaction. He’d use his lips and his fingers first, until you’re pliant and sated under his touch.

He’d kiss the corner of your mouth and worship the very sight of you, tell you just how fucking terribly in love he is with you.

But you know him better than anyone else, and he you.

So when he gets out an, “I’m sorry,” between frantic, sloppy kisses as his hands fumble for the button of your pants—

When you gasp at the feeling of his fingers grazing your slit and bite down on his lower lip and moan into his open mouth, “Next time.”—

He knows you understand all that he wants to give you to, that this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. That you trust him and want him enough to let him fuck you through his rut like an animal moments after you’ve shared your first kiss.

Despite the unbearable ache of his cock, which only grows worse when you begin to palm him through his pants, Soshiro still manages one thing—one moment of pleasure that he’s fucking dreamed of giving you over and over again.

He has little regret for the way he swipes all of the paperwork off of his desk in one go before he sets you down on top of it, memos and unanswered letters the furthest thing from his mind when he finally has the taste of your cunt on his tongue. With your legs spread wide, he eats you out with reckless abandon, the heel of one hand shoved against his dick as he plunges two fingers of the other in and out of your dripping wet hole. The keening, needy sounds you make only fuel him further, your back arching up off of his desk as he thrusts his tongue into your tight channel, greedily lapping up every last drop of the arousal that’s slipping out of you.

“Oh my god, Soshiro,” you cry out, fingers scrambling for purchase and eventually coming to tangle in the dark violet locks of his hair.

When you come on his tongue, moaning and shaking as you roughly tug in his hair, it’s the most wonderful fucking sound Soshiro’s ever heard in his life. He groans when a searing wave of pleasure bursts inside of him, an unexpected orgasm filling his boxers with hot ropes of cum.

You hardly have time to recover before he’s carrying you over to the couch, setting you down in the messy nest of blankets and pillows strewn about on the wide cushions. But before he can do anything else, you’ve pushed him into a sitting position and shuffled around to kneel between his legs.

“Ya don’t have to…”

“Please.”

He can hardly deny you, especially not when he hears the satisfied sound that tips out past your lips when you slide down his pants and boxers to find the sticky mess of cum already coating his dick and balls.

His dick that’s already hard again.

“Did you come while you were—“

“Yeah,” he rasps, dragging a hand through his mussed hair.

You bite your lower lip. “Soshiro, that’s so hot.”

He doesn’t have a chance to come up with an eloquent response, because his entire body seizes up with pleasure as you lean forward and take his cum-covered cock into your mouth. Soshiro wonders how he’s ever going to recover from this—the sight of your kiss swollen lips smeared with filthy, sticky cum and saliva. As you lap it from his balls. As you suck every last drop off of him until he’s coming again right down your throat.

Soshiro thinks he’s going to climb on top of you when his cock stiffens once more, to stare down at you and press messy, hungry kisses to your lips as he thrusts inside of you.

But you’re adamant that you think he needs something else the first time, something more akin to the primal needs his body is succumbing to.

Soshiro knows you were right when he lines up his flushed, weeping cock with your slick, quivering entrance from behind while you lean forward on your hands and knees, the need in his body now burning hotter than ever before.

It takes exactly three thrusts inside the dizzingly tight, soaked warmth of your cunt for Soshiro to reach his next climax without warning, cum exploding from his cock as his hips violently stutter while he fucks his seed inside of you. It feels so good, he’s worried he might pass out, but his hips won’t stop rocking into the plush curves of your ass.

You whimper as you feel him fill you deeply, fingers digging into the blankets and couch cushions beneath you as your body rocks backward into him.

“More, Soshiro,” you beg. “I know you’re not done. I need more, too.”

Soshiro nearly growls as something desperate and feral unfurls like the crack of a whip inside of him, folding his body over yours and sinking his teeth into the soft juncture between your shoulder and your neck as his cock hardens again inside of the grip of your tight channel. You moan as he bites down, whining and gasping as you reach back to tangle your fingers in his hair.

Soshiro’s balls ache as the wet sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, his throat dry and his muscles straining with the desire to pump you full of more cum.

“Harder, Soshiro,” you gasp, rocking backward to fuck yourself on his shaft.

He’s helpless to do anything but oblige as his hips begin to snap into yours at a brutal pace, his fervor only unraveling further when you shout as you squirt all over his hand right after he starts playing with your clit, your cunt rapidly spasming and contracting around his cock.

“Breed me, please,” you whine, gasping for air, your chest heaving.

He slams inside of you to the hilt as he comes hard, brokenly groaning in pleasure as the euphoric grip of your pussy milks the cum from his cock.

“Don’t stop,” you plead when he pulls out, feeling the way his cock is hard once more as it rests against your ass.

“S’ gonna make a mess,” he heaves, entranced by the load of cum dripping out of your cunt and sliding down the backs of your thighs.

You shiver when he runs two fingers through it, the sound dissolving into a moan when he gives in to the unexplainable urge to lean forward and lap some of his sloppy mess directly from your folds.

“Good,” you choke out.

It’s so fucking filthy—the amount of cum that slides out of you as he tries in vain to fuck it all back inside. The way you come again for him a third time from the feeling of the hot, sticky mess squelching inside of you as he murmurs against your ear, “Gonna fuck a baby into you. That what ya want?”

Soshiro’s so pussy drunk he can hardly think straight when he finally gets you where he really wants you—moaning into his mouth and dragging your hands through his hair as you straddle his lap on the couch. You alternate between riding his cock and letting him ease your pliant body up and down his length as he grips your hips, blazing a hot, open-mouthed trail of kisses along the curve of your jaw as he groans about how good you feel.

The state of the leather couch is a lost cause as you bounce up and down on his shaft, cum slipping from your cunt and coating the base of his cock in a creamy ring of fluid. Drenching his balls and his thighs as he fucks up into you harder, his seed sloshing around in your fucked out hole.

When he comes again, his head drops against the back of the couch as he tries to catch his breath, groaning as he watches a fresh wave of cum leak out of you with hooded eyes when you lift yourself off of his cock.

His still hard cock.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he sighs as it twitches with interest when you reach down and swipe your finger through the cum, licking it off slowly as you hold his gaze.

“One more,” you whisper, leaning forward to slot your lips with his.

You wrap your hands around Soshiro’s cum-covered cock, moaning softly as you rub your clit up against the firm base while you begin to stroke his length. It’s so intimate and sensual, the way your body presses up against his, the roll of his hips as he slowly twitches upward and fucks your fist before climaxing one last time.

–

Soshiro rouses from a deep, heavy sleep hours later, your head on his chest, your bodies tangled together in a pile of blankets on the couch. And he’s relieved to realize that he finally feels back to normal again. Albeit, every muscle in his body aches, and he doesn’t even want to begin to think about the mess the two of you left behind before passing out, but it’s a relief all the same.

When you snuggle up closer on his chest, he pulls you close and presses a kiss to the top of your head, whispering, “Mine,” into your hair.

“Is that still your dick talking?” you ask, tired and amused.

“Nah, just me,” he murmurs, lips curving upward in a content, relaxed smile.

#soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #hoshina soshiro #soshiro hoshina x reader #kaiju no. 8 #dee writes #spicy sleepover

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astars-things · 2 months ago

Text

It'll be fun they said?

Lando Norris x reader

summary- where Lando and you film 'I Ate and Trained Like Lando Norris for 24 Hours' and it turned into a mess

1.5k words

Part two here

Lando and a few of the other Quadrant members had been quietly planning this for weeks. With the chaos of Lando's F1 schedule, races, media obligations, and simulator sessions, they had to coordinate dates, group chats filled with calendars, and more than one reschedule. But somehow, everything had finally aligned. Today was the day.

You and Lando had gotten up early to make sure the apartment was clean and camera-ready, everything that was not meant for the public was hidden anything remotely embarrassing was swiftly shoved into closets or under the bed. Lando double-checked that the interview area was up to his standards, and every helmet was precisely aligned on the shelf behind the chair

Once the apartment was up to standard, you retreated back to bed. You were never up this early, you loved your sleep too much. You flopped onto the duvet, thumb scrolling through TikTok, ignoring the growing murmur of voices drifting in from the living room. You really didn't want to be in the video because you knew how many comments would be about you and people hating on you for the smallest things

Lando had poked his head into the bedroom "You okay in here?" Lando said from the doorway of your room, "Yeah", you muttered back, putting on a hoodie over the top of your sports bra and leggings. You added some socks, not particularly keen on your bare feet making an appearance on camera. Lando held out his hand for you, interlocking your fingers and making your way to the kitchen

You said hello to everyone, giving both Ethan and Morgan a quick side hug before naturally drifting back to Lando’s side. He was already in host mode, grinning as he reached into the fridge. "So on today’s menu is apple cinnamon with pecan overnight oats," Lando said, reaching into the fridge and getting out three containers. Ethan eyed the mush with genuine concern. "Mate, that looks like you ate breakfast and then threw it up." The group fell into conversation while you cut up some fruit and added it to a bowl of yogurt

Once everyone had eaten breakfast or at least tried to, the video cut to the boys in the workout room. Cameras were repositioned, mics were adjusted, and the guys got ready to sweat. You stood off to the side, out of frame but close enough to help if needed, arms crossed and a faint smile tugging at your lips. "Normally, there are a few bands in here, they might be in our bedroom", Lando muttered. The last bit, both Ethan and Morgan looked at you as your face went slightly red

"You dirty bastards", Morgan said as he looked over at you. You shook your head. Soon, Lando returned with the band hanging loosely around his shoulders. he showed the boys how to do a pushup and then judged both of their forms.

"Okay, now we are going to hop into neck training", Lando said with way too much excitement. Both boys looked at him like he was insane. Lando first showed them how to sit on the bench and where to hold. Ethan was up first, and he was scared "You guys wanted to do this video", you said as you saw Ethan shaking as Lando pulled on his neck

After about 10 minutes, it was Morgan's turn. "This better not pop my head off," Morgan muttered, settling into position. "You’ll be fine," Lando assured him, grinning as he fastened the strap around Morgan’s forehead. "You’ve got a thick skull anyway." Morgan groaned dramatically. "If I wake up tomorrow and can’t move my neck, I’m suing all of you",

"Your turn now, Lando ", Ethan said while sitting on the floor rolling his neck. You had helped land multiple times with his neck training, so once Lando was set up and ready, you held the handle and slightly pulled to create some tension, and then you pulled

"Bro you neck is so vainy almost looks like my dick" Ethan commented which made all of you burst out into the laughter, Lando let out a sharp, surprised bark of laughter, the strap snapping off his head as he broke form completely. Even Morgan, who’d just been dreading his turn, was wheezing in the corner.

While everyone was in the living room waiting for Lando to be ready for the cryotherapy bit of the video, you and Lando were in the hallway near your shared room, Lando had tried talking you into going to cryotherapy, but you kindly declined that offer real quick, something about standing in a freezing cold room, with just a bikini on, and people watching you made you feel anxious.

"But you said you would film with us", Lando pouted, but you just shook your head. "I already told you no, that I would join in for breakfast and the workout, but nothing more. I have work I need to do, plus it's not something I feel comfortable doing" You said in a low tone, making sure nobody could hear you guys having a disagreement

"No one’s gonna be filming you like that," he said under his breath. "It’s part of the video. It’s fun." He added while trying to bring you into a hug

You glanced around to make sure the crew wasn’t in earshot before you answered, your tone low but firm. "Maybe it’s fun for you. For me, it’s anxiety. I don’t like the idea of being in that kind of vulnerable position, especially not on camera. I’m not asking you to understand it, just respect it." For a second, it looked like he might push again. But then his lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked away.

"Yeah, fine, whatever", Lando snapped and walked away, rejoining the group. You heard him grab his keys, and everyone followed. You could hear Ethan asking about you and Lando replying with Don't worry. The door shut behind them, and the apartment fell into a silence so complete it made your ears ring.

You felt off, like you were letting Lando down. With a deep breath, you made your way into the home office you had set up in Landos' streaming room. You sank down onto your chair, opening your laptop and replying to emails. You were so focused on your emails, you didn't realize the time, and suddenly the front door opened and the apartment was filled with chaos again.

You tried to drown out the noise and focused on your work, but soon you heard footsteps approaching. Then a knock, quick, but not really waiting for permission. "Hey," Lando said, already halfway through the door. "I need the room. We’re setting up the simulator bit now."

You paused, blinking at him. "Can I just finish this?" you said, pointing at your screen where you had multiple tabs open. "I told you we were using the room today," he said, his tone clipped and impatient. "Just for a bit. I need it."

You stared at him, the words hitting harder than they should have. You’d built that little corner for yourself, made space in his world without asking for much. And now, you felt like a guest in your own home. "Fine," you murmured, too tired to argue. You shut your laptop, gathered your charger, and made your way to your bedroom, silent, but not unnoticed.

You sat on the edge of the bed and reopened your laptop, trying to settle back into work, but the energy was gone. You saved all your work before opening up Netflix and putting on one of your comfort shows and lying down. About 20 minutes into the show, your bedroom door opened "The boys are leaving for their surprise, if you want to say goodbye to them", Lando said in a harsh tone

You sat up and quickly walked out of the room to find Morgan, Ethan and the camera crew standing by the front door "Hope you boys had fun," you said quickly, now in a more anxious bubble where you now felt closer to an anxiety attack. You stood next to Lando, waving goodbye as they walked out of the apartment,

As soon as the front door closed you hurried back to the comfort of your room, Lando followed and tried pulling you into a hug "fuck off" You snap now your hands were shaking and you knew in less than 5 seconds you were about to go into anxiety attack "gladly" Lando said walking away to his streaming room, all you could do was sit on the floor of your room and cry while Lando was gaming with Max...

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#lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 #quadrant #lando norris #lando x reader #lando norris imagine #mclaren #imagines

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science-hoes · 2 months ago

Text

You Are In Love: Chapter Three

Jack Abbot x Reader

Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four (Juno)

Warnings: Language might be the only one in this chapter? Very fluffy

Description: After babysitting Eliza and baby Abbot, Jack doesn't exactly sleep with the reader. At Eliza's ice skating recital, the reader decides to help Jack learn how to skate again after losing his foot.

Jack Abbot Masterlist

Robby leaned against the high counter of the desk hub, pulling his glasses out to read a message on his phone. His wife approached him, bumping him with an elbow when she copied his lean against the desk hub.

“I know something you don’t know.” She greeted in a sing-songy voice.

Without looking up, trying to focus his phone screen through his glasses, Robby answered, “I already know about the patient in Psych One. Had a potato peeler shoved up his ass. Guess who had to remove it.”

She tilted her head, genuinely concerned. “What?”

Robby’s eyes flicked up over his glasses, realizing that was not the gossip she knew. “The patient in Psych One?” He repeated.

She shook her head. “That’s not what I was talking about.” She replied, but then giggled, wrapping an arm around his bicep. “Sorry you had to do that.”

He shrugged. “Not even in the top ten items I’ve pulled out of someone’s ass.” He mumbled before looking at his phone again, holding it an elderly distance away from his face. “What do you know?”

His wife grinned devilishly, pushing his phone away so that she had his full attention. Robby smiled slightly at the excitement in her eyes. “She came to work today in his scrubs.” She revealed.

“Wait, wait…how do you know they’re his?” Robby was incredibly invested now.

“I saw the shirt tag on the scrub tub.” She continued, her smile somehow widening even more. “J Dot Abbot.”

—

Only two more days of working the day shift. That’s the record you kept on loop in your brain—only two more days of annoyingly simple cases that should have gone to urgent care. At least at night, the urgent care centers were closed, and patients had no other choice but to land in the Pitt. But more importantly, only two more shifts until you worked with Jack again.

The words “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” had not been uttered, but the connection was intensely deep. When you went home with him after babysitting Eliza and baby Abbot a couple of weeks ago, you thought the trajectory to his bedroom was obvious. The hot kisses against your car door seemed fictional now that he didn’t sleep with you that night. All the signs pointed to his lap, but you ended up in his arms instead, separated by layers of clothes. He hadn’t even removed his prosthesis. You couldn’t complain too much because you woke the next morning, more rested than you had been in years, to the smell of bacon, banana pancakes, and coffee looming from the kitchen.

His chrome ringlets were still holding onto water from the shower, glistening in the early morning sunlight that shone through the window. His massive, flexed forearms looked more delicious than the pancake mix he was stirring. You were met with the warmest, dimple-filled smile as you padded into the kitchen.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” He greeted, voice slow as honey.

You stepped closer, pulling at the sleeve of your lavender sweatshirt from the day before. “I’ve gotta go get my scrubs for work.” You said sheepishly.

Jack pointed to the black scrubs lying on the counter, folded neatly with military precision. “They’re not Figs, but they get the job done.” He noted.

You walked to the counter, pulling the shirt off the top, letting it unfold. A laugh escaped your lungs. “Jack, these are yours.” You scoffed.

“I know.”

A warmth crawled across your cheeks and slithered down your chest. “All this so I can stay for breakfast?” You teased, making your way over to him again.

“Mmhmm. Go on, get changed. I’ll be done here in a minute.” He finished his order with a kiss on your forehead.

That morning had ended with sticky, syrupy kisses before he sent you off to work with a protein bar and an energy drink. When you arrived in the baggier-than-usual black scrubs that smelled perfectly of Jack, sandalwood and citrus, Robby’s wife clocked it immediately. She gave you a nudge on the arm when you stood next to her in front of the patient board.

“Thanks for watching the kids. Eliza told me all about it this morning.” She said.

You smiled, looking at her for a brief second, and you were met with the smuggest, all-knowing smirk. You couldn’t hold back the giggle in your chest. “Nothing happened.” You defended, and it wasn’t a complete lie.

She leaned closer, arms crossed. “Well, something happened because unless your washing machine can magically make clothes grow…” She gestured to your oversized scrubs. “Those are not yours.”

The blush on your cheeks blew your cover. “Fine. I slept over with him…but we did not sleep with each other.” You clarified.

Because of your current schedule, you only saw Jack at shift change if he wasn’t elbows deep in a patient before you got called to another patient’s room. He wouldn’t kiss you or even touch you, but he had a coffee waiting for you in your locker with a fluorescent sticky note that read “Good luck today -J” every single morning. And every morning, you would tape the sticky note to the inside of your locker, creating a colorful collage that began to rival the betting wall. You would prance out of the lounge, warm coffee in your hands, and sit at your desk. And if time allowed, Jack would sit at the computer next to you, charting, and let his knee just barely brush against yours. No words. But you could hear it in the silence.

As you shucked off your gloves after handling your last patient of the day, you heard a tiny voice screech your name, and something clung to your leg. You looked down to see Eliza, hair pulled back into a sleek bun, in a sparkly dress that matched the hot pink cast encasing her arm.

“Oh, where did you come from?” You asked as you hauled the giggling girl into your arms.

“Are you coming to my recital?” She asked, wrapping her arms around your neck.

Before you could answer, you heard hurried, uneven footsteps approach from behind you. “Eliza, do not run away from me like that again.” You heard your soldier’s gravelly voice order. “Do you understand me, young lady?”

You turned around to see Jack, holding baby Abbot in his arms, approaching with an aggravated gait and piercing gaze. Eliza cowered in shame into your shoulder. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” She mumbled, giving him the biggest, brownest, puppy dog eyes you had ever seen.

And Jack was a sucker for that little girl. The frustration immediately washed from his face, and he placed a gentle hand on her back. “It’s okay, princess. You just need to hold an adult’s hand when you’re here, okay?” He soothed.

Eliza nodded in innocent understanding. “Okay.” She answered.

Jack shook his head but smiled nonetheless. Finally, he focused on you, eyes softening when they met yours. “Hi.” He greeted with a sigh.

You nudged your shoulder against his, itching for a sliver of physical contact. “Hey.” You replied. “Dropping off the kids?”

Jack shifted baby Abbot in his arms so that you could see his chubby little face. You ran a gentle finger against his cheek, and the baby smiled. “Yeah. Eliza has an ice skating recital tonight, so we’re gonna watch the ice princess do her thing.” He answered, poking at Eliza’s side, illiciting a giggle from her. “You coming?” He asked you.

Even though you only hesitated for just a second, Eliza immediately piped up, holding your face in her tiny hands. “Please come see me skate!” She begged with those same convincing eyes she had flashed at Jack just moments ago. Damn, Robinavitches can get whatever they want with those eyes.

“Of course, wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You assured her.

Eliza cheered in excitement, hugging your neck tightly. You laughed and squeezed her closer. It felt so natural now, holding her like this, like she was your family. Baby Abbot began to kick his legs and babble with a gummy smile as he looked behind you and Jack.

“Hey, little man.” Robby’s uncharacteristically, overly-cheerful voice came from behind you.

“Daddy!” Eliza immediately squirmed out of your arms, reaching for her father.

Robby carefully took her into his arms, pressing a squishy kiss against her cheek. “Hey, big girl.” He greeted her before pulling her away slightly to look her in the eyes. “I heard Uncle Jack get on to you. What happened?”

He looked at Jack, waiting for an answer, but Jack only gestured to Eliza, letting her explain. Eliza looked down, an ashamed pout on her face. “I ran away from him so I could hug her.” She said, pointing towards you at the end.

Robby nodded, squeezing her a little tighter at the thought of her being snatched up by some deranged patient. “You know the rules, Eliza. If you come to see Mommy and Daddy at work, you have to stay with a grown-up. No running away.” He lectured. “It’s to keep you safe, okay?”

The little girl nodded, moving her hands to play with his beard. “Yes, sir.” She replied, still ashamed, but with an adorable respectfulness.

And just like Jack, he was no match for her sweetness. He pressed his forehead against hers. “Are you ready to skate?” He asked with a playful seriousness.

Eliza grinned and pulled at the mesh sleeve of her skater dress. “Yes!” She affirmed. “Is Nana coming to watch?” She asked, looking around for the blond charge nurse.

Robby nodded. “Yes, she’s going to meet us there. She had to leave a little early, but you’ll see her when we get to the rink.” He assured.

The little girl smiled big, excited that her whole family would be there to see her figure skating. Robby’s wife approached your huddle, greeting both of her babies with a kiss on the cheek. Jack, almost reluctantly, handed over baby Abbot to his mother.

“Are we ready to go?” She asked, resting her forehead on baby Abbot’s head, absorbing his cuteness after a rough shift.

Robby looked around, searching for a certain attending holding his signature iced coffee. “I need to talk to Shen before shift change. You might need to head on without me so she isn’t late for warm up.” He answered.

His wife nodded. “Okay, I can take the truck. Gonna ride with Jack?”

Jack gave a nonchalant thumbs up, affirming the plan. Robby nodded before focusing his attention on Eliza. “Daddy has to work a little bit longer. You’re gonna go ahead with Mommy and-”

“No!” Eliza exclaimed, face scrunching with frustration.

It caught everyone off guard. It was rare for the angelic child to have any kind of outburst. Robby’s brow furrowed. “Eliza.” He said sternly.

“No, Daddy!” Her big, brown eyes began to well up with tears. “You said that last time, and you didn’t come watch me skate.”

There was an uncomfortable silence amongst all of you, but everyone else seemed to know a backstory that you didn’t. Robby’s wife stepped forward, one arm holding up baby Abbot, and the other moving to rub soothing circles on Eliza’s back. “Sweetheart, Daddy is going to watch you skate. Last time was different.”

Eliza’s bottom lip quivered as she grabbed her dad’s face, fingers nestling in his beard. “Pinky promise?” She begged.

Robby took in a shaky breath, something unusual in his eyes. Oh…those were tears. Not heavy enough to fall, but just enough to reflect light. He wrapped his large pinky around the tiny one that settled on his face. “Pinky promise.” He whispered.

Reluctantly, he let go of his daughter, so she could walk with his wife to the car. Jack noticed Robby’s distress and, for the first time in public, grabbed your hand in his.

“Why don’t you ride with them? I’ll make sure Robby gets there.” He mumbled, only low enough for your group to hear.

You nodded, offering a small smile. “Okay.” You squeezed his hand once before heading off with Robby’s wife and the kids.

–

You sat in the bleachers next to Robby’s wife. She had wrapped baby Abbot snugly in a warm blanket so he wouldn’t get cold from the chilly indoor air. Eliza moved around the ice with her friends, more advanced than the other five-year-olds.

“I’m sorry about that.” Robby’s wife finally said.

You raised your eyebrows in confusion. “For what?”

“For Eliza’s outburst back at the Pitt.” She elaborated.

You shrugged, offering a reassuring smile. “Kids will be kids.”

She sighed, shaking her head as she seemed to relive a painful moment. “A few months ago, right when Abbot was born, she had a competition. Jack was watching the baby for us, so Robby and I could both come to the rink. But right as we were leaving, five MVC patients came in. So I took Eliza, and Robby had to stay behind and help Shen.” She explained, shifting the baby boy in her arms so that he could rest comfortably as his eyelids began to droop. “It was the first time he missed any competition or recital.”

You winced, knowing there was no way to explain that situation to a young child. “I’m assuming she didn't take it well?” You added.

Robby’s wife huffed a sarcastic laugh. “You would be correct. She cried and cried, even when he got home. Eventually, she tired herself out, but it was the first time she wouldn’t let him put her to bed.” She continued, frowning again as she said, “Robby cried for an hour that night.”

You felt your heart ache at the thought of one of your mentors crying over his little girl. “I know that was hard for him. He loves her so much.” You replied.

She nodded and smiled slightly. “He’s the best dad. He’s always talking about how the kids and I are his second chance at life. How we brought the light back into him…” Her smile grew warmly as she reminisced on her marriage and family.

You couldn’t help but smile with her. Footsteps approaching behind you distracted you from your conversation. Robby and Jack walked down the stairs of the bleachers, arms linked to give Jack extra balance. They each held a bouquet of roses, undoubtedly for Eliza after the recital. A quiet “Thanks, brother” was all you heard before the men settled on either side of the two of you. Robby leaned in to kiss his wife, mumbling something that you couldn’t quite decipher.

Meanwhile, Jack bumped his shoulder against yours, gaining your focus. “You ready to be on night shift again?” He asked.

You pretended to hesitate. “I mean, I guess…” You trailed off, looking away from his gorgeous stare.

He chuckled and looked out at the ice rink. “Ouch.”

Cautiously, you grasped the interior hook of his elbow, placing your other hand on his bicep, and leaned close. “Ready to be with the night shift people again.”

He tilted his head lower to rest on yours, his arm flexing under your grasp. “The people?” He questioned. “Like all of them…or some of them…or just one of them…?”

You giggled at his antics, lightly squeezing his bicep. “Just one of them.” You confirmed.

Music began to play overhead, and all of the little ice skaters lined up. Eliza looked out into the bleachers amongst the other parents, searching for her family. The four of you clocked it, and you all waved at her. Even from a distance, you could see her excited grin as she waved back. Someone sat behind you on the bleachers, patting Jack’s shoulder.

“You know, you need to whip your night shift into shape.” Dana’s voice grumbled. “I left an hour late because of them.”

Jack turned around, an offended look on his face. “My night shift? It’s Robby’s department.” He defended.

Robby peeked his head up at the sound of his name being brought into an argument. “Not my monkeys, not my circus.” He retorted.

Jack huffed. “Um, it absolutely is your circus. You’re the fucking ringleader.”

“Yeah, but not night shift. They’re another breed.” Robby replied, eyes focused on his daughter.

Dana raised an eyebrow at Jack, waiting for his next response. “Whatcha gotta say about that, Lieutenant Colonel?” She taunted.

Jack waved her off. “Can you leave me alone? I’m trying to watch my niece.” He complained.

You looked up to him. “The recital hasn’t started yet, they’re just doing warm-up drills.” You countered.

His bewildered eyes flicked to you. “And it’s cute.”

Dana chuckled before waving at baby Abbot, who giggled at her. “Hey there, sweet boy.” She greeted.

The baby reached for her, and Robby’s wife willingly exchanged him to Dana’s arms so she could record the recital on her phone. You heard Dana mumble something about “Maybe we’ll just rename you Daniel,” as the lights in the bleachers dimmed, and the rink illuminated the tiny dancers in their glittery outfits.

–

The music ended, and the audience cheered for their kids. The little skaters made their way off the ice, and you all met Eliza at the bottom of the bleachers. She carefully wobbled over to her parents’ embrace. Robby snatched her up so they could kiss her cheeks.

“You did so good, baby girl!” His wife praised.

She giggled and covered her face. “Thank you, Mommy.” She answered politely.

Robby lifted the bouquet of light pink roses that he had concealed behind his back. “These are for you.” He announced with the chivalry of a prince.

Eliza’s eyes widened. “Flowers!” She exclaimed. “I love flowers!”

Jack smiled and held up his bouquet of white roses to her. “Then I guess you’ll like these, too.” He suggested.

The little girl could not fathom that she had so many flowers. The bouquets in her little arms nearly took up her whole body.

“What do you say?” Robby’s wife cued.

Eliza wrapped her arms around the necks of both men, squeezing them in until the sides of their heads bumped together. “Thank you, Daddy and Uncle Jack!”

They both pressed a kiss to the side of her head. Your heart fluttered at the sight of Jack caring so deeply for his niece. Dana bounced baby Abbot in her arms and reached for her phone.

“Okay, we need a family picture.” She announced.

Robby’s wife reached for baby Abbot. She sat him up in her arms and nestled into Robby’s embrace, squishing their family together. Dana took several pictures while you and Jack made silly faces behind her to make the baby laugh, inevitably making Eliza giggle, too.

“We need a big family picture!” The little girl exclaimed.

You absentmindedly reached for Dana’s phone to take a picture of all of them. Robby stopped her by saying, “What are you doing? You’re in the picture.”

Oh. You were in the family now. Jack smiled, holding his arm out for you to curl into for the picture. You handed the phone to another parent and wrapped your arm around Jack, leaning in close. After the picture, he pressed the most subtle kiss to your temple, and your heart nearly jumped out of your chest.

“Can we skate now?” Eliza asked her parents.

Robby’s wife smiled. “Yeah, let me get our skates out of Daddy’s truck, okay?”

You looked to them, a little confused. Jack caught your expression. “They let the families free skate with their kids after the recital.” He explained.

You nodded slowly before looking up at him again. “Are you gonna skate?”

There was a hint of sadness in his gold-flecked eyes that hit you in the chest. “I don’t skate anymore.” He answered, wiggling his right foot.

Robby shifted Eliza in his arms so that she sat on the side of his hip. “It’s a shame. Me and Jack used to play in a pick-up hockey league when we were young.” He revealed.

Your eyes widened, mouth dropping in shock. “Excuse me?”

Jack chuckled and crossed his arms. “We are still young.” He protested.

Dana scoffed and rolled her eyes. “God will strike you down for lying.” She warned. “They used to come in to work with bloody noses and sprained fingers. They’re lucky they worked in a trauma center.”

The old men waved her off but still laughed. Robby’s wife returned with a duffel bag with two pairs of skates. You sat on the bleachers with Jack as they pulled the skates on and set off on the ice with their daughter holding each of their hands. Dana sat behind you both a few rows up, cradling baby Abbot as he slept in his warm blanket.

You leaned your head on Jack’s shoulder as you watched Robby expertly move across the ice. “Do you miss it?” You finally asked.

Jack looked down at you, trying to read your expression. “Miss what?” He questioned.

“Skating?” You clarified.

The silence that followed seemed never-ending. You worried that you might have struck a nerve, but then he quietly answered, “Yeah, I do.”

You smiled slightly. “Then, why don’t we go out there?”

He let out a sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t know…”

“Why? Are you scared?” You taunted with a smirk, thinking if you playfully challenged him, he might cave.

Jack’s eyes met yours, and boy, you could see that vulnerability again. “Yes.” His answer was short and quick.

You smiled reassuringly. “What’s your skate size?”

“14.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widened slightly, not expecting that large of a number. “Well, you know what they say.” You said with a wink.

Jack rolled his eyes but chuckled at you as you pranced away to the skate rental booth. You were going to be the death of him.

–

You stepped onto the ice, ankles stabilizing as the traction under your feet changed. The ice wasn’t fresh, but you had no issue gliding a couple of feet. You carefully turned around to help Jack. But he waited at the entrance, stricken with fear. His eyes were blown wider than usual, and his chest moved quickly. He looked like he was about to jump out of a plane and not step onto an ice rink.

A couple of steps, and you were right in front of him. Your hands reached out to grab his with a grounding firmness. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time.” You promised.

He only nodded. He shifted in the skates uncomfortably, like he had every intention to take a step forward, but his feet still didn’t move. His grip on your hands tightened so much that they began to shake.

“Jack?” You whispered.

He didn’t look at you. Only stared at the ice before him like it was a lava floor. “Hmm?”

You decided to take a trick out of his book. You moved your head until his eyes had no choice but to meet yours. Seeking out the contact. His whiskey eyes were nearly black from dilation. The fear was truly crippling him. “I’ve got you, baby.” Your voice was powerfully gentle.

Baby. You called him baby. The first term of endearment between each other. The word left your lips so naturally, like you had called him baby a thousand times already. It was enough to ground him. It was enough to move his left foot forward, letting the blade touch the ice.

You turned your ankles in to stabilize yourself on the ice so you could wrap your arm around his waist. His hands moved to your shoulders, grabbing painfully tight, but you didn’t care.

“You’re doing so good, Jack.” You sang sweetly.

The softness in your voice was the same one you spoke to Eliza with, but he didn’t feel patronized. He felt stronger and affirmed by the way you said his name. He swallowed hard when he began to move his right foot up to the ice.

“There you go.” The praise continued to fall from your lips.

Finally, the blade hit the ice. The feeling was so foreign to him. There were no sensors in his foot to feel the slickness of the ice. He had to predict it from halfway up his shin. Since he was a child, he could skate on ice better than he could run, and he was a fucking track star. After losing his right foot, he hadn’t dared to get on the ice again. Not because he couldn’t. He had learned to walk and run again with enough physical therapy. But he was afraid that he couldn’t. The confirmation that he couldn’t do something was terrifying.

Jack took the smallest step forward with his right foot, studying the way his balance reacted to the ice. You patiently waited as he loosened the painful grip on your shoulders, moving his hands down to your forearms.

Slowly, you skated backwards, pulling him with you. His feet moved cautiously, and his breathing began to deepen with confidence.

“That’s it. You’re doing it.” You said, not raising your voice enough to draw attention, but enough to make him look up.

The beaming smile on your face could have melted the entire rink. Jack knew in that moment that he had never been looked at with such pride and love in his life. Your eyes told him that he had hung the stars, and he believed it. A smile tugged at his lips, daring to share in your happiness.

The happiness only lasted for a few more feet and cautious feet shuffling. His skate caught in a groove that yours had managed to avoid. The fall happened so fast, but you were ready to catch him in your arms and drop to the ice, undoubtedly hitting your head. But that wasn’t what happened. You never hit the ice. Your entire body was cushioned by his. In that split second, your soldier had changed the trajectory of your fall, taking your place of hitting the ice.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Was the first thing you heard from him, his voice breaking. “Are you okay, are you hurt?”

You sat up quickly to see him below you, fighting back the pain that had to be wracking through his body. You pulled him to sit up, grabbing his face in your hands.

“Jack, I’m fine. Are you okay?” You asked, scanning his body for any dislocated or broken limbs.

Before he could answer, the smallest “Uncle Jack!” rang from across the rink. You both looked up to see Eliza scurrying over. Knowing she was moving too fast and couldn’t stop herself without falling, you caught her in your arms.

“Uncle Jack, are you okay?” She asked, the worry palpable in her question.

Jack faked a smile, but you could see him cracking behind it. “I’m okay, princess.” He confirmed. “Just fell down.”

Eliza threw her arms around his neck, and for the first time that you had seen, he didn’t relax or let go of his troubles. He numbly hugged his niece, eyes devoid of the usual joy she could impart.

Robby quickly approached, kicking up a wave of shaved ice as he halted next to you. “You alright, brother?” He asked as he knelt down.

Jack continued holding Eliza, hoping that eventually the pain would numb if he did. “I knew this wasn’t a good idea. I’m not ready.” He said, looking up at Robby.

While the comment was clearly about ice skating to your ears, Robby knew its double meaning. Just as he was about to speak, your voice cut through. “Jack. You have to keep trying.”

Jack shook his head, letting go of Eliza. He began to struggle, wanting to stand up, but the skates kept slipping as he tried to get a grip. “I don’t think I can do this.”

You put a settling hand on his shoulder, letting it drag to his sharp jaw, forcing eye contact again. “Well, I know you can.” You reinforced.

This time, Jack’s eyes were glassy. The threat of tears loomed off the distance in the storm in his eyes. Your thumb brushed his cheek, ready to fight back against anything that fell.

Eliza moved over to Robby, letting him place a protective hand to stabilize her. “It’s okay, Uncle Jack. I fall down all the time, but Daddy says ‘Suck it up, buttercup.’” She imparted her wisdom.

The tension broke. Everyone burst into laughter at the little girl’s innocent pep talk. Robby pulled his daughter tightly into his arms, shoulders still shaking with chuckles, and kissed her forehead. “That’s right, sweetheart.” He said.

When you could see clearly again after recovering from laughter, you looked at Jack. He lost the battle to tears, letting them fall freely as he smiled. With the sleeve of your underscrub shirt, you wiped them away before Eliza could see them and worry further.

“You have your own army around you, Jack. We’re with you every step of the way.” You assured him.

Jack took a much-needed deep breath and reached to grasp your hand resting on his jaw. He looked up to Robby, who smiled and gave him a playful salute. He never imagined that he would find himself uttering these words as his grown ass age, but he finally said, “Okay. I can try again.” His voice was stronger now, the gravel back in his words.

You and Robby helped him stand to his feet on either side of him. With one arm thrown around each of your shoulders, he stabilized on the ice, testing the pressure on his right foot. Eliza danced ahead, doing her little twirls showcased in her recital.

“Eliza, you don’t have to show off.” Jack called out to her. “Let Uncle Jack get his sea legs back.”

The little girl giggled as she continued to prance on the ice. Carefully, you and Robby moved to help Jack adjust to how his body balanced on the ice. Tiny steps, shuffling forward, left foot always moving more confidently than the right.

“You’re gonna be skating circles around me again pretty soon, brother.” Robby said, and it drew a laugh from Jack.

“I’ll have to pull my hockey stick out of the attic. Gotta teach Abbot how play since he doesn’t have anyone else to teach him.” He replied.

Robby chuckled and held back the urge to shove him. “You’re forgetting that I am the only thing between safety and falling back on your ass right now.” He teased.

The old men laughed, but not like usual. Like they were boys again, fresh out of medical school, having fun before they had split for different residency programs. Just like old times. As if on cue, tiny screams could be heard from the bleachers outside the rink. Robby’s wife was bouncing baby Abbot in her arms, trying to soothe him, with Dana at her side. She looked out to the ice desperately, and Robby let out a sigh. He looked at you, brow furrowed with conflict.

“I need to go help her. You got him?” He asked.

The look in his eyes transcended the simple question. Asking not if you could keep him from falling, but if you could care for him. If you could support him more than just on the ice rink. If you could handle him. You nodded, wrapping your arm tighter around Jack’s waist. “I’ve got him.” You affirmed, a small nod to let him know that you read past the question.

Robby smiled slightly and let go of Jack. “Alright, brother. Stay with her, alright?” He said before quickly moving off the rink to tend to his family, Eliza following behind him.

After a few moments of shuffling carefully, never fully picking your skates off the ice, you spoke up. “I’m sorry for pushing you to do this. You weren’t comfortable.” You apologized.

Jack stopped his movements, pulling you back to him when you glided a couple of inches ahead. “I needed this.” He replied, squeezing your hand tightly. He led your hand to his chest, then wrapped his arms around your waist. “I need you.” He added.

His breath was hot on your cheeks, warming from the cold air that surrounded you. You rubbed small circles on his chest, able to trace the muscles that hid beneath his shirt. “Need me how?” You asked.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “In every sense of the word.” He leaned closer, your noses brushing. “I need you.” He repeated.

His lips captured yours in a tender kiss, and he pulled your body as close as it could get to his, threatening to combine skin cells together. One hand trailed to his jaw, massaging the muscles there as he brushed his tongue against your lips. Fortunately, you were snapped back to reality and reminded of your public location because a shriek from the bleachers rang through the rink:

“Mommy! Daddy! They’re kissing just like you said!”

—

In the car on the way home, Robby and his wife whispered quietly as he drove, careful not to wake the exhausted kids in the backseat.

“He’s in love with her.” He finally suggested.

His wife looked at him, an eyebrow raised. “How do you know?” She asked.

Robby smiled and squeezed her hand he held across the console. “Because he’s looking at her the way I look at you.”

She smiled bashfully and shook her head. “Be serious.”

“I am. Jack never even looked at his first wife that way. There’s a connection between them that’s just…different. I saw it tonight with my own eyes.” He explained, twirling the wedding and engagement ring on her finger.

“They’re taking it slow. Much slower than we did.” She teased.

Robby chuckled, bringing her hand to his lips. “It’s hard to take it slow with you. With that laugh. That smile. That body…” He trailed his kisses up her forearm, still managing to watch the road.

“Robby, stop it.” His wife demanded, but she didn’t really mean it.

“I think Abbot wants to be a big brother.”

“Michael!”

A/N: Thank y'all for reading! I don't know why but I just have this headcanon where Robby and Jack used to play pick-up hockey before his accident. Thank you all for reading! Chapter 4 will be a veryyy spicy one!

#the pitt #jack abbot #the pitt hbo #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #michael robinavitch #dr robby #doctor robby

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mingapace · 21 days ago

Text

𝕺𝖓 𝖆 𝕷𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖍

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴘᴇᴛ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ x ꜰ!ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ᴅᴇꜱᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴇ-ᴘᴀᴛʜᴇᴛɪᴄ ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ꜱᴜʙ/ꜱᴇʀᴠɪᴄᴇ ᴛᴏᴘ ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ᴅᴏᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴇʀᴀ, ʜᴀɴᴅᴊᴏʙꜱ (ᴍ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠɪɴɢ), ᴄᴜᴍ ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, ᴘ ɪɴ ᴠ, ᴍᴏᴀɴɪɴɢ, ᴘᴇᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ, ᴡʜɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱɪɴɢ, ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅɪɴɢ, ᴅʀᴏᴏʟɪɴɢ, ᴍɪʀʀᴏʀ ᴘᴏʀɴ, ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ꜱᴇx, ꜱᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴɢ, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴇxᴄᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ. [Also, English is not my first language]

𝔹𝕒𝕤𝕖𝕕 𝕠𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ: 4K

ᴛᴀɢꜱ: @lunaleah

Things with Remmick kept changing. Slowly, of course—like frost retreating in spring, leaving patches of bare earth in the ice—but they were changing.

You no longer slept with a vial of holy water under your pillow, nor did you roam the house pointing a rifle at him whenever he suddenly appeared behind you.

The tension had softened, and the sex—well, that helped quite a bit.

Still, there was one barrier he hadn’t crossed yet: the bed.

He still slept at your feet, like a loyal animal that didn’t dare claim more than what he’d been given.

Technically, you hadn’t set that boundary yourself—but you’d realized it. He was waiting for permission.

And you… you hadn’t given it to him yet.

You found comfort in not yet sharing that level of closeness. For some strange reason, sleeping next to him felt deeply intimate. Yes, more intimate than the furious, casual sex you sometimes gave in to.

But your doubts—while under analysis—were the lesser evil.

There was a bigger problem in the house: your cat couldn’t stand Remmick. A creature used to ruling the house, now forced to share its territory with a larger predator. Literally. And of course, Remmick returned the sentiment with equal intensity.

They growled at each other, hissed, traded glares like in a Western film before throwing themselves at one another.

More than once, you had to separate them. You’d learned to read the moment just before it exploded—when your cat’s fur stood up like a lit fuse.

You often had to lock the two in separate rooms. Like quarreling children. And you feared, just as often, that Remmick might lose control.

His teeth were always there—barely hidden behind his lips, sharp as razors. Ready.

One evening, after yet another incident, after scolding them both, your cat curled up on your stomach before Remmick could, almost like a further act of defiance.

And you absentmindedly stroked it, turning your focus back to the movie.

Remmick, on the other side of the couch, sulked. He didn’t say anything. Not his usual annoying remarks during the most intense scenes.

That night, he didn’t even climb to the end of the bed.

He left into the night, and the next morning, you found him already at the stove, making the usual breakfast.

For three days, he was distant. Not cold or rude, but… hurt.

As if you’d made a choice. Declared a preference.

On the fourth day, however, you pushed the cat off the couch and offered Remmick its spot—on your lap.

“Don’t want it?” you asked, your eyes soft, knowing it would make his self-raised walls crumble.

Of course, he gave in almost instantly.

You stroked his hair, and he curled into it like a dog on his favorite blanket. You let him stay there even after turning off the TV, especially because he didn’t seem eager to move.

This day, you were sitting at the living room table, the blue light of the computer casting onto your face as you scanned the dozens of rows and columns on the screen.

You were doing inventory.

Or at least, trying to.

The task wasn’t new. You had a habit of logging the store’s stock every two weeks so you could restock early.

It was a routine that made you feel in control. It reminded you who you were: methodical, precise, present.

Yet… something felt off today.

You scanned the page again, as if looking for an inconsistency, but when you realized the problem wasn’t in the file—it was in your home—you frowned.

There was silence. Too much silence.

Remmick wasn’t talking, and that bothered you more than any provocation.

By now, the vampire would’ve found some way to distract you. His voice echoed through even your busiest days: a whisper, an out-of-place question. “What d'ya reckon happens if ya mix powdered milk and blood?” “D'ya think yer cat hates me more or less than it hates dogs?" “Why've ya got two citrus juicers when there’s never a fruit 'round here and you live off takeaway from next door?”

Annoying. But predictable. And, in a way, familiar.

But today… nothing.

Not even a footstep, not a held breath, not even the muffled sound of his clawed hands tapping the doorframe in that cute, pathetic way.

Only the steady hum of the fan and the dull thud of your own heartbeat.

You closed the laptop and stood up. Your legs creaked slightly under the sudden movement—too abrupt after sitting still so long.

“Remmick?” you called.

No answer.

You sighed as you entered the hallway, walking slowly past the kitchen. The fridge was closed, lights off. Everything in place.

Your cat appeared from around the corner and brushed past your legs, heading back into the living room.

In the bathroom, the toothbrush cup was untouched. The utility closet door was closed.

Maybe he’d gone out to the garden? But it was still early. The light streamed in bright and steady, and Remmick only went out at dusk—when the sky turned orange and the shadows stretched across the walls like fingers.

You rolled your neck with a soft exhale, then made your way toward your bedroom.

The door was ajar—and your breath caught in your throat when your eyes focused on the scene.

He was standing in front of the full-length mirror, backlit.

His figure—solid and well-proportioned—was still. His left arm raised and tense. He was shirtless. The pants—the ones he had you buy in three identical pairs—were unbuttoned, revealing the curve of his hip. The suspenders hung down, abandoned along his thighs. His dark hair was messy as usual, giving him that desperate look.

But that’s not what struck you. It was what he was holding.

Your dog’s old leather collar.

He had placed it around his neck. Not buckled yet, but resting on his skin.

The clasp nestled just below his throat, and with two fingers, he held the tag, watching its reflection in the mirror.

He stood completely still, his bearded face shadowed, eyes vacant.

The air hung, suspended.

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

You stared at him.

As if the scene didn’t belong to you. As if you were looking through frosted glass at something forbidden.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the point where leather met his skin. Something, at that image, pulsed under your ribs. Not just by the strangeness of it—you were used to strange by now with him. It was the tenderness, the almost ceremonial care with which he held the tag.

A part of you—the part used to deflect things with sarcasm—took over, stifling the desire.

You parted your lips, half-smiling. Your voice came out softer than you’d meant.

“I think I already told you not to snoop through my underwear drawers, didn’t I?”

Remmick flinched slightly, as if he’d been too absorbed to hear you. All his supernatural predator senses drowned.

He dropped his gaze almost immediately with something like shame. Or arousal. Or both.

The hand holding the collar lowered slowly, almost reluctantly.

You saw the gold chain around his neck shimmer again in the LED light.

“I wasn’t… snooping. Was only having a look—” he stopped. Swallowed. “Spotted a wee box down at the bottom, closed up like. Got curious, so I thought it might be somethin' of yours.”

He said it like yours meant sacred.

You stepped away from the door and approached slowly. Held out a hand without speaking, and he, docile, handed you the collar.

His fingers brushed yours—and for a moment, that was all: skin against skin, brief and intense. Like everything between you.

Then you took it.

The collar weighed little, but the moment you held it, you felt the worn leather flex in your hand—as if it remembered.

You brought the tag closer, and the letters engraved in the metal etched into your heart.

Your dog’s name.

You closed your eyes. Something twisted in your stomach. A small, familiar ache. Sweet, like an old scar that flares up when the seasons change.

You saw yourself again, crouched in the driveway years ago, with that enthusiastic furball licking your face. You saw the runs in the park, his tail thumping against everything, his dusty paws on freshly cleaned floors.

A shaky breath filled your chest.

You felt Remmick’s eyes piercing your skull, like he was trying to follow your thoughts.

Trying to understand why you were aching so deeply.

You gently ran your thumb over the tag, then flipped it.

On the other side—the one Remmick had been reading in the mirror—it said:

Owner.

And below it, your name. Yours.

You smiled. A crooked little smirk. Unexpected, as a thought crossed your mind.

The memory dissolved, and you felt amused. And something more.

You turned toward Remmick. Found him exactly as bided—deep grey eyes locked on you. His bare shoulders tensed. His pale skin catching the faint light through the side window.

No more shame on his face. Just desire. Pure and simple. But not the lust that used to consume you. This was deeper. Barer. As if he needed something that once belonged to someone else.

The collar still sat between your fingers.

“Do you want one too?” you asked softly.

Your voice wasn’t teasing. It was real. Almost gentle.

Remmick opened his mouth. Then bit his lower lip. Held it. Swallowed. And said:

“Yeah… I want somethin' that says I’m yours. All of me.” His voice cracked on the last words.

It wasn’t dramatic. It was honest. It was pathetic.

Beautifully pathetic.

You stepped behind him. Slowly.

Watched him in the mirror as you lifted the collar and slid it around his neck—more resolute this time.

Remmick tilted his chin up, just slightly. Without being asked. Offered his throat like it was instinct.

He hardly breathed. Not that he needed to.

Your hand moved calmly. You brought one end of the collar around the back of his neck, following the curve of his throat. The leather slid over his smooth, taut skin like a promise spoken without words. The buckle was cold. The metal pricked your fingers. But you were careful. Precise. You slipped the other end through and began to tighten it.

Not too much—but not loose either.

You wanted him to feel it.

Remmick made a choked sound. His muscles tensed slightly again, his shoulders lowered, his throat fluttered with an almost imperceptible tremor.

In the mirror, you locked eyes with him—watching the red glow pulse in his irises.

His canines peeked past his slightly parted lips.

The buckle snapped into place with a click. Firm. Final.

The tag dangled. You heard it clink against the other chain he already wore.

You had turned it to show only your name and your ownership of him.

You paused.

Your hands still at his collar, like you were weighing the meaning of it. Your fingers brushed the skin stretched under the strap.

His scent reached you: something metallic, cold, laced with soap and your fabric softener.

He had become part of your home. Without you even noticing.

“Look at yourself,” you said.

Remmick raised his eyes.

In the reflection, your eyes meet.

Your hands glide down along his collarbone, then lower — slow — tracing the lines of his chest. You feel him stiff against you when your nail grazes a nipple. But you don’t stop. You keep descending, pressing your lips to the back of his shoulder while watching him in the mirror.

He’s cold, as always. But it doesn’t disturb you. On the contrary, it makes you want to set him on fire.

You reach the waistband of his pants, still loose, and slip your fingers underneath — unhurried. You’re not rushing. You want him to savor the torment, just like he often made you.

A thin string of drool slips from his parted lips, and you smile against his skin.

And when your hand closes around his erection, his body folds slightly forward, as if the gesture had split him in two. A moan tears from his chest — thin, hoarse, like an involuntary plea.

“Stand up straight for me, Remmick,” you whisper, gently pushing him back upright, your free hand pressing softly against his throat.

You hear him murmur your name as he tears his gaze away from the mirror, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“Y've no idea what y'do to me, darlin'…”

Your hand slides down his shaft. He throbs, alive, almost warm in contrast to the rest of him. Your fingers outline the veins in small strokes until they reach the tip, where you collect the first sign of his desire, spreading it all around.

“Ma’am…”

The word leaves him broken — desperate — as you begin moving your hand up and down. You feel the drool mess your ear where he breathes, ragged, and a shiver runs down your spine.

“I like how that sounds,” you grin. “Say it again.”

“Ma’am, I'm beggin' ya…please don't stop...” His breath catches when you squeeze just at the base of his cock, near his balls, and he throws his head back onto your shoulder.

The mirror reflects his pitiful, desperate state. His cheeks are flushed, fangs visibly longer, forcing his mouth to remain open. Saliva slides down his throat, seeping beneath the collar.

His eyes are half-lidded but still looking, just as you told him to.

“You’re such a mess. Drooling and leaking like a fucking dog,” you whisper, brushing your cheek against his temple. Your hand keeps its steady, slow rhythm — just enough to push him into despair — and you feel him push his hips forward, craving more.

“Oh, you like that.” His cock twists beneath your palm, soaking his underwear with precum, and it almost makes you drool too. “You like being my messy little mutt, don’t you?”

He chokes out a little whimper when you sink your teeth into his neck, bent perfectly for your mouth.

“Fuckin' hell… yes. Wouldn't want to be anythin' else for ya. Yer always so good to me, love. So kind.”

His eyes meet yours again — red, filled with barely restrained lust. But you feel it. His shoulders stiffen. His thighs press together.

He’s close.

And you’re always generous with him. You wouldn’t deny him this.

Your fingers wrap fully around him and your wrist picks up speed. His cock answers eagerly, growing harder, pulsing with need.

Remmick accidentally — or maybe not — scratches his lip, and a thick line of blood joins the drool staining his chin.

“Are you close, sweetheart?” you tease, fully satisfied when he nods, fast and wild. “You’ve been good. You can come.”

And he does. You feel him melt into your hand with a sob, head falling forward, body taut like a drawn bow. His hips lock as pleasure shoots through him like electricity.

“Thank you…” he whimpers, as his release soaks through his underwear. “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

You smile gently and your hand pulls away. He lets out a quiet moan, like losing the last point of contact with the world. You start to turn away, ready to go clean yourself in the bathroom — but he grabs you, hard.

One arm wraps around your waist, the other seizes your wrist and raises it up.

His bare chest presses against your shirt-covered back, and you can hear the low, barely-there heartbeat that accelerates only for you.

You watch as he bends to your palm and licks — slowly — gathering his own release with his tongue. It runs between your fingers, over each joint, until you’re partially clean again.

You turn in his hold. The need to look into his eyes takes over.

Remmick returns your gaze. The red is gone, replaced with a human gray. Lust has vanished, but something deeper shines in its place.

It’s not hunger. It’s not craving.

It’s something that lives in the space between his mouth and yours — which he closes in an instant.

The kiss is different than usual. Slower.

There’s no urgency. No devouring need.

It’s a promise. A prayer.

He kisses you like he’s waited years for this.

Like there’s nothing in the world he’d rather devour than your lips.

He takes your face between his hands — carefully, without claws. His fingers tremble just slightly, but they’re firm the moment they touch your skin. He holds you like that as his mouth opens — just enough to welcome yours. Your tongues brush and curl into a rhythm of recognition.

You taste blood, his release, his desperation.

When he pulls back, his eyes remain locked on you.

“I reckon the reason I didn’t die when I should've… is 'cause the world was waitin' on me to find you.”

His hands explore you with a slowness that surprises you — even now. Not like someone seeking a body, but someone seeking a home. He brushes along your arms, your ribs, the soft curve of your waist. His fingertips slip beneath layers of fabric, touch your bare stomach as though he’s tracing a secret poem along your skin.

You shiver beneath the attention, but don’t pull away. You don’t think you could even if you tried.

He takes your hand in his, silent, and guides you back to the bed. He doesn’t undress you immediately. He lays you down on the sheets as if placing you on an altar.

In the meantime, he must have kicked away his boxers and pants — because when he settles between your thighs, he’s bare. Completely. All that remains is the collar, snug around his throat.

His cock presses against your stomach, hard again, demanding more. You silently thank whatever vampire magic grants him such rapid recovery. The hem of your shirt has risen just enough to let in the cold air of the room.

He stretches out on top of you — not to pin you down, but to cover you. Protect you. Envelope you.

Remmick kisses you again, deeper now, like his heart had climbed into his throat and wants to be devoured whole. His palms splay across your bare hips, rising higher, dragging the fabric up with them.

You realize he has no intention of unbuttoning your shirt — so you lift your arms, letting him peel it off over your head. When he pulls back to do it, he kisses every new inch of exposed skin as if he’s seeing you naked for the first time.

And maybe he is.

And maybe, that’s exactly how you want to be seen. Every day. Forever.

When he gets to your underwear, he drags them slowly down your legs, and you’re sure he’s about to bury himself between your thighs again — his favorite place — but you stop him. Slide two fingers under the collar at his throat and pull upward, hard.

He gasps, a little guttural sound that’s half protest, half delight. But when your thighs close tightly around his hips, his smile returns — crooked and satisfied.

Your fingers comb through his dark hair, playing with the small knots you find along the way, and it makes him hum — like a purring cat — the sound pulling your own smile out of hiding.

You’d had sex before. Many times.

Remmick had always been hungry. Always physical. Always attentive. He’d learned your rhythms, your sounds, even your silences.

He’d always asked. Never taken. He’d touched you with worship, eaten you like a rite, taken you like a gift.

But this… this had never happened.

Not like this.

Not this slow. Not this full. Not this… domestic.

He pushes inside you while your mind is still floating. There’s no warning, no fingers — but you don’t need it. You’re so wet and open, he slides in easily. That damp pressure between your thighs could only be your own arousal.

“Rem…” you sigh, your arms instinctively circling around his neck, pulling him close. You feel the cold of the medallion brushing your clavicles as he rolls his hips forward, mouth descending toward your neck, and thrusts into you again — deep, firm, sure.

“Fuck, darlin'… I could live inside ya like this forever,” he stammers against your skin, his hands lifting your hips slightly to find that perfect spot you crave — and as always, he finds it.

Your eyes roll back as he hits it again. And again.

“Ya feel unreal...so fuckin' good,” he groans, his pace faltering, the rhythm of his thrusts slipping into a stutter. You hear the tiny, familiar whimpers escape him — the ones you’ve learned mean he’s close. “I can’t even fucking think straight— love—”

He rotates his hips in a way that makes you see stars, your spine arching beneath him, your nails digging into his back like claws anchoring you to this world.

You feel the climax boiling in your stomach, rising fast, your legs trembling as you try to keep up — but he holds you. One hand supporting your lower back, the other gripping the underside of your thigh, keeping you spread wide around him.

“Remmick—” you gasp, gripping the collar again, yanking it. “I’m gonna come—”

“Look at me,” he pleads, lifting his face from your neck, locking eyes with you. “I want to see ya. I want ya to look too. Look at what you're doin' to me...Come with me. Please—”

It’s hard to keep your eyes open when the knot inside you snaps. Your cunt clenches around him, pulling him deeper as you come, and he falls with you, the moment he feels it. He keeps moving, slower now, hips rocking through it, pumping the last of his cum deep into you, like he’s trying to mark your inside forever.

The blankets are tangled. Your skin is wet with sweat. Your back aches from the angle, but you feel full. Complete.

Remmick collapses on your chest, lips barely brushing your skin, still trembling through the aftershocks. Eyes closed — but you can feel it: he’s not asleep.

And then… he moves.

Carefully. Like someone who isn’t used to staying.

He lifts himself slightly, eyes scanning for his pants on the floor. Reaching for them, as if to dress. To withdraw. To return to his place.

At your feet.

Far away.

As always.

But you don’t want as always anymore. Not after this.

You reach out without lifting your head, and pull him back down by the collar, slow and firm. He drops back into the bed with a stunned look, and you roll onto your side, silent, guiding his arm around you until he holds you.

Not permitted.

Required.

Remmick stiffens at first.

Then something breaks.

A long breath. A quiet surrender. A deep, honest relief.

His body softens against yours, curling into you.

“…Can I stay, yeah?” he whispers, instantly regretful for asking aloud.

“I thought that was obvious,” you murmur, eyes closed.

Remmick smiles against your nape.

He kisses your shoulder. Once. Twice. A third time — soft and grateful.

His fingers caress your stomach, then your waist, then your hip, as though redrawing the boundaries of what he’s allowed to touch.

He pulls you closer. Nose buried in your hair.

Something moves outside the room, catching his attention.

A shadow glides past the half-open door. Light paws. A high tail. Indifferent.

Your cat.

Remmick opens one eye.

Sees him pass. The little animal doesn’t stop — just a lazy glance. The usual feline disdain.

But the vampire…smiles.

He throws the cat a look of triumph — not smug, just assured. “This time, I’m the one in bed. Next to her.”

The cat pauses. As if understanding. Then, with solemn dignity, walks away.

And with that, Remmick curls back around you and finally, peacefully — sleeps.

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