My Very Own Fanfiction.net

Fan fiction of all kinds.. fluffy... smutty... also serves as a timeline of what I was into when

[lovebugism]

✶ — TOUCH ME !

summary: jack abbot tries to hide in pedes to have a panic attack but ends up getting help from the pretty resident there instead (2k)

characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, baby jane doe cameo!!!

contents: friends to lovers, pitt-crew!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, jack abbot the yearner cw for mentions of ptsd, panic attacks, wound care

( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )

Jack Abbot takes a page out of Robby’s book and decides to have a breakdown in pedes.

The ice-cold panic surged first through his veins when the first gunshot rang out, rattling somewhere deep in his bones, and hasn’t quite left him since. It frightened him far more than the bullet that grazed his vest, or the one that hit his friend — because he knew he could be patched up, and that there was no world where he’d let Hiro die. But the panic, that was out of his control. And he couldn’t fucking stand it.

His therapist always told him that he had a thing about control — that that’s why he could never truly take a day off — and that sometimes the only way to get through the sudden spurts of panic was to stop fighting them some damn hard, to actually let himself feel something every once in a while.

So when Hiro is stable and on his way to the O.R., Jack ducks into pedes, which he knows is relatively empty most of the time anyway — and that the babies there are probably the only ones on the whole floor who won’t gossip about him later on if they catch him panicking.

A breath stutters in his already tight chest when he finds a real human person standing within the vibrantly painted walls, who’s actually capable of perceiving the man’s sudden entrance, much more than the tiny baby you cradle to your chest.

“Oh. Hi, Dr. Abbot,” you greet with a tenderness about you that the horrors of the E.R. haven’t yet taken. Your kind smile flickers slightly as your attentive gaze flits across the man’s form, donned in camo tactical gear and covered in a thin layer of sweat. “I didn’t know you were working today.”

“I’m not,” is all he can manage out through a tightening throat.

You freeze at his foreignly dismissive tone, ceasing your gentle swaying as your eyes follow the man across the windowless room. “Oh…” you waver.

“I’m a physician for the P.D. on my off days,” he explains distantly, limping slightly on his prosthetic as he heads for the rocking chair in the corner. He has to adjust his right leg before he can sit down properly.“A warehouse robbery went sideways. One of my buddies got shot.”

You forget to tell him that it’s not an off day if he’s working when your chest flares with a sudden worry. “Oh, my god— Is he okay?”

“Stable,” he answers, half-strangled. “Garcia’s with him.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack nods on muscle memory, sweat dripping from his grey-brown curls. He swallows hard with his eyes squeezed shut and runs his sweat palms down the thighs of his camo pants. He struggles to catch his breath as he confesses, “Yeah, but um… Full disclosure, I do think I’m having a little bit of a panic attack.”

“Oh!” is all you can think to squeak out.

“Yep.”

“Okay!” you blurt, suddenly scrambling. “Okay, um… Let me…”

You falter in place, momentarily frozen as your racing mind struggles between holding the baby in your arms and rushing for the man across the room. You gingerly set the sleeping Jane Doe into her tiny incubator before walking the short distance to Jack. Your face screws with sympathy as you watch him grimace through each shallow breath and an obvious pain you can’t quite identify from here.

“Is it your shoulder?” you ask. “You’re favoring it a little.”

“Got grazed in the crossfire,” he nods through panted breaths. “But I’m good.”

“Can I take a look—?”

“I’ll deal with it,” he tells you, suddenly curt. “I just gotta— catch my breath first.”

You muster a quiet smile that he can’t see with his eyes still shut. You’ve dealt with your fair share of stubborn patients throughout your residency — the bulk of which were young children — so you crouch before Jack at the rocking chair and level with him the way you would a frightened toddler.

“Jack…” you coo gently. “The pain is triggering a fear response in your brain, which is spurring your panic attack, which is why you can’t catch your breath—”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” he scoffs, trying to be playful about it, though the words come out far too deadpan in his current state. He blinks through the haze settling over his vision, and his chest aches when he finds the look you’re giving him — equal parts hurt and sympathetic. “Sorry. I… I didn’t mean it like that—”

“I understand,” you nod. “I know you want to handle it on your own, but if it’s your shoulder, you won’t be able to reach it.”

“I can’t—” Jack drags a ragged inhale and shakes his head. “I can’t go back out there. I don’t… don’t want anyone else to—”

“I get it,” you interject in a gentle murmur before he can lose any more of his breath. “If it’s only a graze, I should be able to do it here. I just need you to let me.”

His chest heaves beneath his heavy military garb. He meets your warm gaze with a glassier, more apprehensive one — scruffy jaw clenched tight, and nostrils slightly flared as he takes in another shallow breath.

Jack nods once, a faint tilting of his chin, ‘cause the slight movement is the only plea for help he can muster.

You know this, too, so you give him a kind smile in response.

“Okay. We’ll go slow, alright? I’ll tell you everything I do before I do it,” you say and rise to full height again before him. “I just need to take off your vest first, is that okay?”

He nods again, through a rattling breath.

“The velcro might be a little loud,” you warn gently. “But I’ll be as quiet as I can.”

With your attentive gaze trained on your practiced hands, you miss the wet-eyed look Jack gives you in response — a subtle look of awe and confusion. He wonders wordlessly if you’ve worked with PTSD patients in the past, if that’s why you knew to warn him about something anyone else would’ve seen as trivial.

The incredulous look never quite leaves him, as you work with deft and gentle hands to remove his radio and the several clasps keeping the vest in place. You set it off to the side, and the camo jacket he wears beneath it goes next — “May I?” you’d wondered quietly, before dragging the silver zipper down his torso as softly as you could when he gave you a silent nod of consent.

You go to set it with his vest on the table beside you and notice the left shoulder of his beige tee is stained with dark red blood — a faint crimson patch, still a little wet at the center.

“I need to take your shirt off now,” you tell him. “Would you be more comfortable if I cut it off?”

“No,” Jack shakes his head. “I can— I can do it.”

“Then what I’m gonna do is slide it up your torso, over your head, then down your arms,” you tell him, still very gentle, even with your insistence. “I just need you to stay as still as you can for me, okay?”

Jack nods despite himself.

The ache in his chest only fizzles out when he feels your hands on him, soft knuckles grazing his ribcage as you drag the thin fabric up and over his skin.

You’re impossibly gentle with him. There’s a foreign sort of softness in your touch, which Jack Abbot had not experienced in some time — that he had not allowed himself to experience in some time. Something about it eases the ice-cold panic in his veins, leaving something much warmer in its wake.

“Is it bad?” Jack wonders, shirtless before you now, as he hunches over with his elbows on his spread knees. He grits his teeth when his body jerks with a sudden shiver, which he’d rather blame on the blasting A.C.

You watch the freckled muscles of his back twitch with involuntary movements as you loom just beside him, eyeing the fresh wound with fidgeting hands as you fight the urge to comfort him physically. The scrape is red and raging, not bleeding as much now, but still obviously quite tender.

“I’m sure it feels a lot worse than it looks,” you tell him with an attentive squint to your gaze. “It should be good with a saline flush and a bandage, though…”

Jack lets out a wavering sigh when you part from him. He feels less like he has to struggle for breath now, but there’s a lingering pinching in his chest that he can’t quite shake — not worry or panic, but something much softer than that — a quiet trepidation at being so taken care of like this, a distant shock that you’d even want to do it at all.

He watches you take a peek at the sleeping baby in the incubator before heading for the sink in the corner, where you slip on a pair of gloves and grab the supplies in the cabinets.

“I’m sorry about this…” he says when he finally has the breath to. “I know you have better shit to do—”

“Don’t apologize,” you tell him. “I’m happy to do it— It’s kinda my whole job, actually…”

“Yeah, but…” he scoffs a faint laugh, thin lip twitching upward in a smile he doesn’t really mean. “I’m bein’ stupid about all this, I know.”

Jack almost cowers at the look you give him when you return to his side, pretty features all twisted with offense. “You were shot, Jack.”

“Shot at,” he corrects, like it makes any difference.

“And you’re taking it a whole lot better than most people in your situation would be,” you say, setting the supplies on the table at your side. “You got shot at and still helped your friends before taking care of yourself— while also being on the verge of a breakdown, might I add. So you can argue with me all you want, Abbot, but that doesn’t change how strong you are, how brave you are.”

Half-distracted as you prep the supplies, you don’t realize what you’re saying until Jack looks at you funny. His heavy head swivels slowly to flash you a quiet smile over his freckled shoulder.

You grimace at yourself. “Sorry, I— I’ve been spending a lot of time in pedes… I forget how to speak to actual adults sometimes…”

“Well, pedes definitely suits you,” Jack nods. “Even though I do hope you stick around here when your residency’s up, obviously. I mean, where else am I gonna get care like this— ‘cause you and I both know that Robby’s bedside manner is just despicable.”

You purse your smile to the side of your mouth as your face flares with a sudden warmth.

“Okay, um, I—” You clear your throat and try to reorient yourself when Jack’s words make your stomach do blackflips. “I’m gonna flush the wound with some saline now, okay? It’s gonna feel a little cool, and it’ll probably sting a bit—”

“Hey,” Jack coos, giving you a firm look with something a little more vibrant in his gaze. “I’m good now. Let’s do this.”

He stiffens slightly when the saline rushes through his wound, pervading the ache with a cold feeling that makes it sting all the more. He hangs his head and tenses his broad shoulders, which tremble with ragged breaths as he tries hard to breathe through the ache. His hands ball into fists and release in rhythmic motions, knuckles flaring white before relaxing once more.

“You’re doing great, Jack,” he hears you murmur from behind him, and tries to pretend his chest doesn’t warm when you do so. “Doing so good for me— Just a little bit of pressure, and we’re all done, okay?”

He smiles to himself, swallowing down the urge to make a joke about you talking to him like a child. He feels a sliver of soft gauze press to his warm skin before you slip a sticky bandage on top to keep it in place. He mourns your touch the second you pull away.

“See? Piece of cake,” you grin and head again for the sink. “Thank you for letting me patch you up, Dr. Abbot.”

Jack’s greying brows lower in a confused look, though you aren’t looking at him to see it. “Thank me?” he scoffs and reaches for his shirt. “What the hell did I do?”

“I don’t know… I just— I know it’s hard for you to let other people take care of you sometimes, that’s all,” you shrug, smiling at him over your shoulder as you run soap through your fingers. “So, you know, thank you for trusting me, you know?”

“Well, thank you for putting up with me,” he says.

“Eh. I don’t mind it,” you quip and dry your wet hands. When you look back at him again, you find him struggling to put his shirt back on. Your chest flares with a fleeting panic as you rush to him on instinct. “Here. Let me—”

You close the distance between you in a few short strides, curling your fingers under the neckline to drag it back over his head. You don’t share a word between you while your gentle hands run over his body to tug his shirt into place. You can feel Jack’s eyes on you the whole time, though you never quite gain the courage to meet them.

“There you go…” you huff with a wavering smile. “Do you need a ride back home?”

“No offense, sweetheart, but I think you’ve done enough already,” he scoffs, hardly noticing the nickname slip from his mouth. “It’s barely noon, I can’t have you burning out already over me.”

“I’ll drive you and come back,” you decide with a firm nod, still strikingly soft in your way. “Jesse can watch over Jane while I’m gone. No biggie. C’mon.”

You turn on your heel and head for the door.

Jack has no choice but to follow after you — but it’s a choice he would’ve happily made, anyway.

“You know, I used to think you were just sweet and assertive,” he jokes as he collects his vest and jacket. “But I’m starting to think you’re just bossy.”

“Hey. I’m sweet,” you protest with a feigned look of anger on your face, too pretty to be as intimidating as you want to be.

“You are,” Jack grins. “The sweetest.”

(You pretend to be normal about the whole thing the entire drive back to his apartment.)

[softundermoonlight]

the art of mutual benefit - J.A

☆ med student!Jack Abbot x med student!Reader ☆

summary: “I will pay for your coffee,” you add quickly, stepping forward and leaning into his space. He keeps shaking his head, so, in a moment of pure madness, and lacking better ideas, you just say: “I’ll go down on you.”

word count: 4k (smut and fluff mainly)

a/n: i know i'm supposed to work on the part two of my andrew story, but...yeah, episode 7 was really something for my brain

‪‪❤︎‬ Thank you so much for reading!

One of the few undeniable advantages of the apartment is its location.

A single block separates your front door from the ER, which means: no subway delays, no buses filled with people’s germs and no waisted minutes that could be spent studying.

The apartment itself, however, is less impressive. It’s small, a fifth-floor walk-up with a radiator that only works every other day in winter, but it saves you from many issues, especially after a twelve-hour shift. Like most attendings say: efficiency is survival in third year. And this place is efficient.

The other perk is Jack Abbot, who objectively is a good roommate.

He pays rent two days early, every month, without fail. He wipes down the counter after he cooks, because apparently, in Jack’s mind, you could be an M3 and have the time to cook (Oh, fuck off, is your main and consistent thought every time he sets a plate of actual food in front of you at breakfast and dinner). He rewinds the VHS before returning it, and he even agrees to 4am study sessions when you are doubting yourself with the tracheobronchial tree structure.

The only problem with Jack Abbot is…he does not bend. For anyone.

It’s a mistake people make about him at the hospital. They assume that because he listens more than he talks and doesn’t talk the loudest in the room, he must be easygoing. They’re all wrong because in ‘easygoing’, there’s the word easy. And Jack is many things – observant, funny, annoyingly competent - but easy is not one of them. Right now, for instance, he’s being impossible.

Sprawled at the dining table, legs stretched out, hair still damp from the shower and curling at the nape of his neck and a gray shirt clinging enough to make you look away, Jack is in the middle of Sabiston Textbook of Surgery, annotating it.

You pause in the doorway for a second, watching him read before clearing your throat.

“Jack.”

He doesn’t even look up. “No.”

“I haven’t said anything yet!”

“Don’t need to,” he replies, flipping a page. “If it’s prefaced with my name in that tone, the answer is no.”

You step closer and place your hand flat over the open page of Sabiston, earning a mildly annoyed look from him.

“I just need a small, tiny favor.”

“No.”

“Please at least listen to me!” you implore.

One corner of his mouth lifts, and there it is, that smirk that you want to either punch or kiss “You want to switch our trauma shifts tomorrow.”

You hesitate just long enough for him to catch him, his eyebrow lifting slowly. “Why do you need it?”

“I…” you exhale, a little embarrassed. “I haven’t completed my procedure log. I’m missing one intubation and I really need it to pass the rotation.”

“One intubation,” he repeats, a little judgy, closing the book with his pen marking the page. “Haven’t you been on three different procedures already?”

“I know,” you snap, heat creeping up your neck. “I know. But Meyers took the first one because he is an asshole who can’t stop himself from playing mister Know-it-all, the second one went to Patel because he hadn’t logged one either, and the third…”

“You froze.”

I hate you for remembering this, I hate that you noticed, I hate how right you are, you thought.

“It was just…one second.”

“In trauma,” he replies, leaning back in the chair and hands folding behind his head, “one second is the difference between life and death.”

You glare at him. “Jack…I am missing one intubation. Just one. If I don’t log it, Reyes will tank my evaluation, and I’m not repeating this rotation, I physically cannot handle doing another six weeks of this while pretending I don’t care when he calls me ‘sweetheart’ in front of the interns like I’m a pretty accessory instead of a med student. So yes. I want your trauma shift cause I need it. You can’t even fathom the depth of my despair right now.”

“Oh, I think I have a pretty vivid imagination,” he replies.

“I’ll do the dishes for a month.”

He snorts.

“I’m serious!”

“You can’t be trusted with my plates.”

“I will pay for your coffee for a month,” you add quickly, stepping forward and leaning into his space.

He keeps shaking his head, so, in a moment of pure madness, and lacking better ideas, you just say: “I’ll go down on you.”

That gets his attention. “You…You’re not going to go down on me.”

“I’m sorry, which part of ‘despair’ don’t you understand with your so-called vivid imagination?”

He frowns, with that tiny crease between his brows that you want to kiss as much as his smirk, his throat moving as he swallows. “You’d actually…do that?” he asks carefully.

You hadn’t expected that answer and for a moment, the weight of what you just offered settles in. The apartment suddenly feels too quiet, and you become acutely aware of the fact that you are standing very close to Jack, that his hair is still damp and you want to run your hands through those curls, and the way the lamplight catches in his hazel eyes and turns them warmer, almost golden.

The fact is…you like Jack. You’ve liked him for the past few months, and quite frankly, being his roommate has not helped with your massive crush problem.

You shrug, forcing your voice into something light and easy. “Yeah. I’m okay with it. If you are, I mean.”

His fingers flex against the edge of Sabiston, not looking away from you and saying quietly. “So, um…we do this and you get my shift?”

“A privilege for another,” you clarify, voice steady even if your pulse is sabotaging you. “You help me log the intubation and I… return the generosity.”

He nods once, and to your quiet, personal satisfaction, a faint blush creeps across his freckled cheeks, like a tell he can’t suppress. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay,” he says again, quieter.

You reach for the back of his chair, gently turning him toward you, your faces now inches to each other. “How about now Jack? Or are you too busy studying…let me guess: the saphenous vein?” you murmur, with a teasing smile.

“It was the VSD actually,” he breathes, his gaze dropping briefly to your mouth before snapping back up. “But…yeah. Now is fine.”

You drop to your knees, his knees parting quickly, confirming your personal theory: it has been a long time for him. Probably as long as it’s been for you. Third year is not exactly fertile ground to start having relationships: no time, no personal life, no sleep and not to mention that you have never seen him bring anyone back here. Not once. He’s never acted on any nurses’ or classmates’ flirtations. The apartment has always been just the two of you.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling it down as he lifts his hips. “I’m not entirely sure that I haven’t passed out on the table and this is all just a hallucination,” he continues, a groan escaping his mouth when you let your palm graze over his half hard cock, eyelids shutting completely the moment you wrap your hand properly around him.

“I don’t know…” you joke as you start moving, enjoying the view of Mr. Perfect Grades keeping his hands diligently on his legs and pressing his teeth on his lips. “You look very awake to me.”

You wet your lips lightly, running your tongue over them as his gaze finds yours. You’ve always loved that part: the control, deciding when and how it happens, to go slower or faster, feeling someone react under your hands and mouth, but still…you’re a little nervous. It’s been a while and you hope you haven’t lost it in…oh my god a year ago now? Yeah, it was definitely a year.

Either way, you don’t give yourself more time to think about it before dipping your head to take him in.

Multiple things come up to your mind: first, he’s not the kind of guy to put his hands on your hair to get you to move faster or deeper – which you appreciate - second, he’s vocal, muttering your name and profanities each time you manage to fit him entirely in your mouth - you still don’t know how you do that, the guy is huge - and third, you are officially on your knees, blowing your roommate, crush and student rival.

Once he’s done, you stand back up, knees numb and wiping the back of your hand over your lips, both struggling to catch your breaths.

“6am. For tomorrow. But get there at 5.30,” Jack says, closing his eyes briefly before putting his pants back on. “And you better do this intubation.”

──────────

Two weeks later, he’s the one standing in the living room.

“Hey.”

You don’t look up from your notes. “No.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, dropping onto the couch beside you. “Please.”

“No,” you repeat, turning a page calmly even though the corner of your mouth is threatening to betray you. There’s something so satisfying about denying Jack Abbot anything.

He drags a hand through his hair, mussed from the shift at the hospital, and puts his hand on yours (don’t freeze over that, it’s stupid anyway). “It’s just one procedure.”

You raise an eyebrow, finally looking at him. “Doctor Abbot missing something on his log?”

“No,” he starts before hesitating, his pride wrestling with the request, “it’s about the thoracostomy. Reyes is letting one M3 take lead tomorrow and I need someone to cover triage so I can stay in trauma long enough to be picked.”

You let your gaze drag slowly over him, pretending to think. “No.”

“You’re enjoying this,” he sighed, his hand still clasps around yours.

“Oh, immensely.”

“Please. I’ll make it up to you.”

You snort softly and close your notebook, setting it aside before turning fully toward him, your knees brushing his. “How, doc?”

“I’ll go down on you.”

“What?” you ask slowly.

He shrugs, trying for casual, one hand still loosely wrapped around yours, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles. “One privilege for another. That’s…that’s our thing, right?”

“Um…yeah. You really want to do this thoracostomy?”

His lips pull into that maddening kissable half-smile that you love more than anything, the one he gets in the ER whenever he answers correctly to one of the residents’ questions. “I really want to do it and erase Meyers’ smile once and for all. So, what do you say?”

“Okay,” you reply, parting your legs (oh yes, Jack, you’re gonna have to kneel for this one, no way I’m passing on an occasion to let you do everything) “but be quick, I still have to read the biological markers of…”

The words don’t get out of your mouth when he kneels in front of you, pulling off your pajama short and underwear, the leather of the couch making you feel hotter than you were already.

“I’ll be very quick and thorough, I promise,” he replies, amused – probably because you were now completely silent – before working his tongue on you.

And wow, you have received plenty of good cunnilinguses in your life, even if it’s been some time, but this one…is miles from the rest. You can recognize it happily… Jack has some wicked knowledge of the human anatomy and how to get you there in a few minutes.

“You better be fucking great for this thoracostomy, Doctor Abbot,” you say as you’re try to catch your breath, Jack picking up your notes, ready for a new study session (you don’t comment over the fact that he doesn’t go rinse his mouth or put distance between you and just…drags his thumb across his lower lip and then licks it clean).

“You know me,” he replies with a smug smile that makes you roll your eyes.

And yes, you know. The next day proves it. You’re buried in triage when you hear from your resident, the Doctor Robinavitch – a young, tall man, barely a few years older than you who keeps trying his best to be half your friend, half your boss – that Jack had been an example of calm and solid, earning a fist bump from both Reyes and Robinavitch.

You nod slowly, pretending you don’t feel the faint flare of something warm under your ribs, travelling down your body. Pride. You are so proud of him, and you want to reply to the resident, of course he was solid, of course he didn’t choke, this man is great and kind and…actually is also a great giver, but you don’t need to know that.

You catch sight of him later in the hallway, walking toward you with a protein bar in hand, a little smile on his face. And that smile, Jesus, all warm and bright and unguarded…it’s definitely a second privilege he doesn’t need to know about.

──────────

Four days after, you get behind on your charting.

Because you’d rather slit your wrist than stay late in the ER with Reyes breathing into the back of your skull, you make another deal with Jack.

“If you stay up with me until it’s done,” you murmur to Jack in the CT-Scan room, “I’ll give you a very nice orgasm.”

He checks to his left and right. “Define ‘very nice’”.

“You’re insufferable.”

“Hey, I’m the guy who’s gonna stay to help you, so be a little more grateful.”

You salute him with your pen. “Aye aye doc.”

Late that night, steam fogs the bathroom mirror, the water running hot. He’s already under the spray when you step into the doorway, taking off your clothes (after all there’s almost nothing he hasn’t seen already). You step closer before putting your hand on him, his palms ending up on the tiled wall behind you and muttering a “Jesus fucking Christ.” at the combined feeling of the water cascading on his body and your movements who only grows faster, making him come in a few minutes, your name on his lips.

“You know…it’s stupid to waste the water,” he murmurs after a while.

“Oh, really.”

“I mean, we’re two broke med students, it’s cost-effective. And we’re already in here anyway.”

Surely you can’t disagree with this idea.

Efficiency, after all, is very important in medicine.

──────────

“Hey kid.”

You look up, the Doctor Robinavitch standing there with that expression – the one who wants to gossip but tries to refrain himself from it.

“Um,” you say cautiously, pen lingering over the chart. “What?”

He glances down the hall then back at you. You follow his gaze automatically.

Jack is at the nurses’ board, talking to one of them, arms crossed and sleeves rolled up. He laughs at something, shaking his head. You look away, glancing back at the resident, who’s already staring at you, leaning over the table just enough to meet your eye level.

“…What?” you repeat, sharper now.

“How long?”

You blink. “How long what?”

“Whatever that is,” he replies, gesturing vaguely between you and the air.

You scoff lightly, going back to writing your charting. “There is no ‘that’, Doctor Robinavitch.”

He sighs deeply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Listen kid, you realize the entire staff has a betting pool, right?”

Your pen freezes mid-word. “On what?”

He just stares at you until you break (my god how you hate when he does that, condolences to all the future doctors who’ll get him as an attending).

“We’re not together. It’s…it’s not like that,” you try to explain weakly instead of saying we’re just roommates who are the type to perform oral sex to get what we want, no big deal there. oh, and now we take showers together every night to save the planet, not to…give the other a freebie.

His smile widens. “Oh, so there is a ‘that’.”

You look back at the nurses’ station. Jack is still there, but now he’s looking directly at you, an eyebrow raised with a small, knowing smile – like he can feel that your mind is turned to this morning and the two orgasms he gave you before going to work.

You can’t help but smile back at him.

Robinavitch follows the silent exchange, then looks back at you with open disbelief. “That,” he says slowly, “right there, is definitely a thing.”

Before you can gather your words to get a more convincing denial, a monitor alarms from down the hall.

“Go, kid. And try not to share lovey-dovey looks over the patient.”

You shove his shoulder as you pass him, heat rising in your cheeks.

“I hate you, Robinavitch.”

“I know that’s not true!” he calls after you.

Annoyingly…he’s right. You don’t hate him.

And there is a thing.

──────────

It happens after the code blue.

You and Jack are walking home in silence, refusing to mention how, when you had stepped into the patient’s room, he had handed you the laryngoscope without hesitation – you, not himself – like there has been no other option in his mind.

Your hands brush every few steps, neither of you pulling away.

By the time you reach the apartment, your body feels heavy, exhausted, dumping your bag on the hallway floor and ripping of your jacket as you go straight to the bathroom.

The light is too bright. It exposes everything: the smudged mascara under your eyes, the dark circles who can’t be hidden well by the foundation, the way your eyes are reddened by your need to cry.

You grip the edge of the sink and stare at yourself, murmuring “You did well, don’t worry. The woman is alive. The baby is alive. You did well.”

The door opens quietly behind you.

“If you’re about to tell me I did great, don’t.” you mutter, voice flat, refusing to meet his eyes in the mirror. If you look at him, you might crack.

He doesn’t answer. Instead, you feel him step into your space, listening to him opening the cabinet and the rustle of cotton pads. He reaches around you, close enough that his arm brushes you before gently turning you by the shoulder so you’re facing him instead of your – miserable, pathetic – reflection.

“Hold still,” he murmurs.

His face is close to yours – barely four inches away. Close enough that you can see the freckles across his nose. Enough that you could close that distance with the smallest tilt forward and drown your thoughts in something easier than this ache sitting in your chest.

The cotton pad is cool against your skin. He wipes slowly beneath your eye, careful, his thumb steadying your jaw. “Can you do me a favor?” he asks quietly.

“I’m not in the mood tonight,” you reply automatically.

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat in it. “No, not like that. Not…” he exhales, dragging the pad gently across your cheek, “not everything is about having sex.”

“I wouldn’t call exactly what we’re doing ‘having sex’,” you say, sharper than you intend.

He stills and for a fraction of a second, something flickers across his face in between surprise and hurt. “Oh. Um…Okay.”

His throat bobs as he switches to a clean pad, focusing on your eyes.

Eyes closed, you try to explain yourself better, words coming out before you can filter them. “That’s not what I meant,” you murmur. “I just…I don’t want this tonight and I don’t want this to be another thing that happens because we almost lost someone. We…we can’t keep doing this.”

Fuck, you don’t even know what this is anymore.

You feel him getting even closer – so close that his breath brushes your lips when he exhales. He finishes wiping up your face. “Can you…” he starts, voice lower now, uncertain like you’ve never heard from him, “can you let me just be here? With you?”

You open your eyes slowly, now seeing everything: the faint traces of tears at the corner of his eyes, the way his curls have fallen messily over his forehead from running his hand through them too much. He looks younger like this.

“I’m sorry Jack. I didn’t mean to make it sound like…like what we do doesn’t matter. I just…” your voice breaks, “I don’t want it to be the only reason we touch.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “It’s not.”

You study him, skeptical.

“Fine,” he admits quietly. “It started that way because we’re two massive idiots who don’t know how to say what we want without turning it into…a mess. But it’s not why I continued doing that.”

He sets the cotton pad down in the sink and brings both hands to your face now, his palms feeling warm against your cheeks.

“I don’t want this to be about that. I…I want to be the person you come home with after something like tonight. Not just the guy you’re giving blowjobs to who turns out to be your roommate.”

“Great blowjobs, you mean. Wonderful. Fantastic,” you reply, trying to smile a little.

“Yes, sure. All of the above and more,” he nods, matching your grin with that crooked, infuriatingly gorgeous one before leaning in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. He waits until you give the smallest eager nod before his mouth brushes yours.

Oh. Oh. Okay. You should have started here weeks ago.

The kiss is nothing like the moments you’ve shared before. It’s unhurried and soft, his lips moving against yours like he’s learning a part of you he doesn’t know.

And God, he’s a good kisser too – good doctor, good giver, does this man know how to be bad at something?

He tilts his head slightly, deepening it and learning to read every small reaction: when you sigh softly against his mouth, he runs his tongue against yours, when your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, he pulls you closer.

Out of breath, he rests his forehead against yours, noses brushing.

“I like you, okay? I like you when you study until four in the morning. I like you when you are right about a diagnosis and high five me. I like you when you’re scared. And stubborn. And exhausted,” he whispers against your mouth. “You’re my person. In the ER, here, everywhere.”

You swallow. “My god, how didn’t you get with, like…all the girls of the hospital?”

“Well, you see, I was a bit busy trying to get the attention of a certain woman,” he replies, chuckling.

“Oh, do I know her?”

“Hm. I’m not sure,” he murmurs, lips still close enough that your breath mingles. “She’s obstinate. Overworks herself and pretends she doesn’t need anyone. Terrible at dishes.”

You pinch his side. “Rude.”

“Oh, and she rolls her eyes when I’m right,” he continues. “Which is very often.”

“Unbelievable.”

“And,” he adds, softer, “she has this look she gives me every time there’s an alarm. Like she’s checking if I’m okay.”

You swallow. “Oh. Her.”

“Yeah.” His mouth curves, his nose brushing yours deliberately. “Her.”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love that.”

You hesitate before nodding. “Yeah,” you admit. “I do love that.” I love you, I love you, I love you.

“Yeah?” he asks, a smile spreading across his face as his hand slides to the small of your back. “Good.”

You don’t give him time to get smug about it before kissing him again, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt and pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you. His breath catches against your mouth, a surprised sound that makes you press him against the bathroom’s door.

Against his lips, still holding onto his shirt, you murmur, “Shower?”

“Shower.”

[snoopysupe]

ON ME — Jack Abbot

pairing: jack abbot / pitt!f!reader

word count: 4.8k

content: MDNI. 5 times jack pays for you +1 time you pay for him. jack’s love language is gift giving (he’s a giver) and assertive with it too lmao. mishmash of both seasons to fit the fic so s1 & s2 spoilers! pittfest briefly mentioned. alcohol, mentions of car sex (f. receiving). rooftop scene — allusions to suicide but nothing is directly mentioned. inaccuracies everywhere. i’ll die on a not proofread hill.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

1.

The first time Jack Abbot had dug in his pocket for you was not some act of kindness on a great scale of magnitude. Often during the night rotation at the PTMC—after being knuckle deep in a patient’s chest cavity—there was an unmistakable grumble in, not only your stomach, but Dr. John Shen’s too. With only mere seconds to bite into a protein bar before you’re called to another case, if at any point there was an eery lull in the Emergency Department; Grubhub was on speed dial.

Against protocol, because nobody was opposed to convenience, you and Shen would add a note to your order: DROP-OFF @ AMBULANCE BAY PLS. And, then proceed to Rock, Paper, Scissors your way into deciding who would run the risk of being caught red-handed, during a speedy collection by Dr. Abbot, who would undoubtedly have a few words if he caught wind of your misuse of the Ambulance Bay.

“Yo.” Shen caught your attention as you came out of Central 11. An empty cup of Dunkin in one hand, his phone in the other, he matched your lazy speed. “ETA on the food is 3 minutes.”

You held your open palm under the sanitiser dispenser, “Alright. Ready?”

Shen chuckled and tucked his phone under his armpit, “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He held out a closed fist the same time you did, “On three?”

You nodded and counted to three, throwing out a classic rock, confident it would land you another win compared to Shen’s four recent losses.

“Shit.” You hissed at the sight of Shen’s paper that he promptly wrapped around your fist to emphasise his winning round.

Shen shrugged, “Ooh. That was satisfying.” He backed away to check the board, “Godspeed, dude.”

Hands placed under the sanitizer dispenser out of habit, you scowled at Shen as he walked to the oval desk with a pep in his step, rubbing your hands together with vigour as you headed in the opposite direction to the Ambulance Bay.

Luck was on your side that evening, for one, there was no sight of an ambulance sliding into the bay and two, your Grubhub driver was already situated on the sidewalk with a motorcycle helmet still worn and a beige paper bag stapled with the receipt, in his hand.

You gave him a friendly wave, head turned to check the doors as you stepped into his space to retrieve the bag of hot food. You exchanged basic pleasantries, and then the delivery man hesitated to step away, his eyes visible through the visor as he stared, waiting for something additional in return.

A tip?

“Oh! Yeah, sorry—” You reached into your pocket and pulled out a button and a sturdy hair tie from Ellis, “Um…”

“Here you go, man.” A third voice.

The gravelled tone that both you and Shen tried to discreetly avoid amongst the several rendezvous‘ with your Grubhub driver. The one that belonged to the attending physician, that in line with technically being your boss, was also the one man at the centre of your little workplace crush.

You had met Dr. Abbot amidst the mass-casualty during PittFest. Assigned to the Red Zone, you worked amongst the seasoned professionals with a hindrance of confidence in the capability of your own hands. Not the time, nor the place to reach a movie-like flow of a meet-cute whilst performing CPR on an asystole patient with blood up to your elbows.

But you saw him. And, Jack Abbot definitely saw you.

That being said, under alternative circumstances, you’d have welcomed Dr. Jack Abbot’s presence in the Ambulance Bay.

Your body stiffened, the guilt riddled all over your face. No question as to who the Grubhub bag was for.

The driver gave a two-finger salute to the generous $20 tip and backed away to his motorcycle parked to the side. Jack would be sure to mention an abiding PennDot Motorcycle Safety Course user, to Robby at some point during hand-offs.

He slowly looked to you with mirth.

“I told him to take the pedestrian entrance?” Not convincing even yourself with the higher octave in which you spoke, pocketing the receipt in your scrubs to avoid Jack checking the order note at the bottom.

“Uh-huh.” Jack dipped his hand in the bag and pulled out three fries, “Jack Tax.”

With a hand held out to gesture you back inside, you gave a strained smile and obeyed his silent order to get back to work.

Shen was on the other side as you entered. “Better luck next time, Rock.”

2.

“What the hell are those?”

You looked down at your new scrubs. OK, you had pushed the boat out and bought a different shade of black, more complimentary to your seasonal colours with the undershirt to match. Maybe you hesitated in your car, singing lyrics as words of affirmation to beat the hesitancy that robbed yourself the joy of a new purchase.

(Being perceived was a sore spot for you.)

And then, the universe placed you in the PTMC with a specific co-worker that made it his full-time job to perceive his surroundings and outwardly share his candid thoughts without much effort for filtration. Aside from that being engrained in the speciality of being a physician, you still entered the PTMC with gritted teeth and a nervous disposition that Dr. Jack Abbot would pin the attention onto you.

Despite this, you looked up from your body and toward Jack, “My scrubs?” You reiterated verbally.

“No.” Jack reached for the earphones dangling around your neck like a stethoscope and tugged once, “These beat up things. They still sell them with the wires attached?”

Thank goodness it wasn’t the scrubs. You didn’t fancy using your credits already.

You jumped to their defence, “I like them having wires. Means I can keep track of both earphones.” You then added in deflation, “It’s not exactly in my budget.”

“If they’re on a leash?” Jack looked to Dr. Ellis with an expression that read: Are you hearing this shit? She shrugged. “You have got to get a new pair from this century, sweetheart.”

This century? You bit the insult harboured for the salt and pepper haired veteran turned senior attending. Sometimes things were best left un-personalised to save any feelings hurt.

In replacement, you deadpanned where Abbot smirked, slowly pulling the headphones from your neck to bunch them up and pinch them with a butterfly clip.

Dr. Ellis chuckled beside you, body leant against the desk, “Tell a girl how you really feel, Dr. Abbot.”

“I mean it.” Jack gestured to the knotted wires in your grasp, “Is the sound even high definition?”

“Out of one ear.” You mumbled quietly.

“Out of one ear.” Jack repeated with a curt nod and a playful laugh that translated to the idea that he proved his point in one conversation. “Alright, go drop those historical artefacts in your locker, I’ve got a patient in 10 for you.”

It took two days after that altercation for you to arrive at your locker at work, your trusted wire headphones miraculously MIA, meaning you had to persevere with the ambient noises of Pittsburgh on your walk to work. (All eyes pointing to Abbot and his security accomplice, Ahmad.)

Code punched in, you barely had time to blink the sleep from your eyes—your Circadian rhythm still adjusting with the new shift rotation—when you spotted a small white case haphazardly wrapped in…twine?

It look as if it were meant to be a bow. That alone was distracting, and very telling.

“What the—?” You plucked the case from the middle of your locker, the realisation making your ears ring before you slammed your locker shut and sauntered into the belly of the Pitt to find your culprit.

Jack was at the work station, refusing to sit as he bent at an awkward angle to read the words on the computer, when you found him with a little more aggravation than he had anticipated.

“Fucking AirPods?” You struck the atmosphere with a loud call. Lena—the charge nurse—peered over her glasses at your sudden outburst. Out of respect, you were quick to change the level of your tone, “Jack, these are like $250.”

His eyes darted up to you, nothing short of a serious expression on his face. “OK?”

You hesitated, “Are you—Are you playing a joke on me? I can’t accept these.”

“Well, that would be a little rude.” He sounded monotonous, uninterested as he scrolled down the page with the mouse in his hand.

You took a different route of reluctance to accept such a gift.

“How can you afford these?”

“Blood money.”

“Jack.”

Jack stood at full height, “Re-lax.” He folded his arms across his broad chest, “Consider it a welcome gift to the Night Shift.”

(Nobody put money in the make-believe pot but him.)

”I changed shift patterns, two weeks ago.” You retorted.

He corrected, “A belated welcome gift, then.” When you didn’t seem convinced, Jack went in for—what they called in bowling—a strike. “Accept the earphones from this century…you’re too pretty to be walking around with those battered old things.”

“What?” You blinked in disbelief. Jaw slack.

Did you just hear that correctly?

Jack didn’t bring forth any further compliments apart from a shit-eating grin that had you stuck in the mud, clutching earphones way beyond your price range. You heard Lena chuckle at her iPad, and you snapped back into reality, fingers curled around the gifted AirPods; because performing a surgery to be able to clutch your own heart beating triple the amount of beats it should be, per minute, was downright unrealistic.

“Thank you.” You said quietly before turning back on your heel to put the earphones in your locker for safe-keeping.

Jack and Lena watched you scurry away like a field mouse, Abbot failing to miss the knowing gaze from Lena peering over her glasses at him.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Dr. Abbot.” She spoke in a tone of amusement.

Jack gave a nod, “Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

3.

The third time was on the lesser side of grand gestures such as brand new Generation 3 AirPods wrapped in a twine bow, but the outcome was more gratifying to both parties.

The shift had been considered one of your worst. From the moment you stepped into the PTMC—even before this, but you attempted to leave your personal life at the door—you were greeted with hurdles that you continued to get your foot stuck under, metaphorically grazing your chin as you landed face first into disaster.

In addition to this, you were notified of Louie’s passing in an insensitive, pass-off comment by one of the new residents, James Ogilvie. It was told to try maintain a professional barrier between you and the patient, don’t get intertwined in their life and make a best friend out of them. But, you adored Louie. Despite the reasons behind his visits, his face was a welcomed one with the abundance of kindness he brought for someone who was losing against his own demons.

You placed your head against the coolness of your locker, burning eyes shut after Dr. Ellis told you to take five after you delivered some harsh truths to a difficult woman who was labelled Dr. Google and had little belief in the medical care provided to her son.

The idea came to visit Louie in the Viewing Room, maybe have one last conversation with him, but the notion was thrown off when you came to terms with the knowledge that a one-sided conversation with your favourite patient would only make matters worse for you. You’d be sure to visit him once your emotions were wrangled.

You let out a shuddered breath that you had been withholding.

“Hey.”

Almost giving yourself whiplash at the speed that you turned your head, your heavy heart dropped at the sight of Jack Abbot standing a couple of steps away from you with an iced coffee in his hand. He looked empathetic, concerned after it was relayed to him about your outburst toward a patient’s family member.

You were never one for sudden outbursts. Especially toward visitors.

You crossed your arms in an attempt to close yourself off, “Hey, Dr. Abbot.”

“I heard about Dr. Google.” He took a step closer and you winced, prepped for a slap on the wrist moment. He would remind you at a later time. “You OK?”

“I’m fine. Just—” You rubbed at your eyes, “Having a bad day.”

“Preach.” Jack mused and extended the plastic coffee cup to you. He encouraged you to take it with a nod of his head, “I think I got your order right. Don’t get mad if it isn’t. I heard that’s your thing now.”

You took the cup by the lid and threw Jack a stern look, unable to conceal the growing smile. “Thanks.” You took a sip and revelled in the immediate caffeine hit, and subsequently, Jack getting your order right.

(He asked Shen to go through his order history that he knew you had shared.)

Jack bit back a smile.

“Jack Tax?” You offered the cup up to Jack.

He hesitated to take it—cross-contamination and all factors a doctor usually worries about—but then threw caution to the wind. Might be the closest he gets to kissing you. Or something along those lines.

Jack took the cup wet from condensation back, tilting the cup upward until the coffee hit his lips. His eyes pinned you to the spot and suddenly, the ceiling tiles needed your immediate attention.

You started to count them. Length by width to equate the amount in total. Twenty-six by fourteen would equal—

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Oh.

Your equation forgone, your solemn expression wiped and replaced with surprise. Your attention dropped to the male in front of you, almost missing the way his free hand shook at his thigh. The burning question left hanging in the air as you digested each syllable he had spoken as if it were sacred text to memorise by word of mouth.

Suddenly feeling sheepish, Jack realised that he had picked a sensitive time in your day to boldly ask the question he had been biding his time to get correct. His throat bobbed, fingers curled around your coffee cup as it dawned on him that he may be translating as a real jackass with little emotional maturity to understand that you may just want to be left alone.

There was no escaping it, he thought. That would just look ridiculous now.

He cleared his throat, “I’m sorry.” He scrunched one eye shut and waved his own question off, “I shouldn’t have asked you when you’re having a bad day.”

“No, no. It’s fine.” You let out a nervous chuckle, palms pressed into your back as you arched your back to stretch awkwardly, “Free as in…?”

“A date.”

The wind almost knocked out of you. Lips formed into an ‘O’ you began to laugh from feeling shy, “Yeah. Shit, Abbot. I am off tomorrow.”

He knew. He checked the schedule.

Jack finally took a breath. His hand outstretched again to hand you back the coffee he had bought you.

“Alright.” He nodded, backing away with his thumbs up, “You can explain to me the reference: There’s people dying, Kim, that you told to Dr. Google over some drinks.”

You grimaced with the coffee back in your hands. Nose scrunched, you spoke, “Yeah. Sounds good.”

4.

Chivalry wasn’t dead.

According to the dive bar on Babcock Blvd with Jack Abbot punching his four-digit code into the card machine with every round of drinks he—and eventually you—had purchased on your night in Pittsburgh together.

You had both agreed on ‘casual’. Casual place, for a casual—no pressure—date, wearing casual clothes that differed from the usual scrub-wearing outfits you never seemed to be able to peel off of your frame.

Jack arrived early after you politely declined his text in the morning after you left work, asking if he could pick you up. The bar wasn’t far from your apartment, and it would save Abbot the fuel money that he so flippantly spent on brand new AirPods on you.

(The pieces of the puzzles were all slowly coming together.)

Nervous wasn’t part of Jack’s vocabulary. Built on adrenaline rushes and catastrophic tragedies, there wasn’t a bone in his body that shook at the definition of nervous.

He sat at the bar with the sticky countertop, his curls dampened from the rain and his prosthetic leg causing irrefutable irritation from the way it caused him to ache uncomfortably. No, he wasn’t nervous—he couldn’t be—Jack just felt…overwhelmed.

At least that’s what he so stubbornly called it.

And then you walked in.

Shit. OK, call it what it was. Nerves.

With a sunny disposition, your head shielded by a sodden newspaper you undoubtedly ducked into a corner shop to purchase on your walk. Suddenly, Jack felt inadequate in all aspects as a man, who wanted a date with the most beautiful woman he had set eyes on in a long time. His clothes suddenly falling short along the themes of ‘casual’, he regretted choosing a basic black tee—because it showed off his muscular biceps—and dark blue jeans. You looked breathtaking, and you weren’t even trying.

Jack threw back the dregs of his alcoholic beverage, hand slammed on the countertop as he gave a nod and a gesture to the bartender to give him the same again. Just stronger.

He stood when you approached, a grimace on his lips that told everything a doctor who knew him on a more personal level would know.

(His leg was killing him.)

You shrugged your jacket off, “Bothering you?”

“Not anymore.” Jack mumbled, eyes set on you with some well-placed adoration. When he sat, he spoke again, “You look pretty.”

“Thank you.” You tilted your chin into your shoulder.

After that, Jack paid you six more compliments—seven after his fifth drink slammed to ail his nerves—and aside from his attentiveness and eyes boring into your skull, the date turned out better than either of you had anticipated. There was no shadow of a doubt that it wouldn’t have crashed and burned but as two doctors at the PTMC, it was in your nature to expect the worst but hope for the best.

The kiss came in between your last drink and Jack passing off his card to the bartender. Mid-conversation, you had spotted Jack becoming fidgety in the stool he was perched on and you had put it down to the buzz of the alcohol mixed with relief that you two were two kindred flames outside of the workplace.

And then, his mouth was on yours. His hand placed against your jaw, fingers curled at the back of your head, he pulled you in for a painstakingly languid kiss. Noses bumped, smiles mushed together, you eventually pulled away when the kiss became borderline inappropriate for a public display of affection.

It sent your head reeling, judgement clouded to where the casualness of the date at the dive bar followed you into the car park, where Jack Abbot was casually knee-deep in the passenger seat of his truck with your bare thighs constricting around his head.

When he had finished, the windows fogged with droplets of condensation drooling down the tempered glass, Jack sat on the floor of the passenger side with the door open as he refitted his leg with a triumphant grin on his face. You had managed to wrangle your outfit back onto your body, face hot from a concoction of euphoria and the remainder of the alcoholic buzz.

“I’ve ordered you an Uber.” Jack mentioned as he cracked his spine, “ETA is about 5 minutes.”

He wasn’t going to be presumptuous of the night. Satisfied that you had reached your climax, Jack kept a respectful distance to the idea of going home with you after a successful first date.

(Not that he didn’t want to. He respected boundaries. Plus, with work the next day, his scrubs were at his house across town.)

You stretched like a cat in the seat, “How much do I owe you?”

Jack chuckled as he stepped onto the tarmac, his body angled toward you as he brought you in for another sweet kiss. “This one’s on me.” He mumbled against your lips.

5.

“I’m sorry to miss this.” Jack gripped onto the steering wheel of his truck, face apologetic.

You applied your lipstick in the passenger mirror, brows pinched at his apology. The lid to your lipstick made a soft click as you spoke, “Girl’s night?”

Jack nodded once.

That’s cute.

You leant over the console and pressed a fleeting kiss to his lips. The relationship still fresh—and more important, under wraps—you would take any opportunity outside of work to spend together. In which, Jack Abbot had coincidentally discovered his newfound love for ‘Girl’s Night.’

With a handful of your friends having met the elusive senior attending doctor turned…a person that you shared a bed with from time to time—labels had yet to be discussed—Jack had been privy to the inner workings of a get together where the women in your life sat on your sofa and just talked.

A lot.

He ended up making himself useful, serving drinks and food with a stolen kiss that had all your friends beaming from ear to ear. It turned out that Jack enjoyed it. And, when he wasn’t needed, he’d retreat to the bedroom to watch some news reports on his phone; with one earphone flicked out incase you called for his assistance again.

You rubbed your hand to the nape of his neck, “With all due respect. You’re not invited. And, not just because you picked up a SWAT shift on the Fourth of July.”

“Yeah.” Jack drawled, “You look pretty.”

“Thank you.”

Jack gestured in a circular motion around his own lips. “I like the…lipstick.”

“Oh yeah?” You grinned, lapping up his compliments like a parched dog.

“Yeah.” Jack confirmed lowly. He took a moment to rake your frame with his hungry eyes, a fleeting thought passed in his mind as he began to fish into his back pocket for his wallet—he started to carry cash whenever you were around—and pulled out a thick wad of dollars, his thumb making handiwork to count out the bills. “Here. Before I forget.”

“I don’t want your money, Jack.” You argued when he began to hand the money over to you.

Jack insisted, “Come on. A couple of rounds on me. Please?”

You hesitated, but ultimately knew it was a dead end debate in which Jack’s generosity and stubbornness would prevail. Fingers pinched the cash, you—respectfully—counted how much he gave you.

You frowned at the amount. “Jack. You’ve given me $200.”

“Yeah.”

“Where do you think we’re drinking?” You let out a breathless laugh and went to hand back $150, only to be met with reluctance. You shook your head, “Drinks do not cost that much.”

”$100 for drinks.” Jack leaned back into the driver’s seat, “And $50 for new lipstick.”

“What?” You stared at his weathered features in surprise, “You just said you liked my lipstick. Now you want me to buy a new one?”

As if it were the most glaringly obvious statement in this side of Pittsburgh, Jack tilted his head with his brows furrowed, feigning innocence like you wouldn’t believe.

It made your stomach knot.

“To buy more of the same lipstick.” He shifted in his seat to lean toward you, his lips a hot breath away from yours. “Because, I’ll keep kissing that shit off of you.”

You visibly reeled.

+1

You found Jack on the rooftop, where you had been informed he would be. His frame outlined by the bleeding pink and orange hue of the sunrise that peeked above the horizon. Hands in his pockets, he stood at the precipice of the ceiling, his eyes scanned across the Pittsburgh skyline.

You allowed some grace. Hand clutched a familiar brown paper bag, watching as Jack took deep breaths to remind himself he was still human. Still apart of the Earth that kept spinning after another person was added to the death toll.

Another person he couldn’t save.

When you saw his feet shift, you called out. “Grubhub delivery for one handsome veteran?”

Jack tilted his head to your voice, chin meeting his shoulder, “I didn’t order anything.”

“Shit.” You took a step forward, “Must be the wrong roof. You’re still handsome though.” Your lightheartedness was met with a chuckle, you could see it in the way Abbot’s shoulders lightly bounced whilst he shook his head.

“What are you doing up here?” He asked. Not that he wasn’t inclined to savour more moments up with you. The rooftop just wasn’t your thing.

You approached the railing that separated you from Jack, “Your friend with the loose tongue told on you.”

In reference to the Chief Attending, Dr. Michael Robinavitch, who had every incline to believe that you and Jack Abbot were in the early stages of a blossoming relationship. The man was incredibly intuitive, and when Jack began to smell like aftershave masking the scent of a lavender laundry detergent that was awfully similar to the one that he happened to smell off of you whenever you were in close proximity doing hand-offs…well, everything seemed to make sense in his mind.

So, as any good friend would do, he had pulled you aside with the ruse of discussing patient care, when in fact—whilst sparing you the gory details—Dr. Robby had some wonderful insight about Dr. Abbot’s whereabouts coming to his shift ending.

“Snitch.” Jack muttered.

“Out of love.” You reminded him, “Coming through.” Your body already dipped to bend below the metal railing, only for Jack’s hand to prevent you from reaching full height on the other side.

He thumbed behind him, “Behind.”

You stepped back reluctantly, “Oh, so there’s a hierarchy up here?”

Jack grunted as he bent down, popping back up behind the railing, his exhaustion worn on his face didn’t prevent a smile seeping through the cracks as he looked at you.

(God, he was so fucking attractive.)

“With a girlfriend that is afraid of heights? I’ll take my chances with her behind the railing.” Jack kissed you, his knuckle brushing your chin as you both avoided the fact that he had just pinned the tail on the donkey and called you his girlfriend. He sniffed, “You’re much cuter when you’re not chicken soup on a gurney.”

He kissed you again to distract you from the confusing comparison.

In translation: Jack didn’t want you fainting off the side of the building.

Slightly amused, you pulled back from the kiss and waggled the bag of hot food in front of Jack’s face. He read the side of the bag with narrowed eyes, a low hum elicited from the back of his throat.

“Robby?”

You threw him a look of complete disdain. “Jack Abbot. I’m starting to believe you don’t think I have any money.”

“I know you do. I just don’t expect you to spend it on me.” Jack said with honest conviction. He took the bag anyway, hand already diving into to find a couple of loose fries at the bottom of the bag.

He offered you one and you bit it between your teeth with gratitude. Not wanting to overstep, you allowed the silence to blanket over the two of you—the distant wails of sirens the only ambient sound so close to the PTMC—knowing that when Jack wanted to confide in you about his troubling thoughts, he’d do it when he was ready.

For now, Dr. Robby would be the one privy to that information.

You watched the sunrise further up into the sky whilst Jack tucked into his food, occasionally offering you a bite which you’d take out of politeness as you hadn’t eaten since the start of your shift. As the colours of the sky bled into a watered down pink, you let out a sigh of relief.

What a fucking pain of a shift to have overcome. You knew Jack felt the same.

Jack watched you rather than the scenic view ahead. That familiar ache in his chest returning; the one that he had felt similar to when he first met his late wife.

Not a comparison. Just a feeling.

When you caught him in the act of admiration, you lifted a brow for him to fess up.

I think I’m falling in love with you. No. He’d tell you that in different circumstances. In your apartment, with a pizza box between you and a movie thrown on that you swore you let Jack choose.

So, Jack Abbot settled for the next best thing. Your secret love language. “How much do I owe you?”

You beamed, “This one is on me, Abbot.”

[sc3ptre]

Off the record

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

A/n: I just had to and if you’ve seen the movie and that scene, you’ll understand why

Warning: SMUT +18 (with plot) | safe sex, p-in-v, oral f! receiving during a professional environment, praise, superpowered sex?, power imbalance, destruction of property during sex Disclaimer: This scene is loosely based on content shown in the trailers for Superman (2025) — so technically, no major spoilers! That being said, if you're trying to go into the movie completely fresh, feel free to skip this for now and come back later.

Word count: 3.3k

You got home late, again. The city was quiet in that way it only ever was past midnight with streetlights buzzing faintly, the sound of your boots echoing in the stairwell and your coat carrying the weight of the day like a second skin. 

Once inside, you kicked off your heels, pulled your scarf free in one motion and slung your bag onto the hallway hook like muscle memory. The apartment welcomed you with familiar silence and the gentle creak of old pipes. It smelled like dust and the faint ghost of coffee and maybe the takeout you didn’t finish yesterday.

You locked the door behind you without looking and then you heard it, a sound that shouldn’t be there, one of a pan shifting.

It was soft and deliberate, like someone trying not to make noise in your kitchen.

You froze, coat still half-off. Your brain went cold before your hands did, every hair on your arm standing. You moved without breathing, slow and smooth, peeling the coat the rest of the way off and dropping it on the hook while simultaneously reaching for the bat you kept stashed by the door, the one with the worn grip and the cracked stripe of duct tape at the end. You hadn’t used it in years, not seriously, but your fingers still curled around it like you’d never stopped.

The hallway felt longer than usual as you crept toward the sound. Your breath came shallow and the refrigerator hum gave away nothing. You rounded the corner, raised the bat and swung hard without thinking twice.

The bat made solid contact with something unmoving and unbothered, and then cracked violently in half. It felt like hitting a steel beam with a stick of chalk.

“Shit–!”

You staggered back in pure panic, already wincing and then realized, mid-heart-attack, that the man now holding the broken bat with one hand and a sauté pan in the other was, in fact, Clark.

Still wearing his work clothes, pressed dress pants and the white shirt rolled up at the sleeves, his chest just barely stretching at the buttons. His hair was tousled, his eyes unfairly soft and he smelled like butter, basil and the kind of quiet only he seemed to carry in your space.

You stared at him, wide-eyed while he looked at you, entirely unfazed, holding half your weapon like it was a bouquet.

“I’ll get you a steel one,” he said calmly, as if the most normal thing in the world was letting you try to brain him with a Louisville Slugger and then continuing to sauté garlic.

“I knew it was you and I still panicked,” you said, chest still tight, adrenaline peaking. “I am so sorry. God, did I–did I hurt you?”

“You can’t hurt me...physically that is, so if you’re planning on breaking up with me tonight then the answer would be yes, emotionally.”

“I’m not and that’s not the point. The point is I hit you with a bat.”

“And I made you dinner,” he said mildly, nodding toward the stove. “One of us is clearly ahead in this relationship.”

You blinked then laughed, nerves breaking like surface tension. You stepped closer, smelling whatever he was cooking, pasta, maybe. Something with cream, pepper, garlic and fresh herbs, because of course he would make it taste better than the best restaurant in Metropolis. 

Of course he would do this without asking. 

Of course he would smell like rosemary and feel like a safe house in the middle of a war.

He didn’t even wait for you to react or respond. After setting the pan down, he just leaned forward, touched your hips gently and lifted you like you weighed nothing, placing you on the kitchen counter with a softness that felt like something sacred. He stepped in between your knees, pulled you forward by the waist and kissed you slowly, like the world didn’t matter.

You curled your fingers into the collar of his shirt and kissed him back, melting and losing track of everything except the solid warmth of his hands and the way his mouth moved like he already knew what you needed but eventually, your brain kicked back in and you pulled back slightly.

“Mmmm…you’re hiding, aren’t you?”

He paused, forehead leaning against yours.

“You made dinner,” you continued softly, “...You never make dinner unless you’re avoiding headlines.”

“I’m not hiding,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to your jaw.

“You’re literally in the middle of a political firestorm, Clark. There’s a subcommittee meeting about you on four separate networks.” You shifted your head back slightly, forcing him to meet your gaze. “They’re calling it a ‘failed interventional conflict.’ They're saying you lost a war you started.”

He didn’t flinch but he didn’t meet your eyes, either. You exhaled, pressing your palm to his chest. “Let me help, let me do something. I’m not just…whatever this is. I’m still good at my job and you can’t interview yourself forever, it’s suspicious.”

“It’s really not.”

“Oh yeah? Not to mention it’s wildly unprofessional, unethical and quite simply stupid–”

“That’s taking it too far…and I know you’re very good at your job,” he said quietly, one hand brushing your thigh. “Too good.”

“Then let me interview you…him. You know how much it matters, and–”

He was quiet for a second but then nodded. “Fine.”

“…What?” you paused, registering his words. “You’ll let me interview you as…Superman?”

“Yeah… sure,” he agreed, voice sheepish with a slight edge of doubt.

You slid off the counter then, still buzzing from his kiss and went to your bag, pulling out your small field recorder, the one you kept for quick takes and on-the-fly quotes. You placed it on the counter, clicked it on and gave him a small smile as you sat back up on the counter and crossed your legs.

“Alright,” you said, in your best calm-journalist tone, the one that always made people lean in without realizing it, “Superman.”

Something in him changed instantly. You heard it more than saw it, that shift. The register of his voice dropping a full octave, steady, strong and smooth like ocean pressure. It was calm and assured, the voice the world believed in.

“Miss Y/l/n,” he said and just that tone, sent a ripple down your spine that made your knees tighten.

You cleared your throat. “There’s been a lot of controversy around the UN vote last week. Some say you overstepped–”

“I acted on intelligence I believed to be urgent,” he said. “And I take full responsibility for my actions, but I believe they prevented greater loss of life.”

You nodded, swallowing. “And the report about your…uh, withdrawal–”

“I withdrew because I was asked to. Not because I was defeated.”

You were about to ask the next question when he stepped between your legs again, parting them with ease, close enough to touch and pressed a kiss just beneath your ear.

You jolted slightly. “Clark.”

“I’m still answering.” He murmured, voice dipping lower, kisses trailing now to the base of your neck, each one melting something inside your chest. His voice was unsurprisingly steady when he spoke again.  “I intervene when the scale of a disaster surpasses what human systems can handle…I don’t weigh in on politics.”

“You entered a country illegally.”

“I stopped a war.” 

"You crossed borders without permission, ignored airspace alerts, made a decision entire governments didn’t agree on…what–” you began, breath hitching slightly when his fingers gently swept higher, drawing slow circles through the fabric of your pants “–what happens when the public perception of your involvement shifts?”

He tilted his head slightly. “If I’d waited for permission, there wouldn’t have been anyone left to thank me. Bottom line is, I care what the truth is, I care about the people who are afraid and I care when I become a reason they feel unsafe, which I’m not.”

You let out an embarrassing moan which was supposed to be a warning. “Fuck, Clark–”

“Superman,” he corrected, deep and rich in your ear, the sound of it sending something hot and traitorous spiraling in your stomach. “I thought this was formal.”

“It was, Superman.” You gritted out, watching as his hands went higher and higher, “I swear to God–”

Before you could protest any further and remind him of the running recorder, of your journalistic integrity…of anything remotely rational, he kissed you. Full and deliberate, every part of your body folded into it like you’d been waiting to be touched like this again.

The recorder was still on and the interview far from over but neither of you seemed to remember.

His mouth was everywhere, devouring your lips, tracing a desperate path down your jaw, your throat and the hollow where your pulse thundered so loud you were sure he could hear it. His large hands roamed under your shirt, dragging it up inch by inch, fingertips so broad but gentle– always so careful—even when he was trembling with need.

The countertop was cold beneath your thighs but the rest of you was burning. Clark stood between your knees, pressing himself forward until there was nothing but heat and fabric between you.

His hands found the buttons of your blouse, undoing them with almost superhuman precision except when he lost patience, then the fabric tore apart, seams splitting and buttons flying beneath his grip. Your bra followed, straps flicking off your shoulders before his mouth found you again, hot, wet and all teeth scraping gently around your nipples as he sucked and groaned, letting you hear how much he ached for you. 

You arched into him, fingers tangled in his hair as he lavished attention on your hardened nipples, causing your lips to part in pleasure. Your legs parted for him in anticipation as your panties clung to you with unabashed heat. When you gasped, Clark grinned against your skin, catching every tremble in your voice and every spike in your breathing. 

“Your heart,” he growled, moving up to kiss under your jaw, leaving wet kisses and soft bites you wished pierced through your heated skin, “it’s racing. Like you’re about to run or come from me just touching you…so which one is it? Mm? I can hear the blood rushing in your veins.”

His voice vibrated everywhere, inside your chest and especially between your legs in a way that made you grind against the cold marble, erupting soft whimpers from your plumped lips. He brought you even closer to the edge so you could rock your hips against the hardened tent in his pants, desperate for more friction. Your head fell back as he gained more access to your neck, groaning into it as you continued to rub your clothed center against his erection.

The sheer understanding of what was missing settled between the both of you and Clark acted on his desperation first by grabbing the sides of your pants and yanking them down your legs, your panties disappearing with them in one smooth motion as air cooled your swollen and wet folds, making you whine as if it had been your lover’s touch, suddenly withdrawn. He looked down at your nakedness then, eyes darkening with pure want as its sweetness filled his nostrils.

He dropped to his knees as if he’d been defeated, a sight that nearly undid you, spreading you wide on the countertop before he shamelessly buried his face between your thighs, tongue broad and hot, licking a slow stripe from entrance to clit, spreading your folds apart to accommodate him.

Clark groaned at the taste of you, pressing a kiss to your swollen and aching clit before sucking and flicking his tongue against it at just the right pressure. It was never random, he listened to every thud of your heart, every tiny gasp or shuddering inhale, adjusting his rhythm to what made you crazy. His spit mixed with your sweet arousal, coated his lips and chin as he penetrated you with the tip of his tongue. You closed your eyes and gently grinded your hips against his mouth as he continued, eliciting the softest of moans from your beautiful throat while you pulled him closer to you by his hair.

His fingers slid inside you then, replacing his tongue as he let it flick against your bundle of nerves again, making you shudder. His digits were long and thick, curling up to hit a perfect spot that made your vision go white and your eyes roll, a sight he couldn’t help but grin at. He worked you over with a skill that could only come from pattern recognition beyond human ability, sensing precisely when your pulse jumped and when your breath caught just when you were about to fall apart.

“Let go,” he murmured against you, tongue relentlessly moving against you until he felt you pulse. “I know you’re there.”

You cried out, fingers clutching at his hair so hard you were thankful you couldn't hurt him, as you came for him with your hips jerking helplessly against his tongue and fingers. You could feel him smile against your heat as he worked you through every aftershock, sucking and licking you off all you had to offer him.

He stood in a rush, eyes wild, moving with the kind of urgency that said patience was not on the menu tonight and just as your fingers fumbled at his belt, he froze.

“Hang on,” he murmured and vanished in a gust of air so fast it nearly knocked the blender clean off the counter. It teetered for half a second and whoosh he was back, one hand catching it casually mid-air while the other held up a foil square like he hadn’t just broken the sound barrier to practice safe sex. You reached for his belt then but he was already outpacing you, ripping his shirt open like it had personally wronged him and then flinging it aside, exposing the stretch of muscle he was made out of. You ran your hands across his chest causing him to shudder under your soft and warm hands, your lustful gaze heating his skin more than a thousand suns ever could.

He shoved his pants down, boxers barely cleared before his cock sprung free, thick, flushed and achingly hard. You wrapped a hand around him and he groaned like he was a second short of combusting, the sound vibrating in your bones as you watched him roll the condom on. He pulled you to the very edge of the counter guiding his cock against your entrance and slowly pushing in with a clenched jaw and a deathly grip to your thighs. The sight of your pussy leaking and fluttering around it made his hips jerk forward then retract pulling a wince out of you. He paused only to look into your eyes.

“Tell me if I’m too much,” he said, voice hoarse but utterly tender.

You answered by wrapping your legs around his waist, tilting your pelvis back and pulling him in slowly, moaning as he slid deep inside with ease, stretching you so wide you could hardly breathe. Clark gritted his teeth, fighting not to move too fast but the way you squeezed around him made his control snap slightly.

He thrusted slowly at first, savoring every inch of your slick pussy as his lips fell apart, letting out soft gasps of pleasure that made your nipples harder as they tickled his chest. Your hands grabbed at any skin available, nails digging into almost unbreakable skin as his rhythm sped up, fueled by the overwhelming pleasure building between you. Each movement was deep, powerful, filling you so perfectly you could barely hold yourself together.

You both moaned in the same space, sharing breaths as you kissed while your tongues fought for control. You could taste yourself on his lips, the same sweet slick that was now leaking onto the counter and between your naked bodies as he delivered unforgiving thrusts that seemed to split you open, while his hands were around you, making it impossible to even think about pulling back.

“You don’t know how many times…I’ve thought about fucking you over your desk afterhours.” He mumbled onto your mouth with a grin that could’ve made you come. Your heart had staggered and he knew it. “Like the sound of tha’?”

You nodded quickly, messily as pleasure took over your brain and the only thing you could voice were moans and drawled whines.

“Uhhh–What? Want me to…write a piece…about how well Superman f–fucks?”

He chuckled deeply and the counter creaked, threatening to give beneath the force of his grip on the edge whenever he couldn’t force his hands to be gentle on you. He wanted them everywhere, really…on your ass, your thighs, cradling your head while he kissed you silly while his dick caused addicting damage within you. He whispered your name like a secret prayer between grunts and moans that made you forget he wasn’t an ordinary man.

“So beautiful…fuck… sweeter than any sunrise. I’m never giving this up.”

He listened to your body, tuning his pace to the staccato of your heart as it started to climb again and your nails failed to dig deeper into his skin. “That’s it,” he panted. “There, just like that…you’re so close, breathe, baby.”

You were both getting louder now, his voice rougher, needier, while yours was high and desperate as he pounded into you harder, faster, until the counter and everything on it shook violently around you.

“Clark…I–” You broke off into a wail as he hit just the right spot over and over, until your orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave. Your whole body went tight around him and he lost whatever little restraint he had left when your head fell back against the upper cabinet, lips parted and letting out the most sinful sounds he had ever heard. Your pulse points were on full display as blood rushed down, making your pussy and clit pulse for him.

He slammed in hard one last time and crack!. The edge of the countertop sank under his grip as he came inside the condom with a helpless and guttural moan, hips locked tight to yours, burying himself deep inside you so you could feel his cock throb. 

You collapsed against each other, sweat-slick and shaking, his arms still holding you close like he never wanted to let go. Then came the sharp press of something under your hip, the cracked edge of the countertop, jagged and out of place.

You winced and instantly, he lifted you like you weighed nothing, cradling you against him as he stepped back, brows furrowed with guilt.

He pressed soft kisses all over your face and shoulders while you caught your breath. “Sorry about the mess…I’ll pay for it.” he added with a sheepish little smile, leaning in to kiss the spot behind your ear he knew made you sigh.

You brushed a kiss over his lips and chuckled breathlessly. “Yes you will.”

Clark grinned against your mouth, his hands still sliding softly over your sides but then your gaze drifted and landed on something that made your stomach drop.

The recorder. Still blinking and running.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back slightly as panic flooded your chest. “Shit, shit. The interview.”

He blinked, lips parted and twitching into a smile as he fumbled for the stop button like it might bite him. “I trust you’ll keep this part off the record.”

You turned your head to glare at him. “You have to say that before you rail me into the countertop!”

He smirked, hugging you closer like the most unbothered man alive. “Noted. I’ll…make sure to think about that the next time”

You stared at him, still breathless, ruined and absolutely already planning on letting him destroy you again…after you destroyed the recording, of course. Just in case.

[andwordsarefutiledevicess]

press relations

stanford!artdonaldson x sportsjournalist!reader

summary: assigned to write a profile of stanford's rising tennis star, you get to know art better. much better.

warnings: smut, dry humping, b0ner alert, implied consent

a/n: this does have a *hint* of art x patrick x reader undertones at the end! any (constructive) feedback is appreciated :)

you get the message as you exit the lecture hall and head to the cafeteria for lunch. “other writers are busy. can you take the art donaldson profile?” reads the text from your editor. having written for the stanford daily as a sports reporter for the past year, you’re no stranger to turning a dull interview with a rather dim-witted football player into an oh-so-riveting piece. however, this is out of your comfort zone.

tennis is…boring. sure, you’d happily tagged along to a couple of tashi duncan’s matches, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to see an olympic-bound athlete in her prime, but it isn’t your ideal way to spend a saturday afternoon. 

and yet, that is exactly what you are doing. the donaldson interview is lined up for directly after his match with a ucla player. “he’s got a tight schedule, so we need to accommodate him,” said your editor when you questioned why you had to sit through a match and then manage to cram in an interview in the men’s fucking lockerroom. 

art donaldson is a year above you, living in the same dorm. you recognize most athletes at this point—in part because they’re constantly (obnoxiously) sporting team merch, and because of your job—but art is known by most for his friendship with tashi duncan. neither are particularly social, keeping their circle tight amongst fellow tennis players, both at stanford and professionals. 

it’s difficult not to stick out in the bleachers. while other players, including a brown-haired boy cheering quite loudly, observe the game, it’s by no means packed. as donaldson pauses for water after the first set, he catches your gaze, giving an awkward wave in acknowledgement as he wipes the sweat from his face. you silently pray that he knows you’re the reporter he’s supposed to speak to, and doesn’t just think you’re some crazed tashi duncan fangirl. 

his playing is statuesque, long limbs sweeping across the court (but not entirely stripped of the boyish energy that defined his success as a high school student). after beating his opponent 2-0, donaldson steps off the court, dramatically embraced by the brown-haired spectator, who you have since realized is his former doubles partner, patrick zweig, and you take this as a signal to get this interview started before he becomes swept up in celebrations. 

climbing down the bleachers, you see art duck down into the hallway, making his way into the locker rooms. in all your time as a sports reporter, you hadn’t had such an…unconventional… interview location, and you feel a bit sick as the sound of the shower draws closer. 

“art donaldson?” you say, standing just outside the open door of the locker room. 

“yeah” he calls back, as though he was expecting you, but not entirely welcoming the intrusion. the shower turns off, and the soft sound of his steps on the tiles echo. “well, come in,” he calls again. 

you step into the steam-filled space with your eyes directed down. “i understand you have physical therapy shortly, so i’ll try to keep this quick—,” you say, taken aback as you finally draw your eyes upward. he’s managed to pull on a pair of checkered boxers, fabric sticking to his still-damp body. 

you can’t imagine you look particularly composed, hair sticking to your face from the steam with a burning blush spread across your cheeks. you watch as art bites his cheek and awkwardly motions for you to sit on the bench across from him as he methodically changes the overgrip on his racket. 

“so,” you say, clearing your throat, “how did you first become interested in tennis?” he glances up from his task. “my parents needed someone to watch me, and my grandma was busy, so they stuck me in a local tennis camp. i doubt they realized that they were signing up for over a decade of tennis running my—and their—lives.”

you hum in agreement. “and what specific areas of your game are you hoping to improve on this season?” you follow up. his gaze becomes more intent—more focused. setting the racket to his side, art stands, before quickly realizing he’s still only boxer-clad. you stare at the opposite wall, hoping to save him the embarrassment, and you see him fumble to slip on shorts out of the corner of your eye. he clears his throat. “ – um – yeah, i’m trying to get faster on my feet. sorry, i—” he says, before you cut him off in protest. “no, no, i should have given you a moment to clean up after your match, it’s my fault,” you say, rising off of the bench awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. 

but with the lingering steam, and your downward gaze, your fumble to exit the locker room instead lands you into direct contact with his chest. “shit! sorry,” you exclaim, drawing your chin up. a wash of heat cascades from your head, nipples taut, despite the warmth of the room, as your body reacts to the sudden proximity. art is equally flushed, pink lips slightly parted and chest rocking as he concentrates on breathing deeply, trying to lower his racing heart. you can smell him, fresh with a hint of that post-game sweat, a droplet of water falling from a blonde curl. 

he brings a calloused hand to your hair, brushing it behind your shoulder, as if to ask permission. the slight nod and glaze of your tongue over your lips is enough for him to understand, his breath heavy against your face as your noses are close enough to touch. that final centimeter is finally closed, and it’s as though air rushes back into you while inhibition is tossed out. without thinking, your hair tangles into his mess of damp hair, and you feel his soft moan against your lips. you gasp as his hand grabs your ass, drawing you into contact with his erection (for how much of that interview was he hard?). 

“you—ah—you have physical th-therapy,” you say, breathless as he works his mouth down your jaw and neck. “just…five more minutes,” he says in between kisses, like a teenager wishing to sleep in, causing you to chuckle. bringing your left knee up, your hips are suddenly flush against his, and the new contact sends you both reeling, his cock twitching in his shorts. you tentatively rock, again, against his groin, and you both seem to realize that that hit the spot. pushing your back against a locker, art draws his groin against yours again, and again, his soft pants becoming near whimpers as your lips meet for a desperate, sloppy kiss. 

you’re lost in the rhythm the two of you have found, ignoring the rattle of the lockers with each thrust. fuck you’re embarrassingly close (that’s what a two month dry spell will do for you) but before you have to worry about coming too early, you hear his strangled voice in your ear. “ – f-fuck, s-sorry i’m close, was so pent up.” before you’re able to reply, your body has taken this as permission to let the orgasm wash over you at last. still reeling from your own orgasm, you feel the warm spread of art’s cum seep through the thin fabric of his shorts, as he continues to rut against you. 

bringing your arms up to hurriedly fix your now-tangled hair, you draw away from art. a fresh blush comes to your cheeks at the realization of how silly you feel, grinding like a pubescent teen. art seems tired, yes, but not embarrassed, slipping off his pants and boxers and replacing them with clean ones. before he’s got his wits back, you’re out the door, praying no one managed to overhear the encounter. to your dismay, patrick zweig, smug as ever, sits outside the locker room.

[hucklerobbys]

after midnight

patrick zweig x f!reader x art donaldson smut

summary: they both want you, and you definitely know it

etc: nsfw, fingering, oral f!receiving (kind of), patrick doesn't rlly do anything he sits there and looks pretty

a/n: A BITCH IS BACK i know u all missed my writing

word count: 959

You thought fire and ice were fitting monikers for them. Patrick was holding you up and your back was pressed against his bare chest and, god, he was warm. And Art’s fingers were gliding down your torso, long and nimble and cold. 

You shivered at the touch and Patrick chuckled behind you. He mouthed a kiss onto the pulse point on your neck and your legs were jelly. “My legs hurt,” You whined as Art’s fingers played with the hem of your panties. 

“I’m holding you. And you’re kneeling on a mattress,” Patrick nipped at your ear. 

“It still hurts,” You groaned, tilting your head back to lock eyes with him. 

His smile tilted to the side as he looked at you, “You’re such a princess.” 

Art chuckled from his position. He was kneeling on the floor, fingers tracing shapes into your tummy as he looked up at you. “You really are,” He said it more kindly than Patrick, as if princess were a petname rather than a mock. 

Art’s fingers curled into the lacy waistband of your underwear and he started to tug them down your thighs. Patrick’s breathing seemed to grow heavier as he watched over your shoulder. You turned your head and whispered to him, “You have a little crush on Art?” 

His face grew hotter next to yours. “Shut up. Let him fuck you.” 

You pat his cheek, “Sure.” You cast your gaze down to Art, “Are you gonna fuck me?” 

He looked like a puppy, staring up at you with those big eyes that you could get completely lost in. “Is that what you want?” He asked as he placed a kiss on your hip. 

You swallowed a whine, “Yeah.” 

“I can do that.” He looked up at you, those blue eyes shining like they held a secret, and then he added a soft, “Princess.” 

You let out a soft moan and he focused his attention to spreading you apart and then sucking gently on your clit. You gasped and tilted your head back. As Art worked his tongue on your cunt, Patrick’s hands slipped from gripping your shoulders to keep you up and down to slip into your bra. 

“Patrick,” You whispered, snaking your hand up to cup the back of his neck. 

His fingers tweaked your nipples as he tutted. “Don’t focus on me. What’s Art doing to you, baby?” His voice was low and sweet and it made you tremble. 

You did as you were told and looked back down, just in time to see Art moving one of his hands up. His fingers gently placed with your folds and you whimpered, wanting more than that. “Art, please,” You whined, carding your fingers through his wavy blonde hair. 

“Use your words, Princess,” He mouthed around you. 

You tugged on his hair and groaned, “Put your fingers in me.” 

“Good girl,” He mumbled. 

His fingers stopped teasing and started pushing, up and into you. You groaned, nails digging into his scalp and into Patrick’s neck. 

His tongue lapped at your clit as he moved his fingers inside of you. Your legs were shaking and everything felt melty and good. Patrick’s mouth was on your neck again, sucking marks into the soft skin. 

Patrick sunk his teeth into you at the same time that Art thrust his fingers up into you and you let out a shuddering gasp. “Fuck you,” You moaned, stretching out a few of the golden ringlet’s of Art’s hair. 

“That’s the goal,” Patrick chuckled into your ear. 

“Shut up,” You hissed, rolling your hips with each movement of Art’s fingers. 

He removed his mouth from your cunt to sloppily kiss your hips and tummy as he fucked his fingers into you. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” He muttered, this time adding a small scrape of teeth to his kisses. 

You didn’t even have time to come up with a reply because he had popped up and was kissing you as he worked a third finger into you.

You felt that familiar coil build up in your belly and you scratched at his back. 

“You think she’s gonna cum?” Patrick asked as he nipped at your ear. 

Art pulled back and smirked, “Look at her face. Definitely. Are you gonna cum for us, princess?” It almost felt stupid, the way he had latched onto that particular petname, but all you could do was nod and let out a noise that was half between a gasp and a moan. 

One of Patrick’s hands dropped from holding you (which only made the fact that he was holding you up with one hand even hotter) and reached around to rub your clit along with the thrusts of Art’s fingers. “So, so good,” He mumbled, licking where your jaw connected to your ear. 

Art pushed his fingers into you once more and that was enough to have that coil in your tummy unravel. You groaned, slumping your head down into the crook of Art’s neck as the waves of your orgasm washed through you. “That’s it, just like that,” He crooned sweetly, kissing the top of your head. 

Patrick finally let you go and you all but crumpled. “Is that all you got in you?” Patrick asked, leaning over you and scrunching up his nose. 

You scoffed, “Fuck off. Go jerk each other off in a cold shower.” You pushed his face away as he laughed against your palm. 

On the other hand, Art was licking your cum off of his fingers, and if you weren’t already fucked out, you would probably be up and ready to go again. 

“Go to sleep, Patrick and I will take turns with a ‘cold shower,’” Art said, leaning down and kissing your forehead. 

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” 

[nottsangel-rip]

just friends — p.z. & a.d.

pairing: fwb!patrick zweig x fem!stanford!reader x bsf!stanford!art donaldson

warnings: smut 18+, threesome, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (m. and f. receiving), creampie, praise, dirty talk, everyone is really into each other

word count: 4.5k

summary: you and patrick have been secretly hooking up behind art’s back for months without him suspecting a thing. however, everything changes when art unexpectedly walks in on you both.

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“Fuck!” you cursed when your trembling, non-dominant hand holding the nail polish applicator accidentally painted your skin bright red with a rogue flick. Hastily shoving the applier back into the glass bottle, you reached for a tissue, carelessly splashed some nail polish remover on it, and tried to fix the mess as best as you could. You squinted your eyes as you dabbed the remover-soaked tissue on your skin, the sun gradually setting and the chilly evening summer breeze feeling pleasant against your skin in your humid Stanford dorm room. 

“That’s… better.” you mumbled to yourself as you held your hands in front of you, admiring your freshly painted nails with a satisfied grin, when three loud knocks on your dorm room door resonated through the room, making you jump and let out a small squeal in surprise, jolting you out of your trance. 

Hastily, you tucked away your nail polish supplies before another set of impatient knocks echoed through the space. “Coming!” you yelled out, leaping towards the door with a rush of excitement coursing through your body, knowing exactly who was waiting on the other side. 

You carefully grasped the handle, ensuring not to ruin your fresh nail polish, and pulled the door open with a beaming smile. In front of the door opening, your best friend stood with his hands in his pockets and a broad grin that widened when he saw your excited expression. 

“Patrick!” you exclaimed, holding your arms out as he swiftly wrapped you in a hug, lifted you from the ground, and spun you around while casually closing the door with his foot. “Careful, careful! I just painted my nails!” you grumbled, quickly checking your nails with a concerned frown before he set you back down on the ground.

“You were getting all dolled up f’me? You didn’t have to, you know.” You rolled your eyes, his cocky attitude already surfacing after approximately ten seconds. “Oh, shut up. And uhm, If you didn’t know already, I’m actually seeing someone. Stanford has some pretty cute guys, surprisingly.”

Patrick narrowed his eyes, closely observing your face with a serious expression before a wide grin broke out. He chuckled while shaking his head, his eyes briefly drifting away from yours before he firmly gripped your jaw, “You’re fucking lying.” A small smile tugged at your lips, unable to maintain your poker face any longer. Having been best friends for so long, it was easy for both of you to spot a lie.

“I mean, obviously you’re not seeing anyone. C’mon baby, we both know no one can fuck you as good as I can.” he taunted, his voice low and raspy, before he stepping closer to you until you’re merely inches away from each other, the smirk on his face gradually fading.

His eyes looked right into yours, then shifted to your lips as he licked his own before abruptly cupping your face with both hands and pressing his lips to yours hungrily. His mouth was warm against yours, a mingling of passion and urgency as teeth clashed briefly and tongues fought for dominance while you could taste the faint hint of cigarettes mixed with minty gum.

You were well aware of the risks that came with being friends with benefits, but god, it was so fucking addictive. Patrick had a way of making you feel like none of your ex-boyfriends ever had, which kept you coming back for more. 

And since the two of you first hooked up at a party, both intoxicated and horny, a few months have passed of you continuing as friends with benefits without any issues yet. You both agreed right away to keep it a secret from your other best friend, Art, fearing it might complicate things between you three or potentially ruin your close friendship. And so far, it worked out just fine, and everything between you three remained as normal as ever. 

“Have you seen Art already?” You questioned as you broke the kiss, making him whine as his rough hands wandered all over your body, reaching your waist.

“Hmm, what? Art? No, no, not yet. I— uh, I have more important things on my mind first.” He snickered, his signature smirk spreading across his face, before swiftly pushing you onto your bed, causing you to bounce lightly on the mattress as you gazed up at him through your eyelashes, taking in his athletic shape. You noticed he had grown more muscular since the last time you saw him, nearly making you drool at the sight of his biceps flexing as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, revealing his defined abs.

He then fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, his impatient and hurried manners only slowing him down instead, making him groan in frustration before finally yanking his trousers off and kicking them to the side. Your eyes were instantly drawn to his tented boxers, with precum forming a wet patch on the fabric as he approached you on the bed, causing you to unconsciously spread your legs open.

“Fuck, I haven’t gone a day without thinking about you, you know that? Your sweet mouth, your perfect tits, your pretty pussy. You have no idea how much I’ve looked forward to this moment.” he whispered with a raspy voice, your floral perfume filling his senses as he removed your top, the soft material gliding over your head, and then did the same to your shorts, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, before tossing them to the ground, leaving a pile of scattered clothes on the floor of your dorm room. 

“So… what? you’re telling me that you haven’t fucked any girls on tour? At all?” You asked sceptically with a raised eyebrow as he knelt before you on the bed, his lips slightly parted with a sly smile on his face as he admired your stunning body, a red lace lingerie set perfectly hugging your figure, his eyes scanning every inch of you. “Shit. You’re so fucking hot.” he chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief that someone as hot as you would want to have sex with him. 

“Baby, trust me when I say the only thing I’ve fucked these past few weeks was my own hand while thinking about you.” he assured you as his head lowered to your neck, but you caught him off guard when you swiftly pushed him off, causing him to land on his back beside you before straddling his lap, grinning down at him. He groaned at your sudden dominance, a smug smile playing on his lips as his wandering hand moved to your ass, roughly squeezing it as he gazed up at you. 

“Hmm, really? While thinking about me, huh? That’s cute.” You whispered while grinding your hips right on top of his boner, the sensation of your swollen clit rubbing against him making you grow wetter with each passing second, desperately needing to feel him inside of you after weeks of not seeing him. 

“Oh c’mon, baby. Don’t act like you haven’t been doing the same. I know for a fact you’ve been using that pink toy of yours while moaning my name every time you came.” He taunted, then proceeded to imitate you mockingly by moaning his own name in a high-pitched tone. Dickhead. He knew you too well. 

“Oh, fuck you, Patrick.” You playfully slapped him on the chest with a sheepish smile on your face, neither denying nor confirming anything as he cockily stared up at you with half-lidded eyes. “Only if you ask nicely, sweetheart.” 

The smirk on his face quickly faded as you unexpectedly quickened your movements and lowered your head towards his neck, planting sloppy kisses along his jawline before nibbling on his earlobe, causing him to groan and buck his hips up in desperation.

You teasingly moved your mouth towards his, ghosting your lips against his and making him reach for you desperately, causing you to smirk. He bit his lip, staring at you with hunger in his eyes, until you finally gave in and kissed him eagerly, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips met his. Smacking noises along with soft moans filled the room, fully immersed in the moment, unable to think about anything else but his roaming hands roughly exploring your half-naked body as you lustfully made out. 

Suddenly, the door burst open, jolting you both out of your trance as you quickly broke the kiss, a string of saliva still linking your lips. 

Your heart leapt in your throat as you saw your best friend, Art, standing frozen in the doorway, his jaw dropping and his face turning red with one hand still tightly clutching the door handle. A hot wave of embarrassment crashed over him, and none of you dared to move— Patrick stared at Art with wide eyes, while Art's blue eyes darted between the two of you.

Both Patrick and Art remained frozen, too embarrassed and shocked to move. But you— you stayed put for a different reason. You were intrigued by how this scene would unfold, silently waiting for one of them to speak, a spark of mischief dancing in your eyes.

“Oh my god. Sorry, I— uh, I didn’t know you guys— I didn’t know you guys were, uhm, together.” Art stammered, finally breaking the silence as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head, his wide eyes unsure where to look and his lips tightly pressed together into a thin line. 

“No, no, we aren’t, I promise! This is just— It’s like— we’re—” Patrick stammered, trying his best to come up with an excuse but failing miserably, so you quickly cut him off, “We aren’t together.” You remarked with a casual indifference, sitting up straight on Patrick’s lap now with your hands resting on his bare chest for support. Art finally mustered the courage to meet your gaze, one eyebrow raised in confusion and his lips parted as if to speak, but he was too dumbfounded to find the words.

“We’re just… you know, friends who… occasionally have sex.” You shifted your gaze back to Patrick, who snapped out of his frozen state and inhaled a deep breath, his cheeks flushing bright red, clearly unsure how to react. “I wanna die right now.” Patrick muttered through clenched teeth, his voice barely audible as he slowly dragged his hands over his red face in embarrassment.

You returned your attention to Art again who hadn’t moved an inch, still awkwardly standing there. A cunning smile tugged at your lips as you took in the scene. “So are you just going to watch like a fucking creep or are you actually going to join us?”

 “What!?” Art, blurted out, eyes wide with disbelief as he swallowed hard, the sound of the gulp almost audible in the stunned silence. “You should, uh… come here and join us— As friends, of course.”

From your peripheral vision, you noticed Patrick's face gradually light up as soon as you suggested Art to join you, his excitement clearly visible. It was obvious, really— Patrick had always been attracted to Art. You could see it in the way he teased him, the smile that appeared whenever Art entered the room, and the subtle touches here and there. So, just before Patrick arrived, you had texted Art, asking him to meet you both in your room in ten minutes. But Patrick didn’t need to know that. To him, this all was simply a perfect accident. 

“Uhm… I, uh— yeah, okay. I mean, sure.” Art let out an awkward chuckle and nodded slightly, the tension he was feeling gradually washing away and his stance slowly relaxing, though he still hadn't fully processed what he'd just walked in on, but he was more than eager to join. 

He closed the door behind him and made his way towards you both, his eyes unintentionally darting between your half-naked body and Patrick’s tented boxers, before sitting on the edge of the bed as you rose from Patrick’s lap. 

“I can’t believe you guys left me out of this.” He joked, but there was a hint of seriousness in his tone, which made you gaze at him with a sympathetic expression as you straddled his lap, hands resting on his toned shoulders. 

“We’re sorry, really. It wasn’t… intentional. But I promise we’ll take good care of you now, okay?” you whispered softly, your sharp nails grazing over the skin of his neck before moving to the hem of his shirt. In one swift motion, you pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. 

“Well, you better. I mean, you both have a lot to apologise for here, just saying.” Art teased, a challenging tone in his voice now as you could feel his erection growing bigger right beneath your dripping core. Patrick now sat beside Art, wasting no time as he attached his lips to Art’s neck and planted wet kisses while whispering softly against his skin, “We didn’t mean to. It just— it just happened, you know? But uhm… we’ll make it up to you.” 

Art could only moan in response, strangled noises escaping his mouth as you began to slowly move your hips back and forth right on his painfully hard boner. His roaming hands explored your body with caution and eagerness, while his blue eyes stared down at your barely covered figure with his mouth slightly agape, giving him a perfect view of your cleavage. “Oh my fucking god.” 

You then firmly gripped his jaw as your mouth slowly drew closer to his, causing him to shift his gaze back up, half-lidded eyes staring at you before your soft lips met his. Your bodies pressed together as his mouth moved against yours with an unrestrained passion while Patrick sloppily placed love bites all over Art’s neck and collarbones, whispering soft apologies against his skin.

Art felt as if he were in heaven as he sat on the edge of the bed, a warm glow spreading through him. The soft smacking noises of your and Patrick’s lips seemed to blend perfectly with his racing heart as his cheeks heated up, savouring every second of the moment. 

You then grasped Patrick’s jaw, pulling his head toward yours and Art’s, inviting him into the kiss. Soon all three of you were entangled in the kiss, tongues moving against each other, fueled by the pent-up sexual energy between the three of you that finally seemed to burst. The world around you faded as Patrick’s lips pressed against yours with a hunger that was soon matched by Art’s, both of them eagerly moving their tongues against each other’s and yours while yearning for more. 

Art's hand glided over your bare back, pausing at the clasp of your bra. He skillfully unclasped it with one hand, slipping it off your shoulders and throwing it aside, your bra quickly replaced by his firm hand. You softly moaned into their mouths at the feeling of Art kneading your breasts, causing him to slyly smirk into the kiss, meanwhile Patrick's hand travelled to between your thighs, trailing over your clothed cunt and feeling your wetness through the fabric.

You gently pulled away from the kiss, your mouth parting from theirs as quick breaths left your swollen lips. Gazing at your two best friends kissing before you, you carefully lifted yourself from Art’s lap.

Both of them were lost in their own world, lips still attached to each other as they hungrily kissed each other, the passion in their kiss so intense and urgent that they didn’t even notice you breaking the kiss. A mischievous smirk spread across your face as you slowly dropped down to your knees in front of them. Your eyes remained locked on the boys as sighs and moans echoed throughout the room, the hunger and longing for one another overtaking them both.  

Your hands eagerly grasped at Art’s pants as you fumbled with the buttons, causing him to break the kiss and snap his head towards you, finally jolting him out of the trance and, for the first time, realising that you had pulled away from the kiss. “Why are you stopping? Go on, continue.” You ordered, Art’s hips instinctively bucking up so you could pull his pants down. Patrick was the first to resume the kiss, his hand gliding against Art’s jaw as he guided him back towards him, their lips meeting once again. 

Both of them were now sitting in only their boxers, their erections clearly visible as they were making out heavily. A sense of power surged through you as you attentively gazed up at them and palmed them through their boxers at the same time, noticing their bodies instantly tensing up at your touch as they moaned into each other’s mouths. After a short while, you freed them both from their last piece of clothing, their erections jumping free against their abs with precum leaking from the top.

“Gonna make my boys feel so fucking good.” You murmured as you wrapped your hands around both of them and simultaneously pumped their cocks at a slow pace while licking your lips, nearly drooling at the sight in front of you. 

You drew your head closer to Patrick’s cock first, starting by gently licking the tip and feeling him melt under your touch before you wrapped your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks. He let out a loud moan in Art’s mouth and gripped the sheets when feeling your head bob up and down on his erection. You made sure to flick your tongue over the pink tip at the same time, knowing exactly what drove Patrick crazy. 

Then, you withdrew from Patrick and moved to Art who was eagerly waiting to feel your warm mouth around him after seeing how Patrick reacted to your touch. Your tongue moved along the length of his shaft before reaching the tip, swirling your tongue over the most sensitive part. A string of curse words flowed softly from his mouth as your lips wrapped around his cock and pushed yourself down on him until you felt him touch the back of your throat, all while your other hand stroked Patrick’s cock at a fast pace.

Groans and shattered breaths escaped both their lips as you alternated between sloppily sucking them both off, saliva running down your chin while using your hand on the one that wasn't in your mouth at the time, bringing them closer and closer to their release. 

The kiss between them grew more heated and sloppy with each passing second, and they were both desperate to let go, but you abruptly stopped right before they could. Both of their heads snapped in your direction with disappointed expressions on their flushed faces, panting heavily as you gazed up at them with a sly smile.

“Not yet. I want you to cum inside of me. Both of you.” you murmured as you gazed up at them through your eyelashes with your lips slick and swollen. The sight of you kneeling in front of them, spit tracing down your chin and making a mess all over your tits as you stared up at them with large, doe-like eyes could make them cum on the spot. A soft oh my god slipped from Art’s lips as he fixed his gaze on you with a mesmerised grin, causing Patrick’s eyes to shift from you to Art, a knowing smile forming on his lips, chuckling as he noticed his enchanted expression. 

“Art looks like he’s already about to cum, baby. Help the poor guy out.” Patrick chuckled, causing Art to snap out of his trance and lightly push Patrick to the side, his cheeks heating up because it was true— he was so fucking close already. 

You rose to your feet, slipped your soaked underwear down and stepped out of them, before gently pushing Art onto the bed, making him lie flat on his back. Patrick moved behind you, his eyes fixed on your figure as you hovered over Art’s lap, your hands pressing against his chest and your wetness dripping onto him.

“You want me to fuck you, Art? ‘Cause I don’t know, I’m just… not fully convinced yet.” You taunted, his mouth slightly agape in mesmerisation as he stared up at you. “You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?“ You raised an eyebrow at him with a naughty grin dancing on your lips, waiting for him to say the words you so badly wanted to hear. “Fuck baby, you have no idea how bad I need you. I want you to fuck me, please.” 

With a satisfied smile, you lined his cock up to your entrance and slowly sank down, feeling him gradually fill you up and stretch you out completely, causing you to hiss with pleasure. Art threw his head back at the sensation, and his hands instinctively moved to your hips, gripping them firmly to prevent himself from cumming straight away. “Is this okay?” You asked, slowly rolling your hips on top of him and resting your hands on his chest for support.  “Yeah, that’s— fuck, that’s amazing. Please— keep going, baby.”

“Yeah, she feels good, huh?” Patrick chuckled, a smug grin spreading across his face as he reached around to massage your tits from behind, teasing your sensitive nipples while you leaned against his shoulder. Your hand found its way to his cock and began to stroke him slowly, causing him to moan into your neck and leave a trail of kisses. 

“So fucking good, oh my god. I can’t believe you’ve kept her to yourself all this time, man.” Art replied, before letting out a hitched breath as you slowly began to rhythmically move up and down on him. The curve of Art’s cock allowed him to rub against your g-spot so perfectly, it caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head and let out a loud moan, one hand resting on his chest and the other one pumping Patrick’s erection at a fast pace. 

You murmured a soft come here to Patrick, beckoning him to move closer to Art. You let go of Patrick and took Art’s hand, guiding it towards Patrick’s cock before wrapping his hand around it firmly.

“Make him feel good.” you murmured, and Art quickly obliged as he began to move his hand up and down on Patrick’s cock, allowing you to focus on the movements of your hips. Your fingers gently trailed over Art’s abs all the way to his lips, before sticking them in his mouth and forcing him to suck on your digits. Art’s eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of your cunt squeezing him so tightly, meanwhile, Patrick’s stared at him through half-lidded eyes and his mouth agape, making it even more obvious to you that he has been waiting for this moment for a long fucking time. 

Sensual moans and grunts from all three of you filled the room as you moved your hips at a fast pace, and you’re so certain other people in the building could hear you, but at this moment, you couldn’t care less.

Patrick’s hand moved down to where your and Art’s bodies connected and began massaging his balls, only adding to the intense pleasure Art was already feeling, causing him to grip the sheets. 

“I’m not— I’m not gonna last long.” Art cried out, biting his lip as he was nearing his release. “Let go, baby. Wanna feel you cum inside of me.” You could feel his cock twitch at your words before he let out a choked sob and painted your walls white, cumming as deep into you as possible. “Good boy.” you whispered as you cupped his flushed face with your hands and kissed him, giving him time to recover from his orgasm as he whispered against your lips, “So fucking good, oh my god.”

You then slowly lifted yourself off his cock, a mixture of your juices and his sperm dripping down your thighs, but Patrick quickly moved behind you as soon as he noticed, grabbing your hips and hungrily sucking on your neck. “Let me help you finish, pretty girl. You want that? Hmm?”

A soft please was all you could get out before he positioned himself behind you and pushed in with one quick thrust, too impatient to take it slow since he was already so fucking close to his release. When he was balls deep inside of you, he wrapped his bicep around your neck and pulled you up, your back resting against his sweat-soaked chest. 

“Get— fuck, get under her, Art.” Art instantly understood as he moved his head directly under your body and wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it eagerly while Patrick began to move inside of you. He quickly set a steady but rough pace, causing you to arch your back as he massaged your inner walls so perfectly, strangled noises escaping your lips. “Oh— oh my fucking god.”

It was so fucking messy— Patrick pounding into you while Art’s cum was still deep inside of you, causing a mixture of both Art’s cum and your juices to drip down onto Art, who was ferally sucking on your swollen clit, making you moan both their names loudly over and over again. 

Patrick’s focused gaze was fixed on his cock disappearing into your body, and it felt like a dream come true to fuck his best friend with his other best friend’s cum dripping out of you at the same time— it used to be merely a fantasy that he would think about while stroking himself late at night all alone in his room.

He groaned as his hand reeled back before slapping your ass, causing you to clench around his cock as you moaned loudly. “Oh fuck, feels— feels so fucking good.” 

Your eyes fluttered shut when he continued rubbing against that one spot inside you that made your toes curl, the pleasure building as you could feel his cock twitching inside you. 

“Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m— I’m gonna cum” you cried out, brows knit together as you felt your release approaching. “Fuck, cum for us, baby.” Art moaned into your cunt, his tongue moving faster against your sensitive clit. 

Another forceful thrust and your orgasm struck you, causing you to see stars as your vision blurred, your nails digging deep into Patrick’s arm. His hips began to stagger, losing rhythm, and you knew he was close too before you felt a pool of warmth inside of you as he filled you to the brim with his cum. A string of curse words left his lips as his grip around your body tightened when he felt your body go limp, trying his best to hold you up while slowly moving his hips and riding out his high. 

Art lay back down on the bed again, sensing that you were about to collapse, and you soon did, falling right on top of his body, and giving Patrick a perfect view of your cum-dripping cunt. 

“Oh well that was..” Art began, as Patrick chimed in, “Yup.” “And that.” “I know.” “And THAT.” “Yeahhh.” “Just, don’t you guys fucking dare leave me out of this next time!” Art demanded, his tone firm with his chest still heaving up and down. “Got it, no more secrets from now on. Right, Patrick?” you reassured Art, then glanced back at Patrick. “Yeah, I mean… both our cum is literally, like, dripping out of you, baby. I don’t think we can ever go back to normal after this.”

thank you for reading !! comments and reblogs are very much appreciated ♡

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[stray-kaz]

Three Day Hire : a Leo Grande x reader FF : four

A/N: Oh my gosh, this took me ALL DAY. I barely know if it’s any good right now. I really hope it is, in spite of my stuffy nose and headaches! Take pity on me lol. Let me know what you think. :)

18 and up, y’all.

The room was mostly dark thanks to the blackout curtains, but a tiny ripple of light made its way through and danced across your closed eyelids, drawing you too quickly out of sleep. You crinkled your nose and rolled, the top of your forehead making solid contact with Leo’s hard shoulder. You groaned and opened your eyes. He blinked at you sleepily and rolled up onto his elbow.

“You okay?” he asked, his accent suddenly thicker.

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[stray-kaz]

Three Day Hire : a Leo Grande x reader FF : five

18 and up, y’all.

On the morning of your brother’s wedding, you woke up half on top of Leo, your head on his chest and one leg thrown across his hips. He stirred underneath you and lifted one hand to the back of your head, stroking your hair.

“Mornin’, baby” he murmured, pushing himself up to kiss your forehead. “How’d you sleep?”

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[emjayewrites]

Synergy (1/12)

SYNOPSIS: Tatianna "Tati" Mason, an avid John Boyega fan, is caught in a thunderstorm one night. A lightning strike transports her to an alternate universe and to her astonishment, she soon discovers that she is dating John Boyega himself. In this magical realm, she experiences firsthand the love and affection he exudes on-screen, but now it's directed at her. As she experiences the enchanting world of her dreams, she navigates the intricacies of being in a relationship with a celebrity she idolizes. She learns the realities of John's life beyond the public eye, the pressures he faces, and the genuine person he is beneath the fame. Eventually, Tati must grapple with the inevitable: staying in this alternate reality or returning to her own world.

PAIRING: John Boyega x Tatianna "Tati" Mason

WARNINGS: drama, angst, cursing, explicit sexual content, not-so-glamorous life in the entertainment world. RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: Please let me know if you would like to be added to this short series.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This series is set from late 2022 (September) to the present.

Chapter I: The Storm's Embrace

Tati stepped through the opened subway doors in the heart of New York City, her eyes scanning the crowded train for an available seat. Spotting an empty corner, she hurriedly made her way there, grateful for a moment of respite after a long day at work as a fashion advisor at Chanel. With her stylish, pre-loved designer work tote draped over her arm, she let out a content sigh as the subway train accelerated beneath the bustling streets of Manhattan, carrying her toward her cozy studio in Brooklyn. The rhythmic clatter of the tracks and the chatter of fellow commuters created a symphony of urban life that enveloped her senses.

Leaning her head against her hand, Tati's mind buzzed with thoughts of what awaited her at home. Overdue chores and half-completed applications to prestigious fashion schools around the world beckoned for her attention. The weight of responsibility tugged at her thoughts, but for now, she allowed herself to be carried away by the fleeting moments of the subway journey.

Amidst the urban symphony, Tati's mind wandered to her dreams and aspirations, fueled by her relentless determination to make her mark. Having earned a degree in Comparative Literature from Columbia University, she soon found herself standing at a crossroads, faced with the decision of whether to embrace her true passion for fashion or heed her parents' protests and follow a different path. Fashion had always been Tati's hidden flame, an alluring world that beckoned her like a siren's call. From her earliest memories, she had found joy in exploring fashion museums, losing herself in the vibrant stories told through clothing and style. She would spend hours perusing glossy fashion magazines, absorbing the artistry and creativity that graced their pages.

Yet, the expectations of her family loomed large, urging her towards a more conventional career. But it was that one pivotal moment almost two years ago that changed everything. When the opportunity to attend New York Fashion Week presented itself, Tati's heart leaped with excitement, and the path ahead became clear.

In the heart of the bustling fashion capital, she witnessed the magic of designers unveiling their collections, models strutting down runways with effortless grace, and the passionate crowd celebrating the art of fashion. It was in those exhilarating moments that Tati knew in her soul that this was the life she wanted – to be part of the world that stirred her heart. With newfound clarity, she made a brave decision, pushing her anxiety aside and embracing her true calling. The journey ahead was far from easy, and the weight of her parents' expectations tugged at her resolve. But Tati knew that she could no longer deny the fire that burned within her.

As the subway train reached her destination, Tati stood up, ready to embrace the reality that awaited her beyond the subway's embrace. The doors slid open, and she stepped out, carrying with her the dreams and aspirations that fueled her passion for fashion and life in the city that never slept. As she walked through the vibrant streets near her studio apartment, the city lights danced around her, painting a picture of a life in constant motion.

Finally, Tati arrived at her cozy studio apartment, a sanctuary she had carefully crafted to reflect her artistic spirit. The evening light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the space. After a long day, she craved some quiet time to unwind and center herself.

Tati shed her work attire, leaving a trail of discarded clothes as she made her way to the bathroom. The soothing sound of water filled the room as she indulged in a long, rejuvenating shower. Each droplet felt like a gentle caress, washing away the stress of the day and leaving her feeling refreshed.

With a soft towel wrapped around her, Tati ventured into the kitchen to find sustenance. Leftover chicken alfredo called out to her from the fridge, and she heated up the savory meal, savoring each bite as she sat at her dining table. As she dined alone, the sky outside began to darken, even though it was only early evening.

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops on the window gradually grew into a symphony, and a sudden gust of wind blew through the open window, carrying the earthy scent of rain. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the city lights flickered, creating a cozy ambiance that enveloped Tati's studio.

She poured herself a glass of red wine, its deep crimson hue mirroring the stormy sky outside. As she sipped the velvety liquid, a sense of comfort settled over her, a feeling of being embraced by the elements. The rain outside intensified, casting mesmerizing patterns on her window as she observed the city being washed anew.

Cozying up on her couch, laptop and glass of wine in hand, Tati was ready to immerse herself in the latest John Boyega interview. The British actor had always been one of her many celebrity crushes, and his performances provided solace during the most challenging moments of her life. Tonight, she sought that familiar comfort once more. As the interview began, John's charisma filled the screen, and Tati couldn't help but smile.

His laughter was infectious and his attractiveness always made her swoon. His deep, blemish-free brown skin seemed to glow, his muscles toned and defined and complemented by the inking of his tattoos, hinted at the strength and resilience within. His eyes, like pools of warmth, held a captivating spark that could light up even the darkest corners of her world.

Tati found herself drawn to John Boyega in ways she couldn't fully comprehend. It was more than just his fame or talent; it was his genuine spirit that resonated with her soul. He had an uncanny ability to inspire and uplift, both on and off-screen, making her feel like anything was possible.

Lost in the captivating conversation on her laptop screen and her own reverie, she barely noticed the storm that continued to brew outside, with dark clouds gathering ominously. Suddenly, a brilliant flash of light burst through the room, followed by a deafening clap of thunder that rattled the walls. The ferocity of the storm intensified, and before Tati could react, she felt an intense surge of electricity rush through her body. With a gasp, she fell to the floor, her vision blurring as the world around her dissolved into darkness.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed was the scent of fresh rain and the sound of gentle pattering against the windows. Confused, she slowly sat up from the couch, rubbing her head where she had been struck.

"What the fuck just happened?" Tati murmured to herself, her heart still racing as she swung her legs onto the floor. Her bare feet touched a soft surface, and she soon discovered it was a cozy shag rug beneath her toes. Looking down, she couldn't help but notice that she was now dressed in a luxurious silk camisole with matching shorts. The sudden change in attire added to the surreal nature of the situation she found herself in.

A soothing accented voice called from across the room. "Tati? Are you all right?"

Turning towards the source, Tati's breath caught in her throat. There he stood on the stairs, the man she had admired, her celebrity crush who was now right before her eyes. It was John Boyega, looking as sexy and charming as ever, completely shirtless and wearing pajama pants and a warm smile.

"John?" she stammered, unable to believe what was unfolding.

He chuckled as he walked closer to her. "Yes, it's me, babes. Are you okay? That lightning was something else."

"I... I don't understand. How is this possible?" Tati glanced around, taking in the beauty of the unfamiliar surroundings. The living room was no longer her own; she found herself in an unfamiliar space, surrounded by vibrant colors and Afrocentric decor that radiated warmth and culture. "Is this... your home?" Tati asked, still trying to process what was happening.

John nodded slowly. "Well, and yours sometimes. You stay here from time to time when you visit London," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Are you sure you didn't bump your head or something? That thunderstorm shook the house like crazy, not to mention the wind...should I get you to a hospital? Maybe you have a concussion."

Her heart fluttered as she realized the implications of his words.

I stay here from time to time? Is this the Twilight Zone?

Although she chuckled to herself, deep down, Tati knew that this had to be nothing more than a figment of her imagination. She couldn't fathom how a thunderstorm and a glass of wine could lead to such a surreal experience. Perhaps she had indulged in one too many glasses, or maybe exhaustion had finally caught up with her, playing tricks on her mind. The idea of being transported into a parallel reality where she was dating her idol seemed too fantastical to be true, but she couldn't shake the strange sense of connection she felt.

Nah, it had to be the Malbec. I cannot be dating John 'fine-ass Daddy' Boyega.

"Babes? Tati? Yeah, hell no, I'm calling an ambulance." John pulled his iPhone from his pajama pants pocket and begin to dial 999.

His words snapped her out of her thoughts. "No, no, I'm fine, really. I'm just a bit lost," she admitted, causing John to pause his movements.

John continued to look at her strangely, his head tilting to the side adorably. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she tells him, smiling softly. "I mean, the lightning was intense, but I should be okay. I'm just... I'm just not sure how I ended up here."

John knelt down beside her, his concern evident in his eyes. "Well, you're safe now, love," he said gently, using the term of endearment that was so familiar to him but confusingly new to Tati. "We'll figure this out together, alright?"

Tati swooned at the endearing nickname. "Okay," she replied softly, still unsure of what to make of the situation. "But, why are you calling me that? Love and babes? I mean, I've watched your interviews and seen your interactions with fans, but this feels... different."

John smiled warmly, his gaze unwavering. "Because you are my love. My babe. My girlfriend. Tati, you're scaring me. One minute I'm literally throwing your back out and the next you're talkin' 'bout being lost and not knowing what's going on."

Throwing my back out? What kind of dream am I dreamin' right now?

"Sorry, can we rewind here? Just for curiosity, what happened before the thunderstorm?"

The corners of John's mouth quirked into a wide grin. "You surprised me when I came home today from TIFF. I thought that you had to finish up some work for school, but you caught a train from Paris and dropped by. It was a welcomed surprise obviously, not to mention the things you did with your tongue. I mean, Jesus Christ, woman, you're truly blessed....but yeah....we had sex then you went downstairs for some water and now we're here."

Interesting. "So I live in Paris?"

"Yeah, for school. IFM Paris. You're getting your master's in international fashion and luxury management."

No fuckin' way! That's it, I'm staying in this dream.

Not only was she dating her celebrity crush, but she also got into one of her dream schools.

"Okay, wow, that's....this is....holy shit."

"Are you sure about not having a concussion or going to the hospital? You're truly scaring me, babes," John expressed genuine concern, his caring nature evident in his voice and expression.

"I-I'm f-fine....." Tati's voice trailed off for several beats as she tried to process everything that had just happened. Her mind was still racing, trying to make sense of the extraordinary twist of fate that had brought her here. "Can we go back to bed?"

"Of course," John replied, his hand gently guiding her as he helped her to her feet. "Rest would definitely help. Let's take it easy for now."

Tati appreciated his attentiveness, feeling a mix of comfort and intrigue as she noticed his eyes raking over her body. It was a subtle moment, but she couldn't help but feel her cheeks flush, wondering if this was indeed a dream or if it was real and he truly felt something for her.

He led her upstairs to the main bedroom, and as they entered, Tati couldn't help but marvel at the grandeur of the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows adorned one side of the room, allowing moonlight to filter in, casting a soft glow over everything. The bed was large and inviting, a haven of comfort and serenity.

Tati carefully settled onto the bed, keeping some distance from John as she was still trying to grapple with the surreal reality of the situation. Her heart was torn between excitement and uncertainty, unsure of how to interpret this magical experience.

As she gazed around the room, every detail seemed to confirm that she was indeed in London or, at the very least, experiencing an incredibly vivid dream. The blend of curiosity and bewilderment within her only heightened, making her wonder if she would wake up any moment and find herself back in her own world.

John pulled the covers gently over her, tucking her in with care. "Get some rest, Tati. We'll figure things out in the morning," he assured her, his voice soothing.

"Thank you," she said softly, feeling the warmth of gratitude enveloping her. The comfort of the bed and the presence of the man she admired so much began to lull her to sleep.

As she closed her eyes, her thoughts swirled with the enchantment of the night. Was this a dream? Or had some extraordinary force brought her here for a reason? Whatever it was, Tati knew that she had the chance to live out a fantasy, if only for a little while.

_______________________________________________________

To her surprise, and delight, she woke up in London rather than in her small studio in Brooklyn. To her displeasure, however, John's fine ass was gone, and his side of the bed was left empty. Now fully awake, Tati took time to explore her surroundings, her bare feet padding around John's home. She entered the adjacent en suite, which included marble tiled floors, shiny gold fixtures, and a huge walk-in shower with steam jets and a rainfall showerhead. The bathroom reminded her of those coveted baths in Architectural Digest: clean and dreamy and smelling like a Roja Parfums candle.

She ventured into the closet next, her fingers trailing lightly over John's side. The closet was a treasure trove of streetwear, and it boasted an entire wall dedicated to an impressive collection of shoes, a paradise for any sneakerhead.

The opposite side held an array of women's clothing, spanning from trendy streetwear to elegant formal wear. A dedicated rack showcased a stunning assortment of designer shoes and purses. Tati's curiosity led her to make a beeline to the purses, her fingers exploring their contents in hopes of finding any clues about the alternate version of herself that inhabited this reality.

With a sense of anticipation, she carefully sifted through the contents of the Chanel purse. Her heart raced as her fingertips brushed against something unexpected – a Polaroid picture tucked away inside. Gently retrieving it, Tati's eyes widened in astonishment as she beheld an image that sent shockwaves through her.

The photograph captured a moment frozen in time, a memory of her and John standing before the iconic Eiffel Tower. Tati's gaze fixated on the scene, her heart skipping a beat as she observed the way the woman in the photo – herself – radiated a profound sense of happiness and love. John's strong arms encircled her in a tender embrace from behind, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. Tati's smile was a testament to pure joy, her dimples on full display.

It was a snapshot of a reality she had only dared to dream of – a reality where she wasn't just a fan of John's, but a partner, sharing a moment of intimacy and connection in the shadow of the illuminating Eiffel Tower. As her eyes lingered on the photograph, a rush of emotions flooded over her, mingling wonder and disbelief with an inexplicable feeling of longing.

Tati's mind raced, questions and possibilities intertwining as she contemplated the implications of this discovery. Was this an actual memory, a glimpse into the life she now found herself in? Or was it a creation of this alternate reality, a manifestation of her deepest desires?

She carefully placed the Polaroid back in the purse, her thoughts spinning with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty. The image remained imprinted in her mind, a testament to the inexplicable connection she shared with John in this parallel universe. As she closed the purse and stepped back from the closet, Tati found herself grappling with the baffling question of how she had ended up in this surreal situation in the first place. It was as if she had stumbled into a storyline that blended elements of What If... with the uncanny unpredictability of The Twilight Zone.

Until she discovered how the Hell she'd gotten to this Earth 2.0 reality, she noted that appearing utterly shaken by every single thing wouldn't do her any good. Shit, based on that look from John last night, ol' boy was ten milliseconds away from hauling her ass to an insane asylum. So, she did what any other woman would do, and got ready for the day. Tati reentered the bathroom to do her normal morning routine, which consisted of brushing her teeth and washing her face. Luckily for her, her hair was still well-kept in bohemian braids and she took her time fixing her baby hairs and smoothing the curly strands with mousse.

"Babes?" John's voice echoed through the hallway, his footsteps resonating on the polished hardwood floors. Tati heard his approach and turned to see him appear at the bathroom entrance, and he let out a sigh of relief. "I see you're back to your usual self? Damn girl, you almost gave me a fright. Thought I had to call a shrink or somethin'."

See? This is why you got to remain observant and keep shit to yourself.

Her intrusive thoughts made her roll her eyes. Playing it cool was the only, not to mention the best, option at this point. Tati counted herself fortunate that she hadn't landed in the 19th century, reminiscent of the crazy-ass time-travel scenarios depicted in Octavia Butler's Kindred. If anything, this was a fan's wet dream.

"Yeah," she says to him as she wrapped a satin scarf around her head. "I don't know what came over me, honey. It's been a long ass week."

And it has been a long ass week in her other life. She had to cover someone else's shift twice and it drained her, but at least the money would be worthwhile in the next paycheck. Speaking of money, she should check her account; see if that changed too because last time she checked, she was damn-near broke after paying for her rent. Tati made a mental note to do just that later in the day.

John let out a soft chuckle as he loomed closer to her and place a kiss on her cheek. "Aw, baby, I told you that you should've come with me to Toronto. Would've been a nice lil' getaway. I had a balcony and everything. Could've bent you over....anyways, I'm glad you're good. Are you hungry?"

Just then, a low rumble echoed from her stomach, causing Tati to cringe in embarrassment. John's response was a wide, infectious grin, his bottom row of teeth adorned with a stylish grill. His lopsided, sexy smile left Tati feeling a bit off-kilter, her thoughts momentarily swept away as she followed him downstairs to the kitchen in a daze.

"You've been pouring your heart into school, working on project after project. But don't forget, babes, you've got to take care of yourself," John's words carried a blend of wisdom and genuine concern. His tone wasn't reproachful; it held a sincerity that made her feel seen and cared for, almost as if he were her boyfriend.

A thought struck her – well, wasn't he?

Caught in the moment, Tati gazed up at him with a smile, savoring the warmth of his words. "I promise to look after myself," she replied, her commitment genuine. She truly recognized the need to prioritize her well-being amidst her busy life.

"You betta," John agreed with a low growl, "or else I'mma have to sort it out."

An unexpected slap to her ass made her yelp and she stared at John with a wide-eyed expression.

"John? What the fuck..."

"You like that shit anyways," he interrupted with a wink, guiding her further down the hallway to the kitchen. "C'mon, c'mon...look at this spread. Ola came thorough, huh?" John gestured with theatrical flair, as though he were a charismatic game-show host showcasing a grand prize. "I specifically told him to prepare all your favorites."

The kitchen island was a picturesque tableau, adorned with an enticing array of breakfast delights that formed a colorful mosaic of flavors. Plates of fluffy pancakes, each one a golden masterpiece, were stacked in a tower of indulgence. Platters of crisp bacon and sausage offered a savory aroma that danced in the air, while bowls of freshly cut fruits provided a refreshing burst of color and vitality. Fluffy scrambled eggs and buttered toast completed the spread.

As Tati and John approached the island, they were greeted by Ola, which Tati already knew to be John's personal chef from an interview, and he was adding a final flourish to a plate with meticulous attention. Ola, of average height, exuded an air of culinary confidence. His neat fade haircut and a meticulously groomed tapered beard framed his face, emphasizing his strong and composed presence. The genuine warmth of his smile and the sparkle in his eyes reflected his deep passion for his craft.

Dressed impeccably in a classic chef's coat, Ola moved gracefully and purposefully, an embodiment of culinary finesse. His movements were orchestrated with a practiced elegance, a symphony of kitchen sounds harmonizing under his skillful direction.

With a final touch, Ola placed the completed plate on the island, his smile growing even broader as he turned his gaze toward John and Tati.

"Ah, here you are," he greeted them warmly, his thick Nigerian accent infusing his words with a melodic charm. "A breakfast fit for royalty, just as you requested, Mr. Boyega."

She exchanged a grateful look with John. "Thank you so much, honey."

"You're welcome, babes," John smiled, his gaze softening as he leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a gentle, lingering kiss. The moment was tender and filled with a sense of familiarity that belied the fantastical circumstances surrounding them. As they pulled away, his hand brushed against her cheek, his touch sending a shiver of warmth through her.

She was shell-shocked by the intimacy of the gesture, yet there was a sense of rightness to it as if fate itself had conspired to bring them together in this extraordinary moment. Gathering her wits, Tati managed a shy smile, her eyes locked with his for a beat longer before she gently stepped back. She moved to the nearby breakfast nook, a dazed but delighted expression on her face. She watched as John deftly arranged a plate for her, his movements infused with a quiet grace that spoke of familiarity with this routine. She couldn't help but marvel at the surreal yet wonderful turn her life had taken.

Seated together, John and Tati shared a tranquil breakfast, their laughter and conversation flowing effortlessly as if they had known each other for a lifetime. Amid the clinking of utensils and the warm aroma of food, John's voice held a note of excitement as he reminded her of their plans for later in the day.

"Don't forget, we've got that appointment at Boodles, babes," John said, his eyes dancing with a mischievous glint.

Tati's brows knitted in curiosity. "Boodles? Why are we going there again?" she asked, her tone laced with a mixture of puzzlement and intrigue.

A grin tugged at the corners of John's lips. "To look at rings," he replied, his gaze meeting hers with sincerity and anticipation.

Tati's eyes widened in surprise, a moment of realization dawning upon her. She met John's gaze, her heart skipping a beat as the implications of his words settled in. The ordinary breakfast nook suddenly felt charged with new energy.

Holy-fuckin'-shit.

TO BE CONTINUED...

[katorainwonderland]

Infatuation

Summary: Chris Evans/Reader: You made an impression on Chris the first time you guys hooked up but now he wants more and you’re reluctant to give it to him because of your past heartbreaks.

Warnings: 18+ explicit sex scene, oral(f receiving), choking, vulgar language, Chris being persistent af trying to get you lol there are no descriptions of what the reader looks like so anyone can read.

Word count: 1,877

Author’s Note: Idk where I’m going with this, it might stay a one shot or turn into a multi chapter short story but for now enjoy this one!

Italics=text message

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

**********************

“I’m in L.A. filming for a while if you want to get together.”

“Is he texting you again?” Your friend asked as you checked your phone. The text message brightening the screen as you picked it up.

“Yeah, it’s the third time this week that he’s asked to get together again.” You said putting down the phone not answering the text just yet.

“What did you do to him?” She laughed

“Sucked his dick, fucked him dumb.” You shrugged, guessing what it could possibly have been for Chris Evans to be acting like this.

You two had met at an awards show, danced a little at the after party and then went back to his hotel room to hook up. He asked for your number before you left and it hadn’t been that long after that he was asking to link up again. You had texted back and forth here and there, having small conversations but nothing too deep but he was definitely acting like you two really had something more going on with how badly he wanted to see you.

Don’t get it wrong, he was gorgeous, very sweet, a gentleman through and through and not to mention his stroke game was immaculate but you weren’t really looking for anything else other than some casual fun.

“If you don’t meet up with him then I will.” Your friend tapped your leg going back to watch tv.

“I think he’s just bored or lonely, I don’t know.” You called after her.

“You should help him with that!”

You rolled your eyes at her but picked up your phone to answer him.

“Sure, you want to come to mine or you want me to come to you?”

Chris’s phone lit up and he was quick to check it, you had finally agreed to meet up again and he was ecstatic about it, he really liked you. You were funny, smart, absolutely gorgeous and you had blown his mind the first night you hooked up. If he was being honest he was addicted and in turn that made him a little eager to be around you again.

“What’s with the huge smile?” His coworker asked, coming into the makeup trailer to get themselves ready for the next scene.

“She finally agreed to meet up.”

“You wore her down.” His coworkers laughed, having Chris join him.

“It would seem so.”

“Come to mine, I rented out a condo for the time I’m here and I want to cook dinner for you before I eat you out for dessert.”

“Sounds good, I can’t wait to get my mouth on you again myself.”

The thought of you having your mouth on his cock made him shift in his seat, you looked beautiful that night looking up at him sinfully as you swallowed him.

“Damn, babe, you’re going to have me out here with a hard on thinking about that. Tomorrow at 7.”

“I’ll be there.”

He sent you the address and you saved it in your gps for later. You got up to join your friend on the couch, flipping down next to her and taking some popcorn.

“He said he wants to cook for me.” You sighed

“Ooo some filet migncock.” She laughed

“Shut up, you weirdo!” You pushed her which made her laugh louder. “I just hope he’s not making this more than what it is.”

“Just let him know you’re there for the diock not the feelings.”

“Yeah.”

***********************

“So I’m running around screaming thinking there’s something on my back and my cousins are just laughing, so I run to my mother in a panic because whatever bug I imagined in my head is still on me and she looks me over and she’s like ‘Chris there’s nothing on you’ you can guess how abruptly I stopped yelling, tears rolling down my face and everything.” The two of you were sitting on the couch, your legs laying over top of his, the picture of comfort.

You laughed at the story Chris was recalling, you could just imagine a little him running around frantically.

“Cousin’s are literally put on this earth to torture you I swear.” You understood having your own thing with your cousins as well.

“They are but I was also a punk kid so there’s that.” He looked at you as you laughed again.

He loved the sound of it and then your smile, it made your eyes crinkle up and sparkle and it pulled at his heartstrings.

“Stop looking at me like that.” You pushed his arm, having him come out of his trance.

“Like what?” He smiled, oh he was dangerous and he knew it.

“Like that with the eyes and such.” You were trying to joke away the feelings he was stirring up in you, you did not want to like him more than intended, you had been through enough with relationships and the last thing you needed right now was to be falling for someone.

“I can’t help it Y/N, I think you’re gorgeous.”

You felt your face heating at the compliment “thanks you’re not so bad yourself.”

“Come here.” He reached for you and you allowed him to maneuver your body so you were straddling him, his hands cradled your head as your lips met. He kissed you slowly, his tongue gently reaching out to touch yours and drive you crazy.

He wanted to devour you, every part, you were intoxicating to him, a drug he could never quit and he had only had you once. If he couldn’t call you his soon, he would surely go crazy but he could tell you were hesitant when it came to him being emotional.

“I need more, Chris, please.” You moaned as your lips parted, you had begun to grind down against him and could feel him hardening.

“Ok baby, patience, let me take my time with you since I didn’t get to the last time.”

Soon enough he had you in the bed with his head between your legs as he gave you your third orgasm, you were sensitive, pushing at his head but he held your hips still continuing his assault on your pussy. You didn’t really want him to stop but his fingers weren’t enough and he had to have been down there for an hour by now, right? You weren’t one to just cum so easily, it took a bit of work and time so for him to have given you three orgasms was amazing but maybe he was just that good.

“You okay?” He was checking in again like he did after every orgasm he gave you to see where you were at mentally and physically and you appreciated it, not everyone cared to do that.

“I’m ok.” You reassured “but, Chris, I need you inside me.” He had turned you into a whiner and you were far from that. He chuckled and got up, you could see his cock hard and leaking an abundance of pre-cum. You were about to lean up to take him in your mouth but his hand caught you around your throat and pushed you back down.

“No.” Was all he had to say and you whimpered submissively.

He was a work of art as he got himself in place between your legs, his thick cock was placed heavily between your folds and thrust back and forth teasing you, his head hitting your clit.

“You’re my good girl aren’t you Y/N?” His accent was strong and you had no idea a Boston accent could cause you to throb like it did or maybe it was because he called you a good girl, either way the mix was hot.

“Yes.”

He hummed content at your answer and then slowly inched his way into your body, when you were fully connected he heard you sigh and felt your walls throb around him. He leaned over you, body as close as he could be, his fingers still gripping your neck but not too tight.

“You ready baby?”

“Mmhm” you squeaked out, all the nerves in your body alight.

The first drag of his cock almost had you crying. It felt amazing, if he kept this up you would be coming again in seconds and that’s exactly what happened as you moaned, your pussy gripped him snugly and in turn he let out a broken groan.

“Fuck, you just came again.” He stated his thrusts speeding up. “I could spend all night in this pussy.”

He let your throat go and before you knew it you were manhandled onto your knees and elbows. You could barely register him moving your body to his will before he was back in you. One of his feet planted against the bed to stabilize him as he kneeled on his other knee, his hands gripping your waist tightly as he pumped into you roughly.

“I want to feel you come again, come on baby, give me one more.”

You didn’t know if you could, he had pulled so many out of you and your body was tired but the way he was hitting your pleasure spot inside you was delicious, your eyes rolled back and you could feel your orgasm build again until finally “Fuck, Chris, fuck!” You screamed when you came again, the sheets under you balled in your fist and you felt a gush of liquid leave your body.

“Oh, shit, yes baby!” He was at his end too and within a couple more thrusts he was coming inside you, dragging out your orgasm making your legs shake where you knelt.

You were ready to pass out into the best sleep you knew you would ever have.

Chris exits your sore pussy with a hiss and moves to the side of you, you lay yourself flat on the bed with your eyes closed feeling all the tingles through your body and you hear him chuckle.

“Come here.” Before you could open your eyes and respond he wrapped an arm around your waist to slide you to him, both his arms then circled you making your back touch his chest. You felt him press a kiss to your shoulder and neck.

You were worn out but your mind was telling you it was time to go, you couldn’t stay or he would get the wrong idea. You already knew from the way he looked at you that he wanted more than you could…no… wanted to give him, you couldn’t let yourself feel things like that for him. You couldn’t have another heartbreak.

“Don’t leave, please.” He practically begged, he knew exactly where your thoughts were, he could feel you resisting to let yourself be comfortable in his embrace.

“I-I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.” You whispered back, scared of his reaction, from your experience guys didn’t really take too well you telling them you didn’t want more.

“I won’t.” He promised and you let yourself slightly relax as the weight of sleep finally hit you until you were passed out in his arms, exhausted.

Chris knew you were trying to push him away but that’s not what he wanted and he always got what he wanted, he would have you as his, that was a guarantee.

[drunk-on-dk]

I Just Think You're Cool | Lee Seokmin (m)

✦pairing: college athlete!seokmin x afab reader

✦genre: fluff, some smut (minor DNI)

✦warnings: Best friend Mingyu, teasing, drinking, y/n has a bit of a stalker at one point, SMUT, fingering, cunnilingus lmao, i gotta think of any other warnings, MINORS DNI

✦wc: ~6.2k

✦summary: Seokmin knew you were off limits, you were Mingyu's best friend, and he had been quite protective over you. However, your sudden reoccurring appearances make it harder for Seokmin to not fall for you even more.

✦ AN: I hope you all enjoy it! This is not super proofread towards the end, so I apologize for any errors. A little all over the place, but I had fun writing it. Got a bit carried away with the lead-up, thinking of maybe a pt 2 with some more smut. Otherwise, Cinema by Harry Styles was on repeat during this. ENJOY!

Seokmin was surprised to see you so bright and early at 6 AM in the morning, watching you from where he was warming up on the field as you fumbled with a camera bag and tripod near the bleachers. Mingyu was next to you, helping you set up and keeping you from falling when your foot got tangled in the strap of your camera bag. Seokmin had to hold back a chuckle as he witnessed you almost topple over from afar. He watched as you regained your balance, Mingyu and you laughing at your clumsiness, a graceful smile was drawn over your features in contrast to your near fall.

Seokmin had to pull his gaze away, hating the ping of jealousy that he felt as he watched Mingyu pinch your cheek before he jogged back towards the team on the field. Coming to a halt alongside Seokmin, Mingyu gave you a thumbs up, which you returned, but also waved at Seokmin upon noticing that he had been looking your way, a blush shading your cheeks realizing he probably saw you trip. Seokmin waved back, still unsure as to why you were here at their practice, and Mingyu seemed to notice this as he continued to stare in your direction, seemingly confused.

“I thought I let everyone know on the team, but Y/N is helping out with our social media,” Mingyu explained, grabbing a soccer ball nearby to begin running some drills with Seokmin. “You know, like posting about our games, making promotional videos, all that fun stuff. You may not know it, but Y/N is good with stuff like that.”

Seokmin nodded, passing the ball back and forth between Mingyu and him. “So that means she’ll be at all our practices?”

“Probably as many as she can make it to, and most likely as many games as she can attend as well.” Seokmin couldn’t deny the giddiness he felt, realizing he’ll be seeing you around more often, losing his attention as the ball that Mingyu kicked his way flew right past him. “Hey, pay attention to the ball.”

Mingyu was Seokmin’s kind, best friend who he had met his first year on the university’s soccer team. You were Mingyu’s even kinder, best friend that Seokmin was absolutely infatuated by, but could never admit it to anyone, fearing that Mingyu may beat his ass. Seokmin had seen you around often of course, due to you being Mingyu’s other constant in life other than his soccer team. However, your interactions were scattered, only briefly catching up with Seokmin at parties the soccer team threw, the occasional pregame or hangouts that Mingyu held at his place, and the couple of times you passed each other on campus, always greeting him with a shy wave and smile. That was it though, as Mingyu wasn’t your only friend, and you had become MIA over the years due to you going out with other friends from your own extracurriculars.  

Seokmin remembered the first time he met you freshman year at one of the first parties the soccer team had thrown. His friendship had just begun with Mingyu, and the two were already attached at the hip. To no surprise, Mingyu had invited you to the party, as you two had quickly become close friends upon meeting each other on your first day of lectures, only to find out you both live in the same dorm building. Seokmin watched you walk into the party with Mingyu, to which Mingyu introduced you to all his teammates. Seokmin thought it may have been love at first sight, you were attractive and incredibly charming, so he quickly brushed it off as a freshman crush.

Of course, Seokmin wasn’t the only one interested in you, there were other teammates who tried to make advances on you. This would prove to piss Mingyu off by the end of the party, pushing an older teammate, Jeonghan, away from you when he tried to make a move on you. You had eased the situation, guiding the heated Mingyu away from the perplexed Jeonghan, making sure to direct a bright smile and blow a kiss towards the older boy. Jeonghan of course teased Mingyu for the rest of the year up until he graduated

Ever since then, Seokmin has treaded very lightly around you, still unsure three years later if Mingyu was being a protective friend, or if the boy has a crush on you just like all his friends. Unfortunately, Seokmin’s crush never went away, you only became more and more attractive over the years, not only did you tend to get prettier each time he saw you, but as he learned more about you as well. However, he’d never risk his friendship with Mingyu, especially since they were on the same team. Still, Seokmin was sure to follow you on social media, giddy when you followed him back, and tried to speak to you whenever he came across you in person.

On the other hand, you still couldn’t believe you agreed to helping Mingyu and the soccer team out with social medias. Sitting down behind the camera you let out a huff, feeling slightly uncomfortable as the morning dew that had settled on the metal bleachers was now soaking into your leggings. You enjoyed editing pictures, videos, and were savvy with social media, so you had blindly agreed when Mingyu asked you to help manage social media for the team, not being aware of how much of a time commitment it may be. This wasn’t necessarily related to your major at all, but hey, it wouldn’t hurt to be affiliated with your university’s official soccer team, the management skills potentially being beneficial for your resume. Also, you couldn’t deny that you enjoyed watching attractive men play soccer all day, for your own selfish reasons.

An hour later, practice had come to an end, but Mingyu had to stay an extra half hour due to a screw-up he had made during a scrimmage game that cost him extra practice time. Mingyu had called out to you from the field before Soonyoung, the team captain, began pushing him to start running laps. “Catch a ride with Seokmin, he’s the only fool that I trust to get you home safely, don’t wait around for me.” Upon hearing that, Seokmin points to himself dumbly, looking up from where he was packing his cleats into his bags and over to Mingyu, who paid him no attention.

You laugh at the confused boy, haphazardly carrying your camera bag and tripod towards him, “you don’t have to take me home, DK, I can wait around for Mingyu. I really don’t mind.” Seokmin could have sworn the wind was knocked out of him upon hearing you use his nickname so casually in a sentence. He came to his senses, closing his jaw that was slacked open, realizing why you may think he doesn’t want to take you home per his shocked expression.  

Scrambling to pick up his duffle bag, Seokmin takes the tripod from you to carry as well, and quickly tried to play off his odd behavior. “Y/N, don’t worry, I can take you home,” Seokmin laughs, “Sorry, I was just shocked that Mingyu wasn’t being protective of you for once, and that he said he trusts me out of all people.”

You laugh at his statement, following him towards his car in the lot near the field, and decide to tease him a bit. “Good point, Mingyu tends to be overprotective. Can I trust you though, hmm?”

Seokmin smiles at you as he piles your stuff and his into the backseat of his car, you both climbing into the front seats once everything is all set. You always have noted how dazzling Seokmin’s smiles are, it’s the kind of smile that extends up into his eyes, and always makes you want to smile in return.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” he says as he revs up the engine, putting the car into drive and pulling out of the lot. “I’m hungry, and you don’t want to see what I can do when I get too hungry. Otherwise, I’m pretty trustworthy, won’t cause any harm, I promise.”

“Hmm,” you seem to hum in consideration, “how about I get you breakfast this morning in return for driving me back?”

Seokmin’s heart almost pounds out of his chest, as he refrains from snapping his head in your direction to see if you’re messing with him. Of course, this was just an innocent suggestion on your end, but the thought of any chance to spend more time alone with you sends his mind and heart into overdrive, danger mode.

Before he even has a chance to respond, you’re jumping in your seat and pointing towards the popular twenty-four-seven diner on your campus. “Here! Pull over here! Let’s get breakfast at the diner.” Due to the enthusiasm in your voice, he’s whipping into the first parking space he can find at the diner, shocked by how you grab his hand once he locks his car, pulling him into the diner and to the nearest empty booth.

Breakfast with you is comfortable, even with the subtle pounding of Seokmin’s heart. You are incredibly entertaining to him, constantly coming up with new topics of conversation, and never failing to make him laugh. He takes pride in making you laugh as well, especially when you almost spit out your coffee when he fails to perform a pseudo magic trick using his napkin and utensils. Seokmin uses this as a chance to get to know you better, but so do you, taking the time to ask him questions about himself. He swears he’s only digging himself deeper, further realizing how kind and funny you are, loving the twinkle in your eye as you talk about the things you enjoy doing, sharing tid-bits about your hobbies, such as editing pictures and videos, and your friendships outside of Mingyu.

He knows he's in really deep when the waitress spills a full cup of water on the table, the puddle leaking onto your lap. She’s quick to apologize, claiming it’s been an off day, but you graciously assure her that it is alright, that it’s just water, with the kindest eyes he’s ever seen. You’re even sure to leave her a tip above average, mentioning that you hope it helps brighten her day and that you’ve been there before. Seokmin had only inquired, in hopes that he can help chip into the cost of the breakfast, but you stubbornly snatched the check away from him, tucking in enough cash for the food and a hefty tip.

The car ride back was comfortable as well, but Seokmin’s heartbeat had only picked up even more, not wanting his time with you to come to end just yet. You were in the passenger seat, singing along quietly with the music that played on the radio, and he thought he could get used to having you around, even if that meant he had to suppress his itching desire to make you his.

Much to his dismay, he pulled into your apartment's front entrance, but you seemed to be bummed a bit as well. You huffed, holding your palm out to him, “hand me your phone.” Seokmin stumbles to pull his phone out of his pocket and unlocks it, tossing it into your hand like a hot potato. You don’t seem to notice how nervous he is, watching as you type your number into his phonebook, and giving yourself a quick call. You hold your phone up to show him that you have his number as well before ending the call.

“Let’s be friends, DK, I had fun today. Text me if you ever want to hang out,” you say whilst handing his phone back, and he holds it almost as if he’s been handed a relic. You’re quick to hop out of his car, snapping him back to reality. Seokmin watches as you grab your stuff from the backseat before heading up to the front door, shooting another smile his way and you bid him goodbye with a wave, disappearing into your apartment complex.

This is how Seokmin ends up texting you for the next couple of weeks, leading to your friendship blooming, and despite trying his hardest to not fall more for you, his heart was growing fonder of you day by day, text by text. He sees you around more often now due to your frequent attendance at games, practices, and any team event you are invited to. However, he still hasn’t had the guts to ask you to hang out one on one. Of course, Mingyu is still your best friend, so he can’t help but feel as if he’s betraying some sort of bro-code, even though he’s only set his intentions on becoming a good friend of yours for now.

Mingyu starts to pick up on your newfound friendship with Seokmin too, noticing how instead of being by his side as per usual at the pregame, you’re actually in the corner of the kitchen giggling at a joke that Seokmin says. It must be obvious that something has shifted since Seungkwan from the team had the audacity to walk up to Mingyu and tell him that you may have found a better friend on the team. Mingyu lets his comment slide, pushing the younger boy away, but he’s sure to note the way that you lean into Seokmin as you both continue talking. He’s not sure what he’s feeling, but he sure doesn’t like that his two best friends are bonding without having him in the loop.

When you’re all out at the bar later, Mingyu pulls Seokmin aside to ask about the clear difference in your friendship. You had disappeared into the crowd a while ago, noticing a group of people you had recognized, and you had ended up taking shots and moving to the dance floor with them.

“What’s going on with you and Y/N?” Mingyu asks his friend, looking down at the half-drank beer in his hands. “Just curious, since you two seem to be closer now.”

Seokmin is quick to pick up on Mingyu’s mannerisms, as he doesn’t seem too hostile, but there is still that protective tone in Mingyu’s voice. “Just became friends I guess; we’re pretty alike you know.”

Mingyu laughs, Seokmin was right, you two were almost the same person, and he couldn’t believe he basically had two clone best friends. “True,” Mingyu hums, seeming to trail off, unsure of what to say next. He’s not sure why he’s acting this way, or why the question leaves his mouth. “Do you like her?”

“Do you like her?” Seokmin asks back, unsure how to respond, and hoping his wide eyes don’t give him away. There’s an awkward pause as Mingyu chokes on the beer he had just sipped on.

“No way,” Mingyu almost stutters out, but Seokmin gives him a knowing look. “Ok, I liked her sophomore year, but she completely, flat out rejected me. Nothing really changed otherwise though, stayed best friends of course. That’s over now, but that may be why I’m so protective. That’s also why I’m asking, do you like her?”

Seokmin isn’t sure if this is a test from his friend, unable to read the look in Mingyu’s eyes. Thankfully, you and a friend of yours pop up out of nowhere, and you’re too excited to notice the tense air between him and Mingyu. Quick to wrap an arm around Mingyu’s waist, you take his free arm and place it over your shoulder.

“There you guys are,” you slur, you’re much drunker than before, and you’re leaning most of your weight into Mingyu, your other friend quick to grab the drink you almost spill out of your hand. “We were looking everywhere for you.”

“Hey, Maya,” Mingyu greets the girl who is next to you. Maya, per Seokmin’s observations, seems to blush as Mingyu smiles at her, and he knows the feeling all too well.

“OH MY GOD,” you screech, scaring your friends slightly and making Seokmin jump, “Seokmin, you have to meet my roommate, this is Maya. Maya, this is Seokmin, one of the nicest guys ever.” You break loose from your grip on Mingyu, stumbling over to the hesitant Seokmin who catches you, wrapping your arm around him in a similar matter. Seokmin avoids making eye contact with Mingyu at all costs, feeling how he eyes you two up and down.

“Nice to meet you, Maya,” Seokmin greets your roommate, charming as ever of course. She gives him an all-too-knowing look, before looking back at you and engaging in some unspoken conversation between you two. Mingyu can’t help but notice how you smile endearingly up at Seokmin, understanding your body language and comparing it with how you act around him. He can tell you're into Seokmin like crazy.

“Nice to meet you too, Seokmin. Unfortunately, we do have to head out, which is why we had been so desperately looking for you guys so that Y/N could say goodbye,” she laughs, trying to pry you away as your hold tightens on Seokmin. She’s successful in pulling you away from the man, even though Seokmin is just as reluctant as you are to let go, but he helps Maya out anyways. “As you can see, Y/N here is a little too tipsy. Nice to see you gents, and hope you have a good night.”

Maya and you bid the boys goodbye, of course not without pressing a quick peck to both of their cheeks before she can drag you out of the bar. Maya is quick to apologize on your end, saying goodbye again and pushing you out the door towards the uber.

Mingyu notices the bright hue on Seokmin’s cheek as you exit, and before Mingyu can point it out, Seokmin ultimately confesses his feelings to his friend, “Fuck, I like her a lot. I’m way too into her for my own good. I’m so sorry, Gyu.”

Mingyu can’t suppress the bit of jealousy within him, but he knows you two are never meant to be anything more than just friends. With a huff, downing the rest of his beer, he grabs Seokmin’s shoulder, “break her heart, and I will kill you.”

The next day, upon what can be considered Mingyu’s blessing, Seokmin finally works up the nerve to ask you to hang out. He sends you a simple text, asking if you’d like to get some coffee, assuming that you may be a bit hungover this afternoon.

You respond back quickly, but unfortunately not in his favor. You let him know you’re already out with Mingyu for the day. Seokmin internally curses Mingyu, of course, you had to be out with him. Seokmin is quick to send a response back, asking if you may be available to hang out tonight, as his only plans were to go to the field late at night to run some practice drills alone. It was a Saturday, but with there being a game tomorrow, he had no intentions to go out.

You never do respond though, not until later, apologizing that Mingyu had distracted you from your phone and that you already had plans to go to the bar again tonight, serving as redemption after your night before. Later when you had posted a picture that night on your story with Maya, he couldn’t help but notice how good you looked, cursing that he couldn’t just give in and go to the bar himself.

Ultimately, that leads to Seokmin spending his night on the field, running practice drills, and repeatedly kicking the soccer ball into the net to let out some steam. He had done this for a couple of hours, working up a sweat, and finally, when it reached 11 pm, he made his way back over to his duffle bag. As if perfect timing, he noticed he was getting a call, not just from anyone, but from you.

Fumbling to pick up his phone, he quickly answers, “Y/N?”

“Seokmin,” you mutter out quietly, “I’m so glad you answered, Mingyu wasn’t picking up at all. Can you please stay on the phone with me, I left the bar since I needed some air, but I think this guy is following me.”

“Of course, where are you at?” Seokmin is stern, not with you, but immediately felt tense considering you have someone following you.

“Umm, I’m right on Caldwell Lane, walking down towards Market Street,” your breathing is shaky, and he wishes he could be right by your side. “Where are you at, Seokmin? I’m far from my apartment, and I don’t want to stop here for an uber.”

Just then, Seokmin has a realization. Thank goodness he’s been practicing for so long, he realizes that once you get to Market Street, if you walk a block or so more, you will be at the soccer fields. “Y/N, just keep walking to Market, take a right once you get there, and you’ll be at the soccer fields. I’m here right now.”

He swears he can hear you whimper, “OK, I’m almost there, I’m going to pick up my pace a bit.” He can hear the clicking of your heels in the speaker as the urgency of your steps pick up. Seokmin can’t help but run down the street, hoping he can see your figure appear and at least have eyes on you. Once you do, he lets out a breath of relief, seeing that you’re safe and alone. However, much to his dismay, a guy is trailing you, making a turn at the corner and continuing to follow you.

“I see you, Y/N,” Seokmin says, increasingly getting more and more angry as the man continues to follow you. “You’re almost here, I’m gonna hang up now and call out for you.”

You seem to protest, but Seokmin hangs up, jogging towards you with arms wide open. “There you are, I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it out tonight with you.” You’re quick to fall into his arms, Seokmin staring at the man behind you with blazing eyes to let him know he’s been caught, to which the guy turns off conveniently into another local pub.

You’re near tears in his arms, grasping onto Seokmin for dear life as he runs a hand over the back of your head in comfort. “Thank you, Min, I’m so glad you picked up the phone.”

His heart flutters at the new nickname, “of course, Y/N. Please call me whenever, seriously.” He leans back, keeping you in his hold as he grabs your face in between his two hands, brushing a tear away with his thumb. He can’t help but notice how pretty you are, even when your nose has turned slightly red from all your sniffling. “My stuff is back on the field; I can go grab it and take you home.”

“No, no, no,” you mutter, mustering up a small smile. “I don’t want to intrude on your practice time.”

He scoffs, “Y/N, it’s 11 pm, I was getting ready to go home anyways,” Seokmin begins to lead you back to the field, and you follow, holding his hand tightly in yours, feeling safer that way. The field picks up all the noise pollution from the bars, booming music echoing throughout as you stand near Seokmin, reminding you that it truly is 11 pm. You pout when you notice he does pack up, pathetically playing with the soccer ball in your heeled booties as you wait for him.

“What if I don’t want to go home yet, Seokmin,” you ask, still kicking around the ball. Seokmin takes the time to look at you from where he is crouched over, packing his things up. You really do look good tonight, honestly extremely sexy in his opinion. He couldn’t believe the sight before him; you kicking around a soccer ball in your knee-high boots, black mini skirt, a trendy long-sleeved blouse, and your curled hair a bit tousled from the wind. He tried not to stare at you for too long, quickly standing up from his stuff, and snatching the ball from you with his own feet.

“Well, what do you want to do,” Seokmin asks gently, trying not to let his voice waver as you seem to chuckle at his playful nature of taking the ball from you.

“I want to do something fun,” you joke, getting a bit closer to him and pushing him to try to receive the ball back. Truthfully, you don't want to go home, you want to spend as much time with him as possible. “Play a bit of soccer with me.”

Seokmin can’t deny you anything, especially not when he hears your melodious laughter ring through the air as he starts to play along with your request. Your mood has flipped from before, now giggling as you somehow get the ball back from Seokmin, booking it down the field to attempt a shot at the net. However, Seokmin is too fast and skilled for you, albeit you’re in blocky heels, swiftly kicking the ball out from under you, but ultimately almost causing you to fall over.

Seokmin is quick to catch you, noticing how you lose your footing and trip over yourself. He pulls you in close like before, however, this time his body burns against you with a new heat in comparison. You’re breathless, you’re not sure if it’s from the running or the way Seokmin looks into your eyes, darkness in them that you haven’t seen before. He seems to be breathless too, but you see the way his demeanor changes before quickly letting you go.

You miss the heat of his body, not wanting him to let you go, and deciding to risk it, you pull him back into you. He is silent when you do so, so you panic, trying to sway along with the music echoing on the field. “No, please hold me, Min. I mean, do you hear that music? Dance with me or something.”  

Seokmin can’t tell if you’re still drunk, he can still smell the trace of alcohol on your breath, but you aren’t acting too out of sorts. He almost shivers when he feels your hands travel from his arms, up to his shoulders, and all the way into the hair on the back of his neck. This results in his grip on your waist tightening to pull you closer to him as you sway along to the distant beat. He can’t tell if you know exactly what you’re doing to him, letting out a sigh as you gently tug on his hair. You were acting quite odd, still, he couldn't bring himself to pull away from you.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” Seokmin almost pouts, an incredulous laugh escaping his lips as your close dancing starts to turn into sillier dance moves. You couldn’t believe that you had come onto Seokmin like that, trying to play off the situation by spinning in his arms, blaming the alcohol for making you act up again.

“I don’t know, having fun, Seokmin,” you giggle as he spins and dips you, playing along with you a little bit more now. The two of you must look so funny to any passersby, both of you dancing on the field, as you’re dressed up in going out clothes and he’s in his practice gear. He still looked extremely attractive to you though, the sporty look and messy hair sending your mind into overdrive.

“Seriously, what’s up with you?” He continues to laugh but finally pulls away, holding you steady for once.

You suck in a breath, staring into his eyes again, trying to pick up on any cues on how he may feel about you because you are surer than ever that you want him and want him bad. You had developed feelings for him as well, and it was beginning to drive you crazy. You quickly spit out, “I just think you’re cool; I like being around you. Do you think I’m cool too?”

Seokmin has to stifle back a laugh, “I think you’re cool too, Y/N.”

You shake your head, finally deciding to let it all out, “no, Seokmin, like I’m way too into you. I don’t even know why I said that.”

Seokmin stares at you incredulously, and all he can think to do is to lean down and gently pull you into a kiss. However, upon kissing you, you let out a moan, and for once he feels something snap within him, making him act out differently from his usual gentle style. He grabs the soccer ball from the ground near your feet, hoisting you up onto his shoulder, being sure to cover you from your mini skirt rising, and he leads you over to the building next to the field.

Dropping you down gently onto the ground, Seokmin tosses the soccer ball into the metal-wired basket where the rest are all piled up, and he pushes you up against one of the many lockers. You soon realize this is the locker room, noticing Kim Mingyu’s name engraved on the locker across from the one you’re pressed against. Your skin feels hot, noticing how Seokmin’s demeanor really has changed, his eyes back to the darkness that they were before.

“Stop with all that cute shit and playing games, Y/N,” Seokmin grabs your jaw with one hand, the other hand holding your hip against the locker behind you. “Fuck, I’m into you too, didn’t you ever notice that? Did you ever notice you have most of the soccer team running laps for you?”

You gasp when his lips connect with your neck, messily trailing up to your jawline where he holds you tightly. “I-I never n-noticed,” you breathe out, feeling breathless at his touch, grabbing onto his arms as you tried to ground yourself. You feel how they flex under your touch, this side of Seokmin being something you never noticed until now, truthfully. “I l-like the way you t-talk with me, h-how playful you are, and how,” Seokmin harshly sucks on your neck, nibbling gently, “fuck, h-how you make me feel.”

With new fervor, you gain some dominance, ripping his hand away from your face and pulling him into a rough kiss. Your heart flutters at the feeling, the kiss messy as your noses bump into one another, and his one hand slams into the locker making a loud noise. You jump slightly, but Seokmin keeps his mouth on yours, still battling for dominance against you.

Seokmin only pulls away from the kisses to whisper praises to you, “I can make you feel so good, darling. You’re so good for me, you deserve it,” he says, making you rut your hips up into him. Seokmin has ignited something in you, something you hadn’t felt in a while, and you were becoming more desperate as each second passed. “You look so beautiful, so gorgeous with my name engraved behind you, sounding so sexy moaning my name out.”

You gasp, moaning out when his hand travels down to your chest, palming roughly at your covered breasts. You realize you must be pressed against his locker, a way for him to stake his claim on you, and you continue to breathe out his name like a mantra as his hand travels farther down your body and closer to your core. By the time his hand makes it to your heat, you’ve wrapped a leg around him, his other hand helping hold it up for you.

His deft fingers run over your clothed folds, and you buck into his hand, feeling needy for his touch. “So sensitive for me, darling,” he groans out when his fingers move past your damp panties, slipping two of them into your seeping cunt. “So fucking wet for me too, is this really all for me?”

He looks at you so innocently, but his long fingers start moving in and out of you expertly, curling and hitting your g-spot. You’re gasping for air, hands pulling at his hair as he bites at your bottom lip, “all for you, Min, only you make me this wet.”

“Such a sweet girl,” Seokmin moans out, crashing his lips against yours as he relentlessly fingers you, and you can feel your own juices begin to drip down your thighs as he continues his ministrations. You let a loud moan slip past your lips as he begins to rub fast circles into your clit, your high approaching you quickly as Seokmin catches your moans with a kiss. He has your hips pushed against his locker, not allowing you to chase his fingers, but he’s able to get you to reach your release just by fingering you.

You feel the coil inside you snap, and you almost scream out in relief from the orgasm, but Seokmin is quick to capture the sound with a kiss, knowing you can’t be too loud. Seokmin almost loses his mind at the way your walls clamp around his fingers, wishing that he could feel you squeeze around his cock instead. However, tonight is not the night for that, knowing you’re a bit tipsy, and wanting to wait until he can really take his time with you. Regardless, he knows he is not done with you for the night. Not after the way you whine out when he removes his fingers from your core, pulling them to his mouth to taste you for the first time.

“Of course, you taste so fucking sweet, too,” Seokmin can’t help but sink to his knees, pulling the leg that was wrapped around his waist, and placing it over his shoulder instead.

“P-Please,” you beg, “I n-need more, please.” You’re gripping at his hair, as his hand roughly shoves your panties out of the way again, wasting no time diving into your heat with his mouth this time.

“No need to beg, darling,” Seokmin laps at your cunt, looking up at you from between your legs, and you swear you almost collapse at how innocent yet sexy he looks. “Taste so fucking good, let me take care of you.”

You’re grinding against his face as his tongue fucks into you, his nose deliciously providing pressure against your clit as you chase your high once again. “Just like that, ride my face,” he encourages you, only working his tongue even more messily into you, adding his fingers to the mix.

The rubber band inside you is quick to snap again, as Seokmin’s tongue and fingers work you through your second orgasm. You’re a writhing mess, your legs shaking as he tries to still the one hooked over his shoulder.

Once he comes back up for air, he’s pulling you into a heated kiss. The taste of you on his lips still makes you want more, even though you’ve become sensitive from the overstimulation. You try to trail your hand down to where he is obviously hard, all from getting you off, but he stops you before you can reach him.

“No, no, darling,” he says gently, pulling away from the kiss. “Just wanted to focus on you tonight. Let’s save this for later.”

You almost pitch a fit, but your cut off when you hear your phone vibrating in the distance from where you hand dropped it on the bench earlier. Quick to scramble away, you grabbed your phone to realize it’s Mingyu returning your calls. You quickly eye Seokmin, unsure if you should answer, feeling a bit frazzled by what had just happened.

As if he knows your almost asking for permission, he nods, smirking slightly as you pick up the call from your close friend.

“Oh, hey, Mingyu,” you say, and there is still a breathlessness to your voice that only Seokmin knows the reasoning behind. “Oh no, everything is okay. I’m fine now, don’t worry.”

Seokmin can hear Mingyu’s concerned voice on the other line, unable to make out exactly what he is saying, but he’s sure that the other man is making sure you’re safe. “Yeah, I’m safe now, Gyu. Seriously, I am perfectly okay.”

You breathe out once again, making eye contact with Seokmin, feeling the butterflies erupt in your stomach, reminding you of your orgasm ebbing away from your core. He looks so perfect as he stares at you with such love, you almost melt, forgetting you’re on a call with Mingyu. “I promise you, Gyu. Everything is perfectly fine. I'll see you at the game tomorrow.”

Seokmin pulls you into his arms after you assure Mingyu once again that you were safe and hang up. He's sure to scatter kisses all over your face, pulling you into a tight hug. You can’t hide the smile that covers your features, hiding your blush behind your hands as you try to cover your face. “I mean it, Seokmin, I’m really into you.”

Seokmin knows that Mingyu would kill him if he knew what had taken place right before that phone call, but he was sure he’d never let Mingyu down in the sense that he’d never break your heart. “I’m really into you, too, darling.”

[orsathesimurgh]

Written in the stars

Chapter III, page 5-8 (74-77)

They adopted babies before they realised they were old an married couple

p.1 -4

p.5-8

p.9-16

p.17-26

p.27-36

p.37-45

p.46-54

p.55-62

p.63-69

p.70-73

[hotpinkhoshi]

let me (m) | park chanyeol

pairing: park chanyeol x f! reader

genre: little angst, fluff, smut

word count: 2.5k

summary: after a rough day in the studio, chanyeol knows a surefire way to make himself feel better. 

a/n: umm hi everybody! i know this may not be what you’re used to or what you expected if you haven’t been following my blog. i’ve been captured by park chanyeol, and i’m still coming to terms with it but i desperately wanted to try to write a cute fluffy drabble for him. it ended up at 2.5k and a little smutty. also, i haven’t been writing as much as i’d like to lately, so… forgive me if you can tell that i’m a bit rusty!

You first noticed something was off when Chanyeol was quiet entering your shared apartment. Normally, he’d be calling out for you or for Toben, or perhaps singing softly to himself. More often than not, he was in an exceptional mood when he got off work and finally came home to you. 

But today was different. Chanyeol simply walked through the front door and locked it behind him, setting his keys onto the wooden table set up in the entryway. You stood in the kitchen, halfway done chopping up the veggies you needed for tonight’s dinner. Toben was curled under the kitchen table, more than happy to be left on his own with his favorite stuffed toy. 

“Yeol? Is that you?” you called, after noticing that he didn’t greet you as normal. 

“It’s me,” came his reply, his tone low and without inflection. 

You listened as his slippered steps carried through the apartment into the kitchen, setting your knife down and wiping your hands on a towel. When you turned to look at Chanyeol, you could read it all over his face. 

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[photoboothphotos]

Tech Issues

Jake Peralta x Reader - Basement filing room picnics [1.4K Words] 

Jake Peralta was always a wild card. Would he show up to the precinct half dressed in a daze? Maybe. Is it possible for him to walk into Holt’s office with a devious plan to increase the difficulty of this years Halloween heist? Possibly. Could he accidently sent you an incriminating message during your work meeting? Most definitely.

You had only started recently dating Jake, your shared office space forcing your relationship status into a secret. After a week of long days working on a cold case, there wasn’t much time for you to rendezvous with Peralta at his apartment for your usual night of take out and food coma induced naps. The stress of this unsolvable case was beginning to wear off your edge, making you think that maybe you were not cut out for detective work. You were at the top of your class at the police academy, but there was a wild difference between succeeding in your drills and real-life cases that had no rhyme or reason. Your pen-inked fingers ran through your hair, causing stray hairs to loosen out of your ponytail and falling to frame your face.

You’ve hit a slump.

The summer heat shown through the office windows, making the day pass by too quickly. The precinct was buzzing busily, the bullpen full of chatter from your fellow detectives musing about their own files. Jake had been trying to catch your eyes for awhile now, fingers fumbling with his papers and mind getting distracted by your presence. Jake knew you were having a tough time with your case, and he felt helpless in trying to help you solve it. With Charles babbling about his new fermentation process in one ear, Jake had decided that it was his mission to make your frown turn upside down today.  

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[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine:

Erik’s girl gets drunk and starts flirting with other men so Erik has to teach her a lesson/ Erik’s girl is wearing waist beads and he notices a boost in her confidence.

Warnings: One-shot. SMUT. Spanking. Orgasm denial. Dirty talk. Slight Roleplay. Daddy!Dom Erik, Bratty plus size reader.

I will tag later ;)

I get questions all the time how a nigga can keep his cool with a girl like Y/N. I can’t speak for every man but it does come with tremendous self control. My honey, Y/N, can be my weakness in a blink of an eye. Just one look with those sultry eyes that reminded me of sunshine through a glass of cognac, and the concrete barrier holding up my dominant nature come tumbling down into rubble.

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[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Imagine

Erik talking real nasty and the reader can’t take it.

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