imagine abbot being absolutely enamored with you, a new resident starting a rotation at the Pitt.
you fit in perfectly with the others (with him) , always ready with an answer to the question. eager to learn, you remind abbot of, well, him. maybe that’s why he wants to get closer, to learn more.
it’s not a crush. and if it is, well. it’s not like you need to know.
“where are you planning to work?” he asks you one day. it’s casual, easygoing. his hand trails over your hip, lingering, and like always, you let him. you don’t look up, focused on charting, but you do answer.
“probably pediatrics. or surgical, if i study more for it.” you answer absentmindedly, waving a hand around and almost brushing over his thigh. abbot bites back the noise he wants to make and leans in closer, a sense of satisfaction washing over him when your eyes finally meet his.
“do you think you’ll stay here?” you smile, voice taking on a fonder tone. abbot wishes it was for him. “yeah. i just want to be closer to my dad for the first few years.”
“yeah?” abbot encourages, wondering who he might have to talk to, to get to know better so he can get on your good side. “do i know him?”
“Michael Robinavitch. don’t you work together?”
and oh, abbot is fucked. he’s been flirting with you. his best friend’s kid.
wc: 4.2 k
cw: dom!Jack, sub!reader, age gap, power imbalance, power play, jealousy, uhm...Jack is kind of a freak in this (in all of my writing), noncon (if u squint), spanking, unprotected sex, pwp
a/n: I hear the word secretary and my mind goes to the movie... also I've been working on this for soso long, sorry for the delay!! If you liked this, I'm working on a mohabbot secretary au for ao3, the link to my ao3 is in my intro post!!
your moodboard is here!!
The rain pattered angrily against the car windows when your friend, Samira, dropped you off in front of the building. She smiled, reassuring and warm until you got out, then she sped off without a second thought. She would wait in the parking lot for you, but now you had to walk in there on your own.
You rang the bell to Mr. Abbot's office, waited a couple of minutes for someone to come open the door. You figured, since they were hiring a secretary, and it was a relatively small firm, a private practice, it would be him, Abbot, who opened the door for you. Time went by and, even with your ear stuck to the door, you couldn't hear a thing. You doubted anyone was coming to get you, so you let yourself in, pushing the door open and walking into the lobby.
Water droplets dripped from your raincoat to the floor as you scanned the room. A coat hanger sat in a corner with a couple coats hanging from it, a dark umbrella leaned at the foot of it. The hallway walls were covered in diplomas and pictures from the people who worked there. You walked along it until you found one of Mr. Abbot's diplomas and you stopped there, feeling as if you were overstepping.
"Hello?" your voice rang through the walls, nobody replied. You took a deep breath to gather yourself and, with shaky legs and a nervous disposition, made your way to his office.
Your fist rapped fast and soft against his door, although it was ajar, and you could hear him hum quietly inside. You called out again, awkwardly.
"In here." he was quieter than you had expected, softer.
"Hi." You smiled as you walked into his office. It was small and smelled faintly of dusty books and orchids.
"Hi."
Suddenly, the papers you were holding in your hands felt heavy, and so did the word secretary. The very word you had mouthed in the mirror about a thousand times that morning. You swallowed your spit and took a deep breath, pushing a handful of papers— cv's, diplomas, another handful of things you thought would be nice to have printed out— towards him.
"Are you the lawyer?"
"I...yes. Jack Abbot." He watched you with wide eyes, as if you had walked in on him doing something he wasn't supposed to, awkward and confused.
"I—I am sorry, Mr. Abbot, I'll come back later..." You spat out, already halfway out the door.
"No."
You turned around, mouth wide. You were confused, he wasn't ready, was caught off guard by you and you were giving him a clear way out. But he refused to take it, preferring to stare at you.
"No, stay." He said, finally.
"It said 'secretary'," You pointed lazily behind you, hoping he knew you meant the door, or the newspaper, because you did not know what else to say now that you were fully inside his office, face to face with him.
It finally registered, once you looked at him for a second more, how handsome he actually was. Grey hairs curled against his forehead and temples, making his eyes look brighter than they were.
He crossed and uncrossed his arms over his chest, reveling in the way your watchful eyes moved from his face to his chest and arms.
"That's right." He nodded.
You took a seat in front of him, with your hands in your lap, and waited for him to look over the wad of papers you'd brought and ask you questions about it.
About half an hour later you were exiting the building with a pep in your step. It was no longer raining, and you had gotten your first job out of college. Samira's car was the only one in the parking lot when you walked out to it, and you were thankful for that, because you ran up to it squealing and jumping, unaware that Jack could see you from the window in his office.
"I got the job!" You exclaimed as you got into the hot car.
"I knew you could do it!" She squealed, kissing the side of your face.
You nodded, biting your lip with enough force to make it bleed.
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Your desk was neat and tidy when you got there the next morning. The lobby was quiet, too. Your manicured fingers moved over the keys of the typewriter, your expression set in concentration. You liked the dull work, liked that you had time to think, or paint your nails, or look out the window at the birds. A week went by quickly like that, making coffee, answering calls, typing letters and e-mails.
You were a good typist, but not as confident when it came to answering the phone—most times your voice caught in your throat, or you stumbled over your words and said something wrong. It was your first week, so you chalked it up to that.
Unbeknownst to you, Jack Abbot had noticed. And he was already preparing to use it as an excuse to call you into his office. He had been waiting to find an excuse to get you alone with him.
"Did you get enough sleep last night?"
Why would that matter? You were silently doing your job, adjusting to the clanking noise of the typewriter. You debated whether you should tell Jack the truth, tell him that you had spent the evening at a bar with your best friend, that you had stayed up later than you should when a guy Samira called cute, Mark or Marcus or something hit on you, and that you ended up giving him your number; or if you should be professional and lie to Jack, tell him you had gone to bed early.
You stammered, mouth open, unaware as to what you should say.
Jack lifted a hand up, stopping you.
"Uhm, not really, sir." You looked down at your feet, knocking the front of your shoes together, focusing on the clicking noise they made.
"Your boyfriend keep you out late?"
The question caught you so off guard you laughed, short and awkward. "I don’t have a boyfriend."
"No?"
"No."
And Jack refused to tell you he had seen you out at the bar, had seen men approach you, had seen you reciprocate. He refused to acknowledge the jealousy he was feeling, because you were his secretary, he was your boss, he couldn't do something like that. He wasn't sure who the man you had practically glued yourself to the previous night was, if he was a friend or boyfriend, but you refused to tell. He would have to try bonding with you again. He sighed, closing his eyes for a split second.
"You should drink some tea, it'll wake you up and...get a much less hoarse voice out of your throat."
Your hands flew to your neck, as if you could fix the issue from the outside. His gaze stayed on your neck even after you removed your hands from it.
"You know what your problem is? You answer too quickly. You sound startled, like you hadn't meant to pick up." Jack leaned back in his chair, studying you with the same intent focus he used when reading contracts. It made your skin feel thin and see through.
"What are you afraid of? Of...inconveniencing somebody?"
"I just don't want to miss it. The call." You fidgeted with your skirt.
"You won't. Caller can wait thirty seconds." His voice softened.
You became aware of the ticking clock on the wall. The sound of rainwater still trapped in the pipes. The faint smell of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes beneath the starch and soap. You wondered if he could smell the cigarettes off your clothes, beneath your sweet perfume, you wondered what soap he used to wash his clothes, if he washed them at home or got them dry cleaned.
Jack tapped once against the desk with his pen. "Sit up straight."
Your spine straightened immediately before embarrassment rushed hot across your face. "Sorry."
A smile stretched across Jack's lips, "There you go." He said, proud.
You hated how good his praise felt, how heat bloomed deep in your stomach at his approval. You stayed in his office, sat in front of him with your knees bumping against each other, wondering whether you should talk back or get up and go back to the lobby. Before you could overthink the length of the silence, Jack spoke up.
"The next call," he said, "you’ll let it ring twice. Then answer slowly."
You nodded, a small smile making its way up your face.
"And," Jack added, "Breathe before you speak. You don't have to sound frightened all the time, you're not a little mouse."
"Okay, sorry." You smiled.
Jack only hummed in acknowledgment and waved you off toward your desk again. The second the door closed behind you he shut his eyes for a moment, jaw tightening. He felt like a creep, like he should apologize for something.
You were back to sitting at your desk, quietly typing, listening to the songbirds right outside the window. That was when the phone rang. You remembered what Jack had said about your voice and breathing, about taking your time with the calls, so you waited for the third ring, and then picked up.
"This is the law offices of Jack abbot, how may I help you?" You grinned, proud of your improvements, of your confidence.
"Hey. It’s me," there was a beat of silence and some rustling on the other side of the phone, the speakers crackled. "uh...Mark, from the bar..."
Your stomach dropped. You hadn't thought he would ever be back in your life, had chalked it all up to drunken mistakes. "Oh. How did you...get this number?"
"I called your landline...uh...your roommate, Samira, said to call here. Didn't know you were a lawyer." He chuckled.
"I'm a secretary, actually." You tried to sound prouder than you were, in reality it was the only place willing to hire you. Or rather Jack Abbot was the only man willing to hire you.
"Cool..." A small laugh. "Listen, I was wondering if you wanted to get dinner sometime."
Your fingers tightened around the receiver cord, winding it once around your hand before quickly undoing it again. The office suddenly felt too quiet around you, too open. The ticking clock behind you sounded louder than before. Through the frosted glass of Jack’s office you could see the blurry movement of his silhouette shifting behind his desk.
"I don't know...I've got work, and stuff..." You answered softly, lowering your voice on instinct, though you were not sure why. Maybe because you had a slight suspicion Jack was listening, watching and waiting.
"Oh, come on...you gave me your number, might as well do something."
Your cheeks warmed. You had. Barely remembering it did not change the fact that you had leaned over a sticky bar counter and scribbled your number down onto a napkin while Samira giggled beside you.
"I was drunk, and i just...I didn't think you'd actually call..."
The door to Jack's office opened, and you watched as he stepped out with a folder tucked beneath one arm, looking every bit the composed attorney he pretended to be. His eyes landed on you immediately. His shoulders stiffened slightly beneath his dress shirt. You knew you had made a mistake, you were not supposed to take personal calls on the work phone unless they were important, and whatever this was wasn't.
"Hold on," you whispered into the receiver.
"You are aware you're not supposed to take personal calls here, right?"
"Uhm, yes, sir. Sorry...I...was about to hang up."
Jack approached your desk slowly, the polished floor creaking beneath his shoes. The closer he got, the more aware you became of your posture, your skirt riding slightly up your thighs from sitting so long, the warmth gathering beneath your collar.
"Who's calling?" he said, calmly.
"A friend."
Jack took the phone from your hand and hung up, refusing to look away from your face. The eye contact made you shift uneasily on the chair.
"Ah, a friend," he paused, smiling. "A boy friend?"
You felt heat rise in your face immediately, sharp and humiliating, because it was not just what he said but the way he said it: like he was testing something, like he already knew the answer and still wanted you to stumble into admitting it. It made your fingers curl against your own palm. All of it felt wrong in a way you couldn’t quite name. Not loud enough to be an accusation, not soft enough to be casual.
"I was just being nice, Mr. Abbot."
"You're too nice." He breathed as he began to walk back to his office, "You let people take advantage of that without noticing."
────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────
There was a subtle change in his demeanor then, nothing obvious. Nothing anyone else would notice. Jack still greeted you in the mornings with a curt nod, still thanked you when you brought him coffee, still corrected your typing mistakes in red pen with the same precise handwriting. But something warm inside him had folded shut. The softness that used to creep into his voice whenever he said your name disappeared. The strange little smiles he used to hide behind coffee mugs were now gone, leaving you to deal with the emotional whiplash.
You had started recognizing the rhythm of his footsteps from down the hallway. Started anticipating the low sound of his voice drifting through the cracked office door. Started waiting for the moments he called you into his office for pointless things—fixing a crooked stack of papers on his desk, rereading a letter that had already been perfect the first time, standing beside him while he explained things you already understood. Now he barely looked at you.
The first few days after the phone call, he became painfully professional. He stopped lingering near your desk. Stopped watching you when he thought you were not paying attention. Stopped offering awkward guidance. It left a strange hollow ache in your chest that followed you home at night.
You found yourself replaying every interaction you'd had with him in your head as you laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling fan. Maybe you had embarrassed him. Maybe he thought you were stupid. Maybe he regretted hiring you entirely. The thought made your stomach twist unpleasantly.
The office itself seemed different without his attention fixed on you. Colder somehow. The yellow lamplight in the lobby looked dimmer in the evenings. The old pipes groaned louder whenever it rained. Even the typewriter sounded harsher beneath your fingers now, every clack echoing through the quiet rooms like a reprimand.
And Jack became unbearable. Unreadable.
It took you a couple weeks to adapt to the new rhythm, but you did, and over time you started to pretend things were normal again.
You sat at your desk, typing as Jack paced around the room and dictated a letter to one of his clients. His voice was controlled, his eyes wouldn't dare land on you.
"...and furthermore, my client has made every reasonable effort to resolve this matter outside of court."
Your fingers moved over the keys. Clack. Clack. Clack. You finished the letter in a kind of careful silence, the typewriter slowing as the final sentence settled into place. For a moment, there was nothing but the faint hum of the office around you, the ticking clock down the hall, and Jack who had sat down on his chair, leaning back.
When you stood, smoothing the paper instinctively, you assumed that was the end of it. You gathered your notes, waiting for his usual dismissal, that small nod that meant you could return to your desk and pretend you were doing something other than painting your nails or listening to music.
Instead, when Jack reached out and took the page from your hands you didn't get the usual "Good girl, now get back to your desk." Jack scanned the page slowly, holding up a hand to still you. He read it once, then again. And then he made a small sound under his breath, something almost like irritation, almost like disbelief.
"No," he said, not looking up yet. “Uh, uh, uh.”
Jack’s finger tapped once against the page. "How many ‘s’s are there in necessary?"
You blinked. "Two, sir."
"Correct."
Jack's eyes lifted from the paper, and when they did there was something sharper in them than before. Not anger exactly, more like tension. Tight and controlled, like it had been building underneath everything and only now had found somewhere to go.
"Then why," he said quietly, "is there only one in your letter?"
Heat rushed up your neck immediately. "I—I’m sorry, I didn’t—"
He exhaled through his nose, as if steadying himself, and set the paper down on his desk with more care than the rest of his movements had suggested.
"Come here," he beckoned you closer with his hand as he stood up from his chair. "I want you to bend over the desk so you're looking directly at it. Get your face very close to the letter and read the letter aloud."
"I—I'm so sorry, mr Abbot, I—"
"Put your hands on the desk, bend over...and read it aloud."
You blinked. "The whole thing?"
"Yes, sweetheart." Jack's large hand pressed between your shoulder blades, guiding you face-down over his polished mahogany desk. One of his legs kicked yours apart so he could fit in between your thighs.
"Dear Mr. Bennett," you read aloud, voice slightly uneven at first before you forced it into something more controlled.
Jack only hummed to let you know he was listening. He should have stopped you, should have pulled back, sent you off to your desk, apologised profusely for getting out of line. Should have called HR, or the police. That would have been clean. That would have been professional. Instead, he stayed where he was, because moving away from you was a loss he couldn't afford.
"As per our previous correspondance—" A loud crack echoed through the office as his palm landed on your ass through the thin fabric of your dress, startling you stiff.
"Continue."
You cleared your throat. "I...I am writing to inform you that the matter has been reviewed in accordance with standard proceedure and the relevant legal considerations."
Another strike, proceedure. How careless of you, Jack had to correct that. He pressed his now hardening cock against your ass. You gasped at the contact but kept reading. Jacks hands moved from your back to the sides of your hands and you snaked one shaky hand to hold his.
“And furthermore, my client has made every reasonable effort to resolve this matter outside of cort.”
His palm cracked down sharply again. He was going to leave a mark, and the thought of that excited you. The thought of standing in the mirror that night and seeing mr Abbot's handprint on your body made you tremble with anticipation.You shifted your weight and kept going.
"Should you fail to respond within the designated timeframe, we will proceed accordingly and seek furthur legal action."
Another loud crack and a shallow thrust of his hips against yours.
"Now pull up your skirt."
"Mr. Abbot..."
"Call me Jack, sweetheart. And pull up your skirt."
You could hear Jack unbuckling his belt, could hear the metallic noise of the zipper going down. His hands weren't steady; they trembled slightly as he pushed his pants down just enough to free himself.
"Pull down your pantyhose and underwear."
You did what he said, filled with a strange sense of excitement, the sense that if you made a mistake it would all be over, you would be fired or ignored by Jack. So you stayed quiet, squeezing his hand to reassure him, to tell him you wanted it just as bad as he did.
You felt the thick head of his cock push slowly inside you, one of his hands moved to grip your waist. The desk creaked under your weight.
He didn't say anything else after telling you to pull your skirt up. No commands now that it was actually happening, just heavy breathing and racing heartbeats loud in both your ears, and the slick noise of your bodies together, of your tight cunt swallowing him whole.
The desk groaned again under the shifting weight but neither of you stopped. Sweat already beaded at Jack’s temples; his shirt clung slightly to his back from the nerves. He hadn't done this in years.
Your wetness made quiet sounds with each push-in and pull-out, soft squelches that would've been embarrassing if either of you were thinking straight right now. A droplet of sweat fell from Jack's jawline onto the back of your dress as he leaned over slightly for better leverage and he thought if it had fallen on your bare skin he would've licked it off, licked a path up to the back of your warm neck.
Jack's movements grew more confident as you got more slick. Every time you clenched around his length a quiet groan escaped his lips.
"fuck...so wet, sweetheart," he breathed shakily. "Been wanting to do this since the night at the bar..."
"Wha...what night at the bar?"
Jack froze for a second when he realized he'd said too much. His cock stayed buried inside you, but his body tensed like a deer caught in headlights. He hadn't wanted to admit to that, to having seen you out in public shortly after hiring you, to being attracted to you and never correcting your spelling mistakes before because he didn't want to see a pretty girl upset. It was idiotic, he wasn't like that.
"Shit..." He breathed out. Jack hadn't planned on you finding out while he was still inside you, or ever for that matter.
"…That bar downtown," he started quietly, still not moving inside you, just frozen there with his hands on your hips like he was bracing for impact. "Two weeks ago. Friday night."
Jack's hand fisted suddenly in your hair and yanked your head back slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to arch your spine and expose the curve of your neck. A hot open-mouthed kiss landed there, sloppy, wet with spit as he sucked a mark right onto warm, sensitive skin. "Saw you with a guy."
"Ja—Jack...I wasn't...he was not—"
His hips started moving again harder now; no more awkwardness or hesitation. Deep thrusts slammed into you as sweat dripped from his jawline down both sides of his face. "Not what, baby?"
You opened your mouth and immediately closed it again. You weren't sure what to say. Not my boyfriend. Not important. Not you. Not the person I wanted him to be. You weren't sure, either, if the words would come out right, so you just whined, pushing your hips back against his.
Jack's breathing turned ragged from the jealousy that flared up at seeing you with another guy, mixed with guilt for admitting it now, like this. The kiss on your neck broke wetly as he panted against your skin, still moving his hips in rough, uneven thrusts. Not graceful or practiced; just raw and needy in a way Jack Abbot had never allowed himself to be before.
"Did he get to fuck you like this, huh, baby?" His lips pressed at your shoulderblades.
You shook your head no. Nobody could, Jack was grown and big and warm, making you dizzy every passing minute. He was relieved at that, at the way your eyes were glassy with tears, your hips snapping loud against his, at the fact he was the one getting you fucked out and stupid.
"No, he didn't...yeah...bet he wouldn't know what to do with you..."
Your back arched as a loud moan ripped from your throat. Jack's arm snaked to hold you upright against his chest, putting you on a chokehold. The change in position had him getting that much deeper hitting your g spot over and over.
"Jack…I can’t—" Your nails dug against the hard wood of the table, a futile attempt at grounding yourself when all you could hear was the sounds coming from your joint bodies, all you could think about was him.
"Oh, come on sweetheart, be a good girl and take it for me," he cooed at you, sharp teeth scrapping at the base of your neck.
You were keening, drooling all over his forearm and blabbering about how you were so close and how you needed it pleasepleaseplease
"Jack, please— I’m so close," Your legs shook in between his thighs, the heels you wore struggling to keep you upright.
"I’m right behind you, sweetheart."
Jack pushed you back down on the table, pressing your front to the cold hard wood, lifting your hips up to arch your back. The change in position made your breath hitch and your vision blur.
Tension coiled tight and hot in your abdomen as you spasmed around Jack’s shaft. He wasn’t stilling his movements, thrusting fast and hard against you until your vidion went white and you came with a loud moan, slumped over the table, wood and leather and plastic all pressing against your chest.
Jack pulled out a second after to spill thick ropes of cum over your back. He waited a beat, until you caught your breath and steadied yourself, to zip up his pants and speak again.
"You should straighten yourself up, then get back to your desk." He said, scratching with his fingernail at a cum stain on his slacks. "We can talk about this over dinner on friday, if you’d like that."
was just thinking of price punishing his younger gf, by having her naked body pressed to the floor, and her ass perched in the air, just a few feet in front of his desk. he nudges her knees apart, so he can get a better view of her pussy. and he just goes about doing whatever the fuck he does, and he has her there for hours-- her knees aching and back sore from the sharp arch that he's put her in.
john looks up from a piece of paperwork, and he can see the way her pussy flutters; see the way her stomach heaves softly, the soft pushing movement making her pussy leak; juices pooling from her hole, down her swollen folds, and then to her inner thighs. she's creamy and slick; literally dripping onto the carpet, and john is suddenly salivating. and she's been a good girl, no complaints and minimal whines and pleas-- that he can't help but push back from his chair, knocking it over in his haste to get to her.
she's too out of it to really comprehend what's happening before she's mewling out, thighs quivering almost violently as his tongue is suddenly thick and hot against her pussy. john swallows down her slick like a man starved, each curl and pull of his tongue full of her cream, and he rumbles deep in his chest like some kind of beast. his large, meaty hands grip the fat of her hips almost bruisingly as he devours her quivering cunt, her taste has him feral. she babbles mindlessly, her eyes rolled back; clit fat and stiff in his mouth.
and it takes him an hour or so to finally pull away from her pussy; she's a pile of overstimulated flesh, her plush little mouth parted and saliva dribbling down her chin, she looks like she's going to pass out but the only thing john does is push his thick, long cock into her pussy and fuck her into the carpet, her knees sliding and burning. this was a punishment after all.
older boyfriend!könig who withholds sex from you at first, insisting that he won’t fit, you’re not ready yet. in reality, he’s training you, making sure you’re desperate and addicted to it before he’s even inside of you. slowly turning you into a slut for him, ruining you for everyone else.
he gets off on corrupting you, teasing you and putting you in vulnerable positions you never thought you’d be in, then acting like it's your fault when you get needy and messy.
he'll hold both your wobbly legs out of the way with one large hand and bully his thick, throbbing dick inside your now transparent panties, slotting between your soft folds. he groans at the way your needy pussy lips wrap around him, enveloping his length in warm, sticky heat. your hole pulses around nothing, the pretty tears pooling in your eyes from need make his heart clench and cock kick against your puffy clit. his free hand pulls the straps of your camisole down, groping your supple breasts. you try, adorably, to buck your hips into him, mouth ajar while you beg for something you don't even understand. he’ll tsk meanly, feigning disappointment. tightens his grip and pins you down.
"don't be so greedy, häschen." voice low and condescending, makes your brain go fuzzy. "rubbing yourself on my dick like a dumb slut. beschämend. perhaps i’m spoiling you too much. should i stop?”
vigorously, you shake your head, holding onto his strong forearm to keep him close. you’re not sure why you can’t seem to stay still, let him take care of you. “‘m sorry, please.”
“sweet girls relax and take what’s given to them. i always know how to make you feel good, no?"
once he's satisfied with you squirming and whining below him, he'll finish all over your glossy, twitching pussy. pulls your panties up, slaps a firm hand onto your clit and makes you go about your day with his seed dripping down your thighs. leaving you feeling gross and ashamed, but achey for more.
Silver fox! Steve, having an almost comically awful day, like car won't start in the court house parking lot after his divorce proceeding (that Robin couldn't even make it to because of some last minute emergency) type of bad
He manages to find a mechanic not too far that'll tow his car so it could be worse he supposes, the man that shows up has to be about half his age and talks from the moment he gets out of the truck, he unabashedly checks Steve out and immediately turns his constant steam of words flirtatious
And while Steve is still human and was a notorious slut before ending up with his now ex spouse who in retrospect was far too much like his father to ever be a good idea, who just happens to be watching like they want to see him crash and burn the second they aren't legally married anymore so he flirts back, hard. It throws the young mechanic off causing him to stumble but over his own feet and words but he recovers quickly flirting even more now that Steve is flirting back
They end up hooking up and while Steve feels a little sleazy sleeping with someone so much younger than him the day his divorce was finalized Robin makes sure he knows he did nothing wrong and was allowed to have fun while also lovingly making fun of him for immediately returning to his slutty ways
Eddie calls apologizing for using the number left for his car to contact him to ask to take him on a proper date but figured it was special circumstances l, Steve figured he just wants another romp and agrees but it turns out to be an actual date
One date turns into two turns into a weekly thing turns into genuine dating turns into introducing him to Robin and meeting Eddie's uncle who refuses to properly retire even if Eddie is constantly telling him to
It's almost a year into things when Eddie asks if Steve would ever want to get married again and he's struck wondering how a celebratory hook up turned into thing
what do you think of yandere priest but in more of a cult vibe?
Like a mother and young adult reader came to the neighborhood and the mother joined the "church" and became crazy religious
Okay, here me out, yandere priest to a cult that's not really a cult, but some multi level marketing scheme.
Tw. for age gap, financial abuse, and religious themes
He's less motivated by faith than he is his own greed. He loves living in luxury scoffs at the notion that he should be more humble. He worms his way into a quaint, suburban neighborhood slowly but surely over several years and drips in bits and pieces of information about a company that's just guaranteed to make you money.
You get to work from home! Be your own boss! And the products themselves work miracles!
Yandere Priest who is calm, charismatic, suave, and oh so charming. Most of the flock he tends to don't even realize he's scamming them out of their life's savings. They're all just far too dumb to even think of him in a negative light.
You and your mom moved to the neighborhood after finally managing to improve your financial situation. You were enrolled in a local community college and had several low paying jobs along with your mother, and the two of you lived frugally until you could afford enough to live in a nicer part of town than the one you had been stuck in your entire life.
The two of you are welcomed warmly by the church, the community, and yandere priest. Your mom is happy to have found such a nice place to live, and she's instantly enticed by the promises of making money through joining the congregation. She gets a bit of success through it at first, and soon she's hooked.
You however, don't buy it one bit.
Yandere priest is intrigued by you. While your mother begins to zealously preach the word of the bible and the word of his money, you seem to have an inherent distrust for him. It makes sense, he thinks. He essentially just views your little family as another wallet in his collection. Still, as much as he understands you, a poor little lamb who wasn't joined his flock yet, he can't let you roam free lest you lead others astray.
It's then he really starts to lay the charm on thick. You remain unconvinced despite the fact that he begins to visit your home often (It's an honor by the way. Your mother knows her place. She graciously welcomes him in and shouts at you when you don't show him respect.), and he catches you scowling at him when you think no one is looking.
You're just so frustrating to him. At first you were like a little challenge to beat, something that he had to work to get for once, but you're proving to be a true pain in the neck. You cats doubt on his name to anyone who'll listen, argue with your mom and try to get her to quit his church often, and he's even caught you trying to snoop around in some financial documents of others around the neighborhood. He begins to think of you as less of a lamb and more of a vixen.
It doesn't help that you're pretty and cute. You're a young faced, rebellious spit fire who calls him out like no one has before, and even though he grits his teeth every time you glare at him, he can't help but love it.
For the first time in a life, he actually has someone he would even deign to call an equal.
Just like with all the money he's sucked out of these poor people, he didn't care that you're practically half his age, or that he could ruin your life with a few words. No, all he wanted was for you to finally just give up, to just set aside your pride and let him win.
All the while, your mother has been changing. She was once a sweet if not ditzy woman who would do anything to protect her child, though now she was wrapped up in the same greed that had been running through this neighborhood since he sunk his teeth in it. Your finances had been depleted despite the fact that she insisted that the church's company was legitimate and making good money. While the two of you had been close, she would yell at you for anything that went out of line from what the church and Yandere priest preached.
You were losing your mother, your community, your hope. If this habit of her spending all of your money on the church continued, soon you were worried that you wouldn't be able to pay for the house or your tuition. You were desperate to get your life back in order, and who but him would be there with a single, honeyed option left for you?
Yandere priest was certain that if he bled you dry just a little longer, you'd eventually accept his oh so gracious offer and finally fall into his hands.
The newest installment of my George/Kimi/Toto-turned-George/Kimi series 'Favecedes' is here!
A Favorite Topic of Discussion (Chapter 1/6)
Pairing: George Russell/Kimi Antonelli
Chapter Word Count: 750; first chapter is the shortest, and finished work will come out to ~8k
Posting Schedule: One chapter per day, from today (Monday 6/1) through Saturday
Summary:
“So. You and Kimi?”
Alex says it casually as he’s driving George to the track in his rental, and George feels his heart stop.
***
Five conversations George has with others over the course of the Canada race weekend about his relationship with Kimi, and one conversation he has with Kimi himself.
Note: This is a direct follow-up to Daddy's Favorite, Playing Favorites, and Favorite Rewards, so may not make much sense if you haven't read those first!
Synopsis: Your collar inspires unprofessional thoughts in Sirris and Winter.
Contains: gn!reader, gn!sirris, gn!winter, age difference, coercion, discipline, dubcon, spanking
Words: 749
A/N: Brief lewdities featuring Sirris and Winter. Apologies for my abrupt and lengthy absence; I’ve been trying to hold myself together after some traumatic experiences and just haven’t felt the itch to write until recently. If you left an ask and I haven’t answered yet, just know I am working on it, but perfectionism threatens my workflow.
Truthfully, I’d like to work on this some more, but I thought now would be as good a time as any to take a swing at perfectionism.
Sirris
Upon seeing their favorite student stroll into class brazenly collared and leashed, Sirris was taken aback. Oh, please don’t misunderstand! They’re genuinely thrilled to see you express yourself so comfortably. You’ve always been a curious mind, so perhaps they ought to offer private lessons—a chance to explore kinks too complex to properly discuss in class. Sexuality is safest when explored with guidance, after all, and who could be a better guide than a trusted teacher? What’s so odd about wanting to ensure their student makes safe choices?
With such a delicate topic, it would be awfully difficult to avoid touching you altogether, don’t you think? Sirris is a firm believer in hands-on education, so think nothing of the wandering hands. Admittedly, they find the lessons more enjoyable than any teacher reasonably should. What can they say? You’re undeniably attractive! With such lovely lips and a charming voice to match, your allure would entice even the most sexually repressed individual. Attraction is perfectly normal; there’s no shame in the body reacting to base instincts.
Really, who could fault them for the heat coiling in their stomach when they guide your body into various positions and restraints? Lingering touches and heated dreams are beyond their control.
And you’re as much a victim to instinct as they are; don’t think for a second you can hide your body’s reactions from their keen eyes. Don’t fight your nature; just let the pleasure wash over you. It’s all part of the lesson. Knowing how to enjoy yourself is as vital as safety.
Of course, they enjoy your company too. Who doesn’t? The other students admire you. Even the staff adore you! Surely you’ve seen the way they all look at you. They’re far from the only degenerate around here, you know? No, of course you don’t. You’re just so damn trusting. That being yet another reason why you require guidance. There are some awful people out there who would take advantage of an inexperienced youth such as yourself. They only want to make sure you’re being treated well. Is that so wrong? Unprofessional to be sure, but let it be known that Sirris has always been one to play the rules by ear.
Winter
Winter’s simple inquiry about your collar sparking mutual desire. At the time, they simply couldn’t fathom the reasoning behind the strange accessory. You’d been quite secretive when they’d broached the topic in class, dodging the question the first few times. It seemed detention loosened your tongue well enough, at least. Upon closer inspection, the thing hardly looked comfortable. Slipping their fingers between the collar and your neck, a low whimper—nearly inaudible, if not for their proximity—tumbled past your lips as they gave a short tug. Much to their chagrin, the sound immediately sent heat pooling to their core. Hurriedly withdrawing their hand, they resumed the lesson, desperately trying to ignore the subtle ache between their thighs.
Winter had caught you touching yourself in class only once before; the chastity device they’d fitted you in being a wonderful deterrent for lecherous youths such as yourself. Yet ever since that incident, you seemed to do it about every class! Nothing seemed to deter you. Why, they’d go so far as to say you were provoking them on purpose; like you were itching for discipline. Sincerely, they were at a loss for how to handle you. Not only were you torturing them in class, you were plaguing their thoughts.
Amidst all manner of unprofessional thoughts, poorly repressed urges echoed; recalling the pleasant sound of your pained whimpers that followed with each whack, how natural it felt to pull you into their lap, and the shameful pleasure your squirming accompanied. Little could be accomplished when you were in the same room.
Lust permeates their core, mixing with years of repressed urges and gnawing on their will to resist temptation. They weren’t even safe in their dreams, visions of you in various historical contraptions, skin bare and raw from abuse, making such pretty noises, yet always with that damned collar around your neck. How much longer must they endure this torment? The overwhelming conflict of desire and reason is driving them mad. No, this cannot persist.
Clearly mere scolding and spanking wouldn’t be sufficient discipline for a troubled youth such as yourself. Indeed, you require intimate guidance, and who better than a trusted mentor with wisdom and experience only age can supply? Unprofessionalism be damned, that line was already crossed the moment you entered their dreams.
