hey girl i absolutely love love love your stories, especially the kiri ones!! can i request for a sero x reader where the reader is a friend of kiris and they meet at some hero charity thing or whatever and he’s absolutely obsessed with her and they end up in a bathroom stall where she gives him head? thanks🫦💕💕
TEW GOOD ANON TEW GOOOOD!!🤏🏾🫦
It took a min but this request was literally too good to put off any longer lol. I can't believe this is my first time writing for Sero. REQUEST MORE FICS FOR MY MAN🙂↕️🙂↕️————————————————————————
Smooth
Out of all of the guys in his friend group, Sero could say with decent certainty that he was the most level-headed in the group.
Always remain calm and composed with a steady resolve. His friends would attribute that to his smoking habit, but honestly, he was like this long before he got into those kinds of activities. There were very few things in life that made Sero lose his cool. But you were definitely one of them.
It was mainly because he didn’t really know you. He wished he did, but he didn’t. You were the sole survivor of Kirishima’s middle school friend group. And you were bad as shit. It made sense that you and Kiri became friends far before the effects of puberty had taken over your minds, because even Kirishima knows he’d never have the balls to ask you to hang out with him.
While he and his high school friends honed their bodies and powers over time to become pro heroes, you had devoted the last few years of your life to becoming a lawyer. Due to your respective careers, you and Kirishima rarely spent any time together. Which neither of you liked but knew you couldn’t do much about. You opted for keeping your friendship afloat by calling or FaceTiming each other anytime the other popped into your mind. Which, for you, meant lunch breaks, mid-day coffee runs, and your nightly commute back from the office. For Kiri, that meant workout cool-downs, errand runs, and nighttime roll sessions with the boys.
The first time he ever called you around them, the group was stuffed into Kaminari’s car after hotboxing it. Everyone was absolutely sloshed, the vehicle still a bit hazy from the leftover smoke. Kami was in the driver's seat, whining about how the recent spike in crime has led him and Shinso to see each other less and less. Mina sat behind him with her hands dropped around his seat's headrest as she tried her best to give him advice while also trying to get him to zip it so he wouldn’t blow everyone else’s high. Bakugo sat in the passenger's seat, his usual seat, as he always insisted on being in control of the AUX. Kiriskima sat behind him, mindlessly scrolling on his phone. Sero sat between Kiri and Mina, as he was the group's designated roller. As the side conversations began to gain momentum, the group unanimously agreed to let Sero roll another. So he quickly but quietly went to work setting up his metal rolling tray on the center console of the car.
At the same time, Kami continued on his monologue of self-loathing, subtly mentioning that because of their alternating schedules, he barely even had time to FaceTime Shinsou anymore. The words ‘FaceTime’ made Kirishima's eyes widen a bit as he remembered he had missed a call from you earlier that day. He quickly opened the app to call you back, forgetting how loud he had left his volume on.
The agitating, loud ring of the call reverberated throughout the car. Kirishima cursed to himself and quickly turned the volume down before another obnoxious ring could chirp off. “Are you fucking calling him right now, dude?” Kaminari asked, turning completely around in his seat to face Kirishima. Apparently, paranoia was the sponsored high emotion of today's smoke sesh. “No, dude, relax! I’m just calling (Y/N) back. She called me earlier, and I missed it. Your bitching and moaning just reminded me.” “Oh my god! (Y/N)? Aw, Ei, how is she? I didn’t know you guys still talked?” Mina gushed, her tone dripping with a 'I remembered you from middle school, but I had honestly completely forgotten about you’ vibe.
Before Kaminari could get a sound out in his defense, you had already picked up. You were in your bed, pajamas on, with the room dimly lit, most likely from a candle. Your voice came flowing out of his phone speakers like a siren song. “Hey, Red! What’s up?” Sero’s ear perked up at the sound and the nickname. What pretty-sounding girl was Kiri facetiming mid-sesh? As you and Kirishima began to catch up quickly, Sero tried his best to focus on his work in front of him, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He leaned over to his left a bit, nudging Mina with his shoulder, making her look at him.
“You know her?” He asked her in a hushed voice as he continued rolling. “Yeah,” Mina replied, her voice as low as his. “They were friends in middle school, really good friends too, I didn’t know they stayed in touch.” Sero nodded along to the new information as he brought the J up to his lips to lick it shut. “What's she look like?” He asked her, hoping she might have a picture. Mina gave him a pointed look before taking her phone from her lap and opening Instagram. She searched for your name in Kirishima's followers, and lo and behold, there you were.
She turned the phone around to Sero, who was still closing the blunt. He lazily glanced over at the phone and did a double-take, eyes almost popping out of his head. “HOLY SHIT,” he whispered, barely, before moving the blunt to his right hand and snatching Mina’s phone with his left. He scrolled through your feed, weed long forgotten, clicking on the photos that excited him the most. You at the beach, you out with friends, you in some sexy business suit posing in front of some office building. Who was this? And why had he never met you before?
“Dude, what’s up?” Kirishima's voice pushed all of Sero’s racing thoughts to the side, bringing him back to reality. Sero turned to his red-haired friend, still recovering from the shock. He turned Mina’s phone around to face him and pointed to the evidence while he silently mouthed back, “You're on the phone with HER?!” Kiri had to fight back a laugh at Sero’s reaction; he had seen him like this since they were all in high school. Kiri just smiled and nodded his head. Sero didn’t miss the sly grin hidden underneath his smile. He knew he was wrong to have kept someone like this under wraps for all these years.
“You wanna say hi?” Kiri asked, his grin a full-grown smirk now. “Fuck you,” Sero mumbled back. He knew he wanted to say yes just as much as he knew he couldn’t. Kirishima just laughed at the sudden profanity, taking the blunt from Seros's hand and placing his phone there instead. “It’s no problem, dude, you look just about done with this anyway, so we can just trade for a sec,” he explains, reaching over Sero's leg for the lighter sprawled out on his rolling tray. “(Y/N), meet Hanta, he’s one of my friends from school, he’s a pro too!”
Kiriskima says loud enough for you to hear, placing the blunt between his lips and begins sparking it while making total eye contact with Sero. Shit. “Nice to meet you, Hanta.” You say sweetly. “Uh, Hey…” he stammers out, “(Y/N). That’s a—cool name…” What the fuck was he even saying? You laugh at his awkward attempts at conversation. Fuck even your laugh is gorgeous. After a few hits, Kirishima takes the phone back from his fumbling friend, again, replacing it with the J. “Smooth, man, really.” Kiri jokes, trying his best to hold in his laugh. Sero lets out an exasperated sigh as he slouches back in his seat, taking a long drag of the J while the rest of the car giggles at his expense.
The smoke sesh carried on like usual after you and Kirishima got off the phone. Only the tone shifted from everyone jumping on Kami’s case to everyone commenting on how whipped Sero was off of nothing but an introduction. He could even defend himself because he knew they were right. He couldn’t even argue that you were his type; he’d never seen a girl as perfect as you. It was almost uncanny. The most frustrating part is that Kiri had been practically gatekeeping you all this time. You quickly became the new topic of conversation for the night. Mina took out her phone to show everyone your Insta, and suddenly Seros’s reactions seemed more than justified.
Now everyone needed to know how you and Kirishima met, how long you’d been friends, how often you talked, if he had feelings for you, and why he had been keeping you a secret. He explained himself the best he could: you were friends in middle school who just kept in touch here and there because of your clashing schedules, you only really talked here and there but the conversations are always good since you’ve been cool for so long, no he didn’t have feelings for you but he couldn’t deny he found you attractive, but risking a friendship this good for some ass would be totally unmanly, and he wasn’t intentionally keeping you a secret you two have only recently gotten back into the swing of talking more often since you had just recently graduated law school and landed your first post grad job. He swore up and down he’d bring you around more often now that you weren’t as busy. And that was music to Sero’s ears.
For weeks after your first interaction, Sero couldn’t get you out of his head. He’d done everything he could do at this distance to get you to realize that he was into you. Followed you on your socials, liked any story you posted that had you in it, and he had even stooped to getting as much information about you out of Kiri without blowing his cover too hard. He was whipped. It was almost painful to watch how whipped it was. Sero was so whipped, Kirishima was starting to feel a little offended.
Did his own friend really think he was this clueless? This dense? That he didn’t think he’d notice how Sero suddenly wants to get lunch with him every day? Or have solo smoke seshes at his apartment? Or almost double his weekly workouts so that he can lift with him? Sero really thought Kiri wouldn’t notice that he was trying to spend as much time with him as humanly possible to try and get another shot at talking to you.
And don’t get it twisted, Kiriskima loves his friends, but he loves them even more when they're not asking like hungry vultures. So if Hanta needs to be thrown a bone so that Kiri can get his friend back, what's the harm in that? Both of you seem like you could…distress a little.
Kirishima moved his plan into motion one night while he and Sero were working out together, for the fourth time that week, even though it was just Tuesday… “So you know how Best Jeanist is hosting that fundraising gala this weekend?” Kiri asks as he spots Sero while he’s benching. Sero lets out a gruff sound in affirmation, trying his hardest to control his breathing and focus on the set. “Well, I was thinking about what you guys were saying a few weeks ago, and you guys were right. I think you all should officially meet, and I think this party would be the perfect place to do it, so I think I’m gonna bring (Y/N) as my date to the gala.” At the mention of your name, Sero feels his arms buckle. He fails the set, letting the bar come down, pressing his clenched fists against his chest, causing him to wheeze. Kirishima quickly moves to lift the bar off of his friend and back into its holder. “DUDE?!” He shouts, helping Sero sit up and catch his breath. “Sorry, sorry…I’m good,” Sero chokes out, placing his hands on his knees and waiting for his heart rate to slow down. “That sounds cool.” He continues, trying to maintain as much of his dignity as possible.
Leading up to the night of the party, Sero was a nervous wreck. It’s like he was brain-dead. He didn’t know anything. He didn’t know what suit to wear, what to do with his hair, or whether he should shave. Or were you into more scruffy kinds of guys? He looked over your Instagram one more time, trying to match your aesthetic as best he could, in hopes of impressing you.
He landed in a navy blue suit, with his hair slicked back, clean-shaven on top but just clean around his goatee, lace-up dress shoes, not slip-ons, and white gold accessories, not yellow gold. He gave himself one last look over in his bedroom mirror before spraying on a generous amount of his most expensive cologne and heading out the door. He spent the entire ride to the venue trying to think of potential topics of conversation to discuss with you. What was law school like? What is the craziest case file you’ve ever read? Have you worked with any heroes before? Are you single? He just wanted tonight to go perfectly.
Once he arrived at the gala and handed his keys over to the valet, he anxiously headed inside, fiddling with his cuff links and short chain around his neck, wanting to look as polished as possible for you. Once inside, he scanned the room for any of his friends or colleagues, seeing a few familiar faces. He headed over to say hello and make small talk until he could find Kirishima or you.
One by one, more and more of his small circle of friends arrived. Of course, Bakugo had been there long before Sero arrived, with Jeanist being his mentor and all. Mina was next to show up in a floor-length A-line gown. Kaminari was next, coming with a fairly exhausted but pleased Shinso, who was glad to have made it out for the night. The only person they were waiting on was Kirishima, and of course, you. The group all stood shoulder to shoulder by the open bar, sipping on cocktails and making small talk.
Shinso made a quick comment on how nice Sero looked, wondering if the tape hero had always been this fashionable. Mina giggled, hiding behind her drink, “Oh, Hanta can be very fashionable when he wants to, especially when a certain pretty girl is planning on making an appearance.” Sero just rolled his eyes, taking another swig of his drink, hoping that if he finished his drink first, he’d be able to blame this anxious flush on the alcohol and not the butterflies in his stomach.
“Oh, a pretty girl, huh?” Shinso poked, “I didn’t know you came with a date?” “He didn’t—,” Bakugo responded dryly. “Red did.” Shinso let out a quiet hum as he brought his own drink up to his lips. “Well, I can’t wait to meet her.” He said, looking at Sero over his glass. “Oh, don’t worry. You're about to.” Kaminari added, his voice dripping with amusement as he pointed to the main doors. You and Kirishima had finally arrived.
Sero could feel his heart creeping up his throat. You were breathtaking. Your hair was in bouncy bombshell curls that framed your face like you were a ’90s starlet. Your makeup was subtle but complemented your features perfectly. But best of all. Your dress. You wore a floor-length, off-the-shoulder gown with a subtle mermaid-style bottom.
The dress was tight, not so tight that you couldn’t move freely or look uncomfortable, but tight enough that you could see every curve and contour of your figure, with a modest slit up the right side. He didn’t know where to look. He didn’t know if he should look at all honestly. His heart was beating so fast that every second he spent staring at you felt like it was taking one hour off of his life. Kirishima quickly spotted the group by the bar and ushered you over to them.
Even your walk was perfect. The sound of your heels clicking against the floor, how your hips swayed from side to side, how your hair bounced with every step…how some other things bounced with every step…Sero didn’t think he was gonna make it.
His stomach was in knots, he could feel the nervous sweats coming on, and he swallowed his old-fashioned down so fast he might be more than a little tipsy already. He might have to abort this mission. Suddenly, you two were face-to-face. Kirishima was formally introducing you to the group and getting you both a drink from the bar. You made your way over to Mina first; you two went to the same middle school, so it was no surprise you’d recognize her. Mina, ever the socialite, insisted on pulling you in for a hug after showering you in compliments. Sero watched as she pulled you in for a tight squeeze, making you turn your back to the rest of the group.
The dress was backless, completely backless.
He sucked in a deep breath, needing a moment to contain himself, and did a full 180 on his heels, mumbling a quick, “I’ll be back.” To Bakugo before heading out into the crowd to find a bathroom. Or a deep hole.
Whichever he found first.
He stumbled down a quiet hallway and found a row of doors with ‘all gender bathroom’ written above each door. He slipped into the first open door and immediately went for the sink, turning the cold water on and running his hands under the flow of water to soothe his nerves. He took another deep breath as he looked up at himself in the mirror. ‘What is wrong with me?’ He thought. Never in his life has another person made him act like this; he felt like he was going crazy.
He grabbed a few paper towels from the dispenser and dried his hands. Using the damp towels to wipe his brow and along his neck, while he shut his eyes and exhaled deeply through his nose. Now he needed to come up with a decent excuse for why he was there when you walked over and greeted everyone, but was gone the second you turned back around. Never in his life had he felt so stupid.
And the feeling only worsened when he heard the bathroom door knob turn. You were still smoothing your dress when you pushed the door open, one hand cupped around the long slit so you wouldn’t trip. The soft click of the latch made Sero flinch like you’d fired a starting pistol.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t think anyone was—” You stopped. “Oh, Hanta?”
He blinked at you in the mirror before spinning around to face you as if he'd been caught in some heinous act. Paper towel crushed in one palm, the other braced on the counter like he might tip over without it.
“Hey!” he said way too loud, voice sounding as guilty as he looked. “I—uh—think I forgot to lock the door...”
You smiled. “Lucky me.”
He laughed, winced, and immediately looked like he wanted to rewind time twenty seconds and try a better line than that. “Not—not like that, I’m not a creep, I swear! I just— God, this sounds so weird.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes skittering everywhere that wasn’t your face. “I just needed a second. It’s… kinda hot out there.”
You leaned your shoulder against the door, letting it click shut behind you. “Crowded, too.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed. “Crowded.”
Silence hummed around the low rush of the faucet he still hadn't turned off.
“You look nice,” he blurted, like the words couldn't leave his mouth sooner. “Really nice. Like—like you always look nice, I’m sure, but this is just… It’s a lot. I mean, not too much, a lot, I didn't mean too much, I just meant—”
You bit your lip to keep from smiling too hard. “Thank you.”
He exhaled, thanking God you were here to shut him up. “Yeah. Cool. Totally. You’re welcome.”
“You look nice, too,” you offered, letting your gaze fall over him. He did look good. Better than good. Even in his stressed and frenzied state, his hair was still slicked back to perfection, now with a few loose strands here and there that only added to the look in your opinion. White gold catching the light at his wrist, his suit jacket accentuating his broad shoulders. “Very put together.”
“That was the goal.” His mouth tilted, self-conscious. “I thought the bar should be… higher tonight.”
"Well, you're certainly in a league of your own tonight,” you teased. “Do you usually clean up this nice, or was this for someone specific?”
His eyes finally found yours, direct and startled. You saw the little flash of panic, as if he were being interrogated.
“You,” he said, like a truth he’d been holding in his cheek. “I mean—someone specific, being you,” He sighed, setting the paper towel down on the countertop, hands empty and helpless. “Okay, this is going to sound insane, but if I don’t say it right now, I’m going to leave this bathroom and walk into traffic.”
“Please don’t,” you said, laughing lightly, stepping out the door. “But go ahead."
“I’m usually like, a chill guy. Like, I’m normally smooth,” he said, grimacing at his own hubris. “Or, at least, smoother than this. I can talk to anyone. That’s half my job. I can swing into burning buildings and tell people it’s going to be okay while the roof’s coming down. I can crack a joke on camera with a mic in my face. But Kirishima walked in with you, I—” He scrubbed at his jaw. “I short-circuited. I couldn’t think. And then you were hugging Mina, and I just…needed some air.”
Heat crawled up your neck. But you didn’t look away.
“I wanted to say hi,” he went on, softer now. “And then I thought, what if I say something dumb? What if I stand there smiling like a moron and you’re polite, and then you go talk to literally anyone with a functioning brain? So I just…ran. Which is humiliating because I am a grown man.”
“You are,” you agreed, warmth sparking low in your stomach. “And that was a lot of words for someone who claims he’s not smooth.”
He huffed out a laugh, the tension in his shoulders loosening by a millisecond. “Okay, yeah. I ramble when I’m nervous.”
You crossed the tile toward him, the soft swishing of your dress filling the silent space. His scent hit you up close, he even smelled the part of ‘smooth guy’.
“What about me makes you nervous?” you asked, gentle but unabashed. “Specifically.”
He looked like you were asking him to cut the red wire.
“Your smile,” he said, after a beat. “You’ve got an absolutely gorgeous smile. Like the prettiest I've ever seen. Your hair, too, how it moves when you walk, it's like someone's following you around with one of those runway fans. And your dress.” His eyes flicked down and back, an honest man refusing to lie. “The front. The back. I didn’t know where I would put my hands if I said hello. That's probably why I ran off once you hugged Mina, I didn't think I'd be able to handle all—” he let his eyes run up and down your figure again before quickly looking away. “All that.” He coughed. “Anyway.”
“Anyway,” you echoed, letting him off the hook with a small grin.
“And your voice,” he said quickly, like he’d remembered the truest part at the last second. “From the moment I heard it when Ei facetimed you a few weeks ago, you've got the prettiest voice I've ever heard. And you saw how smooth I was when he handed me his phone, so I was really hoping to make a better impression this time around, but I guess we can both see how well that's going for me. I'm probably the last person you wanna talk to tonight.”
The room felt smaller. In a good way.
“Actually,” you say, stepping closer, “I came tonight hoping you’d be here,” you admitted, the honesty easier than you expected. “Ei has said like a thousand nice things about you since that night he called me. I wanted to see if they were true.” You let your eyes linger, unabashed. “And I think they are.”
Something bright flickered over his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You were standing right in front of him now, close enough that his hips bumped the counter as he leaned an inch closer, as if drawn. You tilted your head. “And I didn’t come just to say hi.”
Sero’s mouth parted. “No?”
“No,” you said, and watched the way his Adam's apple bobbed. “I was hoping to get to know you. Better. Maybe more.”
Confidence slid through his posture like someone had straightened a picture on the wall. He wasn’t all the way cocky, he was still too earnest for that, but a steadiness returned to his hands, his breath, his gaze.
“In that case,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting, “I’m really glad I forgot to lock that door.”
You let out a loud, honest laugh, “Me too.”
He reached for you steadily, fingertips light at your hip, the press of him slow enough to step away from if you wanted. You didn’t. Your fist wrapped around the lapels of his jacket, tugging once, and then he bent his head and kissed you.
It was nervous for exactly one second. Then the nerves fizzled out. He kissed like a man who’d been thinking about it since he first saw you, which he most certainly was. You rose onto your toes, his hand bracketed your waist and pulled you flush against him, the other sliding up your spine with care that made your mouth open on a soft sound you’d never made in public.
He chased it with a groan, barely-there, like he was still trying not to scare you away.
“You’re okay?” he asked against your lips, breath whispering there.
“Yes,” you said, a little dizzy. “You don’t have to stop.”
He didn’t. He couldn't. His fingers marked a path along your ribs, your hips, the edge of the open back of your dress. Below the open back of your dress.
“Y’know, I had a feeling any girl that looked this good would feel amazing,” he confessed in a rough whisper. “Didn’t know it would… feel like this.”
You smiled into his mouth. “And how does it feel?”
“Like I’m gonna do something stupid if you don’t tell me what you want,” he said, so honest it tripped another laugh out of you.
You let the laugh ghost against his jaw. “That’s funny,” you murmured, tracing the chain at his throat with the pad of your finger, “because I know exactly what I want.”
“Tell me.”
You dropped your hand, sliding over the flat of his stomach to the neat line of his belt. His breath hitched. You kissed him once more, slowly, and then you began to sink to your knees.
He didn’t move. He couldn’t, maybe. His hand splayed out on the counter; the other hovered, unsure, until you looked up and nodded. Then his fingers slid into your hair, carefully. He wasn’t guiding you. He was grounding himself. He wiggled his fingers a bit, taking note of how soft your curls felt against his hand.
“God,” he said, barely there. “You don’t have to—”
“—I want to,” you said simply, and his head tipped against the mirror.
You worked his pants open with patient fingers, easing the buckle, the button, the zipper. The suit pants were criminally well-tailored; you made a mental note to tell him later, if your tongue remembered words after all of this. He was already thickening under your hand, heat bleeding through the fabric. When you freed him from his briefs, the curse he tried to bite back sounded like a thanks.
“Look at me,” you said softly.
He did. His eyes had gone a shade darker, pupils blown. You stroked him once, twice, slow to map him out, to learn what made his breath hitch, what made his thighs clench under your touch. He was sensitive at the tip, your thumb pressed into the wet there, and his jaw clenched, tendons carving sharp lines you wanted to lick all over.
“You’re beautiful,” you said, and his laugh broke apart like glass.
“Pretty sure that’s my line.”
You leaned in and licked a slow stripe up the underside, from base to tip, and his hand tightened in your hair, still gentle, while his other hand wrapped around the edge of the counter with enough force to turn his knuckles white.
“Fuck—,” he said, voice shakier now. “Okay, okay.”
You wrapped your lips around the head, tongue circling, and taking him deeper, working him into the heat of your mouth with a steady pace that made his breath go ragged. He was breathing through his nose, like a man remembering his home training, his eyes still fixed on you, as if you’d disappear if he looked away.
“You feel so—” He cut himself off to groan. “I’m not… I’m not gonna last if you— God, you’re amazing.”
You hummed, pleased, and the vibration punched a sound out of him that echoed off the tile. He bit it down, panting a laugh. “You’re gonna get us kicked out of here.”
“We’re in a bathroom at a gala, Hanta,” you said when you came up for air, stroking him while you spoke. “We’ll be fine.”
“Not if you keep doing that,” he said, and the sincerity of it made heat pool low in your stomach.
You took him again, deeper now, letting your fist work in counterpoint to your mouth, angling so the head pushed against your tongue in a rhythm you could keep, slow and filthy. Saliva slicked your palm. His hips wanted to chase, but he didn’t. You could feel the restraint shaking through him, the way he was letting you set the pace for everything. Every time you glanced up, the way he looked down at you made your chest ache.
“You should see yourself,” he managed, breathless. “You’re unreal. I’m— I’m trying so hard not to—”
“Don’t,” you said, pulling back just long enough to wipe your mouth with your thumb, breath hot on him. “Don’t try. Don't hold back for me. I want it. Let me take care of you.”
His eyes fluttered before rolling back in his head. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You smiled up at him, slow and conspiratorial, and then you did exactly what you promised. You set a pace that pushed him right to the edge and held him there, coaxing sounds out of him you were pretty sure no one else ever had. When he got too loud, you swallowed him deeper; when he forgot to breathe, you slowed just enough to make him curse your name softly like a secret.
“Please,” he said finally, messy and honest. “Please. I’m close. I can’t—”
You answered by taking him deeper, letting your hand tighten, letting your tongue press just so. His hips jerked before he forced them still, a strangled sound ripping free as he came, spilling hot over your tongue. You worked him gently through it, swallowing around him, the hand in your hair going loose and worshipful, the other falling to your shoulder like he needed something solid to remember gravity.
“Holy… holy shit,” he said, wrecked and laughing, head thumping lightly against the mirror. “You’re incredible.”
You pressed a kiss to the softening head before tucking him back in, deft fingers straightening what you’d undone. He watched you like a man blessed and bewildered, and when you stood, his hands were immediately on you, straightening your dress out for you, smoothing the line of your clothing with a care that made your heart tilt.
“Come here,” he whispered, and kissed you again, grateful, a little shaky. He could taste himself on you, and he was still desperate for more.
When you broke apart, he caught your wrist with a gentle thumb. “You okay?”
“Very,” you said, amused by the understatement. You turned to the mirror, dabbed at your lipstick with a tissue, and gave your hair a quick fluff. He hovered behind you, hands hovering like he wanted to fix something but didn’t dare. It was somehow cuter than anything he’d said.
“Are we—” he started, then stopped, nerves working their way back through him. He squared his shoulders, choosing honesty. “I want to see you again. Not just at a fancy thing like this. Like… coffee. Or Dinner sometime. Or— I mean, if it’s not weird after—”
“It’s not weird,” you said, turning to face him fully. “I’d like that.”
His smile broke over his face like sunrise. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You took his tie between two fingers and tugged, a playful little adjustment to settle it back where it belonged. “And for the record, you were very smooth.”
He snorted. “I ran away to a bathroom.”
“And told the truth about it,” you countered. “That’s not just smooth, that's impressive.”
Straightening, he slipped his hands into his pockets, still buzzing, but steadier now. “Okay. Then let's do dinner.”
“Dinner sounds perfect,” you echoed.
You opened the door a fraction, listening to the soft throb of music and loud conversation beyond. Before you slipped out, you glanced back. He nodded once, and you left the door cracked just enough for him to follow a beat later. He was watching you the way he had been all night.
Back in the ballroom, the light was softer, the crowd louder, and Kirishima was already waving you both over. Sero quickened his pace to walk at your side, close enough that your arms brushed, not quite close enough to give the game away.
“Everything okay?” Kiri asked, eyes flicking between you and Sero’s suspiciously serene faces. A knowing grin already forming on his own.
“Great,” Sero said, stealing your line with a private smile. “I think we just needed some air.”
synopsis: you accidentaly call your boyfriend by his hero name while fucking
warnings: 18+mdni, smut, dirty talk, slight degradation, established relationship
the apartment is dark when katsuki gets home at 11:23 p.m., only the soft glow from the streetlights sneaking through the blinds.
he kicks the door shut harder than necessary—still wired from patrol, gauntlets left at the agency, mask stuffed in his pocket, black compression shirt soaked with sweat and clinging to every hard line of muscle. he smells like smoke, concrete, and the sharp bite of his explosions.
you’re on the couch, legs tucked under you, scrolling on your phone in one of his old hoodies that swallows you whole. you look up when he enters, eyes lighting up in that quiet way that always makes something in his chest loosen.
“hey,” you say softly. “long night?”
he grunts. drops his keys on the counter. stalks over.
“too fuckin’ long.”
he doesn’t sit. just looms over you for a second, then grabs your ankles, yanks you flat on your back across the couch cushions. the hoodie rides up your thighs. he settles between your legs, knees sinking into the cushions, caging you in.
his mouth crashes into yours. hungry. desperate. teeth and tongue and the faint taste of mint gum he chews after fights.
you moan into it. hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging through the damp fabric.
he breaks the kiss only to rip the hoodie over your head, toss it somewhere behind him. then his mouth is on your neck—sucking, biting, leaving marks no one else will see under your clothes tomorrow.
“been thinkin’ about this all night,” he growls against your collarbone. “fuckin’ villains, fuckin’ reporters—couldn’t stop picturing you like this.”
his hand slides down, under your shorts, fingers finding you already soaked.
“shit,” he hisses. “ready for me before i even got home?”
you nod, breathless. “couldn’t help it… kept thinking about you too.”
he groans. shoves your shorts and panties down in one rough tug. frees himself—thick, hard, flushed dark at the tip.
he doesn’t bother with teasing tonight.
lines up. pushes in with one deep, hard thrust.
you cry out. back arching off the cushions.
he starts moving immediately—fast, rough, hips snapping forward like he’s trying to fuck the entire patrol out of his system.
the couch creaks under you. your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.
“katsuki—” you gasp, voice high and needy.
he smirks down at you, red eyes dark with want. kisses you hard again, swallowing every little sound.
another thrust. deeper. harder.
your head falls back against the armrest. eyes fluttering shut.
“f-fuck—dynamight—”
the name slips out. soft. breathy. completely unintentional.
he freezes mid-thrust.
you freeze too.
the living room is suddenly very quiet except for your shared heavy breathing.
then he laughs—low, rough, dangerous. the sound vibrates through you.
“the hell did you just call me?” voice wrecked. amused. so turned on it’s almost painful.
your face burns. you try to hide it against his shoulder.
“i—i didn’t mean—”
“bullshit,” he cuts you off, rolling his hips forward slow, deliberate, making you feel every inch. “say it again.”
you whimper. thighs trembling.
he grips your jaw. gentle but firm. tilts your face up so you have to look at him.
“say it,” he repeats. “say my hero name while i’m fuckin’ you stupid on our couch.”
your walls flutter around him. hard.
you swallow. voice shaking.
“dynamight…”
he growls—real, feral—and starts moving again.
harder. faster. brutal.
the couch rocks with every snap of his hips. cushions sliding under you.
“louder,” he demands. “let the neighbors hear who owns this pussy.”
“dynamight—fuck—dynamight—!”
every time the name leaves your lips he drives in deeper. hits that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes.
his hand slips between you. thumb on your clit. rubbing fast. rough.
“come on,” he pants against your ear. “come screaming for dynamight. come all over my cock like a good fuckin’ fan.”
you shatter.
hard.
crying out “dynamight!” as your orgasm crashes through you. walls pulsing. legs shaking. clinging to him like he’s your lifeline.
he follows right after—few more punishing thrusts, then burying himself deep with a guttural groan. spilling hot and thick inside you.
for a long moment you just lie there. panting. tangled. the couch cushions a mess beneath you.
he kisses your temple. soft. almost sweet.
then, smug as hell against your ear:
“next time you call me that, i’m fuckin’ you in the hero suit. mask and all.”
you laugh—breathless, flushed, happy.
he smirks.
pulls you closer.
the night’s still young.
and dynamight’s definitely not done with you yet. ♡
s. Running an event for heroes means managing chaos, egos, and impossible schedules, so feelings are not part of the job description. Unfortunately, neither is falling for your boss.
w. personal assistant reader, slow burn, mutual pininng, suggestive at the end, reader is implied to be overweight
w.c. 12k
read on ao3 | m. list
February
This isn’t how you thought you’d be living your adult life.
When you quit your last job, you swore to yourself you wouldn’t be a personal assistant ever again. You were done with condescending bosses who spoke to you like you were their maid, done with the fake smiles and the way they’d forget your name until they needed coffee. You meant it when you said it, too. You were so sure of it back then.
Then your boyfriend broke up with you. On Valentine’s Day.
Now your rent is double what it used to be, and every time you look at your bank app your stomach tightens. If you don’t find a job soon, you’re going to get evicted, and you try not to think too hard about where that leaves you, because the answer keeps dissolving into panic.
That’s why you’re sitting at a small table in the most expensive café in the neighborhood, fingers wrapped around a cup you haven’t touched in minutes, waiting for your soon-to-be boss to arrive.
Last night, in a drunken stupor you’re still paying for, your friend had hooked you up with her cousin’s friend – someone who allegedly needed a personal assistant.
“A pro-hero?” you’d hissed, cheeks warm from the alcohol, the room tilting just slightly. “Those guys are the worst.”
“It’d only be for a year!” Your friend had argued, just as drunk, waving her hand like that solved everything. “He needs someone to help organize an event or whatever. I can hook you up.”
“Okay, I am not sleeping with a pro-hero,” you’d snorted, gulping down more of your now-warm beer.
“Not that type of hook up!”
“Well,” you’d slurred, squinting at her, “it depends, actually. Is he hot?”
She had sighed, long-suffering. “I don’t know. He’s that tape guy who’s always hanging around my cousin.”
“I always forget your cousin is, like, a famous hero or whatever.”
So now, not only are you hungover as hell, but you also made the deeply questionable decision to cyberstalk your ex this morning and discovered he’s already with someone new.
It’s fine, you tell yourself, jaw tight. It’s not like it’s only been a week since the breakup. That piece of shit–
A voice calling your name cuts through your thoughts, and you jolt, looking up too fast.
Tape Guy.
“I’m Sero,” he says, smiling. It’s an easy smile, the kind that looks like it comes naturally, like he’s always finding something mildly amusing about the world.
He’s dressed casually – an oversized T-shirt, comfortable pants – and you don’t know why you half-expected him to show up in full hero gear. Yeah. Maybe because you’d also cyberstalked him and noticed exactly how tight that orange-and-black suit looked on him.
“You can call me Hanta, though.” He pulls out the chair across from you and sits.
“Hi,” you say, introducing yourself, suddenly very aware of your posture, of your hands resting on the table like they don’t know what to do.
“So you’re Kaminari’s cousin’s friend, right?”
“Yeah, um–” You swallow, reaching for your folder like it’s a lifeline. “I brought a copy of my résumé, if you want to take a look.”
You slide the crisp paper toward him. You might be hungover, but if there’s one thing you’re not, it’s unprepared.
“Oh!” he says, blinking. “You didn’t have to, but– okay.”
You watch him skim the page, eyes moving quickly, his expression shifting in small ways you try not to read into.
“Wow,” he says after a moment, sounding genuinely impressed. “You have… experience.”
“Yeah, I’ve always worked as an assistant–”
“No, I mean,” he cuts in, tapping the paper lightly, “you planned a wedding?”
“Yeah,” you say, a little sheepish. “It was a small one, back in my village…”
You still remember how stressful it was – the chaos, the late nights, the way everything felt like it might fall apart at any second – but you also remember your friend’s smile on her wedding day. And honestly? That part had made it worth it.
“Still.” He shrugs. “Weddings are intense.”
Hanta leans back slightly, eyebrows lifting as he looks at you over the edge of the paper. You roll back your shoulder as if you could physically shake off the memory.
“That’s one way to put it,” you mumble. “Everyone’s stressed, everyone’s crying, and somehow everything is your fault.”
He laughs, short and genuine, the sound pulling a reluctant smile out of you. He glances down at your résumé again, tapping it once with his finger like he’s mentally ticking off boxes. You watch the motion, your leg bouncing under the table before you realize you’re doing it and force it still.
“So.” He neatly folds the paper and sets it aside, and you decide it’s a good thing. “Your friend mentioned you’re organized. Like, scary organized.”
“I prefer ‘prepared’, but sure.”
“That’s exactly what I need,” he admits, scratching the back of his neck. The smile fades into something more thoughtful. “Things have been kind of… chaotic lately. I’m good at the hero stuff. The rest? Not so much.”
You nod, slowly. That, at least, feels honest. “What exactly would the job involve?”
“Well,” he starts, then hesitates, eyes drifting to the window like he’s trying to line his thoughts up. “Scheduling, emails, keeping me from double-booking myself. I’ve got a charity event coming up in a few months, and I’m already behind.” He glances back at you, sheepish. “I may or may not have agreed to it without checking my calendar.”
“A charity event.” You repeat, attention peeking. You love a challenge.
“Yeah,” he sighs, already sounding tired of it. “It’s a fundraising event for the quirk counseling project my friend Uraraka created. You know, dinner, speeches, getting rich people to donate their money and stuff.”
You hum thoughtfully. “What kind of timeline are we talking about?”
“Ten months or so. We wanted to do it on New Year’s Eve, have the whole fireworks at midnight gig.”
“That’s doable. Tight in some areas, but doable if we start early.”
Relief flickers across his face. “See? That’s exactly what I need. Someone who doesn’t immediately tell me I’m doomed.”
“I didn’t say that,” you point out. “I just said it’d take work.”
“I can live with that.” He shifts in his chair, leaning forward now, elbows on the table. “Helping me organize the charity event would be a big part of the job. Vendors, scheduling, coordinating with other heroes, making sure nothing catches fire– metaphorically. Hopefully.”
“And it’s temporary?” you ask, careful to keep your tone neutral.
“Yeah. A year, tops,” he says quickly, like he knows that’s the part that matters. “Or– at least until this charity thing is over.”
You take a deep breath and finally take a sip of your coffee. The caffeine is welcome in your hungover system.
A year isn’t long, you think to yourself. Just enough time to figure out what’s the next step for your professional life.
“I should be honest with you,” you say, sighing. “I quit my last personal assistant job because I didn’t like the way I was being treated.”
“Okay.” He tilts his head.
“I’m not interested in being anyone’s maid,” you continue, the words coming easier once they’re out. “I do my job well, but I expect basic respect.”
“That’s fair. More than fair.” He smiles again, softer this time. “For what it’s worth, I’m terrible at being intimidating. And I make my own coffee.”
That gets a laugh out of you, quiet but real. Your shoulders loosen just a bit.
He checks his phone, then looks back up.
“I’ve got patrol in an hour, but–” he gestures between the two of you, “I feel pretty good about this. If you are.”
“Yeah,” you say after a second, nodding once. “I think… I think I am.”
Hanta’s grin widens. “Then welcome aboard.”
…
March
Since Sero is an independent hero, he doesn’t have a permanent office of his own. Most days, you work from home, laptop open on your kitchen table, calendar spread across tabs and sticky notes. On the days you have to meet up with him, you head to one of his friends’ agencies, borrowing empty rooms and trying not to feel like you’re in the way.
This week’s chosen location is Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight’s agency.
You’re in the middle of answering an email when another scream echoes through the building. Your fingers falter over the keyboard. If you’d known the number five pro hero would be like this, you would’ve never set foot in this place to begin with.
You snap your laptop shut, shoving it into your bag as you stand a little too fast. The chair scrapes softly against the floor. You barely make it into the hallway before you collide with someone solid.
“Who the fuck are you?!” he snaps.
Your eyes widen, mouth opening on instinct, words tangling somewhere between your throat and your brain. Your grip tightens on your bag strap, knuckles going white.
Before you can answer, Sero’s beside you, presence familiar enough that your breath finally comes back.
“Will you stop scaring my assistant?” he says, stepping slightly in front of you. “She’s helping us with the event.”
Bakugo stares at you like you’re a problem he hasn’t decided how to deal with yet, even though you were introduced just that morning. His jaw flexes.
“Tch.”
“I’m gonna go get some coffee,” you tell Sero, already shifting your weight back. “Care to join?”
You don’t wait for an answer. You turn and walk away, fully aware it’s probably rude – but you’re so overstimulated from the noise, the shouting, the constant tension buzzing through the agency that you honestly don’t care.
The glass doors slide open, and cold air hits your face, sharp and grounding. You suck in a breath like you’ve been holding it all morning.
“I’m sorry about Bakugo,” Sero says, jogging to catch up with you. “I didn’t think he’d be so… triggered today.”
“It’s okay,” you reply, pushing the door closed behind you. Your shoulders finally drop a fraction. “We need to talk about venues anyway.”
He blinks, then lets out a small laugh. “Right. Of course we do.”
You start walking toward the café down the block, already pulling your phone out of your pocket. March might be about adjustment, but it’s also about control – and if you can’t control the heroes, you can at least control the plan.
“I’ve narrowed it down to three options,” you say once you’re seated across from him, laptop already open between your hands. “There’s the hotel downtown, the waterfront space near the marina, and a penthouse a few blocks from the financial district.”
Sero leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes flicking between you and the screen.
“Okay,” he says slowly. “Those all sound… expensive.”
“They are,” you admit, lips quirking. “But they’re also the only ones that can handle the guest count, security requirements, and last-minute hero arrivals without everything collapsing.” You scroll, turning the laptop slightly so he can see. “The hotel’s the safest option. Reliable staff, built-in catering, less room for chaos.”
“And the downside?”
“Boring,” you say honestly. “It’ll feel more like a corporate fundraiser than a community event.”
He hums, nodding like that matters more to him than the price tag. “What about the waterfront?”
“Great atmosphere,” you say. “Terrible weather backup. If it rains, we’re scrambling.” You glance up at him. “And December doesn’t exactly scream ‘predictable.’”
“Yeah,” he winces. “Fair.”
“And the penthouse,” you continue, tapping the screen, “is a nightmare logistically. Elevators, parking, crowd flow – all of it would need military-level coordination.” You hesitate for half a second, then add, “But it’s intimate. It feels… intentional.”
You scroll to the last image, the city spread out beneath glass walls. “And if we time it right, guests would be able to see the fireworks at midnight. New Year’s Eve, from above.”
He watches you for a second longer than necessary, something thoughtful settling into his expression. “You’ve really thought this through.”
You shrug, though your shoulders lift a little with the quiet pride of it. “That’s the job.”
A server stops by, and you order coffee without even asking him. He blinks at that, then smiles.
“Thanks,” he says.
You glance up. “You were going to get the same thing.”
He laughs, soft, almost fond. “You’re scary in a different way than Bakugo.”
“Good,” you say dryly. “That means I’m doing it right.”
The coffee arrives, steam curling between you, and for the first time since stepping into the agency that morning, the noise in your head settles.
“So which one would you choose?” Sero asks, catching you off guard.
“What?”
“If money wasn’t a problem. Which one would you go to, if invited?”
You pause. You want to say neither. Fundraisers aren’t your thing, you don’t have the income for it. But, in another life, maybe if you were a prohero…
“The penthouse,” you say. “The fireworks would sell me.”
He smiles, contagious and easy.
“Then it’s decided.”
You blink. “Decided?”
Sero shrugs, like it’s obvious. “If I wouldn’t want to be there, why would I ask other people to?”
“That’s not how budgets work,” you point out, though you’re already mentally rearranging numbers, timelines shifting into place.
“I know,” he says easily. “That’s how trust works.”
The word lands heavier than it should. You glance down at your screen, pretending to scroll, even though you’ve already memorized every line item.
“Okay,” you say after a moment. “Then we’ll need to start earlier than planned. Elevators alone are going to be a nightmare, and we’ll have to coordinate security so guests aren’t stuck waiting while heroes jump rooftops.”
He grins. “See? That tone right there? That’s why I hired you.”
You huff, but there’s something warm under it. “You didn’t hire me so I could panic in advance.”
“No,” he says. “I hired you so I wouldn’t.”
The server drops the bill at the edge of the table. You reach for it automatically, then pause when his hand covers it, gentle but firm.
“I’ve got it,” he says.
You hesitate – just long enough for it to feel like a choice – then let your hand fall back. “Fine. But next time it’s on me.”
“Deal.”
…
April
It’s safe to say Chargebolt’s agency is way quieter than Dynamight’s. You’re seated in a glass-walled conference room, notebook open in front of you, pages crowded with your own handwriting. Flyers spill across the table alongside business cards from catering companies, AV rental services, décor suppliers – a paper trail of just how real this event has become.
You’ve been sending emails all morning, chasing follow-ups and clarifying details, trying to piece together a coherent estimate of what everything will actually cost. Guest counts, service fees, equipment rentals – the numbers blur together faster than you’d like. With a tired sigh, you pinch the bridge of your nose, already overwhelmed by catering services that seem to think finger food translates to a twelve-course tasting menu the moment heroes are involved.
A soft knock against the glass interrupts your near-spiral. You look up just as Sero pushes the door open with his shoulder, two cups of coffee balanced carefully in his hands.
“I come bearing nourishment,” he announces, tone light, like he can tell you’re about two overpriced quotes away from losing it.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
“You’re an angel,” you say, taking the cup from him and wrapping your fingers around the warmth. One sip later and the caffeine hits your system like a small miracle, clarity creeping back into your thoughts.
Sero smiles at that, settling into the chair across from you, and for the first time all morning, the task in front of you feels manageable again.
“That bad, huh?” He says, glancing at the mess on the table.
“I swear, if I read one more email about elevated hors d’oeuvres I’m going to lose it.” You sip more of the coffee. “I asked for finger food, not a culinary experience.”
He laughs, quiet but genuine, leaning forward to glance at your notes.
“They see heroes and assume unlimited budget. ” He sighs. “Why do we have to ruin everything?”
You chuckle, glancing at him.
“It’s a talent.” you add, mild but pointed.
He presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I like to think I’m at least budget-conscious.”
You hum, flipping a page in your notebook. “You tried to approve a quote without reading the service fees.”
“That was one time.”
“It was three,” you say, not even looking up.
That earns another quiet laugh from him, and this one pulls a genuine laugh from you. You stop short of reacting to it, just let it pass, fingers tightening slightly around your coffee cup as you refocus on the page in front of you.
“Okay,” he says. “So what’s the damage?”
You angle the notebook toward him, tapping the numbers with your pen. “If we go with any of these, we blow the budget before we even get to décor.”
He winces. “That bad?”
“Mm-hm. But I’ve asked for revised quotes. Smaller menu, simpler presentation. Less… ambition.” You glance up at him. “If anyone pushes back, I’ll handle it.”
“I don’t doubt that,” he says easily. “You’ve been terrifyingly efficient.”
“High praise,” you deadpan.
He shrugs. “I mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many people respond to emails so fast.”
“Oh, I almost forgot about the DJ,” you say, pen pausing mid-page before scribbling it down. “If you have any recommendations, feel free to suggest something.”
Sero presses a finger to his chin, thinking. Your gaze drifts to him without meaning to, the way his eyes flick briefly to the clock on the wall as he considers it.
“Present Mic could do it,” he says finally. “If we ask.”
You blink. “You mean the guy that screams?”
He barks out a laugh, head tipping back like he finds the image genuinely delightful. You can’t help it – you smile at the sight, warmth curling low in your chest.
“You know,” he adds, still amused, “he was my high school teacher.”
You laugh. “How are you not deaf?”
He shrugs, grin still in place. “When you hang out with Bakugo long enough, you build an immunity.”
“Oh, that’s fair,” you say easily. “He’s so angry.”
“All the time,” Sero agrees, shaking his head fondly.
The moment settles into a comfortable pause, the kind that doesn’t demand to be filled. You clear your throat eventually, eyes returning to your laptop, grounding yourself back in the list.
“So,” you say, keeping your tone practical, “do you think he’d fit in our budget?”
“Oh, he’d do it for free,” Sero answers without hesitation.
“Really?” Your eyes widen as you look up at him.
“I’m pretty sure,” he says. “The guy loves a party.”
You smile, checking DJ off your list, the small victory lighting something up inside you. One less thing to worry about.
One more piece falling into place.
…
May
Dinner sits warm on the kitchen counter as you stare at your laptop screen for the thousandth time tonight. You know you’re supposed to be in bed by now, but now you’re in party organizer mode and keep checking the spreadsheet a million times. You’re used to it by now, you don’t need to double-check every column the way you did in March, don’t need to hover over each number like it might jump at you. You know this spreadsheet like the back of your hand.
Which is how you notice the problem immediately.
It’s small, technically. One line item buried halfway down the budget – a sponsor contribution marked pending for weeks longer than it should be. You frown, fingers stilling over the trackpad, and pull up the email thread. No reply. Not since April.
“Shit,” you mutter, rubbing at your temple, forcing yourself not to spiral.
Instead, you make a list. You adjust the numbers twice, flag two alternatives, and draft three emails that sound calm, reasonable, and absolutely not desperate. By the time you hit send, the tight knot in your chest has loosened into something manageable.
You only realize how late it’s gotten when a soft knock at your door pulls you out of your head.
You’re not expecting anyone. Frowning, you pad over and peer through the peephole, blinking in surprise when you spot Hanta standing in the hallway. You open the door quickly – a little too quickly – and he nearly stumbles forward, catching himself on the frame.
“Sorry,” he says immediately. “I know this is late. I just–” He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. His hair is damp with sweat, curls sticking to his forehead, jacket half on like he gave up midway through putting it on. “Can I sit for a minute?”
“Uh…” You glance back into your apartment, suddenly hyperaware of the state of it, then remember you don’t actually have anything to hide. Before you can say more, he’s already stepping inside.
He looks around once. Then pauses.
“You don’t have a couch,” he says, stating it like an observation, not a judgment.
Your face warms as his gaze lands on the green bean bag in the corner – the one piece of furniture your ex didn’t bother taking.
“No,” you say, closing the door behind you. “My ex took half the furniture when he broke up with me.”
Hanta looks at you, genuinely stunned. “And you let him?”
You shrug, helpless and a little tired of explaining your past choices. “I picked my battles.”
He studies the bean bag for a second, then drops onto it with a groan, sinking down like he’s been carrying the weight of the day in his bones. “It’ll do.”
You grab a glass of water and crouch on the floor beside him, resting your forearms on your knees. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Just… long day.” He leans his head back against the wall. “Back-to-back interviews, a training session that ran way over, and then a last-minute meeting about sponsorship optics.” He snorts quietly. “Turns out everyone has opinions when heroes are involved.”
You hum in understanding. “That sucks.”
He glances at you, tired smile flickering. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump that on you.”
“It’s fine,” you say, and it is. “You’re allowed to be human.”
He laughs softly at that, tension easing just a little. The words settle between you, heavier than he probably intends. You don’t comment on it, just shift a little closer, grounding the moment.
“Oh,” he adds, like it just occurred to him. “I meant to ask earlier– how’s the budget looking?”
You don’t hesitate. “It’s handled.”
He blinks. “Handled?”
“One sponsor went quiet,” you say casually. “I reworked a few things, renegotiated catering, moved some funds around. We’re still on track.”
“That’s it?” he asks.
“That’s it.”
He stares at you for a second, something like relief washing over his face. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, quiet and sincere, like it’s just a fact.
Your chest tightens a little.
You smile anyway, easy and practiced. “Good thing you hired me.”
He laughs softly, eyes closing for a moment as he sinks deeper into the bean bag. You watch him, heart steady, mind already moving on to the next thing that needs solving.
“Have you eaten?” You ask, suddenly, stretching your legs. “I ordered Italian, wanna share?”
Hanta looks at you, the tiredness in his face easing into something warmer. His smile is slow, contagious.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”
…
June
It was Sero’s idea, really. Moving was the last thing in your mind until he mentioned it. But it was a good idea. He suggested you’d move somewhere closer to downtown, closer to him.
In between juggling the guest list for the event and looking for new apartments, you found a nice little flat just twenty minutes away from the train station and Chargebolt’s agency – which is where you’ve been meeting Hanta anyway.
The move itself happens on a Tuesday night, because of course it does. Your schedule doesn’t allow for weekends anymore, and neither does his. By the time he shows up at your old apartment, sleeves rolled up and hair tied back, you’re already surrounded by half-packed boxes and second-guessing everything you own.
“You know,” he says, taking it in with an amused hum. “most people plan this part.”
“I did plan,” you reply, sealing a box with a decisive strip of tape. “I planned to panic later.”
He grins, then flexes his elbow. A thin ribbon of tape snaps out, clean and precise, sealing the next box before you can stop him.
You stare at it for half a second, then laugh. “Show-off.”
“Efficient,” he corrects, already moving for another box.
“Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you.” You kneel on the floor as you wrap another mug in newspaper. “How does it work, exactly?”
“What?” He blinks.
“Your quirk.” You explain. “Does your body produce the tape? If it does, does it have your DNA? How do you cut the tape so easily?”
Sero smiles at you, helping you with the mug.
“That’s a lot of questions.”
“Sorry.” You chuckle. “I’m just– curious.”
He looks at you for a moment, like he’s deciding how honest to be, then shrugs lightly.
“Okay, science version or dumbed-down hero version?”
“You underestimate me,” you say, smiling. “But probably both.”
He snorts and settles back on his heels, elbows resting on his knees.
“Alright. The tape is produced by special glands in my body, mostly concentrated in my elbows. It’s organic, technically, but once it leaves my body it doesn’t really… count as me anymore.”
You tilt your head. “So it doesn’t have your DNA?”
“Not in any useful way,” he says. “Otherwise villains could do some real creepy stuff with it, and trust me, that question came up early in my career.”
“I regret asking.” You grimace.
He laughs, shaking his head.
“Anyway, it’s strong as hell when it comes out, but I can control the thickness, length, and adhesive strength. As for cutting it–” He flicks his wrist, and the tape snaps cleanly at the end. “I can retract it or sever it at will. Muscle control thing.”
You blink. “That’s… actually really cool.”
He smiles at that, softer this time, like the compliment landed somewhere personal. “Yeah. Guess I got lucky.”
You go back to wrapping the mug, more carefully now, like you’re processing something bigger than tape mechanics. “Does it hurt?”
“What? No,” he says quickly. “Well. Not unless I overdo it. Then it feels like muscle fatigue. Same as using any part of your body too much.”
You nod, already turning back to the half-wrapped mugs, newspaper crinkling softly between your fingers. For a moment, the room settles into a quiet rhythm – tape snapping, cardboard shifting, porcelain clinking carefully into place.
Then he speaks again, casual, like the thought just occurred to him.
“Hey. You never told me about your quirk.”
Your hands still. You glance up at him, cheeks warming despite yourself.
“It’s stupid,” you say with a small laugh. “I never use it anyway.”
“Try me.”
You catch the challenge in his eyes, playful but sincere, and for a second you consider brushing it off. Instead, you exhale.
“Alright.” You stand, bare feet cool against the tile. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” He leans back on his hands, watching you intently.
You take a deep breath. One second it’s just the two of you in a half-packed apartment. The next, there are three.
You gesture toward your clone like you’re presenting a prize. “Ta-da.”
“That’s not stupid,” he repeats, more firmly this time, eyes flicking between you and the second you like he’s afraid one of you might disappear if he blinks too hard. Your clone shifts, mirroring your posture with eerie precision.
“It kinda is,” you say, dropping back to your knees in front of the boxes. “My clones are dumb. Watch this–” You glance up. “Go jump out the window.”
Your clone turns immediately, walking toward the nearest window.
Hanta’s breath catches. “Hey–”
“Stop.”
The clone freezes mid-step.
“Start packing those mugs.”
It pivots without complaint, kneeling beside the box and carefully wrapping porcelain in newspaper. You can’t help the small, smug smile that tugs at your mouth.
Hanta watches, stunned, then laughs under his breath.
“That’s… incredible. You could do anything with your quirk.”
You shake your head, already feeling the familiar pull behind your eyes. The clone flickers, edges blurring like heat over asphalt.
“Only for sixty seconds.”
Right on cue, it fades – dissolving into nothing like it was never really there at all.
You shrug, though it costs more energy than it should. “It’s useful sometimes. Just not for long.”
He studies you for a beat, then reaches for another mug, movements gentler now.
“Guess that means you don’t waste it,” he says. “You save it for when it counts.”
The words land softer than you expect. You don’t look at him as you sit back down, but you feel the warmth of his presence.
Between his tape and your color-coded labels, the chaos becomes manageable. You fall into an easy rhythm: packing, lifting, joking about the things you definitely don’t need but can’t quite throw away. At some point, the guest list comes up again – work always does – and you sit on the floor together, backs against opposite walls, laptop balanced on your knees.
“Final count,” you murmur, typing fast. “If I move the last two undecided donors to standby… yeah.” You pause, then smile to yourself. “That’s it. Guest list finalized.”
Hanta looks over at you, eyes soft with something like pride. “You did it.”
We did it, you almost say. The thought lands warm and dangerous in your chest, so you swallow it down and reach for your phone instead.
“We should probably get going if we want to finish this move before midnight,” you say, snapping your laptop shut and standing up.
The new apartment is smaller than the one you’re moving out of. Cozier, you’d thought when you signed the lease.
When you arrive, arms full of boxes, you barely make it past the hallway before you stop short. There’s a couch already set against the living room wall, fabric still pristine, like no one’s ever sat on it before. A rounded dining table sits nearby, fully assembled, catching the afternoon light.
Your stomach drops.
“What’s this?” you ask, eyes widening, a sudden spike of panic cutting through the quiet.
“A little gift for your new place,” he says, like it’s nothing. Like people do this sort of thing all the time.
The realization settles in slowly, heavy and unmistakable. Sero bought these for you. For here. Your grip tightens around the box in your arms.
“I can’t accept this,” you say quickly. “Take it out of my paycheck.”
“No.” He shakes his head without hesitation. “It’s a gift.”
You look at him, then at the couch, then back at him again. Your chest tightens in a way you don’t quite know what to do with.
“Why?” you ask quietly.
He shrugs, eyes flicking away for half a second. “Because.”
It’s not an explanation, but it’s honest. Somehow, that makes it worse.
You swallow. “Thank you.”
His ears go pink immediately. He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.”
The silence stretches – not awkward, just careful. You step inside the apartment, setting the box down near the door. Outside, the city hums. Inside, the space already feels warmer than it should.
…
July
The coffee shop is packed when you and Sero step inside, every table claimed, conversations overlapping into a constant, buzzing hum. Cool air spills from the vents overhead, and you both sigh in relief as it cuts through the oppressive heat clinging to your skin. The past few weeks have been brutal – the kind of weather that makes tempers short and thoughts slower – and for a moment, just standing there feels like a small mercy.
You manage to squeeze into a narrow table by the window, laptop already open as you settle in. Sero shrugs off his jacket, rolling his shoulders like the humidity followed him indoors, then leans closer so you can hear him over the noise.
“Uravity’s PR team wants confirmation on the announcement schedule,” he says. “And Dynamight’s people are asking if we’re locking the guest list before the second press wave.”
You scroll through your notes, fingers moving automatically.
“After,” you reply. “Once the social posts go live, interest is going to spike. We need flexibility or we’ll be putting out fires we can’t control.”
He nods without hesitation. “Okay. I’ll tell them.”
You’re mid-explanation, already outlining contingency plans, when you glance up.
And freeze.
“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, ducking instinctively, lowering your head and angling the laptop like it might make you invisible.
Sero blinks. “You okay?”
“No, it’s just–”
Your name cuts through the café.
It’s casual. Familiar. The kind of voice you thought you’d trained yourself not to react to anymore.
You straighten slowly, heart pounding as you look up. Your ex stands there, one arm hooked around a girl’s waist. You recognize her immediately – the one from his social media, the one you told yourself you didn’t care about after the third glass of wine and a very convincing lie. She doesn’t look at you at first, gaze drifting around the café, uninterested, but you notice everything anyway. She’s fit, skinny, head full of long luscious hair, face full with makeup.
You stand, smile snapping into place like muscle memory, throat tight as you swallow. You force your shoulders not to slump, holding yourself from hugging your torso. Insecurity creeps on you like a crawling, sneaking beast.
“Hi,” you say, voice shaky.
“It’s been a while,” he replies easily.
The girl finally looks at you then, eyes flicking over you in a way that feels sharp and quick, before she looks away again, bored.
Something in you twists – not jealousy exactly, but humiliation, hot and sudden, pooling in your chest. Before you can think better of it, before you can stop yourself, you hear your own voice.
“This is Sero,” you say, placing a hand on his shoulder. “My fiancé.”
There’s a pause – long enough to register – before Sero stands smoothly, arm sliding around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His touch is warm, steady, unhesitating, and the ease of it only makes your face burn hotter. The girl snaps her gaze back at you, watching the tall man beside you.
“We’re getting married in December,” you add, pushing forward before anyone can question it. “He’s a pro hero, by the way.”
Her eyes drop immediately to your left hand.
“You’re not wearing a ring,” she says, as if catching you in a lie – which she is, actually.
“I got her one,” Sero says calmly, already taking your left hand. He lifts it gently, presses a kiss to your knuckles with practiced charm. “It was a size too big. You know how delicate her hands are, right? We just took it to adjust.”
Your heart stutters, stomach flipping unpleasantly as heat floods your face. He’s committing fully, selling it without effort, and the knowledge that he’s doing it for you makes the embarrassment sharper, more suffocating.
Deep in your stomach, something twists, not in a bad way, and you don’t know if you like it or not.
“R-right,” your ex says, voice faltering. “We should… go.”
They leave quickly after that, the bell over the door chiming softly as it swings shut behind them.
The café rushes back into focus all at once. The noise. The heat. The weight of your own pulse pounding in your ears.
You sit down too fast, chair scraping softly against the floor, hands trembling as you shove them into your lap. You can’t bring yourself to look at Sero, not yet. The embarrassment hits in waves – the lie, the spectacle, the way you dragged him into something so personal without warning. Your stomach churns.
“I’m so sorry,” you say finally, words spilling out faster than you can slow them. “That was inappropriate. And unprofessional. And– God, I shouldn’t have–”
“It’s okay,” Sero says immediately, tone even, unbothered. “You didn’t ask me to lie.”
“That doesn’t make it better,” you mutter, staring at the table like it might swallow you whole.
He studies you for a moment, then sits back, giving you space without pulling away entirely. “I meant it. You’re fine.”
You nod, but the reassurance doesn’t quite land. Something inside you has shifted – subtle but unmistakable. A line crossed. A boundary blurred in front of strangers, in front of someone who used to know you too well.
“I–I should go,” you say, snapping your laptop shut and shoving it into your bag a little too quickly.
You stand before he can respond, the chair scraping softly against the floor. Your movements feel rushed, clumsy, like staying any longer might make the embarrassment sink deeper.
“I’ll email you the updated timeline,” you add, already slinging the strap over your shoulder. “And the revised media approvals.”
Sero looks up at you, surprised but composed.
“Okay,” he says, careful. “We can talk later.”
“Yeah,” you reply, not meeting his eyes. “Later.”
You leave before he can say anything else, the café’s noise swallowing you whole as the door closes behind you. The summer heat hits immediately, heavy and relentless, and you welcome it – anything loud enough to drown out the knot tightening in your chest.
Avoidance settles in quietly, disguising itself as professionalism and you’re not sure which one you’re protecting – your boundaries, or your heart.
…
August
Your heart is beating so fast in your chest you’re half-convinced it’s going to give you away. Standing outside Chargebolt’s agency, you pause with your hand on the glass door, swallow hard, then push it open before you can talk yourself out of it.
“Hey!” Kaminari calls your name almost immediately, bright smile already in place as you step inside. The space feels familiar now in a way it didn’t a few months ago, it feels familiar now. Somewhere along the line, you stopped being Sero’s assistant and started being someone his friends recognize.
“Hi,” you say, voice a little shy despite yourself. “Is Hanta around?”
Before he can answer, the door behind you opens.
“Actually,” he says, glancing past you, “he just got here.”
You turn.
Sero stands a few steps away, helmet tucked under one arm as he walks inside the agency. His hair is damp and messy, curls flattened against his forehead with sweat, his suit tight in places it makes your heart flutter. Wide shoulders, narrow waist–
“You’re staring,” Kaminari stage-whispers, nudging your arm.
Heat rushes to your face. You tear your gaze away just as Sero looks up and beams when he sees you, like the last few weeks of polite emails and careful distance never happened. Like you never pulled away, like you haven’t been avoiding him.
“Can we talk?” you ask the moment he gets close, the words spilling out before your nerves can reorganize them into something safer.
“Yeah, sure,” he answers easily, like there was never a world where he’d say no. He gestures for you to follow and leads you into one of the common rooms, the kind meant for downtime – couches pushed together, a low table cluttered with half-empty mugs and forgotten gear. It’s quieter here, insulated from the constant movement of the agency.
You sit first, settling onto the couch, and Hanta takes the space beside you instead of across from you. Close enough that your thighs brush, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your clothes. He leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, attention fully on you.
“I’m really sorry about last month,” you finally manage after a steadying breath. “That was– I don’t even know. I just–” You trail off, frustration tightening your chest as the words refuse to line up properly.
“Hey,” he says softly, cutting in before you can spiral. His hand settles on your knee, warm and grounding, a simple touch that stills the noise in your head almost immediately. “You don’t have to apologize.”
“But–”
“I mean it.” He gives your knee a light squeeze, reassuring rather than insistent. “I mean… he did take half of your furniture.”
The sound that escapes you is unguarded – a quick snort you don’t bother hiding. Some of the tension drains out of your shoulders.
“The truth is,” you admit, quieter now, “I was insecure. I wanted him to think I was better without him.”
“You are,” Hanta says without hesitation, like it isn’t even something that needs thinking about.
You look at him then, really look at him, and something warm blooms in your chest - gratitude, affection, something softer and more dangerous layered underneath. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach down and lift the bag you’ve been holding onto this whole time, offering it to him.
“Happy belated birthday.”
His eyebrows lift, surprise genuine as he takes it from you, fingers brushing yours for just a second too long.
“Wow,” he says, a grin already tugging at his mouth. “For me?”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” you tease lightly, though there’s a hint of nerves in it. “I didn’t know what to get you.”
He peers into the bag and pulls out the bottle of wine, turning it to read the label. It’s a good one – the kind you hesitated over, reread the little description card twice, and still weren’t entirely sure about.
Sero smiles at it, then looks back up at you, eyes bright with something mischievous.
“You know I don’t drink, right?”
Your face falls instantly, heat creeping up your neck as your brain scrambles for damage control. “I– I can take it back, I just thought–”
“I’m joking,” he interrupts, laughing outright when he sees your expression. “Wow, you should’ve seen your face.”
You groan, mortified. “You’re awful.”
“Adorable,” he corrects easily, still smiling. “But awful, too, yeah.”
He looks back at you with a softer expression.
“Seriously, though,” he adds. “This is really thoughtful. I don’t usually get… normal gifts. It’s always merch or agency stuff.”
“Well,” you shrug, trying to play it cool despite the way his attention makes your chest feel tight, “consider this my attempt at normal.”
“It worked,” he says, leaning back into the couch, shoulder brushing yours again. “Guess I owe you a drink now.”
“You just said you don’t drink.” You tease, jokingly.
“But I could make an exception. For you,” he grins.
Your heart stutters at that, and you huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you look away.
“Careful,” you warn lightly. “You keep talking like that and I might start thinking this is a date.”
His smile lingers, unbothered, unhurried.
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“Well, yes,” you say, half joking, half hiding behind the truth as you meet his eyes again. “You’re my boss.”
He tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to understand what’s really behind that answer. “I don’t feel like your boss right now.”
“That’s the problem,” you murmur, then immediately regret saying it out loud.
His smile fades just enough to turn serious. “Hey. I didn’t mean–”
“I know,” you cut in softly, shaking your head. “I just… didn’t want to get it wrong.”
He looks down at the bottle again, thumb brushing over the label, then back at you. “You didn’t.”
There’s something careful in his voice, like he’s choosing each word on purpose. It makes your chest tighten.
“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he adds. “But I’m glad you did.”
You nod, swallowing. The room feels too quiet all of a sudden, like it’s narrowed down to just the two of you and the space between your knees on the couch.
“I should’ve said something sooner,” you admit. “About last month. About… disappearing.”
“You needed space,” he replies without hesitation. “I figured you’d come back when you were ready.”
That lands heavier than you expect. Trust, given without conditions.
You glance at him, surprised. “You weren’t mad?”
“Maybe a little,” he says honestly. Then, softer, “Mostly I was worried.”
Your fingers twist together in your lap. Happiness still feels dangerous, but right now it’s there anyway.
“I’m here now,” you say.
He meets your gaze and nods once. “Yeah. You are.”
And for the first time in months, you don’t even think about work.
…
September
“Is this really what I look like?” you ask, eyes glued to your phone screen as you scroll. “I need to lose weight fucking immediately.”
Sero stares at you like you’ve just spoken a foreign language.
“Shut up?” he says, disbelief bleeding into his tone. “Let me see.”
You hand him your phone, a blog page open on the fifth article dissecting you and him like a puzzle people are determined to solve. Ever since the event went public, the rumors haven’t stopped. Photos of you walking beside him. Screenshots of comments. Headlines that pretend to be neutral while clearly hoping for something messier. Even after Hanta posted – very clearly – that you were just his assistant, no one listened. You’ve started noticing cameras more easily now, the way they linger when you’re together.
“Stop it,” he says, handing the phone back and taking a sip of his coffee. “You look pretty.”
“Pretty fat, that’s what–”
“Hey.” The word cuts in sharp, firmer than you expect, and you blink at him in surprise. He’s never spoken to you like that before. His jaw tightens just slightly, like he’s biting back something else. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”
“S-sorry,” you stutter, still a little shocked. You turn your attention back to the laptop screen.
The agency is quiet tonight, ever quieter in the common room, where you and Sero have been splayed out on the couch, your laptop balanced on your thighs.
You suddenly become very aware of how close he’s been sitting next to you, shoulders almost brushing, warmth of his body seeping through your clothes.
You clear your throat.
“We still haven’t heard back from the private security firm,” you say, tone clipped, professional. “If they don’t confirm by Friday, we’ll need a backup. And the press walkthrough is still tentative.”
“I can ask around. A few agencies owe me favors,” Sero says lightly, like it’s no big deal, but you hear the weight underneath it. Like he’s already placing himself between you and every possible problem.
“That’s okay,” you say too quickly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. You soften it immediately, because the last thing you want is for it to sound like rejection. “I mean– thank you. I just… I’ve got it handled.”
He looks back at you, searching your face, and the weight of his attention makes it hard to breathe. You force your eyes back to the laptop screen, fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard as if the spreadsheet might save you from the moment.
“You know it’s okay to let people help you, right?” he says, quieter now.
“Yeah,” you answer too fast again, already typing numbers you don’t actually need to adjust.
“I mean it.” His hand settles over yours, warm and steady, caging your fingers against the trackpad.
You stop typing.
Slowly, you look up at him and swallow hard. There’s a lump in your throat you hadn’t noticed forming, thick and stubborn, as you meet his eyes. Whatever you find there makes your chest ache – something raw, unguarded, and far too sincere to be brushed off as friendliness.
“Yeah,” you say again, this time softer, easing into the moment despite yourself. His hand is still over yours, thumbs brushing lightly against your skin, grounding and intimate all at once. “Okay.”
For a heartbeat, neither of you moves.
Then his gaze drops to your lips for a second too long.
Your heart slams so hard you’re sure he can feel it. He leans in without even realizing he’s doing it, drawn by something neither of you has named, and you freeze, caught between wanting and fear in equal measure.
“Um–” you blurt, breaking the spell. “We should probably go.”
He jerks back like the thought has only just occurred to him.
“Y-yeah.” It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and the sound of it sends a sharp twist through your chest.
You pack your things too quickly, hands clumsy, pulse still racing. He walks you out anyway, quiet but attentive, staying close without touching, like he’s deliberately giving you space and hating every second of it.
The first camera flash goes off before you even register the voices.
“Cellophane! Over here!”
“Is that your assistant?”
Your stomach drops straight through the pavement. Paparazzi linger by the door, clustered just close enough that there’s no way to slip past them unnoticed.
Before you can react, Sero’s hand closes around your wrist, firm and urgent.
“Hey,” he says under his breath, snaking an arm on your waist and pulling you close. “Hold on.”
“Hold on to what–”
The ground disappears beneath your feet.
You gasp, fingers spasming as he shoots tape and pulls you both into the air. The city drops away in a dizzying blur of lights and concrete, your breath punching out of your lungs as the swing arcs too high, too fast. You clutch his shoulder on instinct, nails digging in, legs wrapping around his waist, fear spiking sharp and immediate.
“Hanta!” Your voice comes out thin, panicked.
“I’ve got you,” he says instantly, tone steady, grounding. One arm tightens around your waist, anchoring you to him as if that alone can keep the world from spinning. “I swear. Just breathe.”
You try. You really do. But your heart is slamming against your ribs, the wind roaring in your ears, your stomach lurching every time the tape snaps and redirects you through open air.
Your face presses briefly into the juncture of his neck and shoulder when another swing dips too sharply – eyes squeezed shut, knuckles white where you’re holding on. He adjusts immediately, trajectory smoother, slower, deliberate – every movement recalculated for you.
“Almost there,” he murmurs, close enough that you feel the words more than hear them. “Promise.”
When he finally lands, it’s soft and controlled – boots hitting solid ground with barely a jolt. You open your eyes.
Your balcony. Your potted plants, your sliding glass door, the faint glow of your living room light spilling out onto the concrete. Safe. Familiar. Grounded.
You look back at him and it takes you a second to realize you’re still clinging to him, koala-style. You let go immediately, stepping back as if the contact might burn if it lingers too long. Your feet hit the ground, but your knees buckle, and you have to grab onto him again to keep from falling.
“You okay?” he asks, hands settling on your elbows, steady and sure.
You nod, breath still uneven, eyes fixed on the floor as your hands linger on his shoulders.
“Yeah,” you manage. “Not a fan of swinging around the city.”
“Sorry,” he says quietly. “I should’ve warned you.”
“How do you do this every day?” you ask, finally looking up at him, adrenaline still buzzing through your veins as your eyes meet his.
“Been practicing since I was twelve,” he shrugs, smiling like it’s nothing.
You take a shaky breath and slowly let go of him. Your pulse hasn’t slowed yet. Your body still remembers the way he held you like letting go wasn’t an option.
You both stand there for a second too long, the night settling around you, the tension still humming between your ribs. He looks like he wants to say something but instead, he straightens.
“See you tomorrow, then.” He breaks the silence.
“Yeah.” You breathe.
And as you slide the door shut behind you, your heart is still racing – not just from the fall, but from everything that almost happened in midair and didn’t.
…
October
“We might have to hire more security,” you mumble to yourself, standing on the balcony of the penthouse. When you turn around, Sero is still inside, mid-conversation with someone you’ll definitely have to follow up with later.
He’s wearing his hero suit again – clearly coming straight from patrol for a quick stop at the venue. The event is in two months, and somehow everything is finally falling into place. You don’t let yourself think about what happens after your contract ends. Every time that thought sneaks in, your chest tightens and your stomach twists with a familiar, anxious knot.
Still, you can’t stop thinking about him.
That little stunt Sero pulled last month had people talking for weeks. The picture of his arm wrapped around your waist, caught just seconds before he dragged you into the night sky, was a headline everywhere. Eventually, you both stopped denying the rumors and went completely radio silent about your so-called relationship.
Which doesn’t help, considering you might actually be developing feelings for him. The realization makes your stomach churn.
You still remember how easily he picked you up, how he swung through the city with you in his arms like your weight didn’t even register. You’re not exactly small, and the memory of his strong arms locked around you, holding you steady while he flew… it makes your legs go a little weak.
Sero looks at you through the glass door and starts walking over. The fabric of his suit clings to his hips as he moves, and your brain does an extremely unhelpful little flip.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches you. “Pretty cool place.”
You smile despite yourself.
“I was thinking maybe we could let the flying heroes arrive through the balcony,” you say. “Less elevator clogging.”
“That’s a good idea.”
“But then we’d have to move PR and press over here.”
He leans his forearms against the railing beside you, gaze drifting out over the city. Close. Not touching, but close enough that you’re painfully aware of him anyway.
“We’re getting close,” he says after a moment, quieter. Not just about the event.
You nod, fingers tightening around your clipboard. “Final planning phase.”
“Mm.” He glances at you, and you pretend you don’t notice. Looking at him is idk. “So what are you going to do after all this is over?”
You sigh, the cold breeze cutting your cheeks.
“I have no idea.”
The words come out lighter than they feel. Like you didn’t just admit something that’s been clawing at your ribs for weeks.
Sero hums softly beside you, thoughtful. He doesn’t look at you this time, eyes fixed on the city instead, lights blinking lazily below like they don’t know how close everything feels to unraveling.
“You’re good at this,” he says. “Planning. Managing chaos.” A pause. “People.”
You let out a small, humorless laugh. “That’s a very polite way of saying I’m professionally stressed.”
He smiles at that, just a little. You can hear it in the way he exhales.
“I mean it,” he adds. “Whoever snags you next is gonna be lucky.”
Whoever. Not him.
Your grip tightens on the clipboard again, knuckles whitening. “I haven’t even started looking.”
Another silence stretches between you. Not awkward. Just… heavy. The kind that presses against your chest, asking questions neither of you want to answer yet.
“Guess there’s still time,” he says finally, too casual.
“Yeah,” you agree, even though the word tastes wrong. “There is.”
He shifts beside you, shoulder brushing yours. It sends a spark straight down your spine. You both freeze for half a second, like maybe one of you will acknowledge it.
“Well,” he says, clearing his throat. “I should probably head out. Patrol doesn’t magically finish itself.”
“Of course,” you reply immediately, too fast. You step back, giving him space you don’t actually want to give. “Thanks for stopping by.”
He nods, hesitates, then looks at you again.
“Good work today,” he says.
Sero steps past you toward the balcony railing instead of the door. You frown before you can stop yourself.
“You know there is an elevator.”
He snorts, already climbing onto the ledge. “Where’s the fun in that?”
The city yawns open behind him – wind rushing, lights blinking, a sheer drop that makes your stomach flip just looking at it.
“Hanta–” You reach out without thinking, fingers touching his wrists as he puts his helmet on. He freezes and you stare at your reflection on the plastic cover of the helmet.
“You okay?” he asks, voice gentler now.
You nod, even though your heart is pounding. “Yeah. Just– don’t be stupid.”
A smile tugs at his mouth. “I’m offended.”
You pull away, even though every fiber of your body screams to touch him again.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says.
“Tomorrow,” you echo.
Then he leans back and lets himself fall.
Your breath catches hard as tape shoots out, anchoring him to a building across the street, and he swings smoothly into the night like gravity doesn’t apply to him the way it does to everyone else.
“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, finally realizing you’ve fallen for him.
…
November
The night out doesn’t go the way it was supposed to. Your friend drags you to one of the clubs downtown, insisting you need loud music and bad decisions to reset your brain, but you get drunk too fast for any of that to work. You cry once in the bathroom, then again ten minutes later, mascara smudged and dignity slipping through your fingers, until she finally decides it’s time to take you home.
You’re fine. You just have to pretend you don’t have feelings for your boss until next month. That’s it. That’s the plan. And after–
After is a blur of your own voice, teary and soft and embarrassingly honest, echoing in your head as your friend asked what was really wrong.
“I just think about him all the time. And I miss him when he’s not around. And every time he looks at me like that, I forget how to breathe… And he’s so tall and strong and–” You sniffed, tears threatening to fall again. “And my contract ends in a few weeks, and I keep telling myself it’ll be easier once I’m gone, but somehow that makes it worse.”
Your contract ends in six weeks. Six weeks feels impossibly short when you say it out loud. The question you keep avoiding creeps back in anyway, relentless and sharp: What are you going to do after this?
It’s still hammering through your skull when you stumble home with your shoes in your hand and your pride somewhere back at the club. The apartment tilts when you kick the door shut and lean against it, breathing through the spin until it settles. You’re suddenly starving, which shouldn’t surprise you – getting drunk always does this to you.
You make it as far as the kitchen before your phone buzzes.
An email. Subject line in all caps. FINAL SECURITY CONFIRMATION – URGENT.
You laugh, sharp and humorless, sliding down into one of the chairs. Of course it’s urgent. Everything is urgent. Everything is on you. You open it, skim it, flag it, tell yourself you’ll deal with it in the morning like you’ve been telling yourself for weeks.
Your phone stays in your hand.
You don’t plan it. You don’t even really think about it. Your thumb just opens his contact like it’s muscle memory.
Hanta.
You press the call button before you can second guess yourself.
It rings once. Twice. You bite your thumbnail, already thinking this is a mistake.
“Hey,” his voice comes through the speaker, warm and familiar and way too real for how drunk you are. “Everything okay?”
You close your eyes, forehead dropping to the cool kitchen table as your grip tightens around the phone.
“Hi,” you say, breathless and already a little wrecked. “I’m– Sorry, I know it’s late– um. I’m drunk. Just so you know.”
There’s a pause on the other end, then a soft huff of a laugh. “Okay. Thanks for the warning.”
“I didn’t mean to call. I mean– I did. But I didn’t plan it. I never do this, actually, I’m a pretty behaved drunk.”
Hanta snorts on the other side of the line, and you smile to yourself, instantly picturing him throwing his head back, shoulders shaking.
“So what are you up to?” You ask, leaning your forearms on the kitchen counter, still smiling.
“Night patrol,” he replies once his laughter settles.
“Oh, shit– I’m so sorry–”
“It’s alright,” he cuts in easily. “The night was getting boring anyway. And it’s… nice to hear your voice.”
Your stomach flips, warm and treacherous.
“Yeah,” you say softly. “Likewise.”
There’s a beat of quiet, filled only by your breathing and whatever city noise filters through his end of the call. You sway a little where you stand, grounding yourself against the counter.
“You home safe?” he asks, tone shifting – gentler, protective.
“Mhm. Shoes are off, dignity is gone, I’m alive,” you murmur. Then, without thinking, “Do you ever get lonely on patrol?”
Another pause. This one feels heavier.
“Sometimes,” he admits. “Why?”
You hesitate, thumb tracing the edge of your phone, drunk courage pressing at your ribs. “No reason. I just… didn’t want you to be alone.”
The words hang there between you, fragile and dangerously sincere. On the other end of the line, he exhales slowly.
“Well,” he says quietly, “I’m not anymore.”
And that makes your chest ache in a way that feels a lot like fear and a lot like hope tangled together.
He doesn’t say anything else right away, and neither do you. The silence stretches, soft instead of awkward, like the two of you are sharing the same pause even though you’re miles apart.
You slide into one of the kitchen chairs, legs feeling boneless.
“You’re being… very sweet,” you mumble, as if pointing it out might make it less dangerous.
“Am I?” There’s a smile in his voice. “I thought I was just being honest.”
That makes your chest tighten. You tilt your head back, staring up at the ceiling, the light above you a little too bright.
“That’s worse,” you whisper.
He laughs quietly. “How so?”
“Because honesty is… slippery.” You frown at your own words, trying to focus. “And I’m drunk. And I say dumb things when I’m drunk.”
“Like what?”
You hesitate, heart thudding. “Like things I’ll pretend I don’t remember tomorrow.”
There’s a soft thump on his end, like he landed somewhere, boots hitting concrete. The city noise fades just a little.
“I won’t let you say anything you’ll regret,” he says, gentler now. “Promise.”
That comforts you a little.
“You’re a good boss,” you say, defaulting to the safest truth you have.
Another pause. Longer this time.
“Hm,” he hums. “Is that all I am to you?”
The question is quiet. It feels like he’s standing at the same edge you are, peering down, neither of you quite willing to jump.
“For now,” you say before you admit something you might regret.
There’s a quiet exhale on the other end of the line, the sound of the city bleeding faintly through his comms. Wind, distant sirens, the soft scrape of movement.
“You sound tired,” he says, gentle, like it’s an observation and not a concern.
You huff out a laugh, nose pressing briefly into your sleeve. “I am. Turns out pretending you don’t feel things is a full-time job.”
He’s quiet again. You can almost picture him perched somewhere high, elbows on his knees, staring out at the city while he listens.
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says finally. Your chest tightens again.
“I know,” you murmur. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Another pause. Then, softer–
“Get some rest, yeah?”
You nod even though he can’t see it, fingers curling around the phone like it might slip away. “Yeah. You be careful.”
He smiles into the line. You can hear it, warm and unmistakable.
“Always am.”
The call ends, but the quiet it leaves behind feels louder than the music in the club ever was.
…
December
The night of the event doesn’t give you a single second to breathe.
From the moment you step into the venue, it’s noise and movement and urgency layered on top of each other. Someone’s voice crackles in your earpiece with a catering mishap, security flags a blocked service elevator, a sponsor wants their speech moved up by ten minutes, and the lights in one of the halls flicker just long enough to make your heart drop before they stabilize again.
Heroes arrive in waves, some through the elevators, some swooping in through the balcony just like you suggested, their entrances smooth and practiced. Cameras flash constantly now, a dull roar of attention that never really fades. You catch sight of familiar faces, check them off mentally, already scanning for the next problem.
You don’t see Sero, not right away. Not that you’ve been actively looking for him (you have).
After the last speech, people are supposed to move to the balcony for the fireworks. Uravity first. Then– you barely register the rest because the schedule in your head is already unraveling. Deku is supposed to close it. He’s ten minutes over.
Anxiety creeps in slow and sharp, tightening in your chest. If they aren’t brief, if he doesn’t wrap this up now, the whole timeline collapses. Fireworks don’t wait. Crowds get restless. Sponsors get irritated. You roll your shoulders back, forcing your breathing to steady as you reach up to murmur quick instructions into the microphone of your radio, even as your gaze stays fixed on the stage.
A warm, large hand settles on your lower back just as you’re about to panic.
You jolt slightly at the contact before you look up – and there he is. Sero, close enough that you can feel his body heat through the thin fabric of your dress, his hand firm and grounding like he’s anchoring you in place. Your heart does something inside your chest you can’t quite describe, a sharp flutter followed by something deeper and heavier.
It’s not like you haven’t talked since that drunken night – the one where you called him and almost confessed everything. You’ve talked. You’ve seen each other. You’ve pretended it was fine. But something about him stepping in right when you’re in need of support makes your stomach flip.
“You okay?” he asks quietly, leaning in just enough that his voice doesn’t carry.
You let out a shaky breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
“No,” you admit, fingers tightening around the clipboard. “Deku was supposed to finish his speech ten minutes ago. If he doesn’t wrap it up now, we’re going to miss the fireworks.”
Sero’s thumb presses once, slow and reassuring, against your back as his hand moves in small circles, grounding you without even trying.
“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes already flicking toward the stage. “It’s okay.”
Then, softer, more certain: “Let me handle this.”
Before you can respond – before you can tell him anything at all – he’s pulling his hand away and stepping past you, leaving your lower back suddenly cold and your legs a little unsteady. You swallow, watching him go, annoyed at yourself for the way your pulse jumps at something so simple.
He climbs onto the stage with practiced ease, slipping into Deku’s peripheral vision and gesturing subtly, a hand slicing downward in a clear wrap it up motion. Deku blinks, startled, then nods, laughing nervously as he rushes toward a conclusion. Sero turns to the crowd next, microphone in hand, his voice easy and warm as he starts directing people toward the balcony, smoothing over the delay like it was all part of the plan.
And somehow – impossibly – it works.
You watch from the edge of the room, shoulders finally lowering as the tension drains from you inch by inch. The schedule clicks back into place. The crowd moves. The balcony doors open. Fireworks are back on track.
For the first time all night, you allow yourself to just stand there for a second.
Your earpiece crackles again, but this time it’s not a crisis – just confirmation that the countdown is starting. You smile despite yourself, eyes drifting back to the stage where Sero looks over at you, catching your gaze. He lifts two fingers in a small, casual salute.
Handled.
And damn it – you hate how much that simple look makes your chest feel tight all over again.
You smile softly as he approaches you. The countdown outside has started, but you’re too busy trying not to kiss your boss right now.
“Crisis averted,” he says, lifting his hand in a small okay sign.
You huff out a soft laugh, tension finally loosening in your shoulders. “You’re a lifesaver.”
His eyes flick over you then, not inappropriate, just enough to make you acutely aware of the black, off-the-shoulder dress, of the way you must look after hours of running on adrenaline. When his gaze meets yours again, there’s a pause.
“You look…” He hesitates, like he’s reconsidering. Then, quieter, more honest, “You look beautiful.”
Your stomach does that thing again. You smooth a hand over your dress more out of habit than necessity, heat creeping into your cheeks as you try not to overthink the way his eyes stay on you.
“You too,” you say, nodding toward the suit stretched across his shoulders.
Twenty seconds to midnight. Fireworks ready.
Someone’s voice crackles in your earpiece again, sharp and insistent, and you rip it away from your ear with an annoyed huff before it can ruin the moment entirely.
“Hanta–”
“Listen–”
You both speak at the same time, then stop, a short, breathless laugh breaking the tension between you.
“Go ahead,” he says, nodding for you to continue.
You exhale, brief and shaky, trying to gather the courage for what you’re about to say.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do after this, but– I just know– I just want–” The words tumble out wrong, slipping away from the neat little speech you’d practiced earlier today, leaving you grasping for something real.
Sero doesn’t let you finish.
His hand comes up to the back of your head, firm and certain, and then his lips are on yours just as the fireworks explode in the sky. The sound is thunderous, light blooming everywhere at once, and it feels exactly like what’s happening in your chest.
You melt into the kiss, letting him pull you closer, your hands sliding up to lace behind his neck as your fingers sink into his thick hair. Everything else fades until there’s only you two.
Fireworks keep bursting overhead as you finally pull apart for air, foreheads brushing, breaths uneven.
“Me too,” he whispers, voice low and rough, like the kiss has left him just as undone.
Fireworks bloom again overhead, reflected in the glass and in the way his hand stays steady at your waist, like he’s not going anywhere.
For once, there’s nothing left to manage, nothing to fix, nothing to plan – just the two of you standing there as the year turns, knowing this changes everything.
…
January
Your alarm clock drags you out of sleep and you groan at the sound, one arm slipping out from under the blankets to fumble for the button. You barely manage to turn it off before a pair of strong arms wraps around you, tugging you right back against a warm body.
Sero cages you from behind, his chest pressed to your back, his face nuzzling into the curve of your neck. You bite back a smile as he groans too, voice rough and heavy with sleep.
“Five more minutes,” he murmurs, tightening his hold on you like he can physically keep the morning away.
“I’m going to be late,” you say, just as sleepy, even as you make no real effort to escape. “My boss will be mad at me.”
He hums against your skin, lips brushing your neck in a way that makes your toes curl. “I’m sure he’ll understand,” he says, followed by a soft, amused laugh.
“I don’t know,” you mumble. “He might seem like a nice guy… but he gets very intense before coffee.”
Sero laughs into your skin, the sound vibrating through you as his hands slide to your hips, squeezing them lazily. You glance over your shoulder, catching him half-lidded and unfocused, hair a mess, eyes dark with sleep and something warmer underneath.
You shift, rolling onto your back to face him properly, taking in the relaxed lines of his face, the slow blink of his eyes as he looks down at you like this is exactly where he’s meant to be.
One of his hands parts your thighs without hurry, fingertips tracing your inner thighs and reaching your core, where you’re still slick from last night. You gasp at his touch as his other hand slips around your shoulder to pull you closer, fingers tracing idle, teasing patterns against your skin.
“Good morning to you too,” you tease softly.
“Can’t get enough of you,” he murmurs, burying his face back into your neck, lips and tongue warm against your skin. “Wanna stay in bed all day with you.”
You laugh, breath hitching as his attention makes it hard to think, much less move.
“This is very unprofessional of you,” you say, even as your hands curl into his hair, holding him there.
“This is very unprofessional of you,” you say, even as your hands curl into his hair, holding him there.
Sero huffs a quiet laugh against your skin.
“Wow,” he murmurs, shifting just enough to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep. “And here I thought I was being very committed to morale.”
“You’re abusing your position,” you reply, trying for stern and failing when his thumb presses lightly into your core. You bite your lips, closing your eyes. A few weeks together and he already knows which of your buttons to press.
“Mm,” he says thoughtfully, leaning in again, lips brushing your jaw. “You didn’t seem to object a second ago.”
You sigh, tipping your head back just enough to give him the space he clearly intends to take.
“I’m objecting in theory,” you say. “In practice, I’m extremely compromised.”
His smile curves warm and smug against your skin as he kisses you again, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.
You’re glad you decided to stay with him.
Now he pays you in cash and in bed – and the thought makes you snort softly, because it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that. Like it’s missing the point entirely.
Because it’s more than that.
It’s the way he makes coffee while you’re still half-asleep, the way he listens when you talk about work like it actually matters, the way his hands always find you like this is home now. Somewhere along the line, you fell for your boss, and somehow it doesn’t feel messy or wrong.
It just feels… right.
Sero presses a lazy kiss to your mouth, smiling when you sigh into it, and for once, you don’t worry about schedules or titles or what comes next.
Summary: Priest!Abby x reader ~ You attend confession to confess your sins to the one person causing them.
Warnings: Smut, fingering (reader receiving), religious themes, references to religious themed homophobia.
A/N: This atheist had to do her research but phew was it fun. Let me know how you liked it and if you want part two !
Requested? Kinda
𝑅𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓈 𝒪𝓅𝑒𝓃
The church is almost empty.
Only the red sanctuary lamp glows above the altar, and somewhere far off a sacristy door creaks in the evening draft. Anyone could walk in, Mrs. Delgado finishing her rosary, the janitor making his rounds, a late penitent looking for peace. The thought should terrify you. Instead it pools hot and liquid low in your belly.
You kneel in the confessional, thin sundress already clinging to your back with nervous sweat.
The lattice scrapes open.
For a long moment there is only silence, heavy, expectant, the kind that makes your pulse thunder in your ears.
Then her voice, low and calm, slides through the grille like smoke.
“Begin, child. I’m listening.”
You swallow, clenching your thighs together at the sound of her voice, just like you do at every Sunday morning mass.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been… four weeks since my last confession.”
Another beat of silence. When she speaks again there’s no judgment in it yet, only quiet curiosity laced with something darker.
“Four weeks is a long time to carry something alone. Tell me what weighs on you.”
“I- I have impure thoughts. Constantly. About women. Dreams where they touch me, hold me down, use me. I wake up aching and wet between my thighs and I- I touch myself thinking about it. I try to stop and I can’t. I don’t want to stop. I hate myself for it and it only makes me want it more.”
A soft exhale from the other side, almost inaudible.
“Go on,” she says, voice a fraction rougher. “Be precise. The Church cannot help you if you hide the shape of your sins.”
You press your forehead to your clasped hands exhaling heavily.
“I picture strong hands holding my wrists together. A mouth on me that doesn’t ask permission. Someone bigger than me making me beg. Telling me how wicked I am while they… while they take whatever they want.”
The silence that follows is electric.
When she speaks again it is slower, deliberate, as though tasting every word.
“That is… a very grave matter. Desire for the same sex is a mortal sin, little lamb. Full knowledge. Full consent. And still you kneel here dripping with it, don’t you?”
Your breath catches, confusion and even more arousal stirring in you.
“Answer me,” she says softly.
“Yes, Father,” you whisper.
A faint creak of wood, she’s leaning closer to the lattice.
“Do you ever give that woman in your mind a face?” she asks, almost gently and definitely knowingly. “Perhaps it’s someone much closer to you than you think?”
Your heart slams against your ribs. You can’t answer. Embarrassment and arousal stirring within you.
Another soft sound from her side, half sigh, half laugh, low and knowing.
“I see,” she murmurs. “Then we have much to discuss… and much to atone for.”
The confessional door on her side opens and closes.
A second later yours does too.
She slips inside the narrow box and the air changes, becomes thick, dangerous, alive. The black cassock brushes your bare legs as she steps behind you. She is so much taller, broader; you feel tiny, cornered, deliciously trapped. Your eyes go wide, heart hammering in your chest as you look up at her from your place on your knees.
“Stand up,” she murmurs. “Turn around. Hands flat on the kneeler. Do not make a sound unless I allow it.”
You obey, bent over for her as her presence consumes you, the feel of her body against the back of yours has you dripping even more.
“Anyone could open that door right now,” she whispers against the shell of your ear. “One curious soul and they would see their parish priest with her hands up a penitent’s dress. Imagine the scandal.”
Her palm settles on the small of your back, warm even through cotton. “Stay perfectly still.”
She draws the long olive-wood rosary from around her neck, beads clicking softly, and lets the heavy silver crucifix dangle in front of your face for a moment before she slips it beneath the neckline of your dress.
The cold crucifix slides between your breasts, followed by bead after warm bead until the entire strand is nestled deep in your cleavage, the cross resting just above your racing heart. Every breath drags the wood across sensitive skin.
“Feel them,” she says. “They’ve hung against my chest through every Mass while I have watched you squirm in the pews, thighs pressed tight, pretending to pray. You think I don’t notice what I do to you?”
Her hands move to your hips, gathering the light fabric of your dress, inching it upward until cool air kisses the backs of your thighs. Higher. Until the hem is bunched at your waist and you are bare beneath it, exactly as you hoped she would discover.
The cold air hits your soaked cunt, making you flinch.
A low, dark laugh. “Nothing underneath. You came to confession hoping to be ruined.
Her palm cups the curve of your ass, possessive, testing. Then the rosary moves again. She trails the warm beads down your spine, slow, letting each one kiss your skin before the next follows. When she reaches the swell of your ass she pauses, letting the crucifix rest in the small of your back.
“Spread your feet wider.”
You obey once again, trembling now.
She drags the beads lower, over one cheek, then the other, tracing your smooth skin, teasing, never quite where you need. The wooden spheres are slick now with your sweat and her warmth.
“Listen,” she whispers. “You hear that silence? One creak of the church door and someone will know exactly what kind of woman kneels here. A woman so lost to lust she lets her priest play with her in the house of God.”
Her free hand slips between your thighs from behind, no warning, just two thick fingers sliding through slick folds.
You bite your lip hard to stay quiet.
“Christ, you’re drenched,” she breathes, almost reverent. “This pretty cunt is weeping for the very sin you came to confess.”
She circles your entrance once, twice, then pushes inside, slow, deliberate, stretching you open.
You choke on a whimper.
“Shhh,” she warns, curling her fingers just right, pressing against that spot that makes your knees buckle. “Not a sound. You’ll take your penance silently, or not at all.”
You inhale sharply, biting your lip and nodding your head at your words, desperate to feel her.
Her thumb finds your clit, rubbing in tight, merciless circles while her fingers fuck you slow and deep. The rosary beads drag back and forth across your ass with every subtle shift of her wrist, the crucifix tapping lightly against your skin like a metronome counting sins.
“You’ll go home tonight still feeling my hands under your dress,” she murmurs against your ear. “You’ll feel them with every step. And when you try to touch yourself, because you will, you’ll remember my fingers inside you and you will stop. You are not allowed to come until I give permission. Do you understand?”
You nod frantically, tears pricking your eyes from the effort of staying quiet.
“Good girl.”
She adds a third finger, stretching you wider, pumping faster now. The wet sounds fill the tiny space obnoxiously. You’re so close your legs shake.
“Father,” you breathe out as quiet as you can manage, feeling the coil tighten in your belly.
“Not yet,” she growls, slowing deliberately, keeping you teetering on the edge. “You’ll wait until tomorrow night. Ten o’clock. The rectory office. You’ll knock once. You’ll be wearing another dress and still nothing underneath. I’ll lock the door, bend you over my desk, and give you what you’re begging for right now. Only then will you be allowed to come.”
Her fingers still completely, buried deep, thumb resting lightly on your clit, just enough pressure to torment.
“Say it,” she commands.
“Tomorrow,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Ten o’clock. Rectory. Please, Father-”
She withdraws slowly, deliberately, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. The rosary beads slide one last teasing path across your ass before she lifts the strand from your skin, now carrying your scent as well as hers, and loops it back around her own neck. The crucifix settles against her collar once more, gleaming faintly with evidence of your arousal.
She smooths your dress down with calm hands, as though she did not just unravel you completely.
“Tomorrow,” she repeats, voice steady again but thick with promise. “Do not be late. And do not touch what belongs to me until then.”
She steps out of the confessional. The door closes with a soft, final click.
You remain bent over the kneeler, thighs trembling, the phantom press of her fingers and the warm weight of her rosary branded into your skin, the church around you vast and echoing and terrifyingly public.
contains: modern!au, mentions of smoking weed and cigarettes, nsfw content (so minors dni), not proofread, mentions of porn, clitplay and fingering, cunnilingus, degradation (word "slut" is used), sevika being a jackass and teasing the reader about their clothes + possible inexperience, reader's body is referred to with the following terms: "pussy," "clit," "cunt" and "tits," kinda imagined a younger version of sevika here, maybe late twenties
best friend's older sister!sevika who is always cooped up in her bedroom, whirring noises entering the halls from the mechanics she's working with. if you walk past her room, your body immediately gets blanketed with goosebumps from the cold air streaming in from her window, which is always cracked open so that she can blow the smoke from her weed and cigarettes out of there.
sometimes you run into her in the hall outside of her bedroom, cigarette hanging out of her lips, loud music blasting from the speakers she has in there. if you guys are both heading to the bathroom, she'll quietly nod, leaning back into the doorframe to let you go first.
there have been a few occasions where through the open door, you can see a girl laid out on her bed or sneaking out of her window. all you can do is ignore it and try to resist having wandering thoughts about exactly how good she must be in bed to have different girls over all the time.
best friend's older sister!sevika who doesn't really talk to any of you guys, just ruffling your best friend's hair or teasing her before heading back to her room, leaving the rest of you without a word from her. whenever she walks into the kitchen while your friend group is eating or making late night instant ramen, you feel your face heat up at the sight of her in a tight tank top, leaving nothing to the imagination, from her sculpted arms and the grooves of her stomach's abs. she's so tall, so effortlessly handsome, and you can't help but sneak in glances at her back when she bends to the fridge to get some gatorade.
best friend's older sister!sevika who talks to you for the first time when your best friend leaves you alone in the living room to go shower, and sevika enters through the front door, short, black hair tied back. just the sight of her neck is enough to get you tensing up, suddenly acutely aware of the patterned pajamas you have on and how childish they must look to her.
when she spots you, she raises her hand, mumbling an apology, but you insist that the two of you of two can sit together, you were only about to put something on. the truth is, you really don't want to miss the opportunity to get to know her more.
she hesitates, but gives in, sitting on the opposite end of the couch with you, twisting off the cap of her beer bottle and taking a swing from it, grey eyes focused on the television as you scroll through the options.
when you linger on gilmore girls, she scoffs. and not subtly. oh, no, she scoffs loudly, and you turn to find her lips twisted up into a smirk.
embarrassment and defensiveness make for an ugly combination, immediately arousing an irritated, "yes?" from you.
"are we seriously going to watch this crap?"
your mouth drops open. it's the first time she's properly spoken to you one-and-one, except for the brief interactions during your run-ins in the hall, and this is what she says? for a second, you're just stunned at her blunt rudeness, and you need a second to formulate a response before saying, "crap?"
"yes, crap." she tosses her hand at the television. "just a bunch of privileged little shits."
"the show literally deals with money issues!"
she snickers, and you try to ignore the bulge of her arms as they fold over her chest. "which sure aren't that stressful when you have two blue-blooded parents always there to save your ass."
"yes, but on conditions, though!"
she squints at you, lips turned down into a disbelieving frown. "friday night dinner? you're either just as spoiled as them or really naive, because trust me, weekly dinners don't mean shit."
your eyes sharpen into a hard glare, bitterness spilling through at her assumption. "you don't know anything about me!" with an indignant toss of your head, you mutter, "not that you've ever even tried to."
she suddenly bellows with a loud laugh, the edges of it rough and irritatingly pleasing to your ear. "awe, is someone sad over that?"
you roll your eyes. yes, but you weren't about to tell her that, of all people. "no, don't flatter yourself."
"you're not that good of a liar, you know that, right?"
with a twitching eye, you turn on the show, drowning out the noise of her chuckle with an immediate escalation of the volume.
best friend's older sister!sevika who doesn't stop teasing you after that night. now, when you're in the kitchen and she saunters in, she flashes you a smile that's nothing short of complete and utter self-satisfaction. when your best friend leaves you alone in her room, sevika knocks and steps inside, leaning on the wall and asking you how you are, how's work or school, sometimes teasingly tossing in, "you haven't been here in a while -- I didn't make you nervous, did I?"
you always fight back. partially because your attraction to her makes you feel so exposed and flustered that you want to try to hide it through challenging her back rather than being reduced to a blushing, spluttering mess. you know arguing back might be counterproductive, though, since it seems to only amuse even more. but, that leads you to the second reason you keep doing it. because, as on-the-spot and vulnerable it makes you feel, her prodding comments and mischievous attention makes you giddy. sevika, the allusive older sister of your best friend, is actually bantering with you, maybe even flirting with you. and seeing how easily she bounces off your words, how sharp her wit is, makes you only more excited. unnerving as it is, this little thing you guys have going spikes your excitement everytime you come over.
best friend's older sister!sevika who gets bolder and bolder. when she comes into the bathroom as you're brushing your teeth, looking for a hair tie to get her hair out of her face, you catch her in the mirror's reflection glancing at you, eyes quickly flicking up and down. the double take nearly makes you tighten your thighs together, mind whirling with thoughts, speculating over what she might be thinking.
you get your answer when she suddenly snaps the band of your tank top, which causes you to leap on the spot. when your eyebrows furrow into what you hope is a stare strict enough to hide just how turned on you are, she laughs, the noise low and velvety. "cute," she muses, eyes raking over you shamelessly before she reaches to the hairtie on your wrist, snapping it off and tying her hair back with it.
best friend's older sister!sevika who starts working out very intentionally in front of you. doing pull-ups in the kitchen when your friend group is there, lips curling up as her eyes seek you out. usually, by the time she looks in your direction, you've already been staring at her unabashedly for minutes as her arms flex and roll under her ministrations.
you want to crawl into a hole when your best friend smacks your arm, her face squeezed into a sour cringe. "dude, gross."
of course, sevika totally hears the reprimand, and she wiggles a scolding finger in your direction from her corner in the room.
best friend's older sister!sevika who can't stop laughing at the way you gasp and cover your mouth when you catch sight of the lesbian porn opened up on her laptop, which rests amongst her bunched up purple blanket. it only leaves you wondering about what she was doing moments before, if that happy trail you sometimes spot in her loose, muscle-shaped crop tops leads to a curl of hair between her thighs.
"oh, c'mon, have you never seen porn before?"
despite the fact that you can barely keep a straight face in light of this revelation, you manage to bristle. "of course I have."
"oh, yeah?" she leans on her doorframe, tilting her head down to watch you carefully. "got any recs?"
"if I did, I wouldn't share them with you."
"why not?"
"you would just--" you manage to squeeze out before trailing off into silence. the truth is, the idea of you and her watching the same porn, fucking yourselves to the same video, has your clit aching with desire. but, you don't wanna give in that easily, and just do as she requests. something tells you she's too used to getting her way. "you would just corrupt it!"
she raises an eyebrow. "corrupt the porn? by watching it?"
god, you're an idiot. "yes."
"that's quite a feat to manage."
"... yes."
"this wouldn't at all be because you're lying, right? and you really haven't watched porn?"
you grit your teeth, narrowing your eyes at her. god, she's so fucking irritating, talking to you like you're completely sexually oblivious.
at your silence, she ducks her head lower, and you suck in a sharp breath at the feeling of one of her dark locks tickling your cheek. "maybe you're more inexperienced than you let on. maybe you're looking to get corrupted."
fuck, she has no idea. at this point, the rest of your thoughts are practically zapped into silence from the mental image of sevika laying you on her bed, your back to her chest, with her big hands shoved down your panties and massaging your pussy, using your slick to circle your clit into a swollen little bud. her soft lips planting wet, sloppy kisses on your neck and cheek as she coaxes you to watch the filthy video, laughing darkly when you gush at the two women in it eating each other out. biting your ear, whispering how she wants to do this thing or that thing to you, how she'd fuck you better than anyone in these videos could. her thick fingers plunging into your hole, other hand covering your mouth as she makes you come over and over again in her cramped up bedroom.
jesus, this is going too far. you force your body to stiffen, lest her attentive gaze catches any telltale signs of your arousal. "well, maybe you're delusional."
she's unfazed, eyes darting to your lips before meeting your gaze again. "I'm sure I am."
best friend's older sister!sevika who tells your best friend she'll pick you up when she finds out you need a ride home from your part-time job. she insists this is because she doesn't trust your best friend with her car, so she should be the only one to drive it.
when you climb into the passenger seat, you can't help but feel self-conscious, sweaty and exhausted after the long shift. matters are only worsened by being in such a cramped space with her, the very act of being picked up way too date-like for comfort. you can smell her coconut shampoo from here, mixed in with the cologne she wears. her hands on the wheel captivate you, fingers long and thick, veins begging for your tongue to trace them. her hair, which is still bound by your hairtie, is damp and soft.
she takes you out for food, insisting you "get something in you after a long day" (you're certain she's aware of the innuendo, shit-eating grin present when she speaks). when she takes her car into a drive through, she hands you her phone, muttering that you can turn on whatever music you want.
she proceeds to make fun of every song you play.
ignoring your protests, and using her strong arms to shove you aside when you try to lurch over her, she pays. when you thank her profusely, her nose twitches and she nods quietly. you can't help but smile at her modesty.
instead of driving you guys back to hers and your best friend's home, she parks outside the store. you guys continue to listen to music, sharing the meal and talking. her usual snark is present, yes, but she actually listens to you, earnestly so, as you ramble about your shift. she asks you questions, and listens patiently. her answers, on the other hand, are short and to-the-point, but after some nudges to her shoulder and whining, she relents with a sigh and shares some more details.
as the sky darkens, the conversation becomes a bit more personal, and you see a side to her you've never bore witness to before. eyes soft, gaze downcast, voice low, she shows a side to you that's vulnerable. a side that has the layers of responsibility shed.
best friend's older sister!sevika who you can't help but smirk at when her jaw drops upon seeing you in the lacey, skimpy pajamas you recently bought. it costed enough, that's for sure, but you feel immensely successful. after all, you only bought them after seeing them in the porn video she had been watching weeks ago.
"what-- what is that?" her voice is low, hushed.
you touch the back of your neck, suddenly plagued with acute self-awareness over how you look. "just-- it's just pajamas."
that breaks her out of her trance, face breaking into a bout of laughter. "pajamas? you're kidding me, right? you look like you're about to seduce me."
you swallow hard. well, not exactly. all you had wanted was a reaction out of her. actual sex felt like too far-fetched a daydream to get excited over. you try to brush her off, self-doubt gripping you too tightly to allow yourself to be direct. "please, you wish."
"oh? someone's gotten bold." her eyes wander over your body languidly, as though you already belong to her and it's just a matter of time before you admit it. she leans back in the seat at her desk, mouth curving into a playful grin. "besides, who knows if you even have it in you?"
"have it in me to what?"
she snorts. "seduce me, bonehead."
"well, yeah, wouldn't wanna risk disappointing you after all the girls that have been in here."
you wince as soon as the words leave your mouth. god, how pathetic are you? you already sound like a jealous girlfriend, and you haven't even confessed to her.
luckily, sevika chooses not to tease. instead, her mouth presses into a firm line and she says, "you don't need to worry about that."
you gulp at the earnest words. what the hell is that supposed to mean? does she know just how serious your words are? because it sure does sound like that. the thrill of her maybe knowing, maybe even returning, your feelings has your stomach flipping. "why?"
she fiddles with some diagrams on her desk, flicking a thumb on the corner, before her shoulders heave with a sigh. "for the same reason I haven't had any girl over for months."
you nearly flinch at the words, the sheer vulnerability in them yanking you into an intense fixation on her words. is she implying she hasn't had any girl over for months because of you? because, well, what reason could explain both that and why you needn't be afraid of dissatisfying her?
you can only think of one.
best friend's older sister!sevika who pulls away from her desk, spreading her thick thighs over the seat, and nods you over. "come here."
when your trembling body reaches her, she hesitates before spreading her hand along your thighs. you immediately clutch onto her shoulders, shivering at the feeling of her rough, warm palm scraping along your skin.
the gap between her teeth flashes as she laughs. "liked that?"
your nails dig into her shoulders. you don't wanna give up the game just yet. "no."
"no?" she mumbles, leaning in and grazing her teeth right where the lace trimming of your silk shorts meets your skin. "that's too bad. because if you had confirmed my suspicions, I would've rewarded you." her head leans back, eyes shining under the lamp of her bedroom. "you're lucky I'm nice and will give you one last chance."
fuck. you can't resist, not when you're this tantalizingly close to getting what you want. "fine. I--I liked it, okay?"
she presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh. "finally."
twenty minutes later, she's on her back in her bed, arms hooked around your thighs while you practically hump her face. your fingers ache with how hard they're grasping onto her headboard, forehead pressed to it as she helps you move your hips on her face. your pussy is making all kinds of squelching noises as she tongues at it, the slippery muscle making a mess of spit and juices as she licks you up so messily, no direction, no rhythm, just raw instinct. her hands have your top shoved up, large hands groping your tits and tweaking your nipples. and god, she just slurps you up, drinking down the thick, sticky arousal coating your folds, wrapping her lips around them to run the tip of her tongue along their shape.
"yeah, fuck my face," she grunts into your pussy. "such a little slut, wandering into my bedroom dressed like that."
a choked out moan leaves you, and she digs her nails hard into your ass as a warning. it makes you jerk harder on her face, her nose bumping against your clit just right and making you cover your mouth in panic. of course sevika takes notice of this reaction, and just a moment later, she's rubbing the point of her nose into your stiff clit, shaking her head side to side so that you get flicked with it.
you think nothing can get better than this -- a notion immediately disproved when sevika's lips round your clit and start sucking it in, her tongue darting out to stroke roughly at it.
and that's how you come, legs shaking as you sag against her headboard and fully sit on her face, unable to stay upright. not that sevika minds, groans of pleasure lost into wetness of your cunt.
best friend's older sister!sevika who actually got her sister's blessing weeks ago and was now just waiting on you.
synopsis; gf!abby does not like clara, the gym trainer who can’t keep her hands off you. so who’s surprised when she loses her composure, channeling her rage in the form of rough, hard sex?
pairing; dom!abby anderson x sub!fem!reader
warnings; abby’s jealous as fuck, a little toxic!abby but not really, use of a strap-on, abby refers to the strap as her dick/cock, and strap is referred to as her dick/cock, throat-fucking (with fingers), fingering, choking, pretty rough sex, degrading (slut/bitch/whore, etc), a little praise, use of baby/honey, one use of y/n BEFORE the smut (sorry, it was necessary), spanking, reader cries, abby gives reader a sensory overload, dumbfucking, etc
a/n; hello! my name is kitlyn, kit for short :) i’m a huge writer, and tlou is my latest obsession. so, ofc, i had to get this fic out for my gf, and much more to come. i hope you like this, and if you have any ideas for me to write, please lmk!
p.s.; your daily reminder (or a fun fact), abby canonically bench presses 205 pounds. i rest my case <3
└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘
she could only make it a few weeks before her annoyance got the best of her.
you were bulking up for an upcoming mission, assigned to you by issac. in the area you would be in, scar presence was heavy, and you wouldn’t be back to the wlf for a bit, so gaining muscle was a necessity.
abby just wished she didn’t have to watch that girl’s hands all over you to get the job done.
she didn’t understand why she couldn’t train you herself, why issac wouldn’t fucking let her. he waved her off, giving her some bullshit about “a lack of focus.”
come on. if she knew you needed to bulk up, if it meant it would keep you safe, she wouldn’t lose her focus just because it was you.
maybe.
but this was the replacement. some other girl in the wlf, hands all over you as she helped you do pull-ups. your body was covered in sweat, and you had been at this for over an hour. the girl, whose name was clara, had her hands on your hips as you lifted yourself up and over the bar again and again.
“c’mon, give me ten more. you got it,” clara said. you were looking at yourself in the mirror as you let out a grunt with each pull-up you did, on your tenth at this point. but you did your best to push through.
“clara,” you groaned. “i can’t fucking—“ you began. but your trainer cut you off.
“don’t use your breath. just keep going. i’ve seen you do it before. you got it,” clara said once more, tone firm. you didn’t think it would be a good idea to deny her. so you went on.
but you were fully oblivious to the pair of blue eyes fixed on you across the room.
you had forgotten that abby also worked out around this time to lift with manny, so it didn’t even occur to you that she was gazing at this whole thing like a hawk.
“abs!” manny said to abby, accent thick. he snapped his fingers in front of abby’s face, and abby looked at him both confusedly, but also annoyedly.
“huh? what, what is it?” abby asked. she had fully spaced out, and her cheeks were red. but it wasn’t because of the workout.
it was your fucking trainer.
“estás bien? i lost you a few minutes ago,” manny said. abby had gotten used to his habit of going back and forth from spanish to english, to the point where she knew a thing or two. so she easily responded.
“yeah, i’m fine. let’s just finish for today, okay? i’m not feeling it,” she excused. but manny could see where her eyes were.
you.
“ah,” manny said. he seemed to understand now, a look of comprehension across his face as he said that. “okay. i’ll see you back at the room, then, sí?” manny asked as he held his fist out.
abby did the same and gave him the small fist bump he was looking for. “yeah, see you.”
once manny had left, abby began to pack up her gym bag. by now, you had finished your pull-ups, and were taking needy gulps from your water bottle. clara gave you a small pat on the back once you had finished drinking.
“that was good. you got any more in you?” clara laughed.
you smiled at her, shrugging. “not sure. i’ve gotta meet my girlfriend soon,” you said. really, it was in an hour or two. but you’d have to shower, change, etc. so, to you, it was soon.
nevertheless, you figured a bit more couldn’t hurt. so, you said, “but i think i can do a few more reps.”
clara just gave you a nod. each time you would bring up this girlfriend of yours, her demeanor changed like that. she’d tense, and pause her words.
you knew what it seemed like, and obviously, you didn’t like clara. but you did kind of need her.
and besides, if abby—fuck, if abby knew? it'd be a fucking field day to say the least.
you ended up choosing back squatting as a way to finish off your session with clara. you ducked your head under the bar, elbows flexing as you removed it from the rack. you caved a little under the heaviness of it, but with clara’s reassurance, you did your best to move.
clara put her arms under yours as you held the bar behind your back. she squatted along with you, body behind yours as she spotted you.
you could only make it ten or so reps before you failed on the eleventh, much to your surprise, as it had never happened to you before. clara put her hands on your chest quickly, and helped you move the bar back up to the rack.
“sorry,” you whispered in a huff, face red from the tension your body had just undergone. clara’s front pressed to your back for just a moment, and you felt a little uncomfy. she had spotted you before while doing a back squat, but not once did you fail one, forcing her to really touch you like that.
“it’s okay, it’s okay. you did fine,” clara smiled. this time, she put a hand on your shoulder, way too close for comfort. and then, she murmured to you, her own face red. “i’m proud of you.”
oh, that was fucking it.
abby discarded her gym bag on the floor. she tossed it somewhere. she would grab it later. but she couldn’t fucking watch this anymore. who the hell did this girl think she was, hands all over you like that? and who knows what she was saying to you? that was abby’s fucking job.
and hers only.
“y/n,” an all too familiar voice said from your left, and you didn’t need to look to know who had spoken.
you were thinking, my savior, once abby’s voice filled your ears. but when your eyes moved to hers, you were sure your soul left your body.
because she looked pissed.
clara moved her hand off your shoulder, and you hated the way she did it—like the two of you had been doing way more than just working out.
“grab your shit, we’re leaving,” abby said firmly to you, and she couldn’t help but send a small glare clara’s way. you weren’t the only one feeling scared, because clara was pale as a ghost. she had known you had a girlfriend, obviously.
but it was abby fucking anderson?
neither you nor clara said a word as you packed up your gym bag. once you had, abby was grabbing you by the waist, and yanking you out of the gym, leaving clara far, far behind you.
“abs—“ you tried, you really fucking did. but abby didn’t want to hear it.
“not a fucking word.”
└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘
manny knew better than to come back to the room once he saw abby eyeing you like that in the gym. it wouldn’t be the first, nor would it be the last, time that abby’s temper had ended in a room full of sex.
as soon as you were inside of the room, abby was grabbing your gym bag from your hands, tossing it far away, and kissing you aggressively. you responded with a whine, but let her, kissing her back with just as much passion. her hand gripped your neck as she all but slammed you onto the door, free hand running over your body like it was a temple she was born to worship.
really, it was.
abby put her free hand under your leg and held it up, pressing herself into you as her tongue battled yours. you moaned into her mouth as her grip on your neck compressed, her fingers digging into the soft skin of your thighs.
what a good day to have worn shorts…
when abby finally pulled back, your lips were spilling with drool, lips numb and plump from the belligerence in abby’s kisses. your whole face was hot, and abby’s face was red.
and, fuck, did she look mad.
abby smashed her lips back onto yours, and kissed you all the way to her bed. once there, she pushed you down onto it and got on top of you, her large thighs on either side of your lap.
if you weren’t in for it before, you surely were now.
abby reached her arm out to open the drawer of her bedside table, and it was only a moment or two before she was pulling out a very familiar item.
her strap.
“a- abs, wh- what are you—“ you began dumbly, way too curious to find out what it was she had in mind. but abby wasn’t feeling at all gracious.
you talk when she says you can.
“shut the fuck up,” abby damn near growled at you, the kind of tone she reserved for when she was really fucking angry. you had heard it many times before. when you were on a mission and battling scars. when issac reprimanded her for being careless in the field. when mel pissed her off one too many times.
bottom line, when shit didn’t go her way.
and the idea that she felt that way now both turned you on and scared the fuck out of you.
abby was quick to secure the strap’s harness to her waist. the view of the dildo attached to it always made your mouth fill with drool: black, veiny, seven and a half inches long. she’d made you cum with it so many times you lost count, and it was a million times better than the real thing.
especially when you had abby anderson on top of you, or behind you, or below you, encouraging you to take it like the good girl you were.
she grabbed your hips with fervor, forcing you to wrap your legs around her torso once your bottoms, and underwear, were out of her way. you let out a needy mewl as she slid the tip through your already wet folds, riling you up, just like that.
when your eyes closed as an answer, abby tutted, and moved one of her large hands down to grab you by the chin. “look at me,” she demanded.
and who the hell would you be to deny that?
your eyes were weak and needy as they met abby’s, pupils big with just a touch of fear, heart pounding in your ears. abby spoke firmly, and you could tell that she wasn’t playing around.
you had left fun and games behind the second you walked into this room.
“you’re gonna take this dick as much as i want you to, over and over again. n’ i’m gonna fuck you rough, ‘til you’re babbling out nonsense. do you hear me?”
your body felt paralyzed when those words left abby’s lips, her tone dripping in anger. you couldn’t manage much, and all you could do was nod. but she was not having that.
she squeezed down on your chin, which made you whimper out. “words.”
“y- yes, ma’am, i- i understand,” you weakly muttered out, and that seemed to suffice for her. abby let up on her grip, and her hand moved down from your chin to your lips.
“good. now suck.”
you didn’t delay. you opened your mouth for abby to push her fingers inside of it, index and ring beginning to fuck it. abby could feel your drool as she pumped the two fingers in and out of you, your tongue eagerly wrapping around them.
she doesn’t give a damn in the world as she pounds them to the back of your throat, making you gag, and your eyes close and roll back as she does so.
not for long.
“open your eyes. keep ‘em on me,” abby says in a rough tone, and you oblige a little too quickly. water’s already filling the corners of your eyes, and abby can see that when she looks at you.
and she’s barely begun.
“crying for me already, hm? why am i not surprised?” abby couldn’t help but mock you. you looked so feeble like this, choking on her fingers like the whore you were.
“i’d save your tears, honey. ‘cause there’s a lot more where this came from.”
just as you’re beginning to get used to the rough feeling of abby fucking your face with her fingers, she pulls them out, and you let out a small whimper of disapproval.
but it quickly blends into a moan.
her index and ring, the two fingers that you had just had your tongue around, that were soaked in your drool, pushed inside of you without so much as a warning.
“oh, f- fuck, abby,” you moaned as the suddenness of the moment took over your senses. your thighs clenched around her as she skillfully pumped her fingers in and out of your cunt, just as she had so many times in the past.
abby used her other hand to pry your thighs back open. “ah ah, baby. spread your legs for me.”
just when you figured this couldn’t get any more forceful, abby was pushing a third finger inside of you, her middle one, and using her thumb to rub your clit.
your response was way too fast as you grabbed one of abby’s broad shoulders, digging your fingernails into the freckled skin on it. you let out a loud moan as your eyes squeezed shut, letting it all sink in. three of abby’s fingers deep inside of you, pumping in and out of your wet pussy as she thumbed your clit like a fucking pro.
“fuckfuckfuck,” you groaned, and, god, did abby like that. barely begun with you, and you were already drunk off her touch.
but then again, that’s how it always went.
“look at you, fucking soaked for me. needy bitch,” abby degraded you mercilessly as she curled her fingers inside of you, easily hitting your g-spot.
“mmph, abby…” you could barely manage.
“hush,” she said harshly. your gaze moved up to hers as she fingered you, her usual pale blue eyes big, pupils enlarged. it was clear that she wasn’t letting up any time soon. “don’t talk unless i say you can.”
you didn’t.
abby had you soaking her fingers in your release soon enough, your orgasm spilling over you. she pulled her fingers out of you and moved them to her lips, leaving not even one drop behind as she sucked them dry. the view filled your abdomen with butterflies: that was for damn sure.
if this is how she made you feel with your fingers, you could hardly imagine her dick.
and abby didn’t delay. you didn’t get even a second to process before she was lining the tip of the silicone toy to your cunt, and pushing into you forcefully.
“abby, w- wait, fuck. t- too soon,” you whimpered, but you knew abby didn’t give a shit about what you had to say. she shushed you with her hand, putting her fingers past your lips once more.
“don’t care. you’re gonna take this cock like a good fucking girl,” she emphasized the word as she thrust into you hard. “and i don’t wanna hear shit. got that?”
you nodded, and didn’t try to speak again. you just did what abby wanted you to, sucking on her long fingers to keep you occupied while she pounded into your pussy.
“clara can’t fuck you this good, can she, baby?” abby rasped as each thrust grew more ravenous, both fingers pushing deeper.
so that’s what this was all about. well, really, you figured as much. you knew clara’s behavior would somehow bite you in the ass. but now that you had abby’s words to confirm it, you couldn’t be more sure.
you did what you could to shake your head, but let’s be real. it was abby fucking anderson. speechlessness was never an answer in her books. she took her fingers out of your mouth for the last time, eager to hear you talk now.
“say it.”
“n- no, abby. s’just you. s’only you,” your tongue slurred as the words left your lips, and abby couldn’t help but get off on the way you were speaking, a smug smirk on her face.
“mmhm. only i get to fuck this pretty pussy of yours, y’hear me?” abby let out in a grunt, her drool covered hand settling onto your neck, squeezing down. she was fucking you hard, no mercy as her hips thrust aggressively, pushing herself as deep inside of you as she could possibly go.
you were more than okay with that.
“y- yes, ma’am,” you let out a groan of your own as abby rutted her hips into you, eyes locked on hers. “i’m yours. a- all yours.”
you were a whining and whimpering mess as abby gave you a nod of approval, hand gripping your neck like it was her lifeline. “that’s a good whore. mine and no one else’s.”
“how do you think days like today make me feel, huh? fucking bitch with her hands all over you, gawking at you like you’re hers. well, let me tell you somethin’,” abby snarls. she pulls out of you, tip pressed to your folds, and for a moment, you think she’s going to make you beg for her to fuck you once more. but just like that, she’s slamming back inside, going, arguably, deeper than she had before.
“she doesn’t get to have you. no one’s ever gonna fuck you this good. no one’s ever gonna love you like i do. you’re all fucking mine, like it or not. got that?”
you’re not surprised by the aggression in her tone, but, damn, is she pissed. you can feel her anger seep into your skin as she fucks you like a toy, addresses you like a doll.
and you let her.
“m’sorry, abby, m’so sorry. i know i’m yours. i’m yours, swear to god i am. m’so sorry,” you moan dumbly as she squeezes your neck.
which you’re sure will have marks to show for it tomorrow.
“i know you are, baby,” abby rasps. her hand moves from her neck to your thigh now, and she digs her fingernails into it as she slams into you. “and you fucking should be.”
and again, abby has you cumming, her name rolling off your tongue like music as, this time, it’s her cock you soak in your release. “there you go, honey. know you like when i fuck this pussy like this. that’s it,” abby whispered.
your brain was way too foggy with the aggression of this session with your girlfriend to get your words out properly.
what was is it that abby had said about making you babble again?
“f- fuck, abby. oh, fuck,” you whined, body tired from receiving your second orgasm that evening. but abby was nowhere near done with you: both of you knew that.
abby didn’t speak as she pulled herself out of you, grabbing you by the hips and flipping your body over, so that you were no longer on your back. she forced you onto all fours, your ass poking up into the air. she yanks your bottoms fully off of you from behind, underwear following, and settles her hands onto your ass.
“abby, come on, please,” you all but cry out. you’re not sure how much you can take, not when it’s so sudden, anyway. abby’s anger is slowly going away, your caring girlfriend coming back little by little. but you weren’t quite there yet.
“you’ve got one more in you, baby, i know you do,” abby says softly, and she circles her thumbs over your ass. the move is almost loving.
“and you’re gonna take it, like the good slut you are. mkay?”
like you said. almost.
you grumble, but you can’t say no. not only did you not want to, but when it came to abby, that was one of the last things on your mind. probably. . .not a good idea. so, “mkay,” is what you say in response.
“good girl. can fuck you better like this, anyway,” abby hums. she begins to take your shirt off, and you lift your arms up to help her remove you tank top. and then, who’s surprised, she unhooks your bra with ease, discarding it on the floor somewhere.
the feeling’s familiar as abby pushes inside of your aching pussy once more. you’re sore and tired, brain fucked out from abby’s belligerence. but you need her, just as much as you need the very oxygen in your lungs.
and she needs you.
as if this isn’t enough, her arms move under yours, and squeeze each of your tits. it quickly reminds you of the way clara spotted you earlier, because that was one of the very things that had caused this in the first place.
but this felt so much better.
your eyes rolled back into your head as abby rubbed hard circles into your nipples, eager and needy to get you off for the third time in a row. she knew it wouldn’t be long now. each time she fucked you like this, round after round, your orgasms came in quick successions.
literally.
abby was pushing into your g-spot once again, and the feeling of it all was almost too much. if she wanted you to babble, then she got it: because there was no other way to describe the words spilling from your lips.
“a- abby, fuck, please don’t stop. you feel s- so good, f- fuck, please.” you weren’t making any sense by now, at least not to yourself. but abby knew what you wanted.
because she knew just how to please you.
“keep moaning, baby. you sound adorable,” abby chuckled as she fucked you, hips pushing deep into a spot you didn’t even know you had. “all cockdrunk off this dick, like the whore you are. my whore.”
she just had to add that. for good measure.
“tell me how much you like it. tell me how much you like it when i pound your pussy like this.”
you were licking your lips in the neediest way as she pressed her thumbs into your tits. you couldn’t help but push yourself back into her, that fucking needy for her. “i- i love it, abby. love it so much, fuck. you fuck me so good.”
abby moved one of her hands back from your tit and onto your ass, and gave you a small spank there. “fuck, yeah, i do. never gonna get it this good from anyone else, are you, baby? not clara, not any other bitch. just me, yeah?”
“mmph, mhm,” you murmured, and, fuck, were you on the brink. of course no one else could fuck you like this. no one could fuck like this period. some days, you wished the world could see just what abby anderson had to offer.
but that would involve a hell of a lot of sharing that you didn’t want to do.
“aw, i’m fucking you dumb, huh, baby? can’t even get a word out. dumb fucking slut,” abby smirked, slapping your ass one more time, then massaging the red mark with her thumb. “who do you belong to, hm?”
abby wasn’t wrong. your brain was fogged up, cloudy as she slammed into you from the back, and you couldn’t even see as your eyes rolled back into your head for the millionth time over. your words came out messy, drunken, incoherent. “i- i b—i’m—yours, i b- belong to—to you.”
you could feel your third orgasm bubbling up inside of you as abby pounded you from the back, and she had both hands on your tits once more, gripping both of them as she thumbed at your nipples. your face was hot, your lewd moans filling the room to the brim, as abby filled you.
“f- fuck, abby, don’t stop,” you whimpered out, and you had never sounded so broken before. “g- gonna cum.”
well, that much was obvious.
abby didn’t hold you back. she encouraged you with each thrust of her hips, every one increasing in speed with each second that passed by. she was a pro at this, and she knew it.
“that’s it, honey. cum on my cock, loud, like you mean it. wanna hear you scream for me,” she said with a small grunt, and she said it like it was a demand.
you obeyed.
you were yelling your girlfriend’s name as white spilled all over the silicone that was her dick, a series of pornographic moans falling from your swollen lips. your expression was just that, too: lewd, broken, because you had never been fucked like that in your life.
for the last time, abby pulled out of you, and unsecured the harness around her torso. once she put it to the side, she couldn’t help but put her fingers to your pussy for the last time, scooping a bit of your white release onto them. you shuddered as she did so, and looked behind you, just to see her suck her fingers off.
you lay limp on the bed as abby got up to grab a small towel. gingerly, she began to wipe your body clean, beginning with your thighs. she kissed up them as she did it, and it was so, so different to the way she had been manhandling you mere seconds beforehand.
that was abby for you.
once you were both clean, abby laid down beside you, and pulled you close to her body. she put her hands on your waist, and pressed a kiss to your forehead as you snuggled into her broad chest. you didn’t even feel awkward about the fact that you were the only one naked.
if abby didn’t care, then neither did you.
“you okay, baby? wasn’t too rough with you, was i?” abby asked, her thumb circling your cheek. you smiled up at her, a rush of butterflies soaring inside your abdomen at the small rasp in the way she cooed.
“no, abs. not at all. i mean, i always knew you got jealous, but—wow,” you couldn’t help your giggle.
abby feigned annoyance by giving you an eye roll, but you could tell that she was just being playful. besides, it’s not like she could deny the fact. so she smirked. “what can i say? you just have that effect on me. besides, you have to admit—clara was way too close for comfort.”
you’re going to sit there and expect me to believe ow*n knew what to did with all that? her thick thighs? her juicy ass? those adonis built biceps? her perfect little breasts he couldn’t even bother to touch when they were right in front of him? ungrateful little micro dick bitch
imagine gf!abby barging into your shared bedroom clearly riled up, slamming the door shut behind her.
you get up to ask her what’s wrong but she immediately shoved you back down onto the bed and grabs your jaw, roughly making out with you. it takes you completely by surprise, but no one’s complaining.
every single time you pull away gasping, her grip on your left thigh only grows tighter and the hand she’s got tangled in your hair forces you back against her. by the time she finally lets up, you’re completely breathless, drool slipping down your chin and your mind completely hazy as she finally starts to speak.
“just let me fuck you, yeah, pretty girl?” abby asks, her hand already slipping past the waistband of your shorts and into your panties before she even finishes the question.
you nod slowly at her, letting out a shaky breath.
abby teases her fingers through your folds, collecting some of your slick before she’s pulling back out and pushing three fingers past your lips and onto your tongue. you start choking at the pressure on your tongue, having been completely unprepared for it, but she doesn’t let up when you try to push her hand away.
“suck,” she says, in a tone that would’ve made you crumple to her knees in submission if you were standing.
with teary eyes, you do as she says, trying your best to relax your throat as she slowly starts to fuck it. right when you start getting used to it, there’s a sudden yank on your hair and abby’s pulling you off her fingers. they’re completely drenched in your saliva and a clear string connects it to your lips, which abby gazes it in a look you (sadly) don’t see all too often.
she tells you to strip off your pants and panties, which you do, before laying back onto the bed on your elbows, watching the way her gaze wanders all over you. it’s another moment before she’s grabbing at your throat, forcing you to sit up as she sits on the edge of her bed.
“spread,” she says, and you do. “you better watch,”
abby doesn’t even let you adjust to it, getting right into shoving all three of her fingers into you and making you squeal in surprise, nails scratching down her arm.
“did you not fucking hear me? i said watch,”
she starts moving her fingers in and out at a pace enough to make you writhe- not too fast, not too slow, just somewhere in between. you have to fight the strong urge to not squeeze your eyes everytime the sharp jolt of pleasure shoots through you, knowing just how mean abby gets when she’s mad. when she notices that your eyes are no longer focused on where she’s entering you, she squeezes again as a reminder.
the pace is downright unbearable, enough to get you off but still making you want more. when you try begging her to go faster, all she does is tell you to shut the fuck up and take what she gives you. she continues the rhythm until she’s noticing how tightly you’re starting to squeeze around her, so greedy to take her in.
she grabs your jaw, forcing you to make eye contact.
“you’re gonna cum as many times as i want you to until you learn how to fucking keep your eyes open and watch,”
you whine, thighs squeezing tighter around her hand, completely swallowing her up, knowing full on well how many orgasms are ahead of you.
- summary: after your first encounter with abby, she’s all that’s on your mind. because of this, you decide to ditch work one day and go to her father’s contracting site to pay her a visit, only to find out that she feels the same way with you. (part 2 to quick fix)
- content: smut MDNI, no outbreak/modern au, contractor/engineer!abby, texas living, no sarah, joel and jerry are both alive, jerry is not a doctor, reader has a business degree, family & work drama, office sex, oral & fingering (both receiving) squirting, thoughts of strap usage, cockblocking, reader and abby almost getting caught again, pet names instead of y/n, abby begging if you squint, and i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything
- author’s note: no bc i was literally shocked over how quick fix blew up omg?? thank you guys so much! i had so many people request for a part 2 so here it is! i hope y’all enjoy it :)
To your luck, your dad didn’t suspect anything when he found out the TV got fixed.
You told him that you ended up calling the electrician instead. And while he did scold you on how the electricians here tend to overcharge their customers for their services, he eventually just let it slide.
Besides, it would have been better to tell him that rather than the truth. That the daughter of his work rival set foot in his house to fix the TV, only to soon put her hands on, or rather inside his precious daughter.
Movie night flew by slow for you that day, like painfully slow. Abby was all that ran through your mind that night. You pretty much spent that night sitting on the couch surrounded by your friends, in that same spot where Abby’s head was in between your legs just a few hours before. You’d keep turning your head back just to take a peek at her house across from you.
Eventually, you became so desperate for that night to be over that you decided to end things early and escorted your friends out of your house, only to soon get under your bedsheets to try to fix the ache that was forming in between your legs once again.
But you knew damn well that it could never compare to how Abby made you finish that day. She made you finish in a way that no one else could have.
Despite that, the two of you may have thought about the idea that this could have just been a one-time thing, but you were still tempted to see her. You didn’t want to go against your dad’s rules, again…but just like the last time, part of you was leaning towards doing so.
Besides, you got away with it the first time…who’s to say you might be able to do this for a second?
But you don’t see her right away. Despite how hard it may be for you, you make the effort to wait for the right time.
A week passes by since your first encounter with Abby, and that’s when you decide to go see her.
You’re on your shift at work, finishing up some customer calls before gathering your things to head out. Once you get to the door, you stop in your tracks for a brief moment. A variety of questions start to flood your mind:
Is it worth it to take the risk again? What could happen if you end up getting caught? Would Abby even want to see you again? Is she craving you the same way you’re craving her right now?
You quickly shook your thoughts out of your head and turned the doorknob, exiting the office trailer before closing the door behind you. However, you only make it down the first few steps before running into your father. He bumps into you while finishing a call, phone in one hand and some files in another.
Joel quickly hangs up the phone and peers his eyes down at the screen. “Hey kiddo, I was just lookin’ for ya so I could give you these—“ He cuts his sentence off once he looks up from his phone to see you standing in front of him, bag over your shoulder and car keys in your hand, ready to leave as if your shift was already over. He looks at you with a confused expression. “Where are ya headed? You’re not done for another few hours.”
You try your best to come up with an excuse on the spot. “Oh, I have to head out to run some errands…I uh, need to start buying ingredients for the bake sale next week.”
That was a full-on lie. You already bought everything the week before. And knowing Joel, he can typically sniff out a lie like a bloodhound. But you still hope that he’ll take the bait for it.
Your dad simply nods and puts his phone back into his pocket. “Alright sweetheart, well, whenever you can, I need ya to file these for me. No rush though.” He hands you the files before passing by you to head into the office. You let out a sigh of relief, only for that feeling to soon come to a halt when he calls out your name again.
You turn back around to face him. “Yeah?”
“Do you think you could make that—that custard cake— what’s it called again…You made it last Thanksgiving at Uncle Tommy’s, remember?”
You raise an eyebrow at him. “You mean my flan?”
“Yes!” Your dad exclaims. “Make as many of those as you can. Wanna be able to beat Anderson in the bake sale this time.”
You pursed your lips together and nodded. “Alright, I’ll be sure to make those then,” you reply.
Your dad gives you a thumbs up in response before pulling out his phone to take another call and stepping back into the mobile office.
Another sigh of relief escapes from you. If it weren’t for your dad being so occupied with his clients, you definitely would have been caught a lot sooner. As much as you love and care for your dad, his obsession with trying to one-up Jerry at his job seriously drives you crazy.
Crazy to the point where you decide to break his rules and get with Jerry’s daughter, perhaps?
Once you approach the parking lot, you step into your car and start it up before pulling out your phone. The first thing you end up doing before anything else is shutting off your location. Aside from Abby being off limits, your father was never really the strict type. The only reason behind having a location set up on your phone was so he’d make sure you were safe whenever you’d be working late at the company or when you were out with friends.
But that’s not the case today, since you’re simply just ‘running errands’, as you so graciously told him before leaving.
Your finger hovers over the screen before tapping on the navigation app. You then type in the directions for Anderson Contracting Company.
Those are three words you definitely didn’t expect to be putting into your GPS.
Once the route guidance was set up, you shift your car into drive before slowly pulling out of the parking lot and exiting your dad’s contracting site.
Excluding the possibility of traffic, it usually takes about 15 minutes to get to Jerry’s contracting site. That is…if you’re taking the fastest route. But due to the anxiety bubbling in your stomach, you decided to delay yourself as much as you could to get there. You avoid the highway if possible, purposefully miss every exit, and even let every single driver pass you while on the road. You’ve lost count of how often the GPS has rerouted since you were just going around in circles.
Eventually, you quit stalling and follow the correct route to Jerry’s contracting site. That feeling of deja vu instantly hits you once you see those two familiar pickup trucks in the parking lot upon arrival. It meant that there’d be another 50/50 chance of either running into Abby…or her father.
But it’s not too late though. You’re still in the car. You haven’t left yet. There’s still a chance to back out of this now and leave as if you never showed up in the first place.
But then again…you’re tempted to go in and search for her. You truly couldn’t resist being away from her for so long. A week may seem like nothing for most people, but to you, it felt like a fucking eternity. Do you really think that Abby might feel the same way?
Fuck it. You do it anyway.
Once you’ve stepped out of your car and locked it, you start making your way over to the contracting site. Your chances of backing out progressively become slimmer with every step you take.
Before you know it, you’re standing at the site, front and center. Jerry’s site looks quite similar to your dad’s—pretty spacious, filled with loads of inventory, it even had the same trailer-like mobile office that stood its ground next to the parking lot with its company logo in big, bold lettering.
But then again, all of that pretty much looked the same to you. The only task on your mind right now was to search for that man’s best employee: his daughter.
You squint your eyes to get a better look at the workers on site right now. They all looked the same to you due to the far distance—a bunch of little figures all spread out in its ample environment. However, you do see Jerry standing among those figures, to which you’re relieved. He had the same height and build as Joel, but with lighter physical features instead of your father’s dark ones. At least you knew where he was situated right now.
But Abby? She was nowhere to be seen.
It didn’t make sense to you at first. Her truck was in the parking lot, and given her prominent figure, she’d be easily identifiable out of all of the workers that were scattered around the site.
Regret starts to pass through your body right now. You felt like you’d wasted your time coming here.
That is…until you feel a strong, familiar hand grab your arm from behind.
You freeze in your tracks and slowly turn your head around. Your prayers have been answered once again.
Abby keeps her grip on your arm and turns you around, her body shielding yours so her father wouldn’t spot you from the distance. She then leans into your ear. “Stay in front of me and keep walking forward,” she says sternly.
You nod and continue to walk in her direction. The two of you approach straight to the mobile office, and you notice that the door is wide open. Looks like that solves the mystery as to why you couldn’t find her in the first place.
Abby guides you up the steps and brings you inside the trailer. She makes sure to check her surroundings before entering inside and closing the door behind her, locking it shut.
“Are you seriously out of your mind?” She asks, turning around to face you. “It’s one thing to come to my house, but to come to where I work? And with my dad here? What if he saw you?”
You shook your head at her and put your hands up to quiet her down. “I know, I know…This is literally the last place I’m supposed to be at right now, but I need to talk to you.”
She let out a sigh and shook her head as she walked over to her side of the trailer where her desk was. “About what?” She asks, turning back around again to face you.
“It’s about last week, um…” you trail off for a second, briefly averting your gaze from her and nervously rubbing the back of your neck. “When you came over to fix my outlet…”
Even though you weren’t looking at her, you could feel the smirk that was growing on her face. Abby leans back against the corner of her desk and crosses her arms. “Oh yeah? Which outlet are we talking about, exactly?”
Looking back at her now, you scoff at her and lightly shove her shoulder. “Come on, you know exactly what I mean…” You let out a sigh before continuing. “Look, I don’t know about you but…it’s been on my mind this past week. And I need you to do it again. Please.”
Abby raised an eyebrow at your statement. “Make you do what now?”
Jesus. She’s really trying to get the words out of your mouth, isn’t she?
Another sigh leaves from your lips. Your eyes divert back to the ground again. “I…I need you to make me finish like that again.” You mutter out to her. “No one has ever been able to make me feel that good…besides you.”
As hard as you were trying right now, the desperation in your voice was still so obvious to hear. You didn’t want to be desperate about it, but you couldn’t help it.
However, Abby was quite flattered to hear that, and even a little relieved. Despite her previous experiences with women, she wanted to be able to please you the most. It was just hard for her to ever do so due to both of your dads’ rules.
She looks out the window for a moment. Her dad appeared to be miles away from the two of you, still barking orders at his employees over inventory. She then walks over to the back of her desk and moves some things around to make some space before motioning you to come over. “Come here. Sit on my desk.”
You oblige, walking over to the back of her desk. You give yourself a boost and sit on top of it. Looking down, you see her hands placed down on the desk, one on each of your sides. It’s almost as if she’s slowly entrapping you with her large frame.
You look back up at her to see her looking down at your lap, watching how your thighs are pressed together right now. “I don’t regret it, you know…” she starts, looking up at you. “Coming over. I don’t regret it at all. If anything, you’ve been on my mind just as much since then.” She then leans into the left side of your face and whispers this memorable statement in your ear:
“Even my tongue still remembers the way you taste.”
“Fuck..” You mutter under your breath, averting your gaze back down. Her words alone were already turning you on and making your arousal rush quickly to your core.
Her eyes were now meeting with yours when you looked back up at her. “Would you want to do it again?” You asked her. That same smirk shows back on her face as Abby shakes her head. She thought your question was ridiculous, even after hearing what she had just said to you. But on the contrary to last week, you were now the one seeking reassurance from her.
Without taking her eyes off of yours, she slightly parts your legs open with her knee and slides a hand underneath the knee-length pencil skirt you were wearing. Your breath hitched once you felt her touch, followed by your thighs tensing up a little. “Is this answering your question right now?” she asks, not stopping her movements.
You try to catch your breath as she holds eye contact with you, nodding slowly as her hand inches closer to your heat. Her actions come to a halt once her hand reaches your clothed cunt. It wasn’t until her fingertips brushed against the soft fabric that you broke eye contact with her to look down at your lap, even though her hand was hidden under your skirt.
Abby did the same, gently pressing her thumb down against the now damp piece of fabric that was separating her hand and your pussy. Her action causes you to jerk back a little. The ache in between your legs was making you sensitive. “You’re so wet for me already, fuck…” she mutters out, hooking her finger underneath your underwear and moving it to the side. You spread your legs out farther for her for better access, trying to hold back your whimpers when the cool air of the office’s AC tunnels under your skirt and hits your wet pussy.
This gives Abby the chance to start inserting one of her fingers inside you. The second her fingertips start passing through your tight entrance, you instantly feel alleviated. Despite the slightly uncomfortable feeling it can give you at first, there was something about Abby’s fingers that was just so…addicting. It’s almost as if you needed to have her touch inside of you all the time.
You can’t help but let out a whimper once you feel a second finger enter inside you not even a minute later. Abby leans in to kiss you, desperate to swallow the pretty sounds you’re making while her fingers were nestling in your pussy.
“God…” she begins to mutter in between kisses. “It’s only been a week…and you feel even tighter than when I first went down on you…” She briefly pulls away from your lips to kiss your neck.
Abby silently cursed at herself for not having her strap in her possession. If only she had known beforehand that you were going to sneak your way out of work to come see her, she would’ve brought it with her. As much as she loved having you come undone onto her fingers, there was truly nothing more she wanted to do right now than to fuck you senselessly on top of her desk.
Your hands grip the edge of her desk when she begins to slowly pump her fingers in and out of your pussy. More sounds continue to leave your lips, and you begin to involuntarily grind your hips against her hand as a desperate call for her to go faster, which she soon ends up doing.
“Fuck, Abby…” you whimper out to her. “Your fingers…feel so good…” You bring your gaze back down to your lap, watching the hidden movements of her hand under your skirt.
Secretly, it was kind of pissing both of you off that you still had that fucking skirt on. You’ve been trying to hold back the urge to strip yourself down. The pleasure that Abby’s giving you right now with just her two fingers was so good that having your skirt and underwear still on you was bothering you so much. At that moment you didn’t want anything touching you from the waist down.
Anything except for Abby’s fingers.
And it was even more frustrating on Abby’s part because although she could feel and even hear your needy pussy underneath your skirt right now, she couldn’t see what she was doing. She wanted to see her actions right now. She wanted to watch your pussy visibly contract against her thick fingers before coming undone on them.
That stupid skirt was by far the worst obstacle for the two of you right now. But regardless, it wasn’t going to stop Abby from trying to make you finish. You told her that you needed her to make you cum just like how she did when she first came over, and that’s exactly what she was going to do.
Your grip on her desk tightened when her fingers were now going at an uncontrollably fast pace. Your head was thrown back, your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your mouth slightly parted. A moan would escape from your mouth with every brush of her fingertips on your g spot. That familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach forms as your cunt begins to pulse around her fingers, indicating that you were getting close.
Just like last time, your head starts to feel heavy once again. You try to tilt back down to meet with Abby’s gaze so you can let her know. “A-Abby…” you call out to her. “I—fuck—I’m getting close…”
She simply nods, not quitting her pace with her fingers. “I know you are, that needy cunt of yours won’t stop squeezing my fingers.” She looks back up at you. “Just ride it out for me like last time, make yourself cum on my—“
Then suddenly she cuts her words off. Her gaze starts to avert away from yours, and her fingers start to slow down.
She turns her head around to look out the window, leading you to do the same. The pleasure in your body soon starts to replace itself with panic when you see who’s approaching closer to the office.
Abby’s father.
She turns her head to face you and she can practically see the pleading in your eyes. You were already so close to the finish line. So close to finishing on her fingers and getting to that blissful feeling that you’ve been craving from her touch for the past week.
“Abby…” you whisper out to her. “Please…just let me finish…”
Although she felt like she could do it, and make a new record out of it, she just couldn’t take the risk.
Abby could feel her heartbeat racing as she heard her father’s footsteps get closer to the door. She looks over at you, her gaze flickering between your face and your lap, where her fingers remain inside of you.
“I’m sorry…” she whispered back and pulled her fingers out of you, causing you to whimper at the loss.
The rattling of the doorknob startles the two of you, followed by the sound of keys jingling. Abby instinctively grabs your hips, getting you off of her desk. “Get under my desk,” she commands, leading you to quickly crouch down onto the ground and tuck yourself into the leg area of her desk.
Abby sits back down in her chair and scooches in, scattering all of her blueprints, sketches, and files back on the center of her desk to make herself look busy.
Then the door clicks, right on time.
She looks over to her left and watches her father enter inside. Jerry’s eyes were fixed on his phone screen for a moment before looking up to see her. “Hey kid, I didn’t know you’d still be in here,” he says, walking over to her desk. “Why’d you lock the door?”
Abby immediately starts stammering on the spot, trying her best to figure out an excuse. “Oh, um…I think the self-lock was still on..”
He nods in response, looking at the door and back at her. “I see…Well, I have to head into town in a bit to check out a client’s property. They’re in need of their kitchen being remodeled and I’d like to get to them before Miller does. Do you think you can go outside and finish up with inventory while I’m out?”
Abby nods slowly in response. “Yeah dad, of course, I can do that for you.”
The two of you figured that Jerry would leave after that…But he doesn’t. He continues to discuss work with her while you remain hidden under her desk.
About three minutes have gone by, but to you, it feels more like three hours. Despite the amount of legroom that Abby’s desk had, you still felt so cramped up. All that was there to see right now were three dark walls and the sight of Abby from the waist down. Wait a minute…
That’s when an idea popped into your head. The way Abby was sitting, manspread in her chair, her cargo pants tightly hugging her thighs even though they’re meant to be loose, and that tool belt of hers…it sure seemed to provide some coverage down there, right?
You want to talk yourself out of it, you really do. This wasn’t the time or the place to be doing this right now. But five minutes have passed now and you truly have no idea when the hell Jerry is going to get out of there so the two of you could be alone. Might as well keep yourself occupied for the time being, right?
Without trying to make any noise underneath, you shift your position on the ground until you’re kneeling. While Abby now remains distracted by talking to her father, you slip your hands in under the large pouches that were attached to her tool belt. Once your hands find the button and zipper of her cargo pants, you attempt to undo them and get them off of her.
Abby’s eyes quickly flicker to her lap before looking back at her dad, who was now talking to her about another client that Joel took from him. She notices what you’re trying to do, she can see it without even having to take her tool belt off. She truly wishes more than anything right now that she could at least help you take her pants off for her.
“…so I'm going to see if I can be able to meet with them next week and see if I can convince them to do business with us instead of Joel. I was thinking that—” Jerry’s words soon get cut off by the sound of his phone ringing, leading him to pull it out of his pocket and answer it. “Hello? Yes, this is him…”
While Abby’s father speaks through the phone, he briefly looks away from her. This gave the perfect moment for her to discreetly lift her hips so you could get her cargo pants and boxers down. You open her legs, eyeing her pussy that was hidden underneath her tool belt. Without even thinking twice, you dive in between her legs, quickly latching your mouth onto her clit.
Oh God, now Abby really needed her dad to leave right now.
The chair starts to shake a little beneath you as Abby’s hands grip each side of the armrest, trying to hold back any sounds as you sucked on her clit. Now it was up to Abby to try and compose herself in front of her father because the second he’ll notice something unusual, both of you would be screwed.
Abby glances over to see her dad turned around, still complaining through the phone. Her breath continues to hitch while you keep sucking and licking at her clit. “God, your mouth feels so good…” she mutters out quietly to you, praying that her dad didn’t hear her. She soon hears her dad finishing up his phone call and sits back up before scooching forward, trying to hide as much of herself below the waist down as possible.
“Look, just give me ten minutes and I'll be there. I’ll show you the plans I have for your kitchen, and I can assure you it’ll be better than what Miller would have in mind.” Jerry soon says his goodbyes before hanging up the phone and turning back around to face his daughter.
“That was the client I was just about to go see today. They’re already considering doing business with Joel instead.” he crosses his arms and shakes his head in disbelief. “The nerve of this ignorant man…He’s seriously trying to do anything just to get more clients than me…” he lets out another sigh before continuing. “I'm gonna head out now to meet with them. Please make sure to finish up on inventory before you leave alright?”
Although it wasn’t like you had a choice at that moment, you couldn’t help but eavesdrop on what Jerry was saying. You were definitely into Abby, but you couldn’t stand how Jerry talked about your father. As a result, you decided to do something just a little bold. While your mouth was fixated on playing with Abby’s clit, you insert two of your fingers into her pussy with no warning, causing her to jerk back at the sudden movement.
“Y-Yeah!” she exclaims before quickly closing her mouth shut, as well as her thighs. “Yeah, um…I-I’ll be sure to do that…” she says, her voice back at her normal volume.
Her father raised an eyebrow in suspicion but didn’t think anything of it. The only thing on his mind right now was getting to that client’s place before Joel does. “Alright then…I'll see you at home.”
Abby watches as her dad leaves the office and closes the door behind him. She turned her head around to the window to make sure he was officially out of view before letting out a sigh of relief. “Fuck…” she breathes out. She then pushes her chair back and quickly unbuckles her tool belt before tossing it to the ground, looking down to see the sight of you with your mouth and fingers both still attached to her cunt.
“You really are a fucking tease, aren't you?” she asks you. “Going down on me like that while my dad’s in the office because you can’t keep it in your pants…I didn’t take it that you’d be such a slut for me like that…”
With your fingers still inside of her, you briefly removed your mouth from her pussy to respond to her. “I seriously couldn't keep waiting any longer, Abby…” you plead out to her.
Abby slightly tilts her head to the side, raising an eyebrow in mock confusion. “Did I tell you to stop doing that, though?” she asks.
You shake your head in response. “No, I—”
“Exactly. So get back to it, princess.”
You then feel her hand on the back of your head, bringing it back down into her pussy. Without taking your eyes off of hers, you seal your mouth back onto her clit while pumping your two fingers in and out of her cunt, watching her every move to the pleasure that you were giving her.
“Fuck, oh God…” she moans out, pushing your head farther in. “Fuck, just like that…p-put that mouth of yours to good use…”
You moan into her pussy as a response, causing her body to slightly shiver. Your fingers speed up their pace inside her, desperately trying to get her to break apart. A string of breathy moans continues to escape from Abby’s mouth while your head stays nudged in between her legs.
You can’t help but hear those sounds that Abby was making as your tongue kept lapping up her juices. It was making you even wetter than before. You wanted to reach down and touch yourself so fucking bad, but you couldn’t. Not only was it because Abby would immediately suspect that you were doing that to yourself, but you were getting so fucking drunk from her pussy that you couldn’t even move any other part of your body except for the parts that were moving inside her right now.
“Oh fuck, I think I’m getting close…” she moans out to you, tightening the grip on her armrest. “Please…please don’t stop…”
The way Abby had begged you to keep going was driving you insane. Now you were more motivated than ever to make her finish. Your fingers were cramping, your jaw was getting sore, and your face was so buried in her pussy that you felt like you couldn’t breathe.
But you still refused to quit.
You keep driving her up to her climax until she finally comes undone with a broken moan, finishing all over your mouth and fingers. Once she’s finished on you, you lick and suck her release until she’s completely clean before taking your mouth and fingers out of her.
Abby looks back down and is amazed at the sight of you right now. Your pupils were completely blown out due to how drunk you’d gotten from her pussy, and her release was smeared all over your face. “Well, it looks like I’m not the only one who likes to get all pussydrunk…” she tells you, smirking once again.
You meet your gaze with hers and smirk back at her. “I had to return the favor for you somehow…” you reply, wiping her release off of your chin with the back of your hand. “Consider it a thank you for fixing my outlet last week.”
Abby returns your response with a smile. However, her eyes soon flicker over to your lap, where you were clenching your thighs together on the ground. Now she remembered that she needed to finish what she started.
She leans over to put her boxers and cargo pants back on before standing up completely. “Come on, get back up on my desk.”
With your legs still together, you slowly get up from the ground and stand up next to her. After almost getting caught by Abby’s dad and being under her desk for what felt like fucking forever, chances are that the heat pooling between your legs right now is going to be a lot more for Abby to work with this time.
You watched as she made space on her desk for you again by pushing her things around. Some of her blueprints and sketches fell to the ground as a result, but she could honestly care less about that. Her hands then move to your waist, picking you up in an effortless manner and placing you back onto her desk before leaning in and locking her lips with yours, tasting a bit of herself in the process.
Your hands grab at her shirt and pull her closer to you, while Abby’s hands grab the hem of your skirt and pulls it down your legs, followed by your underwear right after. Her lips then pull themselves away from yours so she can look down at your pussy. “Oh my God….” she breathes out to you, her face inches from yours. The arousal in between your legs had spread so much that even your inner thighs were shining with your slick.
“You’ve been trying to hide this mess while you were under my desk, weren’t you?” she asks, to which you nod in response.
The sight of your wet pussy was so fucking much for Abby right now that she needed to step back and sit back down. You watched as she sat back in her chair and pulled onto the side lever, letting it sink down so her face was parallel to your pussy.
Without even thinking twice, she dives her head in between your legs. As much as Abby had wanted to challenge herself and use her fingers like last time, she still had that desire to taste you, because she truly is one for craving the way your arousal would linger on her tongue.
“Fuck, Abby…f-feels so good…” you whimper out to her, grabbing her braid and pushing her head further into your pussy. With half-lidded eyes, you make the effort to keep your gaze at the window to be on the lookout. You seriously did not want to have to deal with the possibility of getting walked in on…again.
The amount of moans and whimpers that leave your mouth only drives Abby to speed up her pace. She ends up pulling your hips closer towards her as she continues to eat you out like a woman starved before inserting two fingers inside and quickly pumping them in and out of you.
Your hands have flown back to gripping the edge of her desk once again and your elbows are now propped at the center of it to support yourself. You can’t even focus on looking out the window anymore with all of the overstimulation that she was giving you right now. At this point, both of you could care less about someone knocking again.
It didn’t take long for that familiar feeling to build up in the pit of your stomach again. That same feeling that you had gotten when she came over last week, that same feeling that you had reached around 15 minutes ago before Abby’s father decided to interfere at the wrong time.
You try your best to even form a sentence right now to let her know that you were getting close. “A-Abby…I-fuck…I’m getting close again…”
She simply looks up at you without stopping her movements. Her bright blue eyes were darker than before, and her pupils were blown out just like yours not too long ago. She was getting drunk off of your arousal once again.
With her free hand, she manages to do that same movement with you again, where she brings it over to your stomach and presses her palm down, all while maintaining her mouth on your clit and her fingers pumping and curling themselves deep into your cunt.
From there, it didn’t take long for you to reach your peak.
“A-Abby…I’m gonna—Fuck!”
And that’s when it hits you. Before you could even warn her again your cunt pulses hard once last time before cumming all over her mouth and fingers, leading her to greedily drink you clean. Your head is thrown back in pleasure, your stomach is all tense from the pressure of Abby’s hand, and your inner thighs are trembling and dripping.
Once you’re able to catch your breath, you look down and watch Abby pull her mouth and fingers out of you. That same deja vu feeling hits you again when you see the condition she was in. She was just as out of breath as you were, and her fingers, face, and lap were now covered in your release.
Abby leans in and strokes your trembling thighs to calm them down followed by planting kisses throughout the tender parts of your skin. “You alright there?” she asks with a smirk, wiping her chin with the back of her hand.
You nod slowly at her and give her a smile, still slightly drunk off of your orgasm. “Yeah, fuck…” you breathe out. “You’re so good at this, you know..”
The blonde simply shrugs in response. “Anything to get that taste from you, princess.” she replied with a chuckle, kissing your inner thigh one last time before setting it down.
You watch as she picks up your underwear and skirt off the ground and helps you get them back on before getting off of her desk. You hear her chuckle again when she sees you try to stand with your legs still limp. “Think you can walk?” she asks, that same smirk showing up on her face again.
You roll your eyes at her and playfully slap her shoulder. “Oh, I’ll be fine…” you tell her in reassurance.
Abby shakes her head in response, placing one hand on your waist before holding one of yours with her. “Let me walk you to your car. I’ll take you out the back so no one sees us.”
Once you safely get to your car, you unlock it and slip yourself into the driver's seat before closing the door and starting it. You then roll down the window to see her hovered over you, her arms resting on the roof of your car.
You feel yourself blush a little when you see how damp her clothes now were because of you. “Um, what do you plan to do with that?” you ask her curiously, pointing at her clothes.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got my gym clothes in my truck, I’ll be fine.” she reassures you.
You nod in response. “Okay, well…thanks again for, um…”
“Fixing your outlet again?” she asks, raising her eyebrow.
You let out a laugh at her response. “Yeah,” you confirm with a nod, “For fixing my outlet, again.”
Abby chuckles and shakes her head, briefly looking down at the ground before back up at you. “So I’ll see you at the bake sale next week?”
You bite your lip, trying to hold back your smile before nodding again. “I’ll be there.”
Abby leans in to kiss you goodbye before tapping on the roof of your car, indicating that you were good to leave. You wave at her as you pull your car out of the parking lot and exit the site.
Well, it’s safe to say that you most definitely will be attending that bake sale next week.
- a/n: did not expect this one to get long…part 3 anyone?
emt!abby x fem!reader, smut (mdni or i scream) / fluff / established relationship, wc: 3k
synopsis: you didn’t think you’d get away with baiting abby before dinner, did you?
content warnings: language, strap-on sex (reader!receiving), fingering (reader!receiving), oral (reader!receiving), abby has a filthy mouth & reader’s a tease, brief mentions of a breeding kink brrrr, basically pwp but like also maybe a lil ? idk, i’m still new to tagging 18 + content AH.
author’s notes: i’m back!! and with smutty continuation of this oneshot! the abby brainrot is very real, i fear, so i couldn’t help but expand. there’s a lil surprise at the end hehehe. also! pls feel free to chat with me thru my ask box! <3
main masterlist | tlou masterlist
Abby’s patience is admittedly wearing thin.
She’d managed to keep it together during the car ride to the restaurant, kept her cool while ordering through lingering touches and hooded gazes. Hell, she’d somehow breathed through a coy hand resting against her thigh, sneaky pinky nestling in the seam of her taut trousers while Nora and mutual friends chatted about their recent endeavors.
“You’re cutting it close,” Abby whispers a warning to you after you’d brushed something from the plump of her bottom lip and dragged.
You popped the pad of your thumb past your glossed lips and Abby had to swallow hard before she choked on her bite.
The smile you give her is sly, makes her rub her thighs together as your shoulders roll back and your chest pushes forward. She’d been too preoccupied with ordering, with downing water after water because, christ, it was hot in here, to notice that maybe she was the only one burning up.
Gooseflesh ripples over your arms and your nipples are pebbled against the satin of your dress. She could nearly drool, thinking about all the things she’d love to do to you in and out of that flimsy little gown.
“Can I tell you a secret?” you reply, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Your lips nearly brush the shell as Abby spears a cut of dessert and bites hard to maintain her facade. She hums.
“M’not wearing anything underneath,” you divulge, eyes twinkling when Abby leans back in her seat and watches you with her jaw set.
“And what would you like me to do with that information, angel?” Abby bites, playing into your game easily.
“Whatever you wanna,” you reply softly, gaze far too dreamy for Abby’s sanity. “I’ll be good.”
And then you have the audacity to smile at her like you haven’t lit a fire in the pit of her belly. Like you aren’t tempting her to clear every available surface and bend you over the table. She’d been doing so well, had made it through every course. But now, as everyone socializes and finishes Nora’s birthday cake, she feels her resolve crumbling.
“You guys are so cute,” one of Abby’s friends coos, absolutely oblivious to the little cat and mouse game you’ve started before the two of you even walked into the restaurant.
Abby laughs humorlessly behind a sip of her drink while you preen under the attention.
And she should’ve known better than to relax once you’d leaned back in your seat, wine glass wrapped in your slender fingers. The both of you are equally floored, but for vastly different reasons, when your hand slinks under the table top to grab right under the buckle of Abby’s belt.
Abby hadn’t expected you to be so blatant and you definitely hadn’t felt that when you straddled her earlier in the evening before the two of you left for dinner.
The ball’s in her court, she realizes, when she clocks the way you shift in your seat, arousal pooling between your thighs, no doubt. Your eyes are glazing over and your lips part.
“Everything alright, love?” Abby asks, feigning concern as her head tilts to the side.
She watches the way you rub your legs together involuntarily and she has to suppress the wicked grin that threatens to split her golden features.
You don’t answer and some of Abby’s friends who aren’t engrossed in conversation are watching from across the table in curiosity.
“Cat got your tongue?” she whispers into your small little bubble, teeming with sexual tension and ready to burst.
She sees the way your throat bobs, thinks to herself that she owes it to herself to mark you up after the shit you’d been pulling all night.
“My stomach hurts,” you say softly, and she knows exactly what you mean.
Knows that the ache isn’t from a bad appetizer or wine that just won’t seem to settle. No, you’re needy now. Worked yourself up so much trying to tease your girlfriend that your skin is dewy under the lowlight.
She glances at Nora who sits at the head of the table. Something gleams in her gaze and Abby knows that she knows. Hasn’t been able to shut up about you since the two of you made it official last fall.
“Might be time to get this one home,” Abby covers, merciful in front of friends because you’re not the only one desperate. “It’s a little past her bedtime.”
And typically, you’d be petulant, annoyed because even if you’re Abby’s girl, you’re not a child. But god, you can practically feel her inside despite clenching around nothing.
“Aww,” one friend frowns, you think her name is Mel. “It was nice getting everyone out for Nor’s birthday.”
Abby smiles, something genuine that only makes your toes curl because your girl is absolutely devastating, especially in a black button up that shows a dangerous amount of expanse and fitted black slacks that hug the most delicious part of her thighs.
“Definitely,” Abby agrees easily. “We have to grab lunch before you head back home, Nora.”
Nora winks and your cheeks warm because if there’s one person you can’t get anything by, it’s Abby’s closest friend.
“Just shoot me a text.”
And you know that she’s just in her element, being surrounded by her friends and people she’s grown up with, but as she makes her rounds and says her goodbyes, you can’t help the desire that bubbles.
What started as a slow simmer, something you could tamp down during the journey here and throughout dinner, was now a raging boil that warmed your veins from the inside out.
It’s why the two of you barely make it to the car before Abby’s hand is up your dress and her fingers are circling the heat of your slick slit.
“You’re already so fuckin’ wet,” she whispers breathlessly, leaning over the center console to slot her lips with yours.
“Been wet,” you admit against her mouth, throwing your head back against the headrest when the tips of her fingers push past your entrance.
She breathes a laugh when you let out a cracked moan.
“Fuck,” you whimper.
“Yeah?” she taunts. “All it takes is a couple of fingers in your pussy to get you to behave?”
You’re watching her through hooded eyes, heels coming up to rest on the edge of the seat. And it’s such a dirty fucking sight, seeing the soft satin of your dress pooling around your hips as you spread your legs.
“More,” you beg, fingers wrapping around her wrist to hold her still. “Fuck, Abs, I need more.”
Abby’s brain nearly short circuits when you start rolling your hips, the heel of her palm bumping your sticky and swollen clit.
“Yeah, want more, angel?” she taunts. “Could’ve had this taken care of earlier if you just let me fuck you before we left. Now what, you’re all needy and wet.”
“S–ah, fuck!” you hiss when she adds a third finger and curls hard. “Please, please.”
“Yeah, you wanna cum, pretty girl?”
You nod eagerly, hips bucking desperately. Your cunt glistens under the fluorescents of the parking garage and Abby’s salivating as she watches you use her to get off.
“Want it, Bibi,” you whisper brokenly, that stupid fucking nickname rolling from your lips. “Wanna cum, please.”
She laughs breathlessly, boxers soaking through as she takes in the sight of you winding tight. She knows you’re gonna unravel soon, can feel it in the way the soft walls of your pussy flutters around her digits.
Then, like you’ve committed the most cardinal sin, she’s punishing you, withdrawing from your heat to slip her fingers past her lips to savor your arousal.
“You taste so fuckin’ good,” she sighs, leaning back in her seat to slot the key into the ignition.
“Abby, please,” you cry out, clenching around the loss of her knuckles stretching you out.
“Gonna have to be patient and wait, pretty girl.”
Despite the AC on full blast, your balmy skin is sticky with sweat. Abby’s got you right where she wants you, naked and between her spread knees at the foot of her bed. The silk of the oversized scarf you’d used as a cover up earlier in the night binds your wrists together at the small of your back and Abby thinks you look so fucking lovely like this.
“You’re so pretty like this,” she murmurs, thumb reaching out to brush the plush of your bottom lip. The pad slips into your mouth and her eyes widen a fraction when you look up her through your lashes. “You’ve been such a fuckin’ brat all night, y’know that?”
The dainty gold chain around your neck glints as your chest heaves, ‘A’ pendant catching a sliver of the moonlight as Abby presses her thumb down your throat.
“M’sorry,” you whimper around her digit. “I’ll—”
You swallow when your eye catches the silicone of Abby’s strap. It’s a new addition, a pretty purple that she’d picked out with you in mind. It’s got an obscene amount of ridges and fuck it’s—
“So big,” you choke.
A lazy smile spreads across Abby’s face.
“It is, isn’t it?” she entertains you, fist closing around the shaft. “Saw it and thought of you. Thought of all the ways I’d stretch your tiny little cunt and fuck you stupid.”
You’re drooling now, tears pooling the corner of your eyes and smudging your eye makeup.
“Want it bad, Abby, please.” Your hips roll over nothing and Abby’s licking her lips when she notices the little pool that glistens against the hardwood. “I’ll do anything, please, just— fuck, let me ride you, anything… I—”
“Think you deserve it?” she hums. “I was being generous earlier. Wanted to make you feel good, but you wanted to be a fucking tease. And for what? For you to soak through your dress and make a fucking mess on my floor.”
The moan you let out makes Abby’s breath hitch, almost makes her drop the act.
One more, she thinks to herself.
She pinches your cheeks between her fingers, forces you to come face to face with the lines of her cock.
“Spit,” she hisses.
And her eyes roll to the back of her head when you do, the string of saliva that connects your lips to her strap making her hips buck involuntarily.
In one movement, she’s yanking you to your feet and tossing you against the mattress. With your hands still bound, your cheek presses against the duvet, back arching and knees spreading to give her the perfect view of your ass and your pretty little slit.
“You get to have your fun after you cum around my cock,” Abby husks, large palms settling on the swell of your ass as the tip of her strap prods your entrance.
“Nnngh, Abby, fuck, pleasepleaseplease,” you keen. “All of it, please.”
And hearing you beg, hearing you so eager to be filled has Abby nearly feral. Has her pressing her length past the folds of your needy pussy and throwing her head back when you moan around the resistance.
“Jesus, fuck, you’re taking it so well,” she says shakily, sinking hilt deep.
“Please,” you sigh breathlessly. “Fuck me, Abby. I want you to use me and—”
Abby’s blowing out a forceful breath, can never get used to your filthy mouth. Her hips start rolling, finding a pace that has you moaning so loud she’s certain her neighbors can hear you doors down.
It doesn’t take much, just one of her hands snaking to your clit through her strokes to get you locking up and an incoherent mess.
When she pulls out, you collapse against the sheets, and she melts. Can’t be mean to her pretty girl for too long. She’s unfastening the silk around your wrists, hands smoothing over the swell of your hips to guide you onto your back.
You’re looking up at her with that fucked out look on your face.
“You can do another one, can’t you, angel?” she coos, doing an absolute one-eighty as she kneels between your thighs and licks a fat stripe up your slit to suck your clit past her lips. “You’re not gonna tap out on me after working me up all night, are you?”
And when you nod eagerly despite your body feeling so heavy, Abby’s heart swells. She’s kissing on your inner thighs, watching as your hole flutters deliciously.
“You said you’d be good,” she whispers, laving languidly at your your cunt. “So be a good girl and take it, hmm?”
“Anything, Abs, I’ll be good.”
She’s smiling a genuine smile, knows you’re a brat for the attention. And she can’t help herself, wants to give you anything and everything.
Her lips travel from your clit, presses gentle kisses up the soft flesh of your tummy, past your navel and between the valley of your breasts. She takes one nipple in her mouth and sucks hard as she tweaks the other one between the calloused pads of her fingers.
“You’re my good girl?” she whispers against your skin.
Your freed fingers tangle in her hair when she pops free from your nipple and bites hard on the juncture between your shoulder and your neck. She’s been desperate to add fresh purple blooms to the yellowing ones, doesn’t want anyone to get the wrong ideas.
“Always,” you swallow, arching into her touch.
One of her hands slides up the sheets and tangles with yours, and you’d think the gesture is sweet as she continues her ministrations up your throat, but she’s sliding the blunt head of her strap between the puffy lips of your cunt. She catches the arousal that pools there before sinking in slowly.
Doesn’t matter how many times she fucks you, how many different ways she folds you and has her way, the fit is always snug like a glove and it itches a part of her brain desperate to be sated.
“Don’t know how lucky you are,” she hums in your ear as her hips roll slowly, making sure you feel every last inch of her cock slipping through your needy little pussy.
You’re panting, sweaty chest colliding with hers as she braces part of her weight on the arm tangled with yours and settles the rest against your spent body.
And having Abby like this, pressed to you and taking care of you, you agree. You’re so lucky. But then she mutters something new that has your toes curling.
“So lucky I can’t knock you up,” she says softly, biting on an especially deep stroke. “Because if I could, angel? I’d be breeding you like clockwork.”
Your chin juts upwards, exposing more of your neck to Abby as she picks up the pace. The broken sob that leaves you has a shiteating grin lazily spreading.
“You like the idea of that, huh?” she whispers. “I bet you’d be so fucking pretty all swollen. All mine.”
One hand slides between your bodies and presses down hard over the bulge of Abby’s strap. You’re clawing at her bicep as she leans up to get a good look at you.
“C’mon, pretty girl, one more,” she almost begs. “Gimme one more.”
And it’s a mixture of her words, the sweet drag of her cock along the warmth of your gummy walls, and the pinched expression on her face that sends you soaring over the edge. Her name leaves your lips like a prayer, body wound so fucking tight as your second orgasm rips through you mercilessly.
Abby’s smiling gently at you as you come down, body falling slack against the sheets as your chest heaves lungfuls of air. She’s still fully sheathed, smoothing your hair from your face as she peppers kisses along your cheeks and over your eyelids.
“You’re actually unbelievable,” she murmurs, arms wrapping around your waist as she settles back against the mound of pillows strewn at the head of the bed.
“Am I?” you ask breathlessly, ear pressing against her sweaty chest to hear the thrum of her heart.
“Extremely,” she affirms, catching your bottom lip between her teeth. “Love you, angel.”
“Are you gonna use your charger?” you call from your spot in Abby’s bed, wrapped in a new duvet and wearing one of her sweatshirts.
“Yeah, but I have another cord and charging block somewhere,” she responds from the adjoining bathroom, finishing her routine before she settles in.
You only hum in response, crawling over to her side of the bed to throw open the drawer to her side table. Your fingers blindly grasp at foreign objects in search for the telltale square of the charging block and the wrapped chord, but instead, it smoothes over something like velvet.
“Huh?” Your eyebrows twitch when you grab the object, unwedging it from where it’d been tucked into the very back of the drawer.
And you hadn’t known what to expect, but your eyes are as wide as saucers when you find a small little velveteen box. You don’t want to be presumptuous, don’t want to get your hopes up, but when you flip the lid and find the most beautiful green gem set in a thin gold band, you’re choking on the sudden wave of emotions.
“Did you find i—”
When your gaze swings to the doorway, Abby’s figure blurred by the tears pooling your eyes, she’s cussing.
“Wait, fuck.”
“Is this what I think it is?” you ask shakily.
And Abby’s usually so good at reading you, but she can’t tell what kind of tears are spilling and she’s absolutely frozen with fear because she’d been waiting for the right time to ask. But it seems like the universe has other plans as you hesitantly stand to your feet, the hem of her ‘I Love Seattle’ sweatshirt falling midthigh.
“Abby,” you grill.
“Depends on what your answer is,” she says weakly.
The silence that blankets the two of you is suffocating, has Abby feeling like her heart’s in her ass. But then you’re closing the distance, ring box still tight in your hold as you’re pushing up on your toes to throw your arms around her neck.
“Yes, Abby, what the fuck?” you hiccup.
And the relief that floods her system has her brushing the tears from under your eyes and winding tight around your frame.
“Way to ruin my surprise, asshole.”
You throw your head back with a watery laugh before pressing further into her chest.
SEATTLE GRACE HOSPITAL (Part.1)– intern!reader x doctor!abby
☾ ⋆*writer's note: it's here!! I'm so fucking exited!! been thinking about this for like... so long. this is inspired by the first season of grey's anatomy, but make it gay. (also! little easteregg in the pictures...the cherries...my username...yup) probably will be an on going series... at least a part 2 will be posted. also– I know nothing about medicine, so the medtalk might be gibberish. enjoy!
masterlist. nav.
☾ ⋆* summary: the alcohol just wasn't enough to numb out your nervous feeling of starting your residency at seattle grace hospital. but a new, blonde, muscular distraction approached you at the bar, turning out to not only be the greatest fuck of your life... but something else.
☾ ⋆*warnings: afab!reader but no pronouns used, reader has shitty eyesight, using alcohol to suppress feelings (kids don't do that pls), hospitals, drunk making out and drunk sex, oral sex r!receiving, enthusiastic consent, abby asks a bunch of times for permission, strap-on sex r!reciving, mentions of abby being the one receiving, gay panics, panic in general, mentions of having faked an orgasm, mentions of mediocre sex, implied age gap (r! is mid twenties, abby early thirties), reader has marks on her thighs from abby's grip, reader being anxious, death of a patient , chest compressions and cardiac arrest. mentions of surgery.
ೃ⁀➷ message me or send me an ask if u wanna be added to the taglist! 💌
⋆*spotify playlist for the fic * ⋆
⠀⠀⠀ ✧.* smut under the cut, 18+, mdni (MEN AND MINORS, GET AWAY!)
how did you end up here? your mind was blank. a soft memory of the bar, the blurry lights, you cursing yourself because you forgot your glasses. The mixture of the liquor on your veins and the fact that your eyesight was shitty, made everything blurry. you remember finally paying attention to the girl seated close to you, who was gulping down a whiskey on the rocks. you remember thinking why the fuck was she drinking that, when she could drink something else sweeter, that didn’t taste like shit. meanwhile, were sipping a cold pink drink whose name you couldn’t remember, but you were also taking shots of tequila every chance that you got, cause it was a fucking shitty day. the frustration from the events that had happed that day, mixed with the anxiety of the following, was a combination of emotions that you intended to numb with the liquor you were consuming. turns out, they were just enhanced by it. so you figured you needed another distraction, one that was blonde, had muscles and was staring right at you.
how did you end up here, again? you didn’t let your mind travel too far, cause at least you were in your house. you were drunk, your head spinning a little, but at least you remember how this stranger approached you. while you were looking at her drink in the bar, she was watching the array of empty shot glasses in front of you. “tough day, huh?” she asked. a sweet voice making you turn your head to the side and look at those dark blue eyes.
“yeah. are you having a tough day yourself?” you asked, facing her with your whole body. you could feel her drawing you in, like she was some sort of magnet. she was definitely staring at you the whole night, cause there was nothing but familiarity in her eyes. like she was used to observing you.
“just the usual day.” she said, before taking a sip of her own drink, then swirling it around, making the ice hit the glass. you looked at her hand; no engagement ring. so you had a shot, the only thing missing was figuring out if she was into girls. you looked at her, her big strong arms under the tight black sweater she wore, accompanied by a pair of light wash jeans. her hair was in a braid, long and blonde. she wore a pair of gold light frame glasses that were now laying on the table in front of her where she was seated.
“hm, same here” you said, shrugging.
“well, cheers to that then” she said, tilting her glass towards you a little bit. you did the same, with a small smile on your lips, after which both of you took a sip from your own cups.
“let me buy you a drink?” you asked.
she furrowed her brows a bit, a small smirk appearing on her lips. she looked to the side, before replying to you.
“i’m not used to being the one that gets offered that,” she smiled, looking straight into your eyes. “usually i’m the one offering to buy pretty girls drinks” she said, flustered.
you smiled at her small confession, cause now everything was set. she wasn’t married, she approached you, and now you knew she liked girls. it was like everything was laid out for you perfectly, and you couldn’t say no to that.
“well, just cause you're more masculine doesn’t mean you have to be the one buying the drinks” you said, before getting up and sitting next to her, your legs almost touching at the bar stool. she looked at you in awe, her eyes shining watching you take the seat next to her, blush appearing in her face.
now that you were close to her, you could see that her face was littered with clusters of freckles.
“fair point” she said, her eyebrows coming up “well, if you’re gonna buy me a drink, at least you could tell me your name.”
“won’t it be more fun if we don’t tell each other anything?”
“straight to it then, huh?” she said. she was the one getting you flustered now, your face suddenly feeling a bit hot, and not from the alcohol you had just consumed. your hands instantly came to your forehead, your elbows on the bar. you hid your face from her, laughing a bit in your drunken state. you then turned around, staring deeply into her eyes, both of you with a smile plastered on your faces. you could see her eyes traveling from one of yours to the other, the tension building up, the air becoming thicker.
you turned around raising your hand a bit to get the attention of the bartender.
“hi! could you get me one more of these and um-” you pointed to her drink
“and a whiskey on the rocks”
the bartender nodded, before saying “coming right up.”
“so, mystery girl whose name you don’t wanna reveal.” she said, her hands resting on her knees. she was definitely too close now, you could feel your whole body tingle. you wondered if it was in fact from the alcohol. but you knew that wasn’t the only source.
“why did you offer me a drink?”
you laughed a bit, she was looking at you with bright eyes and heavy eyelids. “well, i thought you were pretty” you said, not being able to meet her gaze, while you played with the ice on your empty drink.
“thought you were pretty too” she said, smiling, before both of the drinks you ordered appeared in front of you, and both of you mumbled a small thank you to the bartender.
it was like the little bubble you were in was busted. but, it wasn’t long until it was formed again. in those two hours you spent in the bar, you learned a couple of things; abby was a great listener. she got flustered every time you called her pretty. she had a dog named alice. she had freckles littlered all over her nose and cheeks that became more apparent when she laughed. and she was making you have a fucking wet spot on your underwear just by seeing her laugh; everytime she flashed that toothy grin, everytime you made her flustered, the ache that you felt in between your thighs just became more apparent. she was too cute.
abby learned a couple things about you; you loved extremely sugary cocktails. you were not a dog person, but you still loved them. you got flustered everytime her hand landed on your knee, and everytime she looked straight into your eyes. and you were pressing your thighs together.
that’s how you ended up with your back pressed against your front door, after a drunk walk home in which she offered like four times to carry you, just cause she wanted to. she was kissing you like she wanted to melt into you, occasionally giving you soft little pecks, pulling away to look into your eyes, her hand on your cheeks.
you felt butterflies, and you shouldn’t. because usually, drunk hookups didn’t feel like this; it didn’t feel like you already knew the person, and usually kisses didn’t leave you aching for more. she kissed you, just to kiss you. she kissed you with her whole body. she kissed you like she wanted to melt into you.
you eventually pulled away, your lips puffy from kissing, and your eyes glossy from having them close. you turned around, reaching for your keys to open the front door. the girl in front of you just came close, starting to kiss you neck softly. you were shifting your keys, trying to open the front door.
“need help with that?”
“no i got it” you said, finally opening the front door, turning around, to gesture at her to enter, but she just started kissing you again, pulling you into your house, closing the front door and pressing your back into it.
“oh my fucking god” you laughed into her neck.
“what?” she asked smiling and her hand instinctively coming to stroke your hair
“i… kinda have to wake up really early tomorrow”
“oh” she said straightening her back and smiling a bit “it’s ok i can go if you don’t want to um-”
“oh! no it’s not that. i want to, I really do! why did you think i invited you over?”
“yeah… but just in case, you can change your mind at any second”
“so hot that you say that” you said, leaving little kisses on her neck “if you wanna stop too just say, we can”
“i definitely don’t wanna stop”
“good”
she grabbed your chin, making you look up at her. your eyes met, and instantly you came closer to kiss her, and when you did, you felt her smile against your lips. your hands moved to her arms, felt them, how hard and muscular they were. you pulled away, whispering into her lips “your fucking arms oh my god”
she just smirked, and pulled you in again for a kiss. her hand started to travel down towards your butt. “and this fucking ass” she whispered into your lips “is driving me insane”
you two made out for what seemed like eternity against the front door, until you grabbed her hand, and guided her to your living room.
“cute”
“well, thank you” you say, turning around and laughing. once again, the blonde girl kissed you, grabbing your waist and pulling you so close that you felt her chest rise and fall every time she caught her breath.
she lightly pushed you into the couch, now you were seated, staring up at her, while she was towering over you. you flashed her a smile, before she grabbed your chin to kiss you again, her hand now slowly trailing up your leg, feeling your hot skin. you felt tingly, the feeling in your lower stomach only growing. and you thought you would be used to the way she kisses, like she wants to melt into you, but you didn’t; it left you aching for more every time.
her hand traveled down, until it was just inches away from your cunt. you looked up, those dark, lustful blue eyes looking straight at you. “can i?” she asked, in a soft tone that contrasted the scene. you nodded your head, and her hand moved to cup your pussy over your underwear and jeans. a soft sigh came out of your lips, arching your back. and that sight, it ignited something in the girl in front of you. you grabbed her sweater, pulling her closer to you, she laughed, before she kissed you again.
“sit down?” you asked
“what?” she said, her eyelids heavy, she almost looked sleepy if it weren’t for her heavy eyes.
you laughed a little bit. she was adorable, you felt so comfortable around this stranger.
“oh. yeah. but you sit on top of me”
you laughed a bit, whilst she sat down, coming up from your seat to sit on her lap, straddling her with both of your legs. your hand came to her hair, slowly playing with it, her eyes closing once again. “so demanding”
“oh i am not demanding, cmon” she said, slowly and quietly
“yeah you are” you said, laughing
“i’m gonna-” she said, before she turned you around so now you were laying on the couch, now she was the one straddling you. it happened so fast you couldn’t process it, but when you finally did, and you saw those eyes and the smirk plastered on your face, you could hear your heartbeat becoming stronger. your expression has gone serious now.
“what? you’re gonna what?” you asked.
she just came to kiss you, deeper this time, her hands traveling down your body, caressing it, while you almost shaked under her touch. she felt so good, so exciting. she felt new and familiar at the same time. her hands traveled into your shirt, disappearing beneath it; your breath hitched.
“is this ok?”
you nodded, before coming up and taking your shirt off. she looked at you for a couple of seconds, before her hands came to caress your boobs, slowly massaging them, while she looked deep into your eyes; those eyes that made you feel like she could see right through you. you instantly bit your lip, your breath becoming heavier; your head falling back when her thumb started rubbing slow circles on your nipple. “fuck” you breathed out. she brought you closer, her big hand on your back making your bodies touch, and your back instantly arched, feeling her strong legs on your thighs; it was driving you insane, how gentle she was despite how strong she seemed.
“your driving me insane” you mumbled, before it slipped out of your mouth. you definitely did not intend to say that. and now she was leaving little kisses on the valley of your breasts, with her hand wrapped on your waist, holding you closer. she laughed, looking up at you while she kissed down.
“yeah?” she asked, and your head instantly fell back, a breathy laugh leaving your lips. “hm. teasing me so much”
“well i like to take my time” she said, before traveling down with her kisses. “especially when pretty girls are so eager for me”
“oh god” you laughed, because even if what she said was corny, it made you feel like you had a bird trapped in your chest from how strong your heart was beating. that’s all that it took- a small amount, just a glimpse of dominance and you were already aching for her.
“what?” she asked.
“keep going please”
“hm” she said, now making her way to your jeans “can i take these off?” she asked, to which you nodded, and she unbuttoned your pants. her hand teased you, caressing the skin that was now exposed when she undid your jeans, slowly coming down “can i?” she asked, to which you affirmed, a breathy yes coming out from your mouth. her hand traveled and disappeared beneath the fabric, coming to cup your pussy through your panties; you felt the warmth of her hand against your cunt, now the wet patch became more apparent. she bit her lip when she felt it.
“have you been this wet since the bar”
your eyes closed, your hand coming to hide your eyes, before nodding again.
“cause of me?” you laughed a little, because of course it was because of her. she had seen you pressing your thighs together all night, every time she laughed or touched you in the slightest. you were about to tell her that no one else has made you feel this way; this eager and safe at the same time. but you catched yourself, not letting the alcohol make you say things you’ll regret. so you just replied with a yes.
when she heard you, her hand moved to now rub circles in your clit, your underwear still acting as a barrier; so slow it was agonizing, but moans and breathy sounds now were escaping your mouth.
“you’re so sensitive” she said, before running her fingers through your folds, still the fabric in the middle.
“god–please,”
“hm?” she asked, before her hand slipped beneath your underwear, now her digits actually coming in contact with your pussy. your back arched instantly, a loud moan leaving your mouth, followed by your hands coming to cover your mouth, shocked at your own sounds. “oh, this was what you wanted then?” to which you just nodded, already drunk in pleasure, the funny feeling in your lower stomach growing even more.
she kept moving her fingers slowly, whilst you became even more soaked, and now the room was being filled by your breathy sounds. and the blonde girl felt her own aching in between your legs, enhanced from the sounds escaping your lips. she pulled her digits away, and you gasped at the lost of contact. she smiled, it took you a couple of seconds to open your eyes again, but she was now taking off your jeans.
“help me a bit?” she asked softly, and you pulled your hips up from the couch so she could slide them off your legs. she was about to sink in again, before you tugged her sweater, pulling it. she grabbed it from the back, now pulling it off, the white shirt she wore underneath coming off with it. she remained only wearing a black sports bra, her big arms and abs now apparent to you. and fuck, she was a sight for sore eyes. you let your own gaze travel, cursing yourself for your shitty eyesight. but what impressed you the most, was the fact that she didn’t mind your gaze; she didn’t try to cover up or came down onto you again, she stood there, letting you consume her.
she smirked, before settling down in between your legs, not leaving your gaze. “wanna eat you out. is that ok?”
“everything you wanna do is ok, no need to ask anymore” she smiled, now her hands going to the edge of your underwear, her fingers toying with the piece.
“still wanna make sure just in case”
“well, less talking, more working.”
“wow, now who is demanding?”
“never said i wasn’t”
she laughed again, before kissing your lower stomach, your eyes instantly closing, feeling her smile against your skin. her hands came down, now playing with your clit again, a soft moan escaping your lips. and she swore it was the sweetest sound she had ever heard, her chest fluttering.
she came down, you felt her breath against your pussy, before she pulled your panties to the side. she parted your lips, before she sank in, licking your cunt.
the feeling in your stomach grew further. oh oh. so this is how getting head is supposed to feel. fuck, you swore she was a gift sent from heaven sent just for you. you wondered where she learned to do that, before she came to suck on your clit, your legs closing involuntarily, from how good it felt, from how much it made your head spin. she grabbed your thighs, while still going at it, now pinning them against the couch.
and you were gone, not really knowing what she was doing except how fucking good she was making you feel. you felt her hands traveling up from time to time, playing with your breasts, lovingly caressing your stomach and your thighs. you didn’t know when your high came in, the rubber band suddenly snapping, her not stopping until you ride out your orgasm completely.
when she felt you catch your breath, she kissed your thighs, making you smile, a light film of sweat now covering your face. she smiled, looking up at you, leaving a trail of kisses before she gave you a pec on the lips, followed by a full on kiss, tasting yourself in her tongue. her hair that became a little loose from your hand gripping it now was on your face, tickling your skin.
“never came just from head before”
“really?” she asked, curious, both of you smiling.
“yeah”
“well they must’ve been quite mediocre at it”
“mediocre at best” you said, laughing. cause compared to what she did, nothing was ever going to be enough now. you just came and you needed her to do it again. but a brighter idea, while your bodies were tangled and she stared at you lovingly came to your mind.
you remember the box, buried deep in your closet. and just the thought of it made your core burn again. just the though of her fucking you with it made you grip her shoulders a bit harder.
“so um”
“yeah?” she asked, giving you a small kiss on your cheek, her lips a bit wet against your skin
“i have this thing- you don’t have to if you don’t want to of course”
she smiled, probably already anticipating what it was. you had bought after your last breakup, at the same time you had downloaded tinder; excitingly telling your friends that you were entering your “hoe era”. that quickly came to an end one mediocre fuck later. but nevertheless, you kept it just in case.
“so, it’s a strap on i bought”
“oh” she said, her eyebrows raising a bit, looking curious. “so you wanna use it like… on me?”
“oh. i mean, i can if you want.” you said now, not being able to express that you were actually thinking of her wearing it.
“what if i use it on you?”
“yeah i gathered you would prefer that. hm, yeah, i think i want that too”
“smart girl then” she said. and you laughed. yeah, you had a medical degree on your back, but you weren’t gonna brag about it now, nor that you ever did. plus, this was supposed to be a distraction. there’s not a greater cockblock other than talking or thinking about med school.
“you have no idea” you smiled, and she kissed you again, before you got on your elbows, before muttering against her “i’m gonna go get it”
she put your underwear back in place, before she asked “need help getting up?” a cocky grin on her face. you smiled, before getting up from the couch, feeling your knees weak. “I'm fine” you said, before going to your room to get it.
you didn’t even bother turning on your light, opening your closet door, grabbing the box. you felt calm, even if your legs were slightly shaking and they felt heavy, like jelly. sex had never felt like this before, so simple, so natural even if she was a complete stranger. you though, feeling the excitement expanding now walking to the living room again, were she was sat, manspreading. jesus.
again, the sight of her just made you want to engrave her in your memory. her blue eyes looking at you while you gave her the box. smiling. she got it open, and you just stood there over her, a stupid smile on your face, looking at her in adoration. you looked at your coffee table, how her glasses were just perfectly placed there. how her sweater and her white shirt was thrown messily on top of your coffee table books.
when you looked back at her, she was taking her jeans off, instantly going to help her. she then put the strap on, sitting once again once she was done. and you were about to take your panties off and sink into it already, before she placed a palm on your chest to stop you.
“if i’m gonna fuck you with this, i need to get you ready first” your knees weaken at that, instantly feeling your face hot.
“i can take it, i’m ready” you said, cringing at your own words, how dirty they were.
“gotta make sure” she said, before she grabbed your panties and took them off, peeling them from your skin slowly. you grabbed her shoulders for balance, letting her take them off completely. her hand came again to your cunt, now slowly running it through your folds, it made you throw your head back in pleasure. fuck, she loved seeing you like this.
once again, you were lost in her touch, one of her fingers teasing your entrance bringing you back to your senses. “can i?”
“please” you quickly replied, her mumbling a small fuck before her finger entered. and she got dizzy at how tight you felt around her, feeling you pulse around her. you moaned, and she tried to slowly curl her fingers up, but she couldn’t.
“imma need you to relax” she said, while her other hand traveled up your torso, helping you ease up a bit. “you've done this before, right?” she asked, now curious from how tight you were.
“yeah.” a breathy sound scaped your lips when she moved her finger inside you “yeah it’s just- fuck, it’s been a while”.
“it's ok. same here” she said, now adding another finger, making you moan even more, feeling the slight pressure while it came in. and you couldn’t believe it had been a while for her, cause why the fuck was she so good with it. how was she making you almost come again, now on her fingers.
“you better stop now or i’ll– i’ll cum again” you confessed.
“you can if you want to” she said
“no, want you to fuck me. please?” you said, opening your eyes to look at her. and fuck, she was gone. her eyes darker than before, her own ache growing when you begged her.
“fuck. well if you ask me like that” she said, before taking her fingers out of you, now her hands on your waist and guiding you to straddle her again.
you sank in slowly, her hands caressing you, giving you soft little pecks. but once you bottomed out, she lost control. her hands now gripping your waist hard, definitely leaving marks for the next day, slamming into you everytime you bounced on her.
you lost track of it, and as much as you wanted to see her while she fucked you, your eyes instantly shut close from how good it felt. what threw you over the edge was when she started rubbing slow circles on your clit, your thrusts becoming sloppy, whilst she helped you ride her.
“it’s ok, let go” she said. followed by your “fuck,fuck, fuck i’m gonna-” before your jaw dropped and she felt your legs shake, your body going limp. you crashed into her, your forehead rested on her freckled shoulder, her pine scent now making you even more dizzy. and in the middle of your dazed state, you just babbled a “best fuck of my life”, before doozing off completely.
the sound of your alarm woke you up completely, a heavy feeling on your legs making you open up your eyes quickly. you looked at the time, before you looked at the legs tangled in yours. oh. that happened. so it wasn’t just a wet dream of yours, that just concocted the most out of earth, beautiful woman, that was also a sex god, no. she was real, and sleeping on your couch. you quickly looked at your alarm clock, almost gasping. you needed to shower and get ready now, cause you couldn’t be late on your first day of residency.
you slowly got up so that you didn’t wake the blonde girl up, going to the bathroom to wash your teeth. when you looked in the mirror, you swore you had never seen yourself like this before; you eyes sparkling, your skin plump despite the aching hangover you had from last night’s endeavors.
when you got back to the living room to pick your clothes up, she was now waking up, looking a bit disoriented.
“um– hi” you said, and her head instantly shot back at you, a small smile appearing on her lips.
“hi” she said, looking at your bare legs, then back at you. fuck, you didn’t have time to do that again.
“so um, look, I really have to get going. it’s my first day of work today, and i can’t be late” you walked closer to her, picking up her sweater and her shirt, handing it to her.
she smiled wider, grabbing the clothes and slowly putting them on. you wondered how she could look that angelic in the mornings.
“you’re kicking me out?” she teased, a smirk on her face.
“well–” your brows furrowed. “I can't be late” you said, while she got close to you, grabbing your waist and giving you a kiss.
“it’s ok.” she said, looking at your eyes while holding you, making small circles on your skin. oh how you wished you had time to return her the favor.
“well, good luck on your first day–” she stopped, now realizing she didn’t know your name.
you said your name, offering her your hand to shake. she laughed at it, how formal it was even if she was making you almost scream just hours ago.
“i’m abby” she said, meeting your gaze, giving your hand a light squeeze before letting go.
both of you just stood there, looking at each other, giggly.
“well, goodbye, abby” you said, now pulling away from her, while she put on her glasses and walked to the front door. you watched her open it, before she gave you one last smile, waving goodbye.
you had to take a moment, leaning against the white wall on your entrance; just processing everything that had happened. the couple of times you have had one night stands they just were funny, awkward. a story to later tell your friends in great detail, cause it never felt intimate.
they were filled with a lot of silent moments, uncomfortable conversations about what you wanted to do; only to find out that either you didn’t like how that stranger kissed, or that the sex was just gonna be mediocre.
it was like reading a page of a book, a play perfectly orchestrated; making out, then head, then fucking, faking an orgasm, then falling asleep. waking up the next day with a pounding headache, them either cooking you breakfast or already leaving.
neither of those made you satisfied. you always looked at yourself in the mirror before taking a shower, cringing at your own reflection, always saying last fucking time i’m having a one night stand.
so, you didn’t understand how you were sure this time you just weren’t gonna tell your friends. or anyone. it felt like something you didn’t wanna break, a buble you didn’t want to pop; something intimate, just for abby and you. what a shame you weren’t going to see her again.
after a brisk shower, and a big cup of coffee later, you dressed, grabbed your keys, the bag you had prepared for work, and you drove to the hospital. the whole drive you noticed your head just going places; wondering if maybe next week you went on a sunday night to the bar, maybe she’ll be there. imagining how many girls she picked up from bars, only to leave them shaking after giving them the best head of, probably, their whole lifes. you just had to remind yourself that that just wasn’t going to happen again.
after a quick look in the viewfinder, and a couple of deep breaths later, you quickly got out of the car, entering the hospital. the whole time you were just wishing that the other interns would be nice.
the thing about med school is, it really doesn’t prepare you for a 12 hour shift on a crowded hospital. neither does it prepare you to get changed in a locker room in front of you soon to be fellow residents, looking at your thighs because they had marks of where abby had gripped them while pounding into you. you changed quickly, getting into your scrubs.
“are you with the sergeant?” a brunette girl asked you, standing at the locker next to yours.
“who?” you asked. the girl now staring at you.
“the sergeant. i guess not. who are you assigned to?” she asked
“it’s dr. burch for me”
“oh, me too” she said, now smiling.
“great then” you replied, smiling at her too
you took a moment to take in her appearance. she had very prominent features, a face that wasn’t easily forgettable. her brows dark, a couple of moles littered across her face, and her eyes a dark brown color.
“i’m dina by the way” she said, while she took her stethoscope and placed it around her neck, closing her locker. she turned to look at you, but before she could speak a voice interrupted you.
“i’m with burch too” a young man said. “i’m jesse”
“dina” she smiled at him, but before you could say your name a nurse walked in.
“good morning. you all have been assigned to a certain doctor, i’m gonna call out your names to make sure you’re here. once you’ve been called out, then you can go find your doctor.”
she started calling out names; you had to swallow a lump in your throat from how anxious you felt. yeah, med school prepared you, sort of. but you were just praying that you actually got to do some surgeries and you weren’t going to stand around, doing nothing while the doctor did everything. you thought about your doctor's name; melanie burch. it sounded nice, maybe she was nice. at least you weren’t assigned to the doctor they call the sergeant; from that name only you assumed he was a bitch.
your name was called out after dina’s, you and her moving to find dr. burch. you walked around the hospital’s corridors, but curiosity gained the best of you.
“so this sergeant? is he a resident?”
“first of all, the sergeant is a she”
fair point, you thought. you had assumed he was a man, well, cause usually they were less nice. “why the name though?”
“so a good friend of mine knows her, kinda. she treats her interns like fucking garbage. always asking them really difficult questions. i’ve heard she even made a couple of them cry. always bossing them around, hence the name”
“god. she sounds fucking awfull” you sighed. thank fucking god you weren’t assigned to her.
“I swear all neurosurgeons are bitchy. it’s probably the money it gets to their heads and-”
“what she’s a neurosurgeon?” you stopped her mid-sentence.
“yeah”
“well fuck me then”
“oh. so you wanna be a neurosurgeon too?” dina asked, awkwardly, after she had just bashed neurosurgeons. “i mean, you can always, i dunno. pay her money? eat her out? or something” she laughed while she said it.
“shut up” you said, laughing lightly and rolling your eyes.
dina lightly punched your arm, before you two were met with a short woman with dark short hair examining some medical records. she turned around, looking at both of you.
“i’m dr. burch, nice to meet you. congratulations on starting your internship” she said, a soft spoken voice leaving her lips. thank fucking god again, she was nice.
The guy from before named jesse arrived shortly after, accompanied by a girl with ginger-ish hair.
“well, the more the merrier” mel said, a sweet smile accompanying her words. “so, we’re gonna go through a typical day at the hospital, follow me please” she said, while she started walking towards the corridors. dina walked right beside you.
you knew they were gonna be long shifts, probably sleepless nights. dina, jesse and the ginger girl were probably going to either become your greatest friends or just people you weren’t fond of, but you were forced to spend an insane amount of hours with. you hoped for the first one. so many hours of being together were probably going to mean that they were going to become the closest people to you; the people that knew the most about you. even if it terrified you, it was still exciting.
dina leaned in while she walked, whispering in your ear “why do i get the feeling she’s like one of these really sweet people that are actually kinda evil? like they did something fucked up.”
“dina! she’s nice” you replied, whispering back. but she sort of had a point; so much sweetness couldn’t be real. and if it was, maybe it wasn’t all that there was to her.
“so, here we have the board where we schedule all the procedures. you have to check it every morning, have it memorized. it might change around, since we have emergency procedures from time to time.”
“dr. burch?” dina asked.
“yes?” she said, still keeping an enthusiastic tone.
“i’ve heard that a new resident gets to scrub in on a procedure the first day”
“only dr. anderson does that. with me, all of you will get into the OR, just not today. today is about adapting and learning how the hospital works” she said, pleased with her own answer. it seemed like she had a scrip memorized. jesus, maybe dina was right, something about her was just off. but, on the other hand, you felt incredibly bad for judging her just cause she was just being nice.
“see, she’s just too nice” dina said, now crossing her arms in front of her, whispering when dr.burch had started walking again. “i wish i was assigned to dr.anderson”
dr. anderson you thought. it sounded nice; it was easy, simple, it sounded very doctor-ish. not like your own last name; it sounded quite out of place with a doctor before it.
“who is that?”
“i don’t know, someone who actually let’s residents scrub in the first week. cause trust me, this girl isn’t gonna let us touch a scalpel until the first week is over”
“oh, haven’t you heard? we’re gonna be busy adapting” you said, a sarcastic tone and a small giggle involuntarily leaving your mouth.
dina snorted, her eyes widening
“hey, what’s so funny?” jesse asked with curiosity, while he walked behind you two.
“nothing” dina said, turning around, and giving him a small smile.
none of you except the ginger girl were listening to what dr. burch was saying. but when she cleared her throat, you gave her your attention once again.
“last things now. you can call me mel, i don’t mind. if you get paged, you come immediately. here you go” she said, before handing all of you a small black machine, straight out of every doctor’s nightmare, the pager. “alright. so who wants to go run some lab tests?”
before you could process it, dina was already saying “me” and going off with the ginger girl to spend the morning running a test for the patients they were assigned. you and jesse just stood there, waiting for mel to give you an order on what to do.
“well then, both of you will go do check ups, and read through and update the patient's medical records. I know it’s something the nurses usually do, but you might gain some knowledge from it.”
you sighed; great, one of the most boring tasks and it didn’t even involve basically any medicine.
you spend the whole morning with jesse running around the hospital, knocking on patient’s doors and asking basic medical questions. jesse turned out to be a bit clueless, like he was kinda wondering and following you around. that was, until both of your pagers started ringing, indicating a blue code. he turned full on doctor, both of you running around the corridor, him instructing the nurses before mel showed up. so yeah, maybe you had underestimated him. you had lunch with both jesse and dina; then back again inside, checking up medical records.
your back hurt, your eyes were dry and threatening to close, and you still had the whole night ahead of you. then you remembered why you were so tired; you basically had not gotten any sleep that night. the thought of last night’s events popping into your head once again.
you were carrying a couple of binders, jesse carrying the rest. both of you were walking down a corridor headed towards the archives room; you had done the same trip already like a dozen times that day. but jesse spoke, pulling you out of your head.
“hey look. i think that the sergeant, dr. anderson”
you moved the binders so you could see a small group of interns surrounding a tall figure. you had heard the name dr anderson before. it was the only doctor that allowed interns to scrub in on the first day. turns out, dr. anderson and the sergeant were the same person.
as you got close, you saw a big, buff girl, turned around. but what made you stop dead in the tracks was her blonde, long braid. you suddenly felt as if a bird was trapped in your chest. your heart beating loudly, feeling all of the blood rush to your face. no, that couldn’t be right.
you forced yourself to do a double take.
she was carrying a binder with her patient’s record, looking through it. wearing a white coat, the same as yours. a couple of pens placed in her pocket. she wore blue scrubs underneath, different from your typical, light blue ones that all of the residents wore.
you noticed her glasses; the same pair she put on that morning at your house. the same pair that rested on your coffee table while she pounded into you. jesus. this can’t be fucking happening.
jesse looked at you, how flustered you seemed. you were trying to hide in a way that wasn’t too obvious behind those binders. fuck fuck fuck; a million thoughts filled your head, but the main one was, don’t let her see you. and in that moment, you didn’t really know why, cause there was no escaping it. if she didn’t see you today, she was definitely going to see you eventually. maybe you could quit this, stop this being a doctor nonsense. yeah, move to a small town, start a coffee shop. never hook up with a stranger at a bar ever again.
once again, jesse pulled out of your spiraling.
“um– are you ok?” he asked.
you turned around, signaling behind you. “yeah um– i think i forgot something” a clacking noise made you stop, all of jesse’s binders fell to the floor. convenient, you thought. cause now, the sargent, or abby, or dr.anderson, or whatever the fuck you had to call her, was turning around with her brows frowned. she was trying to see who had the audacity to disrupt her. but her face turned blank when she saw you; those deep blue eyes staring into your own. she had to do a double take as well, her shook apparent, flustered.
she started walking towards jesse to help him recollect the binders, but you quickly went away, making your way into the bathroom. your heart was beating too fast, your mind quick.
was it illegal? i mean, you didn’t know she was a doctor here. she didn’t even look like a doctor. wait, how old was she? she did look a little bit older, but not old enough to already be a neurosurgeon. fuck. that was your desired specialty, and that meant having to spend time with her. trying to scrub in her surgeries. maybe you could just request another hospital; but that wasn’t really an option, not one that would actually happen.
you tried to figure out a way to avoid this, a couple of ideas popping into your anxious head. but what scared you the most, what the fact that still, even knowing you were sort of her intern, you still wanted her to fuck you again. jesus fucking christ.
your pager started beeping, making you sprint off the bathroom, once again a blue code. and in the midst of all of the running around, and trying to save the patient's life, you forgot completely about your own troubles.
mel got there too late. you were trying to do chest compressions, the beeping monitor making your own heart skip a beat. you tried to appear collected when mel finally walked in, asking you what had happened.
she looked at the patient, there was nothing she could do. too much time had passed since he had gone into cardiac arrest, having to declare him dead.
it felt like you had swallowed up stones; your body too heavy. this was the first time a patient died in your hands. mel looked at you.
“this is something you need to learn. i know it’s hard. you did your best, but patients dying on your hands it’s part of the job. it doesn’t mean it’s less hard.” you hadn’t noticed a small tear running down your cheek. mel looked at you in compassion. “you can go outside and catch a breath if you need to. i’ll page you or jesse if necessary”
you wiped your tear, now walking outside the hospital. she was right; fresh air did make it a little better. the feeling in your chest slowly vanished, which signaled you that it was time to go inside and go back to work.
you walked into the hospital once again, looking at the stairs. It was four floors. you sighed, walking to the elevator. you had been walking around all day. you didn’t feel like walking up those stairs. the effort of it made your head heavy.
you pressed the button, waiting for the doors to open. then you got in, pressing the button that had a small four on it. you looked at your shoes, then at the doors. the elevator stopped at the first floor, the doors opening now. you were thinking that maybe since you were so tired, you had pressed the wrong button. that was until a tall, blonde girl was walking in; abby. she looked at you, letting out a deep breath through her mouth. you kept your eyes glued to your shoes.
“so..” she said. and you felt it coming, almost involuntarily. suddenly, you were word-vomiting at her.
“no. i’m sorry, dr. anderson, i didn’t know you were you. i mean, if i knew of course i wouldn’t have done it. this can’t happen. i'm your intern.” you finally looked at her. still only familiarity in her eyes. she crossed her arms at her chest.
“technically you’re mel’s intern” she said, a small smirk appearing. one that you couldn’t take too seriously because of her blushed cheeks.
“i’m sorry dr. anderson it-”
she interrupted you. “you can call me abby, you know”
“well, that would be unprofessional.” you said.
“i think what we did last night was unprofessional, this? not so much”
her words made your cheeks burn. this was the first time you two acknowledged what happened. you couldn’t help the small laugh that left your lips, before you shook your head no, looking at your shoes. you didn’t see her walk up to you, now leaning a bit closer.
“tell me you don’t want this” you met her gaze. and it made you want to scream how her voice, rusty and low made its way straight in between your legs.
“what? no doc–”
“i mean. i don’t want to make you uncomfortable. but, we won’t get into any trouble if no one finds out.”
you hated how those words sounded like music to your ears. how yes, you were eager to have her again. but the rational part of your brain stoped you from saying yes and just ripping your clothes off in the elevator. you closed your eyes for a brief moment. this wasn’t worth the risk, it really wasn’t. as much as a part of you was trying to convince you that it was.
“i’m sorry, abby.” you said now, looking at her. “i can’t do it. not only could it get me fired, both of us. i couldn’t risk that. you have no idea how much i’ve worked to get to were i am.”
she looked at you, then at her feet.
“ok, i understand. well, good luck, doctor” she said, before she walked out of the elevator.
