Pairing: Dr. Michael Robinavitch X Doctor!Reader (fem) 📎 Warnings: Fluff, Family Chaos, Dad Jokes

Lessons In Him

Jack Abbot x reader

You spot Jack across the bar, he doesn't think you actually like him.

warnings: none yet, it will become smut later on

Minors do not interact. If you don't have your age in your bio or pinned post, you will be immediately blocked. "18+" DOES NOT COUNT. No exceptions! I CHECK!!!

You stared at him as he lifted his beer to his mouth. “I swear to god, if you don't go over there, I will.” Kacey's thought broke you from your staring, “you wouldn't dare” you shoot back at her. You know she would, she did it with the guy who you asked to prom, even if he did stand you up. “Who even knows if he likes younger women? He’s probably mid 40s, and I'm 26. He could be my dad!” She just stares at you, with a knowing look of ‘really?’. 

You huff at her, turning to the bartender. “The salt and peppered one sitting with the dark brunette. What's he drinking?”, she glances over at him, “a draft, i'm assuming you're asking so you can send him one?”, “yes.” She nods and pours one, bringing it over to him, tilting her head in your direction, as she sets it down. In front of the brunette, the wrong guy. You make eye contact with him, pointing at his friend. 

He laughs and sets in down in front of Jack, who whips his head to make eye contact with you. You smile at him, before ducking your eyes to your glass. It takes 5 minutes for you to look back and see he's ducked his head back down. You ask the bartender for a piece of paper, to write your number down. “He’s a war veteran with a prosthetic, he's probably worried you’ll run.”, she says as she hands it to you.  You quickly scribble your number down, asking her to give it to him. You see her drop it infront of him, the correct guy this time, and wait.

Jack stared at the beer in front of him, “C’mon man, she's cute and very clearly likes you!” Robby tossed his way as he slapped his shoulder. “She's young, she doesn't need to be shacking up with me. Besides, she'll see the prosthetic and run screaming." Jack tosses back at him and the bartender drops a piece of paper in front of me. “From your not-so-secret admirer.” He flips it open to see her number and a smiley face, moving to crumple it up before noticing her other note, ‘I don't mind the prosthetic, it's a part of who you are’. Robby leans over, “I told you man. Go get her!” Jack rolls his eyes at him, before chugging the last of the beer. Jack slid up next to her at the bar, “so, how’d you figure out about my leg?”, she turns and smirks at me, tilting her head towards the bartender.

 Laughing, “yeah, she tries to play matchmaker with everyone, she's too damn fast at her job, leaves her time to conspire.” She laughs like spring air, with a lightness that chips at his steeled heart. She places her hand on your elbow, leaning in when someone shoves behind her to the bar. His hand sets on her lower back, and she leans farther into him. “So, you and your friend are doctors, I could tell by the scrubs. 

If I guess the specialty, do I win a date with you?” she says after stepping back. “Ok, but first,” her friend chimes in, causing you both to look at her, “is your friend single?” You laugh at her, “he, well, it’s complicated.”, she hums, “good. I'm not either, but now I can grill him about you without having to date him.” she turns on her heel bouncing towards Robby. “Is he going to be safe around her?” Jack asks, “oh yeah, but she's about to give him the third degree about you.” She turns smirking at Jack. Jack gently grabs her wrist, pulling her towards an empty table, her staring into him as he sits next to her.

You stared into Jack as he sat down next to you in the booth. Looking around the bar as the sounds get louder, you hardly hear him asking if you're ok. “Huh, what? Sorry.” you say ducking your head down. He gently lifts your chin up with his thumb, “do you want to go outside? We can sit across the street, but it's getting loud and I'd like to not shout at you.” You nod, as he stands up pulling your hand with him. You feel him drap your coat over your shoulders, as you walk over to Robby and Kacey to let them know where you're going. Leaving the bar, the sounds instantly quieting, you're sure he can hear your heart beating now. Settling on the bench, he sets his arm behind you across the back. “Wow, didn't even do the fake yawn, you must be very confident Dr.?” “Abbot, but call me Jack.” You smile as you tell him your name back, him repeating it back to you, your mind wandering to him saying it in bed. 

“Hey,” he says startling you back, “sorry, was just thinking.” Jack laughs at you, stretching his legs out as he slides closer to you, you gladly leaning into his side. “So, do I still get a guess for what kind of doctor you are?” He laughs at you, “sure, but you get a date with me either way.” You feel your face flush, as you lean back, running your eyes over him. “Hm, the dog tags give away you were in the military, best guess Army. Sooo, Emergency Medicine. Bust guess attending, and most definitely night shift. You like chaos.” He looks at you like you're a psychic, and you laugh before he talks again. “How did you guess that? Like that's scary good.” You laugh at him, “you stitched up my roommate last year after she knocked her head after drinking too much at a party. But in full honesty I didn't realise it was you until you said your last name.” He laughs at you, before the wind kicks up and blows goosebumps up your arms. “Oh hey, here.” He says wrapping your coat around you more, leaving his arm hooked around you. 

As he wraps his arm around you, he feels your heart beating against his side. “Do you want to get something to eat? I know a 24/7 diner not far away. They’ve got great pancakes,” he says as he runs his hand up your arm. He stands up grabbing your hand in his, it sliding in perfect. He follows the sidewalk rule, keeping you close to his side, which he claims is because you are shivering. He holds the door for you, keeping his eyes not so subtle on your ass. He whips his head up when he sees you turn towards him, “where do you want to sit?” He rocks back on his heels as best as he can with his prosthetic. He follows you to the booth, the waitress coming up to give you two menus. “Do you trust me?” he asks you, you nodding at him in response, “i came with you didnt I?” you sass at him. He rolls his eyes, and orders for both of you, “so the usual Jack? This is the first time I've seen you with someone here.” she teases him, before leaning down to his ear, “she's very cute, but young…” She gently pushes his shoulder before smiling at you and walking away. He coughs, “so, that question is now, I'm not grave robbing am I?” he asks you. You laugh at him, “I'm 26, is that an issue?” He shakes his head, reaching his hand across the table for yours. You set your hand in his, as he rubs the back of it. “No, it's not.” he smiles at her, as the waitress comes back with your food. The two of you eat as you chat for an hour, you look at your phone to see 10 missed calls from Kacey. “Shit,” you say as he looks at you. 

“We forgot to tell them we left the park; they’re threatening to call the cops”

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you liked it! This will be cross posted on my Ao3, ElizaKazansky86, that is the only place and name it will be under!

Taglist: @mynameismckenziemae @rhettabbotts

have some sexy shawn scenes from reckless

Vigilante Shit // Bradley Bradshaw

A series Masterlist

Series Summary: Bradley Bradshaw broke your heart five years ago when he made it abundantly clear that he couldn’t support how selfishly dedicated you needed to be in order to chase your law degree. Five years on and you’re representing Bradley’s soon to be ex-wife…..and you’re just about willingly to do anything to ruin his life.

Series Warnings: Ex reader x Bradley Bradshaw. Revengeful, spiteful Reader. Hero Complex Jake Seresin x Reader. Rated R themes (smut) ANGST!

Prologue: {Karma} What’s funnier than finding out the love of your life is getting divorced? Representing the clearly disgruntled soon to be ex-wife.

Tags 🏷️ (Open)

Shut Up and Drive Taglist!

Drop a comment or reblog this post if you want to be tagged in future chapters of Shut Up and Drive!

No one as sweet as you

Stucky/Fem!Reader

Explicit | ~9.4k

When you’re hurt by your boyfriend you go to the two people you can depend on for anything, Steve and Bucky, your best friends.

This is set while they were living together in college. It focuses on their relationship and how Bucky and Steve started to develop feelings for Sweets as more than just their best friend.

Steve's break-up

Teen | ~1k

Bucky's break-up

Mature | ~1.7k

Reader's break-up

Teen | 1.9k

Realization

Stucky

Explicit | 1.6k

Steve/Sweets | Explicit

Moodboard and banners done by me.

Cloaked in Green || Series Masterlist

Thorin Oakenshield & Fem!OC || slowburn || soulmate KINDA (dwarven ones)

Please make sure to comment and like! It helps me know if people are actually enjoying this series! I also appreciate and accept constructive feedback as well!

Prologue

Part One-(Unexpected Journey)

Chapter 1: Bag-End

Chapter 2: The Journey a-WAIT!

Chapter 3: Full Bellies

Chapter 4: Ring Scrapes

Chapter 5: Cerulean

Chapter 6: Smell of Troll

Chapter 7: Warg Scout

Chapter 8: The Uniter…

Chapter 9: Thorin’s Interlude

Chapter 10: Platters

Chapter 11: Wandering Star

Chapter 12: Narsil

Chapter 13: Into the fire. 

Chapter 14: Dislocation and Reconciliation

__________________________________

Keep reading

Three

Note: This has been an idea for a lot of characters and it just...really fits Jack I think. There is also a version coming for Robby.

Warnings: Angst, Fem!Reader, regular trauma related violence, gun violence, death, established relationship, no beta.

Summary: You and Jack have your own silent way to communicate the love you have for each other which comes in handy after you're injured at Pitt Fest.

It was subtle the way that it started, a way for Jack and yourself to say 'I love you' without saying it. As the only ward clerk allowed at Central, because you were the only truly trusted one, you had grown close to Jack, ensuring that orders, be it medication or imaging, or even admissions, were entered correctly into the Epic system for the night shift team, taking some of the load off of the nurses and at the same time, making sure that all records were accurate, particularly for the billing side of things, lest Gloria have an aneurysm if something was missed that could have been billed for. Day shift had an equivalent of you, but they were new and not as trusted. It was not uncommon for Robby to stay late just to ask you to ensure that his final orders for the night were followed.

Because of this a relationship with Jack grew, the stoic, former soldier, but still a soldier at heart, cracking a small smile here and there. You would bring him coffee to start the night (while also being the official brewer of coffee for the staff lounge), ground him when he lost patients, and eventually you found yourself grabbing breakfast with him most mornings. About 6 months into the job, Jesse collects his winnings on the running bet of when you would finally admit that you were together. There was no big revelation. One night, you were both off (somehow you just happened to be on the same shift schedule as Jack, something that was not lost on you) sitting in the living room of your small apartment watching movies. You were always at your place and not his because yours was 'homey' according to him. You had been leaning on the arm of the couch, legs covered by a blanket and his head in your lap, your fingers carding through his greying hair.

You had looked down at him to find him staring at you. "My lease is up in a month, I have to decide if I'm signing again or not." You had mumbled. The corner of his mouth quirked, "Yeah?" You simply nodded. "You should move into my place, add some personality, and no rent." He had replied. "You think so? Your room or the spare?" You asked with a raised brow.

"Mine of course."

You moved in ten days later and never left. One year later, you were married. That was three years ago.

—

The first 'I love you' came after the anniversary of his wife's death, after you'd lived with him three months. He had understandably had a bad day, thankfully it was not a workday for him and he could take it easy. He saw his therapist, showed up back at home and cornered you in the kitchen where you had been preparing dinner for the two of you. Backing you into the counter, he wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead and holding you close before whispering a soft "I love you." You're not ashamed to say you cried a little before telling him that you did in fact love him too.

At work, you kept things professional. Anyone not new, knew that you were together, knew that you lived in the same house and knew that Jack was incredibly protective, but they also knew that they were the ultimate professionals, with only subtle changes. If he was hanging out by your workstation, asking you to add orders, a hand would be on your shoulder, or your waist if he was sitting, and if they were really paying attention...they would see the three soft taps or squeezes that you would leave on one another. Always three. Your silent way of saying I love you. It was integrated into everyday life, even at home when watching TV.

Dana had witnessed it once as she was coming into work one morning. The shift had been hard, four patients had been lost, and one had been only a couple of months old. Jack had retreated to the lounge, attempting to escape everything without heading to the roof, he didn't think that he was at that point yet. You had followed closely, standing in front of him, trying to ground him with soft words. Dana had walked in to put her lunch in the fridge as you'd raised a hand to his chest, tapping three times on his chest just over his heart. He'd pulled you close then, arms wrapping around you, tapping your hip three times in response as you stood quietly. Dana had decided that her lunch could go in the fridge later.

—

The morning of Pitt Fest, you were excited. Both you and Jack had the night off, Jack wouldn't be going, but he'd gotten yourself and your best friends passes for your anniversary. You were dead tired but chugged a can of Monster while packing another for the road. After getting yourself ready you kissed him goodbye, gave him three quick taps on the chest and made your way out the door where Christy and Samantha were waiting for you in Christy's car. Jack showered and went to bed for the day. 30 minutes after leaving you were coffeed up, energized and ready to party. Jack was out cold, his police scanner on for white noise in the background. Every so often you sent Jack a text, knowing he'd have it on do not disturb unless it was a phone call from yourself or the hospital. You sent updates, photos and videos. Jack finally started responding around 3:30 pm, finally giving up on sleep after briefly waking at 2. A simple thumbs up emoji was sent in response to everything you had sent. You sent back a heart, chugged another Monster and went back to the music, running into Jake and his girlfriend Leah briefly around 4.

It was just after 5:30 when things went sideways. You and your friends were close to the stage, listening to a lesser-known local band, but one that you knew well when you heard the first pops of what you thought were firecrackers...they could have been pyrotechnics, but this band didn't have the budget for that. Your head tilted, the band didn't stop so everything had to be, okay? Right?

Wrong, you were so very wrong. One moment you had turned to Christy, intending to ask if she'd heard the pops, and the next thing you knew your face was covered in blood and half of Christy's was...no longer there. Screams erupted as you dropped to the ground, grabbing Samantha by the hand and pulling her flat. Some people were running, some were taking cover, but you knew you couldn't stay where you were.

"What the actual fuck?!" You heard Samantha say. "What the fuck is happening? Y/N. We have to get Christy; we can't leave Christy!" Samantha was panicking, so were you, but working in the Emergency Department had trained you to stay calm, or as calm as you could, but this was different. You shook your head. "We can't help Christy." You said, pulling Samantha with you as you carefully maneuvered closer to the stage, intending to go under it for cover, staying low as you went.

"What the fuck do you mean we can't help Christy?" You sighed, turning slightly but not stopping as people dropped around you. You didn't speak again until yourself and Samantha were under the stage, others following your example. You turned to fully look at Samantha, pale, her eyes wide, clear signs of shock. "Sammy, I need you to focus. Christy is dead, okay, very, very dead." The fact that your best friend since childhood was gone had set in but you couldn't let yourself fall apart, you could do that later when you were safe at home in Jack's arms.

You quickly realized that you couldn't stay where you were, despite being covered from above, the sides of the stage were open, and it would be easy to shoot underneath it. You crawled to the other side of the stage, slowly, listening as the gunshots continued, getting closer and closer to the stage. Every so often you looked behind you to make sure Samantha was still following, she was. When you got to the edge of the stage you realized that there was a new problem. The closest exit was the entrance to the venue...which was on the other side of the field. The rest of the area was contained with a chain-link fence, you could climb it, but that would leave you exposed. No matter what you did, to get out you needed to leave your cover and make a run for it. Taking a deep breath, you pulled your phone from your pocket, shooting off a quick text to Jack, not having time to call him.

Shooter at Pitt Fest. I'm trying. I love you.

—

Jack had been staring at the ceiling, having not moved from the bed, when the police scanner went off. 'All units, multiple reports of shots fired at Pitt Fest, unknown number of suspects, unknown number of casualties.'

For a moment Jack's heart stopped and his blood froze. You were there. You and your friends. You, who had begged him to come along but he hadn't wanted any part of the crowds, noise and well...all of it. You were there. He was not. He shook it off, and steeled himself, slipping into combat mode, grabbing his phone and his go bag before rushing to his truck. He checked his phone to see if you'd messaged him, you hadn't, and he hesitated over the call button, only stopping because he knew your phone would not be on silent and a ringing phone could make you a target. He was out of the driveway barrelling towards PTMC in less than two minutes.

30 minutes later he received your text, he was elbow deep in a patient trying to save them.

—

Mel was taking half a second to breathe in the ambulance bay, ready for her next patient with Shen, seemingly unflappable, by her side as the next load of cars came in. As the SUV pulled to a screeching halt in front of her, Shen was by her side, swinging the door open as a Samantha immediately jumped out, blood all over her and pressing her sweater into your chest. Mel had no idea who you were, it was her first day, she just needed to triage you and get you inside, Shen however, froze. Mel noticed and her eyes widened. "No, I don't like that face. Dr. Shen?"

Shen quickly assessed you. "Fuck, she's a red..." He turned to Mel. "Help me get her in there and do NOT let Abbot have this one." Mel cocked her head to the side. "Why can't Dr. Abbot have her?"

Shen took a breath. "She works here; she's one of us. Most importantly? She's his wife."

He did not stop Samantha from following.

—

Jack had barely looked up when Shen came in with the next victim, he was busy with his own patient, it registered in his brain that the patient was being handed off to Robby, which meant they were in good hands. It was Robby shouting "fuck" that got his attention. His head lifted and when he looked at Robby, the older man was doing chest compressions, but his eyes were on Jack. Jack felt a pit settle in his gut, and then he spotted Samantha. He knew. Immediately he turned to Mohan. "Take over, now!"

Heart hammering in his chest he didn't give Mohan a moment to argue before he was rushing over to Robby, Samantha spotting him and wrapping her arms around him for a second. "I-I'm s-sorry Jack. Its m-my fault, s-she was covering m-me when she was hit...Christy's dead. Fuck, I'm sorry." Samantha was spiralling, internally so was he, he could only hear the blood in his ears. No man's land. You were hit in no man's land.

Robby wouldn't let him help, couldn't let him help. Not just for ethical reasons but if you died and Jack was working on you, well...Jack wouldn't survive that. Jack likely wouldn't survive either way, but at least if it was Robby, Jack wouldn't hate himself. Not as much. Jack watched as they were able to stabilize you just enough to send you off to surgery, Jack following close behind with Robby hot on his heels. They stopped the gurney at the OR doors, just long enough for Jack to lean down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his hand squeezing yours three times, even though you couldn't respond.

"Don't you fucking leave me, I can't go through this again."

Jack went back to work with the promise from Garcia that as soon as there was an update, he would have it. This was a MASH unit and there was no time to stop.

—

It's hours later when the darkness starts to fade from your consciousness. You're on your back, and part of you panics when you realize that the discomfort in your throat is from being intubated, the instinct to fight the machine helping you breathe running rampant. You reached up, grabbing for the offending tube and ignoring the pain you were suddenly feeling. You barely register the scrapping of a chair being moved as a shadow moved into your view, grabbing for your hand to stop you.

"Hey! Hey, no, none of that baby, you need that right now." You froze, unable to fight the strong grip he had on you. Your eyes focused, and there was your Jack, staring down at you, looking exhausted and like he'd aged about 30 years. His hair looked like he hadn't stopped running his hands through it. He leaned over you, letting go of your hand when he realized that you were relaxing a bit, his hand moving to tuck some of your hair out of your face and behind your ear.

"You're okay, scared the fuck out of me, but you're okay." His voice was gruff, tired and soft all the same time, cracking a bit near the end like he was holding back tears. "My therapist is going to have a field day." He said with a bitter chuckle.

You reached up as best you could, tracing your fingers over his face wearily. You felt the tears fall before you could stop them, and brought your hand to his chest, just over his heart and tapped him three times. You watched Jack's lip tremble a bit as he reached for your hand, clearing his throat.

"I know." He squeezed your hand gently three times.

I love you.

➤𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗔𝗿𝗲 𝗠𝗶𝗻𝗲 || 𝗛𝗮𝘆𝗺𝗶𝘁𝗰𝗵 𝗔𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗵𝘆 ||

A/n:Pure filth, I got nothin to say so enjoy 🫡

Tag List: @strawberrydeersimp

The war was over.

Snow was dead. Coin, too.

The Capitol lay in ruins, the rebels scattered in half-celebration, half-confusion. You stood in the remains of what had once been power—glass underfoot, the air heavy with smoke and blood and the weight of too many names.

Haymitch found you in a storage room beneath the rubble of what used to be a government building. No words. Just the creak of a door, the low thud of his boots, and that goddamn look in his eyes. Like something inside him had snapped years ago, and now whatever was left had finally shattered.

“You’re still alive,” he said. Not a question. Not even relief. Just fact, rough in his throat.

You nodded, barely breathing. You both knew what that meant.

He moved first. Fists in your jacket, yanking you forward, mouth crashing against yours like a threat. Teeth clashing, tongues fighting, nothing gentle. You responded in kind—biting his lower lip, digging your fingers into his shirt like you could rip the pain out of him.

He turned you, slammed you against the concrete wall, the sound echoing like a gunshot. His hands were all over—desperate, shaking, angry. Not at you. At the world. At himself.

“This doesn’t fix shit,” he growled into your neck, voice like gravel, hands already shoving your pants down. “But I need it. I need you.”

You didn’t answer—just grabbed his belt, unbuckling with fingers that trembled from adrenaline or want or both. His cock was hard already, hot against your thigh, and when he finally pushed into you, you gasped—more from the suddenness than the stretch.

There was no rhythm, no buildup. Just need.

He fucked you like he wanted to forget—fast, brutal, punishing. Your back scraped against the rough wall, and you welcomed the sting. His breath was ragged in your ear, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. You clawed at his back, left scratches, made him feel it.

“Say my name,” he hissed.

“Haymitch—”

“Louder.”

“Haymitch!” you cried, head falling back, voice echoing in the dead city.

He came with a choked-off moan, collapsing into you, both of you a tangled mess of sweat, blood, and ash. For a moment, neither of you moved. His forehead pressed against yours, the rise and fall of your chests the only sign of life in the silence.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to look at you. Eyes wild, haunted.

“This world’s fucked,” he muttered.

You cupped his face, rough and unkind. “So fuck it back.”

It was days later after your comment, the words still ringing in his ear.

“So fuck it back."

Haymitch didn’t say a word when he grabbed you again that night. The war was over, but the fire still burned in his veins. You followed him into another half-destroyed room in the Victor’s Village, the floor dusty, furniture broken. Didn’t matter. Nothing did except the way he looked at you like you were the last thing tethering him to this fucked-up world.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, voice rough as he shoved you back onto the mattress. “You don’t get what you do to me.”

His mouth was on you before you could speak—biting, devouring, like he wanted to consume every part of you. Clothes came off in frantic, angry motions. He manhandled you like you were his to take—and you were. Right now, you wanted to be.

He shoved his cock inside you with a growl, no teasing, no pause. Just raw, thick pressure and the slap of skin on skin.

“You think I can let you walk around like this,” he rasped in your ear, hips snapping forward with bruising force, “dripping from me and not do something about it?”

You gasped, back arching. He drove into you deeper, each thrust stealing the air from your lungs.

“I’m gonna put a baby in you,” he growled. “My baby. Gonna fill you up and make sure everyone knows who fucking owns you.”

“Do it,” you moaned, eyes glassy, body quaking. “Fill me. Make me yours.”

That broke something in him.

He snapped—fucking you harder, hips relentless, hands bruising your thighs as he spread you wider, deeper. Every thrust was possession. Every groan was a promise.

“Gonna knock you up right here, in the ashes of everything. Leave my cum leaking out of you for days. You want that?”

“Yes—fuck, yes, Haymitch—”

He pressed his forehead to yours, voice low and rough. “You’re gonna take it all. Every drop.”

And when he came—he poured into you. Hot, thick, endless. You could feel him pulse, spilling everything inside you as he kept thrusting, fucking it deeper, grinding through every wave. Like he needed to make sure it took.

You were wrecked. Used. Marked.

And he still didn’t pull out.

Instead, he stayed there, still hard, still inside. One hand on your belly.

“Maybe if I breed you full,” he murmured, voice quieter now, rawer, “you won’t disappear with the rest of the world.”

You pulled him down into a kiss, just as rough, just as broken.

“Then do it again.”

He never pulled out.

Even as you trembled beneath him, skin slick with sweat, your body pulsing with aftershocks, Haymitch stayed buried to the hilt. Still hard. Still hungry.

His breath ghosted against your throat. You could feel the low growl in his chest before he even spoke.

“Still not enough.”

You barely managed a sound—something between a whimper and a plea—but it didn’t matter. He rolled his hips slow and deep, and you arched helplessly beneath him.

“Gotta make sure it sticks, sweetheart,” he said, voice slurred with exhaustion and lust. “You want that, don’t you? Want me to fuck you round after round until I breed you right?”

You nodded, dazed, raw, wrecked. “Yes. Please. Again.”

That was all he needed.

He grabbed your hips, pulled out just far enough for you to feel the mess he’d left inside you—then slammed back in, dragging a cry from your throat. There was no mercy in him now. Just need. Just instinct.

He fucked you like he was running out of time. Like putting his seed in you was the only thing keeping him sane.

You could feel it pooling inside already, every thick, hot thrust forcing it deeper. He pinned your legs back, pushing your knees to your chest, getting deeper, deeper still. You cried out his name, over and over, mind unraveling with every round.

“Look at you,” he panted, sweat dripping onto your skin. “So full, so fucking open for me. You want to be bred. Made for it.”

His second orgasm hit harder—he bit your shoulder, hands gripping your thighs like anchors as he spilled another load inside you, grinding through it, hips twitching, not stopping.

Not done.

Not even close.

He shifted you to your side, wrapping a leg over his hip, still hard inside. He fucked you slow this time—but it was worse. Deeper. Possessive. So fucking intimate you almost sobbed.

“You feel that?” he whispered against your ear, his voice like smoke and whiskey and ash. “That’s two loads. And you’re still clenching. Greedy little thing.”

You whimpered, overstimulated, fucked-out. “Haymitch—can’t—”

“Yes you can.” He pressed a hand to your belly. “Still room in there. Gonna keep going until you’re leaking down your thighs for days.”

Round three came slower. More drawn out. He kissed you through it, hands all over you, possessive and tender in the most fucked-up way. When he came again, he didn’t thrust—just pushed in deep, groaning like it hurt.

You could barely move. Could barely think. Your thighs were shaking, slick and soaked, your cunt stuffed full and twitching around him.

And still… he didn’t stop.

“Think you can give me one more?” he whispered, nipping your ear. “Just one more, baby. One more and I’ll plug you up, keep it in.”

You nodded, delirious. “Yes… fill me again…”

He chuckled darkly, and started to move.

You’d lost count of how many times he’d finished inside you.

Your body was wrecked—slick, shaking, sensitive beyond reason. Every inch of your skin buzzed, raw and tender from his hands, his mouth, his claim.

And still, Haymitch wasn’t done.

He had you straddling his lap now, thighs trembling, knees braced on either side of his hips. He sat back against the ruined headboard, sweat-soaked hair pushed off his face, his eyes locked on where you were slowly sinking back down onto him.

“You hear that?” he rasped, hands gripping your ass. “That’s you—sloshing with my cum. And you’re still taking me. Still opening up like a good little breeding whore.”

You whimpered, the filth of his voice flooding through you just as deep as his cock.

He was so thick, and you were so full. His previous loads were leaking out around his length, making a wet, obscene mess between your thighs—and he loved it. Every inch that slipped back inside sent another rush of heat spiraling through your core.

He bounced you once—hard—and you cried out, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“Nuh-uh. No running,” he growled. “You asked for this. Said you wanted to be plugged full. So here—”

He shifted, slamming you down hard and holding you there. Buried deep. His cock twitching inside your ruined cunt.

“Now sit. Just like that,” he murmured darkly, one hand pressing down on your belly, the other wrapped tight around your throat. “Feel that? That’s all of me. All my cum. Sitting right where it belongs.”

You choked out a moan, so full you could barely breathe. Your belly was taut with pressure, your walls fluttering helplessly around him. It was too much, and not enough.

“Don’t even think about leaking, sweetheart,” he warned, thrusting up into you once, deep and brutal. “I’ll fuck it right back in. Again and again.”

“Haymitch—” your voice broke, eyes fluttering shut.

“No,” he growled. “Eyes on me. Want you to know who did this to you. Want you to remember what it feels like to be bred like you’re mine.”

He held you still, cock twitching inside you, hand firm on your lower belly like he was claiming it. Like he could will it into taking.

And then—he started to move again.

Not frantic. Not even rough this time. Possessive. Slow, deep thrusts while he kept you locked in place, each one designed to push everything back inside.

“You’re not leaking a single drop,” he whispered against your lips. “I’ll keep fucking you until your body gives in. Until it takes.”

You moaned, grinding against him, your own body betraying you with need, pulsing around him as another orgasm built—sharp and hot and aching.

“That’s it,” he hissed. “Come on my cock while I fill you again. Let me breed you so full your body has no choice.”

You shattered with a scream, and he followed—burying himself to the hilt, grinding through every pulse of his orgasm, spilling inside you for what felt like forever.

You collapsed against him, twitching, unable to move, his arms holding you tight as you dripped and leaked around him.

But still, he stayed inside.

Still plugging you full.

Because Haymitch Abernathy doesn’t just fuck.

He claims.

The light filtering in through the cracked window was soft and gray, the kind of morning that doesn’t feel real—too quiet, too still, like the world is holding its breath.

You woke up in Haymitch’s bed, your body aching in the most exquisite way. Every inch of you was sore, marked, used. Your thighs were sticky, your cunt still messy with the remnants of the night before. Three… no, four times he’d filled you. Maybe more. You couldn’t remember where one orgasm ended and the next began.

You shifted slightly, wincing at the dull, sweet ache between your legs.

“Don’t move.”

His voice came from behind you—low, rasped, rough from sleep and sex and cigarettes. A heavy arm looped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. You could feel his cock already hard again, nudging the curve of your ass.

“You’re leaking,” he murmured against your neck, his hand sliding down your stomach, fingers brushing the inside of your thigh. He found the mess there, his own cum seeping out of you slow and warm. He brought his fingers up to your lips, smearing it there, watching you with hooded eyes.

“Still fucking full,” he growled, like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever seen. “But not full enough.”

You whimpered, lips parting as he slipped those fingers into your mouth. You sucked instinctively, tasting salt and sweat and the raw filth of the night before.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “You like this, don’t you? Being ruined. Waking up stuffed with me.”

You nodded, unable to speak with his fingers in your mouth, your cunt clenching around nothing, aching for him again already.

“You think I’m gonna let you walk around today dripping with my cum?” he said, dragging your leg over his hip, grinding into your ass. “You think I’m gonna let a single drop go to waste?”

His voice darkened.

“No. Not happening. Gonna fuck it back in until it takes. Until you’re knocked up and glowing with it. Until this whole goddamn world sees what I did to you.”

He pushed into you from behind in one smooth stroke—your body slick, stretched, and ready, even as you gasped from the sudden stretch. He groaned deep in his chest, burying himself inside like he belonged there. And he did.

“Still so tight,” he hissed. “Still fucking mine.”

His pace was slower now—but deeper, possessive. Each thrust a silent brand. His hand moved back to your belly, pressing down to feel himself through your skin, groaning at how swollen you already were from him.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s all me. You’re full of me, inside and out. And I’m not stopping until your body gives me what I want.”

You moaned, helpless against the slow, brutal rhythm. There was no escaping him. You didn’t want to.

“Better get used to waking up like this,” he murmured, mouth hot on your shoulder. “Fucked full. Plugged up. Marked.”

And with that, he thrust harder—deeper—claiming you all over again as the morning light washed over both of you.

Because Haymitch wasn’t just breeding you.

He was keeping you.

"I love you." Haymitch whispered into your neck as he held you close.

"I love you too."

Because after the end of the day, know matter where or how.

He love's you, Haymitch loves you more than anything.

You are his, you are his everything and Haymitch Abernathy was yours.

Mrs. R

Part Two

Notes: You know what anon, great point. This is gonna be a two-parter. Not beta-read.

If you read this and you haven't seen The Pitt....Come on in, the water's fine.

Warnings: Angst; fluff; all that good stuff

Summary: For as amicable as the divorce had been, the two of you had problems. When Michael was stressed, he shut you out from the source of it, determined not to bring it home. But as hard as he tried, the strain and drain of his work hung on him. You'd wanted to be a safe space for him, but as the pressures of his job mounted, he'd never allowed you to be.

"Didn't think you'd be working today."

It's the most you've said beyond your answering the basics. He hasn't said anything beyond asking the routine questions. He'd had the good grace to school his expression when he'd asked about any medications (blood pressure, cholesterol, birth control), and you'd said no to all.

“We’re slammed. All hands on deck.”

“Yeah, I know.” You wince as he takes careful hold of your wrist, lowering himself onto the stool beside your hospital bed and getting a good look at the jagged cut stretching the length of your palm. 

"So you were replacing a lightbulb in the living room?"

"Uh-huh."

"What were you standing on?"

"...A book."

He shoots you a disbelieving look from beneath his lashes.

"...On top of another book."

A further tip of his brows, and you sigh, finally conceding, "On top of a cardboard box."

He looses a soft, almost grudging laugh as he looks back down at your hand.

"Surprised you didn't stand on the coffee table."

"It's rickety."

"But the carboard box-book combo was stable? What happened to the lightbulb?"

"I lost my balance, my grip tightened and uh...The lightbulb didn't like that."

"You hit your head on the way down?"

"No."

"Alright." He fishes into his pocket for a small flashlight, leaning in to get a closer look. You hold still as he diligently examines the wound.

"It broke pretty cleanly, I don't think there are any other bits in there. I was able to piece it back together—not to use, you know. Just to check."

He hums, giving a small nod. "Couple of stitches and then we'll get you on your way."

"Not gonna summon one of the ducklings for the demonstration?" You ask, unable to stand the relative quiet. "Dana says it's their first day."

"Hm? Oh," He shakes his head with a smile. "Far as I could tell, they were all occupied when I headed back here."

“How are they doing?”

“Well, we’ve got a fainter, a nicknamer, a high-fiver—Local anesthesia—little pinch, don’t look,” He warns, and you turn your head, wincing as the needle dips into your palm. “There we go…And uh, a kid who’s wearing a different pair of scrubs every time I see him.” 

“Fashion show?” 

“Unfortunate series of fluids.”

“Yikes.” 

“Mm.” 

You tentatively glance back down, watching him draw the needle through your palm.

“How are you doing besides that?” You press. 

“...You know.” 

But you don’t know. For as amicable as the divorce had been, the two of you had problems. When Michael was stressed, he shut you out from the source of it, determined not to bring it home. But as hard as he tried, the strain and drain of his work hung on him. You'd wanted to be a safe space for him, but as the pressures of his job mounted, he'd never allowed you to be.

You sit in quiet for a few moments, allowing him to zone in on his work as you let yourself just focus on him.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him in months, though not the first time you’ve spoken. You’ve exchanged the odd texts for holidays, birthdays. The last time you’d seen one another had been brief—hauling a box of things from your car to his car. It marked the official end to your divorce, your possessions and daily lives extricated entirely from one another (save for one of his hoodies, which you'd tucked into your closet and sworn up and down that you simply couldn't find).

But that hadn’t stopped the hurt or the ache of your loss. It hadn’t sapped the warmth, the comfort of the memories of your good days together. It hadn’t lessened what you knew about him, what you could tell from a look.  

"You need a haircut." You tease, tipping your head to get a better look at him. You just manage to see the way a smile tugs at his lips. You hesitate to add anything else, to keep him in a good mood, but you just can't help yourself.

"You're not sleeping," You accuse softly. Robby draws in a slow breath as he threads the needle through your skin again. 

"No," He admits. You wait for him to set the needle aside before you reach out, gently combing your fingers through his hair. His shoulders sag, head tipping into your hand as you gently run your nails down to the nape of his neck.

"What's goin' on, Mikey?" You murmur. His chin tips up to meet your eye, and your palm slides around to gently cup his cheek, thumb smoothing across his beard.   

“…You know what today is?” He asks.

“Adamson?”

“Yeah.”

“S’why I didn’t think you’d be in today.”

“So you stood on two books and a cardboard box to change a lightbulb today, just in case you needed to go to the ER so that you wouldn’t see me?”

“No. Purely coincidental. Besides,” You lean a little closer. “I like seeing you.”

Another smile pulls at his lips, brighter and wider than the last, and your stomach flutters with his admission:

“I like seeing you, too.”

“You two sure you’re divorced?”

The sound of Evans’ voice makes the two of you reel away from one another, your hand lifting from his cheek guiltily. She casts a mischievous smile between the two of you before nodding over her shoulder.

“We’ve got incoming—pileup on the I-79.”

“Be right there.”

Evans casts you one more cursory glance and adds, “See me before you leave, Mrs. R,” before turning, tugging the curtain closed behind her. You try to get a good look at Robby after she calls you that, but he’s up and moving before you can.

“Let’s get you bandaged up and on your way,” Robby pats your knee before stepping around the bed. “We’ll need you to come in for a wound check in a couple of days, make sure it’s coming along nicely.”

“…Can’t be a home visit?” You venture, glancing back toward him. You don’t trust yourself to meet his eye; you still can’t believe you asked it. But you haven’t gotten a good enough look at him, and you just want to know what’s going on—really going on.

You’re not sure it’ll work. He didn’t trust you with those feelings when you were his wife—why should he trust you with them now? 

“We need it on the record.”

It’s a diplomatic answer, and you’re certain that it’s all you’ll get. You nod a bit, watching as he neatly wraps the bandage. 

“You’ve still got tylenol extra strength in the house?” He asks. 

“Mhm.” 

“Take that as needed, up to—”

“1500 milligrams a day, I know.” 

“Still gotta say it.” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“There.” 

Robby looks up at you, his hands still wrapped warmly around yours. He draws his lower lip into his mouth, and for a moment, you’re certain that he’s going to say something else—but the curtain is drawn back again.

“Hey Robby, there’s a—Oh. Shit."

You close your eyes, fighting back your own curse before you turn your head, shooting the doctor a tight smile.

“Hey, Frank.” 

“Hey, Mrs. R. Am I interrupting—”

“Nope! I'm all set here. And you guys have incoming, so I should skedaddle.”

Robby lets go of your hand, scooching the stool back as you slide off of the bed, standing. 

“Nice to see you.” 

“Yeah, Frank, you, too.” You pat his shoulder with your good hand before turning to face Robby again. “I’m gonna head out.” 

“Take it easy with the hand. Rest it.”

“I will.”

“I mean it.” 

“Robby—” 

“I know you. You’ll get all cocky with the local anesthetic in your system and you’ll be in agony when it wears off. You drive yourself here?”

“Uber.”

“Good.” 

“Mhm.” You turn to the sandwich cart, eyeing the labels before fishing one out. “I’ll see you around.”

“You’re taking that, really?” 

“It’s for Earl,” You insist, taking a couple more steps back. "Get some rest, Robby."

“Yeah.” 

You let yourself get one last long look at him before you turn away, striding determinedly toward the exit. You just manage to skirt by Evans, taking advantage of the fact that she’s deep in conversation with one of the orderlies. You give the attendants at the front desk a quick wave before you pass down the rows of chairs, holding the sandwich out to Earl. His face splits with a wide grin as he takes it. 

“You’re the best, Mrs. R.”

“Take care’a yourself, Earl.”

“Hey, you, too!” 

-- 

You make it all the way into the parking lot before your phone buzzes with Robby’s message:  I can change that lightbulb when my shift ends

Part Two

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21 ; 

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; 

@missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

 ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

Masterlist

Thorin Oakenshield x reader

Smoke, Iron, and Thorin (Ongoing)

Chapter 1- Smoke, Iron, and Thorin

Chapter 2- I Wasn't Completely Nude

Chapter 3- Anger Translator

Chapter 4- Like We Used To Be

Chapter 5- Care to Make a Wager?

Chapter 6- Owe You One

Chapter 7- The Voice of Hunger

Chapter 8- You Love Bread

Chapter 9- Good Girl

Chapter 10- What We Left Behind in the Flames

Chapter 11- At Least We'll Be Together

Chapter 12- The Wandering Widow

Chapter 13- Knock Before Entering

Chapter 14- Mine

Chapter 15- Raspberry leaves

Chapter 16-coming soon