sunbathing on the lawn & jack’s doing yardwork so he puts his thumb over the hose and sprays you just to hear you squeal & see your bikini get all drippy <3
smiling to himself and chuckling, his hand in his shorts pocket. full on laughing when you scream out a growing “jaaacCCCKIEEEE!”
“what? whatsa matter honey?” “enough!!” “of what sweetie?” soooo domestic and teasing
cherry, can i add pope cody to this (i’m going to) ♡
sunbathing by the pool in the backyard while pope builds that damn fountain. shirt off, jeans sitting so low on his waist, sunglasses on the bridge of his nose as he takes the sledgehammer to the stone.
you’re drooling as you watch him, so focused on his task that you’re needy for his attention. :( “pope! can you fill up my water?” leaning forward in your chair, pushing your tits out, “andy? i’m craving one of your sandwiches. make me one?” dipping your toes in the pool, “andy, come take a break! swim with me? please?”
he’d finally shed his pants, grunting, “you’re so needy today.” as he holds you in the pool, kissing you after he playfully dunks you under. ♡
—
can u tell cherry and i are both outside today ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶꒱ა
this is sooo boyfriend!robby coded. when it’s a date night and you’ve already had dinner and went to the movies or theatre, but still are out for a couple of late night drinks because it’s his day off tomorrow and he wants to spend as much time as possible with you. both are a bit buzzy, he’s got that little alcohol glow that makes him blush like crazy and you think your man looks so hot that you need to have that memory for forever, so you take a pic while he’s distracted with jack being a pain in his ass.
It's troublesome. You're only one person. You can only give him so much attention, so much affection. Even after months of practice, there's simply not enough time in the day for you to work, balance self-care, and make sure your boyfriend feels loved.
Now, that isn't to say that he doesn't get enough loving. In fact, Michael is spoiled. He gets so much attention from you that it's downright unfair. There's no shortage of love in your house, and no shortage of intimacy.
So, you're a bit puzzled tonight, to say the least.
"Where are you going?" Robby's hands wrap around your waist, keeping your body on top of his. His lips are swollen and red, the color of them matching the flush of his cheeks. "I'm not done with you yet."
Of course he's not.
You roll your eyes, "Michael, we've been making out for an hour an a half. I need to pee or at least get fucked." You squint, "Yeah, if you'll fuck me, I'll wait to pee."
Robby stays quiet. He shifts awkwardly underneath you, and suddenly you feel a small jerk of his hips. Though, when he jerks his hips, you feel... nothing.
"You're not hard yet," you note. Robby's face reddens, and you're quick to kiss his cheek. "Are we going to have to get your viagra?"
"I'm sorr-"
"Ah, ah! No apologies. It's your body, not you," you say softly. "But I really do need to go to the bathroom and that is where your-"
You don't get further in your suggestion before Robby leans up into you. He wins for a short while, with you quickly getting lost in the feel of his lips.
"Baby," Robby pulls away slightly to speak. He's close enough that his nose still brushes yours, "You act like I can't make you come without fucking you."
You chuckle, "Last time I checked, I haven't come yet."
Robby growls and pulls you down to him by the collar of your shirt. It would be incredibly sexy if it weren't for the fact that it puts an unbearable pressure on your bladder. Before Robby's lips meet yours, you pull away.
The man honestly whimpers. He pouts at you as he whines, "Will you come back?"
"Yes, baby," you deadpan. "I'll come back with viagra and we can continue keeping it over the clothes until that kicks in."
Despite your sarcasm, your husband's face lights up.
Jack Abbot loves you and fucks you like the older man he is.
Jack doesn’t play games. Which means he also will not tolerate you playing games with him. He’s generous. With affection, with money, with time. And he expects you to be open with him, to accept that as a way he shows his love.
He doesn’t like games in his relationship, including when it comes to sex. Sex is a way to express your love for eachother, it’s intimate time spent taking care of eachother. And yeah. It feels fucking great. So withholding out of spite isn’t going to end well with him. It’s one thing if you’re genuinely upset with eachother and not interested in that. When that’s the case you have way bigger fish to fry then sex- just a symptom of a bigger problem, you’ve got real problems to sort. But freezing him out to prove a point? That’s a great way to end the relationship. Talk about it like an adult or call it quits. Dont hold it over his head like a child.
He’s not pushy with sex. He’s not in a rush to get there when you start dating. 3 date rule 5 date rule whatever hookup culture new bullshit you’ve heard of isn’t even on his radar. He likes you. You’re going out. It’ll happen when it happens. And if there’s a reason it’s not happening after some time, you’ll talk about it.
And he charms you into bed. He isn’t pushy, or god forbid entitled. But if you want a beautiful woman to come home with you, you have to prove yourself as worthy of it, plain and simple. Nice diner, good wine, maybe even a show or a movie or some outing where his hand stays firmly on your back, his lips respectful when they kiss your hand or cheek. Sweet desert and playful smiles, and an offer to come back to his place that’s far from aggressive. Who could say no to that boyish smile and those warm hands?
Oh. And you’re not touching a bill. He might even get offended when you try. “Sweetheart, I’m a doctor.” “Who hurt you?” “Are you out of your mind give me that. What kind of man- I took you out. It’s on me. It’s always going to be on me, got it?”. No little boy 50/50 bullshit. No whining about you being ‘high maintenance’ or asking what you bring to the table. Baby, you are the table.
His preferences and desires aren’t shaped by porn. They’re just what he likes. Plain and simple. Doesn’t need anyone else’s validation. You do what you both like, period.
Jack is a charming guy. He’s funny, he’s sweet, he’s playful and teasing and boyish in the right ways. But that all changes in the bedroom. Intimacy is serious to him. It’s quiet and attentive and deep. It’s romantic and considerate.
He’s been fucking since before you were born. Something he chuckled and whispered in your ear once, as he felt you squeeze his fingers like a vice. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?”.
He teases. God he teases. He runs his mouth. But he’s not mean. He talks you through it. He can run his mouth till the cows come home. He can also be quiet and intimate if that’s what you need. And he takes good care of you no matter what.
He doesn’t give a flying fuck about hair, appreciates it even. (for fucks sake, this younger generations need to open themselves up to infection, abscess’ and the plain discomfort of razor bumps because porn has rotted young men’s brains grosses him out) you’re a grown ass woman, he’s a grown ass man. No shit you have hair. Back in his day that kind of thing was sexy, thank you.
He strives to make you feel good, and make sure you know no one is making you feel as good as he can.
Big proponent of putting a pillow under your hips. He wants it to feel as good as possible for you. He wants your toes curling and your brain empty. He wants your nails on his back, your eyes rolling back in your head.
He’s not above a little begging. A little patheticness for you. It always makes you laugh so pretty, yeah, he’ll indulge you. You know who’s the man of the house here, why not?
And he’d never say a fucking word about what happens in your bedroom outside of it. No if and or buts there.
Safety first safety second safety third with this guy. Comdoms are second nature to him. He’s not playing around, not unless there’s a very serious conversation very far down the road.
He’s good at buying flowers, and he does it regularly. Date night. Period. Bad day. Just because. The old ones start to die, there’s new ones. Period. They’re thoughtful too. He pays attention, he knows what you like.
Speaking of periods. He’s unfazed. Hot water bottle, Motrin, chocolate chips in his cabinet for you. Cuddles, sweet words, he’s got all the stops. He’s unfazed, he’s a doctor. It’s natural and a sign of a healthy body, he’s just sorry it hurts so bad. Hand on your belly rubbing circles, not even noticing the bloating, wishing he could make you feel better. And if you want him to help you with your cramps in another way? Baby. He’s a doctor. He’s been covered in blood many times. God knows he doesn’t care if it’s you.
He takes care of things. If he says he’ll get done, it gets done. Promptly. He fixes things, he orders things, he calls a guy, he makes it happen. You say the word, baby, he’ll handle it don’t worry about it. He’s so good with his hands in all ways.
Sometimes he hears some of the med students and residents and nurses discuss their, in his opinion self inflicted dating woes. And when it gets to painful to keep listening to the boys, he clicks his phone to his Lock Screen. “That’s my lady. Beautiful isn’t she? You want a woman like that, you’re gonna have to get your shit together because that bullshit is why us old guys are stealing all your girls.”
contents: smut! twitter was asking for an erectile dysfunction fic so i started drafting and well, this might have been my calling. ED, a little blue pill, drug talk (jack’s on depression meds), some wine consumption, a whole host of second-hand embarrassment for jack, world’s best wife in the reader, and of course ED wasn’t enough… loosely inspired by 02x02.
[jack abbot x fem!reader. wc: 7.2k ]
masterlist | other jack abbot fics
He was a doctor—of course he read the side effects of his pills. Right?
Right?
God. Jack could barely think for himself let alone think what the fuck was on the prescription label. He especially couldn’t think straight when you were on top of him, fingers carding through his curls, and your chest pressed against his own.
Everything would be fine. Everything is fine.
It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him and when Jack Abbot’s internal alarm bells went off, anyone in a ten mile radius could hear them. All it took was one look, a not fully present kiss, and you knew something was amiss.
“Jack?” You murmured softly in his ear. He loved the feel of your breath; the warmth your body brought to his.
He swallowed hard. His jaw tensed as his chest shuddered in immediate nerves and your hands moved to cradle his face instead. Jack’s eyes avoided you like the plague, sticking to a spot over your shoulder in the direction of the tv.
“Yeah?” He barely whispered.
“Are you okay?”
Oh, goddamnit. Shit.
Everything was really not fucking fine.
Jack hated when his shifts never lined up with your schedule. Summer’s were easier, so were those few breaks you’d get during the year, but most weeks it felt like you were ships passing in the night.
You were his wife, not a “sometimes companion” depending on the day. So, when he had off, there was nothing he loved more than being at your side. Watching mindless television, going to the grocery store, listening to you complain about your job, and everything in between. He loved it. Jack never thought that chance would come again and when it did, he promised himself that the time he gave to you would be nothing short of devotion.
And, when the time to “love” became a little more intimate, Jack gave you everything you could ask for. You’d never had a more generous lover, in all sense of the word.
He cared so deeply about you that he was too easily forgetful about his own needs. Jack never liked when you tried to make it all about him—he’d had enough attention in the last twenty years to last him a lifetime in solitude. In return, Jack’s altar was beside you, on top of you, under you, and anywhere near you.
Therefore, when he sacrificed his time away from you to save the lives of strangers, it was only right for him to recompense through the most natural form of intimacy.
But it had been five days. Five days of back to back night shifts where he left you sleeping in bed and you left him walking out the door with your work bag in hand. There had been a light in the distance, Saturday, when his schedule finally broke and you were both off to enjoy each other’s company.
He cooked, you cleaned, and then you’d both retired to the sofa where your feet landed in his lap and a movie you’d seen a thousand times played quietly as days-long lodged conversations started to flow.
Then, you shuffled into his lap and Jack knew something was wrong before even started.
His lips met yours and you melted. You’d been so quick to fall into him, wrapping your arms around him, and pressing down into his lap that it felt needy. Tilting his head back, your fingers pulled at his curls to open him up to you. His kiss deepened and you couldn’t fight the smile on your face.
You laughed, breaking apart.
“What?” Jack asked incredulously. His eyes darted between yours as your hand brushed back his hair.
“Nothing.” You shook your head. “I just love you.”
Jack’s hands ran up and down your sides gently. “Well now it’s cheesy if I say it back.”
“No.” Your nose bumped into his. “You could never make it cheesy.”
“I’m pretty sure I could,” Jack admitted with a peck. He let his hands wander down your sides, feeling the skin of your ass before smoothing down your legs and holding them down on himself. “I love you.”
“How much?”
“Eh. ” He shrugged causing you leaned back and swat at his chest immediately before pressing into his pecs with your palms.
“Cruel,” you gasped. “You’re just evil.”
“I don’t know about that.” He removed his hands from you and placed his on top of yours. “But I don’t think a measurement exists for how much I really do.”
Not cruel. Just utterly adoring beyond comprehension.
You leaned in, kissing him again and again and each one ended longer than the last. He brought your hands back to his hair and encouraged a rougher grip. Jack’s tongue was the first to ask for silent permission to which you welcomed it with your own.
You couldn’t remember the last time you made out like teenagers on the couch.
And for ten minutes, you did only that.
Lips swollen and blood rushing in your body, there was something exhilarating about having waited so long to have sex this week. Five days wasn’t a world record for either of you but it felt like a necessary end to it.
Only you were expecting to feel something after ten minutes.
One of your hands slipped from his shoulders and entered the few inches of space between your bodies to grope him above his sweats. You had felt that simply being on top wasn’t enough—you would have felt his erection if you did—but this was the second time in three weeks that grinding on him didn’t work in getting him aroused.
Jack’s attention broke away from your lips and to your neck. His stubble grazed your skin with a roughness you’d only accept from his face. He lathered and sucked, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you feel his desire through his lips.
As you met his groin, you felt the outline of his cock still limp between his spread legs. Gently trailing to the head, you molded your hand around it and rubbed to the base. Jack’s forehead fell to your shoulder and you couldn’t help but be satisfied, leaning your own into him.
Jack. Your Jack.
Your hand never stopped going. Slowly, you felt the minutes pass and you put more pressure in your grip and the air around Jack began to change. His kisses stopped, your fingers intertwined with his curls at the base of his head weren’t met with the same sighs, and his own hands loosened their grasp.
On the inside, Jack was having an existential crisis.
He knew it was going to happen.
It was the same goddamn thing from three weeks ago and he’d wrote it off as some kind of fluke. He was tired. He’d worn himself thin from a bad night and three weeks ago, sex wasn’t in the cards he’d been dealt. But now? Again?
Jack dug his forehead further into your shoulder to think—which was practically impossible for him to do in this state. Yet he tried. He thought back on any changes to his body and any signs he might have missed but the only possibilities he could think about were his age and his meds.
If it was his age, he was just about ready to croak off now. 50. Jack was only 50 fucking years old and he never imagined what the hell life would be like with erectile dysfunction at this age. He’d take it to his grave, he swore to God, but there was one other problem that he just couldn’t shake.
Those meds.
A switch from his therapist a few appointments ago to Zoloft, which was what he was supposed to be taking for years. But just like good medicine, sometimes finding the right balance was hard and it took time.
His therapist had warned him, right?
He was a doctor—of course he read the side effects of his pills. Right?
Right?
God. Jack could barely think for himself let alone think what the fuck was on the prescription label. He especially couldn’t think straight when you were on top of him, fingers carding through his curls and your chest pressed against his own.
Everything would be fine. Everything is fine.
It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him and when Jack Abbot’s internal alarm bells went off, anyone in a ten mile radius could hear them. All it took was one look, a not fully present kiss, and you knew something was amiss.
“Jack?” You murmured softly in his ear. He loved the feel of your breath; the warmth your body brought to his.
He swallowed hard. His jaw tensed as his chest shuddered in immediate nerves and your hands moved to cradle his face instead. Jack’s eyes avoided you like the plague, sticking to a spot over your shoulder in the direction of the tv.
“Yeah?” He barely whispered.
“Are you okay?”
Oh, goddamnit. Shit.
Everything was really not fucking fine.
He was falling apart. Jack couldn’t even look you in the eye because now he couldn’t have sex with his beautiful fucking wife and the world was basically ending.
“Yeah,” he barely squeaked out.
You saw through him and he could feel the pity in the way your thumbs rubbed softly on his cheeks.
“I think I need to use the bathroom,” he blurted out and discarded you to the side of the couch.
In his first attempt to stand, Jack struggled to gain momentum off the couch and the redness of embarrassment from another one of his problems inched up the back of his neck like a rash.
Holy shit, he thought. This is the worst day of my life.
He tried harder the second time to avoid your helping hands and rushed off to the bedroom, shutting the door so hard it reverberated throughout the house. Beelining for the sink, Jack’s hands strained the edges of it until his knuckles were white.
“What the fuck!” He scolded himself in a brash whisper. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?”
This wasn’t happening to him. This was all a dream. A really, god awful, terrible, no good dream that would be over in a matter of minutes. He’d wake up, sun shining, and never deal with this again.
He slapped a hand across his face. It was not a fucking dream.
“Holy shit,” Jack’s words were now nothing but saddened, pathetic whimpering. “This is not fucking happening to me right now.”
From outside the door, you leaned against the frame and let him wallow. Those little blue pills in the back of the cabinet had been pushed away out of spite and this time, you knew he just needed to face the reality of his situation. But that reality was hard to fathom after a lifetime of one activity never having been a problem. He couldn’t have just this one thing?
Jack opened the cabinet and pulled out his Zoloft bottle. Unraveling the prescription label, his eyes raced down to side effects and right there “Erectile Dysfunction” laughed at him. He tossed the bottle in the sink.
“Jack?” You knuckles rapped against the door. “Are you alright in there?”
“Fine!” He replied too quickly.
“Can I come in?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’d rather you not.”
“You’re not gonna dump your meds are you?”
“No,” his tone was still sad. “That’s probably a bad idea.”
Jack could hear your hum. He imagined the look on your face and how you’d probably kick him to the curb now that he was completely defective.
“Jack, I think you need to talk to me about this.”
“No,” he drug out the word. “I don’t think so.”
“Honey.”
He said your name firmly in return.
“I’m coming in.” You didn’t give him any time because as soon as he got a syllable out, the door was open.
Jack’s eyes caught yours in the mirror.
“It’s okay, Jack.”
He shook his head. “It’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well that’s easy for you to say,” he couldn’t help the attitude that slipped out. “You don’t have a broken fucking dick.”
“I don’t have a dick but I do have a libido.”
“It’s not that, baby,” Jack sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to have sex. I do. Very badly, might I add. But it’s like this—” he pointed to his brain “—just doesn’t want to work and tell the other parts of my body to do their jobs.”
Your brows furrowed in concern. “Is it the nightmares again?”
“No.” He shook his head and realized that you didn’t fully grasp it because of two things: you weren’t in healthcare and you didn’t have PTSD like he did. “They’re fine. They’ve been fine.”
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Jack.”
You approached him, settling for resting your hand along his back and feeling his tense muscles underneath the fabric of his tee.
“A side effect of the meds,” he gestured weakly to the bottle in the sink. “I can’t get it up.”
“That’s one way to put it,” you mumbled and picked up the bottle.
“My doctor gave me—“ Jack didn’t want the words to form.
Your rubbed soothingly on his back. He loved you so much.
“What did he give you?”
Jack reopened the cabinet and shuffled items to the side before landing on a small white bottle with VIAGRA plastered in blue on the front. His stomach lurched at the thought of needing to take one. Jack held it tightly in his fist in a refusal to show you.
You saw the bottle immediately when he brought it home. Jack was never as sly as he thought he was. He tried hiding your engagement ring for six weeks before proposing but you found it the day after the purchase because he stuffed it the garage where he kept all the spare keys.
He just hadn’t thought that maybe you’d lock your keys inside of the house one day.
Still, he clutched onto the white bottle as though if he dropped it, his problem wasn’t real. He could keep trying. Maybe it would just take a little bit longer than normal but eventually, he’d get hard and you could sail smoothly into the night.
“Are you gonna show me?” You asked patiently.
“I don’t really want to.”
“I’m not embarrassed if you need to use one, you know?”
His eyes pinched closed. “I feel like a fucking failure.”
You exhaled deeply, placing your hand over his fist, and dipping your head to better look at him.
“Look at me, Jack.”
He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“Jack,” you pressed once more. “Look at me.”
“This has never been a problem,” he said lowly. Jack’s tone lingered on disappointment but aired a frustration that sounded sexier than he meant it. “I don’t know why I can’t be normal in this one fucking way but of course not! Of course not. No… the goddamn leg just wasn’t enough. The stupid fucking depression and the nightmares and my joint pain isn’t enough!”
Jack rarely yelled. He bottled everything inside until it was ready to explode and it was just leaking out of him like a dam bursting.
“None of that is your fault,” you assured.
“What does it matter if it was?” He loosened the grip on the bottle and it rolled into the sink beside the Zoloft.
“Jack. I don’t care if we have sex tonight, okay? It’s not the end of the world for me.”
“It sure fucking feels like it for me.”
“I know it does,” you empathized. “But if you’re not ready to try the pills, then we don’t have to do anything. I can wait for you.”
“I don’t deserve you,” Jack whispered. “This is so inconvenient.”
“What would life be without them?”
He breathed in as your hand continued to rub his back and calm him down. Jack glanced down at the bottle, cursing the elephant in the room. He mumbled underneath his breath and even though you were standing beside him, you didn’t catch it.
“What?”
“It takes…” his words were muffled again.
“Are you having a stroke?” You asked honestly.
“No,” he heaved. “If I take one… it would take around an hour to work.”
“Okay,” you replied cautiously. It was his choice, you made that clear.
“And it’s not like… magical. Plus we had a whole bottle of wine with dinner and that might make it worse.”
“Trying to get hard or the erection?”
“Both?” He said like it was a question. He’s the doctor. He should know.
“If you wanted to try it, and it doesn’t work out, then you never have to use one again.”
Jack hummed. “I might have to eat you out for awhile.”
“Jesus,” you laughed. “Don’t try to be sly about it.”
His lips quirked into a small smile, one you’d missed seeing in his despair. Jack picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cap.
“I swear to God that if anything goes wrong, I will jump off the fucking roof.”
“You can’t say that,” you lamented. “You’re literally the last person who should joke about that.”
“I’m kidding.” He popped a pill into his mouth. “I can’t let you fall in love with someone else.”
“How kind of you to think about me.”
Jack flipped on the sink, cupped his hands under the faucet, and swallowed the pill in one gulp. There was no turning back now.
“Well?” You asked him as he wiped his mouth dry.
“Well what?”
“You want to finish what you started?”
He locked eyes with you in the mirror and opened his mouth to object to the statement. You climbed into his lap. You kissed him first. But he saw a glimmer of hope that maybe the little blue pill would be a good thing for the both of you tonight and forgot about it. Jack nodded instead.
“Get on the bed.”
Whatever the little blue pill did, it gave Jack an ounce of courage back and fuck, could you feel it.
Jack had been on you from the moment you laid down on the bed. In silence, he stripped off your clothes one by one and settled between your thighs ready to give. And for the past thirty minutes, you’d been close twice before he drew back and smiled at you as his cheek rested against your leg.
Every time he did, you had to look away.
He was so sweet. Jack, the man who does anything for anyone, looked at you like you held the moon.
You fought a grin by biting down on your lip and had your arm flying over your eyes to shield his own impenetrable stare from reaching you. And then his mouth was on you again, tongue lightly flicking your clit as he slipped two fingers inside.
You writhed, body shaking lightly in pleasure as his hands grew more firm around your thighs and minimized any distance between you. Jack figured if he could lay atop the mattress and grind into it that it would replace the need for you to jerk him off for five minutes, and he was right.
The combination of periodically rutting against the mattress, listening to your sweet sounds, and feeling you squeeze his fingers was sheer poison.
He curled his fingers up inside of you, sliding them in and out in the same direction until your moans turned into a whine that spelled out his name.
“Jack,” you breathed in heavily.
Your hand fell from your eyes and trailed over one of your breasts, squeezing it, pinching the nipple just hard enough before fanning out on the comforter. Jack removed his fingers to let his tongue sink lower, pushing into you softer and wetter than before. His mouth devoured you; a sickening slurp of his saliva and your wetness had your mouth falling open, silent in disbelief that not an hour ago, you didn’t think this was going to happen.
“S-shit, Jack.”
He slowed down, sparing a glance at your face before deciding to back off. His pointer finger replaced where his nose was grazing your clit. Jack pressed down there, moving in small circles as your hips moved with him.
“That feel good?” He asked softly.
“I think that fucking pill gave you superpowers,” you spat out fast. “Holy shit.”
“Magical” his ass. It was certifiably otherworldly.
“Might just have been a long time since we’ve done this.”
You agreed, moaning a “yeah” in reply.
“Sweetheart,” Jack said like a question. “I hate to do this to you…”
“What?” You sat up so quickly that you got a little dizzy. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Jack couldn’t hide his blush. There was no easy way to say “I’m hard now, let me fuck you” after having a meltdown.
His throat bobbed and you caught it.
“You ready?”
Jack nodded and you retuned it with a nod of your own. “Okay, yeah. Alright—”
“Why does this feel like I’m losing my virginity again?” He joked. His laugh barely sounded like one because the second he sat up on his knees, his erection was all he could look at.
Jack had never been embarrassed by his cock before.
“If this is how you lost your virginity, I’d be a little nervous,” you scoffed. “Sit back against the headboard.”
He didn’t argue with you which was a rarity it terms of control. Nothing was really in his control right now and it was making his anxiety shoot through the roof.
Jack shuffled back to the headboard and slipped off his shirt. He helped you pull down his sweats carefully and even though he didn’t feel like you had to be, he was grateful for your gentleness. At the sight of his prosthetic, you tipped your head knowingly at him.
“Why didn’t you take this off yet?”
“I forgot,” he feigned innocence.
“Mhm,” you judged and took it off for him. “Sure you did.”
With his prosthetic resting on the floor against the bedside table, you resumed your position in his lap and wrapped an arm around his shoulder while your free hand wrapped around him. You’d never been with someone who needed to take a Viagra before. Jack felt different and you knew how he felt in your hands.
His dick felt firmer—less like his own and more like one that was being controlled.
Your hand went from tip to base and back and he jolted.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s like my nerves are on fire.”
“Does it feel bad?”
His nose brushed yours as he shook his head. Jack didn’t tell you to stop so you kept pumping him mildly.
“It feels really fucking good, actually.”
“Yeah?” You smiled.
“Yeah.”
Jack kissed you with everything he could muster. He gripped your bare hips tightly, sinking his fingers into your skin until he felt like you weren’t going to disappear. You put more tension in your fist and he groaned, precum escaping him and making your job easier.
“Do you feel like you’re ready?” You kissed him lazily, pulling on his bottom lip enough for it to bounce back.
He chased your lips. “What if—”
“Honey,” you soothed. “We’ll get there, okay?”
“Okay,” he accepted. He nodded, looking you in the eye and giving you the reassurance he also needed.
Lifting up in his lap, you guided him to your entrance and sunk down slowly. The feeling was overwhelming and you both needed time to adjust. Jack’s head fell back against the bed frame as far as he could go, clenching his jaw enough where the muscles strained on his face.
“You’re fine, Jack,” you cooed in his ear. Soft pants met his cheek as his hardness was unlike anything you’d experienced. “Breathe, baby.”
Your nails raked the base of his skull.
“Keep going,” he bit out. “You’re squeezing me so tight.”
“I guess we’ve both been ‘rejuvenated,’ huh?”
Jack wasn’t overly appreciative of your humor but you moved anyway, testing the waters of your bounces and grinds before settling into a rhythm that suited you. His cock stretched you wide and every time you sank back down, it was as though he never filled you in the first place. A spark of exhilaration bloomed. This was so different, so minutely different, that it felt new.
Jack’s hands groped your ass to help ease the strain on your thighs the longer you went. His lips swapped duties between connecting with yours and finding the skin of your neck, collarbone, and chest peppered with affection. Jack listened to your soft mewls. He soaked in the whispers of sweet nothings and the shaky gasps you couldn’t help.
He wanted you close.
Jack needed you to mold into him like he was showered in rain. He pulled you close; arms wrapped up around you so tight there was no escaping his embrace.
He nipped at your chin. Low and rough, Jack spoke to you. “I love you so much.”
Jack’s nose trailed up your cheek, bumping into yours and seeking your lips again.
“You have no idea how much I love you.”
“Jack,” you whined with a grin. A shake in your legs had him running his hands over your back, soothing you now instead.
“I know you’re ready, baby.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’m close.”
“What do you need from me?” He asked willingly.
You shook your head. “I-fuck, nothing. I just—”
Jack bent his knees the best he could and the angle his cock was hitting changed on a thrust. Deep and unforgiving, your fingernails dug into his skin hard. Jack murmured appreciation, egging you on to the finish line and neglecting himself.
You were too wrapped up in the feeling. The building of a week, the racing of your heart, to think for a second that he was nowhere near close to his orgasm.
“Come on, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
He felt the falter in your hips.
Your orgasm shook you from Heaven to Hell and back—even if believing it was hard to fathom. Jack’s hand flew to the back of your head, holding you into him as the aftershocks of muscle spasms lingered seconds after your breathing began to settle. You returned his kisses with your own against his neck and shoulder. The freckles on his body were reminders of all the places he had ever been kissed and you were adding to that—on top of ones that already existed, beside them, and in the spaces that laid empty of any.
He wouldn’t remember them in every lifetime but you liked to imagine that all of his freckles were kisses from you.
As your brain recovered from the fuzzy glow and you realized that Jack was still rock hard inside of you.
“Do you want me to—”
“No,” Jack cut you off. “No, it’s fine. It’s just… I think it takes time.”
“But now you haven’t even…” you trailed your response with a flick of your eyes downwards. “I can’t leave you like that.”
“Baby, it could take an hour.”
You glanced at the alarm clock on his side of the bed. The time read 11:47.
“We’ve got time.”
Jack shook his head. “I’m not gonna let you give me a handy for an hour.”
“Hey,” you tugged on his earlobe lightly. “I’ve got a mouth too.”
“It’s fine,” he reassured but you weren’t buying it. His mouth quirked to the side in thought. “Would you hate me if I asked you to clean up alone?”
You ran your thumb along his jawline.
“I could never hate you, Jack. I’ve lived this long, I think I can handle one less aftercare shower.”
“It makes me feel like an asshole.”
“You’re not. I promise you.”
Carefully, you lifted up from his lap and let him slip out. You avoided looking at him so he didn’t find another reason to be embarrassed about something that impacted millions of men—especially those who were on medication for concerns far more important than simply erectile dysfunction.
He watched you disappear into the bathroom and shut the door with a click before he put his pillow to his face and yelled into it.
The prescription tag read as follows:
Prolonged erection greater than 4 hours and priapism (painful erections greater than 6 hours in duration) have been reported infrequently since market approval of VIAGRA. In the event of an erection that persists longer than 4 hours, the patient should seek immediate medical assistance. If priapism is not treated immediately, penile tissue damage and permanent loss of potency could result.
Jack had to put his readers on to even see the label.
“… if priapism is not treated immediately, penile tissue damage and permanent loss…” he repeated the label back to himself to make sure he read it correctly.
His eyes flitted to his phone, touching the screen to light up a big 7:30 AM and a picture of both of your smiling faces beaming back at him.
This might not have been the actual worst day of his life but it was second.
His crutches clicked against the floor as he approached your side of the bed. He hated waking you up when you were clearly dead to the world. Laid face first into your pillow, he rested a hand on your back and shook you gently.
“Baby?”
You barely bristled. He repeated the action, calling out your name louder.
“Hm?” You grumbled in slight annoyance.
Jack shifted uncomfortably on the bed, wincing as he turned wrong and made his sweatpants tighter than they already were.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he started and realized how quickly those were the wrong words. You sat up abruptly, face twisted in concern as he tried not to cry from the pain his fucking dick won’t stop causing.
“What!?” You searched his face for an answer. “What happened!?”
“You gotta calm down.” Jack moved his arm to block your view.
“About what? What’s wrong?”
“I seem to be having a little… complication.”
Your brows furrowed. “A complication?”
Jack clicked his tongue with a nod. Your eyes darted down too obviously to his pants and back to his face. His erection was blatant. It practically waved at you from behind his arm.
“Does it have anything to do with that?” You said above a whisper. “Why do you have such bad morning wood?”
Jack groaned, again, completely at odds with himself.
“Remember when we had that bottle of red with dinner?” You nodded. “Well it turns out that sometimes while meds can cause the problem, mixing alcohol with the little blue pill causes… other problems.”
“And this can’t be solved with an orgasm?”
“Not after more than six hours.”
Your eyes bugged out of your head. “Six hours!? Jack, what the fuck!”
“I thought it was going to go away!”
You swiftly moved out of bed and shrugged on a sweatshirt. Jack watched you pilfer the room for socks and shoes and leggings and just sat there helplessly on the edge of the bed with his crutches one inch from sliding off of it. You didn’t say anything and that made it worse for him.
“I’m sorry,” Jack spoke up.
“What are you sorry for?” You opened his drawer and pulled out a fresh tee. “It’s not your fault.”
“It feels like it is.”
“Well it’s not, Jack. So stop apologizing and get your leg on.”
“I can’t bend over.”
You tossed the shirt to him. “We’re going in.”
“Where?”
“The ED.”
“No,” he said with a nervous laugh. “No the fuck we are not.”
“You say that like you have a choice, Mr. Abbot.” Oh. He didn’t like that. “Turns out that doctors are truly the worst patients. Your night shift is gone, Robby’s gotta be—”
“I am not letting Robby see me like this.” The thought repulsed him so badly that it made his skin crawl.
“Then someone else will help us,” you clarified. “The longer we wait the worse I’ll assume it will be for you. I’m not driving you to Presby or Mercy when I know the ones that can help you the best.”
“I’ll never live this down.” His eyes filled with ashamed tears and every now and then, you’d seen Jack down on his luck.
A terrible shift, a long week, anniversaries he’d rather not have… but he stared at you from the bed and he looked so small. His salt and pepper hair was flat from restless sleep and the scruff on his face couldn’t hide the jumble of thoughts pouring out of him. You moved to stand in front of him, grasping his face between two hands, and forcing him to look you in the eye.
“You are the strongest, most resilient man I have ever met. You’ve taken care of me more times than I can count and now, it’s my turn to help you the best way I know how. This is bad now, yeah… it is,” you nodded in agreement, “but it’s not forever. After this, you’ll call your therapist and tell him what happened and we will try again when things are better.”
A tear steamed down his cheek and you wiped it away with your finger.
“It’s okay to be embarrassed, honey.”
“I’m gonna make this up to you,” Jack settled. “I promise.”
“Okay.” You didn’t need him to. However, if it made him feel better, sure. Your hands tapped his face twice before letting go. “Let’s go, Soldier.”
The PTMC Emergency Room wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but it wasn’t one you frequented.
It bustled with far too much chaos and while your own career had its fair share, there was something about Jack’s place of work that made you feel ill just looking at it. Death, hurt, pain, and suffering wrapped up in four walls, some windows, and doors.
And now Jack sat outside of it in a wheelchair because he refused to go in on his crutches.
“Just go in and tell Dana I’m out here.”
“Someone is going to have to come and get you anyway, so just come with me.”
Jack begged, “please.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Luckily, Dana was talking with a young nurse at the hub when the ambulance bay doors opened wide. You kept in a straight line to her, not distracted by the sounds and the yelling coming from one of the many rooms. Dana was halfway through a sentence when she glanced over her shoulder and did a double take.
“Hey stranger,” she beamed. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
The young nurse beside her, Emma, smiled at you in the awkward way you did when you didn’t know someone’s friend.
“Hi Dana,” you greeted.
“Jack’s not here,” her eyes questioned you. Jack had been scheduled off for the next couple days so there was no telling where he’d be other than at his house.
“Well,” you let out a loose, barely amused chuckle, “funny you should say that.”
“Is he okay?”
“Not really… I just—we just—need this on the down low, alright? He really doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here.”
She nodded understandingly and grabbed an iPad from the counter. “Where is he?”
“Out in the ambulance bay. I put him in a wheelchair.”
“Should I get Robb—”
“No!” You said loudly and shook your head. “God, no. Sorry.”
Emma jumped at the sound and her eyes darted to the bay. “Can I help?”
Your face scrunched. Jack would rather not traumatize a new nurse so early in the shift.
“Is Donnie around? Or Dr. Al-Hashimi?”
“Yeah.” Dana patted Emma on the shoulder. “Go get ‘em and we’ll put Dr. Abbot in Room 7.”
Dana rounded the hub and put a hand on your shoulder. As she stepped further away, she pressed about the situation.
“You know, you two aren’t getting any younger. You can’t go at it like rabbits.”
“Dana,” you scolded with a smile. “That’s—that’s not it.”
“What happened?”
All that was needed to be said were three little words:
“Little blue pill.”
Jack heard the hiss of the ambulance bay open and Dana walked up to him with a laugh buried in her throat. Jack was wearing a hat and glasses like a superhero in disguise and his backpack flipped over so no one could see the name angled in his lap.
“Don’t fucking say it, Evans. Don’t.”
“I’m not!” She held up her hands in defense.
“Dana said she’s gonna help. No one needs to know.”
You grabbed his crutches off the wall and followed closely as Dana wheeled him into Room 7 and pulled the curtains. She left still fighting amusement as Donnie entered with Baran.
“Dr. Abbot,” she said fondly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“I think we both had different ideas about how today would go.”
Jack took off his glasses and hat, passing them off to you. The bag stayed lumped in his lap.
“So, what brings you in today?”
There was a second of silence and then:
“I seem to have a bit of a… priapism problem.”
Baran’s eyes widened and Donnie hesitated putting on his second glove.
“And how long has the erection lasted?” Jack hated how she pronounced the word loud and clear. He looked at you, shrugging for a loose approximation of time.
“Maybe around… since 11 or so?” You informed.
“So somewhere around 8 hours?” She asked and motioned for Donnie to put the bed rails down. “Does that seem accurate?”
You both nodded. Donnie wheeled Jack over to the bed and he hesitated, looking at you to help him instead. You handed Jack his crutches and as he stood, both Donnie and Baran tried to be respectful and looked away from Jack’s body.
“Dr. Abbot, I’m going to have to ask you some questions about your medical history, medications, and so forth. Is that okay with you?”
“I think you can just call me Jack now,” he grunted as he shuffled onto the bed.
“Can you tell me what medications you take?”
“I-uh, take um, 100 mg of Zofolt, 3 mg of Prazosin for sleeping, and Cyclobenzaprine as needed, 5 mg three times a day, but I haven’t needed it lately.”
“And for the priapism problem?” She slipped on her own gloves.
“I took one Viagra.”
“Have you taken one before?”
“No,” Jack admitted. “My therapist changed one of my medications to Zoloft two months ago and ordered it as a precaution.”
Baran nodded in understanding and as she sat down on a stool and rolled closer, Jack’s hand shot out to yours and squeezed tightly.
“Did he explain the side effects of taking those medications together?”
“Yes,” Jack recalled. “But we must have had… three glasses of wine last night and I’m pretty certain that’s the reason it won’t go away. A reaction, if you will.”
“You’re not wrong.” She smiled at him kindly, then to you.
“How long have you been married? I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
“Six years,” you told her. “And it seems we’re always finding something new to experience together.”
“It’s a good thing,” Baran assured. “Imagine living a life where it’s normal and boring all the time. At least you’ll be able to laugh about it later.”
Her eyes found Jack’s and he knew she needed to look at him more closely.
“What happens in this room, Dr. Abbot, stays in this room. Got it?”
He nodded and focused on a spot across the wall as Donnie hovered behind Baran. Your hand covered his, rubbing gentle circles to ease the discomfort.
“Was this a special occasion or something?” Donnie asked Jack. “Or just a regular Saturday night for you two?”
“Just a Saturday night,” he said shyly. Jack, being bashful? You relished it.
“I gotta say Doc, your wife’s a lucky woman. Who knew Dr. Abbot hit the genetic lottery.”
The blush that overtook his body was a deeper red than his penis. Your hand flew to your mouth, covering the choked laugh before it could escape but Donnie was grinning like the Cheshire Cat and keeping it in was practically impossible. Baran bit down on her tongue.
But Jack knew how to bite back too. “If your idea of the genetic lottery is a guy with 1.75 legs, then sure. Whatever floats your boat.”
“Okay.” Baran finished her inspection.
“I have a feeling this isn’t a cold compress kind of procedure,” Jack wished.
Baran shook her head.
“We’re going to need to aspirate.”
Jack was back on his crutches after an hour with a soreness that would last hours.
“I don’t think I need to tell you what you can and cannot do in the next 24 hours,” Baran opened up the curtain and immediately Jack locked eyes with Dana.
“No, you don’t.”
“Maybe also speak to your therapist about the prescription the next time you go?”
Jack gave you a closed mouth smile. “I already heard that from this one.”
“She knows what she’s talking about it seems,” Baran nodded in approval.
The door opened up and Donnie held it for Jack to escape from. The RN held out his fist, asking Jack wordlessly to bump it.
Jack obliged.
“My man,” Donnie grinned. He slapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder before walking to a computer.
“I’m never filling in for day shift again, ever,” Jack told you over his shoulder.
“All good, Jack?” Dana asked from the hub as you both passed by.
“Never better.” Jack kept going towards the door.
“Thanks Dana for your help,” you said appreciatively. “If he never tells you, he’s thankful too. And I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
The doors to Trauma Bay 2 opened with a whoosh. Jack, still on the slow run on his crutches out of the ED never looked back, but Robby caught sight of him as he sanitized his hands.
“Woah!” He exaggerated. “What’s Jack doing here?”
“He’s going home,” Dana informed and you gave a small wave to Jack’s work wife. He hated when you called Robby that but it didn’t make it any less true.
“Just a little accident.”
“Jack!” Robby called after him but Jack didn’t care.
“Adios! Goodbye!” He said your name loudly followed by a “hurry up!”
You tapped the counter. “Sorry. The princess needs a ride home.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to call him that,” Robby laughed.
“It’s the least of his problems right now.”
They watched you trail behind your husband who, once through the second door, turned and waited for you patiently. You kissed him gently before walking out of view and inside of the PTMC, the world continued to turn.
Robby looked at Dana with a question and Baran walked away before he could ask her anything remotely related to Jack. But Donnie… Donnie just can’t keep anything to himself.
He turned to Robby in his swivel chair.
“Did you know Abbot’s packin’ heat down there?”
A/N: i wrote this straight over three days after not writing for about a year. crazy how that works, huh?
i hope the twitter divas find this.
comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! it keeps us writing!
a loose sequel has been posted: the heart skips a beat
Jack Abbot being your boyfriend would be so so soooo special because that man would literally be your best friend!!
You'd have soooo many shared inside jokes that just make the both of you burst out laughing. He thinks "six seven" is fucking hilarious because its just bullshit and you'll both just be nearly rolling off the couch in tears.
Or or or when he's got you under him, his big hands pressing into the underside of your thighs, rolling his hips into yours, nodding along with every moan and whimper you make, dropping his voice low and soft to ask "y'feelin' okay?" "Yeah? Yeah, there y'go. Thats it— no, put your hand down, I got it."
Or you two snuggling at night, watching tv and youre drawing or scrolling online and you just ask "who do you consider your best friend?"
And Jack sincerely thinks about it for a moment, cos he can tell you really are curious and that youre trying to figure it out before he does — putting money on you thinking its Robby or maybe Parker.
But he just runs his hand up the length of your calve, squeezing the muscle softly as he says, "well... you're my best friend."
And you can see it in the way he knows you. The way he adds your favorite toppings to ice cream for you, the way he massages the back of your neck when you get a headache cos thats the only way to ease the ache, the way he passes by you doing yoga and presses a kiss to the top of your head, the way he holds your hand and walks on the side of the street when you're walking through the city, the way he pulls your sizes from racks cos he already knows what you're more comfortable in, the way he ties your shoes, the way he braids your hair when you ask, the songs you like and the clothes he wears that make you softer or make him more appealing to you, the way he knows you don't like eye contact so he holds you steady with a hand on either side of your face just to tease you, the way he runs the tips of his fingers up and down your arm when you watch movies, or the way he'll send you photos of pretty sunrises on his morning walks or little cute moments like a heart in the clouds or two bunnies nibbling on grass in the middle of field he happened to pass with the caption 'made me think of you'
fem reader x steve harrington
large text version here!
His leg was bent, crossed over his knee. He was squinting down at the book in his hand, index finger resting on his chin. The second he looked up, your eyes widened, a hit in your chest. Stupidly, you thought it would be a good idea to come over after work, but maybe you were too bold. Your fingers curled around the strap of your bag. "Sorry. I, um, let myself in."
"Why're you sorry?" Steve closed his book and tossed it on the cushion next to him. "I left the door unlocked for you. C'mere."
He held out his arms and you gravitated to him, setting your bag down. Sinking into the couch beside him, you leaned into his side, his open arm falling around you.
Scrunching your nose, you said, "I should have changed before I came over. I'm getting my outside clothes on you."
"Outside clothes?" Steve sounded amused.
"Y'know. There are inside clothes and outside clothes? When you change clothes it's like changing mindsets." You felt silly, but he nodded solemnly.
"You can wear some of my inside clothes if you want?" he offered. "That sound okay?"
Fidgeting, you asked, "Wear your clothes?"
"Yeah." He was so casual about something that was tilting your world on its axis. Getting to his feet, he extended a hand. "C'mon. I was gonna offer anyways. It's not fun to hang around the house in jeans."
He seemed…excited? You took his hand and let him guide you up the stairs to his room. Steve went through drawers until he found a sweatshirt, your favorite to see on him, and a pair of grey sweatpants, not unlike the ones he had on now.
"Want me to turn around? Or you can use my bathroom?"
"Turn around," you said, and he nodded, dutifully rotating until his back was facing you. It might be dumb, but you liked having him close.
"Stevie?" The sweatshirt was no problem, but the pants were too big.
He turned around, smiling at the sight of you holding the pants up with one hand. "It's alright. There's a drawstring." Moving closer, he grasped the strings. "It'll make 'em go smaller than this."
You held up the hem of the sweatshirt while he untied the pants, redoing them with surgeon-like precision. His knuckles brushed your tummy and your breath hitched. He looked up at you with the sweetest smile when he was done. The pants were still baggy at your ankles, but they sat better over your hips.
Steve patted your waist with both hands. "Socks. You need socks. It's cold outside." He disappeared and came back with a soft pair with snowflakes patterned around the top. You couldn't help the big smile that slowly spread across your face, mirroring his. He lifted his chin, picking you up around the waist and gently depositing you on the bed.
When you realized what he was doing, you groaned and flopped back. "I can do it myself."
"Yeah, yeah, just let me." He threw one sock over his shoulder and held the other one open. "Foot, please." You gave him the wrong one on purpose and he swatted it away. "The right foot, babe."
Giving in, you stared at the ceiling while he worked the sock over your foot. You made your legs limp so he had to bend the other one, your heel flat on the bed, to put the next sock on. Steve pulled you in by the legs so he could lean in for a kiss. "All better."
You scrunched your nose. "You're silly."
"So 're you!" Steve pulled you up. "Did you bring your book?"
"It's in my bag."
"You wanna read together?"
"Read?" You tilted your head.
"Yeah." He kissed your nose. "I can read my book and you can read yours."
"You're reading a book?"
"Yup."
"Why?" You winced and quickly amended. "Not that you can't read. I just didn't think it was something you're interested in."
"I've got a smart girlfriend. It's time I started acting like it." Steve smiled proudly. "I'm on chapter three."
"What book are you reading?"
"That's a surprise." He threaded his fingers through yours. "Tell you what. When I finish, if I like it, you can tell me what to read next."
"Okay." Even though you were a little confused, the idea of reading together was warm like a cozy cup of tea.
Steve flopped on the couch and patted his lap. "Pillow right here for you, baby." You happily cozied up to him, head cozy thighs, book on your tummy. He put his free arm behind your book, propping it up, hand absentmindedly stroking up and down your side.
You were in heaven. If there was a better place to be, you didn't know of it. Laying in Steve Harrington's lap whilst rereading Pride and Prejudice for the tenth time made your heart beat like the beginning of a song you'd play over and over.
Your shower was heavenly, a gift after a cold winter day. It snowed so hard earlier that Steve called you at work to say he was coming to pick you up. When you walked out, bundled in your coat, he was parked at the curb reading, car warm and ready for you. the second he saw you though, he shut the book and tossed it in the back. "Hi, baby."
Every attempt you made to figure out what he was reading and why only left you with more questions. Whenever you were around, he determinedly wouldn't read it, attention squarely focused on you.
Now, as you walked out with your towel wrapped around you, hair clinging to your neck, you stopped dead in your tracks, sure he was trying to kill you.
Steve was shirtless, hair messy, sitting up against the headboard with the covers pulled up to his hips, book in hand. His bottom lip was pinched between his teeth as he frowned at a sentence. You would usually hold your book with two hands, but he propped it up with just one, reminding you just how big they were. Just when you thought it couldn't get any better, he reached for a pen on his nightstand and underlined something on the page.
You could have melted. This was more erotic than if he was standing in front of you naked. Practically floating over to the bed, you forgot about changing and flopped down next to him. Steve shut his book and smiled at you. "Good shower?"
"Yeah." Holding your towel against your chest, you watched as he slipped his arms around your waist and shifted down, cheek on your hip.
"You sleepy?" Steve propped his chin on your stomach. "Want your pajamas?" Slowly, half your clothes had begun to make their way over to his place. You now had a drawer and a portion of his closet.
Laughing, you gently pushed his head away. "You always baby me."
"You had a big day at work! Didn't you say you were swamped even though it was snowing?" He sat up but didn't let go of your hand.
"We were." A big group of older men came in shopping for their book club, deciding loudly between Crime and Punishment and Hearts Aflame.
He held out his arms. "So let me baby you." When you hesitated , he dipped his chin, giving you a look. "Please? What jammies do you want?"
Your shoulders slumped. "Pink with bows."
"Pink with bows," Steve repeated, leaning in to kiss your nose. "Pink with bows," he muttered to himself as he swung back the covers and stood up. The book was on his nightstand, and you tried to study it from where you were laying. Unfortunately, the plain green jacket offered no clues.
He returned with your pajamas folded, tugging your towel playfully. While you dressed yourself, he waited patiently and kept his eyes on his lap. When you He threaded his arms around you and you buried your head in his chest, the hair there tickling you.
Maybe you were close to your period. Maybe you were overwhelmed from a busy day at work. Or maybe the image of him shirtless reading in bed from earlier grated at your emotions until there was nothing but pure vulnerability left. Tears sprouted in your eyes and you sniffled, arms tightening around him.
"Woah, woah, hey." Steve looked panicked. "You okay? What's wrong?"
Shaking your head, you pulled back and hid your face in your hands. "Nothing. I'm fine."
"Baby, you're crying." He reached for you, hands grazing your sides. "C'mere. How can I make it better?"
"You're making it better." You uncovered your eyes and blinked at him. "I'm sorry. I'm being too much."
"No," he soothed, nose smushing into your head. "Baby-"
"Who's baby?" You giggled through your tears and he pulled you into his chest.
"You. You're my baby." Steve cupped the back of your head, thumb rubbing up and down. "You tired? 'S that why you're crying?"
"No." Sliding your arms around his waist, you buried your face in his torso. His chest hair tickled you and you breathed him in, trying to calm down. "I just…I'm not used to it."
"Hm?" He was looking at you when you removed your head from his pecs.
"You're just sweet," you said softly, tracing his chest. "And you listen to me and you know what I need and it's overwhelming in a good way and…" Your shoulders slumped. "I used your conditioner in the shower. You're letting me sleep in your bed."
Steve was quiet for a moment, then he leaned down to kiss you gently. "I love you." He said it like it was obvious. "So you're gonna get whatever you need."
"You're so soft with me," you said, your fingers subconsciously sliding around his. "You can be such a hothead but you're soft with me. Why are you soft?"
"Cause you deserve it," he said, shifting you to lay on him. "That's what you do when you love someone. That's what you do for me."
"It's confusing because it's new." You burrowed into his armpit on a whim. "I don't understand it yet but I like it and that's why I cry."
Steve nuzzled his chin into your head. "You like it?"
"I love it," you said. "I love you."
"I want you to have whatever you want," he said, searching your eyes. "Anything. I'm all yours."
A comfortable silence fell over the room, and you grew sleepier, his arms heavy around you. He was tender with you, making sure you were covered as much as you needed by the blanket.
"You're really hot," you mumbled into him.
"Too warm in here? I can turn on the air-"
"No." You reached around and pinched his bottom. "Hot."
"Yeah?" Steve took your knee and hooked it over his middle. "I think you're hot."
"Mmm." You drifted off holding him like a teddy bear.
"What's the matter, bub?" Steve was lounging on the bed, watching you scurry around the room in one of his sweatshirts.
"Can't find my bra." You frowned at him. "Are you sitting on it?"
"No." He got up and surveyed his room, hands on his hips. "Huh. Can't remember where I threw it."
"Here!" You retrieved it from atop his pants draped over the chair by his bed, belt still through the loops.
"You're not leavin', are you?" He sat up straighter.
"No. Just organizing." You folded your shirt and pants on top of his, putting your bra neatly on top.
Steve reached for you. "Come back. I have somethin' to show you."
"Mhm?" You turned around, a smile playing at your mouth. "What are you gonna show me?"
"It's a surprise." He made grabby fingers. "C'mere."
"I think I'm good over here actually." You leaned back on one leg. "You look cute from here."
"I look even cuter up close." He wiggled his fingers again. "Baby, seriously." You gave in, inching closer until he could reach you. Steve pulled you down gently, arms wrapped around your waist. "That's better, sweetie."
"You do look cuter up close." You tapped his nose. "Where should I be?"
"Riiight here." He kissed your forehead, dragging into his lap. "I have a surprise for you."
"Is it under the covers?" Raising your eyebrows, you folded your arms. "Attached to you?"
"What? No." He bumped your nose with his. "Get your head out of the gutter. We already did that. This is better."
"Better?" You leaned back, hands on his knees to support yourself.
"Oh yeah." Steve grinned, reaching for his bedside drawer. He pulled out the book he'd been reading for two months with the blank green jacket over it. In a dramatic move, he slid the jacket off to reveal Pride and Prejudice. Your favorite book.
Your eyes widened. "You read it?" There was something blooming in your chest that made you feel like floating.
"Every word." Steve flipped it over, studying the back. "It took awhile cause they use like, a million words to say everything, but it was good." He looked up at you. "Baby, should we have danced together more before we started dating? Or is that an England thing?"
He was teasing. You put your hands on his chest, bunching your fingers in and out. "Definitely should have danced more."
"Aw, I'm sorry. Had no idea." Steve presented the book to you. "I wrote stuff in it. For you."
"You took notes?" You hugged the book to your chest.
"Just like, underlined 'n stuff." He shrugged. "You always say how great it is. I wanted to be able to talk about it with you is all- oof!"
You threw yourself into his arms, burying your face in his neck. Emotion was swelling in your chest, and you didn't know what to do with it. "Thank you."
He clasped his arms around you, cheek smushed into your head. "You're welcome."
You kissed him, smiling against his mouth. "You really liked it?"
"Yeah. It was great." Steve tapped your sides. "So, do you think I'm Mr. Darcy or Mr. Bingley?"
"Mr. Collins."
"The cousin? Aw." He groaned, tilting to the side and bringing you with him. You giggled when he rolled you over so he was resting on top of you, caging you in.
"No, I think you're more like Caroline."
"Baby," he pleaded.
"Mr. Bingley," you decided after a moment of thought to make him squirm.
"You're Jane," he said confidently. "Cause you're sweet."
"That means we're perfect for each other," you said dreamily.
"We are." Steve sat up and pulled you to rest between his legs. You leaned into his chest, happy as a clam. "What should I read next? Since I'm a reader now. It's like English class but better cause you kiss me."
"Well…" You hummed in thought. "Do you want to read something more modern?"
"Nah, give me more old books. I can handle it." His confidence was one of the reasons you loved him. Adjusting his arms around you, he asked, "Did Jane Austen write any other books?"
"A few." You leaned your head back. "I think you'd like Emma."
"What's it about?"
"A girl who likes setting her friends up with her other friends."
"Huh." When he nodded, his chin bumped your crown. "Yeah. Sounds good. Do you have it at the store?"
"You can borrow my copy if you want," you offered.
"I wanna take notes," he said, smoothing his fingers up and down your side. "Don't wanna ruin your copy when I write a dumb comment on the side."
"Well, maybe you should have your own copy so you can reread it," you decided, shifting to your side and nuzzling your head into his chest. It still filled you with wonder that you felt so comfortable doing it now. He was all yours. And you were his, completely. "Start a collection for yourself."
"I'm gonna need a bookcase," he mused. "Course, when we get a place together we'll need a few anyways for all your books."
He never failed to astonish you. There was a lot to dissect in that sentence, starting with the fact that your books were starting to overflow from the little bookcase in your room and ending with him wanting to move in with you. You shelved it away for later. "I'll get you a copy of Emma on Monday."
"I can just come in. I like seeing you at work." He threaded his fingers with yours on your tummy.
Smiling softly, you tucked your head under his chin. A moment or two passed quietly. You pulled the hem of his boxers up when you realized your angle was making them ride down. "I'm still not used to all this."
Steve kissed your hair. "I'm getting better at reading and you're getting better at letting me love you. We're doing important work."
a rafe blurb i thought of while on the train!
contents: fluff
wc: 265
rafe's the type of boyfriend to secretly love going shopping with you.
he'll look all grumpy while waiting for you to leave your house. his eyes softening when he sees you come outside, your eyes twinkling with joy as you skipped to his truck.
rafe would grumble under his breath when you press a glossy kiss onto his cheek, knowing he wasn't going to wipe the pink, glittery substance off.
he's the type to act disinterested in whatever you're talking about while waiting for your sugary coffee to be prepared. his thumb brushes your knuckles as he listens to you tell the same story for the millionth time.
rafe would lock his finger in the belt loop of your denim miniskirt, tuning out everything except the clicking of your heels.
he'll cross his arms against his chest when you waltz into beauty stores, standing as if he wasn't going to leave the store with swatches of blush, highlight, and bronzer on his arms.
rafe would sit on the seat in the dressing room, face deadpanned while you piled clothes over him, as if he wasn't drinking in each pose you did for him, thinking of what outfit he'd ruin first.
rafe would act like he hated paying, knowing he would dare let you pay for anything when he was or wasn't around.
he'll sigh while carrying your bags, as if the bags were light as a feather to him. knowing he wasn't letting you hold anything but your purse.
rafe's the type to melt into mush internally when you kiss him as a thank you.
steve who loves to nuzzle his nose into the crook of your neck whenever he asks for something because he knows it'll make you say yes. steve who likes to absently roll himself over you like a ragdoll when you aren't giving him enough attention because he now craves it. steve who for so long was deprived of touch and affection now knowing what it's like because of you and realising it's his love language. steve who slips his hands into the back pockets of your pants or wraps his arms around your waist constantly because he can't stand to not have you near. steve who finally feels loved and seen because of you and wants the whole world to know it.
the concept of steve helping lucas practice basketball like even a year out before tryouts (this would take place before the battle of starcourt), jumping on the subject enthusiastically literally as soon as lucas expressed interest in the sport.
that leaves you and max, the girlfriends who are awful at cheerleading. can’t help but look at each other and attempt to stifle your giggles when they go “this ones for you!” and miss, when steve starts believing he’s an actual NBA coach and talking like one, telling lucas to ‘take a lap’. you couldn’t contain the snort that left your lips, even over the rim of your lemonade glass.
“oh, i’m sorry,” steve turned to you, breathless, sweaty, gleaming, “you have something to say from the bench, hon?”
you give a shrug in response, smirking. “just admiring the view.”
max and lucas gag in unison.
“yeah, yeah, nice save.” steve mutters, but the flush on his cheeks and dopey smile pulling at his lips betray him.
the chimes of the ice cream truck’s jingle sound across the street for the second time this afternoon. steve practically activates, running into his house to grab his wallet. “no popsicles this time. no, sinclair has earned himself a cone.” he declared, flagging down the truck.
“and us?” you and max prompted at the same time.
he fixed you two with a look. “you already know you get whatever you want. and then, by extension, max.” he gestured. “anything the ladies want…” he fanned out a couple bills. “the ladies get.” he looked over his shoulder. “take notes sinclair.”
lucas gives an eager thumbs up as he douses himself in gatorade.
part 1(? hopefully) of a stevereader & lumax adventures series :)
