Smutty thots about Ted having the most perverse ass crush after meeting reader maybe 3 times? like obsessed w reader and he is always following them around like a dumb dog and they end up fucking back at their place despite just meeting 🥸
yesss i gotchu
ted x reader blurb
nsfw under the cut
sfw:
first time ted meets you from a friend it’s like love at first sight
like he’s jaw agape and blushing right away
he stumbles his words as he tries to talk to you and you just laugh cause it’s cute
and his obsession begins
he’s taking lots and lots of pictures of you on his disposable camera, getting all giddy when he develops them and sees your pretty self
he sticks them around his office and bedroom to remind himself that he will be with you sooner or later.
when he gets invited to your place, he is ESTATIC
hes dressing up real nice but not too classy, making sure his glasses are all clean
he just wants to impress you 💕
when he arrives, he’s giving you a big hug that seems a little too friendly
maybe smelling your hair to take in your scent
he sits down next to you on the couch, heart pounding
he has to make a move whether you like it or not.
nsfw:
he jerks off to the photos, let’s be real
half-lidded eyes and disheveled brown locks draped over his forehead
he whines and groans as he strokes himself, your body and pretty face clouding his mind.
”wish you were here… fuck!” he gasps out your name as his hips come to a halt, cumming all over his hand.
back at your place, he decides to move closer, slotting his hand on your cheek as he asks:
“can i try something?…”
when you do agree, he’s digging tf in
he begins slow, kissing you and prays that you're enjoying it
but at the end of the day he doesnt give two shits
he eventually has you laid down on your couch, yanking your shorts off and throwing your panties somewhere.
he admires your pussy for a moment before licking a flat stripe on your folds
with a moan escaping your lips, he knows you are in for a ride
as he’s eating you out, you notice that he’s whining and groaning more than you are moaning.
its like he was enjoying this… craving for this, even.
when he finally props you up on all fours, he chucks his jeans off to nowhere
looking over your shoulder, you see that he is rock hard in his fucking boxers
you giggle but that smirk is gonna be wiped off your face
entering in, you let out a cry as you plead him to hold on.. but he doesnt
he slips right in all the way, savouring the warmth and tightness of your core
“so fucking tight all for me.”
slamming into you at a steady pace, you moan and cry out in pleasure as he keeps on going
he’s muttering soft apologies, leaning down and kissing your shoulder blades
“you were made for me, don’t fucking lie.” he whispers in your ear.
all you can do is nod vigorously as you writhe underneath him.
hopefully this will convince you enough to be his.
if not, he’s gonna have to do this a couple more times.
may we explore the idea of jack abbot lowkey baby trapping you as well 👀
well, yes we may !!!
content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, f!reader, age gap, talk about babies / parenthood, manipulation, baby trapping, breeding kink.
jack “i don’t want kids” abbot who starts seeing things differently once he witnesses you walking around the ED while holding a patients baby on your hip, after being asked to watch the eight month old for a moment. you’re waving the baby’s pudgy hand at your coworkers as you walk past, cooing to the little one and making sure you’re light on your feet but careful as you navigate through the department.
he can’t shake the image out of his head even after the patient and her baby have been discharged. he’s still thinking about it once shift change goes smoothly and you two leave the hospital, actually. he can picture it so perfectly. sunday mornings filled with the sound of baby babbles and cartoons on the TV, a baby crib by your shared bed and pacifiers around the house. and at the center of it all, you walking around barefoot and happy with your precious baby in your arms.
now, jack has never been the type to be deceitful. he’s always been honest to a fault, actually. but suddenly he’s not reminding you to take your birth control, going as far as hiding it and even helping you look for it despite knowing exactly where it is one morning. of course he feels guilty. of course he knows it’s wrong. but he can’t bring himself to admit that he wants a baby after years of denying himself that possibility. maybe a part of him is mad you made him fold.
it’s not until you’re bouncing in his lap, hands on his thick shoulders to steady yourself as you move your hips just how he taught you— just how he likes it— that the truth more or less comes out. every time you drop yourself down, you pant out a breath and a whimper falls from your lips. his hands slide up your waist and settle on your upper back, feeling your dewy skin as he pulls you closer until your bare chest is flush with his and you’re mewling against his stubble covered jaw.
jack huffs out a laugh in return, always amused by your unwillingness to slow things down and your need to be fucked stupid.
“you’re movin’ like you want me to put a baby in you, y’know—” he rumbles, guiding you to rock against him as his own hips shift upwards to meet you there. he shushes your little gasp, watching you peer up at him through your lashes and your lips pout as he speaks. “hm? how’s that sound, sweet girl? wanna give your old man a baby?”
the way you squeak out yes yes yes sounds like a prayer to him.
John and you return from the sea to your new home, make it truly yours room by room.
NSFW
47. The First Night
You left the sea with salt still on your cuffs and sand in the hems, the coach taking the familiar bend in the lane as if it, too, remembered how to arrive.
The willow lifted its green head to look, the river made its quiet, pleased sound. John rapped the roof once, impatient only with happiness, and jumped down to offer his hand.
“Home,” he said, softer than the word usually is.
“Home,” you answered, and the gate seemed to understand.
The rosemary by the step had already thrown a brave handful of new leaves. A small, brass back-door lock gleamed, your brother’s peace offering, tidy and stout. Along the long garden wall, a military line of brand-new hooks waited, each one straight as a parade. Someone (Mr. Price, obviously) had chalked PUNCH on a crate and set it near absolutely nothing except the idea of a band.
John did not let go of your hand. He turned the key with you, the latch gave with the courteous little click you loved, and the house breathed you in.
They had been restrained, just as promised. In the front parlor, a rug with quiet colors made the floor tell the truth. Two chairs: one that forgave muddy boots, one by the morning corner that would never refuse a shawl. The dining room had a table that could be too small and exactly right at once, and one leaf tucked beneath for the days your life forgot itself and grew. In the library, a row of shelves had been dusted back into good behavior, a modest stack of books waited, the Psalms, two volumes of Pliny who would not mind being ignored, a cookbook with a stain that looked like cinnamon, and a blank ledger Violet had labeled Household Mercies.
The scullery’s new shelves stood square, stern, and good, the range looked as if it would refuse to smoke even when insulted. In the hall hung a small key rack, three pegs and a nail, waiting for the habit of arriving. Your ammonite, sent ahead with the letters, sat on the parlor mantel beside Benedict’s sketch and Ghost’s compass, the odd little reliquary of how one finds a life.
“Approved,” John murmured, thumb skimming over your ring as if to settle it in its new geography.
“Completely,” you said, and leaned back into him because you could, because he stood exactly close enough to make the house know who belonged.
He was all small attentions as you walked the rooms, steadying your step over a threshold that would learn you soon enough, tucking an escaped curl behind your ear in the library, bending with effortless grace to flick a grain of travel-dust from your hem. At the stair he touched the underside of your wrist with two fingers, that quiet question he asks when he wants to be sure your breath and his are keeping the same time. You nodded, his shoulders unknotted without a word.
Upstairs, the bedchamber wore fresh linen and a narrow quilt your mother must have supervised, the stitches honest, the pattern sensible. In the little “study” a neat table had found the north window, a clean sheet of paper waited with a pencil laid ready. Your name, written in your father’s hand on the corner of the page, made your throat tighten in the pleasant, aching way of things begun correctly.
“Later,” John murmured at the doorway. “We christen it with a letter about how the sea was too loud.”
“And how you were upright,” you teased, and he laughed softly against your hair, his mouth brushing your temple once, then once more simply because he could.
They saved the garden for last.
The orchard had remembered them. Bees fussed in the apple-blossom, the allée lay prim and promising. He offered his arm, you took it, and he set his hand over yours, thumb drawing an absent-minded, reverent circle on your knuckles as he always does when his heart is louder than his voice.
“Plans?” he asked, respectful of your kingdom.
“Peas along the south fence,” you said. “Cosmos for the bees. Rosemary hedge in time, but pots for now. Your father will insist on lemon in a tub, we shall humor him within reason.”
“Lanterns along the wall,” he added, eyeing the line of hooks like a captain reviewing his men. “First one at the door. Second by your studio window. Third…here.” He stopped where the path widened, picturing a table that could hold bread and gossip. “So we can eat when we forget to go inside.”
You looked up. “And there,” you said, pointing.
The bench under the willow waited by the river, its plank lightly carved, UNDER THE WILLOW, with a date and a flourish that was unmistakably your father. It had the right arrogance: broad enough for a sleeping child, a tired captain, and a sketchbook.
John’s palm found the small of your back, you felt the warm, unhurried weight of it even through cloth, felt the way he anchors you with that touch without ever pinning you down. At the bench he turned you in, back to his chest, his chin folding into the shelf of your shoulder as the river did what it always does, wrote and wrote.
“Tell me when we plant,” he murmured, voice at your ear, too soft for the birds. “Tell me where to build. Tell me which rooms need my hands and which need me to stand out of the light.”
“All of them need all of you,” you said, and his breath stuttered once, the sound you pretend not to hear when you’ve said exactly the right thing.
He kissed the hinge of your jaw, no hurry, no spectacle, daylight simple and possessive in the best way, and then your knuckles, and then the inside of your wrist where your pulse applauded him. “Welcome home,” he said again, as if the words were a tool that made the world line up.
“Welcome home,” you returned, turning in his arms to face him, your hands running the lapels of his coat back into their proper lines because attentiveness should be a two-way trade.
They walked the perimeter once more, the captain checking gates and you checking sun angles, he lifted the latch on the new back lock and gave it a soldier’s nod, you tested the scullery shelf with a palm and smiled when it refused to wobble. He lit the kettle because that is how a Price declares a house open, you hung the first lantern at the door because that is how a Price says a house will stay kind after dark.
“Punch table?” he asked, mock-solemn, setting the crate in the correct spot purely to please two fathers.
“Near the band,” you decreed, and the wind had the indecency to sound like laughter.
He caught your hand again as if remembering it every thirty seconds, and together you took the first slow, attentive rounds of the place that would hold your days, touching where future habits would live, speaking aloud the small decisions that make a life, learning the creak of the stair, the temper of the latch, the way the garden path curves you back to the bench whether you meant to sit or not.
By the time the kettle sang, the rooms knew your names, by the time the tea breathed its steam between you, the house did too. He handed you your cup, fingers grazing yours in that steady, proprietary way, and looked out across your little world with the contented violence of a man who had wanted one thing for a very long time and finally held it.
“Shall we walk it again?” he asked.
“Every evening,” you said. “Until the willow learns our steps.”
“It already has,” he said, and proved it by kissing you under it, slow and sure, before you went in to put the cups by the sink and your rings on the sill and your key on the peg that would never again be empty.
The staff had retired for the evening, their final bows given and final tasks complete. The house had been lit with low lanterns in every room you might cross. A tray of biscuits and a small decanter of port had been left on the corner table by the window. Everything else was still, quiet in that sacred way a house becomes once everyone else has gone to sleep.
You stood in the shared bedchamber, your bedchamber, dressed in your nightgown, barefoot on the soft rug John had insisted upon, fingers absently toying with the embroidery of your sleeve.
John crossed from the door, having checked the final lock, and paused in the doorway as if taking a mental portrait of this moment. You, in his home. You, here. In a room you would sleep in together every night. For the first time.
He looked impossibly handsome, shirt sleeves rolled, hair slightly tousled from running his hand through it, trousers loosened just enough to show the comfort of the hour.
“You’re staring,” you murmured with a soft smile, your voice low like a hush.
“I’ve earned it,” he said simply.
You blushed, shaking your head but not moving away as he approached. His hands came to rest lightly on your waist, warm, callused, familiar. His nose brushed yours as he leaned in.
“Still nervous?” he asked.
You shook your head. “Not nervous. Just… it feels like a dream.”
He smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You’re not dreaming. But I can understand why you might think so.”
The bed was already turned down. Anna had set the pillows just so, even placed a sprig of lavender on the coverlet. But it was not Anna’s presence that settled you, it was John’s.
He lit only one candle by the nightstand, casting the room in amber gold. He moved slowly, attentively, folding his waistcoat over the chair, placing his watch on the small tray by the window, and coming to you again.
The sheets were soft, the bed wide, but it was John who made you feel safe. The door was locked. The candle flickered low. His body stretched beside yours, solid and warm, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, and his gaze nothing short of reverent as it swept over you.
“Come here, Mrs. Price,” he murmured, voice like honeyed whiskey.
You did. Crawled right into his lap, straddling him, letting your nightdress slip up your thighs as his hands came to rest just beneath the hem. He let out a breath, deep and trembling, and cupped your hips.
“Look at you,” he whispered, pulling you forward so your chest pressed to his, your lips brushing just shy of his mouth. “My wife.”
That word. That word undid something in you.
You kissed him first, soft and then desperate, your fingers threading into his hair, nails gently scratching his scalp as he groaned against your tongue. His hands tightened at your waist, guiding you, rolling his hips up into you, making you feel the weight of what he’d been holding back for months.
“John,” you whimpered, gasping as his hands slid up, palms warm and large over your ribcage, thumbs brushing the swell of your breasts through the thin cotton.
He kissed down your jaw, your neck, his teeth scraping lightly where your pulse thundered. “Gonna take my time,” he promised, breath hot against your collarbone. “No one to rush us now.”
He eased you back onto the bed, following you down. Your nightgown was bunched beneath your arms, and he helped lift it over your head, leaving you bare for him.
His breath hitched. “Fuckin’ perfect.”
He kissed you again, slower this time, letting his hand travel, exploring you like he was memorizing a map. His mouth followed, down your throat, across your chest, over your breasts, pausing to kiss the space between them before taking one into his mouth.
You arched, a soft cry escaping you as he sucked gently, tongue flicking over your nipple, the other hand rolling the other between callused fingers. He groaned when you writhed beneath him, savoring every reaction.
You tugged at his shirt until he pulled it off, tossing it somewhere across the room. His bare chest was warm, his shoulders broad and golden in the candlelight. Your nails skimmed down his chest, his stomach, to the waistband of his trousers.
“Please,” you whispered, trembling.
He kissed your lips again, then pressed his forehead to yours. “Are you sure, love?”
You nodded. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
His trousers came off. Then yours. And suddenly there was nothing between you.
He moved over you slowly, fitting himself between your thighs, kissing you through every tremble. One hand held your cheek, the other cupped behind your knee, guiding your leg to wrap around his hip.
When he pushed in, slow, careful, thick and overwhelming, you both gasped.
You clung to him. He buried his face in your neck, groaning your name, whispering praises against your skin.
“So tight, love. So warm. Took me so well, fuck.”
The stretch stung at first, but he was so gentle. So patient. He kissed away every flicker of doubt. And when he began to move, deep, slow rolls of his hips, it was nothing but pleasure.
You felt every inch of him. Every promise. Every vow. Every ounce of love he poured into the way he fucked you.
“Mine,” he growled softly, kissing you again. “All mine. No one else will ever have you like this.”
You arched to meet him, hands splaying over his back, your nails digging in as you moaned.
“John, please, don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” he swore. “Not ever.”
The bed creaked. The candle burned low. And as your body trembled around him, as he spilled into you with a groan and a curse, you knew this was more than just sex.
It was devotion.
It was forever.
And it was just the beginning.
🌹✨🕯️🌙✨🌹✨🕯️🌙✨🌹✨🕯️🌙✨
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don’t think about his pretty face, that gorgeous smile.
don’t think about how good he looks with his shirt off.
don’t think about his hands, how big they are.
don’t think about him dwarfing your bed.
don’t think about his hands trailing up your thighs while he’s trying to charm you.
don’t think about those lips, plush and full, telling you all the right things, ghosting over your jaw, your neck, your collar.
don’t think about his big hands on your waist, teasing the waistline of your bottoms, while he’s telling you what a pretty girl you are.
don’t think about him getting you off once on his fingers, and again on his tongue, still in those stupid grey sweatpants.
don’t think about his shit-eating grin when he looks up and down your body, proud of all the bites and the way your thighs are trembling delicately.
don’t think about the cadence of his voice dropping when he tells you what a good girl you are, or when he tells you to beg when you start pawing at his sweatpants.
don’t think about his dick, or the face he makes when you tell him it looks like it’s just too big. you can’t possibly take it.
don’t think about the way it sets you off when he assures you that you can take it, but he’ll just give you the tip.
just the tip.
a false promise. one that you’re willing to believe in once he lines up with your aching, dripping hole. it feels right when he tuts, mocking your little whimpers and moans as he begins to push in.
don’t think about the way it stretches your entrance open. just the tip. the way he holds you there so that you can’t move. he coos at you—just the tip.
and maybe both of you can’t take it anymore. he’s the dominant one, but it’s making him sweat. it’s making you cry—you just want him so badly. poor thing. he knows it. he wants it too.
so maybe he inches in. ever so slightly. and you cry out his name. so he keeps going. sinking in, stretching you out, making you feel every. single. inch. and maybe once he bottoms out, he grunts out your name, and maybe you lean up to kiss him.
don’t think about it.
don’t think about it at all.
(heh)
(likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3)
description box: rick knows it’s wrong, but he can’t keep his hands off you.
warnings: slight nsfw warning, mostly a drabble , prison!era
RICK THINKS IT’S SO CUTE actually, this little crush you have on him. it’s so obvious by the way you’re always looking for him when you enter a room, or the way you always giggle at his jokes—they’re rarely actually funny but you seem to think they are—and the way you always puff your chest a little when he’s there, as if you’re trying to get his attention.
and he lets you. lets you indulge your little fantasies. lets you follow him around. lets you cling to his arm.
he knows he probably should put an end to it—for god’s sake, you’re half his age! he could be your father! but you’re such a pretty, young thing; such an emotional and sensitive soul and so dependent on him, you’re as cute as a button and he just can’t bring himself to.
you’re a crybaby. so sweet. can’t get anything done without him, but rick secretly likes it, he likes the way you need him to do simple things for you like opening a bottle. he’ll flex his arms while he’s doing it and watch you almost drool over his arm muscles. it’s so adorable, really, he thinks.
or when you need help reaching something high in the shelf. he’ll grind up against you, hand on your waist, as he reaches up. he loves the way your breath hitches nervously and the way your frame almost disappears in comparison to his height.
sometimes you’ll even fake problems. you’re not even trying to open that box, you just straight up make your way to rick, demanding he opens this box for you. you think you’re so clever; that he doesn’t notice, but he does.
you make him feel like he’s young again. like he’s twenty years old and still desirable. rick knows you think otherwise, by god you’ve made that obvious. he could’ve taken you right there at the shelf and he knows you would’ve let him, would’ve let him do unspeakable things to your body, would’ve let him have you. but he didn’t. because he has a ring on his finger. because he has a son. because he has a daughter. and although he doesn’t have a wife anymore, he restricts himself from any kind of contact this way.
but right now, he somehow doesn’t seem to care, not when he has you like this—legs propped up over his shoulders, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, tears and runny mascara on your cheeks and marks all over your neck and chest.
he loves it when you’re like this. so unravelled. so messy. so pretty.
and he can’t help himself—he just has to have you.
Simon Riley is a strict top not because he's naturally dominant in the way people assume, but because he just...doesn't allow himself to he anything else.
Ghost is never the one being penetrated because that is a vulnerability he doesn't trust anyone to handle. He expects a gun to the back of his head if he rolls onto his tummy and begs like he wants to.
"Fuck yer loud–" he grunts into your ear, a firm hand between your shoulder blades keeping you pressed down. He ignores the hollow ache inside him when he asks "does it feel good? Hm? Tell me how's it feel to take my cock, sergeant."
"Big! Big– so full, sir. You feel you good." You ramble mindlessly, and ghost live vicariously through you. In a way he's fucking himself, giving you the thing he craves.
A rough palm slides over your cock, jerking you off rough. Mostly ghost is fantasizing about what it would feel like in him. How it would feel to be the fragile thing under you.
As soon as the urge comes, it passes all the same. He fills you up and cleans you methodically, distanced. He can't imagine ever trusting someone to handle himself the way he handles you. Too damn vulnerable. Too damn risky.
He'll swallow the bites he can get and he'll tell himself he's full.
A/N: Finally got around to watching Rez Ball last night. Thank you to TikTok for putting me on! This is just a tiny little thing since the fandom doesn’t exist up here just like Rez Dogs (shockingly not shocked) and I thought it would be nice of me to feed the tag for those who are looking for some fics like I did right after I finished watching that beautiful film 🤩
PROMPTS ARE FROM HERE & I’m using: 10. “Well…you grabbed my hand first.” + SCENARIOS — 13. Decorating for Halloween.
<- read my previous October anthology prompt here.
You had no business doing what you’re doing right now.
Which is exactly why you’re doing it with no parental supervision.
You’re outside using only a stool and one of the pillars that surrounded the front door to the stucco and block home as leverage to get on top of your house. You were on a mission and that mission was decorating for Halloween.
The goal was to cover the home with skeletons and spiders, almost as if it were an infestation taking over the home. The front stoop was already done with a stack of pumpkins that you DIY-ED into a tower on both sides of the door, that was easy part, but you were always up for a challenge to complete the exterior decor.
The closest thing to a ladder that you had was the stepping stool and you couldn’t “borrow” your next door neighbors anymore so you had to improvise. Already tossing a few of the skeletons in the bag up onto the home, the next task was pulling your body up and over.
You never had the best upper body strength so out of a panic, your lower half scrambled around knocking the stool over after you slipped trying to pull yourself up.
“Shit!” You exhaled, knowing that you’d have to drop yourself if you couldn’t push yourself all the up on your own. You just hoped you didn’t land the wrong way…again.
Of course you tried but your body didn’t want you to win today.
“Here,” a low voice called out as the scrapping of the stool was placed back where it once was.
Peeking only down at the stool, you placed your feet down one at a time before getting down, unknowingly taking the warm hand that helped you down the rest of the way.
Huffing you threw your head back as you sat on the stool, other hand going to block the autumn sun from your view just to peer up at some pretty hazel eyes.
“You alright?” There’s a small smile of amusement on his lips.
Jimmy Holiday.
Your heart was already racing but now the butterflies decided to start acting up too! And that’s when you realized your hand was still being held onto and you snatched it back.
“I had it.”
Jimmy folded his arms underneath his pits as he stated sarcastically, “Oh really? You would have broke some more bones if it wasn’t for me and you know it.”
Scoffing you don’t even bother to look down at the compression sleeve that covered your left knee, “First of all, I don’t need a savior Jimmy, thank you. Also, what the hell are you doing here anyway?”
Jimmy shrugs, “I was on my way to Dezbah and Bryson’s, I left something over at their spot last night and of course they’re too hungover to bring it to me so…And imagine on my way by I see: a bird? A plane? No, a whole person that looked a whole lot like you trying to get on top of their house.”
“Minding your business is free.” You sass with a flick of your hair behind you while Jimmy rolls his eyes up to the sky.
“So these are the things I get for helping you out?”
“Does that also mean holding my hand?” You argue, you knew you were being absolutely ridiculous right now but it was easier to be this way than to give in and tell the star basketball player that you wanted to kiss him right on his stupid mouth.
Jimmy furrowed his brows, “Well…you grabbed my hand first.”
Gagging you say, “I would never! I don’t know where anything on you has been.”
Jimmy smirked and lifted his chin, “yeah you did but keep being delusional and see how far that gets you.” He even kicked at your stool lightly, “It’s okay to say that you enjoy hand holding, arent girls into physical touch?”
“Please stop talking.” You mutter at that generalization, “I’m sure you can get that from any other girl who drooled over you at the party last night.”
That attitude of yours was something.
After the death of your shared friend, Nataanii Jackson the both of you grieved in different ways. Jimmy got more into basketball and you tried to distance yourself. Jimmy and Nataanii were childhood friends, whereas you moved to Chuska freshman year and met Nataanii first. At first you thought maybe he was just interacting with you because he had something to prove after becoming a warrior. You weren’t into the whole clique scene and found it hard making friends in the beginning, still highly upset that you left your small group back on another rez but you were thankful that Nataanii Jackson became a good friend of yours.
And with Nataanii came Jimmy.
The both of you often talked shit to each other and liked giving each other a hard time but underneath it all there was still love there. Then unfortunately that platonic love became something more…at least on your part.
“I think y’all would be cute,” Nataanii teased you one time at lunch during junior year, “I can see the wedding bells now and you should just tell him or I could do it for you? I make the perfect wingman.”
You almost choked on your apple juice as you watched the braided man glance over his shoulder where Jimmy was sitting with the rest of the team. There was a girl who squeezed herself right in between Jimmy and Levi, her hand running up and down Jimmy’s arm as she flirted with him and of course Jimmy was all smiles, just eating the attention right on up.
“Yo Jim—
Nataanii starts but you’re reaching over the table to yank on his collar, bringing his face closer to you so you can slap a hand right over his mouth, “Taanii no!”
You can feel him grinning underneath your hand but that doesn’t stop Jimmy making his way over to you two nonetheless.
“Why you worried about any of them anyway?”he quizzed you, eyes tightening.
Scoffing you quickly move your attention else where, picking at the loose thread from your compression sleeve, “please, far from worried.”
“You’re the one who disappeared and left early.”
“So?”
“So?” Jimmy pressed, “Why is it every time some other girls are around me, you’re nowhere to be found?”
It’s your turn to frown, “Do you want me to be sick watching them fall all over you, Jimmy? Is that going to feed your ego better or something?”
Jimmy blinks, “You know what I think? I think you’re a bad liar. Always have been.”
You snapped, “What exactly have I lied about?”
“You don’t have one of those corny guys you were talking to, to come help you with these decorations? I heard when I went off to recruitment camp, you were entertaining that lame ass dude who looks like Harry Potter.” He taunts.
Your eyes go wide.
“And who exactly did you hear that from? Your most reliable source? Bryson’s dumbass?” You get up from the stool, pulling it into place and start walking towards your front door, “Like I said, I don’t need anybody’s help, let alone some non existent guy you think I’m talking to.”
“Lies.” Jimmy coughed from behind you, which irritated you more.
Slamming the stool against the front door of the home, you ball your fist into your side, “Call me a liar one more time—
“What’s gonna happen? You and your crappy knee going to jump me or something?”
Poking your tongue into your cheek with a raise of your brow, you size him up and what did you do that for? Jimmy decided to grow his hair out for the two months he was at camp and if you weren’t so frustrated you may have completely folded.
So you shoved him, “I can still kick your scrawny ass.”
He laughs as if you didn’t, “Yeah? You’re just mad your lies caught up to you and Dez finally snitched on your ass but alright, you want to fight instead of acknowledging the truth, fine? Let’s go.”
That’s when Jimmy knew he had you because you stepped back and froze.
“What? What did she tell you?”
Jimmy shrugs trying to be coy, “That you got a crush and it ain’t on Harry Potter.”
“There is no—
You started but stopped as you bit down on your bottom lip before continuing, “I don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m getting tired of looking at your face so I’m gonna leave.”
With your back to Jimmy he decides to finally let the ball drop, “Stop being so mean and just admit that you’re in love with me already, damn.”
Deeply exhaling, you can feel your heartbeat in your ears now. Of course somebody close to you ratted you out. It was a miracle that Nataanii kept his mouth shut this long about your little crush that wasn’t so little. Yet it was Dezbah (who was most likely drunk at the time) who ratted you out. She figured it out long before you admitted it to Nataanii. And now you were ready to fight her (again.) regardless if she whooped your ass or not.
“I…”
Then you tried to book it to your front door but of course Jimmy caught you by the elbow. The guy was as tall as the street lights so surely he had the advantage.
“Nope. Not uh, stop running.” He demanded from behind you, gently pulling on you so that you’d finally face him.
He tilts your face up by the chin with his finger so you can meet his honey eyes. “…Would it be so bad if I said…I like you too?”
You laugh before covering your smile, “I’d call you a liar then.”
“I’m not,” Jimmy boldly said, “and to prove it…you should let me kiss you.”
Internally you definitely screamed but your eyes flicked to the lips you thought about way too often plenty of times before.
“How do I know you’re not just toying with me?”
Jimmy lightly shakes his head, “‘Cause I wouldn’t do that? I liked you the first moment I saw you up in the bleachers since Nataanii and I thought you wouldn’t take up his invitation to come to our practice, ‘Miss. I don’t do large crowds.’ You even rooted for me when we were still trying to get to know each other as friends and that meant a lot.” He says bringing up the memory where you skipped study hall to come to their practice which made you smile a bit before he continued, “Also my mom would probably beat my ass if she heard I broke somebody’s heart and vice versa, if my heart got broken. She doesn’t like to show it but she’s also a sucker for a good love story. So promise me you won’t break mine?”
Slowly feeling yourself nodding you say, “Okay.”
Cautiously he pinched at your chin again, guiding your face right to his. Jimmy stops just before your lips, feeling each of your breaths tickling the other while he admired how gorgeous you looked up close and personal. He even tried to tuck some hair out of the way behind your ear, taking his precious time and smiled as the hair poked right back out from your ear.
“Hurry up, scarecrow.” You mumble.
Which makes him smirk, “relax, you’re so bossy.”
“And you’re so irritating.”
Which makes him press his lips right to yours, shutting you up for good. In that moment you felt like your heart exploded as your lips moved together, noses brushing against each other. Jimmy’s lips were incredibly soft and he took his time, holding onto you with great care, even if there was a hint of static the moment your lips connected. That was enough urge to keep you two going and it felt like you could kiss him for hours.
You “hated” it.
Yet you can feel him smiling as you sighed against him just before he pulls back to get a look at you, with your eyes still closed.
“…anybody home?” He jokes.
You groan, moving to bury your head against his chest while he laughed, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, “that was better than I imagined too.”
It actually felt nice to finally experience this and maybe you should be thanking Dezbah, as soon as you got over your annoyance of her ratting you out.
“…where does this leave us now?”
“Well, I’d like to take you on a date sometime.” He says pulling you back to cradle your face, with a stupid smile on his own.
That made your stomach flip, “really?”
“Yeah…if you’re down?” He peers at you from underneath his eyelashes, making sure that you knew he was serious with how intently he stared into your eyes.
You breathe out a smile, “I guess that’ll be cool…as long as you don’t eat all my food.”
“I’m a gentleman.”
“Eh…so only now you’re a gentleman? Because I can’t tell you how many times you stole a lot of my food during lunch?”
He attempts to defend himself, “…That’s what friends are for?”
“Are we that anymore?”
“Nah. Something better,” He grins as you stood on your tippy toes to kiss his lips once more.
No longer a secret, Jimmy Holiday was now yours and he already loved having you in return.
He thinks.
“I told you I had it!” You say as Jimmy lifts you up on his shoulders to help you on top of the house.
Jimmy sucks his teeth, “Stop your yappin’ baby and just accept that this is boyfriend stuff, acts of service or whatever. This is my job.”
“Who said you’re my boyfriend?” You peek out from over the top of house, pointing the skeleton hand at the olive skinned boy.
Jimmy squints up at you, “oh I’m not? I guess I can go mind my business then.”
“…Don’t you dare leave me up here!” You call out at his back.
Jimmy smirks over his shoulder at you, “that’s what I thought.”
Then a middle finger is sent his way and he can’t help but to kiss his lips up at you.
Summary: A routine ER shift takes a sharp turn when Jack makes one thing clear—you were never just friends.
A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.
Masterlist
The emergency department was loud.
Not the usual kind of loud, but the kind of noise that settled into your bones after a while, monitors beeping, voices overlapping across the floor, stretchers rattling past. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and stale coffee, the kind that had been sitting from the start of the shift but would still get drunk anyway.
You were leaning against the nurse’s station, half-focused on a chart in front of you, pen tapping lightly against the clipboard as you filled in the last few details. The charts were overwhelming, and you were hoping to get caught up before you were needed again.
“I need someone in room three with me,”
Jack yelled, not even looking up as he flipped through the newly picked-up chart, then, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re coming.”
You didn't even argue. Duty called, and charting could wait.
“Wow,” you muttered, pushing off the counter. “I didn't even get a please.”
“You say that like you had a choice,” Jack muttered, already moving down the hall.
And you followed anyway.
Room three wasn't anything dramatic, thankfully. The patient, an older man, maybe in his late sixties, sat propped up in bed with the blanket pulled over his lap. He had a pair of reading glasses perched low on his nose and glanced up the second you both walked in.
Jack slipped into his usual tone immediately as he examined.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Abbot,” he said, voice steady, professional. He gestured to you briefly.
“This is–”
But you cut him off. “Hi, I’m with him. We’ll be here to take good care of you.”
The man hummed, watching the two of you closely.
You moved around the room easily, grabbing the blood pressure cuff, checking the heart monitor, and adjusting the IV line so it wouldn't get tangled. It was all just second nature at this point. Jack asked the man questions; you filled in the gaps, handing him things before he even needed to ask.
It was quiet coordination. Familiar. Comfortable.
The man’s gaze flickered between you, a small smile forming as he leaned back against the pillows.
“You two remind me of my wife and me when we were younger,” he said suddenly.
You paused, glancing over at him with a grin. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, clearly pleased with himself. “Same flow. She always knew what I needed before I admitted it.” His eyes shifted towards Jack briefly. “You’ve got that look, too.”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I don't know if that's supposed to be a good thing or not.”
“Oh, it is,” he assured you. “You just don't realize it yet.”
You smiled at that, something warm and easy.
“Yeah, we’re basically inseparable,” you added, glancing at Jack with a grin. “Probably, best friends actually.”
Jack didn't react right away, but when he did, it wasn't the reaction you were expecting either.
“We’re not friends.”
His voice was calm. Flat.
No teasing. No humor.
Just a statement.
One that landed harder than it should have.
Your chest tightens. Weren't we friends?
You did everything together, inside and outside the hospital.
The room felt quieter for a second, like even the monitors had dulled.
The old man shifted awkwardly, clearly thinking he’d misread the situation. “I didn’t mean–”
“It’s fine,” you let out, still smiling, still easy. You weren’t about to make him feel worse than he already did,
Jack didn't correct it.
He didn’t acknowledge it at all.
Just kept filling out the cart.
And for the first time that shift, something about you just felt…off.
Hours passed in a blur, one patient bleeding into the next.
But the tension between you and Jack never settled back into place.
You kept moving. I kept working. Keep doing everything like you always did, checking charts, helping where needed, laughing when Ellis said something under her breath, but it felt off.
You felt off.
It was subtle, easy for anyone to miss.
Unless you were looking for it.
“Hey,” Robby's voice cut in as you passed the desk, tablet tucked against your chest.
You glanced over. “What?”
He leaned back into his chair, studying you in that annoyingly observant way of his. "What'd you do?”
You frowned at the accusation. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
Robby hummed, not believing you for a second. His gaze flickered past you towards Jack, who stood across the room, focused on a chart but very obviously irritated.
“Right,” Robby muttered. “Because that,” he motioned lazily between the two of you, “is totally normal.”
You didn't follow his gaze.
“We’re fine,” you stated, paying full attention to the tablet.
Robby snorted. “You haven't looked at him in what, twenty minutes?”
“I’m working.”
“Yeah, well, it's usually you two working together, not avoiding one another.”
You shot him a look. “Do you have a patient or are you just here to psychoanalyze me?”
“Both,” he said easily. Then, quieter, “Jack said something, didn’t he?”
You didn’t answer right away. That was enough.
Robby sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah. Of course he did.”
“Drop it,” you muttered, already stepping away.
“Mm,” he called after you, not convinced. “Good luck with that.”
You weren't avoiding Jack.
Well, not really anyway.
You just stopped gravitating towards him. Instead of filling the space around him like you usually did, you found other places to be.
When he needed something, and you were there, you handed it over. When he spoke to you, you answered.
But that was it—No extra comments. No teasing. No lingering.
Later in the shift, the pace finally slowed.
You decided to restock, hands moving on autopilot, when Jack stepped into the supply room behind you.
You felt him before you saw him.
The door clicked shut.
You didn't turn around, continuing to restock like you hadn't noticed him enter.
“You've been ignoring me.”
Jack’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was firm.
You let out a small breath, setting a box down before finally turning to face him.
“I've been working.”
“That’s not what I said.”
You crossed your arm slightly, leaning back against the shelf. “Then what did you mean?”
Jack stepped further into the room, jaw tight, frustrated sitting just under the surface.
“You haven't looked at me since the start of the shift.”
You let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry. Was I supposed to?”
Jack tilted his head slightly, watching you like he already knew how this was going to go.
“You really think we’re just friends?”
You crossed your arms, trying to hold your ground. “Well, apparently not, considering what you said.”
Jack huffed out a quiet laugh, low, almost amused.
“I let you follow me around all shifts,” he said, counting it off like it was obvious. “I take you out to eat. I’ve got you curled up next to me on the couch half the time–”
Your breath caught.
“And you really think we’re friends?” he finished, raising a brow.
The way he said it, so sure of himself, so knowing. It made your stomach do flips.
You forced a scoff, anyway. “Wow, you’re really full of yourself.”
“I'm not wrong.”
Jack studied you for a second, something sharper settling into his expression.
“You know exactly what this is.”
You shook your head immediately. “No, I don’t.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, stepping closer, “you do.”
You held his gaze, refusing to back down.
“Then say it,” you challenged. “Because apparently I’m getting it wrong.”
Jack didn’t answer right away.
Didn’t look away, either.
And for the first time, his confidence faltered just slightly.
You caught it.
Of course you did.
So you pushed.
“Well?” you said, a little breathless but still stubborn. “What are we, then?”
Silence stretched.
“Or is that too hard for you?” you added.
Jack’s jaw tightened, something shifting in his expression.
He stepped closer. Now there was no space left at all. Your back pressed fully against the shelf, nowhere else to go.
His voice dropped when he spoke again.
“Careful, darling.”
You tilted your head slightly, a hint of a smirk breaking through despite everything.
“Well, old man,” you muttered, “maybe try putting a label on it.”
That hit.
You saw it land, the flicker in his eyes, the way his gaze dragged over you for just a second too long. Something deeper slipped through the cockiness.
For a second, neither of you moved.
The air felt heavier now. Warmer.
Charged.
Jack’s gaze dropped, just for a moment–to your lips, then back up.
Slow. Deliberate.
“Are you sure you really want that?” he asked, voice lower now, rougher around the edges.
Your breath hitched.
You didn't answer. Didn’t move.
Jack leaned in just a little, not enough to make contact, but enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.
“If I put a label on it,” he continued quietly, “I’m not taking it back.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
“You’ll be mine,” he murmured near your ear. “And I don’t think you’re ready for that.”
Your fingers curled at your sides, the urge to reach for him almost overwhelming but you held yourself still.
“Try me”
That was definitely the wrong thing to say.
You saw it immediately, the shift in him. The cockiness didn’t disappear; it deepened into
something darker. More certain. More possessive.
Jack’s hand lifted, brushing just barely against your side as he leaned in closer, still not touching, but close enough to make your breath uneven.
“You act like you don't know what you are to me,” he said quietly.
Your chest tightened because you did know.
You just needed to hear him say it.
The silence stretched again.
So you stepped forward.
Closing the space yourself this time.
Your hand caught his wrist lightly, stopping him from pulling away.
“Then don’t say it,” you murmured.
Jack’s brows pulled together slightly.
You held his gaze, steady this time.
“Show me.”
That did it.
Whatever control he had left snapped.
His eyes darkened.
His gaze dropped to your lips–then to your hand on him.
His jaw tightened.
And for the first time, all shift, he had nothing to say
Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x resident!reader
Warnings: fluff, exhaustion, brief dissociation, non sexual body weight/pressure.
Pairing: When the exhaustion turns into dissociation, Jack learns how to pull you back to earth: just the grounding weight of him holding you down until the world stops spinning.
The lights in the apartment feel like physical needles against your eyes. You don't even bother taking off your clothes. You simply collapse onto the duvet, your limbs feeling like lead weights.
Seventeen hours.
You aren’t just tired.
You’re vibrating pure exhaustion.
Jack is there. He’s already softened his movements, sensing the fog that usually blankets you after a long shift.
"Hey," he murmurs, his voice low. He sits on the edge of the mattress, the dip in the bed making you roll slightly toward him. "How was it? Do you need water? Food?"
You don’t move. You don't even open your eyes. And the ceiling fan feels like a white sound.
"Jack," you croak out.
"Yeah, doll?"
"Just... lay on me."
There’s a brief silence. "You want me to... what?"
"Lay on top of me," you mutter gesturing vaguely at your body. "All of you. Your whole weight."
He chuckles but he doesn't argue. Jack knows you well enough to know when you've reached the point of sensory overload where only something physical can pull you back down to earth.
He moves carefully, hovering over you for a second before slowly lowering himself. He’s careful to distribute his weight, but you huff out a breath of protest. "No, handsome. Don't do polite weight. Just lay down."
He finally settles, his heavy frame covering yours. The effect is instantaneous. The pressure of him acts like a weighted blanket, twitching nerves in your legs and pinning your racing thoughts to the bed. It’s a heavy safety. You can feel the thrum of his heart against your chest and the warmth of his body through his shirt.
The dissociation starts to bleed away, replaced by the physical reality of him. You’re no longer floating somewhere; you’re right here, in your bedroom, being held into the mattress by the person you love most.
"Better?" he whispers, his breath warm against your ear.
"Mhm," you sigh, your muscles finally turning to liquid under him. "Don't move."
"Okay," he says. "I'm not going anywhere."
The crushing pressure of him is exactly what you needed, a physical feeling to keep you from drifting away into the memory of monitors and hospital's lights.
As the silence of the room settles, Jack begins to shift just a fraction, his lips finding your clavicle and neck. The kisses are soft and slow. Each one feels like a small reminder that the shift is over and you can relax now.
He works his way up toward your jaw, his stubble grazing your skin in a way that would usually be ticklish but right now just feels like a tether. You feel tension finally drain out of your body, your eyelids growing too heavy to keep even halfway open.
The world is narrowing down to the rhythmic thud of his heart against your body and the soft and repetitive press of his lips.
"Jack," you mumble, your voice thick with the first real wave of sleep.
"I know," he whispers, pressing one more lingering kiss just below your ear, feeling your breath become heavy. Gently, he hooked his arms under your form. "Come here, honey," he whispers.
He rolls onto his back, bringing you with him so you’re draped over his chest. He settles you between his arms, your head tucked perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder. The change in position doesn't wake you.
He begins a slow stroke down your back, his hand moving from your shoulder blades to your waist and back again. It’s a hypnotic motion that mutes the last of the hospital noise in your brain.
"Thank you... for this." You don't hear his answer, but you feel the way he settles even deeper against you, his arms wrapping around your sides to pull you closer into him. Before he can even tuck the blanket over both of your shoulders, you’ve drifted off.
"I love you," he mumbles, his chin resting on the top of your head.
The last thing you feel is him holding you tight against his body as the rest of the world finally fades.
⋆˚✿˖° | best friends trinity and dennis who have always been there for you. two shoulders to cry on, two hands to hold whenever and wherever. the two of them close like siblings, bickering, petty fights and the like. but they always were on the same page when it came to you. they both having long ago had the conversation on sharing you equally. two siblings sharing their favorite toy essentially. unbeknownst to you of course. they were your people so what if they were a bit touchy? they were equally affectionate. it wasn’t uncommon for trinity to sit you on her lap and tuck her head onto your shoulder.
or for dennis to slide his hand into your back pocket when you walked around together. palm relaxed against the curve of your ass. casual and easy that was the best way to describe your closest friends.
⋆˚✿˖° | they would even occasionally kiss you, a peck to the cheek or lips. thats where trinity liked to kiss you, while dennis always opted for the nose or forehead. each kiss making you feel giggly and warm. if you’d ever ask about it trinity would just give you a confused look bordering in uncomfortable. “we’re best friends, don’t make it weird” then dennis would cut in “yeah, it’s not like..a thing” their words and tone almost making you feel stupid and weird for asking. it’s not like you didn’t like it..you were just curious. and eventually that phrase became a common reoccurrence.
⋆˚✿˖° | “we’re best friends don’t make it weird”
dennis would mutter, when kissing you up against the kitchen counter. hands on your hips and tongue in your mouth while he presses his hard on into your thigh. fingers inching down your sleep shorts to peek into your panties. hips steadily rutting onto you before he can even strip you properly.
⋆˚✿˖° | “we’re best friends don’t make it weird”
when trinity climbs into the shower with you. it’s fine with you honestly. having an extra body beneath the warm water is comforting, especially when she takes your rag and offers to clean your back. then over your shoulders, skimming your tits to then run her slick soapy hands over your cunt. her chin on your shoulder and breasts on your back while she touches you.
⋆˚✿˖° | it continues on, their attention on you growing and growing. they almost get competitive for your attention. fighting about who gets to have you and when. if dennis finds out trinity ate you out now he has to bc it’s only fair! trin sees that dennis had you ride him until you shook? she’s angrily getting her strap out to fuck you even harder.
your back is pressed to his broad torso, shaking with every other inhale.
ted's arm stretches down your body and stops between your hips. your hands barely fit around his forearm as you cling to him for stability.
his fingers have been working on you for what feels like an eternity, swiping across your clit and pumping in and out of you. he brings you so close to ecstasy but keeps slowing down right when you're about to break.
your clit throbs in need.
"you've been doing so good for me, honey," ted kisses your temple.
your head lolls back on his chest as you let out a breathy moan.
"gonna give you what you need now, ok?" he whispers into your ear.
you nod and adjust yourself for him.
you feel two of his thick fingers plunge deep into your cunt while his thumb finds its place on your swollen bud. he starts to trace figure eights against you.
"you're so gorgeous...look like a fuckin' angel," he praises.
his movements speed up and you can feel the familiar tinge of your orgasm return.
"you're so tight, can barely fit my fingers inside..." he grunts.
''always make me feel so good, teddy," you whimper.
when he laughs, you feel the vibrations rattle your body.
"you deserve to feel good," he says.
you're silent as you focus on the orgasm tempting to crash throughout your system. ted's fingers continue to massage your svelte walls, coaxing you to let go.
"c'mon, gorgeous, you can cum...wanna hear you..." ted says against your neck.
“c’mon now, honey, just breathe.”
you can't fight the way your body begins to spasm against him, your long awaited climax finally releasing. ted holds your body steady with his large arm, letting you writhe and cry out in pleasure.
"wow...so beautiful, baby...doin' so well..." he coos.
Thinking about how Clark Kent has a high sex drive he’s so embarrassed about. It’s abnormal before you consider the fact that Clark isn’t actually human, he merely appears as one. His genetic makeup is entirely different from yours, though his behaviors are human enough, he’s exceptionally needier than the average person. It doesn’t matter if he’s spent the morning rutting into you, body flat against the mattress while his hips hunch to drive his cock into the warm velvety walls of your flitting pussy from behind, heavy weight holding you down as your wriggle and writhed through each orgasm, he’s insatiable. It’s almost instinctual, the way he paws at you, large frame crowding yours, his fingers not to subtly slipping beneath the loose hem of your untucked blouse. His hold doesn’t relent even when you lightly chastise him, still settled beside your desk at the daily planet, surrounded by your collective colleagues. It’s hard to mask the large figure shadowing over you beside a vacant supply closet, slipping with little discreetness beyond the narrow door. The pitchy shriek that breaks past your lips is muffled by the slip of Clark’s tongue into your open mouth, swallowing the sound as his hands hoist you up with his hands under your grappling arms against the rattling door, feet completely dangling above the ground. The firm weight of his body molds to yours, grip replaced by the wide expanse of his body pressing entirely against you, heels dangling helplessly as his clothed cock ruts pathetically against the pencil skirt hugging your thighs. “Clark—someone’s going to hear—” he hushes you with an indignant groan, tongue sweeping behind your teeth, large palm slithering between you both to grope your tits, buttoned shirt creasing between you both. “I know—I know, ‘m sorry. Can make it quick. Just need you to be quiet, sweetheart,” he pants, “And don’t make a mess on the floor. Though, historically speaking, the latter might be a bit of a problem for you,” his lips twist into a charming smile, fingers delving under the tight hem of your skirt, lips moving to nip at the arch of your throat when you hit his shoulder.
he’s the fire lord for goodness sake—is he supposed to beg? umm anyways
— established relationship, MDNI 18+
the whole palace felt quieter than usual tonight, the curtains drawn against the palace lights. zuko sits by the edge of his massive bed—his elbows propped on his knees—firebending absentmindedly, making tiny sparks between his fingers. you’re across him drying your hair from your bath—you’re smelling like the lotion he pretends doesn’t make him weak.
he’s been distracted for days…? nah maybe weeks. every time you climb into bed to lay beside him, every time you straddle his lap just to give him a good night kiss—the same thoughts rush into his head—you ontop riding him slow the faster, your hands braced in his chest, your tits bouncing in his face and that little smirk on your face when you know you’re driving him insane. he’s the fire lord for goodness sake, he’s not supposed to want to beg for anything—especially not this.
so he stays nonchalant, like the thought hasn’t been burning him alive. you noticed of course. “zukoooo” you call out softly, crawling across the bed until you’re kneeling between his spread legs. “you’ve been weird all week, even for the last two weeks. what’s is going on inside that head of yours?”.
but he only shrugs his eyes briefly making contact with yours—he looks away because he doesn’t want to easily appear weak. “it’s nothing… just… state matter” “do you think i was born yesterday?” you lean in, brushing your lips against his jaw. “you’re just overthinking again. care to share…?”.
he exhales loudly through his nose—his hands settling on your thighs, thumbs stroking your skin right under the hem of your short. he doesn’t push further—almost does—he almost grabs your hips and pulls you down on him in that moment. but then that stupid voice in his head kicks in. i’m the fire lord—i don’t beg. yeahhhh right… the words slip out anyway. “i want you to ride me” he whispered, his voice low.
you pull back just enough to look at him, your eyebrows raised, a bit taken aback. “what?” you asked, a teasing grin already morphing across your face. his ears go red. fuck he knew you’d tease him—he cursed under his breath, looking everywhere but your face. “just forget it”.
“nope! well not now that you’ve mentioned it”. you grin, fully straddling his lap, arms loose around his neck. “you’ve been thinking about me riding you? forrrrr how long? and you didn’t say anything about it? zuko you idiot”. “shut up” he mutters but his tone lacked heat. his hands slid up to grip your waist—his fingers digging like he’s anchoring himself. “i just didn’t know how to.. you know.. ask… it’s not exactly something i’m used to doing”.
you let out a laugh, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “so you’re telling me, you’ve faced down armies and literal spirits but asking your girl to get ontop is where you draw the line..? cute”.
he groans, both embarrassed and turned on at the same time. “i said shut up”. before you could tease him again, he pulls you down harder against him—kissing you deep, tongue sliding into your mouth to tangle with yours as if he was trying to to win an argument with his mouth. when he breaks the kiss, both breathing heavy, he looks you dead in the eyes. “so would you ride me? now”. and you don’t make him repeat it.
clothes come off—your shorts and his pants are sprawled somewhere on the floor. then you’re back in his lap, fully naked, knees on either side of his hips—his cock already hard against your stomach. you wrap your hands around him, stroking once, then twice, watching his jaw clench. “slow” “go slower”. you nod, lifting up on your knees and lining him. the first sink down felt like torture—well at least to zuko. his head falls back, a groan rumbling out of his chest as you take him inch by inch. his hands are resting on your hips, not guiding yet—just holding you in place. “fuckkk… you feel—“. he cuts himself off, gritting his teeth.
you bottom out with a tiny gasp, sitting fully on him adjusting to the stretch. for a minute you just sat there—rolling your hips in tiny circles—feeling him throb inside you.
then you start moving real slow. up until only the head is inside, then sinking back down grinding a little at the bottom so your clit rubs against him. his groans get deeper every time you drop back down. “that’s it”. he praises. “just like that—oh my you’re so wet already, this feels so fucking gooood”.
you brace your hands on his shoulders, picking up the pace a little. the wet sounds filling up the room—skin on skin, your heavy breathing mixed with him muttering curses. his hands start roaming—one hand squeezing your waist while the other comes up to cup your tit, his thumb brushing over your nipple before rolling it between his fingers—getting out a moan from you, clenching around him. “zuko”.
“faster”. he demands but his voice cracks like he’s barely holding it together. “ride me faster baby”.
you plant your feet better on the bed and start bouncing properly—up and down—ass slapping against his thighs with every drop. you wrap your arms tight around his neck, pulling him closer so your tits press hard against his chest. he buries his face in your neck—groaning loud against your skin every time you slam back down. “shit just like that! you’re so perfect—so tight and warm”. his hands on your tits squeeze harder, the other gripping your hip so tight you’d probably have marks by tomorrow. he starts thrusting up to meet you, meeting every bounce with a sharp snap of his hips that make you cry out.
you’re getting louder now, moans coming out without control. sweat rolling down your face—your thighs burning in the best way, every time you bounce hard on his cock. it hits spots deep inside that makes you sees stars. “you’re gonna make me come.. fuckkkk slow down—wait no, don’t stop, keep bouncing”. you go even faster, arms locked around his neck—using him as leverage to fuck yourself harder on his cock—your tits bouncing heavy between you and zuko couldn’t resist, he leans back to get a clear view, then leans in to suck one nipple in his mouth—teeth grazing before licking it with his tongue.
the sensation makes you grind down harder, clit rubbing perfectly against his pelvis. “i’m close”. you gasp, your voice shaking. “zuko im so closeee”.
“come on me”. he growls against your neck—thrusting up harder. the orgasm hits hard—walls fluttering and squeezing around him as you keep bouncing through it. he groans louder it almost sounded like a growl—both hands back on your hips, helping you move while he chases his own release. “fuck i’m almost there.. don’t stop, don’t—shit”.
you keep bouncing and grinding, despite your legs shaking. he comes with a broken moan, his hips stuttering up into you—filling you deep, pulsing hot inside. you ride him slow through every wave, milking him until he’s trembling under you, arms wrapped tight around your waist like he’ll never let go.
for a long minute the only sounds are both of you trying to catch your breath, body sticky with sweat, his cock still buried inside you. he presses lazy kisses along your collarbone, up to your neck, finally finding your lips.
you pull back with a tired little smirk, still straddling him, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “all that time thinking about it and you almost didn’t ask? next time just say it, fire lord. i would’ve been on top days ago”. he huffs a laugh, embarrassed but sated “shut up”. then quieter, almost shy “we’re doing that again tomorrow”. you grin, kissing him once more. “definitely”.
he flips you over gently onto your back without pulling out, still half hard inside you—covering your body with his. the night is far from over.
SUMMARY ➩ living next to the cody family was already a difficult task to manage and it only gets more complicated when the eldest boy gets back from prison
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ yay they touched the slow burn is burning a little! feedback is alwayssss appreciated
previous next
Come Monday morning, Pope was right back in his corner of the coffee shop like he had never left it.
He’d even came up to the counter to order something, a rare occurrence considering most of the time it seemed like he didn’t want you to notice him at all. Maybe he still felt that way judging by the awkward shuffling of his feet when you gave him a warm greeting smile before slipping on your high pitched customer service voice.
He seemed almost amused by it and you knew the lightness on his face was most likely the closest you’d get to him laughing, so you took it as an automatic win.
Your boss seemed even more enthusiastic that he had actually bought something for once, even more so when she saw the large cash tip he’d left in the jar placed beside the cash register. He’d initially tried handing it to you directly as you passed him his coffee, furrowing his eyebrows and jamming it into the glass when you apologetically informed him you couldn’t accept direct tips.
Now you were halfway through your shift and he was still right there, staring out the window today like he was looking out for somebody. Occasionally his gaze turned on you whenever somebody complained about an order or you sighed tiredly a little too loud, but for the most part it was on the street and the beach slightly in the distance.
You’d only let your own focus drift when a vaguely familiar face was coming through the doors, your shoulders tensing at the sight of the man who had been bothering you as the entrance bell chimed obnoxiously above him.
He approached the counter and you stood with tight shoulders as you watched him without your usual service worker forced smile.
“I was looking for you the other day.” He stated in a low voice, not at all bothering to even pretend he was here for coffee as he peered at you with interest.
“What can I get for you today?” You responded, completely ignoring his statement and glancing behind you in hopes you’d see your manager who was nowhere to be seen.
“Don’t be like that sweetheart, please.” He was whispering now and his tone was pleading, sounding genuinely upset at your disinterest. You imagined if anybody was overhearing this then they’d assume he was your scorned lover or a desperate ex boyfriend, not a stranger you’d barely interacted with.
You felt your throat get rough and dry, moving your eyes over to the corner Pope had been sitting in all morning.
He wasn’t there anymore and you felt the nausea build in your stomach, taking a shuttering breath as the man slightly bent down like he was trying to catch your eye and make you understand him.
Movement from beside him caught your attention and you felt your entire body deflate with relief as you noticed Pope back at the counter. He’d cut the small line in favor of standing shoulder to shoulder with the man, eyes locked on you and his empty coffee cup in his hands.
The man was taller than Pope but he had such an intimidating air to him, not to mention the broadness of his shoulders and the clear strong build of his chest. He didn’t even spare the customer a glance as he raised an eyebrow at you.
You gave him a quick nod, silently communicating that this was the one Deran had been talking about even though you figured the light fear in your eyes told him that already.
“You’re holding up the line.” His voice was a low rasp and spoken in that slow drag of his that always left you on the edge of your seat. You imagined it was unnerving to anyone unfamiliar with it, the time it took him to drawl out a sentence almost alien.
“I’m talking to her.” The man reasoned back, shaking his head like he was genuinely confused why he wasn’t allowed to stand here and bother you while you were at work and trying to serve other customers.
You watched Pope closely, not really sure what you were expecting him to do. A part of you wondered if he would lose his cool completely, throw the man to the floor or spit some threat at him that would make him run off.
Either he was more conscious of his behavior now that he had gotten out of prison or he didn’t want to cause a scene where you worked, and also where he frequented almost more than some of the staff. He sent you a look that was more patient than you expected and you let out a shaky breath.
“See you at home?” He murmured in your direction but it was loud enough for the man to hear and you could see the understanding pass over his face, followed by anger and betrayal as he whipped his head back to glare at you.
You gave Pope a nod even though you felt a little sick at the idea of him leaving you here after saying something so damning. You weren’t sure the man was truly delusional enough to do something to you in broad daylight during the busiest hours of the day but you knew all too well what a rejected man could be capable of.
The anxiety immediately went away when you watched Pope place a firm grip on the man’s shoulders and start to lead him towards the door, not even giving him the chance to protest before they were out on the sidewalk and disappearing from sight.
Your eyes were wide as you watched them go, the customer slightly tripping over his feet from the force of the hold on him while Pope kept his face flat and uninterested.
You only felt yourself able to breathe when the next in line was approaching the counter with an awkward look on her face and snapping you out of it completely.
—
There’d been a light level of excitement when you were heading over for dinner after work, leaving early enough that you hoped you’d be able to avoid Smurf in the kitchen.
You didn’t need to worry about that apparently considering she was nowhere to be seen by the time you arrived, getting a vague answer from J that she was busy before he was taking his bowl of cereal back to his room and making it clear that dinner was not happening for one reason or another.
You’d lingered in the kitchen for a few minutes in contemplation before you were sighing and turning to leave, stopped when you were running right into a familiar hard chest.
It was a direct parallel to the day he had returned home from prison, except his eyes were peering down at you with a lot more warmth than they had previously.
“Fuck hi.” You breathed out in light surprise as you stepped back to look at him without being awkwardly close. Pope didn’t reply, just watching you intensely and making your heart pound nearly audibly. “You scared me, I didn’t think anyone was here.”
“I live here.” He said back bluntly and you almost thought he might have been attempting to make a joke.
You scoffed in response and nodded, lacking the ability to think of anything clever to retort back with. Your gaze drifted downwards to where his fingers were drumming against his pant leg and your shoulders tensed at the variety of colors across his knuckles.
“Jesus Pope.” You whispered as you instinctively reached down to grab his wrist, he flinched back almost dramatically and you suspended your hand in midair as you met his eyes again. Now they were guarded and a little bit confused, his chest rising and falling harder than it had been. “Can I see?”
There was a long few seconds before he was nodding. He made no move to bring his hand up for you but this time he didn’t stop you when you reached down and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, bringing it up between your chest and sighing a little.
They were bruised and bloody and you weren’t naive enough to think he had been hitting something inanimate inbetween the time you’d seen him drag somebody from the coffee shop and now.
“You didn’t have to do that.” You said softly and shook your head, the hand that wasn’t holding his wrist in place coming up to lightly brush against the coloration.
His face shifted a little in pain at the touch so you retracted it although keeping your grip steady to stop him from hiding the injury away again.
“He was bothering you.” He gruffed simply as he watched you move backwards, tugging him along until you were near the hallway bathroom.
You left him in the doorway as you bent down to get the first aid kit from under the counter, afterwards wetting a rag and trying not to think about his straightforward implication that this was justified because you had been bothered.
You were quiet as you turned your attention back to him, wiping at the cuts lightly and feeling his stare burn into you as you focused your own on his knuckles. His palm felt rough on your skin, his fingers curling around yours to keep the hand suspended in air.
“He might come back.” You whisper softly as you continue to clean as carefully as you can without reopening the wounds. “I bet he’ll be pissed off.”
“He won’t.” He said it immediately like he didn’t even think about it and you faltered, keeping your hand in his but letting your eyes lock back together. He looked mildly embarrassed like he was aware of the possible meaning behind his solid statement, the conviction and sureness of which he had claimed you wouldn’t be bothered again. “He’d be stupid to try anything.”
You let out a breath and looked back down at his hand, gathering some ointment from the first aid kit and lightly rubbing it on the bigger cuts so you could wrap them up afterwards.
“People are stupid.” You said back and he tensed a little like he was frustrated he couldn’t convince you that you were safe without saying directly whatever it was he had done that left his hands in this bad of a state. Your eyes went back to his once you finished and you tilted your head slightly. “I guess you’ll have to keep coming around then.”
He stiffened up at the words and the near flirtatious tone you’d suddenly taken, his eyebrows furrowing for a second like he thought you might be messing with him.
You’d finished wrapping up his cuts and had no real reason to still be holding his hand but you let your thumb smooth over the calloused skin as you waited for him to let your words process, the intent behind them. You wanted him to keep coming around.
“Because you don’t mind.” He eventually rasped and now it was your turn to be confused.
Then you remembered what he was referring to and your lips curled up in a small smile.
Do you want me to tell her I don’t mind?
Your words from the bar came back to you all at once, the solution you’d tried to create if it meant him still being able to watch you throughout the day. He might have denied you in the moment but now it was clear that he had thought about it, maybe told her himself considering he was back today although you highly doubted that.
You weren’t stupid enough to not understand where Smurf was coming from even though you figured it was even more layered than you could imagine. Pope had a certain air about him, both of lingering danger and also a childlike innocence that could easily be manipulated.
But it was easy to ignore any signs that this was a terrible idea when he was finally looking at you in this way, a light warmth in his eyes like he was finding the reference just as funny as you did. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him smile, maybe a light smirk when the younger brothers were messing around, but this felt even better to you.
He squeezed your hand, maybe just a reflex but it reminded you that you hadn’t answered him.
“No Pope.” You whispered back. “I don’t mind at all.”
—
You’d left the bathroom shortly after that and without much reason to stick around unless you wanted to make your desire glaringly obvious, you did nothing but watch when Pope went back to his room.
It had felt humiliating to even consider it but now you were wanting to turn around and high tail back down the dark hallway, catching sight of Smurf as soon as you entered the kitchen on your way out.
She hadn’t even bothered with getting a glass, instead drinking straight from the bottle of vodka that’d been sitting in the fridge. Her eyes were already on you and there was no surprise to see you there even though you both knew there was no reason for your presence.
There had been no dinner for you to stick around for and you had clearly come from the hallway with the bedrooms rather than the living room or even the pool area.
You knew she might not know for certain what you had been doing while she was gone but the slight anger in her gaze told you that she knew enough. You figured whatever she was imagining was probably much worse than reality, you hadn’t even done anything wrong by any normal standards but it had been a long time now and you’d be a fool to think the Codys were anything close to normal.
“Come over here honey.” She said in a low voice and your feet moved instinctively, stopping at the other side of island counter and watching her with your rising nerves making your knees want to bend in on themselves.
“I was just leaving.” You say it softly, a little higher pitched than you had meant to.
It was a little bit embarrassing, the effect she had on you without saying much at all. You’d seen the way Smurf tolerated people that weren’t in the family and you knew you fell in that category most of the time, maybe with a sprinkle of genuine fondness here and there.
There were plenty of rumors about the Cody boys that should have made you fearful of them instead but you knew enough to know they didn’t make a single step without it being approved or ordered by Smurf first. She was the true head of the snake and you felt like you were staring down her throat currently as she watched you.
“My Andrew is a nice boy but you cannot be alone with him.” She started calmly, voice not wavering or leaving any room for argument as she almost scolded. “Do you understand me?”
You took a few seconds before you were nodding your head even though there was a thousand arguments you wanted to make. You had a feeling that trying to change her mind would get you banned from the house all together and that thought made your stomach turn even more than the alternative.
“Okay Smurf.” You responded just as casually as she had been, smile tight like you weren’t at all affected by her vague warning. “Goodnight.”
All you could do was hope it hadn’t come off as dismissive before you were turning to leave, walking at a normal pace until you were out of eye sight and then practically jogging down the driveway to get back to your own as soon as possible.
Your house was eerily silent but you couldn’t think about it, barely noticing under the sound of your own heavy breathing.
You knew it might be stupid to ignore Smurf’s words, either because you would upset her or because she might have some truth in whatever she was saying. Maybe you shouldn’t be alone with him, shouldn’t be encouraging him to follow you around during the day and definitely shouldn’t be moving over to your window to leave it unlocked.
PAIRING ➩ jack abbot x inexperienced younger reader
WC ➩ 6.6k
SUMMARY ➩ navigating your budding relationship with your attending is hard enough especially without the added disaster the summer holiday brings
WARNINGS ➩ mentions of ptsd and fourth of july related chaos, prosthetic conversations, smut (they’re so soft for each other)
AUTHORS NOTE ➩ here’s my confession that i absolutely hate writing smut and have to force myself through it for you guys 😭 so if it flows awkwardly or end abruptly that’s why
part one
Nothing actually monumental happened after Jack Abbot had you gently pinned to his truck, nothing other than him wrecking your entire world with one quick half makeout session before sweetly opening the door for you.
It starts a cycle that leaves you so depraved and embarrassingly desperate that you don’t even recognize yourself by the time two weeks have passed. You’re not the type to get sucked into a crush and especially not the type to be losing sleep over when the next time your boss is going to kiss you.
Jack doesn’t do much differently in his defense, he stays professional at work other than that heavy gaze of his and he starts to bring you home without the arrangement ever really being spoken out loud. You walk out of the hospital together, only shifting close enough that your arms brush together when you’re in the parking ramp and relatively out of sight.
You’re not sure if the kissing (outside his truck, inside his truck, in the hallway outside your shitty apartment) is the only thing he’ll do because he thinks it’s the only thing you can handle but you’re humiliated to admit he might be right.
It’s as hot out today as it feels inside your chest when he finally walks in, eyes a little more tired than usual but his pace is steady and your gaze stays on him until he’s standing at the main desk with Robby beside him.
They’re talking about something in low murmurs and you’re trying to pretend you’re busy even though you imagine the way your pen flies out of your hand as soon as he scans the room and lands on you, really sells you out.
You give him a sheepish smile before you’re bending down out of sight to grab the traitorous object, staying squatted for a few extra seconds with your eyes squeezed shut to try and manifest yourself out of existence. By the time you stand back up, he’s crossed the room and is now standing directly in front of you on the other side of the desk.
“Dr Abbot.” You imagine your face only looks half as startled as you actually feel and his amused look seems to prove that. “How are you?”
“How am I?” His head cocks to the side a little like he’s trying to figure out if you’re asking him something else under the guise of small talk. You purse your lips awkwardly, getting that familiar stuck feeling that itches to life whenever he watches you a little too long.
You know you are an intelligent woman, a doctor above her peers who dedicated an entire lifetime to knowledge and earned a position to be proud of.
That being said..
Jack Abbot had the ability to make you feel absolutely clueless and you found yourself actually enjoying the feeling, maybe even a little addicted at times. You blamed the addiction for being the reason your eyes suddenly darted down to his mouth, only shooting away when you saw his lips quirk up in that infuriating smirk of his.
“Fine don’t answer.” You forced out tightly, nearly turning your body fully away from him in preparation to wander off and bury your head in a hot holiday case load until you couldn’t remember your own name let alone his.
Even though you were beginning to think you’d hold onto his name far longer than your own at this point.
“Hey don’t do that.” His voice was so soft and teasing you almost felt your knees weaken, slightly turning back in his direction when his hand lightly gripped your arm but letting the annoyance linger on your face for emphasis. “I’m alright sweetheart. I’m good, okay?”
You both knew exactly why you were asking him that, why you were extra curious about his state when you were surrounded by American flags and loud pops sounding across the city with the sun still shining brightly enough to mask the real effects of the fireworks.
The night would only get more intense from here on out now that the festivities were really going to start and if you worried about him on a typical day, then you worried about him tonight.
Jack didn’t seem too keen on talking about that time of his life with you and you tried not to take any offense to it. You’d started to chat on your rides home, sometimes sitting outside your building for an extra hour until he noticed your gaze getting a little too low and tired. Most of the conversations were about you and your life, gently being steered away from his own personal matters whenever you gave it an attempt.
You didn’t blame him necessarily despite how much it bothered you for naive reasons. He probably would spend the rest of his life being misunderstood by people with decades more experience and wisdom than you under their belts so you figured he didn’t want to even attempt to find properly placed empathy with you.
You could care and listen but you could never understand.
But that didn’t stop you from noticing the way he would lightly flinch at loud car horns or the barely visible winces when you were kissing against his truck after a long shift, his leg starting to bother him from standing all day.
“Yeah.” You breathed out in response to his question although you knew he only answered to make you feel better, not because he actually wanted to. “You know where to find me.”
It wasn’t a question but a silent offer, as non pushy as you could be. You’d outstretched your shoulder to him and it was up to him to want to use it or not if it came down to that.
The beginning of your shift went as decent as any holiday could, a constant swarm of heat related injuries being immediately followed by the typical round of firework burns and then the drunken partygoers stumbling (or being carried) in not much later. It was a rotation of the usual traumas mixed with some festively dressed flair that made your head spin.
You barely passed by Jack but you tried not to focus on it too much, you were at work and you didn’t need to constantly be pining after your boss who happened to be a very very very good kisser.
It was nearing the harder part of the shift, that climb into the very earlier morning that always seemed to get steeper and steeper each time. You’d start to feel the exhaustion of the late hours but without the adrenaline boost the final few brought along, the ascent before the roller coaster dropped.
You heard it as you passed by one of the rooms, nurses whispering about a patient that had came in. Normally you didn’t listen in on gossips, especially knowing how quickly it got twisted between the more bored nurses, but the keywords stuck into your skin and made your footsteps slow.
A veteran that had came in with wounds he gained during a PTSD episode, mostly self inflicted.
Your stomach churned at the news although you had expected a few patients coming in from the old folks home nearby, elevated heart rates and other symptoms caused by the extreme stress. The sick feeling only got worse when you made a few quick rounds in quickening laps only to come to the conclusion that Jack wasn’t around anywhere you could see him.
You didn’t hesitate before your body was turning, barely choking out a quick excuse to Ellis that you needed to take a call before you were heading up the staircase and pushing out onto the roof.
It was instinctive and you felt a little bit of regret, the shame of intruding on a private moment even though you knew you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if something happened and you hadn’t risked embarrassing yourself to try and help. You felt a little bit of relief to see him standing there, not much considering he was on the opposite side of the railing and his back was so tense it looked painful.
Now it was your turn to flinch at the fireworks surrounding you, almost non stop as they came from different parts of the city in waves. It was nothing like a suburban neighborhood where you might here a family lighting off a few small shooters, instead it was almost like you were in the middle of a competition on who could make the most noise.
“Jack.” You called softly, wondering if he could even hear you over the fizzling that was starting to bleed under your skin.
You sighed and opted for stepping closer, not wanting to startle him but still letting your hand slide over his bicep from behind. He stiffened even more and turned his head to the side, possibly seeing you out of his peripheral vision or maybe knowing you by touch at this point.
Maybe he figured you were the only one naive enough to grab him from behind while he was standing pretty close to the edge of the building.
He didn’t say anything and neither did you, letting your arms snake around his middle now that he knew it was you. You laid one of your hands across his stomach, the other resting against his heart and feeling the way it was racing slightly. The railing pressed coldly against your stomach but it was a welcome break from the heat that you hoped he could feel on his back too as you tugged him a little closer to you.
It felt like hours passed, probably ten minutes if you were correctly timing it in your head before he was sighing and gently taking your hands to remove them from his frame. You frowned instinctively and it stayed on your face as he turned around and ducked under the bar so he was back on the safer side of it with you.
His own hands immediately went to your waist and you shifted closer to him, cupping his face gently in a bold move of affection you wouldn’t have dared do under normal circumstances. You were barely getting used to kissing him occasionally let alone sharing such an intimate touch after a hard night, his dark and tired eyes peering down at you with unmistakable affection.
“They need me down there?” He rasped it out slow and more steady than you were expecting.
You let your thumb rub against the stubble on his cheek before shaking your head firmly in denial.
“They’re fine for a second.” You still answer verbally, figuring he would need the double reassure that he could take a breath. “You need me up here?”
There it was again, that offer for him to let you in and solidify whatever this was you were doing was more than flirty banter and stolen kisses.
You were shocked enough for it to show on your face when he nodded his head in agreement, fully expecting him to tell you he was okay and that you needed to go help downstairs. He would’ve said it gently in a way that reminded you of your importance to the crew but it still would have landed like a rejection.
Instead he was letting his head nod continue up until his mouth pressed against yours.
It was sweeter than your usual kisses, lacking the heat and desperation that seemed to naturally creep up whenever you got a moment alone.
Other than his big hands burning your body, one of them still on your waist and doing that pulsing move he seemed to do absentmindedly now and the other pushing through the restraints of your loose ponytail to halfway tangle in your hair.
You could almost feel it when the need took over him, his frame bending over yours in a way that made you shrink back to accommodate it. His breathing got heavier and the pace picked up too fast to be natural, his hands gripping you like he was worried you could be taken.
You were just about to pull yourself back to get him to stop but there was no need, a loud pop freezing him in his tracks immediately. It was closer than the other ones, maybe even set off in the parking lot of the hospital right beside you.
The worry settled over you in a cold wave and you sighed as you shifted even closer if that was possible, making sure he felt you in every point you could mold against him.
“Hey.” You whispered and his gaze was a little unfocused as it tried to meet yours. “I’m right here, do you want me to be?”
It was more of a grounding technique than an actual question, you weren’t going anywhere at this point regardless of how he answered but you still felt the relief when he nodded automatically.
“Come back inside Jack.” You said quietly, rubbing his face in soothing circles and trying to ignore the heat in your gut when his hand tightened in your hair again.
He was silent in his agreement again but a win was a win no matter how wordless and you took both of his hands in yours so you could walk backwards until you got him into the stairwell.
It was nearly impossible to let go of him once you were nearing the chaotic crowded hallways of the ER but he seemed visibly calmer surrounded by the familiar loud voices and beeping machines.
You watched as he fell right back into the routine as soon as another trauma was being rushed in, giving you one last squeeze to your side before he was speeding off to go and help.
—
You hadn’t expected Jack to forget to take you home because he was still himself despite the hard night, a gentleman who had set an expectation that he planned to continue to fill.
But you were a little thrown off by how normal he seemed now, like your moment on the roof hadn’t happened at all. You didn’t want to press him any further, especially since it was possible his good mood was genuine and not just him avoiding his real emotions, but the concern was growing heavier and heavier as his familiar hand on your lower back led you to his truck.
He didn’t seem to notice the look on your face when he gently backed you up against his truck, mouth on yours as you eagerly kissed him back.
You might have been worried but very little could stop you from kissing Jack Abbot back.
Your mouths moved together hotly, leaving the sweetness of the rooftop behind completely as that familiar tension simmered between you. The same kind of band snapping that you felt after a long day of eyes met across the room and light touches whenever you passed by each other.
Jack made a low noise from his chest when your tongue was gliding across his bottom lip, your own sound of impatience making him chuckle against your mouth before he was opening up and letting you in.
You didn’t need him to tell you that you kissed like somebody who was inexperienced but he didn’t seem to mind, in fact it felt like he liked you best when you got a little sloppy and eager.
His grip was tight on your hips to keep you pinned against the truck even though you weren’t planning on going anywhere at all, too busy tasting his mouth and tangling his tongue with yours in a way that was borderline filthy.
“Alright baby c’mon.” He spoke gruffly into the kiss as he pulled off, pecking your lips a few more times on his way to ending it. “Get in the truck.”
You frowned but knew you couldn’t stand in the parking lot forever, momentarily forgetting all the things to be concerned about and feeling that familiar frustration from the beginning of your shift.
There was a childish lack of understanding on your side of things. Why didn’t he want to do more than kiss you?
It was easy to forget about your own selfish desires again as soon as you got into the car and began the drive to your apartment, the smoke in the air and abandoned piles of firework scraps and ashes making your nose scrunch up in distaste.
You were once again washed with concern for him even though the festivities would be mostly over with now, still stuck with the image of him up on the roof with his mind elsewhere even when he was staring at you.
He parked in front of your building and cleared his throat in a way that let you know he didn’t plan to stick around and talk tonight.
Maybe it was the frustration from his slow pace and confusing signals or maybe it was out of sheer worry for him but regardless if it was selfishly motivated or not, your hand was sliding over his knee.
“Will you come up?” You said it quietly, an offer you’d never made before sounding foreign coming from your mouth.
He stared at you for a long few seconds that sucked any of the confidence you had a moment ago right out from you, retracting your hand and already preparing to apologize for assuming something like that just because he had kissed you a few dozen times.
You were cool and casual, you could do casual kissing even if it was done by somebody like Jack Abbot.
Thankfully he didn’t give you too much time to spiral, turning off the truck and pocketing the keys before he was silently getting out. He took advantage of your stunned frozen frame, circling around the front so he could open your door.
He kissed his teeth and took a step back to emphasize it was time to get out, the noise a little degrading like he was calling a dog. You should have been annoyed by the sound but shamefully you felt a heat rush over you and you eagerly followed the wordless order.
You followed him up to your floor like it was his apartment building and not yours, standing stupidly outside your door for a second like you were waiting for him to let you in. He leaned against the wall and raised an expectant eyebrow at you that made you jump into movement in realization, digging out your keys and flushing bright as you fumbled with the lock.
It had seemed like a grand thing to have him in your apartment, a monumental colliding of worlds you had been semi building up in your mind since the first time he slipped his hand under your unzipped jacket.
Any of your thoughts on what it would be like were immediately thrown out the window considering there wasn’t a moment to process him standing in your entryway before he was kissing you again.
It was somehow even more feverish than it had been in the parking lot, your mouths moving together in practiced clumsiness as you wrapped your arms around his neck to keep him as close as possible.
His sturdy palms pressed hard into your lower back and you whined in protest at the sensation, met with his fingers pressing in that now familiar pulsing motion in response. He didn’t seem at all ashamed to be reduced to a frantic state with you, easily mirroring your inexperienced desperation despite the opposite being true for him.
“Jack.” You panted it against his open mouth but you forgot what you were asking for as soon as you said it, maybe just longing to say his name and feel it on your tongue.
The syllables felt completely unnecessary considering he was back to rubbing his over yours, such an unexpectedly messy move from somebody as calm and collected as he typically was. It was almost boyish, nearing amateur and you felt like you could die from the feeling of it.
“You drive me crazy.” He whispered it and it felt like a different type of confession, both of his rough hands coming up to cup your cheeks.
He applied enough force that you felt them squish just enough to jut your lips out in a fishlike pout, annoyance flickering over your face that he immediately kissed away as he loosened his grip but kept the hold.
You stopped the urge to almost giggle, thankfully saving yourself the embarrassment in favor of rubbing your hands over his on either side of your face until you could wrap them in yours and bring them back down between you.
“Will you stay here?” You didn’t realize that’s what you wanted until you offered it, at the same time hit with the knowledge of how devastated you’d be if he said no.
“I’d never deny you anything.” He said it softly and despite how common it was becoming, especially in your stolen moments, you still weren’t used to it.
Occasionally you missed the sarcasm and easy banter, finding it a lot easier to navigate than those genuine whispers he was using more and more frequently.
“So I should be careful what I ask for?” You hummed in faux deep thought as you started to walk backwards again like you had on the rooftop, this time leading him down the dimly lit hallway towards your bedroom.
“Doesn’t matter.” He said back easily in a way that made you believe him, signed and sealed when he stopped in your doorway to press you against the wood and kiss you again.
You smiled into it, letting go of one of his hands in favor of running your palm through his greying curls. He made a noise of approval that felt like you’d won the lottery, curling your fingers just enough to be felt before you were sighing and pulling off fully.
“Do you want a shower?” You asked and he wagged an eyebrow at you, making you laugh softly but shake your head so he understood you were being genuine.
“Can’t here.” He said back shortly, gaze flickering downwards before meeting yours again with a lot less comfortability than his face had held a second ago.
“There’s a stool in the closet.” You responded back as casually as possible, hand rubbing over his chest almost soothingly on instinct even though you figured he’d been a little defensive if he realized that’s why you were doing it. His eyebrows furrowed like he was trying to figure out if you had any different intentions than just letting him clean up. “I can’t reach the smoke alarm.”
You shrugged at the end of the statement and he huffed out a surprised laugh, like how easily you’d come to a solution for his leg shocked him. Truthfully you hadn’t made any adjustments because you didn’t plan for this to happen, for him to be here and for you to be so afraid he’d leave.
You wished he’d let you make space for him and his disability without feeling like you were pitying him but the day was tough enough without that conversation added on.
So instead you shifted closer and pressed light kisses against his jaw, feeling his breath hitch at the rare first move from you. You waited until you felt his body relax, his hands back on your body and his neck slightly bared for you to continue your exploration.
“I want you to stay Jack.” You said against his warm skin, voice a low whisper that made him visibly shudder. “I know what that means so take a shower and get into bed with me.”
He moved a hand up to your hair, tightening enough that you got the idea he wanted you to look at him. You pulled your face from his neck and peered up patiently, feeling pleased when he pressed into another deep kiss.
His tongue was back in your mouth instantly and you gasped at the immediate fast pace, only granting him more access to you. You clung to him tightly when his hands went lower than your hips, smoothing over the back pockets of your pants before he was cupping your ass and pulling you tight against him.
Your own were desperately smoothing over his back and shoulders, grasping any strong part of him you could.
“You’re so good to me.” He muttered against your mouth but you were a little too dazed to process what he was saying and the reasoning behind it, why your simple gesture of treating him like he was normal might affect him like this. “Good for me. You know that, right sweetheart?”
You nodded dumbly and tried to kiss him again, making a noise of protest when he dodged it with a smile and a quick peck to the top of your head.
“Showers.” He reminded you and you sighed but nodded in agreement, fully aware you both were still disgusting after a long hot shift.
“Be quick.” You meant it to be a teasing jab but it was breathy and tight, his eyes darkening a little at the sound of it before he was nodding.
Luckily you had a guest bathroom so you didn’t have to wait for each other to finish, showing him where everything was before you were washing up as quickly as you could with the overt awareness he was only across the hallway fully undressed.
You had more embarrassment than self control so you waited for him patiently on your bed once you were finished, sitting on the edge of it like it wasn’t your own. Your wet hair was soaking through the straps on your tank top but you definitely weren’t patient enough to let it dry and he clearly wasn’t either considering he was stepping out with damp curls that made your stomach clench.
Thankfully you had some clothes from your brothers last visit still in your dresser so he had a fresh outfit but you almost wished he had been forced to stay in his scrubs, a little dizzy from the black shirt that was a little too tight on him and the sweatpants.
He was a little too domestic, a little too casual and a lot of Jack Abbot in your bedroom with that longing look in his eyes.
You didn’t even need to say anything before he was on you, pressing you flat on your back against the bed as he settled above you, holding himself up with a forearm next to your head as he kissed you deeply.
He tasted like toothpaste and smelled like your shampoo, so deliciously a combination of the two of you that you almost felt drunk. Your hands tugged at his curls as you fell into the dozenth makeout session of the night, the heat steadily rising again as he pressed against you.
A light wince made you pause, turning your head to stop him from kissing you further and distracting you from the obvious discomfort in his lower half.
“Take it off.” You said it softly but there was no room for argument.
He had put his leg back on to make the walk from your bathroom back to the bedroom, not having his crutches on hand clearly considering how short notice of a sleep over this was, but you frowned at the way he was awkwardly hovering on the opposite side to keep himself above you.
“No it’s fine.” He mumbled, kissing wetly against your neck and almost successfully getting you to forget what you were talking about.
“Jack stop.” You continued firmly, feeling a tinge of guilt when he sighed and tucked his face down into the curve of your shoulder. “Please?”
He groaned at the interference but thankfully listened to you, shifting over onto his side beside you so he could sit up enough to maneuver his leg off. You watched him curiously although you could feel his lighthearted glare pointed at your face when he noticed you observing
“Sorry.” You say sheepishly, voice soft as you rub a hand over his chest and guide him back until he’s the one laying flat instead of you.
There’s no protest or reply to your apology due to your mouth pressing against his again, resting your full weight on his chest and letting one of your legs slot between his. You try to ignore the fact this position means your thigh is pressed into his crotch but your body naturally heats up with interest as you kiss.
It feels like an eternity of your mouths moving together, the soft noises he’s drawing out of you so easily sounding so unlike yourself it makes you dizzy.
“You drive me crazy.” He half groans with a fistful of your hair and you can’t help but laugh, a little bit delirious from it all. “I didn’t know I could feel like this again.”
“Yeah?” You practically whisper it, not able to stay smug for long considering he’s playfully growling at your response and flipping you back over so you’re underneath him again.
You sigh in relief when he kisses across your neck and collarbones, thick fingers moving to pull the straps of your tank top down your arms so he can bunch it around your ribs. The constriction of the fabric only adds to the breathlessness you feel when he starts to kiss lower and lower, a sharp gaps ripping from your throat when he lets his tongue smooth over your hardened nipple.
His free hand comes up to the other side of your chest, almost rough in the way he gropes and pulls. You’re half sitting up to try and watch him, mouth parted in a constant steam of high pitched sounds that you can’t focus enough to be embarrassed by.
“So pretty sweetheart.” He finally takes a second to actually take you in, helping you pull the tank top over your head in between kisses on your skin. “There we go baby, let me see.”
“You too Jack.” You don’t even recognize your voice, the whine and high pitch so unlike your usual cadence that you almost went to laugh at yourself if you weren’t so busy trying to tug his shirt off. He smiles down at you in that crooked weathered way that makes you feel insane, clearly amused by how desperate you are.
Your eyes raked over his torso once it’s bare in front of you, a low sound coming from your throat as your breathing picks up. You could tell Jack was fit from the way his shirts fit a little too tight around the arms and chest but he’s so solid and thick, so much more of a man than you ever expected to be hovering above you with a gentle wanting gaze.
He’s back down against you and kissing you hotter now, tongues sliding together as your hands roam wherever you can reach. You rub his biceps and back muscles, shuddering out a harsh breath when his own go back down to cup your ass and adjust you underneath him so he can slot between your legs comfortably.
You nearly whimper when he finally settles and you can feel the whole heat of him on top of you, pressing against your core that had been aching since you first left the hospital.
He chuckles into your mouth in that low addicting way, shifting his hips far enough forward to really apply some pressure just to test your reaction. It’s a whine of his name that follows, half annoyance and half mindless pleading for something more.
“I don’t know if you can handle it baby.” He says in a sugary sweet tone like he’s genuinely concerned for your well being, moving his hands around the waistband of your shorts. You feel him press down lightly on your stomach and you sigh in frustration, lifting your hips to try and get him to continue undressing you.
“You’re supposed to teach me.” You say back, half delirious.
His eyes darkened at that, at the obvious implication and reminder of not only your inexperience but of his position of authority above you. Your words seemed to spur him into action and it wasn’t long before you were both undressed, taking your time to take in each other’s bodies in a way that almost felt too romantic.
You felt like lovers on your honeymoon, not at all the energy of a scandalous and impulsive hookup with your boss.
He kissed down your body gently, letting his hands touch every part of your skin like he was committing it to memory as he praised you in soft murmurs that felt more exhilarating than any thing you could have imagined before this. You could probably get off just from his low voice telling you how beautiful you were for him, for him.
Then there was the way he let you scan over him too, a hint of insecurity on his face when it came to his lower half and the blank space where his limb used to be. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t treat it like a foreign alien in the bed with you and you could visibly see the relief in the way he sighed and slumped back against the pillows.
You kissed against the wrinkles on his face, practically obsessed over the grey hair on his stomach leading down to his length that you could barely look at without turning bright red in the face.
The heat was still undeniable beneath the softness of the moment, the way his breath stuttered as he took your hand in his and placed it between his legs.
Your voice was needy and high as you asked him, begged him, for his approval with your wrist moving the best you could. He kept his hand over yours and the size difference made you a little faint, barely able to see the fact you were the one wrapped around him and stroking him tightly.
He’d stopped you after a short amount of time, muttering into your mouth that it had been a long time for him and he didn’t want to finish without being inside of you.
“Can you take it baby?” He asked sweetly once he had you back under him, thick fingers rubbing between your legs in a slow way that was bringing tears to your eyes. “Look at you, getting so worked up.”
“Please Jack.” You gasped and shook your head, trying to keep your thighs open so you didn’t bury his hand between them. He was barely touching you yet but that was both the problem and a relief. “Please touch me already, I want it so bad.”
“I know you want it babygirl but you need to let me take care of you.” He kissed his teeth in disapproval to your begging and now you full out sobbed, being comforted by his finger finally pressing into you.
It was a slow stretch and already a bit much for you, far more than anything you could do with your own hands or a pillow especially when attached to a face and voice like his. He tried to kiss you through the second one but you could barely stop your whines long enough to respond, opting for sucking across your neck instead.
“Fuck you’re so tight.” It was a low growl right in your ear once the third finger was pressed in, your own wetness so loud in the quiet room you could feel your face heating up. “Don’t know if I’ll fit kid.”
“Make it fit please please.” You were helplessly begging now despite knowing he was just mocking you, struck hard by the mere suggestion he might not give you what you needed tonight. “No more Jack, can’t take it anymore.”
He practically cooed as he finally got you to focus enough to kiss him back, waiting until you were relaxed enough again before he was pulling his fingers out. You whined in protest but he shushed you immediately, so firm and authoritative that you immediately pressed your lips closed tightly.
“Just shut up for me baby.” His tone was still as sweet as it had been the entire night but there was an edge to it that made you inhale shakily. “You wanted to take it so you’ll take it.”
You nod eagerly at his words, entire body stiffening when you actually feel him pressing against you below, already clenching before he could even move forward. He sighed at the resistance and kissed you again, rubbing your sides and clearly trying his best to get your body to the point it needed to be.
“You’re so good sweetheart.” He whispered into your mouth and you felt your heart inflate at the praise. “Know you’ll take cock so perfectly.”
You audibly whimpered at the lewd word which was a bit ridiculous considering the state you were currently in, distracted enough by the things he was saying that he was able to slide deeper into you.
He groaned and tucked his head into your neck at the same time you winced in pain from the stretch, no amount of preparation with his thick fingers could prepare for the new sensation and you started to really doubt your ability to handle it for the first time.
“Don’t do that babygirl.” He grunted and it took you a second to realized you were getting even tighter around him from the pain. “Gotta relax for me okay?”
You nodded and did your best to listen to what he was saying, knowing that regardless it was your instinct by now to follow his orders. It had been engrained in you, a desperate need to please him and make him feel proud of you that clearly carried over to the bedroom just as smoothly.
It took a few minutes of kissing before he was able to move, room falling into a heated silence other than his low grunts and your constant stream of his name and whatever else you were able to babble out.
“This what you needed?” His voice was tight and strained and the sound of it alone was enough for you to know you weren’t going to last long with him over you like this. “Just some cock baby? Now you’re all better?”
You kissed against his mouth both from pure need and because you couldn’t take hearing him talk anymore, the filth coming from his mouth the most intoxicating things you’ve ever heard.
It was easy to forget about everything other than him, easy to forget your responsibilities and the heavy burden to always be better than you were the day before because he didn’t expect anything from you, especially right now. Jack was holding you like you couldn’t do a single thing wrong in his eyes and you felt like you’d finally found the impossible ceiling to your need to succeed.
You didn’t need to worry about a thing when he was kissing you and telling you how good you were doing for him all the way through your release, reminding you how good you made him feel and how beautiful you were as he cleaned you up and gently tucked you into bed after.
There was a half second where you panicked as you watched him step near the hallway door, sitting up halfway in bed covered in the shirt he had been wearing earlier and nothing else.
You didn’t need to say anything, the look on your face explaining enough for him to soften and shift back over to you, holding your face and kissing you gently.
“Just getting you some water.” He mumbled against your lips and you felt another wave of warmth run through you.
Jack didn’t leave and it was scarily natural to mesh together in a tight embrace, making low conversation in the dark room while he played with your fingers until you finally dozed off.
Summary: in which jack abbot doesn't really need to learn new things to impress you.
CW: prob medical innacuracies, fem!reader and average pitt descriptions.
Word Count: ~3k
AN: first time writing for the pitt and abbot. any feedback is appreciated xx
Jack Abbot had survived combat zones, 36-hour shifts, and enough Pittsburgh winters to make a man question every life choice. But somehow, he wasn't prepared for you.
Competent, smart, helpful without being showy. The kind of doctor who made chaos look organized just by stepping into it. You had started as an intern on days, spending three straight years under Robby’s orbit before asking to switch to nights for your final year. Apparently, you wanted the full ED experience before finishing residency.
Jack had heard about you long before he properly met you, mostly from Robby.
At first it was little things, slipped into handoff reports or post-shift complaints over stale coffee.
"She caught the PE before cards did."
"She stayed four hours late to help clear the waiting room."
"I didn’t even ask her to comfort that kid; she just knew what to say."
Then it became constant.
Robby talked about you the way attendings talked about once-in-a-career residents — with equal parts pride and disbelief. How you could run a trauma without freezing. How nurses trusted you instinctively. How med students followed you around like ducklings because you actually taught them instead of using them as free labor. Apparently you could calm psych patients, charm consultants, and somehow convince surgeons to answer pages without starting a fight.
Jack had assumed Robby was exaggerating.
Not maliciously. Just… Robby loved mentoring. Loved finding potential and polishing it until it shined. Every few years he picked up a resident he swore would become the future of emergency medicine. Jack figured you were simply the newest addition to the collection.
Then he worked a crossover shift with you. And, annoyingly, Robby hadn’t been exaggerating at all.
You moved through the department like you belonged there. Not rushed, not frantic — just steady. You remembered every nurse’s name, every patient’s lab values, every family member lingering anxiously by a doorway. You anticipated orders before attendings asked for them. You caught mistakes quietly, corrected them without embarrassing anyone, and somehow still found time to explain things to terrified interns.
The thing that got him, though, was that you never seemed aware of how good you were.
No ego. No performance. No desperate need to prove yourself smartest in the room.
Just competence.
Jack hated how quickly he noticed you after that.
The occasional shifts when you covered nights started becoming something he looked forward to. He’d walk into the ED expecting the usual grind and find you already there, coffee in hand, updating the board with that focused little crease between your brows. Sometimes he’d sub into days and catch glimpses of the life you’d built there — nurses lighting up when you arrived, Robby throwing you impossible cases because he knew you could handle them, med students practically competing for your attention.
Even Santos, who disliked nearly everyone on principle, admitted you were “annoyingly reliable.”
By your fourth year, Jack knew your habits better than he should’ve. The way you bounced lightly on your heels when waiting for any results. The fact you always stole strawberry popsicles from pediatrics during rough shifts. How you tucked loose strands of hair behind your ear while concentrating. The soft, exhausted smile you gave environmental services workers at 3 a.m. when everyone else had definitely forgotten they existed.
Then you switched to nights permanently. Just after the start of your R4 year.
And Jack was done for.
Somewhere between watching you run a multiple-GSW trauma with blood on your shoes and complete calm in your voice… and hearing you laugh in the ambulance bay at five in the morning, sleep-deprived and radiant under ugly fluorescent lights… admiration turned into something far more dangerous.
Because the worst part was that you fit into nights effortlessly.
The night shift could smell weakness. It chewed people up. Burned out good doctors in months. But you walked into the madness like you’d always belonged there beside them — beside him.
And Jack, who rarely impressed easily and trusted even less easily, found himself watching you across crowded hallways with something dangerously close to reverence.
Robby, unfortunately, noticed immediately.
A week after you officially switched to nights, during handoff after a particularly rough shift, Robby glanced over at Jack while they stood at the board.
“See?” he said quietly, smug satisfaction written all over his face. “Told you she was special.”
Jack had rolled his eyes, muttered something to get Robby off his case, and gone back to talking about handoffs.
x
Tonight the ER was unusually still for a Tuesday. A couple minor cases, one drunk college kid with a sprained wrist insisting he was “built different,” and otherwise the kind of eerie calm that made everyone suspicious the universe was winding up for something catastrophic around 3 a.m.
Which was probably why he found you asleep in the break room.
Your cheek was squished against your folded arms at the table, hair slightly mussed from sleep, your abandoned energy drink sitting untouched beside you. The overhead fluorescent lights softened everything just enough to make the scene feel strangely intimate.
Jack paused in the doorway longer than he should have.
It was ridiculous, really, how fond he’d gotten of looking at you.
Not in a creepy way, he told himself immediately. Christ. He was forty-nine years old. He was your attending.
He just… appreciated you.
That was all.
The fact that he’d recently downloaded TikTok under a fake name to “understand references” meant absolutely nothing. Neither did the Spotify playlist currently saved on his phone called Not Your Grandpa’s Rock, courtesy of a laughing Santos who’d almost choked trying not to tease him about it.
He’d even asked one of the nurses what “lowkey” meant earlier this week. Humiliating.
Your watch beeped softly. You jerked awake with a tiny inhale, blinking blearily around the room for a second like you’d forgotten where you were.
Jack immediately turned toward the coffee machine so it didn’t look like he’d been staring at you sleep.
Smooth.
Behind him he heard you stretch, the quiet rustle of scrubs filling the silence.
“You want some?” he asked, gesturing vaguely with the stale hospital coffee pot. Casual. Totally casual.
“I’m okay right now, thanks, Dr. Abbot.” Your voice was still rough with sleep, and somehow that did something deeply unfortunate to his heartbeat. “Nothing like a suspiciously slow Tuesday to try to catch up on some sleep.”
“Yeah, don’t say that too loud,” he muttered, sitting across from you. “The universe hears arrogance.”
You smiled sleepily at him, rubbing at one eye. “Sorry Parker let me crash in here. She said she’d drag me out if a trauma came in.” You and Parker had developed a really close friendship, even before you switched to nights. He couldn’t blame Parker, honestly. You were hard not to like.
“You’re fine, kid.” His mouth twitched. “Half of this department has slept in worse places.”
You laughed softly, and he found himself mentally saving the sound before he could stop himself. There’d been a time when every conversation between you stayed strictly clinical. Differential diagnoses. Labs. Consults. Efficient. Professional.
Lately, though, he kept finding excuses to linger. A question that didn’t really need asking. A comment stretched a little longer than necessary. Tiny conversational bridges thrown between you because, against all common sense, he wanted to know you outside of medicine. Which was dangerous territory.
You were 29, of course you’d be chronically online in the way that made his brain hurt. He’d been psyching himself up for days. Keep up, old man. Don’t be the dinosaur they all think you are. He cleared his throat. “Alright. Important question.”
You looked up expectantly.
“You kids and your weird internet language. I've had cases where I don't really get what the kids are saying. So I was looking some of it up you know? To make sure I understand them better when they're in my ED? ” This was the lamest excuse he could find, and he leaned back in his chair trying to make it seem like he was genuinely curious about this and not just finding any excuse he could find to talk to you. “Hit me with some slang. I can keep up. I’ve been practicing. ”
Your eyebrows shot up immediately, delighted. “Are you serious?”
“I’m evolving.”
“This I have to see.” You sat up straighter. “Okay. What’s ‘rizz’?”
“Charisma,” he answered instantly. “Game. Flirting ability.”
“Okayyy, Dr. Abbot!” Your eyes widened a little and you gave him a lopsided smile. He tried not to look too smug.
“What about ‘brain rot’?” You carried on.
“Too much internet so your brain feels dead?” He tried to remove the unsure tone from his voice but wasn't sure if he'd managed. Why was he so nervous? It was just you.
“Been there. ‘Aura?’”
“Confidence. Presence.”
You stared at him for a beat longer now, squinting your eyes, suspicion creeping in. “Did you actually study this?”
“No.” He scoffs. A pause.
“…That sounded like a lie.”
Jack took a sip of coffee to hide the fact that it absolutely was. He had used some flashcards he still had at home. Turns out memorizing medical terms was not all that different from… whatever this was.
You laughed lightly, shaking your head. “Alright then. ‘Skibidi.’”
He pointed a finger at you. “That one’s fake! It doesn’t mean anything! You people made that up specifically to torture everyone over forty.”
You nearly choked laughing. And God, there it was again—that feeling in his chest. Warm and dangerously addictive. You were just adorable, his brain supplied unhelpfully. No. Absolutely not. You were young and brilliant and kind and deserved someone uncomplicated. Someone without old scars and ghosts and a limp that acted up in the rain sometimes. Not him.
He set his coffee down on the table in front of you, leaned back, crossing his arms and looking at you with a small smile. “See? I’m not hopeless.”
You tilted your head, with sleepy amusement still lingering in your expression. “You’re trying really hard.” You finished with your small lopsided smile again. “It’s cute.”
Jack felt his ears heat and he looked away from you. Cute. Jesus Christ. He was forty nine. He was a widower and had a prosthetic leg from a war injury and a permanent scowl that made residents scatter. He’d been called intimidating. Gruff. Occasionally terrifying. One intern had once described him as “emotionally haunted in a hot way,” which he was still pretending he never heard. He was absolutely not cute.
“Alright, smartass,” he muttered, pulling out his phone mostly to regain control of the conversation. “I even got music recommendations.”
Your grin widened instantly. “No way.”
He ignored the sudden urge to throw his phone directly into the Allegheny River.
“One of the nurses made me a playlist,” he admitted reluctantly. “Current stuff.” He would never admit how much he had talked to Santos about all of this.
“You have a playlist?” you repeated, visibly trying not to laugh.
“They told me it's related to TikTok or something? That slang comes from the songs too and that I had to learn this stuff.” And then he pressed play before he could lose his nerve.
Some aggressively auto-tuned song filled the break room, all distorted bass and lyrics that sounded vaguely threatening toward women. He didn’t really like it but he was being strong and powering through.
Jack lasted about twenty seconds before he noticed your expression slowly turning skeptical. Were you laughing? No… you were scrunching your nose and looking…midly bored?
“…What?” he asked defensively
“This is… technically music.” You looked genuinely distressed trying to be polite. “But I think this is objectively terrible.”
Relief washed through him so fast it was embarrassing.
You stood abruptly and moved around the table toward him, phone already in hand. “Scoot over.”
Jack obeyed before his brain caught up, moving his chair so you could pull up another chair next to him. The second you sat beside him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his arm, every coherent thought in his head immediately packed its bags and evacuated the premises.
You smelled faintly like vanilla and the hospital soap.
This was fine. Totally fine.
You scrolled through your phone for a second before familiar sounds filled the room.
He expected whatever the algorithm had told him was “hot right now.” Instead, you played Abbey Road on your phone, and he was surprised to hear Come Together from your phone.
“Forgive the terrible speaker of my phone, I have a much better sound system at home.”
The Beatles?
Jack blinked at you. You grinned without looking up. “What? You thought I only listened to stuff from TikTok?”
“I had a whole speech prepared,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “About broadening my horizons.”
“That’s adorable.”
There was that word again.
You laughed softly, brushing your hands on your scrub pants. “That’s nice? I guess? But… I basically only listen to music from before I was born,” you confessed. “Beatles, Queen, Zeppelin, Bee Gees. Santos tries to “educate” me on newer stuff but mostly I ignore her.”
Jack stared at you.
You tugged at your scrub shirt up — there was a vintage Queen tee, the News of the World robot faded but unmistakable. “I pretty much only wear only band tees. Ask Whitaker and Santos. Thrift stores are my happy place. I have 1971 White Album pressing at home. You’d be surprised at the quality of the record, only a couple minor scratches.”
His brain finally catches up to all you've been saying. “You’re telling me I spent a week listening to that glitch-pop nightmare for nothing?”
Your smile softened.
“It's nice that you tried?” you said softly, shruging one shoulder.
And there it was again—that dangerous warmth low in his chest. Because suddenly this didn’t feel like casual break room conversation anymore. Closer. He was close enough now that he could see the different shades in your eyes beneath the fluorescent lights. Close enough to notice the faint crease sleep still left against your cheek.
Jack was a bit loss for words. “All this time I’ve been killing myself trying to figure out what people even see in this stuff—”
“Couldn't tell you, by the way.” You say with a smile his way again.
“—and you’re over here with better taste in music than I had at your age.”
“I only know current slang from talking to Santos and Javadi and the others. Otherwise I’m probably reading books or the news on my phone.”
His pulse was loud in his ears. Before he could say anything back to you the song changed.
George Harrison’s guitar filled the room, warm and aching and familiar. Something.
You smiled faintly at your phone over the opening chords. “Frank Sinatra called this the best love song ever written.”
Jack swallowed. The irony was not lost on him.
“Did he?” Jack cleared his throat, voice a little lower than he meant it to be.
“Mhm.”
You were fiddling absently with your ID badge now, suddenly quieter yourself. And for one completely insane second, Jack wondered if you could feel it too—that strange charged pull settling between you. Dangerous territory. Very dangerous. You were just sleepy. It couldn't possibly be anything else. Nope. It couldn't. So he tightened his grip on his coffee cup instead.
He wanted to say more. He wanted to lean in, to tell you that your laugh cut through his exhaustion better than any coffee. That the way you lit up talking about music just now made his day. Instead he stayed rooted in his chair, one hand gripping his coffee cup like an anchor.
“We’ve all seen you trying to speak Gen Z with Santos, by the way,” you added after a moment, glancing at him again. “You’re not nearly as out-of-touch as you pretend to be.”
He huffed softly, suddenly very confident. “You been paying attention, huh?” He couldn’t help the slight teasing.
Your eyes dropped back to your phone immediately, fingers stilling against your badge. You seemed to… were you blushing? It couldn’t be.
“You know me Dr. Abbot,” you said quietly. “I'm always paying attention.” That did not help his situation at all.
Then you looked back up, and the teasing in your eyes was just enough to save him from drowning in the moment entirely.
“Are you gonna keep pretending you’re into whatever glitch-pop nonsense Santos told you to listen to, or are we gonna put on A Night at the Opera and you’ll prove to me that you actually know all the words to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’?”
Jack gasped theatrically. “You questioning my knowledge of Queen right now?”
Your eyes gleamed with mischief.
“Shen told me that apparently you and Robby killed it at the last Pitt karaoke night,” you said. “I told him I needed proof.”
He leaned in just a fraction, “I’ll have you know I was 15 when Wayne’s World came out, thank you very much. ”
“I’’ll believe it when I see it.” You challenged with a smirk.
He leaned in more before he could stop himself, now close enough that your knees touched.
“I know every word,” he said quietly, smirk on, staring down your eyes with a confidence he didn't know he had in him right now.
“Even the operatic part?” He wasn't sure if you were just teasing or if you actually doubted him.
“C'mon kid,” he murmured, with a little shake to his head, brows furrowed, “don’t insult me.”
And for a moment neither of you moved.
Just music humming softly through terrible phone speakers. The distant hospital intercom crackling somewhere outside the break room. Your eyes holding his a beat too long, soft, teasing smile still on your face.
Jack could almost imagine crossing the remaining inches between you. Could almost imagine what it would feel like to touch your face, to kiss that teasing smile right out of existence.
Instead he leaned back in his chair before he did something catastrophically stupid.
“I should warn you,” he said roughly, “my air guitar skills are elite.”
You grinned wide immediately. “Oh, this I need to see.”
“And if Joy calls me cringe one more time, I’m filing workplace harassment paperwork.”
Your laughter filled the room again, bright and easy, the sound making his chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with the long shift. And somewhere deep down, beneath every warning siren still going off in his head, Jack realized he was already in far too deep.
| summary: frank can't sleep so he shows up at your door, but he realises you need him much more than he needs you and basically you cry in his lap and then he comforts you and…. yeahh
I authors note: first piece I'm sharing guys, I hope yall like it because I’ll be honest this whole thing is just Frank talking you through it while he fucks you because he knows you need it.
I content: fem reader, smut, p in v, sad!reader, comfort, praise kink, crying!reader, selfless!frank, pet names, sitting on lap, body worship, talking you through it, thigh riding, angst, frank only has a soft spot for you, frank comforts reader, gentle!frank, lowkey yearning!frank
I word count: 6.7k
It's past midnight, and you're wandering around the kitchen, cleaning up after a long day, your long, soft hair flowing down your shoulders as you stand on your tiptoes to open a cabinet. It seems like the world just has it in for you lately, everything's going wrong, and on top of that, you don't have anyone to talk to.
Well, there's Frank. There's always Frank. It's like he can sense when somethings wrong. At times, he knows you better than you know yourself. But Frank's- well... Frank? Yes, he's there for you but he's never there. Not physically. No, he's always caught up in a fight, always saving someone or hurting himself.
You shake your head, drying your hands on a towel lying on the counter. It's not fair for you to expect anything from him. It's not like he's yours?
There's a knock at the door. You raise your head suddenly, someone's at the door? Confused, you walk towards it, moonlight lighting up the dark hallway of your house through the glass panes on the door. You open it, looking up, and of course it's him. The same comforting, distant man you can't stop thinking about.
"Frank?" you furrow your brows softly, you didn't expect it to genuinely be him at the door. The cold breeze brushed your bare arms as you stand at the door in your shorts and camisole. His eyes flicker up and down, taking your presence in. He doesn't say anything. Still, you're a kind woman, you're understanding, and so without questioning anything you tell him softly, "Come in" with a gentle nod of your head towards inside your house. You gesture him inside, shutting the door with a click behind you. He walks in with his broad figure, hands in his pocket awkwardly as if you're the one who's showed up to his house in the middle of the night. He's looking at the floor like a child being scolded and so you ask him, "Hey, is everything okay?"
He looks up slowly at your kind face, he doesn't want to disappoint you- or for you to think less of him. "I uh-just, couldn't sleep" he finally mutters, pulling his hands out of his pockets. "Just- wanted to hear your voice I guess." His voice is low, it's as if he hasn't spoken to anyone for a while. You watch him understandingly, not an ounce of judgement in your face, and you just nod. "Come. Sit down for a bit" you tell him, walking towards your couch, your own arms crossed, a natural sort of defence mechanism- though of course, Frank has never hurt you. He'd never dare lay a hand on you.
He sits down on the couch, the whole thing moving slightly lower with his weight. You hover near him, still stood up. "Want something to drink?" you ask him softly, and he shakes his head. Leaning back on the couch, he says softly, "Nah, 's alright, just came to see you."
Of course he says that. And of course your stomach starts doing fucking backflips. You shake your head, walking into the kitchen anyway. He sits there alone for a moment, eyes following you, watching as you work your way through the kitchen like an angel, skin as soft as snow, biting your lip in concentration.
You come back with two glasses and some whiskey, placing them down with a clink. His puppy dog eyes follow your slender fingers as you let go of the glasses. They continue scanning over your body as you finally take a seat opposite him, pressing one of your knees to your chest and resting your chin there. You sigh softly as you watch him.
"Why couldn't you sleep?" you ask softly, watching him carefully.He throws his shoulders up softly, shrugging. It's not the first time he's done something like this. For years it's been obvious to you that he has a soft spot for you, but no action has ever been taken. And you curse yourself endlessly for it, but you feel something for him too-even though you can't tell what exactly. He shakes his head, grunting, "It doesn't matter, I'm used to it".
You continue watching him. Something about his presence as a whole just has a hold on you. You want to be there for him- to help him. So you ask him the only sensible thing in your head, "You wanna talk about it?" He watches you through half lidded eyes, shaking his head silently as he leans forward a little, his forearms on his legs, "Already said, just needed to see you."
You don't know what to do but nod. You breathe out a soft, "Okay" and sit there, still hugging your knee on your seat like a worried child. The truth is you're tired. Tired of begging, of trying to be there for people who clearly don't want you. Tired of being rejected and never understood. Your eyes start to wander around your living room, the warm glow from your fireplace lighting everything up, including Frank's eyes.
He tilts his head the slightest, watching your every move and of course, he knows somethings wrong. You continue sitting there, wondering what to say or what to do. You get chills from the way you can tell he's watching you closely. So why won't he just fucking say something? It's not like he has any trouble in the female department?
Except he doesn't want anyone who isn't you. Most people are shit scared of him, they think he's about to snap any moment. But not you. No, you see him for who he really is. A man in pain, who's always making mistakes to just help what he thinks is right. And you, you're kind and gentle and smart- everything that's the opposite of the world he knows.
After a few minutes of quiet besides the soft crackling of the fire, he chooses to break the silence. He can't watch you just sitting here, disassociating from everything. You're still hugging your knee, sitting in that position on the couch. Finally, he murmurs softly, "What's goin’ on?" And without really moving, your eyes flick to him and you shrug your shoulders. His heart patters softly at your dismissive tone.
He can't sit here and watch you suffer silently. Especially since you would never do that either. He frowns softly and rumbles out, "Hey, talk to me." And as if a light switch suddenly flicks in your head, you gain awareness and turn your head to him. Not entirely convincingly you tell him, "I'm okay, really." and drop your knee from beneath your chin, your feet both on the floor awkwardly.
You realise he's here because he was upset and so you look back up and ask him, "Tell me what's up then, why couldn't you sleep?" He watched you like you just spoke some foreign language and mutters, "That's not fair." You just stare at him confused.
God, why is he like this?
For some reason you're already infuriated, anger bubbling up inside you, threatening to spill out. "What do you mean that's not fair? You show up to my door past midnight and you won't even tell me what's wrong?" you spit out. Frank frowns, he hates seeing you like this, hates that he's caused you to feel like this. You see his face soften and instantly feel bad. That's the kind of effect he has on you. So you breathe out, "Look I'm sorry- I've just had a shit day." Which is a lie of course, every day is shit. Everyday that you go on, unsure of your feelings towards Frank, unsure of what you want.
He blinks slowly, giving you space, letting you get your feelings out. “Don't be sorry," he says gruff but softly, shaking his head. A quiet moment passes and he says "C'mere," gesturing to the empty space beside him. Hesitantly you get up, trudging towards him like a dog with a tail between its legs. You sit down next to him, embarrassed now that you raised your voice at him. And the worst thing is that he stayed calm, he let you yell at him. Because that's the kind of man Frank is.
You stare ahead at the floor, Frank looking at nothing but you. His eyes trace over your face, your soft hair- that little figure of yours that's so angry inside, your chest going up and down softly as you breathe. He hesitates, then parts his lips slightly and whispers, "Talk to me." You look up slowly, turning your head to face his weathered face which is full of concern for you, and you protest, "This isn't about me- you're the one who's upset."
Frank lets out a soft breath. "God you're stubborn" he huffs, and you can tell he’s genuinely annoyed. You don't say anything back and he continues watching you. "Just let me be here for you." he whispers, almost begging, like he needs to help you. Like he can't live knowing you're upset. You shake your head, voice shaking as you say, "For Christ's sake Frank, I don't need your help- I don't need you." Except you do. Your eyes begin to glisten as you ramble, threatening to start spilling tears and Frank frowns, repeating, "Hey hey, shhh" as he gently moves his calloused hand onto your forearm.
You shake your head, fighting back tears and trying to get out of his reach, "I'm fine- go away, I'm fine." You pull your arm away, voice quaking. The same way he let you shout at him, he's letting you use physical force on him. You keep spitting out that you're fine-you don't need anyone or anything, and all the while, Franks hand gently moves to the side of your face, holding it in his palm. You croak out once more with glistening eyes, "I'm fine" and then break down at his soft touch.
Tears run down your face as you shake your head, trying to stop crying. Frank watches you heartbroken, his brows are furrowed and it looks like he's only a few moments away from crying too. "Oh poor baby" he whispers, pulling you close to him, his big arms wrapping around you warmly. "Let it out, I'm here" he says, voice barely above a whisper. He wants to protect you from everything, from everything that hurts you, but he can't, and that's what bothers him. He needs you to need him.
You try wiping your tears with the back of your hand, but they continue streaming down your face. You make the mistake of looking up at Frank because as you lift your head slowly- your, big sad doe eyes break him. A soft gasp leaves his lips and he whispers, "Oh, sweet girl," as if he's in pain watching you cry. Effortlessly he pulls you onto his lap, his big hands wrapping around you as if he can shield you from the world. He tilts back his head to get a better look at you, leaning back on the couch and adjusting you to make sure you're comfy. "I know you’re hurtin’, just let it out" he breathes.
His broad chest presses against yours as he holds you, one hand on your back, the other caressing your hair. You cry your endless tears and he gently lifts your head with his hand beneath your chin. "I'm here, just talk to me, please." he says softly, eyebrows knitted together in concern. Eyes puffy and cheeks stained with tears you stutter, "God I'm just so alone. I'm so alone Frank- I don't have anyone." He looks like a sad little puppy at hearing that.
"That's not true baby, you have me" he frowns, tilting his head to get a better look at you, resting his hand on the side of your face. His other hand runs up and down your back soothingly, and you nuzzle your face into his hand. But he’s not yours, you remember. "Don't call me that Frank" you cry, pulling your head back and shaking it.
God, his heart aches watching you cry.
He watches your quivering lip, waiting for you to explain, and you glare at him, your words drowning in tears. At last, your voice breaks when you say, "Not when I'm not yours."
Oh.
He shakes his head silently, sitting up a little more and adjusting you in his lap. "Don't say that." he whispers, taken aback and heartbroken. “Just- don’t-” he mutters, unsure of what to say. He wants to be yours. God knows he does. But it's not that easy, he can't bring you into his life, because he knows that anyone he loves gets hurt.
He moves his palm across both sides of your face gently, wiping off the tears that are leaving salty, hot trails on your skin. Your voice breaks, barely holding together as you try to speak. "Frank," you cry shakily, your breath catching in broken, wet gasps. He barely blinks, just taking in this sight of you- broken and defeated. "Yeah i know, I'm here."
He doesn't bother wiping away the tears that soak his collar, he just needs to be there for you. As he holds you close and roams his hands up and down your back, you hiccup a little, your violent sobs much less now. "That's it, you're okay" he whispers sweetly, his touch gentle and caring. You sniffle in his chest as he reassures you, your stomach fluttering. Oh how you hate the way he makes you feel, as if you're not in control of your own body.
"Frank," you whisper again, breathlessly, the only remnants of your crying being your puffy eyes. "Yeah sweet girl? talk to me" he murmurs, moving a strand of hair that's stuck on your wet face behind your ear. You don't say anything, just let yourself melt back into him, your face in the crook of his neck, legs on either side of him. He lets his hands fall to your sides again, but lower this time- on your hips. He holds them with both hands, as if you'd disappear if he let go.
Your lips part slightly at his touch, you’re aching all over for him. Franks big hands stay there carefully, burning through the fabric of your shorts. Gently he rubs your sides and your breath hitches. Of course, any noise that slips out of your mouth almost kills him. His brows are furrowed as he tries to absorb every reaction you’re giving him. He needs to make you feel good. So, he takes your little gasps as a sign that it’s okay, and gently trails a hand lower, till it meets your thigh. As if his life purpose is to make you feel good, he applies a little more pressure to his touch, watching your face carefully, waiting for another reaction. Waiting for a sign that you want this too.
"This okay sweet girl?" he asks, hands tracing over your thighs reverently. You whine "mhm", leaning back into him. His lips part in awe at your little noises- he needs to hear more. You gasp softly at his hands kneading your hips then moving to your thighs. "Frankk" you whine desperately, core pressing into him a little. This is what you meant, how you can't control yourself when you're with him. He nods understandingly, whispering with his rich voice, "What is it sweet girl?”
Your head lolls to the side, brain turning into mush as your core heats up on his lap. As if doesn’t already make you lose control of your own body- he’s whispering these sweet names in your ear. You can't help it, but your hips rock forward ever so slightly, trying to satisfy that blooming need between your aching thighs.
The moment your hips move, his breath hitches. His entire body goes still as he feels that tiny movement against his lap. He senses your need, and it sends a bolt of desire through him. But he doesn't rush. Instead, his hands stay still for a second on your thighs, then slowly slide up to press against the curve of your waist. The gentle pressure of his palms keeps you right there in his arms, needy and warm. Then his voice drops lower and he whispers against your ear breathily, "Attagirl, let me know how you feel, okay?”
His sweetness is making you melt, and all of your senses are being blinded by pure need right now. You whimper desperately, almost panting as you buck your hips again and Frank says softly, “Take what you need.” You let out a small moan at that, and he realises just how much you need him. You grind your hips against his a few more times, needing to soothe the white hot ache between your legs, but nothings working and you’re getting frustrated. Your eyes begin to water again, but out of desperation now, not sadness. You throw your arms behind his neck, looking for something to hold onto and keep bucking your hips onto his, desperate for anything that will give you friction.
“Frankie,” you moan helplessly, frustrated at yourself, at not being able to feel good. He watches you reverently, as if you’re an angel on his lap, rough hands still moving gently on your sides. “I know baby, dyou need my help?” he coaxes, slipping a hand near the edge of the waistband of your shorts. When he calls you baby again, your heart clenches. He doesn't want to push, or overstep with someone as sweet as you. You lifts your head just slightly, eyes glassy and vulnerable and then nod, slow and shy, but honest, “Please, I need you”. Your eyes start watering again with need, you’ve never felt so alone- so desperate for Frank to just take care you.
“Hey, hey don’t cry doll” he coos, frowning as you pout sadly. You stare into his solemn eyes, desperately waiting for him to take action, but instead, he softly presses his forehead to yours. “I’m here, you’re not alone.” he whispers, his tone as sweet as honey. He moves his head back a little, enough to see you clearly and wipes away another one of your tears with his thumb. “You’re my girl and I’m gonna take care of you, okay?” he reassures as his hand creeps beneath your waistband now.
Of course- he’s still a gentleman with morals and so he asks with the utmost respect, “Can I take these off?” as his fingers creep under your sleep shorts, brushing past the soft lace of your panties. You all but moan, “Yes- please” in desperation, and that’s enough for him. He instructs you firmly, “Lift your hips f’me,” and carefully holds you up with one arm, the other one working at your waist, pulling your shorts down your thighs. “Can I take these off too?” he checks, his pointer finger hooked under the soft lace. You nod your head urgently and with that, the scraps of fabric are at your ankles, then discarded on the floor. He has a job to do.
His breath gets lost in his throat, mouth almost watering at the sight of you, but he tries to be as respectful as possible. “There you go doll, what else dyou need?” he asks adoringly, his hand moving to hold the back of your neck. He stares at your face, all sweet and vulnerable, and has a violent urge to kiss those soft pink lips of yours. You part your mouth to speak, but before any words can come out, Frank leans forward, and presses his lips to yours with such care, you’d think you’re made of glass.
You don’t remember your eyes shutting, just him pulling back tenderly from the kiss and your eyes opening to see his. Like you’re the most valuable thing ever, he leans back in and places a kiss beneath your ear. You gasp as he peppers your neck with soft kisses that eventually turn into hot, desperate ones when he can’t control himself. He nibbles at your neck, leaving little marks, then soothes the pain with his tongue, licking at your neck like he’s never felt a woman this sweet before. “You taste so sweet,” he groans, and the heat between your thighs aches as you sit bare on his clothed lap. Your cunt is dripping at the thought of him inside you. His fingers, his dick- anything as long as he’s in you.
You press your hips down on his lap urgently, marking his jeans with a visible wet patch where you’re sat on his thigh. Desperately you start rocking your hips back and forth, searching for the friction you so badly need. Frank groans in awe at how beautiful you are when you’re in need, and he groans, “That’s it, get yourself off on my thigh baby,” as he busies himself with kissing your neck. His hands scramble at the lace of your pyjama top, itching to pull it off. His eyes flick to your scrunched up face as you chase your pleasure, the fabric rubbing on your clit deliciously, and since you don’t protest, he helps you out of your thin top. Hastily, his manly hands search for the clasp of your bra on your back, and with a click, that’s also off and thrown to the floor.
His hands are urgently on your back, covered by your flowing hair as he runs them over your skin desperately. His eyes scan over your angelic body, skin soft and so so beautiful. He has to stop himself from kissing every square inch of your body, but he can’t help himself entirely, so he presses his face between the valley of your breasts and inhales, trying impossibly to be closer to you. Both his arms are wrapped around you protectively, helping you move back and forth to chase your high as he inhales that warm, sweet scent of your skin. He moves his head back to meet yours and pants, “That’s it dollface, keep going f’me.” You let out a lewd moan, signalling how close you are to him and he mewls softly, his dick bulging in his jeans as you ride his thigh. “That’s my girl, you’re almost there.” he praises as you continue writhing back and forth.
Your breathing’s irregular and your vision is blurry from pleasure, and fuck you’ve never needed him so badly. You squirm, so close yet so far, but when his stubble brushes your breast as his lips clasp around your nipple, you’re gone. An obscene moan leaves your mouth as you quiver on his thigh, legs twitching, mouth wide open- and then you can hear Frank praising, “There she is, that’s a good girl.” as you come down from your orgasm, his mouth still pressed to your tit as he holds your body to his. “You’re so beautiful sweetheart,” he pants, relieved that you feel good, ignoring the bulging ache in his jeans. You sigh tiredly, chest heaving as you come down from your high. “mmm thank you Frank,” you murmur, hair stuck to your forehead, eyes puffy from crying, and he answers, “Anything for you doll.”
You watch his broad figure beneath you, and find it amazing how someone this manly can be so soft with you. You love it about him. As you watch him pant selflessly, not wanting to take anything from you, you almost lunge at him. Quickly, you connect your soft lips to his own, wanting to taste his mouth properly now. His tongue slides between your mouth, your lips clashing as you try desperately to feel eachother even closer. You kiss the corner of his mouth, licking at his stubble, imagining how it’d feel between your thighs- how his warm tongue would work between your folds as you moaned, pushing his head lower in desperation. Frantically, you lean back and moan, “I need you Frankie,” as you move your hands over his shirt, on his chest. It’s not like he isn’t yearning to have you too, because he is. There’s nothing more he needs right now than to feel you sucking him in, to feel your walls flutter around him as you cum for the second time, but he needs to hear you say it.
“Use your words sweetheart, what dyou need?” he coos softly, like he’s talking to a child, rubbing your inner thighs. You fall into him, soft tits pressing into his chest as you whine. “I need you inside me- please.” you beg, and he purrs admiringly, pressing gentle kisses to the underside of your breast. “Is that it baby? You need me to take you?” he coaxes, hand cupping your breast, covering it entirely. He kneads it carefully and you moan, barely able to get out an “uh huh” at his touch. “Good girl, that wasn’t that hard was it?” he teases, tapping you on the side of your thighs, signalling for you to lift them.
As you hold your hips in the air, he undoes his belt, pulls down the zipper of his jeans and swiftly tugs them off. He nudges your hips back down and the soft flesh of your ass meets his muscly thighs again, but without clothes between you this time. Need overflows your senses and you moan as his glistening dick hits the sensitive skin of your thigh. You claw at his shirt, and the side of his mouth lifts into a smirk as he pulls it over his head effortlessly. “You’re so needy ain’t ya sweet girl?” he coos, massaging your hips, moving his hands to the roundness of your ass. “Fuck- so soft” he groans, eyes closing for a second to compose himself.
“Please, Frankiee” you wail, pressing your tits to his broad chest, your nipples like mountain peaks. “Shhh, I know” he murmurs, leaning forward and flicking his tongue under your ear. “I’m gonna take care of my girl.” he whispers into your neck, and that makes you swoon. His chunky fingers trail down between your thighs, and he runs his middle finger through your slick folds, holding it up as a string of wetness hangs from it. “Oh, you’re dripping baby,” he coos with adoration, “Don’t even need my fingers”.
He moves back, cupping your cheek with one calloused hand, the other reaching for his aching dick. He pumps it a few times, face scrunching up in desperation to enter you. His eyes flicker to yours hopelessly and his voice cracks as he says, “Let me make love to you sweetheart.” You nod, a painful need blooming in your body, your heart aching at his softness. As needy as ever, he moves your hips with care, nudging your dripping entrance with his swollen tip. You gasp at the contact, needing more, although he hasn’t even had the chance to enter you fully yet. He groans, eyes closing as he bites his lip, pushing himself deeper inside you. “Oh god- you’re so tight f’me,” he shudders, stretching you out painfully as his breath hitches.
So gently, he pushes your hips down until you sink on him fully, and he bottoms out in you with a shuddering groan. “Ahh fuck, is this okay sweetie, does it feel good?” he asks, considerate of you. You nod rapidly, eyebrows furrowed in despair, needing him to move. You moan, hips twitching, desperate for some friction. “Frankie I need you to fuck me,” you moan, hands on his chest. He growls at the way you say that, hands holding your hips as he whispers “Shit, I know baby- I’m gonna take care of this pussy so well.” You can feel yourself getting even wetter around him, if that’s even possible. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he reassures, pressing another wet kiss to the line of your jaw.
Slowly but surely, he does start moving. He lets out deep groans as he holds your waist, grinding you on his lap. You can’t wait, you start urging your hips back and forth faster and he tuts at you, whispering dirtily, “Oh, I didn’t know my girl was so needy f’me.” But he understands you need it- need him, and so he starts to buck his hips faster for you. He wraps his arms around you like a human shield, and with his hold on you, starts lifting you. You moan, not wanting to leave, you haven’t even had anything near enough and you can already feel his thick cock sliding out of you. But as you’re about to protest, he quickly slams you back down with urgency. A vulgar noise leaves your mouth as your skin slaps back down onto his. He groans, desperate to make you feel good, he wants to be here for you. He needs to show you you’re not alone, show you that he lov-
You gasp, head thrown back in ecstasy, you can’t think about anything but his arms around you, his breathy whispering into your ear. “Frank,” you cry, emotions pouring out of you. He’s like heaven, he’s your heaven. He feels like home, gives you stability, makes you want to live, to start a family even. You wanna be his, to give him everything and love him till you’re dead. You moan as your tits bounce up and down; Frank worshipping your body, unable to say anything with how pussy drunk he is.
He groans as you clench around him, coating him with slick as you move up and down. He feels different when he’s with you. He feels capable of- change? Capable of being soft and sweet unlike how life has treated him the last few years. He wants to love you forever. At every sound of your skin slapping, a different stage of your lives flashes past his eyes. Watching you walk down the aisle with tears in his eyes. Moving into your first home together. Remodelling your kitchen as you laugh, faces covered in paint. Having a baby together.
“I-” Frank gasps, the words he wants to say sticking his mouth together. “Fuck,” he groans, so close to the edge, “baby- fuck, I love you.” Your arms are around his neck while he makes love to you, desperately holding onto him. You’re scared you’ll drown if you let go, especially when those words leave his mouth. Your heart stops, your eyes glisten and you whine out, “I love you too Frank.” He presses gentle kisses to your neck once you say that, scared that he’ll start crying if he looks at you. He holds onto you like you’re his anchor, and finally, tilts your head so his eyes can meet yours.
“I’ve waited so long to hear you say that,” he whispers emotionally, voice breaking. “You’re my whole life baby” he tells you, every word leaving his mouth dripping with love. He helps you lay on your back on the sofa, still connected with you at the core and continues making love to you. With every thrust of his hips you moan into his neck. He pants in your ear as his chest hovers over you, and he mutters sweet nothings into your ear incoherently. You can tell he’s close because he’s not making sense anymore. “Fuck- I’m so lucky to have you baby,” he grunts, jaw clenching together as he stutters, “mm I’m so close.” Your legs are stiff too, and you realise you need to cum again. Frank sees it too and like the gentleman he is, he makes you his priority. “Oh babydoll,” he coos, moving a hand from your side to the sensitive skin between your legs. He smiles endearingly and says, “Let me see that pretty face,” as he tilts his head.
You meet his gaze, but you’re in despair, needing release. He slips his middle finger just below your dripping folds, feeling his dick slide in and out of your drenched pussy. “I’m g’na make you feel so good.” he utters, pulling his hand away from where you’re connected. Your stomach flips when he brings it to his face, spits into it and lowers it back down to your throbbing cunt. He wipes the glob onto your clit, looking up to see your screwed up face. “You okay sweet girl?” he pants and you nod urgently, trying to urge yourself closer to him as his dick tortures your gummy walls. His saliva drips down your pussy as he checks on you, but once you nod, his hand is right back to work. He moves his thumb over to your sensitive nub and starts rubbing gently.
You shudder, pleasure overflowing out of your body as he rubs your clit, his length still dragging in and out of you. You move your hands onto his back, desperate for something to hold onto, to anchor you. Frank shudders at you clawing at his back- your grasp is so desperate, it makes him feel cherished in a way he's never known. Your breath hitches as your mouth falls open, and Frank starts talking you through it, knowing you’ll fall apart any minute. “That’s it, I’m right here, let go,” he encourages while he continues rubbing quick circles. Your moans become increasingly louder, your breathing irregular and you’re on the verge of coming undone. Franks groans at the sweet sounds you make, struggling but managing to get out the words- “Fuck- I’m g’na cum.”
He hasn’t made a fuss about himself, hasn’t been doing this to make himself feel good. Never- you’re always his first priority, and tonight was about making you feel good. About showing you that you’re not alone- no, you’re cherished and loved by so many people. By him. He groans in short gasps, his breathing uneven as he reaches the edge. “Frankie- I’m so close” you whine, your hands trailing down to the nape of his neck. Your fingers are slipping through his short hair as he moans, both of you looking like a desperate, sweating mess. His cock keeps drilling into you and finally you shriek, hips bucking and thighs shaking as you come apart around his dick.
As your head falls to the side while your drenched pussy convulses around him, he groans into your hair, asking for permission as if you’re his goddess. “Doll, I’m so- mph, fuck- I’m right there,” he starts, unable to get a whole sentence out straight. “Please- umph- please let me fill you up.” he stutters, throbbing as his thrusts become sloppy. You breathe out, “Please,” into his neck and with a vulgar groan, his hips stutter and you shudder at a warmth filling you up.
There’s something about you that makes him want to be good. As he holds you like there’s no tomorrow while his hips twitch into yours, filling you, he realises how much he needs you. You’re his angel, his salvation- and there isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for you. Not a single thing, just so he could see you smile, see you feel good. “You’re okay baby, I’m here.” he groans in ragged breaths. He caresses your tits as you both come down from your high, both of you trembling messes. Your breathing steadies slightly as he kisses you, shows you how much he cares. His spend seeps out of your pussy, which is stuffed entirely, and dribbles down his length. Franks eyes trail to where you’re connected, and with a raspy voice he says, “You look so beautiful like this baby.” The corner of his eyes crinkle as he smiles softly, rubbing soft circles on your cheek with his thumb. He adores you with his whole heart. He’s in no rush to go or to leave you. Instead, he holds your warm body close, and skims his mouth up and down your neck. Not kissing, not licking, just letting his lip brush over your skin.
He links an arm beneath you, pulling you off your back to sit up straight and straddle him again, still keeping you plugged with his length, all while his rough hands move to your hair and he runs his fingers through the soft, silkiness of it. “You did so good f’me doll, so good” he purrs, nudging his nose against your jaw, “My good girl.” God, everything he does is so intimate, so sensual. Doing this; for Frank anyways, isn’t about fucking. He wants to make love to you. He wants you to feel comfortable enough to fall apart right there in his lap. And fortunately, he succeeded at that, which means you did feel cherished. “Feel okay sweetheart?” he asks, holding you head with his large hand, the other running along your jawline. You nod sheepishly, cheeks flushed as he smiles at you.
“Ain’t nothing to be embarrassed about baby.” he coos, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You love this about him, the fact that he’s actually taking care of you. “Feel better baby?” he asks, brushing his thumb beneath your eye, as if to catch a tear but you’re not crying. “Mhm, so full.” you whine, glancing down and he nudges your head back up, desperate to see your perfect face. “That right?” he smiles teasingly. “My girl feels all filled up?”. Your cheeks flush pink and he watches you lovingly.
“That’s how I wanna see you baby. Not sad, not talking down on yourself”. He watched you thoughtfully, tone a little more serious then before and you nod. “Okay?” he asks, and you nod, a small smile on your lips, “okay.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead as you close your eyes, and whispers, “Good girl”. As your heart flips, he leans back and says, “Let me help you clean up baby”, rubbing a hand over your thigh. You nod, knowing he’s gonna have to pull out, and after a few more gentle kisses, he helps you onto your back again, his calloused hand over your stomach as he says, “okay, you ready?” You bite your lip, nodding and he starts to pull out- a grimace on his face. As his dick pulls out with a wet pop, his load oozes out of your hole and onto the couch. “You did so good baby, I’m so proud of my girl.” he says in his raspy voice, moving away from between your legs, standing up. He watches your perfect figure lying back on the couch, and tells you, “I’ll be right back.” before walking out of the living room.
He comes back after a few moments, holding one of your shirts, a glass of water and a cloth. You smile in awe, heart aching at his attempt to give you aftercare. He leans down, sitting on his knees on the cold floor, setting the glass of water onto the coffee table with a clink. “Can I help baby?” he asks softly, holding up the cloth. You smile giddily and say, “Yes, please”, and then his paws are on your legs again and he whispers, “Spread your legs f’me sweetheart”. If he hadn’t already just fucked the life out of you, you would’ve been needy again, but instead you open your legs for him, revealing your glistening cunt. He raises the damp cloth, moving it between your thighs and starts gently rubbing at your pussy. “There you go” he whispers, one hand pushing your thigh down to have access while the other holds the cloth. Carefully he cleans you up, electricity running through you when the cloth rubs on your sensitive nub. He places the cloth to the side, not breaking eye contact as he presses the softest kiss to your clit. You shudder, still having aftershocks from your second orgasm.
“Thank you,” you whisper and smiles, placing his hands on knees, and getting up. He moves back onto the couch, pulling you close to his side and tells you, “Lift your arms for me”. You do as he says, and ever so softly, he pulls a clean shirt over your head, gently pulling your arms through the sleeves. He kisses your forehead and wraps an arm around your waist, breathing softly into your hair. A sigh of relief leaves your mouth and he whispers your name sweetly, before breathing out, “I love you”. You nuzzle your face into him as he holds you and you tell him, “I love you too.” His manly hands stroke your hair as you cuddle and he sighs in content. Somehow, he managed to change your night that started out with tears and despair into a night filled with love.
“I’m sorry you felt alone baby. But just know I’m here for you now. I’m yours, and I’d do anything and everything for you.” You listen to his deep rich voice as he holds you, trusting his every word. “Oh Frank,” you whisper, closing your eyes against him. He smiles softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against your bare shoulder.
“I’m never going anywhere again baby. You’re my life.”
