Pairing: Din Djarin x reader/ The Mandalorian x reader
Word Count: 300
Summary: The push and pull between you two drives you nuts but finally you let it all out
Author's Note: This is for June 18th of @societynsoelsscribbles June Jukebox Scribbles and the song: 'Come and Get Your Love by Redbone' and the lyric: "What's the matter with you?" and bonus, "you're mine." Thank you both for hosting and thank you all so much for reading and sharing! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy!🥰
Warnings: tense and sexy, implied oral (f rec), some feels
June Jukebox Scribbles Masterlist
The Mandalorian stands in the doorway of the ship, body covered in armor except for his head, which is surprisingly free of his helmet.
“What’s the matter with you?” he asks.
“What makes you think something’s the matter?” you answer, staring at his handsome features.
“It’s written all over your beautiful face.”
Your heart stutters. “So, now I’m beautiful?”
Djarin scoffs. “You’ve always been beautiful. Perfect.” His words are gruff but honest and his gaze is hooded and hungry.
You whisper his name; both a question and a plea, sucking in a breath when he closes the distance between you.
“Quit playing games with me,” you hiss when he invades your space.
“I’m not playing.”
You open your mouth with a retort, but he grabs your waist, dragging you against his body until your soft curves are lined up with every hard plane of his armor.
“You’re mine. You just don’t know it yet.”
The words settle deep into your skin; the anger you felt earlier dissipating into the want that’s been raging beneath all along. You kiss him, fingers tangling in his hair as he groans against your lips. His arms tighten around you and he claims the kiss, one large hand sliding along the curve of your spine until he’s grasping the back of your neck and tilting your head for better access.
You slide your fingertips over his armor, desperate to feel his heated skin beneath your touch. He obliges your silent command, pulling his chest plate free before he starts to tug your shirt from your pants.
“I have many regrets in my life,” he murmurs. “But not tasting you that night in Sorgan is one of the biggest.”
Suddenly, he hoists you up onto the table. “I need to taste you,” he says, voice thick.
thinking about size difference with dr. robby makes me dizzy...
like his big hands curving around the dip in your waist, his palm warm at the small of your back as he dips his head to talk to you. he doesn't have to stand so close but the ambulance bay can get chilly and he feels like a furnace. his crow's feet never evens out around you, his soft stomach gently pressing against you when he closes the distance so he can hear you respond. "say again, sweetheart?" he'd murmur, his gravelly tone cutting through the occasional siren that blares a few paces away. you'd answer as professional as you can but your mind is dizzy, his scruffy beard ghosting along your temple as he still has to slightly bend over just to murmur in your ear. and maybe his hand is sitting comfortably around your waist, knobby knuckles casually curling to tug up your scrub top to greedily coast along your warm skin.
✶ pairing | jack abbot x f!reader
✶ word count | 3.9k
✶ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, undisclosed age gap, undefined relationship, semi-public sex, teasing, pet names, throat fucking, gagging/choking, getting caught, praise kink, flirting, improper use of hospital cots, whipped jack abbot, porn with plot, post season 1
✶ summary | 54 + 55 with dr. abbot at the hospital or 14 + 24 + 28 with pope please 🩷 “Better be quiet or they’ll hear you.” + “Relax your throat.”
✶ notes | for @seventangerines. this one got away from me a bit lmao. fun fact, i grew up visiting hospitals often because my mother was a medical assistant and i did, in fact, get so lost one time that i almost walked right into the morgue. 10/10 do not recommend. also don't look at me, i am unwell (and noticing a theme of oral on this blog lmao).
masterlist | ao3 | inbox | requests, taglist, submissions: open
The acrid stench of antiseptic burns your nostrils, the ceiling lights - overly bright and offensive - make your eyes water, and the perpetual chill invading the air snakes deep into the bones of your fingers and toes.
Ah, what another wholly unwelcoming day spent in the PMTC emergency department!
“I don’t know how you guys stand it,” you grumble, picking at a dry cuticle with your thumbnail. “If I had to work here, I think I’d go insane.”
Looking up from a bowl of steaming biryani, Javadi shrugs and takes a delicate sip of water before patting the corners of her mouth dry.
The staff table isn’t all that large - or comfortable - but you make do while she keeps you company on her lunch.
Down time like this is a rare, if nigh improbable, luxury and you have a sneaking suspicion Abbot’s been meddling (again).
A small furrow wrinkles her brow as she considers your words. “Mm, it’s not that bad once you get used to it,” she says, “I mean, don’t get me wrong - it’s crazy! But… but not that crazy, y’know?”
You nod sagely. “Ah, yes. The old, ‘routine breeds comfort’. Makes sense, I guess.”
“Uh-huh…” her wide eyed expression stares back at you, mouth twitching as her eyebrows climb towards her hairline. “Sure.”
She doesn’t sound - or look - very sure. A fact you wave away with a careless hand, leaning back into the hard plastic chair with a soft moan of discomfort. You snort fondly, and shake your head.
“Yeah, so, you should never play poker, kid.”
She sniffs, turning her nose up at you, “I resent that, you know.”
“Logged and noted, Doctor.” You tap your temple in mock salute. Before she hones in on the specifics of her current displeasure, you switch subjects. “Anyways, what’s that you’re eating? It smells delicious, and I’m starving.”
Javadi chews on her lip, her dark eyes narrowed in contemplation before she relents with a sigh. Careful not to spill the rice, she tilts her bowl towards you in offering.
“It’s nothing special, just some paneer biryani I made last night…”
“Oh shit, I didn’t know you could cook!” Your eyes light up, glimmering with delight. “May I?”
Glancing to the side, Javadi tilts her head in the barest movement of approval, her gaze lowered to the table. “It’s probably not-“
“Ah, ah, ah. I’m gonna stop you right there, babe.”
Reaching in you nab up a cube of cheese, popping it into your mouth with a low hum of satisfaction. Spices burst across your tongue, warm and tangy as the paneer squeaks between your molars when you chew.
“Fuck, that’s good,” you praise, sucking your thumb clean. “I’m gonna have to bully you into cooking for me sometime.”
She squeaks, an endearing little chirp, and tries to hide behind her hand. “Oh my god, you don’t have to go that far!” she says. “You can come over next time I’m off and we can, I-I dunno…”
“Have a girls night?” You smile, bumping your knuckles gently against her bicep. “Yes, let’s!”
Her head whips around. “Wait, really? You,” she points at you before motioning to herself, “actually want to hang out with me? Like outside of work.”
“Hell yeah! Why not? You’re cool and I like talking to you.”
“I just - wow, um… Y-Yeah, okay, that could be,” Javadi trails off uncertainly before regaining confidence, “fun.”
“It’s gonna be great, you’ll see. We’ll laugh and gossip and watch really bad movies - after you bribe me with food, of course.” You lean close and wink conspiratorially. “I’ll even put a good word in with the boss man.”
“Oh! Is, um, that going to be a problem?”
You quirk a brow and tilt your head. “How so?” you ask.
“I don’t know, isn’t that like a conflict of interest or whatever - hanging out with one of my attending’s, uh,” she squirms in place, gaze darting around the room as she avoids your eyes, “...y’know?”
“I promise it’s good.” Snorting, you push up and out of your seat. “That’s, like, the least shady thing this hospital has done.”
“Wait, what?” She half sits up to follow, blinking rapidly. “What do you mean?”
With a playful smirk and a teasing glint in your eye, you rest a hand on her shoulder and lean in conspiratorially. “Patience, sweet summer child. All secrets will reveal themselves in due time,” you say. “Now do you have any idea where Abbot is? I’m tired of waiting and wanna head home if he’s gonna be too much longer.”
Mind boggled, Javadi directs you towards the South Wing where she last saw him heckling Robby. After stealing another piece of paneer and dropping a kiss on the crown of her head in thanks, you slip out of the room and into the bay.
Only to be immediately assaulted by everything perfectly miserable about an emergency department; the constant wheeling of beds, beeping of machinery, latching and unlatching of doors, and cacophony of voices entropy personified.
If it’s not the noise and buzzing of humans hurrying to-and-fro that gets to you, then it’ll be the arid air in your lungs or the cracking of your skin as sanitizer leaches all moisture from your body.
You’ve only been hanging around for a few hours and it’s a minor miracle your skin hasn’t split yet - raw and irritated where it stretches dry over your knuckles.
Dispassionately, you lament the state of your hands as you trail around the charge station, tossing a nod Dana’s way and resigning yourself to bathing in lotion tonight.
Fucking Abbot. He’s lucky he’s so goddamn cute.
As you swing left around the corner into the South Wing, you stumble across the broad back of one Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch, dark head bowed low over a chart with a hand scrubbing over his bearded jaw.
“Yo, Robinabitch!”
Those same shoulders raise towards his ears and drop with a world weary sigh, the ragged man slowly turning halfway on his heel to peer behind him. You flash a smile and finger guns, undeterred by his deadpan stare.
“Oh, look,” he says in lieu of replying to your greeting, “just the menace I wasn’t hoping to see.”
“You know you love me,” you sing-song, bumping him with your hip once you step up beside him. Immediately, you gentle your expression, subtly peering up at him from beneath your lashes. “How’s it been?”
PittFest and the blow up with Jake - Langdon - happened some months ago, a few mini lifetimes lived in the span of days after. A flicker, a heartbeat; one tiny eternity rolling over into the next.
And you’ve known Robby long enough to recognize the signs: the thinly veiled contempt, the barbed comments and guilty expressions sure to follow, the heavy bruises dragging down those pretty puppy dog eyes with every passing day.
It’s plain to see he’s not coping well, stretched thin like butter over too much bread.
“Ah, y’know,” he shrugs, a lopsided smile pulling at his mouth half-heartedly, “It’s —“
You guess, shrewdly, “Fine?”
“Yep,” he says, popping the ‘p’. “Just fine.”
“Robby—“
He cuts you off, holding up a hand, “You looking for Abbot?”
You can’t help but frown, biting back the torrent of concern even though everything in you rebels, pushes you to make him listen. The urge is so strong the bones of your jaw creak under the weight of every unspoken word, your tongue scraping over bits of worry stuck to the back of your teeth like hard candy.
“Last I saw him, he was heading for the on-call room thattaway.”
He points down a long corridor off to the right, the garish overhead lights more muted and the rooms more sparse. You nod and step towards the mouth of the hallway, unsure how to end the conversation when your voice seems stuck in the back of your throat.
A warm hand rests on your upper arm, a tender hummingbird wing that pulls you to a stop. When you meet Robby’s gaze, something hollow and dying stares back. Like this, it’s hard not to catalogue how much he’s aged in the span of several months. Weighted down. Shackled.
“Thanks - for asking, I mean.”
“Of course, Robby. I worry about you - hell, we all worry about you,” you stress, reaching over to squeeze his forearm. “Don’t forget you’re my friend too.”
He clears his throat, releasing your arm to scrub a hand over the back of his neck. “No, I know. Just… thanks. I appreciate it. Now kindly fuck off before Jack winds up working a double.”
“Aye, aye, Mister Doctor,” You march backwards, saluting Robby on the way. “Retrieving the payload as ordered, Sir!”
He shakes his head fondly, reminds you not to be a stranger before refocusing on doing his job. Switching right way around, you slow your gait as you take in the rooms you pass.
Here the din of the department is dampened, the exam rooms giving way to administrative offices and the like.
After another few minutes of walking (and ever waning patience), you finally spot the red plaque with white letters declaring this the elusive On-Call Room.
Thank god, you think, pleased to not have gotten lost this time.
Another repeat performance of almost wandering into the morgue in pursuit of the cafeteria was the last thing you needed - once was enough.
Stopping in front of the closed door, you tap a tune along the surface with gentle fingertips before peeking your head inside.
“Cracker Jack,” you call out, glancing around the small room. “Are you here?”
The overhead fluorescents are off, soft morning light creeping in through the blinds. There’s an approximation of a cot stuffed into the corner, more a wide seated bench than proper bed but the peace and quiet in this wing is probably worth the crick in the neck.
It’s pleasant as far as hospital rooms go; clean and cozy. At least there’s carpet in here, albeit horribly outdated and cheap looking.
All in all, not a bad place for a quick nap in between shifts - or a quick fuck as some of the staff are inclined to do (or so you’ve heard).
“Abbot?”
Silence.
No grunts or low, husking voices ring out in response.
Huh. Is he… not in here? Robby said he was headed this way.
“I swear to god if you left without me…” you grumble to yourself, inching further into the room once it’s apparent you won’t be disturbing another staff member. “I won’t suck your dick for a month.”
The door clicks shut behind you by itself, the hair on the back of your neck raising as a shiver trickles down your spine like candle wax. “A-Abbott…?”
Then hot breath caresses the side of your face, a warm body slotting into place alongside you where there was once empty air. Rough lips caress the curve of your ear, a heavy hand shackling itself to your waist as a whiskey rough voice croons, “…Well, it’s a damn good thing I didn’t leave then, isn’t it?”
Your heart leaps into your throat, lungs squeezing so hard you choke as a jolt of awareness ricochets up your spine, fizzing along the axons of your nerves. “Jesus fucking—!”
“Ah, nope.” Abbot chuckles, slapping his free hand over your mouth before the shriek can fully break free. The annoyingly reflexive bastard. “Better be quiet or they’ll hear you.”
You bare your teeth against his palm, trying to sneak in a punishing bite. He meets your furious gaze with mirth, hooded eyes crinkled and glinting in the darkness. A lopsided smile tugs at the corner of his mouth; boyish and endearing
“Gotcha,” he taunts. “That brings the score 3-1, right?”
Asshole.
Brows furrowed, you jerk your head away and slap his chest (resolutely ignoring how the muscle jiggles against your palm even though it gets your teeth itching for an entirely different reason)
“Wear a goddamn bell next time!” You exhale a harsh puff of air, emptying your lungs as your heart slowly stops tattooing itself against the insides of your ribs. “Also that doesn’t count, you dirty rotten cheat.”
A noncommittal shrug is your answer, the cap of Abbot’s shoulder brushing yours; a warm line of heat through his scrubs that sparks through your veins, and settles into a pool of warmth low behind your navel like warm honey.
“Wow, I didn’t take you for being a poor spoil sport. Besides, I’d say that sounds like a skill issue, sweetheart,” he says. “But what do I know, I just work here.”
"Oh, you can fuck right off with that."
Rolling your eyes, you shove him away before striding over to the cot and flopping down. Abbot follows, the barest hint of a limp evident. He settles beside you with a creak of vinyl and squish of foam. The pleasing scent of his aftershave wafts over you, settling deep in your nose.
"C'mon, don't be like that, baby."
A heavy palm settles over your kneecap, thick fingers curling around the bone as a thumb strokes over the divot gingerly. Champagne awareness shivers in a warm flood from the crown of your head down to your toes.
"Y'know you can't stay mad at me," he says, quirking his lips. "It's physically impossible."
An inelegant snort vibrates through your face, and you roll your eyes with a playful moue of displeasure. Jiggling your knee dislodges his grip. "I can at least try, damn it."
"Mm... nope. Not allowed."
"Really?" You raise a brow. "And what else am I not allowed to do according to the venerable Doctor Abbot?"
"Look as sexy as you do when you're pissed off?" he asks.
"Wow, you're really laying it on thick today," you reply. "What, want me to blow you in here or something?"
It was meant as a joke but the calculating glint that enters Abbot's eyes bodes nothing but danger; strong brows lowering over an intense gaze, all woodsmoke and bitter black coffee. A muscle jumps in his stubbled jaw, and his nostrils flare.
Intimate, familiar; it's an expression that reminds you of nights spent wrapped in silken heat, the glide of sweat slick skin as strong hips rut between your thighs, the delicious stretch of his cock as he stuffs you full and fucks you open for hours.
When he speaks, it's a punch to the gut. Low and deep, bourbon rough as it scrapes up-up-up out of his throat, "If you're offering..."
Well, that's just unfair.
Your stomach swoops, and you avert your gaze, unable to handle such focused attention. The world narrows down to the scant space between your bodies, his torso a tempting line of heat beside you. You want to crawl into his lap and never leave; the location is the only thing to give you any amount of pause.
"Seriously." You huff. "What are you even doing in here anyway?"
His ardor hardly dampens at the redirection, tracking your movements with his eyes as he motions towards his bad leg with a bow of his head.
"Damn sock slipped earlier, and it's been driving me crazy. Wanted a little privacy before I came and got you," pausing, he winks. "But I got lucky, and you found me instead."
"Mm, my poor baby," you say, reaching over to card a hand through his riot of curls, nails dragging over his scalp. "Always working so hard."
A hand strikes out, viper quick, and latches onto your wrist as a shudder rolls through Abbot's hulking frame. You jolt, a tiny squeak escaping. Frozen as he tugs your hand to his face, the bridge of his nose dragging along the valley of your palm.
He inhales the scent of your skin, the curve of his bottom lip catching as he drops a tender trail of kisses down to the tips of your fingers. When he exhales, its with a low, wounded groan.
"Fuck," he cusses softly. The barest hint of teeth on the pad of your ring finger makes you whine. "Don't tease me like this if you're not gonna do anything."
The decision is made for you when he looks - sounds - feels - like that. Unfortunately, you fold faster than a house of cards when he pins you in place with that hungry, all consuming gaze. A pebble on the beach rolling with the waves; helpless against the push-pull of the tide.
Ignoring the half-hearted protests when you slip out of his grip, you spend all of five seconds chewing on your lip and casting a glance at the unlocked door before shaking out your hands, and dropping to your knees.
Gliding your hands over his splayed thighs, you cup the thickening bulge of his cock through the standard issue scrubs. Feel the heft and heat as he bucks up into your touch.
"Don't make me regret this," you warn, glaring up at him dispassionately. "The last thing I need is a lawsuit because we got caught with your dick down my throat."
His hand cups your cheek, thumb caressing the delicate sweep of bone, and husks, "Promise it'll be okay, baby."
Though doubtful, you relent and reach in to pull him out. He's already half hard, little pearls of pre-cum beginning to ooze from the flushed head. The sensitive vein running along the underside throbs in tender little pulses, the shaft thickening the longer you stare.
Saliva pools beneath your tongue, your thighs clenching as a bolt of arousal shoots through you. He's got such a perfect cock; fat and heavy, filling your mouth and cunt to the brim - and then some.
And god does he know how to use it. Gets you so fucking wet and messy without even trying. You never thought you could squirt before you started messing around, and he quickly proved you wrong.
"Look so good like this," Abbot says. "Like you were made for it."
You hum, fire licking up the sides of your neck to settle into the apples of your cheeks, skin taut and warm like a bad sunburn. Your clit pulses once, twice at how wrecked he already sounds.
"My pretty baby - o-ohh fuck, yeah, that's it. Just like that. Such a good fucking girl."
Your tongue stretches out to dig into his weeping slit, lapping and swirling around the spongy crown. His hips kick up in aborted half motions, mindful of not gagging you before you're ready.
Every kitten lick brings his cock deeper into your mouth until it reaches your back molars, cheeks hollow as you bob back and forth.
A reedy moan cracks through the silence, the distant beeping of machinery an ever constant reminder that you're not alone. Not truly. Anyone could walk in at any moment.
Shit, that shouldn't turn you on as much as it does, your hand sneaking between your thighs to press against your throbbing cunt for a modicum of relief. Slick squishes between your folds, soaking through the crotch of your underwear. Fabric sticks, drags.
You whine around a mouthful of cock, the vibrations rumbling through your lips. Abbot jolts, the fat head slipping too far too fast. You gag, the muscles of your throat squeezing tight.
"A-Ah, fuck, baby."
Air rushes from him in a ragged pant, sweat starting to bead along his hairline. His mouth drops open in a slack ring, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Rough fingertips wick away the mascara clinging to the swell of your cheek.
"M'sorry. Didn't - hhnn - didn't mean to do that..."
His cock slides free with a sticky pop, your lips spit slick and swollen. "More," you croak, voice shredded and throat sore. Your vision blurs around the edges, smudges against a window pane. "Want it, please. 'm ready."
"That right?" he asks. His voice cracks around the edges. "You wanna be a good girl, and swallow my dick?"
You nuzzle into his hand and moan, a shaky, eager little noise that makes his shaft throb where it curves against his hipbone. His thighs tremor against your shoulders. "Yeah, wanna be a good girl for you."
Abbot hums, satisfied. "Watch your teeth."
Then he's cradling your jaw like delicate glass, thumbs caressing the hinges as his hips scoot forward to grind his cock against your lips. Relaxing, you drop your mouth open into a relaxed circle for him to fuck up into.
Like before, the initial slide into your mouth is smooth - aided in part by the strings of spit and pre-cum making a mess of the lower half of your face.
Then he presses towards the back of your throat with gentle rocking motions. Your muscles tense, lips spreading wider and wider as you struggle to accommodate his girth.
Above you, Abbot croons out filthy little praises, his thumbs stroking over the sides of your neck as an ache settles deep in your temples. The wider your mouth opens, the more little shocks of discomfort shoot through the hinges of your jaw.
The sensation makes your pussy clench, your legs bunching and releasing where they're pressed against the vinyl bench. Sweat gathers behind your knees, the nape of your neck. Your hips shiver, rocking side to side with the desperate need to seek out friction that'll never come.
"Doing so good for me," Abbot says, "That's it, honey. Just breathe."
The renewed burn of mascara stings your ducts as tears leak past your waterline, and your sinuses clog. When you whine in reply, it's a raspy, smothered sound.
One hand presses against the cap of your shoulder, a soft voice hushing you, while the other reaches down to twine with your fingers digging into the meat of his thigh. "Just a little more, baby. C'mon, you gotta relax your throat."
The head scrapes past your soft palate, kisses the opening of your throat. So, so close. Your head goes light and floaty, tiny cavities peppering your vision. It's a struggle to remember to breathe through your nose.
"You can do it, I know you can. I swear to god, always so perfect for me - shit - shit, that's it - o-ohh fuck!"
With a pop that ricochets down your spine, the first ring of muscle relents under the sure press of his cock, and passes into the back of your throat.
Abbot curses, his shoulders hunching forward over your body as a broken moan tumbles from his lips. Tremors wrack his frame, his thighs jittering against your ears.
Tension pulls his hips taut, anticipation mounting the longer he holds himself still, seated to the base. Every attempt at swallowing makes your muscles rebel, rippling like a vice around his shaft and milking him for all he's worth.
Your hands tingle, fingers numb where they claw at his own. The scent of his skin - clean and clear - muddles your thoughts, the salt of him heavy on your tongue. Clumped lashes flutter as your half lidded eyes peer up into his slack face, the high points of his cheeks flushed a darling pink.
Cock drunk and dumb, you moan from somewhere deep in your chest, "Hnm."
"Shit, you feel s'fucking good," he groans when you swallow reflexively, eyes catching on the visible bulge of his shaft straining against your skin. "Gonna ruin me forever..."
It was, in fact, not okay.
And you're pretty sure Robby is scarred for the rest of his life.
dex is such a freak that he makes you share a straw for your milkshakes because he thinks of it as indirect kissing :( suggestive, mdni. pre relationship dex.
he’ll swat your hand away when you go to put a second straw in, or he’ll take your straw out. or, he’ll just grab your face in his big calloused hand to keep you still for him, making your lips pucker, and shove his straw in your mouth after he’s taken a good sip.
“see? there, not so hard.” it’s almost crooned condescendingly before he gives your cheek a final squeeze.
leaving him to just stare at your lips as they finally wrap around where his mouth just was, ignoring the way you glare at him. because all he could think about was that your saliva was mixing with his.
your saliva was touching his. your saliva was touching his. your mouth your mouth your mouth. he swallows his own saliva that’s pooled in his mouth at the thought.
summary: a night out with some coworkers after a medical conference leads to you accidentally texting your attending about how hot you think he is.
word count: 4.6k
contains: smut, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, reader is a doctor, no use of y/n.
a/n: i know nothing about being a doctor or going to medical conferences but i tried my best here. If something is disgustingly inaccurate plz let me know :)
If you were being honest, you hated these things. Conferences, galas, all of it. You loved being a doctor, it was your life’s passion after all, but it was the incessant obligations outside of the hospital— the networking, the dressing up, the horrid small talk with other doctors— piled on top of your already packed schedule that had you dreading this particular medical conference more than usual.
There was one small silver lining, at least. This time, you had friends.
You’d only begun working at Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center a few months ago, looking for more of a challenge after spending the past few years of your career in dermatology. You didn’t hate it, per se, but you felt deep in your bones that you were meant for more high stakes work.
Not only did the job suit you better, but the people did too. Sure, you’d met some nice people in dermatology, even met your best friend there, but working in the ER surrounded you with people much like yourself. Adrenaline junkies.
Unfortunately, adrenaline junkies and medical conferences did not mix.
That’s how you found yourself at some dodgy dive bar down the street from your hotel the last night of your conference with two of your coworkers, Trinity and Victoria. The three of you had been bored out of your minds at the last lecture of the day, where some old pretentious man droned on and on and onnnnn about medical research that was about 25 years outdated. You really needed a drink.
“Okay, I know we agreed on vodka crans, but I got us green tea shots too. My treat, alright? I fucking need a shot after whatever that lecture was,” Trinity explains as she returns from the bar, setting three drinks and three shots down on the center of the table. You were able to snag some seats in the back corner of the bar, thankfully, because the last thing you want to deal with is any more people today.
“Oh god, it was horrible, wasn’t it? I was just about ready to rip my hair out. Didn’t think that guy would ever stop talking,” Victoria replies as she reaches for one of the shots.
The three of you clink glasses, tapping them down onto the wooden surface of the table before knocking them back.
“God, that’s fucking good,” you wince, the alcohol burning at the bottom of your throat.
The night continues in a cycle of work gossip and ordering vodka cranberries for the table. By the time you guys are leaving, you’re thoroughly buzzed.
You walk back to the hotel together, arm and arm, when you get back onto the topic of work. Feeling a little more truthful than usual due to the alcohol coursing through your system, you decide to tell your friends about an awkward moment you had during one of your shifts last week.
“Oh it was awful, you guys. I was assisting Dr. Abbot with a perforating GSW and he asked me to hand him hemostatic gauze, and I dropped the package all over the floor trying to open it. I’m talking gauze everywhere. I had to rush to get a new one, my hands were shaking like hell when I gave it to him,” you ramble. “And the worst part? He noticed. Pulled me into one of the on-call rooms afterward to ask what was up with me. I was horrified.”
Victoria furrows her brows, and Trinity slows her steps until the three of you are standing still in the middle of the dimly lit sidewalk.
“What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?” you ask, confused.
“Sorry, you were nervous?” Victoria questions.
“I didn’t even know that was possible for you,” Trinity admits, shock displayed on her face.
“I mean, yeah. If you guys had been there, you’d understand. The whole room was tense, you could hear a pin drop,” you explain.
“Don’t think that’s how I’d describe the Pitt, but okay,” Victoria concedes, falling back into step toward the hotel as you and Trinity trail close behind.
“Y’know, I don’t think it was the GSW that had you all worked up. I’ve seen you in action. You’re not one to falter, especially not like that. I think maybe a certain night shift attending has you all hot and bothered,” Trinity prods, landing a playful punch against your shoulder.
Victoria whips her head around at that. “Oh my god. That’s totally it!” she squeals. “Are you guys hooking up? I’ll be soooo jealous, he’s a total silver fox.”
Heat blooms in your chest and creeps up to your cheeks. You’re suddenly very, very hot.
“Jesus, no. I’m not hooking up with him. I’m not even into him, not like that. I can promise you he’s not what made me nervous,” you ramble. “We work a high stress job, it’s normal to make mistakes. And that’s all it was, a mistake,” you babble on, hoping your friends won’t pick up on the fact that you’re lying straight through your teeth.
While the part about not hooking up with him is true, you can’t deny the fact that you definitely have feelings for Doctor Jack Abbot.
It’s all his fault, really. From the start, he was charming. Good at conversation. Never made you feel less than, despite being the newbie of the department.
And it definitely didn’t help that he looked like that. Salt and pepper curls that framed his angular face which was dusted with freckles. Wrinkles around his eyes and mouth that made themselves known when he smiled. Biceps that bulged underneath his scrub top sleeve, which was far too tight considering the size of his muscles.
It got worse once you guys fell into a rhythm, able to work in tandem. Sometimes you didn’t even need words. It only took one look at each other for you to know exactly where he needed you, how to best assist him with a procedure.
If it wasn’t a look, it was a touch. A gloved hand overtop yours, guiding you on where to make an incision. A warm, large hand braced against your back as you intubate. A pat on the shoulder after you successfully stabilize a patient.
But undoubtedly, the worst part was the way he spoke to you. Whether it be a “Nice work, Kiddo,” after a particularly stressful chest tube placement, or a “What’s goin’ on up there?” with a featherlight touch to your temple when you were lost in thought. It was like he could sense what you were feeling before you’d even figured it out for yourself.
Clearly, whatever feelings you have for Dr. Abbot are written all over your face, because Trinity and Victoria seem wholly unconvinced.
“Okay, well if you’re not hooking up with him, then you should be. I’ve seen your dynamic, there’s some clear tension between you guys, babe,” Trinity argues as you finally approach the doors of your hotel.
“Yeah, that’s not happening. Even if I wanted it to, which I don’t, there’s no way he’d be into it,” you explain, the warmth in your cheeks only growing.
Victoria lets out a dramatic sigh as you make your way through the hotel lobby toward the elevators. “And I thought I was clueless.”
“Sorry?” you ask, pressing the button for the elevator. It dings and the doors open, the three of you piling in. You quickly push the button for floor three. You want to escape this situation as fast as possible, if you’re being honest. Your emotions are too heightened from the drinks to be having this conversation right now.
“If you can’t see it, there’s nothing we can do to help you,” Trinity replies. “Anyway, it might not be the brightest idea to sleep with a coworker. We all know how that went for me…”
“Oh Trin it wasn’t that bad. At least she doesn’t work in the same department,” Victoria remarks, then gestures vaguely at you. “Imagine if this hypothetical hookup with Abbot really did happen. She’d have to work with him all the time and he’s her attending. Now that’s bad.”
You groan. “Gee, thanks guys. I feel really supported right now.”
“So you do want to sleep with him then?” Victoria quips.
“No! My god, you guys. I’m done with the conversation,” you exclaim. The elevator finally reaches your floor and you waste no time stepping out into the warmly lit hallway.
“Well, I’ll see you both bright and early tomorrow. Still want to get coffee before the airport?” Trinity asks as she fumbles with her keycard outside of her room door.
Victoria, one door down from Trinity, follows suit in swiping her card. “Sure, how’s 7:00 sound?”
“Works for me, see you guys tomorrow!” you reply with a smile and a wave, making your way down to the end of the hallway to your room.
It hits you as you struggle to get your door unlocked that you’re a lot drunker than you thought. Not enough to warrant a hangover, but inebriated enough that you stumble toward your bed as you kick off your shoes.
After taking a much needed shower, washing away the grime of a long day, and putting on a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top, you cuddle up into bed and check your texts.
There’s multiple from your best friend, Jackie. The one you met when you worked in dermatology.
Jackie: girl i haven’t heard from you all day
Jackie: is the conference terrible
Jackie: so glad i don’t have to go to those lol
Jackie: is dr hottie there at least
You chuckle at her messages. Of course she’d bring him up. She’s the only person you’ve confided in about your attraction to Dr. Abbot, and she’s become obsessed with him ever since. Even gave him that ridiculous nickname.
You swipe back to check your other notifications, reading a text from your mom and watching a Tik Tok that Trinity sent you from her room before you finally go back to reply to Jackie.
Unfortunately, in your inebriated state, your finger slides on your screen and deletes your text chain with her.
“Shit!” you exclaim. At least you remember what she said. You quickly click the “New Message” button and start typing out her name.
j… a… c…
You click on her contact and begin typing.
You: sry i’ve been busy but yes the conference was shit
You: got drinks after im a ltitle drunk lol
You: and yes dr hottie is here thank god
You: i sat behind him during a talk this mornign and had to fight urges to run my hands through his sexy silver hair
You: i didnrt do it tho. i am brave
Sighing, you shuffle in bed so you’re no longer sitting up against the headboard but laying on your side. You reach toward the nightstand and flick the lamp off, filling the room with darkness.
Well, the room is dark until your phone buzzes on the mattress next to you and the screen lights up, emitting a soft glow.
Rather quickly, it buzzes again. You reach for it, expecting Jackie’s replies. While it’s not very late, she’s a night owl through and through, so of course she’d answer you immediately.
Instead, you see two notifications from… Jack Abbot? The only times you’ve ever texted him were about coming in early or that one time you’d forgotten your sweater in the break room and asked if he could hide it in one of the cabinets until your shift the next morning. Why would he be texting you at 11:00pm on a night you were both off?
You unlock your phone and click into your text thread with him.
Jack: I think you meant to send those to someone else.
Jack: I’ll try and sit farther away next time. Wouldn’t want my hair distracting you.
You shoot up in bed, breath catching in your throat. Immediately, your chest is on fire. There’s no fucking way you sent those messages to him.
You: oh my god
You: im so fuckign sorry
You: i was trying to text my friend
Jack: It’s OK.
You: its not
You: its extremely unprofessional
You: im so so sorry
Jack: Stop apologizing.
Your breathing still hasn’t calmed down. You’re mortified. How are you ever going to face him again?
For a minute, there’s no other reply. You debate texting him again, but what could you even say? “I’m sorry I think your hair is sexy”?
Instead, you try to focus on calming down. Everything will be fine. You can blame it on the drinks, even if you’re not really drunk. He won’t know that you’re lying.
Your eye catches on the three little dots at the corner of your text thread. He’s typing again. A lump forms in the base of your throat.
Jack: Where are you?
Confused, you type out a reply.
You: my room
You: why
Jack: How much did you drink?
You: not much
You: a few vodka crans with trinity and victoria
You: im mostly sober now
It wasn’t necessarily a lie. This interaction definitely sobered you up.
Jack: So you’re OK?
You: yep
You: safe and sound
Jack: Good.
Jack: Dr. Hottie, huh?
You: oh god pls dont remind me
You: im mortified
Jack: Don’t be.
Jack: Are you in bed?
Your eyebrows furrow at that last message. At first it seemed like he was just checking in on you, making sure you weren’t stranded and drunk at some shady bar. But what kind of question is that?
You: yes
Jack: Send me a picture.
Eyebrows knitting together in confusion, you open your camera and take a photo of the foot of your bed. You can make out the shape of the chair in the corner of the room and the TV mounted to the wall. You go back to your texts and send him the photo.
You: [1 attachment]
You: see
You: exactly where i said i am
Jack: No, a picture of you.
Oh.
With shaking hands, you swipe back to the camera app, this time flipping it so it’s front facing. You snap a photo of yourself, angling the phone so it captures your face and part of your torso.
You examine the photograph, taking in the pouty expression on your face and noting the way your tank top rides up at your stomach, exposing your midriff. Considering you didn’t put on a bra, you can see the faint outline of your nipples through the thin material.
Without overthinking it, you send him the picture.
You: [1 attachment]
Jack: Jesus.
Jack: You always sleep like that?
Feeling bold, the remnants of your night out still coursing through your veins, you type out a reply.
You: no
You: i usually sleep naked
You: but that feels a bit too exposing for a hotel
Jack: Fuck, sweetheart.
Jack: You have no idea what you’re doing to me.
You: send a pic
You: i wanna see
Heat pools between your legs. There’s no way this is happening. You’ll wake up tomorrow and realize you dreamt up this entire conversation.
An image from Dr. Abbot comes through.
Jack: [1 attachment]
He’s laying in his hotel bed in nothing but his underwear. You can’t see his face, but his chest is on full display. God, his muscles were something else.
But the real star of the show is his bulge, straining hard against the fabric of his boxers. One of his veiny hands rests atop it, and you can’t help but notice the wet spot pooling where his erection sits.
Fuck.
You hold your phone in one hand and slide the other one underneath your shorts and panties, rubbing slow, methodic circles against your core. Your phone pings with another message.
Jack: What’re you doing now?
You: touching myself
You: are u
Jack: Fuck, yes.
Growing warm, you kick the bedsheets aside. Your hand continues to circle, pressure building deep in your belly.
You: wish i could see u rn
Jack: [1 attachment - 0:21]
Oh, God.
Suddenly, everything starts feeling a little too real. You should not be doing this. He’s your attending. You’re sacrificing your career, everything you’ve worked so hard for, for what? One meaningless night?
But the way your hand is creating friction against your clit combined with Jack’s messages have you too horny to care, if you’re being honest.
Nervously, you click play on the video.
You almost regret doing it.
But you can’t look away from the sight of him pumping his cock up and down in the dim lighting of his hotel room.
It’s long, longer than you were expecting. And thick.
You watch as he drags his hand from the base up to the head, uses his thumb to circle the precum that's built up at the slit, and then works it up and down his length.
If the sight of that wasn’t enough, the sounds he’s making have you groaning into your pillow. He’s practically growling, the noises coming ragged from the depths of his throat.
You can’t even think straight, you’re so desperate for more. For anything. Without even thinking about it, you open your phone camera again and start recording.
It’s nothing special, considering how worked up you are. You really can’t even see much since your shorts and panties are still on.
You film as your hand moves underneath the fabric a few times, breathy moans escaping your lips. You pull it out slowly, showing off the sticky mess left on your fingers for the camera.
You: oh my god
You: thats so fucking hot
You: [1 attachment - 0:14]
You: this is how badly i want u
There’s no response for a minute, and you worry that you went too far. Maybe he realized how fucking crazy this whole situation is. Because that’s exactly what it is. Crazy.
Before you can begin to spiral too hard, your phone buzzes in your hand.
He’s fucking calling you.
You let it ring a few times, working up the courage to answer.
With a shaking hand, you click accept.
He doesn’t say anything at first, but you can hear his heavy breathing and the sound of something wet in the background.
“How are you doing it?” he mumbles into the phone, abruptly.
“What?”
“How are you touching yourself? Tell me.”
“Oh, I’m– I’m rubbing circles on my clit,” you can barely make out the words, feeling embarrassed.
“Oh fuck,” he groans. “Slip a finger in.”
“Jack, I–”
“Fuck, I need you to,” he begs. “Please do it for me, Kiddo.”
“O-Okay,” you stutter, lining up your middle finger with your entrance and sinking it in. You release a moan at the sensation, pumping your finger in and out a few times before adding another.
“God, that sound. You sound so pretty when you touch yourself. Can you hear me? Hear me pumping my cock? It wants you so bad, Sweetheart. You have no idea.”
His words make you shudder, more needy sounds escaping from your throat. The sound of his hand working against his length combined with his breathy moans have you bucking your hips into your hand.
“I want you too,” you whimper.
“What’s your room number?” Jack grunts.
“What?”
“I can’t do this. Knowing you’re right down the hall. What room are you in?”
You blink.
“302.”
The line clicks.
He hung up.
You stare at the dark phone screen in front of you, fingers coming to a stop under your panties.
What the actual fuck just happened.
Is he coming here? Like right now?
Suddenly, there’s three sharp knocks at the door. You readjust your panties and shorts and nervously make your way to the door, fumbling to open it because of how hard you’re shaking.
As you expected, Jack Abbot stands in front of you clad in a white t-shirt and a pair of sweats. He’s using his crutches, didn’t even waste time putting on his leg. His left foot dons one white sock. No shoe.
Just looking at his face makes the ache between your legs grow. His skin’s coated in a thin sheen of sweat, curls sticking to his forehead. His breathing is uneven, chest heaving against the tight fabric of his shirt.
Without a word, you open the door wide enough to let him through and he wastes no time heading directly for the center of the room, placing his crutches against the nightstand and sitting on the edge of the bed. You click the door shut and lock it.
“C’mere,” he whispers.
You take one step toward him. Measured, careful. Then another.
“Jack, I don’t know if we should…”
“Fuck, don’t say that. Would you just come here?” he growls.
You move closer until you’re standing in front of him. He reaches for you, placing his broad hands on your hips and tugging you closer to him, between his thighs. His thumbs move back and forth against your hip bone.
“Do you want this?” He asks, quiet.
“Yes.”
“Then let me make you feel good. Please,” he murmurs, pulling you even closer so he can press open mouthed kisses to the base of your throat and down your chest.
You moan into his touch, hands coming up to tug his hair.
“Is it as good as you imagined?” he teases.
“Sorry?”
“Running your hands through my ‘sexy silver hair’? Your words, not mine.”
A laugh escapes from his lips and you groan, dropping your head on top of his so he can’t see how horrified you are.
“Yeah, I’m going to regret that text for the rest of my life.”
Jack brings his hands up from your waist to the back of your head so he can pull you back to look at him.
“I’m not,” he says, maintaining such an intense eye contact that you begin to tremble underneath his gaze. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about it. Your hands in my hair. Your mouth on me. How you’d sound when I fuck you,” he whispers, leaning to continue sucking marks on your chest, just above the neckline of your tank top.
You moan at his words. If that’s the case, you should’ve been fucking him for months now.
Something snaps inside of you, and you give up on holding back. You want this. You can deal with the repercussions tomorrow.
You bring your hands down from his hair to his shoulders and push him back slightly on the bed so you have enough room to climb on top of him, straddling his thighs. He moves his hands back to your waist, keeping you stabilized against him.
“Hi,” you whisper.
“Hi,” he responds, breathless.
“Can I kiss you?”
“Fuck, please.”
You dip your head down and hover your lips over his, inches apart. You can feel his warm breath fan over your mouth as he exhales.
Fed up, Jack closes the distance, connecting his lips with yours.
And fuck, he tastes good.
You whimper into his mouth, quickening your pace, desperate for more.
The sound you make causes his grip to tighten around your waist, his kisses becoming sloppier. He darts his tongue out, seeking entry to your mouth.
You swirl your tongue against his and he releases a deep, guttural groan. Your bodies move together, hips grinding over the bulge in his sweatpants.
Between frantic kisses, he manages to lift your tank top over your head, pulling back only to admire your bare chest.
“Been dreaming about these,” he admits, taking his right hand off your hip to palm at one of your breasts. “They’re even better than I imagined.”
You throw your head back as he rolls your nipple between his knuckles. He dips his head and uses his mouth to suck on the other one, and the sensation has you rocking your hips even harder against him.
“So fucking sexy,” he breathes as he swirls his tongue around your nipple. You dig your nails into his shoulder, overwhelmed by his hands and mouth.
He kisses his way back up your chest and neck until his lips connect with yours again, hand still squeezing at your breast.
“Can I taste you?” he groans into your mouth.
You nod against him and he takes that as permission to lift you from his lap and toss you on the bed next to him, head hitting the pillow. You giggle at the sudden movement, Jack crawling above you to keep peppering your lips and jaw with kisses.
He pulls back so he’s sitting on his haunches and fiddles with the waistband of your shorts. Slowly, he peels the fabric down your legs and tosses them aside. He pushes your knees apart so you’re spread for him, ducking his head to kiss his way up your thighs.
“Jack, please,” you beg.
He places a few kisses over the lacy fabric of your panties before he pulls them to the side, face to face with your dripping center.
He licks one slow, agonizing stripe up your core, causing you to buck your hips up in the air.
“Fuck, you taste so good, Kiddo,” he mumbles into your cunt, lapping up the wetness that’s gathered there. He takes his time sucking and kissing at your clit, dipping his tongue into you, building you up to your first orgasm.
“Jack, I–I’m gonna come,” you whine, teetering over the edge.
“Let it happen, Sweetheart. Want you to come on my tongue.”
His words send you over the edge, riding out your orgasm against his mouth as he keeps swirling his tongue inside of you. He continues to leave soft kisses against your sensitive clit as you come down from your high.
Once you’ve settled, Jack kisses his way back up your stomach and chest until you’re face to face.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” you admit, still in shock.
“Me neither,” he whispers, brushing a stray hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear.
“I need you inside of me,” you breathe against him, desperate.
“Fuck, okay.”
Jack makes quick work of removing his shirt and sweatpants, then drags your panties down your legs, exposing you fully to the cool air of the room.
He strips himself of his boxers and pumps his length a few times with his hand, adjusting his position so he can line up with your entrance.
He pushes forward, seating himself inside you down to the hilt in one fell swoop. You moan loudly at the feeling of him, how he fills you entirely.
“Oh God, Jack,” you mumble.
“You okay?” he asks, hesitating to move.
“Yes, God, yes. Please move.”
With a grunt he begins working himself in and out of you, setting the pace. The head of his cock keeps hitting that spongy spot deep inside you so hard that it’s making you see stars.
“Fuck, Jack, just like that,” you babble, clawing at his back to stabilize yourself against his frantic thrusts.
“Jesus, Kid. You feel so good,” he mumbles into your neck. “I’m not going to last. Where do you want me?”
“Inside, do it inside,” you beg.
Those words alone are enough to make him falter, his pace becoming uneven and sloppy as he releases thick spurts of cum inside of you.
The warmth of his release combined with the feeling of his dick twitching inside of you has you hitting your peak, coming again with a garbled moan.
Exhausted, Jack collapses on top of you, head still nuzzled into your shoulder. The two of you are panting heavily, chests heaving against one another.
After catching his breath and leaving a trail of kisses beneath your ear, Jack lifts his head so he can look at you.
summary: Jack Abbot is many things; a loving husband, a phenomenal doctor, a decorated war veteran, an adrenaline junkie, a lower-leg amputee, and (possibly) a mind reader. But he is not a father. In 4 years of marriage you haven't been able to surprise him even once. But maybe, for his 50th birthday, you can kill two birds with one stone.
warnings: age gap (r is mid 30s, jack is 50), established relationship, afab reader, reader is an attending, brief reference to past power imbalance, minor undescribed medical procedures, IUD insertion and removal mention, gifting someone a used medical device (its sweet and not weird I promise), mention of pap smears, misuse of viagra, slight anxiety, keeping secrets, mediocre communication, BREEDING KINK DUH, trying to get pregnant, mentions of plan b, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms for everyone, doggy style, missionary, biting, reader is a little bit of a brat, cum play, so much love, fast and hard and then slow and loving, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything
an: we are playing fast and loose with fertility and medicine here guys
I usually do not like writing multiple rounds of sex in one fic because tbh I find sex scenes a little hard to write and I worry that they get repetitive but I really pushed through for this one
Being married to Jack Abbot was a dream come true.
He was kind, empathetic, passionate, patient, fantastic in bed, and (this is just a theory) psychic.
Or you might just be easy to read. Either way, he almost always seemed to know what you needed or wanted at any given moment.
God forbid you wanted to surprise him with anything, either. He could sniff out any sort of deception, even if it was well intentioned, like some sort of emotional or mental bloodhound.
Jack was also always prepared for almost everything. He had supplies and a game plan for almost every situation and scenario that could possibly come up. Mass casualty incident? Camo duffel in the coat closet by the front door. You had a hard day? Bubble bath kit under his sink in the bathroom.
Combine all of that together and you’d never been able to surprise him. Ever.
Things were changing ever so slowly, though. Now, the two of you had been together for 7 years now, married for 4, so the playing field was starting to level out. You found yourself able to sift through his facial expressions and body language, deciphering some of the thoughts that crossed his mind. Some of it was the familiarity of your everyday routine, any deviation clueing you into something festering on his mind. Some of it was just knowing your husband so intimately in a way that could only come with time.
And even though you were as close to an expert as one could be in Jack Abbot, you still missed some of the more subtle things.
But there was nothing subtle about this. You’d have to have been blind to miss the longing in his eyes anytime the two of you were anywhere close to a baby. It was impossible not to notice how his usually stoic and analytical hazel eyes softened at the sight of their tiny waving hands, the corners of his lips curving up when they cooed, his gaze instinctively snapping towards a crying infant while his shoulders tensed.
Those signs had given you a rather obvious hint, but the final nail in the coffin had been when your sister and her wife had visited from Philly a few months ago. They had some sort of business to take care of in Pittsburgh, so you’d offered to watch their 6 month old son. Jack had been out running errands when he’d been dropped off. When he walked through the door, grocery bags in hand, you’d watched him freeze out of the corner of your eye. There you were, in your shared kitchen, balancing the baby on your hip, talking to the child about nothing in particular while you stirred a pot on the stove.
Jack had unfrozen quickly, but you’d noticed. You noticed everything for the rest of the day until your sister came to collect her child. How Jack swallowed hard anytime you held the baby, how he nearly melted when you cooed and played peek-a-boo, how his eyes stayed locked for just a moment too long on the teeny tiny pair of shoes in his hands before he passed them off to your sister.
Jack Abbot wanted a baby.
And you wanted to finally be able to catch your husband off guard.
And now his 50th birthday was coming up, and you had a great gift planned. And if everything went according to your carefully crafted plan, you’d be able to give him an even better gift next year.
Step 1: remove the biggest obstacle.
Being a doctor married to a doctor made the biggest part of your plan both easier and harder.
You started on Monday. His birthday fell on Friday, and the two of you very conveniently had the following 4 days off. But not before working opposite shifts every day the rest of the week.
That was part luck, part planning on your end. You’d gladly agreed to cover Al Hashimi’s shifts while the ED was down a day shift attending since she was going to a conference. Jack had not been thrilled, but your sacrifice meant the two of you could enjoy an extra-long weekend staycation. He’d grumbled about it for a solid 3 days before finally settling down.
It also gave you time to make a trip upstairs to gynecology while your husband was fast asleep at home and none the wiser.
All it took was a quick lie to Robby about a routine pap smear and a favor called in from a friend upstairs and you were seated with your legs hiked up in stirrups.
“You know, I really did not ever need to see your vagina,” Joan, your gynecologist friend, was grumbling as she completed the procedure.
“You’re the only one I could ask who wouldn’t spill the beans,” your eyes stayed glued on the ceiling. “Everyone else is either a resident and not willing to bend the rules, or older and more loyal to him.”
“This is a hospital,” her expression was unimpressed. “There are no sides, no one is more loyal to him.”
“Yes the fuck they are,” you lowered your legs as she gave you the all clear. “Why do you think I told Robby I was getting a pap smear?”
“Becuase telling your husband's best friend, who is your boss by the way, that you were going to get your contraception removed so that said husband can fuck you six ways to sunday for his birthday is inappropriate workplace conversation,” she turned her back to you, depositing the device in a specimen jar before beginning to clean every thing up.
“That is true,” you conceded, “and Robby’s a snitch.”
“I still can’t believe you’re actually going to give him your IUD for his birthday,” Joan shook her head. “Isn’t that a little gross?”
“I’m obviously going to clean it!” You tugged your black scrubs up, wincing a little at the dull ache in your lower stomach. “Plus, it’ll be romantic. And shouldn’t you be more sex-positive? You’re a fucking gynocologist.”
“Romantic,” her voice was deadpan. “And I am plenty sex-positive. Especially unprotected sex. Creates more patients for me. Kinda like a dentist who recommends nothing but sugar.”
You couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling as you watched her move back to the counter. “Glad to see you are faithfully committed to your oath.”
“Here,” she handed you a little cup with two white pills, choosing to ignore you. “Tylenol. You don’t get anything stronger since you insisted on doing this mid shift.”
“Thanks,” you swallowed them dry. “For the pills and for doing this for me. I can’t have him figuring this out before. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“I know I always wanted a used medical device for my biggest milestone birthdays,” she grumbled to herself as she wrote down her notes on a sheet of paper. “I’ll wait to put this in your chart until after your insemination.”
“Now you’re making it gross,” your face scrunched up. “Most normal people refer to that as ‘trying for a baby’ you know.”
“Yeah sure. Now, get out of my department and go back to your zoo,” she waved her hand dismissively, fighting a smile the whole time.
Step 2: stay strong.
Now with the most important part of your plan complete, you simply had to make it through the next week without Jack catching on. Even with your separate schedules, that was easier said than done.
Monday night at shift change you were desperately trying to hide the cramps wracking your abdomen as you walked the night shift through handovers alongside Robby.
Jack noticed immediately.
“You ok, baby?” He’d pulled you aside the second the handover was completed, his hand resting on your hip as he guided the two of you into a semi secluded corner.
“Yeah I’m ok,” you couldn’t fight the grimace as another wave washed over you. You really shouldn’t have skipped that second dose of acetaminophen during the 4pm rush. “Just cramping.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Jack frowned, his eyes sweeping over you more intently. His focus flicked between your lower stomach and your face.
“You’re not supposed to start your period for another 3 weeks.”
“It’s still a little odd that you track them so closely,” you tried to brush him off, shrugging.
“I’m a doctor and you’re my wife,” Jack cracked a grin as your eyes narrowed. “You’re my wife who is also a doctor. An amazing one.”
You gave him a kiss for that, quick and chaste and the most PDA you’d dare express in the ED.
“My IUD is due for replacement in a few months,” you couldn’t beat back a rising smile, fueled by both his care and the knowledge of what you were planning. “It’s probably starting to go and make me irregular.”
“Get that checked out, ok?” His hands cupped your face.
“I will, Jack, I promise.”
“Good we-” he swallowed hard, smile faltering ever so slightly. “We don’t want you to be… unprotected.”
The regret in his voice and the twinge of hope in his eyes as he said unprotected only reinforced what you already knew. He really wanted this.
God, you couldn’t wait to tell him. You weren’t sure if you’d ever been more excited to give a gift before.
Warmth flooded through you at the thought of how he’d react. Would there be happy tears? Maybe he’d simply bend you over the nearest surface, eager to get started. He’d probably double and triple check that you were sure. Jack always did that, no matter how many times you reassured him that you wanted him, you needed him. Like he still couldn’t believe you were his just as much as he was yours.
Thankfully, his mind reading seemed to fail for a moment. Likely because of the cramp that gripped you midway through your rumination, hiding your true expression behind a grimace.
“I’m ok, Jack,” with one more kiss, you were untangling yourself from him. “I’m going to go sleep for twelve hours. I love you.”
“Alright,” he followed you as you gathered your things and headed towards the ambulance bay. “Text me when you get home. If you forget again, I’m not making that pasta you like for a month.”
“Empty threats,” you pecked his cheek on your way past him. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”
“I love you,” the love written so plainly on his face as you walked away from him and out those doors made you almost want to run back and tell him everything.
Maybe that was why you were semi-convinced he was psychic. It was probably less about an alleged supernatural ability and more about your face being easy to read and your lips unable to keep a secret, combined with the fact that you had resigned yourself to your husband being all-knowing.
In your defense, you’d seen Jack level patients and colleagues and even yourself with that look. Head titled, eyes narrowed, eyebrows lifted, that signature confidence combined with a small sigh of disapproval when he knew he wasn’t getting the whole story. It made everyone spill their guts eventually. No one held out very long.
But he hadn’t used that look on you since you’d been his resident years ago. You were all too aware that the bastard had long since learned that all he had to do was give you a soft smile and tell you he loved you and you melted immediately.
And normally, you didn’t have anything to keep from him. Normally, it was mildly irritating if he managed to figure out
But you had to stay strong.
Step 3: final preparations.
Surprisingly, you did actually manage to hold out. All the way until Friday.
Jack had the overnight shift from Thursday to Friday, but you were done and clear. A full body shower and shave was followed by a few episodes of the trashiest reality TV you could find until it was officially your bed time. You texted him a simple “Happy birthday baby” at 12:01 am before grabbing what little sleep you could before he inevitably came home just as the sun was rising.
At just past 7:30 am, your husband was crawling into the sheets, sliding up behind you and wrapping his arm around your waist as the heat of his bare chest warmed you from the inside out.
You were drifting in that blissfully in that half aware state between sleep and wakefulness as he pressed light kisses along the side of your neck available to him. A soft hum left your lips as you arched back into him, body already aching for him.
But you couldn’t give in.
Not yet, at least. As much as it pained you to deny him the sleepy morning sex you’d grown to crave, especially on his birthday, you couldn’t let him fuck you until you’d given him your present. And you couldn’t give him your present until you had made him dinner and slipped on that beautiful white matching set you’d bought.
So you had to stall. Redirect. Get him to actually get a decent amount of rest for once in his life, so you could ride him off into the sunset.
“Happy birthday, handsome,” your hand reached back to run your fingers through his loose curls.
“Very happy birthday to me, indeed,” his grip on your waist tightened as his front pressed even more firmly against your back. You could just barely feel the faint beginnings of hardness through the thin material of his boxers.
“Uh-uh,” you twisted in his grip. Shifting until you were face to face, you pressed a long, slow kiss to his lips. He sighed into your mouth, allowing you to take the lead as his tongue swiped against yours.
“You need to sleep. You’re exhausted.”
He grumbled as you pulled away, his half lidded eyes flipping between the exhaustion of a week of 12 hour nights shifts and pure desire as he looked at you wrapped in his arms.
Jack had once told you that this was when you looked the most beautiful. Sleepy, wearing just his t-shirt and a pair of underwear with your hair a mess, snuggled in the sheets of your shared bed. He had called the domesticity of it addictive, had said he couldn’t get enough of the quiet moments like this, tangled together with the outside world locked away. The two of you just existing in that warm, heady feeling of safety and security, wrapped up in each other for hours.
You’d always thought you understood. You’d agreed that the soft moments surrounded by his love in the home two of you had built were the best, but you were starting to think you never really got it until now. The idea of your family, of it growing beyond just the small, two person unit the two of you had become over these years, was electrifying.
God, you wanted that. You’d already given him your heart. You wanted to give him everything.
“I’m not too tired to make you feel good,” his hand slid from your hip down to dip beneath the hem of your underwear.
It took every ounce of self control to grab his wrist, stopping him.
“No,” you gave him one more soft kiss before you were pushing him back to lie flat. Throwing one of your legs over his, you curled into his side. He let out a sigh of disappointment as your head rested on his chest, but he was still curling his freckled arms around you to hold you close. “We are going to sleep now. And then, tonight, I am going to make you dinner. Then you get to open your present, and then you can fuck me. However you want, as many times as you want.”
“You’re so cruel,” you couldn’t see his face but you could hear the smile in his voice as he pressed a kiss to your hair. Already, you could tell he was starting to drift off. “But fine. As long as I get to have you for dessert.”
His voice, low and gravelly, vibrating through his chest had your panties growing increasingly uncomfortable. His sturdy thigh pressed between your legs certainly wasn’t helping, but you could do this. You were a grown woman, a doctor of emergency medicine. You had the willpower to make it 10 more hours without jumping your husband.
When you woke around 1pm, Jack was still dead to the world. His lips were parted, hair mussed, and his breaths deep and even. Despite the gray making his curls much more salt than pepper, he looked younger like this.
You gave yourself a moment to take him in before slipping out of the bed and his grasp.
It was time to make the last few preparations.
Your movements were as quiet as you could make them as you got dressed. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you slipped out the front door.
Grocery shopping went smoothly, the bakery passed off the small bourbon chocolate cake you’d ordered with little fuss, and the jeweler down the road didn’t even charge you for the little black velvet box. They had a million of them, she’d said, no big deal.
You were back home by 3:30pm. Jack was up and awake by then, making himself a cup of coffee when you strolled in, arms laden with grocery bags. For just a second, you let your eyes trail over him. He was facing away, giving you a beautiful view of the freckles dusting his muscled back. The sweatpants riding low on his hips, the right leg tied in a knot to stop the hem from dragging, hid the strength and shape of his ass and legs from you, but your imagination filled in the gaps.
“Done objectifying me yet?” Jack just barely looked over his shoulder as he continued to fiddle with the machine before him.
“Never,” you set the bags down, giving his ass a slap as you moved past.
He laughed, reaching for his crutches as he moved to follow you back out to the driveway.
“Let me help you with the bags.”
“Not a chance,” you blocked the doorway. “Go sit down and enjoy your day off.”
He looked like he was going to argue for a moment, but then he acquiesced. With one, chaste kiss to your lips, he moved back to the counter.
Jack was stubborn, though, so he started unloading the grocery bags, placing ingredients in their rightful places.
You watched him move through the space for just a moment before you returned to your car to grab the last few bags and the box with the cake. The jewelry box was tucked into the back pocket of your denim shorts, hidden by your oversized shirt as you deposited everything else onto the counter, next to the first batch of empty bags. Jack had disappeared from the kitchen, but he walked out of the bedroom just as you began to organize the ingredients you needed, his leg fastened on.
“What are you gonna make me?” Jack had settled back against the counter after you swatted his hands away from the cake box, trying to keep his fingers out of the frosting while he tried to steal a taste. He was lazily sipping his coffee, eyes watching as you fluttered about, retrieving some of the items that you needed.
“Steak,” you held up the meat wrapped in butcher paper as you pulled it from the bag. “Cabbage,” his nose wrinkled and your eyes rolled. For a brief moment, you really considered throwing the vegetable at him. “Relax, you big baby. Cabbage au gratin. Lots of cheese and that cream sauce you like.”
“Hmm, ok,” he was smirking over the rim of his mug. “What else?”
“What else? What, that’s not enough for you?”
He set the coffee down, closing the small distance between the two of you so his hands could rest on your hips, chest pressing into your back. You panicked for a moment as his lips met your clothed shoulder, hoping and praying that he didn’t notice the box in your pocket. It was still empty, but you didn’t want to give him any hints about your plan.
“I’m gonna need a lot of energy tonight, baby,” his hands slid underneath your shirt to rest against your bare stomach as he nosed at your hair, his breath brushing over your ear. “I’m pretty sure I was promised however I want, as many times as I want.”
You were so close to breaking. Your resolve was hanging on by a thread.
“And,” his hand slid farther up, cupping your breast through your bra. You could barely restrain a whine. “My dear wife decided to swap shifts. We haven’t had any… quality time in a week. I’ve got a lot of plans for you tonight, baby.”
“Jack,” your voice was weak.
“Not to mention,” his fingers squeezed your nipple through the mesh of your bra. “I wouldn’t be a very good husband if I didn’t help you get your sleep cycle back on track. Gotta get you used to working all night, baby.”
“You’ve gotta wait, Jackie,” you were arching back into him, offering no resistance as his broad hand slid to lay over the span of your stomach.
Fuck.
The feeling of that steady, callous hand laying against the smooth skin of your lower abdomen jolted you back to reality.
You needed to wait. It wouldn’t be fair or right to fuck him before you had a conversation, plus you’d put so much thought into planning the perfect night. You couldn’t let your incubus of a husband seduce you into ruining it now.
“Jack,” your voice was stronger now. “Patience.”
He huffed a laugh against the shell of your ear, his hands tightening against you just once before letting you go and stepping back. You could very clearly see the hard length of him straining through the fabric of his pants as you turned to face him, back braced against the counter. His hands came up to land beside your hips on the stone as he caged you in.
“I don’t know what you have planned, but I might die if I don’t get my hands on you soon,” his lips laid a kiss on your cheek before he was stepping back. “I’m gonna go shower before you torture me anymore.”
Step 4: the proposition.
Jack behaved himself all throughout dinner, his hand settling at a tasteful spot on your bare thigh, exposed by the dress you’d pulled on over the lacy white set he hadn’t seen yet. Entirely appropriate compliments coming from him as you laid the cabbage, the steak, and the salad and rolls he hadn’t let you tell him about earlier before the two of you on the table.
But dinner was done, leftovers packed away, the rest of the cake returned to its box while two half-eaten slices laid before the two of you.
While he was in the shower, you’d managed to retrieve your IUD (very thoroughly sanitized, thank you very much) and place it in the jewelry box. It fit perfectly. You’d tied the box closed with a short length of red ribbon you’d acquired from the Christmas supplies stored in the spare room.
That box had been sitting on the counter while you ate dinner and dessert, but now it sat between the two of you on the table. For the first time all week, your confidence in your plan was starting to falter.
Jack was a great man and an amazing husband. That was undeniable. He was great at so many different things. The one area he fell behind in, though, was communication.
He wasn’t necessarily bad at it, but he definitely wasn’t the best. It wasn’t that he couldn’t or didn’t communicate with you. No, it was more that he held certain things back. He didn’t let himself verbalize things when he thought he didn’t deserve them, or when he thought he was asking for too much.
He hadn’t asked you for a baby. Sure, the two of you had talked about it before getting married, as all couples should, but the conversation hadn’t resurfaced since then. That conversation had been the first time he had truly been completely open and laid bare before you. He had told you he wanted kids, more than anything, but he worried about being too old, too broken, too unavailable.
You’d assured him he was none of those things, that you wanted to start a family with him. You could see on his face that he only half believed you.
It hadn’t been a possibility right when you got married, with you just finishing your residency and settling into being an attending, along with the both of you wanting time to really settle into your relationship before broaching that topic again.
But it hadn’t been brought up again.
Suddenly, the box sitting between you felt like a bomb. What if you had overstepped? Sure, you had thought the look on his face when he saw you with a baby was longing, but what if it wasn’t? What if you were about to blow up your marriage and ruin his 50th birthday?
“Hey,” Jack’s hand came to cover yours, jerking you out of your spiral. “You ok?”
“Yeah,” your throat felt full as you looked up at him. “Just… just nervous to see if you like your present.”
He smiled at that. “I’m sure I’ll love it, baby.”
“I really hope you do.”
You could barely breathe as you watched his fingers undo the red bow keeping the box sealed. The few seconds it took for him to unwind the fabric felt like years, the soft sound of the ribbon sliding against the velvet felt like the loudest noise in the world.
The lid blocked your view of the interior of the box, but you knew exactly what it looked like. That thin plastic ‘T’ sticking up out of the slot where a ring would normally go. Stark white against the deep red interior of the little black box.
Jack’s brow scrunched up for a second as he gazed down at the object in his hands.
“Is this your-”
“Yes,” your voice was quiet when you cut him off, your eyes searching his face. He looked confused, eyes fixed on the IUD, before the expression melted into shock as he looked up at you.
“You-” he floundered over his words, gaze rapidly flicking back and forth between you and the box. “This- you took it- what-”
For a moment, you were concerned he was having a stroke. But then he took a deep breath, set the box down, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Your nerves crept back in, unwelcome and self deprecating as the worst case scenarios ran through your mind.
“I need you to tell me exactly what this means, baby,” his hand was grabbing yours again, squeezing tight. He still looked a little shocked, but you could see his eyes lighting up with what you desperately hoped was happiness.
“I-” your throat locked down, the words stuck as your eyes locked on his.
“Words, baby,” he slipped out of his seat, settling on his knees before you.
“Jack, your leg-”
“I don’t care, I’m fine,” his hands settled on your thighs, just above your knees. His fingers dug in as he looked up at you.
Hope. That’s what you were seeing written plain as day across his features. Hope and love and yearning.
“Baby, please,” he sounded desperate. “I need to know exactly what you meant when you gave me your IUD.”
“I -” your breath faltered for just a second as his hands squeezed tighter as the first syllable left your lips. “I want to have a baby, Jack. I want your baby.”
“Fuck,” his voice was raw and gutteral, like the curse ripped out of him involuntarily. “I want it. So badly, you have no idea.”
You couldn’t help your laugh. The sound was wet, emotion curling in your chest as the worry and anxiety fled. “Trust me, I know exactly how much you want it.”
The confusion crept back onto his face.
“You’re not subtle, Jack.”
“I’m so subtle. I’m an unreadable pillar of strength,” he was smiling, eyes still full of love and adoration.
“You were anything other than subtle with this.”
“Maybe because I want to come home to you and our child everyday,” his words silenced your laughter, tears threatening to spill as he kept speaking. “I want to watch them grow up, teach them how to ride a bike, be obnoxiously loud and embarrassing at sports games.”
Jack was getting to his feet now, pulling you up with him until his forehead was pressed to yours.
“I want to teach them how to drive, cry at their high school graduation, move them into college dorms,” his own voice was thick with emotion as tears dripped silently down your cheeks. His hands came up to cradle your cheeks, swiping the stray droplets away with his thumbs. Your hands gripped his forearms as you listened. “I want it all with you. I want to be horribly, disgustingly domestic and in love, show our kid what love looks like. I want them to be safe and happy and healthy and so, so loved.”
“Jack,” your voice was shaky as you clung to him.
“I want it. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I want it with you. I want it all with you.”
His lips connected with yours. The kiss was tender and slow, every emotion leaking out as your lips and tongues moved against each other in your dining room. He tasted like the chocolate cake and something so distinctly Jack. It was addictive.
When the two of you parted to gasp for breath, his hands settled on your waist, yours coming up to tangle one in his hair, the other flat against his sturdy chest.
“You know,” you leaned in, tracing feather light kisses over the curve of his throat. “I promised you you could have whatever you want after dinner.”
His head dropped back and he let out a groan. His hands tightened on your waist.
“But do you know what I want?”
“What do you want, baby?” His voice was breathy. One of his hands drifted down to grab a handful of your ass, his leg slipping between yours to apply pressure where you needed him the most.
Your teeth caught the lobe of his ear between your teeth.
“I want you to take me to our bedroom,” your hand in his hair yanked ever so slightly. “I want you to take one of those little pills you keep for emergencies,” your fingers trailed down his chest slowly as his breathing picked up in pace. “And I want you to fuck me until you physically cannot any more.”
Step 5: success.
So maybe you weren’t as good at reading your husband as you thought.
You were so sure as soon as he got you into the bedroom and got an eyeful of the see through lace covering your body, he’d be inside of you immediately, especially with the promise of your uterus open for business.
But he held back, eyes tracing your form, sprawled out on the bed and still covered, barely, by your lingerie. He was moving through the room like he had all the time in the world.
You watched with bated breath as he slowly undid his belt and the button of his pants, leaving both still on. The buttons on his shirt were next, the fabric hanging open and untucked as he approached his nightstand. All you could see of his torso was a thin strip, could just barely spot the light dusting of still auburn hair disappearing in the waist band of his slacks.
His hand dug into the drawer for a second before he was producing the little orange bottle. He held it delicately between his fingers, eyes meeting yours.
“You’re sure this is what you want?” Everything in Jack’s eyes seemed to be begging you to agree, to not dangle this in front of him and then so cruelly rip it away.
“I want this,” you sat up, scooting to the edge of the bed to rest your hands on his hips, his legs between yours as he towered over you. “I want you to put a baby in me, Jack.”
He groaned, his hands fumbling to get the cap off the bottle and one pill in his mouth.
He didn’t usually need those little blue pills, but between the anti depressants he regularly took and the stress of both your jobs, occasionally they came in handy. Today, however, the outline of his erection, right in front of your face, told you he definitely didn’t need it right now. But both of you knew that one round was not going to be even close to enough.
The temptation of that bulge in his pants was too much as you watched his throat bob while he swallowed the pill dry. Your hands drifted from his hips to the undone button of his slacks. Slowly, your fingers pulled the zipper down.
His hand caught yours before you could start sliding the fabric down his legs.
“Not now,” his fingers pressed into your pulse, your heartrate hammering as you looked up at him. “Take off your clothes and lie down.”
For a moment, you wanted to argue, wanted to insist that this was his birthday, you should be taking care of him. But the heat in his eyes and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his eyes traced over your body had another idea popping into your head, wondering exactly how far you could push him tonight.
Your hands were a little shaky as you unclasped your bra, if the white scrap of barely there lace could even be called that. It fell from your body as you stood from the bed, crowding into Jack.
He took half a step back to give you some space as he watched. Your hands tossed your hair back over your shoulders, taking the opportunity to trail your fingers down your collarbones, loosely cupping and caressing your own breasts. Your lips parted on a gasp as your fingers tweaked your nipples. With half lidded eyes, you arched into him, almost touching as you continued to play with your breasts.
When you decided he’d had enough, you let your hands move on, dragging down your abdomen only to stop just above the waistband of your panties. You laid your hands over the smooth, bumpless skin.
“Can’t wait for your baby to be right here,” you were laying it on thick. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth digging into your lower lip, breaths coming a little too deep to lift your breasts even more with every inhale.
Jack was getting impatient, you could tell. That fire burning in his eyes, his fingers flexing, all while you took your sweet time shimmying out of the underwear.
By the time it hit the floor, he looked ready to pounce, but he was still keeping himself in check. You figured he probably wanted to take things nice and slow, make them tender. At least at first. He usually was attentive and giving, treating you gently especially when emotions were running high. Not like you would break if he didn’t, more like you deserved to be loved softly.
But there was time for soft later. Right now, the tension and knowledge of what he was about to do to you felt explosive. You wanted him to take you hard. To take out the sexual frustration of a week or so of abstinence on your body. To pin you down and have his way with you. Afterwards there’d be time for sweet and tender. And there definitely would be more than just one round tonight given the pill he’d just taken.
You were right about how close he was to snapping. The final straw seemed to be when you reached down, picking your underwear up from the floor. He watched the movement, a warning look on his face, but you didn’t stop. Instead, you took his hand, setting the soaking wet miniscule lace in his palm.
“Happy birthday,” with that, you turned around, crawling onto the bed on all fours, swaying your hips as you went.
You didn’t get very far before his hands were grabbing you by the waist, dragging you back to the edge. Your lower legs hung off the bed as he pressed his hips against your ass. He was burning hot, even through his clothes. You could feel the heat and weight of him as you ground back, smearing the wetness leaking from you onto his pants.
“I wanted to be nice,” behind you, you heard rustling as his shirt finally dropped off his shoulders. The clinking of his belt followed, thudding as it hit the floor next. “I wanted to make love to my sweet little wife, but I don’t think that’s what you want, huh?”
“I want you to fuck me, Jack,” you heard him drag his pants and boxers down, the thick length of his cock springing free to brush agaisnt you. Your hips pushed back, almost involuntarily, craving him inside of you. “Make love to me later, knock me up now.”
“Fuck,” his fingers found your clit, stroking through your folds and finding you oh so ready for him. He was making small, tight circles around the bud, sending small shockwaves of pleasure through you.
“Stop wasting time,” your words were breathy, slowly losing their bite. “At this rate it’ll be another 30 years before I get pregnant.”
“Shut up,” you could feel him lining himself up. “Let me make you feel good.”
“I’ll feel good if you- oh fuck!”
Jack interrupted your whining by slamming in all the way. Usually, he was slow, guiding himself inside, taking the time to let you adjust. Not now, though, now he barely gave you a second to get used to the feeling before he was pulling out and pushing back in.
“Is this what you wanted?” His voice was strained, his hips working vigorously as he used his grip on your waist to drag you back onto him every time he thrust in.
The sound was obscene. Wet slapping accompanied by your whines and gasps as he reached deep inside of you, bumping all the way up against your cervix with each push in. His own panting was nearly drowned out, but the groan that escaped him when you clamped down tight as he shifted angles was loud.
“Right there, huh?” Jack tilted his hips, angling towards that spot while one of his hands pushed down on your upper back. Your arms gave way, head meeting the sheets as he continued to pound away.
“Fuck, Jack, right there!” Your cries were high pitched and needy as he kept up the pace. His pounding was rhythmic, barely faltering even when his fingers found your clit again, and you tightened around him even more. The circles he was drawing were fast, matching the speed and timing of his thrusts.
Jack had long since learned to play your body like a fiddle and he was pulling no punches tonight. His hand not on your clit shifted, sliding down to press the heel of his palm right above your pubic bone. The added pressure had you crying out, walls pulsing as an orgasm washed over you unexpectedly.
It came in waves, your back arching and pushing your hips into his even more fervently as the pleasure grew and radiated out from between your legs. It was sudden, overwhelming, and seemingly never ending as he kept fucking you through it, his pace unchanging, his hands never moving from where they lay.
“Fuck, baby,” he was panting, leaning halfway over you as you twitched. “God, fuck, I’m close.”
“C’mon, do it Jack,” you knew your voice was whiny and breathy, but you couldn’t care less as you begged him. “Please, do it. Cum inside me. I need it!”
This was far from the first time he’d fucked you raw. The two of you hadn’t used a condom since the early days of your relationship. After one broke and forced an incredibly awkward pharmacy run for Plan B, you’d gotten your IUD. Once it was effective, you had never had a barrier between you. Jack was well accustomed to coming inside of you.
But this was different. That protection was gone, sitting on the dining room table where he’d left it after dinner. And now you were begging him to cum inside you, not just because it felt good for both of you, but because you wanted to have his child. You wanted him leaking out of you, filling you up until you had no room left inside. You wanted the consequences of this action, the visible and physical manifestation of him left inside of you.
His hand on your stomach shot out, clutching the duvet beside your head as he leaned even farther over you. Jack’s rhythm grew erratic, faster than before as he folded over you. His fingers never stopped circling but they did hitch, that steady pressure faltering as he got closer.
“Fuck, oh fuck, you feel so good,” he was so close you could feel it. Feel him pulsing and twitching inside of you while his chest, damp with sweat pressed against your back.
“Please,” the word was tangled with a moan as it left your lips. The orgasm that had seemed never ending was rising again, impossibly fast. “Please, Jack, want your baby, please.”
“Oh shit, fuck, fuck! Oh, I’m cumming, oh fuck!”
You felt the heat inside you, that warmth radiating out as he buried himself deep, hips rutting in grinding little thrusts as he came. It was overwhelming. Your own orgasm, much weaker than the previous one, jerked through your body as you felt him fill you.
The two of you stayed quiet, no words exchanged while you rode out the pleasure coursing through both your veins. Jack stayed buried as deep as he could inside of you, his hand finally leaving your clit when you stopped pulsing around him, only for it to find the front of your thigh, keeping you tightly pressed against him.
“I love you,” he whispered against your shoulder blade while he caught his breath.
“I love you, too,” you couldn’t really reach back to touch him in this position. At least, not without the growing ache in your lower back worsening. “I’m getting sore, Jack.”
“If I tell you to lay down and get comfortable, will you actually listen this time?” The smirk on his face as you peaked over your shoulder made you want to simultaneously punch him and kiss him. He slowly pushed himself up, lifting his weight off your body and pulling out.
“Yes, fine, I’ll listen,” you winced a little as his dick left your body, gasping a little when you realized he was still half hard.
“Shit, stop for a sec,” his hand palmed your ass cheek, stopping you from crawling forward to get comfortable. For a moment, you were confused. But then you felt it. His cum was dripping from you, spilling now that he’d finally pulled out. “Fuck, that’s so hot.”
The low groan in his voice had you clenching around nothing, pushing even more out of you.
“Gotta keep it all in there, baby,” his fingers came up, pushing it back inside of you. They curled downwards, brushing against the sensitive skin just behind your clit, your legs shaking as he repeated the motion. “Fuck you’re so wet. So full of me.”
“Jack, please,” you weren’t entirely sure what you were asking for, all you knew was that you needed him. Over your own panting breaths you could just make out the wet sound of his own hand dragging over his length.
“Ok, ok,” his fingers pulled out of you. “Get comfortable, I need you again.”
Your legs were weak and it took you a second to focus again as you made your way to the center of the bed, falling onto your back, your head resting among the pillows. Your eyes found him like a magnet, snapping into focus as he finally pulled his pants all the way down.
He was fully hard again, and you watched with blatant hunger as he sat on the edge of the bed, hastily unfastening his prosthetic before he was climbing over to you.
“Left your hips for me,” you followed his instruction, allowing him to slide a pillow below your ass to keep you propped up for him. “Good girl.”
He settled, kneeling, between your legs, length still glistening from just having been inside you. Jack dragged the head of his cock over your folds, taking in the way your body twisted and undulated, silently begging for him to be back inside you.
“Are you ready?”
How kind and totally unnecessary for him to check in on you. You were mere seconds away from flipping him over and riding him.
“Yes, please Jack,” your hands reached down for him, trying to guide him in yourself.
“Ah-ah,” he tangled your fingers in his, leaning over you to trap your hands above your head with one of his. “I fucked you how you wanted, now we do it how I want it.”
“Just get inside me, please! I want you so bad,” you had a sneaking suspicion he might have wanted to tease you for even longer, but your husband had never been able to resist you for very long. You could see how much he wanted it, and your begging seemed to have won out over his desire to tease.
“God, you’re still so tight,” Jack buried his face in the crook of your neck as he slid inside. “How the fuck are you always so tight?”
“Made for you!” Your voice came out high and squeaky as he began to move.
“Fuck yes you were,” his lips landed on the sensitive skin of your throat, sucking and kissing and no doubt leaving countless marks you’d be struggling to cover when you went back to work.
The pace he set this time was much slower than before, but somehow filthier. The slow, insistent grind of him withdrawing and pushing back in had your clit grinding against the neatly trimmed hair at the base of his cock. The sounds this time were quieter but no less salacious. The unmistakable sound of how wet you were filled the room every time he pushed in as deep as he could get, mixed with the whimpers and gasps of his name you let out as you clung to him. He was rather quiet the first time until he got close, but he must have been more sensitive now as his groans and curses vibrated against your neck.
Those noises only built in volume as the two of you fell into a cycle, pushing each other even higher.
Every time you clenched tightly around him as he hit just the right spot, his teeth would scrape the sensitive skin on your neck or shoulder. In return, your fingernails would dig in tighter against the muscles in his back and his hips would press as deep he could, brushing against the spot that made you clench tighter.
“You feel so good around me, baby,” his movements were beginning to stutter as the two of you got closer again. His hand tangled in your hair as he pulled his head away from your neck, keeping your eyes locked on his.
Jack looked wild. His pupils were blown wide, eyes full of tenderness even as his skin was flushed, his mouth open as he let loose sounds of pleasure.
“You’re all mine.”
You tried to nod against his grip in your hair, eyes slipping shut as he ground even harder into you. Everything was hazy. The pleasurable feeling of every movement sent zaps tingling up your spine.
“No, no keep your eyes open,” you gasped as he broke his semi-steady rhythm to thrust hard into you. Your eyes opened, locking onto his. “Good girl, that’s good.”
He was getting louder now, getting closer and consequently pushing you there as well.
“Say it, baby,” you were tightening around his length uncontrollably now, impossibly close. “Tell me you’re mine.”
“I-I’m fuck!” You could barely get the first word out as his hand once again found its way between your bodies, rubbing against you as you squirmed. The pleasure was almost too much. “I’m your- fuck, fuck! I’m yours, Jack!”
“All mine,” his lips landed on yours while his fingers sped up. The kiss was sloppy, mostly tongues and teeth while you panted into each other's mouths. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum again, ohhh fuck.”
His hips snapped once, twice and then stilled as deep as he could get. Jack never stopped rubbing your clit, though, pushing you through to cum around him for the 3rd time so far as came inside you again.
You could barely feel the extra fluid. The space between your legs was already messy and your orgasm pushed every last thought out of your head as your body shook. Your legs tightened around his hips as your body arched up into him. One of his arms slid beneath your lower back, his hips burying his cock even deeper inside.
As your body trembled and the pleasure slowly faded, you realised he was speaking to you, the bussing in your ears finally fading enough for you to hear him.
“-love you so much, baby,” his head had dropped back down to the crook of your neck, but his lips hadn’t resumed their attack. The words were quiet. You knew he was talking to you, but the words almost seemed too personal. Like Jack’s filter had been fucked out of him, and the words spilling against your skin were his inner monologue. “Can’t believe you want to make me a dad. I swear, I’ll do my best. I’ll be so good. I can’t wait to hold her and love her-”
“Her?” You finally felt coherent enough to interrupt.
Jack jumped like he had forgotten you were there, even with his length still buried inside of you.
He hesitated for a moment, before lifting his head to look you in the eye. “I want a daughter,” his hand came to rest over your lower stomach. “One of the residents told me I seem like a girl-dad a year or so ago and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. And now, getting you pregnant… I hope it’s a girl.”
You were torn between laughing and crying. You remembered the off hand comment from one of the bolder first year students, along with the look of utter confusion on Jack’s face. He hadn’t understood the comment, simply telling them he didn’t have kids and to get back to work.
But the tenderness in his voice, the absolute love in his eyes as he looked down at you had a lump forming in your throat.
“You know it’s not that quick,” your hand came up to cradle his jaw covered in that silver stubble you loved so much. “It might take a while for me to get pregnant. And there's no way to guarantee it’ll be a girl.”
His head turned slightly to press a kiss to your palm. “I don’t care how long it takes. I’m happy to keep trying.”
Your cheeks flushed at the insinuation, choosing to redirect. “And if it’s a boy?”
Jack lowered himself back over you, his nose brushing yours. “Then I’ll have a son. The only thing that matters is that the both of you are safe, happy, and healthy.”
“I love you,” the words were tight, barely getting out of your throat around the steadily growing lump of overwhelming emotion.
I keep on imagining Matt with a girlfriend who is just as stubborn and reckless about her own safety as he is. A vigilante dating a vigilante who both think the only way they are worthy of life is if they offer their blood and tears up to the world and those who are helpless in it.
How would he react to a mirror being held up to him? What is their routine like? How do they fight? Do they train together? Do they prefer to patrol separately? So much to explore…
Titus Danforth notices everything, even if no one realises it. He takes it all in, knowing just when to use certain knowledge to move things his way. Ursula thinks him stupid, but really? He’s been moving her like a pawn for years. And well, his discovery of your oral fixation is just another wonderful pawn to use you.
Titus Danforth who notices how his little assistant often has a pen or sucker in your mouth. More than once having to harshly rub away ink at the corner of your lip. Yet, the more he noticed it, noticed the little string of drool as you dragged the pen out, the more he realised. You loved to have something in that mouth of yours, shutting you up.
Titus Danforth who knows he’s fucked up, knows he moved the wrong pawn too early. You’re lecturing him in the privacy of his office, sat in the chair across from him, sighing as you write notes. Commenting on how he had ruined the plans. You’d gotten too comfortable around him, your tongue looser. So he beckons you over with one finger. Commanding you to open. And well, as loose as your tongue may be, you still listen. About to question him when he shoves two of his digits into your hot mouth. “Suck,” he commands, leaning back into his chair as he sighs, enjoying the silence shutting you up brings him.
Titus Danforth who has started to enjoy your little oral fixation. When he’s stressed, which was often. He’d just beckon you over on your knees and finger fuck your throat. There’s many different forms of therapy, this just happened to be his. Having his little assistant drooling around his fingers, gagging, eyes rolling back in pure pleasure as he pumped them in and out.
Titus Danforth who laces those damn suckers with just a hint of some rare aphrodisiac. Enough to make you beg him to take you. Of course, he doesn’t. No, he just offers you his fingers and a promise - that one day he’ll ruin you.
Titus Danforth who’s started to get a little more creative. Preparing for stressful meetings by having you sat between his knees, slobbering on his cock before anyone’s even sat down. One hand in your hair, tugging if you ever got too loud. He wouldn’t be embarrassed, no, were you caught he’s revel in the power. Rather, he did it for you. For the silly idea that you had. That one day maybe you’d leave here, get a new job. Even if thy never would happen. Titus had you now.
Titus Danforth who enjoys spending his evenings with you between his legs. The desk long gone. His eyes roaming your body, massaging your shoulders. You were stupid enough to think maybe he cares. As he shoves you down further onto his aching cock. You’re speechless, reaching a sub-space like no other. You shouldn’t feel safe around, but you do. In some twisted way. Eyes going glossy as all you manage to do is swallow the salty cum that he loads into your mouth again and again.
Titus Danforth who’s watching his cock’s outline in your pretty throat. How you try to take him all just to fail and gag. Whining each time. There’s salvia running down your chin, your knees red from kneeling for so long. Coming off to a small breath, Titus hands you a piece of paper. Commending you to sign it. Which, still stuck in that beautiful sub-space, you did so obediently. Before returning to his cock, loving it like no other. Oblivious to the wedding documents you had just signed.
As a night shift resident, if there’s one thing you hate about the day time, it’s just how comfortable people are to insert themselves and throw off your perfectly curated routine. There’s a reason your black out blinds are drawn at noon, a reason why you’re knocked out while a majority of the population is at work or at school. You have lives to save when everyone is sleeping! The city of Pittsburgh needs you!
It’s your first day off of four when you hear a phone buzzing incessantly on your nightstand. It startles you out of your sleep with a sleepy murmured, “shit!”
You grab the phone and slide a finger across the screen, eyes bleary and unfocused from just waking up, “hello?”
“Kid?”
“Dad?” You question huskily, rubbing your eyes with a tired yawn.
“What did I tell you about— why are you answering John’s phone?” Abbot questions.
“Huh? Why are you calling my phone and asking for John? I’m off for four days and I’m not coming in under any circumstances so you must have the wrong number,” you mumble into the phone as you settle back beneath the fresh sheets of your bed.
There’s a long, tired sigh that comes through the phone, “Kid, do me a favor and pull the phone away from your ear to check if it’s yours.”
You yawn again, your half-asleep mind following directions without second thought. You hold the phone out in front of your face and squint. When did you change his contact name to ‘Old Guy #1’— fuck! This is not your phone! Your eyes widen and your back flies the mattress in an instant, “oh shit!”
Beside you, John sits up in a panic, pushing his sleeping mask off with a hoarse, “what happened, Baby?”
“I answered your phone and it’s Abbot,” you whisper in a panic, the phone slipping from your hand as you stressfully run your fingers through your hair.
“Fuck!”
“I know! You know that old man can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life! He’s going to tell everyone we’re together and we’ll never hear the end of it!”
Somewhere in the sea of sheets there’s a muffled, “hey!” too quiet for you or your boyfriend, John, to hear as he wraps an arm around you and presses his lips to your temple. “I can bribe him with some beers and the promise of a few rounds of golf, maybe a fancy bottle of scotch. Old White guys love that shit, Babe. Trust me, we’re fine.”
You exhale with a jerky nod, trusting his plan. It’s only now that you’re more awake that you realize, “why was your phone on my side of the bed anyway?”
John freezes under your scrutinizing gaze before shrugging casually, “didn’t really have time to focus on where I put the thing when you were wearing that little lacy black number you know I love. Maybe I should buy you a new one, I tore that poor thing to—”
“Jesus Christ! I’m still here!” You’re able to hear.
“Whoops,” John shrugs casually, digging his phone out from the tangled sheets to put it on speaker, “sorry about that, Boss Man. To what do I owe the pleasure of your rugged voice on this lovely afternoon?”
“You’re late to golf.” Jack states with an exasperated exhale.
“I knew I was forgetting something last night. We just got so carried away that I must have forgotten to set my alarm,” John explains as he lays back against your headboard.
Jack groans and you can imagine the way he’s dropped his head into his palm, “we, as a team are far too close. I don’t need to know what you guys get up to in your private time. In the span of less than 10 minutes, I’ve learned way too much about the both of you.”
You laugh, “you don’t even know how close we really are! Parker literally helps me pick the nudes I send to John, Lena has literally helped me fish a tampon out of my cooch, and John was just a few hours ago, literally inside—”
“Too much information, Kid!” Jack interrupts loudly. You can hear the drag of his hand over the scruff on his face, “John are you coming or what?”
“Ha! That’s what my girl said last night!” John chuckles before clearing his throat at the sound of Jack gagging over the phone, “I am getting ready to leave right now boss.”
“Perfect answer, see you soon,” Jack replies half heartedly after a long, tense minute of silence.
John stands from the bed, his phone tossed lazily on the pillow where he’d just been lying as he begins to get dressed. You settle back under the sheets, sighing wistfully, “I’m actually kind of hurt Jack thinks we’re all so close. We could be like a million times closer. It could really boost his morale and therefore, the team’s if he knew he was our agreed upon hall pass. You should find a super casual way to bring it up while you guys golf, Babe.”
Thinking about titus taking out all his anger on you — his wife, after a heated argument.
ꫂ᭪݁ warnings/tags. unprotected sex, smut, aggressive!titus, age gap (never mentioned, but reader is younger than titus).
Titus has your head squished into your pillow as he plows into you repeatedly from behind.
You and him had got into a heated argument, something about - keeping him in check and making sure he doesn't go out of his lane.
Titus didn't like that. He doesn't like being bossed around like a child, because he wasn't. He was a grown man who made his own decisions - not very good ones at that.
Tears were streaming down your face and drool was falling from your mouth, staining the pillow beneath you.
"You think - you fucking own me, until you're under me," a groan falls from his mouth, "getting your brains fucked out." Titus huffs as his hand comes into contact with your ass, giving it a hard slap just like the other three he gave before those.
Each slap, your ass arched up as if you were begging for more; your body was numb and your pussy was puffy and sensitive - you didn't know how long he had been sliding his dick in and out of your sopping walls.
But it was overwhelming, the constant hair tugging and mean words falling from his mouth - it was... a lot for you.
Titus leans forward and down to your ear, grazing his teeth right below your ear lobe, which got a lazy whine out of you. "I got a new challenge for you, baby." Titus grunts against your skin, leaving a soft kiss; the only soft kiss you've gotten all day.
"You wanna hear it?" He whispers, biting down on your soft flesh. You bat your teary eyes, trying to get any type of sound out. But you couldn't- your mouth felt dry.
Titus grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head back, making you look him in the eyes. They were dark and cold with no thought behind them. "Fucking answer me, when I ask you a question!"
"Yes!... I wanna hear it." You cry out- your voice was raspy and rough. Nonetheless titus was happy with your answer, and how easy you obey him if he just pushes the right buttons.
"I fuck... this pretty pussy- until dawn," he pauses, taking a deep breath, "how's that sound? s'that good for my girl?" He huffs out, cupping your face and bringing you into a rough kiss.
A pained groan slipped from your lips as titus bit down on your bottom lip- you still had mini cuts recovering on your lip, from how many times he bites down on them, just to drain your blood and taste it.
He pulls back with your blood smeared across his mouth, "I can... handle it." You say, barely above a whisper. Titus swipes his tongue over his lips, moaning at the bitter taste of your blood.
“I knew my girl had it in her.”
so I scheduled this for 12 pm NOT AM. IM SOOO IRRITATED. If you saw this already on my page, no you didn’t.
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