Deciding to do a little intro post here, so my fans can get to know the woman behind the writing.
Hi, my name is Mel, I’m 22 and from Wisconsin. Some of my hobbies include sewing, cross stitch, watching f1, and playing video games. I currently write for: the f1 grid (minus Stroll and Gasly simply because I don’t like their aura), Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov, and Jack Abbot, Robby Robinavitch, and Dennis Whitaker. My hard no’s for writing are scat, blood play (period sex is okay though) and piss drinking/water sports with the reader receiving.
My requests are currently open!
I am really deliberate about my reader inserts not having any defined white features, but if I do miss something that implies reader has light skin or something, let me know and I’ll try editing the fic to fix the issue. I want my fics to be inclusive of all races, even if they’re written by a white woman.
Masterlist
Since I haven’t made it abundantly clear on here because this is my silly little fandom blog: Fuck ICE, Fuck Isreal, Fuck Trump and all of his administration, love is love, trans rights are human rights, free healthcare for all, women deserve equal rights, black lives matter, stop Asian hate, abortion is healthcare, immigrants literally built America, free Palestine. If you don’t agree with any of what I said, do us both a favor and block me. I was not raised being told “All men are created equal” to have any of your bullshit.
a/n: i was so freaked out writing, i out freaked myself. enjoy.
pt. 1
summary: it's time for robby's prostate exam and you have abbot there to help guide you through it.
tag: a little bit of medical roleplay, anal fingering, vaginal fingering, double penetration, gloves, threesome, vaginal sex, missionary gay sex, squirting, afterglow, dom!abbot, switch!robby, sub!reader, a bit of jealous!robby, brat!reader, rabbot have fucked before and reader is fujoshing out, spit as lube, collecting the spit for lube, also just lube,
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Robby sits on the edge of the bed nervously. He felt so embarrassed for what was to come. You enter the room in a lab coat with Abbot close behind you in his work scrubs. "Hello, I am Dr. Abbot, and this is my med student who will be observing today. Is that okay?"
"I guess so." Robby can't even look at you. You have the biggest grin on your face and you were bouncing on the balls of your feet. Looking at Abbot isn't any better as he has a shit eating grin too.
He doesn't remember exactly how it happened. Everything seemed to just fall into place after you asked to role play again. Getting Abbot on board wasn't too hard. He always seemed like your third with how often he would come along with you and Robby on nights out and dates.
There was once a drunken haze where you had confessed a fantasy to which they kissed each other. Then when they did, it became a feverish mess between the three of you and the next morning Abbot was gone. It was only mentioned when you were drunk again. So it happened a few times.
"So you are here for your prostate exam, Dr. Robinavitch. Is this your first one?" Abbot asks.
"No but they say you should get it checked often." Robby folds his hands in his lap.
"That's right, so the only person who hasn't done one is our stellar student." Abbot smiles at you.
You beam back and look at Robby, "I hope you don't mind, I will be performing the exam today."
"Not at all." He takes a deep inhale, "Do what you have to do."
"Alright, do you remember what the procedure is?" Abbot asks you. You bite your lip as you think back to before you entered the room.
"Okay, sir, if you could face the bed and remove your lower garments then bend over. To make it easier you can simply rest your torso on the bed and brace on your elbows." You look back at Abbot.
"Good job." He whispers.
You bite your lip and turn to Robby who isn't as amused. He wasn't the jealous type but he loathed the way you would act around Abbot. You would get these little giggle fits and give him googly eyes. You'd bite your lip probably fantasizing about him. But this is what you wanted and he wasn't going to fight you on it as you let him do the pelvic exam before.
He turns around and undoes his belt. He pulls down his pants with his underwear and steps out of them. He rests his torso on the bed.
From behind he can hear you snap on your gloves. "Okay make sure your finger is lubed and spread it over the entrance." Abbot guides you. Robby hisses as he feels your gloved finger traces the outside of his hold before gently pressing into it. It's not enough to penetrate but enough to get him aroused. "Good work, Baby-girl. Now go ahead with the next steps."
Before Robby could think about the stupid pet name any longer, you speak, "I am inserting my finger now," and slowly push your finger into his rectum. Robby groans as he feels your finger inside him. Slowly you press your finger against the walls and then against his prostate.
"Ah~" Robby moans.
"Are you alright, sir?" You ask.
"It's completely natural to have a reaction during the exam." Abbot assures, "Slowly pull your finger out and back against that spot."
"Okay." You do as you are told and thrust your finger into Robby slowly. Robby follows your movement biting back his moans but his cock is betraying his true feelings. It jumps with every stroke begging to be touched. You wanted to touch it. You lick your lips as you imagine your mouth collecting his precum that dribbles out.
"Fuck~" Robby groans. It snaps you back into reality and you stopping moving your finger.
"I don't feel any abnormalities, Dr. Abbot." You say.
"Really? Alright, let me check." He puts on a glove of his own. You pull your finger out and Abbot stands on the other side of Robby.
"H-hey wait a minute— Ah!" Gently, Abbot thrusts two fingers into Robby with ease. You sit there wide eyed as you watch him finger Robby. "Huh, you're right, nothing out of the ordinary."
"You piece of —mmph~! — shit" Robby pants. You are still standing there, mouth agape as you look on in pure shock. You and Robby have never done ass play before. Correction, You have never done ass play with Robby before. He's played with your ass plenty but you have never even thought about doing it to him until recently.
"Sir, please remain calm. You're scaring my student." Abbot smirks at you, "Surprised?"
You just nod your head.
"I guess Baby-boy likes to keep his secrets." He chuckles. Robby moans as he clenches around Abbot's fingers. He rocks his hips backwards against his hand as Abbot's fingers poke his prostate. "Like he said though, this isn't his first exam."
"Don't say it like that." Robby stutters. He turns to you to see the shock on your face. You didn't know what to do in this moment. You really wanted to put your hand in your pants and keep watching. This is something you've only ever dreamed about.
"You two have done it before? And didn't tell me?" You pout, "I've only ever seen you two kiss, this isn't fair."
Robby chuckles, "Well remember that time you had one too many Manhattans?"
"That's when I asked you two to kiss. Then we all kissed." You try to recall memories of the night.
"Well when we went upstairs, you fell asleep…" Robby helps you along.
"Oh. My. God." You gasp, "You guys kept going?! Not fair! I wanted it more than you two. Why didn't you wake me?!"
"Ah~! I tried, but Baby once you're out… you're out." Robby sighs, "I'm sorry."
"You can watch us do it again." Abbot suggests as he pulls his fingers out, "If that will make you feel better."
A smile grows on your face, then you nod rapidly. "Robby, please. I'll do whatever you want." You crawl on the bed and give the biggest puppy dog eyes to him.
"Whatever I want, hm?" He bites his lip. You nod and lean in to kiss him. He hums against your lips as he thinks. You continue to pout between the kisses, "I'll do it but on the condition that you don't touch yourself."
"What?! That's so not fair!" You whine.
"Then I guess the exam is over." He stands up.
"No wait!" You hug his waist, "I'll… I'll do it."
"Good girl." He kisses your forehead. "Go ahead get on the bed."
You crawl back on the bed and the two men follow suit. You watch as Robby lays on his back and places a pillow under his legs. Abbot removes his clothes and his prosthesis. You can't stop you tongue from wetting your bottom lip. You knew he had an amazing body but nothing prepared you for seeing it bare. You purse your lips as you stare at his cock. You feel your underwear get wet as you imagine it in your mouth.
You let out a shaky breath as you ball up your fists and tuck them under your butt. Robby gives you a knowing smile as he follows your eye line. You couldn't tell if this was a gift or punishment.
Abbot strokes his cock spreading his precum down his shaft. He spits on it getting it completely wet. You see Robby's cock jump a little in anticipation. You try to roll your hips discreetly to create friction between your pussy and the fabric of your underwear. You make a soft noise as you watch on.
Slowly, Abbot presses the tip of his cock to Robby's hole. Once the head has breached, he makes a full thrust inside. Robby arches his back and throws his head in ecstasy. You think to yourself, how the hell did you sleep through him moaning like that. Abbot's thrust start long and slow, dragging out moans from Robby as he goes. He lifts Robby's hips up and he leans down bracing his upper body on his hands beside Robby's head. He kisses Robby as he thrusts. They moan into each other's mouths. You can see their spit spill from their mouths, out of Robby's mouth.
Abbot picks up his pace. He straightens up again and tightens his grip on Robby's waist. You hear their skin slapping together and watch as Abbot ruts into Robby. Your brows knit together as you watch. Your teeth shred the skin of your bottom lip. You are losing feeling in your hands as they bear the weight of your body.
Robby turns to you moaning. He's being loud on purpose. His mouth is covered in saliva. His face getting rosy red as Abbot thrusts into him. You can't take it anymore.
You crawl over to them and drag your nails down Robby's chest. You kiss him eagerly sliding your tongue around his mouth continue his and Abbot's spit. You gather as much in your mouth to let it flood into your hand making a small puddle. You place your wet hand on Robby's cock spreading the saliva all over. "You never said I don't touch you," You smile mischievously.
Robby moans as you continue to play his cock, rubbing your fingers over the sides and running your your thumb over the slit. You lick the shell of his ear and nibble the lobe, "I need you so bad, Robby." He shudders under your whisper and turns to look at you. You lean down and capture his lips again. You remove the short coat and your top.
Abbot slows down his pace as he watches you undress. He can feel Robby clench around him as you strip off each item of clothing one by one. Once you're completely naked, you straddle Robby's chest. He rests his hands on your thighs then slides them up and over your ass. You grind your pussy up and down his chest. Abbot's eyes are on your back. They trail down from your shoulders to your tailbone where Robby's thumb's rest. They go love to Robby's hands palming each of your ass cheeks. He swallows as he watches Robby's fingers massage them spreading the apart and squeezing them together.
"Robby~ please," You pout, "Can I please sit on your cock?"
Robby nods and you smile before you move backwards. You raise your lower half and take hold of his cock. You jump as you feel Abbot's hands on your waist. You look over your shoulder and see him smiling. "Allow me." He wraps his hands around Robby's cock as you relinquish it to him. With his other hand he guides you down and drags it over your pussy lips. You lean back against his chest as you rub your pussy against the tip of Robby's dick. "What a good girl, Robby." When he lines it up with your entrance, you sink down on it.
Robby moans as he feels you clench around him. He holds your waist so you stay in place. He pants as he tries not to cum. Already at the point from the prostate massage he squeezes his eyes shut to calm down. "Fuck~" He throws his head back into his pillow.
You smile and whine, "I wanna move, Robby. Let me move."
Just then your breath hitches when you feel Abbot's hand snake around your neck, "Hang on, Baby-girl." You gasp as you feel his cock slide between the crease of your ass. It stops right at your puckered hole, "I need some attention to."
You turn to face him and he kisses you with hungry fervor. You moan in surprise at the intensity. Swells of his saliva push into your mouth with his tongue and you gladly take it. No wonder Robby was gulping while they kissed. His tongue slides against yours and when he pulls away you tongue chases after him. He then sucks on it collecting more of the water in your mouth.
He smiles at your daze before he spits into his hand. You watch him rub it over his fingers then you shudder as you feel them against your asshole. You bite your lip and moan as you grind back against his hand. Robby moans with you as you essentially were grinding on his dick too.
You hear the squelch of his hand around his cock, as he smears the spit over his already wet cock. He whispers in your ear, "Ready, Baby-girl?"
You nod rapidly as you feel it press against your tight hole. You look down at Robby with a gleam in your eyes. He knew this was another thing you had fantasized about. Right now all your dreams were coming true.
Abbot holds your waist and pushed into your rectum. You moan and fall into Robby's chest. He wraps his arm around you keeping you prone. With both cocks inside you felt so full. You couldn't think straight. You couldn't speak. You just kept moaning. Every time you took a breath and your muscles in your abdomen tried to relax, their cocks would hit a special place each and make you constrict again.
"Fuck baby~ you okay?" Robby rubs your back. He's never heard you make such erotic noises. It felt like he was in a porno with all the sounds you were making. You just nod as you looked blissed out from the euphoria.
"I'm gonna move. Gonna make you cum," Abbot whispers as he thrust inside you. You moan loud and pant against Robby's chest. Robby groans as he feels Abbot's cock move inside you. The way you grip their cock with every thrust is enough to bring him to the edge. He slinks his hand between your two bodies and rubs on your clit.
"Cum with me, Baby~ C'mon baby." He says in a low voice.
Your eyes are squeezed shut and your brows are knit together. "I'm gonna cum. Feel so full. So fucking full." You babble.
Abbot takes it as a sign and picks up his pace. His own moans entering the euphoric of the room.
Robby cums first, painting your pussy walls with his sperm. His chest heaves as he finishes. Abbot follows after, lurching forward cumming in your ass. And you are the last, spraying your juices all over their cocks, yourself and the bed.
You are hot and panting. Still shaking from your orgasm. You can't stop moving. Abbot pulls out of you and Robby follows suit. They help you lay on the bed and see your blissed out face. "Baby, how are you feeling?" Robby asks worriedly.
"That was amazing. I feel amazing." You smile as you catch your breath, "I still feel it. Like I'm on cloud nine."
"You look it," Abbot caresses you face.
Robby goes to the bathroom and returns with a warm washcloth to wipe between your legs. You hiss at how sensitive you feel. "You did so well, Baby." He coos. You smile like a Cheshire cat at the praise. When he finishes, you pull him to the pillow.
Abbot purses his lips feeling he is over staying his welcome. He goes to put his prosthesis back on when you wrap your arms around his waist, "You're not disappearing this time." You kiss his shoulder. "Please~"
He smiles when you bat your eyelashes at him. He crawls back into the bed and lays beside you. Now you sandwiched between them. Exactly where you dreamed to be.
CHAPTER 01: I’D LIKE TO GET TO KNOW YOU, I’D LIKE TO TAKE YOU OUT
pairing: dr. jack abbot x f!plus size dating influencer reader
rating – explicit. minors dni
wc – 15.1k
series masterlist
series summary - forty and recently divorced, you come across the world of tiktok dating influencers. in need of pick me up, you decide to make a profile for yourself and see how it is with your own eyes. you have your own rules; no picking you up, never bringing a man home even if sex is on the table, never repeating a date and no strings attatched. but what happens when you meet a certain silver fox doctor at a bar that comes to your rescue after an awful date?
chapter summary – the date with the twenty something was awful, but the night starts to pick up when you go to the bar to swallow your sorrows.
warnings – angst, fluff and SMUT. drinking, fatphobia, mentions of smoking a joint. talks of jack’s dead wife and reader’s ex husband. jack is disabled and it is talked about during important times. reader is a menace and also gets in her head a lot. sort of a SMAU. teasing and sexual tension so thick you can cut it with a knife. oral (f! receiving), p in v, backshots, jack is such a munch, fucked dumb, some aftercare.
she/her pronouns and afab!reader. reader is described to be fat, other than that, no specific descriptions race or ethnicity. all lowercase for styling purposes.
a/n – this was supposed to be a one shot and suddenly got too long for tumblr’s word limit lmao. i don’t think i’ve been this proud of something i’ve written in a while. i’m really happy with how this series – this chapter in particular – turned out, and i’ve got a lot of it to thank @inkdippedquills and @thatcorporategirlie for! two gems this fandom gave me 🤍
truly hope you enjoy reading this one.
dividers by uzmacchiato and cursed-carmine
“hey, girlies!” you told the camera, a big smile adorning you face. “didn’t film the make-up because, of course, i’m late already, but this is tonight’s fit.” you pointed to each piece as you talked about them. “dress from h&m, tights from calzedonia, mary jane’s are prada and this vintage gucci jacket i thrifted last time i went to italy. super cheap, by the way. and the bag is the one you guys give me shit for every time,” you rolled your eyes, “from zara. y’all know i like how spacious she is and still not that big.” you gave the camera a twirl and pressed pause before sitting down on your vanity near the window, and started recording again.
“sooo, tonight’s date. well, i met him at whole foods. we were on the produce aisle and he approached me to ask which herb i think goes better with fish: cilantro or parsley – obviously, cilantro. anyways, we talked a lot and he was super funny and charming and he asked me out! the only thing is that he’s younger than me for like, a few years. make it like fifteen.” you huffed. “yeah, he’s twenty five. the youngest up until now is this whole… thing we are doing. but he seems nice, so here’s to hoping it goes well!” you downed (without wincing) a shot of tequila for some liquid courage and wrapped the video. “i’ll be back soon with all the after date deets. bye!”
once you turned off the camera, you quickly edited the video and posted it. you grabbed your keys and left, but not after checking yourself out in the mirror one last time.
if you had told twenty year old you that her forty year old self would be divorced and recording dating content for an app called tiktok, she would have laughed in your face and asked “what the fuck is that?”
it still seems absurd to you now, six months after everything had started, but somehow, you feel more alive than you have felt in years.
paul, your ex husband, and you met when you were twenty, started dating when you were twenty one and married a couple of weeks before you turned twenty four. the two of you met during college, while you were an undergraduate in molecular biophysics and biochemistry and he was getting his masters in chemical engineering. against all odds, your relationship was perfect for most of the eighteen years it lasted. paul was funny and attentive, did everything he could to give you the best, always pampering you and praising you for your hard work. but things started to go south somewhere around two years ago. all of a sudden, paul started to get distant, arriving late from work and snapping at you for nothing and apologising profusely when he realised what he had done, showering you in gifts as if they would fix things and make anything better, and soon, a vicious cycle was created.
the end came on a warm summer evening and you remember it perfectly. the day was spent basking in the sun by the pool’s edge, occasionally dipping inside the warm water. paul and you had invited some friends over for a barbecue and that day had actually gone alright. he was the sweetest he had been to you in a while, almost a mirror image of that guy that you had fallen in love with eighteen years before. paul was fun again, had the time of his life grilling and talking everyone’s ears off, you even had made his favourite desert, apricot cheesecake, and made sure the guests’ cups were always full.
to the outsider, you were the picture perfect couple.
but later that evening, after things calmed down and everyone had left, shit hit the fan.
with a silk robe still draped around your body, fresh out of the shower and with the steam of your en-suite bathroom sneaking into your bedroom, you moisturised your legs with your favourite body oil when paul said “you know, i was reading about polyamory and i think we should open our relationship.”
“excuse me?” you twisted the lid back on and turned to him.
“yeah, babe. we open the relationship and i get to go out and meet other women. it would be good for us.”
you shook your head, blinked a couple of times and licked your lips trying to make sense of what he was saying and to not strangle him – he is definitely not worth going to jail. “you want to meet other women…” you spoke and nodded slowly, your head bobbing almost owlish. “and what about me?”
he shrugged. “it’s not like you’re going to find other men to date you.”
you stared at him.
this had been the first time paul commented negatively about your appearance after all those years together. in fact, paul had always said that what attracted you to him was how you were not the typical stick thin girl he was used to see around the campus; your curves filled out your clothes well, you had softness around your stomach, thick thighs, a pair of breasts to die for and an ass that made heads turn wherever you walked by.
you had stopped listening to paul after that, only realising he was still speaking when the snort you let out interrupted him. you dropped the leg you had propped on your bed and aggressively gathered your pillows and blanket and started to make your way to the guest room. paul tried to stop you, saying a “baby, i didn’t–“ that you abruptly interrupted again as you yanked your hand back and told him to quit it.
that night, you didn’t cry yourself to sleep.
no matter how strong the pain on your chest was, how you felt like you were a couple steps away from dying of heartbreak, and how betrayed you felt, you refused to cry over a man.
you called in sick at work the next morning, texted your best friend grace as soon as paul left for his office, asking her to come help you pack your stuff because you were leaving him, and explained everything to her while you packed your belongings in cardboard boxes and black trash bags.
it felt surreal, eighteen years of a life built together thrown away because he wasn’t man enough to be honest about his feelings and of how little he thought of you. with your keys left on the kitchen counter, together with a note that said that your lawyers would be contacting his to sort out the divorce papers, you said goodbye to your past life and never looked back.
surprisingly, paul was very cooperative. signed the divorced papers the moment they were served to him, never questioning one period nor a comma on the document. he was the one to initiate the formalities of the pre-nup, selling and sharing everything you acquired together after all those years as a couple – just like the agreement mandated – without budging. as much as you were thankful for him to be acting without a big fuss, the way he gave up so easily on your shared life left you with a sour taste in your mouth.
what did end up proving to be difficult was navigating life as a newly divorced thirty nine year old.
it is not like you were one of those women that completely isolated themselves after marriage. truth is that you had a very active life besides the one you shared with paul. you had a prolific career as a professor in the biology course at carnegie mellon university, one you shared your attention with the role of food engineer in a bustling local brewery owned by one of your best friends from college, you went to the gym and did pilates regularly, had your hobbies and went out with friends at least twice a month. but whether you liked it or not, almost twenty years beside someone isn’t something you easily forget over night.
you missed having someone to come back to at the end of the day, missed having someone to share the good and the bad days, missed hearing the shower running from the other room while you read in bed, missed the woody smell his cologne would leave in the sheets and missed the feeling of a warm body by your side when you went to sleep.
the first two months were rough. you cried whenever you were alone – which, thankfully, wasn’t that many hours of your day and sleep came hard to you at night. some days you felt like a zombie, doing chores on auto pilot because they were already ingrained in your brain.
until one day, where you felt tired of feeling pity for yourself and probably too horny for your vibrator’s sake, a video of a girl in her twenties showed up on your for you page. she was getting ready for a date with a girl she met rock climbing and you gave her page a look, only to find similar videos of her getting ready and others talking about how the dates went. you got so immersed by her content that you scrolled so far back the you found the first video she posted, where she talked about starting an experiment to force herself to put herself out there. after years of bullying and awful experiences in high school that still haunted her in college, she decided she had had enough and wanted to live life like she deserved it.
her comments were filled with girls around the same age as her, congratulating her and thanking her for normalising the situation and inspiring them to do the same, even some older women saying they wished they had had her strength when they were her age.
you were never one for social media. yeah, you had some of them, all profiles privated, following and being followed by your close friends and family only, enough to just keep up with their lives. but the idea lingered in your head for days. what if you did the same as an older woman who hasn’t been out there in a while and just left a long term relationship? you figured that there would be other women going through the same and that it would probably be a good bonding experience. so you called grace, your best friend, the same one who helped you get your shit together and leave paul, who also had divorced a few years back, and told her about your plan. she loved the idea, and was the one to download all known dating apps to your phone and set your profile that night over drinks and laughter.
four months later, you had been to several dates and counting.
of course, you had your rules too. they were simple: no picking you up, you would meet them where you had agreed on. one date per guy only, maybe a second one if he really did it for you (none did until now). no bringing men back to your place – if sex was on the table, either go back to his or a hotel. and, most importantly, no strings attached.
thankfully, everything had been working perfectly.
your date was already at the table when you arrived at the factory. he was a gentleman, got up to greet you and pulled your seat and even ordered for you. but it didn’t take long for things to go south. he was the “me” type. talked about himself all of the time, going on and on about how he made his first million at twenty two with some internet scam that he promised was most definitely legal. when he actually asked about you, he interrupted you every ten seconds to say something about him that, in his mind, related to what you were sharing.
shit really hit the fan the moment the waiter set you plates on the table.
“you know, i’ve never gone out with one of you before.” he said mid chew. another ick to the ever growing list of icks you were ticking on your head.
you stopped cutting your steak and squinted your eyes. “one of me?”
“yeah, fat girls.”
the air left your lungs like a punch. “oh.”
“mhm.” he hummed and barely swallowed before continuing his tirade. “my friends kept telling me how well you guys fuck, especially older ones like you.”
you let out the ugliest indignant laugh of your life, grabbed your purse, fishing your wallet and a couple of hundred dollar bills from it, way more than enough to pay for your meal and his, and threw them on the table.
“okay, i really don’t need this right now. have a nice dinner!” you told him.
“where are you–“
“don’t!” you interrupted the idiot as you made your way out.
a surprisingly chilly-for-summer breeze hit your face and you finally let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“oh my god. what the actual fuck.” you muttered to yourself. you laughed, more out of shock and feeling indignant about what just happened than finding it funny, as you went to find your car in the parking lot.
the shaky breath you took helped realisation dawn on you the moment you sat behind the driver’s seat. you just had gone through one of the most fucked up encounters of your life.
yes, you were fully aware your body is one you seldom find in magazine covers and now, in the age of ozempic, it is being more and more demonised. but you were also aware of your beauty, of how it was your body that helped you fight your fights and love the ones you love. so you refused to be seen as an experiment, refused to be seen as a toy for a twenty something dweeb to try his fantasies on.
this is not how you expected to end your night, and you really didn’t want to waste a good outfit by going home before you had planned. you stared at the people walking around the street, couples, groups of friends and families all making their way somewhere, searching for a fun friday evening.
the door of the dingy dive bar across the street opened and a couple around your age, holding hands and smiling, walked out. the sound of bruce springsteen coming out of the jukebox followed them out and called you in. it seemed lively enough and exactly what you needed, so with a muttered “fuck it”, you jumped out of your car and made your way across the street.
some good, cheap booze, nice music and a chat with the bartender seemed like the perfect ending for a disastrous night.
the atmosphere engulfed you the moment you stepped your foot inside the bar. low yellow lights, the smell of beer and laughter followed you as you made your way to the counter. sitting on the only available seat, between a girl talking excitedly to her friend and a lone older gentleman with more salt than pepper hair, you flagged the bartender.
“what’s your poison, sweetheart?” the charming barkeeper asked.
“a shot of tequila and some whiskey, please.” you smiled at him. “oh, neat!”
he looked at you surprised, but nodded and went to get your drinks anyway.
“what is so bad that a pretty girl like you wants to black out on a nice friday evening?” the man that sat next to you asked. he had finally looked your way and the sight you were met with wasn’t one you were expecting; he was extremely handsome.
a few years older than you, thin lips that looked strangely soft, nice hazel eyes that stared at you almost uncomfortably. up close, you could see clearer that his hair was actually sugar and cinnamon, the specks of auburn in the sea of grey told you that he was a ginger at heart, and the same colours could be found on his few days old stubble. oh, and yeah, his arms filled out his black t-shirt a little too well for your liking.
he seemed to have an attitude to him, just the right amount of cockiness to be hot and not annoying. you could definitely see yourself riding him at the end of the night if he was the one you had gone on a date with.
before you could answer him, the bartender came back with your drinks, setting both in front of you with a wink.
you saw your bar top neighbour frown but tried to not think any of it, choosing to down your shot of tequila and wash it with a sip of whiskey first.
“overall or just tonight?” you turned to him. “by the way, i’m–“ you gave him your name.
“jack.” he shook the hand you had extended to him. “overall. i’ve got time.”
“okay.” you nodded and, for some reason, you told him everything. from paul’s proposition, to the divorce being finalized a day before your birthday, about the dates (of course you didn’t tell him about the tiktoks or details like your rules), and about tonight.
he was actually interested in what you had to say, looked at you while you spoke, barely interrupted you, only to ask about something he didn’t fully understand and even threw a few mhms to tell you he was paying attention.
“and that’s why i’m here now and not across the street on my date.” you finished your rant with a sigh.
jack gave you a slow up down that made you shiver. “he wouldn’t know what to do with you.”
“and you would?” you countered, the whiskey making you feel even bolder than usual.
jack’s answer came in the form of a huff and a smirk, silenced by the sip he took of his own glass of whiskey.
you studied him for a bit, eyes lingering on his crows feet, trailing down his face, beautiful toned and freckled arm, abruptly stopping on the huge wedding band on his, rather thick, finger. you turned, looked away and drank some more of your whiskey to deflect.
“the wife isn’t going to be mad you’re out late in a bar?” you tried to go on another route, pretend you just didn’t flirt with a married man.
“we can pull out the ouija board and ask her, but i think she’d like to know i’m having fun with someone nice.” he said it so naturally one would think he just told you she was waiting for him at home.
“oh god.” you frowned and jack had the gall to smirk at your expression. but you barely noticed it as something tightened in your chest with his confession. “how long, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“two years.”
you exhaled and squeezed his forearm (in solidarity, obviously) as you said “i’m sorry.”
“so, what’s the idiot’s name?” he asked, changing the subject like an expert.
you shook your head and looked down at your lap as if you were trying to hide something. jack looked at you with amusement in his eyes when you murmured something he didn’t quite catch.
“gotta speak louder, sweets, the music is loud and my hearing is not the best.”
“paul.” you winced. “his name is paul.”
jack started laughing, loud enough that other patrons turned to look at you two. you nudged his thigh and told him to stop.
“he has your ex’s name?!”
“yeah, i know, ok? i really didn’t think this through, maybe it’s a sign of the universe or some entity telling me that pauls are the spawns of satan or something.”
jack snorted. “have you ever had any news of paul number one?”
“last thing i heard was that he had knocked up a random twenty two year old girl he was hooking up with.” you shrugged.
“ooof. you have any children with him?”
“nope, we never wanted any. just a cat that kind of hates him to be honest.” you giggled. “she’s my baby.” jack smiled at you and you had to hold it together so you wouldn’t melt. “what about you? what brings you here today?”
“i’m doctor.”
“got it. tough shift?”
“make it tough twenty years.”
“wanna share?” you smiled at him and mimicked his words. “i’ve got time.”
surprisingly, jack told you everything. about going to afghanistan and losing his leg, about coming back to the states and becoming a doctor, about his wife falling ill and dying, about how some shifts are harder than the others, everything.
“today… today was just tiring, you know? had to accompany the SWAT, got grazed by a–“ you didn’t mean to, really, but you have what people call an “expressive face with a life of its own” and without you even noticing, you scrunched your features at the mention of the police force. “what?” jack asked.
“on top of all that, you’re a cop?”
he shook his head and drank some more of his whiskey before continuing. “not a cop, sweetheart. i’m a tactical medic that accompanies the SWAT team in case they need medical support in the field.”
you snorted into your cup of coke – you had changed drinks some time ago, together with the absurd portion of buffalo wings and french fries that jack insisted on ordering after being aware that you were downing straight whiskey on an empty stomach. also because you were a responsible woman and knew you had to sober up so you could drive back home – and took a large sip before saying “sounds like a cop to me.”
he leaned closer to you and whispered “what happened to ‘fuck the police’, huh?”
you laughed as he pulled back. “ACAB, baby. and is this you admitting you are a cop?”
he shook his head again, that playful smile still present on his face when he told you once again that he wasn’t a cop. “my therapist told me i needed a hobby.”
you gave him a wide-eyed, bewildered look. “cooking is a hobby, knitting is a hobby, skating is a fucking hobby, not doing the same thing you’ve been doing for most of your life, with the added bonus of guns firing for some adrenaline.”
jack gave you an earnest smile. “is it bad that i’m happy your date failed?”
“no. i really liked meeting you too.”
“good.”
as if on cue, your phone’s screen lit up with a text from grace, asking if everything was ok and if you had already gotten home. it also made you notice that it was almost one thirty in the morning, meaning you had been talking to jack for almost five hours.
“is everything ok?” he asked.
“mhm. it’s just my friend checking in on me.” you flagged the bartender. “it’s kinda late, i should probably go home.”
“yeah,” he checked his watch. “you should. are you good to drive?”
you nodded. “could you close my tab, please?” you asked the bartender when he arrived.
jack stopped him, telling him to add your drinks to his tab. “i’m gonna take her to her car and come back.”
“no problem, abbot.” the bartender said, finger gun shooting him.
jack draped his jacket over you the moment you set foot out of the door. the short walk to your car was made in silence, just appreciating the little time together you had left.
“thank you. for walking me out and for saving my night.” you offered him a shy smile and gave him his jacket back.
“thank you for letting me.” he offered back. opening the palm of his hand to you, he said “give me your phone.”
“why?” you asked, but gave him the device anyway.
jack opened the phone app, created a new contact and added his number on it. “text me when you get home.”
“okay, i will.” he gave you the phone back and you saw that his contact name was “jack from the bar”. it made you snort.
“good. and, if you are up to it, i’d love to take you out on a real date.”
“i’d love to.” you hopped on your car. “bye, jack.”
“bye, sweetheart.” he closed the door for you. “drive safe.”
the drive back home was fast. given that the city was found to be asleep for long when you finally left the bar, the drive that, on a normal pittsburgh traffic, would have lasted at least forty minutes, was done in ten.
marie, your fluffy, blue-green eyed cat greeted you at the door, loudly complaining about how you left her alone for some subpar man. she went back to the top of her cat tower when she got bored of your pets, which didn’t take long to, and you made your way to your kitchen to grab some water.
as requested by jack, you shot him a quick “i’m home” text, to which you got a reply seconds later, one that said “sleep well, sweetheart.”
still buzzing with the night’s events, you propped your phone against your pastel blue smeg mixer and pressed record.
“hey guys…” your voice was tired now, a big contrast from the chirpy one you had on the video you recorded and posted hours before. “ it’s almost two in the morning and the date was… something.” you stopped again, snorted and shook your head, and took another sip of water as if the liquid would make the story you were about to tell less worse. “i’m not going to beat it around the bush. it was awful.” you laughed.
“he was a gentleman until the moment i sat down at the table. greeted me, pulled the seat so i could sit down and even ordered for me. then he went on that well-known “me!” rant about how great he was and how he was a self-made millionaire at such a young age. then, the waiter set our plates down…” you took a deep breath and a mirthless laugh left your lips. “and he, for some reason, thought it would be nice to say that the had never been with a fat woman before, that his friends kept telling him, and i quote ‘they fuck well, especially older ones like you.’ i’ve never gotten up and left a date so fast in my life!”
“but you guys know i don’t like to waste a good outfit.” the easiest smile you had in your whole life came to your lips and the tone of your voice changed to something much sweeter, softer. “and i made my way to a dive bar across the street and ended up meeting someone there. he’s sitting there at the counter, drinking because he’s a doctor and had a shitty day too. he was actually the one to engage in conversation first, and i don’t even know what to tell you guys, but he is the best person i’ve met in a while. i actually spent like, five hours straight talking to him. we just sat there, he ordered this ridiculous amount of buffalo wings and fries because he knew i left the date from hell without dinner, and we just talked. talked and talked and talked about everything. he’s funny and charming and quick witted,” you stopped and let out a low whiny laugh and whispered the first few words like it was a secret.
“and he’s so hot. he’s so fucking hot it’s ridiculous. he’s not that tall, an alright height, grey hair, beautiful hazel eyes that felt like he was staring into my soul, thick arms and thick thighs that is making me lightheaded just thinking about them. anyways, he walked me into my car, gave me his phone number and actually told me to text him telling him when i got home and that he wants to go on a date with me if i’m in the mood.” you looked at the time again, it was ten past two in the morning and your feet were trying to kill you. “well, gotta to to sleep! bye!”
you stopped the recording and posted the video without even editing it, made your way to your bathroom for a much needed shower before falling asleep.
40andthriving🩵| post date with the twenty something rambles. this is not edited and i’m so sorry about the length. will deal with it when i wake up (or not)
imsotired | girl, what the fuck? ew. at least you got a hot doctor in the end. (PLEASE, tell me you are going on a date with him!!!)
user802764277193701 | i’d have stabbed his hand before leaving
→ 40andthriving🩵| i still have to feed marie, but sure…
santos.trin | told you you should join us on the lesbian side, we’d treat you so much better. but i’m happy you found your silver fox doctor or whatever 🙄
→ 40andthriving🩵| love you too, trinity. and who said i’ve never been with a woman?
→ santos.trin | are you fucking serious?
→ 40andthriving🩵| 🤫
sophiesoph | thank fuck everything worked out in the end!
theegraceadams | girl, you better call me when you wake up!!!
you woke up around ten that morning to your phone blowing up with texts and missed calls from grace. after hearing an earful from her and reassuring your friend that everything was ok, you agreed to go out for brunch to catch up.
you were about to head to the shower when your phone pinged again. it made you sigh, thinking it was grace starting her rants once again, but the sight of a new contact name made you smile.
jack from the bar: Good Morning. How are you feeling this morning? Any hangover?
sent: morning, jack. i’m pretty good! surprisingly, no hangovers
sent: you?
jack from the bar: Better now. Just wanted to check in on you. Have a good weekend, sweetheart.
sent: you too, jack 😊
grace parked beside you the moment you hopped out of your car. as you expected, your “good morning” was barely out when she started questioning what happened the previous night. you told her to calm down and that you were only telling her what happened after you scored a table and ordered your usual.
“girl, so what?!” grace said after you spilled the happenings of the five hour impromptu encounter you had, and finished the last of her third mimosa. “from what you’ve just told me, he’s hot enough to be on a calvin klein ad and he clearly cares about you. what guy would want to know if a woman he just met got home ok and texts her the next morning asking how she’s doing?” grace flagged the waiter and ordered her fourth mimosa. you made a mental note for it to be her last. “so what if he has a questionable hobby?”
you scrunched your nose at the thought.
“babe, please! isn’t your rules ‘one date only’ and ‘no strings attached’? just go for it, have the time of your life and go for your next one. maybe you should go out with women too like that trinity girl that comments in all of your videos suggested.”
“yeah, you’re right.” you agreed, but a little voice that you were trying to ignore told you that it would be hard to follow the one date one/no strings attached rule with jack.
today’s shift was one for the books. all trinity wanted was for her to grab her stuff, dennis decide if he was going home with her or meet amy at the farm, order the greasiest take out she could think of and sleep. and not dream of yolanda, if possible.
once again, yolanda and her had a fight over the status of their relationship, and, to make things better, yolanda flirted with the new ortho resident right in front of her.
the night shift started to trickle in. ellis stopped by where trinity was charting to check out on her. five minutes later, came in shen with his watered down cup of dunkin’ and, not long after, abbot arrived.
there was something different about him. abbot looked… lighter? well rested? it would make sense knowing it was his day off yesterday, but everyone knows jack abbot doesn’t rest. trinity started at the night shift attending, noticed how his already playful demeanour seemed more light hearted, how easily he countered robby’s old man grunts with even stupider jokes, making the day shift attending sigh exasperatedly.
an alert went off on trinity’s head, and the video she watched earlier that morning on her way to the PTMC popped in her head.
“why are you staring at dr. abbot like that?” dennis asked. “oh my god, do you want to sleep with him to get back on garcia?”
“what the hell, fuckleberry? no!” trinity’s face was full of disgust. “it’s just–“
“what’s going on?” victoria questioned.
“trinity fought with garcia again and now she’s eyeing dr. abbot. i think she wants him.” dennis answered before trinity could say anything. she slapped the back of his head.
“abbot? ew! go for ellis.” victoria added.
“i swear to fucking god, you two.” santos pinched the bridge of her nose and took a deep breath. she fished her phone in her scrub’s pocket and opened her favourite influencer’s tiktok’s profile, clicked on her latest video and turned the device to her friends.
“oh, who is this? she’s hot.” vic asked as she paid attention to the video.
“just it’s this influencer trinity has a crush on.” dennis earned himself another slap in the back of his head.
“i don’t have a crush on her, i just think she’s cool. now watch the fucking video.”
the video ended and victoria gave her the phone back. “it fucking sucks what happened to her but i don’t get what this has to do with anything.”
trinity looked at her friends like they were missing the most obvious clue. and they were.
“the ‘hot doctor’” trinity added air quotes for effect, “she’s talking about is abbot.”
dennis looked at her and sighed. “i think that’s a stretch, trin.”
“no, look at him!” trinity nodded in his direction. “he’s more abbot than usual. he even seems happy and well rested.”
it was victoria’s turn to contradict her. “i mean, how many silver fox doctors are there in pittsburgh? and maybe he finally had a good night of sleep.”
“oh my god, fine!”
as if on cue, abbot passed by them, flicking trinity’s ponytail as he said “time for rounds, kids.”
saturday turned into sunday, that turned into monday and monday turned into tuesday.
wednesday arrived and grace’s words still echoed in your head like they did all weekend; she was right, you should ask jack out. it was just a date, a single one, and you weren’t going to see him again anyway. you already had been bending all of your personal-non-experiment rules with this very important social investigation, what is another one, right?
you promised yourself you would text him, you did, but you got so caught up with life that you simply didn’t have the time nor remembered to. johnny was releasing a new beer this week and you had been spending more time than usual at the brewery. a few setbacks happened along the way, but nothing you, the expert, couldn’t deal with. and, of course, you still had your job at carnegie and everything that came with being a member of the faculty.
and that is why you spent a perfect wednesday evening in bed grading papers.
the sound of your phone vibrating next to you was a welcome and much needed distraction after hours spent staring at your laptop’s screen. it was a few minutes past nine when your screen lit up telling you that “jack from the bar” was calling. just the sight of his name across the device was enough to have goosebumps erupt on your skin and have you question all of your rules.
something flared up in your stomach. it wasn’t butterflies, no, but something more positive than that. to you, butterflies meant anxiety, and what you were feeling was something more akin to excitement and longing. the phone had to shrill a fourth time for you to wake up from your daydream and pick it up.
“hey, jack from the bar! what do i owe you the pleasure?” you wanted to cringe with the obviously fake nonchalant tone that came out of your mouth. jack laughed on the other side of the phone and that made you feel a bit less self conscious.
“are you ok? you sound a bit distant.”
you shook your head and brought the phone closer to you, laying it on your chest. “yeah, i’m on speaker. just doing some late night work.”
“did i get you on a bad time? i can call you back tomorrow.” jack sounded concerned.
“no! no. i’m grading some papers and if i read the word salmonella once again, i think i might self combust.”
jack laughed and it got a few chuckles out of you too. “that bad, huh?”
“more of a tough week, actually?”
jack groaned on the other side and the sounds of fabric rustling hit your ear, it sounded like he was sitting. “wanna talk about it?”
“oh, it’s just work stuff. friday is launch day at the brewery, so i’ve been working overtime there. had a batch go to waste on monday because of contamination – that, by the way, i have no idea how it happened and i have a feeling people are hiding the reason from me – but thank god it’s already solved. and, of course, the university and everything that comes with being a professor.”
“and salmonella has something to do with it? should i be worried?” he asked playfully.
“no, no worrying. no salmonella involved. it wasn’t exactly something that could be harmful to humans, the bacteria basically just ate the yeast and killed it, so the beer was a mess and it came out all wrong. we had to clean out all of our tanks, the lab and all the tools we use and start over. that takes us at least a whole working day .”
“ooof, and what about carnegie?”
“oh, i’m teaching foodborne illnesses and how to prevent it. basically making your job a bit easier for you, you know?” you joked.
“really?” he sounded gleeful and a smile spread across your face. “thank you for your service, professor.”
“no problem, jack from the bar.” you suppressed a yawn and asked him “what about you? slow night?”
“not exactly, but i just had a couple of minutes to spare and wanted to talk to you.”
“oh.” it left your lips before you could think about it.
“yeah,” jack chuckled. “are you do–“ jack was cut off by a female voice shouting at him. the only words you could make out was “multiple MVC” and “three minutes”. jack asked her to bring him a gown and got back to you with a sigh. “fuck, i’m sorry. i have a golden weekend this week and wanted to know if you are free this saturday. i’d love to take you out for dinner. on a real, proper date.”
“yeah, yeah! i’d love to!”
“great, sweetheart. i’ll text you with the details. hope everything goes well with the beer and the papers. loved talking to you. bye!”
“thanks. bye, jack!”
you turned off the call and, for some reason, the chat gave you enough will power to finish grading the papers.
jack and you kept in touch throughout thursday and friday. he was just as charming through text as he was that night at the bar. jack texted you good morning, asked what you were supposed to do that day and how it was going and effortlessly made jokes that made your co-workers side-eyed you when a easy laugh left your lips without a warning.
he also asked a lot of questions; jack was clearly making an effort in trying to get to know you and find things in common to plan the date.
it was around ten in the morning of a very sunny saturday when he finally told you where you were going. jack greeted you like usual, asked how your morning was going and if you had slept well and told you about his shift and one of shen’s shenanigans.
jack from the bar: The Carnegie is hosting the 59th International. I was thinking we could take a look and visit the Butterjoint for dinner and drinks. What do you think?
sent: perfect! i’m dying to visit the exhibit and butterjoint has the best old fashioned in pittsburgh
jack from the bar: An Old Fashioned drinker? You really are a woman after my heart, huh?
the flirting made you smile and your brain short circuit at the same time. as if he sensed your mild panic, or maybe he just needed to finish his train of thought, jack sent another text.
jack from the bar: Pick you up at six?
sent: six is fine, but i’d rather meet you there
jack from the bar: Of course, sweetheart. See you there!
sent: see ya
“hey, guys!” you sat down by your vanity with a light robe around your body, your AC on and a cup of ice cold tea on your hand. marie jumped on your lap the moment you sat down and you didn’t dare to take her out of her spot. “as you can probably guess, i’ve got another date. and yes, it’s with the hot doctor from the bar.”
you grabbed your favourite concealer, dabbed some on the back of your hand, warmed it with a brush and started applying it on a few specific spots. “not explaining my base routine because it’s the same as usual, same products. we don’t do over consumption here. i’m going for concealer only on a few spots i want to cover because it’s so hot today and i can’t deal with a bunch of sticky stuff on my face.” you made an ugly face when you realised how that sounded.
“anyway! hot doctor– i’m gonna call him mcsteamy because he’s a hot silver fox and we need an alias for him. mcsteamy called me on wednesday – yes, he called me, and asked me on a date. we’ve been texting back and forth ever since, and guys… he’s sooo nice. just as fun as he was that day at the bar. he’s super attentive and actually took time to get to know me, which i know it’s the bare minimum, but after the last two dates i’ve had? that’s growth.” you set the blush brush down and started rummaging through your drawer for the shimmery eyeshadow that made your eyes pop.
“so he planned a museum date and drinks after, and you guys know that those are my favourite. hold on, i’ll be back.” you stopped recording and went to get dressed.
“alright, so dress is vintage bluemarine, i think? got it second hand in NYC,” you said, showing off the midi pink, flowery dress that contrasted beautifully with your skin. “green tabi flats because we are going to walk a lot and green purse to match, no brand, got it at the flea market in florence.”
you sat back down by your vanity, this time a bit closer to your phone. silenced engulfed you for a couple of seconds longer than needed as your feelings towards the date started to make sense. “i’m not nervous, which is a first in these four months. it… i don’t know, it feels right?” you shook your head. “i know how this sounds, there’s no expectations here and the rules still stand, obviously, but it feels like i won’t have any surprises, you know? maybe because we’ve already talked a lot last week at the bar. and i know that that doesn’t mean anything, but i don’t know, there’s something about mcdreamy that feels like i’m going to have a good time. as usual, i’ll be back in a few with the run down. bye!”
40andthriving🩵| pre date with the bar’s silver fox doc rambles. i have a feeling we won’t have a post date horror story this time. 🤞
santos.trin | you got your she/they shooters by your side!!!
→ 40andthriving🩵| thank you!!!
→ user802764277193701 | yep, the knife is ready…
→ 40andthriving🩵| girl…
justmyluck91 | sending you good date vibes ✨✨✨
theegraceadams | love you, bestie! hope it goes amazing!!!
→ 40andthriving🩵| love you 🩵🩵🩵
jack was already waiting for you by the carnegie’s entrance hall with both of your tickets in hand when you arrived. he was a vision, dark denim pants that hugged his thighs so well that you didn’t have to imagine what was underneath, and the black polo shirt that he insisted on leaving a couple of buttons undone also didn’t disappoint, you could clearly see the outline of his muscular chest and arms and a teasing bit of his chest hair.
the once-over jack gave you when you were finally by his side made goosebumps rise on your skin; the look he gave you made you feel like a prey who met her predator, it made you feel like you were about to be eaten alive in the most delicious way.
or like the hottest person in the building.
“good to see you, sweetheart.” jack said as he hugged you tight, his left hand squeezed your waist when he kissed your cheek.
“you too, jack. have you been waiting long?”
“no, but you’re worth any wait.” he said and winked at you, making you shake your head and playfully roll your eyes.
he lifted the tickets and asked “shall we?”
you nodded yes and jack guided with his hand on the small of your back as you walked the halls of the carnegie museum of art. strangely – or maybe not, but you were unwilling to admit – it really felt right. jack asked how your day had gone, if everything went alright with the launch of the beer (it did). you had to cancel a couple of classes and stay at the brewery past midnight that last thursday, but everything was a success – jack even joked that he would take his friend robby there on a date. apparently, the man was a fan of your work.
“hi!” you heard a sweet voice call from one of the workshop rooms. it was a young girl in her twenties, with big glasses adorning her face and big, curly hair that looked like a crown on top of her head. her smile was contagious. “i’m amara, one of the museum’s educators. we are hosting ‘imagining home together’, a creative workshop with the center for artistic activism. we still have two slots open, wouldn’t you guys like to join us?”
you looked at jack, searching his face for a sign if it was something he would like to do.
sensing your unsureness, amara pressed. “it would be great bonding activity for such a lovely couple like you.”
“oh, we–“
“we would love to!” jack answered at the same time, squeezing your waist and smiling at you.
amara beckoned you inside the room, pointing to an empty table on the far end of the room, telling you and jack to get comfortable.
“alright, guys!” amara brought the attention of the chatty class back to her. “this is the fourth edition of ‘envisioning a just pittsburgh’ and this year’s theme is ‘home’. we want you to explore what home means to you, is it a place? a community? a language? what can we do to make pittsburgh a better place, for those who have been here from the beginning and for those arriving? we want you to explore it using whatever medium feels more comfortable to you, may it be with a painting or a drawing, poetry or music, we want to see the artistic side of you. you guys have forty five minutes to get your work done and the other forty five minutes will be reserved for the presentation!”
jack turned to you with a sly smile on his face. “this is going to be fun.” he sat down with a small wince, and you remembered his leg.
“you good?”
“yeah.” he stretched his right leg and exhaled. “long shift last night, barely had time to rest.”
“you sure you want to do this? we can reschedule the date if you want.”
jack playfully kicked your shin, and pulled your chair closer to him in a swift move as he said “of course not. you backing down on me?”
“no!” you slapped his thigh and it felt as muscly as you imagined. “alright, mr. hotshot doctor what is it going to be? what’s your artistic vein? why do i feel like you were in a band in your teens?”
he laughed and confirmed your suspicions. “i was in one, had to leave it when i was deployed.”
“really?” you gave him a fake questioning look. “let me guess, singer?”
“nope, lead guitar. and composer.”
you sneaked a look at his hands and fought back a smile. jack noticed, obviously, but let you slide with just a smirk.
“makes sense.”
“what about you?”
“oh, i’m more of a photography person. did occasionally write the angst poem as a teen.”
jack and you kept chatting, trying to decide on the theme. he told you about moving in from boston and adapting to the new city and you shared how you went through the same when you left your hometown for college in pittsburgh. it wasn’t an easy adaptation, but bit by bit, every person you met made you feel welcomed and loved.
the forty five minutes flew by quickly with jack by your side. it was shocking how easy it was to talk to him, something about his tone of voice and how effortlessly flirty he was made you feel like you had known him for ages.
amara’s voice called for attention again, signaling the time had run out. the first person to present was an old lady who appeared to be in her seventies, she had made a beautiful watercolour work representing the immigrants that helped build pittsburgh. after her, two twin brothers in their early teens, with the aid of their parents, presented a cute collage of what home was to them. their explanation brought tears to your eyes; to them, home was the corners of the city where their late grandma used to take them on the weekends. the park, the ice cream shop and the toy store.
next, it was you and jack.
“hi!” you greeted everyone and got a chorus of hi’s back. “jack and i are both outsiders who were welcomed by pittsburgh many, many years ago. so we wrote a little poem about it.” you pointed at the man by your side and said “he’s going to read it.”
“to the stories carried from distant shores,
may pittsburgh open its doors.
for every language, dream and name,
for it deserves a place, deserves the same.
to live, to hope and to safely start,
to call this city a home with all our hearts.
with space for hope in every room,
let homes be safe, let futures brightly bloom.
and may justice live in the streets, both old and new
for pittsburgh is a home that belongs to those who grew here,
and those arriving too.”
jack looked at you, easy smile adorning his handsome face while people clapped for your work.
“ugh, i’m so torn between the pierogi with sausage and the lamb belly.” you told jack while you took a look at the menu for the hundredth time.
the ten minute walk between the museum and the restaurant had been an educational one. jack told you he had parked between the two points of interest, across the street from the st. paul cathedral. he offered to call an uber, an offer that you countered with a “i’d love to walk, it’s such a beautiful evening.” to which jack quickly agreed to, and you backed down just as quickly when you remembered his leg. he shut you off with a scoff and gently pulling you by your hand down the museum’s stairwell.
jack abbot was a very opinionated man, you learned. and a funny one too. he had something to say about every piece of art you saw at the exhibit, commenting on everything, from the background of the artists to their choice of colour scheme. quickly, you noticed how easy it was to get a rise of him and would ask contradictory questions just to get jack to crack and go on a rant, which you found equal parts entertaining and sexy. it didn’t take long for jack to notice your dirty tactics, and he was quick to playfully – and softly – pinch the plush of your love handles, easing your jolt by kissing your temple and calling you trouble in the most sensuous, stern voice you have ever heard. it made you melt.
the two of you kept talking after arriving at the butterjoint. between shared bites of the delicious chicken fried pickle that he told you you had to try, and the falafel you wanted to order too, jack told you his favourite work was the one by the peruvian duo, arturo kameya and claudia martínez garay, citing how their choice of colours rewired his brain. you mentioned taking a liking to the works of saloua raouda choucair, represented by a collection of jewellery made by the lebanese painter and sculptor. when asked why by jack, you told him you liked how she worked the metals and the crystals used, and how meticulously well she transferred her abstractionist vein throughout all of her artwork, no matter the medium used, paint, wood or silver.
“i’ll drink to that.” jack raised his beer bottle and clicked it against your cream soda old fashioned, the same one you had mentioned a few days prior while texting him, the same one that jack insisted on ordering for you the moment you sat down at your table.
remember your rules. one date. just one date, you had to remind yourself.
“why don’t we order both and share?” jack countered.
“you sure?”
“of course, sweetheart.” he said and flagged down the waiter, placing your orders.
“now tell me, what made you choose the academic world?” jack turned to you the moment the waiter left and asked.
you exhaled and pursed your lips. “honestly?” jack nodded and you shrugged. “it just happened.”
the frank and genuine tone of your answer made jack laugh.
“i’m serious.” you playfulled slapped his hand and he caught yours in a barely there grip, and started playing with your fingers when you didn’t pull back. “for a long time i didn’t know what i wanted to do. i knew for sure that i didn’t want to follow my family’s business. for a while i even thought about studying history and maybe get a major in archeology or something like that, then one day, just before the college application period started, i remember watching this one documentary on national geographic about the sea and i thought ‘okay, i can see myself doing this’. and it was like it was set in stone. i got fixated on finding a school i could apply and study biology, then ship myself to california to get a masters in marine biology and go from there.”
“a mix up happened with my admission and i found myself as a molecular biophysics and biochemistry undergrad. i wanted to change it back to biology but they told me it would only be possible on my second semester. but i ended up loving it. i always had, like, really good grades, so around my fourth semester my coordinator asked if i wasn’t interested in tutoring and it was downhill from there. instead of getting a masters in marine biology, i went on to the engineering route, a lot of it influenced by my ex, i must admit. it escalated to a point where i got a PhD and started teaching at the same place i once was a student. it’s equally fun and frightening to see it become a full circle ride.”
jack looked at you with what you later identified as admiration, and of course his starstruck stare did not help with that feeling on the pit of your stomach, the same one you had been harbouring since he followed you to your car that first night. it also felt disconcerting and you tried to hide it with a smile.
“what about the brewery?” he asked.
your smile grew bigger when the memories of how the brewery came to be flourished in your head. “the brewery is johnny’s baby – he’s one of my best friends in the whole world. we went to college together. same undergrad, masters, everything. but he went to the corporate world, got a job at a big company, which he ended up hating pretty soon. but it paid him good money, so he kept doing it until he had enough cash to open his own business.”
“cut to 2019 and he invited me to work with him. a passion project that he had no idea if it would work or not, and it did! by some miracle we survived the pandemic and now we are preparing to start importing to a few countries.”
jack’s stare behind his beer intensified, and it made you focus your attention on the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed the golden liquid. you mimicked him, downed a couple fingers of your old-fashioned, knowing fully well your lips probably wouldn’t follow your brain if you tried to say something, not with the way he was looking at you.
you couldn’t remember the last time someone had made you feel this important and wanted.
“what about you? what made you go from the army to medicine?”
jack took a look around the room, the smile he had on the whole time you were talking diminished a bit and you could see he was carefully choosing what to say. it made you wonder if it was a touchy subject.
“my family never really had much money, so when highschool was over…” he raised his shoulders to his ears, tipping his head forward as he once again searched for words. he sighed and his shoulders got back to their normal position. “they sell you this world of wonders and promise you a lot, you know? and to a kid that didn’t have much growing up, that seemed heaven sent. i always wanted to be a doctor, so it seemed like a good opportunity. they promise to pay for your college, and you get a roof over your head and three meals a day. seemed like a win-win situation.”
you nodded, silently telling him you were listening. jack looked a bit conflicted and you wondered when was the last time he shared his story with someone, or if he ever talked about it at all.
“i don’t agree with it, you know? i had a very certain, almost utopic plan in my head that i was going to follow; it was going to be in and out, get my education done and leave as soon as my time was over. but the war happened, my leg happened and that’s it. physical therapy,” he tapped his temple and widened his eyes, “therapy, learn to walk with the prosthesis, that took me almost eight months ‘til i was even able to do anything alone, and a little longer ‘til i could finish my residency.”
you let out a shuddering breath. “i’m so sorry, jack.”
“don’t be.” jack shook his head and squeezed the hand he was previously holding. “that’s life. yes, it was horrible, but maybe i had to go through it to be the jack i am today. if it hadn’t happened, i probably– most definitely wouldn't have left the army when i did, and wouldn’t have finished med school, wouldn’t have come to pittsburgh to do my residency. and probably wouldn’t be here having this date with you.” he finished the sentence with a sly tone of voice that had you grinning.
“such a flirt, aren’t you?”
he winked at you. “i’ve been told once or twice.”
you shook your head, smiling. as you were about to flirt back, the waiter came back with your dishes.
“thank you!” you told the waiter with a polite smile as he left.
“this smells amazing.” jack said and both of you started eating.
the rest of the night passed like a blur. jack and you shared your meals like promised, laughed at shared stories of weird night shift patients, even weirder students and an exploding beer tank or two. you also poked jack about the whole SWAT thing, to which he now agreed with you about how it sounded. it had taken him a spat with his best friend and an earful from his therapist for him to see how he was basically running away from one chaos to another. he still didn’t have an answer for what else he could do, but at least he had started to see how dangerous it was.
somewhere between the last bite of your dinner and the first of your desert, you and jack changed tables, locating yourselves at a more secluded high-top, as per the request of your lovely waiter, chris – the restaurant got more and more crowded by the hour, and chris politely asked if you and jack minded changing seats. obviously, you didn’t.
the change was very much welcomed as it got the two of you physically closer to each other.
dessert finished with you and jack side by side.
another cream soda old fashioned for you and jack’s hand found itself on your lower back. his thumb tracing lazy circles aimlessly, as he talked about the time robby and him got stranded on a road just outside of pittsburgh during a road trip. two hours and a shitty cellphone signal that suddenly decided to work later, his then resident, john appeared to pick them up in the middle of nowhere.
jack’s beer turned into a dr. pepper and the bar got even more crowded. the chorus of voices was so loud that it had you even closer to jack. with a hand on his shoulder and the touch of your breath against his neck, you whispered, almost secretively, the story of how you and grace almost got arrested for public disturbance after a night out with one too many drinks a few days after your divorce had finalised.
a can of coke took your cocktail’s place, and jack grimaced when the pirates lost a run. his hand was still on your lower back, this time massaging the soft flesh that connected it to your waist and your own hand caressed his opposite shoulder. you stared at jack, counted the freckles that kissed his face very lightly, adored the way the crow’s feet adorned his green-hazel eyes and imagined how his stubble would feel between your legs.
“what, sweetheart?” he looked back at you and asked softly. the low timbre of his voice hit you where you had just imagined how his beard would feel. the feeling was strong enough to have you press you legs together and enough to have jack notice it. a small smirk showed up on his lips and it made you bite your own.
your answer to his question came in the form of a kiss.
jack didn’t give you time to backtrack – not that you would, anyway – as he pulled your body flush to his.
your hands went straight to where they had been itching to feel the whole night: his soft curls. you twirled it between your fingers and pulled at the hair on the nape of his neck the more he deepened the kiss.
jack was devouring you.
if his stare felt like you were being preyed on, his kiss felt like you had been caught at last. it wasn’t messy or frantic; it was somehow slow and intense, deep and tender. it made you feel revered. it was also nothing like you had experienced before in your entire life, not even with the person you had spent eighteen years of your existence with.
god knows how long you spent kissing. air wasn’t a necessity anymore, the feel of jack’s chest against yours and his grip on your ass was everything you needed to survive. the rest of the world could perish, you couldn’t care less.
the trance you found yourselves in broke when the bar roared when the pirates’ scored a home run.
“we should go.” jack said after he pressed his forehead against yours. you barely had time to say “we should”, deciding on simply agreeing with a couple of nods and hums as jack kept pecking your lips.
“mine or yours?” he asked with his lips still touching yours.
“yours.” you answered and kissed him one last time.
jack asked for the check and paid for it, looking at you like you had told him you were the one who killed the virgin mary when you suggested splitting the bill.
halfway through your walk to jack’s car, when the silence had finally become comfortable again and not anxiety driven, and the buzzing on your skin didn’t feel like electric shock anymore, jack said “i’m really offended that you thought i’d let you pay for your dinner.”
you burst out laughing.
“i’m serious!” you could hear the outrageousness in his voice, laced with a hint of barely contained laughter.
“jack, it’s fine! you know people split the bill in dates all the time in this decade, right?” you tried to joke but it didn’t really land.
he huffed by your side. “yeah, well, i don’t like it.”
jack felt the way you were staring at his profile and turned to you. “what do you want to know, sweetheart?”
as softly as you could, you asked “when was the last time you went on a date?”
a beat or two passed and silence grew for longer than necessary. you were by jack’s car when he finally answered “last one was a few years ago.”
if your memory doesn’t fail you, jack mentioned that day at the bar, very briefly, that it had been two years only of his wife’s passing.
you nodded and squeezed the hand that held yours one last time, before he closed the door on the passenger’s side and jogged to his.
the elevator ride from the garage floor to where jack’s apartment was located on the fifth, made you feel like a teenager. he pressed you against the elevator’s wall the moment it opened its door, pressing the button that sent the machine to his floor by muscle memory.
the kiss was just like the one you shared back at the restaurant’s bar, with a touch more of desperation as an added bonus, shown by jack unconsciously frictioning his very blatant, very large erection against your belly, only getting worse as he trailed down from your lips to your neck.
it felt all too consuming.
jack’s presence could be felt not only where his body touched yours, but on your soul. the way he traced his lips down your collarbone to your décolletage set you ablaze. his grunts were exciting, the obvious desire made you feel like the most powerful woman in the world. jack kissed, bit, sucked and licked every part of you he had access to on the 3x4 metal box.
you had no idea this was even possible, but you were pretty sure an orgasm was approaching and your cunt hadn’t even been touched yet.
you made a mental note of googling if that was actually a thing.
jack’s right hand fingers tightened their grip on your hair as he left hand one trailed up your arm, stopping by your shoulder to slowly pull at the thick, ruffled strap of your dress. he nosed his way down, carving a trail of wet kisses on your chest.
down, down, down.
air hitting newly exposed skin.
the tip of his tongue licking your nip–
ding!
the elevator finally arrived at his floor. jack sighed and the puff of air that left his lips hit your wet, exposed nipple, making goosebumps blossom all over your body.
“fuck…” he murmured as pulled the pink fabric back up, covering what he had exposed of your chest.
when the doors opened, you looked up and noticed the very in your face, angled at the both of you security camera. shameful warmth took over when you thought of the doorman watching the show you and jack put on.
“you always forego on bras on your dates?” jack asked as he unlocked his door. he had tried to go with a casual, relaxed tone, but you could feel the underlying hint of jealousy in his voice.
you refused to entertain the giddy thought you just had, filed it for some other time or whatever.
so you giggled and gave him a “only when the dress asks to.”
jack huffed and said “ladies first.” motioning with his head for you to get in.
his apartment was big, exactly what you would expect of an emergency medicine senior attending. it was also meticulously neat, exactly what you would expect from an army brat, but somehow, it was also lived in.
a big screen sat on top of a beautiful, darkish wood TV unit. there was a very obvious comfortable looking reclining chair, one you could clearly imagine jack sitting down after a rough shift to relax, or with a couple of beers to watch a game on TV with friends. the couch was just as big and fluffy looking, cream with a couple of throw pillows and a terracotta throw blanket. he also had three very well taken care of plants.
there were a few picture frames scattered around, of him with family and friends. two of them had jack looking very in love with a very gorgeous latina woman, whom you instantly assumed to be his late wife. there was one of him in black scrubs with an asian guy, a beautiful black woman with dreads and a red headed older lady in grey scrubs by his sides. they seemed to be at the emergency room and jack’s folded arms and too-stern-to-be-real face made you smile. that must be shen and ellis, you thought, remembering your conversations.
there were also a couple other ones with a guy closer to his age, taller and a bit fuller than him, with darker hair and a full beard that was starting to get some greys in it. they both wore scrubs in one of the pictures and jack was more relaxed in this one, both men apparently holding back laughter as a blonde woman, also in grey scrubs and around their age, gave up and rolled back in laughter.
the other picture jack had with him had the other guy dressed in a leather jacket and black t-shirt, very similar to the polo jack had on. they were sitting down on a high top, with two beer flight paddles sitting in front of them.
“you want something to drink?” jack called from the kitchen. you were so entertained being nosy that you didn’t notice he had sat your purse on the entryway table and went to the kitchen to try and be a good host.
a crass joke popped up in your head, but you shook it away and went for “no, i’m good!”
you turned back to the picture to analyse it further. the colourful wall on the background was awfully familiar, as were the glasses used on the flights and the logo adorning them.
your brewery.
johnny’s brewery.
robby.
somewhere in the back of your mind, a conversation you had with grace years and years ago popped back again.
it was a chilly and lonely weekend, one in which the two of you were still married, but your husbands were away on a work trip. grace texted you a picture of a badly rolled joint, captioned with “read and puff???”
read and puff was a game the two of you created on your dorm sharing days, where you would smoke a joint and read poorly written books just for the sake of it.
she arrived at yours not even twenty minutes later after you replied with a “YES!!!”
the shitty romance book you had chosen was forgotten a few pages in, after it served the purpose of making you laugh. out of nowhere, grace hit you with a “do you think you walk by your soulmate everyday without noticing it?”
“what?” you whispered, confused.
“think about it! everyday we go to coffee shops, malls, walk around the city and pass by hundreds of people that have the same, or similar, routine as us but we never notice them. then one day… you have a new co-worker, or a new pilates buddy, and you guys talk and find out you’ve been frequenting the same places but never really noticed each other there.”
you nodded, it made sense. “yeah, i think so. but we’ve already found ours, so who knows.”
“yeah…” grace murmured her answer.
later that evening, after you sobered up, grace told you she and clayton – her then husband – were on a rough patch and she was thinking about getting a divorce.
you shook away the memory of that read and puff night and repeated your rules like a mantra.
one date. no strings attached.
one date. no strings attached.
one date. no strings attached.
“here.” jack extended hand pulled you out of you mini spiral and offered you a glass of chill water. you smiled at him.
“thanks.” you pointed at the picture frame. “i’m guessing that’s robby.”
he nodded. “how did you know?”
“that’s the brewery. back at the bar that night, you mentioned he was, and i quote, a fan of my work. why didn’t you tell me you’ve been there before?”
“i was afraid of looking like a creep, like i had been stalking you.”
you snorted. “makes sense.”
jack took the almost empty glass from your hand, setting it on the coffee table before pulling you to him. “come here.”
unlike your previous kisses, this one was slower, but needier somehow. jack had a way of making you feel like pliable putty in his hand almost instantly. his tongue traced yours with casual dominance and his fingers knew exactly where to touch you without you having to tell.
your body reacted to his like magnets attracted themselves; opposite poles that when in touch with each other, couldn’t let go.
jack guided you to his large sofa and laid you on it. the furniture was as comfortable as it looked.
he let go of your lips just to attach his back again on that sweet spot of your neck, getting a whiny moan as a reward.
“you have no idea how many times i thought about this.” he confessed.
“yeah?”
“yeah. you walked in that bar and sat beside me, talked about that stupid fucker and laughed at my stupid jokes, and all i could think about how beautiful you were, how soft your skin would feel. how i wanted to have you under me, how you would sound and taste.”
“fuck.” his confession made you weak, and you silently thanked him for laying you down before doing it.
“i know, honey.” jack cooed, rather cockily, as he pulled the straps of your dress down, freeing both of your breasts and popping a nipple between his lips. he teased you, alternated between licking and sucking and kneading your free tit.
“sh–shit.” you moaned loudly after he lightly grazed his front teeth against your nipple and continued. “i touched myself to the thought of you that night.”
“yeah?” you felt his question against your chest more than actually heard it. jack lifted his head and ordered “tell me about it.” before diving back in, this time giving his attention to your other tit.
“i was so wet when i got home. went for a shower and– fuck! oh god… my panties were drenched. i usually need a vibrator when i’m alone, but i was so worked up that i came so hard with my fingers.”
sometime during your own confessional rant, jack had bunched the fabric of the skirt of your dress and pooled it around your waist. “yeah? like this?”
he didn’t bother taking your panties off, just pulled it to the side and rubbed his thumb in lazy circles on your puffy clit.
“yes, jack.” you moaned his name and he gifted you with his index and middle fingers. they filled you up deliciously.
in true jack fashion, like he had done before as if he had been rewarded with a map of your body, he found your g-spot easily.
jack massaged the swollen spot softly, studying your every breath, sigh and moan. he loved the way your body welcomed him as he moved his fingers in a come hither motion, got mesmerised by how your pussy got wetter, how your skin prickled and the way your thighs were starting to tremble.
“jack, please.” you begged, for what you didn’t know, when he attached his lips around your clit. his tongue circled your nub, licking it with the flat muscle.
jack timed his ministrations, synchronising the roll of this tongue with the pumping of his fingers. you ran your fingers through his curly hair, tightening them when he moaned and relaxed against you.
“jack, i’m gonna–“ your orgasm washed over you before you could finish your warning.
the man didn’t stop his attack on you after you came, making sure to extend your orgasm as much as he could as he helped you ride it out, until it became so unbearable that you clenched your thighs around his head and pushed him out with the palm of your hands.
jack looked like a maniac. hair sticking out in all directions, his stubble wet with your juices, pupils blown out and chest so red one would think he had spent all day in the sun.
“i think i went deaf on my right ear.” he said while trying to pop it with his finger.
“sorry.” you said, laughing breathlessly.
“ten out of ten, hope it happens again, or whatever the kids are saying nowadays.”
you shook your head and got up on wobbly knees to kiss him again. almost instantly, your hand dropped to jack’s painfully hard erection, only to have him stop you the moment you finally undid his fly and started to trace your nimble fingers inside his boxers.
“not gonna last, baby. and i really want to fuck you right now.”
“and i really wanted to suck you.” you said, tone of voice the same of a spoiled brat. jack let out a shuddering breath and kissed your pouty lips.
“let’s go to the bedroom, sweetheart.”
jack’s bedroom was as beautiful as the rest of his apartment.
a dark, greyish green accent wall that contrasted against the other three white ones. his king sized bed set there in the middle, just as soft looking as the rest of the furniture you have met so far. he had four big pillows on top of it, a habit he most definitely kept from his wife.
everything was just as neat. he had art on his walls, another TV, this one smaller than the one in his living room, in the wall right across his bed. a pile of medical books on a night stand and a pile of vinyls on the other.
“sorry about the mess.” he said when he noticed you were studying the contents beside his bed.
“what mess? i was trying to figure out what you were listening to.”
“pearl jam, nirvana, rush, some radiohead, semisonic.”
“good taste.” you complimented him and got a smile back.
“thank you.”
the wall to your left had an almost floor to ceiling window, lined by a doorless buffet cabinet that had more vinyls, books and other trinkets. beside it sat his crutches and a folded wheelchair.
you were fumbling with the zipper on the side of your dress when jack sat down on his bed with a groan. he had already ditched his jeans and was roaming his hand around his leg and where his prosthesis attached to the limb.
“you okay?” you asked him.
jack nodded, said a “yeah” without looking at you. he seemed embarrassed, almost ashamed and you wondered if anyone besides his wife had been intimate with him since he lost part of his leg.
“we don’t have to do this, jack. not if you are uncomfortable with me or anything.” you told him as you ran your fingers through his hair again, softer this time. he purred.
“i want to. it’s just… you’re the first person since li–“ jack sighed. “no one besides liz has seen me like this.”
his words echoed in your head. liz. his late wife now had a name. no one had seen him like this besides her. jack hadn’t been intimate with anyone since her passing.
you don’t give yourself time to think, knowing you would get in your head. so you just dropped to your knees in front of him and asked “alright, how do we take this off?”
jack’s smile grew bigger. “press here.” he said, guiding your hand to the base of the socket of his prosthetic leg. “and pull.”
jack turned to his night stand and pulled a packet of wet wipes, a balm and a single condom. the strap of your dress fell further down your arms, and a sudden wave of self consciousness hit you when you realised how crazy you probably looked, with your messy hair and tits out. you tried to ignore it when you saw jack looking at you with hungry eyes again.
“i can take it from here, sweetheart.” he said when you tried to help him take the gel liner off his residual limb.
you nodded, whispered an “okay” and got up to take off your dress while jack cleaned his limb.
jack knelt on the mattress and rolled his condom on, and you mimicked his position to take him on another needy kiss.
“is like this more comfortable for you?” you asked in a raspy voice.
“yeah.”
his confirmation hit your ears and you dropped on all four in front of him, arching your back and wiggling your butt when you looked back at him. jack murmured something that sounded a lot like a “you’re gonna kill me” as he started to run his tip from his entrance to your clit, collecting the mix of your natural lubrication and your first orgasm.
even after working you out, jack’s cock still felt a bit like a tight fit. it wasn’t one of those monster cocks people talk about in books, the ones you highly doubted ever existed, but he was clearly thicker than most men, and the thickest you had ever had.
“shit.” both of you whispered when he finally hit your hilt.
a giggle left your lips and soon turned into a moan when jack gave his hips an experimental thrust. he stopped, maybe getting used to you, maybe assessing how you felt. you truly couldn’t tell, brain fogged by your needy haze.
it was jack’s turn to laugh when you pushed your ass back at him. “so needy, aren’t you, honey?” he mocked, but took pity on you and started moving his hips again.
you knew jack was as desperate as you when he didn’t bother to start slow. the tip of his cock repeatedly hit that sweet spot inside of you, turning you into a whimpering mess in seconds. you were so out of it that you didn’t hear a word of what he was saying.
jack slowed his thrusts and bent down on top of you, fast enough to grab both of your arms, folding them by your sides like handles for him to loop his own through it and bring you flush against his chest.
once again you felt him everywhere. his thrusts were faster than it had been before, the tip of his cock hit your g-spot repeatedly and the warmth of his skin on your back was starting to make you dizzy. on top of that, jack was kneading the rolls of your stomach in a way you knew you were going to have hand prints all over the next morning.
jack abbot had reduced you to a whimpering mess.
you heard chuckling behind your ear and felt his lips press a kiss there. “yeah? it feels that good, baby?”
you nodded like your life depended on it. “so good, j–jack.”
the praise gave him more confidence and jack started pounding into you harder and brought his fingers to your clit.
“holy fuck, jack. just like this. i’m gonna cum again.”
“cum for me, baby. i’m right behind you.”
you nodded and a few thrusts and a couple of moans later, you and jack came together.
you fell onto his bed and rolled to your back and jack fell right beside you. the two of you basked in each other’s presence in silence, just listening to your erratic breathings and the feel of your skins.
“shit.” you were almost dozing off when jack said it several minutes later, making you alert again.
“what?”
“i gotta take care of this.” he said pointing to his, now limp, dick wrapped in the condom.
“hold on.”
you got up from his bed and made your way to his window, bringing his crutches back with you. jack thanked you and you made your way towards his en-suite bathroom.
jack discarded the condom and cleaned himself while you peed, a scene way too domestic for a one night stand.
you woke up to the distant sound of red hot chilli peppers playing and the smell of bacon. the bed felt good but strange under you, but soon the memories of the previous night hit you and a pleased smile graced your lips.
sitting up, you noticed a black t-shirt waiting for you on the night stand. it fit you alright, a bit tight on your chest and did a poor job of covering most of your ass, so you pulled your underwear back on and made your way to find jack in the kitchen.
“good morning.” you greeted him.
jack smiled and greeted back, pulling you into a sweet kiss. he tapped on the granite counter and told you to hop on it. “i’m almost done.”
you did as he told and you engaged in an easy conversation about the music that was playing.
seeing jack work around the kitchen was as arousing as he had been the night before. he moved around effortlessly and the evidences of what you did – the scratches on his back and the bites on his chest – were worn with pride.
jack turned the cooktop off and set the last dish on the table before he turned back to you.
“you look so good with my shirt on.” he told you, running his hands up and down your thighs, his thumb getting awfully close to your core every time.
“yeah?” you whined and fell for his bait, bucking your hips when his right thumb got too close to your clit.
“yeah, honey.”
jack grazed his thumb against your slit and you whined his name.
“lay back, sweetheart.” you propped your elbows against the cool counter and did what he asked, but stayed in an angle that still let you see what he was doing.
“she’s so pretty.” he said as he pulled your panties to the side again, and brought his face close to your pussy. “begging for me.”
you were about to come up with a smart remark when jack licked a long strip up your cunt and took your clit to his mouth, making your hands go straight to his hair, pulling him closer.
his tongue was soft against your clit and it made you feel like you were walking on clouds. you wished you could stay like this forever, with his face between your thighs, his tongue inside of your and with his hands roaming your body.
unlike last night, your orgasm creeped out on you and hit you without a warning. you were still a trembling mess when jack emerged from what was quickly becoming his favourite place on earth.
“alright, now we can eat!”
as expected, your phone had countless notifications from grace, from phone calls, to all caps texts and worried audio messages. you sent grace an audio message back as soon as you set foot inside jack’s elevator, reassuring her that everything was ok and that the date went incredibly well. as usual, you weren’t able to hold yourself and told her a short version of how the sex went, which earned you a very loud audio of her screaming “yes, bitch! ahahahaha.”
you felt sorry for your poor uber driver.
you pet marie who, rightfully, was pissed off with your disappearance, and went straight to your bathroom.
“hey, girlies.” you opened and closed your mouth a few times and brought your hands together in a low effort clap. “i’m alive and well… so well.” you giggled and pointed to your clothes. you caught a glimpse of yourself and part of you couldn’t believe you were recording a video like this; hair in a bun because it was so messy from jack pulling it, that you didn’t have the means to deal with it at his place, a couple of hickeys on your neck and chest and, even with the remnants of the previous night’s make up and two skipped skin care routines, you were glowing.
“it’s two something in the afternoon and i just got home, as you can probably see. the date was incredible. mcdreamy was everything i was expecting and more, way more. i don’t know what to tell you guys except that i guess we will have a first on this channel.”
“mcdreamy will be the first date number two.” you turned the camera off and posted the tiktok.
40andthriving🩵| yeah, i really don’t know what to tell you guys.
theegraceadams | bitch, you look fucked out. i love that for you
santos.trin | oh my god???
user802764277193701 | can put away the knife ig
justmyluck91 | girl, come back!!! tells us how the date went!!!
imsotired | dude????? SECOND DATE ALERT! 🚨🚨🚨
sophiesoph | marry him
a/n ii – no, i don’t like grey’s anatomy, i just think eric dane was hot. RIP to the baddie.
next chapter |
domesticblisss 2026. comments and reblogs are appreciated
okay we’re gonna get a bit fucked up with this…… choose your adventure mentally, realcest or fauxcest
uncle!jack abbot x female reader, jack is a perv 💕, 1.6k words (keeping it clear. this is FICTION and a way that i explore my own trauma. mdni and don’t like, don’t read! thanks!
jack had tried. he really had. he had tried not to look at you that way. he’d made an effort not to be alone with you too long, to keep conversations brief. he mentally hit himself whenever he caught himself staring at your legs at barbecues and family gatherings.
“do not picture her bent over. do not picture her naked. do not picture her in the bath or the pool or near any body of water. do not picture her lips around your cock. do not picture— you asshole, she’s your niece.” the mantra he kept repeating to himself. over and over till the information felt like it was seeping out of his skull and onto the floor. you’d felt it, the great shift. no more uncle jack ruffling your hair or picking you up or calling you baby.
but now, your parents are hosting a pool party to celebrate your eighteenth birthday. you’re in an outrageous gingham bikini. seriously, if you were his daughter, he’d never allow this. he knows how men are. how they’d look at you. how he looks at you.
he brought a gift, of course. it’d be rude not to. he went to sephora and picked up a few glosses. then he kicked himself because he started picturing you applying it, which led to him picturing you kissing him, which led to— “uncle jackie!” you call out “get in the pool!”
he laughs, trying to cover up the fact that he absolutely could not go in the pool with you. not without getting arrested, that is. he waves a hand. “i’m good where i am, kiddo. trust me, you don’t wanna see this old man without his shirt.” fuck. he made it weird. why did he have to make it weird?
you frown and lift yourself up on the ledge of the pool, breaking into a sprint to hug him. he glances down. do not look at her tits, you dirty old man. do not do it. he does anyways. he couldn’t help. the sheen from the pool and sun making you all the more inviting, what it would be like to bury his face in….
you slam into him, desperate for the easy affection he used to provide you with. he wraps an arm around you, kissing your head. “eighteen, huh? i remember when you were just born, all tiny and pink. now you’re an adult. jesus. i’m getting old.” he taps your cheeks. “remember you when you were still potty training. you had this guilty little look whenever you told anyone you had an accident. just the cutest.” you wrinkle your nose. “can we not talk about” you whisper “potty training.” he raises his hands. “sorry, kiddo. just remembering how full my sister’s hands were with you.”
your eyes dart hungrily to the sephora bag. “that for me?” he furrows his brows, scratches his head in deep concentration. “damn… i thought i bought lip glosses for myself.” you giggle. uncle jack is so funny! you press into him again and stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “thank you, uncle jackie.” he takes a deep breath in. do not get hard. do not get hard. do not get hard because the girl you’ve known since before she was born kissed your cheek, you fucking pervert! you are a physician, a veteran, goddamnit. you can keep your cool.
you grab the bag out of his hand, and whip your head around. your mom calls. “shower and put on your dress, hon. we’ll take pictures and cut the cake when you’re out.” you pout, but know better than to pick a fight with your mom, on your birthday, no less. you run off, kiss your mom on the cheek, and head into the house.
jack sits at a table with your mother. she pulls out her phone, scrolling to a picture from exactly eighteen years ago today. jack holding you as a newborn. she tears up. “can you believe it, jack? my baby girl? a woman?” oh, he can believe it. he believes it so hard that if his sister knew how much he believes it, she’d have his head on a spike, rightfully so. he shakes his head, throat growing dry. “she’s still a little girl,” he says, trying to convince himself “’s not like eighteen changes anything.” she dabs at her eyes, then checks the time. “thirty minutes… jack, go up to her room and try to rush her out, i’ll take out the cake.”
he does not groan. that would look weird, right? he’s not about to look weird. he’s been in your room countless times. he raps on the door. the water is still running. he should leave. should tell his sister that you’re still in the shower and that he’ll check again in ten minutes. he does not. he sits on your loveshackfancy bedspread. he remembers your mom decorating this room years ago. god. his niece.
the water shuts off five minutes later. he should announce himself. should call out that he’s here. should say “get yourself decent, kid.” he does not.
you exit your bathroom, fully bare, save for the towel on your head. he expects you to scream, to freak out, to hit him. instead, you just tilt your head. fuck. he’s hard. “uncle jackie? why… are you in my room?” he rubs his greying facial hair, looking down. “your mom wanted me to get you for cake.”
you shift from side to side. “why aren’t you looking at me, jackie?” his voice goes rough. “uncle jackie.” he corrects. his brow raises as you make no effort to cover up. “i should go—” your hand darts out, grabbing his wrist. “stay. i’ve missed you.” you frown. he chuckles. “kid, there’s better ways to catch up that don’t involve you being naked in front of your uncle. you’re not a little girl anymore, don’t know if you realize, but it’s a little inappropriate.”
you pout. “you never hang out with me anymore… did i do something bad?” he stares at the floor intently, desperate for you not to notice the hard on in his shorts. “nah, kid. nothing you need to worry your pretty head about. i’ve just been busy.”
jack tries not to look as you bend and take the towel off of your head, water dripping down onto the hardwood floor. you sit on his lap. he sucks in a breath. “jesus, baby. this is so not okay.”
you wriggle over his erection. jack throws his head back. “honey. i’m your uncle. you can’t be doing this.” you press your face into his neck. “just want you to like me again…” he barks out a laugh. “you’re gonna make me more than like you if you keep that up.” your face lights up like a child, which, to be fair, you were less than 24 hours ago. you wriggle around even more. he sucks in a breath. “christ. where’d you learn how to do that?” your face brightens. “my friend told me this is how you make guys like you.” his jaw tightens. “never tried it before?” you curl into him further, rocking your hips over his clothes. “nope!” you pop the p “just you, uncle jackie.”
it is at that point that jack throws the last remaining shred of his morals to the wind. his hands comes down on your ass. “you know what’s even better at making guys like you?” you shake your head. “let uncle jackie show you. but it’s just for us, mkay? just uncle jackie and his sweet girl’s secret.”
you grin as he pushes you back on your bed. he curses internally. who knows how long you two have before your mom gets fed up and comes searching herself. “you’ll like me so much after this?” jack sighs, unbuckling his pants. “i’ll like you the most, princess.” he crawls over you on duvet. he hasn’t taken off his shirt, polo still fully on. he presses his lips to yours, shoving his tongue in roughly. “that’s how grown ups kiss. and you’re a grown up now, aren’t you?” you whimper. it feels strange. but uncle jackie promised to like you the most after this!
jack presses a kiss to your forehead. “now,” he strokes your cheek, “this may pinch a bit. i’m gonna cover your mouth so no one finds out we’re having so much fun without them.” you nod. that makes sense. besides, uncle jackie is a doctor. he wouldn’t do anything that would damage you. his hand clasps firmly over your mouth as he slides into you, all the way to the hilt. he does not stop as you whine and cry into his hand. his voice lowers. “i know, i know, bunny. that was a biiiig stretch, huh? but you’re so brave, yes you are. uncle jackie’s got you.”
you cling onto him, trying to kiss him as he pummels your cunt. you whine softly into his palm. he silences you with a kiss to your forehead. “so good, baby. making uncle jackie like you so much. you’re the best girl ever.” you wriggle under his grasp. “even better than your wife?” his hips stutter. his dead wife. and here he is, fucking his barely legal niece. the guilt barely lasts a second. “much better. you just wanna make me happy, right?” you nod fervently, close, though you do not know it yet. you squeeze around him, causing his head to fall over. he thrusts, over and over and over again, until you are dripping and full with his cum. he starts to soften inside you, pressing another kiss to your head.
SUMMARY: When Jack offers his company in the form of a date to celebrate your book release, he gets to understand the inner workings of your mind a bit more. Unfortunately, it does leave him with an ache he has to tend to using nothing but his own imagination.
WARNINGS: some flirting, mentions of alcohol use, swearing, sexual themes when discussing readers new book, kissing, dry humping and male masturbation LOL promise to give you real smut soon <3
A/N: this part took me longer to write than expected, probs bc i finally finished outlining the rest of the series and i was eager to write other scenes as i was drafting them but it's here!! This series can now also be found on Wattpad as well as Ao3 :)
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x Single Mom!Reader
WORD COUNT: 7.8k
PREV. PART — SERIES MASTERLIST
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Jack doesn’t call you.
Not the following morning. Or the morning after that. In fact, for the first three days after the kiss, you’re met with nothing but radio silence.
There’s no frantic run-ins in the lobby, or accidental indecent exposures in the ED. For those initial three days, you stewed on every interaction you shared that night. Talking on the balcony, sneaking him beer, the kiss at the door that you swear still lingers on your lips now.
But more than that, your mind has burrowed a deep and dark hole under the pretense of it being a mistake. That despite him kissing you, despite him reassuring you that Bella is not who he’s interested in, he’s actually come to the realization that neither are you.
You festered on the thought for three days straight. Torn over the idea of calling or texting him yourself. But you’ve never chased a man before and you refused to start now.
In hindsight, it was one of your better decisions not to go off the handles about it. Because on the third night, Jack had texted you a flurry of apologies. There were no excuses for his silence, just a simple explanation that the ED is swamped under new temporary management and he’s only been home for a few hours at a time to nap or shower or feed his cat.
Which was a revelation in itself. Jack has a cat named Sally.
Originally, you had explained that you understood, that it was okay and he had a very important job he had responsibilities for. But Jack had seen that as an easy cop out he refused to take. Promised you that he was not avoiding you, that he did not regret a single second of that night and more convincingly, that he very much wants to do it again.
And for the past week, Jack’s been nothing but present and attentive. Not physically, the ED has still had him entirely swamped of time. But any free moment he gets, he’s texting you, or a quick call to ask about your day, to ask about Phoebe.
He sends photos of random things. A pretty sunrise when he manages to steal a moment to catch it from the ambulance bay. Drawings that children have given him that he’s cared for. And quite a few of someone you’ve learned to be John Shen who likes iced coffee more than you do.
You’ve offered him the same. Photos of your breakfast or coffee when he asks what you’re having. Snapshots of Phoebe when he checks how she’s doing. Pictures of a messy kitchen island when you admit you’re struggling with outlines for your new book.
And on the odd night, when it’s late enough for you to barely keep your eyes open and it’s calm enough for Jack to steal a moment alone, he’ll call to say goodnight. You tell him about your day with Phoebe, he tells you about his craziest patients.
Over the last week it’s become somewhat of a routine. Calls, texts, captures of one another's life if fleeting moments. It’s been nice. Exciting. You find yourself reaching for your phone more often than before, feeling butterflies twist in your stomach every time his name lights up on your screen.
So when the week passes and you wake up at 6 a.m. on the dot, your screen already has a message from Jack waiting for you, buried beneath the emails and texts and social media notifications under your pen name accounts.
You ignore them all in favor of Jack.
Happy release day, sweetheart ❤️
The nickname he’s taken upon himself to give you sets your skin molten. The first time he casually called you that was over the phone one night, and the gentle form of endearment had almost burned you from the inside out.
It’s with sleep-crusted eyes that you unlock your phone and re-read the text over and over again before sending off your reply with a grin.
Good morning and thank you!! How is your shift going?
Despite his text being sent over four hours ago—likely during a rare lull on the night shift—typing bubbles form at the bottom of the texting thread, like he’s been waiting for you to rise from your slumber.
Long. Gotta stay a couple more hours, huge collision pile up on the interstate. Stay away from Parkway West if you can help it.
What are your plans to celebrate?
Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, bottom lip caught between your teeth. Still blinking through the groginess, you roll your back, arms bent to hold your phone above your face.
Will do! And just lunch with my parents this afternoon. Phoebe is at Tom’s tonight so probs wine, takeout and drafting for the next instalment.
You wait a few moments for a reply. Which turns into a few minutes. In true fashion, Jack’s likely been pulled away, so you force yourself to get up and start your day.
A very quick shower, a big cup of coffee and then you’re gently waking Phoebe with a tender hand to her back. Her eyes blink open with an immediate frown and she reaches to pull the covers over her head before you can stop her.
“Come on, sleepyhead,” you laugh gently. “Time to get up for school.”
“I don’t wanna,” Phoebe grumbles, shifting until her back is to you.
You stand with a sigh, let your hands rest on your hips. “Okay, guess I’ll just have banana pancakes and listen to Phil Collins on my own then.”
Her head whips round to you at that, peeking from under the covers. She holds nothing but a stony expression and you can’t help the raise of your brows at the sight.
“You wouldn’t.” She accuses with a squint.
You shrug a shoulder, feigning nonchalance. The second you take a step away from her bed, she’s throwing the covers off her in a fit of annoyance and clambering to her feet. Her hair is a matted mess, pyjama top twisted and pant legs scrunched up to her knees.
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer you anything more than an unimpressed look before walking past you and making her way to the kitchen. You watch with quiet amusement as she climbs the stool to sit at the island, takes a long gulp of the cup of water you already made her.
And when you turn to begin making the pancakes, you hear her demand Alexa to play Easy Lover with more attitude than any four-year-old should possess.
It’s when you’re sitting together and singing with mouthfuls of banana pancakes that your phone chimes with a text from Jack.
In that case, how would you feel about some company?
The music becomes a dull noise beneath the sound of your pulse hammering in your ears. You stop chewing as you read the text over and over, lungs seizing on a breath you haven’t fully expelled. You haven’t seen Jack since that night. Texting and calling has been exciting, has become a norm. But finally seeing him again?
The thought is just as thrilling as it is terrifying.
You’re not working tonight?
His response is immediate again.
Not at the hospital. But I’m more than happy to put some hours in as a ghost writer. In fact, I insist.
The grin that spreads across your face is almost maniacal. It stretches so wide that your eyes crinkle and your body buzzes. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to how smoothly he flirts, how easily your body reacts to a fucking text message from him. Your fingers move across the screen quickly.
Well, I can’t say no to that.
The bubbles appear again for no more than a few seconds before they're replaced with another text.
There we go. It’s a date. I’ll see you at 7
You choke on a noise that sounds similar to a squeal and you can’t tear your eyes away from the screen. You don’t trust yourself to type a reply, so you react to his message with a heart instead.
“Who are you texting?” Phoebe’s tone is accusational and a very sobering sound that snaps you from your little bubble.
You flinch, unintentionally and quickly place your phone screen down on the island, like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.
“No one!”
She watches you with a conspiratorial look, and for a moment you forget that she’s the kid and you’re the parent. Her suspicion morphs into a shit-eating grin.
“Is it Jack?”
You squint at her. “Shut up and eat your breakfast before we’re late.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Dana’s been watching Jack like a hawk for the past thirty minutes.
A lightness in his expression that increases every time he checks his phone. An ease to his movements, a fluidity in his steps despite how long he’s been on his feet.
She keeps a curious eye on him as he strides from trauma room to trauma room, notices the upward tilt that’s been pinching at his mouth since her shift started an hour ago.
She’s not the only one.
Shen stands beside her, slurping at the very last remnants of his vanilla frappe. The sound grates on the charge nurse’s ears but she lets it slide in favor of gossip.
“What’s he so chipper about?” She mutters to John, eyes still tracking Abbot’s movements.
He uncurls his lips from the straw, observes his fellow attending for only a moment before shrugging and bringing the straw back to his mouth. “Maybe he finally got laid.”
Dana smirks to herself at that, shakes her head in something like amusement and fondness. It’s ten minutes later when Jack approaches the central hub and drums his palms on the desk like he’s waiting to find something else to do.
“Your shift ended an hour ago, Diva.” Dana doesn’t lift her gaze from the tablet in her hand as she speaks, but she doesn’t need to for her to know the way Jack’s looking at her.
He huffs out a grumble, but it sounds more fond than annoyed. “Not you, too.”
She shrugs, finally lets her eyes land on him. “What can I say? It suits you.”
There’s a playful roll of his eyes when she grins.
And Dana just can’t help herself. She juts her chin to him just slightly, holds the tablet to her chest as she crosses her arms around it. “What are you so smiley about, anyway? Mania kicked in already?”
Jack considers her for a moment, a subtle tick in his cheek, an involuntary clench in his jaw. With a sigh, he leans his forearms on the high part of the desk, chews on his lower lip.
“I have a date tonight.” He keeps his voice low enough, the words only meant for a dear friend's ears. But the walls listen in PTMC. When people brush past, the breeze carries the whispers of secrets not meant to be shared.
It’s Joy that this secret reaches first. Before Dana can even react.
She stops still beside the desk, brows raising above the rim of her glasses. “Old people still date?”
Jack’s slightly too offended to consider that his quiet admittance will now become floor gossip. “I’m not that old.”
It’s Santos it reaches next.
Eyes wide, jaw slack. And a shriek of astonishment and accusation. “Oh my God! Is it your neighbor? It’s totally the pelvic chick, right?”
His head whirls to the foghorn of her voice, brows pinched tight. Partly at her volume, the other part at the mention of you—of how she refers to you.
“The pelvic chick?” He screws his face up, less than pleased.
Joy shivers at the memory of it, the slip of tongue her attending gave still haunts her at random moments.
“I’m sorry, how do you even know about that?” A familiar presence brushes past his arm, the scent of jasmine and linen.
“People talk.” Al-Hashimi murmurs the words softly, amusement dripping at the edges of it but she doesn’t outright poke fun at him.
It takes Jack a moment to comprehend her mutter, to cast his mind back to the night you came into the ER, the night he accidentally got an eyeful of you in the one way he never imagined he would.
Joy isn’t the type to gossip. Ogilvie won’t want anyone to know about his scolding. So that only leaves…
Fucking McKay.
“Hey,” Dana calls him softly, “I think it’s great. About time you got back on the horse. Robby thinks so, too.”
Jack cocks a brow as the others disperse to their patients. “You talked to him?”
Dana hums, leans closer to keep the conversation private. “Yeah, he called me the other night. He sounds… not like he’s on the verge of a breakdown.”
Jack laughs but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah, well. You know Robby. The novelty of things wears off pretty fast for him.”
She listens, of course. And as much as Dana loves and respects Robby, there’s only so much talk of him that she can handle before she’s considering sabbatical for herself. So she turns to lean against the desk, angles her body to face Jack’s.
There’s an easy smile on her face. One that’s more than a smirk but less than a grin. A softness to her eyes, a genuine curiosity.
“What’s she like?”
He knows who she’s talking about immediately.
Jack lets out a sigh, one that’s a little shaky, struggles to fight the curl in his mouth. If Jack’s honest, he could sit for hours and talk about you. Your interests, your personality… but a selfish part of him what’s to keep that to himself. “She’s…gorgeous, obviously. Smart, kind, very funny. Comfortable, you know? Hard not to like.”
Dana nods, catches the fondness in his tone, the reverent look that seems to clear his eyes. She knows there’s more he wants to say, knows he’s also already shared more than he’s truly willing to.
“And her daughter?” The question is asked softly, carefully.
Jack doesn’t tear his gaze from her. Defensive, in a way. But he knows there’s no need to be. There’s no threat or judgement in Dana’s tone, no warning. Just quiet curiosity. A silent question that seeps into what she speaks.
“I know what I’m signing myself up for.”
Her smile stretches just a little bit wider at his answer. And with one hand wrapped around the tablet, she reaches to pat Jack on his shoulder as she walks past him. “I’m rooting for you, Abbot.”
He exhales slowly when she leaves.
“Yeah, me too.”
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Outlining scenes and dialogue is usually your favorite part of drafting.
Little moments that make no sense without context, but integral to the story nonetheless. Usually, you’re riddled with moments and conversations; ideas that come to you during the most mundane of tasks.
Showering, eating, cleaning, dreaming.
But for the past week, your thoughts have been far too occupied with something else. Someone else. Jack seems to hide in every crevice of your mind. His texts, his calls, the taste of his lips on yours. You don’t remember the last time you felt so wrapped up in another person, and now, it’s starting to affect your work.
The blank screen stares blankly at you, barely a few incoherent bullet points at the top of the document. When your inspiration dries up like this, it makes you feel like a fraud.
You should be taking every free moment you have to get your plan sorted, to understand the trajectory of the final instalment to the trilogy. Instead, you’re clasping at straws and trying not to freak out when your phone chimes with a text.
It’s almost seven and it’s not Jack, so the relief is instant that he isn’t cancelling at the last minute.
Your moms contact lights up the screen. A simple two sentence text.
Hope the date goes well! Told Tom you’re busy and to text me if Phoebe needs to go home ;)
The innuendo of her text has a blush forming at the apples of your cheeks. She was like this at lunch, too. Suggestive smirks when you finally admitted you and Jack have been texting, a fat grin when you very quickly muttered out that he kissed you.
Your dad, on the other hand… not so excited about the revelation.
For the entire lunch, he had made his viewpoint clear. That he likes Jack, thinks he’s a nice and noble man. That he respects what he does and has done, but that his age is a factor that you need to consider.
Your mom had scolded him for it, but you understood his reasoning. The insecurities he held himself for his age that he doesn’t verbalize outloud. All you could do was remind him of two simple things. You’re a big girl and it’s only a date. Not marriage.
You shoot off a quick reply of: Stop winking at me, it’s weird (but thank you), and drop your phone to the marble counter with a thud at the same time your doorbell rings.
Forcing yourself to gulp down a breath, your hands involuntarily smooth your hips as you stand. Your mind is racing, heart pounding in your chest at the thought of Jack standing on the other side of the door.
The reminder that you’ve texted and called and FaceTime’d more times than you can count over the past week does nothing to quell the nerves. Because seeing him in person is a lot different than through a screen.
When you open the door, your breath becomes lodged in your lungs and Jack drinks you in with an intensity you’ve never quite seen before.
His eyes linger on yours, fall down to your lips where they hover, before tracing the outline of your body. Cataloguing the brown halterneck top, the long frilly skirt, your bare feet and painted toenails.
You do the same. Drink in the salt and pepper curls, the tick in the corner of his mouth, the white knitted shirt with the two top buttons undone. You catch sight of his silver chain as you go down, the dark wash jeans and boots tucked beneath.
His hands, still ringless. One holds a bottle of white wine, the other holds a beautiful bouquet of summer blooms that oddly match the color pallet of your latest book.
You tilt your head at him, purse your lips in a futile attempt to hide your smile. Jack doesn’t offer the same restrains and grins, catches his bottom lip between his teeth before it can spread too wide.
“Wine and flowers, huh?” You tease in greeting.
He glances down at them both before returning that molten gaze back to you. “The wine—and dinner—are to congratulate, the flowers are to apologize, again, for my radio silence.”
You huff a laugh at that, open the door wider and step aside to allow him into your apartment. “I told you already, it’s fine.”
Jack moves close, lets you close the door and when you turn, he’s almost chest to chest with you. Your breathing stutters at the unexpected proximity, but he grins down at you, the wine and flowers the only thing separating your bodies.
“Not fine. Don’t argue with me on it.” His tone is light when he leans closer, words drifting into a sweet whisper.
Jack dips his head lower, lets his lips brush against yours. Your eyes flutter closed, bracing yourself for the touch of his mouth meeting yours. But it doesn’t. Your breaths mingle until he moves, stubble tickling gentle at the corner of your lips until he kisses your cheek.
He doesn't pull away at first, like he’s considering giving in to temptation, but his self restraint is stronger than you’d like it to be. When he finally moves, it’s not far. Still remains close like he’s missed your presence more than he’s let on.
“Pheebs at her dads?” he asks quietly, eyes still on you.
You’re a little mesmerized, nodding blankly. His words register, just barely. It feels like his eyes are sucking you into a warm abyss that you’ll never be able to claw your way out from.
The idea doesn’t sound just metaphorical, either.
You swallow around a dry throat. “Uh, yeah. Until she decides she wants to come home. But, my mom told him to call her.”
Jack hums, a small smile kissing the edges of his mouth. There’s a slight movement between you, the paper wrapping the flowers crinkly as he shakes them slightly.
“Do you have a vase for these?”
Your tongue wets your lips and you nod, guiding him into the kitchen and it’s completely innocent how your hips sway a little more than they usually would.
Jack watches, of course. He’s only a man. But he’s gentlemanly enough to avert his gaze when you bend over to look inside a cabinet. Busies himself with gently tearing the paper around the bouquet.
“I asked the florist to cut the stems, they’re good to just go in some water.”
It almost makes you pause.
The florist.
As in, he went inside a flower shop and asked for flowers. Not some cheap, premade bunch from a supermarket. You don’t think anyone but your parents has ever gotten you flowers from a florist.
You fill the vase with water, thankful your back is to him to hide your grin, give yourself some time to get your stupid butterflies and ovulation under control.
When you turn back to him, Jack’s already approaching you, gently handling the delicate flora by the stems and he eases them into the narrow neck of the glass. Watches you admire them for a moment, bring them to your nose to smell the freshness of them.
The heat on your cheeks makes him nervous. Makes him feel young again.
His wife was the last person he dated. Hasn’t cared about anyone enough to want to pursue something more than the odd one night stand. But you. You make his heart rate pick up just enough for him to notice a change, make his palms a little sweaty when he makes a joke in case you don’t laugh.
But you’re grinning at the flowers like it’s the most precious gift you’ve ever received. And while it’s an incredibly beautiful sight, it’s also slightly painful.
Are you not used to receiving flowers from guys you’re dating?
No, you’re not. No one's ever really cared enough to do the small things.
“They’re beautiful, Jack. Thank you.”
His smile is warm when you look at him a little sheepishly and Jack realizes that you’re just as nervous about this as he is. He knows he hasn’t dated since his wife, but he wonders if you’ve dated since Tom. If you've cared enough about anyone else since you lost your fiance.
The answer is a resounding no.
He doesn’t tell you that you’re the first woman he’s brought flowers for since his wife. Instead, he keeps the smile on his face and averts his gaze to the mess covering the kitchen island. His brows raise. Books everywhere, notepads and highlighters, a half empty glass of wine and a laptop screen with an almost blank document.
Amusement shines in his eyes. “Hows it going?”
A groan escapes you immediately and the nerves begin to dwindle. You reach for a glass, take the bottle from Jack’s hands mindlessly and pour him a drink as you sit on the stool.
“It’s like I’m back in writing school and can’t think of a better word for ‘said’.”
He chuckles at that, takes the glass and sits himself on the stool beside you. His eyes skim the laptop screen.
Kade and mary
cheese
Lost keys???????
“You into grave diggers, baby?”
Someone has to put their finger in the dogs ass
“Necromancer? Aint that someone who fucks corpses?”
– “no thats a necrophiliac”
Dez rimjob scene (at circus)
Lubed up chorizo slap scene
Marys mom is a cougar
Asshole character UNNAMED with toms personality
Ground beef in the trifle
Strip club or orgie scene — undecided
Jack’s eyes blink profusely as he reads over the bullet point outline for your third book. It causes a tightness in his jeans at the thought of you imagining and writing some of these scenes. Reminded of the fact that you’ve told him about your very vivid imagination.
“This how you outline all your books?” he asks with a rough voice.
It's then that your eyes widen with realisation at what he's read. You laugh nervously, scratching at the nape of your neck as you sit beside him.
“It normally goes something like this. Not usually as brief, though. I’ve hit a bit of a block.”
Jack hums, takes a sip of his wine before pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “Well, what if we order some food? See if a bit of energy gets that pretty head of yours conjuring something up, hm?”
You don’t know how he does it—makes his flirting seem more playful than blatant. It’s enough to make your cheeks burn, to form a curl at your lips that you have no control over. So you nod, tell him what Chinese food you like and pretend to busy yourself looking at your paper notes while he raises the phone to his ear and smoothly lists off the order.
As excitable and nervous as you are, Jack’s presence is also strangely…comforting. He makes your home feel warmer, safer. His strong stance relaxing in your space, not taking it up.
For the forty minutes you’re waiting for dinner, you get through a bottle of wine between you. You try to ask Jack about work, which is something he’s very quick to brush off.
“That hospital is the reason I haven’t seen you. Believe me when I tell you it's the last thing I want to talk about tonight. I want to hear about you, and Pheebs.”
He makes your head spin, how open and genuine he is with the statement. You tell him all the mundane things you’ve gotten up to over the past week. And even though he already knows from the brief phone calls or facetime’s, Jack listens all the same.
Intently, carefully. Like every word you speak is sacred. Like he genuinely cares.
He laughs when you tell him some of the things Phoebe has said, his posture stiffens when you recall the two times Tom let her down in the past seven days, and he stares at you in pure wonder when you admit your book is already viral within the first 24 hours of release.
When the food comes, Jack pays in cash; gives you a look that suggests he’d be incredibly offended if you even offered to pay half, so you don’t.
You’re both well on your way to tipsy when you get half way through the second bottle of wine, haphazardly shoving your notebooks to the side to make room for dinner.
Your stools are closer together now, takeout boxes littering the kitchen island, your laptop screen still blinking an almost blank page. There are no first-date etiquettes as you both eat. Hunger and comfortability ruling over the nerves and self-conscious need to eat slowly and politely.
Maybe it’s the wine that has you swiping soy sauce from the corner of Jack’s mouth. Maybe that’s what loosens his inhibitions enough to hand feed you a dumpling you admit you’ve never tried before.
And perhaps it’s the sheer familiarity in one another’s souls that has you snorting loudly into your glass of wine. That has Jack gripping onto the edge of the kitchen island to save him from falling backward off the stool.
Your home is used to the sounds of laughter. It’s used to shrills and shrieks bouncing off the walls. But Jack's hearty chuckles don’t do that. His laughter curls into the crevices of the apartment. They don’t linger there, they make home. Seep into the wood and brick and metal until it’s wedged into the very foundations of the building.
It takes you both an hour to finish your meals. Too caught up in laughter and side-tracked conversations that take your attention away from the task. It’s cold when you finish the last bite, and you push the container away in favor of your half-full glass instead.
Jack mirrors your movement, shuffles his stool closer to yours. But instead of reaching for his beer, he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a pair of glasses instead.
“Alright, got my readers. Let’s see what we’re working with.”
Your lashes flutter at the endearing term he’s given them, at the way he gently opens the arm and hooks them over his ears. Your attraction to him grows tenfold at such a simple act, the smallest of adjustments.
Yet you can’t help the ache that forms between your thighs, can’t stop your teeth from pinching your bottom lip. There’s something far too enticing about the black frames that sit on the slope of his nose. The stubbled jaw that clenches, the bob of his throat when he swallows.
And those fucking dangeous lips that twitch when he notices you staring.
For hours, there’s a tightness to both of you as you struggle to write and Jack struggles to help. He was right about the food for energy but right now, Jack’s presence is nothing but a massive fucking hindarance to your writing abilities.
Not your imagination, no. Your overactive mind is doing well with conjuring up explicit scenarios in your head of him fucking you raw and hungry with those fucking glasses on. Thoughts of your ankles resting on his broad shoulders, his beefy arms wrapping around your body, that short stubble burning your inner thighs.
Jack can feel your eyes on the side of his face as he reads over the next page on the doc. He’s had years of training to observe from his peripheral and not lose focus on a task, and yet, he’s not really taking in a single word he’s reading.
That is until he skims over a paragraph that does capture his attention.
Kade’s breath is hot against Mary’s inner thigh, and despite the warmth, it awakens goosebumps across her flush skin. His hand reaches for her first, allows himself to touch her silkiness, to inch closer to her cunt. With his other hand, Kade brings the vibrator between her legs, teases the pulsing toy against her inner thigh—right where his touch started.
Jack swallows thickly, hips shifting briefly in his seat on the stool. The movement breaks you from your little trance and your eyes flick quickly to the screen, realizing the passage he’s stumbled across.
When your eyes flick back to Jack, he’s turning to you slowly with a playful squint, sinful mouth kicking up in a lopsided smirk.
The look does something carnal to you. You can’t tear your eyes away from his lips, can’t calm the hammering of your heart against your ribs. If you look away from his mouth for a moment, you’ll notice when his flicks down to yours. How they linger for far too long.
Your mouth parts just enough for your tongue to wet your bottom lip, and the movement is enough to make Jack give in. The small distance between you is closed when he takes his readers off with one hand and caresses your jaw with the other.
Jack’s lips are on yours in an instant, soft and sweet and careful. So careful that he’s allowing you to lead the pace and tempo of it.
You feel your body relax into the taste of him, your shoulders drooping as he swallows a sigh that slips from you. A small noise follows, one of need and contempt. Jack's hand reaches between your parted thighs, his fingers hooking beneath the seat of the stool. He pulls you toward him, the scrape of metal legs on hardwood echoing but you pay no attention.
Your knees bump as you adjust them to fit between his widely parted thighs. Your hands find his face, sneaking to the back of his neck to snake your fingers through his curls. Jack kisses you harder, his tongue massaging at your bottom lip in a silent request for access.
Something that you give him quickly, swirling your own against his.
He tastes like wine, food and the promise of something you’re not allowing yourself to think too much into. Jack’s hands remain on your face, fingers hidden beneath your hair, palms cupping at your jaw. He lets out soft pants of breath, quiet moans that feed the slick that’s forming between your thighs.
It’s intoxicating, how Jack kisses. Like every emotion he doesn’t verbalize is poured into it. His hands begin to roam in a respectfully needy way. One moves to tangle into your hair, the other slides down the warm skin of your neck, to the bare flesh on your back.
His palm splays against the skin, tender in every aspect you can imagine. Neither of you come up for air, neither of you want to pull away.
You’re shifting to the edge of your stool when Jack’s hands abandon their previous positions to land on your waist. The feverishness of his touch makes your head spin. Makes you slip from your stool so you’re standing between his parted thighs. Makes you tug at his curls as he tips his head up to meet your kiss.
When you nibble on his lower lip, Jack loses his restraint. His hands slide back to your waist, down to your hips until they’re cupping the backs of your thighs, encouraging you to climb into his lap. You don’t know how he makes the movement so fluid, how you don’t tumble into him, how he doesn’t lose his balance.
Your lips stay connected in a searing kiss throughout the movements, only breaking when Jack begins to migrate his lips to your jaw, licking and biting and kissing. Further down, until he’s at your neck and your hips are moving down on his crotch on their own accord.
Your blood burns, so does his. And Jack has never felt so young and alive. So electric and feverish for another touch.
Your head lulls back, eyes fluttering closed as your chest heaves with every breath. His salt and pepper stubble scratches deliciously at your skin. You can’t help but grind harder into him, the thought of that sensation further down almost enough to make your brain short circuit.
You feel the wetness of his tongue as Jack licks a stripe up the column of your throat. One hand leaves your hips to rest on the back of your head, to tangle in your hair and angle your face back to his as his lips take yours with even more need and hunger.
Your head is spinning. Your hips are erratic. If you don’t stop now, you won’t stop at all.
“Jack.” Your voice is nothing more than a whimper into his mouth, but you don’t stop kissing him.
Jack hums, grunts, moans—it’s a noise you can’t place but one you can’t get enough of. You whimper his name again, breathless and shaky as you detach your mouth and rest your forehead against his.
He’s panting, eyes closed, jaw clenched.
“I don’t—” you swallow in a heavy breath. “I don’t want to rush this.”
He nods, doesn’t push, doesn’t ask for more. Jack’s hands caress your jaw, his thumbs stroking calming patterns across your cheeks as he catches his breath, reins himself in.
“I know.” His voice is guttural enough that you almost consider fucking off your previous statement. “I don’t want to rush this either.”
For a few moments, you remain in the same position. Eyes closed and foreheads pressed. Jack's hands keep their hold on your face, his thumbs continuing their soothing ministries across your plump skin.
He’s the one to pull away first. Moving his head back just enough so that when he opens his eyes, he can look at you. Big, heavy eyes. Swollen lips. Flushed skin.
His jaw clenches at the sight, a heavy breath audible through his nose. But Jack looks no better. His curls are mussed from your fingers tangling into them, his lips are plumper and a slight smear of your lipgloss tints them pinker.
And his eyes. It sends a shudder through you at the sight of them. Pupils almost blown, hooded and focused on yours.
His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip before he’s moving closer again to brush his nose against yours. Your breath mingles, lips ghosting. It’s like he’s at war with himself. That if he rewards himself with even one more taste of you, he won’t be able to stop.
“I should go.” It’s with pure agony that Jack utters the words.
His voice is both rough and whiny. Like it’s the last thing he really wants to do. But you want to take it slow, so does he. You’re both well aware that if Jack stays for a moment longer, the night will end the way you want it to. Just not in the way either of you need it.
Not like this. Not on the first date. Not with Phoebe in the picture. Not with his beloved wife’s memory to consider.
You nod, clearing your throat as your forehead bumps against his.
“Yeah, okay.” You’re breathless when you agree, voice slightly pained at the notion. But you both know it’s for the best.
You half expect him to kiss you, at least once more. But he doesn’t.
Jack pulls away to avert his gaze, silently helps you clean up the takeout boxes. You don’t tell him he doesn’t need to, don’t tell him you know he’s trying to prolong actually leaving.
You bask in the final few moments together before walking him to the door. He hovers over the threshold, stopping short in the hall. Turns to you as you lean against the doorframe and it’s a mirror image of the night a week ago. At Phoebe's birthday. When he kissed you. Then went silent for three days.
Jack seems to share the same sentiment on the memory because a breathless chuckle escapes him as he moves closer like he did before, as he presses his lips against yours slowly. Savoring the taste of you, the feel of your plump lips against his.
“I’ll call you tomorrow?”
You can’t help the sarcastic look on your face as he utters those same words. His grin morphs into something wider, eyes rolling at your silent tease.
“I promise. No more radio silence after a kiss from me ever again.”
You hum with playfully squinted eyes. Jack mirrors your expression, leans in to kiss you again and you melt into him. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it. Of him.
“Okay. I believe you.”
He hums against your lips at your words until he finally tears himself away from you. Jack licks across his bottom lip, tugs it between his teeth. The sight almost cripples you.
“Get some sleep.”
You nod once, fighting off your grin. “Goodnight, Jack.”
His eyes soften, smirk dwindles into a soft, secret smile. Until he winks at you, leans in to steal yet another kiss that rips a laugh from your throat.
When he pulls away again, Jack’s got a boyish beam across his face. “Night, gorgeous.”
You’re left breathless once again as Jack retreats down the hall. You don’t watch him go, don’t trust that you won’t chase after him and drag him back into your apartment. So you close the door, back pressed against it as you squeeze your eyes shut in pure excitement, gnawing painfully on your bottom lip, but it’s no use hiding your grin.
You carry the smile through your bedtime routine. You miss a few steps, too caught up in your head; replaying every word and kiss and look. Thirty minutes later, when you finally get into bed, your phone is still lighting up with notifications from fans.
And in between them, lies a message from Jack.
You don’t mean for the somersaults in your stomach to start kicking. But you do mean to ignore every notification but his as you unlock your phone.
Jack: Not sure on the dating etiquette these days when it comes to waiting to ask you to go out with me again… but are you free to get breakfast tomorrow morning?
You: miss me already dr. abbot?
Jack: Yes.
Jack: Breakfast tomorrow morning? My treat.
You: dinner was your treat, isn’t the next one meant to be my turn?
Jack: I don’t know what guys you’ve dated in the past. But, fuck no.
Jack: I’m asking you out. I’m paying.
You: hmm
You: i’ll go to breakfast with you. on one condition
Jack: What’s your condition, sweetheart?
You: a pic of sally
Jack: [sent an attachment]
Your grin drops at the photo. A fucking selfie. Jack lays in bed, propped up against his pillow with a gray t-shirt clinging to his skin. Sally lays curled beside him, but she’s the least of your concern right now.
You stare at his arms, the thick muscle and bulging veins as he angles the camera up above him. Crisp white sheets, his other arm curled around the cat with his hand buried into her fur.
You swallow, let your eyes move along to the expanse of his throat and you find yourself regretting not kissing him there like he kissed you. Further up, his mouth quirked at the side in a smile, salt and pepper stubble somehow catching the light.
But it’s when you look at his eyes that you forget how to breathe for a moment. He’s got his fucking readers on, his eyes squinting playfully at the camera through the lenses. Even through a fucking screen his stare is intense. Bores through to your soul and winds it around his fingers.
You feel warmer when you take a moment to realize just how intimate the photo really is. How vulnerable and honest.
Maybe that’s what makes you send a photo back.
You: [sent an attachment]
Jack opens the message and freezes.
A photo. Of you. In your bed.
You’re almost mirroring the one he sent you. But there’s no cat and you aren’t wearing any readers.
No, you’re laying instead of sitting up. Your hair is an unruly mess across the pillows. Your eyes are tired but glistening with mirth. Your smile is crooked, almost shy, and your cheeks are flushed. Jack’s blood roars in his veins.
He lets his eyes dip further down the photo. You’re also not wearing a gray t-shirt like him.
Instead, you’re wearing something tight but flimsy. Spaghetti straps slipping off your pretty little shoulders. The swell of your breasts is far too prominent when you’re lying on your back, and Jack swallows thickly when he notices the pebbling of your nipples.
Jack: You are so beautiful.
You ‘heart’ reacted to a message!
You: goodnight jack, see u in the morning <3
Jack: Goodnight, gorgeous x
He watches the little read receipt appear beneath his message, but no bubbles form at the bottom of the screen. Jack’s eyes flicker back to the photo, finding his thumb clicking on the screen to enlarge the sight of you.
His checkered pyjama pants feel tight against his crotch. He’s not stupid. He feels the blood rush south, feels the discomfort and ache of a neglected erection. Jack sighs shakily, stares at his screen again. He should not be looking. It’s not what you sent him the fucking photo for.
But despite how much he tries, he can’t tear his gaze away. Your soft skin, your supple breasts, your pouty lips.
Sally moves from her position curled against him, blinks beady eyes in his direction before padding her way to the foot of the bed and jumping off to leave the room.
Jack swallows, closes his eyes and practices those military breathing techniques for exactly thirty-four seconds before his eyes are peeling open again.
A soft groan sounds at the back of his throat. It’s an inner battle with his mind. A fight of what he wants and that he shouldn’t.
But he grows harder and more frustrated as the seconds pass and he doesn't have a hand around himself. His eyes squeeze shut, head tilts back against the headboard. Like a silent prayer, a beg for forgiveness.
Then, he’s giving in. Reaching into his nightstand drawer for a bottle of lotion. Squeezes a pump into his hand, drops the phone on his stomach and reaches into the hem of his pyjama pants.
Jack shifts on top of the mattress, lifts his hips to pull the pants down mid-thigh and releases himself with a sigh. One hand reaches for the phone, the other cupping the lotion. He brings his fingertips close to his wrist, skillfully warming the cream until his entire palm is covered with it.
It’s hesitant when he wraps his fist around his cock, a whimper slipping from his lips as he stares at the photo of you on his screen. Your neck, your tits, your lips…
“Oh, fuck.” The whimper escapes him breathlessly.
One pump. Two. Twisting his wrist and tightening his grip. Jack’s chest is heaving with barely contained restraint, eyes locked on the pebbled nubs beneath your shirt.
He lets his mind wander as his pace quickens, lets him imagine himself in bed with you. How he would kiss and lick up your neck again, how your tongue would taste on his.
How Jack wound tug your shirt down for your tits to spill out. How he’d wrap his lips around your nipples, bite them gently, suck them.
“Fuck, baby. So good.” His voice is wrecked, nothing but a guttural whine as he moans.
Jack thinks of how soft they’d be. How he’d knead your breasts in his palms, pinch your left nipple while he sucks on your right. Thinks about how your fingers would tug on his curls, how your hips would buck.
A broken, desperate sound escapes him when he thinks about dipping his hand down your shorts. The slick he’d find, the heat.
The thought of sinking two fingers deep into your pretty little cunt has Jack’s hips spluttering. His fist grows tighter, moves faster. His lungs are struggling to swallow down a real breath.
And he’s coming, embarrassingly fast and needy. Hot white ribbons of arousal that spurt from him desperately, coating his hand.
“Ah, fuck. Baby, oh fuck!”
Jack’s head is thrown back against the headboard, lips parted and eyes squeezed shut as his release hits him like a freight train.
Thoughts of burying his face between your thighs. The taste of you staining his tongue for days.
And when he finally comes down from his high with a sticky hand and burning lungs, Jack can’t help but fucking laugh at himself.
He’s so, so fucked.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT PART
Tag list for this series has grown way too big for me to keep up with so it’s unfortunately CLOSED. You can however follow the #apt.17 tag instead for updates on the series!
OKAY I ALMOST FORGOT TO POST LOL BUT HERE IT IS, i know jack's lil scene was brief but i promise i have so many smut plans to make up for it!!!! also i wanted the focus to be on the date rather than him jerking it off for 1k words LOL next chapter shit hits the fan and we get into some real juicy stuff HAHAHA
Thank you very much for reading! Feedback really means a lot so I would love to hear your thoughts and ideas for where you think this will go!! Reblogs helps to boost stuff for more people to reach so if you enjoyed it please consider reblogging!!
★ summary: jack assures you real men don’t get intimidated by sex toys, infact they can be a man’s best friend
★ pairing: jack abbot x reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, porn without plot, usage of sex toys, unprotected sex, cream pie, overstimulation, squirting
★ word count: 1.5k
★ notes: a short one to keep the masses happy while i suffer horrors🕯️📚
“Babe,” You yelled, fumbling to put your earrings in while rushing through the hallway, “Can you grab my badge? We’re stopping by the hospital, and the last thing I need is Gloria starting her shit if we enter through the bay.”
Jack hollers back a short yes, and you hear the multiple drawers opening and closing. You almost roll your eyes at him, knowing it’s in your dresser drawer, but he was undoubtedly looking everywhere but.
It’s silent for a minute, too silent as you slip your shoes on. The soft click of your heels is the only noise in your house as you investigate what exactly is taking your boyfriend so long.
“Jack-”
You’re stopped in your tracks as you walk into your shared room. Jack is sitting on your side of the bed, your brand-new pink vibrator resting heavily in his hands. His eyes were investigating it as if it were a foreign object. His thumb pressed the on button, making the toy come to life violently in his hands, completely oblivious to you in the doorway.
“What are you doing?” You squealed, running towards him, ready to snatch it out of his hands. Before you even get close, he holds it above his head almost mockingly.
There’s a shit-eating grin on his face as he waves the toy around. “What is this?”
“It’s,” You start, your mouth going dry, “It’s nothing, give it back.”
He doesn’t seem at all bothered by your flustered cheeks. “Definitely not nothing. When did you get this?”
“Last week.” You grumbled, arms crossing over your chest, “When Santos and I went out.”
He makes a noise and opens his mouth to speak before you start stumbling over your words.
“It’s just for nights you work late.” You defend yourself, “I’ve only used it a couple times; it’s embarrassing, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-”
The toy clicks off, and Jack’s demeanor shifts. “Baby, you don’t think I’m insecure over this $50 piece of plastic, do you?”
Your shoulders fall a little in relief. “I don’t know.” You mumble shyly, “My ex hated the idea of sex toys, said they meant he wasn’t good enough.”
“Honey,” he scoffs, tossing the toy into the sheets and taking a step towards you. “Real men don't give a shit about this.”
“I know, I know.” You breathed out.
“I was only teasing; I never, ever want you to be embarrassed about you seeking out your own pleasure.” He added on.
“It’s not like our sex is bad,” You assured him, and watched that smirk grow back on his lips.
“Yeah, I know that-” He’s cut off with a playful shove to his chest, his arms wrapping around your hips.
“Hey,” He whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your painted lips, “I know you have a higher sex drive than me; it’s all part of dating an old man.”
“Yeah, but you’re my old man.”
“Just tell me next time, honey.” He smiled, thumbs rubbing circles into the satin fabric clinging to your curves. “Hell, I’ll give you my card; you buy whatever you want. Whatever makes my girl feel good.”
“I love you.” You whispered against his lips, kissing him a little harder before you pulled back. “But we’re gonna be late. So put that back.”
“Oh, come on.” He tried to pull you back against him. “It’s a stupid fundraiser; we can be a little late.”
“Yeah?” You mocked, “You said that last time, and I ended up having to redo my makeup, and Robby never lets us live it down.”
He pouted, “Fine, fine.”
Jack puts the toy back in its home inside the silk dustbag, and it’s mostly forgotten about. Life goes on as usual. The whole incident is swallowed by the mundane rhythm of the week, lost beneath early mornings, long shifts, takeout dinners, and laundry that sits in the basket a day longer than it should. Work has always had a way of consuming both of you until the days blur together.
It isn’t until late one night, the house quiet aside from the fan Jack couldn’t sleep without. The two of you were pressed against each other. Clothes long since discarded, his lips still wet from where he made you cum twice with his mouth alone. Sweat lined your skin as you wrapped your legs around his hips, urging him to press himself deep into you.
“Don’t think I’m gonna last long, sweetheart,” Jack murmured shyly, making you shrug. You knew of Jack’s capabilities; some days were better than others. None of that mattered to you, not while your body was still loopy in his hold from all the orgasms he’d already pulled from you.
“Don’t care.” You whimpered, trying to pull him to your entrance. “Just wanna feel you inside of me.”
Who was Jack to deny you that pleasure?
He adjusted his hips, pressing his tip against your entrance, letting his cock slip deep inside of you. Both of you shuddered in pleasure, hands gripping each other as a lifeline as you threw your head back. His thrusts were slow and hard, his tip hitting the spot inside of you that made you see stars.
You were lost in the haze of pleasure until his thrusts began to slow, and you felt his body lean over the side of the bed.
“Jack?” You mumbled, eyes fluttering open to see him rummaging around your nightstand until he came back up with the infamous pink vibrator in his grasp.
“Jack-”
“Shhh,” He whispered, leaning back a little to give himself space to press the cold plastic against your clit. “Wanna make you cum around me.”
“Oh, my god.” You mumbled, watching him circle the head around your clit before the button was switched on.
The sensation had your hips flying off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulder blades. Between the vibrations on your clit and the steady rock of his hips nudging that spot inside of you, you could barely keep your eyes open.
“H-holy fuck, Jack.” You cried out, as his eyes watched you mewl in pleasure beneath him. You were so full, and the stimulation was pushing you closer to the edge faster than you ever could on your own.
“I know, honey.” He cooed, his free hand gripping your hips to keep you stuffed full of him. “God, you’re fucking soaked. Jus’ dripping everywhere.”
“D-don’t stop,” You cried, your fingers gripping his shoulders and then the sheets. Fisting them harshly in your hands, anything to ground yourself as the sensation threatened to pull you under. “Oh, J-ack-“
“You gonna cum for me already?” Jack grunted, nearly teetering off of his own edge as you fluttered around him. Suckling him in so deep he could barely keep up his thrusts.
Your head felt heavy, a string of moans of his name leaving your lips as you managed to give him a faint nod.
“Yeah, you are. Can fucking feel it.” The vibrator was turned up one more setting, making goosebumps rise on your skin as the waves crashed over you.
“Let go, baby.” He cooed, “It’s gonna feel so good, just breathe.”
“O-oh, my god.”
He kept talking you through it, your legs trembling around him as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. As soon as your body went limp, Jack could feel it. Your cunt throbbed uncontrollably, a thick spray of release escaping out of your heat as you screamed out.
He didn’t stop, pressing himself deep into you as he chased his own high. The wet sounds of your bodies slapping together made him drop the vibrator on the bed as he came with his own guttural shout, filling you full of him.
”M’god.” You choked out, your body writhing uncontrollably from underneath him. Each slight movement making shots of pleasure shoot through you. “Jack, Jack.”
“I got you,” He cooed, pulling you close to him as you came down from your high. “I know, that was intense, huh?”
“Hmm.” You mumbled, enjoying the sensation of his cock softening inside of you as the two of you caught your breath.
“Oh, baby.” Jack let out a winded laugh, pulling himself out of you slowly. “Fuck, we gotta do that again.”
You could barely speak, letting out a soft giggle and a nod. “S’good.”
Your body was still pliant and boneless as he pulled you into his arms. Your head finding it’s home on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. “I love you so much, always so good for me.”
“Hmm. Love you more.” You respond, pressing a gentle kiss to his pec.
Before you could lay your head back down, you paused. Once out of your post-orgasmic haze, the soft sound of buzzing came back to both of you. You both looked at each other in realization, letting out soft hysterical giggles as you leaned over the side of the bed to see the vibrator buzzing around frantically on the floor.
“Oh my god-”
“That’s my new friend.” Jack laughed, leaning down to scoop up the toy. “Huh, man’s best friend. Maybe it was never a dog-“
I’m sorry, but if you’re like p!link for Jack and/or Robby and it’s some conventionally attractive guy in his 20’s/30’s who looks nothing like Shawn Hatosy or Noah Wyle, yeah, I’m gonna be pissed
pope goes to smurf's house only to find you playing dress-up in lingerie
bet u wanna MEET THE READER! ── .✦ °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
MASTERLIST | RULES | PINTEREST
PAIRING pope cody x bunny!reader
WARNING 18+ MDNI explicit language, sexual tension, male-gaze objectification, lingerie/revealing clothing, voyeuristic framing, possessive behavior, jealous pope, power imbalance (age & authority), internal monologue with some violent thoughts, smurf's coercive caretaking, family dysfunction/toxic dynamics, obsessive attraction
WC 2k
Well, that sucked.
By the time Pope gets back, the rush has leeched out, leaving only that deep-kernel ache that seats itself behind his eyes and chews on the hinges of his knees.
Two straight hours of Craig’s bullshit. Handling one of his messes: steal a box truck, ditch it by the frontage weeds, ferry a duffel that sloshes like loose change in hell.
And that kid — peach-fuzz jaw, barely old enough to drive, hands rattling on the wheel — kept chirping, They get the plate? You think the cops got the plate? Until Pope finally told him to Shut the fuck up.
It should’ve been simple. And it was. But now his shoulders have ratcheted up to his ears, boots scraped with dried roadside clay, and something electric still zings along the wire of his veins, buzzing rest right out of reach even while his muscles sag for it.
He ought to drive to his own apartment. Strip, shower, face-plant into bed. Instead, he hooks the wheel into Smurf’s driveway, jaw hooking and unhooking as the tires snap and grind.
His place has felt wrong lately. Like stepping into a church long after the candles are snuffed, all the heat siphoned off, air too neat, too unlived-in.
He skips the confession that he knew you’d be here tonight.
You’d told him earlier you were going over to Smurf’s after dinner, helping finish month-end paperwork for one of the Cody businesses because half the receipts were missing, the books didn’t match, and Smurf liked having someone patient enough to untangle the mess without asking too many questions.
Pope kills the engine and sits there for a second, both fists locked on the wheel, eyes tracking the jaundiced porch light as if it might blink out.
The notion of finding you perched on the counter, hair pulled back, tongue caught between your teeth while you tame Smurf’s math brings him a molecule of relief.
Maybe if he can stand close enough, let that warmth bleed off you and into him, that static in his body will finally ebb.
But when he steps inside the kitchen he doesn’t find you there.
Instead the room is empty except for a lamp left on and a stack of folders spread across the island.
He’s halfway to calling your name when your voice drifts down the hallway.
“No, I don’t know if this one fits right.” A heartbeat of silence, Smurf’s gravelly reply lost in drywall, then you again, soft and rueful: “It’s weird in the shoulders.”
His boots are already angling down the hall before the thought finishes forming. A prickle climbs the back of his neck. Pre-impact warning, he thinks.
He rounds the doorway and when he sees you, the whole room seems to swim in distorted colors.
Every sane impulse collapses into a pinhole centered on you. Balance? Shot. Vision? Down to one shaky frame. All he can do is absorb the hit and pray his face doesn’t show it.
You’re standing barefoot in the glow of Smurf’s vanity lights, one arm over your chest, gigglinh a little while Smurf fusses with the back clasp of a dove-gray lingerie set that leaves most of your spine exposed.
Lace webs your hips, throwing sparks of silver thread catching every twitch of light, sketching a glittered arrow that drags Pope’s gaze downward before he can marshal a single thought.
His palms twitch, desperate to chart every raw continent of skin in front of him. He’s never seen this much of you outside a bathing suit.
His zipper strains as his cock twitches in his jeans.
And still he’s motionless, swallowing hard, worship curdling into something closer to panic because if you turn and see what’s in his eyes, you’ll know things he’s barely admitted to himself.
You twist, a startled little oh hitching out as gravity helps sink the lace a fraction to frame your breasts in shadowed leafwork.
Pope’s eyes bite down, brutal and starving, then wrenches upward to your face, forcing itself past you to Smurf.
She waits with that fox-like smile, the one that says she laid the snare hours ago and knew exactly which wolf would step into it.
“What the fuck is this?” he barks.
“Langauge.” Smurf reminds, tapping your hip like you’re a showroom dummy.
“You got her parading around like that in the middle of the house?”
“She’s not parading,” Smurf corrects. “We were having fun.”
You hunch your shoulders like a breeze just cut through, never mind that the motion only lofts your chest higher in the fabric, and offer him a sheepish half-smile.
“Smurf was just helping me pick out some… stuff,” you say, as if the word covers feathers and dynamite alike.
Stuff. Harmless, cute, nothing to see. At least that’s the story you seem to be trying to sell.
What use do you have for lingerie? Especially the kind that looks like sin stitched up?
A boyfriend? Somebody you’re texting while he’s too busy mopping up Craig’s mistakes to notice? Far as he knows you’re not seeing anyone, but the idea of that sweetness wrapped up for anyone else pours molten lead straight into his head.
“You don’t need —” he falters, fingers flexing like they might crumple the air — “stuff like that.”
He knows it’s a selfish claim. The idea that lingerie is pointless unless he is the one unhooking it, unless his mouth is the one to learn every inch of you that the fabric covers. Anything that decadent belongs behind a door he locks, the key warm in his fist, an invitation meant for him alone.
Smurf lifts a single painted brow. “Need’s got nothin’ to do with it, baby. A girl gets to feel pretty just because.”
Pope scoffs.
“She’s already plenty pretty —” His eyes flick to you. “ — you’re already… you’re fine without all this.” He swings his glare back to Smurf. “Whatever game this is, it’s not what you hired her for. Cut it out.”
You wet your lips, nervously looking between the two Codys. “Pope, it’s okay.”
His name, or the semblance of it (he’s not sure you even know his real name at this point), from your lips while you’re dressed like this feels like blasphemy.
In an instant he’s seeing the bodysuit rolled down slow, edges snagging on goose-bumped thighs while you try to stay modest, him kissing away the apologies that rise in your throat, laying you back across the vanity bench so he can have his way with you.
Sweat beads at his hairline. He pinches his nose, swallows broken glass. “Go put somethin’ else on.”
“Don’t bark orders at her,” Smurf chides, the words lazy.
He pretends he didn’t hear her; only when his eyes meet yours do they soften, apology threaded through the glare. “Go on, please.”
You nod at that and hurry back down the hall. Pope’s body tilts to follow the sway of your hips before he yanks it still until the bathroom lock snicks closed.
When he turns, Smurf is already studying him the way a jeweler studies a flawed diamond, looking for cracks, head tipped, eyes sharp.
He offers nothing, no twitch of the mouth or flinch, just the blank slate he’s spent years perfecting.
She finally concedes and pushes off the dresser.
“Think I’ll fix myself a sandwich,” she murmurs, “Try not to devour the poor girl before I’m back.”
Her hand lands on Pope’s chest in a mock-pat; he jerks away and she chuckles low as she saunters past him, heels clicking all the way down the hall.
He wipes a palm down his jeans, trying to scrape off the phantom of her touch.
Devour — that’s her word, not his. And as much as he wants to do that, what he feels for you is bigger than hunger.
It’s blueprints and scaffolding, a whole cathedral of intention he barely dares to name. Smurf can’t fathom that depth. She pokes at the surface and calls it knowledge, never understanding the miles of dark water beneath.
The bathroom door creaks open and you step out, head ducked, hands smoothing a cotton sundress the color of lemon ice.
The hem flutters modestly around your knees, though you still tug it lower.
“Sorry,” you breathe, a nervous puff of air.
The word pricks at him. He wants to say there’s nothing to be sorry for, that the fault lies in his own head, in Smurf’s games, in every inch of distance he keeps for your sake.
A knot in his shoulders eases. “Don’t apologize.”
It’s a stupid thing to say, because after the way he’s treated you, how would you know you didn’t have to?
He presses the heel of his hand over his mouth, scrubbing like he could wipe the taste of the whole night away. His eyes flick to the dirt still crusted on his boots, grit he suddenly can’t stand around you, and scuffs one sole against the other as if that’ll fix anything.
“C’mere.” The request is low, ragged, and you obey without hesitation. Always a good listener for him.
As you step into the slice of light between you, he lifts one broad hand, slowing it at the last second to straighten the twisted strap at your collarbone.
His touch is rough in theory, calloused pads snagging silk, but in practice it’s feather-light, reverent, as though he’s afraid you’ll bruise if he breathes too hard.
The tiny contact is a fuse and a salve all at once. The instant your warmth bleeds into him the restless buzz he’s been carrying dims, a far-off generator finally cut.
He draws back just enough to meet your eyes. “You don’t gotta let her play dress-up with you like that.”
“I don’t mind — honest,” you say, giving a tiny shrug.
“I mind,” he says, the line grating rough. Even he seems surprised by the bite, lips pressing thin as he exhales.
Your shoulders dip. “You didn’t like it?”
The downward curve of your mouth guts him. He curses under his breath.
“I… yeah, I liked it.” Too damn much, he thinks. “...It’s just the kind of thing that’s supposed to be private, y’know? Meant for one set of eyes.”
“Private as in… like, saved for a boyfriend?”
He schools his face, but inside he’s turning over every recent memory, searching for the invisible man who might already have his hands on you.
“Yeah… like for a boyfriend,” he murmurs. “And only when you’re good and ready. Don’t let some jerk fast-talk you into giving him what he hasn’t earned.”
“He wouldn’t,” you say, like the question never existed.
Your eyes lift to his like you’re lining up a target, lashes barely fluttering.
There’s no shimmer of shyness now. Just concentrated fire, sliding over his cheekbones, jawline, the slight stubble he didn’t bother shaving. It feels like you’re pocketing measurements for later, mapping angles with the same precision he uses to load a round.
Hallway light glints off your pupils, then pools into rich shadow.
Pope’s next breath sticks in his throat; he isn’t used to being seen like this — like the whole world has funneled down to just him, and you’re perfectly happy living inside that narrow beam.
And it’s strange when you just confirmed his suspicions. Proof there is someone out there who’s already earned that privilege, someone so gentle you can declare his goodness without blinking.
It should reassure him. Instead it tastes like rust and gun-oil, sparks off a terrible instinct that wants a name, an address, a reason to break knuckles until the picture stops existing.
Possession floods his lungs. He forces it down, masks the scorch as nothing more than a normal breath.
“Good,” he manages through grit teeth. “Just… promise me you’ll keep your eyes open. People aren’t always what they say.”
Your fingers toy with the strap he’d fixed. “Promise.”
Your gaze drops briefly to his mouth, just a flicker, before sliding back up, a soft smile playing at the corners as if you know a secret he hasn’t caught.
Something in it says the good man you vouched for is already standing here, but Pope’s too busy counting heartbeats to see the answer staring him down.
MARIA NOTE thank u for reading!!!!! u get a gold star and a juice box !! if u r craving more bunny antics (or want pope to suffer in new and interesting ways), requests are open!! and reminder that feedback feeds the gremlins, and the gremlins write the fics :-) 💛⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ 🌼
summary: after the death of your parents you have to take on their role at the High Family annual celebrations but you have no idea what kind of family you were born into. Titus is well aware of who you are and will stop at nothing to get his hands on you
content/warnings: inappropriate relationship, unspecified age gap, dirty talk, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, breeding kink, pet names, death, murder, human sacrifice, virgin!reader, no use of y/n NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY!
wc: 3.5k
notes: sorry this is darker than what I usually write but it felt right for our boy Titus...also like suspend your disbelief okay, they get married right away!
Titus remembers the first time he saw you. You were with your parents, now an adult, you were being newly introduced to the world of Mr Le Bail. But they sheltered you, Titus remembers that. You really had no idea what kind of family you were born into.
They sheltered you from sacrifices and hunts. Until a car crash tragically ended their lives. And now you were the head of the family. Which means that you have to attend all the major ceremonies. And that's why you are standing in the Lodge on a Midsummer's evening in a beautiful white dress. You like a sacrificial lamb. But no, you're not the sacrifice tonight. That would never do.
Titus watches as you clutch your champagne flute and look around the room in confusion. He walks over to you, well aware that he is one of the most intimidating presences in the room. He notices how you wilt before him. Nerves taking over your body.
"Are you enjoying yourself?" he asks.
It's his family who are hosting the party afterall. He has to be a good host. He can feel his twin sister, Ursula's, eyes on him. What is he doing?
You smile shyly at him and nod your head.
"Of course, Mr Danforth. Thank you so much for inviting me. I know you were friends with my parents," you say.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Titus responds.
He's not. He'll get to see a lot more of you now that you have to attend the ceremonies.
"Is this your first Midsummer ceremony?" he asks.
You pause before quirking your lips, "Ceremony?"
Titus chuckles to himself. Oh your parents really did not clue you in on anything. His eyes scan your outfit, pretty dress and heels. You look good enough to eat...but it doesn't really work for the hunt that is about to take place.
A midsummer sacrifice is due. Sometimes that is delivered right to the altar, a throat sliced and the blood drawn in seconds. But the Danforths like the drama of a chase through the woods. The sacrifice is never going to escape. But the adrenaline is worth it. But there's no way you can chase through the forest in the outfit you're wearing.
"Did your parents not explain?" Titus queries with a cock of his head. His tone more mocking than sweet.
You shake your head but before the older man in front of you can explain a horn sounds out. You jump, your hand reaching out for the Danforth heir.
Titus preens when you grip him for stability. Oh, his precious lamb. He'll take care of you.
Ursula's voice trills out, "Come along, Titus."
"Where are we going?" you ask as you follow him like a lost puppy.
Titus doesn't want to ruin your innocence. But this is the reality of this life, the life you were born into. He wants to offer to allow you to stay in the Lodge. However, he can hear his sister remind him that all families must take part in the festivities.
"Out to the woods," he simply gruffs out.
You try to keep up with him. You've been watching him for years. He's so handsome, so off-limits. But his strides are longer than yours and you're wearing heels. You thought you were just attending a party. But you're traipsing out into the chilly Midsummer air and out to the woods. And you gasp when you see a figure in front of you. A man bound on his knees and blindfolded.
"What is this?" you breathe, almost to yourself.
You flinch when you see the way Titus' face lights up at the sight before him. Another horn sounds and the bound man's blindfold is pulled off. In a split second he takes off running.
You grip Titus' arm, as he is only person who has spoken to you all night.
"What's going on?" you desperately beg.
He looks at you with a softness now, "Oh my little lamb, the hunt. You must know about our traditions?"
You simply shake your head as another horn goes off. These stupid horns!
"You have to catch him, little lamb."
And with that, Titus stomps off into the forest. You look around as everyone else takes off. There is no way you're doing this. You turn on your heels and start to rush back to the Lodge. But a man in robes stops you.
"Ma'am, it is in your contract that you must take part in the hunt. You are the head of your family, the only person able to represent your lineage. If you don't do this, well, Mr Le Bail won't be happy," the man says as he clutches a huge leatherbound book to his chest.
"Who is Mr Le Bail?" you ask with huge eyes.
The man gives you a look that you can only describe as pity.
"Run...that way," he simply says pointing towards the forest. "Or it won't just be one sacrifice tonight."
You whimper before you do as he says. Your heart is racing and you can feel tears prick your eyes. You have no intention of killing anyone if that's what the robed man is suggesting. But you don't want to die either. So you take your chances in the woods. Until you come face to face with the, well, sacrifice.
"You're not gonna kill me, bitch," he snarls as he lunges at you.
You fall onto the leaf-covered ground with the strange man on top of you. Oh God, he's going to kill you. You're going to die. You scream out as his body becomes even heavier on you and something wet and hot is seeping over you. Your eyes open to see the full moon overhead, illuminating another figure. Titus is standing there, his warhammer dug deep into the back of the man who's entire weight is now on you.
Titus kicks the body off you, allowing you to scramble to your feet. Your white dress stained with blood. Titus feels the stir of his cock in his pants at the sight before him. His beautiful sacrificial lamb.
"Thank you," you gasp, rushing into his arms.
He wraps his thick arms around you, kissing the top of your head. Oh his precious girl. He isn't going to let anything bad happen to you. The fact you don't flinch when his lips press to your hair just emboldens him.
He breathes your name after a moment and you look up at him.
"You're not a hunter, sweet girl," he tells you, smoothing down your hair. And you shake your head as tears finally roll down your cheeks.
"You know there's a way to exclude you from the hunts. But...But it's quite the step."
You look at him, doe-eyed and willing.
"If you married someone from the families here tonight, you would be a member of their family. And you wouldn't have to hunt or attend Mr La Bail's ceremonies," he says, as he stroke the tears away from your cheek.
"Marry?" you echo.
Titus coos and nods his head, "Yes, little lamb. Marriage is the only way. Join a new family."
"Who would marry me, Mr Danforth?" you ask, your voice still shaky.
He chuckles, "Well, I'm sure there are so many options for you. But there is only one correct family to join. The Danforths are the most powerful. We hold the High Seat of the Council. Become a Danforth, rule the world, little lamb."
He can feel you shiver against him. The idea of the power going straight through your body.
"Marry you?" you ask then.
He nods his head in return. He knows he's much older than you. He knows that a beauty like you deserves a proper proposal. But he's wanted you since he saw you, and he has the opportunity now.
"When?" you continue.
"Well everyone is here tonight. I could make you a blushing bride right now," he all but growls as his grip on you tightens.
You whimper at the intensity of it all. You should run. You should push him away. This is crazy. You just watched him kill a man. And now he wants to marry you. You don't even know this man. You've only met him a handful of times.
But you don't do any of that. Instead, you let Titus draw you towards him. Let him press his lips against yours, gasp out at the taste of him. Titus growls out in response. He walks you back, pressing your back against the rough bark of a tree. He's all but rutting against you in the forest, blood still hot on your dress.
It takes all of his strength to pull away from you. This is not how he's going to take you for the first time. No. No. He can wait until his ring is heavy on your hand.
And the best part of the wedding is that you won't have to play some stupid game. No. You're already a follower of Mr La Bail. You will just be Titus'.
He takes your hand and walks you back towards the Lodge, finding the man in the robes. Titus simply calls him The Lawyer. You're whisked upstairs and you are bathed in lavender water. Your hair fixed, as is your tear-ruined makeup. Your white dress is replaced with a lavish black one. And you meet Titus underground in front of a bloodstained altar. You don't comment on this. You're too caught up in the idea of being his wife.
While Titus has watched you year after year, you have been just as enthralled with him. Your father tutted about what a strange family the Danforths were. Made salacious comments about why the twins never married. But you saw Titus. Saw how handsome he was. How, well, needy he was. And you wanted to give everything to him.
And with two words, rings placed on fingers and another searing kiss you shed your old skin and became a Danforth. Mrs Danforth. The wife of the most powerful man in the world. Although you weren't aware of that. Your parents truly had shielded you from the realities of the deals they had made. Even though you were a grown woman.
Ursula had cornered her twin brother earlier, scolding him for turning the night into his twisted plan. How could he marry a girl he didn't even know? She spat the word girl, letting him know she was unhappy with the obvious age gap between the two of you. But Titus would not be cowed by his sister. Not when he was finally getting the one thing that he wanted.
You.
Being a Danforth came with traditions and Titus had grown to love keeping traditions alive. So after he was allowed to kiss his bride, he had one thought in mind - consummating the marriage.
He carries you across the threshold of his bedroom in the Lodge. You giggle at how easily he hauls you into his arms. He places you back down on your feet and circles you like a wolf circling its prey.
"You look like a vision," he tells you as he comes back again to stand in front of you.
The black dress isn't what you envisioned for your wedding day but none of the night has been what you planned. You didn't intend to walk out of the party with a husband. But Titus had bewitched you. You weren't sure you could say no to him ever.
"But the dress really needs to come off," he says with a tut.
You move your hands to start to undo the ties at the front of the corset but he swats you away. Instead he pulls a knife from under his jacket and presses the tip under your chin. Your lip quivers as you look at him. Surely he didn't do all of this just to kill you?
You try not to think about the heat that is blossoming in your stomach at his action.
He hums as he meets your eyes before dragging the knife down your throat, not hard enough to cut you but enough for you to feel it. The cool metal drags over your chest and the swell of your breast. You whimper when he strengthens his force on the knife when it meets the fabric of the dress and with one sharp movement, the dress is cut from you. He pushes it off until you're standing in your undergarments.
This elicits a low, satisfied hum from your new husband.
"Pretty lamb," he growls, cupping the back of your head and crashing your lips together.
He walks you back until the back of your legs hit the plush blanket covering his bed. And with one swift movement, you're on the bed with Titus hovering over you.
His kisses are becoming more desperate, more sloppy. His tongue is exploring every inch of your mouth, and drool is rolling down your chin. And your core is on fire. He chuckles when he feels your hips rock upwards in desperation.
"Needy baby," he growls, kissing you once more. "Has anyone ever had you before?"
You shake your head. Your parents had drilled into your head the importance of finding the one. That and one too many Disney movies. While you'd dated in the past, everyone had been a dud. And this knowledge fills Titus with pure glee. He could click his heels together!
His hands move to massage your breasts over your lacy bra. He lets out contented little grunts as he teases your nipples before impatience takes over him and he rips the fabric from your body. One thing you'll learn about your new husband is that he doesn't like to wait. And he's waited so long for you.
He wants to ram his aching cock inside you but he knows that you're such a delicate thing. You wouldn't like that. Not at first. But you'll get used to taking him whenever he pleases. But not for your first time. No, he spends an embarassingly longtime sucking at your tits, leaving marks all over your skin. You can feel your arousal completely soak through your panties. Your thighs are soaked now.
"All for me?" he asks as he pulls your panties down your legs.
He would tear them off but this way he gets to inspect your pretty little pussy better.
"Spread for me, baby," he says giving your thigh a sharp slap before you open your legs.
"Good. Keep them like that. Good girl," he tells you as he steps off the bed to undress himself.
While he was impatient to get you naked, there is no rush in his undressing. He takes every item off slowly, folding them and putting them to the side. Until he's standing there in all his glory. You need to touch him, drag your nails over his freckled skin. But he tuts when you start to move.
"Be a good girl," he says giving your pussy a smack.
You should be embarrassed by the wet sound that echoes through the room. But you can't bring yourself to be. You just whine, keeping your legs spread for him. He smirks at you, like the big bad wolf that he is and hooks your legs over his sunkissed shoulders.
He places kisses over your stomach and thighs before diving into your cunt. And Titus eats you like a man starved. He sticks his tongue inside you before suckling at your clit before dragging his tongue over your aching folds. He repeats these movements until you're squirming under him. His thick hands grip your thighs, holding you against him.
"Cum for me, pretty girl," he demands.
And, as if on command, you do. Soaking his face, the silver of his stubble glistening with your release.
"Oh my little lamb, you taste utterly sinful."
Your eyes don't leave his weeping cock. He's huge - thick and long. You're not sure he's going to fit. But Titus has no doubt as he crawls back up your body. See, he knows that you're made for him. And he's not wasting any more time. He presses the blunt head of his cock against your opening. Even this feels like heaven...
He dips his head into the crook of your neck before he slowly, inch by torturous inch, presses inside you. You whimper and whine, squirming under him. He gives your ass a smack, a warning to stop moving. And finally he bottoms out.
"So fucking tight. The most perfect pussy. All for me," he tells you.
You both watch each other, chests heaving for a moment before he finally starts thrusting. Titus is not a patient man and he can feel your body's resistance to his movements. But he can't go slow like this forever. His hands tighten on your hips as he pulls them upwards so he can go deeper before he rocks his hips harder...faster...
Your screams of pleasure bounce off the walls as he takes what he needs from you. There's a burning sensation, the feeling of being pulled apart for the first time. But it is overwhelmed by how good this feels. Every pull of his cock sends shivers down your spine. And soon your eyes are rolling back in your head as you reach your second orgasm of the night. And it won't be your last.
No, Titus has plans for you.
The way your already tight pussy clenches around him as you cum forces him to stop. He physically can't move. It's enough to have him seeing stars. But not yet.
He pulls out of you, flipping you onto your stomach.
"Hands and knees, princess," he growls in your ear.
And you do just as he says. He gives you enough time to find your balance before he's driving into you again. The sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, the wetness of your cunt echoes around the walls and it's joined by your cries of pleasure and his low grunts as he drills into you. His rough hand snakes around and grips your neck. Pulling your back up against his chest.
A third orgasm overwhelms you making your vision go bleary as your whole body shakes. This time when your pussy clamps down on Titus he has no choice but to follow you over the edge. He fills you with ropes of cum. You didn't know someone could cum that much.
He lets you fall onto the bed, but he's not going to let his seed go to waste. No. When he pulls his cock out of you, he replaces it with two fingers.
"Need you to give me an heir, little lamb. Think I can fuck a baby into you tonight?" he growls in your ear.
All you can do is nod. Already fucked out. But you know that Titus' night has just begun.
"What a pretty fuckin' pussy you have," he tells you as he lazily pumps his fingers in and out of you.
He can feel the familiar quiver of your walls. Your fourth orgasm is fast approaching. He feels it as he breathes, "And all I had to do to get it was kill your useless fuckin' parents."
His words send your world upside down. He tells you as you're cumming. What a cruel, cruel man. He's killed your parents to get to you. And you've signed your life away to him.
"Oh pretty girl," he says pulling his fingers out and offering you them to suck. "Don't look so horrified, we both know that deep down you knew."
You open your mouth and let him press his fingers inside. You suck them clean as your eyes meet his. Did you? Did you know this man murdered your only family so he could marry you? Did it matter as you lay completely fucked out in his bed?
You were the most powerful woman in the world... Could you hate him for giving you that?
Titus watches as the gears shift in your head.
"Pretty girl. Smart girl. Precious girl," he breathes, kissing over your skin. "You stay by my side and you'll never want for anything again. Or you join your parents...What do you say?"
You look at him then. It's not much of a choice...but even if it were you had made it when you gripped his arm in the woods all those hours ago. You could never say no to Titus. So you just pull him down for a kiss. And you can feel how he smirks against your lips.
"Now, you should get used to this room because you're not leaving until I get you fuckin' pregnant," he snarls.
hii, can you please write about rabbot with a AuDHD reader? tysm for taking the time!
If this is ass im sorry.
If you happen to work alongside Jack for night shifts or Robby for day shifts they are constantly keeping you on track, whether it be you went to send in labs and got distracted remembering you are hungry. Or you go to check on one patient then remember another and another and get stuck in a loop running back and forth before one of them stops you. They are very good at giving you a schedule to keep to so your executive function doesn’t get the better of you.
Now talking to certain patients can be difficult for you and when one of them notices they immediately offer their help. Sometimes you graciously accept and other times you fight through it, either way they always offer the help. They know to step in however if you start to over share a little too much like when you attempt to explain to a patient complaining about her boyfriend to you that you in fact have 2 boyfriends.
The way they know it’s been a bad shift for you is when they find you in the break room, sat sometimes in a chair at the table but more often than not you are sat on the floor. The cold tile grounding you as you try to regulate yourself with all the lights shut off. They don’t take it personally if you get mad at them, tears in your eyes as you try explaining what is wrong. They know to take you home either leave you to your own devices to calm down or ask them for theirs. Your favorite way of calming down is being squeezed between the two of them. The deep pressure of them hugging you tightly and the weight of two grown men half laid on your chest is a great weighted blanket substitute.
If you are gone for a long period of time during shift they know they can find you in the storage closet or break room organizing stuff because you ended up hyperfocused on it, forgetting all about your other tasks.
Sorry this is short, i dont know much about adhd and autism together like how one effects the other and you didn’t ask for anything specific so sorry! Still hope you enjoy.
What right do married, fathers of two, over the age of 50 have to be so hot????? You’ve already secured your bloodline, save some attractiveness for the rest of us!!!!
you’ve always pegged TITUS DANFORTH as somewhat naive, an observation that struck you most whenever he was trying his hardest to embody the legacy he was groomed to uphold: that of a ruthless successor. makes sense, really; titus has spent his entire life scrambling for a scrap of approval from his father, while remaining forced to play second fiddle to his twin’s vicious brilliance. resentment combined with the need to prove he isn’t the failure chester hints him to be creates a feedback loop: to dominate and please.
with his hands knotted in your hair before shoving your face into the mattress, the pace titus forces upon you is nothing short of bestial. sometimes, he’ll bite down on your shoulder without preamble, deriving a sadistic pleasure from your pained yelp, or he’ll slip his tongue into your ear before sucking on the lobe. showing you his “love”—or whatever his understanding of it.
beneath the aggression lies an aching desire for validation. at his age, his body doesn’t always want to cooperate with his ego; it takes him several humiliating minutes of grinding to harden enough to fuck you with the gusto he demands of himself. and when he finally pushes inside, he drives so deep it feels as though he’s attempting to carve himself into your very womb. every time he grunts and slams his weight down, you can sense his want for you to tell him he’s too much, that he’s breaking you. more often than not, he’ll flip you onto your back in the final, blissful seconds before sheathing himself to the hilt in one single thrust. the coarse, bristling sensation of his pubes raking against your sensitive mound. whimpering as he finishes with his cock twitching deep within you.
summary – john shen is in infuriatingly calm, and most of it is because of you.
warnings – angst, fluff and smut. this is pure filth, basic pwp. normal hospital gore and brief mentions of domestic violence. sub!shen and dom!reader, edging, oral (both receiving), handjob, penetration, praise, finger sucking, name calling/use of honorifics (miss, baby, honey, good boy) use of lube and sex toy and aftercare.
she/her pronouns and afab!reader. reader is described to have soft stomach, enough to squish it and hair long enough to be tied. other than that, no specific descriptions of body type, race or ethnicity. all lowercase for styling purposes.
a/n – i’m a simple gal, i listen to a song and think “huh, what if i made shen a subby mess and edged him the fuck out?” but honestly, there’s something about gooey that sets the perfect mood for me and always made me want to write something like this for someone, i just didn’t have the person for it yet. i’ve been sitting on this one for a while now and i think i had to get mad at myself to finally finish it. also, sorry if it feels a bit wonky as i wrote the second half slightly hungover. i hope you guys like it!
dividers by @/uzmacchiato
some days, john shen questions his choice of profession.
it seems contradictory given his infuriatingly calm personality, but it does happen after certain shifts and today was one of those. trauma after trauma came in all night; car crashes, a couple of auto versus pedestrian cases, a case of domestic violence that he actually had to hold jack back, otherwise he would become the only night shift attending for a while, just to name a few. but the cherry on top was the MCI that hit the early hours of the morning, just a couple hours before he was supposed to head home.
a boarding school electrical system short circuited while everyone was asleep and fire rapidly spread. it happened around the dormitory area, and it was already too late when the school’s staff noticed.
twenty burn victims of various degrees and several smoke inhalation cases later, john only arrived home past ten in the morning.
john was on auto pilot. long forgotten was his usual dunkin’ pit stop, the music he always had on was non-existent and he is pretty sure he drove past a red light or two.
he needed to get home, he needed to get to you.
john found you in the kitchen putting away this week’s grocery. he counted himself lucky for meeting you a couple of years ago. parker had introduced you to him, a friend of the girl she was seeing at the time, who apparently had the same taste in music and watered down coffee as him and, to his luck, worked remote as an IT coordinator for some company in australia. finally someone who had the same schedule as him.
he dropped his keys on the small, intricately detailed and too-expensive-for-keys-bowl you had insisted on buying on a trip to turkey, saying you wanted a “statement” piece for the console table you had near the door. john shrugged off his jacket and slipped off his shoes, putting them away in the hallway closet before making a beeline to you.
“good morning, honey.” you greeted him when you felt arms snake around your waist and his chest flush against your back.
“morning.” his answer was muffled by your hair.
“how was the shift? i saw the news of the fire.”
“awful.” it came out muffled again. john hugged you tighter.
“yeah? you need to unwind, huh?” you asked, knowing exactly what he needed when he got monosyllabic. “why don’t you go take a shower, baby? i’ll be right there.”
“okay.” he kissed your temple. “love you.”
“love you too.”
john had always been calm, annoyingly so.
your first date was a double date with lisa, your best friend and, at the time, roommate, and her then… something, parker. lisa had been gushing about john for god knows how long before you finally accepted to go out with them. he was equals part charming and confusing, so effortlessly funny and so effortlessly nonchalant that you wondered if he had actually liked you. a few days later, you ended up learning he did. parker had brought take out and told you between bites of thai chicken that john couldn’t stop talking about you, complaining all twelve hours of the shift that he felt like an idiot for not asking for your number, and incessantly begging ellis if she could give him yours, but as girls girl who knew better and put other women before any of her male friendships, parker told john she would talk to you first. you smiled with the story, for some reason, something about john had spoken to you, maybe his cute face or his effortless jokes, so you asked ellis for his number this time and instantly shot him a text asking him out on a second date. the rest is history.
john liked that about you. actually, he loved that about you, how authoritative you were and the way you always took charge of things. one of the hottest things that always got him worked up was watching you work on his nights off. he loved paying attention to you on meetings, how eloquently you spoke and the way your voice changed when you had to be a boss; never demeaning or lacking respect for your employees, but so stern and commanding that made something inside of him stir and a spark fly through his dick.
you changed to more comfortable clothes, just a loose t-shirt and pyjama shorts and laid in bed to wait for your boyfriend. john came out of the bathroom just a couple of minutes later, hair damp and sporting a pair of boxer shorts. he made his way to you, silently crawling on top of the bed until he reached your chest, so he could lay his head on it and hug your waist.
john stayed there in silence for a few minutes, counting your heartbeat before he finally went to kiss you.
there was a pattern to his actions when john was like this. he would hug you for a bit, slowly sneak a hand inside your shirt so he could squeeze your soft stomach and play with your tits when he felt like the moment was right. meanwhile, his kisses would start on your neck, where he would alternate between pecks and love bites until he reached your lips, where you would make out until you were both breathless and john would be begging you to fuck him.
but something must have really fucked john up today because everything was out of order and more desperate.
his lips was trembling against yours, the kiss was way too messy to be enjoyable and his fingers on your clit were rough, wrong. you held his wrist and pulled back, stopping him. the rejected look he gave you almost broke your heart, and you schooled your tone so you didn’t break him even more.
“john, baby, lay on the bed, please.”
he gave you a small smile. “yes, miss.”
you got up, tied your hair back with the scrunchie you kept on your nightstand and went back to the bathroom for the bottle of lube, and roamed your drawers on your way back for the magic wand.
“you ok?” you asked him when you set between his spread legs and set the two items beside him.
he gave you a weak nod. “about to be better.”
air left your nose in a semi contained snort and you shook your head. “you already kno–“
“green to keep going, yellow when i need to slow down and red to stop completely.” he interrupted you, knowing exactly what you were going to ask.
you nodded. “okay, good boy.”
you made your way up to john’s lips, kissing him softly before you trailed your lips down his body, paying close attention to his nipples. he was already hard just from it, his hard on poking your belly through his boxer shorts. knowing it would be worse if you tried to playfully torture him a bit, you latched your fingers onto the elastic of his boxers and pulled the garnment down.
john hissed when the cold air touched his already leaking, angry red tip, muttering a small “fuck” when he saw you open the bottle of lube and squirt it on the palm of your hand. you rubbed your fingers against your palm, working the lube a bit while your left hand ran aimlessly against his right thigh.
“shit.” john moaned when you finally wrapped your digits around the head of his cock, working it in soft and slow circles.
“my baby had a rough day, didn’t you?” you asked.
“mhm.” john nodded fast. his body was taut, muscles holding against itself as he was controlling himself to not come too soon.
you dipped your head, left hand still going up and down his thigh as you took his balls to your lips, alternating between them to give both some equal attention. the hand on his head picked up pace, now working on his length.
john was a mess under you, panting and repeatedly babbling a chorus of “please, please, please”, begging for something even he didn’t know what it was.
the hand beside your head gripped your hair and you felt his thigh jerk, making you stop all of your ministrations instantly.
“john…” you said sternly.
“sorry, miss.”
“we’ve talked about this, baby. no touching me unless i tell you to. will i have to tie you?” you softened your tone.
“no. it won’t happen again, miss.”
“good.” you kissed his tip and got up to strip down.
it is beside john where you sit back down on the bed, making sure to spread your legs wide enough so he could see how wet you were. john’s eyes followed your every move, traced your body along your hands, circling your clit with your fingers. the wet squelch of your fingers plunging in and out of you made him squirm, his hands closing and opening over and over again by his side as he tried his best not to touch you.
“what should i do with you, huh?”
“c–can i eat out, miss?” john asked.
you smiled. “umm, not sure if you are deserving of after you tried to touch me.”
“please, miss.” he begged.
with your fingers still inside of you, you sat on your knees, free hand roaming around the bed to find the wand. john looked at you with hopeful eyes, that rapidly changed when he realised what you were going to do.
you turned the wand on on the lowest setting and propped it just below his balls.
“open your lips.” you ordered him and john complied immediately. at last, you pulled your fingers from inside of you. they were shiny and slick with your juices and you made sure to spread some over his lips. you pressed the two digits against his tongue and john was quick to start sucking your fingers clean.
“good boy.” you kissed the corner of his lips. “remember that you only get to come when i tell you to.
the “yes, miss” he tried to say was muffled by the way you worked your fingers deeper inside his mouth. slowly, in and out, again and again until you were fucking his mouth, making john gag on your fingers and his spit mix with your slick.
john took a deep breath after you pulled your digits out, coughing a little.
“colour?”
“green.”
you nodded and tipped your head to the side, silently telling him to scooch down the bed. john, being the good boy that he is, complied instantly, getting a kiss as a reward. you grab the wand back from his balls and finally position yourself with his face between your legs. he looked up to you in adoration as you hovered over him, eyes pleading, begging for you to sit on his face. you took some pity on him. “you can touch me now.”
“thank you, miss.” he said and started running his hands over your thighs and stomach, kissing your thighs but never crossing the line, trying not to reach your pussy before you told him to.
john needed this, needed the touch and the feeling and you knew it, so you let him do it until he regulated.
“okay?” you asked and he nodded.
not wanting to extend it, you lowered yourself and john wasted no time, attaching his lips to your clit, alternating between licking and sucking it.
you take the wand once again, amping the vibration to its medium setting, putting it right on his tip. john shudders under you, his movements faltering a bit and it only fed you, making you feel even more powerful. you started to ride his face, hips moving with the vibration of the wand as his tongue licked into you. the feeling was sensational, and that combined with his hands squeezing your breasts, playing with your nipples made your orgasm sneak up and wash over you.
“you are so good, john. so good to me.” you kept praising him as you rode out your high. somewhere in the middle, the wand’s was set to the max, and john tapped your thigh fast, making you get up.
“yellow! yellow! fuck!” he exclaimed breathlessly and you yanked the wand, turning it off as you sat by his side.
“talk to me, baby. want me to stop?”
john shook his head. “no. i just–“ he let out a small laugh. “it’s too much and i really need to cum.”
bringing yourself to him, you hugged him and kissed his lips. “okay, honey. you were so good to me today. where do you want to be?”
“inside you.”
“yeah? you wanna cum inside me?” you asked sweetly.
“please.”
“okay, baby.” you said as you got up and threw a leg over his thigh, positioning his cock against your entrance and slowly sinking in.
you rocked slow, picking up just a bit of speed as you encouraged john to thrust against you, but he was already so worked up that he came fast.
john sat up with his softening member inside of you and pulled you close, hiding his face between your breasts. he breathed in and out, timing it with your heartbeat. his fingers squeezed your sides as he hugged you, and tried his best to cherish the moment.
“thank you.” he said after a few minutes.
“anytime, handsome.” you said between kisses to his cheek and temple. “wanna talk about what happened?”
he sighed. “same old. a bunch of drunk people, car crashes and pedestrians being ran over. got a dv case so bad that jack almost got a punch in on the husband. he would have if i didn’t hold him back.” he took the bottle of water you had materialised from somewhere, he was so out of it that he hadn’t noticed you had moved, and drank most of it in one gulp. “then… the fire. just a bunch of teenagers, you know? the oldest was seventeen. most of them have third degree burns, we–we did our best, but i don’t know if they’ll get out of it.” he started sniffling.
“john, look at me.” he did. “you are an incredible doctor and you did your best to give those children and their parents some resemblance of hope. it’s not your fault if they don’t make it.”
he nodded and cleaned his tears. “i know.”
“i love you, okay? i’ll always be here for you.”
“i know. i love you too, angel.”
silence fell upon you and you realised how sticky the middle of your legs and thighs felt, highlighted by the sweaty glow of your skin. “how about we shower, sleep and i order you your dunkin’ monstrosity when you wake up?”
he pursed his lips. “do we have the ingredients to make it at home?”
a few months into the relationship, you told him that you knew how to make any of the dunkin’ regular drinks at home, and ever since learning that, whenever he is down, john preferred the homemade over store bought.
you nodded and smiled. “i’ll make it for you.”
domesticblisss 2026. comments and reblogs are appreciated.
Jack and Robby made sure to always take care of you, and now that you were pregnant that was exasperated ten fold. And you, you just wanted this baby out by any means necessary.
Note: take it easy on me please this is my first piece since taking my break and I feel so rusty!!! Loll, but this was done for an ask that has been sitting in my inbox for soooo long, it is technically a continuation or epilogue of “The Bet” so I will link the other parts as well. Again I am so sorry for the wait but I hope you enjoy!
38 weeks had gone by too fast and excruciatingly slow at the same time. By now it was the middle of July in Pittsburgh meaning you were sweaty, hot, pissed, and way too pregnant to cope. Even though Robby and Jack have been so sweet and kind throughout your pregnancy. Neither caring who the true biological father was, they were both just ready to love this child and you forever. Always making sure your needs were met and that you were comfortable at all times while carrying precious cargo.
It was a sentiment that warmed your heart. At least it was until you had hit the third trimester. Being unable to tie your shoes or put on pants without help tended to put you in a bad mood. All of this along with a small scare at 36 weeks. You hadn’t felt your baby girl kick for a whole day, this had you taking a cab to the hospital to where both Robby and Jack were. Thankfully after a quick scan in south 5 done by none other than the two men who put you in this position, it was confirmed everything was okay, she was most likely taking a long nap.
However, you about strangled both of them when you saw them measure her more than twice before giving each other an odd look. When Robby finally looked over at you and gave a sheepish smile as he reluctantly told you what had them wide eyed and cherry red. Your sweet baby girl was measuring about 10 whole pounds already.
You wanted her out now.
But you weren’t exactly in your right mind to care about their feelings for very long. Seeing how it was 90 degrees with not a cloud in the sky, and your AC was rattling while working overtime. Robby was at work so it was just you and Jack, who hadn’t woken up just yet since he had a shift tonight. So after struggling for about ten minutes to get off the couch you made your way towards the bedroom on a mission. Operation get this baby out of you in the next 24 hours.
As silently as you could, you settled onto the bed grateful that Jack rarely wore more than his boxers to bed. Taking a moment you took in the peaceful expression that settled across his face, counting the freckles that spanned across his skin. Each one had mapped by yours and Robby’s lips at some point.
Soft snores escaped his slightly ajar mouth, making you almost feel bad for what you were about to do. Not completely bad, just a teeny bit. Or at least it did until a sharp kick was delivered to your ribs and you were reminded of what you came here to do.
Jack was both a heavy sleeper and a light sleeper all at once. It depended on the kind of day he had, and today seemed to be a deep sleep kind of day seeing as you were able to reach into the front of his boxers and grip his cock without even a change in his breathing. It wasn't until you pulled it out and gave the already flushed pink tip a few licks that he showed signs of rousing.
A small scrunch of his brows and a slight groan emitted from him as you enveloped his now half hard cock in your mouth, wasting no time you wrapped your lips around him starting with a faster than normal pace. You didn’t have time to spare seeing as his shift was drawing nearer and your needs grew with each touch.
With his length now at full attention you made sure to keep your gag reflex down, mostly because if you gagged you were very likely to pee yourself at this point in your pregnancy and that wasn’t something you wanted to have happen and interrupt your plans.
Swiping your tongue at the little ridge of his cockhead, you knew that would alert him to open his eyes. And it was an almost immediate reaction letting out a gruff moan as his eyes struggled to open under the sheer pleasure that consumed him the moment he became conscious.
“Fuck, baby w-what’s, shit, slow d-down” his voice low and rough from just waking up and strained as he was trying his best to not cum in .2 seconds after waking.
Pulling off him with a slight pop you gave him a sly smirk, “Good morning Jackie!” you sat back on your knees before swinging one leg over his torso so that your back was to him. In one smooth movement you didn’t know you were still capable of, you lined him up with your enterance before sinking down halfway with very little resistance, “Oh fuck, s’big Jackie!”
“H-hold on baby, we shouldn’t be-”
“Oh yes we should, Jack Christopher Abbot! You and Mike fucked this baby into me and the two of you will be getting it out the exact same way you got it in. And I will not hear another word unless it’s no, do I make myself clear” Your voice gave him no room for argument but a pause for his answer. With zero hesitation he found himself nodding in agreement and letting you continue.
With a satisfied nod of your own, you dropped your body weight down onto him. The rest of his length sliding into you and pushing the breath out of your lungs at the overwhelming sensation of having him so deep. A moan left your own throat as pleasure overtook your body, Jack letting his own noises out as he couldn’t help but grip your hips in an attempt to slow you down.
“I don’t w-want t’hurt you” his words low as he voices one last concern before giving into the feel of you completely as you grind your hips against him, “but shit, that feels so goddamn good baby”
His words spurred you on enough to use as much energy as you could to brace your hands on his knees and start riding him within an inch of his sanity. Up, down, grind. That was the rhythm you kept until Jack could tell you were getting tired. Not wanting you to overexert yourself he began sitting his body up and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He pulled your upper body flush with his before tipping over to one side as he repositioned the two of you onto your left.
“Heard from a nurse that laying on your left side can help induce and advance labor” Jack's words were fairly clinical before following up with the start of his thrusts.
Keeping his pace, Jack brought your top leg back and over his hip. Hooking his other hand around your jaw so that he could turn your head toward his. This new angle had his cock pushing deep into your cunt, pleasure forcing your eyes shut as you laid there letting him do all the work.
“Open”
And without a second thought you obliged, warmth filled your senses as you felt his spit hit your tongue. Swallowing it without needing to be told.
“That’s it, such a good girl once you get what you want aren’t you?” the hand that rested at your shoulder traveled down over your swollen belly caressing the taught and stretched skin. He stayed there for just a moment longer before bringing two fingers down and straight to your clit. Creating tight circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“Fuck Jackie!” Your body unintentionally trying to jerk away from the overstimulation. “S’too much, h-hold on”
“Shh, shh, you can take it baby. You wanted it so bad and now you’re trying to run away, I don't think so” Jack was now determined to give you exactly what you wanted, because who was he to deny his precious girl. “Its your turn to shut up and listen”
His pace sped up, hips thrusting and fingers circling your clit at a brutal speed you didn't know he was capable of. However, Jack made sure that he kept a slightly shallow depth not wanting to injure your cervix. Jack was still a doctor after all, and if this was successful you didn’t need anymore trauma.
Everything was overwhelming for you, especially seeing as it had been the first time he or Robby had touched you like this in a long time. And with the addition of pregnancy hormones your whole body was responding to the arousal coursing through you. You weren’t alone though, Jack was in the same situation (minus the hormones). And as a direct reflection of this, the two of you were already on the edge of cumming. His hips stuttered as your walls fluttered around him, both of you desperately trying to hold off for just a bit longer.
You were the first to lose. One hand gripping the sheets and the other wrapped tightly in his short grey curls as your body seized with pleasure, toes curling at the same time your walls clenched in rhythmic pulses choking his thick cock. Moans clawed their way through your chest as your body fully let go, allowing your orgasm to rush down our spine.
The tight squeeze of your body sends him catapulting into his own edge, balls drawing up tight as he releases his hot cum as deep as he can get it. Your bodies were flush and slick against each other leaving no trace of space between. Heavy pants filled the room as the two of you came down from your shared orgasm.
Jack saw how you laid there with a satisfied expression on your face, content that he had you fucked out and tired. But despite your exhausted expression, it wasn’t long before Jack felt you shift and squirm. Still stuffed full of his thick cock and his cum leaking slowly from the space you two were still connected, didn’t stop you from squeezing your pelvic floor. Hearing Jack hiss as you tightened around him once more. With one look into your eyes he knew he was in for a long few hours.
————————
It was safe to say that a few hours later Jack was walking into his shift stiff, limping, and halfway asleep. And while he was taking report from Baran, Robby spotted how exhausted he looked from across the room where he was sat at the nurses station. His long strides had him beside Jack within moments, concern marring his expression.
“You ok, brother? Look like you’re about to drop where you stand” a small huff of a laugh left Robby’s lips as he tried to lighten Jack's seemingly worn out mood while easing his own worry.
But instead of humoring him with a response that addressed his demeanor, Jack just patted Robby’s shoulder and placed a chaste kiss to his lips before walking away mumbling a ‘good luck’ under his breath. An ominous send off for the man who was already having an off day.
Robby had been on edge since he left you this morning, wishing he had just called off so that he could finish some things around the house and keep you company. A thought he wished he had listened to when his fourth trauma rolled through, accompanied by two pregnant patients. Finally finishing with one amputated limb that brought Park the shark down to the ED which was never a good thing.
As Robby walked through the door of your shared home he was ready to heat up food he knew was left for him on the stove and crash on the large California king bed that was practically calling his name. So imagine his surprise as he let his eyes drift closed for only a split second while leaning back against the kitchen counter when he felt a small and eager hand gripped his heavy cock through his scrub bottoms.
“Woah there kid!” Robby's voice cracked and his knees buckled slightly in his stupor “And what exactly do you think you're doing?”
His brow raised in question while he simply watched your bottom lip stick out right before you slipped behind the waist band of his scrubs. Your hand finding exactly what you wanted in seconds, connecting instantly with the warmth of his soft cock. Pumping him at a languid pace feeling how he began to stiffen. Your approach was similar to earlier yet slightly different. Jack needed to be given permission, but Robby, he needed to be begged. He needs to know how much he’s wanted.
“Pleasee Mikey, I need you so bad!” you pleaded with him while lifting up onto your toes and kissing your way up his chest, “just wanna feel you, it’s been so long. Need you to fill me up so bad”
You dragged the syllables in a whiney tone, an attempt to coax him further into you. But Robby just let out a sharp tsk at your behavior, he had absolutely pieced together Jack’s behavior at shift change and your current display of affection.
“This must be why Jack was about ready to drop as soon as he walked through those doors” Robby held your face with both his hands, “tell me what you want sweetheart”
Placing an innocent pout on your face you went to shake your head and tell him you didn’t know what he meant. But you should’ve known he wasn’t as easily manipulated as Jack was.
“Ah ah ah, don’t play dumb with me. We both know you want something” using his hands that rested on your face he tilted your head so that you were looking straight at him, “tell me what it is and I’ll make sure you get exactly what you want.”
His gruff tone had you body buzzing and mind almost blank, but as he walked you backwards towards the couch you finally found your words.
“Please Mikey, I want this baby out of me, and I want you so bad” your body was being gently lowered onto the couch before you were even done speaking. Expertly Robby was able to sneak a pillow behind your lumbar spine so that any pressure was removed in this position.
Rough hands gently slipped off the oversized shirt you wore, revealing your bare and flushed body underneath. Those same hands ran a similar trail that Jacks had hours ago. From your full aching breasts and down to your swollen stomach, his lips placing gentle kisses where his hands leave.
Your gaze followed his movements until you made a sound that was between an annoyed and aroused moan. This was due to the fact that once he had set his lips to where you needed him most he disappeared from your view. Your stomach obscuring his face, but that was quickly forgotten as he gave a harsh suck over your clit and teased two fingers at your entrance.
“You always taste so good sweetheart, I can still taste Jack too” plunging his fingers as deep as they could go, Robby set a new rhythm to your sensitive nerves.
“Fuck Mikey, right there!” You were already breathless at just the start of his ministrations, still so responsive after yours and Jack's escapades.
It didn’t take long before he could feel the telltale flutter of your walls around his fingers. Robby took that as his sign to crook his finger up and to the front, right where that specific spot of yours he knows is located.
“D-don’t stop! Fuck, I-I’m gonna cum Mikey!”
It only took two more strokes before your orgasm seized up your body, choking his fingers with everything you had. Arousal covered his hand and beard when he finally pulled away. By this point he wasted no time before slipping off his pants and boxers in one go.
Spreading your slick up and down his now fully hard cock and moving your legs to rest over his shoulders. Not quite bending you in half seeing as your belly wouldn’t allow it. But enough for you to feel a stretch in your hips, the pillow he placed doing wonders for your back in this position. Notching his leaking tip at your cunt he reminded you to breathe before slowly pushing his way into you.
The feeling of his heavy cock finally pushing his way into you had caused your eyes to roll back so far you swore you could see the inside of your brain. It didn’t matter that Robby had just pulled a mind blowing orgasm from you, it already felt as though you were seconds away from cumming once more. You were doing your best to hold it off, wanting it to last but he was making that task very difficult.
Robby’s pace began a deep and slow, his tip pushing ever so slightly against your cervix with each thrust. Not enough to bruise, but just enough to hopefully help you along. And the amount of arousal coating his cock told him just how much you were enjoying yourself. That and the noises that were constantly ringing through the room.
“Poor baby, went so long without us touching you didn’t you?” You nodded at Robby’s words, “such a desperate little thing begging me to make it better, even after Jackie took care of you”
He felt how your body clenched at the memory that must’ve passed through your mind at the mention of the missing man. Finding himself wishing that Jack could be here as well, he decided to include him. Reaching for his phone Robby snapped a quick photo of the two of you and sent it to Jack. It was mere seconds before the chime of a new message came though. Jack had simply responded ‘she got to you too huh?’
Robby just chuckled before focusing back on you. You who’s eyes were still screwed shut while trying your best to meet his thrusts. Releasing one of your legs to rest at his hip Robby settled forward just a bit more so that he could reach just a little further. His soft tummy resting against yours.
Pulling back until just his tip was left inside you, before pushing back in slow. The friction of his coarse hairs against your clit sent shivers down your spine. Balls pressed up against your bottom with each thrust, every movement had your senses on overdrive.
With one hand securing the leg he kept over his shoulder, his other wandered back towards your chest. Grabbing a hand full of your breasts giving a light squeeze before focusing on your nipples. Rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers before tugging slightly.
“F-fuck, feels so good” Robby pressed a kiss to the inner part of your ankle, “one more f’me, you can do it”
Shaking your head you felt like all your nerves were going off. Too sensitive for another, too tired. But Robby was having none of it. Tilting his hips just slightly and grinding into you with a bit more pressure had you giving in. The leg that was left around his hip you wrapped it tighter bringing him closer as you finally let go.
Your whole demeanor released as this orgasm took over your mind and body. A shudder ran through you as a burst of fluid soaked the two of you and the couch below. Robby not far behind as your body tightened around him. Giving a few more thrusts before he was more than content to simply shove himself as far as he could go before releasing himself into you.
“So full of us in every way now aren’t you sweetheart?” His words went in one ear and out the other as you were too busy trying to stay awake, “let’s get you cleaned up and to bed okay”
With an absentminded nod you allowed him to help you up and to the bathroom. After cleaning you up he tucked you into bed before cleaning the mess the two of you made in the living room and finishing his meal. All the while you were none the wiser to the conscious world, snuggled peacefully in the warm blanket satiated to your hearts content.
The peace however didn’t last long. It was around 1:30am that you woke up in a slight panic. It wasn’t immediately clear what had your unconscious mind in such a worry. Not until two minutes later when you were just about ready to go back to sleep was when you felt a deep cramp flow through your body. Breathing your way through the wave of pain you settled a hand to your stomach, which was now rock hard.
You may not have been an L&D doctor but you knew enough about labor to know it was time to go. Especially when another contraction seized your body less than five minutes later. After punching Robby awake and watching him scramble around the house for the needed bags, he loaded everything and you into his truck before heading to the hospital.
In the frenzy of everything neither of you had remembered to text Jack. Not until the two of you walked in through the ambulance bay doors and were met with his wide eyes and confused expression.
“W-what, is t-that? BABY!?!”
“Fuck!” Clenching your jaw as another contraction hit you, “Yes Jack, wonderful observation skills now get me a damn wheelchair! And if you tell me to breathe one more time Michael I’m going to castrate you!”
It only took five hours before the three of you became a family of four. Your sweet baby girl came in weighing 10lbs 4oz and 23inches with a full head of dark hair and large hazel eyes. And while you cursed them out every moment you could while pushing your little bowling ball out. As soon as she was placed in your arms, and you saw the loving looks fill Jack and Robby’s eyes you were ready to do it all over again.
contents: smut! twitter was asking for an erectile dysfunction fic so i started drafting and well, this might have been my calling. ED, a little blue pill, drug talk (jack’s on depression meds), some wine consumption, a whole host of second-hand embarrassment for jack, world’s best wife in the reader, and of course ED wasn’t enough… loosely inspired by 02x02.
[jack abbot x fem!reader. wc: 7.2k ]
masterlist | other jack abbot fics
He was a doctor—of course he read the side effects of his pills. Right?
Right?
God. Jack could barely think for himself let alone think what the fuck was on the prescription label. He especially couldn’t think straight when you were on top of him, fingers carding through his curls, and your chest pressed against his own.
Everything would be fine. Everything is fine.
It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him and when Jack Abbot’s internal alarm bells went off, anyone in a ten mile radius could hear them. All it took was one look, a not fully present kiss, and you knew something was amiss.
“Jack?” You murmured softly in his ear. He loved the feel of your breath; the warmth your body brought to his.
He swallowed hard. His jaw tensed as his chest shuddered in immediate nerves and your hands moved to cradle his face instead. Jack’s eyes avoided you like the plague, sticking to a spot over your shoulder in the direction of the tv.
“Yeah?” He barely whispered.
“Are you okay?”
Oh, goddamnit. Shit.
Everything was really not fucking fine.
Jack hated when his shifts never lined up with your schedule. Summer’s were easier, so were those few breaks you’d get during the year, but most weeks it felt like you were ships passing in the night.
You were his wife, not a “sometimes companion” depending on the day. So, when he had off, there was nothing he loved more than being at your side. Watching mindless television, going to the grocery store, listening to you complain about your job, and everything in between. He loved it. Jack never thought that chance would come again and when it did, he promised himself that the time he gave to you would be nothing short of devotion.
And, when the time to “love” became a little more intimate, Jack gave you everything you could ask for. You’d never had a more generous lover, in all sense of the word.
He cared so deeply about you that he was too easily forgetful about his own needs. Jack never liked when you tried to make it all about him—he’d had enough attention in the last twenty years to last him a lifetime in solitude. In return, Jack’s altar was beside you, on top of you, under you, and anywhere near you.
Therefore, when he sacrificed his time away from you to save the lives of strangers, it was only right for him to recompense through the most natural form of intimacy.
But it had been five days. Five days of back to back night shifts where he left you sleeping in bed and you left him walking out the door with your work bag in hand. There had been a light in the distance, Saturday, when his schedule finally broke and you were both off to enjoy each other’s company.
He cooked, you cleaned, and then you’d both retired to the sofa where your feet landed in his lap and a movie you’d seen a thousand times played quietly as days-long lodged conversations started to flow.
Then, you shuffled into his lap and Jack knew something was wrong before even started.
His lips met yours and you melted. You’d been so quick to fall into him, wrapping your arms around him, and pressing down into his lap that it felt needy. Tilting his head back, your fingers pulled at his curls to open him up to you. His kiss deepened and you couldn’t fight the smile on your face.
You laughed, breaking apart.
“What?” Jack asked incredulously. His eyes darted between yours as your hand brushed back his hair.
“Nothing.” You shook your head. “I just love you.”
Jack’s hands ran up and down your sides gently. “Well now it’s cheesy if I say it back.”
“No.” Your nose bumped into his. “You could never make it cheesy.”
“I’m pretty sure I could,” Jack admitted with a peck. He let his hands wander down your sides, feeling the skin of your ass before smoothing down your legs and holding them down on himself. “I love you.”
“How much?”
“Eh. ” He shrugged, leading you to lean back and swat at his chest immediately before pressing into his pecs with your palms.
“Cruel,” you gasped. “You’re just evil.”
“I don’t know about that.” He removed his hands from your body and placed them on top of yours. “But I don’t think a measurement exists for how much I really do.”
Not cruel. Just utterly adoring beyond comprehension.
You leaned in, kissing him again and again and each one ended longer than the last. He brought your hands back to his hair and encouraged a rougher grip. Jack’s tongue was the first to ask for silent permission to which you welcomed it with your own.
You couldn’t remember the last time you made out like teenagers on the couch.
And for ten minutes, you did only that.
Lips swollen and blood rushing in your body, there was something exhilarating about having waited so long to have sex this week. Five days wasn’t a world record for either of you but it felt like a necessary end to it.
Only you were expecting to feel something after ten minutes.
One of your hands slipped from his shoulders and entered the few inches of space between your bodies to grope him above his sweats. You had felt that simply being on top wasn’t enough—you would have felt his erection if you did—but this was the second time in three weeks that grinding on him didn’t work in getting him aroused.
Jack’s attention broke away from your lips and to your neck. His stubble grazed your skin with a roughness you’d only accept from his face. He lathered and sucked, teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you feel his desire through his lips.
As you met his groin, you felt the outline of his cock still limp between his spread legs. Gently trailing to the head, you molded your hand around it and rubbed to the base. Jack’s forehead fell to your shoulder and you couldn’t help but be satisfied, leaning your own into him.
Jack. Your Jack.
Your hand never stopped going. Slowly, you felt the minutes pass and you put more pressure in your grip and the air around Jack began to change. His kisses stopped, your fingers intertwined with his curls at the base of his head weren’t met with the same sighs, and his own hands loosened their grasp.
On the inside, Jack was having an existential crisis.
He knew it was going to happen.
It was the same goddamn thing from three weeks ago and he’d wrote it off as some kind of fluke. He was tired. He’d worn himself thin from a bad night and three weeks ago, sex wasn’t in the cards he’d been dealt. But now? Again?
Jack dug his forehead further into your shoulder to think—which was practically impossible for him to do in this state. Yet he tried. He thought back on any changes to his body and any signs he might have missed but the only possibilities he could think about were his age and his meds.
If it was his age, he was just about ready to croak off now. 50. Jack was only 50 fucking years old and he never imagined what the hell life would be like with erectile dysfunction at this age. He’d take it to his grave, he swore to God, but there was one other problem that he just couldn’t shake.
Those meds.
A switch from his therapist a few appointments ago to Zoloft, which was what he was supposed to be taking for years. But just like good medicine, sometimes finding the right balance was hard and it took time.
His therapist had warned him, right?
He was a doctor—of course he read the side effects of his pills. Right?
Right?
God. Jack could barely think for himself let alone think what the fuck was on the prescription label. He especially couldn’t think straight when you were on top of him, fingers carding through his curls and your chest pressed against his own.
Everything would be fine. Everything is fine.
It wasn’t fine. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him and when Jack Abbot’s internal alarm bells went off, anyone in a ten mile radius could hear them. All it took was one look, a not fully present kiss, and you knew something was amiss.
“Jack?” You murmured softly in his ear. He loved the feel of your breath; the warmth your body brought to his.
He swallowed hard. His jaw tensed as his chest shuddered in immediate nerves and your hands moved to cradle his face instead. Jack’s eyes avoided you like the plague, sticking to a spot over your shoulder in the direction of the tv.
“Yeah?” He barely whispered.
“Are you okay?”
Oh, goddamnit. Shit.
Everything was really not fucking fine.
He was falling apart. Jack couldn’t even look you in the eye because now he couldn’t have sex with his beautiful fucking wife and the world was basically ending.
“Yeah,” he barely squeaked out.
You saw through him and he could feel the pity in the way your thumbs rubbed softly on his cheeks.
“I think I need to use the bathroom,” he blurted out and discarded you to the side of the couch.
In his first attempt to stand, Jack struggled to gain momentum off the couch and the redness of embarrassment from another one of his problems inched up the back of his neck like a rash.
Holy shit, he thought. This is the worst day of my life.
He tried harder the second time to avoid your helping hands and rushed off to the bedroom, shutting the door so hard it reverberated throughout the house. Beelining for the sink, Jack’s hands strained the edges of it until his knuckles were white.
“What the fuck!” He scolded himself in a brash whisper. “What the fuck is wrong with you!?”
This wasn’t happening to him. This was all a dream. A really, god awful, terrible, no good dream that would be over in a matter of minutes. He’d wake up, sun shining, and never deal with this again.
He slapped a hand across his face. It was not a fucking dream.
“Holy shit,” Jack’s words were now nothing but saddened, pathetic whimpering. “This is not fucking happening to me right now.”
From outside the door, you leaned against the frame and let him wallow. Those little blue pills in the back of the cabinet had been pushed away out of spite and this time, you knew he just needed to face the reality of his situation. But that reality was hard to fathom after a lifetime of one activity never having been a problem. He couldn’t have just this one thing?
Jack opened the cabinet and pulled out his Zoloft bottle. Unraveling the prescription label, his eyes raced down to side effects and right there “Erectile Dysfunction” laughed at him. He tossed the bottle in the sink.
“Jack?” You knuckles rapped against the door. “Are you alright in there?”
“Fine!” He replied too quickly.
“Can I come in?”
He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’d rather you not.”
“You’re not gonna dump your meds are you?”
“No,” his tone was still sad. “That’s probably a bad idea.”
Jack could hear your hum. He imagined the look on your face and how you’d probably kick him to the curb now that he was completely defective.
“Jack, I think you need to talk to me about this.”
“No,” he drug out the word. “I don’t think so.”
“Honey.”
He said your name firmly in return.
“I’m coming in.” You didn’t give him any time because as soon as he got a syllable out, the door was open.
Jack’s eyes caught yours in the mirror.
“It’s okay, Jack.”
He shook his head. “It’s not.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Well that’s easy for you to say,” he couldn’t help the attitude that slipped out. “You don’t have a broken fucking dick.”
“I don’t have a dick but I do have a libido.”
“It’s not that, baby,” Jack sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to have sex. I do. Very badly, might I add. But it’s like this—” he pointed to his brain “—just doesn’t want to work and tell the other parts of my body to do their jobs.”
Your brows furrowed in concern. “Is it the nightmares again?”
“No.” He shook his head and realized that you didn’t fully grasp it because of two things: you weren’t in healthcare and you didn’t have PTSD like he did. “They’re fine. They’ve been fine.”
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me, Jack.”
You approached him, settling for resting your hand along his back and feeling his tense muscles underneath the fabric of his tee.
“A side effect of the meds,” he gestured weakly to the bottle in the sink. “I can’t get it up.”
“That’s one way to put it,” you mumbled and picked up the bottle.
“My doctor gave me—“ Jack didn’t want the words to form.
Your rubbed soothingly on his back. He loved you so much.
“What did he give you?”
Jack reopened the cabinet and shuffled items to the side before landing on a small white bottle with VIAGRA plastered in blue on the front. His stomach lurched at the thought of needing to take one. Jack held it tightly in his fist in a refusal to show you.
You saw the bottle immediately when he brought it home. Jack was never as sly as he thought he was. He tried hiding your engagement ring for six weeks before proposing but you found it the day after the purchase because he stuffed it the garage where he kept all the spare keys.
He just hadn’t thought that maybe you’d lock your keys inside of the house one day.
Still, he clutched onto the white bottle as though if he dropped it, his problem wasn’t real. He could keep trying. Maybe it would just take a little bit longer than normal but eventually, he’d get hard and you could sail smoothly into the night.
“Are you gonna show me?” You asked patiently.
“I don’t really want to.”
“I’m not embarrassed if you need to use one, you know?”
His eyes pinched closed. “I feel like a fucking failure.”
You exhaled deeply, placing your hand over his fist, and dipping your head to better look at him.
“Look at me, Jack.”
He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
“Jack,” you pressed once more. “Look at me.”
“This has never been a problem,” he said lowly. Jack’s tone lingered on disappointment but aired a frustration that sounded sexier than he meant it. “I don’t know why I can’t be normal in this one fucking way but of course not! Of course not. No… the goddamn leg just wasn’t enough. The stupid fucking depression and the nightmares and my joint pain isn’t enough!”
Jack rarely yelled. He bottled everything inside until it was ready to explode and it was just leaking out of him like a dam bursting.
“None of that is your fault,” you assured.
“What does it matter if it was?” He loosened the grip on the bottle and it rolled into the sink beside the Zoloft.
“Jack. I don’t care if we have sex tonight, okay? It’s not the end of the world for me.”
“It sure fucking feels like it for me.”
“I know it does,” you empathized. “But if you’re not ready to try the pills, then we don’t have to do anything. I can wait for you.”
“I don’t deserve you,” Jack whispered. “This is so inconvenient.”
“What would life be without them?”
He breathed in as your hand continued to rub his back and calm him down. Jack glanced down at the bottle, cursing the elephant in the room. He mumbled underneath his breath and even though you were standing beside him, you didn’t catch it.
“What?”
“It takes…” his words were muffled again.
“Are you having a stroke?” You asked honestly.
“No,” he heaved. “If I take one… it would take around an hour to work.”
“Okay,” you replied cautiously. It was his choice, you made that clear.
“And it’s not like… magical. Plus we had a whole bottle of wine with dinner and that might make it worse.”
“Trying to get hard or the erection?”
“Both?” He said like it was a question. He’s the doctor. He should know.
“If you wanted to try it, and it doesn’t work out, then you never have to use one again.”
Jack hummed. “I might have to eat you out for awhile.”
“Jesus,” you laughed. “Don’t try to be sly about it.”
His lips quirked into a small smile, one you’d missed seeing in his despair. Jack picked up the bottle and unscrewed the cap.
“I swear to God that if anything goes wrong, I will jump off the fucking roof.”
“You can’t say that,” you lamented. “You’re literally the last person who should joke about that.”
“I’m kidding.” He popped a pill into his mouth. “I can’t let you fall in love with someone else.”
“How kind of you to think about me.”
Jack flipped on the sink, cupped his hands under the faucet, and swallowed the pill in one gulp. There was no turning back now.
“Well?” You asked him as he wiped his mouth dry.
“Well what?”
“You want to finish what you started?”
He locked eyes with you in the mirror and opened his mouth to object to the statement. You climbed into his lap. You kissed him first. But he saw a glimmer of hope that maybe the little blue pill would be a good thing for the both of you tonight and forgot about it. Jack nodded instead.
“Get on the bed.”
Whatever the little blue pill did, it gave Jack an ounce of courage back and fuck, could you feel it.
Jack had been on you from the moment you laid down on the bed. In silence, he stripped off your clothes one by one and settled between your thighs ready to give. And for the past thirty minutes, you’d been close twice before he drew back and smiled at you as his cheek rested against your leg.
Every time he did, you had to look away.
He was so sweet. Jack, the man who does anything for anyone, looked at you like you held the moon.
You fought a grin by biting down on your lip and had your arm flying over your eyes to shield his own impenetrable stare from reaching you. And then his mouth was on you again, tongue lightly flicking your clit as he slipped two fingers inside.
You writhed, body shaking lightly in pleasure as his hands grew more firm around your thighs and minimized any distance between you. Jack figured if he could lay atop the mattress and grind into it that it would replace the need for you to jerk him off for five minutes, and he was right.
The combination of periodically rutting against the mattress, listening to your sweet sounds, and feeling you squeeze his fingers was sheer poison.
He curled his fingers up inside of you, sliding them in and out in the same direction until your moans turned into a whine that spelled out his name.
“Jack,” you breathed in heavily.
Your hand fell from your eyes and trailed over one of your breasts, squeezing it, pinching the nipple just hard enough before fanning out on the comforter. Jack removed his fingers to let his tongue sink lower, pushing into you softer and wetter than before. His mouth devoured you; a sickening slurp of his saliva and your wetness had your mouth falling open, silent in disbelief that not an hour ago, you didn’t think this was going to happen.
“S-shit, Jack.”
He slowed down, sparing a glance at your face before deciding to back off. His pointer finger replaced where his nose was grazing your clit. Jack pressed down there, moving in small circles as your hips moved with him.
“That feel good?” He asked softly.
“I think that fucking pill gave you superpowers,” you spat out fast. “Holy shit.”
“Magical” his ass. It was certifiably otherworldly.
“Might just have been a long time since we’ve done this.”
You agreed, moaning a “yeah” in reply.
“Sweetheart,” Jack said like a question. “I hate to do this to you…”
“What?” You sat up so quickly that you got a little dizzy. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Jack couldn’t hide his blush. There was no easy way to say “I’m hard now, let me fuck you” after having a meltdown.
His throat bobbed and you caught it.
“You ready?”
Jack nodded and you retuned it with a nod of your own. “Okay, yeah. Alright—”
“Why does this feel like I’m losing my virginity again?” He joked. His laugh barely sounded like one because the second he sat up on his knees, his erection was all he could look at.
Jack had never been embarrassed by his cock before.
“If this is how you lost your virginity, I’d be a little nervous,” you scoffed. “Sit back against the headboard.”
He didn’t argue with you which was a rarity it terms of control. Nothing was really in his control right now and it was making his anxiety shoot through the roof.
Jack shuffled back to the headboard and slipped off his shirt. He helped you pull down his sweats carefully and even though he didn’t feel like you had to be, he was grateful for your gentleness. At the sight of his prosthetic, you tipped your head knowingly at him.
“Why didn’t you take this off yet?”
“I forgot,” he feigned innocence.
“Mhm,” you judged and took it off for him. “Sure you did.”
With his prosthetic resting on the floor against the bedside table, you resumed your position in his lap and wrapped an arm around his shoulder while your free hand wrapped around him. You’d never been with someone who needed to take a Viagra before. Jack felt different and you knew how he felt in your hands.
His dick felt firmer—less like his own and more like one that was being controlled.
Your hand went from tip to base and back and he jolted.
“Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s like my nerves are on fire.”
“Does it feel bad?”
His nose brushed yours as he shook his head. Jack didn’t tell you to stop so you kept pumping him mildly.
“It feels really fucking good, actually.”
“Yeah?” You smiled.
“Yeah.”
Jack kissed you with everything he could muster. He gripped your bare hips tightly, sinking his fingers into your skin until he felt like you weren’t going to disappear. You put more tension in your fist and he groaned, precum escaping him and making your job easier.
“Do you feel like you’re ready?” You kissed him lazily, pulling on his bottom lip enough for it to bounce back.
He chased your lips. “What if—”
“Honey,” you soothed. “We’ll get there, okay?”
“Okay,” he accepted. He nodded, looking you in the eye and giving you the reassurance he also needed.
Lifting up in his lap, you guided him to your entrance and sunk down slowly. The feeling was overwhelming and you both needed time to adjust. Jack’s head fell back against the bed frame as far as he could go, clenching his jaw enough where the muscles strained on his face.
“You’re fine, Jack,” you cooed in his ear. Soft pants met his cheek as his hardness was unlike anything you’d experienced. “Breathe, baby.”
Your nails raked the base of his skull.
“Keep going,” he bit out. “You’re squeezing me so tight.”
“I guess we’ve both been ‘rejuvenated,’ huh?”
Jack wasn’t overly appreciative of your humor but you moved anyway, testing the waters of your bounces and grinds before settling into a rhythm that suited you. His cock stretched you wide and every time you sank back down, it was as though he never filled you in the first place. A spark of exhilaration bloomed. This was so different, so minutely different, that it felt new.
Jack’s hands groped your ass to help ease the strain on your thighs the longer you went. His lips swapped duties between connecting with yours and finding the skin of your neck, collarbone, and chest peppered with affection. Jack listened to your soft mewls. He soaked in the whispers of sweet nothings and the shaky gasps you couldn’t help.
He wanted you close.
Jack needed you to mold into him like he was showered in rain. He pulled you close; arms wrapped up around you so tight there was no escaping his embrace.
He nipped at your chin. Low and rough, Jack spoke to you. “I love you so much.”
Jack’s nose trailed up your cheek, bumping into yours and seeking your lips again.
“You have no idea how much I love you.”
“Jack,” you whined with a grin. A shake in your legs had him running his hands over your back, soothing you now instead.
“I know you’re ready, baby.
“Yeah,” you nodded. “I’m close.”
“What do you need from me?” He asked willingly.
You shook your head. “I-fuck, nothing. I just—”
Jack bent his knees the best he could and the angle his cock was hitting changed on a thrust. Deep and unforgiving, your fingernails dug into his skin hard. Jack murmured appreciation, egging you on to the finish line and neglecting himself.
You were too wrapped up in the feeling. The building of a week, the racing of your heart, to think for a second that he was nowhere near close to his orgasm.
“Come on, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
He felt the falter in your hips.
Your orgasm shook you from Heaven to Hell and back—even if believing it was hard to fathom. Jack’s hand flew to the back of your head, holding you into him as the aftershocks of muscle spasms lingered seconds after your breathing began to settle. You returned his kisses with your own against his neck and shoulder. The freckles on his body were reminders of all the places he had ever been kissed and you were adding to that—on top of ones that already existed, beside them, and in the spaces that laid empty of any.
He wouldn’t remember them in every lifetime but you liked to imagine that all of his freckles were kisses from you.
As your brain recovered from the fuzzy glow and you realized that Jack was still rock hard inside of you.
“Do you want me to—”
“No,” Jack cut you off. “No, it’s fine. It’s just… I think it takes time.”
“But now you haven’t even…” you trailed your response with a flick of your eyes downwards. “I can’t leave you like that.”
“Baby, it could take an hour.”
You glanced at the alarm clock on his side of the bed. The time read 11:47.
“We’ve got time.”
Jack shook his head. “I’m not gonna let you give me a handy for an hour.”
“Hey,” you tugged on his earlobe lightly. “I’ve got a mouth too.”
“It’s fine,” he reassured but you weren’t buying it. His mouth quirked to the side in thought. “Would you hate me if I asked you to clean up alone?”
You ran your thumb along his jawline.
“I could never hate you, Jack. I’ve lived this long, I think I can handle one less aftercare shower.”
“It makes me feel like an asshole.”
“You’re not. I promise you.”
Carefully, you lifted up from his lap and let him slip out. You avoided looking at him so he didn’t find another reason to be embarrassed about something that impacted millions of men—especially those who were on medication for concerns far more important than simply erectile dysfunction.
He watched you disappear into the bathroom and shut the door with a click before he put his pillow to his face and yelled into it.
The prescription tag read as follows:
Prolonged erection greater than 4 hours and priapism (painful erections greater than 6 hours in duration) have been reported infrequently since market approval of VIAGRA. In the event of an erection that persists longer than 4 hours, the patient should seek immediate medical assistance. If priapism is not treated immediately, penile tissue damage and permanent loss of potency could result.
Jack had to put his readers on to even see the label.
“… if priapism is not treated immediately, penile tissue damage and permanent loss…” he repeated the label back to himself to make sure he read it correctly.
His eyes flitted to his phone, touching the screen to light up a big 7:30 AM and a picture of both of your smiling faces beaming back at him.
This might not have been the actual worst day of his life but it was second.
His crutches clicked against the floor as he approached your side of the bed. He hated waking you up when you were clearly dead to the world. Laid face first into your pillow, he rested a hand on your back and shook you gently.
“Baby?”
You barely bristled. He repeated the action, calling out your name louder.
“Hm?” You grumbled in slight annoyance.
Jack shifted uncomfortably on the bed, wincing as he turned wrong and made his sweatpants tighter than they already were.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he started and realized how quickly those were the wrong words. You sat up abruptly, face twisted in concern as he tried not to cry from the pain his fucking dick won’t stop causing.
“What!?” You searched his face for an answer. “What happened!?”
“You gotta calm down.” Jack moved his arm to block your view.
“About what? What’s wrong?”
“I seem to be having a little… complication.”
Your brows furrowed. “A complication?”
Jack clicked his tongue with a nod. Your eyes darted down too obviously to his pants and back to his face. His erection was blatant. It practically waved at you from behind his arm.
“Does it have anything to do with that?” You said above a whisper. “Why do you have such bad morning wood?”
Jack groaned, again, completely at odds with himself.
“Remember when we had that bottle of red with dinner?” You nodded. “Well it turns out that sometimes while meds can cause the problem, mixing alcohol with the little blue pill causes… other problems.”
“And this can’t be solved with an orgasm?”
“Not after more than six hours.”
Your eyes bugged out of your head. “Six hours!? Jack, what the fuck!”
“I thought it was going to go away!”
You swiftly moved out of bed and shrugged on a sweatshirt. Jack watched you pilfer the room for socks and shoes and leggings and just sat there helplessly on the edge of the bed with his crutches one inch from sliding off of it. You didn’t say anything and that made it worse for him.
“I’m sorry,” Jack spoke up.
“What are you sorry for?” You opened his drawer and pulled out a fresh tee. “It’s not your fault.”
“It feels like it is.”
“Well it’s not, Jack. So stop apologizing and get your leg on.”
“I can’t bend over.”
You tossed the shirt to him. “We’re going in.”
“Where?”
“The ED.”
“No,” he said with a nervous laugh. “No the fuck we are not.”
“You say that like you have a choice, Mr. Abbot.” Oh. He didn’t like that. “Turns out that doctors are truly the worst patients. Your night shift is gone, Robby’s gotta be—”
“I am not letting Robby see me like this.” The thought repulsed him so badly that it made his skin crawl.
“Then someone else will help us,” you clarified. “The longer we wait the worse I’ll assume it will be for you. I’m not driving you to Presby or Mercy when I know the ones that can help you the best.”
“I’ll never live this down.” His eyes filled with ashamed tears and every now and then, you’d seen Jack down on his luck.
A terrible shift, a long week, anniversaries he’d rather not have… but he stared at you from the bed and he looked so small. His salt and pepper hair was flat from restless sleep and the scruff on his face couldn’t hide the jumble of thoughts pouring out of him. You moved to stand in front of him, grasping his face between two hands, and forcing him to look you in the eye.
“You are the strongest, most resilient man I have ever met. You’ve taken care of me more times than I can count and now, it’s my turn to help you the best way I know how. This is bad now, yeah… it is,” you nodded in agreement, “but it’s not forever. After this, you’ll call your therapist and tell him what happened and we will try again when things are better.”
A tear steamed down his cheek and you wiped it away with your finger.
“It’s okay to be embarrassed, honey.”
“I’m gonna make this up to you,” Jack settled. “I promise.”
“Okay.” You didn’t need him to. However, if it made him feel better, sure. Your hands tapped his face twice before letting go. “Let’s go, Soldier.”
The PTMC Emergency Room wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but it wasn’t one you frequented.
It bustled with far too much chaos and while your own career had its fair share, there was something about Jack’s place of work that made you feel ill just looking at it. Death, hurt, pain, and suffering wrapped up in four walls, some windows, and doors.
And now Jack sat outside of it in a wheelchair because he refused to go in on his crutches.
“Just go in and tell Dana I’m out here.”
“Someone is going to have to come and get you anyway, so just come with me.”
Jack begged, “please.”
“Jesus Christ.”
Luckily, Dana was talking with a young nurse at the hub when the ambulance bay doors opened wide. You kept in a straight line to her, not distracted by the sounds and the yelling coming from one of the many rooms. Dana was halfway through a sentence when she glanced over her shoulder and did a double take.
“Hey stranger,” she beamed. “I haven’t seen you in a long time.”
The young nurse beside her, Emma, smiled at you in the awkward way you did when you didn’t know someone’s friend.
“Hi Dana,” you greeted.
“Jack’s not here,” her eyes questioned you. Jack had been scheduled off for the next couple days so there was no telling where he’d be other than at his house.
“Well,” you let out a loose, barely amused chuckle, “funny you should say that.”
“Is he okay?”
“Not really… I just—we just—need this on the down low, alright? He really doesn’t want anyone to know he’s here.”
She nodded understandingly and grabbed an iPad from the counter. “Where is he?”
“Out in the ambulance bay. I put him in a wheelchair.”
“Should I get Robb—”
“No!” You said loudly and shook your head. “God, no. Sorry.”
Emma jumped at the sound and her eyes darted to the bay. “Can I help?”
Your face scrunched. Jack would rather not traumatize a new nurse so early in the shift.
“Is Donnie around? Or Dr. Al-Hashimi?”
“Yeah.” Dana patted Emma on the shoulder. “Go get ‘em and we’ll put Dr. Abbot in Room 7.”
Dana rounded the hub and put a hand on your shoulder. As she stepped further away, she pressed about the situation.
“You know, you two aren’t getting any younger. You can’t go at it like rabbits.”
“Dana,” you scolded with a smile. “That’s—that’s not it.”
“What happened?”
All that was needed to be said were three little words:
“Little blue pill.”
Jack heard the hiss of the ambulance bay open and Dana walked up to him with a laugh buried in her throat. Jack was wearing a hat and glasses like a superhero in disguise and his backpack flipped over so no one could see the name angled in his lap.
“Don’t fucking say it, Evans. Don’t.”
“I’m not!” She held up her hands in defense.
“Dana said she’s gonna help. No one needs to know.”
You grabbed his crutches off the wall and followed closely as Dana wheeled him into Room 7 and pulled the curtains. She left still fighting amusement as Donnie entered with Baran.
“Dr. Abbot,” she said fondly. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“I think we both had different ideas about how today would go.”
Jack took off his glasses and hat, passing them off to you. The bag stayed lumped in his lap.
“So, what brings you in today?”
There was a second of silence and then:
“I seem to have a bit of a… priapism problem.”
Baran’s eyes widened and Donnie hesitated putting on his second glove.
“And how long has the erection lasted?” Jack hated how she pronounced the word loud and clear. He looked at you, shrugging for a loose approximation of time.
“Maybe around… since 11 or so?” You informed.
“So somewhere around 8 hours?” She asked and motioned for Donnie to put the bed rails down. “Does that seem accurate?”
You both nodded. Donnie wheeled Jack over to the bed and he hesitated, looking at you to help him instead. You handed Jack his crutches and as he stood, both Donnie and Baran tried to be respectful and looked away from Jack’s body.
“Dr. Abbot, I’m going to have to ask you some questions about your medical history, medications, and so forth. Is that okay with you?”
“I think you can just call me Jack now,” he grunted as he shuffled onto the bed.
“Can you tell me what medications you take?”
“I-uh, take um, 100 mg of Zoloft, 3 mg of Prazosin for sleeping, and Cyclobenzaprine as needed, 5 mg three times a day, but I haven’t needed it lately.”
“And for the priapism problem?” She slipped on her own gloves.
“I took one Viagra.”
“Have you taken one before?”
“No,” Jack admitted. “My therapist changed one of my medications to Zoloft two months ago and ordered it as a precaution.”
Baran nodded in understanding and as she sat down on a stool and rolled closer, Jack’s hand shot out to yours and squeezed tightly.
“Did he explain the side effects of taking those medications together?”
“Yes,” Jack recalled. “But we must have had… three glasses of wine last night and I’m pretty certain that’s the reason it won’t go away. A reaction, if you will.”
“You’re not wrong.” She smiled at him kindly, then to you.
“How long have you been married? I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
“Six years,” you told her. “And it seems we’re always finding something new to experience together.”
“It’s a good thing,” Baran assured. “Imagine living a life where it’s normal and boring all the time. At least you’ll be able to laugh about it later.”
Her eyes found Jack’s and he knew she needed to look at him more closely.
“What happens in this room, Dr. Abbot, stays in this room. Got it?”
He nodded and focused on a spot across the wall as Donnie hovered behind Baran. Your hand covered his, rubbing gentle circles to ease the discomfort.
“Was this a special occasion or something?” Donnie asked Jack. “Or just a regular Saturday night for you two?”
“Just a Saturday night,” he said shyly. Jack, being bashful? You relished it.
“I gotta say Doc, your wife’s a lucky woman. Who knew Dr. Abbot hit the genetic lottery.”
The blush that overtook his body was a deeper red than his penis. Your hand flew to your mouth, covering the choked laugh before it could escape but Donnie was grinning like the Cheshire Cat and keeping it in was practically impossible. Baran bit down on her tongue.
But Jack knew how to bite back too. “If your idea of the genetic lottery is a guy with 1.75 legs, then sure. Whatever floats your boat.”
“Okay.” Baran finished her inspection.
“I have a feeling this isn’t a cold compress kind of procedure,” Jack wished.
Baran shook her head.
“We’re going to need to aspirate.”
Jack was back on his crutches after an hour with a soreness that would last hours.
“I don’t think I need to tell you what you can and cannot do in the next 24 hours,” Baran opened up the curtain and immediately Jack locked eyes with Dana.
“No, you don’t.”
“Maybe also speak to your therapist about the prescription the next time you go?”
Jack gave you a closed mouth smile. “I already heard that from this one.”
“She knows what she’s talking about it seems,” Baran nodded in approval.
The door opened up and Donnie held it for Jack to escape from. The RN held out his fist, asking Jack wordlessly to bump it.
Jack obliged.
“My man,” Donnie grinned. He slapped a hand on Jack’s shoulder before walking to a computer.
“I’m never filling in for day shift again, ever,” Jack told you over his shoulder.
“All good, Jack?” Dana asked from the hub as you both passed by.
“Never better.” Jack kept going towards the door.
“Thanks Dana for your help,” you said appreciatively. “If he never tells you, he’s thankful too. And I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
The doors to Trauma Bay 2 opened with a whoosh. Jack, still on the slow run on his crutches out of the ED never looked back, but Robby caught sight of him as he sanitized his hands.
“Woah!” He exaggerated. “What’s Jack doing here?”
“He’s going home,” Dana informed and you gave a small wave to Jack’s work wife. He hated when you called Robby that but it didn’t make it any less true.
“Just a little accident.”
“Jack!” Robby called after him but Jack didn’t care.
“Adios! Goodbye!” He said your name loudly followed by a “hurry up!”
You tapped the counter. “Sorry. The princess needs a ride home.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to call him that,” Robby laughed.
“It’s the least of his problems right now.”
They watched you trail behind your husband who, once through the second door, turned and waited for you patiently. You kissed him gently before walking out of view and inside of the PTMC, the world continued to turn.
Robby looked at Dana with a question and Baran walked away before he could ask her anything remotely related to Jack. But Donnie… Donnie just can’t keep anything to himself.
He turned to Robby in his swivel chair.
“Did you know Abbot’s packin’ heat down there?”
A/N: i wrote this straight over three days after not writing for about a year. crazy how that works, huh?
i hope the twitter divas find this.
comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated! it keeps us writing!
a loose sequel has been posted: the heart skips a beat
