clairedelulu

claire l she/her l sagittarius l 20 new to the game & currently pitt obsessed

[kryptidfiles]

the ways that you say my name

Pairing - wc: BND!Peter Parker x Gf!Reader - 2.3k Summary: The sound of being known after years being forgotten makes Peter lose every careful piece of himself Tags: NO SPOILERS, 18+, emotional smut, mdni, p with little plot, p in v, first time (established relationship), name kink, praise kink, needy!Peter, reader is down bad horrendous, use of petnames (baby, one Tiger), kinda proofread

My first time writing for Peter. Pretty rusty after a month not posting. Please be kind! I got a pretty angsty fic in the works 😉

Main Masterlist | P. Parker masterlist

"Peter!"

The first time you said his name like that, he stopped moving.

You were on top of him, knees sunk into the rumpled sheets on either side of his hips, hands braced against his beating chest as the last hard waves of your orgasm rolled through you.

His apartment was too warm around you, the little box fan in the window doing nothing but dragging in the humid city air, taxi horns and distant sirens smearing together somewhere below. The sheets had twisted loose from the corners, damp beneath your shins, damp under his back, damp everywhere your bodies had rubbed friction into cheap 300-thread cotton.

Your thighs were shaking badly enough that you could feel it in your bones. Sweat gathered at the base of your neck, between your breasts, at the crease at the back of your thighs and elbows. Your throat ached from keeping quiet for the sake of his neighbors, your thighs trembled with the strain of holding yourself up, and the place where your bodies met was slick and swollen and so sensitive that even the smallest shift made your stomach pull tight.

That had been the most overwhelming part, worse somehow than the stretch of him inside you, worse than the careful roll of his hips or the way his hands could not decide whether to hold you steady or let you move however you wanted.

He watched like he couldn't afford to blink. Like the first time with you was something he had already convinced himself he would never get to have, and now that he had it, now that you were above him, flushed and shaking and breaking apart on him, he did not trust memory to do the moment justice later.

Peter had been painfully careful from the start. His palms trembled at your breasts, your waist, the back of your neck. His voice kept cracking around soft check-ins, asking if you were okay, if it felt good, if you wanted more, if he could touch you there, if he could help, if he could move, if you were sure. You teased him for talking too much, to which he answered with one amused chuckle. Then you sank down on him again and watched the laugh die in his throat.

Now, there was nothing.

No nervous check-in, or shy smile. Not even an attempt to joke his way out of wanting too much.

His fingers tightened at your hips with a strength that thrilled you before it worried you, the pads of them pressing into skin made slippery by sweat, and his mouth agape. His chestnut eyes were fixed on a point beyond your shoulder, while the flush across his cheeks sank lower toward his chest. The curls at his forehead were damp, sticking in messy pieces to his skin. Beneath your clammy palms, his heartbeat kicked fast and hard once, then seemed to hold itself still with the rest of him.

You blinked down at him, still pulsing around him, still too sensitive to consider what changed.

“Hm? Baby?” you frowned, trying to sound calmer than you felt. “Are you okay?”

Peter swallowed hard, gaze dropping to your lips.

"Wh—what did you say?" he cleared his throat. "Just now."

You stared at him through the dark. Your hips shifted, a tiny, involuntary grind as your body tried to ride out the aftershock and ease the ache settling into your knees, and his cock twitched inside you so suddenly you whimpered.

"I—I said your name?" The answer came out unsure, the end of it pitching higher than the rest.

His eyes snapped back to yours fully.

For one awful moment, you convinced yourself you had done something wrong, offensive, or forbidden, crossing some undisclosed boundary. He didn't press a reassuring kiss along the crease between your furrowed brows. He didn't slip into a clever little quip. His whole body remained as unflinching as his stare, causing unease to settle low in your belly like bricks tied to your feet.

"Can you say it again?"

You licked your swollen lips, cocked your head, and swallowed. "Peter."

He groaned, a low, filthy rumble felt beneath your fingertips, sounding nothing like the sweet, careful young man who kissed and hugged you like he was afraid of wanting too much. His hips jerked up, and you gasped, fingers curling against the firm plane of his chest as the movement sent a sharp, tingling pulse through your overstimulated body.

"Again, baby," he rasped. "Please. Say it again."

The plea made you clench around him.

You leaned forward until your palms pressed flatter against him, close enough to feel the frantic beat of his heart beneath your hands and the uneven rise of his ribs as he tried to breathe through it. Under your fingers, you could feel old scars, faint ridges and shallow lines scattered across his skin, each one a small history he had tried to laugh off whenever you noticed too long.

"Peter," you murmured, slower this time, letting every letter land. "You feel so good."

His head tipped back into the pillow, jaw slack, Adam's apple bobbing while stifling a moan. His hands slid to the meat of your ass, dragging you down against him. Wetness smeared between your bodies with every small, shaking movement, your thighs slick against his hips, the room full of soft skin sounds and the broken mess of both your breathing.

"Peter," you tried again, quieter this time, curious to see what it would do to him. "You’re so good to me. You’ve been so sweet with me."

He shut his eyes.

"Baby," he warned, but it came out as if asking for mercy.

"Peter," you mimicked his tone, rolling your hips down in a slow circle, and felt his hands flex against you. "I know you. I know how you try to say sorry before you even ask for something. I know how you look at the door like you’re already planning how to leave before anyone can make you. I know how your hands shake when you’re trying to be gentle."

His eyes opened when you touched his cheek, thumb dragging over the damp heat beneath his eye.

"And now I know you like hearing me say your name in bed."

You barely had time to blink before his arms locked around you, and the room turned.

One second you were above him, trembling and dizzy, and the next your back hit the damp sheets with a little gasp knocked from your chest. Peter's body covered yours, one hand braced beside your head. His curls fell forward and tickled your cheek. His mouth hovered over yours, open and panting, so close you could feel every exhale skin across your lips.

You stared up at him wide-eyed and far more awake.

"Too much?" he got out, stunned by himself. His hips were still pressed tight to yours, buried deep, his whole body held taut. Even like this, even frantic, Peter was careful with you. Careful enough not to hurt you. Not careful enough to hide that something in him had gone ravenous and needy all at once. "Tell me if it’s too much."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down until his mouth hovered over yours, fingers massaging nape. "Don’t stop, Peter."

His forehead dropped to yours, then thrust into you so deeply your nails dug into his shoulders.

"Fuck!" you gasped, back arching and head falling back against the pillow.

Peter kissed the corner of your open mouth impatiently, missed, kissed your cheek instead, then your jaw, then the side of your neck like he could not decide where he needed to be. His nose dragged against your pulse. "Say it again."

"Peter."

He groaned, mouth brushing yours without quite kissing you.

"My Peter," you added before you could think better of it.

"Shit," he choked. "Don’t call me that unless you want me to lose it."

You held his face between your hands and looked right at him beneath your lashes. "Lose it, Tiger."

Your body dragged tight around him, too sensitive and too wet, every stroke making your stomach jump and your toes curl into the ruined sheet beneath you. Sweat gathered where your chest met his, skin sliding against skin until there was no clean place to hold. Your hands ran down his back and found the hard shift of muscle beneath slick skin, the flex of him as he held himself above you, the raised edge of an old scar near his ribs that made your chest ache even as your body pulled tighter around him.

Your fingers pushed into his hair, catching in the stubborn curls at his crown, and when you tugged, his pace broke.

"D'you like—that?" you managed, shaking against his lips.

“Yes.” He confessed immediately, shoving his face into the side of your neck again as if he could hide from how badly he meant it. “Liked that. God, Don't—hmm— don’t—stop saying it, too. Please. I need—”

His sentence faltered when you clenched around him.

"Need what?" you pushed, and maybe it was cruel, maybe you should've stayed soft with him, but the way he shook above you made your head swim. "Tell me."

Peter laughed, embarrassed, and completely gone.

"I need to hear it again," he mumbled, hips slowing enough to make your breath catch. "Nobody—baby, nobody says it— like you. Nobody says it like they know me."

Your heart twisted, and your eyes burned.

It was then you understood.

There were only a few things Peter Parker let himself have anymore. He let himself have the raggedy apartment with the rusted window lock and the radiator that rattled all winter. He let himself have the suit, hidden in places no one would think to look. He let himself have coffee gone cold on the fire escape, cheap takeout eaten standing over the sink, bruises he pretended were not as bad as they looked, and jokes that never quite burrowed the loneliness underneath.

But his name was different.

His name was not something the world gave him anymore. Not knowingly or graciously. Not with your hands in his soft curly hair and your body warm beneath his, not with your voice trembling around each vowel and consonant like it belonged to you too. It had been so long since anyone had known him enough to say his name with familiarity, with love, with want, with worry, with need.

And he was still moving, dragging the words out of you with every deep roll of his hips, still looking at you like he was two seconds away from begging on his knees if that was what it took. His mouth hovered near your throat, his nose brushing your pulse each time he sank into you, like even your heartbeat saying he was there was something he needed to listen to.

So you gave it to him.

"Peter," you cried, louder this time. "My Peter."

He lost the rhythm but found it again, rough enough to make the bed knock once against the wall, then again. His hand dropped to your thigh and hitched it higher against his side, opening you up until you cried out. Your skin tingled everywhere he touched you. Your stomach pulled tight. The place between your legs was slick and swollen and loud, every thrust pushing wetness between your bodies until you could hear it, until the sound made your face burn and his hips stutter.

Peter's focus dropped where you were connected for one hot second, and the look that crossed his face almost finished you by itself.

"Geez," he breathed, then looked back at you like he needed to watch your face or he would completely lose his mind. "You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me?"

You nodded frantically. "You’re so deep. You’re so good. You’re making me feel so good."

His mouth dropped open against your temple.

"Again."

"You’re good," you stressed, softer but no less wrecked. "I love you, Peter, so much. Wish—wish you could see yourself. You look— so damn good—when you let me have you like this."

He kissed you so hard it almost hurt.

It was messy, all tongue and teeth and panting into each other’s mouths. He swallowed your moans like he needed them. His hand slipped between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with the same frantic lack of patience, and your back arched so hard at the first firm circle your chest dragged against his. The pressure was too sharp after already coming once. Your legs started shaking around him again, heels digging uselessly into the backs of his thighs as your second orgasm started to build fast and unbearable.

"Baby, I’m-I'm close"

"Me too,” You clung to him, frantic from the steady pressure of his fingers and the drag of him inside you. "I can feel it."

"Say my name— when you come," he urged, the words nearly falling over each other. "Please—Please, I need to hear it. Need to know—it’s me making you feel like this."

Your chest tightened, but there was no room to make it gentle. Not with him moving like that. Not with his fingers rubbing you in tight, desperate circles while his hips drove into you, not with the wet slap of skin against yours.

Your second orgasm hit harder and longer than the first. You gripped him, mouth open, breath catching uselessly before sound finally broke out.

"Peter!" you sobbed, dragging both hands down his back, feeling the muscles jump beneath his slick skin, and pulled him as close as he could get. "Peter, it’s—you. It’s you! Only you!"

He came with a groan against your neck, hips shoved deep, arms wound right around you. He kept moving in shallow, helpless little rolls that made you whimper with each wave of his release.

Your body was too sensitive, still pulsing around him, thighs straining, but that didn't stop you from talking because you could feel what it did to him.

"I’ve got you," you soothed, stroking his hair while his weight settled heavier over you. His curls brushed your cheek every time he tried to breathe. "I’ve got you. You’re here with me. I know you."

A sound left him at that, quiet and exhausted, vulnerable just for your ears.

For a while, you were both content to be tangled in each other's arms.

The air was hot around you. The sheets needed to be changed. Your legs felt weak where they had fallen loose around his hips, and your fingers tingled from how tightly you had been holding onto him. Peter stayed tucked against you, breathing hard into the space above your collarbone, his body still trembling in little aftershocks he could not seem to control. Every so often, his thumb moved against your side in a small, absent stroke, careful now in the aftermath, almost shy with the same hands that had just held you down.

You kissed his temple. "Baby?"

His arms tightened around you immediately, swallowed hard, then lifted himself just enough to look at you. His face was flushed, his eyes still dark, his mouth swollen from yours. He looked embarrassed now, a little scared by how much you had seen, but still yearning to show you more.

"I'm here," he answered from somewhere far away, like he still couldn't believe someone called for him and meant him. "Yeah. I’m here. I love you."

"Peter Parker," you cradled his jaw, one thumb sweeping the apple of his cheek gently. "You're here, and I love you, too."

His eyes fluttered at the touch, the tenderness, and then a smile broke across his face before he could hide it, wide, warm, and unbearably young. It tucked into one cheek first and brought out the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.

For a second, he looked younger than the bruises, younger than the suit, younger than all the years he had spent without anyone to call him home.

If only he and the world had been kinder to him, you achingly thought.

You barely had time to spiral in that thought before he leaned down and let himself have a couple more things: a kiss against your lips and his name between you.

.

tags: @moonlightspencie @dailyplaneteditor @devisedplan @snoopysupe @anon-188 @lovergirlwhowearsglasses @chloluvsdilfs @icykentss @twentytomidnight @clarkswhore-jpeg

[snoopysupe]

⭑.ᐟ THE THING THAT I CAN’T IGNORE ── Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch

summary: there’s a betting pool happening at work to figure out the root of the chief attending’s newfound happiness even if it’s a no-strings attached situation that’s causing it. (wc: 4.5k)

pairing: michael robinavitch / f!reader

content: fluff/humour. secret relationship trope. age-gap relationship/friend w benefits. resident!reader (with inaccuracies of how residency works.) insecure!robby but he hides it well ft jealous!robby—i’m trying to show off some of his whimsy. medical inaccuracies errrywhere. 18+ brief mentions of sex.

Robby is watching you from Trauma One.

His sweetest kept secret.

For some reason, you have managed to bypass the seven-week itch and Robby thinks it’s down to being younger than him by a margin; meaning you often ran circles around him. 

From his obstructed view, he can occasionally capture you stretching above the line of the monitor like a docile cat. Before you reduce yourself to a bad posture again, Robby notices that soft fatigue that glazes over your watery eyes when you yawn. A sleepy look that—since the big shift in your non-labelled situation—he can recognise. 

Because you’ve started staying the night.  

Dr. Mohan is leading a hilar flip when he asks her, “You got this?” in which she gives him a strained smile alongside a curt nod; the tension still taught between them. 

He backs out of Trauma One and takes a leisurely stroll up behind you. You’ve dozed off somewhere in between him habitually sanitizing his hands and pulling a singular latex glove from a box nearby. He spares you a moment, so he can read the long waiting list of patients allocated to rooms across the department. 

Snap! 

You jolt awake from the feeling of thin rubber striking the back of your neck. You peel your eyes open to see Robby bending at the waist to look at you warmly. 

“Hello,” he says sweetly, his smile reaching his eyes, “Good sleep?” 

“I’ve had better,” you grumble and rub at your eyes, “I was just catching up on my long overdue notes like you asked me to do.”

Robby hums, “It looked like it too,” he chirps sarcastically and takes a deep inhale as he speaks again, “Save the charting for later. I’ve got a patient with GERD that has your name written all over it. Easy case to wake up to.”  

You emphasise your lack of enthusiasm as you stand, “You just told me to catch up on my charting.” it comes out as a whine. 

“Yes, I did. Then you started dozing off at the workstation, so now, I’m telling you to follow me so we can get this patient discharged and free up a bed,” Robby lilts as you catch up with his pace, his eyes on every corner of the PTMC. 

“If I have to redo my third-year of residency because of your indecisiveness on where to put me, Dr. Robby, I will be filing a report against you,” you grumble in discontent. 

Robby huffs a laugh. “Ho-ho. I’ll be sure to send you flowers.” 

“No you won’t.” 

“No, I won’t. Not for that anyway.” Robby advises you casually, he spares you a glance over his shoulder with a crooked smile on his face, “Because you won’t have to redo your third-year.”

The easy banter between the two of you makes your stomach burn with giddiness. 

You liked how things were going with Robby. Under the radar, no strings attached. Though, somehow, you both seemed to be getting a little tangled in your…well, entanglement. 

It was proving to be difficult to not have the boundaries blend into a real thing with all the bells and whistles of emotional feelings attached. The initial intentions were simply just for sexual pleasure—and then you started getting pleasure by just co-existing.

It was messy. But it was your kind of messy. 

McKay catches up to you, bumping your shoulder with hers, “How’s it going? I haven’t seen you all morning.” 

“About to give a patient a shot of Mylanta for his GERD,” you respond quietly, “Dr. Robby caught me sleeping.”

“Yikes.” she cringes, “Well, he’ll keep you right.” 

He has been for the better half of the year, in more ways than you know. Is how you want to respond to Cassie’s innocent statement. You settle for the latter of a hopeful smile and shrug of your shoulders. 

The three of you come to a slow halt in front of the patient bay Robby had selected for you off of the board. 

You peer into the window of the room. 

A bucket of ice cold water dumps over you.

“I can’t take this case on,” you blurt in a panic, which in turn has Robby and McKay’s heads cock to the side, because what do you mean you’re rejecting a case as a R3? You shake your head, “No, seriously. It sounds stupid, but I matched with that guy on Tinder, and…it didn’t end on good terms.” 

It was true. The male sitting upright on the gurney, in a hospital gown one size too big for him, was currently under the status of blocked on your phone. 

Things had been going well within the app at the time, you matched, connected over menial interests and then took the conversation to text message. You must’ve missed the lesson in life that made the translation of app messaging to text messaging the equivalent to a hard launch into a relationship with a guy you had never met face-to-face. 

Because—and what a story to weave into a one truth and two lies game it had come to be—whilst you were elbow deep in a wide array of traumas that wheeled through the doors of the PTMC, this guy had left exactly 54 text messages, 32 missed calls and 1 beautifully arranged voicemail that poetically told you that you fumbled the catch of the century. 

(Fish were slippery for a reason, right?)

Even with the slight malicious tone blurred between his words, you still kept the voicemail; because it was deeply comforting to play to your co-worker Dennis Whitaker at 4PM after his patient had just coded. 

McKay dips her head to speak lowly to you. “You mean he’s the guy?” 

“What…guy?” Robby’s question is lost to the wind when you squeal out confirmation to McKay that the patient was in fact, the guy. 

He watches the exchange between you and McKay like a third party stuck behind a noise cancelling window. Somewhere amongst the back and forth with hints of worry and mild amusement, Robby starts to feel left out from the bigger picture. 

Tinder. Voicemail. Blocked, is all he took away from this. So…he frowns and crosses his arms across his chest.

“Wow. In the flesh…I’ll swap you for Central 8,” McKay barters, “Utensil through the nose.” 

“Can someone tell me what’s going on here?” Robby cuts through with his hands up, “You have history with this guy?” he thumbs to the door of South 15.

You nod, “Not so much a history, more a brief encounter that’s funny to talk about over drinks.” 

“Yeah. Well, we—” he gestures between you “—aren’t having drinks.” Robby supposes there’s some sort of streak of jealousy going on in his voice, “Can you catch me up to speed? This guy needs a shot.” 

You launch into a shortened version of the story of how this man came to gain such a notoriety that extended all the way into the pit of the PTMC and used for comedy relief after patient coding. Robby, for all intents and purposes, is trying his best to keep a neutral, maybe slightly concerned facial expression as you gesticulate through a brief recap of how you and this guy came to be.

It’s poorly timed the way the envy flares in his chest. He cranes his neck to take a look at the patient again, brows in a pinch because seriously? You had been setting up a potential, future relationship with that? 

Then you casually drop into the conversation that the male had informed you that someone like you, served no purpose for a man with such a catalogue of aptitudes. (He works in finance.) 

And Michael Robinavitch doesn’t like that.

“So, that’s your type?” Robby physically cannot help himself. It’s like he’s purposely being conspicuous. 

You hesitate in surprise, “Obviously not? I don’t really have a type, per se.” (You do. He’s staring right at you.) “I mean, this was all before…” 

“Before?” Robby goads, shifting from one foot to the other, he sinks his hands into his fleece pockets, pulling at the lint gathered there as the words get stuck in your throat. “Alright. I’ll take the case. In the meantime, you can go back to catching up on your notes. I’ll come find you afterwards.” 

“Dr. Robby, I’m happy to swap cases with her—” 

“I’ve got it.” Robby cuts McKay off with a curt nod and polite smile—something she isn’t buying. 

McKay surrenders, but not without flitting her eyes between the pair of you. If there was anyone that could read signs a mile off, Cassie McKay was the woman for that. 

Thankfully, she doesn’t press on the matter as she breaks away from the group. 

“Discreet, Dr. Robby,” you murmur. 

Robby pulls a face that is ridiculously handsome and borderline cocky, “I’ve got this. Charting. Go.” 

Robby finds you at a different workstation much later on. More awake, a few more cases under your belt, but still wearing a notable level of bleariness. He provided the shot of Mylanta to your ‘what could’ve been’ and spent half of his time between other patients, rendering to the insecurities of the probability that he was the oldest male you have ever been with. 

He mulls over his words until he finds a way to express this to you. 

“So…Tinder?” 

“Nope.” you look up at him, “Offloaded the app.”

“Hm.” Robby nods with a frown and then decides to put some feelers out there, “Do…you think I have a predisposition to geriatric behaviours?” 

Your fingers halt on the keyboard. The patient notes on the monitor are forgone for an easier distraction. The expression of perplexity is hard to squash when your brows pinch at the question that has seemingly been plucked from the thin air of the PTMC. 

Robby stands at full height over the workstation. Brown eyes shimmering beneath the clinical lighting, there was an ease in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before and the look of innocent curiosity blended nicely amongst his weathered features. 

His long fingers tap idly at the surface top. 

You hesitate, and then point a finger to your chest, “Are you asking me?” 

“Well—” Robby exhales through his nose as he leans against the workstation, his forehead creasing as he peers over the rim of his glasses at you. “—I’d like to think you could give me some biassed insight.” 

He tosses a lopsided smile in your direction, and you harness some restraint to ensure that from an outsiders perspective that this was an ordinary conversation between the Chief Attending and a third year resident. When you poke your tongue into the flesh of your cheek to prevent a broad smile spreading across your features, that is when Robby mirrors the amusement filled to the brim in your eyes. 

Workplace relationships came with hardships. 

It was becoming evident that having a loosely labelled ‘relationship’ with Michael Robinavitch, the long-time bachelor of the PTMC, was a whole different ballgame altogether. 

It was a long-standing commitment, the act of secret keeping that is. An oath to keep things under wraps, whilst also balancing the navigation on what to do when the leak eventually becomes noticeable—all whilst surviving a twelve hour shift on a protein bar and a prayer. It meant that you were met with hurdles like: how morally grey is it really to sleep with your boss, who could also provide you with a gleaming recommendation at the end of your residency? 

The answer fell somewhere in the ‘power imbalances’ category in the tedious employee handbook. 

(Luckily for you, you only skimmed the surface on the hierarchical structures chapter.) 

It also meant that Robby would often approach you throughout the day with a bucketful of insecurities to unload in a feeble attempt to salvage the dignity that he lost on the way. Unfortunately—he thinks, for you anyway—his keen interest to receive intermittent reassurance from you that the gap in your ages was justifiable, through the form of abnormal questions that dogpiled onto your already stressful day; was his way of seeing the world through your eyes.

It was sort of…pendatically romantic. 

You begin to type your notes again, “Did Javadi school you again?” 

“No…” Robby frowns at the thought, “Just extending some morbid curiosity.” he leans one arm against the workstation and scans the rooms closest within his vicinity. “And, you can put an end to my suffering right about now—”

“You act your age.”

Robby slowly edges his attention to you. 

“Act my age?” 

You let out an airy laugh, “That’s a good thing. It means you didn’t peak in your formative years. Or the years following that.” 

“Huh.” Robby clicks his tongue as he straightens up, shaking a finger in your direction whilst he reads off the board, “Pinning this for later. I did not like the way you worded that.” 

“You got it, boss.” you track his movements as he rounds the workstation to depart it. 

Robby lets out a cackle from the back of his throat as he leaves, angling his body with his hands up to allow space for Trinity Santos to stroll past him. She occupies the vicinity in his immediate absence, her jaw slack as she stares over her shoulder at the humoured physician disappearing into the south-end of the department. 

As she idles up to the workstation, her brunette hair swishes around when she turns her attention to you. 

“What did Dr. Goofy want?” she asks plainly. 

“Dr. Goofy?” you repeat, unable to prevent your face from cracking with mirth. 

Santos shrugs, “Yeah. He’s been…like super chill recently. He seems happier? I don’t know. There’s an underground betting pool going on about the source of Dr. Robby’s joy.” 

“Really?” you brighten at the thought, “Have you put money on something?” 

“He’s getting laid,” Santos admits, her eyes narrow whilst she looks around, lowering her voice at the same time, “I just…don’t know who. I mean it has to be someone in the PTMC, right? I like to think he’s like a caged animal—the hospital and his apartment are the only two roaming spaces for the guy.” 

You hum, locking the computer. “Or he’s going to therapy?” (You knew that wasn’t true. Just throwing Santos off her scent.) 

“Yeah,” she scoffs, “Like the rest of us are.” 

“True.” you stand and stretch your spine until there’s a soft crack. The clock above ticks just over the next hour, “I’m going to spin round the perimeter and grab a coffee.” 

Trinity saddles up into the desk chair you had resided in for the last fifteen minutes and gives you a two-finger salute as you walk away. 

There’s a release of breath that escapes you once you turn down the corridor toward the coffee station besides Pedes. The news breaking that Robby’s sudden one-eighty into an optimistic nature following some questionable behaviours for a male edging into his fifties, was being highlighted amongst the gamblers of the Pitt; and that was enough to have your pulse quicken. 

It wouldn’t be such a crime to be unearthed by your co-workers. At some point, honesty would be the best policy and you weren’t so sure that the on-call rendezvous would go under the radar for much longer. However, it would feel similar to a humiliation ritual if your situation were to be exposed through sticky notes on the whiteboard in the dispatch room and a lump sum at the end of it. 

When you think about it, you take the mental note to take a leisurely stroll toward dispatch to try sneak a glance at the betting pool exclusionary toward one Chief Attending. 

The slop of coffee sputters into the white styrofoam cup with you patiently waiting with a yawn to encapsulate the low energy levels from spending the night at Robby’s, that had finally caught up to you mid-shift. You slow blink as the liquid fills to the brim of the cup, adding your preferences to the sorry excuse of a caffeine hit. 

You press the lid around the rim until it gives a soft pop. 

By some hideous trick of unfortunate timings and coincidental placement, when you bring the steaming hot coffee to your lips, Robby zooms into your periphery and swipes it out of your hand in hurried passing. He plants it at the coffee station as he ushers you with urgency with a hand to your back. 

The touch would have sent your stomach swirling—especially if it had been hours since the last—if it weren’t for your open mourning over the loss of caffeine searing your taste buds. 

You let out a longing whine, “My coffee.” 

“Will be reheated. By me, personally.” he swings the door from North into Central and manoeuvres you toward the South bays. “Right now, we need you in 15 with an AFib cardioversion.” 

“We?” you repeat, “Am I the guest of honour for this cardiovert?” 

Robby backs into the door of 15 with his hands already slathered in sanitiser. He tilts his chin, exuding healthy amounts of cockiness. “This is a teaching hospital, regardless of a more senior role. Let me teach you,” he croons. 

You chew back a snarky remark about Robby getting a new hobby instead of ‘peacocking’ around you for some telepathic praise. Instead, you find yourself opposite Robby as he snaps the latex gloves up to his wrists and observes the patient whilst Mel, beside you, presents the case to him. 

The patient is within your age range. Sort of handsome if you thought about it for too long. He looks up at you, his eyes glazed in awe. It was as if the white lighting overhead had created a halo effect around your head and he was witnessing the presence of an angel in real time. 

He gives you a lovesick, dopey smile. (You get that a lot.) 

Which, considering his circumstances, was a good sign in the grand scheme of things. 

“They hire from heaven or somethin’?” his question is met with a blanket of silence. His chest rises and falls at an unsteady pace—part of you wonders if it’s his condition or if it’s down to the fact that he is quite taken with you. 

Mel glances between the pair of you as she preps the propofol. 

The monitor beeps behind Robby, who silently tilts his head to see how you approach the compliment.

“Oh.” your eyes drift to Robby who scrunches one eye shut, his lips pressing into a thin line as you hesitate. You give an airy chuckle, “Delivered especially for you, Mr…” you look to Mel who mouths the patient’s surname, “King—Quinn.”

Robby glares at you, each wrinkle in his forehead lined with judgement that makes your skin prickle. “Mel, what is the safe window for cardioversion?” 

“Uh, twelve hours.” 

Brown eyes find you again. “What happens after that?” 

“Increased risk of embolic stroke from left atrial blood clot,” you say, eyes following Robby’s direction to the monitor as he encourages you to continue the diagnosis, “…Which he doesn’t have.” 

“Good,” he mutters softly. (You give him a warning glance to end the praise there.) 

Mr. Quinn is in an immediate state of sedation with a successful cardioversion that sends him into a sinus rhythm that will need a few hours of monitoring. Something you don’t jump at the chance to do to lessen the work load that was quickly piling up on your shoulders. 

You exit the room with Robby in tow. 

He walks a few paces behind you, head on a swivel whilst he takes a headcount of fresh faced med-students roaming around the department. Once you’re out of earshot from nearby gossips—Princess and Perlah—Robby bends slightly to talk into your ear. 

“I think you should give patients similar to your age, a wide-birth.” his tone is playful in its emphasis at the very least. 

You tut, “Why encourage patient negligence? I’m clearly a crowd favourite.” 

“Tell that to the grey hairs you give me.” Robby pinches your wrist as he takes over you, heading in the direction of Pedes. Presumably to the coffee station, where your abandoned coffee remains—you hope anyway. “Reheated coffee coming right up. I’ll come find you.” 

“You seem to be doing that a lot today,” you call back to him. He doesn’t respond. 

You decide to double back toward dispatch, to cash in the mental note of placing a bet on the secret betting pool on Robby’s newfound happiness. As always, you find Ahmad standing at the door with his thumbs tucked into his belt loops whilst he scopes his surroundings. 

He looks bored. So, you give him something to be excited about. 

“Do my ears deceive me, or is there some exclusionary betting pool going on that I wasn’t aware about, Ahmad?” you sing as you approach him. 

Ahmad instantly brightens, “Maybe.”

“What have the wagers been so far?” 

“$40 on new motorcycle, $20 on a pay rise, another $20 on pussycat.” Ahmad glances at you with a knowing smirk, “Santos submitted that one.”

“Go figure,” you mumble.

“Are you in, doc?” 

You nod and reach into your scrub pocket, “Sure, why not. I’ll put…$20 on a mid-life crisis.” 

Ahmad smothers his laughter behind his fist. “That’s heartless. Alright. $20 on mid-life crisis.” he takes the bills from your grasp, “You’re lucky he ain’t part of this bet. That recommendation you need after your residency? Dust, if Robby knew.”

“It can be our little secret until then.” you tap at your nose. 

“What can?”

The timing of Michael Robinavitch was impeccably vexing. As the eyes and ears of the ED, most of you began to fear that he was presenting evidence of omnipresence. He appears, he soaks up the happenings, and then he dissolves into the chaos. 

If you wanted to be the one to water the reasoning down, it would be the fact that Robby was slowly becoming the South Pole magnet to your North Pole magnet and you just happened to create such a forceful magnetic field across the department, that it was near impossible to not drag himself toward you when he got the chance. 

He’d just call it grabbing you a well-earned coffee. 

You don’t bat an eyelid as you speak.

“That would defeat the purpose of secrets, Dr. Robinavitch.” you take the coffee from his grasp, fingers intentionally overlapping. You don’t flinch when you feel the card that had been conveniently placed on the underside of the cup—fingers curling to conceal it from Ahmad’s view. 

Robby steps back and gives you a subtle nod. 

On-call room. Fifteen minutes. 

Ahmad holds his hands up in surrender, “I’m out on this one.” 

He manoeuvres himself out of the situation with ease, leaving Robby and you exactly where you wanted to be. Out of earshot and in each other’s company. 

You take a sip of your coffee, kissing your teeth at the bitterness. “You need to be a little more subtle.” 

“That…is what the on-call room card is for.” 

The next thing you knew, you were slipping into the on-call room five minutes after Robby. He meets you in the middle of the room with a face melting into unfiltered fondness, tugging you in by the crook of your elbow, his fingers featherlight against your arm as he envelops you into a warm embrace. 

This was one of the very few places where CCTV couldn’t capture grainy footage of your bond. So, you soak it up when you can. 

With your ear against his chest, you can hear the low rumble he lets out from being content where he is. You tilt your chin upward and he’s quick to catch your lips in a chaste kiss—greedily taking a second.

Being deprived of affection all day, you relish in his undivided attention. 

Robby is staring deeply into your eyes, swaying you both. He decides to take a leap of faith, “Stay tonight?” 

“Two nights in a row?”

“Yes…” Robby grumbles in a warning. 

A smile creeps onto your face. “I think this could be a healthier habit for you to adopt. No reason for me to say no.” 

Crows-feet prominent, Robby smiles and dips to kiss you again. You pull away and begin to pick at the bobbling on the fleece he wears. He keeps you in the warmth of his arms, tucking his chin to watch you busy yourself. 

After a couple of seconds, he brings up a relevant topic of discussion. 

“You want to tell me what that was about with Ahmad?” he coos.  

You give him an innocent expression, “No idea what you’re talking about. We were just having a discussion.” 

“Ah.” Robby draws his brows together, “Nothing to do with the wagers being placed against the reasoning behind my…” he takes a deep breath, “upbeat tempo these days?” 

“Don’t make a snitch out of me, Robinavitch.” you nudge his chest in disbelief, “How’d you know about it?”

“Well. This is my department. I know the inner workings of the entire ecosystem, sweetheart,” he croons before adding, “Plus, Abbot was ecstatic to be the one to tell me.” 

You scoff at the revelation. It just had to be Jack Abbot. 

“Are you mad?” 

“Oh, I think I’ll survive the outside noise for a little while longer.” Robby traces your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, in a way that feels less along the lines of no strings attached. “What did you put your money on?” 

“Something not relating to your sexual deviance.” you tease and Robby brings his fingers up to tug at your earlobe. You moisten your lips and bare your teeth in a sickly sweet smile to soften the blow, “I put $20 on mid-life crisis.” 

Robby’s brows shoot to his hairline, squeezing his eyes shut as he gives his head a wobble to digest your words. There was a conversation that needed to be had somewhere in there; just much, much further down the line. 

And outside of the PTMC. To preserve both of your sanities.

You find yourself trailing the palms of your hands down Robby’s forearms—half covered by the rolled up sleeves of his fleece—to soothe his outward reaction of immediate discontent at the accusation you haphazardly flung out. 

A fucking mid-life crisis.

“You…give me a headache,” he says earnestly.

“I know. But you like it.” (Correction: he loves it.) 

Robby draws back with little time left before your co-workers begin to put two and two together due to the convenient disappearance of you both. 

“I suppose I’ll take it on the chin.” he shoots you a playful look, his eyes glinting with mischief, “I put in an anonymous wager in myself two nights ago. Perks of being the last one to leave this fucking place.” 

“Oh yeah?” your interest piques. 

He reaches for the handle of the door, scratching at the coarseness of his beard with his other hand, “Yeah. I think I have a good shot at winning,” he chirps. 

“Okay.” you nod your head in amusement as he walks away from you, “What did you even wage on? New motorcycle?”

The door buzzes open and Robby swings it open with his face filling with mirth. He leaves you in the on-call room with a singular word uttered; sending you into a frozen shock. 

“$40 on girlfriend.”

gif credit: @emziess !

[scftblush]

♡ | autumn tempest

pairing: robby robinavitch/reader

word count: 7.6k

summary: after another long shift of pretending you both don’t feel the way you do, robby takes you back to his place for some much needed comfort behind closed doors

tags: established and secret relationship, age gap, fluff, smut with plot and feelings, dry humping, p in v, unprotected sex, gentle sex, brief mention of the time it takes for robby to get it up but it’s nbd (he’s 50..ish, like c’mon), slight cumplay, pet names, praise, rainy autumn coziness — 18+ ONLY! MDNI

note: guys….. it’s so bad for me. i miss this old man so much. and need him even worse. and i hate summer so ofc i couldn’t help but write about him in the season i long for in this unbearable heat and humidity 🍂 cross-posted on ao3 ✶

Exhausted doesn’t even begin to cover the way you feel after a long shift. Bleary eyes, blinking heavy and slow as you try to focus on the screen to finish up your charting before you finally get to go home.

The sun set hours ago; not like you get the pleasure of seeing, or even enjoying, many sunsets these days with how busy it’s been in the ED. With breaks being such a rare occurrence, you’re even more grateful for another day coming to an end.

You inhale a deep breath, rubbing a hand over your eyes and down your face as you exhale, trying to will them, and your brain, to work despite their stubborn uncooperativeness.

“You did good today.”

That voice, low and all too familiar, reaches your ears and it’s restorative, perking you up just enough that you turn your head towards it, unable to resist the draw of the resonance. His hand settles steady on your shoulder, warm and reassuring with a soft squeeze and a smile to match.

Robby’s ready to leave himself, with that backpack slung over his shoulder and his nearly empty travel mug in hand, wearing that brown jacket you’ve grown entirely too attached to. It’s the one he’s set atop your shoulders when you were cold while he walked you home, and the one you buried your face in when he gave you a hug after your first difficult shift. The smell of that same cologne he’s worn for decades still clings to the inner lining.

He looks worn out too but he carries it better than you do, in your eyes at least. The greys in his beard are more prominent in this light along with the crinkles by his eyes, and his gaze is a bit softer. From feeling just as weary as you, maybe. But maybe it’s just because he’s looking at you.

You shake your head, a slight movement of disagreement as you gaze back towards the monitor, clicking the mouse with your chin in your palm.

“Doesn’t feel like enough,” you murmur, a bit of dejection hanging on each word.

“Never does.”

He gives one last squeeze to your shoulder, letting his thumb rub a soothing but fleeting pattern, before he inevitably takes his hand away and you’re left with the lingering warmth that fades all too quickly. Of course even tired and during shift change he’s aware of all the eyes, not wanting to risk anyone picking up on his softened demeanor with you.

And you understand. It still makes something ache in your chest just that little bit, but enough to ignore and hide away from him, anyway.

There’s a few moments of silence between you, though it’s filled with the hum of nurses and doctors, machines beeping and the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead, that they’ve all blended together after hours of hearing it in the back of your mind. Until he leans in just that little bit closer, feeling his eyes still observing you as they often do, with his hip against the desk. His hand adjusts the strap on his shoulder so it doesn’t slip when he bends over just low and indiscernibly enough to be discreet about his next words.

“You wanna come over tonight?” He asks it quietly so that nobody not paying attention would hear it, a secret just for the two of you like things have always been.

It’s not actually a question though, and you know it isn’t. Sure, he frames it as such, but you know better. You two have been doing this for too long and you recognize that tone in his voice, making it seem like he’s giving you the choice when, really, he’s telling you: ‘Come home with me. You need it. Don’t fight me on it.’

It’s like your entire body breathes out a solaced and resounding ‘yes’, your belly doing that annoying little fluttery thing it does when you think about getting to sleep beside him.

You wish you had the backbone to at least try and resist, to put up some sort of front as if you’re contemplating long and hard about it just to make him feel an ounce of what he makes you feel.

But you don’t have the energy for that. Not tonight. Not ever, really.

“Two minutes?” You ask in a murmur, tilting back your head to gaze up at him, your heart feeling like it’s being pulled towards him when your eyes meet his.

He glances down at his watch, the worn band of it slightly frayed at the end as he hums.

“Thirty seconds and coffee’s on me tomorrow.”

You exhale a breath through your nose, fighting back a grin before you turn your attention right back to the screen.

By the time you’re done and signed off, you’re sure you have time to spare. But Robby gives you a little half smile and a tut, his hand dropping back to his side.

As if he would actually let you buy your own coffee, though.

You walk side by side towards the exit, his arm brushing against yours not-so-subtly, although you’d be the last person to complain about such an indulgent comfort. And the silence between you isn’t unpleasant, it rarely ever is. It’s a mutual understanding, having gone through the same twelve hours and knowing neither one of you can stand the small talk even on a good day.

By the time you get to his parked motorcycle you’ve already grown tired of being on your feet again, having gotten a small respite while sat at the computer but, walking the short distance lets the soreness really settle in. It’s bone deep, eliciting a slight pout of discomfort with every formidable step you take.

You want so badly to just lean into him and close your eyes, put your weight on him to feel lighter somehow. And, fortunately, it’s within reach when he swings his leg over the seat and hands you his helmet without even thinking twice, like it’s second-nature.

The first time you got on his bike you’d side-eyed him about his lack of protection, but he insisted he’d get another one and in the meantime it’d be on your head instead of his. “Precious cargo,” he’d said, with a smile that was both charming and vexing.

He has yet to actually get another one, though.

But you’re too tired to lecture him about it tonight, knowing he’d just brush it off like he usually does with a shrug and a not-so-convincing assurance. So you just get on the seat behind him with a drawn out exhale, scooting closer to him while sliding the helmet onto your head.

Instant relief fills your body when you finally get off your feet and press your chest against the broad expanse of his back, the consoling warmth of him permeating through your clothes.

Finally.

The engine roars to life, rumbling under you as your hands find their home against his abdomen, your fingers clutching onto his jacket securely before he starts driving you both to his place.

The wind this time of year bites at the peeks of your exposed skin as it whips around you, causing you to shiver just enough for him to take notice when you cling to him.

It’s starting to get colder, with leaves of yellow and orange hues fluttering through the night air from the trees they’ve fallen, littering the pavement and sidewalks he drives past. They fly up and around from the speed you’re moving, a dance that puts even more ease into your body as you admire the scenery.

Pittsburgh is beautiful this time of year, you’ve always thought so, even at night. And despite the chill in the air you can’t help but smile to yourself, just a little, at getting to see the leaves change even if you only get glimpses when the street lights shine just right.

When he gets to a red light Robby sits up a little straighter and pulls off his coat, shrugging it off of his shoulders and handing it to you without even so much as sparing a glance towards you. You’ve got a sweater of your own, and a soft protest at the tip of your tongue. But he already knows it’s coming.

“Don’t need your teeth chattering against my back,” he teases, but there’s also a tenderness there that nearly does all the work of warming you up that his jacket would. But you pull it on anyway, not bothering to hold back a smile this time as it brings relief almost instantly.

“Thank you,” you say, soft and as sweet as can be, letting you get a glimpse of Robby’s own little grin as he keeps his eyes forward.

He then gives your thigh a soothing rub, both a silent praise and consoling gesture that you’re not immune to no matter how hard you’ve tried to be otherwise. You’ve given up feigning it by now, your faint trembling quelled and now waining. And you can’t help but lean into it, nudging your leg just a fraction forward against his palm for the few seconds it lasts before the light turns green again.

The heat from his body is what keeps you grounded, able to endure it for the remainder of the ride, snuggling up that much closer to him as if you’re trying to become one with him somehow.

The autumn air is crisp and clean, and incredibly restorative after having the aroma of hand sanitizer and blood in your nostrils for hours on end. You breathe in deeply, letting yourself revel in it with the sounds of the city fading away.

That is, until you feel a single droplet of cold water land upon your knee, and then a few more on your shoulders and arms, until it quickly devolves into a downpour that falls in sheets around you. It has the potential to soak through your clothes entirely if not for how quickly he pulls up to his condo, parking the bike and cutting the engine as quickly as he can for your sake.

It’s icy and you’re shivering, but you can’t help the giggles of newfound adrenaline that come up from your chest when he takes your hand in his and you both rush to get inside, pulling off the helmet while hastily ascending the steps, the rain dampening your hair.

Your laughter dies down as you get the front door shut, dripping lightly onto his doormat as you use your hands to wipe the moisture from your skin. The entry way illuminates in a warm incandescent glow when Robby turns on the lamp and drops his keys onto the side table, both of you catching your breath.

“Ah, m’sorry honey,” he sighs as his hands find your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks and forehead, unable to stifle a soft chuckle himself at the state of you. There’s so much affection in it that it nearly makes your knees weak. As if he had to apologize for something so incidental, and call you ‘honey’ while doing it. Hearing the ease in which it leaves his mouth never fails to make your whole body come alive.

There’s a caring regard in his gaze as he catches the tremble in your limbs before you can assure him you’re alright.

“C’mon, let’s get you in somethin’ warm.”

You’re no stranger to borrowing Robby’s clothes, but that doesn’t mean you’ve gotten used to it just yet. Every time you get to put on one of his shirts or hoodies it fills you with a depth of repose, feeling connected to him in some way when you get to smell the faint scent of his laundry detergent and that lingering cologne that’s laced through every single thread of each garment, stubbornly still there through every wash.

You don’t even have to say it for him to know your feelings. He sees it on your face when your fingertips fiddle with the bottom hem of the pullover sweatshirt he’s lent you, the insignia of his alma mater across your chest. A little bashful, gently biting at the inside of your lip while you stand there before him in his bedroom.

It’s cozy and clean, an air of sophistication about the simple but refined decor that’s just so him. When you first stayed the night it was hard to not feel a little out of place, much nicer than your own apartment, but also you were uncertain of just how far this would actually go with him, and what work would be like after. But now it’s like a second home. Even if some of that nervous energy that was coursing through your veins then is still present, even now.

The rain continues falling outside, the white noise of it filling the quiet as he takes in the sight of you for a moment. He exhales a breath through his nose as his shoulders relax in that way they always do when it’s just the two of you like this. It’s like he can finally bask in the stillness, not concerned about the two of you getting caught and he’s able to just breathe.

“Are you hungry?” he asks as he finally averts his gaze, like it’s taking him effort to do so, while he takes off his watch and sets it on the right side night stand - the side he sleeps on when you’re spending the night.

“Don’t have much,” he never does, “but can whip somethin’ up… or order something.”

The offer is thoughtful. He’s thoughtful. But in all honesty, the only thing you crave is being near him while the distant rumble of thunder echoes across the city and through the window panes, and the rain cascades down onto the streets below, and you’re wrapped up in his clothes, his sheets- in him, completely.

When he looks at you again he can tell what your answer is without you even verbalizing it. It’s in how you hold yourself: slightly swaying in your stance, how you breathe slower with every inhale and exhale in your chest, how your half-lidded gaze holds both fatigue and contentment. He’s never had to question if you want to be here with him or not, and you don’t know just how thankful he is for that.

“Alright, well, ‘still got your toothbrush in the bathroom,” he says with a faint smirk as he turns down the bed, pulling the fluffy duvet aside.

He doesn’t try to admonish you for not taking him up on his offer, or try to get you to open up about your day. You love that about him- that he knows when to push it, and when to just be there. You two are the same in that way.

And maybe somewhere deep down in this moment you realize you love so much more about him than that—a list so long it would sound ridiculous to lay it all out without even giving him some sort of warning. You decide to push it all aside for the time being, giving him a small but grateful smile before heading to brush your teeth.

You swear to yourself that the conversation will happen eventually.

If you ever get the nerve, that is.

By the time you’re done he’s got most of the lights shut off, the front door locked, and the bed ready for you. It almost feels like it’s calling to you, the softness beckoning you, promising you safety and relief from the frigid air hitting your bare legs. Just a few more minutes and the heater will fully warm up the room but you don’t waste time waiting for that as you climb into the bed right beside him like you’re meant to be there.

At first he’s gazing down at his phone, probably checking his email or your schedule for the next week, knowing him, with the light illuminating his face and the faint reflection showing in the lenses of his reading glasses. You only get a moment to admire the sight before he locks it and sets it off to the bedside when the mattress dips under your weight, because why would he pay attention to anything else but you right now?

He takes off his glasses too with a satisfied exhale, seeing you look so comfy in his sweatshirt, in his bed. It’s a muscle relaxant like no other.

“You okay?” It’s not meant to be a question that delves deeper than the surface- just him checking in on you, making sure you’re comfortable and ready to put this arduous day behind you. With him. He asks it with his arm slightly outstretched to make room for you, inviting you to cuddle up to him.

It’s nice, what you both have; to be able to fall into each other, lean on one another when the rest of the world feels too loud and too much.

What started as fooling around just to take the edge off has turned into something else entirely. Domestic, and calm. Serious, maybe. But neither of you are ready to actually put a label on this, wanting to just exist in it for a little longer as what it is.

A few flashes of lightning illuminate the walls for only a few brief seconds as you hum quietly and nod. You normally would find your place at his side to snuggle up to him and close your eyes, eventually falling asleep in his embrace. But tonight, as fatigued as you are, you also need his attention that you’ve grown pretty reliant on.

You never blamed him for the busy days. When he can’t make time to check in on you, or steal a few moments with his lips against your neck pressed against the bathroom wall before you inevitably have to go right back to work so you don’t raise suspicion. Sometimes he’s all over the ED, and the only time you even get to talk to him is over a patient.

So when you straddle his lap, moving your hands slowly up his bare skin, exhaling a soft little breath at the feel of his chest hair under your palms? Robby just falls into it with familiar ease and lets his large hands rub listlessly along your thighs, those knowing eyes peering into yours.

“Hate to see you take that off,” he croons, his voice low and gravelly with a faint upturn of his lips. Despite his illusory reluctance he has no issue with you needing him, something more. His hands move up under the sweatshirt concealing your body from his gaze to caress your sides, pulling you as close as he can get you to finally press a kiss to your mouth.

You both sigh into it, your muscles going lax at the immediate alleviation you feel. It’s the one thing that you’d needed all day, gone without and nearly gone through withdrawals over after only getting a few glimpses of him throughout the day, only a few spoken words. But Robby’s the same way. Ever since you started this thing he’s slowly become dependent on your time together, needing it just as badly, if not more.

In the beginning when he started to think too much about it he considered ending it. He’d be lost in his thoughts, rubbing a hand over the back of his head and neck, telling himself you deserve someone better, someone your own age. But then it was like you were conscious of his state of mind somehow, and you appeared in his line of sight… and all that rationale completely melted away.

There’s no way he can let you go now. And maybe he’s selfish for it, but he can’t bring himself to actually care when he’s got his hands on you.

His hands span up your back, laying flat and mindlessly caressing any bit of you he can just to be able to feel you while your hands move up the nape of his neck. You part your lips with no hesitance to let him slip his tongue inside, eliciting a muffled little moan from your throat when the muscle glides against yours.

The way he kisses you isn’t like anybody else has kissed you. He’s got decades of experience, sure, but he’s spent so much time with you like this and he’s adept, having caught on and observed what gets you all pliant and eager that by now its as easy as breathing.

It should frustrate you how effortlessly he can read you sometimes, and it does in other contexts, but when it’s just the two of you like this it’s cathartic to know you can put that kind of trust in him. To let every bit of stress or worry go to the back of your mind until you lose sight of it all, and let the only thing that matters come into focus: Robby.

His lips only part from yours when he’s pushing up the soft fabric and pulling it off your body, letting it fall to the side to really feel you in the way he wants. His large hands move up your chest, only skimming over your breasts briefly before taking your face in them to guide you back into more languid kisses. It’s almost lazy, no rush, just wanting to taste you and get you completely out of your head and in the moment with him.

And it doesn’t take any time at all. It never does.

“S’this what you need?” he rasps against your mouth, messily trailing his lips down your jaw, towards your neck, his beard grazing deliciously against your skin and making your fingers tighten their grip. His moan in response against your neck goes right through you, down between your legs, the ever growing ache made even more elevated with such little effort.

“Robby…” You gasp his name melodically, your head falling back and your eyes closing, arching into him as he kisses the newly exposed skin of your throat. Your hips grind down against his, not bothering to be coy even though you couldn’t really control it if you tried.

“M’right here, honey,” he assures you, but he’s also teasing you a little, feeling the faint upturn of his lips against you when he gives your skin another kiss with a light sweep of his tongue. The tone of his voice makes you squirm, breathing out a ragged exhale as you tilt your head right back down upon his. You need to lean on him when his hands guide your hips in a more coordinated way, aiding you into firmer grinds.

“Don’t gotta think at all… I’ll do it for you.”

You breathe out a stunted whimper, the sound from your mouth morphing into a dulcet moan when he spreads your legs a little more so you can really feel his bulge through your panties. Slowly growing in firmness, and warm, sending a shiver down to your clit that’s only gotten more sensitive from the escalating stimulation.

Another resonant boom of thunder bellows, reverberating through the windows and the walls, letting you feel it faintly through your bones when it travels through the bed frame.

“Oh, my girl deserves to be taken care of, isn’t that right?” he continues, murmuring the words low in between kisses. His breaths are more controlled than yours as he keeps up the slow assistance, rocking you against his clothed dick with precision you just wouldn’t be capable of without his help right now. You’re too needy for it, unable to be patient on your own. He knows that.

Your heart nearly soars when he calls you his girl, too. It’s one of the closest things you’ve gotten to some semblance of confirmation that this isn’t something entirely casual. Although you hardly even need it when he calls you such sweet names.

The only time he ever actually uses your full name is at work. But in the walls of his condo? You’re always his girl.

“Did so good today… Doin’ so good for me now…” his tongue swipes over your skin again, “Always so good.”

The praise elicits a gasping whimper from your parted lips to the edge of his ear, clinging to him all the more. Your clit throbs against him, blood thrumming and rushing through your veins and filling your cheeks. Your abdomen grazes his, so soft and yielding against yours with every rut of your hips that it’s nearly your undoing. The friction is both relieving and torturous—just enough to keep you on edge, but nowhere near enough to get you over it.

But that’s because Robby isn’t trying to get you to come, not yet at least. He wants to draw it out a little longer, make you feel that pleasure for as long as he can, really and truly believing you deserve it after the day you’ve had. His goal is to relax you, get you to release all that lingering tension that still clings stubbornly to your muscles. And going slow means it’ll give him plenty of time to get hard for you, to get you nice and ready for him by the time he’s ready for you.

He lets his teeth graze against your neck before trailing his mouth lower, his lips lovingly pressing to your collarbone, your shoulder. His breath fanning over your skin gets you to arch just that little bit more with your fingers gliding through the short tresses of his hair.

It feels too good to think straight, so lost in every single sensation as you writhe helplessly in his lap. Your soft moans fill the air between you, gasping for the oxygen your lungs just can’t seem to get enough of as his hands get a firmer hold on your waist. Back and forth, over and over, letting him feel the growing dampness in your panties seep through the cotton of his sweatpants.

“Easy… s’okay, you got it, honey.” The encouraging lilt to his voice only further aids you, fully enraptured as you start to move your hips in the rhythm he’s set for you.

Even at work you’re a great student, one of his favorites and one of the brightest. You’ve always taken direction well, and of course it made its way into your relationship with him, along with in the bedroom. All it takes is some light coaxing and you listen.

Your hips move with your newfound clarity, undulating with his hands still guiding you, keeping you present and fully in this moment with him. His head dips lower until his mouth finds your chest, his tongue laving over your nipple before taking it between his lips. The gentle suction makes your eyes flutter closed and your head falls to rest against his, with your brows furrowed and your own lips parted in a silent whine.

The position makes it all feel even more intimate. The closeness of being in his lap and in each other’s arms as he steers you closer and closer to that pinnacle verges on overwhelming.

Your feelings for him have only grown and intensified in the months you’ve spent with him. He was once just your mentor, your attending. Now he’s the man you let yourself lean on when the days are hard to bear alone, letting yourself find stability in his hands, and comfort in his voice.

There’s no one single word that really encapsulates what he is to you- what you are to each other. All you know is it’s fervent, and impassioned, and you wouldn’t know what to do if you ever lost this.

The rainfall and wind grow more turbulent just outside, inundating the panes of glass, pelting down on the city. It very nearly mirrors the ever mounting pleasure inside you.

Your movements grow more needy, chasing that euphoria that builds inside you with every single grind. He picks up on it, so attentive, and cradles your body to switch the position and lay you back on the bed to do the rest of the work himself.

You let out a quiet whimper but you’re grateful for it as soon as he grinds his hips down against yours more thoroughly, the firm friction getting your thighs to part to give him more access. Your head gently lolls back against the pillows, but you still keep your eyes on him now above you.

“That’s it… Keep lookin’ at me, just like that.” The sigh he lets out is one of satisfied pride, getting to watch how you open up for him from this angle and have full control over the pace.

He gets even more determined, his eyes taking in every inch of you with palms splayed over your hips, going down your thighs, using his fingers to pull your panties taut to get a better view of just how soaked through they are. It’s obscene. Saliva pools under his tongue, his adam’s apple bobbing from swallowing down his own moans from coming up from his throat.

“Oh, I know you’re close now,” he rasps with the faintest scrunch of his brows, his jaw clenched for a brief moment with the effort it’s taking him to not just rip that measly piece of fabric from your body right here and now.

“C’mon… C’mon, honey, let it all go for me. You deserve it.” His pace quickens just that little bit more, growing more insistent and emphatic, urging you with every roll of his hips and unyielding squeeze of your waist.

With Robby leaning his forehead gently against yours, breathing with you with words of slightly strained praise, the band snaps inside you and it hits you in a wave that washes right through you, down to your toes. Your hips rut just so, helplessly from faint aftershocks. He curses under his breath at the wet heat he feels through his sweatpants, every nerve alight.

Your whole body warms at the elation that tingles down your spine, blissed out with soft moans as he kisses up your chest and your throat with such affectionate praise falling from his lips.

You’re laid back with limbs that feel weightless, your insides thrumming from the intensity of something so intimate and carnal as you just let your eyes stay unfocused for a few seconds without any attempt to help them. All while Robby breathes heavily against your skin, so turned on and hard just from getting to witness such a sight right before his very eyes.

He tugs down his sweatpants and boxer briefs restlessly, his gaze never leaving your pliable body as he gets right back between your spread thighs like he’s sliding home. He manages to still be careful with you while sliding your damp panties off too, despite his own prevalent desire.

He uses his fingers to gingerly prod at your puffy folds, gliding delicately, mindful of your sensitivity. But he still elicits a broken whine from you that he soothes with soft assurances, “shh, shh, it’s alright, so pretty f’me,” while he pumps his cock with the lubricant of you, groaning a pathetic sound that you feel in your entire body.

He takes a second to get his bearings, his eyes squeezed shut with a rough exhale, acclimating before his attention’s right back on you.

“You still with me?” He doesn’t bother attempting to suppress his affinity with you when he ducks his head to try and meet your dazed eyes, his eyebrows slightly raised in fondness. Not that he ever really could hide it very well, even around others.

God, his forehead creases and crows feet in this light nearly do you in, a reminder of his maturity over your own. You exhale a breath that doesn’t bring very much relief when your eyes focus and meet his gaze, a small smile of your own that he shares.

“Always.” The single word comes out quiet, just for him, giving him an uninhibited nod while your hands find their way back to him. You reach for the nape of his neck to pull him closer, feeling the way his forehead falls against yours, yielding to you- to control.

He closes his eyes once more, just for a moment, like he’s trying to take it all in. Then his hips move forward in one slow movement, the thick tip of his cock sliding through your slick arousal. You inhale a quick, sudden breath at the sensation but he’s receptive to you, and his nose brushes against yours to soothe you before he finally presses inside.

He kisses you to muffle the moan that comes right up from your throat, so wanton and overwrought with sensitivity. But you melt right into it as your fingers grip his hair, tugging just a modicum as if it’s somehow going to aid in a reprieve. The action earns you a low sound of approval from Robby though, before his tongue glides past your lips and into your obliging mouth.

The first time you two had sex it was all hands and mouths; months of pent up desire with no outlet satisfying enough for either of you that when you finally got your hands on each other… you left marks.

It was hot and torrid, having given him scratches down his back while he gave you hickeys and soreness. The next morning he’d felt apologetic about it, massaging and kissing your thighs with eyes that held a humility despite you finding it gratifying after the fact.

Eventually he grew more comfortable with letting out his stress on you, not needing to be so gentle when he found that you actually rather enjoyed it. Needing an outlet after a double shift, dealing with the fucked up healthcare system and patients he couldn’t save- it all piled on his shoulders more and more. Relieving even just a fraction of the weight he always carries, while also being railed through the mattress, was something you’d do happily.

But, tonight’s not that.

Tonight isn’t him fucking you with stress and frustration that needs to be quelled. He’s fucking you with unhurried intention, with deep strokes that reach depths in you no one else has come close to, eliciting noises out of you that you weren’t even aware you could make before him. It’s way beyond having sex, but the name feels premature to let yourself even think.

When he finally pulls his mouth back you complain with a whimper, lifting your head in an adorable yet feeble attempt to follow him for more. He hums at that, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. His hand presses your hip to the mattress to keep you where he wants you, and try as you might to rut up and meet his thrusts, he keeps you pinned with a gentle insistence.

“That feel good? Hmm?” He murmurs against your cheek, leaving messy kisses as he trails his mouth back down toward your neck, withholding what you yearn for.

“Fuck, it— y-yes…” You gasp it, teetering off into another debauched moan when your hands move down to his shoulders, his back. You feel the muscles contract, gripping tight with your jaw slack, long past the point of keeping your sounds of pleasure subdued.

“Always so good,” you whine, breathy and soft, your fingertips pressing into his skin just that little bit more.

“Yeah, I know… God I know, honey.” He rasps out the words before he licks at your neck, feeling that faint beat of your pulse under your flesh.

“Lose my mind every time I’m inside you… Feel so perfect takin’ me.” His groan is guttural and low, barely finishing the words before he hooks your thigh up and around his hip to reach an even deeper angle.

You swear you see stars.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much today,” he grunts between kisses, breathing ragged when your walls flutter around him so sweetly, another resounding rumble of thunder joining in the sounds of you.

“Barely even saw you- your pretty face… Hated it.” His pace stays constant despite himself, still taking his time and making you feel every inch of his cock dragging against your walls. He pulls out just until his thick tip is barely inside, just to hear the needy complaint from your lips and bear witness to the sight of your entrance pulsing around him, before thrusting in completely once more. Over and over. Committed and unwavering.

“Bet she missed me too, huh?”

The rush that moves through you nearly takes your breath away. Referring to your pussy as ‘she’ twists something tight inside you. Your walls clench down on his cock with a sound so high strung that his hand grips your hip stiffly, on the verge of bruising for only a moment until his hand loosens with his own groan of ecstasy.

All you can do is give a little nod, and more pitiful whimpers, before burying your face in his shoulder while heat permeates your cheeks, progressing down your chest. You wrap your other leg around him, one hand in his hair while the other holds onto his back like your life depends on it.

You think about begging. It’s too much, yet not enough, and all you want is more. Not even just for him to go faster, or deeper, or harder, or to put you through the mattress until you’re crying. It’s so much more than that. So much more intense.

You want all of him. Every single part.

Every heedless, headstrong word he’s said out of frustration that he’s taken right back when he’s had time to regain his composure. Every gentle caress of your face when it’s just the two of you in the break room, risking it for just one single moment to console and comfort you. Every look of pride when you help a patient, getting them stable with his hand squeezing your shoulder in silent veneration. Every slow morning with his sleepy grumbles and his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in closer. Every scoff when you make a joke that he pretends isn’t funny, only to poorly hide his smile over the rim of his coffee mug. Every lecture he’s given you when he knows you’re better than your hard days, seeing so much potential in you that you didn’t quite yet see in yourself.

Every second of every day of every month you’ve spent in that hospital; learning from him, growing into your own… falling for him.

“Please…” The word slips out of your mouth like you’re saying it both to him and to yourself, your thoughts. It all washes over you at once, overwhelming and all consuming, barely able to handle the emotions of the realization hitting you so completely.

That’s the thing with keeping it all pushed down, is that it all comes rushing to the surface eventually.

“What d’you need, honey? Talk t’me.” The gentleness in his voice makes it all worse, or better. He brings his thumb down between you and gives your puffy clit the attention it so desperately needs and you mewl, nearly wailing in desperation at having to spell it out when he should just feel it and know.

And maybe he does. Maybe he has, for a lot longer than you’ve even realized.

Your lips drag against his collarbone, messy and uncoordinated, letting him fuck you like you’re his and he’s yours. Because you are, and he is.

“More… Oh, f-fuck— more, just…” Your voice comes out desperate and wanting against his skin, the pleasure coiling inside you with a heat you can’t possibly bear for much longer. It’s coming on so rapidly, so sudden.

But it isn’t sudden, not when you really let yourself think about it. The feeling’s always been there; at the back of your mind, suppressed for the sake of your job, uncertain of how Robby feels in return and too scared of losing this to ever question it.

But deep down… you’ve always known how you felt about him. It just took you a bit of time to catch up to it, to have it break down that wall you spent so much effort in putting up. And it’s enough to bring annoying tears to your eyes that you can’t seem to just will away anymore.

“Harder… please, harder…”

“Oh, I’ve got you, baby,” he promises, exhaling like he was just waiting for you to utter the words, before kissing your neck like it’s a sacred act in and of itself.

“I’ve always got you.”

You don’t last much longer, not when all the sensations and your emotions are heightened with want, need, desire, lust, love.

It hits you so hard you feel it all through you. Your body’s humming a song of his name, warm and euphoric as your walls tighten around him in drawn out pulses. Your gasping whines and cries fall upon his shoulder, eyes clenched tightly, nails digging into his skin like part of you is afraid this might all just be some dream.

It coaxes him to come just as hard, spilling inside you with deeper thrusts, breathing harshly against your throat. His own low whimpers get hastily stifled against your mouth, kissing you so firm and messy it makes a few tears finally fall.

Your hearing’s slightly muffled, ears ringing for only a few moments until his head finally drops to your chest in a huff. Both of you are so worn out you just lay there with each other, silent save for your panting and the white noise of the downpour that’s still ever present.

Your fingers run mindlessly through his hair, needing the repetition of the movement to bring you back to yourself, self soothing as you sniffle and keep your eyes on the ceiling. Focused on the softness while he breathes against your skin, nuzzling his face into your chest before pressing his lips to each of your breasts, then your sternum, slowly migrating up to your neck, then your jaw.

His thumbs brush away the trails of tears that fell down your temples, so delicate under your eyes as he looks at you with such tender regard.

“Ah, honey… You alright?” There’s a quiet reverence in how he asks it, not necessarily overly concerned but aware that it obviously affected you this time. You don’t normally get emotional like this.

Your heart feels constricted by the question, in turn giving him a small nod before leaning into his touch and letting your lips graze his palm, his wrist. You exhale, breathing through your nose and closing your eyes as you attempt to wade through the thoughts in your mind. There’s so many it’s like they’re all up to your knees like water, making it difficult to really answer.

But is it time to have that conversation? To broach the subject of what you’re both doing, prying into his psyche to see what Robby himself is thinking and feeling, attempting to put a label on this? When, in reality, things are good between you two. Stable. Comfortable. You’re basically dating without calling it that, anyway. Do you have to ask?

He’s sweet to you, and patient. You know deep down he wouldn’t have an adverse reaction, but the fear of it all imploding still sits right at the forefront of your mind regardless.

Before you, Robby wasn’t a relationship guy, not really. A few here and there but when you met him he didn’t really do commitment, six to eight weeks was usually the cutoff. But you’ve been sleeping with him for much longer than that.

And in that time it took only one month to get him to keep your toothbrush in his bathroom, and two to keep the coffee you like stocked in his kitchen, and three to have a drawer in his dresser just for you so you don’t have to go back to your place to change before a shift.

He’s thoughtful and caring, silently doing all these things for you, to make it all easier. If he really only saw this as temporary, would he go through all that effort?

You can’t bring yourself to say any of it aloud, not just yet. You will, though. Eventually.

When the moment feels right, when you’re both fully clothed and haven’t shared a hard day, when you’re both rested and the morning light streams in through his kitchen window, when he’s sitting across from you drinking his coffee on the rare occurrence you two share a day off, when he looks at you with that domesticity that fills your heart as you take a bite of your breakfast—that’s when you’ll tell him.

You’ll lay it all out for him, not feeling even an ounce of uncertainty, wearing that pullover sweatshirt of his and a tranquil smile. And the tops of his ears will flush a faint pink, the corners of his lips will upturn only slightly before he tells you to move in with him like it’s the most casual thing in the world- the natural next step he’s wanted to ask of you for weeks, having already obtained a key for you.

It’ll all work out, and you’ll look back on these moments of reservation with a fond roll of your eyes, wondering how long you’d been clueless to his considerable affection for you.

But until then…

Your voice is quiet against his skin, with your tired eyes looking up into his once more, a contentment in your soul as you smile, blissful and sweet.

“Yeah... more than alright.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ✶ my masterlist ⋆⁺₊⋆ ✶

[gglouise23]

Dating Trinity Santos

what’d it be like to date one of my fav Pitt girls!

♡ Trinity Santos who always lets you have aux, she doesn’t mind what music you play, she likes it all.

♡ Trinity Santos who loves thrifting dates. You two try to pick out the goofiest outfits for your date nights.

♡ Trinity Santos who kisses you whenever and where ever she can. You turn your head and leave your neck exposed? Covered in kisses immediately.

♡ Trinity Santos who takes pictures of you whenever she thinks you look cute. So she’s constantly taking pictures of you.

♡ Trinity Santos who gave you the nickname “sweetheart” your first day at the Pitt. It started sarcastic but quickly turned to a nickname full of genuine emotion.

♡ Trinity Santos who was afraid to get attached to you but can’t imagine life without you now. She now expects to see your shoes right beside the door and your toothbrush next to hers.

♡ Trinity Santos who is incredibly soft with you when no one else is around. When you first started dating, everyone thought she was far too distant for you but they soon found out she was soft around you.

♡ Trinity Santos who is shy with pda and blushes whenever you kiss her in public, even if it’s just on the check, but the minute you two are at home, her hand is on your ass and her lips are all over you.

♡ Trinity Santos who finally opens up to you after a few months of dating about her mental health struggles. When she feels like she’s gonna relapse, you’re the first, and only, person she tells.

♡ Trinity Santos who takes you to karaoke as your first date and you two scream your hearts out to Reneé Rapp.

♡ Trinity Santos who tells you she doesn’t want anything casual with you after your first night together.

♡ Trinity Santos who lets you cry on her shoulder after a hard shift. You let her do the same to you.

♡ Trinity Santos who says she hates cuddling, but immediately melts when you wrap your arms around her.

♡ Trinity Santos who takes you to watch the fireworks on the Fourth of July and on new years. on new years she kisses you right at 12 am.

♡ Trinity Santos who softly sings to you when you have trouble falling asleep. You love the soothing sound of her voice and it’s just what you need to have good dreams.

a/n: ugh I love her sm. If u like this, please consider liking, reblogging, commenting, and following!

[mariasont]

LET'S WORK IT OUT ON THE REMIX ˙⋆✮

frank and robby's unresolved resentment comes to a head when their rivalry turns sexual and they start using you as the middle ground.

MASTERLIST | RULES | PINTEREST

PAIRING michael robby robinavitch x reader x frank langdon

WARNING 18+ MDNI explicit smut, fem!reader, AFAB!reader, ménage à trois, boyfriend!langdon & boss!robby, freaks being freaks, hate sex?, robby and langdon using reader as a stress toy and therapist all in one <3, possessive!langdon, robby is condescending per usual but like in a hot way, oral (male & female receiving), robby picks up reader to throw her on mattress at one point, voyeurism, lots of pet names (sweetheart, baby, doll, etc), starts with robby and frank at odds with each other, ends with them teaming up against you... wink wink, lots of dirty talk, robby and frank talking about reader to each other, langdon lowkey degrading robby? idk yall

WC 4.2k | REQUEST here!

You didn’t think this little plan of yours all the way through. 

Which, in your defense, implies there was a point at which there had been a thought-through version, and that feels charitable now that you’re standing in the middle of your living room with a paper plate in one hand and a steadily souring sense of dread in the other.

Because really, what sort of person invites her chief attending over to the apartment she shares with her resident boyfriend while the two of them are still in the world’s iciest little bro-divorce? 

Your sort, apparently. Certified dim-bulb. Girl who sees a gas leak and thinks, hm, maybe a sparkler would improve this situation.

But in your defense the frost between them had been spreading and you were tired of pretending it wasn’t. Tired of pretending it wasn’t affecting the job itself. Everyone was.

So yes, maybe engineering one contained, inescapable little social crucible had felt wise at the time. Healing, even. Put two men in a room and let nature take its course. 

Frost can’t survive fire, you told yourself. What you failed to remember was that fire tends to not be warm in any benevolent way. Fire bites. Fire blackens. Fire leaves marks.

The proof of your terrible idea now sits on opposite ends of the sofa. Robby on one, Frank on the other, a clean swatch of empty cushion between them while they chew their food in perfect, hostile union — bite, grind, swallow, repeat — ostensibly watching the TV. 

The screen washes them in intermittent blue light, giving them both somewhere neutral to stare, somewhere that is not each other’s face. 

You give it three more seconds. A generous three, really. More than either of them deserves. Then your patient collapses inward on itself. With a sigh, you deposit your plate on the coffee table and cross the room.

If they want to commit to this pageant of masculine emotional constipation, fine. You can be disruptive. You turn and reverse yourself right into Frank’s lap, crossing your legs at the ankles.

His breath catches against your neck, a fracture in an otherwise composed exterior, surprise or shock of you climbing on him in front of your boss, but he stays statue-still except for the palm that migrates to your thigh and clamps there. 

“Robby, you still think their rookie QB’s gonna choke in the red zone?” you ask, making a doomed little bid for peace with the ragged scraps of football knowledge you’ve managed to absorb by osmosis, your chin tipping toward the drive unfolding onscreen. 

Without so much as a glance your way, Robby grunts, “Kid’s overdue for a disaster,” a verdict delivered to the television but seemingly tagged for his recovering subordinate to his left.

The half-smirk that follows is pure instigation, and Frank answers it the only way he can in mixed company: “Disaster? He just took them eighty yards in two and a half minutes. Think that earns him at least a little faith.”

And spiteful tone notwithstanding, the words pass between them minus bloodshed, which you decide counts as a victory.

Maybe not a large victory, not something they’d name a holiday after, but you’ll take whatever pocket-sized miracles the universe is handing out before it changes its mind.

Robby finally cuts Frank a sidelong look, head ticking just enough to register annoyance. “Faith won’t change the fact he’s already gift-wrapped the defense a few choice turnovers. Odds say he does it again once the end zone feels too close for comfort.”

Frank’s knee bobs once with a scoff, bouncing you with just enough force that your t-shirt shifts, neckline dipping. Robby’s gaze snaps there like iron to a magnet; he tips his beer to hide a grin, but the swelter in his stare is anything but subtle. 

Interesting.

It’s not the first time you’ve caught Robby looking at you like that.

There have been other moments, in passing, usually at work. You’ve caught him with that glazed, faraway stare before he could reel it back in when you bend over a counter to grab a pen or crowd too close beside him in those paper-thin scrubs.

It’s always just been filed away under things that are none of your business, because you are Frank’s and happily so, and desire from other men has always struck you as one of those minor background inconveniences of having a body in public.

But now this feels less easy to write off. Like all that tension that had been hard and almost boring in its predictability has warped into something else entirely. It feels humid and unstable and just this side of visible. 

You can’t name it yet, but it waits there all the same, right at the edge of articulation, poised like it knows you’ll eventually have to. 

“Real rich, coming from you,” Frank says to himself and you, but the tail end mutters itself into “— jackass.” 

They both return to the TV after that, or pretend to, shoulders squared forward, expressions set into the particular blankness of men who are absolutely not done arguing but have decided, temporarily, to ferment.

You take advantage of the attention shift, letting gravity slump you into Frank’s chest, hips shifting in an absent figure-eight as you settle. It would’ve been innocent if the movement didn’t drag you directly over the hard proof of his excitement beneath you.

Your brows lift.

Another interesting development.

Useful, too, knowing whatever strange atmospheric disturbance has rolled through the room has not passed over him untouched. Not just Robby, then.

“Easy.” His inhale saws across your nape, voice pitched for you alone, the consonants clipped and almost panicked. “You tryna start something?”

You really weren’t, but you know he’s not in a position to believe you right now after you made a show of climbing on top of him not two minutes earlier.

Across the cushions, Robby’s tongue drags across his lower lip like he’s cleaning a knife, bottle slack in his hand.

“Hmm? Third-and-four, babe. Pay attention.”

“You don’t even know what third-and-four means,” he growls under his breath. “You’re already on thin ice after springing Robby on me — so do us both a favor and quit squirming.”

“Should probably listen to him, kid,” Robby says suddenly. You and Frank turn at the same time, guilty in stereo. He reclines deeper into the couch, lids at half-mast, utterly unmoved by Frank’s incoming glare. “If Langdon wants you to quit squirming it’s only ‘cause he’s struggling to keep up,” he drawls, eyes flicking to the tell-tale bulge under your ass. “Guy’s never been great at thinking and feeling at the same time.”

You don’t even have time to be embarassed before Frank’s growling, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Robby.”

“Is that right?” he challenges with raised brows. “Well, you’re welcome to show me.”

Heat prickles along your neck, a phantom fingerprint.

Surely that’s not the invitation you take it as. You just have your mind in the gutter. A mind that happily projects the image anyway. Robby reclined in that same spot, beer perched on his knee, gaze foggy with lust while Frank’s mouth maps yours and your hips test how steady the good doctor’s hands really are.

It is, on reflection, not nearly as appalling a thought as it should be, which feels like a separate problem and also, perhaps, the main one. 

“Relax, Frank. If you can’t handle it, just say the word — I’m happy to keep her occupied.”

Oh. You stand corrected.

Frank’s lips peel back in something just shy of a grin. His hand slips from your thigh only long enough to cup your jaw, turning your head until the room blurs to the halo of his face.

“She’s already occupied,” he tells Robby, but his eyes stay on you, a dare stretching between eyelashes. 

You don’t blink. Don’t breathe. Don’t so much as twitch, and that tiny surrender is apparently all the permission Frank needs.

His lips crash into yours, teeth scraping, soda-sweet fizz sparking on this tongue while his arm bands tight around your waist. The couch groans under the sudden torque of bodies. Denim grinds denim until sparks pop behind your eyes and every rational neuron shrugs, clocks out, leaves libido in full command.

The instant your mouths part for air, Robby’s bottle clinks onto the table.

You turn just as he leans in, forearms braced on his knees, broad shoulders now blocking half the TV’s glow. Up close, his stare tracks the smear of Frank’s spit on your bottom lip, the way your chest still heaves in uneven intakes. 

A shadowy smile carves on cheek as Robby tilts his head, dark eyes roaming from your swollen mouth to Frank’s white-knuckled grip on your thigh.

“Could use a closer angle,” he mutters. 

“By all means,” Frank sneers, one fist gathering your waistband, tugging you a slow quarter-turn until you’re astride him, chest to chest, knees snug to his hips.

On the short but damning list of Professional Conduct Hell-Nos, “make out with your boyfriend while your boss spectates” probably ranks very high. Somewhere between falsifying patient charts and starting a fistfight in the ambulance bay. Possibly above stealing narcotics, which feels in poor taste to think with both men in the room, but then again, the evening has already wandered several zip codes past good taste.

It wanders even further when Frank kisses you again.

The list of reasons this is wrong atomizes into glitter until even Robby’s razor-keen gaze becomes another blur at the edge of the frame, taking in tremors you no longer have the bandwidth to hide.

But the awareness of the extra set of eyes of you only seems to dump pure accelerant into your bloodstream until you’re arching into Frank and rolling your hips down against the thick seam of his fly, bumping perfect pressure against your clit.

A wet rush answers between your thighs, lace sticking to your folds, and your breasts mash against Frank’s chest until you can feel your own heart ricochet through peaked nipples.

You break the kiss again only to clamp down on his lower lip in your teeth and tug, over-dramatic, leaving a sticky sheen that practically screams look what you’re missing, Dr. Robinavitch.

“Sure he’s convinced, Frankie?” you ask, breathless, thumb dragging over his lower lip to soothe the place your teeth had just nipped at. “Convinced I’m tied up and off-limits?” 

Frank laughs, a thin, rattled sound. His hand coasts up the slope of your back, ironing himself into every dip and imperfection.

“Dunno, baby.” He ghosts a kiss at the corner of your grin, another softer one under your jaw. His gaze darts over your shoulder to Robby, then sinks back to you, trouble puddling in the dimples you love. “You wanna show him? Show him how much you like taking care of me?”

You’re nodding before the sentence is half-born, a frantic little yes-yes-yes of motion.

In your haste you misjudge your own limbs, nearly knotting them with Frank’s before scrambling free. You drop between his thighs, the carpet scraping your knee raw as one hand shoots out to catch the dense muscle of his quad for balance.

To your left, Robby shakes loose a low, entertained hum. “Poor thing was just waiting to be useful.”

“She’s useful all the time,” Frank murmurs, and there’s no bite in it. His fingers sink into your hair and comb it gently back from your face. With his other hand, he pops the button of his jeans, zipping sliding down slow enough to hear every metal tooth give way. “Just happens to be especially pretty when she’s desperate to prove it.”

A guttural breath escapes Frank as he eases himself out, fist wrapped around a length that stands fierce in his hand, the flushed head of his cock blushing deeper with every absent pass of his thumb.

Your lips part, tongue wetting the seam, gaze fixed with the naked intent of an animal staring down dinner. Satisfaction flickers in his eyes. He offers a slow, decisive nod.

You don’t wait for a second invitation. You are many things but wasteful is not one of them.

Fingers wrap him in one cautious loop, then tighten once his inhale hiccups above you. You lean in and drag your tongue in one flat stripe from base to tip, tasting salt and the darker thing that’s only his.

He hisses through his teeth, every muscle in his thighs wiring tight under your palms, his hands balling like he’s fighting the reflex to bury them in your hair and steer.

Before he’s recovered, you’re already sliding him past your lips, and all that soft worship knifes into raw, unfiltered hunger.

His fingers finally tangle at your nape, gathering the curtain of your hair back in a practiced sweep, granting him an unobstructed view as your mouth sets a slow pulse around him. Like he needs to see every inch of what you’re doing to him or he’ll die from not knowing.

Your hand picks up the slack, stroking the length your mouth vacates.

“Jesus.”

“Told you,” Frank says. “She likes takin’ care of me.”

“I’m getting that,” Robby drawls, dryness turning brittle-sharp . “Little overeager, though.”

And you are. Eager. Greedy. Shamelessly so, student-raises-her-hand-before-the-question-is-finished so. You take Robby’s little barb as praise anyway, letting it roll down your spine, because if he wanted you less eager then maybe he should stop sounding so interested in it. 

You work him deeper, spit glazing the shaft, smearing over your knuckles. Saliva puddles in the cradle of his pants, printing a wet halo.

Frank’s head thunks back against the couch. “If you had her mouth on you, Robby,” he grits, “you’d be begging for the same… enthusiasm.”

“You offering?” Robby asks Frank. “Because I’ll admit — she’s a lot more tempting on her knees than being a smartass during rounds. I could get used to that view. Might even teach her some new tricks.”

You answer with a muffled growl that vibrates along Frank’s cock. He twitches under it.

That is such bullshit. You are not a smartass indiscriminately. You are a smartass with standards. A smartass in self-defense. A smartass only when Robby shows up in his holier-than-thou vestments and wonders aloud if you’re “having trouble following directions” for daring to question a single judgment call, or when he lofts that patronizing brow at a truth everyone else is simply too cowardly to say, or when he coaxes your attitude out of you with all the patience of a snake charmer and then acts scandalized when it finally bares fangs. 

And yes, fine, maybe you’ve needled him once or twice simply because the little pinch of his mouth brings you joy.

Sue you. People have hobbies. Frank has terrible coping mechanisms. You have this. 

Your nose nudges the downy trail at Frank’s belly, saliva threading between your lips as your throat opens, then you draw up in one long, slow drag.

Warning flashes through every tense line of him a second before his breath punches out in a fractured little curse.

“Fuck, sweetheart —”

Frank’s fist eases you off him, and when your mouth slips away with a wet pop, he’s panting, cock flushed bruise-dark, a string of precum still kissing the corner of your lip before it snaps.

“Sorry — shit. You keep doing that and I’m gonna come down your throat in front of your boss.” 

You shrug. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Robby whistles. “Pretty sure we crossed that line a while ago, Langdon.”

Something hair-thin cracks across Frank’s face, a little fault line opening where the smirk had been, sour and old and too personal for the room you’re currently kneeling in. You can’t place it. Can’t tell how Robby managed to find the bruise when he’d only seemed to brush the skin. 

“Kind of rich, you saying that.”

Robby’s smile doesn’t move, but his eyes freeze over. “You implying somethin’?”

“Implying nothing. You love quoting policy til it suits you to break it.”

“You wanna pick a fight with me right now?” Robby scoffs. “Because I gotta say, your sense of timing’s still shit.”

“At least I’m consistent” 

“Listen, Langdon, the day I take a lecture on —” The rest of Robby’s retort dies when you stand, stepping straight into the line of fire and blotting out the last scrap of civility left between them.

This is what you wanted, right? The attention snapping toward you. Both of them suddenly silent because you have become, for one second, more interesting than their pride.

You catch both set of eyes as your fingers hook beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming it up your ribs, knuckles brushing the goose-pimpled slope of your stomach.

The cotton’s off before either man can inhale a protest, pooling at your feet like a dropped flag, and for a heartbeat you let them see you in nothing by the pale, breath-strained lace of your bra: straps sliding, cups stretched indecently tight, nipples pebbling hard enough to ache.

You reach behind, flick the clasp, and let the bra fall too, shoulders rolling back so your breasts lift, unapologetic, into the hush. 

Frank reacts the way he always does, as if this is a miracle he’s somehow been deemed worthy of witnessing — never mind that he’s had your tits in his mouth four times already this week. 

But it’s Robby’s look that reroutes every living cell in your body. No wide-eyed marvel here, just pure clinician, jotting mental footnotes on nipple angle, respiratory excursion, overall breast biomechanics.

He’s studying you so hard you swear the room compresses, a slow squeeze that coaxes your back to arch and your knees to drift tighter, slick pulse drumming a reminder of why you stood up in the first place. 

You channel their attention straight into your backbone, thumbs hooking the waistband of your shorts and tugging until they puddle beside your discarded shirt, leaving you to stand in nothing but a damp lace thong.

“If you two would rather keep the pissing contest going, that’s fine,” you say. “I’m perfectly capable of finishing solo.”

A bluff — half bluff — because you could, but gods you’d rather make them beg to help.

You turn, gifting them a sway of your ass, all bravado, as you saunter toward your shared bedroom.

You make it exactly three steps. An insulting distance, really, before Frank’s hand brands the small of your back and Robby’s palm spreads wide over your belly, both of them converging so fast your brain barely has time to document the win under effective tactics.

Together, they swing you back into the wall hard enough for the plaster to kiss your shoulder blades.

The air leaves your lungs in a little hmph, quickly swallowed by Frank’s mouth claiming your collarbone, while Robby’s thigh muscles between yours and pins you there, your pussy dragging firm against his pant leg. 

“Sensitive little thing,” Frank murmurs, thumb stroking the underside of your breast while his lips charts a slow latitude up your throat.

Robby catches your chin between his fingers and tilts your face, giving Frank better access and forcing your gaze up to his at the same time. Efficient. Very attending of him.

“All that attitude for a fifteen-second wait? Spoiled, aren’t we?” He glances at Frank, amused as he jerks his thigh higher to your clit. “Think she even remembers why she started the tantrum?”

“Doubt it,” Frank answers, sliding a palm between your panties and robby’s leg to cup at the wet heat there. A tremor shoots down to your toes. “Memory’s about to get a lot worse, too.”

“Good,” Robby says, smiling crookedly as his hands make their way up your thigh. “Maybe then she’ll let the adults talk.”

Adults, you want to scoff, but Frank’s thumb circles over your clit and you forget what else you wanted to say about that. 

“Bedroom,” he decides.

“Copy that,” Robby answers, and then before you can blink, you’re scooped over his shoulder, world flipping until you’re staring at his (very nice) backside.

His hand smacks your ass once, proprietary punctuation as Frank follows, tossing directions like you’re precious cargo being delivered: “Second door on the left.”

You hit the mattress with a squeak. Plush bedding cups your spine, breasts pitching up and down before settling into a slow rhythm that seems to hypnotize them both.

You blink up into the twin eclipse of their silhouettes. Four eyes drinking you in. Every rise of your chest pulls a twitch from Frank’s jaw, drags Robby’s lower lip between white teeth. Shared silence of men who have finally found a reason to put their differences aside. 

Robby looks to Frank for permission. “Can I?”

Frank gives one curt nod. “Hands and mouth only.”

“I can work with that,” Robby says. 

He crawls forward, knees depressing the mattress, settling between your thighs. 

He leans in, and suddenly his eyes are galaxies: black centers swallowing brown until just a thin halo glows like caramel on a burner. 

It’s a weird feeling. How Robby, the same man who can watch arterial spray and merely sigh for suction, is gazing down at you like he’s the one white-knuckling the edge. 

But then the galaxy eyes disappear and in their place returns Dr. Robinavitch. Cool and insufferably sure. His expression settles into something almost cruel, like he’s caught you noticing the crack and intends to punish you for it.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, thumb stroking a glistening stripe through your underwear. “Soaked through already. That’s pathetic, sweetheart.”

He punctuates the verdict with an almost tender kiss to the inside of your knee, then another, higher. Instinct yanks your thighs together, but Frank is suddenly there on your right, palm bracketing one knee and pressing it outward again.

“Don’t hide now,” he chides.

A raw, useless sound breaks from your throat.

“There she is,” Robby praises, mouthing higher. “Nothin’ smart to say?”

You do. You must. Somewhere. But you find only ache. Voice trembling, you plead, “Please… Robby.”

He answers with action, sealing his lips over your clip through the fabric, drawing a slow, punishing suction that makes you cry out. 

Frank’s hand pushes your abdomen down, steadying the tremor, while his voice near your ear sounds: “That’s it — let him see how polite you can be.” 

You look to your right to see his cock sitting against his stomach, free hand doing lazy strokes up and down the base.

Robby hums low, mouth dragging down the damp seam of your underwear in languid swipes. His tongue flattens, gathering your taste, then flicks upward. His nose nudges your swollen bud with every rise. 

“Press a little harder right there,” Frank tells Robby. “She’ll act like it’s too much, but she likes it. Don’t let her squirm away.”

Robby listens. You hate that, you decide. How he’s on Frank’s side now.

You had been counting on his natural contrarianism to save you from Frank’s encyclopedic knowledge of all your most intimate buttons. No suck luck.

He bears down on the pulse point Frank named, then tongue-blades upward. White heat flashes through you and you flinch, trying to shear sideways, but his grip tightens, thumbs denting soft skin. 

“Uh-uh, baby — stay right there and take it,” Frank croons, the up and down rhythm he approaches with his cock kicking up speed. “You know it feels good, let him give you every drop.”

Robby works you relentlessly, sloppy and dirty, tongue alternating broad licks and focused circles that make you arch off the bed. You bury both hands in his hair, nails scratching his scalp, unable to keep your moans at bay.

“Good girl,” Frank drawls. “Let him make it up to you. All those times he’s been a dick at work. Seems only fair he uses his mouth for something useful.”

Robby shoots him a murderous side-eye but doesn’t slow. Instead he hums, vibration punching straight through the fabric. Your moan breaks into pieces — so close you can taste it. 

“Michael, I’m gonna —”

He hears his first name like a starting gun. His tongue locks onto your clit in punishing patterns, each lap faster than the last, crooked nose grinding everything just right. 

In two heartbeats the world pinpoints to a blistering of sensation. Your vision whites out, fingers clawing uselessly at this hair and the sheets as your climax slams through you. A ragged cry spills against Frank’s thigh while every muscle locks, then ripples.

Still, Robby doesn’t relent. His mouth stays on you, tongue lapping through the quake, coaxing aftershocks that make your thighs quiver against his braced shoulders.

Only when tremors give way to trembling afterglow does he ease back, breath hot against the sodden fabric, leaving you boneless and blinking, pleasure echoing through every nerve like a fading siren. 

Robby lifts his mouth, chin and beard glistening. 

“Thought about this every damn shift,” he says, tongue darting out to chase another bead of you from his lip. “Tastes even better than the fantasy, doll.”

Your eyes drag into focus by inches.

“That’s wildly unprofessional,” you mumble, the words softened by the fact that your thighs are still trembling around his head. You try to look stern. You suspect you look freshly exorcised. “You should probably report yourself.”

Frank’s hand tightens where it rests on you, his voice dropping to something rougher. 

“Don’t worry, baby. We’ll give him plenty to confess to.” He looks over your body, then to Robby. “Think she’s ready to find out what happens when we stop taking turns?”

“She’s ready,” Robby responds. “And if she isn’t, she’ll tell us. Won’t you, angel?”

A twin grin blooms across two previously warring faces.

This is not how you pictured getting Frank Langdon and Michael Robinavitch back on the same page. 

But if this is what conflict resolution looks like nowadays, who are you to stand in the way of progress?

MARIA NOTE posting and ghosting this one bc i lowkey don't know what came over me when i wrote it

[mariasont]

STRINGS ATTACHED (SOMETIMES) ⋆˚࿔

during a beach volleyball match, a wardrobe malfunction forces frank into an awkward rescue

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ interested in how the pitt crew got approved for a week in greece? the original invitation is still posted

PAIRING: frank langdon x er!barbie!reader WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI, not full smut by any means but there is suggestive content, public nudity, accidental exposure, mutual pining, sexual frustration!!!!, mention of ass and tits, frank's inappropriate stream of consciousness, flirty banter always, light jealously, frank gets hard for like .2 seconds PROMPT: here! WC: 0.8k

Frank considers himself mature enough to resist the teenage impulse of gawking at a woman just because she happens to be wearing a bikini.

A criminally tiny, bright pink, glittery bikini at that. He’s an adult, after all, entirely capable of looking elsewhere. 

Except now, vacationing with you, he’s discovered that elsewhere simply doesn’t exist.

You’re unavoidable, gleefully bouncing around the sand with Jesse, John, and Samira during a beach volleyball match, your bikini valiantly trying and failing to contain your tits and ass with every leap and dive.

And as much as Frank insists internally that he's better than this, he finds himself utterly incapable of tearing his gaze away.

You’ve already made this trip hell for him in any case.

Leaning too close whenever he tries to explain something mundane, your cleavage strategically positioned within inches of his face. Insisting he put sunscreen on your back because your arms “just aren’t flexible enough,” then making soft, thoroughly inappropriate noises as he rubbed it into your shoulders. Laughing breathily against his ear while whispering teasing remarks about how relaxed he looks in casual wear. 

It’s becoming abundantly clear that you’re determined to break him, and it’s starting to look like you’ll get your way. 

Frank’s attention snaps back to the match when he hears your high-pitched scream, a scream he’s mesmerized down to the decibel, usually reserved for finding a spider in your office.

He finds you kneeling awkwardly in the sand, clutching your now untied top against your chest with wide eyes. 

Frank beats the rest of his coworkers to you. 

He’s not sure exactly what he intends to do, only that the thought of anyone else seeing what he’s been picturing, shamefully, for far longer than he’d ever admit, makes him feel a little sick.

And as soon as he’s there, your arms fly up, wrapping desperately around his neck, your body pressing tightly to his chest, effectively shielding you from view.

He quickly slides a hand behind your neck, fumbling for the untied strings and clutching them securely, ignoring the sensation of your peaked nipples brushing against his bare skin.

Frank exhales sharply, fingers tugging at the strings. “Told you this thing isn’t exactly meant for athletic pursuits.”

And he had.

Said it first when you paraded around the house in a mock fashion show, and once more when volleyball was proposed as an afternoon activity. 

Clearly, you’re not eager to listen, evident by the way you twist your neck, shooting him an irritated glare as if he’s somehow personally responsible for your wardrobe malfunction.

You push away reflexively. “Don’t be an asshole.”

Frank reacts instantly, gripping you by the waist, dragging you firmly back to him as he catches sight of your bikini still perilously loose, revealing far more skin than you're clearly aware of. 

“Not trying to be,” he placates. “Use your hands to cover yourself. I’ll tie the strings so we don’t give everyone here a free show.”

You mutter under your breath, eyes narrowed, but dutifully cup your boobs with cautious hands. Frank moves behind you, sweeping your hair aside to get a clear view of the strings. 

And to his annoyance, it’s not like any bikini he’s ever encountered. Far too many loops, knots, and decorative twists for something meant to cover so little.

Trust you to wear something complicated enough to require a set of instructions, he thinks, fingers gently prodding at the tangled straps.

He cautiously pulls at one of the twists, trying to make sense of the design, only for you to squirm backward into him, ass pressed distractingly into his hips. Frank clenches his jaw, holding back a strained noise. 

“No, Frank, not that one! You have to untangle the loops first. You're making it worse.”

“My apologies,” he grumbles, “Didn't realize I needed a damn engineering degree to tie a swimsuit.” 

“Forget it — let me just do it,” you huff, clearly frustrated. 

Frank opens his mouth to argue, but the words evaporate instantly when you grab hold of his wrists and place his hands firmly over your breasts.

Jesus Christ.

His entire body goes rigid, pulse suddenly hammering a deafening beat in his ears as you confidently work to fix the strings yourself, promptly ignored his stunned silence.

He hates that he can feel your breasts in his hands. Soft, full, fucking perfect like they were molded for him.

He’s keenly aware that even breathing too deeply might lead to accidental contact with something he shouldn’t touch. Though really, he shouldn’t be touching you like this at all. Especially not here, in front of coworkers and a beach full of strangers.

A wave of heat rushes downward, a growing hardness beneath his swim shorts. Fuck. He shifts uncomfortably, weight transferring awkwardly from one foot to the other, silently willing you to hurry the hell up.

“There,” you announce triumphantly, quickly turning to face him. “All fixed?”

You twist left and right, clearly expecting him to inspect your handiwork, utterly unaware that you’re tormenting him. 

Frank clears his throat, gaze snapping desperately to your eyes.

“Uh — yeah. Looks… looks good,” he manages, voice more strained than he intended.

You flash him a satisfied smile before jogging back into the match, leaving Frank standing there, pulse still racing uncomfortably.

So much for maturity and resisting juvenile impulses.

this fic was part of my 2 year celebration: maria's summer in santorini 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ to learn more, click here!

MARIA'S SUMMER IN SANTORINI MASTERLIST

[agnireed]

PAPER THIN WALLS

PAIRING ➩ jack abbot x reader

WC ➩ 19k

SUMMARY ➩ Jack Abbot is the perfect neighbor who is always willing to offer you a helping hand. Until you ask him to take your virginity.

WARNINGS ➩ age gap (reader is early 20s and jack is 50), they have sex and all the things that sex brings along, jack might be ooc

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ Well for once I tried to deliver real smut for you guys so buckle up and leave me some feedback on this one if you like it! NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL and it’s probably obvious so be kind about mistakes lol I wanted to get this to you guys asap!

“I need a favor.”

Jack was used to you asking him for help, had been for the two years since you moved into the apartment directly across from his.

He didn’t mind offering you a lending hand when he saw you struggling to carry your boxes from your small run down car, it wasn’t an inconvenience to collect your mail if you ever had to leave town for a few days, and he really couldn’t complain about having to remind you to get your laundry from the unit down below because it held him accountable too.

It was such a common occurrence, you asking him for a favor, that he wasn’t too surprised to find you at his door. He only gave a soft sigh as you pushed past him to enter his apartment, offering you a lot more patience than he did the newbies at the hospital.

You were always sweet, maybe a little bossy at times, but it gave him some amusement in his otherwise strict routine.

Plus it was admittedly nice to feel needed.

You came to him when your apartment had a leak or your air conditioning went out, knocked on his door whenever it was raining and you’d forgotten an umbrella after locking yourself out, and you even sometimes popped over just to get his opinion on what you should wear out on a random night.

Everybody was always telling Jack he needed a hobby that didn’t involve putting his life on the line, so he rarely told you no and tried his best to brush off Robby whenever he asked what was keeping him so busy lately.

It would be hard enough to explain the dynamic he had with his much younger neighbor but even more so considering you were now standing in the middle of his apartment with a frustrated look on your face, hands on your hips as you tapped your bunny slipper covered foot.

“What is it now?” His voice was gruff and disinterested but you knew well enough that he would do whatever you asked and he was well aware of that too. Still, it helped him just a little to pretend to contemplate it for a second or two first.

“I need you to have sex with me.”

You said it like it was as simple as asking him to come over and check your water pressure, falling out of your mouth casually and landing heavily in the quiet room.

There was no need to pretend this time as he fell into a bewildered silence, raising an eyebrow in your direction and letting his eyes track you as you dramatically sighed and went to flop down on his couch. You’d demanded about a year ago that he got some pillows for it, along with a few other interior design suggestions.

He’d picked up four after his shift that night.

“Please say something.” You were turned around on the couch so you could face him over the back of it, arms crossed as you rested your chin ontop of them.

“I have nothing to say to that.” He shook his head immediately, that stern expression he used on an unruly patient or Robby when he got a little too pushy.

This just made you sigh again, loud and exaggerated as you turned back around to fully lay flat on his couch.

“Why are you even asking me that?” He didn’t want to pry because he knew you well enough by now to know you’d just be encouraged by that but his curiosity got the best of him, circling around to sit across from you on one of the living room chairs.

You didn’t sit up but you turned your head to the side to look at him, a slight frown on your face that he didn’t think was particularly genuine. Your personality was always something Jack admired, not getting a lot of time in his own life to be so bold with his emotions and carefree in the way he spoke and behaved.

He was serious and guarded where you were a walking billboard for spontaneity, coming to him crying about random problems after only half a week of living in the building.

It was mostly endearing but there was the more critical part of him that wondered how lonely you must be to be making friends and finding comfort with some random guy across the hallway, a much older one at that.

Jack knew he had a bit of a hero complex but it typically manifested in a more extreme way, quite literally jumping into battle to save lives or operating on them in their lowest moments. This dynamic with you was a new form of care taking and there’d been a handful of times he’d doubted his own motives.

“Because I have a date next week and I am a complete lost cause when it comes to all things intimacy.” You still had a theatrical flare to your voice, not facing him anymore and instead rambling straight up to his ceiling with your hands gesturing wildly.

He tensed up for two reasons now, one being the mention of a date and the other was your implication you didn’t have any experience.

“But you’ve had sex before.” It came out slowly and half like a question, half like an assumption.

There wasn’t any real reason for him to think that other than his own social expectations. You were gorgeous, one of the prettiest women he’d seen in a very long time, and had a naturally magnetic energy to you that even he couldn’t resist most of the time, platonically but also selfishly deep down, a little more than that.

He’d seen you go on a handful of dates in the last year or two, all guys your age that didn’t seem to know how to pick up a check let alone please you properly.

That’s where Jack’s problem stemmed from.

There had been almost no ulterior motive the first year he had known you, genuinely trying to be helpful and to be a good neighbor. He would get upset when his coworkers would call him anti social or make digs at how unfriendly he was because he hadn’t always been like that and he figured helping out the girl next door was a good first step to getting that part of himself back.

You’d told him after a few months that you had no family on this side of the country, completely starting fresh at a new company you’d applied to on a whim.

It was completely innocent.

Yes, you were undoubtedly beautiful in a way that made his head spin for a second when he first saw you. You had been standing near your car and fighting with a box, both by tugging at it and saying less than kind words in its direction like it could understand you.

Jack had hesitated for a handful of seconds before making his way over and offering to help, feeling this weird pull in his chest when you blinked up at him in surprise and eagerly thanked him.

Once you were in his life, you never left. And he made space for you effortlessly because, quite frankly, he had plenty of it to offer up.

About seven months ago was the first time he had ever seen you with a guy.

He’d been coming home from a long and rare day shift (covering for Robby so he could attend Jake’s graduation), dragging his leg behind him and praying nobody stopped him on the way to his apartment so he could crawl into bed for a few short hours before he had to do it all over again for his own shift.

The only distraction he would have allowed was you but you were clearly busy, standing in the hallway as he got off the elevator and touching the rather small bicep of a guy your age.

Jack hesitated, considered getting right back on the elevator before it could close on him, and then slowly walked to his door.

He had hoped you wouldn’t acknowledge him because his throat was already weirdly tight as he eyed you and the way you stared up at the man (boy, if Jack had to really label it) with that soft and curious expression you always had.

“Jack.” Your voice was full of excitement and he faltered, his key left in his doors lock as he turned to give you an attempt at a polite smile. “Covering somebody again?”

If this had been any other day then Jack would have invited you into his apartment to talk instead of lingering in the hallway. He would have ignored his exhaustion to pair his black coffee with the hot chocolate flavor you liked that he kept in his bottom drawer, complained to you about being tired and listened to you scold him for working too much when he didn’t need to.

But you were in a pretty dress that was clearly on its way to dinner and your date was giving Jack that possessive stare that guys fresh out of college thought was intimidating.

So instead he simply nodded his head and continued to unlock his door.

“This is Asher.” You continued abruptly as he turned his door handled, leaving it cracked as he stopped to look at you again.

He gave you a once over to make sure everything was okay, wondering why you were still insisting on talking to him when you were so clearly meant to be going somewhere else. You didn’t look too uncomfortable but you were watching him back just as intensely so he mentally stored the name and face of the guy anyways, just in case something happened.

“Ashton.” Your date finally spoke and his voice was annoyed and laced with immature bitterness, although slightly valid considering you had forgotten his name.

Your eyes widened, still boring into Jacks, and he smiled a little before giving you a small wave and heading inside.

Jack realized quickly after that encounter that his intentions were a lot less innocent than he had initially thought they were. He’d closed his door before immediately pressing his back against it, listening to the sound of your small heels leaving the hallway as you apologized to your date with a clenched jaw and a pain in his stomach.

The next few dates after that just confirmed what he had already realized from the first one.

He was attracted to you.

Maybe even liked you.

You talked to Jack about almost everything going on in your life, even things he definitely would not have cared about if it came from anybody else, but you never once brought up the dates. At first he had worried you had somehow noticed his weird demeanor that day in the hallway but Jack wasn’t very expressive in general so he figured you must keep that part of your life private for other reasons.

The attraction part was easy to accept mostly, he was only a man and you were clearly gorgeous. Although the age gap was something Jack couldn’t get himself to look past.

You were barely in your early twenties, over half his age younger and overly obviously so. You radiated youth, from your appearance and the way you spoke down to your hobbies and interests.

You were clearly a very young girl and he had felt like a pervert from the moment he saw you outside of that car for the way his body warmed. Jack hadn’t felt much attraction to anybody at all since his wife died, at first out of a lingering loyalty to her that barely faded and then just due to his busyness and his own mental blocks.

That was not a problem when it came to you and he had to give a genuine effort when he was around you to act normal.

You’d come over in tiny sleep shorts or a tight tank top that showed your hardened nipples through the thin fabric, join him for morning yoga in downright sinful leggings and he even was attracted to the stupid bunny slippers you wore.

But you were a young girl and he was a disciplined old man so he barely looked twice in your direction when you were bending over to get mail and he never once touched you, setting boundaries for himself and keeping them.

Which was why it was so hard for him when you slowly shook your head to his question about having sex before.

“What about those guys?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you and you sighed like you were embarrassed, a rare emotion to see from you.

“We barely kissed.” You shrugged and finally sat up from your dramatic position on the couch. “Please Jack, I don’t have anyone else to ask.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.” He said immediately, slightly offended you were seemingly only asking him because you had no other options.

You looked completely dejected now but Jack knew there was no way he could possibly accept this request, for too many reasons but especially because of his own moral code. He also didn’t want to ruin what you’d had going on, enjoying your company on his hard nights and finding himself finally letting somebody in after so many years alone.

“Okay so no sex.” You say softly and you stand up when he does, following him as he walks into the kitchen and leaning against the counter to watch him set the coffee machine settings. “But can’t you show me little things.”

He sends you a sharp look that you return with a gentle pleading smile, bouncing in place a little like you think your cuteness is the answer to everything.

And it just might be because Jack sighs softly and turns his full attention back to you.

“Like what?” He knows him asking for specifics will give you hope and he can see it immediately on your face, brightening and taking a step closer to him that makes him tense.

“Maybe just telling me what guys like?” You suggest softly and the words coming from your mouth make him almost groan, keeping his face flat and emotionless as you speak. “And some kissing lessons.”

“You know how to kiss.” He shook his head at you and went to turn back to his coffee but your hand wrapped around his wrist to stop him, successfully keeping his attention on you. He realized that it might be the first time you’d ever actually touched him, skin against skin. “I’ve seen it.”

His posture tightens as he reminds himself of that fact, easily recalling the vivid memory of leaving his apartment to head to work and finding you coming home from a date and making out with a guy against your door.

You hadn’t noticed him at first but he had slammed his door harder than normal, shamefully intentional.

There’d been a pang of guilt when you jumped in surprise and separated from the guy who looked the douchiest out of all of them but it was hard to feel it when you have him a slightly grateful look on his way to the elevator.

You were blinking at him now, almost like you were realizing something, and he looked away in favor of glancing at the clock on the wall.

“Not a kiss that feels good.” Your voice was more serious now, sounding genuinely disheartened by the conversation and the slow unveiling of your inexperience.

He sighed again, just trying to get rid of the tightness in his chest, before shaking his head firmly and fully turning away from you to fill up his coffee mug.

“I’m not doing it.”

—

Jack thought about your offer for the next two weeks. Obsessively.

He waited to hear you bringing somebody else over, someone who had jumped on the golden opportunity to touch you for the first time when he hesitated. You didn’t seem to go on any dates but he supposed you wouldn’t have told him anyways.

The thought of you experiencing sex with some asshole you met off a dating app, nervous and unsure on what to do without guidance, was eating away at him.

Jack was a fixer, he liked to help you, and he had already accepted the fact that he was extremely attracted to you. It wasn’t like he didn’t recognize the jealously in his stomach everytime he saw you with somebody else, a type of anger he hadn’t felt since he was preparing to go into a real life war.

Subdued by age and a calmer reality now but it was still fresh hot anger that he couldn’t shake no matter how much he tried.

You came to him with this problem, not just for pointers and tips but you had actually asked him to be the one to take your virginity.

Virginity.

Jack couldn’t get the concept out of his head and while he hadn’t necessarily considered himself somebody who would care about that type of thing, especially not as he entered his fifties, it did bring a wave of heat over him whenever he thought about it.

You’d never been touched before outside of a few unsatisfactory make out sessions. You, the pretty girl with downright sinful choices of pajamas that consumed his day to day life so easily after he spent such a long time alone.

He thought about it endlessly until it led to him knocking on your door, a rare switch of the usual dynamic that left him feeling a little awkward before you answered.

The sensation went away when you looked up at him, eyes a little wide with confusion as you silently stepped back to let him inside. It was rare for you to be so quiet but maybe you could tell what he was thinking by the look on his face, maybe you were thinking about the same exact thing.

“I’ll help you.” His voice was gruff and flat, waiting until your door closed behind him before he spoke. Your face immediately lit up but he silenced anything you were going to say with a raised hand, your parted lips closing as you waited for him to finish. “But I’m not sleeping with you.”

You pouted a little at the condition but stepped forward after a few seconds, far too close to him for his sanity but he figured you’d be getting a lot closer soon so he forced his breathing to stay level.

Jack used to consider himself quite smooth, still a natural flirt when he joked around with older patients or teased Robby.

But he was completely thrown off of any existing game when it came to you. He didn’t even know he could still feel this way about somebody, the yearning and lustful feeling having been dormant for a long time before you moved in.

“I’ll take whatever you give me.” Your voice was soft now and he’d never heard you like that, maybe a bit of a whine when you impatiently asked him to help you with something, but never so pleading.

You’d shifted even closer as you spoke and he couldn’t help himself now that he practically had permission, his large and rough hand sliding over your waist to rest on the small of your back.

You sucked in a sharp breath at the feeling and he was suddenly aware of how much fun this was going to be if you were that sensitive.

“Not tonight okay?” He replied and his low tone made your eyes soften, nodding eagerly and hesitantly letting your hands land on his chest in balled up fist. “We can talk about it more later and work out some conditions.”

“You’re giving me rules?” You’d collected yourself enough to finally give him some of that familiar attitude, smiling slightly as you stared up at him. He rolled his eyes but let his hand tighten against your back, moving you forward and just trying to test your reaction to the touch.

You lost your smile immediately, shuffling closer until you were pressed against him as your eyes darted all around his face with surprise. It was clear you didn’t expect him to accept at all let alone this easily, despite his two weeks of contemplation, he wasn’t at all hesitate now.

“You need them.” He retorted and his free hand brushed some of your hair behind your ear, the first time you were ever really touching each other being this intimate was sending another wave of affection through him.

A few years ago, Jack couldn’t even get himself to look at another woman, let alone hold one so gently. Even with the slightly out of the ordinary circumstances, he cared for you and you trusted him and that was all that really mattered in his eyes.

“You’re mean.” You’re whispering it and his head tilts at the sound it, overly fond and curious how you can affect him so much just by changing the tone of your voice. “Kiss me atleast.”

It comes out a demand and his eyebrows naturally furrow at the sound of it, knowing immediately that will have to be one of the rules he gives you when you talk them over.

Manners.

He doesn’t respond for a second but you seem to understand before he even needs to scold you, lips parting in realization before they form a small pout and you unclench your fist so your palm is flat on his chest now instead.

“Please give me a kiss Jack.” You sound sweeter now and he would think it was an act, making fun of him for his sudden silent sternness, if it wasn’t for the genuinely pleading look on your face.

The knowledge that you listen so easily, even when he doesn’t actually say it, overrides his senses so much that he actually does bend down to kiss you.

It’s soft at first which you don’t seem to understand, immediately trying to eagerly make out with him like that’s all you really know. He moves one of his hands from your side to hold under your jaw, applying a little bit of pressure near your throat to indicate he wants you to slow down.

You melt against him at the touch but do as he silently communicates and relax a little bit, still moving your mouth a bit sloppily against his but learning to adapt to his slow and easy pace.

Eventually you get the rhythm down perfectly, lips moving together without anything extra added. You asked Jack to teach you so he was going to do exactly that, starting from the basics.

Your face was completely dazed when he pulled back, instinctively shifting forward to try and kiss him again and making a small disappointment noise when his hold near your throat tightened in warning.

“You asked for a kiss.” He said in a low voice, still close to your face so he could perfectly see the way your widened eyes shifted around his features.

He was a bit mesmerized by the way you looked now, so unlike yourself on any other day. It both made his guilt over being perverse grow and also solidified that he didn’t care how wrong it was as long as you kept looking at him like that.

“Get some sleep.” He waited a few seconds before taking the necessary steps away from you, taking a sharp breath as he turned and left your apartment.

His own door had barely closed behind him before there was insistent knocks on it, his head immediately hanging since he knew exactly who it was.

Your eyebrows were furrowed when he pulled the handle to reveal you in the hallway, standing stiffly and glaring up at him but not making any move to come inside. You shifted in place and let out a huff of annoyance as you seemed to search for the right words to convey what you wanted.

“Can you kiss me one more time?” You eventually settled on the blunt question, shifting closer so you were both halfway in his doorway.

While he had a foot inside his apartment still, you had one in the hallway. It left you standing too close for his sanity, feeling it slip almost entirely again when your small hand landed on his forearm and rubbed softly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly, sensing your frustration but not knowing where it was stemming from.

He cupped your face with one of his hands, letting the other rest back on your side. You stared up at him as he took a few slow steps forward, backing you up with each one until your back hit the doorframe and took a soft near gasp from your lips.

“Nothing I just…” You trail off as you pout, scanning over his face and then down his chest until you can’t bend your head anymore to look. “I want one more. Please.”

You added it as an afterthought but it was enough for him, pressing his mouth back against yours.

This time, apparently a very quick learner, you were able to meet his pace right away and your mouths moved softly together. Your arms went around his neck so you could fully cling to him as you kissed deeply, heads tilting and quiet pleased noises rumbling in your throat.

You only got louder when his tongue pressed lightly into your mouth, mostly just to test your reaction but unable to stop himself when you were eagerly matching the actions.

It was sloppy and a little too wet, sounds of your tongues tangling together filling the silent hallway and sending a sharp heat down to his gut. He liked how clumsy you were, growing addicted to the way you seemed to have no idea what you were doing but too desperate to stop yourself and ask him for his help.

Jack knew he liked feeling needed but this was a whole different beast, one that came paired with some light shame.

You weren’t innocent and you knew exactly what you needed to about sex but your body was inexperienced and it was getting clearer by the second, your little gasp when he kissed you deeper and the way you tightened your hold on him everytime he went to pull back and attempt to slow down.

You’re red in the face by the time he manages to get you to stop eagerly kissing him, still instinctively shifting closer when he moves back. He gives you a lighthearted sigh, occupied by the softest smile he can manage so he doesn’t actually hurt your feelings when he presses you back against the doorway with the hand that’s still on your hip.

“Time for bed.” He tries to keep his tone light but it comes out more authoritative than he had meant for it to, most likely driven by the way you automatically started to frown as soon as he held you away from him. “We can talk tomorrow.”

You clearly weren’t happy about that but you surprisingly gave him a soft nod, shifting your body until you were out of his entrance and closer to your own.

He watched you and your dazed face, slightly wobbly on your feet, as you disappeared behind your apartment door with a small wave.

-

Jack had started off his day rough the following morning, barely able to sleep after what had happened.

It was a completely split mixture of wanting you so bad it was driving him to literal insanity and feeling disgustingly guilty for even looking in your direction.

He almost considered calling Robby about it but he really didn’t need to hear the lecture that would undoubtedly come his way about the situation. Plus he figured that whatever Robby knew, Dana knew, and if Dana knew then it was only a matter of time before the entire emergency department was gossiping about Jack Abbot and his young neighbor.

The dilemma was so strong that he had almost completely forgotten about the fact he had told you that you’d talk today, although almost intentional.

He was halfway avoiding having to actually sit down and make this arrangement a reality, still having a hard time believing what had happened last night was even real.

He had just started to get changed for work when the knocking on his door started and he knew it was you immediately, standing still and hanging his head for a few seconds like he figured he could just wait you out.

It didn’t take long for his senses to kick back in and he was pulling on a plain black shirt before making his way over to the door, raising his eyebrows at you when he saw how irritated you looked.

You brushed past him immediately and he lingered with his hand on the door knob for a moment before closing it and preparing himself to face whatever wrath you were about to send his direction.

“You didn’t come over.” You immediately accused, finger pointing in his direction as you stood in the middle of his living room with an angry expression. “You didn’t even text me.”

He was already walking closer to you as you spoke and your defenses naturally crumbled at the proximity, especially when his hands were sliding over your ribs to both hold you steady and let him feel your breathing as subtly as possible.

“You can’t just kiss me like that and then ignore me.” You continue on but your tone is a lot softer now that he’s touching you, already getting that dazed edge to it he had heard last night.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you.” He shakes his head and frees a hand to tuck some hair behind your ear, your features have completely softened now at the movement.

Jack wonders for the first time if you might have feelings for him beyond trust and attraction.

For some reason, he hadn’t really considered the possibility before. You were practically his polar opposite and he had nothing in common with any of the boys you went on dates with.

But now, with you blinking up at him like you were hanging on to his every word, he let himself think it might just be likely.

“I figured you changed your mind.” Your words are a little slurred from the insistent pout you have on your face and he sighs again, gently leading you over to sit on his couch.

Your knees brush together as you scoot closer to him the second he’s settled on top of the cushion, your hand wrapping around three of his fingers and squeezing lightly as you wait for him to respond to your fear of being rejected.

“I didn’t but I want to make sure you understand what you’re asking.” His voice is low and nearing stern, the same tone he uses on the new med students who seem a little more cocky than they are willing to learn. He knows that’s not the case with you, knows you’re desperate for any expertise he can offer you, but he still wants you to pay attention and properly understand him. “There’s other ways for you to do this.”

“What, like other guys?” Your eyebrows furrow like the thought confuses you.

His stomach tightens immediately, sick at the thought of it, but he stiffly nods his head.

You’re shifting even closer immediately and he lets out a breath when you’re leaning over his knee nearly, closer to his face than before and scanning over it again.

“I don’t want another guy Jack. I just want it to be you.” You’re whispering now and he can’t stop himself from pressing a light kiss to your mouth, brief but necessary when his brain processes the lack of distance between you. That makes you smile finally and he suddenly feels very stupid for ever questioning you when you’re making a request like this.

“Tell me why.” He mumbles, easily sliding his hands around your middle so he can tug you over more and into his lap. You kiss him again once you’re settled in his lap, still quick like you’re both using it as punctuation during your conversation. “Why me?”

He wants to hear you give a legitimate reason, to undo the hesitance you gave him when you said it was only because you didn’t have anybody else to ask. That’d been weighing on him more than anything else, the thought that you had just settled for your older lonely neighbor who was clearly willing to help you with anything in spite of himself.

Your next kiss was much longer, deeper as you fully sink down in his lap and move your mouth against his desperately. He’d accept that alone as an answer, big palms rubbing over your back and sides so he can keep pulling you impossibly closer.

Your nose is rubbing against his when you pull back, the sounds of your breathing being heavier now making his head spin with the necessary impulsivity to keep making terrible decisions with you.

“You’d make me feel good.” The answer you’d landed on was much more devastating than he was prepared for, his eyes darkening at how confident you sounded in that fact. “I know you would.”

His hands tightened around your soft skin for a second, needing to take a deep breath to ground himself.

It takes a second for him to reply, tucking his face into your neck and inhaling sharply. You smell as sweet as you always do but it’s intoxicating to have it this close after so long, skin soft under his lips as he kisses you softly.

Your breathing gets shaky, arms looping around his neck so you’re practically hugging him. You’re warm on top of him and making the sweetest noises when he moves along your jaw, shifting in his lap to try and get his attention back on your conversation.

“You’ll do it right?” You ask softly, running your hand through his hair and tugging just enough to make him finally look back at your face. His eyes are dark and unfocused as he stares at your pretty features. “Jack?”

“Yeah honey.” He says back after another long silence, voice deeper than he’d ever heard it as he leans in to kiss you again.

You kiss for a long time, wiggling around in his lap when your tongues tangle together and you get to taste him properly again. It’s addicting for both of you, both of your hands running all over the other’s body like you’re trying to learn every part of it you can reach.

Eventually you’re fully rocking against him from your neediness and it takes a second for him to process it, snapped back to focus when he hears the way your whines are getting higher pitched. A near growl leaves his throat as he grabs your hips firmly, thumbs pressing into the bone so he can stop you from moving on top of him like that.

“Jackie.” You whine desperately, kissing him again and successfully distracting him long enough that you can start humping again.

“Stop baby I have work soon.” He scolds in between the sloppy kisses, lips and chin slightly wet from how uncoordinated you still are.

You make another soft noise and he’s confused for half a second before he realizes it’s because of the pet name, smiling softly from his fondness for you as you hide down in his neck for a second.

“You’re hard now, I can feel it.” You’re whispering right against his skin and a shiver runs over him at the lewd words falling from such a pretty mouth, high pitched and almost innocent voice making the sentence sound so much dirtier than it needed to be.

At first Jack doesn’t think you’re right, knowing himself and his body enough to expect he’s not stirring down there even if he wants you so bad it makes him feel insane.

He’s had issues with it for years now, a deadly combination of his age, his traumas, and the carousel of medications he has to be on for a variety of things he wouldn’t disclose to you out of his own pride. That was the reason Jack had stopped trying to hook up with people years ago, giving up on porn entirely when he’d have to spend an hour trying to get hard before he could even attempt to actually get himself off.

It was in the back of his mind when you’d asked him to help you with this but he figured this was about your pleasure, he wouldn’t need to be hard to get you off especially if he stuck to his guns about not actually having sex with you.

He was sucking in a deep breath to explain this to you in less detail, make sure you understood that he wasn’t hard but it had nothing to do with you or his attraction to you, when you gave a particularly deep and slow roll of your hips.

And the effect was completely undeniable.

A shudder ran over him, eyes dropping to his lap that you were still rocking on top of. Your tiny little shorts were so clearly pressing against the tent in his scrub pants, catching on it whenever you lost the energy to move properly as you let out another needy whine and hid back in his neck.

You were completely unaware of his current mental situation, baffled at how easily you’d gotten him to this state from just some sloppy kissing.

You must’ve thought he was ignoring you because you picked up your head to glare at him, a pout on your swollen lips.

“Sorry sweetheart.” He sighed and kissed you gently, rubbing your sides up to your ribs and coming back down right when he felt the swell of your breast against his fingertips. “I really have to go.”

“Let me suck you off.” You requested easily and his breath caught, nearly choking at how simple you made it sound. “I wanna learn and you’re so hard right now Jackie. Please let me do it.”

“That’s not the point of this.” He shook his head immediately and moved you by your hips so you were sat next to him and no longer settled in his lap, clearly upsetting you as you scrambled up on your knees and gripped his bicep so he couldn’t get off the couch yet.

“The point is to teach me things about sex and I’ll need to know this.” You counter, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at why he’s rejecting you.

He finds it a little amusing that you’re so used to him accepting your requests for things that you’re genuinely lost when he doesn’t immediately fold for you. It’s a bratty habit he should have corrected months ago but he can’t find himself caring too much, liking how dependent you’d become on him.

Jack has to contemplate this because he knows you’re right, stomach turning a little at the reminder that you’re going to use whatever he shows you on somebody else down the line.

That selfishly makes him want to cancel this whole thing and leave you completely clueless, hopefully to the point you decide to swear off sex with other men entirely. But he knows how stubborn you are and how stuck you get on something once it catches your attention, figuring you’d get on a dating app and find some idiot in finance to take your virginity as soon as he put an end to this arrangement.

So he lets you slip to your knees off the couch, taking his hesitance to decline again as a positive sign.

“Wait.” He interjects and you freeze, sighing in annoyance as you prepare for him to give another reason you can’t do it. Instead he pulls one of the pillows off the couch and slides in near his feet, your eyes softening as you shift so you’re kneeling on the plush cushion instead of the floor.

“How do I start?” You ask softly, eyeing the bunched up fabric in front of you with interest. He has to stare at the ceiling for a second, slightly losing it at the sight of you kneeling on his floor between his legs. “Do I have to get you ready?”

“No.” He says it gruffly and you tense again, his tone way sharper than he’d meant for it to be. “It’s… I’m ready baby trust me. Just give me a second.”

That calms you down immediately, enough that you rest your head on his knee as you try your best to be patient. His eyes go back to you at the touch and he watches the way you squirm against the pillow, clearly still riled up from the kissing and maybe even the thought of taking him in your mouth.

“Has it been awhile Jack?” Your voice is ridiculous now, clearly teasing him and developing this soft purr that almost irritates him.

His hand goes into your hair at the sound of it, tightening enough that you lift your cheek off his knee and stare up at him with wide eyes.

“Watch it.” He says lowly, using his free hand to untie his scrub pants as you eye the movement with fascination. Your lips part as you stare at his hand and the way his fingers twist the strings, he has half the thought to make you choke on the digits before you try and take anything bigger but your attitude has left him feeling just as impatient. “We’ve got to work on your manners if you want me to teach you.”

That makes you snap back into focus, frowning at his words and shaking your head as you straighten up on your knees.

“I have manners Jack.” You’re clearly trying to convince him, small hands smoothing over his thighs.

He starts to deny it but he’s cut off when you lean forward to nuzzle against him, face pressing right where he’s currently aching under two layers of fabric. His breath catches in his throat and he instinctively tightens the hand that’s in your hair, mumbling out an apology when you make a pained noise but barely loosening it after.

He feels like he needs to keep it there to have any sort of control in this situation, especially given the way you’re almost desperately rubbing your face on his lap.

“Should’ve told me you were this needy.” He half scolds as he shifts his waistband down lower, waiting for you to notice and pick yourself up just long enough to get his pants down.

You don’t give him long at all before you’re back to obsessing over the sight in front of you, eyes fully dazed now that it’s just his boxers separating you from putting your mouth on his hard length.

You’re clearly trying to be patient in an attempt to prove you have any sort of manners, a little pride rippling through him similar to the feeling he got when you had corrected yourself the other night to politely ask him for a kiss.

“You wouldn’t have done anything about it.” You say softly, not accusatory but confident in it like you know it’s true. You lean forward and kiss against the covered bulge, a groan leaving him. “You’re too good of a guy.”

“Clearly not.” He rasped just as you start to lose that faux patience you’re trying so hard to pretend you have, tugging at the waistband of his underwear and smiling softly when he lifts his hips off the couch without arguing. “And you know I never tell you no sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You’re still trying to talk to him but now you’re completely lost in the sight of him half naked and sitting there with his legs spread in front of you, too desperate to even be intimidated by the size of him. “You would’ve let me do this months ago Jackie?”

He sighs and tightens his hold in your hair again, bringing you forward until he can feel your breath where he’s most sensitive.

Your eyes flicker up to him and the sight is devastating for how deprived he’s been, a pretty young girl like you sitting so nicely on your knees for the first time ever. He can barely even feel that guilt and slightly sick sensation, knowing how perverted it is that he could probably get off just looking at your face and thinking about the way he’s about to corrupt you.

“Stop talking.” He instructs gruffly and you nod eagerly, eyes back on his length and only now looking a little nervous as you swallow before your lips part in anticipation. “You sure you want to do this?”

“Want it so bad.” You don’t hesitate to answer and your voice is a little whinier, swaying forward like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

Jack lets you move until you’re right there, eyes locked on your face as you give him a nervous look and try to take him in your mouth.

It’s awkward and you’re tense, expression full of hesitation like you’re waiting for him to tell you how to do it properly but he lets himself bask in this for a few seconds.

He knows it’s sick but he finds you the most beautiful like this, confused and desperate to please him without knowing how to. You go between sucking and licking at the tip of his length and while it feels good, no doubt about that especially after how long it’s been, it’s nothing compared to how clearly inexperienced you are.

Finally, he snaps out of his sick fantasies of watching you embarrass yourself trying to please him, and he decides to actually do what you’d asked and teach you something.

“Relax your jaw baby. Just take what you can okay?” His voice is low and gentle, hand loose in your hair but clenching into a tight fist whenever you brush against his sensitive skin with your teeth on accident or try to overachieve and take him deeper.

You do seem to calm down a little now that he’s finally speaking, shoulders slumping and your eyes fluttering shut as you get used to the feeling of him on your tongue.

You’ve barely taken him at all but he’s transfixed by the sight, perfectly content to sit here and cock warm your mouth until you were ready to move him down your throat.

He watches you closely as you pull back to take a few deep breaths, pouting a little at his length and hesitating before you’re touching him with your hand. It’s all experimental, tugging and feeling the skin against your palm while he grunts above you and tries to control himself.

It’s barely sexual on your end considering how fascinated you are by the new experience but he’s halfway losing his mind knowing this is the first time you’re touching somebody like this.

“I gotta go soon sweetheart.” He says and your eyes finally snap back up to him, turning a little red considering you’d been caught just staring at his length as you touched him. “You can play with me all you want after my shift.”

Now you’re full on blushing but you nod your head obediently and lean back in to take him in your mouth again, a little more confident now as you lick around the head and repeat movements whenever it draws a sound out from him.

Jack can barely stand it and he has to put both hands in your hair to keep himself from fucking up into your warm mouth, groaning from the effort it’s taking and considering telling you to get back on the couch before he goes too far with you too early.

You’re clearly just as impatient because you try to take more of him finally and immediately gag at the sensation, pulling back and frowning up at him.

“Help Jackie.” Your voice is whiny and has a little rasp to it now and he kisses his teeth at the sound, petting your hair back out of your face.

“I can’t help with that baby, you’ve just got to practice.” He tries his best to soothe you but you’re clearly frustrated.

“Can’t you just force my head down?” You’re rubbing his thighs as you speak in that ridiculously bratty voice, wiggling around on the pillow like the thought alone is exciting you.

He wants to say no, wants to tell you why it’s such a terrible idea for him to forcefully fuck your throat right before he has to go to work. There’s a million reasons he should be rejecting you right now but that sick voice in the back of his head is struggling to get the words out, especially when you go back to softly kitten licking at his length to keep him hard.

“Fuck you’re nasty.” He gruffs out and your eyes light up at the words, nodding your head and taking him back in your mouth as you keep trying your best to fit him deeper. “You want me in your throat that bad?”

You can’t talk now but your desires are obvious.

He eyes the way you’re shifting on the cushion below you, adjusting his foot the best he can so it’s between your thighs as you kneel. That seems to make you even more desperate, rubbing against him almost feverishly now as you try to focus on having him in your mouth.

There’s no option to do so when he brings his hands back to your hair, silently showing you he accepts your request when he moves his hips off the couch and keeps your face firmly in place so he can push deeper down your throat.

He feels you gag slightly around him but your eyes roll to the back of your head at the same time and you hump against his foot even faster so he can’t find it in himself to stop, thrusting slowly to make sure you don’t end up getting sick or feeling too sore by the time he’s finished.

Jack knows this is far beyond teaching, he’s not even speaking anymore and instead just using your throat to get himself off but you’re even more eager for it than him and he’d never deny you anything you asked for.

“This tiny little throat.” His voice is nearing a growl as he helps move your head up and down his length, reveling in the way you gag and drool around him. “You’re doing so good baby.”

The praise seems to do it for you more than anything else, rubbing your core against his foot so eagerly that you can barely focus on sucking him off. You’re getting too messy to control yourself, mouth slipping off every few thrust before you whine at the loss and immediately take him back in your throat.

Jack takes pity on both of you, both for his own sanity and because he can’t stop thinking about the fact he’ll need to leave as soon as this is done.

You’re clearly upset when he pulls you off, making a loud noise of disagreement that barely sounds like an actual word and frowning at him when he sends you a stern look and wraps his hand around himself instead.

You seem to forget your anger pretty quickly as you watch him touch himself, hips slowed down to a slow rock against his foot as you stare at his length and the way he’s making himself feel good above you.

Jack has to look away when he comes because he feels pretty close to forcing your head back down and making you swallow it, although half positive you’d actually enjoy that more than him judging by how eager you are to try things.

You’re laying your head back on his thigh while he grunts and curses, tightening his fist and going back to staring at your face just for a brief moment so he has a clearer picture to think about.

It’s quiet in the living room afterwards and he feels an odd sense of embarrassment, a rare vulnerability considering you’re still fully clothed and kneeling on the floor. He fixes one of those problems by effortlessly pulling you up by your arms, settling you back against the cushions.

He stands and pulls his pants up while he does so, knowing he’ll have to shower off before he can go to work and get a new pair of scrubs anyways.

There’s a second of hesitation before he goes to get you some water, leaning over your dazed frame and kissing you softly.

“Was it good?” You ask quietly against his mouth, hand tangling in his hair like you don’t want him to go anywhere without answering you first. “You stopped me.”

“You were perfect.” He answers simply and he means it, would probably feel the same if you had accidentally bit him though.

“I wanted to taste you.” You’re pouting again and every time he thinks he gets used to you, you prove him beyond wrong. He sighs and leans further against you on the couch so you’re fully sinking into the cushion below you.

“Next time.”

It comes out before he can stop it and he fully plans to backtrack but your eyes light up at the idea of him letting you do that again so he doesn’t, letting it linger for a few seconds.

“Not when I have to leave you right after. You won’t like it and I don’t want to hurt you.” He’s talking in the stern and no nonsense way he does at work, trying to make sure you understand even though you’re slowly starting to smile as he speaks and he realizes you’re probably not paying any attention.

“You won’t hurt me Jack.” You whisper and it’s so sweet he almost considers calling in so he can stay with you a little longer. “Not in a way I won’t like.”

That makes him scoff out a laugh, a rare sound from him and you look even more pleased at the noise.

“You don’t even know what you like sweetheart.” He says softly and brushes your hair out of your face, letting both his fingertips and eyes trail down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. “But I’ll show you.”

“You’ll show me?” You’re teasing him now, biting your bottom lip to try and hide your smile to no avail.

“Yeah I will.” He smiles too and kisses you again, a little too soft considering what you actually are to each other.

He eventually manages to get off of you long enough to get you some water, watching carefully as you take a few sips and rubbing your knee when you wince at first. He wants to feel guilty for making your throat sore but he can’t, sick enough to admit he just feels the urge to make you take him deeper next time to see if you’ll really let him.

You’re still laying on his couch when he gets out of his brief shower, having changed his pants and taken a few deep breaths while staring in the mirror to try and get ahold of himself. He needs to switch back to reality for atleast a few hours, become the weathered doctor who doesn’t lose his mind over a pretty girl asking for favors.

You set your phone down on your chest, giving him your full attention as he moves towards the door to tug his shoes on.

There’s no indication you plan to leave before he does but he can’t find it in himself to mind the intrusion, going back over to the couch to give you a kiss on the forehead.

“Staying here?” He says in a low voice and you nod eagerly, eyes locked on his.

He lets himself think about his entire way to work, the image of you being there when he gets home from a hard shift. It had been a long time since he had someone to come home to and having you across the hall was already a gift within itself.

Now you’d crossed a line and if he let himself forget the terms and conditions, the fact you were loosely using him just to end up with somebody else as the actual end goal, then he could pretend for a moment that you were the person he got to crawl into bed with when work was tough.

Despite how much he thought about you during his shift, every moment he wasn’t being bombarded with questions or saving somebody’s life on autopilot, you weren’t actually there when he came back.

He knew it before he even opened the door, confirmed by how neatly the pillows on the couch were placed again and the fact your glass of water was rinsed and put away in the dishwasher.

You’d made it look like you were never even there and he knew you still enjoyed his company, maybe enjoyed the newly added sexual dynamic even more, but that didn’t mean you wanted to comfort him after he lost a patient or help soothe him when his leg was bothering him from standing all day.

Jack had to remind himself of the part he was playing in your life currently and try his best to not be disappointed.

It’s two days until he sees you again and he thinks it’s one of the longest spans you’ve gone without talking in almost a year.

He’s just about to start really acting out of character by banging at your front door and asking if you’re avoiding him when he runs into you downstairs, freezing as soon as he enters the lowly lit laundry room to find you leaning against one of the washers and looking extremely bored.

You’re as beautiful as always, casually dressed in nothing but an old band shirt that hangs off your shoulder and a pair of shorts so small he’s pretty sure it’s just boxy underwear.

You don’t look up when he comes in until his leg slightly catches on the step, accustomed enough to the sound of the light dragging he sometimes can’t stop from happening when he’s extra tired.

It’s a relief to find that you don’t have any awkwardness on your face, no sign of being uncomfortable or upset with him.

Then he figures that might just be worse.

He would just about die if he had done anything that made you want to avoid him but the alternative seems to be that you just didn’t want to speak to him and that makes his chest sting.

There’s nothing but silence and the rattling of the old washer as it rocks back and forth on the cement floor, both of you seemingly having decided to not speak to each other first.

(sorry for the brief awkward spacing tumblr says this is too long)

It’s another five minutes of the now awkward stretch of quiet before you clear your throat, turning to face him where he’s fidgeting with his laundry baskets broken handle just to have something to focus on.

“So I went on a date last night.” You say softly, eyebrows raised like you’re genuinely interested in his reaction.

His stomach turns but it’s a relief to have you looking at him again so he takes it, swallowing hard and racking his brain for a response that’s appropriate.

“How’d it go?” He’s asking out of politeness but he’s silently praying you suddenly decide you don’t want to tell him about it. It wouldn’t even make him feel better to hear it had ended terribly, not wanting you to feel any type of negative emotions even if it technically was in his benefit.

He definitely can’t take any sort of mention of you being with another guy physically. He knows it’s coming eventually, it’s the sole purpose behind why he even gets to touch you, but he’s not ready just yet.

You’re quiet again and he really looks at you now, takes in the silent contemplation on your face and the way you tap your fingers on the metal of the washer for a second before pushing off of it entirely.

Then you’re in his space again and it’s like an instinctive move to cup your face, hand on your waist so he can lightly push you back against the machine he’d been in front of. You touch his chest, lightly rubbing in soft circles, and he wants to sigh in relief if that wouldn’t be so painfully obvious.

“Wasn’t a great time.” You whisper and your eyes are on his lips as you speak.

His eyebrows raise and his hand on your body tightens slightly at the same time he uses his thumb to press under your chin and make you tilt your jaw back.

“Why not?” He hates the thought of getting details but he needs to know some idiot from a dating app hadn’t done anything to hurt you.

You don’t answer right away, just standing there and letting your eyes scan over his features on rotation. You finally let out a small breath like you’re about to speak but it never comes, small hands moving to grip his biceps.

“Did he touch you?” He can’t stop himself from asking even though the question makes his voice come out low enough that your eyes flash with surprise for a second, snapping away from his mouth to meet his stare again like you’re looking for something in it.

You shake your head immediately, squeezing his arms and shifting against the vibrating machine.

He’s kissing you then and he tells himself it’s out of relief, the knowledge that you’re still untouched by anybody except for him instantly making this conversation easier.

You’re returning it right away and he’s pleasantly surprised by how quickly you caught on to the type of kissing he likes, his personal preference. He figures he should eventually tell you that not ever guy was going to like your constant licking into his mouth but for now he lets it be, wants you to be trying to please him specifically and not whoever you’d use these lessons with.

It’s ridiculously cute how desperate you get, only needing a few seconds of your tongue inside his mouth before you’re arching off the machine and making soft noises against his lips.

His hands are all over you as soon as he notices the state of you, sliding down to cup your ass with both palms and tug you tighter to his frame.

That makes you out rightly whimper, clumsily trying to hitch a leg around his waist and sighing in relief when he holds your thigh to keep it there. The wet sounds of your mouths fill the small room, body slightly shaking both from need and from the way the washer is vibrating against your back.

“Missed you.” You whimper it out when he pulls back to let you breathe, kissing down your jaw and tightening his grip on the soft curve hidden under your underwear. “Didn’t call me.”

“Were you waiting for me to call baby?” He asks softly, despite how much it had been bothering him, he would never want to make you feel guilty for not reaching out to him after what you’d done.

You don’t answer so he pulls his head out of your neck to look at your face, seeing the soft frown and the hesitation in your eyes.

“Hey.” He breaths out and pushes your hair back to get your attention fully on him, your body softening and completely leaning against his to the point you’d definitely fall if he took a step backwards. “I wanted to give you space. Let you decide when you wanted to continue this, if you did.”

“I don’t want space.” You counter and it’s a little past bratty but he’s so beyond fond of you that he can’t help but let the corners of his mouth turn up at the sound of it. “You’re supposed to take care of me.”

He’s not sure when your dynamic became this way but he feels it as much as you apparently do, knows it’s his duty to make sure you’re always fine and not needing anything he can’t fix. Now there’s the added element of making you feel good, touching you in ways you’re not used to and showing you what pleasure can be like, and he’s not taking it lightly.

“Then I’ll call.” He say softly and your eyes lock on his as you nod in agreement, his hand cupping your cheek so he can keep you still enough to kiss you briefly. “You want me to chase you and I’ll chase you.”

“Right now I just want you to kiss me.” You whisper and he doesn’t need to hear anything else.

You’re back to kissing and it’s feverish now, more tongue than anything and your hands groping each other anywhere you can touch.

He’s lifting you up off the ground just so he can press himself between your legs and swallow the soft needy noises you let out at the feeling, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist so he can’t pull away at all. You’re pressed back against the metal with his hands under your shirt and wrapped around your frame to make sure you don’t fall, thick fingers splayed out against your ribs.

It’s getting hotter in the room and it’s mostly due to the way you’re whining and trying to roll your hips into him, unsuccessful considering how hard he’s got you pinned back to the washer.

“Jack please.” You pant and pull away from his mouth, tucking into his neck and rubbing your soft cheek against his stubble like a needy cat. “Please touch me. Do anything.”

He’s grunting at the request and gently setting you back down on your feet so he can free up a hand, using it to push your shirt up to your neck. He’s not too surprised to find that you’re not wearing anything underneath and your surprised gasp swallows the sound of his low groan.

You’re whining lewdly when he leans down to press kisses against your skin, middle of your breast first to avoid putting his mouth where you really want it. You’re panting, chest rising and falling under his mouth, and tangling a hand in his ash colored curls to try and steer him where you need him.

He wants to smack your hand away and warn you to be patient but he wants you too bad to try and discipline you right now, letting his mouth latch onto to one of your hard nipples so he can hear whatever noise that brings out of you.

It’s loud and intoxicating, his head spinning a little as he keeps sucking and licking your skin, letting your shirt rest on the top of his head so he can use his other hand to roughly grope your other breast and make sure you’re getting equal attention.

“Oh fuck Jack.” You’re whimpering and trying to hump against nothing, back arching as you whine and hold him to your body like he has any plans of getting away from you. “T-that feels so good.”

“Come upstairs.” His voice is so rough it surprises himself, picking his head off your chest and letting your shirt drop so he can kiss you swiftly.

You frown at the loss of contact, rubbing your nose against his and still lightly petting his hair.

“Why not here?” You ask softly and he gives you a disapproving look that makes you sigh and rest your forehead down against his shoulder for a few seconds while you catch your breath. “It’s too far.”

He thinks for a moment before he’s adjusting his stance to pick you up off the ground, abandoning your laundry and his that both likely need to be switched out soon. He’d gladly let it sit and wash it again later if it means getting you up to his apartment as fast as possible.

You make a small surprised noise and cling to him, arms behind his neck and legs wrapped around his middle and he makes his way up the few stairs towards the elevators.

“Jack your leg.” The sight of the steps seems to remind you of his disability and he’d be more irritated by your worry if it didn’t sound so genuine.

You clearly don’t ever think too much about his leg restricting him, never shying away from asking him to lift heavy things or walk with you down to the store. You don’t treat him like he’s fragile or any less of a man for having limitations and he’s always liked that about you, same way he somehow likes your gentle concern even though it would have bothered him if it was anybody else.

“Think I can’t throw you around because of my leg?” He mumbles and you tense in his hold as he walks like you think he might be serious before you’re breathing out a laugh and hiding in his neck.

Jack finally gets back to his apartment, going crazy from the way you’d started to kiss his jaw and whine impatiently in the elevator. Your hands run up and down his arms like you’re marveling at the strength it takes to carry you for as long as he was, making soft needy noises and squirming around.

He can’t even care about the possibility somebody could see him with you, one of the neighbor he’d lived next to for years watching as Jack Abbot carries the much younger girl next door through his entry way as she whines for him to touch her more.

“Calm down baby.” His voice is soft once he gets to his room, setting you down on his bed and taking a few seconds to stare at you as you lay there and pout up at him.

You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and his gut twists a little at the observation, a mixture of desperate unfamiliar need and the same guilt from before accompanied by a new layer of it.

He thinks of his wife for the first time in a while. He used to spend every waking second with her on his mind but she had naturally started to fade from his mind once he met you, something he hadn’t even noticed until you’d already been living across the hall for a few months.

You’d came over for the first time and asked him to borrow some ingredients, strolling around his living room and eyeballing the photos on his walls while he poured some sugar into a small tupperware bowl for you to take back to your place. You had turned to him with a curious face and asked him where his wife was, obviously confused considering you’d never heard of her before despite how frequently you and him small talked.

That was the first time Jack noticed how little he’d been thinking of her lately, not just in the painful mourning way he’d been suffering through since she passed but in general too.

Now he was waking up in the morning and anticipating the next time you’d knock on his door, focusing on his health again so he could occupy you on your walks and not picking up too many extra shifts at work just incase you needed something and he wasn’t there.

Jack was thinking about her again now as you laid on his bed but only because he couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted something this bad, trying to compare the feeling of you to how he felt in his marriage and still thinking it fell short.

He had loved his wife, undoubtedly, but he craved you in a way that almost felt inhumane.

“You’re being mean to me.” You say softly to break him out of his trance, having zoned out just staring down at you and the way your chest was rising and falling with every deep breath.

“I’m never mean to you honey.” He whispers back and finally moves to lay down with you, hovering over your frame and running a hand from your waist to your ribs as he kisses you softly. “I take good care of you, don’t I?”

It’s a bit mean to throw your words from earlier back in your face, especially as he lets his mouth trail down your neck. You make a whiny noise and grip his shoulders, nodding your head and shifting under him so your legs are spread further.

“Yes Jack yes, you take care of me.” You’re practically whimpering and he feels almost drunk from how easily you get this needy, pausing his soft kisses to shift up on his knees and tug your shirt over your head.

You’re the prettiest sight he’s ever seen and he can’t help himself from bringing his mouth right back to your chest, drinking in the way you gasp and moan while he’s licking and sucking on your nipples. His other hand is softly groping whichever breast he doesn’t have his mouth on at the moment and your backs arching off his bed, scratching his shoulders through his shirt.

“Please touch me.” You’re begging after only a few minutes of the slow torture and he lets out a sharp breath, shifting so he’s more to the side of you than on top.

You’re quiet when he rubs his hand down your chest and over your stomach, rubbing at the waistband of your underwear for a few seconds just to hear the way you pant before he’s smoothing over your thighs.

Your back is basically against his chest as he hooks your leg over his to make sure yours are nice and spread for him, kissing your neck softly when he rubs your hips above your underwear.

You bare your neck for him easily and he’s selfish in the way he marks you, sucking any part of your warm skin he can reach so you’re left purple and red all over. He wants anybody you see for the next week or two to know you’ve been with somebody else, to see the claim he laid to your body even if he doesn’t let things go as far as you want him to take it.

Jack doesn’t need to be asked twice to touch you, big hand leaving your hip so he can fully palm your core.

Your reaction is just the way he had hoped it would be, sharp gasp leaving your lips as you instantly buck up against his touch. You whine desperately when he goes back to rubbing your thigh instead, giving you a second to work yourself up to the point he wants you to be at.

“Jack.” You don’t even sound like yourself now and it’s intoxicating, so pleading and broken. “Please.”

“Please what?” He’s practically whispering, perfectly calm and the direct opposite of how broken you sound just from him lightly touching you.

He moves you so you’re fully between his legs, back against his chest as he cages himself around you to keep you from moving.

You’re practically shaking, whimpering and moving your hips against nothing with the hopes he’ll cave and end up touching you again. You’re distracting to look at, body bare except for the pathetic excuse of underwear shorts you’d been wearing under your shirt, like you’d just been hoping he would be the one to find you in the laundry mat.

He has half the thought to make fun of you for that, make you tell him exactly what you were thinking when you left your apartment wearing so little, but he doesn’t think you could handle him saying much at all right now especially not something so demeaning.

“I’m going to touch you.” He says gently instead and kisses the side of your head, letting his hand go back to groping your chest just to make sure you stay worked up.

Even though he doubts at this point he even needs to touch you for that to happen.

“Yeah yeah.” You’re nodding in agreement, seemingly pleased at his decision as you relax back against him and let him touch you freely.

His other hands back between your legs now, letting you get used to the feeling of somebody touching you where you’re most sensitive. He’s just rubbing back and forth, listening to the way you pant and pulling back whenever you start to try and shift against his hand on your own.

“You’re wet just from that?” His voice is a little mean now but you don’t seem to mind, trying to clamp your thighs around his hand but being stopped by the sharp swat he sends to your skin. You wince but move your foot back to the other side of his leg so yours stay open, pouting softly at the silent punishment. “Answer me when I ask you something.”

“I’m always wet around you.” You admit with an embarrassed tone lacing your words, squirming like you wish you could hide yourself from the way he’s staring down at your body. “Want you so bad.”

“I want you too.” He kisses the side of your head, still rubbing you with just enough pressure to make you feel the friction but not to actually get off. “Gonna make you feel so good, you’ve just got to be patient.”

“Stop being scared to hurt me.” Your voice is shaky but as firm as possible, trying to show him you’re a big girl and can handle a little bit of the roughness he’s so clearly holding back.

It’s obvious in the way he was grabbing your throat your first kiss, moving your body around easily whenever he needed to, and scolding you just enough for you to be able to catch the mean tone seeping in accidentally.

Jack clearly has a darker side to him that he’s not letting you see and it’s obviously frustrating you, wanting to be taken seriously.

“I’ll hurt you if that’s what you want sweetheart but not for your first time.” His words don’t leave any room for argument so you don’t even try, sinking back against his firm chest and letting out a deep breath when he shifts behind you and presses himself forward.

It’s not long before you’re not able to wait anymore and he lets you scramble to tug down your underwear, keeping his fingers lightly rubbing between your folds and watching as you struggle to get the fabric past his insistent hand.

Eventually he lets you pull them off and then he’s right back to touching you, bare this time. You both suck in a breath at the contact and you’re practically laying down from how far you’d slid down his chest, spreading your legs as wide as they can go and whimpering while he touches you.

“Do you touch yourself like this baby?” He can’t help the curiosity, the image of you in your bed trying to get yourself off stuck in his mind now.

You shake your head and frown, trying to twist your neck to look at him but being stopped when he uses his free hand to roughly grip your chin and make you keep your eyes on the way he’s touching you, thumb on your sensitive clit now while you roll your hips the best you can.

“No I…” You can barely think let alone speak, clearly struggling as you make a pained and desperate noise. “I get nervous.”

Jack sighs and collects some of your wetness on his middle finger before finally pressing it against the tightness of your hole, not pushing in just yet but teasing it with light pressure and letting you get used to the feeling.

“When you’re with somebody, they should always be this gentle with you at first.” He’s saying softly, remembering that he’s supposed to be actually teaching you something and not just getting you off because he desperately wants to.

You frown deeply as he starts to talk and he doesn’t really understand why, thinks maybe you’re still being pouty that he won’t get rougher with you.

He tries to distract you by finally pressing a finger inside of you and it seems to work for a second, another gasp leaving you as you instinctively clench around the intrusion. He groans, his length throbbing against your back at the thought of being fully inside you instead of just a finger.

“Fuck you’re tight.” He rasps and buries his face in your hair for a few seconds to try and collect himself enough to keep teaching you something, anything at all so he doesn’t keep letting himself think this is something it isn’t. “They’ll have to really get you stretched before anything okay? You need to remember that baby.”

It bothers him so much he can barely focus, the thought of somebody not taking their time with you. He doesn’t want to picture you with another man in general but especially not in a way that hurts you, leaves you too sore the next morning with nobody to take care of you.

He’s so distracted by his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice your face stiffening at first, body a little tenser against him even though you’re still softly squirming to try and get him to put his finger deeper inside you.

“Jack stop.”

He does so immediately and goes to pull out of you before you’re making a panicked noise and closing your thighs around his hand. He lets you this time, pauses all movements just to wait for whatever it is that you need.

“N-no don’t stop that, god please don’t stop that.” Your voice is breathier now like the thought of him taking his hand away from you makes your chest tighten. “Just… stop talking about anyone else.”

It takes him a few seconds to register that and then his hands moving again, enough for you to relax and spread your legs back open.

You’re both quiet now as he adds another finger, lingering in the weight of your request and what it could mean if anything. He’s half sure you only asked because it was pulling you out of the moment, maybe making you nervous to think about doing this again with actual stakes, but the way you desperately tried to stop him from pulling away lets him pretend it was for another reason.

He’s selfish in the way he touches you now, thick fingers moving in and out of you while you cry and whine, gripping at his forearm whenever it feels like too much. He likes the way your nails dig into his arm when you think you might be close, thighs clenching and shifting when his thumb gently circles your swollen clit and how your lips part in breathy cries of his name.

He especially likes that.

You come with moans of his name filling the room and nobody else’s after you’d specifically asked him to stop mentioning other guys. Jack knows it’s selfish, even a little sick and perverted, but he could probably finish just from hearing that.

He’s throbbing against your back and he’s sure you’d be able to feel it if you were able to focus on anything after coming, body shaking a little as you pant endlessly and fall limb in his hold.

There’s a lot of softness that comes after, kissing the side of your head and being gentle in the way he cleans you up. It’s torture to be between your legs and getting to fully appreciate the sight of you for the first time without be able to touch you more but he doesn’t want to overstimulate you so early on.

He does let himself think about that vividly though, kissing against your thighs and picturing when he’s going to be able to put his mouth on you.

You’re quiet above him, eyes a little tired but still overly soft as you run your fingers through his hair and watch him wipe you down.

Then he’s back ontop of you and kissing you softly, shifting your back so you’re laying back against the pillows and not sitting up. It’s soft and bordering on romantic which makes his chest tighten, hoping you have no plans to leave his bed anytime soon.

“You okay?” He asks quietly against your mouth and he can feel you smiling, still touching his hair with one hand and letting the other drift down to the back of his neck.

“Felt so good.” You whisper back and your voice is a little hoarse from all the whining you’d been doing, nose bumping against his and then rubbing on his stubble for a few seconds. “Can I take a nap here?”

“You can do anything you want.” He says immediately, no hesitation as he gets up to get you one of his shirts and help you get comfortable, jumping at the opportunity to keep you with him just like he wanted.

Jack typically has a hard time sleeping through the night in general so he definitely never naps, needing to be truly past the brink of exhaustion to ever rest.

Yet he finds it to be the most simple thing in the world to crawl into his bed with you after taking off his leg, kissing you for a few more minutes before he’s wrapping you in his arms and tugging you back against his chest. He’s rubbing your stomach softly, hand under the shirt he’s given you, listening intently until he hears your breathing even out and then drifting to sleep right after you.

—

It’s one of the highlights of his decade to get to wake up with you still there, warm and making soft tired noises when you feel him start to stir.

His room is dark now other than the slight illumination coming from the moon outside of his window, casting just enough light for him to be able to watch your eyes flutter open.

You give him a soft sleepy smile and instinctively lean in to give him a kiss.

It’s easy to pretend that you are more than whatever this is when you act like this, mouths moving together sensually as if you have nowhere else you’d want to be.

Jack groans softly when your tongue pushes into his mouth, meeting it eagerly with his own and moving so hes hovering over you. Your hands are on his back, spreading your legs below him to let him slot between them.

He feels like a teenager again from how quickly he gets hard, your soft body under his putting him under some sort of spell. His hips shift and you let out a needy whine, scratching his shoulders lightly like you’re trying to encourage him.

You’re still making out slowly when he starts to thrust down against you, slow rolls of his hips to give you just enough friction to start to get desperate.

You’re tugging at his shirt fabric and he takes only a second to sit up and pull it over his head, back on you immediately and kissing you even more frantically. He’s moving your own shirt up towards your ribs but neither one of you wants to stop long enough to take it off, only able to when you need a quick second to take a breath.

It’s the first time you’ve both been nearly undressed together and he feels the effects of it instantly, your chest pressing against his when he lays back over you. Your skin is soft and hot to the touch, those now familiar soft whines leaving you when he lets his hand knead at your chest again.

“Jack please.” You’re whimpering and he finally stops kissing you in favor of sucking at your neck, bringing those marks from earlier back to the surface. “Can’t you just fuck me?”

He groans at the words and has to tuck his face in your shoulder, still rocking his hips against you even though they stuttered when you said that in that whiny voice of yours.

“Trust me, I want to fuck you so bad I can’t even think.” It leaves his mouth before he can stop it, not wanting to reject you again without making sure you know how badly he wants you.

“Then do it.” You’re begging now and he picks his head up to look at you, eyes wide and a little frustrated like you know he’s going to say no. You gasp when he thrusts down even harder, biting your lip as you stare at each other desperately. “Please Jack? Want you inside me.”

“I can’t baby.” He growls and kisses you to give himself a second to think without you arguing.

You’re quick to forget you were trying to convince him of something because you’re kissing him back deeply, angling your head so his tongue can get further and further inside your mouth.

He has that sick and perverted thought again that he’s coincidentally training you to be the perfect girl for him, kissing in a way he likes and not knowing how else to do it. Jack is selfish and wants everything you do to be for him, wants your body to instinctively move and react how he taught you regardless of who gets you next.

The thought of somebody else makes him want to forget his morals and fuck you like you’re begging him, be the one to take your virginity and fill you up for the first time.

He starts to reason with himself that it would actually be a good thing because Jack would never let himself hurt you in a way you didn’t like, he’d make sure you felt good around him and came so hard you weren’t able to see straight.

There’s nobody else who could fuck you like he could so he’s almost convinced himself that it’s a good idea when your phone rings on the nightstand.

You both stop, you’re completely tense under him and he sighs as he kisses you one more time and rolls off of you.

He lays there on his back as you sit up to grab your phone, screen a little too bright in the dark room and causing you to wince. He stares at your pretty face under the light as you open it up and answer it, not thinking much about the interruption despite the small disappointment he feels.

His hand is on your bare knee and rubbing your skin is soft circles, soothing both you and himself by keeping the contact.

“Hello?” Your voice is as soft and sweet as always, a little confused sounding which makes his eyebrows raise. “Oh Carter.”

Jack tenses up at the sound of a males name leaving your lips, his hand freezing and falling still on your knee. You’re avoiding looking at him as you listen to whoever it is speak on the other line, a deep voice bleeding through the speakers just enough for him to hear but not enough to make out the words.

“Tonight?” Your eyes go to the small digital clock on Jacks side of the bed, having to glance over his body in the process. You meet his eyes just for a second before they’re darting away again and it makes the pit in his stomach grow in understanding. “Of course I didn’t forget. I’ll be ready by nine.”

You’re hanging up after a quiet goodbye and now it’s suffocatingly silent in the room.

You’re still sitting up with your legs crossed under you, avoiding looking at him like you’re not still wearing his shirt and covered in marks he’d given to you. He waits for a minute before he’s sitting up and running a hand over his face, on the opposite side of the bed from you and facing the wall so you can’t see his expression when he finally gets himself to speak.

“You’ve got a date tonight?” He rasps out, trying his best to sound unaffected even though it comes out low and tight.

“I forgot.” You whisper back and you sound further away now, a glance over his shoulder confirms that you’d stood up off the bed and are searching for the shirt you’d shown up in so you can swap out of his. “He’s taking me to some art show downtown.”

Jack stares at you as you move around the room, eyes scanning over your body when you pull his shirt over your head and neatly fold it before putting it on his dresser. It feels really final to watch you change back into your own clothes, turning to meet his eyes and letting out a soft sigh when you see he’s already watching you closely.

He hopes it doesn’t show on his face, doesn’t want to be too obvious that he’s probably about two seconds away from throwing up.

“Carter.” He says simply and now you really stiffen.

You stand there for a few seconds like you’re waiting for something, eyes a little expectant and then full on disappointed when he scoffs and moves to put his leg back on so he can stand up and get out of the room that’s suddenly suffocating.

You leave his apartment and all the warmth goes with you.

He stands in his dark kitchen with regret sitting heavy on his chest, wishing he had stopped you and asked you to stay with him instead.

He isn’t sure if it’s the fear of rejection or his own guilt that stopped him but he knew he couldn’t ask you to do that. You deserved better than him and his baggage, his late hours at work and his dangerous hobbies that he needed to keep himself busy with to not think about the things that sent him spiraling.

He couldn’t imagine forcing you into a life where you had to explain him to your friends and family, ignore the curious and judging looks from his own when they realized just how young you were.

Jack knew you were lonely, it was obvious considering how much time you willingly spent with him and it was bad enough he’d taken advantage of your desperation for connection and nearly slept with you.

He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if he stopped you from enjoying your youth, having a fun late night in the city surrounded by artsy people your age and not stuck on his couch watching old reruns because he’s too tired after work to properly take you out.

Jack hates himself for thinking all this and then still obsessively wanting you.

So much so that he purposely lingers near his truck right around the time you’d told your date you’d be ready. In his defense, he did actually need a few things from the corner store, so he sat in the parking lot and waited until he saw you come down.

Your date met you at the entrance of the lobby but didn’t take your purse from you or the jacket you were holding, smiled at you politely but couldn’t be bothered to open the door of his car or even wait for you to get in before he did.

It made Jack sick to his stomach all over again, jaw clenched as he sat in the dark interior of his truck and watched you drive off with some asshole only an hour after he’d had you sleeping next to him, panting under him and begging him to fuck you.

Jack decides right then that it all needs to stop, not just the sex lessons but helping you in general. He can’t be that person for you without wanting more, he’s selfish and possessive over somebody that was never supposed to be his and he knows it’s not fair to you.

So he doesn’t answer any of your texts that night, stays quiet in his living room whenever you knock on his door and waits until he hears you leave for work before he goes to check the mail.

He feels terrible for avoiding you but keeps trying to convince himself it’s in your best interest.

Jack is half asleep when the silent treatment finally breaks.

He’d fallen asleep on his couch accidentally, a beer can too many on the table in front of him and the same movie he’d been watching beforehand starting to roll credits. He should have been in bed sleeping after pulling a double at work but he couldn’t stand being in there lately, tossing and turning and trying to catch the faint scent of you lingering on his pillows.

There was a second of confusion, not sure why he had waken up in the first place, until the sharp knocks on his door made him flinch.

He was standing up on autopilot to open it, wincing at how stiff and sore his leg felt from falling asleep with it still on.

Any thought of his pain was gone the second he opened his door and saw your face, tears on your cheeks and your eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

“I need to talk to you.” You said immediately and he ushered you into his apartment, not necessarily wanting to be in an enclosed space with you but recognizing your tearful voice was far too loud to have a conversation in the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” He said softly and takes a few steps towards you on instinct, cradling your cheek and staring down at you when you nuzzle against his touch. “Why are you crying?”

“Because you’re an asshole.” You seem to remember that you’re mad at him because you step away from his touch, pushing his arm back down to his side and storming further into his apartment.

He stands there completely frozen as you toss your purse onto the chair near the couch, your eyes scanning over the beer cans and the obvious indent of where he’d been sleeping.

Then you’re back to looking at him and he knows what he probably looks like to you. The exhaustion is obvious on his face, clothes a little baggier than normal from a lack of taking care of himself and a constant awkward shifting on his leg to keep pressure off of it.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Your voice cracks a little and he deflates, taking a few steps closer again even though he doesn’t think you want him to touch you. “Did I do something wrong?”

“What?” His face faces in disbelief at the idea you could ever do anything wrong in general, especially to him. “Of course you didn’t sweetheart.”

“Then why?” Your words are louder now and they linger in the tense air, face pained as you wait for him to answer.

He sighs and runs a hand over his stubble that desperately needs some maintenance, wishes he had the time to plan out everything he wanted to say to you so he doesn’t accidentally fuck it up more than he already had.

“I just… I can’t do it anymore.” He lets his hands fall to his sides with a loud defeated clap and shrugs his shoulders. “I can’t watch you go out with these idiots knowing they can’t take care of you.”

He hopes what he’s trying to say is an obvious to you as it is to him, not able to bring himself to actually voice the fact that he has feelings for you beyond helping out a neighbor.

“You didn’t stop me.” You sound devastated, head shaking like you don’t believe anything he’s saying to you.

You’re not crying anymore thankfully but you look so hurt and disappointed that it makes him physically ache, moving to grab your arm softly and guide you to sit down on the couch with him.

“I waited for you to stop me and you didn’t.” You continue once you’re sitting beside him, legs pressed together in a small amount of addicting content. “Isn’t it obvious by now that I only want to be with you?”

The words hit him so hard that he doesn’t even have time to process them, eyebrows furrowing as the need for more information pushes him to speak.

“Why would that be obvious? The entire point of this was for you to be ready for other people.”

You look a little embarrassed at his sound logic, staring down at your lap where your hands are fiddling with your fingers. He sighs and takes one of them in his, squeezing it softly until you let your gaze drift back up to his.

“I don’t want other people.” You whisper, staring at him with a small amount of hope in your eyes like you’re just waiting for him to understand. “And I don’t want you to be with anyone else either. I just figured… you wouldn’t cross that line without a good reason.”

Jack thinks it’s a little juvenile of a plan but he also knows you’re not wrong. He would have never touched you without the feeling of helping you out with something, no matter how much he had wanted you since the second you moved in.

That little lie was all he needed to get himself through the shame and guilt, the ability to pretend it was for a greater cause and not because he was sick and desperate for a girl half his age.

“Jack.” You sigh when he doesn’t respond for a few seconds, turning so you can face him better and press a soft kiss to the side of his jaw. “Stop thinking.”

“That’s a big ask.” He mumbles back but he gladly turns to give you a real kiss, holding your face in his hand and keeping your mouth against his.

You kiss until you run out of breath, pulling back from him but rubbing your nose against his and letting your small hands grip his forearm desperately.

“Then just be with me for tonight.” You try to reason with him in any way you can, rubbing his arm softly and blinking at him with those big pretty eyes that drive him so crazy.

He stares at you for a moment before he’s standing up off the couch and tugging you along with him, ignoring the little surprised noise you make in favor of lifting you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. You gasp and then giggle softly once he’s got you in the air, arms behind his neck and legs around his middle as he starts to walk you to his room.

“You’re crazy if you think you’re going anywhere after tonight.” He tells you once he gets you settled on his bed, kissing the smile off your face as he climbs over you.

It’s a direct mirror of the other night as you get each other undressed fully this time, kissing the entire time and tasting his tongue deep in your mouth when it starts to get more heated.

“You’re going to be mine.” He says firmly once he’s got you in nothing but your panties, making sure your eyes are locked on his when you hear it. His free hand is all over your body, rubbing from your smooth thigh up to your chest and cupping around your neck for a brief moment while he waits for you to respond. “If I fuck you then you’re mine.”

“I’ve been yours.” You whisper easily, like you didn’t have to put any thought into it.

He falters, hand tightening around your throat on instinct and then releasing the pressure when he sees the way your eyes light up with interest.

“Don’t be nasty baby.” He’s teasing, kissing the corner of your mouth and bringing your leg up so it’s around his waist and he can press himself against you. “Gonna be gentle with you for your first time. You deserve it.”

“I want you to fuck me.” You’re pouting and gripping at him impatiently, running your hand between your bodies to touch his stomach and fidget with the waistband of his boxers. “That’s what I want Jackie.”

“Didn’t ask what you wanted.” He grumbles back, not caring that it comes off a little mean because you whine at the sound of how rough his voice had gotten and he knows you like it.

He’s back to kissing you and it’s filthier than normal, more tongue and spit than anything else.

You’re as vocal as always, whining and begging impatiently when he gets your underwear off and starts to touch you again.

Jack can barely think straight when he’s back inside of you, fingers pushing in easier this time now that you’ve felt the intrusion before and know what to expect. You’re gasping and crying out immediately, unintelligible words that he blocks out in favor of focusing on how you feel when he’s stretches you out.

“Want it so bad.” Your near sob gets through to him and he hisses through clenched teeth at how wrecked you sound already, shushing you softly and kissing your cheeks to try and calm you down.

“I know baby I know.” He’s whispering but you don’t seem to be hearing him, spreading your legs further to try and make space for him to slot back between them instead of using his fingers.

Jack is just as impatient as you but he’s terrified of hurting you too early, although throbbing so hard in his boxers that it’s painful to shift around.

It’s not long before it’s too much prep for both of you and you’re watching him with your chest heaving as he gets himself undressed the rest of the way, leg going on the floor right alongside your underwear that he had slowly pulled down your body before climbing back over you.

Your eyes go down between your bodies where his leg is and he tenses for a second despite knowing you mean well with the concern you have on your face.

“Let me ride you.” You say softly and his chest tightens with that old familiar shame he was still actively working on ridding himself of.

“I can fuck you.” He says gruffly and your eyes flash with regret, pouting a little like you’re worried you’ve hurt his feelings with your thoughtful suggestion. He kisses the expression off your face, a long deep one followed by a few quick pecks to try and ease your mind. “Next time baby.”

He says it both because he knows realistically he has limitations, there will be plenty of nights he’s not able to rail you into his mattress like he wants to, but also because he knows he would die a happy man the second he got to see you bouncing on top of him and desperately trying to get yourself off.

You look like you want to argue but you’re stopped when he’s pushing your legs apart and moving between them, sharp gasp leaving you when you feel his hard length pressing against you finally.

“Fuck Jack.” Your voice is sharp and already a little pained just from the dull sensation of him lining up with your hole, a growl leaving him at the sound of your distress.

“Just relax baby.” He says as softly as he can even though his throat feels tight and raw, kissing you gently to try and get you to calm down enough for him to push in. “You’re too tight sweetheart.”

“I… I can’t.” You let out another sharp cry when he shifts forward, nails digging into his shoulders so deep it makes him wince and lower his head down on your shoulder.

Jack has to use every ounce of self control he can muster to not just fully push himself into you and feel that tight heat he’s getting a taste of, that same sick and selfish part of him that wants you in the first place begging him to just take you already.

Instead he takes a few deep breaths before he’s kissing you with more focus, going back and forth between softly rubbing your side and massaging your inner thigh to try and urge your body to relax and accommodate him.

It’s a torturous ten minutes, especially due to your soft whimpers and the way you cry his name whenever he accidentally moves himself deeper.

Then you’re finally calm enough, bare chest rising and falling with the deep breaths he’d instructed you to take.

“Want you inside Jack.” You’re whining in his ear, clinging to him tightly and almost suffocating him when he immediately takes your queue and pushes in. You tense up again at the brief surge of pain and then let out a satisfied cry when you feel how full you are, clenching around him so ridiculously that he almost needs to pull out to give himself a break despite barely starting.

You’re both too overwhelmed to speak much more once he starts to actually fuck you, deep thrust accompanied by filthy kisses to keep you from waking up the neighbors with how desperately you’re whining for him to keep giving you more.

It’s pure need on both ends, your hips eagerly rocking upwards to try and meet his thrust sloppily while he uses his free hand to roughly push down on your stomach and keep you in place.

“Jackie.” It’s nearly a sob from you now and he can tell you’re close from how much tighter you’d gotten, almost an impossible squeeze for him to keep fucking you through.

He’s grateful you’re so inexperienced because he doesn’t think he’d last long either, not with the way you look as you stare up at him with teary and trusting eyes.

“I know baby you’re doing so good for me.” It’s more of a growl than anything else but he can barely think let alone speak enough to keep encouraging you. “Taking me so well sweetheart.”

“I’m so full Jack.” You whimper and cling to him tighter, nearly pulling him fully down on top of you and knocking him off his balance. “Feels so good.”

You’re stuttering through your sentences and slurring each word, eyes a little dazed in a way that makes him need to squeeze his shut to avoid coming inside you just from that fucked out look you have.

It’s more sweet than heated when you actually do finally reach your peak, holding onto him still and kissing the side of his jaw softly with your face buried in his neck as you squirm and shake your way through your orgasm.

He stays inside of you for as long as he can so you’re not shocked from the sudden feeling of emptiness but you’re squeezing him too tight and he has to pull out as soon as you’re starting to relax. You whimper immediately at the lose and pick your head up to pout at him, eyes panicked like you’re genuinely distressed he didn’t finish inside you.

He shushes you gently and kisses your face over and over, rubbing your side as he lets you fully come back to reality before attempting to clean either of you up or get you dressed.

“Jack.” You’ve got the needy and frustrated tone he loves so much and he knows you’re not dropping it, meeting your eyes with a fond sigh as you glance down at where he’d came instead of inside you.

“Next time.” He promises again and he means it, fully intending to have that conversation with you ahead of time now that he’s got you like this.

Jack isn’t too opposed to the idea of getting you pregnant, not even sure he’s able to with the amount of pills he takes, but he has to push down that thought along with the rest of the sick ones he gets when he looks at your needy eyes.

You smile a little at the loose promise and tuck yourself back into his shoulder, soothing any concern he has about what just happened or how you’re supposed to operate going forward.

He’s undoubtedly the luckiest guy in the world to have you wanting him like this, feeling safe in his arms and desperate for him in the way he’d been for you since the second he laid eyes on you.

Jack was never the type of person to take the duty of taking care of somebody lightly and he doesn’t plan to let you down for even a second, kissing the top of your head softly and letting himself forget about any shame or insecurity just to hold you for awhile longer.

[groovyangelkisses]

I feel like hitting on robby in a bar would look like him shaking his head laughing in response, leaning down into your ear “i think i have tattoos older than you sweetheart” goddamnit I need a mike robinavitch tattoo tour so bad

this is soooo unbelievably sick & evil. shaking his head and laughing when you point out the tattoo & lifting his head with a sly look, “how old are you, sweetheart?” when you tell him your age, he’s laughing and shaking his head, “jesus. yeah no, ‘s just… ‘m waaay too old for you, kid.” FUCK

[claire-de-lune19]

18+ mdni

──── ☾ ⋆✧⋆ ☽ ────

You had met Robby at a slimy, run-down bar in the middle of nowhere, Pennsylvania. At the time, you thought he was like all the other bikers that came in, rough and loud and just loved to come in and flirt with the pretty young bartender who was only there because she had to be. But Robby was different. He was handsome and respectful, and only ordered two drinks before settling on water for the rest of the night. At first, he didn’t talk much, but as the night went on, and you flirted more openly, he started to joke and laugh and shamelessly flirt back. At the end of the night, you brought him back to your apartment, and that was that.

 You spent three straight days together in that tiny one-bedroom apartment. You had mind-blowing sex, and you cuddled and ordered take-out and watched movies, and had more sex and danced around the kitchen while he watched you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

But you woke up on day four, and he was gone. No note, no phone number, just an empty bed, and when you looked out your window, his bike was nowhere to be found. You’d known he had to leave at some point. He had told you about his plan, but you didn’t expect him to leave without saying goodbye. And maybe, just maybe, you’d thought he could like you enough to stay, but you were wrong. 

You realized then that you knew nothing about him. He told you to call him “Michael,” and you’d figured out he was a doctor sometime on day two when you cut your finger and he went into patient/doctor mode, but that was it. You felt so stupid in that moment. But you chose to forget about it. It was fun. You’d had your moment, and that was all it was meant to be. That’s fine. All there was to do was to go back to how things were before you’d met him. 

Six months later

Your first impression upon moving to Pittsburgh was, unfortunately, the emergency room. You finally saved up enough money to move here after working at that awful bar for two years. You got a nice-ish apartment with your best friend and a great job nearby; it was everything you’d dreamed of. However, a freak accident with a guillotine papercutter, a couple of hours into unpacking, had landed you with a huge cut spanning the entire width of your thigh and an obligatory trip to Pittsburgh’s finest ER. Luckily, the pain wasn’t so bad that you couldn’t laugh about it.

You didn’t stay long in the waiting room before they took you back to triage. Maybe they were worried about you getting blood all over everything. 

“What seems to be the problem today, Miss– oh god?!” The med student looked up from his iPad at the slice taken out of your thigh and whinces, horrified. This is going well so far, you think to yourself. 

“I got into a fight with a papercutter,” you chuckled, only mildly thrown off by the student’s clear lack of confidence. He only smiled awkwardly and continued to ask you questions about what happened and any other medical history you might have. Eventually, it was time for him to stitch you up. He looked around like a deer caught in headlights for anything that would give him the confidence to sew up a cut this big and possibly deep. It didn’t help your trust that this kid looked to be about your age. 

“You know what,” he said after a couple of moments of pure dumbfoundedness, “I’m gonna go get an attending.” You breathed out a sigh of relief then, because although you hadn’t wanted to say anything to shake his confidence or hurt his feelings, you didn’t feel too great about this kid being the one to sew you up. 

You waited for a while, holding the gauze to your leg, which had thankfully stopped bleeding, and humming to yourself. The curtain pulled back, startling you, and you looked up at the med student and doctor trailing behind him. Fuck.

“Patient has a large upper leg laceration and needs stitches. I thought you should take a look before I,” the med student goes on, but you aren't hearing a word out of his mouth because there he is, your doctor, the man who left you cold in your bed all those months ago without a second thought. He had reading glasses low on his strong nose, reading your chart, he had yet to look up from. He nodded as the med student continued rambling, then, finally, went to look at your leg. He stopped dead in his tracks then, eyes reaching yours, and swallowed so roughly you could hear it from a foot away. “Dr. Robby?” the med student questioned, noticing him stop so suddenly.

“Dr. Robby,” you said, testing how it tasted on your tongue. Your voice was a little hoarse, but you sounded more stubborn and incredulous than anything else. 

“Uh,” he said, turning to his med student, “I can deal with this one.” He closed the curtain in front of his face before the poor kid had a chance to say anything else. He turned back to you. Slowly, he pulled the stool over and sat, chest level with your injured leg. He looked up at you and practically whispered your name. You just raised your eyebrows at him, waiting for him to say something. You hadn’t realized how mad you really were until now, getting to be face to face with him again. “So,” he started, “how’d this happen?” he lifted the gauze as he asked, eyes finally leaving your face. His hand goes to the hem of your shorts and pulls them up just a bit to get a closer look at your leg. The light contact felt painfully familiar. 

His hand slid casually up your thigh as you sat comfortably on the kitchen counter. He was leaning against it between your thighs, and there was a carton of ice cream you were sharing in your hand. His spoonless hand continued moving up your thigh, his fingers brushing slightly under the hem of your PJ shorts. You just giggled and smacked his spoon. He didn't seem to mind.

“Moving accident,” you said matter-of-factly. 

“Moving?” his eyebrows raised, and he somehow looked even more nervous than before. 

“Yep,” you said, popping the P. That’s all you could manage without possibly blowing up on him in this small enclosed space. 

“Here?” he was trying to sound as casual as possible, but it was not working. All you did was nod. He continued to inspect your wound and clean it out a bit with saline. Then he brought out a big needle and a suture kit, a big one. “First, I’m going to numb the area, okay?” He looked up at you again, and you hated the way his gaze made your stomach flutter. He started stitching you up with precision and expertise. You also hated how hot he was when he was focusing so hard on fixing you. Most of all, you hated the flashbacks you were getting from feeling his breath against your thigh.

“Oh fuck, Michael,” you breathed out heavy and horny. He had you laid on your back on the bed, knees over his shoulders as he kneeled on the floor between your thighs. He was placing gentle kisses and bites all along your inner thighs, avoiding the spot you really wanted him.

“You look so beautiful, sweetie,” He murmured against your thigh as you arched your back, hoping to bring him closer to where you wanted him. Eventually, he laid a firm kiss over your clit, making you hum and sigh and arch again. He worked his tongue through your folds, working back up to your clit where he planted more open-mouth kisses before finally sucking you into his mouth and rolling the bud between his lips. You moaned breathlessly at how gentle he was being while still driving you out of your mind.

“About halfway done,” he said, pulling you out of your trance. You shake your head, silently cursing yourself for thinking about such things when you’re supposed to be mad at him. He looks up at you then, seemingly forgetting about your stitches for a moment. “Should we,” he starts.

“No. No, that’s really not necessary,” you can guess what he wanted to say, that he wanted to talk. “Just stitch me up, doc. Don’t give me a second thought,” you want to bite your tongue after that last part, not meaning to let it slip out and show how frustrated you really are. 

He breathes out your name, your stitches completely forgotten at this point. “I can explain. I thought that I was doing you a favor, really, I,”

“Stop.” You close your eyes, knowing that if you look at him, you won't be able to hold your resolve. You sigh, trying to place what you’re feeling. “It’s okay. It was nothing, I get it. A couple of days of fun. You owe me nothing.” 

You only open your eyes again when you feel his breath back on your thigh, continuing his forgotten work. He works incredibly fast now, without sacrificing his precision. When he’s done, he robotically gives you aftercare instructions and tells you to come back in a few weeks so someone else can take them out. 

Right as he's about to pull the curtain shut behind him, he looks back at you over his shoulder, “It wasn’t nothing.”

You sit there slack-jawed for a few minutes before a nurse comes in with some supplies and your discharge papers. As you're leaving, you look around for him one last time, but he’s nowhere to be found, as usual.

──── ☾ ⋆✧⋆ ☽ ────

at some point i might get to a part 2 of this, but i couldn't be bothered right now, and if i let it sit any longer i'd start to hate it. enjoy!

[claire-de-lune19]

switching tabs between hinge and tumblr rn. have i reached flow state or do i need to text my therapist??

[only-imagines]

this piece is called: looks robby gives you when you’re making a choice you should not be making in front of him

[deansdeer]

remembering isa briones be on here is kinda scary like does she show her coworkers this stuff.

[aquamarine33]

wish i was joking, i’ve never kicked my feet so much as I have watching ER

John Carter is a headless chicken, bless his wee soul he’s clueless

[gabbyyxoxoo]

[xsweetstarx]

[claire-de-lune19]

Panic

pairing - john carter x reader

word count - 1.06k

summary - After a rough day, Carter doesn't want anyone to know he's affected. Still, he lets you take care of him.

a/n - This is my first time posting any fanfic. I'm shakin' in my boots. Just a quick thing I thought up anyway, but it's good enough, I thought I'd share. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been a long day. Longer than most. Everyone had been flying around like they were on autopilot, but it was coming to the end of the night, and everyone was finally able to sit in one place for more than a moment. A little girl had come in an hour ago, beaten so badly it was hard to tell the color of her hair through the blood. She died on the table, her father standing, shaking in the corner with bloodied knuckles. After that, no one had much to say, and now that no one had much to do either, the adrenaline of the ER wearing off, the mood was dismal. 

You walk into the lounge, hoping to find the one face that might be able to soothe the thumping sound in your ears from your heartbeat, but he is nowhere to be found. You look in the suture room, the front desk, a couple of exam rooms, but nothing. Finally, you check the reading room. The lights are off, and it's hard to see around all the equipment, so you call out, “John?” Nothing. You try again, “John?” a little louder this time. It echoes in the quiet room. There’s no response, but you hear a choked breath from the corner. You rush to find it. 

There he is on the floor, back against the wall, arms wrapped around his knees, shaking and holding back sobs. Your heart sinks. A big part of you wants to sit down next to him and cry out the horridness of the day with him, but you think better of it.

“John,” you breathe out, as gently as possible. He doesn’t look up. He’s shaking so badly he can barely clasp his hands together, and his breathing is so shallow you worry if this continues, he could pass out. You sit on your shins in front of him, close enough that he wouldn’t have to move his head to look at you, just peek through his lashes. But you know him too well for that. 

You slip your hands through the gap of his arms and find his tie, loosening it enough to unbutton the first two buttons of his dress shirt. He gasps a bit, first in surprise at seeing your hands suddenly in front of his face, then again, feeling less pressure around his neck, to get bigger breaths into his lungs. You slip your hands away, resting them on his forearms and taking loud, deep breaths yourself in hopes that he’ll match your rhythm. You think it’s best not to say anything; he shouldn’t feel like he has to respond in this moment. You’ve had plenty of panic attacks yourself to know that any pressure to hurry it up and get over it has the opposite effect. 

His breathing gets slower, deeper, more steady, and you see his eyes blink roughly a couple of times, letting the last of his tears fall off his eyelashes. Finally, he lets his head fall back against the wall and releases an open-mouth sigh, letting his chest cave in. When he doesn’t open his eyes right away, you brush a bit of his hair that has fallen over his face out of the way. His red, puffy eyes open to look at you, and you sigh in relief. “Hey,” you smile, barely.

He gulps, “Hi.” He detaches his arms from his legs and lets you slide in between them. 

“You’re okay,” you say, sliding your hands from his forearms, up his biceps, then shoulders, finally landing at the base of his neck gently. He shakes his head. You can’t tell if he’s disagreeing or just shaking any remaining noise out of his head, but you take his cheek in your palm to stop him anyway. 

You push another strand of hair away from his face, but it falls right back down. You tut, trying to push it back again, and again it falls back over his eyes. He watches you do this a couple of times before you give up, rolling your eyes a bit. Instead, you gently wipe away the wetness from his cheeks, and he scrunches his eyes shut like it stings. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, closing his eyes tight, clearly embarrassed. 

“You’re sorry?” You huff out an almost laugh. “John, don’t be silly. Don’t be sorry.” You let both hands cradle his face. You wait for him to look you in the eye and say it again, “don’t be sorry,” making sure he knows you mean it. “When’s your shift over?”

“A while ago,” he looks down again, like he wishes he’d left when he could. You make one more attempt at moving the hair out of his face. 

“Let’s get out of here, okay?” you say, “I need out of here.” He lets you pull him up with you, but as you turn to go, you see him fidget with himself, not moving. “What’s wrong?”

“Do I look,” he starts, then pauses and thinks about how he can say something without sounding silly, “Do I look okay? I mean, like I’m okay?” 

You look at him for a moment, tilting your head to the side, then reach to turn on the overhead lights. He winces at the fluorescent. You take him in, his puffy eyes, and red nose, and loose collar. He looks handsome, as always, but you know what he means, and yes, he definitely looks like he’s been crying. 

“Come ‘ere.” You pull him a bit towards you and wipe his cheeks free of stains as best you can. Then you carefully wipe at his lashes until they’re dry. Then you mess up his tie and collar a bit more and run your fingers through his hair a couple of times until it looks messy and tugged at. He can’t help but hum and close his eyes at the feeling. Lastly, you rub your lips together, making sure your lipstick coats them fully, and press a firm kiss to his jaw. “There,” you say, “now you look more than okay. If they notice anything, it’ll be that you’re getting some.” You laugh, and he smiles widely. You’re thankful you could make him smile. “You ready?”

He nods, and you hold his hand all the way out of the hospital, to his car, and all the way home.