[opulentpeony]

His Lovely Obsession

Pairing: Titus Danforth x Reader 

Summary: Your life took a complete turn the moment you made one single decision: to help a billionaire with something so trivial that only a psychopath like him would mistake it for love. 

Titus has found a lovely new obsession to focus all his energy on now and you're unsure how you're going to make it out of this unscathed… 

Word Count: 20.3k

A/N: I had this itch to write a slow burn, grumpy x sunshine fic with a splash of angst, yearning and fucked up manipulative behavior so this is what I cooked up.

I will note, you call him "sir" and he really likes it! Because I like it! Whoops!

For a full list of warnings, you can check out the fic on my AO3. Though this one is quite mild compared to my other fics so you can go in blind if you want to! 

Oh, and of course, there will be porn! Hope it's a fun read ♡ 

You let out a little yawn in the elevator after you drop off your thirtieth delivery for the day. Usually you don't do this many, but the fine dining restaurant you normally work at cut your hours so you've been needing to work on the apps to make ends meet. 

You've been up since the crack of dawn and now the sun has set. You're ready to go back to bed.

Your eyes shift to the man in the elevator with you. He definitely is dressed like he is meant to be here. It is a luxury high rise that has both a hotel and residences. You just dropped off food for some rich asshole who barely tipped. You wonder if he is one of those rich assholes. 

You glance downwards and notice that there's a tiny tear in his dress pants. He looks like he's dressed to go to some fancy event. He probably shouldn't have a noticeable tear like that. People in his world would spot it. 

So, you tap him on the shoulder, saying, “excuse me, sir.” 

Titus Danforth turns to glare at you. Here we go again, he thinks to himself. You must know him from somewhere. Though, he doesn't know many people who wear cheap, wholesale clothing that is likely made of plastics. 

You must want his money, then. 

But you point to the hem of his dress pants and ask, “do you want me to fix that for you? There's a snag. You must've caught it on something.”

You pull out a small sewing kit from your bag, which you have since sometimes you have to mend your work clothes on the fly. It helps your coworkers too, since fine dining requires a certain level of pristine. 

He blinks at you, surprised. It's such a tiny tear that he wouldn't have noticed it if you hadn't said anything. 

But his father would've definitely scolded him if he saw it. 

There's no time to go back to his apartment and change. He needs to get to this fundraising gala right away. He spent a little too long fucking the help. 

Titus looks up at the floor count. He knows there's a private floor that only certain members in the building have access to. He goes to scan his keycard and hits the thirteenth floor. 

“We'll get out here and you can do it.” He shouldn't be accepting some stranger's help so he definitely can't be seen taking it.

For all he knows, you snagged his pants and this is some kind of ploy to get a pay out from him.

But he doesn't think that's it. 

You must just be a good samaritan because the moment he sits down at one of the plush benches by the elevator, you are on your knees in front of him, sifting through the threads you have to find the one that matches his pants the best before you start sewing it back up. 

Titus likes the look of you on your knees. You're very pretty. Much prettier than the maid he has been fucking. 

You're so focused on mending his pants that you don't notice the way he's staring at you, like he could swallow you up with just his gaze. 

You make a little small talk, completely oblivious to the desire in his eyes, “are you heading somewhere fun?” 

“I wouldn't call being stuck in a room full of boring rich people fun.” He tells you and his heart pounds a little faster when you giggle. 

That's a real laugh. Titus is used to hearing the dry, fake ones people give him, in a meager attempt to show him interest. You're genuinely amused. 

“I totally get you.” You say back, still chuckling under your breath. “That's how I feel every time I go to work.”

“Do you usually deliver food to this building?” Titus doesn't know why he's asking. He shouldn't care. You're just a delivery girl. 

But then you shake your head, your words intriguing him, “I usually serve at Opulence but they cut my hours recently. They hired this TikTok influencer and she's been driving in business so they've been giving her most of my shifts. I just deliver when I need to get by.” 

“Opulence? The place that makes the cabrito asado?” Titus has eaten there a few times. His father loves that dish, since it's an herb-crusted, slow-roasted young goat on a bed of microgreens. 

“Yeah, that's it! Though, I've never had it.” The restaurant owner doesn't provide free meals and the chefs are super stingy with their ingredients, since they're so expensive. Even the nice ones won't let any of you have a taste, besides that one influencer girl. She got to try everything to post about on her social media. 

You're trying not to be envious but…you definitely wish you could do something like that. You can't afford the equipment, however. She has the latest phone model. Two of them actually, one for work and one for personal use. You're still using the phone you got on a deal a few years ago. 

“You haven't eaten anything at the restaurant you serve at?” 

You shake your head. “I can't afford anything on that menu. I can barely afford my rent as is—ah, shit, sorry, I keep complaining. Ignore me. You don't want to listen to some stranger yap.” 

You do the final tie to secure the thread and cut the remaining with your compact scissors. You brush your hand over the fabric one last time then show him.

“Does it look good to you?” 

Titus is impressed. It doesn't even look like there was a tear to begin with. “Have you done this a lot?”

“Oh, all the time! The owner is very particular about how they want us to look at all times. Even the littlest of snags will get you sent home and most of us can't afford—shit, sorry, I need to stop doing that! Bad habit…” You catch yourself before you complain about money again. You're sure a man like him doesn't even think about money. 

Titus definitely doesn't. The idea of not being able to afford anything is a bit ridiculous to him. He could buy the world if he wanted to.

He could buy you the world if you wanted him to. 

What a strange thought. 

Why did that pop into his head? 

Maybe because you get up and ask for nothing in return for helping him.

“All good?” You gesture to the elevator buttons. “Ready to go?” 

“I should pay you for the help.” What the fuck is he saying? He has never offered to give anyone money before. At least not like this. He has offered money to people to get the fuck out of his way. Or to get something he wants. 

Is that what this is? Is he doing this because he wants you?

You wave him off. “This cost nothing. Just a smile.” 

You flash him a happy grin and he…can't help but smile back. Especially when you beam at him so brightly, like pure sunshine. 

“I love ending my day by making someone smile.” You nudge him playfully as the elevator doors open then step inside. 

Titus doesn't know what to make of that. Being touched so casually normally repulses him. But with you, he wishes you'd stay close to him. 

“When do you work next? Maybe I can tip you then.” Again, he doesn't understand why he's saying any of this. The words just spill out. 

“Hmmm.” You don't have your schedule yet. You should be getting it tomorrow, since it'll be the start of the week. “I won't know yet. If you want, you can call in and ask when I'm working. I just need to tell them your name so they know I'm okay with you knowing my schedule.” 

Technically, it's not a good idea to let a customer know exactly when a server will be on shift. But since it is a fine dining restaurant, if a wealthy customer does want a specific server, the server just has to make note of the customers they don't mind sharing their schedule with. 

“You don't know my name?” That's shocking to Titus. He is one of the wealthiest men on the planet. 

“Oh shit, are you like super famous or something?” You scratch your head, trying to parse out who he could be. “My bad…I work so much that I barely have time to keep up with anything.”

“Titus.” He tells you. “Titus Danforth. And you are?” 

You tell him your name and then give him another beautiful smile. “I will definitely look you up later so that if you do come into the restaurant, I will for sure know who you are, I promise!” 

The elevator doors open so you head out first then turn around and wave goodbye to him. 

“See you later, Titus!” You say his name so sweetly that…

He'll think about his name leaving your lips any time someone says his name from then on. Like when he's fucking that maid of his the next day and she's screaming his name and he's wondering what his name would sound like on your lips if you were bent over in front of him. 

That might be the only reason he's able to finish today. He's been struggling this whole time to stay hard. His mind is so consumed by thoughts of you that he can't seem to cum unless he imagines it's you. 

This can't be healthy. Though, he has never been mentally healthy before. 

“I need you to get the fuck out.” He tells his maid the moment he pulls the condom off. “I don't want to see you again.” 

“Titus—” She gasps when he wraps his hand around her throat, stopping her from speaking another word.

“I don't want to hear my name come out of your mouth ever again. Now, get the fuck out.” He tosses her towards the door. “You're fired.” 

She scoffs and then heads out. He knows she'll likely sue him but he has the footage to prove it was all consensual. His lawyers will guarantee that he wins the case. 

Titus grabs his phone, searching up the number for your restaurant. He debates calling. 

Should he see you? 

Why does he want to see you? 

You're just some pretty girl who helped him out with a little thing. You definitely have looked him up. Your entire opinion of him has likely morphed once you realize how rich and powerful he is. You wouldn't want him for him. You probably want him for his money now that you know. And he definitely shouldn't want you. 

But he calls anyway. 

“This is Opulence, how can I help you?” The voice is so familiar. That's because it's your voice. You ended up being called in to fill for the hostess today. 

“I'm looking to inquire about a server's schedule. How do I go about doing that?” Titus doesn't realize it's you until he tells you your name. 

And you giggle that beautiful giggle that he is growing too fond of. “Oh my goodness, is this Titus? How are you! I didn't think you'd call in so soon. I haven't even looked you up yet. I was so tired after working that I—shit, sorry, I'm doing it again…babbling on and on.” 

“It's alright. I don't mind.” What the fuck? Of course he minds. He hates it when people blab on and on. 

Why is he acting like you're special? 

Maybe because you are, when you tell him all cutely, “aw, you're so sweet. I knew I'd like you. I'll have to sneak you something good when you come in. I'm serving this Saturday if you want to stop by!”

“You aren't working all week?” Today is Sunday. Is your next shift really Saturday?

“Ah, yeah. It's okay. I'll be alright. Saturdays are typically good days so I should make a decent amount!” You are wildly optimistic, despite the struggle to make ends meet. “Should I book you a reservation or do you want to just pop in? I'll try to leave a table standing for you if you want!” 

“You would do that?” 

“Of course! How about I do that and if you show up, you show up! If not, the restaurant will live with one less table to serve. They make plenty of money as is.” 

Titus doesn't get you at all. You don't know who he is but you're giving him the five star treatment regardless. 

Would you do this for anyone?

He doesn't like thinking that you would. That he isn't special in any way. That you're only doing this because you're just a nice person in general. 

He wants you to only be nice to him. He wants to monopolize your attention. 

“When do you get off work?” He asks. 

“I close on Saturday, so last reservation is at 9:30PM.” It goes completely over your head that he's asking when you're done with work. Other people would take that as a flirtation. You're too innocent to think of it as anything but a simple question. 

“Then book me a table at 9:30PM.” He decides that's when he'll see you, so he has the chance to see you after work too.

Even though Titus is unsure if that's a good idea. 

“Alright! Just you or are you bringing someone special?” You're only asking because you need to know how many people to put down on the reservation.

But Titus thinks you're asking because you want to know if he's single. “Just me. I don't have anyone special.” 

“Well then, we definitely should fix that.” You say to him, chuckling. “You're way too handsome to not have someone to spoil. I can ask around to see if any of my regulars are single. They're all around your age, super rich too! I can play matchmaker for you.” 

He doesn't want anyone special. He just wants you. But you aren't even putting yourself on the menu. You don't even consider yourself someone he would be interested in. Probably because you're so much younger than him and in a completely different tax bracket… 

“Do you have anyone special?” The question leaves his lips and he regrets asking. It's too forward.

But again, you're totally oblivious to it, since you're so used to customers asking you all sorts of personal questions. You don't see it as anything out of the ordinary. “Oh no. I've never even dated anyone before. Too busy working, you know!” 

Titus should not be happy to hear that but he is. He is very happy to know that you've never dated anyone before. Because that means there's a chance you've never been with anyone ever before. 

And now he's invested in you. 

His lovely new obsession. 

“Maybe we can change that. I'll see you on Saturday.” He says, smirking into the phone. 

You don't notice anything strange in his wording and just say back, “see you then, Titus!”

You hang up the work phone and go back to prepping the restaurant to be open. The hostess always comes in early in case people call in to make same day reservations, so you're glad you came in and caught Titus's call. You really need to look him up. 

You make plans to do so when you get home but then you get a notice from your landlord saying that you have a week to move out since their kid flunked out of college and needs the room back.

There goes your cheap rent… 

You then spend the rest of the week stuffing everything you can into your car and throwing out everything else. Thankfully the room was furnished so you didn't have any furniture to pack but…now everything you own is in your car. 

You've been calling different listings for places to live but no place at the same price point as your old place stays available for long enough. By the time Saturday rolls around, you're still unhoused and living out of your car. 

You have to buy a gym membership so you can shower and get ready for work. There's no way you can show up looking like you've been sleeping upright for the last few days. 

You feel like shit but you still put on your best smile when you get to work. You could use the tips for your deposit. 

But tonight, no one seems to want to tip you, specifically. 

You didn't realize they booked you with that influencer girl, so most tables are requesting her. Which is totally fine, it makes sense that people would want to come to see someone they follow online. 

You have a handful of regulars who tip you alright so you know you'll make it through this shift with some money in your pocket. Less than you'd hope, but enough to be okay. 

That's about to change real quick. 

Because the owner of the restaurant comes and grabs you, yanking you off the floor to ask you, “what the hell is Titus Danforth doing here?” 

“Oh, he's here already?” You look at your watch. It's fifteen minutes before his reservation. You didn't realize he was an early bird or you would've had his table ready sooner. 

“What do you mean “oh, he's here already"? You knew he was coming in?” 

“Yeah. I booked his reservation.” 

“You booked…” The owner looks like they're about to throw a fit. “Why didn't you tell me you booked a reservation for Titus Danforth? The books only had his initials!”

“That's…what we always do?” You're not supposed to put full names down, in case someone hacks in and sees an A-list celebrity has a reservation and then tries to come in at the same time. 

“Do you not know who he is?” 

You shake your head. You have been so busy all week that you haven't gotten to looking him up just yet. He must be a big deal if the owner is going nuts over him being here. 

“He is one of the wealthiest men on the fucking planet and you reserved him a standard table.” The owner pinches their brow. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Excuse me?” You didn't realize part of your job description was to research every wealthy person on the planet in case they show up here. Nor did you realize that being verbally abused over and over was suddenly an okay practice to do. “Look, I'm sorry, but—”

“Get the fuck out of my restaurant.” They point to the staff room, which has the private entrance/exit so customers don't see you leaving or entering the building. “Get your shit and go. Thankfully we have an actually competent server to help Titus Danforth tonight. We don't need you anymore.”

You can't believe this. You're seriously getting fired because you didn't know who Titus is. This is actually ridiculous.

“You know I just got evicted, right?” You had told them when it happened, in hopes you'd get more hours. 

“I don't give a fuck about your sob story. Just get out of my fucking restaurant now.” The owner shoves past you to go to the front of the house, presumably to talk to Titus. 

You let out a sigh. You did want to see him. You brought him something you figured might make him smile.

So when you spot your now-ex coworker, the influencer, in the staff room on her break, you open your locker and grab it, giving it to her.

“Hey, you're going to serve a Titus Danforth in a bit. Could you give this to him for me? I wanted to give it to him myself but I just got fired so I got to go.” 

“Oh shit. Is it because of Titus? Did he cuss you out or something?” Her words strike you as strange. 

“No…? Does he do that?” She would know, since she's all over that online drama stuff. 

“Oh yeah, all the fucking time. He gets people fired wherever he goes, like even over the tiniest little thing. I heard he's a fucking prick.” She takes your gift for Titus, looking at it. “Are you sure you want to give him something? Are you a fan of his? I know some billionaires have fans but I wouldn't pick him as my choice…”

“Just give it to him, please. Tell him it's from me and that I'm sorry I couldn't be here.”

“Alright.” She tucks it into her apron. “Good luck. Sorry you got fired.”

You shrug and wave goodbye as she heads out onto the floor. It does suck that you got fired but life happens. 

What can you do about it but move on? 

Titus can't seem to move on, though. 

He hasn't spotted you at all since he got to the restaurant. He came early in hopes of just watching you work for a little prior to you serving him. He expected to see you.

But the person serving him isn't you.

The owner personally apologizes to him for not booking him a private booth but managed to get one situated for him, despite it being a busy Saturday night. Titus couldn't care less where he sat. He's here to see you and that's it. 

But you aren't the one serving him for some reason. 

So he asks the server where you are and she tells him, “I'm so sorry, Mr. Danforth. She was let go because she didn't know who you were and booked you at a standard table. The owner never wants their VIPs to ever be booked at a standard table. She should've known better.” 

Titus scoffs. “What the fuck? I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for her. I have come here maybe twice with my father. He's the VIP. I'm just a regular customer. She booked me correctly.”

“You're a Danforth, sir.” Titus does not like the sound of the word sir coming out of anyone's mouth but yours. 

“Where is she?” Titus looks around. “Did she leave already?”

“Yes, I think so. She probably finished packing up her stuff and left. She did tell me to give you this, though. And to tell you that she's sorry she couldn't be here.” The server hands him a little box. 

He opens it. It's…a small sewing kit. The same one like you had in your bag. 

With a cute note attached saying: For any future repairs ♡

You had planned to tell Titus that you'd show him a few different ways to sew up a snag, to go with the gift, but you can't now obviously. You probably will never see him again. 

You put all your work stuff with the rest of your things in your car, sighing. You didn't think you'd be off so early, so now you have to figure out where to park. Most places aren't free to park until 10PM so you could wait in your work parking lot until then but you don't really want to stick around a place that fired you… 

But then, you look up at the sky and decide it's okay to stay for a little. You'll miss working here. It's just a few miles out of the city, in a beautiful part where plenty of wealthy people live, with barely any light pollution. 

There's so many stars out tonight. 

You sit up on the hood of your car, staring up at the night sky from this vantage point one last time. You're so engrossed by the sight of the stars that you don't notice a figure walking up to you until a shadow engulfs you.

You turn your head to see… “Titus?” 

How did he find the employee parking lot? 

It's quite an uphill trek from the restaurant, which is on purpose since the restaurant valet would prefer to not have any “ugly” cars parked in that lot.

Titus just stares at you, at how pretty you look in the light of the stars and the moon. How they seem to add an extra sparkle in your eyes. How he is so grateful he caught up to you before you left. 

There was no way he was going to wait any longer to see you again. 

He wasn't going to let some fucking stupid restaurant owner get in his way. 

“I heard you got fired.” He says to you, noticing how cleaned up you look in your work attire compared to the casual clothes from before. “I didn't end up staying since you weren't there.” 

“Aw, you should've at least enjoyed the food.” You feel bad he just left. 

“Did you like working at that restaurant?” He asks because he just bought it and if you wanted to, you come back to work there. He won't tell you he bought it, of course, but he would get you your job back. 

But it doesn't seem like you want to, from the way you shrug. “It was nice while it lasted. Maybe this is the universe telling me I need to be somewhere else.” 

“What do you mean?” 

You pat the hood of your car, inviting him to sit with you. He would never normally do this. Especially on an old car like yours. But he does, for some reason. 

For you. To be next to you. 

Titus sits beside you in his designer clothes and you giggle, pulling your knees up to your chest, leaning your head against them as you look at him. “We really are from two different worlds, aren't we?” 

“Are you going to move?” He noticed all your things packed in your car. 

“I don't know.” You look back up at the stars. “I don't have a place to stay right now. I don't have a job. I don't have anything besides what I got right here.” 

Again, he just stares at you. But this time, it's because he has never met anyone like you before. He has met people who are desperate, who would do anything to get out of whatever hole they dug themselves into. 

But, despite whatever life has thrown at you, you don't show any signs of that same desperation.

You actually seem content to just look at the stars in the sky, basking in the moonlight, enjoying the moment, ignoring the reality of your situation for a second. 

“Do you like stargazing?” You turn your head towards Titus again. 

“I don't really look up.” 

You chuckle at that. “I guess when you're one of the richest men on the planet, you only look down, right?”

“So you looked me up?” Titus figured you would eventually. 

But you shake your head. “I didn't have any time to. Had to pack all my stuff into my car this week since I got evicted. I just heard that from the owner. Sorry, bad joke.” 

“What else did you hear about me then?” He wants to know what you know. 

“My ex-coworker said you're a fucking prick.” You reply, followed by another cute laugh. “I wonder what you must've done to give the internet that impression.” 

“You don't think I'm a prick?” He would understand if you did. He is a fucking prick. The worst of the worst. 

But you don't judge people based on the words of others. Maybe that is naive of you but you like to believe most people are good people. Though you have no clue who you're sitting next to right now… 

“Do you want me to think you're a prick?” You nudge him playfully like you had before. “I can do that if you want.” 

“How can you be so…normal around me? After learning who I am?” Titus hasn't noticed any change in your behavior. 

You're acting exactly like you had when you first met him. 

“Am I supposed to act a certain way around a man with money?” You tilt your head at him, feigning befuddlement. “Should I get on my hands and knees and beg you for a crumb of your wealth, sir?”

Yes. Titus wants to say but then you laugh, obviously having said what you said as a joke, so he bites his tongue. But it's hard not to imagine you on your hands and knees, with his cock buried inside of you from behind, moaning beneath him. 

He needs to figure out how to curb his desire for you. This is getting out of hand. 

Especially when you nudge him again and point at the sky. “Look, or you'll miss it!”

Titus looks up and a shooting star blazes across the sky, drawing a line of light for just a moment before disappearing. 

“Did you wish for anything?” You ask him, still displaying that brilliant smile he's growing to love. 

“No. Did you?” Titus doesn't make wishes. He can get whatever he wants. 

Except you and your free spirit. “I wished for a sign from the universe to tell me where to go next.” 

You're like a pretty bird, ready to soar towards your next adventure. You never stay in one place for too long. 

Titus won't have that. He needs to cage you. To keep you. 

So, he says to you, “do you want to work for me?” 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Doing what? Do you own a restaurant I can serve at?”

He literally owns the place that fired you but…he won't tell you that now. 

Instead, he tells you, “I recently fired my personal assistant so I'm looking for a new one. You'd get your own room in my apartment and you can buy food and other necessities on my card.” 

“What does a personal assistant for Titus Danforth do?” You lean your head against your knees, looking up at him. “Am I writing emails all day or…?” 

“Just whatever I need help getting done for the day.” Like getting off. He really wants to get off. He hasn't cum since he fired that maid. He wants to cum inside of you.

Maybe even without a condom.  

You don't seem to notice the lust in his gaze at all. Probably because no one has ever looked at you like that before. 

“You should get someone with actual personal assistant experience.” You definitely aren't the right fit. You've mainly worked in restaurants, minus that singular stint you did at a retail store in your teens. “Also, you definitely shouldn't hire someone you've only known for like an hour.” 

You chuckle, the sound so intoxicating to him. Little do you know, you have been on his mind every second of every day since the moment you left his sight. He tried his best not to let his mind wander to you but it always did. 

“I was following your lead. The universe brought you to me when I needed a personal assistant and the universe brought me to you when you needed a job. Is that not a sign?” He manipulates your wish and uses it against you. 

“I guess you're right.” You tap your finger against your lips, which makes Titus stare very closely at them, wishing he could kiss you. “But still, you barely know me.” 

“You barely know me.” He counters and that makes you laugh again. 

“Touché!” You lean against him a little as you giggle then move away. “Alright, why not! If I'm horrible, you can always fire me. I heard you're very good at it.”

Titus will never get used to the casual touches you do. You are so relaxed around him. You should be more guarded. 

You have no idea what he has in store for you now that he has you in his grasp…

You don't get what Titus's last personal assistant must have done to get fired. This has got to be the easiest job you've ever had. And the benefits are incredible! 

Titus gave you a super nice car, completely paid off, since he doesn't want his personal assistant to be driving something dingy. You have all brand new, designer clothes in your closet that fit you perfectly and match your style. He apparently had people come over once you moved your things in to sift through your closet and figure out what you would like so that you had clothes to wear when you went out with him. 

You go out with Titus a lot. Mostly to restaurants he's scoping out, thinking of buying or investing in. You and him eat and drink and laugh and chat so much that you're shocked this is even considered work. 

Your paycheck is also enormous too and he even helped you set up a high yield savings account at the bank his family runs with a very good rate. 

You're making more money now than you have your entire life. 

You don't have anything to use it on, either. Titus pays for everything, always. You try to pay sometimes, for groceries or for household goods, but then he just adds the money to your paycheck when you do, effectively zeroing it back out. You get that he is obscenely wealthy but you don't want him to always have to pay. 

“It's an insult when you try to pay for me.” Titus tells you as he drives the two of you from the airport to a resort on the tropical island he's thinking of investing in. 

“This rental car cost like a tenth of my check. You could've let me pay for it.” You pout at him and he shakes his head at you. 

“A tenth of your check is not even a penny to me.” He will not have you spending any money when he has plenty. 

“Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot I'm in the presence of an almost trillionaire. My apologies, sir.” You exaggerate a bow then giggle. 

It has been months since Titus hired you to be his “personal assistant” and he still hasn't touched you. He has no idea how he is keeping it together, especially when you laugh so beautifully like that all the time and jokingly call him sir. 

You are so playful and so cute that he just wants to eat you up. 

But you are horribly oblivious to any and all of his advances. 

You two go out to eat and you think it's just work. You two stay in a hotel suite together and you think it's just work. You two go on vacations together and you really, truly, seriously think this is just a work excursion. 

That is totally why Titus paid for the all inclusive resort package for the two of you that includes a private pool attached to the room. 

Though this time, he made sure there was only one bed. The last few times, the hotels and resorts you've been to have had other rooms available to swap to, so you and Titus have never had to sleep in the same bed. 

That changes today. He booked out all of the available rooms to ensure you had to sleep in the same bed as him. You can't avoid him now. 

“Are you sure this is okay?” You stare at the king sized bed in the very nice room. “I can sleep on the floor. Or the tub. I've done that before when I've crashed at people's places.” 

“I'm not letting you sleep in a tub.” The idea makes him grimace. 

“I'm surprised there isn't like a couch or something.” You would assume a fancy resort like this would have more furniture in the room but there's really only the bed and the desk and you can't sleep in a desk chair for a week. 

Titus made sure there was no alternate sleeping places. They took the couch out and rearranged the furniture to make it look like this is what the room should look like. And Titus told you that you shouldn't ever look up anywhere you and him go since he wants you to experience it blind to get the best feel for the place. You listen because he's your boss. 

Now you're going to be sharing a bed with your boss… 

“There really weren't any other rooms?” It's a huge resort. Though, it does look like there's some kind of convention going on. 

It's packed on the island right now!

“Is the idea of sleeping with me that horrible?” Titus tries to be playful with this question but there's a bite to his tone he can't hide. 

You, again, are oblivious to it. “No, not at all. I just feel bad because you probably don't want to sleep with me.” 

“I don't mind.” He wants to desperately. 

“Hopefully I'm not a weird sleeper.” 

“You've never slept with someone before?” He finally has a chance to casually ask this question. 

“I've shared a bed with friends on trips and stuff like that to save money.” Again, it goes over your head that he's not referring to real sleeping. “They've never complained but like what if I kick you in my sleep? I would feel so bad!”

“That should be the least of your worries.” You'll be lucky if you have the opportunity to actually sleep. 

“I know. If you don't think it's a big deal, then I shouldn't worry about it.” You appreciate that he's looking out for you.

Titus has no idea how you got to your age and you're so fucking oblivious to the fact that he wants to pin you down on this bed and fuck the brains out of you. 

Maybe it's because you don't see him as a man. You only see him as your boss. You haven't put it together in your mind that he should be someone you should be careful around. 

But you aren't careful at all. 

You casually touch his arm when you're walking past him so you don't accidentally bump into him on the way to the closet to unpack your things. You place your hands on him to straighten out his clothes without warning. You nuzzle your cheek against his shoulder then flash him a big smile whenever you feel like bothering him with an ask of something kind.

Like, “can we get smoothie bowls? Please!”

“Please what?” He pokes your nose and you laugh, knowing what he's looking for. 

“Please, sir. Can we get smoothie bowls?” You bat your eyelashes at him, like you always do.

It takes everything in his soul not to grab you and kiss you. He opts to clench his fist tight and gives you an even tighter lipped smile in response.

“Sure.” His heart races at how happy you look.

“Great, I'm starving and that place looked so good.” 

It's one of the restaurants in the resort. A cute hut that makes smoothie bowls. It should be included in the resort package, though Titus wouldn't care how much it cost regardless. 

As long as he gets to see you all giddy to eat a colorful bowl of fruit layered on top of a smoothie, he would pay anything. 

“You know, you haven't called Pepper back.” You manage Titus's personal cellphone and his father recently sent him a bunch of potential matches for marriage. 

Titus went out with one of them as a formality but hated being there. It meant he wasn't with you that day and he hates not being with you. Everyone else in his world is dull and power-hungry. 

You're a breath of fresh air.

Except when you push him away from you. “She seemed really nice. She sent the yummiest fruit basket to the apartment. I was just thinking about it since these fruits are just as yummy.” 

Titus digs his spoon into the smoothie bowl the two of you are sharing because he didn't want to get his own and you offered to share yours with him so he could try it. The fruits are good, in season, ripe, sweet. Like how he imagines you must taste. 

“You do realize if I get married, you'd be out of a job.” Titus is harsher with his words than he intends but he can't hide his annoyance that you don't view him as someone of interest. You never look flustered around him.

Not even when he pulls you towards him by wrapping his arms around your waist so that someone doesn't bump into you as they run by. His hands linger at your sides. You don't seem startled at all that he's touching you.

“Oh my goodness, that person almost rammed into me!” You catch your breath, your heart racing. “Thanks, Titus.” 

You pat him gently on the chest, then look up at his face. He almost flinches when you reach up and cup his jaw with your hand. He almost expects you to lean up and kiss him.

But instead, you wipe a bit of smoothie off the corner of his lip and then proceed to lick it off your thumb. “You had a little drip. Can't have you walking around with—”

Titus can't stand it anymore and just kisses you. His arms hook you in closer to him, locking you to his chest, before his lips crash down onto yours. 

You don't know what's going on.

You've never been kissed before. 

Is this a kiss? Why is Titus kissing you? 

His lips are so soft against yours. You don't know what to do. 

Should you kiss him back? But he's your boss… 

A weird feeling pangs in your chest. The one you've been avoiding. Ignoring, because you figured it was just silly to imagine that he likes you. 

Now that you're getting some proof that he does, maybe even just physically, you're suddenly afraid that everything is going to change. And you don't want things to change. You liked how everything was. 

“Titus…” You breathe out against his lips when he finally lets you swallow air again. 

You don't have any words to say. You can't form the sentence you want to speak aloud. Because you should tell him not to do that again. That he's your boss and you're his assistant. 

But instead, you ask him, “is this why you fired your last assistant?”

Your words catch him by surprise. He wasn't expecting you to ask that of all things right after he kissed you for the first time. 

“What are you talking about?” His head is all over the place, his heart pounding in his chest. He wants to kiss you again but you're looking at him with such devastation in your eyes. And he can't help but like the look of it. 

Because is this not that same envy you had for that influencer? 

“Did your last assistant…let you kiss them? Was that in their job description…” Your stomach is doing somersaults and you feel nauseous from the fear that everything is going to change forever. “Because I-I don't know if I can do that if it is.” 

“You don't want to kiss me?” Fury causes Titus to dig his nails further into his fist, his palm bleeding. 

There was always a chance you didn't like him. That your sweetness was just a facade. 

Is that what you're showing him now? That you weren't the genuinely aloof, adorable girl he wants so badly to fuck up? 

You glance down at his fist, at the blood dripping from it. “Titus, your hand!” 

He watches as you grab a hold of his hand, opening his fist up, seeing the way his nails had dug into his palm.

“Oh no, shit, I knew we should've gotten manicures before we flew here.” 

The edges of his nails are all sharp since it's been a while. You were planning on booking one of the resorts’ manicurists to come to the room. You should've thought of this sooner. 

You quickly grab some napkins and apply pressure to the cut. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“I just kissed you and you give more of a fuck about my hand?” He yanks his hand out of your hold. “Are you fucking serious?” 

Your throat is closing up. This reminds you of when the owner of the restaurant yelled at you. Only this time, it's Titus. And seeing him angry with you scares you to the point where you can't control the tears that are blurring your vision.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” You try to find some words to say but none of them will come out. You're so nervous all of a sudden.

Titus has never seen you like this before. Flustered, scared, anxious, delicious. He wants more of this side of you. The one that you've been hiding under that confident mask of yours. 

The girl underneath who wants nothing more than to be spoiled rotten. 

Without letting you say anything else, Titus scoops you up into his arms, carrying you back to the room. You cling onto him, shocked that he's carrying you so easily. 

Though, should you be shocked? 

You have seen him practically naked before, wearing only his boxers around the apartment. You know he works out because he has a gym set up. You have watched him exercise before. 

But for some reason, the thought of him without any clothes on is making your heart flip flop on your chest. You've never felt whatever feeling is stirring inside of you. 

Is this…lust? 

Titus opens the door to the room and then proceeds to toss you onto the bed. You scramble to sit up, backing up until your back is against the headboard. He climbs onto the bed like a predator stalking its prey until he has you trapped beneath him. 

Your heart is going to leap out of your chest at this point. You've never seen Titus look so…hungry before. Like he wants to devour you whole. 

“I don't care to wait anymore.” He tells you, looking you up and down like he's planning out how to feast on you. “I don't care if you scream. I don't care if you fight back. I fucking don't care anymore. I'm done waiting for you.” 

“Wait, wait, Titus—” You can't stop him from kissing you, his lips sealing over yours, stealing your breath away when he slips his tongue into your mouth. The warmth of it mixing with yours makes you dizzy. 

You didn't realize kissing could feel so…hot. You taste the smoothie bowl, that sweet fruit flavor on his tongue. You like it a lot. You like kissing him a lot. 

That's why you have to stop him. You can't be doing this. He can't be doing this. He's about to marry someone else. His father will make sure of that. And then you'll just have been some blip in his memory. 

That's all you'll be.

And you don't want that.

You want to be able to remember your time with Titus fondly. 

“Please, Titus, let me talk.” You beg against his lips. 

“I'm not going to stop so don't waste your breath.” He goes to kiss down your jaw, to the column of your neck, placing a bite right in the center that stings and shoots a tingle down to your core, something you've never felt before. 

“I don't want you to stop.” Your words flip a switch in his head and he lifts up from your neck to look at you, confused. 

That wasn't what he was expecting. Nor was he expecting the tears that are welling up in your eyes. They aren't from fear. 

They're…from sadness. 

Longing to be specific. 

Yearning, more like it. 

“But you need to know if we do this, you're going to break my heart.” You go to wipe the tears that spill from your eyes with your hands. “So if you want to do this, we can. But it will hurt me more than you will ever know.”

“Why?” He doesn't understand. 

How can he break your heart when he doesn't even have it yet? 

You cup his face, pulling him up towards you so you can lay your forehead against his, before you tell him, “because I know I'm just one of many people you've done this with. You like me now, sure, but there's no guarantee that'll last. And you can't promise me it will. I won't believe you. But…”

You let out a sigh, before you lean in and press a kiss on his lips. He's so stunned to feel you kiss him.

He's even more stunned when you tell him, “I don't mind if you break my heart. I just want you to be aware that you will.” 

You give him a soft smile, like you always do, and it burns a hole in his chest. 

“You aren't one of many.” He knows that to be a fact. He has never wanted to spend time with anyone like he has with you. 

“Then tell me about the person before me. Did you kiss them too?” You know the answer from the look on his face but you want him to say it. 

“I didn't have a personal assistant before you.” That's the honest truth.

But you know it's not the full truth. “Who did you have before me?”

“She was just a maid.” 

“Will I be “just a personal assistant” one day?” Your words make him ache in ways he never thought possible. 

“No.” He shakes his head. He doesn't want you to just be a personal assistant to him. 

He wants you.

“Did you break her heart?” 

“We just fucked. That's it. I didn't feel anything for her.” The words slip from his lips and you catch them.

“You feel something for me?” So this isn't just physical. What is it then? 

“You have to understand.” Titus won't hold himself back anymore. “You are never going to be able to leave me. I would rather kill you than let anyone else have you.” 

“Then kill me.” You pull his hands up to wrap around your throat, wanting him to squeeze. “Because I'd rather die than know one day, you'll leave me for someone else. For another pretty girl who caught your eye. I'd rather die than witness someone else having you after I've gotten a taste.”

“Then why did you push me towards Pepper?”

“That was before I knew you felt the same way about me that I do about you.” 

You can't help yourself. You lean in and kiss him again, just so you can remember the feeling of his lips on yours before you die. Those soft lips. How you yearn to feel them all over your skin. 

But the moment you do, your heart will surely shatter. 

“I don't want anyone else but you.” He says so clearly that you almost believe him. 

“Maybe for right now.” You brush your nose against his, that playfulness still shining through even in your despair. “But you should be honest with yourself. You don't want a relationship with me. I know you don't.” 

You don't know how to explain it. But you're sure Titus doesn't want you to be his girlfriend. Or his wife. 

He just wants you to be his. 

And you can do that. 

You can be his. 

But it will hurt you tremendously in the process. 

Is he willing to do that to you? 

Titus moves his hands off of your neck and then gets up from the bed, straightening himself out. Then, he goes to the phone at the desk, dialing the front desk. 

“I need another room.” He says to the receptionist, who is fully aware of all the rooms he has booked. “Either one that connects or a suite with two bedrooms. Just pick one and send the keycards here.” 

“Right away, Mr. Danforth.” They hang up and before you have time to process what's happening, there's a knock on the door.

Titus grabs the new keycards and goes to pack your things up back into your suitcase and then he does his own. You're sitting there, stunned. 

Because you realize he wanted to sleep next to you. That's why he booked this room in particular. There were rooms available. But he wanted to share a bed with you, so he convinced you there weren't.

And now, he doesn't anymore. 

Because hurting you is something he can't do, for some reason. 

He liked seeing you shy and flustered but hurt…that didn't spark what he thought it would inside of him. What it usually does inside of him. 

When he gathers everything, he tells you, “come on, let's go to our new rooms.”

“Titus…” You're speechless for once. You normally have a quip of some kind but…you don't right now. 

“You're right. I don't know what I was thinking. You can't mean anything to me and I would be a fucking idiot to think you could. I was just thinking with my cock. It won't happen again.” Titus gestures for you to take your bags. “Now come on, we have a resort to check out. Let's get to work.” 

And that's all it is. 

Work. 

Because that's all it will ever be, right?

“A little birdie told me something interesting.” Ursula smiles that wicked grin of hers at Titus, while they're having brunch at the Danforth Resort together. “You haven't fucked your personal assistant yet. It's been over a year. I find that impressive, Titus.” 

“Who the fuck would tell you something like that?” He rolls his eyes at her. 

She's telling the truth, though. He hasn't fucked you. He hasn't even kissed you since that time. 

“Your housekeepers will do anything for a little extra cash.” She only had to add a bit more to their checks to get them to spill the details about you and Titus. “From what I hear, your personal assistant is more like a roommate you pay. And you don't even fuck her. That's just weird.” 

“It's weird that you give a fuck about who I'm fucking.” 

Ursula shrugs. “I give more of a fuck that you've been acting like an asshole because you're all pent up. Just go fuck one of the people you have on speed dial and get it over with already.”

“Okay, I will.” He leaves the table then, done with this brunch.

But he doesn't go to one of the many fuckbuddies he has.

He just goes straight home to you. 

Because he doesn't want to fuck anyone. 

It's like there's something wrong with him. If he isn't thinking about you, he can't get hard. His body won't let him fuck anyone else. 

But maybe that's his heart getting in the way. 

You and him have found that rhythm from before again, albeit with a slight change. You do get flustered whenever he touches you now. And you don't touch him as casually as you used to anymore. He likes that you're finally seeing him as a man. But he hates that you no longer feel relaxed around him. 

You apologize a lot more now. You aren't as playful because you're nervous you'll say something you shouldn't. 

It's killing him inside. 

Especially on days like today, where you seem like you're back to the way you were before, smiling at him when he gets home, “welcome back! How was brunch?” 

“Horrible.” He pulls off his dress shirt, tossing it into the hamper. 

You hand him one of the softer shirts he wears at home and he slips it on. He catches the way your eyes linger on his body for a second before you shake your head, like you're trying to shake away the thoughts you were having. 

You distract yourself by asking, “did you bring me that pastry?”

“Fuck, I forgot.” He was in a rush to leave. 

Usually when he goes to brunch with Ursula at the Danforth Resort, you would beg him to get this one pastry for you since it's a specialty dessert there. He always got it for you, so he could watch you happily devour it. 

“Oh it's okay!” You wave him off. “No big deal. I will just dream about it until next time.” 

“We can go right now.” 

You look at him like he's gone crazy. “You just drove back. It's alright. I don't mind waiting.” 

Waiting. Titus hates that fucking word. 

He hates waiting. He hates it so much. He hates that he has to wait and wait and wait until everything falls into place so that he can have even the slightest chance of being with you. Of making you his, forever. 

You seem content to wait but he doesn't know for how long. 

He knows you've been looking for another job.

He knows you've been talking with other men. 

Sure, they're "just friends” of yours but…he can't stand it. 

He can't take another day of waiting for you to be his.

He needs this to work. 

Titus cannot live without you. 

So, he waits for everything to align exactly the way he needs it to. 

Then, he will make you his. 

But plans never do go the way he thinks.

Because you've caught the eye of a certain member of the High Council. 

“Ignacio?” You see him at one of the events Titus brings you to and he comes rushing up to you, giving you a big hug. 

Something that makes Titus's jaw tighten. 

“Now where have you been, mi cielito?” He swings you around, making you giggle. “I have missed having you serve me. Opulence has declined since you left.” 

“I got fired.” You tell him as he sets you down. 

“They fired you? But doesn't Titus—” 

When Ignacio meets Titus's deadly glare, he doesn't say another word. 

Instead, he clears his throat and goes, “well, regardless, they were sorely mistaken in choosing to let you go.”

“If I knew you'd be here, I would've brought you something.” You used to bring him cute little charms for his guns. 

“What are you doing here? I heard Titus had a personal assistant but I had no idea it would be you. How did you two meet?” 

“It's a funny story.” You say with that soft giggle of yours. 

Titus is learning right now that you show that side of yourself to others. Not just him. Ignacio seems well versed in how precious you can be, his eyes roaming your body. He must like how gorgeous you look in the designer dress Titus picked out for you for this event. 

“Would you like a drink? I'd love to hear about it.” As much as Ignacio wouldn't want to light any fury in Titus, he has missed the chats you two used to have so he is willing to risk it. 

Titus opens his mouth to answer for you but then you go, “oh sure! Titus, you don't mind right? I'll be right back!”

Of course he minds. Of course he fucking minds. You're not supposed to want to spend time with anyone except for him. 

And yet you're choosing Ignacio? Over him? 

He can't stop you from walking away. He can't stop you from smiling at Ignacio as you hook your arm in his, doing that affectionate cheek rub against his shoulder, making Ignacio pinch your nose in response. You laugh so beautifully as the two of you chat about something Titus is too far away to hear.

Ignacio touches you so casually, like the two of you have a deeper relationship. But you told Titus you never dated before. 

But you never told him if you ever fucked someone before. 

From the way Ignacio is holding your hip with one hand and his drink in the other, Titus can't help but imagine that you aren't the innocent girl he thought you were. Especially when you smile all bashfully before placing your hand against Ignacio's chest, using your finger to draw little circles over where his heart is. 

“I think your boss wants me dead.” Ignacio whispers to you. “You shouldn't glance over there. You'll see quite the death glare.” 

“He won't do anything to you, don't worry.” You know Titus won't. 

“I heard a rumor about you.” He has been meaning to ask, since now he knows you're Titus's personal assistant. “You haven't slept with him. Is that true?” 

“Is that…surprising?” 

Ignacio shrugs. “He is quite fond of the help, from what I hear. Fond of firing them too, when he's done with them.”

That you are well aware of. You've seen it before. Titus fired all of his housekeeping staff recently and hired brand new ones, who only come when you and him aren't at the apartment at all. You still don't know why he did that but you don't ask. It isn't your place to. 

“If you need a job, I have many places you can work. Just give me a call anytime.” Ignacio puts his hand out and you give him your phone, letting him add his personal number to it. “I should let you go back to your boss now. Adiós, mi cielito.” 

Ignacio kisses you on the temple before heading over to say hello to another set of patrons at the event. You make your way back to Titus, who has maintained his glare this whole time.

The question he asks you when you're back by his side startles you. “Have you fucked him?”

“What?” You raise an eyebrow at Titus, shocked he'd ask you something like that. 

“I said, have you fucked Ignacio?” His tone grows harsher. “Answer me.”

“I have not fucked anyone.” You scoff, setting your drink down. You haven't even taken a sip and now you definitely don't want to. 

Because you know the moment your inhibitions drop, you'll say something you really don't want to. 

But then Titus goes, “I bet you want to fuck him.” 

And you can't hold it in anymore. “Why do you care? I'm just the help. Though apparently you always fuck the help so maybe I'm not even that to you.” 

You have never snapped at Titus like this before. That's why he has no idea what to say. He didn't think you had it in you to feel any kind of jealousy. You normally are so chill, even when he talks to other people. 

Have you been harboring envy this whole time? 

You hate to admit that. You hate when your mind trails to the fact that he has been with other people and that he will be with other people after you. That you aren't anything but this weird pastime of his for right now. 

But that ends today. 

You can't keep doing this.

You can't keep pretending like you can stay by his side and nothing has changed. 

“I'm going to work for Ignacio.” You tell him straight up, even though you haven't formally agreed to anything. “So, you can go and hire some other person and fuck them because I do not want to be here when you inevitably do. I'm leaving to pack my things.” 

But he doesn't let you leave. Not without him.

Titus grabs you by the arm and drags you out to the underground parking lot, where he has his car parked for the event. 

“Let go of me!” You tug at him but he won't budge. “Titus!”

“Shut the fuck up!” He yells right in your face and you're so taken back that you can't speak. He has never yelled at you like that before. 

It makes your heart race in ways you've never felt before. 

He opens the backseat of his car and tosses you inside. Then, he gets in and shuts the door behind him, climbing on top of you. 

You should've guessed what would happen next but you're still shocked when his lips come crashing down onto yours as his hands slide up your legs, hiking up your skirt. You gasp against his lips when he rips off your underwear, tossing it aside.

“Wait, wait—” Your pleas are silenced by his lips, his tongue slipping into your mouth to hold it hostage. You can't breathe. You're getting lightheaded. 

It only gets worse when you feel his thumb trail down your bare pussy, a feeling you've never felt before. You squirm, shoving at him, trying to close your legs but he has your thighs pinned down with his knees. 

You're trapped beneath him. 

You're at his mercy. 

You can't let him do this. 

You'll never be able to leave if you do. 

You pull his face off of you and he snarls like a rabid animal in response but you have to get your words out, “please don't do this. You don't want this. You don't want me. You know you don't.”

He lets out the most menacing laugh you've ever heard before he responds, “that's where you're wrong. All I have ever wanted was you. All I want is to do this with you. How dare you try to leave me. Don't fucking try to stop me now because you're never getting away from me.” 

“For how long, though?” Your words freeze him in place. “Titus, I don't want to do this if you're just going to fuck someone else later. Let me go, please.” 

“What will it take for you to believe that I only want you?” Because he can't let you go. He can't.

You're everything to him. 

He'd rather die than ever let you go. 

What will it take, though? 

Horrible, sinful, ugly things cross your mind. Thoughts of you caging him as much as he wants to cage you. 

You both falling into the trap that is one another. 

“Stop right now and wait until I'm ready.” You lean up, pressing your forehead against his. “Because I will be ready. But I don't want our first time together to be in a car after a fight. Please, sir.” 

You're playing dirty, pulling that out now. But it satisfies Titus enough to nod. 

“I want to kiss and touch you whenever I want.” That is his only ask as part of this deal. “I will wait to fuck you as long as you promise you won't go.”

“Okay.” You press a kiss against his lips, one that he immediately leans into, savoring. You smile then breathe out, your warm breath like heaven on his lips, “I'm not going anywhere. I promise, sir.” 

“No talking to other men. No looking for other jobs. You sleep in my bed from now on. You aren't allowed to think of leaving me.” He nips at your bottom lip, his teeth sinking in hard enough to make it bleed. “Got it?”

You lick your lips, tasting the iron, then you lean in, biting his lip until he bleeds, before you kiss him, mixing yours with his. Then, you tell him with a little brush of your nose against his, “as long as you do the same. You're mine, Titus.” 

He lets out that dark chuckle of his, the one that he has been keeping in, the sinister laugh that is flooding his system with the darkness he has been dying to let out. 

“I am going to fuck you up.” His devilish grin sends such a thrill through you. 

“Only me, okay?” You don't want him to look at anyone else like this. 

“Only you. You're my obsession.” His gaze trails down the length of your body and he groans at the sight of your pussy, his cock wanting to sink inside of you right now. 

Titus settles for burying his face between your legs. You try to push him away, “Titus! What are you—”

“Keep your voice down.” He instructs, his hot breath tickling your clit. “Unless you want people to know I'm eating you out in my car right now.” 

“Can't we wait until we're home?” Your words make him smile. 

So, you consider his apartment home. 

He likes that a lot. 

“I'm done waiting.” He says right as he drags the length of his tongue along your folds, making your whole body shudder. His hand slides down to knead his cock through his pants, which is getting terribly hard at the sight of you trembling from his touch. “You taste exactly how I thought you would.” 

“I've never done this before.” You're scared. It feels so intense, his tongue swirling around your clit, the stimulation shooting sparks straight to your core. 

Tension is building inside of you, coiling in your lower stomach, threatening to burst. 

“You've never cum before?” Titus grip his cock harder when you nod in response. 

He will have to lock you up in the apartment from now on. 

Because if you have never tasted pleasure before, if he is your first everything, how is he supposed to ever let you out of his sight? 

He needs to corrupt you. He needs you begging for him to make you cum once you've grown addicted to it. 

But first, he needs to show you how good it feels. 

“Put your hands in my hair.” He commands and you listen, lacing your fingers through his curls. “Now listen carefully. Whenever I do something you like, you tug or I won't know, okay?” 

“I don't want to hurt you.” You let out in a quiet little murmur that he finds so precious. 

Because he wants to fuck you up even more now. 

His sweet little innocent girl. 

“That's not how you answer me.” He takes a bite out of your thigh as punishment, making you yelp from the sudden sting. “Do it right. Are you going to pull my hair when you feel good? 

“Yes, sir.” You immediately tug when he dives back in, thrusting his tongue deep inside of you. You've never felt anything like this before. “Oh my—”

You can't breathe when his hand slides between your legs, his thumb swiping over your clit as his tongue ravishes your insides. You're pulling so hard on his hair, holding him there, the pleasure building so quickly that you're feeling like you're going to explode. 

“Wait, wait, Titus, I'm going to—” You squirm when his fingers start playing with your clit, which is getting firmer from his touch, easier for him to rub methodically. 

The tip of his tongue presses up against that spot right beneath your clit inside of you, teasing it back and forth, and your body gushes. 

You bite down on your lip as hard as possible when your orgasm crashes through you, flooding every inch of your skin with an unfamiliar heat. It's like your core has been set ablaze, warmth pooling between your legs that Titus is lapping up with his tongue. 

“Good job.” He praises you, seeing how hard you came for your first time. “You even squirted a little.”

“Sorry.” You feel so embarrassed. 

“I hate it when you say sorry.” Titus leans back in, sealing his lips around your clit then starts sucking on it, pulling a scream from your lips at the sudden jolt of pleasure. 

“Titus! Stop, I just came, you can't—” You cum again before you can get any more words out, your vision going blurry. 

“Your clit is throbbing.” He flicks it with his tongue, your body convulsing in response. “That was your punishment for saying sorry. All I want to hear is “thank you for making me cum, sir”.” 

He waits for you to say it. Your heart is pounding so hard in your ears right now that you're unsure if you heard him correctly. 

But you say it perfectly, “thank you for making me cum, sir.” 

“Good girl.” He pulls you towards him, kissing you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He pokes your nose with his before telling you, “now we're going to go home and I'm going to do that again. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir.” You nod. Then, you don't stop yourself from giving him a peck on the lips. 

And Titus knows, in that moment, that he wants to see this look on your face everyday.

With that heat in your gaze that will only ever be for him.

The drive home is unbelievably uncomfortable because you're so wet between your legs and every bump in the road tortures your swollen clit. Not having any underwear on makes it way worse. 

Then there's the traffic. So much traffic. 

It's going to take forever to get home.

Titus glances over at you and he can't help the smile that forms when he sees you squirming. He really likes seeing you all hot and bothered. 

That's why he decides to have a little more fun. So he turns to you and says, “hold up your skirt.” 

“What?” You don't know if you heard him right. 

“I said hold up your skirt. Do it now.” 

“Titus…” You glance around. 

You know the windows of the car are tinted but you both are stuck in bumper to bumper traffic right now. There's cars on all sides of you. Someone is bound to see your bare pussy if they happen to look in. 

“I'll punish you with something worse if you don't listen.” He makes his threat and you swallow. You're unsure if you can handle another one of his punishments… 

“Okay, okay.” You grab the hem of your dress with both hands and lift it past your hips. 

“Have you ever touched yourself before?” He asks, his eyes darting between the highway and your pussy, one hand still on the wheel, the other hand unzipping his pants. His cock is going to burst out if he doesn't give it some relief soon. 

You confess. “Not really. I've never really been interested in sex until…now.” 

If Titus could pull over right here and fuck you, he would. You gulp when he turns to look at you, his gaze more intense than you've ever seen it. 

“Why don't you try right now?” He pulls his cock out of his pants and you see it for the first time. 

Technically, you have seen the outline of his cock many times before, since Titus likes to, on occasion, walk around in just his boxer briefs at the apartment. There was one day that you saw the tip of his cock peeking out but you tore your eyes away before they lingered too long. 

Now, your eyes are locked on it, on the way his large hand barely wraps around it as he strokes it up and down. Your mind is going fuzzy at the thought that he's this hard because of you. That his cock is leaking pre-cum because of you. That he's touching himself to the sight of you touching yourself, your fingers teasing your clit like he had earlier. 

“Dip your fingers inside of your pussy then rub your clit. It'll feel better.” He instructs.

You do as he says, gathering some of your slick onto the pads of your fingers and sliding back up to your clit. You let out a moan when you start to swirl those methodical circles like Titus had. It does feel much better. 

“Thank you, sir.” You tell him and he groans in response, gripping his cock harder. His other hand is gripping the steering wheel so hard that you can see the whites of his knuckles. 

“Cum with me.” He's getting close. 

And he cums when you reply, “yes, sir.” 

His release hits the dashboard and the steering wheel. He hasn't cum that hard in months. He could cum again from the sight of his leather seats slick with your release. He wishes he was between your legs instead of stuck in traffic right now. 

You quickly open the glove box, pulling out the car wipes you keep in there, since you occasionally clean Titus's car as one of your work tasks. You quickly clean up for him. 

Then, when you're done, you look down at his throbbing cock and Titus catches you licking your lips. 

Before he can say anything, you ask him, “can I clean you up?” 

“What if someone sees?” He says playfully, smirking. 

You feel a rush of heat spread through you. You don't know what you would do if someone saw you with him in your mouth while he's driving. But you definitely want to do it. 

“It's okay.” You decide you don't care because, “you wouldn't let them live if they saw.”

Titus lets out that sinister laugh of his, amused by your words. “I always knew you were a smart girl.” 

You unbuckles your seatbelt and proceed to bend over until your face is right above his cock. 

“Come closer.” He urges you to get on your knees on the seat, pulling your body closer to him. Then, you jolt when his hand slides down the length of your back, pulling up your dress until your ass is exposed. Then, he sinks two fingers into your pussy from this angle without warning.

“Wait, Titus—” Now, if anyone looks through the passenger side window, they have a clear view of him fingering you.

“It's okay.” He smiles mischievously. “I'll kill anyone who dares to look, remember? Just focus on cleaning me up.” 

You turn your attention back to his cock, which is surprisingly still hard. You don't know what to do, especially when his fingers are thrusting inside of you, spreading you open in ways you didn't know possible. They're terribly distracting, pushing you closer and closer to your next orgasm. 

You drag your tongue along the tip of his cock, licking up any leftover cum that's still leaking out. He rewards you by curling his fingers inside of you, making your hips buck. 

“Put me in your mouth and I'll make you cum real hard.” He teases that spot inside of you, your body trembling in response. 

You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock then sink down, letting him fill your mouth. You can't fit him all the way in. You barely make it halfway. But that's enough for him to reward you. 

“Suck and lick me clean while you cum.” He then starts to move his fingers side to side rapidly, sending you into a frenzy from the sudden roughness. 

You cum uncontrollably, drenching your legs as you suck his cock, your tongue swirling around while you do. You moan with your full mouth when Titus pops his fingers out of you. You pull off of him and help settle him back inside his pants.

“Come here and kiss me.” He gestures for you to kiss him, since he needs to focus on the road still.

You press a kiss against his lips then sit back down, buckling in again. Then you turn to look at him, watching him lick his wet fingers clean. That makes heat pool at core again. 

“Did that feel good?” He has both hands on the wheel again, now that the bumper to bumper traffic has stopped. 

“Yes, sir.” You say bashfully, your cheeks growing warm. 

You've never felt anything like this before. But you want to do it again. The pleasure is incredible. The thrill is addictive. 

But a strange pain pricks you inside. 

You try to ignore it but it picks at you the entire rest of the ride home. 

Titus is so eager to kiss you the moment the two of you are home alone but when he goes to do so, you do not seem to match his energy. You kiss him back, sure, but not with the passion he had hoped. 

“What's wrong?” He cups your face with his hands, feeling how fast your pulse is. 

“I don't know.” You can't quite put words to what's bothering you. 

Maybe you're just overwhelmed. So much has happened. It's going to take a while to adjust to the new rhythm of things. 

But you have a feeling that isn't what's lingering in your heart. 

“Titus.” You say his name when your eyes meet his. 

He likes the sound of his name from your lips, but not when you sound so sad. It makes him feel something in the pit of his stomach he'd like not to feel. 

“Have you done that with anyone before?” You know then what is tainting your heart.

It is that ugly envy again. The fear that you are just another one of his playthings. Or worse, a hole for him to fuck and throw away. 

At least before, you were like a companion. Like a glorified pet. You didn't mind that because you knew no one else had ever been that for him before. 

This, whatever relationship you are in now, is something else entirely and you are afraid you've just fallen into a position that can be filled by anyone. 

You yearn to feel special but you don't know if Titus wants to make you feel special. 

You're about to learn the truth. 

When he picks you up and carries you into his bedroom, tossing you onto his bed. His sheets smell like him. Like the expensive soap in his shower and the cologne he likes to wear. It makes your heart ache. 

Like his words do, “do you think I'd do that for anyone?”

Your throat is so dry all of a sudden. Swallowing your saliva brings no relief. You're so choked up from the fear. 

You just mumble out, “I don't know.” 

“I have never waited to fuck anyone in my life.” He climbs over you, trapping you beneath him. “If you were just a hole to me, I would've sunk my cock into you on your first day.”

“Then what am I to you?” You ask even though you know he can't give you an answer. 

How can he? Titus could never marry you. Not with the kind of fucked up family he has. 

So, what are you to him? 

“Does it matter?” He doesn't want to put a label on this. 

“I don't know.” You don't like answering like that but it's the truth. You don't know if or why it matters to you. 

“You're mine. I'm yours. Isn't that enough?” He owns you and you own him. Mutual destruction. 

“What if…” You whisper the next part because the nerves make your stomach twist, “I get greedy?” 

“How greedy?” Titus likes this. This sudden turn. 

At first, he was worried you'd try to run from this again and shove him away. But right now, you are pulling him in and not wanting to let him go. 

“Have you…ever had a baby with anyone?” You ask because you're unsure. He could have children out there he has no clue about. 

The chuckle that leaks from his lips sends shivers down your spine. “Are you planning to baby trap me?” 

“You asked me how greedy…so I told you.” You may not be able to be his in any kind of official capacity but being the mother of his only child would put you on a pedestal that you can never be removed from. 

“I've never fucked anyone without protection.” He refuses to stick his cock into anyone raw. There's too much risk. 

There's no risk with you, his beautiful virgin who has never had anyone but him touch you. 

“Are you going to wear a condom with me?” His answer to this question will tell you everything you need to know. 

“The moment I get to sink my cock into your pussy, it's going in raw.” He smiles at how your expression shifts from that worry to delight. “Would you like that?” 

“Yes, sir.” You pull him in for a kiss, sealing your words. “I would like that very much.” 

“How much longer are you going to make me wait?” He's already raring to go again right now, his cock aching to be buried inside of you. 

It's your turn to chuckle, letting him hear that laugh that is like music to his ears. “I didn't realize Mister Almost Trillionaire can't keep it in his pants. You want to fuck me that bad?” 

“Desperately.” He finally allows himself to admit out loud. 

“I don't want it to hurt.” You heard the first time always hurts. 

“It won't.” Titus will prepare you well. 

“Then, whenever you want, we can.” You press a little kiss on his cheek. “Just not tonight.” 

He huffs out an annoyed breath. “What the fuck? Such a tease.” 

“I want to sleep with you tonight. Just sleep. Tomorrow, we can do whatever you want. But tonight, I want to just lay and cuddle. Is that okay, sir?” You bat your eyelashes at him and he lets out a laugh in response. 

“You know just how to push me.” He picks you back up into his arms. “You're getting in the shower with me. We're going to cuddle naked.”

“I'm okay with that.” You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his nice cologne. “As long as we get to cuddle. I've always wanted to cuddle.” 

“Is that the greed spilling out?” He asks as he opens the door to his lavish bathroom. 

“Can I be more greedy?” You rub your cheek against his shoulder like you used to once he sets you back on your feet. “Please, sir?” 

“What do you want?” He should not let you influence him so easily but it's hard when you're acting so cute. 

“A hug.” You open your arms, since you and Titus have never hugged before. 

He doesn't even think he has ever hugged anyone. Not like actually. He doesn't like casual touching after all. You've never tried to hug him.

But you want to now. 

Titus steps forward, wrapping his arms around you and you smile all giddy, rubbing your face against his chest as you squeeze him with your arms. His heart is racing in his chest. He didn't know it was possible to find someone so adorable before. 

“Now pick me up.” You beam a big smile at him as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Come on, please!” 

He glares at you. You are getting bold. But he listens, picking you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. You giggle so beautifully, laying your head against his shoulder. 

“I've always wanted to do this.” You pepper his neck with kisses before trailing up to his lips, giving him a little affectionate peck there. “Thank you, Titus.” 

Oh, he's fucked. He's actually so fucked. Because he thought he would be the one fucking you up. 

But here you are, being the brightest ball of sunshine he has ever experienced, melting his icy soul with a warmth he has never ever thought possible. 

He might just fall in love with you…

Much to your surprise, Titus does not fuck you the next day. Actually, he doesn't even touch you, at least not sexually. He grabs a hold of your hand to tug you towards him for a hug. He kisses you. He cuddles you in bed or on the couch. But nothing more than that. 

You don't ask why. You like these more intimate moments. But it's making it harder and harder not to fall in love with him. 

You know it's silly, though, to think you could ever be his love. Everyone around Titus believes he's incapable of love. 

Do you believe that? 

You're…unsure about that. 

If anything, you think he is very capable of love but he would never admit it. He would never tell anyone that he has all your favorite things memorized. He would never let anyone find out that he knows everything there is to know about you, like what makes you laugh or how much he loves your laugh. 

Or how much he loves you. 

He loves you. 

He does. 

He realizes that on the private jet ride to another resort, this time tucked away in the mountains, with a private hot spring in each of the luxury cabins. 

You're going over the itinerary you put together, since you're very excited to go on a little vacation now that you and Titus are being more affectionate. Since it's in a more secluded place with little to no reception, he feels safe about just being himself. It's a resort meant for relaxation and restoration so no phone use allowed anyways. 

And he knows he loves you because he's excited to spend quality time focused solely on you. 

Because that must be what love is, right? 

To want someone all the time, to want to be with them all the time. 

“What are you most excited about, Titus?” You ask him once you finish reading off your list. 

He can't really tell you that he's excited to fuck you every night this week until you're unable to walk so he just says, “it'll be nice to soak in the hot spring.” 

You giggle, nodding in agreement. “Me too. I like that it's private so we can cuddle out in the open.” 

Or fuck. He really needs to fuck you. 

He can't wait any longer. 

Titus hasn't touched you since that day. He doesn't really know why. He just figured he wanted to enjoy being affectionate with you for a bit. The kisses, the hugs, the cuddling, they all have been better than he thought. He never realizes it could be like this with someone. He feels so at ease around you. You make it easy to be himself.

You aren't afraid of his darker tendencies at all. You don't mind that he glares at the concierge for staring at you for a little too long. You aren't repulsed by his need to keep you close to him now that he is allowed to keep an arm around you at all times. 

You quite enjoy being the object of his obsession. You have never felt so special before. 

You wish this could last forever. 

So, you have a little gift for Titus. One that took a lot of maneuvering to hide from him, since he hasn't let you out of his sight for very long these last few days. 

You aren't sure when you want to give it to him but when the two of you step into the beautiful hotel room, you decide the sooner the better. You want to see him wear it right away. 

“Titus, I have something for you.” You open your suitcase and pull out a flat velvet box you had been hiding from him. 

He stares at it, not knowing how the hell you managed to buy something without him knowing. You are a sneaky girl, aren't you? 

“What the fuck? Who did you bribe to buy that for you?” That must've been it.

“I'm not telling!” You knew he'd think that. “Just open it!” 

You hand him the box and he scoffs. He can't believe you got him a gift. He should've gotten you something. He definitely will now. He can't have you get the last laugh. 

But he hears your beautiful giggle when he opens it and shock colors his features. 

Inside the box is a necklace delicately woven with thick black thread. In the center is a cute note attached that says: to the threads that bind us ♡

Then, you show him the matching necklace you're wearing around your neck. 

And he has never kissed you so quickly before. 

You smile against his lips, saying in between kisses, “I assume you like it.” 

“Did you make this?” You must've. That's the only way you could've snuck it by him.

You nod. “It's a super high quality thread, waterproof, last longing, the works. You saw me order it. You probably thought it was just for my sewing stuff.” 

Titus definitely remembers you ordering it but he assumed it was just a restock of whatever threads you already had. He had no clue you were making something in secret. 

“Sneaky.” He chuckles, and he finds it strange how authentic it is. 

He hasn't laughed like that in a long time. Without fear of being seen as weak. It's a real, deep from the soul kind of laugh. One of happiness. 

Maybe that's why the words leave his lips, “I love you.” 

Because maybe, deep down, he wants to sabotage this. He wants you to rip out his heart and stomp on it so that he can never trust anyone ever again enough to show weakness. Because that would make him a Danforth. 

But you blink back tears of joy and say to him, “I love you too, Titus.” 

And in that moment, he realizes he isn't a Danforth. 

He's just Titus. 

And Titus is in love with you. 

“I want to marry you.” His words catch you by surprise. 

“What?” You never thought he'd ever say that. “Your father would…” 

“I know.” He knows it's not possible, but not for the reasons you think. 

Titus loves you too much to subject you to the trials of what it means to become a part of his family. The dirty, dark, fucked up secret he's keeping. The one he will tell you about one day, but not today. 

Today, he wants to tell you, “I just wanted you to know that I want to. And I hope that's enough.” 

You smile that lovely smile that has his heart racing. “More than enough. I want to marry you too.” 

You untie the necklace and Titus holds still while you secure the knot around his neck. The two of you may never wear rings, but you will always be bound together. 

“Now, can I please fuck you?” Titus cannot hold back anymore. 

You giggle and then playfully say, “what would you do if I said no?” 

“I might just pin you down and take you anyways.” It's a real threat because he is done with waiting. 

“Can you wait just a little longer?” You bat your eyelashes at him, making him groan. “Just until we've unpacked and soaked in the hot spring once. Then, I'm all yours. But I know if we dive right in, we're not leaving that bed and I'd like to enjoy the amenities a bit before the love of my life fucks me silly.” 

“The love of your life.” Titus grabs you and kisses you right then and there, the hunger in his kisses very apparent. “How the fuck do you expect me to keep it together?” 

“I don't know, sir.” You giggle, brushing your nose against his cutely. “I guess you just have to figure it out.” 

He growls, low, angry, menacingly. “You're on thin ice, love.” 

“I can't wait to fall in then.” You say with a big smile before pulling him in for another kiss that he instantly melts into. 

Titus hates that you take your sweet ass time unpacking. He knows you're doing it on purpose too. Like you're just sitting there, sorting your toiletries. You've never done that before. 

He knows you're just doing it to stall because you like riling him up. You will grow to regret testing him like this. 

But he is patient. He is waiting so patiently because he knows the moment you're in bed with him, his cock is not leaving your pussy for the next week. 

Maybe the next month.

Maybe the next year. 

He could reserve this place for that long if he wanted to.

Maybe he will. Why not? 

He's one of the richest men in the world.

He can spend his money however he wants. 

“Are you coming in or not?” You call out to Titus, who is obviously lost in his own thoughts. You know you've teased him to the breaking point now. 

Which is why you pull off all your clothes while he's watching before getting into the hot spring. 

Titus practically rips his clothes off to join you and you laugh so hard when he grabs you and pulls you onto his lap the moment he gets into the water. He is desperate to touch your skin to his skin like this, his cock throbbing against your lower stomach. 

“I could fuck you right now.” He whispers into your ear before nipping at your earlobe. “You're making it very difficult not to.” 

“You promised me you would make sure it wouldn't hurt.” You don't want him to rush this. 

“It won't hurt.” He's going to make you cum plenty before his cock does. 

You hug him and then say into the crook of his neck, “I am a little scared…”

And, for some reason, Titus holds onto you a little tighter when you say that. 

“What are you scared of?” He starts rubbing small circles on your back, trying to comfort you.

He has never comforted someone before. But he wants to for you. 

“You might be too big.” You feel a little flustered saying that out loud. “Like, are you really going to fit?” 

He groans then slaps your ass, making you shriek. “You scared the fuck out of me! That's what you're worried about?” 

“It's a valid worry.” You squint at him. “Have you ever taken a cock that big?” 

“I never take it.” He says with a smirk and you chuckle then smack his chest.

“See! You don't get it. It's intimidating…” You glance downwards, highly aware of how deep his cock would go inside of you when it does. 

“It will be fine.” He leans in, kissing you on the cheek. “I promise, love.”

“I trust you, sir.” You lay your head back on his shoulder. 

“You'll end up enjoying how big I am.” He'll get you to crave being filled up with his cock.

“I hope so.” Your words make his cock twitch. “It felt really good to cum. I bet it'll be even better to cum together.”

“You're killing me.” He grunts against your skin, digging his teeth into your shoulder because he needs some kind of relief. “I want to fuck you so badly.” 

“Hopefully it's worth the wait.” You are a tad bit worried about being boring in bed. You're sure Titus has preferences you can't quite live up to yet. 

“You are worth the wait.” Titus pulls you in closer, kissing you softly. It's the softest kiss he has ever done. So gentle, so sweet. “I don't want to be anywhere but right here with you.” 

“Who knew you were such a romantic?” You giggle, hugging him tighter. “I love you so much, Titus.” 

Now, he is officially done waiting. 

Titus lifts you up by your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he hauls the two of you out of the hot spring and back inside. He doesn't care how dripping wet he is. 

He just needs you sprawled out on the bed in front of him as soon as possible. 

He drops you onto the bed, climbing on top of you. You look up at him, and he knows that look in your eye is full of love. 

“You have no fucking clue how much I've wanted you under me like this.” Titus stares down at your naked body beneath him, reveling in the sight of how shy and flustered you are. “You're so pretty.” 

“Have you always been a flirt?” You giggle and he starts plastering your body with kisses, trying to draw more of that lovely sound from you. “That tickles!”

“Have you always been this cute?” His words warm your heart so much. 

“I love you like this.” You tell him, seeing how relaxed he looks, the tension gone from his features. You brush your fingertips along his jaw until you cup his face. “Can we stay like this forever?” 

Titus nods, pressing a kiss into your palm to seal his promise. Then, he starts to kiss down the length of your arm, until he reaches your shoulder. From there, he trails lower, to your chest. You bite back a sound when he drags his tongue over each of your nipples, which have perked up already. 

“I've been waiting to do that and this.” He says before he takes one of them between his teeth, nibbling just enough to send shivers all over you. “Feel good?”

You nod. “Yes, sir.” 

“It'll feel better with my fingers inside of you.” He nudges you to lay on your side, facing him. He spreads your legs, his hand slipping between them, groaning when he feels how wet you are for him already. “Is this for me?” 

“Only for you, sir.” You wrap your arms around his neck, lacing your fingers into his hair, tugging it when he slowly thrusts a finger inside of you. That encourages him to add another, spreading you wide, helping you adjust to the size. 

He latches back onto your breasts, playing with your sensitive nipples, swirling around the hard peaks as his fingers curl inside of you, looking for just the right spot to thrust against. You tug his hair when he finds it and moan when he starts to tease it, making you grind your hips against his hand. 

“You better do that on my cock.” Titus is barely keeping it together. He wants to be inside of you already. But he promised he wouldn't let it hurt. 

So, he needs to make you cum a few times. 

You're getting close to your first orgasm already, the dual stimulation inching you closer and closer. Then, when Titus starts to palm your clit, you let go completely, letting the first wave of pleasure take over you.

He keeps his fingers buried inside of you, but starts to kiss down the length of your body. You know what's about to happen next, your hands still in his hair, ready to tug when his lips seal over your clit. 

The burst of pleasure distracts you from him adding in another finger, the pressure building inside of you. You're clamping down on his fingers so hard. He wishes it was his cock instead. But he needs you to loosen up a bit more. You won't be able to take him if you're this tight. 

“Relax, love.” His hand rests on your lower stomach, rubbing it gently. “You can take it. Just breathe. Focus on your clit.” 

Easy for him to say. He isn't the one being pried open. But you close your eyes, tuning your attention to the softness of his tongue and the warmth of his hand on your skin. He eases his fingers deeper inside of you, until he's brushing up against a spot so deep, you start to squirm, tugging at his hair. 

“Right here?” He curls his fingers and you squirt in response, finally loosening up, gasping for air. 

That was more intense than the last orgasm. And Titus is tempted to tease you more, to thrust his fingers relentlessly right there, to see you convulsing and screaming. But then he sees that adorably flustered look on your face. He wants to enjoy that a little bit longer. 

“Now imagine the tip of my cock grinding right here.” He pushes against that spot again, making your lower body shake so much that he has to hold you still with his other hand pinning you down by your stomach. “You'll be cumming like crazy.” 

“I don't know if I can handle that.” You feel like you could pass out right now. 

“You can. You will. Just enjoy it.” Titus starts to thrust his fingers in and out at a slow pace, letting you get used to the motion. 

It feels better than you thought it would, the friction growing more and more intoxicating. You're going to burst at the seams again the moment he curls his fingers. He knows you will. 

So, he doesn't. And you don't know how to react to the edging. You've never experienced it before, to be taken so close to the edge but then not all the way. He slows before you can cum then once you've rested enough, picks back up until you're close again. 

“Titus, please.” You want to cum, your hips desperately grinding against his fingers but he won't let you. 

“Ask properly.” He finally lets out that sadistic smile he has been dying to let free. 

He loves seeing you like this. Your skin hot, your breaths heavy, your pussy aching to cum. 

“Please make me cum, sir.” You plead exactly the way you figure he'd want you to. 

And Titus rewards you well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

You're screaming his name when his fingers starts to fuck you without any care for how hard you're cumming on them. You try to pull away from him, to run from the sudden onslaught of pleasure but he's holding you steady, not letting you go. 

Instead, Titus leans down, his lips sealing over your clit again, and when he lightly sucks on it, you're seeing stars in your vision, the orgasms compounding exponentially. 

You don't know if you ever stop cumming. You definitely have soaked the sheets, along with his face. He licks it up happily, like it's his reward for making you cum so much. 

You feel a little empty when he pulls his fingers out of you. You feel even more empty when he gets up from bed. 

“Where are you going?” You try not to sound too sad but you can't control it. 

“Just grabbing some water.” He cracks open one of the water bottles the place provides and brings it back to you, climbing back into bed. “I wasn't going to leave you.” 

You didn't think he was but it definitely feels strange, coming down from the high of an orgasm. It's like it sinks all your other feelings down too. 

“Come here, love.” He sits up in bed, patting his lap. 

You straddle his lap, taking the water bottle he hands you and sipping it. You definitely needed to quench your thirst. Titus wraps his arms around you, pulling you right up against his chest. 

Then, he goes, “help me with the water. My hands are full.”

You chuckle, finding this a little silly but you lift the water bottle to his lips and help him drink. You set the empty bottle aside so you can wrap your arms around his neck, laying your head against his chest, just hugging him for a bit. 

He rubs your back, trying to soothe any worries you may have had. Thoughts you shouldn't be having cross your mind and he catches the light sigh you breathe into his skin. 

“We don't have to have sex tonight.” Titus might actually fucking die if he has to wait any longer but he doesn't want you to be scared. 

He wants you to fully enjoy it with him. 

But can you, when you keep thinking about…

“Does it bother you that I'm inexperienced?” A part of you is afraid that taking things so slow is a burden. It is, but that's not because of you. That's only because Titus wants to fuck you so badly that taking things slow is killing him. 

But he's okay with the slow death. 

Because he knows the pay off will be well worth it. “I like that you are.” 

“Really?” You don't think Titus would lie to you. At least not right now. 

“I like knowing that I'm going to be the only person who ever gets to touch you.” You truly are his in that sense. 

“I wish I could say the same about you.” You feel selfish saying that, but you let it out anyways. “I feel strange when I think about you touching other people like you have to me.” 

“I haven't touched them like I have with you.” That's the truth. 

“What do you mean?” You can't imagine that's right. 

“Do you really think I'd go down on just anyone?” 

“Well…yeah…” 

He glares at you. “And here I thought you didn't judge me.” 

“I'm not judging you! I just figured you must like doing it since you're so good at it.” He had to learn from somewhere, right? 

“You think I'm good at it?” He pulls you in closer. “Did I make you feel good?” 

“Obviously.” You are not going to stroke his ego any more than this. “That's why I feel like…if you made someone else feel like that too, I…” 

“If they came on my cock, then they came on my cock. I wasn't fucking them to make them cum. I was fucking them to make myself cum.” Which is fucked up to say out loud but Titus is fucked up and you know that so there's no point in pretending he isn't. “But with you, I want to make you cum. A lot. Especially with my cock.” 

“So, that was all for me? You've never done that with anyone else before?” You hate asking but you want the confirmation. 

“You're the only one I've ever wanted to touch. You're the only one I've held naked.” 

“What?” That surprises you. 

“I despise being touched, especially skin on skin.” His words seem a bit ridiculous considering the fact that you're naked, pressed up against him right now while he's completely naked too. “But I like touching you. Only you, love.” 

“Is it bad that I like that?” You want things that are for you and you only. 

“Is it bad that I really wanted to make you beg to cum?” He refers to earlier.

“Yes.” You take a bite out of his neck as punishment for that. “That was mean.” 

“You liked it.” He smirks, pulling you in for a kiss. 

You smile against his lips. You can't help it. You love kissing Titus so you deepen the kiss, your tongue tangling with his, enjoying his lips on yours for a bit longer. 

He lays you onto your back, never breaking the kiss as he settles himself between your legs. You can feel his cock throbbing against your stomach. 

“We don't have to.” He breathes out onto your lips. “If you're scared.” 

You look down, contemplating how daunting the thought of fitting him inside of you will ultimately be. But you want to have sex with him. You want to feel that close with him. 

But you need him to promise first. “The moment you fuck me, you aren't allowed to fuck anyone else ever again. I'll kill you if you do.”

“My sunshine has a dark side.” He likes this version of you. The possessive you. 

“You're a bad influence.” You say with a big smile. 

“Definitely.” He nods firmly. “Because if you even think about fucking anyone else, you're never leaving my bed.”

“I like being in your bed.” You confess. These last few days sleeping beside him have been so wonderful. “Can I stay there forever anyways?” 

“You don't have to ask. You're obligated to because there won't be a day that goes by where I'm not going to be fucking you.” Titus has waited long enough. 

From this moment forward, your pussy will keep his cock warm forever. 

And you can't wait anymore either. “Then I'm ready.” 

You expect to feel Titus's cock but he slips three fingers back inside of you, just to make sure. You wriggle a bit when he thrusts them in deep again and before you can say another word about how he's curling them, his lips press against yours. 

You've never cum while kissing him before, the rush making you all lightheaded from the breathlessness. His fingers don't stop moving, fucking you through your orgasm, making another one build all too quickly. But he pulls out before you can cum again. 

And this time, he lines up his cock, the tip of it pushing against your entrance. 

“Now you're ready.” He says with a smile against your lips. “Deep breath for me, love.”

You listen, taking in a deep breath as he sinks the tip of his cock inside of you. Titus lays his forehead against yours, groaning at the feeling of how warm and wet you are wrapped up around him. He isn't even fully inside of you yet but he knows there's nowhere else he wants to be from now on. 

You were expecting some pain but it's mostly that pressure that Titus has familiarized you with using his fingers. He helps keep your mind off the increasing pressure with his lips on yours and his hands cupping your breasts, his thumbs rolling over your nipples as he sinks another inch of himself inside of you. You tug at his hair, wanting him to keep going, basking in the grin he gives you in response. 

He's about halfway seated inside of you when he pulls off your lips to say, “I'm going to start moving now. You know what to do if something feels good.”

“Yes, sir.” You nudge him playfully with your nose and he nips at it with his teeth, his cock throbbing inside of you at your words. “I love you.” 

“I love you too.” Titus is so madly in love with you. 

Because that's the only reason he's going so slow. If he had his way, he'd be pounding into you, forcing your pussy to take him instead of easing it into things. One day, he'll have his fun. 

But today, he'll make love. He has always, secretly, wanted to fall in love. Maybe that's why when the opportunity presented itself, it wasn't difficult for him to dive right into you. 

You're everything he isn't. The light in his darkness. 

The love of his life, looking so beautiful as he slowly starts to move, finding a rhythm that adds a bit more of himself inside of you with each thrust. You tug at his hair when the tip of his cock teases the swallower spot closer to your entrance, so he makes sure to spend some time there before thrusting as far in as he can go. 

“I'm going to cum if you keep doing that.” Your words don't dissuade him. 

Actually, it encourages him to pull his cock completely out of you, the sudden pop pushing you over the edge, your orgasm overwhelming you instantly. He likes the sight of your body shivering all over from the pleasure. He likes it even better knowing it's because of his cock. 

He goes to sink back in but you shake your head, saying, “wait, wait, I need a second.” 

“No, you don't.” He knows you're just afraid to cum again so soon. 

You are, because you cum the moment he thrusts back inside and then pulls completely out again, wetness pooling between your legs. That makes it much easier for Titus to slide back inside all the way, filling you deeper than he has before. 

“I'm right here.” He presses down against your lower stomach, kneading where your womb is, the tip of his cock pushing right up against it. “How does it feel?” 

“Too good.” You admit, feeling so shy at how easily he's making you unravel. “I'm going to cum again if you move.” 

“You're very sensitive.” He's happy you are. He's going to drown you in pleasure. 

“It's because of you, sir.” You pull him down to kiss you then you place a kiss against his cheek with such much affection. “Thank you for waiting for me.” 

“You're going to make me cum if you keep acting so cute, love.” He peppers your face with lovely kisses, making you giggle. 

“Cum with me?” You really want him to. 

“Always.” He wants to cum feeling you clenching tightly around him from your orgasm. 

So, he slides his hands down, grabbing a hold of your hips, and then starts to finally fuck you. You're not expecting to feel so much but his cock is rubbing up against every inch of your pussy with every stroke. It's going to be hard to hold your orgasm. 

He feels the same. Now that he's wrapped so perfectly inside of you, he's getting close. He'll have to pace himself better next time. 

But for right now, he is content to cum if it means you will too. 

Your whole body tenses when he starts thrusting into you a bit faster, the sound of him slamming his cock inside of you filling the air. You tug him down so you can crash your lips against his, wanting to be kissing him when you both cum. His tongue slips inside your mouth, stealing your breath away, making you dizzy from how good everything feels all together. 

You cum the moment warmth spills inside of you, unfamiliar but so very nice. Because you know Titus has never done this before. 

And he desperately wants to do it again. 

“Can I flip you over?” He asks, his cock still hard and throbbing inside of you. 

“Don't you need a break?” You figured at his age, also being a man, don't they need time between?

“I need this. I need you. Please, love.” He just wants to pound you into the next oblivion. 

You nod, letting him slip out of you before you flip over, getting on your hands and knees. Titus kisses a line down your spine, the sight of you like this better than when he would fantasize about it.

“My beautiful love.” He groans seeing the sight of your swollen pussy from him fucking you. “I'm going to fuck you up now. I'm not stopping, no matter what.” 

Your toes curl at the thrill that sparks through you. “Go ahead, sir. I'm all yours.”

He growls, unable to keep the animalistic side of him any longer. “You are all mine. The very object of my obsession. I'm going to enjoy this.” 

Your eyes roll into the back of your head when he thrusts into you from this angle, fitting so much more of himself than before. You're cumming already, your legs growing weak from the shivers. He smacks your ass, adding to the shakes. 

“You won't last long if you cum that easily.” He makes it very difficult not to cum, though. 

Titus doesn't ease you in this time. He pulls completely out of you then rams the entire length of his cock deep inside of you. Over and over, until you're squirting on his cock with every forceful thrust. You're digging your nails into the sheets, leaning your upper body down against the soft pillows to cushion how hard he's fucking you all of a sudden. 

“Titus, it's too much, I can't—” He answers your pleads by sliding his hand between your legs and rubbing your clit with the same intensity as he's fucking you, pulling gasp after gasp from your lips. 

You're going to pass out from the orgasms, your mind going hazing from the constant release. 

“You're going to kill me.” You can't possibly keep cumming like this. You'll lose your mind if you do. “You need to stop—”

“It's okay, love. You can take it.” He feels you drench his fingertips when he says that, still abusing your clit. “Just let it happen. Cum your brains out.” 

You opt then to just bite the pillow beneath you, muffling your screams as he pounds into you ruthlessly, his fingers rubbing your swollen clit raw. The pleasure is endless, sweeping over you in intense waves. 

There's nothing in your mind except for Titus. He's consumed you completely. You call out his name as you cum again and again. 

This is everything he has been dreaming about. You, lost in the euphoria, giving into him. You'll never leave him now that you've had a taste of what he can do for you. 

“I love you.” He loops on repeat as his thrusts get quicker, his orgasm inching closer. 

Your words in response are completely incoherent, just cute little mumbles. You're so far gone, which pulls the most evil laugh out of Titus. 

You're an absolute mess by the time he finally cums inside of you, your body unable to hold yourself up anymore. He pulls out of you, letting you collapse onto your side and then he plops down behind you, wrapping his arms around you, spooning you. He places warm kisses along your shoulder blades, rubbing your lower belly as you come down from your intense high. You moan a little when his fingers press in, making you well aware of how full you are inside. 

“Maybe we should get you some birth control.” He says, nipping at your earlobe. “I want to enjoy fucking you a bit longer before I put a baby inside of you.” 

“I have the arm implant.” Your words make him still. 

“What?” 

You chuckle, flipping over to look at him, “you didn't think I'd let you fuck me that raw the first time, did you?”

“You sneaky little girl.” He takes a bite out of your neck in protest, marking you quite obviously. “How dare you hide that from me.”

“I didn't hide it. I just…omitted the truth?” You smirk, showing him that you aren't just a bundle of sunshine. 

You trapped him just as much as he trapped you.

Truly his equal, in every way. 

“You know I'm going to have to punish you for that, love.” He will have to think up something good. Maybe tying you down and edging you until you're crying and begging to be fucked. 

“I look forward to it, sir.” You say with a big smile before pulling him in for a kiss. Then, you breathe out with all the warmth in your afterglow, “I love you, Titus.” 

“You're lucky I love you, or I would be very fucking pissed right now.” He can't believe you hid that from him. 

“Mmm, maybe I like you angry.” You nuzzle his nose with yours. “You're never angry with me. It's a nice change of pace.”

He glares at you. “You might be the only person in the world who wants to piss me off.” 

“And you love it!” You wrap your arms around him, hugging him. 

“Yes. I do love it.” He lets out a sigh of defeat, smiling as he hugs you back, loving that the two of you can cuddle like this. 

He has truly met his match. 

Because you're as obsessed with him as he is with you. 

A/N: Are y’all impressed at my willpower? I wanted to challenge myself and not have them fuck right away and oh my goodness was that a challenge! I love writing smut so much (so of course I had to still add lots of naughty smut haha) but I was craving a lovey dovey, cutesy, fucked up slow burn after my last fic so I hope you all enjoyed this read! ♡ 

[opulentpeony]

theory crafting - billionaire!jack x fake wife!reader 

word count: 9.2k warnings: dead dove: do not eat, extremely dubious consent, somnophilia, fem!reader, fake relationship trope, he calls you “baby girl” and you call him “sir”, age gap (25/50), reader is a genius quant with a huge ego (but secretly shy), boss/employee relationship, you fall first but he falls harder, surveillance (jack looks at your internet history!), possessive!jack, sadistic!jack, forced proximity, there's only one bed!, mutual pining, loss of virginity, praise kink, dry humping, unprotected sex, breeding kink, forced orgasms, mild cnc/rape roleplay, squirting, fingerfucking, edging, biting, he makes you beg, some angst, another “slow” burn  summary: being married to a billionaire is easy when it's not real. but when you slowly grow feelings for your husband, you start making mistakes that are losing him millions.  but he'd be willing to lose his entire fortune if it meant he could actually have your heart…  

a/n: I've been rewatching one of my favorite shows, billions, and gah I just could not get my mind off of jack being a billionaire, so here it is!

hope it's a sick read ♡ 

You watch the interview again in your free time. The one after your boss Jack Abbot announces that he'd be marrying you, “his favorite quantitative analyst". 

“She's my most valuable asset.” Jack says to the interviewer with a smile that could sway millions to invest in anything he tells them to. “Falling for her was the easiest thing in the whole world. I fell in love with that brilliant mind of hers and then, just like that, I wanted to marry her. I am very lucky that she said yes.”

You like to rewatch this interview mainly to ponder that last sentence. You know the rest is a lie. He isn't actually in love with you. 

But does he truly feel grateful that you said yes to marrying him for the sake of his image? 

People love a good love story. And you were the one who convinced Jack it would sell. 

You did the math. 

The math is never wrong. 

It sold more than either of you could imagine. 

It saved his firm from getting thwarted by a merger that nearly halved Jack's net worth. Not that anyone would've ever found out, given how good you are at your job. You singlehandedly clawed the numbers back up. 

But you could only achieve it by playing dirty.

That's how this whole thing started.

With a dirty little secret…

It was an emergency meeting. There was no reason for you to be there but you were dragged into it. 

You are, by far, the best quant in the firm. Maybe even the world, but you don't stroke your own ego that much. 

Everything is a numbers game at the end of the day. You picking to work for Abbot Financial was not because he paid the most. He certainly does not have the best base yearly salary. But, he had the highest percentage ratio for bonuses, meaning you could make more money by making him more money. 

And there was no way in hell you weren't going to make him money. 

So, you picked his firm based solely on there being no cap there. 

And you've made him millions. 

Subsequently meaning you've made yourself millions. 

Money you don't really care for. 

You do this for the love of the craft itself. To see the numbers spike in ways that give you the kind of high that no drug could ever replicate. 

It makes you good at your job. 

Maybe a little too good. 

Because when Jack asks everyone at the meeting what to do about the failing merger, you're the only one who doesn't spew out an idea that sounds like it was typed into an AI chatbot and regurgitated out to seem appealing. 

None of these ideas would work. You knew this. 

Jack could tell you were bored. He could tell you were thinking the same thing he was. 

Who the hell are these people trying to fool? 

He was in a room of idiots, of yes men, of people who wanted to keep their jobs but refused to risk it for the chance to climb the ladder of his interest. 

You were none of those things. You don't even know why you're here. 

Not until Jack singles you out and asks, “are you not going to share any thoughts?”

Your blank stare back at him slices through him in ways no one has dared to do in years. You look like you couldn't give less of a shit about answering him. Because you know what he knows.

Jack can't fire you.  

You're his greatest asset. 

Which is why you have the gall to say back, “none of the thoughts I have are shareable with a crowd.” 

You won't speak the things on your mind with an audience. 

Jack scoffs at that, an amused half chuckle leaking from his lips as he says back, “are you afraid of being judged?” 

“I’m not the one who should be afraid.” Your blank stare converts back to a bored expression, accompanied by a yawn. You're tired of all this sitting around. “Are we done here?” 

“We aren't.” He points to you and him, then the rest of the crowd. “You're all dismissed. Make me my fucking money back.”

They scatter immediately, leaving you and Jack alone in the conference room. 

“Say your piece.” He gestures that you have the floor to speak.

But you shake your head. “It's lunchtime.” 

“Excuse me?” He has no clue what to make of you. 

You're mentioning food, now of all times? When his company's value could halve at any second if there's even a single bad trade? 

“Can you drive?” You pull out your phone, making a reservation. “There's a restaurant I like. Always has an open table for me. I'll tell you my idea after lunch. But only after lunch. You're paying by the way, sir. ”

At first, Jack had thought this was quite a strange request. He never eats with employees, which is why all eyes are on the two of you when you're both spotted at the restaurant together for lunch. 

Jack watches as you pull a bottle of some kind out of your bag. You apply it to your hands, so it must be some kind of cream. It's colorful but becomes clear once you've pressed it into your palms and warmed it up. He stares for longer than he should at your odd behavior. You seem engrossed in the action of rubbing your hands together. 

“It's not polite to stare, sir.” You look up at him, again with that rather bored expression you always have on. 

“What is that?” The question leaves his lips before he can stop himself from asking. 

“It's a hand cream from a Korean boutique I visited a few months ago.” The same trip you went on with the firm for that failing merger. The one you knew Jack should've never convinced himself to do but you weren't going to stop him.

It's not on you to tell your boss how to run his company. 

Your job is to make him money and that's all you’re focused on. 

“Do you always apply it before eating?” Jack asks mainly because he finds it counterintuitive since you'll be handling utensils. 

“If you think I'm putting this shit on for the sake of softening my hands, then there's no wonder your firm is failing.” You say your words with such a blunt harshness that Jack is taken back. 

“Excuse me—” Jack is quickly cut off by the server joining the two of you. 

You switch up your behavior so quickly that your boss gets whiplash when you politely order your food and thank the server with a smile. 

He's never seen you smile before… 

Why does he seem intrigued by the sight of it? 

Jack orders his lunch and then looks back at you. There's no longer that smile on your face. You're sifting through your bag again before pulling out a small colorful container full of pills. You pour out one of the small tablets onto your palm then drop it into your water glass. With a few simple swirls of the glass, the water turns a lovely shade of lavender. You take a sip of it, looking content at the now flavored water. 

Neither you nor Jack ordered any drinks. You definitely don't drink at all, since you believe it clouds your mind, but you certainly wouldn't during work hours. Jack feels like he can use one since you're acting so weird…

When the two of you are back in his car after lunch, Jack finally asks, “are you going to tell me now?” 

To which you reply, “not yet.” 

Your eyes are glued to your phone. He wants to make a comment about how people your age are so obsessed with their phones but he refrains. 

Why? He doesn't really know. 

He doesn't really understand you at all. 

He had always known you were different from other people. That's what makes you so good at your job. 

But he never realized how different you were until he sees you scrolling through data on your phone all the way from the restaurant to his office. 

You tell him you have to do something on your computer before you can meet with him privately and you're gone before he can tell you no. 

So, for the first time in the many years Jack has been a billionaire, he waits for someone. Usually he is the one that people wait on. 

However, in this case, his curiosity has the better of him. He just needs to know what is keeping his firm stagnant. 

And when you return to his office, you answer his question, “it's you, sir.” 

“Excuse me?” He feels like a broken record saying that again but your words are constantly baffling him. He can't quite wrap his head around what you could mean.

Not until you detail it out for him, “you are the reason your firm is failing. It's because you're single. People don't want to commit to an investing firm where the head of it can't commit himself to one person.” 

You exude a type of arrogance that Jack normally never entertains. He should just fire you on the spot for insubordination. But no one has ever had the courage to speak to him like this, not even back in his medical school days or his time in the military. He had always been wealthy so most people wanted to stay on his good side.

You could care less. You have plenty of money. You do this because it's entertaining for you and you're good at it. 

Really good at it. 

Because you show him the money you just made his firm and Jack's jaw nearly hit the floor. 

“How did you—”

“The hand cream I used had certain ingredients that very few companies produce, including in the eco-friendly packaging. I bought in before lunch. I sold after lunch. Same thing with the flavor tablet.” You knew that if you were going to be spotted with a billionaire known for being a bachelor, you had to play your cards well. 

The house never wins when it comes to you. That's why you're banned from several different casinos. It isn't your fault that you count cards. It's a reflex at this point, to see the numbers and where they could go.

All the possibilities align exactly as you intend them to. 

Including your proposition to your boss. “If you want to rebuild your image into something truly profitable, then we should start dating.” 

“You want to date me?” He almost laughs at the thought of dating someone just for optics. 

But then you convince him by saying, “I want to make money. Don't you?” 

Of course. It's all he wants, ever. 

Because making money is simple. It isn't like sewing someone back up in an emergency room or out in the field. He likes to keep things simple now that he has lost his leg. 

Can dating you truly solve all his problems? Could it really be that simple? 

You show him an article on your phone. A tabloid has already published a whole piece on you and Jack. They've done most of the heavy lifting for you two, implying that your outing was a “soft launch” of your relationship with him. 

Which is how you figured it would go. 

Again, you're rarely ever wrong in your predictions. 

Jack starts to see that now more than ever. The brilliance that is your mind. 

Everything you predict comes true. The world eats up the relationship the two of you have. They like that you're distant and purposefully avoidant of the spotlight because it heavily contrasts with Jack, who is constantly being shoved in front of a camera. 

Opposites attract, after all. 

You and Jack go out on dates that you plan strategically to manipulate your portfolio. In the few public dates the two of you have been on, you have made Jack enough money that the merger flop was miniscule in the grand scheme of things. 

You're thinking bigger. 

That's why when you're interviewed for the first time about your relationship and they ask you what you love about Jack, you tell them in that nonchalant way of yours, on live television, “that he didn't make me sign a pre-nup and he let me pick my engagement ring.” 

An agreement the two of you never made but you simply cornered him into. 

Jack can't possibly marry you without a plan in place. Definitely not without a pre-nup to protect his money.

So, he snaps at you when you get to his penthouse apartment, where you've been living for the last few weeks, from that interview. “We never agreed to get engaged. And if we were to, you will be signing a pre-nup.”

“No, I won't.” You shrug off your jacket, hanging it at the coat rack by the door, completely ignoring the irritation building on your boss's face. 

Jack never had a coat rack before. You brought yours here. You brought a lot of your things here. 

You actually live here now, which is something Jack is not used to at all… 

He has always been alone. A bachelor at heart. He had thought once of maybe settling down, having children, etc, but then life got in the way.

Jack made his first billion investing in the medical field and his second billion after he lost his leg overseas. 

He's about to make his third billion by marrying you. 

Somehow you've accumulated that much value, at least in social currency. People love how straightforward you are. No bullshit, despite it all being bullshit. 

Jack won't win this fight. He'll slowly learn that he can never win when he comes to you.

You will always be several steps ahead. 

You convince him against a pre-nup. You convince him to elope with you. You convince him to go on a honeymoon to a place specifically where a luxury chain you have a stake in owns every hotel on the island. 

Your money is now Jack's money. Much to his surprise, it ends up being a lot of money. Still not as much as he has but enough that anyone would find you well within the 1%. 

You don't need to make any more money. You could live the rest of your life comfortably.

But what's the fun in that? 

Jack learns your habits over the year the two of you have been in a fake relationship. 

You wake up early. You read the trends. You scope out options that you might want to look into. And you always, always make him money. 

He definitely doesn't need any more money but your abilities have allowed him to create a more relaxed workplace with plenty of safety nets. He is able to convince several private health companies to invest their employee pensions with Abbot Financial, a trend that continues to grow as your decisions create a healthy cushion for any possible mishaps.

His firm is juggling megatons of money now, more money than most firms will ever see in countless lifetimes.

Jack has everything he has ever wanted. 

That is, until he wakes up in the morning and sees you sitting on his couch, in his home. 

And he realizes he doesn't have you. 

Not truly. 

He looks down at the wedding ring on his finger then turns his attention back to you. He can see the matching band on your finger, along with the engagement ring you picked out and billed to him, not that it cost anything all that substantial to a billionaire like him. 

The two of you are married but…it's not real. 

Your eyes shift to him, furrowing your brow at the sight of him staring at you. “You do that a lot, sir.” 

“Do what?” He feigns ignorance. 

“Stare at me.” You don't like that he stares so much. 

Makes you feel things you shouldn't towards your boss. 

Things that a wife would feel towards her husband, if he were actually her husband. 

Like the desire to ask for a kiss in the morning. 

You shake that thought away, going back to looking at your laptop, staring at the numbers for the day. 

Numbers are safe. 

The thoughts that just swarmed your mind were not safe…

Because he fuels those delusional thoughts when he responds like he always does, “am I not allowed to stare at my wife?”

“I'm not your wife.” You answer the same way you always do to this joke of his. 

“You'll have to be my wife for the charity gala tonight.” It's Abbot Financial's annual charity gala.

The first one since you and Jack got officially married, which means you will indeed have to be by his side then.

“I know.” You've been dreading it. 

There is too much to account for. While your distant act worked well when you and Jack were “dating”, you can't do the same act now that you're married to him.

You have to act like you're in love with him and that disturbs you because…you won't need to act. 

You are in love with him. 

You've never felt anything for anyone before but over these last few months, you've grown to care about Jack more than you've ever cared for a person. 

And it has you making mistakes you shouldn't be making.

Like when someone asks you what you'd like to drink at the gala.

But you don't drink, so why did you tell them to get you Jack's favorite drink, the one he always has when he's at home, his favorite brand of double barrel whiskey…

You figured since you were asked, you might as well get him something. 

Big fucking mistake. 

You have no stake in that brand and neither does Jack. You should've ordered something you had a stake in because now, your trends will be off. People will invest in that whiskey brand knowing a billionaire enjoys drinking it, which means they'll be investing in the materials that make up the bottle and the wax label. None of which you had accounted for in your projections… 

The weight of that glass of whiskey felt heavier than it was in your hand once you received it. 

It feels even worse when you give Jack the glass and he exclaims rather happily, “my favorite! Thanks, baby girl.” 

And he kisses you on the temple, causing your stomach to do flips…

You don't like that he chose that nickname for you. It's playful because of your age difference. The media eats it up whenever he calls you “his baby girl” when he talks about you. People love how “affectionate” he is when it comes to talking about you. 

You hate it. You hate knowing that it's all a lie and that all the pretty words he says about you are just to keep this ploy going.

So why did you care enough to get him his favorite drink? 

That's when you catch the truth. 

The calculated truth. 

That your subconscious mind knew he'd give you a kiss for it because that's what a husband would do if his wife thought of him dearly enough to bring him his favorite drink. 

You feel sick realizing this…

“Is my baby girl feeling alright?” Jack sets his glass down on a nearby table so he can cup your face in his warm palms, which only has your heart beating faster than it already is.

He can feel your rapid pulse. He wonders what's wrong—

“I feel a little nauseous.” You say in a fake attempt to whisper. You speak loud enough for the crowd around the two of you to hear you say, “it must be because…you know…”

Jack doesn't know what you could be implying. Not until he reads the news the next day after the gala and people are speculating that you're pregnant.

But he knew your nausea was not pregnancy related. He's never touched you. 

No one has ever touched you…not that Jack knows that. 

Jack does know, however, that you were actually feeling unwell. 

So, he asks you when he sees you in the living room on your laptop, like you always are in the mornings, “should I get you some medicine?”

“I’m fine.” You aren't fine. 

Your trends are off. 

They're never off. 

But they're off today…

They're off for a whole week before you can level them back out properly. 

Jack wouldn't be able to notice the things you do, so he has no clue why you've been glued to your laptop for days on end. He just worries that you're working yourself sick. 

“You need to rest.” He tells you when, for the eighth day in a row, you've been barely sleeping. 

“I'm fine.” Again, you lie. 

“You are not fine. There's obviously something wrong. Just talk to me.” Jack goes to sit next to you on the couch and he flinches when he sees you stare at him with a startled expression.

He has never ever sat down next to you at home. He has never been this close to you in private before.

It causes you to snap your laptop shut and stand up quickly. Too quickly.

You clutch your head, the blood rushing out from it, making you dizzy enough to stumble. 

And your heart stops in your chest when you feel Jack's hands on your arms, steadying you. 

He's close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his body, reminding you that he just woke up and he's wearing what he usually does to bed. A high end brand of athletic shorts and a shirt that clings a little too nicely to his upper body, showing off that he trains in his free time with a specialized workout instructor for people with prosthetics. 

Your eyes shift down for a second because you feel something brush against your thigh. 

Is that his…oh fuck! 

You scramble out of his hold and without saying a word, you run off into your room.

You don't come out for an entire day. 

Jack knocks several times to make sure you aren't dead in there. He, again, has no clue why you're acting so strange. He hadn't realized he was sporting a hard on from waking up and it had casually poked at you through the fabric of his shorts. 

You have to tell yourself that it's just something that happens with men in the morning. It had nothing to do with you. Nothing at all. 

You shouldn't want it to have anything to do with you! Why would you want your boss to get hard for you! 

This is…beyond horrific.

You can't look him in the eye, which is fine because usually you can't anyways.

But you forgot about the children's dinner. 

It's an event for children with disabilities that Abbot Financial hosts. It's a community cooking event and you're supposed to cook alongside your husband Jack. 

The entire time, you act the role of the shy wife beautifully because whenever Jack touches you casually or gives you a kiss, you react with such shock that everyone around finds you adorable. Including Jack. 

He's never seen you act so cute before. Every time he kisses you, you look at him with the most surprised expression that he can't help messing with you for the rest of the event. Especially when the two of you bake some cookies and he tries one and they're so delicious that he picks you up and twirls you around in front of everyone, telling them all how talented his wife is.

“My baby girl is brilliant in more ways than one.” He says to the crowd before pressing a kiss against your lips. You can taste the flavor of the cookie on his lips.

And to his shock, you lean in and kiss him.

Just so you can memorize the feel of his lips against yours. 

You shouldn't have done that. You really shouldn't have done that. You didn't think it through. 

You always think things through.

You always play out all the possibilities. 

But in that moment, you didn't.

And now everything is uncertain… 

Like how you don't have a plan for when Jack is driving the two of you home from the event and he asks, “what was the reason behind that kiss?” 

“Hmmm?” You pretend not to understand what he's asking. 

“You always have a reason behind everything you do. I'm just curious what the reason was there.” Jack can't wrap his mind around why you decided to kiss him back. You've never shown him affection before, which is what you're known for. 

So, why did you kiss him? 

You shrug, not answering verbally, leaning your head against the tinted window. 

His eyes shift over to you, to your lips, to the memory of you kissing him for the first time. 

And he hopes you'll do it again. 

A hope he shouldn't have because he has no clue that you have feelings for him.

He isn't sure you could have feelings for anyone and if you did, it would have to be well within your calculations. 

You would never just fall for anyone. 

Whoever you fell in love with, it would have to be someone who fits into your numbers. 

Someone who definitely isn't him…

But, little does he know, you only have eyes for the man who is playing the role of your husband in the public eye. The man you consider your boss even though you've been his wife now longer than you've ever been his employee. 

Three years have gone by and…your feelings for your fake husband have only grown by the day. 

You find yourself looking forward to the events where you have to be seen with Jack because during those events, you can enjoy being loved by him. It's not real and it makes your heart ache when it's over and you're reminded that it's all an act, but you try to enjoy it in the moment. 

Try as you might, it doesn't aid in the lump that forms in your throat every time Jack asks you why you do certain things, like hold his hand the whole night or give him a kiss. You simply shrug and so far, that's enough. He doesn't push for an answer past that. 

He believes you must have your reasons. In his mind, he can't fathom that reason being that you just want to hold his hand or kiss him. It has to be a piece in a puzzle that only you can see somehow. 

But then, one night, you slip up. 

And you hold onto his hand even in the elevator up to the shared hotel room, where there are no eyes to see the two of you. 

No reason for you to still be holding his hand. 

Jack stares down at the way your fingers are interlocked with his. At the way your thumb is casually brushing against his skin. At how relaxed you seem. At how content you are to be holding his hand. 

Until you realize what you're doing and you quickly slip your hand out of his, hoping he hadn't noticed. 

It's the first time Jack sees you clearly. 

He sees that you're just a shy girl who seems to like him, though you'd never say anything about it. 

Not even when the two of you are legally married and there's no reason for Jack not to grab you and kiss you right now. 

You are his wife, after all. 

No one would bat an eyelash if he pinned you to the wall of this elevator and grinded his body up against yours until a moan slipped from your lips. 

What's stopping him now that he knows you feel something for him? How long have you been hiding this from him?

Is that why you're never in bed when he wakes up on the rare occasions you and him have to share a bed, like tonight? 

Are you nervous about what would happen if he slid a little closer to you in your sleep and touched you? 

Would you…let him? 

Thoughts race through his mind that are sinful and perverted. His lovely wife is interested in him. Maybe even the whole time the two of you have been married…

Jack starts feeding into the delusion that perhaps this has all been a ploy to make him fall in love with you. A clever girl like you would think that far ahead, after all. 

While that isn't true at all, it doesn't matter.

It's what Jack believes now. 

And you hardly prove him wrong when the two of you share a bed that night and you don't push him away when he spoons you. 

Why don't you shrug him off? Why don't you move? 

You can't figure out why you're letting him hold you…  

Maybe it's because you actually enjoy how his body feels pressed up against your back. How good he smells when he's this close to you and his scent wafts in your direction.

You and Jack are currently attending a five day long retreat, run by an eccentric billionaire who thought it was a good idea to rent out an entire ski resort just for a handful of people. 

Jack usually declines by booking something to overlap with the retreat dates but this time, he hadn't. Because he told you about it and you said that it would be a good idea to go. To show people he's in a happy relationship, as many billionaires are not. 

He would be in an even happier relationship if he could sink his hard cock into you and hear you beg for him to cum inside. 

Your heart starts pounding in your chest when you feel how hard he has gotten in his sleep. His cock is resting between your thighs…and you have to stuff your face in your pillow to stop yourself from making a sound when he rolls his hips against your ass. 

You don't know what to do. He's surely asleep. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing this. 

You should scoot over. You shouldn't keep letting him dry hump you like this in his sleep.

But he is asleep…right?

So, can't you pretend that he has no clue this is happening so you can cum from the feeling of the tip of his cock brushing against your clit over and over again? 

Jack swears he hears you moan. It's so faint but it had to have slipped from your lips. 

And now he has to hear it again. 

He keeps fucking your thighs, humping you like an animal in heat, and you bury your face further into your pillow, digging your nails into the sheets to hold yourself steady so that his cock can rub up against you where you need him to make you cum.

The orgasm that shoots through you feels better than when you've touched yourself. You've never been this wet before. There's an ache between your legs. You wish he'd just slip his cock inside of you and start fucking you. 

Wait, what? No, you shouldn't be thinking that. He's asleep. He's probably having a weird dream. 

You need to just go to sleep and—

Another moan slips from your lips when you feel him draw a line down the length of your slit with the tip of his finger before dipping inside of you. He curls his finger just right as his palm applies pressure on your clit and suddenly, stars flood your vision. You can barely keep in your voice anymore.

And nothing can stop him when his name leaves your lips all breathy and nervous, “Jack?” 

No “sir”. Just Jack. 

You never call him Jack. 

Now, he needs to hear you moan his name again. And again. 

In that soft, shy, scared voice of yours, so lost in the pleasure he can give you.

You don't know how long he bullies your pussy with his fingers. You've cum so much that you feel hollow when his fingers finally free you from their grasp and your pussy is left wanting more.

Then, before you ask him anything, Jack feigns a little snore before flipping over, his back now to your own. He mainly did that so he can lick the taste of you off his fingers without you catching him. But it also helps him hide the fact that he had done that all consciously and you let him.

You don't mention a word about it in the morning. 

Like usual, you aren't there in bed when he wakes up. But his hand slides over to where he had fingered you last night and there's a dampness there that tells him that it really did happen and he didn't just dream it. 

He can still taste you on his tongue. 

Jack wants to bury his face between your legs and hear you moan his name from his mouth ravaging your pussy. 

But, first, he needs you to admit that you want him.

Something that proves almost impossible. 

Over the rest of the retreat, you're much more cautious around Jack, especially in private. You do the bare minimum of affection. You don't push the bounds like you had before with holding his hand or kissing him. You try your best to maintain a proper sense of decorum. 

Until the two of you lay down in bed together.

Then, everything gets thrown out the windows.

Because you don't stop Jack from touching you in his sleep. 

You let him grope you under your sleep shirt and pinch your nipples while his cock grinds up against your ass. You let him finger you into multiple orgasms that have you reeling by the end of them, your body tense and aching for him to go further. He never goes further. 

You won't get his cock until you beg for it. That's what he has decided. Jack will play your game of pretend for now but he knows one day, you have to cave. 

Either you will, or he will. 

And for once when it comes to you, Jack likes his odds. 

Because now, in the corner of your eye when you look at him, there's a heat that wasn't there before. 

Even if it isn't love, Jack will accept your lust. He can turn that into love. He can make you truly his. 

He wants you to be his wife, his actual wife. 

So, he starts asking you to go on more “business” trips with him. Excuses to force you into the same bed as him disguised as necessary ventures for capital. 

Excuses you allow because your body has grown a bit too attached to the pleasure he spoils you with in his sleep. 

You miss his touch when you sleep alone in your bed at his penthouse. You wish he'd slide into bed with you and make you cum and just fuck you already. 

You know that this can't be some strange type of sleepwalking. Jack is actively touching you and he knows you're letting him. 

But neither of you will admit to the other the truth.

That you want each other, in a way that is deeper than just momentary pleasure. 

Despite all your genius, you can't reason the “correct” approach to confessing this to him.

It feels like it's too late, or too impossible to do now. 

Your feelings for him are growing to be too overwhelming. You find it hard to focus when you're slick between your legs at the thought of him. 

You've never been like this before so you never had a reason to fathom the possibilities. Your logical brain assumed that something like this could never happen because why would you ever let someone touch you the way Jack has been touching you? 

Why are you letting him…

Why does it have to feel so good? 

This is fucked up.

You're not his wife. You're not even in a relationship with him. You're practically a stranger he shares a bed with on occasion. 

You're a toy he likes to play with. That's the conclusion you've come to because you can't reason that he loves you too. Such a thought is more than unlikely, even though it's the truth. 

You've never been so wrong before. 

But your judgment is clouded heavily by the idea that he only agreed to be with you for money. 

The moment you're no longer useful to him, you'll get thrown out. It's inevitable. 

That's why you start looking for back up plans. You should've done this earlier and built your own safety net. 

But you couldn't have known you'd fall in love with your boss of all people… 

You would've never suggested this if you thought for a second you'd feel something for him.

Feelings make everything more complicated than they should be.

Like the jealous rage Jack gets when he checks what you've been searching for on his internet. He had been keeping tabs on your internet history. He owns the provider so it wasn't difficult for him to get the information he needed. 

You're looking for ways out. 

He finds it adorable that you think you can get away from him of all people. 

Don't you know what he did for the military? 

Jack was a combat medic but he was special ops first, specializing in surveillance. 

There's not a corner of this Earth you could go where he couldn't find you. 

You can never leave him. Hadn't you calculated that in your head? 

Why would he ever let you go? 

You're his. 

Whether you want to be or not… 

He just needs to make sure you're aware of it. 

So, Jack buys a new apartment. He buys an entire building, actually, where the penthouse suite is rather large but only has one bedroom. On purpose. He built it that way. 

And he makes a grand showing of how he curated the building for you, his lovely wife.

You had no clue about any of this, which is why you had no idea that he built you a cage. 

A cage you walked right into with a smile for the world to see… 

“Why is there only one bedroom?” That's the first question you ask when you walk into the new penthouse for the first time.

And for once, Jack is the calculated one. “Because the design plans are available to the public and we don't have a need for a guest room so it looks better for our relationship to only have one bedroom.”

The logic is sound. You can't argue with that. 

Jack figured you wouldn't. He assumed that maybe you'd even look forward to having to sleep next to him every night. 

You do look forward to it, for all the wrong reasons… 

You can't keep letting him touch you. You try to just fall asleep, to ignore how easily Jack can make you cum but to no avail. He knows your body better than you do at this point and that's only with his hands. 

Imagine what he could do to you with his mouth or his cock. If only you'd just tell him how you truly feel about him.

But the fear of losing him completely prevents you from ever mentioning it. 

It prevents you from giving him more than a polite nod in the morning even though the night before he made you cum so hard on his fingers that you squirted all over the new bed while crying out his name. 

You're beginning to test the limits of his patience. He can't keep cumming in his hand and wasting it when he could be buried deep inside of his pretty wife.

You're his baby girl, who has no need for protection because you never thought you'd ever have sex so why would you be on birth control? 

He could put a baby inside of you. 

That would ensure you're his forever. 

Maybe he should just take you. Rip the choice from your hands. It's not like you'd stop him. He knows you want it too. 

If you won't admit it to him, then he'll just have to make you… 

Jack hasn't touched you since he made that decision. You're confused by it. 

You're uncomfortable with the fact that you miss those late night aggressive touches from him. You haven't cum in what feels like weeks. Your own fingers can't get you to the same pleasure Jack can so you don't even try. 

You've been left desperately wanting to ask him why he stopped. 

Is he…tired of you? Has he lost interest in you? 

You knew the time would come eventually so you prepare yourself to leave him first. You won't be here for the heartbreak. 

You'll end this on your own terms. 

Or, well, you try to.

Only for Jack to laugh in your face. “You can't be serious.” 

“Our marriage has run its course.” You tell him with that bluntness of yours, trying to maintain that cold, calm expression you usually have on. “We'll divorce amicably. I already have other firms lined up to hire me so there won't be any mess—”

Your back is against the wall in an instant and you can't hardly register the feel of Jack's lips on your own until he forces his tongue into your mouth. You squirm, shoving him off of you but failing miserably when he grabs your wrists and pins them to the wall, holding you steady there with his body pressed firmly against your own. 

Jack has never kissed you like this before, where he's purposefully stealing every breath you take, making you feel lightheaded. It's so aggressive that your knees start to buckle from how much you want him to keep going. 

But you can't let him do this. 

What is he doing? 

“Sir, I—!” You let out a yelp when Jack bites your neck all of a sudden. “What are you doing!”

“Marking my wife.” His words have heat rushing to your core. 

“Your…” You stare at him in disbelief. “I’m not your wife.” 

Again, he lets out a laugh that is so sinister, goosebumps form on your skin. Though, that might be from the words that decide to leave his lips with such menace, “I wonder how many times I'll have to rape you until you finally admit that you want to be my wife.” 

“W-What?” You must've gone crazy. 

Did Jack really just say that—

He grabs you and drags you to the bedroom, locking the door. Then, he tosses you onto the bed before kneeling down and ripping your bottoms off completely. 

You hold in a shriek of surprise when Jack buries his face between your legs and starts eating you out like he has been dreaming of doing since the moment he first got a taste of you. And you cum way too quickly…

Drawing yet another sadistic laugh from his lips. “You really like it when I make you cum.” 

Heat shoots through your whole body when you realize he's trying to get you to acknowledge all the times he has touched you up until now. 

“Oh, don't be shy, baby girl.” He says as he drags his tongue along your slit, causing your legs to tremble in his strong hold. “You're allowed to like the pleasure your husband can give you.” 

“You're not my—” You clamp your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from letting out a scream when Jack seals his lips around your clit and starts sucking the life out of you until you squirt all over his face from the intensity of his actions.

Your heart nearly leaps out of your chest at the sight of him licking his lips and smiling up at you. “I am your husband. We're legally married. It's finally time to consummate our marriage.” 

Jack stands up then, slowly unbuckling his belt. You're too stunned to move. Your eyes are glued to the bulge in his pants, to him pulling his cock out for you to finally see. 

You hadn't realized how big he was. 

There's no way that's going to fit inside of you. 

You're scrambling to get away from him the moment you realize he's actually going to try to put that monster inside of you. But he snatches you by your hips and drags you back towards him, lining his cock up with your entrance from behind.

That's when you scream, “I'm a virgin!”

In your mind, that was supposed to get him to stop. But again, your predictions have not been accurate.

Because Jack simply pushes forward, sinking the tip of his cock inside of you before saying, “you won't be for much longer, baby girl.” 

“Please, sir, stop this!” You try to claw yourself away from him but he's too strong, his hands digging into your hips, holding you steady as he thrusts more of his cock inside of you.

And again, you had no clue how easily your body would swallow him up…

You can't believe it when Jack hilts inside of you, his hips meeting your ass, his cock fully seated inside of you. 

Jack can't believe it either. How did he last so long without knowing how warm and wet your pussy would feel wrapped so tightly around his cock? 

He needs more. He has to hear you begging for his cum. 

So, he slips out of you. Then back into you. Then out again. He repeats this devilish movement over and over until you're trembling beneath him, your body desperate for an orgasm that refuses to build from the lack of stimulation. 

“Please, sir.” You can't take it anymore… 

“Say your husband's name properly.” He won't let you call him “sir” anymore. 

“Please, Jack.” The moment his name leaves your lips, he pushes his cock back inside of you and you let out a whimper and plead, “please don't pull out again.” 

“Why not?” Such a surge of pleasure rips through him when he slides out of you and you bury your face in the sheets, muffling your cries of disappointment. 

“I want to cum.” Your words are suppressed by fabric but Jack still hears you clearly.

“You don't need my cock to cum.” He dips two fingers inside of you and you tense up immediately. “You've cum plenty on my fingers. Don't you remember?” 

Of course you remember. Your body remembers all too well because it only takes a few thrusts and him curling his fingers just right to have you making a mess on his sheets like always. 

Jack pops his fingers out of you before lining his cock back up, the tip of it teasing your slit back and forth, making you so needy for him to be inside of you that you've lost all rationality. 

He's fucking you stupid, which is unbelievable, given that you're a genius. You can't be so swayed by the pleasure he can give you.

But you don't know how to do the math for this. 

What will get Jack to fuck you other than you completely giving into his every whim? 

He's in control here. You're smart enough to know this for a fact. 

That's why your hand slips between your legs and you spread your pussy wide for him and tell your husband, “please fuck your wife, Jack.” 

And you can't see the smile on his face but you can hear it in his response, “so you're finally my wife now?”

You nod. “I've been your wife. I've been all yours.”

“Since when?” He demands answers and you'll give them to him because he will reward you if you do. 

“Since that first time I kissed you.” All those years ago…

Jack flips you over so he can look at you. So you can look at him as he strips completely, letting you see his bare body for the first time. 

“Take it off.” His voice is so commanding that you listen without hesitation, pulling your top off until you're naked too. “My wife is so beautiful.”

Jack climbs on top of you, grabbing a hold of your face, kissing you the way he has needed to for years. Happiness floods his system when you moan his name on his lips from his hard cock grinding against your pussy. 

“Please.” Your hand slides down, positioning his cock back at your entrance. “Please fuck me, Jack.” 

That draws a laugh deep from his belly that you feel so prominently on your lips. “I can see the gears churning in your head, baby girl. Is that what you thought would get me to give you my cock? Try again.”

You bite your lip. He's right. You did think that would be enough. 

And it could've been if Jack wasn't a more patient man. If he was more desperate for you. But he has you now. 

He needs you fully committed to him. 

He has waited a very long time to hear you say the words that finally leave your lips, “please put a baby in your baby girl, Jack.” 

Your eyes roll back when his cock thrusts back inside of you, filling you up so deep that you can feel the tip of it grinding against your womb. Jack presses his hand down on your lower belly, massaging where his cock is resting inside of you, making the feeling of him more vivid than ever. 

“Eyes on me, baby girl.” Jack won't let you get too dazed. He wants you present for when he pumps a baby into you. 

“I'm here.” You reach up, cupping his face, brushing your fingers along the stubble that has grown on his jaw. “Can I kiss my husband?” 

“Of course.” He never thought he'd be so happy hearing you say that but when you lean up and kiss him on the cheek, he realizes just how much he loves you. 

Only you could give him such a light peck and it would be enough for him to want to give you the entire world. 

You are his whole world. Everything he has ever wanted and dreamed of. 

He'll have to spoil you rotten if he wants to keep you looking at him with so much affection like this. 

So, Jack spoils you with the one thing you weren't certain about, by telling you, “I love you.”

And he fucks the shock right off your face, your expression going from startled to pleasurable in a second. 

“Wait, Jack—” You need a second to think. 

He can't just drop that on you and then start fucking you!

But he does. Because he likes how panicked you look, all flustered and adorable, unable to comprehend his words combined with the pressure coiling in your core.

You feel like you could cum at any second.

He won't let you cum, though. Not until you say it back. 

“Come on, baby girl. Tell me what I already know.” He slows his strokes when he can feel you tightening up, your body wanting to cum but he stops moving right when you're close. 

You cover your face with your hands, feeling so shy, completely unprepared to confess your love for Jack. 

So, he slips out of you and you reflexively yell, “no!”

And then you scream into your hands, embarrassment filling your body when he lets out such a sadistic chuckle in response. 

“If you want to cum on my cock, tell me you love me.” He pushes your thighs together, fucking them like he would when he was pretending to be asleep, your pussy aching to be filled.

It takes every ounce of courage in you to say, “I love you, Jack.” 

Only for him to go, “say it to my face, baby girl.” 

You move your hands away, anxiety consuming you when you see the smirk on his face. He is way too happy about this development. 

You're in danger. There's nothing safe about what's about to transpire. 

If you were smart, you'd find a way out of this. You know better than to give yourself up to a billionaire crazy enough to marry you for money and then make you into his actual wife. 

The math is there. It proves you're going to be stuck with him for life. There will be no escape. 

You're going to be his. 

But you knew that, didn't you?

From the very first moment you laid eyes on Jack, you knew that he was capable of this and you still chose to go through with it. 

You can pretend all you like that you didn't see this coming but the truth is, you had known this outcome could happen from the very beginning. 

And you still chose him. 

Because you really are as crazy as he is. 

“I really love you.” You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer to you, grinding your hips up to meet his. “So please make me yours, Jack.” 

That's what you've wanted this whole time.

Your true goal in all of this.

It was never about the money. 

It was about getting this man so whipped for you that he’ll eagerly give you anything you'll ever want, including the kind of sex you never thought would be possible for you to have. 

You had to find someone who matched you in every way and make sure he had no idea that you've lured him into quite a snare. 

Jack may be fucking you stupid, but you're fucking him right back. 

You give him what he wants, to hear you beg for him to make you cum. And the orgasms he draws out of you are so incredible that you know you've made the right choice. 

You whisper words of adoration and affection that have him so elated that he's kissing you all over and eagerly fucking you now. You giggle at how cute he can be for an older man who is very much in love with his baby girl. 

“I'm not going to last much longer.” Jack may have great stamina but seeing you so consumed with pleasure has him wanting to fill you up right now. 

“We have all the time in the world.” You pull him in closer, giving him a kiss before telling him, “we don't need to waste time making money anymore. We should spend our time making babies from now on.” 

And just like you predicted, Jack groans and starts fucking you faster, full of need and desire to do exactly as you said. 

He seals his lips over yours when he cums inside of you, capturing your moans from the feeling of how warm it is coating your insides.

You could get used to this...

“I can't wait for you to get pregnant, baby girl.” He slips out of you and shifts downwards, laying his head on your belly, peppering your skin with kisses.

You rest your hand in his curls, loving the look of the grays scattered in between his reddish brown locks. You love the look in his hazel eyes when he looks up at you. 

Jack loves you so dearly. 

Just as you predicted he would. 

a/n: I have a thing for a reader who secretly has a few screws loose (maybe bc I have a few screws loose LMAO!) and also just love writing jack batshit crazy ~ 

this one was a super fun one to write. it's been a while since I wrote something a little longer! I've been experimenting a lot lately writing wise so this one had a bit more…idk how to describe it, like more internal monologue? I always have such a blast trying new things out in my writing hehe! 

hope you enjoyed the read ♡

[scarl3tkiss]

Adversed reactions-Jack Abbot (2)

summary ! It’s been a week since you chewed Jack Abbot up, now all he wants to do is help you, and understand you.

warnings ! 18+ MDNI cursing, competency issues if you squint. tension, FLUFF, flirting, KISSING, heated car kiss, head CT, lacerations, blood, cuts, chest tubes, blunt force trauma, car pile up, crush injuries, thoracotomy. reader basically playing in jacks face bc she’s not actually mad she just wanted to hear him apologize #hot. 😭

wc:3.0k

pairing: Jack Abbot x fem!senior resident!reader

series-masterlist

The next two weeks were a blur for you. It wasn’t the same happiness like everyone presumed your life was for the longest time. You got irritated quicker, more snappier at interns more than Jack liked. But who was he to call out your behavior after what happened? He felt guilty for even looking at you sometimes.

An icy silence hung over the emergency department. The bubbly chime of your laughter completely vanished whenever Jack entered a room, replaced by a cold, strictly professional distance.

“Hey i got the head CT back on our guy in seven.“ You said setting down your clipboard in front of Jack where he sits in a chair, elbows resting on the nurses station.

“Go show Shen i’m busy right now.” He muttered his eyes not even lifting to look at you.

“You got it boss.” You spit out walking away while you rolled your eyes.

That’s basically how every interaction between you two has been going for the past two weeks and you don’t care to change it. Most of night shift started to notice the change in how you treated people, your attitude didn’t change towards patients.

You made that a point since you became a doctor, to never let your personal life interfere with patients. But for some reason Jack couldn’t do the same.

He would watch you as you walked from central to south barking orders at Mateo and scaring off Nazi, he never said anything though. He didn’t want to get in the way of your work because you made it very clear you didn’t need him. But maybe apart of him needed you.

Then, tonight a thunderstorm brought the hospital to its knees. The overhead alarms didn't just wail, they shrieked. “Active car pile up downtown due to storms. Multiple critical trauma patients incoming. All surgical and emergency staff to the ambulance bay immediately.”

Within ten minutes, the ER was a war zone. Gurneys lined the hallways, and the air was thick with the scent of metallic blood, wet soot, and ozone. You were in the thick of it, your hands covered in blood as you managed a chaotic triage line, when a paramedic team practically crashed through the automated doors, screaming for help.

“We've got an unidentified male, mid-thirties, pulled from the epicenter of the crash! Severe crush injuries to the torso, bilateral flail chest, and he's actively crashing!”

Before the gurney even made it to Trauma Bay One, the patient's eyes rolled back, and his heart monitor plummeted into a lethal, chaotic rhythm. Ventricular fibrillation.

“He's coding!” You shouted, jumping onto the side of the moving gurney to start frantic, manual chest compressions. You tried hard to suppress your personal issues as your hands worked faster than your brain.

“Get me a crash cart and prep for an emergent thoracotomy! His chest is filling with blood!” You barked at the nearest intern as you steered the gurney into the bay, only to find Jack already standing there, a scalpel poised in his sterile gloved hand. He looked up, his dark eyes locking onto yours over his mask. For a fraction of a second, the two weeks of bitter silence, the lingering hurt from his words, and your fierce defensiveness flared between you two.

It’s like no matter what you did every time during trauma, he reads your mind inside and out. Sometimes you hated it, but sometimes it felt good knowing someone in this hell hole shares the same pattern.

But as the patient’s blood pressure flatlined, the personal rift vanished and all the thoughts of him were pushed down. The sheer gravity of the dying man beneath your hands crushed your pride instantly.

“We don't have time to go upstairs sweetpea.” Jack said, his voice flat, commanding, and entirely stripped of the hesitation that had plagued him for the last fortnight. “We open him up right here. Now. If you can’t handle it, find Shen.”

“I've got the airway, but his chest wall is completely unstable, this needs to happen fast, do not doubt me." You fired back, your voice matching his. You grabbed the intubation scope. “I need you to crack the chest while I secure this tube. No hovering, Abbot. Just do it.”

“I trust you.” Jack said. The three words were short, quiet, and carried more weight than his entire confession in the equipment room. He didn't look at you with fear or pity, he looked at you like you were the only doctor in the world capable of keeping this patient alive while he cut into the chest cavity. With flawless, synchronized, you advanced the endotracheal tube past the trauma tissue in a single, fluid second.

“In! Bag him!” You commanded. Instantly, Jack made the sweeping submammary incision, slicing through muscle and tissue to expose the rib cage. The thoracic cavity flooded with blood, obscuring the bleeding vessel.

“I can't see the source.” Jack muttered, his fingers searching blindly near the beating, restricted heart. “The pressure is too high.” Without a single beat of hesitation, you grabbed a suction tip with one hand and a chest retractor with the other. You leaned directly over the sterile field, placing your hands right alongside his in the open chest, suctioning the field clear with millimeter precision.

“There. Right there.” You pointed calmly, your steady grip providing Jack with the exact leverage he needed.

“The internal mammary artery is torn. Clamp it.” Jack slid the vascular clamp into place and clicked it shut. The frantic rhythm on the monitor instantly began to smooth out, transitioning back into a weak but steady, rhythmic thumping that made your heart rate slow down.

The massive bleeding stopped. The patient’s color began to return slowly. You two stood there for a long, heavy moment, your hands still resting inches apart inside the patient’s open chest, their synchronized breathing loud in the quiet trauma bay. The wall between you two hadn't just cracked, the shared adrenaline and mutual respect had completely obliterated it. You looked across the sterile field, and though you weren’t wearing your bright smile, the soft, genuine warmth finally returned to your clear eyes.

“Okay-okay, fill with gauze, there’s more people in trauma two, send this guy up to the OR.” You said backing out of the doors and into trauma room two.

The storm outside finally rolled away after a few hours along with the chaos inside, leaving behind a quiet morning drizzle that matched the sudden stillness of the emergency department. The frantic sirens had stopped, and the remaining casualties from the crash had been stabilized and moved upstairs to the surgical units. You stood at the sink just outside trauma bays, the water running scalding hot as you aggressively scrubbed the dried, metallic blood from your forearms. You were completely spent, your shoulders slumped under the weight of a grueling, twelve-hour battle for human survival. A heavy shadow fell across the tile wall beside you. You didn't look up, but you knew the exact cadence of his footsteps and his presence.

Jack stepped up to the basin next to yours, turning on the tap. He didn't say anything at first, just let the sound of running water fill the quiet space between you guys. For two weeks, this silence would have been razor-sharp, but right now, it felt weary and peaceful.

“You were right.” Jack said quietly, his deep voice cutting through the hum of the pipes.

You paused, your soapy hands freezing mid-motion. You slowly turned your head, your clear eyes meeting his dark, gaze. Jack turned off his faucet and grabbed a paper towel, drying his hands with slow, deliberate movements. He leaned back against the counter, looking at you not as a supervisor, and not with the terrifying, smothering panic he had shown two weeks ago in the equipment room. He looked at you with pure, unadulterated reverence.

“I spent two weeks convincing myself that your happiness was a facade.” He admitted, his voice dropping into a low, raw rumble. He shook his head slightly, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I thought you were forcing that eccentric attitude because you couldn't handle the gravity of what we do. I thought if I didn't step in and carry the weight for you, the darkness of this place would snap you in half and i didn’t know if i could handle seeing that happen to you out of all people.” He took a step closer, his posture entirely open, stripping away the brooding attending persona completely.

“But watching you handle that coding patient today..watching you guide my hands inside that chest cavity without a single shred of fear. I finally get it. Maybe that’s a dick move in my part for how i spoke to you and now im just finally understanding how you work.” He looked directly into your eyes, his expression softer than you had ever seen it. “Your sunshine isn't a performance, and it's not a defense mechanism. It’s your fuel. It is the absolute core of your strength. You don't smile because you're fragile. You smile because you are strong enough to carry the light into a room where everyone else is drowning in the dark. I was trying to protect you from the very thing that makes you the best doctor in this hospital and i’m sorry. I’m sorry for how i spoke to you and im sorry for doubting you.” He reached out his long fingers hesitating for a fraction of a second before gently brushing against the side of your arm, his touch warm and grounding.

You breathed his words in, not wanting to interrupt, knowing yourself you wanted to argue-you wanted to call this psychoanalyzing. But it wasn’t, he saw you.

The tension that had suffocated you two completely melted away with the warmth of his touch, leaving you looking up at him with a soft, breathless expression as his words finally repaired the rift.

The heavy, emotional weight of his confession hung in the quiet hallway for a beat longer before a familiar, unmistakable spark danced back into your face before you could help it. The exhausted slump of your shoulders disappeared, replaced instantly by a sharp playful tilt of your head.

“Wow, Abbot…” You murmured, a slow teasing smile spreading across your face as you reached for a paper towel to dry your arms. “Did you stay up all two weeks practicing that monologue in the mirror? Because that was practically Shakespearean maybe Jane Austin if you will. I think I saw a tear form in your left eye.”

He blinked, completely caught off guard. The profound, poetic gravity he had just built up popped like a bubble. He closed his mouth, his jaw tightening slightly as his ears immediately turned a familiar, brilliant shade of crimson.

It honestly wanted to make you burst into laughter, all you wanted was an apology but this was far better than that.

“I was being entirely serious.” He grumbled, though the brooding scowl he tried to summon lacked any real bite.

“Oh, I know..” You laughed, your tone finally returning to that melodic voice he hadn't heard in two long weeks. You tossed the crumpled paper towel into the bin and stepped closer into his space, looking up at him with uncharacteristic fondness. “It was very sweet. Very dramatic. I’m especially flattered by the 'carrying the light' part. Does this mean I get to wear my bright pink hair ties again, or are they still clinically proven to give you a headache?”

Jack let out a low, rough laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down at You. The intense, suffocating barrier that had kept you two apart for a time was completely gone, shattered by the one thing he finally understood he could never change about you.

“You can wear whatever you want, you know that it doesn’t bother me. Not to sure about HR though..” He muttered, a genuine, easy smile finally breaking through his stubborn expression. “Just as long as you let me drive you home yeah? It’s raining and i don’t feel comfortable with you walking.”

“Deal.” You beamed, turning on your heel toward the locker area.

You both gathered up your stuff and did round with day shift, you saw Jack talking to Robby when he gave you a small look and then nodded towards the ambulance bay doors. You walked first and before you could open the door he already beat you too it.

As you walked side by side toward the heavy glass doors of the ambulance bay, you didn't rush ahead or pull up your walls. You just walked with a relaxed, easy stride. You were completely secure in the knowledge that you no longer had to hide your exhaustion from him. When you stepped out into the crisp, post storm morning, the sunlight caught the damp pavement, making the entire parking lot glisten. For the first time in months, Jack didn't track you from a distance.

He walked right next to you, his hand gently brushing against yours sending a shock to your spine as you approached his truck. He opened the door for you and you hopped in.

The drive was quiet. He already knew were you lived from the one christmas party you hosted last year, you stared out the window as he pulled his car to a smooth stop outside your apartment building. The low hum of the engine finally replacing the music Jack had turned on.

The morning sun was fully up now, casting a warm, golden glow through the windshield. You let out a long, contented sigh, unbuckling your seatbelt and grabbing your colorful work bag from the floorboard.

“Thanks for the ride, Abbot.” You said, your voice was soft and genuinely relaxed. You turned to face him, a playful smile already forming on your lips as you prepared to throw one last teasing remark about his music taste. “I guess you're not a total—“ You never got the sentence out.

Jack unbuckled his own seatbelt, leaned across the center console, and completely shocked you. Before you could even register the movement, his hand came up to gently cup the side of your jaw, his thumb wiping away a smudge of weariness from your cheek, and he kissed you. It wasn't the tentative, cautious gesture of a brooding coworker. It was a deep, breathless, and incredibly definitive kiss that poured two weeks of silent longing, intense regret, and fierce devotion right into you. The sheer passion of it caught you completely off guard, your eyes widening in pure astonishment for a split second before the shock melted away.

Never would you have expected him to be the one to kiss you first, yes you thought he was hot, so did every straight woman who stepped foot into PTMC. You’ve wanted this moment for so long, long enough that his touch alone had already made you wet.

Your backpack slid unheeded to the floor as you leaned into him, your hands instinctively finding the lapels of his dark jacket.

For a man who lived his life by strict clinical rules, the kiss was beautifully unscripted, utterly shattering the last remaining distance between you. When he finally pulled back, his breathing was slightly uneven, and his dark eyes were fixed entirely on your flushed face and swollen pink lips. He gave you a slow, uncharacteristically smug smile as he rested his forehead against yours.

“Get some sleep.” He murmured, his deep voice rough with emotion. “I'll see you Tuesday.”

[atotallynormalfanofhats]

Come Let Me Claim You

Chapter 2 Won’t Let Me Go

The one where Pope gets a happy ending.

wc: 6k mdni! cw: canon typical violence, childhood trauma, explicit sex, fingering, oral, p in v, rough sex with consent, hospital, the usual pope fanfic stuff, no doves anywhere, fix it fic, baz, canon divergence, reader insert, no use of y/n Chapter 1 Can I Stay -----

“Wait- Andrew Cody? Like CODY Cody?” Sasha dropped her pen and threw her hands up between you.

“Andrew Cody, yes. Only one ‘Cody’.” After she set you up on the date from hell you stopped discussing your love life with her. But today you had shown up to your shift wearing the unmistakable shit-eating grin of a woman who was still a little bit cock drunk. She called it the moment you walked out of the elevator. It was time to fess up. “God! I miss one girls’ night, and I’m completely behind. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I don’t trust your judgement after that awful set up and because I’m, like, 10 years older than you- I’m not your personal dating show.”

“Start from the beginning, please. So the date was a bust- I’m NOT sorry, by the way. How did this lead to you fucking a Cody?”

“I saw him again and we just never stopped seeing each other… being together. I’m here at the hospital, or I’m with him.”

Sasha sighed as she continued writing.

“Wait… how do you know who he is?” you asked. “Everywhere we go people know him.”

“Mmm. So, that family is… it’s like a little Mafia. Very close. Very loyal. Very criminal.”

“Okay... don’t do that again. I know about the… crime stuff. It’s not really like that.”

It absolutely was like that but you had to move this along.

“I met his family,” you continued. “Most of them.”

“You met the family? So, it's serious?”

“Maybe? The boys I met hanging around the bar with him. I met his mom at the house.”

“The house? A house party?”

You regretted updating her at all. 

“Yes, it devolved into a party.”

“And you didn’t tell me?!” She shook her head. “Can I go to a party?”

“Why?”

“Rumor is they get crazy and the boys are gorgeous.”

“You have a boyfriend.”

“I have a bore-friend,” she countered.

-----

“Oh, you’ve seen the light? Fine. I’ll bring you along sometime. But you have to promise you won’t fuck any of his brothers.”

“Swear!”

You made good on your deal, and you were leading her past the pool toward the house. Deran spotted you first and waved you over while he kicked two party crashers out of the lounge chairs. “Relax, girls. Enjoy. Drinks are… everywhere.”

“Thanks!” you both said in sync.

Towels and bags claimed your chairs as you went off to dig through the coolers. You plucked two green bottles out of the ice when you spotted her.

“You’re here…”

The pit in your stomach formed instantly. You had never faced her alone. Your arm snaked around Sasha’s for support. 

“Oh, don’t bother with those warm beers! I made these up just for you.” She handed over two margaritas that would have put any tiki bar to shame as she gave you Judas’ kiss on each cheek.

“Thank you, Smurf. This is Sasha.”

“Well, aren’t you cute?” Smurf purred.

“Oh, thank you.” Sasha was polite but crushing your arm with hers. Smurf peppered her with the same questions she had asked you the first time you met. It was clear she liked Sasha’s answers better. Smurf saw a younger, more pliable girl in her. No threat.

“Have you met all the boys yet?” Smurf let her arm run down Sasha’s arm to take her hand.

“Craig and Deran, yes.”

‘Oh, you have to meet Andrew. He’ll adore you.” 

Smurf’s eyes flicked between the two of you before settling on Sasha. 

“Lovely to meet you, dear. You’re so young and beautiful. Mmm. Well, drink up. Andrew should be back any minute, and I want my baby to enjoy himself tonight.”

Her heels clicked as she headed back across the patio.

“Did she kinda just…”

“Yes,” you answered, sucking your tongue against your teeth.

“Wow… She really hates you.”

“Yep. This is why the ‘no brothers’ rule exists.”

“Understood.”

By the time the glasses were empty your plus one was getting annoyed. “No one is talking to us,” she whined.

“And they aren’t going to.”

“What? Why?”

“The Pope Effect.”

“I thought you’d be royalty here!”

“No. I’m his property here, and you’re too close.”

“Well, that’s no fun.”

“Girl, go fish. Just no brothers.”

“Promise.”

You got up too and headed the other direction back to the cluster of coolers to look for water. A hand on your hip and a new voice took you by surprise. 

“I think you wandered into the wrong backyard, sweetie.” You hadn’t been paying attention, and now some new guy was in your air space.

“Excuse me?” You created as much distance as you could, and he closed it. His face was familiar, but his voice was not. 

“You’re not dressed for a Cody party. Look around.”

You knew it was true. The pool was full of the tiniest bikinis you had ever seen. Soon a few girls would be topless. You wore one of Andrew’s shirts over your swim suit and had given it a tie at the waist when the sun was at its hottest. Cody parties got out of hand, and you did anything you could to keep Andrew from getting too possessive… which was about to become a pipe dream. “Let’s start with that shirt,” he said, starting to paw at the knot.

“No. No. No, thanks,” you said, backing up farther. “I’m here with my boyfriend. You really want to back off.”

“Don’t worry! I’ll get rid of him for us. Where is he?”

You scanned the area for Andrew- his timing was always perfect… and then you saw it- the crowd parting like the Red Sea for him.

“Can’t miss him.” You pointed behind his back and then his face finally clicked. “Wait! Shit! Baz!?”

“I like the sound of…”

He turned directly into Pope’s fist.

“Did he fucking touch you?” he roared over the music.

“Well, kind of but-”

Pope swung again as Baz stood back up.

“There are 30 women here to wet your dick. You keep your hands off my girl!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW, POPE!”

“I’ll bet you anything that she said ‘no’, and you kept pushing her.” He glanced at you. You gave him a small nod. He knew in his bones that you would never have encouraged anyone, much less Baz. You took your place under Andrew’s arm. “Shouldn’t have even kept talking to her!”

“Let’s take a break. Let’s go inside, hmm?” You tugged Andrew toward the house.

“Next time, you’re dead,” he spat over his shoulder. His fingertips dipped into your bottoms as you walked away. 

You passed Sasha chatting up J in the hallway as you wove your way through the house.

“Nope! Not this one either,” you said loud enough for J to hear. You gave him a look as you pulled the drink out of her hand.

“Mom!” she shrieked in mock embarrassment. She clocked where the two of you were headed. “Are you kidding me? You're my ride!”

“Get an Uber! I'll pay for it,” Pope bellowed.

Pope herded you faster down the hall to his old room. You locked the door and sat on the bed. 

“Since we were kids… since we were kids! He got everything. I got the responsibilities, and he got whatever he wanted.” He knelt at your feet between your legs with his hands on your knees.  “You okay?” He searched deep in your eyes for shame or fear.

“Nothing happened. He just made a pass at me and tried to get me to take your shirt off.” You swore you saw smoke coming from his ears. “For what it’s worth, he didn’t know, but, I promise you, I’m fine.”

He turned and stared at the door. Andrew rubbed his hands on your legs in time with his breathing.

“It shouldn’t have been that way,” you told him. “I’m sorry he’s still behaving like that.”

You put a hand on the side of his face and gently pulled him to look up at you. Your legs automatically spread a little farther apart as you slid closer to his chest.

“He got everything he wanted?” you asked. 

“Yeah,” he grunted in reply.

“He got everything you wanted.”

“Yeah,” he repeated, sadder this time.

He was lost in thought for a moment. A memory took its time with him. He eventually nodded. You knew there was history he would hold forever. It was his to share or keep.

“Tonight he wanted me… but I’m only for you.” You moved even closer to the edge of the bed. It forced his hands higher. His thumbs absently wandered under the hem of your bottoms. “He’s out there icing his jaw, and you’re here with me.” You untied your shirt, letting it fall open. You didn’t take anything off. He loved unwrapping you.

A low growl rolled in his chest.

“This is as close to your childhood room as we’re gonna get… don’t you think you should fuck me in here? All those people outside… do you wanna shake the walls with me? Show everyone who I belong to?” His fingers dug into your hips. “You deserve what you want, Andrew. No one can take me away from you.” He looked toward the door again. Music blared from the other side. “Mine?” he grumbled. “Yours.” You leaned forward, your breasts in his face nearly falling out of your top. You did know how to dress for a Cody house party. 

“Mine.” It was no longer a question. He tugged at your bottoms. “Yours.” You put your hands on his shoulders, and stood just enough for Andrew to pull them off.

“Mine.” He gave you a strong shove to lay you back on the bed. The knot on the back of your suit bruised your spine. “Yours,” you eeked in a whiny prayer. He bit and nipped you from ankle to pussy on one leg and then the other, tossing each over his shoulders. You knew this was Pope. His eyes were darker than you had ever seen them. He dove into you so hard it hurt. His teeth slammed into your clit as he sucked as much of your pink skin into his mouth as he could. It burned as hair pulled tightly between his lips. He pressed his tongue against your aching clit as hard as he could and shook his head like a dog with a toy. “Ahh! Fuck!” It signaled the last bit of Andrew to check in. 

“I’m not stopping unless you tell me to.”

“Okay.”

“You sure?” “Use me, Pope.” You weren’t sure if he liked or hated you calling him “Pope” but he reacted to it. He lifted your hips to lick you from bottom to top. You squealed like an animal. His tongue shot straight into your center he swirled and lapped inside you like you were his first and last meal. He dragged his nose back up your slit and stuffed two fingers inside you. His fingers curled to find the spot he called his, even though all of you was his. He matched the rhythm of his tongue. Andrew was gone but Pope still knew his secrets. He spent exactly one second pulling at the ties of your top before giving you an ultimatum. “Get this off before I shred it.” You arched your back and found the correct ends to loosen it enough to pull the top off. “Good girl. Flip,” he barked. His fingers were still inside you.

“Babe, your…”

“Flip. Over.” He shoved you over with his free hand. You used your legs against his body to turn fully, unintentionally kicking him in the neck at least once. He didn’t seem to notice.

He lifted your hips and spread you wide.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he said so close you could feel his breath on your skin. He put his lips to you and began to feast again. Your hips locked in the air by his arms.

You left small, wet rings on the sheets as you tried to muffle your screams. You were sure the sound still carried much farther than you wanted. 

“Shit… Andrew! God… you… you should move. I feel…”

“Like fuck I’ll move!” he said and pushed his face harder into you.

“Really… you… I… ahh… gaaah!”

You felt your cum coat his chin. He laughed into you, dark and greedy. Your legs started to fold under you.

“No. No. Not yet.” He pulled you back up and got to his feet. You heard fabric hit the floor, then one of his hands held both of yours behind your back.

He teased you for a grueling minute until he finally buried himself to the hilt. His pace set you on fire. It was overwhelming as you rode the line between pain and pleasure. 

“As hard as you can!” you cried. Pope wove his hand around you to play with your clit. He continued to pummel you until he lost all control, biting your shoulder leaving marks that would take weeks to fade. Desperate to feel you as close as possible, he pulled you up against his chest. As his pace finally slowed he released you to collapse on the bed. Andrew slipped into the bathroom and returned with a warm washcloth and the drink you had brought with you.

“You okay?” he asked. 

“Spent.” You shook your head in disbelief.

He spotted the signature his teeth had left on your shoulder. “Shit, I’m sorry. Does it hurt?”

“Not yet.”

He kissed from the fresh bruise up your neck to your jaw, finally finding your lips.

“I’m good. I promise,” you assured him. You feel better?” 

“I felt bad? Can’t remember a thing before this.” 

“Shit. I’m a mess.” Embarrassment reddened your cheeks when you saw yourself in the mirror.

He put both hands on your hips to steady you while you pulled your bottoms back on.

“Walking out of here looking like you were fucked straight through the mattress really brings home the point you came in here to make.” He kissed your forehead. “You’re mine.”

You thought of the anger in his eyes when he confronted Baz and the pain in his voice as he skimmed through memories. He was right.

He curled his arm around your shoulders as you walked out. Sasha had been right after all– you were royalty here. ----- You hated to give J the satisfaction but, eventually, you did start letting Andrew take care of things for you. The two of you signed a lease on a new condo. You just wanted enough space that he could spread out and feel at home. He wanted you spoiled in a nicer building in a better neighborhood. 

He did his research and found a two bedroom in a building with a gym he could use when he couldn’t sleep and codes to open every door. You knew he and the agent were lying about the fee so that you would let him carry most of the cost. You let it slide. You weren’t here to take, but he was here to give. 

You worried about him; his family wasn’t safe. He brushed it off out of loyalty, but you felt his resolve faltering. He loved you but didn’t know how to live a normal life. 

You decided to just grit your teeth around his family, pray every time he left the house, and give him a good welcome when he came home.

His location was off. It always was on days like this. You wished you could watch him inch closer on the map. It was easier when you were working. The NICU kept you busy. There was no time to worry. But when you were home it was nothing but worry. The house was always spotless so stress cleaning wasn’t even an option. You meal prepped. You paid bills. You considered moving furniture, but you wanted to consult Andrew first. You looked at LPN programs. You’d always thought of going for it. Andrew was always encouraging you to enroll. He was nothing but supportive of you. 

He was out on a job with his brothers. It had been hours. You were waiting nervously in his t-shirt, as usual. His key spun in the lock, and you met him at the door. He had you pinned up against it before it was shut all the way.

“Why do you bother wearing these?” he hissed, yanking your panties down with one hand and then holding your arms above your head.

“I like the way you take them off,” you said into his mouth. “I guess it went well?”

“Smooth as glass. On your knees,” he ordered.

You obeyed and dropped to the floor. You undid his button fly and dragged his jeans down to the floor with you. He was already hard for you. You sat back on your heels, and took as much of him in your mouth as you could. You choked a bit on his length. You knew he looked down to check on you as he peeled his shirt off. 

“All good,” you slurred with his cock still in your mouth.

Your nails dug into his ass as you pulled his hips toward you. He knew exactly what that meant, and he took your invitation to fuck into your mouth. Andrew let his upper body fall forward bracing himself on his forearms against the door, pushing deep into your throat. You looked up at him wide-eyed. 

“That’s a good girl. You’re taking me so good!” His hand was on the back of your head now. “Your perfect mouth was made for me, wasn’t it?”

Your answer was just sloppy, affirmative moans. 

“Get up here.”

“Already?” You wiped your mouth.

“Can’t wait.”

You jumped up into his arms. He always showered after a job. He felt like it kept you and the home you shared together clean and safe. It was his religion.

Your legs locked around his waist. His hands secured under your ass. Squeals escaped you as his fingers worked their way into your slit. Once in the bathroom he put you down and started the water. 

“Not too hot,” you told him as you tossed your shirt in the corner. “Leave the shower door open?”

“It’s gonna make a mess,” he protested.

“Please?”

“Whatever you say.”

You pulled him into the shower. He turned you around and pressed your chest against the cold tiles. 

“You ready?”

“Please, Andrew!”

“Please what?”

“Please, please fuck me!”

“Good girls get what they want.” He lined up with your pussy and drove himself all the way into you in one thrust. You yelped again. He knew it was pleasure. 

The water made it hard to see or breathe. It made everything more intense. You loved every second of it. You were both always heightened when he came home safely, and you felt him getting closer to finishing. This was his favorite way to come down off the adrenaline high.

“Wait, wait. Stop a sec.” You pushed away from the wall.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“Nothing. Here- pick me up?”

You faced him again. He lifted you smoothly, and held you against the wall. You locked your legs around him again. “Like this?”

“Yes!” He got back to work fucking you. “Oh god! Oh shit, Andrew!”

“That good?”

“Mmm… yes.” Over his shoulder you were watching his back in the mirror. You swore he had muscles that medical school didn’t teach you about. He rippled and flexed in rhythm with his thrusts. Every vein stood out on his arms as his blood pumped for you. 

You clawed at his back feeling the thin scar from the stitches you gave him. You smiled at the tan lines on his legs and arms while tracing the line his shirt collar made. Static creases were beginning to take their places on his beautiful neck. You knew he had been a skinny kid. He built his body on purpose. The work. The weights. The fights. His body was a topographical map of every hard thing he had done. Your mind drifted to the laugh lines and worry lines you intended to give him. An image of him older flooded your vision. Going grey. Crow’s feet. Readers. 

A sharp thrust brought you back to the shower in his arms. 

He knew your angles, and he was hitting all your favorite spots. The specific sound of your breathing always told on you.

“You ready, honey? You ready to come for me?”

“Yes! Yes! I’m so close!”

“Come with me!”

Your cries echoed off the walls. His back continued to bulge as you finished together. His ass. God, his ass. His birthmark peeked out from behind your bare feet.

He held you up and stayed in you as you caught your breath. He always did.

Then he caught you staring. “What are you looking at?” He followed your eyeline to the mirror over his shoulder. “Really? You’re a fucking pervert, you know that?” He slapped your ass as he put you down. “Dirty girl.” ----- It was 3:17am. You had spent your break inside partially because it was raining but mostly because you knew Andrew wouldn’t be there. The boys had been planning a job. He was busy and didn’t want you out in the dark without him.

You sat in the nursery blissfully rocking a baby boy with a shock of red hair. He looked like he could have been Andrew as a baby. He’d finished his bottle a while ago, but it was a quiet night and the floor was still. You sat eyes closed holding his warm little burrito body against you. He was heading home soon. Hopefully tomorrow. You were so proud of every baby that went home to their happy parents. The soft tones of Brahms' Lullaby filled the room. This was one of your favorite sounds in the world. Somewhere in the building a new soul entered the world. 

The floor nurse peeked his head around the corner. “Someone wants you downstairs, hon.”

“I’m super busy right now. Hands full.”

“It’s the ED.”

“Why me?”

“He said to say it’s The Pope…? Do you know The Pope?” he asked with dramatic flourish in his voice. 

You got up quickly and placed the baby in his arms.

“Not ‘The Pope’. Pope. It’s a code. Cover for me?” You didn’t wait for an answer. 

Every step was a prayer as you ran. It was a miracle you didn’t fall as you panicked down four flights. You instinctively flung the side door open to see if you misunderstood and Andrew had brought one of his brothers to your spot. Nothing.

You took off running again. Winding through the fluorescent lit hallways ready to be strong for him. Ready to hold his hand and explain what the doctors were doing to help his brother, whichever one it was. What if it was J? He was so young but so enmeshed in the lifestyle his uncles had built. 

You hit your palms on the nurses station. “Pope? Where?”

A nurse whose name you couldn’t remember told you Trauma 2. You were off again. The squeak of your shoes stinging your ears. 

“Andrew! Andrew! Who…” Your eyes swept across the hall. You counted. They were all there. They stood there across from the door shaking and sprayed with blood. All except Andrew. 

Pope wasn’t a code. Pope was the code. “What the fuck happened? What did you do?”

Deran tried to hold you back from the large glass doors. 

“You can’t keep me out!” He should have. The attending ordered you out immediately. Andrew was pale. “What. The. Fuck. Happened?!” You could have sworn you felt your teeth crack. 

“It was a drive-by,” one of them whispered. “Someone was pissed at us. It was sloppy but… they hit Pope.” You couldn’t even put a face to the voice behind you. “He wanted to come here. He asked for you.” You knew the Codys avoided hospitals. You were grateful they listened to him.

You stared through the doors wishing you had chosen emergency medicine so you could have your hands on him. You scanned the monitors and the faces of your colleagues. No sign of panic, but they’re trained to hide it.

“We’re fucking done with all of you.”

Baz scoffed.

“I am so serious. If anything happens to him, it might not be as flashy as a damned drive-by, but I can promise that you won’t end up here. You’ll be hopeless before anyone notices you’re missing.” You could see his vitals were picking up. The doctors looked less rushed. The nurse hanging more blood mouthed to you that he would be okay. “I love your brother. I can’t help it. I need him. And not for the fucking blood money you animals think I want. We could have stayed in my shit apartment and lived on cereal. I just need him alive. I’m not sorry boys, I need him away from you.” Your voice finally cracked knowing that the time had come. It was you or her. ----- After trauma care and surgery he was in a beige hospital room. He was lucky. The damage was minimal even though he lost a lot of blood. The repair was simple, and his heart was steadily pumping donated blood, including yours, strongly. 

You heard heels click behind you.

“Get out,” Smurf spat from behind you.

“Fat fucking chance,” you replied without looking up. You could hear someone outside the room. You assumed Baz was her watchdog.

“I want to see my baby alone.”

You finally turned to look at her.

“No… Janine.” You decided you were equals. You decided you weren’t afraid. 

“He should be with me. You want too much from him. He should be mine. If he wants to be around you that’s fine as a side dish. But I’m the whole fucking table for these boys– I won’t let that change.”

“You’re that scared? You raised these boys, these men to believe they are nothing without you. You raise them to believe all they had to give was money and blood. What the fuck did you do to them? You think you know them, but all you know is how to control them. You love that fucking power.” You were fighting sobs by now. “All you know is to keep him docile for you. He’s more than just muscle. He’s so beautiful, and all he wants to do is love me. He just wants to know he’s good. He wants someone to love him without a contract.”

“Listen…”

“He is so fucking sedated right now because his fight-or-flight is all fight, and it won’t turn off. We can’t trust him to wake up and not hurt somebody. Because of you. All the shit you made him do. Because you raised him to be a damn sledgehammer. We could have been home by now, but he wakes up in a rage.” You composed yourself with one deep breath. “He’s coming home with me. He’s going to have a choice to make. Janine, he’s not choosing between you and me. You are not my competition. He will be choosing between life and death. Now get the fuck out.”

You heard a sharp exhale from the hall as you turned to look at Andrew again.

Her heels clicked again as she walked to give him a kiss on his cheek. Far too long, and too close to his lips. 

“My baby,” she purred as she rubbed his chest and let her hand drag down his stomach over wires she couldn’t see.

You never called him “baby” again. ----- Andrew hated having to recover. It all felt like weakness. To you, it was a very sweet time. It was just the two of you. You kept his brothers away for as long as you could. Deran texted you every now and then to ask how he was doing, but the conversations were always very short… until he started calling Pope.

Smurf was furious. “We’re your family!” she yelled. He held strong for a long time before they got him to show up for a meeting. They knew exactly how to play him.

He started getting quiet and jumpy. He started disappearing. You couldn’t stomach it.

You called out of your shift to wait for him. He came in at 4am. His knuckles were split. His face was starting to swell. You didn’t bother to ask. You got the first aid kit, and went to work on his hands. “Andrew… no.”

“Ugh, listen…” he interrupted. 

“No. I’m not doing this again. I won’t live through it a second time. I can’t.”

“They’re my family.”

“Are they? You might share some blood, but all they do is use you! They drain you dry! They almost got you killed. You’re the pitbull they keep up chained up until they need you. Enough, Andrew! Don’t forget, you share my blood now too- because of them!” He stood close, glaring down at you. You realized his instinct was taking over. He was automatically trying to intimidate you. It was a habitual path worn deep throughout the years. All fight; no flight. But you could never fear this man. You stood too, tossing the remaining gauze and tape into the sink. “I’m not afraid of you, Pope!” You spit his familial name at him like it was a curse. He knew what it meant from you. His breathing was out of control. He slammed his hand flat into his chest in an attempt to steady his heartbeat. His eyes were glassy. “But I’m not going anywhere, Andrew! You own me. You own me, body and soul. But not if she owns you.” His breathing became louder. Almost wailing. You pressed your hand against his. He instantly tried to kiss you. Like your mouth would put air back in his lungs. He had never been this forceful with your body before. You had to shove with all your might to move him an inch.

“Andrew, no. No. We’re not ignoring this. We’re not medicating this. We’re dealing with it now. Look at me. I’m not leaving you. Look at me…” You put his wrapped hands on your face. “I am not leaving you. I need you to think about everything. I need you to decide for yourself, and then for us…  Where do we go from here? I will not live this life. I want to be with you. I’m yours. But you have to be mine.”

He turned his back to you and headed toward the door.

“Andy?”

He stopped in his tracks. You hardly ever called him that. You used that name, that sound, at your lowest. When the two of you flew out for your dad’s funeral. When your favorite, tiniest patient didn’t get to go home. When you had been in a car accident that was not your fault but the man in the other car was screaming at you like it was. Andy had put him flat on the pavement.

At the lowest points of your last 18 months, you had called to the tenderest part of his heart that no one else knew was there.

“Would you let anyone use me like that?”

His dropped head was the answer.

“What happens to you happens to me now. I… want to marry you. I want to make a family with you.”

You tried to keep talking, but your voice was gone. Lower than a whisper. He walked straight to his truck. No kisses. No shower. No blue dot to follow as he pulled away. ----- Pope spent hours going to banks, apartments, and storage units. He emptied every account, and found every paper. Everything was crammed into two huge duffle bags. He drove his truck on to the Cody property, tossing his phone in the pool as he crossed the patio. Everyone was gathered in the kitchen.

“Pope! Hey!”

“You made it!”

“There he is!” He heard nothing. He stomped over to Smurf dropping the bags at her feet. Cash spilled out. He ripped the bloody gauze from his knuckles and threw it on top. “That’s the last you get from me.” ----- Andrew drove through the night. Your car was hitched to the back of his truck. It held on like you held his hand in a crowd. Both cars were loaded with whatever they could hold. 

You slept on his shoulder between rest stops.

Your best friend from nursing school was a few states away.  You were her maid of honor and the godmother of her oldest boy. Annie didn’t think twice when you called. 

You shared a bottle of wine while Andrew sat on the front steps and searched the windows of every car that passed. You told her everything. Your year and a half together… the gun shot… his mother. She cried. 

“You can stay as long as you need to.” And she meant it. Andrew watched her boys play. He watched her give them praise and kisses. She gave them love and boundaries. It took Annie‘s husband a while to relax around him. He kept asking you if he was really okay. “This is kind of like when people see snow for the first time,” you answered. “This is good for him.”

He walked their dog a couple times a day to get a mental map of the neighborhood. Two weeks later, you felt terrible to be squatting this long, but the universe can be kind.  Annie said that a family from their church was moving for a year to teach in another country. They offered for you to stay in their house in exchange for keeping it up and paying the utilities. Your only question was if you could get a dog. Yes.

Annie got you in at the hospital, and the church hired Andrew to make some repairs even though you didn’t attend services. 

Eventually, you realized this was home. You bought a house with a yard large enough for the dog and a view of the lake. You both wanted to live near water. 

You were careful with many things but careless with others, and soon there were three of you. Andrew cried when you told him. He woke you in the night to tell you he was so happy to be making a family with you but afraid of the kind of father he would be. Afraid he couldn’t bring up a child to be good. “Honey, this baby is made from the part of you that loves me. And that part,” you told him, “is very good.” He worshipped your pregnant body, never letting you drive anywhere and buying everything you craved in bulk. He was the happiest, in all his life, lying under your weight holding your belly while you tried to induce labor. You were uncomfortable and swollen but a goddess to him. Annie is godmother and stood with you at the courthouse when Andrew took your last name. “Cody” was easy to discard. Someone else could pass it on. He painted the house twice because you didn’t like the first color. He insisted the baby be christened in the church that helped you at your lowest and flew Sasha in to surprise you for the occasion. 

He mentors kids in the “Sk8 Club” at the middle school. He’s there at 2:30pm every day because “it keeps them out of trouble.” He lights the birthday candles. He feeds the fish. He makes fresh paper chains for the tree every Christmas.

Every so often a ghost haunts his dreams, and he has to tell you his sins. You offer the only absolution you can: you have only ever known him to be good and so he is. ----- Chapter 3 Next Week! 💕

Songs that set the mood: Can I Stay by Ray LaMontagne Trouble by Ray LaMontagne All The Ways by The Secret Sisters (feat: Ray LaMontagne)

Thank you, @dominowaverly 💕

[aurorawritestoescape]

LET ME TEACH YOU MORE

boyfriend’s dad Joel Miller x fem!reader

Pt 2 of Let Me Teach You ~ can be read alone

Summary: Mr Miller teaches his son how to satisfy you orally.

Tw: +18, mdni, smut, age gap, soft!Joel, Mr Miller being a consent king as always, slight degradation of your bf, cuckolding, competency kink, praise kink, F!ORAL and Joel takes👏his👏time👏, fingering, spitting, tongue-fucking, rimming, squirting, mention of anal, multiple orgasms, mention of m!oral, pussy pronouns, lil bit of hurt/comfort, aftercare, swearing, food consumption. Not adding one tag to keep it a surprise🤫

Word count: 9,4k (srry😬 grab a drink)

A/n: I’ve been blown away by your love for Let me teach you, my sweet freaks🥹 Pt 2 wouldn’t exist if not for you screaming in the comments! Tysm for your kind words!! Special thank you’s and hugs to @priscillamiller88 and @mysterialee for their hot ideas!🙏 Lots of kisses to my baby @milla-frenchy for beta-ing the story and for giving me priceless advice. ILY!!♥️ I worked hard on this filth lol and I hope you all will enjoy it💋 Dividers by me and @/saradika-graphics

Pt 1 - Let Me Teach You || MASTERLIST

‘My boyfriend’s dad was teaching us anal and fucked me so well, now I want more. How do I make it happen??’

You won’t find a story like this on Reddit. And hell, you almost posted it yourself, looking for advice. Yes, you’re that desperate.

After Mr Miller showed Jack how to make anal pleasurable for you, all your thoughts are about the older man. His hands caressing your body, his lips on your tight butthole, his tongue breaching your ring and gently licking in, his cock slowly sinking into your virginal ass, at the same time dissolving the boundaries of what’s appropriate between your boyfriend’s dad and you. How can you be ok with that unforgettable experience staying a one time thing when Joel looks, smells, fucks like that? You’re obsessed and want more but, to your chagrin, Mr Miller has been acting like nothing happened.

“Night, sweetheart” — that was the only thing he told you the next time you saw each other after the ‘lesson’. He came home from work, went up to his bedroom and that was it.

‘How’s your ass?’ Can you walk alright? Want me to fuck you again?’ None of that. Did that night mean nothing to him? Is there even a tiny part of him (or a big part like his cock) that wants to touch you, feel you, penetrate you again? Your heart tightens with frustration and hurt every time he does not do any of those things. You are devastated and horny.

Jack on the other hand is fine. He didn’t dump you. More than that, he seems even happier. He finally got what he wanted — your lovely ass. You were surprised to see that he had really been listening to Mr Miller and when you two finally had anal, he was careful and considerate. He asked you questions, noticed the slightest tension in your body and paused when you needed it.

With your butt up in the air, Jack slowly taking you from behind in your ‘most vulnerable place’ (his dad’s words), you close your eyes and imagine Mr Miller fucking you instead. Joel’s cock is thicker and longer than Jack’s, his hands bigger, his presence more dominant but you have a powerful imagination and with the help of a magic combo - your memories of that night and your fingers on your clit you come easily and with a loud cry. You don’t hide your noises in the softness of the pillow, you hope Mr Miller hears you and feels jealous.

A few weeks have passed and Joel treats you the same way - he’s polite, sweet but distant. You keep pining and picturing him while being in bed with his son. A dick is a dick after all. Besides, what if you dump Jack? You have a terrifying feeling that you’ll never see Mr Miller again. After that amazing night when he busted deep into your ass he didn’t sweep you off your feet, his truck didn’t drive you away into the sunset. He didn’t even bend you over a bathroom sink during a clandestine rendezvous. No, he stayed your boyfriend’s dad. Who fucked your ass that one time.

That lesson won’t be the last! you promise yourself, half listening to Jack gushing about a new game he’s been playing. You have to be clever and work out a plan on how to get into Mr Miller’s pants. And Jack will have to help you.

You roll onto your back and bat your lashes at your boyfriend. You two have just had anal which Jack loves more than anything now so his eyes are hazy, a smile plastered on his flushed face. It looks like he was in heaven just a second ago so while he’s completely ass-drunk, you decide to act.

Jack plops on the bed by your side, breathing heavily, still grinning. You cuddle up to him, place your head on his shoulder and give him a few moments to catch his breath. Then you kiss his neck and purr,

“Honey, remember how your dad… you know.. taught us this?”

Jack’s whole body tenses up.

“How could I forget?” He deadpans.

“Yeah it was …a lot,” you giggle, gliding your palm over his hairless chess. “Crazy night. But he gave us awesome advice, right? And now we both love anal.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, a dopey smile spreading on his face again.

“So I was wondering.. maybe he can help us with something else?”

“Baby..,” Jack’s voice rumbles as he’s sitting up, making you slide off him. He rests his back against the headboard and you sit up, too, your naked tits on full display. For a stronger effect. Jack immediately fixates on them, his eyes darting between your nipples while you pout and say,

“You wanted anal, right? And look how happy it makes you now. I want something, too.”

“What’s that?” He asks your tits.

You bite your lip and squeeze your boobs between your arms, fast-freezing his brain.

“I want your dad to teach you how to eat me.”

A few long moments pass. Then Jack flinches and his gaze slowly travels up to your face. His brows furrow.

“You always said you didn’t like oral.”

You don’t reply, just stare at your boyfriend, letting him get there by himself. It takes him no less than ten seconds.

“Ohhhh,” he exhales, “so I suck at it?”

You scoot closer to him, rushing to reassure him before his fragile ego shutters into a million pieces.

“Nooo, you are not, you’re good! it’s a me-problem. But also… maybe you can do something differently.” NOT SUCK AT SUCKING PUSSY, you think but say the following,

“Maybe Jo— your dad could help us with it.”

Jack crosses his arms and stares in front of himself, side-eying you from time to time.

“You really want my dad to eat you?”

I want your dad to ruin all my holes and drown me in his cum!!!! You want to say but instead shrug nonchalantly.

“Just want our sex life to be perfect.”

Jack pushes out his lower lip, his chest rising and falling quickly. You know him well enough to realize that in a second he’s going to say ‘no’.

Before your boyfriend opens his mouth, you square your shoulders and glare at him. The softness in your voice is gone, replaced by threatening defiance.

“If you say ‘no’, Jack, you will never fuck my ass again.”

Yeah, you blackmailed your boyfriend into letting his dad eat you out, so what? What’s important is that your threat worked and now the three of you are sitting at the kitchen table in the Millers’ house, having dinner all together like a one happy fucked up family.

“Mr Miller,” you start timidly, watching the older man devour his burger. It’s a takeout from his favorite place. You can’t cook for shit but your mom always says that ‘a way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ and you hope that the food you bought for him will facilitate the conversation.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Joel asks between bites. The way his jaws are working while he’s chewing makes you all hot and bothered. As well as his broad muscular shoulders straining a black home t-shirt. Your panties are already wet.

Jack isn’t looking at any of you, tense and quiet, he’s staring at his burger like it owes him money.

“Jack and I were wondering…,” you start. “You helped us so much last time.”

Joel glances up at you and hums, not pausing the chewing, so you continue.

“And we thought.. ehm… maybe you can help us again?”

Mr Miller quickly gulps down his bite and glares at his son,

“Goddamnit, Jack! You still can’t hit it properly? I explained everything in detail!”

“Nonono!” You shake your head, palms raised, quickly reassuring the man before Jack opens his mouth and starts arguing. “In anal department… all good. Thank you again.”

Joel’s face and tone softens when he looks at you. “You sure, baby? He treats you well?”

“Yes,” you smile, melting under his warm eyes. “He does and I love everything except…”

Jack shifts in his chair, chewing the inside of his cheek. Joel places his burger on the plate to give you his full attention but only after sucking the sauce off his thumb and making your mind short circuit for a few moments. You finally compose yourself and say carefully,

“There's something else I’d like Jack to learn.”

“What’s that? How to find a well-paid job?” Joel barks a laugh and you giggle.

“That would be nice.” Your smile falls as soon as Jack throws you a glare.

“No.” You drop your eyes for a moment and take a deep breath. Embarrassment and fear grips you. What if he laughs at you? What if he says no? Oh to hell with it! You want Mr Miller’s mouth on you too much to chicken out now.

“I have trouble.. reaching the … the.. destination,” you widen your eyes, hoping Joel will understand what you mean. “When Jack ehm…when he orally... you know ..”

Your boyfriend’s dad leans forward, placing his meaty forearms on the table, and searches for your eyes.

“You can’t come when he eats you out?”

Your cheeks and neck burn as you nod, your heart racing in your chest.

Mr Miller nods with understanding, not a glint of surprise in his expression.

“I see. So you two need my help?”

Jack freezes, burning a hole with his eyes in the burger. You sigh,

“Yes. I.. we would really appreciate it. Unless—,” you hurry to add, “you don’t want to. I know some men don’t like going down on a woman.”

“Yeah, those men are called losers,” Joel adds with a chuckle and looks at Jack. His eyes narrow as he asks his son,

“You ok with it?”

You stop breathing.

If Jack ruins this for you…?! Your boyfriend is staring at his dad, probably surprised that someone asked his opinion. Before he ruins your plan you raise your brow and use all of your telepathic powers to remind him — ‘No ass for you if you fuck it up!’ Jack blinks at you for a few seconds and then mumbles,

“Yeah, totally.”

You quietly let out a sigh of relief and look at Mr Miller.

“Ok. I’ll help, son, don’t worry.”

“I don’t worry about shit,” Jack grumbles but you don’t hear him. Joy is filling your heart, your pussy throbs.

“Whenever you have time, Mr Miller. No rush,” you chirp, barely containing your excitement.

“Let me finish this delicious burger and I’m all yours, sweetie,” Joel says with a smile and takes a big bite.

For the first time in your life you’re in Mr Miller’s bedroom. He insisted on delivering the lesson in his bed this time, claiming that Jack’s was too small and creaky. You didn’t protest. Everything in this room smells and feels like ‘a man’. Strong and reliable. It’s clean and modestly furnished. No lying around socks and shorts like in Jack’s room, no neon lights that make your head ache, only natural wood, golden lighting and quiet colours. The place is decorated with Mr Miller’s carvings, standing on the shelves and the desk. Their craftsmanship fills your heart with warmth.

Sitting on Joel’s sturdy bed, your back against the headboard, you wonder if it would be hard to make it shake. You’d happily take on the challenge.

“It’s so comfy, Mr Miller!” You gush, bouncing a little on the soft mattress.

“A field that has rested gives a bountiful crop, right?” Joel says, smiling proudly, hands on the hips. “Bed is the most important thing in a house.” He tells you that he’s made the frame himself and this fact makes butterflies swirl in your belly.

Joel sits down on the bed facing you and the mattress dips under his heavy weight.

“Jack!!!” He shouts and you glare at the door, wondering what's taking your boyfriend so long. You realize what when you hear wheels rolling on the wooden floor. Jack appears in the doorway, pushing his gaming chair in front of him.

“Jesus. I have a stool right here, son.” Joel nods at one in the corner. He probably made it, too, you think, creaming your panties.

“Ain’t gonna sit on your stupid stool,” Jack grumbles, stopping at the foot of the bed, and takes his cuck throne.

“You won’t see shit from there. Roll over here.” Joel points his finger at the place on the opposite side of the bed and Jack begrudgingly does what his father told him.

Ugh! Can you better roll the fuck away from here? you think, glaring at your annoying boyfriend, and then smile at Joel when he turns to you.

“Ready to start, darlin’?”

You melt from this new pet name and croak ‘yes’. You should feel more confident than the first time but nerves start churning your stomach. What if Jack ruins it? What if Mr Miller decides it’s too much? With panicky thoughts flooding your mind you sit up and start unzipping your jean shorts.

“Woah, not so fast, baby,” Joel gently stops you with his hand on yours and you drop your arms at the sides, blinking at him. Your smile fades away. He doesn’t want you naked?

“Sorry, Mr Miller,” you mumble, closing the zipper, your eyes downcast. Joel pinches your chin and makes you look at him.

“It’s ok, sweetie. We’ll get there. I just need you to wait a little.”

You breathe out an ‘ok’, getting lost in his chocolatey eyes. Your core is simmering, pussy aching for the man in front of you. A good girlfriend in you hopes that Jack won’t notice what his father’s doing to your body and heart but a needy slut in you doesn’t give a flying fuck.

Mr Miller looks at Jack and you take a deep breath, grateful for a respite from his hot stare.

"Speakin' of anal, what's the most important thing, son?"

"Consent."

"Yes and..?"

"Prep."

"Good. Very good." Joel nods and Jack's chest expands. Is it a smile you see on your boyfriend's face? Pfff. Someone's happy to receive daddy’s praise.

"Now what about oral?" Joel continues.

Your boyfriend rubs his neck.

"Mmm.. don't know.. tongue?"

"Yeah, can't do without," Joel chuckles. "But in my experience...," he turns to you, "— it's anticipation."

His intent gaze warms up your skin, his raspy voice seeps into the deepest parts of you, as he speaks, "When you two are out and about— bar, movies, Trader Joe's, wherever, do this."

Mr Miller sits closer to you and leans in. His hot breath licks at your ear, his scent, masculine and enticing, makes your head spin, but what turns you into a puddle is his soft words,

"Can't wait to have you to myself tonight and taste your little pussy."

Your lips part, you take a sharp breath, liquid fire floods your lower belly as blood rushes to your core.

Mr Miller pulls back a little and tilts his head to observe your face.

"See?" He says to Jack while his gaze is on you.

"Her breathing quickens, her eyes get hazy. She's gonna be thinkin' about it all day. Picturin' you eatin' her out over and over."

You're trying to control your expression, your burning up body, your tingling center but Joel's effect on you is undeniable. You're nothing but a horny mess right now.

"Why not start the foreplay hours before, right?" the older man glances at his son. "Don't yap on and on about it, of course, it'll get annoyin' but one more phrase s'fine.. something like..." Mr Miller lifts his big hand to your face, gently cups your cheek and says, "Wanna feel you drip on my tongue so damn much."

Fuck! Good thing you're sitting because your knees would definitely buckle and you'd collapse on the floor right this second. His voice, both velvet and gruff, and the things he's saying with that voice are affecting you in a way you've never experienced before. You could come just listening to his dirty talk, breathing in his heady scent, sensing the heat of his huge body crushing against your skin like a powerful wave.

Joel's next question, quiet, only for your ears, might as well be a headshot.

"Is it workin'? You gettin' wet, sweetheart?"

"Yeah," you rasp and clear your throat.

"Good," Joel reacts with a warm smile. "Now could you take your shorts off for me and lie down? Let's start."

It feels like a wet dream — Mr Miller and your boyfriend sitting fully clothed in the room with you, while your shorts are on the floor, only lacy panties and a crop top covering your trembling body. You’re already shaking like a leaf with anticipation and need, Mr Miller’s words ringing in your ears - ‘Wanna feel you drip on my tongue.’ Fuckkkkkkkk

“S’ok if I position you how I want?” Joel asks you softly and you nod, hiding your shaky voice.

With gentle hands the older man bends your legs and places your feet on the bed quilt, spreading them but not too much. You feel like a fuck doll in his big skilful hands, small and powerless. It makes your core pucker.

Joel’s palm playfully squeezes your knee as he asks Jack,

“She tells you what to do when you go down on ‘er?”

“Mm, no.”

“Why don’t you guide him, sweetie?”

Both of them are looking at you so you press your thighs together and mumble, fumbling with the hem of your top,

“I— don’t wanna be rude I guess? And also… I don’t really know what I like.”

Joel shakes his head.

“Nothin’ rude about it, baby. It’s your pleasure. It’s important. And how come you don’t know? Never had it done well?”

“Not really,” you admit, glancing up at Joel.

“What the fuck?!” Jack jumps up in his chair, gripping the armrests. “What about that time on Christmas Eve? You were moaning and stuff. You came.”

You squirm on the bed, your back getting sweaty.

“Yeah… it was good.”

“Good?!” Jack squeals. “Clearly more than just good!”

“Hey! Shut it!” Joel gruffs and points his thick index finger at his son. “Don’t you dare raise your voice at ‘er! You need to be listenin’ and learnin’!”

Secretly taking pleasure in the way Mr Miller is scolding Jack, you avoid your boyfriend’s glare and focus on a sexy vein that’s bulging on Joel’s neck.

The older man turns to you and asks softly, his head cocked to the side,

“You faked it, sweetie?”

You sigh and nod.

“Fucking hell,” Jack curses and throws his arms. Joel flashes him another fiery glare before taking your hand in his. He’s all warmth and care when he addresses you.

“Thank you for openin’ up, darlin’. Promise me you’ll never ever fake it again, not with me, not with anyone else. Your enjoyment is worth more than any man’s ego. Demand it.”

Your heart skips a beat and then proceeds making somersaults in your belly while Joel talks.

“Today I need you to be honest with me, to show me how it really feels. Can you do that for me.. for us, baby?”

“I’ll try.” You’re melting from Joel’s huge hand wrapped around yours, his kind eyes looking at you like you’re the most precious person in the universe.

“Good girl.” Mr Miller gives you a warm smile and licks his lower lip. You’d do anything to lick it too but Jack’s right here and you have to be in control of your desires.

Of course you fail immediately as Joel’s next words set your whole body on fire.

“Is it ok if I touch your pussy over the panties now. As a little warm up.”

You can’t reply fast enough.

“Yes, Mr Miller.”

You glance at Jack who’s blinking quickly at his dad like a dummy. Joel doesn’t give him any attention and instead reaches for the apex of your thighs. You open them wider to accommodate his wide palm which soon covers your clothed center. The heat of Joel’s skin seeps through the thin lace and your pussy starts purring like a cat in the sun. Mr Miller’s hand is pleasantly heavy and you buck your hips, meeting his touch, hungry for more pressure.

The older man lets out a little laugh.

“So eager. She always this impatient?” He asks Jack, not looking at him, and your boyfriend just hums. You desperately need him to keep his mouth shut so you could forget that he’s in the room. You want to drown in Mr Miller’s caress.

“Don’t give it to her right away. Play with her,” Joel teaches his son while his fingers petting your pussy lips, still over your underwear. You clasp the quilt with your fists and clench your teeth, keeping yourself from grabbing Mr Miller’s arm and grinding against it like a dog in heat.

“Light touches for now.” While Joel’s teasing you, you’re mesmerized by his veiny hand massaging your cunt. He’s just started and you’re already a hot mess.

As always attentive to every twitch of your body, every expression on your face, Joel smirks,

“I reckon I can make you come like this, huh? Would you like that, darlin’?”

You open your mouth to agree but Jack interrupts you.

“Why? Thought we were learning oral.”

What the fuck is your problem?! you scream in your head, boring a hole in your boyfriend’s face, but don’t dare argue with him. What if he storms out and disrupts ‘the lesson’?

Thankfully Mr Miller handles him. He turns to his son and replies, annoyance thick in his tone as if he’s explaining what two plus two is.

“Look at ‘er. She’s trembling thanks to your tantrum, her nerves so on edge she’ll come the moment I lick ‘er. And where’s a challenge in that? Where’s the lesson? So sit tight, grab a damn drink if you want and let me do what I need.”

Jack scoffs and his dad turns to you.

“What do you say, sweetheart? Want a release?”

“Yeah, it’d be nice,” you mutter, trying to sound normal and not feral and horny. Joel smiles and starts rubbing your clit over the panties with a pad of his thumb. His voice seems distant now, his caresses bringing you on cloud nine.

“Don’t get how eatin’ this one can be a problem, son. She came hard for me last time. And that was anal which ain’t a walk in the park for no one. Lookit, she’s drippin’. So receptive to my touch.”

He’s right. Your pussy is a waterfall under Joel’s praise and caress, the lace under his finger glistening with your slick. The man hums approvingly at the wetness, coating his skin.

Jack clears his throat, reminding you that he’s still in the room, and says louder than usual so you’d hear him through the fog in your mind,

“Maybe she can’t come ‘cause she gets too much in her head? She said so herself. Not my fault.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Joel retorts. “Who’s doin’ the eatin’? Fuckin’ Pope? If she can’t come, it’s on you. If she’s in her head, it’s on you.”

Mr Miller’s telling his son off while his fingers are stimulating your lace-covered clit, his free hand on your knee. With your mouth slack, your eyes hazy, you're watching him bring you to your first orgasm of the night.

“Don’t let her think, make her feel,” the older man continues, calmer now. “Tell ‘er how beautiful she is, how pretty her pussy is.”

He looks at you now with his gaze bursting with adoration. “Your pussy is just so pretty, baby.”

You smile at each other and like that, drowning in his beautiful dark eyes, you come for the first time tonight, whimpering and writhing on Mr Miller’s bed while he keeps kneading your pussy with his hand, giving you more ecstasy.

“See?” Mr Miller says to Jack through heavy breathing. “Didn’t even take her panties off.”

“Congrats,” your boyfriend grunts but you don’t hear any of them. You’re panting, heart eyes set on Joel, a drunk smile on your face, forever a fan of the shuddering orgasms your boyfriend’s dad gives you.

“Get ‘er some water,” Joel tells his son who begrudgingly gets up and drags his feet out of the room.

While he’s away Mr Miller assesses your state, his eyes intent, his thumb rubbing your kneecap. When your breathing returns to normal he says softly,

“I usually get on the floor but my left knee’s givin’ me grief this week. S’ok if I lie down on the bed, sweetheart?”

“Sure, Mr Miller,” you say quietly, hiding jealousy in your answer after hearing that ‘usually’. Your heart pangs, wishing you were the only one he tastes.

Joel carefully settles between your legs, glancing up at you as if you were an easily spooked little animal. Probably because of your widened eyes — before asking him at the back of your mind you couldn’t believe that your boyfriend’s dad would really agree to another lesson.

You chew on your lower lip, watching him get comfortable. The bed is big but he still has to hang his legs over the edge. The sight of Mr Miller’s broad shoulders spreading your thighs, his ass hugged by the grey sweatpants, his handsome face hovering over your pussy makes you gush so generously, you’re wondering if you’re leaking out of your panties.

“Make sure she’s comfortable,” Joel says to Jack after he returns and you quickly down a glass of water. The older man’s gaze slowly crawls over your body, from your clothed center to your face. As your eyes lock, the spark you felt in Jack’s room between Mr Miller and you ignites brighter.

“All good, darlin’?” His voice is low as if there’s only you and him in the room. Ughh, you wish.

“Yes, Mr Miller.”

Then he addresses Jack.

“You should be comfortable, too. Eatin’ takes time. You shouldn’t rush, just like with anal, but the reason is different.”

Joel’s staring at his son, his head hovering over your heat, his hands absentmindedly gliding over your spread thighs.

Jack fights it for a few moments but when you make big eyes at him he caves in,

“What reason, dad?”

Joel smiles and leans his scruffy cheek against your inner thigh, sending chills through your whole body. “You love blow jobs, yes, Jack?”

Your brows shoot up; you don’t often hear a father ask his son this question. You try to suppress a giggle seeing your boyfriend’s jaw drop.

“Right?” Joel pushes and his son hums in agreement.

Joel’s eyes find yours and he gently rubs your thigh with his stubble, “Bet you do. Her beautiful lips wrapped around your cock, her eyes teary with how big you’re. She’s moanin’ and suckin’ you off. She moans for you. To let you know how good she’s feelin’, how much she’s enjoyin’ your cock. So do the same. Moan for her. Show her how delicious her little pussy is. It’ll drive her crazy.”

While he’s talking, your mind is drawing these images he’s putting in your head, but it’s not Jack’s cock you’re picturing, it’s his father’s. Thick and long, oozing precum for you to lick off, his heavy balls tickling your chin, then resting on your tongue. Ahhhhhh, how much you want to give him head!!

“Can I kiss ‘er?” Joel’s question makes you wake up and flinch. You look at him quizzically.

“Your pussy, sweetheart. Can I give her some kisses?”

Oh! You start bobbing your head like a Funko pop toy.

A gasp falls from your lips when Mr Miller leans down and presses his plush lips to your soaked panties. With your mouth agape you’re watching your boyfriend’s dad pepper kisses over your lace-clad pussy, your oversensitive clit, sending electricity to your core.

“Mr..Millerrrrr,” you mewl and moan when Joel darts his tongue out and licks you over the fabric.

“Hmm?” He doesn’t stop, his eyes closed, his lashes flickering over his rosy cheekbones, his lips moving with determination.

You stutter, “Shhh— should I take my panties off?”

“Jus’ a second.” The older man peers up at you, a mischievous glint flashing in his blown out eyes, and sucks in your wetness through your panties. Shittttttt

He smacks his lips savoring the taste of you and groaning as you’re shaking under his big hands and hot mouth, desperately wanting your underwear gone. You need his tongue on your unclothed bare naked pussy NOW!! or you’ll die, so you break into pleading,

“Mr Miller, please, let me take my panties off. I want… we need Jack to see better, yeah?”

Joel stops and lifts his head.

“Right.” His face is serious as if he really bought your bullshit argument but then he winks at you.

Joel hooks his thumbs under your panties and you, thanking all the gods, lift your hips so he could slowly, too fucking slowly, guide them over your ass. He slides the wet garment down your legs, takes them off and lovingly puts them on the bed by your naked butt.

“Now may I help you… so Jack could see everything, yes, darlin’?”

You nod with a smile and Joel glides his calloused palms over your inner thighs, spreading your legs as wide as they would go. Your bent leg is resting on the bed now, and he helps you to put the other one on his broad shoulder. Your pussy blooms for him, cold air licks at your exposed wet clit and leaking hole. You shiver as both men are staring at your pussy — Mr Miller’s gaze full of hunger, Jack’s — full of terror.

“I can’t believe I agreed to this. Again,” your boyfriend mumbles and your heart stops for a second. What if Mr Miller pities his son and takes a u-turn away from your needy pussy?

To your immense relief, Joel rolls his eyes at his son.

“Your woman wants you to learn, Jack. Don’t be a sourpuss and watch how to treat this pussy right. Do you have a good view?” He adds, glancing at the younger man.

You can hear Jack grinding his teeth, see him gripping the armrests of his gaming chair, but the access to your ass is on the line for him so he swallows his complaints and grumbles,

“The best.”

Mr Miller nods and his eyes return to your pussy, served to him nice and hot. Or rather wet and throbbing. He groans at the sight.

A part of you wants to cover your pathetically needy cunt but it’s a tiny and silly part. You can easily ignore it while the rest of you is screaming for an opportunity to be eye-fucked like this.

“Beautiful,” Mr Miller says to your cunt and lifts his eyes to show you his sincerity. “May I touch her, sweetie?”

‘Of course’ falls from your lips the next second. Joel doesn’t make you wait. One of his hands slithers from your inner thigh to your center. He makes a V with his middle and index finger and rubs your puffy labia. He takes a sharp breath while you’re panting like a dog.

“Oh, baby,” Joel coos, his puppy eyes trained on your pussy, his fingers moving up and down, making your engorged lips stretch. “Look how swollen and wet she is. Been playin’ with you for too long?”

You hastily shake your head, hating to worry him. “No, Mr Miller. I’m just … too excited.”

The man’s face lights up, wrinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes.

“Would hate to hurt you, darlin’. I get carried away sometimes. I’ll kiss it better.”

Quick on his promise, Joel leans down and plants an open mouth kiss to your naked pussy lip and then the other.

Fuck.

Me.

Senseless.

Your hole is clenching like crazy, your breathing hitches, your mind short circuits. You grip the bed quilt so hard you’re afraid you’ll rip holes in it. Unaware of your devastation Mr Miller talks to Jack in between kisses.

“Be gentle and take it slow.” Kiss. “She senses it..-“ Kiss. “-when you do it just to get..” Kiss. “— head in return.” Kiss.

He parts from you and cocks his head, observing your cunt like it’s a piece of art while licking your slick off his lips.

“I never understood men like that. I can spend hours here.”

Yes, pleaseeee! Your pussy screams and your core is aflame while Mr Miller’s looking at your heat with a loving gaze.

You’re beaming at Joel who gives you another kiss but when you accidentally glance at Jack, your smile falls. He’s boring his narrowed eyes at you. Will he ever get over it?? If he were a sex god like his dad you wouldn’t be here now! Though you don’t regret anything. You’re definitely where you want to be.

Meanwhile Joel’s lips travel away from your needy pussy and he begins kissing your inner thighs, nibbling on your skin there slightly, tickling you with his facial hair until you giggle.

“Her laugh is so damn cute,” he mutters to Jack who doesn’t seem in the mood to coo at you right now.

“Can we get to the point?”

Joel parts from your thighs and lets out a deep sigh.

He talks with a calm yet disappointing tone as if practicing gentle parenting with a naughty toddler.

“S’exactly what I was talkin’ about. You rush it and she fears that you don’t like it. She starts overthinkin’ and can’t come. And you’re still sure it’s not your fault?”

Jack opens his mouth but finds zero argument in his defence and shuts up.

You buck your hips with a smirk, waiting for Mr Miller to continue the lesson.

And he does. He kisses your thighs again and soon his plush lips return to your pussy. He lightly squeezes your thighs with his big hands and asks you,

“Do you mind if I lick your little hole now?”

You almost choke on your drool before speaking, “You can do whatever you want, Mr Miller. Seriously. I trust you.”

Your voice is so wanton it’s almost obscene how little fucks you give that your boyfriend is sitting an arm length away from you while his dad is about to stick his tongue up your pussy.

“S’nice to hear,” Joel says, flashing you a charming smile. “Thank you, baby.”

He brings his hands to your cunt and, using his thumbs, carefully parts your folds revealing your puffy clit and crying hole.

“Holy hell look at this, Jack,” he groans. One of the perks of makin’ her come before eatin’ is now I get to have more.”

Joel runs his thumb over your entrance that’s generously leaking clear juices.

“See?” He lifts his hand and shows Jack his glistening finger. Before your slick runs down and lands on the bed Joel quickly pops the digit into his mouth and hums, sucking on it.

“Delicious,” he winks at you and you might as well die of lust.

“Can I have it all, sweetie? I promise to be gentle.”

“Please.”

You whimper when Mr Miller sticks his wide tongue out, and keeping you folds spread with his thumbs, licks a fat stripe over your clenching hole.

“She’s so soft here. Like a flower. Remember to be careful.”

Joel’s voice is strained and you wonder how hard he’s in his sweatpants. He’s lying on his cock and you hate for him to be hurting. Maybe you can offer him to pull his dick out? It’ll probably be more comfortable. But then your eyes dart to Jack who watches his father lick his girlfriend’s pussy, his hand clasped over his mouth. The scene is obviously too much for him already so his dad’s naked boner would definitely make it worse.

Joel is slurping up all the wetness he can gather, groaning loudly, his hot mouth wide open. You throw your head back in pleasure as he keeps licking you. Lap lap lap. Slurp slurp slurp.

He cleans up your folds thoroughly, visibly enjoying the process. The sounds he’s making, his mouth kissing you, his tongue dancing over your lips but barely brushing your clit is enough for you to come but he drags your pleasure out and touches your bundle of nerves only in passing.

You don’t know how much he spends licking and kissing your folds and entrance like that but you’d hate him to stop. You’re moaning and whimpering, dancing on the precipice of ecstasy with every swipe of his tongue.

“When she’s close,” Joel says to your boyfriend through the fog in your turned-on mind, “you can tongue-fuck her hole. If she wants, of course. Do you, baby? May I lick inside you?”

You lift your head and give him a drunk sounding ‘yeah’. Joel chuckles.

“Yes, I figured you’d want it. You enjoyed it when I rimmed your asshole, didn’t you?”

A needy moan is the only response you can give.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I know you love gettin’ your holes filled with tongue.” Joel’s dark gaze is full of lust as he winks at you.

“You’re so good at it,” you gush at him, bringing a proud smile to his face.

“‘S because you’re sweet all over.”

You smile at Mr Miller and your lips part with a gasp when he brushes your tight butthole with his thumb. Your muscles tense up, the extra stimulation sending you into a frenzy.

“Don’t worry, baby. Your ass is safe today,” he chuckles. “Gonna focus on this delicious pussy,” he coos, kissing your mound.

You nod but your body craves Joel in your every hole now. You’d give your butt to him any day.

“Bend your legs and hold them under your knees for me, will you? Yeah like that,” He says softly and you press your knees to your chest, exposing both your holes to your boyfriend and his dad, just like you did during the previous ‘lesson’.

Mr Miller's face inches from your asshole, he groans and glances up at you.

“Maybe jus’ a kiss?”

You nod, aroused to the maximum. Joel places his big hands under your asscheeks and lifts your hips, bringing your butt closer. He leans down and leaves a soft wet kiss on your butthole that clenches gingerly at the touch of her first man.

Mr Miller parts from your crack, breathing heavily, the act is doing something wild to him, and without asking he goes for another kiss, a third, a fourth, his fingers digging into your ass. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your whimpers fill the room as your boyfriend’s dad is making out with your asshole.

“This ain’t her pussy,” Jack spits, stopping Mr Miller, who parts from your tight ring, looking drunk.

“Yeah, sorry, son. Got carried away,” the older man croaks and you wish Jack bit his tongue off and swallowed it. Fucker!

Joel adjusts his poor boner squished against the bed and then asks Jack.

“You know where her g-spot is?”

“Yeah.”

Jack answers so fast and sounds so sure you want to laugh in his face. He wouldn’t find it with a damn flashlight but look at him, lying to his dad like that. Joel clocks the disbelief on your face.

“Just to be sure..,” he says after giving you a wink. “It's a couple inches from the hole, you don’t need to go far and you might reach it with your fingers or even your tongue.”

Jack doesn’t say anything so Joel spreads your pussy lips again.

“Gonna push my tongue inside you now.” You breathe out an uh-huh and Joel turns to Jack.

“If you’ve done a good job, you won’t need to open her up, her hole will swallow your tongue or fingers right up.”

‘My hole can swallow you to the elbow’, you think, staring at the hot older man. Joel darts his wide tongue out and slowly pushes it into your entrance. Your pussy hungrily sucks it in, desperate to be filled, and Joel moans, when your walls clench around his hot muscle.

He flutters his eyes shut in pleasure and begins tongue-fucking you. Your juices are flowing right into his mouth, your loud moans are mixing with his like a depraved symphony, interrupted by annoying huffing and puffing of your jealous boyfriend. To hell with him! You’re in heaven!

“Look at this waterfall,” Joel pants, parting from your pussy to watch your hole clench and cry for him.

“Yeah, hope she won’t get dehydrated,” Jack grunts, side-eyeing your cunt that has never been that wet for him.

Joel ignores his son’s displeasure.

“Tongue fucking is fun but we also need to give attention to this little jewel here.” He places his thumb on your mound and lifts the hood, making your clit pop.

“This cute button is a powerhouse of her pleasure.” Joel grazes it with his thumb, drawing a whine out of you. “Make it your best friend and she’ll be the happiest girl.”

Joel’s talking to his son but his obsidian eyes are on yours.

“Now I’m gonna kiss ‘er clit. Gently, with a little suction. I won't stop until it’s big and throbbin’. Until she begs me to make her come.”

He lightly pinches your bud with his thumb and index finger and you mewl.

“Will you be a good girl and beg for it?” he smirks.

You have no idea how your mushy brain can produce a naughty answer but it does.

“We’ll see.”

Joel cocks his brow and his face darkens. You’ve been such a good student for him but the fire in his eyes tells you he’s enjoying the brat in you as well.

He smirks at you and without a heads up spits right on your clit.

“Ahhhh,” a pathetic whine escapes your lips, your eyes widen, your core aches so much it hurts, Jack curses under his breath.

“Oh we’ll see,” Joel smiles, enjoying your reaction. His warm saliva trickles down to your clenching hole that immediately swallows it up.

“Make it wet,” Joel says to Jack and, staring right at you, spits on your bud again. It hits you so perfectly you almost come.

Your hand cups your clothed tit and you begin kneading it, absentmindedly, your eyes locked with Joel’s.

“Pull your shirt up, sweetie. Play with them,” he says softly, staring at your breasts. “No need to be shy.”

You glance at Jack and lift your top over your chest, exposing your hardened nipples.

“Yeah, like that.” Joel’s blown out eyes are focused on your tits now, he’s licking his lips. “Now can I ask you for a favor, darlin’?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Twitch your nipples with one hand and the other… give it to me.”

You do what he says and his warm hand wraps around yours. He brings it to your pussy and shows what to do.

“Keep her open like this for me, please… need your clit ready for my mouth.”

You press your fingers to your pussy and pull up, exposing your clit. It twitches in anticipation.

“Yeahhh, baby, perfect.”

Joel kisses your throbbing clit, applying suction to it, his lips so soft, caresses so gentle you buck your hips, searching for more pressure, for harder stimulation. Joel tuts,

“Needy little thing.”

He glides his palms over your thighs and smooches your clit again, laps at it, sucks it between his plush lips, slurping loudly.

“Show ‘er…,” he begrudgingly parts from your pussy to teach Jack. “Show how much you love eatin’ ‘er.” He growls and the vibrations he’s created radiate through your core, all over your body.

“Swirl your tongue over her clit, like this.”

He sticks his tongue out and draws tight circles around your bud, making your whine.

Shittttttt!!

“Or flick it left and right— like this.” He shows how to do it. “Or jus’ lick it like the most delicious ice cream.” Mr Miller starts lapping at your clit, he laps and laps, dragging his wet hot tongue over your most sensitive spot and your thighs start shaking, tears appear on your lashes, that’s how amazing he’s making you feel.

Ahhhhhhh!

“Hurts?” Joel pants, lifting his head, his gaze concerned, and you choke on your words, watching him through your watery eyes.

“No-no— keep going— so good.”

Joel smiles and turns to Jack.

“She’s close. Let’s bring it home.”

You don’t look at Jack, don’t hear him, by now he’s blurred into the background. The only man you see is Joel, splayed on the bed, hair disheveled, his beard, moustache and lips soaked with your juices, his hands gripping your shaky thighs, helping to keep you open for him. He looks drunk on your pussy.

“Mr Miller,” you say, barely recognising your own needy voice. “Can I— may I —- ahh—put my hand — in your hair.”

Joel flashes you a smile and croaks,

“‘Course, sweetheart. Tug if I’m doin’ a good job, ok?”

You cry out when your boyfriend’s dad pushes his long fat tongue into your hole. Deep. He curves it and licks over your soft spot, injecting so many endorphins into your veins, your head spins and core tightens. He pulls out and slowly drags his wide tongue up, up, up, over your entrance, between your folds and to your clit. He sucks on it gently, before his tongue snakes down to fuck into your hole again. You rake his salt and pepper curls with your fingers and then pull at a particular deep tongue thrust.

Mr Miller groans and the vibrations make your thighs tense, your pussy clamping on his tongue.

“Please…,” you mewl.

“What’s that, baby?” Joel mumbles into your hole. “Tell me.”

“I— keep fuckin’ me— with your tongue— Please, sir.”

Joel almost roars right into your hole like an animal.

“Come for me,” he orders and pushes his tongue into your gaping hole.

He’s curving it against your g-spot, slurping down your slick, moaning and groaning into the mouth of your pussy and you can’t hold your climax off any longer.

You scream like a madwoman and start shaking against his bed, coming hard, rolling your hips and fucking yourself on Joel’s tongue. His prominent nose is bumping into your clit and you moan ‘Joellllll’, while your walls are squeezing his tongue, your hands clasping his locks mercilessly. You’re using him to penetrate yourself deeper, rub your clit harder, prolong your orgasm more, more, more. You’re thrashing and moaning until your arms and legs fall on the bed limply and you’re breathing fast with your eyes closed, your heart pounding in your ears. You’re completely spent.

Mr Miller’s voice makes your eyes flutter open. It takes you a few seconds to register that he’s talking to you.

“You’re ok, sweetie?” He’s sitting on the bed next to you now. You can’t speak, too inebriated, too euphoric, floating in the river of afterglow so you give him a nod and a weak smile.

Jack is saying something too but you don’t listen. You close your eyes again and let yourself rest.

A few minutes pass (or so you think) until you hear Joel speak over you.

“She ever squirted with you?”

“Mm, not sure.”

“No then. You’d definitely know.”

“Whatever.”

“I haven’t,” you croak and clear your throat, your eyes open. “With anyone. I doubt I can do it.”

Joel takes your hand that’s resting on your still heaving belly and leans down to you.

“I’m sure you can, darlin’,” he coos. “Wanna try or you’re too worn out?”

Even being tired and doubting your ability to squirt, you hate to leave Mr Miller and go to Jack’s room so you agree.

Joel beams at you but your boyfriend isn’t as happy.

“Dude! You lost your mind? You look barely alive!”

You roll your eyes.

“Don’t dude me, Jack! I’m fine. I wanna see if I can do it!”

“Ugh!” Jack crosses his arms and falls back into his cuck chair.

Joel’s jaw shifts as he watches his son for a few moments, then he looks at you.

“So… two lessons for the price of one, huh?” He jokes and you giggle. “I can make you come again, but …”

“What?”

Joel looks down at your pussy.

“You might be overstimulated right now. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

You spread your legs and follow his gaze to your puffy lips and clit.

“Mmm, don’t know. Can you check?” You purr, glancing up innocently at Joel.

The air between you two is hot again, your core filling with sticky desire.

“Sure thing, baby.”

Joel brushes your clit with his calloused thumb and you jolt. He pulls his hand back.

“See.” Joel shakes his head but your core aches for your boyfriend’s dad with a renewed force.

“It’s ok. Touch me some more. I’ll be fine.”

“Brave girl,” he chuckles and returns his fingers to your heat. He begins swirling your clit, his movements feather-light and slow.

You hiss at the dull pain that soon morphs into pleasure and your eyes roll back as Joel caresses your slicked up clit.

“Jack,” he calls his son and starts explaining to him how to make you squirt. Something about fingers and pressure. You can’t grasp his words for the life of you. All you can do is moan, your back arched off the bed while Joel’s thumb massages your clit.

“Baby,” Joel coos and you reply with a needy moan. “I’m gonna insert two fingers inside you, ok?”

You bob your head and lift yourself on your elbows so you could watch Joel’s thick digits slide into your hole.

“Yeah, you better watch. It’s a sight,” Mr Miller smiles at you, pumping his fingers in and out of your entrance.

“I’ll let you get used to the girth,” he says, finger-fucking your stretching hole.

His thumb is still on your clit, rubbing it up and down, and you bite your lip, another orgasm building fast.

“Now you’re gonna feel pressure,” he warns you and the next second you gasp, “Oh my God!”

Joel bends down and searches for your eyes.

“You good, baby? It might be a lot.”

“Please, go on. I… never felt anything like this.”

“If it’s too much, tell me immediately. I’ll stop, k?”

“Yeah.”

Joel smiles and pulls his bushy brows in concentration.

“Let’s make you squirt, sweetie.”

Your mouth is open, your eyes half-lidded as you’re watching Joel work on your pussy. His warm palm is splayed on your lower belly, skillful thumb strumming your clit, bringing you closer to your climax. Fingers of his other hand are deep inside you, making your core tighten, pushing up, up, up into your bladder.

“Oh-fuck-fuck-fuck,” you whimper, gripping Joel’s hairy forearm in panic. His muscles are bulging, steel under your fingers.

Joel’s forehead is wet, he asks through heavy breaths.

“Want me to stop?”

You’re staring into his black eyes, panting and trembling, overwhelmed with the sensations he’s bestowing on you, but you shake your head.

“No— keep going.”

And he does.

His fingers push and push, the pressure growing unbearable and you squeeze your eyes shut with a loud whimper.

“Let it go, sweetie. Trust me. It’ll feel so good. C’mon, beautiful.”

You hear Joel and the dam breaks. With Joel’s fingers pushing deep inside you, clear liquid starts spraying out of you, covering his forearm, your thighs, his bed. Joel grunts triumphantly, you cry out in surprise, Jack rolls back in his chair like a scared little bitch but you don’t care. Your squirting pussy is squelching loudly and you’re embarrassed for a second but soon the feeling is swept by the immense pleasure as you come with a shameless moan.

“Here we go,” Joel groans and keeps hitting your clit with the heel of his hand, his fingers flooded inside you. “Attagirl.”

When overstimulation hits you again, you gently push his soaked hand away. You’re a sight— cheeks wet with tears, thighs and pussy glistening and dripping.

“Woah,” Jack comments, gawking at his dad’s ‘work’.

You clumsily sit up on the wet bed and take in the mess — the soaked quilt under your ass and in front of your pussy, Joel’s forearm wet with you. Your cheeks and neck start burning.

“My god, Mr Miller, what have I done?” you whisper, panicking.

“Shhh, none of that, sweetie,” Joel pants like he’s just run a marathon and well, he’s given you so much pleasure it’s understandable.

“Go get ‘er a towel, Jack,” he commands. You don’t notice your boyfriend leave the room, your widened eyes still set on the big wet spot on the quilt, your hands clasped over your mouth.

“I’m sorry, Mr Miller,” you sob, emotions overwhelming you as you look at the man through tears of embarrassment.

“Jesus, darlin’, C’mere.” He scoops you and pulls you closer. You immediately nuzzle his broad chest, cuddling up to him and sniffling quietly in his embrace, enveloped by a cloud of his manly scent.

“Don’t you worry, sweetie. You did wonderful. So proud of you.”

“I’ll do your laundry, I promise.”

Joel squeezes you with his strong arms.

“Hell no, I’ll do it. I made a mess myself,” he chuckles and you pull back to see what he’s talking about. Only now you notice a dark stain on his grey sweatpants. Right over his crotch.

“Mr Miller,” you mumble, your eyes darting between his face and his wet bulge. “You..”

Joel squirms on the bed, scratching his scruffy cheek.

“Yeah.. embarrassin’. But when you came on my tongue…. You were…it was so hot. I couldn’t stop myself.”

Your lips spread into a grin— this big hot sex god busting a nut in his pants while eating you feels like a giant compliment.

You stare giddily at the cum spot, your tears dried up already. A naughty thought pops into your mind and feeling ballsy you purr,

“I wish I could help you clean this up.” You peer up at him, suggestively licking your lips. Joel takes a sharp breath, his gaze moving from your eyes to your mouth, until he whispers,

“You’d do that for the old man? ‘Fraid my cock’s covered in my load, too.”

Your heart’s almost jumping out of your chest, your eyes locked when you mutter,

“Why don’t you fuck it into me then?”

Mr Miller sighs like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard. He leans in, his hot breath fanning your lips, as he says,

“I want it so fuckin’ much, sweetie, you have no idea.”

You place your palm on his thick thigh and admit,

“I want it, too.”

Joel looks at your hand and then into your eyes. The next three words that fall from his lips make your throat tighten — “You are Jack’s.”

“What if I weren’t?” You’re not sure Mr Miller hears your question because he suddenly moves away from you, creating distance between you two.

“Couldn’t find a clean one,” Jack grunts, stomping into the room. He passes Joel and comes up to you, side-eyeing the big wet stain on the bed. When he gives you the towel you take it with shaky hands and fallen face.

“You ok?” Mr Miller asks while you’re drying your thighs. Not looking at him, you lie, “Yeah.”

In truth, you want to curl into a ball and cry. You want to stay, want him next to you, on top of you, inside you…

“Let’s go to my room. Thanks again, dad,” Jack throws to his father. Your boyfriend grabs your panties and shorts, and with the towel wrapped around your hips like a skirt, you follow him as he leads you to the door by the hand.

Before leaving you glance back and meet Joel’s eyes. They are pensive and sad.

Do we want a part 3 or …? 👀 Tell me your thoughts plssss loves!

Thank you for reading! Please, leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed the story💞

Pt 1 Let Me Teach You || MASTERLIST

Tag list: Milla @harriedandharassed @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @keylimebeag @pascaltesaye @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name @tateypots @pedrofan @chloeee20 @ess-evo @upintheclouds95 @ashleyfilm @shadowqueen2024 @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @libre-sol @iamladyp @somebody-get-me-rehab

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[ofstarsandvibranium]

Maybe This Time: Part 6

Fandom: The Pitt

Pairing: Jack Abbot x F!Reader

Summary: You and Jack had history; years of working together, you the resident and he the doctor. You had an unspoken thing between you two that never came to fruition. You left for a fellowship in California and now you’re back three years later.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | The Pitt Masterlist

When your shift was over, you made yourself scarce. You did hand-offs and promptly made your way to the lockers. You just wanted to go home, cry a little bit, and sleep.

But Jack Abbot seemed to have other plans.

As you're about to walk out of the ED, Jack intercepts you, grabbing at your elbow, "Can we talk for a sec?"

You sigh, "I'm tired, Jack-"

"Just a quick. Chat, I promise."

He pulls you towards a nearly empty hallway. You tiredly lean against the wall, "What?"

He looks at you with a concerned and slightly sad expression, "You say that you're not mine to worry about, but that's not true. You are mine." the statement makes you hold your breath and Jack continues, "You're my colleague, my friend. I like making sure the people I care about are okay." And there it is.

You don't look at him when you nod, "Right."

"So I'm gonna ask you again: what's wrong?"

You sigh, running your hand through your hair. You think about how you want to word this without ruining things. How do you tell the man that you've grown to love that seeing him be familiar with someone else? How do you tell him that you thought your years apart would make you love him less? How do you tell him that your buried feelings came up to the surface so easily as soon as you saw him again?

How do you tell him?

You clear your throat, "I hate feeling incompetent and invisible. Earlier with the neuro case, I just...it felt like you and Doctor Alvarez were speaking another language I couldn't understand. Made me feel like I was a first year med student again, a lost puppy with no confidence."

Jack frowns, clearly upset that he upset, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

You shake your head, "I know. It's just...my own thing to deal with."

"Still. I'll be more mindful. We're still the Dynamic Duo," he gives you that smirk that always makes you melt inside. His fist sticking out to you.

You sigh, giving him a small smile as you bump his fist. Feeling confident that you're good, that you and he are good, he lets you go.

"Go rest. I'll see next shift."

You give him a salute and you head out, but you feel his eyes on you as you create distance.

And Jack does keep his eyes on you the entire time. He's satisfied, for the most part about your reasoning behind your distance. However, he's still unconvinced that that was the complete reason.

He thinks back on what he discussed with Lena and a specific thought bounces around his head. Maybe you caught onto the fact that he and Juliette were a little too comfortable with one another. And maybe you got a little jealous? But you didn't explicitly say so and, usually, you're very honest with Jack about things. So maybe it wasn't that at all. Maybe you weren't jealous and you really did feel unconfident.

A little part of him is disappointed, because if you were jealous then maybe, just maybe, you did have some feelings for him.

___________________________

Jack watches from the hub as you discuss the x-ray in Dr. Barker's hands. You look at the man with soft eyes and a polite smile. Barker apparently says something hilarious because you're now laughing, nudging his arm. The guy can't be that funny, right?

Jack's jaw clenches and he crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes narrow when Barker chuckles with you, returning a smile that makes Jack want to punch the guy's teeth in.

"Looks like someone's out to steal your girl, boss," Ellis says as she swings by the hub.

The frown on Jack's face grows as he rasps, "She's not my girl."

"And she definitely won't be with how long you're taking," Lena mumbles, her focus still on the iPad in her hands.

"And I'm leaving," he grumbles, marching away from the two women, whom give each other knowing looks over the hub's counters.

He nears the room where you and Barker are still talking, but now discussing things with your patient. He's a middle aged man whose leg got crushed by concrete blocks.

He grabs Mateo, who happens to be walking by. The abrupt grab, startling him, "Woah! Jesus!" he chuckles, "Scared the hell outta me, doc."

"Sorry," Jack murmurs, "Hear anything about sending Dennis Looms upstairs yet?"

Mateo shakes his head, "Nope. Want me to call them again?"

"Nah. I'll call Walsh. She's less likely to get snippy with me," Mateo gives him a salute and strides over towards Lena at the hub.

You eventually exit the patient's room, exchanging a few more words with Barker before the man leaves your side and heads towards the elevators.

Jack immediately takes his usual spot - right beside you.

"Hey!" there's some sparkle in your eyes this time. It seems like after your chat, you've gone back to your regular self, although not as much sparkle in your eyes. But Jack sees a little right now, which he's grateful for.

"Barker was here for a while. Everything go okay?"

"Nick? Oh yeah! He came down and helped explain everything to my patient."

"That's nice of him," Jack mumbles, hands behind his back, hiding his tightly wound fists.

You nod in agreement, "He's always been like that."

You can tell from the confused look on Jack's face that he's silently questioning what you meant. So you explain, "Oh, Nick was in California too. He was doing a fellowship at Rady's in San Diego the same time I was. We became friends and then found out we both worked here. Small world, right?"

"That's...fun," Jack responds plainly and seemingly unimpressed.

"We've been trying to meet up for drinks, but conflicting schedules."

"Did you two ever..."

"Date? Oh God no. He was freshly engaged when we met. Still engaged now, but the wedding is next year, I think. Anyway," you wave everything off, "Need me for something?"

Jack's immediately shaking his head, "Nope. Just wanted to check in on you."

You softly smile at him, the one he's grown so fond of, "Thank you, but I'm fine. Promise."

Jack pulls out one of your favorite protein bars from his pocket. He always keeps one or two on him for you. Just in case, "Protein bar?"

"Actually, yes! I'm feeling a little peck-ish," You swipe it out of his hands, ripping the bar open and taking a bite. He smirks at you in amusement and pats your shoulder, no longer feeling that sliver of jealously he felt a mere fifteen minutes ago.

[r4bidabbott]

pt 12 of baby daddy!pope being the sweetest, loving, most caring man

prev part

pope had kissed you goodbye early that morning before craig was picking him up to take him to wherever the hell to do whatever the hell. his question was still lingering on your mind. 'wanna go look at a house?' a lump was caught in your throat, the thought of him actually moving out scared you. terrified you. you were so comfortable with him being there, his presence causing an ease in you that you hadn't felt in so long. the energy it was going to take to bounce your daughter back and forth between houses also worried you. she was so comfortable at home, why force her to move back and forth?

the whole day was spent trying to keep busy and keep your thoughts bubbled in. the house was cleaned from top to bottom, you had already taken sunny on 3 walks, yet the thought of him not being in your bed every night was still in the back of your mind. when afternoon finally rolled around you had enough. you sent a quick text to pope, asking him where he was. you just wanted to see him. make sure he hadn't ran off. your sister had offered to watch sunny so you could go be with him, crying to her on the phone for at least an hour about how you were so scared he was going to leave you. she was used to this. used to you crying over pope and his absenteeism. except your sobs were different now. you were crying over not sleeping in the same bed with him. crying over him living in a different house. she thought it was quite pathetic but let you cry it out.

after about an hour of not getting a reply from pope, you called the next best thing. craig. you had just left your sister's as the phone rang, fingernails being chewed raw as you waited for him to answer. "hello?" he finally picked up, a small sigh of relief leaving your lips. "where are you guys?" was all you questioned, coming out a little quicker than you hoped. it was silent for a couple moments, the sound of background noise being the only thing heard. "who is this?" he finally questioned, causing your eyes to immediately roll. "it's me, idiot. do you not have my number saved?" you snapped, a small chuckle leaving your lips. it still took him a few minutes to register who was calling, a small laugh finally being heard as he realized. "yeah no i don't, sorry. i'll text you the address," he spoke finally, hanging up. not even two seconds later your phone was dinging with a text with an address you had never seen before.

pulling up, your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. it was a huge warehouse out in the middle of nowhere. seemed like a place the cody boys would hang out. you weren't even sure you were in the right spot, a bunch of cars parked outside but no one physically outside. had to be in the right spot because you could see craig's car parked near the door. you slowly made your way to the door, a chill running down your spine. did you have any idea what you were walking into? no. did you care? no. as soon as you opened the door, you were punched in the face by the smell of cigarette and weed smoke. music was pumping loudly, men talking loudly and cheering, and the sound of grunts were the only things that filled your ears. your eyes landed on craig first, him spotting you before you him. he was quick to push through the crowd before any of the men got to you, a small smile on his face. "i didn't think you would just walk in," he spoke as he leaned down to talk in your ear over the loudness of the room.

you just nodded, eyes scanning quickly in hopes to find pope. that's when you spotted him. he was stood in the middle of a caged in mat, sweaty curls stuck to his forehead, boxing gloves on his hands. you couldn't move as he bounced back and forth on his feet, the other man in with him holding his hands up for pope to go back and forth hitting. "what's going on?" you asked immediately, standing closer to craig when you noticed the men were looking at you like a piece of meat. you hadn't realized till now that you were the only woman in the building. craig noticed their stares too, quick to grab your arm and lead you over to the cage, pope's back to both of you as he sparred. "just a doing a test run. not the real thing yet. people just come to see who they wanna place bets on," craig assured you, your eyes staying glued to pope's back.

he looked fucking delicious. his was shining with sweat, his muscles flexing with every move he made, a small grunt leaving his lips every time he hit the other man's mitts. all you could do was nod, craig continuing to talk in your ear but you couldn't hear a thing, not with the father of your child looking like that. it went on for a couple more minutes before pope was making his way out, another man taking his spot. his eyebrows furrowed tightly as soon as he spotted your small frame stood next to craig, immediately ripping the gloves off his hands to march up to you. "what are you doing here? how'd you get here?" he asked, looking around quickly to shoot glares at the men who were looking at you, large hands coming to grab your waist. "took sunny to my sister's. just wanted to see what you were doing," you spoke softly, fingers reaching up to push some of his curls back that were stuck to his face. you could see the way his muscles immediately untensed at your touch, relief washing over him that you were just curious and not that something was wrong.

"look so handsome andy," you whispered in his ear, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek that had chills covering his body. he was quick to pull back, pressing his lips to yours as his hands continued to hold your hips. a loud groan was let out beside you both, your heads turning to see craig stood. "okay, cut it out. they can't know you're soft or no one is gonna bet on you," he mumbled to pope, a loud giggle leaving your lips as you hooked your arms around pope's neck. he only rolled his eyes at his brother, hands moving to squeeze your ass tightly. "he is soft," you teased, pressing another kiss to his lips before pulling back. pope couldn't help the small smile that formed on his lips, shaking his head at you. "i'll get my things then we can leave," he spoke to you, pushing you towards craig gently with a nod of his head as to tell his brother 'keep an eye on her.'

it felt like forever before he was finally emerging from the makeshift locker room, freshly showered and in a different change of clothes. you could only imagine how disgusting that bathroom looked. he immediately grabbed your hand, leading you out to the car after you waved goodbye to craig. "i'll drive," he spoke immediately, grabbing the keys from your hand before shooing you to the passenger seat. "i didn't know you were starting this already," you hummed, his hand reaching over to hold yours. you weren't upset, just not expecting him to already be doing it. he didn't have any marks on his face though which put you at a little bit of ease. he nodded a little bit, his hand that wasn't holding yours typing in an address to his gps before he was pulling out. "i know, i'm sorry. wasn't an actual fight or anything. didn't want you to worry," he spoke quietly, bringing your hand to his mouth so he could press kisses all over it. "i have an appointment to check out a house. thought we could go there now if that's okay?" he spoke with a raised eyebrow, your heart immediately beginning to beat quickly.

you had hoped he wasn't serious about it. hoped that he didn't really want to move out. all you could manage to do was force a small smile on your face and nod you head before you were turning to stare out the window, biting hard at your bottom lip to keep yourself from crying. it wasn't a terribly long drive, the whole time he talked about how things were going to work when it came to an actual fight, how much money he would make out of each of them. the whole time you could only manage to nod, letting out a soft 'oh cool' or 'that's nice'. he knew something was bothering you, he just couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was. you finally looked forward as you pulled into a driveway, the house in front of you making your eyes widen. it was pushed along the edge of the beach, much bigger than any house you or him had ever lived in.

"let's go in, yeah?" he smiled over at you, leaning to press a soft kiss to your lips. you just nodded, slowly getting out before moving to stand beside him. he grabbed your hand tightly, leading you up to the door before he was unlocking it. where the fuck did he get a key? the inside was gorgeous, and huge. the emptiness of it only made it seem that much bigger. one would only need this house for two things. big parties or big families. he lead you through each room, a master and at least 3 other bedrooms, his gaze turning to you every so often to gauge your reaction. you were speechless, only forcing a smile as you continued to make your way through it. when you had finally returned to the living room, he wrapped his arms around you to pull you close, pressing a small kiss to your forehead. "what do you think?" he hummed, pulling back slightly so he could stare down at you. your hands immediately came up to rest on his chest, your head nodding a little. "it's nice. really big," you hummed, a lump in your throat a little bit. "good, cause i already put a payment down for it," he chuckled, reaching to scratch at the back of his neck.

your eyes immediately went wide, stomach doing flips. he really was going to move out. fuck he already paid for it. "i..oh wow, andy. i'm really happy for you," you stuttered out, your voice cracking as you nodded your head. it was a beautiful home. you were happy that sunny was going to be able to have room to run around than just being confined to your apartment walls. you could see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair that fell on your back. "can move in at the beginning of the week. need you to help me pack everything up," he spoke slowly, hands rubbing your back gently. the tear that fell from your eye was quickly wiped away by the back of your hand, pulling away from him gently. "i am not going to smurf's house to help you pack up. no way," you mumbled, shaking your head. it threw him completely off guard. "what? i don't need anything from there. i meant your place," he spoke confused, eyebrows furrowed at you. your confused expression was now matching his, head slowly turning to look up at him. "pack up my place?" you asked, the confusion dripping off each word. "you think i am going to live here by myself? you and sunny are going to be here too."

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[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 33: "The one with Santi's wedding, part one" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST Buy me a coffee - Ko-fi

Chapter summary: With Santi and Yov’s wedding just around the corner, returning to Austin feels thrilling given all the celebrations ahead, even if it means an imminent reunion with your ex, Frankie. But you’re ready for it. Or, at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. wc: 20.4k

A/N: warning, long chapter ahead as a little thank you for waiting as it took me so long to update! Thank you all for patiently waiting for another chapter of my long and boring fic, The Boyfriend Act (🤭). You guys really do have the patience of saints, huh?? We only have a few chapters left now, and I promise you won't have to wait as long for the next ones; there are truly very few left!! Anyway, enjoy this one and start bracing yourselves for the ending. 

Your feedback means a lot to me so please let me know your opinions in the comments. Thank you 💕Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

Tuesday, October 8th

Starting a new journal by writing about returning to Austin feels ironic. Starting a blank book while backtracking definitely is. But as you look out the plane window at the completely clear blue sky, watching the sprawling city stretch out far below your feet, you get the distinct feeling that you are about to land in a different place entirely.

It is your home; the very same walls that said goodbye to you a few months ago will welcome you back within the hour. The same bed, the same spot on your couch, the same mirror that pushed your own reflection back at you. Yet, you don’t feel like the same person who used to inhabit that space; or at least, that is the sensation that washes over you with every passing mile.

With your fresh journal in hand, you try not to overthink it.

Lucky for you, a wedding is exactly the kind of bustling event that can keep your mind occupied with other things.

You can't afford to get distracted by work, or by your latest manuscript, which has been giving you a massive headache these past few days. Nor can you dwell on what will become of you after all this is over. The choice between staying in Austin or moving back to New York has haunted you for the last week, and you were just about to sit down and make a pros and cons list.

But you can’t think about that. You shouldn't, really.

Weddings are fun if you know how to make the most of them. Especially if you aren’t the one getting married. The truth is, after spending weeks tagging along with Yov and Santi here and there, listening to all the wedding prep, you actually considered taking an anxiety pill.

Having a planner helps, it helps a lot. But some things just can't be allowed to slip through your fingers. At the end of the day, the bride and groom have the final say, which means things can get incredibly stressful, incredibly fast. But in the end, it will all be worth it.

Austin, October 8, 2026

I wonder if Mr. Darcy will recognize the smell of home right away. I wonder if I’ll realize just how much I’ve missed it these past few months.

I want to see everyone.

Everyone.

"Oh my gosh, you’re finally here!"

Emma crashed right into you, wrapping her arms around your neck before you could even flash a full smile. Her hair smelled like coconut.

"I'm here," you laughed, hugging her back. "I've missed you so much."

"Me too," she squeezed, tight enough to fuse her ribs with yours. Then, resting her hands on your shoulders, she stepped back just an inch. "You smell amazing!"

"I was literally just thinking the same thing about you!"

Emma laughed.

All around you, people streamed in and out of the airport, hauling heavy suitcases and overstuffed bags. It was a gorgeous day; the sky was clear and bright, the air surprisingly crisp. Nearby, a couple was reuniting with a warm embrace and a few perfectly public appropriate kisses. It was a sweet scene, but not enough to pull your eyes away from your friend's face.

The drive home was quick and fun. Inside Emma’s car, it smelled clean and citrusy, and a Lana Del Rey song was going through the speakers. She had picked up two coffees, one for each of you, and you sipped yours while hearing her repeat you can be the boss, daddy, you can be the boss over and over again, wrinkling her nose every time her sunglasses slid down the bridge.

In the back seat, Mr. Darcy was sitting in his crate, remarkably quiet and relaxed. You could already tell he’d turned into a true New Yorker.

"Darcy is gonna be so happy to be home. Here he can climb up onto the kitchen window sill. I'm sure he misses watching people walk by on the street," you said, and the image of the cat pressed against the glass in the warm sunlight flashed through your mind.

"Mhm, that’s true. In New York people probably looked like tiny little ants, didn't they?"

You smiled. "They did."

Emma’s cheeks bunched up into a soft smile, and she glanced over at you for a second.

"Okay, and what did you miss?"

"Now that I’m actually here? I feel like I missed everything. I didn’t really notice it over there." You looked out the window, the rush of air brushing the strands of your hair against your neck. A deep sigh escaped your chest. "Have you heard anything about Francisco?"

You had managed to keep your simmering curiosity under wraps during your entire stay in New York. You hadn’t asked about him when Emma came to visit a few weeks ago, nor had you brought him up to Santi (or anyone) over the phone.

You mastered that control for months, all through the flight to Austin, and during the first twenty minutes after Emma picked you up. But as the landscape grew closer and more familiar, you simply had to ask.

You turned to look at her almost immediately.

"Frankie?" she asked.

You offered a faint smile. "I doubt I know any other."

"Right, who else?" She rolled her eyes playfully. She paused for a few seconds as the traffic light ahead shifted to red, bringing the car to a smooth stop. "He’s doing good. He's here in Austin, actually."

Your stomach did a complete flip. "Already? When did he get back?"

Emma pursed her lips to the side. "Like, a month ago?"

You raised a single eyebrow. "Really?"

She sighed. "He moved back to Austin last month."

"Emma."

"With Luna and Jamie."

You pressed your back against the seat, watching the scenery flash past the window as a hundred different thoughts raced through your mind. Yet, you didn't let yourself dwell on any of them for too long, only managing to say,

"Well, that makes sense."

"It does," Emma agreed.

"And where are they staying? With Helena?"

"At first, yeah, all three of them. I think Luna and Jamie are still there with her, but Frankie already moved out."

"Oh, he didn't go back to his place?"

She shook her head. "No. He actually put his house on the market and found a spot out in Circle Ranch. The guys helped him move in last week."

Okay. Recalculating.

Recalculating…

"Oh. I… That's… nice. Circle Ranch?"

"Yeah," Emma smiled, glancing over at you with raised eyebrows. "I never pinned Frankie as the type to go for the whole white-picket-fence and a dog kind of vibe."

"Does he have a dog now?"

"No," she laughed. "But it’s that kind of neighborhood, you know?"

You smiled and turned your gaze back to the window.

"Maybe he got used to the Boston suburbs and wanted something similar," you suggested.

"Maybe."

Whatever the reason behind Frankie's move, you felt good about it. You knew his old house was a bit crowded with painful heavy memories that he probably didn't care to relive. You knew he was completely sick of his next door neighbor too, Clint, who always parked right in front of his driveway and blasted his music way too loud. Or the dog from across the street that constantly wandered into his front yard to do its business on the freshly cut grass.

You were genuinely happy for him.

"C'mon, baby, c'mon out."

As you unlatched the little door to Darcy’s crate, you watched his curious eyes take in the surroundings. His tiny nose twitched upward, his eyes narrowing as he sniffed, instantly recognizing his home.

A second later, he stepped out with confidence, raising his tail high in a friendly greeting.

If you had a tail, you’d be doing the exact same thing, because oh, how incredibly happy you were to be back.

You hadn’t realized just how much you’d missed this place until you walked through the front door. Your living room was completely bathed in sunlight, the half-drawn orange curtains cast a warm glow into every corner, and there was a wonderful scent in the air that you definitely had Emma to thank for; she had been looking after the place, keeping it perfectly neat and tidy.

You grabbed your suitcase and rolled it into your bedroom, where your bed was neatly made and the floors practically gleamed as the sunlight hit your feet.

Unzipping it, you began to gradually unpack your things. Emma walked in just a moment later, holding a mug of freshly brewed tea for you and one for herself in the other hand. She set yours down on the nightstand.

"So, what do you wanna do today?" she asked.

You looked up at her, gently biting your tongue without realizing it.

"Well, first things first, I need to go get my car."

"Want me to drive you?"

You scoffed playfully. "Obviously. Is Will home?"

"He gets back at one."

"Oh, okay. Wanna eat something?"

"Yeah," she said, plop down on the edge of the bed. "I’ll order something, and we can just crash on the couch and watch some TV like the good ol' days, baby."

You smiled, your eyes crinkling. "Yes, please. I have missed doing that with you so much."

Emma hummed. "My butt has missed sitting next to yours, too."

You laughed. "Friends? How does that sound?"

She pointed a finger at you. "Yes! And since we are officially in wedding mode, we have to watch season seven."

"Yes!" You raised your eyebrows. "We should watch Monica and Chandler’s wedding and then Phoebe and Mike's!"

"Yeah," she grinned, her eyebrows knitting together playfully. "And let's get ice cream too. Will can wait!"

A wide smile spread across your face, and your chest swelled with warmth.

You were finally home.

Sometimes, getting involved with your brother’s best friend can be the best decision you ever make in your life. You might end up living together in a beautiful house with two gorgeous babies, getting married in one of the highest rated television episodes of the era. You could be, as the kids say these days, couple goals. The total package. The sarcastic funny guy and the girl with a few control issues who (for somewhat obvious reasons) manage to blend and complement each other perfectly. It can be beautiful and lasting and solid.

And in other cases, it can be downright complicated. Because sometimes, getting involved with your brother’s best friend can be a beautiful dream, right up until you find yourself sitting in front of the TV, watching Chandler and Monica’s wedding, and all you want to do is cry.

But you swallow it down. You suppress it because next to you, Emma is shooting you subtle suspicious glances; she knows you far too well not to realize this might be stirring up things buried deep inside your chest. But more than that, you fight it back because you simply don’t want to feel it. Not deeply. Because you know that very soon, at any given moment, you are going to see him again. You don’t know when or where, but you know it’s going to happen. And so, inside your mind, there is a tiny stopwatch with blurred numbers rapidly counting down the time until your eyes meet his once more.

Even the best couples have weak moments.

"Honestly, Chandler’s panic kind of ruins the whole thing," Emma said, lounging next to you with her head resting on your shoulder. "I hate that he doubts it. It ruins everything."

On the screen, Chandler is caught completely off guard by a phone call that refers to him and Monica as Mr. and Mrs. Bing. He makes a whole show of panicking, wanting to run away.

"It’s normal to be scared sometimes," you said.

"I wouldn’t want my fiancé doubting things like that at our wedding. I mean, it would make me question absolutely everything. I hate that choice the writers made. I feel like it’s not Chandler at all."

"Really?" You smiled. "Not Chandler at all?"

"No, why? You don't think so? C'mon."

"No, no, it's just, I mean," you sat up a little straighter, "I get it, but throughout the entire show Chandler has always had insecurity and commitment issues—"

"But we watched all his progress, and it was a long clear arc."

"Yeah but it’s completely normal that even though he's progressed and everything, he still has weak moments from time to time. Especially when it comes to something as huge as a wedding," you laughed.

"Mmh. I dunno. I don't like it. Would you want Santi doubting marrying Yov right before they do it? Would you want your future husband doubting marrying you right before you walk down the aisle?"

"But Chandler didn't doubt marrying Monica; he just got scared, that’s all. He didn't want to run away because he wasn't sure about her; he just panicked about taking such a huge step and didn't know what to do. He watched his parents' relationship fall apart, then went through the whole divorce and everything else. He has a history of commitment issues and the underlying fear that marriage might ruin the good thing he already has with Monica."

"But he literally talked to her just days before about how happy he was to spend the rest of his life with her. It makes no sense."

"It does make sense, Em," you said, looking at her. "You can't completely erase decades of trauma overnight. I mean, he thought their relationship was over after their very first argument until she had to assure him that’s not how things work. The man had avoidant attachment!"

Emma sighed. "I'm still not buying it, sorry."

"I'm sorry, you're telling me you're not buying it? You? The exact same woman who panicked because her boyfriend wanted to spend more time with her and almost considered breaking up with him over it?"

"Will wanted us to move in together!"

"So? All you had to do was tell him no!"

"And I did tell him no," she said, looking at you with a grin. "And we talked it through. I didn't dump him! It's not the same thing."

"I know it's not the same thing, but still, commitment issues are commitment issues."

"Alright, sweetheart, alright."

"You were on the verge of buying a ticket to Yemen at any second."

Laughing, you gave her arm a playful nudge and turned your attention back to the TV.

Time ticked away, minute by minute, as the sunlight shifted across the floor and walls, brushing against every corner until, almost without realizing it, you rested your head against Emma's and closed your eyes.

"I always fall asleep when I'm with you," you teased, buckling your seatbelt in Emma’s passenger seat. "I dunno what it is about you."

"But you needed it, didn't you?"

She started the car engine just as you flashed a smile.

"Maybe."

When you had finally woken up earlier, your mouth was wide open, drooling a little, while Emma was right beside you snoring deeply and completely fast asleep. In your lap, Mr. Darcy had been curled up like a little ball.

It was nearly two in the afternoon by the time you both decided it was time to go get your car. According to Emma, Will would be at his place, and when you told her to let him know the two of you were headed over, she simply said,

"No need, I know he'll be there."

Her relationship updates hadn't changed much since the last time you asked about them two weeks ago. They were still getting along well, really well, and now she had finally admitted to herself that she was in love.

That was an incredibly huge step for Emma, so neither of you was making a big deal out of it. You knew she was secretly ecstatic inside, and probably a little terrified, but she was handling it well. And Will, for his part, was a pretty laid back guy who gave her all the time and space she needed to feel completely comfortable about it.

It was funny and kind of unfair that, despite knowing them for so many years, it had never once crossed your mind that they would make a good match.

Granted, Emma used to be married, but what about before that? She wasn't even seeing her ex when Will entered the picture seven years ago. In fact, they had crossed paths a handful of times, but neither of them had ever shown the slightest interest in the other; or at least, you hadn't noticed.

How could you have missed it? They were absolutely perfect for each other. Emma was somewhat restless, impatient, driven, and occasionally loud, while Will was steady, relaxed, incredibly patient, and had no problem getting loud himself if the occasion called for it.

You were rooting for them.

"Does Santi know you already here?" Emma asked now, steering through a turn.

"Texted him as soon as I got home. We're having dinner tonight with Mom."

Emma smiled. "I saw her yesterday. She looks great, doesn't she?"

You let out a soft laugh. "So great. She's thriving."

"I guess that's what happens after having an european summer."

"A mediterranean one, mind you."

"Is she gonna be at Yov’s party?"

You pursed your lips. "I dunno. I don't think so. She says she doesn’t feel right about it. Apparently she thinks she’d be a mood killer. Yov wants her there anyway."

"A mood killer? It's not like there're gonna be strippers or anything like that, right?"

You laughed. "No."

"Then what's the issue?"

"I dunno. I think she still feels a little awkward participating in all of this."

"She has to be there! I need her to give us the full breakdown on everything that happened in Europe. I'm sure there were some interesting adventures," she said, raising her eyebrows. "I always knew Nora was a cool girl."

"I'm sure Yov will press her about it tonight," you said, turning toward the window. "And if not, I can always force her."

Emma laughed and nodded, completely on board with it.

It wasn't going to be a wild over-the-top party; it was going to be a small gathering at a gorgeous restaurant downtown, followed by drinks at a bar where Yov's friends had booked a private table in the VIP section. It was going to be fun and intimate, nothing crazy or chaotic. Yov didn't feel comfortable with shirtless guys giving lap dances, and she had specifically asked to just spend the night having a good time with her friends and close family.

To her, there was no such thing as a "farewell to freedom" anyway. What was she saying goodbye to? Being single? Well, obviously. But she didn't see much point in looking at it that way, since having Santi in her life didn't actually restrict her from anything. And after marrying him, it wouldn't restrict her either.

There was this archaic idea that once a person gets married, they abandon their freedom entirely; the freedom to hang out with friends whenever they want, to have total independence, and to be able to do this, that, or the other. But Santi and Yov were not that kind of couple. Marriage didn't demand limitations for them, and it was entirely obvious to you that their dynamic would keep right on going exactly the same way. Both were free to do their own thing, go out with friends, or dedicate time to personal matters. The party was symbolic, more than anything.

I mean, sure, they were saying goodbye to being single, but was that really significant? You were positive those two had said goodbye to that years ago.

For Yov, it would be a quiet fun evening tomorrow night. And for Santi, it would be a cookout in the backyard with the guys and a few other friends, followed by a trip to the bar to get drunk and play pool. It was a pre-wedding celebration, plain and simple.

Will’s house appeared ahead of you sooner than expected, and you suddenly realized the drive had gone by surprisingly faster than you'd even noticed.

Everything had been moving at hyper speed since you landed in Austin. The drive home from the airport, the morning spent with Emma on the couch, and now, the twenty minutes from your place to Will’s had felt like barely ten.

It was funny how time flew when you were desperately trying to hold it back. Not for any particular reason, either.

Emma flung the car door open before you could even unbuckle, and the second her feet hit the pavement, she said,

"I can hear music coming from the backyard. Go on ahead, I need to grab a few things from the car."

"Need a hand?"

In the background, the faint sound of an Alice in Chains song drifted over.

"Nah, I’m good." She moved toward the trunk, waving you off.

"Alright."

You walked down the driveway toward the side of the house, where a wide pathway led to the big backyard, and spotted your car right away, tucked under its protective cover beneath the patio roof and parked behind two other cars.

On a table under a window, a portable stereo was blasting music. Layne’s raspy broken voice screamed out lyrics you couldn't quite catch; your attention was already drawn to the car right in front of you, where Will was lying on a mechanic's creeper, working underneath it.

He didn't hear you come in over the music, and his upper body was completely hidden under the chassis. His legs were slightly bent, and seizing the moment, you crept up and gave his foot a gentle kick.

Thump!

You grinned as his whole body jumped in a mini scare.

The creeper shifted; he grabbed the tire with one hand to pull himself forward, the tiny wheels spinning on the concrete.

And just like that, nine months and twelve days later, your eyes locked once again with Francisco Morales'.

You physically felt your smile drop, as if your cheeks had suddenly turned too heavy, and you took a step back while trying, and failing, to tear your eyes away from him.

Frankie scrambled to a sit on the creeper like a startled kid, and braced his palms on the ground behind him. A stray lock of hair fell across his forehead, the rest of it a bit messy, and a pair of thick black rimmed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. They weren't enough to hide the scars on his face.

With a quick push, he stood up.

"I'm sorry," you blurted out, suddenly breathless. "I'm so sorry, I thought you were Will."

He gave a quick nod, wiping his hands on his pants, but didn't say a word.

As your heart threatened to burst right through your ribs and your throat went completely dry, you felt a desperate, intense, aching urge to just... hug him. And at the exact same time, to tell him: you have no idea how much I have to tell you.

Instead, you just stared.

Frankie looked exactly as you remembered, yet at the same time, entirely different. His hair was slightly shorter on the sides, with the top left long and a little unruly. He was wearing a white short-sleeve t-shirt, stained here and there, and black cargo pants.

Looking at him like that, he seemed pretty much the same as the last time you'd seen him. But you could spot the difference in everything else; he seemed taller for some reason, and though his shoulders and arms had always been strong, they looked more toned now. His beard was short, neat and soft, his mustache trimmed. The scars were visible, fully healed now but prominent, leaving a clear trace of his accident, and behind his glasses, his big brown eyes looked tired.

You could have sworn you stared at him for minutes, but it was only a few short seconds.

"I," you crossed your arms, "I just came to pick up my car. If that's okay. Is—is Will around?"

It took Frankie a second to process.

"Uh, Will?"

You offered a faint smile. "Yeah."

"Yeah, right. Yeah," he reached up, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean, no. He stepped out a moment ago. But he should be right back."

"Oh. Okay."

Behind you, the familiar scuff of Emma's footsteps drew closer until she suddenly froze.

You turned around, trying to pack an entire conversation into a single look, hoping she would decode it.

Just as you expected, your friend was dead in her tracks, holding two boxes in her arms and staring at Frankie like she’d just seen a ghost.

She glanced at you a second later, then right back at him.

"Frankie," she said, flashing a casual but not quite casual smile. "I didn't... I didn't know you were here."

Frankie huffed a soft laugh and gave a half smile. "Will'll be back in a minute."

Emma nodded. "Where'd he go?"

"No idea," he shrugged, turning back toward the car. "But he left a while ago, so he should be back any second."

"Oh, alright."

The second you glanced her way, Emma’s eyebrows shot straight up as she mouthed: I’m so sorry.

You gave a casual shrug that completely masked the panic clawing at your insides, letting out a soft sigh as your eyes drifted across the yard. Toward the back, for instance, where a disassembled bike sat abandoned mid-repair.

"I can move this car out of the way so you can get yours out, if you want?" Frankie asked. He was talking to you; it took you a beat to realize it.

You nodded. "Sure. Thanks."

He gave a quick nod and turned toward the car blocking yours. Will’s car. He reached inside the driver’s side to grab something, then slid into the seat, shut the door, and got the engine running on the second try.

"Here, let me help," you said, turning around and grabbing one of the boxes from Emma, desperate for any kind of distraction.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry," she whispered, pushing open the back door to the house. There was no real need to whisper since the roaring engine drowned out anything you two said, but she kept her voice down anyway until you were both safely inside. "I had no idea he'd be here. I mean, I know he hangs out here a lot, but I didn't know he'd be here today of all days."

"It's fine."

"No, I’m so sorry," she insisted, setting her box down on the kitchen counter. "I should have called first."

"No, Em, really," you said, dropping your box next to her. "It's fine. It's totally fine. You know what?" You turned to look at her. "Maybe it’s better this way, right? Unplanned and unexpected." You made a swift ripping motion with your hand. "Like ripping off a band aid. I’ve seen him, he’s seen me, how awkward can it really get? It wasn't even that bad!"

She smiled. "It wasn't?"

"Nope."

"Okay, that's good." She pursed her lips. "So... how are you feeling?"

"Nope. Nope," you said, shaking your head. "Too soon, honey. Not there yet."

Emma let out a soft laugh and pulled you into a tight hug. You took the moment to close your eyes, letting the tension in your chest unravel just a bit.

And outside, after a brief moment, the rumbling engine cut out as a clear sign that your safe haven inside the four walls of Will’s kitchen was officially up. You had to go back out there.

Emma let go of you, clearing her throat before turning toward the door and taking the lead. You gave it a single second before following her out.

The moment you stepped into the yard, your eyes instantly searched for him. Frankie was carefully peeling the protective cover off your car, and your gaze lingered on the back of his neck; on the soft messy strands of hair there, on the soft skin briefly blushed…

A sudden warmth bloomed in your chest.

"I'll get your keys," he called out, disappearing into the house so fast that this time, he was the one who seemed to be running away.

Letting out a sigh, you crossed your arms and walked over to the car Frankie had been working on when you arrived. It was old, you noticed, but not quite as old as yours. This one looked more like a nineties model; glossy black with a leather interior and smooth sleek lines. On the hood, the Mercedes Benz logo caught the light.

"You got yourself a real gem here."

Frankie’s voice made you snap upright. He was standing right behind you, dangling your keys from his fingers.

Emma was still keeping quiet.

"Thanks," you said, offering a small smile.

Frankie extended his hand toward you. Your keys were looped around his index finger; you slid them off, careful not to brush against him.

"I don't actually know much about cars," you added, mostly because the silence felt a little too heavy. "Will helped me with it."

"Yeah, he told me. He and I bought this one together, from the same seller," he said, gesturing toward the Mercedes.

"It's really nice."

"Yeah, though it still needs a bit of work. We’re fixing it up to... you know, sell it or something."

"I like it," you said, nodding. "My dad used to drive something like this when I was little."

His eyebrows shot up, and he replied almost too fast, "He did?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah—uh. It's a great car."

You nervously fiddled with the keys in your hands, dropping your gaze down to his shoes; a pair of black high top Vans.

Beside you, Emma let out a quiet amused sigh.

"I think I should get going," you blurted out, looking over at her only to catch a strange look on her face.

Oh, she was absolutely loving this.

"Yeah, sure," Frankie nodded, stepping aside as if he felt he was blocking your way.

"Can you tell Will I'll drop by later?" Emma asked him.

"Sure."

"Alright."

"Em, you can stay if you want," you told her.

"No, no. I said I'd help you unpack and set things up at your place, didn't I? Let's go," she said, waving you toward the driveway.

Unpacking at your place was a total lie. You were already fully unpacked and the apartment was spotless; she just wanted to be there for you.

"See ya," Emma added, giving Frankie's shoulder a friendly pat before turning around and heading toward the front of the house.

Once she was out of sight, you turned back to him.

"Tell Will I say hi."

He smiled. "I will."

"Thanks," you said, starting to turn toward your car. But you froze and looked back at him one last time.

He stood completely, utterly still.

You had no idea what to say, or why you’d even turned back around in the first place. But the moment you looked at his face and caught that flicker of nervousness in his eyes, you knew he was feeling it too.

"I like your glasses."

Frankie’s lips parted slightly, and a very soft sweet smile crept onto his face.

"Thank you," he replied.

Smiling back and holding in a sigh, you didn't say another word. You turned around, got into your car, and drove away, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.

You wished it had been different. You wished your inevitable reunion with him had happened in a controlled environment, surrounded by crowds of people; like Friday's rehearsal dinner or some pre-weekend get together. But as life had already proven to you time and again, you rarely get what you want exactly how you want it.

Forget everything we said a moment ago. All that talk about how time had been moving at a frantic pace since you stepped off the plane, remember? The walk from the airport to your house, your nice nap with Em, the drive from your door to Will’s… Forget it all. Because suddenly, the world seems to have ground to a near halt.

It's moving, and It's moving fast.

You’re driving, and the blocks around you pass at a crawl. No, how silly; you’re the one moving, not the blocks. You drift down the street while Emma sits beside you in silence, and you know it’s not an illusion because the cars passing you vanish ahead in seconds. And also because, after a few minutes, Emma rested her hand on your shoulder and asked,

"You okay?"

You nodded without a word. Well, maybe a soft "hmm" echoed somewhere in your chest.

"I'm sorry," she said, sounding far too guilty. "I know I already told you but I had no idea he was gonna be there."

You nodded again. "He looks so different."

"Yeah."

"Francisco," you glanced at her for a second, "he looks different, doesn't he? Or is it just because I haven't seen him in so long?"

Emma nodded. "No, I think he does look a bit different."

"I mean, I'm not saying he looks bad, he looks…" You tightened your grip on the steering wheel a little with your thumbs. "Different, healthier. Which is so freaking ironic because his face is covered in scars."

"Right."

"Oh God…"

"Hey," Emma squeezed your shoulder, "it's okay."

"He looks so good," you groaned.

Emma laughed. "It's okay."

You turned to look at her, frowning. "Does he wear glasses now?"

"He does."

"It's like he's doing it on purpose just to mess with me!"

"Look what Grian got for me." When Will walked into the yard, he was holding a six pack of beer and a large sealed plastic bag. "Original seat covers, baby, pure leather," he said, stepping closer to drop them onto the table next to the player.

Frankie was sitting in a chair with his elbows on his knees, and his eyes were fixed on the grass just past the concrete, contemplating his entire existence.

"Hey," Will called out.

Frankie looked up at him.

"Covers and beer," Will said, holding up the six pack.

"That's great. How much for the covers?"

Will frowned, glancing around the yard. The music was off, the creeper wasn't under the Mercedes, and most importantly, your car was gone.

"What happened?" he asked.

"She came to get her car." Frankie pushed himself up from the chair in one quick motion, rubbing the back of his neck. "Her and Emma, who said she’d be by later, by the way."

Will’s eyebrows shot up. "Oh, shit, man. You alright? How that go?"

"Nothing. She just… she just came and went."

"Y'all talk?"

"A little."

"And? What'd y'all talk about?"

"Nothing, really. Just… just her car, and this and that, and nothing else." He swallowed, looking over at the half-repaired Mercedes. "I'm such a fool. I couldn't even act normal."

Will laughed. "What are you talking about? What do you mean?"

"Oh, man," Frankie groaned as he sat back down again, burying his face in both hands and rubbing his eyes. "She looks so beautiful. I felt like I could barely breath."

"Alright," Will crossed his arms, "let it out."

"I mean, look at me," Frankie suddenly pulled his hands away from his face and gestured to his clothes. "I'm a total mess."

"Well, you know, they say girls like that. All covered in grease from work, that whole hot mechanic thing..."

Frankie frowned. "Oh God."

"And with the glasses on and everything, huh?" Will chuckled. "I bet she dug 'em."

Frankie felt his face burn with embarrassment, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow him whole right then and there. He felt like a self-conscious teenager, or at least, his body was reacting like one.

A long time. He’d spent so much time thinking about the next time he’d see you. Late at night when everything was quiet, in the middle of work, while washing dishes or doing laundry. He used to wonder how dramatic it would be, if it would be incredibly awkward or not at all, or if you’d just avoid him altogether. And none of it had been the way he expected.

He knew you hadn't expected to see him either. He'd caught it on your face the second he saw you—as beautiful and sweet as he remembered, but completely caught off guard all the same.

He’d been dying inside with every passing second. The moment you drove away, he felt this overwhelming urge to run right after you; to hold you tight in his arms and cover your face with kisses, to tell you how terribly he’d missed you and that loving you this much was unbearable.

But how completely out of line would that have been, right? When you looked so good, so refreshed, so perfectly fine. Frankie knew he no longer had a place in your life for that kind of confession.

He’d have to be strong. Stronger than he’d ever thought. Because the wedding was drawing close and these weren't gonna be easy days. Between the final preparations, the bachelor parties, the rehearsal dinner, and the ceremony itself, he’d have to find a way to keep his feelings in check and not let a single bit show, since you’d be seeing each other practically around the clock.

He couldn't even let his eyes betray him, because he knew all it took was having you nearby for him to look at you like a fool. Guess that's just what longing does to you.

And Santi knew all about that. He and Yov had talked to Frankie a few days back when the three of them stopped to rest during a long Sunday bike ride. They’d asked how he was doing, how he was prepping for the wedding, and if he was truly alright with all of it; all of this out on the trail, while their calves throbbed and their chests heaved. But the way their voices sounded reminded him of those times the guys used to try and casually check up on his health years ago, trying not to sound too nosy or overly worried.

"You don't need to worry, everything's fine," he’d told them, a bit winded. His neck was flushed and he could feel a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and let out a chuckle. "What do you think is gonna happen?"

Santi scratched his chin, pulling a face. "I know, I know it'll be fine. It’s just, y'know, it can get awkward and all, and we wouldn't want either of you having a rough time."

"We'll be fine," Frankie nodded. "Don't worry. We spent years getting along terribly and managing to co-exist or something like it, and nothing happened—"

"No, no," Yov interrupted, shaking his head and holding up a finger, "that wasn't co-existing."

Frankie rolled his eyes, hiding a bitter smile. "Everything's fine on my end. I’ll be respectful, polite, and anything that comes up can wait until after the wedding. You can count on that."

He didn't even know what he meant by that. "Anything that comes up" could mean absolutely anything; an argument, a casual conversation, anything requiring an ounce of extra attention that might pull the focus away from what really mattered.

Anyway, he’d promised himself to keep his distance and not let a single thing throw off the balance this week needed to have…

Until he saw you again, and a flood of emotions washed over him, soaking him to the bone. And right then, Frankie realized that for the past few months, he’d only allowed himself to feel about twenty percent of what he truly felt for you.

He’d convinced himself that he was okay with all of this; that his feelings, while still strong and very much there, weren't so intense anymore that they'd steal his breath away.

What a fucking lie. He loved you just as intensely as before, maybe even more; or maybe it was just the effect of seeing you after all this time.

You were surprised to see him; he’d noticed that. You hadn't expected it at all, and it definitely wasn't what you wanted. But as he looked at you, pretending to be completely unfazed, he felt this overwhelming urge to share every single piece of his life with you.

He wanted to tell you about his new house, about the big windows and how beautifully the light flooded the living room. About the shelves he’d filled with his vinyl records, and the space that was still left to fill.

Oh, and Mr. Bingley was absolutely out of his mind, completely in love with the new yard. Frankie would let him out for a bit, keeping a close eye on him so the cat wouldn't wander off anywhere. He’d discovered the little guy was actually a total scaredy-cat, which would make Frankie anxious enough to bring him right back inside. He wasn't quite sure how to handle it yet; the neighborhood was quiet and not dangerous at all, but letting the cat roam free in the yard still made him nervous. Who knew, maybe he’d hop the fence and end up in the street, or some dog might give him a scare. He wasn't about to take that chance.

He’d wanted to tell you about his new job, too. Frankie was back to training pilots, but no longer at his old academy. His former boss had done him a big favor by recommending him to the owner of a different academy (one that trained specialized pilots) and Frankie was finding it a whole lot more engaging and enjoyable.

Now he wasn't training arrogant rich guys who had too much money and free time on their hands, treating flying like some "easy" hobby with zero responsibilities (not that it was always the case, but... most of the time). Instead, he was training people who genuinely saw flying as a calling.

They were all young, eager to learn, and had a real respect for the profession. Frankie truly enjoyed teaching and had a great time with them; plus, the pay was damn good. It was exactly what he needed right now after draining a huge chunk of his savings. His house was about to sell, he’d already sold his car, and you could say he was pretty close to having everything sorted out.

He was doing alright.

He’d wanted to tell you all of that. For a brief minute, every single piece of news in his life flooded his mind and he wanted to share it with you, but a second later he reminded himself that it wasn't his place anymore.

It made no sense how completely his chest melted whenever he thought about you now.

"What are you gonna do now?" Will asked then, leaning his hip against the table and tilting his head.

Frankie sighed, pulling his hands away from his face.

"What else? Nothing. Act normal, I guess. Like an adult."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," he got up from his chair and walked over to the Mercedes, opening the driver's side door. "I'm not gonna bother her."

"Ah, I see. The old go-crazy-and-suffer-all-by-your-lonesome routine."

Frankie laughed softly, shaking his head. "I deserve it."

Wednesday, October 9th

You really don't care about Francisco. He barely crosses your mind.

He wasn't on your mind when you woke up this morning, nor when you showered and got ready to open the bookstore. You weren't thinking of him when you brushed blush onto your cheeks, or when you coated your lips in raspberry gloss. And you certainly weren't thinking of him every single time the chimes above the door jingled and you glanced up, checking to see who walked in.

No, you aren't thinking about him at all.

Your morning flew by, peaceful and smooth. It had been a while since you’d spent time at the bookstore, and settling back behind the counter felt incredibly good.

You had missed all of this: helping customers find the exact books they were looking for, listening to their vague, quirky descriptions and the titles they always got completely wrong. You missed the scent of old pages, and the aroma of coffee that drifted through the door every time it opened because at this hour, every café on the block was open and the entire sidewalk smelled of espresso.

It was a quiet, nice morning. A few people dropped in; many left with books, others just browsed for stretches of time, and some simply asked a question before heading out.

In the quiet lulls, you read through the notes Donovan had sent this morning. There were far more than you anticipated, all anchored to comments lining the margins of the document.

In one of them, you read:

His age isn’t clear. He could be anywhere between forty and sixty years old. If I didn't know better, I’d assume he is a man nearing sixty. Keep in mind that the reader doesn’t know what you know, and you cannot gloss over that in the main descriptions. You can weave it into the dialogue or the internal monologue. Your choice. But don't make it obvious.

It wouldn't be so jarring if Donovan didn’t highlight the paragraphs in an intense, vibrant red. Sometimes he used yellow, other times a soft, light blue. If there was an actual system to his color-coding, you had no idea what it was.

At ten o'clock sharp, the chimes above the door rang out once more. Instantly, your eyes snapped toward the entrance, your mind flashing for a fraction of a second with the thought that it might be… him.

But it was Bill who stepped through the door.

Tall and handsome as ever, he wore a crisp smile and his bright prominent green eyes were shining as usual.

The moment you saw him, your eyes widened with joy.

You slipped off your stool to greet him as he walked in, carrying two large brown paper bags and a warm grin.

"Coffee and a slice of cake for my favorite writer!"

Bill set the bags down on the counter and welcomed you with open arms; he smelled of fresh brew and cologne. Your cheek pressed against his warm chest as he held you close for a brief moment.

"You haven't even read anything of mine," you laughed.

His hand brushed up your back. "I don't have to to know it'll be incredible."

"You really have faith in me."

Bill pulled back slightly. "We all do. Julie was thrilled when she found out. She says now she’ll have someone interesting to interview for her school project."

You huffed a laugh and walked back around to the other side of the counter. A customer stepped through the door right at that moment. Good morning, he said. Good morning, you replied. He was an elderly man holding a cane, and he headed straight toward the Hispano-American literature section.

"What are your plans for today?" Bill asked, leaning against the counter. "If you're free, Julie and I would love to have you over for dinner."

"I’d love to," you smiled, "but tonight is Yov’s bachelorette party. And Santi’s bachelorette party, too."

He grinned. "Oh yeah? What d'you have planned?"

"We're grabbing drinks at a bar nearby," you tilted your head. "Yov’s girlfriends made a reservation for dinner too, so, we'll see what happens."

"And Santi?"

"Oh, I dunno. I know they're going out for drinks too, but knowing them, they’ll probably do something else too."

A chuckle caught in his chest. "Will they have to go rescue him from a hotel rooftop in the morning like The Hangover?"

"Mmm," you narrowed your eyes playfully, "I think it'll be more like Into the Wild."

"Campfires and all that, huh."

"Exactly," you nodded. "Knowing them, they'll have a few drinks and then go have fun somewhere out there. Nothing too crazy. Plus, the rest of Yov's family arrives tomorrow so he gotta be fresh."

"Got it," Bill nodded. "And how... how has Austin treated you so far?"

"Austin?"

He tilted his head, a smirk forming on his lips that made you suspect his question had several layers.

"Austin is fine," you answered, lifting your chin. "I barely got here yesterday and my eye is already twitching, how about that?"

It was a joke. Your eyes were not twitching at all. Spiritually, maybe.

Bill laughed and reached out with his left hand, grabbing the side of the brown paper bag he had set down moments ago.

"Better not drink this coffee then. It has two shots."

You burst out laughing and snatched the bag from his hands. "Don't you dare!"

You needed that coffee, and you also needed the slice of cake he had so carefully tucked inside the plastic container. But above all, you needed him to stay right there with you and give you his opinion on a few things.

You pulled the coffee cup out and set it on the counter for a moment.

Bill laughed softly, his eyes dropping to your hand, and that’s when you asked:

"You free this Saturday?"

Later

If New York had taught you anything, it was how to dress and do your makeup.

No. Not New York. Alex.

Alex, like so many other wealthy, fashion forward New Yorkers, was a woman who understood style deeply and knew exactly how to tailor it to different people. That was why she had spent a massive chunk of your stay dragging you from one boutique to another, letting you freely indulge in every single one of her perks at beauty salons across the Upper East Side.

She had been incredibly generous. And while you initially thought it was a favor to you, you soon realized it was actually a treat for her. Letting Alex guide and advise your style was exactly what she craved and thoroughly enjoyed, and even Emma had gotten a little taste of her styling expertise when she came to visit a few weeks back.

You weren’t normally one to blow money on clothes and makeup. Truthfully, you liked the things you already owned, they lasted a long time, and you rarely found anything you loved enough to desperately want to buy. But in New York, your credit card began seeing action it had never seen before. And honestly? You liked it.

Now, your closet in Austin was packed with new dresses, skirts, blouses, and a few pairs of boots and shoes. You had flown back with two massive suitcases stuffed to the brim, packed right alongside the heavy uncertainty of whether you were even going to stay here. When in doubt, bring it all.

Right now, Emma stood in front of your bedroom mirror, half dressed. She was in her bra, a dress pulled up only from the waist down, fussing with her underwear beneath the fabric to make sure there were no visible lines.

Even though she was wearing seamless panties, she was convinced that the glare of the light caught the faint outline of the edges.

"I’m telling you, it doesn’t show," you said from the bed.

You had finished getting ready ages ago and were now lounging with Mr. Darcy resting on your stomach. You wore a form-fitting black skirt paired with a black blouse featuring soft, sheer bell sleeves. The neckline was high, grazing your collarbones, and the entire front was dusted with tiny sparkles that subtly caught the light whenever you moved. Your legs were covered in semi-opaque black tights, finished off with boots that hit just three fingers below the knee.

"You sure? What about like this?" Emma turned to the side, arching her back to check her reflection.

"It’s a thong," you said, lifting a hand. "And it’s completely seamless. For heaven's sake, Em, nothing is showing."

"Alright, alright," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "You better be right. What time is your mom picking us up?"

"Seven o'clock."

"And what time is it now?"

You picked up your phone from where it lay beside you on the bed and glanced at the screen.

"Quarter to seven."

She let out a sigh of relief, then finally pulled the dress up over her waist and shoulders, slipping her arms through the sleeves and tugging the zipper up along her ribs.

She looked at her reflection and pursed her lips. You smiled.

Emma looked radiant. Not just beautiful, not just happy; radiant. Everything about her carried a glow that reminded you of the old Emma, the one from before the divorce, before everything had gone down.

She had always been a strong woman, and she had always faced life's hurdles as one. Even as she went through the divorce, you had never once seen her hang her head or crumble the way so many others would have. But she had suffered through bad days and rough patches, and during those times, a very specific light inside her had gone dark.

Between the two of you, Emma had always been the one who had life figured out, or at least the one who always knew how to stay on track.

Since you were little, she knew exactly what she wanted to do and how to achieve it; she graduated early, started working immediately, and married Luca shortly after meeting him. Everything in her life had always been neat and effortless, unfolding exactly how you’d expect the life of a model adult to go.

After the divorce, she barely faltered. That was the thing about Emma; some things just never seemed to shake her. Good or bad, she didn't let much get under her skin. Her peace was sacred.

Until Will came along.

At first, you couldn't quite put your finger on it, this thing that made her nervous in a way you had never seen before. When you were in New York and she would call to give you updates, the anxious flutter in her voice was entirely new. You were absolutely certain she hadn't been that jittery even during the week leading up to her wedding.

There was something about all of this that, for the first time in her entire life, was throwing her off balance. And it only took you a moment to realize why: she was truly in love.

Not in love the way she had been with Luca, or with any other ex… no. Truly, deeply in love. The kind of love that makes you feel like a teenager all over again, the kind that keeps him in your thoughts day and night, making you ache for him while simultaneously filling you with absolute peace.

You knew the feeling all too well. Looking at her right now, you recognized it instantly, because not too long ago, you had been in the exact same place. Head over heels.

Emma was in love.

"You look beautiful."

Hearing your voice, Emma caught your eye in the mirror and smiled.

"Thank you. You look beautiful too," she replied, turning around to face you directly.

You offered a warm smile in return, spreading your fingers across Mr. Darcy’s back. You gave his fur a gentle squeeze, and he immediately began to purr.

"So…" Emma walked over to the bed and drifted down beside you, propping herself up on her elbow. A wave of her perfume reached you instantly. "How's everything?"

You smiled. "How's everything? Everything's good."

"Ah…" She reached out and stroked Darcy, who promptly closed his eyes.

"What about you? How's everything with you?"

"Good." Emma sighed. "You talked to him?"

Your hand went still on Darcy’s back. "With whom?"

"Y'know. Francisco. Frankie. Have you talked to him?"

Your lips parted for a split second, your brows knitting together.

"No. Why?"

"Just asking," she said, pursing her lips. "After what happened yesterday, I dunno, I just thought maybe you guys had talked."

"Oh, no. No… you know how it is. If we’d talked, I would’ve told you by now, don't you think?"

Emma huffed a laugh. "True. You better."

"And what happened yesterday? Was he there when you went over to Will’s later?"

"Yeah, but only for a little bit," she said, her hand running over Darcy’s fur almost absentmindedly. "And he didn't say much."

"Hmm."

"It doesn't…" Emma locked her eyes onto yours. "It doesn't bother you that I hang out with him, right? Because if it does, I can totally—"

"Em, no," you interrupted, shaking your head.

"No, I’m serious. I know it can be weird for your best friend to spend time with your ex."

"It’s weird if you phrase it like that," you laughed. "But you aren't hanging out with Frankie. It’s just that he happens to be your boyfriend's best friend. It’s not your fault."

"It really doesn't bother you?"

You raised your eyebrows. "No, it really doesn't."

"I swear, the first few weeks I gave him the absolute cold shoulder."

You laughed. "Really?"

"Yes, I swear! And he barely even came near me because he knew what I was gonna say to him."

"What were you gonna say?"

"That he’s a fool and an idiot, what else?" She laughed. "Though I think he already knew it, because he always watched his step around me."

"Mhm. You two seem to get along well enough now, though, right?"

At your question, Emma’s smile faltered.

You knew she spent time around Frankie now. Here and there, they would cross paths at gatherings or over at Will’s place. She didn't tell you much, but it was always implicit. Every time Emma mentioned she was at a certain place, you already knew Frankie would likely be there too.

"Not really," she replied.

You smiled. "Em."

"What? I’m serious."

"You don't have to hide it from me. I know Francisco can be nice. And I wouldn't expect you to treat him badly just for my sake. That would make things uncomfortable for everyone."

"I don't treat him badly," she said, lifting a hand, "but we aren't friends either, okay? We just… we talk like normal people."

"Sure."

"Ugh," she groaned, tossing herself backward and covering her eyes with both hands. "I’m a terrible friend."

"That’s not true!"

"Of course it is! I have fraternized with the enemy!"

"Alright, stop it," you said, propping yourself up on your elbow. "Can we please drop this?"

"No!"

"We’re adults," you laughed, pulling Emma’s hand away from her face. "And Francisco isn't the enemy, he’s just my ex boyfriend. I have to coexist with him tomorrow, Em, please. Can we just act like this is normal?"

Emma sighed, narrowing her eyes. "Fine. But let’s be clear: I am gonna act like this is totally normal, but on the inside, I'm gonna enjoy every single second of watching you with Bill there—"

"Oh no, that’s not—"

"And when Frankie sees you with Bill?"

You threw your head back. "Bill is just my friend!"

"Your 'friend' whom you invited to your brother's wedding, where your ex, who was always a little jealous of him, happens to be the best man!"

A loud laugh burst from your throat as your face flushed bright red. "It’s not like that!"

"Yes it is! You smart bitch!"

Emma’s hands dug playfully into your stomach, and the tickling shocked another loud laugh out of you. Poor Mr. Darcy; the little cat bolted off the bed at the sudden noisy outburst.

On the inside, you swore to yourself: it really wasn't like that.

Fortunately for you, five minutes later, the horn of your mom’s rental car honked outside your apartment, and Emma immediately bounded off the bed to throw on her heels, utterly unable to tease you any longer.

Hours later, at night.

Sitting at the long table surrounded by Yov’s friends, you felt at ease.

The restaurant was located right in the heart of downtown, and thanks to Cinthia, the maid of honor, they had managed to book a private table out on the terrace.

Beside Yov sat Emma, who had become really close to her over the last few months. The bond between them had blossomed naturally, fueled by all the time they spent together because of the guys. Watching them laugh together, it was hard to believe they hadn't known each other a lifetime.

"And then," one of Yov’s college friends said, gesturing animatedly with her fork, "she completely forgot where she parked the car and we spent two hours walking to our apartment, drunk as hell. And as soon as we got home, guess what? Her car was parked right there!"

The table erupted into laughter, and Yov buried her face in her hands just as her cheeks flushed pink.

Emma leaned in, nudging her playfully.

"To be fair, that happened to us, too," Emma chimed in with a grin, throwing a knowing look your way. "Remember that? My dad was so mad."

"Oh, yeah," you raised your eyebrows, "but we walked all the way home having forgotten your car was parked right outside the club."

Your mom gasped; "What? When was that, and why am I just finding out now?"

You turned to look at her, sitting to your left.

"It was a lifetime ago!" you replied.

She smiled and shook her head. It made you happy to see her here, laughing, enjoying herself, and sharing this moment with all of you, because the truth was, it had been a very long time since that had happened.

Following your father’s death, your mom’s retreat had been almost absolute. She had rarely returned to the city, and she had never stepped foot in the family home again; a house that didn't even belong to you anymore.

Your relationship with her had fractured deeply because of that, leaving Santi as the one who stayed closest to her. It meant years of brief interactions, arguments over the phone, and her constant attempts to reach out to you, which you always pushed away.

Back then, you were younger. You were grieving one of the people you loved most, and you needed her. But she wasn't there, and for the longest time, you resented her for it.

If you were a mother, you would never do that; leaving the city because you were heartbroken over the loss of the love of your life was understandable, but distancing yourself from your two children was not.

And it wasn't that she had completely vanished, either. No, she had always tried to stay in touch with daily calls, constant texts, and video chats every single night. Until you finally said no more, and began to freeze out any kind of contact.

That lasted for two years. Two years where you cut yourself off from her entirely, reducing your only connection to calls once every few weeks and updates passed down through Santi.

It hadn't been easy at first, but she was entirely honest with you. All of this was difficult for her, and it had been incredibly hard years ago as well. But living together in New York after her trip had been surprisingly fun, and something you had missed desperately.

The two of you spent your days walking, exploring, taking in the city, and spending your nights watching movies, shows, and reading together in the living room.

You reconnected, and it felt so good. You had missed your mom so much, and being with her now felt completely right.

Amid the chatter and jokes, two hours flew by as you finished dinner and dessert. Yov was ecstatic; her friends were all gathered in the same room for the first time in years, and on top of that, her mom and yours were having a wonderful time together.

The atmosphere was incredibly warm and the excitement for the wedding grew with every passing minute; you were starting to feel the rush of emotion building up inside you, too.

You couldn't believe it. This was actually happening. Santi was getting married, and not only that, but his future wife was someone you absolutely loved.

Watching her now, as she laughed with your mom and lifted her glass to her lips, you felt a wave of genuine happiness.

What a beautiful family you had. And what a beautiful family they would have in a couple of years. You could picture it perfectly; just like this, but a little different. With a couple of kids, maybe. Santi wanted two; Yov wanted at least two. And you couldn't wait to have nieces and nephews running around everywhere.

She was an incredible woman, and your brother was lucky to have her. And on the flip side, Santi was a wonderful man, too. You were certain he would make an amazing husband and father, and you couldn't wait to see him step into that new chapter of his life.

"What are you thinking about?"

Emma’s soft voice pulled you from your thoughts. Turning toward her, you met her bright eyes framed by long curling lashes. She gently touched your elbow.

"Nothing," you answered, a gentle smile tracing your lips. "I can't believe they're actually getting married. Time moves so fast. Santi is fully a grown man now."

Emma smiled. "He has been for a while, huh."

He had been for a long time. But you had barely noticed the passage of time, preoccupied with growing up right alongside him.

Everything had just moved so quickly. Only a few years ago, the two of you were inseparable, going everywhere together; you glued to his side like velcro, and him completely fine with bringing you along. It had always been you and him, him and you.

Every time he hung out with his friends, he brought you with him. Everywhere you went with Emma, there he was, simply because he was too curious and liked your company.

Spending these past months in New York had been a completely new experience for you, as you had never gone that long without seeing Santi. It had felt strange not having him around or seeing him for such a stretch, and it made you realize just how accustomed you were to his presence.

You didn't know if all siblings were like that. Probably not. But you and Santi definitely were.

"Your mom is having a great time," Emma whispered, leaning close to your ear.

You smiled instantly. "I know. I wish Dad were here to see it."

Emma squeezed your arm with hers. "I'm sure he is."

"You think so?" you asked, looking at her sideways with a small smile.

"Of course I do. I bet he’s even having a glass of wine somewhere right now."

That made you laugh. You could picture it perfectly: your dad tilting his elbow back to finish his glass of wine, just like he always did whenever he was celebrating and happy.

Somewhere out there, he was watching over you all. You liked to believe that.

"Another round, my treat! Our boy's getting hitched!"

A microsecond after Benny finished speaking, the entire bar roared in celebration, raising their glasses and hands.

Fuckin' opportunistic bastards, Santi thought amused. Everyone here wasn’t just happy for him; they were just thrilled to drink on someone else's dime. Julius, CJ, Baz, Carlos, and even Don had already crowded around, slapping him on the back in congratulation.

Santi laughed, ducking his head a bit, suddenly feeling a wave of self-consciousness from all the attention.

"C'mon Fish, live a little," Will said, stretching his arm across the table to thrust a beer bottle toward Frankie, who was sitting at the far corner.

Santi watched him shake his head.

"Ts, I dunno," Fish replied.

"Not even a single drop?" Ben asked, sounding genuinely offended. "C'mon, celebrate with us. The state of Texas allows a zero-point-zero-eight blood alcohol level, which is..." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, doing the math. "... a drink, a beer!"

Frankie crossed his arms and leaned his head back. "Under what exact circumstances were you researching that?"

Ben scoffed. "You don’t wanna know. But let’s get one thing straight," he added, planting his hand firmly on the table. "I am a responsible driver!"

"Fish," Santi called out, raising his own beer. "We’ll call an Uber. Now celebrate with your friend who's about to tie the knot."

Frankie’s smile turned lopsided, and in that brief moment, Santi noticed how the scar on his cheek stood out just a bit more.

"You guys are a terrible influence. Haven’t you noticed I’m a clean guy now?"

"Oh, c'mon," Will laughed, throwing his head back.

"No, no, it's true," Santi chimed in, nodding. "He really is."

Will raised his eyebrows. "I know he is. What is it, up to one or two cans of beer a day, max?"

"Only if I have to drink. Otherwise, nothin'," Fish said, squaring his shoulders with a hint of pride.

Santi smiled, feeling a pang of pride himself. "I’m proud of you. We all are."

"To Fish!" Benny raised his beer.

Will smiled and imitated his brother. "To Fish."

Frankie scoffed, suddenly shy, and hid his eyes under his glasses.

A second later, Will took a long swig of his beer before slamming the bottle back down on the table.

"Alright, enough with the sappy stuff, you're gonna give me diabetes. If Fish is staying sober, it just means more booze for the rest of us. Call that round already!"

Frankie laughed and looked over at Santi, who held his gaze for a couple of seconds, his eyebrows rising bit by bit.

"Uh?" Santi smirked. "Just one? What do you say?"

A few feet away, Grian was pulling out beer bottles and lining them up on the bar.

Frankie leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, a wide grin flash of teeth breaking across his face.

"It's my bachelorette night and my best man can't even clink glasses with me!"

"Alright, alright, alright," Frankie raised both hands in surrender. "Just one. But only 'cause it’s your night and a nice cold beer actually sounds real good right now."

Will slapped Fish on the back, giving him a rough but affectionate nudge, a grin splitting his face.

"And just so we're clear, we're still incredibly proud of you."

Santi smiled as he watched them, taking a sip of his beer. As he swallowed, a heavy sensation settled deep in his chest.

He couldn't quite explain this feeling. He was thrilled about his wedding, and even more so about what it meant for his life with Yov. Yet his smiles felt forced, slipping away the moment none of his friends were looking.

Will was ecstatic, Benny was right there with him (and a bit tipsy), and Fish had just tipped a bottle to his lips, taking a long swig as the corners of his mouth turned upward into a grin. And in that exact moment, the only thing Santi could think about was… someone else.

Terrified that someone might notice the sudden glossiness in his eyes, he pressed the beer to his mouth and finished it in one long gulp.

"Alright, where’s that next round, huh?" he said, bringing the empty bottle down hard on the table. "I’m getting thirsty."

Fish smirked slightly, his gaze drifting over Santi’s face. "You alright?"

Santi let out a huff. "As always."

People always say you shouldn't drink on an empty stomach.

Well, you all took that advice to heart.

Following a delicious dinner and a suggestively named dessert specially crafted for the bride and her guests, the group piled out onto the street, where a stretch limousine was already idling by the curb.

Yov burst out laughing. "Fio, what on earth is this?"

Fiona, one of her best friends, gestured grandly toward the massive car before pulling a white sash out of her bag that read Future Mrs. Garcia in bold lettering.

"What does it look like?" she laughed, stepping closer to loop the sash over Yov’s shoulder. "Nothing but the best for our beautiful bride; you only get married once!"

Emma chuckled. "According to whom?"

"I've been married twice," Cinthia chimed in, raising both hands.

"Well, they do say third time’s a charm," Fiona shot back, clapping a hand over her mouth the exact second the words slipped out.

The sound of your mom’s laughter made you snap your head to the right, and you watched her laugh with flushed cheeks as she walked over to Yov and gently took her by the arm; She was already a bit tipsy. She had finished two glasses of wine during dinner and you knew that was always enough to make your mom giggly, and you loved seeing it.

She was having a wonderful time, just like everyone else.

Fortunately, Fiona’s slip of the tongue was swept away by a wave of giggles as the limousine doors swung open, inviting you into leather seats and neon lighting.

One by one, each one of you piled inside, heels clicking against the pavement before sinking into the comfort of the interior. ABBA was already pulsing through the speakers and a chilled bottle of champagne was waiting in the ice bucket.

Your mom took a seat near Yov, still giggly, while Emma slid in right next to you; her eyes were sparkling as she smoothed down her dress and smiled at you. Cinthia, in front of you, immediately took charge of pouring the drinks, handing out flutes of bubbling champagne as the city lights outside melted into streaks against the tinted windows.

It was a short drive, but when the limousine finally pulled up to the curb, the venue took your breath away.

It wasn't a huge chaotic nightclub, but a really nice luxurious place. Nestled behind a discreet entrance, the lounge exuded… quiet. The lighting was low and calm, casting shadows over velvet booths, dark walnut accents, and a big glowing marble bar that stretched across the main room. Your first thought was oh, this is expensive.

But Cinthia took charge of that. Of everything, really. She had a wildly successful career in PR, and before you had even made it to the restaurant, she had casually mentioned how she always managed to get exactly what she wanted. It was a natural born talent. The restaurant, the limo, the lounge, and even the expensive bottles of champagne waiting for them were all the masterwork of her and Fiona.

A hostess in a tailored suit checked the name and guided your group past the main floor toward a raised, private tier.

"Right this way, ladies. Your table is ready in the VIP lounge," she murmured.

The private area overlooked the rest of the venue, enclosed by elegant brass railings and draped in heavy emerald green curtains. It was the perfect vantage point.

"You really outdid yourself," Yov breathed, taking in the crystal glasses and the dedicated server already waiting for them.

Cinthia just offered a knowing smirk, sinking into the velvet cushions. "Only the best for the bride. Now, what are we drinking?"

Emma squeezed your arm. "Oh my God, no! No! I'm gonna pee myself!"

"Oh no!" your mom shrieked.

You wanted to answer (you really, truly did) but the words wouldn't come because you couldn't even breathe. Your stomach ached from laughing so hard, and Emma wasn't helping; she was standing right in front of you with her legs tightly crossed, this ridiculous, hilarious wheeze escaping her chest.

"Emma, no, go, go!" Cinthia ordered, shooing her away with a wave of her hand. Beside her, Kat, another one of Yov's friends, looked intensely focused, squinting into near blindness as she tried to wipe her glasses with a cloth.

"C'mon, I'll take you," you managed to choke out between giggles, pushing yourself up from your seat and nudging Emma toward the hallway.

"You need me to come with you, sweetie?" your mom asked.

You turned back to look at her and your grin widened; she had a straw clamped between her lips, her eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Nah, we're good, we'll be right back."

Oh God, your stomach literally hurt from laughing. You couldn't even remember what the first joke was, or whatever it was that had triggered this chain reaction of non stop laughter, but it had been at least ten minutes of tossing one-liners back and forth.

Surprisingly, your mom wasn't helping the situation at all; she was on a roll tonight, spilling anecdotes about Santi; embarrassing stories that would have absolutely mortified him if he were here to listen.

And like any good younger sister, you found them hilarious and were laughing your head off.

"Ask him about the time he tried to impress a girl in middle school by doing a backflip off the diving board," she said minutes ago. "He ended up doing a full horizontal belly flop. The smack was so loud the lifeguard thought a firecracker went off! He had a bright red stomach for a week, my poor boy!"

Yov buried her face in her hands, her shoulders heaving as she let out a loud, snorting laugh.

"I am calling off the wedding," she wheezed, shaking her head.

"No!" your mom shot back, entirely unbothered, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I have the photo album to prove it. I'll pass it under the table right before you say 'I do'."

"Oh yeah! I've seen those photos!"

Picture this. A fourteen year old Santi with slightly long curls and naturally flushed cheeks. And underneath his t-shirt, a bright red stomach bruised from a wipeout that made you laugh your head off back then, but also curse on his behalf. It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing if it hadn't been summer, and if he hadn't done it right in front of every single kid at the pool. The poor guy wore a shirt for an entire week after that, even to get into the water.

It was a simple kind of silly anecdote, but the way your mom told it was hilarious, and it was followed by so many more that your brother’s ears would definitely be burning somewhere right now.

Emma let go of your arm the second you entered the restroom and rushed straight into a stall.

"Your mom is so funny," her voice echoed. "I missed her. Poor Yov!"

Looking in the mirror, you ran your index finger under your eyelashes to fix the mascara that had smudged a bit.

"I know, but she’s one of us now. She has been for a while."

"I love her, I love her—ouch!"

"What's wrong?" you tilted your head to the side.

"Nothing, nothing, I just twisted my stu-pid foot!"

Laughing, you furrowed your brow. "What are you even doing in there?"

Emma let out a low chuckle. "Nothing. These toilets are too damn low."

"Alright. Just be careful in there." You looked down at your purse and opened it to grab your lip gloss, but the glowing screen of your phone caught your attention instead.

Ten missed calls and many… many messages. All from Will. And you would have heard them if you hadn't put your phone on vibrate mode just to enjoy the night better.

Plse answt, one of the messages read.

wwe can't fondsanti

Your heart started beating incredibly fast as you unlocked the phone, your hands turning freezing cold.

You heard the sound of Emma’s toilet flushing just as you pressed call on Will.

"Oh God, much better," she said as she stepped out of the stall, but you couldn't do anything except listen in silence. Emma watched you bring the phone to your ear. "What happened?"

"I don't know," you shrugged both shoulders.

The phone rang once, twice, three times—

"Hey."

"Hey, Will, what happened? I just checked my phone—"

"Santi’s gone."

Oh God, he was slurring his words.

"What you mean he's gone? Gone from where? Isn't he with you?"

Emma’s eyes widened. "Is that Will?"

You nodded and put it on speaker.

"—in the restroom, but Ben went to look for him and he wasn't there, and he's nowhere to be found and—"

"Where are you right now?"

"Here."

"Here where?"

"Will, honey, can you hear me? Where are you guys?" Emma asked.

"In the restroom—at the bar, in the bar restroom."

Your heart jumped into your throat. "And where's Santi?"

"I-I I dunno, he left, or I dunno, he's not here—"

You closed your eyes in frustration. "Listen, is there anyone else there I can talk to?"

"Yeah wait."

On the other end, you could hear music, voices, and a thud that sounded like a door slamming shut. Will muttered a shit, and two seconds later:

"Yeah?"

Francisco.

"Hey, what happened?" you asked, rubbing your hand across your forehead. "Where's Santi?"

"Uh… we… we don't know where he is. We were just hanging out here and he said he had to go to the restroom." Okay, he wasn't slurring his words. "And then after a bit, we realized it had been a really long time, and when Ben went to check, he wasn't in the restroom, or in the bar. He's not here, he left."

"But how? How could he have left without you guys noticing?"

Emma watched you in silence, her eyes wide.

"I dunno, I'm sorry. He must've slipped out through the other side of the bar."

"Shit, Frankie, are you being serious?"

"I'm sorry, we're gonna go look for him right now—"

"Will is drunk, and I assume Benny is too, you aren't gonna get very far," you sighed. "How was Santi acting before he disappeared?"

"A bit wasted too. He started talking about trees and houses, and said Yov was gonna be mad at him."

Emma gasped in shock. Your heart completely skipped a beat.

"Alright, where exactly are you guys right now?" you asked.

"At The Crow. We were planning to head over to Met Park later."

"Okay. Listen to me, stay put, yeah? I'm coming right now. Please don't call anyone else. Have you talked to anyone else?"

You heard Frankie pull the phone away from his ear.

"Did you talk to anyone else? No? You Ben? Alright…" his voice sounded muffled before coming back clear. "No, they haven't talked to anyone else. Neither have I."

"Good. I'm not far, okay?"

"Okay."

Without answering, and before he could say anything else, you cut the call, your hands freezing cold.

"What are we gonna do?" Emma asked. "You don't think he got cold feet about the wedding, right?"

"No, no," you shook your head, though you weren't entirely sure. "No way. Santi would never do that."

Emma rubbed her cheek. "I'm calling an Uber right now. What are you gonna tell the girls?"

"Nothing. They don't need to know. I'll just text mom telling her we're heading home for some silly reason, and that's it."

Your fingers flew across the screen, typing out some absurd excuse. Hey, Em broke her shoe, we're running home real quick to change and we'll be right back, don't worry, we already called the Uber.

You hit send and prayed that your mom's maternal instinct wouldn't kick in tonight of all nights.

You were going to kill Santiago.

If you bit your nails any shorter, you were going to be left with none. And it felt like this damn Uber driver was practically crawling.

"There they are!" Emma said the second you pulled up to the block where the bar was.

Will, Ben, and Frankie were waiting outside on the sidewalk, the three of them looking like scared kids waiting for their moms to pick them up from kindergarten.

You mumbled a quick thank you to the driver and got out as fast as you could, while Emma scrambled out from the other side a bit more clumsily.

Will put both hands on his head as soon as he saw her. "Emmy!"

"Look at you! Grown men!" she snapped, a little tipsy herself. "How could you lose your friend?"

Shaking your head, you looked over at Benny, who was crouching down and looking like he was about to throw up, before shifting your gaze to Frankie; the only sober one, apparently.

He wasn't drunk, but he looked just as panicked. His hair was a bit messy, and he was looking at you with a strange expression.

"What happened?" you asked, crossing your arms as you stepped up to him. "Have you tried calling him?"

Frankie’s eyes flickered across your face. "He left his phone. I have it right here."

"Oh God."

"Don't worry, we're gonna find him," he nodded. "He couldn't have gone very far."

"How? Look at them," you gestured toward Will and Benny. "They're wasted!"

Frankie took another step closer to you. "But I'm not. I've only had a few sips. My car is right across the street."

"Francisco. You're the best man, you were supposed to look out for him," you frowned, a sudden wave of anger hitting you. "How on earth did you let him slip away?"

He frowned back. "How was I supposed to imagine he’d just take off like that? It's Santi we're talking about."

"Yeah, exactly!"

"Alright, alright," Emma stepped in, raising a hand. "Stop wasting time talking and do something, okay? He could be anywhere! Frankie, can you drive?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"Zero point zero eight!" Ben yelled.

"Okay. You go with him and search everywhere," she told you, gesturing with her chin, "and I'll take these two drunks back to Will's place."

No, you thought. And your stomach did such a massive flip you almost gasped. But on the outside, you just nodded.

"Alright," you said, catching sight of Frankie moving beside you out of the corner of your eye. "I'll keep texting you. Tell Grian to keep an eye out in case Santi comes back here, and to hold onto him."

"Will do."

You took a step backward and your back collided with something—No, with him.

As you lost your balance, his hands instantly caught your shoulders. He was right behind you.

"Sorry."

"It's fine," he murmured over your shoulder, his hands releasing you immediately. "Let's go."

He started walking toward the curb, stopping right there to wait for you.

Before moving, you looked at Emma with your eyes wide open, only to catch the mischievous glint in her gaze as she pressed her lips together, trying not to smirk.

Bitch.

Well, this felt familiar.

As you crossed the street, you turned back for a moment and saw your best friend on the other side, while you awkwardly approached your brother’s friend’s car. It was a familiar scene, wasn't it?

Unlike that first time in Dallas, Frankie held the door open for you. A gentlemanly gesture that caught you off guard. First, because you didn't recognize the car. It was a different one. Black or dark blue, you couldn't quite tell the color in the darkness of the night. It wasn't any of the cars you had seen at Will’s house, and this one was newer. And second, because it would have been easier for both of you to have just skipped the gesture entirely.

"Thanks." You settled into the leather seat, and he shut the door softly beside you.

During the brief seconds it took him to walk around to the driver's side and get in, you let out a deep sigh. Your eyes scanned the black dashboard and then moved up to the rearview mirror, where a small silver cat keychain and a green pine tree hung, filling the space with the scent of vanilla.

Frankie stepped inside like a gust of air and slammed the door shut.

Alright. Chill. This doesn't have to be weird.

"Where to?" he asked.

You pressed your knees tightly together. "Let's just drive around the block first."

Without a word, he started the engine and pulled the car out of its parking spot, maneuvering smoothly as he kept a cautious eye on the street, while you locked your eyes on him the exact same way.

"Uh," you cleared your throat and looked straight ahead, "he couldn't have gone very far."

"He must be around here somewhere."

"You think he called a cab or something?"

"I have his phone."

"Right," you pursed your lips. "Of course."

You clasped your hands in your lap and laced your fingers together, feeling your palms grow sweaty as you stared out the window, holding back a sigh.

It smelled way too much like him in here. Like his cologne, the fabric softener on his clothes—like him, because he was sitting right next to you, and that made sense, didn't it?

Your heart was beating so fast.

"He seemed a little down today," he noted.

You turned to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know, earlier," he looked back at you, holding your gaze for a couple of seconds before turning his eyes back to the street. "I figured he was just nervous about the wedding, so I didn't want to press him with questions."

"You think that could be it? You think he got scared?"

He shook his head. "No, no way. Santi isn't like that."

"I know he's not. But I dunno, it could be possible."

Through the window, the sidewalks and streets passed by with no sign of him.

"What did he mean when he said Yov was gonna be mad?"

Frankie pursed his lips and turned the corner. "I don't know, he wasn't making much sense. He started talking about trees, about how long they live and how big they can grow, and how it had been a really long time since he last visited the park. I asked him about it, but he said nothing. Then he said Yov was gonna be mad if she found out about the house. When I asked him what he meant, he just said it was stupid."

"I can't think of anything," you sighed, rubbing your hand over your neck in frustration. "It doesn't make any sense. Did something happen with his house? What on earth was he talking about?"

"He's drunk, I don't think much of what he said was supposed to make sense."

"But Santi isn't like that, you know him," you looked at him. "When has he ever said something he didn't mean?"

He sighed. "Never, I guess. Maybe tonight he was just in the mood to talk about live oaks."

You froze, watching Frankie’s profile as he looked straight ahead and scanned the sidewalk on his side while driving at a relaxed pace.

"Live oaks?"

"Yeah," he affirmed, looking over at you. "I didn't know he was that into trees."

Oh.

OH.

Your hand shot out to grab his shoulder. "I think I know where he is."

"What?"

"Turn around right here," you pointed with your hand, "now. I know where he is!"

Frankie accelerated to the corner and made a sharp left. "Where? Tell me."

"I'm not completely certain, but I'm almost positive," you brushed a strand of hair out of your face.

He chuckled. "Are you gonna tell me where or not?"

"Osbourne Park."

"Why?"

"When we were kids, we had this eco-week in school and they sent us to plant trees. Santi and I planted a live oak with Dad. We went there a lot after he passed away, and I am—Jesus, I'm almost positive he has to be there. Did he say anything about my dad tonight?"

"Yeah," he raised his eyebrows, "yeah, he did."

A relieved sigh escaped your throat and instantly, the car surged forward as he pressed on the gas.

"Take the next right. It'll get us to the ramp faster," you said, leaning forward in your seat, your fingers tightly gripping the edge of the dashboard.

Without a word, he shifted gears and veered right. The streetlights flashed across his face, throwing shadows over his jawline and making his messy hair look even wilder.

Not the time to be looking at him like this!

"He's gonna be fine," he said quietly, grounding anchor against the worry rising in your chest. "If he’s at the park, he’s just clearing his head. He wouldn't do anything stupid."

"I know, I just hope he's there. Otherwise, I don't know," you murmured, staring out at the blurred shapes of buildings. "I don't have any other idea."

Frankie glanced at you, his expression softening before he turned his focus back to the road. "Easy. He's gonna be okay. And if he's not there, we can keep looking around."

Your heart did another strange, complicated flutter that had nothing to do with Santi. You swallowed hard and kept your eyes glued to the windshield.

The car flew past the exit signs, Frankie maneuvering through the light night traffic. He kept his foot steady on the accelerator, making the drive feel much shorter than it actually was. And within short minutes, the neon signs of the downtown bars faded away, replaced by the dark, towering silhouettes of the trees surrounding Osbourne Park.

He took the final turn into the park's entrance; the headlights cut through the heavy darkness of the empty parking lot, sweeping over the grass.

You popped the door open and scrambled out of the car as the heavy darkness of the park was broken only by the scattered park lights cutting through the night, and hovered by the car for two seconds, waiting as Frankie got out from his side and shut his door with a thud.

The moment you saw he was ready, you started moving into the park, your eyes darting everywhere, scanning every shadow. Then, you locked your gaze just to the right, past the paved, illuminated path that led toward the thicker wooded area where the tallest trees stood, and among them, the live oak.

Your pace quickened. As you got closer, cutting through the deep shadows, you managed to make out a familiar shape.

"There he is," you said, drown in anger and relief.

You broke into a fast walk, nearly a jog, while your heart hammered against your ribs as you felt Frankie’s footsteps keeping close right behind you.

As you got closer, you could make him out better. Santi wasn't on the grass; he was sitting on a park bench right in front of the little green space where the tree stood tall and still young among others.

Your footsteps naturally lost their urgency, your pace tapering off as you approached him from behind. He was half hunched over, elbows resting on his knees with his head hanging down. His curls caught the bright glare of the overhead LED light, making them glint in the dark.

You stopped. "Santi?"

He jumped a little at the sound of your voice, straightened up at a relaxed pace, and turned his head just enough to look at you, his eyes unfocused.

"Bub? What are you doing here?"

His voice sounded completely congested and undeniably drunk.

"Frank," Santi smiled, "what are you two doing here?"

You let out a tired sigh and stepped closer to him. "I could ask you the same thing, couldn't I? What are you doing here?"

Up close, he looked like a little kid. You could see his glassy, tear filled eyes, the soft curls falling over his forehead, and the utterly defeated look that took over every single feature of his face as he stared at you in pain.

Santi hung his head again.

"I'm sorry. It's just..." He swallowed hard. "I need time."

His voice was so low you had to furrow your brow. "What?"

He shook his head.

Confused, you glanced over at Frankie, who was keeping a short distance back. He was absolutely quiet.

"Our house is for sale," Santi said. "Our house."

You shifted to his side and sat down right next to him. Tilting your head to see him better, your chest tightened.

"Our house?"

"Our house," he looked at you, and right then, it clicked.

Santi wasn't talking about his house. He was talking about your childhood home.

"I drove past it the other day. I always do. It’s on my way to work, or… not really, I'm lying. I just like driving past it, I guess," he continued. "You remember the family that bought it? With those three little kids?"

"Yeah."

"They don't live there anymore. It's empty now, and there's this big sign outside with a realtor's face on it," he let out a humorless laugh.

You forced a smile even though your cheeks felt heavy, and you reached your hand out to his arm.

Instantly, Santi placed his hand over yours.

"I want it back, bub," his voice cracked. "It’s our house. How could we just let it belong to someone else?"

"You know how things were back then. It wasn't easy for mom—"

"Dad lived there. We grew up there. And she… she just got rid of it because it hurt? What about us? What about you, what about me?" he spat out painfully, the words hitting you straight in the chest.

You swallowed hard. "I know."

Santi’s face contorted with agony, and a sob broke through his lips. And as if he were terrified of you seeing him like this, he covered his face, burying his head in his hands, trying to hide in the shadow of his own body.

"Santi," was all you could manage to say as you threw your arm around his back, resting your head against his shoulder while thick tears began to pool in your eyes.

He let out a ragged breath and abruptly straightened up, making you shift away from him.

"I made an offer," he said.

"For the house?"

He nodded, looking at you with pure fear in his eyes. "I did. And Yov doesn't know."

"How… how? With what money—I'm sorry, but—"

"Our savings, and I'm planning to take out a loan—"

"Santi, wait," you shook your head gently, "you have to talk to her before you do anything like this."

"I know."

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"I don't know," he shook his head, in pain. "She loves our current house. If she found out I wanted to sell it—I don't wanna disappoint her." A gasp broke through his words. "I'm gonna be a husband."

You smiled involuntarily at the realization. "Yeah, you will."

Santi sat completely still, barely moving, his eyes bloodshot as he stared down at his own hands, his body swaying in an almost imperceptible rhythm.

"I'm gonna be a husband," he repeated, barely a scared whisper. "And a dad, someday."

"I am absolutely certain you'll be a great husband and dad."

His head snapped toward you, his eyes instantly flooding with glassy tears.

"You will," you reaffirmed, squeezing his hand. "I know you will."

He nodded at a very quiet, subdued pace. "I need him, bub."

A beat.

You nodded. "I know. I need him too."

"How can I ever be like him? How can I ask him what to do or how to do it if he's not here? He should be here," his words took on an angry edge right at the end. "On my wedding day."

"I honestly don't know," you murmured, your voice catching as you squeezed his hand tighter. "I ask myself the exact same thing every single day. But I know I have you, and you have me. And you can always, absolutely always count on me, for whatever, whenever. And I'm sure he's so proud of you."

Santi offered a faint, fleeting smile, his eyes searching yours. "I'm gonna miss you when you leave again. Nothing is the same without you sticking your nose into all of my business."

You let out a soft laugh, blinking back a new wave of tears. "You're gonna be way too busy starting your own family. You'll barely even notice I'm gone."

His smile faltered, a deep, raw sadness washing over his features. "How could you say something like that? You're part of my family too. I've missed you so much these past few months, you know that? First Mom, and then you," he said, his voice cracking slightly as a weak smile returned to his face. "Why is everyone so obsessed with leaving this place, huh?"

He turned his head around, his gaze shifting toward Frankie, who was still standing a short distance behind you both, keeping his respectful space.

Frankie offered a quiet smile, his eyes on Santi. "Hey, I came back, didn't I?"

Santi let out a weak laugh. "Yeah, you did."

Then, he turned back around to face the dark park, letting out a long, exhausted sigh. He hung his head, dragging both of his hands over his face and up through his tangled curls, holding them there for a second.

When he finally lifted his eyes, he locked his gaze onto the live oak tree, staring at it in total silence for a long moment, as if soaking in the memory of your dad one last time tonight.

Finally, he spoke, his voice completely drained. "I wanna go to sleep."

You nodded silently, the lump in your throat making it impossible to speak.

"Alright, let's go," you whispered.

Carefully, you pushed yourself up from the bench and reached out, pulling on his arm to help him stand. His weight shifted unsteadily, but right at that moment, Frankie was there. He stepped in instantly, his strong grip catching Santi by the arm, anchoring him and helping him keep his balance on his shaky, alcohol heavy legs.

In complete silence, the three of you made your way back across the grass toward the car. The only sound was the rustle of the night breeze through the leaves and the quiet scuff of your shoes. And when you reached the vehicle, you quickly pulled the back door open as Frankie guided Santi inside, carefully maneuvering him so he could settle into the backseat.

The second his head hit the leather, it was over. In less than two seconds, Santiago was completely out, his eyes shut tight as his breathing immediately slowed into a deep sleep.

Frankie drove in silence down the side street by the park, careful with every bump and easing through the road so the car’s movement wouldn't wake Santi. In the backseat, he was completely twisted and bent out of shape, yet fast asleep.

Less than a minute passed after you left the park area behind before a sigh finally escaped your throat.

Your phone lay in your lap, its screen dark ever since you read Emma’s last message a few moments ago. She was already at Will’s place with the guys, and apparently, Benny had crashed on the couch the second they walked through the door.

Frankie pulled up to a red light.

"You can take us to my place if you want, I’ll stay with him," you said, not looking at him.

He clicked his tongue. "Nah, it's fine. I’ve got him. Yov’s party is still going, you shouldn't miss it. I’ll take him to Will’s and crash with the guys. You and Emma can head out."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he turned to look at you, "gotta fulfill my duties as bestman."

A helpless smile slowly formed on your lips as you looked at him, and his own lips mirrored the gesture a second later. His eyes held yours like a magnet, and your stupid heart skipped a beat again.

"So, uh, New York," he tossed out, breaking eye contact as he looked back at the road. "What did you think?"

You lowered your head, fixing your gaze on your hands in your lap.

"It's nice. It's a great city," you looked back at him, but his eyes were still fixed ahead. "And I… I’ve been writing a lot."

Frankie glanced at you again. "Yeah?"

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from smiling like an idiot.

"Yeah. A book, actually."

"That's amazing," he smiled, "what's it about?"

"Uh, well, it's kind of a love story. It's mostly about Miles, and his relationship with Alya. They meet one night at a restaurant and lose touch for a year until they cross paths again, but Miles is this guy with a huge amount of baggage and things to work through," you waved your hands, showing just how huge Miles's problems really were. "And it's… it's a complicated story."

Frankie gave a half-smile, nodding slowly. "Does it have a happy ending?"

You pursed your lips and tilted your head. "I'm not telling you."

"Why? C'mon."

The traffic light turned yellow, and two seconds later, green.

"It has a happy ending, doesn't it?" he pressed, his eyes drifting back to the road as the car started moving again.

You huffed. "You really want me to spoil it for you?"

"Depends. How long do I have to wait to read it?"

"I haven't even finished writing it yet, so probably a while."

Frankie let out a soft laugh. "Alright. I'll wait."

Or maybe you could show him a few pages, you thought. Just a few, just to get his opinion.

It was just a thought. You didn't even know why you were so desperate to show him all of it.

"Emma told me you moved to a new place?" you said, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.

He nodded. "Yeah. Over at Circle Ranch."

"Yeah? It's a nice area."

"It is, it really is," he glanced at you for a split second. "Bingley likes it."

You smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah. We have a big backyard now, lots of grass and a few trees. He loves it, but it freaks me out a little, y'know," he shook his head with a smile. "The other day he climbed up one of the trees and I spent half an hour trying to get him down."

"He probably would've come down on his own. Cats really like being up in high places."

"I know. But what if a dog gets him or something?"

You tilted your head. "Are there any dogs nearby? I mean, from your neighbors or...?"

He shook his head. "Not really."

"Then?"

Frankie laughed. "I don't know. I guess I just don't want anything happening to him."

"Mhm. Cats are really smart. Bingley is really smart," you assured him. "And if your yard is safe, you shouldn't worry too much as long as he stays inside it. Just make sure he doesn't escape."

"Yeah, I bought him a collar with a tracker."

You laughed softly. "That's cool. I should get Darcy one of those. You really are a protective cat dad, uh."

"Well, obviously," he smiled, keeping his eyes on the road. "He’s my roommate. If he goes missing, I gotta do my own dishes."

"Fair point," you smiled, looking out the window for a moment. "I'm glad Bingley is enjoying his new backyard. Sounds like he has his own little kingdom now."

"He definitely thinks he owns the place," Frankie chuckled, slowing down as you approached a quiet intersection. The playful tone in his voice softened, turning into something softer as he glanced over at you. "What about you? Are you staying at your apartment?"

"Yeah. It feels good to be back home. Even Darcy is enjoying it."

Frankie nodded, keeping his hands steady on the wheel. He went quiet for a moment as the car moved down the dark street.

Then, his voice dropped. "So... Uh, are you, are you going back to New York?"

A sudden hollow feeling carved itself deep into your chest. You bit the inside of your cheek, looking away out the passenger window as the city lights blurred past. In your lap, you tightly laced your fingers together, squeezing your hands to ground yourself.

"I guess. I don't know yet."

You turned your head back to look at him just as the car approached another intersection. The traffic light flicked to a glowing red.

Frankie came to a stop and turned his head.

In the sudden stillness of the car, bathed in the soft crimson glow of the light, his eyes met yours. There was no teasing left in them, no easy deflection; just a brief searching intensity that seemed to pull the air right out of your lungs for a second.

He looked at you as if he were trying to read between the lines of your hesitation, his eyes dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking back onto yours. "You like it there?"

Your heart squeezed.

Yes, you thought, but it doesn't feel like home.

Instead of saying it out loud, you looked away, answering softly, "I guess I do."

You turned your eyes back to him. Frankie was still looking at you, wearing a small encouraging smile. But you couldn't mirror it. There was something heavy sitting deep in your chest that anchored your lips in place.

Frankie noticed. "When Harry met Sally, uh?"

That pulled a small laugh from you. You shook your head.

Seeing your reaction, Frankie shook his head too, a chuckle escaping him as he quickly backpedaled. "No, no. They met in Chicago. Forget I said that."

You leaned your elbow against the car door, resting your face in your hand as you turned to look out the passenger window. The lingering smile stayed on your lips for a few seconds as the car moved forward, but it slowly began to fade, melting away into the quiet streets.

Beside you, Frankie just drove. He didn't push for more conversation or try to fill the space with words. He simply let the silence settle between you, steering through the night as the landscape outside started to blur into something increasingly familiar.

Will’s house wasn't far now. Just a few more blocks, a couple of turns, and this ride would be over.

And right then, a sudden ache hit you: you didn't want it to end.

The realization washed over you quietly, almost catching you off guard, of just how desperately you had missed this. Just being near him, sharing the same space, even wrapped in these sometime-uncomfortable silences.

You watched the streetlights sweep across the dashboard in waves, wishing the car would slow down, wishing the blocks would stretch out, just to keep the outside world away for a little longer.

But no matter how much you wished you could control time, sometimes wanting to speed it up, other times desperate to slow it down, the reality was that it just kept moving.

And while your heart hammered against your ribs like an untamed creature, craving more of him, Will’s house suddenly appeared ahead.

Frankie pulled the car into the driveway, bringing the ride to a final stop.

A beat later, he let out a quiet sigh and unbuckled his seatbelt, the click signaling the end of the line. The headlights caught the front window of Will’s house.

Your eyes drifted to him then. He glanced at Santi, still dead to the world in the back, before turning his face to yours.

"Frankie," you breathed, and the name felt forbidden on your tongue.

He didn't speak, but the slight tension in his brow gave him away. His hands remained clamped at the top of the steering wheel.

"I'm so sorry for everything that happened to you," you said, knowing this probably wasn't the right time or the right place, but utterly unable to hold it in any longer. "About Henry, and... and everything that came after."

The silence stretched.

Frankie swallowed, giving a single nod. "Thank you."

"And it makes me real happy that you're doing better now."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips, but his eyes stayed entirely dark. His gaze drifted down, anchoring somewhere between the two of you, as if measuring the distance that had grown since you left.

His hand twitched on the wheel, a microscopic movement toward you that he stopped just in time.

"Thank you."

You nodded.

Frankie seemed to hesitate. "And I... I'm so sorry," he murmured, his brown eyes lifting back to yours. "For hurting you and… and letting you down. You didn't deserve what I did to you."

You didn't offer an easy reassurance. You just let out a slow nod.

"And I'm really happy you're doing what you love," he added, his voice flattening out as he forced a smile. It was a tight, fragile thing. "I have no doubt everyone is gonna love your book."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Thank you."

Frankie’s smile faltered, dropping for a fraction of a second before he held it back up.

"And New York..." He trailed off, his gaze slipping from yours to look down at his own lap.

In that brief second of detachment, your eyes scanned his face with a desperate quiet hunger, memorizing him all over again. You traced the familiar slope of his nose, the soft curve of his mouth, the tiny lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there a year ago, the new marks on his face. You searched every single feature, hunting for a crack in his armor, looking for a hidden twitch, a shadow of hesitation, anything that said stay.

But Frankie just gave a soft shake of his head, looking back up. His expression was clear and almost painfully serene.

"I'm sure New York loves you too," he said softly. "It’s a big city, but it fits you. You’re gonna do amazing things there."

A cold ache settled deep into your stomach.

Was this encouragement? Was this a gentle nudge out the door? Was he clearing the path for you, sweeping away the debris?

A sudden winter seemed to settle inside the small cabin of the car. You forced a nod, your eyes drifting back to the dashboard where the green light of the clock kept ticking forward.

"Yeah," you breathed. "Thank you, Frankie."

He unclasped his hands from the steering wheel, the leather letting out a soft stick and release sound that felt incredibly loud. And the space between your seats suddenly felt like an ocean.

You looked straight ahead and unbuckled your seatbelt, the snap breaking the trance. "We should probably get Santi inside."

Without waiting for a response, you pushed the car door open and stepped out, your lungs begging for air.

You took a deep grounding breath of the cool night wind as you walked toward the front porch. Pressing the doorbell, you could hear the heavy thud of Frankie’s door closing behind you.

Emma opened the door almost instantly.

"Hey," she whispered, stepping outside and crossing her arms against the chill. "Will and Benny are already passed out. What happened? How's Santi?"

"Nothing," you said, turning back toward the car where Frankie was gently shaking Santi’s shoulder. "Santi was just at the park. Everything's fine."

Emma nodded, watching as Frankie carefully hauled a groaning Santi out of the backseat. You stepped in, grabbing your brother's other arm to stabilize him.

"Careful," you murmured.

Santi blinked heavily, a goofy smile spreading across his face as he looked at you.

"I'm careful," he slurred.

The three of you shuffled toward the porch in an awkward synchronized stumble, Frankie carrying most of Santi's dead weight while you guided his steps. Emma stepped aside, holding the front door wide open to let the makeshift rescue team pass.

"Will and Ben are in the living room," Emma guided quietly, shutting the door behind you. "You can take him straight to the bedroom."

"Alright, keep your feet steady, man," Frankie muttered to Santi, adjusting his grip around his torso.

Santi let out a low grunt, his sneakers dragging lazily against the hardwood floor.

"Why didn't you tell her?" he mumbled into the space between them.

You frowned, staring at your brother. Just then, Santi rolled his head back to look at you, his eyes unfocused but teasing. "He didn't... he didn't."

Frankie didn't acknowledge it, his face a mask of focus as they reached the open bedroom door. He placed a firm hand on Santi’s back, guiding him over the threshold.

"C'mon. Bedtime."

Santi paused for a second in the middle of the room, clumsily tugging at the zipper of his jacket.

"It's too fucking hot in here," he muttered.

A soft chuckle escaped Frankie’s lips. You watched them from the doorway, leaning against the frame with your arms crossed, forcing a faint hollow smile that didn't reach your eyes.

"Hey."

Turning around, you found Emma standing a few feet away in the dimly lit hallway. You stepped out of the room, giving Frankie and Santi some space.

"What's the plan?" she asked softly.

"We're heading back to Yov's," you replied. "Frankie's staying with the guys."

Emma searched your face, her eyes lingering a bit too long. "You sure?"

"Yeah."

You slipped back into the bedroom. Santi was already sprawled out on the mattress, his jacket and shoes discarded on the floor, while Frankie pulled a thick blanket up to his chest.

"All good?" you asked quietly.

Frankie nodded, looking down at him. "Look at him. Like a baby."

You swallowed the tightness in your throat and walked out toward the living room. Emma was already on one of the armchairs. Across from her, Will and Benny were sound asleep on the couches, buried under a messy pile of blankets and breathing heavily.

"I'll call an Uber," you said, pulling out your phone.

Emma nodded. "Your mom texted me, by the way. Asked how long we were going to be. I told her we got held up because you had a stomach ache."

A small, tired smile tugged at your lips. "Right. Did she buy it?"

"Seems like it," Emma said, shrugging her shoulders.

You nodded, your fingers moving quickly across the screen to confirm the Uber ride, while the soft snores of the Millers drifted from the couches. Emma watched you in silence for a beat.

"I’m completely sober now," Emma noted quietly.

You offered a tight smile. "Me too. The scare Santi gave me cleared the alcohol right outta my system."

On your screen, a driver accepted the ride, the map showing he was only two minutes away.

"I’ll text mom to let her know we’re on our way," you said, just as Frankie walked back into the living room.

"Santi's already snoring," he said, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. "I don't think he’ll wake up until noon tomorrow."

"Yeah, well, neither will these two," Emma whispered, gesturing with her chin toward Will and Ben. "How much did they even drink? Weren't you supposed to have other plans after the bar?"

Frankie shook his head. "I lost count. Benny got a little too excited ordering rounds."

"You gotta work tomorrow?" Emma asked.

Frankie shook his head slightly. "Yeah, but not until after ten."

In the heavy silence that followed, you listened to their casual back and forth, the ordinary words mapping out a life you were no longer part of. You bit the inside of your cheek, keeping your eyes glued to the glowing screen of your phone.

"Too much work tomorrow?" Emma asked, leaning back against the cushions.

Frankie shook his head, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "Nah, not really."

You let out a quiet sigh. Shifting your weight, you stepped away from the living room without a word, slipping back into the dim hallway toward the room where Santi was sleeping.

As you walked, you caught a movement from the corner of your eye. You glanced back and saw Frankie watching you from the living room, his dark eyes tracking your retreat. You met his gaze for barely a second before turning your head away, focusing entirely on your brother.

It's fine, you thought. What did you really expect?

You had known that coming back to Austin meant facing Frankie, and facing Frankie meant clearing up a few things. But you couldn't pretend that the world had been on pause all this time. You couldn't expect him to show more than he already had. Because no matter how many feelings you still harbored for him, or how many he kept for you, if he even had any left; time had kept moving. And maybe... maybe this was just it. The end of the line.

The phone vibrated in your hand. The Uber was outside: Eric, dark grey Toyota Camry.

Casting one last look at Santi, you stepped closer to the bed and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. He barely stirred, completely and deeply asleep.

By the time you reached the living room, Emma was already standing by the door, her bag slung over her shoulder. "Ready, babe?"

You nodded, tightly crossing your arms against your chest.

You couldn't bring yourself to look directly at Frankie, but you could feel his gaze burning into your profile; he was standing just to your left.

"Okay," Emma murmured, twisting the doorknob and pulling the front door open.

You stepped out first, your feet moving automatically as if you suddenly couldn't bear to be in his vicinity for a single second longer.

The night air hit your face like a splash of cold water, but it wasn't enough to clear the suffocating feeling in your chest.

"Tell Yov I say hi," Frankie’s voice drifted from inside.

Only when Emma stepped out onto the porch beside you did you finally turn your head to look at him. Frankie’s eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, but you didn't say anything; you just offered a small fleeting smile, turning on your heel before it could fade.

Walking down the driveway toward the car waiting by the curb, you didn't look back. Not before getting into the car, not after the door clicked shut, and definitely not through the window as the engine revved and the house began to recede into the darkness.

The only thing you knew for certain was that you desperately needed a glass or two of that champagne. Or maybe something a lot stronger.

"Hey," Emma’s voice broke through the quiet, her fingers touching your forearm. "What’s wrong? Did something happen?"

You shook your head, trying to swallow the lump in your throat, but your body betrayed you completely. Your eyes burned, blurring with hot tears, and your mouth trembled, puckering into a soft painful grimace.

"Hey," Emma repeated, her fingers tightening just a fraction.

"It's over," you whispered. You didn't sob. You didn't break down. But your mouth trembled as the hot tears finally spilled over, tracks of quiet fire burning down your cheeks.

"What?"

"Frankie. It's over."

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglist: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @thedilfdiaries @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @deatt @yslgreen @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @brittmb115 @sukivenue @awkwardmebaby @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @suzysface @picketniffler @gaypoetsblog @merz-8 @doblasftcisco @ultra-nina-bella @satanxklaus @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @ashhlsstuff @sunfairyy @icanbringyouinhot @hi--have-a-nice-day @sesdeuxyeux @peachiestevie @biccaline

[inkandstardusts]

Hit Me With Your Best Shot

Series Masterlist

Summary: You take up boxing in an attempt to find a hobby and have something new to do that dulls the monotony of grad school. Enter Joel Miller, your instructor. Rating: Explicit (18+), MDNI Length: Multi-chapter Tags: boxing AU, joel is your boxing instructor, slow-ish burn, eventual smut, slight age gap (reader is late 20s-ish, joel is late 30s/early 40s), no outbreak au, unresolved sexual tension, romance, chapter-specific tags will be included, reader is afab, reader has long enough hair to tie/braid a/n: this idea came to me during a nap. i have a rough outline for it but am also winging it as i go. hopefully it works out! i've been wanting to write a younger, less angsty version of joel so i'm excited to try it out! the pictures for the graphic are from pinterest and the divider in the graphic is from @/firefly-graphics. the divider used in-text is by @/saradika-graphics

Chapters

Part 1 - Read here!

Part 2 - Read here!

Part 3 - Read here!

[abbotsmyhabit]

Never Seen Hazel Eyes Look So Black

summary: based on this ask, tweaked just a touch. pope cody comes home to find his girlfriend with a black eye. he is not happy.

content warning: MDNI! established relationship, mentions of violence, angst, fluff, some lil sexy things but not full smut, guard dog pope but he's lowkey domesticated by reader ;)

word count: 1.6k (i actually don't know how to be brief)

authors note: i'm so sorry this took so long but i hope it satiates anons desires :) i took it in a more soft direction but if anon would like to see pope beat the shit out of someone for his girl just send another request.

in my heart this is a follow up to Bodyshot but you don't have to read one to understand the other at all

Pope pulls up to your apartment complex a little before eleven at night and is surprised to see your bedroom window illuminated by the warm light of your lamps. You’re not supposed to get off work until midnight. His mind immediately goes to the worst case scenario but he tries to calm himself down like you’d shown him, taking four long, deep breaths. Maybe you just left the light on for him? You had told him to come over whenever he liked to wait for you, wanting nothing more than to take a hot shower then crawl into bed together. Pope had gotten there early just to be in your space, your home. 

Even if you weren’t going to be there he always felt better in your apartment, your sweet smell lingering in the air, your quirky trinkets tucked randomly on shelves and corners, your scraggly little rescue cat, Thimble, who had grown rather fond of Pope ever since the two of you started seeing each other. Pope tried to play down how much he loved that Thimble loved him so much. Something so small and delicate as her had decided that Pope was safe, that his lap was where she preferred to sit. The first time Thimble sat on Popes she purred and purred so much he asked you if something was wrong with her which made you laugh, she’s happy, you had said, scratching your little grey cat's head, she likes you. 

Pope walks up the long pathway to your apartment, his fingers drumming on his set of keys with nerves as he breathes in increments of four. He takes the steps two at a time, fumbling a little with the keys before pushing into your apartment. Thimble greets him with a little chirp and he scoops her up calling your name.

“Andrew?” He hears your voice coming from the bathroom.

“Hey,” he says, a bit of fear in his voice, as he walks down the hall towards the closed door, “why are you home so early?”

He hears you sigh behind the door.

“You have to promise not to freak out,” you say softly. He says your name in an almost pleading tone, placing Thimble on the ground. He tries the doorknob but it’s locked.

“Unlock the door,” Andrew says and you can already hear him panicking. 

“Andrew,” you say, soft but firm, “promise,”

“Yes- I- I promise,” he stutters out. The lock clicks and you pull the door open. You’re still in your work clothes, your hair tied back, and a blossoming, purple bruise under your left eye. Pope turns white as a ghost, all the color draining from his face as he pushes into the bathroom, taking your jaw so gently in his hands like he’s afraid you might break.

“What happened?” He says, eyes moving rapidly across your face, looking down your body for any other injuries. 

“Andrew,” you say softly, resting your hands on his chest, “I’m ok,”

“You’re not-” he says, you can hear his breath picking up, “your eye-”

“I am,” you insist, “you promised not to freak out,”

“You’re hurt-” he says, and you can swear you see a tear twinkle in his warm, hazel eyes. He strokes your cheek so softly it makes you feel like you could melt. All at once his eyes seem to turn a shade darker, “who did this to you?” 

“It was an accident,” you say, but Pope is shaking his head, his mind is already spiraling: was this a message from Smurf? A rival crime family? Something worse? Pope swallows hard trying to stay calm, for you. His hands drop down to your waist, squeezing your hips, and you can practically feel him vibrating with rage. You wrap your arms around his neck, sliding your fingers into the curls on the back of his neck, his face softening the slightest bit.

“Can we please go sit down?” You say sweetly and he, of course, obliges you. Taking a deep breath before turning, taking your hand firmly in his and bringing you out to your plush, blue sofa. In the seconds it takes for the two of you to reach the couch, one of his intrusive thoughts spills out…

“Was it one of my brothers?” He says, sharply turning to you, making you walk right into him.

“What?” You furrow your brow, squeezing his hand in yours, “Andrew, no, of course not,”

You sink down onto the soft, blue cushions pulling him with you. You drape your legs across his lap, he rests one hand on your knee and the other is snugly around your hip, pulling you into him. 

“Please tell me,” he says, and it comes out like a whimper. Like he’s begging you. 

“Kiss first,” you say, reaching up to cup his cheek. Pope looks at you pleadingly, wondering why you won’t just say it. You, on the other hand, aren’t trying to torture him but to keep him calm.

“I need you here with me,” you whisper, leaning into him, your lips brushing against his. And it’s you… and he can’t help himself. He melts into you, your mouths moving together with sweet devotion, before you pull away slowly, placing another small kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Ok,” he murmurs, his dark lashes fluttering on his cheeks before he looks back up at you. Even with the purple bruise blooming across your eye you still look so pretty.

“What was that?” You giggle, your sweet boyfriend not realizing he said that last part outloud. 

“What?” Pope furrows his brows.

“You said ‘so pretty,’” you smile at him. He blushes and looks down where his hand rests on your knee. 

“You are…” he says shyly, “so pretty,” 

You press a kiss to his neck, pulling back as Thimble jumps up on the couch looking befuddled as to where she should sit, seeing Pope’s lap taken. She lets out a tiny meow.

“Oop, I’m in her spot,” you laugh, tucking your legs to the side, your thighs pressed against Pope’s as Thimble climbs into his lap, curling into a little silver swirl.

“Thimblina needs you here too,” you say, scratching her little head as she purrs contentedly in Pope’s lap.

“Please tell me,” Pope says softly, “I- I won’t freak out… again,”

You sigh.

“There was this group of guys at the Drop, I don’t know, maybe a bachelor party,” you say, “they were pretty rowdy but really only with each other.”

Pope feels heat swell in his chest, if one of those guys tried to touch you, hell if one of them tried to talk to you, he would not be happy.

“I see those little wheels turning,” you say, tapping on Pope’s forehead, “patience, my sweet,”

He lets out a sharp breath, nodding, trying to stay steady for you.

“Anyway, they were getting pretty… boisterous… and there were these two young women at the bar, really young, like freshly twenty-one, I think,” you sigh, eyes widening for a moment, “and these guys are buying them drinks and shots and the girls are trying to decline but the guys clearly don’t like the word no. So, I walked around the bar and got between them and told the girls to come sit at the end of the bar with me and I’d get them to leave. I told Deran to cut the guys off. One of them really didn’t like that.”

Pope is trying. He is really trying to be calm but his hands are starting to clench into fists. His mouth in a straight line. 

“So, he comes over to me trying to be all macho or something telling me to fuck off and mind my own business. I told him it was time to go home before he embarrassed himself more than he already had and then he swung at me-”

“What did he look like?” Andrew cuts you off, voice rough, eyes dark again. 

“Can I finish my story please?” You tilt your head to the side and he gives you one sharp nod, “he missed. Like fully. He wasn’t even close. Maybe a foot or two off. It was actually impressive how bad it was. But apparently chivalry is alive and well at the Drop because a bunch of other guys jumped him right away. One of the good samaritans who intervened, another really young guy, clipped me in the eye with his elbow instead,”

“By mistake?” Pope says, in utter disbelief.

“Total mistake,” you nod, “he pulled me out of the scuffle and was genuinely horrified that he hit me and wanted to call an ambulance. He apologized maybe a dozen times. He hardly looked old enough to be in there… he was just a kid trying to help. Craig wanted to beat him up but I called him off.”

“A kid?” Pope breathes.

“Well, I mean as much as a twenty-one year old is still a kid, yeah, I guess,” you shrug.

“Gave you a black eye?” Pope confirms, looking more confused than anything else.

“He was very boney,” you nod, “and very enthusiastic about defending me. Best part is I think little Romeo got one of those girls' numbers. Very cute stuff.”

“But the guy who tried to hit you,” Pope shifts in his seat and Thimble jumps off his lap, snuggling next to him on the couch and he holds his head in his hands, “I should have been there,”

“Andrew,” you say, keeping your voice steady, “there is literally no way to have known this would happen,”

You take his face in your hands making him look at you.

“And it means more to me that you’re here now,” you say as he brings his hands up, resting them on your wrists, stroking your soft skin with tender intention, “ok?”

“Ok,” he murmurs. 

“Also Craig and Deran beat the shit out of the guy that tried to hit me,” you say, giving him a small smirk. 

“I should have done that for you,” he says, eyes wide and almost sad, “I’m your boyfriend,”

“You are,” you say, climbing into his lap, straddling his waist, “but I need you for something much more important,” you drop your face to his neck, placing little kisses down his throat. Pope’s mind starts to get hazy, swirling in lust for you as he grips down on your hips.

“What- uh-” Pope stammers, the feeling of your mouth on his skin, the pressure as you grind down on him, making him short circuit, “what do you need me to do?”

“Mm,” you hum against his neck, “shower with me?”

“Ok,” he sighs, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he stands, hiking you up with him. You let out a little squeal as he lifts you, carrying you to the bathroom and placing you down softly on the cool tile. You turn on the shower, steam and heat slowly filling the room, turning back to him slowly. 

Pope takes a small step towards you, your chests nearly brushing together as he takes the hem of your shirt between his fingers. You raise your arms and he pulls the top off you, his knuckles dragging across your soft skin, dropping it to the floor. You do the same to him, pulling his t-shirt off his sculpted body, making a little pile of clothes in the corner. 

The pair of you can’t help yourselves any longer, grabbing for each other, moving your mouths together in a slow, desperate kiss. Pope unhooks your bra, the flimsy fabric falling to the floor and you both start fumbling with the button to the other's jeans as you slide your tongue in his mouth. 

Pope lets out a little moan, licking the cupid's bow of your lips as he slips his tongue past your lips. You both get out of your pants, fully naked, and he backs you carefully into the shower, holding both your hands in his as you step over the lip of the tub. Your heart flutters with how careful he’s being with you. Pope steps in the shower after you, pulling the curtain shut and wrapping his arms around you as the two of you make out lazily in the shower.

You nibble on his bottom lip in a teasing, tantalizing manner and he drops one of his big hands, taking a handful of your ass in his rough palm. You let out a little squeaking sound into his mouth which he swallows with hunger. Fingers tangle in his wet curls as your tongues roll over one another’s slow and dreamy. 

Pope pulls back, making you moan in playful frustration. He cradles your face in his hands and brings his lips up to your cheek bone, just where the bruise flowers across your skin and presses the gentlest constellation of kisses on your little black-and-blue mark. You blush and tuck your face into his neck, your arms around his waist as he draws little shapes on your lower back. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Pope mumbles into your skin after dropping his head to your shoulder.

“Even with my shiner?” You pull back, twisting one of his little curls between your fingers. His eyes drift over your face, your flushed cheeks, wide eyes, plush lips… you couldn’t be more perfect if you tried.

“Makes you look tough,” he squints with a cheeky smile. 

“Oh yeah?” You smile back. 

“Mhm,” he hums.

“So I guess I don’t need you around when I’m working then,” you tease, “all the guys will know to back off,”

Pope pinches your side lightly making you yelp out a giggle, tightening your grip on him.

“When’s your next shift?” He says, eyes dropping to your mouth.

“Tomorrow,” you say, batting your wet, dark lashes at him. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours.

“I’ll be there,” he says, low and rough, before giving you a sweet, lingering kiss.

[rynwrites4fun]

LOVE YOU ANYWAY (ANDREW "POPE" CODY) | MASTERLIST

16 Part Series Completed

On-going Then & Now series

Andrew “Pope” Cody x F! Brother’s Best Friend Reader

Summary: You’re best friends with Deran Cody, a surfer with big dreams. When he brings you to a party, you meet his brothers but don’t know about their criminal lifestyle. Andrew “Pope” Cody soon realizes you don’t belong in their dangerous world 

THEN TIMELINE [Nine-year age gap (late teens / late 20s) — Andrew Cody x reader are NOT together in the “Then” timeline, substance and alcohol use, blood/injury/violence]

Part 1 THE CODY PARTY, 2008

Part 2 BEACH DAY, 2008

Part 3 ACCEPTANCE LETTER, 2008

Part 4 BLOODY, 2008

Part 5 PERPETRATORS, 2008

NOW TIMELINE [Age Gap (mid 20s / early 40s), swearing contains references to alcohol use, intoxication, harrassment]

Part 6 9 YEARS LATER | OCEANSIDE, 2017

Part 7 BONFIRE, 2017

Part 8 MENDING, 2017

Part 9 THE DROP, 2017

Part 10 STARGAZING, 2017

PART 11 NOTHING BETWEEN US, 2017

PART 12 NEED YOU, 2017

PART 13 STORM, 2017

PART 14 LEVERAGE, 2017

PART 15 TOGETHER, 2017

PART 16 THE END, 2017

(Last Updated 06/28/26)

[abbotsmyhabit]

Gut Feeling

summary: you've always found Jack's command of the emergency department to be extremely sexy. after you have an unfortunate incident in the ER you need your husbands care more than ever. only dr. Jack Abbot can help you with a really bad ache.

contains: MDNI! established relationship, fluff, tiny bit of angst, smut, descriptions of medical procedures, medical inaccuracies, readers age not explicitly stated (but it's age gap in my heart)

word count: 8.3k

author's note: 1,000 followers special!!! truly grateful for each of you :) i'm not really sure if this is true med play but i gave it my all! hope you like it <3

It all started with an emergency appendectomy. The Pitt was buzzy for a Tuesday night and you had been called down from the surgery department so many times you just started lingering around the hub in the early hours of the morning waiting for another, inevitable consult. Being the Pitts favorite trauma surgeon definitely has its perks, getting to work alongside your husband Dr. Jack Abbot being your favorite. 

“What do you got for us, Amboy?” Jack says, as Medic Amboy wheels in a middle aged man on a stretcher.

“Allen Billings…” Amboy says, “Pallet of roofing tiles fell eight feet, hit his upper arm with an open dislocation.

“Ouch.” Ellis winces.

“Lena let’s get surgery in here, stat,” Abbot calls to the charge nurse, “ask for-”

“Yeah, I know who you want,” Lena smiles, her ear to the phone, already paging you.

“Two rounds of fent, 1 then 0.5 per kilo. A and O, with good vitals.” Amboy guides the gurney into trauma one.

“Nazely, hold the arm steady,” Ellis instructs.

“Sure,” Nazely says, looking slightly wide-eyed.

“Uno, dos, tres,” Ellis counts and the group lifts Allen from the stretcher to the bed, “Mr. Billings, I'm Dr. Ellis, this is Dr. Abbot, and Dr. Toomarian.”

You push in the door, rubbing your hands with sanitizer, giving Jack a little smile before introducing yourself to the patient.

“Best surgeon in the hospital,” Jack adds and you roll your eyes, trying not to blush.

“Oh, it really hurts,” Allen cries in pain.

“We’re gonna take care of that, okay?” You look down at Allen with softness in your eyes, an unusual contrast to the typical severe nature of trauma surgeons. It’s how you caught Jack’s eye in the first place, “any headache, chest or belly pain?”

“No, just the arm,” Allen says through gritted teeth.

“Sats 99. Pulse 104. BP 116/78.” Mateo calls out.

“What do you think, Dr. Toomarian?” Jack turns to Nazely.

“Oh, um, it is an open dislocation,” she says, looking down at the gruesome state of Allen’s arm on the bed.

“Can you be more specific?” Ellis asks.

“I think it's inferior,” Nazley bends forward, trying to get a better look.

“Do you remember the name for that?” Jack says.

“Sounds like a Harry Potter spell,” you offer.

“Um-” Nazley pauses, looking back at you for help.

“Luxatio erecta,” you say, soft and encouraging.

“Correct,” Jack smiles at you, “check the neuro-circ,”

“Alright, Allen, can you feel me touching you?” Nazley says, and Allen nods, “okay, good. Can you wiggle your fingers?”

“Yeah,” Allen says, winces as he does so.

“Good radial pulse,” Nazley says.

“Let’s get ancef and gentamicin on board,” you say to Mateo before turning back to Allen, “that’s gonna take care of the pain for you, alright?”

“Okay,” Allen says, looking a touch relieved. 

“Sedate for traction, countertraction,” you say as Mateo injects the meds into the IV, “and he needs a CT angiogram to rule out vascular injury.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Jack says, beaming at you, “ok, sedation orders, Dr. Ellis.”

“100 of propofol,” Ellis says, “titrate to effect,”

“Be back with that,” Mateo says, quickly exiting the room. 

“Now irrigate like hell, Nazely,” Ellis says.

“Ok,” Nazley replies, beginning to wash out the wound with saline.

“How you feeling, Allen?” You say, warmth in your voice, Jack’s heart flutters. Mateo pushes back into the room, hooking up Allen’s IV to the propofol. Your eyes drop back to Allen, “ok, we’re going to sedate you so that you’re unconscious for the procedure.”

“Ok,” Allen says, already hazy. Slowly, his eyes flutter closed.

“Alright lets get the band around his shoulder,” you say, moving to the right side of the bed, “Ellis you’re with me,”

Ellis moves across the bed from you, taking Allen’s arm in her hands, gripping down firmly. You take the band in your hands and rest your foot against the bed for leverage. 

“Okay, on my count,” Ellis nods at you, “one, two, three.”

“Come on,” you groan, pulling as hard as you can on the band, “humeral head is not reducing,”

You and Ellis release the tension with a huff, both trying to catch your breath. You turn to Jack, silently asking for help.

“Okay, we're gonna get this back in,” Jack says, moving beside Ellis, “Nazely, stick four fingers under that humeral head,” he mimes the movement he wants her to make. 

“Really?” Nazley raises her eyebrows.

“Yeah, get in there really, really deep,” Jack says, and you can’t help but notice how that makes your heart flutter, “and when you feel the traction and lift it above the glenoid, that will convert this to an anterior dislocation, and it should pop right back in.”

“Okay,” Nazley slowly slides her fingers under the bone and looks back up to you.

“Ready to go,” you say, “one, two, three,” 

A loud thunk echoes through the room as the bone pops back into place. Everyone lets out sighs ranging from relief to amazement.

“Oh, very cool,” Ellis says, looking down at Allen’s shoulder. You move to the opposite side of the bed, taking Allen’s arm in your hands, moving it around to test the mobility.

“Great movement,” you smile, “let’s get sterile saline dressing on him,”

“Shoulder immobilizer and CT,” Ellis adds and you nod in agreement. You snap off your gloves and turn to Jack, who now stands in the corner of the room, his arms crossed, a small smirk on his face. You walk towards him, unable to help a smile forming on your lips at your sexy, smart, doctor husband.

“You’re very good,” you drop your voice so only he can hear, “that was… very attractive…”

“Yeah?” Jack has that knowing, sultry look on his face that’s usually reserved for your bedroom.

“Mhm,” you nod, your bottom lip between your teeth, “is that weird I thought that was sexy?”

“I’d hope you find me sexy,” Jack drops his hand to your waist, giving a small squeeze.

“Oh, I do,” you say, “very much so,”

“Alright, lovebirds,” Ellis interrupts your flirty banter, “let’s move Allen to a patient room, free up this trauma,”

“You got it,” you turn to her, eyes lingering on Jack for a moment, shooting him a little wink. He just smiles and shakes his head. You get Allen situated in a room in the north corridor, everyone clearing out besides you and Jack. Suddenly you feel a little chill run down your spine as a cramp swells in your abdomen and Jack notices immediately.

“You ok?” Jack's eyebrows furrowed at your flushed stare.

“Yeah,” you smile with a breath, resting your hand on your husbands hip, gently squeezing, “just need some water,”

“My water bottle’s near Lena’s computer,” Jack says, taking your hand from his hip, rubbing small circles on your skin. 

“Go take a break,” Jack smiles, backing out of the room towards Shen's calls for an assist on an incoming patient.

"You're not my boss!" You call after him, and even though you can't see his face you know he's smiling. You wander towards the hub, squeezing your waist trying to relieve your cramps a little. Your period was early and the ache in your pelvis was uncomfortable but not something you had to miss a shift over. 

Breathing deeply you sit in a swivel chair near Lena grabbing Jack’s water bottle taking long, desperate sips. Suddenly a wave of nausea washes over you. Something doesn’t feel right. Nausea, stomach pain, and is it starting to get cold in here? You know these symptoms by heart. You gently press in on your stomach, releasing pressure suddenly, the pain immediately feeling worse.

“Hey Lena,” you say, holding your head in your hands, trying to hide the strain in your voice, “Do you see Jack anywhere?”

“I’m not the one married to him,” Lena teases, her eyes still on the computer.

“I need a consult,” you say, becoming more nauseous by the second.

“Who’s the patient?” Lena asks.

“Um,” you swallow hard, “me I think,”

Lena finally looks down at you.

“Jesus, you’re white as a ghost,” Lena lifts her hand and presses the back of it against your forehead, “you’re burning up.” She looks up at the board to see which room is free.

“Olive, get Abbot to central 7 stat, we’ve got a code beige,” Lena says, resting her hand gently on your back, guiding you to the patient room, “Mateo, with me,” 

“What’s up with you?” Mateo says, genuine concern in his voice as you flop back on the gurney. 

“Please don’t use your nurse voice on me,” you breath, “I’m not a patient,” 

“You’re about to be,” Mateo says, a little more playfulness in his voice, as he lines up the needle for your IV.

“Yeah,” you admit defeat, “I think it’s phlegmonous appendicitis… I don’t think it’s burst yet,” 

“Thanks for the consult,” Lena says.

“Hey,” Jack pushes into the room with urgency, concern all over his face, “hey, what happened?” 

“I thought it was cramps,” you say, suddenly feeling like you can’t hold it together anymore, not with him in the room. How could you? He’s your safe person.

“You’re ok,” Jack says, snapping on a pair of gloves. He leans forward pressing his lips to your forehead, “yeah, fever, what’s her temp?”

“102,” Mateo says. 

“Didn’t realize that was the standard of care,” you weakly joke, making Jack smile softly.

“I’m gonna touch your stomach ok, baby?” Jack says, steady and focused.

“Ok,” you whimper. 

Jack slowly pulls up your navy scrub top and presses his gloved hands to your stomach, feeling around your abdomen, “let’s get the ultrasound,”

“Up and running,” Mateo says, already handing Jack the wand and jelly.

“Abdominal rigidity,” Jack says, clicking his tongue, he squirts the jelly on your stomach and moves the wand against your skin, “let’s get Ceftriaxone plus Metronidazole on board,”

“You got it,” Mateo says, injecting the meds into your IV.

“Suppurative appendicitis,” Jack shakes his head, in worry for you as his wife more than his patient, “call the OR, we need a room now,”

Lena grabs the phone in the room calling up to the OR with urgency. 

“It’d be nice if all our patients could diagnose themselves with your level of accuracy,” Mateo smiles at you. The pain meds start to kick in and you smile back, breathing out a laugh.

“Hey,” Jack snaps at Mateo, “not funny,”

“Jack,” you say, taking his hand, making him look down at you, “it was a little funny…”

“Surgery says to bring her up now,” Lena says, hanging up the phone, “they’re ready for her,”

“Ok,” Jack says, and suddenly the color drains from his face.

“Hey,” you squeeze his hand, “I’m gonna be ok,”

“I know,” Jack says, but his voice trembles.

“My guys can do an appendectomy in their sleep,” you say softly. 

“I think I’m supposed to be comforting you right now,” Jack lets out a sad laugh. 

“Mm,” you hum with a smile, “maybe…”

“Let’s get a move on, folks,” Lena says, unlocking the wheels to the bed. The group pushes you towards the elevator, Jack keeps one hand on the guardrail, the other firmly in yours. They make it up to the third floor and push you through the surgery department.

“What the hell did you do to her down there?” Jennifer, the surgery charge nurse, says to the Pitt crew as they roll past the hub.

“They burst my appendix,” you say from the gurney, playfully, “on purpose!” 

“OR two is ready for you baby,” Jennifer says, nodding you all in that direction, her eyebrows slightly furrowed, clearly trying to hide her own anxieties for you. 

“This is really fucking weird,” Garcia says as they push you into the OR.

“Relax, Yoyo,” you smile.

“Oh, I’m relaxed,” Garcia says, “you’re about to get the best appendectomy in the history of this hospital,”

“Can you take this seriously, Garcia?” Jack snaps at her. 

“I’m deadly serious,” Garcia snaps back.

“Jack,” you squeeze on his hand, “she’s got this. Come here, give me a kiss,”

You pull him down to you and he places a sweet, soft kiss on your lips.

“I’ll see you in an hour,” you whisper with a smile.

“I love you,” Jack says, stroking your cheek, “so fucking much,”

“I love you so fucking much,” you say back.

“Adorable,” Garcia says flatly and Jack wonders how the two of you are such close friends, “can you please get out of my sterile field now?"

“Don’t watch,” you point a finger at Jack as he backs out of the room, “don’t do you dare watch them cut me open. Your heart will give out and they don’t need another patient to worry about.”

“I got him,” Mateo says, taking Jack’s shoulder, slowly guiding him out of the room.

“Hold him back if you have to, Teo,” you smile.

“You got it doc,” Mateo says, and pulls Jack out of the room.

It had been less than an hour. A perfect surgery, Garcia had said, and Jack knew she wasn’t just hyping herself up. There was a softness when she had come to get him that let Jack know she was taking this as seriously as he was. You were laying in a private recovery room on the third floor, the anesthesia still not worn off, while Jack sat in the room beside you, nervously tapping his foot. 

Jack’s head snaps up when he hears you let out a little groan, he stands and walks right up to your bedside, pushing down the guardrail. Your eyes begin to flutter open. 

“Hey, hey,” Jack says softly as your eyes open, pressing up against your bedside, taking you hand in his, “there she is. How are you feeling?”

“Mm,” you groan, “I feel tired,”

“That’s ok,” Jack says, “your only job right now is to rest,”

“Are you… my doctor?” You say looking up at him, a twinkle of confusion in your eyes. The lingering anesthesia is making you a bit delirious, “you’re very sexy for a doctor,”

“I’m not your doctor,” he shakes his head with a smile. You squint at him like you don’t believe him, scanning him up and down, your eyes stopping on his hip.

“But your badge says doctor,” you say, grabbing his ID, pulling it toward you, bringing it comically close to your face, “Dr. Jack Abbot,”

“I am a doctor but I'm not your doctor,” he clarifies, smiling down at you. “I'm your husband.”

You let go of his badge, seemingly shocked at this information. His ID snaps sharply against his hip and he winces through his smile.

“Oh my god,” you smile and reach toward him, grabbing the bottom of his scrub top and trying to pull him closer towards you, “are you in love with me?”

“I am,” Jack smiles, gently removing your hands from his shirt, holding them firmly in his, “I love you very much,”

“Wow,” you say, bringing your hand up to your cheek, “and I’m in love with you too,” you say it as a statement more than a question but Jack nods anyway.

“God, I hope so,” Jack teases.

“Do all doctors look like you?” You say, your eyebrows furrowed like you’re genuinely confused.

“Old?” Jack says, teasing you.

“Pretty,” you say, twirling the string of his scrub bottoms between your fingers.

“Is that right?” He says, unable to wipe the smile off his face. 

“Mhm,” you nod with your bottom lip between your teeth, “very pretty,”

“Well, I’ve got news for you,” he says, “you are very pretty too,”

“You think so?” You say, practically giving him heart eyes. 

“Mhm,” Jack nods.

“Is that why you married me?” You ask, looking up at him with a look he can only describe as innocent. 

“I married you because you’re brilliant, fun, sweet, witty, compassionate, grounded… you being beautiful is just a bonus”

Your mouth drops open as you look up at him, entirely enchanted.

“No… I remember you… Doctor Jack Abbot,” you draw out his name.

“I’d hope so,” he says, rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand.

“Sit,” you smack the bed next to where you lay, “sit with me,”

Jack perches his hip on the bed, not wanting to press against your body, still a little worried about your recovery. But he couldn’t be enjoying this more. Of course you’re always flirty with him but this wasn’t quick or clever, not your usual banter. This was unfiltered and raw. It was like you were a lovesick teenager, the way you were ogling him.

“How do you look so cute after having surgery?” He says, knowing this will make you blush. You giggle and tuck your head against your shoulder, bashfully.

“You’re cute,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes at him. You take his hand, spinning his gold wedding band around his finger. In a moment of realization you quickly look down at your own finger and see that it’s empty, snapping your head back up to Jack.

“They took off your jewelry for surgery,” Jack says, “I have your rings.” 

You smile that brilliant smile he loves so much as you hold your hand out, flexing your fingers as if he’s about to propose to you. Jack laughs and gets up, grabbing his backpack and pulling out a small pouch where he put your rings, he wasn’t just gonna let them float around in his pocket.

“This is your wedding ring,” Jack says, taking your left hand and sliding a simple gold band onto your ring finger. You take a dramatic gasp in.

“I do,” you say, looking down at your hand, Jack laughs.

“And this is your engagement ring.” He pushes a second ring on your finger, the diamond is brilliant, set on a gold band that matches your wedding ring, and his. You look down, wiggling your hand, making the diamond sparkle in the light. 

“Pretty,” you say, looking utterly captivated, “so pretty,”

“You don’t usually wear your engagement ring to work, guess you forgot to take it off this morning when you weren’t feeling well,” Jack rests his hip on the edge of the bed again, stroking your hair gently. 

“I would never take this off,” you say, looking at him almost befuddled, nuzzling the side of your face into his hand.

“You don’t ever have to take it off my love,” he says and you beam at him.

“I won’t. Ever.” You look down at your hand, giggling to yourself. Your eyes snap up to his, a mischievous glint in them as if you just got a brilliant idea, “are you allowed to kiss me?”

Jack smiles, shaking his head, almost in disbelief at your flirty earnestness.

“Yeah, I can give you a kiss,” he says, cupping your cheek, and leaning forward, placing a sweet, soft kiss on your lips. He pulls back slowly, gaze moving over your face. Your eyes are still closed, and you have a silly little smile on your mouth. Your eyes flutter open.

“Hi Dr. Abbot,” you smile at him, entirely smitten.

“Hi beautiful,” he smiles at you taking your hand and kissing it

“I need to tell you something,” you say, in a whiney voice.

“Ok,” Jack says, excited to see where you’re going with this.

“It aches really bad,” you whine and Jack tenses, switching into doctor mode.

“Where does it hurt, baby?” He stands, squeezing your hand, his eyes already scanning over your body looking for signs of injury. You grip down on his hand and move it down your body, placing it between your legs, right over your core. 

“Right here,” you whimper, “I need you to make the aching go away.”

Jack lets out a breath that’s a mix between disbelief and amusement. He moves his hands back to your face, cradling your cheeks in his hands.

“Baby, I need you to listen very carefully,” he says, raising his eyebrows, “are you in pain right now?”

“No,” you pout, seemingly frustrated your master plan has failed. 

“Ok, that’s good,” Jack nods, trying not to smile at your cute sulking, “when you say aching, what exactly do you mean?”

“I want…” you sigh, exasperated that he’s making you explain, your voice dropping to a whisper as you look at him with huge eyes, “I want to have sex with you, Dr. Abbot,”

“Oh my god,” Jack breathes out sharply in amusement, hanging his head forward before looking back up at you, “you don’t have to call me Dr. Abbot, baby, you can just call me Jack,”

“Jack,” you whine, reaching for the waistband of his scrub bottoms, hooking your fingers in, “it’s an emergency,”

“You wanting me to fuck you is not a medical emergency,” he says sweetly, grabbing your wrist, gently placing your hand back at your side.

“I think it is,” you say. 

“Ok, should we get your doctor in here and get her opinion on it?” Jack says, the corner of his mouth tugging up.

“I want you to be my doctor,” you frown, your bottom lip protruding. 

“I’m gonna take care of you at home,” Jack says, running his thumb over your knuckles, “is that okay?”

This seems to completely distract you, a playful smile spreading across your face again.

“Ok,” you say, smitten, “say you love me again,”

“I love you,” he says, looking at you with pure adoration. 

“I love you,” you say, looking at him just the same.

Just as you're about to ask for another kiss there’s a light knock on the door. Jennifer pushes into the room.

“Hi,” she says, keeping her voice soft, “just coming to check on my girl. Should have known better than to let her hang out with you cowboys all night.”

You look up at Jack, not really recognizing this woman or the fact that she’s talking about you. You turn back to her, offering the only information that you’re sure of at this moment.

“I’m good” you say, moving your other hand to Jacks, so your hands encircle his much larger one, “this is my husband, Jack,”

“Yeah, I know Jack,” Jennifer gives an amused smile.

“Still a little groggy,” Jack tilts his head towards you.

“I see that,” she says, moving towards the bedside to check your vitals.

“Are you my doctor?” You ask.

“No, sweetheart,” Jennifer says, looking over her glasses at you, “I’m Jennifer, I’m the surgery departments charge nurse, we work together.”

“We do?” You look at her but turn to Jack to confirm this. He nods.

“Yeah,” Jennifer chuckles, “you’re a surgeon,”

“Wow,” you say, and then look down at your stomach, where your gown has ridden up, exposing your bandages, “did I do that?”

“No,” Jennifer says, seemingly delighted at your question. Jack turns his head away from you, muffling his laugh into his shoulder, “you didn’t do surgery on yourself,”

“Oh,” you look slightly disappointed at this information.

“But you’re my favorite surgeon in this department,” Jennifer offers, and this makes you light up.

“Really?” You say, your eyes wide and hopeful.

“Yeah,” Jennifer nods like it’s the most obvious thing in the word, “we have fun up here,”

“We’re friends,” you look up at her for confirmation. 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” Jennifer says, “we’re real good friends,”

“Ok,” you smile sweetly at her, “can I go home now? With Jack?”

“Not yet,” Jennifer gives you a sympathetic smile, “you gotta stick around here a few hours just so we can keep an eye on you, make sure you’re all good. I bet Jack will stay with you though,”

“Will you?” You ask with hopeful desperation. 

“Of course,” Jack squeezes your hand.

“I leave you two,” Jennifer says, backing towards the door, “holler if you need me,”

“Thanks, Jenn,” Jack says.

“Bye, Jennifer!” You say and she gives you a little wave before the door shuts. You turn to Jack, your hands still wrapped firmly around his.

“Will you sit with me?” You ask, looking up at him, “I’m tired,”

“Yeah, baby,” Jack says as you start to scootch over on the bed, “careful. You gotta be careful. Precious cargo.”

You slow your movements slightly, making room for him. He rolls onto the bed, wrapping his arm around you as you snuggle your face into his neck, slowly falling asleep.

It’s been four weeks since your surgery and you’re growing restless. As a surgeon you know that you’re able to return to your daily tasks after the three week mark, but unfortunately for you, your husband is also a doctor. And he is insisting that you need to wait until the six week mark, until your internal tissue is healed, to go back to work, or do anything else, really. 

It’s hard to be annoyed with him because he’s being perfect. So sweet and attentive. He cooks every meal, does all the laundry, cleans the house, and takes care of you: giving you foot rubs, bringing you little beverages throughout the day, checking your stitches every night before bed. He’s been working swing shifts so his hours are shorter and he’s at home when you need him. The only problem is that you need him. And he won’t give in. 

He had told you all about your post-surgery flirtations as you tried to cover your face in embarrassment, but that just ended in him pulling your hands away and peppering your face with kisses while he whispered sweet nothings to you. The truth was you did find it incredibly sexy that he was such a good doctor. Watching him control a trauma always made a little heat spread in your chest. And you wanted him to control you that way. Jack liked to be dominant in the bedroom and you loved having him like that, but there was something different about him in the hospital, when he was Dr. Abbot, that clearly got you going.

The two of you haven’t had sex since before your surgery and you were starting to lose it a little. You’ve tried to initiate so many times but each advance is met with something like I want to, baby, so bad, but we gotta make sure you’re all better first. You know he’s being extra cautious because you're his wife. This isn’t even medical advice he’d tell a patient to follow. You both know that. But he’s unbreakable. 

Jack knows he’s torturing you. He can see the desperate ache in your eyes when you try to be intimate with him. But this isn’t something he’s willing to take even the smallest chance on. Especially after his first wife. He tries to be logical. You’re healing beautifully. All your follow up appointments have been perfect. But despite what his head is telling him he can’t ignore the thrum of his heart telling him to be careful. It’s getting to him too. He’s spent nights fisting his cock in the shower, yearning for your sweet pussy, unable to get past this nagging voice inside him. 

Jack pulls into your driveway after an easy evening shift, low foot traffic, only two traumas. He didn’t change out of his scrubs at the hospital, his stethoscope around his neck, an extra pair of blue rubber gloves in his pocket, a lollipop he had grabbed for a pedes before being hastily called to another trauma. He calls out your name as he comes in the back door but there’s no answer. Maybe you’re napping? He walks across the house to your bedroom and what he sees knocks the wind out of him.

“Hi Dr. Abbot,” you say as he pushes into the bedroom, lit with the glow of a few lamps, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Oh my god,” is the only thing he can think to say at this moment. You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, body clad in white, lace lingerie, tits perky in your bra, thong clinging to your hips, thigh high stocking on your impossibly long legs. 

“I think I need an exam,” you sigh, “I have a really bad ache that won’t go away,”

You’re looking at him so sweetly but the words go right to Jack’s cock. He drops his backpack at his feet, eyes still fixed on you as he swallows hard, a coy smile on your face. He thinks about you that night after your surgery, how you’d say nearly the same thing to him. Only now he actually has the chance to do something about it.

Fuck it.

“Then we better get you checked out,” he says, playing into your little doctor-patient act, sauntering over to the bed. You bite your bottom lip in satisfaction, looking up at him, spreading your legs so he can stand between them.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, eyes raking over your body with hunger. He drops a hand to his pocket, pulling out the gloves he’d brought home by accident. He snaps the gloves on, stepping between your legs, taking your face in his hands, running his thumb over your cheeks. You let out a little breath at the feeling of the cool latex against your skin.

“Perfect,” he says, almost to himself, and you can’t help but blush, “I’m gonna need you to lay down,”

Jack pushes your chest lightly and you fall back onto the bed, shifting so you’re laying against the pillows, perpendicular to him. He runs a hand down your body from your neck all the way down to your panties, stopping just before the hem, where you need him most. 

“You gotta be a good girl and listen to your doctor, ok?” Jack says, his voice already rough with desire, “you gotta use your manners,”

“Yes, Dr. Abbot,” you sigh, looking up at him through your lashes. Jack sits on the edge of the bed next to you, he takes his stethoscope from his neck, putting in the ear pieces and pressing the cool metal disc to your chest, right between your breasts.

“Deep breath,” he murmurs, and you do so. He listens to your heart speed up as he moves the stethoscope across your chest. He pulls down your bra, pressing the chest piece to your nipple, making it harden under his touch. He hears your breath hitch, the sound intensified in his ear pieces as he drags the chest piece to your other nipple, making it pearl up as well. He pulls the stethoscope from his ears, tossing it to the side.

“Better take a closer look at these tits,” Jack says, sliding a gloved hand underneath your body, unclipping your bra and throwing it onto the floor. He grips down on your waist, slowly sliding his hands up until his thumbs are right under the swell of your breasts.

“Dr. Abbot,” you whine, trying not to squirm under his touch, “please,”

Jack slides his gloved hands up, squeezing and kneading the flesh on your chest, making you let out a little moan in relief. God, he missed seeing you like this, worked up and eager for his touch. He moves to your nipples, pinching and rolling them between his fingers, teasing your hard buds until they ache with sore pleasure. 

“Nice and sensitive,” Jack says, his eyes fixed on your chest as he toys with your nipples, his cock straining against his scrubs. He sees you buck your hips up in his peripheral, smirking to himself, but keeps his focus on your chest. He grips your nipples between his fingers, shaking back and forth, jiggling your tits, making the damp spot in your panties bloom. 

“How does that feel?” Jack rasps, his eyes tracing your face, your eyelids low with pleasure, lips parted with desperate breaths, cheeks flushed with want. You look so beautiful like this. For him.

“Feels so good, doctor,” you say in a breathy moan, rubbing your thighs together.

“Yeah?” He smirks down at you, kneading the palms of his hands back into your soft breasts, tweaking your nipples, making you squeak, “you like it when your doctor examines your perfect tits?”

“Yes,” you whimper, looking up at him desperately, “I like it, Dr. Abbot,”

“Good girl,” he says, letting go of your aching nipples, resting his hands on either side of you. You take in sharp anticipatory breaths, dying to know what he’ll do to you next, dripping because of your devoted husband's willingness to indulge in your fantasy.

“Gotta check your pulse now, pretty girl,” he says, bending forward, trailing his lips over your sensitive skin, licking up one side of your neck, while his fingers press against your jugular on the other side. Slowly he starts to kiss and suck on your throat. His cock is rock hard, but he resists the urge to palm himself through his scrubs, a little idea of just how he can use his instrument in his exam floating in the back of his mind.

“Mnm, Dr. Abbot,” you whine, keeping your hands by your side even though you’re aching to tangling your fingers in his hair, “feels good,” 

Jack only growls against you in acknowledgement. He sucks a deep purple bruise into your skin and the feeling of his mouth on you is just euphoric. 

“You got a perfect heart rate,” he says, lips still trailing on your neck, pushing himself up to look at you. 

“Feels fast,” you breathe, eyes fixed on his lips, wanting them on yours. 

“Mm,” he smirks, “that’s what happens when you get excited,”

Jack lets his gaze linger over you for a moment, your perky tits, nipples flushed a few shades deep with soreness, your little white panties, and these thigh high stockings are killing him. Those are staying on. He pushes up from the mattress, sauntering to the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on you the entire time.

“Show me where it aches, baby,” Jack stares down at you, gaze sultry and wanting. You part your legs slowly and move one of your hands down your body, running a finger over your lacey panties.

“Right here, Dr. Abbot,” you whine, making small circles on your clit, “aches really bad,”

How did he end up with someone so perfect?

“I’m gonna make you feel all better,” Jack says, pulling off his scrub top, “pull your panties to the side, I gotta exam your pussy,”

“Ok,” you whimper, hooking your fingers around the center of your wet thong and moving it so Jack can see your glistening core.

“Fuck,” he whispers before crawling onto the bed, settling himself between your legs, “we’re gonna do an external exam first,” 

“Mm,” you hum, more whiney than you expected, planting your feet on the bed as wide as you can to accommodate your husband’s broad frame. You push yourself up on your elbows so you can watch him. He runs his gloved hands over your pussy lips, pushing them apart, watching your hole flutter and pulse around nothing. He can’t help himself, leaning forward and placing a soft kiss right on your entrance making you let out a soft oh sound.

“Is that the standard of care?” You breathe, looking down at him between your thigh, your bottom lip between your teeth. He looks up at you biting back his own grin before pinching the inside of your thighs, right at the top of your stockings.

“Manners,” he says in an almost teasing tone, “or I’ll have to stop my exam,”

“No- please-” you whine, flopping down on your back, “I promise I’ll behave,”

“Good girl,” he says, his voice rough. He moves his hands to your waist, hooking his fingers in the delicate lace of your panties, pulling them slowly down your legs. Throwing them aside he runs his hand up your thigh, his gloved fingers finally on your pussy again, and he starts rubbing firm, slow circles on your clit, “is this where it aches?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, starting to squirm under his touch. Jack can’t help but groan at the sight in front of him: you with your legs spread, tits heaving up and down as you try to control your breathing, little whines slipping past your lips. He wants to make you come just like this. He drags his middle and ring finger through your center, collecting some of your wetness to spread on your clit, and you shiver above him, making a pathetic moaning sound.

“Tell me how this feels,” he rasps, his eyes fixed on your pussy. Your poor, little clit getting puffy and flushed as his fingers move in firm and intentional circles. 

“So good, Dr. Abbot,” you say, pushing your head deeper into the comforter, gripping the soft bedspread in your fists as you twitch and squeak beneath your husband. Jack is relentless, rubbing on clit, keeping his eyes on your perfect little hole, obsessed with the way you try and squeeze down on what’s not there. His blue rubber gloves against your slick shine is making his cock twitch in his scrubs. You feel the hot coil tightening inside your pelvis as you whine and moan. He doesn’t even need his fingers inside you to know you're close. He has your body memorized. 

“Come on,” he murmurs, “let go for me,”

“Fuck- I-” you gasp as your orgasm takes over you, warmth spreading through your body, blossoming from your core. You wriggle as Jack continues to rub on your clit as you try and come down, but you’re so sensitive from weeks of missing his touch he has to clamp down on your thighs to keep you from shaking too much. Usually he’d throw an arm over your stomach but even now, in the throes of passion, Jack still wants to be gentle, careful not to press against your scars. He watches a little dribble of cream drip down from your hole, swiping it up on his glove.

“You’re ok,” he murmurs, as your breathing starts to slow, “you did so good for me,”

“Thank you, Dr. Abbot,” you say, your voice slightly shaky. 

“I gotta do an internal exam now,” he says, tilting his head to the side, biting back a smile at the way you look at him, wide-eyed and gulping down air.

“Ok,” you say so sweetly that his heart tugs. His good girl. 

“Take a deep breath for me,” he says, running his middle finger slowly over your pussy. You inhale sharply, your chest, rising and then falling slowly. He slides his middle finger in with deliberate slowness and you let out a little, whimpery, moan. He fucks you on his finger slowly, his knuckle curling up inside you at an aching pace.

You rut your hips up against him, pushing back on his hand, silently begging him for more. He obliges, slipping another finger inside you, a wet, squelching sound filling the room, mixed with your adorable, sexy squeaking sounds. He curls his fingers, stroking your walls with loving pressure.

Jack keeps fucking you on his hand like this with a steady and unhurried rhythm, drinking in the sight of you. You feel another orgasm deep in your pelvis, spreading like waves, starting to move your hips against his hand. He smirks to himself at your desperate moans, feeling your tight entrance pulse around him. He presses the heel of his palm firmly against your clit, moving his hand in a slow up and down motion, every stroke stimulating both inside and outside your pussy.

“Doctor- mhn- Doctor Abbot,” you whimper, “I’m gonna- I’m-” 

You can’t even finish your sentence, the dual sensation of his palm against your clit and his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy overwhelms you in the most perfect way. He feels you flutter and twitch around his fingers, your hips stuttering, he keeps fucking you on his hand with aching devotion, the little creamy ring at the based of his gloved fingers making his chest feel warm in the best way. Watching you fall apart is his favorite thing… his second favorite thing…

Jack pushes himself off the bed standing and turning to face you as you come down from coming on his thick fingers. Slowly, he moves his hand to the waistband of his scrubs, untying his pants, “now we gotta check your gag reflex,” 

You sit up, heat swelling in your chest, eyes fixed on his crotch, desperate to get your mouth on him.

“Get on your knees,” he says. You slide off the bed and sink to the ground, looking up at him with eagerness. He pushes his scrubs and boxers down to the tops of his thighs, his pink cock bouncing up against his stomach. You lick your lips and instinctively reach for him but he clicks his tongue, tutting you.

“No touching the doctor's tools,” he says, gripping the base of his cock, giving himself a few strokes with his gloved hand, the cum that you left on his gloves acting as lube.“Say ‘ah’,” he says, a small smirk on his face.

“Ahh,” you repeat, sticking your tongue out, your big eyes shining up at him as he rests the tip of his cock on your tongue. The sound you make gets cut off by a choking gag as he presses himself to the back of your throat. You squeeze your hands between your thighs, desperate to touch him, desperate for him to keep touching you. 

“Good girl,” he groans, “taking your doctor’s cock so good,”

Jack pulls back and start to fuck your mouth slowly, god, you missed having his cock down your throat. Spit spills down your neck as you look up at him, his jaw clenched, eyes dark with lust and fixed on you. You slide your tongue along the underside of his shaft as he fucks in and out of your throat, wet, choking sounds filling the room. You hum around his hard cock, loving how he fills your mouth, making your lips puffy and shiny with spit. He pulls out of your mouth abruptly making you let out a strangled moan.

“Ooh,” he coos, almost mocking you, as you try to catch your breath, “are you gonna thank me for checking how good I can make you gag?”  tugging on his slick cock, the angry red tip contrasting against the soft blue of his gloves.

“Thank you for fucking my mouth, Dr. Abbot,” you say, still heaving for air but wild for more. Before you can take him in your mouth again he reaches down and grabs you by the neck, pulling you to your feet. You let out an almost frustrated, huffy little whine, and he raises an eyebrow in a patronizing manner.

“What’s the matter?” He smirks, running a gloved thumb over your lips.

“Nothing- I-” you twist your fingers together, looking at him through your lashes, “I just like having your cock in my mouth.” 

“Yeah?” He smirks, snapping off his gloves, throwing them to the floor. 

“Yeah,” you say shyly, watching the blue plastic fall to the ground. As much as you loved that he used the gloves, as turned on as it had made you, seeing your creamy wetness smeared on the blue plastic, you’re eager for his rough palms on your skin. 

“You got a little oral fixation?” He says, tone dripping in condescension.

“I guess so, Dr. Abbot,” you blink innocently at him.

“Yeah, I got something to help with that,” he says, voice deep and dreamy. You start to furrow your eyebrows in confusion but he grabs your waist and pushes you back onto the bed. You land with a soft bounce, catching yourself on your elbows. 

He reaches into his pocket pulling out a cherry blow pop that you recognize from the Pitts secret break room stash. He rips off the wrapper before tapping the red candy to your lips, just like he’d done with his cock so many times before. 

“Open,” he says, voice rough. You part your lips as he pushes the lollipop into your mouth, cooing at the sight of you like this. You take the stick between your fingers, twirling the sucker in your mouth as Jack perches on the edge of the bed with his back towards you, snapping his prosthetic off and shoving down his pants and boxers. You let out a little sigh as he turns and crawls towards you, settling between your legs. He hooks your thighs around his hips as you look up at him through your lashes. His eyes look almost black as he gazes down at you, his hands running up the nylon on your legs, squeezing your thigh where the thigh-high stockings end. 

“You’ve been such a good girl,” he rasps, fisting his cock.

“Thank you Dr. Abbot,” you say after pulling the cherry candy from your mouth with a pop.

“Good girls get rewarded,” Jack says, voice radiating lust. 

“Yeah?” You say, batting your lashes at him, sucking on red sweet shifting your hips so the tip of his cock grazes the entrance of your pussy.

“Yeah,” he groans, pulling the lollipop from your lips, leaving you with your mouth slightly parted in surprise. Jack sucks the cherry sweet into his mouth, tucking it into his cheek. It should not be as hot as it is. He notches his cock into your pussy, “ready, pretty girl?”

“Yes,” you whine, desperate for him to be inside you. He smirks down at you, slowly pushing into you, stretching you out with aching passion, making you squeeze your eyes shut. He tuts, stopping his hips, not fully inside you leaving you squirming for more.

“Eyes on me,” he says roughly, pinching your nipple so you look up at him. You force your eyes open, looking up at him, the corner of his mouth tugging up, “good girl,” he says, pulling the cherry candy from his mouth. You stick out your tongue ready to accept your reward for behaving. 

As you close your lips over the sticky sweetness Jack pushes into you fully, making you moan around the red sucker in your mouth. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he groans, watching you with devotion as he grips down on your hips. He swallows hard, the way you’re squeezing his cock sending a shiver up his spine. Slowly he pulls his hips back before pushing back into you at a tantalizing pace, making you feel so full your toes curl.

Fuck, he missed your pussy so bad. The way your slick insides flutter around his cock, the way you desperately shift beneath him, the way your tits bounce as he thrusts into you over and over. He already feels the deep warmth building in his pelvis, entirely consumed by you. He trails his hands up your body, taking your nipples between his fingers, rolling and flicking and mercilessly teasing them. 

“Dr. Abbot,” you moan, “you fuck me so good.”

Jack’s heart and dick twitch at your praise. He’s not gonna last long, overwhelmed by the feeling of your pussy pulsing around him. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you over and over, a creamy white ring forming around the base of his cock. His gaze fixes on your greedy hole, watching you suck and squeeze him as he fucks in and out of you. And you just feel so good, squeezing his cock he just can’t keep up the doctor act anymore. 

“Fuck baby,” Jack groans, tucking his face into yout neck, fucking in and out of you, “I love you,”

“I love you,” you whimper. Jack smiles into your throat before pushing himself up on his elbows. 

“Say it again, pretty girl,” he says, watching your face flushed with pleasure. As much as he loves this little role play, what he loves the best is being intimate with his wife. With you. 

“Jack,” you moan, threading your fingers into his curls, “I love you,”

“I love you, baby,” he says, before letting out a guttural groan, “I’m gonna come- I;m gonna fill your pretty pussy with my cum,”

“Please- I- Jack- I want it-” you whimper, struggling to get your words out as your third orgasm comes to a crescendo in your core, “fill me-”

Jack moans your name, cupping your cheek and connecting your lips in a sweet but desperate kiss. Your cherry lips are like heaven. The two of you swallow the other's sounds, pressing your bodies together, trying to be closer than you already are. Jack keeps fucking in and out of you as you both shake through orgasms, the sounds of you wet, slapping sex filling the room. His hips gradually slow and he pulls back, breaking your kiss so you can both breathe a proper breath. 

Jack carefully pushes your hair behind your ear with so much love and tenderness it makes you shiver. You feel the mix of your cum and his dripping down your ass as his cock softens inside of you. He shifts his hips back slightly, falling out of you, as you both pant.

“Oh my god,” Jack breathes, shifting his hip to the side of you, his broad body looming halfway over yours, sticking together with a shimmer of sweat. He caresses your face, stroking your cheek with his thumb as you bite back a smile, blushing up at him, “I love you,” he rasps, tucking his face into your neck, “so fuckin’ much,”

“I love you too,” you giggle, tangling your fingers into his tousled curls. A soft moment of silence passes over you before you speak again, “I- thank you for doing that with me,”

“What do you mean?” Jack pulls his head back so he’s looking at you, a small crease between his brows.

“I just-” you give a little shrug, looking away shyly, “I didn’t know if you’d think that was silly,” 

“Hey,” Jack says, taking your jaw in his hand, making you look up at him again,“if there’s something you want to try… that would never be silly to me. Ok?”

“Ok,” you nod, gazing into his eyes. He sees a little twinkle that lets him know that you hear him. And that you love him. He gives you a soft, sweet kiss on the lips.

“Next time,” Jack says, dropping his mouth to your throat, pepper little kisses down your neck, “you're gonna be the doctor.”

[r4bidabbott]

pt 9 of baby daddy!pope and his family's return to the cody house

prev. part

"you sure you want to go? we really don't have to," pope spoke from behind you as you sat at the vanity, brushing your hair. he had sunny laid on the bed, her having woken up shortly after yours and pope's sexscapade in the shower. "you heard them. she won't be there. don't see why we shouldn't go. i like craig and deran," you sighed as he played with your daughter, pope glancing at you every now and then. he let out a soft sigh as he watched you get up, propping himself up on his elbow to watch you. "that makes one of us that likes them," he mumbled, watching as you moved to pull some sweats on. all you could do was chuckle, shaking your head as you pulled one of pope's t shirts on. you weren't worried about dressing up, deran assuring you it would only be the brothers and you guys.

"don't be grumpy. be nice. i want at least some of your family to like me," you sighed, moving to lay on the other side of sunny as you looked over at him. he just nodded a little, reaching over to trace his fingers along some of the marks he left on your neck. "look so pretty," he hummed quietly, your eyes rolling a little as you moved to sit up. "i mean it, andrew. at least try to be in a good mood, for me?" you pouted a little, picking sunny up to place her on your hip. you watched as he rubbed his hands over his face, plastering a big fake cheesy smile across his lips. you couldn't help but laugh, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek, grabbing his hand to pull him down the stairs.

the whole drive to the cody house, you could tell pope was anxious. he had that stern look on his face, one hand holding the steering wheel tightly, the other rubbing your thigh gently. all you could do was rub his arm, trying your best to comfort him as you pulled into the driveway. "remember. no grumpiness, yeah?" you spoke as he parked, staring forward at the house. he just turned to face you, that still stern look on his face. he simply nodded a little, leaning forward to press his lips to yours before climbing out. he moved a little faster than you, grabbing sunny's diaper bag before unbuckling her to hold her onto her hip. you walked slowly behind him, nerves starting to bubble up in your own chest as he opened the front door. smurfs car wasn't in the driveway. you were safe. for now. "you came," you heard deran speak as you all made your way into the house, giving them both a small wave. "where's smurf?" pope asked immediately to his brother, setting the diaper bag on the ground before setting sunny down on the couch, deran immediately kneeling down in front of her.

"she's out for the weekend, some business in vegas or something," j had mumbled from the kitchen, looking between you all. all you could do was a slow nod, slightly skeptical of the younger boy. you always had been. you stood awkwardly, watching the brother's talk amongst themselves. it had been a while since you had been around of all them in such an intimate setting. it made your skin crawl a little. "how you making money, man?" you heard craig speak quietly to pope, your ears immediately perking up but you had to pretend you weren't paying any mind to them, sitting with deran as the both of you played with sunny. "you wanna help me get plates and stuff out for food? pizza should be here soon," deran spoke to you, the smallest of smile on his face. what you didn't see was craig nodding to his brother to get you distracted from behind you. you looked back at pope, him shooting you a smile before you turned back to deran with a nod. you wanted to stay, wanted to listen to the conversation but you were back to trusting him. you couldn't fall back into the constant worry on if he was lying to you or not.

you couldn't help but stay silent as you sat the table with deran, the man holding sunny and cooing to her as you got everything ready. as if on cue, the doorbell rang for the pizza, deran quickly making his way to the front door. nows your chance to eavesdrop. "listen i know a couple dudes. they do this underground boxing thing. you could make a shit ton of money man," you heard craig, his whisper almost a normal talking voice compared to a normal person's whisper. boxing? "i don't know man. i don't think she'd like it," pope mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "oh come on. you're going to run out of money eventually. you need something. it's not like you're robbing places or anything," craig shrugged, standing up as deran walked through the kitchen, catching you eavesdropping. you shot him a warning glare, 'keep your mouth shut' you mouthed to him as the 3 other guys made their way into the kitchen. you forced a smile onto your face, pope raising an eyebrow at you stood against the wall.

as you all sat down to eat, the room immediately filled with their usual rowdiness. bickering, cracking jokes, talking shit on smurf. all of it. you couldn't help but smile a little, a not so scared feeling finally washing over you. deran and craig were arguing over who got to hold sunny, pulling her back and forth before pope finally pulled her onto his lap. it was then you decided to speak up. "does smurf know about your little boxing gig?" you asked as you chewed on your food, head turning to pope with a raised eyebrow. quiet immediately set over the whole room, all of them looking at you before back to pope. "it was my idea, i just offered him," craig finally spoke up, your hand shooting up to quiet him. "does she know about it? she gonna try to get a cut of it?" you asked again, pope sighing as he sat back in the chair a little, bouncing sunny on his leg. it was quiet, all of them quietly chewing on their food as the waited for the eldest of them to speak.

"she doesn't know. no cut for her. i didn't say yes to it. wanted to talk to you first," he mumbled finally, grabbing his beer to take a large swig of it before setting it back on the table. you nodded slowly, pushing the pizza around on your plate with your finger. pope had been doing jobs well before you and your daughter. he did them while they two of you had dated. of course you hated it, always worried he would end up back in prison, or worse. dead. but you let him. when sunny came that was all so different. "you don't seem to completely be against the idea," deran chuckled a little as he looked over to you, causing your eyes to immediately roll. "why would i want to sit and watch the father of my child beat the shit out of someone?" you snorted, standing to throw your plate away before grabbing sunny from pope's arms. you could see his eyes light up a little, turning to look up at you. "so you think i'd win?" he smirked a little, arms crossing over his chest. the boys all snickered as they looked between the two of you, pope shooting them a look. all you could do was shrug, grabbing his empty plate. "we are gonna sit out by the pool," was all you replied with, slipping out the back door.

you didn't love the idea of pope boxing. but craig wasn't totally wrong. you guys weren't going to live comfortably off of your paycheck and pope's dying savings. you knew no one was going to want to hire him either with a rap sheet like his. it was better than stealing. you could see them all talking to each other as you sat at the edge of the pool, feet dipped in the water. it was hard to ignore the way they would all glance over at you every so often, 100% talking about you. you hadn't even noticed deran come out as you dipped sunny's feet in the pool, her loud squeals ringing through the backyard. "i think you should let him do it," he spoke, sitting down next to you as he sipped at the beer in his hand. you couldn't help the sigh that left your lips, not taking your eyes off the water. "what if he goes back to jail? what if he's killed?" you hissed, the last word coming at as a whisper to somehow block sunny from hearing it, not that she'd understand anyway. "he will be fine. he can handle himself, you know that," the younger male mumbled, finger poking into sunny's side to tickle her. "i don't want her getting any of that many. i swear to god she gets a cent you all will never see me again," you spat, running a hand through your hair.

"never seeing you again doesn't sound so bad. what money?" an all too familiar wicked voice spoke from behind where you and deran laughed, both of your heads whipping around. there stood smurf.

⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆⊹₊⟡⋆

kay's note: please forgive me

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[lokis-army-77]

Guard Dog

Andrew "Pope" Cody x reader

Word Count: 3.1k

When working at The Drop, you meet Andrew "Pope" Cody, the mysterious "scary" older brother of your boss. After patching up a cut he receives while cleaning, Pope forms a kind of attachment to you. It all comes to a head when, like a guard dog, he comes to your rescue.

Warning: Blood, bar fights, smut, thigh riding, P in V, some dudes being handsy,

A/N: Thank you @littlesubbyflower for helping me write some things in here.

You hadn't been working at The Drop for more than a month when you finally crossed paths with the infamous Andrew "Pope" Cody. A quiet, brooding, and intense man who nearly everyone you spoke with said that if you saw him, you should tuck tail and run the opposite direction, because nothing good would come if that man were hanging around.

Deran, Pope's younger brother and owner of the bar, had brought Pope in to clean after the bar's health rating was what he called "a reflection of the vibe". You had rolled your eyes and told him anything less than an 'A' was not ideal.

Pope's main role was to obsessively clean and fix things around the bar—while you unashamedly watched—until there was nothing else to clean or fix while you and the other servers and bartenders prepared to open.

He wasn't as mean and scary as everyone made him out to be; his stare was intense, sure, but it did not scare you. His gaze seemed more watchful than anything. He looked at a room like he was preparing himself for something to happen, rather than gearing up to start something.

In the week he had been there, Pope had barely spoken to you, save for the one-word greetings you got; that was, until one day you had arrived at the bar earlier than intended, and you two were the only people in the building. Pope was tinkering with something in the kitchen, and you were busying yourself with slicing lemons and limes for bar prep when a loud crash startled you out of your state of monotonic action that the mindless prep had put you into.

"Goddammit!"

You heard the exclamation and rushed to see what had happened.

"Pope?" You call out. "Are you alright?" You ask as you cross the kitchen threshold, before your eyes catch the bright red trail of blood dripping from his fingers as he holds his hand to the top of his forearm. "Oh my god, what happened?" You asked, tone slightly panicked.

"Nothing, s'okay," Pope grumbled.

"I don't think so. Let me take a look at it."

He looked up at you skeptically, eyes squinted, eyebrows furrowed.

You knelt beside him. "Come on, let me see." Slowly you reached out to him, careful, as if you were encountering a skiddish street dog who was ready to snap out of fear. "M'not gonna hurt you."

Pope let out a shallow breath before uncovering his arm to reveal a long scratch from almost wrist to elbow; blood still slowly flowing out.

"How in the world did you manage that?" You tisked as you stood to grab the first aid kit hanging near the door to Deran's office. You came back quickly and opened the box, finding the alcohol wipes.

The only word the man next to you supplied was "sink," with a jerk of his blood-covered thumb pointing to the giant industrial sink he was leaning against.

"This is gonna hurt a bit." You told him as you began to wipe away the blood with the alcohol saturated cloth—he didn't so much as flinch. "So, the sink did this to you?"

"Yeah."

"And how did that happen?"

"Was cleaning behind it, loose panel."

"Ahh, then you might want to get a tetanus shot; that thing is pretty rusty." The scrape isn't as bad as you had originally thought once all the blood is wiped away. You rummage through the kit trying to find the antibacterial ointment and gauze. "We don't need you losing an arm, especially like this—we'd have to make up a lie—say it got chewed off by a shark so it sounds cooler." Your little joke makes you chuckle, and you can even see Pope's usually tight-lipped scowl turn up at the corners for a moment.

"I'll be fine." He's staring at you now, hazel eyes dark as he inspects you, then your work. He follows your fingers as they nimbly wrap his arm in gauze.

Gently patting the gauze where you secured it, you stand on your feet. "There ya go, good as new."

Pope grunts as he joins you on his own two feet. "Thanks."

From that day onwards, you noticed Pope watching you—more than usual—eyes locked onto you like a honing device. You didn't mind; you enjoyed it, the prickle on the back of your neck as his eyes bore into you. Then it moved on from the staring across the room to him sitting at the bar, having small conversations with you when there was a lull in customers, and soon he began walking you to your car after closing.

"You know you don't have to stay to walk me to my car, right? I'm a big girl. I can handle myself, Andrew."

Pope liked it when you called him by his name and not the moniker everyone else used; it made him warm inside after he had politely told you to stop calling him Pope. He knew you were right; you could handle yourself. He had seen you handle a bar fight or two in the past few weeks, but he still felt this burning need to watch after you, to keep you in his eyesight in case you needed help. At first he had told himself it was just returning the favor, but it quickly became something more.

He found himself outside your home on nights you didn't work. Sitting on the uncomfortable wicker porch furniture, pistol clutched in his hand. He would leave by the time you or your roommate, Natalie, awoke.

One night, all that watching paid off.

Two sleazy men who couldn't take no for an answer came waltzing into the bar. They were tall and stocky, and flirted with you for the better part of an hour. Hands would wander before you swatted them away, saying in a strained voice, "I won't ask you again, please stop touching me."

The men just laughed and turned back to their conversation when you walked away.

"Do you want me to handle it?" Came Pope's rough voice from the bar.

You shook your head before meeting his gaze. "Nah. I've got it under control." And you had believed you did when you said it—but now, you didn't think you did.

The men had asked for another round of beer, and as you turned to leave, one of them had slapped your ass. You spun on your heel in an instant, hand thrown out to slap the one closest to you, the one with his hand halfway to your bottom.

"What the fuck did I say?" You yelled. "Stop fucking touching me!"

The bar went quiet, save for the upbeat music playing from the bar speakers, and the men became red-faced with anger. The two of them stood to their full height. The one you had hit grabbed your wrist so harshly that you thought there might be a bruise there in the morning.

"I'm a paying customer. I can do whatever I want." The alcohol on his breath wafted over you, making you scrunch up your nose.

You tried yanking your hand away, but that only made him tighten his grip. "Let go of me," you growl.

"And what are you gonna do if he doesn't?" The other man asks.

The words never get to leave your mouth as you feel a foreboding presence behind you.

Andrew stood there, shoulders back, chest puffed out. What he lacked in height against the two men, he made up for in the sheer size of his muscles and the fierceness in his glare.

"She's not gonna do anything, I will."

"Oh," the man holding you chuckled, "you gonna sic your guard dog on us?"

You cut your eyes to Pope. He waited, fists clenched by his sides, body rigid. It only took one nod from you before he stalked his way forward, tore the man's hand from you, and pushed you behind him.

The next few moments were chaos as Pope swung on the man who had grabbed you. You watched, mesmerized, as hands flew and blood was spilt. Pope had the guy on the ground in seconds, fists beating into his face.

The second man just stood there, in what seemed like shock, as he watched.

When the man under Pope was unconscious, Pope turned his sights onto the other.

"Whoa, dude, I-I don't want any trouble." The man threw his hands up in surrender.

"You should have thought about that before you put your hands on her," Pope all but growled.

The guy's eyes widened, and he began to speak. "I didn't touch her, I swear; it was just him." He pointed to his unconscious friend.

Pope glared at him. "Don't bullshit me, I saw you. Both of you. Your hands were all over her."

You couldn't lie; you liked this gross display of masculinity. It had your knees wobbling and thighs clenching as you watched on in amazement at how Pope could wear these men down. Bad thoughts were running through your head as Pope lunged for the guy, large hands grabbing for his neck and forcing him down in front of him; then somehow he got the man in a chokehold. The man's face was growing more red by the second, and his fingers pulled desperately at Pope's locked arms.

"Please-" the man choked out, "I'm- I'm sorry."

That was when you finally stepped in. Laying a gentle hand on Pope's shoulder, you squat down to be level with him. "I think that's enough; he said he was sorry."

Pope's eyes cut to you and back before he visibly softens, his arms go slack, and the guy falls forward out of Pope's grip. You turn to him and seethe, "Get you and your fucking friend out of here."

The guy coughs as he lugs his friend into his arms and practically drags him toward the door, muttering, "fuckin' crazy asshole," as he goes.

Although his body had relaxed, Pope was still simmering, his breathing coming in ragged breaths.

"Hey, look at me," you cup his face in your hands. "Andrew. Can you look at me?"

He opened his eyes; he couldn't remember closing them. But you were standing before him, and that was all he needed to feel closer to normal.

"Come on. Let's get you cleaned up." You tug him with you to the office; Deran wasn't here, thankfully, because what you were about to do, you would not like him to bear witness to.

Pope follows you slowly and lets you push him onto the couch. He waits patiently as you grab the first aid kit for the second time since you'd met him.

"Thanks for that," you begin wiping the blood from his knuckles and a scratch on his neck where one of the assholes had grabbed him. Thankfully, no real punches had landed on Pope's face, and the worst of his injuries were his split knuckles.

"That was nothing."

You look up from doctoring his hand. "Oh, it was definitely something. I've never had someone defend me like that."

Pope gives you a look, eyes flitting between your own and your lips. "I'll always defend you."

"Oh yeah? You wanna defend me like-." You take a moment to recall what one of the men had referred to Pope as "-like my guard dog, Andrew?" You could feel, more than see, the full-body shiver that ran through Pope. "You wanna protect me from all those bad men out there?" Your words come out with a sultry lilt.

He nods, tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

Pope lets out a light chuckle as you climb into his lap, forgetting all about his bloody hand. "I think I'd like that."

"You wanna take care of me, Andrew?"you breathe out, body pressing against his. You can feel the hardness pressing into the heat between your legs.

"Yes." His voice is scratchy, almost raw as it comes out. His eyes were blown wide, pupils totally engulfed by the black of his irises. He always looked good, but lust had him looking absolutely sinful.

"So take care of me then." You can't help but buck your hips against his growing bulge and moan softly when the seam of your jean shorts presses into your clit.

Pope's fingers come to grasp your hips, guiding you into him. He leans up, his lips pressing into yours. The two of you move in tandem, lips smacking against one another, tongues pressing together. He groans into you, a matching one escapes you, and one of his hands reaches up, fingers threading in your hair and tugging lightly.

"Fuck, Andy-"

Pope feels like his heart stops, the soft press of your body against the hard ridges of his own. The sounds you made in his mouth were like heaven; he couldn't get enough. He pulled your hair again, trying to make you give him those pretty little noises again.

"Take your clothes off," he demands.

It takes you no time to stand from his lap, kick off your shoes, and shuck your pants down your legs. Pope's fingers play languidly with the hem of your shirt. You pull it over your head slowly before unhooking your bra and tossing it at him with a smile. He catches it before placing it neatly on the arm of the couch.

He pats his leg, gesturing for you to sit. "Come 'ere."

Gradually, you straddle his thigh; the rough texture of his black jeans feels so good against you.

"Want you to get off on my thigh, baby."

And so you do as he says. You settle down onto him and let your hips rock against the thick, corded muscle of his thigh. The feel of Pope's hands is hot on your skin as they track up your thighs, to your waist, and over your back.

"So soft," he whispers, almost like he is speaking to himself.

You break out in goosebumps as his fingers continue to trail over your body. He reaches for your neck and pulls your face down to his and kisses you breathless. "Ahh-" you gasp when he flexes his thigh. Your hips work fast, grinding your clit into him. You could feel how wet his pant leg had become, and it made you tremble. "Feel so good," you moan into his mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm." You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the dark auburn curls at his nape. "M'not gonna last," you whine, and you feel your body surging closer and closer to the edge. Then, with a particularly harsh graze of your clit against the denim, your head flinging back and a whine pushing from the back of your throat. You come fast, body shuddering against Pope.

"That's it, such a good girl," Pope mumbles against your skin, lips kissing and sucking at your neck, tongue lathing over the deep purple bruises he created.

Your breath eventually evens out, and you bite at Pope's earlobe. "Want you inside me." With deft fingers, you begin to undo his pants.

His cock is straining against the zipper as you pull it down. Your hand gently releases him from the confines of his boxers, and you can't help the gasp that escapes you. His cock is mouth-wateringly thick. "Please, Andrew, wanna feel you."

Pope grunts, and he picks you up and tosses you onto the couch. He hovers over you. "Gonna treat you so good, baby, take such good care of you."

"Please," you beg.

Pope kisses you fiercely before reaching for his cock and lining himself up. Inch by lovely inch, he presses into you until he bottoms out. "God, fuck. You look so good like this, beneath me."

"Mmm, want you to ruin me," you keen, body arching into Pope'sas he snaps his hips into you.

Each thrust felt like he was trying to open you, taking you apart little by little. You couldn't stop the delicious ache that grew in your belly and the sob that flew from your lips.

Pope reaches for your face; his fingers cover your mouth. "Shhh- bar's still open; don't want anyone else hearing those pretty noises you make for me." His hips start to move faster, pumping into you at an insatiable speed.

You hold fast to his shoulders, nails scratching his skin even though his gray t-shirt. "Off," the word is muffled under Pope's hand as you tug on the article of clothing. You needed to feel his skin against your own, wanted to know how it felt for the heat of his body to invade yours.

Pope lifts his hand from your mouth, only stopping his thrusts to doff his shirt. Muscles ripple under freckled skin as he readjusts. Pope grips the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs a little wider, and plunges back in.

Skin slapped against skin, accompanied by the euphoric melody of whimpers and moans from the two of you.

"Fuck," Pope sighs as his advances against your cunt begin to falter, his rhythm no longer a steady drive but a jerky push to the finish line. "M'not gonna last long." His face plummets into your neck, hands releasing your legs.

You nod in agreement with him, "Me either."

Your body locks up, back arching, as you feel your cunt spamming around Pope's cock. He moans into your neck as his hips finally sputter to a stop. The two of you lay there silently, basking in the bliss of the moment. Your muscles twitch with exhaustion.

The two of you lay there, breath evening out as you come down from your highs. The weight of Pope atop you is comforting, even if he's almost cutting off your oxygen supply.

Your fingers dance lazily in his hair, pushing back the speckled gray curls from his forehead. He looks at you with wide eyes; they shift over your face quickly as he takes in your blissful expression.

"Jesus Christ-" an amazed sigh leaves you. "That was, ha… holy shit." You didn't have the words to describe how you were feeling. How you missed the sensation of the knot in your stomach as Pope stretched you out on his cock.

Pope leans into your mouth, tongue slipping past your lips. He tastes ambrosia sweet, addictive in the best way. "It was good?" He asks, a hint of insecurity lacing the words.

Your fingers now play with the curls nesting at his nape as you look up at him through your lashes. "What makes you think it wouldn't be good?"

He hesitates, pulling back from you more. Shaking his head, he mumbles, "It's just been a while."

You can tell it isn't something he wants to delve into deeper, so you leave it alone and change the subject quickly. "Hey?" He hums in response. "Do you want to get out of here? I'm sure Tommy wouldn't mind closing without me."

Pope nods, "Okay."

So, the two of you clean up the best you can and hurry out the back door after you let Tommy, the bartender, know you were leaving early.

[r4bidabbott]

part 7 of baby daddy!pope but now he is at the beach and being sexy

prev. part

that night of sleep had to be the best night of sleep of your entire life. of course, pope didn't listen to your demands of him staying on his own side of the bed. you woke up before he did, his large arms wrapped tightly around you to hold you close to his chest, snoring softly in your ear. he always looked so handsome in the morning, curls a mess on the top of his head, such a peaceful look on his face that was so different from the always stern one he usually sported. "i can feel you staring," he mumbled, his morning voice low and rough as he slowly opened his eyes to look into yours, your cheeks immediately red from being caught. "was just seeing if you were awake yet," you lied, trying to wriggle out of the tight grip he held you in.

he refused to let you go, just pulling you into him tighter, his face burying into your mess of hair. "just let me enjoy this a lil longer yeah? smell so good in the morning," he mumbled, pressing soft kisses to the side of your head that made your whole body go warm. all you wanted was a kiss from him. to kiss him all over. touch him all over. "your breath smells like ass, let go," you groaned as his kisses moved to your cheek, getting closer to your mouth. he only laughed, pulling back from you before finally letting go, running a hand through his hair. "used to have no problem with my morning breath. specifically remember you on multiple occasions waking up and begging me to fu-" you slapped your hand over his mouth to keep him from finishing that sentence, an eyebrow raised at him. "watch yourself, pope," you warned teasingly, climbing out of the bed with a stretch. you actually felt rested for once in your life. you didn't constantly toss and turn, lay awake for hours, sit and stare at sunny as she slept next to you. was just you and pope.

as if on cue, you could hear your daughter's cry from the baby monitor, running your hands over your face. pope only sighed, about to get up before you made your way to her room in front of him. her cries were quick to stop at the sight of you, making grabby hands for you to pick her up. you had this odd feeling of guilt, one that felt bad for making her sleep in her bed while you and pope were in your bed down the hall. mom guilt. it pulled at your heart, the way she immediately clung to you once in your arms as you made your way back to your bedroom. "my beautiful girls," pope hummed as he sat up in the bed to admire you both, the mess of curls on top of his head matching the mess of curls on top of sunny's head. you went to set her down in pope's arms, your daughter squealing loudly for you to pick her back up. you could see the slight frown on pope's lips, looking up at you. "did i do something wrong?" he asked immediately, watching as you held your daughter close. she did this sometimes, wanted nothing but to be touching you constantly. "no. she just gets clingy sometimes. it's okay," you reassured him, hand rubbing sunny's back.

you watched as he stood, the sweats hanging low enough on his hips that you could've swore you were drooling. get a grip woman. "so beach today," you hummed, snapping yourself out of the stare you had on pope's body that he obviously noticed. he nodded, walking to press a soft kiss to the back of sunny's head. it was like that was all she needed to get out of her clingy mode, turning to immediately reach for pope to hold her. it made your heart flutter, the smile on his face as he immediately took the little girl from you. "can you change her? i am going to make breakfast," you spoke sweetly to him, hand rubbing sunny's back as he held her. he was quick to nod, the smile on your face only growing as he walked her back to her bedroom. he would do anything you asked him, with a smile on his face the entire time. after rubbing the sleep from your eyes completely, you made your way down to the kitchen. you had a small smile on your face the entire time you made breakfast. you didn't even realize you were smiling as you served the two of them breakfast once they had came downstairs. didn't realize it was still on your face as you made a lunch to pack for the beach. you were finally happy your family seemed to be back together.

"i'll pack the car up with everything while you two get ready," pope spoke from behind you in the kitchen as you piled the sandwiches and snacks into a bag. "if you wait i can help you," you spoke back, zipping the bag up before turning to look at him, the man now stood right next to you. he was staring at you, his hand moving to rest on your back. "i got it, yeah? you go get pretty and get sunny ready," he spoke softly, rubbing his hand up and down your back. one of your eyebrows raised immediately, arms crossing over your chest. "i thought i was already pretty, andrew," you teased him, cocking your head to the side causing him to roll his eyes. "you are pretty. beautiful actually. you know what i meant," he huffed, squeezing your hip before nudging you gently to the door. you couldn't help but laugh, picking sunny up to take her back up the stairs with you to your room. you sang softly to her the whole time you got her dressed in her little bathing suit, putting the small sun hat on her little head before kissing all over her causing her to squeal loudly. you moved her to the bed so you could get ready, pulling on another bikini you knew pope loved before grabbing your sheer cover up.

"don't you look gorgeous," pope's voice spoke from your bedroom door, causing you to jump and immediately spin around, pulling the cover up over yourself. "did you watch me change?" you spoke at him with a raised eyebrow, grabbing your sandals to slip them on as he picked sunny off the bed and spun her around. "don't flatter yourself, i was talking to my baby," he teased you, placing her on his hip before looking back at you. "but yeah, i did watch you change," he spoke bluntly, shrugging his shoulders before making his way back downstairs. pervert. you rummaged around your closet before finding your beach bag, hurrying down the stairs. sunny was sat on the floor at the front door, watching pope come in and out carrying bags and things for the beach to his car. you couldn't help but notice a bag that held his wet suit, picking sunny up to follow him out to the car where his surfboard was sticking out. "you're gonna surf?" you questioned, moving to grab the car seat from your car to put into his. he moved fast to take it from your hands, buckling it in tightly to his back seat. "don't complain. you know how sexy i look in a wetsuit," he smirked at you, grabbing sunny to buckle her into the seat as you got in the front, a blush on your cheeks the whole time. he wasn't wrong, he did look sexy in a wetsuit.

once the three of you finally got to the beach, it was already booming with people. of course it made you a little nervous. you didn't like take sunny super busy places alone, but now you had pope with you. he always made sure the two of you were safe. he carried the bags till he found a decently empty spot, setting up the little tent as you sat in the sand with your daughter playing. you offered to help him but he would just keep shaking his head, moving back and forth from the spot on the beach to his car before he had everything unpacked. you couldn't stop the laugh that came from your lips as you watched him struggle to put together the small tent to keep sunny under, frustration evident on his face. "ive got it," you spoke, finally standing to help him before everything was set. he handed you the sun lotion, pointing to sunny as he began to get his wetsuit on. you couldn't help but stare as he changed into it while you rubbed the sunscreen on the little girl, sunny screeching loudly at the cold lotion on her skin.

"tell mommy it's rude to stare," he mumbled to your daughter, leaning down to press a kiss to your daughter's face before looking at you with a smirk, pressing one to your forehead. "especially rude to stare if you aren't gonna do anything about it," he murmured in your ear before pulling back, grabbing his surfboard. "bring her down by the water when you're done to watch," he hummed with a wink, turning to make his way to the ocean's edge. you couldn't help but stare the entire time. he looked delicious. you were quick to rid yourself of the cover up, scooping sunny up to follow pope down to the shore. you watched as he made his way out once the waves started to rush, looking great as he surfed. he would wave every so often to the two of you, sunny squealing as she waved back. you couldn't help but laugh at the excitement she was experiencing. and that's how you both stood for a while, watching pope and dipping your toes in the water.

he eventually made his way back to the both of you, sitting on his board in the water about a foot in front of you. "bring her out here," he hummed, nodding for you to come out. so you did. you slowly walked towards him until you were in the waist high water, pope reaching to pull sunny into his arms so she was sat on the board with himself, yourself moving so your arms were resting on the board. "she's gonna be a pro surfer some day, watch," he teased, holding the little girl up so she was stood on the board, clapping her hands. a small laugh escaped your lips, staring at the two of them. you were so busy watching pope dress earlier that you had forgotten to put sun screen on yourself, and you were really starting to feel the burn on your shoulders. "im going to go in and put lotion on, you got her?" you hummed up to him, moving to stand now. his eyes looked over your body slowly, his tongue poking out just slightly to lick his lips as he admired you. "i'll help," he spoke immediately, climbing off the board and pushing it gently with your daughter on it back to the sand.

it made you laugh, his eagerness to get out of the water and put lotion on you. you loved the effect you still managed to have on him. he was quick to set sunny down in her little tent with some toys, laying a towel down for you before pointing at it. you chuckled a little, moving to lay down on your stomach. he moved fast to strip himself of the wetsuit, his already tanned skinned seemingly glowing more in the sun. he sat down in the sand next to you, immediately putting some lotion on his hands before looking at you with almost hesitation. "you can touch me, andrew," you spoke quietly, the side of your face resting on your arms as you looked over at him. the nod he let out was fast enough to shake his brain, his hands immediately moving to rub over your shoulders first. he was slow the entire time, hands kneading into your skin as he rubbed all the sunscreen in. he took extra time when he moved down to your legs, his hands cupping your ass tightly. "andrew," you mumbled as he continued to rub your ass, looking back at him. "just making sure you don't burn," he spoke, eyes never leaving your ass as he continued on. once he had finally finished you moved to sit up, the now obviously hard on showing in his swim trunks. "you're ridiculous," you teased him, pulling him over to sit between your legs with his back towards your chest.

you grabbed the bottle of sunscreen from his hands, moving to now rub his shoulders with the lotion. you couldn't help the way your hands squeezed at his muscles, just wanting to feel them under your touch again. he had gained a lot more muscle since the two of you were together, and now you were finally getting the chance to cop a feel. you both were pulled from your moment at the sound of your daughter whining, pope not moving from his spot between your legs. her little hand was pointing at a boy with an ice cream, a small laugh leaving your lips. "do you want some? i am gonna go get her some," you spoke, moving to stand up and beside him now. his hand immediately moved to rub the back of your leg, looking up at you with total lust in his eyes. he shook his head, pointing to his bag. "my wallets in there. i will stay with her," he mumbled, pressing a couple of soft kisses to your knee before letting go of you. your legs felt like jelly from his touch as you bent down to grab his wallet, heading towards the front of the beach to where the ice cream was.

you knew your little game of holding out on him was starting to die. you weren't even sure how you managed to hold out this long on him without completely jumping his bones. it probably wasn't completely fair, the way you would brush off all of his advances, but you wanted him to work for it. wanted him to earn his way back to your bed. when it was finally your turn to order, you stepped up to the counter, eyes scanning the menu in front of you. just as you were about to order, someone spoke. "i've got something else you can taste," an all too familiar voice snorted behind you, the hairs on your neck immediately standing up. you slowly turned around to come face to face with the voice, the smirk falling off of his face to a bit of a stunned look.

craig.

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[astarlinggirl]

fuck it, i love you

professor!jack abbot x virgin!fem!reader

summary: after a risqué encounter with you at the bar, jack abbot can’t get you out of his head. and then you show up in one of his lectures as his student. and then you two navigate an interesting 'casual' relationship, until your emotionally avoidant asses get, well... attached.

wc: 13k words

warnings: 18+, dom!jack & sub!reader, switching pov, lots of fingering, rubbing over underwear, premature ejaculation (coming in pants), mentions of oral (fem!receiving), guiding through a blowjob, loss of virginity, sex on a table, calling him dr abbot, sir + brief daddy kink, light choking, all of the sexy stuff happens in his office. jack is a widow, brief angst in the middle but love confessions later (!!), hurt/comfort, jack is jealous and possessive but has an #ethicaldilemma: the fic

a/n: i tried to be vague with the backstory, but reader craves academic validation, doesn’t have many friends, has implied familial issues and is introverted and avoidant. seeing the pics of him literally sent me into heat i fear i’ll never recover and so naturally i churned out this incredibly self indulgent fic during my finals aha can u tell i'm suffering from academic stress? #anyways have fun pls be nice. not beta read. | divider credits: @strangergraphics | soundtrack: fuck it i love you by lana del ray

Jack Abbot had always been a man of remarkable composure, the sort of composure that had been his armour, carefully built after the death of his wife, reinforced brick by brick through routine, discipline, and relentless work. 

While other men sought comfort in distractions, Jack prided himself in the fact that he buried himself in academia. Entire nights disappeared beneath journal articles, lecture plans, and grading sociology essays, until the loneliness that waited for him at home was little more than a dull ache he could almost ignore. 

Last week at the bar, well, that had been a mistake. A brief lapse in judgement, that's all. One too many whiskeys after a particularly long week and a pretty young thing asking him for help with some creep who wouldn't leave her alone - what exactly had he been supposed to do? Ignore her? Tell her she was on her own? Any decent man would've stepped in, at least that's what Jack keeps telling himself.

The problem is that a week later, he still can't get you out of his head.

He remembers the dress first. God, that dress. The dark fabric had clung to your figure, hugging every curve, and he'd spent the entire evening irritated with himself for noticing at all. 

He remembers the way the dip of your waist had fit beneath his palm when he'd guided you behind him, the startling softness of you, the instinctive way you'd moved closer when the man started getting aggressive. The tiny stutter in your breathing as he'd told the asshole to ‘fuck off and stop bothering his girl’ in a gruff voice, the way you'd looked up at him with those wide eyes, somewhere between embarrassed and grateful, as though he had done something remarkable when all he'd really done was the bare minimum.

Worst of all, he hates that he remembers the warmth of your body as he pinned you against the wall of the men's bathroom, mouths hovering over each other, not kissing, but breathing in wine-tinted lips. 

God, the way your warm walls stretched around his fingers, your clit under his thumb, still made him achingly hard. Jerking off in the shower had been futile ever since that night, ever since he felt your soft fingers around his cock, your moans spilling into his mouth. And your soft whines when he called you a good girl, fuck. He’s hard, again, in the middle of reading through the PHD proposals sent his way. He sighs, pulling his cock out his pants. 

It was becoming ridiculous. Which is precisely why he is looking forward to the start of semester.

But the universe has a fucked up way of derailing his plans. By the time he arrives at the lecture hall the next morning, coffee balanced in one hand and laptop tucked beneath his arm, he's almost managed to convince himself that the entire thing was behind him.

Then he walks through the door. The lecture hall blurs into meaningless shapes and colours, and in the centre of it sits you. 

The girl he couldn’t take out of his brain for the past seven days. 

Jack forces his legs forward, somehow making it to the front of the room without visibly embarrassing himself. He places his coffee on the desk. Sets down his laptop. Connects the HDMI cable twice because he misses the port the first time. His fingers feel too clammy, his pulse too fast. 

Jack opens his mouth to introduce himself.  

"My name is-"

But the words die there. Because he makes the mistake of looking back at you, again. 

Those same eyes he'd spent an entire week trying to unsuccessfully forget are fixed directly on his, wide with disbelief.

For a fraction of a second his mind goes entirely blank. Then your eyebrows lift. Just slightly.

And he realises with a jolt of horror that you've noticed the way his words catch. Jesus Christ.

He clears his throat and looks away, pretending to adjust something on his laptop despite the fact that absolutely nothing needs adjusting, acutely aware of the warmth crawling up the back of his neck, and onto his cheeks. It's ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. 

He's a respected academic pushing fifty years old, not some nervous graduate tutor fumbling his way through his first class.

"My name is Dr Jack Abbot," he says again, his voice steadier this time, lower too, the words settling more naturally now that he's managed to regain some semblance of control. "I'm the lead lecturer for the sociology department.”

His eyes catch yours. 

“It'll be my greatest pleasure to work with all of you this semester."

You’re this close to fucking shitting your pants. 

The sexy old man that had fucked the shit out of you with his fingers, while you could barely wrap your hands around his girthy cock in the corner of a dingy bathroom, was your professor. He was in front of you speaking in a voice too gravelly for his own good, and donned in what you’d deem an outfit way too slutty. 

Tweed blazer that somehow actually showed how broad he was, how fat and juicy his biceps were. A soft wool polo underneath that stretched around his fat pecs. 

And those brown pants, for fucks sake, those pants should be an abobination. You could see the bulge of his dick, the print, as he moved around the room. 

What’s worse though? His fat fucking fingers. As he gesticulates while talking about the content, which you don’t give a fuck about, all you can think about is how they felt inside of you, curling up to reach that sweet spot, and making you come faster and harder than your vibrator. 

As the flashbacks of him pounding into you fade, and you focus, you see something black and shiny glinting as it catches the overhead lights. You blink. Adorning one of those delicious fingers, is a ring. Fuck. It’s a wedding ring. 

You stare at it for a second too long before immediately snapping your gaze back to your laptop. Heat floods your face. You rack your brain trying to remember whether he'd been wearing it that night. You don't think so, you're almost certain he wasn't. Yeah, he definitely didn’t have it on that night in the bar, you would’ve felt it against your pussy, that fucking slut. 

You clench your jaw and look away, typing away to start making notes. You’d hooked up with an older married geratric. Yeah, maybe you should just drop out. Hurl yourself off the chair and out the door and withdraw from your course and fade into the abyss and die in a hole.

But what's worse is the way your cunt is clenching around nothing at the thought of this older man fucking you with his fingers while he had a wife at home- no, stop. How deeply unfeminist of you. You cunt. 

Yet still, when you look up and accidentally make eye contact with Jack Abbot, it feels like a punch to the vagina. 

By the time the lecture ends, Jack has spent nearly two hours forcing himself not to look at you. It has been a miserable failure. Not an obvious one, nobody in the room would have noticed. Years of teaching and having to discreetly catch students on their phones have made him an expert at disguising where his attention is actually resting. 

But every time his gaze swept across the theatre, every time a student asked a question, every time laughter rippled through the room, some part of him remained acutely aware of where you were sitting.

Which is precisely why, as students begin packing their bags and filtering towards the exits, he decides to do something incredibly stupid.

He tells himself it isn't stupid. He tells himself it's necessary. Professional, even.

After all, the two of you know each other in some capacity. There was the bar, there was what occurred inside of that bar, that lapse in judgement. There is now the unfortunate reality that you are one of his students. A conversation needs to happen. Boundaries need to be established, expectations clarified.

At least that's the excuse he gives himself. The truth is considerably less flattering. The truth is that he wants an excuse to speak to you.

He calls out your name. The words leave his mouth before he can reconsider them.

You freeze halfway through sliding your laptop into your bag. For a second you look almost startled that he's addressed you directly. Then your eyes meet his, startled. 

"Could you stay for a moment?"

Several students glance between the two of you before continuing out the door. Jack immediately regrets saying it publicly. Excellent start, Abbot.

By the time the last student leaves, you're making your way slowly towards the front of the room, one loop of your backpack slung on your shoulder.

As you slow to a stop in front of him, his eyes map your face. Your wide eyes, your slightly messy hair, the shape of your lips- Stop. Jesus Christ. 

He forcibly redirects his gaze towards his laptop on the podium. Professional. Remember, professional.

"You wanted to see me?" you ask softly.

Jack clears his throat.

"Right. Yes."

Very articulate. 

"I just thought it would be best if we acknowledged..." He gestures vaguely between the two of you. "The situation."

You blink.

"The situation?"

"The fact that we've met before."

"Oh."

You glance down at the strap of your bag, fingers tightening around it.

"Yeah. I noticed."

The dry response catches him completely off guard. A smile threatens at the corner of his mouth.

"Um, sorry, Dr Abbot," you add quickly, stumbling over the words. "I didn't mean to make things weird."

Jack immediately shakes his head.

"No, it's okay. You're good."

Dr Abbot. Dr Abbot. His brain plays your lips wrapping around his name again and again, perhaps in more precarious positions. He rubs his neck, looking away, willing for his cock to stop fucking stiffening. 

"I just wanted to clarify," he starts carefully, "I'd appreciate it if what happened stayed private."

Your eyes immediately narrow, apparently offended.

"Dr Abbot, I'm not stupid."

His eyebrows lift at your sudden confidence. He puts his hands out in front of him in defence. 

"I wasn't suggesting-"

"No, I know," you interrupt. Then your eyes widen, immediately looking mortified for interrupting him. "Sorry. I just mean... I'm not exactly planning on standing up in tutorials and announcing that I fu- I met my professor in a bar."

Jack closes his mouth. Fair point. And suddenly he becomes aware of how ridiculous he sounds.

You aren't the problem here. You haven't done anything. If anything, you're handling this better than he is. This sort of “casualness” is probably the usual for someone as beautiful as you, as young and brilliant.

"Right," he says finally.

A silence settles between you as he continues staring you down. 

You shift your weight awkwardly beneath his gaze, looking everywhere except directly at him now, and suddenly he's struck by how young you seem standing there. 

Then, before he can stop himself, in some hope to keep you standing there in front of him, he hears himself say, "If you ever need help with coursework, though, my office hours are listed on the syllabus."

The second the words leave his mouth, he knows they weren't necessary. Your eyes flicker up to his face in shock, before immediately dropping back down again. Interesting.

For someone who'd managed to argue with him thirty seconds ago, you seem remarkably incapable of holding eye contact for more than a few moments.

Then you nod, still staring at the floor. 

"Okay."

"Okay. Yeah, good."

Another silence. Neither of you moves, seems entirely unsure on how to end the conversation. Eventually you shift your bag higher up, and take a small step backwards.

"I should go."

"Yes, thank you for staying back."

You hesitate for a second, then whisper as you turn and walk away from him. 

“Goodbye, Dr Abbot.”

Jack stares at your ass through your jeans as you depart, he can’t help it. You sick, sick old man, Abbot.

The second you're gone, he drops his head down, groans, rubs a hand over his scruff. 

That conversation was supposed to make things better, supposed to reassure him that whatever happened at that bar was firmly in the past.

Instead, all it has accomplished is proving that being around you is a nightmare.  

It's been four weeks since that conversation and you cannot get him out of your head. Every time you enter those lectures where he stands in the front of the room with another blazer, another pair of form fitting pants, twice a week, you leave with a pool of slick. 

You refuse to acknowledge the way he looked at you when you let your attitude slip, his furrowed brows, hazel eyes narrowing. He looked… mad almost. Like he wanted to tame you. Of course you're being delusional, he has a wife for fucks sake. 

And weeks of observing him has made you realise that he has an immense proclivity for eye contact, with everyone. Basically, you’re not special. 

And, so your avoidant ass refuses to take him up on that offer to see him at his office. You’re doing well academically, you presume, in all your subjects. Which is not surprising given it's the only thing you’ve got going for you, being an antisocial chud, but these days, rather than studying, a lot of your time is spent replaying that night in the bar. The sense of comfort you felt pinned against the wall by him, the way he’d protected you against that creep. Nobody had done that for you before. 

God you sound fucking pathetic. 

And specifically, his suggestive line of “my office hours are listed on the syllabus” reverberates around your skull, like the start of those Wattpad stories you used to read as a teen. And so, you and your vibrator have the time of your life at all odd hours of the day, imagining him and you in those situations. 

In hindsight, being overtaken by lust to distract from your crippling loneliness was a poor decision to make, that much you clock when you receive one of your midterms back today. With a big fat fucking 60% written on the front. In Dr Abbot’s class at that too. 

Humiliation takes over you, cheeks warm as he walks by to return the paper, refusing to look at him but feeling his gaze on your face. 

Around you, students are already discussing their marks, complaining about feedback, celebrating distinctions, debating whether certain deductions were fair, while you're busy boring holes into the godforsaken paper with your eyes as though sheer hatred might cause it to burst into flames.

As someone who quite literally had nothing going on for them other than academic success, it's a stab to the heart to realise you’ve fallen off in any capacity. For your wretched brain, one poor mark isn't just a mark, it's indicative of you falling behind, lacking in the one thing that defines you. 

Academics have always been your thing, the one area of your life you've been able to control through sheer stubbornness and hard work, the one thing you've quietly built your entire sense of self around. You aren't particularly outgoing. You don't have a huge social circle. You don't possess some secret hidden talent waiting to be discovered.

And now a bright red sixty is staring back at you from the top of the page like a personal attack.

The feedback only makes it worse.

Critical analysis underdeveloped.

Needs greater engagement with course material.

More depth required.

Each comment feels less like academic criticism and more like somebody taking a hammer to your ribcage.

Especially because you've spent the last month thinking about fuckass Jack Abbot far more than you've spent thinking about sociology. You've replayed conversations that lasted less than five minutes. Analysed glances that probably meant absolutely nothing, and constructed entire fictional narratives from harmless comments that any reasonable person would've forgotten weeks ago.

Meanwhile half your readings have been sitting untouched in a browser tab.

You stare down at the paper again, jaw tightening.

Perhaps this is the universe intervening. Perhaps this is your sign to get a grip. Perhaps this is your sign to finally take him up on that offer he'd made four weeks ago.

Not because you're harbouring some pathetic crush. Absolutely not. 

Purely for academic reasons. You need to know what went wrong and you need to know how to fix it before your anxiety makes this into something worse and you have another one of your depressive episodes. 

And if that means sitting in Dr Jack Abbot's office while he explains why your argument was underdeveloped and your analysis lacked depth, then so be it.

The thought alone makes your stomach perform an alarming little flip, which is deeply unfortunate.

Because that's probably another sign that you're not thinking nearly enough about sociology.

After stalking the stupid university website you’ve discovered that Dr Jack Abbot apparently remains on campus until after five o'clock most evenings, like some sort of psycho freak. 

Doesn’t he have a wife to go home to? Surely no sane person voluntarily spends that much time at a university.

Still, at 5:17 PM, you're standing outside his office clutching your assignment paper so tightly it's beginning to crumple around the edges.

You knock on the door and hear his gruff voice let out a “come in”. You walk in.  

Fuck your life. 

His blazer is off, sleeves of his beige shirt rolled up to show veiny forearms, as he types away on his laptop. 

“Oh it's you. Hello sweetheart.” He winces at the slip of the pet name. 

“Sorry Miss-” he pauses. “Um, just have a seat, please.”

You hope to God that he can't hear the beating of your heart as you step in, closing the door shut behind you, avoiding eye contact as you sit on the seat opposite him. 

You set your paper on his desk and mumble.

“I just wanted to review the feedback I got on this.”

“Yeah of course, what’d you want to ask?”

You hesitate, his soft tone suddenly making you want to spill everything. 

"I just..." You stare at the desk. "I thought I'd done better than this. So I wanted more clarity on all the comments you made."

He nods and picks up the paper, starts reading through it, then squints. 

He sighs.

“Wait, let me get my readers on.”

You sneak a glance up. 

Oh fuck. 

He puts his readers on. Some fucking high prescription glasses that enunciate the size of his stupid hazel boba eyes and delicious eye wrinkles. 

Yeah, pussy exploded. 

You look back down on the table, and inhale to calm your heart. 

When Jack finally finishes, he sets the paper on the desk. 

"You know," he says carefully, tapping one section of the essay, "the reason this stood out to me wasn't because the writing is bad."

Your eyes lift despite yourself. He slides the paper slightly closer.

"It's actually the opposite."

“What?"

"The writing is strong, and your arguments are quite clear. You've obviously got the ability."

The knot in your chest loosens slightly. Only slightly.

"But?" you whisper.

His mouth twitches.

"But I don't think you pushed yourself."

Jack studies your expression for a moment before leaning back slightly in his chair.

"You understand the material," he continues. "I don't have concerns about that. What I'm seeing is somebody who's engaging with the content at a surface level when they're capable of going much deeper.”

Right, so you’re failing. You ridden with lust, and doing god knows what in hopes to distract yourself from the sheer loneliness and mundanity of your life and now you can’t even understand the content the way you want to understand it and-

“Hey sweetheart, are you feelin’ okay?” 

You look up at him in confusion and realise your breaths are heavy, uneven. Your hands are trembling slightly where they're resting on your lap. 

Fuck, the beginnings of a panic attack. 

“I’m so sorry Dr Abbot, I just- I’ve never done poorly in a test really, and so this is all so…” your voice cracks. “I don't even know what I’m saying I just-”

He gets up and walks over to you as you break off, letting out a shaky laugh that sounds suspiciously close to a sob.

He leans against his desk, in front of you, bending to reach your eyes.  

“Hey, it's okay angel, breathe for me.”  

He inhales. 

“Look, follow my breathing.”

You try to, but it comes out stuttered.

"Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Nothin’ to apologise for, sweetheart, just keep trying. C’mon, take a deep breath in, and out."

He holds your hand and brings it to his chest. You feel his heart beat steadily under your palm. He exaggerates his breathing to help you.

“In, and out, just like that.”

It seems nice to just let go. To have someone else take over your brain, follow their instructions and shut the noise, the anxieties and the worries. 

Once your breathing slows, he moves your hand away from his chest. 

“You breathin’ better now?”

You nod slowly, still feeling shaky, still mortified by the fact that you've just had what can only be described as a minor psychological collapse in your professor's office.

“I’m so, so sorry you saw me like that Dr Abbot, I didn’t mean to-”

“Hey, it’s okay, sweet girl.”

He pauses, seems occupied gathering his thoughts.

You busy yourself staring at the floor. Then he exhales softly through his nose and settles back against the edge of his desk.

"After my wife passed away, I used to get them all the time."

The words are so unexpected that your head lifts immediately.

Jack's gaze remains fixed somewhere over your shoulder rather than directly on you, his expression thoughtful. 

"My therapist taught me a few tricks," he says with a small shrug. "Matching breathing patterns was one of them."

Your heart races again, for different reasons this time. The ring, the fucking black ring. He’s a widower. You don’t know whether to laugh or scream at the fact that he’s not married, and you aren’t a homewrecker. But then you feel real fucking horrible for different reasons, youre brain sabotaging again. 

“I’m sorry about your wife. I’m sorry if that reminded you of back then, or whenever it happened I don’t know, I don't want to assume-”

“Shh, take a deep breath for me. You’re good, sweetheart. 

 He brings a palm to your cheek, engulfing it.  

“Yeah? It’s okay. Don’t worry ‘bout it. It was a long time ago.”

You breathe in slowly for the fucking hundredth time that night, calming down.  

“You feelin’ better now?” He asks gently.

You nod, biting your tongue to stop from apologising again. 

“Yes, thank you.”

It slips out before he can stop it. 

“Good girl.”

Your thighs instinctively clench, and you see him stiffen as he notices.  You both stare at each other, feeling tension coil in the air between you. A moment passes. 

“I could help you, you know.”

You blink, confused. 

He rubs your cheek gently, eyes boring into yours. His expression is blank, neutral. 

“I could help you relax, get out of your brain for a little.”

He pauses.

“Like that night in the bar. You liked that, didn't you? Somebody taking control.”

Your breath hitches, and you mumble a “yes.”

“Louder, sweetheart. If we’re gonna do this, you need to speak clearly.”

His voice is stern, gravelly. And your brain is calm for the first time in weeks, since that night. The validation you crave so desperately, the sense of comfort that would help with escaping your brain, perhaps it is held in the palm of Jack Abbot’s hands. 

Slowly, you nod. 

“Yes Dr Abbot, I’d like you to help me.”

He smirks, the edges of lips pulling up. 

“Atta girl. C’mon then, get up for me.”

You follow his lead, mind hazy as he holds your hands and guides you to his chair. 

“I’m gonna sit, then you're gonna sit right here, on my lap. And then I’ll help you, yeah?”

You nod again. 

“Words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Dr Abbot.”

He smiles, proudly. Your brain turns to mush again, pussy fluttering.

He’s so handsome.  

Pulling you onto his lap sideways, your legs draping over his thighs, he caresses your hair. Fuck, it feels so good. You nuzzle your head into his neck, whimpering softly as he coos, "such a good girl, my smart girl, yeah? smartest in the whole damn class.”  

Then he brings his fat fingers to your skirt, tracing circles on yout thighs near the hem. Inching close, but never slipping under. 

“Please, please Dr Abbot, touch me.”

“Yeah, you want me to touch that little pussy? Want me to make you feel good? So you can rest your pretty brain?” 

He taps your head. 

You whine ‘yes, yes please sir.’ 

You feel his cock jerk up under you. He groans.  

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart. Say that again.”

“Please, Sir, please touch me.”

“Whatever you want, pretty girl.”  

Then he finally flips your skirt up, and starts rubbing slowly over your panties. On your lips, your folds, through your soaked underwear. You wrap your arms around his neck, begging him, please. 

He brings a finger to your clit, mutters lowly, “right here sweetheart?” and you nod, whining. 

He rubs gentle circles on your clit, your slick helping his finger move smoothly even over your panties. Buries his face in your hair as he continues rubbing. He breathily exhales, as if simply your pleasure was turning him on . 

“That’s it, just let go sweetheart. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Fuck- right there.”

You buck up in his hold. 

And he stops, a hand splaying over your thighs to stop you from squirming.

“Fuckin’ stop that, or this is going to be over a lot quicker thank you’d like.” 

You feel the hardness of his cock under you, prodding below your ass. Your brain is mush, the words slipping by themself.  

You nod tucking your head in his neck, “Yeah, yeah sir I’ll stop, please- fuck. Please keep going.” 

“That’s my good girl.” 

And he starts rubbing over your clit again, kissing down your cheeks, down your neck, murmuring “yeah? yeah” as he inhaled your musk.

You whimper, arching your neck as you get closer to your release, feeling it build up low in your stomach the faster his circles get.  

“Fuck I’m going to come! Pl- please let me come sir.”

“Yeah? Is my good girl gonna come? You gonna come for Dr Abbot?” He groans, low and husky. 

And fuck, that gets you. You close your eyes as your orgasm hits you, pleasure washing over. 

You mutter whimpers of his name as you come, squirming as much as he lets you, clenching your thighs in his palm.

In the haze of your orgasm, you hear him, moaning. He jerks up, moaning in your ear, face pressed against your hair, babbling.  

“Fuck- sweetheart, did so good for me, fucking coming all over my fingers, fuck!”

The last word comes out as something resembling a whine. His hips buck up once, twice, before you feel warmth spreading under you. 

Did he just… orgasm?

Both of you pant harshly, him into your hair, forehead pressed against your head. And you look down, seeing your soaking panties, his hands splayed over your thighs. A smile overtakes your face, god, you felt alive. 

And he came. In his pants. God, you love old men. But as a giggle bubbles up in your throat, he stiffens. 

You see his hands leave you, and before you can even process what's happening, he's gently but firmly moving you off his lap, tugging your skirt back into place. 

"Fuck."

The curse leaves him under his breath, as he immediately turns away in his chair, one hand dragging through his curls.

You stand there, still dazed as he refuses to look at you. 

“Fuck, um. You should leave and I- I think-”

The words die halfway through. You watch him struggle to find them.

“Yeah, you should leave,” he awkwardly mutters as he covers the wet patch on his pants. You're still breathing heavily, and furrow your brows. 

What the fuck?

You’re so utterly mortified. Still in the post orgasmic haze, standing there feeling horribly exposed, your brain sluggish and foggy and vulnerable.

And through that stupid fog you pick your bag up from the seat, smooth out your skirt. Avoiding eye contact, you wobble out of the room, tears pooling in your eyes. 

Fuck old men. You hate old men.

After hours of sobbing into your pillow, and spiralling about how people will use you for your body, and nobody will be able to save you, and you’re going to die alone, you reached a conclusion. Probably a delusional conclusion, but a conclusion nonetheless.

He was embarrassed, that’s all. The man had simply come in his pants. Which, admittedly, would be humiliating for anyone. You’re so young and sexy that he was embarrassed he came in his pants. He definitely still wants you. 

The thought soothed you enough to stop crying, enough to prevent you from throwing yourself dramatically into the nearest body of water.

It's when you’re holed up in your dorm room, buried under the blankets reading a fic, when your spiral begins again. 

Because you get a text from an unknown number. 

Hi. I wanted to apologise for yesterday.   That was incredibly impolite of me, I got way in over my head.

Then two minutes later. 

And I wanted to check in.  Are you feeling better?

Chat, what if you fucking killed yourself? 

The perfect grammar and punctuation made your stomach churn in lust. The way you could hear him grumble that out in his husky voice, gravelly warmth beneath every syllable. 

Stop.

Objectively speaking, this man had sent you into an emotional crisis less than twenty-four hours ago. He basically kicked you out after giving you another toe curling orgasm. 

And yet somehow all it takes is three perfectly punctuated texts and you're smiling into your pillow like an idiot. Whatever, stay nonchalant. 

So you ignore his apology and reply to the latter half. 

Hey, i’m okay thanks 

Wow, look at you go. 

His reply is almost immediate.

Good.  Good girl. 

You take a deep breath in, pull your blanket over your head. Fuck. Fuck this stupid old man and his ability to make your pussy throb with two words. 

You genuinely have no clue what to reply, stupid. Stupid woman who can’t even formulate a reply and be flirtatious. 

You type something.

Delete it.

Type something else.

Delete that too.

Your chest develops a familiar buzzing anxiety. This, by the way, is exactly why maintaining relationships has always felt so difficult. Everyone else seems to possess some innate understanding of social interaction that you're missing entirely. 

What are you supposed to say?

Thanks for checking on me after kicking me out?

Sorry for crying in your office?

Please stop being unexpectedly kind after making me come so hard because it's making this significantly harder?

After two minutes of spiralling, or five, or ten, you don’t even fucking know at this point, your phone buzzes again.  

Can I see you?  Please.

Your breath stutters. 

yeah sure When do your classes finish today? At 3pm Okay. I’ll meet you at Sapphos.

Fuck, you hate how he doesn’t ask you. Just makes a statement, tells you what to do. You hate how that turns you on, and even worse, how good it feels to not have to make decisions for yourself, for once. 

But also, that cafe was off campus. Realistically, should you be potentially jeopardising your academic career with this emotionally unavailable older man, who will definitely be using you for your body if this continues? No, but are you lonely and so fucking bored with the stangancy of your life? Well, yes. 

And so unfortunately, rational thought has never stood much of a chance against loneliness. Against the quiet ache that follows you home every evening, and the possibility of spending a few hours with somebody who sees you.

So your dumbass agrees. 

Okay ! i’ll see u soon  See you soon, sweetheart. 

Sweetheart. Yeah, you're actually gonna kill yourself. 

Sitting and staring out the window of some cafe he randomly picked, Jack doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. He doesn't know how many times a man can call something a lapse in judgement before it stops being a ‘lapse’ and starts becoming a conscious choice.

He got in way over his head after making you come on his lap, spiralling. Yes, it was the sheer humiliation of coming in his pants (which was a nightmare to clean off, by the way) but also, there was the humiliation of losing control of himself after years of carefully maintaining it, the mortifying reality of having to go home and sit alone with the consequences of it all.  

What was worse was somewhere along the way you'd managed to reach inside him and pull loose something from his heart he'd thought had calcified years ago, something he'd buried beneath research papers, lecture halls, and the endless routines he'd constructed around himself after his wife died.

And he knows, he knows, you deserve someone better. He was a widow for Christ's sake, probably three decades or somewhere very close to that, older than you. And you’re young. Thoughtful. Young enough that your entire life still seems stretched out in front of you. Even your anxieties, the things that weigh you down, feel temporary in a way his never will. 

You still have time to become whoever you're meant to be.

Jack feels as though he's already become whoever he's going to be.

He thinks about the way you looked during your panic attack, how hard you'd been trying to keep it together even as everything was falling apart. He thinks about how quickly you apologised for taking up space, for having feelings, for being overwhelmed.

And he didn't pity you, God, no. It wasn't that. He understood it. The loneliness. The exhaustion. The feeling that if you stopped holding yourself together for even a second, everything might collapse.

But he also saw the way your brain shut down, the way you trusted him. It made something ache inside his chest, a warm ache, the sort that spread through his ribs and settled somewhere dangerously close to hope. 

And hope was precisely the problem. Because he couldn't give you anything. Not with the grief and sense of routine buried in him before his teaching, in the chasm of his heart, since his time in the godforsaken military where half his limb was gone. 

He can't offer you anything but his fingers, or his mouth, between your legs, and you deserve someone better than that. 

But if that was the only way he’d be able to get you out of his head, then so be it. 

And so despite all of that, despite every logical argument he could construct, despite every fucking university regulation he was violating right now, his eyes keep drifting towards the café entrance every few seconds.

Jack exhales heavily and rubs a hand across his jaw.

And then you enter. Looking around with an adorably confused look before you spot him, and dare he say, your eyes light up. 

Abbot, no. 

But the words slip out as you reach him. 

“Hey sweetheart.”

“Hi Dr Abbot.”

You sit opposite him, glancing up at him briefly before staring back down at the table. He hates how endearing he finds it, how he wants to reach across the sticky table and pull your jaw, hold it, and force you to look at him. He wants to see your eyes glaze over the way they did the day prior. 

He chooses instead to slide the menu across to you, and once you order, he leans back. 

“Did you have a nice morning?”

He withholds a wince at the awkwardness. 

“Um, yes. Classes were okay. Thank you?”

The end of the sentence rises almost into a question, as though you're unsure whether that's the correct answer, and something about it makes his chest tighten.

“Good, that’s good.”

Then an awkward pause. Jack sits there like a complete fucking idiot.

For Christ's sake he’d called you here. And now that you're sitting in front of him, he can't seem to form a coherent sentence.

Get your shit together, Abbot. 

"Look," he begins, rubbing a hand across his jaw. "I wanted to apologise for yesterday."

Your eyes finally lift from the table.

“It was wrong of me to let you go like that. Quite frankly I don’t even have an excuse I just…”

He trails off, looking behind you out the window for a second. What exactly is he supposed to say?

That the sight of you crying made me feel physically sick? That for one terrifying second I’d felt something dangerously close to happiness sitting in that office with you? That after years of carefully maintaining the same dull routine I’d somehow started structuring entire days around whether I’d see you?

None of those seem particularly appropriate, too intense. 

"See, no man my age enjoys being reminded that he's still capable of behaving like a teenager."

That makes you smirk a little. His heart warms. 

“You mean, you.. coming in your pants?”

Jack groans softly and drags a hand down his face.

“I didn't want to put it so crudely, but well... yes."

"I thought so."

You giggle. And the sound catches him off guard enough that he finds himself smiling despite the mortification currently trying to consume him.

"To be honest," you continue, "I think I understood once I calmed down."

His shoulders loosen slightly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

You shrug.

"But I'm not going to lie, it didn't feel very good. You kicking me out like that."

The honesty makes him wince.

"And that's exactly why I wanted to apologise, sweetheart." His gaze settles on you properly. Giving you a look that he hoped was earnest. "That was real shitty of me. I’m truly very sorry.”

You look at him for a few moments in silence, mapping his face. Then once seemingly finding what you were looking for, you reply. 

“Apology accepted.” 

The waitress arrives then, setting down your coffee, some monstrosity involving whipped cream and probably enough sugar to send him into cardiac arrest.

Jack eyes it suspiciously, humorously. 

"What?" you question. 

"That isn't coffee."

"It literally is."

"Sweetheart, that looks like it barely has any caffeine."

You let out a giggle, again. God, you’ve got to fucking stop that if you want his heart to survive.  

"It has espresso."

"Buried beneath, what? Three inches of whipped cream."

"Whatever, you’re just old and grumpy."

You grin. The grin grows wider when he continues staring at the drink with visible disappointment.

For some reason that finally breaks whatever lingering awkwardness remains between the two of you. The conversation begins flowing after that.

He makes a witty remark, you giggle. And you manage to make him laugh as well, coming out of your shell. 

Then the conversation shifts to that night at the bar. 

“Yeah so if he wasn't that buff and scary, I wouldn't even have called you over. I would've told him to suck my strap and choke.”

Jack nearly chokes on his coffee, coughing violently. You immediately burst into soft laughter. He wipes his lips with a napkin, grinning.

"Sweetheart."

"What?"

"Please give me some warning before you say things like that."

Your grin grows, eyes sparkling. 

"Why?"

"Because I'm fifty."

That seems to make your eyes widen imperceptibly, and you look down towards the coffee you ordered, chugging it. 

Interesting. 

Neither of you acknowledge the elephant in the room, instead you continue talking, skirting around the edges. Circling the obvious without ever touching it.

And eventually your drinks are empty. People around you start leaving.

Yet neither of you seems particularly eager to end the conversation.

Jack glances at his watch. Then back at you. He really, really shouldn't. But he wants to give you a way out. While still offering you a choice. 

"I don't have any classes after tomorrow's lecture."

The words leave his mouth casually.

Your eyes flicker up.

"Oh."

A pause.

"I could come see you."

"In my office?"

You immediately look embarrassed.

"Only if that's okay."

God. There it is again, that instinct you have to ask permission for existing.

"Sweetheart."

Your eyes lift.

"It's okay."

The relief that flashes across your face is so immediate it almost hurts to look at.

"Okay."

"Okay."

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

When the bill eventually arrives, he picks it up before you can.

"Dr Abbot-"

"No."

"I can pay for myself."

"I know."

"Then-"

"I know, I know you’re a self sufficient woman. You’re brilliant. But let me. I’ll pay for it."

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Jack watches the entire internal battle play across your face.

Then you nod softly, muttering an “okay, thank you”. 

Jack's heart clenches again. Genuinely fuck his life. 

So you think you’ve somehow ended up in a situationship or whatever the fuck with your fifty year old professor. 

Over the course of the past five weeks, you show up in his office after the lectures, and even a few times throughout the week, and he sets you on his lap, or on his desk while he laps at your cunt. 

Occasionally, he lets you pull out his cock and suck it. Sometimes under his desk, riding his boot as he's grading papers, God, his fucking whimpers when he comes. 

Unsurprisingly, he also does help you with understanding the content and doing your assignments. Has his own unique methods of doing so. 

Jack had you sitting on his lap, back to his chest, completely clothed while you were naked, bare. 

He hooked his face on your shoulder, whispering filth in your ears, telling you to “focus” as he rubbed slow circles over your pussy. Smearing the slick oozing out your cunt over your folds, avoiding your clit. 

You whined and tried to clench your thighs, whispering against his stubbled cheek. 

“Please, pl- touch me, Dr Abbot.” 

But he'd splayed one wide palm, tightly, over your thigh.

“No. Type out the rest of the essay, c’mon. Then you can come, pretty girl,” he’d muttered in a low voice. 

And once you did, he'd shoved his fat fingers inside of you, thrusting fast, the other hand alternating between your neck and your nipples, pinching, squeezing.  

You’d squirted that day, for the first time, creating a mess of his pants, some landing on his desk. 

He’d made you lick it off. 

Surprisingly, however, you hadn’t kissed, not even once. Nor had you fucked, in the penetrative sense. 

The latter you’re grateful for, because you were a virgin. It was too humiliating of a thought to ever bring up in your twenties now, but thankfully he never brings it up either. You suspect he knows though, from the little details you've unveiled to him over the course of the past few weeks. 

Talking about your feelings has always been.. difficult. The words choke up and clog the back of your throat when you go to speak. Entire relationships - well, lack of relationships - have been built around your inability to say what you need. 

But it's easy, sometimes, with Jack. When your brain shuts off in a post orgasmic haze, and you sit in other's company, his hand resting in your hair, or his head buried in your chest, the words bubble out of you. 

Snippets of memories of your family that you left behind, of the few friends back home, the lack of romance. When you stop speaking halfway through a sentence because you've forgotten how to explain yourself, he simply waits.

Surely he's put two and two together.  

And you think he has some avoidant issues of his own, the old fuck. 

He'll spend forty minutes analysing a political institution and somehow avoid answering a direct question about his own feelings.

Yet occasionally things slip through the cracks.

A memory about his wife. An offhand comment about the military that lingers in your mind long after he's moved on to another topic.

You'd had a lengthy conversation one day about that, your radical opinions spilling out before you could stop them, about systemic exploitation and imperialism, about how much you despised the military as an institution. You’d accuse institutions of manipulating vulnerable people; He agreed more than you'd expected him to. Told you about his journey of basically being forced into it to help his family, about the machinery of poverty and patriotism that pushed kids toward enlistment before they were old enough to understand what they were signing away.

He takes your ideas seriously, but he also looks genuinely delighted when you disagree with him.

And god, that’s what you were starting to like most about him. The intellect. Yes he has a girthy cock that would probably annihilate you in the best way when (if) the time came, and incredible arms, and his fat pecs. But his brain. Wow. 

Intelligence has always been your love language, whether you've admitted it or not. And Jack speaks it fluently. There’s a sense of strange intimacy and letting others hear your thoughts and opinions. And the ability to be able to talk and have someone just listen, or banter with you – it was rare. Especially for someone as reclusive as you. 

Unfortunately, you're also smart enough to recognise reality. Whatever this is, it isn't heading anywhere permanent. Because Jack never talks about the future, never makes promises, or gives any indication that he's looking for something lasting.

And honestly? You aren't sure he can. Not after everything he's lost, not with the gap of decades between you. So you tell yourself you're enjoying things exactly as they are. You tell yourself that spending time with him is enough.

And for now, maybe it is.

The problem is that every time he looks at you like you've said something brilliant, every time he remembers some tiny detail about your life, every time his face softens when you walk into a room – this lie gets a little harder to believe.

Five weeks. Jack’s ‘brief’ lapse in judgement has lasted five fucking weeks. 

Every time he sees you enter the lecture, you exchange a secret look, your eyes fluttering, him blushing. He feels like he’s twenty again. It's exhilarating. 

But the ‘ethical dilemma’ of it all sat permanently in the back of his mind, festering like an untreated wound.

He knows that every time he let himself enjoy your company, every time he answered one of your messages, every time he found himself smiling at something you'd said hours after the conversation had ended, he was stepping further into territory he had absolutely no business occupying.

The way you trusted him, allowing him to lick into your cunt or set you on his lap and caress you, felt nice. It felt real fucking good to be wanted and desired in some capacity, especially after being touch starved for nearly a decade since his wife. 

And seeing you under him sucking his cock, fuck.

“Dr Abbot….” you whined in a teasing tone, laced with humour. 

He groaned, placing his forehead on your back from where you sat on his lap. You definitely wanted something. 

“What?” he huffed out.

Still facing your laptop, you breathed out your next words. 

“When are you going to let me suck your cock?”

He jolted, hips thrusting up.

“Jesus Christ sweetheart, warn a guy.”

You said his name again, more firmly. 

“Stop dodging the question.”

He paused. 

“This whole… us. It's about you, about helping you relax so you can focus on studying. It’s not about me or my pleasure or-”

“Jack.” 

He lifted his head from your back, stilling. You’d never said his first name before. 

“What if doing it would give me pleasure, hm? What then?”

He stayed silent. 

You twisted in his lap, neck twisting to face him. 

“I want to taste you, please.”

Widening your eyes, and pouting, you all but begged him. Brought a hand to his stubbled cheek.  

“Please, Dr Abbot. Let me do it.” 

He sighed. Jack Abbot was a weak, pathetic man when it came to you.  

“Fine,” he grumbled. 

“Get off, c’mon.”

Yeah, it was worth it for the blinding smile you gave him, kissing his cheek.  

He gently lifted you off his lap, and pulled his chair back to give you some room. 

Jack nodded, glancing down pointedly. 

“If you want it, you gotta do it yourself.”

You kneeled immediately, settling yourself in the gap between his desk, between his open thighs. 

Unbuckling his belt, staring at his bulge with those doe eyes the entire time, you slowly pulled his cock out. 

It was hard, leaking, tip red and aching. Your soft hands wrapping around his dick made a drop of precum roll down. He moaned, a low sound emanating from deep in his chest. 

You slowly twisted your hand up and down his cock, fingers barely stretching around. 

Jack couldn’t wait. He gripped your hair, not too hard, but enough to lift your head up to face him. 

“You gonna put your mouth on it or do I need to shove it in?”

You smirked, you vixen. 

“Shove it in, I dare you.”

He groaned, muttering “you fuckin’ brat” as he pushed your hands off his cock.

“Open up, sweetheart.”

You did, tongue lolling out. A drop of drool dripped onto his thighs, and he moaned under his breath. 

He couldn’t wait any longer. Gripping his cock, he fed it into your mouth. Inch by inch. 

Until you gagged. 

Feeling your soft throat close around him, he couldn't help but groan your name.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

Your hands came up to stroke whatever didn't fit in - which truth be told, was more than half his cock, but it's okay, he'd train you eventually. 

“Can I help you, sweetheart? Teach you how to take your professor's cock down your throat?”

You nodded quickly, moaning, his cock still in your mouth. 

Then he guided you through it, holding your head as you sucked him. Muttered praises, filth, to guide you.

“Just like that, sweetheart”.

“Yeah, grip it harder”.

“Suck the tip, just like that.” 

And right before he came, he ripped you off him and wrapped a hand around himself. He whimpered as jerked off furiously over you, until drops of his pearly cum splattered over your tongue. 

He had never come that hard in his life. 

Panting harshly, he patted your head. 

“Swallow.”

Other than the sex, there were also the days where you'd walk into his office and start talking about some article you'd read, your entire face lighting up with excitement, and everything in him would melt. He’d pull you onto his lap, or set you in front of him, on his desk, and let you talk, feeling the softness of your thighs under his palm as he traced small circles. It was nice to let someone in, fill the void and the silence in his life. 

There wasn’t a label on what you two were, if you even were anything. 

While at first he’d thought it was common for you to be used to this sort of ‘causalness’ or a friends-with-benefit type situation (or whatever the fuck somebody born two generations after him would call it), he'd come to realise you were actually the opposite. Not that he’d have any issue with either. 

But from the scattered stories you'd told him about your past, the way you spoke about relationships, and the cautious vulnerability that appeared whenever the subject drifted too close to ‘feelings’, he'd begun piecing together a picture of someone who felt things deeply and trusted people slowly.

He could calculate you were likely a virgin. And so he never pressurised you, never made the first move to initiate sex, kept his cock to himself, waiting for you. No matter how much he wanted to feel the tightness of your pussy around him. 

However, his patience is wearing thin, growing precarious with every instance of you bringing another small thing that wedges itself beneath his ribs and refuses to leave. 

Now he's left with the deeply inconvenient problem of wanting things he really shouldn’t want. Not just a warm body near him, but wanting your company, your attention. He wants those afternoons in his office where you do nothing but talk to last a little longer.

All of this wanting, this yearning, is quite frankly, far more than he has any right to want.

Which is exactly why today is proving so unbearable.

He often feels a pit of something bitter bubble in his chest when you interact with someone other than him. Not that it happens frequently - you're quite reserved. But not today. Today, specifically, you seem to be chatting up a boy. 

When he enters the lecture this morning, you aren’t sitting alone like usual, but instead, there’s some boy next to you. Some boy your age. Dressed in some sort of hideous baggy outfit that hangs off his lanky frame. Is that fashion now? God that fucking punk. 

Why was he sitting next to you? Distracting you? 

As he sets up his laptop on the podium, seething under his breath, he hears a giggle. Your breathy giggle, the one he thought only came out with him. 

His jaw tightens. The lecture hasn't even started, for Christ's sake.

Jack spends the next five minutes attempting to focus on setting up his stupid slides while simultaneously becoming aware of every interaction occurring in your vicinity.

Looking up, he realises it's a grave mistake. Because now you're touching. Touching that punk’s arm. 

Fuck. 

Something ugly immediately twists in Jack's stomach, his brows furrowing. Anger bubbles up in his chest.

But he can’t do anything but continue on, beginning his lecture, as if he isn’t seething with jealousy. 

Halfway through the lecture, he catches himself directing a question towards your side of the room and immediately wants to launch himself into the sun.

Because you answer, of course, brilliantly as usual. But the boy next to you looks at you with stars in his eyes.

Yeah, Jack wants him expelled.

After a torturous two hours, students begin filing out of the room. Normally, this is the part where he'd catch your eye, maybe exchange some silent look that promised you'd be appearing in his office within the next ten minutes.

Instead, you're still standing beside that boy. And the little prick is making you laugh now. Then you reach out and lightly smack his arm, again.

Jack immediately decides prison might be worth it. 

He shoves his laptop into his satchel with considerably more force than necessary, and effectively storms out of the room without giving you a second glance. 

If you wanted to fuck about with some kid your age, then fine, Jack was not going to stop you. 

By the time he reaches his office he's practically fuming, throwing his bag onto his desk and immediately hating himself for it.

Because what exactly are you guilty of?

Making a friend? Talking to somebody?

The answer is nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Yet that doesn't stop the ugly feeling sitting beneath his ribs. Yeah, he’s going to commit a fucking crime tonight. 

Jack Abbot has managed to elicit yet another strange emotion in you.  You're staring at the doorway he'd just disappeared through, confused as fuck. 

He'd packed up and left so quickly you'd barely had time to process it, when usually, you walk to his office together. 

Once James - the man you were talking to - leaves with your Instagram to “organise a study session”, a strange sinking feeling begins to settle in your stomach.

You gather your things slowly, trying not to overthink it but failing spectacularly.

The thing is, you had actually been excited, embarrassingly excited. Somehow, after weeks of mostly keeping to yourself, after spending the majority of your university experience drifting between classes and then disappearing home, you'd accidentally made a friend today randomly. For the first time somebody actually came and fucking sat next you and talked to you. 

And the first person you'd wanted to tell was Jack. Which was probably concerning. You know how ridiculous it is that every interesting thing that happens in your day somehow circles back to him.

You'd actually spent the last ten minutes of class thinking about it, thinking about walking into his office and saying, "I made a friend today." And hearing whatever sarcastic response he'd inevitably come up with as he pulled you into his lap. Maybe teasing you about finally socialising - a topic he often teased you about -  or maybe pretending to be shocked.

Instead he'd practically fled the room.

By the time you reach his office, the excitement has mostly dissolved into uncertainty, and a sick, sick feeling. Your brain convinces you he hates you, he’s sick of you. The affair with the pretty young thing is over. 

Your hand hovers over the door, then knocks.

A gruff voice immediately answers.

"Come in."

You push the door open, and there he is standing beside his desk.

His jaw is clenched, his shoulders rigid.

And suddenly you're no longer excited to tell him anything. Instead you're left standing there wondering what exactly you did wrong.

He stalks up to you, and shuts the door behind you with enough force to make you jump. For a moment he simply stands there, broad chest rising and falling, staring at you as though he's trying to decide whether to throttle you or kiss you.

“Who the fuck was that boy?”

You’re confused. 

“Who?”

“Don't play games with me, sweetheart.”

“James?” you ask, tilting your head. “Oh he’s just a… friend I made. We decided to share notes for the course.”

His jaw visibly tenses.

“The fuck you mean you ‘share notes’?” He exaggerates the last two words, mocking the phrase in a deliberately high-pitched voice. “Don’t I give you enough notes to go off? I'm not teachin’ you well enough, so now you gotta go to some punk to share notes?

“Jack, it’s not like that, I just-”

“Dr Abbot.” He interrupts.

The correction slices straight through you.

“What?”

He walks up closer to you, until your back hits the door and you’re pinned against it. He tilts his head down to peer at you. 

“It’s Dr Abbot when you’re in my office, sweetheart,” His voice drops lower. “I’m still your professor.” 

You scoff at that, hurt. It’s not hot to you, no. In that moment your brain forces you to think about how every moment you've spent together has happened in this room, only in this room. And maybe that's all there is, and maybe that's all there ever was. You convince you that you guys can’t exist out of this space, this dynamic that exists between the two of you. 

Can he just not have a civil conversation? Why is pretending to act jealous? If he wanted to fuck you he could just ask. 

You swallow hard.

“Right,” you say lowly. “My professor.”

The words taste bitter.

“The one who only seems to want me when we're in here.”

His brows furrow immediately.

“That's not what-”

“No, it’s okay. Let me finish. The one who shoves his face between my thighs when he feels lonely to cure whatever fucked up grief he keeps bottled up inside of him. The one who refuses to see me outside the four walls of this godforsaken office-”

“Enough.”

You see something that resembles hurt flash across his face, his brows creasing. The lines around his eyes deepen.

“Is that really what you think of me?” He whispers, staring at you.

You twitch uncomfortably under him, looking at the floor, confidence evaporating now that you've actually said out loud what you’ve been spiralling over ever since this began.

“I just...” Your voice cracks slightly. “Look, you don't have to act possessive, okay? Whatever we have this- this thing. I know it doesn’t mean much to you.”

Jack immediately opens his mouth, but you keep rambling.

“Which is fine. Seriously. I'm okay with that.” Your hands shake slightly at your sides. “But just don’t give me false hope. I’m happy with you being my professor, or my dom, or whatever the fuck. And I like that you help me study and talk and get out of my head and feel good, but there’s no need to act like you- like you care. I can't handle feeling like you care one minute and then being reminded none of this is real the next.” 

You're panting hard by the end of your rant, still refusing to look at him. 

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

You shake your head, tears of frustration welling up at letting yourself be seen like this, vulnerable. You promised yourself you wouldn’t ever tell him. Stupid. 

Sex, that’s easy. It’s the meshing of two bodies, it’s clinical - you orgasm, your brain feels hazy and good while he drives you there. But this, talking, about feelings of all things, fuck. You can’t let anyone see you like that. Because then, they get sick of you, and then they leave. 

“C’mon, look at me,” he pleads.

You wipe your eyes, about to tell him to move back so you can leave, but then he says your name. Softly. Not sweetheart. Not pretty girl. But your actual name.

“Please.”

You look up then, tears pooling in your eyes. And your breath catches.

Because Jack looks devastated. His eyes are red around the edges, and his mouth is pulled into a frown. 

His hand rises slowly, cupping your cheek. He gently swipes a thumb under your eye. 

“Hey, I need you to know - this is real. To me.”

His voice cracks.

“I’m not using you as some sort of placeholder or whatever self sabotaging bullshit you’ve created in your head okay?”

Then he inhales deeply. 

“You've become the best part of my day. I wake up and mentally map my days around you. Hearing you talk loosens the constant ache I feel.”

Jack closes his eyes briefly.

Then opens them again. His hand tightens against your cheek.

“Sweetheart, I love you.”

You still. 

Your lip quivers as you stare at him. 

You bring your own hand up to cup his, and look up through your lashes. 

The words get stuck in your throat. God. He loves you. Somebody loves you. Somebody saw through rot and the cage around your heart, and said he fucking loves you.

“I do. Too. That thing,” you wince at your awkwardness. “I just, I want to say it but I-"

“Hey pretty girl, it’s okay.”

Jack smiles sadly. He leans his forehead down to yours.

“I do,” you whisper desperately. “I do. I just-”

“Shh.”

His mouth nearly presses against you as he whispers again.

“I love you. And I’ll wait however long you need me to say it back, okay?”

Your breath shudders as he says that, a sob catching in your throat. Because for the first time in a very long time, nobody leaves. 

Your eyes squeeze shut. Tears roll down your cheek, overwhelmed.

You barely register them before you feel Jack’s lips against your skin, kissing your tears. He mutters soft, ‘I love you’s as he presses kisses all over your face, cradling it. He presses one last one on your forehead before he tucks you into him. 

Your cheek rests on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You wrap your arms around his waist. And you genuinely think you can control it, for about ten seconds at most, then you sob. Uncontrollably, for the first time in years in front of another human. 

Because God. You have spent so much of your life believing that love was something you had to earn, something you had to perform correctly for your family, the people around you, to accept you. Something that disappeared the second you became too much, too emotional, too difficult, too needy.

But he stayed. And he saw you. 

You stand there, wrapped in each other's embrace until the tears slow. Jack gently wipes your cheeks with both hands.

“Sorry for making you cry, princess,” he pouts, lip jutting out exaggerately. 

A watery laugh leaves you at that, and you cup his cheek. Jack immediately leans into your palm.

Jack watches you with an expression so openly adoring it nearly steals the breath from your lungs. As though he's still struggling to believe you're real.

Your thumb traces the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, mapped with years lived longer than you.

Then your hand drifts lower, brushing against the silver-grey scruff along his jaw, littered with specks of auburn, and you rub it gently, feeling the coarseness between your fingertips.

That was it, was it not? The stark difference between you, the thing that made all this so exhilarating. 

Jack had lived a life that existed before you. And somehow, impossibly, it had still found its way to yours. As though he's spent years wandering through darkness and has suddenly found something worth staying for.

And perhaps, you realise, so have you.

That’s when you know.

“I’m ready,” you breathe out.

Jack's eyes widen, his hand coming to hold yours where it rests on his jaw.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel pressured into it.”

“Jack. I’m sure. I want this, I want you.”

He shudders, exhaling hard, bringing his face down to yours.

“Yeah?” He whispers against your lips, brushing them.

“Yeah.” 

Then his lips slam down onto yours, for the first time. 

And God, its everything you fucking imagined. 

His mouth presses against yours and soft whimpers escape the both of you. There’s a certain desperation in the way his mouth moves against yours, in the way your tongues immediately find each other. 

After a few brutal minutes of grinding against each other, moaning, Jack succumbs. He lifts you into his hands, your thighs wrapping around his waist, as he carries you to his desk and sets you on it.

Mouth still pressed against yours, he rips your shirt off, pulls your jeans and panties off, shoving them to the floor. 

He whines as you detach your lips from his to pull his blazer off. Looking up at him, naked on his desk, you unbutton his shirt. Trail your fingers down the dusting of salt and pepper chest hair, down, over his pecs, slightly raking your nails over his nipples.

“Fuck yeah, use your nails on my chest,” he grunts out as he unzips his pants.

You moan, pressing against him harder.

“I can’t wait any longer, fuck. Please, sweetheart, let me fuck you.”

You nod.

“I’m ready, Dr Abbot.”

He groans mutters ‘you fucking minx’ as he pulls his pants and boxers down, standing bare in front of you.

His cock hits his soft stomach, curving to the left, precum coating the tip, the way you love. 

You glance down at his prosthetic. 

“You sure you want to do this here, Jack? We can go on the sofa if you want.”

He looks at you with so much adoration, a soft smile gracing his face.

“No sweetheart, I'll keep it on for now. Wanna fuck you on my desk. ”

Then he pinches your nipples as he leans in. 

“And I still need to fuck the brat out of you.”

You whine.

“What are you waiting for then?”

He brings a hand down your stomach, fingers pressing up against you. 

“Gonna finger you a little bit, yeah? Get you ready for your professor's cock, s’not gonna fit in this tight pussy otherwise.”

A whimper escapes you at his crude words, god can this old man dirty talk.  

He slowly slips two fingers inside of you, thrusting, then three once you’re ready. Circles your clit softly, the way he’s learnt after many nights on this same desk. 

Whispers filth against your lips, kissing you, desperate now that he knows what your lips taste like after many weeks. 

Once you come, he finally presses his cock against you. Rubs the tip over your folds, coating it in your slick. 

“Yeah? You ready sweetheart?”

You nod, whisper a soft ‘please’ against his lips. 

Then he pushes his tip into you. And oh fuck. He’s just so fucking thick. 

He immediately brings a hand up to hold his base to stave off his orgasm, puts his head on your shoulder. Breathing harshly. 

It hurts a little but you want more, you crave the feeling of him pressed up against you. So you buck your hips. 

“Please, Jack, fuck. Put it in,” you whine. 

“Oh- oh shit. Fucking stop that.”

He lays a hand flat on your thigh. Breathes deeply. 

“I’m trying not to blow my load here, sweetheart, gimme a sec.”

You giggle softly, pleased. Having this old man at your mercy, your dreams come true. 

“Take your time, old man.”

He stills at that, grips your waist harshly. 

Looks up at you, his eyes darkening. 

“Fuck you,” he snarls. 

Then he presses into you, inch by inch, until all of him is buried inside. His thighs shake with the effort of not coming, and you breathe deeply through the pinch of pain. 

“Fuck princess, so tight for me, my good fucking girl,” he babbles in your ear. 

You whimper against him, waiting for the pain to subside. 

Then you nod. And he begins thrusting, slowly. And it's so fucking euphoric, the feeling of sex. It makes sense why they call orgasms ‘a little death’ in French, because god, you know your body will leave your soul once he starts properly fucking you. 

With every deep thrust of his cock into you, his grey pubes brush against your clit. You both moan softly. He grips your waist, shoving faster, harder. 

“Only man that’s ever gonna be in this pussy yeah? Yeah?”

You’re half gone drooling against his neck, letting out high pitched whines. 

“Nod for me, c’mon. I haven’t fucked the brains outta you yet.” 

Jack grips your hair tight, pulling your head away from where it was buried against his neck. 

You nod, slurring your words.

“Yeah Dr Abbot, s’only your pussy.”

“That’s it, good fucking girl.”

Then he starts thrusting, faster. Your hands rest on his shoulders, his face buried in your neck. His body slamming into yours is so hard it makes the table squeak under you. 

When he brings a hand to your clit, you whimper loudly. He covers your mouth with his palm, and stops immediately. 

“Quiet, you don’t want anyone to hear right?” 

He roughly pants, trailing a line of kisses up your neck. 

“Don’t want them to know your professor’s fucking you, right?”

You shake your head, words muffled under his palm. 

“I’ll be quiet please, fuck please!” 

He starts thrusting against faster, the table shaking. You toss your head back in pleasure, his cock reaching a spot deep inside you. He stares at you, at your face twisted in pleasure, the way your tits bounce as he thrusts into you. 

“Yeah that is it, baby, good fucking girl.”

God it feels so good, and you’re there, you're nearly there, egged on by his rough groans and whimpers in your ear. You bring a hand down to your clit, starting to rub it to reach your orgasm but he shoves it off. Pushes you onto the table, your back hitting the desk. 

“That’s my job sweetheart. This pussy is mine.”

Then he hovers over you, eyes boring into yours as he fucks you harder, rubbing circles on your clit. The pleasure is so, so overwhelming and you close your eyes. 

He pulls your head towards him, gripping your jaw. 

“C’mon, look at me sweetheart.”

You open your eyes, moaning. 

“Say it,” he grunts. “Say you’re mine. Say it.”

“Fuck- Dr Abbot, I’m yours.”

He moans gutturally then pushes his lips onto yours again. You both moan into each other's mouths, sloppily kissing as you build towards your peak.  

“Fuck yeah sweetheart, just like that- good girl, so fucking tight.”

He continues to mutter filth against you while all you can do is softly moan. Your brain is mush, filled with thoughts of him, jackjackjack. 

You clench tightly around him when he bites your bottom lip.

“C’mon tell me how good you feel,” he pants, nearing his own orgasm. 

“Fuck, Daddy, feels so good.”

His hips buck once, harshly, then he stills. 

“What’d you just call me?”

Your eyes come into focus. The fog clearing a bit. 

You stammer, “Um nothing, sir, I was just-”

“No. Repeat it.”

He trails a hand to your neck, squeezing gently once, then more harshly

“What did you call me?”

“Daddy,” you whisper out.

He pouts mockingly. 

“Yeah? Daddy makin’ you feel good, baby? That’s why you're grippin’ this cock so tight, right?”

And then he starts thrusting, harder than before. 

“Just. Let. Daddy. Take Care. Of. You,” He harshly thrusts between each word, one hand covering your mouth as your moans get louder. 

Then you feel your orgasm approaching, the flutter building up again, clenching around him. 

He looks into your eyes, only a thin ring of hazel left, his pupils so dilated.

“You gonna come for your Daddy? Yeah?” 

You nod, whining, then you bite his palm. Hard. 

His hips stutter and you feel the warmth of his spend pooling in your cunt. He whimpers and babbles your name as he comes, “fuck, fuck I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

You moan at his words. But you still have to come. 

“Jack please, please keep going.” 

He groans gutterly as his cock begins to soften, overstimulated but he continues thrusting jerkily. 

He grips your chin in his palm. 

“Fuckin’ come for me. Now,” he grunts out, pinching your clit roughly.

And then it happens. You write, moaning under his hands as the coil of pleasure snaps, closing your eyes. 

He whimpers soft praises and coos of “I love you, did so good for me” as his cock spurts out more cum, twitching.

You pant against each other's mouths for a few long moments, his scruff tickling your chin, his forehead resting against yours, both of you trying and failing to steady your breathing.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he murmurs, a breathless laugh escaping him. “That live up to your expectations?”

You laugh softly nodding. 

“Mhm.”

He leans his head back to look at you properly once he’s cooled down, and holds your face in his palms. 

After a few long seconds of just staring, something grave passed over his face.

“Don’t think I got a lot of years left, sweetheart.”

Your brows immediately furrow.

“Jack-”

He presses a finger to your lips when you go to interrupt, shushing you. 

“Let me speak.”

You sigh, but nod. 

“I've spent most of my life thinkin' there'd only ever be one great love for me,” he says quietly, his thumb brushing beneath your eye. “And after I lost her, I figured that was it. Figured whatever part of me knew how to belong to somebody had gone with her.”

Your breath stutters. 

“Then you came along. In that fucking bar, wearing that tiny dress, asking me to help you. ”

A watery laugh escapes you.

“And whatever years I have left, I wanna spend them with you. I wanna hear every thought that gets trapped in that head of yours. I wanna know what articles you're reading, what you're writing, what you're dreamin’ about at three in the morning.”

He pauses. 

“I wanna be the person you come home to.”

Your breath catches.

“As your other. If you’d want.” 

You breathe out, seeing his face dimly lit by the lamp in his office. Mapping out his wrinkles near his eyes, the silver threaded in his slight beard and his soft smile. And suddenly it comes spilling out of you before anxiety can stop it.

“I love you.”

Jack stills completely. His eyes pool with tears. 

“Yeah?” He whispers, half surprised, half in awe.  

You nod, leaning up and brushing your nose against his.

“And I’d love to be yours.”

Relief washes over his face so intensely it almost hurts to witness. His eyes glisten as he kisses you softly, a slow, reverent press of his lips against yours for a few quiet moments.

Then he moves back to start cleaning up, cock still inside you. 

As he leans up, his back cracks, loudly. 

You both still. Before you burst out laughing. 

“You’re so fucking old… yeah you’re not making it very long, I can’t lie.”

He groans dramatically, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.   

“Fuck you, shut up.”

You bite your lip. His gaze travels there.  

“Make me, Dr Abbot,” you say, exaggerating a whimper, only half serious.

His eyes darken, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle jumps beneath the skin. Yet despite the stern look he's trying to give you, a pink flush begins creeping across his cheeks, spreading over the tops of them and disappearing beneath the scruff along his jaw.

“Yeah sweetheart, about that… I’m not gonna be able to get it up for a while.”

You break, laughing harder as he laments. He’s so fucking old. 

Once you calm down, he slowly pulls his cock out of you, both of you moaning, you at the loss of the fullness, him at your shared cum oozing out. 

“But my mouth still works,” he smirks. 

Your breath hitches as he plugs you with his fingers to stop more of your cum from spilling out. Leans in close, and whispers. 

“My leg’s killing me, sweetheart,” he begins, breath fanning over your face. “But I'm going to lie on that sofa right there. And you're gonna ride my face till you come. Again. And again.”

You whimper softly against his mouth. 

“Okay.”

“Okay, who, pretty girl?” “Okay, Daddy.”

He grins. 

“Good girl.”

omg hi u made it ! guys when i tell you this is so personal to me, from the dialgoue to the experimental (?) writing style. i need this man to be my father figure SO FUCKING BAD i have had such a week.

anyways per usual thank you to @tempestfawn for perving out with me and tolerating me, and salima for being horny over this man among other things #fullhomo

[abbotispunk]

• BIKINI - pt. 1: Bikinis leave Andrew Cody completely mesmerized, even more so if the one wearing them is you.

• Needed Me - complete: Honestly, Andrew Cody still didn't understand why you stayed by his side even knowing his worst side. But it also wasn't like he was going to give up the only person who made him feel truly human. He would remain by your side, he would endure the looks, the advances, and the idiots who insisted on approaching you. After all, by the end of the night, there would be no doubt about where your heart truly belonged.

• Family Man - complete: Cody survived a lifetime of manipulation, guilt, and darkness. But when you entered his life, everything began to change. Four years later, he has a wife, a daughter, and a real home. Even so, the ghosts of the past still insist on whispering that he doesn't deserve any of it. On a quiet night, between the baby's cries, the baby monitor, and the embrace of the woman he loves, Andrew will discover that the greatest courage is not fighting, but allowing himself to be happy.

• SPICY - complete: Just you and Andrew enjoying time together, away from Smurf and Pope's annoying brothers.

• Happy Birthday! - complete: It was Andrew's birthday, and as part of the tradition you both created since you got married, you made him a birthday cake and gave him gifts, but this time, the gift went beyond what he could have imagined.