some smutty ryan atwood perhaps?? i think it’s his time to shine <3
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ryan hates parties
warns. established relationship. no use of y/n. semi-public sex. filth. softdom!ryan. protected sex. explicit language & detailed sexual scenes. porn with plot. praise kink. worshipping. ryan left marissa. possibly spoilers?
that ryan hated parties, wasn’t neither new nor a secret.
he’d never been really exuberant or gleeful about celebrations, but since he started living with the cohens, he had to attend all of them religiously. after all, it was newport he moved to, events with bunch of people they didn’t even know was like holy to them.
it was the third that week, three days in a row of smiles, social interactions — much to his dislike — and trying to ignore the bad looks that the gossipy bitches of orange county would give him.
luckily for him, you were there, and you didn’t miss one of them. when he was with you, everything seemed to disappear. he didn’t have to mind marissa and her problems, he didn’t have to stop — or start — another fight. you were in the middle of his mind, and you weren’t planning of leaving it.
he was talking to one of kirsten’s clients, the fifth that night, who was fervently asking ryan a million questions and informations about chino’s buildings and districts. the blonde answered without too much enthusiasm — as usual.
“so, tell me. how do you feel about the balance between residential, commercial, and green spaces in the city?” the man asked, observing ryan carefully.
ryan scratched the back of his neck, sick of that conversation already, and he muttered a short response, “i- uh… i think it’s ok?” he offered. he looked up to the man and crossed his eyes with mine, sending you an help request.
you chuckled from across the place, shaking your head while walking over him. your red velvet dress swings over your hips, hugging your figure and curves in a way that had ryan drool.
“i’m sorry mr. thompson, can i steal ryan from you for a sec?” you asked politely, smiling at the man as you rubbed your hand on ryan’s shoulder seductively. ryan placed his large hand on your waist, caressing it just as much sensually, giving you hidden signals.
the man gave you a quick nod and disappeared the next moment among the crowd of people, leaving you and ryan alone. you turned to him, wrapping your hands around his neck to pull him close to you, although you weren’t doing more than that knowing that he wasn’t a fan of pda.
“thank you,” he spoke, brushing his lips on your ear to assure you could hear him, “i hate parties,” he announced.
you rolled your eyes playfully, used to his antisocial attitude whenever it came to people… to people, period. chuckling, you respond, “i know. i think you say that at least five times a day.”
his grip on your hips tightened, smirking sarcastically. “not my fault if there are at least five things i’d prefer do instead of being here,” he replied back.
“uh, yeah? like what?” you teased, tilting your head slightly as a playful smirk tugged at your lips. your voice carried a hint of challenge, eyes glinting with curiosity as you watched him.
his eyes darkened, thinking about what to say even if he had a clear imagine in his mind of what he wanted to do. “let me show you,” he said in a low tone, but it was unmistakable. his words were soft yet deliberate, the intensity behind them making your heart skip just a little.
after nodding eagerly, you took the hand he was offering you and let him lead you to his pool house, which was right in the middle of the cohen’s backyard, where the party was taking place.
he made you sit down on the edge of his large bed, while he made sure that the curtains were closed and his door locked. he then turned, making his way to you. he hovered over you, his hands hooking his shirt to take it off before slipping them under yours to do the same.
you laid down on the fresh sheets, while he lowered himself on you to place wet kisses all over your jaw and neck, knowing damn well your weak spots that made you shiver.
ryan was gentle, soft with his movements as he was afraid that you could slip away from him if he made the wrong move, but that didn’t stop him to be on top. you felt his weight on your body, the heat of his body wrapped you, making you feel safe under him.
you grabbed his neck with your hand, pulling his head up to kiss him passionately, your lips hugging each other. you felt him smile into the kiss, his hands traveling to your back to unclasp your lacy-white bra that had him going feral.
you both knew it was risky, having sex in the middle of a party, around something like eighty people, some of whom were your close friends and family, wasn’t the best. but these thoughts left your mind as soon as you felt ryan’s tongue brushing over your bare chest, making your back arch.
his hot breath contributes to your arousal, making you wetter by seconds. every move his fingers'd make, you would feel it in your core, making it throb. he knew what he was doing.
"ryan- people're just outside… they could hear us…" you managed to mumble, not stopping him though. it felt too good.
your right, trembling in anticipation, hand rested on the back of his head, stroking gently his hair, while your other hand was gripping on the blanket, knuckles turning white from the harsh grab.
"you need to be quiet, then, yeah?"
you felt him going lower on your body, leaving kisses and love bites all over your figure, worshipping you. he grazed your belly button with his nose when his fingers made their way in your panties, teasing you before pulling them down. he looked at you all the time during his act, his eyes never leaving yours, which affected you even more then his touches.
when he finally slided two fingers into your aching cunt, you couldn't help but shut your eyes close, wet sounds filling you ears as he pumped his fingers inside you, stretching you out for his dick, which you felt growing against your thigh.
"god, ryan. i'm going to-" you tried to say, but just before you were about to cum, moaning softly into his ears, he removed them, running the wet fingers around and through your slippery folds, now completely exposed to his view, to gather your wetness. you sighed, annoyed and extremely sexually frustrated, when you heard his zip being pulled down along with his jeans and boxers. his long and thick member sprung out, hitting his stomach. he was leaking, and his tip was red from arousal. you could tell he had struggled to withstand the temptations of fucking you the moment you entered the room.
he turned to the nightstand, opening a drawer to pull out a condom. he ripped the envelope with his teeth while pumping his length with the free hand a few times, rubbing it through your folds once again. he wore the condom, and without warning he entered in you, cutting down your breath. "fuck -- ryan," you stuttered out with difficulty.
he stilled for a moment, giving you the time to adjust to his size -- which, truth to be told, wasn't little. when you nodded, biting your lower lip to keep back a loud moan, he started moving, thrusting in and out of you with ease due the wetness. you let out a sequence of low-toned moans and whimpers, together with ryan, who was enjoying it just as much as you.
"so good, babe -- shit -- you're so thight," he praised you.
his hands were firm on your hips, keeping you still as he fucked you with force, drops of sweat on his forehead and his parted lips showed you how much he desired this.
it wasn't long before you started feeling that knot building up in your stomach, indicating that you were close to reach your climax. "i'm about to -- ryan i'm --" you were cut off by you cumming all over his dick, that wasn't planning on stop drilling into you. "yeah, cum for me" he whispered, feeling his climax coming as well.
the stimulation of your tight walls and your pulsating heat was more than enough for him to cum. spurts of white cum filled the condom, him collapsing down onto your weak body.
you both tried to catch your breaths. "god, i hope sandy won't kick me out for good this time".
like the stydia kiss in season three when stiles is having a panic attack, except you're the one panicking and he kisses you!
obviously details a panic attack so trigger warning for that
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"(y/n)?"
stiles knocked softly on your door, frowning at the lack of response. he called your name a few more times to no avail, slowly opening the bedroom door with a deep breath. he called out your name again, sounding his presence before even looking in the room. was he concerned you were unresponsive because you were dead? yes. but he was still a man of respect.
his heart grew heavy in his chest as his eyes fell on your frame. you sat on your window sill, legs curled to your chest and a heavy blanket wrapped around your figure as you balanced on the ledge of the open window. not in a concerning way, stiles decided. you didn't appear ready to jump, but rather more... pensive. he couldn't see much of your face, as you overlooked the activity on the street below, but he could hear you crying. the entire scene was gut-wrenching to him.
you, on the other hand, considered it pathetic.
you didn't hear stiles entering your room, lost in your own world as tears stained your cheeks. your once racing thoughts had been numbed by feelings of dissociation, no longer having the energy to even ruminate anymore. you pulled your weighted blanket tighter around your body, hoping at this point it would just crush you and swallow you whole. you nearly fell out the window at the sound of stiles calling out your name.
"... (y/n)?
you turned to face him, and you swore he almost looked as sad as you did.
he stepped hesitantly into the room. "i'm sorry, i, we just, we haven't h-heard from you all day. are you... are you okay?"
the fatal question.
as soon as the words came out of his mouth, you choked out a sob. the emotions you had detached yourself from came flooding back into your system, and you lost control.
you couldn't breathe. you couldn't think, yet that was somehow all you were able to do — no words would come out no matter how hard you tried. stiles ran to your side immediately, pulling you from the window and onto the ground.
"shit, hey hey, okay hey, stay with me (y/n)," he tugged you against his chest, holding you as tight as he possibly could as if he was afraid you'd run. as if you had that kind of control over your body in this moment.
you felt yourself beginning to hyperventilate, no longer feeling like you could get any oxygen into your lungs. it made you panic more, and while you knew stiles was talking to you, begging for your attention, you just couldn't seem to pull out of it.
"hey, everything's okay. j-just, uh just try to slow down your breathing, come on,"
everything was overwhelming again. you felt like you were in a trance — and it was absolute hell. you needed to snap out of it. you screamed in your head, begging, pleading with your brain to think rationally.
it's no use, you thought. i'm fucking stuck like this forever.
stiles didn't know what to do. he'd dealt with his own panic attacks before, but seeing you in one short-circuited his brain. he was panicking himself, the thought of you hurting this badly physically bringing him pain. he pulled you off his chest, trying to get you to look in his eyes. trying to pull you out of it.
"(y/n), please, i need you to listen to me,"
"please, just please look at me,"
"i need you to breathe, please, i need you to listen to me. you're right here with me, you're safe. whatever this is, i, i-it's okay, i promise, just, please,"
there was nothing you wanted more than to cooperate, but you weren't in control anymore. you sobbed harder, feeling defeated.
stiles' breathing was getting quicker too, feeling helpless. he just needed you to hear him, to come back to the present. he needed you to breathe, he really needed you to breathe, he just —
his lips hit yours with a force, silencing your mind in an instant. your eyes widened as you felt him against you, his hands pressing on either side of your face, holding you close to him. you saw his eyes squeezed shut tightly. you felt his choppy exhale against your face. you could smell his cologne. you could hear your stereo playing softly in the background. suddenly, you were here again — present.
your eyes fluttered closed and stiles let out a sigh into your mouth as he finally felt you relax against him. he held there for a moment, his soft lips on your chapped and swollen ones, lightly running his fingers through your hair as he felt your body begin to calm down. you let out a shaky exhale through your nose as you laid a hand against his chest, and he knew you had come back down to earth.
he pulled back slowly, his eyes opening to lock with yours. your lips remained slightly parted, shaky breaths coming out at a much slower pace than just moments before. you both just sat there, inches from one another, and your eyebrows furrowed as you took in what just happened. his eyes flickered down to your lips, causing him to lick his own subconsciously.
stiles spoke first. "i, um,"
"i read somewhere once, that, holding your breath can help stop a panic attack,"
he paused for a moment to clear his throat. "so, when I kissed you, you, uh, you held your breath."
"oh,"
"yeah,"
"i did?"
he nodded slowly with pursed lips, shaky breath escaping his mouth. "yeah,"
you nodded slowly, feeling your heart rate return to normal for what felt like the first time in days. you leaned back slightly, taking in his whole frame. you took a deep breath, butterflies beginning to replace the sickly feeling in your stomach. "thank you,"
summary: you show up for a study session in a particular choice of clothing
wc: ~900
a best friends to lovers trope is at no moment NOT running through my head. i'm also entirely thinking of buzzcut!stiles in this
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when stiles opened the door, his mouth was dry on impact. there you stood, innocent and ready to study for your upcoming test -- in his flannel. he didn’t remember when it came into your possession, but he didn’t care.
he didnt even know he wanted so badly to see you in his clothing, until now, where he just can't seem to take his eyes off of you.
you.
in his shirt.
"stiles? can i come in, or..."
you spoke suddenly, breaking stiles from his trance. he shook his head dramatically, cringing at his first impression at the door.
"yeah jesus sorry, come in."
he stepped out of the way, making small talk as you made your way to his room, unloading your textbooks and notes across his bed. you sprawled out, laying on your stomach as you began to flip through the pages. stiles' eyes once again fell to the way his flannel fell against the curves of your body, his own feeling too hot suddenly.
he hadn't really thought of you this way before. okay, that was a lie, but he never took it seriously. he’d known you forever, and anytime he felt you unconsciously slip into his thoughts, he felt embarrassed to be thinking of his best friend like that and pushed it away. but now, seeing a shirt he had worn a few days earlier now draped over what he can only presume as your bare torso, he was torn between feelings of cuteness aggression and wanting to rip the shirt off of you.
you could sense the gaze, looking towards his frame slumped at his desk, smiling as he turned away as though he'd been caught.
he cleared his throat. "so. where do you want to start?"
you weighed your response carefully.
stiles had left his flannel in your car the other night after dropping him off, and you hadn't taken it off since. originally, you'd put it in your backpack to bring to him the next day, however after being sleepless long enough, you grabbed it, hoping the extra warmth would send you dreaming.
you were awake the rest of the night.
you couldn't get over the smell. when his scent first hit your nose, you found it calming, sure it would bring you a sense of comfort and immediately put you to sleep. as it turns out, it was taunting.
with the smell of espresso and fresh linen overwhelming you, the only thing on your mind was stiles. everything about him, every memory of you two, every accidental touch -- suddenly, it was all you could think about.
in the back of your mind, you always knew there was something special about him. something deeper within him that drew the two of you together. stiles made you feel every single thing with so much more passion, so much more intention. but you'd brushed it off, convincing yourself you were crazy.
that he didn't feel that way.
but he was flustered, and you hoped you were right about why.
"so, where do you want to start?"
you let out a hum, toying with the topmost button on his flannel, blushing as you noticed his eyes honed in on your actions. you sat up slowly, trying to build any ounce of courage you had.
"i want to start with why you're being so weird today."
stiles cleared his thoat, scratching the back of his head and turning back towards his desk. he shuffled his papers. "I, uh I mean, I don't know what you're talking about, I'm being completely normal."
you sat up facing him, tugging at his sleeves. "sti-"
"why are you wearing my shirt?"
your eyes shot up and you frowned immediately. suddenly uncomfortable, you wrapped your arms around your waist and looked down.
"oh, im sorry, you left it in my car and I didn't think it would be--"
"no no it's okay i just-"
"-- an issue, i have a sweatshirt in my bag I can--"
"-- i like it"
you looked up at him, completely silent. your brain fought hard to process what he said and how you could be reading it incorrectly.
"you..."
"i'm sorry, i, that sounded weird, jesus. i just mean its fine that you, you know you're wearing it, and--"
"stiles."
he shut up. he knew he was rambling and he just hoped he wasn’t reading the situation incorrectly. he locked eyes with you, anxious and listless.
"i wore it so you would notice."
stiles felt hot again.
he took a shaky breath, trying to think past the growing tension in the room. he wheeled his chair closer where you were sitting.
"oh"
you swung your feet over the edge of the bed.
"yeah"
both of you would swear that time stopped. the air got thick, and the moment was a blur. you don't know who made the first move, but suddenly you were both standing, your lips against each other in a relieving kiss. neither of you had allowed yourselves to imagine this moment seriously, yet here it was, and you had no idea how you’d lived without it before this.
his lips moved sweetly across yours, nervous but needy. it felt like forever before you pulled away, your body impatiently reminding you of its need to breathe.
both of you blushed, foreheads touching as you relished in the moment.
"i think i'm going to start forgetting my clothes around you more often."
summary: you and stiles make a break for the supply closet the second a fight breaks out at the bank. a series of unfortunate events ensues.
wc: ~1k
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“holy shit — janitors closet, go go go!” stiles shoved you towards the door, stumbling over you to get away from the vault scene going on just in the other room.
both breathless, you squeezed into the dark and cramped room, both of you fumbling to shut the door and turn the lock. despite the commotion happening on the other side, the finally locked door gave you relief, and you took a breath for what felt like the first time in hours.
you turned around, feeing around for the pull chain lighting in the dark. when you found it and yanked, you regretted it immediately. your stomach turned at the sight on the floor in front of you.
before you laid a body, too maimed to recognize. you started the step back, realizing how close you were to the blood pooling on the ground, and tried but failed to suppress a shriek.
“s-stiles!”
internally, stiles wasn’t doing any better at the scene before him, but he kept his composure and moved quickly to cover your mouth before you made anymore noise and gave away your hiding spot as the pack continued to fight off the Alphas.
he pulled you close, taking to keep you as far away as he could from the body. you murmured against his hand so he released it, hands still on you as they rested across your shoulders and kept your back flush against him as he had his own pressed against the door.
“holy shit we should’ve stayed in the car.”
you nodded fervently, the hairs standing on the back of your neck as he whispered against your skin. you realized now just how close you two were. you sat in silence for a minute before you noticed something else as well.
“stiles is that-“
“hm?” he hummed in your ear, looking past you to see what you were referring to.
“are you, i mean — is that what i think…”
you shifted against him and he immediately knew what you were talking about. his eyes shot open and he tried to press himself against the door, trying to create any possible space between the two of you as he could. he would sink into the wall and disappear forever if he could.
“uh, is what? i don’t, i don’t know, or i mean i don’t —“
“stiles —“
“i think uh,” he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will this conversation over. “it’s something else —“
“stiles, are you hard right now?”
surely this had to be worse than his fate out there in the fight.
he let out a huff of air against the back of your neck, and you could feel how tense he was.
“no, i no of course not, i mean,
i, no yeah okay,
yeah, maybe, fuck”
a smirk plastered across your face, a new emotion beginning to overshadow the fear from night you were having.
“there’s a dead body less than a foot away from us, are you serious right now?”
“listen im not proud of it, alright? okay so,
shit, jesus christ im sorry.” he tried desperately to find the door handle behind him, willing to face the violence outside the door if it meant getting the hell out of there.
you didn’t move a muscle, still standing flush against him, the silence in the closet only being met by the sound of stiles’ hand struggling with the door lock.
“is that because of me?”
stiles let out an exasperated breath of air. “jesus (y/n), it’s not from the fucking body, what kind of question is that?”
you held back a chuckle, his remark reminding you of the body you had momentarily forgotten about, and you subconsciously pressed harder into stiles, disgust winning as your primary emotion again at the sight of whoever was in this closet before you.
he couldnt take the silence, nor you getting even closer to him.
“i’m - im sorry y-you’re just really close and im not trying to and —“
“stiles don’t worry about it, we’ll talk about it later. we need to get out of here.”
stiles sighed, worry overtaking him. “okay but talk about it as in you yelling at me and calling me a perv and that you never want to be near me again, or talk about it as in —oh,”
you pressed your hips hard against his, grinding against how hard he was. you smirked at the whine that escaped his lips as you did so.
“i said we can talk about this later, stiles, maybe not in front of someone while their organs hanging out.”
“right yeah let’s, yeah no of course yeah let’s—“
before he could even get his hand on the doorknob, the door swung open, causing him to fall backwards and hit the ground with a groan.
“jesus fuck” stiles collected himself and met the eyes of isaac, not impressed with the inquisitive look on his face.
“we’re done and headed out. nice hiding spot, guys”
you rolled your eyes at him. “yeah whatever, let’s head ou-“
“what’s that smell?”
“huh?”
isaac looked towards stiles with a smirk. “you reek of lust.”
stiles couldn’t move a muscle if he wanted to. there was no way this was happening.
“what the hell happened while we were out here fighting for our lives?”
you swore all of the blood drained from stiles’ face, and you matched isaac’s smirk at the sight.
stiles tried to stutter out a sentence, only to be met with more amusement from issac. he grumbled and shoved him out of his way.
this fic is for my friend bella, who had this amazing idea and i generously wrote it for her 🐰🏹
this is extremely short, i'm sorry!!!!
The room was quiet. The white, big room with the dusty, decade old, cracked walls. The floorboards were somewhat loose and a creak could be heard every time someone walked along them. There were rows of long benches for the people to sit. In front of them was the long stage with an old, brown cross hanging on the wall.
At the foot of the stage, the audience could see a small podium, where an old man stood. His salt and pepper hair was curly, hanging down slightly at the sides of his head. His facial hair was the same color, pecked all around his face. It wasn’t excessive, or too long. It was just perfect.
The older man, Father Jack, gripped the edges of the old wood as he spoke into the mic, filling the silenced room. “I believe in God, the Father almighty,” came his rough, leathery voice. “Creator of Heaven and Earth. And in Jesus Christ, his only Son— Our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pintius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended into Hell.”
Not a single soul in the room dared to speak or interrupt him. They all stared ahead as he talked, like they’d been doing for the last 30 minutes. You, on the other hand, were wondering when he’d finally be done talking. Finally, so everyone could leave, and you could kiss his soft, pink lips— So he could corner you into the confession booths and slide his hand up your shirt like he’d been doing for the last 2 weeks.
It started when you’d pulled him away from the stage after Mass, asking him all sorts of questions.
"Do you think Mary and The Saints are currently in heaven?"
“Do you think of Hell as eternal torment?”
“Do you believe you’ll go to Hell for your sins?”
Him seeing you curious about the Bible, about him, all while you wore a white, lace dress with long, thigh high stockings and your brown, doe, yet seductive eyes? He wanted nothing more to pull you in, grip your curved hip, and ask if he could kiss you. And so he did.
Now, while he enlightened everyone at the stand, his eyes met yours, making him automatically stop speaking. He trailed off for a moment, before clearing his throat and looking away. “Sorry, uh… where was I?” He looked down at the booklet in his hand. “Right… here,” He muttered to himself, clearing his throat once more before straightening his posture.
“I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints,” He paused for a second, shook his head, and continued, “the forgiveness of sins,” His eyes darted towards your face once again before returning to the sight below him. “the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen.”
“Amen.” Everyone around you spoke quietly in unison, tucking their booklets away. You didn’t say it, though. You mouthed it to yourself and continued to sit there while the others stood up, families and children walking over to the stage. They all got in line for communion, to eat the bread and drink the wine.
Sitting in the pews alone, you continued to read the small words in The Roman Missal, dragging your finger along the lines you read in your head. A couple stares came your way, but no one said anything, of course.
Around 10 minutes later, the building was completely empty— Thank God. You looked up, seeing Jack gather his things from the stage. He was now changed out of his pastor clothes, now wearing dark washed jeans and a green plaid T-shirt. He stuck his bible in a small brief case and was just on his way out, until you interrupted him. “Father Jack?” You spoke in front of the stage, voice soft, quiet, and seductive in a way. Like you were confident enough about the words that were gonna come out of your mouth.
He turned around, setting down his bag. “Yes?” He questioned, slowly stepping down the stairs.
You hesitated, mouth opened, yet nothing came out. “I have a confession to make.” The words came out forced, weird in a way. He raised an eyebrow. “Mass just finished. Why didn’t you let me know beforehand?”
You shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry, Father. I just… was a bit nervous before. I was afraid to ask you if it’d be too much for you to listen to.” He stood in front of you now, callused hand wanting so desperately to reach out. It made its way to your shoulder, holding it gently. “Why were you afraid to ask me? You shouldn’t be.”
Your lips formed into a line, not knowing what to say. He sighed and suggested, “It’s alright. I can spare another 10 minutes, no one’s rushing me home. Come on.” He led you to the reconciliation room, where you sat down on the other side of the booth. It was so dark and cold, you shivered slightly.
Jack sat on the other side of the booth, closing the curtain in front of him. “Whenever you’re ready.” He informed patiently, tapping his knee with his fingers lightly.
You pulled your dress down, noticing how much it had rode up when you sat down. You fiddled with your ruffled socks. “So… I, uh…” you trailed off.
You wanted to tell him how wrong this felt. The two of you sneaking around, hooking up, even though he was over 30 years older than you. The Catholicism in you told yourself you should stop— that this is totally and completely wrong, that you’re sinning and you’d go to hell.
But your heart— your desires, your needs didn’t care that you were sinning. Father Jack was objectively one of the most gorgeous men you’d ever seen. The way he was old and caring, caring for others, ones younger than him, including you even though you guys hadn’t met until last month. It made you feel things you couldn’t explain. Like some kind of warmth in your stomach along with butterflies and little devils on your shoulders telling you “Don’t break things off. This is good.”
Though, you knew it wasn’t.
But the intimacy between you guys was something you’d never felt in your 19 years of life. It was something different than dumb, 2-week long relationships you’d had in high school with the dumb boys who couldn’t even remember your favorite color or your favorite types of flowers.
Jack wasn’t like that.
He saw you— really saw you. He saw the deepest parts of yourself, parts you’d never even seen. He saw you in a way that no one ever could see. And maybe that wasn’t a good thing. But you didn’t care. It felt good to be seen by an older man who cared for you more than your own father had. More than your own family had.
Though, the realness of it all was effective at times. It could’ve been too much. Too hard on you, too hard on your mind when it was racing with thoughts and questions. You’d always wondered if this kind of sinning would stab you in the back later in life. If karma would come for you, if you’d go to Hell for the horrible sins you’d committed.
Those parts of your mind made you believe you weren’t overthinking it. Getting down on your knees one day for an older man you just met, then going home that night and getting down on your knees again for Jesus— begging Him for forgiveness. Trying to make Him believe that you weren’t the bad girl He’d probably thought you were— that you didn’t wanna go to Hell and you just wanted to feel better. To feel good about yourself.
Though, it never did afterwards. You just felt dirty, manipulative, like a slut who loved helping older men get off. Some part of you knew that wasn’t true— you just blocked it out.
“Am I going to Hell?” You spoke quietly, voice raw like the question came from the deepest parts of your soul and religious trauma. “Will these moments betray me later on in my life?”
Jack stayed quiet for a second, seeming to be deep in thought. “That’s… a difficult question. Reasonable.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“I feel guilty.” You admitted.
That got his attention. “You feel guilty?” He repeated. “For what?”
You sniffed, pulling your hands up to your chest. “For… whatever it is we’re doing. Whatever it is we’ve been doing. It’s a sin, y’know. You’re a pastor and you’re much older than me.”
“I’m aware.” He ran his rough hands up and down on his thigh. “At home… Do you get down on your knees and beg for His forgiveness?” Jack questioned, an alluring tone slipping through.
You hesitated. “Yes.” The big, brown cross on your bedroom walls wasn’t hung there for nothing. You’d sit on your bed and hold your hands up high to Jesus, praying for him to make it all be okay.
“Let me ask you this, Baby.” Jack’s fingers grazed on his dark jeans. “Do you like what we do?” His questioned, voice gruff and raspy. “When you corner me after Mass and cup the sides of my face? When you kissing me turns into me fingering you behind the stage? Do you like it?”
His words soaked your panties instantly. After moments of silence, you hesitantly replied. “I do.”
“Then do as I say.”
Your eyebrows knitted together, fingers fiddling with the threads of your white, lace dress. “Do what?”
You could hear the noise of Jack’s belt unbuckling, brown boots tapping against the floor. “I want you to take off your clothes. One by one. First, your shoes…” He declared, letting his belt hit the ground, buckle making a ‘clack’ sound. He then took off his shoes, prosthetic foot hitting the wood softly.
“Then, your stockings. Then, I want you to keep going until you’re sitting there in your bra and panties.” He finished, unzipping his jeans. The image in his head was a wonderful sight.
You raised your eyebrows, but obeyed immediately. Your shoes clattered to the floor, then your stockings. Once those were off, you pulled your dress over your head and let it fall atop your shoes. “They’re gone.”
Jack nodded to himself, palming himself through his boxers. “Good.” He panted. “Now, I want you to pull your legs up. I want you to spread your legs. Don’t take off your panties yet, okay?”
You did just that, legs coming up to the seat, spread and ready for whatever he was about to say next. “Father, what are you–”
“Rub yourself. Through your underwear. Don’t take them off, don’t go under. Rub lightly through the fabric.” He ordered gently, running a hand through his hair while his dick hurt under his boxers, needing release.
This definitely wasn’t the first time Father Jack had ordered you to touch yourself. Like last week, in his car after Mass. When you didn’t have a ride home and as a “thank you,” he made you touch yourself in the passenger seat with no release until you got inside, to your bedroom.
When he made you secretly touch yourself in the back of the pews during Mass, where there were families sitting beside you and you had to rub yourself dumb under your clothes.
When he was craving pussy after saying prayers and needed to eat you out on the stair steps of the stage after everyone had left. It’s not like there were cameras in the church anyway. No one would find out.
But it wasn’t like this. Him forcing you to touch yourself in the conciliation room. This was new.
But you weren’t complaining. You enjoyed taking risks like these— sex in public, secretive relationships, and whatnot.
Your fingers reached down to your core, rubbing light circles over the white cotton. Small, breathy moans left your mouth. “Father… what next?”
Jack slowly started stroking his hard cock through the thin, black fabric of his boxers. “Take off your bra. Can you do that for me? Play with your nipples while you rub yourself?” He spoke gutturally, free hand gripping his thigh.
“Y-Yeah,” You mumbled, feeling too much pleasure from something so little. Jack typically made you feel like that— like when he fingered you in his car and you came in under 3 minutes. It was highly embarrassing, but Jack seemed to love it.
You reached your free hand behind your back and unclasped your pink, lace bra, letting it clatter on the floor, along with all the other clothing items you discarded.
Your hand came back around to your chest, slowly caressing your nipple. The little pink bud slowly stuck out, now hard. Then the other one. Your fingers patiently twisted them and squeezed them while your left hand was wet on your core, rubbing in somewhat slow circles. “Can I– Can I go faster?” You panted.
Jack pulled off his boxers, stroking himself at a slow pace. “Yeah. Don't go too fast, Baby.”
You let out a small moan, rubbing yourself quicker now. You threw your head back against the hard wood. “Father— I need to–”
“Go ahead.” He said simply, stroking himself faster now, almost at the point of release. You guys could always make each other cum fast.
You shoved your fingers in your hole one at a time, letting them hit your gummy walls. They thrusted in and out of you, all 3 fingers. The hand on your tit went down to your clit, rubbing in impossibly fast circle movements. “Father.” You breathed out, moaning and whimpering here and there. “Father, I can’t–”
He made quick movements on his hard, long, 8 inch monster cock, pumping it up and down. “Baby, I'm so close.” He threw his head back as well, a hand running up and down his chest.
“Me… too– Fuck.” You cried out. “Father Jack, I’m gonna…” you trailed off, feeling close, a knot forming in your stomach. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” you pathetically moaned as you came, juices squirting out of your cunt and all over the booth.
While you were cumming, Jack was whispering little incoherent things like:
“Baby, I need you so bad.”
“Mmph– yeah, fuck.”
He fisted himself harder now, almost at his climax. “Ba–baby, oh, fuck!” He groaned out. The sticky, white liquid spilled out from his cock, dripping down his shaft along with his abs. He squeezed every last drop out.
Both of your moans slowed down, panting and letting out heavy breaths. “Fuck.” You whispered, sucking your own liquids off of your fingers.
“Fuck.” Jack repeated, sitting upright now. He thought for a moment.
Hii I was wondering if you could do reader trying to dry hump pope while he’s watching one of his nature documentary’s 💕🤭
mhmm this is yummyyy! poor popey hates to be distracted. :(
18+ ! mdni
pope wakes up early— sometimes it’s even a blessing if he sleeps at all, but once you came around he’s more sluggish in the mornings, wanting to hold you and lay in bed all day.
this morning, you find him in a chair in the living room, directly in front of the tv watching one of his animal documentaries.
walking over, still so sleepy in your rumpled pajamas, you silently straddle him, nudging your face in his neck getting comfortable as he settles his arms around you, wordlessly. <3
a couple minutes pass before you start to get antsy, roaming your hands up his chest and arms, playing with his curls at the nape of his neck. leaning up a bit towards his ear, you whisper, “morning, honey.”
he grunts in response, totally engrossed in the television. you give a little pout that he can’t see, deciding that you want his attention.
you adjust on his lap, not really cuddling anymore as you lift up to wrap your arms around his neck, settling down on the bulge in his shorts. pope mindlessly settles his hands on your back, rubbing up and down.
you whine lowly, kissing his neck slowly, making your way up to his ears and cheeks. pope’s dodging your head when you switch sides so he can still watch the show. “andrewww”, you whine out, starting to grind your hips down on him.
you throw your arms over the back of the chair and lay your head on his shoulder, focusing on the fact that is cock is growing under you, creating a delicious friction.
you start to moan quietly, breathing fast as pope brings his hands down to grip your hips, stilling you. “quit bein’ needy”, he grumbles into your hair.
you huff, “i just want you so bad, andrew. please? i won’t even say a word—you can keep watching.”
he looks down at you, cute little lips pursed, contemplating. finally, he relaxes his hands on your hips, giving you the go ahead.
you smile, kiss the side of his mouth and bring yourself back down on his now hard cock. “thank you, baby—mhm.” he grips your hair, forcing you to look up at his stern face, “you said no talking.”
after nodding with hooded eyes, pope releases your hair, smoothing it down before he lets you go back to fucking yourself on him. <3 feels so good he cums in his pants too.
follow @mrshatosy for future hatosy fics from me ✨
synopsis:
After a bad shift, you come home and fall apart.
Jack puts you back together. Gentle and quiet. Until the water runs clear.
content: descriptions of patient death, blood, angst but fluffy in the end, hurt/comfort themes, mean!robby (but he's just stressed!!) inaccurate medical drama (i'm not a doctor and im working off of google searches sorry guys!!! established relationship, jack abbot soft top, implied age gap.
a/n: umm i know im supposed to be working on case files (and i DID write some today but i just can't get shawn hatosy out of my head rn so please take this abbot angst/fluff off my hands thank you
length: 3.5k
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The supply closet smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard, a dry, stale sort of clean that never quite masked what clung to it after days like this. You hadn’t meant to end up here. One second you’d been moving frantic, gloves snapping, voices overlapping, monitors screaming. And the next you were standing in the narrow dark between shelves, the door half-shut behind you, like your body had made the decision without consulting your brain.
Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Even though you had ripped off your gown, there was still blood on you. Not just smeared, soaked, darker where it had dried, tacky where it hadn’t. The metallic scent filled the small closet quickly. The blood had gotten past the cuffs of the gown, crept up the fabric and bloomed across your sleeves. You could still feel the phantom warmth of it now, spreading over your skin in pulses that weren’t there anymore.
You pressed your palms flat against your thighs, like you could steady yourself by sheer force alone.
It didn’t work but it brought you back into your body, at least, for a moment.
The sound came back first.
The chaos waiting for you behind that door. The solid wood the only thing standing between you and more death. That awful ringing, the constant flat tone of the heart rate monitor rung in your ears. And the quiet when everyone knows.
You swallowed hard. Tried to breathe through the despair that was crawling up your throat.
It didn’t work and a ragged sob left your chest, muffled only by the hand you had managed to press against your mouth just in time.
Then, the door opened.
Light cut into the narrow space, harsh and immediate. You flinched, turning your face away.
“Hey.”
Robby.
Of course it was. You wiped your eyes and tried your best to hold your chin up, meeting his eyes.
Robby face was flushed and his hair was mussed as though he had been running his hand over it.
He took one look at you and stopped. Just for a second. Long enough to see everything. Your puffy eyes, your bloody clothes…the way your eyes weren’t quite meeting his.
Then his jaw set. You knew the look well. Frustration.
“We’re slammed out there,” he said, not unkind, but not soft either. More impatient than anything else. “I need you with me.”
Your mouth open as you tried to answer but nothing came out.
Robby exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Come on. Shake it off.”
You nodded. Automatically. Again, like your body had decided before your mind caught up with it. You took a step forward.
And then, black started to blur in at the edges of your vision.
The shelves seemed to tilt, the floor shifting under your feet. Your hand hit the edge of the shelves next to you, missed, and then found it again, managing to steady yourself.
But it didn’t matter. He had seen.
Robby swore under his breath.
“Okay. No. No, don’t” He stepped closer, not touching you, but close enough to steady if you looked like you were going to eat floor. “Look at me.”
You didn’t. You wanted to but everything felt heavy. Your eye lids, your bones…. your soul.
He watched for another beat, weighing something. You could feel it, the calculation, the split-second triage as his gaze swept over you.
“You’re not helping anyone like this.” his tone was clipped and he ran his hand over the back of his neck again, glancing behind him into the chaos of the ER.
“Go home.”
You blinked and your mouth opened and closed and opened. “I—”
“Go home,” he repeated, sharp. “Get cleaned up. Get your head straight because frankly, I don’t have time to coddle you back into the game right now.”
Guilt flared, sharp and immediate. “You said you needed,”
“I need you functional,” he cut in. “And you’re not. Not right now.”
That stung. Because it was true.
This wasn’t your first bad shift since coming to PTMC. Not by far. It may not have even been the worst but… her face swam behind your eyes. You could practically see the chart you’d have to write.
Carly Atkins. Early 20’s. Presented with a deep laceration to the back of the thigh after falling onto broken glass. Initial bleeding appeared controlled with pressure and vitals stable. During reassessment, the wound reopened. Arterial involvement. Bleeding became difficult to contain. The patient deteriorated into hypovolemic shock despite intervention and was pronounced dead shortly after.
Emotionless and detached. No mention of her husband bursting into the trauma room, 2 minutes too late to say goodbye. 2 minutes.
Fuck.
Robby scrubbed a hand over his face again, frustration pouring out of him in waves and he shook his head.. like he almost couldn’t believe how badly you had lost it. “Look, losing people is never easy. We all deal with it but. You can’t just,” He stopped, jaw tightening, like he’d caught the rest before it came out wrong.
Then, quieter.
“Just go. Go home.”
You hesitated. Just for a second.
He held your gaze now. Steady. Immovable. His decision had been made and that was that.
“Go,” he said again.
So you did.
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You couldn’t remember the journey once you made it home.
Not really. Just fragments. Whitaker shooting you a concerned look as you walked out, Trin shouting your name questioningly. Cold air on your face, the hum of traffic, the way people gave you a wider berth than you were used to. All the blood you guessed. You hadn’t bothered to change before leaving.
Needing to get out of the stifling air.
The flat felt too quiet when you stepped inside.
You closed the door behind you, leaning back against it for a moment. The click of the latch sounded too loud in the stillness.
Shoes were still on. You walked straight through, down the short hall, into the bathroom. Turned the tap on.
Water rushed into the sink.
And you just stood there, staring at it.
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In the kitchen, Jack Abbott glanced at his watch.
He’d been halfway through eating, already running through the shift ahead in his head. Staffing, likely cases, the usual mental inventory, when the front door had opened and shut.
Too early.
He frowned, glancing toward the hallway.
Footsteps. Slow. Uneven.
“Baby? That you?” he called.
No answer.
The unease settled in his bones immediately.
He set his plate down and moved out of the kitchen.
He saw you before you saw him.
Blood.
It registered all at once. The pattern of it, the spread, the way it had soaked through. Not injury. Not yours, anyway.
And he saw you. Stood over the sink, hands braced on either side, staring down at nothing.
Too still. Too quiet.
“Hey,” he said, voice soft.
You didn’t respond. Didn’t even really look at him.
That unease sharpened.
“Hey.” more firmly.
And still nothing.
He stepped closer, reaching out to grasp your arms, hands rubbing comfortingly up and down.
You couldn’t help it. You flinched.
Not away. And not because of him. You just hadn’t expected it. You felt like you were outside of your body and his touch had dragged you right back in.
That was enough for Jack though. His brow furrowed with resolve.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
He reached past you, turning the tap off. The sudden silence rang.
“Look at me baby girl. Was it that bad?”
Slowly, like it took effort, you did.
Your eyes were distant when they met his. Not tracking right.
He watched as your mouth moved but no sound. Like you had so much you wanted to tell him but didn’t have the strength.
Yeah.
That bad.
That was enough questions.
“Alright,” he said.
He shifted, guiding you gently back a step. “Sit.”
You didn’t argue. You knew better then to try and stop Jack from taking care of you. Instead letting yourself be moved, accepting the decision had been taken out of your hands.
He sat you on the edge of the tub, steadying you when you wavered.
“I’ve got you,” he said, quiet, certain.
No response. But you weren’t pulling away either.
Good enough.
Jack turned the bath on, adjusting the temperature without looking, muscle memory taking over. Warm, not too hot. Bubble bath, lavender scented.
Beside him, you were still. Shoulders slightly hunched, like you were trying to make yourself smaller. But your eyes followed him, heart twisting as he handled you with such care.
“Shoes off,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.
He crouched, untying them carefully, gently easing them off your feet. Your socks were damp. The rain, he thought. Had Robby really allowed you to walk home alone like this? He filed that thought away. It was a question for Robby. Not for you, not like this.
You found yourself watching the flex of his thick forearms, veins raised under his skin as his hands worked. Steady and precise.
Grounding.
“Cold?” he asked.
A small shake of your head.
“Alright.”
He stood, hands gentle but efficient as he worked at the hem of your scrub top. “Arms up.”
There was a delay. Then you complied.
The fabric peeled away, sticking slightly where the blood had dried. He was careful with it, not rushing, not making it worse.
Underneath, your shirt was marked too. Fainter, but still there on the edges where your scrubs didn’t reach.
He exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Yeah,” he said under his breath. “It’s okay, baby. Come on.”
He didn’t comment on it. Didn’t ask.
Just kept going.
“You don’t need to do anything,” he told you quietly. “I’ve got it.”
Piece by piece, he stripped away the mess of the shift. Shoes. Socks. Scrubs. Shirt. Leaving only what was clean enough to leave for now.
Then, he turned his attention to your skin. Wetting a cloth in the warm water of the bath and gently wiping away the small spatters of blood that had managed to find their way to your neck. He dropped the cloth into the sink.
The bath filled steadily behind you, fragrant steam beginning to curl into the air.
He checked the water, adding a little more cold in before turning off the taps.
“Alright,” he said. Softer. “In we go.”
He helped you to your feet, steadying your frame as you stepped into the tub. His hand braced at your back, firm and unyielding, like he could hold you together if you came apart. You leaned into it without thinking.
You were moving like your limbs didn’t quite belong to you, but it didn’t matter. Jack was solid enough for the both of you.
He guided you down, muscles visibly flexing in his arms as he kept you steady.
“Easy.”
You sank into the water with a small, almost imperceptible exhale.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then he reached for a clean cloth.
“Too hot?” he asked, brushing your hair behind your shoulders.
You shook your head.
“Tell me if it is.”
“…okay.”
It was the first word you’d said.
He nodded once. A small relieved smile playing on his lips. “Good.”
He dipped the cloth into the water, wrung it out, and brought it to your collarbone.
Slow. Careful.
He didn’t rush. Didn’t scrub. Just wiped, gentle passes, letting the water do most of the work. Only when he was satisfied did he move on wiping down your arms.
You watched his hands like you didn’t quite understand what they were doing.
“You’re okay,” he said quietly.
No response. He didn’t need one. The only think he needed was for you to know it was going to be okay. He would make it okay.
He kept going.
Up your other arm. Over your shoulders. The back of your neck and down your spine.
“You’re okay,” he repeated.
Your breathing hitched.
Just slightly.
He didn’t react to it. Just stayed steady.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know.”
Another pass of the cloth.
“I know baby.”
Your hands clenched in the water.
“I froze,” you said suddenly.
The words came out rough. Scraped raw.
He didn’t stop.
“It happens,” he said. Calm. Certain.
“No. Not like this Jack I,” You swallowed hard. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“Your a resident. You won’t always know everything. You’re there to learn.”
Your head shook, quick, sharp. “No, I just fucking stood there. I couldn’t do anything. I’m not cut out for any of this”
“You are,” he pressed, firmer now. Not louder. Just grounded. “You’re cut out for this. I’ve never met anyone more cut out for this”
Your breath hitched again. “I wasn’t good enough.”
He paused then. Just for a second.
Then he reached up, brushing his thumb across your jaw, tilting your head making you look directly at him. His thumb was rough against your skin, calloused in a way that reminded you he did this every day. Held people together, even when it cost him.
“You don’t get to decide that,” Jack said quietly.
His expression didn’t change. Steady. Certain.
“You did everything you could,” he added.
Your lips trembled. “It didn’t change anything”
“I know. Sometimes it doesn’t.”
That broke something in you.
Not all at once. Not dramatic. Just a slow, quiet collapse inward, like whatever you had been holding finally gave way.
Your shoulders shook.
He didn’t move to stop it.
Just stayed where he was, one hand steady at your arm, the other running through your hair down your back.
“I know, baby” he said again, softer now. “I know.”
You cried then. Quietly. No sobbing, no sound. Just tears slipping free, mixing with the bathwater.
He kept his voice low. Even.
“You can let it out,” he murmured. “You don’t have to hold it together with me.”
Your hands came up, pressing briefly to your face before dropping again, defeated.
“I should’ve”
He cut you off, “You did enough.”
“I didn’t”
And again, “You did enough.”
The repetition wasn’t forceful. Just consistent. Something solid to hold onto. It left no room to disagree or argue against it.
Jack Abbott had this way of being a port in the storm. For you yeah, but you had seen it long before you were together. With other residents, with Robby and Dana. You weren’t quite sure how you had gotten so lucky.
Gradually, the tension eased.
It wasn’t completely gone but it was less sharp. No longer piercing your heart.
Your breathing evened out, the tremor in your shoulders fading and the tears dried away, at least for now.
He leaned over the edge of the tub and cupped your head with his rough hand, pressing a kiss into your hair.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “Let’s get you out.”
You didn’t argue.
He helped you up, wrapping a warm towel around your shoulders the moment you stepped out. He pressed another kiss, to your forehead this time. And then one on each of your cheeks.
“Cold?”
A small nod this time.
“Yeah. Okay. Let’s get you dry baby”
He dried you carefully, not missing anything, movements efficient but gentle. Then guided you toward the bedroom, one hand light at your back.
“Bed,” he said softly.
You sank onto it without resistance, feeling the sleepy pull towards it. You longed to close your eyes and sleep and sleep and sleep.
He pulled a clean shirt over your head, helping you into it, . You looked down, it was your favourite of Jack’s band t-shirts. Soft from years of use. He had surrendered it to you the first time you had spent the night at his place. He eased you back against the pillows.
“Stay,” he murmured.
You did.
He watched you for a moment, making sure you were settled, then stepped out of the room.
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The food order took less than a minute, he knew your comfort order by heart.
Tomato soup from Benny’s with a tuna melt on the side. The first time Jack had watched you dip the tuna melt into the tomato soup he was utterly unconvinced. You had only managed to get him to try it for the first time two weeks ago and he had to admit how wrong he had been.
Order placed, he pulled out his phone and hit Robby’s speed dial.
It rang twice before Robby picked up.
“Yeah?”
“What happened?”
A pause. Then a sigh. “We’re getting killed tonight. That’s what happened.”
“Fuck that. I mean with her.”
Another pause.
“…bad bleed,” Robby sighed finally. “Didn’t make it.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “And?”
“And she completely checked out,” Robby said, frustration creeping in. “I get it, alright? It sucks. But some of us don’t have the luxury of falling apart mid-shift. And I don’t have the time to baby her”
Jack was quiet for a second, he took a deep breath in through his nose trying to contain his anger. He knew what it was like, fighting your way through a bad shift. This wasn’t Robby.
“You wanna tell me what you mean by that?”
He heard Robby take a breath before answering, ““I just mean you treat her differently, Jack. Anyone else checks out like that you would’ve sent them home too”
“Not before making sure they’re good man. She was borderline catatonic when she got home. You really think it was best to send her on her way like that?”
“What was I supposed to do?” Robby shot back. “She wasn’t functional.”
“That’s not on her.”
A beat of silence.
“She needs to learn to keep it together,” Robby said, less sharp now, more tired.
“Yeah,” he said. “Looks like we all do, brother.”
Another pause.
“You don’t leave someone like that on their own.”
Robby didn’t answer immediately.
“…I made the call,” he said eventually.
“Yeah,” Jack replied. “You did.”
The words weren’t raised. But they landed.
Silence stretched between them.
Then, quieter, Robby said. “Maybe I pushed too hard.”
Jack didn’t respond right away.
Finally: “Yeah.”
Another beat.
“I’ll talk to her next shift,” Robby added.
“Good.” Jack responded in a way which unequivocally said ‘There better be an apology waiting for her.’
“We good?”
Jack nodded and said “Yeah man” before hanging up.
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When the food arrived, he took it straight through to the bedroom.
You hadn’t moved much. Curled slightly on your side now, blanket pulled up.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Your eyes opened.
“Got you something.”
He set the bag down, pulling out the containers, setting them within reach. Grabbed the remote, flicked the TV on, navigating to The Real Housewives of Beverley Hills. Garbage television he thought but knew how much you liked it. And you always said it was the perfect garbage television to watch when you wanted to switch off.
“You should eat,” he said.
Pushing yourself up slowly, you leant back against the headboard.
“Thanks Jack.”
Your voice was much steadier now. Still quiet but definitely more present.
He nodded once.
A pause.
“Want me to stay?”
You hesitated.
Then shook your head. “No. I’m okay. You’ve got your shift.”
He watched you for a second, weighing your tone of voice, deliberating whether or not you were just saying that because you didn’t want to be a burden.
“You sure? Robby owes me a double.” Hell, he owes me two after the condition he sent you home in.
A small nod. “I’m okay.”
Not entirely true but getting there.
He accepted it.
“Alright. I’m a phone call away baby. Say the word and I’m back here, with you, watching these women duke it out”
He stood, adjusting the blanket around you automatically and his neck craned to grab your gaze, looking for direct eye contact.
“Text me if you need anything.”
“I will.”
He lingered for half a second longer.
“Eat. Get some rest. Promise me.”
You gave a faint, tired smile. “Promise.”
“I love you baby” he whispered, pressing a last kiss into the side of your head before heading out for his shift.
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The apartment was quiet again after the door closed.
But it felt different now.
Softer.
You picked at the food slowly, not really hungry but knowing you should. You had promised.
The TV murmured in the background, familiar voices filling the space just enough to keep the thoughts away.
Then, your phone buzzed on the bedside table.
You reached for it.
A message.
From Jack.
If you’re not asleep in the next hour I’ll know.
You stared at it for a second.
Then, despite everything, smiled.
Small. But real.
You typed back:
bossy
The reply came almost immediately.
Correct.
You huffed a quiet laugh, sinking a little deeper into the pillows.
The noise in your head had dulled. Not gone. But quieter.
Manageable.
For now, that was enough.
Setting the phone aside, you pulled the blanket closer, and let your eyes fall shut.
warnings. 18+ only. smut. jack abbot becomes an audio porn king. fem!reader. medical student!reader. but also patient!reader. inappropriate thoughts about a patient. age gap. power imbalance.
hyde's input. shawn hatosy, consider me mad and mystified. god bless the women at quinn.
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jack abbot who swears he was just trying to find a new hobby. after having the world’s most unstable man — more commonly referred to as doctor robby — call him out on his not-so peaceful hobby of getting shot at, he decides to go back to the drawing board. calls his therapist, asks for an honest opinion, and is met with the worst possible answer a man like him could receive: maybe something less physically demanding and endangering would do you good. have you tried golf?
jack abbot who has tried golf, actually... he almost sent a young caddie to the pitt, golf club swinging out his grip and crashing against the golf cart. second time is never the charm, so he skips golf and goes straight to padel. old man tennis, as doctor ellis so kindly puts it. after launching the ball out of the court one too many times, he gives up, declares the game is not fast-paced enough* for him (*read as: jack is too heavy handed).
jack abbot who goes through a whole list of hobbies. he’s too skilled for paint-ball. he’s too stiff for dancing. he’s too impatient for cooking. sports are not his forte, and he’s already dedicated way too many years of his life to education to fully toy with the thought of getting another degree — even if holding another masters over robby’s head does sound like fun. but he finds something easier, something quicker. his hand, his voice, and a microphone… that’s all he really needs to become an audio pornstar.
jack abbot who swears it was an accident. all he had done was google hobbies for a middle-aged man that won’t bore me to death but won’t tweak my back… and somehow, someway, he had landed on a reddit thread. men his own age, shouting out their hobbies in the hopes of helping a fellow bored soul like his own find a new calling outside of the gruelling hours he spends covered in guts and gore. some men recommended forming bike groups. others spoke of table-top games. but only one of them really caught his eye. a single comment, no thread beneath it, with a total of eight upvotes: i record erotic audios. it’s fun, easy, and the feedback has done wonders to my self-esteem. the best part is i don’t even have to show my face, all my audience wants is to hear me.
jack abbot who soon finds out it’s lot harder than he expected. and, no, he’s not talking about his dick. recording is his first challenge. the first few attempts are a technical nightmare. this attempt too muffled, that attempt too awkward, more than a few where he loses focus and drops his phone (aka his acting microphone) as he sinks into the sweet relief of his hand working over his aching cock, completely missing out on recording the part where breathy groans divulge into full-blown, pathetic whimpers, and soon one of pittsburgh’s most respected emergency medicine doctors is painting his knuckles and lower abdomen in the sticky residue of his pleasure.
jack abbot who’s second hurdle is making an account and, worse, figuring out how to use it. asking for help is out of the question because, while jack abbot is far from shy, he doesn’t want to invite that level of gossip into his workplace. shen would give him shitty nicknames like doctor jacking-off abbot, dana wouldn’t say anything but the side-eye would be loud enough to speak for her. robby would no doubt find a way to criticise even this hobby. and god forbid the pittlings hear about it… any ounce of respect they have for him would fly right out the window. worst of all, jack thinks, ahmad would start a betting pool… how long until doctor abbot leaks his identity?
jack abbot who nearly doxxes himself immediately, accidentally attaching a picture — one of those low-angled selfies javadi is forever teasing him about — alongside the audio file. a file that captures him in a moment of pure vulnerability, head thrown back against the couch, knees bent, feet on the ground; all the while last night’s scrubs stick to his sweaty thighs, shoved far enough down for him to free his cock. he doesn’t listen to the audio fully, afraid that if he listens too long, he’ll back out and delete it once again. with barely any recollection of the things he said nor the sounds he made, he takes a deep breath and finally hits post.
jack abbot who is officially, by technicality, an audio pornstar. the attention isn’t instant. for the first few days, he tells himself to not bother checking, to not interest himself in how many silly upvotes a collective of strangers might have deemed his moans worthy of. that doesn’t stop him from pulling out his phone during bathroom breaks, swiping through the apps list until he finds a familiar orange, and checking the engagement. five upvotes. no comments. oh well, he thinks (with a little more disappointment than he’s willing to admit). maybe this hobby is just not for him, either. back to the drawing board he’ll go, right?
jack abbot who learns the hard way just how far a little praise can go. it’s another mindless check, shift over and finally standing under the rejuvenating burn of a warm shower. two days off ahead of him, a whole load of sleep to catch up on. a song comes on that he’s sick of hearing, so, despite the soap suds in his hands, he grabs for his phone and changes the track. muscle memory forces his thumb to swipe, fingerprint searching for the familiar glow of that orange app. he barely recognises what he’s done, until the post — his post — is staring at him in the face. seventeen upvotes. one comment. u/dilfhunter pretty sure this violates some sacred feminist rule with how wet it made me. dear god sir, what a voice.
jack abbot who records his second official audio right then and there, the sound of a running shower caught faintly in the background of his grunts and groans. they echo off the bathroom tiles, accompanied by the wet shlick of his hand stroking over his length. he’s still a little unsteady, a little unsure of what to do while one hand is busy touching himself and the other is gripping his phone, making sure the microphone is still recording his every move. to make matters, and his dick, harder this time, he’s caught in a trance, pupils blown wide and jaw hanging loose while he reads the comment over and over. it’s instinct, really, that has him muttering under his breath, brain too far gone to even fully register what he’s saying. d’you like my voice, yeah? is it getting you wet, baby? my dirty girl, touching herself to the sound of me. you gonna cum, hmm? think you should. go on. or d’you need me to show you how?
jack abbot who is starting to gain a following, a community of faceless individuals who are never short on praise and are quick to make him feel desired. every comment is an ego-boost, a reason to record another audio. after a month, he invests in a proper microphone, one that frees up both his hands. another month and he’s ordering toys from some lewd website. it’s for realism, he tells himself, something to make it sound a little more immersive, a little more real for his followers. the fact that the fleshlight grips around his cock in a way that has him curling his toes is just a welcomed bonus, really.
jack abbot who keeps his recordings fairly simple. straightforward, nothing more than the ramblings of a man in dire need of release. groans, moans, whimpers. there’s times where he slips a little deeper than usual into the fantasy, picturing someone sweet and vulnerable, writhing beneath him and echoing out all the wilder comments he receives. dilfhunter becomes a name he searches for, a user who’s feedback he awaits with bated breath. if he uploads and there’s no comment within the first 24 hours, his shoulders sag, his energy is off, and even the other busy-bodies in the pitt notice something off about him. then, ding! dilfhunter has commented on your post! and suddenly everything is back to sunshine and rainbows and boners for mister abbot, who more or less races home on those mornings, ready to capture another intimate moment he’ll share with an audience of thousands.
jack abbot who keeps it simple, until he doesn’t. a comment, not from dilfhunter, is all it takes. u/armpitts god what i wouldn’t pay to have you act out one of my scripts. it captures his attention. and while jack is not the best at replying to his comments — he’s sometimes afraid the things he wants to say may come off too strong… or that he’ll accidentally reveal personal details — he finds himself answering this time. no payment necessary, i’m open to anything :) he feels like an idiot sending a smiley face. fuck. he should have made it a wink. oh well, too late, his notifications are blowing up and there’s an inbox waiting for him. that very same commenter, kind and appreciative, drops the link to one of her scripts and thanks him. he feels silly the first time he reads through it, cheeks warm as he tries out the words on his lips. one would think he hasn’t spent the past few months whoring himself out vocally for a little gratification. but, can you really blame him for being so shy? there he is, a fully qualified doctor, reciting some fantasy where he’s examining a patient. one thing leads to another, an imaginary hand drifts up the expanse of a hypothetical thigh, and he’s acting out something that would get his medical license revoked… that doesn’t stop him from cumming louder than ever before, and swallowing down the name of his favourite patient: you.
jack abbot who swears you’re the sweetest sight for sore eyes. frequent fliers are rarely a celebrated thing in the pitt. unhoused, endangered, unwell; they are usually the kind who find themselves in his care on a regular basis. and then there is you. beautiful, smart, and polite. you never complain about the wait times, you never berate any of the staff for having other patients to attend to, you never show up without a smile. a med student, well into your final year and looking to secure a residency at presby. the catch? you’re a hypochondriac — more recently known as someone who suffers from illness anxiety disorder — diagnosed and all. those who study medicine are already predisposed to convince themselves they have every new illness they learn off. but throw in a disorder that’s merciless in making your brain spiral and, well, you become weekly visitor of the pitt, always showing up with enough self-awareness to recognise you’re probably fine, but still in dire need of a professional who can confirm it for you.
jack abbot who is happy to be said professional. it’s basically an unspoken rule amongst the nightcrawlers: your name is on the board, jack will be attending to you. no matter how big or small your most recent health worry might be, he’s happy to sit by your bedside and go through your vitals, listen to your heartbeat, check your breathing. as many times as you need him to. he knows how hard it can be to sleep, which is why he never berates you for wasting away your hours in the bright lights of the pitt. why would he berate you, when it means he gets to spend a few hours keeping his eye on you?
jack abbot who knows his fascination borders on unprofessional. while you may not be his student, you are still a student somewhere. your career relies on the guidance of those who have graduated before you, those who have already made a career out of caring for patients. he tries his best to make your frequent visits useful to you, talking you through what the signs would truly be for whatever your newest possible diagnosis might be and what the treatment plan would look like. it’s the only thing he can do to distract himself from the thoughts of talking you through something far more selfish.
jack abbot who swears he’s not thinking of you each time he hits record. when a script comes through, casting him the role of an older man who helps his new neighbour fix a leak under her sink, just to bend her over the counter and let his cum leak into her, there’s absolutely no way that jack is picturing you, doe-eyed and looking up at him with eyes that are practically begging him to fix you. and when he plays out the fantasy of a man coming home to find his wife naked in bed, riding out a heat wave, and spreading her thighs as she welcomes his tongue between them even in her sleep, he definitely does not nearly whine your name. and when the comments role in, begging him to add a new audio to his most popular series — the doctor will feel you now — he is doing anything but imagining you in the patient’s place, throwing your head back while you let you doctor cure you with his hands, his mouth, his cock. hey! all those times he’s had to cut the audio, edit out a little stutter of your name? those were nothing but accidents. pure and utter coincidences.
jack abbot who begins to miss you after not seeing you for more than a week. what could have happened? have you started visiting the day shift instead, relying on doctor robby to comfort your worries instead of him? it shouldn’t affect him. he shouldn’t care. he has enough on his plate to worry about, between the ER and the next audio he needs to post. he doesn’t have time to find himself lingering by the boards, willing your name to suddenly appear. what kind of doctor wants to see someone show up in the emergency ward? him, apparently, because there is no denying the way he feels his heart swell as he catches a glimpse of you from across the nurses’ station, being guided into a room by lena and told to sit while you wait for doctor abbot to see you. and see you he does, practically racing through the instructions on how to intubate a patient who’s throat is full of blood, just so he can rip of his gloves, sanitise his hands, and pull back the curtain that reveals you.
jack abbot who finds every way to make you stay a little longer, using every reason to talk to you. he asks about your exams. he asks about your future goals. he asks if you’re 100% sure that presby is the hospital for you. y’know we’re always looking for a new night shift resident in the pitt. just saying. the way you giggle at his wink is enough to sink the pathetic feeling that comes with almost begging you to join the ptmc. don’t think a trauma centre is the best place for me, doctor abbot. it’s actually cruel how effortless that sounds on your tongue. doctor abbot… would you still call him that if he had you arching your back, hips rolling to meet the thrust of his gloved fingers?
jack abbot who can barely hide the shake in his hand when you ask him to examine you. it’s just this mark i’ve got… on my upper thigh. i know it’s probably just a mosquito bite or something but- you’re worried. you don’t have to explain it to jack, he can practically feel the fear rolling off of you in waves. it shouldn’t send a shiver down his spine to know those waves meet an unmovable force when it comes to him, crashing and sinking away with every reassuring word he finds to help ease your worries. you listen to him so well, not needing to be told twice when he instructs you to bend your legs at the knee and plant your feet on the bed. just gonna give you an exam, okay? i’ll start just above the knee, then work my way up the length of your thigh, get a good feel of anything that’s going on there. that sound good to you?
jack abbot who feels himself harden at how eagerly you nod. then his hands are on you and there’s nowhere his thoughts can wander but to those damn audios. your thigh is soft, warm, full beneath his fingertips. what a shame there’s a layer of latex in the way. he tries not to linger on the way your legs fall open a little wider the further he slides his palm up your thigh. he tries not to notice the way the muscle clenches beneath his touch. he tries not to think about how you haven’t breathed properly since he started examining you. if this were one of his filthy audios, now would be the time when the doctor gives into his desires and let’s his fingers brush over the seam of his patient’s clothed cunt. he’d pretend it was an accident, an unintentional bump of his fingertips. he’d hum with a twinge of approval when he realises how wet the fabric is. he’d let his eyes meet hers as he peels her underwear to the side and watches her choke on a gasp, forefinger teasing up the length of the slit, pressing over her throbbing clit. he’d ruin her with nothing but his fingers, his spare hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her delectable moans so no ears but his own can hear them. and if she was good for him, really good, he’d reward her with the stretch of his cock plugging her full, making her stain her cheeks with tears as she bites down on his palm and let’s him whisper in her ear. ‘s this what you really needed, baby? someone to fix you? come on, there we go, breathe nice and deep for me. i know, i know, he’s so big. it’s so much but you’re taking him so well, sweetheart. my perfect little patient, letting me make us both feel better.
jack abbot who is painfully aware of the fact this is not one of his audios and that he needs to pull his hand out from between your thighs. he does so with a cough, swallowing back a mouthful of saliva only to find himself near-drooling again. god, what a relief that the scrubs he’s wearing today sit loose on him, otherwise he’d surely have an hr case on his hands. that doesn’t make the throb of his hardened dick any easier to stomach. especially not when he notices you’re in an almost equally frazzled state, chest heaving as you stare ahead in a trance, legs slowly sinking back down onto the gurney. he starts his medical spiel, but he’s not sure you’re really listening. all feels good, he says, knowing damn well you feel better than good.
jack abbot who doesn’t mean to invade your privacy. when a phone buzzes from somewhere behind him, he swears it’s his own and, with a quick check to see if it’s alright with you, he turns around to grab it. he’s just going to put it on silent, that’s all, to ensure it doesn’t interrupt him during any other patient examination. but then the screensaver is different. a pretty face, pressed right up to a dog. bright, girly, youthful. there’s notifications for apps he barely recognises, names he’s never heard. and then, the most recent one. a notification from 1 minute ago. an email. reddit.
jack abbot who feels himself freeze, right then and there, speechless for the first time in his life.
congratulations u/dilfhunter, you just hit 1,000 upvotes!
+ extra hyde!
· i'm working on a full jack abbot fic. this is a threat. consider yourself warned.
· anyway don't forget to smash that like button and tell me if this made you horny. full disclosure i am more than willing to write more of these two.
· i was waiting to finish a full, proper fic to post again but i've been frothing at the mouth at this thought all day and i had to get it out.
andrew ‘pope’ cody x f!reader
Word Count: 5.3K
Rating: E
Summary: You’ve been out of the game for years, but when the Cody family contacts you when J is injured during a heist… you decide to set aside your past and help.
Warnings: ex-situationship vibes (you were secret lovers back in the day), family dysfunction (reader’s dad is also in organized crime/works with smurf), angst, yearning, language, alcohol use, mutual pining, sexual tension, feelings, a pitt mention/brief crossover mention with jack abbot (i had too, reader is a doctor!!), emotionally constipated Andrew, descriptions & flashbacks of explicit smut (unprotected p in v sex, creampie), lavender shirt mention (it deserved a warning)
A/N: minor spoilers? This is set during the events of the Church Heist episode (2x05), but Pope is not dating Amy in this universe. Also, anything that doesn’t align with that episode just means I took creative liberties and made some changes. Also, I’m not a doctor, so let’s pretend what Google told me about sutures on a large wound is accurate. Thanks again to @wesandresons for da GIFs. Writing flashback sequences is always hard, so I hope you guys enjoy! Dedicated to @likedovesinthewnd for continuing to fuel my Pope obsession.
J was sprawled on the couch outside of your father’s scrapyard, his leg soaked in blood, the wound jagged and deep from the air duct’s sharp edges. Baz hovered nearby, eyes nervously flicking between the injury and the tools in your hand.
Deran was leaning against a nearby pile of scrap.
Watching intently.
You knelt beside J, your eyes assessing the damage. The bleeding was heavy, but you knew a better way than just stapling—something that would minimize scarring and promote healing. Carefully, you gathered sterilized cloths, antiseptic, and the surgical sutures you brought along.
"Thanks for coming," Deran said. "Really. I know it’s a lot to ask."
"Stop talking," you said curtly.
He had texted you earlier tonight.
I know shit’s been weird. Your brother told me you’ve been back for a few months. Julia’s son has been living with us, and he’s bleeding out. I don’t know if we can handle this fucking shit. I wouldn’t be reaching out to you if it wasn’t serious. I need you. Now.
You always had a soft spot for Deran. You met him when he was so young.
He wasn’t even in high school yet. He was in the 7th or 8th fucking grade.
You knew the stories, the things he’d had to do, the jobs he’d taken on since he was just a kid. Forced into a life he didn’t choose, pushed into this bullshit before he could even understand what was right or wrong.
In a way… all the Cody brothers had been shaped by circumstances beyond their control.
Deran looked down at J’s trembling form, his jaw tight with worry. "You know, this church heist, we didn’t want it to turn into—"
"Shut up," you cut him off sharply. "I don’t want to hear about the job. I don’t care about your reasons or your plans. I’m not involved."
"Whether you like it or not, you’re not just here by coincidence," Baz hissed at you with a hint of challenge in his eyes.
The truth was, you weren’t supposed to be here.
You had met the Codys back in high school—met Craig at some party during your senior year, and then he’d invited you to one of their infamous gatherings.
Smurf didn’t like you.
She didn’t like anyone.
But… when she found out your father owned a scrapyard, she saw potential. She added him to her 'payroll', and suddenly, your dad was making a lot more money. You went to UCSD on a tuition scholarship, but the extra cash your dad was making allowed you to live in the nicest dorm, get the best meal plan, and even a credit card—things you could have never imagined.
You even pledged a sorority.
The reason you pledged your sorority?
Smurf convinced you it was for the "experience," but the truth was, she was in it for the heist. Sororities had lots of money. At first, your father was dead set against you getting involved in anything shady.
But Smurf, with her smooth, convincing tone, had a way of making things seem inevitable. She painted a picture of opportunity to your father.
Slowly, he started to waver.
You and the Cody’s stole from the sorority funds during your second year, and the payout was good.
Really fucking good.
During undergrad, you were unofficially working for her with your father, taking your cut of the pie on different jobs, and making more money than most students could dream of.
The day you got into medical school, you told Smurf that you wanted out, to leave this life behind once you graduated.
She didn’t take it very well.
Neither did your father.
It was as if he didn’t want you to stop, even if it meant risking everything. Smurf convinced him that you were being entitled, and he surrendered any real control.
Medical school and residency took you out east.
But your pediatric fellowship brought you right fucking back to San Diego.
You didn’t speak to your father anymore.
He was in Smurf’s pocket.
You barely spoke to your brother.
He was also in Smurf’s pocket.
You carefully lifted the bloodied fabric from J’s leg and looked up at J, meeting his gaze.
"You don’t need to pretend you’re not nervous. It’s okay to be. But I need you to stay still—this will hurt, but I’ll make sure it heals properly."
J nodded.
You began working on him, pouring antiseptic onto the cloth and dabbing around the wound to clean the blood and debris. J winced at the sting, and you saw the slight tremor in his hand as he drank from the bottle of alcohol Deran handed him to numb the pain.
"So, where’s Craig?" you asked casually to try and distract J from the pain.
"He didn’t want to do the job. Said it was too risky."
Craig, the one who had always been down for any job, backed out?
You hadn’t expected that.
Over your shoulder, you caught Baz talking to Deran. His voice was low, but clear enough: "Got a text from Pope. Says everything’s alright."
You paused.
Your hand stilled slightly. You thought Pope was still in jail—caught in that bank heist a couple of years back. You’d always thought he was the most gentle and kind of the Cody boys, despite their trouble. Smurf had her claws in him, and you’d felt bad for him—always in the middle of her fucking chaos, yet somehow separate from it.
When he was locked up, you’d sent letters—hoping to reach him, to let him know someone cared—but he never responded. Now, hearing he was out, you realized it stung more than you wanted to admit.
You hated that he didn’t tell you he was free.
That he didn’t reach out.
The silence felt like a punch to your gut.
You pulled out the fine needle and threaded it with sterile sutures, preparing to close the wound. Gently, you grabbed J’s chin to keep him still.
"Ready?"
J took another big gulp from the alcohol bottle.
"Ready."
You fixed J’s wound with deep dermal sutures.
Carefully stitching.
You worked meticulously, ensuring each stitch was secure but not overly tight, threading the needle deep into the dermis to bring the tissue together smoothly.
It took time.
You were a fucking perfectionist.
Once the sutures were in place, you cleaned the area again, applied a sterile dressing, and pressed gently to control any residual bleeding.
"You’re all set. Just keep it clean and dry, and watch for signs of infection."
J looked at you with a mixture of relief and exhaustion.
"Thanks," he rasped.
Deran took one shoulder, Baz the other, and you navigated J toward Smurf’s backyard. The patio looked the same as always, and as you reached the door, Smurf herself appeared, leaning against the frame with her sharp eyes narrowing as she took in the scene.
"What happened to him?" she demanded, her gaze flickering over J’s bloodstained jeans.
"He took a bad hit. Deep wound, needed proper sutures. He’ll be—"
Before you could finish, Smurf’s eyes zeroed in on you, her expression twisting with suspicion and fury. Then she turned her glare to Baz, snarling, "And what the hell is she doing here?"
Baz held his hands up defensively. "Don’t look at me. All Deran."
"Hello, Smurf. Nice to see you too after I just saved your grandson from bleeding out," you said sarcastically.
Smurf’s jaw clenched tight, and she snatched J roughly by the arm. Without another word, she pulled him inside the house, her heels clicking sharply on the porch as she disappeared inside.
Baz sighed, shaking his head slightly as he watched her go.
"Well, that’s Smurf for you," Deran chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck.
You simply shook your head, knowing all too well that with Smurf, it was never that simple.
"I’m gonna go check on J," Baz said quietly, moving toward the house. "But, uh. Thanks," he said awkwardly.
You nodded.
Deran watched him go, then turned toward you.
"See you in another what, five years?" he muttered, voice laced with dry humor. Without hesitation, he reached out and pulled you into a quick hug.
"Is Craig still doing stupid shit?" you asked, before pulling back.
Deran’s lips curled into a tired smile. "Always. Honestly, I’m shocked he hasn’t been a patient of yours in the ER yet."
"You guys seriously robbed a church? That’s some serious bad juju right there."
"You know, you sound just like Craig."
You chuckled.
"So, how are your dad and brother doing?"
Your lips pressed into a tight, thin line and Deran could tell he had struck a nerve with his question.
"You see and talk to them more than I do."
He rolled his eyes. "Come on, you moved back here, and you’re seriously not talking to them? They’re your family."
You shot him a pointed look.
"Considering who your mother is, I’m honestly shocked you’re trying to spin that kind of hallmark bullshit on me."
"Your father’s nothing like Smurf. He actually fucking loves you. You’re not just some kid he’s using for his own crap. He cares about you—more than you probably realize."
"Then why the fuck is he still working with Smurf? I’ve asked him for years to get fucking out—and he won’t do it. And now… he’s roped in my brother."
The last words hung heavy in the air.
Enough to reveal the ache behind them.
"What are you doing here?" you heard a familiar voice say.
Your head snapped up.
Standing a few feet away was the man you hadn’t seen in years—Pope. Getting older had looked good on him. His sharp eyes locked onto yours with a quiet intensity that immediately transported you back in time.
For a moment, the world around you seemed to blur, and suddenly you were back in Pope’s apartment. You remembered the day you had been matched for residency at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.
You had bumped into Pope since you were visiting your father. When you told him the news, he took you out to dinner to celebrate.
It honestly had felt like a date.
Which was funny considering you two had never really interacted much when you were in undergrad—unless it was related to a job.
He was pretty quiet during dinner, but even without many words, he conveyed a lot through his actions. You were shocked he remembered so many things about you, considering you hadn’t seen him in years.
You noticed how he had chosen a restaurant specifically because it served your favorite cuisine. You caught the subtle way he made sure the table was comfortable, adjusting the chair for you or ordering that particular whiskey drink you liked, knowing it was your favorite without you needing to ask.
His quiet demeanor masked a thoughtful attentiveness.
He remembered the small details about you.
The things that mattered.
Later that night, you two ended up back at his drinking a few beers.
"So, you’re seriously gonna go freeze your ass in Pittsburg?"
You’d shot back with a smirk, "I’ve been freezing my ass off in Chicago, Andrew."
Pope sat there, his expression unreadable.
Instead of bringing his beer to his lips, he simply held the glass loosely in his hand.
His jaw was clenched subtly, and there was a faint tension in his posture—like he was holding himself back from doing something more.
You broke the silence, curious.
"What?"
"You’ve never called me Andrew before."
Your eyebrows lifted in surprise.
"Sorry, I didn’t mean—"
"No, I like it."
A small, almost rare smile touched his lips.
You blinked, caught off guard. "You do?"
He nodded, his eyes locking onto yours.
"Smurf calls you Andrew. So, I just assumed… you didn’t like it," you hesitated, then admitted softly, "But I think Andrew suits you."
His forehead creased, and he looked away.
"You’re right. I don’t like it when she calls me that," he murmured. "But, I like it when you say it."
Goosebumps littered your skin.
You came back to the present.
"I was just leaving," you responded.
Pope’s eyes found yours, but he didn’t say anything.
You took a deep breath, glancing at Deran and Pope. Your shift at the hospital technically hadn’t ended—your colleague was covering for you, but the clock was ticking, and duty called. You rubbed your sweaty palms on your scrubs, trying to steady the tremor in your hands as you prepared to leave.
"I’ve gotta head back. Swapped out with a colleague, but I still need to get to the hospital."
Deran waved goodbye. "Go handle your thing. We get it."
You walked towards your car. As you reached your car, you fumbled with your keys, your hands still slightly trembling. Just as you unlocked the door, you felt someone grab your bicep and turn you around.
"Wait." Pope’s voice was rough.
Your eyes burned with the threat of tears, and everything inside you throbbed.
"You’ve got some fucking balls asking me to wait," you shot back. You turned toward the car, heart hurting, and tried the door handle again.
He let you go.
Without another word, you slipped into your car, and pulled out of the driveway.
Pope stood there for a moment, watching you drive away.
It had been…interesting, to say the least, navigating this long-distance 'something' with you.
Pope’s body was practically vibrating in his airplane seat, fighting the urge to bolt as soon as the plane touched down in Pittsburgh.
When you picked him up from the airport, you threw both arms around him, squeezing him so tightly. He bruised a kiss into your hair, whispering against your scalp in disbelief before cupping your face in his hands and capturing your lips with his.
It didn’t take long until you got back to your apartment for his hands to find their way to your thighs, holding you in place as he buried himself deep inside of you. He could feel the pressure building within you, feeling your cunt sucking him in. He groaned, his breaths growing heavier.
"Please… don’t stop. You feel so good, Andrew," you praised, the urgency in your voice encouraged him, his rhythm quickening as he began to lose himself in the feeling of you.
He lifted one of your legs and put it up on his shoulder and spread you open, his cock spearing into you at the new angle. The change in position made you gasp at the deeper sensation it created. Every thrust hit you just right, the pressure building inside you until you felt you might burst.
"Let go for me," he coaxed, his tone soft yet commanding. "I wanna feel you fall apart around me." His words sent you spiraling, pulling you closer to the brink. You could feel the coiling tightness of your release, winding around your core, threatening to snap at any moment.
"Andrew, I—" you gasped, the pressure reaching its peak as you watched his cock disappear into you covered in your slick.
"Just let it happen," he urged, his voice a low rumble. "I’ve got you."
Knowing exactly what you needed, Pope used his free hand to find your clit, rubbing soft yet firm circles. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders. His fingers on your clit, combined with his relentless thrusting had you seeing white. Pleasure washed over you in waves, causing your back to arch and your body to tremble beneath him. You cried out his name, the sound echoing off the walls.
He didn’t stop, his movements relentless as he chased his own release, his breathing ragged and deep. The sound of your lewd noises seemed to fuel him, and he groaned lowly as your walls clenched around him.
You were lost in the aftershocks of your own orgasm as he continued to pound into you. You wanted to tell him how good he made you feel, how special this was, but the words fell short as he pressed his forehead against yours, his hazel eyes clouded with passion. But you couldn’t speak.
And then, without warning, he stilled, the moment hanging suspended as he locked eyes with you, his breath ragged. "I’m gonna come, fuck, I—" His voice was raw. You could see the struggle etched across his face, the tightness in his jaw marking how close he was hovering to the edge himself.
And, you finally got your voice back.
"Inside," you urged, the words slipping from your lips with an urgency of their own, your brows stitched together. "Please." You almost whined, and that desperation seemed to tip him over the edge.
With that, his own release crashed over him, and he let out a deep groan, moaning your name. He was oblivious to how loud he was, utterly lost in the pleasure of filling you up with his spend and driving his pulsing cock deep inside your tight heat before crumbling on top of you.
As you both came down from the high, he pulled you against him, chest heaving as he caught his breath. His skin was flushed, and a slight sheen of sweat covered his chest.
"Damn," you breathed, laughing softly at the sheer intensity of it all.
You nestled into him, feeling safe and adored, his arms wrapped protectively around you. "Let’s never wait that long again," you whispered, grinning up at him.
After a summer of seeing one another almost every day. Weeks apart had felt like an eternity.
"Deal," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, already lost in the comfort and warmth of the moment. Pope laid his head on your chest, his hands finding a home at your waist, pulling you closer.
He always craved this part with you after sex.
Just touching you and feeling your skin against his.
Pope closed his eyes briefly, trying to hold onto that memory.
After that first night when you called him Andrew, he remembered how you’d finally broken the silence with a hesitant, almost shy, kiss.
He froze.
When you pulled back, you had then apologized, softly, almost hurriedly, for making things uncomfortable, gathered your things, and headed out that door,
But then, a couple weeks later, life pulled you back into his orbit. You returned to Oceanside once you’d graduated from medical school, staying with your father until you were ready to make the move to Pittsburgh. When you showed up at Pope’s door, apologizing again, saying you didn’t want to make things weird, that you hadn’t meant to unsettle him—somehow, everything shifted.
Maybe it was the way you were looking at him.
Or the way his own defenses crumbled…
But suddenly clothes were shed with hurried desperation, and he found himself emptying himself inside of you as you whimpered into his neck while you recovered from your own orgasm.
You spent the night.
And he woke you up in the middle of the night to fuck you… again.
And you woke him up in the morning to fuck him... again.
Then it just kept happening.
But you both knew that you two had to keep it a secret.
Because if Smurf ever found out—she wouldn’t be happy.
He could see the fear in your eyes whenever the subject of her came up.
And his biggest fear?
That she would take you away from him.
Seeing you tonight reminded him that you shouldn’t be part of this world.
You had managed to carve out a life beyond it.
Escaped the grip of Smurf’s chaos.
You’d left it behind, fled into the normalcy of medicine, of healing, of making a difference in a way that was truly yours. That was the part of you he clung to, the part that deserved peace, not to be dragged back into the darkness that always threatened to swallow everyone whole.
"You shouldn’t have called her," he growled at Deran.
"Pope, J was bleeding out—if she hadn’t showed up—"
From behind, Smurf’s voice cut through the tense air as she stepped out onto the patio.
"Don’t give her that much credit," Smurf spat, her tone cold and dismissive. "You boys could’ve figured it out without her. There was no need to involve her. She’s worthless."
Pope’s eyes darkened with disgust as he looked at her.
"You don’t get to decide what she’s worth or what she’s capable of. She’s better than this. She’s better than any of us. And she’s not yours to dismiss."
Smurf’s laughter echoed cold and sharp, a cruel edge cutting through the tense air. She took a step closer, her voice dripping with venom.
"She’s better than us? Please," she snarled. "It’s because of the jobs she did with us back in college that she graduated debt-free from medical school. She wouldn’t even be a doctor if it weren’t for me."
Her gaze sharpened, flashing with fury. "Her share of the money that she got was because of me. I was doing her a favor because of who her father was to us, and she just shoved it into her fancy education. You think that makes her better? No, it makes her just as crooked as the rest of us. You’re sitting there, acting like she’s some kind of saint—" Smurf stepped in closer, her voice lowering into a deadly whisper. "but she left her family—her father and her brother and left them behind like yesterday’s trash. She should’ve stayed. But no. She would rather be a doctor… playing hero. She’s fucking selfish." She paused, her lips curling into a cold, mocking smile. "You still think she’s better than us?"
Pope’s eyes darkened, his jaw twitching.
"Yes."
Pope could feel the anger radiating off of Smurf at his response.
He felt Smurf's hand on his shoulder, but he quickly twisted away and headed for the door.
On the other end of his cellphone, your voice bubbled with enthusiasm as you described the medical conference.
He hadn’t seen you in almost three weeks.
He was fucking miserable.
"…and Dr. Abbot presented this groundbreaking study on neuroplasticity and the implications for stroke rehabilitation." Your excitement was palpable, the passion in your tone making Pope smile, but it felt bittersweet at the same time.
"Yeah, sounds great," he replied, trying to sound engaged, but his mind was elsewhere—lost in thoughts of you.
He missed you. He realized how much he hated sleeping apart from you. It was driving him crazy. His dick was throbbing. But, it wasn’t just the sex he missed… it was the little things he had grown so accustomed to. The way you would nestle your head in the crook of his neck, the soft weight of you against him. He missed the scent of you—your shampoo, a light floral fragrance that always lingered in his nose long after you left a room. Your body lotion, a sweet, comforting smell that wrapped around him like a warm hug. The more you talked about this Dr. Abbot and the conference, the more it gnawed at him. He felt a creeping annoyance at the constraints of his life—the relentless demands of Smurf, and the endless stream of things he had to do with his brothers.
"Andrew. Are you there?" you paused, sensing his distraction.
"Yeah, I’m here. Just… thinking." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Sorry. I didn’t mean to zone out on you."
"Oh, it’s okay," you sounded a bit tentative. "I know you’ve been busy."
"You know," he started softly, "this is the last job I want to do. The payout’s gonna be huge—big enough to set me up for good."
"What do you mean, the last job?"
"I did some research— thinking about getting an HVAC technician certification. Found out you don’t need college for that, just a high school diploma to get started on the training. Maybe I do that instead of all this other crap. Maybe…"
His words hung in the air.
"Maybe what?" you whispered.
"Maybe… after this, I move to Pittsburgh."
"Really?"
He nodded slowly, even though he knew you couldn’t see him. "Yeah."
Pope's heart clenched as he heard the faint, muffled sound of you sniffling on the line.
"What’s wrong? Are you okay?"
It struck him then—maybe he’d moved too fast, pushed too hard. Maybe, after just six months of whatever this was between you, he’d assumed more than you were ready for.
Maybe you weren’t ready for things to change.
Maybe you didn’t want to be with him like that.
Not yet.
Or…maybe not ever.
The thought made him pause—a cold wave of doubt washing over him.
Finally, you spoke, voice trembling slightly. "It’s happy tears, Andrew. I would love it if you were here in Pittsburgh… with me."
"Then maybe I should book a one-way ticket," he murmured.
But that never happened because later that day, Pope was arrested for the bank robbery job.
He spent three long years behind bars, a period that felt like an eternity carved into his soul.
The first year was the hardest.
The second year was a crucible.
By the third year, a numbness settled over him.
He had lost count of how many nights he stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about you and wishing he could turn back time.
He imagined you moving on, your life continuing without him.
He convinced himself that you deserved better.
He convinced himself that he was just a mistake.
He convinced himself that he was a shadow that would eventually fade from your memory.
You were standing at the nurse’s station, finishing up some chart notes when a voice called your name softly but insistently. You turned around, expecting the usual—another colleague needing clarification or a patient’s family member asking a question. But when you did, your breath caught. Standing just a few feet away was Pope.
Your pulse quickened as his presence sank in. Without thinking, you stepped away from the station, your heart pounding louder than the beeping monitors around you. The hospital corridor felt suddenly too narrow, too quiet except for the pounding in your chest.
"What are you doing here?" you asked.
"I need to talk to you."
“You know I’m at work. I can’t just—”
"I know. I just… Please. Five minutes."
You glanced around, weighing whether to pull him aside or push him away. Your mind raced—so many questions, so many feelings tangled up inside. Without thinking, your hand reached out instinctively, gently but firmly grabbing his. His eyes flicked to your grip, surprised, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed you to guide him—your fingers wrapping around his.
Slowly, you turned away from the nurse’s station as you made your way toward the exit. You pulled him toward a nearby bench—something that offered just enough privacy. You guided him to sit down.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just stared at one another.
Nerves shot through your limbs.
His jaw was tense.
You finally broke the quiet. "What’s so important that you had to come here?"
"I read your letters in jail. Every single one of them. And… I thought… you would want to know that."
You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you.
"Look," your eyes began to water, "we don’t have to do this. What happened between us… it was a long time ago. We don’t have to rehash it. I get it… it was just a fling. Things were different back then. We were caught up in something we didn’t really understand. So, maybe it’s better if we just leave it there."
That was a lie.
You had cried yourself to sleep for months and months. You realized after you never heard from him, that maybe you had just been somebody to keep his warm bed.
Nobody special.
And that everything you had felt had just been one-sided.
His face fell.
"It wasn’t just a fling to me," he sighed so deeply you could almost feel it in your own chest.
Your hands trembled in your lap.
"I didn’t answer any of them, not because I didn’t want to. Not because I didn’t care. I just… didn’t see the point," his voice was quiet.
You pinned him with a vicious glare.
"You were in your first year of residency. I was in jail. It was a mess. I didn’t want to be a distraction. If I’d responded to your letters, it would have been selfish. It wouldn’t have made you feel better. It only would’ve made me feel better—like I was doing something, like I wasn’t just letting it all slip away. But that’s not what you needed. Not really. I knew if I’d reached out, I’d just be taking a shortcut around what really mattered—letting you go, even if it hurt like hell."
His brows knit together like he was in pain, and it broke your heart a little.
You squeezed your eyes shut. Everything he was saying made sense, and you could see the logic in his reasoning, but that only seemed to amplify the ache in your chest.
"So… why didn’t you reach out after you got out?" your voice trembled and cracked as you forced the words out. "It's been a year."
"Because you deserve a life where you’re not being contacted by ex-cons, by my brothers, or people bleeding out in some messed up fucking chaos. You deserve peace. Not to be dragged back into this shit."
"Maybe I don’t deserve peace," you felt the hot tears streaming down your cheeks. "It’s not like I’m a good person. I’ve done bad shit. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just as broken as everything I try to run from." Your shoulders sagged.
He pulled you into his arms and planted a kiss on your forehead.
You melted.
You melted into him and didn't even try to fight it.
"You’re a good person. You’re fucking perfect."
You let out a broken laugh, the kind that came from somewhere deep inside.
Pope gently wiped your tears with his thumb.
"So, what now?" you managed to say between ragged breaths, still fighting the tears.
"You finish your fellowship, and I finish my HVAC training."
"You started?" you whispered, your fingers grappling at the fabric of his lavender shirt.
Pope chewed his lower lip nervously and nodded.
"That’s great. That’s great, Andrew."
The sharp beeping of your pager suddenly cut through, startling you out of the intense moment you and Pope had been sharing. Your eyes widened as you instinctively reached for the device clipped to your waistband, realizing it was your cue to return.
"I have to go," you murmured, regret flickering across your face. Without waiting, Pope gently helped you to your feet. He took the opportunity to press his lips firmly against yours for just a moment before pulling away.
You knew what this was.
A goodbye kiss.
You sniffled, then wrapped your arms around him to hug him goodbye. You saw his throat bob and his eyes filled with tears.
"I love you. I don’t expect you to say anything, but I wanted you to know. I love you," he choked out.
It was the first time he was telling you this.
Your lower lip began to tremble, and your heart stuttered in your chest.
"I know. And, I love you too, Andrew."
The words felt fragile but true.
Like a promise you both needed to hold onto.
"Let’s grab dinner when you get your HVAC certification."
He hesitated, a hint of nervousness flashing across his face. "I won’t have my certification for another year... and I don’t even know if I’ll pass."
"You’ll pass. So, I’ll see you in a year, then, Andrew."
With that, you turned and walked away.
Exactly one year later, your phone lit up with his name on the screen.
dividers by @saradika-graphics
I know it’s kind of an open-ended vibe. But I was going for realism, and dating someone in organized crime is always going to be complicated. But I’m a softie so just assume when she finishes her fellowship, she gets the fuck out of Oceanside again, and Andrew joins her.
To all my doctor peeps out there in the Tumblr verse, y’all are baddies. The amount of schooling you guys do… COULD NOT BE ME.
college!mike wheeler who will send you pictures of things that remind him of you throughout the day, followed by an “i found you again” text (it’ll usually range from something like a pretty leaf on the sidewalk to a lipstick stain you’d left on his mug)
college!mike wheeler who can’t stand a moment without touching you. if you’re anywhere near him, he’ll have an arm around your waist, a hand on your shoulder, his fingers warming your side beneath your shirt, his chin in your neck—he clung to you like sweat on a hot summer day, and he was just as annoying.
college!mike wheeler who purposely feigns exhaustion when he gets home from class because he knows you put on that sweet voice and hold him when he’s tired (you know he’s pretending, you like it too) and he gets his princess treatment
college!mike wheeler who sends you instagram reels every five seconds with “🤣🤣🤣🤣” ironically because he likes pissing you off
college!mike wheeler who loves domesticity. he likes doing laundry with you while wearing old, tattered pajamas, he likes the quiet crackling of eggs on a pan in the morning along with your quiet hums, he likes seeing your reflection beside him while you brush your teeth together. In these moments he can only stare at you and think holy shit, he wouldn’t mind doing this for the rest of his life
college!mike wheeler who still uses snapchat just to send you selfies with the most atrocious filters on (it’s always somehow when you’re pissed off already. opening your snap to find a picture of your chud loser boyfriend is truly the cherry on top.)
college!mike wheeler who likes taking the long route home. he’ll drive around to that cafe you both spoil yourselves at anytime you see it, he’ll point out that one tree you both would meet at during your first semester, maybe the bus stop you’d met at— it’s like he’s micro dosing dopamine when he sees it. the memories are too precious not to look back on, he takes the opportunity anytime you’re in the car with him.
college!mike wheeler who treasures intimacy. you’ll never catch him using you as relief, never. now, maybe if you’re both drinking a little more wine than you should and you’ve got each other in a syrupy and overly affectionate mood, he makes that exception. but if he’s pissed off because of some paper? maybe a little stressed? he’d rather pick up smoking than get you in bed despite your reassurance that you didn’t mind.
college!mike wheeler who can either be a poet or a fucking moron. you’ll be on the subway with mike beside you obliviously blasting instagram on full volume, family guy funniest moments booming from his phone for the world to hear— then, that same week he’d read you the most well articulated thesis statement you’ve ever heard. he’s truly an enigma.
college!mike wheeler who doesn’t play about fortnite. you’ve never seen someone so driven at something they’re so bad at.
college!mike wheeler who is definitely a cat person.
college!mike wheeler who rarely argues. he’s craving wings tonight— oh, you want spaghetti? he hasn’t had pasta in a while anyways! overstimulated at a party? pfff he’s got a paper due tomorrow, might as well head out. mad at him for not doing the laundry? totally his fault, he’ll buy you dinner for the rest of the month. he folds under zero pressure, he wouldn’t dream of raising his voice or frustrating you any further, so why not just comply? happy future-wife happy life
✎𓂃 vrsey’s note … hi guys i’m back yayay! sorry if these aren’t much, i spent like two days trying to think of things ( ﾉД`) i have other hc requests to work on as well as a tonnn of unfinished drafts so hopefully i can get these out, i appreciate and love u guys so so much i missed you kisskiss!!!! ( *˘ ³˘) reqs open, esp for hcs hehe ! also posting this at 12 am, sorry for any typos
summary: your dad made a new best friend, and he just happened to be the hottest man you've ever seen.
warnings/tags: age gap (reader is old enough to have a master's degree but no ages mentioned for her), f!reader, 3rd person POV (i cannot write in second, i'm so sorry), she/her pronouns for reader, female genetalia for reader, no physical description for reader, reader is a bit of a defensive mess, cringey music and style choices, boners, lotsa pet names, oral f!receiving, fingering, big dick jack abbot in the house, unprotected sex, doctor kink if you squint, um, everything's in lower case? i dunno if that's a warning but i just thought it looked cool.
a/n: here it is, my first fanfiction back after YEARS of not writing anything, so if it's kind of shit, that's why. i don't know how to write smut
w/c: 13.7k
the day she first met him was one of those that left everyone’s skin feel a bit sickly sweet– humid, sweaty and a little bit gross. those morning where the air felt suffocating, and clothes felt more like a prison sentence instead of a comfort.
so, after waking up, she couldn’t even enjoy the usual ease that her cool sheets brought, because currently they were damp with sweat, proving that sleeping commando had done nothing but leave a suspicious trail of slime where her thighs have been. right, the sheets were definitely going in the wash, and this ovulation was threatening her dignity.
she quickly grabbed the nearest dress out of the “too dirty for the clean clothes, too clean for the dirty clothes” pile and shrugged it on, intending it to be just a two second cover-up while she crossed the hall down to the bathroom. if she wasn’t a pussy, she would take a real cold shower, but right now she let the water reach that perfect cool-towards-warm temp before getting in, and attempting to figure out if a loofah could get rid of her sweat glands–like, as a whole.
the shower did wonders in waking her up, and finally, 30 minutes after her eyes first opened, she was ready to take on the world, a.k.a make an iced coffee and shrug off any comments her parents make about her waking up at almost noon.
her squeaky clean skin was now clad in a pair of pink booty shorts (that hardly did anything for her ass, goddamn it) and a flimsy black tank as she made her way to the living room. she let herself enjoy the cool air she could feel emanating from there, the only place in the whole damn house with actual AC. god, what would it take to get one installed in her room?
although, her attention was not aimed at her path, but rather whatever bullshit her best friend had sent her on tiktok while she slept– probably making fun of the wannabe influencers from her hometown or something. so, she was none the wiser to the unfamiliar voice coming from behind the slightly ajar door, not until she was already walking in with her head buried in her phone.
“ah, there she is!” her father’s voice cut through the bliss. it sounded way too cheerful to her un-caffeinated ears, and it made her roll her eyes. sure, childish, but if she knew her father, he was about to give her shit for waking up this late, in 3, 2 1…
“jack, this is my daughter.” there they were, the magical words that made her head snap up to attention like a soldier being called on by his field marshal. apparently, they had a whole fucking guest, and she just walked into the living room like a moody, phone addicted teenager and not a full grown adult woman.
and fuck.
whoever this man was, he put her dad’s other friend’s to shame. not that it was a competition, but the rest of those balding, unkempt, beer-belly carrying men were certainly loosing. hell, they weren’t even in the same damn league for there to be a competition. simply put, comparing this man to them would be like likening the IQ score of a 7 year old to that of a fucking NASA scientist.
whoever this gentleman was, he looked straight out of a magazine, those top 50 hottest men over 50 type thing.
the first thing she noticed was the composition of the muscles straining against his tight black t-shirt, his biceps looking like they were being suffocated by the high thread count material. those same biceps that were littered with countless of tiny freckles, creating thousands of constellations that she had the sudden urge to trace with her fingertip. finally, her eyes fell on his face, and it was game over.
it was a damn nice face. a strong jawline, peppered with salt-and-pepper sprinkles, leading to a pair of cheeks way too pink and pretty to belong to a middle aged man, and then the kindest damn eyes she had ever seen on a person. in the light they looked like the moss that used to decorate the cliffs down at the old creek her and her friends spent a myriad of summer days at, all warm and welcoming and currently locked in on her.
with a jolt she realized he was no wonder inspecting her like she was him. only, instead of a gorgeous head full of luscious grey curls, she was sporting an uncombed bird’s nest, and an outfit that looked trashy and cheap. oh, and 80% of her skin was out. fuck, her parents should really give her a heads up when they were bringing guests over.
and then, he opened his mouth, all the while she was too busy staring like a newborn kitten who had just opened it’s eyes for the first time.
“morning, you the kid i’ve heard so much about?”
because of course her dad talked about her, and a sudden feeling of dread fills her stomach at the idea. that man was known for oversharing about shit she’d rather nobody else know about, like how she hasn’t been able to find a job and was stuck playing house at her grown age.
as if this handsome stranger gave a shit, but she had the overwhelming urge to impress him, which was weird because she had a very loving and present father sitting right across him.
“i, um– yeah, i live here.” … what the fuck? the second those words left her mouth she wanted to grab her dad’s baton and bludgeoned herself with it. what was that?! yeah, no shit girl, jesus. but,instead of resorting to violence, she just shook her head, as if willing her brain to start working again. “sorry, normal senses still… loading.”
she didn’t have time to bury herself in an even deeper hole by the fact that he was now tilting his head back and letting out a little chuckle, like she had said something actually funny and not lame. or maybe, he was laughing at her stupidity. either way, it made heat spread down from her feet, all the way up to her ears.
“don’t worry sweetheart, mine don’t work either until i've had my coffee.“
if everything previously has been a punch to the gut, that pet name landed like a damn landmine directed at all her senses. sure, she was the type to get crushes way too quickly, but that still couldn’t explain the way her stomach contents flipped upside down at that one simple word. she had to blame her pesky monthly cycle, because that was the only thing that could explain why she was suddenly understanding the phrase “love at first sight.”
“mhm, yeah! that’s it– i’ll uh, just go make myself a cup now…” the urge to run and hide was luckily winning over whatever horny-demon just wanted to stand there and stare at his smile lines for hours, and she thanked the gods for that, little mercies. right now all she had to do was get caffeinated, text her three-person group chat about the absolute silver fox sitting in her living room, and maybe put on a bra. yeah, that was a good plan, a solid plan, but first, basic manners. “nice to meet you sir.”
she gave him her name and extended a surprisingly stable, if a little tense, hand towards him, which he took with a playful wink. “just jack is fine doll, sir makes me feel ancient.”
his large hand dwarfed hers as they shook hands, and that’s when she finally noticed the wedding band decorating his ring-finger.
of fucking course.
there was nothing just about jack abbot. she learned that pretty quickly.
in between him taking care of the BBQ for her dad’s 50th, joining him at the shooting range, and going on frequent runs together; she concluded that whatever this friendship was, it wasn’t slowing down anytime soon. not that she minded, especially not when she got a full, close and personal view of jack’s glistening skin when him and her father got back from their jogs. the sight of his adams apple bouncing as he downed a bottle of water felt like it was straight out of a soft-core porno made just for her.
right now, jack and her da’ were too busy drinking beers and watching tonight’s game to bother her in the kitchen. there, she was busy whipping up some apple crumble, because her dad always bought more apples than any of them could consume on time, causing there to just be a dozen of bruised, ugly, soft things rotting away in their fruit bowl.
not that she minded though, especially not when she could made a yummy dessert and hopefully impress jack with it.
as she waited for it to finish cooking, she was half laid-up on top of the dining table, scrolling through goddamn tinder. though, she wasn’t paying much attention to whichever men she was swiping left to, as her eyelids struggling to stay open and her phone kept getting looser and looser in her grasp. thinking about it now, it probably wasn’t the safest idea to be putting something in the oven when she had all in all 4 hours of sleep under her belt, but the mid-day nap had smacked her out of nowhere.
a minute later there she was, motionless thumb hovering over her dimly-lit phone screen as her eyelids betrayed her. only for a minute...
“that one’s too ugly for a pretty girl like her.”
the words made her jolt, not just out of sleep, but out her damn skin. whatever exhaustion she was feeling vanished in an instant as she realized she had actually fallen asleep, at least enough to be disoriented about a) when he got into the kitchen, and b) what the hell he was talking about?
oh, right.
jack was in her kitchen, the sunlight breaking through the window catching the green of his eyes as an amused expression took ahold of them. he was looking at her phone, a shit-eating grin on his face as he leaned in to judge whatever guy was on there. he was staring at her goddamn dating profile– the last-ditch effort at finding romance because university hadn’t given her anything other than white hairs.
the second it clicked to her confused brain, it was as if she gained superhuman abilities. her hand shot out in lightening speed, grasping her device and turning it off before jack could even blink.
she felt her face grow hot, embarrassment clutching at her senses like a claw-machine. she didn’t want to be this way, but anytime anyone simply joked about her dating life, or lack there of, it made that familiar defensiveness rise in her throat. it made her feel like she was doing something wrong. it made her feel wrong.
so, instead of meeting his chagrin with the same energy, she spit out. “not all of us are lucky enough to be happily married jack.”
now, the older man clearly wasn’t expecting the bite in her voice, nor the way she was now refusing to meet his eyes. shit, that wasn’t his desired outcome. all he’d wanted was to see that smile, the one he was growing so familiar with, on her face; but instead, he touched a spot he had no clue was sore, and now she was feeling insecure.
it didn’t make sense for her to be insecure, not to him anyways, and especially not by him. but, he didn’t tell her that. instead, he took a step back, wiping that smart grin off his face.
“woah, woah,” he said, raising both hands in the air, a surrender, “i was just pulling your leg kid.”
he watched as the puff of her chest immediately deflated back into it’s cavity, like an opened bag of sad chips, all the fight going out of her as she realized she was maybe blowing things way out of proportion.
now, she felt like an asshole on top of feeling like a loser, and jack couldn’t have that. he was many things, but a man who enjoyed making women feel small was not one of them.
“look, i didn’t mean anything by it.” he let out a little sigh, leaning back against the nearby wall–look casual, look like you’re not a threat. and then, drop the bomb.
“plus, i’m not uh…” jack’s hand immediately fell on top of his ring, callused fingertips tracing the smooth surface of the metal, “not lucky in that area either.”
“huh?” she knew that tone of his. it was the same one he used when she first saw him without his prosthetic on, and he shared a story of loss with her. “but your–”
he didn’t let her finish, instead aiming to escape her searching eyes by looking out of the window, squinting against the sun’s rays. the last thing he needed was to see the pity that was surely going to be on her face. “but my ring, yeah… she passed.”
that little tidbit of information was like an atomic bomb wiping out whatever pity-party she was throwing in her own head. she felt her heart halt all movement, and for a moment the smoldering room turned cold as ice. jesus, she was an idiot.
“oh my god jack, i’m so sorry!” she had no other way to react but stammering out that half-assed apology, her eyes wide as damn saucers. if jack didn’t know better, he’d think she was two seconds away from getting on her knees and begging for forgiveness. for what? he wasn’t really sure. it’s not like she did anything wrong, not in his eyes anyways. “i’m such a fucking idiot, i shouldn’t have–”
jack’s movements were swift and sure as he lifted two fingers, and brought them to her lips. not touching, god no, just hovering a few centimeters from her skin– close enough to feel the air coming from her nose, far enough not to seem like a total creep, as if he hadn’t been judging her dating choices just a few minutes ago.
it was effective in shutting her up, and making her look even more like a deer in headlights, if that was even possible.
“hey, shh kid, not your fault, you couldn’t have known.”
he said it so casually, as if the gesture he was pulling wasn’t making the girl’s heart feel like giving up. the whiplash from horror; to whatever heat was growing between legs now, was jarring. luckily, it looked much of the same to him– or at least, she hoped it did.
“i mean, yeah, sure, i didn’t, but… still, was sort of a bitch.”
younger jack would’ve missed it, but with age came wisdom– not enough to fix whatever was going on with his life, but surely sufficient when it came to being able to read a woman like an open book– and she was a damn easy read. he felt her breath catch against his skin, saw her pupils dilate, heard that little swallow she gave whenever she felt nervous. he was making her nervous, only for a completely different reason now.
that same wisdom was in charge when he moved his hand away, creating a tad more space between the two. the last thing he needed was to entertain a crush that was surely not leading to anything, no matter if his body had the sudden urge to do quite the opposite.
“well, i poked at the sleeping bear first, had no intention of insulting your… abstract taste in men.”
and just like that, the tension broke completely. jack’s voice lost it’s genuine quality, the one that made even a dead man’s heart melt, replaced with a tone she was more familiar with.
she responded with an eyeroll and a groan, her faux annoyance being exposed by the uncontrollable twitch of her upper lip, revealing those pearly whites as she grinned. “oi! fuck off, i was just bored!”
“and here i thought you were doing charity.” it was odd, how easy this back and forth came over them. in this moment, the years between them, the completely different lives they led, all of it disappeared, and he was just a man making a woman laugh. she had a nice laugh, he decided, a melodic thing that reminded him of the wind-chimes his grandmother used to keep hanging on her front porch–may god rest her soul. “but, if you’re bored you can always pick up a hobby, learn a new language, join a chess club, there’s less risk of an STI there.”
he clicked his tongue as he spoke, his lips lifting in that sideways stretch that made him look a bit like a muppet, and always made her laugh.
“of course you’d recommend chess.” she noted, pushing her chair back with a screech against the tiled floor. as she turned to check in on the apple crumble, she hoped he couldn’t see the dumb grin plastered on her face, the one that came as naturally as breathing when he was around him.
“hey! what’s that supposed to mean?”
she lets out a giggle at the offended tone in his voice, a sound he was starting to enjoy more than necessary. “nothing, nothing, just shoo out of here already or else no crumble for you.”
by now, the crumbs on top had that perfect golden color, and she saw his finger begin to reach for the pan before she was even finished with putting it on the cooling rack. “it’s hot!” she scolded, her free hand going to smack his out of the way before he had a chance to touch it.
jack flinched back with a gasp, clutching his finger to his chest as if she had morally wounded him. “hell, you’re mean kid.”
“only to old men!”
“hey!”
it was only when he was successfully escorted out of the kitchen that she had a chance to take a breath, and think over the last five minutes. he had called her a “pretty girl”, and he was single.
hell yeah.
that compliment was just the beginning because if jack abbot had anything, it was a smooth tongue and uncanny flirting skills.
she’d somewhat gotten used to them by now, at least enough to not just spontaneously combust whenever they reached her ears.
she tried not to think much of it, especially when he did it openly and shamelessly in front of her dad, who sure, was a pretty chill man most of the time, but still, she liked to think he’d beat jack’s ass if he thought the older man was actually serious about the comments.
still, that didn’t really change the fact that she blushed like an idiot each and every time his touch lingered a second too long, or when he’d send her a little wink and–
“pass me the salt, sweetheart.”
“darling, have you seen the remote? the rerun’s about to start.”
“you look perfect angel, don’t overthink it.”
she swore he was into psychologically tormenting her. or was it physically? with the way her heartbeat went up and she had to do a breathing exercise after each and every one of them, she wasn't so sure.
tonight it was finally a damn friday, and she hoped she could dance away any and all problems, including those caused by hot older men.
she was getting ready in her room, her door left a few inches open so she could at least pretend the ac air was somehow travelling from the living room, down the hall and into her stuffy bedroom. her hair was pushed out of her face as she plastered her face with makeup, though whether it would stay on her face or melt before she was out the door, she wasn’t so sure.
she was excited for tonight, even if her friends wanted to check out a new place that served overpriced cocktails, and a platter of “sharable” fries for 15$ that could hardly feed half a person. but, they wanted to be hip, and who was she to say no?
so, here she was, in a little leopard print dress, making sure her ink-lined eyes were at least in the same family tree, if not twins. she was so emersed in her artistic abilities (which were currently failing her) and the music blasting from her laptop, that she didn’t hear the front door open, neither what followed afterwards.
the nostalgic sounds of her spotify playlist titled “2014 tumblr <3” were making her hips sway to the words of Hey Violet’s Guys my Age, because of course she was still listening to that– it raised her, for better of for worse.
she was hyper-focused on perfecting the thin line at the end of her eyeliner wing, when a knock at the door completely ruined it. she jumped, causing the pen to fly out of her hand, and then there she was, staring at the damned doctor who seemed to always pick the perfect time to pop in, with a damn black line going down her cheek.
“hey kid,” there he was, the man that was occupying her thoughts almost every night, perched against her doorframe with his arms folded in front of his chest, and a bright smile on his face. the pose made the muscles under his skin twist tight and taunt, flexing like they belonged here, in her room. “uh, interesting music you got there.”
jack could be sneaky when he tried, but that tone of voice did nothing to deceive her. he was being an asshole about her music taste right now, a self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face as if he caught her doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing and couldn’t be more pleased with himself.
her music taste which was currently explaining how older men were just better at everything, on top of a sultry little pop beat.
and damn him, it had the desired effect. she panicked, slamming the space bar on her laptop with enough strength to make her entire vanity shake under it’s weight, as if the song stopping could salvage the situation.
he heard that, her music taste from when she was 13 and thought Anthony Bourdain was the hottest guy on the planet. and well, now looking at Jack, it was starting to make sense why she was so into him…
that deduction would’ve been entertaining any other time, now it just made her want to bury herself under the floorboards. “it was just some shit on shuffle…”
“right… that you were singing along to.”
damn it.
before she could try to save any of her dignity through stuttered vowels and shaky consonants, her voice failed when she noticed where his eyes were fixed. instead of them being anywhere on her face, or looking at the countless of knickknacks in her room, they were fixed on her body, and the short dress encapsulating it.
jack didn’t mean to stare, and he really only did so for a second, but it was a second too long; not because she realized he was doing it, but because he realized he was doing it. he was looking her up and down, not in a way that he’d truly allowed himself before. but it was hard not to feel a beat (more like a bang) of attraction when her legs and thighs were out in the open like that, nor when her tits were pushed up to her chin. she looked damn good.
fucking hell, he really was like any other man, and he didn’t enjoy that revelation about himself. and she thought it would be funny to point it out to him.
“did you tell dad you came up here to ogle me, or should i?”
the words were accompanied with a raised brow, and she was sure she looked silly trying to stand up to him with eyeliner covering half her face, but damn it, time for a girl to tease him for once.
and clearly it worked, if a little too well. jack pushed himself off her door, his cocksure expression sobering; no wonder to the fact that he seemed like a damn creep, eyeing his friend’s daughter like that. he closed his eyes and let out a long, tired sigh, full of clear dissatisfaction aimed at himself.
“shit, sorry kid, didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable–”
for some reason that apology, which should’ve felt like success, just made her frown. it didn’t feel like a win, but rather dying ambers of a fire she was only now realizing she preferred lit, even if it sometimes burned her skin. better that than the cold.
“shit, no jack– it’s no big deal, i was joking.” she took a step forward, ducking her head slightly so she can try and catch his downturned gaze. he looked ashamed of himself, and she really didn’t like that look on him, not one bit.
“look old man,” she urged on, lifting her hand to lightly smack his shoulder and finally make him meet her eyes, “you annoy the living shit out of me sometimes, but you have never, ever made me uncomfortable… not even that one time i saw your bare toes.”
that did the trick. the corner of his mouth twitched, and then she watched in delight as the ends of his eyes crinkled, showing off those gorgeous smile lines she had become so infatuated with. “you little shit.”
“language, or i tell dad you’re a bad influence.”
“and here i’m thinking it’s the other way around– anyhow, came up here because your father told me to tell you to lower your music, the game’s about to start.”
“of course he did.”
“closed for renovation.”
those were the words staring jack in the face when he arrived at the gym he’s been a regular at for…a damn half decade.
“oh, for fuck’s sake.”
there goes his morning, leaving him standing there, gym bag in hand like a fucking idiot. whatever, it shouldn’t take longer than a week, right? he was just going to stick to cardio and the two dumbbells he had at home, a small break from heavy lifting.
except, it was 2 weeks later now, and he was getting that familiar itch under his skin. jack abbot could not sit still, even in the handful of hours he got to himself every day. sitting still made him think, and that never led anywhere good. getting a whole new membership would be a waste, especially since he called up the owner and got clear confirmation that his gym would be reopening soon, just, not right now.
so here he was, 8 am on a Saturday, holding the keys of his friend’s garage– her father’s home gym. his friend told him, with pride in his voice, that it had been a damn splurge, but a security guard could always write it off as a work expense, couldn’t he? either way, as jack stared at the weirdly organized space, he was glad he befriended the man. there was a treadmill on one wall, a power rack on the other, weights ranging from 10 pounds to 150, and even a damn leg press– not that he could use that one.
it had everything a man like him could need, not to mention the peace and quiet that didn’t exist in the gym.
a 30 minute warm-up later and he started by getting acquainted with the pull up bar. jack’s muscles flexed and burned as he gripped the cool metal, his body giving him a slight fight after the two week break, but it didn’t stop him from pulling himself up with a low groan.
his shirt was already drenched in sweat, the gray material clinging to his broad back like a second skin. the only sound filling his ear was his own breathing, since he preferred to workout without anything distracting him– a habit from his military days. just listen to your body, nothing else.
so, the sound of the garage door being pushed open didn’t escape him. he didn’t have to turn around to know who it is, not when almost instantly he was met with that familiar voice.
“oh!”
oh indeed. he didn’t stop right away, not when he still had three more reps to push through, allowing her full excess to the view.
all the girl could do it just stand there, her eyes focused on one singular place– that place being the man currently moaning and groaning in her garage. she could make out the contour of every single muscle group in his back, from the trapezius to the rhomboids, not to mention the fact that the veins running down his biceps were more pronounced than ever, practically protruding out of his skin.
only when jack counted down from 3 did he allow himself to land back on his feet. finally, he turned around, and sent a casual little grin her way, as if he didn’t just mummify her.
“morning doll.”
god, it didn’t help the burning inside her that he was so dehydrated right now, making his voice sound even raspier than usual. there was a pool of moisture she could already feel beginning to drip in her underwear, goddamn it. he had to know what he was doing to her, right?
with the strength of a thousand suns, she managed to finally look away and sound at least a little bit normal in her response, as if this wasn’t a scene straight out of those trashy romance novels she read. “um, morning jack.” she cleared her throat and decided to occupy herself by stretching down to tighten her already tight laces, anything to take attention away from that goddamn body. “dad didn’t tell me you’d be here this morning.”
“yeah, sorry about that sweetheart, my gym’s closed down at the moment.”
“right… well, i don’t mind, but i did want to, y’know…” she waved a suddenly clammy hand up into the air, gesturing towards the treadmill, “also move a little…”
why did she feel anxious saying that, as if it wasn’t literally her house? well, that was a dumb question, she knew exactly why, but still, it didn’t help the situation.
jack, bless him, either didn’t notice how thrown off her game she was, or chose not to comment on it. either way, he just gave a casual shrug, picking up his water bottle. he let her stew in thought for a little longer as he unscrewed the thing, groaning into the metal as the first drop of liquid made it’s way into his perched mouth. after a few big gulps he was done, wiping off his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. “yeah, go‘head, i’ll try not to be in your way too much.”
“right.. thanks.”
the next hour was jack abbot’s personal hell.
this morning, that was supposed to be relaxing, left him tense as a damn brick as he tried (and failed) to focus on his sets and not the woman who was hitting legs a few feet over.
at first, she did a little cardio, which was fine for the most part. sure, maybe it took a little willpower not to stare at the way the fat on her chest moved with each jog, but he managed by facing away from her for his next set.
the step ups following weren’t much trouble, nor the hip thrusts, even though her little whimpers and groans definitely made him regret his “no music” policy, especially since he was no stuck listening to her playlist, which was filled with a whole lot of rap, specifically about how good the singer’s pussy was. when he wrinkled his nose at it, she laughed and said something about a horse, or was it a stallion? either way, it didn’t help that he could hear her quietly singing along to it.
and then came the RDLs. the RDLs that she was doing right in his line of sight. it was damn near impossible for jack not to check the girl out, not when she was in skin tight pink leggings that didn’t hide a damn curve. they clung to her hips, thighs, ass like a damn fantasy, and he could feel himself getting worked up.
fuck, he had to find something to occupy himself with. he could just leave, but that would be suspicious, wouldn’t it? and he’d have to brush right past her and risk having her notice his… situation.
jesus, he hadn’t felt this fucking nervous in a while, but here he was, tenting in his pants because of a girl who was definitely too young for him. he tried to think about something, anything to get his mind out of the gutter– the memories of how he lost his leg, the lonely nights spent at home, the damn countless of gnarly cases he saw every single day. and yet, nothing won over the sudden urge he had to just walk up behind her and let her feel exactly what she did to him.
there was no way she doesn’t know, right? she has to be doing this on purpose, which wouldn’t surprise him seeing as her crush was anything but hidden, even if he never felt the same way.
except, that was a lie, wasn’t it? he’s been thinking she’s cute since the first time he laid his eyes on her– all flustered and tripping over her every word; but this is what it took for him to finally accept the fact that yeah, he wanted to bone his friend’s little girl.
fuck, he was in trouble.
“hey jack, how’s it going?”
jack also jumped out of his skin then. both of them halted all movement as they turned to look at the voice that extinguished all suffocating heat from the room. and there he was, her dad, standing by the open door with a totally care-free smile on his face. he had no idea what he had just walked into.
“mind if i join you two?”
and just like that, the spell was broken, but not before it awakened feelings in him that he wasn’t sure he was getting rid of anytime soon.
the wind outside was a constant force rattling against the windows of the house, but the sound was still overshadowed by the rumbles of the night sky, that were seemingly getting ready to unleash hell.
for the first time in a long while, her parents were out of town, leaving her in charge of the house. any other time, she would be ecstatic, able to truly understand how it would–will feel when she gets a place of her own. but, lighting always put her on edge, and she knew it wouldn’t be long for those strobe less rumbles to turn into full-on lighting strikes.
still, she was a big girl, a damn master’s student for fuck’s sake, so she would at least try and be adult about it.
tonight that meant grabbing the cheapest bottle of wine that her folks won’t miss, plugging in her favourite comfort movie, and bundling herself up in a blanket. sure, it was hot as hell, but her nervous system needed to be weighed down by something, so, she just turned the ac allll the way down. luckily her dad wasn’t around to bitch about electricity bills.
and it worked like a charm for a little while.
the thunder become part of the ambience, untilthe first strobe of lightening lit up the night sky. she flinched, feeling that old anxiety begin to pool in her gut. whatever this was, it was just getting started.
she stood up, trying to calculate just how bad it might be. her parents always told her to unplug everything in case of a storm– electrical fires and what not, not that that’s ever happened.
until it sort of did.
one second she was standing around with her hands on her hips, trying to weigh out the risk vs reward of continuing the movie playing on the flatscreen; the next, the loudest boom! she has ever head almost deafened her. it was the sort of sound that made her eardrums ring, and her eyes squeeze shut in terror.
only when she felt like her heart stopped threatening a cardiac event, she opened her eyes again.
only to be met with pure darkness.
a full-blown power outage, in her house, while she was all alone and a fucking storm was threatening to swallow her whole.
fuck.
the contents of today’s lunch immediately threatened to leave her digestive tract out the wrong way. she had absolutely no idea what to do in this situation. check for a fire? smoke? run and hide? she didn’t smell anything burning which was damn good, but right now she felt like she couldn’t trust any of her senses.
quickly pulling out her phone, she opened her contacts list. but who the hell would be helpful right now?
her parents were away on a much deserved vacation, and well, they couldn’t really help from the other side of the country. 911 seemed a tad bit too dramatic for a power outage. her friends, god bless them, didn’t know shit about electricity.
for a second there she was stumped. was she here, in this damn violent darkness, on her own
until his contact name caught her eye.
“docbbot”
doctor abbot. jack. her finger hesitated over his name as she began overthinking whether that was a smart idea. on one hand, he seemed like the type of man who would know what to do. on the other, he was probably at work, wasn’t he? the last thing he needed was to be bothered by her at 10 pm on a monday–
bang!
somehow, this one sounded even louder than the one that cut off her electricity, and by now she was shivering like a leaf. yeah, she had to call him.
“kid?”
jack’s voice came through the line like the rustle of a well loved book, familiar and comforting. she could hear the confusion, could imagine the furrow of his brows, and thank the heavens, the backdrop stayed suspiciously quiet. good, he wasn’t at work.
“is everything okay?” those words made her realize she has just been standing there, breathing down the line like a pervert. a very scared, very shaky pervert, but one nonetheless.
“um, yeah, just… sorry, did i wake you?”
“no,” the answer came through way too quickly, his voice a few shades deeper than usual, rusty with unuse, and she knew that he was lying through his teeth. “what’s wrong?”
she didn’t have the energy to beat herself up for waking him, not when her pulse was still going a mile a minute and the storm was showing no signs of dying out.
“fucking lightning hit way too close to home and now everything is pitch black, i dunno if the electrical box got messed up or something and i don’t know how to check, everything is just fucking black and loud–”
her ramble was cut off in an instant, “don’t touch anything.”
the silence coming from his side of things was quickly exchanged by what sounded to be the rustle of sheets. he didn’t wait for her to answer before he had his prosthetic on, and his keys in hand. “stay put, i’ll come and get you.”
“come get me? jack, there’s no need, i’m okay.” her voice was about 2/10 on the convincing scale.
“if you were okay, you wouldn’t have called me.” his words were stern, leaving absolutely no room for argument, “plus, your father will have my head if i let his little girl be electrocuted.”
that phrase really shouldn’t have made her teeth sink into her bottom lip, but god, it was so easy for him to already be replacing the dread in her stomach with a familiar flutter.
“i’ll be there in 10, don’t move a finger until then, understood?”
“…yes sir.”
the words were supposed to be a joke, but they came out a lot more breathless than she anticipated. she was too out of it to mind though, even when she heard his breath hitch on the other end.
he was there in eight whole minutes, which was a tad bit concerning seeing as the streets were soaking wet, but she tried not to think about it too much– the fact that he had been speeding to get to her.
in the short time it took him to arrive, she had taken a seat near the house’s entrance, with only a tote bag on one shoulder, and her phone clutched in her hand– flashlight on. she packed lightly, just whatever t-shirt and shorts she made contact with first from the sleepwear section of her closet, plus her toothbrush and charger. and of course, the nerve-wrecking fact that she was going to be spending the night at jack abbot’s place.
the sound of the front door being shoved open snapped her out of her thoughts– and there he was. his salt-and-pepper curls were stuck in all directions, and he was dressed in a simple white t-shirt that clung to his chest with a transparent dampness, a courtesy of the rain. it was pouring hard enough for all that to transpire between the short path of his car to her front door.
she thought she had somewhat calmed down, but as his eyes trailed over her and his features softened, she realized her face was telling a different story. “hey angel, you okay?” jack was concerned, maybe more than was necessary, but the thought of her alone and afraid ate at him the entire drive over.
“yeah, yeah, just a little spooked…”
her voice was a meek little thing, and before he could overthink it, he was pulling her in for a hug. for a second, she froze up, stiff as a damn plank, but as the firmness of his biceps around her registered, she melted like a puddle on the street.
“it’s okay pretty girl, just a little storm, you’re safe.”
his words were like an ointment to a wound she hadn’t even fully registered was there. they made her hands come up to clutch the front of his shirt, like a little child clinging to safety they weren’t sure they were allowed to keep. but, it didn’t take long for her to get into her head, her brain scolding her for acting like a baby when she should be mature enough to handle all this on her own.
“i know, yeah, i just hope nothing’s on fire.” her voice came out firmer now as she pulled away from the embrace, and she tried not to pay attention to the slight frown that pulled the corners of his lips down at the distance.
“no, you would’ve noticed by now. but stay here, i’ll go check everything out.”
“bu–”
“no buts, i know what i’m doing.” and with that, he walked past her and into the darkness of the house.
when she saw him again, it was 15 minutes later.
he walked out of the darkness of the hallway with a determined walk, and his phone’s flash shining right in her face. “unplugged most everything, no electrical fires tonight.” he said casually, as if he wasn’t currently blinding her. she shook a hand over the light, pushing herself up off the tiled floor. her face was scrunched up, a gesture he found particularly adorable.
“thank god– and shut that off.”
“and let the bats get you?” he teased, though it worked her up more than it pissed her off. he remembered that little phobia she mentioned in passing weeks ago. it was more than most guys she went out with.
she was just about to reply with some smart remark when another bang made her jump, and he immediately put a heavy hand on her shoulder, literally keeping her grounded. “alright, let's get you home.”
his place was exactly as she imagined, and simultaneously completely different. it was a single-story bungalow in a homey neighborhood, the kind where neighbours had barbecues together and kids could be heard giggling and running around at all hours during the day. only now, the streets were completely desolate.
“make yourself at home kid.”
the inside was not the bachelor pad she thought it would be. his lights were low, and pillows were fluffed, littering every piece of furniture he owned. he had magnets hanging off his fridge, and picture frames on top the fireplace. most were with people she didn’t recognize, though some were from more familiar places like the work parties her dad also went to. she smiled when she saw him in one.
and then there was the one that made her stop in her tracks. it was him, but younger– his now gray curls a vibrant amber, the freckles on his face more pronounced than ever, and he wore a blinding smile. though her attention was not on him, but rather on the woman occupying his hand, one she could only recognize as his late wife by the wedding dress she had on.
she could feel jack's eyes on the back of her head, watching as she took in the humble place he spent so many sleepless nights in. a familiar feeling of anxiety grasped at his gut when she got to that picture. people either asked questions he wasn’t ready to answer, or acted like they hadn’t seen it. so, he let out a sigh of relief when all she did was acknowledged it with a small compliment.
“she was beautiful.”
“yeah, yes she was.”
and with that, she moved on, now standing in the middle of his living room as she tried to figure out how she was supposed to act. this place was his, his safe space, his heaven, and now she was in it.
he clearly saw the struggle in her eye, as he simply nodded towards his couch while he himself took a step into his kitchen. “you want a drink? i have leftover lasagna that goes great with some red wine, if that's your thing.”
the mention of her comfort food (and drink) made her immediately perk up, like a dog heating the word “treat”.
“if you wouldn’t mind.”
jack waved her off as if the idea itself was ludicrous, which, it was. he would cook that wagyu steak he's been saving for a special occasion if she mentions wanting it.
“i never mind treating a guest.”
10 minutes later, there was a plate of steaming lasagna in front of her, and a glass of rich red wine. the fact that jack could cook wasn't new to her, but that still didn’t stop her from being absolutely gobsmacked at the first bite.
“holy fuck–” she couldn’t stop the throaty moan that left her as the flavours exploded on her tongue, and she found herself staring at the food like an idiot, “jesus, what did you put in this? it's incredible!”
jack only grinned, hiding the pink that was definitely painting over his pale skin with a brash smile. the sound that came out of her mouth made the older man giddy like a school boy, but damn it, he wanted to keep some dignity.
“glad i could make your mouth happy doll.”
the words almost made her choke on her wine, but she managed to swallow it down without making a fool of herself. still, her voice was raspier than before when she replied.
“what's the secret ingredient?”
that earner her a warm chuckle, a sound that bypassed her brain and landed straight between her thighs.
“experience, nothing you can buy in store, or an app.”
“god, you're such an old man.”
“you say that like it's a bad thing.” his eyes met hers across the table. they gleamed with challenge, but underneath she could sense the genuine need to know. “is it?”
the air between them suddenly grew thick, like pressure filling up a botte of champagne, ready to pop at any second. it was a drastic difference to how their conversations usually went– those in which she was nothing more than his friend’s daughter. but now, in his home, drinking his wine, that line seemed to dissipate.
“no… no, it isn’t.”
there’s a slowness in her speech, the kind that came with the realization that she might be swimming in rocky water here. he seemed to pick up on it, and leaned back into his chair, a silent nod to the fact that he had no intention of making her uncomfortable, even if all he wanted was to ask “how so?”. the time would come for that, but now he just nodded towards her plate, breaking whatever tension was suffocating them both.
“your food’s getting cold.”
the rest of the meal they ate in silence, until it was time for her to get up and go to bed. he pointed her to one of the guest rooms with a sugary-sweet goodnight, and she sent him a wave back. it was easy, simple, like how it was supposed to be.
as she got ready for bed, she digged through her tote, pulling out the sleep clothes she brought. it was a pair of cotton shorts, and what was supposed to be her Joan Jet black t-shirt. only, when she unfolded the damn thing, all air left her lungs.
instead of the familiar red print, what was staring back at her was the t-shirt her friends had given her for her birthday. the one with “ I ❤︎ Hot DILFS” front and center.
right, she was not going around him in this monstrosity, no fucking way. she just needed to lay down, pull her sheets up and get dressed immediately upon waking up tomorrow. yeah, that was a good plan. an easy, solid plan.
except for the fact that when she nodded off, she was startled awake not even an hour later by another roar from the storm outside. jesus fuck, it wasn’t letting up, and now she was up and disoriented, her heart beating a mile per minute.
the guest room felt too dark, too unfamiliar, and it didn’t do a good job at calming her down. so, with shaky feet, she dragged herself up and out of the soft mattress, deciding that maybe she could go into the living room and watch some TV to calm down. nothing like midnight reality show re-runs to get her nerves under control.
only, when she reached it, she found that she wasn’t the only one with that idea. jack was up, his back to her, his prosthetic off and leaning against the couch he lounged on, and a beer in hand. he looked up the second he heard her hesitant footsteps, the lines around his eyes illuminate by the cool glow of the tv. they softened when they landed on her.
“hey doll, couldn’t sleep?”
she shook her head, daring to take another step into the room. “the lightening woke me up…”
he tutted softly, as if he was scolding the weather itself, and patted the empty space on the couch. “c’mere, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” there was no judgement in his tone, nothing to make her feel like a loser for how nervous something so harmless made her.
for a second she forgot all about her shirt, all about the plan she came up with, and dragged herself to the couch. she let out a soft, relieved sigh as she sunk into the cushions, curling her legs underneath her. her eyes landed on the TV, where some nature documentary about hibernation played, and she hummed. this was better for the brain than love island.
the calm lasted for a short while, the time it took for jack’s eyes to move lower than her face, and land on the text decorating her shirt. he stayed quiet for a moment, having a bit of a hard time making out the sentence without his readers on, but when he did, he made her jump with his words.
“what’s a DILF?”
the question seemed so out of left field, that she chocked on her own spit. after a quick coughing fit, she looked down at where he was staring, right at her tits. fuck.
she felt her face burn a few hundred degrees hotter than before, and her mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried to find what to say, like a damn fish out of water. “um…” fuck fuck fuck. she was so fucked. and he was looking at her expectantly. she knew he wasn’t going to let this go.
jack, on the other hand, was having way too much fun watching her squirm. he was older, but he wasn’t that old, he knew exactly what the acronym stood for, thanks to shen’s explanation that one time a drunk patient called him that. he watched her fumble over herself for a few seconds more, almost enough for him to be merciful and tell her it wasn’t important, but then, “…dad i’d like to fuck…” the phrase tumbled out, no louder than a whisper.
this was it, the most humiliating moment of her entire existence, he was either going to laugh at her or get weirded out, and as embarrassing as the first option was, the letter made her want to throw up. “it’s uh– just a… my friends got it as a joke for my birthday…”
god, he should let it go, he really fucking should, but watching her fumble over her words, her eyes trained onto the floor like a guilty puppy, was just too delicious for him to do so. “mhm…” he hummed, shifting in his seat as all his senses screamed that something’s gotta give.
“you know, for a good joke to work, there’s gotta be some truth to it.”
if there was a God, she was praying to him that the earth would open up and swallow her whole. being bathed in hell fire for all of eternity seemed less painful than having to go through this conversation. “i guess… sure, i mean– i’ve had a huge crush on Anthony Bourdain and such.”
“such… such is a broad statement, anyone i know of on there?” he was playing with fire, he knew that and he was going to get burned, either by her, or her father if– when he finds out. but right now, seeing this bright, beautiful, smart thing flushed and thrown off her game by an old dog like him was an aphrodisiac like no other. “i mean, that’s an interesting shirt to be wearing right now.”
she was going to cry, like, she actually had tears in her eyes by this point. she was already on edge tonight, so his teasing didn’t tumble off her back as it usually did, instead it made her feel like he was seriously making fun of her. her hands clutched at the hem of the shirt, knuckles going white as she tried to find what to say and dig herself out of the suffocating hole she was now in.
jack’s smug expression melted away when he watched her not say anything for a minute straight, and fully dissipated when his gaze landed on her hands. her trembling hands. damn it, he was a fucking piece of shit, wasn’t he? teasing a young girl just to make his chest puff a little.
“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make this weird…” those words were supposed to be coming out of his mouth, but instead, she was stuttering them out like a scolded child. jack closed his eyes to stop himself from doing something stupid, like grabbing her chin and making her look up at him. he didn’t deserve to touch her right now, not unless she felt safe to initiate it.
“shh, stop, stop.” he let out a long, drawn out sigh, “you didn’t make shit weird, i did.” he replied, running a hand over the messy curls on top his head, a gesture of pure frustration. he could almost feel the ghost of his wife tugging on his ear to get him to behave. “i just… i don’t know, guess i wanted to see if you’d confess your undying love for me, like some idiot.”
he laughed as he said that last part, a sound that was tinged with self-deprecation, and the notes of a man who was just… tired. tired of himself, tired of messing shit up, tired of… pretending something wasn’t here, between them.
her neck finally shifted up at his words, and she was wearing an expression he had never seen on her before. her brows were knitted together, hovering above eyes that were open, trusting and so, so confused. her tongue poked out to wet her lips as she tried to make sense of what he was saying, and his attention was immediately drawn to the pink of it. she looked like she was putting pieces together, whilst still terrified that she had all the puzzle pieces mixed up.
something about the way he said it, it didn’t sound like a joke.
“… what do you mean?”
jack swallowed. he didn’t want to lie to her– he couldn’t, not when she looked so genuine, not even if it was the smart thing to do. no, instead he decided to finally act like the mature one in this conversation, and give it to her straight, even if it meant she’d run. even if it meant her dad would put out a hit on him– if he doesn’t do the job himself that is.
“what i mean is… i was hoping that maybe i fit into that category..”
there it was, the truth that he, a man entering his 50s, wanted to be desired by the one person on this whole damn planet he should be staying away from.
the “why?” that left her was instantaneous and breathless, like she was scared to understand what he was saying. it would be easy to say it was just an ego-boost thing, but he knew better, and he wasn’t going to dumb it down for her. so, he took a deep breath, needing oxygen in his brain for this next part, else he’d pass out.
“because… because you’re a gorgeous woman too smart for your own good sweetheart, anyone would want that, i want that.”
it was funny, how a sentence that could change the entire trajectory of someone’s future can be said as easily as “how’s the weather?”, only, the letter didn’t have the potential of making him hate himself. this was it, the cork finally flew off, and he felt a cold dread wash over him at the silence that followed.
“what?…you want that?”
“yeah.”
he could hear her breathing now, loud and hurried. fuck, she was probably freaking out, scared that her dad’s fucking friend was a damn creep who had her alone in his house, jesus, he was such a piece of shit–
“you’re like… the number one man on that list.”
his pulse stopped the second what she said registered. his eyes found hers, and all he could do is just stare like a moron, his mouth open and catching flies. he felt mummified in the spot, all that walk and talk he was doing a few minutes ago gone and nowhere to be found. there was no way…
he must’ve looked stupider than he felt, because she let out a sudden giggle, whatever awkward energy she was feeling now gone and transferred onto him. she swung her legs out from underneath herself, choosing to instead shuffled her butt closer to him, and watch as that pretty, freckled face turned pink. “what’s wrong doctor? isn’t that what you wanted to hear?”
“kid–”
“oh fuck off,” she was tired of it, the constant teasing, constant lingering glances, constant touching that meant “nothing”, done ignoring it. “don’t call me kid right now.”
“but you are, you’re my friend’s kid.”
“and i’m also a grown woman with a master’s degree, abbot, i’d quite enjoy not having my identity tied to my father.”
that shut him up. jack leaned his head back, letting out a long exhale as he thought of what to say, what to do. she was a wild card, pure and simple, and well, he has been toying with her for a while now, hasn’t he? he never actually believed something would come from it, but now she was here, not even a foot away from him, in a t-shirt that didn’t hide the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath, and eyes that were burning holes into his skull.
he wanted so bad to just grab the front of that stupid cotton and show her exactly what he wanted to hear, what he’s been wanting since… well, almost from the day he met her. but right then, her father’s face flashed into his mind’s eye and–
he didn’t get to finish that thought, not before her hand found it’s way onto his forearm, a light, fleeting touch, but enough. “jack…”
whatever weak resolve he had shattered.
his hands did find their home onto her shirt, just to yank her from the soft cushions, onto the firm muscles of his thighs. he manhandled her onto his lap like she weighed nothing, girthy fingers digging into her hips to keep the suddenly squirming body against him still. her brain hardly had the time time to comprehend transporting from point A to point B, and then his mouth was crashing onto hers.
“mmphf–!”
his mouth was soft as it claimed hers, and if she had been making out with any guy her own age, she would’ve been nonchalant enough to pull back and ask what chapstick he was using. but, this wasn’t any guy her own age, this was doctor jack abbot, and for the first time in her life, she understood what being kissed silly meant.
his stubble was ticklish on her skin, making her shiver and open her mouth in a gasp– perfect opportunity for his tongue to make way between her lips. it was wet and insistent, chasing her whenever she had the audacity to try and get some air in. if he didn’t have at least some self control, he might’ve suffocated her right then in there, just with his tongue down her throat.
when she didn’t push him away and call him a damn gross pervert, jack’s hands moved. they were everywhere, never staying in one spot too long. he was touching her like he was scared the spell would break at any moment, like he needed to map every nook and cranny before she was taken away from him. over her thighs, grasping handfuls of her ass, rocking her against his hips to show her exactly what she was doing to him, his cock hardening against her pelvis.
then there was her waist, perfectly sculpted for his fingers to spread over while he took a second to pull back and fill his lungs up with much needed oxygen. his eyes were half lidded as he looked up at her, hair mussed and sticking in all directions by the force her fingers used to press him even closer. “fucking hell angel, what are you doing to me, hm?”
she couldn’t give any coherent answer to his question, just series pathetic whines as her hips chased whatever friction he wasn’t giving her. his kiss had wiped out whatever logical thoughts usually lived up in her brain, and all that was left was a girl who had been thinking about this way too long.
“jackie.” her hands, which a second ago were in his hair, slid down to circle his neck and pull him even closer to her, her panting breaths now warming up his ear.
“shh, ‘m here sweet thing.” now jack was focused on sliding his hands even higher to grab handfuls of her tits. at the contact, she let out an even higher, more pathetic moan, surprising even herself. she never felt any breast sensitivity, not with anyone she’s been with before, but something about knowing this was jack made every nerve ending in her body work overtime. it was like her skin was on fire, especially now, as he was mercilessly bringing his thumb and pointer finger together to pinch her nipple.
“fuck!” she bucked against him, letting out a slow hiss of pain. not bad pain though, never bad pain. instead, the type that was slowly turning her brain into mush, and he hasn’t even properly touched her yet.
“language angel.” he tsked, watching as her curse transformed into a low whine.
“good girl.”
that was it, the phrase that turned off every single light up there and transformed her into a blissed out dolly who would take most anything he was willing to give her.
“jackie– please. please touch me.”
god, she sounded pathetic, all breathy and messy and glossy-eyed, and somewhere in the back of her lust-riddled mind, she was aware enough to know guys her age have never gotten her this messed up, and all they’ve done is dry hump like teenagers.
with what was half moan, half growl, one of his hands freed the plush tissue of her breast to move lower and lower, until she lifted her hips to clear his path towards the damn mess between her thighs.
at the first contact, she all but sobbed against his shoulder. her cunt was drenched, eyes squeezed shut, legs wide open, unaware of the awe on the older man’s face. jack was looking between the junction of her thighs and the top of her head wondering what fucking saint he was in a past life to deserve this. she was letting out noises holier than any church chime, and it was all because of him.
“shit doll, you’re a damn waterfall.” jack groaned as he scooped a bit of the liquid between his fingers, fighting the urge to bring his hand out and sniff it. “wanna to take that shirt off for me sweet thing?”
sure, he wanted to see every inch of her skin, but that was a plea meant to pull her head away from his chest more than anything. as fantastic as her tits were, he was a lot more interested in watching that fucked out, brow-drawn, pleading look on her face.
it worked. she lifted her head with a small sound that was reminiscent of a mouse squeak, and brought her hands down to pull that ridiculous garment off. jack’s eyes burned into her as her tummy came into view, and soon after the soft mounds of her chest were hanging free.
“jesus.” okay, maybe he lied, he was damn interested in those too. and he must’ve stopped all movement to stare at them for a second too long, because next thing he knew she was wiggling against the hand shoved down her pants with a frustrated huff. “doc, get back to it.”
the words snapped him out of his trance completely and… fuck. his cock was already hard enough to give 20-year-old abbot a run for his money, but her calling him that, in this situation? well hell, that was a new one.
“yeah? you want your doctor to help with that ache between your legs baby?” he rasped, fingers moving away from her clit to give some love to her entrance as well. the feel of thick fingertips tracing her opening made her tense slightly, but nothing he couldn’t remedy with a shush and his free hand patting her up and down her torso. “mhm, gotta feel you inside pretty girl, especially if you want me to fit in there later, m’kay?”
god, this was already perfect enough, but now as he nudged his thick fingers into her spongy walls, she couldn’t help but let out a breathless, needy sound at the idea of that later.
jack did quick work in loosening her hole up, one finger, then two, and now a third was nudging it’s way in as his thumb kept insistently circling her clit. he curled them up and into her, his thrusts fast and rough inside her tight hole.
it didn’t take long, not even a full 5 minutes, before she was letting out a series of high-pitched moans and making a mess all over his callused fingers. all he could do was try not to come into his damn pants like a teenager at the sight and sound of it.
jack hardly gave her enough time to stop shivering like a cat in heat before his wide palms grasped her thighs and lifted her off his lap, only to then slide down onto the couch until he was almost laying on it. she looked at him with a cute little frown on her face, all confused as if he wasn’t about to show her what it meant to be with a real man.
“take your pants off baby.”
a minute later, there she was, with her cunt exposed above his face, his warm breath fanning the soft curls that grew there. while she was calculating the likeliness of suffocating him like this, his hands dug into the soft meat of her inner thighs, pushing them all the way open, until he could easily fit his entire face near her mound.
and she had the audacity to say. “sorry, haven’t shaved…”
the audacity of that sentence took his eyes away from studying every nook and cranny of that perfect pussy, his eyes lifting and meeting hers. his right brow quirked up, and the urge to laugh was battling with the anger he felt at whatever societal bullshit made her say that. “sweetheart, i need you to listen to me, and i need you to listen very closely.”
with those words he gave her thigh a light smack, making sure all her focus was on him–only him. “no real man gives a fuck. christ, i mean, i don’t know how they could, look at this beauty.” his index finger moved inwards, now tracing the still sensitive flesh of her lips.
the honeyed speech, mixed with the absolute filth he was doing to her, had it’s desired effect. she let out a pathetic little mewl, her face growing painfully hot, his attention making her shy in ways she wanted to cry about. and, she almost did, when the next thing she felt was a tongue going up from her entrance to her clit.
god, if the fingering had rocked her world, this was entering Michelin star records. only this time, she was the meal. jack abbot didn’t just eat her cunt–he devoured that shit off the bone. there was nothing soft or slow about it, because right now he was a man on a mission, and that mission was to get as much of her in his mouth as possible. her skin was deliciously salty, and he was happy he didn’t let her use his shower before this. but her cum, god, the remnants of it was a flavor bomb like no other, and he needed more.
luckily, he knew how to do this like the back of his hand.
he moved up and down with long, broad strokes, before focusing on her clit. he gave it a few quick flicks with the tip of his tongue, a precursor to what put her rose toy to shame when he closed his mouth around it and began sucking it. all the while, his fingers found their way back inside of her, feeling her get wetter and wetter with every passing second.
he could die happy, right then and there.
“FUCK!” if the scream she let out wasn’t enough to confirm that he made her come a second time, the warm, salty liquid overflowing his taste buds definitely was. he didn’t let go right away, instead aiming for a full clean-up job until she was quivering above him him.
“jackie, mmhf–”
she was tugging on his curls now, but it was no longer to keep herself afloat and him in place, but an insistent little pull to get him up where she wanted him. she didn’t ask for it in words, just pursed her lips and let out a little kissy noise, making him laugh.
that was enough to take his attention away from her bottom lips, and crawl kisses up her body until he reached her top ones. his mouth was still full with her, and he didn’t shy away from letting her taste exactly what she’s produced. any fear that she might find it disgusting dissipated when she let out a wanton moan into the kiss, her tongue meeting his to take everything he’s giving her.
they moved in synch, until her hand found it’s way onto the rock-hard bulge in his sweats. jack moved back from the kiss with a drawn-out hiss the second her nimble fingers made contact with the tented cotton, and he didn’t have enough self-control to stop the pained groan that followed. fuck, he needed more like, right this second.
“shit, baby, you know what you want, huh?” he tried to laugh, but it came out embarrassingly stuttered. jack was finding it hard to stay on top of things while she was too busy wrapping her fingers around his cock. her hand wrapped around the fabric with a ferocity that made him fear she was going to rip the fabric clean off as she fumbled to pull it away.
he helped her out with the drawstring, moaning as the cool air made contact with the overheating skin underneath. the second his cock was out and proud, she froze, an embarrassingly loud gasp leaving her.
doctor jack abbot’s cock was a goddamn weapon, pure and simple. sure, it didn’t go past maybe 6.7 inches, but the girth of it? she could hardly close a hand around the thing, and dread filled her at the feat that was about to be try and fit that inside of her. while on top. fuck.
he noticed it– the widening of her eyes, the hitch of her breath, and tried to push away the male part of him that wanted to act all smug about it. he wasn’t 19 anymore. right now, he had a duty to make this woman as comfortable as damn possible, and that started with a hand cupping her face, forcing her gaze away from down there.
“hey pretty girl, you still with me?” his voice was soft, coaxing.
“mhm, but jack– i don’t know if i can fit that.”
those familiar words made him chuckle and lean back against the couch, bringing her closer to his chest. “it’ll fit angel, just gotta relax for me, can you do that?”
the tone he was using was the same one often heard while he was in charge of a particularly anxious patient. all soft words and prolonged eye contact, like he was trying to really show how fucking genuine he was.
and it worked, because she just bit her lip, nodding obediently, like she was scared to disappoint him, and too damn stubborn and horny not to have him right here, right now.
jack couldn’t stop the stupid grin that grew on his face as he watched her puff out her chest and take a big, deep breath, as if she was amping herself up to jump out a 6 story window, not have sex. but, any and all smile was wiped away the instant her hand took hold of him and his tip was pressed against the achingly soft lips of her cunt.
“shit.” he whimpered, watching with baited breath as she began to sink onto him.
the burn was instantaneous. she had to stop every few seconds, her nails digging crescents into his soft chest as she tried not to chicken out. all the while, jack was fighting against his own urges to just go at it like a fucking dog to gently coax her to keep going. a “good girl” here, a “that’s it, just relax sweet thing” there, until she was sat flush onto his cock.
by then, her head replaced the hands on his chest, while they wrapped around his broad back, holding on for dear life. it took a good minute for her to stop panting like an animal. the way his cock was stretching her out was like nothing before,and she was sure jack abbot was going to stay imprinted in her pussy for as long as she lived.
“that’s it, good girl– are you okay?” she answered that with an experimental move, lifting her hips up until only half of his cock was nuzzled inside of her before dropping down again.
reality as he knew it ceased to exist.
in this moment all there was, and would ever be, was this beautiful woman staring at him with her brows drawn and mouth hanging into a perfect “o” shape, and the unyielding clutch of her cunt squeezing him dry.
the initial pain slowly sizzled out, and the second he noticed that in her movements, he moved, no longer afraid she was this fragile thing that he was going to break.
and for all her nerves, the damn girl started going at in like a damn jackhammer. at one point he was almost going to tell her to slow down, that his old heart can’t take it, but he could hardly speak as he gazed upon this goddess bouncing on top of him like he was the damn man of her dreams.
and with every press of his tip into the deepest parts of her, her clit grazed his pelvis, and she started to call bullshit on the phrase “better than sex”, anyone who thought anything was better than this sex simply wasn’t having good sex, and that was that. and she was more than happy to let him know how perfect it was with the way her moans grew louder with every bounce.
as she took all she wanted on top of him, jack’s lips slipped lower and lower until he wrapped them around a nipple, and jesus, one would think he was trying to induce lactation with the way he was mouthing and sucking on the flesh. he moved between the two, making sure each bud was nice and swollen from his tongue.
as distracting as the pliable tissue of her chest was, it did nothing to hide the way she was tensing more and more with every coming movement. she was bursting at the seams, and he was more than happy to help her out. “shit, baby, you’re close, aren’t you?”
she looked down at him, eyes glossy and clearly struggling to hold herself upright. giving him a weak nod, she continued with her quick movements, even though her thighs burned with the strength it took to not just collapse.
“oh angel, you need my help, hm? need your old man to put in the work?” he didn’t wait for an answer before grasping the meaty muscle of her ass and hoisting her up. from this position, he was able to fuck her like an expensive fleshlight, his cock going in and out of her dripping hole with ease. with the way her eyes rolled back into her skull, he could tell she liked it.
“touch yourself– yeah, like that, good girl.” he groaned, watching as her trembling fingers found the sensitive head of her clit.
it took one, two, three more thrusts and then she was falling apart. pure white heat exploded in her tummy for the third time that night, the orgasm ripping through her and turning off every single nerve ending in her body, before everything rerouted 100x stronger.
any other time she would be too embarrassed to be this loud, but right now she couldn’t physically stop the guttural keen that left her lungs.
and then, she collapsed on top of him. warm, and snuggly, still pulsating around his cock like the best weighted blanket he has ever had the pleasure of experiencing. he didn’t stop his movements, especially now that he felt free to chase his own climax without worrying about if she was having a good time or not. it didn’t take long for his thrusts to turn sloppy, uncoordinated as his balls tensed up, almost uncomfortably full.
when he came, it wasn’t quiet. his thrusts froze up just as her walls pulsated once more, and then his he exploded inside of her like a water balloon. he couldn’t remember the last time he came that hard, hell, he could hardly remember how to breathe there for a second.
“fuck, oh yeah, fuck yeah, fucking beautiful girl–.” his words became nonsensical, a blabbered mess against her skin as she took all he had to give her.
he kept at it for at least a minute. every single time he thought he had given all he could possibly give, his balls released another burst of that sticky liquid to paint her walls with. by the time he softened up, it was all dripping out of her, creating a real mess where their bodies connected.
jack’s eyes finally met hers, dilated pupils reflecting one another. “hell doll… jesus.” he groaned, dropping his forehead against hers.
“mhm? did d’ya like it?” she murmured against him, as if she didn’t just ride his soul out of his body.
he gave her a smack on the ass for that, for the pure audacity to ask such stupid, stupid questions.
5 minutes later, jack had his prosthesis back on and a warm rag in his hand as he cleaned up the mess he made out of her. his best friend’s daughter. his beautiful girl.
“there you go baby– all clean ‘n pretty for me.”
he couldn’t stop looking at her, especially not now, not when she was half asleep on his couch, her face sporting a sated smile as she looked at him like he had hung the damn stars up in the night sky.
her hair was messy and damp and her eyes half-lidded as she lifted her hand to tug at his forearm.
“can we do this again?" her words were half-mumbled, but that didn’t hide the strength it took for her to muster up the courage and ask that.
fuck.
he has never heard a better question in his entire life.
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